The Rising Force (4 page)

?―Perhaps,‖ Qui-Gon agreed. He hesitated. ―What will happen to the

―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?‖

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.

―Leave me alone,‖ Obi-Wan gasped, struggling to breathe. He let the Force carry the command to the Hutt, to batter his will, change his mind. This was not like fighting another student. He sensed a cruelty without conscience. There were no rules here, no Yoda to call off the fight.

―Leave you alone? Why?‖ the Hutt roared with cruel amusement.

I‘m getting off to a good start, Obi-Wan thought despairingly.

him.

?The last thing he remembered was the Hutt‘s fist coming straight at

Obi-wan woke on a cot in a warm, well-lit room. His vision was blurry, and his head swam. A medical droid leaned over him, applying flesh glue to his cuts, checking for broken bones.

A young Human woman with reddish-brown hair and green eyes stood across the room, watching him. ―Didn‘t anyone ever tell you not to tangle with a Hutt?‖ she asked.

Obi-Wan tried to shake his head, but even a tiny movement rocked him with pain.

He took a long breath. He called on his Jedi training to accept the pain as a signal his body was sending. He had to accept the pain, respect

it, not fight it. Then he‘d have to ask his body to begin to heal.

Once he‘d centered his mind, the pain seemed to ease. He turned to

the woman.

―I didn‘t seem to have a choice.‖

―I know what you mean.‖ The woman flashed him a brief grin. ―Well,

you survived. That‘s something.‖ She walked closer to his bedside.

―You‘re lucky I found you when I did. You‘re not one of ours.‖

―Ours?‖ Obi-Wan asked. He squinted at her. She wore an orange worksuit with a green triangle on it.

―We‘re the Arcona Mineral Harvest Corporation,‖ the woman responded. ―If you don‘t work for us, why did the Offworlders beat you?‖

Obi-Wan tried to shrug, but pain shot through his shoulder. Sometimes it was hard to respect his body‘s signal. ―You tell me. I was only looking for my cabin.‖

―You‘re a though one,‖ the woman said cheerfully. ―Not everybody could withstand a pounding by a Hutt. Did you come on board looking for a job? We could use you at Arcona Harvest. I‘m Clat‘Ha, chief operations

manager.‖ She looked young to be running a mining operation – perhaps

twenty-five.

―Have a job,‖ Obi-Wan said, trying to feel his mouth with his tongue. He was relieved that all his teeth were still in. ―I‘m Obi-Wan Kenobi. I‘m with the Agricultural Corps.‖

Clat‘Ha‘s mouth fell open. ―You‘re the young Jedi? The ship‘s crew has been looking everywhere for you.‖

He tried to sit up, but Clat‘Ha briskly pushed him back. ―Stay down. You‘re not ready to get up yet.‖

He laid back and Clat‘Ha withdrew. ―Good luck to you, Obi-Wan Kenobi,‖ she said. ―Watch yourself. You‘ve stepped into the middle of a war. You‘re lucky to be alive. You may not be so lucky next time.‖ She

turned to leave, but Obi-Wan touched her hand.

―Wait,‖ he said. ―I don‘t understand. What war? Who‘s fighting?‖

―Offworld‘s war,‖ Clat‘Ha answered. ―You must have heard of them.‖

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?‖

her.

?Clat‘Ha glanced over he shoulder, worried that someone would hear

―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 grinned back. But he still struggled against Clat‘Ha acceptance of the injustice. He didn‘t understand it. He had grown up in a world where disputes were mediated and resolved. No obvious injustice

was allowed to stand.

―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 tunnels collapse and people die. I don‘t want his corporate spies and saboteurs on my side of the Monument, any more than he would want mine on his. So just accept things the way they

are. It‘s better for everyone.‖

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.

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 announced, ―Bandomeer:

the place where you will die if you‘re not careful.‖

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 Jinn was standing over him. Then the Jedi‘s large, cool hand rested on Obi-Wan‘s forehead, and Obi-Wan realized he was awake.

―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.