Star Wars - [The Last of the Jedi 01] - The Desperate Mission (by Jude Watson)

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Star Wars

The Last of the Jedi

Book 1

The Desperate Mission

by Jude Watson

source: IRC

uploaded: 09.I.2006

CHAPTER ONE

Dusk always took him by surprise. On this two-sun world, it started

early, one sun dropping first, then the other chasing behind it in a fast

slide to the horizon. Harsh sunlight gave way to long shadows that painted

the canyon floors with gray.

Another day gone. Another day to come. Each one the same.

Obi-Wan Kenobi ducked his head as he exited his small dwelling on

Tatooine. It was time to make the journey over the arid landscape of the

Jundland Wastes. Time to lurk above a moisture farm and watch a small baby

crawl around the compound. Time to reassure himself that one more day had

passed, and Luke Skywalker was well.

He made sure the door was secure. The Sand People were wary of him,

but he was careful with security. No one was safe from the savagery of

their foraging raids.

His dwelling was small and simple, a hovel, really, carved out of the

canyon wall. He had made it comfortable - not because he cared about his

comfort, but because it gave him something to do. In those first, raging

months, it had soothed him to sweep the drifts of sand from the floors,

fashion a heating system, repair a cracked wall that let in breaches of

sunlight in the early morning and spewed tiny volcanoes of sand during the

fierce, frequent windstorms.

He had found the home by accident, by luck. He had simply begun riding

his eopie in a widening circle around the Lars farm until he found

someplace close enough to hike to the farm but far enough away that the

family would not take much note of him. A transient, looking to start a

farm or trade with Jawas had abandoned it, most likely. No doubt he or she

had eventually discovered that only the hardiest and luckiest survived on

Tatooine.

Owen and Beru Lars knew he was here. Their friendship with him was an

uneasy one; they knew he had saved Luke, but Luke's aunt and uncle also

knew the threat that he'd brought with him to Tatooine. They were aware

that he came by to observe the boy, but it was agreed that they would

ignore him, so Luke would learn to ignore him, too. He was grateful for

their vigilance, for it meant that they were vigilant against strangers as

well.

And who could blame them? Obi-Wan thought, trudging through the sand.

Luke had been born in a time of violence and misery. Naturally they would

want to protect him. They would not want him to end up in the hands of the

Empire - or the Sand People. Or end up like Obi-Wan, a warrior turned into

an old man overnight by sorrow and grief.

Was there anything inside him anymore? He wondered this, lying on his

sleep couch at night, staring at the rough stone ceiling. How could a being

be numb and full of pain at the same time?

There had been so many that he cared about. And now just about

everyone he'd loved was dead.

The names and faces would begin in his mind. Qui-Gon. Siri. Tyro

Caladian.Mace Windu.

The apprentices - Darra Thel-Tanis. Tru Veld. Their Masters - Ry-Gaul.

Soara Antana.

And the Jedi slaughtered in the purge. For it had been just that - a

slaughter, shocking, devastating, quick... but not quick enough for the

victims.

His dearest friends, Bant and Garen. The imperious Jocasta Nu. The

gentle Ali Alann and Barriss Offee. The warriors - Shaak Ti, Kit Fisto,

Luminara Unduli. And the great Jedi Masters - Ki-Adi-Mundi, Adi Gallia, Plo

Koon....

Gone. The word would toll in his head.

Gone.

Jedi he'd fought alongside, studied with, laughed with - a roll call

of the dead that thumped out a drumbeat of pain with every heartbeat.

And then, as dawn would bring a blush of light to his ceiling, he

would turn, as he always did, to the last, worst thing. The thing he could

not avoid looking at, the thing that gave him the most awful pain.

The boy he'd raised and loved like a son had become a traitor. A

killer. A monster. A convert to the dark side, a testament to Obi-Wan's

failure to guide, to protect. The boy, Anakin Skywalker, had died at the

hands of the Emperor, and the Sith Lord Darth Vader had been born in his

place.

At first, Obi-Wan had thought that Anakin had died in the flames of a

volcano on Mustafar. It was months later that he'd realized what had

happened, that the Emperor had kept him alive, or, at least, the part he

wanted to remain - the hate and the power. Obi-Wan had seen Darth Vader's

image on a datarecorder he'd found in an alley of Mos Eisley - it contained

a HoloNet report - and he had known at once, with a sense of shock so

profound it had made him ill, that Lord Darth Vader had once been Anakin

Skywalker.

The only being in the galaxy who could understand the depths of his

grief was in exile as well, and he was forbidden to contact him. Yoda was

on Dagobah, living in isolation in the middle of a swamp so hidden no one

would venture there.

And the spirit who could help him, who had promised to help him - Qui-

Gon - could not appear to him. Instead, he had only heard his voice.

You are not ready for the training.

But I am, Master. I have nothing else now.

That is why, my Padawan, you are not ready.

It was hard not to feel impatience, even anger against Qui-Gon. Obi-

Wan struggled with this emotion daily. It was his Master who had charged

him to take Anakin on as his apprentice. And now it was Qui-Gon who was

withholding the knowledge he'd learned from the Ancient Order of the

Whills, a training that could bring Obi-Wan some measure of peace. He could

learn to be one with the Force but retain his consciousness.

Would that mean he could lose this pain, this grief? Obi-Wan wondered.

Obi-Wan saw the Lars homestead ahead. He stopped for a moment to make

sure that Owen was not patrolling the perimeter. It was late, the shadows

long, the suns slipping behind the hills. Beru and Owen were always sure to

be inside the below-ground compound by dusk.

He walked forward, feeling as much a shadow as the ones that reached

out like fingers from the hills. He bent down, flat against the ground, and

looked over the rim into the main courtyard below.

The baby had hair full of sunlight, and it glinted, even in this dusky

light. He was laughing as he crawled after a ball that Beru rolled away

from him. Was it Obi-Wan's imagination, or was the boy able to slow the

ball without touching it? If the Force was there - and he knew Luke was

Force-sensitive - he did not know if the boy was aware of it. Not yet. Not

for a long time, if ever, without training.

Beru rocked backward from her perch on the door-stop, laughing.

Usually, she had something cooking about now, and she would disappear

inside for a few seconds to check on it. Luke would crawl to the doorway

and watch her. He seemed to feel a need to keep her in sight.

Obi-Wan heard Beru's laughter, saw Luke tumbling and laughing with

her. He was not even tempted to smile. Seeing Luke gave him satisfaction,

but he had left smiles and laughter behind him, part of another life.

Satisfaction was enough for him now. He had promised Padme that her

children would be safe, and he had made it so. Leia was growing up on

Alderaan, the adopted daughter of Bail Organa, the kindest and noblest man

Obi-Wan knew, and his wife, the Queen. He wished Padme could know that her

children were more than well-cared for - they were loved.

But Padm¨ - fierce, sad, beautiful Padme - was dead, too.

Owen Lars emerged from the dwelling. That was Obi-Wan's signal to

leave. Darkness was falling fast, and Owen was about to activate the KPR

perimeter droids. Obi-Wan lingered for a moment, watching as Beru pretended

to chase Luke inside the dwelling. He saw the light spilling out from the

doorway and could almost feel the gentle heat, almost smell their food.

He turned his back against it and felt the chill against his face.

Without anyone noticing, Obi-Wan Kenobi walked away into the growing

darkness.

The next night, Obi-Wan maneuvered through the noisy crowd at the

cantina in Mos Eisley. He journeyed on an eopie through secret trails to

the spaceport once a month for supplies, and always under the cover of

darkness. When he did, he always stopped at the cantina. It was a magnet

for the worst of the galaxy - itinerant space pilots, adventurers,

criminals. Creatures who greedily supped on gossip and rumor as well as

bantha stew and ale. Obi-Wan needed to keep in touch with what was

happening in the galaxy. He could withdraw, but he had to stay informed.

The Galactic Senate was still operating, but it served more as a

discussion group than a governing body. The Emperor controlled the

majority, who simply approved of anything he proposed. Bail Organa was

still there, fighting when and how he could. He refused to give the Emperor

the satisfaction of seeing him resign. Obi-Wan kept up with these

happenings, but he resolved to keep his distance from them. He saw the

daily erosion of liberties from afar, as though they had no relation to how

he lived his life any longer. If he allowed himself to feel frustration or

rage, he was afraid it would overtake him.

He wore his hood low over his face and picked a dark corner. Thanks to

a liberal use of bribes, the one-eyed Abyssin bartender watched out for him

and made sure he was left alone. Here he was Ben Kenobi, a half-crazy

hermit who had no need for companionship. A drink was brought by a

scurrying waiter, who set it down and ran off to service a table of traders

almost ready to brawl before their multicolored concoctions arrived.

Obi-Wan had chosen his table carefully. He recognized one of the group

sitting next to him, a space pilot named Weasy. He was a muscular, hairy

Bothan who was known for taking on any cargo, no questions asked. He was

also an excellent reporter of information who did not exaggerate. He sat

with the other pilots, well into a large pitcher of ale.

Obi-Wan gathered the Force to help him filter out the noise and hone

in on what the pilots were saying. He listened for a moment to make sure

they were relatively sober. He was used to the boasts and fabrications that

made up "news" in this cantina.

"Travel restrictions getting tighter," one of the pilots was saying,

his antennae waving in anxiety. "It's getting harder to bribe officials.

They're all scared... of what, I don't know. Rumors going around of

punishments for corruption."

The other pilot snorted. "Bribes aren't going to stop, even in the

Empire."

Weasy took a draft from his mug. "Long as it's something they get a

piece of, they'll keep looking the other way."

"Look, I'm not complaining," the first pilot said. "The Empire has

improved my business. No more space pirates on the run to the Rutan system.

But they're clamping down now. Did you hear what happened on Bellassa?"

"Sure, they came in and deposed the governor, stuck in their own guy,"

the second pilot said. "So what? They've done that on plenty of worlds.

They like to tell the governments what to do. They don't like governors who

actually govern." He guffawed at his own joke.

"Yeah, well, they had some trouble on Bellassa. Stubborn, those beings

are. All the citizens took to the streets," the first pilot said. "There

were mass arrests in every city. I think they must have arrested half of

Ussa. I'm telling you, this is the start of something big."

"I was caught at the spaceport when it happened," Weasy said.

"Everything was shut down because someone escaped from prison, and there

was a full-scale alert to catch him."

Obi-Wan put down his drink. There wasn't anything here to interest

him. Just the usual gossip. The various crackdowns of the Empire weren't

news.

"Just one guy, can you imagine? And they held up transit for a week. I

was cooling my heels - wasn't even allowed to leave the Ussa spaceport,"

Weasy went on.

Obi-Wan stood. The noise of the cantina engulfed him as he allowed the

Force to ease.

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