Chapter Seventy-Two: Anyone Out There

Strange vespers floated through the Temple halls as Luminara hurried to the comms center. The music seemed to be coming from the chapel, but it was no Jedi song she'd ever heard—the voice was high and lilting and sinuous, sliding from note to note as if it were water flowing across a scale. As she passed the open chapel doors, she caught a glimpse of a silhouette cast in shadow by candles, standing out against glimmering stained glass—but she didn't take the time to look. Whoever it was deserved their privacy—and besides, if she spoke to them, the song would stop.

The notes followed her most of the way to the comm center, as if drifting on air; as she approached, though, music gave way to tides of beeps and whirrs and static that washed over the hall. This room, too, was open. The nerve center of the Temple had been too busy in these final few days to waste time with closed doors.

As Luminara entered, the sound of the comm equipment threatened to overwhelm her ears. A dozen terminals were set up around the perimeter of the room. For the past several months, only a few of these had been staffed at a time—now, each was manned by a Jedi technician. Passing each in turn, Luminara caught fragments of incoming messages emanating from the comms techs' headphones:

"Attempt rendezvous with Vergere—"

"—have arrived safely at Myrkyr, repeat, have arrived safely at—"

"—might see if the Errant Venture is still able to be contacted—"

"Last call."

Jumping in surprise, she turned to see one of the technicians had removed his headphones. Kevuul, a Dug, looked her in the eye and gave a weary smile—meanwhile, his legs continued to work, turning knobs and typing at his keyboard as if possessed of their own will. His thin, tall nostrils shuddered with a long exhalation, the fleshy tendrils of his cheeks flapping with the motion. "Seventy-six of us left. One per hour gives us three more days till the Temple is empty—three more days before we go dark, if anyone out there is listening and wants to help. Now or never."

"Is anyone?" she asked, striding over and squatting so as to better hear him. Multiple waveforms tracked across the tech's screen, glowing blue and green and scarlet. "Listening, I mean?"

Kevuul shrugged, the motion curiously unsettling coming from the wrong set of limbs. "On the internal frequencies, sure—we're in irregular contact with all the new little outposts till the last ones to leave scuttle the comms center. Outside that? It seems as though old friends aren't quite so keen on getting in touch with the Temple as they used to be."

For very good reason, she thought, and gave her own sigh in return. "It's not as though there's much anyone can do, anyway. Not with the clock ticking this quickly."

"I'm of the same mind. Everyone else? Not so much." Toes swiped at the Dug's eyes, wiping away accumulated grit. "But I'll stay here until it's my time to go, in"—he looked down at a wrist chronometer—"seven hours and change. When do you finally leave?"

"I'll be one of the people who turns out the lights. Seventy hours." Secretly, she didn't mind. Enough time for so many one-lasts.

One last peek into the library, smelling of moldering paper—enough books would be left behind for the place to retain their odor, even with Jocasta Nu's acolytes frantically carrying out tomes by the wheelbarrowful.

One last stroll through the dormitories—their walls stripped bare of personal possessions, the chests at the feet of the stone beds empty. But her initials would still be there—carved into the stone behind her bunk twenty-odd years ago, on a dare by Kit Fisto.

One last walk through the hospital wing, where Barriss had spent most of her time in the last few years. One last chance to pretend to herself that her old apprentice was here and would round the corner any minute, not a galaxy away.

One last idyll under the Temple tree, watching the stars turn in their courses above. One last memory of home.

"Oh, hey," said Kevuul, toes snapping with a sudden brisk click, "the reason I called you down here. We did get at least one message from the outside, an hour or so ago. Here, lean in." When she did, he placed the headphones over her ears, and the swirl of external noise grew muffled. For a moment, as the Dug pulled up old files, nothing happened—then, a sonorous voice filled her ears.

"To the Temple of the Jedi Order, greetings.

"I do not seek a mending of ties between us. The time for that, if it ever existed, has long since passed. However, there are certain of your number whom I owe a great debt. That debt is something I will never be able to repay them—one is dead, the other beyond any of our reach.

"In their stead, I repay this debt to you. Should there be any relics you wish to see safe—that you cannot take with you as you depart—know that if we are able, the people of Serenno shall ferry them safely to our world. There, they shall be watched over—not in reverence for the Jedi, but in reverence for all those who seek to touch the Force.

"There has been too much destroyed in the wake of this war—too much that, once lost, can never be recovered. Serenno knows this better than most.

"If I have one regret in this matter, it is that, when the time came for me to speak out against the Order's misdeeds, it was not on my own terms. Know that I would not have had things end this way.

"I suspect we shall not speak again."

After a few moments of silence, Luminara removed the headphones. The sounds of the comm room still seemed distant, as if her surprise had pushed them away. "I'll be damned."

Grinning, Kevuul deposited the headset back on the console. "Drallig and some others would turn him down if they knew, of course. Too much pride. But as they don't know, they couldn't stop me from sending a note back."

Against all odds, Luminara felt a disbelieving chuckle fall from her lungs. "Oh dear."

"Gods only know how a Serennan archival crew is going to smuggle a bunch of tapestries and bookshelves out through the tunnels without being noticed, once we're gone," said the Dug, snorting. "But somehow I like to think they'll manage it."

Me too, she thought, the sentiment radiating outward into the Force. Me too.

For a while, the two of them just sat there, smiling through exhaustion. In a way, Luminara thought, the tiredness was almost nice—she could nearly forget the noise altogether, its impact suddenly blunted by the haze in her head. Maybe you should make that trip to the courtyard now, she told herself, before your next shift. Take a little nap on the grass, before you have to—

A sudden skreeeeeeeeee sliced through the rest of the thought. When Luminara jerked her head upright, Kevuul was no longer looking at her—he'd spun to face his console monitor. "Text-only message inbound—highest possible priority. It's a Jedi message." The Dug's snout drooped in a frown, eyes narrowing as he swiped at the screen. "What the hell is . . ."

All at once, his aura flooded with confusion. Disbelief.

Luminara waited as long as she could—then, when the comms tech showed no signs of turning away from his screen, she rose to her feet and looked over his shoulder.

When she saw what was there, she froze.

ATTN. JEDI TEMPLE. URGENT REPEAT URGENT NEED TO MAKE CONTACT IN PERSON. REQUEST MEETING AT FOLLOWING COORDINATES AT 17:00 HOURS CORUSCANT STANDARD TIME. REQUESTING IMMEDIATE AID. OBI-WAN KENOBI.

Drallig's eyes ran across the message over and over, as if she were convinced that enough readings would reveal it to be some kind of prank. When this proved to be of no avail, she fixed her gaze on Kevuul instead. "And you are positive this couldn't be a forgery?"

The Dug's toes flexed over and over as they hovered over the surface of his keyboard, his nostrils quivering in agitation. "I've gone over it half a dozen times, Master Drallig. This was sent on a Jedi emergency frequency. Everything about the encryption signature reads as completely genuine."

"But for Kenobi to be back on Coruscant, without warning—it doesn't make any sense." The battlemaster looked genuinely nonplussed—Luminara watched her clench and unclench her hands, raising herself on the balls of her feet. "He would be coming back to the lion's den."

"Well, sense or no sense," replied Kevuul, shoving away from his screen, "we're running out of time." He began to pace a circle, his arms supporting his weight as his legs gestured nervously. The other technicians watched silently, their headsets all lying unused. "The rendezvous he requested is in two hours."

Once again, the battlemaster stared long and hard at the words on the screen. "It's too risky. We don't have any knights to spare, and if it is some sort of trap—"

"Master Drallig."

The words were out of Luminara's mouth before she realized she was interrupting. As the battlemaster's eyes darted over to her, affront rising in them, the Mirialan inhaled deeply. You've already pissed her off once recently, might as well be hanged for more.

"With due respect," she added. Though she could sense the room's other occupants staring at her, she took care to keep her attention focused on Drallig and Drallig alone. "Obi-Wan Kenobi has sacrificed more for this Order than most. If it weren't for him, we would have had far less warning of Palpatine's plans than we did. If there's the slightest chance that he genuinely does need our help, I think we have to take it while we have some little time left. We owe it to him."

"Master Kenobi owes the Order its safety above all," countered Drallig, her voice a thin veneer of patience over an aura in the Force that was reddening with irritation. "We cannot be expected to endanger more knights at this stage—knights we can't afford to lose."

"You seemed to feel differently when Qui-Gon Jinn was in custody—"

"And that ended with three Jedi dead." The battlemaster gave a single shake of her head, the motion like a knife's blade slashing through the air. "No, I will not authorize a party of Jedi to leave the Temple—"

"Then authorize me."

She expected an outburst. Instead, Drallig breathed in very sharply, drew herself up to her full height—and waited.

It was, Luminara supposed, the best opening she was going to get. "My former apprentice has been made a full-fledged Jedi," she said, crossing her arms and staring right back. "You won't risk putting a teacher in danger if I'm the one to make the rendezvous. I'll go alone, and without my lightsaber, just as Kit and the others did. If this is indeed a trap, there's a chance I'll get away with the Force—if I don't, I'll have died doing the right thing. And if it is Obi-Wan, we'll be able to help him."

Though she'd finished, she did not allow herself to blink. Show any hesitation—the slightest hint of the nerves roiling beneath her skin . . .

With a sigh, Drallig turned away. Her eyes ran over the message one last time. Then, unmoving, she said, "Very well, Master Unduli. You will go alone."

Relief and foreboding washed over her in equal measure. Letting her spine relax, Luminara replied, "My thanks, Master Dr—"

"May the Force be with you, Master Unduli. Go, before I change my mind."

As she headed to the labyrinth, Luminara deliberately took the wrong path. Passing the chapel, she extended her senses, hoping to hear the music, but was met with nothing. The chamber, when she peered in, was empty—candles flickered in solitude, illuminating the interior for an audience of none.

For a moment, she wondered if the singer would be back, or if she'd lost her only chance to meet them—if even now, they were on their way to a new world.

It doesn't matter, not now. You have a job to do.

A shuddering exhale left her body, long and low—the candles nearest her flickered, flames guttering in the sudden rush of air.

Then she turned, and walked on alone.