Jedi Trial (10 page)

“Oh, I’m sorry, sir,” the boy blurted. “We didn’t know anyone was here.” The girl smiled nervously. They both knew who Anakin was.

Looking at the girl close up, Anakin was reminded—painfully—of Padmé. “I’m here on business of the Jedi Council. I hope you’ll excuse me.” Not exactly a lie:
Halcyon was before the Jedi Council, so whatever news he had for Anakin would come from there—sort of. But his frustration at the unexpected reminder of his wife must have been too obvious in his tone of voice, because the young man’s face reddened.

“Sorry, sir, very sorry,” the lad stammered. The pair hastily turned and left.

Anakin suppressed a flash of guilt for having spoken to the young man so sharply, but then he shook his head. No. They’d have to learn their place, just as he had. And what
was
his place? He, too, was still a Padawan, even with all his combat experience and acknowledged talents—and the sacrifice of his arm in personal combat—and still he hadn’t heard a word about Jedi Knighthood. He’d been weeks on Coruscant, studying, practicing his skills. Under the circumstances he’d rather be spending his time with Padmé—
No, no, don’t think of that
, he told himself.
Think of the future
. Master Halcyon was going to offer him something—that had to be why he’d asked for this meeting. Coruscant was rife with rumors these days. Everyone was talking vaguely about new threats from the Separatist forces. Big things were afoot, and Anakin itched to be a part of it all.

Jedi Nejaa Halcyon. Anakin had gotten to know him rather well during the time of his enforced idleness. Anakin respected Master Halcyon, but could not understand what had gone wrong on the mission to Bpfassh, which had ended in such great embarrassment to him and the Jedi Order. Specific details about the mission had been kept quiet, but still there was talk. Anakin assumed Halcyon had been recalled to
Coruscant because the Jedi Council was trying to decide on his future employments, but he was too polite to ask. What really mattered to Anakin, though, was that Halcyon seemed to like and have confidence in him, and now that might be about to pay off.

He sensed Halcyon’s approach and turned to greet him at the same moment that Halcyon said, “A credit for your thoughts.” Both men smiled.

Halcyon draped an arm across Anakin’s shoulders. “My young friend,” he announced, “I have come with news.”

“Yes?” Outwardly Anakin maintained an icy-cool demeanor, but inwardly his heart raced.

Halcyon, though, could sense the surge of anticipation in the young Jedi and he smiled more broadly. “The Jedi Council is sending us on a mission. I’ve been given a chance to prove myself—no, don’t deny it, Anakin, that’s what this assignment is, a trial—and I’ve asked for you to be my second in command. The Council agreed.”

Anakin felt a very slight twinge of disappointment. Halcyon, not the Jedi Council itself, had asked for his services. But … the Council had agreed, so … “What is the mission, Master?”

“Are you familiar with the Intergalactic Communications Center on Praesitlyn, in the Sluis sector?”

“Not really. I know it’s a vital communications hub, but I don’t know much more than that.”

“It’s been seized by a Separatist force. We’re assuming the garrison has been defeated, but the enemy force is being opposed by a friendly armada that was tracking the invasion fleet and has broken through the cordon
around Praesitlyn. They are now heavily engaged with the Separatist ground force. We are going to relieve that army, if it can be done.” He paused. “We’re not sure how big the Separatist force is, but it’s very powerful; taking it on will not be an easy job.”

“Who’s in command of the intervening force on Praesitlyn?”

Halcyon smiled weakly. “Zozridor Slayke.”

Anakin looked up sharply. “You mean—?”

“Yes, the same—my nemesis.” Halcyon’s lips twisted in a wry smile. “But we are going there to retake Praesitlyn, Anakin. If Slayke’s still alive and able to fight by the time we get there, well, he’ll be so glad to see us I don’t think I’ll have any problem working with him.”

Neither said anything for a long moment. The water splashed merrily into the pool; Anakin didn’t notice the occasional droplets of moisture that fell from an overhanging branch down the back of his neck. “Master, what, precisely, will be my role as your second?”

“We’ll have an army of twenty thousand clones. We’ll form it into two divisions. I’ll hold overall command, as well as command of one division, and you’ll command the other. If anything happens to me, you will then command the entire fleet. You can do it, Anakin—that’s why I picked you.” He paused and nudged a glob of mud with the toe of his boot. “Our force includes supporting arms and combat-support units, so besides the clone infantry force, we’ll have small contingents from all over the Republic as integral parts of our army. We’ll have to do most of our planning on the way.”

“When do we leave?”

“Soon, very soon.”

“So, what’s our first step?” Anakin asked.

“Our first step? Well, first you and I are going to meet someone very special.”

No society is without its underworld. With more than a trillion inhabitants, Coruscant, the gem of the galaxy, the hub of the Republic, had its bottom feeders deep beneath its soaring spires. Coruscant was like a vast ocean: while luxurious liners full of happy partyers plowed the waves on the surface, hideous denizens, strangers to light, lurked in the murky depths far below. It was into this world that Jedi Master Nejaa Halcyon took Anakin.

The Golden Slug, a run-down flophouse with a sleazy bar in the lobby, was the only spot of activity on a dead-end side street just off a main underground thoroughfare. Piles of garbage littered the gutter; one flickering sign—the other lights weren’t working—provided dim and intermittent illumination. The farther end of the street beyond the Golden Slug was enveloped in pitch darkness.

“What are we doing here?” Anakin whispered as he carefully threaded his way through the garbage. A sudden barrage of guttural shouting and the noise of something being smashed came dully from inside the Golden Slug, and a tall, reptilian creature burst from the hotel lobby and skittered past. Wondering what in the galaxy could scare a Barabel, Anakin reached for his lightsaber.

“Easy does it, Anakin,” Halcyon murmured, putting a restraining hand on the Padawan’s forearm.

The sign above the Golden Slug’s doorway sputtered.
GOL EN S UG
it announced, two of the letters long since broken in some drunken melee.

“I don’t think we’ll have any trouble,” Halcyon went on, “there’s no need to have a weapon in hand. But be ready—just in case.”

Anakin glanced toward the end of the street where he sensed something lurking. Then he reached out into the Force to scan the hotel lobby. “Well,” he whispered, “there aren’t any Force-sensitives in there, so lead on.”

The lobby was a shambles. Most of the furniture that was still intact was unoccupied, except for something snoring loudly on one of the couches. An overhead fan stirred the stale air lazily. A bored clerk, a character with a huge set of ears and a long proboscis, glanced up at the two Jedi, squeaked an exclamation, and disappeared underneath the counter. Several patrons sat at the bar on one side of the lobby. The floor there was littered with debris, the remains of a destroyed table and chairs—and something that looked suspiciously like an arm or a leg freshly separated from its owner.

An unprepossessing figure hunched alone at one end of the bar. Three other barflies sat at the opposite end, as far from the figure as they could get, studiously ignoring its presence.

“Grudo!” Halcyon shouted.

The lobby went deadly silent. Even the fan slowly whirring above them seemed to stop its lazy perambulations. The bartender dropped the glass he was pretending to clean and ducked behind the bar.

The hunched figure turned slowly, stepped to its feet, and moved toward them. Anakin blinked. It had bumpy green skin and bulging, multifaceted eyes; a stubby pair of antennae protruded from its head. Numerous sheathed knives hung from two bandoliers crossing its chest, and more knives rested uneasily in scabbards on its belt. A pair of blasters sat in holsters on its belt. Anakin thought he could make out other tools of the bounty hunter’s trade poking out here and there. The dim light glinted wetly off the knives where their metal was visible, as if they had recently been used. This being was the meanest-looking Rodian Anakin had ever seen—and he headed straight toward them. Anakin reached again for his lightsaber, but Halcyon held him back with a steadying arm; the Rodian’s hands were empty.

As soon as he got within reach, the bounty hunter lurched forward and grabbed Halcyon around the waist and danced him around in a macabre circle.

“Halcyon!” he hooted. “It’s good to see you, old friend!” He stopped dancing, and the two embraced warmly.

“This is Grudo,” Halcyon told Anakin as soon as he was able to disentangle himself. “Grudo, this young Jedi is Anakin Skywalker. Say hello, Anakin.”

Anakin smiled crookedly and said, “Hello.”

The Rodian released Halcyon and stood at attention. “Jedi Anakin Skywalker, Sergeant Grudo reporting,” he said in an impeccable Basic that contrasted sharply with his appearance. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, sir.”

“Sergeant?” Anakin asked, bemused by the Rodian’s clipped tones. “I didn’t know bounty hunters had ranks.”

The barflies, who had been studiously ignoring the trio, turned their heads for a quick glance, then returned their attention to their drinks. Even the bartender peeked out from hiding when Grudo hooted in raucous laughter.

“Come,” Grudo commanded, and led them to the bar; the barflies huddled inconspicuously over their drinks. “Barkeep! Come out from wherever you’re hiding—I want to buy a drink for my friends!”

The bartender, a nervous, sallow-faced human, edged up from his hiding place. Looking like he was ready to drop back down to safety at any moment, he poured a dirty yellow fluid out of a bottle containing some kind of root into glasses that looked none too clean. Grudo raised his glass in a toast. Halcyon and Anakin followed suit.

“Aaarrggh! Whew!” Halcyon gasped. Grudo patted him hard between the shoulder blades. “Strong stuff!” the Jedi Master wheezed, thumping his chest with a fist.

Anakin sipped cautiously at his drink. The liquid burned its way past his lips, over his tongue, down his throat, and into the depths of his stomach, where it exploded in a ball of blazing fire. He choked. “Good!” he rasped. “Very good! Thank you—Grudo.”

Grudo laughed at Anakin’s feeble attempt to hide his discomfort. “There’s nothing
good
about the taste of that drink,” he said. “It’s supposed to incapacitate Gamorreans, Trandoshans, Wookiees, and other large
species, so Rodian bounty hunters can take them into custody without getting hurt.”

The Rodian was smaller than a normal human male, but Anakin remembered the Barabel who had run screaming out to the street and looked pointedly toward the shambles in the lobby. “I don’t feel in the least incapacitated, Grudo. Are you sure you need to tranquilize a large person to capture him?”

Grudo laughed and slapped him on the back. “Maybe.
If
I was a bounty hunter.”

“If you’re not a bounty hunter, what are you doing on Coruscant? I thought the only people your world allowed to leave home were bounty hunters.”

Grudo raised a suction-cup-tipped finger in front of his pendulous snout, so much like a human raising a shushing finger to pursed lips that Anakin had to laugh. “If
I
don’t tell,
you
can’t tell,” the Rodian whispered conspiratorily. Then he turned to Halcyon. “I’m glad to see you again, Halcyon. And happy enough to meet Jedi Skywalker, as well.”

“And I was very glad when I heard you were still here, Grudo. Though I’m surprised that you haven’t found another job.”

Grudo shrugged. “Unfortunately true. Which is hard to imagine in time of war. But … you know the bounty hunter reputation.” He shook his head. “Makes it hard for an honest Rodian to find work as a soldier. Do you have a job for me, Nejaa?”

“Possibly.”

“There’s trouble on Praesitlyn, I hear.”

The two Jedi glanced at each other in surprise.

“How do you know that?” Anakin demanded.

Grudo shrugged noncommitally. “Word gets around.”

Halcyon sighed. “Well, if they know about our mission here, the Separatists know, too, or they will soon.” He gave his drink a suspicious look and pushed the dirty glass aside, then said to Anakin, “Grudo isn’t a bounty hunter, he’s an old soldier. He’s been in more battles and on more campaigns than most regular soldiers. He’s led troops in battle his whole life. I want him to come with us. He’ll be a good addition to our team, especially when it comes to directing small-unit operations.” He turned to Grudo. “Will you come with us?”

“So you two are going to be generals on this mission,” Grudo said.

Halcyon flinched and muttered, “Nobody’s supposed to know that.”

Grudo smiled. “You’re going to need a good sergeant major. Especially the whelp here.” He flung a surprisingly strong arm across Anakin’s shoulders, forcing the young Jedi’s nose almost into his glass. “Let’s have one last drink—for old times, and for the future!” He leaned over the bar to peer at the cowering bartender. “Give us a round of the good stuff this time!”

B
oth Lieutenant Erk H’Arman and recon trooper Odie Subu had received survival training and were well aware of the dangers of dehydration. But neither had been prepared for this long walk through the high-desert region, and it proved much more difficult than either had anticipated. It was one thing to fly over it at ten thousand meters or zoom along on speeder patrols with communications and comrades left and right, but walking, without any prior preparation, was another thing entirely. Although they tried to conserve their small supply of water, the heat, the lack of humidity, and the physical exertion that confronted them every step of the way caused them to lose more fluid than they could replace. Also, the burning sun was so intense they almost wished another sandstorm would strike just to provide them some cover. They began to blister, even under their clothes. And that first night, as the daytime heat radiated off into space, they almost froze to death.