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Chapter 15

The Horsemen

The trip to Halm was uneventful.

Miler spent most of it playing sabacc with Julian. He found the good doctor glib but considerate. After light resistance, he conceded friendship. Meanwhile, very late at night, Miler talked with Aayla, sitting at the bar but without any liquor. It was warm, friendly, and sometimes awkward.

R2 studied the ancient texts but failed to decipher them. To say it bruised his programming was putting it mildly.

At Padme's urging, Obi-Wan rested in his quarters. She kept him company, the two telling old stories shared and unique. When he was nearly asleep, she would even read to him. Surely Padme was meant for marriage and motherhood.

Having admired his work, Aayla was relentless trying to befriend Quinn. The reptilian rebuked her, mostly staying in his cabin.

When they arrived at the planet, Obi-Wan entered the cockpit with Miler and Landon.

"Any Sith warships?" asked Obi-Wan.

Miler replied, "If they're here, they're incognito."

"Keep your eyes open. But set us down in the capital. We shouldn't try to hide; that could prompt an inquiry."

"Good thinkin', Boss," Landon drawled. "How 'bout the Sith Embassy? We'll drop by with some wine, learn about the Dark Side."

"We can't sneak around the entire mission," Obi-Wan said. "Besides, Halm's a neutral planet. The Sith won't make trouble. They're trying to annex the planet."

Miler shook his head. "Why don' they bloody conquer it like everywhere else?"

"Sidious knows his history. Every empire in the galaxy tried to conquer Halm. But its people are hearty. The desert's endless. You could spill blood forever and never claim victory."

"Why does everyone want it?

"Anthracite. Cheapest fuel in the galaxy," Obi-Wan explained. "If Halm breaks its neutrality and sells exclusively to the Sith…"

Miler's mouth set in a grim line. "We've received clearance. Beginning approach."

The Dawn Tangent set down in Metano, Halm's third-largest city. Aside from being the capital, it was unique in that it wasn't propped up by the mining industry. The surrounding area had been stripped to its bones. The hills held nothing but sand and ghosts.

The crew gathered in stellar cartography.

Landon said, "Boss, I ain't one to critique fashion, but ya'll look a little… mystical."

"We can't hide that we're Jedi," Aayla said. "It won't bother the average Halman."

"Sure. Whatever you say. Just walk in front of me, yeah?"

"I'm more worried you'll meet an ex-associate," Obi-Wan countered. "So why don't we all just pay attention?"

Padme watched the exchange passively. She was beginning to think Landon was more trouble than he was worth.

"Gen'ral," said Miler, "how exac'ly do ya plan t'find Trask?"

"We'll start at City Hall. If Trask is here lawfully, his dig will be registered."

"And if it's not?" asked Julian.

"One step at a time, Doctor," Obi-Wan replied, before he turned to address everyone: "Someone should stay here. In case the locals get curious."

His call for volunteers went unanswered. Finally, Quinn said, "Frankly, Senator Amidala shouldn't even be here. She lacks the requisite skills."

Padme scowled. "And just what 'requisite skills' am I lacking?"

"You are good at what you do," Quinn condescended. "But there are things out there you can't kill with a speech."

Obi-Wan swallowed a rebuke, allowing Padme the dignity of her own defense.

She said, "It's true I haven't killed. I'm terrible with a blaster. But I possess in abundance what you sorely lack: poise." She matched his condescending tone: "Did your master skip a lesson?"

Quinn's eyes were like steel. "You don't know me," he growled.

"You're right; I don't. So let's keep our impressions to ourselves and get on with the mission."

Obi-Wan smiled disarmingly. "R2, why don't you keep an eye on things? I'll need Quinn's and milady's skills to accomplish my task."

Perceiving his plea, R2 beeped helpfully.

"We should split into groups," Julian said. "We look like a rugby team."

Obi-Wan agreed. He couldn't hide that they were Jedi, but he could stop them from sticking out.

Vader sat cross-legged on the floor of the meditation chamber.

The ancient book lay open before him. Radiating power, it held more secrets than merely the Mercy Seat. Anger, hate rose as steam from the ink.

Vader's mind was a cauldron of grievances. Everyone who'd ever wronged him was part of the stew. Obi-Wan's betrayal. Padme's cruelty. His subjugation to Sidious. For far too long, the Chosen One had waited. He'd accepted humiliation in anticipation of the day he'd reciprocate tenfold. And now, in his twenty-fourth year, he'd pay back the misery imposed by the Force.

Obi-Wan would lay in a pool of his own blood. Sidious' skin would melt from his bones. Padme would worship him, or he'd hack her to pieces, paint the stars with her entrails. After slaughtering all those who had stood in his way, he'd move on to the innocent. Those who did nothing. Simply because he could.

His eyes were shut lightly.

In the dawn of your rage, you must choose three horsemen to ride beside you. Only through your combined hatred can you unlock immortality. Let the darkness flow through your body, gain its own intelligence, so that it may instruct you on the slaughter of your enemies. You must surrender to its vicious being to achieve ultimate power.

A serpent coiled around his mind's eye. The Darkness. The Vicious Being. He was its chosen suitor. He and his horsemen would release it from its cage, draw strength from its intellect. Together, they'd destroy every vestige of civilization.

Whereas the Light grovels before the Soul of the Universe, the Dark wills creation outside the Soul's bounds.

Vader trembled before this revelation. There was no greater power than to control creation. By learning this ability, Vader'd be a god. He'd have anything he wanted, including Padme Amidala in service or anguish.

Just past City Hall, partially obscured by a punishing sun, he saw a modest embassy that belonged to the Republic.

"I have no time for bureaucrats," Obi-Wan lamented. "But they could be a problem."

Padme smiled wryly. "I think a visit from a Republic senator could keep them distracted."

Obi-Wan considered this. Given the steady stream of Sith diplomats, and the Republic's neglect, Padme's visit might garner enthusiasm. "Take Miler and Aayla," he suggested.

"Expecting trouble?"

"Just watch your back."

Padme swept her eyes over the weather-beaten buildings. She saw nothing, felt nothing, and she wondered suddenly at Jedi's threshold for madness. How they could stand it: seeing shadows over everything? She was deeply grateful the Force forsook her.

City Hall was cleaner, more modern than most of Matano. Judging by the knocked-out walls awaiting replacement, this was a recent change.

Obi-Wan, Quinn, and Julian climbed the front steps. They were paved with gold and had an intricate railing. The faces of desert animals were carved into the banisters.

Julian raised an eyebrow. "A bit bombastic, isn't it?"

"A gift from the Sith," Obi-Wan surmised.

"They could've started with the basics—like helping the poor."

"The rulers take the spoils. That's the first thing they teach you in Despot School."

Julian turned to Quinn. "Is it like that where you come from? The rich people, and the rest of you?"

"Where I come from, there is no currency," the reptile said grimly. "The strong survive; the weak die."

Julian squinted and frowned. "Sounds charming."

Obi-Wan smirked, patting his back. "This way, gentlemen."

The clerk was portly but beautiful. Her rosy cheeks were wrinkled with smile lines, a real achievement on a barren world.

"It's a bit unusual what you're requesting," she said cheerfully. "We have the information, of course, but it's not public record. Are you asking on behalf of the Jedi Council?"

"It's a personal matter," said Obi-Wan. "Palmer Trask is… an old friend of ours."

"Well, I'm terribly sorry, sir. I'd like to help you, but I can't divulge this information without a request from a governing body."

Obi-Wan made to reply when Julian slid past him. The doctor leaned toward the clerk with a flirtatious smile.

"Darling, I know it's unusual," Julian said sympathetically, "but the thing about it is: Palmer knows we're coming. He just forgot to send the details. I hate to picture him all alone on this dig. He could be in danger."

The clerk's will began to waver, causing Obi-Wan to discreetly roll his eyes.

Julian pressed on: "I couldn't bear it if he were hurt, dear. And with the desert raiders out there, I'm truly worried." He looked about, checking for eavesdroppers, and said quietly: "I can't imagine how the Republic would react if an archaeologist were to die just because the planetary authority refused to tell us where he was."

The clerk's hands fiddled nervously. It wouldn't look good if something were to happen. And as a woman of conscience, she couldn't live with guilt. She looked at the doctor, his handsome face creased imploringly.

"Well… I guess… you are his friends after all," she said.

"You're a dearheart," said Julian. He smirked sidelong at Obi-Wan, who couldn't hide a smile.

Landon was waiting outside. "Did you get it?"

Obi-Wan handed him a data pad. "Twenty miles east in the Carmata Dunes. Did you find a speeder?"

"Yeah. Piece of junk, but it'll do."

They marched down the steps, trying not to draw attention. Quinn, receiving stares for his appearance, regarded the locals disdainfully.

Obi-Wan followed his thinking. "I wouldn't take offense. There's a scorpion on this world that looks quite like you."

"It's a handsome creature," Julian added.

Quinn glared but said nothing.

As they headed toward the speeder, Landon eyed Obi-Wan. "What's your plan, Boss? 'I'm here; I'm Jedi; tell me your secrets'?"

"That's the general idea," Obi-Wan said.

"And if that doesn't work?"

"Then I guess we'll have a problem."

Landon turned to Quinn. "Are you sure this guy's your master strategist?"

There was no grandeur about the embassy. The marble floors were cracked, the walls were dotted with grime, lights in the uninhabited areas were shut off to conserve power, and only a skeletal staff remained.

"Not much to look at it, is it?" Padme remarked.

"With the war going so badly," Aayla said, "resources are scarce on the outer rim."

Padme's committee was responsible for the embassies. She'd been starving them of credits to better fund the war.

"I've seen worse, ma'am," Miler assured her. "Leas' it ain't abandoned. I had to search for survivors at our Dramor embassy." His eyes clouded with memory. "Didn't find any, naturally. Nothin' creepier than an empty buildin' with all the lights flickerin'."

Padme smiled affectionately. "When the first light flickers, we'll take our leave."

They walked to the front desk, run by a lanky, middle-aged man. He peered glumly through his wire-rimmed spectacles. "Welcome to the Republic Embassy. What is the nature of your business?"

"I'm Senator Amidala of Naboo. I'm here to see the ambassador."

He stood up straighter. "Greetings, Senator. I don't believe we were expecting you."

"It was a last-minute diversion. I wished to check on our dealings with the Halman government."

"Well," the man said, "Ambassador Mothma is very busy. I'll have to see if she's available."

Miler frowned. "Surely the ambassador can make time for a galactic senator."

A female voice from the hallway replied: "Surely I can."

Mon Mothma strode in confidently. She was a tall, slender woman, with auburn hair held up by an elaborate headpiece. She was strength; she was compassion; she was not unlike Padme.

"Mon Mothma," Padme said warmly, "it has been far too long."

"At least two years by my count."

"I didn't realize you'd been assigned here. Last I heard, you were an adviser in the chancellor's office."

Mothma smiled ironically. "Not many cared for my counsel, or the manner in which I provided it. They thought it was safer to hide me in the outer rim, where my tongue could not harm them." There was a flicker of self-pity that she quickly cast aside. "I don't believe I know your associates."

Padme gestured to each of them. "This is Captain Miler Crata, and Jedi Knight Aayla Secura."

"I'm always pleased to meet heroes," the ambassador said. "Come. We will discuss what has brought you here."

The Four Horsemen will cause great suffering. At the altar of your strength, masses tremble. You will be brothers in destruction of all which is opposed.

Vader's eyes slipped open. Three distinct signatures registered behind him.

There was Darth Malice, the disfigured torturer Sidious prized. With him were Darth Demic and Darth Wrath.

Demic was handsome. Gray eyes and a chin cleft anchored his face. His hair was stubbly, revealing light wrinkles. At six feet three inches, with broad, strong shoulders, he made good on his threats.

Wrath, a Kel Dorian man, stood starkly in contrast. His nose and mouth weren't separate; there was one gaping hole through which he smelled and breathed. Rather than teeth, he had drooping strands of flesh and a hard palette that couldn't be seen from the outside. His beady black eyes were dotted with silver irises. His ridged skull had small masses terminating in black tusks.

Oxygen and carbon dioxide were fatal to Kel Dorians. To accommodate his needs, Wrath wore a black breath mask. When he spoke, which wasn't often, his voice was harshly modulated.

Demic stepped forward. "You asked to see us, my Lord."

Vader maintained his meditation pose.

Learn from the Wise's One's mistakes, he who became immortal but failed in his quest to dominate all. Obey the Dark Intelligence or your power will be fleeting.

"What have you been told about?" Vader asked.

"There is an ancient artifact that would destroy our enemies," Demic said. "We must find it before the Jedi."

Vader was silent. He skimmed their minds, avoiding detection with techniques learned from Sidious. What he saw there pleased him.

In Demic's mind, hate and fear stretched taut around a childhood memory, trapping it in his soul so there could no healing. Demic was devious, but he had a sense of loyalty; his evil was not applied to brothers of the cause.

Wrath was a blunt instrument. He did possess intellect but had no interest in its exercise. His mind was a corridor; he opened doors in search of enemies and an empty room made him hungrier. Whereas most sentient beings, even Sith, find peace in quiet, Wrath's serenity was derived from chaos.

Malice was still a mystery. Vader distrusted fallen Jedi, but Malice proved his passion. His mind was a temple of dark thoughts, elegant and simple, and patterned on the great truth: the strong are born to dominate the weak.

"The Mercy Seat is a means to power," Vader said, "but there are other, better means. I've discovered a well of unlimited strength."

After a pregnant silence, Demic said, "There is more to our mandate than what was described."

"Forget your mandate," said Vader, voice low and inviting. "This book holds a greater truth. It's a gateway to areas even the Sith may deem… unnatural."

"You've unlocked the book's secrets?" Malice asked.

Vader grinned, rising up, but still he didn't look at them. "This alchemy requires four strong in the Dark Side. I believe that, together, we can retrieve a power as ancient as time. A power so great we will be looked upon as gods."

Wrath felt his loins stir, yet the promise rang false. "Power is not shared among Sith."

"Gods do not answer to the Sith!" Vader growled. "From this day forward, we are not Sith lords. We are the Four Horsemen of Darkness." His voice grew louder as the notion took hold. "We will be immortal. I don't mean our essence; these bodies will never die. We will rule this galaxy with an iron hand. Even kings will worship us. When we've brought order to the galaxy, and wrought suffering on our subjects, we'll expand our empire across the universe."

"And what of Lord Sidious?" Demic asked. "And Count Dooku?"

Vader turned, framed harshly in the light. "This is not their destiny. The book filled their eyes through the fog of ignorance."

"You speak in riddles!" Malice snarled.

"There are no riddles," said Vader. "Only answers, and the promise."

"The promise of what?" Wrath demanded.

A slow grin spread over Vader's face. The warmth of a dark memory filled the chambers of his mind.

Perhaps, the same way some people are basically good, there are others born evil. Could it be that nurture is illusion, that evil simply can't manifest until a boy has come of age? There was no struggle in Vader between what he was and what others wished for him. These are terrifying thoughts, whatever you believe.

Vader said, "Sidious summoned our greatest thinkers: historians, linguists, mathematicians. But none could decipher the book."

Malice probed Vader's mind but found it blank. Not even Sidious could do that.

Vader went on, "When all was still, and our leaders slept, I retired to my quarters to study the book. After many hours, I slipped into a trance." His voice was low, guttural, yet full of reverence. "I lay my gaze ahead of me into a cold red miasma. And there in the vapor was a gnarling beast. He stared into my eyes and whispered, 'You will read the words, my son. Your mind will understand them. The ancient power will be revealed, for this is your destiny…'"

Vader's eyes burned. "He said, 'You, Anakin, are the beast—and it is time that you are fed!'"

The entire planet was endless desert. They saw the remnants of old mining camps—leftover tents—but not a single living being.

It reminded Obi-Wan of Tattooine, where he and Qui-Gon had pursued Darth Maul. They didn't find him; instead, they met a child who would change the course of history.

Landon parked at the edge of the dig site. Sand-beaten tents were surrounded by crates.

The four men climbed out of their speeder. Obi-Wan and Quinn unclipped their sabers.

Landon frowned. "Boss, I don't know what you think—"

Two Sith leapt out from behind the dune, striking from above. Obi-Wan and Quinn fell into fighting stances. The Sith were skilled but outclassed. Obi-Wan blocked and parried and, after his opponent's missed jab, spun behind him and cut off his head.

Quinn impaled the other Sith, slashed his chest for good measure. The corpse fell to the sand.

Julian gawked at the carnage. The disembodied head rolled to his instep.

Landon said, "You have your answer about Trask."

"I don't think they were protecting him," Obi-Wan said. "I believe they were spies."

"If you believe that, I've got real estate on Dagobah…"

"Let's just see what the man says."

The first three tents flapped in the wind, holding only supplies. When they neared the fourth, Palmer Trask walked into the light. He ran a hand through his thin hair, slick with sweat, and received his guests with an eerie smile.

"Hello there," Obi-Wan said.

"Welcome," Palmer returned in a cold, throaty brogue. "What brings you gentlemen to my home?"

"Your home?" Julian asked. "You actually… live here?"

Palmer chuckled darkly. "In a manner of speaking. I prefer a wet climate, somewhere brushy, where things disappear. But home's a feeling, not a place. Isn't that what they say? I feel things wherever I go."

"And how do you feel about the Sith?" Obi-Wan asked.

Palmer looked at the bodies. "Passionate people. Cruel intentions."

"And what are your intentions, Palmer Trask?"

"Why, I seek knowledge, of course."

Obi-Wan skimmed the surface of his mind, but entry was refused.

Palmer chuckled insidiously, wagging a finger. "Tsk tsk tsk. That wasn't very polite." He raised an eyebrow at Obi-Wan. "You see, I'm a window: too hard to break, too dark to look into. Those tricks don't work on me."

Landon sighed. "Look, bozo: I'm not in the mood for riddles. So let's cut to the chase."

Palmer smiled lazily. "Let's."

"Has anyone been here recently?" Obi-Wan asked. "Someone looking for an artifact… asking about the Architects?"

For the first time, the blast doors lifted from Palmer's eyes. He studied Obi-Wan with the same ferocity he applied to ancient ruins. There was something preternatural about his gaze; it seemed to tunnel through space and time.

After a pregnant pause, he said: "You must be Obi-Wan Kenobi."