Джуд Уотсон - Jedi Apprentice 8 - The Day of Reckoning

"I think we just got all the evidence we need," Obi-Wan murmured to Andra.

"Why?" she asked.

He pointed to the side of the ship. Written in laser-pulse letters along the side was OFFWORLD.

Obi-Wan panned the letters and widened his shot to take in the unloading of the mole miners. The ramps retracted. The maintenance hauler had never cut its engines. Now it fired its repulsors and began to lift off again.

"You there! Can you give us a hand?"

Two workers were busily loading supplies onto a gravsled. One of them waved a hand at Obi-Wan and Andra.

"Time to head for those skyhoppers," Obi-Wan murmured.

Obi-Wan waved back, as if he couldn't hear over the noise of the maintenance hauler's departure. Then he and Andra headed off in the other direction.

"Don't hurry," he told Andra, whose pace kept quickening, showing her anxiety.

They strolled to the skyhoppers. They had just reached them when the alarm sounded.

"Intruders," a voice intoned. "Intruders."

"Okay, now hurry," Obi-Wan said.

He leaped inside and Andra followed. He settled himself behind the controls as the roof began to close overhead. Obi-Wan fired up the engines. The craft rose in the air. The doors above continued to close, the opening narrowing. Obi-Wan pushed the engines to full power.

"We can't make it!" Andra screamed.

Obi-Wan yanked the controls so that the sky-hopper flew sideways. He aimed for the small opening and cleared it by a centimeter on either side.

"Are we through?" Andra asked, her eyes closed. Sweat beaded her forehead, and her hands clutched the seat.

"We're through," Obi-Wan answered. He wiped the sweat off his own forehead with his sleeve. "Next stop, Thani."

Qui-Gon paced impatiently near the central ring of the dome. He was careful to keep his hood forward to conceal his face. The mid-game break was taking place, and much of the crowd had headed for the food stalls, but he couldn't take a chance of being spotted. His picture was on every information kiosk in Thani.

Obi-Wan and Andra should have been back by now. What if something had happened to Obi-Wan? This was the second time the boy had been in great danger. Again, Qui-Gon had allowed it to happen.

"Settle down, Qui-Gon," Den said. "You're making me nervous." But Qui-Gon noted that Den's face was taut with nerves, and he continually scanned the aisles around them.

"You're worried about Andra, too," Qui-Gon said.

"Who, me?" Den said, turning away. "I don't worry about other people. Only myself. I'm the one who's about to bet his life savings."

Once Den had rigged the results so that he could win the lottery, he had to come up with the resources to make a credible bet. Den had added all the credits he had to one of the many easy loans available on Telos. If he lost, he would be liable for a heavy debt.

"Are you certain you interpreted the game correctly?" Qui-Gon asked. "You're sure you know who will win?"

"I'll get my legs broken if I'm wrong," Den said. "It's Kama Elias. Relax."

"Remember, after you win, I'll be right here," Qui-Gon advised him. "Don't even entertain the possibility of taking off with that prize. That money is going straight back into the treasury of Telos."

"Of course it is," Den said. "Kill me now if you think I'd double-cross my friends."

"Don't tempt me," Qui-Gon said dryly.

The dais in the central ring began to rise, signaling the start of the next round of games. Qui-Gon and Den took their seats. Qui-Gon kept an eye out for Obi-Wan. After the lottery winners bet on the final contest, Xanatos would present the prize. Then scenes of what Katharsis funded would flash on the giant screens. Instead of images of pristine beauty, the crowd would see scenes of devastation. But only if Obi-Wan returned in time.

The second round of games began. The battered contestants now played a round of shock ball. Roars from the crowd encouraged the most savage play.

Qui-Gon's worry intensified. Where was Obi-Wan?

He remembered the circumstances of their leaving the Temple. They had stood together on the landing platform, ready to take a shuttle to the spaceliner port. They had already said good-bye to their friends, to Tahl and Bant and Garen. They had said good-bye to a disapproving Yoda.

"It is not too late, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon had said. "There will be no shame if you remain here. It will not interfere with what happens with us later. I promise you that. It is better for you if you stay."

He remembered the clear resolution in Obi-Wan's gaze. "I can't say that you need me, Qui-Gon. I know you can do this on your own. But I will help."

Now Qui-Gon admonished himself. He had thought then that he could not prevent Obi-Wan from coming. He had taken the resolution in the boy's gaze to mean that even if he insisted, Obi-Wan would not walk back into the Temple and remain.

But was that true? Was his own quiet gratitude what had been most important at that moment? Again, it was his own emotion that had swayed him. Should he have taken a firm stance and insisted Obi-Wan remain? Had he been selfish?

Qui-Gon nearly groaned aloud. Obi-Wan was not officially his Padawan again, yet he kept coming up against the many ways he could fail him. He had been reluctant to shoulder the responsibility of a new Padawan in the first place. Then he had come to accept it. Soon he had taken pleasure from that responsibility. And now he was at sea with it. Adrift with his feelings, wanting to do the right thing and not quite sure how. All too aware of his own failings, all too aware of what could go wrong.

Yet Obi-Wan was so sure. The boy still had things to teach him about certainty. About trust.

If only he would show up.

Qui-Gon caught a glimpse of a familiar form moving quickly through the crowd. Obi-Wan! Andra hurried by his side, taking quick steps to keep up with Obi-Wan's stride. He knew with a glance at Obi-Wan's face that his mission had been successful.

Obi-Wan and Andra slipped past a row of protesting onlookers to reach Den and Qui-Gon. Obi-Wan handed the recording rod to Qui-Gon.

"We got it all," he said.

Qui-Gon immediately rose and hurried off. He had already discovered the booth where the technician who transmitted the visual images to the crowd during the breaks was located.

The technician sat at a console, eating a greasy meat pie. Around him were tiny screens that showed what was currently playing to the crowd. One camera was on each contestant, one took in a full view, several took partial views, and the rest scanned the faces in the crowd. During the break, all of these would be replaced with the global park images.

The technician looked up. "Who're you?"

Qui-Gon placed the recording rod on the console. "These images are to be shown after Xanatos' speech. Governor's orders."

The technician licked a drop of sauce off his thumb. "I didn't hear anything about this."

Qui-Gon directed his gaze at the man, who continued to eat. "You should show the images after the speech."

"I'll show them after the speech," the technician said, his mouth full.

Qui-Gon eyed his greasy fingers. "And you'll clean your hands first."

"I'll clean my hands first," the technician said, as if he'd just thought of it.

Qui-Gon waited until the technician tossed his food away and carefully wiped his fingers. Then he watched him load the new visuals. When he was sure the man would follow through on the plan, he left.

The last game had ended. Only four contestants remained.

The governor announced the names of the lottery winners. A mixture of groans and cheers erupted from the crowd. When he announced Den's name, Den shot to his feet, yodeling wildly.

He turned back to them, his eyes alight.

"Ready?"