Something coughed softly behind him.
He took another step, and it coughed again. Turning sharply, fingers shaking, he fumbled frantically for his blaster, the fine one he had acquired at the annual trade fair in distant Piyanzi. His fingers came up empty.
The weapon must have spilled from its holster when he had been thrown by the accursed sadain.
Dropping to his knees, he ignored the mud and the rain as he commenced a furious search for his blaster. Ou, there it was, lying in the grass not far from where he had been standing. All would be well now, if not as well as it had been when the sun had set. Relieved, he reached for the gun. As he did so, a trio of closely set eyes materialized just above it. Flashing red murder, they were flanked by another trinity of eyes, and another, and still another. Gritting his teeth, he made a lunge for the blaster. For such a big individual, Baiuntu was quick, very quick.
But not nearly so quick as a shanh.
Morning brought with it a change in the weather as well as in everyone’s outlook. Cleansed by the previous night’s tempest, the plains wore rain-swept freshness like a coat of new lacquer. The sun shone down soothingly, small winged seed-crackers chittered vividly as they flitted from grass to copse, and even the usually imperturbable suubatars ran with a youthful spring in their sextuple step. No doubt the riders would have enjoyed the morning even more had they not been exhausted from riding all night.
Still, the brisk morning air was undeniably invigorating. Standing up on his saddle, maintaining perfect balance as his mount loped along beneath him, Obi-Wan proceeded to run through a series of stretching exercises. The two Padawans observed the demonstration admiringly. Anakin knew that if he were to try such a stunt, he’d be picking himself out of the grass within minutes. What Obi-Wan was doing demanded perfect coordination, complete confidence in his own abilities, and nerves of steel. But then, his teacher was well known for his mastery of the mysteries of the body’s neuromuscular complexities.
Riding close alongside, Luminara occasionally glanced in the direction of the other Jedi Knight. She could have matched his movements, but preferred to rest. Before long she turned her attention back to the prairie ahead. There was a question or two that needed to be asked of their guides. Gently spurring her suubatar, she accelerated away from Kenobi and up to join them.
That left Obi-Wan alone to contemplate the gently rolling grassland in front of them. As was always the case on a new world, there was plenty to study: geology and climate as well as the more immediate flora and fauna.
Unbeknownst to him, Anakin continued to observe his mentor from a distance. Most of the time, he reflected, it was impossible to tell what the Master was thinking. Was that the fate of all Jedi—to gradually grow solitary, withdrawn, and distant? Looking at the young woman riding along beside him, it was difficult to envision such a melancholic transformation overtaking the spirited and energetic Barriss. His fellow Padawan was full of life. And to be fair, he told himself, Luminara Unduli was far more animated than Obi-Wan. Was it only male Jedi, then, who were destined to live lives of endless solemn introspection?
That would not happen to him, he vowed silently. Whatever the future brought, he resolved it would not include the life of dour reserve that seemed to afflict Master Obi-Wan. He recalled the marvelous, spirited storytelling performance his teacher had put on for the enthralled Yiwa. Was he judging Obi-Wan too harshly? Was it the Jedi’s fault that he had never felt the kind of stirrings that moved his Padawan to stare for hours on end at the night sky and call out in silence to a certain distant star? His teachings told him to be compassionate when faced with the deprivation of others. Even a student could spare sympathy for a teacher, he decided. Then and there he resolved to always keep that in mind when arguing with Obi-Wan.
If I should ever forget this vow, he concluded firmly, it will be because I am no longer the person I have chosen to be.
“You did well last night.”
“What?” Aware that he had been sunk deep in thought, he made a point of smiling broadly at his amiable if sometimes exasperating interrogator. “Did well at what?”
Having turned toward him, Barriss was riding effortlessly sidesaddle. “When we were escaping the Qulun, and particularly during the unfortunate business of recovering our mounts. I saw what you did.”
He responded uninterestedly. “I did what Master Obi-Wan told me to do. What I had to do.”
“That’s the second time I’ve seen you wield a lightsaber. You’re very strong.” Unconsciously, she felt her hand where it had been cut. That kind of experience would teach her not to relax and lower her guard, she told herself firmly, even in the face of a seemingly inferior opponent.
“I’ve practiced hard.” Raising its front, then its middle, and finally its hind legs, his suubatar cleared a low ridge of gray stone. “There are those who say you can define a Jedi by his skill with a lightsaber. I want my ability to be respected. Respect forestalls fights.”
She smiled. “Watching you, one would almost think you could give Master Yoda a good contest.”
That made him blink. “Master Yoda? You must be joking.”
Her smile vanished. “Why would I joke about such a thing? Master Yoda is reputed to be the greatest lightsaber master ever. Don’t tell me you never had a fighting class with him?”
“Of course I had classes with him. And I agree that he’s a fine teacher—of technique. Even if he does have to stand on a platform so that his students can see him. His dexterity is amazing to see, especially considering his lack of reach.” Earnestness crept into his voice. “That’s just schooling, Barriss. It’s all theory and supposition. Even if it’s being taught by Master Yoda. It’s not real fighting.”
This time, instead of replying immediately, she gave his observations some thought. “What makes you think Master Yoda has never used a lightsaber in an actual fight?”
He almost laughed out loud, then thought better of it. Obi-Wan and Luminara might overhear, and choose to inquire as to the source of so much hilarity. Anakin’s explanation, he knew, would not go down well with his teacher. Like all other Jedi, Obi-Wan revered the grand Master. Certain subjects, Obi-Wan would lecture him tirelessly, were not appropriate subjects for humor.
That didn’t mean he was going to ignore his companion’s question.
“Come on, Barriss. Master Yoda, engaged in serious dueling outside the fencing arena? Can you actually envision such a contest?” Of the images that sprang to mind at such a thought, each was more amusing than the next. “Who could he reasonably be expected to fight? Someone Tooqui’s size, maybe?”
“It’s not the size of the Jedi or the amount of power running through her lightsaber, but the strength of her heart.”
Anakin nodded knowingly. “Give me size and power any day, and keep your heart.” His response verged on blasphemy, he knew, but he was curious to see how the other Padawan would react.
She handled it more calmly than he expected. “You should be ashamed to say such things, Anakin Skywalker. How can you question the proficiency of Master Yoda?”
“I’m not questioning his proficiency,” Anakin shot back. “I can’t, because I’ve attended his teaching sessions. There’s no one faster or more adept with a lightsaber—in a classroom. All I’m saying is that teaching technique is not the same as using it in battle. Besides, Master Yoda is—well, he’s not young. As for questioning anything at all, a good Jedi is supposed to question everything. Self-assurance is the best kind.”
“It’s good that you think so,” she retorted. “It means you’ll never have to worry about ever making a mistake.”
“We all make mistakes,” he countered. “That’s what questioning is supposed to help prevent.” He tapped himself on the chest. “I question everything that comes my way. Right now we’ve got whole systems questioning the way the Republic is run. Ansion is just one of them, and it’s being watched closely by all the others.”
She eyed him intently. “Are you doing
that, too, Anakin? Are you questioning the way the Republic is being governed?”
“I’d be the odd one out if I wasn’t.” He gestured past the head of his galloping mount. “Even Master Obi-Wan has reservations. About corruption, about the direction the government is taking, about the directions it’s not taking because it’s becoming more and more bogged down in bureaucratic twaddle—sure I have questions. Don’t you?”
Straightening in her saddle, she shook her head tersely. “I don’t have time to waste on political disputations. I’m too busy doing my job as Padawan, trying to secure promotion to Jedi. That’s enough work to occupy anyone. Or at least I thought so.” She stared hard at him. “You’re lucky you have room enough in your thoughts to be bothered with galactic affairs of state.”
And other things, he wanted to tell her, but did not. Although being thrown together in adversity had given him a grudging admiration for his colleague, and for her skills, he still did not trust her entirely. Anything he told her, he was certain, she was likely to pass straight on to her Master. Which Luminara would then tell Obi-Wan. So much for confiding, he thought. Some things were better kept to oneself.
Each time he engaged in such a verbal confrontation, it reinforced the belief that he was somehow different. Different from Barriss as much as from Luminara or even Obi-Wan. His mother had always told him as much. He wished he could talk to her now, seek her sage advice on a number of matters, not least of which was the one that threatened to consume him. And to think, he mused as he rode on, that there was a time when people thought serious separation meant finding themselves on opposite sides of the same planet. That was so long ago, so ancient a time, that it was almost impossible to imagine, back when people counted distances in physical lengths instead of time lengths.
They paused for the night by one of the innumerable small streams that notched the grasslands. There had been no sign of pursuit by Baiuntu’s Qulun. Either they had suffered so seriously from the nocturnal stampede of the lorqual that they were unable to mount a chase, or else they had decided that it was not worth hunting prisoners who could strike back without being seen.
“There’s another possibility, too,” Kyakhta pointed out when the matter was broached. “The closer we draw to the overclan, the less inclined a lesser clan like the Qulun would be to risk interfering.”
“What matters is that we seem to be safe.” Obi-Wan squinted at the setting sun. “Still, we’ll mount guard tonight. Just to be sure.”
Anakin was glad when his turn came to stand watch. It was late, after midnight Ansion time, when Barriss came to shake him awake. A touch was all that was necessary.
“Nothing to report.” She whispered so as not to wake the others. As he rose and donned his upper clothing, she was already slipping tiredly into her sleep sack. “You don’t see anything out there, but you can hear it moving around. This world is full of furtive night sounds that live in the grass.” He couldn’t be certain, but he thought she was asleep before she closed her eyes.
The lookout location had been carefully chosen by their Alwari guides. It was the highest point near their campsite, and only a very slight rise at that: a mere hiccup in the ground. Still, it provided the nearest thing to an actual vantage point within walking distance of the stream. Finding a firm, comfortable place to stand, he settled down to wait out his three-hour shift.
Most individuals would have found the duty unutterably boring. Not Anakin. Raised by a single parent, without any siblings, he was used to being by himself. For a long time as a child, machines had been his only company. Idly, he wondered what had happened to that protocol droid he had been cobbling together out of spare parts. And there was no telling what a certain garrulous winged merchant named Watto might be up to. He wondered what the taciturn big-nosed bug was doing these days. He found himself shaking his head at the memory. If anyone was entitled to act a little strange now and again, it was Anakin Skywalker. Who else could claim a greedy, oversized Toydarian as the nearest thing to a father figure?
Except for the absence of walls, there really wasn’t much difference between retreating to the back of a machine shop and standing alone on an alien prairie, beneath an alien sky. One of Ansion’s two moons was up and the other still rising, a pair of curved slivers glowing silver against a background of black velvet. They were framed by a scattering of stars like diamonds. So many worlds, so many questions—with many of the latter focused upon the world on which he was presently standing.
Something rustled in the high grass. Glancing sharply in that direction, he saw nothing. As Barriss had told him prior to retiring, this planet was full of tiny, creeping night sounds. Entire communities of lesser local life lived out their lives below the crests of the waving wild grains without ever exposing themselves to sight or daylight. One could only wonder at what kind of havoc a stampede of lorqual would wreak on such hidden animal societies.
Probably not much, he told himself. Out here, in these wild open spaces, nature accommodated the needs of the small as well as the large. Tooqui’s tribe was a good example of that. Plucky little soul, that Tooqui. Annoying and overly inquisitive, to be sure, but as bold as his boastings. Having been forced to live most of his life on boldness alone, Anakin greatly admired the quality in others.
An hour passed before he was again disturbed by rustling noises. Each day added another couple of previously unencountered native species to his growing catalog of Ansionian life, but the register of nocturnal creatures was, for obvious reasons, considerably smaller. Having nothing else to do, he decided he might as well try to find out what was making the soft sounds in the grass. Whatever it was, it sounded conveniently close.
Turning to his left, he crouched slightly and began to move deeper into the tall prairie. The crackling noise came again, closer still. A small group of local animals, he concluded, busily gathering fallen grass seed under cover of night. It would be interesting to learn what they looked like. At least one of them sounded like it might be of fairly good size, perhaps even as big as Tooqui.
Surprised in midstalk, the shanh exploded from its place of concealment. It didn’t growl. Like so many of Ansion’s indigenous life-forms, it hissed. The hiss of a shanh was not like that of an intelligent Alwari, however, or some of the endearing creatures that roamed the vast open plains. It was a low, sinister blast of air—fury made audible.
Front and middle paws slammed into Anakin’s chest, knocking him backward and down. In an instant, the shanh’s heavy, fang-laden jaws would have been on his throat. There was no time to think, no time to decide what to do next, no time to ponder a best course of action.
As the shanh’s jaws descended, Anakin rolled madly to his right. The predator’s upper row of backward-curving, serrated teeth slammed into bare dirt instead of his neck.
Furious, the lithe, muscular carnivore turned to face its prey, all six legs working, single nostril flared wide, convex red eyes floating like small livid moons against the dark mass of the brute’s front shoulders.
Scuttling backward on hands and feet, Anakin tried to focus the Force while reaching urgently for his lightsaber. Drawing it from his belt, he activated the beam—and had it slapped from his right hand by one triclawed paw. Landing in nearby grass, the device struck on its control side—and switched off. That was what came, a small part of him reflected, of trying to do two things at once without knowing how. A true Jedi could do that. Painfully, he was once again made aware of how much he had yet to learn.
If he didn’t do something quickly, his learning days would be at a premature end.
Weaponless, he rose slowly to his feet. Hissing expectantly, the shanh watched him without blinking. Unlike the Padawan, it was not constrained by a need to think. Muscles bunching tight beneath short, striped fur, maw agape, it leapt.
Shorn of his only physical weapon, Anakin fell back on what remained to him. Concentrating as he had never concentrated before, he threw one hand out in front of him, fingers splayed, and focused.
His command of the Force was not yet sufficient to allow him to knock the charging shanh backward, but it was strong enough to deflect the lethal leap to one side. As it flew past him, it struck out with front and middle claws. One set raked Anakin’s shoulder as he threw himself out of the way. He did not cry out.
Blood streamed from his torn shoulder. The wound was painful and messy but not deep. Enraged and confused, the shanh landed on all sixes and immediately whirled to launch itself anew. As it did so, Anakin made a dive for his lightsaber. His fingers closing around the metal cylinder, lying on his stomach, he started to turn to face his furiously hissing adversary. The shanh was a big male; powerful, fast, and hungry. He knew he would only have time for one strike. But with the lightsaber, that should be enough.
As he started to turn, something landed hard on his right wrist, pinning it to the ground. Wincing at the pain, he looked up—to find himself staring straight into a second pair of brilliantly reflective red eyes. Not an arm-length away, they narrowed as they bored into his own. His heart dropped toward his diaphragm.
The shanh’s mate had arrived to join the party.
An enormous weight landed on his back. Everything was happening too fast. Using the Force against the shanh had been one thing, but now there were two of them. If he tried to throw off the male now crouching on his back, the female was likely to bite his face off. If he pushed at her and freed his hand and lightsaber, the male would have time to shred his back with its claws, or lock its jaws on his neck. Even as he formulated the thought, he knew he was spending too much time thinking.