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Chapter 24

Before He Expires

I think I understand why non-sentients are lionized. Non-thinking beings are bred to be selfless. Their only care is that their offspring persist. People claim to be the same. We assert singular devotion to our children and lover. But could it really be so?

I wonder if selflessness is real or a shroud for true intentions. If someone needs a kidney, and I give him my own, have I valued his life over my physical comfort? Or have I valued the notion that I'm a very good person? Perhaps a good deed is the height of my selfishness.

But maybe it's not.

Stellar cartography was silent. Each crewman held a piece of one shared reverence. Aayla and Padme stared into oblivion. R2 had gone still after one glum beep. Even Palmer and Quinn were suitably morose.

Obi-Wan stood at the view port, peering at hyperspace. A shimmering tunnel encircled the Dawn Tangent, calm at its center while it shredded a cone of space.

Obi-Wan Kenobi had seen many things in his life. And his memory was pristine.

He'd seen oceans boil on a grainy hologram. He'd watched planets destroyed from the safety of orbit. He'd stood in a dead city, an ashy tableau locked in time by volcanoes. He could picture the families, plaster statues of once-vibrant life. But these sights did not compare to the things he had done.

He'd crossed a battlefield, corpses stacked into pillars, as he cut down Sith like plague-ridden cattle. He'd ordered strangers to their deaths, to allow slightly more strangers a chance to escape. He could justify all of it, until he lay in the dark begging for sleep.

But in spite of everything, he never gave up on making sense of the galaxy. Obi-Wan realized long ago that everything that happens holds beauty and dread. The most perfect day must always end. The most crushing tragedy provokes others' kindness. And so it fell to him now.

"When I was a youngling," he recalled, "Master Yoda told me to let the dead go. He said we shouldn't mourn them; they're at peace in the Force." Obi-Wan smoothed down his beard. Burning pyres of Jedi armor filled his mind's eye. "I think he missed the point. It's not the peace of the dead that all of us seek. It's our own."

He turned from the view port. Aayla remained catatonically absent. He continued determinedly: "I won't tell you to deny your grief. What could be less human? But it can't interfere with what we have to do. Because if we fail, what he did doesn't matter."

"Miler saved us," Padme said. "The best thing we can do is follow his example."

Aayla finally looked up, ashen and galled. "What is his example? Getting himself killed for a piece of garbage?"

Obi-Wan intervened, "Aayla—"

"I don't blame Landon. He shouldn't even be here. This only happened because you brought him with us."

Obi-Wan squinted. "If you want to blame me, that's your prerogative."

"We can't turn on each other," Padme argued. "That won't fix anything."

"It'll make me feel better," Aayla said coldly.

Palmer shook his head from his perch across the room. "I'm starting to see why the Sith are winning. They don't stop to cry when they get a bloody nose."

Aayla blazed, launching from her chair. Obi-Wan grabbed her in a bear hug. She squirmed in his arms. He could barely hold her.

"Aayla!" growled Obi-Wan.

She strained some time before finally stopping. He slowly released her, trying to block her emotions where his mind met the Force. But they were simply too strong. Suddenly he felt very light-headed.

"We're all exhausted," he said after a silence. "Get some sleep. We'll talk more tomorrow."

His eyes slipped closed. He leaned on the wall, letting it hold him. The room cleared out until he and Padme remained. He felt her small fingers resting on his arm.

Landon's vitals were stable. He was resting comfortably. His injuries were curable, with the exception of his hand. According to Landon's file, it was blasted on Sarna. It would've healed in time, except he didn't take care of it. The hand was infected even before Axxila. Julian had no choice but to amputate. A cybernetic facsimile was now in its place.

Julian perched on his desk. Without work to distract him, he felt the first tendrils of a very vast pain. Only an imbecile would leave a post on Coruscant. How foolish he'd been to want this adventure. More foolish, still, to get attached to his patients.

The doors whirred open and R2 entered. The computer converted the droid's beeps into words.

"Will he return to parameters?" R2 asked.

"Physically, yes."

R2 swiveled his dome, staring intently at Landon. "I can monitor his condition. You must be very tired."

"Were you programmed with compassion?" Julian asked half-jokingly.

The droid's dome hinged back. After a long pause, he answered, "I don't know."

Julian smiled. "Let me know if something changes."

"She didn't mean that," said Padme.

He pulled free of her hand. She tried not to look hurt. "I don't care if she blames me," Obi-Wan said. "But she's walking a path Jedi don't come back from."

"I've never seen a Jedi that angry," she conceded.

Obi-Wan eased into a chair, suddenly feeling very old. He didn't rebound like he used to, in body or mind. He needed to be alone.

Padme refused him this distance. She sat down on the floor next to his chair. Her voice was gentle but demanding: "Talk to me, Obi-Wan."

"What do you want me to say?"

"Start with how you're feeling."

He lifted his head. "If you haven't noticed, things are going very poorly."

"We knew it wouldn't be easy," Padme said patiently.

"No, not easy. But it mightn't be as hard if they sent someone else."

"Like who?"

"Master Windu. Or Yoda. Perhaps Ki-Adi-Mundi. Kit Fisto or Cin Drallig."

"Are you going to name the entire Jedi Order?" Padme asked dryly.

He smiled grimly, rubbing his eyes. Padme giggled to let him know it was okay. He'd always felt a little guilty over his fondness for gallows humor.

Obi-Wan took a breath, shoulders relaxing. Padme startled when he reached for her hand. He turned it over, pressing her palm. His skin was still cold from his jaunt in the ocean.

"What about you?" he asked.

"What about me?"

"You had to kill today, Padme."

She flinched back, squeezing his hand. An exploding Jango Fett flashed through her mind. It had been so easy. A quick squeeze of the trigger and he scattered in parts.

"I'm sorry I put you in that position," he said.

Padme forced a stoic expression. "I signed up for this, Obi-Wan."

He looked down at their hands, tracing her palm with his thumb. Her impossibly soft skin reminded him she shouldn't be here. His was so rough he thought it must hurt her.

"None of us signed up for it," Obi-Wan mused. "The war has lasted most of my life. They took me from my parents, trained me to fight. All the while, I read books about our history as peacemakers. Sometimes I wonder if it was all just fables."

Padme met his eyes with doe-like innocence. He felt her Current, beginning in the Force, travel up his arm and spread through his body. He pictured himself kissing her. He pictured a prairie, like the one he was born on, with two children and a dog playing in the grass. Neither Jedi nor Sith disrupted his vision.

"I believe in happy endings," Padme said quietly.

Julian poured another drink. The Tangent's bar was small but urbane. One wall was clear glass, beyond it a cosmic panorama reinforcing the futility of a single human life. Julian threw back a shot.

His hand froze on the bottle. Quinn's reflection appeared in the window. "Do you need something?" Julian asked.

Quinn said nothing but took the stool next to him. Julian filled two glasses. He waited for Quinn to speak until he couldn't bear silence. "It's been a long day," Julian said lamely.

"Every day is the same length."

"It's a figure of speech."

Julian played with his glass. Jawa whiskey splashed on the counter. Quinn was uncharacteristically selective with his words. "It is no simple thing," the reptilian said. "Your reaction is understandable."

"Are you trying to be nice?" Julian ignored Quinn's glare as he took another shot. He looked at hyperspace, remembering all the hours he'd done this with Miler. They knew more about each other than they did their own families.

Quinn said, "I studied his record. He served with valor."

Julian blinked rapidly. He threw back another whiskey, choking it down. "Perhaps too much," his voice trembled.

Julian reached for the bottle. But his hand was shaking. Why? He made a fist. Why? He leapt from his stool. Why? The stool hit the ground with a satisfying bang. Why? Why why why why why? Julian grabbed the bottle. He threw it across the room. It shattered on the wall. Glass shards scattered in the air.

Julian looked at his arms, pricked and bloody. The human vessel: hopelessly fragile. We think we're in control. The ultimate lie.

He braced against the bar, broken and drained.

Quinn's scaled countenance hinted at feeling. He looked down at his glass, still half-full, and pushed it toward Julian.

The scraping sound made the doctor look up. Quinn's inscrutable eyes locked with his. "You may drink it or throw it. I recommend the former."

Julian chortled on delay. He really wasn't sure which sounded better. He looked out the window. Hyperspace swirled, majestic and vast, and though it be illusion, every fiber of his being said it went on forever, now and then, future and past, one long cord that couldn't be severed.

But it didn't.

It didn't.

Obi-Wan entered the infirmary, finding R2 in place of the doctor. "Hello there."

"Bweeeeep."

The Jedi walked to the bed, checking on Landon. It was an ugly picture. Landon's nose had been set, but it was swollen to double-size. Both eyes were black. Still, it could've been worse. He was out of the tank.

Landon's face wasn't peaceful. Bacta shone in the crevices of his ravaged visage.

Obi-Wan drew out a breath. What happened down there? Why didn't Miler make it? He probably would have, if he hadn't gone back for Landon. But that was never an option in Miler's mind. Obi-Wan understood that cloying devotion, subjugating self to his sense of what's right. But things are only right from a certain point of view. Perhaps Miler's choice was merely indulgence.

"I have a question," R2 said.

Obi-Wan sighed. "Don't you always?"

"Why did Knight Secura react so severely?"

"Their connection was strong. Like nothing I've seen," Obi-Wan said. "In Twi'lek culture, it's said every soul has a mate. An unbreakable bond that's beyond our worlds. It transcends everything, including the Force."

"Do I have a soul?"

Obi-Wan blinked. The droid's red pupil had shrunken to a dot. R2 wasn't still, but he wasn't quite moving, like a leaf been disrupted by wind long gone.

Perhaps he needed maintenance. The Jedi didn't ask. He was far too tired, and he had another stop.

"Goodnight, R2."

"That's the the thing about space. You never know if it's night or day."

"I could have R2 turn the lights down," Obi-Wan said.

Miler grinned. He sipped some whiskey before passing it to Julian. "Let 'im be. Barely a day since he woke from the dead."

"He and I both," Obi-Wan grunted.

Julian took a swig and offered the bottle. He set it down when the Jedi declined. "They sent me your records. You are exceedingly resilient."

"How many times have y'been shot?" Miler asked.

"Enough not to like it," Obi-Wan said.

Julian smiled wistfully. "I don't envy your medicals. But you've seen more in a lifetime than I'd see in two. I can't imagine the places you've walked."

"We're at war, Doctor. Every planet is a faded memory."

Miler heard the sadness in his voice. He couldn't fathom a general's life. Ordering men to their death; destroying ships full of people; subverting Jedi non-aggression to serve the greater good. How could he possibly stay centered in the Force?

Miler weighed his query, before finally asking: "Have y'ever come close to turnin' to the Dark Side?"

Obi-Wan said, "I fall in my dreams."

"What makes you fall?"

Obi-Wan's brows pulled tight. His forehead crinkled in an illusion of age. He looked like a dying man, surrounded by victims of his lack of consideration, wiping at a slate before he expires.

"Love," said Obi-Wan.

The door was unlocked, allowing Obi-Wan entry. He found Aayla and Padme sitting on a bed.

He cautiously sat, placing Aayla between him and Padme. As if Aayla were the sun, he watched her in fleeting glances of nuclear light.

No one would ever say this, but I think it's possible the most compassionate people are suited to rage. Rage begins as anger, and anger is righteous. Somewhere along the path is the point of no return.

The tears on Aayla's face belied fury in her eyes. Obi-Wan felt it in his chest, like the vibration of music. It was all too familiar. He'd been through this before. He couldn't allow himself to fail another Jedi.

"You need to meditate," Obi-Wan said.

Aayla scowled. Her cheeks hollowed bitterly, throwing her tears on a new course. "No, I don't."

Obi-Wan looked down. He stared unseeing into the tumult of the Force.

"That's what Anakin said."