CHAPTER FIVE
It was late in the evening when Bryon strode down the long, wide corridor of the Galactic Senate building with exhaustion clearly evident in the slump of his shoulders and his sluggish gait. Outside the broad windows the sun had set and the impressive cityscape in the distance glittered with countless multicolored dots of light. The usually bustling hallway was nearly empty; the clomping of his boots and rustling of his black fatigues were nearly the only sounds he heard.
Today had been his first in charge of the newly expanded security detail for Supreme Chancellor Millius. He had deployed the Special Forces soldiers in Delta company throughout the enormous structure to monitor numerous vulnerable locations and begin to evaluate the weaknesses in their plans of operation. The two hundred troops had been divided into three shifts to provide round-the-clock protection for the Republic's chief of state.
As he neared his destination, Bryon reached up and tried in vain to rub the tiredness from his eyes. It had been an incredibly busy few days, and the implementation of the plans had proven no easier than their review and redesign. He knew his soldiers would perform exceptionally, as they always did. Nonetheless, if Argis had succeeded in the assassination of one Chancellor, there was little reason to think he would not be willing to try again. Although Bryon often preferred active assignments at the front to more passive missions like this one, in this moment he was quite thankful for it. The incessant skirmishes and covert strikes were grueling. The stench of death seemed never to leave his nostrils anymore. And the cruelty and arbitrary brutality of the orders he sometimes had to give, deciding which Republic units would be slain by the enemy and which would live to fight another day, were his constant companions now.
He always had felt invincible, that his iron will and powerful body never would tire or falter. After almost a year of nearly continuous killing, however, he wondered if perhaps he was reaching his limits.
Fortunately Bryon's morbid self-analysis terminated when he waved open the door of the office suite. A broad smile crossed his face and his shoulders lifted a little as he stopped a few paces in front of the desk in the receiving room. "Jenny," he sighed happily. "It's so wonderful to see you."
His former nanny sprang from her chair and bolted around the dark wooden desk, her single braid of long brown hair flopping in the air as she ran. Her precisely tailored blue suit seemed to light up along with her face as she slammed him into a tight embrace, her head barely reaching his breastbone as she leaned against him. "It's a great relief to see you too, Bryon," she said thankfully. "We're all very worried about you, you know."
"I know," he nodded as they separated, his eyes lingering on her face. "It should be better for a while. Especially when the Chancellor is on Coruscant – the facilities here are locked down tightly. There's little danger."
"I hope you're right," she smiled weakly.
Bryon looked at her carefully. "You haven't heard anything, have you? That I haven't been told?"
"No," his mother's Chief of Staff shook her head. "We're all still a little shaken by the suddenness of it."
"That's understandable," he agreed sadly. "Well, I should go see Mom."
"Yes, you should," she smiled, ushering him down the suite's hallway toward the main office.
Padmé was pacing behind her desk and looking aimlessly out the window when they arrived. She wore an elegant crimson gown that shimmered in the room's soft lights, and she had let down her long brown hair to hang loosely around her shoulders. Her right hand rested at the base of her throat; although Bryon couldn't see it he knew she was clutching the japoor snippet pendant his father had carved for her all those years ago.
For a moment Bryon simply stood in place, marveling at how beautiful she was. Beauty was not something he saw much anymore. In these rare moments when he did, like seeing Jenny and his mother again, he made sure to absorb it.
Padmé spun around when she heard Jenny's departing light tap on the doorframe. "Bryon!" she exclaimed excitedly, rushing to crush him in her arms as best she could.
"Hi, Mom," he smiled, relishing the heartfelt fierceness of her embrace.
She refused to release him for nearly a minute. Finally she stepped back and appraised him. "You look awful."
"That's just what I'd hoped you'd say," Bryon managed to laugh. His mother was nothing if not direct.
"Really, Bryon," she persisted. "I can see it in your bearing. On your face." She reached up and rested her fingers on his cheek while her thumb very tenderly traced a line under his eye, where dark swaths discolored his skin. "These circles… They're… You're not sleeping, are you?"
He remained quiet for a long time, unsure whether he could bring himself to tell her the truth. Finally he decided that he would. "No. Every time I close my eyes I see the battles. I see the faces of soldiers who died because of my orders. I see the faces of enemies I killed. I see death."
Padmé ran her fingers along his cheek as she pulled her hand away. "Come over here," she directed him, taking him by the hand and tugging him toward one of the sofas in the office. "Let's sit down."
Once they were seated next to each other, he blew out a deep breath. "I can't even tell you how many brownshirts I've killed at this point. Or how many of our men I've sent to their deaths with an order I gave." He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees and letting his face fall into his hands. "And the worst part is, I don't even feel it anymore. It means nothing. Lives are lost and I don't even care."
"You care. I know you do," she insisted firmly. Very gently she brushed her fingers through his short brown hair.
"No, Mom. You don't understand," he replied in anguish. "I decide the fates of all these soldiers, enemy and ally, and I don't feel anything. It's like… flipping a switch. Automatic. Mindless." He shook his head, and his body jolted as he fought to contain his emotions. "I feel as though I'm becoming nothing more than a droid, Mom. I'm more like a machine than I am a person."
"Look at me," Padmé said with just a hint of sharpness in her voice. When he did, she stared intensely into his eyes. "That is not true, Bryon!" Her tone was harsh, yet also filled with agony in empathy with his pain. "That is not true at all. You're a wonderful, kind, loving, generous, warm man. You always will be. Nothing, not a war or a battle or any number of casualties, nothing will ever take that away from you. Ever."
Trying to stay in control of his feelings, he simply sat there silently and stared down at the floor.
"I'm so sorry," Padmé said softly. She reached out and took one of his hands in both of hers. "I wish there was something I could do to help."
"The only thing you can do to help is to end this, Mom. Now. Make it stop."
"You know I would, honey, if I could."
"I know."
After a heavy pause, she squeezed his hand reassuringly. "You don't have those nightmares when you're with Sarré, do you?"
"Mom!"
"Do you?"
He could tell by the look on her face that she was not going to abandon this line of inquiry, no matter how strenuously he objected. "No," he admitted sullenly.
"I wish she were here right now, I really do," she said tenderly. "I know it's been over a month since you've seen her, and your last leave was so short I'm sure you didn't get all the time together that you needed. I know you probably…"
"Mom, seriously!" he interrupted frantically. "Yeah, I wish she were here too, okay?"
"Sooner or later you're going to have to get used to talking about her with me, Bryon," said Padmé sternly, squeezing his hand to emphasize the point. "I know you probably didn't have as much time alone together as you wanted," she began again, "even with the time away on Naboo. I promise, the next time you're both here we'll be sure to give you all the privacy you want, even if we don't get to see you at all. I promise."
Bryon was certain every blood vessel in his face had exploded from overload. "Um… yeah… okay…" he sputtered pitifully. "That's good… yeah… Thanks. I mean, thank you."
"You're welcome," she smiled warmly. Then she scooted a little closer. She released one hand and wrapped an arm around him; she barely was able to reach his opposite shoulder. "So tell me," she said mischievously, "have you two talked any more about planning a wedding since you got back?"
Bryon's heart sank and his stomach lurched. He had feared a moment like this ever since the impulsive, spontaneous secret ceremony on Naboo over a month ago. Quickly his mind raced through all the options for evasion he had been able to devise, considered her exact words, and found the perfect fit: the literal truth. "No, we haven't."
"Okay," his mother subsided. "Just keep me informed when you do."
"Of course," he nodded decisively, happy he could rely on the literal truth again. "You'll be the first to know."
---
Luke drew his cloak more tightly around his body as he strode through the dark nighttime streets of Mos Espa, the brisk desert wind whipping specks of sand into his face. In the dim light of the stars his indigo robes and cloak were indistinguishable from black, and those few other individuals outdoors at this hour skittered nervously in the opposite direction from the grim figure. He barely could see two or three paces in front of him as he walked, but his extended awareness in the Force took care of that, guiding him unfailingly toward the meeting place.
This was the third day of their investigation on Tatooine. After reviewing the information and analysis provided by the Jedi Temple's Operations Office, they had determined that the two missing Padawans must have discovered something of interest here in Mos Espa. Although prior reports each had originated from a different location on the planet, the last three before the disappearance all had come from here. Now he and Mara were trying to determine exactly what the vanished apprentices had found, hoping that would lead them to the pair.
Luke arrived at the base of the tall stone wall that surrounded the city and found the set of steps that led to the walkway atop it. He bounded up them three at a time and reached the narrow path along the parapets. Muffling the sounds of his boots with the Force, he walked quickly to a spot a few hundred yards down the wall. Then he tugged his hood down more fully over his face, braced his elbows on the small ledge between two parapets, and waited for her.
Mara.
He wasn't sure how to feel about her anymore. His animosity was gone and had been for some time. What remained in their relationship was a strange combination of fierce rivalry and intense friendship. Half the time it really seemed to him as though he was merely a competitor to her, serving as little more than the measure she used to test and evaluate her own skills. The other half the time he had the distinct impression she was restraining herself from dragging him off someplace for hours of lurid passion. Her recent behavior was utterly confounding and completely unpredictable. There was only one thing he had decided for certain.
She was falling in love with him.
Instead of making him happy, however, this information troubled him greatly. The problem, of course, was that he was not sure he felt the same way. Certainly she was a close friend, and he at least loved her the same way he loved Gars Von Krindlemeier and Ralli Gialla and the others in their circle at the Temple. What he was not at all sure about was whether he loved her more than that. Romantically.
Luke inhaled a deep breath and blew it out very slowly.
Primary is his mind was the knowledge that he soon would be granted the opportunity to stand for the Trials, and if he succeeded he finally would end his apprenticeship to Master Obi-Wan and be given the full responsibilities and challenges of a Jedi Knight. Although he believed he was nearly ready for that test, he also knew there were aspects of his skills and training that were not yet sufficient – most significantly, his continuing difficulty with controlling his impatience and frustration when things did not go his way. Adding a fervent emotional attachment to that instability might not be a wise move. On the other hand, if the attachment soothed his spirit the way his mother's love calmed his father, then it would be very valuable indeed. The difficulty was that he had no way of knowing what effect the attachment might have until it would be too late.
He took solace in the fact that if he did love Mara, he would be permitted to do so openly. Many things had changed in the Jedi Order over the twenty years his father had served on the Council, and one of them was the rule in the Jedi Code relating to personal attachments. Begrudging acceptance, perhaps, best described the Council's new attitude. Attachments remained strongly discouraged for the same reasons they had been forbidden for so many generations: they too often led to partiality, distraction, dereliction of duty, irrationality, or worst of all impassioned misuse of the Force. Yet the Masters had come to understand Anakin's attachment to Padmé as the very root of his serenity and inner peace – a view that only a half-century earlier would have been profoundly heretical. Although very few even desired to do so, any Padawan or Knight now could petition for the Council's acquiescence in an attachment, after which he or she would be counseled, tested, and evaluated at length in an effort to ensure that the attachment would be consistent with and not destructive of that particular individual's role as a Jedi.
Luke was not concerned about that hurdle. The Skywalkers were a profoundly passionate family, and intense personal attachments permeated their lives. His father and mother shared the deepest bond of all, of course, but Anakin's friendship with Obi-Wan and Padmé's with Sabé were nearly as powerful. Bryon and Sarré had a heartfelt connection almost as great as his parents', one that blazed into the Force with a blinding light. Most of Danaé's difficulties in the past year were due to her searing grief at the loss of Master Trill, whom she had revered like a beloved uncle. When Leia fell in love, she immersed herself entirely in its warmth – and now, against what Luke thought was her better judgment, she apparently was considering the possibility she might have such feelings for Captain Solo. And Luke himself always had known that his life would not be complete without a partner who complemented his soul the same way his parents did each other.
What he still could not decide was whether Mara was the woman with whom he was destined to spend the rest of his life. Perhaps she was; perhaps she wasn't. He didn't know, and furthermore he didn't know how he was going to figure it out. Leia had told him many times during their innumerable late-night conversations that love cannot be reasoned with or rationalized or explained logically. She also had driven home insistently another point: that when love reveals itself, it must be seized and protected with one's very being. In other words, he must trust his feelings. And that was something he did constantly as a Jedi.
So Luke knew he had to find some way of exploring his feelings for Mara without misleading her about his intentions. And despite all his adventures and misadventures with girls in the Temple over the last few years, that was something he never had been called upon to do.
His sobering contemplations were broken when Mara's Force presence burst into his perceptions. He turned to his left to see her black-cloaked form approaching along the wall's narrow path. Quickly she reached his side and leaned on her elbows on the ledge next to him.
"You're late," he hissed as he drew down the hood of his cloak.
"For a reason," she snapped in a hushed voice while she did the same. "I think it's a little more important that I learn as much as I can than that I'm prompt to meet you."
"Oh, I'm impressed," he said sarcastically. He kept his voice quiet too; even though there was no one anywhere near them, it still seemed necessary. "What's the big news?"
"The shipments the Hutts smuggled between the Outer Rim and Vyhrrag space? Only one of them was weapons," she whispered. "The rest were spice. I've confirmed it twice."
Luke digested the information silently at first. "I wasn't been able to find any evidence of additional arms smuggling either," he nodded after a pause. He pushed off from the wall and turned around to face the scattered lights of the city, bracing his lower back against the wall instead; she matched his pose a moment later. "I'm beginning to think there was only one arms shipment, and that it was for the Hutts' own agents inside Vyhrragian territory, not for the Vyhrragians at all."
"I agree," she nodded. "In which case the Hutts aren't cooperating with Argis' war effort. They're simply profiting from the situation by selling lots of spice on troubled planets. And they sent a single shipment of weapons to protect their investments and infrastructure."
"Yes. Which is far better for the Republic, if it's true." He brushed his hair away from his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest.
"Indeed." She turned slightly to the side to face him more. "So what do we do now?"
"Well, the arms shipment originated from Mos Eisley," he pondered aloud. "If our predecessors didn't figure out what we just did and still were trying to follow the trail of the weapons, that's where they'd have gone."
Mara reached up her hands and ran her fingers through her loose red-gold hair a few times. "That sounds reasonable," she agreed. "Nothing else really seems to fit what we've found here."
Luke smiled. She didn't seem to realize she had picked up one of her Master's mannerisms. "We can get transportation in the morning."
"Sounds like a plan," she chuckled. She pushed off from the wall and began to walk back in the direction from which she had come.
He took a few quick steps and caught up with her. "Mara, wait."
She stopped and turned her head around to look at him but didn't say anything.
He brushed the hair away from his eyes again, then reached out a hand and rested it against her lower back through her black cloak. For a moment they held each other's eyes intensely. "It'll be safer if I walk with you."
"I can take care of myself," she snarled. "I don't need you to protect me."
Luke's heart sank. He hadn't meant it that way at all. Over these last three days they had seen each other only for a handful of minutes in four earlier meetings like this one, when they had shared their findings and coordinated further inquiries. Now his attempt to offer her a pretext to spend more time together had backfired in his face. He tried desperately to recover. "I only thought maybe you might want me to come with you and…"
"Forget it," she spat, interrupting him. "I'd just as soon kiss a Wookiee!"
"I think Leia can arrange that for you," he shot back, more angry with himself than her.
After nothing but an incoherent mutter under her breath Mara stalked away and headed off toward the rooming house on the opposite side of town from which she had based her part of their investigation.
Luke leaned his elbows on the wall again and looked out over the desert. The vast, barren expanse of sand stretched to the horizon, an immense black pool beneath the twinkling stars. Before he returned to his own spartan lodging near the spaceport, he wanted to think about what just had occurred between them. The sparkle in her spirit when he had asked her to wait. The way she had pressed into his hand with her body. The burst of disappointment and shock in the Force at the next words he had spoken. The rapid deterioration in the conversation from his misguided attempt to be circumspect rather than candid.
And the pain in his heart, standing here without her.
---
Yoda hobbled the last few steps to the open entrance of the tarp tent Danaé had erected on the other side of the clearing in the swamp from his small mud hut. Peering sneakily around the edge of the durafabric, he saw the tall girl sitting on one of the metal crates she had carried the three kilometers here from her starfighter. Her shoulders were slumped and she held her head in her hands.
"Tired you are," he commented as he stepped inside her makeshift abode, using his gimer stick for balance. Artoo blooped a happy greeting from his spot at the foot of the cot.
She lifted her face and smiled weakly. "Yes. The regimens. They're so easy at the Temple. Here, they're completely exhausting."
"Not so much the heat it is," Yoda winked, "as the humidity, hmm?"
"I drink more water in one day here than I do in a week at the Temple, and I sweat it all away!"
"Used to it you will become. Sooner or later."
"Thanks for the reassurance," Danaé chuckled. She stood up and stretched her arms high over her head. Since her arrival she had taken to wearing nothing more than form-fitting gray training attire, which she had trimmed even further for the severe conditions; the sleeveless top now exposed her full midriff and the britches revealed nearly her entire thighs.
As he stopped next to the astromech, Yoda chuckled to himself at how rapidly the girl had abandoned any sense of modesty around him. It was both practical and wise – a rare combination indeed for a young Skywalker. "Hungry are you?"
"A little," she said. She walked over to a different crate, opened its top, and retrieved and unwrapped a vacuum-sealed nutrition bar. Sitting down on the first crate again, she took a bite.
Yoda raised his free hand and yanked the food from her grasp with the Force.
"Hey!" she cried. "I was eating that."
It was too late. Yoda swallowed the large morsel he had bitten off the bar. "How you get so big, eating food of this kind?"
"It's not so bad."
"Such lies you tell," Yoda chided. "Terrible this food is. Truly terrible." Just as he lifted his hand to take another bite, Artoo extended his small repair arm and grabbed the remainder of the bar. "Stop! Stop!" Yoda exclaimed, his already large eyes bugging even further on his face.
The droid honked indignantly and engaged the ancient green alien in a contest of physical strength for control.
"Release it you must," Yoda demanded as he began to bang his gimer stick on the astromech's metal dome. "Mine it is. Mine!"
"Artoo, let him have it," the girl sighed resignedly. The droid beeped and squawked indignantly. "I don't care if it was rude of him to take it from me," she shook her head. "Let him have it."
"Yes, yes," Yoda persisted, resting his stick back on the ground. "Listen to her you must."
Artoo beeped loudly in frustration. "Maybe so," Danaé nodded. "But a droid doesn't use the Force to scramble your circuits beyond repair when he loses." Artoo squealed an anxious concession. "Yes, that's right," she said. "Let the Jedi Master win."
With a final defeated bloop the astromech released his grip on the nutrition bar. "Victorious I am," Yoda grinned, wiggling his pointy ears happily. "As it should be." With two quick bites he finished off the treat. "Some real food you need," he announced to Danaé. "Back to my home you will come. Eat well we will."
With a sigh of great reluctance the girl rose from the crate to follow him.
A few minutes later Yoda added the last ladleful of gruel to a bowl, then passed it to the girl. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor, her shoulders hunched to keep her head from touching the ceiling. "Enjoy this you will, I think."
"Thank you," she smiled politely.
Yoda stretched his arm to place his bowl on the small table that barely reached above the girl's knees. Removing his gimer stick from its resting place against the wall, he hobbled over to his chair opposite her at the table. After one spoonful of food he gazed up to see a sad look in her intense blue eyes. "Hmm. That face you make. Look I so old to young eyes?"
"No. Of course not," she said unconvincingly.
Yoda smiled. By the time she had become a youngling in the Order just after her first birthday, he had been retired for several years from the Council and from active participation in tutoring the young adepts. While he never had trained her, they were well acquainted from his many visits to her parents during her childhood. And he knew without a doubt that he looked far frailer than the last time she had seen him. "I do! Yes, I do! Sick I have become. Old and weak."
She sat silently, contemplating his words.
Yoda chuckled playfully. "When nine hundred years old you reach, look as good you will not, hmm?"
That brought a smile to her face. "I suppose that's true," she conceded with a light laugh.
"Good this is, yes?" Yoda asked. "Better than your bland products of machines is it not?"
"Um… yes," she said, refusing to meet his gaze. "It's… very tasty."
Yoda decided to let the polite lie pass without a response. "Sleep much tonight you should," he advised. "Tomorrow into the swamps we will go. Running, jumping, climbing. Help you it will."
"I thought we were going to focus on my feelings?" the girl asked with a confused look on her face.
"Always that mistake, do the young make," Yoda explained patiently. "Clear your spirit you must, yes. But this exercise, free your body it will. Ease your meditation. Center your spirit in the Force it can."
Danaé nodded firmly. "I trust you, Master Yoda."
"Good," Yoda nodded approvingly. "Very good. Help you much I can, while that attitude you keep."
"May I ask you a question?" she queried reluctantly after a moment.
"Good things questions are. Ask them always you may. Answer them always I may not."
"Fair enough," she chuckled. "Master Yoda, you'll let me eat my own food most of the time, right?"
Yoda leaned back in his chair and laughed more heartily than he had in many, many years. "Yes, my child. That wish happy I am to grant."
---
Although the circumstances that had necessitated the creation of Refugee Camp Two on the Mid Rim planet of Pharenniol were indisputably tragic, the camp itself was remarkably tolerable. Built by the local planetary government from funds in its own treasury and a small supplemental grant from the Galactic Senate, it consisted primarily of thousands of small durafabric tents. Families or couples could share a tent if they desired, but for now the camp was not overcrowded and many individuals had a tent to themselves. There were numerous stations with refreshers, shower stalls, and running – albeit cold – water, so sanitation and hygiene were well within acceptable bounds. In addition to a sizeable reserve the supplies of food were replenished weekly, so none of the refugees feared a rationing crisis like those had been reported on other worlds.
Han knew he had a broad grin on his face as he walked along the grimy dirt path that wound through camp. He had expected this mission to be painfully boring, redeemable only because he would get to see Leia again. To his great surprise it had turned out to be anything but dull.
Mostly it was the mood of the camp. It did not appear to be truly dangerous, but the air seemed to crackle with an electricity of anarchy and tension that kept his blood pumping. Occasional scuffles broke out among various rival groups or species forced into close proximity by the tight conditions, and a handful of troublemakers simply started fights because they could. Fortunately the camp's security agents enforced a strict policy prohibiting blasters and vibroblades, which made a significant difference for everyone's safety.
He tugged at the black vest he wore over his plain white shirt as he turned a corner on the path. Being here reminded him of his youth on Corellia, those raucous years when his independence was at its peak and he answered to no one. Well, almost no one. Dewlanna, the Wookiee cook at the orphanage, had been a surrogate mother to him and had given him all the stern lectures he had deserved. Her supervision had prevented an irreversible decline into a life of serious crime until he had found his passion for swoop bike racing. The money he had won had been a boon to the orphanage and had made him something of a hero to the other boys and girls. One amazing day an instructor from the Academy had happened to witness one of his victories and had been suitably impressed. After successfully deceiving the authorities about his age Han had enrolled in the Republic's premier flight training program before his sixteenth birthday. Since then he certainly had experienced his share of adventure and excitement in the Navy, but to this day he missed the rebelliousness and freedom of those earlier years.
In addition to the exhilarating atmosphere in the camp, Han had found that the mission itself actually was interesting. In the course of the three days they had spent here, they had examined not only the facilities and conditions in the camp, but also more subtle factors like the resources available for parents with infants and the efforts being made to prevent confrontations from arising in the first place. Han had enjoyed greatly playing spy – mingling in the crowds, learning what he could about how the refugees were being treated, and observing how they interacted with each other. Dressed as he was, he looked every bit the exhausted, hard-working spacer and nothing like a highly decorated Navy officer. He liked that a lot.
And each evening when Leia and Sarré spent hours drafting brief reports of their findings, the fact that most of it was favorable lightened everyone's mood.
Han slowed his pace a bit as he approached the three tents their group had been assigned. He, Chewie, and Lando did not trust the sparse security at the expansive grassy meadow that passed for a spaceport for the camp. For that reason two of them had slept aboard the freighter each night. Lando had taken the first two nights in the camp, and tonight was Han's turn.
He had thought he would be looking forward to it, but instead he was filled with reluctance. Since their kiss on the Falcon a few hours before they arrived at Pharenniol, Leia had been avoiding him – or at least it seemed like that to him. She rarely looked him in the eyes. She avoided his touch, and sometimes she flinched when they inadvertently brushed against each other. She often took Sarré – or even the truly obnoxious protocol droid – with her on her explorations of the camp but never asked him to come along. If she preferred Goldenrod's companionship to his, he was in big trouble. And she had said nothing at all when he had announced he would stay on the Falcon instead of the camp the first two nights.
Han stopped, tucked his thumbs in his belt, and looked toward the setting sun on the distant horizon. In the three months he had worked with Leia for the Navy Oversight subcommittee at the Senate, he had seen first-hand that she was headstrong and decisive. Not once had he seen her flustered or confused. On top of that she was almost royalty, the fabulously wealthy daughter of two of the most powerful people in the galaxy. By contrast, he was nothing more than a simple military officer whose principal financial asset was a one-third interest in a hunk of junk.
What could a girl like her possibly see in a guy like him? He knew the answer, as much as he didn't want to think it.
Nothing.
So he was beginning to think she regretted kissing him. Maybe she even regretted taking this mission with him. He hoped it wasn't true. In fact, he was pretty confident it wasn't true. But he couldn't think of anything else that really made sense.
With a deep sigh he started walking again and soon reached the trio of tents facing a small campfire. Leia and Sarré were seated on metal crates, talking. Han walked up to them and stood in front of the vacant crate to Leia's left. "Mind if I sit?"
"Be my guest," Leia said distractedly, waving her hand at the available seat.
"Thanks," he said simply. He sat down, clasped his hands between his knees, and said nothing more. Leia and Sarré continued an animated conversation about something in their report. They made no effort to include him, so he tuned them out and stared into the fire.
He had no idea how much time had passed when his reverie was broken by Leia's small hand on his shoulder. "Han?"
"Huh?" He was completely startled. With a quick glance to the side he realized Sarré had gone into her tent and the two of them were alone. "Sorry, um… I wasn't listening and… I was just thinking."
"I didn't realize you did that."
"Yeah, sweetheart, I do."
"Well, you learn something new every day."
"It's shocking, I know," Han chuckled as he looked up to see a broad grin on her face. Now that night had fallen and only the orange flickering light of the campfire illuminated her face, the grin looked, well, devilish. He gazed deeply into her brown eyes and made his decision. Maybe you're right, Princess. And I haven't learned my something for today yet. Before she could say anything or even react to his movements, he leaned in and kissed her on the lips.
Firmly.
Aggressively.
Almost angrily.
She kissed him back with equal fervor until she ran out of air and pulled back. "What was that?"
"You've been avoiding me since we got here so I figured…"
"I have not!" she interrupted defiantly.
"Yes, you have, Princess."
She paused a moment. "You were taking quite a chance that I'd be angry, then, weren't you?"
"I suppose. But I was pretty sure you wouldn't be."
"You guessed right this time, flyboy."
"Yeah, like I hadn't already figured that out for myself." He followed suit when she rose to her feet.
With a wink she strode the five paces to the flap of her tent and lifted it open. Then she turned over her shoulder just before she disappeared inside. "Someday you're going to be wrong, and I just hope I'm there to see it."
Han sat down again and stared into the fire.
---
The dark nighttime sky sparkled with stars and the artificial streetlights atop the ornate lampposts had activated to provide dim illumination as the two Jedi Masters walked swiftly toward their destination. They were only a few long city blocks away from the Cathedral of the Liberation, and they hoped to be able to put in the first few hours of their investigation before retiring for the night.
Suddenly Anakin stopped in his tracks and closed his eyes. Obi-Wan paused two paces ahead, dropping his mind more fully into the Force as well. After a moment Anakin opened his eyes again and glanced sharply at his friend.
"I sense it too," Obi-Wan said quietly. Quickly he reached out a hand and held Anakin's arm. "Be calm, Anakin," he said simply.
"I will," Anakin nodded. With his erstwhile Master at his side Anakin broke into a dead run toward a nearby alley. Although their ears had heard nothing, a young girl's sharp cry of fear projecting into the Force had pierced their perceptions as clearly as any audible scream would have.
And it was not just any kind of fear. As a child growing up in the slave quarters of Mos Espa, before he had understood his strength in the Force or what his perceptions were telling him, Anakin had felt this terrible sensation many more times than he cared to contemplate. The slave masters had been brutal and cruel, and part of their callousness included forcing themselves on the female slaves whose lives they controlled. Once, just after his ninth birthday, it had happened to his mother. Right in front of him. He had tried to protect her, but the enormous man had shoved him away with such strength that he had been knocked unconscious. Only his mother's unrelenting insistence that he not seek revenge had prevented him from using the weapon he later had built from spare parts to kill the man. And he knew now that had he understood then how to use the Force, he would have killed with its power that night.
Anakin cleared his mind and calmed his thoughts as he raced the final few strides to the mouth of the alley. He no longer needed Obi-Wan's admonition, of course, but he had appreciated it nevertheless. He knew it was impossible to hear too often a reminder of the constant requirement that a Jedi act without anger or passion. Just before he arrived at the scene, he heard and sensed Obi-Wan burst away in a different direction. As he turned the corner Anakin brushed the hood of his cloak off his head and shouted authoritatively, "Leave her alone!"
His eyes confirmed what the Force already had shown him. A tall, grim man towered over a cowering girl, trapping her against the wall of the alley. After a long moment the hoodlum finally stepped away from the girl and removed the barrel of his blaster pistol from her head. He pointed the weapon at the intruder. "Get outta here," the man snarled. "This is none of your business."
"I am making it my business," Anakin growled. He brushed out the sides of his brown cloak and propped his hands on his hips.
"What, you think you're some kinda Jedi?" the thug snickered.
"If you believe I'm not, you're welcome to take your chances." Anakin's hands did not move.
"I said get outta here," the hooligan spat again. When he received no response, he squeezed the trigger.
In a flash Anakin's left hand snapped the lightsaber handle from that hip, ignited the ultraviolet blade, and deflected all three incoming bolts into the stone wall of the adjacent building. The invisible weapon whirred and hummed in the air. Seeing the look of terror on the man's face, Anakin laughed. "There's something you ought to know," he smiled deviously, taking two deliberate, aggressive strides forward. "I'm not left-handed."
Unsure what he had seen, and disbelieving there really was a lightsaber there, the thug fired twice more. The shots flew straight back at him, barely missing his head. He turned around and fled.
The hoodlum only made it a few strides, however, before a foot appeared from nowhere and tripped him. Instantly Obi-Wan sprang on the prone man, pinning him to the grimy pavement with a knee and snapping a pair of stuncuffs to his wrists. After keeping the man's face in the dirt for a few seconds, Obi-Wan rose to his feet. "Get up," the completely composed Jedi Master said. "We'll go wait in the street until the constable arrives." Without a word or a struggle the ruffian stood up and stumbled his way out of the alley with the Jedi Master one step behind him. Apparently this was not his first experience with stuncuffs.
In the meantime Anakin had rushed to the girl's side where she was slumped against the alley wall. She was young, he thought, about Nalé Bellion's age. Her simple tunic was dirtied from her effort to escape her attacker, her short auburn hair was in disarray, and tears streaked her cheeks. "It's okay," he soothed as well as he could, sitting down next to her and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "You're safe now."
The girl's body shook as she tried to control her sobbing. "Thank you," she managed to rasp.
"You're welcome. My name is Anakin." He squeezed her shoulder reassuringly and sent several short bursts of energy in the Force to calm her spirit. "What's yours?"
"I'm Lillaé," she whispered, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand and trying her best to smile.
"You shouldn't be here this late by yourself, Lillaé," Anakin said softly. "Where does your family live? I know this city very well, so my friend Obi-Wan and I will be able to walk you home from here."
The girl started to cry again. "I don't have any family," she sniffled. "Not here. Not anymore."
Anakin paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts. "I think there is a lot you need to tell me," he said gently after a moment. "First, tell me what happened to your family."
Lillaé leaned against him and rested her head on his shoulder, unaware that it was his robust Force presence that made her trust her rescuer unquestioningly. "My father… he…" She took a deep breath and forced the words from her mouth. "My father got addicted to spice. Then he started… he started gambling to pay for it… and he lost everything. When he didn't pay his debts… they… they came and… they killed him. Him and my mom. I found them when I got home from school."
"I'm very sorry," Anakin whispered, squeezing her firmly again. "How long ago did this happen? Do you need a place to stay? A good friend of my wife's runs an orphanage, right here in Theed." Two decades ago Padmé's former handmaiden Saché had taken in the orphaned Jenny Antilles for a year before she had moved in with Anakin and Padmé to help with the newborn twins. After that experience Saché had dedicated her career to helping children and young adults in similarly tragic circumstances.
"It only happened last week," Lillaé explained. "And I know the place you're talking about. It's nice. I've stayed there the whole time." She choked down a sob and continued. "I have an uncle and aunt who live on Corellia. They will take me in. All I need to do is get the money for the transit." She looked up, predicting Anakin's confusion about why her relatives wouldn't have paid the fare for her. "I lied to them," she said simply. "It's my father's brother. I couldn't tell him what my father did. I told them it was a speeder accident." She took another deep breath. "One of the women from the orphanage helped me sell everything in our house. The few things I kept, clothes and stuff, are in a locker at the spaceport. There was no money left, and my father already had signed the house away to a bank or something. I thought what we got from the sales would be enough for the transit, but it wasn't. I needed another hundred credits."
Anakin understood immediately. "And you thought you could earn the rest. Out here in the streets."
"It was stupid," Lillaé nodded weakly. "I thought I could. But… I just… I just couldn't go through with it. I told him I was sorry. But he got really angry and…"
"It's not your fault," Anakin interrupted tenderly. "He had no right to touch you, once you told him not to. But you were lucky, Lillaé. You were lucky Obi-Wan and I were here."
"I know," she whispered through new tears. "I'm sorry."
"The Force was with you tonight," he smiled. Then he pulled his arm away and leaned back to look at her more closely. "Lillaé, you're telling me the truth, right? All of what you said?"
"Yes," she nodded insistently. "I'm not lying. I wish I was, but I'm not."
The Force confirmed what Anakin already knew. He rose to his feet and offered his hand to her, which she took and pulled herself to her feet too. "How well do you know your uncle? Is he a good man? You trust him?"
"Oh, yes," Lillaé smiled. "He and his wife lived here on Naboo until two years ago, with my two little cousins. I know them very well. They'll take very good care of me."
Anakin nodded decisively. He reached into a small pouch on his utility belt and removed a data chip and a small chip reader. After a quick tap on the reader he offered the chip to the girl. "Here. Take this. It will cover the transit to Corellia, and a little more. If you promise me two things, you may have it." He paused, meeting her expectant gaze. "First, you will use this to go to your uncle's, and give the rest to him when you arrive. Second, you will tell him the truth about what happened. He deserves to know, especially if he's going to help you grieve."
Lillaé did not take the chip from his hand. Instead she looked closely into his eyes. "What do I owe you? If you want…" Her eyes looked in the general direction of his belt, and her hands fidgeted at her own. "I mean, you seem a lot nicer than he was and I probably…"
"No," Anakin insisted firmly as soon as he realized what she was suggesting. "You don't owe me anything. And certainly not that."
She seemed dumbfounded by the unexpected generosity. "Why, then? Why would… would you help me?"
Anakin chuckled lightly. "Let's just say I'm repaying an old debt." He paused. "And because I can."
Her consternation remained apparent on her face. After a moment, however, a look of realization gradually dawned in her eyes. "Wait… You said… You… And Obi-Wan… And the blaster…" She stared at him in a state of total shock. "Are you Anakin Skywalker?"
"Yes," he nodded simply.
Lillaé swallowed hard, reached out tentatively, and took the data chip from his outstretched hand. "I promise," she whispered. "I won't let you down."
Anakin smiled and waved her toward the street. The girl willing followed him out of the alley, where a trio of constables already had loaded the hoodlum into a prisoner's cage on the rear of their speeder. With his arm around her shoulder they approached Obi-Wan and the sergeant, who were huddled in a conversation. "This is Lillaé," he explained. "She needs a ride to the spaceport. Her family on Corellia is expecting her on the next transport, so we must hurry."
"We can do that," the sergeant said gruffly. "But first we'll need to go to the station and take her statement before we can even think about…"
Anakin sighed deeply. He waved his hand through the air. "You don't need her statement."
"We don't need her statement."
"You'll take her to the spaceport right away."
"We'll take her to the spaceport right away."
"Very well, Sergeant. You'd best be going now." Anakin smiled when the man nodded and walked away to give the instructions to his subordinates. Then he turned around to see Lillaé staring at him in confusion, clearly disbelieving what she just had witnessed. With only a mischievous wink he pulled her into a gentle embrace. "Go," he whispered in her ear. "Trust me."
She squeezed him very tightly and stretched up to kiss his cheek. "Thank you, Master Skywalker," she said quietly. "I will never forget this." Then she released him and climbed into the police speeder.
After the vehicle disappeared down the quiet nighttime street, Obi-Wan looked at Anakin with raised eyebrows. "I trust you had a good reason for that?"
"I did."
Obi-Wan accepted the assertion with a simple nod. He had complete faith in his old friend's judgment.
"I also made a donation of four thousand credits on the Order's behalf," Anakin chuckled. He ran his fingers twice through his short gray hair and sighed. "I know this is not why the Force drew us to Naboo, Obi-Wan," Anakin said softly while a brisk wind whipped at their cloaks. "But I am very glad we were here, in this place, at this time. We prevented an awful situation from becoming much, much worse."
"For that we can be thankful," Obi-Wan agreed.
Then the two Jedi Masters drew up the hoods of their cloaks over their heads, pulled the heavy fabric over their tan robes to ward off the chill, and headed down the street toward the Cathedral of the Liberation.