by Karen Miller
Obi-Wan looked at Anakin. “She’s right. We can afford an hour.”
“You can afford two,” Devi snapped. “Better yet, three. You’re as much a resource to Torbel as our liquid damotite. Don’t squander yourselves. We can’t afford it.”
“You heard the Teeba,” said Rikkard. “Three hours. We can mind the power plant and the shield without you that long. Now go. That’s my ruling, as village speaker.”
Too tired to argue, they went.
TARIA WOKE to Obi-Wan’s pain as he tried yet again to heal her.
“Obi-Wan, stop,” she whispered. “You’re not helping me and you’re only hurting yourself.”
He shook his head. “No. I can do this. I just need to—I haven’t quite got the knack of—” His fist hit the side of her cot. “I’m not trained, that’s the problem. But I can—”
“Obi-Wan!” She caught his wrist. “I said no. I don’t want you to do this.”
Filthy and unkempt, he stared at her. “Taria, I can’t sit here and do nothing.”
“Of course you can,” she said gently. “Because there’s nothing you can do.”
As the boom and blat of blasterfire rattled the sick house’s window and its open doors, Taria looked around the room. Anakin was asleep in a nearby cot, Sufi was outside in the street, and there was no sign of the little girl, Greti. With her fellow patients lulled to silence by herbs and sickness, she and Obi-Wan were as good as alone.
“You shouldn’t have come,” he said, staring at his hands.
She released his wrist. “Don’t talk nonsense. That bioweapon had to be destroyed.”
“You shouldn’t have come here,” he snapped. “You’re a fool.”
“I know,” she said, and pressed her palm to his cheek. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
Jerkily he pushed himself off his stool. “No. No. Don’t mind me, Taria. I’m just tired.”
Tired? She couldn’t think of a word to describe what he was. Empty, perhaps? Having poured so much of himself into healing these people, into keeping them alive? Yes. He was empty.
Or he was. But now here I am, filling him with grief.
“Obi-Wan…”
He kept his back to her. He was so thin. He and Anakin were worn down to skin and bones, living on the Force. And he calls me crazy? “Obi-Wan,” she said again. “Please.”
Slowly, he turned. His face was naked, every guarded feeling laid bare. If they’d been in love once, it was only for a moment, in the breathless, fresh excitement of discovery, in that first annihilating shock of pleasure. But it had passed, which was a good thing, and in passing had transmuted to something deep and sure and true.
“Obi-Wan, you have to listen to me,” she said. “Really listen. And believe every word.”
Step by step he came back to her, and sat down again.
“I’ve been a dead woman walking ever since Pamina Prime,” she said, keeping her voice low. Willing him to hear her, and believe. “We both know that. So it wasn’t ever about living longer, but what I got to do with the life that was left to me. What I’m doing here?” She waved her hand, feeling the bite in bone and muscle. “Stopping Durd, helping to save you and Skyguy and this village? It’s important. So even if it hastens what must come to pass, Obi-Wan, how can I not rejoice? And how can you love me yet not rejoice for me?”
He shrugged. “I’m selfish, Taria. I don’t want to lose you.”
Though it woke the sharpest hurt in her, she sat up. “I made my peace with this dying business long ago. Don’t poison what little time we have left.”
For a moment she watched him struggle with that. Then she leaned forward and cradled his face between her hands.
“I’m going to tell you this now because I might not get a chance later,” she whispered. “They call Anakin the Chosen One but you have a destiny, too. You have a long road to walk and it won’t always be easy. I wish I could walk it with you, but that’s not meant to be. So you remember what I’m telling you, Obi-Wan. Everything happens for a reason. Everything. The good, the bad, the indifferent. They all have a purpose. Never forget who you are. Never forget what you serve. And no matter what happens, keep your face turned to the light.”
She watched her words sink through his skin and beneath the surface of his luminous eyes. She watched the grief rise in him, and the rage, and the despair. She watched his courage drown all of them.
She watched him… let go.
Beside them, Anakin stirred awake as Teeba Sufi bustled back into the sick house. Taria dropped her hands to her lap.
She smiled. “All right?”
“What’s all right?” said Anakin, groggy. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing yet,” said Obi-Wan, and slapped him on the back. “On your feet, Anakin. We’ve slept long enough.”
Chapter Twenty-One
STARING FROM ADMIRAL YULAREN TO MASTER WINDU AND back again, Ashoka felt every predator instinct stir.
Oh, no. This isn’t good.
“Master Windu,” said the admiral, his voice clipped, “while I appreciate the difficulty of your position I must think of my troops. You know as well as I that the acceleration of clone production has not succeeded as Fleet anticipated. Given the slowdown of numbers leaving the Kaminoan facility I cannot agree to prolonging this mission. Hammer and Arrow squadrons have lost almost one-quarter of their pilots each and Gold Squadron isn’t far behind.
“It’s time to return home.”
Ahsoka, standing far to one side and forgotten, sucked in a sharp breath. She could feel Master Windu’s coldness in the Force, and his ruthless self-mastery as he controlled it. More than anything she wanted to shout Stop it! The enemy’s out there, not here in Battle Ops. But she couldn’t say a word. She was a Padawan, a nobody, compared with these men.
If Skyguy was here he’d say something. He’d speak up.
And the problem was, she was pretty sure what he’d say. Admiral Yularen’s right. I don’t want anyone dying for me. And if she heard him say that, well, then she’d be the one arguing.
I’m with Master Windu. We can’t leave them behind.
Then came a great shudder in the Force as Master Windu released all emotion. “Admiral, help is coming. We only need a little longer. If we play felinx-and-rodus with Grievous, if we abandon this position and instead spread out the battle group, give him four scattered targets instead of—”
“No,” said the admiral. “Master Windu, I’m sorry, but I ask you not to do that. For the sake of your crew, for the sake of—”
“Admiral?” It was Lieutenant Avrey, on comm. “I have a Priority Alpha signal coming through from the Jedi Temple. It’s Master Yoda. He’s asking for you.”
Admiral Yularen hit the comm switch. “Patch it through, Lieutenant.”
Master Yoda wanted the admiral? Ahsoka, caught staring, felt herself blush as Master Windu fixed her with a cold look.
“Well, Padawan? What do you think?”
She lifted her chin. “Master, I think we don’t leave them behind unless we have to. And I don’t think we have to. Not yet.”
His nodded, his eyes suddenly warm. “Good answer.”
And then Master Yoda’s voice, slightly distorted by distance, came through the comm. “Agreement we have reached with an auxiliary civilian fleet, Admiral. On its way to you now it is. Agreed to accept your temporary authority, the ship’s captains have. Remain at Lanteeb, can you, until arrive they do?”
Admiral Yularen clasped his hands behind his back. “Master Yoda, our position is precarious. We’ve already sustained significant casualties. Grievous is holding fire for the moment, but that could change and we do not have the means to overcome him.”
“Have it you will soon, Admiral.”
“How soon, Master Yoda?”
“Within hours.”
“Master Yoda—what is the Supreme Chancellor’s position on this?”
“Asked us, has Supreme Chancellor Palpatine, to rescue the trapped Jed
i.”
A long silence. Then Yularen nodded. “Very well, Master Yoda. We’ll wait until this… fleet… arrives.”
“My thanks you have, Admiral. Good hunting.”
Master Windu turned. “Padawan Tano—go belowdecks. Inform the Five Hundred First that they’ll be seeing action in the next few hours. Once the skies are clear, ground troops will be going in.”
“Yes, Master Windu,” she said, and came close to running out of the room.
The minute Rex saw her face, he held up a fist and silenced the entire mess, where everyone from the 501st, ground troops and pilots alike, were gathered to remember the dead and wait for action.
The weight of the clones’ stares was a fearsome thing.
“We’re going in,” she said to the room at large. “As soon as our reinforcements arrive we’re going to smash through that blockade to save Master Skywalker and Master Kenobi—and Master Damsin, too.”
The 501st let out a cheer. In the noisy aftermath, Rex came to stand with her. “You all right, little’un?”
It wasn’t until he asked her that she realized how not right she was. Stuck up here, above Lanteeb, away from Anakin, knowing how much trouble he was in, catching only fleeting snatches of him in the Force, not being able to fight by his side. Dreading that with every minute they’d get word of his death… or even worse, that she’d feel it.
“I’m fine,” she told Rex, daring him to contradict her. “Just looking forward to getting my boots on the ground, y’know?”
His eyes told her he could see the truth, but he smiled. “I know, Ahsoka. Never mind. It won’t be long. And then we’ll be downstairs kicking some tinnie clanker butt—and dragging our favorite Jedi to safety by the scruff of his neck.”
She grinned. “I’ll tell him you said that, Rex.”
“Little’un,” he retorted. “I’m counting on it.”
* * *
“TEEBA, I don’t think you should be doing this,” said Sufi. “I don’t think Teeb Kenobi would approve.”
Feeling the sluggish flow of her blood, Taria unfolded from her stretch. “Sufi, I know he wouldn’t. So isn’t it a good thing I don’t answer to him?”
“He’ll be cross,” said the little girl, Greti, whose startling presence in the Force shouted to be noticed. “Prickly he is, when he’s cross.”
Prickly. Taria grinned. “He can prickle at me all he likes. Won’t make a blind bit of difference.”
Teeba Sufi and the child exchanged looks.
“Truly,” she added, and slipped the activated comlink into her bodysuit’s thigh pocket. “There’s no need to fret. I’ve known Obi-Wan my whole life, almost. If he’s cross with me, well, it won’t be the first time.”
Greti looked ready to argue. Then she changed her mind, and instead turned suddenly shy. “Teeba…”
Taria dropped to a crouch before her. “Yes, Greti?”
“Your hair,” said the girl. “It’s—pretty, it is.”
Xenophobic, Senator Organa had called the people of Lanteeb. Rigidly prejudiced against anyone different.
“I expect it takes a little getting used to, doesn’t it?” Taria said softly, and with a glance included Teeba Sufi. “I don’t suppose you’ve ever seen hair this color before.”
Teeba Sufi’s face was stiff. “No.”
“It’s just hair. Underneath it, I’m the same as you.”
“No, you’re not,” said Greti, shaking her head. “Underneath it, you’re a Jedi.”
There was a deep, aching regret in the child’s voice. Looking at her, Taria realized Greti understood she was trapped here. For a moment she was furious with Obi-Wan, for waking the girl’s potential when he knew he’d have to leave her behind. And then she sighed.
He did what he had to. I can’t blame him for that.
Standing, she looked at Sufi. “I have to go. Stay inside. No matter what you hear—don’t leave this sick house. Not unless there’s an order.”
Sufi reached for the child and pulled her close. “We won’t.”
“What about Bohle?” Greti protested.
“Her mam,” said Sufi. “I’ll send for her, Greti. Let the Teeba be about her business now.”
With a smile and a touch to Greti’s cheek, Taria left them. Outside, the square was alive with some thirty of the healthiest villagers learning the rudiments of blaster firing and how to throw what looked like homemade grenades. Their courage was admirable… and heartbreaking. They didn’t stand a chance against that horde of droids on the other side of the shield. She watched for a while as Obi-Wan and Anakin moved from group to group, trying to impart years of training and months of frontline experience in minutes. A fool’s errand, some would call it—but what else could they do? Tell everyone to sit on the ground and wait for the droids to break through the shield and kill them like nerfs?
No. And neither can I.
Seeing her approach, Obi-Wan broke off his demonstration and walked to meet her. “Taria—”
She raised an eyebrow at him. “You’re surprised? Really?”
“No,” he said, and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“I see you’ve been busy making bombs.”
“Among other things,” he said wearily. “We’re as armed as we can be.”
“But not as trained. Where do you want me?”
Heroically, he restrained himself. “Over there,” he said, pointing. “That group’s still waiting for basic blaster instruction.”
“Excellent,” she said, and got to work.
An hour later, they stopped to rest. After answering a spate of last-minute questions Taria left the villagers to pester Obi-Wan. Refusing to admit her pain and fatigue, she joined Anakin in the middle of the road leading out of Torbel, where he stood contemplating the droid army. The shield buzzed and flickered with every blaster-bolt impact.
“Here,” said Anakin, handing her his quarter-filled cup of water. “And don’t argue.”
Amused, grateful, she sipped and stared at the droids. “Have they stopped firing at all yet, today?”
“Only to reload,” he said, morose. He’d seen her comforting Obi-Wan at the shield, the night she arrived. For some reason their closeness had angered him, and that had distressed Obi-Wan. She had no intention of causing strife between them.
“Anakin, I need to ask you a favor.”
He glanced at her. “What?”
“Promise me you’ll always have Obi-Wan’s back. And be there for him, when I die.”
After a long silence, he nodded. “All right.”
She swallowed the last mouthful of water. “He’d die for you. You do know that?”
Another nod. “I know.”
His tone was faintly hostile, as though she’d broken some unspoken rule. And maybe she had. She smiled. “Just checking.”
When she didn’t say anything else, he raised an eyebrow. “What—you’re not going to ask if I’d die for him?”
And that made her laugh. “Just how stupid do you think I am?”
He was still trying to decide exactly what she meant by that when Obi-Wan joined them, and nodded at the ranks of droids beyond the shield.
“Have you noticed what’s skulking at the back of the line?”
“Of course,” said Anakin. “Super battle droids.”
“The Seps must have emptied the city of droids by now,” said Obi-Wan. “It’s only a matter of time before they ramp up their bombardment. Anakin—are we ready for it?”
Anakin shrugged. “As ready as we’ll ever be. I can’t make the shield any stronger, not without overloading the generators or the power plant.”
“And you’re sure we can’t spare any more liquid damotite? We could use some extra grenades.”
From the look on Anakin’s face, it wasn’t the first time Obi-Wan had asked the question. “Not if you want to keep the shield running, no.”
“Liquid damotite?” said Taria, surprised. “That’s your fuel source? Isn’t it a bit—”
“Volatile?” Anakin managed a tight smile. “Yes. Good, isn’t it? If the shields fail we should be able to reduce quite a few droids to scrap metal with our homemade grenades.”
He was trying to make light of the notion, but it frightened him, she could tell. As well it should. The homemade grenades were jars and bottles and tins filled with fuel, the detonators a strip of cloth soaked in lamp oil. As bombs went, they were simple, brutal and most likely ineffective. The risk to the villagers was enormous.
But this is war, and in war there is no safe.
She looked at Obi-Wan. “Well, perhaps there’s something else we can—”
And then her comlink sounded. Retrieving it from her bodysuit pocket, she thumbed it to transmit.
“Damsin.”
“This is Mace Windu. We’ve got reinforcements and we’re engaging Grievous full-strength, attempting to breach the blockade and get ground troops to your location. We should—”
A high-pitched, electronic squeal drowned his voice—and then the comlink went dead.
“Ah,” said Obi-Wan. “I think Grievous has worked out how to jam our comms again. How inconsiderate.”
“Yeah, that’s probably why I don’t like him,” said Anakin. “He’s got no manners.”
Watching them smile at each other, Taria felt their kinship and the complicated love. They were such an odd pairing on the face of it: Obi-Wan so self-contained, Anakin so reckless. But they’d found their balance, and now they were two halves of a whole. Anakin had been the making of Obi-Wan… and Obi-Wan had shown Anakin what it meant to be a good man.
I’m glad, I’m so glad, that I got to see it.
“Obi-Wan! Obi-Wan!”
Turning, Taria saw a scarred, middle-aged man hurrying down the road toward them.
“Rikkard,” said Obi-Wan, under his breath. “He’s the head miner and village speaker.”
“Obi-Wan,” said Rikkard, reaching them. Out of breath, close to limping, sweat slicked his stubbled face. “Folk want to know what to do next. I thought maybe the strongest men could start blocking the streets with groundcars, like you suggested.”
