by Greg Bear
“Reminiscent of Gungan technology on Naboo, perhaps?” Tarkin suggested.
“Perhaps,” Sienar said. “Perhaps not. The Gungans manufacture their ships from organic matter, but the ships are not themselves alive. This … seems to be very different. Before your generous offer, I was looking for an owner willing to allow me access to a fully functioning Sekotan ship. So far, however, there are no takers. It seems secrecy is part of the contract, and betrayal could end an owner’s relationship with his vessel. This was the best I could do.”
“I see,” Tarkin said. “I chose the right man for this mission, Raith. I had a feeling you’d be up on all this.”
“Now that you’ve seen my expensive but disappointing prize,” Raith said, “can I offer you some breakfast? It’s late, and I haven’t had time to dine.”
“No, thank you,” Tarkin said. “I have many more visits to make today. Keep your schedule open, my friend. Something could happen at any minute.”
“Of course,” Raith said. My time is yours, Tarkin. I am patient.
Obi-Wan paused on the way to the bridge and leaned into the small cubicle where the food-kin, the small crablike creatures, made their homes when they were not working. Anakin sat on a small stool in a circle of food-kin. His brow was knit in concentration.
He looked up at Obi-Wan. “I can’t decide whether I like this or not,” he said.
“Like what?”
“This arrangement they have with Charza. They seem to revere him, but he eats them.”
“I would trust their feelings rather than your own, in this case,” Obi-Wan said.
Anakin was not convinced. “I don’t feel comfortable around Charza.”
“He’s an honorable being,” Obi-Wan said.
Anakin stood, his waterproof boots splashing. The food-kin backed away, clattering their claws. “I understand a lot of what they’re saying. They’re smart, for being so small. They tell me they’re proud that Charza only eats them.”
“Eating food or being food—simply matters of timing and luck,” Obi-Wan said, perhaps a little too lightly. He admired the discipline and self-sacrifice he saw in the crew of the Star Sea Flower. “We’re due for a briefing from Charza in a few minutes. And we’ll be making our first emergence from hyperspace in an hour.”
Anakin snapped his fingernails in farewell to the little food-kin and sloshed out of the cubicle to join Obi-Wan in the central corridor. “You just like the arrangement because they obey orders without question,” he said.
Obi-Wan drew himself up, indignant. “It’s deeper than that,” he said. “Surely you sense the underlying structure here.”
“Of course,” Anakin said, walking ahead of him. They passed a fall of freshened seawater. It slid down a wall from a duct near the ceiling, filled with tiny shelled creatures no bigger than a fingertip. Three food-kin lined up beside the base of the fall, where it dropped into a pool and was carried away behind the bulkhead. They fished busily with their claws and ate ravenously.
Just beyond the fall, the Padawan and his master entered the pilothouse. Charza Kwinn was surrounded by a host of helpers and kin. Obi-Wan had not seen them all together before. The sight was impressive. There did not seem a square centimeter of the bridge’s equipment that was not attended by several creatures, ranging in size from the food-kin, about as broad as his hand, to meter-long replicas of Charza himself.
Charza sat on his backless couch waving tools clutched in his spikes. The bristles of his “head” scrubbed against the upper curve of the foot, making a loud, rhythmic sound like ocean breakers striking a shore.
Charza stopped when he noticed his passengers had arrived. The food-kin clacked in disappointment. Apparently, Charza had been singing to them. He shifted his bristles slightly around his spiracles to imitate human speech.
“Welcome. The quarters are comfortable?”
“Quite,” Obi-Wan said.
“I’ll tell you more now about this place you go to. First, size. Zonama Sekot is nine thousand salt pans broad, that is, in Republic measure …” He conferred with one of his smaller duplicates. “Eleven thousand kilometers. Its star system is a triple, in a hidden region of the Gardaji Rift, surrounded by great dust clouds. Two stars, a red giant and a white dwarf, orbit close to each other. Zonama Sekot circles the third star, a bright yellow sun, which orbits much farther out, several light-months distant. It is almost impossible to find if you don’t know the way.”
Charza paused as two food-kin enthusiastically offered themselves for his breakfast. He waved his head gently back and forth, and they retreated in apparent disappointment. “Their biological clocks chime,” Charza explained. “Must eat them before the day is over, or their children spoil. But I am so full now!”
Obi-Wan observed Anakin’s reaction. Charza was perhaps not the most appropriate father figure for the boy to puzzle over at this time in his life.
“Now,” Charza said, leaning to one side and pulling two heavy, parallel levers, “we come out of hyperspace.”
The forward ports opened again. The strange display outside collapsed to a dazzling point. With a sharp lurch, the stars returned—the stars, and the distinctive flaming red and purple pinwheel that dominated the skies of Zonama Sekot.
“Wow,” Anakin said, eyes wide. The display was stunning, perhaps the most beautiful he had ever seen. “Where’s our planet?” the boy asked eagerly.
“Zonama Sekot’s sun is behind us,” Charza said. “These two spectacular dancers, the red giant and the white dwarf, with their long spiral tail, are its companions.”
The pinwheel began as a ribbon of starstuff pulled from the red giant. It then curled around the white dwarf, which flung it outward in interwoven braids of ionized gas.
“You can see Zonama Sekot itself … it is that tiny green point just ahead.” Charza grabbed a long rod with his bristles and tapped it on the port. “There. See?”
“I see it,” Anakin said.
The little food-kin scrambled for a better view and chittered in admiration. Two perched on Anakin’s shoulders. A smaller fringed wormlike creature curled around one of the boy’s legs and made contented gurgling sounds.
“They do not bother you?” Charza asked Anakin.
“They’re fine,” Anakin said.
“They feel you are safe,” Charza said approvingly. “You have a rare attraction for them!” He swung his couch around and played some of his spikes over another instrument panel. The green planet was already as wide as a thumb tip held at arm’s length. “When I came to Zonama Sekot last, I released Vergere on a mountain plateau high in the northern hemisphere, near the pole. I fervently hope she is still alive.”
“It is believed she is alive,” Obi-Wan said.
“Perhaps,” Charza said with a chuffing of his bristles. “There are no pirates here, no commerce centers—indeed, the only inhabited planet for many light-years is Zonama Sekot. But Zonama Sekot is very close to the edge of the galaxy. Beyond this point, there is much that is not known. Anything could happen.”
“The edge of the galaxy!” Anakin said, still entranced by the picture. “We could be the first beings to go beyond the edge!” He looked at Obi-Wan. “If we wanted to.”
“There are still frontiers,” Obi-Wan agreed, “and that is a comforting thought.”
“Why comforting?” Charza asked. “Empty places without friends are not good!”
Obi-Wan smiled and shook his head. “The unknown is a place where we can discover who we truly are.”
Anakin regarded his master with some surprise.
“So Qui-Gon taught me,” Obi-Wan concluded, drawing the long sleeves of his robe in over his booted knees.
“Zonama Sekot itself is not empty,” Charza said. “There are beings there, not native to the planet. They arrived many years ago, not known how long. But they invite guests only recently, mostly rich buyers from worlds that do not owe strong allegiance to the Republic or trade with the Trade Federation. I will show you a pictu
re now that Vergere sent to my ship before I left the system.”
Charza chuffed orders to a cluster of food-kin perched on one console. They danced on buttons and tugged levers, and a viewer swung into place.
“Best for humans,” Charza murmured, and the food-kin adjusted the colorful but blurry image. It floated in the middle of the bridge, suddenly sharpened and took on motion.
Obi-Wan and Anakin leaned forward and stared.
An intensely green landscape, viewed at sunset, spread before them. The scale of treelike growths that filled most of the image was not immediately apparent until Anakin spotted a structure in the lower left, a kind of balcony with what looked like humans standing on it. Then it became apparent that the trees were easily five or six hundred meters tall, and that the great green domes of foliage in the upper right were easily hundreds of meters across. Green was the dominant color, but the foliage was also rich with gold, blue, purple, and red.
“They do not look like trees,” Obi-Wan commented.
“Not trees,” Charza said. “Not trees at all. Vergere called them boras.”
The planet’s yellow sun, setting in a golden haze between the ranks of huge growths, was not the only light in the sky. The vast pinwheel of red and purple gas covered all they could see of the northern sky beyond the boras.
“That is all I know,” Charza continued. “I dropped off Vergere, then waited until I was dismissed, and returned to orbit. There was no message to retrieve her, so I departed, as she had ordered. At that time, I detected six ships of known types in the region. All were private craft, I think belonging to customers of the shipbuilders on Zonama Sekot.”
“You did well, Charza,” Obi-Wan said, getting to his feet. “Perhaps nothing is amiss.”
“She may be alive,” Charza said, “but I do not think all is well.”
“Your instinct?”
Charza burred and lifted his head to the ceiling, then twisted around to regard them with all of his eyes. “Simple observation. Where one Jedi travels alone, perhaps no cause for alarm. Where a Jedi falls silent, and other Jedi follow … mishap and adventure!”
Tarkin marched ahead of Raith Sienar down the tunnel toward the waiting shuttle. “There is no time to lose,” Tarkin shouted over his shoulder. “They’ve emerged from hyperspace, and we’ve received the tracker signal. We have less than an hour before you must join your squadron and leave Coruscant.”
Sienar clutched his travel bag and passed last-minute instructions to his protocol droid, which followed at a quick if lurching pace a few steps behind.
“Come on, man!” Tarkin shouted.
Sienar handed the droid the last thing he had packed earlier that morning: a small disk containing special instructions should he not return.
The droid halted at the embarkation slip and gestured a formal good-bye as Sienar joined Tarkin inside the well-appointed shuttle lounge. The hatch slid shut with an ear-popping hiss, and the shuttle immediately pulled from its tower berth and punched through a clear space in the traffic lanes.
It rose rapidly into orbit.
“I hope you understand what could be at stake here,” Tarkin said, his thin face grim. His blue eyes grew large and deadly serious as he looked at Sienar. With such wide eyes, his face once more took on the aspect of an animated skull. “At the moment we are merely useful lackeys. We are below the level of awareness of those who will command the galaxy. If this planet and its ships are as useful as they appear to be, we will be richly rewarded. We will be noticed. Some already share my belief that this could be very big. All will share in our success, so our mission has been given level-two priority, Raith. Level two!”
“Not level one?” Sienar asked innocently.
Tarkin frowned. “Your cynicism may not serve you well, my friend.”
“I keep an independent mind,” Sienar said.
“In the long run, that could be extremely unwise,” Tarkin told him, and his eyes narrowed to slits.
Charza Kwinn brought the Star Sea Flower into a high orbit above Zonama Sekot. As Obi-Wan and Anakin prepared their belongings in the dry cabin, Obi-Wan brought out a pouch he had concealed in his robes, drew open a cord, and laid it out on top of his travel kit.
Anakin looked at it hopefully. “Another lightsaber?” he asked.
Obi-Wan smiled and shook his head. “Not yet, Padawan. Something more appropriate for a planet run by merchants. Old-style aurodium credits. Three billion’s worth, in several large ingots.”
“I’ve never seen that much money!” Anakin said, stepping closer. Obi-Wan shook his finger in warning, then opened the packet and showed its contents to Anakin.
The ten pure aurodium ingots sparkled like tiny flames. Each held a depth of mysterious light that refused to fix on one color.
“What they say about the Temple is true, then,” Anakin mused.
“That it holds secret treasure? Hardly,” Obi-Wan said. “These were drawn from a joint account in the Galactic Capital Bank. Many in the galaxy lend their resources to support the Jedi.”
“I didn’t know that,” Anakin said, a little downcast.
“This represents a few percent of that account. Not that we are going to spend it foolishly. Vergere carried a similar amount with her. It is rumored that this is sufficient to purchase a Sekotan vessel. Let’s hope the rumors are correct.”
“But Vergere—maybe she’s already bought a ship,” Anakin said.
“It may be necessary for us to be completely ignorant of Vergere,” Obi-Wan said.
“Oh … right.”
Obi-Wan rolled up the ingots and tied the cord, then handed it to Anakin. “Keep it with you at all times.”
“Wizard!” Anakin enthused. “No one’d suspect a boy would carry this much cash. I could buy a YZ-1000 with this—a hundred YZ-1000s!”
“What would you do with a hundred old star scows?” Obi-Wan asked with innocent curiosity.
“I’d rebuild them. I know how to make them go twice as fast as they do now—and they’re plenty fast!”
“And then?”
“I’d race them!”
“How much time would that leave for your training?”
“Not much,” Anakin admitted blithely. His eyes danced.
Obi-Wan pursed his lips in disapproval.
“Got you!” Anakin cried, grinning, and grabbed the packet. He stuffed it into his tunic and strapped it close to his body with the long remainder of cord. “I’ll guard your old money,” he said. “Who wants to be rich, anyway?”
Obi-Wan lifted an eyebrow. “To lose it would be unfortunate,” he cautioned.
* * *
Even from thirty thousand kilometers, Zonama Sekot was an odd-looking planet.
A spot of pearl white at the northern polar region was surrounded by an entire hemisphere of rich mottled green. Below the equator, the southern hemisphere was covered with impenetrable silvery cloud. Along the equator, a thin patch of darker gray and brown was broken by what looked like lengths of river and narrow lakes or seas. The edge of the southern overcast curled in elegant wisps, and the wisps broke free to form spinning storms.
While they waited for the planet’s answer to their landing request, Charza was involved in a birthing in another part of the ship.
Anakin sat in the small side seat on the bridge with his elbows propped on his knees, watching Zonama Sekot. He had performed his first set of exercises for the day, and his thoughts were particularly clear. It seemed sometimes, when his mind was settled, when he had tamed his turbulence for the moment, that he was no longer a boy or even a human. His perspective seemed crystalline and universal, and he felt as if he could see all his life laid out before him, filled with accomplishment and heroism—selfless heroism, of course, as befitted a Jedi. Somewhere in that life would be a woman, though Jedi did not often marry. He imagined the woman to be like Queen Amidala of Naboo, a powerful personality in her own right, lovely and dignified, yet sad and shouldered with great burdens—which Anakin would
help lift.
He had not spoken with Amidala in years, nor of course with his mother, Shmi, but in his present frame of disciplined consciousness, their memory acted on him like a distant and ineffable music.
He shook his head and drew his eyes up, turning his feelings outward, focusing them until they seemed to make a bright point between his eyes, and concentrated on Zonama Sekot, to see what he could see …
Many paths to many futures flowed from any single moment, and yet, by being in tune with the Force, an adept could chart the most likely path for his awareness to follow. It seemed contradictory that one could prepare a path into a future, without knowing what that future would hold—yet that is what ultimately happened, and that is what a Jedi Master could do.
Obi-Wan was not yet so lofty in his accomplishments, he had told Anakin, but there had been hints that before any mission, any disciplined Jedi—even a mere Padawan—could also do a kind of looking forward.
Anakin was sure he was doing something like that now. It felt as if the cells in his body were tuned to a severely faded signal from the future, a voice, large and heavy, as if weighed down, unlike any voice he had ever heard …
His eyes slowly grew wide as he stared at the planet.
The boy, Anakin Skywalker of Tatooine, son of Shmi, Jedi Padawan, only twelve standard years of age, refocused all of his attention on Zonama Sekot. His body shuddered. One eye closed slightly, and his head tilted to one side. Then he quickly closed both eyes and shuddered again. The spell was broken. The moment had lasted perhaps three seconds.
Anakin tried to remember something large and beautiful, an emotion or a state of mind he had just touched upon, but all he could conjure was the face of Shmi, smiling at him sadly and proudly, like a protective scrim over any other memory.
His mother, still so important and so far away.
