by Karen Miller
“Not if I can help it, believe me.”
“And can you?” said Organa. “Help it, I mean.”
It was a fair question, and deserved a fair answer. “What attacked me on the ship has fallen silent. This isn’t so bad as that. It’s… not pleasant, but I can deal with it.” I hope.
“Well, with luck you won’t have to deal with it for long,” said Organa, pulling mini electrobinoculars from his pocket. “Look.” He gestured, then held them out. “Back there.”
Obi-Wan found his feet, awkwardly, bereft of his customary Jedi ease. Then he took the binocs and stared behind them, across open rock and shadowed forest to another, distant plateau. Through the screening of trees he caught a hint of weak sunlight reflecting off a flat black surface. A shape that was not natural, but had been crafted by design.
He lowered the binocs. “The Sith temple?”
Organa nodded. “I think so. When the ship was going down I thought I saw something. Thought I’d imagined it. But I didn’t.” His voice caught. “Not everything Alinta told us was a lie.” Where there had been fear, now there was a thread of hope. “We could find another ship there, Obi-Wan. Or communications equipment. We could still get out of this. You just have to hold on.”
Hold on? Hold on to what? The light side was his bedrock, and his bedrock had crumbled. He felt the dark side’s triumph. Felt its gluttony. Its glee. With a wrenching effort he reestablished self-control.
No. I will not feed my fears. Let the dark side starve without me.
“There’s enough bottled water,” said Organa. “And most of the mealpacks survived the crash. We can reach the temple on foot. It won’t be easy but we have to try. We can’t stay here and just give up. If we’re going to die, Obi-Wan, at least we can die doing something.”
The Senator sounded like Qui-Gon. It should have been comforting… but it only made him sad. He handed back the electrobinoculars.
“I agree we must do something, but I’m not sure your plan is the best idea. If that structure is a Sith temple, it’s almost certain that the cause—the source—of what’s attacking me is in there.”
Organa shoved the binocs back in his pocket and folded his arms. “All the more reason to go, then. We find what that is—a holocron, did you call it? We destroy it, and you’ll be fine. And after that, we find a way home.”
The Senator didn’t understand. How could he? A life in politics could not prepare Bail Organa for this. “I fear it won’t be quite so straightforward. The closer we get to the temple, the more severely I’m likely to be affected. Which means the more you could be in danger. The Sith are ruthless in their use of dark power, Bail.”
“I understand that,” Organa said calmly. “And I agree, it’s a risk. But you’ve already proven you can beat them. I believe you can beat them again.”
Obi-Wan stared, puzzled. “What are you talking about?”
“You don’t remember? On the ship, before we crashed.”
“No. It’s all a blur.”
“Whatever hold the Sith had on you? You broke it. Just before we hit the ground. It nearly killed you, but you broke it. You pulled us out of our nose dive and you—did something with the Force. I don’t know what, but it’s the reason we’re not in the same shape as the ship.” Organa shook his head, rueful. “Why do you think I can’t stay mad at you?”
He pulled a face. “I thought it was my boyish charm.”
“Ah—no.”
Turning, he stared again at the hinted Sith structure. Assessed the distance between the plateau it stood on and where they stood now. “That’s easily three days’ travel, you know. Sunup to sundown over unknown terrain. At the mercy of the elements.” If he was himself he wouldn’t blink at it. But he wasn’t himself. And Organa deserved to know that. “I might become a liability to you.”
“I think you underestimate yourself, Obi-Wan.”
He felt a flash of temper. Felt the dark side’s delight, and stamped out his annoyance before it caught fire in his blood. “And you underestimate the power of the Sith. Any man who does that, does so at his peril.”
“I don’t deny it’ll be a challenge,” said Organa. “I’m banged up, and you’re… under siege. But I know what I’m capable of. And what you’re capable of, too. Padmé was right when she told me to trust you.”
He managed a small smile. “Why, Senator, are you by any chance attempting politics on me?”
“That depends. Is it working?”
He tipped back his head and stared at the fading sky. This is a desperate plan. It’s also our only plan. And he’s right about one thing: we must do something. We can’t just sit here waiting to die.
“It would appear we’re beginning to lose the light,” he said. “I suggest we retire, replenish our energy reserves with food and rest… and set off at dawn.”
“So,” said Organa. “That would be yes.”
“Hmmm,” he said, his best Yoda-impersonation, then swung around to return to the ship.
The sight of it struck him to a standstill. Just a bargain-model Corellian Starfarer. Nothing fancy. No luxury about it. A sturdy starship beast of burden that had kept them safe as they crossed the airless void. And now it was a twisted pile of scrap metal. A dead ship, beached on Zigoola like a Roonish ice-whale on a glacier.
For once, just once, he understood how Anakin felt.
I hope you’re all right, my friend, wherever you are. I hope you find your silly little droid.
After sharing a mealpack and drinking five capfuls of water each, they crawled into their twisted, tilted bunks and tried to sleep as daylight slowly drained into night. But sleep was elusive, for so many reasons.
“I’ve been thinking,” said Organa, breaking the brooding silence.
Obi-Wan sighed. “In my experience, no conversation that starts with those three words ever ends well.”
“Ha. I’ve been thinking about something Padmé said. About the Sith. In her apartment. She said: They’re behind this war with the Separatists.”
He knew what was coming. Bail Organa was too intelligent for anyone’s good. “Don’t,” he said, staring into the darkness. “What does it matter now?”
“Count Dooku’s one of the Sith, isn’t he?” said Organa, relentless. “I just realized it. He has to be. He’s the Separatists’ leader.”
I knew it. “No.”
“Sorry. I don’t believe you.”
“Senator—Bail—” He sighed again. “You’re wasting time that would be better spent sleeping. I will not confirm or deny any name you suggest.”
“I know,” said Organa, after a moment. “You’re answerable to the Jedi Council. But I give you fair warning, once we get home I’ll be taking this up with them.”
Good luck. “You must do what you feel is right, of course.”
A shifting creak of metal as Organa turned in his bunk. “Just—tell me this, Obi-Wan. If you know who they are, and where they are, why haven’t you taken them?”
He smiled. Deep in his mind the dark whispered its desire. In his slow blood, it festered and burned. “If it were that simple, Bail, don’t you think we would have? We are doing our best to apprehend them.”
“I know. But—do better. Please? They have to be caught. Justice must be done.”
Justice? “Are you saying we should put the Sith on trial?”
“I don’t know,” said Organa. Now he sounded uncertain. “I never thought about it. Before now I never had to. But—yes. There should be a trial. The Republic is founded upon principles of law. If the Sith are in violation of those principles, they must answer for it. Publicly.”
He doesn’t understand. It’s not his fault, but still. “No Sith can be tried in a court of law, Bail. For one thing they’d never recognize its authority. And for another, you’d never get them there.”
“So what’s your solution? Kill them out of hand?”
“It’s the only solution. The Sith are irredeemably evil.”
“What? There’s n
o such thing as irredeemable,” said Organa. He sounded almost… shocked. “Every sentient being is capable of change.”
It was hard not to be impatient with his naïveté. “I know you believe that, but where the Sith are concerned you could not be more mistaken. You must realize: they do not want to change. They live for death and domination. Every dark emotion feeds them: fear, anger, jealousy, hate. The things we find abhorrent are meat and drink to them. After what’s happened, I would have thought you’d at least begin to comprehend that.”
“Obi-Wan…” Now Organa sounded deeply troubled. “You’re talking about murder.”
The accusation was unfair. To his surprise, it rankled. “Really? And was it murder on Geonosis, when I killed the acklay that was trying to kill me?”
“The acklay was an animal,” Organa protested. “A brute beast. It knew no better!”
“Believe me, Bail,” he said quietly. “A Sith is just another brute beast. Those who turn to the dark side are lost. They think they control it, but they’re tragically mistaken. The dark side of the Force controls and consumes them, consumes all trace of goodness and light. Whatever—whoever—they were, is utterly destroyed. You must accept this hard truth: if we don’t put the Sith down when we have the chance, then trust me. Trust me. We will live to regret it.”
“You may be right,” Organa said at last, reluctantly. “But you’ll forgive me if I prefer to hope that you’re wrong.”
And so did he hope… but instinct told him that in this instance, hope was misplaced.
Organa slid into sleep after that. The silence and the darkness deepened, broken only by his steady breathing. Obi-Wan, envying him, lay wide awake, knowing he needed rest yet fearing what the dark side would send him if he slept. In the end exhaustion defeated fear—and fear proved well founded. With his mental defenses lowered, the dark side launched a fresh attack. Plundered his memories and plagued him with dreams. Grimly, doggedly, he endured the onslaught.
His war with the Sith had truly begun.
Chapter Eighteen
“Master Yoda,” said Anakin, via hologram. “I regret to inform you, and the Jedi Council, that during the Bothawui engagement with Grievous I lost my Artoo unit. And that, despite an extensive and exhaustive search, I have been unable to locate him. Therefore I must declare Artoo-Detoo officially lost in action.”
Yoda exchanged a look with Mace Windu, then tapped a bent forefinger against his lips. Even through a hologram, Anakin’s angry chagrin was evident. There seemed little point in a severe scolding; he doubted either he or Mace could be more unforgiving of Anakin than Anakin was of himself.
“Unfortunate this news is, young Skywalker. A valuable asset your droid was.”
Anakin’s shoulders tensed. “Yes, Master Yoda. I know that. I am deeply sorry I’ve failed to find him.”
Mace leaned forward into holotransmitter range. “Anakin, what’s done is done,” he said briskly. He had little patience for excessive self-recriminations. “You’ll be assigned a new droid as soon as possible. In the meantime we have a war to conduct.”
“Yes, Master Windu. Do you have a new assignment for me?”
“Nothing on the front lines. This recruitment party Dooku’s been holding on Chanosant means he’s eased back on the obvious aggression. At least for the moment.”
“Dooku’s put Grievous on a leash? Master Windu, that’s hard to believe. Especially—especially after him taking out the Falleen battle group.”
Mace permitted himself a small, grim smile. “He took out the Falleen group, and then lost Bothawui to you. I’d say there are some tactical readjustments going on behind the scenes. In the meantime the current front is a public relations battle between Dooku and Palpatine. They’re fighting it out on the HoloNet news service.”
“My money’s on the Supreme Chancellor,” said Anakin, swiftly amused. “Master, Dooku can’t actually believe this—this redroot-and-stick approach is going to work, can he? Not when he’s got droid detachments occupying Lanos?”
“Not occupying. Liberating,” said Mace, dust-dry. “From its crushing servitude to the corrupt and decayed Republic. Or haven’t you been paying attention to the HoloNet?”
“No, Master. The HoloNet puts me in a bad mood, and I know how much you and Master Yoda disapprove of Jedi in bad moods.”
Yoda felt his lips twitch, and exchanged another glance with Mace. Stepping forward, he said, “Pleasing it is to know, young Skywalker, that remembered your Temple lessons are.”
“Always, Master Yoda,” said Anakin, with a slight bow. “Masters, if I’m not heading back to the front lines, may I ask what it is you want of me now?”
“We’ve received your final report on the new cruisers’ battle performance,” said Mace. “And I’ll admit, I’m surprised. If I recall correctly, Anakin, your previous comments were glowing.”
“Yes, they were, Master Windu. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean my report to be critical, exactly,” said Anakin. He was cautious now. A little on the defensive. “The cruisers are fine. It’s just—you see—look, the truth is, I think they could be better.”
Frowning, Yoda started pacing the edge of the Council circle. What was this now?
“Better?” Mace said, steepling his fingers. Letting his voice chill. “It’s your considered opinion that you, Anakin Skywalker, can improve upon the work of a highly qualified and experienced team of professional shipwrights? A team whose members’ combined experience in the design of heavy cruisers totals, I believe, some eighty-four years?”
Anakin’s hologram nodded. “Yes, Master Windu. That is my considered opinion.”
Mace sat back out of holotransmitter range. “Call me crazy,” he murmured, “but it’s precisely because he makes claims like this that I’m inclined to believe him. No Jedi would say such a thing if it wasn’t true.”
Halting beyond the holotransmitter, Yoda planted his gimer stick before him and rested his chin on his hands. “An affinity with machines has young Skywalker always possessed. And while prideful he can be, dishonest he is not.”
Mace leaned forward again. “Anakin, take the battle group back to the Allanteen Six shipyards for maintenance, repairs, and upgrades. Consult with the experts there, and give them your findings. At this stage I don’t know how long you’ll have. You could receive a new assignment at any moment. If you do, and the Resolute’s not available, you’ll be given another ship. Probably the Twilight again. Any questions?”
“No, Master Windu,” said Anakin. “Thank you.” Then he hesitated. “At least, no questions about that. But… may I ask whether Master Kenobi has returned from his mission?”
Interesting. Yoda stepped to the holotransmitter. “Returned he has not, young Skywalker. Why do you ask?”
Anakin’s hologram flickered, but not even a degraded holosignal could mask his worried expression. “I don’t know what to tell you, Master Yoda. I have a bad feeling.”
“Concerned for Obi-Wan you need not be, Anakin,” he said, very careful this time not to look at Mace. “Word from him we received a short time ago. Continuing his investigation he is.”
“Investigation into what, Master? Can you tell me?”
“No,” said Mace flatly. “Anakin, you have your orders. Follow them without delay.”
“Yes, Master Windu,” said Anakin after a moment.
“You did good work at Bothawui,” Mace added, more gently. “The Council’s pleased with you, Anakin. And with your apprentice. Keep it up. A few more victories like that, and perhaps we can begin to hope this war will end soon.”
“Yes, Master Windu.”
Anakin’s hologram bowed, and then his image flicked off.
Yoda shook his head, sighing. “A bad feeling he has. Like that, I do not.”
“Which is more worrying?” said Mace, fingers drumming his knee. “The fact that he confirms your concerns… or that at his age, with his still-limited experience, he can sense something’s wrong when thousands of light-years separate
him and Obi-Wan?”
It was a good question. Yoda considered his answer, acutely aware of the disquiet simmering in the back of his mind. A bad feeling, yes. About those I know. “Powerful the Chosen One must be, if he is to bring balance to the Force.”
“I’m aware of that,” said Mace. “But there’s so much power there, Yoda. And he’s still so young.”
“Which is why guide him we must,” said Yoda. “Though resent it he does.”
“Yes,” Mace said, and then leaned forward, his own unease simmering to the surface. “Yoda, what are we going to do about Obi-Wan?”
Sighing, he restarted his wandering around the Council Chamber, the tap-tap-tapping of his gimer stick a counterpoint to his thoughts. The Chamber’s polished wooden floor glowed warm and comforting in the transparisteel-filtered light. Beyond the panoramic windows the sky was wreathed in a pink-and-gold sunset. One by one the airspeeders and shuttles and maxitaxis and gondolas were switching on their running lights, gaudy as firedrakes and tamarizi beetles.
“We will wait, Master Windu,” he said at length. “For his transponder signal we will continue to scan. And hope, we will, that the Force is with him.”
“Waiting,” said Mace, and grimaced. “Not my favorite occupation.”
“Know that I do,” said Yoda, teasingly grave. “Patience did I never manage to teach you.”
“You taught me enough,” said Mace. “You taught me everything important. Yoda…” He slid out of his chair to the floor and braced an arm on one raised knee. “I’ll take care of everything out here. The Council, Palpatine—whatever comes up. You should do nothing but listen for Obi-Wan. You’re the best we have at navigating the Force. If he’s gone beyond Munto Codru—if he’s in trouble… if he needs us, and can’t reach us any other way—you’re the only one who’ll hear him.”
Troubled, Yoda halted again. He wanted nothing more than to lock himself into his meditation chamber, but… “Much work that will make for you, Mace Windu. And greatly burdened you are already.”
“I don’t care about that! Yoda, how many times have you said it? Obi-Wan has a destiny as important as Anakin’s. If something happens to him—if we should lose him—”
