Дэйв Волвертон - Jedi Apprentice 1 - The Rising Force

It stung him. After all his noble talk of winning the hearts of enemies, he realized that he had just crushed the heart of a boy who only hoped to become his ally.

Obi-Wan left Qui-Gon’s cabin in a daze. He needed rest, but he could not seem to light anywhere. He tried his cabin, then the lounge. At last he wandered the hall aimlessly. He ended up near the engine rooms, staring out at the wasteland of the unnamed planet.

Five moons, in shades of red and blue, hung like ripe fruits out over a silent ocean. A flight of draigons hovered high in the air, asleep on the wing. The island shore was nothing more than a treacherous bit of waver-carved rock. Farther inland, dark volcanic peaks vented steam, and there draigons perched by the hundreds.

A door hissed open behind him. A moment later, Si Treemba stood by his side.

“We have been searching for you,” he said.

“I needed to think,” Obi-Wan answered. He was glad to see his friend. Si Treemba had showed him the greatest trust in the meeting with Jemba. It had forged their friendship, and they both knew it.

“May we ask what you are thinking about?” Si Treemba asked hesitantly.

“I thought that my time in the Temple was hard in many ways,” Obi-Wan said. “The days were filled with study and effort. The very best was expected of us. I respected my teachers so much, and I thought I knew what I needed not only to survive, but to excel.” Obi-Wan took a breath. “Now I see that I had no idea what kind of evil the universe could show me. I’ve never seen real greed before, not like the greed of the pirates or Jemba. It sickens me.”

“As it should,” Si Treemba agreed. “It is a horrible thing.”

“And I am wondering… do I have the seeds of the same greed?” Obi-Wan wondered.

Si Treemba looked at his friend, puzzled. He saw great anguish on Obi-Wan’s face. “Why would you ask that, Obi-Wan?”

“Because, all my life, I’ve wanted to be a Jedi. I craved it so much. I was willing to fight for the honor, and I became angry when others stood in my way.”

“A Jedi gives much to his fellow men,” Si Treemba answered thoughtfully. “He protects the weak, he battles for the common good. We do not thin it is evil for you to want to do well. No, that is not greed.”

Obi-Wan nodded, still looking out at the dark sea. He felt a deep longing to be home, back at the Temple, where things had clarity and purpose. Here, he felt lost.

“It will be light in a few hours. You have done so much for me already, Si Treemba. But will you help me one last time?”

“Of course we shall,” Si Treemba said promptly. “But how?”

“Help me overcome my anger,” Obi-Wan said. His fingers were curled into fists. He looked down at them and uncurled them, then gripped the frame of the view screen. “I feel such rage toward Jemba. He wants to use other people for his own game, and I want to kill him for that. But I don’t like the way I feel right now. Qui-Gon was tight. If I tried to stop Jemba, I would be doing so only to satisfy my own rage.”

“You seem calm,” Si Treemba observed.

“Something has just happened,” Obi-wan told him quietly. “I just realized something. Qui-Gon will never take me as a Padawan. He feels I am unworthy, and perhaps he is right. Maybe I wouldn’t be good at it.”

“And you are not angry?” Si Treemba asked, surprised.

“No,” Obi-Wan said. “I feel strange, Si Treemba. It’s as if a burden has been lifted from me. Perhaps I could be a good farmer. Ant to be good… to be a good person is more important than being a Jedi.”

“But what about Jemba?” Si Treemba asked.

“Yoda once told me that there are trillions of people in the galaxy, and only a few thousand Jedi Knights. He said we cannot try to right every wrong. All creatures must learn to stand for what is right, and not always rely upon the Jedi. Perhaps that is what the Arconans must do. I don’t know about the future. But today I choose not to fight.”

Obi-Wan turned to Si Treemba. “I asked you to leave your fellow Arconans to give us a chance to help you. I haven’t gone back on that promise. I won’t see you sicken again for lack of dactyl. I stand with you, Si Treemba. Somehow, we will find a way.”

Qui-Gon’s Jedi healing techniques required him to put all his energy toward knitting his torn muscles and fighting infection. Yet time and again he found his thoughts returning to Obi-Wan, to the look of defeat on the boy’s face during their talk.

Why did they boy exert such a persistent tug? He had seen many boys over the years. Time and again he had gently informed than that they did not have it in them to become a Jedi Knight. He had done it compassionately, and saved them from the difficult struggle of finding out to late. Hadn’t he?

Resolutely, Qui-Gon settled himself on the sleep-couch. Regrets would keep him awake, and he needed sleep.

The ship was eerily quiet. Everyone was exhausted from the battle with the pirates. Qui-Gon heard nothing but the slap of waves on the shore and the soft rhythmic murmur of some animals skittering under the ship. He hoped the sound would lull him to sleep.

But he slept restlessly, due to pain or regret he could not say. Half-awake from a tortured dream, Qui-Gon rose and crossed for a towel to wipe his sweaty forehead. He drank some water, then rested his hot forehead against the cool transparisteel of his small portal. The craggy cliffs in the distance seemed to shimmer and vibrate. Was his fever getting worse? An odd, yellow mist blurred his vision.

He had risen too soon. Qui-Gon felt his way back to the sleep-couch. This time, he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

When he woke in the early morning, his right arm was stiff but better. A ship’s droid had mended and cleaned his robes. As he donned them, he realized he was hungry. It was a good sign.

As he headed for the kitchen, he saw that the ship was abuzz. Arconans rushed past him, carrying crates of their personal belongings.

He asked one what was wrong.

“The tide is coming in,” the Arconan said, “and it may swamp the ship. The engines are all down for repair, and we won’t get them up in time. We have been ordered to evacuate.”

“Evacuate?” Qui-Gon asked in surprise. With the draigons outside, that sounded dangerous. “Evacuate to where?”

“Into the hills, higher up on the island. The ships crew found some caves. We must reach them before the sun is in the sky and the draigons waken.” The Arconans rushed away, heavy packs and boxes in tow.

From bad to worse, Qui-Gon realized. Shot down by pirates, wrecked on an alien world with Jemba holding a gun on them all. And now they would have to abandon ship, hide in caves with limed supplies. He could feel a rising danger. Perhaps the pirates would come to finish them off, or maybe they’d all starve, or die fighting one another. Perhaps the tides would rise so high that they’d flood the whole island.

The Arconans rushing past looked weary and battered. They had not gotten dactyl last night, and would have none this morning. Qui-Gon wondered how long they could go without it.

He strode to Clat’Ha’s cabin and found her hurriedly packing her belongings. Her door was open.

She looked up when he entered the room. “You’d better hurry and pack,” she said. “The tide is coming in fast and the sun will rise soon. We have to get off the ship.” She grinned as she pushed a strand of red-brown hair out of her eyes. He green eyes gleamed with mischief. “Jemba is furious. Maybe he’s afraid he won’t fit in a cave.”

“Why is he so angry?” Qui-Gon asked curiously.

Clat’Ha shrugged. “Because it’s something out of his control, I suppose. At first he thought the crew was lying. But even he had to realize we could drown if we stayed. It was almost worth it just to see him back down.”