Star Wars: The Approaching Storm

by Alan Dean Foster

  Speed.

  “Everyone ready?” Holding his steed’s reins effortlessly in one hand, Kyakhta looked back at his companions. Bulgan signaled that the last of the supplies had been loaded. “Then let’s go and find the Borokii!” Facing forward, he slapped his mount on the smooth back of its neck and shouted sharply, “Elup!”

  The suubatar seemed to rise from the ground. In reality, it had simply launched into the requested gallop. The six-legged gait was extraordinarily smooth, Luminara noted delightedly. There was little sensation of jouncing or jolting. Leaning back in the saddle’s viann, her fine, strong legs thrust calf-length into the deep leather stirrups, she watched the city fly past. Sluggish pedestrians had to scramble to get out of their way.

  Far sooner than she expected, they sped beneath the high-arching Govialty Gate of the old city and found themselves on a dirt road leading westward. Kyakhta came pounding up alongside her. Despite what struck the Jedi as an extreme pace, she noted that his mount was not even breathing hard.

  “Are you comfortable, then, Master Luminara?” The guide shouted to make himself heard.

  “It’s wonderful!” she yelled back. “Like riding on a cloud made of spun Dramassian silk!” Outside the city walls, they were exposed to the near-constant winds that circled the planet endlessly. Cool air rushed past her face, the suubatar’s long, narrow, slightly triangular skull parting it like the prow of a ship.

  A glance back showed Barriss hanging on for dear life, while Anakin's expression alternated between grim determination and youthful alarm. She would have laughed, had it not been unseemly. As for Obi-Wan Kenobi, he sat serenely in his embroidered saddle, arms crossed over his chest, eyes closed. His reins lay secured to the pommel-like brace in front of him. He might as well, she thought with some astonishment, have been sitting in a first-class seat on a starliner. She had known many Jedi, but never one so composed in the face of the unexpected.

  “Kyakhta!” she called out to the rider galloping alongside her. “It’s good to leave the city behind so swiftly, but aren’t you concerned about overexerting our mounts? Won’t this pace tire them quickly?”

  “Overexerting? Tire?” From his saddle, he eyed her quizzically. Then realization dawned. “Ou, you do not understand. But that is reasonable. None of you have ever seen a suubatar before, much less ridden one.” Pulling his slim legs and feet free of his stirrups, he stood up on the back of his pounding steed and looked back the way they had come, holding on to the crest of the viann for balance. “No one pursues us, but of one thing I’m sure: Bossban Soergg is not snoring this business away.” Sitting back down and resuming his former riding posture, he smiled at her anew. “You’re sure you’re comfortable?”

  “It feels almost natural. As I told you, I’m enjoying it.”

  He performed the Ansionian equivalent of a nod. “Then there’s no need for us to continue dawdling here.” Raising his voice and freeing his feet from the stirrups, he leaned forward once again and shouted, “Elup!” At the same time he kicked his mount sharply with his heels, making contact simultaneously on both front shoulders.

  “By the Force!” Anakin exclaimed as he grabbed for something to brace himself with. Barriss started laughing wildly, the acceleration sending her cowl and the folds of her robes streaming backward like flames. Obi-Wan deigned to wake up.

  Until then, it seemed, the suubatars had only been trotting. At Kyakhta’s command, they broke into a six-legged sprint of such speed that their long-toed legs seemed not to touch the ground. When they did, six long, powerful, clawed toes dug into the hard-packed dirt and flung it backward. Thirty-six such digits propelled each ground-thundering suubatar forward at a velocity that left a thoroughly exhilarated Luminara momentarily breathless.

  Which was not surprising, since they were now outpacing the wind.

  Far behind them, a motley coterie of assorted thugs, brutes, and ruffians assembled atop the city wall by the very gate through which the Jedi and their guides had departed. Off in the distance, a very faint cloud of dust could be seen dissipating atop a low, rolling, grass-covered hill. To Ogomoor it might as well have been poison gas.

  “That must be them.” He turned to the hulking Varvvan standing at his side. “Get your people together. We’re going after them.”

  “At that speed? You heard what the people in the market said. They’re riding suubatars. Purebloods, at that.” Behind them, the other members of the hastily assembled troops of cutthroats had begun to mutter among themselves.

  “We’ll take an airtruck. No suubatar can outpace an airtruck.”

  “Not outpace, no. But outmaneuver…” the Varvvan’s eyes leaned closer to Ogomoor's. “You ever try to corner an Alwari mounted on a good suubatar? A quick way to die.”

  “Bastasi!” the impatient Ogomoor exclaimed. “As you will. What besides an airtruck will persuade you to follow my order and go after those six?”

  The Varvvan considered, rubbing one eye as he studied the wispy remnants of the distant dust cloud. “Heavy weapons,” he finally declared.

  “Don’t be stupid!” Ogomoor barked at the hireling. “Not even Bossban Soergg can engage heavy weapons in Cuipernam! There are some limitations that even he—urk!”

  Clutching the squirming majordomo by the collar, the Varvvan had lifted him off the ground and was holding him in that position. “Don’t—call—me—stupid.”

  Aware that he might have let his anger and annoyance get a teensy bit the better of him, Ogomoor hastened to calm the mercenary. “It was just a blurted exclamation—I meant nothing personal by it—now please let me down and—could you perhaps retract your eyeballs? They’re oozing.”

  With a hiss, the Varvvan set him down. Straightening his jacket, Ogomoor turned to gaze longingly at the distant rise over which his quarry had disappeared. “Why the worry, anyway? The visitors are being led by a couple of clanless morons!”

  Shouldering his compaction rifle, the Varvvan hissed again and turned away. His kind were brave, even fearless—but despite Ogomoor’s assertion, they were not dumb.

  “Say you. But I, and my associates, know only what we see. And what I see are four visitors and two escorts who do not ride like clanless morons.” He started down the steps that led back to the city streets. “They ride like Alwari.”

  Frustrated beyond words, Ogomoor turned his attention away from the useless mercenaries and back to the beginnings of the endless grasslands beyond Cuipernam. Where, he wailed silently, could he find assassins worthy of his orders? Where could he find beings willing to take up weapons against the unmentionable Jedi? Where could he find the kind of help that, at every turn, seemed to be denied him?

  Most importantly of all, where could he find someone else to tell Soergg the Hutt that the Jedi and their Padawans had, once again, flown free of his intentions and beyond his reach?

  Much to Ogomoor’s surprise, Soergg listened quietly to his majordomo’s report. “Once again, too late. Punctuality is the hallmark of the successful assassin.”

  “There was nothing I could do, Bossban. Those I had hired refused to pursue the fleeing Jedi.”

  “Yes, yes, so you told me.” Soergg waved a dismissive hand. “Riding suubatars, you said. Given that, I’m not surprised at the lack of enthusiasm on the part of your puerile hirelings.” He rubbed his vast chin, the flesh quivering like the sulfurous outfall of some particularly noxious thermal vent. “First a bungled killing, then a bungled kidnapping. The Jedi are on their guard now.”

  “They cannot be taken by surprise,” Ogomoor added, unnecessarily.

  “Perhaps.” Huge slitted eyes looked past the assistant, toward distant places. “Certainly not by us.”

  “I don’t understand, Master.”

  Soergg did not reply. He was still gazing at the distant place, thinking Huttish thoughts.

  Chapter Seven

  It was not merely beautiful out on the endless prairie that covered much of Ansion’s landmass: it was magnificent. At least, L
uminara thought so. Barriss agreed with her, while Obi-Wan was impressed but noncommittal. As usual, Anakin wished himself elsewhere, but refrained from saying so more than once a day.

  “A year ago he would have been bemoaning his situation two or three times a day,” Obi-Wan pointed out that evening to Luminara. “I suppose it’s a sign that he’s maturing.”

  Nearby, Kyakhta and Bulgan were busy with the camp, preparing food and making tea. Behind them, a ways off, the six splendid suubatars had been set down for the night. Their legs folded beneath their powerful, slender bodies, the graceful steeds busied themselves browsing the grasses and grains that grew in abundance all around them.

  The prairies of Ansion were not all unbroken fields of grass. Rivers cut erratically through the yellow-green flatlands while rolling hills occasionally interrupted the monotony of the terrain. There were clumps of forest filled with strange, intertwined trees and brachiating fungi. Higher ridges were the bones of old volcanic vents and plugs. It was a strange landscape, an odd combination of different geologies jumbled together in a way Luminara had not encountered previously.

  “Why is he so stressed all the time?” Leaning up against the viann of the saddle that the guides had uncinched and removed from her ruminating mount, she chewed on the stick of nut-flavored nutrient and waited for her tea to get hot.

  The central campfire was reflected in Obi-Wan’s eyes. “Anakin? As is common in such instances, there’s more than one reason. For one thing, he feels obligated to excel. This is largely a product of his difficult upbringing, so different from that of the average Padawan. Also, he misses many things.”

  “Anyone who trains to become Jedi knows they will have to give up many things.”

  He nodded in agreement. “He fears he will never see his mother, whom he loves very much, ever again.”

  “That was a terrible mistake. Force-sensitive infants are removed from their families before they can form such dangerously lasting attachments.” She sounded momentarily wistful. “I sometimes wonder what my own mother is doing, even at this moment, as we sit here discussing such things. I wonder if she is thinking the same thing about me.” She looked away, off into the darkening prairie. “What about you, Obi-Wan? Do you ever think of your parents?”

  “I have too much else to think about. Besides, every Jedi who is given charge of an apprentice has become a kind of parent. Being one leaves me with no time to think of my own. When such feelings do intrude, I find myself thinking of my teachers or Master Qui-Gon, and not my birth parents. Sometimes—sometimes I wonder if it isn’t a flaw in Jedi training to take infants from their families.”

  “The proof of the truth lies in the success of the system. That, no one can doubt.”

  “I suppose,” he replied. With a slight smile he added, “No Jedi would be a true devotee who didn’t question the system, along with everything else.”

  She looked to her right, to the other side of the camp. “Your Anakin may be subject to many flaws, but an unwillingness to question things certainly isn’t one of them. Will he ever see his mother again, do you think?” she asked thoughtfully.

  “Who can say? If it were up to him, he would. But it’s not up to him, any more than the direction of my future travelings are up to me. We go where the council sends us. Better to ask such questions of Master Yoda than me.” Again the sly smile. “Ask him if he thinks of his own birth parents.”

  She had to laugh. “Master Yoda’s parents! Now we are talking of ancient history indeed.” Her tone grew serious again. “Master Yoda has, so it is said, more important things on his mind these days.”

  He smiled thinly. “Always. This fermenting secessionist business foremost among them. Shifting, unpredictable alliances in the Senate itself. As for Anakin, there are other things occupying his thoughts besides his mother. I can sense the turmoil that bubbles inside him. But when I bring it up, he refuses to acknowledge that such disturbances even exist. Strange, how he is willing to question the validity of everything but his own inner uncertainties.”

  “Ah.” Reaching down, she picked up the self-heating tumbler of hot Ansionian tea. It was black and sweet, with a distinctive tang of the open plains. Everything here tasted of the prairie, she was coming to realize. “Given so much powerful self-denial, do you really think he can become a full Jedi Knight?”

  “I don’t know. I really don’t know. But I promised Master Qui-Gon that I would try my best to make it happen. To that end I have disagreed, before the Council, with Master Yoda himself. Yes, I have my doubts. But a promise is a promise. If Anakin succeeds in overcoming his own internal demons, he will make a great Jedi, and Master Qui-Gon’s judgment will be vindicated.”

  “And you? What of your judgment, Obi-Wan?”

  “I try not to make judgments.” Rising, he dusted off his robe. “Anakin knows he has problems. I teach, I advise, I offer a sympathetic ear. But in the end, only Anakin can decide what Anakin will become. I think he knows that, but refuses to accept it. He wants me, or someone else, to make everything right, from his mother’s condition to the condition of the galaxy.” The smile widened slightly. “As you may have noted, he can be very headstrong when there is something that he wants.”

  “I would prefer to think ‘resolute.’” She lowered the tumbler from her lips. Steam rose from the container, snaking slowly up in front of her face, blurring the distinct outlines of the tattoos on her chin. “What’s the biggest problem? His mother? The deliberate pace of his education?”

  “If I knew that, I would try to cure it. I think it is buried much deeper. So deep he isn’t even aware of it himself. Someday it will come out.” He turned and started to walk away. “When it does, I have a feeling it will make for some interesting times.”

  “Is that a feeling that emanates from the Force?” she called after him.

  “No.” Glancing back over his shoulder, he smiled one more time. “It’s a feeling that emanates from Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

  She was alone only for a moment. Holding her own tumbler, Barriss sat down beside her. The Padawan’s gaze followed the retreating Jedi. “What were you and Obi-Wan discussing, Master?”

  Luminara leaned back against the comforting, supportive arc of the viann. On the other side of the camp, a suubatar bayed at one of the two half-moons that hung in the sky like the stolen earrings of an abdicated queen.

  “Nothing of significance to you, my dear.”

  Unsatisfied with this response, but understanding that it meant she should probe no farther, Barriss tilted back her head to study the night sky. Brilliant with distant, steadily shining stars, it was unmarred by cloud or corruption. Unlike the aging, stumbling Republic, she reflected worriedly.

  “So many stars, Master. So many planets, many with their own individual sentient species, cultures, attitudes. Some part of the Republic, other independent, still others as yet unexplored or undiscovered. I look forward to visiting as many of them as possible.” Her eyes dropped to meet those of the older woman. “It’s one of the main reasons I enjoy being a Jedi.”

  Luminara laughed. Her laugh was not soft and subtle, as one might have expected, but robust, even startling.

  Barriss turned more serious.

  “Are you lonely, Master Luminara?”

  Soft sipping sounds came from the other woman’s dark-stained lips as she swallowed the invigorating tea. The charming, inquisitive Barriss had never been one to hide her curiosity behind the veil of false subtlety. “All Jedi are lonely to one degree or another, Padawan. You’ll learn that soon enough. The difference lies in the degree. There are those who are more comfortable with an ascetic lifestyle than others. Within the rules, there is some flexibility. You simply have to seek it out.”

  Barriss looked to the other side of the fire. “Is that what Anakin is trying to do? Find flexibility?”

  Sensitive, she was, Luminara marveled. Her Padawan was going to make an exceptional healer. “He’s certainly searching for something. Answers to questions he
hasn’t even formed yet. Whether he can find enough of them to make him happy remains to be seen. I’ve spoken to Obi-Wan about it. He isn’t sure, either. He knows only that his Padawan has enormous potential.”

  Barriss rose. “Potential that goes unrealized is potential that might as well not exist in the first place.”

  From her recumbent position, Luminara looked up into the night. “Don’t be so quick to judge, Barriss. Some of us suffer from greater uncertainties than others. I would as soon have Anakin Skywalker by my side in a fight as any Padawan I have ever met.”

  “In a fight, yes, Master. At other times…” she left the thought unfinished as she pivoted and walked back to her own sleeping place.

  Luminara watched the young woman turn in. Had she herself ever been that restless, that uncertain? Leaning back, she scanned the stars anew. So many indeed, she mused, silently echoing her Padawan’s observation. Each system with its own problems, each individual living therein with its own hopes and fears, triumphs and heartaches. Even now there might be dozens, hundreds of individual sentients, lying outside contemplating the night, wondering if another was feeling what they were felling, gazing out across the light-years in search of enlightenment. Hoping.

  Determinedly, she drained the last of the native tea and set the tumbler aside. The work of a Jedi was never done, whether it was bludgeoning recalcitrant planetary councils like the Ansionian Unity into seeing reason, fighting to hold the Republic together, or counseling distraught individual souls. Burdens enough for any one entity. She could deal with the exigencies. So, she knew, could Obi-Wan Kenobi. One day the same would be true for Barriss Offee. As for Anakin Skywalker, that remained to be seen.

  Potential, Barriss had said. Was ever a word so fraught with confliction? As for Anakin's future happiness, where was it written that one had to be happy to perform well as a Jedi? Content, yes. Accepting, surely. But “happy”? Was she happy?

  Focus on the task at hand, she told herself firmly. And the task at hand was not satisfying the curiosity of her apprentice, not trying to understand the puzzling Padawan Anakin Skywalker, not even supporting the aims and ideals of the Republic. No, the task at hand was to get a good night’s rest in the absence of a comfortable bed. Turning onto her side, she pulled the thermosensitive blanket up to her neck, closed her eyes, and allowed herself to drift off into a deep and soothing sleep, where even a Jedi could, for a little while, openly and freely set aside all responsibilities.