Siege Page 8

  Staring at his own pill, Anakin reached into the Force. He could sense no deception in either villager. It was highly unlikely this was an elaborate plot to poison them. He glanced at Obi-Wan. Raised an eyebrow. The look Obi-Wan gave him was as loud as a shout.

  Me first.

  He wanted to argue. One of these days you’ll have to stop protecting me. But he let it go, just this once. Watched Obi-Wan swallow the pill. When nothing happened, he swallowed his own. It tasted worse than the eggs.

  Teeb Rikkard stood. “Come with me then, Teebs, since you’ve made your choice. The morning’s getting away from us. It’s time to start work.”

  Chapter Five

  Following Teeb Rikkard out of Teeba Jaklin’s cottage and into the empty street, Obi-Wan sank himself a little more deeply into the Force and reached out to touch the man’s worried, vulnerable mind. Mired in the difficulties of keeping a dying village alive, of smiling and smiling while his heart cracked with despair, Rikkard never noticed the stranger rummaging through his private emotions.

  “Teeb Rikkard, you’ve a fine village here,” he said quietly. “You and Teeba Jaklin are to be admired for your stewardship of it. My cousin and I would like a wander through Torbel’s streets before we bury ourselves underground in the mine. I think you can give us an hour or so to do that, can’t you?”

  Teeb Rikkard slowed, then stopped. “Well—yes. Yes, I can,” he said, uncertain. “I can show you around myself if—”

  “No, no. That’s quite all right.” Keenly aware that they were standing in the middle of an open street, that at any moment they could be joined by other villagers, he pushed Rikkard harder. “It’s our own way we’ll be finding, Teeb.”

  “No need for Teeb,” Rikkard said. “You’re one of us now, Yavid.” The faintest cloud of confusion shadowed his eyes. “An hour and more to wander. I’m not sure I can—”

  Stang. The man’s sense of responsibility was proving a real stumbling block. With no time for finesse Obi-Wan clamped tight his hold on Rikkard’s mind. “No, you’re quite sure. You’re more than happy for us to look around. And we have your express permission to take as long as we need and see anything we wish.”

  Rikkard shook his head, feeling the compulsion, unsettled by it, but unable to resist. “Yes. Yes. Of course, Yavid. Anything.”

  “We’d very much like to see your comm hub, Rikkard,” Anakin added, stepping closer. “Where would we find it?”

  “The comm hub? That’s in the charter house.” Turning, Rikkard pointed down the street toward the small village’s center. “On the square.” Another puzzled head shake. “It’s where we decide village things. Why do you—”

  Obi-Wan clasped the man’s arm, reinforcing his control. “Thank you, Rikkard. You’re a good fellow. Now please, don’t let us delay you any further.”

  “I’ll be on my way,” Rikkard murmured. “Come to the mine when you’re ready, Yavid. You and your cousin will be expected.”

  “Think that’ll hold?” said Anakin, as they watched Rikkard walk away down the narrow, baked-dirt street with its patches of worn-away ferrocrete. As he passed the other cottages, doors opened and he was joined by villagers heading out to spend the day hewing raw damotite from deep underground. They stared at the two strangers, but whatever Rikkard told the men and women seemed enough to satisfy, at least for now.

  “If it doesn’t hold, things could get a bit awkward,” Obi-Wan said, frowning. Rikkard was a genuinely good man, undeserving of such interference. But I don’t have the luxury of being squeamish. “So we must hope for the best. Now let’s get to that comm hub. The sooner Yoda knows what’s going on, the sooner we can stop Durd.”

  They collected more curious, not entirely friendly looks as they made their way to the village square. Every instinct screamed run, but they couldn’t. They couldn’t even walk fast. It was vital they do nothing to arouse the villagers’ suspicions. Instead they sauntered, not a care in the world, nodding and smiling at the faces staring at them from unshuttered windows and open front doors. As they caught up to, then passed, more miners on their way to work they greeted the men and women with expansive geniality. Startled, the miners exchanged glances but returned the greeting cordially enough. Though their ages ranged from middle teens to middle life, the look in every villager’s eyes was the same: a sad, bone-deep weariness.

  “Stang,” Anakin muttered, once it was safe to speak. “I haven’t felt a place this beaten down since Tatooine.”

  Wonderful, Obi-Wan thought. The last thing he needed was Anakin brooding on his miserable, Force-forsaken childhood home. “It’s true these people are faced with a bleak future, but there’s nothing we can do to save them right now. Tell me, those pills Jaklin gave us. What do you think, genuine or placebo?”

  Anakin pulled a face. “I think they taste worse than her eggs.”

  “The eggs weren’t so bad,” he said. “Trust me, I’ve had worse.”

  “Really?” said Anakin, skeptical. “Anyway. I think placebo. This isn’t the only working mine on Lanteeb, and it would be if you needed those pills to handle raw damotite safely. And there wasn’t anything about them in Agent Varrak’s briefing notes, or Fhernan’s data, either.”

  “Perhaps,” Obi-Wan said, after a moment. “But even if Jaklin’s claims are exaggerated, we should keep taking her pills. We can’t afford to offend these people. Not while we need to shelter here.”

  “Which hopefully won’t be for long,” Anakin muttered. “I want back in the fight. We’ve been stuck on the sidelines too long.”

  He couldn’t argue with that, but even so… “Patience, cousin. We must proceed with caution. One misstep and Rikkard or Jaklin could report us to the authorities.”

  “I know, I know.” Anakin poked at his right collarbone, wincing. “Don’t worry. I’ll be careful.”

  Sparking through the Force, sharp flashes of pain. With every appearance of casual, cousinly affection Obi-Wan let his hand drop to Anakin’s shoulder and waited for the Force to show him the problem.

  Stang. “You’ve cracked it,” he said. “Best leave it alone.”

  Anakin gave him an amused look. “Obi-Wan Kenobi: Master Jedi by day, secret healer by night. Mysterious, elusive, a shadow who—”

  “Very funny,” he said, and tightened his fingers just a little bit. “Cousin Markl.”

  “Ow, ow, ow, okay,” said Anakin, sliding away. “Point taken, Yavid.”

  He certainly hoped so. Anakin’s fierce desire to defeat Durd might be admirable, but it could easily get them in trouble. For all his years of training, his recent war experience, and his newfound maturity, Anakin was still impetuous. Too often ruled by emotion.

  Ahead of them stretched a line of long, low buildings. No windows in the back, just blank prefab walls and flat roofing. But before they could reach out with the Force to test for trouble they heard a low grumbling growl. Halting, they turned to look along the nearby cross street.

  It was an old, dented groundcar running on buckled wheel rims—not a passenger vehicle but a working machine, cabin and broad, flat carry-tray combined. Its finish was dull and pitted, its windscreen missing entirely. Seeing two strangers, the woman driving it started in surprise, then slowed to a stop beside them.

  “Who are you?” she demanded. She looked to be about Padmé’s age, maybe a year or two older, but far more weathered. One hand came off the groundcar’s control yoke and slipped down beside her, as though she were reaching for a weapon.

  Obi-Wan stepped forward and bowed. “I am Yavid, once of Voteb. My young cousin Markl, this is. We’re staying with Teeba Jaklin a few days.”

  “Oh,” said the woman. Her reaching hand returned to the control yoke and her gaze, running up and down Anakin, warmed in the way that often happened when they met up with females of quite a few persuasions. “Jaklin’s hosting you?”

  “She is,” said Anakin. “And we’re to work in the mine later. All nodded at by Teeb Rikkard. You can ask.”

&nbs
p; The woman’s dull brown hair was fastened in tiny knots, so it stood up on her skull like a husliki’s bumpy hide and left her face open to scrutiny. She smiled, revealing stubby little teeth. “No need, Teeb. Who comes here to Torbel to cause mischief? Nobody I know. I’m Devi. I mostly work the power plant. I’ll see you both around and about, most like.”

  “Devi—” said Obi-Wan, as the woman prepared to drive on. “The charter house. Which way is it?”

  “You want the charter house?” She was frowning again. “Why?”

  “Teeb Rikkard directed us there,” Anakin said smoothly, treating Devi to his most dazzling smile. “If you could tell us how to—”

  “I’ll do better,” she said, melting anew. “I’ll take you.” She jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “Climb on.”

  So they clambered onto the back of the groundcar and the woman Devi kicked the vehicle back into motion. Obi-Wan took advantage of their unexpected ride to slip once more beneath the surface of the Force, reaching out to feel for danger or a hint of what the future might hold. Beside him, Anakin followed suit. Good. Though his former apprentice’s future-sensing tended toward the erratic—an ongoing frustration—his ability to read the moment was formidable. And these days, with the dark side clouding the Force everywhere they turned, oftentimes the moment was all the warning they had.

  “No alarm bells ringing,” Anakin murmured under the groundcar’s grumble. “You?”

  “No, none.” He gave a pleased nod. “So far, so good.”

  As far as he could tell, theirs was the only groundcar on the move. Devi slowed and turned left down the wide street that led, eventually, out of the village. They passed more men and a few women on foot, heading in the mine’s direction. There were called greetings, lots of waving hands. Next Devi turned right and there was the square: more beaten soil, no precious water wasted on greenery or grass, and lining one side of it a row of tiredly important buildings.

  “The charter house,” said Devi, pointing. “Here’s where I’ll put you down, Teebs. It’s testy Rikkard gets when the power plant’s unattended for long. Temperamental it is, I’m sorry to say.”

  The groundcar rolled to a stop, and they eased themselves back to the street. “Thank you, Devi,” said Anakin, smiling. “You’ve been a great help.”

  She shrugged, feigning indifference. “There’ll be no one in the charter house this early, mind. You’ll have to wait for Teeba Brandeh to start her day and let you in.”

  “We don’t mind,” said Anakin. “Being new here, we can look around until she comes. You have a fine village in Torbel.”

  “We do,” said Devi, dimpling. “Thinking to make it your home, are you?”

  “You’ve guessed it,” said Obi-Wan. “If it turns out we suit each other. Devi, thank you. Please don’t let us make you late to the plant.”

  “We’ll see you again soon, I hope,” Anakin added, with all his charm.

  “You will,” she said, and with a jaunty wave and a delighted little smile of her own left them beside the open square.

  “Come on,” said Obi-Wan, ignoring Anakin’s grin. “We don’t have all day.”

  The charter house’s once ornate but now shabby double doors were locked. Peering inside through one of the two front windows, Anakin nodded.

  “The comm hub’s there. We need to get inside.”

  “Well, then, what are you wai—”

  Footsteps warned them that more villagers were approaching. In perfect unison they blurred themselves within the Force.

  “Right,” said Anakin, once it was safe to speak. “One break and enter, coming up.”

  Watching Anakin manipulate the doors’ tumble locks, Obi-Wan smothered a smile. Sometimes he thought his former apprentice would never outgrow his childish delight at playing with the Force. Using it to juggle fruit, pluck a comrade’s lightsaber from her belt, float his precious little astromech droid upside down around a hangar bay—or, in this case, unlock a door. Hardly the proper use of Jedi powers, but he’d long since given up protesting. Anakin would have his fun, regardless… and besides, in these trying times it felt churlish to deny him a fleeting moment of levity.

  The locked doors yielded, they slipped inside and found a modest room with a table and chairs ranged around it, shelves stacked with folders of flimsies, and more faded flimsies pinned to a notice board on the right-hand wall. The comm equipment, ranged against the back wall, appeared ominously old-fashioned.

  Anakin scowled. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

  “Now who’s the pessimist?” he said, raising an eyebrow. “Come on. Let’s take a closer look.”

  “It’s no good,” Anakin said at last, frustrated. “This thing’s useless. Junk. No way does it have enough juice to punch a signal straight through to Coruscant. I’d say it practically fries its innards trying to reach the city.” His fist struck the wall. “Stang.”

  Arms folded, Obi-Wan sighed. “Now, now, Anakin, let’s not admit defeat quite so quickly. Surely we can do what we did before, and piggyback our signal onto an outgoing Separatist comm. I realize it won’t be easy given our distance from Lantibba, but it is doable.”

  Anakin thought about it, then shook his head. “Even if we managed to find the right signal to piggyback, I don’t think this antique’s got the power to maintain the connection all the way home. And if I boost its output I’ll probably blow the hub. Besides, I don’t fancy pulling my lightsaber apart. Not when it’s the only weapon I’ve got.”

  Obi-Wan tugged at his beard. “Do we know for certain that hooking a diatium power cell into the hub will burn out the equipment?”

  “Obi-Wan, come on,” Anakin retorted. “Look at it. This hub gives antiques a bad name. There’s a better-than-even chance it won’t survive a diatium boost. Are you willing to risk it?”

  No, he wasn’t willing. Not only because they might need the comm hub later on, but because the loss of such vital equipment on the heels of two strangers appearing on their doorstep would inevitably raise the villagers’ suspicions.

  “We’ll have to stow ourselves on board the damotite convoy,” he said, not at all pleased by the prospect. “Let it take us back to the city. With luck we can hole up in our previous palatial residence and contact Yoda from there.”

  Anakin groaned. “Except that means three more days stuck here. Obi-Wan, in three days Durd could be ready to launch his first attack.”

  He gave Anakin his steadiest look. “I’m aware of that. But even if we were to head back to Lantibba right now, on foot it would take us longer than three days to get there. And with no food or water or hope of scrounging enough supplies—”

  “Then we can steal a groundcar!”

  “Anakin, think,” he said exasperated. “Torbel’s groundcars are one pothole away from disintegration. Not to mention the fact that Jaklin and Rikkard would raise the alarm five minutes after we’d made our getaway.”

  Anakin was scowling again. “Not if we smashed this comm hub they wouldn’t.”

  “Anakin, you’re still not thinking! All that would do is delay the inevitable. They’d tell the droid in charge of the convoy and it would raise the alarm. Now, do take a deep breath and steady yourself. You’re acting like a wet-behind-the-ears Padawan instead of a—”

  “Well, excuse me for not having ice water in my veins!” Anakin retorted. “I’m not like you, Obi-Wan. I can’t snap my fingers and turn myself to stone!”

  Astonished, Obi-Wan stared at him.

  “If we don’t get out of here soon, people are going to die,” said Anakin, furiously pacing. “While we’re twiddling our thumbs in sunny Torbel, Dooku’s going to order a strike using that bioweapon and hundreds, maybe thousands, of innocent people are going to die!”

  And if there was one thing Anakin found utterly intolerable it was the thought that a single soul might perish because he reached them too late. Did too little to save them, and not soon enough. He’d always been obsessed about that, but ever since Shmi…
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br />   “You don’t know that,” he said gently. “Not for certain.”

  “I know it’s possible, Obi-Wan,” said Anakin. “Even probable.”

  “Perhaps,” he admitted. “But Anakin, our options are severely limited. We can’t risk getting caught. Our best chance of stopping Dooku and Durd is biding our time here until the convoy comes.”

  “Three days,” said Anakin, turning away. “You know as well as I do how much can go wrong in three days.”

  “And you know the price that’s paid for acting too soon. For rushing in without a thought for the consequences. You know the price, Anakin. Better than anyone.”

  Time spun backward for both of them. A racing gunship. Enemy blasterfire exploding indiscriminately. Terror and fury and grief burning through the Force.

  I can’t take Dooku alone. I need you. If we catch him we can stop this war right now.

  But Anakin hadn’t listened. Heedless, intemperate passion getting the best of him, he’d rushed to challenge Dooku. And where had that left them? With not just an arm lost, but the chance to avoid years of bloodshed and destruction ruined.

  “What?” Anakin, shocked, sounding so young, took a step backward. Bumped into the hub equipment, jarring his hurt shoulder, and flinched. “Obi-Wan—”

  What he’d said was a savage truth, one he’d never thrown in Anakin’s face… until now.

  “I’m sorry,” he said swiftly. “But Anakin, I was right then and I’m right now. No matter how hard it is, no matter our feelings, we must wait. I need you to wait.”

  Anakin stared at him. And then, after a long pause, he nodded. “I know.”

  Obi-Wan folded his arms, relieved. “Good.”

  A flash of temper, like a fire’s dying sparks. “No, it’s not good. It’s necessary. They aren’t the same thing.”

  “You’re right. They’re not.” He unfolded his arms. “And now we should go before we’re discovered here. But first—let me see to your shoulder.”

  It was equal parts peace offering and practicality. Anakin needed full mobility, but he needed to make things right between them. Not just because they were in serious trouble and couldn’t afford the tension, but because—