Stealth

by Karen Miller

  She managed a tight smile. “I know that’s the plan. And don’t get me wrong, it’s a good plan. I like it. A lot. But, Anakin, sometimes things don’t turn out the way we want them to. So with that in mind…” She handed him the fifth data crystal. “If you can get my family and friends to safety—and if you can’t come back for me or stop Durd any other way—find a way to let me know that and I’ll do what I have to. No regrets. Agreed?”

  “No, it’s not agreed,” Anakin retorted. “Bant’ena—”

  “What? You can give your life for the Republic but I can’t give mine? How very backward of you, Anakin.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  She patted his arm. “I know what you meant. And I don’t want to die. But if I have to do this, Anakin. You have to let me.”

  “You won’t have to do it,” said Anakin, holding the data crystal tight. “We’ll save your loved ones and you, Bant’ena. My word as a Jedi. Do you believe me? Do you trust me?”

  The fear and dread in her face eased, just a little. “You’re a very sweet young man, Anakin Skywalker.”

  With an effort, Obi-Wan kept his face blank. He’s a very sweet young man who should know better than to make promises he knows full well we might not keep. He pulled out his stolen comlink.

  “Doctor Fhernan, can you carry this safely? And if we contact you, will you be able to answer?”

  She looked at the ’link as though it might bite. “Yes. They only search me traveling to and from the compound, and I’m not due to go anywhere for the forseeable future. If I leave it on silent call I’ll know you want me. And as soon as I can I’ll answer you. Will that do?”

  “Perfect,” he said, with an encouraging smile. “I’ve no idea when or how often we’ll try to contact you. Just sit tight, and keep it with you.”

  She nodded. “I will. Do you need to write down the ’link’s frequency?”

  “No. I’ve memorized it. But I do need that contact list.”

  “Of course.” She found a blank flimsi and an electropen and scribbled for a few minutes. “There,” she said, handing it over. “Every address and ’link contact I can think of.”

  He took the list and tucked it safely inside his shirt. “Doctor Fhernan—”

  “Bant’ena.”

  “Bant’ena.” He clasped her shoulder, briefly. “You must understand I can make you no promises. I will not put the lives of your family and friends above the safety of every living thing in the Republic. But I will do my utmost to protect them. And you.”

  She nodded. “I know you will. I know there are no guarantees. Now go. But take some water with you. Some mealpacks, too. Jedi or not, you need sustenance.”

  “Don’t worry,” said Anakin. “We’re pretty good at finding what we need. We found you, didn’t we?”

  And that made her smile. “Yes. Yes you did. Please, please, both of you, be careful. There’s a strict curfew after dark and—”

  “We know,” said Anakin. “Don’t worry. We’ll be fine.”

  “Remember,” Obi-Wan added. “It might take awhile before we’ve any reason to comm you. Don’t be concerned. You will hear from us again.”

  Always demonstrative, Anakin gave her a swift hug. “Be strong, Bant’ena. You’re not alone.”

  They left her small apartment—her prison cell—via the venting ducts, just to be safe. Crawling through the cramped metal corridors, every ache and pain awakening with a roar, Obi-Wan found it hard to forget the look on Bant’ena’s face as they left her behind.

  But since they’d had no choice in the matter, he closed his heart and his mind and focused on getting out of the building alive.

  If they hadn’t needed to keep everything so clandestine, Anakin would have indulged in forty fast backflips to celebrate getting out of those stifling vents in one piece.

  He and Obi-Wan crouched in the bushes growing along the building’s side wall. Everything was quiet. Peaceful. The night sky was patched with low clouds, the ground freshly damp. It had been raining again. There was a nip in the air. He was going to start shivering any moment. He hated a cold, damp climate. Give him the desert any day over chilly rain—and that was something he never thought he’d think.

  It was too dark to see anything, but he glanced at Obi-Wan anyway. Something wasn’t quite… right… there. Obi-Wan seemed oddly subdued. And why was that? Because they’d argued? That wasn’t new. They’d been bumping heads one way or another since the day they met. So what had changed?

  Maybe the fact that now I don’t back down? Get used to it, Obi-Wan. I’ll say it as many times as you need to hear it. Until you believe it. Not your Padawan anymore.

  “So how do you want to get out of here?” he whispered. “Wait for a while and see if we can hitch another ride?”

  “That’s a little too random for my tastes,” Obi-Wan replied. “There’s no guarantee of any more delivery trucks coming in tonight, and we can’t risk waiting until morning. We have to get back to those boarded-up shops before sunrise. How energetic are you feeling?”

  “I’m good. Why—you’re thinking of going up and over?”

  “I don’t see we’ve got another choice. Do you?”

  He wished he did. If it was a simple matter of Force-leaping the perimeter fence, no problem. But it wasn’t just the fence they had to deal with, it was the laser grid in front of the fence—and more than likely on its other side as well.

  “You’ll be fine, Anakin,” said Obi-Wan. “I doubt anyone will ever break your Temple leap record.”

  The one he’d set just over a year ago. The one that had smashed Mace Windu’s leap by nearly fifteen meters. No, probably no one ever would break that. But it wasn’t himself he was worried about.

  How do I say this? I mean, there’s cocky and then there’s downright insulting.

  There was a soft slithering sound in the dark beside him, and then Obi-Wan was pushing something at him. “Take these. If I can’t follow you, if anything at all happens to me, you know what to do.”

  What? “No,” he said softly, as Obi-Wan fumbled Bant’ena’s data crystals and folded flimsi into his hands. “Obi-Wan, forget it. Nothing is going—”

  Obi-Wan hissed, impatient. “It might. Anakin, please.”

  His former Master was right. He was usually right.

  Obi-Wan, this time you’d better be wrong.

  He took the crystals and the flimsi and shoved them into his shirt’s concealed pocket with the other crystal, his lightsaber, and their remaining comlink.

  And then his head lifted. Someone—something—was coming.

  Battle droids.

  They folded themselves in half, arms wrapped around their shins, faces hidden against their knees, doing their best to stop breathing. Unlike the spycam droid, these clankers weren’t equipped with heat sensors, but even so, accidents happened.

  And for all we know they’ve been treated to an upgrade, just like the vulture droids we scrapped above Kothlis.

  He could feel Obi-Wan vanishing beside him. He let himself sink into the Force a little way—but not too far. He wanted to be ready if something went wrong.

  I hate clandestine. I hate it. I hate it.

  The battle droids were stupid clankers. Sneeze on them and they fell apart. The droids weren’t going to find them… they were safe… they were safe…

  “Patrol reporting in,” the lead clanker wheezed. “All clear. Roger, roger.”

  The battle droids clanked away.

  Slowly, cautiously, they swam back to the world’s surface and unfolded themselves.

  “Right,” said Obi-Wan. “Let’s get this—”

  Anakin bumped his hand against him. “Wait. Just—wait.” Embarrassed, he took a deep breath. “Look. Don’t take this the wrong way. It’s just—it’s the mission, right? That’s what matters. So—”

  “Anakin.” Obi-Wan’s whisper sounded amused. “It’s fine. I was about to suggest it myself when the droids turned up.”

  “You wer
e?”

  “Play to your strengths and minimize your weaknesses. That’s how a battle is won. That’s how we’ll win the war.”

  Anakin had to smile. I should’ve known he wouldn’t take it personally. “Yeah. So—once I’m up and over and nobody raises the alarm, give me a five-count then follow. I’ll give you the best Force boost I can. Not that you’ll need much. Your leap was only a meter and a half behind Master Windu’s. Remember?”

  Obi-Wan gave a breathy chuckle. “I remember I had nosebleeds for a week afterward. Don’t ever feel bad for being extraordinary, Anakin. Now off you go. We don’t have all night.”

  Nobody in his life could rile him like Obi-Wan. And nobody could make him feel so lucky to be called friend.

  With a deep breath, he centered himself in the Force. Opening his mind to its limitless power, he surrendered his will to its overwhelming might, then looked toward the perimeter fence. He could feel the buzzing, lethal laser lines, the height of the barrier, and its formidable width. He rose lightly to his feet, adrift in that place without thought, without words, where he was one with the Force—where he could no longer tell where he ended and it began.

  He leapt the laser-guarded security fence like he was jumping over a stream, or over one of the stone paths in the Temple’s arboretum.

  The night continued, silent and undisturbed. Standing in the empty road outside the compound, he felt Obi-Wan’s admiring approval. Felt spattered rain against his face. Felt a stirring in the Force as Obi-Wan sprinted toward the barrier. He could see his former Master, a bright gold shape against his crimson inner world.

  As Obi-Wan leapt, Anakin reached out and swaddled the Force around him gently, not interfering, not getting in the way—just enough of a push to ensure his safety. How could he be extraordinary and let Obi-Wan come to harm?

  “Thank you,” said Obi-Wan, landing safely and joining him.

  Anakin grinned. “You’re welcome. So—what now?”

  “Now?” Despite the obstacles they yet faced, Obi-Wan’s answering grin was wickedly cheerful. “Now I rather think I’d like to run away. How about you?”

  “That sounds good,” he said. “Running away sounds good.”

  So they ran.

  Blurred by the Force, they made it back to the abandoned shops near the brightly lit spaceport without discovery or incident. That was the good news. The bad news was that such a prolonged use of Force-sprinting left them both dangerously tired.

  Panting, letting himself fall against a barricaded back door, Anakin mopped sweat from his face with one sleeve. “Ha. So maybe not extraordinary after all. My legs feel like they’ve turned to creamed Roa rice.”

  Obi-Wan, just as winded, braced his hands on his knees and bent over, gasping for air. They were safe for the moment. No droid patrols or mobile spycams in sight.

  Thank the Force for small mercies.

  “Well, that’s all right. You like creamed Roa rice.”

  He laughed. “Not anymore I don’t.”

  A gust of wind moaned down the street on the other side of the abandoned shops. Dull brownish lighting barely lifted the night out of gloom. There was dampness in the air, and above, more clouds were gathering like a frown. Any moment now it was going to rain. Again.

  With a groan, Obi-Wan unbent his spine. “Come on,” he said, and slapped Anakin’s arm. “We need to get inside before we’re soaked. Or discovered. Whether it’s a blaster bolt or raging pneumonia, dead is dead. You start this end. I’ll start the other. Remember what we’re after: high-end electronics.”

  “Yes, Master,” said Anakin. “Whatever you say, Master.”

  Such a pity he was being sarcastic.

  Still light-headed, Obi-Wan made his cautious way to the farthest boarded-up shop. The lighting was so poor, it was impossible to read the partly obscured lettering above the barricaded front doors, so he pushed himself, hard, to read the premises through the Force. His body rebelled, resentful of the demands being placed upon it. Gritting his teeth, he ignored the vivid pain behind his eyes, in his bones, and sought for the faded echoes of this place.

  A crying child. A weary mother. A customer, dissatisfied. With what? What had he bought here? What was it he brought back and tossed down on the counter, loudly shouting for the credits he’d spent or else?

  Show me. Please show me. Please let me see.

  Tappa weed. The customer claimed it was moldy, that it gave him bad dreams. This had been a smokery supplier. Nothing of use in here.

  He moved to the next shop.

  As he tried to focus, tried to sink himself into the past, he was tensely aware of the present, of the nearby sprawling spaceport. Though he couldn’t sense its battle droids or MagnaGuards, he could feel the petty, quarrelsome peril of its humans. The occupying Separatist troops. So hushed was the curfewed darkness that the spaceport’s noise seemed unnaturally enhanced. There was a rumbling roar as a light carrier’s thrusters ignited. The echoes bounced within the port’s encompassing ferrocrete walls. Then the engines were cut. Somebody shouted. A loud altercation was followed by the sound of two blaster shots. Someone was not having a good night.

  Focus, Master Kenobi. You’re no better than a Padawan, your mind’s flittering all over the place.

  Suitably reprimanded, he rested his forehead against the next shop’s front door—and was immediately sorry. Images of terror and pain and panic exploded behind his closed eyes. He felt his blood leap, his heart pound. The screaming was awful.

  Just go! Just go! This place isn’t worth dying for! Take your lives and go! These are droids. They have no pity.

  But the Lanteebans couldn’t hear him. They had died here twelve days before. Died in their paint shop. They were rotting behind the door. Trapped in their death throes, he struggled to pull free.

  A hand touched his shoulder and he nearly cried out.

  “Obi-Wan? What is it?”

  “Nothing, Anakin. It’s nothing,” he said, and stepped away from the paint shop, sweating. “What have you found?”

  Anakin was grinning again. “An actual electronics shop. Come on. I’ve got the back door unboarded. There’s power, but no alarm.”

  “Well done,” Obi-Wan said, his voice still sour, his heart still pounding. “Let’s get inside, quickly, before a droid patrol comes along.”

  There were no dead, rotting bodies in this shop. It was small and crowded floor-to-ceiling with shelves and cupboards spilling circuits and crystal components and infohubs and comically outdated holoprojectors. The carpet was threadbare. Anakin lifted his ignited lightsaber a little higher, dispelling the immediate darkness with its pale vivid light.

  “I’m thinking if one of us works under the front counter and the other works under this desk here, we should be able to risk a lamp each,” he said. “The front of the shop’s pretty solidly boarded up.”

  “Yes,” Obi-Wan said slowly. “Yes, I suppose that’ll do.” Anakin stared at him. “What? This place isn’t good enough?”

  “Well, you must admit, Anakin,” he said, “everything in here seems terribly antiquated.”

  “What d’you mean seems? It is.” Anakin shrugged. “But you’re overlooking something. I’m extraordinary, remember?”

  Though he was tired and hurting, Obi-Wan smiled. “I’m going to regret that word, aren’t I?”

  “Probably,” said Anakin, grinning again. “Right, let’s get settled in. The faster we can get through to the Temple and coordinate a battle plan, the faster we get Bant’ena away from Durd. Here—” He held out his glowing lightsaber. “Hold this for me.”

  Troubled, Obi-Wan watched him as he unplugged a small desk lamp. “Anakin…”

  “What?” said Anakin, dropping to his knees to set the lamp up again on the floor under the front counter. He looked over his shoulder—and his expression changed. He plugged the lamp in and switched it on, then sat back on his heels. His face was wary now, and his fists rested combatively on his thighs. “Obi-Wan, what?”

&nbs
p; Obi-Wan wasn’t going to let himself be sidetracked by the tone. Deactivating the lightsaber, he tossed it back. “Anakin, don’t do this,” he said, as his former student caught the weapon and put it aside. “Don’t—” He took a moment to rein in his own temper. Fixing broken things is all very well—but not when we’re up to our armpits in a dangerous mission. “Qui-Gon used to do this. He used to roam around the galaxy picking up strays.”

  “Like me, you mean?” said Anakin tightly. “Useless hangers-on like me?”

  “You were never useless. Anakin, please, you must listen,” he insisted. “On almost every mission he and I went on we came across someone in trouble. Sometimes they’d brought it on themselves. Sometimes they were like Doctor Fhernan, victims of another being’s machinations. But there was always someone. And he would try to help them.”

  “So?” said Anakin. “What’s wrong with that? He helped me. He saved me. And this is my way of paying him back for that. Every person I help or save is me saying thank you to Qui-Gon. Why do you have a problem with that?”

  “I don’t,” Obi-Wan protested. And then, at Anakin’s look, he grimaced. “Well—yes, all right. I do. But not because it isn’t an admirable ambition. It is, Anakin. It’s admirable, it’s laudable, it shows you have a good heart. But—” He ran a hand over his beard, searching for the right words. “For one thing, we’re Jedi, not social workers. It’s not our job to collect the galaxy’s waifs and strays.”

  Anakin’s chin came up, defiant. “Then it should be. What is the point of having all this power if we don’t use it to make people’s lives better?”

  “But we do make people’s lives better! You know we do!” he retorted. “Right now the Jedi are dying to make people’s lives better. I can’t believe I need to remind you of that!”

  “You don’t,” said Anakin, glowering. “And I’m not saying we should drop everything and devote all our time and resources to picking up strays. I’m not saying we should go looking for them, either. What I’m saying is that if we happen to fall over one we shouldn’t just—just pick ourselves up and keep on walking.”

  “Oh, Anakin.” Sighing, he dropped cross-legged to the dusty carpet. “I know it’s hard. I know it seems cruel. But—”