In Love and War - Part Nineteen
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Diomis slammed the stunner onto the desk. Gend, who had been staring belligerently at his father, his arms crossed over his chest, jumped at the sound. As did Jonica who was on the other side of the room. The three were in Diomis' study. It was the evening of the day of the challenge.
Diomis had spent most of the morning and afternoon after the challenge taking care of some business in the capital. But it had been difficult to keep his mind on his affairs as he played over in his mind the events of that morning. Once he finally made it back to his estate he had gone in search of Faren and, after spending a fruitful, if somewhat bloody hour with his half-brother had learned the truth of what had happened in the arena.
Diomis pointed at the weapon and frowned at Gend. "Do you recognize it?"
Gend walked over and picked it up. "Of course I do. It's my microwave stunner. I bought it earlier this year."
Diomis glanced over at his wife. Jonica was putting up a good front, a haughty expression on her face, but he saw the apprehension in her eyes. He looked back at Gend.
"And what does this stunner do?"
Gend shrugged. "It fires a coherent blast of microwave energy which disrupts the neural system of the target, rendering it immobile."
Diomis nodded. "Rendering the target immobile. For how long?"
Gend shrugged again. "Depends." He pointed to a dial on the side of the stunner. "See this? These levels indicate the strength of the blast. The lower the number, the smaller the amount of the charge, the less time your target remains immobile."
"And what's the least amount of time a target can remain immobile."
"The least?" Gend tilted his head as he examined the weapon. "A second or so."
Diomis wondered if Gend was just playing the fool or if he really didn't see where this was going. "I found this weapon with your uncle."
Jonica made a low sound, but Diomis ignored her, keeping his eyes on Gend.
"Uncle Faren? What was he doing with it? He knows he's not allowed to touch my weapons. No one is allowed to touch them."
"He used it. This morning. At the challenge."
Gend frowned. "At the challenge? But he wasn't there. He was home sick."
Diomis finally came to the conclusion that Gend really didn't know what had happened. He looked over at Jonica. She was staring wide-eyed at him now. He looked back at his son.
"No, Gend. He was not home sick. He was at the arena. Hidden in the stands. And he used this weapon on the Jedi. Which is why you were able to kill him."
Gend glared at his father. "Yes, and we would have won if you hadn't surrendered the challenge."
Rage surged through Diomis. "Idiot! Don't you see? If Faren had not immobilized the Jedi with this weapon, you would not have been able to wound him. He was going to win. You're the one who should be dead, not him."
"That's not true! I was better than he was!"
Diomis released a heavy sigh. "No, Gend. You were not. He could have you killed you. He should have killed you. But he didn't."
"I don't believe you." Gend gripped the stunner so hard it looked as if he meant to crush it between his fingers.
"You don't?" Diomis shifted his eyes over to his wife. "You believe your mother, don't you? Tell her, Jonica. Tell your son the truth."
Jonica walked over, her hands clasped in front of her. She gave Diomis a quick, angry glance then turned to Gend. Placing her hands on his arms, she gazed up at her son. He looked down at her, his dark eyes questioning.
"Is it true, Mother? Did you and Uncle Faren do this thing?"
"Yes, we did, but only to protect you. I wasn't sure if the Jedi would hold to his promise and not use his powers."
Gend shook his arm free of her hands. "How could you, Mother! I wanted to beat him. Me, myself. I didn't need your help. I didn't ask for it."
Jonica's eyes suddenly flared. "This isn't about you, Gend, or your vanity or your pride. It's about the survival of our family."
Gend laughed bitterly. "No, Mother. It is about vanity and pride. Your vanity, your pride. You shamed me, Mother. You didn't trust me enough to let me do this on my own. I would have defeated the Jedi. I didn't need your help. I didn't want it!"
Turning, the stunner in his hand, Gend strode from the study, slamming the door behind him. Jonica whirled on Diomis, her eyes blazing.
"You fool! Why did you have to interfere? Why couldn't you have just let things go the way they were meant to? What happened to you this morning? What changed you?"
Diomis moved away from his desk, from her, and walked over to the window of his study. He looked out at the setting sun, the rays gold and orange and red as they slanted across the dark hills, his wife's questions reverberating in his mind.
Yes, what had happened to him this morning? Why had he done what he did? Part of it had been because of his mother and his memory of the promise she had tried to exact from him to be a honorable man. But it was more than just that he suspected.
If not for his actions, Onara would be preparing for her wedding to Gend instead of the burial of her love. Then Diomis found himself recalling the way she had gazed at Obi-Wan before the challenge, the depth of her love for him as palpable as a caress. Then he remembered the shock and horror on her beautiful face when Gend stabbed the Jedi in the chest with his sword. Diomis winced, still hearing Onara's heart-rending cries of grief and sorrow.
"It's her, isn't it? I saw the way you looked at her this morning." Jonica's voice cut through the air like the blade of a dagger, thin and sharp. "You want her. That's why you did what you did. You don't want her to marry Gend. You want her for yourself. It's not just her money you lust after now, is it? It's her. You want in her bed, don't you? Don't you! But you just have to think of a way to kick me out of it."
Diomis turned from the window. Jonica stood in front of his desk, her hands clenched at her side, her smooth, ageless face rigid with rage. She was still beautiful as a result of all her surgeries and her drugs, but only on the outside. There was nothing inside her now, nothing warm or loving or tender. Once there had been, but that was many years ago. And, at that moment, Diomis realized what little love he had for her was gone.
"You and I stopped sharing a bed years ago, Jonica. I don't have to kick you out of it."
Jonica moved around the desk. She walked over to where he stood at the window, then stopped and looked up at him.
"With the Jedi dead, you can have her." Her eyes were bright with a fervid light. "Have her wealth, have her body, have everything. But you just need to get me out of the way. And Gend, you'll disinherit him too, won't you? Give everything to the brats you hope to have with that cow-eyed hussy."
Diomis looked down into his wife's cold, hate-filled eyes. She was mad, he decided. Had driven herself mad with her lust and her greed and her envy of anyone who was more beautiful than her. As Onara most certainly was.
"Get out, Jonica, before I throw you out." Then he sneered. "But, before you leave, go and give Faren the reward you promised him. He's waiting for it. Though, I fear..." and Diomis grinned wickedly, showing her one of his bruised knuckles. "....you may find him not quite up to it. But, I'm sure you'll make up for any shortcomings on his part."
Jonica snarled and tried to slap him, but he grabbed her hand and squeezed her wrist. She cried out, struggling.
"Leave, Jonica." Diomis' jaw throbbed with anger. "I want you and my cuckolding snake of a half-brother out of my house and out of my life. I've had enough of your lies, your deceit, and your infidelities. Enough! Do you understand?"
"You can't throw me out. I won't leave. I won't!"
"Oh, you most certainly will leave, my most dear and faithless wife. You'll leave tonight. I'll give you enough to at least live comfortably, though not in the style you're accustomed to. But, try and fight me on this, Jonica, and you'll get nothing."
"I though you were penniless."
Diomis smiled slyly down at her. "There's penniless and then there's penniless." He jerked her arm, then released her. "Now go. Leave before I do what I most desire to do and strangle you."
Jonica rubbed her wrist where Diomis had squeezed it. Then she raised her head imperiously. "You'll not succeed with her. She'll hate you for having been a part of the Jedi's death. As far as she's concerned you're just as responsible for what happened to him as any of us."
"Get out, Jonica."
She stared at him for a moment, then turned, her back straight, her head high. Once the door closed behind her, Diomis slumped into the chair behind his desk. Jonica was mad with jealously and her words proved it. He had no intention of wooing Onara. Not only because Jonica was right and Onara would blame him for the Jedi's death, but because he had no such feelings for her. Or did he?
He rubbed at his temple with the tips of his fingers. His head was throbbing. All the events of this day, the challenge, beating that confession out of his brother, his argument with Gend and Jonica had wearied him. He needed to sleep. He rose from his chair, but just as he was about to leave the study, the comm on his desk buzzed. He sat back down and activated it.
A nasally voice came out of the speaker. "Sir, it's Jylor."
Jylor was Diomis' point man in the capital. It was he who kept him abreast of everything that was happening as it related to Diomis' business affairs and his plans.
"What is it, Jylor?"
"I've news about the Jedi."
"Really? When is his funeral to be held?"
"Funeral? Sir, he's alive."
Diomis leaned forward, his face inches from the speaker. "What? Alive?"
"Yes, sir. My source at the hospital says he miraculously recovered on the operating table."
"That's not possible. The wound Gend gave him was fatal."
"If you say so, sir, but he's alive and it's been confirmed."
Diomis mulled over this news for a moment. "What about Onara?"
"She's still at the hospital, sir."
"Thank you, Jylor."
Jylor cut the communication. Diomis leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. So the Jedi lived. A corner of his mouth curled up. So much for wooing Onara. If, he course, he had even wanted to do such a thing.
He shook his head, clearing his thoughts. Then he stared at the shadows growing in the corners of the study as the sun sank lower beneath the horizon. Perhaps, he thought, there was opportunity in this unexpected turn of events. He leaned over and pressed a button on his desk that connected him to the estate's hangar.
"Sir?"
"Ready my shuttle. I'm going to the capital."
"Now, sir?"
Diomis frowned darkly, aware the hangar mechanic couldn't see him, but certain he would hear the displeasure in his voice.
"Yes, now! Have it ready when I arrive. Which will be in five minutes."
"Yes...yes, sir. Of course, sir. It'll be ready."
Diomis rose from his desk and strode out of the study and into the hall. He adjusted his jacket over his broad shoulders as he composed in his head what he would say to Onara when he saw her.
--------------
Anakin clenched his hands, willing himself not to reach out with the Force and use it to strangle Master Nygee, an act which would not only get him expelled from the Jedi Order, but arrested for murder. But it was proving more and more difficult for him to resist the temptation as he listened to Nygee droning on about duty and obligation and responsibility, his deep voice thrumming from within his narrow chest.
As Anakin stared at Nygee, observing the tiny beads of sweat on his bald, green-skinned head, he imagined how he would do it. All he'd have to do was draw upon the Force, mold it within his mind, then direct its power at Master Nygee's long, thin neck, gripping his throat and cutting off the circulation of air to his lungs and blood to his brain. Then he could watch, with grim satisfaction, as Nygee gasped and struggled for breath.
"Are you listening to me, Padawan Skywalker?"
Anakin jumped and drew his attention back to Nygee. The Jedi Master's pale yellow eyes had narrowed.
"Yes...yes, Master. I'm listening."
Nygee stared at Anakin for a moment, folding his long thin arms within the sleeves of his robe. "Obi-Wan is no longer a Jedi. Your duty lies with our Order, not with him."
"I know, Master, but---"
Nygee shook his head. "No, Padawan. You can not go to Ahjane. I forbid it. We are going to Malastare, as the Council has ordered."
Anakin frowned. Malastare was the homeworld of the Dugs and the last place in the galaxy he wanted to visit. Although Obi-Wan had often chastised him for judging all Dugs by his old pod-racing rival, Sebulba, Anakin couldn't help it. All Dugs were alike as far as he was concerned; selfish, cheating bullies, and he could care less if they and the Grans, who had settled on Malastare some years ago, were at each other's throats.
Personally, he hoped the Grans wiped out the entire Dug race. All he wanted, all he could think about, besides Padmé and his mother, of course, was Obi-Wan. The pain he had felt had not been an illusion. It had been real. Something had happened to his former master. He could feel it.
"Please, Master Nygee, if we could just stop by Ahjane. It's on the way."
"It is most certainly not on the way." Nygee shook his head again. "The situation on Malastare requires our immediate attention. Now, pack your things and meet me at the starport."
Nygee turned and, with a sharp swirl of his robes, left Anakin's room. Anakin released a heavy breath. Their mission here on Harkit was completed. The Legate had agreed to Master Nygee's terms regarding his planet's treaty with the Republic and Harkit was, at least for the present, one system that would not be going over to the Separatists. But there were still so many. More and more systems were joining the Confederacy every day.
Soon the alarmists in the Senate would call for action on the creation of an army for the Republic. It was inevitable as the crisis within the galaxy grew. Anakin was well aware that there just weren't enough Jedi to fight if war were to come. And, as he had heard Master Windu say on more than one occasion, the Jedi were keepers of the peace, not soldiers.
A vote would come soon and then, and Anakin felt his heart thudding in his chest, Padmé would come back. He longed so much to see her again, to look into her beautiful, dark eyes, hear her sweet voice, feel the touch of her soft hand on his. What he wouldn't do, what he wouldn't give, to be with her the way Obi-Wan was now with Onara.
Then, thinking of his former master, Anakin was sharply reminded of the disturbance in the Force he had felt earlier, along with that searing pain in his chest. He glared at the door through which Master Nygee had walked. He didn't care if Obi-Wan was no longer a member of the Jedi Order. He had been more than just Anakin's master; he'd been a friend, a companion, and the closet thing he'd ever had to a father.
Anakin turned and, picking his lightsaber from off a nearby table, clipped it to his belt. He looked around the room. He'd leave his things. More than likely, once he made it to Ahjane and the Council found out he'd disobeyed both them and Master Nygee, he too would share Master Obi-Wan's fate and find himself no longer a member of the Jedi Order.
He hesitated as he mulled this over. All his life he'd wanted to be a Jedi Knight, had dreamed of it for as long as he could remember. He'd worked hard these past ten years to bring that dream to fruition. Now, to throw it all away when he was probably close to his Trials was, he knew, foolish. Then he smiled.
A few years ago he and Obi-Wan had faced a group of heavily armed rebels on Pzob. Obi-Wan's plan, born out of desperation and an awareness that the longer they delayed, the more likely it was the rebels would blow up the embassy they were holed up in, killing all the civilians inside, was to charge the building.
Even Anakin, who usually had no problem rushing in where angels feared to tread, had thought it a crazy plan but had said nothing, trusting, as he'd always done, in his master's experience and skill. But the captain of the Pzob's police force had called Obi-Wan a fool for even considering such a reckless strategy. Obi-Wan had only grinned, his blue-gray eyes shining with an atypical mischievous light.
"Who is the more foolish, Captain?" he had said. "The fool or the fool who follows him?"
Anakin drew on his robe and grumbled to himself as he strode out the door. "I must be the more foolish in this case, Master, because no matter where you go, no matter what you do, I will follow."
To be continued....
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Diomis slammed the stunner onto the desk. Gend, who had been staring belligerently at his father, his arms crossed over his chest, jumped at the sound. As did Jonica who was on the other side of the room. The three were in Diomis' study. It was the evening of the day of the challenge.
Diomis had spent most of the morning and afternoon after the challenge taking care of some business in the capital. But it had been difficult to keep his mind on his affairs as he played over in his mind the events of that morning. Once he finally made it back to his estate he had gone in search of Faren and, after spending a fruitful, if somewhat bloody hour with his half-brother had learned the truth of what had happened in the arena.
Diomis pointed at the weapon and frowned at Gend. "Do you recognize it?"
Gend walked over and picked it up. "Of course I do. It's my microwave stunner. I bought it earlier this year."
Diomis glanced over at his wife. Jonica was putting up a good front, a haughty expression on her face, but he saw the apprehension in her eyes. He looked back at Gend.
"And what does this stunner do?"
Gend shrugged. "It fires a coherent blast of microwave energy which disrupts the neural system of the target, rendering it immobile."
Diomis nodded. "Rendering the target immobile. For how long?"
Gend shrugged again. "Depends." He pointed to a dial on the side of the stunner. "See this? These levels indicate the strength of the blast. The lower the number, the smaller the amount of the charge, the less time your target remains immobile."
"And what's the least amount of time a target can remain immobile."
"The least?" Gend tilted his head as he examined the weapon. "A second or so."
Diomis wondered if Gend was just playing the fool or if he really didn't see where this was going. "I found this weapon with your uncle."
Jonica made a low sound, but Diomis ignored her, keeping his eyes on Gend.
"Uncle Faren? What was he doing with it? He knows he's not allowed to touch my weapons. No one is allowed to touch them."
"He used it. This morning. At the challenge."
Gend frowned. "At the challenge? But he wasn't there. He was home sick."
Diomis finally came to the conclusion that Gend really didn't know what had happened. He looked over at Jonica. She was staring wide-eyed at him now. He looked back at his son.
"No, Gend. He was not home sick. He was at the arena. Hidden in the stands. And he used this weapon on the Jedi. Which is why you were able to kill him."
Gend glared at his father. "Yes, and we would have won if you hadn't surrendered the challenge."
Rage surged through Diomis. "Idiot! Don't you see? If Faren had not immobilized the Jedi with this weapon, you would not have been able to wound him. He was going to win. You're the one who should be dead, not him."
"That's not true! I was better than he was!"
Diomis released a heavy sigh. "No, Gend. You were not. He could have you killed you. He should have killed you. But he didn't."
"I don't believe you." Gend gripped the stunner so hard it looked as if he meant to crush it between his fingers.
"You don't?" Diomis shifted his eyes over to his wife. "You believe your mother, don't you? Tell her, Jonica. Tell your son the truth."
Jonica walked over, her hands clasped in front of her. She gave Diomis a quick, angry glance then turned to Gend. Placing her hands on his arms, she gazed up at her son. He looked down at her, his dark eyes questioning.
"Is it true, Mother? Did you and Uncle Faren do this thing?"
"Yes, we did, but only to protect you. I wasn't sure if the Jedi would hold to his promise and not use his powers."
Gend shook his arm free of her hands. "How could you, Mother! I wanted to beat him. Me, myself. I didn't need your help. I didn't ask for it."
Jonica's eyes suddenly flared. "This isn't about you, Gend, or your vanity or your pride. It's about the survival of our family."
Gend laughed bitterly. "No, Mother. It is about vanity and pride. Your vanity, your pride. You shamed me, Mother. You didn't trust me enough to let me do this on my own. I would have defeated the Jedi. I didn't need your help. I didn't want it!"
Turning, the stunner in his hand, Gend strode from the study, slamming the door behind him. Jonica whirled on Diomis, her eyes blazing.
"You fool! Why did you have to interfere? Why couldn't you have just let things go the way they were meant to? What happened to you this morning? What changed you?"
Diomis moved away from his desk, from her, and walked over to the window of his study. He looked out at the setting sun, the rays gold and orange and red as they slanted across the dark hills, his wife's questions reverberating in his mind.
Yes, what had happened to him this morning? Why had he done what he did? Part of it had been because of his mother and his memory of the promise she had tried to exact from him to be a honorable man. But it was more than just that he suspected.
If not for his actions, Onara would be preparing for her wedding to Gend instead of the burial of her love. Then Diomis found himself recalling the way she had gazed at Obi-Wan before the challenge, the depth of her love for him as palpable as a caress. Then he remembered the shock and horror on her beautiful face when Gend stabbed the Jedi in the chest with his sword. Diomis winced, still hearing Onara's heart-rending cries of grief and sorrow.
"It's her, isn't it? I saw the way you looked at her this morning." Jonica's voice cut through the air like the blade of a dagger, thin and sharp. "You want her. That's why you did what you did. You don't want her to marry Gend. You want her for yourself. It's not just her money you lust after now, is it? It's her. You want in her bed, don't you? Don't you! But you just have to think of a way to kick me out of it."
Diomis turned from the window. Jonica stood in front of his desk, her hands clenched at her side, her smooth, ageless face rigid with rage. She was still beautiful as a result of all her surgeries and her drugs, but only on the outside. There was nothing inside her now, nothing warm or loving or tender. Once there had been, but that was many years ago. And, at that moment, Diomis realized what little love he had for her was gone.
"You and I stopped sharing a bed years ago, Jonica. I don't have to kick you out of it."
Jonica moved around the desk. She walked over to where he stood at the window, then stopped and looked up at him.
"With the Jedi dead, you can have her." Her eyes were bright with a fervid light. "Have her wealth, have her body, have everything. But you just need to get me out of the way. And Gend, you'll disinherit him too, won't you? Give everything to the brats you hope to have with that cow-eyed hussy."
Diomis looked down into his wife's cold, hate-filled eyes. She was mad, he decided. Had driven herself mad with her lust and her greed and her envy of anyone who was more beautiful than her. As Onara most certainly was.
"Get out, Jonica, before I throw you out." Then he sneered. "But, before you leave, go and give Faren the reward you promised him. He's waiting for it. Though, I fear..." and Diomis grinned wickedly, showing her one of his bruised knuckles. "....you may find him not quite up to it. But, I'm sure you'll make up for any shortcomings on his part."
Jonica snarled and tried to slap him, but he grabbed her hand and squeezed her wrist. She cried out, struggling.
"Leave, Jonica." Diomis' jaw throbbed with anger. "I want you and my cuckolding snake of a half-brother out of my house and out of my life. I've had enough of your lies, your deceit, and your infidelities. Enough! Do you understand?"
"You can't throw me out. I won't leave. I won't!"
"Oh, you most certainly will leave, my most dear and faithless wife. You'll leave tonight. I'll give you enough to at least live comfortably, though not in the style you're accustomed to. But, try and fight me on this, Jonica, and you'll get nothing."
"I though you were penniless."
Diomis smiled slyly down at her. "There's penniless and then there's penniless." He jerked her arm, then released her. "Now go. Leave before I do what I most desire to do and strangle you."
Jonica rubbed her wrist where Diomis had squeezed it. Then she raised her head imperiously. "You'll not succeed with her. She'll hate you for having been a part of the Jedi's death. As far as she's concerned you're just as responsible for what happened to him as any of us."
"Get out, Jonica."
She stared at him for a moment, then turned, her back straight, her head high. Once the door closed behind her, Diomis slumped into the chair behind his desk. Jonica was mad with jealously and her words proved it. He had no intention of wooing Onara. Not only because Jonica was right and Onara would blame him for the Jedi's death, but because he had no such feelings for her. Or did he?
He rubbed at his temple with the tips of his fingers. His head was throbbing. All the events of this day, the challenge, beating that confession out of his brother, his argument with Gend and Jonica had wearied him. He needed to sleep. He rose from his chair, but just as he was about to leave the study, the comm on his desk buzzed. He sat back down and activated it.
A nasally voice came out of the speaker. "Sir, it's Jylor."
Jylor was Diomis' point man in the capital. It was he who kept him abreast of everything that was happening as it related to Diomis' business affairs and his plans.
"What is it, Jylor?"
"I've news about the Jedi."
"Really? When is his funeral to be held?"
"Funeral? Sir, he's alive."
Diomis leaned forward, his face inches from the speaker. "What? Alive?"
"Yes, sir. My source at the hospital says he miraculously recovered on the operating table."
"That's not possible. The wound Gend gave him was fatal."
"If you say so, sir, but he's alive and it's been confirmed."
Diomis mulled over this news for a moment. "What about Onara?"
"She's still at the hospital, sir."
"Thank you, Jylor."
Jylor cut the communication. Diomis leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. So the Jedi lived. A corner of his mouth curled up. So much for wooing Onara. If, he course, he had even wanted to do such a thing.
He shook his head, clearing his thoughts. Then he stared at the shadows growing in the corners of the study as the sun sank lower beneath the horizon. Perhaps, he thought, there was opportunity in this unexpected turn of events. He leaned over and pressed a button on his desk that connected him to the estate's hangar.
"Sir?"
"Ready my shuttle. I'm going to the capital."
"Now, sir?"
Diomis frowned darkly, aware the hangar mechanic couldn't see him, but certain he would hear the displeasure in his voice.
"Yes, now! Have it ready when I arrive. Which will be in five minutes."
"Yes...yes, sir. Of course, sir. It'll be ready."
Diomis rose from his desk and strode out of the study and into the hall. He adjusted his jacket over his broad shoulders as he composed in his head what he would say to Onara when he saw her.
--------------
Anakin clenched his hands, willing himself not to reach out with the Force and use it to strangle Master Nygee, an act which would not only get him expelled from the Jedi Order, but arrested for murder. But it was proving more and more difficult for him to resist the temptation as he listened to Nygee droning on about duty and obligation and responsibility, his deep voice thrumming from within his narrow chest.
As Anakin stared at Nygee, observing the tiny beads of sweat on his bald, green-skinned head, he imagined how he would do it. All he'd have to do was draw upon the Force, mold it within his mind, then direct its power at Master Nygee's long, thin neck, gripping his throat and cutting off the circulation of air to his lungs and blood to his brain. Then he could watch, with grim satisfaction, as Nygee gasped and struggled for breath.
"Are you listening to me, Padawan Skywalker?"
Anakin jumped and drew his attention back to Nygee. The Jedi Master's pale yellow eyes had narrowed.
"Yes...yes, Master. I'm listening."
Nygee stared at Anakin for a moment, folding his long thin arms within the sleeves of his robe. "Obi-Wan is no longer a Jedi. Your duty lies with our Order, not with him."
"I know, Master, but---"
Nygee shook his head. "No, Padawan. You can not go to Ahjane. I forbid it. We are going to Malastare, as the Council has ordered."
Anakin frowned. Malastare was the homeworld of the Dugs and the last place in the galaxy he wanted to visit. Although Obi-Wan had often chastised him for judging all Dugs by his old pod-racing rival, Sebulba, Anakin couldn't help it. All Dugs were alike as far as he was concerned; selfish, cheating bullies, and he could care less if they and the Grans, who had settled on Malastare some years ago, were at each other's throats.
Personally, he hoped the Grans wiped out the entire Dug race. All he wanted, all he could think about, besides Padmé and his mother, of course, was Obi-Wan. The pain he had felt had not been an illusion. It had been real. Something had happened to his former master. He could feel it.
"Please, Master Nygee, if we could just stop by Ahjane. It's on the way."
"It is most certainly not on the way." Nygee shook his head again. "The situation on Malastare requires our immediate attention. Now, pack your things and meet me at the starport."
Nygee turned and, with a sharp swirl of his robes, left Anakin's room. Anakin released a heavy breath. Their mission here on Harkit was completed. The Legate had agreed to Master Nygee's terms regarding his planet's treaty with the Republic and Harkit was, at least for the present, one system that would not be going over to the Separatists. But there were still so many. More and more systems were joining the Confederacy every day.
Soon the alarmists in the Senate would call for action on the creation of an army for the Republic. It was inevitable as the crisis within the galaxy grew. Anakin was well aware that there just weren't enough Jedi to fight if war were to come. And, as he had heard Master Windu say on more than one occasion, the Jedi were keepers of the peace, not soldiers.
A vote would come soon and then, and Anakin felt his heart thudding in his chest, Padmé would come back. He longed so much to see her again, to look into her beautiful, dark eyes, hear her sweet voice, feel the touch of her soft hand on his. What he wouldn't do, what he wouldn't give, to be with her the way Obi-Wan was now with Onara.
Then, thinking of his former master, Anakin was sharply reminded of the disturbance in the Force he had felt earlier, along with that searing pain in his chest. He glared at the door through which Master Nygee had walked. He didn't care if Obi-Wan was no longer a member of the Jedi Order. He had been more than just Anakin's master; he'd been a friend, a companion, and the closet thing he'd ever had to a father.
Anakin turned and, picking his lightsaber from off a nearby table, clipped it to his belt. He looked around the room. He'd leave his things. More than likely, once he made it to Ahjane and the Council found out he'd disobeyed both them and Master Nygee, he too would share Master Obi-Wan's fate and find himself no longer a member of the Jedi Order.
He hesitated as he mulled this over. All his life he'd wanted to be a Jedi Knight, had dreamed of it for as long as he could remember. He'd worked hard these past ten years to bring that dream to fruition. Now, to throw it all away when he was probably close to his Trials was, he knew, foolish. Then he smiled.
A few years ago he and Obi-Wan had faced a group of heavily armed rebels on Pzob. Obi-Wan's plan, born out of desperation and an awareness that the longer they delayed, the more likely it was the rebels would blow up the embassy they were holed up in, killing all the civilians inside, was to charge the building.
Even Anakin, who usually had no problem rushing in where angels feared to tread, had thought it a crazy plan but had said nothing, trusting, as he'd always done, in his master's experience and skill. But the captain of the Pzob's police force had called Obi-Wan a fool for even considering such a reckless strategy. Obi-Wan had only grinned, his blue-gray eyes shining with an atypical mischievous light.
"Who is the more foolish, Captain?" he had said. "The fool or the fool who follows him?"
Anakin drew on his robe and grumbled to himself as he strode out the door. "I must be the more foolish in this case, Master, because no matter where you go, no matter what you do, I will follow."
To be continued....
