They peered curiously into the big round chamber. The spikeballs once more covering the walls were as still as the stone to which they clung. At the bottom of the bowl, a slight descent from the big doors, a pile of debris rose two meters above the stone floor.
A sigh came from the crowd.
Farrs called out two names.
Obi-Wan Kenobi got to his feet first and touched himself with quick gestures. Three spikeballs clung to him, one on each arm and one on his chest. Their grip was tenacious, and he did not try to dislodge them, much as he wanted to. He looked around the piles of shed spikes and shells littering the bottom of the bowl, the detritus of the terrifying cascade, and saw an arm poking from the thickest mound. He stepped over with a grunt and grabbed Anakin's hand and pulled him up.
Anakin, from head to foot, was cluttered with spikeballs twelve of them. His pulse was strong, but he had gone inward to conserve oxygen and avoid the shock that might come with physical injury, and his eyes were closed.
"Great skies!" Farrs cried. "Is he all right? We've never seen such a-"
Gann ran down the dip to the bottom of the chamber and helped Obi-Wan carry the encumbered and unwieldy boy through the doors. They laid him out on a cushion brought by two young female attendants. All were careful not to dislodge the seed-partners. Once again, seeing the clients, the crowd let out a breath, some muttering little strings of words as if in prayer.
"Great is the Potentium, great the life of Sekot."
"All serve and are served, and all join the Potentium."
Obi-Wan held his anger and concern in tight check, lest he reveal his lightsaber and ask more than a few tough questions. "Did you know this would happen?" he asked Sheekla Farrs through clenched teeth.
Her face was heavy with dismay. "No! Is he alive?"
"He's alive. Do they take sustenance from us?" He reached down to touch the spikeball on his chest. It had pushed a spike through his tunic and coat to reach the skin beneath, but he felt no wound there, merely an uncomfortable adhesion.
"No," Gann said, kneeling beside Anakin. "They don't suck your blood. So many! The most partners we've ever seen on a client-"
"Three is normal," Farrs interrupted and finished for him. "You have the normal number. Your student must be an extraordinary young man!"
"What made them do it?" Gann wondered.
Anakin's eyes fluttered, then opened, and the boy stared up at Obi-Wan from the depths of an utter calm. Somehow, he had maintained that inner stillness even when confronted with extreme danger.
"You're not injured," Obi-Wan told him. "They cling but do not wound."
"I know," Anakin said. "They're friendly. So many wanted to join us. . .all at once!"
Obi-Wan turned to Farrs. "You avoid a truth," he said.
Gann looked suddenly guilty, but Farrs shook her head and told the attendants to carry the boy into the postpartnering room. The two females, little older than Anakin, helped him to his feet, avoiding the spikeballs, and the group walked toward a narrow door near a corner. Anakin gave the girls a shy grin.
The crowd's heads turned as one until they were through the door.
The stone walls of the low-ceilinged and smaller room beyond had one opening, a narrow window that showed a scut of sky and the green and purple of the outside growth.
"I need to verify something ..." Farrs murmured. She guided them toward a low table illuminated by a broad lamp.
Farrs and Gann took brass and steel instruments from a cupboard and measured Anakin's spikeballs first, then pinched the clinging spikes until they released their grips with small sighs. Each spikeball was placed in a lamina box, and the attendants labeled the boxes with a circle. They then removed Obi-Wan's seed-partners and placed them in boxes marked with a square.
"There will be a ship, a very dense and marvelous ship, I think," Farrs murmured as she checked her measurements against a chart on a scroll mounted on one end of the table. She conferred in whispers with Gann for a moment.
"Three of these seed-partners have chosen a client before," Farrs said when they stopped their whispering. "One of them chose you, Obi-Wan, this time. Two chose you, Anakin."
"Who did they belong to before?" Obi-Wan asked.
"We do not reveal the names of our clients," Gann said.
"That is right," Farrs said. "We did not want to deceive, but. . ."
"This client did not stay with us long enough to grow a ship," Gann said, and exchanged another look with Farrs. "The seed-partners returned to the Potentium."
"Pardon us," Sheekla Farrs said. "We need to confer again, in private. Please, rest, relax. The attendants will bring food and drink."
"All right," Anakin said. He lifted his arms and clasped his hands behind his head. The boy grinned once more, even more broadly, as Farrs and Gann left through the narrow door. The girls stepped back, their faces solemn.
"I see you're amused," Obi-Wan said.
"I'm glad to be alive," Anakin explained. "And I got more than you," he added. "More even than Vergere!"
Obi-Wan pressed his finger to Anakin's lips-enough about Vergere. "We do not know the other was her."
"It had to be!" Anakin said. "Who else?"
Obi-Wan let this pass. He suspected the boy was right. "At any rate, how do we know more is better'?'" he cautioned.
"It always is," Anakin said.
They ate in the cool silence of the room thin brown cakes served on carved stone platters, cool water in sweating ceramic pitchers. Their cups were made of green- and red-streaked lamina, and the water tasted pure and slightly sweet. Anakin seemed happy, even ebullient. He looked at Obi-Wan as if he expected his master to burst this particular bubble at any moment.
Obi-Wan withheld his judgment for the time being as to how well they were doing, and whether they had made any progress.
After ten minutes, Gann returned alone. Anakin's face fell on seeing the older Ferroan's dour expression.
"There's a difficulty," Gann told them. "The Magister thinks we should not proceed to the designing and forging until he meets with you."
"Is that good or bad?" Anakin asked. "Do we get to make the ship?"
"I don't know," Gann said. "He rarely meets with anybody."
"When will he come?" Obi-Wan asked.
"You will go to him" Gann said tersely, eyes rolling, as if that should be obvious. "And you will go at the Magister's convenience." He peered at them from under thick, merged brows. "We will keep your seed-partners ready, and when you return, if all is well, we will begin the design, and the conversion, and proceed to the annealing and the shaping."
Chapter 26
Captain Kett greeted the commander with civility as he mounted the navigation deck of the Admiral Korvin. "We are nearing emergence," he told Sienar.
Sienar nodded abstractedly.
The port covers slid aside, and Sienar turned half away from the twisted, star-streaming view.
"Reversion at mark," he muttered.
"So ordered, sir," Kett acknowledged.
"How good are the ship's duplication facilities, Captain Kett?" Sienar asked.
"Our astromech complement is adequate to conduct many major repairs in transit," Kett reported.
The E-5 was doing quite well with its new capabilities. And the Blood Carver was reacting favorably to his new perspective. So far, so good, but there was so much farther to go.
Sienar held out a small box of data cards. "I would like to have these programs loaded into the ship's manufactory and placed in all the battle droids. The programming will be duplicated from these data cards and activated in each unit, to replace all previous programming. All, Captain Kett. And, of course, I will perform authentication tests."
Kett's polite expression froze. "That is not authorized, sir. It's against Trade Federation policy."
Sienar smiled at this slip into old ways. "When we return, all our weapons will be handed over to the Republic. This programming meets Republic standards and the droid will answer t
o Republic control."
"It is still not in my brief," Kett said.
"I have my own instructions, from Tarkin himself, and they are explicit," Sienar said calmly. He knew that as commander, and with Tarkin's backing, his command would be sufficient- now that he had at least some influence over Ke Daiv.
Now that he would not meet an unfortunate accident if he did something unexpected and out of turn.
The Baktoid E-5 droid strode with a surprisingly light tread out of the turbolift and onto the bridge of the flagship. It stood just below the navigation deck, clearly visible to all on the bridge. No threat was implied, merely a demonstration of the new way of things. Normally, this droid would not have been activated until battle.
Kett watched with obvious misgivings. "Understood, sir," he said.
"And show me the astromech reports when the job is completed," Sienar said, sucking his teeth.
Kett watched him for a couple of seconds, barely hiding his distaste.
Sienar ignored him and glared at the port.
"Reversion," the hyperdrive control officer announced.
"Realspace!" Captain Kett shouted as the stars whisked back into proper perspective, and space and time returned to their familiar dominance.
"About time," Sienar said with a sigh. He pushed a lever, and the navigation deck rolled on its track toward the large port until the view filled his field of vision.
He would have reveled in any normal pattern of stars whatsoever, but what he saw now was impressive, very impressive. The outward-spiraling ribbon of the red giant and white dwarf components filled his eyes with a dreamlike, fiery light. Such a sight was a rare privilege.
With some assurance of subtlety and Sienar-bred creativity in his weapons systems, he could actually enjoy the view.
"Our destination planet is in sight, and we are locked on to a holding orbit around the planet's yellow sun," Kett said. "We will not approach any closer until so ordered by you, Commander." Kett, still mulling over his options, was reluctant to leave the bridge.
Sienar did not mind independent thought, so long as it did not become too independent.
"You may carry out your instructions . . . now." Sienar pointed aft.
"Yes, sir." Kett hurried to the turbolift, the deep-set and jewel-like eyes of the E-5 droid firmly and balefully fixed on the space between his shoulder blades.
Chapter 27
The Sekotan air transport took them south over some of the strangest terrain Obi-Wan Kenobi had ever seen. Flying at an altitude of less than a thousand meters, the small, flat craft dodged with dizzying speed over tall, thick-trunked boras with bloated balloonlike leaves that spun and wobbled in their wake.
"I think the settlers use those leaves to make their airships," Anakin said, looking aft through the windscreen that curved almost completely around the transport.
Obi-Wan nodded, lost in thought. If seed-partners preferred Jedi, then some research was called for. Only organisms strong in the Force could detect Jedi. It was becoming more and more apparent that the life-forms of this world-Sekot, as Gann called the living totality-were special, and that his Padawan strongly attracted them.
"This is really beautiful," Anakin said. "The air smells great, and the jungle is wizard."
"Don't grow too attached," Obi-Wan warned.
"I've never been to a place like this."
"Remember your earlier feelings about Sekot."
"I do," Anakin said.
"You mentioned a single wave, something happening now or in the future."
"Yeah," Anakin said. He nodded his head forward, to the door that hid the pilot from them.
Obi-Wan held up his hand. "He is oblivious to our talk. It's important we analyze what's happening before we get drawn in further."
"It comes and goes, this sensation of a single wave. I might have made a mistake."
"You made no mistake. I feel it myself now. Something coming toward us rapidly, something dangerous."
Anakin shook his head sadly. "I hope nothing happens before we get our ship made."
Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes in disapproval. "I am concerned you are losing your perspective."
"We came here to get a ship!" Anakin said, his voice breaking. "And to find out about Vergere. She didn't get her ship, so it's even more important for us. That's all." He folded his arms.
Obi-Wan let these words sit between them for some seconds before asking, blandly enough, "What does the ship mean to you?"
"A ship that tunes itself to a need for speed . . . Wow!" Anakin said. "For me, that would be the perfect friend."
"That's what I thought," Obi-Wan said.
"But it won't distract me from my training," Anakin assured him.
Once again, Obi-Wan felt he was losing control of the situation. Before Anakin had been Obi-Wan's apprentice, Qui-Gon had encouraged behavior in the boy that Obi-Wan had disapproved of. And now, the Council and Thracia Cho Leem, sending them to this world, were once more tempting Anakin in ways that made Obi-Wan uncomfortable.
"We're going where the Force sends us," Anakin said quietly, anticipating the direction of his master's thoughts. "I don't know what else we can do but observe and accept."
"And then act," Obi-Wan said. "We must be prepared for the course laid out for us and receptive to the unexpected. The Force is never a nursemaid."
"I'll know when something is about to happen," Anakin said with quiet confidence. "I like this planet. And the living things here like me. And you. Don't you feel it-something is watching out for us?"
Obi-Wan did in fact feel that-but the sensation gave him no comfort. He did not know who or what could extend such an influence over them, and especially over his Padawan.
The journey continued for another hour. Anakin looked east and pointed out a huge brown scar on the landscape, stretching over the horizon. Obi-Wan had seen this, or something like this, briefly from space-but Charza Kwinn had brought them down before completing a full orbit of Zonama Sekot. The scar had dug clear through to bedrock. Iron-rich red crust opened like the edges of a wound over dark tumbled chunks of basalt.
"What made that?" Anakin asked.
"It looks no more than a few months old," Obi-Wan said. Thin white threads of waterfalls slipped over the red cliff sides into the gouge. "It resembles a battle scar."
The craft now turned and headed due south, flying between and through the tops of the unbroken deck of cloud. A seemingly endless scape of billows and whorls puffed and streamed beneath them.
Anakin turned in his seat. "Look," he said excitedly, and pointed to their right. They were veering southwest toward a jagged reddish black mountain that pushed up through the clouds, its sloping flanks almost bare of Sekotan growth and its leveled summit capped with snow. It looked like an old, weatherworn volcano.
"We will be at the Magister's home in three minutes," the pilot said. "I hope you've had a nice nap."
Anakin smiled at Obi-Wan. "Well rested!" he said.
They crouched low once more to exit the transport, and stood on a level field of crushed lava. A few meters away a flat stone pathway led to a magnificent, fortresslike palace of skewed blocks stacked around a squat central tower. Beyond the palace, four volcanic terraces spilled orange-tinted water over broad, multicolored falls. The air smelled of Zonama's depths-hydrogen sulfide-alternating with fresh breezes blowing from the south.
Each of the blocks around the tower was over ten meters high and fifty meters wide, its walls lined with windows that gleamed like rainbows in the sunset light. The promontory supported only a few tendrils, barely as thick as an arm, nestled haphazardly between the rocks and around the mineral-spring terraces like lines of red and green thread.
"The Magister lives far from his subjects," Obi-Wan observed, rubbing his hands on the hem of his tunic, then holding them out palm up and dropping his chin. His eyes swept the horizon shrewdly. "And he makes do with very few attendants." Looking at the torn wisps of clouds passing overhead, and the darker mas
ses visible to the south, Obi-Wan estimated they were a thousand kilometers below the equator. "Peculiar customs. They seem to prefer their clients be misinformed and kept off balance."
"At least they haven't checked us for weapons," Anakin said.
"Oh, but they think they have," Obi-Wan said.
"You did that. . . without my knowing?" Anakin asked.
Obi-Wan smiled.
"You surprise me all the time, Master," Anakin said with a touch of awe. "But that's what an apprentice should expect from his teacher."
Obi-Wan lifted one brow.
"We make a great team, don't we?" the boy said with a sudden grin. His face colored with the expectation of adventure.
"We do," Obi-Wan agreed.
"I'm glad you're here. I' m glad you're my master, Obi-Wan," Anakin said. He gave a small shiver, then he, also, rubbed his palms on his tunic, held them out, and looked around. Obi-Wan had learned years ago that Anakin could become both expressive and imitative whenever he felt excited or ill at ease.
The boy looked up at the glowing pinwheel of plasma unwinding from the distant double-star system, obscured by rips and shreds of thin, high clouds. Zonama's own sun perched on the horizon, turning the sky above into a flaming tapestry easily the match of the astronomical spectacle beyond. "It's out there now. It's closing in."
"Do you see its shape more clearly?"
"It's a time of trial. For me."
"Do you fear it?" Obi-Wan asked.
Anakin shook his head but kept staring up at the red and orange sky. "I fear my reaction. What if I'm not good enough?"
"I have trust in you."
"What if the Magister turns us down?"
"That. . . seems a separate issue, don't you think?"
"Yeah." Anakin said, but persisted with boyish stubbornness, focused on what seemed to him, for the moment, the most crucial of their many problems. "But what if the Magister doesn't want us to get a ship?"
"Then we'll learn something new," Obi-Wan said patiently. The title Magister implied someone of accomplishment, of dignity and bearing, and for all his searching the landscape, Obi-Wan received no signs of any impressive human personality.