The Approaching Storm

by Alan Dean Foster

  His friend hissed knowingly. “There are no Hutts on the open plains. Dearly would I love to see Soergg confronted by a few dozen flying chawix.”

  Bulgan nodded energetically. “The fat slimebag would feed a whole forest of chawix. On him, they’d grow big as trees!”

  “This Soergg the Hutt,” Luminara asked them, “the one who sent you to abduct Barriss: Did he ever tell you why he wanted her?”

  The two Alwari exchanged a glance. “Our minds worked differently then, but no, I don’t think he ever mentioned the reason.”

  Bulgan confirmed his friend’s response. “I thought it was to hold her for ransom. That is the usual reason for carrying out a kidnapping, isn’t it?”

  “Not always.” She looked to her left. “Obi-Wan?”

  The other Jedi looked even more thoughtful than usual. “We know there are elements that would like to see us fail in our mission, that would dearly love to see Ansion and its allies secede from the Republic. First you and Barriss are attacked, then these two are ordered to abduct her.”

  “Not necessarily her.” Bulgan indicated Luminara’s Padawan. “We were told to take either of your apprentices.”

  Obi-Wan gestured impatiently. “It amounts to the same thing. A Hutt wouldn’t dare to challenge the Order unless there was a substantial profit in it for him. That raises the interesting question of who paid this Soergg to carry out the kidnapping, and probably also the attack on you and Barriss.”

  “We have no proof the Hutt was involved in that,” Luminara pointed out. “But it follows logically enough.”

  He nodded. “Having tried twice to stop us, it stands to reason he’ll try again. We’ll have to watch our step when we return to Cuipernam.”

  “You raise the question of the Hutt’s employer, Obi-Wan.” As she watched the last of the chawix tumble past outside their refuge, Luminara searched her memories. “There are many powerful elements among the secessionists. Clearly, some have grown bolder than others. If we could find out who hired the Hutt, we could make a case against them before the Senate. It would embarrass their cause.”

  He sighed softly. “You have more confidence in the Senate than I do, Luminara. First, they would appoint a panel to study the accusation. Then the panel would produce a report. The report would go to committee. The committee would issue a commentary based on the report. The commentary would be tabled until the Senate could find the time to vote on the report. Recommendations would follow based on the vote—unless it was voted to send the report back to committee for further study.” He met her gaze evenly. “By that time, Ansion and its allies could have seceded from the Republic, formed their own government, had a civil war, dissolved, and re-formed. One would have to live as long as Master Yoda to see the final outcome.”

  Standing nearby, Anakin had listened in silence to the Jedi’s discussion. Master Obi-Wan was right, he knew. Put something to the Senate, and nothing would ever be accomplished. That was what the Jedi were best at, he decided: getting things done without having to worry about the approval of the endlessly garrulous, nonsensical debate of the Senate. Give him a clean lightsaber over obfuscating words any day.

  He moved slightly away from the others, leaning up against the wall of the overhang, and gazed disinterestedly out at the lethal plants that were still bounding past. There were fewer of them now. He and his companions should be able to move soon. Observing his isolation, Barriss moved to intrude upon it.

  “You don’t find wind-propelled carnivorous poison plants of interest? Not many would be so quickly bored with otherworldly wonders, Anakin.”

  He looked over at her. “It’s not that, Barriss. I have other things on my mind.” Straightening, he stood away from the wall. “I guess I’m just impatient to get this assignment over with.” He nodded in the direction of the gully. “For example, if we had a landspeeder, we wouldn’t have to worry about things like these chawix. The kyren, maybe, but not chawix.” One hand moved to his lower back. “And my butt wouldn’t hurt so much.”

  She smothered a smile. “Your saddle doesn’t fit you?”

  “Very little on this world fits me. I wish I was elsewhere.”

  “Strange world that, Elsewhere. I’ve heard a lot about it.”

  His expression changed. “Now you’re making fun of me.”

  “No, I’m not,” she insisted, though her tone and expression were ambivalent. “It’s just that sometimes I think you’re a little too self-centered to be a Jedi. A little too focused on what’s good for and essential to Anakin Skywalker, as opposed to what’s important to your colleagues and to the Republic.”

  “ ‘The Republic.’ ” He gestured toward where the two older Jedi were conversing with their guides. “You should hear Master Obi-Wan talk about the Republic, sometimes. About what’s happening to it, what’s going on in the government.”

  “You mean the talk of a secessionist movement?”

  “That—and other things. Don’t misunderstand. Master Obi-Wan is a true Jedi. Anyone can see that. He believes in everything the Jedi stand for and everything they do. The way I see it, that’s very different from believing in the current government.”

  “Governments are always changing. They’re a mutable organism.” While she spoke, she continued to look on in fascination as the chawix slowly consumed the last of the unfortunate membibi. “And like any living thing, they are always growing and maturing.”

  “Or like any living thing, they die and are replaced. Believing in the Republic isn’t the same as believing in the Senate.”

  “Ah—that overstuffed hothouse full of declamatory blowhards!”

  He looked at her in sudden surprise. “I thought you disagreed with me.”

  “About the Republic and what it stands for? Yes. About the Senate, that’s something else again. But politicians are not Jedi, Anakin, and Jedi are not politicians. It’s the Council we report to, it’s their directives that lead us, and unless that changes, I’m afraid I can’t share your overweening cynicism regarding the state of the Republic.”

  “Your upbringing was different from mine. You haven’t seen the things I have.” He looked down at her. “You don’t feel the kind of loss I do.”

  “No, that’s true,” she readily admitted. “I don’t.” Her tone softened from argumentative to curious. “What’s it like, to know your mother? To grow up with one?”

  He brushed past her, moving to rejoin the others. “It’s a feeling of loss that’s hard to describe. Just know that it hurts. You’re better off without that hurt, Barriss. Nothing personal, but it’s kind of private. Even Jedi are entitled to a few small privacies. Even Padawans.” He forced a smile. “Anyway, that was a long time ago. Let’s see if our good guides think it’s safe for us to resume our journey.”

  There was more she wanted to ask him, but he was right. Thrown together for long periods at a time, Jedi and Padawan alike had a need for privacy. Curious and concerned though she might be, she was going to have to respect that. In their time together on Ansion, Anakin had done nothing to make her suspect his competence. Where Jedi teachings were concerned, he was as reliable and aware a fellow Padawan as she had ever met—if a bit strong-headed. What vexed her were these personal problems of his, inner quandaries that he only occasionally allowed to rise to the surface of his self, where others could perceive them.

  She didn’t want to quarrel with him, or accuse him. She wanted to help. But in order for her to be of any use, he would have to open up. If not to her, then to Obi-Wan. Clearly, there was much on his mind beyond a desire to do a good job and to eventually be promoted to the status of full Jedi Knight.

  Perhaps with the passage of time, he might choose to confide in her more. Until then, she would try her best to monitor his shifting emotions, and to be there if he needed someone besides his teacher to talk to. Meanwhile, he would remain a bit of an enigma. She moved to join him and the others. If nothing else, he was certainly unique. That uniqueness gave him something to build on. But i
f he hoped to ever be promoted to full Jedi, he was going to have to sort out those problematic inner uncertainties.

  She had never met such a thing as a conflicted Jedi. But then, she had never before met one who had been raised by his mother.

  The chawix outbreak did not last long. Only long enough for a snack, a quick drink, and a brief rest, following which the travelers prepared for departure. It was when she was preparing to climb back onto the saddle of her mount that Barriss noticed the creature digging through the supply pack that was tied across the suubatar’s second back. Momentarily startled by the unexpected sight, she froze.

  It looked very much like any other Ansionian. The bright, convex eyes, the bipedal build, and the long, nimble fingers and toes were identical. But instead of the narrow mane that ran from the top of the head down the spine to terminate in a short tail, this intruder was completely covered in short, dense, dark brown and beige fur striped with dull yellow markings. Instead of a twitchy stub, its weaving tail was as long as her arm.

  Most striking of all, it barely came up to her waist.

  “Hey, stop that!” she yelled in all-purpose Ansionian.

  Both arms laden with a trio of flexiwrapped foodpaks, the startled intruder looked up in response to her sudden shout. Emitting a defiant squeal, it turned and leapt off the back of the indifferent suubatar. Unhesitatingly, she raced around her mount’s front end. If the creature stayed where it was, it would be trapped against the rear of the overhang. If she failed to intercept it and it ran outside, it would be highly visible and therefore easy to track down on the slopes that bordered the gully.

  As she rounded her mount’s head, it lifted its snout to sniff lazily at her, then closed its eyes and resumed its resting posture. She expected to see the prowler huddled against the back wall, or racing for the gulch beyond. What she saw instead was a pair of legs vanishing beneath a protruding shelf of rock near the rear of the overhang.

  A quick backward glance showed her companions chatting or preparing for departure. If the little thief thought he could hide in a hole, he was very much mistaken. She was not so easily deceived. Dropping to her knees, she went in after it. If she could get a hand on one of those small feet, she was sure she could drag the intruder back out.

  Unexpectedly, the hole opened into a fissure that ran back into the hill. Light filtered down from above. At that point she hesitated. Cornering the thief in a dead-end recess was one thing; chasing it down a slot canyon of unknown extent quite another. But—they needed every bit of their supplies. And every second she lingered put more distance between herself and the thief.

  Determined not to let the prowler get away, she rose to her feet and raced after it. If the rocky cleft branched off into multiple passages, she would have to terminate the chase and return, defeated, to her companions. On the other hand, if it dead-ended somewhere not far ahead, she would have the furry bandit cornered.

  Though clearly cut by running water, the crevice cooperated by not splitting into different branches. Agile though he was, the intruder was slowed by his ill-gotten burden. He never managed to slip entirely out of her sight. In fact, she was gaining on him noticeably when he suddenly turned to confront her. Jumping up and down, he proceeded to unload on her a series of furious squeals that she struggled to translate. The dialect was far more difficult to decipher than the comparatively sophisticated speech of the city, the idiom spoken by Kyakhta and Bulgan, or even the rough variant that was employed by the wandering Yiwa.

  “Get back, get back, go away, go away, leave alone, leave alone!” In addition to these straightforward exclamations there were also numerous rapid-fire individual phrases that proved beyond her capacity to interpret, but whose general implication could be inferred from the vaguely obscene gestures that accompanied them. On careful consideration, Barriss did not believe any were intended to be flattering. Such imprecations and insults didn’t bother her.

  What did were the dozens of echoing comments and cries that emanated from the thief’s cohorts, who by now lined both sides of the crevice’s upper rim. Yelling and screaming, they hurled exceptionally inventive epithets down at her while their absconding colleague stood his ground and assumed a posture of unmistakable triumph.

  The sight of them was as astonishing as it was unexpected. Despite their diminutive stature, proportionately slightly larger eyes, and full fur body covering, the similarities to the dominant Ansionian race were unmistakable. Her little thief and his comrades clearly represented a distinct branching of Kyakhta’s and Bulgan’s species, a dwarf genetic offshoot. Already she’d recognized their speech as a variant of the Ansionian norm. Every one of them, she noted, boasted a different pattern in its fur.

  The cleft in the hill was a dead end, all right. For both thief and pursuer. But he was the one with the swarm of allies. It occurred to her that not only did her companions not know she was in trouble, they didn’t even know where she was. Master Luminara would be displeased. Cautiously reaching for her lightsaber, Barriss hoped fervently that she would be able to accept that displeasure in person.

  “Hahaheehee!” With unflagging energy and enthusiasm, the thief was jumping wildly up and down. “Tooqui fool you, fool you! You trapped good now, you big back-bald bully-goo! Squinty-eyes! Syrup-stink! What you do now now?”

  That depended entirely, she knew, on what the thief’s comrades did next. If she backed slowly down the crevice, retracing her steps, would they track her retreat from above? Or would they immediately lose interest in lieu of scrambling down to fight one another over a share of their successful colleague’s plunder?

  The answer came in the form of a hail of stones. None was particularly big, but she would only have to catch one fist-sized rock between the eyes to be knocked senseless. Derived from her training, her response was pure reflex. Raising a hand, she concentrated hard, hard.

  The flung stones hit the sides of the narrow cleft. They struck the floor at her feet. But none made contact with her. She was too busy focusing on deflecting the missiles to wonder how long she could maintain her concentration. Sweat began to bead on her forehead. She couldn’t spare the energy to yell for help. Given the twists and turns in the cleft and the distance she’d come, she doubted her shouts would be heard by her friends, anyway.

  She was on her own.

  Apart from the actual, very real danger, it was a strange feeling. This was the first time she had been attacked by herself, not counting the abduction in the Cuipernam shop. Involving as it had nothing more threatening than a soporific mist, that had been a relatively benign assault. This was completely different. The howling, gesticulating creatures on the gully rim above her were doing their utmost to split her skull.

  Wouldn’t they ever get tired? she wondered. The strain was beginning to tell. She felt herself growing dizzy from the effort. If they saw, or sensed, that she was weakening, they might redouble their efforts.

  If she went down, it was entirely possible that nobody would find her. Words would have to be said over her demise in the absence of a body. Those she had known and studied with would grieve, wondering what had happened to her on distant, suddenly critical Ansion.

  Just as she felt she was going to pass out from the strain, the barrage slowed, to finally cease altogether. Overhead, the assembled creatures turned from attacking her to jabbering excitedly at one another. Occasionally, one would point down at their intended target standing cornered below. At such moments she strove to project an air of complete confidence, even indifference. The pain in her head was beginning to fade. She saw one of her assailants shove another. A couple of fights broke out among the stone throwers—all long slapping fingers and angry tiny fists. Apparently, her assailants were a fractious bunch.

  Hoping she remembered enough of the language course and still keeping a wary eye out for the odd hurled rock, she tilted her head back and addressed them forcefully.

  “Listen to me!” Stunned debaters immediately ceased their arguing. Several dozen w
ide-eyed faces turned to look down at her. “There’s no need for us to fight. My friends and I mean you no harm. We’re not from this world, from Ansion. We’re humans, and we’d like to be friends. Understand? Friends.” Turning slightly, she pointed back the way she’d come.

  “Two of my companions are Jedi Knights. I and one other are their Padawans, their apprentices. We also have two Alwari guides with us.”

  She should have stopped with her own identification. At the mention of the guides, the assembled group resumed their leaping and howling—though not quite as vociferously as before, she noted. She struggled to keep up with the meanings of their overlapping cries.

  “Hate Alwari!… Alwari bad, bad, bad!… No Alwari here!… Kill Alwari!… Alwari go away, away!…” A few picked up and brandished fresh stones.

  She raised both hands. “Please, listen to me! The two Alwari who travel with us are not only from another part of this world, they’re clanless! They are completely under the control of myself and my friends and will not harm you. We just want to be friends!”

  The flourished stones were not set aside—but they were lowered. Once more the creatures lining the rim resumed their internal bickering. If not for their uninhibited belligerence, they really were quite attractive, she decided, in the diversity of their full-body fur. Eventually the squabbling diminished, though it didn’t cease entirely. A gray-coated individual, clearly an elder, leaned over the rim of the crevice to peer down at her.

  “You strange person, you is. What a ‘Jedi Knight’?”

  “What a ‘human’?” exclaimed another, interrupting. Suddenly she was inundated by a volley not of stones, but of queries. Wrestling with her limited local vocabulary, she did her best to answer them all.

  Meanwhile, the singular thief who had triggered the confrontation stood with his back facing the cleft’s dead end, still clutching his cumbersome spoils. “Haja—what about me? What about Tooqui?” He tried to raise one of the big foodpaks over his head but succeeded only in dropping it on his right foot. Now much more interested in asking questions of the tall stranger, his comrades ignored him. Putting down his burden, he began hopping about furiously, waving long-fingered fists at those gathered overhead.