by James Luceno
And the isolation suited him.
All the more because Anakin had been subverted by Palpatine and, for a brief time, had served this new Emperor.
Given everything that had happened since, the one image Obi-Wan knew he would never be able to erase from his memory was that of Anakin—Darth Vader, as Sidious had dubbed him—kneeling in allegiance to the Dark Lord, after having gone on a murderous spree in the Jedi Temple. If there was a second image, it was of Anakin burning on the shore of one of Mustafar’s lava flows, cursing him.
Had he been wrong to let Anakin die there? Could he have been redeemed, as Padmé had believed to the last? These were questions that plagued him, and pained him more deeply than he would ever have thought possible.
And now, all these months later, here he was on Tatooine, Anakin’s homeworld, watching over Anakin’s infant son, Luke.
Obi-Wan’s reason for living.
Watching from afar, at any rate. Today was as close as he had come to the child in weeks. Just across the street, Luke sat in a front carrier worn by Beru while she purchased sugar and blue milk; neither she nor her husband, Owen, was aware of Obi-Wan’s presence on the cantina veranda, his vigilant though covert gaze.
As Obi-Wan brought the water glass to his mouth and sipped, a HoloNet news report caught his ear and he swung to the cantina’s display, simultaneous with a torrent of static that interrupted the feed.
“What was she saying?” Obi-Wan asked a human seated two tables away.
“Band of Jedi were killed on Kashyyyk,” the man said. Close to Obi-Wan’s age, he wore utilities of the sort affected by docking bay workers in Mos Eisley spaceport.
Had the HoloNet reporter been referring to Jedi who had been on Kashyyyk with Yoda—
No, Obi-Wan realized when the feed suddenly returned. The reporter was talking about more recent events! About Jedi who had obviously survived Order 66 and been discovered on Kashyyyk!
He continued to listen, growing colder and colder inside.
The Empire had accused Kashyyyk of plotting rebellion … Thousands of Wookiees had died; hundreds of thousands more had been imprisoned …
Obi-Wan squeezed his eyes shut in dismay. He and Yoda had recalibrated the Temple beacon to warn surviving Jedi away from Coruscant. What could the ones discovered on Kashyyyk have been thinking, banding together like that, drawing attention to themselves instead of going to ground as they had been ordered to do? Did they think they could gather enough strength to go after Palpatine?
Of course they did, Obi-Wan realized.
They hadn’t realized that Palpatine had manipulated the war; that a Sith occupied the throne; that like everyone else, the Jedi had failed to grasp a truth that should have been evident years earlier: the Republic had never been worth fighting for.
The ideals of democracy hadn’t been stamped out by Palpatine. The Jedi had carried out missions of dubious merit for any number of Supreme Chancellors, but always in the name of safeguarding peace and justice. What they had failed to understand was that the Senate, the Coruscanti, the citizens of countless world and star systems, grown weary of the old system, had allowed democracy to die. And in a galaxy where the goal was single-minded control from the top, and wherein the end justified the means, the Jedi had no place.
That had been the final revenge of the Sith.
When Obi-Wan lifted his gaze, the intermittently garbled HoloNet was displaying an image of someone outfitted in what almost seemed a costume of head-to-toe black. Human or humanoid—the being’s species wasn’t mentioned—the masked Imperial had apparently played a role in tracking down and executing the “insurrectionist” Jedi, and enslaving their Wookiee confederates.
The burst of static that accompanied the reporter’s mention of the figure’s identity might have surged from Obi-Wan’s brain. Still chilled by the earlier announcement about the Jedi, he was now paralyzed by sudden dread.
He couldn’t have heard what he thought he heard!
He whirled to the spaceport worker. “What did she say? Who is that?”
“Lord Vader,” the man said, all but into his glass of brandy.
Obi-Wan shook his head. “No, that’s not possible!”
“You didn’t ask if I thought it was possible, sand man. You asked me what she said.”
Obi-Wan stood up in a daze, knocking over his table.
“Hey, take it easy, friend,” the man said, rising.
“Vader,” Obi-Wan muttered. “Vader’s alive.”
The cantina’s other customers turned to regard him.
“Get ahold of yourself,” the man told Obi-Wan under his breath. He called for the cantina owner. “Pour him a drink—a real one. And put it on my tab.” Righting the table, he urged Obi-Wan back into his chair and lowered himself onto an adjoining one.
The cantina owner brought the drink and set it down in front of Obi-Wan. “Is he all right?”
“He’s fine,” the man from Mos Eisley said. “Aren’t you, friend?”
Obi-Wan nodded. “Heatstroke.”
The cantina owner seemed satisfied. “I’ll bring you some more water.”
Obi-Wan’s new friend waited until they were alone to say, “You really all right?”
Obi-Wan nodded again. “Really.”
The man adopted a conspiratorial voice. “You want to remain all right, you’ll keep your voice down about Vader, understand? You’ll keep from asking questions about him, too. Even in this Force-forsaken place.”
Obi-Wan studied him. “What do you know about him?”
“Just this: I have a friend, a trader in hardwoods, who was on Kashyyyk when the Imperials launched their attack on a place called Kachirho. I guess he was lucky to get his ship raised and jumped. But he claims he got a glimpse of this guy Vader, ripping into Wookiees like they were stuffed toys, and going to lightsabers with the Jedi who were onworld.” The spaceport worker glanced furtively around the cantina. “This Vader, he toasted Kashyyyk, friend. From what my friend says, it’ll be years before a piece of wroshyr goes up the well.”
“And the Wookiees?” Obi-Wan said.
The stranger shrugged forlornly. “Anyone’s guess.” Placing a few credits on the table, he stood up. “Take care of yourself. These desert wastes aren’t as remote as you may think they are.”
When the water arrived, Obi-Wan downed it in a gulp, shouldered his rucksack, and left the cool shade of the veranda for the harsh light of Anchorhead’s principal street. He moved in a daze that had little to do with the glare or the heat.
As impossible as it seemed, Anakin had survived Mustafar and had resumed the Sith title of Darth Vader. How could Obi-Wan have been so foolish as to bring Luke here, of all worlds? Anakin’s homeworld, the grave of his mother, the home of his only family members …
Obi-Wan gripped the lightsaber he carried under his robe.
Had he driven Anakin deeper into the dark side by abandoning him on Mustafar?
Could he face Anakin again?
Could he kill him this time?
From the far side of the street, he shadowed Owen and Beru as they moved from store to store, stocking up on staples. Should he warn them about Vader? Should he take Luke away from them and hide him on an even more remote world in the Outer Rim?
His fear began to mount. His and Yoda’s hopes for the future, dashed, just as the Chosen One had dashed the Jedi’s hopes of bringing balance to the Force—
Obi-Wan.
He came to an abrupt halt. It was a voice he hadn’t heard in years, speaking to him not through his ears, but directly into his thoughts.
“Qui-Gon!” he said. “Master!” Realizing that the locals were quickly going to brand him a madman if they heard him talking to himself, he ducked into the narrow alley between two stores. “Master, is Darth Vader Anakin?” he asked after a moment.
Yes. Although the Anakin you and I knew is imprisoned by the dark side.
“I was wrong to leave him on Mustafar. I should have made sure he was dead
.”
The Force will determine Anakin’s future. Obi-Wan: Luke must not be told that Vader is his father until the time is right.
“Should I take further steps to hide Luke?”
The core of Anakin that resides in Vader grasps that Tatooine is the source of nearly everything that causes him pain. Vader will never set foot on Tatooine, if only out of fear of reawakening Anakin.
Obi-Wan exhaled in relief. “Then my obligation is unchanged. But from what Yoda told me, I know that I have much to learn, Master.”
You were always that way, Obi-Wan.
Qui-Gon’s voice faded, and Obi-Wan’s fears began to dissipate, replaced by renewed expectation.
Returning to the dazzling light of Tatooine’s twin suns, he caught up with Owen, Beru, and Luke, and kept silent watch over them for what remained of the day.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
James Luceno is the New York Times bestselling author of the Star Wars novels Dark Lord: The Rise of Darth Vader, Cloak of Deception, Labyrinth of Evil, as well as the New Jedi Order novels Agents of Chaos I: Hero’s Trial and Agents of Chaos II: Jedi Eclipse, The Unifying Force, and the eBook Darth Maul: Saboteur. He lives in Annapolis, Maryland, with his wife and youngest child.
By James Luceno
The ROBOTECH series
(as Jack McKinney, with Brian Daley)
The BLACK HOLE TRAVEL AGENCY series
(as Jack McKinney, with Brian Daley)
A Fearful Symmetry
Illegal Alien
The Big Empty
Kaduna Memories
THE YOUNG INDIANA JONES CHRONICLES
The Mata Hari Affair
The Shadow
The Mask of Zorro
Rio Pasion
Rainchaser
Rock Bottom
Star Wars: CLOAK OF DECEPTION
Star Wars: DARTH MAUL, SABOTEUR (e-book)
Star Wars: The New Jedi Order: Agents of Chaos I: Hero’s Trial
Star Wars: The New Jedi Order: Agents of Chaos II: Jedi Eclipse
Star Wars: The New Jedi Order: The Unifying Force
Star Wars: LABYRINTH OF EVIL
Star Wars: DARK LORD—The Rise of Darth Vader
Star Wars: MILLENNIUM FALCON
STAR WARS—The Expanded Universe
You saw the movies. You watched the cartoon series, or maybe played some of the video games. But did you know …
In The Empire Strikes Back, Princess Leia Organa said to Han Solo, “I love you.” Han said, “I know.” But did you know that they actually got married? And had three Jedi children: the twins, Jacen and Jaina, and a younger son, Anakin?
Luke Skywalker was trained as a Jedi by Obi-Wan Kenobi and Yoda. But did you know that, years later, he went on to revive the Jedi Order and its commitment to defending the galaxy from evil and injustice?
Obi-Wan said to Luke, “For over a thousand generations, the Jedi Knights were the guardians of peace and justice in the Old Republic. Before the dark times. Before the Empire.” Did you know that over those millennia, legendary Jedi and infamous Sith Lords were adding their names to the annals of Republic history?
Yoda explained that the dreaded Sith tend to come in twos: “Always two, there are. No more, no less. A Master, and an apprentice.” But did you know that the Sith didn’t always exist in pairs? That at one time in the ancient Republic there were as many Sith as Jedi, until a Sith Lord named Darth Bane was the lone survivor of a great Sith war and created the “Rule of Two”?
All this and much, much more is brought to life in the many novels and comics of the Star Wars expanded universe. You’ve seen the movies and watched the cartoon. Now venture out into the wider worlds of Star Wars!
Turn the page or jump to the timeline of Star Wars novels to learn more.
one
In the lowest levels, in the abyssal urban depths, of the ecumenopolis that was Coruscant, it was a rare thing indeed to see sunlight. For the inhabitants of the baroque and gleaming cloudcutters, skytowers and superskytowers—the latter reaching as much as two kilometers high—the sun was something taken for granted, just as were the other comforts of life. Since WeatherNet guaranteed that it never rained until dusk or later, the rich golden sunlight was simply expected, in the same way that one expected air to fill one’s lungs with every breath.
But hundreds of stories below the first inhabited floors of the great towers, ziggurats, and minarets, in some places actually on or under the city-planet’s surface, it was another story. Here hundreds of thousands of humans and other species lived and died, sometimes without ever catching as much as a glimpse of the fabled sky. Here the light that filtered through the omnipresent gray inversion layer was wan and pallid. The rain that reached the surface was nearly always acidic, enough so at times to etch tiny channels and grooves into ferrocarbon foundations. It was hard to believe that anything at all could survive in these dismal trenches. Yet even here life, both intelligent and otherwise, had adjusted long ago to the perpetual twilight and strictured environment.
At the very bottom of the chasms, in the variegated pulsing of phosphor lights and signs, stone mites, conduit worms, and other scavengers flourished on technological detritus. Duracrete slugs blindly masticated their way through rubble. Hawk-bats built nests near power converters to keep their eggs warm. Armored rats and spider-roaches scuttled and hunted through piles of trash two stories high. And millions of other species of opportunistic and parasitic organisms, from single-celled animalcules all the way up to those self-aware enough to wish they weren’t, doggedly pursued their common quest for survival, little different from the struggles on a thousand different jungle worlds. Down here was where the jetsam of the galaxy, a motley collection of sentients dismissed by those above simply as “the underdwellers,” eked out lives of brutality and despair. It was merely a different kind of jungle, after all.
And where there’s a jungle, there are always those who hunt.
Even Piell had been one of the lucky ones. Born on the violence-plagued planet Lannik to an impoverished family, he had been taken by the Jedi in his infancy because of his affinity for the Force. He had been raised in the Temple, high above the poverty and misery that had once seemed the inevitable birthright of his homeworld. True, his life had been somewhat ascetic, but it had also been clean, ordered, and—most important of all—it had been purposeful. It had been about something. He had been part of a cause greater than himself, one of a noble and revered Order stretching back hundreds of generations.
He had been a Jedi Knight.
Now he was a pariah.
Those who knew him respected the diminutive humanoid for his fierce courage and fighting skills, as well they should. Had he not defeated the Red Iaro terrorist Myk’chur Zug, at the cost of an eye? Had he not survived the Battle of Geonosis, and fought many a battle for the Republic in the Clone Wars? It was truthfully said that Even Piell had never backed away from a fight in his life. Give him a lightsaber and a cause in which to ignite it, and there was no braver warrior on two legs, or four, or six. But now …
Now it was different.
Now, for the first time in his life, he knew fear.
Even walked hurriedly through the colorful crowds that thronged the Zi-Zhinn Marketplace. This was a euphemistic name for an ongoing rowdy street fair on the 17th Level of an area in Sector 4805, also known as the Zi-Kree Sector, along the equatorial strip. That was the name given to the upper levels, anyway; down here, below the layer of smoke and fog, it was simply called the Crimson Corridor. While much of Coruscant’s lower levels comprised less-than-desirable real estate, some areas were loci of particular and concentrated trouble. The Southern Underground, the Factory District, The Works, the Blackpit Slums—these and other colorful names did little justice to the harsh realities of life under the perpetual smog layer that hid them from the rarefied upper levels. Yet ironically, it was only in ghettos like these, amid despair and desperation, that a measure of anonymity and security could be fou
nd.
Even wasn’t sure how many of the Jedi were left, but he knew the number wasn’t high. The slaughter begun on Geonosis had been pursued with a vengeance here on Coruscant, and on other worlds such as Felucia and Kashyyyk as well. Barriss Offee was dead, as were Luminara Unduli, Mace Windu, and Kit Fisto. Plo Koon’s starfighter had been shot down over Cato Neimoidia. To the best of his knowledge, Even was the only senior member of the Council to escape the massacre at the Temple.
It was still almost impossible to comprehend. It had all happened so fast. In only a few short days he had been forced to give up everything. No more would he look upon the five spires of the Jedi Temple, or walk the fragrant-flowered paths and tessellated floors of its private gardens and chambers. No more would he spend rewarding hours in discussion with his fellow scholars in the Council of First Knowledge, or research interstellar esoterica in the Archives, or practice the seven forms of lightsaber combat with his fellow Jedi.
But he could not give up using the Force to aid others. To deny the Force was to deny himself. Fear of discovery had caused him to hold back from using it in public for as long as he could stand. He had been a helpless witness to the everyday atrocities during the interregnum, to the chaos and anarchy that had accompanied the overthrow of the Galactic Senate and the ascension of the new Emperor. Sick at heart, he had reined in his dismay and revulsion, his desperate need to do something to stop this unending nightmare. He had seen his fellow Jedi assassinated by clone commanders under the thrall of Order Sixty-six; he had seen employees and instructors mowed down by blasterfire; and, worst of all, he had heard the screams of the children and the young Padawans as they had been cut down.
