Master & Apprentice (Star Wars)

by Claudia Gray

  She began, “No, we’re not monarchists. Most of us aren’t opposed to the idea of a constitutional monarchy, but we’d like democratic representation.”

  “So why do you oppose the idea of an Assembly?” Obi-Wan asked.

  “We don’t oppose the idea,” Halin said. “We oppose the reality, as it’s set up in the Governance Treaty. Have you read through the entire thing?”

  “Of course,” Qui-Gon said. “As did my apprentice, and the chancellor’s team on Coruscant. All appears to be in order.”

  Halin’s expression darkened. “All is not what it appears to be.”

  The legalese was difficult to recall exactly, and in such matters precision was important. “Please explain.”

  “The Assembly sounds like a great idea, but when you dig into the details, you realize how shoddy this Governance Treaty really is. There’s only token representation for the citizens of Pijal’s moon, even though we’re a solid quarter of the system population.”

  The moon had been described as “sparsely populated,” and the census records had seemed to back this up. Yet Pijal, with its sparse island continents, undoubtedly had fewer inhabitants than the average planet of its size. “Why would anyone obscure the real population of the moon? And who would have the power to do so?”

  “Czerka,” Halin said. She offered no further explanation, but she didn’t need to. Qui-Gon had seen for himself the influence Czerka held on this planet. Czerka’s mining efforts took a far higher toll on the moon than on Pijal itself. The corporation had made sure that the planet’s leadership—most recently, Rael—would never be face-to-face with the worst damage. By now, the lunar citizens knew better…which was precisely why Czerka would work to keep them disenfranchised.

  “So you want proper representation,” Obi-Wan said. “Did you not try normal political channels for your protests? Before turning to, um, dancing?”

  “We tried,” Halin said, “but a fat lot of good it did us. The lord regent wouldn’t even listen. He sees any opposition to the treaty as a personal attack on the princess. That, or he’s too arrogant to admit he might’ve made a mistake. Typical high-handed—”

  Her voice trailed off in a way that made Qui-Gon suspect the next word out of her mouth would’ve been Jedi.

  “Rael Averross is devoted to the princess,” he said. “It’s possible that has affected his judgment.” Qui-Gon had no doubt that Rael’s ego could also have played a role in his obstinacy, but that was not a matter to be discussed with outsiders.

  Halin nodded, grateful to be given a tactful out. “Sure. That would make sense. But what doesn’t make sense is the fact that this treaty doesn’t benefit the moon or the planet as much as it benefits Czerka Corporation.”

  Obi-Wan looked confused. “The corporation’s not named in the treaty.”

  “Of course not,” she said. “But there are clauses giving the Assembly the authority to ‘renew all contracts applying to privatized industries and such industries’ land use.’ That might not look so ominous until you realize all of those contracts go to Czerka. They have for centuries, though Czerka’s tightened its grip during the Regency. Then it says, ‘This shall be preserved as the sun preserves the moon.’ ”

  “I thought that was merely ritual language,” Qui-Gon admitted.

  “It is ritual language,” Halin said, “but there’s no ‘merely’ about it. Only a Pijali native would understand; in our law, that phrase means ‘forever, and ever, and ever.’ As in, absolutely irrevocable, no matter what laws are passed afterward. In other words, while the Assembly can renew the contracts, it lacks the power to cancel the contracts.”

  Obi-Wan had a finer mind for such legal details than Qui-Gon ever had. Already he’d come to a conclusion. “You mean that if the treaty is signed, Czerka’s presence on the Pijal system will be codified into law, permanently.”

  “Exactly.” Halin exhaled heavily, apparently relieved that someone close to authority had seen her point. “That would be abhorrent to us even if Czerka weren’t massively abusing their power.”

  “How so?” asked Qui-Gon. “The more details we have, the better.”

  “One of the ‘privatized industries’ Averross put Czerka in charge of is the penal system,” she said. “A generation ago, the Pijal system rarely resorted to lengthy jail sentences. Now they’re mandatory for a long list of crimes, including minor ones. And a larger number of crimes are now punishable by life sentences at labor.”

  “Slaves,” Qui-Gon said as understanding dawned. “You mean Czerka takes these people and enslaves them.”

  One of the Opposition members standing watch at the mouth of the cave added, “And if they have children while enslaved, those kids are legally Czerka property, too.”

  “Rael Averross helped to write this?” Qui-Gon’s feelings toward Rael had been mixed for so long—but never had he imagined an ethical failure as great as this. “He approved it?”

  “Less that he did it personally, more that he lets Czerka do what they want and doesn’t ask any inconvenient questions,” Halin answered. “Czerka’s powerful. They use that power to support the princess. Even after the Governance Treaty, Fanry will have enough authority to make sure Czerka doesn’t run into any difficulties. And she’s grown up with Czerka. Had their supervisors to dinner in the palace at least once a week. Yes, Fanry’s our crown princess, but she’s also still a child, one who doesn’t have the perspective to comprehend exactly how screwed up this all is.”

  Obi-Wan had taken on a thoughtful look. “Even if she does figure it out when she gets older, it won’t matter. By then Czerka’s contracts will be made permanent by the treaty.”

  It was possible that Halin Azucca was exaggerating some of this, or misunderstanding certain elements. Yet Qui-Gon was now convinced that the largest part of what she was saying was true. He’d observed Czerka’s omnipresence in the system for himself, as well as the palace’s reliance on forced labor. A closer inspection of the Governance Treaty would no doubt confirm the greatest dangers.

  Rael was fighting so hard to protect Fanry—to make up for failing Nim—that he was instead failing an entire system.

  “I’m going to address this directly with Averross,” Qui-Gon promised Halin. “And with the Jedi Council, and possibly Chancellor Kaj herself. Surely we can change this.”

  Her expression was difficult to read by the flickering hololight—hopeful, yes, but uncertain, too. “If anyone can, the Jedi can.”

  “The chancellor and the Council will want to hear about the blackguards, too,” Obi-Wan pointed out. “And we’re no closer to figuring out who they are.”

  “If the blackguards are trying to interfere with the treaty process, we may learn a great deal about them if the treaty is delayed or canceled.” Qui-Gon recalled something Halin had said earlier. “You mentioned, when we first reached this cave, that they ‘hadn’t found this one yet,’ or something similar. What did you mean by that?”

  Halin shrugged. “The blackguards seem to love raiding the various caves. At first we thought the caves must be their hideouts, but that doesn’t check out. Maybe they’re trying to trace Czerka activity underground, but why? That’s all we know about these people. They raid caves, and they’re willing to take lives in service to an agenda nobody knows.” Smiling crookedly, she added, “A mystery worthy of a Jedi?”

  Qui-Gon said, “Absolutely.”

  Rahara tapped her fingers on her seat as she stared at the chrono. The Jedi had been gone too long for her liking.

  “If they’re dead,” Pax said, “we’ll be the ones blamed. Mark my words.”

  “That’s only the thousandth time you’ve said that.” It would’ve been easier to dismiss Pax’s worries if she didn’t share them. Two missing or dead Jedi Knights would, at minimum, attract considerable attention from the authorities. At least one of those authorities was sure to n
otice the scar on her hand, which would lead to—

  The comlink crackled with static before resolving into Qui-Gon Jinn’s deep voice. “Meryx? Do you read?”

  “Loud and clear,” Rahara said. The relief sweeping through her was so deep that it came close to joy. “Ready for your ride?”

  “Very much so. We’ll be waiting at these coordinates.”

  The data lit up on-screen, and instantly Pax went to work laying them in. “So they were fine the entire time? We spent all this time worrying for nothing. Worrying, and remaining inactive, when we could be harvesting opals—”

  “At least we’re not on the hook for losing two Jedi, Pax. So drop it.” Rahara sank into the pilot’s chair, ready to roll.

  A low fly-by between some of the nearby hills revealed Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan standing in a small clearing. They were incredibly dusty, and when Qui-Gon boarded the Meryx, Rahara spotted a twig tangled in his hair—but otherwise, they seemed none the worse for wear. “How did you guys get out of that one?”

  “Often I have to ask myself that question,” Qui-Gon said. “This time, we were saved from one secret paramilitary organization by another secret organization.”

  “Uncanny luck, that.” Pax raised an eyebrow. “I suppose diplomacy or Jedi protocol precludes any chance you’ll explain it all to us?”

  To Rahara’s surprise, Qui-Gon turned thoughtful. He and his apprentice shared a look, and Obi-Wan shrugged. Qui-Gon said, “There’s no rule against it, and the two of you have been searching this moon for a while. It’s possible you might’ve picked up on clues that could shed some light.”

  Pax sighed. “Oh, so now we’re forced to be advisers to the mission?”

  Apparently protocol droids complained every other sentence, which she figured was the reason Pax did the same, but that didn’t mean Rahara had to like it. “Pax, you literally just asked the man for information.”

  “I didn’t ask to opine upon it,” Pax said haughtily as he steered the Meryx back toward their landing grounds.

  “Forgive me,” Qui-Gon said, “but I suspect you’d share your opinion on this or any other topic, whether we asked for it or not.”

  Slowly Pax began to smile. When people punctured his vanity, he began to respect them. “Rather perceptive of you.”

  * * *

  —

  Qui-Gon studied Rahara’s and Pax’s faces as he finished speaking. He’d wondered, at first, whether they would keep back anything they knew; it was possible they were up to illegal acts beyond the ones they’d already admitted to, in which case they would have motivation to conceal some facts. Yet he sensed no deception, no reticence, from either of them. Pax merely looked curious.

  Rahara, however, had withdrawn within herself—as people did when they were in pain.

  “Whatever are these blackguards spelunking about in the caves for?” Pax said. “There’s nothing in there but whirlpool opals, which aren’t valuable enough to motivate a paramilitary operation. They’re not even valuable enough to motivate me, and I do this for a living. Then there are the kohlen crystals, but those are absolutely useless. Unless maybe they’ve mistaken them for kyber?”

  “The shields,” Obi-Wan said. “Their shields seemed impervious to our lightsabers. Could kohlen crystals power such a thing?”

  “Not that I’ve ever heard of, though it’s an interesting concept.” Pax looked thoughtful. “Hmm. Must consider.”

  Qui-Gon weighed the information they had. “That seems the likeliest scenario—that these kohlen crystals are used in these shields, which is why the blackguards raid various caves.”

  However, Obi-Wan wasn’t satisfied. “But why bother with an operation on such a scale? There are, at present, exactly three people in this system who have lightsabers. Designing a shield just to defend against three people—isn’t that overkill?”

  “Obviously they plan to distribute,” Pax said.

  Qui-Gon had just reached the same conclusion, though he couldn’t speak of it as calmly as Pax Maripher did. “A means of complete protection against a lightsaber…that could be a powerful defense. A dangerous one, if it falls into the wrong hands.”

  “Not that dangerous.” Obi-Wan took up a cleanser towel and began scrubbing his dirty face. “We have other weapons, even if they’re not exclusive to us in the way lightsabers are. And the shields do nothing to affect our connection to the Force. With the Force as our ally, we’re always strong.”

  “True, Padawan. Unfortunately, it’s also true that you and I wound up cornered today, with no way out. We survived only because the Opposition intervened. Some Jedi become complacent—even arrogant—about the power the Force gives us. That power is great and profound, but it is not absolute. Never forget that.”

  Chastened, Obi-Wan nodded. “I won’t. Still…I can’t see the point of attempting to distribute a weapon that only works against the Jedi, but doesn’t provide that much of an advantage against the Jedi, either. If we hadn’t been so significantly outnumbered, the blackguards wouldn’t have had much chance.”

  “A fair point,” Qui-Gon conceded.

  Obi-Wan, now deep in thought, went back to cleaning himself. Probably Qui-Gon should do the same; if his face was as begrimed as his hands, he was utterly filthy. Yet he couldn’t ignore the waves of emotion rising within Rahara Wick. He sensed her pain, and her anger.

  Although Pax Maripher was more deeply Force-blind than almost any other human Qui-Gon had encountered, he was capable of telling when something was wrong with Rahara. “What is it?” he said, his voice startlingly gentle. “Rahara?”

  “Slaves,” she said flatly. When she lifted her face from her knees, tears were welling in her dark eyes. “They want even more. It’s not enough for Czerka that they already own millions upon millions of sentient beings, and the children they’ll have, and the children those children will have. Czerka still wants more. Sometimes I think they want to own everyone in the galaxy.”

  “Allowing slavery as a sentence for crime is…abased, in the extreme.” Qui-Gon shook his head. “That will be the first subject I take up with Rael Averross.”

  This placated Rahara not at all. “Yeah. Abased. In the extreme. But owning people who were born into forced labor—what, that’s okay?”

  Qui-Gon answered her gently. “Of course not. The Republic has abolished slavery.”

  “But the Republic doesn’t force Czerka to stop using them, even in Republic space. They don’t aggressively police trafficking on their borders. Why not?”

  He sat for a few long moments, considering this, to be sure he was answering honestly. “The Jedi don’t make the Republic do anything. We serve the Republic, not the other way around. But as to why the Republic doesn’t act…I have no good answer for you.”

  Rahara wiped her cheek roughly, with the back of one hand. “If the Republic can’t do something as decent and basic as attack slavery, why do we have a Republic to begin with?”

  Qui-Gon repeated, “I have no good answer.”

  Enslavement was one of the evils that existed outside the Republic—a dirty fact of life there, one the Republic had never sought to eradicate. Some planets had never operated under any other system of labor. And different species interpreted slavery in different ways. The concept meant something rather different to humans than it did to, say, the T’zaki, insectoid beings who shared a hive mind. In the T’zaki language, the word freedom translated roughly as “purposelessness.”

  But for the overwhelming majority of sentients, slavery was deeply painful, and its operation extremely corrupt. Qui-Gon understood that the Republic’s powers ended at its borders…but its influence did not. Surely that influence could be brought to bear more often, to help enslaved persons. Why had this never come to pass?

  This rot has been festering within us from the beginning, he thought. Little wonder Czerka has abused it.
<
br />   Was that something Qui-Gon had the power to change?

  Rahara had pulled herself together somewhat. “So, am I right that you guys are going after Czerka?”

  “In terms of ending their undue influence on this planet,” Qui-Gon said, “yes.”

  “Then I want in.” Her smile was as sharp as any blade. “Because there is nothing in this world I’d enjoy more than making Czerka run scared.”

  Qui-Gon expected Pax to protest about his safety, or the difficulty of taking on a corporation of such size, or simply for protest’s sake. Instead, he grinned at Rahara. “Sounds like splendid fun to me.”

  * * *

  —

  Once the Meryx had dropped them off on Pijal, Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon hurried across the grassy plain where their personal ship waited. Pax and Rahara were decent pilots, but Obi-Wan looked forward to flying again, even if it was a simple in-atmosphere hop.

  Though really, a flight like this one wasn’t as much fun as riding the varactyl had been—

  “All right,” Qui-Gon said as they entered the vessel. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Obi-Wan kept the ship low, skimming tree lines, dipping into any large clearing. Scanners stayed on auto-function, with Obi-Wan taking over only to ensure in-depth coverage of any hills that seemed likely to contain caves—which, on this moon, meant most of them. Qui-Gon remained silent for a long time, which Obi-Wan took as a sign of affirmation that he was doing the right thing.

  Yet he proved to have misinterpreted Qui-Gon yet again.

  After a long while, almost at the point of returning to Pijal, Qui-Gon said, “Padawan, do you remember what I said to you about my dream?”

  Oh, no. He’s been over there obsessing about prophecies? But Obi-Wan was determined to hear him out. “Yes, I recall, though you hadn’t shared many details.”