by Karen Miller
“Oh.” Embarrassed now, she pulled her bread to crumbs. “I just followed my training. I mean, I’m lucky to have him, Taria. If you could see him in battle—or even when he’s just sparring with Master Kenobi—he’s—he’s—”
“Something special,” said Taria, nodding. “I’ve heard. I guess that’s the reason they call him the Chosen One.”
“He hates being called that, you know,” she said, dropping her voice just in case. “He never says so but—well, I’ve felt it.”
Taria spooned up more soup. “Can you blame him? Talk about a weight of expectations…”
It was her new friend’s instinctive understanding that loosened her tongue. There wasn’t anyone she could talk to about this. “I get so scared,” she murmured. “When it comes to fighting the Seps, Skyguy’s fearless. He just—he throws himself at them like he’s indestructible. And he’s not.” She felt a cold shiver run through her. “He nearly died on Maridun, you know.”
Taria nodded. “I heard that, too. I hear a lot of things, Ahsoka, even though these days I’m stuck here in the Temple. Things like Anakin’s not the only one who thinks the Seps can’t kill him. And after seeing you in action—well. I’d have to say that rumor is true.”
Suddenly she was interested in her soup after all. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“I mean,” said Taria, “that it looks to me like you’re learning more from your Master than a few fancy lightsaber moves.”
She shrugged. “Fortune favors the bold.”
“Maybe so,” Taria retorted, “but the Force isn’t an all-purpose cheating-death security pass, Ashoka. Be careful you’re not so caught up with worrying about Anakin that you forget to worry about yourself. The Order needs young Jedi like you. This war’s taking a heavy toll. We’ve already lost too many good people.”
She didn’t know what to say, hearing that. She wasn’t used to lavish praise—it wasn’t Anakin’s way. It wasn’t the Jedi way. So why—
“Dying gives me a unique perspective,” said Taria, easily reading her troubled thoughts. “Life’s too short not to tell the truth.”
Ahsoka was ambushed by a sharp and selfish grief. We’ve just become friends and now I have to lose her? I hate this. It’s not fair. And then the grief was swamped by hot shame. At least you’re not dying. Wait till you’re dying then moan about not fair.
Taria dunked bread in her bean soup, chewed, then swallowed. “So, while I was being fussed over by Vokara Che—I don’t suppose you heard how Obi-Wan and Anakin are getting on, wherever they are?”
Ahsoka shook her head. “Not a word. Not even a whisper. I wish I was brave enough to ask Master Yoda.”
“Ha!” said Taria, amused. “I doubt even your Skyguy is brave enough for that.”
“I tried to see for myself,” she confessed. “In the Force. But all I got was a headache. I guess I’ve still got a lot of learning to do.”
Pushing her bowl aside, Taria frowned. “Don’t blame yourself, Ahsoka. The Force on Coruscant is… cloudy. I’ve tried as well and I can’t see anything, either.”
Ahsoka tried to smile. “I wish that made me feel better, but it doesn’t. Even without seeing through the Force, Taria, I—” She pressed a fist to her chest, where her heart was bumping hard. “I’ve got a bad feeling, here. Something’s not right. I think Skyguy’s in danger. Well, more danger than he’s usually in, if that makes any sense.”
“Oh, it makes sense,” said Taria grimly. “I’ve got the same bad feeling about Obi-Wan. And since they’re together—”
“Then what should we do? What can we do?”
Taria shrugged. “We can wait.”
“Wait? For what?”
“For the clouds to clear.”
“That’s it?”
“Pretty much,” said Taria, her smile darkly amused. “Unless you want to make a run at Master Yoda, after all.”
No, no, no. She didn’t want to do that. She tucked her chin and folded her arms. “I hate waiting,” she muttered.
“You and me both,” said Taria. “So I suggest we keep ourselves busy. I’m not quite up to sparring yet, but if you like I can watch you go a few rounds with a training remote, give you some pointers. How does that sound?”
Ahsoka had to smile. “That sounds great.”
“Then let’s do it,” said Taria, and slid out of the booth. “Last one to the dojo has to buy the drinks. Go!”
Sensing Ban-yaro’s eager approach, Yoda looked up from the datapad he was reading. A moment later the transparisteel doors to the Temple’s high-security comm center hummed open and the communications chief joined him.
“Master Yoda. It’s Obi-Wan.”
“Excellent,” Yoda said, dropping the datapad into his hoverchair’s side pocket. Hoping to hear from Obi-Wan again, knowing that time was in short supply, he’d elected to spend the night in the comm center so that if his two Jedi on Lanteeb did contact the Temple, he wouldn’t have to make them wait while he was sent for. “Speak with him now, can I?”
“The signal’s come through on a different relay this time,” said Ban-yaro. “I’ll have it patched through to you in a moment.”
“Thank you,” Yoda said, and guided his chair to the nearest comm console. When at last Ban-yaro gave him the signal, he toggled the switch. “Yoda this is, Obi-Wan.”
“Master, we have the chance to get Doctor Fhernan offworld within the next few hours,” said Obi-Wan. “This might be our only chance. Have you had any success securing those hostages?”
The signal from Lanteeb was faint, Obi-Wan’s voice slushy with interference. Yoda looked at Ban-yaro, but the comm chief shook his head. This was the best he could do.
Resigned to that, Yoda leaned close to the comm console vocoder. “Yes, Obi-Wan. Rescued is your scientist’s family, and all of her friends save one. The last friend now are we trying to find. Enough that should be to secure her cooperation.”
“It should be, but—Master, I’m afraid she might balk at coming with us if there’s a chance that even one person could be hurt because of her.”
“Then lie to her you must, Obi-Wan. Tell her everyone is safe.”
“Lie to her?” Even through the interference Obi-Wan’s shocked dismay was palpable. “But Master—”
“Happy with the notion I am not, Master Kenobi,” Yoda said. “Even less happy am I with the thought of thousands falling to Lok Durd’s evil weapon. Remind you must I that we are at war?”
“No, Master,” said Obi-Wan, chastened. “Of course not. I’ll secure her cooperation and we’ll contact you again as soon as we can. Kenobi out.”
The lights on the comm console died as the signal was disconnected.
Discreet as always, Ban-yaro stopped a few paces distant and cleared his throat. “Master Yoda? Do you require anything else?”
With a weary sigh Yoda shook his head. “No. To my private chamber I will go now, Ban-yaro. But alert me you must if word we receive from the last retrieval team, no matter how late the hour. Or if from Obi-Wan we hear again.”
Ban-yaro bowed. “Of course, Master. I’ll contact you the moment there’s any word.”
“Thank you,” he said, and left the comm center to meditate in private and wait for news.
It was all he could do. It wasn’t enough, but he’d long ago learned to take what he could get… and trust in the Force to provide the rest.
Anakin stared at Obi-Wan as he quickly dismantled the jerry-rigged comm hub. He wished they didn’t have to, but it was too dangerous a clue to their presence to leave behind.
“What?” said Obi-Wan, not looking up. “Anakin, so help me, if you say one more word about biscuits I’ll—”
“Biscuits? I don’t care about biscuits. Obi-Wan, am I hearing things or did you just agree to lie to Bant’ena?”
The merest hint of a hesitation, then Obi-Wan kept on ripping out circuits and datachips. They’d only turned one lamp on this time, just to be safe. In the dim illumination his expression wa
s opaque. Utterly unreadable.
“I’ve been thinking about how we’re going to get from Durd’s compound back here to the spaceport,” he said. “And then through spaceport security without our local ID chips and with Doctor Fhernan in tow. It’s going to be tricky, but—”
“Yeah, I’ve been thinking about it, too,” Anakin said, impatient. “Never mind that for now. Obi-Wan, what’s going on? We are Jedi, and Jedi don’t lie.”
No answer. Obi-Wan Force-pulled the torsion pliers to him and wrestled with a recalcitrant circuit.
With an effort, Anakin tamped down his rising anger. “Obi-Wan, talk to me.”
Still Obi-Wan wouldn’t look at him. “There’s nothing to say, Anakin. You heard Master Yoda. We’re at war, and war compels us to perform distasteful acts. Besides, it’s more than likely that by the time we reach Doctor Fhernan the last of the hostages will be in safe hands.”
“You don’t know that! Yoda doesn’t know that! I can’t tell Bant’ena we’ve saved all her family and friends if we haven’t.”
“You won’t have to. I’ll tell her. And it’s Master Yoda.”
Yeah, yeah, whatever. “Obi-Wan—”
“What, Anakin?” Obi-Wan demanded. “What would you have me do? Defy Yoda? Abandon Lanteeb without completing our mission? Sacrifice thousands, perhaps millions of lives so I might keep my conscience unsullied?”
“This isn’t about you!” he said, tempted to let his temper loose entirely. “It’s about right and wrong and not breaking our word. We promised Bant’ena—”
“No, Anakin, you promised!” said Obi-Wan, close to losing his own temper. “Yet again you allowed your emotions to rule you. Well, this time, Master Skywalker, you’ll control yourself, is that clear? What we are facing is bigger than Bant’ena, bigger than your muddled, misplaced emotions—bigger even than our Jedi honor. This might be the moment in which the war is lost or won—and I will not allow you to lose it for fear of hurting that woman’s feelings!”
Stunned, he stared at Obi-Wan. “So you’re saying you’re all right with lying to her? That it doesn’t bother you if—”
“Oh, Anakin, of course it bothers me!” said Obi-Wan, hands fisted on his knees. “How can you claim to know me, be my friend, and ask if it bothers me?”
“So it bothers you,” he said, feeling suddenly calm. “But you’ll still do it.”
Obi-Wan nodded. “If I have to.” His lips twisted. “Just as you defied the Council by going to Geonosis with Padmé. So what is this, Anakin—do as I say, not as I do?”
Oh, well, that was just playing dirty. “I defied the Council to save you!”
“One man,” Obi-Wan retorted. “I’m trying to save thousands. We’re trying to save thousands. Aren’t we? Or is this where we part company, Anakin?”
Part company? “I’m not going anywhere,” he said tightly. “I promised Bant’ena I’d get her off this rock, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”
“And to do that it looks like you’ll have to lie,” said Obi-Wan, challenging. “Are you telling me you can’t lie in a good cause?”
Padmé. Anakin felt his guts twist. Who am I kidding? My whole life is a lie. I lie to this man every time I draw breath—and next to him, Bant’ena Fhernan means nothing.
“You’re right,” he said, and raised his hands. “I’m sorry.”
Now it was Obi-Wan’s turn to stare. “Just like that?”
“You’d rather I kept arguing?”
“No, of course not, but—”
“Then let’s move on,” he said flatly. “Our exit strategy. What are you thinking?”
Instead of answering, Obi-Wan finished dismantling the old comm hub unit. His face was utterly unreadable, his feelings tamped down tight. When the hub was at last scattered around him in bits and pieces, he fished out the betraying Republic-issue scrambler chip, tucked it into his shirt’s shielded pocket then turned off the lamp. Instantly they were plunged into darkness.
“All right,” he said, as though they’d never once exchanged heated words. “Here’s how I propose we extricate ourselves from Lanteeb. We return to the spaceport in the official groundcar we first followed to the compound—”
“With Bant’ena driving and us as collateral,” Anakin interrupted. “She can tell anyone who challenges us at the spaceport that we’re human test subjects. The Seps probably won’t bat an eyelid. But if they do we can mind-trick them. Although I doubt they will. They know who she is, who she works for. Not even droids will be stupid enough to question her authority. Then we load into the ship and get out of here.”
Obi-Wan’s silence was eloquent.
“Hey,” Anakin said, shrugging. “I told you I’d been thinking.”
“Apparently,” said Obi-Wan. He almost sounded amused. “Then we’re set? We can go? No—last-minute qualms?”
“None. I’m good.” And of course that was a lie—but who cared? He was practicing for Bant’ena. Getting in the mood.
In the darkness, there was a soft sigh. “Anakin, how are you feeling? Truthfully?”
If he said hungry, Obi-Wan would throw something at him. But he was. He was ravenous. And he hated, hated, feeling hungry. The sensation stirred too many memories. Distracted him with the past when he needed his mind on the present.
“I feel sad,” he said at last. “If it turns out we weren’t able to save that last hostage, I hope Bant’ena can forgive us. I hope she’ll help us anyway.”
“If she’s the woman you believe her to be,” said Obi-Wan, “she will. She’ll not punish thousands of innocents because we failed—or lied.”
“Do you believe that?”
“I’d like to,” said Obi-Wan. “This time I’d very much like to be wrong.”
Despite the cloaking darkness, he smiled. “Well, you know what they say. There’s a first time for everything.”
“And I’m sure this will be it.”
But Obi-Wan didn’t sound sure. He sounded doubtful and pressured and yes—a little bit sad. Not the right frame of mind to be taking into a mission that promised to be as precarious as this one.
And that’s partly my fault. I started the fight.
“Hey,” he said. “You know what else I feel? Hungry. Go on. Hit me. You know you want to.”
To his great relief, Obi-Wan managed a faint chuckle. “No. It’s all right. Truth be told, I’m hungry, too. It’s unfortunate but it can’t be helped. We’ll manage.”
Of course they would. They’d manage by drawing on the Force to fuel them. Which it would, but at a steep cost to their overstretched bodies. And when the inevitable crash came afterward it was going to be messy.
“I can cope with the burnout,” Anakin said. “But what about you?”
“You let me worry about me.”
He really wished he could see Obi-Wan’s face. It was much harder to read him in the dark. But there was no point pushing. First rule of managing Master Kenobi: Pick your battles.
“Now I suggest we meditate until it’s time to go,” Obi-Wan added. “We’ll need all our wits about us for this one.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Anakin said. “Meditation it is.”
Four hours later they stirred and unfolded themselves from beneath cramped counter and desk. They took a few minutes to limber up, warm their muscles, encourage the Force to burn more brightly in their blood and fill them with borrowed strength for the challenges facing them.
Anakin eased himself upright. “You don’t think we should warn Bant’ena that we’re on our way?”
“I’d rather not risk it,” said Obi-Wan. “She’ll be ready. She knows this is her only chance.”
“Okay. Then can we go? I’m not getting any younger.”
Obi-Wan snorted. “Who is?”
Wrapped in the Force, they abandoned their hiding place and reached out with their senses to taste the night. Beyond the harshly lit spaceport the city was again eerily dark. A miserly scattering of stars and a pinched cheese-rind of moon shed
little light. Nothing stirred. It was a dead place reeking of fear. They could feel the arrogance of the human Separatists over the road, in the port. Could see MagnaGuards and battle droids unmoving at their posts.
“All right,” said Obi-Wan. “Let’s do this, shall we?”
Lok Durd’s compound was a long way away, and this time there wasn’t a droid-powered trundle cart to make life that little bit easier. With their destination too far for Force-sprinting, they opted for the less draining technique of enhanced, short-burst running. Speed and slow. Speed and slow. Hearts pounding, breathing deep.
Gradually the city fell behind them. They swam through the night like fish in the deep. Twice they encountered Separatist patrols, twenty battle droids on droning STAPs, hunting for humans to chase and kill. Twice they avoided detection, flung facedown on the cracked, crumbling edges of the ferrocrete road, plunged as far as they dared inside the shrouding Force.
Then a swift tap on the shoulder. An answering nod. And it was up and away again, speed and slow, speed and slow. Reached the right-hand turn leading off the main highway, they padded, quiet and cautious, through the echoingly empty streets of the industrial district. The area felt like a graveyard. Buried hopes, buried dreams—everything decent crushed by the dark side. It was draining. Oppressive. Misery like soaking rain.
Anakin ran through it, teeth gritted. Get me out of this place. Obi-Wan ran beside him, every emotion locked-down tight.
At last they reached the top of the street that led to Durd’s compound, and Bant’ena. They stopped running and stepped into the deeper shadows of a squat, low-roofed building.
“What do you think?” Anakin asked, catching his breath. His heart was pounding harder than normal, his hungry body’s resentful response to the demands he was placing on it. “Do we wait here and hope for a truck, or risk going in the way we got out last night?”
Obi-Wan’s breathing was the smallest touch ragged. He was feeling it, too. “A truck would be nice—but we can’t wait for one indefinitely. For all we know they only turn up once a week.”