The Defenders of the Dead

5

“We were told to meet you on the outskirts of Zehava,” Qui-Gon remarked as he deactivated his lightsaber.

“I apologize for failing to meet you,” Wehutti said, striding forward to greet them. “The message I received from the Temple was garbled. The despicable and evil Daan often jam communications. I sent back a message I would meet with Jedi representatives, hoping I would get further instructions. Right now, we are in the sector that the Daan plundered from us in the Twenty-Second battle. Until we have our vengeance, they control the outskirts of the city. I’ve been sneaking over for three days now, hoping I would find you somehow.” He extended his palm outward in the local greeting. “You must be Qui-Gon Jinn.”

“This is my apprentice, Obi-Wan Kenobi,” Qui-Gon said.

Obi-Wan bowed to Wehutti. He was grateful that they had found their contact. They had barely been on Melida/Daan for an hour, and it was already apparent what a treacherous place it was.

Wehutti introduced his comrades as Moahdi, Kejas, and Herut. Herut clutched his sore wrist and glowered at Obi-Wan, who tried to look friendly.

“It appears we are lucky to have found you,” Qui-Gon said. “If the Daan control the perimeter, I’m surprised you would venture so far.”

Wehutti’s friendly face grew stony. “In the valiant spirit of our honored ancestors, we must protect our Hall of Evidence.”

“Hall of Evidence?” Obi-Wan asked.

Wehutti gestured at the black monolith below where Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan had wandered. “It is where we store the honored memories of our glorious dead. They are all warriors and heroes. If the lowlife Daan had their way, they would destroy our most sacred places. We need to show them they cannot enter.”

“So the Melida and the Daan are still at war,” Qui-Gon said.

“No, we have a cease-fire at the moment,” Wehutti said. He drew a circle in the dirt with the toe of his boot, then a larger circle around it.

“The bloodthirsty Daan drove the Melida from their homes and contained them here, in the Inner Hub.” He pointed to the inner circle. “The barbarians surround us on the Outer Circle. But victory will come one day. We shall retake Zehava. Block by block we will move outward.”

Qui-Gon eyed the blaster on the ground. “You have a cease-fire, but I see you still shoot.”

“The day I put down my weapon is the day that the Melida are free,” Wehutti said quietly.

“What about Jedi Knight Tahl?” Qui-Gon asked. “Do you have news?”

Wehutti nodded. “I have spoken to the Melida leaders. They have come to see that holding a Jedi will not help our cause. A bit more negotiation might be called for, but I have every certainty that she will be released to your care.”

“That is good news,” Qui-Gon said.

Wehutti nodded. “Now we must go. It isn’t safe here. Like our martyred ancestors, we are in danger every moment.” He turned to Moahdi, Kejas, and Herut. “Gather the weapons. See if you can find the blaster rifle below. I’ll see you back in the Hub.”

His three companions hurried off, gathering up the vibro-shiv and a damaged blaster before they left. Wehutti picked up his blaster and returned it to its holster. “We are very low on weapons,” he explained to the Jedi. “Even damaged ones must be salvaged for the day of our vengeance.”

“Are you low on med supplies as well?” Qui-Gon asked.

Wehutti nodded and pointed to his absent arm. “No plastoid limbs available, I’m afraid. Some were lucky to get them, but many were not. We ran through everything we had after the last battle of Zehava, and the government has no money to order more. But I do all right. The sacrifice of my people means more than my pain.”

Qui-Gon touched the spot where Wehutti had hit him and winced. “You do just fine,” he told his former attacker.

Wehutti led them back down the rocky slope and turned down a path that ran behind houses at the edge of a park. The park was filled with damaged and rusting starfighters and floaters.

“The Daan don’t seem to have funds, either,” Qui-Gon noted.

“The last war bankrupted both sides,” Wehutti said cheerfully. “At least we’re even.” He handed the Jedi two yellow discs. “In case we’re stopped, these are forged Daan identity cards. But let’s hope we’re not stopped.”

Wehutti led them down twisting alleyways and through the rear gardens of grand houses, down tiny streets and over rooftops. If they saw people ahead, they ducked into the shadows of buildings, or simply turned in the opposite direction. A fine rain began to fall, keeping most people off the streets.

“You know the city well,” Qui-Gon observed.

Wehutti’s mouth twisted. “I lived in this area as a young man. Now I am forbidden to come here.”

At last they reached a desolate area. The buildings were bombed out, the windows shattered.

“This used to be a Melida neighborhood,” Wehutti explained. “Now the Daan control it, but no one will live here. Too close to Melida territory.”

They hurried down the street. Ahead was a tall fence with two deflection towers flanking it. Cannons were trained at the street ahead.

“Don’t worry,” Wehutti said. “The guards know me.”

They walked past the checkpoint with Wehutti giving a casual wave to the guards. They saluted him respectfully. Obi-Wan noted that they were older, possibly in their sixties. They seemed old to be guards.

Once in Melida territory, Obi-Wan tried to relax, but his nerves were still jumping. He felt just as apprehensive as he had in Daan territory. Maybe it was the severe disturbances he could feel in the Force. Qui-Gon strode by his side, his face impassive, but Obi-Wan knew his Master was alert and watchful.

Barricades and checkpoints were set up at almost every block. He could see the evidence of battles fought here: blaster and grenade blasts pockmarked the buildings, and many were in ruins. Everyone he saw on the streets carried weapons in plain view. It was like the planets he’d heard about in the far reaches of the galaxy, where no laws were followed.

“We noticed other Halls of Evidence as we flew over Melida/Daan,” Qui-Gon remarked to Wehutti.

“We call our world Melida,” Wehutti corrected Qui-Gon in a friendly way. “We do not link our great tradition to that of the filthy Daan. Yes, even the Daan have Halls of Evidence. Evidence of their lies, we say. We Melida visit our ancestors every week to hear their stories. We bring our children so we keep alive the history of injustices the Melida have suffered at the hands of the Daan. Nobody forgets. Nobody will ever forget.”

Obi-Wan felt a chill at Wehutti’s grim words. Even if the Daan were as bad as he said, how could they continue to wage battle after battle when they were destroying their world piece by piece? He could see that Zehava had once been a beautiful city. Now it was a ruin. By building these enormous Halls of Evidence, were they keeping history alive, or destroying their civilization?

And there was something else that was wrong here, Obi-Wan thought. Something that hovered at the back of his mind, something he couldn’t quite place.

Obi-Wan’s gaze moved absently down the street to a group of Melidas sitting outside at a café. The window of the restaurant had been blown out, and a fire had destroyed the interior, but the owner had set out tables and chairs on the walkway outside. A few tubs of blooming plants with bright red flowers struggled to add a cheerful note next to the bomb-blasted building.

Suddenly, Obi-Wan realized what was wrong. He hadn’t seen anyone on the streets older than twenty or younger than fifty or so. Mostly, the streets were crowded with elders and young people like himself. He had seen no men or women of Qui-Gon’s age except for Wehutti. Even the other snipers had been elders, he realized. Were the mid-life people all working, or gathered somewhere for a meeting?

“Wehutti, where are all the middle-aged people?” Obi-Wan asked curiously.

“They’re dead,” Wehutti said flatly.

Even Qui-Gon looked startled. “The wars have wiped out the middle generation?”

“The Daan have wiped out the middle generation,” Wehutti corrected grimly.

Obi-Wan had noticed the same lack of the middle generation in the Daan sector, but he didn’t mention it to Wehutti. Obviously, the hatred of the Daan ran so deep in Wehutti that he could see no other sides of the story.

As they passed the blown-out café, Obi-Wan noticed graffiti on a partially destroyed wall. Scrawled in blazing red paint were the words THE YOUNG WILL RISE! WE ARE EVERYONE!

They turned a corner and walked through a neighborhood that had once prospered. As they made their way through the barricades onto once-pleasant squares, Obi-Wan noticed more graffiti. It all repeated what he’d seen on the café wall.

“Who are the Young?” he asked Wehutti, pointing to the graffiti. “Is it some organized group?”

Wehutti frowned.“Just kids, fooling around. It isn’t enough that we have to live in Daan-destroyed homes and gardens. Our own children have to make our surroundings worse by defacing them. Ah, here we are.”

He stopped in front of a once-luxurious mansion. A solid durasteel wall had been erected around it. It was topped with coils of electro-wire. The windows were barred and Obi-Wan was sure they would release an electro-charge if touched. The house was now a fortress.

Wehutti stopped in front of the gate and pressed his eye against the iris-reader. The gate clicked open and he gestured for them to go inside.

They stepped into a walled courtyard. In front of the house was a rack filled with weapons.

“I’m afraid you must leave your lightsabers here,” Wehutti said apologetically. He unstrapped his own weapons from their holsters. “This is Melida headquarters. It’s a weapon-free zone.”

Qui-Gon hesitated a fraction. Obi-Wan waited to see what he would do. A Jedi is never separated from his or her lightsaber.

“I’m sorry, but if you break this rule the negotiations will go badly for you,” Wehutti said in a conciliatory tone. “They need proof of your trust since you ask for theirs. But it is your decision.”

Slowly, Qui-Gon withdrew his lightsaber. He nodded at Obi-Wan to do the same. He slipped it into the rack, then took Obi-Wan’s and slipped it next to his.

Wehutti smiled. “I’m sure this will go smoothly. This way.”

Qui-Gon gestured for Obi-Wan to step in first as he gathered the folds of his cloak more closely around him. Wehutti followed directly behind them.

The hallway was dark, the stone floor pitted with holes. Wehutti led the way to a room on the left. Dark material was hung over the windows, shutting out any light. A lamp in one corner emitted a tiny glow that failed to chase away the shadows.

Obi-Wan made out a group of men and women sitting at a long table against the wall. They appeared to be waiting for them.

“The Melida Council,” Wehutti explained to them in a whisper. “They rule the Melida people.” He closed the heavy door behind them with a clang. Obi-Wan heard a lock spring. He glanced at Qui-Gon, trying to read if his Master felt the same jolt of apprehension.

“I have returned, comrades,” Wehutti announced. He spread his arms to indicate Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon. “And I have brought two more Jedi hostages for our grand cause!”