The Clone Wars: Wild Space

by Karen Miller

  Organa turned. “Master Kenobi.” His expression shifted from warm apology to a cooler, more distant regret. “Forgive me. I was intemperate. And I should heed my own advice. Only by working together—trusting each other—can we hope to win this war. The Jedi may have their own way of doing things, often difficult to fathom by outsiders, but nobody is making a greater sacrifice for the Republic. I know that.”

  Obi-Wan nodded, acknowledging the sentiment. But he’s still a politician. Trust extends only so far. “Thank you, Senator. Your support is appreciated.”

  Organa wasn’t a stupid man. He knew unenthusiastic when he heard it. And so did Padmé.

  “Look,” she said firmly, “I think we can agree, can’t we, that our dedication to the preservation of the Republic is a given? In which case, let’s finish what we’ve started here. Because surely the only thing that matters is preventing the Sith from hurting the Jedi and, through them, the Republic.”

  Despite his concerns, Obi-Wan had to smile. She was indeed an impressive young woman: wise beyond her years, her diplomatic skills honed to a lethal edge.

  “Yes,” he said quietly. “It is the only thing that matters.”

  She nodded, pleased. “Then I suggest we sit down again and continue this discussion bearing that in mind.”

  They resumed their seats, a trifle awkward, somewhat off-balance. The aftermath of anger was always uncomfortable.

  “Senator Organa,” said Obi-Wan, “can you tell me, precisely, what your contact told you?”

  Organa’s fingers drummed the arm of his chair. “It wasn’t much, I’m afraid. A warning of a Sith plot to destroy the Jedi. Mention of a planet called Zigoola. And an express request that I inform you of your danger. Which tells me the situation’s desperate. They would never chance discovery if it weren’t.”

  “Zigoola?” said Padmé, frowning. “I’ve never heard of it. Have you, Obi-Wan?”

  “No,” he replied. But then he’d never heard of Kamino, either. It was a large galaxy, after all. With luck there’d be a reference to it in the Temple Archives.

  Unless, like Kamino, someone’s deleted the files.

  His gut tightened, the merest thought of more Archive meddling enough to make him ill. Stop it. You’ve enough trouble in front of you without borrowing more.

  “If the Sith managed to hide their existence from the Jedi for a thousand years,” said Organa, “that implies they are masters of deception. Is it within their power to hide a whole planet?”

  “I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to discuss that,” Obi-Wan said, standing. “Senator, as I said, this matter must be referred to Master Yoda and the Council. I will be as discreet as I can. I know you’re anxious to protect your source’s anonymity.”

  “Very anxious, Master Kenobi.”

  “In the meantime, if you hear from your contact again, I’d ask that you bring me any new information without delay.”

  Organa’s lips tightened, but he nodded. “All right.”

  “Thank you. And Senator, should Master Yoda wish to speak with you about this, would you be willing to do so?”

  “Yes…,” Organa said slowly. “But you must understand, Master Kenobi, I won’t compromise my relationship with these people by telling him any more about them than I’ve told you. What they tell you is up to them. But I gave them my word.”

  Wonderful. First Dex, now Bail Organa. It seems I’m making a habit of collecting uncooperative informants. “Of course, Senator. We would never ask you to violate a confidence.”

  “That’s good to know,” Organa said drily. “You’ll keep me informed, Master Kenobi, of what you learn?”

  “If I can,” Obi-Wan replied. “Though I can make you no promises. I do, however, thank you, Senator Organa. I know telling me this can’t have been easy.”

  Organa shrugged. “I was honoring my contact’s wishes. That’s all.”

  “Of course.” Obi-Wan hesitated. He won’t like this, but I’m bound to say it. “Senator, you’d do well to forget everything you’ve heard today. Let the Jedi handle this. And never speak of the Sith to anyone, ever. It’s quite impossible to overestimate the danger they pose.”

  Organa half smiled. “It’s good of you to think of me, Master Kenobi, but… I’m quite adept at protecting myself.”

  Obi-Wan let the bleakness touch his face, unrestrained. “So was my former Master, Qui-Gon Jinn. He was a great man, a great Jedi, yet the Sith still murdered him.”

  “I see,” said Organa, after a moment. “I… wasn’t aware of that.”

  “Few people are. Your discretion would be appreciated.”

  Organa nodded. “Of course.”

  “If you’ll excuse me for a moment, Bail, I’ll walk Master Kenobi to his speeder,” said Padmé. “I won’t be long.”

  Outside, Coruscant’s air traffic had increased to its midmorning height. With it the sky’s ambient noise had increased, and the gentle buffeting of the slipstreams. Halting by his plain, serviceable vehicle, his cloak tugging in the breeze, Obi-Wan turned to Padmé. “I didn’t realize you and the Senator from Alderaan were such good friends.”

  A hint of censure touched her eyes. “We’ve been working together on Senate committees for almost two years now. We share the same goals for the Republic, and have the same impatience with indecision and inefficiency. I’m friends with his wife, Breha, too.”

  Which neatly put him in his place. But he was sorry for it. He’d rather see Padmé conducting an ill-advised romantic affair than pining after an unattainable Anakin. And he had no doubt that she was pining: she possessed remarkable self-control, but he was a Jedi… and he did know her quite well.

  “Of course,” he said. “Padmé, I do wish you hadn’t told him of the Sith.”

  “You can trust him.”

  I hope so. “Most likely his information will prove to be a false alarm, but I am pleased you felt able to call on me,” he said, letting the matter go, for now. “I know we haven’t always… seen eye-to-eye… but I do hold you in the highest regard, Padmé. I hope you know that. I hope nothing happens to make you feel you can’t call on me, if ever you find yourself in trouble.”

  Instead of answering, she stared across the cityscape, letting her gaze rest upon the distant Temple, so beautiful in the sun. “Yes,” she said at last. “I hope so, too.”

  “By the way,” he added, climbing into his airspeeder. “I never thanked you for your assistance in the recent Hutt kidnapping matter. Your intervention proved crucial.”

  I didn’t do it for you. I did it for Anakin.

  She didn’t say the words aloud, but he heard them anyway. Saw the stark sentiment in her face. “It doesn’t matter who you did it for, Padmé,” he said softly. “You did it, and you made a difference. Every day, you make a difference. Anakin is the man he is now because he knew you. For that alone I shall always be grateful.”

  She blinked, a little too rapidly. “Thank you.”

  He shouldn’t ask… he should leave… but there was something in her eyes, and he felt responsible. “You still miss him, don’t you?”

  “Oh, Obi-Wan,” she sighed, “What do you want me to tell you?”

  “The truth.”

  Her eyes chilled. “Then yes. I still miss him.”

  “You did the right thing, Padmé,” he said gently, regretting the question. “And in time the pain will fade. In time, you’ll forget.”

  “Like he forgot his mother?”

  If she’d stabbed him with a Talasean stiletto, she couldn’t have pierced him more sharply. More deeply. “Padmé—”

  She looked away. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair.”

  “It’s nothing. I know I hurt you, asking you to walk away. I’m sorry.”

  Looking back again, she managed a smile. “Well, I won’t say that was nothing but… it’s in the past. We need to worry about the future.” She shivered. “If these Friends of the Republic are right, and the Sith are planning something…”

  “Then we sh
all deal with them,” he said. “If the Sith think to destroy the Jedi, then I promise you, Padmé: they’ll learn their mistake.”

  She stared at him. “You sound so fierce. You hardly ever sound fierce, Obi-Wan. Confident. Determined. Cross, even, sometimes. But not fierce. Not… frightening.”

  Firing up the speeder’s engine, he shook his head. “You’ve nothing to fear, Padmé. You’re not a Sith.”

  And with a sharp nod, he peeled the airspeeder away from the veranda and plunged into the traffic stream heading for the Temple.

  He entered the Council Chamber to find Yoda and Mace Windu in conversation with a hologram Anakin.

  “—cut us out of our hyperlanes three times, if you can believe it!” his former Padawan was saying. He sounded exhilarated, and furious, and exhausted. “I don’t know how Grievous knew where we’d be. He’s got some good intelligence, I’ll give him that much. Or a new kind of tracking system. Something. But even so we’ve singed his feathers pretty neatly, Masters. I don’t know what we paid for these new cruisers, but I can tell you they’re worth every last credit. I’ll transmit a full performance report as soon as I get a moment to think straight.”

  Yoda and Mace Windu exchanged guarded glances. Then Yoda turned to the door and beckoned. “Join us, Obi-Wan. Informing us of his progress, young Skywalker is.”

  Almost dizzy with relief, and working hard not to show it, he crossed the chamber floor. “Obi-Wan,” said Anakin, as Obi-Wan entered the Council’s holocam transmitter field. “Hey. You look much better than the last time I saw you.”

  “Thank you,” he said, repressively. Would the boy never remember his protocols?

  Hologram Anakin frowned. “Except—is something wrong?”

  He knew. He always knew. Acutely aware of Yoda and Mace Windu staring, he shook his head. “Nothing you need concern yourself about, Anakin. Have you not yet reached the Bothan system?”

  “No. Unfortunately. Like I was telling Masters Yoda and Windu, every time we turn around Grievous is on our tail.”

  “So he still eludes you?”

  “I think what you meant to say is Grievous has failed three times to blow us to smithereens,” retorted Anakin. “Even though he’s got four cruisers to our three.”

  “What about casualties?” Mace Windu asked. “Have you lost any fighters, Anakin?”

  Some of the ebullience died out of Anakin’s face. “Five destroyed, Master. Six damaged. We’re working on them now.”

  “So, not a victory,” said Mace. “More like a stalemate.”

  “Which is better than an outright loss, Master Windu,” Anakin said edgily.

  “True,” said Yoda. “But engaging Grievous in open space your mission is not. To the Bothan system at once you should proceed, young Skywalker. Protecting Bothawui is your task.”

  “Yes, Master Yoda,” said Anakin, still curt. “We have been trying to get there. We’re on a direct course now.”

  Obi-Wan cleared his throat. “But will you get there before Grievous, Anakin?”

  “I think so. I’m pretty sure. We left him licking a few good wounds after our last engagement, and that’s given us a head start. It’ll be tight—I expect he’ll chase us all the way there—but we’ll be ready for him. He’s not going to get his stinking metal hands on Bothawui, Masters. You’ve got my word on that.”

  “Keep us apprised of your situation, Anakin,” said Mace Windu sternly. “If you’re in any doubt as to how you should proceed, seek our advice. This mission is too important for heroics. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, Master,” said Anakin. “I’ll contact you again when we reach Bothawui.”

  The hololink disconnected. Obi-Wan watched Yoda and Mace Windu exchange another guarded look. He wanted to say, Anakin will do fine. He wanted to say, You can trust him not to let you down. But he held his tongue. Not only because to say those things when his opinion was not invited would be a gross breach of protocol, but also because a part of him echoed Mace Windu’s concerns.

  Keep your head, Anakin. Don’t let overconfidence creep up on you. You’re good… you’re exceptional… but you’re not perfect. Not yet.

  Yoda was considering him, his head tipped to one side. “Perceptive young Skywalker is,” he said. “Troubled you are, Obi-Wan. What strife brings you here?”

  Strife. Now there was a good word. “Masters, I am in receipt of some disturbing information. There is a chance we will soon face direct attack by the Sith.”

  Yoda and Mace Windu stared at each other, then back at him. “Tell us,” said Yoda.

  Bail sat in silence with Padmé for a long time after Obi-Wan Kenobi’s departure. Even though he had no time to waste. Even though his day was crammed from top to bottom and side to side with commitments. The enormity of the situation, its implications, had left him enervated. Oddly lost. And beneath that… afraid.

  An ancient enemy that frightens the Jedi. Wonderful. Just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse…

  Seated across from him, Padmé stirred. “I’m sorry I shouted at you. I’m sorry I called you a hypocrite.”

  He smiled ruefully. “I’m sorry I’ve been keeping secrets like this. It hasn’t been easy… but I didn’t have a choice.”

  “I know,” she said. “I understand. Sometimes secrets are necessary.”

  “Doesn’t make keeping them any easier.”

  “No. I suppose not,” she said, sounding almost sad. “Bail, you don’t have to worry. I’ll keep this one with you.”

  He felt a rush of surprised relief, and was ashamed. “Are you sure? I know I’ve put you in a difficult position. I never wanted to. I just—” He shrugged and sighed. He’d run out of words.

  Her eyes warmed briefly. “You needed to trust someone. I’m glad you chose me.”

  He dredged up another smile. “So am I.”

  “And you can trust Obi-Wan, too. You really can.”

  Master Kenobi. “He’s quite intimidating, isn’t he? Even for a Jedi.”

  “Just a little bit,” she agreed, and pulled a face.

  “You two seem… close.”

  Startled, she stared at him. Then she shook her head. “No. Not really. At least—sort of—” She tugged at her loosely bound hair. “It’s complicated.”

  Was she in love with Kenobi? he wondered. If so, complicated didn’t begin to describe the situation. She trusted the man, that much was obvious. Kenobi trusted her, too, and that was interesting. It might not be love, but there was definitely something between them, something beyond a polite acquaintanceship or the mere political give-and-take between the Senate and the Jedi.

  But it’s none of my business. Her life is her own.

  “I really need to go,” he said, standing. “Thank you. Again. If I hear anything else from my contact, I promise I’ll tell you.”

  She stood, too, her expression somber. “Only if you want to. Only if I can help in some way. Not because you feel guilty, Bail. Decisions made because of guilt usually turn out badly for everyone.”

  “True,” he admitted, and withdrew.

  The day dragged on, interminable. Bail found himself short-tempered, easily distracted, easily startled. He kept holding his breath, expecting a summons to the Jedi Temple at any moment. None came.

  Perhaps this whole thing is a false alarm. Perhaps this is one time when my contact got it wrong.

  Or perhaps the Jedi had decided he’d played his part and wanted nothing more to do with him. Padmé had been right about one thing: Master Kenobi wasn’t fond of politicians. Not even his legendary Jedi courtesy and self-control had quite masked the undercurrent of disdain.

  His path crossed with Padmé’s twice, once in their daily security briefing, and again in a short Senate recall when the house was required to vote on increasing the Munitions Levy on the Core Worlds consortium.

  His meeting with the other consortium representatives, shortly thereafter, left him with a truly monumental headache.

  After that he was swallowed a
live by domestic concerns: appointments with Alderaanian citizens registering complaints, making representations, begging favors.

  Tell me again why I wanted to be a Senator?

  It was approaching midnight before he finally escaped. Exhausted, punch-drunk, he almost staggered through his front door. Too tired even for the restorative consolation of Corellian brandy, he bumped his way to the bedroom and fell face-first across the bed.

  Even his capillaries were aching.

  Sleep descended with blunt force, bludgeoning him into oblivion. But oblivion didn’t last till sunrise. In his hidden tunic pocket, the secret comlink began to buzz…

  Nauseated from lack of rest, he stared at the decoded message. Decoded it again, just in case his fragile state had led him to making a disastrous mistake. It hadn’t.

  Well… stang. This is not what I had in mind.

  Heedless of the unsociable hour, he commed the Jedi Temple. “I need to speak with Master Obi-Wan Kenobi. It’s a matter of urgency.”

  “Master Kenobi is not available at this time, Senator. Perhaps you would care to leave a message?”

  A message. His life had just turned inside out, and he was supposed to leave a message? “Yes. All right. Tell him I must see him as soon as possible.” He hesitated, then added, “He’ll know why.”

  The Jedi on the other side of this insane conversation was silent for a moment. “Yes, Senator,” he said. He sounded disapproving. Too bad. “I will relay your request at the first opportunity.”

  In other words, Don’t think you can throw your weight around, you’re just a politician. Clearly he lacked Padmé’s magic snap of the fingers. “Thank you,” he said, and terminated the link.

  Then he refreshed himself with a shower, hauled on clean clothes, placated the demon of hunger gnawing holes in his belly… and sat in the gradually retreating dark, to wait.

  The disastrous news had come through to the Temple at six minutes past two in the morning, local Coruscant time. By two twenty Yoda and Master Windu were on their way to the Supreme Chancellor’s office for an emergency conference. At two thirty-one Anakin Skywalker made contact via hololink.