The Approaching Storm

by Alan Dean Foster

  That certainly seemed to be the majority opinion inside the transparisteel-enclosed passenger compartment. As tumblers clinked and expensively attired individuals saluted one another on their forthcoming triumph, one would have thought the articles of secession had already been signed and disseminated. Laughter rose above the small talk as jokes were swapped that described the eagerly anticipated reactions of certain well-known and heartily disliked politicians to the declaration that was to come.

  Among the revelers were a handful who did not join in the hasty celebration. Most notable among these was a prominent Shu Mai of mild aspect and conciliatory demeanor. Idly, she peered out through the protective transparisteel at the unending panorama of residences and factories, gardens and urban facilities sliding past beneath them. The morning sky was full of similar, if far less well-appointed vehicles, carrying people to and from their places of work and habitation. Billions of them on Coruscant alone, trillions more scattered across the galaxy, the fate of all about to be altered to one degree or another by the decision the handful of sentients in this one transport were on the verge of rendering.

  It was a great responsibility, she knew. Too much, really, for one individual to ponder. But she was prepared to do so. As president of the Commerce Guild, she was charged with making such decisions. Sooner or later, all sentients were compelled to confront their destiny. Most turned away from it. She intended to fully embrace her own.

  Someone had to step forward and say what needed to be said. The victory celebration was getting out of hand—especially in the absence of any victory. Working her way to the back of the compartment, Shu Mai stepped up on a small stool. It wasn’t much of a platform, but then, this was not the Guild she was addressing, either.

  “It’s too soon!” Shu Mai proclaimed, loud enough to be heard above the babble but without shouting.

  Conversation faded quickly. Everyone turned to look at her.

  “Too soon,” she added in a softer yet still steely tone, “to reveal our real intentions, and ourselves.”

  “Excuse me, Shu Mai,” declared a slim but powerful humanoid who stood in the senate for three inhabited worlds, “but not only is it not too soon, hssst, it is overdue. We have waited for this moment long enough.” The subsequent rising murmur showed just how much support this opinion held among the assembled.

  Shu Mai was not intimidated. She never was. The easily intimidated did not become president of an organization like the Commerce Guild. “Everything we have worked for is at stake here. All our preparations, our carefully laid-out plans, are at last beginning to coalesce. Nothing will shatter our mutual dream more than to show ourselves prematurely.”

  “Nothing will cost us fickle support among those systems still wavering more than delaying unnecessarily,” came a contradictory shout from the back of the group. The supportive murmuring rose afresh, even stronger this time.

  Shu Mai raised both hands for silence. As she was one of their own, they conceded her their attention: out of respect not for her insistence, but for the power she wielded with the Guild. Beyond the transparisteel canopy, a judicial speeder drew close, checking on the luxury vehicle. Though the aerial transport was sealed as tight against external surveillance techniques as modern technology could make it, she waited until the speeder accelerated out of sight.

  “My friends, you all know me. You know of my devotion and that of the rest of the Guild to the cause. We have worked together, planned together, kept secret from the Senate together our carefully designed intentions for many years now. It is the wise animal who waits until the fruit is ripe before eating. Pluck it too soon, and sickness can be the result.”

  A squat, muscular figure pushed its way to the forefront of the group to confront the speaker directly. Shu Mai found herself looking down at Tam Uliss.

  “Wait too long, and the fruit rots.” The industrialist was not smiling. “We need to move. It feels right.”

  Shu Mai stepped down off her dais. “And are you now basing your decisions on your feelings, my friend?”

  “Not of the Force, no. But I know people.” Uliss gestured behind him, at the attentive crowd. “I know these people. They’ve waited and worked long and hard for this moment. So have I.”

  “I would be the last one here to deny everyone their moment,” Shu Mai replied softly. “I just want to make sure it’s the right moment.” Off to one side, Senator Mousul nodded somber agreement. Looking past Tam Uliss, Shu Mai raised her voice again. “We have to wait for Ansion to declare for secession. Ansion is still the key. Public disgust with the corruption and bureaucracy of the Republic runs high, but even the most sensitive explosive needs a fuse to set it off. Ansion’s withdrawal will serve as the detonator, and its interlocking alliances will bring the Malarians and the Keitumites with it. It will be the excuse we need to move.”

  “The movement is strong enough now,” the industrialist objected. “We could continue to wait on Ansion and the others, yes. But in so doing we might well lose other, equally vital support. Once we move, Ansion will follow docilely enough.”

  “Are you sure of that, my friend? Are you certain? Even as we stand here conversing, there are Jedi on Ansion.” Confused mutterings from the group showed that by no means everyone present was aware of what was happening on that key world. “Jedi working to ensure that Ansion, and by inference the Malarians and the Keitumites, remain within the Republic.”

  Uliss’s gaze narrowed. “You and Senator Mousul told me they were being dealt with.”

  “So they are,” Shu Mai assured him. “But where Jedi are involved, nothing is certain until it is done. As soon as the Senator receives word that their efforts have been countered and that the delegates to the Unity of towns and cities on Ansion have voted for secession, we move. But not before. We need Ansion and the others to declare for withdrawal before we can confidently implement the rest of our plans.”

  “No,” someone else in the back insisted. “No more waiting. Enough waiting! What matters this week or the next? I say we move now! Ansion and the others will follow. Jedi or no Jedi!”

  “ ‘Jedi or no Jedi’?” Shu Mai’s echo of the insistent speaker’s proclamation was drowned out by supporting yells and exclamations of approval. “Very well then: since the majority of you are clearly in favor of taking action, I have no choice but to concede to the wishes of the majority.” Cheers in several languages filled the compartment. “I ask only that you wait another few days.”

  “A few days?” someone blurted. “What difference could a few days make? We move to a turning point in the history of the Republic!”

  Nearby, the voice of an anxious Senator Mousul rose above the ensuing clamor for action. “As you say, what difference could a few days make?”

  Confronting his stolid co-conspirators, Uliss smiled condescendingly. “Since a few days will not make any difference, we will grant them. But,” he added loudly to forestall the incipient rush of protests from those who supported his position, “only a few days. If after that time has elapsed Ansion still has not voted, we set in motion that which we have worked toward for so long.” His eyes locked on Shu Mai’s. “Those who do not wish to move with us will have only themselves to blame if they find themselves left behind.”

  It was not a threat—not in so many words. The president of the Commerce Guild’s response was a smile of her own. “I could call for a vote on this here and now, but I am neither blind nor deaf. I see and hear how the wind is blowing. Never let it be said that I was a poor listener. We are agreed, then. We wait a few more days. That should be time enough.” Raising her gaze, she looked past the unwavering industrialist to scan the rest of the expectant group. “I hereby acknowledge your wishes, my friends, and will deal with them, for the betterment of everything we seek!”

  Gibes turned to cheers. Shu Mai nodded complacently. She was used to such approbation, and anticipated receiving more of it in the future. A great deal more.

  Meanwhile, she and Senator Mousul
had much to do. The obstinate Tam Uliss had all but guaranteed it.

  It was hard to believe after all they had gone through that the moment, if not of truth, then at least of debating it, had finally come. Though their clothing was made to repel dirt and grime, it had not been designed to cope with days of hard riding on the back of a giant suubatar, not to mention everything else they had experienced.

  Nonetheless, with the help of Bayaar and others of the clan, the four offworlders managed to render themselves reasonably presentable. When the time came to go before the Borokii Council of Elders, Luminara was convinced they presented as imposing a portrait of roaming Jedi as circumstances would permit.

  Decorated with pennants, intricate weavings, and imported hangings of worked metal and composite, the meetinghouse of the Borokii sat off by itself awaiting their presence. The elders were already inside, waiting to hear what the visitors who had successfully shorn the fur of the white surepp had to say. Though honor guards drawn from the best fighters of the clan flanked the entrance, they kept their weapons sheathed. After the extraordinary display of skill the night before, not even the bravest among them had any desire to challenge the strangers’ remarkable, lightning-fast reflexes.

  Pausing outside the entrance, Luminara turned to their guides. “You three will have to wait out here. You don’t represent the Republic Senate, and we can’t risk any distractions during the meeting.”

  Kyakhta and Bulgan indicated understanding. The Gwurran understood also, but that didn’t keep him from objecting.

  “Tooqui no distraction! Tooqui keep quiet, say say nothing, mouth become like closed cleft in rock, speak no words unless asked, can be as quiet as a—”

  Reaching out and down, she put a forefinger against the upper edge of his lipless mouth. “I know you can, Tooqui. But this is our mission, and our time. We’ll tell you all about it when we come out.”

  The Gwurran folded his furry arms across his chest and sniffed, his single wide nostril rising slightly. “Humans no need blabbermouth Tooqui when come out. Human squinchy-faces easy to read as gogomar entrails!”

  “Hear that?” Anakin murmured to an expectant Barriss. “You’ve got a face like gogomar guts.”

  “Thanks,” she replied flatly as they turned to enter the temporary structure. “You’re no prince of the realm yourself.”

  It was meant as a returning jest, but as she stepped past him it was just as well she did not see the look that came over his face.

  The council consisted of twelve elders of both sexes. They sat on a semicircle of slightly raised, carpeted divans facing the entrance. With a few exceptions, every mane in the room was either white or gray, though some showed striking black spots or stripes. As the offworlders arrived, one particularly aged Borokii raised a hand in greeting, all three fingers spread wide.

  “We welcome you to this council of the overclan, and will listen to whatever you have to say. Questions will be asked. It is to be hoped that answers will be imparted.”

  It was that simple, that straightforward. Obi-Wan made the presentation, repeating what they had already told the Yiwa, the Qulun, and the Gwurran, explaining why they had come to Ansion and why it was so important that the Alwari reach agreement with the Senate’s proposal. Telling them that not only the future of Ansion depended on what they decided here today, but perhaps that of the Republic as well. There was no need for embellishment or fancy oratory. That was not the Jedi way, in any case. Such trimmings and flourishes were the province of professional diplomats. Though Obi-Wan was a fine speaker, he disliked superfluities.

  When he was finished, he stepped back and took a seat next to Luminara on a settee provided for the purpose. As befitted their status, Barriss and Anakin sat behind their teachers.

  His presentation was followed by a good deal of muted but vigorous conversation among the members of the council. One female elder looked up to ask a question worthy of the Qulun.

  “We understand what the Alwari are supposed to get if we agree to this proposal. What does the Senate obtain?”

  “Assurance that the law will be respected, and that Ansion will remain within the Republic,” Luminara replied without hesitation. “As goes Ansion, so will go the Malarians and the Keitumites. The integrity of the Republic will be preserved.”

  “But Ansion is not a powerful world,” another of the elders pointed out. “Why so much attention to our internal problems, our border disputes with the people of the Unity, and so on?”

  “A small crack can lead to the collapse of a huge dam,” Obi-Wan told him. “True, Ansion itself is not powerful. But it is entangled in powerful alliances. These need to be preserved within the framework of the Republic.”

  “We have heard little of this secessionist talk that seems to so inflame many of the city folk,” another of the senior Borokii commented.

  “Just as well that you don’t,” Obi-Wan told the speaker. “When Ansion declares its intent to remain within the Republic, it will all blow over. Such movements have manifested themselves before. The history of the Republic is full of them, and all that remains of them today are their names.”

  But this one was different, he had been told. Far more sinister. Potent outside forces were at work, stirring up discontent and trouble on multiple worlds. His briefing from the Jedi Council had spoken of rumblings on Coruscant itself. Still, there was no need to tell the elders more than they needed to know. The situation was delicate enough without invoking the dangers that existed on other worlds.

  Another elder was speaking. “If we agree to what you ask, how can we be assured the city folk of the Unity will not go back on their word?”

  “The Republic will guarantee the arrangements between you,” Luminara told them, to which she added quickly, to forestall intimations of rising laughter, “and so will the Council of Jedi Knights.” That announcement was met with murmurs of evident satisfaction. “We will also see to it that you are not taken advantage of by the incursions of the Commerce Guild, the Trade Federation, or anyone else.”

  There were more questions; some general and friendly, others pointed and challenging. When at last there was nothing more to be said, the senior elder of the Situng Borokii raised a shaky hand.

  “Retire in peace, friends from another prairie. We will give you your answer before the setting of the sun. Rest assured it will not be given in haste, nor thoughtlessly.” Looking to right and left, she regarded her fellow elders. “This is a decision that will affect not only the Borokii, but every member of every clan, from the newborn to the dying. It must be taken with care.”

  As was so often the case in matters of diplomacy, the summit itself was much easier to deal with than the waiting that ensued. There was nothing for the offworlders to do but retire to the visitors’ house. As they waited, they were badgered by Tooqui and to a lesser extent by the equally inquisitive Kyakhta and Bulgan for details of the meeting. The Gwurran in particular was especially entertaining or annoying, depending on one’s mood of the moment.

  When Bayaar finally entered, everyone turned immediately in his direction. Taken momentarily aback by the attention, his expression was unreadable. When at last he spoke, it was with uncharacteristic solemnity.

  “The elders are ready to see you again.” He stepped aside. “Please come with me.”

  The two Jedi exchanged a glance, then followed the sentinel out the door. As before, Anakin and Barriss trailed behind, conversing softly among themselves.

  “So they’ve come to a decision.” Anakin shortened his stride so Barriss could keep up. “About time.”

  “Always impatient, you are,” she told him, mimicking Master Yoda. “Better to live a calmer life and a longer one, it is.”

  “No calm in my life have I had, say I,” he shot back without missing a beat. His smile was unreadable. “I wouldn’t know how to react if I wasn’t on edge most of the time.”

  Glowpoles showed the way to the meetinghouse. Not candles or oil lamps but modern illuminators b
rightened the interior. The visitors arranged themselves before the council. A few of the elders had changed positions from where they had been seated previously. Whether that had any significance or not, Luminara did not know. Kyakhta and Bulgan might have been able to shed some light on the seating switch, but the guides were not here.

  Once again, in confronting the Ansionians, the Jedi were on their own.

  The senior female present began cordially enough. “All this day we have been considering your request. From what we have heard, and from our conversation with you, we of the Borokii believe that the word of the Jedi can be trusted.” Luminara allowed herself to feel a modicum of accomplishment.

  “We therefore,” the female continued, “have decided to accede to everything you ask. We of the Borokii will make this peace with the city folk of the Unity, and Ansion will remain within the Republic.”

  Nearby, Luminara could see Anakin nudge Barriss expectantly. Both Padawans could not keep themselves from grinning joyfully. Obi-Wan’s expression, on the other hand, never changed.

  “In return for this, we ask only that you do one thing for us,” the female said.

  “If it is within our ability,” Luminara replied guardedly.

  The senior male took up the dialogue. “You have already shown that you are quick and skilled, with abilities that exceed those of even the most skilled Borokii. The Jedi are known, even here, as supreme fighters.” When he leaned forward, she noted that what remained of his mane was entirely gray. “Our traditional enemies, the Januul overclan, are encamped not far from here. Help us deal with them once and for all, and you will have earned the friendship and concordance of the Situng Borokii forever! This is our price for doing what you ask of us.”

  The smiles vanished from the faces of the two Padawans. Had she been standing, Luminara would have been rocked back on her heels. Of all the requests the Borokii might have put to them, of all the challenges and demands, they had chosen one that the Jedi could not possibly grant. It was absolutely forbidden for Jedi to take sides in an internal dispute among individual ethnic, clan, family, or political groups. If the Order was ever seen to be favoring one or another on matters that were no province of the Republic as a whole, its vaunted reputation for evenhandedness would be lost. There was no way they could help the Borokii fight and defeat these Januul—no way under the sun. Any sun.