by Claudia Gray
This took attention away from internal problems, and kept anyone from recognizing the real danger: a bloody, violent mutiny.
Standard procedures for a mutiny aboard such a freighter would’ve called for the Jedi on board to prioritize retaking the bridge. From the bridge, all other ship functions could be taken under control and help from other Republic vessels could’ve been summoned.
Rael had other ideas. According to the reports of the official hearing, he’d suspected the mutineers might make a deal with the pirates—arms and assistance in return for the food supplies. With pirate help, the mutineers would’ve been much more difficult to defeat, and a threat to any Republic ships that came to the rescue. So Rael had taken his Padawan to the main cargo bay, to seize that area first.
Jedi could override protocols at their judgment, so long as they remained within their mandate for that mission. Rael’s decision might not have attracted any notice, if not for the tragedy that followed.
Qui-Gon watched the Advent footage of the moment the mutineers stormed the main cargo bay, slaughtering loyal crewmembers right and left with the aid of reprogrammed droids. Even the screams of the dying didn’t stop them—but the sight of two lightsabers did.
Into the fray leapt Averross and his Padawan, a Tholothian in the first year of her training. (Nim Pianna, Qui-Gon reminded himself. Her name was Nim Pianna. She was more than just his Padawan.) Despite her youth, she braced herself for combat, igniting her green lightsaber simultaneously with Rael’s blue blade. Together they fought as smoothly as though they were two parts of one being, displaying the kind of unity a Master and Padawan were meant to have.
The kind Qui-Gon had never managed to build with Obi-Wan—
Qui-Gon’s regrets were pushed into the back of his mind as the true horror began to unfold on-screen. Rael and Pianna were fighting their way across an elevated platform some twenty meters above the bay floor. Pianna jumped toward one of the droids, not realizing it had been equipped with a slicer dart. The silvery dart jabbed into her temple—a perfect hit—and Pianna stumbled to the side. Her eyes clouded over, the eerie sign of a brain and body temporarily enslaved by nanotechnology.
The next events played out in mere seconds, but to Qui-Gon they seemed to stretch into slow motion. They always had, no matter how many times he saw this, no matter how well he knew what happened next.
Rael glimpsed his Padawan.
Pianna raised her lightsaber and charged him.
Briefly, Rael hesitated.
A decision was made.
“Master Averross had to prioritize saving the hostages over saving his Padawan,” Mace Windu had declared in the official Council statement. “Lightsaber duels, while very rare, are also deadly. He could not save her and still have enough time to save the Advent. Averross chose to prioritize the ship’s safety above his apprentice’s. That is the choice she would have wanted him to make. Any Jedi would rather accept risk than endanger others.”
All very true. But Qui-Gon had never forgotten the look of pure terror and abandonment on Pianna’s face as she fell. Yes, her mind had been sliced, but she had still known her Master. She was unable to control her actions, but her emotions had remained her own. Her Master—the person she was supposed to be able to trust above all others in the galaxy—had killed her. That was the last thing she’d known before she died.
She would never have been exposed to a slicer dart attack if Rael had obeyed protocols.
Perhaps a Jedi Knight with a more conventional background wouldn’t have been excused so easily. But Rael was an extreme latecomer to the Temple, fully five years old before he was identified on Ringo Vinda—the oldest youngling ever brought in, so far as Qui-Gon knew. Those years made a profound difference. Rael had never fully mastered the subconscious controls that were trained into most Jedi from infancy. The members of the Averross family were people he missed terribly. The large majority of Jedi didn’t know their birth families at all; the exceptions went no further than speaking—on rare occasions—to relatives who were little more than strangers. Rael’s manners were rough, those of the orbital-station rat he’d been rather than the Jedi he hoped to become. He never lost his Ringo Vindan accent.
Some children would’ve been ashamed of this; others would’ve worked as hard as possible to conform to their companions’ ways. Not Rael. He’d gone in the opposite direction—using his station-rat slang, remaining informal in every situation, and wearing clothes that a laborer would’ve thrown away as rags. In this way he tried to bandage the wound of his lost childhood, but it was a wound that never healed.
No one at the Temple was fooled by Rael’s defiance, not even himself.
So he was treated with compassion. Even Dooku, who was in most ways a strict Master, had made allowances for Rael. As a result, Rael had flourished as both a Jedi and an iconoclast. He’d become a brilliant pilot and a lightsaber master and had served the Order nobly for many years. So after the Advent incident, the Jedi had made allowances once again—and for the first time, Qui-Gon thought, those allowances had gone too far.
He knew Rael better than most in the Order did, which was why he doubted the official explanation for why the cargo bay had been targeted ahead of the bridge. In Qui-Gon’s opinion, Nim Pianna’s life had been risked, and lost, mostly because Rael wanted a straight-on fight instead of the tedious work of overriding bridge controls.
That didn’t mean Rael had been completely reckless. After four years teaching Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon could understand that losing a Padawan would be one of the most intensely painful experiences a Master could endure. So he hadn’t challenged the findings. When he’d learned that the Council had given Rael a long-term, faraway mission, Qui-Gon had liked to think of his old friend in a place where he had time to meditate, and could do some humble good as a means of penance. In this way he might find peace.
But no. These past eight years, Rael Averross had been living in a palace. Ruling a world.
Obi-Wan would only have been a youngling when this happened. Probably he’d never heard anything of the tragedy aboard the Advent. In Chancellor Kaj’s office, Obi-Wan had betrayed no recognition of the name Rael Averross.
It felt like the worst possible time to talk with Obi-Wan about a Master killing his Padawan. But Qui-Gon would tell him the whole story, as soon as possible.
Maybe he wouldn’t be Obi-Wan’s Master much longer—but in that time Qui-Gon would give him nothing but honesty. Obi-Wan deserved that much, at least.
He received a message. Putting aside the records, Qui-Gon turned to his comm, then raised his eyebrows in surprise. When he turned it on, a hologram took shape in his quarters. “Master Yoda. Can I help you?”
“Wished to speak to you, I did.”
“About the mission to Pijal?”
“Among other things.” Yoda studied Qui-Gon carefully. “Linked strongly to Averross, are you. Yet that connection has not always been best for you both.”
“Rael’s always been a friend to me.” The defense was almost automatic. “If he’s something of an outsider—I don’t think that’s a bad thing.”
Yoda’s ears flattened, a sure sign of irritation. “Think you we judge on such trivial things?”
“Of course not,” Qui-Gon admitted. “If you did, you wouldn’t have picked me for the Council, would you?”
“Pick you, I did not. Unsuited you are, in many ways. Yet the Council has spoken, and by that decision I shall stand.”
It took Qui-Gon a moment to process what he’d heard. Yoda hadn’t wanted him for the Council? Maybe it shouldn’t have mattered, in light of the fact that Yoda wasn’t opposing the invitation any longer—but it felt like a kick to the gut. “Did you call just to flatter me?”
Unsurprisingly, Yoda didn’t take the bait. “Dooku is the link between you and Averross. Of Dooku, you must speak. Ominous, is his absence from the Jedi. M
ore understanding of his reasons for leaving, we need.”
At the moment, it was easy for Qui-Gon to imagine reasons not to deal with Yoda. “I’ll ask,” he promised. “I’ll find out what I can.”
Yoda nodded, and the hologram shimmered out of existence, leaving Qui-Gon to wonder why, when the rest of the Council embraced him, Yoda had not.
Obi-Wan had many duties aboard the transport to Pijal. First he volunteered to help the crew double-check cargo manifests—tedious work, but important, as these materials would help build the modern spaceports needed for the new hyperspace corridor. Then he felt he should discuss the finer points of handling a Consular-class cruiser with the pilot; after all, Obi-Wan loved flying and wanted to become an even better pilot, so he ought to learn about as many kinds of craft as possible. Once they were en route, he went along with the engineers to check the cruiser’s sensor dish, just in case repair assistance was needed.
What with one thing and another, he managed to avoid Qui-Gon until the final hour of their journey to Pijal.
“Padawan,” Qui-Gon said as he ducked into the service tunnel where Obi-Wan was triple-checking some readings no one had asked for. “The crew seems to have the ship well in hand.”
“I only wanted to help,” Obi-Wan protested—then stopped himself. Maybe Qui-Gon had failed to be honest with him, but that was no reason for Obi-Wan to be dishonest in return. “I haven’t known what to say. So I was avoiding you. Not very mature.”
“You’re extremely mature for a seventeen-year-old. Whereas I’m forty, and I let you get away with it for hours.”
Qui-Gon had always been quick to admit his own faults and errors, a kind of humility rarer among the Jedi than it should’ve been. Obi-Wan had always respected this trait in his Master. “I ought to have said before—congratulations on being invited to join the Council. It’s a very great honor. They’ll be lucky to have you.”
“You really think so?” That made Qui-Gon chuckle. “Thank you, Obi-Wan. I thought probably you pitied them.”
“Of course not.” As difficult as their partnership had sometimes been, Obi-Wan realized he would miss it. Whatever had gone wrong between them wasn’t all Qui-Gon’s fault, and there had been more to learn from this man, which now Obi-Wan would never know—
“I wanted to talk with you about Rael Averross,” said Qui-Gon, becoming grave. “You probably have some questions.”
“Actually, after Chancellor Kaj described him as ‘controversial,’ I went digging for answers on my own.” Obi-Wan’s mood darkened as he remembered the footage he’d seen of the long-ago mutiny on the Advent. “What did you think, after…after Nim Pianna’s death?”
Qui-Gon said nothing at first. He simply gestured for Obi-Wan to walk out of the cramped service area into one of the main corridors of the cruiser. They were the only passengers other than the crew, so the corridor was empty save for an astromech busily at work on a distant panel. Was his Master searching for a private place for them to speak? Obi-Wan wondered. Or maybe his questions had pushed too far.
Then Qui-Gon leaned against the wall to gaze at the electric-blue light of hyperspace visible through one long oval viewport. His voice was heavy as he said, “Rael was reckless. Bad enough to be reckless with your own life, but criminal to be reckless with another’s. Worst of all to be reckless with your Padawan’s.”
“What?” Obi-Wan caught himself. “I mean, you didn’t accept his reason for going to the cargo hold?”
“I think Rael probably believed in his own rationale. But he believed what he wanted to believe. We all do that, sometimes.” Qui-Gon’s gaze went distant for a moment, as though he was thinking of something else, but he went back to his topic. “Rael Averross never had the patience for complicated tasks like going through levels of computer security to slice his way onto a bridge. He violated mutiny protocols in favor of doing something he liked better—whether he ever consciously realized that or not. And his Padawan paid the price.”
It did put Obi-Wan’s issues with Qui-Gon into perspective. “Chancellor Kaj said you were the best person to deal with Rael Averross. That you knew each other before. Were the two of you friends?”
“In a manner of speaking.” Qui-Gon began strolling back toward the bridge, and Obi-Wan fell into step beside him. “We shared the same Master. Rael was Dooku’s apprentice before me. As fate would have it, we were on several missions together those first few years. So we got to know each other rather well. He helped me see what kind of man Dooku was, and how best to serve him. He helped teach me—even introduced me to the prophecies, as a matter of fact. We weren’t intimates, but we…forged a bond of trust, which I believe survives.”
If only there had been someone to tell Obi-Wan how to handle Qui-Gon. “How can you think of him as a friend when you judge his actions so harshly?”
This earned Obi-Wan a look. “We were friends, my Padawan. I believe on some level, we still are—but that changes nothing. Never assume your friends are above wrongdoing. Even good people can make terrible mistakes. But I believe they should be helped to understand and account for those mistakes, a point of view the Council doesn’t share. At least, not when it comes to Rael Averross.”
Obi-Wan’s curiosity sharpened. “Why? Is there some particular reason the Council didn’t hold Averross accountable?”
“Rael was…an unusual case. The seekers didn’t find him in infancy, as they do most Force-sensitive children. He wasn’t identified until he was five years old.”
“Five?” Obi-Wan at first thought he must’ve misheard. “I was brought in late, and I was only three.”
Qui-Gon nodded. “I doubt the Council will ever again accept a Padawan so old. Those years made the difference between Rael thinking of Ringo Vinda as his home, rather than the Temple. It shaped his attitudes, his progress—even the way he speaks, as you’ll hear for yourself. As such, Rael Averross was always something of an outsider. Rare allowances were made for him, from childhood all the way to the hearings on Nim Pianna’s fate. It’s always better to err on the side of mercy, but…I suppose I’ll always wonder.”
“I suppose that’s something you’ll have to deal with, once you’re on the Council,” Obi-Wan said. The Council must’ve come to understand that some of Qui-Gon’s criticisms were valid. Maybe Obi-Wan should’ve been looking harder for that validity a long time ago.
Qui-Gon didn’t answer the question directly. “My invitation to the Council isn’t relevant at the moment. And what Rael Averross did in the past mustn’t overshadow our mission. Our attention has to be on Pijal and the princess. Don’t lose sight of the now.”
“I won’t,” Obi-Wan promised. It was one of those promises he couldn’t be sure of keeping, but he made it anyway.
* * *
—
Millennia ago, according to local legend, Pijal had been one of the first worlds to adopt planetary shield technology. Qui-Gon suspected the equipment had not been updated since.
He and Obi-Wan stood on the small observation deck of their Corellian cruiser, taking in the vast spacescape before them—both the planet itself (broad blue oceans, smallish continents in green and gold) and its moon (darker green, densely wooded). Neither Pijal nor its moon looked especially noteworthy, but the shield technology was another matter. The ancient, clay-colored shield generators—twelve of them—slowly orbited Pijal, projecting almost invisible, glinting golden beams that swirled outward to form the shield, such as it was.
“This can’t be a fully operational shield,” Obi-Wan protested. “Generators this old couldn’t possibly produce enough energy.”
Qui-Gon inclined his head. “That depends upon your definition of fully operational. The Pijal shield doesn’t prevent ships from flying in or out—but it never did, and was never designed to. It exists to shelter the world from the extreme solar flares that arrive every decade or so.”
“I see, Master,” Obi-Wan said. “But surely newer and more efficient generators would be safer. These look as though they might fall to pieces at the tap of a micro-asteroid.”
“Replacing the technology is expensive, and Pijal’s prosperity faded a long time ago.” Qui-Gon folded his hands together within the broad sleeves of his robe. “But it looks as though Czerka Corporation plans to step in.”
In the distance was an enormous Czerka ship, a Branch-class vehicle, which would serve as a manufacturing center, personnel transport, and office complex. The cruiser’s bridge info screen identified this as the Leverage, under the command of Sector Supervisor Meritt Col.
Obi-Wan said, “Czerka’s everywhere, it seems.”
“And has been for thousands of years.” The corporation was so ancient some believed it might even predate the Republic; the facts had long since been lost to time. “If the hyperspace corridor is opened soon, maybe Pijal won’t be so dependent on Czerka. They could make their own repairs.”
“In the nick of time, it seems.” Obi-Wan shook his head in disbelief. “Hard to believe anyone on the planet could sleep at night, with a solar shield this weak.”
How sheltered he still is, Qui-Gon thought. Some of their missions had taken them to less developed worlds, but Obi-Wan persisted in thinking of them as the exceptions, rather than the rule. To him, “normal” meant Coruscant.
Why should the Jedi raise so many of their younglings on the richest, busiest planet in the galaxy? It made sense for the Jedi Council to be located there, at the center of government. But Council members didn’t need to be in constant contact with the younglings.
Perhaps we might move more of the schools, or at least the crèches, Qui-Gon thought. There are numerous worlds safe enough for us to shelter the younglings where life is lived more simply, in ways more familiar throughout the galaxy. Where the children might be surrounded by farmland, or fisherbeings. Where we interact more with the communities around us, and train new Jedi to be as much a part of the worlds as separate from them—
