by Karen Miller
“Smile, Mata,” said Taria, slipping her hand into the crook of the old woman’s elbow. “Relax. We’re three good friends who’ve spent a lovely morning at the markets, and now we’re going home. Nice and slow. No sudden movements.”
Casually, they made their way through the market throng. Like a shadow under bright water, the Anzati slipped after them. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t spotted them. He had Mata’s scent and he wasn’t letting go.
“Blast,” Taria murmured. “This is exactly what I didn’t want to do.”
This was use the Force to blur their presence in the crowd. Ahsoka felt the ripples around them. Felt the sensitive sentients in the marketplace jostle as reality twisted, ever so slightly.
“Okay,” said Taria. “Now. While he’s distracted.”
With the crowd seething and surging, a packed school of bimi fish startled by a thrown rock, they ducked out of the covered markets—and into pattering rain.
“It couldn’t have held off ten more minutes?” said Taria.
The crowds outside had thinned dramatically, chased away by the cloudburst. Ahsoka risked a look behind them. There was no sign of the Anzati, but she could still feel him in the Force, angry and uncertain, raw violence simmering.
“What is it?” said Mata Fhernan. “What’s gone wrong?”
“Nothing,” said Taria, with a reassuring smile. “But it would be good if we hurried.” She pointed to the not-too-faraway but still not-close-enough multilevel parking station. “We’re in there.”
One hand resting on the hilt of her lightsaber, the other under Mata’s elbow to help her along, Ahsoka crushed every flicker of alarm as they made tracks for their groundcar.
I’ve smashed battle droids and SBDs, I’ve flown starfighters and STAPs. I’ve faced down evil Sith henchmen—and women—and I’m Anakin Skywalker’s apprentice. One Anzati is no match for me.
Even so, her heart beat like a drum.
“I think we’ve lost him, don’t you?” she asked Taria, trying to sound unworried.
Taria reached into the Force. “Not exactly,” she murmured. “He’s still there, though he’s a long way behind us and definitely confused. But it’s better than nothing. To be on the safe side, let’s pick up the pace.” She glanced at the old woman between them. “Sorry, Mata. It’ll be over soon. I promise.”
Breathless, the old woman nodded. She was fit, for an aging human, but their hurrying was taking its toll.
The crowd had grown again, fresh arrivals streaming out of the parking station and heading for the markets. Ahsoka let out a tiny sigh of relief. The more people the better. Camouflage, each and every one.
“Hey,” said Taria, looking over Mata Fhernan’s bowed head as at last they made their way into the station. “Don’t suppose you remember where we parked?”
For one terrible moment, she thought Master Damsin was serious. And then came that swiftly flashing mischievous smile.
“Not funny, Taria!” Ahsoka choked out. “Really, really not funny!”
“Oh, come on, dear,” wheezed Mata Fhernan. “You have to admit it was a little funny.”
“Hey,” said Taria, impressed. “I like you.”
Almost hobbling now, still Mata Fhernan managed a smile. “You’re taking me to my daughter, dear. I love you.”
They made it safely to an empty turbolift and let it whoosh them up to the third level, where it spat them out again. They paused.
“Feel anything?” Taria asked.
Ahsoka shook her head. “You?”
“Not so far.” Taria scanned the entire third level, frowning as she worked her way through all the other shoppers arriving and leaving. It was raining again, heavily, water blowing in through the station’s open sides. “I think we’re good. Let’s go.”
They made it to their groundcar, freed it with the ID chip, and piled inside.
“Backseat, Mata,” said Taria, slinging the old woman’s shopping bag on the floor. “And lie down.”
“You’re very bossy, dear,” Mata complained, doing as she was told.
“I know. I’m sorry. And it’s Taria, not dear. All set? Good. Off we go.” As she backed the groundcar out of its slot Taria activated its shields. “Wish they were armored,” she muttered. “Still, we should be all right.”
Ahsoka nodded, her heart pounding, lightsaber unclipped and in her hand. “Yes. We should be.”
And they were, until they hit the last section of exit ramp—where everything went wrong.
Their only warning was a red screaming in the Force, half a heartbeat before the Anzati attacked.
“Hold on!” Taria shouted, slamming the brakes as he leapt lightly from the level above onto the exit ramp directly in front of them. He carried two heavy concussion grenade launchers and fired them as he landed. One volley missed and exploded the small groundcar behind them. The death of its driver flared brief and bright in the Force. The other concussion charge clipped the side of their groundcar, bounced onto the close-by ferrocrete retaining wall, and erupted into gouts of crimson flame.
Its systems overwhelmed, their groundcar’s shielding collapsed.
“Ahsoka!” said Taria, with one single, burning look. “Alive, remember? Stick to the plan! Mata, stay where you are. Don’t you dare move. Ahsoka?”
In perfect harmony they Force-jumped out of the groundcar, lightsabers igniting as they speared through the air. Smoke and flames and screaming and klaxons, horns blasting, feet running. Chaos and madness.
Plunged into the harsh otherworld of combat, Ahsoka was dimly aware of Taria fighting beside her, a brilliant tawny gold flame in the Force.
Alive. Alive. If we end up confronting him, the plan is to take him alive.
The Anzati was Force-sensitive but he hadn’t been trained. He was working on instinct and years of bloody practice. Ferociously swift and heavily armed he fired again and again until there was so much smoke and fire around them it was hard to breathe or see. But even so they were beating him back, deflecting his lethal concussion grenades, dousing his raging hunger for their deaths with the light side of the Force.
“Ahsoka!” Taria cried again. “Get ready!”
What? Get ready? What did she—
And then she saw it, the Force showed her, the way it showed Anakin things all the time and showed her not so often. She saw the split second where their desperate battle could turn.
Yes. Now. Leaping forward and across, she drew the Anzati’s eager fire, her lightsaber a blurring whirl designed to frighten and defend. And in that tiny moment of his uncertainty, Taria lowered her own guard and leapt directly at him. Using the Force to pluck the concussion grenade launchers from his hands, she flipped him upside down to strike his back to the ferrocrete ramp with a brutal finality.
He shouted his pain once, then fell silent.
Giving him no chance to recover, Taria leapt again, planted her booted right foot on his heaving chest, and pointed the tip of her green lightsaber at the hollow of his throat. His grayish skin had paled with shock; his cheek proboscises were unfurled and lying limp across his shoulders. His eyes were open, his lips peeled back in a snarl.
Shaking, Ahsoka heaved great gasps of filthy, stinking air into her lungs and stared at Taria, who was gasping just as hard—even as she grinned.
“Stang, Padawan. You are good!”
Ahsoka grinned back. “You’re not exactly a slouch yourself, Master,” she replied. “I think—”
“What?” said Taria. Then she stopped and dragged the back of her hand across her face. The bright red blood leaking from her nose and eyes smeared her skin, mixing with the smoke and sweat from the fight.
She swallowed. “Taria?”
“It’s nothing,” Taria snapped. “Forget it. Not your concern.”
Not her concern? But—
“Hey, Mata!” Taria was looking past her, back at their groundcar. “Mata, are you all right?”
“Yes, dear,” came Mata Fhernan’s quavering reply, bare
ly audible over the shriek of approaching sirens and the hubbub of shocked spectators milling in disarray. She was still tucked inside the groundcar. “I’m all right. How about you?”
“We’re fine, Mata! Hold on. We’ll be on our way soon.”
“All right,” said Mata Fhernan. “But hurry up. I want to see my daughter.”
Taria’s grin slipped. “I know you do, Mata. You’ll see her soon, I promise.”
“Taria—”
“Don’t,” said Taria, her eyes flashing a warning. “It’s not a lie. Not exactly. At least it won’t be, if we can help it.”
On the ground, a captive, the Anzati started to laugh.
Bant’ena startled awake on her lumpy sofa to feel five fat, clammy fingers clamped tight around her bruised throat. To see a moist, flat face and two lidless, oddly pupiled eyes looming over her.
Oh no. Oh no. Let this be another dream.
“Well, well, my dear,” said the general, almost purring. “I think you have a little something to tell me. Don’t you?”
She’d dimmed the lights after the Jedi left, but now they were kicked up to full illumination. With the window boarded over she couldn’t tell if it was day or night. How long had she been asleep? Had she missed Anakin’s next call? Stang, where had she left the comlink? Was it in full sight, where Durd would find it?
“Silence won’t help you, Doctor!” said Durd, tightening his grip. “Silence is the last thing in life that will help you.” Letting go of her, he straightened his vast bulk and stepped back. “If you value your whole skin—if you value the well-being of those you claim to love—you will not remain silent. Do I make myself clear?”
Warily she sat up, not taking her eyes off him. Touched fingertips to her burning throat. “General—” Her voice was raspy. Talking hurt. It was a wonder he hadn’t crushed her larynx. “I don’t know what—”
“Lies will get your family and friends killed faster than silence!” Durd snarled. And then he was holding up the comlink, brandishing it in her suddenly bloodless face. “Where did you get this?”
She felt her heart stop. Felt the air freeze in her lungs. Icy tears blurred her vision. It’s over.
“I am not a foolish creature,” said Durd, his voice thick with rage. “I am a personage of great value. Wanted by the Republic and prized by Count Dooku. Did you think I wouldn’t take precautions, my dear? At my insistence the comm equipment in this compound is tagged, and an automatic sweep is regularly performed to account for each comlink. The last sweep found that two ’links were missing from their designated location.” He waggled the comlink again. “Here is one. Where is the other?”
“I don’t know, General,” she said, her lips stiff and cold. And that wasn’t a lie. She had no idea where the Jedi were hiding. “I swear it. I don’t know where it is. I don’t understand any of this. I don’t know how that comlink got in here. Perhaps one of the battle droids was inspecting my quarters and dropped it.”
Durd threw the comlink at her and began to pace between the sofa and her curtained-off bedroom. “I have more to tell you, Doctor. You might think the news is cause to celebrate, but I promise you, you’re wrong.”
If she asked him to tell her, he would win. Ignoring the comlink, landed on the sofa beside her, she said nothing. Durd waited. Waited. And then he gave in.
“A short time ago,” he said, hating her, “someone rescued your mother.”
It nearly killed her but she kept her face blank. Anakin. Oh, Anakin. You kept your word. “I don’t understand.”
“Oh my dear, I think you do,” said Durd, menace rolling off him like marsh stink. “And I expect you’re dying to know how I know that your mother is rescued. Well, since I don’t want you dying—at least not quite yet—I shall satisfy your lethal curiosity. The Anzati who was watching her told me. We had an arrangement. Precautions, you see? He sent me a signal to let me know he had failed.”
Mata. Mata is safe. No matter what else happens, this barve can never hurt her.
“I’m afraid I don’t know any more than that,” Durd added. “But you would do yourself some small good if you were to enlighten me.”
My mother was an actress. I am her daughter. I can bluff this fat fool.
“I won’t lie to you, General,” she said, meeting his furious stare. “I am overjoyed that my mother is safe. But I do not know who rescued her, or why. How could I possibly know that? I am your prisoner. And even if I did steal this comlink, which I didn’t, it’s not powerful enough to reach anyone offworld. I couldn’t arrange my mother’s rescue no matter how much I wanted to.”
Durd didn’t curse, or hit her. Instead he pulled a compact holotransmitter from his pocket and balanced it on his palm. Flicking it on with his thumb, he pressed a coded sequence of buttons on its base. A moment later, a small holoimage shivered into view. It was her childhood playmate Samsam. He was power-gliding along the shore of Corellia’s Lake Radu. It was dawn there, his favorite time of the day. She knew it was the lake because that was the Radu Lighthouse behind him. She’d know it anywhere. And she knew it was Samsam because she’d know him anywhere. He always wore a bright yellow glide-suit.
Samsam. Oh, Samsam.
Still unspeaking, Durd pressed the transmitter’s comm panel a second time. Nothing happened. Samsam kept on gliding.
“What did you do?” She couldn’t take her eyes off that gliding yellow figure, carefree and laughing as it rode the wild wind. “What did you do?”
A high-pitched buzz. Instead of answering her question, Durd answered a comlink he took from his pocket. “Yes?” A metallic voice buzzed. She couldn’t make out the words, but Durd’s face flushed with more choking anger. “I see. Fix them.”
Samsam was still gliding. Terrified of what the comlink call might mean, still she feasted her hungry gaze on her friend.
He’s all right. He’s all right. Durd’s just trying to scare me. Samsam’s all right, he’s—
Between blinks, the bright yellow chest of Samsam’s glide-suit turned red, and then he was tumbling out of the dawn sky. Lazily falling, like an autumn leaf from a tree. Down… down… falling so far down. In utter silence he fell into the lake and sank beneath its ruffled surface.
Dimly, through the ice storm roaring in her head, she heard Lok Durd laugh.
“That was a lie.” She couldn’t recognize her own voice. “That wasn’t real. You’re trying to trick me. You faked it. Samsam’s not dead.”
Durd laughed again, delighted. “You can think that if you want to, my dear. You’re wrong, but you can think it. And you can keep on thinking it as I order the death of another person you love. Or better yet—” He smiled, widely. “Why don’t I let you choose your next victim?”
She wished she could cry, she wanted to cry, but the roaring ice storm had frozen her tears.
“No.”
“Doctor, there’s no point playing this game anymore,” said Durd, his murderous fury transmuted to something worse: to gloating glee. “Someone has erased several sections of security recordings. Footage from your lab. From this room. A few corridors. It was cleverly done. It could be a malfunction—it looks like a malfunction—but we both know that’s not true. Tell me who did it. Tell me who’s helping you.”
“No one’s helping me,” she said dully. Samsam. “You’ve made a mistake.”
“Oh, my dear,” said the general. “One of us has.”
He fetched her single kitchen chair and placed it in front of her. Then he punched a fresh code into the compact holotransmitter and put it on the chair. Nothing. Nothing. And then the air flickered, an image coalesced, and she was looking at her nephews playing tag in a park.
She stopped breathing.
“Who is helping you, Doctor?” the Neimoidian asked, so gently, as though he were concerned for the state of her health.
She shook her head. “No,” she croaked. “No, you can’t do this. Those are children. They’re practically babies. You can’t.”
“The
y’re not babies to me,” said Durd, indifferent. “Little squirming pink bloodsacs. That’s all they are.”
Samsam gliding. Samsam falling through the air. Her nephews were laughing. Irek, the older, was sitting on Tam’s head. And now those icy tears were falling. They were freezing her face. Her heart was a lump of ice, freezing her blood. One tap and she’d shatter.
I have to. I have to. I don’t have a choice.
“The Jedi,” she said, fingers fisted in her lap. “The Jedi are helping me.”
Durd’s moist face turned sickly. “Jedi?” he croaked. “There are Jedi here? How did they find me? I have protection from Count Dooku, a guarantee that those scum won’t sense my presence.”
She swallowed. What is he talking about? “Perhaps your protection’s stopped working, General. If I could take a look at it—”
“I took it off,” he snapped. “It hurts my skin.” He pressed his palms to his fat cheeks. His hands were trembling. “How did they find me?”
“I don’t know.”
Durd exploded into rage. She didn’t try to defend herself as he slapped and scratched and punched her. He dragged her onto the floor by the hair and kicked her back and her belly and spat in her face. She did nothing to stop him, just closed her eyes and let him hurt her, wishing he’d snap completely, and break her neck.
“You did this, didn’t you?” he screamed. “When you were offworld. You contacted the Jedi Temple for help. How many have come to destroy me, Doctor? How many?”
Half blinded with pain, she curled on her side and stared up at him. She could feel blood dripping off her chin. “Two.”
“Only two? You’re sure of that?”
She nodded. “Yes. I swear it. Two.”
He stamped around the room, arms flailing. “Jedi. They got their filthy hands on me once. They won’t get me again. The Count will never forgive me if they get me again.” He turned on her. Rushed at her. Loomed over her, fists waving. “You let the Jedi in here? I should kill them all! Your brother and your sister and their stinking offspring and your little friends. I want to hear you screaming, Doctor! I want to see you rend the flesh from your face as the grief drives you mad! The Jedi? Where are they now? Are those vermin still here? In the compound?”