Star Wars - Outbound Flight

by Timothy Zahn

  Briefly, she weighed the options. The shops would be constricting, drastically limiting his freedom of movement. A man like Riske, she decided, would more likely go for one of the alleys.

  She reached them and looked both directions. No one was visible. When she’d last seen Riske, he’d been closer to the left alleyway, which made that one the more obvious choice. But he didn’t strike her as an obvious sort of person. Weaving around another pair of pedestrians, she stepped into the alley to the right.

  The passageway was fairly narrow, about one and a half landspeeders wide, with one side stacked with tall but neat piles of garbage containers awaiting pickup. Halfway along its length, another alley cut across it at right angles, dividing this particular block into quarters. If Riske had gone this way, he would have had two additional directions to choose from once he reached the center. Slipping her hand inside her tunic, she got a grip on her lightsaber and headed in.

  She reached the central intersection without incident and looked in all directions. Riske, unfortunately, wasn’t visible in any of them.

  For a moment she stood there, looking back and forth down the cross-alley, the sour taste of defeat in her mouth. Nothing to do now but retrace her steps and hope Kenobi wouldn’t be angry enough at her failure to report her to C’baoth.

  A flicker from the Force was her only warning, but she reacted to it instantly. Taking a leaping step to the side, she spun around, drawing her lightsaber from her sash and igniting it.

  The spinning disk gliding in through the alleyway behind her caught the sunlight as it tilted slightly, altering its direction toward her new position. Getting a two-handed grip on her lightsaber, she watched it come, wondering why anyone would bother with such a relatively slow weapon.

  Half a second later she got her answer as the disk split into thirds, the top and bottom sections becoming duplicates of the original and swinging wide to approach her from different angles.

  So it had become three against one. Still not a problem. She took a step backward, mentally mapping out the sequence she would use against them. They hummed their way into range; and with a quick one–two–three she slashed the glowing blade outward, slicing all three disks in half.

  And as the sections of the last one clattered to the alley floor, an arm snaked around her shoulder from behind to wrap firmly around her neck.

  She inhaled sharply in chagrin. So that was the reason for the simplicity of the attack. It had been nothing but a diversion, driving her into the tunnel vision of combat while Riske slipped out of concealment from one of the garbage stacks and sneaked up behind her. She shifted her grip on her lightsaber, wondering if she would have time to stab backward with it before he got another weapon into position.

  “Easy, girl,” a mild voice said as something hard pressed against her neck beneath her right ear. “Close it down and put it away. I just want to talk.”

  “About what?” she demanded.

  “Put it away and I’ll tell you,” he said. “Come on, girl—this isn’t worth getting your head blown off over.”

  “I’m a Jedi,” she warned. “We don’t respond well to threats.”

  “Maybe Jedi don’t,” Riske agreed, an almost amused edge to his voice. “But you’re no Jedi—you got suckered way too easily for that.” The arm around her throat tightened slightly. “Come on. Cool down and let’s talk.”

  Lorana glared at the alley wall. Still, derision aside, if he’d wanted to kill her he probably could have done so long before now. “Fine,” she said, closing down her lightsaber and sliding it back into her sash.

  “There, now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” he said soothingly as he let go of her neck.

  “I’m glad you’re happy,” Lorana said, taking a step forward and turning around to face him. “What do you want to talk about?”

  “Let’s start with you,” Riske suggested, tucking a small hold-out blaster back into concealment in his tunic. “Why is C’baoth having you follow me?”

  “Master C’baoth has nothing to do with this,” she told him, stretching out to the Force and trying to get a feel for the man. He was cool and unemotional, with the alert detachment she’d often seen in professional bodyguards. But beneath the calm she could sense a certain honor, or at least a willingness to stand by his word.

  And the fact that he’d put his blaster away implied he expected a certain degree of honor from her in return. That alone dictated that she at least hear him out.

  “Was it the other Jedi, then?” Riske asked. “The one with you in the cantina?”

  There are times when you’ll wish your identity to remain unknown, C’baoth had reminded her back on Coruscant. Clearly, it hadn’t worked with Riske. “He was interested in you, yes, but following you was my idea,” she told him. “He was mostly surprised that a person of Magistrate Argente’s stature would be handling these negotiations personally.”

  “I could say the same about Jedi Master C’baoth,” Riske said. “Magistrate Argente was rather surprised himself when he showed up.” He gestured in the direction of the cantina. “And now we have another Jedi in the game, this one trying to eavesdrop on private conversations. What exactly is the Council playing at?”

  “As far as I know, the Council isn’t playing at anything,” Lorana said. “We’re not supposed to take sides in these things.”

  Riske snorted. “Like you didn’t take sides on Naboo?” he said pointedly. “I noticed your high-minded neutrality was surprisingly helpful to Queen Amidala and her government.”

  “I don’t know anything about that,” Lorana said. “As you’ve already guessed, I’m only a Padawan. But I can tell you that the Council didn’t send us here. It was Master C’baoth’s idea, and the Council only reluctantly gave him permission.”

  Riske frowned. “So he came up with this all on his own?”

  “Well, actually, he was responding to something Supreme Chancellor Palpatine said,” Lorana amended. “But it still wasn’t the Council’s idea.”

  “Palpatine,” Riske muttered, rubbing his cheek thoughtfully. “Interesting.”

  “My turn now,” Lorana said. “What are you doing wandering around the city?”

  “Trying to keep Magistrate Argente alive, of course,” Riske said, his tone suddenly dark. “Nice talking with you, Padawan. Try and stay out of my way, all right?” With that he turned and strode away down the alley.

  Lorana watched him until he disappeared out the other end into the city’s pedestrian traffic. Then, with a sigh, she turned and headed back the way she’d come. Master Kenobi, she knew, was not going to be happy about this.

  With no easy way to locate Lorana, and with every reason to expect they would most likely chase each other in circles if he tried, Obi-Wan had opted to wait for her on a bench in a small park across the street from the cantina.

  Anakin was just finishing his tarsh maxer when she finally returned.

  “Interesting,” Obi-Wan said when she’d finished her story. “So Magistrate Argente’s in danger, is he?”

  “Or at least Riske thinks he is,” Lorana said, her eves holding the wary look of someone bracing herself for a reprimand.

  In fact, as Obi-Wan gazed into those eyes, it occurred to him that they seemed to fall into that mode far too naturally. Apparently, C’baoth’s teaching style was as domineering as the rest of the man’s personality. “But he didn’t seem to think the danger was coming from you or Master C’baoth?”

  “No, though he did ask what the Council was up to,” Lorana said. “But it seemed almost a perfunctory comment, as if it was just natural to assume that the Council was playing politics. I don’t think he would have been so open with me if he’d really thought we were plotting against Argente.”

  “You call that being open?” Anakin demanded scornfully. “Hints and threats?”

  “Telling her to stay out of his way wasn’t necessarily a threat,” Obi-Wan told him. “Professional bodyguards like Riske always worry about bystanders or well-
meaning but amateurish helpers getting in the way.”

  “He thinks we’re amateurs?”

  “In certain aspects of that job, we are,” Obi-Wan told him bluntly, turning back to Lorana. “So what do you think? Is Argente in danger?”

  A flicker of surprise crossed her face. C’baoth, he reflected, probably didn’t ask her opinion very often. “I don’t know,” she said. “But feelings are running high about the Corporate Alliance’s efforts to take full possession of the mines.”

  “I can imagine,” Obi-Wan said. “Do you know which hotel Argente is staying at?”

  “The Starbright,” Lorana said. “It’s about a kilometer east of the city center.”

  “Which isn’t the direction Riske was going,” Obi-Wan pointed out. “But it is the direction to Patameene District.”

  “Patameene District?” Anakin asked.

  “I heard the bartender mention it to him,” Obi-Wan said. “It’s one of the city’s biggest subdivisions, straddling both some very rich and very poor areas. If we’re going to nose around, that would probably be a good place to start.”

  “We’re going to help him?” Anakin objected. “I thought the Corporate Alliance was trying to steal the mineral rights from the Brolfi.”

  “That’s what the negotiations are supposed to determine,” Obi-Wan reminded him. “At any rate, that’s not our concern. Our job as Jedi is to protect and preserve life across the Republic.”

  “I don’t know,” Lorana said hesitantly. “Master C’baoth wasn’t very happy to find you two here. He might not like us interfering in matters this way. Riske and his people seem to be on top of things—shouldn’t we let them handle it?”

  “Who’s interfering with anything?” Obi-Wan asked blandly as he stood up. “We’re going on a tour of the city, just as Master C’baoth suggested. If we happen to run into some trouble, that’s hardly our fault.”

  It was a ten-minute walk to the nearest edge of Patameene District. Obi-Wan kept his eyes moving as they walked, hoping to spot Riske in the crowd. But having been caught once, the bodyguard was apparently too cagey to let it happen again.

  “This should be the edge of the district,” he said as they reached a low decorative stone wall and passed through a pedestrian archway. “Anakin, remember that we’re just here to look around.”

  “Sure,” Anakin said, his eyes already sweeping the area, his sense that of a hunting darokil straining at its leash. “Okay if I go ahead a little?”

  “All right, but not too far,” Obi-Wan said. “I don’t want you getting lost.”

  “I won’t.” Slipping between a pair of Karfs, the boy ducked into the crowd.

  “You sure he’ll be all right?” Lorana asked.

  “He’ll be fine,” Obi-Wan assured her. “He’s a little reckless, but he’s strong in the Force and generally behaves himself.”

  “You must have great confidence in him,” Lorana murmured.

  Obi-Wan gave her a sideways look. There’d been an odd wistfulness in her tone just then. “C’baoth doesn’t have as much confidence in you, I take it?”

  “Master C’baoth has had several Padawans in his lifetime of service to the Jedi Order,” she said, her voice going carefully neutral. “He knows what he’s doing.”

  “Yes, of course,” Obi-Wan said. “He does have a rather overpowering personality, though, doesn’t he?”

  “His reputation is well earned,” she said, again clearly picking her words carefully. “He’s skilled and knowledgeable and intelligent. I’ve learned a great deal from him.”

  “Though he’s also perhaps a little too demanding?”

  “I wouldn’t characterize him that way,” she said, her voice going a little cooler.

  “Of course you would,” Obi-Wan said, giving her a reassuring smile. “I thought that about my Master at times. And I know Anakin thinks that about me.”

  For a moment she hesitated. Then, almost reluctantly, she smiled back. “Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever be able to please him,” she admitted.

  “I know the feeling,” Obi-Wan said. “Just remember that this, too, will pass. And once you’re a Jedi Knight, your job will no longer be a matter of pleasing a single Master or even a group of them. Your job will be to do what is right.”

  “That’s the part that seems so hard,” she confessed. “How do you ever know what is truly right?”

  Obi-Wan shrugged. “When you’re at peace,” he said. “When you’re truly attuned to the Force.”

  “If I ever am.”

  Obi-Wan grimaced. On one hand was Anakin, pushing ahead so eagerly that he was forever overstepping his limits, though he had to admit the boy succeeded more often than he failed. On the other hand was Lorana, so awed by C’baoth’s presence and reputation that she was afraid to even stretch herself beyond anything she already knew.

  Somewhere, there had to be a middle ground.

  For another few minutes they walked together in silence, weaving their way through the other pedestrians and shoppers. Obi-Wan kept his eyes moving, watching for signs of Riskc or of the trouble he apparently expected to find here and making sure to keep Anakin’s bobbing head within sight.

  Ahead, off to the left, was a landspeeder repair shop, with a display of shiny parts in the open-air front room and half-seen figures working in the darker repair area in back. Several Brolfi were browsing around the front room displays, most of them adults but one a teenager about Anakin’s age. Obi-Wan eyed him, noting his reddish brown craftsman’s vest with its multiple pockets. Most Brolfi seemed to make do without nearly that much carrying capacity; apparently, this boy was the sort who liked carrying all his little treasures with him.

  He smiled to himself. Jedi, forever wandering the galaxy with most of their possessions on their backs or belts, were hardly in a position to point fingers on that one. Throwing one final look at the boy, he started to turn away.

  But to his surprise, something drew his eves back again.

  Something about the youngster’s posture, perhaps, or the way he was looking around him.

  Or perhaps it was the subtle prompting of the Force. Frowning, he kept his attention on the boy as he and Lorana continued to weave their way through the milling crowds.

  And as he watched, the young Brolf stepped close to a rack of burst thrusters, a set of cutters appearing magically in his hand. With a glance at the workers in the back room, he deftly snipped the anchor lines of two of the thrusters, catching each in turn and slipping them out of sight inside his vest. The cutters followed the thrusters, and a second later the boy wandered casually out of the shop. Turning his back to the approaching Jedi, he melted into the crowd.

  Obi-Wan grabbed Lorana’s upper arm. “Brolf teenager in a red-brown vest,” he said in a low voice, pointing at the spot where the youth had disappeared. “Get Anakin, find him, and follow him.”

  “What?” Lorana asked, staring at him in bewilderment.

  “Find him and follow him,” Obi-Wan repeated, glancing around. To their right was a narrow alleyway cutting a path between a pair of ten-story buildings. “Go.”

  Still clearly puzzled, Lorana nevertheless nodded and hurried ahead. Obi-Wan caught a glimpse of her grabbing Anakin’s arm; and then he was in the alley, dodging the garbage containers as he headed to the center. It was probably thirty meters to the tops of the buildings flanking him, and even with Jedi strength enhancement a leap like that was well beyond his capabilities.

  But there were other ways. Glancing both directions down the alley to make sure no one was watching, he stretched out to the Force and leapt.

  His boots hit the right-hand wall about four meters above the ground. Bending his knees to absorb the impact, he shoved off again before he could start falling back down, pushing himself upward and toward the wall on the left-hand side. That jump gained him another two meters, and he pushed off again toward the right, frog-hopping his way upward.

  He reached the top with only minor twinges in his knees and leg mu
scles to mark the strain. Running to the edge of the roof, he dropped flat onto his stomach and looked down.

  The streets looked just as crowded from up here as they did from down below. Pulling out his comlink, he keyed for Anakin. “Skywalker,” Anakin’s voice came promptly. “What’s this about a kid in a brown vest?”

  “He stole a pair of burst thrusters from that shop back there,” Obi-Wan explained, shading his eyes from the sun with one hand as he searched the crowd below for the young thief.

  “You mean like you use in Podracers and swoops?”

  “Right,” Obi-Wan said. “They’re also the drive system of choice for homemade missiles.”

  There was a gentle hiss from the comlink. “Got it,” Anakin said, his voice suddenly grim. “Did you see which way he went?”

  “He left the shop going west,” Obi-Wan said. “But he could easily have changed—wait a minute.” He leaned a little farther over the edge of the roof as a flicker of red-brown caught his eye before it passed out of sight beneath an awning. He watched the other side, and moment later it emerged. “There he is,” he told Anakin. “He’s headed north now.”

  “What street?”

  “Not a clue,” Obi-Wan admitted. “Where are you two?”

  “Just passing a building with a big blue-and-gold sign talking about medicines,” Anakin said. “Across the street is a green hanging banner—”

  “Right—I’ve got you,” Obi-Wan cut in as he spotted them. “Take the next street to your right, and you’ll see him about a block ahead.”

  He watched Anakin and Lorana long enough to see them pick up their pace, then shifted his attention back to the thief, wishing he’d thought to bring along some macrobinoculars. Anakin had a set, but that wasn’t going to do Obi-Wan any good.

  “Obi-Wan?”

  Obi-Wan lifted his comlink again. “Go.”

  “We’ve turned north,” Anakin reported. “I think I see him ahead.”