Clone Wars Gambit: Stealth

by Karen Miller

  Another tap, this time against the sole of his leather-shod foot. Anakin was ready.

  He started crawling again, once more ignoring the hot, quivering protests of strained muscle and sinew. Refusing to acknowledge his dry mouth and throat, the headache behind his eyes, the voracious rumbling in his gut. The Force would sustain him a little while yet.

  They reached another supply room, this one full of blasters and sonic grenades. A veritable arms cache. Wonderful. He started moving past it, but stopped when Anakin grabbed his ankle. He felt a tremor in the Force, a buildup of energy. Abruptly realized what Anakin was about to do and awkwardly snatched his ankle free.

  Turning his head as far as he could, not quite able to catch sight of Anakin’s face, he hissed a warning between his teeth. “No. Don’t.”

  Anakin’s frustration was palpable. “Why not?” he hissed back. “If we—”

  Oh, Anakin. Still so reckless, so unwilling to look before the leap. “Shh!” He wriggled until his neck was jammed almost to the breaking point. Until he could see Anakin’s furious glare. “No.”

  “But—”

  Somehow he managed to shake his head. If Anakin fused every weapon in that supply room and the sabotage was discovered before they’d achieved their objectives, they’d likely never escape the compound—let alone the planet. The missing comlinks and schematic could be put down to carelessness. Their tampering with the droid could be attributed to sloppy maintenance. But an entire cache of ruined blasters and grenades? They might as well leave a calling card.

  He didn’t dare risk further argument. Instead poured his will into the look he gave his former student. Shamelessly played upon their earlier relationship, on the inviolate authority he’d once held over a small boy.

  The old Master-Padawan bond held. Just. But the look in Anakin’s eyes said this conversation wasn’t over yet. And that was fine. That he could live with. But neither of them could live with inconvenient discovery.

  He smiled and nodded, wanting Anakin to know he wasn’t being taken for granted. Anakin didn’t smile back, but his taut expression eased.

  Crisis averted, they kept on crawling.

  Beside the weapons cache was a laboratory. Lots of unused equipment, but no people. Next door to it another unoccupied lab. They passed over a corridor, also empty. Passed some kind of office containing a desk and chairs and a wall of storage cabinets. Next came another corridor—but this one wasn’t empty. This one was being patrolled by battle droids.

  “Roger, roger,” the lead droid said into a comlink. “Northeast sector secure.” A faint buzzing as someone or something on the other end of the link spoke. “Laboratory secure. Doctor Fhernan is still working. Second level secure.” More buzzing. “Patrol perimeter. Roger, roger.”

  The battle droids moved on.

  “Obi-Wan,” hissed Anakin. “The bioweapon.”

  Yes. Time to climb to the second floor and find the lab where it was being created, apparently by this Dr. Fhernan—who must be the woman sending those tremors of distress through the Force. But if she was resident in this Separatist compound, working with Lok Durd, why would she be distressed?

  Something’s not right here.

  They kept on crawling until they ran out of vent again. Ending at a wall, it instead became a chute leading to the sprawling building’s top floor. Unfortunately its manufacturer had neglected to include a ladder, or any hand- or footholds. So inconsiderate. Rolled awkwardly onto his side, Obi-Wan squinted upward. They didn’t dare risk a Force jump. There wasn’t enough light to see what they’d be jumping into, or enough room to execute such a maneuver cleanly. If they tried, it was likely they’d make enough racket to end their mission on the spot.

  This is going to be interesting. Time for a little inventive teamwork, I think.

  Trusting that Anakin would follow his intentions, he kneed and elbowed and struggled his way upright in the chute, striving not to make even the tiniest untoward sound. It was excruciating. His joints burned in protest. His taxed muscles shrieked. Shift and stop. Shuffle around and stop. So slow, so slow, he was taking too long.

  Again, he felt Anakin’s fingers tap his ankle. Not a warning or a complaint this time, but a gesture of encouragement.

  Heartened, he completed his arduous contortions. Took a moment to mop his sweaty forehead on his sleeve, then looked down. Anakin was wriggling his way to the bottom of the open chute. Once he was in place he looked up and nodded. Nothing but determined endurance in his face. With a swift, quirky smile he finagled his hands over his head, laying them flat, palms-up, on the vent’s floor.

  Obi-Wan indulged in his own swift smile. Yes. They were indeed working in sync. And he realized then how much he’d missed this. Had missed Anakin and the way they could read each other without the need for clumsy words. They were a better team than even he and Qui-Gon had been. And while he understood completely the need for them to unravel their partnership—not only because of the war, but also because Anakin was a Jedi Knight now, with his own responsibilities, still… he felt sharp regret.

  Working without Anakin was like working half blind.

  Anakin snapped his fingers. Hey, are you ready? Nodding, he stepped onto his friend’s hands. Centered himself within the Force, even as he felt Anakin gather its purpose for his own use. He tipped back his head. Focused his will and intent on the unseen lip of the chute, high above. Extended his arms, fingers lightly linked, like a diver—and leapt. And as he drove himself upward, drawing on the Force to propel him, he felt Anakin’s answering explosion of will adding power to his power. Strength to his strength.

  The walls of the chute flew past in a blur.

  He reached the top easily, his fingers catching its lip, and used the Force as a brake to halt his momentum. His head swam dizzily and he nearly slammed into the chute’s side—but managed to stop himself just in time. For a moment he hung there, like a carcass in a meat locker, then—once more drawing on the Force, and feeling the strain of that—heaved himself up and over the edge of the chute and into the next long stretch of vent.

  Am I getting too old for this? I think I am.

  More judicious wriggling saw him lying prone along the vent’s floor, his chin level with the edge of the chute. Staring down to its base, squinting in the dim light, he was just able to see Anakin. Could sense him, of course, full of fire and resolution. He closed his eyes. Sometimes, especially when he was tired, like now, it was easier to focus without visual distractions. Reaching deep within, dredging himself for the last of his resources, he extended his arms into the chute, fingers spread and waiting. Felt Anakin gather himself, his arms upstretched. And then a surge of push, a surge of pull, as together they harnessed the power of the Force.

  Anakin leapt.

  They caught each other wrist-to-wrist, acrobats in a crazy, secret circus. A bleeding edge of light from a nearby ventilation grille showed him a hint of Anakin’s fierce grin as he braced his back and shoulders against one side of the chute and his leather-shod feet against the other so he was held fast, like a cork in a bottle.

  Nodding his approval and appreciation, Obi-Wan wriggled backward, clearing the top of the chute, and waited for Anakin to negotiate the rest of the way. He did it easily. Folded himself into the next stretch of vent, breathing only a little bit harder than usual.

  Ah, youth. I remember it well.

  Anakin looked past him along the vent. “She’s down that way,” he whispered. “Can you feel her?”

  Darkness and sorrow and revulsion and fear. “I can,” he whispered back. “If I might make a suggestion, Master Skywalker?”

  “By all means, Master Kenobi.”

  “I suggest we eavesdrop awhile before we crash this Doctor Fhernan’s party.”

  “Sure,” Anakin agreed, sweat trickling down his face. He blotted himself dry on his sleeve. “That makes sense. We need to know what we’re getting into.” And then he pulled a face, the edge of his temper not quite dulled. “And since the
re’s a better than even chance we’re getting into trouble—I hope we don’t end up regretting not wrecking those weapons.”

  It would be too easy to start an argument, and this was hardly the time or the place. So he shrugged and met Anakin’s steady look calmly. “As do I. Now let’s go.”

  They started crawling again.

  This close to her location, the woman’s—Dr. Fhernan’s—emotional turmoil was much stronger. Obi-Wan felt it clouding the Force, muddying his own emotions. It was the last thing he wanted, or needed. But in order to find their quarry he had to embrace her pain, not resist or reject it. Behind him he heard Anakin’s breathing harshen as he, too, suffered along with the suffering woman they were trying to find.

  In contrast with the ground floor, the rooms on this upper floor of the building were unlit. The darkness slowed their already slow progress but they had no choice; a headfirst tumble down an unexpected chute would be a disaster.

  Cautiously they crawled to the end of the vent and negotiated its U-turn with panting difficulty. Crawled and crawled and turned another corner, following the woman’s siren song of fear and pain and disgust.

  Eventually they came to more light at last, farther along their current stretch of vent. Two rectangles of it, which meant they’d found the largest room yet. The lab? It felt likely. He could feel those pinpoint lives, the laboratory rodents in their cages—trapped, awaiting death. Washing over their life signs were waves of human distress billowing through the Force. Resisting the urge to speed up, Obi-Wan continued his painstaking way on forearms, elbows, knees, and toes. He couldn’t feel another sentient keeping company with the woman, but there still could be battle droids or a roving security cam.

  He reached the first grille and stopped. Anakin stopped behind him as he peered down into the laboratory. His field of vision wasn’t perfect, but at least he could see—her. Yes, there she was, the source of the emotional pain churning through him. Tall and big-boned, with light brown hair cut raggedly close, she was dressed in a white lab coat over dark blue trousers. Her clothes didn’t sit right, as though she’d recently lost weight. She had her back to him, and was hunched over a wide central lab bench strewn with a mini holoprojector and datapads and sheets of flimsi and electrostyluses and a plethora of scientific paraphernalia he couldn’t begin to identify—or comprehend.

  A mélange of odors tainted the cool, recycled air. Face pressed against the vent’s grille, Obi-Wan had no choice but to inhale the unsavory cocktail of chemical and rodent and hope it would have no lingering, deleterious effects.

  Two clear, sealed containers on the lab bench caught his attention. One held a fist-sized chunk of a dark gray substance. He couldn’t be certain from his awkward vantage point but he thought it was some kind of unrefined metal. The other container, larger, held an even bigger chunk of raw damotite, easily recognizable from the image included in Agent Varrak’s briefing notes.

  Even as he identified it, he felt a sickening twist in the Force, every instinct he possessed sizzling with alarm. It confirmed all their suspicions: damotite was definitely at the heart of this darkness. Anakin tapped his ankle—Feel that?—and he nodded, managing a confirming glance over his shoulder.

  Scant meters below them, Dr. Fhernan stepped back from the lab bench, turning, and the long room’s harsh lighting revealed her face. It was broad and angular, her eyes sunken and shadowed, her cheekbones razor-sharp against scarred, sallow skin. She looked deeply unwell. It was precisely the kind of face Obi-Wan had expected to see, given the depths of this woman’s emotional pain. She was staring at something off to the left; he couldn’t see what. The angles were wrong. But as she stared, a fresh wave of misery rose within her. She pressed two fingers to her trembling lips and held her breath until it passed.

  Anakin tapped his ankle again. Let me see, would you? Fair enough. The woman started pacing, and he used the cover of her movement to ease himself along to the next grille so Anakin could see what was going on. Fortunately the unhappy scientist was too preoccupied to notice the soft shuffling sounds coming from overhead.

  Settled once more, staring down at her, Obi-Wan waited.

  Loud in the lab’s silence, an electronic beeping. The woman—Dr. Fhernan—stopped her pacing. Crossed far left, out of his restricted field of vision. He heard the snapping of latex as it stretched over skin. Heard more beeping. Switches clicking on—or off. The doctor muttered something under her breath. Next, a chinking of tempered glass. Equipment being handled. Picked up. Put down. Then a slow, indrawn breath. A violent shudder through the Force. A moment later Dr. Fhernan walked back into view, holding up a slender, sealed test tube before her eyes. What looked like a spoonful of grayish green liquid sloshed inside it.

  “Stang,” she said softly. Mingled with her misery, an unmistakable pride. “Stang, I am good.”

  Obi-Wan felt some of his sympathy die.

  Still holding the test tube she crossed back to the central bench and shoved aside a pile of flimsies, revealing a comlink. Raising it to her lips, she flicked the signal switch. A moment later she was answered. The indistinct voice on the other side of the transmission sounded displeased.

  “Yes, sir. I know. But you need to see this.”

  Call completed, she dropped the comlink into her lab coat pocket then carefully placed the sealed test tube into a secure clamp-and-hold contraption. Swept projector, the datapads, and other materials to the far end of the bench, leaving herself a clear space in which to work.

  Keenly aware of Anakin’s intense concentration, his heightened emotions—for some unexplained reason his composure was rattled—Obi-Wan frowned at the scientist below them. Pride and misery. What did that mean? Was she or was she not a willing participant in this undertaking? He couldn’t tell. And the uncertainty was making his bad feeling worse.

  She’s an enigma, blast it. A rogue factor. As if we needed another challenge tonight.

  As he watched, Dr. Fhernan moved to the lab’s rear wall where the caged rodents were kept. They chittered and scuttled nervously as she approached—and who could blame them? If any of the creatures had been here longer than tonight then they must surely know nothing good could happen to them in this place.

  Poor things.

  The scientist took a small, clear carrier from a shelf above the bank of rodent cages and extracted one of the animals from its prison. With practiced ease she thrust the squeaking, struggling creature inside, latched the cage shut, then returned with it to her bench.

  Obi-Wan risked a look at Anakin, who looked back with his mouth twisted in disgust, pointed at the caged rodent then drew his finger across his throat in an economically eloquent gesture.

  Indeed.

  And then they both tensed. Someone was coming. Lok Durd. No more strange slipperiness about him. Like a slug in a garden, now the Neimoidian left an unambiguous trail.

  Abruptly the cramped vent was full of Anakin’s rage.

  Pinned in place, Obi-Wan tapped softly urgent fingers to its floor. Anakin, no. Don’t do this. Not now. His former apprentice appeared suddenly older. Ruthless and menacing. Not a man any sane being would willingly cross.

  Anakin stared at him, sensing his desperate, unspoken plea. Nodded once, tightly, self-control reasserted, that obliterating flood of anger contained.

  The laboratory door opened and a grossly overweight Neimoidian swaggered in. Dr. Fhernan stopped her pacing and stood to attention.

  “General.”

  “My dear,” said Durd. His voice was oily, his regard intent. “I hope there’s a good reason you’ve disturbed my slumber. For if there isn’t I’m afraid I’ll have to—” And then his gaze fell upon the caged rodent. Shifted to the securely clamped, sealed test tube on the lab bench beside it. His breath caught. “Doctor?”

  She didn’t step back, but it was clear that she wanted to. Every line of her body showed her struggle with being in the same room as Separatist general Lok Durd.

  As for Durd, his oddly-pupil
ed eyes were gleaming. He knew precisely how much this woman feared him and he reveled in it. Delighted cruelty rolled off him in cloying waves and his wide mouth glistened wetly as he breathed in her scent.

  Obi-Wan frowned. First misery. Then pride. Now abject fear curdled through with hope. Defining this scientist was getting harder, not easier.

  “Doctor!” said Durd, his voice a whipcrack. He pointed to the test tube. “Is that what I think it is?”

  Dr. Fhernan cleared her throat. “Yes. After you left me earlier, I combined raw damotite with a distillation of the Minotech rondium. The new mix is stable and ready for testing.”

  “And will it work?”

  “Yes,” she said, and glanced at the mini holoprojector. “I believe so.”

  Durd shrugged. “You’ve believed that before.”

  “And it has worked before,” she said steadily. Hot fear churned beneath her frozen exterior. “Just—not reliably.”

  The Neimoidian began to pace, close to waddling, plump hands clutched across his vast, robed gut. “But it’s reliability we need, my dear. For your sake I do hope you’ve found it this time.”

  “As I said, General—”

  “Yes, but I think you’ll agree actions speak far louder than words,” Durd said briskly. “I suggest you test your new formula, Doctor. I’ll stay and watch. No need to worry. Thanks to the Kaminoans I’ve been inoculated, too, remember?” He smiled, unpleasantly. “There’s no chance you’ll harm me if a wisp of your delightfully lethal concoction escapes containment.”

  What? Alarmed, Obi-Wan looked at Anakin. Their re-breathers were in the Jedi Temple, left behind with the rest of their standard equipment. If by some accident Dr. Fhernan bungled her experiment—

  Oh, this is not good. This is not good at all.

  Anakin shrugged, a gesture of almost amused resignation. Cross your fingers, Obi-Wan, his wry expression said.

  How terribly helpful.

  Having unclamped the sealed test tube, Dr. Fhernan unlatched the rodent’s small cage and dropped it inside. The animal squeaked, startled, and cowered in a corner. The scientist closed the cage’s lid, sealed its air vents, then searched the scattered equipment on the bench until she found a small silver implement, similar to an electrostylus.