Stars in the Darkness - Part Eleven
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As the air taxi in which Onara and Anakin were passengers sped dizzyingly through the lines of speeder traffic and among the towering skyscrapers, Anakin glanced over at Onara. She wore a long-waisted gown of ebony satin edged in gold. Her hair was up and hidden under the hood of a long black cloak which was fastened at the throat with a rather elaborate silver jeweled clasp. Her only other piece of jewelry besides the clasp were two pearl drop earrings and slender bracelets of silver and onyx. Again, although Onara looked nothing like that battle-ax Lady Tsara, Anakin couldn't help but think of her because the old dragon had always worn black.
Onara, noting him looking at her, turned her head and gave him a wan smile. He sensed she wasn't looking forward to this confrontation. He didn't blame her. As far as he knew, no one had ever dared challenge Twang about his malicious gossip, something Anakin had never understood. The man was a twit, and he should have been shut up, kicked off the HoloNet, or banished to the Outer Rim a long time ago, but for as long as Anakin had lived on Coruscant, and beyond that, Twang had been spewing out his garbage and the public had lapped it up like galoomps at the trough. He mulled over that, then their driver, a Bimm, made a sudden sharp left, throwing Anakin hard against Onara. The Bimm sang something that sounded like an apology. Onara shook her head.
"I still can't use to traveling like this," she said, looking out at the traffic whizzing past them.
"You will," Anakin assured her.
"Did it take you long?"
Anakin shrugged. "No, but I used to race pods, and let me tell you compared to that, this is nothing."
Onara smiled at him. "I've never seen a pod race."
"They don't have many of them in the Core Worlds, but there's one on Malastare that's pretty big."
"Do you still race?"
"No, Master Obi-Wan won't let me. I think he's worried I'll get hurt or something and, well, it's not a very Jedi-like thing to do."
Onara's face grew solemn. "No, I suppose not."
Anakin knew she was recalling their conversation in her bedroom before they'd left her apartment. After Anakin had finished breakfast and Keria had gone in to help Onara get dressed, he had wandered around the sitting area as he waited, looking at the artwork and sculptures Onara had brought with her from Ahjane.
One in particular had caught his attention. It was a statuette of a man and woman, both attractive, both young, their arms clasped rather suggestively about the other. He had been staring at it, thinking of Padmé when Keria had startled him by suddenly appearing at his side.
"That's Romal and Juvia," she told him.
Anakin, who was blushing furiously at having been caught gawking at it, quickly cleared his throat.
"Oh, really," he said nonchalantly, although his heart was thumping at he continued to gaze at the statuette.
Keria nodded. "They're Ahjane's most famous lovers. It's said that on their wedding night they prayed for the sun not to rise and it didn't. Not for an entire week."
Anakin cleared his throat again for he suddenly felt quite warm and was also conscious of a great many things. Like, for example, how sweet Keria's perfume was. She looked up at him smiling, her blue eyes speculative as if she knew exactly what he was thinking.
"Milady wants to see you. She's in her bedroom," she finally said after staring at him for a moment.
"Of course."
Anakin turned and moved quickly away from Keria who was still watching him with that knowing smile on her lush, pink lips. He entered Onara's bedroom. She was standing in front of the mirror of her dressing bureau, looking over the black gown she had put on. When she saw Anakin she smiled warmly.
"Come in, dear," she said, noting he was standing awkwardly in the doorway. "I promise, I won't bite."
"No, it's not that. I just don't make it a habit of entering a lady's bedroom," he remarked with a laugh as he walked further into the room.
Onara arched a delicate, dark brow. "Really? You disappoint me, Anakin. A handsome young man like you, I would think, would be well-acquainted with a great many ladies' bedrooms."
Just as Anakin was about to protest that was most certainly not the case, he saw by Onara's expression she was only teasing him. He ducked his head and gave her a sheepish grin.
"I asked you to come here because I want to show you something," she said.
Anakin walked closer to her. She reached over and picked up a gold-framed picture from off the bureau.
"I wanted you to see this picture of Ben. You haven't seen him since he was a baby."
Anakin took the photograph when Onara handed it to him.
"That's Ben?" he cried incredulously. "Why he looks just like...." Anakin stopped, glancing anxiously over at Onara.
"Yes, except for the color of his hair, he looks exactly like Obi-Wan, doesn't he? Or how I imagine Obi-Wan would have looked at that age."
Anakin nodded. He hadn't realized enough time had passed for Ben to get so big.
"Well, he's certainly a good-looking kid, and he's dressed pretty snazzy too," he added with a grin.
Onara smiled gently. "That was Dalan's idea. He wanted Ben painted in the traditional attire of a Dynast."
"Oh, wow, I'd forgotten that. Ben is heir to your province."
"And to Dalan's also."
Anakin continued to stare down at Ben's portrait. He recalled that Master Eo had said Ben had a very high midichlorian count, high enough to have made him eligible to enter the Jedi Order, but both Obi-Wan and Onara had agreed to let him remain with his mother.
Despite the rather serious look on his face, Anakin could tell by the impish light in those bright blue-gray eyes that Ben was a happy child so, he supposed, the right decision had been made. He looked over at Onara, but was taken aback by her expression. Her dark eyes were wide and full as she gazed up at him.
"Anakin, I wanted you to see Ben's picture because I want you to know how much he means to me." She reached over and put her hand on his arm, gripping it tightly. "I would die to protect my son, Anakin. And I would kill too."
Anakin's eyes widened in shock and he almost dropped Ben's portrait. Noting his expression, Onara laughed.
"No, no, dear, I'm not going to kill Twang. Though, goddess knows, I wouldn't mind seeing him have a rather nasty accident. No, what I mean is that I will do whatever I have to do to protect my son, to protect my husband and to protect Obi-Wan. Do you understand what I'm saying?"
Anakin had a feeling he did, but he wasn't quite sure and one thing, among the vast number of things Master Obi-Wan had taught him over the years, was to be as certain as he could about everything, and to make every effort not to decide or act without being clear as to exactly what he was getting himself into. Therefore, he shook his head no in answer to Onara's question. She smiled in understanding and, taking the portrait of Ben from Anakin, held it and looked down at it.
"Someday, when you have children of your own," and she glanced up as Anakin briskly shook his head no. "I'm sorry. I forgot. Well, let me put it this way. How far would you go to protect Obi-Wan?"
"How far? As far as it took," Anakin answered firmly.
"Even if it took you to some rather dark places?"
Anakin hesitated. Master Obi-Wan was always warning him about the dark side of the Force and, since Obi-Wan himself had called upon it once in order to save Onara's life, his master was well-acquainted with its dangers. Then Anakin frowned and firmed his jaw as he recalled the look on Obi-Wan's face when he'd read the message that morning summoning him to appear before the Council.
"Yes, even if it took me to dark places, I would do what I had to do to protect him."
"Just as I would to protect those that I love. This Twang person is a minor fish in a rather large ocean, Anakin. Hardly worthy of notice, no matter what he may think of himself. And any other time I would give him no more passing thought than I would the fleas that infest the fur of a rat scurrying about in an alley. But he must not be allowed to get away with this."
Anakin agreed wholeheartedly with that. Although Master Obi-Wan was able to see the gradations and nuances in situations, willing to concede that, even if on the surface an act appeared reprehensible, there could be unknown and extenuating circumstances that had given rise to it, Anakin was a bit more dogmatic in his ideology.
There was right and there was wrong. Pure and simple. What Twang had done was wrong, and when someone did something wrong they had to be made to suffer the consequences or else you'd have nothing but chaos and anarchy. And Anakin could not abide chaos or anarchy. He stood at attention, his arms crossed behind his back.
"What would you have me do, Lady Onara?" he asked, pitching his voice to try and resemble Obi-Wan's.
Onara shook her head and smiled. "First, stop calling me Lady Onara. I'm not that much older than you, but you're making me feel like an old lady."
Anakin laughed and spoke in his own voice. "Okay. What else?"
Onara put Ben's portrait back on the bureau, biting her lip.
"I'm...I'm not sure. It will depend upon how reasonable this Twang person is. But, if I should have need of you---"
Anakin gave her a sharp, courtly bow. "Fear not, milady. I shall do whatever you command." He gave a wry grin. "That is, as long as it doesn't involve beheading, dismemberment or disembowelment. Not that I wouldn't want to in this case, of course, but I am a Jedi after all."
Onara slapped him playfully on the arm. Turning around she took a long black cloak from the closet and put it on. When the two of them went into the sitting area, the front door chimed. Keria answered it, escorting in what looked to Anakin like a courier. The slender male humanoid bowed to Onara as she walked over, handing her a small package
"Good, it got here in time," Onara said as she opened it, taking out a silver jeweled clasp. She examined it. "I was afraid it wouldn't."
The messenger tilted his head as he also looked at the jewel. "Normally we wouldn't have been able to comply since you only requested it an hour ago but, fortunately, we tend to have such items in stock."
One of Onara's brows rose sharply. "Indeed," she remarked as Keria helped her fasten the jewel to her cloak.
Once it was on, she took a credit chit from inside her cloak and handed it to the courier. He bowed and left. Onara had then turned to Anakin and asked if he was ready and, with that, they left the apartment and hired an air taxi. Now, as the taxi began its descent to the building where Twang's office was located, Anakin wondered exactly what Onara had in mind.
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Finding Twang's office in the multi-level building was not difficult. After searching through a holographic floor listing, Anakin and Onara took a lift from the roof, where the air taxis landed, down to his floor. As they rode in the lift, it suddenly occurred to Anakin that Twang might not even be in his office. It was, after all, the first day of the week's end. He was about to inform Onara of that, but the lift had stopped. The doors slid open and Onara marched through it and into a wide reception area. It appeared to be deserted. A receptionist's desk, a wide, curving monstrosity made of gold-flecked ebony sat in front of a large wood-framed double-door. Anakin looked around.
"Onara, it doesn't look like any---"
But Onara had already moved past the receptionist's desk and over to the door behind it. She opened it and stepped inside, Anakin rushing to catch up with her.
Inside the room the late morning sun streamed in through large glass windows. Elaborately and gaudily decorated, the spacious room reminded Anakin of Twang, for it was just as boisterous and tasteless with its wild, clashing colors, chunky, plush couches and vulgar paintings. And sitting behind the wide, showy desk was Twang himself.
Anakin, who had been certain he would not be there was so startled to see him, his mouth dropped open, and he saw his expression mirrored on Twang's thick face.
"Who are you? What are you doing here?" he demanded in his high-pitched voice.
Onara moved across the room until she was standing just in front of Twang's desk.
"Interesting that you don't seem to know who I am though you are certainly free enough with my name. I am Senator Onara Lenor."
Twang's broad, fat face wrinkled. "So?"
Anakin, who had moved up next to Onara, glared at Twang. "Don't remember me either, huh?"
"Should I?"
"Anakin Skywalker. Now do you remember?"
Twang shrugged. Anakin saw he had been going through some datacards on his desk, tossing them into different piles.
"Look, if you came here for an autograph, you'll have to come back some other time. As you can see I'm quite busy."
The blood pounded in Anakin's head. An autograph! He was just about to tell Twang just what he could do with his Sith-blasted autograph, but he felt Onara reach over and put her hand gently on the sleeve of his tunic. He looked down at her and saw by the look in her eyes she wanted him to let her handle this. Gladly, Anakin thought, because the last thing Master Obi- Wan needed right now was for Anakin to be brought up on murder charges. Onara turned back to Twang who was still busily sorting through his datacards.
"Master Twang," Onara began, Anakin clearly hearing the sarcasm in her voice. "Trust me, what I want of you won't take much of your time."
"Really," Twang replied, not looking up from his datacard shuffling. "And what might that be?"
"An apology and a retraction of the slanderous statements you made this morning regarding myself and Master Kenobi. I want both the apology and the retraction to air, today, on the HoloNet News."
Twang, who had been just about to throw one of the datacards into a trash receptacle behind him, turned slowly around and looked over at Onara. He stared at her, then burst out laughing, his great bulk shuddering in the chair. Anakin clenched his fists as Twang kept laughing, but Onara seem unfazed. She only stared coolly at Twang until, wiping tears from his fat face, he finally stopped.
"All right, you've had your fun. Now, the two of you, get out of here."
"I'm not leaving until I get what I want," Onara said.
Twang looked up. His jovial expression, the one he always seemed to have when he gave his broadcasts, suddenly vanished. He gave Onara a dark look that caused all of Anakin's defensive instincts to switch on full alert.
"Who, by the stinking pit of Galdar, do you think you are, little lady?" Twang cried. "I'm Dyslogia Twang. Nobody, and I mean nobody, tells me what to do. Certainly not some skinny, bug-eyed hussy from the galactic boondocks. Now, take that straw-headed scarecrow with you and get out of my office."
Anakin was again about to launch himself across the desk, his hands already around Twang's thick throat but, again, Onara reached over and put her hand on his arm. Taking a deep breath, she smoothed down the front of her gown and delicately adjusted the jeweled clasp at the neck of her cloak.
"Is that your final word on the matter?" she asked in a low, calm voice.
"Final, last and concluding word," Twang spat as he went back to sorting through his datacards. "Now, before I really get mad, get out of here!"
Onara stared at Twang for just a moment and, as she did, she suddenly seemed to grow larger. Not in stature or size, but in her presence within the room. Moving so swiftly she took Anakin by surprise, she walked around Twang's desk and, flinging her arm across it, scattered his datacards on the floor. Twang sprang from his chair, his tiny, pink beady eyes widening as much as they could in the folds of flesh on his face as he stared down at Onara.
"You pathetic pile of pus," Onara raged. "How dare you speak to me in that manner! I am a senator of the Republic, whereas you are nothing but the scum beneath the rusted lid of a reeking can of garbage!"
Anakin's mouth dropped open because, as Onara spoke, he was, once again, reminded of Lady Tsara. Onara's voice had even deepened a bit, matching the vehemence and the ferocity her grandmother had displayed when she was alive.
"I see through you, Twang," Onara went on, her dark eyes burning. "I see through insects like you as clearly as I see through glass. Deep down inside you're nothing but a frightened, terrified little bug, because you know the people you slander and malign are far better than you, and you... you're not even fit to wipe their boots!"
Twang's tiny nose quivered and Anakin saw he was about to retort, but Onara gave him no quarter. Although he was at least two feet taller than her and outweighed her by several kilos, she showed no fear of him.
"But what do you do in light of that? Do you, like any decent person, try to find and correct your faults? No, of course not. That would take brains, courage and confidence. No, you hide your fear and your richly deserved sense of inadequacy by spreading lies and innuendoes about the very people you yearn to be. You try and destroy a good and decent man's reputation like Master Kenobi's because you're not good and decent yourself and never will be."
Again, Anakin saw Twang trying to respond, but Onara would not let up.
"I've seen your kind before," she sneered, nodding briskly, now close enough to Twang she stood toe to toe with him. "We even have scum like you on Ahjane, backward and provincial as we might be. But there we do not suffer creatures such as you gladly, nor do we abide them easily. You have slandered a good man's reputation and possibly harmed both my husband and my child, and I will not stand aside and let you get away with it."
Anakin felt the hair on the back of his neck rising. Onara's dark, lovely eyes were blazing and her face was that of an avenging goddess, terrible and beautiful, and he saw that what she'd said to him at her apartment was true. If anyone, or anything, dared to threaten or harm those that she loved, she would be merciless.
"I know what your greatest fear is," Onara suddenly said, lowering her voice so Anakin had to lean forward to hear her.
Twang's pink, beady eyes widened at her words, sweat breaking out on his gleaming, bald head.
Onara smiled ruthlessly. "Yes, I know. I know what it is tiny, scuttling little bugs like you fear the most. You're afraid that when you die no one will weep for you. Because one day you'll slip up, and people will see you for what you truly are. Sad, lonely and pathetic. And they'll laugh and point and no longer be afraid of you, and when you die people will come to your funeral. Oh, yes, hundreds, perhaps thousands, but they'll only be the curious onlookers, the inquisitive mob, and those who come merely to confirm you are truly and finally dead. It won't be flowers of mourning that are tossed upon your grave, but weeds of good-riddance. And your burial place will go unvisited, uncared for and unremembered until, like you, it fades away into the abyss of obscurity."
Twang stared down at Onara, his eyes darting from her to Anakin. Although he appeared unnerved by what Onara had said, his belligerence was also once again rising. Splotches of anger darkened his thick cheeks. Onara noted it too, for she slipped her gaze over to Anakin and imperceptibly nodded.
And Anakin, now knowing exactly what it was she wanted him to do, returned her nod. He looked over at Twang and, just as he'd done with Lady Tsara two years ago when Onara had lay dying as a result of her grandmother's schemes and Anakin had been determined to unveil her part in it, pitched his voice the way he did when he used the Jedi mind trick.
"Yes, tell us, Twang. Is that true? Are you afraid of being found out for what you really are and of dying unloved?" he asked, almost gently, but the Force giving his words the needed power to sink deep into the gossipmonger's consciousness.
Twang's fat face shuddered and quivered as if he were having a fit. He glanced wildly between Onara and Anakin. Then, his wide, thin lips trembling, he suddenly burst out crying.
"Yes, yes it's true. It's true," he blubbered. "I am afraid. I've always been afraid. Since I was a little hatchling. Puppa and Mumma used to call me such terrible names. They said no one would ever love me because I was stupid and slow and ugly. But, I showed them. I showed them all!" Twang cried, both anger and grief in his voice, his hands fluttering in front of his wide chest.
"If no one would love me, they'd at least respect and fear me. But, you're right, you're right! I hate and I envy those I talk about. Because they are better than me. They are! So I watch and I wait for them to make a mistake and...and if I can't find out something bad about them, I make it up. Because I want them all to feel what I feel. Pain and shame and fear. Why should I be the only one! Why!"
Twang lowered his face into his tiny hands and sobbed, his huge, thick shoulders heaving. Anakin almost felt sorry for him. Then he looked over at Onara. Her face was stony as she gazed at the weeping Twang and, thinking of Master Obi-Wan and Ben, and even Dalan, and what Twang probably had done to them with his gossip, erased the little bit of pity he felt from his heart. Finally, Twang stopped his weeping. He looked over at Onara, his thick face slimy with snot and tears.
"The retraction and the apology on the HoloNet News by the end of the day," she said curtly.
Twang stared at Onara and numbly nodded. She made as if to leave. Then she stopped and pointed to the jeweled clasp fastened to the neck of the cloak she wore. The jewel that had been delivered to her just before she and Anakin left.
"Oh, by the way. If you should decide once we leave not to do as I have requested, know that in this jewel is a tiny holocamera. If you do not wish to make a broadcast today, I'm sure one of your competitors would be more than happy to do so. With you as their star."
Twang's eyes widened. Onara, giving him a short, sharp smile, turned from him and, with Anakin at her side, walked out of his office. Once they were out of the reception area and inside the lift, Onara suddenly leaned against Anakin. Startled, he put his arm about her shoulder.
"Onara," he cried. "Are you all right?"
"Yes, I think so," she said softly.
She looked up at Anakin, her dark eyes anxious. "I...I almost feel as if...I've been asleep or dreaming."
"Are you feeling sick?"
Onara shook her head. "No, I'm fine. But I was so angry at Twang. The way he sat there, so haughty, so arrogant. And the longer he sat there, the angrier I got, and the more I found myself thinking of Grandmother. Oh, she was a terrible woman, Anakin. Terrible. We both know that. But, I couldn't help thinking what Grandmother would have done with someone like Twang. And, well, it almost felt as if---oh, I don't know how to explain it really- --but it felt as if I could feel Grandmother next to me, telling me what to say and how to say it."
Onara shivered against Anakin. He tightened his arm about her, but he felt a coldness rippling down his spine at her words. He didn't believe in ghosts. The Jedi were taught that upon death a person's spirit became one with the Force, and no identity remained after one had passed on.
Then he found himself recalling when he and that Red Tide boy had fought the night the assassins raided the manor in order to kidnap Ben. After Anakin had killed the boy, he'd stood above his dead body, swelling with pride that he'd defeated such a worthy opponent. However, he'd heard a voice; a voice he'd hadn't heard in years, the voice of a dead man urging him not to glory in his victory. The voice had been that of Master Qui-Gon.
Anakin shook his head as the lift finally reached the top floor and he and Onara walked out onto the air taxi landing area. He had only imagined he heard Master Qui-Gon that night he told himself, just as Onara had only imagined she'd heard her grandmother. As Anakin signaled for an air taxi, Onara tugged on his arm. He looked down at her.
"Anakin, please don't tell Obi-Wan what I said to Twang. I don't think he'd approve. But I just couldn't let that...that son of a _culark_ get away with what he'd done."
Anakin's eyes widened at Onara's use of that term. He'd heard it used by the soldiers who'd been stationed at the manor to guard her and Ben while Obi-Wan had gone in search of Sinja-Bau. He had no idea she was familiar with it. He grinned at her.
"As long as you don't tell him what I did," he offered in response.
Onara returned his smile, her dark eyes sparkling. "Agreed. It will be our little secret."
Anakin laughed as he took her arm and helped her into the air taxi. As it took off, he leaned next to her.
"What about the footage you have of Twang blubbering like the pathetic tub of lard he is?"
Onara reached up and touched the jewel. "Once he's broadcast his apology and retraction, I'll put it someplace safe."
"There are a lot of people who'd give their eyeteeth to see Twang for what he really is."
Onara shook her head. "I only want him to undo what he did to me, my family and Obi-Wan. And for him to think twice about ever doing it again. He'll know I still have this footage in my possession."
Anakin shrugged. If it were him, he'd broadcast that footage all over the Republic and the Outer Rim Territories, but he respected Onara's decision. As the air taxi glided towards her apartment building, Onara turned anxious eyes on Anakin.
"Do you think it will be enough?" she asked.
"Enough?"
"To help Obi-Wan."
"I don't know, Onara."
The last time Obi-Wan had appeared before the Council regarding his relationship with her, it had upset the Council enough they'd sent Obi-Wan away on retreat for six months. And at that time the scandal, as the Council had thought of it, had mostly been contained within the Order itself.
This time, however, his master was the centerpiece of gossip that had been broadcast to the entire Republic. Even if Twang apologized and retracted his statements, Anakin suspected it wouldn't completely get his master out of hot water.
Because the truth was, although Twang had been wrong as to what Obi-Wan and Onara had done last night, he had not been wrong in his suspicions regarding their passion for each other, though both had sworn to forgo it. And it was that passion, Anakin knew, which would worry and disturb the Council far more than anything Twang had said.
To be continued....
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As the air taxi in which Onara and Anakin were passengers sped dizzyingly through the lines of speeder traffic and among the towering skyscrapers, Anakin glanced over at Onara. She wore a long-waisted gown of ebony satin edged in gold. Her hair was up and hidden under the hood of a long black cloak which was fastened at the throat with a rather elaborate silver jeweled clasp. Her only other piece of jewelry besides the clasp were two pearl drop earrings and slender bracelets of silver and onyx. Again, although Onara looked nothing like that battle-ax Lady Tsara, Anakin couldn't help but think of her because the old dragon had always worn black.
Onara, noting him looking at her, turned her head and gave him a wan smile. He sensed she wasn't looking forward to this confrontation. He didn't blame her. As far as he knew, no one had ever dared challenge Twang about his malicious gossip, something Anakin had never understood. The man was a twit, and he should have been shut up, kicked off the HoloNet, or banished to the Outer Rim a long time ago, but for as long as Anakin had lived on Coruscant, and beyond that, Twang had been spewing out his garbage and the public had lapped it up like galoomps at the trough. He mulled over that, then their driver, a Bimm, made a sudden sharp left, throwing Anakin hard against Onara. The Bimm sang something that sounded like an apology. Onara shook her head.
"I still can't use to traveling like this," she said, looking out at the traffic whizzing past them.
"You will," Anakin assured her.
"Did it take you long?"
Anakin shrugged. "No, but I used to race pods, and let me tell you compared to that, this is nothing."
Onara smiled at him. "I've never seen a pod race."
"They don't have many of them in the Core Worlds, but there's one on Malastare that's pretty big."
"Do you still race?"
"No, Master Obi-Wan won't let me. I think he's worried I'll get hurt or something and, well, it's not a very Jedi-like thing to do."
Onara's face grew solemn. "No, I suppose not."
Anakin knew she was recalling their conversation in her bedroom before they'd left her apartment. After Anakin had finished breakfast and Keria had gone in to help Onara get dressed, he had wandered around the sitting area as he waited, looking at the artwork and sculptures Onara had brought with her from Ahjane.
One in particular had caught his attention. It was a statuette of a man and woman, both attractive, both young, their arms clasped rather suggestively about the other. He had been staring at it, thinking of Padmé when Keria had startled him by suddenly appearing at his side.
"That's Romal and Juvia," she told him.
Anakin, who was blushing furiously at having been caught gawking at it, quickly cleared his throat.
"Oh, really," he said nonchalantly, although his heart was thumping at he continued to gaze at the statuette.
Keria nodded. "They're Ahjane's most famous lovers. It's said that on their wedding night they prayed for the sun not to rise and it didn't. Not for an entire week."
Anakin cleared his throat again for he suddenly felt quite warm and was also conscious of a great many things. Like, for example, how sweet Keria's perfume was. She looked up at him smiling, her blue eyes speculative as if she knew exactly what he was thinking.
"Milady wants to see you. She's in her bedroom," she finally said after staring at him for a moment.
"Of course."
Anakin turned and moved quickly away from Keria who was still watching him with that knowing smile on her lush, pink lips. He entered Onara's bedroom. She was standing in front of the mirror of her dressing bureau, looking over the black gown she had put on. When she saw Anakin she smiled warmly.
"Come in, dear," she said, noting he was standing awkwardly in the doorway. "I promise, I won't bite."
"No, it's not that. I just don't make it a habit of entering a lady's bedroom," he remarked with a laugh as he walked further into the room.
Onara arched a delicate, dark brow. "Really? You disappoint me, Anakin. A handsome young man like you, I would think, would be well-acquainted with a great many ladies' bedrooms."
Just as Anakin was about to protest that was most certainly not the case, he saw by Onara's expression she was only teasing him. He ducked his head and gave her a sheepish grin.
"I asked you to come here because I want to show you something," she said.
Anakin walked closer to her. She reached over and picked up a gold-framed picture from off the bureau.
"I wanted you to see this picture of Ben. You haven't seen him since he was a baby."
Anakin took the photograph when Onara handed it to him.
"That's Ben?" he cried incredulously. "Why he looks just like...." Anakin stopped, glancing anxiously over at Onara.
"Yes, except for the color of his hair, he looks exactly like Obi-Wan, doesn't he? Or how I imagine Obi-Wan would have looked at that age."
Anakin nodded. He hadn't realized enough time had passed for Ben to get so big.
"Well, he's certainly a good-looking kid, and he's dressed pretty snazzy too," he added with a grin.
Onara smiled gently. "That was Dalan's idea. He wanted Ben painted in the traditional attire of a Dynast."
"Oh, wow, I'd forgotten that. Ben is heir to your province."
"And to Dalan's also."
Anakin continued to stare down at Ben's portrait. He recalled that Master Eo had said Ben had a very high midichlorian count, high enough to have made him eligible to enter the Jedi Order, but both Obi-Wan and Onara had agreed to let him remain with his mother.
Despite the rather serious look on his face, Anakin could tell by the impish light in those bright blue-gray eyes that Ben was a happy child so, he supposed, the right decision had been made. He looked over at Onara, but was taken aback by her expression. Her dark eyes were wide and full as she gazed up at him.
"Anakin, I wanted you to see Ben's picture because I want you to know how much he means to me." She reached over and put her hand on his arm, gripping it tightly. "I would die to protect my son, Anakin. And I would kill too."
Anakin's eyes widened in shock and he almost dropped Ben's portrait. Noting his expression, Onara laughed.
"No, no, dear, I'm not going to kill Twang. Though, goddess knows, I wouldn't mind seeing him have a rather nasty accident. No, what I mean is that I will do whatever I have to do to protect my son, to protect my husband and to protect Obi-Wan. Do you understand what I'm saying?"
Anakin had a feeling he did, but he wasn't quite sure and one thing, among the vast number of things Master Obi-Wan had taught him over the years, was to be as certain as he could about everything, and to make every effort not to decide or act without being clear as to exactly what he was getting himself into. Therefore, he shook his head no in answer to Onara's question. She smiled in understanding and, taking the portrait of Ben from Anakin, held it and looked down at it.
"Someday, when you have children of your own," and she glanced up as Anakin briskly shook his head no. "I'm sorry. I forgot. Well, let me put it this way. How far would you go to protect Obi-Wan?"
"How far? As far as it took," Anakin answered firmly.
"Even if it took you to some rather dark places?"
Anakin hesitated. Master Obi-Wan was always warning him about the dark side of the Force and, since Obi-Wan himself had called upon it once in order to save Onara's life, his master was well-acquainted with its dangers. Then Anakin frowned and firmed his jaw as he recalled the look on Obi-Wan's face when he'd read the message that morning summoning him to appear before the Council.
"Yes, even if it took me to dark places, I would do what I had to do to protect him."
"Just as I would to protect those that I love. This Twang person is a minor fish in a rather large ocean, Anakin. Hardly worthy of notice, no matter what he may think of himself. And any other time I would give him no more passing thought than I would the fleas that infest the fur of a rat scurrying about in an alley. But he must not be allowed to get away with this."
Anakin agreed wholeheartedly with that. Although Master Obi-Wan was able to see the gradations and nuances in situations, willing to concede that, even if on the surface an act appeared reprehensible, there could be unknown and extenuating circumstances that had given rise to it, Anakin was a bit more dogmatic in his ideology.
There was right and there was wrong. Pure and simple. What Twang had done was wrong, and when someone did something wrong they had to be made to suffer the consequences or else you'd have nothing but chaos and anarchy. And Anakin could not abide chaos or anarchy. He stood at attention, his arms crossed behind his back.
"What would you have me do, Lady Onara?" he asked, pitching his voice to try and resemble Obi-Wan's.
Onara shook her head and smiled. "First, stop calling me Lady Onara. I'm not that much older than you, but you're making me feel like an old lady."
Anakin laughed and spoke in his own voice. "Okay. What else?"
Onara put Ben's portrait back on the bureau, biting her lip.
"I'm...I'm not sure. It will depend upon how reasonable this Twang person is. But, if I should have need of you---"
Anakin gave her a sharp, courtly bow. "Fear not, milady. I shall do whatever you command." He gave a wry grin. "That is, as long as it doesn't involve beheading, dismemberment or disembowelment. Not that I wouldn't want to in this case, of course, but I am a Jedi after all."
Onara slapped him playfully on the arm. Turning around she took a long black cloak from the closet and put it on. When the two of them went into the sitting area, the front door chimed. Keria answered it, escorting in what looked to Anakin like a courier. The slender male humanoid bowed to Onara as she walked over, handing her a small package
"Good, it got here in time," Onara said as she opened it, taking out a silver jeweled clasp. She examined it. "I was afraid it wouldn't."
The messenger tilted his head as he also looked at the jewel. "Normally we wouldn't have been able to comply since you only requested it an hour ago but, fortunately, we tend to have such items in stock."
One of Onara's brows rose sharply. "Indeed," she remarked as Keria helped her fasten the jewel to her cloak.
Once it was on, she took a credit chit from inside her cloak and handed it to the courier. He bowed and left. Onara had then turned to Anakin and asked if he was ready and, with that, they left the apartment and hired an air taxi. Now, as the taxi began its descent to the building where Twang's office was located, Anakin wondered exactly what Onara had in mind.
-----------------
Finding Twang's office in the multi-level building was not difficult. After searching through a holographic floor listing, Anakin and Onara took a lift from the roof, where the air taxis landed, down to his floor. As they rode in the lift, it suddenly occurred to Anakin that Twang might not even be in his office. It was, after all, the first day of the week's end. He was about to inform Onara of that, but the lift had stopped. The doors slid open and Onara marched through it and into a wide reception area. It appeared to be deserted. A receptionist's desk, a wide, curving monstrosity made of gold-flecked ebony sat in front of a large wood-framed double-door. Anakin looked around.
"Onara, it doesn't look like any---"
But Onara had already moved past the receptionist's desk and over to the door behind it. She opened it and stepped inside, Anakin rushing to catch up with her.
Inside the room the late morning sun streamed in through large glass windows. Elaborately and gaudily decorated, the spacious room reminded Anakin of Twang, for it was just as boisterous and tasteless with its wild, clashing colors, chunky, plush couches and vulgar paintings. And sitting behind the wide, showy desk was Twang himself.
Anakin, who had been certain he would not be there was so startled to see him, his mouth dropped open, and he saw his expression mirrored on Twang's thick face.
"Who are you? What are you doing here?" he demanded in his high-pitched voice.
Onara moved across the room until she was standing just in front of Twang's desk.
"Interesting that you don't seem to know who I am though you are certainly free enough with my name. I am Senator Onara Lenor."
Twang's broad, fat face wrinkled. "So?"
Anakin, who had moved up next to Onara, glared at Twang. "Don't remember me either, huh?"
"Should I?"
"Anakin Skywalker. Now do you remember?"
Twang shrugged. Anakin saw he had been going through some datacards on his desk, tossing them into different piles.
"Look, if you came here for an autograph, you'll have to come back some other time. As you can see I'm quite busy."
The blood pounded in Anakin's head. An autograph! He was just about to tell Twang just what he could do with his Sith-blasted autograph, but he felt Onara reach over and put her hand gently on the sleeve of his tunic. He looked down at her and saw by the look in her eyes she wanted him to let her handle this. Gladly, Anakin thought, because the last thing Master Obi- Wan needed right now was for Anakin to be brought up on murder charges. Onara turned back to Twang who was still busily sorting through his datacards.
"Master Twang," Onara began, Anakin clearly hearing the sarcasm in her voice. "Trust me, what I want of you won't take much of your time."
"Really," Twang replied, not looking up from his datacard shuffling. "And what might that be?"
"An apology and a retraction of the slanderous statements you made this morning regarding myself and Master Kenobi. I want both the apology and the retraction to air, today, on the HoloNet News."
Twang, who had been just about to throw one of the datacards into a trash receptacle behind him, turned slowly around and looked over at Onara. He stared at her, then burst out laughing, his great bulk shuddering in the chair. Anakin clenched his fists as Twang kept laughing, but Onara seem unfazed. She only stared coolly at Twang until, wiping tears from his fat face, he finally stopped.
"All right, you've had your fun. Now, the two of you, get out of here."
"I'm not leaving until I get what I want," Onara said.
Twang looked up. His jovial expression, the one he always seemed to have when he gave his broadcasts, suddenly vanished. He gave Onara a dark look that caused all of Anakin's defensive instincts to switch on full alert.
"Who, by the stinking pit of Galdar, do you think you are, little lady?" Twang cried. "I'm Dyslogia Twang. Nobody, and I mean nobody, tells me what to do. Certainly not some skinny, bug-eyed hussy from the galactic boondocks. Now, take that straw-headed scarecrow with you and get out of my office."
Anakin was again about to launch himself across the desk, his hands already around Twang's thick throat but, again, Onara reached over and put her hand on his arm. Taking a deep breath, she smoothed down the front of her gown and delicately adjusted the jeweled clasp at the neck of her cloak.
"Is that your final word on the matter?" she asked in a low, calm voice.
"Final, last and concluding word," Twang spat as he went back to sorting through his datacards. "Now, before I really get mad, get out of here!"
Onara stared at Twang for just a moment and, as she did, she suddenly seemed to grow larger. Not in stature or size, but in her presence within the room. Moving so swiftly she took Anakin by surprise, she walked around Twang's desk and, flinging her arm across it, scattered his datacards on the floor. Twang sprang from his chair, his tiny, pink beady eyes widening as much as they could in the folds of flesh on his face as he stared down at Onara.
"You pathetic pile of pus," Onara raged. "How dare you speak to me in that manner! I am a senator of the Republic, whereas you are nothing but the scum beneath the rusted lid of a reeking can of garbage!"
Anakin's mouth dropped open because, as Onara spoke, he was, once again, reminded of Lady Tsara. Onara's voice had even deepened a bit, matching the vehemence and the ferocity her grandmother had displayed when she was alive.
"I see through you, Twang," Onara went on, her dark eyes burning. "I see through insects like you as clearly as I see through glass. Deep down inside you're nothing but a frightened, terrified little bug, because you know the people you slander and malign are far better than you, and you... you're not even fit to wipe their boots!"
Twang's tiny nose quivered and Anakin saw he was about to retort, but Onara gave him no quarter. Although he was at least two feet taller than her and outweighed her by several kilos, she showed no fear of him.
"But what do you do in light of that? Do you, like any decent person, try to find and correct your faults? No, of course not. That would take brains, courage and confidence. No, you hide your fear and your richly deserved sense of inadequacy by spreading lies and innuendoes about the very people you yearn to be. You try and destroy a good and decent man's reputation like Master Kenobi's because you're not good and decent yourself and never will be."
Again, Anakin saw Twang trying to respond, but Onara would not let up.
"I've seen your kind before," she sneered, nodding briskly, now close enough to Twang she stood toe to toe with him. "We even have scum like you on Ahjane, backward and provincial as we might be. But there we do not suffer creatures such as you gladly, nor do we abide them easily. You have slandered a good man's reputation and possibly harmed both my husband and my child, and I will not stand aside and let you get away with it."
Anakin felt the hair on the back of his neck rising. Onara's dark, lovely eyes were blazing and her face was that of an avenging goddess, terrible and beautiful, and he saw that what she'd said to him at her apartment was true. If anyone, or anything, dared to threaten or harm those that she loved, she would be merciless.
"I know what your greatest fear is," Onara suddenly said, lowering her voice so Anakin had to lean forward to hear her.
Twang's pink, beady eyes widened at her words, sweat breaking out on his gleaming, bald head.
Onara smiled ruthlessly. "Yes, I know. I know what it is tiny, scuttling little bugs like you fear the most. You're afraid that when you die no one will weep for you. Because one day you'll slip up, and people will see you for what you truly are. Sad, lonely and pathetic. And they'll laugh and point and no longer be afraid of you, and when you die people will come to your funeral. Oh, yes, hundreds, perhaps thousands, but they'll only be the curious onlookers, the inquisitive mob, and those who come merely to confirm you are truly and finally dead. It won't be flowers of mourning that are tossed upon your grave, but weeds of good-riddance. And your burial place will go unvisited, uncared for and unremembered until, like you, it fades away into the abyss of obscurity."
Twang stared down at Onara, his eyes darting from her to Anakin. Although he appeared unnerved by what Onara had said, his belligerence was also once again rising. Splotches of anger darkened his thick cheeks. Onara noted it too, for she slipped her gaze over to Anakin and imperceptibly nodded.
And Anakin, now knowing exactly what it was she wanted him to do, returned her nod. He looked over at Twang and, just as he'd done with Lady Tsara two years ago when Onara had lay dying as a result of her grandmother's schemes and Anakin had been determined to unveil her part in it, pitched his voice the way he did when he used the Jedi mind trick.
"Yes, tell us, Twang. Is that true? Are you afraid of being found out for what you really are and of dying unloved?" he asked, almost gently, but the Force giving his words the needed power to sink deep into the gossipmonger's consciousness.
Twang's fat face shuddered and quivered as if he were having a fit. He glanced wildly between Onara and Anakin. Then, his wide, thin lips trembling, he suddenly burst out crying.
"Yes, yes it's true. It's true," he blubbered. "I am afraid. I've always been afraid. Since I was a little hatchling. Puppa and Mumma used to call me such terrible names. They said no one would ever love me because I was stupid and slow and ugly. But, I showed them. I showed them all!" Twang cried, both anger and grief in his voice, his hands fluttering in front of his wide chest.
"If no one would love me, they'd at least respect and fear me. But, you're right, you're right! I hate and I envy those I talk about. Because they are better than me. They are! So I watch and I wait for them to make a mistake and...and if I can't find out something bad about them, I make it up. Because I want them all to feel what I feel. Pain and shame and fear. Why should I be the only one! Why!"
Twang lowered his face into his tiny hands and sobbed, his huge, thick shoulders heaving. Anakin almost felt sorry for him. Then he looked over at Onara. Her face was stony as she gazed at the weeping Twang and, thinking of Master Obi-Wan and Ben, and even Dalan, and what Twang probably had done to them with his gossip, erased the little bit of pity he felt from his heart. Finally, Twang stopped his weeping. He looked over at Onara, his thick face slimy with snot and tears.
"The retraction and the apology on the HoloNet News by the end of the day," she said curtly.
Twang stared at Onara and numbly nodded. She made as if to leave. Then she stopped and pointed to the jeweled clasp fastened to the neck of the cloak she wore. The jewel that had been delivered to her just before she and Anakin left.
"Oh, by the way. If you should decide once we leave not to do as I have requested, know that in this jewel is a tiny holocamera. If you do not wish to make a broadcast today, I'm sure one of your competitors would be more than happy to do so. With you as their star."
Twang's eyes widened. Onara, giving him a short, sharp smile, turned from him and, with Anakin at her side, walked out of his office. Once they were out of the reception area and inside the lift, Onara suddenly leaned against Anakin. Startled, he put his arm about her shoulder.
"Onara," he cried. "Are you all right?"
"Yes, I think so," she said softly.
She looked up at Anakin, her dark eyes anxious. "I...I almost feel as if...I've been asleep or dreaming."
"Are you feeling sick?"
Onara shook her head. "No, I'm fine. But I was so angry at Twang. The way he sat there, so haughty, so arrogant. And the longer he sat there, the angrier I got, and the more I found myself thinking of Grandmother. Oh, she was a terrible woman, Anakin. Terrible. We both know that. But, I couldn't help thinking what Grandmother would have done with someone like Twang. And, well, it almost felt as if---oh, I don't know how to explain it really- --but it felt as if I could feel Grandmother next to me, telling me what to say and how to say it."
Onara shivered against Anakin. He tightened his arm about her, but he felt a coldness rippling down his spine at her words. He didn't believe in ghosts. The Jedi were taught that upon death a person's spirit became one with the Force, and no identity remained after one had passed on.
Then he found himself recalling when he and that Red Tide boy had fought the night the assassins raided the manor in order to kidnap Ben. After Anakin had killed the boy, he'd stood above his dead body, swelling with pride that he'd defeated such a worthy opponent. However, he'd heard a voice; a voice he'd hadn't heard in years, the voice of a dead man urging him not to glory in his victory. The voice had been that of Master Qui-Gon.
Anakin shook his head as the lift finally reached the top floor and he and Onara walked out onto the air taxi landing area. He had only imagined he heard Master Qui-Gon that night he told himself, just as Onara had only imagined she'd heard her grandmother. As Anakin signaled for an air taxi, Onara tugged on his arm. He looked down at her.
"Anakin, please don't tell Obi-Wan what I said to Twang. I don't think he'd approve. But I just couldn't let that...that son of a _culark_ get away with what he'd done."
Anakin's eyes widened at Onara's use of that term. He'd heard it used by the soldiers who'd been stationed at the manor to guard her and Ben while Obi-Wan had gone in search of Sinja-Bau. He had no idea she was familiar with it. He grinned at her.
"As long as you don't tell him what I did," he offered in response.
Onara returned his smile, her dark eyes sparkling. "Agreed. It will be our little secret."
Anakin laughed as he took her arm and helped her into the air taxi. As it took off, he leaned next to her.
"What about the footage you have of Twang blubbering like the pathetic tub of lard he is?"
Onara reached up and touched the jewel. "Once he's broadcast his apology and retraction, I'll put it someplace safe."
"There are a lot of people who'd give their eyeteeth to see Twang for what he really is."
Onara shook her head. "I only want him to undo what he did to me, my family and Obi-Wan. And for him to think twice about ever doing it again. He'll know I still have this footage in my possession."
Anakin shrugged. If it were him, he'd broadcast that footage all over the Republic and the Outer Rim Territories, but he respected Onara's decision. As the air taxi glided towards her apartment building, Onara turned anxious eyes on Anakin.
"Do you think it will be enough?" she asked.
"Enough?"
"To help Obi-Wan."
"I don't know, Onara."
The last time Obi-Wan had appeared before the Council regarding his relationship with her, it had upset the Council enough they'd sent Obi-Wan away on retreat for six months. And at that time the scandal, as the Council had thought of it, had mostly been contained within the Order itself.
This time, however, his master was the centerpiece of gossip that had been broadcast to the entire Republic. Even if Twang apologized and retracted his statements, Anakin suspected it wouldn't completely get his master out of hot water.
Because the truth was, although Twang had been wrong as to what Obi-Wan and Onara had done last night, he had not been wrong in his suspicions regarding their passion for each other, though both had sworn to forgo it. And it was that passion, Anakin knew, which would worry and disturb the Council far more than anything Twang had said.
To be continued....