The stiff temple sheets practically crinkled as Master Obi-Wan turned over in his bed, unable to quiet his mind. He examined his own thoughts through the force, searching for the source of the growing seed of fear that he could not shake. He found his mind being pulled, once again, to the faded scar on his arm. It was more of a light blur than a noticeable break, but Obi-Wan was unable to forget its presence.

"Light'n up, ya soggy piece 'a cardboard," their pilot called cheerily from deep inside the cockpit. He looked like a baby squid, with his head in an oversized helmet and the rest of him tangled in the ship's guts: wires and computer chips of every type. With the cloudless Coruscant sun forcing its way through the silt-coated windows in wafting streams, the picture of a pint-sized deep sea creature has nearly perfect

"I'll get this ship on its way before you can find a spot to set your bags down."

"We don't carry any bags," Obi-Wan said.

"What a' ya, droids?" The pilot looked up from his work. He had the face of a child, younger than the senior padawan Obi-Wan by at least 3 years. "Oh, Jedi. I should'a figured they'd get one a' ya eventually. Ma name's Oak," he said, rapping his knuckles on his helmet. A visor popped over his face, and he returned to doctoring the ship's systems. "At least that's what it'll be once 'm a fighter pilot."

"A fighter pilot?" Obi-Wan was amused.

"Th' academy at B'jándu, Next session i'll be sit'in inna simulator, then at the pilots Acad'my. Then 'am shootin' things up with yah Jedi friends."

Qui-Gon appeared, knocking on the door frame to announce his presence.

Oak shifted his visor sideways to see him. "Ah, an' here's tha othah one! What can I get ya, then?"

"A working ship, at the moment."

The pilot laughed heartily. "That, I can do." He stuffed an alarmingly large bunch of wires behind a console panel and took the pilot's chair. Systems and panels started flickering to life all around that bridge. The engines woke up with a concerning coughing noise, instead of singing their usual hum.

"We'll be fly'n in a bit. Best find a spot 'a sit down."

Obi-Wan followed as Qui-Gon down the hall. The radio-chatter behind them faded as the sound of the engines grew louder. Thy hadn't even reached the cargo hold yet, when the floor lurched so violently that Qui-Gon stumbled and Obi-Wan was thrown to the ground.

"Let's hope our pilot is better at getting us to our rendezvous than taking off," Obi-Wan grumbled, sitting up and rubbing the back of his head dramatically in protest. Qui-Gon grimaced in agreement, offering his padawan a hand.

...

In the cargo bay, there sat three unmarked metal boxes, the size of coffins. Each was identical, indistinguishable from the others. Obi-Wan ran his hand over the rounded edge of one, finding no lines or cracks.

"Is this the shipment we're supposed to protect?" Obi-Wan asked. "What's inside?"

"I don't know, my young padawan. The council allows no knowledge of it, save its destination."

"Should we open it. We can't very well protect something we know nothing about."

Qui-Gon studied the chilled metal with a thoughtful look.

"See these seals?" He ran his fingertips over the raised black band that encircled the casing of each container. They were as smooth as running water, yet as hard to the touch as glass.

"They're ibiendran seals, forged with tempered igneous obsidian from Qat. As long as they're intact, they form a perfect pattern. Very hard to break, very hard to escape from."

The Jedi Master pulled back, as if sensing a hidden danger. "Someone is very intent on keeping these shut. Come, let us discover the rest of the ship. We have nothing more to learn here."

Qui-Gon rested his hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder as they left the hold.

...

"Hey, Jedi, tha's a problem in the lounge room nex'door a ya. You'd betta check it out." Oak's voice carried badly over the ship's comm system.

Obi-Wan set down his ration pack, having barely taken a bite of whatever heavily-salted greenish patty today's special was. "What kind of problem, Oak?"

"Looks like one a tha droids is throwin' a fit. I would check it ma'self, but I got ma own problems-" The wall speaker coughed with thick static. "-here I'm dealin' with."

Qui-Gon's voice croaked through the speakers, "I'll see to it." The speakers glitched out a series of tones. "-happening with you?"

"Hyperdrive's just tryin' a leave us behind. I'll fix it." Oak said.

"Very well."

Qui-Gon passed the food bin on his way to the lounge. "What are we to eat today, padawan?"

Obi-Wan held up the moist slab of probably- hopefully -vegetable. It flopped sadly to the side. "It think it's a hamburger."

"Hmm. Could use some ketchup," Qui-Gon suggested, turning round the corner.

Obi-Wan called down the corridor to him, "Remind me to pack some next time I follow you into deep space." He looked at the sorry circle of protein, sighed, and shrugged. Stuffing the whole thing in his mouth, he jogged after his master.