Jedi Apprentice 1: The Rising Force (звёздные войны)

by Дэйв Волвертон

  But Qui-Gon merely bowed his head. “Perhaps I could,” he said slowly. The word caused hope to ride in Obi-Wan. But only a heartbeat later, it was dashed.

  “Or perhaps no one could,” Qui-Gon continued. “You were angry with the other boy. I sensed anger in both of you.”

  “That’s not why I wanted to win.” Obi-Wan held Qui-Gon’s gaze steadily, letting him know that he had fought to impress him, to show him how well he could serve him.

  Qui-Gon watched Obi-Wan intently for a long moment, still staring at him… through him. Hope rose in Obi-Wan again. He’ll ask me now, Obi-Wan thought. He’ll ask me to be his Padawan.

  But Qui-Gon merely said, “In future fight, rein in your anger. A Jedi Knight never exhaust himself when battling a stronger foe. And never expect your enemy to miss an opportunity to do you harm.”

  Qui-Gon turned and headed for the door.

  Obi-Wan stood still, confused. Qui-Gon was not taking him as his apprentice. He was merely giving out advice, the way the Master’s always did.

  Obi-Wan couldn’t let his dream walk away. He couldn’t see his dream die.

  “Wait!” Obi-Wan called out. “If I was wrong, it only means I need the best teacher. Will you take me with you?”

  Qui-Gon turned slowly, and eyed the boy. He frowned, deep in thought. At last he murmured, “No.”

  “Qui-Gon Jinn, I will be thirteen in four weeks,” Obi-Wan said. The truth was a desperate gamble, but he had to say it. “You are my last chance to be a Jedi Knight.”

  Qui-Gon shook his head sadly. “It is better not to train a boy to become Knight if he has so much anger. There is the risk he will turn to the dark side.”

  With that, the huge Jedi wheeled and strode for the door, his cape streaming.

  Obi-Wan sprang to his feet. “I won’t turn,” he said with certainty.

  But Qui-Gon neither slowed his stride nor turned back. In a moment he was gone, as quickly and silently as he had appeared.

  For a long minute, Obi-Wan could only stare at the empty air in shock. At first, he couldn’t quite take it in. It was over. His last chance had played out. There was nothing left for him.

  His bags were packed, sitting on a bench. He had only to pick them up and take them to the transport that would carry him to the planet Bandomeer.

  He lifted his chin. Though he would never become a Knight, he would at least leave the Temple like one. He would not plead. He picked up his bags and headed down the long hallway that led from the battle arena to the landing platform.

  He passed the meditation grotto, the meal room, the classrooms. Places where he had learned, struggled, and triumphed.

  It was all home to him. Now he must leave and head for a future he hadn’t asked for and did not want.

  Obi-Wan walked out the door of the Temple for the last time. He tried to push away his deep sorrow and look to the future as he’d been taught.

  But he could not.

  Chapter 5

  Qui-Gon Jinn could not get the sight of Obi-Wan’s despairing face out of his mind. The boy had struggled not the show it, but it was written on his every feature.

  Qui-Gon sat quietly in the star map room. Among all the rooms at the Temple, this was his favorite. The velvety blue ceiling curved above him in a dome. The only light came from the stars and planets that surrounded him, pinpricks against the blue in all the glowing colors of the spectrum. He had only to reach out a hand and touch a planet for a hologram to appear, detailing its physical properties, it’s surrounding satellites, and it’s form of government.

  Knowledge was so easily obtained here. But when it came to the heart, so much was a mystery.

  Qui-Gon told himself that he had made the correct decision. The only decision. The boy fought well, but to fiercely. There was danger there.

  “The boy is not my responsibility,” Qui-Gon said aloud.

  “Certain are you?” Yoda asked from behind him.

  Qui-Gon turned startled. “I didn’t hear you,” he said politely.

  Yoda walked farther into the star map room. “ dozen boys fought for you. If you do not choose a Padawan today, the dreams of at least one of those boys will die.”

  Sighing, Qui-Gon studied a bright red star. “There will be more boys next year. Perhaps then I will choose a Padawan.” In his visits to the Temple, Qui-Gon always valued his time spent with Yoda. Now he wished the Master would go away. He did not want to discuss this. But he knew Yoda would not go away until he had made his point.

  “Perhaps,” Yoda agreed. “Or perhaps still reluctant, will you be. What of young Obi-Wan? Well he fought.”

  “He fought… ferociously,” Qui-Gon agreed.

  “Yes,” Yoda said. “Like a boy I knew long ago —“

  “Don’t,” Qui-Gon interrupted. “Xanatos is gone. I don’t want to be reminded.”

  “Not speaking of that one,” Yoda said. “Of you I spoke.”

  Qui-Gon didn’t answer. Yoda knew him too well. He could not argue.

  “Strong in the Force he is,” Yoda remarked.

  “And angry and reckless,” Qui-Gon said, a trace of irritation beginning to edge his tone. “And likely to turn.”

  “Not all angry young men to the dark side turn,” Yoda said calmly. “Not if a proper teacher they have.”

  “I will not take him, Master Yoda,” Qui-Gon said evenly. He knew Yoda would hear the strong will in his words.

  “Very well,” Yoda said. “But by chance alone we do not live our lives. If take an apprentice you will not, then, in time, perhaps fate will choose.”

  “Perhaps,” Qui-Gon agreed. He hesitated. “What will happen to the boy?”

  “For the Agricultural Corps he will work.”

  Qui-Gon grunted. “ farmer?” Such a waste of potential. “Tell him… that I wish him luck.”

  “Too late,” Yoda said. “On his way to Bandomeer he is.”

  “Bandomeer?” Qui-Gon asked in surprise.

  “Know the place you do?”

  “Know it? The Senate has asked me to go there. You knew this, didn’t you?” Qui-Gon eyed the small Master suspiciously.

  “Hmmm… “ Yoda said. “I knew it not. But more than coincidence this is. Strange are the ways of the Force.”

  “But why send the boy to Bandomeer?” Qui-Gon asked. “It’s a brutal world. If the weather doesn’t kill him, the predators will. He’ll need all of his skills just to stay alive — never mind the Agri-Corps!”

  “Yes, so the Council thought,” Yoda said. “Good to grow crops Bandomeer may not be. But good place for a young Jedi the grow it is.”

  “If he doesn’t get himself killed,” Qui-Gon growled. “You must have more faith in him than I do.”

  “Yes my point that is,” Master Yoda said, chuckling. “Listen harder you must.”

  With an exasperated sigh, Qui-Gon returned his attention to the stars.

  “Study the stars you may, Qui-Gon,” Yoda said as he left. “They have much to teach you. But will it be what you need to learn?”

  Chapter 6

  The Monument was an old Corellian barge, pocked and scarred from meteor hits. It was shaped like a crate, and attached to the front of it were a dozen cargo boxes push to Bandomeer. It was the ugliest, dirtiest ship that Obi-Wan could have imagined.

  If the exterior was ugly, the interior was foul. Its battered corridors smelled of miners’ dust and the sweaty bodies of many species. Repair ports were left open, so that wires and pressure hoses — the ship’s guts — spilled out as if from an open wound.

  Everywhere on the Monument enormous Hutts slithered about like giant slugs. Whiphids stalked the corridors with their moldy fur and tusks. Tall Arconans with triangular heads and glittering eyes moved in small groups.

  Obi-Wan wandered in a daze, his bags in hand. No one had been at the entry port guide him. No one even seemed to notice him. He realized gloomily that he had left behind the data pad Docent Vant had given him. On it was his room number.

  He look
ed for a crew member, but he could only find miners being transported to Bandomeer. Obi-Wan trudged on with gathering despair. The ship was strange and frightening. It was so different from the hushed, gleaming hallways of the Temple, where he could hear the sound of the fountains wherever he walked. He knew every corner of the Temple, knew the fastest route to get from the arena, where they practiced tumbling and balance, to the pool, where he would dive from the highest temple…

  Obi-Wan’s steps slower and slower. What was Bant doing now? Was she in class, or a private tutorial? Was she swimming in the pool with Reeft and Garen Muln? If his friends were thinking if him, they would never imagine what a horrible place he had landed in.

  Suddenly, a huge Hutt blocked his path. Before Obi-Wan could say a word, the Hutt grabbed him by the throat and threw him against a wall.

  “What do you think you’re doing, slug?”

  “Uh, what?” Obi-Wan asked in surprise. What had he done wrong? He was just trudging down the hall. With a sense of unease, he noticed that two particularly evil-looking Whiphids stood behind the Hutt. “B-Bandomeer,” he stammered.

  The Hutt studied Obi-Wan as if here were a morsel of food. The creature’s huge tongue rolled from its mouth and slid over its grey lips, leaving a trail of slime.

  “That’s not a ship’s uniform you’re wearing, and you’re not Offworld.”

  Obi-Wan looked down at his clothes. He wore a loose gray tunic. He suddenly realized that the Hutt in front of him wore a black triangular patch that showed a bright red planet, like an eye. A silver spaceship circling the planet became the iris of the eye. Beneath the logo were the words Offworld Mining. The Whiphids wore the same symbol.

  “He must be from that other outfit,” a Whiphid said.

  “Maybe he’s a spy,” the second Whiphid growled. “What’s he got in those bags, you think? Bombs?”

  The Hutt pushed his huge grotesque face close to Obi-Wan’s. “Any miner who doesn’t work for Offworld is the enemy,” he roared, shaking Obi-Wan roughly. “You, slug, are an enemy. And we don’t allow the enemy on Offworld turf.”

  The Hutt’s fingers were like slabs of meat. They tightened around Obi-Wan’s neck, strangling him. Choking, Obi-Wan dropped his bags and grasped the Hutt’s fingers. His lungs burned and the room spun.

  Using all his strength, Obi-wan managed to pry the Hutt’s fingers from his throat long enough to gasp a breath. He stared into the cruel, blank eyes of the Hutt, trying to summon his Force powers.

  “Leave me alone,” Obi-Wan gasped, struggling to breathe. He let the Force carry the command to the Hutt, to batter his will, change his mind. This was not like fighting another student. He sensed a cruelty without conscience. There were no rules here, no Yoda to call off the fight.

  “Leave you alone? Why?” the Hutt roared with cruel amusement.

  I’m getting off to a good start, Obi-Wan thought despairingly.

  The last thing he remembered was the Hutt’s fist coming straight at him.

  Chapter 7

  Obi-wan woke on a cot in a warm, well-lit room. His vision was blurry, and his head swam. A medical droid leaned over him, applying flesh glue to his cuts, checking for broken bones.

  A young Human woman with reddish-brown hair and green eyes stood across the room, watching him. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to tangle with a Hutt?” she asked.

  Obi-Wan tried to shake his head, but even a tiny movement rocked him with pain. He took a long breath. He called on his Jedi training to accept the pain as a signal his body was sending. He had to accept the pain, respect it, not fight it. Then he’d have to ask his body to begin to heal.

  Once he’d centered his mind, the pain seemed to ease. He turned to the woman. “I didn’t seem to have a choice.”

  “I know what you mean.” The woman flashed him a brief grin. “Well, you survived. That’s something.” She walked closer to his bedside. “You’re lucky I found you when I did. You’re not one of ours.”

  “Ours?” Obi-Wan asked. He squinted at her. She wore an orange worksuit with a green triangle on it.

  “We’re the Arcona Mineral Harvest Corporation,” the woman responded. “If you don’t work for us, why did the Offworlders beat you?”

  Obi-Wan tried to shrug, but pain shot through his shoulder. Sometimes it was hard to respect his body’s signal. “You tell me. I was only looking for my cabin.”

  “You’re a though one,” the woman said cheerfully. “Not everybody could withstand a pounding by a Hutt. Did you come on board looking for a job? We could use you at Arcona Harvest. I’m Clat’Ha, chief operations manager.” She looked young to be running a mining operation — perhaps twenty-five.

  “Have a job,” Obi-Wan said, trying to feel his mouth with his tongue. He was relieved that all his teeth were still in. “I’m Obi-Wan Kenobi. I’m with the Agricultural Corps.”

  Clat’Ha’s mouth fell open. “You’re the young Jedi? The ship’s crew has been looking everywhere for you.”

  He tried to sit up, but Clat’Ha briskly pushed him back. “Stay down. You’re not ready to get up yet.”

  He laid back and Clat’Ha withdrew. “Good luck to you, Obi-Wan Kenobi,” she said. “Watch yourself. You’ve stepped into the middle of a war. You’re lucky to be alive. You may not be so lucky next time.” She turned to leave, but Obi-Wan touched her hand.

  “Wait,” he said. “I don’t understand. What war? Who’s fighting?”

  “Offworld’s war,” Clat’Ha answered. “You must have heard of them.”

  Obi-Wan shook his head. How could he explain that he’d lived his whole life in the Jedi Temple? He knew more about the ways of the Force than the ways of the universe.

  “Offworld is one of the oldest and richest mining companies in the galaxy,” Clat’Ha told him. “And they didn’t get that way by letting others compete with them. Miners who get in their way tend to die.”

  “Who’s their leader?” Obi-Wan asked.

  “No one knows who owns Offworld,” Clat’Ha said. “Someone who has been around for centuries, probably. And I’m not even sure that we could prove he or she is responsible for the murders. But the leader on this ship going to Bandomeer is a particularly ruthless Hutt by the name of Jemba.”

  Obi-Wan repeated the name in his mind. Jemba. It might have been Jemba who had beaten him. “Ruthless? In what way?”

  Clat’Ha glanced over he shoulder, worried that someone would hear her. “Offworld used the cheapest labor possible. Out on the Rim world, in places like Bandomeer, half of Jemba’s workers will be Whiphid slaves. But that’s not the worst,” Clat’Ha said. She hesitated.

  “What’s the worst?” Obi-Wan asked.

  Clat’Ha’s dark eyes flashed. “About five years ago, Jemba was Offworld’s chieftain on the plant Varristad, where another startup mining firm was also working. Varristad is a small planet, without any air, so the workers all lived in a huge underground dome. Someone or something pooped a hole in that dome, instantly destroying the artificial atmosphere. A quarter of a million people were killed. No one was ever able to prove that Jemba did it, but when the other company went bankrupt, he bought the mineral rights for practically nothing. He made a huge profit for Offworld. Now we’ll have to deal with him on Bandomeer.”

  Obi-Wan said, “Are you certain it was intentional? Maybe it was an accident.”

  Clat’Ha looked unconvinced. “Maybe,” she said. “But accidents follow Jemba the way stink follows Whiphids — accidents like the one that happened to you. So take care.”

  There was something she hadn’t told him. Obi-Wan could sense it — old pain and fear, the desire for revenge. “Who did you know on Varristad?” he asked.

  Clat’Ha opened her mouth in surprise. Stubbornly, she shook her head. “No one,” she lied.

  He locked eyes with her. “Clat’Ha, we can’t let this continue. The Monument isn’t Offworld’s ship! They can’t just go around beating people up.”

  Clat’Ha sighed. “Maybe it is
n’t their ship, but Offworld’s miners outnumber the crew thirty to one. The captain won’t be able to do much to protect you. So if I were you, I’d stay off their turf. You’re welcome on our side of the ship any time” She headed for the door, then turned and flashed a grin that made her serious face suddenly look young and mischievous. “If you can find it.”

  Obi-Wan grinned back. But he still struggled against Clat’Ha acceptance of the injustice. He didn’t understand it. He had grown up in a world where disputes were mediated and resolved. No obvious injustice was allowed to stand.