Master & Apprentice (Star Wars)

by Claudia Gray

  The hatch slid open, to reveal Qui-Gon Jinn (solid and genial) and Obi-Wan Kenobi (small, wiry, curious). “Oh, bliss,” Pax said. “Just what I needed this morning.”

  “We made arrangements yesterday to return to the source of those strange life signs,” Qui-Gon pointed out, obnoxiously in Pax’s opinion, even though the Jedi was correct. “Are you and Ms. Wick ready for the trip?”

  “Ready? No. Stuck, yes.” Pax sighed. “All right, then, let’s go.”

  * * *

  —

  The slicer dart. The crab droid.

  Someone wanted to kill Fanry. Someone wanted to ruin the future of the entire planet of Pijal. And this someone also wanted to make damn good and sure to hurt Averross at the same time.

  Halin Azucca must figure I don’t care about Pijal or Fanry, Averross brooded as he stalked along the castle grounds at dawn, his old boots already crusted with mud. Or if she does give me enough credit to care, she’s so angry it doesn’t matter. She wants to make this personal, Force knows why.

  Well, if Azucca wanted a grudge match, she could have one. He grabbed his communicator and called, “Deren!” The man was undoubtedly already up. “We need to review procedures.”

  “At your service, Lord Regent,” Deren said—not via comm, but only a few meters away, and now walking straight toward Averross. The man’s timing was uncanny—exactly as it should be, for a captain of the guard. But then why wasn’t he applying some of that foresight to Fanry’s attackers?

  Averross bit back his irritation. “You could’ve told me you were coming out here to search.”

  “Forgive me, Lord Regent. I believed you would expect me to do so.” Deren bowed his head. “I did inform Master Jinn, so that he and his apprentice could return to their investigations on the moon. But I should’ve let you know regardless, if only so you wouldn’t feel the need to search the grounds yourself.”

  “Both of us doing the same job isn’t necessarily helping Fanry,” Averross said, “unless one of us is doing his job wrong.”

  Deren drew himself upright, as firmly stiff and correct as ever, but Averross could see the pain in his eyes. “If you feel that I should not be in Her Serene Highness’s service any longer—”

  “C’mon, that’s not what I meant.” With a sigh, Averross put away his comm unit. “You’re the one person on this whole planet that I can be sure doesn’t want Fanry dead, and I only trust you because, by now, if you wanted to kill Fanry, you could’ve done it twenty times over.”

  “Her life is more sacred to me than my own,” Deren said solemnly, the way someone might swear an oath. His expression and bearing remained as rigid as though he were carved from a blackbark tree. Did the guy ever wear casual robes, swimming suits, even pajamas? Averross had lived in the same castle as Deren for eight years now and never once seen the guy out of uniform. Never seen that uniform be anything less than pristinely correct. Never heard Deren call him anything but Lord Regent.

  Most people who’d lived and worked together in such close quarters would’ve become friends by this point…that, or bitter enemies. Deren remained at a remove.

  No, not Deren, Averross thought. Me. I’m the one at a remove. Every single human in the palace besides Fanry has made sure of that.

  Just like it was back at the Temple. Just like always.

  (Dooku had told Rael, many times, that his isolation was a self-fulfilling prophecy. “Do you not keep your own customs rather than adopt those of the Jedi around you? Do you refuse to explain yourself more often than not? Why then does it surprise you that you stand apart from the rest?” Master Dooku had liked that about his Padawan, had always encouraged it. So Rael had cultivated that quality within himself—his isolation was at least half his own doing. Yet the solitude kept its sharp edge, always.)

  “I wasn’t sure, sir,” Deren said, lifting the scanner he held, “what kinds of searches you were running. I’ve been looking for repulsorlift signatures that would reveal speeder activity, in case that’s how they’re slipping in and out. But if you’re doing the same, I could—”

  “I’ve done that. I’ve reviewed the safety droids. Even sent probes down to check the coastline, in case they were coming in via submersibles. Nothing. Not even a picture, except that one blurry guy in the brush.” Averross felt wired. Every muscle was tense. Nothing was right, and nothing could be right until the treaty was signed, and nothing was safe.

  Deren bowed his head once more. “I swear to you, Lord Regent, I’ve run all such searches before and will do so again, personally.”

  “What do you feel is goin’ on here?” Averross met Deren’s eyes, searching for the man inside the uniform. “What does your gut tell you? Forget the evidence, or politics, or anything else. I want instinct.”

  After a long pause, Deren said, “I obey procedures, sir. Not instincts.”

  Like a blackbark-wood door being slammed in my face, Averross thought. “All right, all right. Just…go back to what you were doin’.”

  Captain Deren immediately returned to his tasks. Maybe he was grateful not to have to talk to Averross any longer; maybe he just didn’t give a damn. More likely the latter.

  Seabirds shrieked as they began their morning flights, circling high overhead. Averross remembered what he’d sworn to himself when he first arrived on Pijal and saw Fanry, only six years old and newly orphaned, clinging to her slave girl in her loneliness. He’d looked down at her and inwardly promised, Nobody else matters. Nothing else matters. Not the Jedi Council, not politics, not glory, not me. Just you.

  But it was becoming clear to him that he should’ve made more friends in the palace. If he had, maybe he’d have a better idea who their enemies were.

  He stared at the horizon, where the setting moon showed as a pale sliver against the brightening sky. Qui-Gon was up there, trying to find Halin Azucca. Maybe his fresh perspective would let him do it. Averross wished he was with him.

  Because Halin Azucca’s Opposition needed to be hit hard. Harder than Qui-Gon Jinn would ever allow.

  That was Averross’s job.

  * * *

  —

  “I’d like your opinion,” Qui-Gon said.

  Obi-Wan looked up from the Meryx’s scanners. “Well, that’s a first.”

  The look Qui-Gon gave him made Obi-Wan realize, I don’t think I should’ve said that out loud, even if it’s true. But maybe Qui-Gon saw truth in it, too, because he said only, “I had a curious dream about the treaty ceremony.”

  “Not prophecy, I hope,” Obi-Wan joked. Then his heart sank as he took in Qui-Gon’s expression. It hadn’t been a joke at all.

  “Obviously—obviously not literal prophecy,” Qui-Gon said, unusually tentative. “But I wondered whether my dream might not be worth analyzing. Perhaps my subconscious has picked up on some clues that we haven’t noticed consciously.”

  Obi-Wan figured that if Qui-Gon was finally asking for his opinion, he could have it. “Surely we have more pressing concerns. Better ways of searching for an answer. Dream analysis would be guesswork at best.”

  Qui-Gon frowned. Maybe this was the beginning of an argument. Obi-Wan braced himself—then startled as the sensors began chiming. “Looks like we’re here.”

  “Same place as yesterday.” Rahara Wick slid into the seat next to him, double-checking the readings. “And I’m picking up even higher levels of concentrated protons.”

  Protons? Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon shared a look, their disagreement forgotten. That indicated weaponry: torpedoes or missiles, probably. Anybody who had missiles had other weapons, too.

  Had the Opposition finally been found?

  “All right, put it down,” Qui-Gon commanded.

  As Rahara obeyed, Pax Maripher rolled his eyes, something he did often. (Obi-Wan wondered whether maybe it was a medical condition.) Pax proclaimed, “The only thing worse than be
ing made to search for a guerrilla army is being made to face one.”

  “You’re not facing anyone, Pax,” Qui-Gon said. “You’re staying on the ship, as is Rahara. This is for me and my apprentice.”

  Despite everything, Obi-Wan felt a small surge of pride. Qui-Gon does trust me, at least in some things. I’ve earned that much from him, anyway.

  Rahara brought the Meryx down low, until its bottom hull brushed along some treetops. Obi-Wan followed his Master to the hatch, which Rahara had already released for them. Silently Qui-Gon pried the door open. Strong winds whipped into the bay, and Obi-Wan squinted against them.

  “Ready, Padawan?” Qui-Gon said. How many more times would Obi-Wan hear that?

  He looked down into the thick green cloud of treetops moving beneath them. Somewhere beneath those leaves a terrorist army was hiding.

  Maybe waiting.

  “I’m ready, Master.” With that, Obi-Wan jumped from the ship, into the unknown.

  Qui-Gon leapt with Obi-Wan, reaching out with the Force to sense the trees, the life in each branch and leaf. He sensed the winds and the ground, and anchored himself to them to slow his fall. Obi-Wan was doing the same, his own efforts a second note in the great chorus of the Force around them—

  —and the others. So many others.

  We’re jumping directly into the center of the military unit, Qui-Gon realized.

  Good.

  The sound of rushing leaves marked the final moments of the fall, and Qui-Gon positioned himself to land on his feet, legs slightly bent. He didn’t need the Force to tell him Obi-Wan was doing the same.

  Impact. The jolt was minor, and Qui-Gon scarcely noticed. At that instant he activated his lightsaber and reached out with his senses to detect their foes.

  (And they were foes. At this range, their hostile intent surrounded them all, cold as Cadomai.)

  Fourteen adversaries—four to our right, three to our left, one behind, and six straight ahead. Qui-Gon plunged forward, into the heart of the fray. Behind him, Obi-Wan turned backward to the one enemy standing alone.

  Not what I’d have done, Qui-Gon thought as he swung his lightsaber up to parry incoming fire. But smart. Once Obi-Wan is done, we’ll only have three directions to worry about instead of four.

  As blaster bolts sizzled around him, Qui-Gon carved his way through the underbrush, silently resolving to do a healing meditation in the forest afterward. He reached his first black-clad attacker, felt no chance of a surrender, and so struck out—

  —and his lightsaber bounced off the man.

  What the…

  Qui-Gon compensated for the bounce almost instantly and brought his lightsaber up at a different angle. It bounced off again.

  His attacker laughed.

  Shields, he realized. Now that he was looking for them, Qui-Gon could detect a faint reddish glimmer along the outlines of the black-clad soldiers. Few fighters used individual shields, cumbersome and energy intensive as they were, and most energy shields were of limited use against lightsabers—a blow from a lightsaber would still shock and stun anyone wearing one. After that, disarming them and removing the shield generally took no time at all. Never had Qui-Gon come across a shield so powerful that a lightsaber’s blade had no effect, and instead pushed the Jedi Knight backward.

  An opponent untouchable by lightsabers could fight on and on, waiting for one of the Jedi to make a mistake, leave an opening. Even the best Jedi would tire eventually. A mistake would inevitably be made.

  “Master?” Obi-Wan called over the hiss-crackle of blasters. “Something’s wrong with my lightsaber!”

  “It’s not your lightsaber,” Qui-Gon shouted back. “Retreat immediately. Head to the south.” That was the clearest direction possible.

  “Qui-Gon, no! I can fight—”

  “That’s an order, Padawan!”

  The wave of chagrin and fear that swept past Qui-Gon told him Obi-Wan was obeying him. Now to ensure that heading south would do his apprentice any good. He swung around so his back was against the thickest nearby tree. That way he could use one arm to wield his lightsaber as a defensive weapon, the other to grab his comlink and call the Meryx. “We need you back here.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Somehow Pax Maripher even sounded like a protocol droid. “You’re summoning us back toward the firefight? The one that apparently is too fierce to be handled by two Jedi Knights?”

  “We’re not leaving anyone, Pax,” Rahara Wick insisted. “Where do you need us?”

  “South of our drop point. As close as you can get without putting yourselves in jeopardy. Obi-Wan will rendezvous with you shortly.”

  Qui-Gon dropped his comm unit back in his robes, though it didn’t shut off before he overheard Pax: “I wasn’t saying we would leave them, only that we shouldn’t be expected to—”

  He refocused on this attack. One against fourteen, no offensive weapon. Therefore Qui-Gon’s best tactic was to use these fighters against one another.

  A tree nearby was very old and dry, already dying. Qui-Gon dived into a roll that took him to its trunk; with a thought of apology, he slashed his lightsaber through the trunk. With a heavy creak, the tree toppled down—earning shouts of fear and surprise from the attackers. It only hit one, and that glancingly, but Qui-Gon could sense him leaving the fight, with another guard’s help.

  Two down, twelve to go.

  Qui-Gon crouched for cover behind the trunk of the fallen tree, placing one hand on the stump to ease it gently into death. The trunk had landed in the middle of the attackers, dividing them into two groups. Now to get them firing at someone in the middle…

  He crawled forward, using his lightsaber to deflect the lowest bolts and suggest the center as a target—then heard a scream as a higher-aimed bolt hit another guard. Eleven remaining, and if they didn’t adjust formations, others would soon fall. Friendly fire could be more deadly than any enemy attack. Would they have the sense to stop now?

  “This way!” someone shouted. Someone to the south.

  Qui-Gon tucked himself into the V of a large branch, buying himself a few moments to look around. The Meryx was descending through the trees, finding a narrow clearing, to which Obi-Wan seemed to be running. But now all the guards were after him, and after the ship, ignoring Qui-Gon in favor of easier targets. Normally Obi-Wan would’ve been more than able to handle such a situation, but against foes shielded from lightsabers?

  “Blast it,” Qui-Gon muttered, throwing himself forward, following Obi-Wan.

  * * *

  —

  What’s wrong with my lightsaber? Obi-Wan thought as he tried to run serpentine through the underbrush of the forest. Qui-Gon had claimed that wasn’t the problem, but Qui-Gon hadn’t seen how ludicrously his lightsaber bounced off a fighter wearing an ordinary energy shield.

  If the energy shield is ordinary—

  He had no time to pursue that thought. The Meryx was descending to pick him up, a dangerous maneuver for all involved. So Obi-Wan’s job was to get on that ship immediately, then figure out how to rescue his Master.

  From his pocket, his comm unit spoke in Rahara’s voice: “We’re drawing fire—hang on, we’ll find a way to—” Static broke off the transmission as a blaster bolt struck the hull of the Meryx. It wasn’t a dangerous hit, but they were exposed to open fire now, and the attack would only worsen.

  Obi-Wan fumbled for the comlink, then called, “You’re too exposed. Forget me—I’ll find refuge. See if you can provide any cover for Qui-Gon.”

  “Cover for Qui-Gon?” Pax protested. “What about us?” But either he was only complaining or Rahara ignored him, because the Meryx immediately rose above the treetops, heading north.

  His Master would soon be safe. Now to find some safety for himself. Obi-Wan hurried deeper into the brush, hoping to find a patch so thick it provided real barrier
s to blasterfire. The crunch of leaves and twigs underfoot seemed so loud, like he was signaling his location for the attackers’ convenience—no, no, it’s louder for you than it is for anyone else, just keep going—

  The grove ahead of him was darker, almost blocking out light entirely. Obi-Wan dashed for it. This might give him the safety he needed.

  He felt the slight instability underfoot only an instant before the ground gave way under his feet.

  Obi-Wan grabbed for purchase, and wrapped one hand around a thick branch jutting from a heavy log. That alone kept him from tumbling down with the soil beneath his feet, the loose ground and small stones and roots, all of which were swirling down into—

  A sinkhole, he thought. A bad one. One of the ones Rahara warned us about.

  The log shuddered on the lip of the widening sinkhole. Already the soil underneath was shaking, loosening, threatening to give way. When it did, the log would fall—taking Obi-Wan with it.

  Qui-Gon saw the Meryx rising above the firefight. He saw a strange trembling among the leaves and trees in a distant dark patch of the wood.

  But he felt Obi-Wan fall, through the Force, through the sheer jolt of alarm that passed straight from his Padawan’s heart to his.

  “Sinkhole!” shouted one of the soldiers attacking them. They were frightened and, at least for the moment, disorganized. That gave Qui-Gon a chance to reach Obi-Wan.

  He braced himself, called once again upon the Force, and leapt upward to the higher limbs of a nearby tree. It swayed under his weight, then bent in the opposite direction—closer to Obi-Wan. Qui-Gon silently thanked it and jumped again, using all his power to clear five meters to another of the trees.

  “Get back in there!” shouted another of the soldiers, perhaps their commander. “The sinkhole’s only going to open so far! We’ve got the Jedi where we want them!”

  Irrelevant. Qui-Gon would get to Obi-Wan and help him. He’d worry about the attack after that, not before.