Star Wars - Incognito (2 page)

Looking up, he saw the comical sight of the trooper, his eye ports and air intakes clogged with the thick goo, moving his rifle in an attempt to fire randomly. But his assailant was on him now, wresting away the weapon. The secluded area was shaded enough that Dewell could make out his rescuer’s identity.

The Young Father!

In one swift move, the human smashed the trooper in the head with the butt of his own rifle. The armored figure stumbled backwards, bumping into his bucket-headed partner. The Young Father shoved at them both now — exactly how, Dewell could not see — pushing them into one of the side doorways. It was a maintenance pit, he realized. He heard the colossal clamor as the armored men tumbled down a staircase.

The Young Father walked over and closed the door, locking it. “They won’t be bothering you again, Senator.”

Dewell Looked around. “But where…”

The Young Father nodded toward a spot behind him. Stepping forward. Dewell made out the shape of the baby, cradled and resting comfortably atop the Ortolan’s janitorial cart. The man lifted the child.

“I believe they’ve been following you since the Space Slug,” the Young Father said. “The Emperor has agents everywhere.”

Bronk didn’t ask how the man knew. “I don’t understand. There are plenty of Kedorzhans — and we mostly look alike. My documents were perfectly forged. Was it the first officer?”

“The Devaronians, I think. Forgeries can get you far — but they knew your reputation for protecting the weak. I suspect they knew you were on the run, and were using that to smoke you out. There, and here.” He nodded toward the locked door. “But it’s early days for Palpatine’s Empire. Next time, it might well be the victim — the Twi’lek woman or the Ortolan janitor — who’s the informant.”

Dewell shook his head. “It’s not in my nature not to trust. ”

“Mine either,” the Young Father said, pulling the child close. He turned and began walking away. “Your next flight is over here,” he said. “I’ll see you get there.”

Bronk followed the short distance across to Pad 560, glad that no one seemed to have noticed the earlier commotion. The starship was little better than
Space Slug
, but it was outgassing and ready to go, and that made it look heavenly.

Dewell stood near the landing ramp and looked back to the Young Father. “Thank you.”

The man simply nodded and started to turn away.

“This is what it’s going to be like, isn’t it?” Dewell asked, looking down at the ground.

The Young Father paused. “How do you mean?”

“Life in hiding. In exile. I’ll need to fear every stranger, every comm connection. I won’t be able to touch a datapad without fear that Palpatine’s cronies are looking in.” Dewell looked up. “I’m exaggerating, right?”

“I’m afraid not,” the man said. He nodded sympathetically. “It will be that way and worse. Things that are basic to your being, things that brought you joy and fulfillment, may become liabilities. Even the thing that defines you — the very desire to help others.”

Dewell looked back at the starship, and then out at the milling blur of passengers, heading this way and that. Gesturing to them, the Young Father continued, keeping his head down. “You’ll think crowds will offer security — but that only works as long as you offer nothing of yourself to anyone. And that’s not the worst thing. Kind acts by others will have to be evaluated with skepticism, and suspicion.” He smiled gently. “Present company excepted.”

Dewell looked down. The man didn’t look familiar — he saw so few human faces clearly that he remembered none of them. But he knew a companion in crisis when he heard one. “It sounds like you’re in the same situation.”

“Not exactly,” the man said. “You have more choices available than I do.”

Dewell stared at the ground for a moment, until he realized what the man meant. “I can’t live in hiding.” Taking a breath, the little Kedorzhan straightened. “I guess I go back.”

The human nodded somberly.

“I’ll have to recant, to declare support for Palpatine.” The words made him feel nauseous as he stepped away from the ramp.

“You’ll be in a better position to help people,” the Young Father said. “That may be the place to be, until people of your strength are called for.”

“Strength!” Dewell laughed. “I’m afraid of every bright light and loud noise.”

“Your strength may surprise you,” the Young Father said, squeezing the bundle he was holding. “Even the smallest among us could change the galaxy.”

“Even your child.”

The Young Father looked down and smiled. “Even he.”

“I hope we don’t have to wait that long,” Dewell said.

“Agreed.” The Young Father nodded. “But I’m prepared to.”

He looked over his shoulder. Across the tarmac, another transport was readying to lift off. “That’s my ride.”

Dewell watched as the man turned. “I’m sorry,” he called. “I don’t think I caught your name.”

“Who I am is no longer important,” the Young Father said, not looking back.

Dewell nodded. “Maybe. But what you do
is
.” He waved. “Keep doing it… if you can.”

John Jackson Miller is the author of Star Wars: Kenobi, available July 27 from Del Rey.

From Star Wars Insider 143 (08-09-2013)

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