Chapter Seven

On Tatooine, the suns came up in an ostentatious display, shading the never-ending sky in jewel tones--first deep indigo, then violet, then bright orange, then finally the brilliant blue that it broke Anakin's heart to remember.

On Coruscant, in the Temple, morning came softly, with the lights rising, bringing in the gentle morning routine. It was like being enfolded in a soft robe--the building itself seemed to cherish the people inside of it.

Here on Malkiri, dawn was a gray thing, as the sun lit up the night's fog. Anakin sat in his window, watching the world come into focus, a few meters at a time. First, he saw the patch of grass that marked the back yard, then a row of flowers that a previous occupant had put in. Then the shadows rolled back to the creek, fuzzy at first, then clear. Then he could see Daj's house, and the shadows of the woods beyond. In those shadows, he thought, anything could be waiting--monsters to slay, criminals to chase down… maybe even whatever evil thing was spreading lies around here. In the early morning, Anakin let himself be Ani again, let himself imagine being a hero, vanquishing all the galaxy's villains (his imagination conjured an endless supply of these).

His alarm bell sounded shortly after the day was fully light, and he cleaned up and got dressed before going down to breakfast. For school, he decided on something a little less bright, a moss green version of the scoot fashion. He started to put on his lightsaber, to find a place to conceal it, then decided to ask Obi-Wan's opinion first, just putting it into one of the deep pockets of the long jacket to avoid any unintentional sightings.

He tried not to think about the fact that he'd be in school in less than an hour. He couldn't imagine it. He'd never had anything resembling school when he was a slave, and classes in the Temple were all taught by gentle Masters who moved students at their own pace, so he'd never been forced to sit through a lesson he'd already learned, or pushed past one that he hadn't mastered yet. Lessons were also interspersed with a great deal of meditation and exercise, and integrated into life, rather than separated from it in a walled off area away from adults.

Anakin didn't know what to expect in a normal school, and the thought of it made him nervous.

Obi-Wan and Siri were already in the kitchen. He was dressed; she was still in her nightclothes, with a long, soft robe… a clingy one that really showed what she looked like. Anakin blushed and looked away. "Morning," he said.

"Good morning," Siri turned over some kind of egg in the pan she was working at, then slid it out onto a plate. She put it in front of him and--to his astonishment--kissed his cheek. "Neighbors are out," she whispered.

Anakin looked unobtrusively over his shoulder, out the window, and saw a few people in their back yards, doing some kind of morning exercises. They probably had no interest in looking in other people's windows, but Siri was right--they would need to put on the show anyway. Anakin started in on his egg, feeling disappointed for no reason he could place. He glanced at Obi-Wan. "So… you're going to start today?"

Obi-Wan was using a hand held scanner to read the morning news, also quite studiously not looking at Siri. "Yes. I've made arrangements to go to the courthouse and interview Shapoi. I'll at least get a feel for how he is, and how he's being treated."

Siri broke another egg into the pan. "Check for escape routes while you're there."

"I planned to." He tipped down the scanner and winked at her, then glanced back at the news. "And what are your plans?"

"I will join Thama for lunch. Then I'll slip away and see what is available in terms of, shall we say, short--notice transport off planet. Are you ready for school?" she asked casually.

"I guess I'll find out when I get there." He opened his jacket casually to show Obi-Wan the lightsaber hilt in the pocket. "Just wondering about what I should bring."

Obi-Wan frowned. "I think," he said after awhile, "that a datapad should be sufficient. Perhaps a stylus."

Siri sat down with her own breakfast. Anakin kept his eyes averted. Her nightdress was awfully low cut. "When I registered him from Coruscant, they sent a text list. I downloaded them all to this." She pulled a datapad from the counter and handed it to him. "I think you had most of the material in here memorized before you joined us," she muttered. "Ridiculous curriculum, but at least you won't be behind."

"Thanks. What do you want me to do there?"

Obi-Wan looked over, noticed that he was looking straight at Siri, and started fidgeting with his food. Anakin suppressed a smile; it was good to know that Obi-Wan was human sometimes. "Find out what is being taught formally. And it is very important for you to tell us what sources they are using to teach it."

"Maybe it's not anything they're teaching in school… "

"That's possible. We would need to know that as well."

"What do we do, once we know?"

Obi-Wan gave him a small smile, the same one Qui-Gon had given him on board the Queen's starship. Anakin waited for We will be patient, but instead, Obi-Wan said, "We will return to the Temple and ask the Council for guidance." He stood up and tucked the news scanner into a belt pouch. Anakin could see the end of his lightsaber hilt under his shirt.

"Um… " He moved his jacket to indicate his own.

Obi-Wan nodded and pulled on a poncho. "I'm aware, Anakin."

"You're going?" Siri asked. She glanced over at the window above the sink. A woman in her front yard waved at her, and Siri, looking dazed, waved back. "Good thing we're keeping the act up."

"Mmm," Obi-Wan said.

The whim came over Anakin quite suddenly. "Better kiss her goodbye," he suggested. "The neighbors are watching."

Obi-Wan glared at him, but Siri laughed. "You heard our mission expert."

With a frozen smile that promised later retaliation, Obi-Wan leaned over Siri, and planted a kiss on her forehead. She responded with a peck to his cheek, then he stalked out of the room.

Siri raised an eyebrow at Anakin. "Don't do that again."

Anakin looked up from his egg, surprised.

"As much as I enjoy tweaking Obi-Wan, I can't let you do it. You're his padawan. You owe him respect."

"I didn't mean to… I don't know. I just thought it would be funny."

"It was. And it was also a good idea for our roles. I suppose it did look somewhat normal."

"It did. It looked really good."

"The best chaste and bloodless kiss I've ever had," she said, giving him a warm smile.

"And how many kisses have you had?"

The smile faltered. "I was in deep cover for a long time, Anakin." Without giving him a chance to consider this, she stood up and pulled out his chair playfully, taking his lightsaber and tucking it under her robe. "You need to get going," she said. "You'll be late. Shoo."

Anakin found a boxed lunch shoved into his hand, and was out the door with another kiss on the cheek before he knew what was happening. Siri stood on the porch and waved to him as he went down the street, making him think of Mom. He waved back, then pulled the scoot out of his pocket to ride for the rest of the trip.


Obi-Wan chose to walk to the courthouse rather than calling for a taxi. The walk was only a kilometer or two, some of it on moving walkways, certainly a less strenuous walk than was common on Coruscant. Judging from the looks he got from people in speeders on the streets, it was decidedly uncommon here.

Well, "Baklee" was supposed to be from Coruscant. He could have this eccentricity without awkward questions. Obi-Wan wanted the time to think. He would have to develop some retaliation for Anakin's little prank, perhaps something involving his persona at school; Anakin would be expecting it, and would be disappointed if it didn't come. He wasn't angry at Anakin, any more than Anakin was actually disrespectful toward him. He hoped Siri wouldn't lecture him on that count; Anakin understood perfectly well what their roles were, and having a bit of fun didn't change that.

Much of Anakin's apprenticeship was difficult and filled with angst, but there was also a kind of wild joy in it, and Obi-Wan had come to value his padawan's occasional playful moods as much as his great skill and vast potential. It was no wonder he and Qui-Gon had gotten along as well as they had.

He was not quite as entertained by Siri's mood. The nightdress had been donned after he'd retired last night, and it had been something of a shock when he'd come into the kitchen that morning to find her cooking. She explained it as "a leftover from Zora"--part of her previous assignment--but that didn't, to Obi-Wan's mind, explain why she had kept it, or brought it along. And it certainly wasn't healthy for her to wear that around a fourteen-year-old boy who was quite impressionable where women were concerned.

And, he had to admit, it was distracting to him as well. He had not struggled with his commitment to the Jedi order--it always seemed a natural way for him to live--but he was not immune to the sight of a beautiful woman, and Siri was beautiful.

More to the point, she seemed to need something from him. He didn't think it was what she was apparently hinting at--Siri was no more likely to waver in her commitment than he was--but he'd dreamed of her last night, sitting in the window, the blue glow of the stars spreading over her until she glowed like a ghost in a child's picture book. We're all ghosts, she'd said, then laughed horribly and reached out her glowing arms to him. He'd planned to speak to her about the dream, to see if she had shared it, or what it meant to her, but the nightdress had… distracted him.

He let the thoughts circle idly in his mind as he walked, hoping they would coalesce on their own. They didn't. As he approached the bustling street outside the courthouse, he brought his consciousness closer to the surface. He couldn't be Baklee while musing on Obi-Wan's private concerns.

The courthouse, like so many buildings on Malkiri, was pyramidal, made of dark brown stone and covered with leafy vines. The bailiff stopped him at the door and demanded identification. Obi-Wan flashed his press badge quickly and swept on by as soon as the hand-scanner approved it.

"Ah, Tachi," a law enforcement officer said, standing up from his desk. "You were to interview the prisoner?" He preened. "My name is Terja Kritol. I made the arrest."

"Really."

"Is this for galactic broadcast?"

Obi-Wan smiled in a way that he hoped said, I am asked this too frequently, and I am only answering out of polite duty. "I'm afraid I'm not quite that far along in my career yet. I am merely collecting information for a reporter to work with at a later time."

"Oh," Kritol said, clearly losing interest. "Well, I'll take you back there. He's not very friendly. And you have to be careful. Don't listen to him talk too long, or he'll brainwash you. But I guess you know that part, being from Coruscant. You've probably talked to the brain-bangers before."

Brain-bangers?

"Yes," Obi-Wan said. "I have spoken to many Jedi in the course of my career."

Kritol led him down a flight of stairs into a basement area, where a narrow corridor led between the cells. Something tugged at Obi-Wan's Force sense, and he looked up to see a man slightly older than himself standing at the door of a cell near the end, waiting patiently for him.

"This is him," Kritol said.

"So I gathered."

"I'll just be right out here." Kritol pulled a chair over from across the hall and started to sit down.

"I believe the interview will go more smoothly if I speak to Shapoi alone," Obi-Wan said.

"I don't know if I ought to… "

Obi-Wan pushed the Force at him. "You have no need to stand guard, Terja Kritol. There is no danger in this interview."

Kritol blinked a few times, then stood up. "You know, probably it'll be fine. I got work to do anyway." He shuffled back down the hall and disappeared up the stairs.

"Brilliant," Shapoi said dryly. "Nothing like a mind trick to get things settled down on Malkiri."

"Well, we brain-bangers have a skill or two that come in handy."

"Heard that one, did you?"

"Mmm."

Shapoi ran his hands over his mouth, hiding it as he spoke. "You know my name. I think I remember you from the Temple. Qui-Gon Jinn's padawan, weren't you?"

"Yes. Though the name you may use here is Baklee Tachi."

"Well, Baklee Tachi, did it occur to you that it may not be best to confirm their suspicions? Sooner or later, someone will point out to him that it was a bad idea to leave his post."

"I wanted to speak freely. I take it you are unmonitored?"

"Visual only."

"You are certain?"

"I asked."

"And I'm sure they told you the truth."

Shapoi grinned self-consciously. "Well, let's say I gave them a bit of encouragement as well."

"Ah." Obi-Wan took out his datapad and pretended to take notes. "Are you ill treated?"

"They keep the rations down, but I can live without sufficient food for some time. Have you spoken to my birth parents? I am concerned about them."

"No. Not yet."

"Please get them off this world. Whatever happens to me. They are decent people. I was pleased to know them."

"All right."

Shapoi sighed, clearly relaxing somewhat. "Beyond that," he said, "there is no reason for you to be here."

"We came to see that the trial is fair."

"There won't be a trial. We both know that."

"Then we can get you out of here."

"That would be foolish. It would be obvious if I disappeared at the same time you did. They have enough questions about the Jedi as it is without giving them ammunition in the form of official aid from the Order in escaping their justice."

"Did you commit the crime of which you're accused?"

"No. Nor do I have any information about whoever did."

"Then you will need to stand trial, and if a fair trial can't be obtained on Malkiri--"

"Do nothing."

"My instructions are -- "

"Tell the Council that I declined assistance. Help my family. I can take care of myself."

"Shapoi… "

"Please. I ask as a favor to me, and as a help to the Jedi Order. They cannot be given proof that the Council would bend their laws to save one of our own."

"They don't appear to need proof of much."

"They aren't fools, however good an impression they do of it. Many want confirmation. Do not give it to them."

"Better to let them convict you of killing the king?"

"Better to convict Zio Shapoi of one crime than the Jedi Order of all the crimes they imagine."

Obi-Wan took a deep breath. "I will consider your request, but I can't guarantee it."

Shapoi stepped back and looked down at his cell floor. "You must do what you feel is right," he intoned.

"I'm aware of that. As you must."

"Of course."

Obi-Wan hesitated, then made a few fake notes on his datapad and arranged his features into a disinterested mask. "Shapoi, have you any idea where this comes from? Are there… I mean, other than the Neimoidians, are there others here? Other newcomers?"

"Why assume it's newcomers?" Shapoi asked, then waved it off. "I don't trust the mayor and have made no secret of it. But don't mistrust the average shopkeeper more than is necessary. Can't you sense it? The worst thing about Malkiri is that nearly everyone is well-meaning. There is some deceit somewhere, but I wasn't able to locate it."

"No nexus for the hatred." It was exactly what Siri had said. But Obi-Wan found that he didn't accept it from Shapoi any more easily. He stood up. "I'll return tomorrow," he said. "Perhaps we will have found something worthwhile."

"Yeah. Sure." Shapoi shook his head and laughed softly. "May the Force be with you, Baklee Tachi. And may it get you off Malkiri as soon as possible."


Anakin had found Tomik Cral and his friends in the schoolyard before the entry bell rang, and followed them as unobtrusively as he could, pretending that this wasn't one of the most alien environments he'd ever been in. There were children everywhere. The literature about the school that Siri had given him said that there were sometimes up to twenty-five children for each adult. Anakin had known this in his mind, but actually seeing the result of that number was a shock to his system. That the literature had given this statistic as though it were a glowing recommendation in comparison to other schools was utterly beyond comprehension. It was one thing actually in the crèche, but the crèche babies were often brought into the main Temple to see and be spoken to by older children, padawans, knights, and masters. It helped them see the paths of life and know what might be ahead. Here, it looked like life stopped in the late teens, unless a student wanted to turn into a teacher. How did they know what grownups did?

And Anakin had thought the Jedi were pretty insular, since they didn't let younger students compete with adults, as Watto had. (He had accepted this as a good thing and a kindly meant thing, but he sometimes missed podracing against the best in the sport.)

He let Tomik's group lead him into a large entryway, then pulled out his datapad to find out where he was supposed to be. Tomik grabbed his sleeve. "We all start out in Exercise."

"I thought people did that at home," Anakin said, surprised. "I saw them out on the lawns."

Tomik shrugged. "Yeah, my mom does that. But we do it here. C'mon. Gotta change down first."

Anakin followed Tomik into a large, vaulted room, painted a dismal shade of green. It smelled of old sweat and dirty clothes. A tall human man took his name, assigned him a small footlocker, and presented him with a strange (and ugly) yellow outfit. It was one piece, with short sleeves and short pants, and plain, buttoned fastenings. The other boys were all putting their own on. The girls had all disappeared somewhere. Anakin guessed they had their own changing room.

There was much shouting and name calling, and Anakin noticed that the smaller boys all hung together in the back, and looked like prey animals peeking out at a krayt dragon in their territory and wondering if it would be hungry. Tomik and some of the others occasionally called them names and cursed at them. Anakin had an urge to grab Tomik's arm, twist it behind his back, then slam his self-satisfied face into the row of footlockers. But Kit wouldn't do that, so again, Anakin drew Kit around his mind, and let Kit close his eyes to it.

They met the girls in a larger room and went through a series of calisthenics that was dull, but relaxing in a mind-numbing way, then a teacher appeared from the girls' changing room. She was a short human woman with a sharply triangular jaw and small dark eyes. A nest of dark, curly hair sat uneasily on top of her head. "Good morning!" she said, her voice falsely enthusiastic. To Anakin, she sounded like she had a bad headache and would rather be just about anywhere else.

The younger children all answered "Good morning, Madam Dysto!" Anakin took his cue from Tomik's group (and even most of the small boys his own age), and just gave her a disinterested stare.

"Well," Madam Dysto said, "it's a brand new week. Are we all ready for it?"

The little ones all gave her an affirmative answer. The older children rolled their eyes at each other. One of Tomik's friends did so in Anakin's direction. Anakin waggled his fingers in front of his eyes in a gesture that--on Tatooine, anyway--meant, "That guy's crazy." It appeared to mean the same here, because the boy smiled and nodded.

Madam Dysto went on. "Now, we all know that things are hard right now, and the bad time isn't finished quite yet. But you know you're safe here. The bad man is all locked up, and the grownups won't let him hurt you."

"I'm comforted," Tomik said out of the corner of his mouth. "Dysto's on the job. She can take a Jedi or two."

"Maybe even four," Anakin said. Tomik laughed.

"For you older children," Dysto continued, "I need to remind you that school hours are school hours. There's to be no more slipping the forcefield. You belong on the grounds, and you need to stay on them."

"Even though the bad man is all locked up?" Anakin whispered.

"You never know," Tomik said. "His Jedi friends might show up and decide to round up all the class-cutters, steal 'em off to Coruscant, and make them into Temple slaves."

Anakin's throat locked, and his breath stopped. He could feel the cloth of his persona thinning, unraveling, tearing at the weak spots, leaving him exposed. He kept the expression on his face still, though it felt like cracking clay, and the litany began inside his head. Don't let it out, don't blow it, don't say anything, keep it down, it's just words, don't break…

It couldn't have been more than a second or two, because Tomik's expression didn't register any change at all, but for those seconds, the galaxy seemed to simply stop. Anakin forced himself to swallow, pushed himself deep down, and pulled the tattered edges of Kit Tachi back together to be mended.

It was just words.

Only words.

And not true words.

He couldn't afford to let words--even that word--get under his skin.

He made himself breathe in without gasping, settled into a normal rhythm, then turned his attention back to Madam Dysto.

She gave a few more exhortations about rules, most of which were duly ignored by everyone in Anakin's vicinity, then released them to change back into regular clothes and go to classes. Anakin checked the schedule that Siri had downloaded to his datapad and discovered that his first class was mathematics. He found that finding his way through the poorly lit hallways to the right anonymous looking classroom was significantly more difficult than the subject matter being taught inside. He spent math class composing a letter to the real Kitster (addressed by his family name, Binai, in case anyone confiscated the datapad), even though he was fairly certain Obi-Wan wouldn't let him transmit it.

After math, he moved on to literature, which was mildly interesting because they were trying to figure out what a novel meant. Anakin had read the text in his run through Obi-Wan's collection last year, and he thought it was a good adventure about a water shortage, but it hadn't occurred to him to look at it as saying something about the decline of Mid-Rim culture, with the evaporation of a lunar reservoir standing for the disappearing folkways. It was something like analyzing a vision, and once he understood that, he got along fine. It even excited him a little, and made him want to re-read it, with that idea of the reservoir in his head as he went. It was a whole new way to read, and he thought he might try it with some other books, too. He should ask the teacher if it worked with any other book. But he noticed that Tomik's bunch just sat around that class looking puzzled, so he kept his thoughts to himself, and--again, unlike a Temple class--no one noticed his unspoken interest and prodded him to participate. The literature teacher seemed to favor girls anyway.

After literature came history, which was the first serious academic shock. Obi-Wan insisted that Anakin learn history, and there was so much of it that it took up a lot of time. He was deep into the spread of human colonies now, and had at first been delighted to find that the class was also studying that. But while Obi-Wan's history talked about how people, eager to see and learn and spread out, had settled new worlds and brought their various cultures with them, the teacher here talked about people being chased off their homeworlds and sent into exile. They'd managed to create a life, but now, they were being pursued again, by people intent on subjugating them.

Anakin started out taking notes, but eventually just turned on the recording device on the datapad. This was exactly what he was supposed to be looking for.

Malkiri had been settled, according to the teacher, by political dissidents from Coruscant, some nine hundred fifty years ago (the story Anakin knew said that it had been settled by a voluntary colonial team led by an eminent politician). They had objected to the corruption that was rampant on the capitol, and when they had made their positions known, the Jedi had influenced the Supreme Chancellor to have them evicted to a distant world.

Anakin raised his hand, hoping he would find a non-suspicious way to ask this before the teacher called on him.

"Yes, Master… Tachi, is it? Ah, yes. Our visitor from Coruscant."

"Yes, Ma'am." Anakin took a deep breath, and opted not to mention hearing a different story altogether. "I was just wondering--how do you know it wasn't the Chancellor doing it by himself? How do you know it was the Jedi?"

"Ah. You haven't studied this period on your homeworld?"

Anakin shook his head, and in this case it was true. He'd read about the emigrations and explorations, but he'd just assumed that Coruscant was going about its normal business in the background.

"Very well. I hadn't planned to teach Coruscantian history today, but it was asked, and it is a wise question. Does anyone know why the Jedi disliked our Founder, Hunara Malkir?"

No one did.

The teacher sat on the edge of her desk. "A thousand years ago," she said, "the Jedi had a bloody internal feud."

The Sith uprising! Anakin realized. But what…

"They managed to quell the rebellion in their own ranks, but everyone around them saw the brutality that ensued when they fought one another, and there were many movements against Jedi power over the next century. Malkir's was one of them. The rebel Jedi were vicious and killed many innocent people. What, he thought, was to stop another rebel faction from arising? The answer, as long as they study the kind of power that they study, was nothing at all. He wanted training stopped immediately, and laws created to prohibit the use of their powers among those who had already been trained."

"And the Council didn't like that much," Anakin guessed.

"No, indeed." The teacher got up. "We have preserved some of the arguments. To answer your question, Kit, the Supreme Chancellor had no quarrel with Malkir, but the Jedi were unwilling to give up their power, and they had many quarrels with him. So they saw to it that he was sent away, and his followers came with him."

"And now the Jedi murdered his descendents," a girl in the front row said quietly.

The teacher didn't argue with her.

The lights in the walls flashed to show that it was time for another class, and most of the students moved on. Anakin remained in his seat. It wasn't impossible. That was the thing. It really wasn't impossible.

But Obi-Wan didn't lie to him. If the teacher's story were true, Anakin would have known it already.

"Kit?"

He looked up. The teacher was looking at him steadily, some concern on her face.

"I'm okay. I better get to… " He checked his schedule again, and was relieved to find an art class. That would be relaxing. "To art. It's upstairs, I think."

"Yes. One flight up, the third door on the left."

"Thank you."

"I'm sorry if I disturbed you, Kit, but it's important to know the truth."

"I agree. The truth is the most important thing." And I wonder if you've ever heard it.

He was late for art, but the teacher was a young Neimoidian woman who was free-spirited and said she didn't care about such arbitrary things. She presented him with a block of clay and told him they were making busts. He let his fingers fashion it, pinching out a nose here, an ear there… until he realized that he had two noses on the figure, one on each side, four eyes, and two mouths. On one side, Obi-Wan Kenobi smiled benignly at him, but growing out of the back of Kenobi's head was the horned visage of the Sith who had killed Qui-Gon.

Anakin slammed the clay between his hands, turning it into a shapeless lump, then slowly--attentively--began to shape Padmé's face. A part of his mind had liked the look of the double figure, so he shaped Mom's on the other side. He didn't notice the teacher watching him as he worked.