Master & Apprentice (Star Wars) Read online

  “By Elath. Such drama.” Pax held up his hands in sarcastic alarm. “It’s not as though I were about to toss you out the nearest air lock. I merely wanted to know why you did it. You have told me. Therefore our conversation has come to a satisfactory conclusion.”

  Rahara knew that Pax was capable of feeling deep kindness and compassion, even if that better side was difficult for him to express. Sometimes, however, he simply lacked the emotional savvy to look past the practical aspects of any situation. So was he genuinely sympathetic to what she’d done, or did he simply not care, as long as they were both fine?

  It didn’t matter to her either way. Or it shouldn’t, at least. She’d saved the lives of fifteen free people and thirty-seven “items of sentient property.” That was good enough for one day.

  * * *

  —

  Obi-Wan had thought it would be a relief to pass through the air lock into the soulcraft. At this point, it seemed, the Czerka Corporation ship would arrive to rescue them before the soulcraft had to test its damaged hull on reentry. Still, he didn’t like being isolated in deep space without a ship around him.

  But then he got inside the soulcraft and realized, for the first time, what it was like to be with dozens of people and without gravity.

  “Sorry!” called one woman as she collided with Obi-Wan’s legs. “I’ll try to push off over here—” But as soon as she was gone, a man even larger than Qui-Gon bumped into him and knocked his helmet against the wall.

  He and Qui-Gon were tethered to the interior hull with short cables, but the pilgrims inside floated freely. They wore simple white unitards or gray coveralls seemingly designed for this purpose, and those with longer hair had taken the precautions of braiding or tying it back, or wearing tight-fitting caps. But apparently part of the religious element of the pilgrimage kept them from strapping into their seats at any time other than ascent and descent. The rest of the time—regardless of any crisis, or of unexpected rescuers coming in through the air lock—they were spiritually commanded to fly free.

  Obi-Wan had never felt queasy in zero-g before, but that had always been in the darkness of space, when he was more or less looking only at distant ships, or stationary planets and stars. Now, with bodies in every orientation bobbing and twisting around him, his stomach churned.

  A shudder went through the ship, followed by the dull, heavy metallic thud of the engines shutting down. He relaxed as he recognized the pull of a tractor beam, no doubt pulling them toward the Czerka vessel Leverage. Which would have gravity. Wonderful, soothing, underappreciated gravity…

  “Breathe easy,” Qui-Gon said. He sounded faintly amused, and didn’t appear to be queasy at all. Maybe once you were a Jedi Master, little things like “lack of gravity” could no longer concern you. Obi-Wan hoped to reach that stage soon.

  Slowly, gravity began to take hold within the ship. As people began settling lower in the sphere, both Jedi unclipped their cables and descended to the floor along with them. Some of the Pijali seemed as relieved as Obi-Wan did, though most of them seemed oddly…let down. Sad, even. Maybe they hadn’t gotten the full religious experience they’d hoped for.

  Then he noticed that the quieter people all wore the gray coveralls, rather than white unitards. They also had odd bulges atop their left hands. It looked as though something flat and rectangular had been inserted between skin and muscle. Obi-Wan turned to Qui-Gon and murmured, “Their hands—”

  “For scanning as part of cargo manifests,” Qui-Gon said quietly.

  Oh. These people were enslaved.

  Obi-Wan had of course seen enslaved people before—the practice, though abolished by the Republic, was still widespread throughout the galaxy. But most he’d seen were part of smaller groups: a household staff, a farm’s crew, extra dockworkers. He’d never seen any of them fitted with tags as part of an enormous corporate organization…or he simply hadn’t noticed.

  Maybe Qui-Gon hadn’t, either. His Master studied the downcast faces around them, his gaze almost as sorrowful as theirs.

  With a thud, the soulcraft settled onto a hard surface—the floor of the Czerka ship’s docking bay. The air lock spun open, and a column of harsh bright light streamed through the shadowy space. “All right, then,” barked a Czerka staffer. “Everybody out. We’ll sort through the lot of you.” Since Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan were closest to the air lock, the staffer turned to them first. “Don’t recognize that getup. Slave or free?”

  “Free,” Qui-Gon said in his deep rumble. “Free Jedi, as a matter of fact. Summoned to Pijal by the lord regent.”

  The Czerka staffer straightened up so quickly he whacked his head on the air lock rim. Obi-Wan saw a few of the enslaved people stifling laughter. “Sir! Yes, of course. The lord regent is on board. We’ll take you to him immediately.”

  “See that everyone here is checked out by a medical droid,” Qui-Gon said. “The plasma fire could’ve caused unseen lung damage.”

  “Sir! Absolutely, sir. Right away.”

  After Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan had shed their space suits and stood in simple gray lining suits, a silvery protocol droid led them through the corridors of the Czerka vessel. Every control panel signaled that this ship had the finest equipment; every surface gleamed. The feel of the place was both very efficient and very cold. It was not the sort of place where Obi-Wan could feel comfortable wearing a thin, skintight lining suit.

  To distract himself, he said to Qui-Gon, “What lung damage could the passengers have suffered from the plasma fire? None of the fumes got inside, surely.”

  “There’s no damage they could’ve suffered.” Qui-Gon gave him a sly look. “But a medical checkup ensures the enslaved get some time to pull themselves together afterward before being put back to work.”

  “Of course.”

  That was another thing Obi-Wan had always respected about Qui-Gon: his compassion. Obi-Wan wasn’t uncaring, at least he hoped not, but sometimes it took him longer to see when someone was hurting, or what they might truly need. Qui-Gon seemed to instinctively understand such things.

  So I don’t suppose he could’ve taught me that anyway, Obi-Wan told himself. That was a quality he’d have to cultivate on his own.

  The protocol droid led them through a gilded arch, more ornamented than anything else Obi-Wan had yet seen on board. When the doors slid open, they revealed a luxurious space—an observation deck furnished with long couches in rich fabrics. The most beautiful flowering plants of a dozen worlds bloomed from exquisite ceramic pots. A faint whiff of incense softened the air as a Cerean band played a lilting ballad. Seated in the plushest chair, in the center of the room, was a man drinking Toniray wine from a fine crystal goblet, and wearing…rags, basically. Clothing so threadbare it hardly deserved the name. His dirty boots were propped on another chair and had already marred the velvet. The man’s unshaven face widened in a grin as he spotted his visitors.

  A Czerka official, I guess, Obi-Wan thought. But I wouldn’t have thought a corporate officer would be so casual—so extravagant—

  “Rael Averross,” Qui-Gon said to this man who couldn’t possibly be a Jedi but…was. “Good to see you again.”

  Qui-Gon smiled before he could stop himself. Whatever else had happened, however much they might have changed, this was still Rael.

  He hadn’t realized how much their reunion would move him, not until now, when he finally stood face-to-face with Rael again.

  “Qui-Gon Jinn!” Rael called, holding his hands out wide as he strode forward. His old brown robe had been lined with pale-blue shimmersilk, in the Pijali fashion—though, over time, it had of course been worn as threadbare as most of Rael’s garments. “It’s been too long, kid.”

  “Agreed.” Qui-Gon allowed a welcoming embrace before stepping back to take a better look. “I think palace life agrees with you.”

  Rael laughed. “It tends to agre
e with most people. I mean, what’s not to like? Now, let me guess—this is your Padawan, right? Can’t believe they trusted you with one. The Order’s really going downhill.” His grin turned wolfish. “Their decline started around the time they accepted me. Not a coincidence.”

  “Obi-Wan Kenobi, Rael Averross,” Qui-Gon said, gesturing between them. Obi-Wan made a polite short bow. His student could be difficult to read at times, but overall he looked as bewildered by Rael as…as virtually everyone else was, at first.

  Rael Averross wasn’t a tall man; he barely came up to Qui-Gon’s shoulder. Time had swirled Rael’s thick black hair with a few touches of gray, but that only set off the deep tan of his skin and the strong features of his face. Rael’s frame remained muscled and strong despite his increasing years. None of that was as striking as the warmth—the charisma—that still shone from Rael like a light. And obviously he cared no more for conformity now than he ever had.

  “I’d tease you about your version of royal robes,” Qui-Gon said, “but in my current state I can hardly comment on anyone else’s clothes.”

  “At least I’ve got clothes.” Rael’s dark eyes sparkled with humor as he took a pointed look at their lining suits. “As much fun as it would be to have you show up on Pijal in your underwear, I wouldn’t do that to Fanry. You there—Cady, isn’t it?”

  A young girl cleaning in the corner hurried forward and ducked a quick bow. “Yes, Lord Regent.”

  “Head to ship’s stores, will you? Basic tunics and trousers will do for now—we’ll have their stuff sent from the Corellian cruiser to the palace.” Rael dismissed the girl with a quick wave.

  Qui-Gon studied Cady as she hurried out. Probably a year or two younger than Obi-Wan, but already doing adult work. Dark hair tied back with plain cloth. A royal emblem on her gray coveralls. The telltale rectangular shape on the back of her hand.

  “That stunt out there with the soulcraft?” Rael said as he led them both to the nearest of the sofas. “That was worth watching. I mean, it doesn’t measure up to what we managed on Riosa that time! But still, not bad.”

  “We’d need an entire squadron to be in danger to equal our adventure on Riosa.” Qui-Gon saw Obi-Wan’s interest had been piqued. Maybe he should share a few more of his old war stories. Adult Jedi might know how little war was worth, but the young were always fascinated, despite themselves.

  “Dooku would be proud.” Rael’s smile faded slightly. Qui-Gon always remembered Rael smiling—but somehow, he seemed more himself now, with that touch of melancholy. “Heard he left the Order. Can you believe it? I tried to reach him on Serenno, but no luck.”

  Qui-Gon was taken aback. “He didn’t answer you?”

  With a shrug, Rael said, “Ah, he’s a ruler now. Probably surrounded by courtiers and bureaucracy and all the other bantha poodoo I’ve had to deal with here for the past eight years. Bet you one of his new flunkies tossed my message out with the rest of the trash people send a count of Serenno. Sounds like he talked to you, though…”

  “No. I haven’t reached out to him at all.” Qui-Gon sighed heavily. “I think he left partly for Serenno’s sake, after inheriting the title of count, but partly because he no longer agrees with the work of the Jedi. It’s an argument I’m not ready to have.”

  Rael gave him a knowing look. “An argument you don’t want to lose, you mean. You’ve always been a rebel, Qui-Gon. If Dooku talked to you long enough, you’d probably walk out the door right after him.”

  “Not anymore,” Obi-Wan ventured. “I mean, Master Jinn isn’t a rebel, not really. He can’t be, now that he’s joining the Jedi Council.”

  Qui-Gon wanted to wince, though it was hard to say why. Rael’s eyes widened as he sank back on the cushions in astonishment that didn’t seem to be exaggerated. “Is he joking? Or did the Jedi Council get more interesting all of a sudden?”

  “Obi-Wan isn’t joking. As for the Council—well, they finally seem open to hearing other points of view.” Qui-Gon shook his head in disbelief. “My surprise is even greater than yours.”

  “We’ve gotta reach out to Dooku again,” Rael said with a laugh. “If he hears the news on his own, unprepared, he’s gonna drop dead on the spot. A planet will lose its ruler. So galactic politics hangs in the balance, right?”

  Obi-Wan laughed, too. Rael’s charm had settled around the room like velvet, soft and warm, muffling any discomfort, any sound.

  But a vague sense of uneasiness remained within Qui-Gon—and would, until he had a chance to talk with Rael alone.

  * * *

  —

  Once the Padawan had left to watch the pilots bring them in for a landing, Averross could speak freely. Maybe now he could get Qui-Gon to loosen up.

  “You grew at least seven centimeters taller than me. More, I think. How dare you.” Averross shook his head in mock dismay. “I spent ten years with Dooku towerin’ over me. Then you came along, and I finally had someone to tower over. Now I’m out of luck.”

  “I didn’t do it on purpose,” Qui-Gon said. He seemed amused, but didn’t laugh. Even as a little kid, he’d never been the type to joke around freely. Averross had at first wondered if the boy was troubled in some way Dooku hadn’t caught on to. Yeah, Dooku was a good man, but he was tall and dark and imposing and strict. Averross would bet the last time his old Master laughed, the stars hadn’t even cooled yet. That made him an imposing figure, especially to a kid. That wasn’t the sort of person a boy would relax around, or tell all his secrets to.

  But Averross had come to understand that Qui-Gon had a kind of natural bedrock steadiness, that it was as much a part of him as his flesh and bones. You weren’t going to find him in the extremes.

  Which was where Averross preferred to spend most of his time.

  Still, he and Qui-Gon understood each other. Averross felt sure their bond endured.

  “We should discuss the Opposition, and their leader, Halin Azucca,” Qui-Gon said. “Performance artist terrorists—now I’ve finally seen everything.”

  Averross held up a hand. “Don’t say that until you’ve been to a bachelorette party on Kashyyyk.”

  “Wait. You weren’t really—”

  “Maybe someday you’ll find out. Not now.” Averross grinned. “And let’s hold off on the debrief until Fanry can be a part of it, too. She’s gotta start handling this stuff on her own soon.”

  Qui-Gon nodded. “Very wise.”

  Okay, he wasn’t being unfriendly, but he was distant. What the hell was wrong with Qui-Gon?

  It’s about Nim.

  It’s not about Nim. Qui-Gon would understand, more than anyone. He doesn’t blame me.

  For an instant Averross could see Nim’s face as he’d seen it last—her wide eyes shadowed by the haze of the slicer dart, tears welling—

  Move on.

  “Like I said, you’ll be able to get through to Dooku now,” Averross said as he strolled by the long viewport of the observation deck, with Pijal bright and blue against the darkness of space.

  “I wish I could be as certain.” Qui-Gon shook his head. “Yoda’s concerned about Dooku’s departure from the Order. He thinks there may be more to it than anyone knows.”

  Averross shrugged. “That guy’s concerned about all kinds of ridiculous stuff.” He shifted his voice into an imitation of Yoda’s. “Up the hell, he should shut.” Qui-Gon tried not to laugh, but failed, which only made Averross grin wider. “Seriously, this? It’s the bait of the century. When you tell Dooku you’ve been invited onto the Jedi Council, he’ll want to spill on what it’s really like.”

  “Do you think I should be cautious?” Qui-Gon held his glass of Toniray but had yet to take a sip. “That I ought to hear Dooku out before I make a decision?”

  “What decision? C’mon, are you seriously considering not joining the Council?”

  Qui-Gon shrugged. �
��I intend to accept. But I know that accepting means…change. For me, for the Council, even for Obi-Wan. It’s not something to undertake lightly.”

  “Responsibility can be heavy,” Averross admitted. “My work here on Pijal isn’t nearly as big a deal as serving on the Council, and still, sometimes, it feels—let’s say, daunting.”

  This earned him a sharp look. “It doesn’t seem that daunting from here.”

  Averross turned around, as if only just noticing his old robes. “What, you think I ought to be swanning around in shimmersilk and satin? Wearing shiny medals, something like that?”

  “As though you would ever. I was referring to your comfort with Czerka Corporation,” Qui-Gon said, gesturing toward the luxurious interior of the observation deck. “Certainly they seem comfortable with you.”

  Averross shook his head ruefully. “Listen, there’s a time for straightforward negotiations, and then there’s a time to play the game. I’m playing the game with Czerka, because they can help Fanry. They can help the whole planet, if I handle it right.”

  Finally, Qui-Gon relaxed. “I too often use—less direct methods, shall we say.”

  “Yeah, I know. Or were you hopin’ I’d forgotten Riosa?”

  “I wish I could forget Riosa.” Finally Qui-Gon drank some wine, relaxing into the moment.

  Averross was relieved. Now they could enjoy themselves—at least, until the time came to handle the Opposition.

  “Man, that makes me think—you remember the old prophecies?” he asked as he poured himself more wine.

  Qui-Gon stared at him in surprise. “I—of course. Actually, I’ve begun studying them again, the past couple of years.”

  “Why?” They’d both studied them under Dooku, who considered them an important element of Jedi history. Averross had found them an entertaining curiosity, but he remembered Qui-Gon being enchanted by them, and worried about them, to a degree he’d never understood.