Authors: Troy Denning
“Lost?” Padmé started after him. “You’re always so sure of yourself. I don’t understand.”
When Anakin returned to the image, he was looking away, his whole body rigid with tension
.
“Obi-Wan and the Council don’t trust me,” he said
.
“They trust you with their lives!” Padmé took his arm and pressed it to her side. “Obi-Wan loves you as a son.”
Anakin shook his head. “Something’s happening.” He still would not look at her. “I’m not the Jedi I should be. I’m one of the most powerful Jedi, but I’m not satisfied. I want more, but I know I shouldn’t.”
“You’re only human, Anakin,” Padmé said. “No one expects any more.”
Anakin was silent for a moment, then his mood seemed to lighten as quickly as it had darkened a moment before, and he turned and placed a hand on her belly
.
“I have found a way to save you.”
Padmé frowned in confusion. “Save me?”
“From my nightmares,” Anakin said
.
“Is
that
what’s bothering you?” Padmé’s voice was relieved
.
Anakin nodded. “I won’t lose you, Padmé.”
“I’m not going to die in childbirth, Anakin.” She smiled, and her voice turned light. “I promise you.”
Anakin remained grave. “No, I promise
you,”
he said. “I’m becoming so powerful with my new knowledge of the Force that I’ll be able to keep you from dying.”
Padmé’s voice turned as grave as Anakin’s, and she locked eyes with him. “You don’t need more power, Anakin. I believe you can protect me from anything … just as you are.”
This won a smile from Anakin—but it was a small, hard smile filled with secrets and fear, and when they kissed, it seemed to Luke that his father’s arms were not embracing so much as claiming
.
The hologram ended. R2-D2 deactivated his holoprojector and let out a long, descending whistle.
“No need to apologize, Artoo.” Alema’s eyes remained fixed on Luke. “The file you chose was excellent—wasn’t it, Master Skywalker?”
“It served to illustrate your point,” Luke allowed.
“Come now,” Alema said. “It confirmed the identity of your mother—just as we promised it would. We’re sure you would like to learn what became of her.”
“Now that you mention it, yeah,” Han said. “One file doesn’t prove a thing.”
“Nice try.” Alema shot Han an irritated scowl. “But one sample is all you get. And we advise you not to try opening any files yourself. The access code changes with each use, and the file will be destroyed. When three files have been lost, the entire chip will self-destruct.”
“That would be unfortunate, but not disastrous,” Luke said. Though he had little doubt now that the woman in the holos was indeed his mother, his father’s brooding nature had left him feeling uneasy inside—and a bit frightened for the woman. “Leia and I have learned a great deal from Old Republic records already. We’re fairly certain that the woman in the holos is Padmé Amidala, a former Queen and later Senator of Naboo.”
“Will those old records tell you what she looked like when she smiled? How she sounded when she laughed? Why she abandoned you and your sister?” Alema pushed her lip into a pout. “Come, Master Skywalker. We are only asking that you leave Gorog alone. Do that, and each week we will feed you one of the access codes you need to truly know your mother.”
Luke paused, insulted that Alema could believe such a ploy would work on him, wondering if there had ever been a time when he could have seemed so unprincipled and self-serving to her.
“You surprise me, Alema,” Luke said. “I would never place personal interests above those of the Jedi and the Force. You must know that—even if Gorog doesn’t.”
“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean we’re looking for trouble, either,” Han added hastily. “We’re just here to help with the Fizz. As long as the Dark Nest isn’t bothering us, we won’t bother it.”
“Good.” Alema trailed her fingertips across Han’s shoulders, smirking as though she had won her concession. “That’s all we can ask.”
Han shuddered free of her. “Do you mind? I don’t want to catch anything.”
Alema cocked her brow, more surprised than hurt, then held her hand out to Luke. “If you’ll return our lightsaber, we’ll let you be on your way.” She glanced at the ceiling,
which was already starting to froth, then added, “We wouldn’t want anything to happen to Artoo.”
Luke took the weapon from his belt, but instead of returning it to Alema, he opened the hilt and removed the Adegan focusing crystal from inside.
“It pains me to say this, Alema.” He began to squeeze, calling on the Force to bolster his strength, and felt the crystal shatter. “But you are no longer fit to carry a lightsaber.”
Alema’s eyes flashed with rage. “That means nothing!” Her lekku began to writhe and twitch, but she managed to retain control of herself and turned toward the door. “We’ll just build another.”
“I know.” Luke turned his hand sideways and let the crystal dust fall to the floor. “And I’ll take that one away, too.”
The mourners wore gaily patterned tabards brighter than anything Cal Omas had ever imagined a Sullustan owning, but they approached the vault in somber silence, each masc setting a single transpariblock into the seamweld the crypt master had spread for him, each fern taking the weld-rake in her left hand and carefully smoothing the joints.
This being Sullust, and Sullustans being Sullustans, the tomb-walling ceremony followed a rigid protocol, with the crypt master inviting mourners forward according to both their social status and their relationship to the deceased. Admiral Sovv’s younglings and seven current wives had placed the first blocks, followed by his grown children and the other husbands of his warren-clan, then by his blood relatives, his closest friends, the two Jedi Masters in attendance—Kenth Hamner and Kyp Durron—and the entire executive branch of Sullust’s governing corporation, SoroSuub. Now, with only one gap remaining in the wall, the crypt master summoned Cal Omas forward.
Omas’s protocol droid had warned him that before placing the last block, the person called upon at this point was expected to deliver a brief comment of exactly as many words as the deceased’s age in standard years. This was not to be a eulogy—recounting the departed’s life would have been considered an affront to those present, implying as it
did that the other mourners had not known the dead person as well as they thought. Instead, it was to be a simple address from the heart.
Omas took his place in front of the vault and accepted the transpariblock. The thing was far heavier than it looked, but he pulled it close to his body and did his best not to grimace as he turned to face the assembly.
The gathering was huge, filling the entire Catacomb of Eminents and spilling out the doors into the Gallery of Ancestors. The throng contained more than a hundred Alliance dignitaries, but they went almost unnoticed in the sea of Sullustan faces. As the Supreme Commander of the force that had defeated the Yuuzhan Vong, Sien Sovv had been a hero of mythical proportions on Sullust, an administrator and organizer who rivaled the stature of even Luke Skywalker and Han and Leia Solo in other parts of the galaxy.
Omas took a deep breath, then spoke. “I speak for everyone in the Galactic Alliance when I say that we share Sullust’s shock and sorrow over the collision that took the lives of Admiral Sovv and so many others. Sien was my good friend, as well as the esteemed commander of the Galactic Alliance military, and I promise you that we
will
bring those who are truly responsible for this tragedy to justice … no matter what nebula they try to hide within.”
The Sullustans remained silent, their dark eyes blinking up at Omas enigmatically. Whether he had shocked the mourners with his suggestion of foul play or committed some grievous error of protocol, Omas could not say. He knew only that he had spoken from the heart, that he had reached the limits of his patience with the problems the Killiks were causing, and that he intended to act—with or without the Jedi’s support.
After a moment, an approving murmur rose from the
back of the crowd and began to rustle forward, growing in volume as it approached. Kenth Hamner and Kyp Durron scowled and peered over their shoulders at the assembly, but if the Sullustan mourners noticed the censure, they paid it no attention. There had already been rumblings about Master Skywalker’s conspicuous absence from the funeral, so no one in the crowd was inclined to pay much attention to the opinions of a pair of bug-loving Jedi.
Once the murmur reached the front of the crowd, the crypt master silenced the chamber with a gesture. He had Omas hoist the heavy transpariblock into place, then invited the mourners to retire to the Gallery of Ancestors, where SoroSuub Corporation was sponsoring a funerary feast truly unrivaled in the history of the planet.
As Omas and the other dignitaries waited for the catacombs to clear, he went over to the two Jedi Masters. Kenth Hamner, a handsome man with a long aristocratic face, served as the Jedi order’s liaison to the Galactic Alliance military. He was dressed in his formal liaison’s uniform, looking as immaculate and polished as only a former officer could. Kyp Durron had at least shaved and soni-smoothed his robe, but his boots were scuffed and his hair remained just unruly enough for the Sullustans to find fault on such a formal occasion.
“I’m happy to see the Jedi were able to send
someone
,” Omas said to the pair. “But I’m afraid the Sullustans may read something untoward into Master Skywalker’s absence. It’s unfortunate he couldn’t be here.”
Rather than explain Luke’s absence, Kenth remained silent and merely looked uncomfortable.
Kyp went on the attack. “You didn’t help matters by suggesting that the Killiks were responsible for the accident.”
“They were,” Omas answered. “The Vratix piloting that
freighter were so drunk on black membrosia, it’s doubtful they ever
knew
they had collided with Admiral Sovv’s transport.”
“That’s true, Chief Omas,” Kenth said. “But it doesn’t mean that the Killiks are responsible for the accident.”
“It certainly does, Master Hamner,” Omas said. “How many times has the Alliance demanded that the Colony stop sending that poison to our insect worlds? How many times must I warn them that we’ll take action?”
Kyp frowned. “You know that the Dark Nest—”
“I
know
that I’ve been attending funerals all week, Master Hamner,” Omas fumed. “I
know
that the Supreme Commander of the Alliance military and more than two hundred members of his staff are dead. I
know
who is responsible—ultimately, utterly, and undeniably responsible—and I know the Jedi have been shielding them ever since Qoribu.”
“The Killik situation is complicated.” Kenth spoke in a calming voice that immediately began to quell Omas’s anger. “And inflaming matters with hasty accusations—”
“Don’t you
dare
use the Force on me.” Omas stepped close to Kenth and spoke in a low, icy tone. “Sien Sovv and most of his staff-beings are dead, Master Hamner. I will
not
be calmed.”
“My apologies, Chief Omas,” Kenth said. “But this sort of talk will only make matters difficult.”
“Matters are already difficult.” Omas lowered his voice to an angry whisper. “You told me yourself that Master Horn suspected this was more than an accident.”
“I did,” Kenth admitted. “But he hasn’t found any evidence to suggest that the Killiks were the ones behind it.”
“Has he found any evidence to suggest that someone else was?” Omas demanded.
Kenth shook his head.
“Maybe that’s because it
was
only an accident,” Kyp
suggested. “Until Master Horn finds some proof, his suspicions are just that—suspicions.”
“Taken with what we already know, Master Horn’s suspicions are quite enough for
me
,” Omas said. “The Killiks must be dealt with—and it’s time that you Jedi understood that.”
“Hear, hear!” a gurgly Rodian voice called.
Omas glanced over and found Moog Ulur—the Senator from Rodia—eavesdropping with several of his colleagues from barely an arm’s length away. To be polite, the Sullustan dignitaries had moved off to a distance of a dozen meters or so—but, of course, Sullustans had better hearing.
Omas straightened his robes. “Gentlemen, I think it’s time I made my way to the feast.” He turned toward Ulur and the other Senators, then spoke over his shoulder to the two Masters. “Have Master Skywalker contact me at his earliest convenience.”
The Queen’s Drawing Room smelled of emptiness and disuse, with the odor of polishing agents and window cleanser hanging so thickly in the air that Jacen wondered if the housekeeping droid needed its dispensing program adjusted. An octagonal game table rested in the center of the opulent chamber, directly beneath a Kamarian-crystal chandelier and surrounded by eight flow-cushion chairs that looked as though they had never been sat upon. The Force held no hint of any living presence, but the silence in the chamber was charged with a sense of danger and foreboding that made Jacen cold between his shoulder blades.
Jacen’s nine-year-old cousin, Ben Skywalker, stepped closer to his side. “It’s creepy in here.”
“You noticed. Good.” Jacen glanced down at his cousin. With red hair, freckles, and fiery blue eyes, Ben appeared typical of many boys his age, more interested in hologames and shock ball than in studies and training. Yet he had more innate control over the Force at his age than any person Jacen had ever known—enough to shut himself off from it whenever he wished, enough to prevent even Jacen from sensing just how strong in the Force he really might be. “What else do you feel?”
“Two people.” Ben pointed through a door in the back of the room. “I think one’s a kid.”
“Because one has a smaller presence in the Force?” Jacen asked. “That’s not always a guide. Sometimes, children have—”
“Not that,” Ben interrupted. “I think one’s holding the other, and she feels all … mushy.”
“Fair enough.” Jacen would have chuckled, save that he had already sensed through the Force that Ben was right, and he could not understand what Tenel Ka was doing alone in her chambers with a child. It had been nearly a year since their last meeting, but they had spoken several times since—whenever they could arrange a secure HoloNet connection—and Jacen felt certain that she would have told
him
if she had decided to take a husband. “But we shouldn’t make assumptions. They can be misleading.”