Now, when Qui-Gon made his visits to the Enrichment Zones, communing with the Living Force was not his only reason. He did not fully acknowledge his other purpose, newborn and not yet grown to maturity, but it was there. His senses were always wide open, not only to the streams of the Force from healthy vegetation, rich soil, and clean air as before, but also keeping a corner of his perception open for a certain . . . something.
It would have been simpler just to speak with Heim Shilbey and ask for a meeting with the newest Agri-Corps recruit, but somehow Qui-Gon couldn't bring himself to do that. It just sounded . . . odd, for a grown man to want to see a young boy. A bit suspicious. He had no good reasons to offer for this strange request, either—he couldn't exactly tell them that he was a half-trained Force-sensitive who thought he might be developing an unsanctioned connection with a stranger he'd never even spoken to.
And the Force seemed to advise him not to speak to Shilbey, to wait. Qui-Gon was good at waiting, though as the days passed without contact, he did begin to wonder.
Eight days after the shuttle from the Jedi Temple landed, Qui-Gon was able to visit the largest Enrichment Zone, the one in the south. The Agri-Corps workers knew him, greeting him cheerfully in the ways of their various species, often with a "May the Force be with you, good sir!" He had a friendly smile and wave for all. One of the younger ones, Nira, walked with him for a time, gossiping about the mining on Bandomeer, the negotiations between different factions.
"They're talking about this one mining corporation, Offworld or something like that," the young woman chattered, lengthening her stride to keep up with his long legs. "It used to be a lot bigger, but about three years ago it had some trouble. I think the owner died and didn't have an heir, something like that. Just recently they started shutting down some of their operations here, like that deep-sea platform. Apparently it just wasn't making enough money."
"They've found traces of ionite at the Home Planet Mine," Qui-Gon said, willing to gossip back. He considered asking her if there were any newcomers to this zone, but it didn't seem like the right time. "I like what I've heard of the way they do business, very fair to their workers, unlike some corps. There's also been an influx of Arconan immigrants, lately, which seems to bode well. They are very industrious and good-hearted. Perhaps things are looking up for Bandomeer."
Nira nodded. "We sure hope so. It's about time. Well, I'd best get back to my seedlings. Nice seeing you, Mr. Jinn—don't be a stranger! Been too long since you stopped by this zone."
He chuckled, and she rushed off, one arm aloft in a hasty wave. Qui-Gon continued toward the back wall, delighting in the feel of good, healthy mud squishing beneath his feet, fruit trees in ordered rows perfuming the air about him. He paused for a moment to take off his boots and continued barefoot, closing his eyes to soak in all of the Living Force he could gather, his deep connection to everything about him preventing any stumbles or wavering from his destination.
At the wall, he settled down into a cross-legged position, closing his eyes and stretching out with his senses. One of the Jedi skills Knight Dooku had stressed most with him was meditation, for it had the greatest potential of helping untrained Force-sensitives grow more attuned to their powers—and what ought to be done with them. Qui-Gon had quickly found that he enjoyed it, becoming more aware both of himself and of everything around him. Certainly with guidance he would have been able to do much more in these times, but he had discovered quite a lot on his own, too.
Sometimes he tried to direct this spiritual wandering, but he usually found that to be less fruitful than when he simply opened himself to what the Force had to show him. Today he did the latter, reducing himself to a mere wisp, willing to be manipulated by the currents and winds. And today the Force had a brand-new discovery to reveal to him, unprecedented and completely wonderful.
It was a thread: a thin, insubstantial thread of pure light. The thread flowed through a corner of Qui-Gon's mind, leading inward to the depths of his spirit, leading outward to . . . something else. Marveling, he studied the thread for endless moments, watching it waver and shift, seeming to pulse with a heartbeat not his own. Hesitantly, he reached out to touch it, just for the smallest fraction of time.
The thread jumped at his touch as if it were alive, and he jerked back, wondering if he had done wrong. But the thread was brighter now, more lively, vibrating with . . . eagerness? Desire? Slowly, he touched it again, then firmed his grip, and watched the thread grow thicker and stronger with the mental contact.
He pulled back, staring at the thread which was now a cord, glowing no longer pure white, but innumerable colors. All of them meant something, he knew they did, but he did not know what they were. It was frustrating and exciting at once—such a new sensation this was, both beautiful and unsettling. He wished he had someone to teach him what it meant, what to do with it.
Knight Dooku. He would contact Dooku tonight, as soon as he returned home. He hadn't spoken to the Jedi in . . . well nigh a decade, wasn't it? But Dooku had said he would always be open to hearing from the younger man. He had felt a connection with young Qui-Gon, enough to ignore ancient practice and teach many Force skills to one who was outside his Order.
Qui-Gon looked again at the cord in his mind, trying to open himself to anything the Force might have to tell him about what it meant. Now he noticed darker spots against the brilliance, ranging from light gray to dark, splotchy brown. They were rare, but definitely present, and they troubled him greatly. Something was wrong. But what did it mean, and what could he do to heal it?
He sighed and withdrew, realizing that he had done all he could. He needed more information. This was too new and strange to meddle with—he might unwittingly do damage, not knowing how to handle this new part of his own mind.
Qui-Gon opened his eyes, and immediately blinked. A boy with reddish-sandy hair sat cross-legged before him, chin resting on his fists, elbows on knees, blue-gray eyes studying the man intently. It took him a moment to recognize Obi-Wan Kenobi.
The boy was grubby from working out of doors, his Jedi garments stained at elbow and knee, one hem beginning to fray. His hair was tousled and unkempt, sticking up in strange places, as if the youngster had just been roused from sleep. He looked just as exhausted as he had at the transport, just as pale and unwell, and was it possible that he had lost weight in only a week?
Qui-Gon frowned at the thought, then stilled his features as he realized how that would look to the boy. He was not displeased to see him—exactly the opposite. But didn't they take care of their young ones in the Agri-Corps? The child looked utterly forsaken and neglected. Qui-Gon, anticipating fatherhood in seven months, did not like it at all.
He wasn't fast enough. Obi-Wan saw the frown, and he leaned back, hands spread in apology. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to disturb you."
"You didn't." Qui-Gon shook his head quickly, and held out a hand in greeting. "I'm Qui-Gon Jinn."
The boy eyed his hand warily for a moment, then took it. His grip was loose and tentative, young fingers callused, though not in the pattern of a farmer. "Obi-Wan Kenobi."
"Pleased to meet you, Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon shook his hand, squeezing gently but warmly, strangely aware of how small it was within his own, how chilled and uncertain.
Obi-Wan took his hand back and held it in the other, as if unconsciously checking it for injury. "I . . . I don't know how to say this, Mr. Jinn . . ."
"Call me Qui-Gon. Please."
Obi-Wan hesitated, his lips drawn tight in indecision, then nodded slowly. "Very well. Qui-Gon."
"And it's all right if I call you Obi-Wan?"
"Yes. It's all right." And there was the echo of a bitter, sorrowful thought hanging in the air. You certainly can't call me 'Padawan.'
"Good." Qui-Gon smiled, doing his best to make up for that earlier frown. "Did you have something to ask me, Obi-Wan? Feel free. If anyone is intruding here, it's me."
"I . . . I . . ." Obi-Wan suddenly squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head as if trying to clear it. He looked to Qui-Gon again, helpless confusion in his face. "I don't understand it. I thought I felt someone . . . touch me. I followed the feeling back, and found you sitting here. Did you touch me?"
Qui-Gon felt his brow wrinkle in mirrored confusion. "Touch you? How could I have done that?"
"I . . . I don't know." Obi-Wan scrambled to his feet, misery deadening his eyes and slumping his shoulders. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have bothered you. It's silly, silly . . ." Without warning he hurried away, one hand to his head as if to hold it on his shoulders, or to ward off sudden pain.
Qui-Gon jumped to his feet. "Obi-Wan, wait!" He wanted to follow, but felt rooted in place, staring as the slim figure vanished into the trees. "Obi-Wan!"
The boy didn't even glance back. Qui-Gon bit back a curse, almost stomping his foot in childish petulance.
The thread! Of course! How could he have been so dense? It was a connection, formed by the Force and leading to this poor, desperately confused child. Obi-Wan must have felt it move and strengthen when Qui-Gon touched it. Obviously, the boy didn't know what it was or how to deal with it any more than Qui-Gon did.
Once again, Qui-Gon couldn't wait to get home and have a conversation.
X
Before Qui-Gon touched the comm, it buzzed with an incoming message. He stared at it for a moment, his finger centimeters from the button, then activated it. Heim Shilbey's holographic face appeared, creased in concern.
"Mr. Jinn? I'm sorry to trouble you at home, but Nira seemed to think you might be able to help us."
"I'm always willing to help." Qui-Gon nodded and crossed his arms over his chest, hiding his impatience. Why now? He had been just about to get some answers!
"Yes, you appear to have that reputation about Bandomeer. Quite commendable, considering you've only been here for a month and a half."
Qui-Gon shifted from foot to foot. "What's your problem? I'll be glad to offer any assistance that I can."
Shilbey kneaded his wrinkled forehead with a holographic hand. "One of our young workers has gone missing. Nira said she saw you talking with him, and she thought you might know something . . ."
Qui-Gon felt his heart drop into his stomach, the collision making him feel rather sick. "Obi-Wan Kenobi?"
"You know him! Yes, our newest recruit. He's been very withdrawn, hardly interacting with anyone, so I thought it odd when Nira mentioned . . . Mr. Jinn? Are you there?"
He was already gone.