“You saw how I tried and failed to remain aloof, Master. Walking away from Rex and his men doesn’t keep our hands clean. They still die. We do nothing—well, good can never come from doing nothing.”
“I feel afraid when I realize that Sora Bulq has a point. That the Republic might well need bringing down.”
“I don’t think we can do that, either. All we can do is take responsibility for ourselves, and help the victims of this war.”
Altis looked back at the ship. There was now a steady stream of Jedi and their support teams ferrying supplies to the refugees. “Like these wretched people.”
“And those.” Geith indicated the dead trooper. “They’re victims, too.”
“Let’s make ourselves useful,” Altis said. He needed to compose himself before he dealt with the bodies, and a little honest labor, even with a bad back, was a good way to do it. “Just getting the generators going will save lives. Is it my age, or is this place as cold as death?”
“It’s cold, Master.”
They walked back to the camp. Altis’s heart broke; it wasn’t the injuries he saw among the civilians so much as the look on their faces that tore at him. It was bewilderment. Why us? Why had the war come to them? A woman with a small child clinging to her legs held out a cup to him, steam curling from its rim, and he realized she wasn’t asking for it to be filled, but offering him a hot drink. She probably saw an old man, his face pinched by the cold, in need of something warming. She was, frankly, thin and ugly, worn out by poverty; but he’d never seen such beauty and radiance in his life. It was perfection; a simple act of generosity, love in its raw and natural state.
Serenity, my backside. Passion. Passion and anger and love. That’s what this galaxy needs, not serenity. Passion for change. Anger at this brutality. Love—buckets of it, for everyone, love between child and parent, between spouses, between brothers and sisters, between friends. We need more attachment, not less. Attachment can stop us from tearing ourselves apart.
Altis had a gift. However these things worked, he had been given rare abilities by the galaxy, and it was his duty to use them. He just didn’t always know how best to apply them.
Altis took the cup, drank, and embraced the emaciated woman. He found a few candies in his pocket for the child. One of his non-Jedi students, Gali, trotted over to him with an armful of blankets.
“We thought we’d lost you, Master,” she said. What he thought was a blanket on the top of the pile turned out to be a coat, and she thrust it at him. “For goodness’ sake put this on.”
Altis pulled the overcoat around him to humor her. There was no rule against a Jedi Master teaching those who had no Force powers. If there was—bah, he’d ignore all that nonsense. The ordinary men and women in his community taught him more daily than he could possibly teach them in a lifetime. Like his dear late wife always said—not sensitive to the Force at all, prone to using his lightsaber to cut stubborn branches—there was more to wisdom than being able to move a table with the power of your mind.
Yes, Margani. I hear you. I hear you still.
Geith paused among the tents to make notes on his datapad. Everyone in the community knew their role in an emergency. Geith was noting how many refugees needed medical care; the urgent cases were already being treated by first responders, but there were others who would need drugs and special care when the first rush was over.
“Am I letting my doctrinal pride get in the way, Geith?” Altis said. He picked up a little boy who tottered up to him, and examined the child’s runny eyes. A woman came running as if to find the kid, and Altis handed him back. “Tell me straight. Is this just vain ideology on my part, some idiotic schism with Yoda?”
Altis wanted it to be. He really did. Two old fools arguing over theories, academic vanity. It would have been so much easier to swallow than feeling he could avert a disaster if he only argued harder.
“No, Master,” said Geith. “I wish it were. It’s about living the belief. I think our ascetic brethren have been co-opted by government. And government is usually about the exercise of power.”
Ah, the little revolutionary firebrand; Geith had never trusted power. He didn’t even enjoy using his own. That was what made him admirable. “And if the government had come to us for help instead of Yoda, would we have refused? We’ll never know.”
“This will end in disaster for all of us; you know that, don’t you?”
Altis felt his stomach knot. Geith was always the one who thought the unthinkable. Someone had to.
“Then let’s do the maximum good that we can while we still have breath in our bodies,” he said.
Altis heard the crunch of boots behind him. Someone was steering a repulsor pallet, whistling tunelessly. Hallena Devis seemed a lot more at peace today than she’d been when he first met her. Had it only been a matter of days? They said a spy’s life was nowhere near as glamorous as the holovids made out, but he doubted she’d ever set up field refreshers before. She seemed perfectly happy with the task.
Smart woman. Takes guts to walk out on the Republic. I do hope she remembers to take time to be with her gallant captain, though. In the meantime … she’s safe with us.
“Where do you want this, then, Master?” she asked. The pallet was full of pails, drainage pipes, and duraplast containers of disinfectant. “We’re setting these up outside the camp, yes?”
“Better make it thirty meters from the perimeter,” Altis said. “Callista’s in charge today. Perhaps we can reroute the water supplies from the town.”
Hallena nodded and walked on with the pallet. Altis closed his eyes for a moment, remembered the intense passions he’d felt in Anakin Skywalker, and hoped that someone would have the sense to channel those passions rather than try to suppress them. He felt … foreboding. Anyone with that amount of raw power in the Force needed to be carefully directed, not put in harness.
Skywalker would have an unhappy future. Altis felt it. It was clear he already had an unhappy past. What that meant for the galaxy … but then one man couldn’t change a galaxy.
I hope. Not even me.
There were no trees, just as Geith had said. So there was no firewood; funeral pyres were out of the question. The dead had to be buried, not only for disease control, but because Djinn Altis felt everyone had a right to end their time with dignity—even if in the rest of life it had been denied them.
“Please, fetch me a shovel, Geith,” Altis said. “I have work to do.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Novelist, screenwriter, and comics writer KAREN TRAVISS is the author of five Star Wars: Republic Commando novels, Hard Contact, Triple Zero, True Colors, Order 66, and Imperial Commando: 501st; three Star Wars: Legacy of the Force novels, Bloodlines, Revelation, and Sacrifice; two Star Wars: The Clone Wars novels, The Clone Wars and No Prisoners; two Gears of War novels, Aspho Fields and Jacinto’s Remnant; her award-nominated Wess’har Wars series, City of Pearl, Crossing the Line, The World Before, Matriarch, Ally, and Judge; and a Halo novella, Human Weakness. She’s also the lead writer on the third Gears of War game. A former defense correspondent and TV and newspaper journalist, Traviss lives in Wiltshire, England.
BY KAREN TRAVISS
STAR WARS: REPUBLIC COMMANDO
Hard Contact
Triple Zero
True Colors
Order 66
Imperial Commando: 501st
STAR WARS: LEGACY OF THE FORCE
Bloodlines
Sacrifice
Revelation
STAR WARS: THE CLONE WARS
STAR WARS: No PRISONERS
GEARS OF WAR
Aspho Fields
Jacinto’s Remnant
Anvil Gate
WESS’HAR WARS
City of Pearl
Crossing the Line
The World Before
Matriarch
Ally
Judge
STAR WARS—The Expanded Universe
You saw the movies. You
watched the cartoon series, or maybe played some of the video games. But did you know …
In The Empire Strikes Back, Princess Leia Organa said to Han Solo, “I love you.” Han said, “I know.” But did you know that they actually got married? And had three Jedi children: the twins, Jacen and Jaina, and a younger son, Anakin?
Luke Skywalker was trained as a Jedi by Obi-Wan Kenobi and Yoda. But did you know that, years later, he went on to revive the Jedi Order and its commitment to defending the galaxy from evil and injustice?
Obi-Wan said to Luke, “For over a thousand generations, the Jedi Knights were the guardians of peace and justice in the Old Republic. Before the dark times. Before the Empire.” Did you know that over those millennia, legendary Jedi and infamous Sith Lords were adding their names to the annals of Republic history?
Yoda explained that the dreaded Sith tend to come in twos: “Always two, there are. No more, no less. A Master, and an apprentice.” But did you know that the Sith didn’t always exist in pairs? That at one time in the ancient Republic there were as many Sith as Jedi, until a Sith Lord named Darth Bane was the lone survivor of a great Sith war and created the “Rule of Two”?
All this and much, much more is brought to life in the many novels and comics of the Star Wars expanded universe. You’ve seen the movies and watched the cartoon. Now venture out into the wider worlds of Star Wars!
Turn the page or jump to the timeline of Star Wars novels to learn more.
ONE
AS FAR AS AHSOKA TANO WAS CONCERNED, THE ONLY THING worse than being up to her armpits in battle droids was waiting to find out just how long it would be before she was up to her armpits in battle droids. She hated waiting. But it seemed that war was all about waiting—at least, when it wasn’t about staring death in the face.
But I’m not scared. I’m not scared. I’m not scared. I’m not …
With Resolute out of rotation for a refit, she stood on the bridge of Indomitable, one of the next generation of cruisers to come out of the Allanteen VI shipyards. Cruisers that were faster and more responsive than ever before, thanks to her Master’s—what had the chief shipwright called it? Oh yes. Tinkering. Thanks to Anakin’s tinkering, the new vessels were a definite cut above the first Republic Cruisers that had rolled out of production for service in this war against Dooku and his Separatist Alliance.
The differences had been noted, and were talked about whenever and wherever military types crossed paths—in battle, in briefings, sharing some chitchat and a drink in this mess or that one, or even the occasional civilian bar. The Jedi who fought on the front lines were talking about them, too. Everyone who relied on the massive Republic warships knew that their odds of survival had increased because Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker liked to muck about with machines—when he wasn’t busy being the scourge of the Separatists.
Anakin.
That’s how she thought of him now, after arduous months of fighting by his side, learning from him, saving him, and being saved by him. But she never called him that to his face. She couldn’t. The idea of saying Anakin felt more disrespectful than a cheeky nickname. Skyguy was familiar but it wasn’t … intimate.
First names were intimate. They implied equality. But she and her Master weren’t equals. She suspected they never would be. She was pretty sure that no matter how hard she trained, how hard she tried, even after she’d passed the trials and been made a Jedi Knight, she would never come close to matching him as a Jedi.
How can I? He’s the Chosen One. He can do things that aren’t meant to be possible.
She snuck a sideways look at him, standing on the far side of Indomitable’s bridge in hushed conversation with Master Kenobi and Admiral Yularen. Letting down her habitual guard the tiniest bit, she prepared to stretch out her senses. To feel what he was feeling behind his carefully constructed mask. It wasn’t prying. She didn’t pry. As a Padawan it was her job—no, her duty—to make sure her Master was well. To be constantly attuned to his mood so she could anticipate his needs and more perfectly serve him. Since joining Anakin on Christophsis she’d lost count of the times that keeping a close eye on him had made the difference between success and failure. Life and death. Young she might be, and still in training, but she could do that. She was good at that.
Besides, once assigned to this man she’d made her own private and personal vow quite apart from the public oaths she’d sworn in the Jedi Temple.
I will not be the Padawan who gets the Chosen One killed.
Around her, the bridge crew conducted its military business with brisk efficiency. No chatter, since the admiral was present. When Yularen was elsewhere his officers sometimes indulged in a little gossip, a few jokes, a smattering of idle wartime speculation. Nothing detrimental to discipline, nothing untoward, just harmless camaraderie to help while away the tedium of days, like this one, when battle was yet to be joined and the void beyond the transparisteel viewports remained empty of enemy ships and impending slaughter.
She could hear, humming in the background, all the baffling hardware that made these warships possible. Sensor sweeps and multiphasic duo-diode relays and cognizant crystal interfaces and quasi-sentient droid links and—and stuff. So much stuff, and it made no sense to her. The slippery info-laneways of computers she could work with, but she didn’t possess any kind of knack for nuts-and-bolts-and-circuits machinery—constructing her own lightsaber had nearly given her a nosebleed. Anakin, on the other hand …
Machinery was meat and drink to Anakin. He loved it.
But she was letting herself become distracted, so she pushed those thoughts aside. Her immediate task was to ascertain what Anakin was feeling. That way she’d have a better idea of what to expect from him when the news they were waiting for at last came through … and an idea of how best to deal with him, once it did. Dealing with her Master’s sometimes overpowering emotions was becoming more and more a part of her duties—and as the war dragged on, and their losses piled up, that job wasn’t getting any easier.
He feels too much, too keenly. Maybe that’s what happens when you’ve got the highest midi-chlorian count in Jedi history. Maybe that’s the trade-off. You feel everything, so you’re brilliant. You feel everything, and it hurts.
Not that his emotions got in the way. At least, he didn’t think they did. And to be honest, she didn’t, either. At least not as often as some people thought. Like Master Kenobi, for example, who chided his former Padawan for taking crazy risks, for pushing himself too hard, for letting things matter too much and losing his carefully measured Jedi distance.
She didn’t always disagree. And sometimes, when Anakin had given her a really bad fright or when his mood became difficult, she wished she could chide him, too. But as a Padawan she had to find another way to let her Master know he’d gone too far. So she sassed him, or invented nicknames that were guaranteed to get under his skin. Sometimes she even deliberately flouted his wishes. Anything to break him free of sorrow or frustration or some bleak memory he refused to share. Anything to let him know, Hey, what you did then? That was stupid.
But mostly she kept her fears for him to herself, because all his bright and burning passion for justice, his reckless courage, his hunger for victory and his refusal to accept defeat—they were what made him Anakin. He wouldn’t be Anakin without his feelings. She knew that, she accepted that, no matter what Temple teachings said about the Jedi and their emotions.
And even though he scolds, I think Master Kenobi accepts it, too. He only scolds because he cares.
So … what was her brilliant, sometimes volatile Master feeling now?
Eyes drifted half closed, Ahsoka breathed out a soft sigh and let her growing Jedi awareness touch lightly upon him.
Impatience. Concern. Relief. Loneliness. Weariness. And grief, not yet healed.
Such a muddle of emotions. Such a weight on his shoulders. Months of brutal battle had left her drained and nearly numb, but it was worse for Anakin. He was a Jedi general with countless l
ives entrusted to his care, and every life damaged or lost he counted as a personal failure. For other people he found forgiveness; for himself there was none. For himself there was only anger at not meeting his own exacting standards.
Feeling helpless, she chewed at her lip. She didn’t know what she could do to make anything better for him. She couldn’t heal his grief for the clones who’d fallen under his command, or the civilians he’d been unable to save. She couldn’t make him less tired, or order him home to Coruscant where his mood always lightened. She couldn’t promise the war would end soon, with the Republic victorious.
At least he had Master Kenobi’s company for a little while. She was sure that accounted for his relief. They cheered each other up, those two. No matter how dire the straits, Anakin and Master Kenobi always managed to find a joke, a laugh, some way to ease the tension and pressure of the moment. Between the two men lay absolute trust. Absolute faith. Now, they were equals. On the outside, looking in, she couldn’t help feeling a little forlorn.
Will he ever feel that way about me? Will he ever believe in me the way he believes in Obi-Wan?
She opened her eyes to find Anakin looking at her. Though she’d tried so hard to be discreet, still he’d felt her sensing of him. She held her breath, expecting a reprimand. Anakin hated when she did this.
But no reprimand came. Instead her Master raised a tolerantly amused eyebrow at her … and in his eyes was a kind of tired appreciation. She felt herself shrug, a tiny twitch of one shoulder, and curved her lips into a small, rueful, I can’t help it smile.
He took a breath, he was going to say something—but then his head lifted. So did Master Kenobi’s. A few moments later she felt it, too: a sharp, almost painful tingle of awareness. Something was coming. And a few moments after that, the comm officer straightened in her chair and pressed a finger to the transceiver plugged into her ear.
“Sir—”
Admiral Yularen, lean and predatory as ever, and alerted already by the Jedi on either side of him, practically leapt for the comm station. “Lieutenant Avrey?”
No Prisoners Page 22
