Fallout

Chapter 13

Master Sen Sen Xerxes's quiet announcement of his own impending extinction left barely a tremor in the Force; the ancient Thisspiasian seemed entirely unaffected by the imminent event, while Obi Wan seemed to receive the news with the same thoughtful abstraction with which he might listen to a diplomatic briefing – eyebrows only slightly contracted, as though this news heralded some unanticipated but quotidian difficulty, a mere problem to be overcome with appropriate strategy.

Only Anakin cared. He had seen plenty of death, of course – meted out a great deal of it himself. He had fought Death – exacting punishment on its lackeys and tools, vengeance for its obscene theft, for its unjust claiming of his mother's life. He had not let Death slink away on Tatooine, unscarred, unpunished for its abominations. But he had not been triumphant, either; and that knowledge burned into his flesh, into his mind, into his heart, until he was indelibly branded with its mark. He did not understand the Jedi doctrine regarding death. Oh, he could repeat it by heart: there is no death, there is only the Force. But acceptance of mortality, of the ultimate defeat lying in ambush over every personal horizon, of the laughing enemy that waited with open arms at the end of every hero's journey : this he could not grasp. When he tried to close his fist about it, the words evaporated into smoke and eluded him, slipping out of his clutches, leaving him stuttering and empty-handed.

Obi Wan was looking at him, gently, and with piqued concern behind his blue gaze. Anakin coughed and took refuge in speech; the unsaid was a traitorous companion. "You are dying? Why?" he managed to say. Anything at all would suffice, would veil his initial throb of horror. "Are you ill?"

SenSen Xerxes chuckled, a light sibilant sound like the whisper of dried chennki gourd windchimes in Mos Espa's marketplace. "Ill? No, no. But Master Skywalker, I am quite old. And The Force is calling me. For some time now. I have only delayed my departure on account of the Friends."

The young Knight stirred impatiently. Nobody – not the Force, not a single soul – had waited until his mother was ready to depart. "You didn't foresee that?" he demanded. "You've been here over a century and you never made a contingency plan for their survival?" There was a passivity in the old Thisspiasian which he found almost as offensive as the Jedi master's ready acceptance of mortality – a patience which seemed to indict his own restless craving for action. He scowled.

"Anakin-"

"No, no," Master Xerxes waved Obi Wan's interference aside. "Let him speak. While I lived, there was no need to fret. And now that my time is come, the Force has provided a means of bringing help to our own doorstep. I am no longer able to protect and sustain the Friends; and so, the task must be given over to another."

"You brought us here to….take over?"

The Thisspiasian spread his hands wide. "Help is long overdue, especially from the Order. I know that you will not fail."

Anakin cast a startled glance at Obi Wan, but his mentor did not make eye contact. He merely stroked his beard slowly. "A war is waging in the galaxy as we speak," he said. "It may be very difficult to arrange an evacuation without risking enemy assault."

"I am aware of this," the Thisspiasian sighed. "I have felt the darkness growing in the Force. But if you cannot remove the Friends from this stronghold, then of course one of you must stay with them until such conditions of safety obtain."

Anakin opened his mouth to raise a strident objection, but Obi Wan thwarted him with his simple affirmative. "Of course." His eyes finally flicked in Anakin' direction, commanding – or requesting?- patience, promising –or submitting to? – a private discussion later.

Sen Sen Xerxes folded his gnarled hands and executed a neat bow, his serpentine tail coiling elegantly with the motion. "I will allow you to settle the details privately," he announced, dark eyes breaking free of Obi Wan's gaze and questing over Anakin's hardening expression. The young Jedi threw up ironclad mental shields, pressed his lips together firmly.

The Thisspiasian withdrew, gently waving the library's door closed behind him.

Anakin had learned patience since Geonosis. So he waited three full heartbeats before leaping into the fray. "He's barmy. Neither of us is staying here, master."

Obi Wan parried that with ease. "Are you suggesting we simply abandon these people? A moment ago you were outraged at the notion that he do the same."

"I never said abandon them. The Republic needs to launch an evacuation effort."

"The Republic? That would be us, my friend. And now that we've attracted Separatist attention by landing here, Dooku will set up a blockade on this planet, of sufficient strength to make evacuation… impractical."

"Uh… it's impractical now, master. We have two starfighters and a frigate. Not enough to move these people off-world. We'll need to call for reinforcements. Get a cruiser out here before Dooku can move in more ships."

Obi Wan considered this soberly. "The radiation shielding here will block all transmissions. It would require personal oversight – a direct emergency conference with Coruscant – one of us would have to return to Cody and the ship. You're talking about a prolonged evasive run through the atmosphere and the star system – not to mention the seeker droids on the surface. The odds of success are next to impossible."

"My specialty," Anakin grinned. "I can do it. You know I can."

Obi Wan hesitated, but the dubiety faded from his eyes as he continued glowering at the younger Jedi. Because they both knew it was true: Anakin could outfly anything. Inside a starfighter's cockpit, he could jink and juke his way out of death's own clutches. His skill was simply impossible.

"Very well," the Jedi master agreed reluctantly. "You go to call for help. I'll stay here. But Anakin…"

"What?" Anakin hated those last-minute addenda, even more than his friend's awful "loose wire" jokes. Every time Obi Wan appended a conditional to some plan, it was a dreadful reminder of duty and self-sacrifice, the dark lining on Anakin's luminous silver cloudbanks.

"Anakin, listen to me. If Dooku has already moved in more warships – if the situation is untenable, and an evacuation attempt will risk more lives than it will spare, you must leave the system. Report to the Council what has occurred, and let them make the proper decision about Rhellis Massa and the Friends. I will do what I must here, to keep them safe in the meantime."

"What? And for the next hundred years until the Force sends you a replacement? Until the whole damn war is ended and it's safe to crawl out again? Or until Dooku digs you all out of here? What kind of a fate is that, master? You can't be serious."

"I am; and I trust in the Force to guide my path."

"Well, you should trust in me. And I'm not leaving without you," Anakin retorted, fiercely. He snarled out the words, in the form of a threat, because attachment was prohibited, and most easily veiled by hostility.

Obi Wan was not deceived. "Sometimes the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, or of one," he said, pointedly. "A Jedi recognizes this."

"Right. Is that why the Council screwed Rhellis Massa the first time? 'Cause their needs were outweighed by the many?"

"Anakin!"

"Don't pretend to be scandalized, master! I know where you stand on this, remember? There was a time when you weren't hypocritical enough to abandon the small, insignificant cause."

Obi Wan stiffened. "That was a childish mistake," he growled. "The Council –"

"Kriff the Council, Obi Wan! The Council didn't send us here, did it? You did – you and your mysterious vision or message from the Force. You're not above listening to your own instincts prior to the Council.'s decree. Hells! You told me all those years ago that you would defy the Council if you had to –"

"That has nothing to do with this! I gave Qui Gon my word !"

Obi Wan was badly riled, his customary armor dented and cracked. Anakin chose power and aggression. "And that's not the needs of one?"

"Are you saying I made the wrong decision. Anakin?"

But Soresu defensive reflexes didn't help him in this case, because this was the one realm where Obi Wan's high ground was shifting, treacherous, a high fortress of hard platitudes erected upon quicksand, upon sentiment. "No!" Anakin triumphed. "So neither am I."

There was a lull, in which their ragged breaths parenthesized the moment. Anakin relished his victory, the point scored. Obi Wan looked… stunned. He wasn't accustomed to losing a battle of wits.

"I'll be back as soon as I'm able," Anakin promised. "Master. Just be ready to move fast."

"Of course," Obi Wan agreed wryly. "We shall suit our actions to your attention span."

He let it pass. Obi Wan always had to have the last word, but it didn't really matter. Anakin had already won this round. He nodded, smiling in mock bitterness, and took his leave. The sooner he left, the sooner he would be back. Because he had made a promise to Yoda, that he would stay close to his friend and master – he, too, had given his word; and he, too, would keep it.

Alone again, enclosed in the cramped space with a score of holobooks and the ringing Force-echoes of Anakin's condemnation, Obi Wan steadied his breathing and his unruly thoughts. This was no time to permit a few ill-chosen barbs to imbalance him; the situation brought its own brand of trouble, and needed no embellishment from Anakin's choleric temperament.

There was, however, a thread of truth in the young Jedi's accusatory words… a gnawing ache in his conscience provoked by the heated exchange. Master Yoda had encouraged him to trust the Force-borne mandate which brought him hence; but had the ancient Jedi known what he would find? Likely not. Though surely he had an inkling; Yoda had been a member of the very Council which had condemned SenSen Xerxes to his long exile in the first place. Perhaps he assumed the Thisspiasian was dead… but then, Yoda seldom assumed anything so rashly. What did that imply? That the revered master regretted the century-old decision to abandon its own? That he thought this strange message outweighed or took priority over an edict long since defunct? That the Council had been wrong, and the living Force now sought to rectify their mistake?

And more disturbingly: what did that say about him? Why would the Force choose to make him its instrument of correction? He had never – well, seldom – been one to criticize and question the Council's wisdom. Qui Gon done so most publicly, indeed; and Anakin most certainly had, and still did in the privacy of his own judgment. But he, Obi Wan, was no such rebel born and bred. Thne he wondered if he were, in some covert fashion. Then he wondered whether he would even be aware of such fatal character flaws. Perhaps rebellion and defiance had been creeping up on him over the years without his conscious realization, until he was so steeped in them that he mistook willful obstinacy for the will of the Force….just as he had on Melidaa-Daan so long ago.

After all, here he was championing the lost cause once again. Going – or staying- to the rescue of the pathetic life forms forgotten and abandoned by the rest of the galaxy, including the Order.

And what is so terrible about that? the omnipresent, softly laughing voice said.

"I am undermining the Council's explicit decision," he protested. "I've seen the records."

That was in the past. It no longer exists. Justice dwells only in the present moment.

True. That was the foundation of all forgiveness, and the refutation of every vengeful impulse. And yet… "Master Xerxes' last exchange with the Council was extraordinarily acrimonious."

Deservedly so, on both sides. Will you perpetuate that rift, or bring healing? A Jedi lives to restore balance, not to hold a grudge on behalf of those long ago reunited to the Force. Search your feelings.

But he didn't truly need to. He had already made his decision, pledged his help to the Friends and their peculiar shepherd. It was the Force which had singled him out and appointed him the task; and if that meant that he now trusted the Living Force more than the tradition which had nurtured and protected him from his earliest days, and to which by all logic he owed unswerving loyalty, then it was none of his concern. For he had sworn his service to the Force itself, even above the Order, as every Knight of the ranks had done. If he was mired in paradox, it was one of submission, not rebellion.

He sighed. Qui Gon would have been very, very pleased with this blasted situation.

He would indeed, the voice chuckled, ethereal warmth cascading over him like the brush of gentle fingers against a braid that no longer existed, against a soft, plaited tether which had long been severed.

Obi Wan stood, and shook off unproductive introspection. He had work to do.