Chapter Forty-Two: Pieces of Home
Worn ridges of paper tickled Obi-Wan's thumb as he slid it across the old book's edge. The tome was soft, weathered by years of use in a damp environment—the Jedi Master could still smell traces of the swamp radiating off each page.
Handwritten strokes from a writing stylus surrounded each typed paragraph—the further he thumbed through the book, the more refined the penmanship became. Most of the notes were in his own script—a few were harder to read, penned by an older, shakier hand.
Those notes were the ones he treasured most.
Obi-Wan leaned deeper into the pages and inhaled, closing his eyes and allowing the scent of the old paper to transport him to years past—if he focused hard enough, he could hear the calls of the bogwings echoing from within the gnarltrees.
A voice summoned him back to the present moment; the memory of Dagobah burned away as if it had been dropped in a campfire. "Going somewhere?"
There was a hint of levity behind the two words—as if the person speaking them knew it was silly to even ask.
Lowering the book to his side, Obi-Wan opened his eyes and took in his surroundings—his dormitory in the Jedi Temple, carved of stone and lit by candles set in wall sconces. A place I never expected to see again.
Atop the bed, an open rucksack sat surrounded by several of Obi-Wan's personal effects. His eyes flitted to the strewn about possessions, then up to the room's doorframe. Within it stood a fellow Jedi Master—Luminara.
Obi-Wan allowed himself a tired grin. "What gave it away?"
She stepped across the threshold of the dormitory, moving closer toward the haphazard display spread across the bed. Her shoulders slumped; an apologetic sigh escaped her lips. "It's especially unfair for you. You just got back, and now you're packing up to leave again." She paused and gestured toward the tattered tome in his hand. "Though if it helps, you probably don't need to bring that. Master Nu is working on a complete datatape backup of the archives to send with every evacuation ark."
A twinge of guilt tugged at Obi-Wan's heart as he raised the old Jedi text again, opening it to the very first page. Tucked safely beneath the book's cover sat a handwritten letter, the glint of a sparkling bird feather pressed into the yellowed parchment. It had belonged to an amberwing dove—the creature prized and treasured by his homeworld.
No matter where your journey takes you, the final words of the letter read, you'll always have a piece of home.
With love,
Alma Kenobi.
He opened his mouth to speak; his throat was dry. "I'm not going on an ark," he said, his voice crackling as he kept his eyes locked on the letter.
"You're going to Alderaan, then?" Luminara asked, tilting her head to indicate the interior of the old book—she must have seen the candlelight reflecting off the amberwing feather, Obi-Wan realized.
Coughing to clear his throat, Obi-Wan shook his head. "Good heavens, no. I can't be seen anywhere near Bail, not now. I may have escaped Snowblind—barely—but Tarkin has proof positive that I was there. Bail will have to distance himself from me as much as possible. Fire me, maybe even issue a public denouncement. If he's to keep his position in the Senate, I can't be on Alderaan." He turned away from her and snapped the book shut—ensuring his late sister's letter remained safely tucked inside. Stuffing it in the rucksack, Obi-Wan kept his focus on the things scattered across the bed and braced himself for the question he knew was coming.
"Then where are you going?"
It's just like when you left home, he thought. Alma protested. She didn't understand. There had been hurtful words hurled across the living room, fights ending in one of them storming out the door to go sulk by the lakeshore. It had taken weeks for his sister to come around; the letter tucked within Obi-Wan's old Jedi book had been her way of mending things as much as it had been her parting gift.
But Obi-Wan didn't have weeks to make Luminara understand. He had right here, and right now.
He didn't look at her as he spoke, instead picking up an old pan flute—one of Yoda's, the knots of the stickle tree he'd carved it from still visible on each pipe. As he stuffed it in the rucksack, he spoke: "I can't tell you."
"Why not?" she asked, a growing irritation present in her voice—though Obi-Wan wasn't looking at her, he could feel the tension rolling off her through the Force.
The Jedi shook his head. "You should talk to the other masters, I already gave them a full report about what happened while I was gone—"
He was cut short as Luminara's hand clamped around his arm, yanking him away from the bed. "I already spoke to them!" she snapped. "They told me all about Snowblind. They didn't say anything about you leaving."
Obi-Wan's eyes darted down toward the cold floor of the dormitory. "That's because I didn't tell them."
Her grip around his arm loosened enough for Obi-Wan to gently pull away. "I knew they'd try to talk me out of it," he continued. Then, gesturing at her: "Seems I was right about that." He turned back toward the bed and snatched up another item—a minitape with a name scrawled on the label: Qui-Gon. He tossed it into the rucksack.
"Obi-Wan," Luminara protested, "there's no reason for you to run off—"
"No reason?" he said, whirling around to face her. He could feel the heat rising in his face—a few deep breaths brought his frustration down to a manageable level. "Tarkin is trying to pin the Clone Wars on the Jedi Order, and I'm the only Jedi he knows. Every moment I am here puts the Order more at risk. The only reason I'm here is that I had nowhere else to escape to."
Turning to survey the contents atop the bed once again, he let out a long sigh. His shoulders fell, his voice dropping with them. "I don't just have to leave, Luminara. I have to disappear."
Hurriedly scooping up the remaining possessions around the rucksack, he stuffed them inside—a set of clothes, another minitape. Then his hand wrapped around the final item. One he'd saved for last—perhaps because he was unsure whether he wanted to pack it at all. A cool metal cylinder, rubber grips set around the bottom edge, a quick-release ring screwed into the base.
Anakin's lightsaber.
Obi-Wan swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat and jammed the weapon into the rucksack, snapping it shut and slinging it over one shoulder. As he whirled around to leave, he came face to face with Luminara, who was blocking the doorway.
"Is this about him?"
His heart sank into his stomach, and his face flushed red. He tried to speak, but could barely find the words. "What? No, I—"
Luminara's eyes fluttered closed for the briefest moment. "We can still help him, Obi-Wan."
Tears began to well behind the Jedi Master's eyes; forcing them back, he shoved his way past Luminara and out into the dormitory hall. He took several steps away from his room—from Luminara—before coming to a halt. Behind him, he could feel an aura of remorse radiating off her. He echoed it in kind, and turned around to look at her again.
"I would love nothing more than to repair Anakin's relationship with us. With the Force," he began. "But an ark evacuation takes too long, you know that. We can't all leave at once or we'd get noticed, which means we have to wait here at the Temple. Sneak offworld in waves. If I wait here, I'm putting the entire Jedi Order at risk—and if I leave on an ark now, I'm endangering every other person on board. Even if I could help Anakin, I have a greater duty to all of you. I have to go."
As the Mirialan hung her head, Obi-Wan found his eyes wandering past her, to his dormitory door—and to the names carved into it. The names of the room's residents.
First, his own, the Aurebesh script so worn into the wood one might think it had always been there, the carvings smoothed by the passage of time.
Second, below his own name, another carving. Anakin Skywalker. The cuts into the wood fresher, harsher, more jagged. Like a wound.
Luminara turned to glance over her shoulder, following Obi-Wan's gaze. She raised a hand to run a finger over the wood carvings; her presence in the Force radiated sorrow as she traced the etchings of Anakin's name. Then she turned back and offered Obi-Wan a single, slow nod.
"The Force will be with you," she said. "Always."
The Temple's main courtyard was a buzz of nervous activity as Jedi milled about, preparing for the slow and steady evacuation of the entire Order. Everyone who moved past Obi-Wan seemed preoccupied with their own tasks; it was easy enough for him to slip through the crowd, rucksack slung over one shoulder, until he found a place to stop and rest.
Lowering himself onto a bench, he dropped the rucksack at his feet and let out a lengthy sigh, allowing his eyes to droop closed. How long had it been since he had just sat down?
His solitude was short, however—within moments, another presence graced the bench beside him. This one was lighter, less weighed down by concern than any of the other surrounding Jedi—or than Obi-Wan, for that matter.
Opening his eyes, Obi-Wan turned to look at the new arrival. A Duros stared back, his large red eyes projecting warmth and care into Obi-Wan's heart. He couldn't help but smile.
"Hello, Qlik."
The Jedi quartermaster smiled in turn. "Hello, Master Kenobi. Came to say goodbye."
Obi-Wan's heart skipped a beat, and his eyes grew wide. How does he know I'm— "Have you been talking to Luminara?" he asked, his hurried words interrupting his own thoughts.
The Duros shook his head. "What? No. Saw the rucksack, assumed you were leaving. Only sensible course of action considering Tarkin's knowledge." He paused long enough to exhale sharply through his nostrils. "Won't ask where you're going. Know you can't say. Just want to wish you best. May not see each other for a while." Inhaling deeply, Qlik reached down to his belt. "Since you'll be away from Jedi Order, thought you should have this."
The quartermaster raised a hand and extended it toward Obi-Wan. Within his open palm sat a lightsaber.
"Know you lost yours," Qlik finished.
Obi-Wan stared at the metal cylinder, and a sense of unease twisted his stomach into a knot. His heart fluttered, his palms grew sweaty. Why? he found himself silently wondering. Why don't you want it?
He'd missed his lightsaber greatly on Snowblind, in the moments where he'd reflexively reached down to his belt, forgetting that the weapon no longer hung there. But now?
Reaching out, he gently closed Qlik's fingers around the saber hilt and pushed it back toward the Duros. "That's not necessary," Obi-Wan said with a shake of his head. "I'll have plenty of time to build my own where I'm going."
Another pang of guilt tugged at his insides, not unlike the one he'd felt as he'd spoken with Luminara. You don't mean that. His own thoughts seemed distant as the words echoed across his mind.
Distant, but not entirely off the mark. If only a little time could pass without him having to pick up a lightsaber in the name of peace and justice. If he could only rest. Then perhaps he'd build one again.
The Duros's head bobbed up and down in a sympathetic nod. "Understood. Always better to build your own."
Or borrow a friend's, should the need arise, he thought, his gaze flitting to the rucksack as its sparse contents came to mind again. Then, his thoughts wandered from Anakin's lightsaber to another matter—
"Wait, Qlik," Obi-Wan began, leaning down and stuffing a hand into the rucksack until his fingers came to rest on the plastic shell of a minitape. "I have a favor to ask."
"Anything."
Obi-Wan withdrew the tape and held it out toward the Jedi quartermaster—as he turned it over, the Temple's lamplight glinted against the name scrawled on the label.
"I'm sure the comm room is busy, but there's something Qui-Gon needs to know. Could you transmit this to her ship when you get a moment?"
Plucking the proffered tape from Obi-Wan's hand, the Duros rose to his feet and offered his fellow Jedi a gentle bow. "Yes. Right away." He inhaled sharply, then: "Anything else?"
Obi-Wan's eyes wandered down again, back to the rucksack. It sat slightly open, its contents peeking back up at him. Among the hurriedly packed mess of clothes and books and mementos, another minitape stood out—this one, too, bore a name scratched into the label. Anakin.
Tearing his gaze away from the tape, Obi-Wan looked back up at Qlik. "No," he said. "Thank you, Qlik, but no." Rising to stand beside the Duros, he placed a hand on the quartermaster's shoulder and nodded. "I'll miss you."
Qlik's eyes seemed to glisten with a hint of moisture. "Yes," he whispered with a snappy nod. "May the Force be with you."
"And also with you," Obi-Wan offered in return, his voice crackling through the hushed words. With that, his friend turned and walked away.
Sighing, he bent to pick up his rucksack. There was no use waiting around too long—if he stayed here too long, it would be a danger. He'd find another place to hole up for the night; then, in the morning, he'd get in touch with Bail, update him one last time before disappearing. And then, perhaps, he'd have an answer to the fear that had been gnawing at him ever since he'd escaped Snowblind.
She got out of there, he told himself. You'd have sensed it if she hadn't. The Force would have told you. When you contact Bail, she'll be there with him. You can say goodbye to her.
He'd been saying it ever since they were separated. Knew it was true—that if Padmé Amidala were to die, he would feel it no matter how far apart they were. That knowledge hadn't helped.
Even as he began once again to reassure himself things would somehow be all right, Obi-Wan frowned and raised his head. There was a commotion of some kind going on at the far edge of the courtyard—where the stairway led upward to the hidden entrance, then to the building in the Classical District that had been erected to cover it up.
And he could also feel something familiar. It was close.
One of the gathered Jedi, seeing his quizzical stare, called over, "Someone at the entrance. There's no scheduled group arriving from offplanet."
Obi-Wan realized immediately who it was. In an instant, he was on his feet and running toward the entrance, raising his voice to tell the guards it was all right, let them in.
The door at the top of the stairs swung open, revealing a woman's silhouette.
Only the briefest moment later, Obi-Wan found the air rushing out of his lungs as he was enveloped in a charging hug that nearly knocked him over.
"Oh my gods," came the familiar voice, muffled by the cloth of his tunic as its speaker pressed her face into his chest. "I came back here to get help, I didn't think that you'd—and now you're—gods, you're okay, you're actually okay."
He squeezed Padmé back, not quite daring to believe she was here. "I managed to find their auxiliary hangar, get a ship and—what are you doing here? Why not Alderaan?"
When she pulled back, the look on her face was far more somber than he'd expected it to be—behind her eyes hung a deep sorrow.
"I knew there was only one last shot to get both of us out with our names clean," she replied. "And I blew it." A harsh chuckle escaped her lips. "But he at least reminded me the Jedi could help with a rescue. Next best thing. Even if I didn't end up needing it."
Frowning, Obi-Wan asked, "He . . . ?"
Nodding, Padmé swallowed, squeezed her eyes shut, opened them again. "I . . . we need to talk about Anakin."
Jedi Archives: Ark Evacuation Protocol
Should a Council of Masters determine the security of the Order to be dangerously compromised, the following protocol will be observed:
An Emergency Recall Order shall be issued, returning all Jedi to the Temple.
Jedi will be divided up by discipline into small groups of no more than one dozen, ensuring a complete competency of skills and knowledge of the Force among each group. These groups will be assigned an Ark—a long range spacefaring vessel capable of low-emission flight.
Each Ark will be loaded with provisions, a complete data backup of the Jedi Archives, selected physical works from the Temple Library, and a trimming of the Temple's central tree. Space for personal effects will be limited, but available.
At a rate of one per week, Arks will be sent out from the Temple to randomly selected destinations. A core contingent of Jedi ("The Hundred") will remain behind to oversee the final Ark departure. Should it be deemed absolutely necessary, the Temple may be totally evacuated.
When it is deemed safe, an Ark Recall Transmission will be sent. If an Ark does not receive the Ark Recall Transmission within 360 standard days, they are to use their supplies to establish a new Jedi Temple.