Stealth

by Karen Miller

  Grateful? Not really. “I suppose. Funny that I couldn’t tell it was him, though. Or that you couldn’t sense him at all.”

  “Yes. Very strange,” said Obi-Wan. “But let’s worry about that later.”

  The last of the droid-guided pallets floated out of the delivery station. And that just left the droid supervisor, checking off delivery stats on its datapad.

  “Right,” Obi-Wan added, rising out of his crouch. “I’ll distract it, you incapacitate it, fast. But carefully—make it look like a circuit malfunction.”

  Incapacitate it, just like that. Without leaving a trace of tampering. A droid model he’d never seen before. Sometimes Obi-Wan’s faith in his abilities was a bit daunting. Good thing there were no lasting aftereffects from that electrostaff shock.

  As Obi-Wan approached the supervisor droid with his trademark swagger, Anakin had to grin. Filthy and dressed in cheap, dowdy clothing, no lightsaber in sight, still Obi-Wan looked like a Jedi.

  “Excuse me,” he called out. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I appear to be lost.”

  The warning light on the droid’s head flashed. “Who are you?” it squeaked, turning. “What are you doing in here? You’re not authorized to be in here.”

  “I know, I know,” said Obi-Wan apologetically. No trace of Jedi in him now—he was back in cringing native Lanteeban mode. His movements were casually and deliberately erratic, so the droid had no choice but to swing itself around to keep him in line with its photoreceptors. “There’s been some dreadful mistake. Can you help me? Where am I? I think I fell down and hit my head.”

  Still grinning, Anakin eased himself out of the shadows. The droid had its back to him now. He could see the access plate between its two primary arms. That was his way in… but what would he find? Soft-footed, feeling his edges blur again, he drew on the Force in preparation for his task.

  Obi-Wan was doing a perfect job of keeping this droid distracted. Yes, definitely Coruscant’s Firebird Club was missing out on a crowd-pleasing act.

  If he ever has to give up being a Jedi, at least he’s got a ready-made job to walk into.

  He was five soft steps from the droid. Four. Three. Two. One.

  He reached for the machine’s access plate. Why wasn’t the droid designed like C-3PO, with an external deactivate switch? Why wasn’t anything simple these days? His fingertips touched the scarred, dark brown metal—and a blinding shock of pain shot up his arm.

  Vape it! Vape it! The blasted thing’s shielded!

  Time blurred. As the droid started to turn, screeching a protest, he used the Force to immobilize it, short out the access plate’s shielding, and let him into its innards. Every insulted nerve in his body was shrieking. He was seeing double. Practically triple. It was the electrostaff shock all over again. Obi-Wan’s lips were moving but he couldn’t hear a single word.

  Letting go of rational thought, he surrendered himself to instinct, to the odd quirk within that made him one with machines. The same quirk that had melded him almost effortlessly with his prosthetic limb and perhaps was the reason he’d lost none of his connection with the Force, even though his arm and hand were made of metal.

  His vision cleared. His hearing returned. The pain receded. And he knew how to gain control of the droid. Metal and flesh fingers worked swiftly, confidently.

  “Done?” said Obi-Wan.

  He nodded. “Done. Are you in the mood for a little interrogation? I’ve managed to circumvent its limiter.”

  “Good job,” said Obi-Wan with a swift grin. Then he focused on the droid. “What is this place?”

  “A facility of the Confederacy of Independent Systems,” replied the droid, its squeaky vocoded voice oddly slurred. “Under the command of General Lok Durd.”

  “What was in the crates those droids took up to the main complex?”

  Something inside the droid’s metal body hummed. Clunked. “Supplies.”

  “What kind?” Obi-Wan persisted. “Some of those crates had breathing holes. What was in them?”

  Another whirring clunk. “Checking manifests—hold please—checking mani—laboratory rodents.”

  Anakin frowned. “Lab rodents?”

  “For experimentation,” said Obi-Wan grimly. “Which would suggest—”

  “We were right,” he breathed. “It’s a bioweapon. Great.”

  Obi-Wan snapped his fingers in the droid’s face. “What was in the other crates?”

  “Checking manifests,” said the droid, its vocoded voice still slurring. “Hold please—checking manifests—hold pl—”

  As the droid recited a long list of items, which included rodent food, nonperishable human food, a wide variety of Neimoidian delicacies, electronic supplies, industrial lubricants, holo-equipment, and many boxes of data crystals, Anakin checked to see if there was any sign of the other droids returning.

  “Still in the clear,” he told Obi-Wan, rejoining him. “But I don’t know for how long. Better wrap this up.”

  “Agreed,” said Obi-Wan. “Droid, what is the security complement of this facility?”

  “That information is outside my programming parameters.”

  “What’s going on in the main building?”

  “That information is outside my programming parameters.”

  Obi-Wan’s lips thinned, betraying his irritation. “What can you tell me about any other CIS personnel currently stationed in this facility?”

  “That information is outside my programming parameters.”

  “So much for learning anything else useful,” said Obi-Wan, giving up. “All right.” He waved a vague hand. “Put this thing back together again, Anakin. Quickly.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Yes, Master.”

  While he took care of that, Obi-Wan headed for the delivery station’s office, sited at the top of some battered metal stairs. But, being Obi-Wan, he didn’t bother climbing them. He Force-leapt to the landing outside the office and disappeared inside.

  It was the work of moments to rejig the droid’s circuits—but he wasn’t able to reestablish its shielding. If he’d had his micro-circuitry kit with him, he could’ve done it in his sleep. But he didn’t, and he couldn’t see one conveniently lying around, so he covered their tracks by inducing a partial meltdown of the shielding unit. The next time anyone bothered to check the droid—and with luck that wouldn’t be till long after they’d left this place in the dust—the damage would look like an energy surge and whoever noticed wouldn’t think twice about it.

  Last of all, he used a tiny tendril of the Force’s power to subvert the droid’s short-term memory chip. It was a common problem with older machines, and this model was a few years off the production line. The ruse should hold.

  And then he was done, but there was still no Obi-Wan. With a frustrated glance up at the office, he left the droid on standby and returned to the front of the loading dock. Heard the measured tread of metal feet and geared wheels.

  Oh, wonderful. The other droids were returning.

  He Force-sprinted back inside. “Obi-Wan! Get a move on, we’ve got company!”

  Obi-Wan appeared in the open office doorway. “Almost done.”

  “No, no, not almost done! You’re done now! The other droids are—”

  Obi-Wan held up a finger then ducked back into the office. Stang.

  He leapt back to the boss droid. Cradled its still-disconnected access plate in one hand and rested a finger on the machine’s reset button.

  Come on, come on, come on, come on…

  Obi-Wan landed lightly beside him on the loading dock’s ferrocrete floor. He was grinning anarchically. “Well, don’t just stand there, Anakin. We haven’t got all night!”

  Oh, ha ha. Very funny. Obi-Wan, you’re a riot.

  “What were you doing up there?” he demanded, resetting the droid and slamming its access plate into place. “Taking a nap?”

  “Playing fast and loose with their security recording,” said Obi-Wan, still grinning. “We were off
icially never here. Oh—and because every good boy deserves a treat—catch!”

  It was a comlink. He snatched it out of the air. “Great. Thanks. Now come on!”

  As they bolted for the loading dock’s entrance, the boss droid buzzed awake. A quick exchange of glances and they slipped into Force sprint, whipping around the rear of the delivery station just as the first returning droids came into view.

  Once they were clear they slowed to a stop. Their sprint had carried them dangerously close to a security laser grid, laid out between the loading dock and the perimeter fence. Although the beams were invisible to the naked eye, still they could feel them humming in the Force. They retreated a prudent distance and dropped to the closely cut grass. The edge of a security light bled over the delivery station’s roof, casting their immediate surroundings into stark black and white.

  Obi-Wan rummaged inside his shirt then pulled out a flimsi. “I found this, too. A schematic of the main complex. As far as I can tell, electronic security inside the building is practically nonexistent. No laser grids or motion sensors. Just some rudimentary fixed-cam surveillance.”

  “That’s not very smart.”

  “It’s overconfidence,” said Obi-Wan, pleased. “They’re convinced the compound’s external security is so comprehensive that there’s no need for further inconvenience inside.”

  “Which makes life a little easier for us. For a change,” said Anakin. “Hey—while you were busy pinching schematics and comlinks I don’t suppose you came across any food?”

  “I’m afraid not. And that’s going to be a problem. We need sustenance and water.”

  “Well, you heard what that droid said. Lots of Neimoidian delicacies in those crates.”

  Obi-Wan shuddered. “I think I’d rather eat the rodents’ food. Or the rodents.” He grimaced. “Better yet, let’s just not let ourselves get quite that hungry.”

  “Sounds like a plan to me.” He let himself relax, just a little bit. “Okay. What now?”

  “Now we need to investigate that main building. At this late hour it’s unlikely anyone is working.” Obi-Wan squinted at the schematic, holding it up to the faint light. “There appears to be a series of ventilation ducts networked throughout the roof and walls. If we can get inside without setting off any alarms, we should be able to move about with relative ease. Perhaps even access the main laboratory.”

  “Then let’s go.”

  “Wait,” said Obi-Wan, touching his forearm. “First, let’s see if we can find out who we’re up against in there. Since you’re familiar with Durd you look for him, and I’ll indentify how many other sentients we’ve got to deal with.”

  Look for Durd? Wonderful. He’d hoped never to cross paths with the Neimoidian again. Durd had a filthy mind, slimed with cruelty and avarice. The kind of petty spirit made monstrous by the slightest acquisition of power. But he couldn’t afford to be squeamish. The mission came first. Like it or not he had to seek the barve out.

  “Anakin?”

  “Yeah. I’ve got it.”

  He closed his eyes and breathed in and then out, slowly and deeply, letting go of his hunger and thirst and uncertainty. Letting go of everything. He became one with the Force. Dimly he was aware of Obi-Wan on the grass beside him, treading the same familiar path.

  The world vanished, then reappeared in different shades of red. Scattered imprints of distant, sentient life touched his awareness. On another exhaled breath he closed his mind to every living creature but the one he was seeking. He allowed his memories of Maridun to drift to the surface, carrying with them the psychic stench of Separatist general Lok Durd.

  Where are you? Where are you? Show yourself, you vaping scum.

  His belly twisted. He’d caught Durd’s scent.

  Overcoming reluctance, he quested closer. Followed the greasy trail Durd left in the Force until he ran the filthy creature to ground. The Neimoidian was asleep in a separate building in the compound.

  Durd was alone in his room. There was no sense of sentience anywhere nearby, either. Withdrawing, Anakin cast his seeking mind farther afield. Surely Durd couldn’t be the only living being in the whole place.

  No. There were the lab rodents in the main complex, tiny pinpricks of life. And there was another imprint near them, much larger. Its shape in the Force was human. Female. Without warning he was swamped by a terrible fear. Misery. A cold and crushing guilt.

  Startled, he opened his eyes. Obi-Wan was staring at him. “You felt that?”

  He nodded, and for a moment couldn’t speak. The woman’s overwhelming pain shuddered through him, smashing flat his defenses. Touching buried, scarred-over places inside him.

  Don’t show Obi-Wan. Don’t let him see that.

  “Whoever she is she’s in trouble. We’ve got to help her.”

  “And we will if we can,” said Obi-Wan sharply. “But first things first, Anakin. We’ve got to get inside that building without raising the alarm. We’re here to destroy a weapon. That’s our primary mission.”

  Obi-Wan was right, but even knowing that, he felt a stab of resentment. They were Jedi. They could do two things at once. And what was the use of saving the galaxy if you let its wounded inhabitants fall by the wayside? When the big picture grew too big to see, what was left to focus on but the details?

  “Anakin.”

  “I know, I know,” he muttered. “Don’t worry. I’m with you.”

  Obi-Wan shoved the schematic inside his shirt. “Glad to hear it. Now come on.”

  Side by side and silent, on foot this time, they made their stealthy way back to the compound’s main building.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The complex’s air vents proved to be a blasted tight fit.

  Obi-Wan, facedown, the weight of his body supported on forearms and toes, face a mere finger’s-width from the filthy vent flooring, closed his mind to the burning in his back, belly, and legs.

  Behind him, Anakin muffled a curse.

  The fit was even tighter for him, of course, being broader across the shoulders and more heavily muscled in general. But the discomfort couldn’t be helped. Nor was it relevant. Their pain was temporary. The destruction caused by a Separatist bioweapon would likely be permanent.

  Though he didn’t believe in luck, he was forced to admit that the compound’s lack of comprehensive internal security was… convenient. An enemy’s overconfidence could indeed prove a powerful ally. Although—how far that overconfidence extended had yet to be seen. He and Anakin might yet face insurmountable obstacles once they ventured out of the venting system and inside the actual building. But he was feeling guardedly optimistic. So far they’d encountered only droids and a single sensor net, neither of which had registered their presence. He was even hopeful of outwitting any further security cams they might encounter.

  And if at some point they did encounter sentient opposition, well, the Force was an even more powerful ally. Except if they didn’t find food and water soon their ability to manipulate it would be significantly compromised. Every fire required fuel… and their reserves were running low. Trouble was, he hadn’t anticipated such a swift start to this mission. He’d assumed they’d have a day, at least, to get their bearings and settle in. Find lodgings. Acquire supplies. Instead—

  Now, now. Enough of that. Better a swift start than no start at all. Remember Qui-Gon’s favorite saying: A solution to the problem is bound to present itself.

  Glancing up, he saw they were about to reach the end of their current stretch of air vent. And that begged the question of which way to turn next: left or right? With a stifled grunt of relief he stopped crawling. Let his forehead drop against his filthy arm. So far they’d negotiated four long sections of vent set into the ceiling of the main building’s first floor. Peering through every room’s wall or ceiling grille, they’d accounted for two empty offices, a supply room, male and female refreshers, an unstaffed security monitoring station, and a droid maintenance bay. No laboratories yet, and no sign of per
sonnel quarters. Still only two sentient presences in the compound—the repellent Neimoidian whom Anakin had apprehended on Maridun and that deeply troubled, unidentified woman. She was quite close now, farther ahead and higher up. The Neimoidian remained distant. Safely out of the way, for the moment.

  So, Master Kenobi. Which direction will get us to her faster—left or right?

  Or should they split up? They had comlinks now, and it would save time. He didn’t want to be here a minute longer than they had to.

  Anakin tapped his ankle, impatient, and he held up a hand. Wait. Closing his eyes he sought for clarity in the Force. Encouraged instinct to inform him, and that sense of future events that had so often come to his rescue.

  Instinct told him: Stay together. Turn right.

  On a deep, measured breath he started crawling again. Anakin followed. When he reached the vent’s intersection he paused, then began the spine-twisting process of negotiating its tight right-hand turn. He felt his vertebrae protesting, felt his tendons stretch and burn. Closing his mind to all sensation he thought of sinuous water, of a long braid of blue-green hair, silken and flexible.

  Once he was well into the next straight stretch of vent he stopped and waited as behind him, Anakin bullied his long frame around the corner. He was doing his best to move silently, stealthily, but even so his knees and heels and elbows knocked against the vent’s sides. In this confined space the muffled bumps and thuds sounded horrendously loud. If anyone was listening, if anyone noticed—a patrolling droid, say, or some Sep arriving at the complex unexpected, or Durd deciding to prowl his domain…

  Obi-Wan held his breath. Not even their Jedi skills would save them if they were discovered now. But there was no sudden alarm sounded, no warning klaxon or blaster shots or any kind of indication that their presence was detected. He exhaled in relief. Like Anakin, he really wasn’t fond of clandestine operations. Geonosis came uncomfortably to mind. He wanted this over with. He wanted to be himself again, unrestricted, with his lightsaber back on his belt, not digging painfully into his ribs.