by Watson, Jude
Copyright © 2003 Lucasfilm Ltd. & ® or TM. All rights reserved.
Cover art by Alicia Buelow and David Mattingly
Published by Disney • Lucasfilm Press, an imprint of Disney Book Group. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher. For information address Disney Press, 1101 Flower Street, Glendale, California 91201.
ISBN 978-1-4847-1979-4
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Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
About the Author
Chapter One
They hadn’t spoken for many hours, not since they’d left the Core. Anakin Skywalker kept his eyes on the dashboard indicators, even though they were traveling in hyperspace and the ship was flying on the navcomputer. His Master, Obi-Wan Kenobi, pored over star charts on a datascreen. Every so often he would raise a chart in magnified holo-mode and walk through it, studying the planets more closely.
Anakin usually admired his Master’s thoroughness, but today he felt irritated by it. Obi-Wan studied things. He made logical conclusions and plotted strategies. What did he know about leaps in intuition, dreams, risks, compulsions, knowing a step could mean disaster but taking it anyway? What did he know, Anakin thought bitterly, about guilt?
A Jedi Master was dead, and Anakin had seen her die. Master Yaddle had hung above him in a night crowded with stars, held by the Force. She had saved a population by absorbing the destructive power of a bomb with her own body. She had become one with the Force. The great light had sent him crashing to his knees. He’d thought he would never be able to get up again. And he’d known that as soon as he could feel again, as soon as he could think, he would feel responsible for her death.
Before that mission he had experienced a vision that had haunted him. The only thing about it that had been clear was that it involved Master Yaddle. During the mission he had thought he understood what the vision meant. Yet he had kept going forward, kept pushing. He had thought he could change fate at any moment. And because he had thought those things, Yaddle had made a great sacrifice—a sacrifice he should have made—and she had died for it.
The Jedi had held a memorial service in the Great Hall of the Temple. Hundreds of Jedi had crowded the hall and the surrounding balconies and levels. The glowlights had been turned out abruptly. Tiny white lights were projected on the ceiling. Then, out of all the thousands of lights, one had gone out. Using the Force to direct them, each Jedi had turned and trained their eyes on that empty space. The memory of Yaddle had pulsed through the room. Anakin had felt the power of every mind and heart focused on one being. The absence of Yaddle grew until it filled the Great Hall.
And it is my fault she is gone.
The blank space had expanded in his mind until it had seemed enormous enough to swallow him. He could not turn away. He could not reveal his emotion to the Jedi who surrounded him. It took all of his discipline, all of his will, to remain with his eyes fixed on the spot. The grief had coiled around his chest like a great serpent, squeezing the air from his lungs.
He couldn’t forgive himself for the mistakes he had made. He didn’t know how to get to a place where he could forgive himself.
He still carried that feeling. He could not find a way to live with grief comfortably, as Obi-Wan could. Anakin remembered the days immediately following Qui-Gon’s death. Anakin knew that Obi-Wan had been deeply affected by his Master’s death, yet Obi-Wan had continued on the same steady path. How could he have felt so much, and yet not be changed?
He doesn’t feel things as I do.
Was that it? Anakin wondered. Did he feel too much to be a Jedi? He hadn’t yet managed to achieve the distance from the Living Force that other Jedi could maintain. How could he learn to shut out his feelings, to close a door against them and keep on going?
Obi-Wan deactivated the maps he was studying and came to stand behind him.
“We are coming up on the Uziel system,” Obi-Wan said. “We might run into Vanqor patrols when we come out of hyperspace.” He leaned forward. The instrument panel cast a green glow on his frown.
“You look worried, Master,” Anakin said.
Obi-Wan straightened. “Not worried. Cautious.” He paused. “Well, maybe worried, too. I think the Council should have sent more than one Jedi team on this mission. It’s a sign of how thin we are stretched.”
Anakin nodded. It was a source of discussion among all the Jedi lately. Requests for peacekeeping missions were increasing, almost too many for the Jedi to handle.
“Our best chance for success is slipping through undetected,” Obi-Wan said. “We’ll have to rely on your talent for evasive flying.”
“I’ll do my best,” Anakin said.
“You always do,” Obi-Wan replied.
His Master’s tone was light, but Anakin knew that he meant a great deal more than he’d said. It was one of several ways that his Master was trying to help him. Obi-Wan knew that Yaddle’s death haunted Anakin. There had been a time, Anakin reflected, when Obi-Wan’s kindness would have made everything better. Now he appreciated it, but it did not make a dent in his own guilt. Obi-Wan wanted to help him, but Anakin did not want his help. Anakin did not know why.
Focus on the mission. It will get you through.
He had been glad when Mace Windu had briefed them on this mission. He had wanted something difficult to lose himself in.
The planet of Typha-Dor had pleaded for the Senate’s help. They were the last holdout in the Uziel system against the aggressive invasions of the largest planet in the system, Vanqor.
An army of resistance fighters from the other planets in the system had found refuge on Typha-Dor and formed a coalition force to protect the last free planet. So far Typha-Dor had managed to hold out against Vanqor’s colonization efforts. Yet they knew invasion was imminent.
One of the successful tools the Typha-Dor forces had used was a surveillance outpost on a remote moon. The outpost had been able to track the secret movements of the Vanqor fleet. Recently Typha-Dor had learned that Vanqor was targeting the surveillance outpost for attack. The outpost was in a remote area of the moon, hidden by heavy cloud cover. The land was packed with snow and ice for months, which also meant that it was almost impossible to get crews in and out.
Reliable information had come to the Typha-Dors that the Vanqors were close to pinpointing the location. It was imperative the news get through to the crew to abandon the post. There hadn’t been word from the crew in several weeks, and the fear was that the comm units were down, or the worst had happened and the post had already been attacked. Anakin and Obi-Wan had been sent to discover what was going on and, if they were still there, to bring the crew back safely.
The ship eased out of hyperspace with barely a shudder. Instantly the surveillance equipment hummed to life.
“Nothing to worry about,” Anakin said, setting his next course.
“Yet,” Obi-Wan muttered.
Anakin plotted a course that would keep him well away from space lanes. They traveled in watchful silence. The Typha-Dor moo
n, so obscure it hadn’t been named, loomed. It was known by its coordinates—TY44. Anakin saw it on the radar and then received a visual sighting. He could not see the moon itself, only the atmosphere around it. The clouds offered no glimpse of the satellite’s surface.
“There it is.”
“Radar sighting,” Obi-Wan said suddenly. “Looks like a large gunship.”
Without slowing his speed, Anakin reversed and dived. If they could get out of radar range, they might not get spotted. The Galan starfighter was small enough that it could be mistaken for space debris until the ship got closer.
“Hasn’t noticed us,” Obi-Wan said. “I think we dodged this one.”
Anakin maintained speed, flying slightly erratically to mimic space debris.
The gunship suddenly changed course.
“He’s got us,” Obi-Wan said crisply. “Six quad laser cannons, three on each side. Two concussion missile launch tubes. Four…no, six turbolaser cannons.”
“In other words, we’re a little outgunned,” Anakin said.
“I suggest evasion as our best course,” Obi-Wan agreed dryly.
Laser cannonfire exploded around them.
“Missile on the left!” Obi-Wan shouted.
“I see it!” Anakin streamed up, making a sharp turn to evade the tracking device. The missile hugged their path. At the last second, Anakin veered off, and the missile passed them by a few meters.
“Close,” Obi-Wan said. “They’re speeding up. We can’t outrun them, Anakin.”
“Just give me a chance.”
“Too risky. Just get us down. We’ll land on the Typha-Dor moon.”
“But we’re far from the outpost,” Anakin said.
“We stand a better chance down there.” Another missile screamed past. The small ship was tossed by the reverberations of cannonfire. “They’ll send a landing ship, but we’ll have a head start.”
The explosion was close. Anakin gripped the controls and gritted his teeth. His choice would be to keep flying, but he had to obey his Master.
He felt the response of the ship as he changed course. It shuddered, as though it had sustained damage. He glanced at the indicator lights. Nothing blinked at him. There must be superficial damage on the wing. Not a problem for an experienced pilot.
Anakin dipped the ship and dived into the heavy cloud cover below.
Chapter Two
Obi-Wan glanced down at the surface as they dipped lower. He squinted against the glare. The thick clouds didn’t diminish the effect. The ground was covered in snow and glaciers, and the light bounced and refracted, making it difficult to see. Anakin skimmed over the terrain, looking for a place to land.
“We’ll need to engage the sensors,” Anakin said. “No telling how deep that snow is.”
Obi-Wan had already turned to the starship sensor array. “I’m getting a solid reading. The ice is meters thick. It will hold the ship.” Obi-Wan read out the coordinates. “By the lip of that rock outcropping there. We’re far enough away that we won’t lead them to the outpost, but it will be a bit of a walk.”
Anakin guided the ship to a smooth landing. The cockpit hatch slid back. At first, the silence was overwhelming. The cold settled into the cockpit slowly. At first, Obi-Wan felt it on the tips of his ears. Then his fingers. Then the back of his neck. Soon every millimeter of exposed skin felt numb.
“Cold,” Anakin said.
“That’s an understatement,” Obi-Wan said, vaulting over the seat toward the supply locker. He grabbed the survival gear and tossed a set to Anakin. Then he pulled out a white tarp. “If we secure this over the ship we might gain some time,” he said. “At least they’ll find it hard to get a visual sighting.”
After donning survival gear and goggles, they spent a few minutes securing the tarp over the ship and strapping it down.
Anakin glanced at the sky. “How long do you think we have?”
“Depends on how good they are at tracking,” Obi-Wan said. “And how lucky we are. However much time we have, it has to be enough.”
They started out across the frozen landscape. Ice had formed in a thin layer on the ground, making walking treacherous. In their thick-soled boots, the Jedi had traction, but it took concentration to move quickly without sliding over the ice. Obi-Wan felt his leg muscles tense, and he knew they would be tired at the end of this journey. He only hoped that what lay at the end of it was a short rest, at least. There was no telling what they would find at the outpost.
After a few minutes Obi-Wan grew used to the rhythm of their journey and the eerie sound of the wind ruffling the snow on top of the ice, creating a low whistle that dipped in and out of hearing. His mind slipped out of its focus on the mission. He brooded, as he often did these days, on the tall, silent boy at his side.
When he had been Anakin’s age, sixteen, the thought of the death of a Jedi Master had been inconceivable. He had been in tight spots with Qui-Gon—his Master had even been captured by a deranged scientist named Jenna Zan Arbor, who had imprisoned him in order to study the Force—but it had never occurred to him that Qui-Gon could be killed. He had assumed that a being so strong in the Force could cheat death.
Now he knew better. He had seen Jedi Masters fall. He still remembered the horror he felt as he saw the life drain from Qui-Gon’s eyes on Naboo. Recently the Jedi Order had lost another Master, Yarael Poof.
The galaxy was a rougher, harder place. Lawlessness was growing. Obi-Wan knew now that the Jedi were far from invincible. That knowledge had made him more careful, perhaps a bit less willing to risk too much. Which could be good, and bad, depending. As he settled into his life as a Jedi Master, Obi-Wan was very aware that his need to control situations, to look at all sides of an issue, would conflict with the desires of his headstrong apprentice. He saw conflict ahead but he also saw himself unable to stop his movement toward it.
Anakin was powerful. Anakin was young. These two facts could collide with the power and heat of a fusion furnace.
Obi-Wan had gone over and over in his mind what had happened with Master Yaddle. He could not see any way that he could have prevented it.
His Padawan had relied on his command of the Force and on his absolute conviction that he was taking the only possible path, and events had overtaken him. Obi-Wan had no doubt that Yaddle had seen her own death coming. She had decided it was necessary that she become one with the Force. She had done it to save countless lives, and she must have seen that Anakin’s path was mapped out otherwise.
Obi-Wan didn’t know how much Anakin blamed himself, but he knew that his apprentice was brooding over what had gone wrong. It was appropriate that he do so, but not appropriate for him to blame himself.
Yet how can I stop him from doing so, if I blame him myself?
Blame was not something a Jedi was supposed to feel. Obi-Wan knew he was wrong. He tried to look at what had happened in a measured way, but he kept circling back to the fact that in his heart, he believed that Anakin could have somehow prevented Yaddle’s death.
He told himself that if Anakin had made mistakes, they came from a place that was pure. It was not in the Jedi code to second-guess another Jedi’s decisions. But Obi-Wan knew his words of comfort had a hollow core, and he suspected that Anakin knew it, too.
The distance between them continued to grow. Yaddle’s death had changed them both.
No, Obi-Wan corrected himself. The distance had been growing before that. Perhaps it has always been there. Perhaps I didn’t want to see it.
Anakin’s pure connection to the Force meant that in some ways Obi-Wan had little to teach him. At least it seemed that Anakin was beginning to think that. Yet Obi-Wan knew he still had so much to give him. Being a Jedi involved more than commanding the Force—it involved the inner serenity needed to access that Force in the best way. Yaddle’s death had shaken Obi-Wan to the core. Was it possible that Anakin had too much power?
Obi-Wan would not give up on Anakin. It was his duty as a Master to teach his ap
prentice, to help him become a Jedi Knight. All he knew was that he never seemed to have time to address the problem of the tension between them. Every day was packed with things to do, with travel, with missions or Council meetings. The galaxy teemed with trouble. The Senate was sometimes mired in procedures. The problems of an apprentice and his Master got lost in the chaos that surrounded them.
Obi-Wan was all too aware that guilt and shame could percolate and turn into anger, and he was alert for the signs of it. So far, Anakin just seemed remote. This, he had to remind himself, was normal for a young man of sixteen.
That is what you keep telling yourself. But is it true?
His mind had circled around to the beginning. Obi-Wan let out a puff of exasperation, which he hoped Anakin did not hear. He concentrated on his steps through the icy snow.
The kilometers passed in silence. The outpost was tucked into a mountain range that rose from the glaciers. Obi-Wan thought he could make out its outline in the distance with the electrobinoculars, but it was hard to be sure. Land and sky merged in a sea of white. The clouds seemed to lower as they walked, and a few flakes separated from the thick blanket above them and drifted lazily down. Soon the flakes thickened and the wind freshened, driving the snow against their faces.
Obi-Wan looked at the horizon. A silvery clump of snow seemed to be falling fast against the white sky. But he wasn’t seeing snowflakes. It was a cruiser.
“Surveillance,” he said crisply to Anakin. “Drop down.”
It was the only thing to do. There was no cover. They dropped to the ground, their faces in the snow. From above, their white survival gear would blend with the landscape. They heard the whirr of the engines above and stayed perfectly still. The ship was going slowly, tacking over the area in a sweep. Obi-Wan slowed down his breathing and his life processes, a Jedi technique. He knew Anakin would do the same. It would make it difficult for a life-form sensor to pick up their traces. The cold would help them, too.
Obi-Wan didn’t think of the cold, or the imminent danger. He let his mind slow as his body processes had. He made himself a blank, just another piece of white against a white background.
