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.”
Chapter 18
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.”
Qui-Gon frowned. “How soon do the Arconans need dactyl?”
The amusement in Clat’Ha’s eyes instantly changed to worry. “Some of them are already beginning to fade,” she said quietly. “If they don’t get dactyl by tonight, they’ll start to sicken and die.”
“So soon,” Qui-Gon murmured. Something nagged at him, an instinct telling him he had overlooked something.
Jemba’s anger. The soft tread of animals. At solid cliff that moved. A yellow haze…
But no animals lived on the island, only draigons. The crew had investigated for predators shortly after they’d landed. And the haze hadn’t been in front of his eyes. A cave in the cliff itself had been glowing with a faint yellow light.
Realization sparked within him. “Tell the Arconans no to be afraid,” he told Clat’Ha crisply. “I think I know where the dactyl is. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“I’ll come with you,” Clat’Ha offered instantly. “Or we could round up some help —“
Qui-Gon considered this. No doubt the dactyl would be guarded. But with hungry draigons hunting in the morning skies, too many people might attract their attention. Not to mention that Jemba would be on the watch. But one man dressed in dark robes, traveling alone…
“I’m sorry, Clat’Ha,” he said. “I know you will hate what I’m about to ask you to do.”
“I’ll do anything,” Clat’Ha declared fiercely. “We have to find that dactyl!”
