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Obi-Wan shook his head. How could he explain that he’d lived his whole life in the Jedi Temple? He knew more about the ways of the Force than the ways of the universe.
“Offworld is one of the oldest and richest mining companies in the galaxy,” Clat’Ha told him. “And they didn’t get that way by letting others compete with them. Miners who get in their way tend to die.”
“Who’s their leader?” Obi-Wan asked.
“No one knows who owns Offworld,” Clat’Ha said. “Someone who has been around for centuries, probably. And I’m not even sure that we could prove he or she is responsible for the murders. But the leader on this ship going to Bandomeer is a particularly ruthless Hutt by the name of Jemba.”
Obi-Wan repeated the name in his mind. Jemba. It might have been Jemba who had beaten him. “Ruthless? In what way?”
Clat’Ha glanced over he shoulder, worried that someone would hear her. “Offworld used the cheapest labor possible. Out on the Rim world, in places like Bandomeer, half of Jemba’s workers will be Whiphid slaves. But that’s not the worst,” Clat’Ha said. She hesitated.
“What’s the worst?” Obi-Wan asked.
Clat’Ha’s dark eyes flashed. “About five years ago, Jemba was Offworld’s chieftain on the plant Varristad, where another startup mining firm was also working. Varristad is a small planet, without any air, so the workers all lived in a huge underground dome. Someone or something pooped a hole in that dome, instantly destroying the artificial atmosphere. A quarter of a million people were killed. No one was ever able to prove that Jemba did it, but when the other company went bankrupt, he bought the mineral rights for practically nothing. He made a huge profit for Offworld. Now we’ll have to deal with him on Bandomeer.”
Obi-Wan said, “Are you certain it was intentional? Maybe it was an accident.”
Clat’Ha looked unconvinced. “Maybe,” she said. “But accidents follow Jemba the way stink follows Whiphids — accidents like the one that happened to you. So take care.”
There was something she hadn’t told him. Obi-Wan could sense it — old pain and fear, the desire for revenge. “Who did you know on Varristad?” he asked.
Clat’Ha opened her mouth in surprise. Stubbornly, she shook her head. “No one,” she lied.
He locked eyes with her. “Clat’Ha, we can’t let this continue. The Monument isn’t Offworld’s ship! They can’t just go around beating people up.”
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 gri
“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 tu
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 a
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 Ji
“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 —“