Chapter Fifty-Two: Homeward

Voices and engines and footfalls and power tools resounded throughout the cavernous main hangar of the Coelacanth. Anakin Skywalker leaned against a storage container—the box was worn with age and the telltale scratches of everyday use, a stark contrast against the well-polished hangar floor—and took it all in.

The Z-95 Headhunters of Sawshark Squadron—what was left of it, anyway—came to rest on the hangar deck, their engine backwash ruffling Anakin's matted hair. As the massive blast doors slid shut over the hangar entrance, he was able to catch just a peek of the blackness of space transforming into a crystalline blue. Hyperspace. We're finally leaving, the pilot thought as he exhaled slowly. I need a drink. And a shower. And a week's worth of sleep.

He glanced longingly over at the rust-coated hull dangling above the deck. The Spice Dancer, short a landing strut, was suspended from maintenance cranes as droids and engineers worked on the battered vessel. Padmé, Anakin could see, was pacing back and forth behind the crew, watching the repairs like a nosy worksite foreman.

As everyone had disembarked the Spice Dancer, they'd all gone in different directions. Obi-Wan followed closely behind the medical team as they'd rushed Qui-Gon out of the hangar—presumably to the ship's medical bay. Padmé had, of course, stayed behind to watch the repairs. Anakin had gone off on his own, lost in thought. It was finally over, and he wasn't quite sure what to think. Two words reverberated in his head, louder than every other thought: Now what?

Anakin's attention was yanked back to the present by the voice of a woman—a voice he recognized, though it was softer here in person than it had been during the battle. More relaxed, and not distorted by the buzz of a comm line. Sawshark Leader stood before Anakin, right hand extended in a greeting.

"So, you're the pilot?" she asked.

Nodding, he extended what remained of his mechanical hand. "One of them, yeah. Anakin Skywalker."

"Flight Lieutenant Karin Janzen," the squadron leader replied, grasping the incomplete mechanical appendage in a handshake. She glanced down at the hand, a look of confusion crossing her face as she loosened her grasp and stepped back.

"Maintenance mishap," Anakin offered sheepishly, holding the partial hand up. "I don't recommend working on a hyperdrive or a laser cannon while in flight. Especially at the same time."

Karin snorted. "Wasn't planning on it. Nice flying out there."

"You too," Anakin said. "I, uh. . . I owe you an apology. My plan got one of your pilots killed."

"Don't beat yourself up," Karin said, her expression darkening. "The clones did this, not you. Besides, there's still something worth celebrating." She gestured to a ship in the middle of the cluster of parked Z-95s—the bright red racing vessel. "We thought we'd lost Rin. I'm glad we were wrong."

He felt his cheeks flush red at her graciousness, and hastily changed the subject. "How are things groundside? On Had Abbadon, I mean. Is everyone going to be okay?"

"I think so," Karin said. "No Confederacy presence, at least. It'll take some time for the surface to rebuild, but our troops that went into the caves said the underground settlements seem alright."

Anakin exhaled a sigh of relief. "Good to hear."

"There was one ship that got away," Karin continued. "We were out of our fighters when it took off, so it had quite the head start. My wingmate got in the air to chase after it, but it must've had some sort of scrambler. She couldn't get a missile lock. Never thought I'd say this, but I wish we'd brought the V-wing. Probably could've caught them."

"Wait," Anakin asked, "brought the what?"

In response, Karin motioned to the far corner of the hangar bay. "Typhoon Division gets prototype crap all the time. That's the latest gift from the folks over at Kuat. 'Nimbus' something or other, they call it. We just call it the V-wing."

A low whistle escaped Anakin's lips. The fighter was a far cry from the Z-95s populating the rest of the hangar. Half the length of Sawshark Squadron's fighters, the wedge-shaped V-wing's sleek paint job and pointed nose created the impression of a blazingly fast vessel. The fighter's wings were pitched downard, serving as a sort of landing gear. Large panels—Armor, maybe, or radiators, Anakin mused—sat at the rear of the fighter, partially covering the cockpit and the astromech socket.

"It's an interceptor," Karin explained. "Flimsier than our Headhunters, but way faster. It's got these new ion engines, and an astromech to aid with targeting and navigation. Not really my style, but it works for some people."

"Is that an R3 unit?" Anakin asked excitedly. "I've always wanted to work with a top-of-the-line droid."

"Not with that one, you don't" Karin said, her eyes narrowing. "It's a piece of work, let me tell you. Prototype stuff sounds fun until you get a droid that was bugged coming off the assembly line. The thing literally has no personality. It's a pain in the ass to get it to do anything. And now poor Rin is gonna have to fly with it until we can get him a new Z-95."

"I don't know," Anakin chuckled, gesturing across the hangar to Rin Hatchko. The Barabel was speed-walking away from Liz, the latter's blue-eyed personality chattering away as she followed behind. "After dealing with that, a personality-free droid might be just what Rin needs."

For a brief moment, the hearty laughter of the two pilots rose above the din of activity in the hangar. It was just enough to let them forget—if only for a while—the hell they had just fought through, and the hell that was to come.


Commander Cody snapped into a salute as the hologram of Bail Organa materialized before him. The Chancellor seemed worse for wear since the last time they'd spoken—the dark blotches under his eyes were deeper, his expression more haggard—but the man standing next to Cody looked considerably more ragged. General Kenobi, beaten and bruised, had waved away all offers of medical attention when he'd arrived on board, insisting that every effort go toward treating his unconscious friend.

The general's tattered, dirtied tunic and the improvised bandage wrapped around his ribcage served as a testament to what he'd been through since arriving in the Had system. He'd only described some of it to Cody—speeder bikes, insects, and sword fights were involved—but even with the scant details, the commander was amazed Obi-Wan had come out as well as he did. Still, he was nothing if not joyous as the chancellor's projection appeared.

"Bail!" Obi-Wan exclaimed, a smile cracking his weary visage. "So good to see you."

"Likewise, my friend," the Chancellor replied, his own face breaking into a smile. "Commander Cody, thank you for going after him. I am in your debt."

Cody nodded slightly. "It was my pleasure, sir. Though I imagine it's General Kenobi who's more indebted. Sir," he added, as the general raised his eyebrows.

"Has the commander filled you in on the political situation, Obi-Wan?" Bail asked, his hologram wavering slightly. "I'll have to wait to catch up on your adventures, I'm afraid—I've created a lot of extra work for myself over here." He allowed a grimace to pass across his face. "Not that it wasn't worth it, of course."

"He got me up to speed on the walk to the comm room," Obi-Wan replied. "Bail, I'm so sorry I cost you your job. If there's anything I can—"

A genuine smile interrupted him. "I'm not so sure you did. Word of Typhoon Division's heroics has reached Alderaan. There's a victory parade being organized for when you get back. I'll be there as well. There's no saving the Chancellorship—my colleagues in the Senate are even more furious with me than they were a couple of days ago—but appearing at this victory celebration should squash any plans for a recall vote on Alderaan."

"You'll get to keep your Senate seat, then," Cody said. A collective feeling of relief washed over the comm room—if nothing else, this would hopefully reduce the odds of a courtmartial.

"It's good to know this wasn't a total loss for you," said the general. "Hopefully you can still make a difference in the Senate. I fear we're heading into difficult times."

"Indeed we are. And I'd best get back to work. I'm still the chancellor for now, and I should probably be spending my last days in office making sure I'm succeeded by someone who's prepared to handle the war we just started. Have a safe journey home, gentlemen. I'll see you soon."

With that, the image of Bail Organa flickered out of existence.

"I should be going too," Obi-Wan said after a moment's silence. "Head back to the lower decks, check on people, that sort of thing."

"You should get cleaned up first, sir," Cody said, carefully adjusting his tone so it didn't sound like an order. "There's a fresh uniform in your quarters."

Obi-Wan nodded slightly. "Maybe you're right. Thank you, Cody. For coming after me. For . . . all of this."

"I've always got your back, General. Always."


Standing before the doors to the Coelacanth's medbay, Obi-Wan inhaled deeply and adjusted the cuffs on his new uniform. It felt almost strange to be back in the well-tailored navy blue clothes of a Republic officer, to have hair that wasn't grimy with dirt and sweat, to have a proper bandage around his ribs that hadn't been improvised from torn pieces of clothing. Far from an unpleasant sensation, but distinctly offputting all the same.

It felt wrong to be back in decent condition, he supposed, because his dear friend still wasn't. As the med bay doors slid aside, Obi-Wan fought to keep his emotion off his face.

Qui-Gon's battered form lay still on an operating table, intravenous tubes in her arms and a breath mask over her mouth. Her chest rose and fell in a gentle rhythm, the beep of the heart monitor pulsing slower than it should have. Her wound was out of sight—bandaged, which Obi-Wan was grateful for. He couldn't bear to look at the cauterized hole again.

"Oh, General," boomed a voice from the rear of the medical bay. "Come in, please."

The doors to the med bay swooshed shut behind Obi-Wan as he entered the room. An Ithorian in a lab coat lumbered forward, its bulbous eyes blinking rapidly as they met the general's own gaze.

"Doctor Urba," Obi-Wan said with a nod. "How is she?"

"She's stable," the medical officer replied. "I don't trust the droids to do much more than that, though. We're a battleship med bay, not a top of the line hospital. The damage to her spinal cord is significant." Urba's eyes blinked twice, slowly, in what Obi-Wan had come to learn was an Ithorian tell for apprehension.

"She's paralyzed, then?" he asked, concern rising in his voice before he could pull it back down. Something wet welled in his eyes; willing it to dissipate for now, he moved closer to the operating table. For now, he resisted the urge to take Qui-Gon's hand in his own; not with a subordinate present.

"For now," Urba confirmed, his voice rumbling. "When we get back to Alderaan, I'm having her transferred to a facility on the Sanctuary Coast. There's an experimental nerve reconstruction surgery they can perform. She may walk again, though there will always be some level of permanent damage."

The Ithorian breathed deeply; his throat sack buzzed in response. "General, I have to ask about this wound of hers."

Uh oh, Obi-Wan thought. He knows.

"She's worked with you before, hasn't she?" Urba asked. "At your . . . other job."

Obi-Wan did not make eye contact with the doctor. Urba was more aware than most of the Coelacanth's crew of Obi-Wan's affiliation—interactions between a medical officer and his patients were closer than most others on the ship. Not my place to tell him about Qui-Gon, though. She deserves to keep her own secrets. Sighing quietly, he kept his eyes on his friend and said nothing.

"I see," the Ithorian finally said after the silence had dragged on longer than was comfortable for either party. "It is somewhat fortunate, I suppose. She may not have made it otherwise—the cauterization worked in her favor, painful as it may have been at the time."

"Doctor, please," Obi-Wan snapped, before quickly exhaling and adding: "My apologies. You've done brilliantly. I'd just rather not think about that. I just came to visit her."

Urba gave his best approximation of a human nod. "Of course, General."

"I don't suppose it's possible to wake her up?"

"I'm afraid not." The Ithorian set the medical instruments he'd been carrying on a nearby table. "Still, I can leave you two alone if you wish. I'm sure you have your ways of communicating."

Obi-Wan hesitated, but only for a moment. "I . . . thank you, Doctor. I'd appreciate it."

The med bay door swished closed after the Ithorian. Obi-Wan strode around the operating table to stand above Qui-Gon's head. He inhaled deeply, closed his eyes, and rested his hands on her shoulders.

In an instant, the medical bay seemed to melt away.


Obi-Wan Kenobi feels the water lapping at his boots before he opens his eyes. When his eyelids do flutter upward, he is presented with a strange sight: water stretching to the horizon, moving in an outward ripple. It is infinitely distant, yet he seems to float on top of it. Sound is muted, but seems to echo; the ghost of lapping water whispers in his ear.

Before him, kneeling in the endless puddle, is a woman. Her dark hair wavers gently in the breeze. She looks back at him, and her lips form that signature smirk.

"Hey," she says. "The Force seems to have a funny idea of scenery, unless the lake was your idea."

"I'm so sorry," Obi-Wan replies, blowing past the banter without even an attempt at a reply. Those three words are the only ones he can find.

"Don't be," the woman urges as she rises to her feet. Water laps at her boots, but her robe is perfectly dry in the places that had made contact with the lake's surface. "It was supposed to be a lot worse."

"What do you mean?" asks Obi-Wan. As he moves closer to the now-standing woman, the water at his feet remains perfectly still. It is as if he does not walk upon it.

"I was supposed to die, Obi-Wan," she says in response, taking a few steps forward. As she moves, the water ripples beneath her. "I saw it as I was flying to Had Abbadon. I was supposed to get stabbed by a lightsaber and die. But I didn't."

"Qui-Gon—"

"That's not all," she continues. "There's something else. Skywalker."

Obi-Wan feels himself stop moving. His eyes widen, and his gaze locks onto his former partner. "What about him?"

"There's darkness within him. Intense fear . . . and a dangerous future. Death. Destruction. Of what, I can't be sure. But it's bad."

"You saw that too?"

"I did," Qui-Gon says. She stares at her feet as she delivers the news, but then looks him in the eye. The trepidation in her face, Obi-Wan can see, is mixed with something else—determination. "But part of my vision didn't come true. Maybe we can make sure none of it will."

He narrows his eyes. "How?"

"The Force resonates powerfully within him. I felt it. I know you've felt it. The Zabrak we fought felt it. Anakin needs training. And if the Jedi don't offer it to him, he'll find it elsewhere."

"The Zabrak . . ." Obi-Wan mutters, realization dawning in his eyes. "You saw a future where he's trained by a Sith."

Qui-Gon nods emphatically. "Let's make sure that doesn't happen. Let's create a future where he's trained by the Jedi. Where he destroys things that are meant to be destroyed. Ask him to join the Order, Obi-Wan. Please."

A pained frown crosses Obi-Wan's face. "I promised I would help him find a way to sever his connection to the Force. He's terrified of himself. You have to have felt that."

Qui-Gon's head shakes slowly. "Convince him that isn't the way to go. You have to. Do it for the Jedi. Do it for me." The request made, something seems to lift from her shoulders, some hidden burden she's carried across the lake's surface. She straightens up, and quirks up a corner of her mouth. "After all, talking people into things they don't want to do is supposed to be your job."

A distant chime tolls across the water, as though something is calling them back. Before Obi-Wan can respond, the world around him once again melts away.


As Obi-Wan opened his eyes, the med bay reappeared around him. Qui-Gon lay on the table in front of him, her gentle breaths and the sound of the heart monitor reminding Obi-Wan of the state she was in.

The state her body is in, Obi-Wan reminded himself. The experience of the past few minutes was enough to drive home the point that Qui-Gon's mind was just fine. Fine and right, a voice said from within. Obi-Wan wanted to dismiss it as an echo of the connection he'd just made with Qui-Gon, but he couldn't shake the feeling it was true. Regardless of any promises Obi-Wan had made, Anakin needed to be trained in the ways of the Force.

It was time to go recruit a new Jedi.


When the doors of the turbolift he'd summoned opened up, Anakin was already standing there. "Thought you'd be overseeing repairs," Obi-Wan said, mildly surprised. "Surely they haven't fixed the Dancer that quickly."

"Padmé's keeping 'em in line," the pilot replied. "Figured I should come and check on Qui-Gon. Is she . . . ?"

"Not as bad as she could be," the Jedi quickly answered. "Paralyzed, for now, but there are steps that can be taken to help ease that."

Relief flooded out from behind Anakin's eyes; he nodded, blowing some breath out hard through his lips. "That's good." After a moment, concern shaded back into his expression. "But if all they can do is ease it . . . is she still gonna be able to—you know."

"Be a Jedi?" Obi-Wan placed a hand on the pilot's shoulder, and tried to impart as much reassurance through it as he could. "Believe me, Anakin, there's more to being a Jedi than running from monsters and twirling around a lightsaber. It's a whole existence, not just combat. The Knights are only one part of the Order, after all."

Curiosity lit up his friend's eyes. "Wait, what?"

"We have scholars, healers, engineers. The Order needs to be many things for many people, Anakin—we'd be limiting ourselves if all we did was fight back against the dark." Lowering his hand, he looked his friend in the eye. "And we're always looking for new pilots."

It took a second for the statement's hidden question to sink in, but as soon as it did Anakin opened his mouth to reply. "Obi-Wan—"

The Jedi raised his hands placatingly. "Hear me out." He waited a few moments, then continued.

"I don't think you realize the scale of what you've helped to accomplish, Anakin. Thanks to you, Had Abbadon has been saved. The surface will probably never fully recover, but the underground settlements will be free. They'll be able to see their families again. The Confederacy will not be able to enslave them, or use their resources against the rest of the galaxy. You did that. You saved the fleet from being wiped out. And you saved me and Qui-Gon from death. That's quite a few people rescued for a lifetime, much less a few days.

"And you couldn't have done it without the Force."

Someone coughed from behind them; Obi-Wan turned to see a Rodian soldier who was standing awkwardly, waiting for the turbolift. "Pardon me, General," the alien mumbled as the friends stepped aside; the pair were silent until the lift's doors had closed once again.

Returning to the pilot's gaze, Obi-Wan said: "When you did . . . what you did, against the Zabrak. When you touched the Force, truly opened yourself to it. I felt no fear coming from you. I felt peace, and certainty, and the knowledge that you were doing what was right. You can do that again. You don't have to live your life constantly fretting about your potential for evil." He paused, searching for the right words, and finished: "I know firsthand the good that you can do. And with the war coming, the galaxy needs you. I need you. Let the Jedi teach you."

"'The Jedi'?" Anakin asked, brow furrowing. "What about you?"

Obi-Wan took a half-step back, startled—the idea had genuinely never occurred to him. "Me? Oh, no, Anakin, I'm hardly qualified. Only Masters can take on students. And I know enough about myself to know I would be a wretched teacher. But I can assure you, you would learn from the best. The Jedi who taught me is . . . I can't begin to explain what he's like."

The furrow deepened, and Obi-Wan could feel the conversation slipping away from him. "So the Jedi who taught you is back on Alderaan?"

"Ahh, no, not exactly. He's . . . remote. You would train with him in solitude. That's his way."

"In solitude. So I'm alone on some Outer Rim world with someone I don't even know? What about Padmé?"

Before the general could formulate a reply, Anakin spoke again. "Look, Obi-Wan. I appreciate it. Really. And I understand what this means to you. And to Qui-Gon. But . . ." He let his arms shrug limply. "I can't. I just . . . I can't."

But you have to. The Force can't have steered me and Qui-Gon wrong, not both of us . . .

Perhaps this thought was pronounced enough that Anakin picked it up. "The Force helped me do . . . whatever I did, to save you, and I'm grateful for that. But that has to be it. I can't do that again." Obi-Wan could see the pilot rolling the next sentence over in his mind, almost regretting it before it had come. "And you did promise."

That, it appeared, was that.

Defeated, the Jedi nodded. "Yes, I did. And I owe you that much." He sighed. "The ability to cut oneself off from the Force isn't practiced much by Jedi, for obvious reasons. I don't know the secret to it myself. But I'll look into it, and I'll send it to you as soon as I know. I promise."

Profound gratitude flooded Anakin's face, but it was mingled with something else—a certain wistfulness? Or was that Obi-Wan's imagination?

"No matter what," the pilot said, "I'm glad I met you. Ben Kenobi."

Despite everything, Obi-Wan smiled. "And I you, spice miner."

The lift had returned to this level; Anakin gestured at it with what was left of his mechanical hand. "Wanna go see Padmé? See how repairs are going?"

"As much as I'd like to," the general said, "I'll have to catch up with her a little later. Right now, I think I want to sleep. For a thousand hours or so."

The crooked flyboy grin surfaced. "Fair enough. See you then." With that, Anakin turned to enter the empty lift.

His better judgment told him not to, but before he could stop himself Obi-Wan blurted, "Anakin?"

A questioning look on his face, the pilot turned back around.

"May the Force be with you," the Jedi said simply.

Anakin hesitated, nodded once, and then closed the lift.


The general's quarters, so familiar to him just a week before, felt like alien territory as he stepped through the door. Bed in one far corner, bookshelf in the other; the refresher unit off to the right; a simple rug for meditation placed at the center of the floor. There was more appropriate clothing in the closet, but Obi-Wan had no intention of changing; he would fall asleep in his uniform, save only his boots.

Just as he prepared to collapse, his commlink buzzed. Sighing, the general plucked it from his pocket and flipped the receiver switch. "Yes?"

"General Kenobi?" Reyes asked from the other end of the line. "I'm so sorry to bother you, sir, but we've got someone on the planet's surface who wants to speak with you."

This brought a frown to Obi-Wan's lips. "The surface? Communications are back up so soon?"

"Limited access—we managed to recruit some local help to get things set up as quickly as possible. That's, um, actually what the call is about."

Obi-Wan considered pointing out that he was not exactly a communications specialist, but found he was too tired to argue. "Fine, put them through."

For ten seconds, there was nothing but static. Then: "Who is this?"

It was damnably familiar, but Obi-Wan couldn't quite place where he'd heard it before. "Erm, General Obi-Wan Kenobi. I'm told you wanted to speak to me?"

"You're the guy in charge of all these new arrivals?"

On any other day he would have hung up, but the familiarity of the voice kept nagging at him. "Yes, in fact, I am."

"Well then maybe you can explain to them that I've got better places to be than helping them rig friggin' radio towers when the surface is still smoking. I just got out of the communications business—been fielding everybody and their mother trying to place calls for the last month, which WASN'T POSSIBLE, by the way, and just when the caves crack and I can finally get the hell outta here some goons in fighter jets show up and say they need help quick as possible to 'reestablish communications.' Communications have been out for months, they can't wait one more day?"

Suddenly, Obi-Wan felt a grin he was sure looked remarkably like Anakin's creeping across his face.

"And I'm telling you something, Kenobi, I'd better be VERY well compensated for this, if the Republic is in the habit of impressing bombing victims I'm gonna have to take my business to the Confederacy—"

"Oh, you'll be paid, Cal, I guarantee it. In fact, I think I can guarantee you our standard contractor's rate, plus a substantial bonus."

"Now THAT's what I like to—" Abruptly, the Sullustan cut himself off. "Wait, I didn't tell you my name. Who the hell are you?"

"If you're ever in the vicinity of Coruscant, stop by sometime," the Jedi said. "Hapes Clusters are on me."

He hung up the comm, sat down on the bed, and fell asleep taking his boots off.