Clat’Ha sighed. “Maybe it isn’t their ship, but Offworld’s miners outnumber the crew thirty to one. The captain won’t be able to do much to protect you. So if I were you, I’d stay off their turf. You’re welcome on our side of the ship any time” She headed for the door, then turned and flashed a grin that made her serious face suddenly look young and mischievous. “If you can find it.”
Obi-Wan grinned back. But he still struggled against Clat’Ha acceptance of the injustice. He didn’t understand it. He had grown up in a world where disputes were mediated and resolved. No obvious injustice was allowed to stand.
“Clat’Ha, this isn’t right,” he said gravely. “Why should we have to stay off their side of the ship? Why should you accept that?”
Clat’Ha’s face flushed. “Because I don’t want them on my side of the ship! Obi-Wan, listen to me,” she said urgently. “Accidents happen around Jemba. Drilling rigs blow and tunnels collapse and people die. I don’t want his corporate spies and saboteurs on my side of the Monument, any more than he would want mine on his. So just accept things the way they are. It’s better for everyone.”
She left the room, the door swinging shut behind her. The edges of the door seemed to vibrate strangely. Obi-Wan realized that the heat he felt wasn’t just because he was angry at injustice. His body was on fire. He tried to accept the fire and the pain, but dizziness overcame him. He fell back on his cot, head reeling, while the room spun.
Chapter 8
Obi-Wan dreamed that he was in the Jedi Temple, walking among the star maps. He reached out and touched the star closest to Bandomeer, one of a pair of giant red lights. A hologram appeared, and a Master long dead announced, “Bandomeer: the place where you will die if you’re not careful.”
He woke in sickbay, with tubes in his arms and an oxygen mask over his nose and mouth. For a moment he thought he was still dreaming — Qui-Gon Jinn was standing over him. Then the Jedi’s large, cool hand rested on Obi-Wan’s forehead, and Obi-Wan realized he was awake.
“H-how?” Obi-Wan whispered.
Qui-Gon’s hand dropped, and he took a step back. “Don’t try to speak,” he said gently. “You’ve had a bad fever, but I’ve taken care of it. Your wounds turned out to be worse than what the medics could handle.”
“Is it really you?” Obi-Wan asked, struggling to clear his clouded brain.
Qui-Gon smiled. It was the first time Obi-Wan had seen him smile, and he realized that Qui-Gon was not all coolness and judgement. “Yes, it’s really me,” he said.
“Did you come to look for me?” Obi-Wan asked hopefully. He would not have asked such a blunt question, but he was too weak to puzzle out why the Jedi was here.
Qui-Gon shook his head. “I’m on my way to Bandomeer as well. I’m on a mission for the Galactic Senate. Our missions have nothing to do with each other.“
“Still, we’re together,” Obi-Wan said. “You could show me —“
But Qui-Gon shook his head once again. “No, Obi-Wan, that’s not why I’m here. Our destinies lie along different paths. Now is the time for you to get to know the people that you will serve. You must forget about me. You must serve the Jedi in ways other than as a Knight. There is honor in that, too.”
He did not say it cruelly. But Qui-Gon’s words struck Obi-Wan like a blow. It seemed that every time his hopes were raised, they were dashed again.
It was clear to Obi-Wan that even though chance had placed them on the same ship, Qui-Gon wanted nothing to do with him. If the rumors were true, then Obi-Wan, or any initiate Obi-Wan’s age, would only be a painful reminder of the Padawan that Qui-Gon had lost. Obi-Wan could not fight Qui-Gon’s past.
He hid his disappointment and tried to look strong, despite his physical weakness. “I see,” Obi-Wan said.
The door to the sickbay opened a crack. A triangular head appeared in the crack, and glowing green eyes peered at Obi-Wan. As soon as the intruder saw that Obi-Wan noticed him, the door swished shut.
Obi-Wan turned back to Qui-Gon. “You’re right. My mission should be my first concern. I’ll —“ He stopped when the door opened a crack again. Obi-Wan struggled to raise himself on his elbows. “Well, come in!” he called to the intruder.
An Arconan edged into the room. He was slightly shorter than most, with skin that was more green than grey. “We did not mean to disturb —“
“It’s all right,” Obi-Wan said kindly.
“—but we were told to meet Clat’Ha here. She has a situation she needs to discuss. We heard that a young boy faced a Hutt in a great battle, and survived,” the Arconan said softly. “We wanted to see the great hero. We are sorry to disturb. We will wait outside.” He began to retreat.
Obi-Wan looked over the Arconan’s shoulder before he remembered that Arconan’s always referred to themselves as “we.” They did not have a sense of an individual self and lived all their lives in colonies.
“I think I’d better set you straight,” Obi-Wan said. “First of all, it wasn’t a great battle. The Hutt just picked me up and strangled me until I passed out. I’m no hero.”
“That you survived at all is a credit,” Qui-Gon observed.
“Exactly.” The Arconan took several steps forward. “The Hutts inspire great terror in us. You showed strength and courage. We admire that. You are a hero.”
Obi-Wan looked at Qui-Gon helplessly. He realized that he couldn’t talk the Arconan out of his overblown opinion. Qui-Gon turned away to hide a smile.
“Well, sit down and introduce yourself,” Obi-Wan said. “In this place, I need all the friend I can get.”
