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Chapter 13
Mission
"Now is not the time for this discussion."
"I don't believe you'll ever find time."
"Padawan, I've made my decision."
"I'm not your padawan anymore," Obi-Wan reminded him, blocking his path. "The boy is dangerous. We all see it. Why can't you?"
Qui-Gon leveled a firm stare. "The Force brought us together. It is fated that I train him."
"His future is clouded," Obi-Wan warned. "I fear he will take a very dark path."
The elder Jedi set his jaw. He'd indulged his pupil far too long. "I know we don't always agree, but do you think so little of me?"
"Don't pretend you're hurt. It's beneath you."
"The boy will not fall. I will not let him."
"Your hubris is discomfiting," Obi-Wan scoffed. "He's too powerful to control. You're simply not up to it."
Qui-Gon realized then that their bond could not endure. Too much of his will had been wasted holding on to it. He couldn't force Obi-Wan to be the wise ally for whom he'd so long wished. "I was wrong. You weren't ready for the trials. You're a pawn of the council."
Obi-Wan limped through the temple, aided by the painkilling power of the Force.
Padme wouldn't be happy. She'd retired to her quarters on the assumption he wouldn't move. But right now, he needed answers. If what Padme said was true, then they could win this war, once and for all.
"Have a seat, Lieutenant."
Miler lowered himself gingerly. Sarna had taken a toll, physically and mentally. Leona Voll: victim of chaos. His legion, gone: wiped from existence. All that remained was a patch on his jacket.
The Major's uniform, covered in bars he earned at a desk, placed Miler's bruised leather in stark relief. The bureaucrat's hands were clasped in front of him. "You've been through hell, son."
"Aye," blinked Miler.
"You were already due leave. Given what's happened, I think—"
"All due respect, sir, I'd prefer a transfer. Somethin' in the core worlds. They need good people."
The Major slowly reclined in his chair. "Lieutenant, I'm at a loss. Most men cherish their leave." He searched his face, not out of sympathy but a need to understand. "Don't you have someone? A wife, a girlfriend?"
Miler's forehead creased. For a moment, he was silent. "There might be someone."
Doctor Stall was something of an ogre. His stomach hung over his belt. He had a crooked nose that sloped miserably into the gray of his mustache. And his sleepy brown eyes lacked Obi-Wan's feeling.
"How is Master Pathij?" he asked.
Aayla made a show of relaxing. "Unconscious but improving."
"It must be difficult seeing someone you love in such a state."
"A Jedi is forbidden to love."
"It may be forbidden. But you have free will."
"Yes, and I choose to follow the code," said Aayla. "I am concerned for her, certainly. She serves the Force well."
Stall noted her stiffness. It was no wonder Jedi fell; they were all repressed and confused. "You don't like talking to me, do you? You don't like me asking these questions."
"Does that surprise you?"
"Not really. Very few people enjoy these sessions. But I hope you see why they're important."
"'An impartial doctor, with a speciality in Jedi psychology, will assess your risk of falling to the Dark Side.' Yes," she said, her cool voice straining, "Master Windu made it quite clear to us."
"Have you had any urges? Any strong emotions?"
"None."
Stall held her eyes, making some notes. She breathed easily, one eyebrow arched. But he noticed a vein throb in her tentacle.
"You realize, if I think you're lying, I have to report it to the council," he warned her. "They take my recommendations very seriously."
"Tell them what you will."
"You're lying about your emotions. Whatever you're feeling, if not dealt with, is dangerous."
"I will deal with my emotions in a manner of my choosing."
"Stubbornness," Stall said, "is a trait of the Sith."
Aayla's face darkened. "What do you know of the Sith?"
"I've spoken to over 300 Jedi, and the overwhelming majority of them are struggling with temptation. You'll succumb to emotions if you can't acknowledge them."
Aayla stilled despite the anger boiling in her blood. It was enough to be lectured by Eisley and Yoda. To be instructed on the Dark Side by a smug non-sensitive gave Aayla a vision of using her saber. "Failure to divulge something to you, Doctor, is not failure to acknowledge it. I do not, and never shall, count you among my confidants. My thoughts and feelings are my own, and your interrogation—" He flinched at the word "—shan't change that."
Stall watched the Twi'lek, impossibly furious, stalk from his office.
When he was alone, he leaned back, pressed a button on his data pad, and remarked: "Patient exhibits anger, frustration, and paranoia connected to her current master's health as well as the betrayal of her former one. I would call her likelihood to fall moderate and recommend that she be closely monitored."
Yoda's eyes fluttered open. He sensed a figure in the doorway. Every living being had a unique Force signature: what some call a "current." This one was calm, determined, weaving light through its every pattern. Yet the man it belonged to knew not his own nature. He could never admit it, but Yoda loved him.
"Resting, you should be."
"I can go if you'd like," Obi-Wan said.
Yoda heard the smile in his voice. "Already here, you are. Sit down."
It was the height of day, but the room was dark. The lights were dimmed to promote contemplation.
"How feel you?" the old man asked.
"I'm well."
Yoda grunted. "Hoped, I did, time would dull your stubbornness."
"It has dulled many things, I assure you." Despite their banter, Obi-Wan was distracted.
"Spoken with Senator Amidala, you have," Yoda realized.
"She wasn't very happy."
"Understandable. The right thing, we did, though."
Obi-Wan wasn't sure. Did the Council outsmart itself? Surely the Senate, and the public, deserved to know the truth. Perhaps rather than create chaos, it would've rallied them together.
He blinked away the past. "Padme said there's a weapon that can destroy the Sith."
"A ghost of the ancient times."
"The Rakatans?"
"The Architects."
A divot formed between Obi-Wan's eyes. Little was known about the Architects, except that they created the technology upon which civilization was founded. They built the first cities and hyperspace routes, colonized worlds, and then without explanation disappeared from the galaxy.
"If it's as powerful as you believe, we could end this war. But if it fell into Sith hands…"
"Find it, we must," Yoda said.
Obi-Wan peered through the blinds at an orange horizon. "Why do I get the feeling life's about to be complicated?"
"You said it yourself: he's grown increasingly reckless. Something has to be done."
"He won't listen to me. He never has," Obi-Wan said.
"Perhaps not. But you're the only one who has a chance," Mace insisted. "The council cannot rein him in. His psychiatric evaluations say he's at high risk of falling. It's irresponsible to let him train young Skywalker."
"Then take Anakin away from him!" Obi-Wan growled. "Reassign him to another master! For goodness sake, it's in your power!"
Mace sometimes forgot Obi-Wan was only twenty-four. "He wouldn't accept it; neither would Anakin. We'd be driving them to the Sith. We cannot let Anakin's power fall into enemy hands. It would mean the end of the Jedi."
Obi-Wan walked to the window. Not since his knighting had Qui-Gon smiled. "He's the only Jedi I know who's never been wrong. How do you tell a man like that that his actions will destroy the galaxy?"
"I wish I knew. What I do know is that Qui-Gon Jinn has poisoned that boy. If we don't stop him, Anakin will fall."
Flanked by Dooku and Vader, Sidious strode by a ceremonial line of soldiers. The troops stared straight ahead, saluting the dark lords.
At the end of the line, Malice received them with a bow. "My lords."
Sidious continued to the hanger exit. Malice and the others matched his stride.
"What have you learned from the prisoner?" asked Sidious.
"I had just begun my interrogation when you arrived."
"Return to it at once. Find out what he knows and who he told," Sidious said. "Destroy his mind if you must."
Dooku frowned. He stepped to his master's other side. "My lord, we have an opportunity before us. We could reprogram his mind, send him back to the Jedi."
"There is no time for that. We must move quickly if we are to prevent the Jedi from finding the artifact."
"I will prepare a level-four mind probe," Malice said. "He will talk. Then he will die."
Sidious smiled cruelly. There was no greater expression of power than, and nothing so satisfying as, killing one who's done everything you asked. Malice held a special place in the lord's black heart.
It was a pointless exercise—rejecting emotion. The Jedi believed repression an ingredient of enlightenment. They thought that by embracing love, one also embraced fear, and that fear was anger, and anger hate, and hate suffering.
But repression had consequences. Her master hadn't addressed his emotions. They simmered, grew, until taking control of him. She couldn't let that happen to her. She had to process what she felt.
"Would ya mind some company?"
She smiled shyly at Miler, stomach tumbling.
"I don' mean to disturb ya," Miler said. "Ya seemed to be contemplatin'."
Aayla leaned on the garden wall. Miler mirrored her pose, a little closer than was polite. She swallowed as she felt the heat from his arms. Or was that the Force, transmitting his inner warmth?
"I suppose I was," she said.
"Anythin' I can help with?"
"I believe not," she said. Registering his disappointment, she added: "Unless you can explain my own mind to me."
Miler grinned. "Still workin' on my own. But I'm happy to listen."
Aayla looked at her hands, clasped in front of her. She shouldn't say anything. These thoughts were best shared with Eisley or Obi-Wan. But Miler's gravity was inescapable. His patient stare was intoxicating. "I don't trust myself sometimes," she admitted.
"That's not so strange," Miler said kindly.
"But it is dangerous."
"Where does it come from?"
"I believe it's ingrained in me," said Aayla, "as it is in all Jedi. We're taught from birth to reject emotion. They say feelings are too consuming."
Miler wondered at the images flitting through her mind. It was a sacred gift to see one so strong look so vulnerable. "That's not re'lly fair—or re'listic. Saesee Tinn couldn't do it. I witnessed his anger."
That startled Aayla. "What sort of anger?"
"The kind that scares people," Miler half-laughed.
"I remember the padawans talking," Aayla said curiously, "but I never believed it."
"But ya do now?"
"Yes. I trust you."
Miler fought off a grin, if only because of her forlorn stare. His head shook with conviction. "If a member of the Jedi Council can lose his temper, ya canna expect yourself to act like a droid. Besides, your emotions are productive."
"How do you mean?"
"I saw how ya looked at Eisley, and the Gen'ral. Love isn't weakness. It's beautiful."
"I feel anger, too," she insisted.
"That doesn't make you a Sith. They canna feel love. They don' look outward. That isn't you, lass."
Aayla's face felt flush. Her breath caught in her throat at his easy dismissal of fifteen millennia of Jedi teachings. It was brazen yet humble. His warm, easy voice seemed to embody the peace of the Force. Sometimes she forgot that the Jedi and the Force were not the same thing. The Jedi were men and women interpreting its will, codifying those interpretations into rules. What if Aayla, the individual, chose to interpret for herself?
After a long moment, she said: "It's nice talking to you, Miler."
A darkness encroached on the temple menagerie. It pressed on the flowers, constricting petals, causing the anthers to overproduce pollen.
Docile animals, made calm by the Force, roamed the open room. Only a few beams and an observation balcony interrupted the vast space.
Amidst the flora, Qui-Gon stroked a kybuck. Hearing footsteps, he called out: "Hello, Obi-Wan." He'd waited months for this moment, prepared by a vision. He'd hoped it wouldn't come.
"How is the old girl?" Obi-Wan asked.
"She's all right. A bit heavy. Captivity can do that."
The kybuck startled when Obi-Wan pet it.
"She doesn't like you," Qui-Gon said.
Obi-Wan pulled back, folding his arms into his cloak.
In the Force, Qui-Gon felt his pupil's concern. Or perhaps it was more—perhaps fear—diluted by Obi-Wan's powerful shielding. He didn't respect his old padawan's concept of the Force, but also couldn't deny he wielded it flawlessly. "What can I do for you, Obi-Wan?"
"I understand your mission to Belaria was cancelled. They're sending Master Granger."
"He is competent."
"Anakin must have been disappointed."
It wasn't in his voice, but Qui-Gon was sure he was mocking him. Anger twisted his face into a dignified grimace. "Anakin will endure. He's strong in the Force, and in his own mind. He's been, by far, my most capable student."
Obi-Wan flinched. "Capable of what?"
Qui-Gon held his gaze. The animals grew restless. They chewed on plants with mysterious compulsion. Cold, uncanny air gusted about.
Obi-Wan's cloak flapped by his legs. Suddenly he knew there was no going back.
He said, "There are those who believe it is not the Jedi way he's learning."
"Do you speak for the council?"
"I speak for myself."
"Don't insult me," Qui-Gon sneered. "Whose errand are you running? Master Windu's? Yoda's perhaps?"
Obi-Wan said mildly, "I'm checking on a friend."
Qui-Gon's hand on the kybuck completed a Force circuit. It raised on its legs, screaming shrilly, and took off running, trampling the flowers.
"You're so dogmatic," said Qui-Gon. "I tried to make you see, but you shut your eyes."
"I saw what you showed me. I made a choice."
"As Anakin will make his."
"He's too young," said Obi-Wan. "You've made the choice for him."
"You know nothing, padawan!"
Obi-Wan's unerring steadiness brought his rage to a boil. How badly he'd tried to rescue his pupil, to make him see grays in the spectrum of the Force. The childish notion of light and dark as mutually exclusive had brought the Jedi Order to the brink of death.
Light swathed young Kenobi, submerged him in its aura, creating a vacuum-tight barrier between he and the Dark Side. And that's why he'd fail. Rules are for the dead, power for the living.
Obi-Wan began to walk in an arc. Qui-Gon matched him so they were circling each other.
"I'll tell you what I know," Obi-Wan said. "Three days ago, you removed a Sith Holocron from the archives without informing a librarian. And you returned it in secrecy in the middle of the night."
"You act like it's a crime."
"It is!" growled Obi-Wan.
"We are at war, man! Anakin must learn what we are fighting!"
"Through explanation—not exposure! We've lost far stronger men to Emperor Sidious."
Their eyes locked, conceding nothing. "I've known this day would come," Qui-Gon said. "And I knew it would be you."
"Do not credit to destiny the choices you've made," Obi-Wan exhorted. "The Force provides a map, but it's we Jedi who navigate. This needn't end in violence if you'll make the right choice."
Qui-Gon ensconced himself in the Force, finding his center in the mélange of Dark and Light. The two halves of the Force, diametrically opposed, each chanted a song. In his arrogance, he believed it was he who was chanting.
"You can't train that boy," Obi-Wan said quietly. "I won't allow it."
Qui-Gon's blade flashed into existence. The whites of his eyes glowed green.
Obi-Wan gathered his fear into a single breath, releasing it to the Force. And as trees take waste and recreate life, the Force cleansed his spirit so there was only Light.
Silent tears rolled down his face. "You've exhausted my mercy. Conscience prevails."
"Obi-Wan?"
Mace was holding his arm. "I'm fine," said Obi-Wan. "Please, go on."
Ki-Adi-Mundi admonished, "You should be in the hospital."
Ignoring the remark, Obi-Wan turned to the hologram: "The descriptive text: you said the language was similar to Rakatan?"
Mace studied him a moment before nodding. "The translation will take time. We have to keep a small circle."
"Yet you trusted Padme?" Obi-Wan mused.
"Quite frankly, we had no choice," Mundi said. "If we're going to find the artifact, we'll need transportation, credits, supplies…"
"Aren't we getting ahead of ourselves?" Obi-Wan asked. "We have a book, with a picture, and untranslated text. Where exactly are you planning to go?"
Yoda turned his hover pad, peering at his friend over steepled hands. "Familiar, are you, with Palmer Trask?"
"Of course," said Obi-Wan. "He left the Jedi Order early in the war."
"Claimed, he did, the war was our doing. Meddlers, he asserted."
Obi-Wan strained to remember. "I was maybe fourteen. Qui-Gon called him a coward."
"He's not a coward," Mace said, "but he may be a traitor."
Mundi tapped the console, and the hologram morphed into a large desert planet, along with an elemental summary. "The book was found on the planet Halm. According to our operative, the Sith received it by way of an archaeologist. A Lantoran man."
"Trask," surmised Obi-Wan.
Mace leaned on the console, robe falling away to reveal his tunic. "He's published about the Architects in academic journals. But he has a habit of going off-grid."
Obi-Wan wondered, "Why would one who spurns meddlers join the Sith?"
"To a man, strange things will war do," Yoda said.
"Perhaps his cooperation wasn't willing," Mundi suggested.
Obi-Wan paced, thinking of Qui-Gon. No one's immune to anger, hate. "Whatever his motivations, it's our only lead."
"Agreed," Yoda said. "Launch a mission, we will, to find this Mercy Seat."
"Master Windu should lead it," Obi-Wan advised.
"No!" Yoda's vehemence was shocking. His small, strange eyes hardened into steel. "It must be you, Master Obi-Wan."
"Me? With all due respect, we should send someone stronger."
"Your self-doubt, I do not need!"
Obi-Wan threw a look at Mace, gathering nothing. Meanwhile Yoda's withered face creased deeper than ever. "May I ask why you're so adamant?"
Yoda glanced at his colleagues, who promptly left them alone. Evidently it wasn't a simple answer.
Obi-Wan demanded, "Would you care to explain why you're treating me like the Chosen One?"
Yoda grunted. His hover pad rose so they stood eye to eye.
Qui-Gon lowered his base so they stood eye to eye. He held his saber chest-level, in a brutish grip that paled his knuckles. Ataro: his favorite form. Obi-Wan knew it as well his own.
Whereas Qui-Gon was powerful, Obi-Wan was durable, his defensive style relying on stamina. At twenty-four, he rivaled the great duelists, but his skill with the Force didn't match Qui-Gon's.
Master and apprentice circled each other. The infinite Force crackled between them.
Qui-Gon lunged, parried by Obi-Wan, who spun in time to deflect the next blow. Obi-Wan backpedaled, blocking overhand strikes.
At the foot of the stairs, Obi-Wan surprised him with a swing. Their sabers glanced off, before Obi-Wan kicked him in the ribs. Then he cracked him in the face with the hilt of his sword.
Qui-Gon fell on his back, nose shattered. His bloody mouth sucked air through a coughing fit.
"Are you done?" pleaded Obi-Wan.
"The boy needs me," Qui-Gon croaked.
"He needs what you were. Let me help you!"
Qui-Gon swept at his legs. Obi-Wan leapt to avoid it so Qui-Gon's saber slashed through flowers.
Qui-Gon rolled to his feet and attacked with a Force-push. Obi-Wan hurdled back, hitting the staircase railing, dropping to the ground.
Pain shot up his spine. His saber rolled away.
He staggered to his feet. Qui-Gon lunged, piercing the railing as Obi-Wan jumped to the balcony.
Qui-Gon followed, striking swiftly. Obi-Wan dodged, calling his saber. He caught and ignited it to block the next strike.
Qui-Gon advanced with growing frustration. He swiped and lunged, parried at every turn. Nearing the wall, Obi-Wan pinned Qui-Gon's saber to the floor. Sparks showered on the men, singing their faces.
Obi-Wan flipped over him, reversing positions. He kicked him in the chest, throwing Qui-Gon to the wall, his elder's weapon knocked loose and lost in the fauna.
Obi-Wan's blade sizzled by his throat. The dull hum of plasma filled the menagerie.
"Please," his voice watered. "Enough now."
Landon threw back a shot, cringing at its bitterness. How ironic that poison makes living bearable.
In the mirror behind the bar, he saw Twi'lek thugs at the back of the cantina. How long had they been watching him?
He ordered one more shot, gulping it down. The truth is, he never thought he was a bad man. He thought he was the only good man in a galaxy of bad people. Perhaps we all believe that. It justifies our rankest selfishness.
He climbed off the stool. Tossing down credits, he walked to the exit. The Twi'leks walked parallel, blocking him at the door.
One blue, one green. He knew them by reputation. Thousands of kills. Rumor said they burned Jedi alive. Landon never intended to get on their radar. But Neecho spent a small fortune to ensure he did.
"Evening, gentlemen," Landon said.
The Blue One smiled. "Hello, Mr. Solo."
"What can I do for you?"
"Were you going somewhere?"
"I have to feed the meter. Two-hour parking."
"On behalf of Neecho, I cordially invite you to his palace on Axxila."
"I don't like long trips," drawled Landon.
"Fear not. You'll sleep the whole way."
The Green One drew his blaster. Landon dodged. Instead the blast killed an Elom, exploding her snout, opening to air her oblong skull. Her furry corpse collapsed on the table.
Landon belted the Green One. But the Blue One struck him and he fell to the floor. The Blue One took aim, but was stymied by his partner, who leapt on Landon to rain down blows.
Noting Landon's hurt palm, the Green One punched it. Landon screamed. He kneed him in the stomach, stealing his breath.
He grabbed the Green One's blaster, pressed it to his head, and fired through his skull. The shot ripped through—and hit the Blue One behind him.
The Green One's corpse slumped on Landon. Its head, a hollowed-out husk, dripped brains on the smuggler. The Blue One lay dead a few feet away.
Only now did fear grip Landon, stronger for its delay. His good hand was shaking, bad one bloody. His brand-new clothes were soaked deep-red.
Landon shoved off the corpse. He struggled to his feet. All eyes in the cantina centered on the smuggler. He discarded his own blaster, holstered his assassin's. He stumbled out the door to the safety of a crowd.
Malice carved the man's face with the tip of his saber. It drew a smile from Sidious, who watched through the glass. He thought how too few Sith see torture as artistry.
"He's told us everything he knows," Dooku said.
"Yes. But there's truth in his suffering."
Vader asked, "Now that the Jedi are aware of the artifact, how do we proceed?"
"You will assemble a team," said Sidious, "to find this artifact before the Jedi."
Vader relished the impatient gleam in Dooku's eyes. After many false starts, this was his chance to usurp his elder. Sidious would give him the station he deserved. "It will be done, my lord. I will start with the man who gave us the book."
Malice pierced the skin deeper, forming a gaping hole beneath his cheekbone. When the prisoner passed out, he withdrew in frustration.
"We shall eradicate the Jedi—once and for all," Sidious promised. After a long pause, he smiled at Vader, adding: "And we shall have peace."
"Recall, I do, the day you were brought to the temple."
"A lifetime ago," Obi-Wan mused.
Yoda ambled a few steps, turning his back. "Remember, I do, because of the feeling I had."
"What feeling?"
Yoda sighed. He leaned heavily on his cane. "When born, you were, an echo in the force I felt. And when brought to the temple, you were, much stronger did it become."
"And where did this echo lead you?" Obi-Wan asked.
"Meditated for years, I have, but I am no closer to the truth. I can only say your presence, your existence, felt… unnatural."
His friend spoke in riddles. It wasn't charming where his life was concerned. "I need more than 'unnatural,'" Obi-Wan demanded. "I was four when they brought me here. Life before that was normal. Give me more, Master."
Yoda grunted. "Strange, for you, my words must be. Surprised, I am not, that you felt none of this." He scratched his head with a clawed hand, thinking deeply. "Redundancy, your birth was. But what that means, I cannot tell you."
Obi-Wan paced a small area. Looking within, he found nothing to support the cryptic claim. There was nothing special about Obi-Wan. He wasn't wise like Yoda or powerful like Mace. He was, at best, a cog in a machine. "Why are you telling me now?" Obi-Wan asked.
"Because I know that tied to the artifact, this feeling is. Lead this mission, you must. In your hands, the fate of the galaxy is."
"Your misplaced confidence never ceases to amaze me."
"And amazed, I am, by your stubborn self-loathing!" Yoda thundered. He banged his stick on the ground, nostrils flaring. If he wasn't angry, he was dangerously close.
Obi-Wan reeled, reduced to a youngling. Clearly Yoda's mind was made up. Whatever his own feelings, Obi-Wan didn't have a choice.
His diminutive friend regained his composure. Yoda sighed, ghosting a self-aware smile. Obi-Wan returned it.
The young Jedi pulled on his beard, reckoning with his mandate. There was so much he felt he lacked. His only hope to fill the holes was the crew he conscripted. "I trust you'll allow me to choose my team?"
Yoda nodded.
"I need Lieutenant Crata," Obi-Wan said.
"Trust the boy, do you?"
"I'd be ashes in a cloak if not for Miler."
Yoda's ears turned down at the terrible image. "Who else?"
Obi-Wan needed people who were steadfast but flexible. They had to think for themselves but accept his leadership. In light of his mission, he needed an historian. "Knight Pascal. Knight Secura. Is Master Loma available?"
"Dead, she is."
In Obi-Wan's focus, the news rolled off him. He tucked the ends of his beard under his chin. "I'd like to bring a doctor."
"Perhaps, a suggestion, Senator Amidala may have."
Obi-Wan furrowed his brow, leaving a pregnant pause. He felt mad for the name that sat on his tongue. But somehow he knew it was placed there by the Force.
Yoda asked, "Another selection, have you?"
"Landon Solo," Obi-Wan mumbled.
Padme woke from a deep sleep.
Dreams typically fade, but this one persisted. It seemed to have branded her. Even awake, she could picture the strange man who filled her slumber. But she wasn't afraid of him. He seemed kind and sad.
Padme sat up in bed, thinking of Obi-Wan. She needed to check on him (and sign off on the mission).
The chronometer told her she'd slept ten hours. By now, her Jedi was certainly out of bed. Gallivanting about, undoing his doctor's work.
Padme showered, obsessed with her dream. It felt so vivid. She was certain it was real: a memory long stored in the wrong part of consciousness. But why had she suppressed it? And what brought it to the surface?
Perhaps it was nothing. Perhaps she saw a puzzle where there were only neurons. She needed Obi-Wan's counsel to determine the difference.
"Hello there."
Miler turned to find Obi-Wan standing behind them. "Gen'ral! You're bloody mad to be about."
"Always the martyr," Aayla teased.
"Don't start with me," said Obi-Wan. "Between Padme and the droid, I get enough."
Miler chuckled, but it sounded nervous. Obi-Wan wondered what he might have interrupted. He filed that for later, twinkling eyes turning solemn.
"Lieutenant—Miler. Please accept my sincere gratitude. Without you, we would surely be dead. I can't repay you for that. But know you've made a friend."
Obi-Wan extended his hand. Miler stared before shaking it: "Aye. I'm glad you're well, Gen'ral."
"I'm sorry about Eisley," Obi-Wan told Aayla. "I wish that—"
"There's nothing you could have done," Aayla said firmly. "Her outlook has improved. The doctor thinks she'll recover."
"I'm relieved to hear that."
Aayla said innocently, "Senator Amidala will be pleased to see you up. I trust they cleared you for duty."
Obi-Wan would've rolled his eyes but for the weight of his mission. "There isn't time to rest," he said very grimly. "There's something I have to do. Something important. And I need your help."
Miler's eyes sparked with purpose. "Name it and it's yours."
Quinn Pascal wasn't sociable. He wore recalcitrance as an armor to protect him from judgments. As a Transdoshan, his scaly skin and large head were a target for mockery. Even in the temple, he'd suffered bigotry.
He was a gifted communicator in that he distilled hard concepts. But he had no sense of etiquette. He was curt to the edge of cruelty. This prevented him from taking diplomatic missions, accepting a padawan, and rising to the rank of Master. He hardly cared, though. He preferred to study history: both in the field and at the Archives.
He was finishing a report when Obi-Wan appeared. It didn't take much convincing for Quinn to start packing.
When she arrived at the infirmary, Obi-Wan was gone. In his place was a new occupant.
Landon looked away, smelling copper, as the disapproving nurse cradled his hand.
"Are you all right?" asked Padme.
His glassy eyes raised. "I'm fine."
"He spoiled my sutures," the nurse chided.
"Hazards of being a hero," Landon said.
The nurse left to find thread, giving Padme a glimpse of the injury. She flinched at the valley halving his palm. "You'll be all right," Padme encouraged him.
"Can I help you, Princess?"
"I'm looking for Obi-Wan. Have you seen him?"
"Boss was gone when I got here."
Padme went to the council chamber, then Obi-Wan's office. Both trips were fruitless. Frustrated but undeterred, she sat and waited at the last place she could think of.
He shouldn't have been surprised to find her at his quarters.
"Hello there," Padme said in his accent.
Obi-Wan smiled. "Did you get some sleep?"
"Quite a lot, as it happens. What have you been doing?"
He didn't miss the accusation. "I have preparations." He entered his quarters, followed by Padme. Her stomach clenched as she realized: "Don't tell me..."
Obi-Wan said, "If you sign the request, I'll leave in the morning."
"You're in no condition to go anywhere."
He unclipped his saber, setting it on a table. He grabbed a tablet to research the planet.
"Padme, I'm not an invalid," he said, making her feel condescended to. "And, according to this, Halm is two days' travel. I'll have plenty of time to heal in transit."
"Two days? You were shot! You had radiation poisoning! You nearly died."
"But not quite. Maybe next time."
Padme's mouth pinched at the corners. "Obi-Wan, you may not care about your wellbeing—but I do. Please respect that."
His smiled faded. He lay a palm on her shoulder. "I'm sorry," he sighed. "I don't intend to belittle your kindness. I'm grateful for your concern, but it is unwarranted. I'm—"
She caught him when he stumbled. He grasped her hip tightly to ensure he wouldn't fall. "Yes," said Padme, "you're as healthy as a bantha. Lie down, you poor fool."
Padme led him to his bedroom, guiding him to bed. He placed his head on the pillow, shutting his eyes, brow wrinkled in pain.
Padme sat in a chair beside him. She wished more than anything to uncoil his hurt, physically and in the spirit—but would her Jedi allow her to see that pain?
She knew he trusted her more than anyone. She'd seen him vulnerable. But he was a hypocrite about burdens. He welcomed her problems, soothed her insecurities. Yet he felt immense guilt about sharing his own. But as much as it perturbed her, she had to accept it. Selflessness was core to his makeup. Change that and you change him. She adored him as he was.
After a few minutes' silence, he rolled his head toward her. "I'm sorry, Padme."
"About what?"
"Not telling you what I knew about the war. It was difficult for me. But I couldn't allow our friendship—"
"Obi-Wan, it's okay," she interrupted. "I understand why you didn't tell me. I'm not angry with you."
His gratitude showed.
"But there's something you should know," she said firmly. "I'm coming with you tomorrow."
Obi-Wan frowned. "I think not."
"Considering I'm supplying the credits and the ship—while secreting your mission from the Senate—your bargaining position is really quite poor."
The Jedi sighed. It was a terrible idea. Aside from his personal feelings, Padme's presence would raise their profile. "Padme, I can't allow that. You're too important to the Senate—and your absence would invite inquiry."
"I'll feign illness. We'll say I'm at the temple hospital, consulting Jedi healers."
"And your Senate obligations?"
"If the mission fails, there will be nothing to vote on."
After a self-respecting silence, Obi-Wan lamented. "All right. But I have conditions."
"I'm listening."
"You will not put yourself in unnecessary danger. And you will accept my leadership, the same as everyone."
"I understand."
"Then welcome aboard," Obi-Wan said, scraping his face with the heel of his palm.
His pain was palpable. Without concern for his reaction, she sat down on the bed, coaxing his head from the pillow to her lap.
"Padme?"
"It's all right..."
Too tired to object, he shut his eyes. Padme's fingers found his temples, lightly kneading, earning a contended sigh.
After a time, her hands slid to his hair. Her manicured nails raked over his scalp. His breath slowed, deepened, until at last he was asleep.
The pain lines vanished. Padme marveled at how youthful he looked. Without his beard, he'd be mistaken for a padawan.
She brushed his hair back, shutting her own eyes. For that moment, the war didn't touch her.
Dooku stared sourly at the canvass of stars. "It's dangerous to send Vader. His power and instability are growing in tandem. If he learns the Architects' secrets, we won't be able to control him."
Sidious hummed in pleasure. "Lord Vader shall fulfill his destiny."
His words were certain, an outcome already viewed. It sounded like a plan hatched precreation, crystallized now after billions of years.
"What destiny?" Dooku asked.
Sidious smiled, showing jagged yellow teeth.
Palmer Trask was a late arrival to the temple. At age seven, he was the fifth-oldest youngling ever accepted. Yet experience judged him older.
His father, Aurelian Trask, had a dark disposition. Aurelian was a miner, digging out ore on Mimban and Mustafar, and he adopted the latter planet's volatile disposition. When he was around, which wasn't often, the house was filled with an angry miasma. Palmer's father did wrong. And his mother abided it.
The sun beat down on the old tent. He turned a crystal in his hands, cool brown eyes judging the divots. Finding it worthless, he pitched it to the sand.
Palmer raked a hand through thin brown hair that hung wet to his shoulders. His mouth, traced by a mustache, anchored a weathered face that was aging most harshly.
He paused suddenly, eyes narrowed. A dark presence was approaching outside.
Palmer ducked through the tent flap. He found himself meeting the gaze of Darth Vader.
"Salutations," Palmer said.
After three hours' sleep, Obi-Wan woke. In Padme's place was a note saying she'd gone to the Senate. After securing what they needed, she'd return to the temple. Mace had arranged quarters for the evening.
Obi-Wan left his room feeling more rested. With a less severe limp, he crossed the temple to Landon's quarters. He rang the chime outside.
Landon answered with a grin, wet from a shower but properly dressed. "Well, look what the cat dragged in," he drawled. "They told me you were dead!"
"Is that right?"
"Either they said it, or I thought it. Either way, I guess you ain't. So congratulations."
"Thank you," Obi-Wan deadpanned. When Landon didn't move, he asked: "May I come in?"
"Sure, Boss." He led him to the living area. "Make yourself at home. After all, it's more yours than mine."
Obi-Wan sat on a chair edge, signaling a short visit. Landon reclined on the couch, his one good hand posed behind his head.
"I have a proposition," Obi-Wan said.
"The lucrative kind?"
"Not particularly, no."
Landon's tone sharpened. "What's in it for me then?"
"Probably nothing," said Obi-Wan.
"Aren't you supposed to be the Negotiator? This pitch is garbage."
"I was planning to exploit your ego," explained Obi-Wan, "but you wouldn't fall for that, would you?"
"Works well for pretty women, but you? No."
"I guess you don't care about being celebrated as a Republic hero."
The smuggler gave him a pointed look. He didn't like being played with. "Republic. Sith. Just names."
Obi-Wan nodded politely, easing off the chair. "I won't waste your time then. Sorry for having bothered you. I'll be leaving tomorrow. Lieutenant Crata and the senator, also. But you're welcome to stay here as long as you need."
He made his way to the door, feeling Landon track him. The smuggler was caught between pride and pragmatism. He hated that he needed Obi-Wan, but he knew he did. He'd just killed two people in a Coruscant bar and left his blaster at the scene. It was only a matter of time until the authorities (or more of Neecho's men) found him. Remarkably, a secret Jedi mission was the safest place to be.
Landon blew out a breath. "This better be good, Kenobi."
At the height of day, the blinds cleaved the light from Coruscant's sun, so that in shone in the room in slivers. Yoda, Mace, and Obi-Wan sat in a triangle, hunched forward contemplatively.
The Force filled the room like a separate air, no less needed or elemental. It carried dread through Mace's body. The Force had never been so so imbalanced. They were hurtling toward a conflict to decide the fate of all sentients.
Mace wasn't a man to second-guess his convictions. But at the edge of oblivion, he had to allow the question: were he and the Order arrogant? How did they permit the rise of Sidious, allow the fall of so many Jedi? Perhaps the worst part was that these answers didn't matter. There was no undoing their many mistakes. Their only hope was an ancient artifact and a steadfast, but average, Obi-Wan Kenobi.
"I sense a change coming," Mace said.
Yoda squinted his eyes.
"I sense it also," said Obi-Wan. "The Sith's rise to power, many years ago, is somehow connected to my mission."
Mace arched an eyebrow. His friend seldom shared visions. "How?"
"I can't explain it. But I would stake my life on it."
"Strange feelings, these are," Yoda said. "Always in motion, the future is; yet so, in its own way, is the past."
The mysterious words hung in the air.
Yoda looked on the man before him, shielded from scrutiny by a beard. And his mind traveled through time. He remembered a man with longer, lighter hair; and a clean-shaven teen; and an ebullient boy who loved his master. And then he went further; he followed baby to womb, and fetus to seed, and seed to creation. But he found no answers, only affirmation of how precious the Force held him.
"Our last hope, you are, Obi-Wan."
The box spring creaked as Obi-Wan sat. Anakin's eyes cracked open: "Master Kenobi?"
"Hello, Anakin."
The dire voice startled Anakin to alertness. He rubbed at his eyes. "What're you doing here?"
Obi-Wan's forehead crinkled. He swallowed hard, staring at the ground. "There's something you need to know. I wanted to tell you before you sensed it."
"What's happened?"
Anakin's innocence nearly broke him. Obi-Wan fussed with the covers, opening his mouth but finding no words.
"Is it Master Qui-Gon?"
Obi-Wan blinked back tears. He pushed back the boy's hair and gave a small nod.
Obi-Wan blinked. "I'm sorry?"
"I said I found a doctor," Padme repeated. "He comes highly recommended from Senator Organa."
The Jedi smiled in gratitude, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Send me his information. I'll add him to the mission roster."
Obi-Wan led her to her guest quarters. By now, reports were out about her illness. He thought, for the hundredth time, about the danger she'd face. But then, she'd always been fearless.
No, not fearless. But she had a strong constitution reinforced by her friend.
Obi-Wan received her support in kind. It's this symbiosis that makes room for courage.
Yet calling her 'friend' demeaned her importance. What else could he call her? What else did he want to?
"Obi-Wan, can I ask you something?" He snapped from his reverie, nodding yes. "Do you think it's possible," asked Padme, "to have a memory, something you've repressed or forgotten, manifest in a dream?"
Obi-Wan studied her. "Yes. There's things we bury. Sometimes the Force, or a new trauma, can surface them."
He stopped in front of her guest quarters. "We're here," he said.
Padme forced a smile. "Well, thank you very much, Master Jedi."
"Was there some reason you asked that—about dreams?"
"It's nothing. Don't worry about it."
"Well, we should both get some sleep. We leave in the morning."
"I'll meet you at the landing pad," Padme said. "I left orders with Republic Intelligence to load our provisions."
"Republic Intelligence?"
"They don't ask questions like the army office."
Obi-Wan smiled bemusedly. "You are very wise, milady, and I will be pleased to have your counsel," he said, puzzling when her cheeks pinkened. "I'll leave you now to get a good night's rest."
Just barely smiling, she thumbed the door open. She held his gaze for far too long. "Sleep well, Obi-Wan."
"Sleep well, milady."