Master & Apprentice (Star Wars)

by Claudia Gray

  He attempted to send a wave of reassurance to his Padawan through the Force, encouragement to hold on, but he felt no answering sense of relief. Either Obi-Wan hadn’t perceived it, or the situation was too dire for his fear to be so easily allayed.

  Through the branches, from his perch several meters above ground, Qui-Gon caught a glimpse of his Padawan’s predicament—a sinkhole opening wide like the maw of some terrible beast, a felled tree shuddering from the upheaval at the sinkhole’s edge, and, hanging on to one of the tree’s broken branches, Obi-Wan. The loose churn of dirt and stone beneath Obi-Wan’s feet, at the bottom of the sinkhole, chilled Qui-Gon to the marrow. If his apprentice slid down into that stuff, he would be pulled beneath it within seconds, dragged inexorably down deeper underground, farther and farther from air. From the sheer weight and velocity of the groundslide beneath him, Qui-Gon wasn’t even sure Yoda could’ve gotten himself free.

  Blast and damn! He leapt down from the trees, propelling himself closer to Obi-Wan. Loose leaves underfoot meant he had to slide to a stop, but at least now he was within sight of the sinkhole. Qui-Gon ran toward the sinkhole, deactivating his lightsaber. When blasters fired at him, he reached out with his feelings to dodge them, not bothering to parry. He didn’t need to worry about the attackers right now, save for keeping himself alive long enough to reach Obi-Wan’s side.

  At last he plunged into the clearing—what was now a clearing, thanks to the trees sliding deeper into the sinkhole. About two meters away, Obi-Wan had managed to climb halfway up the log—which only did so much good, as the log was now itself toppling down.

  When Obi-Wan saw him, his blue eyes widened. “Master!” he called. “No! Save yourself!”

  This is the boy who believed I found him unworthy as an apprentice. The one I failed to tell about the most significant change in my life, and maybe his.

  I don’t deserve him. I never have.

  Qui-Gon ignored the protests and got down on his belly, the better to stabilize himself on the trembling ground. “I’m going to pull the log back. Just hang on.”

  “But, Master—”

  Qui-Gon tuned this out and slid forward far enough to reach the exposed, long-dead roots of the log. One of them had taken on a withered, almost ropy texture, but remained strong. He wrapped this around his left arm, shoulder-to-wrist, then dug his feet into the loose soil as best he could. Then he began creeping backward, scuttling like a desert lizard in sand, making tracks with his elbows, knees, and belly. The log creaked in protest, but began sliding up the lip of the sinkhole.

  Would the sinkhole widen yet farther? If it did, all Qui-Gon’s efforts would be useless. But he sensed it deepening instead, suggesting that the older, taller trees nearby had such deep root systems that they stabilized the ground beneath them. If he could make it to the tree line, they’d be out of danger.

  Well, he thought as he heard the enemy troops approaching. Out of one danger, anyway.

  “It’s working!” Obi-Wan called. Qui-Gon felt the angle of the tree shifting, less and less vertical until it was finally horizontal again. He kept going, crawling backward ceaselessly until he reached the edge of the clearing. The ground beneath them now was steady and strong.

  He propped himself up on his elbows to peer over the tree. Peering back at him, dirt smudged all over his face, was Obi-Wan. When their eyes met, Obi-Wan grinned, and Qui-Gon couldn’t help smiling back.

  Then a blaster bolt slammed into a nearby shrub, setting it smoldering.

  “Out of the saucepan,” Qui-Gon muttered, “and into the stove.”

  Obi-Wan scrambled to his feet, ignoring the bloody scratches on his hands and arms, and ignited his lightsaber. That could do them no good when fighting enemies shielded against lightsabers.

  Yet what portable shields had ever been impervious to lightsabers? Droids could sometimes power such shields, but he’d never witnessed any individual shields with that kind of ability. Qui-Gon half doubted what he’d seen before. Maybe the haze of battle had confused him. No amount of experience could prevent that from happening sometimes.

  “The Meryx isn’t—they can’t—” Breathless, Obi-Wan simply gestured at the Meryx. To Rahara and Pax’s credit, they were still attempting to approach for a pickup. But the guards kept up their fire on the ship, enough to keep it at a distance. Their vessel was small enough to be at serious risk from hand-weapons fire.

  “I see it,” Qui-Gon said. He made his way to stand by Obi-Wan, back-to-back, the better to defend themselves. It was a delaying maneuver, no more. Even the greatest Jedi Knights could only block enemy fire for a finite amount of time. If the attackers were shielded as well as Qui-Gon feared they were, they could simply keep firing upon the two Jedi for hours, even days, until finally one of them failed to parry and took a fatal shot. The other wouldn’t be able to hold out much longer after that.

  Obi-Wan saw it as well as he did. “Master?” he said, keeping his tone light. “I don’t suppose you’d tell me why you kept me at the beginning forms in lightsaber dueling, would you? This is probably my last chance to find out.”

  Qui-Gon took a deep breath. “You see, Padawan—”

  A blaster bolt flew through the air—from the opposite direction of their attackers. Then another. Shouts of alarm went up from the soldiers, echoed by shouts from the unknown others, fast approaching. Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan exchanged glances, then simultaneously dived to the ground to take cover.

  “We have either new friends,” Qui-Gon called over the din, “or double the enemies.”

  Obi-Wan managed to smile. “Look on the bright side. It’s not like our situation could’ve gotten any worse.”

  Through the Force, Qui-Gon felt their attackers’ resolve weaken, then give way. They broke ranks and ran, the fury in their minds growing distant like storm clouds being blown away by a strong spring wind.

  The others approaching them weren’t as angry. No, Qui-Gon realized, not angry at all. Surprised, and scared, and even confused.

  “Our cam droids showed us Jedi Knights in this area!” called a woman’s voice. “Were they killed? Or are they here?”

  Qui-Gon looked at Obi-Wan, who shrugged.

  He’s right. It’s not getting any worse. “We’re here,” he called back. “May I know who it is who’s looking for us?”

  “First you’ll surrender your weapons!” the woman demanded. Something in her tone made him think she hadn’t made demands like that very often.

  “No, we won’t.” Qui-Gon kept his tone reasonable, but resolute. “We don’t intend to surrender ourselves as your prisoners—but we don’t intend to take you as prisoners, either. Either you’ll show yourselves and we’ll talk like civilized beings, or we’ll fight this out. I’d prefer the former. But the decision is yours.”

  For a few seconds, no one spoke. The only sounds were leaves rustling in the breeze, and the far-off hum of the Meryx’s engines, where Rahara and Pax were apparently trying to figure out if it was safe to land. Qui-Gon was trying to figure that out himself.

  The woman finally said, more calmly, “All right. We’re putting our weapons away. You do the same.”

  Obi-Wan looked skeptical, but Qui-Gon nodded. He could sense the honesty in this woman.

  Qui-Gon slipped his lightsaber back into his belt and got to his feet, Obi-Wan right behind him. Through the brush, he could see several humans approaching, all of whom wore outfits in various shades of green. No practical coveralls or uniforms were to be seen; some of these people had even decorated their garb with bits of lace, patches of velvet. They could’ve been mistaken for theatrical performers, were it not for the holster belts they wore, heavy with sheathed blasters and other weapons.

  But they were performers, after all. This was probably the only performance troupe in the galaxy ever to turn to terrorism.

  Their leader appeared to be the woman walki
ng toward him. Given her resonant voice, he was surprised to see that she was actually rather small—a few centimeters shorter than Obi-Wan. Her skin was deep reddish brown, and her black hair was pulled up in small knots all over her head. The lines on her face suggested that she smiled broadly, when she smiled…and that at least in the past, that had been quite often.

  At this moment, the main emotion he sensed in her was bewilderment.

  When at last she stepped into the clearing, they were only two meters apart. Shaking loose dust from his hair, Qui-Gon said, “May we know to whom we owe our deliverance?”

  She snorted—not quite a laugh, but not a denial, either. If he could get her to take credit for their rescue, that brought this situation one step closer to being a rescue.

  “My name is Halin Azucca,” she said, and gestured at the people around her. “We’re the Opposition. And we’d like to know why we’re being framed.”

  “Follow me,” said Halin Azucca, gesturing deeper into the forest.

  That meant her group’s base was probably in the exact opposite direction. Qui-Gon made note of this for later.

  Navigating a nebulous situation like this one was always tricky. Qui-Gon understood that he and Obi-Wan were not truly prisoners, but that they needed to behave as if they were.

  He and Obi-Wan walked just behind Halin, as casually as if this were just a stroll, but always mindful of the other Opposition members beside and behind them. Qui-Gon noted that several people in the Opposition held their weapons awkwardly—as though they’d never been trained in their use, or simply felt profoundly uncomfortable being armed. Odd, for a guerrilla army, even one that began as a group of performers. Perhaps Halin Azucca is telling the truth about their being framed.

  It would take more than a few badly held blasters to convince Qui-Gon of the Opposition’s innocence. But the contrast between these unlikely soldiers and the black-clad figures who had attacked him and Obi-Wan was clear.

  Qui-Gon’s comlink buzzed with Rahara Wick’s voice. “Are you guys all right?”

  Several Opposition members froze in apparent alarm. Halin Azucca met Qui-Gon’s eyes evenly. “Is that a palace ship? Official troops?”

  “No,” he answered. “As a matter of fact, those are jewel thieves.”

  A moment’s disbelief in her eyes gave way to amusement. “You must be telling the truth, because that’s much too weird to be a lie.” She nodded, signaling permission for him to answer.

  He took the comlink in hand. “We’re fine.”

  “Oh, good,” Rahara said. “We were worried about you.”

  Pax chimed in, “You see, if the two of you were killed up here, we’d be the prime suspects.”

  “Undoubtedly,” Qui-Gon said. “For now, hold your position. We’ll be in touch if and when we need a pickup.”

  “Got it.” With that, Rahara signed off.

  Obi-Wan muttered, “Remind me again why we didn’t just get a palace ship for this?”

  Halin answered before Qui-Gon could. “If you guys had arrived in a palace ship, we couldn’t know whether or not you were Deren’s troops or even Czerka operatives coming to haul us in. We’d have to shoot a palace ship, or try. Jewel thieves, though…they’re not going to report our location, are they? They couldn’t turn us in without turning themselves in.”

  Obi-Wan blinked. Qui-Gon smiled slightly. Perhaps his Padawan was at last beginning to see that there were advantages to not doing everything strictly by the book.

  After several more minutes, their group reached a rockier, more uneven area bordered by a hillside. The mouth of one of the moon’s many caves was half shrouded in vines. Halin gestured toward it. “The blackguards haven’t found this one yet. Only a matter of time.”

  With a frown, Obi-Wan said, “Blackguards?”

  “That’s what we’re calling them—the black-uniformed troops that attacked you,” Halin replied.

  Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan shared a glance. They were both remembering the dark figure that had been sighted on the night of the Grand Hunt.

  “They’ve attacked us, too. At first we thought they might be Czerka operatives, but the blackguards have hit a couple of Czerka ships as well. Nobody knows who they are, or where they came from. But I’d bet a million credits that they’re the ones behind all this. Well, the recent stuff, anyway.”

  Qui-Gon caught the filtered admission. “The recent stuff,” he repeated. “But not all of it?”

  The Opposition members exchanged glances, and Halin sighed. “Come on. Let me show you what we’ve got.”

  * * *

  —

  The cave had no lights, no equipment stores, nothing to contradict Qui-Gon’s reasoning that this wasn’t one of their bases. However, a couple of canteens sat in a small cranny, and a few mats had been pulled into a semicircle near enough to the cave’s mouth to get a little light. A hideout, then. An emergency meeting place. A few Gatalentan meditation candles sat in an alcove; someone had tried to find peace here.

  He and Obi-Wan sat on a couple of the mats while Halin fiddled with an ancient astromech droid. Eventually it began playing holograms of a dance performance outside a temple, one with Halin Azucca twirling in the middle of it all. Several of the other members danced alongside her as the crowds watched.

  “This is the kind of thing we came together for,” Halin said. Her expression was wistful. “Political art. Acts that might uplift the spirit while they informed the public. We staged shows in public places, played pranks, did whatever we could do to get attention. But we never, ever hurt anyone. That’s the last thing any of us wanted.”

  “And yet the violence has escalated to bombings,” Obi-Wan pointed out.

  “That’s not us!” scoffed a younger Opposition member. “Reckly over there? He’s a drummer. Bajjo focuses her eye-lenses to create abstract holos. I trained as a puppeteer. Do you seriously think I’d know how to build a bomb? That any of us would? We’re artists.”

  “Artists with weapons,” Qui-Gon said.

  “We got some blasters together, after we were on the run, only to protect ourselves,” Halin insisted. “The first violent attacks scared us as badly as anyone. When the security forces said we were responsible? It was so absurd. Some people wanted to turn themselves in, just to prove their own innocence. I didn’t allow it; I thought Czerka might pressure the government to find us guilty even without evidence. But the longer we stayed hidden, the more atrocities piled up. Proving we were innocent went from difficult to impossible. And whoever it is that’s doing this—they’re not even under suspicion, because the government is so sure we’re the terrorists.”

  Qui-Gon could sense her honesty. Even without the Force, he would’ve known that her account tracked better with the pattern of attacks than any other theory they’d come up with so far. The early, targeted, bloodless operations contrasted sharply with the deadlier attacks that came after. It made sense that these might be the work of two separate groups instead of one.

  Yet some points remained unclear. “You continued your pranks after the terrorist attacks began, even after the Opposition was blamed. That could only encourage the idea of a link between you and the so-called blackguards.”

  “You pulled a stunt just two days ago,” Obi-Wan interjected. “Did you think that balloon outside the palace would do your cause any good?”

  Every Opposition member in the cave grinned, or laughed, or both. The puppeteer shook Halin’s hand as she said, “That went off? Oh, fantastic.”

  By now Qui-Gon understood. “You arranged many of these pranks weeks or even months in advance.”

  Halin nodded. “Easier to put stuff in place when security’s not watching. They’d check the areas for weapons, but not for the kinds of things we planted, like holos and signs.”

  “And balloons.” Qui-Gon sighed. He now had to prove the innocence of a group of p
erformance artists. He remembered Chancellor Kaj saying, The galaxy is big and strange.

  Obi-Wan seemed warier. “For a political group, you haven’t done a very good job of getting your message across. It’s rather muddled.”

  “It isn’t!” Halin insisted. “If you look at our work—just our true work, in isolation—it’s perfectly clear that we’re protesting the Governance Treaty. It doesn’t give lunar citizens fair representation, and it cedes over even more of the government’s power to Czerka Corporation. But they’ve lumped in our work with the blackguards’, which means nobody understands what we’re saying.”

  It occurred to Qui-Gon that Halin Azucca might have analyzed the blackguard attacks more precisely than even the palace had, because she alone knew what acts the Opposition had and hadn’t committed. “Have you picked up on any pattern to the blackguards’ attacks?” he asked. “This is your world, your system. You might see significance where we cannot.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you.” Halin sighed heavily as she sat on another of the mats. “We can’t make any sense of it. Their targets sometimes seem deliberately chosen, but others seem random. The only thing we’ve noticed is that they don’t seem to be going after palace ships. That’s odd, seeing as how the palace is the ultimate authority on this planet, at least until the damn treaty ceremony. Then again, that’s only here on the moon, where the royal guards have a smaller presence. For all we know, the blackguards may be going after them constantly on Pijal. The palace would keep it quiet, if they were.”

  “They’ve attacked the palace,” Obi-Wan said. “In fact, they’ve twice attempted to assassinate Princess Fanry.”

  Murmurs of dismay went through the Opposition, heightening Qui-Gon’s curiosity.

  “You seem concerned for Her Serene Highness’s welfare,” he said. “And you’ve indicated your displeasure with the coming Governance Treaty, but I suspect you’re not monarchists.”

  Halin sat up straighter, a glimmer of something like hope in her eyes. Qui-Gon wondered how long she’d been waiting for someone to ask her for her side of the story—or for someone who might be willing to believe it.