The Approaching Storm

by Alan Dean Foster

  Obi-Wan held his silence and his expression for a long moment—before breaking out into a wide grin. “Not only did you not violate any rules, Padawan—you did exactly what you should have done. You had no way of knowing your colleague’s condition. Under such circumstances, to assume that she might need assistance is always the wisest course. Better to be berated by a live friend than absolved by a dead one.”

  For a moment, Anakin looked uncertain. Compliments from Obi-Wan were as rare as snow-crystal on Tattooine. When he realized that it was meant, and that both Barriss and Luminara were also smiling encouragingly at him, he finally relaxed. Anyway, he did not have much choice. It’s hard to stay tense when one is dripping wet. Something about being soaked to the skin, with one’s clothes hanging limp as seaweed from sodden limbs, is desperately debilitating to one’s dignity.

  “I just wanted to help,” he muttered, unaware that had been his mantra since childhood.

  “You can help yourself,” Obi-Wan told him, “by getting out of those wet clothes and into your spare set.” Turning, he regarded the line of waving grass that marched to the edge of the riverbank. “The wind’s no warmer here than on the other side, and I’d rather you didn’t get sick.”

  “I’ll try not to, Master.”

  “Good.” Obi-Wan stood squinting at the cloudless sky. “We don’t have time to waste on illness, no matter how educational the experience.”

  Stripping off their clothes while their Masters unpacked their small personal kits, Anakin and Barriss dried themselves in the sun. The two guides attended to the patient suubatars and studied the visitors with academic interest.

  “Haja,” exclaimed Bulgan softly, “just look at them. They have no proper manes. Only a little fur on top of their heads.”

  “They have no true biting teeth,” Kyakhta added. “Only those short, chisel-like white chips.”

  Bulgan stroked the snout of a resting suubatar. It snuffled appreciatively and pushed its muzzle harder against the guide’s ministrating hand. “Look at their fingers. Too short to do any real work. And their toes—utterly useless!”

  “And there are too many of them,” Kyakhta noted. “Five on each—almost as many as on a suubatar! To look at them, one would think them more closely related to such animals than to thinking beings.” He shook his head in an odd, sideways fashion. “One feels sadness for such deficiencies.”

  Bulgan sniffed through his single nostril. “It may be a good thing. The Highborn of the Borokii cannot help but pity them. The perception of pity is always a good place from which to begin negotiations.”

  His companion was not so sure. “Either that, or they will see them as abominations against the natural order and give orders to have them killed.”

  “They had better not try anything like that!” His one good eye blinking, Bulgan waxed indignant. “We owe these visitors, or at least the one called Barriss, for the restored health of our minds.”

  “Not to mention the fact,” Kyakhta added as he rubbed the place where his artificial right arm joined his own flesh, “that if they die prematurely we will not get paid for this journey.” Still eyeing the aliens, he wondered whether he and Bulgan might have time enough to dig in the beach for some vaoloi shells. Poached vaoloi would make a wonderful supplement to their supper.

  Bulgan grunted and adjusted his eye patch. “I would rather sacrifice all our pay than the life of one friend.”

  Kyakhta’s heavy eyelids closed halfway. “Bulgan, my friend, perhaps Barriss did not complete her Jedi healing on you. Perhaps you would benefit from seeking another treatment.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Giving the suubatar he had been caressing a fond chuck under its sharp chin, Bulgan let the reins dangle down to his hand and started to lead it toward the best grass. “No one on this trip is going to die, anyway. We journey with Jedi Knights.”

  “That much cannot be disputed.” But even as he agreed, Kyakhta thought back to how easily the one called Barriss had been dumped into the water by the aggressive gairk, and found himself wondering just how resilient and tough the aliens he and his friend were guiding were.

  “They’ve left, you know.”

  Ogomoor relaxed in the chair. It was a fine apartment, expensively decorated and furnished. An apartment suitable for a long-term stay by a visiting dignitary. Its present owner poured himself a tall glass of something cold and lavender. Inwardly, Ogomoor shuddered. What perverse desire explained the human affection for iced liquids?

  The member of the Unity delegation gestured with the bottle. “Can I offer you a glass? This is a fine vintage, properly fermented.”

  Ogomoor smiled in the human manner and politely declined. He could feel the chill from the bottle from where he sat.

  With a shrug, the human put down the bottle, raised the glass, and drank. Ogomoor felt his insides shudder in sympathy.

  “I know they’ve left. We all know. They’ve gone to try to make an agreement with the Alwari. What do you think of their chances?”

  “I think they’re as good as dead already. They’ve been gone for several days, with no word.” He shifted uncomfortably in the human chair that made no allowance for his short tail.

  “It’s in the nature of Jedi not to open their mouths unless they have something significant to say. Speaking of which,” he added as he sat down on the couch opposite, “why are you here?”

  “In the interests of expediting a decision that is critical to the future of Ansion. My future. Your future. Every citizen’s future.”

  The human delegate sipped at his drink. “Go on.”

  Ogomoor leaned forward, feeling relief as his tail popped out from beneath his backside. “The Unity Council was on the verge of voting on whether or not to withdraw from the Republic when these Jedi offworlders arrived.”

  “I know.” The man was not pleased. That, at least, was a good sign, Ogomoor felt. “That’s the Senate for you. Always sending in a Jedi or two when their own obtuse directives get ignored. Serves them right. You’d think they would have come to expect it by now.”

  “These Jedi have nothing to do with Ansion,” Ogomoor persisted. “The many peoples of this world, settlers as well as indigenous, have always acted independently and in their own interests.”

  The delegate raised his glass in mock salute. “Here’s to the Republic, of which we’re still a part. Sorry, Ogomoor, but our independence only extends so far.”

  “Not if we secede. Others will join our action.”

  “Yes.” The human sighed. “I’ve read the fine print in the treaties. They make us more important than we would otherwise be. Hence the attention of the Jedi.”

  “How were you intending to vote?” Ogomoor did his best not to seem too interested.

  His attempt at disinterest did not fool the delegate. “You’d like to know that, wouldn’t you? You and your master the Hutt, and his associates in galactic trade.”

  “Bossban Soergg has many friends, it is true.” Ansionian eyes locked on human ones. “Not all are in business.”

  The delegate’s expression, cordial enough up to now, suddenly turned withering. “Are you threatening me, Ogomoor? You and that overweight slug you call a boss?”

  “Not at all,” the visitor to the apartment replied quickly. “On the contrary, I am here to show my respect, as well as that of my bossban—and his associates. As residents of Ansion, we are all concerned for the future of our world.” He smiled again. “Just because a couple of Jedi have arrived here does not mean we should stand around in awed stupefaction.”

  The human’s gaze narrowed. “What are you getting at?”

  Ogomoor made a gesture of indifference. “Why should the Unity sit and founder while waiting for the Jedi to return? Suppose, for example, they do not come back from the plains. They have gone to try to influence the Alwari. Suppose the Alwari influence them?”

  The human’s expression showed that he had not considered this line of reasoning. “If the Jedi don’t come back—or
come back changed … You’re saying that after talking with the Alwari, they might be persuaded to favor the nomad point of view?”

  Ogomoor looked away. “I didn’t say that at all. It’s only that in the Jedi’s absence, there is nothing to prevent the Unity Council from moving forward instead of sitting still. Are we of Ansion nothing more than mewling infants, to sit around and wait on the movements of offworlders—be they Jedi or not?”

  Nodding slowly, the human finished the last of his drink in one long, cold swallow. “What would you have me do?”

  Ogomoor sniffed through his single, broad nostril. “Call the council back into session. Take the vote. If the Jedi object to the result, let them file a complaint with the Senate. Ansion already has a government—free of outside influences. What could be the harm in taking the vote?”

  “That it could be overturned by the Senate.”

  Ogomoor nodded understandingly. “Votes are harder to overturn once they have been taken. If the Jedi were here, there would be reason not to call for the vote. But—they are not here.” He gestured toward the window and, by implication, the plains beyond. “They have gone. By choice.”

  The delegate was silent for a long moment. When at last he looked back up at his visitor, there was hesitation in his voice. “It won’t be an easy thing, what you ask. The Armalat in particular will object, and you know what they can be like.”

  Ogomoor gestured significantly. “Time overcomes stubbornness. The longer the Jedi remain away from Cuipernam, the greater will be the erosion of confidence in their abilities among the other members of the council. My bossban and his friends are relying on your known powers of persuasion.”

  “I still—I don’t know,” the human murmured, clearly wavering.

  “Your efforts will not go unappreciated.” Ogomoor rose, glad to be able to abandon the uncomfortable, ill-fitting chair. “Think about it. According to my bossban, changes are coming to the Republic. Changes beyond anything you or I can imagine.” In passing his host on the way to the door, he leaned close and lowered his voice. “I am assured it would be most advantageous to be on one side of these changes rather than the other.”

  The human did not see his guest out. He didn’t have the time, having been left with too much to think about.

  The assault by the gairk had done no harm, Luminara reflected as they started across new prairie the following morning. It might even have done some good, alerting them to the fact that while they had left the minions of Barriss’s would-be kidnapper behind, the planet Ansion presented dangers enough of its own.

  While she and Obi-Wan rode on cloaked in the serenity that characterizes mature Jedi, their Padawans were less composed. The incident with the gairks had left them slightly jumpy. Despite their comfortable, high perches on the backs of their suubatars, high above the grasslands, they continued to regard everything that moved as a potential threat. Luminara observed Barriss’s reactions with mild amusement while offering no comment. There was nothing like experience in the field to teach a budding Padawan when to jump and when to relax.

  As for Anakin, at times he seemed almost eager for another attack, as if anxious for the opportunity to prove himself. Obi-Wan had spoken of the young man’s skill with a lightsaber. But part of that skill, she knew, was knowing when not to use the weapon. Still, she found it hard to be critical of him. He wanted so badly to impress, to please.

  The flock of ongun-nur provided an excellent lesson. They came swooping down out of the west, their enormous balloonlike wings darkening the sky. Anyone could have been excused for thinking that the huge flying creatures, with their long, rapierlike beaks and bright yellow eyes, represented a threat. At the sight of them commencing their dive, Anakin drew his lightsaber but did not activate it while Barriss made sure her own weapon was ready to draw.

  The flock came steadily closer, making no attempt to swerve around the loping suubatars. Anakin’s forefinger nervously caressed the ON switch of his lightsaber. Unable to stand it any longer, Barriss urged her mount forward until she drew alongside her teacher.

  “Master Luminara, shouldn’t we be doing something?” She indicated the oncoming flock. “Those things, whatever they are, are heading straight for us.”

  Luminara gestured, not at the plummeting ongun-nur, but at Kyakhta. “Look at our guides, Barriss. Do they look apprehensive?”

  “No, Master, but that doesn’t mean they are unafraid.”

  “You need to study different sentients more, my dear. Observe the intelligent natives of any world and see how they react to possible danger. Trust your own senses. By all means, keep alert. But there is no need to jump to conclusions, either.” Raising a hand, Luminara indicated the dark flock that was almost upon them. “Just because something is large and intimidating in appearance does not mean it is dangerous. Look how the wind buffets them about.”

  It was true, Barriss saw. For all their great size, the ongun-nur were riding the wind, not manipulating it. They were rushing toward the band of travelers not intending to attack, but hoping they would get out of the way. At the last instant, the great flying creatures were able to alter their angle of descent just enough to carry them past the oncoming riders. So close did they pass that Barriss and Anakin found themselves ducking involuntarily. As they did so, she saw that the wings were paper-thin and the huge bodies swollen with air instead of muscle. The ongun-nur went where the wind took them, unable to fly against it. Seeing the suubatars and their riders heading in their direction, the members of the flock had probably been more frightened of them than the riders had any right to be of the ongun-nur.

  It was an instructive visitation, one whose lesson Barriss immediately committed, as always, to memory. From then on, she paid more attention to the reactions of their guides than to whatever phenomenon manifested itself in the sky or in the grass. Similarly, she felt justified in increasing her vigilance when Kyakhta and Bulgan began to slow while sitting up straighter in their saddles.

  Topping a rise, they found themselves looking down at a slight depression in the prairie. A sizable but shallow lake had formed there. Except for the center, it was filled with a peculiar spotted, multijointed, bluish reed. At one end of the lake an encampment had been established. A temporary corral held domesticated dorgum and larger, heavy-humped awiquod. Smoke rose from collapsible huts fashioned from imported composite materials. Each hut was tiled with anamorphic solar material that converted Ansion’s abundant sunlight directly into power.

  Luminara and Obi-Wan rode up to flank Kyakhta and Bulgan. Their guides were leaning forward to peer around the heads of their mounts as they contemplated the camp.

  “Borokii?” Luminara asked hopefully.

  “By the style of their camp, I would say they are Yiwa,” Kyakhta informed her, “of the Qiemo Adrangar. Not an unimportant clan, such as the Eijin or Gaxun, but not an overclan like the Borokii or the Januul, either.”

  “If they have power,” Obi-Wan wondered as he examined the solar huts, “why the need for campfires?”

  “Tradition.” Bulgan swiveled his crooked form around to focus his good eye on the man mounted next to him. “By now you should know, Jedi, how important that is to the Alwari—and to the success of your mission.”

  Obi-Wan accepted the mild reminder gracefully. A correction added to one’s store of knowledge. It was a thing to be grateful for, not something to take offense at.

  Kyakhta pointed. “They come to greet us. The Yiwa are a proud clan. They are constantly on the move, even more so than many of the Alwari. They may have news of the overclan Borokii for us—if they are willing to part with it.”

  “Why wouldn’t they?” Luminara asked directly.

  Bulgan blinked his one eye. “The Yiwa are a touchy people, quick to take offense.”

  “Then we’ll be on our best behavior.” Obi-Wan turned in his saddle. “Won’t we, Anakin?”

  His Padawan frowned uncertainly. “Why are you all looking at me?”

  The Yiwa
came pounding up the slight slope mounted on sadains. Stocky and powerful, the four-legged steeds had round faces with four eyes. In contrast to the suubatar, they boasted long, high ears that flared widely at the top. Unlike the swift suubatar, the sadain was built for pulling and for endurance, not for speed over distance. Those remarkable ears, Obi-Wan reflected as he saw the sunlight shine redly through their blood-rich membranes, would also serve to detect the presence of stalking shanhs and other potential predators of the Yiwa herds.

  The welcoming party slowed. There were a dozen of them, decked out in suitably barbaric finery. Homemade bells and polished teeth taken from some of Ansion’s less benign fauna alternated with flash colorpans and the latest glowals imported from other worlds of the Republic. The riders had painted their individual manes in a riot of colors and patterns, and the bare skin on either side at the top of each Yiwa head was tattooed in intricate traditional Ansionian patterns. Their appearance was a vivid mélange of the long-established and the contemporary—exactly what one would expect on a world like Ansion.

  Two of them held comlinks that doubtless kept them in constant contact with the camp, while several of the riders pointedly displayed weapons that were anything but primitive.

  Having the advantage of a much higher seat, Kyakhta nudged his suubatar forward a couple of paces and identified himself and his companions. The Yiwa listened stonily. Then one wearing a cape fashioned from two arc-striped shanh skins kicked his equally well-decorated sadain forward. His bulging red-brown eyes traveled suspiciously between Alwari and offworlders. Luminara expected initial comments to be directed at her or her fellow humans. She was wrong. The crash training in the most frequently spoken local vernacular she and her companions had received prior to being dispatched to Ansion now proved its worth. The Yiwa dialect was harsh, but not incomprehensible.