The sound of the fountains. The river that ran behind the Temple. The chimes that the cook had hung in a tree in the kitchen gardens. He had noticed those things then, and something in him had uncurled. He had thought, for the first time, that he could feel at home there.
A good memory.
Twin metal rods were screwed against his temples. The electro-pulsers.
The stone glowed against his heart.
A visit home. His mother. Softness and light. His father. A laugh, full-bodied, joined by his mother’s, just as full, just as rich. His brother, sharing a piece of fruit with him. The explosion of sweet juice in his mouth. Soft grasses underneath his bare feet.
The droid activated the memory wipe while the guards watched. A strange sensation began in his temples and moved inward. Not pain, not quite . . .
Owen. His brother’s name was Owen.
Reeft never got enough to eat.
Bant’s eyes were silver.
The first time he’d drawn his lightsaber. It had glowed as he activated it. Most of the Temple students had been clumsy. He had never been clumsy. Not with his weapon. The lightsaber had always felt right in his hand.
Pain now. White hot.
The Force was bright, too. He pictured it, golden, strong, glowing, forming a barrier around his memories.
They are mine. Not yours. I’ll keep them.
The Syndicat guards were surprised to see him smile.
“Happy to see that memory go, I guess,” on of them said to the other.
No, it is not going. I have it. I’m holding it now . . .
Rough linen against his hands. He clung to his mother. The end of the visit. Yes, he had wanted to go back to the Temple. It was a great honor. They knew they could not keep him from it. He wanted it so much. Yet good-bye was so painful, so hard. A soft cheek pressed against his.
I carry you always.
The way dusk fell at the Temple. Slowly, because of all the lights and white buildings of Coruscant. Light took long to leave. That’s when he’d go to the river with Bant. Bant loved the water. She grew up on a humid world. Her room was kept supplied with steam. She swam like a fish in the River. As dusk fell, the color of the water would match her eyes.
Pain. He felt sick. Consciousness was slippery. If he passed out, he would lose.
Yoda. Yoda he would not lose. Strength you have, Obi-Wan. Patience you have as well, but find it, you must. It is there within you. Search you will, until you find it and hold it. Learn to use it, you must. Learn that it will save you, you will.
How would not lose Yoda’s lessons. He created a Force barrier around them. Pain crested again, sending dissiness through him. He could not last much longer.
“What’s your name?” the guard asked harshly.
Obi-Wan rolled blank, sick eyes toward the guard.
“You name,” the guard repeated.
Obi-Wan pretended to search, pretended to panic.
The guard laughed. “This one is cooked.”
The droid detached the electro-pulsers. Obi-wan slumped to the floor.
“He’s sleep now,” the guard said.
“He won’t dream,” the other added.
But he did.
He was hauled to his feet. A Syndicat guard leered in his face.
“Ready to face your new life?”
He kept his face blank, dazed.
“I’ve got money riding on this,” the guard said. “You won’t last three days on Gala.”
Gala! Obi-Wan kept a neutral look on his face as relief surged through him. What a stroke luck! At least on Gala he could find a way to help Qui-Gon.
He knew Prince Beju’s plans. Perhaps he could find someone on Gala, one of the rival politicians running for governor, to help.
The landing ramp slid down. He could see a gray stone spaceport lined with battered starfighters, A number of checkpoints prevented anyone from entering. Obi-Wan remembered what Qui-Gon had said. The royal house had plundered the planet. Rival factions fought for control. The people were close to revolt.
“Have fun!” the Syndicat guard chortled, and gave him a push down the ramp.
A probe droid buzzed behind Obi-Wan made his way cautiously through the spaceport hanger. When he reached the checkpoint, the guard waved him through. No doubt the Syndicat had bribed them to let him through without a challenge. Once he hit the streets of Gala, their fun would begin. They were betting on how long he’d survive.
Obi-Wan plunged into the teeming streets of Galu, the capital city of Gala. The small probot followed behind. Obi-Wan knew he had a camera trained on him at all times. It was hard to know what to do. How would he react to such a city if he had no memory of what he knew.
The city of Galu had once been grand and impressive. But the great stone buildings were crumbling. Obi-Wan could see the holes and depressions where ornaments had been stripped off the facades. Trees had once lined the streets, but now there were only twisted stumps.
The Galacians were humanoids whose pale skin had a bluish cast. Sunlight on the planet was limited and they were often called “moon people” due to their fair, luminous skin. Obi-Wan could see evidence of poverty everywhere. Where the atmosphere on Phindar was one of fear, here on Gala, Obi-Wan picked up anger.
Obi-Wan kept a confused look on his face. He stared into shop windows, trying to seem as though he’d never seen the items inside before. He avoided looking into strangers’ eyes, wandered the streets without seeming to have a destination. All the while, however, he was heading toward the gleaming building he saw in the distance, guessing it was the grand Palace of Gala. Blue and green gemstones embedded in the towers caught the weak sunlight and made the place seem to sparkle.
Suddenly, a gigantic Galacian man blocked his path. “You,” he said, placing a meaty hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “Do you know what I told myself when I woke up this morning?”
The probot buzzed around Obi-Wan. He resisted the temptation to react as a Jedi. He would not look into the man’s eyes with clear steady courage. He would not speak firmly but respectfully in an attempt to defuse the situation. He must react in fear and confusion.
And hope he didn’t get killed.
Obi-Wan let apprehension show on his face. “What?” he answered.
The huge man squeezed his shoulder painfully. “That I would slit the throat of the first hill person that I saw.”
“I-I’m not a hill person,” Obi-Wan said. Then he realized that without his memory he wouldn’t know if he were a hill person. He pretended to look suddenly confused.
“You look like one,” the Galacian said. He reached for the vibro-shiv on his belt. Obi-Wan heard it leave the sheath with a slithering noise. The blade sounded very long.
Obi-Wan’s hand instinctively moved toward his lightsaber. But of course he didn’t have one – the Syndicat had confiscated it. And he would tip off the probot camera if he used it anyway.
“People say I look like one,” he said quickly. “All the time. I just don’t understand it.”
The man frowned. “You don’t?”
“Because I may be ugly, but I’m not that ugly,” Obi-Wan said. He had no idea what a hill person was. Or what they looked like. But he knew that the only way to talk his way out of this was to make friends with his enemy.
The large man stared at him blankly. Then he threw back his head and laughed. He hand dropped from Obi-Wan’s shoulder.
Obi-Wan took a step back, smiling along with the man’s laughter. He began to edge away. Still laughing, the man tucked his vibro-shiv back into his belt and walked on.
He kept a look of fright and confusion on his face for the benefit of the probot. He had to lose the droid, he realized. If he had to rely on his wits to survive, he’d be dead by sunset.
That thought made Obi-Wan begin to smile, but he quickly masked it by coughing into his hand. He ducked down a side street. While he walked, he used the Jedi technique of looking without seeming to look. He gathered information, waiting f
or his chance.
Ahead, a cart loaded with vegetables was standing outside a café’s kitchen door. A cook stood outside, arguing with the driver. Obi-Wan saw a speeder bike turn the corner ahead. This could be his chance.
He quickened his pace. When he got closer to the cart, he stumbled, keeping the dazed, confused expression on his face. His fall sent him squarely into the path of the speeder bike. He saw the driver’s surprised expression before the driver turned the bike quickly to avoid running over Obi-Wan. He sideswiped the cart, which overturned. The driver of the cart began to scream at the speeder bike rider, who gunned the motor and kept going.
The cart driver pursued him, picking up vegetables as he ran and throwing him at the speeder. One of the vegetables hit the probot, which let out a warning beep and swerved in the air. Obi-Wan quickly rolled behind the cart, then ran, doubled over, into the kitchen of the café. He darted past a surprised worker stirring soup and ran into the café itself. He headed for the door and ran out into the street. Quickly, he ducked into the shop next door.
A moment later he saw the probot fly out the door. It hovered on the street, revolving slowly. The camera scanned the passersby. Obi-Wan stayed hidden in the shop. Slowly, the probot began to cruise the street, revolving carefully. Obi-Wan quickly faded back into the store, then ran by the surprised shop owner and left by the alley exit.
The palace of Gala wasn’t far. Obi-Wan hesitated at the ornate jeweled gates, wondering what to do. He could hardly walk in and announce himself. He assumed that the various ministers and candidates for governorship must come to the palace for meetings about the upcoming elections. Should he just stop the nest important-looking person and tell him why he was there?
Obi-Wan wished Qui-Gon was with him. The Jedi Knight would know what to do. Obi-Wan’s mind was too filled with possibilities and guesses. He felt exposed here on the street outside the place. He was afraid the probot would return at any moment.
Still wondering how to proceed, Obi-Wan drifted back to stand underneath the shadow of a building overhang. He watched as a small passenger spaceliner glided down from the sky. It seemed to be headed straight toward him. Obi-Wan tensed, then realized he was standing next to a small spaceport hanger.
He moved forward, still keeping in the shadow of the overhang, to watch the ship land. The ramp lowered, and the pilot got out. Someone moved forward to greet him. It was young man dressed in a long cloak and a wrapped headdress.
“I have been waiting for three minutes,” the boy snapped as the pilot approached him.
“My apologies, my Prince. Equipment check took a bit longer than usual. But we are ready to fly.”
Obi-Wan stiffened. It must be Prince Beju!
“Don’t bore me with the Obvious,” the Prince snapped. “are my supplies loaded?”
“Yes, my Prince. Is your royal guard ready to board?”
“Don’t bore me with questions – just obey me!” Prince Beju ordered. “I expect takeoff in two minutes. I will be resting during the flight, so do not disturb me.”
Prince Beju flung his cloak behind a shoulder and stalked off. It was clear to Obi-Wan that the Prince must be heading to Phindar for the meeting with the Syndicat. Should he prevent the Prince from leaving?
No, Obi-Wan thought. He would just end up in prison, this time on Gala, if he interfered here. Better to show aboard and see if he could get back to Phindar.
Obi-Wan watched as Prince Beju disappeared up the exit ramp. He was surprised to see that Beju wasn’t much older than he was. He was the same height as Obi-Wan as well, and had the same sturdy frame . . .
The idea flashed into Obi-Wan’s mind like a powered-up lightsaber. Was it too risky? Should he attempt it?
He had only minutes to decide. Cautiously, he slipped onto thew ship. Prince Beju was nowhere in sight. Obi-Wan realized that the Prince was nowhere in sight. Obi-Wan realized that the Prince’s transport that had been converted for his royal use. It was fitted with every luxury. Prince Beju was probably in his stateroom, behind the gilded door immediately to Obi-Wan right.
Obi-Wan quickly went into the cockpit. He sat for a moment, familiarizing himself with the controls. He had piloted cloud cars and air-speeders and once, a huge transport ship. This shouldn’t be too hard.
He headed back into the stateroom again an opened a closet door. One held supplies, but he found what he was looking for in the next – a row headdresses similar to the one the Prince wore. Obi-Wan quickly slipped one on his head, then wrapped the deep purple cloak in a rich fabric around his shoulders.
He returned to the cockpit and sat in the pilot seat. He saw the pilot heading for the ship, along with three royal guards. Quickly, Obi-Wan deactivated the exit ramp and started the ion engines. The pilot looked up, startled.
Obi-Wan could see the puzzlement on his face. The Padawan had counted on the fact that the headdress and cloak would confuse the pilot and the guards. They would assume that Prince Beju was piloting the ship. Not for long, perhaps – but if Obi-Wan was lucky, he would have enough time to take off.
The comlink suddenly blared to life. “Two minutes are up!” Prince Beju barked. “Why are we not taking off?”
“Immediately, my Prince,” Obi-Wan said crisply. He started preparations for takeoff. The ion engines revved. The pilot and the guards moved closer, trying to get a better look. Obi-Wan saw one guard’s hand move to his blaster.
“Now,” he muttered, and the ship blasted out of the atmosphere of Gala. He waited until they were in deep space. Then he tossed the headdress and cloak aside, for the moment.
A weapons cabinet was mounted on the wall of the cockpit. He selected a blaster. Then he made his way back to the Prince’s stateroom.
The Prince was reclining on a sleep couch when he entered. “I said I didn’t want to be disturbed!” he snapped, not looking up.
Obi-Wan walked closer. He placed the blaster under the Prince’s chin. “So sorry.”
The Prince twisted around to look at Obi-Wan. “Guards!” he screamed.
“They decided to stay on Gala,” Obi-Wan said.
“Get off of my ship!” Prince Beju blustered. “I’ll see you dead! Who are you? How dare you!”
“Don’t bore me with questions,” Obi-Wan said, hauling the Prince to his feet. “Just obey me.”
Chapter 16
Qui-Gon, Paxxi, and Guerra found a place to hide behind a pile of repair equipment in the Syndicat hanger. They had found out from Duenna when the Prince was scheduled to arrive. Baftu and a troop of assassin droids and Syndicat guards waited on the landing platform.
The Derida brothers and Qui-Gon wore their stolen Syndicat armor coats. Even though the coats gave them some protection, it was better to keep out of sight.
Kaadi had entered enthusiastically into their plan. She, too, thought the Prince’s visit would be a perfect time to strike. She had contacted her rebel operatives. All they would need was a signal from her when the warehouses were open. She had designated people to find weapons and distribute them, find good, find supplies. And when the bacta was loaded onto the Prince’s ship, she would make sure that the Phindians saw it happen.
Qui-Gon couldn’t imagine the fury of a people deprived so long of what they needed to live. Surely the capital would explode. That would give them plenty of diversion to break in and steal the treasury. Once the Syndicat was destroyed, peace could return to Phindar at last.
So why was he so uneasy? Qui-Gon wondered. Perhaps it was because the plan seemed so simple, yet was so dependent on their guesses. What if the Prince went to headquarters first? What if Baftu double-crossed him and withheld the bacta? What if Paxxi’s anti-register device didn’t work? Qui-Gon had tested it on a security lock of Kaadi’s, but what if the warehouse locks were different? It would have been dangerous to test it first, but should they have tried?
Perhaps he was allowing his worry about Obi-Wan in interfere with his judgement. He was anxious to bring about the Syndicat collapse so that
he could find his Padawan. But was he acting rashly?
“You are worrying, Jedi-Gon,” Guerra whispered. “You should not. Everything will be smooth. Paxxi and I have always been lucky.”
Qui-Gon had certainly not seen any evidence to support this. But Guerra was trying to be helpful, so he nodded in thanks.
“Yes so, we guarantee this,” Paxxi added in a whisper. “The Syndicat will be weakened, maybe collapse, and Prince Beju will take off with no bacta and no alliance. Just so!”
“There is the ship!” Guerra hissed.
The Prince’s ship came into view, sleek and white. It glided to a perfect landing. The ramp slowly lowered. Qui-Gon tensed. Now everything would begin.