Star Wars - Jedi Apprentice 03 - The Hidden Past

by Jude Watson

  Qui-Gon leaped down from the crate. With one stroke she sliced through three droids. Their metallic heads clattered to the floor and rolled. Their bodies twitched, puzzled, the collapsed.

  Obi-Wan cut through the first droid on his right, then used his momentum to twist and roll into the legs of a second. The droid wobbled, trying to aim as Obi-Wan sliced through its spindly legs with his lightsaber. As soon as the droid fell, Obi-Wan dealt a blow to the control panel on its chest. The droid collapsed, inoperative.

  But Obi-Wan was already moving on to the next and the next, and the next. He could sense Qui-Gon’s movements behind him, and knew that Qui-Gon was driving the droids back toward the crumbling wall of the landing platform. Fighting, slicing, always moving, Obi-Wan was able to reach the outer flank of the droids, allowing him to drive them back to where Qui-Gon wanted them.

  There were only four droids left standing when the Jedi were able to maneuver them against the wall. Working in tandem, Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan avoided the constant blaster fire and, with a sudden movement, rushed the droids, slicing through their jointed legs. The four collapsed in a heap, and Qui-Gon attacked again, making sure they were down for good.

  He turned to look at Obi-Wan. His blue eyes gleamed.

  “So they weren’t escorts,” he said. “I was wrong. It happens.”

  “I’ll remember that,” he said with a grin.

  Qui-Gon twisted, searching the hanger with a frown. “Where’s that blasted Pilot?”

  The Phindian was gone.

  Qui-Gon strode back up the ramp into the ship. The control console had been disabled, hit by blaster fire.

  “They must have ordered a droid to do that while the rest were fighting,” Qui-Gon said with a frown. “Now we can’t take off again.”

  Qui-Gon reached for his comlink. He pressed the coordinates to reach Yoda, but nothing happened. “Communications must be jammed on this world,” he murmured. “Obviously, they don’t want interference.”

  “What should we do, Master?” Obi-Wan asked.

  “We need to talk to Pilot,” Qui-Gon answered.

  “But how will we find him?”

  Qui-Gon’s mouth tightened. “Don’t worry. He’ll find us.”

  Chapter 4

  They left the landing platform and followed a narrow, twisting street into the heart of the city. Qui-Gon directed Obi-Wan to raise his hood to cover his face.

  “We must be on Phindar,” Qui-Gon murmured. “All those we’ve passed have been Phindians, and I know we’re close to Gala. This is Probably Laressa, their capital city. I do not think there are many alien people on this world. We must try not to attract attention. Keep your arms inside your cloak.”

  Obi-Wan obeyed him. “But Master, why do you say Pilot will find us? How do you know?”

  “Landing here was no accident, Obi-Wan.”

  It seemed like a complete accident to Obi-Wan, but he knew better than to say so. Instead he turned his attention to his surroundings. He was not distracted now. He forgot it was his birthday, forgot everything but watching how his Master moved through the streets. As they grew closer to the center of the city and the streets grew more crowded, Qui-Gon changed. Usually, the Jedi Master’s bearing alone commanded attention. He was a large, powerfully built man and he moved with grace.

  But on this planet, Qui-Gon moved differently. He lost what made him unique and shuffled along with the crowd. Obi-Wan watched, and learned. He, too, matched his pace to those around him. He glanced at what they glanced at, looked away, kept his eyes ahead, all with the rhythm of the passerby. He saw that Qui-Gon was doing the same. The look of fierce attention was gone from Qui-Gon’s gaze, but Obi-Wan knew he was taking in everything.

  Phindar was a strange world. The people were dressed simply, and Obi-Wan could see that their clothes had been mended many times. Readout signs in shops announced in scrolling type NOTHING TODAY or CLOSED UNTIL SHIPMENT. Phindians would glance at the signs, sigh, and plod on further, their market baskets empty. Lines formed outside shuttered shops, as if the Phindians were willing to chance that they would open soon.

  Assassin droids were everywhere, their joints clicking, heads rotating. On the muddy, unpaved street, gleaming silver landspeeders zoomed by with no regard for traffic rules or pedestrians attempting to cross.

  A current ran between the people, and Obi-Wan reached out with the Force to meet and understand it. What was the feeling?

  “Fear,” Qui-Gon remarked quietly. “It’s everywhere.”

  A groups of three Phindians dressed in full-length metallic silver coats suddenly appeared on the walkway. They strode, shoulder to shoulder, their dark visors swallowing up the sunlight. The other Phindians quickly moved off the walkway into the muddy road. Obi-Wan’s steps faltered, astonished. The people had moved so quickly and without thought, stepping into the mud with a reaction born of habit. The silver-coated Phindians didn’t falter, but took charge of the walkway as if it were their right.

  Qui-Gon gave Obi-Wan a hard tug on his cape, and quickly they both stepped off the paved walkway into the muddy street. The silver-coated men marched by.

  As soon as they passed, the other Phindians, without a word, climbed back onto the paved walkway. Once again, they began the process of looking into shops, then turning away when they saw there was nothing for sale.

  “Do you notice anything strange about some of them?” Qui-Gon murmured. “Look at their faces.”

  Obi-Wan gazed into the faces of the passersby. He saw resignation, desperation. But slowly he realized that on some faces he saw . . . nothing. There was a strange blankness in their eyes.

  “Something is not right here,” Qui-Gon remarked softly. “It is more than fear.”

  Suddenly, a large gold landspeeder screamed around a corner. The Phindians in the street scurried to safety, and the others on the walkway shrank back against the buildings.

  Obi-Wan felt the dark side of the Force shimmer outward from the gold speeder. With a slight touch to his shoulder, Qui-Gon led Obi-Wan to withdraw silently and quickly. They faded back into an alley and watched the speeder blast by.

  A silver-coated driver was at the controls. In the back were two figures. They wore long coats of gold. The Phindian woman had lovely orange eyes shot through with gold the color of her coat. The male next to her was larger than most, with the long, powerful arms of the Phindian people. He did not wear a mirrored visor, and his small, bronze-colored eyes swept the street arrogantly.

  Obi-Wan didn’t need a Temple lesson in order to pay attention. His senses were on alert. Qui-Gon was right. Something was very wrong. Every detail he had seen told him so. Evil was at work here.

  The gold speeder zoomed around the corner, nearly hitting a child who was being frantically pulled along by her mother. Obi-wan stared after the speeder, incredulous.

  “Come, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon said. “Let’s go to the market.”

  They crossed the street into a large plaza. It was an open-air market like ones Obi-wan had seen on Bandomeer and Coruscant. Only here, there were plenty of stalls, but nothing for sale. Some scraps of metal, fit for nothing. A few rotten vegetables.

  Still, the market was crowded with people milling about. Obi-wan had no idea what they could be buying. In a shop window across the plaza, Obi-Wan saw a worker power up a readout sign. The word flashed in red: BREAD. Suddenly, the mass of people began pushing and hurrying toward the shop. Within seconds, there was a line that snaked around the perimeter of the plaza.

  Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon almost lost each other in the confusion. Then, suddenly, a figure stood at qui-Gon’s elbow.

  “So nice to see the Jedi again,” Pilot remarked in a pleasant tone, as if he were admiring the weather. “Follow, please.”

  Chapter 5

  Qui-Gon melted behind Pilot. Obi-wan followed. He had no idea how Qui-Gon had known that Pilot would find them, or why Qui-Gon trusted him to lead them.

  Pilot loped through twisting alleys and narrow side streets.
He moved quickly, often looking from right to left, or up above to the rooftops, as if her were afraid they were being followed. Obi-Wan was sure that they doubled back on their trail a few times. Finally, Pilot stopped before a small café with a window so streaked with dirt that Obi-Wan could not glimpse the interior.

  Pilot opened the door and hurried them through. It took a moment for Obi-Wan’s eyes to adjust. A few small halo-lamps were mounted on the wall, but they did little to chase away the gloom. A half-dozen empty tables were scattered around the space. A faded green curtain hung in the doorway.

  Pilot pushed aside the curtain and led the Jedi down a hallway past a tiny, cluttered kitchen to a smaller room at the back. The room was empty except for one customer who sat, his back to the wall, in an alcove farthest from the door.

  The customer stood and spread his long Phindian arms.

  “Obawan!” he cried.

  It was Obi-Wan’s friend Guerra!

  Guerra’s orange eyes beamed at Obi-Wan. “You come at last, friend! How glad I am to see you, no lie!”

  “I’m glad to see you, too, Guerra,” Obi-wan answered. “and surprised.”

  “It is a surprise, ha!” Guerra chortled. “But I had nothing to do with it. Not so, I lie! I think you met my brother, Paxxi Derida.”

  Pilot smiled at them. “it is my honor to have brought you here. Good journey, yes?”

  Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow at Obi-Wan. The cheerful Derida brothers were acting as though the Jedi had accepted an invitation for a friendly visit. Instead, they’d been hijacked, fired on, then abandoned.

  Qui-Gon walked farther into the room. “So Pilot deliberately dumped the fuel, didn’t he.”

  “Please do call me Paxxi, Jedi-Gon,” Paxxi said amiably. “Of course I dumped fuel. We did not expect you to say yes to a Phindian journey.”

  “Did you know about this?” Obi-Wan asked Guerra.

  “No, I was unaware,” Guerra answered earnestly.

  “Not so, you lie, brother!” Paxxi said, digging Guerra in the ribs.

  “True, I lie, I do!” Guerra agreed. “I was on the ship, hidden in the cargo hold. After I escaped the mining platform, there were those who wanted to bring me back to work in the mines. But I longed for Phindar. So here I am!”

  “But why did you hide?” Obi-Wan asked. “And since you are native Phindians, why didn’t you just land?”

  “Good question, very smart, Obawan,” Guerra said earnestly. “First of all, there is a blockade. And second, criminals are especially not welcome, even if they’re natives.”

  “You’re a criminal?” Obi-Wan couldn’t believe it.

  “Oh, yes, but such a little one,” Guerra said.

  “No so, brother! You have price on your head!” Paxxi chortled. “As do I! Assassin droids are ordered to shoot on sight!”

  “So, it is true, brother!” Guerra agreed. “You are right again, for the first time!”

  “Who put a price on your head?” Qui-Gon asked. Obi-Wan could see that he was both irritated and amused by the Deridas. “And why?”

  “The Syndicat,” Guerra answered. His amiable face grew grave. “Vast criminal organization who has gained control of Phindar. Things are very bad here, Jedi. I’m sure you saw, even in the short time you were here. They started the blockade. No one can leave, no one can land. But we thought even the Syndicat wouldn’t oppose two Jedi in trouble. They would let you land, refuel, and take off again. Then my brother and I could sneak out and stay on Phindar. Easy plan!” Guerra congratulated himself. “Very smart! Not so,” he amended with a look at Qui-Gon. “It didn’t happen that way . . . .”

  “No, it didn’t” Obi-Wan spoke up. “first of all, we were attacked by assassin droids. Now we’re stuck on Phindar with no way to get off.”

  “A, I’ve thought of this!’ Guerra exclaimed. “true, it seems you are stuck. But en though the main spaceport is tightly controlled by the Syndicat, there are ways to get people off-planet, if you have enough money.”

  “But we’re Jedi,” Obi-Wan said impatiently. “We don’t have much money. Maybe you should pay, since it’s your fault that were stranded.”

  “True, Obawan! We should pay! Do you hear this, Paxxi?” Guerra asked, amused. He and Paxxi held on to each other’s shoulders and laughed loudly in each other’s faces.

  When they stopped, Guerra wiped tears from his eyes. “Good joke, Obawan. Very funny. We have no money. But no worry, please. We have a way to get money. Much money. We can do this easily. Well, not so – we might need a little help from Jedi.”

  “Ah,” Qui-Gon said lightly. He fixed his penetrating blue stare on Guerra. “Now we finally get to the truth. Why don’t you tell us the real reason you brought us here . . . and why you want us to stay?”

  Chapter 6

  Guerra smiled at Qui-Gon. “Wait, my friend. You seem to say that we deceived you, yes? Me, deceive my friend Obawan? How could such a thing be?”

  Qui-Gon waited.

  “Oh, my, perhaps I did so,” Guerra said. “But for such a good reason!”

  “What’s the reason, Guerra?” Obi-Wan asked. “And this time, tell the whole truth.”

  “I always tell the whole truth to Obawan,” Guerra assured him. “well, not so. But now, I will for you, Jedi men of honor. But where to begin?”

  “Why don’t you tell us why there is a death order on your head,” Qui-Gon suggested. “That seems like a good place to start.”

  “True, it is so! Well, I suppose the Syndicat would call me a thief,” Guerra said. “And others as well.”

  “Not a thief, brother!” Paxxi interrupted. “A freedom fighter who steals!”

  “True, thank you, brother,” Guerra said, bowing to Paxxi. “That is what I am. And my brother as well. You see, the Syndicat controls everything. Food and materials, med supplies, heat, everything Phindians need to survive. Naturally, in such a situation, one must find ways to buy and sell things the Syndicat does not control.”

  “A black market,” Qui-Gon supplied.

  “Yes, so, a black market, you could say,” Guerra agreed, nodding. “We steal a little here, sell a little there. But all for the good of the people!”

  “An your own profit,” Qui-Gon added.

  “Well, that too. Shall we suffer more than we are already?” Paxxi asked. “But the Syndicat doesn’t like this. If we are to steal, we must steal for them. This, we refuse.”

  “Why should we give our talents to a gang of thieves?” Guerra asked, pounding the table. “Of course, we are thieves ourselves. But honest ones!”

  “So, my brother!” Paxxi agreed. “And we are not murderers and dictators.”

  “So, my brother!” Guerra nodded. “that’s why we must free our beloved planet from the grip of these monsters. The Syndicat leader is Baftu. He is a gangster without a conscience. He enjoys seeing the people suffer!” Guerra’s orange eyes were mournful. “And his assistant Terra is no better, I am sorry to say. For all her beauty, her heart is black and cold.”

  “They must be the Phindians we saw in the gold landspeeder,” Obi-Wan said.

  “They were in gold coats?” Paxxi asked. “Yes, they are the ones.”

  Guerra and Paxxi shared a sad look. They shook their heads, their cheerfulness gone.

  “What about the people we saw on the street?” Qui-Gon asked. “The ones with the blank faces.”

  Paxxi and Guerra shared another mournful look. Guerra sighed.

  “The renewed,” he said softly. “So sad.”

  “So,” Paxxi agreed.

  “It is the method of ultimate control,” Guerra explained. “You know the memory wipe?”

  Obi-Wan nodded. “it’s used to reprogram droids. It removes all traces of their memory and training so they can be reprogrammed.”

  Guerra nodded. “The Syndicat has developed a device to do this to Phindians who they consider enemies or agitators. They memory wipe the person, then drop them on another world, somewhere terrible. The person has no memory of who
they are or what they can do. It is a game for the Syndicat. They bet on how long the person will survive. A probe droid follows them and sends back holo-pictures of what happens. Most do not survive.”

  Qui-Gon’s face went very still. Obi-Wan has seen that look before, a look that spoke of how deeply Qui-Gon was outraged at injustice and sheer cruelty.

  “And some are not sent off-planet,” Paxxi said softly. “That is saddest of all, maybe. Phindar is full of rootless people who do not remember their families, their loved ones. Or the things they could once do. They are helpless. Now Phindar is full of those who pass their fathers, their wives, their children on the street and do not recognize them.”