by Karen Miller
Shocked, her eyes wide, Devi moved into position. He could feel her terror like a living thing. Cutting himself off from it, he reached inside his shirt, pulled out his lightsaber and flicked its switch. The burning blue blade hummed into life.
She gasped. “You’re going to fight them?”
“Yes,” he said, moving for the door. “All the power you can spare, Devi. Nothing else matters.”
Outside again he looked up, counted ten—twelve—sixteen mosquito droids. Looking around he saw more dead or wounded villagers and closed his mind to their plight. Anakin, still shouting at people to run, was drawing the droids’ fire and deflecting their lethal blaster bolts with his own lightsaber, its blade a blur.
The storm shield still hadn’t engaged. And there were more droids coming, dazzling bright in the sunshine. Durd had sent an army after them. Battle droids, ranks of them. They were close enough to count.
How could I have been so wrong? How did I not sense this? These people—these poor people…
“Obi-Wan!”
He leapt into the fray, putting himself between the last straggling villagers and a hunting pack of droids, and took out three of them in swift succession even as he fought his way to Anakin.
“Where’s the shield?” Anakin shouted above the searing shriek of the droid attack. “You turned it on, right?”
“No, Anakin, I disabled it!” he shouted back as he destroyed another mosquito. “Of course I turned it on!”
“Then why hasn’t it—”
With a humming rush of power the stormshield reengaged—but not fast enough to prevent the first marching battle droids from entering the village.
“Obi-Wan—”
He almost never got angry, but now he felt sick with fury. You fool, Kenobi. You arrogant fool. “I know. I’ve got them, Anakin. You take care of these mosquitoes.”
And without giving Anakin a chance to argue he sprinted to the road leading out of the village, where the battle droids were marching toward him in perfect lock step. How many? Twenty. Maybe more. They saw him and aimed their blasters. Running headlong to meet them he raised his lightsaber. Raised his other hand ready to Force-push—
“Hold your fire! Hold your fire!” the droid commander blared. “Target acquired! Capture, not kill!”
What? But before he could consider the implications of the order the droids were flipping switches on their blasters and the next thing he knew they were firing stun charges at him.
Still running, he summoned the Force and vaulted over their heads. Their blasters tracked him, firing without pause. One stun charge clipped his shoulder in passing. Dizzy, his vision crimson around the edges, he hit the ground and stumbled. Spinning around, off kilter, he Force-pushed the droids nearest to him. They flew backward, stun charges harmlessly stitching the air. Three of them collected another four as they tumbled. Good. Still dizzy, he tried for another Force-push. Not as effective this time, only two droids went flying. And the other droids were swiftly closing in, starting to flank him, surround him. He shook his head hard, trying to clear it. The damotite headache was back, fiercer than ever. Or maybe that was the stun charge. He was going to be sick.
“Obi-Wan! Break left!”
“Careful!” Obi-Wan managed to croak as he staggered in more or less the right direction. “Stun charges. They want to take us alive.”
“I know!” Anakin shouted, and passed him at a run.
And then he thought perhaps he really was unconscious and having a wild dream, because Anakin threw his lightsaber, sent it spinning into the midst of the droids, dismembering them into scrap metal, using the Force to control his weapon’s speed and trajectory.
Swaying like a drunk in Coruscant’s seediest nightclub, he watched Anakin obliterate the remaining battle droids. If he hadn’t felt so ill he’d have laughed or cheered.
Good boy. Oh, good boy. You show the barves.
With effortless, arrogant ease, Anakin summoned his lightsaber back to his hand, nodded once at the destroyed droids, grimly satisfied, then turned. “You all right?”
He couldn’t answer. Not only because he was still shaking from the stun charge’s nimbus, but because—
“Hey!” Anakin said sharply. “Obi-Wan. This isn’t your fault. They didn’t teleport here from Lantibba. They must’ve been traveling for hours. They left the city sometime after we were trapped here by the theta storm. We were never going to get away. You know that, right?”
Slowly, the worst of the nausea subsided. Standing a little straighter, he deactivated his lightsaber. “Perhaps. But that’s hardly consolation for these people. They took us in—and look what their act of mercy has brought them.”
Anakin was staring down the road that led out of the village. On the other side of the storm shield, gently distorted by the shimmering plasma, more battle droids and mosquitoes gathered. Frowning, Anakin summoned one of the dismembered droid’s blasters to his hand, switched it back to lethal mode, then aimed it at the storm shield and fired. The blaster bolt splashed against it, energy dissipated. The shield shivered but held.
“Well,” said Anakin, and tossed the blaster aside. “That’s one question answered.”
Obi-Wan rubbed his temple, fighting to control the vicious pain. “That’s a single blaster bolt,” he said. “What if they fire a hundred? What if they fire worse? This is a storm shield, not a siege barrier.”
Anakin shrugged. “It isn’t right now. But if you give me a few hours…”
“Are you serious? Anakin, are you saying you can convert a theta shield to a siege barrier?” Another shrug. “I can try.”
Heart thudding, Obi-Wan stared at the scattered bodies of the men and women who’d died. I’m sorry. So sorry. Then he turned back and stared again at Durd’s army.
“Yes, I’m sure you can, Anakin,” he murmured. “Just as I’m sure that you would succeed. So the question becomes not can you… but should you?”
Chapter Thirteen
“SURRENDER?” EXHAUSTED AND FILTHY, RIKKARD STARED AT them. “Are you saying you want to hand yourselves over to those droids?”
“Want to?” Obi-Wan shook his head. “Of course not. But your village cannot withstand a protracted siege, Teeb. Your supplies are inadequate and there’s no guarantee the storm shield will hold until sunset, let alone for days. Or weeks. Besides, you have nine dead and seventeen wounded already. Anakin and I cannot ask you to add to that tally by protecting us.”
“You think it will take weeks for the Republic to come?” said Teeba Jaklin, frowning.
“Not weeks, no,” said Anakin. “They should be—”
“The problem is,” said Obi-Wan, with a quelling look, “we can’t promise you that help is on its way. In fact, I think we must assume we’re on our own.”
“Oh,” Teeba Jaklin said, her voice faint. She pressed her fingers to her lips, swamped by grief and bewilderment. Rikkard, just as shaken, rested a hand on her shoulder.
The four of them stood on the charter house step. Feeling the village leaders’ fear echo through the Force, and sharply aware of Obi-Wan’s mood, Anakin looked across the square. Nearly half an hour had passed since the droid attack. Torbel’s people were still in shock, mourning their dead and trying to comfort the wounded.
A handful of villagers had defied Jaklin and Rikkard and drifted to the end of the main street to stare through the storm shield at the massed battle droids on its other side. Not including the buzzing flock of mosquitoes, at a rough head count there were three hundred of them, heavily armed. By some miracle they hadn’t fired a shot for nearly ten minutes. Since most droids lacked initiative, probably they were waiting for further instructions. At least the storm shield had been down long enough for the air to clear, which meant no more breathing toxic smoke. But aside from that…
Every time I think we can’t get ourselves into worse trouble, we do. Obi-Wan can’t believe our best bet is to surrender. He just can’t.
Except, glancing at Obi-Wan’s seve
rely self-contained face, he was pretty sure his former Master was deadly serious.
Which means we have another problem.
“You’re sure there’s no chance you can fix our communications hub?” Teeba Jaklin said at last. “If we could find out when the help you asked for is coming—”
“I’m sorry,” Anakin said. “The entire central processing relay is burned out. You don’t have the right replacement parts, and what parts you do have I can’t get to work.”
Her accusing glare scorched him. “But you’ve fixed everything else! Devi says you’re some kind of genius. You have to fix the hub. It’s our only link to the rest of Lanteeb.”
“I’m sorry,” he said again, feeling helpless. He didn’t know what else to say.
Rikkard lightly shook the woman’s shoulder. “Jaklin, don’t hunt the boy. He’s done his best for us. They both have.”
“Done their best?” said Jaklin, incredulous, and knocked his hand away. “Rikkard, they’ve brought this on us! If not for them we’d have no children weeping over their lost mothers and fathers, would we? Sufi wouldn’t be bloodied to the elbows with wounded and Brandeh—dear Brandeh—” Her voice broke. “She wouldn’t be dead.”
“I know we’re in a bad way, Jaklin, but be fair!” Rikkard snapped. “We’re alive thanks to these men. I’m still a father because of them. And you want us to throw them to those droids like raw meat to spika-wolves? For shame, woman. I thought much better of you.”
Teeba Jaklin paled beneath the dirt and sweat smearing her face. “Yes, they did us a good turn, Rikkard—but they were saving themselves, too. That’s not noble. It’s pragmatics, that is. And you heard the Jedi clear as I did. The storm shield won’t hold. Not against an army of droids.”
Anakin opened his mouth to argue that, but Obi-Wan elbowed him silent. He shot his former Master a quick, frustrated look.
Obi-Wan, listen to me. You’re making a mistake.
But Obi-Wan, feeling guilty, his mind made up, refused to yield… or even acknowledge that he’d heard the plea.
“What will happen if we give you to the droids?” said Rikkard to Obi-Wan. “Will they kill you?”
“No,” Obi-Wan replied. “They want us alive. They’ll take us back to Lantibba and hand us over either to the Separatist-controlled government or to Lok Durd, who’s already tried to capture us once.”
“And then you’ll be killed?”
“It’s possible,” Obi-Wan admitted, after a moment. “Or they could attempt to use us to extort concessions from the Republic.”
Rikkard thought about that. “Would they torture information out of you?”
“They might try,” said Anakin. “But they’d fail.”
“Still…” Rikkard hunched his shoulders. “If you went with them—could you escape between here and Lantibba? I mean, you’re Jedi. You can do things the rest of us can’t imagine.”
“Of course that would be our aim,” Obi-Wan said carefully. “But given that we’ve escaped them once, I doubt they’ll be taking any chances.”
“But—you’re Jedi,” Rikkard said, disbelieving, as though they were supposed to be invulnerable.
“Ordinarily that would make the difference,” Obi-Wan said, with a faint smile. “But Count Dooku, the Separatists’ leader, was once a Jedi. He has certain… insights. Tricks to keep us under control.”
Teeba Jaklin snorted. “Sounds to me like you’re trying to talk us into leaving our shield up. Not very heroic. You want us to keep on sheltering you? Then ask. Straight out.”
“Jaklin,” said Rikkard. “You can’t—”
“What, Rikkard?” she demanded. “What can’t I? I’ll tell you. I can’t stand by and see these Jedi bring ruin on our heads.”
“Who says it’s up to you?” Rikkard said, offended. “There’s two of us chosen to speak for Torbel.”
Jaklin looked like she wanted to shake him. Or slap him. Or cry. “Are you stupid, man? I let them in. I offered them shelter. It’s my doing we’re trapped inside this bubble with dead and dying in the sick house and no hope of escape.” Her dirty fist struck her chest. “Every drop of bloodshed is blood shed by me.”
Rikkard pulled her close. Despite their mutual exasperation and fear, even though there was aggravation on both sides, there was deep affection, too. Rikkard was hurting, feeling Jaklin’s pain along with his own.
“I’ll say it once more and this time you’ll hear me,” he said. “We survived one storm because of them. And Jaklin, with their help we’ll survive the storm they brought with them, not meaning to.”
She wrenched free of him, then turned her burning gaze on Obi-Wan. “If you go with those droids, what happens to us? Do they leave Torbel alone or do they punish us for sheltering you? If we tell them we had no idea you were Jedi, will they believe us?”
“They’re droids, Teeba Jaklin,” Anakin said, before Obi-Wan could answer. “Believing humans isn’t a high priority in their programming.”
“So whatever we do makes no matter? The damage is done? For helping you we’re punished?” Stifling fresh grief, Jaklin stared at the straggle of frightened children on the village square. “How is that right?”
“It’s not,” he said, fighting to keep her pain at a distance. “Teeba, I’m sorry.”
“You mustn’t lose hope,” said Obi-Wan. “Don’t forget, they need Torbel’s damotite.”
“But do they need us to mine it?” she retorted, still staring at the children. “They could kill us all and bring in miners from other villages.”
“They could,” Obi-Wan agreed, reluctant. “But that would likely stir up trouble, which is the last thing they want. Besides, what you’re suggesting would take time—and time is one thing the Seps don’t have in abundance.”
Sighing, Rikkard rubbed his hand across his scarred head. “If we give the word to lower our shield, can you promise me those droids won’t open fire and kill every one in Torbel that’s not a Jedi?”
“No, I can’t promise you that,” Obi-Wan said tightly. “But we’d do everything in our power to prevent it.”
“Then can you promise me, if we do hand you over without getting ourselves killed, that you and Anakin won’t be put to death?”
A heavy silence, then Obi-Wan shook his head. “No, Rikkard. I can’t promise that either, but—”
“A moment. Tell me this, Teeb.” Rikkard’s eyes were fierce. “What do you want?”
Taken by surprise, Obi-Wan stared at him. “What do I—Rikkard, I want you and your people safe. I want to stop Lok Durd and his bioweapon.”
“And you want to live,” said Jaklin. “Don’t—”
“What if you can’t have everything you want?” said Rikkard, a hand on Jaklin’s arm holding her to silence. “Who do you save, Teeb Kenobi? Yourself and Anakin? Us? Or the rest of the galaxy?”
Obi-Wan didn’t answer.
Rikkard turned. “And you, Anakin? What do you want?”
Anakin looked at the ground. He knew what Obi-Wan wanted him to say.
But we don’t agree, Obi-Wan. I think giving ourselves to the droids should be our last choice, not our first.
“Rikkard, I can modify your storm shield,” he said, keeping his voice flat and unemotional, ignoring Obi-Wan’s dismay. “I can strengthen it and modulate its pulse frequency so the droids’ weapons won’t penetrate it. And with those modifications I believe we can hold them off until help gets here. At least, we can if you’ve got enough stored fuel.”
Rikkard rubbed his scar-knotted scalp again. “That depends on what you mean by enough,” he said slowly. “We have some liquid damotite stockpiled.”
“How much?”
“It should last us maybe a month. We can’t store huge amounts, it’s too volatile.”
Stang. There was no way they’d last a month with the modified storm shield running without respite. “Can you make more if we need it?”
“No,” said Jaklin, bitter with fear. “Not unless you can wave your fancy weap
on over what’s left of the refinery and undestroy it. Can you do that, Jedi?”
“I wish I could.” Anakin blew out a sharp breath. “You want to know what I want? I want surrender to be a last resort. I’m confident our message reached the Temple and help is on its way. I think we can hold out until it gets here, if we’re careful. Rikkard, I want us all to survive. And I believe we can.”
Rikkard looked at him in silence for a long time, hope and doubt warring behind the shadows in his eyes. “But you don’t know.”
“No,” said Obi-Wan. “He doesn’t.”
The coldness beneath Obi-Wan’s politely detached voice almost made him flinch. Now I’m in trouble.
“Rikkard, if it turns out I’m wrong we can still surrender,” he added, not looking at Obi-Wan. “If we reach the breaking point and no help arrives, we’ll make it look like we were holding Torbel hostage and you managed to overpower us. Please—I know it’s a risk, but I think it’s one worth taking.”
Teeba Jaklin looked at Obi-Wan. “You don’t agree.”
“Oh, I agree it’s a risk,” said Obi-Wan, blandly furious.
“Is he lying about the storm shield? Can he do what he says?”
No matter how angry he was, Obi-Wan was always fair. “Yes, he can.”
Jaklin eyes narrowed. “Are you afraid, Jedi?”
Her belligerence made Obi-Wan blink. “Teeba, we Jedi are taught that fear is dangerous. It can lead us down dark pathways, to ends we would not wish for ourselves or others.”
“But you’re a man, aren’t you?” she demanded. “You have a heart? You have feelings?”
Looking at Obi-Wan, recognizing his withdrawn expression, Anakin bit his lip.
Come on, Obi-Wan. Give a little. She needs to know you’re more than a mysterious Jedi, that you know what it’s like to feel alone and afraid. She won’t ask her people to risk themselves for us if she thinks we’re no better than droids ourselves.
“I know what you want from me, Teeba,” Obi-Wan said at last. “And I know why. But I won’t claim to be something I’m not simply to placate you. That would be an insult. I understand your fear and I will do everything in my power to see that what you fear does not come to pass.”