Star Wars: Ahsoka полностью

He made himself pass them all by. It was easier this time. It grew easier every time. That made his heart hurt, to think he was so fickle that he could turn his back on them to achieve his own ends. When he thought it, he heard Yoda, reminding him that his work was important, that he must focus on the future alone, obscuring the past and even ignoring the present if he must. He had to break through.

He reached the bottom again, the quiet place where his doubts, loves, and fears were gone. Then he realized it wasn’t the bottom, not quite. There was another level below.

Obi-Wan let go of Ben Kenobi’s house, the last place in the galaxy where a piece of Anakin Skywalker rested, and broke through the wall between life and death.

It was dark there if he wanted to take anything with him or leave anything behind, but he wished for neither of those things, so he stood in the light. His senses were sharp. He could hear every sound at once, and also none of them. It took him a moment to focus on the voice he wanted most to hear.

Alone and connected. Aloof and hopelessly entwined. Obi-Wan had only a moment before he was wrenched back into the physical world, but it was long enough to renew his hope.

“Obi-Wan,” said Qui-Gon Jinn. He was sure the voice was stronger this time. “Let go.”

THE SIXTH BROTHER’S return to Raada had not been as triumphant as he had hoped. He had not been able to make a positive identification of the Jedi, but he was fairly certain that any news of his forthcoming actions on the farming moon would reach the Padawan’s attention. He’d tracked a series of happy accidents—happy, that is, for the people who had been saved from run-ins with the Empire. The events had Jedi do-gooding written all over them: low death count, grateful civilians, and a lack of official records. All he had to do was make sure that someone on Raada was left to send a distress call in the right direction and the Jedi would come to him.

His first order of business, after he landed and squared away his ship, was to read the situation updates on the insurgents. As he’d suspected, the local troops had made no inroads in capturing them, which suited him just fine. The district commander seemed to be avoiding him, which also suited his purposes, so he called in the chief interrogator instead.

“I require information on the girl who escaped your custody,” he said, cutting straight to the chase. Interrogators usually appreciated the direct approach, which was something he admired about them. “Her appearance, preferably. Not her character.”

“She had dark skin,” the interrogator said. “And her hair was in braids when I saw her, but unless she’s found someone to redo them, I imagine she’ll be wearing a scarf or something now.”

“Why couldn’t she fix them herself?” the Inquisitor asked.

“Her arm is broken,” was the reply. “The right. I think there may also be damage to her shoulder, but I couldn’t be sure.”

“Are your methods so callous?” It was always nice to trade professional information.

“No, the arm was an accident,” the interrogator said. “Our initial torture scared her so badly that when I mentioned the possibility of revisiting it, she knocked herself over and pinned the arm under her chair.”

“You have been most helpful,” the Inquisitor said. “You’re dismissed.”