by Claudia Gray
Rael Averross had tutored Princess Fanry in the corporate structure of Czerka. (This was no small feat, since that structure was as labyrinthine as the government of any planet she’d ever studied.) She could envision some of the requests Col would have. The specific requests, however, were beside the point.
“You won’t really need me, though.” Fanry took a sip of fruit punch from her pink glass. “Since I won’t be an absolute ruler. Just a constitutional one.”
“That doesn’t mean you won’t have power!” Col laughed brightly. “The people still look to you. Care for you. Haven’t they asked you to bless the soulcraft next week? Your symbolic authority is greater than any real authority could ever be.”
Symbolic authority, Fanry thought. That had a nice ring. The sound of it—well, it was friendlier than absolute monarch, wasn’t it? Kinder. More in touch with the greater galaxy. Not cemented into the traditions of the past. It was something entirely new.
She smiled up at Col and said, “Then I guess we’ll have lots to talk about after the ceremony.”
“So very much!” Col held her glass out for them to clink them together, as though toasting the brighter future to come.
* * *
—
Throughout their work with the crew of the Meryx, Qui-Gon noticed that Obi-Wan largely remained silent. Not peculiar behavior, for a Padawan…but unusual for Obi-Wan, who generally weighed in whether it was appropriate or not. Qui-Gon didn’t acknowledge this until much later, after they’d bid farewell to Pax and Rahara for the evening and were taking the cruiser back to Pijal.
“What troubles you?” Qui-Gon said.
Sometimes Obi-Wan tried to pretend he wasn’t troubled, but today he didn’t bother. “We made a deal with thieves.”
“Jewel thieves,” Qui-Gon added. “When you put it that way, it has a bit more panache to it, don’t you think?”
“Panache?” Oh, how red Obi-Wan’s cheeks could get when he was on the verge of high moral outrage. “These people steal for a living. And we agreed to let them get away with it! And—and you’re laughing at me.”
“I’m laughing at moral absolutism. You just happen to be displaying it at the moment.”
Obi-Wan remained unamused. “We made a deal with the Hutts because we had to, if we were going to get off Teth alive. But this? We can’t find a better way of disguising our movements? Surely there’s something more clandestine than a flashy thieves’—excuse me, jewel thieves’ ship.”
“No doubt there is,” Qui-Gon said, settling back in his chair as the gravitational pull of the moon released them with a faint shudder. The tug of Pijal would take them in soon enough. “But I was curious about them. They took a great risk, exposing themselves to help save the people aboard the soulcraft.”
It was like watching Obi-Wan wilt, as the realization washed over him. “They’re more than just thieves. I ought to have remembered that.”
“I think at the moment you’re a bit weary of me,” Qui-Gon said gently. “Under the circumstances, no one could blame you. Pax and Rahara were never the ones you were truly upset about.”
Obi-Wan didn’t acknowledge this out loud, but already his temper had improved. “So we investigated them. That didn’t mean we had to partner with them. Is that also about your curiosity?”
“Partly. Partly because it actually is excellent cover for us to move around the moon without being exposed. And partly because I wanted to give them a chance to be…better. Bigger of spirit. That rescue suggests they have it in them.”
“People are more than their worst act,” Obi-Wan recited. It was something Qui-Gon had said to him many times, which at last seemed to be sinking in. “At least, most people. And they are also more than the worst thing ever done to them.”
The dark scar on Rahara Wick’s left hand flashed through Qui-Gon’s mind. “We could both bear to keep that in mind while dealing with Rael Averross, as well.”
Obi-Wan didn’t look up from the cruiser’s controls, despite the fact that there was virtually nothing for him to do until they got much closer to Pijal. “You still have doubts about him?”
I do, Qui-Gon wanted to say—but couldn’t. “Despite everything that’s happened, Rael remains a Jedi Knight. A man committed to his duty. You can’t have missed his devotion to the princess.”
“I didn’t,” Obi-Wan said quietly. “But perhaps we should evaluate Jedi by criteria other than their dedication to the younger people they protect.”
The jab pierced Qui-Gon, all the more painful for the element of surprise. It wasn’t that Obi-Wan had never tried to say anything hurtful before; he’d just never hit the target so squarely. Worst of all—Qui-Gon wasn’t sure Obi-Wan had even meant to hurt him. He simply meant what he said. That was what really stung.
“You’re too dedicated to ideals rather than reality, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon said, hating the answering sharpness in his voice, but unable to resist it. “To the point of sacrificing your principles.”
Evenly, Obi-Wan replied, “I thought members of the Jedi Council were meant to represent the ideal.”
“The Council deals with the messier aspects of reality all the time.” This conversation had gone far enough. “Obi-Wan, why don’t you check the alluvial dampers? The readings on those are a bit strange.” They were mere fractions of a point off optimal range, but it was the first distraction he could think of.
Rarely was he so transparent. Obi-Wan did him the courtesy of not gloating, and instead went to check the obviously fully operational alluvial dampers. He paused at the cockpit archway, though, and said, “I guess this is another point in favor of the old prophecies.”
“What do you mean?”
“I just remember—wasn’t there one that talked about the kyber that isn’t kyber?” Obi-Wan frowned. “It was something like that, anyway.”
“You’re right.” Qui-Gon’s curiosity got the better of any awkward feelings. “I’ll look it up.”
As Obi-Wan got to work, Qui-Gon did so as well, using his datapad to search the translated texts he’d been studying. There it was: When the kyber that is not kyber shines forth, the time of prophecy will be at hand.
It’s only a metaphor, he thought, as he always did. Even the ancient mystics probably never meant for it to be taken literally. It’s not as though some “time of prophecy” was meant to come around and make all their symbolic predictions become real.
So Qui-Gon had believed, at least since he was thirteen years old. So he would have said to anyone who asked him, and would say to Obi-Wan if his Padawan brought up the subject again.
Yet he couldn’t deny the uncanny thrill that swept through him.
The orange glow of the kohlen crystals. The kyber that is not kyber.
The time of prophecy will be at hand.
Qui-Gon stands in the cave. The orange crystals glitter around him, reflecting a source of light he cannot see.
Then the crystals darken, turning red—as though with Sith fire.
He hears a scream. No, several screams. He can no longer see the crystals, because the cave has turned white. Has turned glorious, with gilded walls and a glass ceiling that looks up at the sky. Beneath his feet are midnight-blue tiles.
And ahead of him, he glimpses the colorless image of a blazing lightsaber superimposed over Princess Fanry’s face.
“The Skykeeper!” someone shouts. Qui-Gon looks for whoever spoke—looks for anything he will recognize or understand—but he looks in vain.
Another voice shrieks in terror as the lightsaber slashes downward. In the very far distance he hears somebody say, very calmly, “Even the Jedi can fall”—
* * *
—
Qui-Gon woke with a start. Using the traditional exercises, he slowed his heartbeats and breath, reasserting calm over his physical form. Most dreams faded quickly upon awakening, but t
his one only grew more vivid.
There was no reason for him to have a dream about the Sith. No reason to fear that anyone with a lightsaber would interfere with the treaty ceremony, and surely Rael’s blade would always protect Fanry. No reason to think the Jedi Order would ever fall.
And yet the dream shook him to a level few others ever had. It felt…more than real.
It felt certain.
The ancient mystics had sought visions of the future. In return, they’d been visited with dreams like this one, dreams they spun into cryptic “predictions” that really were nothing of the sort. That was what Rael had always believed. What Dooku had determined. What Qui-Gon had told himself for a quarter of a century.
But now, sitting in this broad bed, he could not believe that convenient, rational interpretation. Instead he sensed he’d glimpsed something that could truly come to pass.
But what?
* * *
—
Averross lay in his bed, staring up at the richly ornamented ceiling. Everything else in his chamber had gotten more comfortable over time—regular old chairs, his stuff in reasonable piles, that kind of thing—but the ceiling he couldn’t do anything about. It always reminded him that he was in a palace.
He should have asked for a bottle of something good to be put in his room, Corellian ale or Port in a Storm, maybe. But he couldn’t ask for it now, no matter how much he’d like to put away a glass or two. Well, it wasn’t like he hadn’t had a good night anyway—
“Rael?” Qui-Gon Jinn’s voice came from the doorway. “May I speak with you?”
“Qui-Gon?” Averross scrambled out of bed, grabbing for his dressing gown. “Be right with ya!”
But for those who lived in the Jedi Temple—a communal space—privacy was more a concept than a reality. Averross remembered when it had been that way for him, too. So he couldn’t be angry when Qui-Gon walked straight in.
Just embarrassed.
“Ah,” Qui-Gon said, staring at the woman in Averross’s bed. “Forgive my intrusion.”
“Selbie was just leavin’,” Averross promised. It happened to be true—she’d already tugged her underdress on, despite his wheedling. But this still won him a glare from Selbie, who might’ve preferred a warmer introduction.
She knows why this is so awkward, he reminded himself as he draped her cloak about her and saw her to the door. She’ll get over it soon enough.
If Selbie didn’t get over it—well, this was no more than a matter of convenience for either of them. There would be others for her, others for him.
Once Selbie had stalked out with her head held high, Averross had no further excuse to avoid eye contact with Qui-Gon. The man’s face was as inscrutable as ever, but the moment the door swung shut behind Selbie, Qui-Gon said, “Have you forgotten yourself entirely?”
Averross laughed. “Oh, please. Like you didn’t—”
“This isn’t about what happened in my past,” Qui-Gon said.
“Oh, no? Guess it’s about hypocrisy, then.”
“There is a difference,” Qui-Gon insisted, righteous as ever, “between falling in love and simply giving oneself license to do as one pleases.”
“Yeah, there is.” Damn, but Averross wished he had that ale around now. “Falling in love—that’s what the Jedi Code forbids. Getting laid? Not so much, not if it’s casual, like me and Selbie. That doesn’t compromise my emotions, doesn’t divide my loyalties, anything like that. I might’ve broken the letter of the law, but not the spirit. On Felucia, you broke the spirit of that law into a dozen pieces.”
Qui-Gon tensed. These words cut deep—or the memories did. The latter, Averross figured. He wasn’t sorry he’d pushed back against Qui-Gon’s empty moralizing, but it wasn’t like he’d wanted to cause his friend pain. So instead of bringing up old stories, or naming long-unspoken names, Averross moved on. “I take it you didn’t storm in here to try to catch the local innkeeper in my bed.”
“The local innkeeper,” Qui-Gon muttered. But already he was moving on. “I came to talk about—about a dream I had.”
Averross scoffed as he lit a cigarra. “Seriously? You came runnin’ in here because you had a bad dream?”
Qui-Gon gave him a dark look. “This wasn’t a mere nightmare, Rael. It was troubling, but more than that, it was vivid. Startlingly so. And it seemed to be during Princess Fanry’s coronation.”
“All right, go on.” Averross hoped this story was worth hearing. No chance it was worth losing out on another few minutes with Selbie, but he had to take his fun where he found it.
“The sequence of events isn’t clear. But it was so strong—so urgent—”
“Wait, wait, wait. Are you about to tell me you’ve turned into a prophet?”
Qui-Gon groaned. “It sounds ludicrous when you put it that way.”
“Sounds ludicrous because it is,” Averross said, before taking another long drag on his cigarra.
“But you studied the prophecies. You know that the mystics truly saw things, that the Force did work through them.”
“Yeah, but that’s not the same as actually learning the whole future. A vision’s way short of an actual prophecy. And those guys spent their entire lifetimes searchin’ just for visions. You seriously think you would’ve learned more about the future than they did?” Averross sighed.
Qui-Gon remained restless, disturbed. Must’ve been one hell of a dream, Averross figured.
More gently, he added, “Get yourself together, man. You’re probably just worried about the mission.”
Averross believed fully that bottling up worries and concerns muddied the spirit. That was why he acted on his urges—immediately, harmlessly, before they could sink in deep to rot. Too bad Qui-Gon wasn’t doing the same.
“The mission’s a concern, of course, but I’m more troubled about Obi-Wan, actually.”
“Yeah?” Averross shoved some dirty clothes aside to take a seat in the chair near the fire. “What’s the matter?”
“He disapproves of my methods. He always has, but it’s worse now.” Qui-Gon ran one hand through his long hair as he admitted, “He found out about my invitation to the Council from someone else. Understandably, he was hurt. But now he’s becoming more rigid. Less understanding.”
“The Force plays jokes with us, doesn’t it?” Averross shook his head. “History repeats itself. You were a kid who wanted to do everything by the book, until you wound up with a Master who thought for himself. Looks like Obi-Wan’s on the same road.”
“I was never as upright as Obi-Wan. At least, I don’t think so.” Qui-Gon leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. The firelight illuminated his long hair, revealing the first glints of gray. It gave Averross a turn, thinking of little Qui-Gon becoming gray-haired. How old did that make him?
“What’s going on, exactly?” Rael asked. “I’m guessin’ you don’t have an arrangement with the local innkeeper, unless Selbie’s better at time management than I thought.”
Qui-Gon’s dark glance meant, That wasn’t funny. Averross didn’t agree, but whatever.
“The details don’t actually matter that much,” Qui-Gon said. “I was wondering how to get him to relax. To think for himself more.”
“While givin’ me hell for not toeing the line?” Averross shook his head. “Listen. This”—he gestured toward his unmade bed—“this doesn’t matter. Not really. Being lord regent doesn’t leave me much time to relax. Neither does taking care of Fanry—trying to help her become a leader, like Nim would’ve been—”
Averross stopped. He’d sworn to himself he wouldn’t talk about Nim with Qui-Gon. With anyone, really. He’d spoken to Fanry about her plenty of times, but at this point Averross had spent more time with Fanry than any other living being except his old Master, Dooku.
Yet there had always been something about Qui-Go
n, even when he was barely more than a child, that made people want to tell the truth.
Qui-Gon murmured, “You think that if you succeed with Fanry, it will make up for what happened to Nim.”
“Nothing makes up for it.” Averross’s voice had already grown hoarse. “Nothing ever can, nothing ever could. But at least it won’t make me feel like I’m poison to anybody I get close to.”
That made Qui-Gon grimace. “I’ve been feeling as though I were—not poison to Obi-Wan, but completely incapable of helping him.”
“I don’t see it. You two wouldn’t be together after this long if you weren’t.”
“I’d considered ending our partnership before now,” Qui-Gon confessed. “Only the invitation to the Council kept me from having to take such a step directly.”
“So what? Now you both have a safe way out. No hurt feelings.”
“A bit late for that.” Qui-Gon didn’t elaborate, which was a relief to Averross. It was tough, listening to the man pretending to be so worried about a Padawan who was clearly smart and capable, bound for a bright future no matter what Qui-Gon had gotten wrong or right.
He kept having to bite back the words, At least Obi-Wan will get out alive. Nim wasn’t so lucky.
Because she had me for a Master.
“Look,” Averross said, casting aside his darker thoughts. “What your Padawan’s doing is totally normal. Adolescents go one of two ways—they’re either rebels to the core, or even stricter than their elders. So Obi-Wan’s the latter. He’ll relax after a while. Know what? If his new Master is stricter than you, I bet he’ll loosen up immediately, just to be contrary.”