by Karen Miller
“Oh. That’s right.” There was still dried blood on her fingers, and a dull, throbbing pain in her head. “I’m sorry. I’m not normally this stupid. I just—” And then she felt her face crumple and heard herself sob. Her knees buckled and she began to sink toward the floor. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she choked. “Don’t mind me. I’m fine.”
He caught her before she tumbled completely. Lifted her without effort and carried her to the sofa. Boneless and unprotesting, she let him. Let her face turn to his roughly shirted, dirty chest and howled her rage and shame against him. Dimly, she felt his hand warm and comforting on her back and heard his soft voice saying, over and over, “It’s all right. It’s all right. You’re safe now. It’s all right.”
The crazy thing was that she did feel safe. For the first time since those Separatist blaster bolts seared the air and sand of Niriktavi Bay, since she saw her friends and colleagues slaughtered, she felt safe.
Then, abruptly, she felt mortified. What was she doing? Weeping like a child all over a man young enough to be her son? Where was her pride? She shifted away from him, unable to meet his eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” he said gently. “You’ve got a right to be upset. Now, where’s that medkit?”
“In the refresher.” She pointed. “Through there. Top shelf above the sink. But please, don’t bother. It’s nothing. I can—”
Standing, he frowned down at her. “It’s not nothing. Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back.”
Even if she’d wanted to, she didn’t think she could move. Hope had vanished, leaving despair in its wake. Leaving her empty of everything save pain. Her eyes felt scrubbed raw.
“Right,” said Anakin, returning with the medkit. “Here we go. And I’ll say sorry in advance, because I’m probably going to hurt you.”
Again, that extraordinary sense of being small, a child, as he carefully wiped the blood and tears from her face, cleaned the bruised, throbbing cut on her forehead with antiseptic, and lightly pressed a steriseal over it.
“You’re very good at this,” she murmured.
His face shadowed. “I’ve had a lot of practice.”
Of course. The war. “Do you mind—can I ask—is the Republic really losing to the Separatists? Durd says we are, but I don’t want to believe him.”
He glanced at her, something fierce flickering deep in his eyes. “No. Don’t believe him.”
“So—that means we’re winning?”
He swept the steriseal wrapper and used antiseptic wipes into one hand. Didn’t answer.
“You mean we’re not winning?”
A sigh. “It’s complicated, Doctor.”
“Please—” Wanting to touch his arm, instead she folded her hands in her lap. “Call me Bant’ena.”
“It’s complicated, Bant’ena,” he said. “But you can trust we’re doing everything in our power to defeat Dooku and his Separatists.”
She watched him dump the medical rubbish into the waste chute, wash his hands, then fetch a bottle of water from the conservator and remove its lid. Returning to her, he held out the water and a couple of pain-tabs from the medkit.
“Here. You’ll feel better for these.”
Taking them, she looked up at him and shook her head, even though it still ached. “It’s odd. You’re nothing like I expected.”
“Why?” he said, perching on the edge of the nearby chair. “What did you expect?”
“I don’t know,” she said, floundering. “I can’t say I’ve ever given the Jedi much thought. I mean, not as individuals. I never expected to meet one—let alone two. I don’t tend to go places where your skills are needed. But—well—you’re gentle.”
That made him smile. “As opposed to what?”
She swallowed the pain-tabs, washing them down with a mouthful of water. “Oh. You know. The HoloNet news—it portrays as you as this—this—heroic warrior. Larger than life. Charging into battle, lightsaber flashing. Scourge of the Separatists. That kind of thing.” She shrugged. “And yet here you are and—and you’re so young and kind and—” She put down the water bottle. “And you—oh, this sounds stupid.”
“No,” he said. “Tell me.”
Feeling her face heat, she stared at her knees. “I feel like you understand what it’s like to be scared and helpless. At the mercy of someone else. Someone… wicked. Which is of course ridiculous, because—you’re a Jedi.”
Silence. And then Anakin sighed. “I do understand, Bant’ena. I wasn’t always a Jedi.”
She looked up, ready to ask him what and when and how—but something in his eyes killed the questions unspoken. Instead she glanced at her wrist chrono. Stared at the closed door.
“Is he taking a long time?” she said. “Master Kenobi, I mean. That is the correct honorific, yes?”
“Yes,” said Anakin. Pushing to his feet, he started to pace—then stopped himself, folded his arms, and frowned at the boarded-up square that had been a window. “Don’t worry. He’ll be here. He’s very good at what he does.”
He sounded calm, confident—but she’d always been skilled in reading people, whether they wanted to be read or not. He was soothing his own nerves as well as hers. She pretended she hadn’t noticed.
“And he’ll find us all right? I didn’t tell him where to come.”
“You didn’t need to,” said Anakin, with a small smile. “He’ll find us.”
“So… we wait?”
“Yes. We wait.”
“Then I think, if you don’t mind me leaving you, I’m going to clean up a bit,” she said, standing. “Shower. Change my clothes.”
“What?” Anakin stared at her. “Of course. Bant’ena, you don’t need my permission. This is your place. I’m the visitor here.”
He was a Jedi. Surely he couldn’t be so naïve. “And what if I’m lying to you, Master Skywalker? What if I’m intending to raise the alarm? For all you know I’ve got a direct comlink to General Durd hidden in my bedroom or the refresher and I’m about to call him and tell him you’re here. Trade you and Master Kenobi to him in return for something I want. My freedom, perhaps?”
Anakin shook his head. “You won’t do that.”
“How do you know?” She felt her lips tremble, and breathed hard until they firmed again. “You saw what I did to that lab rodent. You know what I’ve created for Durd. And you have to suspect what he intends to do with it. Obviously if I’m capable of that, then I’m capable of anything. Even the betrayal of two Republic heroes.”
Anakin’s boyish face hardened, aging him. “We’ll talk about Durd and what you’ve done for him when Obi-Wan gets here. And I know you won’t betray us because I’m a Jedi.”
Her eyes filled with tears. “And how do I know you won’t betray me? I can explain why I’ve done what I’ve done—but you might not accept my reasons. You might tell me you’ll get me to safety so I’ll cooperate and then hand me over to the authorities as soon as we’re back on Coruscant.”
“No, Bant’ena,” he said quietly. “I won’t do that.”
“Yes, yes, of course you say you won’t, but how do I know?”
He stood a little straighter and met her desperate gaze without guile. “Because I’m a Jedi.”
He made it sound so simple. Could anything in the universe be that simple? How she wanted it to be true. She wanted to trust him. Could she trust him?
As if I have a choice now. If I was going to scream, I should have screamed back in the lab. Even if I did call Durd from the ’fresher, he’d never believe the Jedi and I aren’t in collusion.
“Thank you,” she said, subdued. “And for what it’s worth, you’re right. I’ve no intention of contacting General Durd. Help yourself to more water, if you’re still thirsty. Help yourself to anything. I won’t be long.”
And she didn’t intend to be, only once she stepped into the real water-shower, her sole luxury in this hideous place, once its soothing heat was beating down
on her, she didn’t want to get out. Sore head resting against the poor-quality prefabbed shower stall, she wept again and tried to pretend the tears were plain water on her face.
Don’t cry. Don’t cry. There’s a Jedi on the other side of the door. He’s come to save you. This will end soon.
Eventually the water started to run cool, so she turned off the taps. Drying herself with an inadequate towel, she dressed in clean underclothes and a new shirt and trousers and bundled the lab coat and clothes she’d been wearing for the disposal chute. Her blood was on them, and they smelled like death.
When she returned to the living area, she found Obi-Wan Kenobi pouring a bottle of water down his throat. An empty bottle stood on the table beside him. Seeing her, he stopped drinking, put down the half-consumed bottle, and considered her, his face grave.
“Doctor.”
“Master Kenobi.” She crossed to the disposal chute and got rid of her clothes. “Were you able to—how do you phrase it? ‘Accomplish your mission’?”
He wasn’t warm, like Anakin. There was a cool, guarded watchfulness to him, though he was impeccably polite. “Yes. The security records will no longer be a problem.”
Which meant, for tonight at least, for a few precious hours, for the first time in such a long time, she’d finally have some privacy. Although after her initial distaste, realizing Durd could see and hear everything she did, she’d stopped caring. After all, what was there to see? Durd had made it plain he found humans repellent. It was unlikely he’d be obsessed with watching her undress or shower.
On the other hand, I bet he loves to watch me weep.
“Bant’ena?” said Anakin.
She shook her head. “I’m fine.”
“Good,” said Kenobi. Master Kenobi. “Doctor—”
“You should eat,” she said. “You’ve time. I meant what I said before—they never disturb me in here.”
Kenobi exchanged a look with Anakin, then nodded. “Very well. Thank you.”
“It’s no trouble. It’s not like I’ll be cooking for you. My meals are delivered in bulk, in heat-paks.” The table had only one chair, so she nodded at the sofa. “Please. Have a seat.”
As the Jedi sat on her ugly, lopsided sofa, she took four heat-pak meals out of the conservator and handed them two each. “You look hungry,” she said when they stared at her, surprised.
“What about you?” said Anakin, activating the first pack without bothering to read its label. “You should eat something.”
The confines of her skull echoed with shrill rodent screaming. “Maybe later. I—I had a big lunch.”
He wasn’t fooled. “Bant’ena—”
“I said no!”
They needed cutlery. She fetched her one spoon and her one fork and handed them over.
“Thank you,” Anakin said quietly. Kenobi just nodded.
Retreating, she dropped into the lone chair at the table and looked at the floor in silence while the two Jedi ate. She didn’t want to make them feel uncomfortable. Her future did depend on them, after all—and she’d grown adept at appeasing whoever held her in their power.
It didn’t take them long to finish both meals. They must have been ravenous. She stood. “More? I won’t miss them, and the droids don’t actually count how many I eat.”
“No, thank you,” said Kenobi. Taking Anakin’s emptied paks, holding them with his own, he started to rise.
“I’ll do that,” she said. She took the cartons from him and shoved them down the disposal chute. Then, turning back, she rubbed her palms down the sides of her legs, feeling the trembling deep in her muscles. “So. Master Kenobi. How did you find me? I’d given up hope of word getting out of Taratos Four. Was it one of the others? Did someone manage to escape and raise the alarm?”
The Jedi exchanged cautious looks. “Others?” said Kenobi. “What others, Doctor?”
“The other scientists who were taken with me. From the research enclave at Niriktavi Bay. That’s where my team and I were working, where the Separatists attacked us. Did one of them—”
They were staring at her blankly—interested, but uninformed. She felt something twist in her guts. A sharp pain. A shattered hope. She had to wait a moment before she could speak again.
“It wasn’t the other scientists, was it? You’re not here for me at all. You found me by mistake.”
“Not mistake,” Kenobi said quickly. “Accident.”
And was that supposed to make a difference? “I see.”
“I’m sorry,” said Anakin. “That we couldn’t save Taratos Four. Or the people you lost in the attack. Or you.”
“Did you even try?”
There was another exchange of looks. More silence. “No,” Kenobi said at last. “The taking of Taratos Four was part of a larger Separatist push. We weren’t able to defend every threatened planet.”
Oh, the broken places inside her. “In other words, there wasn’t anything worth saving there.” Just Niriktavi Bay, with its corals and its sea life and her team, her Raxl, and the laughing games of tag on the beach as the sun set.
“I told you, Bant’ena,” said Anakin. There was pain in his voice. “It’s complicated.”
She sat down again. “I understand. This is war. You have to look at the big picture. You can’t afford to see the little people.” Scurrying like rodents. Sacrificed for the greater good.
“That’s not true!” Anakin protested. “That’s what the big picture is. Lots and lots and lots of little people. You matter, Bant’ena. The friends you lost on Taratos Four, they matter. We’re fighting this war so no more like them will die.”
He was very sweet. Very young. Full of grand ideals and breathtaking, intuitive compassion. She looked at Master Kenobi. Now, there was a pragmatist, a man possessed of a scientist’s soul.
“Tell me,” she said, holding his gaze steadily. “If you didn’t come here for me, then why did you come?”
“I’m not sure that’s relevant,” Kenobi said. “We’re here. And you’re here. Developing a bioweapon for General Lok Durd—and Count Dooku.”
Yet another silence followed, chilly this time, as all three of them silently relived the lab rodent’s monstrous death. She wanted to rage at them, to stamp her feet and shout.
Don’t you judge me for that. Don’t you dare. Do you even know how much you’ve profited from the taking of little rodent lives?
“Since you were watching,” she said at last, “and listening, you know perfectly well that what I’m doing here I’m doing under duress.”
Kenobi frowned. “And yet you took pride in what you’ve accomplished.”
He’d seen that small, unpretty moment? She felt her cheeks heat. “A brief weakness,” she said stiffly. “Regrettable scientific ego. Believe me, I’m not proud.”
“And yet—”
“What’s Durd’s hold over you, Bant’ena?” Anakin said, unapologetically cutting his companion short. “How exactly is he controlling you?”
Turning, she pulled the holoprojector toward her, switched it on, and activated the holograph slide show.
“My mother,” she said, staring at the flickering image. After a few moments, the image shifted. “And that’s my brother and sister-in-law and niece.” Shift. “My sister, my brother-in-law, and both of my nephews.” Shift. “My dear friend Didjoa.” Shift. “Samsam.” Shift. “Lakhti and Nevhra.” The end. She deactivated the rolling display. “And probably, if they hadn’t been killed when I was taken, my entire research team would be added to that list.”
Master Kenobi nodded. “I see. Are they all being held hostage, like you?”
“In a manner of speaking. They’re free—but under constant surveillance. Durd promises they’ll die if I refuse to cooperate. I have no reason to disbelieve him. So you see, Master Kenobi, I’m in something of a bind. My mother—” Her breath caught. “My mother has a blaster pointed at her head.”
If the notion appalled or alarmed him, he gave no sign. “And so you made Durd that
bioweapon.”
Her chin lifted. “Yes. I did.” And then she smiled, so very unamused. “You’re thinking I should have refused to work for him. Or better yet, taken my own life to make sure the good general and his precious Count’s nefarious plans were thwarted?”
Neither was Master Kenobi amused. His blue eyes were cold, and tension thrummed in every line of his wiry, athlete’s body. “As a rule—as a Jedi—I would never advocate suicide.”
“But in this case you’d make an exception?” She laughed out loud, mocking. You silly, stupid, arrogant man. “Do you think I never considered it? Do you think I haven’t tried already? Within hours of waking in this stinking festering hole, do you think I didn’t try? But I failed, Master Kenobi, and Durd beat me nearly unconscious. And then he swore that if I tried it again, my mother would die in screaming agony and he would strap me to a chair with my eyelids taped open and make me watch a holorecording of her death a hundred times over. And if I tried and succeeded, they would all die in screaming agony.”
The memory of Durd’s fury, of the pain he’d inflicted, shuddered through her. She started to shake.
“Perhaps you could do it, Master Kenobi,” she whispered. “I know little of the Jedi. And I don’t know you at all. Perhaps you could take your own life knowing that those whom you loved best would be slowly tortured to death because of you. Perhaps—” Her voice broke. “Perhaps that’s a fair price to pay to save millions of lives. I don’t know. All I know is I don’t have the strength to pay it.”
“Obi-Wan,” said Anakin, as she and Kenobi stared at each other. “Obi-Wan. A word in private?”
She stood. “I’ll leave you to chat. Don’t worry—I won’t eavesdrop. I have a headset and some music. I won’t hear a thing. Just—let me know when you’ve decided what you’re going to do.”
As Bant’ena disappeared into her curtained-off bedroom, Anakin turned on Obi-Wan. Disbelieving anger made it hard to keep his voice down. “Tell me you’re not blaming her for this mess.”
Obi-Wan sighed. “Anakin—”