apprentice.”
Obi-Wan nodded. It was good that he had given Reeft most of his food. He couldn’t eat. He knew his friends were trying to make him feel better. But they still had plenty of chances to become Jedi. That highest honor was what they all wanted, all they worked for. No matter what they said, they all knew his lost chance was crushing disappointment.
Around him, Obi-Wan heard the swirl of conversations at the other tables. Students looked over at him, then looked away. Most gazes were compassionate, and some tried to cheer him. But he sensed that the overwhelming feeling in the room was that everyone was glad that what had happened to Obi-Wan had not happened to them.
At Bruck’s table, the voices were loud and reached their ears. “Always knew he wouldn’t make it,” Bruck’s friend Aalto said loudly. Obi-Wan’s ears burned as he heard Bruck’s high snicker. He turned, and Bruck stared at him, daring him to pick another fight.
“Don’t mind him,” Bant said. “He’s a fool.”
Obi-Wan turned away and finished his meal, just as a huge black Barabel fruit plopped on the table near his tray. Juice from the fruit splattered on Bant and Garen Muln. Obi-Wan glared over at Bruck, who had come halfway across the room to throw it.
“Plant it, Oafy,” Bruck said. “I hear they’ll grow just about anywhere.”
Obi-Wan started to rise from his chair, but Bant put a hand over his and held him down, trying to calm him.
Obi-Wan smiled at Bruck, keeping himself in control. He want to anger me, Obi-Wan knew. He hopes to anger me. How often in the past have others played me like this, making me lose the chance to become a Padawan?
Obi-Wan held his anger, and merely smiled at Bruck. Yet a white-hot fury was building inside him.
Just then, Reeft muttered, “I don’t mean to sound greedy, but are you going to eat that Barabel fruit?”
Obi-Wan nearly burst out laughing. “Thank you, Bruck,” he said, scraping the fruit off the table and placing it in a cup. “The people of Bandomeer will be honored when I share with them your gift — the gift from one farmer to another.”
In the upper room of the Jedi Temple, Master Yoda argued with the senior members of the Jedi Council. They were meditating in a huge greenhouse, the Room of a Thousand Fountains, where fountains and waterfalls streamed through an emerald forest
Outside, the surface of Coruscant was hidden by black storm clouds.
“Obi-Wan Kenobi must be allowed to fight before Qui-Gon Jinn this day,” Master Yoda said, just as a bolt of lightning snarled through the clouds below. “I have foreseen it.”
“What?” Senior Council Mace Windu asked. He was a strong, dark-skinned man with a shaved head. He studied Yoda with eyes that could pierce like blaster bolts. “What would be the point? Obi-Wan has proven once again that he cannot control his anger or his impatience. And Qui-Gon Jinn is not ready for another impatient Padawan.”
“Agreed,” Yoda said. “Neither Obi-Wan nor Qui-Gon ready are. But the Force may yet bring Master and student together.”
Mace Windu asked, “And what of last night, the beating Obi-Wan gave to Bruck?”
Yoda waved his hand and, as he did so, a referee droid appeared from behind the bushes.
“Advanced Jedi Training Droid 6, last night the fight you saw,” Yoda prompted.
“Obi-Wan’s heat was beating at sixty-eight beats per minute,” the droid reported. “His torso was faced northeast at twenty-seven degrees, with his right hand extended down, clutching his training saber. His body temperature was —“
Mace Windu sighed. If allowed to continue, the training droid would take an hour just to describe how Obi-Wan crossed the room.
“Just tell us who provoked the fight,” Mace Windu said. “Who said what, and then what happened?”
The training droid AJTD6 gave an indignant buzz at being curtailed. But after a glower from Mace Windu, it began the story of how Bruck had provoked Obi-Wan into the fight.
At the conclusion, Mace Windu sighed. “So we have one deceitful boy, and one foolish one,” he said. He looked at Master Yoda. “What do you suggest?”
Yoda blinked. “Give both a chance to fail again, we should,” he said.
Chapter 4
Bruck’s red lightsaber cracked and hissed as Obi-Wan desperately tried to parry with his own. For the fourth time in less than a day the two boys were locked in combat, grunting and struggling.
Obi-Wan’s muscles ached. Sweat drenched his thick tunic. Bruck’s toughness surprised him. The boy was fighting desperately, as though his life depended on it. Obi-Wan realized that Bruck was just as afraif of not being chosen as a Jedi apprentice as he was.
But Obi-Wan would match Bruck’s toughness with his own, and then push even harder. This was his one last chance.
Bruck’s blade hummed as it angled toward Obi-Wan’s throat. A touch there would signal a killing blow, and Obi-Wan would lose the bout.
A cry rose up from the crowd seated in the shadows surrounding the battle arena. Masters and students had gathered to watch the fight. Obi-Wan could not see them — he could only hear their shouts of encouragement. Overhead, AJTD^ whisked around, monitoring the match as a referee.
