The Clone Wars: Wild Space Page 16

  “Obi-Wan!” he said, startled. “I asked to speak to Master Yoda, or Master Windu.”

  Eyes gritty from lack of sleep, nerves jangling, fighting fresh grief, Obi-Wan shook his head. Alone in one of the Temple comm center’s booths, he was able to answer bluntly, without circumspection. “They’re with Palpatine. What do you need?”

  “An explanation,” said Anakin, sounding baffled and irritated. He stood at the Resolute’s tactical holotable, flanked by his Padawan and silent, self-assured Clone Captain Rex. “We’ve reached Bothawui, but there’s no sign of Grievous. It’s like he’s just—changed his mind. Or given up.”

  Obi-Wan’s throat closed, and he had to wait a moment before replying. Given up? If only they could be so fortunate. “No, Anakin. He hasn’t.”

  Hologram Anakin stiffened. By his side, his Padawan looked up at him, reacting instantly to his shift in mood. One hand touched her lightsaber.

  “Something’s wrong,” said Anakin harshly. “What’s happened?”

  There was no easy way to say it. No kind way to break the news. “Grievous has only delayed his pursuit of you. A few hours ago he picked up two more cruisers and coordinated attacks on three separate fronts. It’s bad, Anakin. We’ve lost the battle group at Falleen.” Eight more Jedi dead. Eight more friends to mourn. “The Separatist fleet commanded by General Grievous is now headed your way.”

  Anakin’s face tightened with anger. “Seems like that coward always knows where and when to attack us.”

  Yes. He did. Which was something else they’d have to address, and fast. Because if their losses continued at this pace, there’d soon be no Jedi left. No planet in the galaxy safe from Grievous’s predations.

  But for the moment, his concerns were far more immediate. “You’re heavily outnumbered, Anakin. I advise retreat.”

  “If we run, the Separatists will take control of this sector.” Anakin’s anger hardened into stubborn resolve. “I can’t let them do that.”

  Of course he couldn’t. Retreat wasn’t in his nature. But it’s something he’s going to have to learn, if he wants to survive this war. “You might have to.”

  Anakin’s outspoken Padawan lifted her chin. “Master Kenobi is right. We should regroup; we don’t stand a chance against—”

  “Ahsoka,” said Anakin. Curt. Repressive.

  But she didn’t back down. Yoda had been right, as usual. The young Togruta was more than a match for headstrong Anakin. In fact, she was exactly the Padawan he required.

  “Suicide is not the Jedi way, Master.”

  Obi-Wan considered her approvingly, then shifted his gaze. “You should listen to your Padawan, Anakin.”

  A sly smile curved Anakin’s lips. “As you listened to yours?” He shook his head. “No, we are going to stay and fight.” Bending, he considered the tactical display on his holotable. “And I think I know how to beat Grievous at his own game.”

  Was there any point in arguing? No. None at all. If for no other reason than Anakin was there, on the spot, in command, and it was his call.

  He mustn’t see I’m afraid. He can’t for a moment think I don’t have faith in him. “Anakin, you’ll do what you think is right. As always. Just—and I realize I’m wasting my breath, but I’ll say it anyway—don’t take any unnecessary chances.”

  Anakin grinned. “You know me, Obi-Wan.”

  Obi-Wan couldn’t quite manage a smile in return. “Which would be why I said it. May the Force be with you.”

  “And with you, Master.”

  The hololink dropped out. Obi-Wan stared at the deactivated holocam, feeling his heart thud against his ribs. A throb of pain echoed the beat, thrumming his bones in unpleasant counterpoint. A reminder that not enough time had passed since his recent brush with death. Vokara Che’s instructions had been clear and pointed: under no circumstances was he to overexert himself. He pulled a face.

  Tell that to Grievous, and to Bail Organa’s mysterious friends. Tell that to Anakin, who’s determined to make me old before my time.

  As he stepped out of the comm booth, one of the Temple’s newest Jedi Knights approached. What was his name? Oh, yes. T’Seely. “Master Kenobi. I have a message for you, from Senator Bail Organa.”

  Boom went his heart. “Yes?”

  “He wants to see you, Master. Now.” T’Seely frowned. “He said you’d know why.”

  Boom boom. “Thank you.”

  Outwardly serene, inwardly disconcerted, Obi-Wan accessed the relevant datafile, noted Organa’s private address, and took his leave of the Temple.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Master Kenobi,” said Bail Organa, standing in his apartment’s open doorway. He looked exhausted. “You came.”

  Obi-Wan nodded. “Your message sounded urgent, Senator.”

  “Yes. Yes, I suppose it did.” Organa blinked, then shook his head and stepped back. “It was. I’m sorry. Please. Come in.”

  Obi-Wan entered the apartment and followed Organa through to the sitting area. The place was spacious. Immaculate. Possessed of a typically restrained Alderaanian elegance. Beauty mattered, but it was never ostentatious.

  Organa indicated a long, low couch. “Have a seat. Can I offer you something? I have Corellian brandy, or a fine white wine from my family’s vineyard. Tea.”

  First an urgent, peremptory summons, and now the man was playing the gracious host? I am too tired for this. “Thank you, no.”

  “No,” said Organa, and dropped into a chair. “Did I drag you from your bed, Master Kenobi? If so, I apologize.”

  “No, Senator,” Obi-Wan said, taking a seat on the couch. “I was awake.”

  Organa straightened, alarm burning away the tiredness. “Something’s happened.”

  Given his position on the Security Committee, the senator would find out soon enough. No harm in telling the truth. “We lost the Falleen battle group. Senator, was there a particular reason you needed to see me or—”

  Organa wasn’t listening. “The whole group?” he asked. “Every cruiser?”

  Every cruiser. Every Jedi. Every Republic officer. Every clone. “Yes. Senator Organa, you—”

  Organa pinched the bridge of his nose, hard. “The Bespin Dancer. Is—was—she still part of the Falleen group?”

  “I believe so. Senator—”

  Organa’s eyes were blanked with shock. “My wife’s cousin is a tac officer on the Dancer.”

  Ah. Unfortunate. “Then, Senator, I am sorry for your loss. But if we could perhaps—”

  Some dark feeling—almost revulsion—touched Organa’s face. “Some people say the Jedi are cold. Unfeeling. Are you trying to prove them right, Master Kenobi?”

  There was no answer for that. Obi-Wan stood. “Senator, I think—”

  “You lost Jedi in the battle group,” said Organa. He sounded accusing. “Were they your friends? Aren’t you grieving for them?”

  Lobis Lobin. Kydra. Tafasheel Arkan. “Senator, you said you needed to see me urgently. If that is not the case, I shall return to the Temple.”

  “Sit down.”

  Obi-Wan stared at him. The man is distraught, exhausted, and a senior government official. Master Yoda needs no more trouble tonight. He sat, very slowly. “Senator.”

  Organa pressed his palms flat to his face. Took a deep, shuddering breath. Exhaled it sharply. “I’m sorry, Master Kenobi,” he said, his voice muffled, then lowered his hands. “That was uncalled for. Tell me, what were you able to find out about Zigoola?”

  “Nothing, I’m afraid,” said Obi-Wan, grimacing. “Master Yoda and Master Windu have never heard of it, and there is no record of a planet by that name, or any name close to it, in the Temple Archives.” Dex hadn’t heard of it, either. Neither had any of his contacts… and Dex could cast a wide net. If it weren’t for the first message’s mention of the Sith, he’d be convinced the whole thing was a mistake. Or a hoax. “Senator, why did you ask me here? Have you been contacted by your source again?”

  “Yes,” said O
rgana, fingers drumming his knee. A new tension deepened the lines in his face. “They say they know where Zigoola is. They want to meet us there. Show us something to do with the Sith that they can’t—won’t—discuss via coded shortbursts. They’ve sent the first set of coordinates for the journey.”

  “Meet us?” Obi-Wan shook his head. “Absolutely not, Senator. If this Zigoola exists, and if it does have a link with the Sith, it’s far too dangerous a place for you. I’ll go alone.”

  Organa’s eyebrows shot up. “I don’t think so. We go together. Or I’ll go alone. I’m more than happy to leave you behind.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t agree to that. Or to you accompanying me.”

  “Well, if you want anything to do with this, Master Kenobi, I’m afraid you’ll have to,” Organa retorted. “Because if you think I’m going to hand over my comlink, my datareader, and my decryption codes and wave good-bye as you fly off to meet my contact without me, you’re a much stupider man than I thought.”

  Obi-Wan bit back an impolite epithet. Politicians. “Senator, we have been through this already. The Sith are Jedi business. Not yours.”

  “Wrong,” Organa snapped. “Given my security duties they are very much my business. And they’re going to stay my business for as long as I’m the one receiving the coded information about them. Now it seems to me we have a choice, Master Kenobi. Either we can sit here till sunrise arguing, or we can agree that like it or not, you and I are about to become much better acquainted.”

  He stared. “Meaning?”

  “Meaning I have a fully provisioned ship standing by. It’s nothing fancy or particularly fast, and it’s a bit on the small side, but it’s spaceworthy and civilian-registered. No Senatorial or Alderaanian connections. It’ll get us to Zigoola without drawing undue attention or breaking down, you have my word. Especially since—at the risk of sounding immodest—I happen to be an accomplished pilot.”

  The man was so ridiculously cocksure. How very like a politician, to believe his limited power to control events is in fact unlimited. “Senator, I don’t wish to be rude, but I must point out to you that there is a great deal of difference between comfortable Core-World-hopping and deep-space expeditions.”

  Organa’s eyebrows pinched in a frown. “No. Really?”

  “Really,” Obi-Wan said, letting a little of his impatience show. “In the event that I become incapacitated, are you saying you can strip down a malfunctioning hyperdrive unit, correctly identify the problem, replace its faulty components, or improvise new ones, and reassemble it to full performance capacity?”

  Organa grinned. “A standard LT-five unit? Yes. Did it last week, as a matter of fact. It’s good relaxation, and I like to keep my hand in. Timed myself, just for the fun of it. Thirty-eight minutes. How about you?”

  Thirty-eight minutes? That was three minutes faster than his own best time. How aggravating. “I am mechanically proficient.”

  “So that makes two of us. Any more questions?”

  Yes, there was one. Something Organa had said earlier… “What did you mean when you said first coordinates?”

  Organa’s grin vanished. “I told you, these are very cautious people we’re dealing with. They’ll guide us to Zigoola in several stages.”

  Us. Obi-Wan shook his head. Letting him accompany me is a very bad idea. “Senator, you must reconsider. Your place is here, in the Senate. Be guided by me and remain on Coruscant.”

  “The last time I looked, Master Kenobi, I wasn’t your Padawan,” said Organa, shrugging. “I don’t need to be guided by you. And who knows? I might even come in handy.”

  Come in handy? This man was insufferable. A typical politician after all, obsessed with power, control, and turning a situation to his personal advantage. Oh yes, I’m Senator Bail Organa, the man who saved the Jedi when they couldn’t save themselves!

  For the second time, Obi-Wan stood. “I very much doubt that. And if anything untoward should happen to you, it would be most unfortunate. So on behalf of the Jedi Council, I thank you for your information, Senator, and request that you take no further action in this matter.”

  He was halfway across the apartment’s spacious entry hall when Organa came after him. “Master Kenobi. Wait.”

  At the touch of Organa’s fingers on his shoulder he spun around, a heartbeat from reaching for his lightsaber. Organa stepped back, hands raised, eyes suddenly wide and watchful.

  “Sorry. No disrespect intended,” he said. “I only want you to hear me out.”

  Heart thudding, Obi-Wan took a step back himself and slowly, deliberately, clasped his hands before him. I’m too tired to be here. My judgment is clouded. I should not have come.

  “Senator.”

  “Look,” said Organa, and he put his hands down. “We both want the same thing, right? The Republic safe. The Sith stopped. And like it or not, without my contact you’ve got nothing. Are you really going to let Jedi pride get in the way?”

  “Pride has nothing to do with this, Senator,” he said, uncomfortably close to losing his temper. “The Sith are dangerous. How many more times must I tell you before you believe me?”

  Organa folded his arms, his expression settling into stubborn lines. “I already believe you. But my life is sworn to the safeguarding of this Republic, just like yours. I’ve got as much right to risk myself as you do. If anything, it’s my duty to pursue this matter.”

  Frustrated, Obi-Wan stared at Padmé’s aggravating friend. She trusts him, remember? And you trust her…

  “I must confer with the Council,” he said curtly. “Wait there. Don’t move.” A presumption on his part, given that this was Organa’s home, but he was past caring.

  “Yes, Master,” said Organa, one eyebrow lifted.

  Obi-Wan returned to the Senator’s living area, pulled out his comlink, and contacted Yoda with an update.

  “A disturbing development this is, Obi-Wan,” Yoda said. “Convinced, you remain, that this danger is real?”

  Obi-Wan sighed. “I’m convinced Organa’s convinced, Master Yoda,” he said, keeping his voice low. “I sense no deception in him.”

  “Perhaps. But a Sith trap this still could be.”

  “Yes, Master. The thought has crossed my mind. Do we know where Dooku is?”

  Yoda snorted. “A Separatist convention on Chanosant he prepares to attend, Obi-Wan. Support for his disloyalty he seeks to expand. Reports there are on the holonews.”

  Which still left the mysterious Darth Sidious. But if Dooku had told the truth, and Sidious was influencing the Senate, chances were he wouldn’t abandon Coruscant. Not for long. “Master, I know it’s risky, but I think we must pursue this matter.”

  “Hmmm,” said Yoda, his grumbling tone so reassuringly familiar. “Correct you are, Obi-Wan. But comfortable I am not with further involving Senator Organa in Jedi business.”

  Obi-Wan glanced behind him, but there was no sign of Organa. “Nor am I, Master, but do we have a choice? His contacts won’t talk to anyone else. If I’m going to question them about this possible Sith threat, it will only be through him.”

  “True,” said Yoda. “But an important man he has become, Obi-Wan. Regarded highly by the Supreme Chancellor. To Bail Organa must no harm come.”

  “I understand, Master Yoda. Although he’ll not appreciate a Jedi nursemaid. In that respect he’s very like Senator Amidala.”

  Yoda snorted again. “And like Senator Amidala, accept our protection he will. But strong enough are you, Obi-Wan, to undertake this task?” Now Yoda sounded… doubtful. “The truth I need to know. Depend on it your life might, and the life of Senator Organa.”

  In other words, Obi-Wan, don’t be a hero. Precisely the advice he kept on giving Anakin. Like Master, like Padawan? Is that what Yoda means? “Vokara Che has said I am healed. I feel fine, Master Yoda. Besides, this isn’t all-out battle, it’s a recon mission. More than likely a false alarm. But if it’s not, you have my word I won’t do anything foolish. At the first sign
of trouble I will call for reinforcements.”

  If there were any to be had, of course. With the loss of the Falleen battle group, their situation had gone from spread thin to close to breaking.

  With an effort Obi-Wan wrenched his thoughts away from that disaster. It was done; it could not be undone. The Jedi who had perished were returned to the Force. They would be remembered in ritual, and life would go on.

  Yoda sighed again, breaking the heavy silence. “A dangerous undertaking this is. Perhaps another Jedi I should send with you.”

  It was a comforting, but impractical, thought. “You can’t, Master Yoda. The Senator’s instructions were quite specific: one Jedi to accompany him, and no more.”

  “Then follow you someone could. Disappear without a trace you might, Master Kenobi.”

  He had to smile. “Who would you send? There’s no one, and we both know it. I will be all right, Master Yoda.”

  “Thought that we did when to Kamino we sent you.”

  A decision that had sparked a train of events ending under a hot sun on the bloody sand of cruel Geonosis. So many dead Jedi, who came to rescue me.

  With a small effort, he pushed the thought away.

  “History will not repeat itself, Master Yoda,” he said harshly. “On that you have my word.”

  Another long silence. And then another heavy sigh. “Very well, Obi-Wan. Permission you have to follow this lead with Senator Organa, for unravel this new Sith mystery we must. Your ship’s transponder frequency give to the Temple comm center. Out of contact you must not be.”

  “Of course.” He was ready to end the call, but then memory prodded him. “Master! I’m so sorry. Anakin has—”

  “Yes, I know. The transmission recording I have seen,” said Yoda. Now he sounded stern. “Monitored young Skywalker’s progress will be.”

  The warning was unstated but abundantly clear: Focus on your own mission. He is not your concern.

  It wasn’t true. It would never be true. But he could pretend it was true, at least for now. “Yes, Master.”