by Claudia Gray
Star Wars: Master & Apprentice is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2019 by Lucasfilm Ltd. & ® or ™ where indicated. All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Del Rey, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.
DEL REY and the HOUSE colophon are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.
Hardback ISBN 9780525619376
International edition ISBN 9781984819543
Ebook ISBN 9780525619383
randomhousebooks.com
Book design by Elizabeth A. D. Eno, adapted for ebook
Cover art: Alice X. Zhang
Cover design: Scott Biel
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Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
The Del Rey Star Wars Timeline
Epigraph
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Before
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Before
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Before
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Before
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Before
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
Before
Chapter Thirty-five
Chapter Thirty-six
Chapter Thirty-seven
Chapter Thirty-eight
After
Acknowledgments
By Claudia Gray
About the Author
Prophecy in dreams is possible through the illumination of the active intellect over our soul.
—Ibn Rushd, also known as Averroes
A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away….
It is a time of peace. The GALACTIC REPUBLIC, which has governed for thousands of years, has provided prosperity to many worlds and opportunity to most. Only a few shadows of conflict darken the galaxy—and these are handled by the JEDI KNIGHTS, the guardians of peace and justice throughout the Republic.
One of those conflicts arises on the planet Teth, a source of corruption that threatens many nearby systems. The Jedi Council sends QUI-GON JINN and his young Padawan to investigate. But the criminal element on Teth has chosen not to cooperate…
There is no emotion—there is peace.
There is no ignorance—there is knowledge.
There is no passion—there is serenity.
There is no chaos—there is harmony.
* * *
—
Whoever wrote the Jedi Code, thought Qui-Gon Jinn, never had to deal with the Hutts.
He ran through the stone passageway of the Hutt compound, the sound of blaster bolts echoing behind him, flashes of red lighting up the darkness like heat lightning. His pursuers would round the bend soon and have a clear shot, which made it a very good time to dash through the nearest door.
“Obi-Wan!” he called. “To the left!”
“Yes, Master,” panted Obi-Wan, who was only steps behind Qui-Gon.
Is he winded already? Qui-Gon thought as they dashed down a staircase that would lead to the outer, more modern area of the Hutt compound. Their escape thus far had included no more than a three-minute run—and of course, scaling a twenty-meter wall. But in the proper meditative state that shouldn’t have been difficult.
Obi-Wan hasn’t perfected meditation in combat, Qui-Gon reminded himself as his Padawan’s steps echoed behind his on the long staircase. By his age, I was able to—
Qui-Gon stopped himself. Comparisons between his training and Obi-Wan’s weren’t constructive. Each individual had a different path to the Force. What he needed to be concentrating on was their path out of here.
The darkness surrounding them was pierced below by light streaming in through an open doorway. Qui-Gon grabbed his lightsaber and activated it, illuminating the stairwell. Obi-Wan did the same, only a second behind him, and in time for them to run out of the stairwell into what turned out to be a very large, very crowded room.
Specifically, one of the Hutts’ spice-hookah dens.
Heavy, sweet smoke fogged the air. Musicians played atop various floating platforms, which hovered at different heights above the spice-addled denizens below. From his gilded dais, Wanbo the Hutt sucked in enough smoke to fill all three of his lungs. Nobody was alert enough to immediately notice the two Jedi Knights who’d appeared above them.
* * *
—
But lightsabers tended to attract attention.
“Apa hoohah gardo!” Wanbo croaked, dazedly gesturing with his tail. One of his Gamorrean guards squealed and waddled to intercept them at the foot of the stairs. This concerned Qui-Gon far less than the heavy thudding of half a dozen human guards on the steps, only seconds behind, and two more Gamorreans at the door.
“Jump!” Qui-Gon called. With that he leapt across the room to land on one of the band platforms, currently occupied by the horn section. The Kitonak stumbled back in alarm, and one of them toppled from the edge of the platform into the filthy, pillowed moat that surrounded Wanbo. She landed atop a Trandoshan, who hissed in protest, but most of the dazed group hardly seemed to notice.
He glanced back. Obi-Wan’s jump had taken him to the platform where a Shawda Ubb was playing the Growdi harmonique. Unfortunately, this was a sterner species of musician. While the Shawda Ubb kept two steady limbs on the harmonique, he lashed out with another, then spat at Obi-Wan.
Poison, Qui-Gon thought with horror, but Obi-Wan dodged easily. His Padawan’s reflexes were sharp. If Obi-Wan lacked serenity in battle, he didn’t lack instincts.
As the human guards appeared at the stairs, Qui-Gon called, “Handle that door!” With that he stamped the platform control, sending it zooming toward the guards. Amid the fray, he called upon the deep quietness within, the soul of the universe that always listened, always answered.
Without consciously thinking, or aiming, Qui-Gon brought his lightsaber up, over, aside—blocking every blaster bolt. They fired faster, but it made no difference; he could sense each shot before it happened. His confidence was not shared by the Kitonak musicians, the rest of whom jumped from the platform. Good—that way he could concentrate on only his ow
n safety and his Padawan’s. Of course, Obi-Wan could take care of himself.
Or so Qui-Gon thought for the remaining two seconds before Obi-Wan swooped down over the door controls and stabbed them with his lightsaber, heat melting the controls from within.
Blast it! Qui-Gon thought. “I meant, take care of the guards at the door!”
“You could’ve said so!” Obi-Wan shouted.
Which was true. Always with the specific instructions! Must he be so literal? But this made little difference with two Gamorreans still between them and their best escape route. Worse, the control panel appeared to govern not only the door but also the floating platforms, which went haywire. Qui-Gon stumbled as his platform tilted sharply to the left, yet he retained his balance. Barely. One blaster bolt seared past him to blow a smoking chunk from the wall. Even that one miss was too many—
No time for hypotheticals, Qui-Gon reminded himself. There is no past, no future. Only now.
Obi-Wan did not appear to be trying to calm himself. He looked anything but calm, jumping down from his platform moments before it sent the Shawda Ubb and the Growdi into the wall with a musical crash. Yet he handily slashed through the ax of one Gamorrean and the arm of another, which sent the first squealing off in terror.
This finally pierced the haze of spice and stupidity in Wanbo the Hutt’s head. “Hopa! Kickeeyuna Jedi killee!” The Gamorreans at the stairs began thumping down, no doubt to seize Qui-Gon when he fell from his crazily off-kilter platform.
“Master?” Obi-Wan called. “Are you all right?”
“Just get us a ship if you can!”
With a nod, Obi-Wan obeyed, dashing out of the spice den into the labyrinthine Hutt palace of Teth.
* * *
—
Qui-Gon gripped the edge of the platform as it careened toward Wanbo again. A few of the people below had begun to chortle at the spectacle of a Jedi clinging onto a band floater. Well, let them laugh—better that they remain distracted, he thought as he flicked on a tracker unit at his belt.
His hover platform whizzed toward a counterpart that remained mostly stationary, where a Kitonak huddled with his Kloo horn over his head. Qui-Gon jumped to that platform, a meter lower, roughly in the center of the room. From there, he could steady himself to leap again, up and over—
To land on his feet on the dais behind Wanbo, his lightsaber poised only centimeters from the Hutt’s fleshy throat.
“Ap-xmai nudchan!” Wanbo attempted to turn—not easy for Hutts—but Qui-Gon brought the lightsaber closer. The heat of the blade must’ve been palpable even through that thick skin, because Wanbo went still. The human guards and the Gamorreans did as well. Most of the spice addicts sat up, finally interested in what was going on, though at least one woman on the floor continued to stare at the ceiling, her mouth open in an intoxicated smile. The last two platforms crashed into walls and fell, leaving no casualties that Qui-Gon could see.
Wanbo remained silent, waiting to take his cues from his captor. Without his majordomo, Wanbo had no idea how to handle any crisis whatsoever.
“Now that I have your attention,” Qui-Gon said, “I’d like to discuss my departure from this palace.”
“Chuba, jah-jee bargon,” Wanbo said sulkily, which more or less translated as “Fine. I’m ready to see the last of you.”
“The feeling is mutual. Now, I’m taking this dais to the compound’s hangar.” Fortunately, these things often could be raised or lowered between floors, the better to allow Hutts to remain motionless. To the room, Qui-Gon announced, “My ship will be waiting for me there. Wanbo should make a very good shield for any bolts you plan to fire.”
* * *
—
“Stuka Jedi poonoo juliminmee?” Wanbo muttered. Since when do Jedi take hostages?
It wasn’t the kind of thing Jedi usually did. Not the kind of maneuver Qui-Gon liked to employ. Definitely not something the Jedi Council would be glad to hear about when he and Obi-Wan returned to Coruscant. But Qui-Gon tailored his tactics to his opponents. Against the Hutts—whose massive wealth had been derived solely through the misery of other beings—he felt free to do whatever it took to survive.
“Since now, it appears,” Qui-Gon said lightly. With that, he stamped on the controls, and the floor panels shifted from beneath them. Wanbo’s small arms twitched as the platform descended from his spice den into his compound’s hangar. Glancing upward, Qui-Gon could see several beings staring down at this spectacle, wide-eyed.
Then he returned his attention to the hangar—and saw Obi-Wan surrounded by five human guards, well-trained ones, to judge by their fighting stances. Although his Padawan still held his lightsaber ready, he could not simultaneously move forward to the ships and defend himself. Obi-Wan met Qui-Gon’s eyes only for a moment, then looked away.
Standing nearby was Thurible, Wanbo’s human majordomo, his hands clasped in front of him, his smile relaxed.
“Master Jinn,” he said in his cultured, polite voice. “How lucky we are to have both Jedi together at once.”
Obi-Wan tensed, no doubt preparing for battle. Qui-Gon merely smiled. “Very lucky,” he said to Thurible. He kept the lightsaber at Wanbo’s throat. “Especially as my tracker unit has been broadcasting for—oh, quite a while now. The Jedi Council can’t take part directly, of course—but they’ll be able to review everything that’s happened so far. And everything that will happen. It feels almost as though they’re actually here.”
Thurible’s smile briefly flickered. The Gamorrean guards shuffled nervously on their clawed feet. As soon as Qui-Gon had discovered the duplicate shipment logs in the Teth records, Wanbo’s forces had attacked. Thurible had planned for this contingency from the very beginning, and his plan had been set into action as soon as they realized the fake records weren’t fooling anyone. The original scheme must’ve been to report the two Jedi “missing under unknown circumstances,” in order to cover up their assassination. But not even the Hutts were brazen enough to openly kill Jedi Knights.
In only an instant Thurible had regained his calm. “It appears you have taken my employer hostage. I, in turn, have taken your student hostage. We seem to be at an impasse, do we not?”
Instead of fighting his way out, Qui-Gon would have to bargain. With the Hutts.
It was all Qui-Gon could do not to groan.
* * *
—
An hour later, Qui-Gon sat in the majordomo’s office, calmly sipping tea.
“These misunderstandings are so unfortunate,” said Thurible, slowly pacing the curved stone wall of the office, like a pilgrim meditating upon a path. He radiated a calm confidence, more like another Jedi than a crime lord’s right-hand man. “We’ve had security problems in the past. The guards…well, they let their vigilance slip into paranoia, from time to time.”
“Indeed.” Qui-Gon raised his eyebrow. “What reason could you have for paranoia here on Teth? The Hutts hold sole control here.”
“You might be surprised,” Thurible said. “The balance of power shifts constantly. None of us can afford to take anything for granted.”
A Hutt’s majordomo was almost always a flunky, a hapless warm body who ran interference with local officials, simpered and flattered others in power, and exercised no independent authority at all. The average term of employment for a majordomo lasted, as far as Qui-Gon could figure, a few months. So did the average majordomo’s life expectancy. Sooner or later—usually sooner—they either took bribes, got crossed, and were executed for cause…or were murdered for no cause whatsoever when the Hutt in question lost his temper.
Thurible was different. Wanbo the Hutt held his position only because of nepotism; he was unfit to lead a cartel, due to both his tiny brain and his enormous spice habit. Through what Qui-Gon assumed to be sheer luck, Wanbo had hired an individual as intelligent, cunning, and amoral as the might
iest of the Hutts. Thurible dressed like a poet or an artist—albeit a wealthy one—and spoke with more polish than an aristocrat of Coruscant. Yet everyone in the sector knew that Thurible was the real power on Teth.
Though, of course, the majordomo was too smart to say so himself.
Obi-Wan had been released to save Wanbo, and vice versa. The only way for Thurible to do this and save face was to pretend the attack had been spontaneous. Until they got off this planet, it would be wisest to play along.
But if Thurible believed he had the upper hand over Qui-Gon now, he was very much mistaken.
“Again, I apologize for the terrible misunderstanding,” Thurible said smoothly. His long, burnt-orange caftan trailed just above the floor, revealing flashes of his bare feet as he continued to pace. “Rest assured, the guards will be appropriately disciplined—yet kept alive, in deference to the customs of the Jedi.”
“I’m pleased to hear it.” Qui-Gon took another sip of his tea before adding, “There’s no need for this unfortunate misunderstanding to eclipse the rest of our journey here.”
Thurible smiled and bowed, black curls falling around his face. “You are generosity itself.”
“So I’m told,” Qui-Gon said, his voice dry. “I’m also still highly interested in precisely what’s happening with agricultural shipments through the Triellus trade route. Especially given that the records of shipping in the nearby systems appear to be…highly inaccurate.”
