Master & Apprentice (Star Wars)

by Claudia Gray

  Together they jumped more than two meters sideways, to the exact midpoint between the droidekas, and then ducked to the ground.

  Blaster bolts flashed over their heads, fired by each droid—straight at each other. Crackling blue electricity raced along their plating as each vibrated, then collapsed.

  Obi-Wan half turned to smile at him. “That’s more like it.”

  “Come on.” Qui-Gon hadn’t forgotten that the Facet had gone down a few minutes before. The heavy, swirling fog around their feet became more opaque by the second, and he wanted to search before the murk became impenetrable.

  Airspace above the Czerka facility had turned into a three-dimensional traffic jam worthy of Coruscant. Blackguard ships were attempting to escape in one direction, pursued by palace vessels; Czerka cargo haulers were taking off in another; and a few remaining royal ships had begun descending through the middle of it all. Qui-Gon hoped the palace troops were getting detailed scans of the blackguard vessels. Then, perhaps, they could be traced, and the mystery of their origins could be solved.

  His boots trudged through mud as they walked farther back into the compound, into the area where Qui-Gon had seen the Facet go down. Neither Pax nor Rahara showed themselves. He quickened his steps; the pilot might be injured.

  “The other droids have all headed to Czerka haulers,” Obi-Wan said. “We’re safe.”

  “For the moment, at least.” Qui-Gon looked sideways at his apprentice. Obi-Wan had a few tiny flecks of mud on his face mixed in with his freckles, and he’d torn the hood of his robe. Never had Qui-Gon seen him so elated. “You fought splendidly.”

  “I know! Oh—I mean, thank you, Master.”

  Qui-Gon chuckled. “Go ahead, Padawan. Claim it. You’ve earned the right.”

  Obi-Wan ducked his head, trying to be modest, though the broad grin across his face told another story. “Always, before, when you talked about achieving trance state during battle—I thought it impossible. But today, I reached it. I felt the presence of the Force as never before.”

  “Meditate upon that tonight,” Qui-Gon said. “Remember the feelings that guided you. The more you accomplish that state during battle, the easier it will be in the future, until it becomes second nature and—oh, no.”

  A strong breeze had stirred the soupy fog, revealing a patch of bare ground, including the Facet, slightly damaged, lying alongside a shallow ditch. The cockpit had been popped open. No one was inside.

  Obi-Wan’s smiled faded. “What’s this?”

  “The fighter from the Meryx,” Qui-Gon said. “Either Pax or Rahara came here to help, but neither is in the ship.”

  “Which means they’re injured or—” Obi-Wan half turned and called, “Rahara? Can you hear me? It’s Obi-Wan Kenobi! You’re safe, just let us know where you are!”

  Nobody answered.

  At first Qui-Gon thought to chide Obi-Wan for assuming that Rahara had piloted the ship, but then his intuition agreed. Rahara Wick was the one with a personal grudge against Czerka Corporation, and deeper empathy for the people under its control. Pax would never have flown into the thick of this; no one could’ve stopped Rahara from doing so.

  “Master Jinn,” said the deep voice of Captain Deren. Qui-Gon looked back to see the captain approaching them in his flight uniform, guards flanking him on either side. “Thank goodness you’re all right.”

  “Captain Deren,” Qui-Gon said. “Tell me, did you have to fight Rael Averross to come here? Or were you able to sneak out?”

  A shadow of a smile briefly flickered on Deren’s face, but had vanished in an instant. “Princess Fanry herself ordered me here, so you two wouldn’t be traveling through such dangerous territory alone. When we realized you were in danger, protecting you became our first priority.”

  So Her Serene Highness was capable of defying her regent when the stakes were important enough. Qui-Gon wondered if that was a sign of maturing wisdom, evidence that Fanry was indeed growing into the queen Pijal needed—or simple adolescent rebellion. Either way, the palace troops’ arrival was fortuitous. “We’ve been working with—” Qui-Gon paused momentarily to find the most prudent way of referring to Pax and Rahara. “—independent pilots, who brought us to this location. One of them flew into the fight to try to help us. We’re searching for her now.”

  Deren nodded. “I’ll task two of my officers to help you.”

  “That would be much appreciated. But we also badly need any scans you have of the blackguards’ ships. We’ve been able to determine that they’re not sponsored by Czerka—obviously.” Qui-Gon gestured around at the mayhem, then paused as he saw the refuse area he and Obi-Wan had observed before. Enormous gouges had been scooped out of it by some sort of droid. There was only one thing Czerka was throwing away that the blackguards could want. “This entire raid may’ve been no more than an attempt to steal kohlen crystals.”

  “Who knows why the Opposition does anything?” Deren said, contempt in every syllable.

  Qui-Gon frowned, ready to object, but then another figure emerged from the forest—Pax Maripher, in an absurdly oversized blue coat. “Where is she?” Pax called. “Rahara’s not back by now, which suggests she set down here, and as I couldn’t fly through this melee—” He waved his arms about in the general direction of the air traffic, even though by now it had largely died down. “—I was forced to walk here to fetch her.”

  “Independent pilots,” Qui-Gon said to Deren in a low voice, before turning back to Pax. “I’m afraid the Facet was downed during the fight. Rahara’s no longer in the cockpit. We’re searching for her.”

  Pax’s face turned pale as he hurried toward the Facet—even paler than it usually was. “Were there security droids here? Scanning equipment and people?” When Qui-Gon nodded, Pax stopped in his tracks, fisting his hands in his wild hair as he muttered, “She wasn’t tagged any longer. She had her gloves. They didn’t get her. They couldn’t have.”

  Captain Deren removed his hat, as he might when approaching the loved ones of one who had fallen in combat. “Forgive me, but—are you speaking of a Czerka slave tag?” When Pax turned toward him in alarm, the captain hastily added, “No word of this will ever be shared with a Czerka representative. This I swear.”

  “Then yes, that’s what I’m speaking of,” Pax said.

  “I regret to inform you that in recent years, Czerka has upgraded most of their scanner droids with facial recognition technology. They have holos on file of every sentient they’ve ever owned, going back generations.” Deren shook his head sorrowfully. “If this missing person was once owned by Czerka, the security droid probably identified her.”

  Qui-Gon expected Pax to erupt in fury, to turn on one or both of them, or stalk into the woods without another word. Instead, he simply stood there in the mud, his eyes blank and fearful. Pax resembled nothing so much as a lost child. He didn’t move until he spotted something in the mud. Then he knelt and picked up a blue glove, which he folded almost tenderly between both hands.

  It was a private moment, one Qui-Gon should witness no more of. He turned to Deren. “You’re still assuming the blackguards are affiliated with the Opposition. There’s no proof of that, not here or anywhere else.”

  “I know that people who would attack one building would attack another,” Deren said. “I know that people who resort to violence will continue to be violent. That tells me all I ever need to know about the Opposition.” With that he marched away.

  Qui-Gon didn’t bother calling after him. There was no point in calling someone who would never listen.

  Two days to the coronation, and Fanry had finally gotten nervous.

  “How about this one?” said the court jeweler, opening yet another antique, plain, wooden box to reveal a jeweled crown—ornate and ostentatious in the extreme, but less so than the first one she’d tried on. Fanry took the crown in her hands and laid i
t on her own head.

  “Now, that’s lovely,” said Czerka Sector Supervisor Meritt Col, who sat with the other ladies of the court to witness the occasion. “Don’t you think so, Minister Orth?”

  Minister Orth looked as thrilled as usual, which was to say not at all. “The first crown is the traditional one for coronation ceremonies.”

  “This coronation is going to be different from the others,” Fanry said. Every other Pijali monarch had been assuming absolute power, without a constitution in sight. As she put the second crown aside, she told the court jeweler, “Something less showy would be better.”

  “Hmm.” The jeweler frowned. “Usually ‘showy’ is the whole point of a crown, even here. Let me go through the treasury records.”

  As the jeweler began sorting through the treasury via datapad, someone knocked on the door. To Fanry’s surprise, it was Rael Averross who said, “Princess, we need to talk.”

  “It has to wait,” she called back. “I’m not done choosing a crown.”

  “We need to talk now,” he insisted. He was furious. She’d heard him furious many times, but never at her. It shook her more than she would’ve thought.

  “For shame, Lord Regent!” Minister Orth bustled to the door, the better to shout through it to Averross on the other side. “She isn’t fit to be seen. How dare you outrage her modesty this way?”

  Fanry put one hand to her hair—which, unlike every other day of her life until now, fell free instead of being wrapped in a headcloth. Only at maturity did a Pijali woman put aside the cloths. The coronation would be the first time Fanry had ever shown her red hair to the world.

  “All right, all right, whatever. If we’ve gotta talk it out like this, we will.” Averross paused, maybe to catch his breath; it sounded like he might’ve run all the way from the palace to the treasury. “Fanry, what the hell were you thinking? Sendin’ royal troops to the moon?”

  From the corner of her eye, Fanry saw Meritt Col stiffen as though she’d been slapped. Apparently the supervisor was well aware that the Jedi didn’t care for Czerka’s presence on Pijal. In an even tone, Fanry said only, “Master Jinn needed assistance.”

  “Master Jinn’s the one trying to screw up the treaty, the hyperspace corridor, your coronation—everything we’ve worked for since I got here!”

  Fanry sighed. “Master Jinn is a Jedi, sent to help us by the Jedi Council. So, while he’s on Pijal, he’s under our protection. It’s our duty to make sure that he remains safe. We must do our duty, even when he fails to do his.”

  “Very well said, Your Serene Highness.” Minister Orth drew herself upright, as though Averross were somehow able to see her through the door. “Are we done here, Lord Regent? May the princess return to her task?”

  “Yeah, whatever.” Averross said no more.

  Probably he’d go work off some of his anger on a long ride. Fanry wondered what it would be like when they spoke again. For now all that mattered was that Minister Orth was calm, Meritt Col had relaxed again, and her hair had not been revealed too soon.

  The crown jeweler held out the smallest box yet. “Try this, Your Serene Highness.”

  Opening the lid, Fanry saw a delicate circlet, beaded with tiny gemstones that would catch the light and sparkle in a dozen different shades. She laid it on her head and looked at herself in the mirror—as the queen she would soon be. “Oh, it’s perfect,” she said. “This is the one.”

  * * *

  —

  Qui-Gon returned from Pijal with Captain Deren on one of the royal ships. Obi-Wan would fly back later, after helping Pax Maripher repair the Facet; given what had happened to Rahara Wick, they owed the man all the assistance they could manage. The trip back might’ve provided an opportunity to hear whether all the royal troops shared Deren’s thought about the blackguards and the Opposition. Instead, Qui-Gon was treated to several rounds of marching songs, in varying degrees of cheerful obscenity. He returned to the palace none the wiser.

  Rahara Wick’s fate troubled him deeply. She’d taken a risk he hadn’t asked her to take, one she’d faced with a full understanding of the dangers involved. He knew he wasn’t directly responsible for her fate. Yet she would never have been anywhere near the Czerka facility if he hadn’t strong-armed the Meryx crew into assisting with his mission.

  Qui-Gon paused in the hall leading to his chamber in the palace. His spirit was in turmoil. He needed to still it, through a deeper level of meditation. For this he needed solitude.

  He wound his way through the palace until he found a lesser-used area, and within it the stairway to a tower. The steps had been carved out of rock long ago, their edges worn soft and rounded by centuries of feet. Qui-Gon had to duck most of the way. Certainly it seemed as if very few people came to this part of the palace; maybe this would offer him an hour of silence and peace.

  Instead, when he reached the top terrace and stepped into the open air, he found Rael Averross standing there.

  Rael’s arms were crossed against his chest, and he was looking across the pathway that led to the palace, lined by heavy, ancient trees. When he glanced over, he made a sound that might’ve been a scoff, or a laugh. “Figures. I try to get away from it all, and you follow me anyhow.”

  Qui-Gon felt much the same. Saying so would get them nowhere.

  Instead he walked out onto the terrace, taking a good look around at the splendor of their surroundings. “You must’ve enjoyed spending eight years in a place as beautiful as this.”

  Rael shrugged. “Never gave a damn about this kind of stuff.”

  Which was true. “That’s why you were able to handle this assignment when many other Jedi couldn’t have.”

  “The Jedi live in the fanciest building on the fanciest planet in the galaxy. I imagine most of ’em could deal with Pijal just fine.” Rael rested his elbows on the stone wall that ringed the top of the tower. “The Council sent me here because they knew how I felt about Nim. They knew I’d never get over it unless I got to do right by some other kid, but I told ’em not to give me another Padawan—not then, not ever. So they sent me here to bring up Fanry.”

  Qui-Gon asked, “Has it helped?”

  “Some. But it doesn’t fix it. Nothing’s ever gonna fix it.” Pulling back from the wall, Rael shook himself out of his contemplative mood. “What’re you doing up here?”

  “Searching for solitude and quiet.”

  “We’ve gotten pretty good at sabotaging each other. At least, you’ve gotten good at sabotaging me. Don’t know that I’ll get any chances for payback.”

  “Do you want payback?” Qui-Gon wondered just how far Rael had deviated from Jedi teachings.

  “Don’t know. What I do know is that I’m in a bad mood, and if I can’t meditate it away, I’m gonna have to work it out.” Rael took the hilt of his lightsaber in his hand. “Wanna spar?”

  Since it looked like Qui-Gon wasn’t going to get a chance to meditate, either…“Let’s.”

  They ignited their lightsabers at the same moment—Rael’s blue, Qui-Gon’s green. The two Jedi circled each other, taking stock. They’d sparred against each other many times, but not since Rael was a young man and Qui-Gon no more than a boy. Past experience might not apply.

  Rael swung first, going low; Qui-Gon parried and followed through on the movement, turning so that he was now closer to the wall.

  “So these days, you make sure to cover your ass,” Rael said, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “Used to be, you threw yourself into a fight like you meant it.”

  “Dooku taught us caution,” Qui-Gon said. “Well. He tried to.”

  That made Rael laugh. “First he taught us to trust our instincts. So that’s what I do.”

  He moved forward at such speed Qui-Gon scarcely had time to bring his lightsaber up to block. The electric hum of their weapons turned to the crash of static as the
ir blades collided. One push backward and Qui-Gon had driven Rael out again.

  “Dooku also taught us about the ancient mystics.” How much Qui-Gon would give to know his old Master’s thoughts about this situation. “But only after you introduced me to the prophecies.”

  “Because they were a hell of a lot more interesting than anything else you could learn outta books,” Rael said. “Still, I never took that stuff literally.”

  Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow. “Dooku believed in them once, and eventually did again.”

  At the last word, he went on the attack. Qui-Gon swung his blade, sharp short moves that forced Rael back several steps, until they stood together at the center of the terrace.

  But Rael remained undaunted. “Dooku left the Jedi. You’ve gotta admit, it doesn’t sound like he’s putting his full faith in the Jedi teachings anymore.”

  “Do you still have faith?” Qui-Gon asked, taking a step forward. Their lightsabers weren’t touching, but were so close sparks crackled between them. “That’s all that matters here.”

  “Let’s say I do,” Rael answered. “Let’s say I believe that someday there’s going to be perfect balance in the Force, thanks to some kinda ‘Chosen One.’ Did you ever really think about what that would mean, Qui-Gon? It would mean the darkness would be just as strong as the light. So it doesn’t matter what we do, because in the end, hey, it’s a tie! It doesn’t matter which side we choose.”

  Qui-Gon straightened and deactivated his blade. Rael took a step back, lowering his lightsaber but keeping it on.

  “It matters,” Qui-Gon said quietly. “It matters which side we choose. Even if there will never be more light than darkness. Even if there can be no more joy in the galaxy than there is pain. For every action we undertake, for every word we speak, for every life we touch—it matters. I don’t turn toward the light because it means someday I’ll ‘win’ some sort of cosmic game. I turn toward it because it is the light.”