Star Wars: Rogue Planet (29 page)

“Young Jedi, there is no time to explain.” The Blood Carver’s tone of voice changed suddenly, became more subdued.

“Is Obi-Wan dead?”

“Not your worry,” the Blood Carver said. “This ship needs
you
, not him. And I need this ship. You will fly it to orbit above Zonama Sekot.”

“What if I don’t?”

“Then I will kill your female.” He swung the lance
around in the close quarters and poked the blade against Jabitha’s chest. She gasped but kept very still.

Anakin tried to feel for his master’s living presence, but there were too many voices outside the ship, too much confusion—he could not detect Obi-Wan. Uninjured, his master would doubtless survive any attack the Blood Carver could mount. But if he had been hit by the laser fire …

The Blood Carver climbed up out of the second seat and swung one long arm back to the hatch. “I assume silence means courage and you will not fly. So my mission has failed. I will kill the female now and dispose of her body.”

“No!” Anakin shouted. “I’ll fly. Leave her be.”

He probed once more, and sucked in his breath with relief. He could feel Obi-Wan—he was injured but still alive. Anakin could not imagine a universe without his master.

Good. It would be the end of your trial to lose your master. Now … begin
.

Anakin ran his hands over the controls. They were not marked, but their design and placement were reasonably standard.

The ship once again explained her condition. She was ready to fly, but her fuel reserves were low—the tanks had not yet been filled by the technicians.

“We don’t have enough fuel to get far,” Anakin informed the Blood Carver. The Blood Carver grabbed the placket of his ritual robe and pulled Anakin close, breathing hot, peppery breath into his face.

“It’s true,” Anakin insisted. “I’m not lying.”

“Then fly to a place with fuel. We must preserve this ship.”

“You’re the one who couldn’t get a ship made! The seed-partners hated you.”

“Yes, I am a disgrace,” the Blood Carver said coldly. “Now fly.”

Anakin brought his hands down over the controls, pulled back on the aft thrusters, and the ship’s engines sang to life instantly, smoothly, unlike the engines in any other ship he had ever flown.

The hatch closed.

Some maiden voyage
.

Anakin pushed the control levers forward. The console reached up around his fingers and hands. The ship spoke to him, taught him what to do. Anakin, in turn, suggested that the ship should break free of her cradle and fly straight up for a few hundred meters, then level off and head southwest.

The ship did all these things.

He was taking the Blood Carver away from Obi-Wan, giving his master time to recover. It was unfortunate that Jabitha had crawled into the ship. Anakin was more than just concerned for her safety.

He could feel his strength returning, and then building. To his dismay, the primary component of that strength was a red heat of anger.

It is the way, boy. Anger and hatred are the fuel. Stoke them, gather strength
.

Again, the voice, terrifying in its power. Anakin could not identify its intent—it was raw, the voice of loyalty and survival, and it seemed to sneer at any second-guessing.

Anakin did not want Jabitha to see what that voice would make him be, what he would become, in order to save Obi-Wan, defeat his enemies, and survive.

R
aith Sienar looked out from the command bridge and saw the newly arrived fleet of twelve ships maneuvering to join up with his squadron. He recognized two converted midsized Hoersch-Kessel Drive cargo haulers—smaller than the ungainly craft that had blockaded Naboo, but of the same type. The remaining ten ships were Corellian Engineering light cruisers designed to escort the large Republic Dreadnoughts, the most powerful weapons in the Republic armory.

Yet Tarkin had not managed to procure any Dreadnoughts. His connections were not that strong.

Captain Kett surveyed the new ships with some satisfaction, no doubt anticipating the time when he would no longer have to take orders from Sienar.

The extent of Tarkin’s betrayal was all too clear to Sienar. The starfighter droids had accepted Sienar’s programming, but had enacted hidden code anyway—code designed to sabotage Sienar’s plans. For all he knew, the starfighters had killed Ke Daiv, aroused the inhabitants
of Zonama Sekot, and completely ruined any chance of getting a Sekotan ship.

Perhaps all Tarkin cared about was making himself look good before the Supreme Chancellor.

Kett walked up the steps to the command deck. Sienar turned to meet him.

“Captain Kett,” he said, “prepare to receive Commander Tarkin. I empower you to coordinate with his command and tender my resignation as commander.”

“Sir, that is not regulation.”

“Nothing done so far has been according to regulations. You are at the mercy of rogues once again, Captain Kett. I will not be one of those rogues anymore.”

“Sir, you don’t understand—”

“I understand only too well.”

“I have orders from Commander Tarkin.”

“He’s here already?” Sienar asked with a lift of his lips, neither surprise nor amusement.

“He will board
Admiral Korvin
and assume command at any moment. He does not need your permission.”

“I see.”

“You cannot resign, because you have been placed under arrest. Your rank is frozen pending a formal hearing.”

“Have they communicated charges?”

“No, sir.”

Sienar shook his head and laughed. “By all means, then, do what must be done. Lock me away.”

“Commander Tarkin requests the security codes to all of the new programs installed in the ship’s droids, sir.”

“You told him?”

“I told him nothing, sir. He seems to have anticipated you would do some such thing.”

Sienar laughed again, even more falsely. His face flushed with anger. “Tell him the droid programs are
burned in and cannot be modified. Also, tell him attempts to remove the computer cores or engage in a memory wipe will initiate droid self-destruct.”

“Sir, that would put our entire complement of droids out of action!”

“It did not stop the starfighters, Captain Kett. I’m sure Tarkin can figure out some work-around. I just don’t want to help him do it.”

Kett examined Sienar with a puzzled expression. “Sir, what is all this about? Some dispute between you and Commander Tarkin?”

“Not at all,” Sienar said. “From the beginning, I’ve been assigned the role of patsy. Our mission was meant to go wrong. It
has
gone wrong. We’ve alerted Zonama Sekot to our presence. Subtlety and finesse are out of the question. From now on, it will be brute force and coercion. More Tarkin’s style. Nothing I do or don’t do now can change that. I’ll be in my quarters, should Tarkin wish to see me.”

He climbed down the steps and made his way forward, to the commander’s quarters. Along the way, in the wide main corridor that ran above the cargo holds of the
Admiral Korvin
, Republic troops blocked his path.

Tarkin walked through as the troops parted, and greeted Sienar with a curt nod.

“We need to talk,” Tarkin said, and took him by the elbow. “Things have gone badly wrong here, and I need to know why. The senate is concerned by your actions. Even Chancellor Palpatine has taken an interest.”

“Perhaps you briefed him yourself?” Sienar’s expression was stony. “We should go to my quarters. We can talk there.”

“What, and have some lackey droid kill us both? Honorable, arguably, but foolish, Raith. We’ll go to my ship, where I know what to expect.”

S
heekla is injured,” Shappa told him. “The medics are seeing to her. Gann is in shock.”

Obi-Wan quickly stripped off the ceremonial robe. Underneath he had worn his more familiar tunic. The large chip of rock had punched him hard, bruising a nerve center and scrambling his bodily control, but had not penetrated deeply. The pain was intense but no problem for a Jedi Knight. He removed the tunic, took a long bandage from Shappa, and wrapped it around his midriff. Then he slipped back into the tunic. The architect held up the lightsaber, and Obi-Wan lifted it from his hand.

Gann stumbled across the platform, face racked with confusion. “What are we to do? The Magister must rule on this. Who will order activation of the defenses? Perhaps it is time. We must flee!”

Shappa pushed him gently aside. “The leadership seems to devolve upon me, now,” Shappa told Obi-Wan. “How may I help you, Jedi?”

“I need a transport. A spacecraft, if possible,” Obi-Wan said. “To follow them.”

“You shall have my ship,” Shappa said. “I flew her here from Middle Distance. I will fly you myself.”

“What about the defense of the planet?” Gann insisted, fingers wrenching at the sky.

“That is the Magister’s concern,” Shappa shot back. “You’ve worked with his group for so long … Everything is in place, is it not?”

“
They
brought the invaders here!” Gann shrieked, pointing a trembling finger at Obi-Wan.

“They’re Jedi,” Shappa said. “They would do no such thing. Would you?” He glanced at Obi-Wan.

“Never knowingly,” Obi-Wan said.

Shappa’s face was dark with angry blood. “Not the first time we’ve fended off invaders. And probably not the last. We’ll get your boy back … and then, who knows what will be done?”

Shappa whistled sharply. His Sekotan ship rose beyond the edge of the platform, wheeled about gracefully, and dropped her landing gear. Shappa went aboard first, and Obi-Wan followed.

Shappa laid his hand on the instrument panel. The panel’s living surface closed around his remaining fingers. “They’ve flown south,” he said. The ship began to rise, and the hatch closed silently. “They’re already a hundred kilometers away. We’ll have a difficult time catching up with them, especially if they go into space. But first, they’ll have to find fuel, or they’ll never make it to orbit.”

“Where else can they get fuel?” Obi-Wan asked impatiently.

“Middle Distance. But I doubt they will go there … it’s very well defended and on alert. They will have to return to Far Distance, or fly even farther north, to the polar plateau. Or to the Magister’s mountain in the south.” Shappa glanced at Obi-Wan. “Perhaps it’s time
we were completely open with each other. There is something special about the boy. Can you tell me what it is?”

Obi-Wan trusted Shappa. The architect seemed more sensible than any of the other Ferroans, and perhaps more in tune with the ways of the Force.

We need another ally
.

Obi-Wan understood the inner voice now. As he had suspected, though not as he had hoped, it was not Qui-Gon. It was his Master’s teachings that lingered, the memory of countless days and weeks of patient training, the voice of so many years together.

There was no spirit. Qui-Gon had not vanished upon dying. He was truly dead.

“First, I’ll ask our ship in the north to join us. Charza Kwinn can help.”

“And I’ll instruct our people to let it go. Now … tell me, please. Why are you here?”

“A year ago, our Temple sent a Jedi Knight named Vergere to Zonama Sekot.”

“Yes. I was going to design her ship.”

“What happened to her?”

“You tell first.”

“We came here to buy a ship from you, and to find out what happened to Vergere.”

Shappa chuckled grimly. “It’s all tangled, isn’t it? She’s gone.”

“Where did she go?”

“She left with the Far Outsiders.”

“Who are they?”

“We still do not know for sure. They arrived two years before Vergere. They lurked outside our system, sending in exploratory ships. We thought they might be customers who stumbled upon us without a guide or factor. But they were very strange … They knew nothing of our politics, our economics, not to mention simple manners.

“And very curious they were about what we had done on Zonama Sekot. They, too, seemed to build all their ships and goods from living matter. We managed to communicate, a little. The Magister spoke with their ambassadors, and quickly learned that they wanted all of our secrets. They wanted complete control of Zonama Sekot. We were naive at first, but in time, we realized they were a threat, and began our defensive preparations. When we refused to submit, they were, shall we say, offended.