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Chapter 36
The Blood Will Speak
Obi-Wan's choices were controversial. Aayla remained confined to her quarters. R2 and Julian would stay with the Tangent. Everyone else would join him at the ruins.
While others were preparing, Palmer went to see Aayla. He used a stolen code to enter her quarters.
Aayla jumped to her feet. "What are you doing here?"
Her heady mix of anger and grief brought him indescribable pleasure. "I want to tell you a story," came his wet voice.
"Perhaps I'll simply end yours," Aayla warned.
Palmer laughed beneath his breath. "You could burn me alive and my embers would destroy you. That's the beauty of the Force."
"There is no beauty in the Force. It's a broken mirror."
"You may find it persists in one of its shards."
Aayla summoned patience. In her present situation, it could only help her to listen. She signaled acquiescence by sitting on the bed.
"My story is a happy story," Palmer told her. "You won't think it at first. But let it seep in. Let it fill the holes in you." An eerie grin spread over his face. "When I was a child, my father mined lava. I don't know what he was like before he spilled his seed. But the man I knew burned hotter than Mustafar. He used to tie me to a pillar and whip my back. If I talked back, made a mess, did poorly in school: he'd break every bone in my face. This is not my true appearance; my face was reconstructed at least five times. There are times when I look at infants that I love them for their realness.
"I was punished many times in many ways. But his favorite was a branding iron. There's a mess of symbols all down my back. The pain, man; the god damn pain. I cried for my mother to show me her love. To protect me from evil. To show me another way. He was evil and she was weak, and I hated then, as now, weakness over evil.
"One day, I decided it was over. I simply decided my destiny was at hand. In one beautiful moment of transcendent realization, I discovered the Force. I nearly beat them to death, before taking them to the bridge that overlooked a volcanic lake. They pleaded for their lives. They told me they would change. I cannot describe the cleansing pleasure when I threw them in the lake. When I watched them burn alive. Heard the pleading screams from their melting faces.
"I returned home to call the sheriff. I said my parents were missing. He took one look at the ruined house and concluded they were kidnapped. I knew my parents' file was going in a drawer. For a planet that hot, there were only cold cases.
"The sheriff placed me in an orphanage. That's where the Jedi found me."
Aayla stared into nothing. She didn't understand. Where was his anger? Did he not possess guilt? She thought he might've been an echo of a person. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because the Jedi lie. The Sith lie. You can have your vengeance without walking in the dark forever. Watching them burn in that fire was the best moment of my life."
"Why were you a Jedi? For all of those years."
"They brought me there to use me, but instead I used them."
Aayla swallowed. "You didn't believe? In the Code? In anything?"
Palmer could feel her sliding from the light. She scrabbled for handholds to ease her descent, but one by one, Palmer chopped them away, so she might see the gray expanse as her inevitable future. "I have my own morals. They suit my interests."
He tapped his finger on his saber. "You're going to be all alone. I'm sure you can find a way out of this room."
"And what do I do then?" Aayla whispered.
"Whatever you want."
Brummel came upon Palmer exiting Aayla's quarters.
"The mighty Sentinel," Palmer grinned. "Hero of the people. Can I get your autograph, man? Make it out, 'Here lies...'"
"What were you doing?" Brummel asked.
Palmer turned down his mouth, but his eyes were still smiling. "Advising a colleague. She's had a rough time."
"A kindness?"
"Just something to amuse myself," Palmer said.
Brummel's ever-bleak mien was more than a match for him. "I'm glad you're amusing someone."
The mirth died in Palmer's eyes. "The most dangerous man will laugh and laugh, until there's something needs doing. Even then, I might laugh. Is that the last thing you wanna hear when you leave this world?"
Silence fell like an anvil between them.
Finally, Brummel asked, "How small is your dick, Palmer?"
"It fits on the Dawn Tangent."
"Then it must be around here somewhere," Brummel said helpfully.
Landon sat at a workbench reassembling his blaster.
It used to annoy him maintaining his weapon, but it was like a meditation now, in line with his new purpose. He couldn't be a good man, but he could protect one.
"Isn't that R2's job?" Padme asked.
"It needs a human touch."
"Hmm."
Landon's blaster grip clicked into place. "Are you sure wanna come? Not trying to doubt you. But we don't know what's out there."
Padme smiled with genuine curiosity. "Is that concern in your voice?"
"Maybe. I'm not myself these days."
"I did marvel at your passion defending that girl."
Landon set down the blaster. It wasn't quite finished. His head shook and he squinted. "I think there's some wires crossed. My son. Miler. My brain's fucked up. But I don't wanna fight it."
She said after a silence, "You think if you do the right thing, at the right moment, you'll make up for the wrong you've done." Padme shrugged, ghosting a smile. "It's worth a try."
Landon laughed silently. An alien feeling passed through him like a breeze. Do you call it hope?
Julian questioned the wisdom of leaving him behind. A doctor would mitigate the danger of their excursion. But that wasn't his call.
Engrossed in these thoughts, he didn't hear Obi-Wan enter the infirmary.
"I know you aren't thrilled," Obi-Wan said. "But I need someone I trust here: with the ship and Aayla."
Julian looked at him tiredly. "You've made a right of mess of her. We both have."
Unwanted bitterness tinged Obi-Wan's tone. "She has no patent on pain. I expect her to do her duty."
"Then you expect too much," Julian said. "In any case, you have bigger things to worry about. What you—future you—did is unconscionable. But it's not inevitable. I believe in my heart you're an honorable man."
Obi-Wan flattened his mouth. His hands disappeared into the folds of his cloak. He seemed to shrink to initiate's size, and the smallness of his voice increased the effect.
"Perhaps your heart is wrong."
Seven horses galloped through the desert. Their route to the ruins was long and unusual. Obi-Wan didn't trust Vorka, and he wouldn't put it past Karn to have them killed.
It was a silent trip. Each crewman possessed a secret pain, wielded against themselves, certain it was greater than anyone else's. Remember what I said about selflessness? That it could be illusion? It occurs to me Jedi spend a lot of time thinking about themselves.
Neither Vorka's mercenaries, nor Karn's army, intercepted them. But after five hot hours, when they climbed off their horses, he still had a sick feeling.
The Temple of the Holy Builders tributed the Architects who once governed Mareth. By its size and detail, they were clearly revered. Even to Palmer, who'd seen thousands of ruins, the site was impressive.
A crumbled portico led them into a columned courtyard. At the center of the superstructure was a set of steps leading down to a series of chambers. Elaborate etchings marked every column, limestone persisting through millennia of sand storms.
Modern trappings interfered with the ruins' splendor. Researchers had installed walkways in the substructure for convenient traversal. On the surface, a chain-link ceiling capped the columns.
Obi-Wan wiped his face with a rag. "Start talking, Quinn."
"Funereal structure. Built to honor an Architect. We even find a coffin."
Palmer looked at his compass. "The orientation: it's perfectly north to south. Same as Halm's structures."
"What does that mean?" Padme asked.
"It means this is a Mercian site. Levolent temples are oriented east to west."
Obi-Wan wondered how he knew that, but thought it pointless to ask. He squatted by a pillar, reading the inscription that Quinn previously translated: You are the echo. "Coda, I need an analysis."
She ran her scanner along the carving. Her confounded gasp brought everyone over. "This etching is only 19 years old."
"Robbers?" asked Landon. "Some dumb kid?"
"Not likely," Coda said. "Our old security measures were... severe."
Obi-Wan asked, "Is there anything else? Compounds, tools—anything unusual?"
Coda shook her head. "Standard chisel. No anomalies."
"Then our answers lie elsewhere. Coda, Palmer, Padme: see what you can find up here. Quinn, Landon: with me."
"You got it, Boss," Landon said.
Brummel smirked at not being ordered. Good: the Jedi was learning. He strolled back to the portico and let the punishing sun work at his visage.
Obi-Wan walked down the stairs to the substructure. At the bottom began the artificial walkway installed by modern explorers. A granite ramp and durasteel railings terminated one foot from the walls on each side of the corridor. Elaborate pictograms completely surrounded them.
On the ceiling was a star chart. From what Obi-Wan could tell, the planet positions were outdated by millions of years. Embedded throughout the chart were humanoid figures in black or white robes, each figure associated with a given planet.
"I know a war map when I see it," Obi-Wan said.
In his mind, Quinn approximated stellar drift to identify the planets. His fascinated grunt echoed through the corridor. "Coruscant," he pointed. "It was Levolent territory."
Landon said, "Perfect place for the Jedi Temple."
Obi-Wan gave him a withering look. "Keep moving."
When they reached the second corridor, he noted how it abruptly fanned out, measuring eight meters wider than its counterpart. In all likelihood, Mareth's kingship changed hands during construction, and the new ruler had a different vision.
The aesthetic was different, too. The art was more modern, though the methods and materials still matched the first corridor.
Obi-Wan couldn't fashion a story from the images. "Any idea what we're looking at?"
"I think this guy's using the john," Landon said.
Quinn gestured to a drawing of loin-clothed men carrying a white-robed man on a stretcher. His hands were folded on his chest, and resting on them was a thorny blue flower. "Desert ganza. They posed it on the dead, so the gods could follow the smell, and retrieve their soul before it withered."
"I could've used one of those, a long time ago," Landon said.
Obi-Wan creased his face thoughtfully. "A Mercian. This is his tomb. I wonder how he died."
"I'm gonna guess it wasn't old age," Landon said. "But he must've been big time, or they wouldn't have built this."
Quinn said, "The imbecile is correct."
"You couldn't just give me that?"
"He appears to be a member of the ruling council. You can tell by his gold wrist gauntlets."
Obi-Wan suddenly had a thought. Coda's memory had been wiped, but could she still retain an inkling of the knowledge she'd lost? Perhaps seeing an image would spark her subconscious, surface something that happened thousands of years ago. "Landon, go see if they've found anything. And bring Coda back with you."
"Will do. Be careful, Boss. Who knows what's down here?"
Obi-Wan touched his arm. "The only ghosts who can hurt me aren't in this chamber."
"All this time, academics treated these sites as religious," Padme said. "It makes me wonder. There's millions of creation myths..."
Coda studied her scanner readings. "It's all one myth, Padme."
"What's that?"
"Once there was a void, and every soul slept. And then someone woke up. And he gave everyone else a time when they would wake, too. Our only quarrel is why he did it."
"Why do you think he did it?"
"Because he's afraid of the dark," Coda said.
Landon climbed the steps from the substructure. He wore a smile on his soot-covered face. "Coda! Boss man wants—"
Brummel turned from the portico, striding toward them. "Coda—Amidala—time to pack up," he said in a grim monotone.
"What's going on?" Padme demanded. Then she heard a rumble, coming fast from a distance, that she'd later discover was thirty-five men.
Brummel said, "We're about to have guests. Gather up the horses; ride two miles east. We'll find you when it's done."
"We're not gonna leave you!" cried Coda. "Hand me a blaster!"
Padme tried her comlink before recalling it wouldn't work. She dashed for the stairs—stymied by Brummel.
"Let me go!"
"Check your ego," Brummel said. "Do you wanna play soldier—or do you want your friends to live?"
Landon winced. "Padme, you're the bravest woman I've ever met, but this isn't your fight. Yours either, Coda. I'll watch their backs."
Emotion reigned over logic. She simply wouldn't leave Obi-Wan. Nothing and no one could command her to move.
"We're staying," said Padme. "We can help."
The disgust on his face almost staggered her. Brummel deployed his claws with a snarl. "Coda, stick to my shadow if you wanna live. Amidala: go find Prince Charming. You're his problem."
Palmer laughed. His saber snap-hissed.
Obi-Wan and Quinn entered the burial chamber. At the center of the chamber lay the Mercian's sarcophagus, resting in a burial pit roped off by researchers. The sarcophagus should have been the color of dust. But its granite facade gleamed like new.
"Someone beat us here," Obi-Wan said.
"Vorka?" Quinn wondered.
"Well, it certainly wasn't Maul."
Obi-Wan raised his lantern to assess the five pillars flanking the chamber walls. Whatever story belonged there was defaced from existence. He crouched down, throwing light along the floor. "The debris's still here. This just happened."
Quinn concluded, "Vorka's men found something. And they don't want us following. But how did Vorka know we were coming here?"
Obi-Wan assumed the saboteur, having lost his Sith allies, struck a deal with Vorka. But how did they do it right under his nose?
"I wish I knew," he said.
Obi-Wan returned to the sarcophagus. A halcyon face, recessed in granite, stared like the father he was cursed to never know. Its nose was chipped off, and its narrow eyes were too high, driving attention to generous cheeks. Below its jawline, a scantly carved neck connected to a chest adorned with a coat of arms.
"A serpent and a tree," Obi-Wan said.
"Like the drawing of the Mercy Seat."
Obi-Wan examined the crack between lid and container. He pulled on the lid, which didn't budge. "There's a lock—on the inside. Vorka's men couldn't breach it."
He forced the lock with a thought. Quinn joined him in removing the lid. They were halfway done when a breathless Padme stumbled into the chamber.
"Obi-Wan!"
"What's wrong?"
"We're about to have company! I don't know how many!"
He narrowed his eyes. "Stay here with Quinn."
"Stay here?!" She scoffed. "What if they knock the whole structure down?!"
"They'd need a tank. Tanks don't work here. Blasters do—so hunker down."
"What is your plan?" Quinn demanded.
"I'll start with 'hello.'"
The Doom Cavalry was named for its cruel inevitability. Over eight years, it amassed a bloody resume with only one blemish: its battle with The Sentinel. Today, it intended to avenge that debasement.
Proto Dragan would set fire to a child just to see what it looked like. Arkanians were equal parts curious and sadistic. They were also trans-humanists, constantly making improvements to their bodies.
Their glacial homeworld, Arkania, produced pallid skin and completely white eyes that were susceptible to heat. When Dragan was seven, his mother cut out his eyes and replaced them with implants. She said a child will learn his nature if he has no way to cry.
That wasn't his only modification. Dragan removed his middle fingers, replacing them with blades. His feet were traded for hunter-droid variants. But most revolting was the venom sac he surgically installed. It protruded from his neck like a lumpy balloon. He'd re-sequenced his DNA so that his body produced poison: a gift from the Memory Master.
Flanking Dragan were Rim Shoda, a grizzled Palladuvian, and Alaric Black, a formidable human with a badly scarred face. Together, they led thirty-two mercenaries.
"I want a clean sweep," Dragan said. "Beginning with the Sentinel."
Black said, "Leave me Amidala."
"I will leave you nothing. Take her or don't."
"Ye usin' too many wahds," Shoda said. "Pucha wahds 'way naw. Ees da blood wull speak."
A lone horse stood in the portico.
Its furrowed eyes were deranged. Its ears twitched and flattened. The horse sniffed, whinnied, every feature on its face pointed at the cavalry.
"What's it doing?" asked Black.
The horse swished its tail. It stamped its front feet, then its hind. The head began to shake. It danced in place.
Black growled, "Someone shoot that fucking—"
The horse screamed like the devil and streaked right at him. Black lifted his gun. A blur of orange bisected his head. The upper segment fell into his lap. His eyes were no more empty for their new disconnection.
Now screams. Wailing. Flailing. Falling. The orange blur sliced and diced. Invisible forces threw men from their horses. Necks snapped on the ground. Flesh pieces were scattered like particles of glass.
Ten men were killed in a matter of seconds.
Brummel flickered into being as his stealth field exhausted. He cut a line up a merc from his crotch to his scalp. The pieces fell together like freshly cut meat.
"Kill him!" Dragan screamed.
Twenty-four blasters unleashed on Brummel. Bolt after bolt lit up the desert. Their aim was wild—a result of Brummel pervading their minds.
But the strong resisted. A bolt clipped his shoulder. He nearly fell from his horse. Soon he felt his scalp burning. Blood colored his hair, poured down his face.
Brummel broke for the ruins, Force-flicking blaster bolts safely away from him.
He sped threw the portico and leapt from his horse. Obi-Wan and Palmer were waiting in fighting stance.
Dragan's men poured into the ruins. He led the charge, bounding toward Brummel. His hunter-droid foot cracked Brummel in the face. It threw Brummel into a pillar, where his head smashed stone. He crawled drunkenly to safety behind the same column.
Dragan threw a kick; Obi-Wan dodged. The Jedi counter-punched—blocked by a finger-blade. Obi-Wan's knuckles opened to the bone. But his kick landed true and Dragan retreated.
Coda and Landon were pinned down behind pillars. Limestone fragments exploded around them. The unceasing salvo made return-fire impossible.
Over by the portico, three mercs assembled an E-Web Cannon.
Obi-Wan blanched. If that cannon deployed, his crew was dead.
His ensuing Force-leap was thwarted by Shoda. The albino's tackle wiped him from the sky. Obi-Wan thudded the earth and tumbled to the stairs.
Palmer ran at the cannon. Three men intercepted. A horizontal slash halved two at the abdomen. The third man drew a sword. He cocked it near his head—which was swiftly severed.
Palmer saw Dragan rushing him. He caught the severed head and Force-threw it at Dragan. The Arkanian batted it away and stabbed Palmer in the arm. Skin and muscle acceded to the blade. It scraped his bone and Palmer screamed. He screamed again when a blaster ruined his leg.
Brummel's leaping kick knocked Dragan off him. His eyes widened when he saw the E-Web completed. "Kenobi: get them outta here!"
In seconds the E-Web would be locked and loaded. Four mercs descended on Landon and Coda.
Obi-Wan sprinted into a leap and from there into a roll, arcing his blade through two men's thighs. Then he killed a third merc by deflecting his blaster.
The final merc swung his gun. Obi-Wan dodged and took it from his hands. He fired point-blank at the pleading killer. Flesh, teeth, and bloody bone nuggets drew patterns in the air.
Shoda blocked Brummel's path to the E-Web. The Sentinel seethed in his skeleton mask. With he and Obi-Wan occupied, Dragan led five mercs to the substructure.
Padme climbed into the sarcophagus. She lay back as ordered but cried: "You can't take them alone! You need my help!"
"Rely on your Jedi protector," Quinn quoted back to her.
Her heart blasted in her chest. Yet it swelled even so. He closed the sarcophagus and she locked it inside.
Quinn's lightsaber activated. Beneath his feet he could feel their approach. He lifted his saber to a high-guard position. His Trandoshan blood burned hotter than ever.
Mercs rushed into the chamber. He threw one to the wall. He blocked a sword high. His head bobbed to dodge a punch, then delivered a headbutt.
Getting leverage on the swordsman, Quinn propelled him over the sarcophagus to the bottom of the burial pit. A dagger thrust into his side. Quinn growled and turned and ran him through with his saber.
He ripped out the dagger and quickly retreated. The four mercs and Dragan backed him to a corner. Quinn thrust his claws in a powerful Force-push. All but Dragan tumbled to the floor.
Dragan shouldered him into the wall. Quinn's body made divots in the rock. He swung his saber at the merc's exposed back. But Dragan spun out—hacking off Quinn's wrist with his finger-blade.
Dragan flourished his blade in utter arrogance. Quinn's remaining hand caught his saber as it fell, proceeding in an upward arc that severed Dragan's arm.
Quinn followed with a Force-push, sending Dragan to the wall. The other mercs flanked him, two on each side.
Quinn rushed the left flank. He struck one with his stump, then kicked him in the head, hard enough that he died on impact. The second merc grabbed his good arm. Quinn flicked his wrist and cut a valley through his skull.
The other mercs attacked in tandem. Quinn threw his saber like a javelin through one merc's chest.
He leapt at the other, pulled him to the floor. He clawed the merc's eyes. Blood spurted from the sockets. The screaming man writhed. Quinn's teeth sank into his face. He ripped out a mouthful of muscle and tendon.
Quinn spat it to the side. He recalled his saber and stood to face Dragan.
"Where were we?" Quinn hissed.
Dragan rolled out a smoke grenade. He lunged through the mist, slashed at Quinn's neck. Slowed by pain, Quinn drunkenly dodged, saving his head but suffering a gash.
Quinn stumbled to the sarcophagus. Dragan followed. He missed a hammer and Quinn missed a swing. Both missed with forearms and entered a grapple. Quinn got the upper-hand before a brutal kick shattered his knee.
Dragan dragged him to the ground. His sweaty, sticky hand closed on his throat. Quinn thrashed about—grunting—choking.
Inside the sarcophagus, Padme pulled at her hair. She listened to the Jedi sputter and choke. She couldn't let it happen. She wouldn't let him die.
Padme released the lock. She used all her strength to force open the lid.
She fell out of the sarcophagus, fumbling to her feet. Dragan had stood. He was covered in blood. More bones in his face were broken than not. Padme's eyes flew to his venom sac. It throbbed, pulsated, evacuating venom from the sac to his mouth.
"Open up!" Dragan growled.
Padme screamed.
Quinn's saber flashed on. He cut a line through the sac. Greenish red venom poured on Quinn like a vomiting demon. He screamed and screamed. Smoke rose from his torso, as the venom burned through, entering his bloodstream.
Dragan staggered to his knees. His own venom covered him. He was choking on it, too, a low rumbling cry struggling to escape.
"Open up," Quinn hissed between screams.
He stabbed his saber through Dragan's mouth. It disintegrated his tongue and uvula and burst out the back of his neck.
The blade disappeared. Dragan fell.
Padme knelt beside Quinn. Tears made tracks down her cheeks as she saw his condition. Quinn's tunic had burned, revealing his chest, which was quickly swelling, boils marking his reddening skin.
"Oh, Quinn..."
All their horses were dead. Escape wasn't possible. Coda huddled behind an eroding pillar. The E-Web chewed through it like a tunneling mynok.
Obi-Wan, Brummel improvised a dodging, deflecting dance. Tunics, flesh were torn from close calls. Sweat and blood poured from their brows. E-Web bolts were too powerful to reflect. They could only deflect them into dirt, walls.
Shoda and his men grinned from safety. "Getcha god rahdy. Dat bright lighta be busy."
The ravaged pillar exploded on Coda. Blood veiled the world, and she asked mercy from her maker.
"Stay behind me!"
Her angry angel held off death. Brummel caught red bolts all along his blade. Two hit at once—bending his blade to his neck—carving a line up the side to his ear. His jaw clenched; his grip trembled; but he didn't falter.
Still the mercs smelled blood. The E-Web concentrated all fire on Brummel.
Obi-Wan closed the distance to the mercs with a Force-fueled sprint, leaping in the air, flipping when he peaked, and launching himself at the E-Web gunners. He Force-flung one, watching, hearing his head crack stone, and spiked the other gunner's heart as he landed.
Obi-Wan commandeered the E-Web. He unleashed it on the mercs.
Screaming. Shredding. Heads snapped and exploded. Limbs disappeared. Bodies ripped in half, uprooting entrails. Blood sprayed and sprayed like party sparklers. Together with smoke, it misted the carnage.
Obi-Wan dissembled their screaming silhouettes, marking them players for his unceasing dream theater, memorizing their marionette mambo. Not a single man died whole of body.
The Jedi relented when the smoke went silent.
He leaned back on his heels, hands dropped to his sides. His eyes unfocused and his breath came shallow.
A merc charged from the smoke. Obi-Wan was in his sights.
Skull and brain erupted in the air. The merc dropped dead, revealing Landon behind him, smirking behind his smoking blaster.
"You okay, Boss?"
Suddenly Shoda was rushing him. A sword swung down. Landon strafed, saving his head, traded for a gash from his shoulder to his wrist. The scoundrel crumpled. Shoda kept running. The merc eyed his horse ten meters away.
He was halfway there when an invisible force lifted him in the air and slammed him to the ground. His ribs snapped like flimsy branches.
A placid child stood in the portico. His hand was outstretched in suggestion of the Force. Something timeless, celestial churned in his eyes, moored his seraphic face to light eternal.
Shoda wheezed, coughed, reached for his blaster. A gray wolf sprang seemingly from nowhere, lunging at Shoda's throat. Its pearl-white teeth ripped to the bone, and Shoda died.
The wolf turned its head at Obi-Wan, muzzle curled back, blood and sinew filling its mouth. Obi-Wan wondered if he was dreaming upon hearing a voice.
"Greetings and salutations," said the wolf.
Obi-Wan stared at him. "Well... hello there."
"My name is Wilk. And my over-eager companion is Galen Marek."
"Obi-Wan Kenobi..."
Galen stood over Shoda's body, contemplating eternity. Wilk told him once there's no such thing as cosmic justice. The wicked plummet not after death, as the righteous do not ascend.
The little boy turned to Obi-Wan to be thoroughly scrutinized. His sand-beaten clothes, looking several years old, clung to his outline in defiance of his growth. Galen's face was smooth, undeterred by the scene in front of him, and he wasn't worried to surmise what Obi-Wan had done; indeed, the glint in his eyes was warm and friendly.
"Are you okay, Mister Kenobi?" Galen asked.
Obi-Wan steadied himself mentally. He hurried to Palmer, who lay cradling his leg.
Before he could render aid, Padme appeared screaming. "Obi-Wan! Obi-Wan!"
"Padme! Where's Quinn?"
She pawed the tears from her cheeks. "He's—he's—"
The Jedi's eyes widened. He leapt down the steps, disappeared inside.
Padme buried her face in her palms.
"Do you wanna play soldier—or do you want your friends to live?"