The Defenders Of The Dead(10)

Qui-Gon whirled, his lightsaber raised, as he heard a metallic scraping sound. But no Melida warrior was in sight. He tracked the sound to

the floor. A small sewer grate was being pushed back.

A small, dirty hand shot out of the opening and beckoned.

Obi-Wan looked at Qui-Gon, puzzled. “What should we do?” he whispered.

An ironic voice floated up from the grate. “Go ahead, talkdroids. Have a debate. I’ll wait. We have plenty of time.”

Qui-Gon heard shouting and running in the fortress. Any moment now, soldiers would appear at the window.

“Let’s go,” he told Obi-Wan.

He waited while his Padawan slithered into the opening. Qui-Gon followed blindly, his feet searching and finding the rung of a ladder leading downward. Hoping he hadn’t made a mistake, Qui-Gon climbed down.

Obi-Wan felt his way down the rickety metal ladder. He stepped off the last rung into ankle-deep water. Qui-Gon followed, moving with his usual grace, surprising for such a large man.

It was impossible to tell if their rescuer was a boy or a girl. The figure wore a hooded tunic, and pressed a dirty finger against its lips. Then he or she raised a finger and pointed above. The meaning was clear. If they weren’t absolutely quiet, the guards above would hear.

The footsteps above were loud, the voices angry and insistent. The Jedi’s rescuer turned and walked very slowly through the water, raising one foot and slipping it carefully back into the water so that no splash was heard. Obi-Wan followed the example. Softly, quietly, they moved farther down the tunnel.

The walls were shored up with splintered beams. Obi-Wan eyed them uneasily. The tunnel did not seem very secure to him. Still, it was an improvement over fighting his way out of a heavily armed fortress.

As soon as they had put some distance between themselves and the entrance, they picked up their pace. They walked through what felt like miles of tunnel, slogging through water and muck. Occasionally, the water was up to their knees. Their rescuer led them through old sewer tunnels, and the smell was terrible. Obi-Wan tried not to gag. Their rescuer seemed not to notice it, but kept up the same dogged, determined pace.

At last they came to a large vaulted space illuminated by several glow rods mounted on the walls. The ground was dry here, the air noticeably fresher. The room was dotted with rectangular stone boxes overgrown with moss. More lined the walls.

“Tombs,” Qui-Gon murmured. “It’s an old resting ground.”

One of the tombs, scraped clean of moss, gave off a pale white gleam in the darkness. Stools were drawn up around it. A group of young boys and girls - some the same age as Obi-Wan, some younger - sat eating from bowls at the makeshift table.

A tall boy with close-cropped dark hair noticed their entrance. He stood.

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“I found them,” their rescuer announced.

The boy nodded. “Welcome, Jedi,” he said solemnly. “We are the Young.”

Around them, the walls seemed to move. Shapes took form and became boys and girls, appearing out of the shadows and from behind the tombs to gather around Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon.

Startled, Obi-Wan gazed around at their faces. Most of them were thin and dressed in rags. All wore makeshift weapons tied onto belts or shoulder holsters. They gazed at him curiously, without any attempt to be polite.

The tall boy moved forward. He wore a battered chestplate of plastoid armor. “I am Nield. I lead the Young. This is Cerasi.”

Their rescuer threw back the hood, and Obi-Wan saw that she was a girl of about his age. Her copper hair was cut short and ragged. She had a small face with a pointed chin. Her pale green eyes were like crystals, glittering even in the dark vault.

“Thank you for rescuing us,” Qui-Gon said. “Now, can you tell us why you did?”

“You would have been a pawn in the game of war,” Nield said with a shrug. “We prefer that the game be over.”

“I saw graffiti on walls about the Young,” Obi-Wan said. “Are you Melida or Daan?”

Cerasi shook her head. “We are everyone,” she said, lifting her chin proudly.

“And you want the war to stop?” Qui-Gon asked.

“There is a cease-fire,” Obi-Wan pointed out.

Nield waved his hand. “The war will start again. Tomorrow, next week-it always does. Even the oldest among the elders don’t remember what the original grievance was. They don’t remember why the war began. They only remember the battles. They keep archives and go once a week to remind each other of the blood that has been spilled. They used to make us go, too.”

“The Halls of Evidence,” Obi-Wan said, nodding.

“Yes, they pour money into those halls while the cities decay around us,” Nield said contemptuously. “While the children starve and the ill die for lack of med supplies. Both Melida and Daan use up huge tracts of land while there is no land left to farm, no land left that has not been scarred by war or taken up by the preparation for more war.”