Questions
That night, long after Tatooine's twin suns had set, I was stationed once again in the cockpit of the Queen's craft. This time, I was enmeshed in a quest to uncover anything that was not bolted down to the transport that we could carry away with us once this Anakin Skywalker had met his untimely, fiery doom tomorrow and we had to hand over our ship to Watto.
Overall, I wasn't having much success in this endeavor. So far, my searching had only found a handful of stray writing implements, a few crumpled pieces of paper whose writing was no longer legible due to age, and a couple of old candy wrappers. All of these items were going to be more valuable to a garbage can than to poor, deserted us, unfortunately.
I was about to admit defeat and commence searching for potentially useful objects in the ship's lounge, instead, when my comlink buzzed. I whipped it out of my supply kit, saw that it was my Master who was contacting me, and answered, "Yes, Master."
I couldn't prevent a note of puzzlement from creeping into my voice. He had already updated me on the day's events in Mos Espa, so why did he wish to communicate with me again?
Somehow I doubted it was because he missed my presence so tremendously that he would settle for the next best thing, hearing my voice, and somehow I suspected that he hadn't decided to contact me merely because he was bored without my lively conversation and sparkling wit, either. We had operated separately in the past, and we both were accustomed to it, even if we didn't always enjoy it. No, there was a practical reason why he had contacted me.
Perhaps he had realized that his plan was a crazy one, but I wouldn't dare to hope for that. After all, I couldn't recall the last time Qui-Gon had changed his mind once he had made it up. So, if he hadn't changed his mind about his lunatic scheme, why was he contacting me?Well, I'd find out the reason soon. My Master had never been one for small talk on comlinks.
"Make an analysis of the blood sample that I'm sending you," he directed, as I pressed the button on my comlink which accepted the date that he was trying to transfer to me.
"It will take a minute," I educated him, leaning forward and plugging my comlink into one of the ship's datapads. With a few clicks on the keyboard, I arranged for it to upload the blood sample information from my comlink and analyze it for me.
"Done," I added when several charts depicting various statistics on the blood sample popped up on the screen before me. I hoped that he would tell me what he was interested in learning from this sample because, otherwise, it would take hours to reel off every scrap of information the datapad provided about the blood. Just about everything that could be determined about an organism via its blood was shown on the charts and graphs in front of me. Blood type, immunities to diseases, viruses, white blood cell count, and red blood cell count, as well as one hundred other things were listed.
"I need a midichlorian count," Qui-Gon told me.
"I've got it," I replied, maximizing the chart that bore that datum. It didn't strike me as a peculiar request then since there were plenty of beings who were Force-sensitive and not Jedi. Some of them were too weak in their connection to the Force to be taken back to the Temple for training, others had parents that refused to donate their offspring to the Jedi, and some had just never been identified until it was too late.
Out here, a Force-sensitive would likely have remained undiscovered by us because Tatooine wasn't part of the Republic, so no Jedi would concern themselves with the inhabitants of this harsh desert world and no parents on Tatooine would have been motivated to give up their children in service of a different government. Not that anyone here would want to hand their babies over to the Hutts either if they could help it. The Hutts would probably squash or eat the unlucky babies, and that was a fate no parent, however abusive, would wish for their offspring.
It was only when I glimpsed the midichlorian count that my eyes widened and my mouth gaped open in shock. I saw that it was off the scale, but that was impossible! There was no way that over twenty thousand midichlorians could be contained in such a minuscule amount of blood, not if the cells were comprised of anything except midichlorians, that it.
I wasn't aware of what precisely my midichlorian count was although I could have checked the Temple records for that information if I had desired to, but I didn't because I felt that if it were high, it would lead to complacency, and if were low, it would spark a despondent why-bother-trying-since-I'll-fail-dismally-anyway attitude, and neither were Jedi attributes. Still, I could estimate how many midichlorians I had, and that number was nowhere near as high as that of whoever had provided this sample. My Master's wasn't as high, either. Even Master Yoda's wasn't that high, and his was probably as above mine as a three-hundred-fifty story monad was above my head when I walked around in the Blackpit Slums last mission. But nobody could have more midichlorains than Master Yoda…
"What are your readings?" Qui-Gon pressed, intruding upon my musings when I had been silent for a moment too long.
"Something must be wrong with this transmission," I stated hesitantly. That was the only sensible explanation for this aberration, but, oddly enough, everything else about the communication was fine. I could hear him quite clearly, and there had been no complications in either data transfers. Yet, the figures on the graph could not possibly be valid for there was no way that anybody could possess more midichlorains than wise and powerful old Master Yoda, who was practically the embodiment of the Force.
"Here's a signal check," my Master said. The piercing noise that followed barely a second later illustrated quite plainly that the transmission was functioning optimally.
"Strange," I observed, frowning into my comlink, as I reminded myself to request Reeft to modify my comlink so that it wouldn't emit that shrill sound whenever I wanted to ascertain that it was performing correctly. I don't know why I kept putting that task off. "The transmission seems to be in good order, but the reading is off the chart― over twenty thousand."
"That's it," Qui-Gon responded, the satisfaction in his tone apparent even to my ringing ears.
"Even Master Yoda doesn't have a midichlorian count that high!" I exclaimed, astonished by his calm reaction to this revelation.
"No Jedi ever has," my Master agreed quietly.
"What does it mean?" I demanded, my mind whirling at about a million kilometers per second. I was striving, with minimal success, to absorb the stunning miidichlorain count.
The blood sample must have been from that slave lad, Anakin Skywalker. The red and white blood cell numbers were consistent with those of humans, and if the boy was this strong in the Force, that shed some light on my Master's choice to gamble upon him in tomorrow's Podrace. After all, if the boy had that many midichlorians, even without the benefit of training in the Force, he would be granted precognition that would allow him to foresee stretches of the perilous course before his opponents did and would permit him to sense any problems in his Pod before they manifested themselves in an obvious fashion. I was not positive that I would have bet my credits on him even knowing this, but I tended to be more skeptical than Qui-Gon.
My question, though, wasn't whose midichlorian count that was, or whether Anakin's skyscraper high midichlorian count would allow us to win the Podrace. What I wanted to know was what my Master was planning to do with the boy. He couldn't be thinking of bringing the lad back to Corcuscant to the Temple with us, could he?
No, he couldn't, I reassured myself. Granted, my Master delighted in bringing unconventional to never-before-seen levels on a regular basis, but even he had to acknowledge that all Jedi were taken from their homes to the Temple by the age of three and that this was no hollow tradition. It had been proven in centuries past that any training begun after three years of age was destined to fail.
The reason for this was simple. Jedi Masters constantly instruct their Padawans to trust their instincts as if these feelings are natural when they aren't. Nothing about being a Jedi is natural. The natural instincts are wiped out and replaced with new ones during Jedi training. Eventually, these adopted instincts become more potent than the natural ones, dictating Jedi behavior. In short, Jedi training relies upon conditioning, and organisms beyond the age of three have already been conditioned to act naturally, not with Jedi instincts, and nothing could change that. Even if a body were reconditioned, the old instincts would still be present and could flare up without warning, which could have devastating consequences.
However, my confidence in Qui-Gon's decision not to attempt to take Anakin back to the Temple with us was undermined when he only murmured, "I'm not sure," and switched off his comlink.
I scowled as I stowed away my comlink. How could he not recognize that despite the boy's high midichlorian count, he couldn't be taught as a Jedi? Well, I comforted myself after a moment, that doesn't matter because the lad is a slave and we certainly don't have the money to purchase him if we hadn't even possessed the funds to buy the replacement components we required for the repairs on the Queen's transport. Yet, that was a feeble comfort since I knew my Master well enough to realize that if he decided that he had to achieve something, he would discover a path by which to accomplish it, even if that route was full of dangers of every kind. Therefore, if he wanted to liberate Anakin and take him back to the Jedi Temple, he would find away to achieve this goal. As such, I could only hope that Qui-Gon would face the truth that there was no point in dragging Anakin before the Council only to be denied the opportunity to be trained as a Jedi because doing so was too much of a risk for the Order and the galaxy as a whole. After all, someone who had learned how to use the Force was far more dangerous than one who hadn't.
Either way, though, there wasn't much I could do from here. I would just have to wait and see what would happen, and that, unfortunately, entailed awaiting the outcome of tomorrow's Podrace. I sighed as I determined as much, leaving the cockpit to search for any potentially useful objects there. I didn't do so now because I was absolutely convinced that we would lose tomorrow's gamble, but because I needed something to occupy myself. If my hands were busy, it followed logically that my mind would be as well. At least that's what I told myself, even though worries still clouded my mind as I rummaged through the lounge, seeking anything that might be helpful to us in the future if we were compelled to abandon ship.
The next day, I awoke shortly after dawn despite the fact that I recognized that I could do nothing to impact the results of the Podrace from here, since I couldn't sleep when events that would affect all of us prodigiously were unfolding several kilometers away. Nor was I alone in this, for all of the vessel's other occupants assembled in the lounge along with me as if by some unspoken accord we had all agreed to congregate here for a silent meeting.
Sitting in the lounge with the others, I struggled to devise tactics for us to employ to raise the money to buy a ship to transport us to Coruscant if Anakin Skywalker did not win the competition and Qui-Gon's grand plan went awry.
We had all been sitting there for three hours, not conversing since we were all morosely reflecting upon what our fates would be if my Master's daring scheme backfired when Qui-Gon contacted me. Anxious for any information, I answered right away.
To my relief, he told me that Anakin had won the race and that he would be returning to the spaceship within the hour along with the parts we required for the repairs.
"What's happened?" inquired Captain Panaka brusquely, riveting his hard dark eyes upon me as I tucked my comlink back into my supply kit. People in the security industry, I commented wryly to myself, were rarely the politest or the most respectful of other beings' rights to privacy.
"The boy, Anakin Skywalker, has won the race, and Qui-Gon will be here with the parts within the hour," I explained.
At this announcement, Eritae, Rabe, and Queen Amidala all beamed as the tension that they had all strove to conceal behind make-up and political masks was released at last. The Naboo security guards applauded. Even Captain Panaka cracked a grim smile. However, no one's reaction could surpass Ric Olie's.
"Wonderful!" he whooped, throwing his arms into the air in exaltation. His eyes glittered with anticipation of mending his beloved vessel entirely after all these days of waiting.
Witnessing their jubilance, I couldn't prevent a grin from crossing my face either.
Fifty five minutes later, I was standing with Ric Olie outside the ship, staring out at the desert sands, waiting for the first distal trace of Qui-Gon and his comrades. I was mentally pleading with him to not decide to go on a quixotic quest to emancipate a certain slave named Anakin Skywalker instead of returning to the transport with the components we needed as he had said he would do.
My rigid body relaxed when I spotted Qui-Gon riding toward us on an eopi with Padme and Jar Jar riding the same animal in his wake. The parts we needed were affixed to the saddles, and Artoo was rolling behind the caravan. For some reason, the sight made me smile slightly, although that might have been because I glimpsed no new lifeform, which meant that my Master had accepted the fact that Anakin would have to remain here instead of becoming a Jedi.
Ric Olie and I helped Qui-Gon and his companions unload the components that we required. Once all the parts had been lugged onto the ship, Qui-Gon gestured for Padme and Jar Jar to board the vessel, which they did, trailing Ric Olie, who was eager to repair the ship he piloted.
When I saw that my Master had no intention of boarding the ship at this time, I arched an inquiring eyebrow at him, as I realized with a sinking feeling that we were probably about to have another tagalong added to our merry band.
"I'm going back," Qui-Gon declared, offering the most obvious reply possible to my questioning glance. That was one of his more vexing traits. When he was reluctant to share something, he could be so reticent that it would cause a Troig to bash its two heads together in exasperation. Luckily, I didn't have two heads to bang together in frustration or else I would have suffered permanent brain damage by this point in my apprenticeship. Maybe that would have been a good thing, though. Perhaps if I could no longer think, I wouldn't recognize just how crazy some of his ideas really were. "I have some unfinished business to attend to. I won't be long."
"Why do I sense that we've picked up yet another pathetic lifeform?" I emitted a long-suffering sigh. I knew I was pushing him, but it's a sad fact of life that you can often attain more information out of people if you get them annoyed. Angry beings tend to spill out things they don't necessarily intend to. While that tendency was reduced in a Jedi, it was not one we were immune to, and Masters and Padawans knew how to aggravate each other like nobody else did. It was the inevitable outcome of traveling beside the same being for years on end. Before you knew it, you were aware of what could make that person snap as much or more than you were cognizant of what could make you snap.
He took the bait. "It's the boy who's responsible for getting us these parts," he educated me sharply as if I hadn't figured that out for myself by now. Essentially, he was contending that Anakin wasn't pathetic, but he wasn't disputing the fact that soon we would have another unnecessary companion like Jar Jar tagging along behind us.
I fought the urge to roll my eyes since I was really too old for that. If I was going to be insubordinate, I would have to find a more mature way to go about it, assuming, of course, that there was a mature fashion in which to be disrespectful of authority. That was a question I could find the answer to while I waited for him to return with the pesky Anakin Skywalker, who was turning out to be far more trouble than he was worth. While I waited, I could discover what exactly the purpose of existence was, and if I hurried in that endeavor, I probably would be able to compose a satirical play in addition to this.
The impulse to roll my eyes must have flickered across my features somehow because Qui-Gon ordered tersely, "Just install the parts we need so we can get out of here."
"Yes, Master." I nodded obediently. "It shouldn't take long."
This was true, I thought, since Ric Olie probably had already installed the new components. Still, I would check in with the pilot after my Master had departed to rescue Anakin from his life of drudgery and oppression, and I would lend a hand as much as I could. That was basically abiding by Qui-Gon's commands. At any rate, it amounted to the same thing, and that was all that really mattered in the final analysis.
About an hour later, I was in the cockpit with Ric Olie as he passed through the final system checks, ascertaining that the new hyperdrive would indeed function adequately before we tested it in hyperspace. This was a clever notion, because if a hyperdirve failed in space, we would be trapped there forever more, and that was not something anyone really had as their life's ambition.
"Everything checks out," Ric Olie pronounced once he had finished with the last minute tests. "We can leave as soon as Qui-Gon returns."
"Good," I approved. However, the words that emerged from my lips were automatic. They couldn't precisely be constituted as a falsehood since I did believe that it was great that we now had an airworthy ship once more. Yet, I didn't feel relaxed or relieved at the moment. I felt more anxious than I had since Qui-Gon left to get Anakin, and I had the foreboding sensation that something not far away was very wrong, although it didn't seem to pertain to Anakin. That was odd.
I was trying to comprehend more about the source of my discomfiture when Captain Panaka dashed into the cockpit. When I saw this disciplined military man running, I knew that I was about to learn what was going horribly, and I locked eyes upon him, focusing on every word as he shouted, "Qui-Gon is in trouble! He says to take off!"
As Ric Olie flung himself into the pilot's chair, grabbing his controls, a slight sandy-haired lad who appeared to be about nine-years-old darted into the cockpit as well, his eyes wide with terror. From the unregulated power I felt emanating from his body in the Force, I discerned that this must be Anakin Skywalker, the boy who had the incredible midichlorian count, and who had been responsible for getting us the parts we needed. He had also been the reason that Qui-Gon had gone back to Mos Espa. Therefore, he was the cause of my Master being in trouble right now. But Jedi did not apportion blame, I chided myself, as Ric Olie shot us into the air.
He circled around, searching the desert ground below us for some sign of my Master's presence. However, he must have detected nothing for he established frantically, "I don't see anything."
I fought down my own panic and reached out to the Force instead. I could feel Qui-Gon's presence close by. Following his trail through the Force, I spotted a cloud of dust a little less than half a kilometer away.
"Over there." I pointed my finger at the disturbed sand, and Ric Olie soared off in the direction I indicated. "Fly low."
Once I had issued this directive, I realized that the pilot might take umbrage at being told how to do his job by a person that was at least two decades his junior. Luckily, he didn't, though. One of the perks of being a Jedi was that people naturally assumed that you knew what you were talking about even if you didn't. Of course, Ric Olie might only have abided by my command because I had sounded confident, not because I was a Jedi. It was hard to be certain, but it didn't matter since, at any rate, Ric Olie complied with my wishes.
In a display of his skill, he skimmed the craft across the surface of the desert, barely a meter above the crests of the dunes. As we came closer, I caught a glimpse of a pair of lightsabers, one emerald and one crimson, tangled in a lethal battle and flashing amidst the tornado of sand.
Swallowing hard, I hoped that my Master would spot the open entry ramp as the ship passed over his and his foe's heads. I didn't dare to use the Force to alert him that we were coming since any distraction, however brief, in an intense confrontation such as this could be fatal, and I couldn't stand the irony if my attempt at saving Qui-Gon's life ended up killing him. He'll see it, I soothed myself. He was so attuned to his surroundings that he couldn't possibly miss it. He had to see it, and he would.
As we sailed over the battle, I felt a surge in the Force, and I knew that my Master had drawn on it to leap onto the landing ramp. Excellent. I exhaled the breath that I hadn't even been aware that I was holding.
"Qui-Gon's on board," I stated to the group in the cockpit as a whole. Before anyone could respond, I pivoted and charged down the corridor toward the entry ramp. Behind me, I could hear feet smashing the floor. By the frequency of the sound, the person behind me was running as well, and by the vibrations of the floor, it was Anakin who was hurrying along after me.
Obviously, he was just as concerned about my Master's well-being as I was. I should have been pleased that Qui-Gon was able to inspire such love in other beings so quickly but instead I was miffed. Nobody cared about him the way that I did and certainly not some kid that had just met him. I had known him for years. He was like a father to me, for Force's sake!
As Qui-Gon came into view, my antipathy toward Anakin faded momentarily to be replaced by worry. My Master was lying in a sand-covered heap upon the alloy floor, soaked with sweat and panting. I frowned, noting that I had never seen him in such poor shape after a duel. If we hadn't picked him up when we did, he might have…
No, I wasn't going to space down that dangerous lane. He was fine, and that was all that mattered.
"Are you all right?" Anakin asked anxiously as we both knelt beside him. My hostility toward him returned as I thought that he had beaten me to voicing the inquiry that had been burning at my own lips. That meant nothing, though. There was no way that his bond with Qui-Gon was deeper or more complex than mine.
"I think so," Qui-Gon answered, his breathing still labored. With what seemed like a considerable effort, he pushed himself into a sitting position and commenced breathing at a more standard rate. "That was a surprise I won't soon forget."
"What was it?" I demanded, my forehead furrowing. I had seen the scarlet blade, and while a red lightsaber did not make a Sith, the fact that the person who had wielded it was powerful enough to give my Master a run for his credits implied that whoever his opponent was had been well-trained in the weapon borne by both Sith and Jedi. It could have been a Jedi who had left our Order, or it could have been…
No, that was impossible. The Sith had been extinct for a millennia. They were an Order that could not long endure and for purely realistic, not moral, reasons. The Sith had been created from renegade Jedi who had disagreed with the fundamental Jedi perception on the nature of the Force. According to Jedi precepts, the Force was an end in itself, not a means to an end. That is, when Jedi refer to "using" the Force, they are actually doing just the opposite. They are becoming a conduit for the Force by allowing it to work its will through them. The Sith philosophy was the converse of this belief. As far as the Sith were concerned, the Force was a means to an end with the objective being their own attainment of more power.
Since the Sith belief system was centered around acquiring more control over others at any costs, they naturally resisted the authority of others. This resulted in them functioning as more of a disorder than an order. No Sith would consent to follow the directions of another for long. Apprentices would murder their masters as soon as they deemed they had learned enough, and anytime a Sith lord gained any semblance of dominance over his peers, those beneath him ganged up on him and had him done away with, often with great glee and expertise. Thus, the internal strife of the Sith had resulted in their destruction. Ultimately, all us Jedi had to do was step back and allow them to extinguish themselves through their own hatred, ambition, and greed. It was the clearest example of the self-destructive nature of the Dark Side.
The point, though, was that Qui-Gon could not possibly have just combated a Sith since they had been out of the picture for a millennia. I had just managed to convince myself of this when my Master disabused me of my assurance.
"I don't know, but he was well-trained in the Jedi arts," he remarked, eyeing me seriously so that I understood that he believed the adversary he had just battled was a Sith, although he didn't want to establish as much in front of Anakin. His desire to protect this stranger caused a tinge of annoyance to mount inside me again, because it showed that my Master shared the boy's attachment on some level. "My guess is that he was after the Queen."
As I contemplated why a newly resurrected Sith would display such interest in the Queen of a small world, Anakin inquired, sounding more curious than worried now that he was sure that Qui-Gon was recovering, "Do you think he'll follow us?"
Personally, I thought that it was unlikely that a Sith would relinquish his pursuit of us so simply, and Qui-Gon confirmed this when he replied, "We'll be safe enough in hyperspace, but I have no doubt that he knows our final destination."
Which meant that the Sith did not want Queen Amidala to address the Senate on behalf of her people. Why not? Was this why I had sensed a distant evil even at the outset of this mission, and why the disturbance in the Force had multiplied while we were on Tatooine?
"What are we going to do about it?" persisted Anakin. I glared at him, thinking that he shouldn't be pushing my Master so much for information when he was in such a condition. Curiosity was all very well but a little consideration wouldn't be amiss.
Perhaps my feelings broadcasted themselves a bit too obviously through the Force because Qui-Gon answered, "We'll be patient."
It sounded like the words had been meant in response to Anakin's question, but I didn't need Qui-Gon's pointed glance to alert me that they were directed at me. He wanted me to be tolerant of the boy. I wasn't so sure that I could be. Something about him got under my skin, and then there was the fact that his presence here indicated that many problems would probably be forthcoming. After all, there was the question of what exactly Qui-Gon intended to do with the lad once we reached the capital.
If he expected Anakin to become a Jedi, that did not bode well at all. The Council would never agree to violate precedent in such a perilous matter, and I could only support such a ruling wholeheartedly. That meant that my Master and I would clash again. Again it would be me who took the conservative stance, which was ironic since one would anticipate that the younger man would be less likely to abide by the edicts of the Council. However, that was not so. Perhaps my attitude was simply a reaction against and a compensation for Qui-Gon's unorthodox behavior. I didn't know if that was truly the case, and I suspected that I never would.
While such ideas spiraled around inside my head, Qui-Gon waved a hand and introduced Anakin and I. "Anakin Skywalker, meet Obi-Wan Kenobi."
"Pleased to meet you." Anakin spoke with automatic politeness, as though we had not seen each other before. Perhaps he hadn't really noticed me before, however, because when he spun about to shake my hand, his eyes expanded as he observed my outfit. "Wow! You're a Jedi too?"
His enthusiasm dampened my antagonism somewhat, but I still wasn't positive that bringing him to Coruscant was a brilliant proposal. Emancipating him hadn't been wrong since slavery was something I did not condone, and we certainly owed him his freedom after he had gotten us the parts we needed. Taking him to Coruscant wasn't even a bad idea as long as he was placed in a foster home where he could grow up as a normal civilian. If that was what Qui-Gon had planned, I agreed with him, but if he was planning on requesting that Anakin be trained as a Jedi, I sensed that a host unpleasant things would be occurring in the near future.
Unfortunately, I had the nasty suspicion that he planned on requesting that Anakin become a Jedi. Well, I'd hate for life to be boring, I thought as I shook hands with the boy, forcing a half smile because courtesy demanded it, I might not know how to occupy myself then.
When I got to Coruscant, the answers to all my questions would become clear, and things would get very exciting, undoubtedly. For now, I would be patient as Qui-Gon had ordered. What would happen would occur, and there was nothing I could do to prevent it, so I may as well accept it as it came.
