"How do you know?"
"I think I would know if he was dead." Even as Obi-Wan said this, he
wondered if it was true. With a dark side so powerful, could the Force
still be trusted?
Disbelieving in his own way, Trever snorted. "Don't you believe in
connections between two people?" Obi-Wan asked.
"I believe in my connection to myself. That's about it." Trever eyed
him, then seemed to make a decision. "Come here."
He led him back to the gravsled. "You think I'm taking advantage of
Mariana? That's a laugh. Her shop is doing just fine. She just doesn't want
anyone to know that."
"What do you mean?"
Trever pushed aside the items on top of one of the piles of clothing.
Underneath were Imperial uniforms.
"Laundry and mending," the boy said. "For them. For the whole
garrison."
"Well," Obi-Wan said. "She has to make a living, doesn't she? And they
have to get their clothes cleaned."
"Sure, why not help out the pack of murderers who stole your planet?"
Trever's face was flushed. He kicked another bin. "You know what these are?
Prison uniforms! They have so many of us in jail they can't keep up with
supplies! And there's stacks and stacks of more material in her shop. She
hides in there, making prison uniforms for her own people. I think that
stinks like a monkey-lizard in a hot sun. She deserves to get robbed!
Nobody else in Ussa would cooperate with them - but she did."
Obi-Wan climbed up on the gravsled. He looked down at the uniforms,
bright yellow, so prisoners could be easily seen. There were bins and bins
of them, and she was stocking material for more? How many Ussans did the
Imperials plan to arrest?
His boot hit something metallic, and he bent down. His fingers closed
over a small object. It was an Imperial code cylinder - a device that would
allow the user to access computer information or gain entry to restricted
areas. It must have fallen out of a pocket of one of the uniforms during
the wild ride.
He slipped it into his own pocket.
"So what do you say now, chief? Why shouldn't I steal the clothes?"
Trever asked him impatiently.
Obi-Wan thought a minute. The code cylinder would only be good for a
short period, until the soldier realized he'd lost it. But he would turn
his quarters upside-down to find it before reporting it missing. A missing
code cylinder would earn a severe penalty.
"Does Mariana know these have been stolen?"
"Nah, she has a routine. I waited for her to leave, then I broke into
the shop. She goes to pick up the prison laundry every day at ten."
Obi-Wan checked his chrono. "We have to get the clothes back to the
tailor shop," he told Trever. "The garrison can't know that they've been
stolen."
"We?" Trever backed away. "Do you want to know the secret of my
success? I don't volunteer for anything. Ever."
"You were going to sell these clothes, weren't you? I'll pay you what
they would have sold for - if you'll bring them back. Name your price."
Trever named a figure.
Obi-Wan grimaced. "I'll give you half of that. And I'll add some extra
if you can find out anything about Roan Lands."
Something flickered in Trever's eyes.
"You know something," Obi-Wan observed. Trever shrugged.
Obi-Wan handed him a credit. "I'll give you half now, half later." The
boy was turning out to be expensive, but he had a feeling that Trever could
tell him things he needed to know.
"My father's old partner - she runs a med clinic. They took Roan Lands
there. They nearly killed him, and they want him alive. They brought him
there in secret."
An Imperial speeder cruised slowly by, and Obi-Wan and Trever casually
turned away. The speeder kept going.
Trever hopped from one foot to the other. "It's not such a good idea
to stay in one place for too long in Ussa, you know. We should get moving.
We can take the gravsled back now."
"First I need you to drop me off at the med clinic and wait for me."
"Didn't you hear me? I'm not the volunteering type."
Obi-Wan leaped onto the gravsled. "I don't know whether you've
noticed, but I only paid you half your fee."
"How do you know I won't take the money, drop you off, and then steal
the clothes anyway?"
"I'll take my chances," Obi-Wan said.
"Brave guy."
"And besides," Obi-Wan said, "if you do leave, I'll find you."
CHAPTER SIX
Well, here he was, on a mission. Something he'd never expected to
happen again.
Obi-Wan rolled his cloak into a tight ball and tossed it behind a bin.
He stepped into a pair of coveralls. Trever drove the battered gravsled
well, executing tight turns and negotiating traffic. It was Qui-Gon who had
taught Obi-Wan that on a mission, anyone could be helpful, from an elder to
a boy like this one.
It felt familiar to be heading toward possible danger. Familiar to
keep his gaze moving, checking out the street and airlane traffic, always
alert to the need for a possible escape route. The slight elevation in his
pulse rate told him he was ready for whatever came.
It was all familiar, and yet everything had changed. He was alone.
Once he had thrived in a flourishing network of support, thousands of Jedi
all over the galaxy. There was information and help at the Temple when he
needed it. Now there was nothing. There was no one. And no planet was
looking to the Jedi for help any longer.
He was the last. And this mission would probably be his last, as well.
They cruised past the clinic. Obi-Wan crouched behind the bins. He
wouldn't be able to get in using the code cylinder; that was reserved for
garrison security.
"You won't get in," Trever said.
"I'll get in."
"Well, if you do - which you won't - find Dr. Arnie Antin. She's the
one they brought Roan to. Up ahead." Trever pointed to a small gray
building up on the left. Two stormtrooper guards stood outside. "Don't let
the two fool you. There's security everywhere. On the roof, too. Nobody
gets in or out without a check. If you're bringing in laundry, you need to
be on the manifest."
"I'll figure it out. Just stop for a few seconds, long enough for me
to jump off. Then wait in that alley there. I won't be long."
"You got it."
The gravsled slowed. Hoisting the bundle of laundry on his shoulder,
Obi-Wan jumped off. He headed up the stairs without a backward glance.
One stormtrooper stepped forward, blaster rifle at the ready. "State
your business."
"Laundry delivery," Obi-Wan said.
"Let me check the manifest."
Obi-Wan waved his hand. "You don't need to check it. The laundry can
go on through."
"I don't need to check it. The laundry can go on through." The
stormtrooper gestured him forward. Obi-Wan walked past them, keeping the
bundle on his shoulder. He sneaked a backward look. Trever had halted in
the alley. But when he saw Obi-Wan pass the checkpoint, he waved and zoomed
away.
 
; So, he couldn't trust the boy. It wasn't a surprise. He'd find his own
way out.
Inside, he hurried past the initial examining rooms where patients sat
waiting to be checked in by a med droid who was entering information. He
expected that Roan Lands would be held in one of the back rooms.
He passed a harried-looking medic. "Laundry goes that way," the medic
said brusquely, pointing to a set of double doors.
Inside was a large utility closet. Obi-Wan put the laundry bundle
down, then quickly stepped out of his coveralls and stuffed them into a
trash bin. He took a med tunic off the shelf and slipped it on. Then he
walked out into the corridor again.
No one stopped him this time as he continued down past a desk full of
medics entering information into computers and checking on medicine carts.
Someone was delivering food trays. Obi-Wan went unnoticed in the hubbub.
It didn't take him long to find the room where Roan Lands was kept.
Two stormtrooper guards stood outside. Obi-Wan strode forward.
"I'm here for a consult on the prisoner," he said. "Requested by Dr.
Antin."
"She didn't mention anything."
"She doesn't have to clear medical decisions through you," Obi-Wan
said crisply. He started to walk around them, but the stormtrooper held up
his rifle. "I need to see your ID docs."
Just then the door opened slightly. A woman in a med tunic stood
there. She was of middle years, and beautiful, with a strong face and
piercing black eyes. Her white-blond hair was cropped close to her head.
"Who's this?"
"He says you asked for a consult, Dr. Antin," the stormtrooper said.
Obi-Wan put his hand casually at his side, ready to reach for his
lightsaber. He stared right at Dr. Antin. Only a moment went by as he felt
the sharpness of her gaze on him.
"Yes. Come in, doctor." Dr. Antin held the door open wider.
Obi-Wan walked in. He could see he was in a med room for the sickest
patients. There was a med cocoon on one wall, and a variety of instruments.
A young man lay on the bed. His green eyes were open but stared blankly up
at the ceiling. He didn't move. His dark hair flowed to his shoulders, and
he appeared to be powerfully built. He was still dressed in a prison tunic
of bright yellow.
"Your diagnosis, doctor?" Her voice was crisp.
"Don't bother, I know you're not a doctor, and we might not have much
time. Are you from the Eleven?"
Sometimes, if you didn't answer a direct question, you would get the
information that you need. Obi-Wan waited.
"Look, I've been over this with Wil Asani. I sympathize with what
you're doing, but I can't get involved. Too many patients here depend on me
for treatment. I'll give you information, that's all, and not much of that.
" Dr. Antin sighed and looked at Roan. "You can tell Wil that I don't know
what's wrong, and I don't know if he'll survive. They want me to keep him
alive, but they won't tell me what was administered. It wasn't Loquasin or
Mangoriza - not the usual suspects. I've given him Spectacillin - he's got
a slight infection, but that's not what's killing him. And I've done a gas
binder on him - that should rid his blood of leftover toxins. But unless I
know exactly what was administered, I can't treat him. He's too unstable. I
could kill him. I've seen these cases before. The Imperial Prison must be
trying out a new drug, something I don't know about. What's obvious to me
is that they don't have an antidote either. They just hope I find one. I've
done a lot of research on neurotoxins, so I suspect
that's what it is."
She placed her hand on Roan's shoulder. "He's just got to hold on.
Let's hope for the best."
She looked up at Obi-Wan. "I can walk you out. But don't come back.
This is all I can do."
Obi-Wan heard a commotion outside. Dr. Antin frowned. She hurried to a
vidscreen and the monitor sprang to life. On the screen was the dismaying
sight of stormtroopers pouring through the front door of the clinic. In
their midst strode a tall figure, dressed in a maroon robe in a shade so
deep it was almost black - as though, Obi-Wan thought, he wanted to appear
as close to the Emperor as he could without impersonating him. His hood
completely covered his face.
"Malorum," Dr. Antin breathed. "This isn't good."
"Who's he?" Obi-Wan asked.
"One of the Inquisitors - a group set up by the Emperor himself. He's
here as chief of security on the planet. He arrived with a team to train
the newly formed Surveillance and Security Corps. They'll be part of the
Imperial Security Bureau. The ISB needs a local presence to go after you
and your group." She whirled around. "Don't you know this?"
"You could say I'm the new guy," Obi-Wan said.
"It's too late to get out. You have to hide."
Obi-Wan felt something quicken in the air. The Force? It wasn't
strong, it was just a flicker, but it had been so long since he'd felt it
from another source rather than himself.
He looked back at the monitor. Malorum. That was the source of the
Force.
Who are you, Malorum?
"Come on!" Dr. Antin hurried him toward the wall. She pressed a button
and opened the med cocoon. They could hear noise in the hallway now, the
boots thudding.
"Just don't forget to get me out," Obi-Wan said, as she shut the door
of the cocoon on him and locked it.
Obi-Wan had to gather the Force in order to hear what was going on
outside the cocoon. The words were muffled, but he could make them out.
"My patient is very ill. I do not allow visitors!"
"I'm hardly a visitor." The voice was soft. "Some advice, doctor. Keep
in mind that you have already come to our notice."
"Yes, you are very good at noting things. I am here to serve my
patients. Not your rules."
"And would you have patients if we shut down your clinic?"
"You can't do that. Even the Empire doesn't want to shut down
hospitals, to have the sick dying in the streets for lack of care."
"I assure you, the Empire does what benefits the galaxy as a whole. It
is not logical to consider the rights of the few against the many. We bring
freedom to many, but it requires sacrifices. I'm sorry that you don't see
that."
"Nice rhetoric. You speak of freedom, but you imprison without charges
or trial."
"A necessary adjustment to the law. These are dangerous times."
"You administer illegal drugs for the purposes of torture."
Obi-Wan couldn't believe it. He knew Dr. Antin was afraid; he could
feel her fear. Yet she was combating Malorum, refusing to back down.
He felt the rumble of Malorum's anger.
"Enough. You have trespassed on my good nature, Dr. Antin."
He could visualize Dr. Antin's raised eyebrow when she heard "good
nature."
"You are on dangerous ground. We know you have ties to the Eleven."
"That is untrue."
"You treated one of them."
"I am here to serve the sick."
"You have a son, isn't that right? Adem, yes'?" Dr. Antin said
nothing, b
ut Obi-Wan could feel her fear escalate... as well as her anger.
"He is ten, I believe. Walks himself to school - imagine that."
Obi-Wan wanted to open the door of the med cocoon, confront Malorum.
But he had a feeling that Dr. Antin could take care of herself.
"That's right," Dr. Antin said. Her voice was quiet, just as soft as
Malorum's. "He is a schoolboy, and only cowards threaten children. Is that
part of your grand scheme for the galaxy?"
"You are hiding Ferus Olin. You've seen him. We have reports of a
suspicious character entering the clinic."
"That was a doctor I called for. Dr. Merkon," Dr. Antin said. "He
left."
"We have no record of him leaving."
"Then recheck your records," Dr. Antin snapped.
"You will be hearing from us, Dr. Antin." Obi-Wan heard the footsteps
retreat, and the dark evil in the room followed.
A moment later the cocoon door burst open. "There's no time to waste,"