Chapter 10 Chapter 10

Obi-Wan walked slowly through the square and studied his surroundings. This was the only area of any of the settlements on Sessone that had survived the devastation of the Mandalore attack. The central fountain remained mostly intact. Small gazebos and stone benches were scattered throughout groupings of trees, forming small natural gathering places for the villagers. The Alderaanian architectural obsession with natural form and complementing the surroundings shone through, despite the damage. Even on their mining colonies, the Alderaanians insisted on combining beauty with functionality.

Obi-Wan cleared his mind and opened himself to the Force. A physical object from the assault would help, but there were none available. He focused on his mental images of the only clues he had – the Mandalore armor and the biological analyzer. Closing his eyes, he brushed his fingers across trees, stone, and grass as his pace slowed to a crawl.

The Force flowed, pulling him along as the images swept by. Naboo soldiers searching the village for survivors. A young boy, perhaps thirteen or fourteen years old, huddled next to the fountain, clutching a rifle. The scream of fighters strafing the buildings. Blood spilled in the grass….

Obi-Wan stiffened as a deep, chilling cold seeped into him. Sith…The aura was there, unmistakable, the same cloud of hatred and madness that had surrounded the horned man so long ago.

He found himself back in the power core of the Theed hangar, watching the fight through the hazy red of the laser curtains. Pacing the enclosure like a caged animal, his heart hammering against his chest as Qui-Gon and the Sith faced off. Reliving the agony as the creature's blood-red saber speared his Master's body. His rage as he attacked, bent on avenging Qui-Gon's death. Fear as he hung in the melting pit, the small ledge biting cruelly into his fingers. The flow of the Force, marred only by the dark flicker of satisfaction as the Sith's body fell into the pit. Despair as his Master slipped away.

Obi-Wan jerked back to the present. He raised his fingers to his face, feeling the tears there. Loss of focus, he chided himself. He hadn't relived those moments so vividly in years, though the ache of Qui-Gon's death had never fully subsided. The first few years, he thought he might go mad with the anguish and his inability to let it go. Only the need to be there for Anakin, to carry out his master's dying request, had kept him sane.

Sighing, Obi-Wan wiped the moisture from his cheeks and looked around. He was kneeling in the grass about ten meters from the fountain. The Sith had been here. Was there something important about this particular village, or had it been a random choice? What had transpired here? He closed his eyes again, his hands spread on the grass, searching.

They watched as the soldier took a wicked-looking knife from his belt and advanced on the prisoners. One young man leaped on the soldier, cursing as he tried to pry the knife away. He received a rifle butt to the back of his head for his trouble. When the man was subdued, the soldier cut a gash in his arm and dabbed blood onto an analysis chip. He repeated the process with the other villagers, four young men and a teen-aged girl.

Obi-Wan drifted back to the present. They had taken samples here, in a repeat of the actions he had seen in the Queen's holo-recording. Were they taking people for cloning? Why take civilians if an army was the desired result?

The mines, he realized. If the Sith and their Mandalore allies wanted the mines, they would have to staff them. The villagers would be unreliable, but their clones might not be, depending on how much memory they retained. Obi-Wan gathered himself and headed for the shuttle.

Lieutenant Elluis had his men spread out in a security perimeter. They were quietly alert, nodding to Obi-Wan as he passed. He found Tarkin sitting on a log, his gaunt form hunched over a datapad.

"Major Tarkin."

"Jedi Kenobi." Tarkin looked up. "You've found something?" Curiosity.

"Perhaps," Obi-Wan replied. Tarkin's mood shifted. Obi-Wan frowned. The man was suddenly apprehensive. "We need to go to the mines. And I must contact the Jedi Council."

"May I ask why?"

Obi-Wan's frown deepened. Tarkin's emotions roiled in an odd mixture of anxiety, anticipation, and…satisfaction? Did he already know something? The major definitely bore closer scrutiny. "Major, this whole attack makes no sense unless it is considered in the context of the crystal mines. They are the most important resource on this colony. An army bent on attacking the Republic would make good use of them. But they have to be manned. So why slaughter the workers?"

"Please do not lecture me, Jedi Kenobi. I am well aware of the value of the mines." Tarkin unfolded his long frame and stood up, reminding Obi-Wan, eerily, of a Trade Federation battle droid. "I merely want to point out the lateness of the day. Your…examination …took quite a long time."

Obi-Wan looked up and realized that the sun had moved completely across the sky. All day, he thought. Anakin probably would have finished by lunchtime. "The hour matters little, Major. I will do what must be done. If you do not wish to accompany me, you may drop me off and return to the ship. I will call when I am finished."

Tarkin peered down his nose at the Jedi. "Of course we will accompany you, Jedi Kenobi. The Supreme Chancellor will want my report to include all of the information we uncover." He raised his voice. "Lieutenant Elluis!"

The Scout lieutenant trotted up. A tough-looking young man with a compact build, dirty blond hair and alert green eyes, Elluis carried himself with quiet competence. "Yes, sir?" His gaze and tone skirted the edge of insolence.

Obi-Wan hid a smile. Elluis could not quite mask his contempt for Tarkin, whom he considered a desk jockey rather than a real soldier. Tarkin was either oblivious to the lieutenant's opinion, or considered it of little consequence.

"Gather your men," Tarkin instructed. "We are going to pay a visit to the crystal mines."

"All of them, sir, or did you have a particular one in mind?"

Tarkin threw a questioning glance at Obi-Wan.

"I believe that the main administrative offices are co-located with the largest excavation," Obi-Wan answered. "We will go there."

Elluis gave him a curt nod. "Yes, sir." He turned and strode back toward his men, pumping his fist in a "rally on me" gesture. His failure to acknowledge Tarkin was not lost on either of the older men.

Tarkin met Obi-Wan's eyes. The major's gaze held contemptuous amusement, but anger simmered behind it. Obi-Wan resolved to speak to Elluis about controlling his feelings. Otherwise, this mission could well mark the end of the lieutenant's military career.

**********


Padmé wiped her hands on the towel and hung it by the sink, then handed the neatly stacked dishes to Beru. Dinner had not been a rousing success, though Padmé appreciated Beru's efforts. Anakin had not joined them at all, storming off after an argument with Owen, and the rest of them had just pushed the food around on their plates.

Owen and Beru Lars owned a moisture farm on the edge of the Jundland Wastes, near the settlement of Anchorhead. Owen Lars was a stoic, no-nonsense man whose gruff edginess and perpetual frown couldn't have contrasted more with his wife's quick smile and sunny outlook on life. Padmé thought them an odd pairing at first, but then realized that they complemented each other well.

Padmé and Anakin had ridden from Mos Espa with Owen and Beru, while Sabé flew the shuttle. Padmé had coaxed their story from them during the speeder trip. Not long after Anakin left with Qui-Gon, Owen Lars had been orphaned when one of Gardulla's enforcers had killed his parents over their failure to pay a debt. His mother had pushed him out the back door of their home and told him to run. Shmi Skywalker had come across him when he was fleeing the slavers and had hidden him in her home. He had stayed there off and on for several years, while he worked odd jobs and saved his money. When he and Beru got married, Shmi had given them enough money to start a moisture farm, and smuggled parts and equipment from Watto's shop to help them get it going. Shmi never told him where the money came from, but Owen said he thought she had had it for a long time and had never figured out what to do with it.

Padmé and Anakin had exchanged glances at that. They were both sure that the money had come from the sale of Anakin's Boonta Eve pod racer. Shmi would not have spent the money on herself, and she would certainly not have told Watto about it.

Owen and Anakin disliked each other immediately and intensely. Anakin's eyes burned with jealousy as Owen talked about Shmi's kindness, how she had taken him in when he had nowhere else to go, how she had been like a second mother to him. Owen had enjoyed moments with Shmi that should rightfully have been his. A voice in the back of his mind told him that he was being irrational, that he should be proud of his mother's compassion, but the envy still smoldered.

In Owen's view, Anakin was an ungrateful brat who had abandoned his mother to slavery to jaunt about the galaxy with the Jedi. He couldn't fathom that Anakin had not contacted his mother, not even once, in the ten years that he had been gone. Shmi had been very proud of Anakin and talked about him often, but Owen felt that Anakin was unworthy of Shmi. Although Shmi was confident that her son would return to free her, Owen's practical nature did not lend itself to trust in the Jedi. As far as he was concerned, they were just a bunch of crazy wizards who claimed to draw power from some non-existent energy field.

So Owen had scrimped and saved, trying to accumulate enough money to buy Shmi from Watto. But every time he approached the Toydarian, Watto would either raise the price or simply tell him that Shmi was not for sale.

Padmé privately agreed with Owen's assertion that Watto's primary reasons for keeping Shmi were vengeful, to give him some kind of leverage over Anakin. She had sensed that herself during her unsuccessful attempts to purchase Shmi's freedom. The old Toydarian was certain Anakin would return for her, and he wanted to have as much control over that situation as possible.

Padmé pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear and sighed. They had cremated Shmi's body soon after arriving at the Lars farm, with Padmé conducting a simple Naboo funeral rite. Anakin and Owen had put aside their differences long enough to scatter her ashes over the Wastes and set up a small marker at the edge of the property.

But the arguing had resumed almost as soon as they had returned, and Anakin had stormed off. Owen had sat through part of dinner, then stalked off to work in the garage. Sabé had rolled her eyes at both of them, hinting that if the men didn't settle their hash soon, she would settle it for them. With her Gungan electropole. Then she left to check on the shuttle, leaving Padmé to help Beru clean up.

"Beru, if you don't need me anymore, I'm going to go look for Anakin," Padmé said. "I don't want him doing anything foolish."

"Go ahead, I'm just about done here, anyway," Beru replied with a smile. "Then I will look for Owen, for the same reason."

Anakin sat in the dirt watching the suns drop toward the horizon, his back against the low wall that encircled the Lars homestead. His fingers traced random patterns in the sand, pausing occasionally to bunch up in tight fists before relaxing and starting again.

Where had he gone so wrong? All of his life, he had listened to the strange whisperings of the world around him, guiding him, showing him where to go and what to do, giving him his sense of the rightness of things. These mysterious insights had helped him cope with life, first as a slave, then as a Jedi, and he had unerringly followed them. The Force spoke to him in a unique way, Obi-Wan had told him, far differently from the way it spoke to others. Anakin had taken this on faith, and listened to his instincts.

Except in this one matter. Obi-Wan and the Council had been insistent – he could not even see his mother, much less contemplate freeing her, until he was ready. Ready in their eyes, not his own. His emotions and fears for her had to be conquered, they said, and that could only be accomplished from within, not imposed from without. He had accepted that, reluctantly, as he was sure that the Force would let him know when she needed him. But in that little place deep inside where he hid things even from himself, a tiny spark of fear lived. Fear that he couldn't keep his promise, that he wouldn't prove worthy, that all the pain and separation would be for naught.

Anakin leaned his head back against wall. Over the past few years, the little spark of fear had grown brighter as the disturbing visions grew more vivid, and the Force whispered to him that it was time. He had continually pressed Obi-Wan and the Council to let him return to Tatooine, just to check on her and make sure she was all right. But he couldn't hide the fear from them, no matter how hard he tried, and the answer was always the same: "Not ready are you."

So he had squashed his instincts. And look at what it led to. His mother dying in his arms, never having experienced a day of freedom with her son. Her son now an angry, fearful failure, watching as his dreams slid away, one by one.

He felt Padmé's presence before she actually appeared. A warm glow that shimmered in the Force, it always made his heart beat a little faster. It had the same effect on him now, despite his grief, but he didn't look at her as she knelt beside him in the sand. She took his hand.

"Ani, I'm so sorry." She gently stroked his knuckles.

He didn't react for a long time. When he finally looked at her, his eyes were glassy with unshed tears. "Did you know," he said slowly, his voice thick, "that I've kept every promise I ever made?"

Padmé shook her head, still caressing his hand.

"Every one," he repeated, "except for this one. I promised I would come back and free her. The most important promise I made in my whole life, and I couldn't keep it!" His voice broke. "The Chosen One, ha!" he went on bitterly. "The Chosen One couldn't even protect his own mother!" He could no longer hold it in. His chest heaved and the sobs escaped. His whole body shook under the onslaught of emotion.

Padmé pulled him into her arms, tucking his head under her chin. He buried his face in her neck and let the tears flow, soaking her skin and tunic. His arms closed around her waist in a clutching, crushing hold, clinging to her like a lifeline. She rocked him and whispered soothingly in his ear, her fingers ruffling his hair.

Padmé's heart ached as she tried to imagine how Anakin must feel, having watched his mother die in his arms…unable to do anything to save her. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. What an unbelievable nightmare. She couldn't help a glimmer of anger at Obi-Wan and the Jedi. If only they had let him come sooner…

She wasn't sure how long they sat there, but the suns were resting on the horizon when his sobs finally abated. Her middle hurt from his tight hold, and her legs were falling asleep. She shifted uncomfortably, moving from a kneeling to a sitting position.

Anakin stopped crying, but did not loosen his grip on her. Instead, he slid down and nestled his head in her lap, his arms still around her waist. His ragged breathing soon smoothed out, and Padmé realized with some amusement that he had fallen asleep. Well, he's probably completely exhausted. Fighting with that Mandalore, losing his mother, his injuries…no wonder.

She ran her hand over the bandage on his bare right arm. Beru had insisted on stitching up the wound, and Anakin had numbly agreed, sitting quietly while she did so, flinching only slightly. Padmé suspected that he also had some broken ribs, from the colorful bruise on his side and way he had jerked when Beru probed at it.

She studied his face in the fading light. She could see shadows of the small boy she'd first met in this man's – Man? Yes, he's a man – features. She brushed the tears from his cheeks, running her fingers over his rough beard stubble in wonder. It had been nothing but soft down when he had last visited Naboo. Padmé smiled fondly as she recalled the tall, impossibly skinny fifteen year-old with the cracking voice and the overly large hands and feet.

He moved a bit, turning up toward her as he dozed. The last rays of daylight fell across the planes of his face, and Padmé caught her breath. He wasn't handsome - he was beautiful. Like an angel, she thought, the irony of that label not lost on her. She couldn't tear her eyes away.

Am I falling for you, Anakin? She caressed his face, dusting her fingers over his brows, his cheeks, his lips, trying to memorize everything. Then, unable to help herself, she leaned down and gently touched her lips to his.

She sighed and leaned back against the wall, closing her eyes and pondering her jumbled emotions. She had always loved Anakin. He was a dear friend, almost like a younger brother. But the feelings he aroused in her lately were anything but sisterly and she wasn't sure she liked them.

She was just starting to doze off when Sabé's amused voice broke the silence. "You know, I was wondering how long it would be before you let him sleep with you."

Anakin jerked up, awakened by the combination of a woman's indignant shriek and the rude thud of his head hitting the ground. He looked around in confusion to see Sabé sprinting across the sand, screaming with laughter, the irate Queen of Naboo hot on her heels.