The Approaching Storm

by Alan Dean Foster

The male shanh emitted a rising hiss, a tormented sound unlike anything it had given voice to so far. At the same time, the weight on the Padawan’s back was removed. The shanh had stepped off him, for what reason Anakin could not imagine. Thus reduced to a single adversary, he shoved hard with the Force. Grunting in surprise, the female was knocked sideways several body-lengths. Arm freed, he activated his lightsaber.

  Before he could bring it into play, the stunned but still reactive female leapt. She was met in midbound by a downward sweeping arc of light that caught her just behind the head. There was a single, sharp hiss of surprise and pain, a sudden smell of burned flesh, and she landed on him belly-first. Using his muscles he rose on hands and knees and shook the heavy weight off his back.

  The big male shanh was lying nearby, motionless, smoke rising from its seared skull. Standing next to it was a single familiar shape. Though not inherently tall, in Anakin’s sweat-stung eyes the looming figure assumed the proportions of a giant. The outsized image vanished in the smile the slowly turning figure bestowed on him.

  “Small sounds often mask large sources.” Clad only in her sleeping attire, Luminara Unduli deactivated her lightsaber and let it fall to her side. “A good lookout needs to listen with more than his or her ears, Anakin Skywalker. Reality is rife with disguises.”

  Breathing hard, he rose shakily to his feet and bowed his head once, hastily. “Thank you for my life, Master Luminara.”

  She accepted his thanks with a nearly imperceptible dip of her own head. “Your life is your own, Anakin, and not mine to give or take.” He thought he detected a twinkle in her eye. “I merely helped preserve it.” Approaching, she startled him by casually slipping an arm around his back. The feel of it was astonishingly comforting. It reminded him of something nearly forgotten. “Come with me. I’ll stand the rest of your shift.”

  “But you’re not due to come on for another hour yet,” he protested.

  Once more, she flashed that warming, knowing smile at him. “For some strange reason, I’m suddenly wide awake. It’s all right, Padawan. Consider this just another learning experience. One you will learn from—won’t you?”

  It was a rhetorical question, one he knew he did not have to acknowledge. But he did anyway.

  “When one hears the sound of a lightsaber springing to life in the middle of the night in a strange place on a strange world, one knows it is not being triggered for purposes of amusement. I believe I reached you just in time.”

  Feeling better with every step, he nodded agreement. “If anyone wants to ask me, I think I can tell them all they want to know about the collaborative attack tactics of the stalking shanh.”

  “Probably more than they would want to know.” They were already back at the camp. Her arm slid off his back. “Get some sleep, Anakin. Don’t worry about me. I’m used to this sort of thing.”

  It would have been churlish of him to protest further. Finding his bed, he fell rather than lay back onto it, not even bothering to slip into the sack. Not far away, Kyakhta and Bulgan slept on. Another shape moved slightly, awake but not rising from its bed. Bending down close to him, Luminara murmured something to Obi-Wan, who listened closely, nodded once, and lay back down. Anakin waited for the disapproval that was to come. Thankfully, his teacher was wise enough, or empathetic enough, to say nothing. In truth, no additional commentary was necessary.

  That didn’t stop Barriss from looking up from her own place of rest. She didn’t say anything—just stared at him. He stood it for as long as he could, which was about a minute.

  “All right, all right,” he muttered. “Go ahead and say it.”

  “Say what?” she asked innocently. There was as much mischief in her expression as in her voice.

  “You know.” He fumbled irritably with his bedding. “That I was derelict in my duty. That I was daydreaming in the middle of the night. That I didn’t pay attention to what I was doing. Whatever.”

  “I was just wondering if you were okay.”

  He remembered his shoulder. His anger at himself had temporarily masked the pain. Now it returned, full force. He was glad of the burning sensation, opening himself to it, welcoming it. He deserved it. Just as he deserved whatever condemnation Barriss might now choose to bestow.

  That, however, was not her intent. “I wonder if Master Yoda, who only knows lightsaber technique, would have been caught off guard like that.” Leaving him with a last smile, she rolled over to resume her own interrupted sleep.

  An angry retort sprang immediately to mind, but he did not give voice to it. She was right, of course. More than right. She had given him something else to think about, something more to ponder. Turning onto his back, wincing at the fiery pain in his shoulder, he considered the stars from a different perspective than he had earlier that night.

  There was more to mastering the Force than moving objects from point to point. One had to be conscious of it at all times, not just in moments of danger. It was not armor, always present to protect those who knew something of its ways. It responded only to conscious effort, to awareness. That was his problem, he realized. He was aware only part of the time.

  It wouldn’t happen again, he swore. From now on, he would be with the Force at all times, rather than waiting for it to be with him. Yet again, it had been brought home to him how much he did not yet know.

  Fortunately, he was a fast learner.

  They had gathered not in the formal surroundings of the city’s municipal hall, but in the garden of the abode of Kandah, one of the Unity delegates who would vote on whether or not to pull Ansion out of the Republic. Enclosed on four sides by the two stories of the residence itself, the courtyard was alive with flowers and fountains. Like the house, everything had been paid for from the profits Kandah’s family had acquired through years of trade. Those profits would have been much higher, she reflected as she watched her fellow representatives stroll the meandering pathways, had they not been subject to the confiscatory and arbitrary taxes of the Republic.

  If all went well, those obstacles to even greater wealth would soon be removed.

  The courtyard had been designed as a place of refuge from the noise and activity of the city beyond. Today it provided privacy of a different sort to the gathering of representatives and their aides. The latter were gradually dismissed, until only the senior officials remained, holding their refreshments and questions until all could assemble together beside a translucent fountain spewing scented water.

  “It’s premature.” This from Garil Volune, one of the human delegates. “They haven’t been gone that long.”

  “Be realistic, Volune,” declared one of the male Ansionians. “They should have been back by now.” He gestured toward the main street outside the courtyard and the house. “They should have been back days ago.”

  “The Jedi wouldn’t abandon us,” another delegate insisted. “It’s not their way. Even if their attempt to make the Alwari see reason failed, they would return to tell us so.”

  Delegate Fargane, tallest and most educated of the four native Ansionians present, waved his tumbler angrily. “They have comlinks. They should have contacted us by now. Whether to speak of success or failure matters not so much to me. I ask only that those who desire my vote be polite.” An irritated hissing noise emanated from his single nostril. “I can stand to be proven wrong, but I don’t like being ignored.”

  Towering over them all, Tolut offered a dissenting opinion. “Maybe they are having trouble with their comlinks.”

  Volune looked up at him in disbelief. The smaller human delegate was not intimidated by the bulky Armalat. “All four of them?”

  Tolut gestured petulantly. He was no happier with the continuing lack of contact on the part of the visiting Jedi than were his colleagues. “We don’t know that they each carry one. Maybe they only took two with them. Two could break.”

  “Comlinks just don’t break down like that.” Kandah took a deep breath. “If these Jedi are as competent as their kind are rum
ored to be, one would think they would carry necessary replacement parts, or spares. Yet still we hear nothing from them.”

  “Probably because they’ve failed to do what they intended to do, are too embarrassed to face you and admit it, and have already left Ansion to report their failure to their aged superiors.”

  Everyone else turned to look in the speaker’s direction. Tun Dameerd, another delegate, responded. “Unlike the rest of us, you are not a chosen representative of the Ansionian populace, Ogomoor, and are here only as an invited guest. It’s not your place to comment on these ongoing negotiations.”

  “What negotiations?” Blithely ignoring the admonition, Ogomoor set his drink aside and spread his long, three-fingered hands wide. “These Jedi came here and asked you to delay your vote on the matter of secession so that they might strike a bargain with the Alwari enabling everyone on Ansion to live within the suffocating strictures of the Republic. You graciously consented to give them this chance.”

  He turned a slow circle, presenting himself to each of them in turn. “What has been the result? More delay, more obfuscation, more of what the Republic has given Ansion for decades. If that isn’t proof enough that it’s time for a real change, I don’t know what is.” Feigning indifference, he picked up his glass again. “Of course, as you say, I’m only here as an observer. But I do know that there are many who eagerly await the outcome of your eventual vote. A positive outcome.”

  “Your bossban, for example?” Volune eyed the majordomo sarcastically.

  Ogomoor was not upset. “Naturally, Soergg looks forward to the day when he and his kind can conduct business in this part of the galaxy openly and without being crushed beneath the onerous burden of outdated Republic rules and regulations.”

  “I didn’t know a Hutt could bend,” Dameerd quipped. Mild laughter rose from the delegates—but not from all of them, Ogomoor noted. He and his bossban had allies here.

  “You can joke,” Kandah observed icily, “but my family’s commerce and the businesses of those who supported my election to this position have suffered mightily under the Republic’s sluggishness and indifference. I say it’s time we moved forward! We’ve delayed long enough. Call for the vote!”

  Fargane raised his own glass. “Kandah is right. I flatter myself that I might live long enough to see it.”

  Volune’s lips tightened and he shook his head. “I agree that the Republic has lost its way. I agree that our pleas for relief from oppressive laws and taxes are too often ignored. But the Senate has responded to our complaints.” He looked around at his fellow delegates. “Do you not all agree that if the Jedi can make this peace between the Unity of towns and cities and the Alwari that Ansion will be better off under the laws of the Republic than outside them?”

  The discussion that followed was heated, and short. Once again it was Kandah who spoke up. “Of course we are agreed on that.” She ignored the look of surprise on Ogomoor’s face. “If we were not, we would have gone ahead and taken the vote the same day the Jedi arrived. But we have no peace with the Alwari. We have no agreement. And with each day that passes, our assurances of support from the Malarians and the Keitumites that they will follow our lead diminishes. It is critical that this matter be decided.”

  Into the silence that followed, Volune offered a compromise. “We cannot vote today in any case. The proper procedures are not in place. I am willing, albeit reluctantly, as the chosen representative of my constituency, to set a date on which the vote to secede or not to secede shall be taken.” He looked at the Ansionian on his right. “Will this satisfy the venerable Fargane?”

  The eldest Ansionian present paused, then gestured affirmatively. “It will.”

  Volune turned back to the others. “Then let us settle on a date and a time, and not deviate from that. If the Jedi return before then, we will hear them out. If they do not, then we will go ahead and take the vote, and they will have only themselves to blame for their lack of a timely response.”

  The proposal was too reasonable for even Tolut to object to, and the Armalat found himself making the suggestion unanimous. For his part, Ogomoor knew that Bossban Soergg and his supporters would be well pleased. The date chosen was not as soon as might have been wished, but neither was it unconscionably far in the future. Tolut might be a problem, but the Armalat’s vote could be ignored. Following today’s gathering, Ogomoor would be able to report back that, besides Kandah, Fargane and at least one other delegate would be likely to vote in favor of withdrawal from the Republic. The votes of the others were not yet a certainty. The transposition of certain large sums of credits to untraceable banking accounts might yet have to take place prior to the formal vote in order to ensure that Ansion opted for secession.

  In the interim, he and his bossban had little else to worry about. Because to all intents and purposes, the Qulun Baiuntu was doing his work very well indeed.

  Morning saw the group of fast-moving travelers slow as Kyakhta rejoined them. The guide had ridden on slightly ahead. Now he returned at a gallop, visibly excited, bulging eyes aglow.

  “Found them!” he announced proudly as he turned his suubatar. He extended his artificial arm to point. “Just over the next rise.”

  “At last,” Luminara murmured. “You’re certain it’s the Borokii?”

  The Alwari gestured emphatically. “No mistaking it, Master Luminara. They are in full ceremonial camp, pennants flying. The overclan Borokii, most influential of all the Alwari clans.”

  In truth, it was a more impressive sight than any of them had expected. Having been exposed to the nomad encampments of the Yiwa and the Qulun, the travelers believed they had some idea of what to expect. Neither of those previous encounters prepared them for what greeted their eyes as their suubatars topped the crest of the low ridge.

  Spread out before them were not dozens of recently unfolded and erected portable structures, but hundreds. Several boasting sophisticated energy arrays for the generation of power must have required dozens of draft animals to pull them, Luminara reflected. Thousands of Borokii of all ages milled about within the vast, elaborate camp. Beyond, uncountable thousands of herd animals grazed peacefully within perimeters patrolled by sadain-mounted handlers. The din of their passive moaning and mewling, a kind of rising urrr noise, dominated the sounds of the camp. Here, just as they had been told, resided the supreme power of the Alwari. Where the Borokii led, the rest of the Alwari would follow.

  “Surepp,” Bulgan explained in response to her query concerning the herd. “Males are the blue ones with the darker neck ruffs and coiled antlers, females are green and slightly larger but without the ruffs.”

  Sitting up straight in her saddle, she let her gaze rove over the impressive panorama. “I’ve never seen an animal with three eyes lined up vertically like that, instead of in the usual horizontal position.”

  “Top eye keeps watch for flying predators, middle eye tracks fellow surepp, and the bottom eye monitors the ground for food and obstacles.” Bulgan shifted in his seat, the side of his face with the one good eye leaning, as always, slightly forward. “That way the surepp miss nothing.”

  “I see. I suppose it makes sense for an animal that’s standing still, but they must have terrible peripheral vision.”

  The guide nodded. “That is so, but they don’t need it. When you almost always have another surepp on either side of you plus others in front and back, you don’t have to see from side to side. Only up and down.”

  “What about the ones who find themselves pushed to the edge of the herd?”

  “They can turn their heads to see to the side, and use their sense of smell. They can still see from side to side, just not as well as a dorgum or awiquod. Because of their numbers, surepp are much harder for hunters like the shanh to take than dorgum or awiquod, which are more likely to graze slightly apart from one another.” He nudged his mount forward, and the suubatar broke into a slow walk. “That’s why the richer clans like the Borokii prefer them.”

/>   “What are they good for?” Barriss asked from nearby.

  “Everything. Meat, milk, hides, wool. Their teeth and antlers were once used to make tools. Nowadays, those kind of utensils are imported, so the bony material is used for expensive handicrafts.” He smiled. “I’m sure you’ll see examples of everything once we’re inside the camp.”

  Up in the lead, Kyakhta raised his long-fingered prosthetic. “Riders are coming.”

  Unsurprisingly, there were six of them, six by now being readily recognized by the travelers as a number of significance for all Ansionians. More richly attired than Yiwa or Qulun, their lightweight armor gleamed in the sun. Two of the pickets held poles of imported carbonite composite atop which the Borokii standard snapped briskly in the morning breeze. In addition to traditional long knives, two of them wore Malarian laser pistols. Clearly, at least some of what they had heard about the overclans was true, Luminara saw. The Borokii had wealth, and the acumen to know how to spend it.

  Curiosity overcoming his natural reserve, the leader of the half a dozen riders impelled his equally impressively attired sadain forward, halting in front of the lead suubatars. The considerable difference in the heights of their respective mounts forced him to look up at the visitors. To his credit, he did not seem in the least intimidated. He was also, Luminara decided, openly friendly—at least on the surface. But then, she knew, the powerful can afford to be magnanimous.

  “Greetings, offworlders and friends.” The Borokii briefly pressed one hand across his eyes and the other over his chest. “I am Bayaar of the Situng Borokii. Welcome to our camp. What do you wish of the overclan?”

  While Obi-Wan explained their purpose, Luminara continued to study the pickets. Looking for any indication of hostile intent, she found only confidence and a professional readiness. Unlike the Yiwa, for example, these people were not suspicious or afraid of strangers. With thousands of fellow clanfolk to back them up, they didn’t have to be. That did not mean they were indifferent to potential threats, or lazy. While their leader listened courteously to Obi-Wan, the members of his troop sat imperiously in their saddles. But their eyes were always moving.