by Karen Miller
“Excuse us a moment, would you?” said Anakin, and tugged Obi-Wan aside.
“Anakin—”
He lowered his voice. “We have to tell them about the damotite. About what it’s being used for.”
“No,” said Obi-Wan. “It’s too dangerous.”
“Obi-Wan, we have to. It’s the only way to get them on our side.” He glanced at Rikkard and Jaklin. She had her hand on his arm, close to shaking him, and his worry for Arrad shouted in the Force. “Do you think we can’t trust them?”
“I think they don’t need to know,” said Obi-Wan. “They have burdens enough.”
“Maybe, but we don’t have the luxury of sparing them,” he retorted. “Chances are our only hope of stopping Durd is with an all-out assault on this planet before the barve can ship his bioweapon offworld. Are you really going to put these people’s feelings ahead of that?”
Gray-faced with fatigue, Obi-Wan closed his eyes. Then he sighed, and turned back to Rikkard and Jaklin. “Your damotite’s being used to manufacture a bioweapon. A toxic gas so lethal it will wipe out entire cities within minutes. Anakin and I tried to stop its production in Lantibba and failed. Now we need to use—most likely destroy—your communications hub if we’re to save many thousands of lives.”
“That’s the truth?” Rikkard whispered. “No lie? That’s why the government wants our damotite good as raw?”
“That’s why,” said Anakin. “Will you help us, Rikkard?”
“Why ask?” Jaklin said roughly. “Why not bend our minds? That’s what Jedi do, isn’t it?”
Obi-Wan hesitated. “If we have to. But we’d rather not. Jaklin, please. We aren’t your enemy. Anakin could have died tonight, holding back the storm. Is that the act of a monster?”
Arms folded, Jaklin stared at the ground. Anger and fear muddied her presence in the Force. Anakin turned to Rikkard. “Teeb—Obi-Wan healed your son. He risked his life twice, first in the power plant and again when he got everyone out of the refinery. He’s no more a threat to you than I am.”
“I don’t—” Rikkard rubbed his scarred scalp. “I don’t know.”
“Rikkard, we have to trust each other,” Anakin said, stepping closer. “Together we can stop the Separatists from committing an act of mass slaughter. And afterward we’ll make sure Lanteeb’s freed from their tyranny and that all of you are—”
“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said sharply. “Don’t make promises that aren’t yours to keep.”
“This will be mine to keep,” he insisted. “If it’s the last thing I do, I’m going to make sure Lanteeb’s looked after. And if the Senate won’t act, I’ll appeal to the Supreme Chancellor directly.”
Jaklin’s eyes widened. “You know the leader of the Republic?”
“Since I was a boy, Teeba,” he said. “Trust me—if I ask him to help you, he will help you.”
Jaklin and Rikkard looked at each other, their faces in the sputtering plasma light etched with indecision. Then Rikkard nodded.
“All right. Use the hub. We can always tell the government it blew out because of the storm.”
Obi-Wan offered him a shallow, unsteady bow. “Thank you, Teeb. We’re very grateful.”
“No. Thank you.” Rikkard swallowed, hard. “You saved my boy.”
“You should return to him, Rikkard,” Obi-Wan said gently. “He’ll want to know you’re close by. And if we can ask you for one last favor?”
“Keep our mouths shut?” said Jaklin, snorting. “Think we came down with the last spatter of rain, do you?”
And on that trenchant note she and Rikkard walked back into the sick house.
Anakin looked at Obi-Wan. “I can do this. You should—”
“I’m fine,” said Obi-Wan, and headed for the charter house.
Stang. Frustrated, Anakin stared after him. Fine? You stubborn barve, you’re almost out on your feet. How crazy are you, healing people who are three-quarters dead? That’s something I’d do. You’re supposed to be the sensible one, remember?
With a resigned shake of his head, he jogged to catch up.
“I suspect we’ll need to dismantle both our lightsabers for this to work,” said Obi-Wan as they entered the empty building. “There’s a chance the theta storm will interfere with all outgoing comm signals.”
“A chance?” he scoffed. “The way our luck’s running you can bet on it, Obi-Wan.”
Obi-Wan smiled briefly. “Yes. Well. Under the circumstances I think I’d rather save my credits.”
But their luck wasn’t all bad—the difficulties with the power grid hadn’t affected the lights or the hub. After checking that the equipment was still operational they got to work, stripping the diatium cells from their lightsabers, then wiring them up to the hub’s existing, inadequate power supply. With that done, and facing no immediate circuitry meltdown, Anakin connected the scrambler chip and Obi-Wan kicked the hub into life.
“Well,” he said after a tense moment. “It didn’t explode. So far so good.”
Anakin grinned. “Hold that thought. How’s the signal strength looking?”
“Still weak,” said Obi-Wan, slipping the hub back to standby mode and reading off the gauge. “The storm and the shield really aren’t helping.” He pinched the bridge of his nose hard, eyes screwed shut. “I don’t know, Anakin. This is a very long shot.”
Was that Obi-Wan sounding defeated? He never sounded defeated. He never gave up. No matter how bad things got he stuck by his golden rule: A solution to the problem will always present itself.
Anakin shrugged. “Better than no shot at all,” he said, deliberately indifferent. Come on, Obi-Wan. Snap out of it. “Master Ban-yaro will have the Temple listening for us. If anyone can pick up a signal, he can.”
“True.” Cross-legged on the floor, Obi-Wan shook himself. “All right then. Here goes nothing. May the Force be with us.”
He switched the hub from standby to active. It buzzed loudly, vibrations thrumming it as the power boost from the diatium cells surged through its rejiggered circuitry. Something sizzled, and the air turned briefly acrid. One by one, reluctantly, the comm signal board lit green.
“Now, Obi-Wan,” Anakin said. “I don’t know how much longer this is going to hold.”
Obi-Wan keyed in the coded Temple frequency, waited for the scrambler chip to come online, then toggled the transmit switch and waited again for the hub to confirm connection to the HoloNet comm relay network.
Nothing.
Anakin felt the first beads of sweat start to trickle down his spine. Stang, the hub unit was so slow. Must be twenty years out of date, at least.
Come on, come on, come on, come on…
The last indicator light turned green. They heard a buzzing hum and a crackle of static. Obi-Wan closed his eyes and ran a hand over his face. And then he leaned close to the hub mike, his expression intent and urgent.
“This is Obi-Wan Kenobi for Master Yoda. Repeat, this is Obi-Wan Kenobi for Master Yoda. Priority Alpha. Can you respond?”
THE SECURITY COMM’S BEEPING dragged Bail Organa out of his shallow, toss-and-turn sleep. Barely rested, his head still aching despite the blocker he’d taken before falling into bed what felt like only five minutes ago, he opened his eyes.
“Lights.”
Slowly the chamber lifted out of shadow. The security comm beeped steadily, its red warning light flashing on the nightstand beside him.
Stang. This had better be good.
“Organa.”
“This is Master Ban-yaro at the Jedi Temple, Senator. Master Yoda requests your immediate presence in the communications center.”
Bail sat up, his heart racing. “I’m on my way.”
Some thirty standard minutes later he was crowded into a secure comms booth with Yoda and the Temple’s impressive communications chief, listening to an almost inaudible message from Obi-Wan.
“I didn’t catch all of that,” he said, once the recording had run its course. “Can I hear it again?”
> Yoda nodded at Ban-yaro, the Jedi tapped a switch on the comm deck, and a moment later the faint, static-scratched message replayed.
“—both still alive. We’re trapped by a theta storm in an outlying village. Master Yoda, we were unable to extract Doctor Fhernan. Production of the weapon continues on a major scale. Recommend you launch an immediate assault to take the planet. When the storm breaks, we’ll return to the city and make another attempt to stop Durd. If we can, we’ll—”
And there the message ended, swallowed by static. Bail sat back in his chair. “Thank you.” Looking at Yoda, he wondered if the ancient Jedi felt as sick with relief as he did himself. “So what now?”
“We wait,” said Yoda, standing, supported by his gimer stick.
“For how long?” he demanded. “I think it’s fair to say the Republic’s in graver danger now than it was the day Obi-Wan and Anakin left for Lanteeb. We have to rethink our strategy, Master Yoda. Obi-Wan’s right—we need to get control of that planet.”
Yoda’s ears flattened. “Still working to create an antidote your scientist friend is, Senator,” he pointed out. “Until a countermeasure against this bioweapon we have, public knowledge of the Separatists’ plans we must avoid. Panic will that cause. Great devastation.”
“I agree,” he said. “The public can’t know. But since when do we brief the public on our fleet deployments? Nobody needs to know where the battle group’s going.”
Yoda just looked at him. “A secret you think this business will remain, once GAR Fleet Command is told?”
With Separatist spies still in their midst? No. He’s right. But—“Then we have to take this to Palpatine. If Durd really is stockpiling the bioweapon, it seems likely an attack on the Republic is imminent. As head of the Security Committee I can no longer support keeping the Supreme Chancellor in the dark.”
“Hmmph.” Yoda’s ears flattened further. “Agree with you I do, Senator. Reluctantly. To Palpatine we will go.”
“You mean now?”
“Yes, now,” said Yoda. “Master Ban-yaro, every Temple resource you will direct to listening for Master Kenobi’s next message.”
“Yes, Master,” said the communications chief, bowing.
Yoda held out his hand. “A secure comlink, if you please.”
Ban-yaro handed him one and Yoda placed a comm to Palpatine’s private residence, arranging for an immediate meeting. Then he handed back the comlink and turned. “Senator?”
Standing, Bail offered the comm chief a nod. “My thanks, Master Ban-yaro. Without your expertise and diligence we might be in even worse straits.”
It wasn’t until he and Yoda were in his speeder, racing along a priority traffic lane with the Temple a distance behind them that the ancient Jedi Master spoke again.
“Ask you I must, Senator, to let me direct this conversation with the Supreme Chancellor.”
Bail gave Yoda a sidelong look. “Any particular reason why? Given I’m one of Palpatine’s most trusted security advisors he’s going to want to hear from me. And if I might be blunt, I can’t afford to have my priorities questioned. It might be convenient to some that I enjoy a good relationship with the Jedi, but I must be seen as a senator, serving the Republic first and foremost.”
“Know that I do,” said Yoda, slumped and brooding in the speeder’s front passenger seat. “Yet ask for your reticence I must. A delicate situation this is.”
“Please, Master Yoda, continue,” Bail said, as Yoda frowned at Coruscant’s scintillating nighttime light show. “Whatever you tell me won’t be repeated.”
Yoda’s lips twitched. “Not even to Obi-Wan?”
“Not if you tell me to forget what I hear.”
“Senator…” Yoda looked at him, his eyes grim. “Forget what you hear.”
Oh, mercy. “Done.”
“A keen interest does Palpatine take in Jedi business, Senator,” Yoda said. “Deflect his questions I can. Reveal more than you intend or I might like, you could, if freely you speak with him.”
“I see,” he said slowly.
Obi-Wan’s never hidden his disdain for politics and politicians. But I never realized the attitude went so high in the Order. Or that they regarded Palpatine so warily.
“Angry Palpatine will be when learn of the Lanteeb mission he does,” Yoda added. “Better it is that his anger toward me is directed. Impervious to it I am. Harmed by his temper I cannot be.”
“Whereas I serve at the Supreme Chancellor’s pleasure.”
“A good man you are, Bail Organa,” Yoda said quietly. “A great debt do we owe you. A poor friend would I be if damage to your career I allowed because of choices I made.”
Bail had to clear his throat. “Master Yoda—you owe me nothing.”
Sighing, Yoda shook his head. “Wrong about that you are, Senator. Obi-Wan’s life do I owe you.”
Obi-Wan. My own life’s not so cluttered with friends that I can afford to lose one. “Will he and Anakin be all right, Master? Will we get them back?”
“Know that I do not,” said Yoda, as though the words were deeply painful. “Pray for them you could, if prayer your custom is.”
Well, it was honored more in the breach than the practice, but… “I’ll say every prayer I know, Master. I’ll even make up a few if that’ll help.”
Yoda nodded. “It would.”
Bail shifted them out of their government priority traffic lane into the slipstream that would take them to the ultra-high-security residential sector housing Palpatine’s apartment. Then he considered Yoda again.
“You know what you’ll be risking, if you delay an assault on Lanteeb.”
Another nod. “Yes, Senator. I know.”
“And if the worst happens?”
Yoda didn’t answer—and Bail didn’t push.
Stang.
They’d almost reached their destination. Even though he was Bail Organa, with Master Yoda as his passenger, even though his speeder was equipped with security clearance beacons, tags, markers and chips, still they were escorted the remainder of their journey by four heavily armed and armored Senate Personal Guard speeders. Once docked inside the fortified private residence’s secure lockup facility, they were ordered from their own speeder, triple-scanned, retina-checked, then taken by a team of Senate Commandos to a dedicated armored swift-tube that whisked them to the penthouse suite, where Palpatine was waiting.
Clad head to toe in plain, unrelieved black—odd to see after his ceremonial Senate garb—the Republic’s Supreme Chancellor dismissed their escort.
“Well,” he said, once they were alone. “Why do I have the feeling you’re not bringing me good news?”
Bail took a step forward. “I hope you’ll forgive the intrusion, Supreme Chancellor. Unfortunately, it was necessary. There are developments of which you must be made aware, that couldn’t wait till morning.”
Palpatine’s hair glowed silver in his foyer’s warm and welcoming light. “Yes,” he drawled. “I’d gathered that much. Very well then, Senator. Master Yoda. If the galaxy as we know it is about to end, I fail to see why we can’t discuss the matter in comfort. Come this way.”
As Palpatine turned to lead them into his apartment proper, Bail glanced down at Yoda. Over to you. Yoda nodded, his eyes bleak, and together they followed in the Supreme Chancellor’s chilly wake.
Chapter Eleven
ONLY HIS BRUTALLY RIGOROUS SELF-DISCIPLINE, THE DISCIPLINE of the greatest Sith Lord ever to live, saved Sidious from revealing the depth of his fury as Yoda explained the mission to Lanteeb.
Dooku, you have failed me again.
“Master Yoda,” he said, ruthlessly unemotional, “I must confess to feeling perturbed. Why did you not tell me of this bioweapon when you first learned of the threat?” He shifted his gaze to the man standing beside his implacable enemy. “And you, Senator Organa? As one of my most trusted security advisors, how could you not—”
“Upon me the blame falls for this, Supreme Chancellor,” said
Yoda. “Persuaded by me Senator Organa was to keep this matter secret. Defer to my judgment as a Jedi he did.”
Sidious pushed to his feet and indulged himself in a temper-driven pacing back and forth before the vista window in his apartment’s lounge.
“Master Yoda, you must know in what esteem I hold both you and your Order, therefore you must also know that what I say to you now I do not say lightly.” He whirled, stabbing the hated Jedi with his most steely stare. “How dare you? I am the Supreme Chancellor of this Republic, responsible for the welfare of its quadrillions of citizens. Who anointed you the gatekeeper of knowledge? Who appointed you my guardian, that you would decide what I should and should not be told of what goes on within our borders? I am the people’s elected representative. Not you. How could you betray my trust in this fashion?”
Slumped over his gimer stick, Yoda bowed his head. “Unknown at first was the extent of this problem.” Then he looked up. “And inform you of every Jedi mission I do not, Supreme Chancellor.”
Sidious stopped pacing and clasped his hands behind his back. “Then perhaps you should,” he said coldly. “But we can discuss that later. What I will say now is that when the extent of the problem was revealed you should have informed me.”
Because then I could have had Dooku take steps. And now it’s too late. Now I must find a way to salvage this situation.
Organa, that meddler, cleared his throat. “Master Yoda thought—and I agreed—that if we could deal with the threat quickly and discreetly we’d avoid yet another blow to the public’s confidence. It was never about usurping your authority, Supreme Chancellor.”
Perhaps. Perhaps not. But usurp it you did, you insignificant little princeling. And there will be a reckoning for that.
He kept his voice cold. “Even so, Senator…”
Chastened, Organa bowed his head.
Yoda, not chastened at all, the loathsome troll, met his hostile stare without flinching. “Hopeful I was that Master Kenobi and young Skywalker successful would be in thwarting Lok Durd’s plan. Hopeful I am that succeed they still might.”