The Defenders of the Dead

9

Back at the tunnel, preparations began. Nield and Cerasi huddled with the rest of the Young, deep in conversation. Obi-Wan sat quietly at the table, watching them. The determination on their faces told him that whatever the outcome, the Daan and the Melida were both in for a big surprise at dawn the next day.

Qui-Gon paced on the other side of the room, displaying a rare show of impatience.

“If you need help with strategy—” he began.

Cerasi turned. “No,” she said curtly. “We don’t need any help.”

“Another opinion can only strengthen your odds,” Qui-Gon said quietly.

This time, Cerasi didn’t bother to turn. Nield did not even look up.

“We do not want your help, Jedi,” Cerasi said, even more sharply than before.

Obi-Wan glanced at Qui-Gon to gauge his reaction. He saw his Master struggle with his irritation. But although Qui-Gon could be impulsive, he was never petty. The irritation left him, and his usual mask of calm returned.

“Padawan, I am going to explore the tunnels,” he told Obi-Wan in a low voice. “It is better not to rely totally on the Young to guide us. You remain here.”

Obi-Wan nodded. For once, he didn’t want to accompany Qui-Gon. He wanted to stay and watch the Young plan the battle.

Cerasi divided the young people into teams and assigned them tasks. They worked on makeshift weapons fashioned from scraps. Their most prominent weapon was a powerful slingshot that threw laserballs. The balls could only sting a life-form if they connected, but if they hit a hard object, they made a sound like blaster fire.

Over the course of the afternoon, Obi-Wan tried to grow used to the muffled sound of explosions. War toys were part of the childhood of both Melida and Daan. The Young were modifying them to amplify their sound effects. They worked in the rooms branching off the main tunnel on missile tubes, packing them with pebbles and paint.

Cerasi worked on a pile of slingshots in a corner, honing them with a sharp knife and testing their accuracy with wadded up flimsiplast. The flimsiplast winged across the high space, hitting the same stone block with deadly accuracy. Cerasi worked tirelessly, without a break.

“I’d like to help,” Obi-Wan said, approaching her. “Not with strategy,” he added quickly. “I know you have that under control. But I can help with this.”

Cerasi pushed a lock of hair from her eyes and smiled slightly. “I guess I was hard on your Boss-Master, huh?”

“He’s not my boss, really,” Obi-Wan said. “That’s not the Jedi way. He’s more of a guide.”

“Sure, whatever you say. But if you ask me, elders always think they know best. They just get in the way.” She handed a knife to Obi-Wan. “If you can hone it to the same thickness as the ones I did, we could get these done in a flash.”

Obi-Wan sat and began to scrape the knife against the supple wood. “What do you think our chances of success are tomorrow?”

“Excellent,” Cerasi said firmly. “We’re relying on the hatred of the two sectors. All we need to do is create the illusion of battle. Both sides will react without bothering to verify reports of blaster fire and torpedo launches. They expect warfare at any moment.”

“Your battle may be an illusion, but the danger is not,” Obi-Wan pointed out. “Both sides will have real weapons to fire.”

Cerasi shook her head. “I’m not afraid.”

“Awareness of fear can protect you if it does not overtake you,” Obi-Wan replied.

Cerasi snorted. “Is that one of your Boss-Master’s Jedi sayings?”

Obi-Wan flushed. “Yes. And I have found it to be true. Awareness of fear is an instinct that warns you to be careful. Anyone going into battle who says they are not afraid is a fool.”

“Well, call me a fool, Pada-Jedi,” Cerasi said flatly. “I’m not afraid.”

“Ah,” Obi-Wan said lightly. “You go into glorious battle without fear, confident that your filthy enemy will collapse.”

He was repeating the vain boasts of the dead in the Halls of Evidence, and Cerasi knew it. She flushed as Obi-Wan had a moment before.

“More Jedi wisdom. It’s a wonder you manage to survive this long, if you keep pointing out what foolish things people say,” Cerasi finally said with a half smile. “Okay, I get your point. I’m no better than my ancestors, marching blindly into a battle I will lose.”

“I’m not saying you will lose.”

Cerasi paused, fully seeing Obi-Wan for the first time. “Well, maybe I’ll feel afraid on the day of the battle. But today I feel ready. This is the first step toward justice. I can’t wait to take it. Do you have any wisdom about that?”

“No,” Obi-Wan admitted. Cerasi was unlike anyone he’d ever met before. “Justice is something to fight for. If I didn’t believe that, I wouldn’t be a Jedi.”

Cerasi put down her slingshot. “Being a Jedi is as much a part of you as being part of the Young is to me,” she observed, her crystal green eyes studying him. “I guess the difference is that the Young don’t have any guides. We guide ourselves.”

“Being an apprentice is a journey that is an honor to undertake,” Obi-Wan replied. But he feared his words were weak. He was used to saying them and believing them with his whole heart. Being a Jedi was at the core of him. But in just a few hours with the Young, he had seen a commitment that had confused him as much as it had stirred him.

Of course, he had seen deep commitment at the Temple among the Jedi students. But with some students, there often seemed to be pride mixed in. They were the elite, picked out of millions to be trained.

Whenever Yoda saw pride in a Jedi student, he found ways to expose it and put the student on the right path. Pride was often based in arrogance, and had no place in a Jedi. Part of the Jedi training was to eliminate pride and substitute sureness and humility. The Force only flourished in those who knew they were connected to all life-forms.

Here in the tunnels, Obi-Wan saw a pureness he had only glimpsed in his talks with Yoda, or his observance of Qui-Gon. That pureness was in people his own age. They did not have to strive for it. They possessed it. Perhaps because the cause they believed in was more than a concept in their minds. It was bred in their blood and bones, born in their suffering.

He felt defensive, as though Cerasi had attacked his dedication to the Jedi way. “Nield is the leader of the Young,” he pointed out. “So you, too, have a boss.”

“Nield is the best at strategy,” Cerasi said. “If we didn’t have someone to organize us, we would fall apart.”

“And someone to punish you?” Obi-Wan asked, remembering how Nield had almost strangled a boy.

Cerasi hesitated. Her voice softened as she continued. “Nield may seem harsh to you, but he has to be. Hatred was taught to us before we could walk. We have to be firm to stamp it out. Our vision of a new world can only survive if our hatred dies. We must forget everything we were taught. We must begin again. Nield knows this better than anyone. Perhaps because he’s had it harder than any of us here.”

“In what way?” Obi-Wan asked.

Cerasi sighed. She put down the slingshot she’d been working on. “That last hologram he triggered—the one he mocked—was Nield’s father. He went into battle with Nield’s three brothers. They all died. Nield was five years old. One month later his mother made preparations to be part of the next great battle. She left him with a cousin, a young girl who was more like a sister to him. His mother went off to fight, and she was killed, too. Then the Melida invaded his village. His cousin escaped and took him to Zehava. He had a few peaceful years, but then the Daan attacked the Melida sector, and his cousin had to fight. She was seventeen, old enough then. She died, too. Nield was left on the streets to fend for himself. He was eight years old. There were those who tried to care for him. He wouldn’t live with anyone, but he did take shelter and food when he needed it. He didn’t want to depend on anyone ever again. Can you blame him?”

Obi-Wan pictured all those people who loved Nield—all of them dying, one after the other. “No,” he said softly. “I don’t blame him at all.”

Cerasi sighed. “The point is, I was raised to think of the Daan as beasts, barely human. Nield was the first Daan I knew. He was the one who united both the Daan and the Melida orphans. He walked into the care centers and gathered them up, promised them freedom and peace. Then he made sure they had it. If they had stayed in the care center, eventually they’d be taken in a sweep.”

“A sweep?” Obi-Wan asked.

“Both Melida and Daan rely on the orphaned children for factory work or conscription, if they’re old enough,” Cerasi said flatly. “They either work or fight. It’s easy to find them in the city care centers. In the towns and villages, the children just run away.”

“Where do they go?”

Cerasi frowned. “They live off the land and scavenge. There are whole tribes of children beyond the city’s walls. Nield has worked hard to organize them, too. They keep in contact with stolen comlinks. They don’t want any more war.” Cerasi turned to him. “So you ask me what our chances of success will be, and I know I answered you. But truly, I can’t even think of chances or odds. We will succeed because we have to. Our world is becoming a wasteland, Obi-Wan. Only we can stop it.”

Obi-Wan nodded. He felt himself beginning to understand Cerasi. He saw that her brusqueness masked deep feeling.

“We could use your help, though,” Cerasi went on. “You have ties to the Jedi Council, and they have ties to Coruscant. You can show the entire galaxy that our cause is just. Jedi support means everything.”

“Cerasi, I can’t promise you Jedi support,” Obi-Wan said quietly. Surprising himself, he put his hand over hers. “I can only promise you mine.”

Her bright gaze held his. “Why don’t you come with Nield and me tomorrow? We’re doing the first raid into Daan territory.”

Obi-Wan hesitated. As a Jedi apprentice, he would be breaking the rules if he agreed without asking Qui-Gon’s permission. But if he asked, Qui-Gon would most likely refuse.

He had already broken the rules by pledging his own support to Cerasi and her cause. That promise could conflict with the Jedi mission.

But he couldn’t help himself. The cause of the Young spoke directly and urgently to his heart. As a Jedi, he didn’t fight for his own family, his own world, or his own people. He fought for what Yoda and the Council—and Qui-Gon—decided he should fight for.

Cerasi and Nield had defined their own struggle. Obi-Wan was struck with a pang of deep envy for them. He had spent so much time with those older than himself. He had listened so often to their wisdom. Now he felt welcomed back into something different. He could be a part of a community here—he hadn’t realized how much he missed a community of boys and girls his own age.

Cerasi’s hand felt warm beneath his own. Her fingers were slender and delicate. Suddenly they intertwined with his and squeezed, and he felt their strength.

“Will you come?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said. “I will.”