Title: Burn! Burn! Burn!
Author: oqidaun / M. Nicholson
Rated: PG-13 (violence/strong language)
Timeframe:
TPM-ROTS
Characters: Obi-Wan/Anakin/Yoda/OC
Genre: Horror/Suspense
Disclaimer: Thanks for letting me play in your playground, George.
Summary: Five years after the events in The Phantom Menace, a call for
assistance from an AgriCorps compound sets a Jedi Master on a collision course
with an ancient evil and an approaching storm.
Author’s Note: I'd like to extend a
special THANK YOU to all my readers at TheForce.net’s Jedi Council who
nominated Burn! for eleven categories in the 2006
Winter Fanfic Awards! We won Best Canon, Best Drama, Best Epic and Best
Ensemble Cast!
Once upon a time, in a Galaxy far far
away…
There was a little girl
Who cried:
Fire! Fire! Fire!
There was a little man
Who said:
Liar! Liar! Liar!
And on a windy night
They all:
Burned! Burned! Burned!
--Shodari
Immigrant Children's Rhyme.
Prologue:
AgriCorps Compound 60249-41, Shoda,
Dakari Sector, Mid/Outer Rim Transition Zone
Bright silks,
soft pillows and exotic women warmed his dreams. Spice filled his nostrils and
wrapped him in a blanket of euphoric smoke. Falling into the arms of a rose
skinned madam, he embraced the narcotic aroma of her decadent kisses. He raised
the hookah pipe to his lips and inhaled. A fit of coughing seized him. The
smoke reeked of dry grass and stung his lungs. The seductress opened her mouth
to speak, but the only sound to escape her lips was the clamor of a rusted bell
violently tearing him from his dream world.
Fire, blood, bell, fire, blood, bell,
fire, blood, bell—the
words tormented him. Frantically, he
threw back the blankets and stumbled barefoot towards the window. Thick frost coated both sides of the thin
glass. He could smell the smoke and hear the roar of the flames above the
howling wind, but because of the frost could see nothing save the furious
orange glow that filled the window. A
bell clanged rhythmically adding to the chaos and his frustration of not being
able to see.
Desperately, he
scratched at the frost with his fingernails. The brittle glass splintered and
sliced into his hand. His bloody fingers pulled the broken shards from the pane
and cast them to floor at his feet. Icy
air whooshed into the room.
An angry false
sun rose on the horizon and defiled the night with its illusions. His heart
threatened to rip his chest apart. Mutely, he stepped back from the window
through the broken glass. A cold sweat broke across his face and he felt faint.
The door burst
open, “She’s not in her room!”
“I know.” He picked a sliver of glass from his foot and
finished putting on his boots. “Who the hell do you think is ringing that
damned bell?”
Clenching his
fist to stay the bleeding, he grabbed his long brown cloak and chased after the
similarly dressed dark skinned woman into the hallway. At the top of the
stairs, he stopped and turned.
“Where are you
going?” she screamed.
He did not
answer and raced back to his room. The flames from outside illuminated the
simple furnishings in a surreal fiery glow. Ignoring his other meager
possessions, he ripped open the dresser drawer, seized a small red book and
tucked it safely into his robes. The
little book was cold and it burned against his chest.
Once more he ran
into the hall and finally down the stairs.
Smoke bellowed into the old two story dwelling and he slowed as he
approached the front door knowing what he would find on the other side.
The world that
greeted him would forever be the setting of his nightmares.
- - -
“Where did she
get it?” The smoke, wind and exhaustion left his voice hollow and cracked. It
was the first thing he had said in twenty four hours.
“She took it
from Dezan.”
“Did she—”
“He’s safe. He made
to the village to warn them.”
“Where is she?”
“Still
at the bell.”
- - -
“Are you angry,
Banner?”
“No.” He bent
down and looked into her remorseless eyes. “Anger leads to the dark side. Why—”
“Do you hate me,
Banner?”
“Badour, let me ask my questions. I need to know—”
“Do you hate me,
Banner?”
“No, Badour, I
do not hate you. I don’t understand you, but I don’t hate you.” He knelt down in front of the small girl
trying to see her face. “Why have you done this?”
“I didn’t start
the fire.” She shook her head.
“Badour, I don’t
know if I can believe you.”
“The fire was
coming. I rang the bell.”
“You did more
than ring the bell. What happened to the eopies?” He pointed towards the smoldering remains of
the barn and the scattered carcasses.
She looked down
at her feet. Banner reached forward and lifted the nine-year-old’s chin with
his bandaged hand.
“I killed
them. When I saw the flames, I took
Dezan’s lightsaber while he slept. I
took it into the pen and I killed all of the eopies and then I rang the bell.”
“Badour,” his
vision blurred with his tears, “why?”
“The barn was
going to burn,” she said simply. “The fire couldn’t be stopped. They were going
to die. Banner, you should not be surprised. You knew.” The plain faced child tilted her head. “You
can’t stop it.”
“Why did you
write those words?” he whispered. “Why those words?”
She reached
forward to touch him and he recoiled.
She smiled.
“Banner, do you
fear me?”
- - -
“No compromises,
Jedi.” His jaw was set and arms folded against his chest. The cold air reddened
his pale face and his military tunic was buttoned to his chin.
“Please, General
Acquilius, if you could give us a chance to—”
“I’m not giving
you another damn thing. I am the law here and it is my responsibility to keep
order. If you’ve not noticed this planet sits in a war zone. Your people
demanded to come out here and help the immigrants—bring a little of that Core
World civilization to the Mid-Rim. You weren’t invited and you sure as hell
haven’t helped anyone.”
“General, this
was isolated incident. Please do not allow it to taint your view of the
AgriCorps. The Republic wants to share its technologies and expertise with
developing agricultural societies—”
“Is that what you
think of us—just a bunch of uncivilized farmers?” He shook his head in
disbelief. “I am a representative of the Mandakari Empire. The Jedi think of us
as a developing society?”
“That’s not what
I said.”
“I’ll be certain
to include that in my report.” He leaned
closer and lowered his voice. “At least we honor our children. We don’t tear
them from their mother’s breast only to decide years later that they’re
worthless and dump them off on places like this.” He paused to retrieve an
archaic nico-baac inhaler from his pocket. Meticulously, he inserted a
stimulant capsule into the chamber, ignited it and brought the stem to his
lips.
“I started
hearing all sorts of stories about what goes on out there and the Jedi
rejects. Locals don’t want you round here
anymore. Now this,” he gestured with the
inhaler to the expanses of burned range on the either side of his speeder bike,
“Over a million acres destroyed. The fire started on your land and you’ve got
sixty head of livestock with their throats cut. I find that curious.”
“General, we are
handling the situation. I’ve contacted the Order,” she assured him.
“You can contact
your Order to your heart’s content, because I’ve contacted my ‘order’,” he
mocked and patted the military insignia on his tunic. “You’re lucky I don’t
arrest you for the fire—that’s a capital offense in developing agricultural
societies such as this.”
“Sir, I think
that you’re over reacting to this situation.”
“Don’t tempt
me,” he clenched the inhaler in his teeth. “My superior gave me full latitude
to solve this problem and ordered me to get it solved today. The locals have
been talking about a girl. If you don’t get her out of here in twenty four
hours, I’ll have riot on my hands and if I end up with a riot,” he jerked his
thumb back towards a hard faced solider in black fatigues, “I’m going to send
him to bring me a body.” He smiled cruelly. “I have to keep the peace here and
if that means being a bit uncivilized, I’ll do just that.” He swung his leg over the speeder. “What do
you expect from a developing society?”
- - -
There was little
left to put into the old BT-3 utility skiff and they packed quickly and
quietly. The local laborers had not returned.
A hundred meters from the skiff, the hard faced soldier and three others
sat on their stripped down speeder bikes overseeing the evacuation. Elitrea
divided her attention between them and the girl. The child sat patiently on the
ground, her hands folded in her lap. A
content smile played across her lips.
The tall padawan
secured the final crate on the skiff and cast a cautious glance at the
soldiers. Pulling up the hood of his robe, he approached his master. Less than
a month away from his knighting, Dezan d’Andros already conveyed the presence
of a formidable Jedi. He was keenly
attuned to the Force and gifted with both a strong sense of honor and humility.
“Do you think
they’ll let us leave in peace?” he spoke softly.
“I feel their
animosity as well, Padawan, but they are bound by the orders of their general
and I doubt he wants to deal with the paperwork our murders would generate.”
She touched his arm and looked deep into his eyes. Through Force she reminded
him, “Watch your thoughts around the girl.”
Wordlessly, he
nodded.
- - -
The sun set passively
on the scorched lands and dark snow clouds rolled in from the north. The trip
to the port city of
Utilitarian and
square, Shadora looked like countless other hastily constructed settlements
throughout the Galaxy. The port welcomed
fewer than a thousand immigrants each year and saw very little commercial
traffic. Weekly markets sold local crafts and foodstuffs, imported goods
remained prohibitively expensive. Martial law prevailed and authorities
discouraged civilian participation in the community’s governance. Soldiers
patrolled the streets and the strict curfews kept their work to a minimum.
Nights were quiet in the little town.
The public
hangars required special permission to enter after dark, but the port master
did not question the hard faced soldier. Housed at the end of a long row of
empty buildings, the nondescript Republic cruiser was one of three private
transports docked in the hangars. Aside from the Mandakari Occupation and
Settlement Authority (MOSA) few beings on Shoda had means for private
transport.
The hum of the
cruiser’s preflight cycle echoed through the empty hangar. Banner wiped his
hands on his trousers and double checked the skiff to make certain that
everything had been moved into the transport’s cargo hold. Elitrea watched
suspiciously as he approached the soldiers loitering around the hangar door and
accepted the flask one offered. She looked to Dezan who stood ready at the base
of the ship’s ramp. The child hovered around the hatch.
One by one, the
soldiers left. Elitrea raised an eyebrow as Banner returned. Since the fire, he
spoke few words and kept to himself. Known for being an affable and talkative
man, his behavior seemed exceptionally out of character. A frown settled on his lips as he withdrew
the battered journal from his robes and handed it to her.
“Here,” he
whispered. “They want to see this.”
She accepted the
journal and met his anguished eyes. “You’re not coming. Are you?”
“No.” Banner
spoke plainly.
“Don’t throw
this away.”
“No,” he
repeated and slipped his arms out of the brown robe letting it fall to the
floor. In his bandaged hand he held out his lightsaber. When she refused to
accept his weapon, he also let it fall to the fuel stained duracrete surface.
“Now isn’t the
time to do this.”
He shook his
head. “If there ever was a time—this is it.”
For a moment he looked at Dezan and usually steady padawan seemed torn.
Banner Weesoik
turned and walked away.
He never looked
back.
Kingdom Mine
Brutish port
authorities muscled their way through the crowds of refugees checking papers,
taking bribes and dragging those unable to comply with either to the deportation
terminals. Desperate travelers set up impromptu bazaars in hopes of selling
enough of their belongings to pay the bribes. Less resourceful individuals
bartered themselves or worse their children.
Elitrea stood in
the fresher of Dalvin’s Last Drink, one of the many unlicensed taverns in the
old warehouse that also masqueraded as the Mooja Intergalactic Space Port. She needed privacy and the filthy fresher
seemed to be only place where she could have a moment to herself.
In front of her
the pair of fuzzy blue holograms offered little consolation. She had hoped
Master M’Daw Gooli of the Council of Reconciliation, would be more sympathetic.
Unfortunately, the elderly Corellian Jedi Master only shook her head and
reminded her padawan of many years before to be patient. Furthermore, Gooli
deferred most of Elitrea’s concerns to Yoda of the High Jedi Council who seemed
irritated, or maybe it was just the bad connection.
“Most
unfortunate, these events are.” It was impossible to read Yoda’s expression,
but his voice betrayed little concern.
“My ship is
impounded by the Shoda Home Defense and the three commercial transports we’ve
used have all had to change their courses because of hyperdrive malfunctions.
I’m thinking there’s something more than ‘unfortunate’ to this all.”
“Patience,
Master Elitrea.” Gooli raised her hands. “We understand the difficulty you are
having and a solution has presented itself. Anear Salot has just reported that
his team has had quite a bit of success on Abregado-Rae. It’s not far from
Fondor. If you can get to Fondor, Obi-Wan Kenobi can take Badour to Anear’s
compound on Abregado-Rae. We feel certain that this would be in her best
interests.”
The fuzzy image
of Yoda concurred. “Benefit, the child will from Anear’s influence.”
She exhaled,
relieved not to have to take Badour all the way to Coruscant. “I am glad to
hear that Anear will accept her. Though,
it’s going to be difficult to get transport out of here. It took us three weeks
to get across the Mid Rim. The fighting in the Dakari sector has complicated
travel in the Mid-Rim. There are a lot of refugees to contend with and the
extra security. We’ve been stopped seventeen times—”
“Wait for you,
Obi-Wan and Anakin will.” Yoda interrupted.
“Elitrea, you
must focus on the positive and make it to Fondor as quickly as possible. From
there, you and Dezon will return to the
For a moment,
her confidence surged and she felt the familiar warmth of the Force coursing
through her veins. She left the ‘fresher determined. However, when she turned
the corner and saw the look on her padawan’s face, the emptiness returned.
“She’s doing it
again…”
None will be saved…
Second only to Kuat
itself, Fondor was the Galaxy’s preeminent ship building planet. The crowded
streets of
As she leaned
over the edge of the steel patio railing, she allowed herself her first smile
in weeks. “You’re a sight for sore eyes, Obi-Wan.”
“Elitrea,” he
smiled warmly and waited for her to join him. In the short time Obi-Wan had
been on Fondor, he had already become a regular in the Gear House café. “Had I
heard about your difficulties earlier, we’d met up with you some where in the
Inner Rim.” He motioned to the server droid to bring another mug of Alderaanean
tea.
“I wouldn’t wish
the Mooja Intergalactic Spaceport on anyone. Don’t worry about it.”
“You mean
they’ve rebuilt it? Qui-Gon and I were there right after it was bombed and the
Port Authority had moved everything across the street into an old warehouse.”
“No, it’s still
in the warehouse. I think they just moved the sign. Fondor’s a nice change,
superficial, but hopeful.” She took a cautious sip of the hot tea. “How do you
like it?”
“Two weeks with
Anakin on Fondor? He’s under the impression we’re on some sort of vacation.”
“He’s
mechanically inclined to say the least. I have never seen someone so young, so
gifted.”
“I think the
“Poor Anakin,”
she laughed. “Perhaps, your delinquent padawan can stay here with me and Dezon
while you take Badour to Abregado-Rae”
“I’d be lost
with out him.” Obi-Wan put his hand to his forehead dramatically. “Actually, we
need to be on Corellia next week. I’m not going to be able to backtrack; it’s
going to have to be a fast trip.”
Elitrea’s mouth
tightened. “She’s difficult, Obi-Wan.”
“What do you
mean?” Her sudden change in mood caught him off guard.
“It’s hard to
describe. She has rather elaborate visions and a tendency to act on
them—violently. She’s a bit much for a padawan to deal with. Dezan is nearly
twenty years old and she has managed to rile him. Anakin is only fourteen and
you’ve said yourself that he’s high strung.”
“This is what
happened on Shoda?” Obi-Wan had only heard parts of the story.
“The Council for
Reconciliation decided she would do best in the corps and shortly after her
eighth birthday sent her to Banner Weesoik’s project on Shoda.”
“Banner was the
only classmate I ever remembered being happy to go to the Corps. He’s a good
organizer.” Obi-Wan also remembered him as a clown.
“Banner sent a
message to the Reconciliation Council that he was concerned,” she continued.
“Initially, Badour got on well with the village children to the point that some
of the local families talked about adopting her since she was still so young,
but then one day the children didn’t want to play with her. The families didn’t
want her around. Apparently, she started telling people when they were going to
die.”
“Delightful
habit for a small child.”
“Very, and she
has a tendency to be correct.” Elitrea toyed absently with her spoon as she
decided how to explain what happened next. “Banner tried to encourage her to
stop. He kept in contact with the Rec Council and Yarael Poof on the High
Council. She responded to Banner’s
redirection and she shifted her attention to animals. He also found her a journal so that she could
record her visions and reflect on them.” Elitrea reached inside her satchel and
handed the small plastisheet book to Obi-Wan. “This was Banner’s breaking
point.”
Obi-Wan flipped
through the pages of drawings and notes, “She did this by herself?”
“She did this in
one night. There’s over a hundred and fifty pages.
Banner counted twenty distinct scripts in at least four languages. She’s eight,
Obi-Wan.” A cold chill seized her as she
remembered Banner risking his life to save the book.
“She sounds
charming. When do I get to meet her?”
My will be done…
Anakin glanced
up at the chrono and launched into a litany of curses a Hutt would find
impressive and fortunately, Obi-Wan was no where to be found. What had once
been a secondary cooling unit spread out in seventy three pieces around the
lanky padawan.
The mysterious disappearance of the seventy-fourth piece inspired the
Huttese profanity. Two hours earlier,
the replacement of the relay switch seemed like a really great idea, now he was
not quite so certain. He reached for the ship’s holo manual, which he sincerely
believed had been written by one of Yoda’s kinsbeings, and the missing gasket
spacer tumbled out of his sleeve. A look of relief washed across his face as he
leapt to his feet to catch the wayward part before it rolled down into the
grating in front of the small ship’s ramp.
At
the foot of the ramp stood a tired looking young man. Anakin almost failed to recognize
him.
“Dez?” Anakin quickly smiled. The other padawan
was older, but Anakin had sparred with him a number of times in the
Dezan regarded
him blankly before responding. “Anakin.”
Preoccupied with
his cooling unit assembly concerns, Anakin failed to notice the contempt in his
voice. “Come lend me a hand, will you?
I’ve got to get this thing back together before Obi-Wan finds out or
he’ll chew my head off.”
“Certainly.”
Quietly, Dezan
watched as Anakin reassembled the cooling unit. After several attempts to draw
him into conversation failed, Anakin lapsed into one of his long winded
monologues about growing up on Tatooine.
“My mom used to
make this soup out of figs. We couldn’t always get figs as they’re imported and
expensive, but she would for special occasions—like my birthday. They’ve made
it for me at the
When Anakin
spoke of “home” it always meant Tatooine. His unceasing one-sided discussions
of growing up on the desert planet often alienated him from the other padawans
who felt he lorded his “normal” childhood over them. The sainthood of Shmi Skywalker was well known
by his cohorts.
While the
younger padawan spoke, Dezan fantasized about putting the screwdriver he had
been nervously toying with through Anakin’s skull. The polite smile and
occasional nod as Anakin rambled on about his mother had nothing to do with the
story or Dezan’s desire to be a good listener. Instead, his expressions were
manifestations of his eagerness to commit a brutal murder. In his mind he moved
through the paces repeatedly. Ten minutes into Anakin’s tale, he had already
killed him in his mind fifteen times.
Anakin was a
meter and a half away. It would take two steps, yet he would have the element
of surprise. Carefully, he checked the sharpness of the end of the screwdriver
and gauged how much pressure it would take to ram it through his forehead. He
decided it would be best to grasp the screwdriver with his right hand while
simultaneously driving his left elbow into Anakin’s windpipe. If he hit him
hard enough in the throat, then he could slow down and make certain his victim
understood what was happening. He would use his own hands, a makeshift weapon
and his desperation to destroy him—not the Force.
Abruptly, Anakin
stopped his Tatooine spiel. “Dez, is something wrong?”
“I could save
the Galaxy with this…” He wrapped his fingers tightly around the handle, his
eyes darkened. He started to move forward.
“A screwdriver?”
Anakin straightened up and folded his arms; suddenly wary of the other padawan,
but not enough to rein in his challenge. “How do you suppose?”
Visibly Dezan broke
out in a cold sweat. He had not anticipated Anakin’s reaction. He starred at
the tool and his shaking hands. Panic threatened to overtake him. He struggled
with the violent desire coiled up in his stomach. A voice in his head
whispered, “If you do nothing now, you’ll be his accomplice later…”
Dezan looked at
the padawan in front of him and timidly reached into the Force. Anakin would be
a very dangerous adversary to provoke. As he touched the Force, a hint of
reason crept into his clouded mind. He would not be successful. For a moment he saw himself as clear as
though he was standing in Anakin’s place. He saw a cowering wreck of a human
being, driven by fear and deformed by madness.
The screwdriver
clanged loudly as it struck the floor.
Desperately, the
darkness surged in him, yet his terror kept his feet planted. For days he had
obsessed over the opportunity to catch the Chosen One alone and end his
life. His dark dreams revealed thousands
of murderous possibilities. His entire existence became focused on the
necessity of changing the future. Willingly, he gave himself to darkness so
that others might live. His sacrifice was unavoidable. There should have been
no turning back the moment he seized the screwdriver, but now his failure was
complete.
He failed
billions.
“You’re not
going to get the pleasure of killing me, Anakin.” He hissed through clenched
teeth.
Anakin shifted
his weight to facilitate drawing his lightsaber. He realized he was in a
precarious place, but did not understand why.
However, “why?” was a secondary concern, self preservation always being
his first. He could feel the temperature in the room
drop as the darkness wrapped itself around the wild-eyed padawan. However,
Anakin was not afraid. He knew that Dezan was crippled by his own fear and fear
could be a powerful ally.
He spoke slowly,
coaxingly, “Dezan, what are you talking about?”
“You’re not
going to kill me…” He spun around and raced down the ramp.
Guide the blind…
The gray sky
wept and it filled her with joy. Ten feet in front of the sour faced man she
jumped in puddles and squealed with delight as the drops grew heavier. Her tiny hands eagerly patted the bark of the
narrow Zan’thor fruit trees. She
struggled against the temptation to climb the trees and steal their unripe
fruit. A glance over her shoulder reminded her that the frowning Jedi still
followed. He promised her sweets if she would stay in sight as they walked to
the dock. Badour liked sweets and was on her best behavior. She could hardly
contain her glee as she waited anxiously for him under the awning outside the
sweet shop.
“Aren’t you a
happy girl?” A woman exiting the shop
paused beside her.
“Of course I am,”
she beamed. “I’ve never seen the trees when I’ve been here before.”
The woman
adjusted her cloak and looked down at the plain faced child. “Sweetie, those
trees are twenty years old. Are you sure you’ve been here when the trees
weren’t?”
“Several times,
except when I’m here the sky is red and the trees are on fire.” She nervously bounced up and down wishing the
Jedi would walk faster. “Oh, and that building,” she pointed across the street,
“it’s gone, too.”
The woman did a
double take at the impressive
She hated it
when they refused to understand. Good behavior or not, she did not tolerate
ignorance. She smiled more broadly and tried to explain. “The planet is
destroyed after the shipyards. It’s a bit of an accident, but very
beautiful.” She patted her foot and
began to worry that the Jedi was intentionally walking slow.
“What a horrid
imagination! That’s hardly something to smile about,” the older woman frowned.
Coolly, she
turned and looked in the woman’s dark brown eyes. “It’s not like it’s going to
affect you,” she said slowly. “Don’t worry you’ll be dead by the end of this
year—the doctor didn’t notice the other growth. Your son Baxter’s children will
die long before the planet; in fact they won’t outlive their parents. Your
whole family will be but a memory before the Emperor even takes his
throne.”
Silently, the
woman began to move away, but her eyes remained fixed on the child.
“Don’t worry, I
won’t forget you.” She giggled as she
waved good-bye.
---
Clutching her
bag of candies like a treasure, the small child skipped along beside him. Obi-Wan was relieved that she could be
bought off with sweets and that she did not talk much. Quite frankly, he
wondered what Elitrea meant when she described her as difficult. While it was
apparent that the child was Force sensitive, he failed to note any malice in
her. However, it did occur to him that perhaps spending the past five years with
Anakin had desensitized him to the types of emotions Jedi considered dangerous
or disruptive in the young. Obi-Wan
likened Anakin’s presence in the Force to a supernova and acknowledged that at
times it blinded him to some of the smaller disturbances. Regardless, the child was reasonably pleasant,
if a bit over eager to run ahead and talk to strangers.
The public dock
where their Republic-class transport
waited was busy for a late afternoon and Obi-Wan hoped that Anakin had put their
name on the departure list with the air-traffic control center. The child made him edgy not because of what
Elitrea suggested, but the simple fact he did not like children. He hoped their
trip would be uneventful and short. Their schedule dictated that they had to be
on Corellia in a week to provide return escort for a party of Mid-Rim senators
who had been taking part in the Corellian Trade Summit. Obi-Wan always liked to
be early.
The child
stopped outside of the hangar and waited.
She was too small to reach the door code. It seemed to Obi-Wan that sometimes the Jedi
Order forgot that they were dealing with children. Aside from what Elitrea had
told him, he knew very little about what had happened. His and Anakin’s
involvement with the child was purely accidental. They had finished working out
an agreement between the Fondor Ore Miners Union and the Kuat Labor Board well
ahead of schedule when the message came from the High Council that they would
be taking on a passenger. They received few details other than that there had
been some problems in the Mid-Rim. Personally, Obi-Wan wondered why the Council
did not send the child home to her parents.
Certainly the material in her journal betrayed either a great degree of
clairvoyant ability or creativity, but he did not feel she posed a threat.
“Obi-Wan, where
are we going?”
He was surprised
Elitrea neglected to tell the child; however, she had seemed quite eager to
leave her in his hands and did so without lengthy goodbyes. “Badour, I’ve been
asked to take you to Abregado-Rae, where you will help Master Anear with his
farming project. It is not a long trip and you’ll be very happy there.”
“I don’t think
so.” She responded matter-of-factly.
Undeterred, Obi-Wan
opened the door and pushed her inside the hangar. “You’ll get used to it and
you’ll have a fine time.”
“No, I don’t
think so.”
He stopped.
“Badour, it is not my decision to make. You will go to Abregado-Rae as the
Council has decided it would be best.”
“No.” She was resolute.
Amazed by the ground he was losing to the nine year old, he changed