by Karen Miller
Durd thrashed his way out from behind his desk, flung open his office door, then seized her arm and shoved her into the deserted corridor beyond.
“What are you waiting for? Go! Kay-Dee Seventy-seven? With me!”
Unsteady, she started down the corridor, listening to him rampage away in the opposite direction, toward the compound’s main entrance. The droid clanked along behind him. Her body still hummed with pain, and fresh blood trickled from the raw wounds on her collarbone. Everything inside her was chaos.
The Republic’s here. That means the Jedi are here. So if I can stall Durd, maybe I can buy us all some time. Except there’s Bespin—they need to know it’s the next target. Think, woman, think. There’s got to be a way to let them know.
Stopping, she looked back down the corridor. It was still empty. And Durd… in his anger the Neimoidian had left his office door wide open, which meant his comm comsole was free for the using. The careless barve never bothered to secure it.
Oh, but I can’t. I can’t. If I’m caught he’ll kill everyone I love.
Moaning, she turned her face to the corridor wall. Behind her closed eyes she saw Samsam’s limp body plummeting out of the sky. Imagined her nephews, murdered.
And then she straightened.
Fhernan, you’re a fool. He’ll probably kill them anyway. And if he doesn’t kill them, he’ll kill thousands of other children. Thousands more children. Master Kenobi was right—and you cannot make the same mistake twice.
Trembling, she returned to Durd’s office.
His unsecured comm console had three separate comlink channels, each one with enough power to punch all the way through to the Republic. She wasn’t a communications expert, but a lifetime of fieldwork had made her handy enough. She set the unit to auto signal-wipe, nonrecording mode, engaged its scrambler and coded in her mother’s private comlink frequency.
Come on, Mother. Answer me. Whatever you’re doing—sleeping or eating or bathing or shopping—stop it and answer me. For once in my life I want to hear the sound of your voice.
Nothing. She felt sick again.
“Mata Fhernan.”
Bant’ena collapsed across Durd’s desk, bones and muscle turned to water. “Mother? Mother, it’s me.”
“Benti? Benti, the goddess be praised?”
Oh, it was her mother. Not dead but rescued. Her mother, a woman she loved but sometimes found so hard to like. Garrulous and querulous and overdramatic, never satisfied, always pushing.
“Mother, listen,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “Is it true the Jedi saved you?”
“Yes. Benti—”
She felt a rush of shamed relief. I should’ve had more faith. “Mother, be quiet! And record me. I don’t have time to say this twice.”
“All right,” her mother said. She sounded weak with shock, too. “I’m recording.”
“Tell the Jedi that Bespin is the next target. Tell them Anakin and Obi-Wan are still alive and need their help. Tell them the weapon is at the coordinates I’m calling from. They have to destroy the compound. Mother, I’m—”
“Benti, everyone’s safe!” her mother said, close to shouting. “The Jedi rescued all of us. Well, except for Samsam. I’m so sorry. Benti, are you there? Benti—”
And now she was neither woman nor droid, but a vast, aching emptiness. A universe of nothing.
They’re safe? So those holoimages Durd’s droid shows me—they’re not true. It’s all a lie. I’ve been controlled by a lie. Anakin, forgive me.
“Mother, I have to go,” she said faintly. “Tell everyone I’m sorry and I love them. Mother, I love you.”
“Benti—Benti—”
She disconnected the comlink. Took a moment, just a moment, to press her hands flat to her face and hold back the dreadful wail of grief building in her throat. And then, when she could trust herself, she double-checked Durd’s comm unit, making sure there was no trace of her outbound comm.
They’re safe. They’re all safe. And that means I’m free.
The corridor outside Durd’s office remained empty. She looked both ways once more, then ran for her lab as though a droid army was chasing her.
“BESPIN?” SAID PALPATINE, his holoimage gently shimmering. He was on his private yacht, on his way to Chandrila in an effort to shore up plunging Core World morale. “Master Yoda, are you sure?”
Seated in his Council Chamber chair, Yoda nodded. “Quite sure I am, Supreme Chancellor. Impeccable is the source of this intelligence.”
“I see,” said Palpatine, then clasped his hands on his desk. “Then I’m afraid I have no choice but to disappoint you, Master Yoda, Senators. Any ships we have to spare must be sent to Bespin, not Lanteeb. A disruption to the Tibanna gas supply would be utterly catastrophic for the Republic.”
Standing to one side, Bail Organa exchanged a worried glance with Padmé. “Supreme Chancellor, I’m sorry, but I can’t agree. From what we’ve been able to ascertain so far from the Chandrila investigation, if Bespin is the next target for a bioweapon attack then not even Republic Cruisers will be able to stop it. A team of agents and bioweapon experts will prove far more effective than—”
“By all means, Senator, send in your people,” said Palpatine, his voice edged like a vibroblade. “We must take every step possible to prevent a second attack. But I also want a battle group deployed to that region.”
“Supreme Chancellor, please—” Padmé began, but fell silent as Palpatine unclasped his hands and raised them, sharply.
“Enough!” he snapped. “Must I remind you all how badly destabilized the Republic is at this moment? Because of your failure to prevent the tragedy on Chandrila, confidence in this administration has never been so low—and thanks to your secretive and high-handed handling of the situation my confidence in you has been sorely tested. So I beg you, do not disappoint me further by arguing against my decision!”
Bail bowed. “Of course not, Supreme Chancellor. We’ll inform Fleet of your request, and I’ll dispatch our best teams as well. We’ll do everything in our power to protect Bespin. Although—” He hesitated. “It might be in the community’s best interests if we order an evacuation.”
“And send a signal to the Republic and the Separatists that we’re unable to keep our citizens safe?” Palpatine demanded, incredulous. “I hardly think so, Senator Organa.”
“I agree,” said Padmé. “We need to reassure people, not alarm them. But Supreme Chancellor, what about Lanteeb? It has to be wrested from Separatist control. Not only is it the source of this bioweapon, but the Jedi to whom you and I owe so much remain trapped there. We can’t abandon them.”
“My dear Senator, they are not abandoned,” Palpatine retorted. “Indeed, with Master Windu’s unauthorized addition to Admiral Yularen’s battle group, their welfare has been rated more important than the entire Bothan and Kothlis spynet operation. If that’s not an indication of my regard for them, I’m not sure how I could go about convincing you.”
Yoda caught Padmé’s eye and lifted a cautioning hand. She nodded, and stepped back. “Supreme Chancellor,” he said, “accept your decision in this matter we do. Intend to usurp your authority we do not.”
“Really?” Palpatine frowned. “I must say, Master Yoda, you and your fellow Councilors have an odd way of showing it.”
He didn’t need the Force to show him the depth of Palpatine’s displeasure. But it couldn’t be helped. Mace Windu was right: no politician could be allowed to interfere with the Order’s ability to protect its own people. Not even in wartime.
“Supreme Chancellor,” said Bail. “There may be another way to support the Lanteeb battle group. One that doesn’t involve compromising Bespin. Will you trust me to explore it?”
Sighing, Palpatine lowered his gaze to his desk. “Bail, Bail, Bail…” He looked up again. “Yes. Of course I’ll trust you. That bioweapon must be eliminated. And of course I want Anakin and Master Kenobi rescued. I fear dreadfully for their safety. On that s
core you have my unwavering support.”
“But no more star cruisers,” Bail muttered once the hololink was severed. “I can’t fathom his reasoning. Surely a swift resolution to the standoff at Lanteeb is in everyone’s best interests.”
“Don’t be so hard on him, Bail,” said Padmé. “Every government in the Republic is looking to him for solace, waiting for him to promise that their planet won’t be the next Chandrila. It’s our job to support him, not criticize and second-guess him.”
Watching the two friends glare at each other, Yoda cleared his throat. “Senators—mistaken am I that news for me you have? Something to do with Lanteeb, I think?”
“Sorry, Master Yoda,” said Bail. “Yes. Padmé and I have come up with a plan we think could work.”
He listened in silence as the two Senators explained their idea of forming an emergency civilian fleet to augment the Republic’s Lanteeb battle group.
“The only problem,” said Padmé, frowning, “is that while we’ve got in-principle support from several governments and corporations, nobody’s willing to commit even one ship. They’re all terrified of provoking a reprisal bioweapon attack on their own planets and people.”
“From what Master Windu’s reported,” Bail added, “it’s clear we can’t break Grievous’s blockade without more ships. And we can’t get more ships without being able to promise those who send them that they’ll be safe.”
“Can you help, Master Yoda?” said Padmé. “Bail says Doctor Netzl can’t find the missing link to create a workable antidote, and that means there’ll be no civilian aid for the battle group. And with the Supreme Chancellor so adamantly against redeploying any more Republic cruisers…” Her breath caught. “I don’t see how we’re going to get Anakin and Obi-Wan off that planet. Or stop Durd and Dooku from launching any more attacks. Can you think of a way to break our deadlock?”
Yoda stroked his chin. It was interesting that she placed the safety of her Jedi friends before the welfare of the entire Republic. It wasn’t what he expected from her. When it came to Obi-Wan and young Skywalker it was clear that Senator Amidala’s emotions remained very much engaged.
A pity that is. pain only can it cause her.
“Solve Doctor Netzl’s dilemma I cannot,” he said slowly. “Promise these civilian interests that safe it is to help you I cannot. But an answer to Lanteeb? Hmm. Possess that I might. Senator Organa, your assistance would I need.”
Bail nodded. “It’s yours.”
Though he was weary and burdened with grave doubts, Yoda permitted himself a small smile. “But discreet we must be, Senator. If to succeed my plan is, its secrecy paramount must be. Access do you have to a captured Separatist ship?”
“I do, actually,” Bail said, surprised. “An undercover operation near Kessel just netted us one of the Seps’ older Techno Union ships. It’s battered but flyable, and equipped with full Sep security pass codes.”
“What do you have in mind, Master Yoda?” said Padmé. “Can you tell us?”
Sliding out of his chair, he began to pace the Council Chamber. The rapping of his gimer stick was loud in the silence. “Agree that with only four cruisers, break Grievous’s blockade Master Windu and his troops cannot. But slide through it one small ship could, if Grievous believes an ally it is.”
“You want to send another Jedi to Lanteeb?” said Bail. “Master Yoda—forgive my skepticism, but—”
“Changed the circumstances have,” Yoda said, silencing him with a look. “Thanks to Doctor Fhernan, know the location of the bioweapon facility we do. Possible it is now to infiltrate and destroy Durd’s compound.”
“I’m sorry,” said Padmé. “If we know where the facility is, then why aren’t we launching a full-scale assault? Surely that was always the idea? I know it would mean civilian casualties, which we’re trying to avoid, but if we don’t destroy this weapon we’ll have more civilian casualties than the Republic’s seen in a thousand years. We should go back to Palpatine, tell him this, and—”
“An assault the plan was, when the element of surprise we had,” Yoda said. “That advantage we have lost, Senator.”
“He’s right, Padmé,” said Bail, turning to her. “In the time it would take the battle group to get past Grievous, you can bet Durd would shift his location. Maybe even escape Lanteeb entirely, with enough stockpiled bioweapon to slaughter half the Republic. Our best hope now is a stealth job.”
“Anakin and Obi-Wan were meant to be a stealth job, and look how well that turned out!” she retorted. “Master Yoda, are you seriously suggesting we should trust this Bant’ena Fhernan? She’s already betrayed us once. What makes you think she won’t betray us again?”
Her concern was reasonable, but… “Risk her life to tell us of Bespin she did, Senator. Need to do that she did not. Tell us that Obi-Wan and young Skywalker still live she did, and asked us to help them. Treacherous does that sound to you, hmm? Also, know now she does that saved by the Jedi were her family and friends. A reason to trust us she has, to repay that debt, wouldn’t you say?”
“I suppose so,” she muttered. “But what you’re proposing—it’s terribly risky.”
“Risky it is, yes,” he said gravely. “But our only chance it might be, to avert widespread disaster and save our two missing Jedi.”
Padmé exchanged looks with Bail, then nodded. “All right. Not that you need my permission, but all right. So Bail, while you’re working with Master Yoda on this new plan, I’ll keep pushing forward with the negotiations for a civilian fleet. Because if your friend Tryn has an epiphany in the next few hours we’re going to want those extra ships standing by just in case.”
Still slowly pacing, Yoda smiled at the floor. Did they know how the Force worked within them, these two brave Senators? Could they feel even a hint of it, as he felt it in full flood? He thought not.
“Agreed,” said Bail. “Only—” He was frowning again. “Master Yoda, are you going to tell Palpatine what we’re doing?”
Yoda stopped pacing. “Think that I should, do you?”
“I want to say yes,” said Bail. “But honestly…”
“Need to know he does not, Senator,” he said firmly. “Jedi business this is. Jedi business also the liberation of Lanteeb is. Problems enough with Chandrila and the Senate does our Supreme Chancellor have. Pleased he will be when resolved this crisis is. Care not, that bothered with details he was not.” He smiled again, a little wickedly. “Besides—permission he gave you to pursue other solutions, did he not? Hmm?”
Bail almost smiled back. “Well. Yes. I suppose he did.” Then he looked to Padmé, worried that she would object. But if she had any reservations, she kept them to herself.
After escorting the Senators to Bail’s waiting speeder, Yoda went in search of Taria Damsin. He found her in an empty dojo, lightsaber training with a remote.
“A mission?” Her tawny eyes glowed like banked fires. “We’re going to rescue Obi-Wan and Anakin? Master Yoda, of course I’m in. You don’t even have to ask.”
“Rescue your primary objective will not be,” he said sternly. “Destruction of the bioweapon facility on Lanteeb your most important task is.”
“Oh,” she said. “Yes, Master. I understand.”
He searched her face. Searched the Force for any sense that she was the wrong person for this crucial undertaking. Sensing that, she dropped to her knees before him.
“Master Yoda, I swear on my oath as a Jedi. I can do this. I won’t let you down.”
A sudden flash of Force insight. Yes. She was the right person—a brilliant shadow. One of the best the Temple had ever known. She could do this, and she would not let him down. But the price she would pay… the terrible price…
“It doesn’t matter,” she said, seeing her future in his face. “Nothing matters but making a difference. Please, Master Yoda. Don’t change your mind. Not now.”
Sighing deeply, he closed his eyes and bowed his head. What did the Force want? How did it guide him
? He waited, and waited… and his answer came.
“Walk with me, Taria,” he said, full of grief to come. “And explain I will the details of your mission.”
Chapter Eighteen
“LIAR!” SHOUTED TEEBA JAKLIN. “YOU’RE A LIAR, KENOBI! YOU and your friend. You mind-tricked us into believing we’d be safe and now look where we are—trapped and starving. And you expect us to trust you again?”
Returned with Anakin to the square, no matter where Obi-Wan looked he saw frightened, unfriendly faces. The handful of villagers who hadn’t fallen victim to greensickness crowded close around him and Anakin, their courage defeated by hunger and terror. Durd’s droid army was quiescent for the moment—but the strain of waiting for the bombardment to start again was almost as bad as enduring hour after hour of blasterfire.
Jaklin’s bloodshot eyes were full of tears. Shame and rage consumed her. She was shouting at him, but she blamed herself for every ill that had befallen her village, and nothing he could say or do would change that.
Nevertheless, he had to try.
“Jaklin, we’re not lying,” he said, willing her to believe him. “The help we hoped for has arrived. All we have to do is hold on a little longer. Our people will come.”
“When?” she demanded, as the other villagers shifted and jostled and muttered their disbelief. “And where are they?” Jeeringly she stabbed a pointed finger toward the ceiling of the storm shield. “Up there? In space? They can’t help us in space, Jedi. They can’t help us at all.”
“Jaklin, they can,” said Anakin. “I promise. Don’t give up hope now. We’re so close.”
“Yes, close to our deaths!” she spat. “Because Rikkard is a sentimental fool and I was a fool to let him sway me.”
Obi-Wan took a step toward her, his hands raised. “Teeba, please. Remember why we’re doing this—we want to stop Lok Durd. We want to prevent him from using his bioweapon against innocent people.”
“We’re innocent people,” she said, her glare savage. “When are you going to start caring about us?”
