Clone Wars Gambit: Siege Page 34

  Frightened, Teeba Sufi swallowed. “Obi-Wan?”

  “Where’s Greti? Did you send her home?”

  “I tried,” said Teeba Sufi. “She wouldn’t go. She’s sleeping next door.”

  “Then I’m sorry, but can you wake her? Master Damsin’s hurt.”

  “She’s just a child, Obi-Wan, and she’s worn out,” the Teeba protested. “She’s helped you enough. I can see to your friend. Young Greti needs—”

  Obi-Wan touched Teeba Sufi’s arm. “Please. It’s important. And Greti would want to help.”

  “Obi-Wan—” Master Damsin tried to sit up. “Maybe—”

  “Be quiet,” Obi-Wan snapped, glaring down at her. “Lie still. I’ll be back in a moment.”

  Anakin led the way outside. On the sick house step Obi-Wan caught his arm. “Anakin…”

  He pulled away. “Don’t.”

  Obi-Wan’s dimly lit face was full of understanding, and sorrow. “Anakin—it was a long time go. It ended a long time ago.”

  His sleeping anger woke. Really? It didn’t look like that to me. “You love her.”

  “She’s my friend.”

  He felt his fingers fist. Don’t you lie. Not about this. Don’t you dare. “You love her.”

  Monotonous blasterfire filled the silence between them. Then Obi-Wan nodded. “Yes, Anakin, I love her. But I was never in love. For a short while Taria and I needed each other. And when we no longer needed each other, we parted—and remained friends.”

  So that was how it worked, was it? Stay aloof, stay detached, never let yourself feel too much, too deeply, and the Order didn’t care?

  So if Padmé and I pretended we weren’t in love…

  “Anakin,” Obi-Wan said sharply. “Don’t. Are you going to tell me that if you crossed that line with Padmé you could cross back again? That you would ever be satisfied with only being her friend?”

  The thought was unbearable. Never. “Are you saying you’re satisfied?”

  Obi-Wan met his gaze without flinching. “Yes.” It was the truth. Baffled, his anger dying, Anakin folded his arms.

  “I don’t understand you, Obi-Wan.”

  Obi-Wan almost smiled. “I know.”

  And something tells me I never will. Not when it comes to this, anyway.

  “I have to go,” he said. “The fuel lines need checking and Devi can’t do it alone.”

  “I’ll join you soon,” said Obi-Wan. “I just want to see Taria settled.” A muscle leapt along his jaw. “See if there’s anything I can do to—”

  The Force shivered a grim warning. “She’s in trouble, isn’t she?”

  “She’s out of remission,” Obi-Wan said, his voice oddly flat. “Aggressively.”

  Anakin felt a surge of pity—not just for Master Damsin, but for Obi-Wan, too. No amount of Jedi training could buffer this kind of grief. Didn’t he know that from bitter personal experience?

  But I had Padmé to soften the blow. And I was willing to let her help me. He won’t let anyone help. He still thinks he has to face everything alone.

  “Can’t she go back into remission?”

  Staring across the shadowed village square, Obi-Wan shook his head. “I don’t think so. Not this time. She’s pushed herself too hard, too far.”

  For you. But he couldn’t say that. Not with Obi-Wan’s pain scorching in the Force. “I’m sorry. I really am.”

  A long silence. Then Obi-Wan released a shuddering breath. “I know,” he said, glancing at him. “So am I.”

  “Obi-Wan…” He had to say this. “Taria’s not the only one in trouble.”

  “I know that, too.”

  “So what do you think? Wait for the droid reinforcements to get here and roll the dice on one last big stand?”

  “I think…” Obi-Wan dragged both hands down his face. “I think it’s a shame about Doctor Fhernan.”

  Anakin looked down. Bant’ena. Flawed, misguided, and ultimately heroic. There was pain for her, somewhere, but he couldn’t afford to feel it. Not now.

  “She had her chance. I’ll see you at the plant.”

  “YOU KNOW,” said Tryn, edgy with irritation, “this would go a lot faster if you three stopped hovering.”

  “Sorry,” said Bail. “But we’ve got some anxious people who’ll only believe an eyewitness account.”

  Tryn set down his datapad. “Fine. But you can witness from over there.” He pointed to the other side of the lab. “Seriously, Bail. You are cramping my style.”

  “Our apologies, Doctor Netzl,” said Yoda. “Space to work we will give you.”

  “Yes, sorry,” Padmé added. “We’ll get out of your way.”

  They shifted to the other side of the lab and watched in silence as Tryn ran a series of complicated biosimulations using the data Obi-Wan had provided.

  “I still can’t believe this,” Padmé muttered. “How many more last-minute reprieves are we going to get?”

  Bail frowned. “We’re not reprieved yet.”

  “Oh, I think we are,” she said. “I have a feeling. Don’t you, Master Yoda?”

  Resting on his gimer stick, Yoda sighed. “Hopeful I am, Senator. Say more than that I will not.”

  “Can you say if we’ll get Obi-Wan and Anakin back?” Bail asked. “And Master Damsin?”

  Padmé tensed. “Yes, we will. We have to.”

  Bail rested his hand on her shoulder. It was a warning, the closest he could come to telling her Be careful. You keep it secret for a reason.

  On the other side of the lab, Tryn’s scientific gadgets started beeping. Then a series of holoimages appeared, complicated multibranched coded-sequence matrixes, slowly rotating above each gadget’s small imaging pad. Red. Red. Red. Red.

  “Stang,” said Padmé. “Red’s bad, isn’t it?”

  Bail watched exhausted Tryn’s face fall. “Yeah. Red’s bad.”

  And then a fifth holoimage coalesced, slowly rotating. Instead of red, it was a rainbow of colors—and Tryn was smiling. He was laughing. He pounded his lab bench with both fists.

  “That’s it!” he cried. “That’s the sequence. That’s the missing link and it works.”

  Bail crossed the lab in a few swift strides. “You’re sure? Tryn—are you sure?”

  “I’ll synthesize a sample and test it,” said Tryn, grinning, “but yes. I’m sure. We’ve got ourselves an antidote. The key was in those three active bioingredients. All naturally occurring, all easily synthesized. It was just a matter of getting the balance right.”

  “How soon before you’ve got live test results?”

  “Give me an hour.”

  And after that it was simply a matter of high-speed bulk manufacture. But that was under control, thanks to the cooperation of a Corellian medchem company with facilities in Coruscant’s high-end Abroganto scientific research precinct. They had an entire production complex on standby, waiting for his word.

  “Doctor Netzl, you are good,” Bail said, shaking his head. “So. We get the antidote into production by this afternoon—ship enough doses for every citizen on Bespin, just in case our team can’t stop Durd in time—and the rest we stockpile for insurance.” He turned. “Padmé—”

  She held up her comlink, her dark eyes alight with triumph. “I’m on hold for Brentaal’s Prime Minister now. Master Yoda, we’ve got our civilian fleet.”

  Master Yoda rapped his gimer stick on the floor. “Then leave you to your business I will. Make contact with the Lanteeb battle group I must. Inform me you must when ready to depart your civilian fleet is.”

  “Of course, Master Yoda,” Bail said. “I’ll keep you informed every step of the way.” With Yoda departed, and Padmé still on her comlink, he looked again at Tryn. “I don’t know what to say. What we asked you to do… it was impossible. And you did it.”

  Tryn dragged chemical-stained fingers through his lank, unraveled hair. “I did some of it. But without that missing link—without your Jedi friend—” He laughed. “I can’t believe how it worked out
. That they’d end up in the one place that could give us the answer? How does that happen? It’s crazy. It’s impossible. It’s—it’s unscientific.”

  And that made Bail smile. “The Force isn’t science, Tryn. The Force just… nudges things along.”

  Tryn’s eyes widened. “The Force? Since when did you put your faith in mystical powers?”

  “Since they saved my life,” he said simply. “It’s a long story. I’ll tell you some of it when this is over.”

  “In that case you’d better let me get back to work,” said Tryn. But then he hesitated. “Bail, this friend of yours. This Jedi. He’s not safe yet, is he.”

  A cold shiver of dread. “No,” he said. “He’s not.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Comm me when you’ve got your live test results and I’ll start the ball rolling on the next step.”

  “Bail?” said Padmé, calling across the lab. “Brentaal’s confirmed. We need to coordinate with everyone else, then set up a holoconference for the fleet’s captains and commanders. Let’s go.”

  Bail gave Tryn a crushing hug, startling them both. “The Republic’s in your debt, Tryn,” he said, stepping back. “I’m in your debt. Whatever you want. Ask and it’s yours.”

  Tryn let his gaze flick to Padmé, waiting impatiently at the laboratory door. “I wouldn’t mind a candlelit dinner with your other friend, over there.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, “but I think she’s spoken for.” He grinned. “How about a candlelit dinner with me?”

  Tryn kicked them both out so he could get back to work.

  “This is important, Bail. This means something. I can feel it,” said Padmé as he flew them back to her apartment. “Despite the difficulties and in the face of real danger, the people of the Republic have come together. Not for profits, not for power or prestige or anything ordinary. But because it’s the right thing to do. Because it’s a chance to spit evil in the eye.”

  He loved her confidence, her unrelenting dedication to any cause she took up. But as he slid his speeder out of the main traffic flow and into the priority lane that was the fastest way to her apartment, he glanced at her and saw the churning fear in her eyes.

  “We’ll get them back, Padmé,” he said, and took her hand in his. “We’re not leaving them on Lanteeb.”

  “I know,” she said. “I know. Our boys are coming home.”

  She looked strong. She sounded strong. But her fingers in his were cold, and holding him so tightly he was hard-pressed not to wince.

  He flew the rest of the way one-handed… and tried hard not to think about all the ways the Lanteeb rescue could go wrong.

  AFTER NEARLY FOUR HOURS of unrelenting effort, finally Obi-Wan had to accept he’d done as much as he could for Taria, at least for the time being. The droids and ammunition she’d warned them of had arrived a short while ago, but despite the renewed, ferocious bombardment, she slept. Still each exhaled breath was edged with a rasping hint of pain. Beneath her tranquil face there was pain. From now on, because she was so brave and so stubborn, pain would dominate every remaining day of her life.

  “All right,” he said, and tugged the light blanket over her shoulder. “That’s enough for now.”

  “But she’s not better,” said Greti, drooping on a stool beside him. The child was exhausted. He’d had no right to ask again for her help, but it was Taria. And they needed her in this fight.

  “She’s better than she was,” he said. “Thanks to you, Greti. The strength you lent me made the difference. Now you should get some rest, too.”

  “Teeb Kenobi’s right,” said Sufi, drying her hands at the sink. “It’s more than enough you’ve done, child.”

  Obi-Wan glanced at her. She was still furious with him for waking Greti, for asking the girl to pit herself against Taria’s disease.

  He nudged Greti with his knee. “You should listen to Teeba Sufi.”

  “But—”

  “Greti.”

  With a huffing sigh, Greti gave in.

  “You both need rest,” said Sufi, picking her way through her other patients to join him. “Go next door and sleep, Teeb. I’ll wake you if your friend stirs.”

  Stifling his own pain, Obi-Wan stood. “I can’t. I’m long overdue at the plant. Please, make sure that Greti either goes home or sleeps here.”

  She didn’t bother trying to argue with him. “Do what you like, you will.”

  “Obi-Wan…”

  Surprised, he turned. “Rikkard?”

  Torbel’s head miner shoved his blanket aside, sat up and swung his feet to the floor. “If you’re going to the plant then I’m going with you.”

  “You’re not,” said Sufi. “You’re—”

  Rikkard stood, unsteady but resolute. “I am.”

  Obi-Wan looked at him. Days of illness had left the miner haggard, but he wasn’t dying. “All right.”

  “Teeb Kenobi—”

  “Sufi,” Obi-Wan said, hand raised. “We’ve decisions to make. Rikkard’s your speaker. It’s his right to be there.”

  “If it’s a speaker you need, fetch Jaklin! She can—”

  “We both know Jaklin’s—not well,” he said. “Please. We must go.” He tapped his fingers on Greti’s hair. “And you? Mind Teeba Sufi.”

  Rikkard paused to kiss his sleeping son’s forehead, then they left the sick house. Dawn was breaking. Beyond the plasma shield the new light bounced and sparkled on the mass of battle droids, ceaselessly firing at the shield. Rikkard stared at them.

  “Your sick friend, Teeb. Is she the only help that’s coming?”

  There was no point pretending. “Perhaps. I hope not.”

  “Two of us, that makes,” Rikkard muttered.

  If there was news, Master Windu would have commed. They’d spoken once more since their first comm. Status unchanged. It wasn’t what he’d wanted to hear.

  “Come on,” Obi-Wan said, thrusting doubt aside. “Anakin’s waiting.”

  FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER, they stood with Anakin and Devi in the power plant’s substation, surveying Torbel’s depleted supply of liquid damotite.

  “That’s it?” said Rikkard, shocked. “That’s all we’ve got left? But—that’s a good month’s supply gone in days.”

  “There wasn’t a choice, Rikkard,” said Devi. “Keeping the shield running and strong—that’s thirsty work. Especially for our old plant.”

  “I know,” said Rikkard, sighing. “I’m not blaming you, Dev.”

  Obi-Wan exchanged glances with Anakin. “Blame us,” he said. “We brought this on you.”

  “I’d like to, believe me,” said Rikkard, glowering. “But then I look at my son—and I think of that filthy damotite weapon—” He shook his head. “What good does blame do anyway? Won’t save lives, will it? But with all those new droids out there…”

  “Don’t worry about them,” said Anakin. “I can reconfigure the shields again.”

  Rikkard looked at him. “And run through what’s left of our fuel in twice the time?”

  “Sorry. That’s the trade-off.”

  Rikkard rasped a hand over his stubbled chin. “And if I agree, you buy us how long? A day?”

  “Maybe two,” said Anakin. “It should be enough, if the reinforcements arrive for our battle group—if they can break through Grievous’s blockade and—”

  “If,” said Rikkard, scornful. “It’s all hope and guesswork, isn’t it? For all you know the Republic’s ready to cut its losses. Admit it, boy. We’re facing death.”

  “That might be true, Rikkard,” Obi-Wan said quietly, “but this much I can promise: It won’t be because the Republic deserted us.”

  “Rikkard.” Unsteady in her broken-down antigrav harness, Devi took hold of his arm. “We’ve trusted them this far.”

  Aged years by his illness, beaten down with pain and grief, Rikkard nodded and turned away. “Do what you like. It makes no difference.”

  “Rikkard—” Devi bit her lip, watching him stamp out of t
he fuel store. “I’ll go after him. Anakin, reconfigure the shields. Obi-Wan, you’ll need to recheck every feed valve in Bays Three through Twelve. I’ll come help you when I can.”

  Alone again, Obi-Wan looked at Anakin. “You’re sure about this? What you’re planning—the shield generators can stand it? The power plant can stand it?”

  Anakin grimaced. “Not for long, they can’t. But maybe for long enough, if we’re lucky. And I know—you don’t believe in luck.” He shrugged. “But I say it can’t hurt to cross our fingers, just this once.”

  With a small, tired smile, he nodded. “Just this once.” Anakin was looking haggard, too, after another long night without sleep. “How’s Master Damsin?”

  “She’s sleeping.”

  “Obi-Wan—”

  Sympathy, however well meant, would undo him. “Come on,” he said. “We’ve got work to do.”

  BY THE TIME THE SUN was halfway to noon, the shields were reconfigured, the power plant’s decrepit feed valves had been cleaned of accumulated impurities and six sections of shorting circuitry were replaced. With everything done that could be done, for the moment, the four of them met up in the monitoring station.

  “And that’s it?” said Rikkard. He looked ready to drop. “What about the Republic? Teeb Kenobi—”

  “They’ll comm when things change,” Obi-Wan said. “It would be a mistake to chivvy them. In the meantime, we do what we can.”

  “I’ve been thinking about that,” said Anakin. “If the shield fails before help reaches us, we’ll be fighting hand to hand. Thanks to those droids, we’ve got some blasters. We’ve got vibro-picks and other mining tools. And we’ve got what we need to improvise grenades.”

  Feeling sick, Obi-Wan closed his eyes. These are villagers, not soldiers. It’ll be a slaughter. Then he nodded. “Agreed.”

  “You want us to fight?” said Rikkard. “Teebs, we’ll fight. But there’s not a man or woman here who’s ever fired a blaster.”

  “Or made a grenade,” added Devi.

  “Don’t worry,” said Anakin. “We’ll show you how.”

  Rikkard rubbed the ropy scars on his head. “You’ll have to.”

  “But you both must rest first,” said Devi. “You’ve bought us a little time, Teebs. Now use it wisely.”