The Mark of the Crown(19)

One tall, bony Galacian caught sight of Jono. He grinned and waved him over. “Jono! Come to volunteer, have you?”

Jono headed for the man. “Sila, this is my friend Obi-Wan. We need to see Deca at once.”

Sila smiled. “So do we all, Jono,” he said. “He’s hard to track down. He’s everywhere. Making speeches, meeting new supporters…”

“But this is important,” Jono insisted.

Sila’s smile faded. “I can see that,” he said. “He could be in his private quarters.” He hesitated. “Come with me,” he said.

Obi-Wan nodded at Jono to go ahead. He took a seat against a wall. Suddenly a young woman stuck her head in the front door. “Rally on Thrush Street,” she called. “Aren’t you all coming? We need help.”

The Brun workers sprang to their feet, grabbing banners and laser signs. “Hold down the fort,” one of them yelled at Obi-Wan. He nodded.

In seconds, the room had cleared out. Someone had left a holofile open on the desk near him. Obi-Wan leaned over it.

A familiar name caught his eye. OFFWORLD.

A chill ran though Obi-Wan. He and Qui-Gon had tangled with Offworld recently. The corporation was a ruthless organization that enslaved beings for their vast mining operations. They plundered planets, depleted their natural resources, and then moved on.

And Offworld was headed by Qui-Gon’s enemy, his former apprentice, Xanatos.

Obi-Wan touched the scrolling device. As far as he could make out, Offworld had donated a large sum to Deca Brun’s campaign. The money had been funneled through several names of other Galacian companies.

Obi-Wan closed the file and scrolled through the remaining file titles, but there was no other mention of Offworld. Then he saw a file marked GALACIAN MINING CORP.

He accessed it. It was a detailed plan for opening up half of tiny Gala to mining operations. This would include the Galacian Sea, the largest source of fresh water for the planet - and the home of the few remaining sea people.

Obi-Wan quickly read through the plans, which included importing workers from other worlds, building spaceports for the huge transports that were part of Offworld operations, and “recruiting” native Galacians for the work.

The company was a front for Offworld.

Deca Brun must have agreed to the plans in exchange for financial support, Obi-Wan realized. Deca claimed his treasury was based on small donations from the average Galacian. It was proof of his wide support. But instead, most of his campaign had been funded by Offworld.

Obi-Wan quickly shut down the holofile. He turned and hurried through the door where Jono had disappeared. He had to find the boy, get out of there, and warn Qui-Gon…

Instead, he ran into four blasters pointed at his chest. Four guards stood in the hallway. Behind them was another door. Obi-Wan heard the lock click behind him on the door he’d just run through.

“Give me your weapons, spy,” one of them said.

“I’m not a spy…” Obi-Wan began. Blaster fire suddenly erupted. Obi-Wan heard it whistle by his ear and thud into the wall behind him. Bits of stone flew out. One cut his cheek.

“Give me your weapons, spy,” the guard repeated.

Another guard came forward. He took Obi-Wan’s lightsaber and comlink.

“Do you know,” the guard said conversationally, “how much food it takes to feed Deca’s organization?”

Surprised by the question, Obi-Wan shook his head.

“Let me show you,” the guard invited. He pushed Obi-Wan forward roughly with his blasters.

They took him to a vast kitchen area. Then they opened a thick durasteel door and shoved him inside. It was a food storage area. Boxes lined row after row of shelves, and meat hung from hooks on a far wall. It was cold.

Obi-Wan landed on the floor of the huge freezer. He heard the thick door shut, and the bolt shot home.

***

As soon as Qui-Gon woke, he knew the storm was over. The wind had died, and an eerie stillness lay over the camp. When he cracked open the door of the dome, he saw a white blanket of snow, and a clear blue sky.

Elan would want him to leave today. Qui-Gon gathered his things, trying to gather his thoughts as well. Was there another argument he had yet to try? He refused to give up. He sensed that Elan’s participation in the election process was crucial for its success. He ate a small breakfast and walked through the snow to Elan’s dome. The hill people were already stirring. Children were playing in the snow. A man gathered late season berries from a bush. Dana waved at him from across the clearing, where he was carrying wood for an elder.

Qui-Gon knocked on the door of Elan’s dome, and she called out an invitation to enter.

She was mixing salves and potions at a work table in front of a small, cheerful fire. Qui-Gon remembered Obi-Wan’s suspicions. He had discounted them immediately. Had he been wrong to do so? Yet something in Elan felt pure to him, felt real. He could not imagine her capable of condemning someone to a slow death by poisoning. Qui-Gon pulled up a chair next to her.