A Certain Point of View

Chapter 5: Fever Dreams

Obi-Wan...

Ben Kenobi awoke easily enough. His senses were still finely honed; and if his ears still heard the strange roar of thunder on the wind, how much more keen were the ears of his heart, which felt the surge of hostility, felt the dozens who died screaming as the spectre of the Dark Side fell over them.

He had been meditating more and sleeping less as his spirit grew in strength and his body weakened. There was no denying that in dreams his powers had grown: Qui-Gon had told him that crossing over does not come all at once, but—as with all things—through patience and insight. Perhaps he had begun crossing already. He rose slowly, more slowly than usual. He felt the sickness in him that had been growing for more than a year—the dry places in him that had stayed dry, even after the water returned. He felt the Force move in him, felt its ripples retreat from dying tissues and pool in the places where life was yet strong in him. He felt it tremble as a conflict raged, both within him and in the sky far above.

This part of the desert was quiet and dead, now. Not even the Sand People had survived this far out. Amidst the stark lifelessness of the area, the desperate energy of the dying far, far above him only echoed more loudly. He could not see the ships from the ground; they were too far for that. But the thunderous echo—they were close enough to the atmosphere for that—and the tiny speckles of flared light were the clear earthly signs of a monstrous disagreement between capital ships. He wondered how many others looked skyward to that sight, how many knew what a dark sign it was that the Empire had come out this far.

He cast his eyes to the stars but could not see them. The afternoon sky blazed bright and blue-white, like Anakin's lightsaber. It stung his eyes and scorched his upturned face, but in his mind he was far away, imagining distant worlds and faces.

It was time, he thought, for a trip to town. Every point of contact was a risk; but an Imperial capital ship over Jabba's world was a serious matter to anyone. Staying hidden required information, and information did not come easily. Without reconnaissance, he would have to confront the boy directly.

He did not know if he was ready for that.

But if not now, when?

He set out at nightfall, unafraid of what might lurk beneath the dead sands, and more wary of what hung in the sky far above them. Even if swallowed whole by some of the larger predators—immense, slow-metabolizing, cold-blooded things—you could survive in the cool wetness of their gullets for long, painful days. Get caught without shelter under the full force of the summer suns, and you could be dead within hours. It was no pleasant walk, to be sure. But Ben Kenobi was patient, and resilient, and haunted. Any one of those could drive a man, and he was all three.

Soon you will die, said the Dark Side. And all for nothing.

"We shall see," said Ben.