Kenobi

by John Jackson Miller

  “You’re the expert on what I think?” She smiled warmly. “Well, that’s proof right there that something’s happening between us. Orrin’s known me my whole life and doesn’t know what I think. You’ve met me a handful of times and you can read my mind.” Her eyes sparkled in the evening light. “Often. So either you’re superhumanly perceptive, Ben—or I’ve had your complete attention.”

  Ben took Rooh’s lead and walked her to the corral. Her wobbly child followed. “Annileen, I think you have a good home, a lovely family, and a successful business. And I think you are bored out of your mind.”

  She looked at him, incredulous. “You think I’m that simple?”

  “No,” he said, lifting the kid over the fencing. “I think you’re that complicated.”

  Annileen crossed her arms. “You think poor little Annie gets bored with Tatooine, and the first time a stranger from offworld comes along, it’s off to the races?”

  “Others have done it.”

  “Well, you’re wrong.”

  He looked back at her. “Honestly? You’re not bored?”

  Annileen turned and kicked the coolant unit with a clang. “I’m too tired to be bored! I’ve got a home that’s falling apart because I’m dead every evening. Half the time, I fall asleep at the kitchen table. My kids keep trying to find new ways to kill themselves, as if this place weren’t dangerous enough. And my business—” She sputtered as she stormed toward the corral. “My business is playing mother bantha to a herd of full-grown orphans! People are not flying to the Rim to trade places with old Annileen.”

  “I know some who would,” Ben said, his back leaning on the fence.

  She glared at him.

  He began to say something and stopped. For a moment, there was only the sound of the baby eopie, nuzzling his mother.

  At last, Ben spoke again. “Annileen … I think you’ve learned to live with these things. But you can’t pretend anymore that they challenge you. There’s too much to you.” Turning, he placed both hands on the fence railing and looked out onto the desert. “You’ve reached your limit, and you’re looking for a lifeline. And since you think you can’t move, you’re desperate for someone to come along and keep you company in that world. Someone who challenges you.”

  “I don’t know,” Annileen said, joining him at the fence. “Erbaly Nap’tee is pretty challenging.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  She looked down at the eopies and sighed. She did know what he meant. “You’re telling me that you don’t escape a trap by luring someone else in.”

  “Every trap has multiple ways out,” Ben said. “I saw that just today.”

  Annileen thought that a strange comment, but he changed the subject. “Besides,” he said, “I’d make a terrible shopkeeper.”

  “You can barely shop right,” she said.

  They laughed.

  Ben started to move from the fence when she touched his arm—less insistently this time. “Wait,” she said. “You’re not going to get away that easily. This isn’t just about me,” she said. “This is about you.”

  He put up his hand again. “I told you, I not looking for a—”

  “No,” Annileen said. “Not that. I asked you outside the Claim that day if something bad had happened to you. You said it happened to someone else.”

  “Yes.”

  She grabbed his wrist. “You’re a liar.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You’re lying to yourself. This thing, this bad thing—it may have happened to someone else. Someone you cared about, I’m guessing. And that means it happened to you, too.”

  Ben resisted. “I don’t—”

  “Yes, you do. Something horrible happened, Ben, and it’s ripping you apart. Maybe it’s why you’re here. But you’re trying to go on like you didn’t care, like you weren’t—”

  She paused. His hands back on the railing, he looked up at her.

  “You were there,” Annileen whispered. “Weren’t you? When this bad thing happened,” she mouthed. “You were there.”

  Ben closed his eyes and nodded. “It didn’t just happen,” he said, hardly breathing. “I caused it.”

  Annileen’s mind raced. Raced and veered into dark imaginings that she wanted to dismiss. But Ben was serious about whatever it was, and she had to be, too. “You … you hurt someone?”

  “They hurt themselves,” Ben said. “I came along at the end—the very end. But I was also there at the beginning. I should have stopped it.”

  She shook her head. “You’re just one man.”

  “I should have stopped it!” The railing shook. “I failed! It was on me to stop it, and I didn’t. And I will have that on my conscience forever.”

  Annileen’s eyes looked left and right. The fence quaked so hard under his hands that she thought the very posts might fly out of the ground. “Ben, you can’t blame—”

  “You can’t know.” He turned and clutched at her shoulders, surprising her. “I failed everyone. Do you have any idea how many people have paid for that? Do you know how many people are paying, right now?”

  “I only know one,” she said.

  Ben let go of her. His arms wilted.

  She had never seen such anguish in anyone’s eyes before. What had he been through? What had he done? What did he think he had done? So many theories about his past had coalesced and dispersed since she’d known him. Annileen struggled to run through them now. Had there been a domestic tragedy? Had he been a soldier, whose actions had cost his platoon? An executive, whose negligence had wiped out his corporation?

  Her thoughts ranged from the small to the improbably large, before determining that it didn’t matter. Hurt was hurt. And whether Ben had harmed someone before, she judged him to be no danger now. Except, perhaps to his own happiness.

  Every human instinct told her to embrace him. But something else, somewhere, told her to step back.

  Which she did.

  “Ben, I think I understand. You’re out here, I guess, to atone. Maybe more than that—I don’t know. But that’s part of it. If talking about things would help—”

  Ben shook his head. “It won’t.” He glanced at the setting suns, then took a deep breath. His body straightened. “I’m sorry. I do thank you for the day out, but you should get home while there’s still light.”

  Annileen watched as he turned back to his house. The familiar reserve had returned. She had gotten in for a moment; she could tell that for sure. But she saw she would get no farther. Not today.

  Hands hanging at her sides, Annileen walked back to her landspeeder, which gleamed crimson in the sunset. At its side, she turned back and looked at Ben. “All right,” she said. “I’m not going to hide outside your door, waiting for you to tell me. You can do it in your own time.”

  He stopped in his path and looked away to the east, melancholy. “Time, I have.”

  “Well, I have it, too,” Annileen said, slipping behind the controls of the vehicle. “I’m not going anywhere.” She started the engine. “Did you hear that, Ben? I am not going anywhere. So when you’re ready … you know what the sign says.”

  She drove away into the dusk, leaving behind a contemplative Ben. Who, she suspected, remembered very well what she meant.

  FIND WHAT YOU NEED AT DANNAR’S CLAIM.

  Meditation

  Annileen.

  This is becoming a problem. For her—and that makes it a problem for me.

  No, I know what you’re thinking. I’ve been tested on this score before—and I’ve seen what it means to get too close to someone. Years ago, with Siri Tachi—you were there for part of that.

  And then there was Satine … I’ve vowed never to put anyone else in similar jeopardy.

  And that’s just it: I’m not some moon-eyed Padawan. Not anymore. I know personal ties can work against us. We endanger them, sometimes, because of the nature of our duties. And worse, they become possessions, to be protected and obsessed over.

  I admit, I do wo
nder sometimes if that sells Jedi short. Not everyone is Anakin. And if the simple act of caring deeply for a person—especially someone as good as Padmé—is destructive in principle, then the Force has a peculiar view of what constitutes good and evil. You told me yourself that the Jedi weren’t always against relationships. And consider: families are strong in the Force. Does the Force really understand what it wants?

  No matter—I understand myself. I can give up love. I have given up love. But I wasn’t prepared to give up the thing that I had instead.

  Community.

  I’ve lived my life in the structure of the Jedi Order. Yes, it was an organization with a goal—but it was also a family. I said it myself: Anakin was my brother. I had many brothers and sisters. And fathers and mothers. And even a strange little green uncle.

  I don’t have that home now. I don’t have that family.

  Almost every friend I’ve ever had is dead.

  I … I’ve never thought about it in exactly those terms, before. It nearly took my breath away, just now. Almost every friend I’ve ever had is dead. Most killed by Sith evil.

  And I’ve never lived without the Jedi Order to fall back on, to help me when things went badly. What does it mean to be a Jedi alone?

  I think you tried to tell me, more than once. Your stories about other Jedi who lived without the trappings of the Order—but who still followed the Code. Kerra Holt, back in Bane’s time, cut off from the Republic. And who was that half Jedi? Zayne something? Zayne Carrick. He wasn’t a part of the Jedi Order, and yet he did good deeds anyway, on his own. He relied on his friends and didn’t need some official imprimatur to do the right thing.

  Maybe I can do that. I can’t rebuild the Jedi Order, but I can certainly put together the support system it provided. Emotionally, if not in terms of power to resist the Emperor.

  Maybe starting with Annileen and the Claim …

  No. That would be following the living Force alone—wrapping myself in the present. Not worrying about the future, the longer strands, the bigger issues. A Jedi is responsible for balancing both. I’m responsible—especially now when there’s no one else to do it.

  Still, Annileen …

  Wait.

  Hold on.

  I just realized something.

  I’ll be back.

  PART FOUR

  THE RIFT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  THE EYEPIECES OF A TUSKEN narrow and confine the world, but they also bring it into focus. Now, just hours after the suns had set, there was much to be seen on the sprawling ranch southeast of the oasis.

  Shining yellow through the lens were the domes of the ranch house, a cluster of bubbles beneath the rising moons. Larger than many of the other homes on the desert, it was further lit by security lights on masts. Sheltered decks atop the sand connected the house to its garages.

  The old man stood on one of these porches, bracing against the nighttime chill. The door to his house was open behind him, and light spilled from it—as did the words of his wife, audible all the way to the northern ridge. Old Ulbreck sought peace outside most evenings, and did so again tonight. Puffing on a cigarra forbidden him by his doctor and wife, Ulbreck looked relaxed and confident in his domain. No one here could tell him what to do.

  The other person present would have been harder to see, but for his movement. Wrapped against the cold, Langer, the night watch, continued to wear a rut into the ground. Usually, the guard stood motionless, but not when the old man was outside. Langer was reputedly a good shot with his rifle, but he hadn’t used it in years; some relation of Ulbreck’s wife, he had the easy business of protecting the household. The other sentries were far out in the fields, patrolling the vaporators. Those were what the old man really cared about.

  The watchful intruders, who’d studied the ranch on previous nights, knew all this. They knew Ulbreck’s habits and defenses, and they knew the timing of the sentry landspeeders’ circuits around the ranch. The daylight theft of a vaporator thirty-seven hours earlier had resulted in Ulbreck assigning more sentries to each vehicle, but the routes and timing hadn’t yet changed.

  The members of the raiding party had arrived separately, from two different directions. On their final approach, the four had converged, running single-file, in the Tusken manner, until they reached their planned stations behind the northern ridge. Through their eyepieces, they all saw the same thing. All was as expected. What remained was to wait for the clouds to pass over the larger moon.

  When it happened, they moved. The first pair of raiders charged across the ridge, careful not to stumble over their bulky robes. Behind, the remaining two atop the dune lifted their rifles and fired. Several shots to the security lights left the farm in darkness.

  Langer noticed it first. “Tuskens!” But the call just brought blasterfire in return. Langer dived to avoid the shots, which paused long enough to allow the advance pair of raiders to strike. The nimbler attacker arrived first, gaderffii raised. The blunt end of the weapon struck Langer across the face, sending him into unconsciousness.

  Ulbreck had started to move on the sentry’s yell. His rifle sat where it usually did these evenings, just outside the door to his house. But now the shots from the ridge raked the decking, keeping him from reaching his weapon. He slumped behind a post and yelled to the open door. “Magda! Call for help!”

  It was too late. With Langer incapacitated, the advance pair easily reached the house. The stockier assailant kicked in the side door and threw something inside. A flash—and seconds later smoke poured from the building.

  Coughing, an elderly woman stumbled outside into the waiting gloved hands of the raiders. Terrified, she wailed in their grip. “Wyle! Wyle!”

  “I’m coming, Maggie!” Ulbreck yelled. But he could go nowhere with the shots peppering the deck. When they did pause, it was only because the shooters were charging down from the ridge, bellowing a war cry. The old farmer struggled to reach his feet, but the smaller of the attackers was upon him, swinging his rifle like a club. The butt of the weapon struck the old man in the nose. Ulbreck howled in pain and hit the deck hard, his face bleeding.

  Magda Ulbreck screamed as the invaders dragged her before the house, in sight of her injured husband. The leader of the foursome set down his rifle and drew a knife from his bandolier. Rusty blade flashing in the moonlight, the robed figure loomed menacingly over Ulbreck.

  Magda shreiked again. But even in agony, her husband remained defiant. “You cussed things couldn’t kill me at the Claim! I won’t beg now!”

  The knife wielder nodded. This response was expected. Ulbreck would remain defiant, they all knew, until his wife was threatened. The attackers would turn on Magda, and scare her. They might do some cosmetic harm for effect; it would be worse than that if she fought.

  But both Ulbrecks would remain alive, chastened and terrified. And if the harrowing night didn’t convince Wyle Ulbreck of the error of his ways, Magda certainly would.

  It would go entirely according to plan. It had worked before, elsewhere.

  Perfect.

  Except for the figure leaping down from the top of the covered porch.

  Boots landed squarely on the leader’s shoulders, knocking him back off his feet. The knife flew from his hand as he struck the ground, and his night-vision goggles twisted sideways beneath the Tusken head wrappings. For moments, he could see nothing at all; he heard only a struggle, all around.

  Shifting the goggles so he could at least see with one eye, the leader tumbled over, desperately trying to reach the rifle on the ground. But the man who had pounced from above was already fighting Magda’s former captors. Former, because the woman had fallen free when the figure in light tan charged. He stood between her and them now, quickly dodging one lumbering gaderffii swing after another.

  He leapt. He ducked. And in one more lightning move, he caught one of the weapons. He flipped backward, taking the gaderffii with him. Touching down, he bounded back into the fray with it. The now-
weaponless raider tumbled backward, somehow—it didn’t even look like a wrong step, to the leader’s only available eye—leaving the other marauder to fight on. Gaderffii clashed loudly, metal sparking in the night.

  With energy belying her age, Magda scrambled past. The smallest of the invaders, captivated by the nearby combat, did nothing as she collected her bleeding husband and helped him toward the garages, and escape. While the Ulbrecks fled, the lead attacker at last found the errant rifle. He tried to draw a bead on the dueling rescuer, but again his facial wrappings were askew, preventing it.

  Ahead, the gaderffii duel drew to a close. The Ulbrecks’ would-be hero caught his opponent under the arm with the flange of the weapon, producing a high-pitched—and very human—squeal.

  Enough! The lead invader ripped off his bandages and night-vision goggles and raised his rifle. Eyes unfettered at last, Orrin Gault looked into the face of the Ulbrecks’ savior.

  Ben Kenobi.

  Orrin stared in the darkness, unbelieving for a second. “You?”

  Then he fired.

  Ben spun, somehow using the gaderffii to deflect the shot. The bolt sizzled past Orrin to strike one of the porch supports, right above the head of the smallest would-be Tusken. Startled, the boy turned to run. “Come on, Orrin!”

  Orrin fired again.

  Behind Ben, Orrin saw the other two invaders standing, one helping the other. When Ben deflected the second blaster shot, they started to move toward him.

  Ben turned to look back. “Don’t try it, Mullen,” he said. “Masquerade’s over.”

  On the far side of Orrin, a dome opened. The Ulbreck repulsortruck peeled out, Magda at the controls. The vehicle swerved violently away from the house and turned east. The barracks were that way, Orrin knew, and more sentries.

  His kids knew it, too. “Dad, go!”

  With that, Mullen and Veeka took off, heading behind the house.

  Ben looked back with satisfaction—and then stared directly at Orrin. “I noticed something today. You don’t do so well alone.”

  Orrin turned and ran.

  In the blackness to the north, Orrin saw two Sand People rocketing away on speeder bikes. A surreal sight, but one that meant that Mullen and Veeka had escaped. His heart pounding, Orrin hastened over the dunes to the west.