Star Wars Obi-Wan Kenobi fanfic

[Seth Kenobi]

I have been making this fanfic for a long time. I still have to edit some parts, but I want to know what you all think of it!



Part One

The Last Mission



Chapter 1



I sighed, and stared out the transparisteel window of the Republic Cruiser that was transporting my Master, Qui-Gon Jinn, and I to the watery world of Naboo in the fringes of the Republic. There wasn't much to look at, frankly, since the cruiser had jumped to hyperspace an hour ago, which meant that even the stars appeared to whizz by us, though, in reality, we were really shooting by them, like a blur against an endless background of obsidian.

To be completely honest, as much as a Jedi, even a Padawan, can be regarded as hating anything, I loathe flying. Flying on the surface of a planet is awful enough, but I absolutely despise interstellar hyperspace travel. The entire notion of the jump to hyperspace, which is always an atom-juggling, light-smearing, and molecule-twisting experience that causes all my midichlorians to scream in protest, made me extremely queasy.

Let me be plain. When I say queasy, I don't mean just to imply nauseous, as in sick to my stomach, which I'm considering having surgically removed by a medic, because Jedi rarely receive anything truly scrumptious to consume anyhow.

Still, I've accepted the fact that it is necessary for a Jedi such as myself to utilize hyperspace travel as a means of going from Point A to Point B, and from Point B to Point C. After all, it would literally take lifetimes, even with the longevity the Force can grant a polished Jedi, to travel to any world outside the Coruscant system by sublight, and the beings a Jedi is intended to serve really can't wait that long, I suppose, even if patience is a virtue.

However, the unease that hyperspace journeying always inspired was not the epicenter of my discomfiture currently. Actually, I was reflecting upon my previous assignment on Coruscant, striving to find closure in a matter that only created more haunting inquiries in me the more I contemplated it.

It should have been a relatively simple and routine mission, which was why the Jedi Council and Master Qui-Gon had sent me on it alone, as preparation for my trails, which both Qui-Gon and I recognized that I would be ready to face soon. Yet, it turned out to be rather complicated.

A little more than two days ago now, Qui-Gon had sought me out during my typical morning meditation in the soothing Room of a Thousand Fountains, slipped down on a rock beside me, and explained to me that Darsha Assant, a female Padawan my age, had gone missing in the course of her trail of ferrying a Black Sun gang member witness from a safehouse in the Crimson Corridor, a region in the underbelly of Coruscant's equatorial area where the sun really never shines, and an invading herd of banthas would be constituted as gentrifying the neighborhood, to the Jedi Temple, so that he could testify against a bunch of his fellows in the court of law. In theory, this was a routine mission, but she had obviously blundered somehow if she had disappeared, and her Master, Anoon Bondara, had apparently gone after her, and had vanished, as well.

When Master Qui-Gon provided me with this update, I immediately volunteered to embark on a search for them, not only because it was my duty as a fellow Jedi to rescue them if possible, but also because I had immense respect for the skills of Master Bondara, who is a brilliant warrior, and I was fairly close to Padawan Assant. Although we were not best friends like Bant Eerin, Garen Muln, Reeft, and even Siri Tachi, and I are, she had been in many of my classes, and I had always been impressed with her quick wit, and her mind, which was sharper than a vibroblade. We had talked to each other regularly at the Temple between missions, and we had sparred twice with her winning the first match, and me emerging the victor from our second duel. I had looked forward to cooperating with her on future missions, but that, obviously hadn't been the will of the Force, for I had discovered that both Darsha Assant and Master Anoon Bondara had perished in the course of their mission, and the Black Sun informant had died as well, meaning that they had not been able to fulfill their final mission, either, which was even worse, especially because I couldn't shake off the conviction that I was missing something important…

"You're brooding again." Qui-Gon's mildly amused and gently chastising voice dragged me out of my musings.

"Sorry, Master," I mumbled, shaking my head, as I returned to the present moment, which, as Qui-Gon would assert, is the crucial moment. "I was just thinking about my last assignment― I can't banish the feeling that I'm missing something terribly important, that I'm groping blindly in the dark, but some hidden truth is only inches away from my fingers, yet I can't see it, and so I miss it due to the lack of illumination."

"Deaths often have a disorienting effect upon us," noted my Master. "Therefore, it is nothing to fret about."

"Sorry, Master," I mumbled, shaking my head, as I returned to the present moment, which, as Qui-Gon would assert, is the crucial moment. "I was just thinking about my last assignment― I can't banish the feeling that I'm missing something terribly important, that I'm groping blindly in the dark, but some hidden truth is only inches away from my fingers, yet I can't see it, and so I miss it due to the lack of illumination."

Their deaths are so distressing, because I sense that they conceal something critical, but I have no notion as to what, and so, to me, their deaths are still essentially pointless, since they never succeeded in their primary objective. However, I didn't establish any of this aloud, partly because I was aware it sounded disrespectful to the deceased, and partly because I have never been awesome at expressing myself verbally, especially when I'm aiming to express my feelings. I have feelings as complex as just about anybody else, but I have difficulty sharing them with others, even my mentor, whom I trust absolutely.

Perhaps, my thoughts broadcasted themselves partially via our Force-bond, though, for he educated me, "No death is meaningless, as those who pass away merely become one with the Force." Here, he paused to extend his heavy, callused hands for my inspection. "Look at my hands, Obi-Wan. Everybody thirsts for the hope of something after death, which is why just about every culture I've ever encountered has a religion of some type, and, indeed, there is an afterlife, for one becomes one with the Force by dissolving like cream mixed into steaming stimcaf. These hands have been knit into shape by the universe, will hold it for a few score years, and then lose it again, surrendering to the power of the Force that ties us all together." He nodded at the space flickering by outside the transparisteel. "Even those stars we're flashing by that glitter so vibrantly now will eventually burn out. Such is the way of the Force."

"And, in the end, entropy will triumph completely," I murmured, reciting by rote the arguments of many a scientist. "Black holes will swallow all heat and light― all enthalpy― and, ultimately, devour themselves, as well, and, then, the universe will become infinitely cold and devoid of life and light. I can't help but wonder if enthalpy is the Light Side, and entropy the Dark, Master."

"Either way, your duty is still the same, Padawan. You must serve the Force as best you can, and that is all you need concern yourself with." After scrutinizing me closely with his keen light blue eyes, he asked, "Are you prepared to contact the Jedi Council, and fill them and me in on what exactly occurred on your last assignment?"

"Yes, Master." Although I did not wish to discuss this topic, I was as ready to do so now as I would ever be, so I bobbed my head in assent, and switched on the holocam, and entered in the code for the Temple.

Half an hour later, I had detailed how, after receiving my mission, I had descended by speeder bike to the coordinates the Council had provided of the safehouse, where the Black Sun informant had temporarily resided, and how I had found the remains of Darsha's speeder there. Speaking with a local, I had learned that the man Darsha had been responsible for transporting had been killed, so, suspecting that Black Sun had eliminated one who would betray them, I headed over to the gang's headquarters.

There, I explained, I discovered that the vigo, or crime overlord, had been murdered, possibly indicating that another coup was occurring within the illegal organization, and nobody had witnessed the vigo's assassination, or had seen Darsha or Master Bondara. Since I still operated under the assumption that Darhsa and Master Bondara were alive, I interviewed locals, I told the Council and Qui-Gon, and heard how beings that matched the descriptions of the two missing Jedi had been chased by a mysterious cowled figure in a swoop of the type that I later discovered had been stolen from the law enforcement, how Master Bondara had battled the cloaked individual and had been killed in the endeavor, and how the vehicle the Jedi were in had crashed.

When I examined the location of the crash, however, I felt nothing to indicate that Darsha had died with Master Bondara, and so I continued to search for her. During my looks about the city, I spotted a crime scene being investigated not far from where the pair of Jedi had last been seen. The building being investigated was an old, abandoned factory, where they had been some sort of explosion. In the debris, I uncovered the remains of Darsha's lightsaber, which I had recognized only due to its distinctive handle, but I had unearthed nothing to indicate that she lived on, and I felt in the Force the void of her absence.

At this juncture, a lump formed in my throat as I told this tale. Speaking of Darsha's death made it undeniably real, and that sliced me, since I found it challenging to accept that so much promise could be murdered in a brief time span. Darsha would have made a fine Jedi, and it was unfair that she had been stolen from the galaxy before she could contribute more to it.

Still, I managed to maintain composure as Yoda, Mace Windu, and the rest of the Council asked me questions that elicited more specific data from me. It was only when they terminated the transmission that I exhaled deeply, and leaned further back in my chair.

"Not every mission ends badly," observed Qui-Gon, attempting to pull me away from mourning for Darsha, since attachment isn't the way of the Jedi. A Jedi ought to rejoice for those who have entered the Force, instead of grieving for them. Grief was indicative of possession, and demonstrated that one was foolishly setting one's own selfish desires against the greater good of the all-pervading and omnipotent Force, which was a dangerous, self-destructive path that no Jedi should ever traverse. "Remember our first official mission together? Surely, you can't have forgotten Paaxi and Guerra?"

"I haven't forgotten them, Master." I couldn't contain a grin at the thought of the two vexing criminal brothers who had shipwrecked us in order to trap us on their homeworld of Phindar, so that we could rescue their plant from the clutches of the crime dictatorship that restricted access to food and medicinal supplies for civilians. "I'm glad that they're both the patriarchs of large families now."

"I couldn't have forgotten them, anyway, even if my memory had been successfully wiped by the Syndicrat," I amended, recalling how the crime organization had believed it had wiped my memory, even though, through employment of the Force, I was able to prevent such a disastrous outcome, which explained how I had survived my stint on the neighboring planet Gala, which was torn by strife between its three tribes, where I had been released after my supposed memory wipe. "Besides, that wasn't our first official mission together, Master, since the Council did not actually authorize it."

"By that standard, half of our missions together don't count," chuckled Qui-Gon.

"Yes, we can cross anything pertaining to Didi off our list of official missions." I referred to our troublemaking buddy, who was the proprietor of a cafe on Coruscant, and who had a tendency to seek our assistance whenever he discovered himself in over his head with the lowlifes he persisted on associating with. When Qui-Gon first introduced me to him, I instantly wrote him off as yet another vagrant that my Master, due to the excesses of his Living Force connection, believed it was worthwhile to deal with, despite what everyone else perceived, but, over time, I had come to appreciate Didi Oddo for his cheeriness, and connections to the city and criminal grapevines of Coruscant.

Qui-Gon smiled at me, and began a remembrance of one of Didi's numerous exploits. Before either of us were aware of it, we were exchanging memories of a thousand experiences on a hundred missions we had gone on as a team. We had never chattered this much on a trip to a planet before, because neither of us are into lengthy conversation, and so our bond is more centered around quiet companionship and silent communication, however, Qui-Gon was in a rare talkative mood, and that made me want to chat, as well.

I surmise that both knew that my time as an apprentice was drawing to a conclusion, even if neither of us acknowledged as much aloud, because we simply didn't need to as we were that attuned to each other, and neither of us wished to forget the special moments we had shared. Reliving these adventures made me somewhat reluctant to face the trails, especially after what had happened to Darsha during hers.

Sure, I believed that that I was capable of passing the trials, and would be a competent Jedi, even if there was still much I could learn from my instructor, but I was not eager to leave the protection and guidance afforded by my relationship with Qui-Gon, because I felt an overpowering sense of friendship and loyalty, and I was loath to be separated from him. Yet, that wasn't the Jedi way. I would have to overcome my attachment, or it would be my undoing.

I had just determined as much when the pilot flipped off the lights, hinting that we should rest, and I knew, intellectually, that we ought to go to the sleep area, and snooze, or at least meditate, on the sleep coaches there, for we might not have another opportunity to do so for standard days, but, alas, there was an emotional overrule that occurred in my muscles that rendered it impossible for me to move.

Possibly, Qui-Gon harbored similar sentiments, for he remained stationary, as well, so the two of us just sat quietly in our chairs, comfortable and content in each other's presence, and feeling no compulsion to speak now that all our memories had been swapped.

In the silent darkness, the question that had hovered in the back of my mind for months, as I approached the trials, arose to the forefront of my brain, and this time, before I could halt them, the words tumbled out, "Master, can you tell me something I'm lacking― something that I cannot see that I need to work on?"

"Do you mean a flaw, Padawan?" Even though I could not discern his face clearly in the dark that enveloped us like a veil, I was able to envision his arching his eyebrows at me, since I was more familiar with his facial expressions than I was with my own, as Jedi don't condone gazing into mirrors all that often. A Jedi should concern himself or herself with more pressing matters than his or her physical appearance, and I daresay that vanity is not likely to be my downfall.

"Yes," I agreed, deciding that the succinct definition he had proposed was perfectly functional, illustrating once again that I'm no wordsmith. Not wanting him to list weaknesses I already was aware of since I wished to learn of shortcomings that I did not recognize in myself, and, therefore, could not defend myself against, I elaborated, "You have told me that I worry too much, and I've tried to work on that."

"Ah, you mean that you've worried about worrying too much?" The lightly teasing quality in my Master's tone stated all too plainly that this was an amusing scenario that only I could perform.

"I can be impatient with living beings, too," I went on, still in a serious tone, because we were, after all, discussing my faults, which is a grave affair, although I could feel my lips quirking upward at his words, since when he phrased it in such a simplistic fashion, I realized that what I'd been doing amounted to just that, which was ironic. "I know that, and sometimes I'm a little too confident of my abilities, perhaps."

"These things are true, Obi-Wan," conceded Qui-Gon in a somber voice, because, apparently, my persistent seriousness had finally impacted him, "but they are not flaws. I have seen how hard you have worked, and I've witnessed what you can accomplish."

"Then what is my flaw?" I frowned, thinking that his assessment resembled praise more than a critical analysis.

At this point, Qui-Gon hesitated for such a considerable amount of time that I imagined that he had fallen asleep, despite my anxiousness to hear my worst shortcoming. Still, I didn't pursue the issue, as I had learned over the years of my apprenticeship to the man that he would reveal everything in his own time, and no measure of insistence would wrangle a word out of him if he didn't want to say it. Finally, he commented softly, "You will be a great Jedi Knight, Obi-Wan Kenobi. I know that with every beat of my heart, with every breath I take. You will make me proud that I was present at your beginnings." Again, he paused to gather his thoughts as though they were leaves that had been scattered in a windstorm, while I basked in the glow of his praise, and then he resumed, "If you do have a flaw, perhaps it is simply this: you wish to please me too much."

When he announced as much, I was glad that the lights were switched off, because I gawked at him, as if I had never laid eyes upon him before, although he was probably able to read my astonishment through our Force bound, anyway. I had never considered my desire for my Master to approve of my behavior as a fault of mine. After all, what sort of pupil would I be if I set out to disappoint my mentor?

Still, I could recall plenty of times when we had argued, because he insisted on defying the Council's edicts thanks to his championing of the Living Force, whereas I had wished to observe the dictates of the Council, being more grounded in the Unifying Force, and I doubted that I would have been able to contradict him if I had been obsessed with earning his approval, but, doubtlessly, Qui-Gon comprehended what he was talking about loads better than I did, for his prodigious Living Force abilities permitted him insight into human emotions that I could not hope to possess, even if I was dealing with myself. In this instance, I would defer to my Master, therefore, as I usually did. After all, wasn't his analysis of my greatest fault in harmony with my own revelation that I was too attached to him?

Yes, it was, which meant that I must cure myself of my need to gain my Master's approval, and my desire to always remain by his side. I must learn to be comfortable without him, since that is the will of the Force, and the way of the Jedi, and I must comply, meaning that I may as well do so wholeheartedly.

 

[Seth Kenobi]

Chapter 2



I was leafing through the holofiles Archivist Jocasta Nu had provided us with prior to our departure from Coruscant, reviewing all the data I could upon the history of the dispute over taxing trade routes, on the economy and society of Naboo, and the policies of the Trade Federation, for what must have been the tenth time, at least, when the Republic Cruiser dropped out of hyperspace, something that always causes me immense relief. Oddly enough, I don't mind exiting hyperspace, because my body and brain realize that I'm leaving the abnormal state of traveling at the speed of light, and am returning to the standard sublight speeds. It's when I'm entering the void of hyperspace that my whole body protests quite vocally.

However, my relief at exiting hyperspace was transformed to disquiet in record time when I spotted the Trade Federation battleships that engulfed the small, watery world of Naboo. Sure, I had known, intellectually, that they would be there, but actually affixing my eyes on them was still a shock.

Uncannily reminiscent of plump, white maggots, they spread through space like a lethal virus, preventing all access to the planet, just like any self-respecting navy would do when instigating a blockade. Pursuing my heartening metaphor of maggots, I noted that for maggots to be so healthy-looking, they would need to be feasting on a corpse, in this case, Naboo.

Shaking my head to clear it of this rather revolting image, I pushed myself out of the chair, and headed into the cockpit, where Qui-Gon was conversing with the captain and her co-pilot. After my years of studying under the man, I knew as surely as I knew my own name that Qui-Gon would be eager to start the mission as soon as possible, so that this issue could be resolved before the people of Naboo could be further harmed or endangered, and we would need to disembark the ship through the ramp in the cockpit.

When I arrived in the cockpit, I saw that the captain was just concluding a communication with the viceroy of the Trade Federation. Since her words had not been audible to me, I figured that the captain had been requesting that we board at once, as Qui-Gon would doubtlessly have asked her to do. However, I couldn't be positive that the viceroy had agreed. After all, he wasn't Force-sensitive, so he wouldn't realize that we were Jedi, unless Qui-Gon told him, and he might have the audacity to deny entrance to the ambassadors from the Supreme Chancellor. With this in mind, I murmured to my Master, "Are we to board?"

"Yes, the viceroy will meet with us," Qui-Gon responded, bobbing his head slightly in affirmation. Then, he glanced at me out of the corner of his eye, taking my measure, as he had before every mission we had gone on together, ever since I became his Padawan at thirteen. Once upon a time, that accessing gaze had made me anxious, but it didn't anymore. Now, I understood that it took in the strengths as well as the vulnerabilities, and wasn't necessarily intended to be critical.

"Why Naboo, do you think, my young apprentice?" he continued, returning his gaze to the viewport as our captain landed us in the docking bay of the flagship of the Trade Federation fleet. I couldn't discern whether he was musing aloud, or prompting me to think about the ramifications of the situation, or if his aims were a combination of both, so I remained safely silent upon the subject, permitting him to press on, "Why blockade this particular planet, when there are so many others to choose from, most larger, and more likely to feel the debilitating effects of such an action?"

Throughout my reading, I had puzzled over this conundrum myself. In the end, I decided that, since the Neimoidians who managed the Trade Federation were cowards, they would not have selected any world that could muster a formidable force to combat them, as it is far easier to assail an enemy that you know will be incapable of resisting your assault. Thus, they were compelled to blockade a planet that was renowned for its pacific nature, such as Alderaan, or Naboo. However, blockading a planet such as Alderaan would have been an imprudent move, because Alderaan was a Core world with an influential voice in the Senate. On the other hand, Naboo would be an apt choice, because it had only recently elected a new queen, Queen Amidala, and she was only fourteen, and, although she was impeccably well-educated, she was inexperienced, and, in politics as in much else, experience mattered a good deal. Also, from my en route studies, I had learned that Naboo, being so removed from the Core, did rely upon the Trade Federation for many foodstuffs and technologies, so a blockade here would be devastating to the planet's inhabitants...and nobody would noticed if a small world complained, but if a medium or large one did, then something might be done to curtail the blockade, which was hardly advantageous to the Trade Federation.

Before I could organize these tidbits of logic into coherent words, though, Qui-Gon announced that it was time to go, and I followed him down the ramp, and into the docking bay, where a protocol droid was awaiting us. I was briefly surprised that a droid, not a living organism, had been assigned to greet us, but then I figured out that, since Neimoidians were perhaps the most craven of all the myriad species that inhabited this universe, they were probably still quivering in their control bridge, striving to summon the valor necessary to meet with the delegation from the Supreme Chancellor face to face.

As the droid introduced itself as TC-14, and promised us that we were most welcome here, Qui-Gon and I both drew up our hoods to conceal our features, so that anybody who might be watching via holocam would not be able to surmise that we were Jedi, because the Supreme Chancellor had requested that the Jedi sent be as circumspect as possible, since he was afraid that he was overstepping his bounds when he dispatched us here without official Senate approval. That was another reason why we must be successful in this mission, because if we failed, Senators would be more likely to condemn the Chancellor's decision, and turmoil would result, which was never a boon to society.

Once the droid had introduced itself, it escorted us down a labyrinth of corridors until we reached an empty conference room, which it bowed us into, with a tinny, "I hope your honored sirs will be comfortable here. My master will be with you shortly."

Without waiting for a reply, the droid pivoted, and shuffled out of the chamber, shutting the door almost soundlessly in its wake. My eyes trailed it as it departed, and, then, riveted upon the maze of Trade Federation battleships that sullied the otherwise gorgeous view of Naboo, which was a lush, aquamarine sphere that hung resplendent in the black sky.

As I gazed out at the warships, a wave of foreboding swept over me, nearly knocking me over where I stood. My forehead knit, as I analyzed the emotions surging through me. After a few seconds of contemplation, I determined that the anxiety I felt wasn't rooted in the menacing display of military might before me. No, I had seen enough of warfare not to be intimidated by such things, but I couldn't shake off the overpowering sensation that there was some clandestine, sinister purpose behind all this, and that the Trade Federation's apparent objective of blockading Naboo in order to compel Queen Amidala to sign a treaty with them allowing the taxes favored by the Federation to take effect on her planet was merely a ruse, a mask concealing the true inscrutable intentions of someone else, someone who was far away from here, and who was manipulating all of us like a predator would its prey...

"I have a bad feeling about this," I mumbled, confiding in my Master without even being fully conscious of the fact that I was speaking, because approximately ninety-eight percent of my cognitive abilities were devoted to tracking down the distant source of my discomfiture.

"I don't sense anything." Even though my mind was preoccupied elsewhere, I didn't miss the tinge of amusement shading his tone, because I have expressed similar sentiments before many a mission, some of which have ended up being quite dull (yes, Jedi can have boring missions), which is part of the reason why he accuses me of being a pessimist, although I would classify myself as a realist. Force knows, it isn't my fault that reality is oftentimes grim, like it was in this instance.

I had to find the being that emitted the evil I sensed streaming from the Federation ships, though. That was of paramount importance. Yet, from the feeling that I had, the one I was searching for was probably light-years away...

"It's not about here, Master," I explained absently. "It's not about the mission. It's something...elsewhere...elusive..."

I trailed off, as I narrowed my eyes, focusing on the disturbance I felt in the Unifying Force, seeking the mastermind orchestrating all this. Unfortunately, my concentration was shattered when Qui-Gon placed his broad hand on my shoulder.

"Don't center on your anxiety, Obi-Wan," he reminded me. "Keep your concentration on the here and now, where it belongs."

"Master Yoda says I should be mindful of the future," I pointed out, hinting that just because he did not set much in store by the Unifying Force, other Jedi Masters did, as I broke my focus, ceding the fact that the galaxy was too massive a location with too extensive a population for me to hope to track this architect of a shadowy plot that I perceived only a vague outline of, solely on the clue that they were a living organism. I didn't even have a specific species or gender.

"But not at the expense of the moment," he countered, his tone gentle, but firm. "Be mindful of the Living Force, my young Padawan."

Well, that was hardly my greatest talent, as he comprehended well after all his years of working with me, as I'm the type who is prone to, metaphorically speaking, of course, ram into a permacrete wall owing to the fact that I am busy reflecting upon a sense of imminent danger, and am not focused on where I am going. Still, there are perils to operating only in the present. After all, if you don't examine how your actions will impact the future, your could easily ruin everything without even being aware that you were doing so.

However, in this case, he was probably right. The Living Force would most likely be of more assistance than my sense of a malevolent mastermind somewhere manipulating us all, a revelation that was theoretically intriguing, but had few practical implications at the present.

"Yes, Master," I replied finally. Then, reverting my thoughts to the moment as much as I ever could, I inquired, "How do you think that this trade viceroy will deal with the Chancellor's demands?"

"These Federation types are cowards." Qui-Gon dismissed the prospect of our encountering any complications on this simple diplomatic assignment that, in his opinion, probably was hardly worthy of Jedi attention, when a diplomat could accomplish as much. "The negotiations will be short."

As he finished making this assertion, he spun away from the view of Naboo, and the blockade, and settled himself at a chair around the oval conference table. Despite his confident words, I found myself questioning whether he was mistaken, because it seemed that the viceroy was taking a terribly long time to arrive, considering that he only needed to walk halfway across his vessel, as I seated myself beside my Master.

Perhaps, I was the wrong one, though. After all, every species had its own unique customs, and, in some cultures, "shortly" meant in a few seconds or minutes, in others it translated into a handful of hours, and, in others, a week or more. Oh, how I wished that the Neimoidians did not subscribe to the final ideology, but, surely, they couldn't, since such a lackadaisical definition of "shortly" would be more characteristic of a laid-back species, not one with a justified reputation for ruthless, cut-throat business policies.

"Is it in their nature to make us wait this long?" I demanded of Qui-Gon, trying to discover how much more time we would have to sit here for, before the viceroy finally deigned to join us. As I made this inquiry, TC-14, the protocol droid returned to the room, and offered us each a glass of some exotic fruit juice.

Suspecting poison, I accepted the beverage with a nod of thanks, but refused to sip it, social faux pass or no. However, my Master just directed a subtle nod at me, informing me that there was no poison in the glasses, and instructing me to drink. Obediently, I raised my cup to my lips, as he did the same.

"No. I sense an unusual amount of fear for something as trivial as this trade dispute." A slight frown creased his forehead as he admitted this, and unease coiled inside me again. If it wasn't customary for them to have us wait this long for the viceroy to meet with us, then something was amiss, and that was never an auspicious omen on a mission, but just what were the Neimoidians planning?

Apparently, this problem was plaguing my Master, as well, because he lapsed into silence, also, wearing a pensive expression. Neither of us were left in suspense too long, though, for less than a minute later, an explosion rocked the ship, and I felt a recession in the Force. To me, it seemed, that a plug had abruptly been yanked out of a tub of liquid, leaving behind a dreadful absence, and I was aware that it was the deaths of the captain and the crew of the Republic Cruiser that I sensed. Obviously, the unscrupulous Neimoidians had fired upon our ship, but why, I wondered.

In the next instant, the answer to that inquiry lanced through my head like lightning. The Neimoidians had destroyed the transport, because they desired to ensnare us here, where they could murder us, and claim that they had never been aware of any delegation dispatched to the Naboo crisis by the Supreme Chancellor. If they wished to execute us, they would be attacking us any second now, and, since we were dealing with Neimoidians who were much too afraid to fight their own battles, we would most likely be making the acquaintance of a squadron of Federation battle droids within the minute.

Therefore, I leapt to my feet, whipping out my lightsaber, as Qui-Gon did the same. Both of us scanned the room, seeking some indication of a threat, but there was only the protocol droid, dithering over the refreshments we had spilled when we jumped to our feet after sensing a disturbance in the Force.

Since we seemed to be in no immediate jeopardy, Qui-Gon jerked his head, wordlessly directing me to deactivate my weapon. I complied with his command instantaneously, and the hum of our lightsaber blades was extinguished as he switched off his barely a nanosecond before I did.

Quiet enshrouded the chamber for a fraction of a second, and, then, my Master barked, "Gas!", and I noted with chagrin that a faint hissing noise was, indeed, emanating from the air vents. I should have been able to sense that.

Scolding myself for mussing something so obvious, I sucked in a breath of oxygen, knowing that I would have to hold it, unless I wanted to inhale the toxic gas which was now flooding the room. Needless to say, I had zero desire to do so, because I'm not entirely prepared to surrender my corporeal being wholly to the Force yet, as un-Jedi as that might sound.

As the seconds ticked by in an excruciatingly slow fashion, I struggled not to contemplate how long I was capable of holding my breath—five and a half minutes on the dot. It was a feat that was easier said than done, because I could feel my rib cage squeezing my starved lungs like s deadly snake on a jungle world, and I was starting to feel my mind turn into a sponge owing to lack of air. Still, it was better than perishing in the fatal gas that now clouded the room, obscuring my vision, and so, I kept my nose and mouth clamped closed. Oh, how I wished that I could hold my breath for more than half an hour like my Mon Calamari friend, Bant! If the viceroy did not detail a squad of battle droids to ascertain whether or not Qui-Gon and I had been killed by the gas, soon we would be dead...

Fortunately, the Force was, indeed, with us, and, at that moment, the door to the conference room was lowered, and I ignited my lightsaber, as my Master did the same. Together, we pushed ourselves through the fog of unbreathable air. Within seconds, we met resistance from the squadron of battle droids tasked with ensuring that we were murdered, however, we deflected their shots easily. Two droids were rendered inoperable when the barrage was turned upon them, and a bullet smashed into their control panels.

While Qui-Gon bisected several of our mechanical opponents, I called upon my Force connection, shoved out my left palm, because it was the hand I was currently not employing in the fight, and caused five droids to crash into the alloy wall, shooting sparks and spare parts all over the floor.

Working in tandem, the pair of us progressed toward the control room, wiping out any droids who challenged us along the way. This was us at our apex, when we could anticipate each other's moves flawlessly, completely merging with one another's strengths, and compensating for any of our companion's weaknesses. Truly, the droids stood no chance against us. Living organisms would have surrendered, but such a notion was not programmed into our foes, and so they continued fighting, incapable of considering the possibility of surrender. We were an unstoppable force, working in unison against our adversaries, capable of foreseeing and foiling every attack the droids strove to make.

Soon, we had arrived outside the control bridge, and I chopped down the surviving droids, as Qui-Gon plunged his lightsaber into the durasteel bridge door. Without a word being exchanged between us, I knew that he was depending on me to shield his flank, and block any assaults enemy reinforcements might make while he severed through the door into the control center.

From the room beyond me, I felt a rush of terror, as I stood there, legs akimbo, ready to defend my master against any new foe, and, then, with rumbles like rolls of thunder, a series of blast doors slammed down, sealing the control bridge, and protecting the ravaged durasteel door. I was mildly amused by the notion that anyone would believe that blast doors would bar a Jedi from entering a room, as Qui-Gon stabbed at the blast doors with renewed vigor.

Then, my eyes lighted upon something that was guaranteed to dampen my mood faster than a torrential downpour on Drongar would. A set of destroyer droids were hurtling down the hallway toward us, and when they were several meters from me, they shot up to their normal, deceptively unimpressive height, and opened fire upon me. Instinctively, I deflected the bolts back toward them, but I rued my impulsive actions barely a millisecond later, when I learned that the droids possessed shields that automatically sent the shots volleying back toward me. As I resolutely parried an ever increasing amount of bullets, I concluded that I couldn't defeat this enemy by myself, so I shouted, "Master, destroyers!"

I needn't have wasted my breath, though, for my distress must have announced itself through our bond, because Qui-Gon had already vaulted over to join me, our lightsabers whirling about as we protected ourselves from the fury of the bolts. As we did so, I managed to find the time between deflecting shots to observe dryly, "Offhand, I'd say this mission is past the negotiation stage."

In fact, it was rapidly progressing from the "aggressive negotiation" level into the exalted "all-out war" phase.

"It's a standoff! Let's go," was my Master's only response to my wisecrack, and the tow of us sprinted down the corridor next to each other, retreating from the destroyer droids, and taking shelter in a service niche. We had only just concealed ourselves when the destroyer droids, which had chased after us, marched past us, firing stolidly at the end of the hall, where we were not.

Since most droids were not provided with much critical thinking capacities, it was about a moment before one of the destroyers had the epiphany that all was not proceeding according to plan, after all, and it ordered, "Switch to bio! There they are!"

As the droids modified their aims, and this time commenced shooting in the proper direction, Qui-Gon and I deflected the bolts, and ran away again. This time, we hoisted ourselves up into the ventilation shaft, assuming that we could find a duct that let out over the command bridge from there, and, luckily, the destroyers did not pursue us into the ventilation shaft.

"It's bonus that most droids have no imagination whatsoever," remarked Qui-Gon, as we crawled through the service vent. "After all, a team of humans would have thought to search up here long ago."

"Yes, and it's a real plus that the Trade Federation depends upon droids to do so much for them," I added from behind him.

For a little while longer, we crawled through the vent, until we reached the end of it. Crouching at the edge, I recognized that we were now overlooking a gigantic hangar that was packed with gargantuan H-shaped landing craft, and mammoth Multi-Troop Transports, or MTTs. I watched, appalled, as rank after rank of battle droids stomped up to the transports, and folded themselves neatly into the deployment racks. It transpired that the folded droids made astoundingly portable bundles, which meant that hundreds of them could be stowed on a single MTT. When each MTT was loaded, I saw, it drove onto a landing craft, at the direction, no doubt, of a droid.

If all the landing craft were to be filled with MTTs, which were loaded with hundreds of battle droids apiece, then the Naboo were up to their eyeballs in bantha droppings, and that was putting it mildly.

"It's an invasion army," I stated, establishing aloud the inevitable conclusion that we had both reached after absorbing the awful spectacle unfolding before us.

"It's an odd play for the Trade federation, though," my Master commented, and I realized that he was right, because they must have intended all along to invade Naboo, because these droids could not have been carried across the galaxy like this on a mere whim, and landing craft like these would only have been useful in an assault on a planet's ground, not in an aerial blockade. "We've got to warn the Naboo, and contact Chancellor Valorum."

"But how?" I eyed him inquiringly, because I was aware that if the Trade Federation was plotting an invasion, the first item on its agenda would be to disrupt all communications coming to and from Naboo, since they would not want the rest of the Galactic Republic to hear of their attack on a sovereign planet, and the least complicated manner to accomplish that would be to prevent anyone from Naboo to contact anyone off-planet. That meant that we would be unable to speak with Queen Amidala, or any of her officials in time.

"Those are landing craft." Qui-Gon pointed with his chin at the ships the MTTs were driving onto. "Let's split up. We'll stow away aboard separate ships, and meet down on the planet."

When he explained this scheme to me, I groaned inwardly, because I wasn't exactly ecstatic about the idea of hiding aboard a vessel brimful of droids that would be dedicated to killing me should my presence be detected on board. Yes, now that I was nearing the termination of my time as a Padawan, I was more confident of my abilities, but even Master Yoda's odds of vanquishing that many droids all at once was purely in the imaginary number range.

Yet, I didn't have a more feasible suggestion, and it was folly to debate with Qui-Gon once his mind was made up—that was one thing I had learned through my apprenticeship with him, even if I had learned nothing else. Besides, we did need to forewarn the Naboo, so they could muster as much semblance of an army as they could to counter the Trade Federation, and Chancellor Valorum had to be apprised of how the Naboo affair had escalated.

I'll just have to be very quiet, more so than I have ever been in my whole life, I thought, but, in case I did die, there was something of the utmost importance that I had to say to Qui-Gon first. "You were right about one thing, Master," I informed him slyly, employing his own words against him. "The negotiations were short." So short, in fact, that they were almost non-existent.

He studied me briefly, his eyes twinkling, and I knew were both thinking the same thing: that there had been a time when I wouldn't have dared to border on impertinence in such a causal manner, but the maverick master had rubbed off on his Padawan, and now even by-the-book me had a defiant streak. No doubt, Yoda, Mace Windu, and the rest of the Jedi Council would be thrilled. Then, he snorted softly, before leaping out of the vent, and landing in the shadows around the fringes of the hangar. When I was certain that he was not about to be caught, I vaulted after him, and touched down lightly on the floor, despite the distance I had traveled through the air.

Together, we crept toward the landing craft, and the waiting battle droids. When we reached the landing crafts, we diverged, and slipped aboard different ships, Qui-Gon selecting the one on the left, and me choosing the one on the right.

As I tucked myself away in a corner of my vessel where I hoped fervently that I wouldn't be stumbled across, I reassured myself that everything would work out fine, as long as it went according to plan, but things seldom adhered to a strategy devised by sentient lifeforms, and the fact that I was aboard such a ship attested to that, so that idea was a frail consolation.

 

[Seth Kenobi]

I am starting a Warcraft fanfic so I do not think I will be posting more chapters. If you would like me to post more please comment and I will try to.