Fallout
Chapter 12
Master Sen Sen Xerxes stood flanked by four new figures: two tall emaciated humanoids, and two hunch-shouldered insectoid people, all of them draped in golden cloth similar to that provided for their guests. The newcomers stared at the Jedi in undisguised curiosity, eyes and antennae roving over them head to foot, studying their faces especially.
"Master Kenobi, Master Skywalker," the Thisspiasian intoned. "Meet the chief advisors and leaders of the Friends." He gestured to the left, indicating the gaunt humanoids, their grooved grey-skinned faces elongated like those of Utapauns. "Keelar and Sokova, of the Pau." His hand swept to the right. "Chktlt and Mktzm of the Ichth'chtxl people." The four dignitaries bowed as their anatomy permitted – the Pau bending elegantly at the waist, the Ichth'chtxl flexing their segmented bodies between head and thorax and rubbing their elbow joints together musically.
Anakin was careful to imitate Obi Wan's gracious bow. Ichth'chtxl, huh? They had been known to enjoy a well-marinated platter of human flesh as a delicacy – even the Archives records corroborated the unpleasant allegations – but maybe they were, as the name would suggest, all Friends here underground. Besides, Galactic law forbade the slaughter and consuming of other sentients.
"We come to serve," Obi Wan responded formally. Anakin knew his mentor was feeling in a bit over his head when he resorted to the stiff litany of traditional diplomatic exchange, but who wouldn't in this situation?
"Please," Keelar, the taller of the Pau spoke. "Allow us to show you the extent of our abode. You will no doubt wish to see what we have achieved in all these long years. Here, the Friends have created true peace."
Mktzm seconded this motion with a rapid-fire arpeggio of buzzes and clicks, upper set of limbs gesticulating pointedly.
"Come," Sen Sen Xerxes commanded, leading the small procession deeper into the subterranean realm. The stately and solemn Pau fell into step beside Obi Wan, leaving Anakin to entertain the Ichth'chtxl as best he was able.
"So…," he ventured as they passed from corridor into wide domed hall and thence to another corridor, "The Pau and your people are no longer at war? History texts have it that you annihilated each other long ago."
His companions denied this with vigorous bobbing of their round heads, and much scraping of their limbs together. Sokova, pacing sedately ahead of them, peered at him over one bony shoulder. "Our ancestors did indeed bring each other to the brink of utter extinction. The few who believed in the cause of peace retreated here during the final conflict – to await rescue. But such never arrived, and we have since been grateful. For free of war and temptation from without, we have crafted a harmonious way of life. And we do not call ourselves by the old names, Jedi Skywalker. Here, all are of the Friends."
"I see," Anakin replied neutrally. "Your ancestors…?"
"Yes," Sokova continued. "The Pau are in their third generation, while our fellows of the Ichth'chtxl are in their seventeenth. But our numbers are dwindling, and that is also a blessing. Our resources are not what they once were. Our vitality is in great need of renewal. But that is why you are here, I have no doubt, or Master Sen Sen would not have sent for you."
Right. Whatever. They passed through another low arch, and into a mighty cavern, a natural formation deep beneath Rhellis Massa's surface. The uneven roof was slick with some luminous mineral, dripping with condensed moisture; below, in endless orderly rows, tier upon tier, was arranged a carefully groomed orchard and garden, a ziggurat of planters and boxes arranged into a mighty geometrical hill of green and purple and yellow-brown. Anakin recognized few of the species, and supposed most were fungal rather than true plants. In the steady drip of the artificial rain, and in the diffuse glow of silvery light, the garden took on a surreal aspect, a dreamlike clarity. If this was meant to grow food, then there must be enough to sustain hundreds.
Anakin wasn't much of a horticulturalist, being of a mechanical bent, but Obi Wan appeared suitably impressed. "This far outdoes the Agridomes on Bandomeer," he said. "To cultivate so much life in these very limiting conditions is an astonishing feat."
Keelar bowed deprecatingly. "But we owe our success to Master Sen Sen. Without him, this sanctuary would wither. He has nurtured it from the earliest years, and it has in turn nurtured all the Friends."
The ancient Jedi slithered forward to admire his handiwork. "There was a time," he explained, "When I petitioned the Council to consider requiring every Jedi initiate, including Padawans aspiring to Knighthood, to complete a mandatory two year term in the AgriCorps. Such skills are incomparably valuable, and sadly demeaned by so many arrogant members of the Order."
Anakin rolled his eyes privately. Yeah, like sweet-talking tubers was going to prepare anyone for the life of a Jedi. Force- aided cultivation techniques were more like parlour tricks in his book… although a buried part of him felt a pang. In a place like Tatooine, the power to wheedle and coax tenacious life out of desolation and drought would have meant an end to the suffering of many. But he did not think of Tatooine. Not anymore. He banished the image.
"I take it your suggestion did not meet with full approval," Obi Wan replied.
"Dismissed," the Thisspiasian sighed. "I don't suppose you have studied such arts yourself?"
"No… I have never been afforded much opportunity."
"It is never too late to learn," Master Xerxes assured him. "This garden is a monument to the power of the Force. Without its influence, this miniature world would collapse. But I am able to sustain its growth, and thereby not only our food, but water and oxygen cycle as well. We are dependent upon this masterpiece of Life in more than one way, and all the Friends honor that miracle by laboring here in turns."
Anakin was rapidly filling in the blanks. "So when you first sheltered here, there wasn't sufficient food or survival equipment?"
They moved onward, to a far exit. "Indeed not. The Friends originally anticipated rescue within a standard month or so… but when it became apparent that no rescue was coming, I took matters in my own hands. I could not permit hundreds of innocents to perish, due to the indifference of those thousands of lightyears away. We have found ways to survive, as you can see."
"And there isn't any conflict among the people?" It was hard to believe; if Anakin had learned on thing in all his long years as a Jedi it was that sentient nature was lamentably predictable: strife and bitterness took no account of a society's magnitude; indeed, small communities often harbored festering psychic pustules of hate and vengeance.
"Oh no," Sokova murmured. "We have the guidance of Master Sen Sen to settle disputes." The two Ichth'chtxl chattered and hummed their accord.
The young Jedi caught Obi Wan's eye and flicked a meaningful glance at the Thisspiasian Jedi's back. The older man lifted his shoulders in the faintest ghost of a shrug and beetled his brows together.
Weird. There was no other word for it. Just… weird.
The Friends were eager to make a full exhibition of their home, in all its parochial glory. Obi Wan patiently endured the remainder of the tour, which covered their residential areas, storage and maintenance caverns, and a womp-rat warren of interconnecting passages. The original bunker, he was informed, had been expanded over the decades to accommodate a burgeoning population and its demands; the excavation had taken advantage of the natural cavern system as much as possible, while the Ichth'chtxl people's native skills had provided the rest. There were none alive now save Master Xerxes who remembered the conflict which had thus entombed them; and yet there was a sense of contentment and acceptance pervading the cloistered community.
Warmth, nourishment, company, the predictable rhythms of animal life: what else did sentients require beyond a way to quench their thirst for knowledge? And even this seemed to have been provided for: they were last shown the library – little more than a hollowed-out alcove dedicated to the storage of some score of holobooks which the ancient Jedi master had expressly recorded for the benefit of his adopted wards.
And here the enthusiastic docents left them, the virtues and mysteries of their home fully explicated. "Thank you, Friends – I will speak to the other Jedi alone now, for a short while," the Thisspiasian dismissed them.
When the two pairs of guides had disappeared again, leaving the three Jedi ensconced in the tiny room with its two shelves of glowing holobooks, Obi Wan addressed himself to Sen Sen Xerxes directly. They had wasted enough time with introductions. "I am humbled by your dedication to these people, master," he began. "You have spent more than a century caretaking them , and certainly they would long ago have perished without you. But I do not understand why you …sent for us."
The slivery strands of Master Xerxes' hair fluttered, suggesting a breath of laughter. "Where the distress beacon failed, I have chosen to use a more reliable method of communication. The Friends have been virtual prisoners here for too long. It is time they left, and found their own kind again, though this is something none of them wish for."
Anakin traced one gloved finger along the spines of the holobooks, squinting at the titles inscribed in glowing aurebesh characters, listening to this exchange but not making comment. Obi Wan stroked his beard.
"Forgive me," he said cautiously. "You have been dwelling here with them for countless years. Why the sudden change of heart? Is it because of the war?"
Master Xerxes motioned him to sit, and coiled his own length into a tight knot beneath his torso. "The war," the Thisspiasian repeated thoughtfully. "Yes, the war. That was foretold."
Anakin turned, a shadow behind his eyes.
"But no," Master Xerxes continued. "It is not the war which has determined that the time has come. It is simply the will of the Force."
Obi Wan cast a quelling look at Anakin, who was drawing in a breath preparatory to some sharp rebuttal. The Force eddied slowly, circling in hypnotic currents, promising new understanding. "And I recognize that, too, master – or I would not be here. But-"
The ancient Jedi wagged a long, clawed finger at him. "No but. I must say, you are exactly as described to me. Headstrong yet obedient. Cynical yet innocent."
Anakin's eyebrows were arching upward into his unruly tangle of hair. Obi Wan ignored the deep amusement dancing in his friend's bright eyes. "Tell us why we are here," he insisted. "We were followed by enemy squadrons, and that may make the situation more complicated."
Sen Sen Xerxes held his hands up in a placating gesture. "Patience," he advised. "I have sent for you because the time has come when I can no longer provide for the needs of the Friends. Their food supply will soon dwindle, and with it both water and breathable air. This fragile sanctuary is doomed."
Anakin interrupted, no longer able to restrain himself. "What do you mean?" he demanded. "You spent all this time preserving them and now you're going to abandon them to their fate? That makes no sense."
The Thisspiasian regarded him silently for a moment. "You are quick to accuse, young Knight. Is this now the vogue among our brethren on Coruscant?"
"No, master," Obi Wan hastened to assure him. "Anakin is young and … compassionate to a fault." He skewered the brash subject of this euphemistic assessment with a hard look. "But we are curious why you would withdraw your support so abruptly, after such long commitment."
The ancient Jedi chuckled softly and folded his hands together. "You misunderstand, my friends," he told them. "It is not of my choosing, though I have no objection to raise."
They waited.
"You see," Master Xerxes said. "…I am dying."