Tangle 51/77 (PG-13) Anakin, Obi-Wan, others.
Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I am not making any profit from this work of fanfiction.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
Sarta was a tall, athletic-looking young man (no surprise there), with tawny hair and the most tanned skin Anakin had yet seen on a Lorethan.
He smiled widely when he saw them, revealing perfect white teeth.
“Aesin’Evinne,” he said. “Areth’ryn. It has been too long.”
Evinne and Ryn bowed in unison. “Sarta,” Ryn said. “May I present Jedi Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi, Padawan Anakin Skywalker, Makesh lately of Aravel, and my friend Engine.”
They bowed politely as their names were called. “Well met,” Sarta said to each in turn.
“I make known to you Sarta Ar’Dain Ri-Domna Swifthand, son of the High King.”
Sarta bowed gracefully. “And now,” he said, hefting a bundle under one arm, “we must needs be on our way. The spaceport is well-cared-for, but if we are to reach the city we must do so before sundown, and it is some leagues.”
“Several kilometers,” Ryn translated.
“Er -- yes,” said Sarta. He unfolded his bundle and passed to them small breathing masks.
“Use them only at need,” he instructed. “I will try to take you by the safest way, but there are some places, even so, where the air may be thinner than our bodies can well endure. It is not good to travel far on Fjornel without protection in these days.”
He led the way through the spaceport -- one of the old kind, almost entirely enclosed -- and down into some sealed tunnels whose doors he unlocked with a large metal key. They creaked open on rusty hinges and closed behind the travelers with a clang.
The tunnels led out onto a rocky hillside strewn with desiccating plant life.
“Watch your step,” Sarta warned them. “There are brambles and loose stones underfoot. It is easy to miss them.”
It soon became apparent that he spoke the truth. Rocks and hillside and drying, trailing vines of yesteryear were all more or less the same shade of gray, blending into each other even to Jedi eyes. Here and there they saw the dusty remains of an ancient watercourse.
Obi-Wan commented on this. “Ah,” said Sarta in reply. “Yes. Part of the terraforming effort. At one point there were water channels across the central third of the moon. But we were never able to keep them thawed and running, and when the atmosphere began to thin they slowly evaporated. You can still find ice in some places.”
“Is your planet overpopulated?” Obi-Wan asked.
Sarta blinked. “Er ... no. Why do you ask?”
“It seems a simple matter to transport your people on Fjornel to Loreth.”
Sarta frowned. “There are ... reasons to keep the moon habitable.”
“Yes?”
Sarta’s frown deepened. “We do not discuss such things with outsiders.”
Obi-Wan had the grace to blush. “I apologize. I did not meant to intrude.”
“It is well,” said Sarta.
The urge to yawn was constant and never satisfied; they were all working their jaws as they walked. Speaking was difficult, so the group moved most of the time in a silence punctuated only by the labored rasp of their breathing.
“Maybe we should use the masks,” Engine panted the first time he fell.
“They have a limited oxygen supply,” Sarta said severely. “And they can draw more from the atmosphere, but probably not as quickly as we will use it. Better to save them for the cooling hours. We always lose some atmosphere as night draws on.”
“The artificial gravity ... seems to be working well,” Obi-Wan managed.
“Yes.” Sarta struggled uselessly with a yawn and finally managed to say, “The moon’s center is uncommonly dense. That helps.”
Anakin and Obi-Wan managed better than the others, with the help of the Force. Engine had the greatest difficulty, but it was clear that even Ryn, who had spent much of her childhood on Fjornel, was not comfortable with the thin air.
They stuck to the low ground whenever possible, because Sarta insisted that it did actually make a difference in atmospheric quality. But they were still nearly five kilometers from the Dome when Engine stumbled dizzily for the fifth time and Ryn, hauling him upright again, swayed and nearly lost her footing, too.
Watching them struggle for breath, Sarta said, “Masks. Time.” He sounded reluctant, but it was hard to be sure over the panting.
They strapped on the lightweight breathing masks, and Anakin felt the wild explosion of pain in his head as his oxygen-starved brain fought to adapt.
“Easy,” Ryn said, her voice muffled by the mask. “The pain passes quickly.”
“Really?” Obi-Wan inquired, and Ryn grimaced.
“More or less.”
That response wasn’t particularly encouraging, but there wasn’t much to be done about it in any case, so Anakin just smiled at Ryn through his own mask and offered her a quick thumbs-up. See? I’m all right.
They made the last leg of the journey easier than the first, chiefly due to the greater availability of oxygen, which outweighed even the rougher terrain they had to cross.
The Dome was penetrated by the same means as the spaceport; an underground tunnel, blocked in this case with an airlock instead of a single set of doors.
“It’s a constant struggle,” Sarta volunteered unexpectedly. “Oxygen has to come in, carbon dioxide and other pollutants have to go out. So the shield itself is only very slightly permeable, and we use a mix of intensive forest-husbandry and atmospheric processors to try and maintain some kind of balance.” He sighed. “It’s hard, living on the brink of disaster.”
Ryn reached out and gripped his shoulder in a gesture of comfort that was achingly familiar.
Sarta covered her hand with his. “With any luck, this new supplier Ardel has found will be able to get us better equipment soon.”
Ryn and Evinne froze in unison. “What supplier?” Evinne asked finally, as the Jedi held their breaths.
Sarta was watching them warily now. “I don’t know the name,” he said slowly. “It’s a biochem organization of some kind. They wanted plant samples in return for upgrading the Dome. It seemed fair. Why? What’s going on?”
They all looked at each other.
“Maybe nothing,” Ryn said at last. “But I think we better talk to Ardel ourselves.”
Sarta’s face closed. “He’s home on Loreth. They all are, except for Evinne.”
“Then now seems like the perfect time to pay a visit home,” Ryn countered evenly.
Sarta tightened his jaw. “I don’t know what you’re trying to get mixed up in, but stop. Ardel has power. More than ever, now, with Kit out of the way.” He glanced at Evinne. “No offense.”
“None taken,” Evinne said tightly. “Although I should probably warn you that I have every intention of getting mixed up in this, as you put it. Is it Stevan’s doing, or my father’s?”
“Stevan’s,” Sarta said hesitantly. He frowned at Evinne. “What’s going on?”
“I’ll let you know,” Evinne said brightly.
Sarta rolled his eyes.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
Sarta was a tall, athletic-looking young man (no surprise there), with tawny hair and the most tanned skin Anakin had yet seen on a Lorethan.
He smiled widely when he saw them, revealing perfect white teeth.
“Aesin’Evinne,” he said. “Areth’ryn. It has been too long.”
Evinne and Ryn bowed in unison. “Sarta,” Ryn said. “May I present Jedi Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi, Padawan Anakin Skywalker, Makesh lately of Aravel, and my friend Engine.”
They bowed politely as their names were called. “Well met,” Sarta said to each in turn.
“I make known to you Sarta Ar’Dain Ri-Domna Swifthand, son of the High King.”
Sarta bowed gracefully. “And now,” he said, hefting a bundle under one arm, “we must needs be on our way. The spaceport is well-cared-for, but if we are to reach the city we must do so before sundown, and it is some leagues.”
“Several kilometers,” Ryn translated.
“Er -- yes,” said Sarta. He unfolded his bundle and passed to them small breathing masks.
“Use them only at need,” he instructed. “I will try to take you by the safest way, but there are some places, even so, where the air may be thinner than our bodies can well endure. It is not good to travel far on Fjornel without protection in these days.”
He led the way through the spaceport -- one of the old kind, almost entirely enclosed -- and down into some sealed tunnels whose doors he unlocked with a large metal key. They creaked open on rusty hinges and closed behind the travelers with a clang.
The tunnels led out onto a rocky hillside strewn with desiccating plant life.
“Watch your step,” Sarta warned them. “There are brambles and loose stones underfoot. It is easy to miss them.”
It soon became apparent that he spoke the truth. Rocks and hillside and drying, trailing vines of yesteryear were all more or less the same shade of gray, blending into each other even to Jedi eyes. Here and there they saw the dusty remains of an ancient watercourse.
Obi-Wan commented on this. “Ah,” said Sarta in reply. “Yes. Part of the terraforming effort. At one point there were water channels across the central third of the moon. But we were never able to keep them thawed and running, and when the atmosphere began to thin they slowly evaporated. You can still find ice in some places.”
“Is your planet overpopulated?” Obi-Wan asked.
Sarta blinked. “Er ... no. Why do you ask?”
“It seems a simple matter to transport your people on Fjornel to Loreth.”
Sarta frowned. “There are ... reasons to keep the moon habitable.”
“Yes?”
Sarta’s frown deepened. “We do not discuss such things with outsiders.”
Obi-Wan had the grace to blush. “I apologize. I did not meant to intrude.”
“It is well,” said Sarta.
The urge to yawn was constant and never satisfied; they were all working their jaws as they walked. Speaking was difficult, so the group moved most of the time in a silence punctuated only by the labored rasp of their breathing.
“Maybe we should use the masks,” Engine panted the first time he fell.
“They have a limited oxygen supply,” Sarta said severely. “And they can draw more from the atmosphere, but probably not as quickly as we will use it. Better to save them for the cooling hours. We always lose some atmosphere as night draws on.”
“The artificial gravity ... seems to be working well,” Obi-Wan managed.
“Yes.” Sarta struggled uselessly with a yawn and finally managed to say, “The moon’s center is uncommonly dense. That helps.”
Anakin and Obi-Wan managed better than the others, with the help of the Force. Engine had the greatest difficulty, but it was clear that even Ryn, who had spent much of her childhood on Fjornel, was not comfortable with the thin air.
They stuck to the low ground whenever possible, because Sarta insisted that it did actually make a difference in atmospheric quality. But they were still nearly five kilometers from the Dome when Engine stumbled dizzily for the fifth time and Ryn, hauling him upright again, swayed and nearly lost her footing, too.
Watching them struggle for breath, Sarta said, “Masks. Time.” He sounded reluctant, but it was hard to be sure over the panting.
They strapped on the lightweight breathing masks, and Anakin felt the wild explosion of pain in his head as his oxygen-starved brain fought to adapt.
“Easy,” Ryn said, her voice muffled by the mask. “The pain passes quickly.”
“Really?” Obi-Wan inquired, and Ryn grimaced.
“More or less.”
That response wasn’t particularly encouraging, but there wasn’t much to be done about it in any case, so Anakin just smiled at Ryn through his own mask and offered her a quick thumbs-up. See? I’m all right.
They made the last leg of the journey easier than the first, chiefly due to the greater availability of oxygen, which outweighed even the rougher terrain they had to cross.
The Dome was penetrated by the same means as the spaceport; an underground tunnel, blocked in this case with an airlock instead of a single set of doors.
“It’s a constant struggle,” Sarta volunteered unexpectedly. “Oxygen has to come in, carbon dioxide and other pollutants have to go out. So the shield itself is only very slightly permeable, and we use a mix of intensive forest-husbandry and atmospheric processors to try and maintain some kind of balance.” He sighed. “It’s hard, living on the brink of disaster.”
Ryn reached out and gripped his shoulder in a gesture of comfort that was achingly familiar.
Sarta covered her hand with his. “With any luck, this new supplier Ardel has found will be able to get us better equipment soon.”
Ryn and Evinne froze in unison. “What supplier?” Evinne asked finally, as the Jedi held their breaths.
Sarta was watching them warily now. “I don’t know the name,” he said slowly. “It’s a biochem organization of some kind. They wanted plant samples in return for upgrading the Dome. It seemed fair. Why? What’s going on?”
They all looked at each other.
“Maybe nothing,” Ryn said at last. “But I think we better talk to Ardel ourselves.”
Sarta’s face closed. “He’s home on Loreth. They all are, except for Evinne.”
“Then now seems like the perfect time to pay a visit home,” Ryn countered evenly.
Sarta tightened his jaw. “I don’t know what you’re trying to get mixed up in, but stop. Ardel has power. More than ever, now, with Kit out of the way.” He glanced at Evinne. “No offense.”
“None taken,” Evinne said tightly. “Although I should probably warn you that I have every intention of getting mixed up in this, as you put it. Is it Stevan’s doing, or my father’s?”
“Stevan’s,” Sarta said hesitantly. He frowned at Evinne. “What’s going on?”
“I’ll let you know,” Evinne said brightly.
Sarta rolled his eyes.