“Very well,” Yoda said. “But by chance alone we do not live our lives. If take an apprentice you will not, then, in time, perhaps fate will choose.”
“Perhaps,” Qui-Gon agreed. He hesitated. “What will happen to the boy?”
“For the Agricultural Corps he will work.”
Qui-Gon grunted. “ farmer?” Such a waste of potential. “Tell him… that I wish him luck.”
“Too late,” Yoda said. “On his way to Bandomeer he is.”
“Bandomeer?” Qui-Gon asked in surprise.
“Know the place you do?”
“Know it? The Senate has asked me to go there. You knew this, didn’t you?” Qui-Gon eyed the small Master suspiciously.
“Hmmm… “ Yoda said. “I knew it not. But more than coincidence this is. Strange are the ways of the Force.”
“But why send the boy to Bandomeer?” Qui-Gon asked. “It’s a brutal world. If the weather doesn’t kill him, the predators will. He’ll need all of his skills just to stay alive — never mind the Agri-Corps!”
“Yes, so the Council thought,” Yoda said. “Good to grow crops Bandomeer may not be. But good place for a young Jedi the grow it is.”
“If he doesn’t get himself killed,” Qui-Gon growled. “You must have more faith in him than I do.”
“Yes my point that is,” Master Yoda said, chuckling. “Listen harder you must.”
With an exasperated sigh, Qui-Gon returned his attention to the stars.
“Study the stars you may, Qui-Gon,” Yoda said as he left. “They have much to teach you. But will it be what you need to learn?”
Chapter 6
The Monument was an old Corellian barge, pocked and scarred from meteor hits. It was shaped like a crate, and attached to the front of it were a dozen cargo boxes push to Bandomeer. It was the ugliest, dirtiest ship that Obi-Wan could have imagined.
If the exterior was ugly, the interior was foul. Its battered corridors smelled of miners’ dust and the sweaty bodies of many species. Repair ports were left open, so that wires and pressure hoses — the ship’s guts — spilled out as if from an open wound.
Everywhere on the Monument enormous Hutts slithered about like giant slugs. Whiphids stalked the corridors with their moldy fur and tusks. Tall Arconans with triangular heads and glittering eyes moved in small groups.
Obi-Wan wandered in a daze, his bags in hand. No one had been at the entry port guide him. No one even seemed to notice him. He realized gloomily that he had left behind the data pad Docent Vant had given him. On it was his room number.
He looked for a crew member, but he could only find miners being transported to Bandomeer. Obi-Wan trudged on with gathering despair. The ship was strange and frightening. It was so different from the hushed, gleaming hallways of the Temple, where he could hear the sound of the fountains wherever he walked. He knew every corner of the Temple, knew the fastest route to get from the arena, where they practiced tumbling and balance, to the pool, where he would dive from the highest temple…
Obi-Wan’s steps slower and slower. What was Bant doing now? Was she in class, or a private tutorial? Was she swimming in the pool with Reeft and Garen Muln? If his friends were thinking if him, they would never imagine what a horrible place he had landed in.
Suddenly, a huge Hutt blocked his path. Before Obi-Wan could say a word, the Hutt grabbed him by the throat and threw him against a wall.
“What do you think you’re doing, slug?”
“Uh, what?” Obi-Wan asked in surprise. What had he done wrong? He was just trudging down the hall. With a sense of unease, he noticed that two particularly evil-looking Whiphids stood behind the Hutt. “B-Bandomeer,” he stammered.
The Hutt studied Obi-Wan as if here were a morsel of food. The creature’s huge tongue rolled from its mouth and slid over its grey lips, leaving a trail of slime.
“That’s not a ship’s uniform you’re wearing, and you’re not Offworld.”
Obi-Wan looked down at his clothes. He wore a loose gray tunic. He suddenly realized that the Hutt in front of him wore a black triangular patch that showed a bright red planet, like an eye. A silver spaceship circling the planet became the iris of the eye. Beneath the logo were the words Offworld Mining. The Whiphids wore the same symbol.
“He must be from that other outfit,” a Whiphid said.
“Maybe he’s a spy,” the second Whiphid growled. “What’s he got in those bags, you think? Bombs?”
The Hutt pushed his huge grotesque face close to Obi-Wan’s. “Any miner who doesn’t work for Offworld is the enemy,” he roared, shaking Obi-Wan roughly. “You, slug, are an enemy. And we don’t allow the enemy on Offworld turf.”
The Hutt’s fingers were like slabs of meat. They tightened around Obi-Wan’s neck, strangling him. Choking, Obi-Wan dropped his bags and grasped the Hutt’s fingers. His lungs burned and the room spun.
Using all his strength, Obi-wan managed to pry the Hutt’s fingers from his throat long enough to gasp a breath. He stared into the cruel, blank eyes of the Hutt, trying to summon his Force powers.
