“I’m still thinking about that,” she said. “But I’m trying not to let bad things happen on my watch.”
Rex wasn’t sure if the conversation had helped Ahsoka at all, but it had certainly helped him; the politics and ideology and moral arguments were beyond his influence, and all he could focus on—all he had to focus on—was the day-by-day, hour-by-hour act of looking out for his brothers in arms, and making sure he dropped enemy before they dropped him. That was the foundation of his life, the essence of his existence.
The rest, as Master Altis said, was commentary.
CAPTAIN’S CABIN, LEVELER
“I THOUGHT YOU WERE GOING TO THE WARDROOM,” PELLAEON said.
Hallena was sitting in his sole concession to the privilege of rank, a comfortable, shamelessly padded Boruga armchair. One of Leveler’s maintenance engineers had even put retractable bolts on it so it could be secured to the deck when necessary.
“I thought you would have had a rough wooden chair with extra splinters,” she said. “You really do take this all-of-one-company thing seriously, don’t you?”
“Yes, I don’t even have a chef.” Most ships’ commanding officers had their own separate daily menu, prepared by a personal cook, meals taken in their own dining cabin. Pellaeon had always thought it a tad insulting to the crew. “I’ll eat what my crew eat. And in the mess, too. Nothing erodes commitment and discipline like telling sailors you think you’re a higher form of life than they are.”
“You and Altis, a right pair of troublemakers, upsetting the natural order of society …”
Hallena seemed completely relaxed—not content, though, just resigned. Pellaeon glanced discreetly at the decanter of syrspirit on the side table just to check if she’d been drinking. The security cap was still in place. It was probably exhaustion, then. She’d been through a particularly rough mission.
“You really should get that bump seen to.” He reached out to smooth her hair. She flinched. “Do you feel all right?”
“I feel a lot better than Trooper Ince. Or Vere.” She uncrossed her legs as if she was going to stand up. “Or Shil, or Merish. See, that’s my real use in life. Finding the beings who’ve already been screwed over by the system and making sure they’re really finished. How many hells do you Corellians have, Gil? Nine? Add a tenth. I’ll need one to myself.”
He’d never seen her like this. But then they’d never been brought up hard against their respective jobs simultaneously before, with each seeing exactly what the other was obliged to do.
“It can’t be the first time you’ve done a dirty job.”
She was fiddling with something in her pocket. “No, but it’s the last time.”
“Just tell me what’s tipped the balance.”
“Maybe it was making sure that torture victims got killed. Or it might have been seeing two kids killed on their first mission. Hard to call.”
He’d have to ask her about the torture victim. But he understood the kids reaction. Nobody with a functioning conscience could have looked at clone troopers and not felt uneasy about using them. They weren’t even conscripts. It was a whole new kind of warfare for the Republic.
“Gil, has everyone gone stupid overnight?” Hallena took whatever she was fidgeting with out of her pocket and stared at it. It was a tiny durasteel dispenser, like the ones made to hold that searing Alderaanian snuff. “I know we’re still reeling from the war kicking off, and things take time to emerge, but am I the only being with enough functioning brain cells to ask where these troops came from? And why? There’s nothing even in Rep Intel records about them. Anything like a multimillion-troop army complete with equipment and vessels is not something that Rep Intel forgets to file notes on. What the stang is going on here? And why are the Jedi in on it?”
Pellaeon sat down on the bunk and pulled off his boots. He could have used a glass of syrspirit right then, but he was tired, and alcohol plus fatigue was his personal recipe for disaster.
“The bigger the anomaly,” he said, “the less likely folks are to look at it. Want to get away with a lie? Pick the biggest one you can and brazen it out.”
“So you think it’s a lie, then. Of sorts.”
“I think it’s inexplicable, yes, but I have no idea what to do about it.”
Hallena opened the container, twisting off the top and gesturing with it. “If I were running Rep Intel, it would be the first task on my list. Who paid for the Grand Army? And why did they think we needed one?” She held up one finger, anticipating him perfectly. “And don’t feed me the line about smart Jedi seeing things coming in the Force. They didn’t see Geonosis coming any more than we did. Altis—now, Altis is a plain-talking man. No mumbo-jumbo and mystic nonsense. I bet he wonders where the army came from. I’m going to spend some time talking to him.”
Pellaeon glanced at the bulkhead chrono and did a few mental calculations to convert GST to local time at Kemla. “You think that’s wise?”
“Wise? You think perhaps it might be right?”
“And what are you going to do with the truth when you find it?”
It was a good question. Everyone was certain that they wanted the truth in life, but in reality not many did, and even fewer knew what to do with it when they got it. Entire civilizations ran on that principle. The Republic certainly did. Pellaeon had no illusions. He shortened his horizons so that all he could see was what mattered—keeping his ship and crew alive. Just like Rex. We understand each other. Right then all he wanted was to hold Hallena, but she was completely absorbed in her outrage.
She upended the lower half of the snuff container, and a few tablets fell into her palm.
“No prisoners,” she said. “You know what these are, don’t you, Gil? Insurance. In case I’m ever really stuck without hope of escape. A quick way out, before I compromise the Republic and get a lot more people killed. That’s the idea, anyway. Instead, I called for backup, and I got people killed anyway. So next time—if there’s ever a next time—I won’t make that mistake again.”
“So, us.”
“What about us?”
“It’s open knowledge now. Shall we get married?”
“You’re not the marrying kind, Gil.”
“For you, I can be.”
He wasn’t joking; he was utterly in love with her, not just because she was striking, not just because she was smart, but because she was so passionate about life—the living of it, yes, but also about the rights and wrongs of it, which struck him as odd for a spook. But the hours were terrible and the pay was mediocre; why else would anyone do it? There was only delusion—the juvenile belief in excitement and glamour, which was inevitably crushed with the first dreary mission—or a desire to do the right thing in some vaguely patriotic and unquestioning way.
Like me, really. Why did I lie about my age to join the navy?
Spies seldom got to find out if they ever had done the right thing, of course. Hallena was one of the awkward ones who wanted to hang around and see how things panned out.
“I’d marry you in a heartbeat,” Hallena said at last. “But I need to get myself straight first.”
Pellaeon was quietly devastated. He’d been so sure she’d say yes. “Is that a charming brush-off?”
“No, it’s the way I feel at the moment.” She put the tablets back in the container and slid it back inside her jacket. Pellaeon hoped the toxin didn’t leave residue on her hands. “I’ve never run away from anything before, but fifteen years in this game is long enough. There are even Jedi who think the Republic needs dismantling. I don’t expect my government to be utterly blameless, but I really worry when I don’t know if they’re the lesser of two evils any longer.”
“So what are you planning to do?”
“I’m getting out. Really out. No just-one-more-job-for-us.”
“I see. Just deliver a crisp sheet of signed white flimsi to the Boss Spook.” Intel—like all spymasters—never really let go of their agents. There was always some little errand
to run, even in retirement. And if they thought someone was going rogue … “Don’t risk making your farewell party rather too final, will you?”
“I know. I know they don’t just let you walk away and open a cantina without expecting you still to be at their beck and call. That’s why when I go—I’ll go.”
He wasn’t sure he’d understood her correctly.
“What are you saying?” He wanted to call her darling, sweetheart, but it would have come out all wrong. “You’re not going to do anything foolish. Not you.”
He meant the toxin. It was so unlike Hallena that he had no idea why the thought had crossed his mind, but that was his immediate fear. Sometimes the only way to evade Rep Intel was drastic.
“I’m going to take a break,” she said. “Somewhere that they can’t find me.”
“That’s … still quite extreme.” She’s running from me, too. I’ve lost her. “They don’t tend to take kindly to that.”
“I know.”
And now he had to ask. “Will I ever see you again?”
“Yes. You’ll always be able to find me. They won’t.”
“How?”
“I’ll let you know when we reach Kemla.” She looked at the bulkhead chrono. “We’ve still got an hour. Do you know what to do with an hour?”
It wasn’t celebratory; it couldn’t be. It was more a sad acceptance of the lives they led, with no end or prospect of domestic normality in sight. It was as much for comfort as anything.
“I can probably think of something,” he said.
TWELVE
As with all faith, some basic messages become distorted over time. Why should attachment lead to the dark side? Loving commitment is the cornerstone of civilization, of society, and unites all living creatures. How can it be wrong? I assert that it’s fixation—obsession—that leads to darkness and evil. That blind focus can corrupt any area of our lives. We may do terrible things because we’re obsessed with a lover, with wealth, with power … or even with a set of inflexible beliefs that have come to mean more to us than the welfare of living beings themselves. Do you take my point, Master Yoda?
—MASTER DJINN ALTIS, in a rare exchange of letters with Master Yoda, some years before the outbreak of war
HANGAR DECK, LEVELER, HALF AN HOUR OUT FROM KEMLA
ANAKIN HAD PUT IT OFF FOR AS LONG AS HE COULD, BUT NOW he had to face it.
He clambered around the interior of the CR-20, making notes on his datapad and imagining how the ship might be better adapted for the Grand Army. A fleet of these would be useful; larger than a LAAT/i, hyperdrive-capable, well armed. Just the job for inserting troops when an Acclamator was far too big and a larty was too small or the range too great. Good option for special forces, perhaps. His interest was genuine, but he admitted to himself that the examination was distraction from what was eating at him.
Altis.
He felt the man coming. He didn’t leave an impression in the Force like any Jedi Master Anakin had known, except perhaps for that sense of uneasy curiosity that felt almost familiar.
Anakin waited until he heard Altis’s boots on the metal ramp before he turned around.
“I’m sorry about your men, General,” Altis said.
“Yes, we lose far too many.” Anakin put the datapad away. There was no point trying to fool Altis into thinking he wasn’t rattled by his eccentric ways, and by one way in particular. “I know Rex is especially disturbed. I’ll talk to him later—he tends to prefer a little space at times like these.”
“And at times like these, no doubt you see the wisdom of avoiding attachment. Growing too fond of someone is a certain route to pain for one of you.”
Does he know?
It was Anakin’s first thought. He almost panicked.
Altis wasn’t like other Jedi; he might have been able to sense all kinds of things that even Obi-Wan—even Yoda—couldn’t. His followers could do things that no other Jedi seemed able to—the affinity with machines, with computers. Anakin was a gifted mechanic, but Callista could live the machine. It was almost alarming.
Not half as alarming as thinking that Altis might know about Padmé, though.
“Rex regrets the brevity of their lives—as do I.” Altis looked a little younger now. He’d changed his posture subtly, no longer clasping his hands above his belly, but hands on hips. It transformed him from a sage into a veteran soldier somehow. Anakin knew he wasn’t dealing with a lightweight.
“General Skywalker, I knew Qui-Gon Jinn. Extraordinary man.”
“He certainly made a big impression on me.”
“I sense what’s troubling you.”
“Oh.” What do I say? He’d never tell anyone, of course. I feel it. “It’s quite a list.”
“It’s not wrong to have disagreements with the Jedi Council. Qui-Gon had his differences with them, as do I. It’s not necessarily a bad thing.”
“Master … how many students have you taught?”
Altis shrugged and looked off to one side as if calculating. “Probably thousands. I’m a traditionalist—I keep it simple. No point being more complex than we need to be. So I teach being good, doing good, and asking good questions. That’s about it, really.”
Anakin almost gasped. He felt stupid for being shocked, but he’d had no idea how many followers Altis might have. Now he knew. This wasn’t a tiny sect of lunatics.
Altis smiled. It wasn’t smug. It was regretful. It was as if he felt he was too late for something.
“Aren’t you going to ask me what you really want to know, young man?”
It was Anakin’s only chance. He knew he was unlikely to see much of Altis again, if ever. Altis seemed to know that, too. He appeared to be giving farewell advice. And he didn’t look like the kind of man who did that out of habit.
“Would you answer me if I did?”
“Of course.”
“Are you married?”
Altis tilted his head slightly to one side. “I lost my wife some years ago. I miss her terribly. I was a better Jedi for her influence, too.”
“Attachment hasn’t … turned you to the dark side, clearly. Nor any of your followers.”
“Now we might get to your real question.”
Anakin almost broke. He felt such compassion, such honesty and humility in Altis, that he wondered if he could safely confide in him. It wasn’t fear of Altis exposing his secret marriage that scared him, though. He was scared that once he discussed his turmoil openly, then he could never cope with being a Jedi—his kind of Jedi, Obi-Wan’s kind of Jedi—again. And he had no idea where that might lead.
“I’m not sure I have one,” Anakin said.
“Well, if I give you an answer, then you needn’t feel you betrayed your Masters by asking one.” Altis sat down on one of the bulkhead safety rails. “I don’t know why Master Yoda or any of the other Jedi Council members rarely prepare their followers for the fact that we exist and yet haven’t fallen prey to the dark side. It’s certainly true for many beings, Force-users or not. But their problem isn’t attachment. Their problem is obsession.” Altis paused for a moment. Anakin felt he was being searched somehow, his thoughts probed. “So before I could tell you if attachment was right for you, you would have to ask yourself if you could handle it—Jedi or not.”
Anakin was now ready to slam the ramp shut if anyone looked like wandering in and cutting this conversation short. He had to know more. He had to be able to understand, so that he didn’t go back to Coruscant overwhelmed by the urge to confront Yoda.
“How would I tell if I could handle it, Master?”
Altis shrugged. “Could you let someone go, if you loved them? Could you let them walk away? Could you live without them? How far would you go to stop them from leaving? What would you do to save them? Ask yourself, listen, and if any of your answers make you feel afraid … attachment may be fraught with misery, for you and those around you.”
It was simple; Altis said he liked to keep things uncomplicated. And, like all
simple things, it was hard to do. Anakin still couldn’t tell if Altis knew about Padmé, but he certainly knew about attachment, and he gave the impression that he knew Anakin struggled with it. Maybe he also knew that Anakin struggled with the knowledge that he had failed to save those dearest to him.
Well, Anakin wanted the truth. He was prepared to be scrutinized.
“You really are a very good teacher, Master Altis.”
“Not really,” he said. “I just know how to ask questions. My students give me the answers. So, I am in fact … a student. I always will be. The oldest Padawan in town. Now, may I ask you a question?”
“Certainly.”
“They call you the Chosen One. Do you feel chosen?”
“Not really.” Altis had a way of disarming him. He wasn’t sure he’d have said that to anyone except Padmé. “I feel … different. I don’t quite fit in. I try. Maybe I started too old.”
“Callista was older than you are now when she became my Padawan. I think some life experience can make a better Jedi. But I wouldn’t want you—or Master Yoda—to think I was trying to lure you to our little community. I don’t seek recruits.” Altis looked deadly serious now. Anakin knew exactly what he was saying, weighing his words as carefully as a man could. “But if you ever get kicked out of the Temple, remember you can always find us. We never close.”
He got up, made a few grunts of pain, and put both palms flat on the small of his back.
“I can sense your Padawan coming,” he said. “She’s had a bit of a culture shock meeting us. I’m sorry if that causes you problems. Just tell her we’re harmless nuts if it starts to become a problem.”
“How does anyone find you?” Anakin asked. He had to ask, even if it was obliquely put. “I’d never heard of your community, although Qui-Gon mentioned you by name.”
Altis touched two fingers to his brow in a mock salute. “Just look in the unhappy places everyone else forgets,” he said. “We’ll be there, doing what we can.” Then he walked down the ramp, still rubbing his back ruefully. “Don’t forget to ask yourself those questions, General.”
No Prisoners Page 20
