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Chapter 28

Nothing in My Wake

"How did it go?" Julian asked.

Obi-Wan swept past him, forcing the doctor to follow. They strode toward stellar cartography, where the rest of the crew waited. "We're playing catch-up. The Sith were here first."

"How do you know?"

Padme said dryly, "The Force. Always the Force."

Obi-Wan glared at her sidelong. The three joined the rest of the crew. Quinn was first to speak up: "The senator lives. You really are 'The Negotiator.'"

"Yes, but you're a very close second," Padme said.

"What's our status?" asked Aayla.

Obi-Wan moved to the computer. He spoke over his shoulder: "We're free to access the city. The premiere referred us to the bureau of antiquities." He swiped through the data bank, called up an image of a pale young woman. "Coda Prosper: director of the bureau. We'll need her help to find the ruins."

Julian asked, "What about the Sith?"

"They'll have the same idea," Obi-Wan admitted.

"And a healthy head start," Padme added. "We have to hope Miss Prosper didn't help them."

Aayla frowned. "You're sure the Sith are here?"

Obi-Wan wasn't ready to reveal all his cards. So he proffered his lesser evidence. "Karn didn't seem surprised by our sudden arrival. He didn't seem curious what was happening off-world."

"Ten years in quarantine," Julian said. "After all this time, I might've had questions."

"Unless someone's already answered them," Aayla realized.

Obi-Wan tried to access Mareth's medical database but found it restricted. Clearly the Maretheans wouldn't give them anything. They'd have to fight for everything they needed. "Finding the ruins means we'll have to leave the city. And risk exposure to Red Death." He turned from the computer. "Doctor, I want you to learn everything you can about the plague. You'll need direct access to their medical database."

"That won't be easy," said Padme. "You may have to grease some palms."

Julian noted the cognator on Obi-Wan's temple. The reality of Mareth crashed into his mind. Which cherished memories would the doctor part with?

"I will 'grease' these palms," Quinn said in a voice elusively quiet. Julian wondered at his motive—kindness, impatience?

The doctor swallowed his shame. "Are you certain?"

"I prize nothing in my wake."

Obi-Wan touched Quinn's shoulder before handing out orders. "There's no time for frivolity. So R2 will stay here." The droid harrumphed. "Aayla, you watch Landon. Padme, Palmer—with me. Let's keep in touch, but scramble messages."

The crew jumped into action. Everyone filed out except R2 and Aayla, hanging back to grouse at Obi-Wan. He preempted their anger with pacifying tones: "Relax. I have a job for you, too. A very discrete one."

It wouldn't do to draw attention. That ruled out the headquarters of the Department of Plague Management. They'd have to settle for a secondary center (and hope its computers had what they needed). Getting there would take them through working-class Cuimhn.

Julian stood outside the store while Quinn was fitted for a cognator. Quinn's physiology and brain structure made it somewhat complicated. The technician assured them he could overcome it, though.

Gaiety was forfeit in this part of the city. Dilapidated storefronts lined decayed roads that predated the revolution. The sector's inhabitants were equally austere. Not even drugs could revive them to happiness.

The adjacent bank had a scrolling news ticker. Julian read the headlines: "Premiere vetoes legislation to outlaw receptacles. Constable Volker: Four Twi'lek found dead, Sentinel involved. Construction begins on Cuimhn expansion."

Julian turned to a young woman standing at the corner. "What's a 'receptacle?'"

She screwed up her face. "What are you: a Reset? Receptacles—receps—they hold rich people's money. Arrogant assholes can't clutter their own heads. Most receps go insane from that many memories."

How easily she said it. Julian felt a chill run up his spine.

"What kind of life is that?" he wondered.

Quinn emerged from the store, a gleaming cognator fixed to his temple. The grim yellow stare he permanently wore had no less effect for familiarity.

"Are you all right?" asked Julian.

Quinn snarled mildly, "It is an indignity. I have experienced many."

"If it helps, you're the most dignified man I know."

"I would hear the assessment of men more traveled."

Julian winced. "You need to learn how to take a compliment."

"They are not needed," Quinn said. "This will be your lesson. Do not rely on others to maintain your own worth."

The doctor considered it as they walked. The Trandoshans were warriors, and Jedi had no attachments, and Julian couldn't fathom such a loneliness as a life spurning connection. If ego was his motive in matters of praise, he could accept he was a narcissist.

Julian read all the signs in the passing windows: "No Good Memories? No Problem! Credit Available!" / "20% off all recep contracts!" / "Don't let it slip away! Record your life with an ocular implant!"

"Get outta here!" a fruit vendor barked. He shrugged off a grubby man begging for an apple. "You think I want your short-terms? You sleep in a gutter! Go watch a sunset. Then you can eat."

Righteous enmity unfurled in Julian. Quinn grabbed his arm and pulled him along. "It is no concern of ours," the reptile said.

Julian watched the poor wretch, whistling pain through the few teeth he had, stumble three steps and crash to the ground. Red boils, flaked skin, put Julian in mind of Bledsoe's disease.

The doctor swallowed hard against the memory of Halm.

"Quite right," he said miserably.

Coda Prosper was abnormal among "Total Resets." That term referred to people who lost their entire memories. It was illegal (and impossible) to sell every memory you had. Bankruptcy was the only reason your mind would be wiped. In these cases, memories were not transferred but erased.

Amnesiacs were another (much smaller) category of total resets. In the history of Mareth, there were only forty-five cases. Coda was one of them.

Her current post was controversial at the Bureau of Antiquities. That wasn't always so. Before the Red Death, Coda was held in high esteem. She became director at twenty-five after a string of successes deciphering old tablets. When she survived the Red Death, Premiere Karn was elated.

And then her memory was gone. Without warning or reason. There was no sign of trauma, physical or mental. She simply woke one morning without her identity.

Logic would suggest she resign from her post. But her second-in-command, Logan Brace, lobbied the premiere to protect her position. Logan argued the directorship was administrative in nature. Her lost knowledge of Mareth's history wouldn't make her ineffective. In a widely panned move, Premiere Karn agreed.

The staff was embittered. Coda knew that. She fought tooth and nail to earn their respect. Day after day, she read her old textbooks. She explored the bureau archives in the middle of the night. But nothing was enough. They'd always see her as the girl who got lucky.

Coda stood at the sink, impeccable as ever. Her ginger hair was coiled into complex braids, held firmly in place by a golden slide. Her very pale skin had no demarcations, just a smattering of freckles that peeked through her makeup. Perfectly symmetrical green eyes beamed at the mirror.

Logan said the Old Coda was never happy. She was rooted to a pain no one understood. New Coda floated with the ease of a leaf.

She ignored her team's skepticism as she passed by their desks. Today was a day. And days were meant to be enjoyed.

Obi-Wan surprised her by foregoing the "mind trick." He called on his charm to get through security. He told Padme using his powers would expose them to scrutiny.

The elevator ascended with a gentle hum. Obi-Wan asked Palmer, "What do you know about Prosper?"

"She's good at what she does. The job suits a woman. Every female in the galaxy's obsessed with the past."

Obi-Wan caught Padme pursing her lips. "And we are richer for their different nature. Now tell me about her."

Palmer said, "Too young for her position. Too talented to keep her out of it. Ruled over their ruins with an iron fist."

"Would you trust her?" asked Obi-Wan.

"Any answer is wasted, when you don't trust me."

Palmer had no equal for confounding expressions. The skin crinkled around his eyes, as if from a smile, but his mouth didn't move.

The elevator stopped and Obi-Wan exited.

Having foregone his Jedi robes at Padme's suggestion, they blended right in. It didn't take long to find Coda's office.

Padme faltered at the sight of her. Coda's tresses burned bright like a cosmic event. She seemed to have her own light source, pouring through her skin to illuminate the world.

Padme was obsessive about her own appearance. She spent two hours getting ready, but was generally satisfied. It was crushing to believe she could never be as beautiful as the woman before her.

"Director Prosper?" asked Obi-Wan.

"Coda will do," came her gentle voice. "Is there something I can do for you?"

"My name is Obi-Wan Kenobi. I'm a member of the Jedi Council."

Her nose turned up and wrinkled. A vague recognition seated in her mind. "You do look familiar. Did we meet before the outbreak?"

"I do not believe so."

"Then I'm all the more charmed," Coda smiled. Padme's nails dug into her palm.

"We seek your assistance," Obi-Wan explained. "There are ruins on Mareth of considerable importance. We're hoping—"

Coda cut in, not unsympathetically, "I'll tell you the same thing I told your friends: the power outage wiped our systems. We have to rebuild our files. It's going to take weeks."

Padme's heart froze in her chest. "'Our friends?'"

"The other Jedi. They were here two days ago." Coda suddenly pinkened, dragged to the realization of her terrible naivety.

"They weren't Jedi," she breathed.

"You are a Jedi, and a warrior. Soon you will be a father. There is no piece of you remaining that you could give to me."

Quinn grunted. "I will grow a new limb. You have seen me do it."

Draka's forked tongue circled her outer mouth. He couldn't tell if she really understood.

The sun was diminishing, taking with it their view of the plains. These were the plains where his father died, where his grandfather slaughtered Wookiees, where he learned to hunt before the Jedi claimed him.

"Night is falling," Draka said. "We are very far from home."

"Coruscant is far. The Unknown Regions are far. We are practically in your hovel." Every night in the Jedi temple, he longed for Trandosha. Blood thundered in his ears when he thought of fighting for his people, not the Republic entire. He did not choose his life, and perhaps he was wrong to have accepted it.

"The Dark Side is seductive," said Quinn. "But only Sidious controls it. Neither Sith nor Jedi will ever be free."

Draka replied, "I have 600 midichlorians. I do not feel the Force."

"It binds you in spite of this. As it binds me to you."

"It is not the Force which has bound us."

Quinn's blood ran hot. The galaxy shattered, and he swept away the pieces. When the rubble was gone, there was only Trandosha. The Jedi meant nothing. The Sith were irrelevant. Quinn was ready to take what he wanted.

Quinn's eyes snapped open. Draka and the plains were shattered, swept.

The female researcher giggled deliriously, a side effect of a happy memory.

"He gave you what you wanted," Julian said harshly. "Now take us to the lab."

The researcher forged two passes to take them upstairs. No one gave them a second look. The researcher left them in the lab on a thirty-minute clock.

Julian sat at the console, keeping Quinn in his periphery. "I know you don't remember. But what do you think you gave her?"

"It does not matter," Quinn grunted.

"You're wrong about that, mate. What are our lives but a multitude of moments? Moments that shape the moments to come."

"There is only one moment that shapes what I do. It is not one they will want."

Julian found five millions files that concerned the Red Death. His back stiffened at a summary of its damage. The plague killed 91 percent of the planet's inhabitants. Over 400,000 species were completely wiped out.

"All due respect, I think they've seen worse," he said.

"I didn't give them anything," Coda insisted. "Because I don't know anything."

Padme scoffed, "You're lying. Your personnel file says you're highly experienced."

Coda's pleasant demeanor still didn't crack. "I am. I mean: I was. Until ten years ago. My cognator malfunctioned. It wiped my memories."

"Then why are you here?" Obi-Wan demanded.

Coda flinched. He may as well have told her she was useless. "You're being very rude for people who need my help," she fired back. "Maybe they were Jedi. Maybe you're the real Sith."

Palmer offered an ethereal smile. "In another life, I could have been Sith. If you cut out my tongue, I could still tell a lie. But Obi-Wan Kenobi is pathologically Jedi."

Coda thought of the platitude of trusting your feelings. Too seldom was it heeded. "Tell me why you're here, Mister Kenobi."

"It would be better—"

"My trust is an even trade."

Obi-Wan ghosted a smirk, pulling out a projector. An image of the ruins flickered into being. "Our Civil War is going very badly. The Sith will destroy us in a matter of months," he said with no emotion. "Our only chance is to find an artifact. We believe this site may hold some answers."

Coda furrowed her brow. "I don't recognize it. Without the database—"

Padme cut in, "Is there anyone here who could possibly remember it?"

"Almost everyone came after the plague. Unless... Logan. My deputy. He's been studying ruins for thirty-eight years."

Obi-Wan asked, "Where is he now? It's vital we speak with him."

Coda said, "He's away on sabbatical. Writing a memoir from his journals." She saw a stricken look pass between Padme and Obi-Wan. "I didn't tell the Sith! I never mentioned Logan."

"They'll still find him," said the Jedi. "Your friend is in danger. And if he gives them his memories, the Sith will win the war."