by Claudia Gray
The craft banked right so sharply that even the Jedi scrambled to stay on their feet. Although the other staffed ships did the same, a seeker droid took the curve at too rounded an angle and flew over the invisible barrier to the watchtower—
—Which promptly became visible, as in a fiery orange wall of energy, the moment the droid struck it and then exploded.
Soot curled into the air as the droid’s shell went into a spiral, then crashed onto the stone wall. Averross cursed. “A trap. The damn Opposition led us into a trap!”
“Someone did,” Qui-Gon said. “But not the Opposition. Look. Does this seem within the means of a small political group on your moon?”
Qui-Gon pointed at the things Averross had noted for himself—the pricey droideka, the sophisticated armaments. This wasn’t the kind of junk ex-performance artists had on hand.
Deren wasn’t convinced. “We have no idea who else might be funding the blackguards. Plenty of forces in the galaxy would have good reason to interfere with the hyperspace corridor. Forces that would have no compunction about funneling money and arms to terrorists.”
It would be so easy to agree with Deren. But Averross couldn’t. The truth had finally become clear to him, and he wouldn’t deny it.
“So this trap,” Averross said, “you think it was set for us or for the Opposition?”
Basically, he was admitting he’d been wrong. Some people wouldn’t have been able to resist the urge to rub it in. Qui-Gon was better than that. “I’m not sure. Can we destroy the stealth generators and investigate?”
“Let’s do it.” Averross didn’t know what else to think, but he was ready to blow some stuff up.
* * *
—
Although Captain Deren feared more traps and argued strongly against landing, several targeted scans convinced Qui-Gon it was safe to enter the watchtower; no further probes had stirred up additional defensive measures. When their craft touched down, Averross jumped off immediately, stalking across the grounds to what looked like the central structure, at least in antiquity. Light rain began to patter down as everyone else began exploring the site.
“Scans or no scans, we should operate at a high level of caution,” Captain Deren ordered as his troops began to fan out. “In other words, when in doubt, blow it up.”
And if it’s useful evidence? Qui-Gon kept the question to himself. They’d already gleaned the most valuable fact this site had to offer—confirmation that the Opposition wasn’t behind the blackguard attacks—and Deren was protecting his men.
“There’s almost too much to investigate,” said Obi-Wan as he gestured at the various buildings and equipment around them. “Where do we start?”
Qui-Gon considered. “We look for comm devices. Past messages, channels of contact. It looks as though the blackguards abandoned this place in a hurry; otherwise they’d never have left so much behind. If they failed to wipe any communications logs, those may lead us to whoever’s behind this.”
Unfortunately, it appeared the blackguards had recognized that danger. Every main building, every large craft, had had its comm logs completely wiped. When Obi-Wan managed to pull up some records from a deactivated astromech, they were hopeful—but it turned out to contain very little information.
“This doesn’t have anything that leads to Pijal or its moon,” Obi-Wan said, shoulders drooping. “Only messages to and from other systems, and very few of those.”
Qui-Gon scanned the datapad plugged into the astromech. Corellia—probably a straightforward purchase of vessels or weaponry. Scipio—since the InterGalactic Banking Clan was based there, this meant money laundering. Czerka Corporation funneled a lot of its money through Scipio, but so did every other large company in the galaxy, as well as several monarchies, so the link proved nothing. And also—
“Teth?” he said. “Why would the blackguards be in touch with anyone on Teth?”
Obi-Wan’s surprise was the equal of Qui-Gon’s own. “The blackguards couldn’t be working for the Hutts. Could they?”
For a moment it seemed all too plausible. The Hutts would no doubt love to slither into power on the planet that would anchor a major hyperspace corridor. But in that case—“There are records of only two communications between Pijal and Teth,” Qui-Gon said. “If the Hutts were behind this, there would be much more, and the data wouldn’t be stored in a low-security droid.”
“That makes sense,” Obi-Wan agreed, though he was frowning. “Still, if the blackguards were in touch with the Hutts at all, that can’t be good.”
Although Qui-Gon’s gut told him the Hutts didn’t lead to the answers they sought, he was as curious as his apprentice about what this meant. A few clicks with his finger linked the droid to Teth again. “Let’s call and find out.”
It took a few minutes for a live connection to be established. Qui-Gon settled himself on the ground within the droid’s holorange, so he’d look at whoever answered face-to-face. To his displeasure—but not entirely his surprise—the figure that took shape was familiar.
“Jedi Jinn?” Thurible had to have been astonished, but he displayed no sign of it. “I had hoped we would speak again someday.”
“No doubt you didn’t expect it to be today,” Qui-Gon said, “or on this channel. Perhaps you could tell me why you’re in touch with a terrorist organization on the planet Pijal?”
Thurible did look surprised now; the man had to be an accomplished actor. “Terrorist organization? Certainly not. My employer would never condone such actions. We were planning to do business with the legitimate government of Pijal…or, I must admit, perhaps only individuals who claimed to represent the government of Pijal. There are so many dishonest people in the worlds.”
Indeed there were. Qui-Gon came close to saying so, before it occurred to him—what if the person who’d spoken to Thurible was part of the government?
Someone close to the princess. Someone who’d had access to the innermost areas of the palace. Someone who could breach the security defenses because he already knew what they were—or was the person who’d put them into place to begin with.
Someone like Captain Deren.
Qui-Gon glanced over to where Deren worked alongside his fellow soldiers. As the captain of the royal guard, he could have represented himself accurately as a government official. He’d repeatedly tried to convince them not to land in the watchtower and search it. The man’s commitment to his duty seemed so absolute—Qui-Gon had even sensed it through the Force—but could it all be a ruse?
He betrayed none of his suspicions to Thurible. “May I ask what kind of business you were planning to do? What did they want to buy from you?”
Thurible smiled, the expression a brief shadow on the wavering hologram. “Nothing whatsoever. We were the customers.”
“Then what did you want to buy from them?” Obi-Wan asked.
“We had heard rumors—via some cargo-hauler pilots from Corellia, who will go nameless—that the military of Pijal had developed a kind of shield that was impervious to lightsabers,” Thurible said. “Fascinating, from a scientific point of view.”
The implications of this began to sink in for Qui-Gon. “In theory, spice smugglers and gangsters might be able to use such a shield to protect themselves from any interventions by the Jedi.”
“It takes more than blocking a lightsaber to defeat a Jedi,” said Thurible. “But blocking a lightsaber helps, doesn’t it? In theory.”
Enough of this, Qui-Gon decided. “I’m afraid the issue is now purely theoretical, as Pijal has no such shields to offer.”
“Such dishonesty is truly shocking. If anyone from Pijal contacts us in the future, claiming to represent the government, we’ll be very certain to check them out thoroughly.” Thurible half bowed. “Wanbo is expecting a delegation from Garel. I trust you’ll excuse me.”
As soon as Thurible’s hol
ogram faded out, Obi-Wan said, “Have the blackguards been selling these shields all around the galaxy?”
Qui-Gon shook his head no. “Not yet. But they may have been negotiating with Thurible as a sort of test. Seeing how much money they could get, how much interest there might be for an anti-Jedi shield device.”
“It’s not as though we’re defenseless without lightsabers.”
“No. But if a Jedi didn’t know her opponent was shielded—if she were lulled into believing her lightsaber provided protection when it didn’t—it could prove deadly.” Qui-Gon wondered whether Pax Maripher was about to get much better prices for kohlen crystals.
“Master—” Obi-Wan paused, obviously doubting himself. “When Thurible said that about the ‘legitimate government,’ it made me wonder—I don’t want to be unfair—”
“I caught it, too, Padawan. Captain Deren would’ve had opportunity to warn the watchtower blackguards about our raid, which might’ve led to them abandoning the place in a hurry. He tried to keep us out of here, and encouraged blowing up devices that might hold records.”
Obi-Wan added, “The blackguards went after Czerka, the Opposition, us—but never the royal guard.”
“Another excellent point.” Rising to his feet, Qui-Gon looked across the grounds of the watchtower. Deren was hard at work, accounting for the few weapons left behind; there were multiple reasons he might want to do so.
“But—Master, he seems so loyal to the princess,” Obi-Wan said.
“Which he may be. We have no proof. Only suspicions. That means we’ll have to watch Deren very closely.” Qui-Gon turned to his apprentice. “I saw Deren in my vision. Of course he’s playing a role in Fanry’s coronation as the captain of her guard, but it’s possible his appearance has a greater significance.”
Obi-Wan didn’t argue about the vision, which was surprising. “I suppose we can only keep a close eye on him.”
“At this point, yes. That’s all we can do.”
Captain Deren would be standing next to Obi-Wan during the ceremonies. If Qui-Gon’s vision came to pass—and he knew that it would—his Padawan would be at the very center of the danger.
Although Qui-Gon had recovered his faith in prophecies, he understood better than ever before how that belief could lead to darkness. The desire to know the future sprang from a desire to control the future. The desire to control the future sprang from fear—the fear of the depthless pain and loss the future might hold.
The quest for power could be overcome, but never, ever, the fear of losing what mattered most.
It was difficult to speak of something so fraught, so intimate—but there might never be another time. “I’ve been angry with you since you contacted the Council.”
Obi-Wan looked wary, as well he might. “That’s…not surprising.”
“On the way here, though, I realized that all these years, I’d been urging you to be more independent. To trust your instincts, and act on your own initiative. That’s what you did. We disagree on the particulars, but I can’t fault you in principle.”
They both fell briefly silent while one of the security droids rolled by; it might not be programmed to monitor their conversation, but while Deren remained under suspicion, they had to be careful. Once it had traveled farther along, Obi-Wan said, “You know, I never had problems with that as a youngling. Being independent, I mean. I broke rules right and left. They even called me rebellious. Probably the Masters were surprised anyone was willing to take me on as an apprentice.”
In fact, Qui-Gon had been warned about this very thing. He’d long since assumed that the crèche masters’ concern was overcautious. But now, finally, he saw what had happened. He began to laugh.
Obi-Wan stared at him. “Master?”
“Don’t you see, Obi-Wan? They knew you’d rebel against any Master you worked with. So they made sure you wound up with a Jedi who almost never followed the rules. The only way for you to rebel was to become the perfect Jedi.”
“Hardly perfect,” Obi-Wan said, but by now he was laughing, too. “They really did that, didn’t they?”
Qui-Gon shook his head. “Never underestimate Yoda.”
In some ways, he knew, he and his apprentice were still far apart—on separate sides of a profound philosophical divide. With completely different understandings of the Force.
But in other ways, the bond endured. Qui-Gon would have to take what comfort he could in that.
“Relax, kid.” Rael’s hologram shimmered in the center of Qui-Gon’s meditation room. “It sounds like Dooku lost his temper, did something he shouldn’t’ve, but really, when it comes down to it, sometimes you’ve gotta get the job done, you know?”
“That doesn’t sound right to me,” Qui-Gon insisted. He hugged his knees to his chest. “It felt worse than anger. It felt—it felt as though Master Dooku was close to darkness.”
“He was scared because he was worried about you.” Rael shrugged. “That’s another thing the Council’s dead wrong about. They keep sayin’, Oh, the Jedi aren’t allowed to love, and that’s why we’re never supposed to get laid—”
“Rael!” Qui-Gon felt as if somebody might walk in any second. He’d strongly hoped the meditation room would remain empty at this hour so he could speak with Rael in private without being overheard by other Padawans, Dooku, or anyone else. Nobody but Rael could understand the line their Master walked, or the dangerous allure of the prophecies.
But instead of taking this seriously, Rael was joking around and sucking a death stick in a lively cantina on some out-of-the-way planet called Takodana.
“Don’t be so prim,” Rael insisted. “We’re not supposed to love, right? Because it makes us less objective. More likely to respond emotionally instead of rationally. But we still love our friends. We still love our Masters, and they love their Padawans—I mean, somebody brings you up for ten years, unless they’re a total jerk, you’re gonna love ’em. That’s just how people are! Human people, Trandoshan people, Aqualish—”
“I get it, Rael.” Qui-Gon pushed aside his irritation to weigh Rael Averross’s words for what they were really worth. Even if he wasn’t taking this seriously enough, that didn’t mean he was wrong.
Rael nodded at the person who brought his drink, a small wizened creature who wore goggles and a strand of beads. “It just makes sense,” he said more gently. “Dooku saw your life was in danger. He overreacted. But you’re safe, Shenda Mol’s on ice at Stygeon Prime, and Dooku’s back to himself again.”
I don’t know that he is, Qui-Gon wanted to say. The holocron of prophecies had not gone back to the Archives in weeks. Dooku studied it constantly, both with Qui-Gon and without. Although Qui-Gon still liked coming up with theories about how past historical events might have fulfilled certain Masters’ prophetic visions, Dooku’s fascination was all for the future. One prophecy in particular occupied him more than any other: He who learns to conquer death will through his greatest student live again.
“Hey,” Rael said. “You okay?”
“Sure. I should go.” Qui-Gon signed off. If he was going to work through this, it wouldn’t be with Rael. He’d have to do it on his own.
* * *
—
He returned to Dooku’s quarters that evening reluctantly. It had always been nice, before, when he was invited to eat dinner with his Master. Dooku made a formal occasion of it, which like most teenage boys Qui-Gon found awkward, but the food was always better than anything being served in the Padawans’ hall.
Tonight, though, the holocron would be there, too—almost like a third guest, one Qui-Gon didn’t want to see. He still believed in the prophecies, but his Master’s fixation on them had taken on an uncanny cast that colored everything else between them.
Maybe I should talk to him about it myself, Qui-Gon thought as he walked along the corridors of the Temple toward Dooku�
�s quarters. He and Dooku were still firmly Master and apprentice, not friends; Qui-Gon knew better than to assume they were anywhere near being equals.
But if he didn’t speak to Dooku about it, nobody would.
He was still gathering his courage when the door slid open to admit him to Dooku’s quarters. As usual, the table was set with good glasses and dishes, and Dooku wore one of his better robes.
The only change: The holocron of prophecy wasn’t there.
“You’re early,” Dooku said, with satisfaction. He approved of Padawans being early. With a small smile, he made one of his rare attempts at a joke: “You must be terribly hungry, to get here so soon.”
“I am. But—Master—where’s the holocron?”
Dooku stiffened, but he continued to smile. When he spoke, his voice was more pleasant than before, or at least was meant to sound that way. “We’ve spent too much time with it lately, I think. Gotten too caught up in our wild theories. It was…enjoyable, speculating on how the prophecies might be real, wasn’t it? But of course, they’re only metaphors. Only comments on the mystics’ time, not our own.”
“Of course,” Qui-Gon said. And he willed himself to believe it.
If the price of his Master’s soul was refusing to accept that the prophecies might come true, then Qui-Gon intended to do it. So in the days, and months, and years that followed, whenever he walked by the holocron in the Jedi Archives, or remembered one of the quatrains late at night, he would push the thought aside. He didn’t want to believe. So he wouldn’t.
Very, very deep down, he sometimes wondered whether anyone truly believed out of pure faith, or whether people believed whatever they had to, in order to keep going.
But most of the time, Qui-Gon’s thoughts went no further than: Only a metaphor.
Averross had never done this for anyone before. He never intended to do it for anyone again. But just this once—just for Fanry—it was worth it.