The Approaching Storm

by Alan Dean Foster

  The stone column that was the only protection for human and steed alike continued to shudder beneath the impact of hundreds of suicidal bodies. With the airspace on all sides of them occupied, hemmed in above by tens of thousands of their brethren, the kyren that slammed into the pillar were compelled to sacrifice themselves out of instinct, and not a desire to commit mass suicide. They did not perish willingly: they simply had nowhere else to go. The sky was full.

  After a while, the sound of bodies hitting the stone column began to fade, even though the blizzard of black shapes continued to thunder past unabated. Eventually, even that sound began to dissipate. Soon only thousands of kyren were rushing by the pillar. Then hundreds. The sky brightened, black giving way once more to blue. A few clouds appeared. Looking to his right, Obi-Wan could once more make out the seated forms of Barriss and Bulgan, seated behind their indomitable jijite shield.

  When the last stragglers had passed and could be seen flapping madly southward in frantic attempts to keep up with the main flock, the travelers rose from their places of rest and protection for a joyful but solemn reunion. Tension had tired them, but any feelings of fatigue were more than offset by the relief they felt. No one had been hurt, although a curious Anakin had been struck in the face when he had tried to peer briefly around his and Kyakhta’s protective column. A small scratch across his forehead was the only indication of the fortunately brief encounter with airborne kyren.

  It was a worthwhile lesson. Sometimes danger came not from the powerful and overbearing, but from the small and the overlooked.

  The meticulousness with which the mighty swarm had fed was remarkable to see. The only grass stalks that had been knocked down were those that had been trapped beneath the prone, resting suubatars. The kyren had not flattened a single section of prairie. Every stalk remained standing, but nearly all had been shorn of their ripened seed. As far as the eye could see, the grassland looked as if it had been given a clipping by the largest and most perfect of all mowers.

  The reason for what had seemed at the time the premature cessation of flying bodies slamming against each pillar was soon apparent. A small mountain of kyren bodies, hundreds of them, formed a perfect line pointing northward from the back of each column. After a while, enough had died hurling themselves against the unyielding stone to form a soft, protective buffer between each pillar and the rest of the oncoming airborne horde. Ever curious, Obi-Wan picked one up, holding it by a limp wing, and turned to Bulgan.

  “Seems to me these vast flocks would be an excellent source of available protein for traveling nomads. Are they good to eat?”

  One eye or not, Bulgan managed to convey a complete response with a single disgusted expression. It was left to Kyakhta to elaborate.

  “Even after a kyren is cooked, it tastes like boiled mud. All grease.” He eyed Obi-Wan uncertainly. “Would the Jedi like to try some?”

  Wrinkling up her face, Barriss made a sickened smacking sound. “Jedi prefer to learn things for themselves—but there are instances where it’s better just to accept the wisdom of others.” She looked slightly worried as she turned to her teacher. “Isn’t that right, Master Luminara?”

  “It is in this case,” her Master responded without hesitation. “Besides, I’m not hungry.” Gazing down at herself, she contemplated the side effects of being obliged to sit for an hour beneath millions of kyren passing by overhead. “What I am in need of is a bath.” To this heartfelt observation neither Barriss, nor Anakin, nor even their two guides raised a single objection.

  The smell was bad enough, but as they rode on they were forced to look at one another. It was not a pretty sight. At least, she mused, the mess was only discoloring and not toxic. Still, the discovery of a clear-running stream meandering through a shallow vale the next day was too tempting to pass up.

  While their employers disrobed to their undergarments and waded into the water—Anakin, Barriss, and Luminara with a relieved rush, Obi-Wan patiently and with a bit more dignity—the two guides unloaded supplies and dirty tack from the patient suubatars. Only then did Kyakhta and Bulgan, urging the lofty mounts before them, join the humans in the river. Keeping their long snouts above water, the suubatars were able to walk out to the very center of the channel, submerging their grimy, soiled selves completely in the cleansing current.

  In contrast, the bipeds stayed in the shallows, alternating cleaning themselves with conversing casually. Luminara luxuriated in the tepid tributary, lying back on the sun-warmed sand once she was finally clean and letting the water gently caress her weary body. Though Jedi were trained to tolerate the most extreme conditions, that did not mean they were immune to the occasional indulgence. It might not be a flavor-charged bath in a top-rated hotel on Coruscant, she reflected lazily as something small, blue, and harmless skittered past her through the water, but after days spent on the back of a suubatar, lying there in the bright sunshine within the warming embrace of the pellucid stream was akin to a choice slice of paradise.

  Laughter broke out nearby. Obi-Wan had taken up a stance between the two Alwari. Using the Force, her colleague was directing a spray of river water onto the flanks of a pair of suubatar that had waded into the shallows. In an expression of sheer delight, the beasts were bobbing their heads rapidly up and down. Their lean, muscular flanks rippled under the invigorating water pressure.

  Farther out in the stream, Anakin and Barriss were attempting to duplicate Obi-Wan’s feat. Only, instead of directing jets of liquid at the wading suubatar, the two Padawans were squirting streams of Force-pressurized water at each other. Sitting up, her legs and hips still submerged, supporting herself on her hands, Luminara smiled to herself. If only Master Yoda could see to what use his earnest teachings were being put.

  Sometimes, she thought, you can be a bit too serious yourself.

  Lying back down in the water, she contemplated the single puffy white cloud that was presently scudding across an otherwise sapphire sky. Convinced her companions were occupied, and that no one was watching, she tentatively at first, and then with more enthusiasm, began trying to see how high she could fling water with her right foot.

  With her great wealth, the president of the Commerce Guild could command entire legions of servants, thousands of workers, dozens of bodyguards. The multiple enterprises of her people spanned the civilized galaxy, reaching from one end of the Republic to another. She was universally acknowledged, even by her most fervent competitors, to be an individual of unusual intelligence and perspicacity. Usually, a few minutes was enough time to enable her to size up an opponent or a friend.

  Take Senator Mousul. Talented but vain, loyal but self-centered, he had to be watched at all times. Not that Shu Mai thought him unreliable. The Senator was in too deep and had too much at stake to risk quitting now. Shu Mai had seen him at work in the Senate. Mousul could be a mesmerizing speaker. But outside the Senate, removed from his official position of power, he was just another Ansionian—and therefore had to be watched.

  What was important was that they had the same view of the future, of where the diseased, tottering Republic was going. With the Senator’s political acumen and alliances and the Commerce Guild’s financial and commercial resources, there was nothing they could not accomplish. But not quite yet. The Republic was still powerful, its long-established institutions not quite weak enough to be ignored.

  In matters of political policy she tended to defer to the Senator, though not always. Shu Mai respected her associate’s opinions, just as Mousul believed the president of the Commerce Guild listened attentively to his advice. What the Senator sometimes failed to acknowledge was that he was by several orders of magnitude the junior partner in their mutual arrangement. Adept as he was at massaging the egos of fellow politicians, Mousul was content to let Shu Mai deal with the unseen one whose interests they represented.

  The watercraft on which they were presently relaxing drifted freely on Savvam Lake, an exquisite body of water that, like everything else on C
oruscant, was artificial in nature. It was a private playground of the very rich, lined with trees and genetically engineered flowers that bloomed year-round, filling the air with a hundred different scents. Other boats cruised sedately nearby, some larger than Shu Mai’s, some smaller. She could have overawed them all, but preferred not to be conspicuous. The two were the only ones on the boat. Live servants had ears with which to listen. The pilot droids did not.

  “Our supporters grow impatient.” Mousul let the sun bake his chest, its rays carefully filtered through the inconspicuous polarized shield that hovered above the boat. “Tam Uliss in particular worries me. He would not be as easy to deal with as was the unfortunate Nemrileo.”

  “Impatience is a potentially fatal disease.” Rolling to her left, Shu Mai picked up the spiral tumbler of refreshment and sipped contentedly at its contents. “According to everything you tell me, events on Ansion are unfolding at a predictable and reasonable speed. The others must learn to contain their impulsiveness.”

  “It isn’t easy, you know, to restrain people caught up in the grip of a new idea.”

  Raising her tumbler, Shu Mai gazed through the liquid-filled transparency. It colored the sunlight gold. “That’s your job, my friend. I handle the Guild, you keep the local political and business interests in check. We’ll move only when the time is right.”

  Mousul bridled inwardly at what sounded like a directive. Outwardly, he smiled and nodded. For now, Shu Mai was in control. Let her dream her dreams of personal grandiosity. When Ansion seceded and Mousul was appointed sector governor, their positions would be reversed. Then it was Shu Mai and her guild that would come calling in search of favors. He met his smaller colleague’s gaze evenly.

  “These Jedi complicate matters. Whatever Uliss and the others think, no legitimate vote can go forward until they have been dealt with. I have been in regular contact with our agent there, and I’ve been assured as recently as yesterday that the visitors will be neutralized.”

  “They’d better be.” With a soft grunt, Shu Mai leaned back in her chair. “If only the Jedi Knights could be brought around to our way of thinking. It would simplify everything greatly.”

  “Won’t happen.” Mousul stirred his drink with a finger, activating a few more of the time-release narcotics swirling within. “The Jedi can’t be bent.”

  The president of the Commerce Guild shrugged. “It may be that some are not so staunch as you believe.”

  Mousul blinked at his co-conspirator. “What do you mean?”

  “Time will reveal all. Meanwhile, events on Ansion will unfold at their own speed. While they do, you and I must wait, and persuade the others to do likewise.” She took a long swallow of her own, non-narcotic-infused drink.

  Mousul grunted and went silent. Businessfolk like that brusque Tam Uliss simply did not understand. While it was true that life was transitory and the window of opportunity to do great things fleeting, they could not be rushed. To move too soon would be to risk everything. If Uliss and the rest would only be patient, the future would be handed to them.

  Beneath the two, who rested and plotted and warmed themselves in Coruscant’s beneficent sun, thousands of lesser beings toiled in the great interlocked buildings two hundred stories high whose roof was the lake known as Savvam.

  If not for the small matter of their mission, the travelers would have chosen to spend another day and night at the tranquil, bucolic campsite. Sadly, as always, time insisted and duty called.

  Following the route proposed by the Yiwa brought them to a line of high hills that stretched unbroken across the northern horizon. Kyakhta and Bulgan did not know their names, but a few of the prominences were almost high enough to be called mountains. Gentle of slope, with only a few isolated cliff faces but many water-worn undercuts and overhangs, they presented no barrier to the wonderfully long-legged suubatars. Still, to save time and preserve the strength of their mounts, the travelers chose to continue forward through one of several meandering gaps that cut through the range. None of these was particularly steep-sided, being more gully than gorge. Erosion, Luminara reflected, had long since worn down these old mountains.

  Riding alongside Kyakhta, she noticed that the guide’s attention was unusually fixed. “You see something that troubles you, Kyakhta?”

  “No, Master Luminara. But the Alwari dislike this kind of country. We prefer flat lands, grassy plains, and open spaces. Being born to the wide prairies, we are uncomfortable in enclosed places.” He indicated the gentle, grass-covered slope on his left. “My mind tells me there are few places up there in which to hide, my eyes tell me there are no dangers to be seen, but my heart is full of concerns hammered into me from childhood, when my mane was but a line of immature fuzz running down my back. Old suspicions die hard.”

  Scanning the same hillside, she tried to cheer the guide. “If it means anything, I don’t see any likely source of trouble, either.”

  Which was because it could not be seen. Only felt.

  Sweeping down through the undulating hills, the ever-present wind of Ansion was strengthened by the natural funneling effect of narrowing canyons and clefts. Wind speed did not reach gale force, but it grew strong enough to induce the travelers to cover their mouths and nostrils with protective cloth.

  Bulgan suddenly sat up straight in his saddle. Or at least, as straight as his bent back would permit. No question that he saw something, Obi-Wan noted. The Jedi did not have a chance to ask what it was.

  “Chawix!” Bulgan exclaimed. Reining in his suubatar, he began looking around wildly. Hearing his friend’s warning cry, Kyakhta turned his suubatar quickly toward the nearest of the overhangs they had passed.

  “In here with your mounts, quickly!”

  Unable to see any danger, Luminara nonetheless hurried to follow Kyakhta’s lead. She barely had time to direct her own suubatar to its knees to allow her to dismount when the guide appeared in front of her.

  “Stay here, Master Luminara.” Looking back over his shoulder, he winced as something shot past the opening to the undercut. “I think we’re safe in here, but if you go farther out, you might catch a gust of wind.”

  “What’s wrong with that?” Having lowered the protective cloth from the front of her face, she was staring outside. There was nothing to be seen except the narrow gully they had been traversing and the rising slope of the hill on the other side.

  “You might intercept a gust of wind carrying a chawix.”

  Obi-Wan had come over to join his colleague in studying the seemingly innocuous gulch. “What kind of animal is a chawix?”

  “It’s not an animal,” the guide explained. “It’s a plant.” Turning, Kyakhta dropped into a crouch. As he approached the edge of the undercut and the first pebbles of the sun-washed gully, he dropped to his belly and beckoned them to follow.

  Lying flat on the ground, they were able to watch as several, then dozens of what appeared to be large bundles of impossibly intertwined, ropelike branches came bounding past. Lightweight and propelled by the constant wind that blew down the gully, they would hit the ground, bounce into the air, and soar a substantial distance before touching down once more and bounding skyward once again.

  “Not good to get hit by a chawix.” With the two Padawans following him, Bulgan had slithered up alongside the prone Jedi.

  “I can see how it could be uncomfortable,” Barriss mused aloud. She was interested, but not happy. Crawling flat on hard alien dirt was not one of her favorite pastimes. “But I don’t see why it should cause anyone to panic.”

  “Maybe our friends worry about one of them striking a suubatar in the face.” Anakin shielded his eyes against the dust and the glare as he watched the bundles of vinelike material come bouncing past their rocky shelter. “It looks like they might have some thorns.”

  As they looked on, a membibi emerged from its den on the far side of the ravine and started upwind, heading for another burrow. The small, four-legged insectivore was hairless, with splotchy
pale white skin, a long whiplike tail, and a low-slung protruding snout it carried only a thumb-length above the ground.

  Flying through the air, propelled aimlessly forward by the wind, a spinning chawix arced downward to land on top of the scurrying membibi. Luminara expected the plant to bounce off, as it had bounced off the rocky surface of the gully itself. It did not.

  Sensing proximity to flesh, it extended a dozen or more thorns from fingernail to finger in length, like a feline extending its claws. Pierced by these multiple woody stilettos, the membibi gave a muted shriek and fell over onto its side, legs kicking. Within minutes it lay still. The chawix, its position secured by the thorns thrust deep into the animal’s flesh, began to feed on the dead membibi. The onlookers safe beneath the overhang on the other side of the gully could see the pallid penetrating thorns darken as they sucked up the liquefied flesh of their victim.

  “So the chawix is a carnivorous plant that uses the winds of Ansion to get around.” Having carefully retreated to the back of the overhang, Obi-Wan kept his attention focused on the gully. “I don’t think a good pair of wind goggles would be much protection.”

  “The membibi certainly died quickly enough,” Luminara pointed out.

  Close to her, Bulgan grunted. “The feeding thorns hold within them a strong nerve poison. Membibi or person, it makes no difference to the chawix. Or to the poison.”

  “First the kyren, now the chawix. Both examples of mass subsistence that rely on steady, constant wind to help them feed.” She shook her head. “I can see why on the plains of Ansion, a calm day would be a cause for celebration among the Alwari.”

  “We would be safer in the cities and towns,” Kyakhta admitted. “But we would not be as free. And we would not be Alwari.”

  Bulgan indicated agreement. “I would rather live free among the perils of the prairie than safe in a cramped, smelly house in Cuipernam. And towns hold dangers of their own.”