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Chapter 6

Schemes

"It's nae our business."

The Man propped his feet up. "Lighten up, kid, would you? I'm just sayin' he's got the hots for her. So do I. Unless you're into guys, I'm bettin' you do too."

"She's a Republic senator," growled Miler, "so shut your bloody mouth."

Landon chuckled. This guy really thought it mattered. A true-blue believer in spite of everything. "You Republic types: drinkin' the elixer, cockier than God. In case you have noticed, the Sith are winning the war."

Miler flared his nostrils. "Then spit on my grave. But you'll always be a coward."

The Man shot up from his chair. It toppled on its side. Miler was moving toward him. As quickly as it ignited, the confrontation was over. The door had opened, and Obi-Wan entered, followed by Padme and R2. Miler could hardly throw a punch in front of the general.

The Man retreated to his chair, setting it upright. He slunk into it scowling.

Miler cleared his throat. "Hello, ma'am. Are ya feelin' well now?"

Padme smiled thinly. "Fine, thank you... Lieutenant, is it?"

"Lieutenant Miler Crata. It's my pleasure t'meet ya, Senator."

"Likewise. I'll remember you in my report."

Miler ducked his head, reminding her of Obi-Wan. The smooth plain of his forehead belied oldness in his eyes. The crystal blues were like scars, scars on top of scars. In Padme's experience, those who enjoyed praise developed an addiction. They'd do anything to receive it, and lacked self-awareness to be haunted by anything. She knew right away he didn't like accolades.

Obi-Wan retrieved a projector. The Man handed him a disc, which he carefully inserted. The projector sputtered a few moments before flickering to life. It showed a holographic blueprint of the Sith compound.

The Man studied it closely. "Yeah, that looks right. That's everything. Or, most of it."

"Most of it?" asked Padme.

"The disc was damaged. I took it from a corpse."

"Charming," Miler mumbled.

Obi-Wan pinpointed the missing pieces. He gestured to a black spot. "The armory should be there."

The Man raised his eyebrow. "Your hocus pocus tell you that?"

"Every compound has the same layout," Obi-Wan explained. "Sidious is nothing if not efficient."

The Man gestured to four large structures, distorting the light with his hand. "The ship bays are right here. They're guarded around the clock by two troopers each. But they'll abandon their posts when they hear the alarms."

"Are they really that stupid?" Miler asked.

Padme said, "It's a small compound on the Outer Rim. I don't imagine the Sith Academy sent their 'A' students."

Miler smiled slightly. Padme wasn't what he expected. He'd heard her speeches: formal and stilted. But now he saw why Obi-Wan, who hated politicians, made an exception for Padme.

"That may be," said Obi-Wan, "but we can't take the chance. We have to plan on them being guarded."

"It's a waste of time!" The Man groused. "Boss, this ain't my first dance. I know what I'm doing."

"Perhaps you've merely been lucky. Survival and judgment are two different things."

The Man scowled. Jedi were insufferable. "Is that a fact?"

Obi-Wan tried not to smile. He walked to the far wall, folding his arms. "Well," he said, "we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Let's just iron out the basics."

Miler studied an entry point. It was a gated security station for authorized landcraft. "What abou' here? We could doctor some credentials."

"It's more subtle than his plan," Obi-Wan said. "If we could find a way—"

Earsplitting sirens blasted through the apartment. Soon this was paired with the screams of the living. Obi-Wan rushed to the window, ripping away the blinds. The lamp posts in the streets were flashing dark-red. Quiren City's elite were pouring from their homes. Everyone melded into one frantic mass.

Miler knew the sound. "It's an air raid! Automated warning—we're under attack!" He turned to the hallway. "Leona! Leona!"

She appeared at the door, shaking violently. "Miler, what's happening? Why is the siren going? They're not—they wouldn't—"

Miler grabbed her shoulders. "They would! Pull yourself together if ya don' wanna die."

"But—"

"Gather what ya can. One small bag. We have t'leave now!"

Dazed as she was, she gave him a nod. Miler ran through the hallway to the living room. He grabbed his blaster from the table.

Padme rushed after him, trying to block to his path. "Why now? The Sith have control of the whole planet! Why would they destroy it?"

Miler stepped around her, holstering his gun. He pulled back the curtains, peered through the window. He felt a chill down his spine at the scene outside. A young child fell and was trampled by a woman. The woman hurried on, heels stained with his blood.

Obi-Wan grabbed his arm. "Can we go underground?"

"We'd be trapped like rats," said Miler. "Our only chance is in the air."

The Man said, "This doesn't change anything. It makes it easier. With the shit storm coming, they'll evacuate the base."

"Aye, he's right," allowed Miler. "It's still our best chance."

Leona appeared, a satchel on her shoulder. Her trembling hands fumbled with the latch. Miler pried off her fingers and closed it for her.

She watched as her world embraced degradation. We think we're civilized; we think people are mostly good. But you strip away safety, place survival at stake, and suddenly we're as selfish as our farthest ancestors.

"How long do we have?" Obi-Wan asked.

Miler shook his head. "Thirty seconds? An hour? No way'a knowin'."

"We won't make it on foot. We need transportation."

The Man said, "That won't be easy with the crazies."

Obi-Wan reached for his boot, where he'd hidden his saber. "We'll do what we have to."

The cold tone startled Padme. Sometimes she forgot her friend was in a war. One he'd been waging for most of his life.

She watched the door slide open, caught a glimpse of the dying world over Miler's shoulder.

"C'mon," said Miler. "Before we catch fire."