Jedi Apprentice 1: The Rising Force

Chapter 7

Obi-wan woke on a cot in a warm, well-lit room. His vision was blurry, and his head swam. A medical droid leaned over him, applying flesh glue to his cuts, checking for broken bones.

A young Human woman with reddish-brown hair and green eyes stood across the room, watching him. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to tangle with a Hutt?” she asked.

Obi-Wan tried to shake his head, but even a tiny movement rocked him with pain. He took a long breath. He called on his Jedi training to accept the pain as a signal his body was sending. He had to accept the pain, respect it, not fight it. Then he’d have to ask his body to begin to heal.

Once he’d centered his mind, the pain seemed to ease. He turned to the woman. “I didn’t seem to have a choice.”

“I know what you mean.” The woman flashed him a brief grin. “Well, you survived. That’s something.” She walked closer to his bedside. “You’re lucky I found you when I did. You’re not one of ours.”

“Ours?” Obi-Wan asked. He squinted at her. She wore an orange worksuit with a green triangle on it.

“We’re the Arcona Mineral Harvest Corporation,” the woman responded. “If you don’t work for us, why did the Offworlders beat you?”

Obi-Wan tried to shrug, but pain shot through his shoulder. Sometimes it was hard to respect his body’s signal. “You tell me. I was only looking for my cabin.”

“You’re a though one,” the woman said cheerfully. “Not everybody could withstand a pounding by a Hutt. Did you come on board looking for a job? We could use you at Arcona Harvest. I’m Clat’Ha, chief operations manager.” She looked young to be running a mining operation — perhaps twenty-five.

“Have a job,” Obi-Wan said, trying to feel his mouth with his tongue. He was relieved that all his teeth were still in. “I’m Obi-Wan Kenobi. I’m with the Agricultural Corps.”

Clat’Ha’s mouth fell open. “You’re the young Jedi? The ship’s crew has been looking everywhere for you.”

He tried to sit up, but Clat’Ha briskly pushed him back. “Stay down. You’re not ready to get up yet.”

He laid back and Clat’Ha withdrew. “Good luck to you, Obi-Wan Kenobi,” she said. “Watch yourself. You’ve stepped into the middle of a war. You’re lucky to be alive. You may not be so lucky next time.” She turned to leave, but Obi-Wan touched her hand.

“Wait,” he said. “I don’t understand. What war? Who’s fighting?”

“Offworld’s war,” Clat’Ha answered. “You must have heard of them.”

Obi-Wan shook his head. How could he explain that he’d lived his whole life in the Jedi Temple? He knew more about the ways of the Force than the ways of the universe.

“Offworld is one of the oldest and richest mining companies in the galaxy,” Clat’Ha told him. “And they didn’t get that way by letting others compete with them. Miners who get in their way tend to die.”

“Who’s their leader?” Obi-Wan asked.

“No one knows who owns Offworld,” Clat’Ha said. “Someone who has been around for centuries, probably. And I’m not even sure that we could prove he or she is responsible for the murders. But the leader on this ship going to Bandomeer is a particularly ruthless Hutt by the name of Jemba.”

Obi-Wan repeated the name in his mind. Jemba. It might have been Jemba who had beaten him. “Ruthless? In what way?”

Clat’Ha glanced over he shoulder, worried that someone would hear her. “Offworld used the cheapest labor possible. Out on the Rim world, in places like Bandomeer, half of Jemba’s workers will be Whiphid slaves. But that’s not the worst,” Clat’Ha said. She hesitated.

“What’s the worst?” Obi-Wan asked.

Clat’Ha’s dark eyes flashed. “About five years ago, Jemba was Offworld’s chieftain on the plant Varristad, where another startup mining firm was also working. Varristad is a small planet, without any air, so the workers all lived in a huge underground dome. Someone or something pooped a hole in that dome, instantly destroying the artificial atmosphere. A quarter of a million people were killed. No one was ever able to prove that Jemba did it, but when the other company went bankrupt, he bought the mineral rights for practically nothing. He made a huge profit for Offworld. Now we’ll have to deal with him on Bandomeer.”

Obi-Wan said, “Are you certain it was intentional? Maybe it was an accident.”

Clat’Ha looked unconvinced. “Maybe,” she said. “But accidents follow Jemba the way stink follows Whiphids — accidents like the one that happened to you. So take care.”

There was something she hadn’t told him. Obi-Wan could sense it — old pain and fear, the desire for revenge. “Who did you know on Varristad?” he asked.

Clat’Ha opened her mouth in surprise. Stubbornly, she shook her head. “No one,” she lied.

He locked eyes with her. “Clat’Ha, we can’t let this continue. The Monument isn’t Offworld’s ship! They can’t just go around beating people up.”

Clat’Ha sighed. “Maybe it isn’t their ship, but Offworld’s miners outnumber the crew thirty to one. The captain won’t be able to do much to protect you. So if I were you, I’d stay off their turf. You’re welcome on our side of the ship any time” She headed for the door, then turned and flashed a grin that made her serious face suddenly look young and mischievous. “If you can find it.”

Obi-Wan grinned back. But he still struggled against Clat’Ha acceptance of the injustice. He didn’t understand it. He had grown up in a world where disputes were mediated and resolved. No obvious injustice was allowed to stand.

“Clat’Ha, this isn’t right,” he said gravely. “Why should we have to stay off their side of the ship? Why should you accept that?”

Clat’Ha’s face flushed. “Because I don’t want them on my side of the ship! Obi-Wan, listen to me,” she said urgently. “Accidents happen around Jemba. Drilling rigs blow and tunnels collapse and people die. I don’t want his corporate spies and saboteurs on my side of the Monument, any more than he would want mine on his. So just accept things the way they are. It’s better for everyone.”

She left the room, the door swinging shut behind her. The edges of the door seemed to vibrate strangely. Obi-Wan realized that the heat he felt wasn’t just because he was angry at injustice. His body was on fire. He tried to accept the fire and the pain, but dizziness overcame him. He fell back on his cot, head reeling, while the room spun.