Jedi Apprentice 1: The Rising Force (звёздные войны)

by Дэйв Волвертон

  The shock and despair made him feel sick He raised his gaze to Docent Vant. “I could still be a Jedi Knight.”

  Docent Vant touched Obi-Wan’s hand tenderly. She smiled, revealing pointed teeth. She shook her head. “Not every one is meant to be a warrior. The Republic needs healers and farmers, too. With your Force skills, you will be able to treat sick crops. Your talent will help feed whole worlds.”

  “But —“ Obi-Wan wanted to say that he felt cheated. He deserved four more weeks. “It’s a job for rejects, initiates too weak to be knights. Besides, tomorrow Qui-Gon Jinn will be looking for a Padawan. Master Yoda said that I should fight for him.”

  Docent Vant shook her head. “That was before the Masters heard of the beating you gave initiate Bruck. Did you really think the healers would not tell what you had done?"

  In dawning horror, Obi-Wan realized what had happened. Bruck had set the trap, and he had walked straight into it. He wanted to protest, to say that he was innocent. It had been a fair fight. And healers? Surely Bruck had not needed healers — except to back up whatever story he had told.

  “This is not the first time you have let your anger get the best of you,” Docent Vant said. “But let us hope it is the last.” She nodded briskly. “Now, try not to look so sad. You will need to pack your bags and say good-bye to your friends tonight. The galaxy is a big place. They will want to see you before you go.”

  She left, closing the door softly behind her. Obi-Wan was left alone with only the sound of the model fighter flying overhead.

  There was nothing else to do but pack his bags. Obi-Wan felt to devastated and ashamed to say good-bye. Not to Garen Muln or Reeft, or even to his best friend, Bant. They would feel angry and hurt if he left quietly, but he couldn’t face them. His friends would want to know where he was going. Once he had told them that he had been ordered to report to the Agricultural Corps, word would get around. He could imagine how some of the others would laugh, There was nothing he could say or do to clear his name.

  Because the truth was that if Bruck had set the trap, he had walked into it willingly. Blindly and without though, perhaps. But it was his own will that led him there. What kind of Jedi would he make if he could fall for the tricks of a bully like Bruck?

  Obi-Wan threw himself back on his sleep-couch. He had let Master Yoda down. He had thrown away his one last chance by letting anger cloud his mind. Now his worst fear had come true. After all his years of training, he was not good enough to be a Jedi Knight.

  Yoda had always told him that anger and fear drove him too hard, that if he didn’t learn to control them, they would lead him down a path he didn’t want to follow. “Befriend them, you should,” Yoda had advised. “Look them in the eye without blinking. Use faults as teachers, you should. Then, rule you, they will not. Rule them, you shall.”

  Yoda’s wisdom was engraved on his heart. How could he have failed to follow it?

  Outside his door, he heard the rest of the initiates prepare for sleep. Goodnights were exchanged, shouted from chamber to chamber. Finally, the lights powered down, and the halls were silent.

  Obi-Wan felt surrounded by the peaceful energy of the sleeping students. It did not sooth his raging heart. His fellow initiates could rest. They did not have thoughts that tormented them. Obi-Wan tossed and turned, unable to stop imagining the sight of Bruck’s triumphant face when he learned of Obi-Wan’s fate.

  There was a soft knock at his door. Hesitantly, Obi-Wan rose and opened it. Bant stood, not saying a word, just looking at him. The young Calamarian girl wore a green robe that set off her salmon colored skin. Her clothes smelled moist and salty, for she’d just come from her room, which was always kept as steamy as the air off a warm sea. She was small for her ten years of age, and she watched him steadily with her huge silver eyes.

  She took in his bruises and burns, all with an expression that said, You’ve been fighting again. Then she looked past him, to his bags packed on the floor.

  “You weren’t going to say goodbye?” she asked, blinking back huge tears. “You were just going to leave?”

  “I’ve been assigned to the Agricultural Corps,” he said, hoping she’d understand hoe humiliating it was for him. “I wanted to say good-bye, but… “

  She shook her head. “I heard you were going to a planet called Bandomeer.”

  So everyone knew already. Obi-Wan nodded dully just as Bant lurched forward to give him a clumsy hug.

  “Yes, that’s where I’m going,” he said. He hugged her. So, my fate is decided, he realized in despair. I will be a farmer. Because this first good-bye would be followed by others. He couldn’t avoid them.

  Bant frowned and stepped back. “It will be dangerous. Did they tell you it would be dangerous?”

  Obi-Wan shook his head. “It’s just the Agricultural Corps. How dangerous could it get?”

  “We are not to know,” Bant said.

  “We are to do,” Obi-Wan added softly. It was a phrase they had heard many times from the Masters, when they were asked to do tasks that they could not understand the significance of.

  “Miss you, I will,” Bant said, echoing Yoda’s strange way of talking. She blinked back tears.

  “So sorry, I am,” Obi-Wan answered. He tried to smile, but could not. In answer, Bant hugged him again swiftly, then hurried away to hide her tears.

  Chapter 3

  With the help of Jedi healing techniques and the Temple’s marvelous ointments, Obi-Wan Kenobi’s burns and bruises were healed by morning. But the pain in his heart had not eased. He slept briefly, then rose well before dawn.

  He said good-bye to Garen Muln and Reeft, two boys from different sides of the galaxy who had become inseparable in their years in the Jedi Temple.

  All through morning meal, Reeft, a Dresselian with an abnormally wrinkled face, kept saying to everyone at the table, “I don’t mean to be sound greedy, but may I have your meat?” or “I don’t mean to sound greedy, but…” as he looked pointedly at some puff cake or drink. Though Obi-Wan had not had dinner the night before, he shared everything. Bant kindly handed over half her puff cake. With his leathery gray skin and all those wrinkles, the Dresselian could look awfully sad if he did not get everything he wanted to eat.

  “It won’t be so bad,” Garen Muln told Obi-Wan. “At least you’re going on an adventure.” Garen Muln had always been restless. Yoda had often given him extra stillness exercises.

  “And you’ll be around food,” Reeft added hopefully.

  “Who knows where each of us will end up?” Bant added. “The missions to come will be different for each of us.”

  “And unexpected,” Garen Muln agreed. “That’s what Yoda says. Not everyone is meant to be an apprentice.”

  Obi-Wan nodded. It was good that he had given Reeft most of his food. He couldn’t eat. He knew his friends were trying to make him feel better. But they still had plenty of chances to become Jedi. That highest honor was what they all wanted, all they worked for. No matter what they said, they all knew his lost chance was crushing disappointment.

  Around him, Obi-Wan heard the swirl of conversations at the other tables. Students looked over at him, then looked away. Most gazes were compassionate, and some tried to cheer him. But he sensed that the overwhelming feeling in the room was that everyone was glad that what had happened to Obi-Wan had not happened to them.

  At Bruck’s table, the voices were loud and reached their ears. “Always knew he wouldn’t make it,” Bruck’s friend Aalto said loudly. Obi-Wan’s ears burned as he heard Bruck’s high snicker. He turned, and Bruck stared at him, daring him to pick another fight.

  “Don’t mind him,” Bant said. “He’s a fool.”

  Obi-Wan turned away and finished his meal, just as a huge black Barabel fruit plopped on the table near his tray. Juice from the fruit splattered on Bant and Garen Muln. Obi-Wan glared over at Bruck, who had come halfway across the room to throw it.

  “Plant it, Oafy,” Bruck said. “I hear they’ll g
row just about anywhere.”

  Obi-Wan started to rise from his chair, but Bant put a hand over his and held him down, trying to calm him.

  Obi-Wan smiled at Bruck, keeping himself in control. He want to anger me, Obi-Wan knew. He hopes to anger me. How often in the past have others played me like this, making me lose the chance to become a Padawan?

  Obi-Wan held his anger, and merely smiled at Bruck. Yet a white-hot fury was building inside him.

  Just then, Reeft muttered, “I don’t mean to sound greedy, but are you going to eat that Barabel fruit?”

  Obi-Wan nearly burst out laughing. “Thank you, Bruck,” he said, scraping the fruit off the table and placing it in a cup. “The people of Bandomeer will be honored when I share with them your gift — the gift from one farmer to another.”

  In the upper room of the Jedi Temple, Master Yoda argued with the senior members of the Jedi Council. They were meditating in a huge greenhouse, the Room of a Thousand Fountains, where fountains and waterfalls streamed through an emerald forest

  Outside, the surface of Coruscant was hidden by black storm clouds.

  “Obi-Wan Kenobi must be allowed to fight before Qui-Gon Jinn this day,” Master Yoda said, just as a bolt of lightning snarled through the clouds below. “I have foreseen it.”

  “What?” Senior Council Mace Windu asked. He was a strong, dark-skinned man with a shaved head. He studied Yoda with eyes that could pierce like blaster bolts. “What would be the point? Obi-Wan has proven once again that he cannot control his anger or his impatience. And Qui-Gon Jinn is not ready for another impatient Padawan.”

  “Agreed,” Yoda said. “Neither Obi-Wan nor Qui-Gon ready are. But the Force may yet bring Master and student together.”

  Mace Windu asked, “And what of last night, the beating Obi-Wan gave to Bruck?”

  Yoda waved his hand and, as he did so, a referee droid appeared from behind the bushes.

  “Advanced Jedi Training Droid 6, last night the fight you saw,” Yoda prompted.

  “Obi-Wan’s heat was beating at sixty-eight beats per minute,” the droid reported. “His torso was faced northeast at twenty-seven degrees, with his right hand extended down, clutching his training saber. His body temperature was —“

  Mace Windu sighed. If allowed to continue, the training droid would take an hour just to describe how Obi-Wan crossed the room.

  “Just tell us who provoked the fight,” Mace Windu said. “Who said what, and then what happened?”

  The training droid AJTD6 gave an indignant buzz at being curtailed. But after a glower from Mace Windu, it began the story of how Bruck had provoked Obi-Wan into the fight.

  At the conclusion, Mace Windu sighed. “So we have one deceitful boy, and one foolish one,” he said. He looked at Master Yoda. “What do you suggest?”

  Yoda blinked. “Give both a chance to fail again, we should,” he said.

  Chapter 4

  Bruck’s red lightsaber cracked and hissed as Obi-Wan desperately tried to parry with his own. For the fourth time in less than a day the two boys were locked in combat, grunting and struggling.

  Obi-Wan’s muscles ached. Sweat drenched his thick tunic. Bruck’s toughness surprised him. The boy was fighting desperately, as though his life depended on it. Obi-Wan realized that Bruck was just as afraif of not being chosen as a Jedi apprentice as he was.

  But Obi-Wan would match Bruck’s toughness with his own, and then push even harder. This was his one last chance.

  Bruck’s blade hummed as it angled toward Obi-Wan’s throat. A touch there would signal a killing blow, and Obi-Wan would lose the bout.

  A cry rose up from the crowd seated in the shadows surrounding the battle arena. Masters and students had gathered to watch the fight. Obi-Wan could not see them — he could only hear their shouts of encouragement. Overhead, AJTD^ whisked around, monitoring the match as a referee.

  “Fool.” Bruck growled softly enough so that others could hear him above the cheering. “You should never have agreed to fight me. You can’t win.”

  Bruck’s shocking white hair was tied in a ponytail, and sweat stood out in droplets on his brow. He wore heavily padded black body armor. The odor of burned flesh and singed hair hung heavily in the air. Both warriors had managed to hit one another, but the touches so far had not been firm strikes.

  Around the arena, many of the younger initiates cheered, calling out encouragement to Bruck or Obi-Wan. All of them had heard of the fight last night. Obi-Wan heard Bant shout “Courage, Obi-Wan! You’re doing well!” Garen Muln whistled through his teeth.

  “You mean that you can’t win!” Obi-Wan told Bruck scornfully, as their training lightsabers tangled and sizzled. “Your failure today will signal to everyone that you are not just a loser, but a liar.”

  The Masters had decided the fight would be without blindfolds. Bruck’s face was close, and his eyes glared at Obi-Wan with hate. The moment stretched, extended. In Bruck’s eyes Obi-Wan saw a future mapped out for him, a future in which anger ruled him and he began to hate all who opposed him.

  Obi-Wan reached out for the Force. He felt it flow around him, but he could not fully grasp it. Here was the boy who stood between him and his dream, who mocked him, who tricked him. He pushed against Bruck and saw the surprise in the boy’s eyes as he fell backward.

  Obi-Wan took advantage of Bruck’s uncertainty to aim a sizzling attack at Bruck’s face. Bruck ducked and slashed at Obi-Wan’s feet. Obi-Wan leaped high in the air.

  As a child, Obi-Wan had learned by fighting older students to avoid flashy attacks that wasted energy. Instead, he’d been trained to fight defensively, to block blows with small movements, or to avoid them.

  As Obi-Wan parried Bruck’s moves, he felt Qui-Gon Jinn’s eyes on him. The Jedi was a rebel and a loner, and Obi-Wan wanted to be seen as a rebel, too.

  Instead of waiting to gauge Bruck’s attack strategy, Obi-Wan attacked suddenly and furiously. Bruck tried to block the attacks, but Obi-Wan’s lightsaber met Bruck’s with stinging power. Bruck nearly dropped his weapon.

  Obi-Wan brandished his lightsaber in both hands, swinging brutally. Bruck tried to block a second time, and fell back, sprawling. His lightsaber switched off and went skittering over the uneven floor.

  Obi-Wan slammed down, a decisive blow that should have won the bout, but Bruck managed to roll aside and grab his lightsaber. He barely had time to switch it on before Obi-Wan’s lightsaber battered down again.

  This time, there was no blocking the blow. Bruck’s lightsaber knocked back into him. Obi-Wan caught Bruck cleanly between the eyes, burning his hair and scorching his skin.

  Bruck cried out in pain as both lightsabers burned him, and Yoda announced, “Enough!”

  All around the arena, the initiates shouted and cheered. Bant’s eyes were shining, and Reeft’s wrinkled face had more creases due to his wide smile.

  Obi-Wan backed away, panting. Sweat ran down his arms and face; his muscles ached from exertion. His head swam with dizziness.

  Yet he had never tasted such sweet triumph. He glanced into the shadows around the arena, and saw Qui-Gon Jinn watching him. The Jedi Master gave him the briefest nod, the began speaking to Yoda.

  I’ve won, Obi-Wan realized, a thrill rising within him. I beat Bruck soundly. Qui-Gon is impressed.

  He tried to keep his rising exhilaration in check. He bowed to Yoda and to the rest of the Masters. Then he couldn’t resist raising hid lightsaber in the air to the cheers of his friends. Obi-Wan grinned and shook the lightsaber at a proud Bant, Reeft, and Garen Muln. Perhaps he’d won more than an important fight. Perhaps he’s won the right to become a Padawan.

  The cheers still rang in his ears as he went to the dressing chamber. He showered and changed into a fresh tunic. He was tossing his stained tunic into the laundry container when Qui-Gon Jinn entered the room. He was a big, powerful man, but his footsteps were soundless.

  “Who taught you to fight like that?” Qui-Gon asked. The Jedi had rough
features, but his was a sensitive, thoughtful face.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Students in the Temple rarely attack so viciously. They learn to defend, to wear one another down. They conserve their strength. Yet you fought… like a very dangerous man. You left yourself open to attack time and time again, and relied on the other boy to take the defensive stance.”

  “I wanted to end it quickly,” Obi-Wan said. “The Force allowed it.”

  Qui-Gon studied Obi-Wan for a long moment. “I am not so sure. You cannot always rely upon your enemy to take the defensive stance. Your fighting style is too dangerous, too risky.”

  “You cold teach me better,” Obi-Wan said evenly. The words invited the Jedi to ask Obi-Wan to be his Padawan.