Exodus


Chapter 2

Mace thinks that I have a choice in these matters. That is as foolish as supposing that a child born Force-sensitive has a choice but to follow the Jedi path. True, he may refuse, or be deprived of the chance to do so. But this course only leads to misery and self-destruction. I can no more return to Coruscant than I can silence the voice of the Force itself. I have a mandate already; there is no space for another.

Alas…I also have responsibilities. Were I alone still, a solitary Knight on an extended journey mission, the choice would be simpler. There would be no student to embroil in my planned transgression. As it is, I cannot ask my Padawan to join me - if for no other reason than I know he would. He would follow me off a cliff-face, and thereby ruin his own future, out of sheer loyalty. Many do not see this; certainly we openly debate my infamous disregard for the Council and the Code. But those are words. His passionate defense of the strict path is undertaken on behalf of two: and so, I must bear that trust worthily. I cannot rush in as my heart urges me. I must resort to…my own lessons.

What did I say during that saber practice session last week? "If you cannot overpower your opponent, use his own strength against him."

I cannot flaunt the decrees of the Jedi Code. Not again, not with my student in tow. So I must simply use the Code against itself. An elegant solution. I feel its simplicity resound like a pure note in my mind. Suddenly, I am completely at peace, and therefore completely ready. All I need is a bit of time.

Inside the thermal shelter there is barely enough room to move. My Padawan is an untidy twist of blanket and limbs, usurping more than his fair share of the space. But no matter: I won't be using the second bedroll. I stretch out one hand and flick the learner's braid to one side. He stirs, registering my presence, a non-threat. I place two fingers against his temple, and bring the suggestive, compulsive power of the Force to bear.

"Stay asleep," I command. "Until dawn."

His mind uncoils, more obedient in slumber than in waking. When he does open his eyes at first light, and realizes what has happened, he will be irate. I smile at the thought. He is very, very strong in the Force; but I have thirty five years' more experience. There is no replacement for old age and treachery.

The rest of my plan is straightforward. I set off at an easy pace across the klicks that separate us from Marshak's stronghold. His mercenaries will be out, seeking for signs of the refugee who was taken from under their noses, for signs of us. Marshak is aggravated by our intrusion, by the violation of his sanctuary. He will have sent out scouts, with no particular purpose in mind, just to soothe his frayed nerves. He will be irrationally afraid of another inexplicable trespassing on his privacy.

"Halt! Who goes there?"

The people here are so quaint. I sense the three scouts before they can really untangle me from the shadows. I step forward, to be sure I am seen.

"It's that Jedi!…Be cautious.." They start to retreat, fear rolling off them in waves. This might take a bit more persuasion on my part.

I reach into the Force again, directing it against their impressionable minds. "You would be greatly rewarded for my capture," I suggest. "You will call for reinforcements and try to overpower me."

I can feel them sway under the suggestion like reeds in a stiff wind. They halt, mutter into comlinks, begin to spread out, attempting a pincer movement. I wait patiently, cloaked in the living Force. After a long while – an inefficiently long while – the reinforcements arrive. Ten or twelve armed figures draw closer in a ragged circle. There are seventeen separate weak spots in their attack- but I am not planning on a confrontation. Cautiously, I remove my saber from its place at my belt and conceal it in the tangled roots of a scrub bush. The attackers draw nearer, closing in, using the twisted trunks of the native trees as cover.

"Halt!" one of them calls out again. "You are surrounded! Come quietly!"

I halt, hands held out. Hesitantly, my captors edge forward, blasters and electro-weapons held ready. One of them, a hulking fellow with tusks, dangles a pair of binders in his pudgy fingers. His nervous apprehension trickles through the Force. I let him clamp the metal cuffs around my wrists, while two others shove blaster rifles into my ribs.

"Where should we take him? He'll just bust out of the dungeon. Jedi can pass through solid rock, they say. And kill with their eyes."

"You should take me directly to Marshak," I suggest.

"We should take him directly to Marshak," the leader intones, his mind slack and yielding. I could make him dance a Corellian jig if the fancy seized me. It does not.

The hike back to the fortress is pleasant enough, except for the cold. Our breath condenses into white clouds as we pass without speaking over the hard landscape. The gate sentinel lets us in, his eyes round with shock at the sight of me. A Kowakian monkey lizard perched on the outer ramparts breaks into the shrieking laughter peculiar to its kind. But is the joke on me, or on Marshak? For a moment I wonder about the wisdom of my plan. Then again, I know the dangers of over-analyzing one's actions. We proceed into a wide hall and a courier is sent to fetch Marshak.

The warlord is irritated at being roused from his slumber. He glares at his minions, and then his eyes find me. A smile spreads over his blotched features.

"Well, well," he leers. "We have been recompensed for the damages done today."

The underlings shift from foot to foot, expecting their reward. Marshak steps close, his eyes boring into mine.

"What shall I do with you, Master Jedi?"

"Release me," I suggest. "The Jedi have no argument with you, at present. And you have none with us. I regret that our business here caused us to trespass on your patience. But the affair is concluded, and we will be departing this morning." The words are nonchalant, calculated to offend.

Marshaak curses. I am not familiar with the turn of phrase. "No argument?" he sneers. "There is extensive structural damage to my home," he says. "And two of my best men are missing a limb. You did that!"

"Ah…my apprentice did that. Your retainers fired first."

"I care not for your feeble excuses! And you Jedi have dishonored me. This trespassing, as you call it, cannot be tolerated. You owe me, Jedi."

"If you feel you have been wronged, of course, you may submit an official complaint and a request for-"

"Jedi birshim," the warlord growls. "Your Order can repay me. I will hold you as collateral. Here – put him with the other slaves. And send Beobu down there. I don't want him escaping – do you understand?"

The guards nod and mutter their acquiescence. They are still afraid of me, even though I wasn't the one who disarmed their companions yesterday. Most beings in this part of the galaxy know the Jedi only by distorted reputation and rumor. As I am hustled deeper into the cavernous underlevels of the fortress, I cannot suppress a small feeling of smug satisfaction. My role in this charade has been accomplished with ease. Now I must hope that my Padawan, and the Council, will play theirs with as much grace.


I wake with the first light, my senses wrapped in a hammock of fuzzy warmth. Last time I woke this way, I was in the healers' ward at the Temple. It takes a moment to shake off the unwelcome lassitude. I draw in a breath of sharp, frost-laden air. The stinging in my lungs dispels the dreamy after-effects. I note, with a pang, that the bad feeling has not left me. Why not? It is morning. We will be leaving soon.

"Master?" I whisper.

Qui Gon is not here. He must already have risen. Perhaps he is in meditation. Strangely, I cannot feel his presence nearby. I surmise that his discussion with the Council did not go well; he must be walking off his irritation. I find some unappealing rations which serve as breakfast and then I break camp, deconstructing the shelter and packing the compact supplies into the survival kit. We are ready for departure.

Still no Qui Gon. I shrug, and settle myself upon the ground to meditate.

Twenty minutes later, I open my eyes. The bad feeling is more persistent than ever, and now I have a headache tingling at the base of my spine, behind my temples. Something is very wrong. Where is my master? I try the comlink, and receive no answer. I reach out through the Force, seeking for his reassuring presence. An image swims before my imagination: a dimly lit room, full of crouching and standing Feorians. The slaves we saw in Marshak's fortress. The smoke of a cooking fire meanders through the air, blurring the outlines of the tall, gangly occupants.

The bad feeling spikes in intensity. I can no longer ignore it. The Force is trying to speak to me; it would be foolish to resist any longer. I breathe out, and center myself in the flowing currents…I hear a voice: "Stay asleep until dawn." I see Qui Gon's broad back heading, at a swift deliberate stride, across the rocky landscape. I sense his determination to rescue the Feorians, his disregard for the Council's advice.

Anger rises like bile. I wrestle it down, with difficulty. A Jedi does not feel such things. Traditionally, A Padawan does not question his masters' judgment, either. But whoever inscribed that rule into the Code did not take Qui Gon Jinn into account. I release the flare of resentment again. There is no point in dwelling on my feelings. I stand, itching to be doing something. I find the clear impressions of Qui Gon's boots in the soft earth near our campsite. Something to focus on, besides my unruly emotions.

It takes an hour or more to trace Qui Gon's progress, moving from one subtle clue to the next. The sun rises and warms the air. Birds and animals stir in the twisted trees and beneath the stones scattered over the land. I come to a halt. Here, in a dusty space between the hard, malformed tree trunks of a sparse wood, are the marks of many pairs of boots. My master encountered other people here. The Force is strangely placid; had there been a fight, surely a disturbance would linger. I frown, puzzling over it. The footsteps all retreat in a muddled heap, headed in the direction of the fortress. My heart sinks. And then it sinks further. Beneath a jutting tangle of roots gleams a silver and black lightsaber hilt.

Slowly I bend to retrieve my master's weapon. The bad feeling crests and finally breaks into a full-fledged shiver of panic. Qui Gon has been captured. No Jedi leaves behind his saber willingly. Anger forgotten, I remain frozen on the spot, fighting the paralysis which fear inspires. Marshak has Qui Gon in his clutches; there is only one thing for me to do.

If I were younger, I might have rushed headlong into the fortress, bent on my rescue mission. But bitter experience does eventually teach a few lessons. If I were to be captured as well – a possibility which experience and humility must allow – then the situation would devolve into a disaster. Qui Gon will always be one to charge headlong into each new challenge. I, however, have learned better.

I run back to our campsite, and the waiting ship.


The second transmission comes through six hours after the first, automatically routed to me again. If I had any doubts about my resolution, the sight of Jinn's Padawan appearing over the projector plate dispels them.

"Master Windu," the boy says breathlessly.

"What is wrong, Padawan?" I demand. "Are you and Master Jinn en route to Coruscant?"

He composes himself, shoving hands into opposite sleeves of his robe. "No, master," he responds tightly. "We are still on Seleuvia. Master Jinn has been captured by Rell Marshaks' forces. I …request assistance."

Hell's moons, Jinn! I talked to the man myself, a handful of hours ago. What in the name of the Force has he been up to? His mission was complete, for stars' sake. Qui Gon is a very capable Jedi master; he does not simply fall captive overnight, without warning, without explanation. The Force whispers to me that this has something to do with the Feorians Jinn was so anxious to rescue from servitude.

"Does this have some relation to Marshaaks' slaves?" I ask. I don't believe in beating around the muja bush.

Kenobi looks startled. Then he makes a face – a flitting twist of chagrin. He sighs. "I'm afraid so, Master Windu. I have…a bad feeling about it."

I nod. The Council has discussed this before, albeit not in the boy's presence. His instincts are as keen as a lightsaber's blade. I accept his evaluation of the problem without question.

"I am on my way to you already," I admit.

Kenobi's eyebrows rise, despite his attempt to keep a neutral expression.

"I had a feeling your master might need some friendly persuasion to leave the planet. I see now that I seriously underestimated the trouble ahead. Do not attempt anything until I arrive."

"Should I not make a reconnaissance of Marshaks' fortress? I may be able to determine his location." The Padawan looks antsy – he must be brimming with a desire for action. A most un-Jedi-like lack of control, but one which I am inclined to overlook. I was no different myself at his age, after all. Discipline takes a lifetime of training.

"You may," I give my wary permission. "But you will take no further action until I arrive."

"Yes, Master Windu. Thank you."

That at least is a relief. The Padawan is far more docile than his master – and far more level headed, I am tempted to add.. It was wise to call for back-up. A less cautious apprentice might have flown headlong into danger, driven by fear. But Kenobi can keep a cool head, even when he is churning with unease. I can sense that faintly, even through the tenuous link of a hologram. He is growing stronger in the Force every day. Part of me wonders whether Jinn is even worthy of such a Padawan…but that thought is very unbecoming, and I banish it.

"We'll find him," I assure the boy. "The Code binds us to come to the aid of any Jedi in need. Master Jinn knows this, and he will be waiting."

"Yes, master."

And why does Kenobi now look so stricken, as though my words have inspired some dreadful insight? I catch a ripple of guilt, or of suspicion, shuddering in the Force. But this is not the time for such reflections. We will sort out the details later. I end the communication and check the ship's nav functions. I will be there soon enough. And then we will see what there is to see.