Off the Grid

Chapter 7

"We fixed that," Anakin grinned fiercely, lying winded on his back atop the slowly drifting platform.

Beside him, Obi Wan chuckled humorlessly and promptly coughed on the tainted air. "We also seem to have fixed ourselves, my friend."

Anakin rolled onto hands and knees, coughing himself now, and peered over the edge into the endless banks of orange and pink gas, rolling away in all directions. They were utterly stranded. "I could…maybe look at this thing's repulsors. Rig them to move us around a bit."

Obi Wan sighed. "To where, pray tell?"

Oh. Good point. The young Jedi sat and looked at his mentor. The grim realization of their fate took some of the elation out of their victory. "Well….it beats falling into the planet core," he offered, with a brave attempt at cheerfulness.

Obi Wan suppressed a shudder. "True."

Silence, and then another fit of coughing. They wheezed in the poisonous air, eyes watering. "Boshuda," Anakin muttered. "Should have been carrying rebreathers. This mess is toxic. Think it's hallucinogenic like that old geezer said?"

Obi Wan stared thoughtfully into the formless clouds around them. "Perhaps," he admitted. "We can deal with that , for a while."

"You mean until we pass out from the poisoning."

Obi Wan shrugged, crossed his arms. His gaze tracked away into the far distance, introspectively. "You know, I have always suspected that one of your reckless stunts would be the death of me – but now that it's happened, I find I can't blame you at all."

Anakn fought down rage and frustration. This wasn't right! "At least Dooku's station is destroyed. We saved the Mid Rim."

"Yes, there is that." Obi Wan nodded in satisfaction. They had accomplished their mission.

They sat back to back, reaching into the Force….out of habit, or for comfort, Anakin couldn't say. He had honestly always imagined himself going out in a blaze of glory, not in this quiet, contemplative fashion. He had always imagined dying alongside Obi Wan, but not like this. Not just….waiting. There had to be something they could do. A solution would present itself, right? The Force was with them. There was nothing to fear.

But as the long minutes stretched into an hour or more, and the throbbing headache and nausea increased their hold, until their bodies were aching and pounding with the ill effects of the noxious atmosphere, Anakin found that not even Obi Wan's serene, reassuring presence was enough to quell the rising tide of fear. Padme. I'll never see her again. I can't go like this. I have to be with her once more….touch her…hold her…

Behind him, leaning against him, Obi Wan stirred. "Mind your thoughts," he reprimanded hoarsely, some of their old teacher-student relationship resurfacing. "It's the compounds in the air, I know – but those images in your mind…:"

"Sorry," Anakin muttered hastily, feeling heat rise to his clammy face. An angry retort formed itself on the tip of his tongue, but he didn't have the strength left to bicker.

Soon enough the clouds transformed into nightmarish shapes, into vivid siren-songs. In the Force, they were nothing but vapor; but in the realm of sensation they twisted into a thousand illusions and shadows. "Master…"

"It's not real," Obi Wan told him. "Focus, Anakin. The Force."

He tried to focus. Stay in the Force. Don't even look, don't think. And yet he could not quite tear his eyes away from the shifting panoply of dreams, of desire and fear, of dread and longing…

Wait a moment.

"Is that a hallucination?" he asked, suddenly pointing to the left at a dark silhouette seeming to approach them through the colored mist. Obi Wan turned with him, panting, and stared at the strange apparition, waiting wordlessly as it drew nearer and nearer…

It was no illusion. Against all likelihood, it was none other than Betsy, the old mining tug, piloted by her redoubtable owner.

"There you are!" the prospector called to them through an external comm. system. "I've bin lookin' fer you two boys for more'n an hour! Git yer silly asses on board!"

Stumbling upright as Betsy wheeled in place and lowered her aft boarding ramp, the two Jedi managed a giddy, much-relieved leap into the hatch and the safety of the priceless, peerless, ever-reliable Betsy.

The occasion called for some celebration, in the old miner's opinion. He shepherded his Jedi guests back into the confines of his simple home, after tucking Betsy into the barn for the night, and dug out the remainder of the Moonshine. He hadn't had an adventure like that in twenty years, by his reckoning, and thought the boys might want to kick up their heels a bit.

"Here, now, and I ain't takin' no fer an answer this time," he ordered shoving glasses of the potent concoction into their weary hands. "A toast. To wit an grit. The only real solution to tyranny and oppression." He drained his cup.

The Jedi cooperated, though with less enthusiasm.

"You two done gone an' breathed that chizzk in fer too long, I'd reckin," he observed, studying them with a knowing eye. They looked right bedraggled, slumped there on his bench. "Now, I got me an old folk remedy here somewhere…" He rummaged hopefully in a cupboard.

"No…no thank you," his guests responded, with an inexplicable urgency.

"Huh. Well, suit yerselves, Jedi. You jist make yerselves comfortable there on the floor, anywhere ye like. Sleep it off, that's the best thing. I won't even make ye work to pay me fer the privilege o' stayin' here under my roof another night."

"Thank you for your hospitality," the older Jedi murmured, looking like he might topple over if he weren't so dadgummed polite.

The old man nodded. "I reckon you done me a good turn by sinkin' that infernal droid-station out there. Couldn't a come to anything good."

"You can be sure of that," the dark-haired younger one agreed.

"Lemme scrounge up you two boys some blankets here," the prospector said, disappearing into his small storage closet and digging among the spare parts and emergency supplies for a few minutes.

But by the time he re-emerged, he found his guests already curled up on the floor, sound asleep.

"I'll be danged," he muttered, tossing the ratty blankets over them. With a shake of the head, he settled back into his chair and poured himself another large glass of Moonshine. Who woulda thought? When all was said and done, he kinda liked the pair of 'em.

The old homesteader woke early the next morning – early according to his chronometer, which marked the changeless passage of time here in the Triburon asteroid field – only to find his Jedi visitors already prepared to depart. The two burbling astromech units were moored in their wing sockets, and the new-fangled starfighters stood ready for flight, drives on standby.

"Well, I'm guessin' I'll never be seein' you two characters agin, " he addressed the Jedi as they stood beside their ships.

"That does seem unlikely if you remain out here," Obi Wan acknowledged.

"Leave here? Now that seems unlikely," the miner answered. "Not with yer Core worlds all mixed up in some rotten politician's war. I tell ye: ye may think I'm a lonely old madman, but time may come when ye'll wish ye could lead a lonely life off the grid yerself."

"No thanks," Anakin shuddered. "That doesn't suit me."

"Whatever ye say, youngster. An' remember yer promise ye made to me yesterday on the way back, now. You Jedi is supposed to be people of honor."

"We will honor your request," Obi Wan reassured him. "No word of your existence will ever reach the Galactic Franchise Tax Board. I promise."

The old man nodded a few times. "Live free or die," he declared.

"Or die that others may live free?" Obi Wan suggested gently.

The miner scoffed and spat. "Get off with ye, now. Yer idealism is jist gonna get you killed, Jedi. Now, you done me a favor, got some information, and left another mess out there near Aurek 29. It's high time you got home an' left me here in peace."

"We couldn't agree more," Anakin told him, stepping up onto his fighter's wing and into the cockpit.

"May the Force be with you," Obi Wan bid the old man farewell.

"Whatever, now," the miner shrugged. "You take care o yerselves, too."

R2D2 whined and whistled his goodbyes as the old curmudgeon opened the airlock and the two Deltas arced away into the asteroid field, heading to their waiting hyperdrive rings and the homeward journey. Their work was done.

Epilogue

Count Dooku of Serreno received the stunning news on the bridge of his CIS flagship. Two of his cruisers were stranded mid-jump in te Triburon sector; there was no sign of the secret refueling station.

With a soft, elegant gesture he pulled up the last report logged by TX88, the tactical droid assigned to the station. Nothing of any consequence in the droid's comments. Closing his eyes and reaching into the Dark, into its power and strength, he sought to feel out what had transpired. The destruction of his secret facility burned through the Dark like an open wound – and worse yet, the searing after-effect of the Jedi's presence left an unpleasant rift in the Dark's smooth surface, a scar across cold polished marble.

Skywalker and Kenobi. Again.

Red anger welled up and set the darkness into black fire. They would both have to be destroyed, no matter what Lord Sidious wished in the matter. Dooku swore it for the hundredth time. He clenched his long fingers into a fist and stared coldly into empty space beyond the viewport. Someday, someday, he would have his revenge.

"Well?"

"It was nothing, my love. Just a standard recon mission. I even had some spare time to go sky-sailing."

Padme Amidala's eyebrows drew together in stern disapproval. "Don't you take enough chances already? You don't have to add to the danger by taking unnecessary risks just for a thrill."

"I don't believe in chance," Anakin replied.

"Are you willing to take a chance that I'll be angry with you?" she retorted, hotly.

But she received no spoken reply, and the argument was soon forgotten in light of other, more distracting, occupations.

Dexter Jettster wiped off the tabletop and sat down across from his friend. "Sure ya won't have a bite to eat?"

"No, no thank you, Dex – though I must tell you that those sliders you sent for Anakin's Padawan made quite the impression."

The Besalisk bared his sharp teeth in an eager smile. "So I'm famous in the Jedi Temple now, am I?" he rumbled.

"Ah…from a certain point of view. Suffice it to say that the Diner may be added to the already lengthy list of distractions forbidden to Padawan learners."

Dex's laughter caused several of the late night customers lingering over their caff to turn and stare in curiosity.

"By the way, I never thanked you for the information you provided about the Triburon miners. Your old friend proved invaluable to our mission."

The Besalisk's throat sack waggled. "Friend? That old grouch? I said I knew him. Surprised 'e didn't shoot ya on sight."

"He almost did. But he also saved Anakin and me at the last moment. We owe him a debt, and by extension so does the Republic. Though I'm sure he would never accept the praise."

Dex shook his head. "Damn right he wouldn't," he agreed. "And the Mid Rim?"

"Safe for now."

"Well, Dex replied quietly. "Tha's all we can ask for ain't it? Safe fer now. Life's good in the moment, and who can ask fer anythin' more, eh?"

Outside, far above the Diner, far above Coruscant's seething urban skyline, somewhere rimward of Shili and nestled between the galaxy's lazily spiraling arms, a small black hole tore a tiny gap in the luminous tapestry of the heavens. But, despite that dark spot, despite whatever portentous meaning it might bear, the light of the stars shone on steadily, bright and pure.

Finis