The Mark of the Crown

11

Obi-Wan fled. He burst through the door to the gardens and saw the flick of a silver robe as the elder council member with the milky blue eyes moved off into the trees. Obi-Wan turned in the opposite direction and snaked through the orchard. He had to leave the palace grounds, and he could not leave by the main gate. He was sure now that Giba was behind the Queen’s poisoning. The only question was if Prince Beju knew about it. The Prince had seemed genuinely stricken by his mother’s condition.

He heard running footsteps behind him. Obi-Wan quickened his pace. He was almost to the high stone wall that surrounded the palace grounds.

“Obi-Wan! Wait, friend!”

It was Jono. Obi-Wan hesitated. Could he trust him? He wanted to trust him. He liked him.

But had it just been a coincidence that Giba and Beju had burst into the room while he was talking to the Queen? Had Jono followed him there from the gardens, then run to fetch them? Qui-Gon’s warning lay heavy on his heart.

“Please!” Jono called. In another moment, he would round the turn of the path.

What if he was bringing the guards? Obi-Wan still had time to run.

I knew you would return…. I have waited for a friend for a long time, Obi-Wan.

He remembered the look in Jono’s eyes that day, wistful and sincere. Jono had trusted him. Obi-Wan had to return the favor. Obi-Wan stopped short.

Jono burst into sight, his blond hair flying. He almost slammed into Obi-Wan, but instead tripped and went flying.

“Ow!” he cried, rubbing his knee. He pushed his hair out of his eyes and grinned. “That will teach me to try to catch a Jedi.”

Obi-Wan helped him to his feet. “You can run fast.”

“That’s why you need me,” Jono said. “You must let me help you. I was coming to attend the Queen. I heard what happened. Do you really think the Queen is being poisoned?” he ended on a whisper.

“Yes, I do,” Obi-Wan said.

“Beju has called the guards. It’s not safe here, Obi-Wan. They’re already searching for you.”

“I was just about to leave,” Obi-Wan told him.

“But where will you go?” Jono asked, frowning.

“I’ll hide in the city,” Obi-Wan said. “I’ll wait for Qui-Gon to return.”

“They will catch you,” Jono said. “There are spies everywhere. I must go with you. And I know where we should go.”

“Where?” Obi-Wan asked.

“To Deca Brun,” Jono said firmly. “He will help us.”

Deca Brun’s headquarters were in a crowded, bustling area of Galu, in the middle of shops and tall residential towers. Red banners proclaiming his name flapped from almost every window. Large posters of a smiling Deca were plastered on walls. Written on the bottom in Deca’s bold handwriting was: I AM YOU! WE ARE ONE!

“It was Deca who showed us that we are all Galacians,” Jono told Obi-Wan as they approached the building. “Before, family lineage was the most important tie on Gala. The great families of Gala—the Tallahs, the Gibas, the Prammis, and others—received the favors of the court. It was Deca who said that we owed loyalty to each other, to all Galacians.” The boy’s face shone with pride. “He made me realize that there was a world outside the palace.” Jono pushed open the door. The office was filled with campaign workers. Some tapped on datapads, others huddled in groups, talking earnestly.

One tall, bony Galacian caught sight of Jono. He grinned and waved him over. “Jono! Come to volunteer, have you?”

Jono headed for the man. “Sila, this is my friend Obi-Wan. We need to see Deca at once.”

Sila smiled. “So do we all, Jono,” he said. “He’s hard to track down. He’s everywhere. Making speeches, meeting new supporters…”

“But this is important,” Jono insisted.

Sila’s smile faded. “I can see that,” he said. “He could be in his private quarters.” He hesitated. “Come with me,” he said.

Obi-Wan nodded at Jono to go ahead. He took a seat against a wall. Suddenly a young woman stuck her head in the front door. “Rally on Thrush Street,” she called. “Aren’t you all coming? We need help.”

The Brun workers sprang to their feet, grabbing banners and laser signs. “Hold down the fort,” one of them yelled at Obi-Wan. He nodded.

In seconds, the room had cleared out. Someone had left a holofile open on the desk near him. Obi-Wan leaned over it.

A familiar name caught his eye. OFFWORLD.

A chill ran though Obi-Wan. He and Qui-Gon had tangled with Offworld recently.

The corporation was a ruthless organization that enslaved beings for their vast mining operations. They plundered planets, depleted their natural resources, and then moved on. And Offworld was headed by Qui-Gon’s enemy, his former apprentice, Xanatos.

Obi-Wan touched the scrolling device. As far as he could make out, Offworld had donated a large sum to Deca Brun’s campaign. The money had been funneled through several names of other Galacian companies.

Obi-Wan closed the file and scrolled through the remaining file titles, but there was no other mention of Offworld. Then he saw a file marked GALACIAN MINING CORP. He accessed it. It was a detailed plan for opening up half of tiny Gala to mining operations. This would include the Galacian Sea, the largest source of fresh water for the planet—and the home of the few remaining sea people.

Obi-Wan quickly read through the plans, which included importing workers from other worlds, building spaceports for the huge transports that were part of Offworld operations, and “recruiting” native Galacians for the work.

The company was a front for Offworld.

Deca Brun must have agreed to the plans in exchange for financial support, Obi-Wan realized. Deca claimed his treasury was based on small donations from the average Galacian. It was proof of his wide support. But instead, most of his campaign had been funded by Offworld.

Obi-Wan quickly shut down the holofile. He turned and hurried through the door where Jono had disappeared. He had to find the boy, get out of there, and warn Qui-Gon…

Instead, he ran into four blasters pointed at his chest. Four guards stood in the hallway. Behind them was another door. Obi-Wan heard the lock click behind him on the door he’d just run through.

“Give me your weapons, spy,” one of them said.

“I’m not a spy—” Obi-Wan began. Blaster fire suddenly erupted. Obi-Wan heard it whistle by his ear and thud into the wall behind him. Bits of stone flew out.

One cut his cheek.

“Give me your weapons, spy,” the guard repeated.

Another guard came forward. He took Obi-Wan’s lightsaber and comlink.

“Do you know,” the guard said conversationally, “how much food it takes to feed Deca’s organization?”

Surprised by the question, Obi-Wan shook his head.

“Let me show you,” the guard invited. He pushed Obi-Wan forward roughly with his blasters.

They took him to a vast kitchen area. Then they opened a thick durasteel door and shoved him inside. It was a food storage area. Boxes lined row after row of shelves, and meat hung from hooks on a far wall. It was cold. Obi-Wan landed on the floor of the huge freezer. He heard the thick door shut, and the bolt shot home.