could do.
Obi-Wan was not yet so lofty in his accomplishments, he had told Anakin, but there had been hints that before any mission, any disciplined Jedi—even a mere Padawan—could also do a kind of looking forward.
Anakin was sure he was doing something like that now. It felt as if the cells in his body were tuned to a severely faded signal from the future, a voice, large and heavy, as if weighed down, unlike any voice he had ever heard …
His eyes slowly grew wide as he stared at the planet.
The boy, Anakin Skywalker of Tatooine, son of Shmi, Jedi Padawan, only twelve standard years of age, refocused all of his attention on Zonama Sekot. His body shuddered. One eye closed slightly, and his head tilted to one side. Then he quickly closed both eyes and shuddered again. The spell was broken. The moment had lasted perhaps three seconds.
Anakin tried to remember something large and beautiful, an emotion or a state of mind he had just touched upon, but all he could conjure was the face of Shmi, smiling at him sadly and proudly, like a protective scrim over any other memory.
His mother, still so important and so far away.
He could never see the face of a father.
Obi-Wan sloshed past the fall into the pilothouse. “Charza is done with his younglings,” he said. “They’re in training now to tend the ship.”
“So fast?” Anakin said.
“Life is short for some of Charza’s kin,” Obi-Wan said. “You look thoughtful.”
“I’m allowed, aren’t I?” Anakin asked.
“As long as you don’t brood,” Obi-Wan said. The look on his master’s face was both irritated and concerned. Anakin suddenly jumped out of his chair and hugged his master with a fierceness that took Obi-Wan by surprise.
Obi-Wan held the boy gently and let the moment flow into its own shape. Some Padawans were like quiet pools, their minds like simple texts. Only in training did they acquire the depth and complexity that showed maturity. Anakin had been a deep and complex mystery from the first day they met, and yet Obi-Wan had never felt such a strength of connection with any other being—not even Qui-Gon Jinn.
Anakin drew back and looked up at his master. “I think we’re going to face real trouble down there,” he said.
“Think?” Obi-Wan asked.
Anakin made a face. “I can
feel
it. I don’t know what it is, but … I did some forwarding. Feeling ahead. It’s trouble, all right.”
“I’ve suspected as much,” Obi-Wan agreed. “Even when Thracia Cho Leem was—”
The bridge was suddenly filled with a crowd of fresh, young, bright pink food-kin, all clattering and clacking with enthusiasm as they took their stations. Charza pushed through the shallow water onto the bridge with great dignity and weariness, as if he had accomplished something both satisfying and exhausting.
“Life goes on,” he chuffed to Anakin as he took his seat. “Now … let us see if there has been an answer from the planet.”
R aith Sienar entered the observation deck of his flagship, the
Admiral Korvin
, and stepped up on the commander’s platform. He looked over the weapons arrayed within the circular assembly bay of the former Trade Federation heavy munitions cruiser, an antiquated hulk. He was both critical at the selection and dismayed that he was expected to coordinate this ragtag force.
To make matters worse, there was not a single craft of his own manufacture on board, a serious oversight, he believed, and perhaps a treacherous one.
Tarkin had either not described the force accurately, or he had remembered it with blind optimism.
Sienar flipped up the weapons list. E-5 droids … His lips curled.
The cruiser carried three landing craft, one hundred Trade Federation troops, and over three thousand droids. Three smaller and decidedly less useful vessels completed the squadron that Tarkin was now handing over to him.
It was not inconceivable that one could conquer aplanet with these ships: a backwater planet, in the dark ages
Obi-Wan was not yet so lofty in his accomplishments, he had told Anakin, but there had been hints that before any mission, any disciplined Jedi—even a mere Padawan—could also do a kind of looking forward.
Anakin was sure he was doing something like that now. It felt as if the cells in his body were tuned to a severely faded signal from the future, a voice, large and heavy, as if weighed down, unlike any voice he had ever heard …
His eyes slowly grew wide as he stared at the planet.
The boy, Anakin Skywalker of Tatooine, son of Shmi, Jedi Padawan, only twelve standard years of age, refocused all of his attention on Zonama Sekot. His body shuddered. One eye closed slightly, and his head tilted to one side. Then he quickly closed both eyes and shuddered again. The spell was broken. The moment had lasted perhaps three seconds.
Anakin tried to remember something large and beautiful, an emotion or a state of mind he had just touched upon, but all he could conjure was the face of Shmi, smiling at him sadly and proudly, like a protective scrim over any other memory.
His mother, still so important and so far away.
He could never see the face of a father.
Obi-Wan sloshed past the fall into the pilothouse. “Charza is done with his younglings,” he said. “They’re in training now to tend the ship.”
“So fast?” Anakin said.
“Life is short for some of Charza’s kin,” Obi-Wan said. “You look thoughtful.”
“I’m allowed, aren’t I?” Anakin asked.
“As long as you don’t brood,” Obi-Wan said. The look on his master’s face was both irritated and concerned. Anakin suddenly jumped out of his chair and hugged his master with a fierceness that took Obi-Wan by surprise.
Obi-Wan held the boy gently and let the moment flow into its own shape. Some Padawans were like quiet pools, their minds like simple texts. Only in training did they acquire the depth and complexity that showed maturity. Anakin had been a deep and complex mystery from the first day they met, and yet Obi-Wan had never felt such a strength of connection with any other being—not even Qui-Gon Jinn.
Anakin drew back and looked up at his master. “I think we’re going to face real trouble down there,” he said.
“Think?” Obi-Wan asked.
Anakin made a face. “I can
feel
it. I don’t know what it is, but … I did some forwarding. Feeling ahead. It’s trouble, all right.”
“I’ve suspected as much,” Obi-Wan agreed. “Even when Thracia Cho Leem was—”
The bridge was suddenly filled with a crowd of fresh, young, bright pink food-kin, all clattering and clacking with enthusiasm as they took their stations. Charza pushed through the shallow water onto the bridge with great dignity and weariness, as if he had accomplished something both satisfying and exhausting.
“Life goes on,” he chuffed to Anakin as he took his seat. “Now … let us see if there has been an answer from the planet.”
R aith Sienar entered the observation deck of his flagship, the
Admiral Korvin
, and stepped up on the commander’s platform. He looked over the weapons arrayed within the circular assembly bay of the former Trade Federation heavy munitions cruiser, an antiquated hulk. He was both critical at the selection and dismayed that he was expected to coordinate this ragtag force.
To make matters worse, there was not a single craft of his own manufacture on board, a serious oversight, he believed, and perhaps a treacherous one.
Tarkin had either not described the force accurately, or he had remembered it with blind optimism.
Sienar flipped up the weapons list. E-5 droids … His lips curled.
The cruiser carried three landing craft, one hundred Trade Federation troops, and over three thousand droids. Three smaller and decidedly less useful vessels completed the squadron that Tarkin was now handing over to him.
It was not inconceivable that one could conquer aplanet with these ships: a backwater planet, in the dark ages
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