Jedi Apprentice 1: The Rising Force

Chapter 18

Qui-Gon’s Jedi healing techniques required him to put all his energy toward knitting his torn muscles and fighting infection. Yet time and again he found his thoughts returning to Obi-Wan, to the look of defeat on the boy’s face during their talk.

Why did they boy exert such a persistent tug? He had seen many boys over the years. Time and again he had gently informed than that they did not have it in them to become a Jedi Knight. He had done it compassionately, and saved them from the difficult struggle of finding out to late. Hadn’t he?

Resolutely, Qui-Gon settled himself on the sleep-couch. Regrets would keep him awake, and he needed sleep.

The ship was eerily quiet. Everyone was exhausted from the battle with the pirates. Qui-Gon heard nothing but the slap of waves on the shore and the soft rhythmic murmur of some animals skittering under the ship. He hoped the sound would lull him to sleep.

But he slept restlessly, due to pain or regret he could not say. Half-awake from a tortured dream, Qui-Gon rose and crossed for a towel to wipe his sweaty forehead. He drank some water, then rested his hot forehead against the cool transparisteel of his small portal. The craggy cliffs in the distance seemed to shimmer and vibrate. Was his fever getting worse? An odd, yellow mist blurred his vision.

He had risen too soon. Qui-Gon felt his way back to the sleep-couch. This time, he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

When he woke in the early morning, his right arm was stiff but better. A ship’s droid had mended and cleaned his robes. As he donned them, he realized he was hungry. It was a good sign.

As he headed for the kitchen, he saw that the ship was abuzz. Arconans rushed past him, carrying crates of their personal belongings.

He asked one what was wrong.

“The tide is coming in,” the Arconan said, “and it may swamp the ship. The engines are all down for repair, and we won’t get them up in time. We have been ordered to evacuate.”

“Evacuate?” Qui-Gon asked in surprise. With the draigons outside, that sounded dangerous. “Evacuate to where?”

“Into the hills, higher up on the island. The ships crew found some caves. We must reach them before the sun is in the sky and the draigons waken.” The Arconans rushed away, heavy packs and boxes in tow.

From bad to worse, Qui-Gon realized. Shot down by pirates, wrecked on an alien world with Jemba holding a gun on them all. And now they would have to abandon ship, hide in caves with limed supplies. He could feel a rising danger. Perhaps the pirates would come to finish them off, or maybe they’d all starve, or die fighting one another. Perhaps the tides would rise so high that they’d flood the whole island.

The Arconans rushing past looked weary and battered. They had not gotten dactyl last night, and would have none this morning. Qui-Gon wondered how long they could go without it.

He strode to Clat’Ha’s cabin and found her hurriedly packing her belongings. Her door was open.

She looked up when he entered the room. “You’d better hurry and pack,” she said. “The tide is coming in fast and the sun will rise soon. We have to get off the ship.” She grinned as she pushed a strand of red-brown hair out of her eyes. He green eyes gleamed with mischief. “Jemba is furious. Maybe he’s afraid he won’t fit in a cave.”

“Why is he so angry?” Qui-Gon asked curiously.

Clat’Ha shrugged. “Because it’s something out of his control, I suppose. At first he thought the crew was lying. But even he had to realize we could drown if we stayed. It was almost worth it just to see him back down.”

Qui-Gon frowned. “How soon do the Arconans need dactyl?”

The amusement in Clat’Ha’s eyes instantly changed to worry. “Some of them are already beginning to fade,” she said quietly. “If they don’t get dactyl by tonight, they’ll start to sicken and die.”

“So soon,” Qui-Gon murmured. Something nagged at him, an instinct telling him he had overlooked something.

Jemba’s anger. The soft tread of animals. At solid cliff that moved. A yellow haze…

But no animals lived on the island, only draigons. The crew had investigated for predators shortly after they’d landed. And the haze hadn’t been in front of his eyes. A cave in the cliff itself had been glowing with a faint yellow light.

Realization sparked within him. “Tell the Arconans no to be afraid,” he told Clat’Ha crisply. “I think I know where the dactyl is. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“I’ll come with you,” Clat’Ha offered instantly. “Or we could round up some help —“

Qui-Gon considered this. No doubt the dactyl would be guarded. But with hungry draigons hunting in the morning skies, too many people might attract their attention. Not to mention that Jemba would be on the watch. But one man dressed in dark robes, traveling alone…

“I’m sorry, Clat’Ha,” he said. “I know you will hate what I’m about to ask you to do.”

“I’ll do anything,” Clat’Ha declared fiercely. “We have to find that dactyl!”

“No, you don’t understand,” Qui-Gon said. “I’m asking you to wait.”

Grelb the Hutt was good at following orders, especially when he knew that Jemba might eat his tail if he didn’t. He sat on the rock midway up the cliffside, his blaster rifle at the ready. From here he had a good view of the ship. Jemba had sent him here for two reasons — to protect the miners and the Arconans as they evacuated the ship, and to make sure that no one climbed to reach the high caves.

Not that Jemba cared about the Arconans. But now they were his property. He was protecting an investment.

So far, the draigons that hovered up so high in the air and that perched on craggy rocks in the hills had not spotted the Hutts and Arconans and Whiphids. The early morning mist shrouded them from view. Yet Grelb kept careful watch, prepared to shoot any draigon that swooped from the sky — or any Arconan that gave him trouble.

Last night, darkness had provided a cover for the hard climb upward into the cliffs with the dactyl. Jemba had ordered the Whiphids to do most of the work. Their feet were heavily padded, and would make no sounds while they loaded the dactyl onto packs and snuck away from the ship. No one had seen them, Grelb was sure. The rest of the miners on the ship had been busy licking their wounds after the pirate fight, and the Arconans were to afraid to stick their noses out of their cabins.

It had a setback when the crew had ordered everyone off the ship and into the caves. Even Jemba had been worried that someone would stumble upon the cache of dactyl. It was lucky that they had forced the Whiphids to climb so high.

The mist was starting to break up, but gray clouds were rolling in from the west. The air smelled of salt and distant lightning. Grelb worried that the lightning would drive more draigons to ground here on the island.

As the Arconans emptied from the huge dark ship, one man caught Grelb’s eye: the Jedi Knight, Qui-Gon Jinn. He wore a cloak and hood, but Grelb instantly recognized him by his size and grace. Qui-Gon walked swiftly past the Arconans as though anxious to reach the caves. Yet it was not like him to hurry to safety.

Grelb fished a pair of macrobinoculars from his pocket and trained them on the Jedi. Qui-Gon climbed the hill quickly, without tiring. But instead of ducking into the first cave where the Arconans had already gathered, he continued to climb, inching along a narrow ledge in order to reach the side of the mountain without being see.

Grelb would have gladly slithered after the Jedi and shot him, but he dared not do so without Jemba’s permission. He reached down to his comm unit and pushed a button. In seconds Jemba answered.

“The Jedi Knight is heading up the mountain,” Grelb said.

“Where is he going?” Jemba barked. He sounded frightened, and for good reason.

“I don’t know. But I don’t like it,” Grelb answered.

Jemba hesitated only a moment. “Take some reinforcements with you, and see to it that he doesn’t return.”

Si Treemba looked ill. The healthy greenish tone of his skin was fading to grey, and his small scales were beginning to flake off. Qui-Gon had been gone for hours now.

When Clat’Ha had told him that Qui-Gon had gone in search of the dactyl, frustration had filled Obi-Wan. He accepted that he could not be the Jedi’s Padawan, but couldn’t Qui-Gon ask him for help, just once?

Of course he had not. Of course he had gone alone.

In the dark cave, Obi-Wan studied his friend with a frown. The Hutts and Whiphids had taken the only lights into a larger cavern, so that only reflected light had worked its way in.

The Arconans had settled into the back of the highest cavern — and what strange caverns they were. Each cave measured four meters wide at its narrowest point, and ten meters tall. Perhaps a dozen passages led to the surface. But tunnels opened wide into huge hollows in many places. Claw marks on the floors showed that an animal had dug them, yet the Arconans found nothing in the lair.

The Offworlders guarded the entrance to make certain no one fled. Stalactites hung overhead like glittering spears, and there was nothing to sit on but broken stones. In the dank shadows, the eyes of the Arconans glowed faintly.

Si Treemba was humming in Arconan. Others nearby did the same. Obi-Wan leaned closer to his friend.

“What are you humming?” he asked softly.

“We sing a song of thanksgiving,” Si Treemba said. He Translated for Obi-wan.

“The sun in finally hidden, and here our world is black. In this cave we have the stones And our brothers at our back.

“Outside the storms may threaten But here the day is calm. We’ll cleave to earth like flesh to bone. With out brothers we belong.”

It seemed a sad song to Obi-Wan. But he was not an Arconan. He was not used to making a cave his home. Perhaps to Si Treemba, the song sounded more joyous.

The Arconans sounded as if they were resigned to their deaths. He could not understand such resignation. The urge to act, to fight, was becoming stronger by the minute. Obi-Wan struggled against the feeling. He’d he been warned about his impatience again and again? This was his test. He must live by the Jedi Code and wait, even while his friend faded. It was the hardest thing he’d ever done. But he trusted Qui-Gon.

“Promise me,” Obi-Wan said quietly to Si Treemba, “that you won’t let yourself die here.”

“We won’t let ourselves die,” Si Treemba promised.

“Do you mean it? You’ll hold on until Qui-Gon comes back?” Obi-Wan asked urgently.

“We will try to live, Obi-Wan,” Si Treemba promised. “But the dactyl must come soon.”