The Approaching Storm

by Alan Dean Foster

  Nor was it lost on either side that the strangers had harmed not a single combatant. They had liquidated only weapons. Where was the guarantee that if the fight was resumed this would continue to be the case? Disarmed warriors looked askance at one another and gave voice to their unease. If they couldn’t put down even one of the offworlders with blasters it was unlikely they would be able to do better with a traditional weapon like a sword or a spear.

  Perhaps, a few among them began to suggest tentatively, it might be better to listen to what the visitors had to say. Listen to the offworlders, let the surepp of both sides grow fat, and wait. They could always resume the ancient argument between them at a later date.

  The Januul ranks parted to allow the emergence of a dignified, senior figure. Breathing hard, lightsaber held firmly in both hands, Barriss reflected that he was certainly old enough to be an elder. In response, an individual more withered than any warrior but still straight of back and proud of posture stepped out from among the massed Borokii. The two elders regarded each other across the field of battle with an equal measure of distaste and respect. When they spoke, it was to accede to reality.

  With the visitors having stated their case most admirably for an urgent meeting with not just one but both Councils of Elders, the Borokii senior invited the four offworlders back to the meetinghouse. This invitation was promptly countered by the elder Januul. It was unthinkable that such an important gathering should take place in a Borokii dwelling. Stepping his mount neatly sideways, the Januul indicated that the visitors should follow him down to the main camp below.

  The result of these seemingly benign invitations was contradictory: both sides threatened to resume fighting over the new issue of who should host the forthcoming peaceful get-together. Visibly annoyed, Luminara decreed that the summit would be held in neither camp. A new building, using components provided by both sides, should be erected right where they were currently standing. That way neither overclan could claim paramountcy over the proceedings.

  The Borokii agreed, grudgingly. The Januul concurred, reluctantly. Well aware of the hundreds of convex eyes upon them, the four offworlders turned and strode off the field of battle. They did their best to give the impression that nothing exceptional had occurred, and that the sensation they had caused was all in a day’s work for representatives of the Jedi Council.

  But in reality, they were each and every one of them dead tired. There is nothing more challenging or exhausting for a skilled fighter than engaging in combat while striving not to kill, but to preserve the life of, your opponent.

  Especially when those opponents are frantically doing their best to annihilate one another.

  Though the Borokii elders felt betrayed by their erstwhile offworld allies, they had no recourse now but to participate in the new meeting. For their part, the Januul were intensely suspicious of the entire business.

  “You lied to us!” the senior Borokii male thundered accusingly, indifferent to what the attendant Januul might think. “You broke your solemn bond!”

  “Not at all,” Obi-Wan replied quietly. “You asked us to help you deal with your traditional enemies, the Januul. That is exactly what we did.” His slight smile widened. “Nothing was ever said about helping you defeat them.”

  Mouth open, angry retort at the ready, the elder found himself hesitating. Eventually, he resumed his seat on the carpeted dais. On his right, a senior female tittered and cracked her knuckles—but softly. The Januul elders simply looked confused.

  In the end, it was the realization that both sides felt equally put upon by the Jedi that led to their eventual reconciliation, at least within the terms of the proferred treaty. Only later, Luminara reflected, would they come to see that both sides had gained something: from making peace with each other as well as with the Unity of city and town folk. And most important of all, by agreeing to a plan that would see Ansion remaining, once and for all, within the Republic and under its laws.

  Personally, Bayaar was delighted with the outcome. He had expected to lose many friends that day, among both his clan and the offworlders. Who could have foreseen such an outcome?

  “I am told that the two councils have agreed to everything you have asked. The accord will be finalized tonight in the traditional manner, during a feast in which both Borokii and Januul will participate.” If he’d had lips, he would have smacked them. “Those who are fortunate enough to be invited will have something exceptional to remember! Both clans also have a gift for you, though I was not told what it was.”

  There was no cheering, no shouting within the visitors’ house. Only weary, satisfied smiles, and the knowledge of a job well done. Had their training not been adequate, had the three-way battle lasted much longer, any of them could have been seriously injured, or even killed. Now, quiet congratulations were exchanged, and relieved Master complimented joyful Padawan.

  No one was more delighted than Anakin. He had enjoyed the opportunity to do battle with something besides words, though he would never have admitted as much. Especially not to Master Obi-Wan. They would be going back to Cuipernam now, not a moment too soon, and from there to Coruscant to present their report in person to the Jedi Council. After that, unless another crisis somewhere in the galaxy required their immediate attention, they would be granted a period of rest. If he could just manage the matter of transportation, and if Master Obi-Wan concurred, he knew exactly how and where he was going to spend his.

  The feast was everything Bayaar had promised, a consuming spectacle of sight, sound, food, and drink. They next morning they bid farewell to their new friends among the Januul and the Borokii. Racing toward distant Cuipernam they should have been able to relax, but could not. In the absence of their comlinks, destroyed by the Qulun chieftain Baiuntu, they could not inform anyone, most importantly the delegates of the Unity, of their success. They had, as the ancient aphorism went, no time to lose.

  Kyakhta and Bulgan rode proudly out front, full of pride at having participated in so momentous a moment in the history of the Alwari. As had become his habit, Tooqui traveled with Barriss, scrambling all over her towering suubatar from head to hindquarters. The patient steed tolerated the Gwurran’s antics without complaint.

  “A great accomplishment, Master.” Her suubatar loping along effortlessly alongside Luminara’s, Barriss spoke from her saddle. Experience had made her comfortable with the rocking motion, and she rode with the ease of a prosperous merchant.

  “An accomplishment.” Luminara was willing to concede that much. “A job well done. ‘Greatness’ is a description best reserved for the ages. Everyone thinks their own achievements worthy of memorializing, but time tends to treat such things unkindly. After a hundred years, most such ‘accomplishments’ have been marginalized. In a thousand, they are generally forgotten.” Seeing the look on the Padawan’s face, she made an effort to sound more upbeat.

  “That doesn’t mean what we did here was unimportant. Our history is only yesterday, and yesterdays matter. Besides, we are none of us historians. Who is to say what is crucial to the history of civilization and what isn’t? Not ordinary Jedi. That’s for the Council and professional historians to decide. What is important is that we accomplished what we came all this way to do, and that as few sentients as possible died in the realizing of it.”

  Barriss spent a moment digesting this. Then her smile returned. “Whatever else anyone says about what we did here, I think holding off not one but two opposing armies without killing anyone on either side qualifies as something special. You were amazing, Master. Most of the time I was too busy to watch, but I had glimpses enough. I’ve never seen anyone so calm and so fearless under such pressure.”

  “Calm? Fearless?” Luminara laughed. “There were moments when I was scared to death, Padawan. The trick at such times is not to show it. Always know where in your mental closet you’ve hung your bravery, Barriss, so you can put it on whenever you need it.”

  She nodded. “I will remember that, Maste
r.”

  And she always would, Luminara knew. A fine apprentice, Barriss. Tending a bit to the pessimistic at times, but a devoted student. Not like that Anakin Skywalker. Greater potential there, but also greater uncertainty. She had observed him during the battle. More than any other non-Jedi she had ever known, she would have wanted him defending her back. It was what he might do after such battles that concerned her. More than a bit of an enigma, that young man. That was not only her opinion.

  Obi-Wan had indicated as much to her on more than one occasion. But he had also insisted that the boy held within him the potential for greatness.

  Well, as she had just more or less told Barriss, that was one of those outcomes only time could decide. Skywalker was not her responsibility, and she was glad of it. She was not sure she would have been as patient with him as was Obi-Wan. An unusual teacher for an unusual student, she reflected. She urged her suubatar to lengthen its stride slightly.

  Unity delegate Fargane’s stomach was not all that was growling. The senior delegate was tired. Tired, and angry. He missed his home in distant Hurkaset, he missed his relatives, and the family business never did as well without him around to dispense the worldly advice of which he was a master. It was all the fault of these representatives of the turgid, pompous Republic Senate. These “Jedi.” Prior to their arrival on Ansion, delegate Ranjiyn had declared that their reputation preceded them. Well, haja, as far as Fargane was concerned, their reputation had receded with them. They had been accorded respect and greeted as potential saviors of the peace, only to vanish into the endless plains of Ansion.

  It was time to make a decision. Though he was still not certain which way he intended to vote, he was certain of one thing: that vote was long overdue. He said as much to his colleagues.

  “They are still out there somewhere,” delegate Tolut insisted. “We should maybe wait a little longer.” Standing by the third-floor window, the bulky Armalat gazed pensively northward. Even his patience was beginning to wear thin. During their only encounter, the Jedi had impressed him mightily. But clever parlor tricks were no substitute for substance. Where were they—and more important, where was the treaty they had promised that would at last settle long-standing matters of disagreement between the city folk of the Unity and the Alwari nomads?

  “I’ll tell you where they are.” Everyone turned toward the speaker. As official observer for a coalition of Cuipernam merchants, Ogomoor had no power to affect the proceedings of the Unity Council. He could only offer an opinion. But as day after day continued to pass with neither sign nor word from the visiting Jedi, his views acquired greater and greater weight.

  “They’ve gone.”

  The human delegate Dameerd frowned. “You mean they’ve left Ansion?”

  Soergg’s majordomo feigned indifference. “Who knows? I mean that they are no longer with us. There are other ports besides Cuipernam, and a good ship can touch down anywhere. Perhaps they’ve gone back to Coruscant, or perhaps they’re dead. Either way, they’ve failed to deliver on what they promised: the acceptance by the Alwari of a new social understanding on Ansion.” He gestured meaningfully. “How much longer will you delay? However you vote on this matter of secession, this eternal uncertainty is bad for business.”

  “I am in full agreement with you there,” Fargane huffed.

  Ranjiyn eyed the senior delegate respectfully. “I concede that a decision should be made. Ansion’s future waits on those of us gathered here.”

  A conflicted Tolut tried to stall. “Can’t we give these well-meaning visitors a little more time?”

  “Who says they are well meaning?” Kandah snapped. “Shall we let them define themselves? They serve other masters. The Jedi Council, the Republic Senate, perhaps others. They do as they are told. If they have been told to leave without speaking to us, I would not be surprised. It would be characteristic of the kind of long-winded political maneuvering so typical of the Senate.” Her voice rose angrily. “I don’t like being treated in this manner!”

  “By the end of the week, then.” Ranjiyn was insistent. “I say that if we have not heard anything from them by then, we should take the vote.”

  “Well!” muttered Volune aloud. “A decision at last. While I tend to agree with Fargane that too much time has been wasted on this matter already, I will accede to that timetable.” He looked over at the senior delegate, human eyes meeting those of the slightly shorter Ansionian. “Fargane?”

  The representative made a gurgling noise in his throat. “More time wasted. Haja, very well. But no longer,” he concluded warningly. “Tolut?”

  The Armalat turned from where he had been staring out the window. “These Jedi are good people, I believe. But who knows what they have been told to do, or what has happened to them? They presume too much.” The heavy head gestured affirmatively. “The end of the week. It is agreed.”

  It was so decided. No more delays, no more excuses. Jedi or no Jedi, treaty or no treaty, they each of them had responsibilities to their individual constituencies, whose citizens had been clamoring for a final decision on the matter of secession. Concerned communications had come as well from offworld, from the Malarians and the Keitumites, whose own futures were so closely and formally tied to that of their Ansionian allies.

  Ogomoor was delighted. The end of the week was farther away than his master would have liked, but neither was it next solstice. Soergg and whoever he was working for would be much pleased.

  The majordomo was much pleased with himself.

  Ogomoor had just delivered a minor bit of good financial news to his bossban and was on his way out of the lounging chamber and back to his office when Soergg erupted behind him.

  “It’s not possible!” the Hutt bellowed into the commdroid, whose job it was to hover close to the massive, lumpy head during business hours.

  Adroit fellow that he was, Ogomoor was able to divine several things simultaneously from his master’s exclamation. First, when someone declares loudly and violently that something is not possible, it is probably an accomplished fact. Second, things that are supposed to be not possible that become reality almost always imply negative consequences. And third, there was no point in hurrying from the room because in all probability he would immediately receive an order to return.

  All this flashed through the majordomo’s mind in an instant; just long enough for him to mentally prepare himself. Soergg continued listening to whoever was on the other end of the transmission. The Hutt’s huge eyes bulged and veins throbbed on his neck region and head. He must be upset indeed, Ogomoor knew, for those blood-carrying tubes to force themselves to the surface through so much intervening fat.

  He listened patiently if uneasily. Patently, his bossban was not receiving good news. As bad news traveled rapidly down the chain of command through the Hutt’s many enterprises, it was his destiny to be among the first to share in it. Occasionally, Soergg would interject a comment or two into the largely one-sided conversation. As the Hutt continued to listen, these rapidly grew both stronger and more profane in tone.

  When at last the transmission ended, the enraged bossban swung furiously at the mechanical deliverer of bad news. A heavy hand smacked the guiltless hovering droid into the nearby wall. It crackled once before falling to the ground, shattered. Ogomoor swallowed hard. If the Hutt was angry enough to sacrifice expensive equipment on the altar of his rage, it did not bode well for his organic, more easily broken, subordinates. The majordomo took care to remain well out of the Hutt’s reach.

  Soergg was not in the mood to mince words, even at the sacrifice of his beloved sarcasm. “Those accursed Jedi are back!”

  “Back?” Ogomoor looked blank. “Back where?”

  Vast yellow eyes glared down at him, and Ogomoor was glad he had not moved any closer. “Back here, you idiot!”

  Genuinely taken aback, the first assistant gaped at his master. “Here? In Cuipernam?”

  “No,” Soergg growled dangerously. “In my sleeping quarter
s.” Voicing a curt command, he called forth another commdroid from the cabinet in which they were stored in multiples. “They’re at the city inn where they stayed subsequent to their initial arrival. At least we retain one competent informant! Get over there. Take whatever you need. Hire whomever you need. Maybe, just maybe, they’re too tired to ask questions and will retire for the rest of the day. If not—if it appears they are coming out and heading for the Cuipernam municipal complex—stop them. Do whatever you must. But keep them from reaching the complex. They must not be allowed to interfere with the vote of the Unity delegation. Not now. Not when we are so close to achieving everything we have worked for.” The Hutt made a visible effort to calm himself as he checked the newly activated commdroid’s chronometer.

  “Hold the Jedi until sunset. After sunset the vote will have been taken and it won’t matter what they do. But prior to the setting of this benighted planet’s sun, none of them must be allowed to reach the municipal hall.”

  “Yes, Bossban. You said I should do whatever I must.” He hesitated. “If I have to take steps, they might be in full view of the populace.”

  “Cross-spit the populace! We will deal with any adverse public reactions later. It is not local reaction I am concerned with.” Grunting, he leaned toward his majordomo. “Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Bossban,” Ogomoor replied somberly.

  “Then what are you doing standing here oozing mental fluids? Go. Now.”

  Ogomoor went.

  The manager was a Dbarian; all tentacles, warts, and worry. That it was astonished to see them again, alive and well, was a given. Suffice to say that its flexible unsegmented extensions turned bright blue with surprise.

  Were there rooms available for its honored guests? Did one eat a loomas head-first? And could the manager possibly notify the Unity delegation that the visiting Jedi had returned, with a signed treaty not only from the Alwari overclan but the Januul as well?