Clone Wars Gambit: Siege (19 page)

“You’ve not eaten,” she said accusingly, and handed him a plate with bread and egg and meat on it. “It’s cold now, I can’t help that. Eat. And then there’s tea in a pot. I’ll pour it when you’re ready.”

His belly still churned from his dose of purgative, but he needed the nourishment. Staring at the hazily swirling storm shield, at the bluish sky beyond it and the drab surrounding landscape, he ate the cold food.

“The storm’s almost passed,” said Jaklin, content it seemed to hold her cleaning cloth and let the other women carry on alone for the moment. “We should be breathing fresh air soon.”

Obi-Wan glanced at her. “You’ve spoken to Teeba Sufi?”

“Yes. I know the dangers,” Jaklin said, curt. “We’ll ride them, Teeb Kenobi. That’s what life in Torbel is. Problem after problem and us riding them. Trying not to fall off and be trampled underfoot.”

Her pain was a bloodred surge in the Force. “I wish there were something I could do about that, Jaklin.”

She turned on him, fiercely. “Torbel’s not yours to fix. Torbel’s ours and we’ll take care of it. You do what you came here to do, you and that young man. They’re making us murderers and I won’t have it. D’you hear?”

He couldn’t eat any more. Putting his half-emptied plate on a nearby trestle, he nodded. “I hear, Teeba. Anakin and I will do our best.” He looked around. “Am I needed here? If not, I’ll see if there’s anything more to be done in the power plant.”

“If Devi has no need of you,” said Jaklin, “I know we’ve men trying to get the artesian pump back working. That power surge did some fearful damage.”

He stared. “The village is without water?”

“There’s water in the holding tanks,” she said. “Enough to last till the pump’s fixed.” Then she sighed. “It’ll likely need parts. That’ll mean sending to the city and spending money we can’t spare. And with this damotite shipment short…” Shoulders slumping, Jaklin turned away. “I should be telling Rikkard to stop mining. How can we send them our damotite when—” A shuddering breath. “But that damotite means food in our children’s bellies.”

There were no simple answers. Nothing about this was fair, or easy. “Send them your damotite, Jaklin,” he said. “Whatever they take this time will never be used to harm anyone.”

She turned back to him, her eyes terrible. “You can promise me that, Jedi?”

“I can,” he said, so confident, and had no idea if it was the truth or not. The Force couldn’t—or wouldn’t—tell him. But she needed to believe it. “You know where I’ll be, and Anakin’s helping at the refinery. If you need either one of us, don’t hesitate. Thank you for breakfast.”

Leaving Jaklin to finish her tasks, Obi-Wan made his way to the power plant. Devi’s face lit up, seeing him.

“You!” she said, crossing the monitor station to meet him halfway. “A Jedi, Teeb
Obi-Wan?
”

She was smiling, and teasing, but beneath that she was in pain. The servomotors of her antigrav harness were grinding more harshly than ever after her overnight exertions.

“I came to see if you needed my assistance,” he said. “Though it does seem as though you have everything under control.”

“I do, thanks to Anakin,” she said. “I’ve never seen anyone work with machinery the way he does. No offense intended. You were a great help, too, last night. Only—”

“Believe me, there’s no need to apologize or explain,” he said quickly. “Compared with my young friend I’m little more than a rank amateur. Tell me, Devi—how close are you to lowering the storm shield?”

Devi glanced at the bank of monitors she’d been checking. “Theta levels are near to safe now. Won’t be too long. Doesn’t do to be overeager, you know. After everything we’ve survived, Obi-Wan, I’d hate to see us taken down by a last few stubborn particles of theta radiation.”

And so would he. “Then while we wait, might I take a closer look at your harness? I might not be Anakin, but there should be something I can do to make it work more efficiently.”

Devi hesitated, then nodded. “Yes. Thank you. I do my best with it but—” She shrugged. “The only manual I’ve got is years out of date. There’s a toolbox under that bank of monitors there.”

He fetched the toolbox, then eased her out of the awkward and misaligned contraption, helping her to sit on the floor. But instead of turning his attention to the equipment he took her hand in his and cradled his other hand to the back of her head.

“What are you doing?” she said, startled.

Sufi’s foul concoction had eased his headache considerably. He could feel the Force more clearly, sense where Devi was hurting and how he could help.

“I’d like to make you a little more comfortable,” he said. “Do I have your permission?”

“I—well—yes, I suppose so,” she said, then laughed, sounding nervous. “How did you—how could you—”

“Jedi feel things.”

“Like other people’s pain? Oh. I didn’t know that.”

He tightened his fingers around hers. “There’s no need to be afraid. I’ve been healed a few times myself. It’s quite a simple thing, really.”

“Maybe for you,” said Devi. “I know you helped Bohle and Arrad. I’d be grateful if you could help me. Sometimes—” Her breath caught. “I don’t like to complain. It doesn’t change anything. Only sometimes—”

“I know,” he said gently. “Sometimes it feels as though you’ll never feel anything else. As though the rest of your life will feel like this.”

“Yes,” she whispered. “I can’t afford medicine from Lantibba. Sufi does what she can with her herbs but—” She smeared a hand across her eyes. “I don’t suppose—is there any chance you could—”

Regret cut keenly, like a blade. “I’m so sorry, Devi. I’m not a dedicated healer. Besides, the original injury happened some time ago, didn’t it? Even if I were trained, I’m not certain it could be fixed.”

She closed her eyes. “I see.”

“But I will make you more comfortable,” he promised. “Now. Breathe slowly and deeply for me. Yes. That’s it.”

It was a relief to help her, to sink himself into the Force and use it in such a good cause. Knowing that countless innocents would suffer and die if he and Anakin failed to stop Lok Durd and Count Dooku, this one small act, this brief, transitory kindness, took on a grave and greatly personal significance. In healing Greti’s mother and Rikkard’s son, in easing this courageous woman’s pain, he was making a difference. Anything he could do to leave these people better than he found them was a balm to his weary, fretful mind.

When he was finished, and Devi’s pain was near to banished, he left her to stir awake and turned his attention to the antigrav harness. It was indeed a sorry piece of equipment, broken and mended and tricked up and falling apart. He’d do what he could, but doubtless Anakin could do better. He’d ask him to look at it before they returned to the city.

Feeling eyes on him, he glanced up. Devi was smiling.

“I don’t hurt,” she said, wondering. “I can’t remember the last time that something, somewhere, didn’t hurt. Obi-Wan—”

“You’re very welcome,” he said. “Now, let’s see if I can make a difference to this harness, shall we?”

His repair job wasn’t perfect, not by a long shot, but there was a definite improvement. Once he’d finished, and helped Devi strap herself back into it, she threw her arms around him and held on tight.

“Thank you. I don’t know why you’re on Lanteeb and I don’t care. I don’t care what anyone has to say about the Jedi.
Thank you.
” And then she let go and practically danced to the monitors. After checking the theta-level readout she pumped her fist in the air. “Yes! We can lower the shield.” Grinning, she turned to him. “Would you like to do the honors?” She pointed. “It’s that panel there. The red toggles to lower the shield, and the green switch to sound the all-clear.”

And so, with great solemnity, he deactivated the storm shield that had kept them alive through the long, wild night.

“Come on,” said Devi, heading for the door. “Let’s go breathe some fresh air, shall we?”

The all-clear siren sounded through the village, a lighter, more cheerful wailing than the strident blaring of danger. Emerging into the unfiltered sunshine, Obi-Wan saw that he and Devi weren’t the only people rushing outside to celebrate. Everyone aboveground that he could see had downed tools, was hugging and laughing as the trapped smoke from the burned refinery began to dissipate, shredded by a lively breeze. He felt a familiar shiver in the Force. Yes. There was Anakin, over at the ruined building, his height and his light hair making him stand out in the crowd. Anakin, sensing him in turn, raised a hand above his head and waved. He waved back, an unexpected rush of optimism lifting his dull, beleaguered spirits.

Perhaps we can win this one after all
.

And then somebody shouted. “Look!
Droids!
”

Freezing apprehension swamped him. By his side, Devi shifted around, staring. “What’s Teiki on about? Is the convoy here early? Rikkard’s going to
explode.
”

Obi-Wan saw sunlight on durasteel, wickedly glinting, heard a faint
thud thud thud
of heavy metal feet on hard, dry ground. Then came a high, buzzing drone, a familiar metallic whining—and a swarm of mosquito droids flowed over a rise and began to spit blaster bolts at the unprotected village.

A villager screamed and fell and abruptly stopped screaming.

Obi-Wan spun around, sending a frantic mental call to Anakin.

They’ve found us. Get everyone inside!

Without waiting for an answer he sprinted to the power plant. Reaching it, he threw himself inside, leapt for the storm-shield monitor, and slammed the switches on again. He had no idea how long it took for the generators to engage, if the shield could repel blaster bolts, or how long it would hold out against a concerted attack. The only thing he
did
know was that the shield might be their only hope.

They were waiting for us. It was always too late
.

“Obi-Wan! Obi-Wan? What’s going on, what are you—”

He turned. “It’s not the convoy, Devi. Stay in here. Do not go outside. Divert all the power you can to the shields and contact Rikkard in the mine. Tell him to keep everyone underground. Right now it’s the safest place to be.”

Shocked, her eyes wide, Devi moved into position. He could feel her terror like a living thing. Cutting himself off from it, he reached inside his shirt, pulled out his lightsaber and flicked its switch. The burning blue blade hummed into life.

She gasped. “You’re going to fight them?”

“Yes,” he said, moving for the door. “All the power you can spare, Devi. Nothing else matters.”

Outside again he looked up, counted ten—twelve—sixteen mosquito droids. Looking around he saw more dead or wounded villagers and closed his mind to their plight. Anakin, still shouting at people to run, was drawing the droids’ fire and deflecting their lethal blaster bolts with his own lightsaber, its blade a blur.

The storm shield still hadn’t engaged. And there were more droids coming, dazzling bright in the sunshine. Durd had sent an army after them. Battle droids, ranks of them. They were close enough to count.

How could I have been so wrong? How did I not sense this? These people—these poor people…

“Obi-Wan!”

He leapt into the fray, putting himself between the last straggling villagers and a hunting pack of droids, and took out three of them in swift succession even as he fought his way to Anakin.

“Where’s the shield?” Anakin shouted above the searing shriek of the droid attack. “You turned it on, right?”

“No, Anakin, I disabled it!” he shouted back as he destroyed another mosquito. “Of
course
I turned it on!”

“Then why hasn’t it—”

With a humming rush of power the stormshield reengaged—but not fast enough to prevent the first marching battle droids from entering the village.

“Obi-Wan—”

He almost never got angry, but now he felt sick with fury.
You fool, Kenobi. You arrogant fool
. “I know. I’ve got them, Anakin. You take care of these mosquitoes.”

And without giving Anakin a chance to argue he sprinted to the road leading out of the village, where the battle droids were marching toward him in perfect lock step. How many? Twenty. Maybe more. They saw him and aimed their blasters. Running headlong to meet them he raised his lightsaber. Raised his other hand ready to Force-push—

“Hold your fire! Hold your fire!” the droid commander blared. “Target acquired! Capture, not kill!”

What?
But before he could consider the implications of the order the droids were flipping switches on their blasters and the next thing he knew they were firing stun charges at him.

Still running, he summoned the Force and vaulted over their heads. Their blasters tracked him, firing without pause. One stun charge clipped his shoulder in passing. Dizzy, his vision crimson around the edges, he hit the ground and stumbled. Spinning around, off kilter, he Force-pushed the droids nearest to him. They flew backward, stun charges harmlessly stitching the air. Three of them collected another four as they tumbled. Good. Still dizzy, he tried for another Force-push. Not as effective this time, only two droids went flying. And the other droids were swiftly closing in, starting to flank him, surround him. He shook his head hard, trying to clear it. The damotite headache was back, fiercer than ever. Or maybe that was the stun charge. He was going to be sick.

“Obi-Wan! Break left!”

“Careful!” Obi-Wan managed to croak as he staggered in more or less the right direction. “Stun charges. They want to take us alive.”

“I know!” Anakin shouted, and passed him at a run.

And then he thought perhaps he really was unconscious and having a wild dream, because Anakin
threw
his lightsaber, sent it spinning into the midst of the droids, dismembering them into scrap metal, using the Force to control his weapon’s speed and trajectory.

Swaying like a drunk in Coruscant’s seediest nightclub, he watched Anakin obliterate the remaining battle droids. If he hadn’t felt so ill he’d have laughed or cheered.

Good boy. Oh, good boy. You show the barves
.

With effortless, arrogant ease, Anakin summoned his lightsaber back to his hand, nodded once at the destroyed droids, grimly satisfied, then turned. “You all right?”