Джуд Уотсон - Jedi Apprentice 3: The Hidden Past

He had failed his Padawan. He should have known the Syndicat would move fast. He should have tried to rescue him last night. Now Obi-Wan was doomed to a life so empty it made Qui-Gon shudder every time he tried to conceive of it.

What of Obi-Wan's Jedi training? All of that, lost. What would the boy become? He would still be Force-sensitive, for the Force was not dependent on memory. But how could Obi-Wan use it without the lessons of the Temple to guide him? If he discovered its power, he would have it without allegiance. Would he become a lost, neutral warrior for hire? Would he use the Force for darkness, like Qui-Gon's old apprentice, Xanatos?

He did not believe that could happen. He would not believe it. If Obi-Wan had lost his memory, surely he would still retain his goodness.

Yes, Qui-Gon was full of worry. But he was also heartbroken. The boy he knew was gone. The diligent boy, so curious and intent on knowledge. The quick study. The boy who wanted to learn.

Qui-Gon refused to believe that all that was gone. He had to hope still that somehow the memory wipe would be reversible, if he could find Obi-Wan.

"And so what are you thinking, Jedi-Gon?" Guerra asked tentatively.

"We must act tomorrow," Qui-Gon said. "We must break them wide open. What better time to act then when they are trying to impress Prince Beju? First of all, they will be distracted. And second, we can destroy their alliance with the Prince before it even begins."

"It is true so," Paxxi breathed.

"We must open the warehouses when the Prince arrives," Qui-Gon said quietly. He had formed the plan in his mind, and he believed it could be done. "Can Kaddi rally the people?"

"Yes so," Guerra said, nodding.

"That will be our diversion," Qui-Gon said. "The people will rush into the warehouses. The Syndicat will panic. There will be chaos in the streets. We will go straight to headquarters with the anti-register device. That's when we'll steal the treasury."

"In the daytime?" Paxxi asked. "But it will be dangerous. And Duenna cannot help us then."

Qui-Gon turned to look at them. His blue eyes burned across the room. "Are you with me?" he asked.

The two brothers looked at each other. "Yes, so," they said together.

The hum from the engines underneath Obi-Wan throbbed against his skull. He had been thrown on the floor of the transport, locked into cargo hold. He kept his eyes closed. He had to keep his concentration strong. He felt completely drained. Exhausted. Sick.

But he remembered.

They had not broken him. They had not won.

They had entered, and he hadn't even looked up, not even when they laughed at him. He slipped the river stone into the pocket of his tunic quickly, so they would not see it and take it away. The stone kept a steady glow of heat against his heart. He had drawn strength from it. It was tangible proof that the Force was with him.

While they set up the memory-wipe droid, he had built Force walls inside himself. He had enshrined every memory, even the haziest one. He had embraced the painful with the good.

His first day at the Temple. He had been so young, so frightened. His first glimpse of Yoda, coming forward to greet him, his heavy-lidded eyes looking sleepy. "Far to come, far to go it is," he had said. "Cold and warm, it is. Seek what you are looking for, you will. Find it here, you shall. Listen."

The sound of the fountains. The river that ran behind the Temple. The chimes that the cook had hung in a tree in the kitchen gardens. He had noticed those things then, and something in him had uncurled. He had thought, for the first time, that he could feel at home there.

A good memory.

Twin metal rods were screwed against his temples. The electro-pulsers.

The stone glowed against his heart.

A visit home. His mother. Softness and light. His father. A laugh, full-bodied, joined by his mother's, just as full, just as rich. His brother, sharing a piece of fruit with him. The explosion of sweet juice in his mouth. Soft grasses underneath his bare feet.

The droid activated the memory wipe while the guards watched. A strange sensation began in his temples and moved inward. Not pain, not quite…

Owen. His brother's name was Owen.

Reeft never got enough to eat.

Bant's eyes were silver.

The first time he'd drawn his lightsaber. It had glowed as he activated it. Most of the Temple students had been clumsy. He had never been clumsy. Not with his weapon. The lightsaber had always felt right in his hand.

Pain now. White hot.

The Force was bright, too. He pictured it, golden, strong, glowing, forming a barrier around his memories.

They are mine. Not yours. I'll keep them.

The Syndicat guards were surprised to see him smile.

"Happy to see that memory go, I guess," on of them said to the other.

No, it is not going. I have it. I'm holding it now…

Rough linen against his hands. He clung to his mother. The end of the visit. Yes, he had wanted to go back to the Temple. It was a great honor. They knew they could not keep him from it. He wanted it so much. Yet good-bye was so painful, so hard. A soft cheek pressed against his.

I carry you always.

The way dusk fell at the Temple. Slowly, because of all the lights and white buildings of Coruscant. Light took long to leave. That's when he'd go to the river with Bant. Bant loved the water. She grew up on a humid world. Her room was kept supplied with steam. She swam like a fish in the River. As dusk fell, the color of the water would match her eyes.

Pain. He felt sick. Consciousness was slippery. If he passed out, he would lose.

Yoda. Yoda he would not lose. Strength you have, Obi-Wan. Patience you have as well, but find it, you must. It is there within you. Search you will, until you find it and hold it. Learn to use it, you must. Learn that it will save you, you will.

How would not lose Yoda's lessons. He created a Force barrier around them. Pain crested again, sending dissiness through him. He could not last much longer.

"What's your name?" the guard asked harshly.

Obi-Wan rolled blank, sick eyes toward the guard.

"You name," the guard repeated.

Obi-Wan pretended to search, pretended to panic.

The guard laughed. "This one is cooked."

The droid detached the electro-pulsers. Obi-wan slumped to the floor.

"He's sleep now," the guard said.

"He won't dream," the other added.

But he did.

He was hauled to his feet. A Syndicat guard leered in his face.

"Ready to face your new life?"

He kept his face blank, dazed.

"I've got money riding on this," the guard said. "You won't last three days on Gala."

Gala! Obi-Wan kept a neutral look on his face as relief surged through him. What a stroke luck! At least on Gala he could find a way to help Qui-Gon.

He knew Prince Beju's plans. Perhaps he could find someone on Gala, one of the rival politicians running for governor, to help.

The landing ramp slid down. He could see a gray stone spaceport lined with battered starfighters, A number of checkpoints prevented anyone from entering. Obi-Wan remembered what Qui-Gon had said. The royal house had plundered the planet. Rival factions fought for control. The people were close to revolt.

"Have fun!" the Syndicat guard chortled, and gave him a push down the ramp.

A probe droid buzzed behind Obi-Wan made his way cautiously through the spaceport hanger. When he reached the checkpoint, the guard waved him through. No doubt the Syndicat had bribed them to let him through without a challenge. Once he hit the streets of Gala, their fun would begin. They were betting on how long he'd survive.

Obi-Wan plunged into the teeming streets of Galu, the capital city of Gala. The small probot followed behind. Obi-Wan knew he had a camera trained on him at all times. It was hard to know what to do. How would he react to such a city if he had no memory of what he knew.

The city of Galu had once been grand and impressive. But the great stone buildings were crumbling. Obi-Wan could see the holes and depressions where ornaments had been stripped off the facades. Trees had once lined the streets, but now there were only twisted stumps.

The Galacians were humanoids whose pale skin had a bluish cast. Sunlight on the planet was limited and they were often called "moon people" due to their fair, luminous skin. Obi-Wan could see evidence of poverty everywhere. Where the atmosphere on Phindar was one of fear, here on Gala, Obi-Wan picked up anger.

Obi-Wan kept a confused look on his face. He stared into shop windows, trying to seem as though he'd never seen the items inside before. He avoided looking into strangers' eyes, wandered the streets without seeming to have a destination. All the while, however, he was heading toward the gleaming building he saw in the distance, guessing it was the grand Palace of Gala. Blue and green gemstones embedded in the towers caught the weak sunlight and made the place seem to sparkle.

Suddenly, a gigantic Galacian man blocked his path. "You," he said, placing a meaty hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder. "Do you know what I told myself when I woke up this morning?"

The probot buzzed around Obi-Wan. He resisted the temptation to react as a Jedi. He would not look into the man's eyes with clear steady courage. He would not speak firmly but respectfully in an attempt to defuse the situation. He must react in fear and confusion.

And hope he didn't get killed.

Obi-Wan let apprehension show on his face. "What?" he answered.

The huge man squeezed his shoulder painfully. "That I would slit the throat of the first hill person that I saw."

"I–I'm not a hill person," Obi-Wan said. Then he realized that without his memory he wouldn't know if he were a hill person. He pretended to look suddenly confused.

"You look like one," the Galacian said. He reached for the vibro-shiv on his belt. Obi-Wan heard it leave the sheath with a slithering noise. The blade sounded very long.

Obi-Wan's hand instinctively moved toward his lightsaber. But of course he didn't have one? the Syndicat had confiscated it. And he would tip off the probot camera if he used it anyway.

"People say I look like one," he said quickly. "All the time. I just don't understand it."

The man frowned. "You don't?"

"Because I may be ugly, but I'm not that ugly," Obi-Wan said. He had no idea what a hill person was. Or what they looked like. But he knew that the only way to talk his way out of this was to make friends with his enemy.

The large man stared at him blankly. Then he threw back his head and laughed. He hand dropped from Obi-Wan's shoulder.

Obi-Wan took a step back, smiling along with the man's laughter. He began to edge away. Still laughing, the man tucked his vibro-shiv back into his belt and walked on.

He kept a look of fright and confusion on his face for the benefit of the probot. He had to lose the droid, he realized. If he had to rely on his wits to survive, he'd be dead by sunset.

That thought made Obi-Wan begin to smile, but he quickly masked it by coughing into his hand. He ducked down a side street. While he walked, he used the Jedi technique of looking without seeming to look. He gathered information, waiting for his chance.

Ahead, a cart loaded with vegetables was standing outside a caf?'s kitchen door. A cook stood outside, arguing with the driver. Obi-Wan saw a speeder bike turn the corner ahead. This could be his chance.

He quickened his pace. When he got closer to the cart, he stumbled, keeping the dazed, confused expression on his face. His fall sent him squarely into the path of the speeder bike. He saw the driver's surprised expression before the driver turned the bike quickly to avoid running over Obi-Wan. He sideswiped the cart, which overturned. The driver of the cart began to scream at the speeder bike rider, who gunned the motor and kept going.