Fate of the Jedi: Backlash (28 page)

“Not everything is the Force, Dad. First you looked off in the direction where we had our traps and bodies and so forth the other night. Then you scanned the tree line all around, but not the lake. So you were thinking about avenues of approach toward the camp, which meant enemies, which meant Nightsisters. You checked the sun, which, since it’s usually there, means you were really estimating time until sundown, so you were asking how much time minimum we had before the Nightsisters attack.”

“Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to let you train with the Guard. You think you might be happier dispensing caf or sketching caricatures?” Luke breathed a sigh. “All right, why do you think they’re going to attack tonight?”

“Because Dyon got a very interesting communication on his comlink while you were in the semifinals.”

They took the short walk back to their campfire, where Dyon was clearly expecting Luke. At Ben’s nod, Dyon took a look around to make sure no one was in hearing distance. “Yliri contacted me a little while ago.”

“Good.” Luke was anxious for word from the spaceport. He knew Han and Leia had gotten offworld without incident, but didn’t know how things had gone with the rest of those who had departed.

“Anyway, I think there’s something going on there.”

Luke gave him a quizzical look. “At the spaceport?”

“No, between Yliri and Carrack. She was so worried about his injuries, so insistent about accompanying him back. She’s clearly been tending him night and day. I think some sort of romance sprang up while they were here. Of course, a conclave like this is just the place for it …”

Ben sighed. “Dyon? Speeder bikes?”

“Oh. Right. Earlier today, the spaceport sensor station picked up speeder bike transponders, three of them, arriving at a broad meadow west of the spaceport at different times.”

Luke shrugged. “So what? I understand that there are speeder bikes with several of the clans now.”

“So they were arriving from different directions. Suggesting different clans. And a lot of the speeder bikes get modified when they fall into clan hands, their transponders being disabled, because the clans have a natural dislike of people being able to track their movements. So if three speeders with transponders converge on a site, it means there were probably more than three there at the time.”

Luke nodded. “Where do their signals say they are now?”

“That’s just the thing. They were there for a little while, then the three signals winked out, all within two minutes of one another.”

“Which suggests,” Ben broke in, “that they were sitting around waiting, and someone said,
You
have
all disabled your transponders
,
haven’t you?
And three of them with the brains of monkey-lizards said,
What are transponders?
And then they fixed the problem.”

Luke thought about it. “So you’re calculating that the Nightsisters decided they needed reinforcements, and more Nightsisters are coming in on speeder bikes.”

Ben nodded. “Sure, there are other explanations. But I’m kind of naturally suspicious.”

“Well, being suspicious seems to work for your uncle Han.” Luke looked around, scanning the campsite. “If you’re right, they’ve more than replaced their losses, and we haven’t replaced ours.”

Dyon nodded. “It’s never a good idea to let the enemy choose the battlefield.”

Luke moved off toward the camp’s center of activity: the competition ground where Kaminne and Tasander would now be officiating a new event. “Let’s talk to someone about moving the camp.”

Tasander, who, like many noble Hapan males, came from a family line with a tradition of piracy, and Kaminne, who had kept her clan together and alive across ten hard years, didn’t require much convincing. The problem was simply one of logistics.

“A full packing-up and moving-out can’t take less than an hour.” Kaminne thought about it. “Though we could announce it as a run to safety. Five minutes to get to your camp and grab what is most important to you, five more minutes to muster, and then move out, leaving behind everything not absolutely crucial. But where do we go? Add marching time, and there’s only so far we can get before night falls and we’re vulnerable.”

Tasander glanced to the northeast. “There’s a hill a few kilometers that way. It’s off the trade paths. Very ugly, unpromising hill. Steep-sided, rocky, and barren. But there’s nothing up there to burn and it’s very, very defensible.”

Kaminne nodded. “Water?”

“Nothing to drink up there, unfortunately.”

“We’ll have to fill up every waterskin and other container before we move out. More time, unfortunately. And whose is the standard?”

“Huh?” Tasander seemed stumped by that one.

Luke was, too.
“The standard?”

Tasander gestured around. “This is not one campsite. It’s two. Broken Columns distinctly over here, Raining Leaves distinctly over there, each under its own standard, or clan symbol. Oh, three camps now, with you offworlders right in the middle. But that hilltop, small and irregular as it is, can’t be partitioned off as easily. So it will be a Broken Columns camp or a Raining Leaves camp, but not both. One clan will be there at the sufferance of the other … and won’t like it, which undercuts our morale and chain of command. So, which is the hosting clan? Whose standard do we fly?”

Luke let a little durasteel creep into his voice. “Jedi. It’s a Jedi camp. Dyon, I need you to make a standard. Quickly.”

Dyon nodded. “Done.”

Kaminne glanced at Tasander, then looked at Luke again. “Raining Leaves agree.”

“So do Broken Columns.” Tasander scratched his chin, so obviously and theatrically an
I’m thinking now
gesture that it was difficult not to laugh. “We still need one member from each clan to accompany the Jedi to claim the site and plant the standard.”

Though Kaminne was opening her mouth to answer, Ben interrupted her. “Halliava and Drola.”

Kaminne gave him a curious look. “Why?”

“They’re both young and popular, they’ve both won several matches. They’re both unmarried. Gives people something to speculate about.”

Kaminne shrugged. “Good enough. Halliava and Drola, then.”

“But don’t tell them what this is all about. Let’s confine information as much as possible.” Ben kept his tone light, as though this were a reasonable request but not a critical one.

“As you wish.” She glanced at her fiancé. “Let us begin.”

“Let’s.”

Together they trotted off toward the current competition, unarmed combat between those with no Arts.

Luke gave Ben a look he tried, and failed, to make an admonishing one. “You’re getting very sneaky, Ben.”

“I get that from Mom. And maybe from the Skywalkers, too—Leia’s your sister. Sneakiness just skipped you.”

Dyon shook his head, confused. “I don’t get it. What was sneaky?”

Ben gave him an innocent look. “It’s a teenage thing. You wouldn’t understand.”

Not too surprisingly, Dyon had on his datapad some information on the Jedi and the Galactic Alliance. Using familiar symbols on the ’pad as a frame of reference, he quickly worked up a flag that would serve as the Jedi standard for this mission. On a large square of tan cloth, he painted in black the bird-like symbol that had served as the basis for much New Republic and Galactic Alliance heraldry. Over that stark image he painted two crossed lightsabers, both lit, one with a green blade, one with a blue.

Ben, watching over Dyon’s shoulder, nodded approval. “That should do the job.”

“I’ll blot it so that it doesn’t drip while we’re carrying it. But otherwise it’s ready to go.”

Within minutes of the standard’s completion they joined Luke, as well as Halliava and Drola, both of whom looked perplexed and testy at being taken from the games, and set out for the hill Tasander had described. He’d given Dyon accurate information about its location, so all Dyon had to do was check his datapad against satellite coordinates every few minutes. Half an hour after setting out from the Raining Leaves/Broken Columns camp, they emerged from a particularly thick stretch of trees in view of the hill.

It was indeed unpromising looking. It was a forty-meter-high slab of black rock thrust up from beneath Dathomir’s surface in ancient times and only slightly worn down since. Jagged edges jutted up at the sky, with little greenery growing from its upper slopes. The southwest slope was gentler than the others, meaning that it required only ordinary athletics to climb, not extraordinary efforts. Ben could see that the top was broken, angled terrain, a place where it would be hard to find a comfortable place to put down a bedroll. He hoped it didn’t rain tonight.

The five of them, all in good shape and unhurt, climbed the slope in a matter of minutes, then stared down along the valley toward Redgill Lake. In the late-afternoon sun, the lake waters glinted in rippling bands of blue and yellow-orange.

Drola blinked. “Well, it’s pretty. But not pretty enough to miss the rock hurling. I think I would have won this year.”

Halliava snorted. “Would you have started with the rocks between your ears?”

Unruffled, he shook his head. “No, with the granite ball you call your heart.”

Luke smiled. “You have something more important to do than throw rocks. We need you as a witness.” He gestured, and Dyon handed him the long wooden pole to which the new standard was attached. Luke raised the standard high. “I claim …” Then his voice trailed off. A thoughtful expression on his face, he lowered the pole so that its butt end rested on the hilltop stone.

Ben gave his father a concerned look. “What is it?”

Luke shook his head. “I can’t do this. If I claim this hill, however temporarily, it becomes a Jedi facility. Right?”

“Right … oh.” The terms of Luke’s conviction prohibited him from creating or visiting Jedi facilities.

Luke held the standard out to Ben. “You have to do it. I don’t think I can even be here.”

“Where will you be? Down at ground level with no support?”

“No … I’ll station myself at about the halfway mark down the hill. You just claim the hilltop and we’ll be fine.”

“He cannot.” That was Halliava. She still looked perplexed as to their intention, but she seemed certain of something. “With you gone, there is only one Jedi here. Meaning you have no greater claim than Drola, Dyon, or myself. We cannot bear witness to this because our claim is as great as yours.”

Dyon made a strangled noise. He turned to Luke. “You think it’s bad dealing with planet after planet, each with a different form of government and constitution? Imagine a place where, if you cross a creek, you’ve got a different form of government, different customs, and no constitution, since there are few or no literate people there to write one. Welcome to Dathomir.”

Luke just grinned at him and handed his son the standard. “Ben, you’re the one with the sneaky genes. Fix this problem.” He turned and began descending the slope.

“Great.” Trust his father to shoot Ben out of his own cannon.

He looked at his three remaining companions, and an idea occurred to him. He propped the standard pole against his shoulder and began fishing in his belt pouch. In moments he found what he was looking for, a five-credit coin of Coruscant minting.

He flipped it to Dyon, who caught it. “Dyon, I’m hiring you. I can’t make you a Jedi, but I can employ you for the Order. As a consultant.”

Dyon looked sorrowfully at the coin, then tucked it away into one of his vest pouches. “I’ve sunk pretty low. Selling myself for five creds.”

“That’s life with the Jedi.” Ben glanced at the Dathomiri. “Now do the Jedi outnumber the Leaves and the Columns?”

Drola nodded. Halliava considered, then nodded as well.

Ben held the standard up. “I, Ben Skywalker, hereby claim this hilltop, from an altitude of twenty meters up, for the Jedi Order.” He looked at the Dathomiri. “Will that work? Dramatic enough?”

Halliava shrugged. “You must mention your witnesses.”

Drola pointed to the pole he held. “And then plant the standard so it can stand by itself.”

“I hereby make this claim in the presence of Halliava Vurse of the Raining Leaves Clan and Drola—Drola—”

The bearded man scowled. “Kinn.”

“Drola Kinn of the Broken Columns Clan.” Ben looked around for some loose rocks with which to prop up the pole.

“If you are going to fumble with my name, I should at least go first.”

“You’re a man. You go second. Ben, are we done? I want to return to camp.”

Ben gave Halliava an apologetic smile. “No, we have to wait here. Kaminne and Tasander want that, too.” He rested the pole against a vertical rock face as high as his shoulder and began piling loose stones against it to hold it in place.

Drola tried to make his voice sound reasonable. “They
did
say that.”

“Oh, be quiet. We never should have taught your kind to talk.”

Ben grinned. Halliava’s tone was not biting, not genuinely angry. She was just bantering. As contentious as things had been in the camps during the conclave, he liked the sound of that.

He felt a sudden stab of guilt. Maybe Halliava
wasn’t
the Nightsister here. He didn’t want his constant scrutiny of her to cause offense or to make others mistrust her if she were actually innocent.

But he still couldn’t tell her the truth, not when she might be able to convey it to distant Nightsisters. Not when he didn’t know.

His task complete, he straightened. “Welcome to Camp Jedi. Now we wait.”