“And then the Nineteenth Battle of Zehava was fought barely six months later,” Cerasi said, overhearing them. “The battles never stop. They never will, unless we act.”
Cerasi paused. Light filtered down from a crack in the stone overhead. “Here.”
Qui-Gon eyed the curved ceiling of the tunnel. “Where?”
Cerasi undipped a ring of tension cord from her belt. She expertly tossed the cord above and, with a flicking motion of her wrist, wrapped it around a hook embedded in the mortar of the ceiling. Cerasi tested it, then glanced at Qui-Gon and flashed him a grin. “Don’t worry, it will even hold you.”
She scrambled up the cord, hand over hand.
When she had almost reached the top, she swung out from the cord and hooked her fingers into the crack in the stone. She remained there, pressing her face against the crack.
“All clear,” she called down softly. She pushed off and swung hard, tilting her body back until she was almost upside down. Using her momentum, she kicked at the stone with her feet. It dislodged, and with her next swing, she gave it a more gentle kick to move it out of the way. Qui-Gon heard a thud as the stone hit the ground overhead. On her next swing, Cerasi easily hooked her feet into the opening, then bent her body to swing herself out.
The whole operation had taken maybe thirty seconds. Qui-Gon admired Cerasi’s agility and strength.
She popped her head back down. “Nothing to it.”
One by one, the remaining three pulled themselves up the cord and then swung out of the opening. They were not quite as graceful and swift as Cerasi, but they made it.
Qui-Gon found himself in a storeroom located in a service building in back of an abandoned estate. It was a clever place to hide an entrance to the tunnels.
Now Nield led the way, since he was familiar with the Daan sector. “Don’t worry,” he told the
Jedi. “I’m a Daan, and many know me here. You’re safer in Daan territory. At least the Daan don’t want to take you hostage.”
Now that Qui-Gon had more time, he was able to study the Daan sector more closely. It didn’t seem that much different than the Inner Hub. Abandoned, bombed-out buildings. Barricades. Food shortages in the shops. And everywhere people going about their daily lives with old and ragged weapons strapped to chests, hips, and ankles. He did not see many faces younger than sixty or older than twenty.
“This used to be a beautiful city,” Nield remarked, sadness in his voice. “I’ve seen drawings and hologram recreations. It’s been completely rebuilt seven times. When I was very young, I remember trees and blossoms and even a museum that had nothing to do with the dead.”
“There were no barricades for five years,” Cerasi said softly. “Daans and Melidas mixed in both sectors. In some neighborhoods they even lived side by side. Then the Twenty-Fifth Battle of Zehava began.”
“What about your parents, Cerasi?” Obi-Wan asked.
Cerasi’s expression was hard for Qui-Gon to read. She seemed to struggle with the decision to share even a part of her story. “Their hatred
destroyed them, like so many others. My mother died while conducting a sniper raid. My brother was sent to the country to work in a munitions factory, I have not heard a word from him since.”
“And your father?”
Cerasi’s face smoothed out, became bland. “He is dead,” she said colorlessly.
A story there, Qui-Gon thought. Each of the Young, he realized, would have a similar one, full of sorrow and tragedy, of parents lost too soon, families fractured. That was the bond between them.
Ahead, Qui-Gon saw a glimpse of blue water. They walked down a wide boulevard, leaping over large holes where proton torpedoes had fallen.
“This is Lake Weir,” Nield said. “I used to come swimming here when I was little. Now you’ll see what the Daan have done.”
As they drew closer, the patch of blue Qui-Gon had glimpsed between two buildings widened, and he could see that the lake was quite large. It would have been a beautiful expanse, except for the low, massive ebony stone building that floated slightly above the water by repulsor-posts.
“Another Hall of Evidence,” Nield said, disgusted. “This was the last remaining body of
water within a thousand kilometers. Now no one can enjoy it but the dead.”
The wind ruffled Nield’s hair as he gazed at the scene. His disgusted look softened to one of sadness, and Qui-Gon imagined that a memory of one of those swim& had surfaced. He was suddenly struck by how young Nield looked. Underground, his manner had made him seem older than Obi-Wan, but they were about the same age.
Qui-Gon gave a quick glance at Cerasi. Her slender, pretty face was pale, almost drawn, but he could still see the young child she’d once been. They were all so young, he thought in sorrow. Too young for the task they’d set themselves - to right centuries of wrong, to save a world cracked by tension and strife.