Legacy

Book I


Chapter 8

The Folk of the Stones rose early, trickling up from the cleft in Niffrendi's stone-pocked plains like intrepid foraging insects. Scouting parties of two and three fanned out over the eerily quiet landscape, the world freshly scoured by rain and the stinking aftermath of violent lightning. Heavy satchels and baskets slung over their shoulders and backs, they wandered into the lingering morning mists, stooping periodically to gather the magical dew left by the storm: ionite crystals forged upon heaven's frantic anvil.

Qui-Gon Jinn stood straight and tall, breathing in the acrid, metallic scent of the morning, the scent of ozone and scorched earth mingling with that of aromatic grass and soil. Clouds scudded overhead, but the sky beyond was a peerless violet-blue, inviolate and tranquil. The sun loomed behind a thin veil of condensation, visible as a blurred nimbus beyond the dissipating fog.

Beside him, Obi-Wan knelt and dug in the rain-soaked ground, fingers eagerly wiping away mud and grass to reveal a vein of sparkling granite beneath. "Look," he said, as intent upon his discovery as any youngling from the crèche let loose in the arboretum for the first time. "This natural substrate is already magnetic. When the lightning strikes, it must instantly melt the mineral matrix- and if it cools quickly enough, then, "- he snapped his fingers – "ionite."

"Alchemy," the Jedi master murmured. "The wedding of heaven and earth."

"You are waxing poetical in your old age, Master." The younger man stood, and surveyed the horizons, aura shimmering. "I'll be sure to include that bit in the mission report." He wiped his grimy hands upon his tunic's inner hem.

"I think we should accompany this group to their next trade meet; it may be illuminating."

But Obi-Wan was watching the southeastern ridge with all the tense acuity of a hunting colwar, and a hungry one at that. "There's another probe just beyond that line of stones," he said, blue eyes squinting a little in the overcast glare. "I feel it."

"Patience," the Jedi master counseled. "I say we hold our hand a little longer."

"And I say we bluff," his companion retorted, swaggering off on the direction of the hidden voyeur without waiting for further permission.

The tall man released an aggravated breath, but did not follow. He watched his young friend jog fluidly past the nearest glacial boulder, then disappear behind its looming bulk. For a moment he allowed himself to reflect that working solo had always been preferable to him, when not teaching a padawan. The early days of his own Knighthood had taught him that collegiality was a double-edged blade, a demanding exercise in diplomacy all its own. In fact, he particularly recalled one or two undercover assignments with Tahl…

"Hm," he snorted, turning his back on bittersweet recollection and his brash young comrade at once. Very well. They could approach the problem from two different angles… and see who had the advantage of experience in the matter.


The probe droid lurked just past the margins of the collecting expedition, hovering further away whenever an enterprising group forayed closer to its observation post. Obi-Wan prowled casually from rock to rock, sheltered in the bluish shadows of the huge white stones, peering at the black sphere as intently as it honed its optics on the dispersed gatherers.

The machine's outdated repulsors whined audibly, and the Force hummed in unison, proclaiming that this was a source of trouble, and potential danger.

The young Jedi flicked his wrist, sending a shower of tumbled stones rolling along the undulating land behind the seeker, but the ruckus provoked no response.

Thermatics, not motion sensors-. "Fine then," he muttered, waiting until the meandering vagrants had moved a safe distance away. The probe fluttered after them, keeping within sensor range.

He stepped from behind the shelter of his chosen boulder, and stretched out one hand, palm outward. The droid's repulsor drive whined louder, and then sputtered in frustration as the dark orb was kept suspended immobile in place, then drawn inexorably backward toward its captor.

The thing was outfitted with the most pathetic of defensive programming; concluding that it had encountered some variety of obstacle, the struggling motivators locked the small cannon onto everything and anything, spewing a scattered firework display of plasma bolts in a wide circle.

Obi-Wan ducked as a packet of red energy whizzed over his shoulder and careened into the huge rock slab beyond, but did not loosen his invisible hold on the object. He closed his fist, swept his hand down and flattened his fingers again, smashing the offending machine against the ground and pinning it there. It continued to blast out a small crater around itself – at least until his patience fled and he strangled its efforts with the Force.

"For stars' sake," the young Knight muttered, bending down beside his vanquished foe. The optic plate spun madly to bring him into focus as he lifted the wobbling sphere in both hands and peered down its primitive sensor tube with stern mien.

"Hello there," he addressed the unknown audience at the other end of the thing's relay-feed. "Have you no manners? Covert surveillance is so very rude." A disdainful lift of the brows. "If you've legitimate business with the Folk of these plains, I suggest you conduct it in person. And if you haven't…. then I suggest you find other avenues of villainy, such as the most proximate ring of the Hells, in which to pursue your idle pleasures." He grinned, fiercely, to be sure the entire message was transmitted to its distant receiving station, and then dropped his sputtering captive to the stony earth.

It continued to blast a futile defensive ring into the unyielding ground, and then promptly overloaded, expiring in a shower of sparks and smoke.

"So uncivilized," Obi-Wan grumbled, striding purposefully back to the loose knot of ionite harvesters and the cluster of white stones below this last ridge.


"Ah ha ha," Kerrn chuckled delightedly. "Good pickins this time 'round. We're set for the long run. Musta been all holy hell up here last night."

Qui-Gon gazed up at the gorgeous violet dome overhead. "And not a trace left behind."

"Oh, she's on her way back," the elder assured him. "Few more cycles out here'n you'll get a feel fer it... yer not seriously reckoning to go Urb, now are ya? They ain't friendly to our sort. And as for the Core, well, if you can find yer way on a ship, then better luck to ye, but it's just runnin back to chains and chips, if you ask me. Say, I even heard they chip citizens on some worlds. Now how's that, d'ye suppose? Folks are damned fools if they let some govermint keep track of em like chattel, and they pay em to do it."

"How do you mean?"

"Oh, taxes an' sich. Out here we call it tribute, but the Republic types prefer a euphemism. Like I said, yer better off honest an' free."

"Even at the risk of slave raids?" the tall man objected, mildly.

Kerrn stooped to pry another mineral formation from a lightning blasted trench. "Even so. Not that I ain't worried. Sky's clear."

"Yes." The Jedi master peered upward. Now, while the storm had momentarily abated, would be the best time for a freighter or swift mercenary vessel to make an escape into orbit with its cargo; if there was to be an attack, surely it would be launched soon.

"A feller like you, though… you can take care of yerself. Gladiatin's a mean life, but it ain't a soft one. An' that friend of yers – he's got that baby face on him, but I'll wager he can hold his own too. Otherwise they'd never'a sold him to the rings. You two could maybe show those pirates a thing or two." The aged nomad straightened, joints cracking. "There's a welcome place for you here among us, on that account. We could use warriors. Maybe give us a chance if it comes to fightin'."

"Still," Qui-Gon remarked. "Two against blasters is not very good odds."

Kerrn snorted some colloquial obscenity and strapped his satchel closed. "Nah, but we'll pick up a few extra rifles at the meet. And extra cartridges for what we got already. Take a few of the Paxellian barves with us, I say."

"What of this trading arrangement?" the visitor replied. "Have you no concern about the rate of exchange? If the Urbs are as untrustworthy as you say, surely they are swindlers and cheats."

"Maybe." The elder cast an appraising eye at his companion's wide shoulders and impressive height. "Wonder if you might come along – yer a man that can drive a bargain. The Urbs are cowards, to the man… especially since those lizards showed up ten cycles ago."

"Lizards?"

"Traders. Slat-eyed buggers, from some hellhole planet where slimy gits passes fer real people. Bunch o lisping, wheezing, pot bellied pizzmahs."

The Jedi had heard many descriptions of the notorious Nemoidians, and their Trade Federation, but none so unabashedly disparaging – or apt. "I would be happy to accompany you," he offered.

For more reasons than one.


"It's a dejarik game," Obi-Wan insisted, pace quickening to match his temper. "To win, you must anticipate the opponent's next move – and his next."

The Wanderers had relocated to their original camp amidst the stone sat the river's edge; the Jedi roamed together over the windy grasslands, well out of earshot, their cowls drawn up against the night breeze. Stars beamed down through a glassy-clear sky while a pair of timid moons peeped up over the forested mountains beyond.

Qui-Gon lengthened his own stride, subtly reasserting his lead. "I think it is better likened to a game of sabaac: you must wait for the wild card to appear before you pass or draw."

They crested a ridge and dipped into a low valley where tumbled white stones huddled like grazing nerfs amid a swath of overgrown heather. "There's no harm in forcing your opponent's hand," the younger man persisted. "Observation is useful , but unless we can pre-empt the next strike, we could be here a very long time."

"There are worse fates, Obi-Wan."

Impatient, the latter person leapt to the top of the nearest stone and tipped his face heavenward. The Meruu cluster glowered back at him, uncommunicative.

The tall man joined him on his high perch, folding his arms and tracing the unfamiliar constellations with his gaze. Sickle, scales, leaping fish… they took shape and name at the dictate of whimsy, mapping out a glittering fairy-tale across the wide ecliptic.

"I think we should stay with the Folk here… and meet the threat of a raid head-on. Or else track those probes back to their origin," the young Knight proposed.

"The Folk intend to extend their efforts up into the foothills tomorrow," Qui-Gon informed his companion. "We can remain with them until they finish their gathering. But after that, we should accompany Kerrn to the trade meet. "

Obi-Wan shifted testily, chafing against the older man's authoritative tone, perhaps. But he did not issue any vocal objection, nor champion his own agenda any further.

Aware that the battle had not been won but only deferred, Qui-Gon shifted their mutual focus to a more complicated problem. "There is a Nemoidian presence on-world. My intuition tells me they are somehow implicated."

Obi-Wan frowned over this revelation. "The Trade Federation? They must be the middle-merchant for the ionite… but I doubt they are involved in slave raids." He paused, weighing possibilities. "...Though a resurgence of the Legion in this sector might make them distinctly nervous. Pirate attacks on hyperlanes are one thing, but a Paxellian war-party is far beyond what the Nemoidians can handle."

"As they stand now, at least." Qui-Gon mused.

The paired moons attained the summit of their short climb and stood shyly upon the farthest peak, pallid and trembling.

Obi-Wan nodded, thoughtfully. "And an independent planetary army would not sit well with them either – they are infamous for enforcing mercantile treaties with threat of blockade or embargo. They can't be happy, either way."

"The balance of power in this sector is more precarious than ever," the tall man decided, gravely. "There is more than meets the eye here. We need to get to the bottom of it, and quickly."

And in that regard, at least, they were in perfect concord.