BOLT HOLE
By Gheorghe2 and ginef (both @aol.com)
INTRODUCTION AND OPENING THOUGHTS: Yes, we're back. To bring us out of retirement and reunite us it took the prospect of writing someone with even more potential angst than Luke, Mara, Leia, and Mulder combined. Nothing thrills us more than getting to wreak havoc on fictional characters and the universe they occupy.
All that, and we wanted to make PG cry... again.
This all seemed like a really good idea after a couple of rounds of Jessa's drinks during Mara's bachelorette party in Las Vegas (beware of "The YOW", boys and girls, it packs a lethal enough punch that you will allow another drunk to duct tape Padawan braids into your hair). Amazingly, when sobriety set in some 36 hours later, it still seemed like a good idea. Angst, sex, still more angst, still more sex, plot, and a story that kept getting longer and longer. Hey, it's us.
G2 regrets that there isn't enough booze. Ginef wanted more smoking. In the tradition of the Mary Jane (as opposed to Mary Sue story) we've inserted things of special interest to our friends. Really, PG, we tried. Things get broken. There is some food. The TTBU (Things That Blow Up) factor, however, is quite low. And be sure to blame the Obi-Wantons for the ongoing list of YOW's uh... engaging physical attributes. They appear by (repeated) special request.
We don't own any of it, we don't care what you do with it, and if you try profiting from this in anyway, we'll hunt you down and blast you into oblivion.
This story has been rated R, for mature audiences only. In the tradition of our other work, what's going on in people's minds is more far important than what happens further down. But there is smut, along with some drinking, smoking, and other acts of immorality, depending upon your point of view. Consider this a first caution -- Given what else we do in this story, smut and booze should be the least of your concerns.
WARNING -- Because of what we know is ahead in Episodes II and III, this story could not end well. If you are looking for something more uplifting go rent "Titanic." It has a happier ending. Honest. G2 adds this: The last 2 years in Tahiti have been great. I left for reasons which made sense then and with the resolution of certain plotlines, it's not so important anymore. But don't bug me about it. Or my friends. We get cranky. Ginef adds this: Where'd I leave my beer? Thanks to our beta testers Cyndi, Trace, Shelba, PG, Nancy, and Liz. Extra thanks to Liz for creating this great site and hosting our little epic on it.
This story is dedicated to the Obi-Wantons. Read it and drool, ladies.
CHAPTER ONE - "Mirror Image"
"Dar, did you know that other fathers take their daughters to a museum or shopping or even out to lunch in a restaurant with," the young woman, gray eyes smiling, paused for dramatic effect before whispering, "linen tablecloths?"
Clive Darrow threw back his head and laughed as he put his hand at the small of his daughter Linnayn's back and guided her into the X'Kali Bar on the nearly anarchic planet of Atzerri.
The place was crowded, but not uncomfortably so. A dozen species milled about, speaking as many languages. It was the typical mix found in every dive, in every spaceport throughout the mid-rim.
It was maybe only slightly worse than the half dozen other places they had been in the last two weeks. With a tilt of his head, Darrow indicated a table toward the back. Private, but still public, he would say, if Linn had asked.
Linn followed her father through the bar, alert as he was for friends and enemies, sources and snitches, and, especially, snatches of news and talk. She slid into a seat with her back to the wall, affording her a good view of the bar's neon lit and chrome pseudo upscale decor.
The joint put up a good front, she had to admit. If you didn't look too closely it was difficult to see the chipped paint, cracks in the foundation, and silver engine tape securing the bar to the wall. She, of course, noticed all of these things, just as her father had taught her to. Just once, she sighed, couldn't they go somewhere that didn't make her feel that she needed to bathe on returning to their ship?
"Hear anything?" Dar asked, as he waved to an associate across the room.
"Just more of the same poodoo that's been dominating every conversation for almost a month," she said wearily. "Blah blah Trade Federation's stunning humiliation at Naboo, blah blah blah, Palpatine is Chancellor, blah blah blah blah what is the Republic going to do with all those nice droid armies and ships it confiscated." She finished her listing with a frustrated sigh, then added, "Oh, and of course, let's not forget the most burning question of our day, the one every one of our clients would pay top credit for, where **did** the Queen of Naboo get that hairstyle?"
"At least it makes for good business," Dar said, obviously amused at her annoyance.
"Oh sure," Linn replied, scanning the crowd as she quoted her father's words back to him. "With the Trade Federation gone, those of us on the fringe now have an unprecedented opportunity to fill the vacuum.'"
Linn stretched her lanky legs out in front of her before she turned her attention back to Dar. He was absently tapping his fingers on the table in time with lively music coming from a woodwind band in the corner, but Linn saw there was nothing inattentive in his countenance. Dar's eyes were darting cautiously from one end of the room to another, studying, registering, and remembering. Dar had been very tense the last day or two, and was being unusually cautious now. Linn had had enough of his overly protective father games.
"So," she drawled, "are you going to send me off on another fool's errand while you meet with some seedy Trade Fed snitch or Naboo blockade runner or are we finally meeting the customer?"
The challenge jarred him. He ran a hand through his thinning gray hair, a nervous gesture Linn knew well. "What makes you say that?"
Fine, if he wanted to play it that way. "Because we've been zigzagging across former Fed space for two weeks now. Because we've met with every hotshot Corellian smuggler we know. Because everyone's asking, but no one's figured out why the Trade Fed would have gambled their entire franchise for a no account world like Naboo."
Dar smiled broadly, with pride, she knew. But he also didn't answer her question.
She pressed again. "So, are we finally meeting the customer?"
He hesitated, then finally said, "You know the Senate has set up a Commission to investigate the Naboo blockade and make a report to Chancellor Palpatine?"
Linn nodded.
"We have a contract with one of the Senate Councils. I contacted them four days ago. We finally have something to report." Darrow fished a data disk cartridge out of his vest pocket, and turned it between his fingers. "The courier, a one Ben Kenobi, is meeting us here."
"What's on the disk?" Linn asked.
Dar frowned. "Not this time, Linnayn." His eyes again moved across the room, and Linn was startled to see the first stirrings of confusion there. "I'm not sure what it means. But, I don't like it, and I'll be glad to hand this one off to someone else."
"Dar," she bristled. "I could..."
He caught her under the chin with his hand. "Just this once, let me be overprotective without a protest, okay?"
Linn rolled her eyes as her father brushed a lock of her hair off her face. "Do you think they might have something in my favorite color?"
She smiled, signaling all was forgiven. It was a private joke of theirs. Dar always said that her hair and his favorite ale were the same color of malted barley.
"I'll go see." Linn replied with a wry grin. "I think I'll need two just to survive this dump."
"One," Darrow said firmly.
"Three," Linn countered.
Darrow held up two fingers. "That's my final offer."
Linn started to rise. "Let's table this discussion for now."
"Whatever's on tap."
"I know. I know. And no citrus fruit to dilute it." This was just the type of place that would try to pull off an abomination like that, Linn thought as she began making her way back through the crowd.
***
No Republic ship or royal cruiser for them on this trip, Obi-Wan Kenobi thought irritably. He was pressed against a wall of skin, fur, scales, and hair, waiting to disembark the public transport that was angling to dock at Talos Spaceport on the smuggler's paradise known as Atzerri. He glanced around at his fellow travelers, wishing that many of them thought bathing was something one did more than just on major holidays.
His eyes caught and stopped on the back of a graying man with shoulder-length hair and he exhaled in pain. For a shattering second, Obi-Wan thought it was his Master, and that there had been some kind of terrible mistake. But then the man turned sideways bearing the face of stranger. Obi-Wan closed his eyes, feeling the barely healed scab within his soul tear open again.
He and Qui-Gon Jinn had been together, Master and Apprentice, for over ten years. They had lived together, traveled throughout the galaxy, fought and learned together. Qui-Gon had been his master, teacher, mentor, and friend. He was the closet thing he had ever had to a father.
Obi-Wan had innately known all this, had known that he loved Qui-Gon, admired and respected him. But, until the Sith had sliced through his Master, Obi-Wan had not realized how intense and close the Force bond had been between them nor how dependent upon that bond he had been.
In the heat of their duel with the Sith, he and Qui-Gon had, as they had many times before, become an extension of the other, perfectly matched, parrying and thrusting, advancing and retreating like a superbly choreographed dance. It was the sort of deep and profound rapport only possible in the Force. Then the bond was gone, severed forever, before his eyes, with the stab of a Sith's blade. It had felt like a talon ripping across his mind.
It was not supposed to have ended that way. Under the Code, the Master-Apprentice association gradually evolved, as the apprentice slowly moved from a subordinate learner, to that of a co-equal. Before sending him out with the other Jedi as they fanned across space searching for information on the Sith who had inexplicably appeared on Tatooine and Naboo, Master Depa Billaba had warned him to be mindful of the repercussions of so traumatic an ending to the relationship. But she had not told him how to heal the wound, or how to even begin to bridge the gaping chasm that opened in his psyche. Maybe, he thought bleakly, Depa had not offered him a cure because there was none.
The Sith had killed his Master. He had killed the Sith, and had ascended to Jedi Knight. He was a hero, of sorts, Obi-Wan supposed. He certainly didn't feel like one.
The Council had advised Chancellor Palpatine of the events on Naboo and immediately recognizing the danger to the Republic, the Chancellor had dispatched teams of Jedi to investigate. At the last moment, Master Yoda had suddenly announced that the Jedi were to travel secretly and report frequently and directly to the Council. He did not explain why, but then Yoda never explained anything.
So here Obi-Wan was, standing in a crowded transport, fussing with the collar of an uncomfortable civilian tunic. He felt exposed, stripped of the anonymity of his robe and the security of his lightsaber, tucked away and hidden in his carryall.
It was an indignity he might have otherwise endured, but for other circumstances. Obi-Wan had slain the Sith who had slain his Master. He should have been part of the teams looking for the remaining Sith. He should have been out interrogating Trade Federation liaisons. He should have been traveling to the deep and secret places the Sith had once ruled. And what was he doing instead? Courier, Obi-Wan grumbled silently.
The lurch of the transport brought him back. With a pang, he knew that Qui-Gon would have scolded him for his inattention to the moment, to the things that were about him now. He hauled his focus to the upcoming meeting and felt a fresh spurt of annoyance. It was not merely the humiliation of being reduced to an errand boy. It was that he had to travel through the underbelly of the galaxy to do it. Smugglers. Information brokers. They were the scourges of the universe.
Pushing the displeasure away, Obi Wan considered what little his briefing package had told him about his contact. Clive Darrow was respectable as these peddlers went. He was always one deal away from hitting it big, but his information was worth the price paid. Wife, Cairman, had run off with another man over 15 years ago. He had one daughter, Linnayn, age 18 years, who shared most of the business with her father.
Obi-Wan didn't understand why he had to deal with these middlemen at all. Why couldn't they just track down the original source, take the data, and extract any additional information from his mind. If there was a Sith Lord out there somewhere, he was a danger to the Jedi, and to the galaxy as a whole, Obi-Wan reasoned. They were entitled to take a few liberties.
The Jedi Council didn't see it that way, and Obi-Wan wasn't anxious to challenge them again so soon after his insistence that he be allowed to take young Anakin Skywalker as his Padawan learner.
He looked down at the boy at his side, and put a reassuring hand on Anakin's shoulder. Annie glanced up, looking through eyes that seemed too old for a boy of only nine. Annie was also in his civilian dress, his old clothes from Tatooine, which he seemed already to be outgrowing. He would likely grow to be a tall man. With that passing thought, Obi-Wan suddenly felt a chill move through the overcrowded transport that had nothing to do with the efficiency of the recirculated air system. A bad feeling, a dark phantom. About what? Anakin?
Obi-Wan again chided himself. Only a few weeks ago, Qui-Gon had told him to be mindful of the future, but not at the expense of what the living Force of the moment demanded of him. And with a whine of repulsors setting the transport down, the moment now was requiring quick steps to avoid getting trampled by the crowd surging forward to the exits. He grabbed Anakin's hand, but the boy needed no urging. The exciting prospect of "undercover work" to a child's imagination had been the only thing that would have gotten this eager, young boy out of his new Jedi Apprentice duds.
They trotted out of the ship. The air outside was fresh and damp and the sky was filled with heavy, gray clouds. Annie looked about hopefully. "Master, do you think it might rain?"
Obi-wan pulled Annie aside, out of the crush of disembarking passengers. He understood the boy was excited. In preparing for the assignment he had told Annie that Talos was very wet this time of year, and the child had become nearly delirious with anticipation. Obi-Wan had thought it odd until remembered that Annie had grown up in an arid climate and had never seen open water, or even rain. But...
He crouched down, looking at Annie eye to eye. They had only just begun the most rudimentary training -- such as meditation, mental concentration work, and physical exercises. Young though he was, Obi-Wan expected Anakin to be mindful even if lapses would be part of the learning process.
"Anakin, what did I tell you before?"
The boy's mouth formed a contrite "O." "I'm sorry Uncle Ben. I forgot."
"And what are we doing here?"
"We are from the Senate. We need to meet some friends of yours and then we are going home to Coruscant."
"And does anyone know that we are Jedi?"
Anakin fingered the edge of his sandy colored overshirt. He shook his head.
"Very good," Ben replied. It was time to reinforce a lesson in recall. "Now can you show me where we're going?"
***
Linn seethed with frustration, pushing her way again toward the counter of the bar. Much larger beings kept jostling her further from her intended goal. Although she was almost a head taller than most women, she didn't command much of a physical presence. Dar was always after her to stop slouching. Regardless, she didn't have any weight to throw around, and in a pushing match with just about anybody, or anything, she was the inevitable loser. When she had finally shoved her way to the front, the bartender's eyes had slid over her as if she wasn't there.
She exhaled an angry breath and felt her bangs fan up on her forehead. A sinewy Twi'lek female slid in front of her, and immediately garnered the attention of the bartender and most of the other male populace. Linn grimaced, not liking the contrast. The Twi'lek had gotten service just by showing up; Linn had tried waving money around and **still** hadn't been able to get a drink. Even if I paid them, no one would notice, she thought glumly. Damn Darrow, when she finally did get to the bar, she was going to order three.
What was she doing wrong, Linn wondered. Glancing up, she caught her reflection in the mirror behind the bar. Well, let's compare Linn Darrow versus Twi'lek female, she thought caustically. The Twi'lek was sleekly outfitted in one of the dance thongs so many of her kind favored. It wasn't that she herself didn't have the shape for such a thing, Linn thought. Then again, after another look at the Twi'lek, maybe she didn't. What figure Linn did possess was obliterated by her flightsuit -- actually it was her father's flightsuit. Well, at least it *was** clean and she had actually taken the time to shorten it. She used to hem her clothing with engine tape and staples.
The Twi'lek had elaborately decorated her headtails and sported exotic face paint. She, on the other hand, sported a pale, oval, scrubbed, and she conceded with a sigh, completely ordinary, face. There were disadvantages, Linn reflected, to being raised by a wonderful, but single father, and one of them was a shared ignorance of all things feminine. There was only one mirror on the ship, in worse condition than the chipped, smoky one behind the bar. Linn couldn't remember when she had used it for anything except as a work surface for certain cutting jobs, including trimming her own hair with a pair of nail scissors. Linn thought that if she tried decorating herself the way the Twi'lek had, even assuming she could figure out where to buy such things, she'd end up looking like the Queen of Naboo.
Oh, this exercise was making her feel a **whole** lot better. At this rate, she'd need four drinks.
A pushy Bothan was the final insult. When he stepped on her toes for the fourth time, Linn cut lose with an elbow to the ribs that would have done even the most brutal of smash ball players proud. She dove through the tiny space that had opened at the bar and waved a 20-cred piece around. Money would, eventually, solve all problems.
The bartender immediately noticed her credit piece. Oh, she was sick of dives like this. "What'll it be?" he asked.
"Two ales. Whatever's local."
He bustled away, leaving Linn in a fit of moroseness. She knew she really shouldn't complain, but that didn't stop her. It was a pretty good life. Fun. Interesting. Dar was great. But, in a mood like today, she wondered what it would be like to have friends instead of contacts. To have a permanent home instead of a ship registry number, spaceport drop boxes, and a series of forwarding addresses to second class hotels in Core planet capital cities.
Who was she kidding? She'd be bored within a week. Wouldn't she?
Fortunately, the drinks arrived, halting her cheery speculation. Linn wondered whether to tip at all, and decided in favor of a generous one. The way she was feeling, she'd be back for another drink or five, and she wanted the bartender to at least remember her cash.
***
Anakin was doing very well. The streets of Talos were twisted and confused, like any dusty market town. Yet, as they drew closer to the X'Kali Bar, Ben found himself becoming impatient and agitated, and couldn't stop himself from picking up the pace.
"Is there something wrong, Ben?" Annie finally asked, huffing a bit to keep up.
Ben made himself slow down. He took a deep breath and tried to focus, in the Force, on the source of his unease. "I don't know Annie," he finally said. "I sense something..." Ben hesitated, then suddenly grabbed Annie by the arm. "We need to hurry."
He began jogging towards the neon sign of the bar, visible a few blocks away. Annie dutifully trotted next to him. Ben had pinpointed the feeling that permeated the area -- he had felt the same disturbance when he and Qui-Gon had entered the Trade Federation ship, and again when he had gone to Naboo.
At the door to the bar, Ben stopped, despite the great urgency he felt. He knelt down. "Annie, I want you to stay here. If anything happens, I want you to find the nearest Senate office. Do you remember where it is?"
Annie nodded, eyes wide.
"And what do you tell them?"
"That I am a Jedi apprentice and need to contact Master Windu," Anakin said.
Ben smiled, and started to rise, only to suddenly be ripped by a pain so familiar, so recent, his knees buckled and nearly threw him to the ground. Struggling to his feet, he sensed that Anakin had said the words, "Are you alright?" but the keening thundering through him drowned out all sound.
"Stay here," he barked at Anakin, and pushed through the door of the bar.
He stood a moment on the landing, searching for the source of the anguish and quickly located a young woman toward the back of the bar cradling an older man in her arms. In a Jedi instant, he absorbed the details. Clive Darrow, his contact, was slumped on the floor, an enormous gash torn across the skin of his neck, eyes glassy, his spark of life in the Force gone.
His daughter, Linnayn, cradled her dead father in her arms, rocking him, whispering things he'd never hear. With her motion, the blood oozed from Darrow's throat, soaking his daughter. Patrons stepped over and around them to get to the bar as if they were beggars in the street, a minor inconvenience interrupting their fun.
"Who did this?" she shouted.
She was ignored.
Linnayn struggled to her feet. Her eyes darted around, despair rolling off her in waves. Dread rising, Ben bodily, and with the Force, pushed through the crowd, knowing what she was about to do even before she did. She pulled out her blaster. "Who did this?" she demanded again, but didn't wait for a response.
She opened fire and the bar erupted. With a flick of the Force, Ben knocked her aim to the ceiling. The bolt hit an overhead light and exploded in a shower of sparks. The combined blast ripped into the duracrete, opening a gash to the sky.
It was chaos, as if the hell of some ancient religion had opened up in the bar. Panicked patrons began screaming, ducking, and running to avoid the havoc raining down upon them. The anguished, hysterical voice and mind of a human woman shrieked above the din. "Who did this?" she screamed. "WHO?"
Ben dove toward the corner of the bar from which everyone else was fleeing.
Linnayn looked down at her misfiring blaster, and for a sickening moment, Ben thought she might turn it on herself. With a snatch of the Force, the weapon flew out of her hands. With another Force shove, he knocked her down. She fell, screaming, to the floor.
"DAR!" Linn screamed. "Dar!" She flailed, trying to rise, but slipped on her father's blood. Ben leaped forward and reaching her, yanked her off her feet and into his arms. Before she could struggle free, he slid his palm over her face. With a whimper, she sagged against him, unconscious.
There was no time. Still holding her against him, Ben dragged her toward her father's body. Shifting Linnayn to his side, he wrapped one arm around her, and with the other, began groping roughly through Clive Darrow's pockets. In the carnage of broken glasses, dust, and fallen ceiling, he almost missed it. On the table, Ben found a data chip cartridge. It was empty.
Ben cast about in the Force, hoping to find some hint of the proper path. The local authorities would arrive any moment. The girl clutched to his side, and sticky with blood, had just shot up a bar. He did not sense any other deaths, but she had blasted a hole in the roof, likely wounded several beings, and endangered dozens more.
If the Sith had returned, this was merely a preview of the suffering to come. The death had already begun on Naboo. Now, the Darrows were among the first casualties in a widening conflict, and unless he found out what had been worth the murder of an aging information broker, they would not be the last.
The shock of the assault in the bar was beginning to wane. Sobs and moans pierced through the dusty darkness; another piece of overhead lighting fell, dragging a chunk of duracrete with it. Distantly, Ben heard the wail of sirens. It was time to collect Anakin and go. Looking down into the bloody face of Linnayn Darrow, he knew he could not let the memory of his own loss cloud the decision. But Atzerri had only the crudest of rough justice. He couldn't just abandon her to an ugly fate here, either.
The Jedi and the Republic had sucked the Darrows into a quagmire. They bore a responsibility to these innocents. Ben headed for the back door of the bar, dragging the unconscious girl with him.
* * *
Even with her eyes closed Linn knew she was back aboard The Roncardi. So soothing were her rhythms and the familiar sounds of the drive's whine. Any moment Darrow would barge through the door to her cabin and demand she drag her lazy carcass out of bed. Her father hadn't died, his last words obliterated by a slashed windpipe. She hadn't opened fire on a bar full of beings, with her blaster and her rage. As long as she didn't open her eyes, none of it had happened. It was a bad dream, then, a terrible nightmare.
But the decaying scent of blood and the sticky, tightening feel of coagulation on her face and neck told a different story.
Oh Gods!
"Dar!" she screamed, springing up, and then crying out. She had been restrained to her bunk. "Darroowww!"
The door to her cabin slid open, and a man hurried in. Linn knew he was speaking. She heard the words, but could not comprehend their meaning.
"I'm Ben," the stranger said. He didn't seem to expect an answer, but kept talking. "I'm sorry that we had to strap you to your bunk, but we just made the jump to hyperspace." She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling hot tears gushing.
The stranger began working the restraints. He was saying something else. Something about the ship.
Her hands free, Linn brought them up to her face, and felt the sticky dampness on her cheeks, in her hair. She began to shake uncontrollably.
"Do you know where you are?" she heard again.
Linn opened her eyes. "Ship?" A concerned face, a stranger's face nodded. "Our ship. Who..." she began.
"I'm Ben Kenobi."
"Ben?" she repeated. It seemed somehow remotely familiar.
Linn tried rolling over, curling into the corner of her bunk. But the stranger was making her stand, pulling her up. He supported her stagger across the cabin to the head. He managed to hold her up with one arm, and push the door open with the other, without a loss of momentum. Linn felt she was being eased down until she was sitting in the tiny shower stall.
"Linnayn, I'm going to try to clean you. Do you understand?" she heard someone say.
She allowed her arms to be raised over her head unresisting. She felt something pull the shoes off her feet and felt her outer clothing slide off. As if disembodied she saw a flightsuit on the floor. It looked liked one of Dar's, but it couldn't be. It was covered with blood.
Hysterical sobs began deep in her gut, and then abruptly she had to choke on them when a stream of warm water hit her body. Someone was kneeling before her. He had a wet cloth and was rubbing it on her face. She saw a raised arm. Was it hers? Or someone else's? Liquid was dribbling off of the arm, and it looked like water, except it was very red. It dripped on the floor.
She felt water running through her hair, and down her back. Everywhere she looked, there was pink watery fluid, splashing down her body, puddling at her feet.
It seemed that she stumbled out of the head, into a robe, and then back into her bunk. There was an arm and a face helping her. Ben? Was that his name?
Linn opened her eyes and the stranger was still there. He was holding something. A glass. He was still talking, and this time, she could understand him.
"We are going to sit in space for a few days, Linn. I want you to take this."
She spat at the bitter tasting pill, but could not resist swallowing it. "I wish I was dead," Linn thought she said.
Ben nodded. "I know. But you aren't. Annie or I will be here with you all the time."
Annie? Who was Annie?
"When you're ready, we will be here," she heard Ben say. "'I'm sorry your father's dead, Linn." She believed him. He was sorry. She drifted into oblivion, hearing him say, "I will need your help if we are to find out who did it."
* * *
When Ben left Linn, Annie was waiting for him. "Will she be alright?" the little boy asked.
"I hope so," Ben said. "I want you to stay in her room right now. Practice your meditation and if she wakes up, call me right away."
Annie nodded. Stretching a bit, he reached the pushplate to Linnayn's cabin, and when it opened, slipped into the room.
Ben went up to the cockpit. Based on the backgrounder, he had known which ship belonged to the Darrows and had been able to retreat there with Annie and Linn. There had been some problems at the spaceport and he'd had to nudge a few minds to get the hurried clearance to leave. Once they cleared Atzerri's gravity well, Ben wondered where they should go. Clive Darrow's most recent stops? Former Trade Federation space? In the end, he did, with some distaste, what all smugglers and other low lifes did. The coordinates were already in the navicomputer, and Ben had the ship jump the short distance to one of its former captain's favorite bolt holes. A big place in space with absolutely nothing in it. A safe place to wait things out.
Now, it was time to report. The ship had a decent holo exchange array for a real time communication. The link flickered to life and Obi-Wan bowed before the image of Master Windu.
This Master was not a man with whom one exchanged pleasantries. "We are pleased to have you report so promptly," Mace intoned. Obi-Wan thought privately that he was never sure if Mace Windu was actually speaking for the Council, or had merely assumed a royal we as a habit of speech. "Have you met with Darrow?"
"Unfortunately, no, my Master." Before those famous chiseled eyebrows could rise off his head, Obi-Wan swiftly continued. "By the time I arrived at the contact point, Clive Darrow was dead. He was murdered. I found an empty data cartridge tape on his body."
Mace templed his fingers. It was his all-purpose gesture, whether he used it when delivering a well-rehearsed reprimand, or simply to stall for time. "I see," his Master finally said. "Where are you now?"
Obi-Wan took a breath. Here was where his actions would be judged. "Darrow's daughter discovered her father's body. She became hysterical and began shooting up the bar. I was able to deflect the blaster bolts, but there were extensive damage and injuries. I disarmed her and placed her in a trance. Anakin and I brought her to her father's ship. I was able to avoid serious questioning at the spaceport and we successfully escaped the system. I have sedated Linnayn Darrow and we are currently sitting in dead space in the Atzerri sector."
If Mace was surprised, he gave no sign. But he also waited a long time before saying anything. Obi-Wan was hard pressed to avoid fidgeting.
"We might say that you have made a detour, young Obi-Wan. Please explain your actions."
"I had hoped to learn what was on the stolen disk. I have searched ship records and although there are detailed logs of where the Darrows have been and with whom they have met, I could locate no record of what Darrow actually learned."
"What of the daughter?" Mace asked and Obi-Wan was relieved. Master Windu was clearly following the same thread Obi-Wan had.
"We know that the daughter was her father's partner. When she awakens and stabilizes, I intend to question her. If she does not know what was on the disk, my hope is that she will be able to reconstruct the data. It is important that the attempt be made. Someone murdered Clive Darrow to prevent us from learning of it."
Mace again templed his fingers. Obi-Wan had the impression he was consulting with someone else he could not see. Maybe Master Yoda or Ki-Adi-Mundi was listening as well.
"We agree with your decision, Obi-Wan."
He bowed. Obi-Wan had thought they would, but was nevertheless relieved.
"Secure this woman's cooperation, Obi-Wan." Mace said. "Protect her. If she knows, or can learn what her father did, she must be shielded until we learn of it too."
"I understand." There was a point that had been bothering him, a potential deception. "Master Yoda instructed that we should not reveal ourselves as Jedi. Does the Council still wish this under the circumstances?"
Again, Obi-Wan felt that Mace was consulting with someone else off screen. Finally, the Master spoke. "You are on the fringe of Republic law, Obi-Wan. This journey may take you places where Jedi are greeted with suspicion. Even the daughter may not welcome Jedi involvement. It is our opinion that you and your Padawan continue as you have."
"Yes, Master. Thank you." He bowed again, preparing to end the transmission.
Mace suddenly interrupted. An idea had occurred to someone, Obi-Wan thought. "The Darrow girl has just lost her father." His Master paused, making sure that he had Obi-Wan's full attention. "We believe that your own recent experiences will be useful in securing her trust and cooperation."
"I understand, Master." Or at least, he thought he did.
"May the Force be with you."
* * *
Linn didn't know how many days and nights passed. She would sleep, wake up screaming, vomit even the bile in her stomach, and then collapse again. Images burned in her eyes. Whether opened or closed, all she saw was blood. All she heard were screams.
She might have killed herself, but she couldn't have gotten to her blaster without tripping over the person who was always sitting on the deck. Whenever she was conscious, someone was in her cabin. Food and drink would appear. The food made her nauseous, but she would drink thirstily, only to spew it again the next time she woke.
The pain didn't dull or diminish. But, gradually, it receded to other emotions and desires, foremost among them, the raging need to know who had murdered her father, and why. She wanted someone to suffer. And lying on her back waiting for the Republic to fall would not bring her any closer to that goal.
She turned her head, and rolled over. A young boy was sitting on the floor with his eyes closed. Was he asleep? Unbidden, his eyes suddenly flew open. As if it were the most natural thing in the galaxy, he simply said, "Hi."
"Hello," Linn managed.
"I'm Anakin. But people call me Annie."
Linn felt herself smile despite herself. He was adorable. "It's nice to meet you Annie. I'm Linn."
He nodded vigorously. "I know."
"What are you doing in my room, Annie?"
The question did not fluster him at all. "I've been meditating," he replied, as if the answer were obvious.
The door slid open. A man who seemed vaguely familiar strode in. He was carrying a tray. "I see that my timing is very good," he said easily. "Annie, why don't you go into the main cabin. I would like to speak to Mistress Darrow."
Annie climbed to his feet. He came forward to her bunk, looking very earnest. "I'm glad you're feeling better, Linn. Ben and I have been very worried about you."
Ben. That's whom the other man was, Linn remembered, as Annie turned and walked out. The door slid shut behind him.
Ben set the tray down. "I see that Anakin has made his introduction." He bowed slightly, very formally. "I'm Ben Kenobi, Mistress Darrow."
It all seemed rather incongruous. "It's Linn," she interrupted impatiently. "You were our contact. What are you doing on our ship? And where are we?" She tried to roll out of her bunk to stand, but a wave of nausea struck her as soon as her feet hit the deck. With a slight groan, she fell back, feeling very weak, and rather ridiculous.
He crossed the cabin and handed her a cup from the tray. There was some sort of clear, hot liquid in it. "We're sitting in the middle of the Atzerri system. It's been three days since we left Talos Spaceport." Ben snagged her desk chair, set it in the middle of the floor, and sat. "You should drink that. You've had nothing in that time, and you are very weak."
"So, you're a medic?" she responded with sarcasm, but no real energy behind it. She did begin sipping the liquid. It was wonderful.
"No," he replied seriously. "I am the courier your father was supposed to be meeting." Ben leaned forward, so sincere, she felt her throat tighten. "I am very sorry about your father, Linn."
She forced away the tears that immediately welled in her eyes. Linn knew it would be a long time before she would be able to think of her father and not weep.
"He was dead, wasn't he?" she asked, already knowing the answer.
Ben nodded. "When I arrived, he was dead. You were shooting in the bar."
She rubbed her eyes. It all seemed so dim and dreamy, as if it were a daylight nightmare that had not really occurred. "What happened?"
"You don't remember?"
"I came back from the bar with our drinks. I saw the..." she choked back tears, "... the blood. I guess I started shooting." She shook her head, trying to banish even the murky memories and screams. "I don't remember anything after that."
"You fainted," Ben said simply. "Annie and I brought you here. I thought it would be wise to avoid any entanglements with the Atzerri authorities."
Linn nodded gratefully, knowing what passed for Atzerrian law enforcement. She stared at him, trying to fathom why a courier would risk himself and his boy to save her. She failed. "Why? Who exactly are you?"
He leaned forward, clasping his hands in front of him. "I am an aide to the Senate Council investigating the Federation's blockade."
Linn saw one part of the puzzle fall into place. "You hired my father."
"Yes. Your father said he had found an intercepted transmission to the Federation when they were orbiting Naboo."
"He had a data cartridge in the bar," Linn suddenly remembered. "I asked him about it, but he wouldn't tell me what was on it."
Ben paused, and looked at her significantly. It seemed his shoulders sagged slightly. "I came to collect that transmission from him. But when I found you, he was dead and the disk was gone."
"Gone?" Linn's mind was whirling. Information brokers usually lived and worked at the edge of a very gray, blurry line. But killing for something her father had found simply staggered her. What had he uncovered? How could it have been so important?
Echoing her thoughts, Ben continued, "If we learn what was on the disk, we might learn who killed your father. Do you know where he obtained it?"
Again tears smarted in her eyes. "Probably from Sly Gawron."
The name obviously meant nothing to a senatorial aide. "And he is?"
"A blockade runner. Sly freelances for a bunch of smugglers, mostly out of Coronet. That was our last port before we came here, and before we left, Dar had me transfer 5,000 credits to him."
Ben turned his hands over in his lap. "And he might know what was on the disk."
Linn unfolded her legs, prepared to slide out of the bunk and send The Roncardi hurling toward Corellia. The floor didn't rock as it had before, but she was only wearing her underwear and a bathrobe. Chagrined, she drew herself back into the bunk as Ben stood up hurriedly. She wrapped a blanket about herself.
"I'll leave you alone to dress. Eat something. Take your time." Annie and I will be in the main cabin. When you are ready, we can set a course for Corellia."
She nodded. As he turned on his heel, Linn called out. "Ben?"
He slowly pivoted to face her. "Thank you," Linn said, feeling genuine gratitude. "For everything."
"You are welcome. I am very sorry for your loss." He glanced down, studying his hands intently. "I know that it is no consolation to you, but I do understand what this feels like."
The snide rejoinder that he couldn't possibly understand didn't make it out. Ben seemed so sorrowful, so sincere, that instead of anger, she felt something else entirely. Compassion. Empathy. "What do you mean?"
Ben swallowed, opened his mouth, then as quickly, seemed to reconsider. "I'm sorry, Linn. Maybe later. Your ordeal has made me relive something very similar, and I am really not prepared to speak of it yet."
With that extraordinary statement, he pivoted again and left.
* * *
A jump to Coronet had never lasted so long. Linn rolled over in her bunk to stare at a different section of hull plating. She had memorized every nick, every minute scratch. Long days, longer nights.
Most of the time, she had just wandered about, in a daze, watching the chron tick minutes by in her dark cabin. She tried to rally, tried to find something to sustain her, but even the anger and desire for revenge had faded into a mire of grief.
She had hardly seen her two traveling companions. She and Ben overlapped a few hours each day when they traded shifts. Mostly, though, Ben and Annie kept to themselves as much as she did. They seemed to spend a lot of time in The Roncardi's smallish cargo hold. She and Dar had trafficked in information, not goods, and that had never required much in the way of storage space. Ben and Annie, however, seemed to be making good use of it. Twice, she saw them emerge, shining with sweat, and Ben at least, looking a bit the worse for the wear.
When she had asked about their activities, Ben had merely shrugged. "Exercising. Space travel is bad for physical conditioning."
The chron had ticked another whole ten minutes off. Linn gave up and heaved herself out of the bunk. She would be relieving Ben in another few hours, and a few more after that, they would be breaking orbit in Corellia, late afternoon, local time. She dressed in the barely lit pit that her cabin had become, pulling on another of Dar's old suits. It was another piece of him she simply couldn't give up.
Would tracking down another copy of that disk really make a difference? Linn didn't think so. Dar was dead, gone. Helping the people indirectly responsible for his death wouldn't bring him back.
Her eyes smarted when she stepped into the bright ship corridor. Listening, she caught wisps of Ben's carefully measured voice, and Annie's higher pitched one from the main cabin.
"Hi, Linn!" Annie exclaimed as she entered the cabin. He **had** been the single bright point in the dismal trip -- a supercharged hyperdrive of enthusiasm for absolutely everything.
"You aren't on for another three hours," Ben commented.
"Couldn't sleep," Linn muttered, making her way to the galley. She had been living on caf in her daylight hours and distilled spirits in the evening. She vaguely sensed Ben's disapproval, but didn't care. She'd let them find their own passage back to Coruscant from Coronet and she'd make her way to wherever with Dar's ship. **My** ship, she suddenly comprehended. Perhaps right into a supernova.
"Ben's been telling me about Corellia," Annie gushed. "Have you been there before, Linn?"
She nodded, not quite able to maintain her dower mood around such a ray of good humor. "Many times."
Annie's eyes were wide as moons. The words came out in a tumbled rush. "Can I see a Selonian or a Drall? Will we get to meet some? Are there really Treasure Ships on the row? Ben says the stardocks are **huge!**"
Ben held out his hands in an "It's not my fault" expression.
Linn crossed the cabin, feeling lighter in heart. She blew on her drink, and sat next to Annie. "You will probably see a Selonian or a Drall. If you do, you must be very polite to them."
"Why? Are they dangerous?" Annie clearly hoped they were.
"Selonians are very competent fighters. Dralls are very dignified. You should be careful not to offend either of them."
"Oh, I won't."
Linn could not help herself. She reached out and tousled Annie's rumbled blond head. "I'm sure you won't."
"It's time for bed, Annie."
Annie visibly wilted with Ben's order. "But I want to stay up and learn more about..."
Ben's next command was sterner. "Annie, what have we learned about patience?"
Anakin seemed to consider this for a moment before taking another tact. "Could you tell me a bedtime story, Linn?" Annie asked suddenly.
"Now Annie," and this time, Ben's tone was demanding obedience. "Linn..."
"No, it's alright, Ben," Linn injected impulsively. She stood and held out her hand. "I'll tell you about the Boiling Sea on Drall."
Annie gave Ben a triumphant look and tugged on Linn's hand. "Hurry!"
The boy was stumbling a bit in his nightwear -- one of Dar's old shirts. In fact, they were all wearing Dar's clothing. Linn didn't have anything else, and Ben and Annie had not anticipated that they would be returning to Coruscant from Atzerri via Corellia.
Without prompting, Annie brushed his teeth and climbed into his bunk. Linn helped him pull the blankets about him. "Move over, Annie," she asked. The boy scooted to the side, and Linn rested her hip on the corner of his bed. He lay back against the pillow and shut his eyes.
"Does the sea really boil?" Annie asked.
"During the hot season, in the summer, yes, it does. Because it is so warm, many small plants grow in the water. The air is filled with beautiful birds, called ibbots who eat the plants. They have nests all along the shore. When I was about your age, I would look for the hatchlings when...." Her throat closed so tightly, Linn could not finish. "I'm sorry, Annie," she stammered.
He opened his eyes. In a gesture that was at once, childlike in its innocent sincerity and oddly mature, Annie leaned forward to hold her hands in his own. "We're all sad. I'm sad sometimes. And Ben is sad too."
With the earnest, compassionate expression, Linn was able to smile wanly. "Why are you sad, Annie?"
"I miss my mom. She's still on Tatooine. And I miss Padme."
"Padme?"
He nodded. "We had to leave her on Naboo."
"Naboo?" Linn exclaimed, completely shocked. "When were you on Naboo?"
Annie gave her one of those "Where have **you** been" looks that only children could so perfect. "During the battle, of course."
She had surmised that Annie was Ben's ward, and was apprenticed to the Senate Council he worked for. But this... "What were you doing in the middle of an insurrection?"
"I was with Ben and Qui-Gon."
"Qui-Gon?"
Anakin nodded again. "Ben was apprenticed to Qui-Gon the same way I am to him."
Linn had been wondering for days what Ben had meant about a reliving a recent loss of his own. She suddenly had a horrible suspicion. "Is Qui-Gon why Ben is sad?"
Annie's sudden solemnity confirmed it. The boy hesitated, then nodded. "He was killed on Naboo."
Linn didn't feel comfortable with this. She was tempted to extract more information from a very voluble Anakin. But, she halted the questioning. If she wanted to know more, she should ask Ben outright, and not try a smuggler's run around it by interrogating a little boy.
On an impulse, she leaned forward and kissed Annie on the cheek. "We have a big day tomorrow. There will be lots of new things to see. You'll see one of the largest shipyards in the galaxy. We'll be staying in a hotel and eating in restaurants. But if you don't get your rest you'll sleep through it all."
"Okay, Linn," Annie said, settling back with a sigh. Through a yawn, he mouthed, "Don't be sad."
"I'll try, Annie." She smoothed the hair away from his forehead. A few minutes later, she heard the heavy breathing of a child in a deep sleep.
In the short trip from Annie's bedside to the main cabin, Linn had enough time to begin seething over a story only half-told. When she burst into cabin, Ben jumped up from his seat still clutching the datapad he had been studying before.
"What?" he asked sharply, eyeing her warily.
"You didn't tell me you had been on Naboo," she accused stalking toward him.
His eyes rose in surprise, then as quickly fell. "Oh, I see. Annie has been chatting."
Linn was not dissuaded. "What were you doing there?"
She sensed that he was choosing words carefully. "Helping Queen Amidala retake the planet from the Trade Federation."
"And?"
Ben seemed to shift uncomfortably. Linn moved closer, crowding him. "You know the story," he began. "The Naboo took out the droid control ship, Queen Amidala captured the Viceroy..."
"That's not what I mean, Ben." She took another step to him.
Ben stepped out of her way, putting the modular table between them. "Then, I don't know what you mean."
She pursued him, and Ben circled, still a table apart. "There's more you aren't telling me."
"Linn, please. Drop this." He held up the datapad as if it would ward off her advance. "I don't want to discuss it."
"And I do." She had heard real despair in his voice and pressed harder. "We land in Coronet in a few hours, Ben. You should tell me if you've got a personal interest in this."
"There's nothing else that concerns you, Linn." He spoke too quickly to be believed.
"I'll be the judge of that." For someone who had seemed so distant and in command of himself, it seemed that Ben's self-control was obviously slipping with very little provocation.
Linn paused, letting the tension build, then dropped softly. "Who was Qui-Gon, Ben?"
A thermal detonator would have been more subtle. The datapad clattered to the deck. Ben went white. "Annie told you?" he gasped.
Linn nodded, moving around the table to face him. He glanced away from her, avoiding her gaze, maybe looking for where that poised reserve he wrapped himself in had gone with the mention of a name.
Ben said very quietly, "Don't do this Linn, please."
She wavered, almost. He was obviously devastated. But, so was she and her resolve hardened. Linn backed him to the cabin wall. "Ben, I'm entitled to know if I'm going to help you. My father was murdered over something having to do with Naboo."
His back contacted the bulkhead, and Ben stopped running. He slid down the wall to the deck and buried his face in his hands.
"Mine was too," Ben finally heaved.
Linn fought the urge to run screaming for the safety of the airlock. Of all the grotesque cosmic jokes, this had to take it. Dar had always said the universe had a sense of humor. She crouched next to him on the deck, hands on her knees. "Qui-Gon was your father?" she managed to push out of a throat that had gone dry.
His restraint had given way to anguish. "I never knew my family. I lived with Qui-Gon most of my life. He was like a father."
When he stopped, Linn waited, then finally prompted him. "And?"
"He was murdered on Naboo during the fighting. I watched it happen." Ben swallowed hard before he could continue. "I held him while he died."
The confession brought Linn back horribly to when she had found Dar just in time for his life to bleed out all over her. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block the image. When she found the courage to look at him again, Ben's head was down and his shoulders shook silently, hands gripping his knees so hard his knuckles were white. Linn shifted in her crouch, clasping her hands in front of her as his pain reverberated back through her. "I'm sorry, Ben," was all she was able to say.
"I know you are," he whispered, looking up at her. "Thousands died on Naboo." Ben's voice broke as he added, "Not just Qui-Gon. We are looking all over the galaxy for why."
She pulled her hands through her hair, cursing silently. "And my father found something so important it was worth murdering him to keep you from getting it."
Ben nodded.
"And you think the same party is responsible for your father's death and everything else that happened on Naboo?"
He nodded again then dropped his head down. "Linn, I know what this must do to you. If there was anyone else who could help us, I'd have you drop us anywhere and leave you to grieve in peace."
She heard the desperation. It wasn't merely the Senate who was pleading, but someone who had been deeply hurt -- someone who had been wounded as she had.
Linn hesitantly bent toward him, and placed her hands gently over his, a fair imitation of Annie's own impulsive compassion. All her doubts about whether that would make a difference seemed to drain away in the face of his consuming grief. A grief she understood and shared. "We'll find that disk," she promised.
Continued in Chapter 2