by Claudia Gray
“Are we reliving our past triumphs?” Obi-Wan said. He was joking now, trying to leaven the mood between them. “If so, I’d like to ask that the Hutt palace on Teth be stricken from the record.”
Qui-Gon simply pointed at the findings as they scrolled along. “It’s not our triumphs we’re reliving. Ah—there.”
The shadowy mystery ship appeared at the edge of the holo, barely visible, firing to stop the plasma fire. Qui-Gon paused the holo there to study the information beneath. “We made some new friends yesterday. I suggest we look them up.”
Obi-Wan frowned. “Those are literally the only people on this moon we can safely assume aren’t in the Opposition.”
“Agreed. That’s one reason why they might be useful to us.” Qui-Gon pointed to one particular set of findings hovering at the lower edge of the holo. “This is another.”
“That’s…a scanner-blocking field. A rather powerful one, but small.” Obi-Wan spoke faster as he became more intrigued. “The field’s limited to only one section of the ship, which isn’t that big to begin with. Maybe it could stretch to cover the whole ship, though, as powerful as it is. Master, I didn’t think small ships could project scanner-blocking fields, much less ones this strong.”
“We’re dealing with someone rather ingenious.” Qui-Gon stripped out most frequencies from the cruiser’s scanners, setting them to search for only the energy by-products of this unusual blocking field.
“And rather secretive,” Obi-Wan pointed out. “Are you sure you can get them to help us?”
Qui-Gon smiled as the first faint hit came up on scans. “Let’s find out.”
* * *
—
Obi-Wan brought them in low, the cruiser skimming over thick forests of trees with distinctively knobby, gnarled trunks and branches. The terrain was uneven, rich with both cliffs and caverns. From their scans, it appeared the blocking field was at work within one of these caves.
A hiding place within a hiding place, Obi-Wan thought as he and Qui-Gon strode out onto the moon. I’m not sure these people will be eager to work with us.
But he followed Qui-Gon as they made their way toward the cave. It was important to stay attentive, because the beauty of their surroundings could so easily lull him off his guard. Soft light filtered through the leaves far overhead. Sinuous vines twined around low shrubs and tree trunks, fruit gleaming in various shades of deep purple and a green so pale it was almost gold. Temperate breezes caressed his skin, tousled Qui-Gon’s hair. Calling upon the Force here would be easy—only a few moments of serenity would surely connect any Jedi to the abundant life of this moon.
Pijal carves its beauty out of stone, Obi-Wan thought. No such effort is required here.
The rambling terrain dipped lower, revealing rocky hillsides—and the mouth of a cave, nearly hidden by vines. Obi-Wan’s sharp eyes picked out the torn leaves here, the odd winding there, which revealed that these vines had been broken recently, then tugged back into place from within.
Qui-Gon gave him a look. Obi-Wan nodded, and they both took their lightsabers into their hands without activating them. Silently they slipped through the vines and began walking into the cave.
Sunlight became weaker as they went. Just when Obi-Wan thought they would soon be in complete darkness, he became aware of a dim glow ahead, which outlined a small ship of unknown make. They continued on, taking care to step as quietly on the gravelly surface as possible, as new sounds became audible.
“I cannot believe this,” said a reedy human voice in a Coruscanti accent more precise than most. “Every single one of them? This is outrageous.”
The feminine voice that replied was more amused than angry. “You’re going to be outraged that some rocks aren’t doing what you want them to do?”
“More that they have the gall to be something other than what they pretended to be.” Obi-Wan made out a man’s silhouette against the pale, pinkish glow of hovering candledroids. “Never in the history of mineralogy has anyone been so betrayed.”
The unknown woman laughed. “We’ll lay a curse on them later, okay? For now we should—wait. Do you hear that?”
She had sharp ears; Obi-Wan wouldn’t have detected anything yet at this point. For once his reaction and Qui-Gon’s were in perfect sync; instantly they both leapt forward and ignited their lightsabers. The two people inside the cave jumped back behind their ship, maybe going for weapons—
—and yet what was that sparkling along the cave walls?—
“We mean you no harm,” Qui-Gon said, in his gentlest tone. “We only want to ask a few questions.”
“Your questions be damned.” The man half showed himself from the edge of his ship, holding something long and black in one hand.
The woman murmured, “Pax, they’re Jedi. They’re not going to—”
“They’re not going to stop us,” said the man evidently named Pax. “They’re going to turn around and back out of here if they know what’s good for them. And if not, well, I stand ready to fight.”
Qui-Gon sighed. “Stand down.”
“Surrender?” Pax said. “Give up before the battle’s even begun? Why would I do that?”
“Because you’re not holding a blaster in your hand, only a shovel,” Qui-Gon said patiently. “Also, we have lightsabers.”
A short pause followed before Pax said, “Your point is well taken. Allow me to congratulate you on your persuasive rhetoric.”
“I can’t believe you tried to bluff two Jedi Knights with a shovel.” The woman appeared, hands raised. “We surrender.”
“Surrender isn’t necessary,” Qui-Gon said. “But we need to talk.”
* * *
—
“Just want to talk.” A likely story.
Pax Maripher stood in his hold, arms crossed against his chest, glaring at the Jedi Knight and his student who dared interrupt his work. Granted, the work had turned out to be utterly fruitless, a waste of time. But that didn’t give the Jedi the right to barge in waving their lightsabers about.
Rahara, meanwhile, had introduced herself and was now chatting with these two like they were old friends. “Can you believe it?” she said, gesturing toward the brilliant orange crystal the tall fellow called Qui-Gon held in his hand.
“It looks almost exactly like kyber,” Qui-Gon said, turning the crystal back and forth. “The same heft. It even possesses some vibration with the Force. The differences are incredibly subtle. I see why you were fooled.”
The young one with the stupid haircut, whatever his name was, shook his head in disbelief. “Are you positive it’s not kyber? Not some—new form, a different kind of crystallization?”
This was too much to be borne. “Yes, I’m positive,” Pax said, in a tone of voice he hoped would be described as “withering.” He held out his scanner as evidence. “On the macro level, this stuff is identical to kyber, but if you get down into the microscopic, they’ve got about as much in common as Coruscant and Ceiran.”
“Apparently they’re called kohlen crystals,” Rahara explained. “We just looked ’em up. Turns out they’re not unknown, just rare—even rarer than real kyber. But they’re no good in lightsabers, and so unusual there’s not even a jewelry market for them. Which means this whole trip is nothing but a wild-mynock chase for us.” She shrugged in a way that made her silky hair fall past one shoulder. Pax wondered if she was doing that on purpose, not remembering that the Jedi were supposedly celibate.
Then he wondered if he was simply noticing Rahara’s hair far too often.
“Not only that,” Qui-Gon said, smiling at Rahara while continuing to pretend Pax was the least important individual in the room. “It also gave you an opportunity to save many lives.”
Pax’s eyes met Rahara’s. It seemed to him that he ought to be indignant that her stunt had drawn exactly the attention they’d hoped to
avoid. Instead, he saw the pain she tried so hard to hide, so well, most of the time. Quietly she said, “There was no reason not to help.”
“There was also no reason to run away afterward,” said the little one with bad hair, Obbie whatever. “Why did you?”
Pax was ready to leap in with one of many possible explanations, each in his opinion more deceptive than the last, but Rahara—after years of never speaking about it—instead simply held out her left hand. “Here,” she said. “That’s why.”
Visible on the back of her hand was the faint scar from the long-removed Czerka tag.
“The scars won’t heal,” she said quietly. “They treat the tags with a chemical that burns in ways bacta can’t fix. So you have to wear it forever—the proof that you’re enslaved, or were before you were freed.”
“Your last owner freed you?” Qui-Gon said.
Rahara’s expression grew steely. “I freed myself.”
This was more than Pax could bear. “If you think for one instant that you can repatriate her to Czerka, let me make it very clear that those lightsabers won’t stop me from stopping you.”
Qui-Gon held up one hand. “I’ve no intention of returning Ms. Wick to Czerka.” Something in his voice made Pax want to trust him, which was highly unusual, as he trusted nearly no one. “I only need your help.”
“I knew it. Pax was right.” Rahara hugged herself, a gesture of fear that had nothing to do with the pure rage in her voice. “You’re going to make me do—do something, or else you’ll turn me over to Czerka for—”
“Ms. Wick,” Qui-Gon said again. “I repeat, I have no intention of returning you to Czerka whether you cooperate or not. However, I’m more sympathetic to those who’ve escaped from slavery than I am to jewel thieves.”
“Who said we’re jewel thieves?” Pax demanded. “You can’t possibly prove such a thing.”
Obi-bad-hair held up a datapad with their past inventory and sales records, which obviously hadn’t been securely locked. “I think we can.”
Rahara raised her eyes to the ceiling. “Pax, it’s obvious what we’re doing. So let’s not waste time denying it.” Her gaze focused on Qui-Gon next. “What favor is it you want from us, anyway?”
Pax thought he was braced for any answer, until Qui-Gon smiled easily and said, “I need you to help me find some terrorists.”
“The Meryx, you say?” Qui-Gon took a seat in the ship, studying its inner workings, which were a unique patchwork of state-of-the-art tech and materials so old they might’ve predated the Republic. “An interesting namesake. Have you ever found any?”
“No, more’s the pity,” said the wiry, wild-haired man called Pax Maripher. His resentment of the Jedi was clear—but not as powerful as his pride in his vessel. He ran a hand along one gleaming wall as he added, “Should we ever get our hands on some meryx, oh, the upgrades I’ll give her.”
From his place near the scanner-blocking field, Obi-Wan turned with a frown. “What’s meryx?”
“Probably the single rarest gemstone in the galaxy,” answered Rahara Wick, who was placing orange kohlen crystals in an analysis cylinder. “It’s a kind of amber—specifically, the fossilized amber of the white wroshyr trees of Kashyyyk, which have been extinct for millennia.”
“Meryx appears cloudy and white until the light hits it just so.” Pax’s face could actually look quite handsome when he was smiling. Qui-Gon suspected few people ever learned that. “Then it shines the most brilliant gold you can imagine.”
Obi-Wan was as interested in jewels as the average seventeen-year-old Padawan, which was to say not at all. “Why did you name your ship after a jewel you’ve never found?”
“It’s about hope,” Rahara said. Pax gave her a look—that wasn’t the answer he would’ve given, Qui-Gon saw. But he didn’t contradict her, either.
The man has a soul, Qui-Gon thought. But he makes her carry it. “Their ship is named after their ultimate goal,” he said to Obi-Wan. “It’s an aspiration. A reminder to strive for great things. Something any Padawan should relate to, surely.”
Obi-Wan looked at the floor as he nodded. “Perhaps you should explain to our new friends—”
Pax snorted. “Hostages, more like.” This earned him an elbow in the ribs from Rahara.
“—exactly what it is we need from the Meryx,” Obi-Wan concluded. Which meant that his Padawan hadn’t yet put it together himself. He’d been distracted these past several days, still wounded by Qui-Gon’s failure to tell him about the Council. Even the innocent remark about having goals to aim for seemed to have stung. Qui-Gon wondered how things could’ve gotten so bad, so quickly.
The probable answer: They’d been that bad for a while, but he’d failed to see it. He’d been so busy judging Obi-Wan that he hadn’t thoroughly judged himself.
Without missing a beat, Qui-Gon replied, “We need to search this moon rather thoroughly, without signaling to anyone that the search is under way. Using Pijali ships would attract attention and cause alarm. The Meryx, however, has been expertly fitted to avoid detection.”
The word expertly soothed Pax, as it had been intended to do. His tone was marginally less acidic as he asked, “In other words, you mean for us to chaperone you about this entire moon while you look for—what, precisely?”
Qui-Gon gestured upward, toward the space between Pijal and the moon where they’d first encountered each other. “For whomever sabotaged that soulcraft, nearly killing everyone inside.”
“The Opposition, right? I read that on the feeds.” Rahara leaned against the wall. The static of the scanner-blocking field tugged strands of her hair out, almost as though she were standing in the wind. “Look at it this way, Pax. We’re going to be flying around this moon as well protected as the princess herself, with two Jedi by our side. And we’re not going to go to jail. I’m not seeing a downside here.”
“The downside is, I don’t like it. But I must admit—we’re stuck.” Pax turned to Qui-Gon, as though making a very great concession. “Very well. Give us your desired search pattern, and we can begin.”
Qui-Gon held up a finger. “We’ll begin tomorrow. Scouts might’ve seen our ship today, and be on alert. If they have sources within the palace, they’ll definitely know. Tomorrow morning, when you pick us up on Pijal, no one will be the wiser.”
Pax rolled his eyes at the thought of having to get them from Pijal, but he raised no further objections. When he took himself off to the refresher, Qui-Gon mildly said, “Interesting fellow, your partner.”
“You don’t have to be tactful. Pax is a lot to take. But you have to understand where he comes from.” Rahara looked from Qui-Gon to Obi-Wan and back again. “When Pax was just a kid, four or five years old, he was on a ship on the border of Wild Space that got attacked by Delphidian pirates. He hid in an equipment hatch, because he was still little enough to fit. Nobody else was. Which means every other sentient on board was killed, including his parents. Pax was left behind.”
“How terrible,” Obi-Wan said.
Rahara nodded. “Yeah, but I don’t think that’s the main reason why he is the way he is. That has more to do with the fact that the ship went derelict—it wasn’t found for a long time, and while it had tons of emergency rations in storage, it didn’t have the fuel to get anywhere on its own. See, the only equipment the pirates left behind was a shipment of protocol droids. Threepio units, mostly. Those protocol droids raised Pax for the next fifteen years, until the ship was finally rediscovered. And they taught him to behave exactly like they did.”
Qui-Gon considered the 3PO units he’d known. “That must be…challenging.”
“That’s one word for it,” she said, with a laugh. “But once you figure out how to deal with him, honestly, Pax is pretty great.”
Obi-Wan gave Qui-Gon a look that clearly meant, We’ll have to take her word for it.
&nbs
p; But they had more than Rahara Wick’s word. Qui-Gon could feel the subtle flow of the Force around these two—the sense that they were people drawn to greater things. Despite Rahara’s past traumas and Pax’s bad attitude, there was very little darkness here.
Some people, he thought, are drawn to the light as surely as flowers that bend toward a sun.
Pax returned just as Qui-Gon began inputting an initial search grid. Rahara beckoned Pax to their equipment table and whispered, very low, “It looks like there are some whirlpool opals on this moon.”
“Semiprecious at best,” sniffed Pax.
“Okay, maybe people don’t pay that much for them, but they’ll pay something. We might as well harvest what we can. Then this trip could still be profitable for us—or we’ll at least break even.”
“Assuming,” Pax said, “we’re not blown to atoms.”
“Yeah, that would help.”
Stifling a smile, Qui-Gon settled down to work.
* * *
—
Although there were no specific references in the ancient royal charters, most of the Pijali courtiers believed that, for at least the last hundred coronations, Czerka Corporation had thrown a preliminary celebration for the heir to the throne. Not any of the rallies Czerka promoted, nor the orchestral events they sponsored—a small, private party. Something personal for the heir, and the current sector supervisor.
Which was why Fanry was spending her afternoon on a yacht with Meritt Col.
“Your Serene Highness,” Col said, settling into the cushioned repulsor chair next to Fanry’s, near the prow of the ship. “When you take office, we’ll have so many important matters to discuss. But today is only for pure—”
“What matters?” Fanry asked innocently.
Meritt Col paused. Although she wore a free-flowing silvery robe—the sort of thing one might wear on a yacht—it looked as uncomfortable on her as her stiff Czerka uniform would’ve looked on anyone else. Her pale hair ruffled in the sea breeze. “Well. Of course, we’ll want to negotiate various terms and permissions. For instance, we’ll need greater authority on the moon, because of course we need both the Pijal and lunar anchors for the hyperspace corridor to remain intact. And the docks reserved for the soulcraft—some of them could be put to greater commercial use. But as I say, there’s time for all that later.”
