Clone Wars Gambit: Stealth

by Karen Miller

  Heedless of his audience, Anakin covered his face with his left hand—his organic hand—just for a moment. Then he let it drop. His eyes were bright. “That’s great news, Ahsoka.”

  “And I managed to dig up something on Lanteeb,” Ahsoka added, clearly very pleased with herself. “Do you want to hear it now? I’m alone. It’s safe to talk.”

  Obi-Wan sat up, frowning. “Anakin?”

  “Hold on, Padawan,” said Anakin, raising a finger at hologram Ahsoka. “I’m sending you dark for a minute.” And he flicked the holoprojector to standby.

  Bail was looking equally displeased, all his warm geniality frozen. “Master Skywalker, I was under the impression you appreciated the sensitivity of this matter. Given that there are Separatist agents spread throughout the Republic, I didn’t want—”

  “Don’t you think of questioning Ahsoka’s loyalty, Senator,” said Anakin. “I trust her with my life.” He turned to Obi-Wan. “And you can’t talk, either. If Dex wasn’t offworld we both know he’d be sniffing out whatever he could find on Lanteeb for you.”

  “That’s true, Bail,” Obi-Wan admitted. “I did try to enlist Dex’s help.”

  Now Bail was staring daggers at Obi-Wan. “What? Obi-Wan, I thought—”

  “Sorry,” said Obi-Wan, his expression rueful. “But like Ahsoka, Dex’s loyalty is beyond question. And he has ways of finding things out that make our Republic Intelligence look like amateur hour. Believe me, it’s a great pity he’s not here.”

  Bail wasn’t much appeased. Leaning sideways, Padmé touched her fingertips to his arm. “Either you trust their judgment or you don’t, Bail. And we know which one it is.”

  “Fine,” said Bail tightly. “We’ll take this Padawan’s loyalty as a given. But what about her competence? She’s practically a child.”

  “A child who saved my life on Kothlis,” said Obi-Wan, gently stern. “And who’s acquitted herself with a maturity far beyond her years on many other occasions. Besides, no Jedi is ever truly a child. Bail, it’s all right.”

  And there it was. Beneath the teasing and the laughter and the spirited debates, beneath the flashes of hot temper when the debates got serious, was the bond that Zigoola had forged between Obi-Wan Kenobi and Bail Organa. Padmé, watching Anakin watch them, saw him stifle surprise and reassess, in a heartbeat, the parameters of this odd friendship.

  Not quite relaxing, Bail nodded. “Fine.”

  With a glance at Anakin, his caf forgotten, Obi-Wan flipped the holoprojector off standby. “Padawan, this is Master Kenobi. What is it you’ve discovered about Lanteeb? And where did you find the information?”

  “Master Kenobi!” Ahsoka’s wavering image snapped to attention. “Ah—well—” She looked over her shoulder. “I found it in the medcenter’s billing records,” she said, her voice lowered.

  “The billing records?” Anakin echoed. “What made you look in there?”

  “Well, Master, I looked everywhere else that I could get into. And then, I don’t know, it occurred to me to look in the financial files. I was just trying to be thorough, like you taught me.”

  Anakin was smiling. “Nice to know you pay attention now and then, Ahsoka. What did you find?”

  “A single reference to Lanteeb. From just over three standard months ago,” said Ahsoka, still nearly whispering. “Two genetically coded antidotes to damotite poisoning, whatever that is. I looked it up in the medical database but I couldn’t find anything. The Kaminoans didn’t make a huge amount of the stuff but it still cost a fortune.”

  “Damotite poisoning?” said Obi-Wan. “Padmé—” He looked over at her. “To your knowledge is damotite toxic? Do your people have to take special precautions when handling it?”

  She shook her head. “No. But the damotite we work with is refined. I suppose it could be toxic in its unrefined state.” She felt her pulse rate pick up. Felt a crawling sensation on the back of her neck. Something nasty’s brewing. “Here’s what I do know, though. If you were looking for protection on a cellular level, your smart first choice would be the Kaminoans. They’re at the forefront of genetic engineering and experimental medicine.”

  “I wonder…?” Bail said thoughtfully. “Is there any way of using those genetic codes to backtrack? If we can identify the antidotes’ recipients, we might be able to find them—or at least use their identities to get some idea of what’s going on.”

  “Possibly,” said Obi-Wan. “It’s a good idea. Ahsoka—”

  “I’m sorry, Master,” said Anakin’s apprentice. “The actual genetic information wasn’t listed on the invoice. I did try to find it but I couldn’t get past the Kaminoan’s security blocks.”

  “Not your fault, Padawan,” said Obi-Wan. “It’s good you thought to try. Who ordered the antidote?”

  “Sorry again, Master. No names were used. Only reference numbers.”

  “What about the delivery address?” said Anakin.

  “No,” Ahsoka said, apologetic. “That part of the invoice was left blank.”

  “Blast,” said Obi-Wan, and tugged at his beard. “I’m beginning to find these dead ends tedious.”

  “Someone’s being very careful,” said Bail, fingers drumming again. “And organized, given that these antidotes were ordered three months ago. I suppose there’s a chance this is all merely coincidence, but—”

  “There’s no such thing as coincidence,” said Anakin. “Just connections we haven’t made yet.”

  Bail considered him for a moment. “That was very… Jedi… of you. But if I could bring us back to a more practical consideration? Has damotite ever been used in any weapons applications?”

  “Not that I know.”

  “Padmé?”

  “Sorry. I don’t know, either. And even with its plasma-refining usage it was never listed as an active combustible or catalyst.”

  Bail groaned. “So what does this mean? We need to do a crash course in damotite?”

  Anakin leaned into the compact holoprojector’s transmission field. “Ahsoka—did you learn anything else?”

  “I’m afraid not, Master. But I could keep looking. Do you want me to ask Nala Shan about this damotite poi—”

  “No!” said Anakin, Obi-Wan, and Bail in an alarmed chorus.

  Ahsoka jumped. “All right. Sorry. I was only wondering,” she said, aggrieved.

  “Not a word to anyone about this, Padawan,” Anakin ordered. “Not even Rex, when he wakes up. Secrecy is paramount. Are you sure nobody can trace where you were poking around the medcenter’s databases?”

  “I’m positive.”

  “Be careful, Padawan,” said Obi-Wan. “This isn’t the time for overconfidence.”

  Hand pressed to her heart, Ahsoka stared earnestly into her own holoprojector. “I promise, Master Kenobi. I’ve always been good with computers.”

  “Well done, Ahsoka,” said Anakin. “Now, how do you feel about staying at the Shoals a few days more?”

  “Of course I’ll stay, Master,” Ahsoka said promptly. “You won’t get me out of here with a proton torpedo. Not without Rex and Coric and as many Torrent Company men as the Kaminoans will let go.”

  He’d been so reluctant to accept the little Togruta as his charge, convinced that he didn’t need, didn’t want, a Padawan. But looking at Anakin’s face, Padmé saw his pride in the child. Saw genuine affection, and relief that he had someone to trust with his men.

  He’s grown. He’s changing—and it’s happening without me. Every time I see him he’s more and more the man I always knew he could be. Would be. And I’m not a part of it.

  That hurt.

  “I’ll be in touch, Ahsoka,” said Anakin, and ended the transmission.

  Obi-Wan stirred. “What made you think to ask Ahsoka to check the Kaminoans’ database?”

  “I don’t know,” said Anakin, his comlink tucked back inside his tunic. “A hunch.”

  That made Bail smile, despite the worry in his eyes. “So you don’t believe in coincidence but you’ll
place your faith in a hunch?”

  “I’ve learned to trust my instincts, yes,” said Anakin, meeting his gaze steadily. “So far they’ve never let me down.”

  “And what are your instincts telling you about your Padawan’s discovery?”

  Anakin grimaced. “That we’re in deep poodoo.”

  A glum silence descended as they sat around the deactivated holoprojector with their gazes lowered, contemplating the baffling situation.

  At last, Padmé looked up. “The only reason someone would need an antidote to a substance that under normal circumstances can be handled safely is if something’s been done to it to make it unsafe.” She frowned. “Damotite poisoning. A possibly deadly medical condition caused by a reaction to a rare mineral found nowhere else but on Lanteeb, which has just been taken over by Separatist forces. A condition that can only be treated by specifically targeted genetic manipulation, that isn’t listed in the database of the most scientifically and medically sophisticated culture we know.” She tapped a finger to her lips. Looked at her companions, these three extraordinary men. “Stang. Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  “A bioweapon,” said Obi-Wan, not even trying to hide his revulsion. “Dooku wants to turn Lanteeb’s damotite into some kind of bioweapon.”

  With Bail Organa’s blessing they took their concerns to Yoda, in private.

  After listening without comment the ancient Jedi lapsed into silence, cross-legged on the meditation pad in his chamber. Small hands fisted on his knees, chin pressed into his chest, his eyes closed, he was sunk so deep within the Force he’d almost vanished.

  With an effort Anakin controlled his impatience. They had to be here. Of course they did. He wanted to be here. Whatever Dooku was up to on Lanteeb, he wanted to finish it. To finish him.

  I just want to be with Padmé more. At least I do tonight.

  A few brief, paltry kisses after so long apart, it wasn’t enough. It was a single sip of water offered to a man dying of thirst. He hungered for her, brutally.

  Kneeling beside him, Obi-Wan stirred.

  Stop it. Stop thinking about her before you ruin everything, you idiot.

  Yoda opened his eyes. “A darkness there is surrounding this planet Lanteeb. Fear, I sense. Great fear and pain. Now and to come. Right you were to bring this to my attention.”

  “Have you any idea what’s going on there, Master?” asked Obi-Wan. “Do you know anything about this mineral damotite and how it might be corrupted into a weapon?”

  “Familiar with damotite I am not,” said Yoda. “Heard of it I have, but in passing only. Certain are you, Master Kenobi, that a weapon is the danger we face?”

  “Not certain, no,” said Obi-Wan. “But we couldn’t come up with a more plausible explanation for why Dooku would have taken control of such a negligible planet. Or why the Kaminoans would manufacture a genetically coded antidote to this mineral.”

  “Hmm.” Yoda stroked his chin. “Given these facts not unreasonable is your conclusion. Already have we seen the Separatists’ eagerness to develop bigger and more deadly tools of destruction. Expect their hunger for slaughter to diminish we should not.”

  “Whatever Dooku’s planning, it’s obviously got the potential to be devastating,” said Anakin. “We have to shut him down fast.”

  “Agreed,” said Yoda, eyes narrowing. “But send a battle group to Lanteeb we cannot. Already precious resources are diverted to Kothlis. Impossible it is to divert more. Not until revealed the truth of Lanteeb is.”

  “Then let us reveal it, Master Yoda,” said Obi-Wan quietly. “Send Anakin and me to investigate. If we’re right and Dooku’s developing some kind of catastrophic weapon, then either we can destroy it in place or, if that’s not possible, you can authorize a full military strike to take back the planet.”

  Yoda hopped off his meditation mat, summoned his gimer stick to his hand, and began pacing, head lowered again.

  “A dangerous mission you propose, Obi-Wan,” he said at last. “And intelligence agents you and young Skywalker are not.” A sharp glance. “Suggest this course of action does Senator Organa?”

  “Not specifically,” said Obi-Wan, with care. “But I doubt he’d have mentioned this to me in the first place if he wasn’t hoping for Jedi assistance.”

  Yoda snorted. “Devious, that is. A politician’s move.”

  As Obi-Wan opened his mouth to argue, Anakin caught his eye. Shook his head, just a little. Let me. He might call you biased. “I don’t think the Senator was being devious, Master. Given his relationship with Obi-Wan, and the potential seriousness of this situation, it’s not surprising he’d reach out to him. Especially since he has no hard proof. Only… a hunch.”

  “Hmmm,” said Yoda, eyes narrowed almost to closing. “Head of Republic Security he is. Access to many agents he has. Use Jedi for this investigation he need not.”

  “Master, I understand your reservations,” said Obi-Wan. “But the Senator can’t use regular agents for this mission. Too much is unknown and uncertain. Our Jedi abilities might be all that can make the difference between success and failure.”

  Yoda stopped his pacing and stared at them, his gaze fiercely intent. “But as Jedi to Lanteeb you could not travel. False identities you would need. Behind enemy lines you would be, Obi-Wan. Spies. More dangerous than facing a droid army that is.”

  Exchanging glances with Obi-Wan, Anakin nodded. “We’re aware of that, Master. And we’re also painfully aware that we’re neither of us trained in subterfuge the way regular Republic Intel agents are. But when it’s something this important? We can play our parts convincingly.”

  Or I can, anyway. I’ve had a lot of practice at subterfuge since I got married.

  “Sure of yourself you are, young Skywalker,” said Yoda, and started pacing again. “But not so sure am I. Thanks to the HoloNet well-known your faces are.”

  “As far out as Lanteeb?” said Obi-Wan, skeptical. “Master Yoda, I doubt it.”

  Yoda rapped his gimer stick to the marble floor. “Separatist territory is Lanteeb now! Known to every Separatist you are. Eager to capture you and Anakin is Dooku. If care for your own safety you will not, care for it I must.”

  What? Anakin felt his temper flare. “Then set us to teaching younglings for the duration of this conflict, Master Yoda. Because that’s the only way you’ll keep us safe.”

  “Anakin…” Obi-Wan murmured, and touched a hand to his arm. “Master, if I thought this could be handled without our involvement, I wouldn’t ask you to send us. But I don’t. And Anakin is right. There is no safe place in a war.”

  Temper still simmering, Anakin glowered at Yoda. “I don’t want special treatment because I’m supposed to be the Jedi’s Chosen One. Anyway, if I do have this great destiny then I’m not going to be killed on Lanteeb, am I?”

  Yoda’s stare chilled. He met it defiantly, daring the old Jedi to deny such an obvious truth. Beside him, Obi-Wan held his disapproving breath.

  “Pleased by this request I am not,” Yoda said at last. “But grant it I will. Arrange your false identities Senator Organa and the Special Operations Brigade can, and a way onto this planet help you devise. If an unregistered ship you require, supply that the Jedi Council will. Secret will be your mission and whereabouts.” He sighed. “Authorized you are to leave when finished are your preparations. Dooku’s weapon, if there is a weapon, you must destroy.”

  Obi-Wan bowed. “We will, Master Yoda.”

  As they headed for the transport that would take them back to the Temple’s public areas, Anakin looked sideways. “So, Master Kenobi, what now?”

  Obi-Wan stifled a yawn. “It’s late. I’ll contact Bail and let him know what we need, then I think I’ll turn in. You should get some rest, too. There’s every chance this mission will prove—hectic.”

  Padmé. “Fine,” he said, working hard to sound casual. “First thing tomorrow we should pick out a suitable ship from the transport pool. Reserve it, just in case someone else nee
ds one like it and we miss out on the perfect disguise.”

  “Yes. All right. Anakin—” Aside from themselves the corridor was empty. Obi-Wan swung around in front of him then stopped, his expression coolly serious. “Look. I know it unsettled you, seeing Padmé tonight. But it’s happened before and it’ll happen again. Like it or not she gets herself involved in things. She’s never going to be a stay-at-home Senator. So it’s up to you to find some way of dealing with your feelings when the two of you cross paths.”

  With an effort Anakin kept himself relaxed. “I am dealing with them.”

  “Yes, well, by dealing with them I don’t mean being rude to Master Yoda.”

  He didn’t need Padmé as an excuse to snipe at Yoda. “I wasn’t rude. I told him what I thought.”

  “Yes, you did,” retorted Obi-Wan. “Rudely!”

  “Obi-Wan—” Exasperated, he half turned away. “It doesn’t bother you when he says we’re not up for the job?”

  “Anakin—” Now it was Obi-Wan reaching for his self-control. “That isn’t what he said. He’s concerned—and he has a point. We aren’t trained spies. We spend our lives walking through the Republic’s front door, not—not sneaking in around the back when nobody’s looking.”

  “Are you having second thoughts?”

  Obi-Wan folded his arms. “No. It’s just—I have a very bad feeling about Lanteeb.”

  “Which is why it’s going to take us to deal with the problem,” Anakin said. And then he sighed. “Look—Obi-Wan—handling tricky situations is what we do. You know that, and so does Master Yoda. So why is he making a fuss about this? And why are you defending him?”

  Instead of answering, Obi-Wan headed again for the transport.

  Anakin stared after him. “Oh—come on. Not you, too?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Obi-Wan muttered.

  Catching up to his friend in the lobby, Anakin slapped a transport call-button. “Yeah. Right. You think I need to be protected because of the prophecy. Don’t you?”

  Obi-Wan glared. “If I thought that, Anakin, would I want you with me on this mission? Would I be happy to see you risking yourself day in and day out on the front lines?”