Chapter 38

Chapter 38

Onderon, Japrael System

Japrael Sector

Scout expected it to be colder. Well, she honestly didn’t know what she expected–she had never ridden a dragon before, after all. Steam curled from the warbeast’s armoured hide, every powerful beat of its wings like a climbing and descending an entire mountain in the span of seconds. She snuggled herself into an uncomfortable spot between the spines, white-knuckled grip around the frayed ropes that criss-crossed the body like overgrown vines.

She had no idea how any of the Onderonian riders felt confident enough to walk, much less even stand, across the monster’s back. Some held onto the sorry excuse for a harness for insurance, while others placed their absolute trust into their sure-footed stances and braced lances to counterbalance against the torrential winds.

Not that the fear of plummeting to her death stops Ahsoka from trying to learn anyway, her montrals whipping sideways as she holds onto the ropes for dear life. One slip, Scout thought morbidly, and this’d be the last I’d see of her.

“You’re afraid,” Rain Bonteri observed, “Don’t be. You’d be caught before you hit the ground, most of the time.”

“Most of the time?” Scout felt sick.

Bonteri shrugged, leaning back against a horn’s flank, “We have to learn to fly somehow. There’s a dozen men on this warbeast, and more than half know the feeling of freefall. They’re still alive, aren’t they?”

Curiosity got the better of Scout, despite herself, “And have you fallen before?”

He gave her a wry smile, “I catch, not fall. See those smaller warbeasts? I was a ruping rider, not a drexl. They aren’t large enough for one to stand on. Skreevs and drexls are a different story. They can fly for days, crossing the oxygen bridge, and so their riders must learn to eat and sleep on their backs. You can tell if a man rides a Dxunian warbeast when they don’t walk right on the ground.”

Captain Vander–the ‘captain’ of this particular warbeast–caught her attention when she spotted him in the middle of a precarious balancing act creeping out to the tip of the warbeast’s wing. A single flap, and he’d be thrown right off. After an exchange of hand signals with a neighbouring raptor, he all but skipped back to the harness.

“Hragscythe spotted approaching Darrastead, Bonteri!” Vander shouted as he tugged the ropes, prompting the huge beast beneath them to irritably lumber starboard.

“Tell Oarr to deal with it and bring us lower,” Bonteri looked up at him, “We continue to Jyrenne.”

“I take it hragscythes aren’t a normal sight around here?” Master Plo guessed, sitting cross-legged.

“We had to lighten our patrols to prepare for the summit,” Vander explained as a nearby drexl rose, tucked in its wings– and dove straight down with all the speed of a blaster bolt, whips of lashing out and knocking Ahsoka off her feet.

If it wasn’t for Master Plo’s timely interference, her Togruta friend may have found herself impaled on a spine. Instead, she casually floated back towards them, courtesy of Master Plo’s command of the Force.

“It wasn’t my fault I fell,” Ahsoka said indignantly as she was carefully set down.

“Then can’t imagine what it’s like to fly through a cloud, much less a storm,” Captain Vander laughed in spite of his passenger’s near-death experience.

“Through a storm–” Ahsoka interrupted herself, “–How do you even hold on? You aren’t Jedi.”

“Tightly. This old girl doesn’t care,” Vander patted his warbeast, “So we just hold on tightly and trust her to bring us through it.”

Ahsoka looked at the two Onderonians strangely. As the warbeast descended, the emerald canopy approached rapidly, smeared with the purple-red crowns into a blur. If Scout was brave enough to crawl to the edge and lean over the rumbling mass of muscle and keratin, she’d think she may have been able to reach out and brush against the leaves–and lose a hand in the process.

“If Onderon doesn’t like both the Separatists and Republic, why do you still fight?” Ahsoka was looking directly at Bonteri, and Scout envied her forthrightness.

Bonteri and Vander shared a look only years of camaraderie could create, before turning back to her friend, “Why does anybody fight for the Separatists? Because they believe in Separatism, or because they are simply fighting for their homeworlds. Why do I fight? To prevent something very, very bad from happening to the galaxy.”

Vander looked down, tugging at the loose strand of rope that unravelled endlessly, “We must be approaching Jyrenne. I’ll get us down.”

With a final harsh jerk, he snapped the strand and released it, watching the thread disappear behind them as he stood and left. Instead of clarifying exactly what he meant, however, Bonteri rather simply kicked his boots over a protruding ridge or armour and closed his eyes. He must be feeling much less comfortable than he’s actually showing, Scout decided. There was no way lying on a bed of thorns was anywhere pleasant–she definitely didn’t think so. But these riders slept on the backs of their warbeasts, so maybe Onderonians simply had thicker skin than her city-raised self.

Master Plo seemed fine too, but he didn’t count. He was a Kel Dor.

“Ahsoka and Tallisibeth can be trusted, Lord Bonteri,” Master Plo leaned forward, “You know what I came here for.”

“Tallisibeth? What is it like being Anakin Skywalker’s apprentice?”

The irrelevance of the subject was so precipitous Scout found herself flinching at the sudden question, “Apprentice–? Uh... he’s fine?”

Bonteri popped one eye open, regarding her strangely. Scout internally winced at just how lame her answer was.

“I mean–” she took a deep, freezing breath, “He cares a lot more than he lets on. I know that, at least.”

“Hmm,” he hummed, “And during your training sessions?”

“Wha– why are you asking me this?” Scout suddenly felt defensive, “What’s it to you?”

“I fought him on the field twice. Beat him bloody twice,” Bonteri said easily, bragging so casually she doubted if it was even his intention to do so, “I want to know who he is as a person. Is he learning? Will I still beat him the next time?”

“And how will you learn that from me?”

“By getting an answer,” he finally cracked open the second eye, tone in deadpan.

This guy... I can’t tell what he’s thinking.

“Speak truthfully, Tallisibeth,” Master Plo advised, “There is no shame in a Jedi’s teachings.”

“...Well, Master Skywalker doesn’t really know how to teach me,” she cringed, “Since I’m not all that powerful with the Force like him. Instead, he has me training with the troopers.”

Bonteri scratched his cheek, “And you, Ahsoka?”

“Jedi things,” Ahsoka shrugged, “Every other lesson is about patience, it feels like.”

The vast jungles whittled away into walled clearing surrounded the ruined foundations of an old castle. Far from the mortar-and-brick of the capital, weathered durasteel of dozens of buildings and transports glimmered a dull sheen in the sunlight. Soldiers patrolled the grounds in rank and file, while warbeasts flocked in and out of a pit-like structure that clearly served as some kind of stable. Scout’s stomach lurched as their drexl landed with a heavy thump, comically dwarfing the humble shuttle on the adjacent landing pad.

Rain Bonteri stood up first, slowly, doing little to hide the shaking of his legs, “So Kenobi teaches you to be a Jedi, and Skywalker teaches you to be a soldier... not exactly what I was looking for, but it’ll do.”

“And what were you looking for?” Master Plo spoke the question on all their minds.

Bonteri glanced at them, “Proof that Anakin Skywalker is who I think he is.”

Then, he stepped off the edge and deftly slid down the warbeast’s wing membrane until his boots hit solid ground. Master Plo and Ahsoka skillfully followed him by vaulting off the back and using the Force to survive a fifty-foot fall. Scout, having none of those handy abilities, resorted to the tried and tested method of sliding down the wing–but not without tripping over extended phalanges, because of course she did.

By the time she caught up with the group, Scout found Vander and Bonteri staring into the distance, towards a group of warbeasts near the far wall.

“What is it?” Ahsoka peered, her alien vision catching much more than any of their’s will.

“Beast Riders,” Rain Bonteri mumbled, “What clan?”

“Clazca, looks like,” Vander said, “Entertain our guests, Bonteri. I’ll deal with them.”

Senator Amidala’s career was initially buoyed by her momentous introduction–resulting with the ousting of the Valorum Administration–but would have lagged once that fleeting relevance faded. That was, if it wasn’t for the seasoned Senator Bonteri, who commanded the kind of attention and authority few others could match. Perhaps it was the fact that she was tall enough to look down on even men, or how she spoke in that piercing Onderonian dialect that could cow even the toughest Weequay into subservience.

Regardless, if Senator Bonteri had never decided to take Padmé her wing, the Senator from Naboo wouldn’t be standing in the place she was now.

“How good it is to see you again!” Mina wrapped her in a crushing hug that almost lifted her to the ground, “Let me tell you, Padmé, watch you give that speech, telling the entire Republic Senate what for? I have never felt so proud. Might I daresay I almost regretted resigning, even for the briefest moment?”

“You do me too great a service, Mina,” Padmé tittered as she regained her balance, “I was only doing what was expected of me. It was my best, that I admit, but my best is what I owe the people of the Republic.”

“You did something many of us thought a dream!” her old mentor whisper-shouted, “You proved peace was still possible! You were always one for big declarations, even from that fateful day you stepped into the Convocation Chamber as the proud Queen of Naboo.”

“It was the least I could do,” it took all her political experience to not show her blush, “After that disastrous campaign... if nothing else, it proved that war is no way to settle our differences. Let it be here, at the table, that we prove that the dream we share does not have to remain one any longer.”

A shadow crossed Mina’s expression at the mention of the campaign, “Yes... well said, Padmé, well said. This war has already claimed far too many lives.”

“That is an intriguing stance to take,” another voice emerged from the crowd, “Considering your family’s involvement in the war, Senator Bonteri.”

Master Obi-Wan Kenobi stuck out like a sore thumb, his humble Jedi robes a relief for sore eyes among the extravagance of bright hues that the floor seemed all but ablaze in. And just by his side–Anakin. Padmé found herself inadvertently holding her breath when she realised she would be hearing him speak, and that she could finally–finally–hear his voice after so, so long. She was quiet, anticipation like a fist around her throat despite herself, feeling the beat of her heart, and wondering if he could hear it too.

“Senator Bonteri, Senator Amidala,” Obi-Wan bowed lightly, “I hope we are not intruding.”

And then time seemed to still as his eye found her’s, and he straightened; a new light broke over his golden face and he said, “Padmé. You are well.”

Not a question. A statement. And it was truth. She was well. The most well she had felt in a time far too long–and she couldn’t remember the last time, because why should she, when she had the now?

Padmé dipped her head, “Master Jedi. Not at all.”

Just a little longer, Annie. She could see the endearing in his clear eyes, and she wondered if he could read her mind. Let him.

“My family, Master Jedi?” Mina questioned, gracefully plucking a glass of deep red from a passing attendant and offering it forward, “My family is one of many who fought, yes, and lost.”

“Lost...?” Padmé echoed, warmth in her chest slowly replaced by a stalking cold that never seemed too far away in this war, “Your husband was a soldier, wasn’t he?”

Husband. Soldier. The words burned in her mouth as it did in her heart.

“Thank you for remembering, Padmé,” Mina laughed distantly, “He was. He fought well, was what I heard, though that is what they tell all of us. I am inclined to believe it, however, because a Jedi killed him. And a Jedi’s blade does not cut without reason.”

Even Obi-Wan could hardly hide his surprise, though he did not relent, “Forgive me, Senator. I had been insensitive. May I know how your husband was killed?”

“The Cradle of Confederacy was supposed to be safe,” Mina explained with a smile that could not quite hide everything, “Funny how this war continues to overturn all our expectations... it was a Jedi that went by A’Sharad Hett. That is all I know.”

A soft snarl ripped out of Anakin’s mouth before he could stop himself– “A Tusken.”

The Jedi have Tusken Raiders in their ranks? Love him as she might, Padmé was not ignorant of Anakin’s temper, or his past with the Sand People. No, she was the only person who knew the truth...

“Perhaps you should recall Rain Bonteri’s words, Anakin,” Obi-Wan advised, “Before you become unwise.”

...Or not. Was there anything Obi-Wan Kenobi did not know? Sometimes, Padmé would catch him observing her closely, and there was never a moment the thought of her relationship with Anakin being revealed terrified her–for his sake.

Mina Bonteri, meanwhile, opened her mouth with a silent ‘ah,’ a knowing glint in her eye, “So that is why I am of interest to you, Master Jedi. I have weathered more than a few accusations of hypocrisy, and I suppose this will be no different.”

“Mina?” Padmé asked, no less curious than she was grateful for the change in subject.

“The architect of the Battle of Columex, Padmé,” Anakin said slowly, “Was Senator Bonteri’s nephew, Rain Bonteri. He was the officer with the sabre at the starport...”

If Anakin had not trailed off, she imagined he would have followed with something along the lines of; ‘and the murderer of ten million men.’ I would like to meet him later, Padmé thought, if for no more than to see what kind of person he was.

“The nature of war is a terrible thing,” Mina sighed, “If he had not been present, then that infamy would simply belong to another man, Separatist or Loyalist. Be honest, Master Jedi; if a Separatist armada had been on the doorstep of Anaxes, would you not have fought just as hard?”

“I am in agreement, Senator,” Obi-Wan agreed easily, “We have only come to seek information on your nephew.”

Mina raised a palm, “I know far too little to be of any help in your investigation, Master Jedi. We all have our secrets, and it is far be it for me to pry into the privacy of a man I barely know... Jedi do have the concept of privacy, yes? All of you living in that big Temple of yours must become tiring after some time. I certainly cannot imagine doing so.”

“I see...” the Jedi Master stroked his beard, “In that case, we shan’t take anymore of your time.”

“I’d think not,” Mina agreed, her accent leaking out, “It is conversations of this nature that lead people to think we can never put war behind us. All of our delicacies are at your fingertips, so enjoy yourselves instead, Master Jedi. There is no safer place in Onderon than here and now.”

“For being so confident in your security, I haven’t seen a single battle droid,” Anakin observed.

“Nor do I see a single clone,” the Onderonian replied coolly, “As I said; let us leave the instruments of war behind us. I do hope you enjoy your time here.”

“We will be sure to do so, Senator,” Obi-Wan said, finally drinking from his glass, “Come now, Anakin. The crowd is getting impatient. Please excuse us, Senator Amidala.”

Master Kenobi heeled around and swept away, his billowing robes like a flag signalling that Senator Bonteri and Senator Amidala were now free to talk. As Padmé watched carefully for the encroaching throng, she decided to seize the initiative and honed in on the first familiar face she saw.

“Celly!” she cried, “You made it! Mina, I’m sure you remember Celly and Bail.”

With that, the waiting audience had no choice to discreetly return to their own debates as the two Organas took the cue to approach them.

“Of course I do,” Mina smiled, “It’s been too long.”

“I’m here for business, I’m afraid,” Celly Organa shook her head, “I was hoping you could include some terms in the negotiations allowing the RRM to intervene on wartorn worlds, especially in the Near-Perlemian.”

Padmé nodded sagely. There was little question to which worlds Celly alluded to–the tragedy of Atraken had been broadcasted throughout the Republic, as was the inhumanity of all forces participating in the battle. Even the Jedi Order did not emerge unscathed, as the People’s Inquest launched a media crusade damning them for the involvement of a Jedi Master. If she recalled correctly, the Order was forced to try Master Pong Krell in military courts, where he had been found guilty of war crimes.

“The Confederacy is extremely grateful already, for the RRM’s efforts at Atraken,” Mina spelled it out clearly, “You are more than welcome to operate in our systems.”

Celly Organa blinked, “Is that the case? I did not think...”

“We are not the Republic, nor do we operate the same way,” Mina explained, “Our new Supreme Commander has already pledged the Armed Forces’ full cooperation. In the meantime, our worlds in the Near-Perlemian do not need government sanction to invite the RRM; all you have to ask. Considering the state of things, I believe you will find all of them more than cooperative as well. Our Parliament only weighs in on matters deemed threatening to the Confederacy as a whole, and you have my guarantee we do not consider your cause a threat.”

There was a joking lilt to Mina’s tone at the end, but the implications still surprised them all. While Padmé did know of the Separatist Alliance’s decentralisation, the sheer extent of autonomy their member worlds possessed still beckoned astonishment.

“There must be some troublesome aspects of autonomy,” Bail Organa mused.

“Certainly, but our Bylaws are well prepared for such scenarios,” Mina took a sip from her glass, “Even now, our Supreme Commander is in the process of reining in some of our more quarrelsome elements... enough about us. Lady Organa, why don’t you enlighten us with some of the RRM’s plans? I’m sure the negotiations will...”

The discussion, and a hundred others, continued well into the day, under the watchful eye of guardsmen and Jedi. Meaningless as they may seem, there was no question the words spoken today would decide the outcome of the following days. As the Demon Moon’s baleful eye rose crossed the starlit sky, shadows of monsters crossed its emerald gaze. The riders of Onderon would find a sleepless night in their constant vigilance for would-be saboteurs and assassins.

The Demon Moon’s gaze passed. There were none.