The Jedi And The Warrior

One Last Choice

Obi-Wan did not dare go near the market centre again. Instead he hunted for his food in the wastes, or bought uncooked meat and plants at the outskirts of the market. But today, as he approached the market, the sun beginning to dip behind the distant dunes, he spotted something that immediately set the hair lifting at the back of his neck.

A large ship sat outside the city, gleaming in the sunlight.

Nothing more than a trader's ship, looking to sell its wares before setting off again, Obi-Wan told himself. He could see no mark of the Empire. Even so, he pulled his hood further over his face, lowered his head, and moved in the other direction. He approached the stall that sold much-needed herbs, plants that did not grow in the desert — and stopped short.

Another man stood beside the vendor. The one who had recognised him a week ago. Obi-Wan almost turned to go, but the plant-vendor hailed him. He was a grizzled old man who did not bother with gossip or small talk.

"Hello again!" he called. "What can I do for you today?"

Obi-Wan had to approach the stall, glancing quickly around him, scanning for any trouble. "Hello there," he said, shaking his sleeves back. "Do you still have any lemongrass?"

But the vendor looked at him, a long, calculating look, and within it a hint of sadness. Then he said, "I'm sorry."

And the market exploded.

Seven figures burst from the crowd, dark, cloaked figures who converged on him from all sides. And Obi-Wan ran. He knew instantly who they were, knew instantly what they meant, and he knew, beyond any doubt, beyond even a shadow of curiosity, that he could not face her eyes. Not after everything he had done and failed. He could not face the condemning eyes of Flyra Botkin.

So Obi-Wan Kenobi tore towards the distant sand dunes, the gully he knew ran parallel to them, where he could lose them in the winding rocks. He'd lead them away from the town, that much he could do, the last salvation he could offer the people, the galaxy, he had failed.

Upon his left rose a slope of weathered rock, marking the edge of the gully below. His pursuers closed in. Obi-Wan leaped onto the rock and began hauling himself up, fingers and toes latching into what holds he could find. But without the Force his ascent was slow — too slow, and Malco Flint arced far above him and landed upon the summit of the rock.

It was the same move, the same trick, and it had saved him twice and condemned him utterly.

It's over, Anakin! I have the high ground!

He had tried to warn him, tried to make him stop, but his apprentice had not heeded him. Obi-Wan drew his blaster and aimed for Malco's legs, the rock shattering where the energy hit. The orange-robed figure darted aside to avoid the onslaught, and Obi-Wan scrambled to the summit and leaped down into the gully.

Steep rock walls loomed either side of a dry desert floor, made up of layers of rock scattered with grains of dust. Obi-Wan hurled himself into a run down the length of the gully, even as he could hear the thud of his pursuers landing behind him. He didn't dare look, concentrating only on the burn of his muscles and the winding of the path, sharp corners and islands of rock so labyrinthine that even he soon lost his bearings.

Up ahead, the walls narrowed. Still wide enough for two, but it might slow them down. Obi-Wan picked up speed.

From the high walls above him, Malco Flint and a man he recognised as Kai Caeen came leaping down to cut him off. Obi-Wan hurled himself to a stop, reaching for his blaster — but Malco extended a hand and the Force tore it from his grip. Malco caught it, then threw it into the sand.