Kenobi: Star Wars

by John Jackson Miller

  He chuckled in spite of himself. Yep, Orrin, some pull you’ve got indeed. Maybe farming wasn’t his calling. Tatooine didn’t offer many chances for a career politician, but with that new Empire on the rise, who knew?

  Whatever. Ben wouldn’t know what hit him. Orrin lifted his macrobinoculars to scan the nothingness ahead.

  From the backseat, Veeka pointed ahead, to the left. “There!”

  In the middle of the desert, Ben stood brazenly astride a speeder bike. One of Orrin’s speeder bikes, Orrin saw as he focused in: the one Jabe had ridden to the Ulbrecks’.

  Mullen pointed. “Everyone’s spotted him. Dad, I think we should turn back now.”

  Orrin looked up, startled. “What did you say?”

  “I said if we turn and double back, the left flank will follow us,” his son said. “We’ll catch him between and herd him like a bantha.”

  “Oh, okay,” Orrin said, fishing inside the jacket for a handkerchief. He wiped the sweat from his brow. The landspeeder lurched and wheeled, and a dozen-plus repulsorcraft followed.

  Orrin trained the viewfinder on Ben again, still almost a kilometer away. The man simply looked back, serenely, as if aware Orrin’s eyes were on him. Finally, Ben activated the bike and turned.

  “That’s right,” Orrin said, grinning. “You turn back now.”

  Kenobi was zigzagging across the open sand. West, back to his place, was barred to him by one line of landspeeders; north, and the open range, by the other. Orrin had thought for a moment that the man might make for the great gap in the Jundland, the pathway the Jawas took to reach the Western Dune Sea. But he seemed to be heading instead for the branch of the Jundland highlands farther east.

  Orrin figured it out immediately. “Cute,” he said. “He’s trying to get us into Hanter’s Gorge.” Annileen had said she and Ben had witnessed the Tusken massacre there. Orrin didn’t know whether Ben had a soft spot for Sand People or not, but all the same, he wasn’t going to be led into a trap. “Cut him off,” he said over the comm system. “Send him into the rift!”

  The Roiya Rift had always looked to Orrin like a wall that a child had built out of blocks—and then knocked half of it down. Here, the Jundland Wastes bowed inward, a semicircle of flat desert terrain at the mouth of a half ring of jagged, towering teeth. The wide passageways between the teeth twisted south into the wastes, climbing and subdividing into smaller corridors; the Tuskens loved to hide here. The oasis attackers had been making for the rift when they’d wound up in Hanter’s Gorge, kilometers to the east, by mistake. But with the rift, there was no prospect of those on high ground sniping at the posse. The pillars of stone climbed too high, and the paths between rose too gradually, twisting and bending as they went.

  The landspeeder lines held, and Ben veered into the gap. Without pause, his speeder bike rocketed for one of the narrower, rubble-strewn ramps. Within seconds, he was gone from sight. Orrin knew then that it was all over for Kenobi. Vigilante vehicles streamed into the semicircle, taking up station in front of all the apertures, not just the one Ben had taken. There was no escape.

  Mullen brought the Gault landspeeder to a stop. “Are we going up after him?”

  “Not sure we’ll have to,” Orrin said. “He’s a tourist. He’ll find out there’s Tuskens up there and will turn right back around.”

  “What if he’s pals with the Tuskies, like you said?” Mullen asked.

  Orrin rolled his eyes. “That was for the crowd, Mullen!” He smirked. “But so what if he is? They’ll see we’ve brought an army and kill him all the same.”

  Orrin stepped out of the vehicle and straightened his jacket. He nodded for his kids to approach. “Now, remember,” he said quietly. “If Kenobi comes out, don’t give him a chance to say a word. You cut him down fast and the others will follow.”

  Veeka looked at her father. “What if he’s unarmed?”

  “We’ll say we saw him draw on us,” Orrin said. He glared at his daughter. “Are you that worried about him? You do want to continue living it up on my money, don’t you?”

  “I don’t care,” she said, spitting on the ground. “One less beggar in the desert. I just wanted to know what you were gonna say.”

  “Just follow my lead, as usual.” Orrin reached inside the vehicle for the loudhailer. Turning, he walked into the middle of the gathering. Under the noon suns, the stone formations gave Orrin the impression of standing within a giant, natural coliseum. The place had fallen silent except for the click-clacks of blaster rifles being adjusted. Armed settlers crouched behind hovering repulsorcraft. Any eyes that weren’t on the gaps were on Orrin.

  Orrin shouted into the amplifier. “Come on out, Kenobi!”

  His voice echoed all around. But no response came.

  Watching from cover, Ulbreck looked back, warily. “Don’t like this.”

  “Don’t worry,” Orrin said, gesturing toward a group of settlers in the rear. “Send up the smoke charges.” The mortars were one of the Fund’s earlier investments, and they’d never had occasion to use them. But they were designed for exactly this: flushing out the opposition. A few parabolic shots up into the crags and Ben would have nowhere to—

  “Ayooooo-eh-EH-EHH!”

  Orrin froze. The screech came again from the hills. A krayt dragon call: just like the Settlers’ Call siren, only more natural sounding. Rising and trilling, the noise reached every listener in the would-be arena.

  Orrin looked back at the others, a canny grin on his face. “Don’t be fooled, folks. That’s our trick.”

  Some of the settlers shifted nervously, but they all stayed in position. Orrin walked back to his landspeeder and brought the loudhailer to his mouth. “You’d better cut that out, Kenobi, or you’ll scare your friends.” He waved back to the settlers setting up the mortars. It was time.

  Then it happened. The Zeltron, Leelee’s husband, noticed it first. “Listen!” Waller Pace said. “Do you feel it?”

  Orrin didn’t have time for empathic Zeltrons and their feelings. “Stay focused,” he said. But now Orrin felt it, too, and heard it. A low rumble, rising slowly to a crescendo. Pebbles on the ground began to roll. Dust rose.

  “Groundquake!” Veeka yelled.

  Orrin shook his head. No, that wasn’t it. It was something else, thundering downward, through the gaps from the Jundland Wastes. And now he saw what it was.

  Banthas!

  One after another, the enormous beasts charged down the stone chute Ben had ridden his speeder bike up. And not just from there! Several broad pathways wound down from the mountains—and now they were filled, too, disgorging banthas of all sizes. Right at the settlers.

  “Stampede!” Ulbreck yelled, ducking under his hovering vehicle. The hairy mass coursed across the desert floor like water from a broken dam, sending settlers diving in all directions.

  The loudhailer fell from Orrin’s hand into the open cab of his landspeeder. He tried to use his vehicle for cover, too, but a giant bantha struck it first, ramming the hovercraft’s hood into his midsection. A heartbeat later a second bantha struck the USV-5, sending both Orrin and the vehicle spinning.

  All around, the scene repeated. The charging animals smashed into landspeeders and sent them careening like toys. Settlers dived and fell in desperation. In the rear, the beasts upset the mortars, resulting in smoke rounds shrieking over the vigilantes’ heads. Two struck the wall of the rift with an ear-shattering clang—and in the next instant smoke filled the air.

  Orrin clung to his landspeeder until it bounced into a boulder, knocking him to the dust. Dazed and dizzy, he spent long moments lost in the smoke. Somewhere, a blaster went off. A farmer screamed. Orrin didn’t move.

  In the fog, a voice came from nearby. It was Ben’s.

  “Turn back now.”

  Orrin blinked. Before, he had heard the
words only in Jabe’s voice, and then later when Mullen had said them. Hearing them now, from Ben himself, he realized the message wasn’t a demand. Instead, Ben’s voice was calm and consoling, as if giving advice to a friend.

  Orrin reached for his blaster, which was still secure in his holster, but there was nowhere to point it.

  Finally, as the yellowish smoke settled, he coughed and rubbed his eyes. The landspeeders had been thrown around like sabacc cards in the breeze. Some still hovered, their engines driving them futilely into the nearby walls. Others were upended, or half on top of other vehicles. The settlers were in the dust, gasping for air and grasping for their fallen weapons. At least they were all moving, as far as Orrin could see.

  Into this scene, three remaining creatures emerged from the uplands. A bantha calf trotted down—followed, improbably, by an eopie mother and her kid. The trio of laggards tromped heedlessly through the chaotic scene, following the herd into the open desert to the northwest.

  Orrin found Mullen and Veeka awkwardly getting to their feet. Mullen had taken a horn to the side of his head; he was bleeding from his temple. “Can you fight?” Orrin asked.

  Mullen grunted angrily.

  Orrin took it as affirmative. “Kenobi’s playing games,” he muttered. He turned, blaster in hand.

  But something else came screaming down from the stone fissure. A speeder bike and rider, sizzling down the pathway Kenobi had taken up into the mountains. It soared in a straight line, one that would take it over the heads of the vigilantes and to the open desert beyond.

  “Blast him! Blast him!”

  Quick-witted vigilantes caught the vehicle in a crossfire as it zipped past. Several shots struck true, and the speeder bike flashed with fire, spiraling to the right. Its forward struts struck the ground hard. The vehicle and its passenger flipped end over end, finally smashing into an unoccupied repulsorcraft.

  Orrin rushed forward. Wreckage was everywhere. A body burned in the debris. Excitedly, Orrin approached the rider’s side.

  And saw that it was, in fact, a burlap duffel. Half of the smoking bag had ripped open where it had been tied to the handlebars. Without thinking, Orrin shoved his hand into the smoldering debris and found the fake rider’s stuffing: a bundle of Tusken head wrappings.

  “It’s from your wardrobe, Orrin,” Ben said. His voice echoed all around, louder than the krayt call and certainly louder than the phantom whisper Orrin had heard earlier. “I brought it from your place!”

  Looking about in surprise, Orrin threw the wrappings away. How Ben was saying it wasn’t important. Remembering where he had dropped the loudhailer, Orrin dashed toward his landspeeder, piled up against the rock. He skidded to a stop beside it and reached inside the vehicle, fishing for the amplifier’s handle. Finding something, he lifted it—

  —and stared, mystified, at the gaderffii in his hand.

  “That’s also from your stash,” Ben called from above.

  He’s using the loudhailer, Orrin realized. Somehow, the man had returned to the floor of the rift on foot in the smoky chaos and switched the gaderffii for the loudhailer. But there wasn’t time for Orrin to contemplate that. Half the posse was staring at him as he held the Tusken weapon.

  And wherever Kenobi was, he saw it.

  “They’re interested in your collection, Orrin. The weapons and clothing you’ve taken from Tuskens in the past. That you’ve used—you and your family—in strikes against your neighbors!”

  Aware of the stares, Orrin threw the weapon to the ground, repulsed. “What a crazy story,” he said, forcing a chuckle. “Dancing with Tuskens is Kenobi’s game!”

  “You have me wrong,” Ben said, his voice coming from everywhere and nowhere. “I only wanted to live here in peace. You’re the one who’s making war, all to sell your protection service!”

  “It’s not ours,” Veeka yelled, clearly rattled. “Tell them, Dad!”

  Orrin looked urgently toward her. Shut up, he implored with his eyes. I have to do the talking!

  “He’s wrong,” Orrin said, facing the others. “We keep some trophies, sure. Who wouldn’t? But he got this stuff from his friends back there, who sent the banthas. And the Settlers’ Call Fund isn’t ours, either. It’s a public trust!”

  “Then tell them the balance,” Ben said. “Tell them you haven’t been stealing from it to pay your debts. Tell them you didn’t attack Tyla Bezzard’s father when he wouldn’t join, leaving the man hobbled and unable to save himself later when the Tuskens attacked for real.” His voice grew louder. “Tell them you didn’t attack the Ulbreck place yourself, last night. Tell them you didn’t flee, when I happened along!”

  Orrin straightened, searching for a friendly face on which to fix his gaze. There weren’t many. One settler after another looked angered, agitated, or bewildered. And Wyle Ulbreck looked ready to explode. “Is that true, Gault? Is that true?”

  Mullen looked at his father, mortified.

  But there was a way out. Orrin fished for his best smile, and found it. “People, people. I’m a farmer,” he said, shouting so all could hear. “Like you. I get water out of the air. That man—he gets stories out of it.” He shrugged theatrically. “You’ve enjoyed my generosity. You know I do well enough on my own. I have all the money I would ever need!”

  “That’s excellent news,” came another amplified voice, this one from the desert. Orrin looked back, suddenly aware of the large hoverskiff floating outside the rift. On its deck, flanked by gun-toting thugs, was Mosep Binneed. He wore a neck brace and held a loudhailer in front of his mouth. “Jabba wants his money, Orrin Gault! And he wants it now!”

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  A’YARK STOOD FLAT AGAINST one of The Pillars and looked down the rocky incline to the settlers far below.

  “The Hutt’s people,” she said, her voice dripping with disgust. “We can smells them.” The Tusken cast her eye across the natural corridor. “You said there would only be settlers.”

  Ben crouched nearby, holding Orrin’s green sound device and surveying the scene below. Below his cowl, Ben had wrapped a loose cloth over his lower face in deference to the Tuskens’ sensibilities; now he pulled it down and scratched his chin. The human seemed startled by the appearance of the skiff. “This wasn’t in my plan.”

  The war leader’s ire boiled. “You told us—”

  “I told you I’d bring Orrin Gault to justice. He could choose between his people’s justice—or yours.” Ben shook his head. “I thought he’d turn back.”

  A’Yark didn’t care what the settlers wanted. Ben had brought the enemy to their gate, as promised, but they’d come in far greater numbers than the clan could oppose. A’Yark had stationed the few warriors she had at the other access points, but if the settlers really wanted to follow Ben up into The Pillars, nothing could stop them. The high camp would be overrun.

  Ben had acted quickly then, calling for the Tusken women and children to herd their precious banthas down into the arroyo. Many of the banthas had lost their riders in the gorge massacre, and A’Yark had been pleased to see them getting some small revenge. The animals had bought them precious time. But now the arrival of the Hutt’s minions had compounded the danger. The criminals did not fear the Tuskens, as all should.

  It was the Hutts that had killed Sharad Hett, years earlier.

  A’Yark knew that Ben deserved death for bringing this upon them. She would give it to him, were it in her power.

  But in the light of the suns, she had to admit their fall had begun long before he arrived.

  “It went wrong,” she said, not knowing why she was speaking. “We are so weak—Tuskens are all so weak—because of what happened, more than three cycles ago.”

  Ben looked at her, curious. “What happened?”

  “There was another massacre,” she said. “A camp of mi
ghty warriors, wiped away. The women and children, too.”

  For some reason, her words seemed to strike a target deep within Ben. “The children, all killed?” He swallowed. “A krayt dragon? Some other predator?”

  A’Yark shook her head. “A predator, yes. But death came on two legs,” she said. “We know.”

  “But the children,” Ben said. “Settlers don’t usually kill them, do they?”

  “Settlers orphan, settlers abandon,” she said. “Predator slaughtered.”

  Ben paused, as if seeming to piece something together. “I wonder …”

  A’Yark saw his eyes fix forward, filling with dread. It looked to her as if Ben was in another place, now, imagining—or experiencing—something that filled his mind with horror. “What?” she asked.

  Ben regained his composure. “Something I’m going to have to look into at another time,” he said. “I’m starting to suspect the Sand People’s confidence may not have been the only victim of that event.”

  “No matter now,” she said, withdrawing form the lookout point. “I must hide my people.”

  “I’ll help,” Ben said, rising to follow. “Protecting homes is my speciality.” With that, he turned back and followed her up the incline.

  Mullen gaped at his father. “Jabba’s people? It’s too soon! We’ve got five hours yet!”

  Orrin stared wordlessly at the new arrivals. More landspeeders laden with lowlifes arrived behind the skiff. But why now? And how did they know to come?

  Settlers trained their weapons on the skiff, keeping the criminals at bay. The vigilantes, already made restless by the banthas and Ben’s words, looked positively rattled now. Jabba’s thugs lived right alongside Tuskens in the settlers’ list of enemies. Both lived by a strange code in a world to themselves—until they came out to terrorize the peaceful. Now they’d blocked the settlers’ access to the desert, even as they themselves had trapped Ben.

  Waller goggled. His crimson eyebrows flared as he looked at Orrin. “Jabba? You dealt with Jabba?”