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Chapter 26

No One is Special

Four long days had passed since Axxila. Contemplative by nature, Obi-Wan thrived in the fraught silence of the Tangent. His choices were assessed and buried, and dug up and assessed, buried and dug up, and so on and so on.

There was a traitor among his crew. The Sith had a head start. He had no explanation for Padme's memory. Miler Crata was dead. And Aayla teetered at the chasm of the Dark Side. These things, in sum, formed a wound in the Force where Obi-Wan touched it. Thus he shut the Force out for hours at a time. In these moments, he was truly afraid of what he felt.

Obi-Wan restricted access to important locations. External communication was suspended indefinitely.

He was sitting in the cockpit when Julian's voice rang through his comlink. "Obi-Wan, you wanted to know when..."

"Thank you, Doctor."

Landon squinted against the light. He was in a bed, covered in white sheets. He couldn't feel his hand, but his fingers were flexing.

"Can you hear me?" asked Julian. "You're in sick bay. Aboard the Dawn Tangent. You were in very rough shape, but you're going to be fine."

Obi-Wan leaned down, gripping the bed rail. "Landon, I need you to focus. What happened on Axxila?" Landon cringed. His eyes squeezed shut. "What happened to Miler?"

Julian said, "He's in no shape to be interrogated."

"I would think you, of all people, would want to know what happened!"

"Step back from my patient," the doctor demanded. "You're in charge of this mission but not my infirmary."

Obi-Wan's forbidding mien broke. He knew not the origin of his spontaneous rancor. "Indeed, I am not," his voice deflated. "You'll be all right, Mister Solo. We'll talk when you're well."

Obi-Wan touched the doctor's arm. "I'll send R2 to look after him. You're needed in the briefing."

The crew assembled in stellar cartography. Holographs of the planet Mareth projected through the room.

Quinn led the briefing with obsessive precision. "Ten years ago, there was a deadly plague. We know very little about the pathogen. We only know it spread quickly—and was deemed incurable."

"I studied the records," Julian added. "It was lacking in detail. The documentation was, frankly, disgraceful."

Quinn continued, "The Republic could not allow it to get off-world. We quarantined Mareth and set up a defense grid. No one has entered; no one has left. There's been no communication in the last ten years."

"We'll have to use hazard suits," Obi-Wan said. "We have no way of knowing if the plague is still active."

Julian said, "It's pretty cold-blooded. We left them there to die."

Quinn moved to one side so corpse holographs framed him. "When there are only bad choices, moral ground becomes flat."

"That's charming," Julian grumbled.

Obi-Wan mused that the men were the two colors of a chance cube. Quinn saw the galaxy through an assassin droid's eyes. Julian's heart had a porch light and a mat that said Welcome. "Let's focus on the lives that can still be saved," Obi-Wan said.

"I agree," said Padme. "But Julian's right. Whoever's left won't be happy to see us. Even before the quarantine, they didn't like the Republic."

"Why not?" asked Aayla.

"Mareth was controversial. It has a memory-based economy." At Aayla's frown, Padme explained: "They don't use credits. Goods and services are paid for with memories."

"How does that work?" Aayla puzzled. "Every person is different. The government can't tell you what your memories are worth."

Palmer smirked in the corner. "Why not? They tell you what to do. They might as well tell you what it's worth to have done it."

Padme moved to the center of the room. This was the same conversation she'd had in the Senate. "Value isn't fixed. If you go buy a speeder, the dealer tells you what memory he'll accept. A family vacation, a perfect first date..."

"That's barbaric," said Julian. "Losing your memories..."

"I agree. I constantly fought with Mareth's delegation. Bail Organa worked with me; we tried to make them adopt credits. But we didn't succeed. The whole planet hated me."

"You also voted for the quarantine," Quinn pointed out. "I do not expect cooperation. We must hope the Sith are tardy."

Obi-Wan nodded against the wall of a closed fist. Mareth's survivors (if there were any) wouldn't help the Republic. Obi-Wan's only resource would be his crew. "We need a place to start. Mister Trask: I welcome your suggestions."

Palmer commandeered the projector. The holograph of an ancient temple filled the whole room.

"What am I looking at?" Obi-Wan asked.

Palmer explained, "Mareth didn't let outsiders study their ruins. This is the only panoramic holograph we have on record."

Julian frowned. "How is that even possible? A tourist can take holographs."

"Every site was locked down," Quinn interjected. "Over the years, they killed thousands of trespassers."

Padme said, "That begs the question: what are they hiding?"

Obi-Wan looked between Palmer and Quinn. "Tell me about the holograph."

Quinn made to speak until Palmer brushed past him. The historian snarled unseen by his counterpart. Palmer walked through the hologram, squatting by a pillar. "Most of the text is unreadable, but there's one fragment here."

Quinn said, "Third-Era Marethene. That places it around 40,000 BE. It's incredibly well preserved. I would value—"

"The translation, Quinn," Obi-Wan demanded.

"I believe it says, 'You are the echo.'"

Only his mastery of the Force prevented Obi-Wan's gasp. Heat rolled through his limbs, and he stared straight down.

"What does that mean?" Aayla asked.

Quinn said, "I do not know the reference."

"When born you were, an echo in the Force, I felt." Obi-Wan walked to the pillar, inspecting the script. It was neatly written, compact but elegant, with a trademark flourish at the end of each word. The Jedi knew his own writing when he saw it.

Obi-Wan demanded answers from the Force over its searing disapproval. But he couldn't make sense of what it gave him. He turned away, concealing his consternation.

"Who recorded this?" asked Julian. "When was it taken?"

Palmer ghosted a grin as he studied Obi-Wan. "No one knows. It was received at the Jedi Temple nineteen years ago."

"Before you left," Quinn realized.

"I thought nothing of it. Mareth didn't interest me."

Obi-Wan blinked, pulling back from the Force. "Do you know where it was taken?"

"There's nothing to cross-reference," said Palmer. "It could be anywhere."

"Then we'll have to find someone who does know."

Julian said, "It's one site out of hundreds. Are you sure it's important?"

Obi-Wan stroked his beard, masking a grim expression. "It's the lead we have. Whoever sent this to the Jedi must have had a reason."

The doctor posed another question: "There's still the matter of the defense grid. How do you plan to get through?"

"I pulled the decryption key from Republic intelligence," said Obi-Wan. "R2 can transmit."

Quinn told Padme: "We should take precautions, Senator. Your reception may be... lukewarm."

Padme smiled acidly. "I will rely on my protectors."

"Your trust inspires," Obi-Wan deadpanned. "It's five hours until orbit. Let's all be ready. Dismissed."

Aayla's thoughts were a reel, assembled out of order from despair-ridden celluloid. She kept it together in the briefing, but every moment of calm promised turmoil later.

She sniffed twice before rising. Taking her saber, she entered the corridor.

Halfway to the cockpit, she found Obi-Wan at a viewport. He was staring at the structure orbiting Mareth. The defense grid was comprised of nine spheres, with thick bands of energy coursing between them. Together, they deployed a shimmering field that blocked traffic both ways. There was beauty, mystery, in its slight undulation. But Obi-Wan knew the field was a death sentence.

"R2 should have us through in a few minutes," Obi-Wan said. Aayla forced a tight smile, remaining silent. "About before—I apologize if I—" The Force screamed a warning at his gentleness. Aayla was walking Vader's path. But he chose his humanity over Jedi duty.

"I'm angry, too, Aayla," he admitted with creeping fear. "That's why attachments are forbidden. But I had one to Miler. And I have one to you. I'm not afraid for you because it's my duty. I'm afraid because I love you."

His invocation of love brought sweet memories gone rancid to Aayla's mind. She shoved her hands deeper into the pockets of Miler's jacket.

He said, "The Force is not fair, Aayla. I once believed otherwise, but I've seen too much. The Light demands we walk one road. And cast away anything impeding our stride. It asks the impossible. And it plies us with nothing but the knowledge we're 'good.'"

In his mind's eye, he saw Vader thrust into Padme. "There are infinite paths that lead to the Dark Side. That is the Sith's strength. The slightest bitterness can change our course." Aayla lifted her head. The imploring look on his face frightened her. He said, "No one turns to the Dark Side for what they think are the wrong reasons."

Suddenly his comlink cried: "Bweeep."

Obi-Wan looked out the viewport. The force field was gone. He touched Aayla's face before turning to the cockpit. "I'm coming, R2."

"What kind of 'activity?'" Obi-Wan demanded.

R2 said, "In the past week, we are the third ship to transmit the key."

"The Sith are already here then. Somehow they gained access to Republic intelligence files." He didn't tell R2 about the saboteur. That knowledge was restricted. His brain was moving on when it stopped cold with realization. "'The third ship to transmit,'" he repeated. "That means the other two didn't come together."

"Affirmative. There were three days between them."

Obi-Wan filed that for later. "Anything else?"

"I found an anomaly," R2 said. "Repeating every day since the defense grid was activated."

"Specify."

"A small data packet. The force field drops for one one-millionth of a second, allowing the packet to pass through."

Obi-Wan frowned. "What's in the data packet?"

"Unknown."

He pinched his chin between his thumb and pointer. "Could someone lower the force field without the decryption key?"

"Theoretically."

"Then theorize."

"Could the Force not achieve this?"

"Wielded sufficiently," Obi-Wan said. Almost immediately, he wanted to dismiss it. This was a planet-wide force field. Very few people had power on that scale. But very few is not none. "Keep this to yourself," he told R2.

The sentient mind is a marvel. But faced with trauma, it loses integrity. When something bad happens, we can usually be strong while the moment demands it. We can even be strong when no one's watching. But when people inquire as to how we're doing, and we accept their sincerity, we acquaint with the tears we gave up waiting on.

Julian understood this. Thus he kept his voice plain. "Landon woke up," he said from the doorway. "I thought you'd want to know."

Aayla nodded silently. They turned their heads to see Padme walk past.

"We're about to land," she announced.

They walked to the cockpit, where Obi-Wan was piloting.

Mareth, from space, looked sublimely unusual. Its composition was only twenty percent ocean, and the royal blues were more beautiful for their relative scarcity. Modest ice sheets covered the poles, contrasting the planet's jungles and deserts. The husks of dead starships were trapped in orbit.

Palmer reported, "Life signs are concentrated on the eastern continent. It looks like one large city. The rest of the planet's barely inhabited."

"Then we know where we're going," Obi-Wan said.

Vast cities were derelict, mausoleums for millions of the dead. In ten short years, nature had reclaimed much of the environment. Skyscraping obelisks were choked by vines. Predators, prey played their zero-sum game in the heart of downtown.

Many cities had been abandoned, but some had been sacked. The capital city was barely recognizable. Where once there were bridges, only pylons remained. The Capitol dome was so much rubble. Decomposed bodies lay among garbage.

Padme felt herself blanching. "This wasn't just the plague. Someone destroyed it."

Aayla said, "If the Sith are—"

"It wasn't the Sith," Obi-Wan said. "This happened years ago."

Palmer stood at the scanner. "We should see it soon. The city's called Cuimhn."

"We're totally in the dark," Julian lamented. "Even with the suits, we're taking a big risk."

Padme asked, "Did you think saving the galaxy would be safe?"

"I'm giving you my medical opinion, Senator. Do what you want with it."

She graciously ignored him, knowing grief was in his tone. His words were forgotten when she looked out the window.

The city of Cuimhn came into focus. It began on shore, and sprawled over the ocean, stretching thousands of miles beyond the horizon. Cuimhn took inspiration from bustling Coruscant. It had a similar aesthetic, and the same stacking layout that placed building upon building, until the clouds marked the end of bombastic spires. But it was far less dense, better optimized. Cuimhn's white-orange palette created the appearance of a constant sunset.

Five small drones streaked by the Tangent. Screeching sirens signaled concern. They formed a wall by the window, matching speed with the ship.

The radio crackled, and a terse male voice filled the Tangent cockpit: "Unknown aircraft, this is control. We are transmitting coordinates to a landing pad. You are directed to land immediately. Failure to comply will result in your destruction."

"Acknowledged, control," Obi-Wan said. "Unknown will comply."

Docking clamps seized the Dawn Tangent. Obi-Wan and Padme descended the ramp wearing hazard suits.

It was a military complex, judging by the armored guards. Obi-Wan grinned at their risible complement, all clamoring for action.

A Primly Dressed Woman received Obi-Wan and Padme. Her unrepentant stare revealed a lifelong bureaucrat. She had just the right levels of annoyance and apathy. The Woman's hair was drawn back in a very tight bun.

There was every indication the air was safe to breathe. Ordinarily, Obi-Wan would be cautious. But in their present situation, diplomacy prevailed.

Obi-Wan's helmet slid off with a hiss. "Hello there."

The Woman studied him as Padme unmasked. "Welcome to Mareth, Master Jedi."

"Thank you. This is—"

"Senator Padme Amidala." Wandering anger congealed to a vicious smile. "Of Naboo, if I recall."

Padme couldn't count the number of men she'd condemned to death throughout the war. But the dead cannot speak. These people could. Padme's suit gloves hid her tremor.

"My reputation precedes me," Padme managed. "Is this..."

"The last outpost of our people," The Woman said. "The rest of the world is lost. We take extreme measures to protect what remains."

Her parlous undercurrent didn't shake Obi-Wan. "It is very important that we speak with your leadership."

"May I ask what it pertains to?"

"I'm afraid this matter requires strictest confidence," Obi-Wan said.

The Woman squinted. "It is not everyone who may meet with the Premiere. Fewer, still, who come from off-world."

"Are we not the first?" Obi-Wan asked knowingly.

When there was no reply, Padme interjected: "This is very important. Lives are at stake. You can't imagine how many."

With a sneering laugh, not quite believing Padme's audacity, the Woman said, "All things are possible for one who pays the cost."

"What is your price?" Obi-Wan asked.

He might've expected her pleasure at the question. The Woman produced a small object from inside her coat. It was a thin blue disc, hollow at the center and one inch in diameter. Tiny serrations covered one side.

Obi-Wan knew right away: it was a cognator. Their awful means of extracting memories. "I would suggest an alternative. One with real value."

"What a quaint notion: the Jedi who refutes intangibles' value."

"I will not judge your way of life. But we are not part of it."

"Judgment is implicit in your refusal. And in your choice of companions," she said with a glance at Padme. "Master Jedi, do you even know why we chose this way of life?" His indulgent silence launched her into a lesson. "Two hundreds years ago, before we joined the Republic, our world was ruled by an oligarchy. The state controlled everything: food, manufacturing, news. An aristocracy thrived while the rest of us suffered."

The Woman peered coldly at the space between them. "Revolution was inevitable. The campaign was long, bloody, and successful. But nothing so confounds a revolutionary as the end of the revolution. We controlled the planet, but we couldn't change the past. We carried our pain. The wealthy carried remembrance of comfort."

Padme's throat felt tight.

"The ones we let live rotted in jail," The Woman said. "But every time they closed their eyes, they escaped to another world. A world far better than the one they left us."

Obi-Wan said, "You wanted the powerful to feel your pain."

"No, Master Jedi. We wanted the pained to feel powerful." The Woman held up the disc between her thumb and pointer. Her chin tilted fiercely, and she stared at Obi-Wan. "You are not special. No one is special. You will pay our price, or you will leave our planet."

He took the disc in his hand. Padme's apoplectic visage, laid bare to The Woman, broke Obi-Wan's heart. He fought tooth and nail to stay centered in the Force.

He pressed the disc to his temple. A soft grunt ripped free as it pierced his skin. Little pincers fixed it in place. The disc glowed brightly, signaling function. "How does it work?" he asked.

"You will simply think of a memory. Your cognator will transfer it to my brain."

"Tell me what you want."

Bestial elation filled the woman's eyes. "Your best memory of Padme Amidala."

The color drained from Padme's face. Obi-Wan tried to block it out, but his blood was chilled by her utter dismay. There was, of course, no choice. No one's whisper, not even Padme's, could outshout the cries of trillions.

"Obi-Wan..." Padme said helplessly.

One memory, he reasoned to himself. His bond with Padme didn't hinge on a moment. But the memory that presented was more precious than anything. Living without it was as inconceivable as it was inevitable.

"Very well," said Obi-Wan.

"Your cognator will provide a preview," The Woman said. "The first moments of your memory will project as a hologram. This allows me to confirm the memory is sufficient."

"There will be no preview. You have my word the memory will suffice."

The Woman regarded him as a crow does the expiring. "Terms are agreed," she said after a moment. "You may find it helps to close your eyes."

Padme smeared a tear from her forlorn face.

The dignified Jedi shut his eyes lightly. His head flinched back. The cognator flashed. There was REM-like movement behind his lids. Childlike fear came over Padme. This wasn't right. It was vile. Who would he be? He wouldn't remember.

Obi-Wan gasped and his eyes shot open.

There was something there, a soft hand in vapor, rapidly receding like dreams when we wake. He tried to hold on. He tried to remember. But there was only a faint shape of stolen jubilation.

He felt fingers on his arm. "I'm all right," he said strangely.

Riotous mirth filled the Woman's eyes. She alone knew what Obi-Wan chose. There was something real, something eternal, between Obi-Wan and Padme, and she'd carved out a trophy to remind her how she hurt them.

"Was it worth it, Master Jedi?"

"I will see your Premiere now," Obi-Wan said.