Stealth

by Karen Miller

  “Durd’s threatening her family. Her friends. After murdering a bunch of other people she knew and cared about, right in front of her.”

  “Anakin—”

  He leapt up, paced a few steps from the sofa, then swung around. “How can you blame her for cooperating? After what he threatened, after what the Seps have done here—Obi-Wan, we just spent hours breathing in the ashes of the dead. So how can you—” He dragged a hand down his face. “You think it’s all a bluff? You think Durd won’t make good on his threats? Obi-Wan—” He returned to the sofa and dropped to one knee beside it, his metal hand clenched to a fist inside its glove. Hear me. Please hear me. “He will. You don’t know him like I do. You weren’t on Maridun.”

  “I didn’t need to be,” said Obi-Wan. “I read your report.”

  “My report?” He shoved to his feet and stared down at his willfully obtuse mentor—his friend, whom right now he could cheerfully shake into tiny pieces. “That’s just a bunch of words, Obi-Wan. I was there. I felt him. In my mind. In—in my heart. I know him. He’s not bluffing. He’ll do it. He’ll kill everyone she loves.”

  Obi-Wan sat back against the sofa. Ran a hand over his beard. “You’d do well to calm yourself, Anakin. Getting emotional doesn’t help.”

  “I’m sorry, but from where I’m standing it seems like one of us needs to get emotional!” he retorted. “Because one of us doesn’t seem to care about what’s happening!”

  “Oh Anakin…” Obi-Wan pressed his fingertips to his eyes, the way he did when he had a headache. “Of course I care. And I know what Durd is. He’s a cruel, rapacious creature entirely bereft of conscience. I also know that unlike him, Doctor Fhernan isn’t evil. At least, she doesn’t seek death and destruction on a galaxywide scale.”

  A little of his frustration subsided. “Well, then?”

  “Well then, so what?” said Obi-Wan, implacable. “Talk is cheap, Anakin. She can protest Durd’s villainy from sunup to sundown, but coerced or not, if she continues to assist him, so what? You heard her. To save twelve people she’s prepared to sacrifice millions. If not billions. Yet every being she’d sacrifice has a mother and a sister and a brother and friends. Why do their losses matter less than hers?”

  “I never said they did,” he retorted. “She never said they did. But Obi-Wan—”

  Obi-Wan stood. Rested a hand on his shoulder. “Listen to me, Anakin. Forget whatever sympathy you might feel for this woman and listen. Doctor Fhernan has chosen to spare herself personal pain, knowing full well that her choice means genocide.” His tired face tightened. “Imagine that bioweapon loosed upon Coruscant. Upon Alderaan, or Corellia. Upon every Republic world in the galaxy. Any world that refuses to submit to Dooku and his whims. Imagine hearing the death cries of millions, roaring through the Force like thunder.”

  Did Obi-Wan think he was stupid? That he didn’t understand what was at stake here? Anakin shrugged away his friend’s urgent hand. “It would be terrible, I know. It’s what we came here to stop.”

  “And yet there you stand, Anakin, hesitant to stop it.”

  Oh. Right. “So you are saying she should let Durd kill everyone she loves.”

  “Certainly that would prevent an even greater tragedy,” Obi-Wan said, very quietly.

  “Well, that’s easy for you to say, isn’t it? You don’t have a family to lose.”

  “Don’t I?”

  “That’s different and you know it,” he spat. “The Jedi are a lot of things, but family’s not one of them.” Obi-Wan just looked at him. “I see.”

  Blast it. How had they ended up on angry, opposite sides of this? “No. Wait. That’s not what I meant.”

  “I know what you meant.”

  As Obi-Wan turned away, Anakin grabbed his arm and pulled him back. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t saying—” He let go. “Look, I hear you, Obi-Wan. War is anguish and there are terrible choices. But we can’t expect Bant’ena to make this choice.”

  Obi-Wan’s eyes were full of shadows again. “Someone has to make it, Anakin. If not her, then who?”

  “That’s a very good question,” said Bant’ena, behind them. “I think I’d like to hear the answer.”

  As one, he and Obi-Wan rounded on her. He felt oddly betrayed. “You said you wouldn’t eavesdrop!”

  “I didn’t mean to,” she said, shrugging. “My music headset’s faulty. The volume dropped and you were—heated.”

  Obi-Wan stepped forward. “Doctor Fhernan—”

  “You know,” she said, her chin tilted defiantly, “there is one option you haven’t mentioned. You and Anakin could kill me and destroy my work. I’m not strong enough to stop you—and that would certainly stop Durd. Just know that if you do he’ll assume I did it myself. My family and friends will die horrible deaths and their innocent blood will stain your hands forever.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Don’t worry, Bant’ena,” said Anakin, so reckless. “That is not going to happen.”

  Obi-Wan flicked him a hard warning glance, but Anakin wouldn’t look at him. His emotions were entirely engaged by this scientist. This woman who had permitted herself to be used by Durd and Dooku to create something almost inconceivably evil, with the potential to destroy the galaxy then see it remade in the Sith’s image.

  I can’t allow that to happen. There is no price too high that we might pay.

  “Anakin—”

  “Wait,” Anakin said, holding up both hands. “Just—wait. There has to be a way for us to destroy the bioweapon and keep Bant’ena’s family and friends safe.”

  With an effort he kept his temper leashed. “Anakin, I know you believe that. But you of all people should know by now that wanting a thing does not mean getting a thing.”

  It was unkind of him to say it, but he had no time for kindness. He needed to break Anakin’s inconvenient bond with Durd’s captive scientist before it tightened any further. Before he completely lost sight of their goal. Their duty.

  As Anakin stared at him, hurt, his anger stirring, Dr. Fhernan stepped forward. “Please. Don’t fight because of me. I’ve done enough damage as it is.”

  Oh, this woman. Bant’ena Fhernan. Entirely unexpected. A hydrospanner in the works.

  But she’s right about one thing. I could end this here and now. I could kill her where she stands. Without laying a finger on her I could crush her throat or her skull or burst her heart in her chest. I could kill her ten times over without breaking a sweat. And then I could kill Durd. And if I do that, I bring Dooku to his knees.

  Actions which would unleash a river of innocent blood.

  “Obi-Wan,” said Anakin. His voice was steady, but he was pleading. “We’re not assassins. We’re not murderers. There is a way out, we just haven’t seen it yet. So let’s find somewhere safe to hunker down and think this through. All right?”

  “Anakin…” He shook his head. “There’s no time. By now Durd has surely transmitted the bioweapon’s formula to Count Dooku. For all we know Dooku’s given Durd orders to eliminate Doctor Fhernan and the loved ones being used as leverage against her. The man is ruthless. He leaves nothing to chance. Forgive me, Doctor,” he added, looking at her. “I realize such bluntness is painful but—”

  “Forget it,” she said. “What matters is that you’re wrong. I know Durd. He’s political to the core and he always takes care of himself first, last, and foremost. He might tell Dooku we’re making progress, but he won’t risk his valuable status by handing over my formula. He’ll keep control of that for as long as he possibly can. And the only way harm can come to my family and friends is if he suspects my—” She sneered. “Loyalty. Which is why I won’t even consider messing with that bioweapon.”

  She sounded cold, controlled, free of sorrow and regrets. But he’d long ago learned to see beneath people’s masks—and what he saw in this flawed woman made him ache. Pride and passion. Loneliness. A single-minded dedication to the pursuit of knowledge, no matter where it led—or who got hurt in that pursu
it. The desire to do good. A need for recognition. Her saving grace: a vast capacity to love.

  “Doctor…” He gentled his voice. “I am so very sorry about this.”

  “You’re sorry?” She half laughed. “Oh, Master Kenobi. You’ve no idea what sorry is.”

  He wasn’t in the mood to contradict her. “Anakin is right. We’re not assassins or murderers. But now that we know what Durd’s planning—what will happen if that bioweapon is unleashed—our mission is more vital than ever. We must succeed in thwarting him.”

  She looked at him steadily, a mocking bitterness in her eyes. “You do realize that your best course of action is for you to get off this misbegotten rock and send in every warship the Republic can lay its hands on to batter Lanteeb into rubble?”

  “No,” said Anakin sharply. “Wholesale slaughter is Dooku’s way. Not ours. Obi-Wan and I were sent in to deal with this quickly and quietly and that’s the way it’s going to get done.”

  Ah, the blind optimism of youth.

  Dr. Fhernan was shaking her head. “Anakin, Anakin. That’s a lovely speech. Truly. Very nearly reassuring. But what exactly does it mean? How do you propose to stop Durd without jeopardizing me and my family—or the innocent Lanteebans trapped on their own world, for that matter?”

  “I don’t know yet,” said Anakin. “But we’ll think of something. We always do.”

  She smiled at him then, so sweetly that her sallow, scarred face was transformed. Anakin smiled back, oddly shy all of a sudden. Obi-Wan stared at him, alarmed.

  No, no. He’s as bad as Qui-Gon. Picking up strays…

  “Doctor Fhernan,” he said, roughly breaking the moment. “I must be honest with you—I can’t promise to keep you and your loved ones safe. All I can promise is that we’ll try.”

  Slowly, she looked away from Anakin and nodded. “I suppose I can’t ask for more than that.”

  “We could use your help,” said Anakin. “I know you’re afraid of making Durd suspicious—but we’ve got a better chance of winning if you’re on the team. And like you say, you know the barve. And that means you know how to play him.”

  The fresh shirt and trousers she’d donned were as baggy on her as those she’d discarded. Hunched inside them, chin tucked to her chest as the implications of Anakin’s request sank their teeth into her flesh, Dr. Fhernan looked fragile. Every day of her age.

  She looked up. “I know you think I’m a coward,” she murmured. “You’re sweet, and polite, but you have to despise me.” There were tears in her eyes. “Which is fine. I despise myself. What I’ve done here—it’s abominable. I know that. It’s a betrayal of every ethical code of conduct. And if I could undo it I would. But there is no going back, is there? I’ve done what I’ve done and I have to face it.”

  Fierce now, Anakin went to her and cupped her angular cheeks in his hands. “No. You can’t go back—but you can go forward. There’s always a way forward, no matter what you’ve done.”

  “And what about forgiveness?” Her voice was a bitter whisper.

  He nodded. “Yes, Bant’ena. There’s forgiveness, too.”

  “You promise?” she said, the brimming tears fallen. “Because I can’t seem to find it.”

  He moved his hands to her shoulders and held her firmly. “Don’t worry. I’ll help you.”

  Obi-Wan had to look away. For if Bant’ena Fhernan had a vast capacity to love…

  He humbles me, sometimes. He makes me feel small. He can’t see a broken thing without wanting to fix it.

  “Doctor Fhernan,” he said, because they really couldn’t afford any more time. “Can you give us a copy of the bioweapon’s formula? And all the research and data you’ve accumulated during the process of its creation?”

  Stepping aside from Anakin, she nodded. “Yes. Of course. But—”

  “You’ll attract no undue attention if a patrolling droid should find you in your lab so late?”

  “No. The droids are used to me working odd hours.”

  “Excellent. Then could you do it now?”

  “Yes. But after that—” She glanced at Anakin. “You should go. The longer you stay here, the greater the chance you’ll be discovered.”

  And that was true.

  “There’s a lot of information to copy,” she added. “It’ll take a little time. You should eat again. Keep up your strength. Sounds to me like you’re going to need it.”

  As the room’s shabby door closed behind her, Anakin turned on him. “Obi-Wan, I don’t care what you say, I’m not going to abandon Bant’ena to that Sithspit Durd.”

  “And I’m not going to have this argument again,” he retorted. “Now, be quiet and—”

  Anakin shook his head. “No. When are you going to accept it, Obi-Wan? I’m not your meek little Padawan anymore. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll always listen to you. But that doesn’t mean I’ll always agree.”

  “Meek?” he snapped, incredulous. “You’ve not been meek a single day in your life!”

  “Then what makes you think I’ll change my tune now?”

  “I don’t know!” he turned away. “Someone must’ve hit me over the head when I wasn’t looking.”

  “Obi-Wan—” With another of his mercurial mood shifts, Anakin sighed. “Bant’ena’s right. We should eat some more while we can. Drink, too.” He crossed to the conservator and started rummaging inside. “Any thoughts on where we should hole up?”

  Stifling frustration, Obi-Wan returned to the sofa. “Nowhere in this compound, I know that much. I made the security system tampering look like a power surge, but I’d still rather not be here when it’s discovered.”

  One by one Anakin tossed him a mealpack, a bottle of water, and his used spoon. “You want to go back to the ship?”

  “I don’t think we can,” he said, activating the pack’s heat seal. “Not until we’re ready to make a fast getaway. We destroyed our identichips, remember? We might be able to talk our way out of that once, but not twice.”

  “Good point,” said Anakin, and dropped onto the chair at the table. “Okay. We need somewhere quiet where nobody’s going to stumble across us by accident. We need some kind of comm station, so we can use those ’links you took to contact the Temple. And we need access to a datareader, obviously, so we can sift through Bant’ena’s research.”

  That made Obi-Wan stare. “Oh yes? Why not throw in a troupe of trained dancing tauntauns while we’re at it?”

  Anakin peeled off the lid of his mealpack. “What’s a tauntaun?”

  “Never mind,” he muttered, and looked to his own heated meal. “I think our best bet is going to be—”

  “Those abandoned shops near the spaceport?” said Anakin, with his mouth full. “Yeah. Among them they’re bound to have what we need. If we’re careful we can hole up in one for as long as it takes and the Seps won’t be any the wiser.”

  He was grinning, temper abandoned. Elated because they had a plan, a solution, a way out of the dark. Obi-Wan swallowed a sigh. His former apprentice was so swift to anger. Swifter still to joy. So many years he’d spent trying to teach Anakin to keep himself balanced. All to no avail.

  Perhaps the most I can ever hope for is that once his emotional pendulum stops swinging it will come to rest forever in the light.

  “Hey—Obi-Wan—”

  “What?”

  Now Anakin was frowning, wheels and wheels of thought turning behind his eyes. “There’s no way we can lift Durd out of here tonight, is there? Snatch him, the bioweapon, the research, the formula, Bant’ena, all of it—and get back to Coruscant before anyone’s the wiser?”

  Oh, it was a glorious thought. And for one brief, burning moment he let himself think it. Then sanity prevailed.

  “No.”

  “No.” Sighed Anakin. “I didn’t think so.”

  Lapsing into silence, they finished their meals. They drank a second bottle of water each, took advantage of the refresher, then sat again to wait.

  Dr. Fhernan returned at last, be
aring four data crystals. “Here you are, Master Kenobi,” she said, handing them over. “That’s everything.”

  “Thank you,” he said, tucking them into the shielded pocket holding his lightsaber and pilfered comlink. “But there is some more information I’d like.” He nodded at the mini holoprojector. “Can you make me a copy of those holoimages, and a list of everywhere your family and friends might be found?”

  As the doctor stared at him, silent, he felt Anakin’s surprise, and his great leap of hope.

  Don’t get too excited, my young friend. It’s a long shot at best.

  “Yes,” Dr. Fhernan whispered. “Yes, I can do that.”

  “Then hurry. Anakin and I have to go.” As she rushed to burn the new data crystal, he added, “One last thing. We’re aware two genetically coded antidotes to damotite poisoning were created by the Kaminoans—but they’re specific to individuals. What I need to know is if you’ve created an antidote or a vaccine that would work on a general population.”

  Ejecting the loaded data crystal from the holoprojector, she winced. “I wish you wouldn’t call it mine. And no. Durd made me design a cure-proof bioweapon.”

  Of course he did. “So you’re saying that there’s not even a hope of creating a generically applicable antidote or vaccine?”

  “There might be,” she said slowly. “I know of four scientists capable of breaking my bio-coding and extrapolating them from that research and formula I just gave you. Their names are appended.”

  She was a remarkably resourceful woman. “Thank you.”

  “Master Kenobi—”

  Surprised, he looked down at her hand on his arm. “Doctor?”

  Pale, her dark eyes filled with a quiet, desperate misery, she blinked back more tears. “I’ve been thinking. If I could trust my family and friends were safe from Durd, I would kill myself. I’d sabotage everything I’ve done, kill myself, and do my best to take Durd with me.”

  “Hey!” said Anakin, startled. “Don’t you even think about it. We’re getting you out of this, Bant’ena. You and everyone else. The only person not walking away from this is Durd.”