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Chapter 27 – Vortex
Three dawns later on a not-too-distant world, a mole emerged. Its nose wrinkled at seeing the sun for the first time in three months. An opening appeared in its long, tangled beard as it gulped fresh air.
Obi-Wan Kenobi was awaking from hibernation.
Three months. That had been the longest Jedi raid he'd yet endured. Vader must have had a stronger hunch than usual to keep his troops on Naboo so long. Obi-Wan could feel them prowling the land and sense each footprint they left while hunting him. Probably all shadow troopers this time. He'd had the pleasure of discovering their cloak capabilities two years ago. That had added an unwelcome twist to the cat and mouse game.
He'd burrowed deeper into the mountains as a result. His bunker was literally a mole tunnel with a hidden entrance on the steep side of a mountain. His only provisions were his lightsaber, rudimentary camping gear, and instincts.
He returned to find his cabin just as he expected: the place was ransacked from top to bottom. Books and dishes lay strewn about like a bear had run amuck. Furniture lay upturned at odd angles. Even the drapes were ripped from his two small windows.
Same as always. They came, tore through all his possessions, and left with nothing. Because he'd eradicated all traces of his identity from his belongings. His link to the Jedis couldn't be gleaned from anything he owned. Besides his lightsaber – which never left his belt, not even in sleep.
Yet still they came, intent on sniffing him out. It was getting very, very old.
At least they hadn't yet discovered his secret storage compartment beneath the floorboards. The one where he kept his comlink.
The comlink that held some rather interesting messages.
Earliest was one from Bail Organa, informing him that Padmé and the twins had arrived safely on Alderaan. That was dated three months ago.
Then another from Bail a day later. He and Breha had flown Padmé and the twins to Tatooine for emergency asylum with the Lars; Vader had appeared on Alderaan and compromised their safety.
A week until the next message. Each was more frantic than the previous.
Organa said he hadn't heard from Padmé in several days and she wasn't answering her comlink. Nor could he reach the Lars, whose comlink connection was weak on a good day.
No matter – the next ten messages were all from them anyway.
What they contained made Obi-Wan's blood run colder than Hoth in the dead of night.
He has them…
And that news was over two months old. Force knew what could've happened to them by now…
Defeatism set in. Somehow, in the back of his mind, he always knew this would happen. Their support system was too fragile to sustain itself indefinitely. It was fraught with cracks and weaknesses, not the least of which was that Obi-Wan and Yoda were separated. It had seemed like a good idea five years ago when the galaxy was crumbling apart, but not so much anymore.
Yoda had all but vanished from existence, refusing to bring even a comlink or any other device to keep in contact with Obi-Wan. The only way to solicit his help was to fly to Dagobah, wade through the muck, and track down the little green Jedi in person.
So that's what Obi-Wan planned to do – after stopping at Tatooine to check on the Lars.
A priority that became even more imperative once he tried reaching their comlink. It was one thing for Bail not to get a signal from Alderaan, but Naboo was one-third that distance from Tatooine. He should be hearing Owen or Beru's anxious voice any time now, not faint static.
This foreboded nothing good.
Jumping to conclusions had never been his way, but Obi-Wan felt dread settle into his soul. Something must have befallen them. Likely the same fate as Padmé, Luke and Leia.
He was too late. Too isolated. Too trapped. Everything was stacked against him all along.
Maybe a sliver of hope remained… if he visited Tatooine and found them well, it would do wonders for his state of mind.
He did a hasty shaving job, threw a few things in a duffel bag, and set off to dig his shuttle out of the brush. He'd easily make it to Tatooine by nightfall if he left now.
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The early stirrings of a sandstorm gusted through Anchorhead as Obi-Wan passed through. Flecks of sand whirled and stuck in his beard as he refueled his rented speeder. He squinted at the horizon, trying to gauge how many hours of daylight remained – before the full storm set in, that is. It already looked like a tan gauze was spread across the low-set suns. He guessed maybe an hour, an hour and a half at the most. He had to get this show on the road.
He remembered the route to the Lars fairly well, though it'd been several years since he last visited. Five years, to be exact. Could that be right? Had he really not seen them since traveling with Padmé right after the twins' birth? It seemed like mere months, not half a decade. Time flew when living in exile, evidently.
He tried calming his nerves by daydreaming of what may have transpired in those five years. Would he drive up to a remodeled homestead twice the size of the original? Or trip over a kid or two on his way through the door? Had five years of farming turned Owen more taciturn? Would they even recognize Obi-Wan, or he them?
Soon he found his answers, but he wished he hadn't.
A column of black smoke stained the sky. The opposite of a beacon. A warning, not a welcome.
Ashes mingled with swirling sand. The smog was thick and filthy, coating Obi-Wan's throat as he steered toward the smudge. At its epicenter was a sight too horrific for words.
No color remained in the charred ruins of the Lars homestead. All was black as charcoal, and it burned like charcoal, smoking without many visible flames. Tears filled Obi-Wan's eyes from the sting of sandy grime and the two bodies he saw on the ground.
He'd come too late. Vader had been here. And done his worst.
Slaughtered two of the very few remaining relatives he had.
And for what? Abducting Padmé and the twins made sense, but killing Owen and Beru? What purpose did that serve? What did Vader stand to gain by destroying them?
No sooner had he wondered that question when again, he got a swift answer.
"You there!" a mechanical voice shouted from behind, making him start.
Obi-Wan turned and found himself face to face with a squad of armed shadow troopers. Between his shock and the howling wind, he hadn't sensed or heard them approach.
"You are under arrest for trespassing on Hutt property!"
Well, things are certainly going from bad to worse.
Obi-Wan silently counted the troops. Two dozen. Not an ideal number to combat in the middle of a mounting sandstorm. He could probably pull it off, but it made sense to consider the alternative. Surrender meant a controlled prison environment in which he could collect his thoughts, analyze an escape plan, and execute it with a few mind control tricks along the way. Much tidier than a messy standstorm fight.
And given where he'd been the past three months, tidiness was a very appealing option.
He placed both hands above his head and let his captors lead the way, turning his back on a scene that was quickly dissolving into sand.
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Blank, featureless walls were a welcome sight to Obi-Wan's haggard eyes, and he hoped staring at them would wipe clean the images from Tatooine. Yet each time he closed his eyes, there was the burning homestead, scarred and smoldering. Just like Vader's heart.
Smoke still burned Obi-Wan's nostrils and sand still stung his eyelids. Sleeping on the shuttle all the way to Imperial Center last night hadn't improved his symptoms much. And the conversational efforts of his fellow jailmate – a boy of about fifteen, he guessed – didn't help either.
"Nice beard," the boy's first sarcastic words had been.
"Don't be jealous just because you can't grow one yet," Obi-Wan returned.
"I ain't the jealous type."
Obi-Wan rolled his eyes.
"What ya in here for?"
"Trespassing, if you must know."
"You know, you're the second guy to get canned for that in the past few months!" Han declared. "Seems to be the trend."
"I'm nothing if not fashionable."
"Oh, I can see that. That robe is straight off Mandalore's fashion runway!"
Now that was an insult. "This is the robe of a Jedi master! Do you have the slightest idea what that is?"
"Jedi?" Han shrugged. "Heard of 'em years ago, but never knew what the big deal was."
"That doesn't surprise me," Obi-Wan criticized subtly.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Well, judging by your fashion, I'd guess you're getting twice the hospitality here than wherever you were before. A pirate ship, perhaps?"
Han disliked others knowing his story before he told it. "Hey, not fair! You probably just read my mind to figure that out!"
Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows. "Ah, so you do know a thing or two about the Jedi!"
"Yeah, whatever. I know I don't like 'em."
"Why is that?"
"Too full of 'emselves. An' too much hocus-pocus," Han crossed his arms. "They got those weird laser swords too. Just too weird!"
Thanks for reminding me that mine was confiscated. Obi-Wan brushed his hand against the side of his belt, feeling half naked without his lightsaber holstered there.
"Sound reasons for disliking the entire lot," he returned with his own sarcasm. "And here I thought you'd say the Jedi were guilty of dragging out the Clone Wars, or betraying the Emperor, or something like that!"
"Oh, well, those things too," coughed Han.
"Of course," Obi-Wan crossed his arms and shook his head with a wan smile.
Ten seconds or so passed, and then Han spoke again with a different tone.
"So, you can brainwash those guards to let us go, right?" the boy scooted forward in his cell, eyes hopeful.
"Oh, I'm not so bad now that you've thought about it, eh?" Obi-Wan said imperiously.
"C'mon, is that your plan or not?"
Obi-Wan opened his mouth to tell the young rascal it was none of his business, but the sound of heavy footsteps ended their conversation for him. A pair of stormtroopers came to stand before him with datapads in hand.
"I am Commander TK212," the one on the right announced. "It appears you have not been fully in-processed yet. State your full name."
"Obi-Wan Kenobi." There was no point in hiding his identity. A holonet search performed by a monkey would reveal that's who he was.
TK212's fingers stopped moving across the datapad, then slowly started again.
"The former Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi?" the commander clarified unnecessarily.
"Do you really have to ask?"
No comment. TK212 continued typing, then turned to exchange a nod with his colleague.
"Contact Lord Vader at once and alert him," he instructed. "Send it top priority."
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The problem with Xizor's palace wasn't that it was uncomfortable. It was too comfortable.
Padmé's suite on the top level – 102 floors above ground – was beyond lavish. From the rich brocade curtains to the plush carpet underfoot, every angle was packed with the rarest, costliest furnishings found in the galaxy. There were marble figurines next to trinkets carved of pure jade. Gems and diamonds found only on a single mountaintop in the most remote systems glittered on her nightstand.
Xizor had repeatedly told her to help herself to whatever caught her eye. But the only thing that caught her eye was the door.
Through which walked the Prince at least three or four times a day, unfortunately. And always with the most lascivious of smiles, as if she'd find that charming, not revolting.
At least the view was to die for.
She gazed down at the dingy towers of Imperial City and wondered if it would come to that. Dying for this. For her faith in Anakin and stalwart rejection of Xizor.
This was the sixth day of their captivity. Xizor had quartered them into separate rooms, no doubt to wear them down to become more pliable to his whim. With Padmé, his intentions were obvious. But what designs he had on Ainar and the twins, she couldn't guess. She didn't want to.
Such high anxiety wasn't doing her mind or body any favors. Her head had persistently ache the past few days, and this morning she'd hugged the toilet in anticipation of vomiting. Thankfully it'd been a false alarm, but it shook her nonetheless. Her system was breaking down under these conditions, not surprisingly. She didn't know how much more she could stand.
When Xizor made his first appearance of the day, she knew her limits would be tested yet again.
"Good morning, my fairest lady. I hope you slept well," he hissed seductively.
The sight of his green skin made Padmé's stomach turn sour all over again. "Not particularly."
"Oh? Have the thousand-thread-count sheets lost their smooth touch? That does tend to happen every so often. I can send for silk ones, if you prefer that against your skin."
I'd prefer you stop talking about my skin. "It's not the sheets, Xizor."
"Come now, Amidala," the Prince spread his hands graciously. "I hope you don't mind me calling you that. I just love the sound of your royal name."
Padmé hugged her arms tightly across her ribs.
"I designed this suite to be fit for a queen such as yourself. Now, I know it was many years ago that you reigned, but you still carry yourself with such regal bearing," Xizor laid it on thick. "Do you miss it?"
Padmé frowned. "What? Being queen?"
"Yes," Xizor snaked his way closer, step by step. "The grand wardrobe, the public's adoration, the unlimited power. Don't tell me you don't yearn for it still."
If she could deny it, she would. Yet Xizor had tapped into a part of her subconscious she couldn't even deny to herself. There were times when she daydreamed about those days. But those visions often got buried under more pressing issues, like trying to both forget and dodge Vader at every turn. Now that those concerns were gone…
No, she knew what Xizor was trying to do. She wasn't so weak-minded as to let him get away with it.
"You could have it again, you know," he continued, having sensed her defenses flicker momentarily. "I've told you before and I'll tell you again – you deserve a man of equal sophistication to your own. Royalty deserves royalty. And you know I'm next in line to rule Falleen as king."
His advances kept getting more and more disgusting. "I'd rather scrub the streets of Theed as a beggar maid than marry the likes of you!"
Undeterred, Xizor swaggered closer and stroked her cheek. "I like a woman of strong conviction. It makes things interesting… and more gratifying when I finally succeed in persuading you."
Suddenly a warning bell blared in Padmé's head. Xizor was Falleen… which meant…
She switched from breathing through her nose to her mouth, but she was one second too late.
Xizor's race was renowned for their potent pheromones. It was said no one who inhaled their imperceptible scent could resist. And she must have inhaled some. Her head swam, her joints became elastic, and her peripheral vision shrank until all she could see was Xizor's reptilian face.
Every fiber in her struggled against the wave that was consuming her senses, but the more she resisted, the deeper she sank. Just like quicksand.
"Don't fight it," Xizor's warm breath caressed her ear. "It's what you want. Everything you ever desired but Vader couldn't give you will be yours."
His clawed hands trailed up her backside like spiders. Seeking a zipper or clasp to undo, she couldn't tell. The synapses in her brain were losing connectivity with each passing second.
Xizor's finely scaled neck grazed the back of hers and he inhaled the aroma of her hair. "You're not like the others. You're not my inferior, but my equal. We can rule Black Sun together someday," he shivered in lustful anticipation of it all. "Very soon, we shall –"
So abruptly that it almost knocked Padmé back on her heels, Xizor retracted his pheromones like a whip. The spell was broken.
Padmé gasped, trying to get her bearings. Her surroundings looked the same, but Xizor's expression did not.
"What is that I smell?" His nose flared. Then he staggered back, shocked and outraged.
Padmé blinked, still recovering from feeling drugged. What was he so offended by?
"Unbelievable!" Xizor spat, quaking with indignation. "Just my luck! Vader must have planned this, knowing I'd never lay with a woman who was carrying his spawn!"
Static flooded Padmé's head, which felt ten feet underground.
Xizor's voice grew muffled and incoherent as she tried to process it.
She didn't hear his comlnk buzz. Nor did she realize it was her husband contacting Xizor at that very moment. She was vaguely aware of the Prince's mouth moving. When he turned to leave her burning a hole into the carpet, she didn't notice or care.
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Wind tugged viciously on Xizor and Vader's capes as they stood at the foot of the Prince's palace.
Vader assumed the bitterness on Xizor's face was from the wind gusting in it. He was incorrect.
"How did negotiations go on Tatooine?" Xizor bared his teeth.
"As well as could be expected. But I didn't come here to give you a transcript, Xizor. All you need to know is that the land is yours."
"Is that so?" Xizor was considerably less impressed than Anakin expected. "So if I contacted Jabba this very minute, he could dispatch his men to find the farm empty?"
"Emptier than a tomb," Anakin confirmed.
His choice of words was not lost on Xizor, who raised an eyebrow. "My, my! Well done. A thorough job befitting Palpatine's right hand. I stand corrected, Vader – you haven't lost your touch."
"Thank you. Not that I ever needed your seal of approval."
"Mine, no. But Palpatine's, yes."
"I've given him no reason to doubt my loyalty."
"You've been absent far too often to be sure of that," Xizor smiled cunningly.
Anakin jabbed a finger toward his adversary. "Enough with your mind games, Xizor! Your only concern right now is relinquishing my family!"
The Prince's eyes grew even colder. "Yes, about that. It seems you've changed the game. So I'm changing my side of it as well."
"What?!" Anakin was at a complete loss. "I performed my mission!"
"Only too well," sneered Xizor. "And now you've stolen something else from me! First my family, and now your wife. Well played, Vader – impregnating her to keep me from touching her! Just for that, you'll wait a while longer to see them again! I have plenty of chores for you to perform in the meantime!"
Those few sentences contained far too many incongruities for Anakin to process all at once.
One by one, they trickled into his conscious mind like water dripping from a leaky faucet.
Problem one: Xizor was refusing to honor his end of the deal. He'd be stringing Anakin along for Force knew how long, making him do his dirty work indefinitely. It was just what Anakin had feared and suspected.
What he hadn't suspected was...
Could Xizor be lying? Just to rile Anakin and motivate him all the more to do whatever Xizor asked?
The longer he stared at the green Prince, the less likely that seemed. He exuded nothing but raw indignation.
But how could Xizor know that Padmé was with child before Anakin did?
Padmé herself must know and have told him. How many days had it been since she and Anakin… reunited? He tried to remember. Ten. Ten days had passed. Was it even possible to conceive that quickly? And even if it was, he doubted she could know already.
That left one remaining theory. Xizor's nose. His Falleen sense of smell must have detected her shift in hormones, however subtle.
Talk about adding insult to injury, that Xizor should know before either of them did.
But insults were a dime a dozen. They were inconsequential now. Anakin would suffer hearing a million of Xizor's insults if it meant setting his family free – a family more priceless and worth dying for than just a few days ago.
Xizor's impetuous mood invaded Anakin's thoughts. "You seem surprised, Vader… as if you yourself didn't know?" the Prince laughed. "Oh, this is too good! You didn't know! Well, either your wife was keeping it a secret from you, or I just shocked both of you!"
Anakin tried to see straight. This was all pushing him to the brink of insanity.
"Tell me what you want and I'll do it," he vowed.
"Of course you will," Xizor grinned. "But first things first. I will personally inspect your work on Tatooine. If I find it to my liking, I'll give you additional chores then."
The wind gusted Xizor's cloak for dramatic effect.
"Have fun awaiting my return!" the Prince chuckled darkly, turning back toward his palace. "And remember, reclaim your family at your own risk! If they leave my palace, I'll tell Palpatine all your secrets faster than you can say 'Luke and Leia are getting a new sibling!'"
Xizor's wicked cackle swirled around Anakin's helmet, jeering and harassing him long after the Prince disappeared inside his citadel.
Enslavement was clearly Anakin's destiny. First Watto, then Palpatine, and now Xizor. Each time, out of the frying pan and into the fire. Each time, separated from his family whose numbers kept growing. First it was just his mother. Then Padmé and the twins. Now Ainar was added, along with one who wasn't even named yet…
But there wasn't enough time for despair to set in before his comlink buzzed.
"Lord Vader? TK322 reporting from the detention center," a stormtrooper's grating voice stated. "Sir, we have an Obi-Wan Kenobi in custody, and per Imperial protocol, we're contacting you for further instruction."
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So things just got a bit more complicated And Obi-Wan seems to always be destined to discover the Lars farm burned to the ground… that sucks.
The Falleen pheromone thing is legit from Wookieepedia. Freaky but true.