by Claudia Gray
Qui-Gon asked, “What exactly does the Opposition want?”
“It’s a bit mysterious, honestly. They issued big pronouncements at first, sometimes in verse. But when the attacks became more violent, Halin Azucca took the Opposition underground. They’re getting worse and worse, threatening the planet’s stability and the treaty ceremony itself. Pijal’s leadership thinks that a third party should come in—someone neutral, with a fresh perspective—and help flush out the Opposition.”
“Pijal’s leadership—I believe they have a crown princess?” Qui-Gon said.
“Not exactly,” Kaj replied. “Eight years ago, the throne was inherited by Crown Princess Fanry, then only six. Her regent has ruled since then, and has negotiated the Governance Treaty—which will change the monarchy from absolute to constitutional, with a representational parliament that will handle most government business. The treaty will also end Pijal’s isolationism and allow legally binding agreements with offworlders, such as the Republic officials in charge of the new corridor. Princess Fanry is due to sign the treaty on her fourteenth birthday, only several days from now. They’ve got all sorts of festivities planned—concerts, rallies, even something called the Grand Hunt. However, the dissident attacks have increased in frequency and severity the closer we get to the signing. So I don’t know how many parties they’ll get to enjoy.”
“So the dissidents want to keep the treaty from being signed,” Obi-Wan said, finally daring to speak again. Unfortunately, he was also making assumptions.
“Possibly,” Qui-Gon said, “But there are other explanations. They may simply see this as a vulnerable time for the government, and therefore an opportune moment to strike.”
“It has the potential to get messy,” Kaj admitted. “The hyperspace lane can’t be opened until the treaty is signed, and it appears that these Opposition dissidents may try to stop that from happening. We need you to go to Pijal, help prevent any loss of life, and see to it that the Governance Treaty is signed on the appointed day. If possible, we’d also like you to bring the Opposition members to justice. If we leave that for Pijal’s government to clean up later, all right, fine. But for the good of both Pijal and many, many neighboring systems, the hyperspace corridor must be opened. The Governance Treaty must be signed.”
Important. Challenging. The sort of mission Qui-Gon might’ve expected to be assigned at any time. Any time, that is, except this one.
Keeping his voice neutral, Qui-Gon asked, “Chancellor, may I ask why we were chosen for this mission?”
“You’ve been requested specifically, and of course we thought it best that someone familiar with one of the principals should go—”
“I’ve never been to Pijal.” Qui-Gon didn’t mind interrupting even the chancellor, when the chancellor kept failing to get to the point.
Whether consciously or unconsciously, Kaj took the hint. “You see, when the princess inherited the throne as a small child, obviously a regent was needed to rule for her. However, infighting in the court meant that no potential Pijali candidate for regent was acceptable to all parties. Therefore a Jedi Knight was sent to take this position—an acquaintance of yours, Rael Averross.” The chancellor glanced from Qui-Gon to Obi-Wan and back again. “I realize Averross is something of a, shall we say, controversial figure among the Jedi. But he is a friend, isn’t he?”
“We were good friends long ago,” Qui-Gon said. He wasn’t entirely sure what they were now. “Controversial” was putting it lightly.
“Well, Averross asked for you specifically. I realize the timing isn’t ideal, Master Jinn,” Kaj said, “what with your having just been asked to join the Jedi Council. It’s a big step, and no doubt you’d prefer to concentrate—”
Damn, damn, damn. Qui-Gon closed his eyes for one moment. It blocked nothing; the wave of shock that went through Obi-Wan was so great it could be felt through the Force. Qui-Gon hadn’t thought Kirames Kaj would mention the Jedi Council invitation. It seemed possible the soon-retiring chancellor of the Republic might not even have taken much note of information about a new Council member.
But she had. Now not only did Obi-Wan know, but he’d also found out from someone else. Qui-Gon had well and truly blown it.
How can I presume to serve well upon the Council when I’m failing as a Master?
Obi-Wan felt as though he couldn’t speak, couldn’t hear. He was aware of nothing but his own breath and pulse. The shock he felt numbed him to anything else, except a sense of shame.
Qui-Gon’s eyes met his for one instant—long enough for Obi-Wan to see the pain in his Master’s eyes. It didn’t help, seeing that Qui-Gon knew he’d done wrong. It just made it worse.
When Chancellor Kaj ended the official meeting, Obi-Wan immediately rose and headed for the door. Briefly he paused there, waiting to follow his Master according to custom, but Kaj instead beckoned Qui-Gon back to her. “Oh, listen, can I ask for some advice? It’s a personal thing—I want to give Master Yoda some sort of gift when I leave, a kind of thank-you for all the work we’ve done together, but he’s so hard to shop for—”
Qui-Gon was stuck, which meant Obi-Wan was free to do what he wanted most: leave.
Figuring out what to do afterward…that was the difficult part.
* * *
—
He wouldn’t even tell me he’d no longer be my Master? I wasn’t even worth informing?
Obi-Wan stopped himself. He opened his eyes, taking in the serene interior of one of the Temple’s meditation chambers: glassy blue spherical walls, soft cushions on the floor on which to sit or lie, gentle chimes in the background. Peaceful, soothing, and absolutely useless to Obi-Wan in his current state of mind. If he couldn’t calm his mood through meditation here, he couldn’t do it anywhere.
Anger sometimes refused to leave the soul except through the body.
By this time it was late at night—after the younglings’ curfew, after all official meetings, when most of the few Jedi who roamed the halls belonged to nocturnal species. Obi-Wan’s footsteps echoed through the vaulted hallways, unnaturally loud in the silence of the Temple. He wondered if he felt conspicuous because of that sound, or because he didn’t have any idea how much others knew.
Had he been the last to discover that his Master was leaving him without so much as a word? Or would he have to explain to everyone why he was a seventeen-year-old Padawan in search of a new Master? He’d never even heard of that before. Was he the first disposable Padawan in the ten-thousand-year history of the Jedi?
Obi-Wan caught himself. That couldn’t be true. At least, it probably wasn’t true. But there was no point in painting his situation as worse than it was. It was already bad enough.
His path took him along the tunnel that led through the aquatic levels of the Temple, where the Jedi and Padawans from waterworlds lived and trained, at least part-time. Rippling lines of blue light illuminated the arched, translucent ceiling, through which he could make out the forms of two younglings—a Mon Calamari and a Selkath—swimming overhead. Were they out after curfew, or did diurnal cycles run differently on the aquatic levels?
There was still so much Obi-Wan hadn’t discovered about the Temple, about the Jedi. At the moment it felt as though he might not even get the chance to learn.
Finally he reached the Padawans’ dojo. Here, younger Jedi could train and practice together, both to spend time with friends and to learn from their peers. Able to teach one another much, Padawans are, Yoda had explained, and far more able are they when their Masters watch not.
He paced the length of the hexagonal floor, centering himself as best he could before finally drawing his lightsaber from his belt. Its hum filled the silence, and his grip instinctively strengthened in response to its faint vibration. Breathing in deeply, Obi-Wan assumed battle stance and began the cadences.
The basic cadences were where everyone began.
The primary moves, key defenses, potential attacks. Obi-Wan had become very strong in the starter cadences over the years; like most Padawans, he’d expected to be shown other forms of combat, to choose another one to train in and begin establishing his individual expertise.
Qui-Gon still kept Obi-Wan practicing the basics.
Why? We’ve had misunderstandings in combat, but he can’t argue with my fighting technique. Obi-Wan slashed through the air, spun his lightsaber, relished the way its hum warped with every movement. I’ve never let him down there, at least.
As he practiced, memories of past battles, past successes, cleared the fog of resentment from Obi-Wan’s mind. The future intruded little on his thoughts, and when it did he imagined potential Masters watching him practice, being impressed, and resolving to do better by this Padawan than—
“Very good.” Qui-Gon’s rich voice echoed through the dojo. “You’re even faster than I realized.”
Obi-Wan managed to stop in place without flinching or betraying surprise. He held his lightsaber poised horizontally across his chest, its blue light casting everything beyond it, including Qui-Gon, in black and white. “This is the Padawans’ dojo,” Obi-Wan said.
“I was once a Padawan, you know.” Qui-Gon stepped farther into the dojo, looking up into its vaulted ceiling, where various hand marks and footprints testified to Padawans practicing more athletic styles of lightsaber combat.
“I didn’t mean that you wouldn’t know where it was.”
Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow. “You meant, what am I doing here, where I don’t belong?”
He seemed so…calm. Even amused. Whatever generosity Obi-Wan had tried to feel toward his Master weakened. “I wasn’t asking a question, actually.”
The unspoken rebuke flowed around Qui-Gon like water. Qui-Gon Jinn might be an imperfect, unorthodox Jedi in many ways, but Obi-Wan had to envy his Master’s ease. Instead of either arguing with Obi-Wan about his right to be there or just walking out, Qui-Gon said, “I wanted to apologize for this morning. That’s not the way you should’ve learned about my invitation to the Council. I’d debated telling you, but thought I should wait until I’d made my final decision.”
Obi-Wan bit back a bitter laugh. “Are you seriously considering declining? Were you ever? I doubt it.”
Qui-Gon sighed. “Fair enough. Your reaction is understandable. But I have reservations. Concerns that I must resolve within myself before I can commit to a position of such responsibility.”
“Concerns you wouldn’t dream of discussing with me.”
That comment finally pierced Qui-Gon’s damnable calm. There was an edge to his voice as he said, “I suspected you would be too upset to discuss this rationally. Apparently I was correct.”
“I thought you said my reaction was understandable,” Obi-Wan shot back. “So why does it disqualify me from hearing the truth?”
Qui-Gon put his hands on his broad belt, the way he did when he was beginning to withdraw into himself. “…we should discuss this at another time. Neither of us is his best self at the present.”
Even through his mood, Obi-Wan knew Qui-Gon was right about that much. But he couldn’t stand to drop it so easily. “I’ve been asking myself why you’ve never trained me past the basic cadences.” He twirled his lightsaber, brought it down into a lower stance. “You can’t have thought my skill was inadequate. So why not move on? But now I think I know the answer.”
“Enlighten me,” Qui-Gon said drily.
“Because you decided a long time ago that you’d get rid of me one way or another. That we wouldn’t work as Master and Padawan, so why bother planning ahead? Why even try? You knew it would be up to someone else to finish my training.” Obi-Wan flicked his lightsaber off. “You turned out to be a prophet after all, Master.”
Qui-Gon remained silent so long that Obi-Wan first thought he’d won the debate. Finally he replied, “I kept you in the basics for a reason, Obi-Wan. And if you’d ever understood why, you might have understood me well enough for us to excel as master and apprentice. As it is—I suppose the Force sometimes ensures things turn out for the best.”
His Master walked out. For a long time, Obi-Wan remained in the dojo, battling his darker emotions, and wondering all over again why Qui-Gon Jinn was such a mystery.
Dully he told himself, It’s like Qui-Gon said. It’s for the best.
But it didn’t feel like it.
* * *
—
There were some things Averross had never gotten to like about Pijal, even after eight years on this planet. Luckily, the food wasn’t one of them. These people knew how to eat.
“You’ve invited the Jedi?” Czerka Sector Supervisor Meritt Col raised an eyebrow as she motioned to the server to bring her another serving of the shaak. The raised outline of the server’s tracking chip was barely visible on top of her left hand—a few millimeters of metal that marked her enslavement. They dined in style at the palace. “Of course help is needed, but private security companies could be called in.”
“Hired guns won’t care about anything but their paycheck,” Rael Averross said, picking up his shaak leg by the bone. Sauce dripped down his fingers. “Won’t see anything their procedures haven’t trained them to see. But a Jedi Knight? A Jedi can sort through this in a fifth of the time some mercenary would take.”
Averross sat at one head of the dark wooden table with its gold inlay; Princess Fanry sat at the other, the candledroid chandelier catching the iridescent threads in the scarf wrapped around her hair. Supervisor Col sat at his right hand in her usual starchy white uniform. Palace etiquette declared that the seat next to Fanry was the one of higher honor—but Averross never had given a damn about etiquette. Besides, this meal was more than a formal banquet. It was a business meeting, just one of the endless tasks Averross undertook so Fanry wouldn’t have to.
But Fanry—while remaining poised and charming, as a princess must—was obviously listening to him very carefully. She was doing exactly as he’d taught her to do: Always listen. Always learn. Always dig out more layers beneath court protocol.
He smiled to himself and thought, Atta girl.
Supervisor Col was smiling, too, but she remained unimpressed. “That prompts the question, Lord Regent—if a Jedi can solve this problem so simply, why haven’t you handled it?”
“Because the situation needs…fresh eyes.” Averross took another deep quaff of lunar wine, in the hope it would blunt the edges of what he had to say. He didn’t like admitting his weaknesses at any time, least of all when it came to protecting Fanry. “I’ve lived on Pijal for eight years now, Supervisor. Not just that—I’ve lived in the royal palace. The princess’s problems have been my problems. Her world’s been my world. My view’s the view from a castle window, and you know as well as I do—that view doesn’t show you everything. Somebody new is gonna pick up on things I won’t.”
But there was so much about Pijal that an outsider could never fully understand. As much as Averross looked forward to Fanry’s coronation, he could hardly imagine his life after that. He figured Fanry would ask him to stay on as an adviser, and he badly wanted to accept. But he also knew the Council would insist upon his doing something new to prove he wasn’t overly attached to any one place, any one mission. Averross agreed with that general principle—but his work here on Pijal was different. He felt like he was doing real good. Like he mattered. And his knowledge of the planet meant he had more to offer here than anywhere else.
Of course, the Council would never admit that, passel of bureaucrats that they were.
If staying on Pijal meant leaving the Jedi…Averross didn’t have a damn clue what he’d choose.
Supervisor Col nodded thoughtfully, though her dark eyes still betrayed suspicion. Averross knew she’d been a supervisor for more than two decades, gaining authority over commerce in more and more systems over the
years. She was careful, canny, controlled. “I take your point, Lord Regent. Yet we at Czerka are concerned that a new Jedi won’t understand our arrangements on this planet. Even you took a while to perceive the…correctness of what we do here.”
“When I was young and naïve,” Averross said with a grin. “Well. Maybe not that naïve.”
He’d also been in the kind of pain that warped your mind—the kind you never got over, no matter how hard you tried—but that wasn’t something Meritt Col needed to know.
Col smiled politely but pursued her point. “What if the Order sends someone else ‘young and naïve’?”
“I’ve requested someone specific. The sharpest Jedi I’ve ever worked with. He’d never let us down.” It felt so good, Averross thought, actually knowing who to trust. “I’m surer of Qui-Gon Jinn than any other person I know.”
* * *
—
Late at night, Qui-Gon remained awake in his quarters, a datapad providing the only light.
He’d gone over this record before. Right after it happened, Qui-Gon had watched it repeatedly, as had others in the Jedi Order. Ultimately, the Council had vindicated Rael Averross.
Qui-Gon had never been sure it was the right decision.
The cargo freighter Advent had been ferrying foodstuffs to a system suffering from desperate famine, with Rael Averross and his Padawan supervising. Worries about pirate activity in that sector meant every external sensor was checked constantly.