A Rough Start

Ikamra had a purple sky. At dawn, it was tinted with mauve and burgundy; at dusk, the violet gave way to indigos and deep, inky blues. Now, on the first festival night, the regal backdrop was fretted with artificial stars. The fireworks display was one of the most astounding Qui Gon Jinn had ever seen. Ceaseless showers of light played across the darkening sky, blotting out even the enormous orb of the moon's mother planet, Tan-Ib, where it hung protectively above the horizon, aglow with reflected light from the hidden sun.

The noise from the fireworks was deafening. Leaning far out over the railing of the ambassadorial suite, the Jedi master peered up at the extravagant lightshow erupting immediately overhead. Each new blossoming explosion cracked the sky open with an ear-splitting shriek. Boom. Boom. Boom. They may as well have been under heavy artillery fire in some civil war.

On the other hand, that was not such a laughing matter. It had nearly come down to a bloody war here…Ikamra's move for independence from the larger Tan-Ib had been a hotly contested event. The negotiations had been long and grueling – and rather touchy. He had half-expected at any moment to be stranded on the tiny moon in the middle of a revolutionary war. But peace had prevailed, under his gentle influence, and the treaties had been signed, the new constitution drafted, the interim government put in place. Tan-Ib had begrudgingly blessed the existence of its new self-sovereign neighbor, and a festival of four consecutive nights had been declared – a celebration befitting the birth of a new political entity.

Boom. Boom. Boom. The last explosion set the transparisteel of the balcony windows to shuddering. How any living being could sleep through this….Qui Gon turned back over his shoulder to glance – with a touch of unbecoming envy – at his Padawan. Obi Wan was sprawled carelessly atop one of the guest room's beds, totally oblivious to the chaos rampaging in the waking world. With a chuckle, Qui Gon recalled that the evening's diplomatic banquet had involved a staggering number of toasts, and that he had instructed his apprentice to conform to local etiquette. The Ikamrians took their drinking quite seriously: to abstain was to offer pointed insult. Consequently, the two Jedi had been obliged to swallow a truly fearsome quantity of fermented sakuri; enough, in fact, to lay the young Padawan out cold.

Running a weary hand over his own face, Qui Gon reflected that he could also use a little refreshment from the night's exertions. And since he was certainly not going to get it in the form of sleep, he would take it in the form of fresh air. Treading softly across the lush carpet of the guest suite, he threw his long cloak over his shoulders and locked the heavy sliding door behind him.

It was not easy for a tall man to slip unnoticed among the throngs of revelers; but somehow, Qui Gon Jinn managed it. His dark cloak wrapped about him, he strolled through the crowds that packed the district, weaving an unsteady course along the main promenade. Overhead the incessant blasting of fireworks painted the sky with lurid flame. Sparks occasionally drifted down to light on the duracrete walkways or to smolder in a rooftop. Smoke laced its way through the purple-black evening.

Qui Gon wandered at will, passing the various drinking houses without a second look. That was the last thing he needed right now. Carousing youths stumbled unsteadily across the streets. Fighting broke out on his right; the police rushed in to break up the tussle. The Jedi kept moving. A lavishly dressed woman with a painted face appeared out of nowhere and hung on his arm briefly, her slurred speech unclear, but her almost hungry stare needing no translation.

"I believe you have mistaken me for someone else," Qui Gon said politely, depositing her on the arm of the nearest passer-by, a hulking tattooed bar bouncer standing outside a tavern.

A tall, thin Rodain invited him in to play cards at a gambling house. The noise inside was deafening, drowning out even the cacophony of the fireworks. "No thank you," he demurred, and kept moving.

Streamers and confetti launched themselves into the air from second and third stories. This part of the district was wealthier; private parties were in full swing above. Every window was lit, and music drifted down to the streets, mixed with laughter and shouting and the blare of loud horns and noisemakers. Qui Gon stepped aside just in time to avoid a cascade of unpleasant liquid falling from a balcony above.

He wasn't really looking for anything – yet he moved on, obeying the deepest instinct of his nature. The Force wanted him to meet someone here…. someone special. He just needed to keep going, and he would know this person when he saw him.

On and on he wandered, pushing his way through the rough crowds and picking his way past bodies sprawled insensate on the walkways. Finally, reaching the outskirts of the affluent district, he spied a dingy alley between the last row of housing and the next section of restaurants and bars. Here the crowds were thicker than ever, and a band had been set to play brash drum music in the center of the public square. Boom. Boom. Boom. The fireworks display surged and convoluted overhead in an kaleidoscope of colors.

The Jedi bought a Targ-on-a-stick from a passing food vendor, and slipped into the shadow of the alley. Four steps into the dim space and his eyes adjusted. There, back propped against the cold stone of the wall, sat a thin, ungainly beggar man. He alone on the planet did not seem to be indulging in debauched revelry.

"Are you hungry, friend?" Qui Gon asked, feeling the prompting of the living Force. He was supposed to be here. He held out the Targ-on-a-stick.

The tired old face glanced up at him suspiciously. The sunken eyes went from the Targ to Qui Gon's face and then down to the lightsaber at his belt. Finally the beggar broke in to a magnificent five-toothed smile.

"I'll be a bald Wookie," the old fellow cursed amiably. "If it ain't a star forsaken Jedi knight. You come to offer me charity, Jedi?"

Qui Gon smiled and slid down against the wall beside the wizened old man. "I came looking for decent company," he said graciously. "May I…?"

The old beggar bit into the Targ with evident delight. "Ha!" he chortled between large mouthfuls. "Don't you got better things to be doing than feeding strays in alleyways, Jedi?"

"I have other things to do," Qui Gon responded evenly. "But not perhaps better."

The old man looked at him sideways. "Shouldn't you be celebrating with all the rest?"

"Shouldn't you?"

"Ah…" the ragged old figure sighed. He stretched his legs out before him, eliciting several pops from aging joints. "But I know better. They all think independence is a bed of haffa blossoms. You know how long I been living like this – on the streets? I'm the only truly independent one in this district. I know better. Independence means a load of troubles. It means problems to solve every day. Struggle. Relying on wits. Sleeping cold sometimes. Skipping meals sometimes. Defending yourself against ruffians sometimes. It's a hard life, is independence."

"Would you choose another?" Qui Gon queried softly.

The old man chuckled. "Nah….I've got used to my freedom. No going back for me. "

"You are a wise man, friend."

"Stars' end," Obi Wan groaned, pressing the heel of one hand against his temple. "Are they still setting off fireworks?"

"No," Qui Gon told him, suppressing a laugh. "That would be the lingering effects of last night's revelry. It will pass."

"Oh." The Padawan drew his legs under him and sucked in a long, steadying breath.

"Remember your centering exercises," Qui Gon advised, eyes twinkling mirthfully. He watched in undisguised amusement as his apprentice's valiant effort to stave off the inevitable ended in an urgent dash for the refresher.

He was still laughing quietly when he answered the door to admit the service droid bearing a breakfast tray. "Thank you," he said, relieving the polished protocol unit of its burden. He took a long, grateful drink of the hott tea, and mixed a bit of nutrient powder into the flavorless grain porridge he had ordered with the usual foods.

"Here," he said, placing the warm bowl in Obi Wan's hands as the young Jedi re-emerged into the living area. "And get dressed – the fun isn't over yet. We're expected at the rotundum in twenty minutes, to oversee nominations for the senatorial election."

"As long as there isn't any sakuri involved," the Padawan grumbled, wolfing down the sticky paste with a stoic expression. "I never want to touch the stuff again."

Qui Gon gazed thoughtfully out the window. "I suppose I could submit an official request to the Council –"

Obi Wan choked on a spoonful of hot mush. "The Council! Master…." He frowned. "How detailed must the Council report be? I mean –"

The master relented, smiling. He placed a hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Stop fretting. You were acting under orders, after all. And in my experience, at least where I am involved, details in Council reports are best kept to an elegant minimum."

A bit of color returned to the Padawan's face. "Thank you, master," he said, much relieved. He handed the older man the empty bowl. "Your cooking is still terrible." And with that he disappeared into the adjoining room to fetch cloak and tunic.

"Your nominee is a pathetic excuse for a bantha's backside!" one of the delegates roared over the increasing storm of epithets and insults hurled across the broad conference room.

"Our candidate is not a drunken low-life with an airlock for a brain!"

The shouting quickly degenerated into obscenities and incomprehensible shrieks of rage and vilification. Soon the entire seething mass of lawmakers was on its feet, shaking hands with two fingers held rigid, the Ikamran equivalent of a raised fist.

"Ah, democracy," Qui Gon Jinn smiled placidly.

His apprentice sat beside him, rigid. "Should we not intervene, master? This is coming close to a full scale riot."

"Nonsense," the Jedi master assured him. "The line between discussion and rioting is very thin in some cultures. They are just having fun."

Obi Wan's eyebrows raised. "Accusing each other's candidates of incompetence and corruption?" he said dubiously.

"It's all perfectly true, Padawan. Be patient. We are here merely to observe."

Obi Wan strained to cut through the shuddering waves of outrage and anger in the Force seeking for some sense of fun emanating from the frenzied delegation. If it was there, his Master must be far better attuned to its subtleties than he was. On the other hand, Qui Gon's own sense of fun might leave most rational beings paused in their tracks, so it might be best not to focus too much on the issue. For every question, an answer there is not, as Yoda always said.

"Order, order!" the Speaker of the House, a portly humanoid in her sixties, banged a gavel to demand a return to civility. Nothing happened.

"Order," a silky, yet strangely rasping voice interrupted. Though the din continued unabated for a few seconds, the sight of the newcomer slithering in over the threshold seemed to cleave the delegates' tongues to the roofs of their mouths.

"That's better," an unusually small Hutt proclaimed. He thrust one skinny arm upward and inserted a hook-necked smoking device into one corner of his mouth. A retinue of humanoid aides surrounded him, as well as a grim posse of what could only be hired thugs. "I heard that out fair moon of Ikamra is now an independent territory. I wonder….who will be able to represent our best interests to the Galactic Senate?"

The Speaker glared down at the intruder. "We have been debating that point for hours, Hau. You are interrupting a most important session of legislature."

The Hutt's eyes slitted with laughter. "But I'm here as a citizen like yourselves. I wish to nominate myself for the position."

Obi Wan nudged his teachers's elbow. "The mission briefing did not indicate that Hau was a Hutt," he said in surprise. "I was expecting a native Ikamran."

"Do not assume," Qui Gon gave his head the slightest shake. "But given that Hau is an extortionist, crime boss, and general theif and scoundrel, it comes as no real surprise, does it?"

The Hutt was oozing circle sof slime on the center of the rotunda floor as he travelled in a rhetorical circle around the perimeter of the speaking area. "Coruscant is a complicated place, my friends. The Senate is eager to exploit new territories like Ikamra. They expect us to be naïve, inexperienced. I suggest we show them that we can hold our own in their games and intrigues."

Someone huffed indignantly. "And you propose that we elect you as our Senator because you are so eminently qualified to deal with scandal and corruption?" the tall, proud Ikamran demanded. He looked down his long hooked nose at the Hutt squelching his way across the polished floor.

Hau's eyelids fluttered – a sign of amusement in his species. "But of course," he purred in his strange oily-rasping voice. "I only have the interests of this fair moon at heart."

If the Padawan expected a quick rejection of the arrogant Hutt's proposal, he was disappointed. Murmuring filled the domed room, and the Force swirled and eddied with a heady mix of emotions: fear, insecurity, doubt, and a slowly evolving willingness to trust in the Hutt's vast 'experience'.

"Add Tamax Hau's name to the list of nominees," the Speaker at last decided, with an air of tired resignation.

Hau leered at the assembly. "Live for the Now; Vote for Hau, " he called out, and his troop of attendants and mercenaries chanted the slogan loudly. Soon more than a few of the legislative assembly had also caught on and were chanting the words in unison. More shouting and insult-flinging ensued.

"Hau now, sorrow tomorrow," Obi Wan muttered.

"Padawan," Qui Gon warned.

"Stop pacing like a caged rancor," Qui Gon Jinn advised his restless Padawan.

"I'm sorry, master," the young Jedi answered, wandering out to the balcony of the guest suite and gripping the railing as though to anchor himself in one place. He squinted up at the scintillating lights of the firework display. A thunderous series of explosions rocked the cool night air, followed by the fainter sounds of cheering and carousing in the streets below. "Are they celebrating or rioting?" he wondered aloud.

"That is another distinction which is a very thin line for some cultures. Recall the Nu-Shantians, if you will."

Obi Wan's shoulders shrugged slightly as he swallowed a laugh. "Oh yes – the thanksgiving festival that turned out to be a day-long street-fight? I won't forget that anytime soon. I think I still have scars."

"Nonsense," Qui Gon chided.

"Not that this is much different," the Padawan added, turning back into the room and starting to pace across it again. "The so called discussions today were the closest thing to a bar-fight I've seen outside a Huttese gambling tavern."

"You're not old enough to be admitted to a Huttese gambling tavern," Qui Gon pointed out reasonably. "And sit down."

Obi Wan sighed and settled himself on the very edge of the bed, elbows propped on knees. "You know what I mean, master. No wonder Tan-Ib was reluctant to grant them independence. How in Force's name are they going to govern themselves?"

The Jedi master raised one eyebrow. "I thought they exhibited every bit as much grace as the Galactic Senate on Coruscant. They seem to have got the hang of politics quite well, I would say."

He was met with a cynical snort of laughter, but Obi Wan was not in a mood to be so easily deflected. "The new government here is exactly one planetary rotation old, and already they are willing to put power in the hands of someone like that son-of-a-Sith Tamax Hau?"

"Language, Padawan."

"Yes, master…I can sense that you agree with me."

Qui Gon sighed. It was clear he would get no rest until he had satisfied his apprentice on this point. "Yes, the situation does fill me with a certain dismay. But I assure you it is not as unique and horrifying as you might suppose. As lamentable as Hau's practices and connections are, he is perhaps the person best suited to the practical demands of dealing with the Coruscant political scene. He is the only one with enough actual experience. What would you have me do? We were not sent here to root out every possible corruption in the new system; and even if Hau could be dissuaded from taking power, who would you put in his place?"

"There must be someone," the younger Jedi insisted.

Qui Gon hesitated. "If only the universe were so straightforward, young one. Now: I intend to meditate on the problem. I suggest that you take a long walk to wear off some of that nervous tension, and then do the same."

"I'm quite happy here –"

"I'm not happy with you here, Padawan. Your pacing is driving me to distraction. Now go – in fact, make that a long run. Once round the city's perimeter in a straight line, no matter the obstacle. See you later."

There was no disobeying the authoritative tone he had adopted. He watched as Obi Wan made a wry face and dismissed himself with a small bow. Then, pushing the constant barrage of fireworks explosions out of his mind, Qui Gon settled down upon the floor to seek guidance form the living Force.

It was a common training exercise. The rules were simple: run in a straight line, without wavering to right or left, no matter what the obstacle. If you came to an impediment, you jumped over it. If you came to a larger impediment, you jumped over that. If you came to an even larger impediment – say, a forty story building, you climbed over it. Stamina, agility, and ingenuity were all put into play. It could be immensely fun as a competition with one's peers; it could be immensely distracting or entertaining for any innocent bystanders who happened to be in the area.

However, the Ikamrians were far too engrossed in the fireworks and other revelry to notice a lithe figure climbing up each successive building façade on the east perimeter, or jumping from rooftop to rooftop in a surreal nigh-time steeple-chase. Boom. . Light and color thundered overhead, as Obi Wan made his way along the sprawling capital city's far boundary, letting himself sink further and further into the Force, pushing himself to his physical limits. He dashed to the edge of a flat rooftop, launched himself off his hands in a spiraling backflip, landed gracefully in a crouch on the slanting tile below, and slid off the next edge onto the sidewalk, just in front of a staggering group of young drunks.

"Chizzk!" One of them shouted as the phantom launched straight upward, clinging to a gutter-pipe and climbing hand over hand to the next building's roof. Some kind of flying droid hovered close, and the Jedi Padawan launched himself out into thin air, in a dangerous arc, as the droid zoomed away. His Force-enhanced leap carried him alongside the fleeing robot, falling gracefully downward just as the machine passed overhead. His hands snapped up and grabbed the thing's runner blades.

"Ha!" he laughed, feeling a little drunk himself – drunk on the invisible energy that flowed through all things. His captive veered and bucked wildly, but he held on. He had hoped the thing would carry him over a few more rooftops, but his hijacking plan seemed to have seriously derailed the droid's programming. It spiralled and jagged wildly, but could not shake the pest. Obi Wan held on, curiosity getting the better of his prudence. The droid took off at a fast clip in a diagonal direction, heading for a darker, dingier section of the huge capitol, an area full of large hangars and warehouses connected by steep, narrow alleys.

Boom. Boom. Boom. The riotous firework display crashed on and on, a crescendo of vibrant explosions and hammering sound. On cue, the droid dropped out of the sky, no longer functioning, as though someone had remotely cut its repulsors.

Obi Wan hit the hard duracrete first, using the Force to cushion his landing and rolling over one shoulder to his feet. The droid smacked into the pavement a half-second later, with a dull metallic thud and a series of white sparks. The young apprentice shrugged. He was in an alleyway in the industrial sector – a bit off course, admittedly, but none the worse for wear. He jogged down the canyon-like alley, heading in a direction would would bring him back to the city's perimeter.

"What do you think you're doing?" A rough voice demanded. A silhouette appeared at the end of the alley, tucking the droid deactivator back into his vest pocket.

"Leaving," Obi Wan said gruffly, sensing this being's ill-intent. "You want to stand aside," he added, exerting a bit of mind influence. There were back-alleys like this in every city on every world he had ever been. He knew how to handle the inconvenience of a would-be mugger quite well.

"I want to stand aside," the man drawled, obligingly shifting to the wall to permit the boy room to pass.

"You gretching wampa-arse!" another voice shouted, from behind the first man. "That's a Jedi! Don't listen to him!"

Obi Wan kept walking, hand now straying to his saber's hilt. He could clearly sense more than one hostile presence: in point of fact, there were more than a dozen. Annoyance flared at the back of his mind. He was going to have to run for it like a youngling about to wet its pants. There was really no other sensible option. He glanced down a connecting alley, looking for handholds in the walls. No matter – he could jump onto the roof and go from there. He sighed, hearing the echo of footstep s start to pick up behind him. Four…five…six…

There was an arched causeway ahead. Perfect. He made a sudden dash into it, losing himself in the shadows. He heard the rapid slap and patter of boots against pavement behind him. Once inside the arched tunnel, he leapt lightly to the roof and braced himself against the smothering shadows, arms and feet splayed out and pressed into the seams where wall met ceiling, spine shoved flat against the cold, curving stone above. The six …or was it eight…ruffians yelled and stampeded their way along the tunnel, rushing right beneath him without notice.

Once they had passed, he dropped smugly back to his feet and sauntered out in the opposite direction – only to be crushed beneath a massive pile of fur and muscle. The hairy being dropped on him from above, knocking him flat on his face and driving the breath from his body. A hand went round his throat, and a huge knee drove into the small of his back. He felt the saber wrenched free of its place at his belt. Furious, he summoned the Force and threw the attacker off his back, headfirst into the adjoining wall. He stood, diaphragm still seizing, and crouched for another attack. The click of ten blasters stopped him in his tracks.

The men – for most of them were humanoid – leered at the cornered Jedi. They stood in a semi-circle, their faces concealed in the gloom.

"Just drop him and get it over with," one of them growled.

"Idiot – Hau don't want any trouble till after the elections," another snorted.

Obi Wan was focused on his weapon, held in the firm grip of his hairy attacker. If he summoned it to his hand, the blaster-wielding thugs might open fire. He wasn't sure he could simultaneously deflect ten shots. Confident, but not entirely sure. Qui Gon would urge him to try negotiation first.

"I don't wish for trouble either," he addressed them. "It would be best for everyone involved if we simply part ways." The Force-compulsion almost worked, but a handful of them were too string-minded to succumb to the trick.

One of the armed men sniggered. "Ain't he cute? Snooty little runt-monk."

Runt? The young Jedi breathed away his mounting irritation. "I'm not the one hiding behind ten blasters," he stated defiantly. "Better a runt than a coward."

That did it. Weapons flung aside, three or four of the thugs charged him, ready to teach a lesson hand to hand. A minute later, and their companions had joined in the fray. Boom, Boom, Boom. The light show overhead drowned out the scuffling, grunting, and slamming of bodies against hard walls. The fighting was so intense that it took them many minutes to realize that the instigator had fled, leaping onto a rooftop and swiftly disappearing across the city-scape.

The run slowed to a painful limp at the city's perimeter wall. ObiWan doubled back and turned his weary steps toward the ambassadorial guest quarters, rubbing at his many cuts and bruises. His master would not be pleased.

"So tell me: were you celebrating or rioting last night?' Qui Gon inquired dryly, packing the medical supplies back into the compact pouch on his belt.

"In point of fact, master, I was obeying your very explicit instructions," Obi Wan winced as he pulled his tunic back into place.

"Until you became sidetracked," the Jedi master corrected him.

The Padawan's eyebrows rose fractionally. "Also in accordance with your teachings," he said peevishly. "The Force prompted me-"

"To get ambushed by twenty thugs? And lose your 'saber? How very cruel a mistress the Living Force can be. And here I thought your misadventures were the result of a wandering mind."

"I'm truly sorry, master."

Qui Gon exhaled slowly and regarded his mortified student for a long, thoughtful moment. "You weren't focused on Tamax Hau's corruption by any chance?"

His apprentice's shoulders slumped even further. "Not exactly – I was…my mind was wandering. I sought relief from my worries about Hau, so I forgot myself in the moment."

The Jedi master's laughter made the Padawan look up sharply. "I am constantly urging you to do just that – to stop fretting and thinking and lose yourself in the moment, in instinct and the Force. And when you finally choose to listen to my advice, this is what happens. Now tell me, Obi Wan: who is the greater fool? The fool or the fool who teaches him?"

"I…don't know, master," the young Jedi answered cautiously. A little gleam reappeared in his eye. "Perhaps the fool who is foolish enough to answer that?"

"Very politic, Padawan. Your pride is hurt but your wit escapes unscathed."

There was a short pause, during which Qui Gon tried unsuccessfully to maintain his stony expression of disapproval.

"I do worry about Hau still, master," Obi Wan said after a while. "I wish there were proof we could present before the electorate. They would not vote Hau into office if they had stark evidence before them."

Qui Gon nodded. "That is true. But irrelevant."

Another long pause. Obi Wan shifted miserably. "Master….my saber…would it be appropriate to go looking for it? Tonight?"

The elder Jedi eyed him thoughtfully. "You wish to return, alone and unarmed, to confront a dangerous group of ruffians who have already overpowered you once?"

"Yes, master." Obi Wan's eyes hardened. He was quite serious.

Qui Gon broke out in a wide smile. "I apologize for my lecture earlier. You have been paying attention to my methods."

"Does that mean I have your permission, master?"

"What? Padawan, let us be clear: the Council would be very displeased to hear either that you lost your saber, or that I gave permission for you to recover it in such a fashion. "

Obi Wan's eager expression was replaced by momentary confusion, and then by mingled relief and disapproval. "In other words….none of this ever happened?"

"I don't know what you are talking about," Qui Gon said serenely.

A mob of protesters blocked the entrance to the rotunda.

"Live for the now, vote for Hau!" the more belligerent among them hollered, jostling to keep just ahead of the local security force's stun sticks.

"A new start! No more corruption! Give us something better! We might as well have stayed with Tan-Ib!" others shouted, vying to drown out their competitors' voices. Crudely made holo-posters flashed and warped as the struggling crowd pushed and pulled in every direction.

The delegates cringed in the doorway, afraid to leave the building. A sea of bodies swelled and crashed against the building's broad steps like a stormy tide smashing against rocks.

"Is it a protest or a riot?" Obi Wan inquired of nobody in particular. "Let me guess: there is a thin line between the two in some cultures."

"You are learning, Padawan," Qui Gon said approvingly.

The unruly crowd continued its disorderly ranting and screaming. Some punches were thrown; a few projectiles were tossed at the peace officers struggling to maintain order. A long-haired student threw himself prostrate on the stone stairs, proclaiming that he would not leave until the lawmakers ushered in a new era of peace and free love. He was dragged away by security. The young Jedi shook his head.

"I don't know…I rather admire their spirit," Qui Gon offered conversationally.

Obi-Wan snorted. "Even you, master, would not throw yourself upon the Council chamber floors and refuse to leave until Master Yoda and Master Windu had come round to your point of view."

The maverick Jedi gave a lopsided grin. "Now there's an idea. I thank you, my young apprentice, for inspiring me."

"We should help," Obi Wan urged his teacher, gesturing to the local security forces, which were still trying to carve a safe path through the protesters.

"No. Neutrality in this affair is of utmost importance. Besides, we have only one lightsaber between us."

That painful reminder made the Padawan shut his mouth with a snap. Eventually the police were able to restrain the slogan-slinging, overenthusiastic protesters behind cordons, allowing the legislature to make a hasty retreat to their waiting vehicles and the swift-tubes to the guest accommodations.

The Speaker of the assembly fell in just behind the Jedi as they made their way through the living gauntlet. "You must intervene, Master Jedi," she hissed at Qui Gon's back. "Today's debates have left me certain of one thing: this nomination process will tear our moon apart unless someone steps in."

Qui Gon turned to look at her somberly. "What would you have me do?"

She cast a glance side to side, to be sure none of the delegates were too near. "Select a candidate. Put your political backing behind him. With your approval, with your sanctioning, the election will be won by a landslide. There will be no lingering conflicts or questions about its legitimacy. The people are confused. They want to elect a strong leader, but we haven't any to offer them…besides Hau. Your reputation as a Jedi, your respected judgement, could tip the scales back in favor of peace."

"Such an action would be highly irregular," Qui Gon said in a low tone. "Jedi do not involve themselves so directly in the internal politics of any world. We are here to insure that your own elections proceed without violence. That is all."

The Speaker impulsively grabbed at his robe's sleeve. "Please," she implored him. "You see how delicate the situation is. Do something."

He inclined his head formally. "I will meditate on it," he replied, deliberately moving past her and into the waiting swift tube.

When they were safely ensconced in the privacy of the tube, Obi Wan pounced. "You are not seriously considering the Speaker's request, master. It would be not only irregular but against the Code. And you yourself pointed out that there really is nobody else to repleace Hau. That we are here to ensure a peaceful transition, not participate in their elections. We cannot influence the vote in order to assure peace."

"And it was you who said there must be someone. Am I not right, Padawan?"

"Master….I do not think you should involve yourself so directly."

"Thank you, Obi Wan. I do not think you should pursue the matter of your saber – but out of respect for your abilities, I am granting you the …space.. to follow your own path. I wonder if you might return that favor?"

The young Jedi dropped his eyes. "That is fair," he admitted.

Qui Gon smiled. "Then we are in agreement."

"How do I look?"

Qui Gon's blue eyes crinkled at the edges, the ghost of a smile. "Very subservient and deferential. It suits you."

"Ha." Obi Wan reached unconsciously to touch the saber at his hip, but of course there was none there. He was dressed in the livery of the Grand Hotel's messenger runners – grey pants and jacket in a trim Corellian cut, polished boots, a cap which designated employment as an errand boy. His Padawan braid had been tucked underneath the close-fitting hat.

"Most the errand runners are a bit younger than you…but I think you'll pass. Of course, I have no idea what you are doing."

"Yes, master."

"And you will do nothing to necessitate further, ah, medical attention."

"Yes, master."

"And, Obi Wan…stop swaggering. You are an errand boy, for stars' sake."

"Yes, master." The apprentice adjusted his habitual posture and gait, projecting a bit more gangly youth and a bit less warrior-diplomat.

"Better," Qui Gon decided. "May the Force be with you."

He waited until his Padawan had slipped out the door before shrugging into his own cloak. Outside, the fireworks display had just begun, tearing the peaceful evening to tatters. Boom. Boom. Boom, echoed the first volleys of violent light. Heading down the hallway a few minutes after his apprentice had disappeared, Qui Gon took the swift tube down to the lobby and silently melded into a well-dressed crowd heading outside for the evening's festivities.

Obi Wan was not the only one with a self-appointed mission tonight.

Qui Gon slipped out into the wild noise and motion of Ikamra's street festival for the second time. An idea, or at least the wisping tendrils of an idea, had formed itself in the back of his mind. He knew that the Force would weave the now tenuous threads together into a clearer, more substantial pattern – all he had to do was start acting, start moving.

He did not think. He merely did. His steps carried him, without conscious planning, along the same route he had traversed the first night. The streets were grimier, the gutters filled with more debris and litter, the footsteps of the revelers a little more uncertain, less controlled. A lull in the celebration. The whole capitol, and perhaps the whole planet, had indrawn a collective breath, waiting and hoping for their leaders to make the right decision. To offer them something worth choosing. This would be the moon's first democratic election; and if there were no worthy leader to be picked by the people, what a bittersweet moment it would be. Corruption and cynicism would be the inevitable result.

The Speaker had been the one to beg his assistance. But to Qui Gon, she spoke not with her own, rather brusque voice. In his heart, he knew it was the living Force imploring him to listen to its subtle promptings. Compared to those near inaudible, ethereal whisperings, the most adamant pleas from his Padawan, indeed the wrath of the entire Jedi Council, were as faint echoes. Qui Gon always followed his heart, and allowed others in his life to follow him…or not, as they pleased.

Lost in contemplation, he barely registered the stares and mutterings of people he passed. He hardly heard the shattering reverbrations of the firework show beginning overhead. His footsteps led him to the same alleyway where he had met the beggar man two nights ago.

"Good evening," he said, recognizing the familiar battered figure wrapped in a thin blanket against one wall.

The old man chuckled wheezily. "You're a glutton for punishment, Jedi. What brings you back here again?"

Qui Gon spread his hands out before him. "Perhaps I am looking for a kindred spirit. An independent mind."

The beggar wheezed again, laughing. "Play sabaac?" he invited hopefully, withdrawing a greasy and much-battered card deck from one of his frayed pockets.

"Quite well," the Jedi master warned, sitting down opposite the old vagrant.

"We'll see about that," the ancient one chuckled, knotted hands already starting to shuffle the cards. "We'll see about that."

Boom. Boom. Boom. The unending parade of explosions and shifting lights began to dull his senses. How long had he been waiting here, straining to catch any slight quiver in the Force, any sign that the thugs were returning? It was more than likely that this place was not a regular haunt; that his encounter with them last night had been little more than a whim of chance. If that were so, his hope of ever recovering the lost saber was thin. And if he did not recover it, then a replecement would have to be built…and an explanation proferred before the Council. Other Padawans might manage to escape such scrutiny, but Master Yoda never seemed to miss a single detail of ObiWan's misadventures. He followed them with as much interest as a Coruscanti housewife pursued the gossip column of a holo-tabloid.

He needed to find the saber.

Boom. Boom. Boom. And then, just as he was reluctantly admitting to himself that the quest had been futile, he heard them. Felt them, really. A tight knot of bitter, hard-hearted men. Professional criminals. Enforcers, thugs, mercenaries. Lackeys to some other, cruel power. For all he knew they might be Hau' s men; according to the briefing, Hau's crime syndicate accounted for half the illegal activity on the moon.

They were drunk. Singing, staggering, calling out rude epithets as they made their unsteady way down the alley toward his place of concealment.

He watched them palm open the door to an adjacent warehouse and disappear within. Two heartbeats after they had entered, he was at the door and ringing the chime for admittance.

A burly, furred head thrust between the heavy panels. "It's way past business hours," this person growled. "Shove off."

"I have a message. From the ambassadorial suite," the young Jedi improvised. "They didn't tell me a name. Just told me to deliver it to this, uh, address." He threw in a nervous glance over his shoulder for good effect.

The furred person took obvious delight in his discomfort. Her beady black eyes raked over his uniform and cap; she grunted in disdain. "C'min," she commanded, seizing his arm in a tight grip and pulling him over the threshold. He allowed himself to stumble a bit. Once inside, the furred guard subjected him to a rough search. "No weapons and no money," she snorted. "Go on." A rough shove in the back sent him forward into the larger space of the warehouse proper.

There were twelve of them. And the tallest one wore his lightsaber in a hip holster, as though it were a cheap blaster and not a sacred emblem of service. It made his blood boil. Quickly he released the emotion and tightened his focus. Twelve was a rather large number to take on single handed.

"He has a message from the legislature," the guard explained, as her companions turned surprised faces to the newcomer. They sat or sprawled on mismatched furniture. There were vehicles and data terminals and spare parts and storage lockers – this must be a kind of hideout or base.

"What's the message?" the tall humanoid drawled, approaching the errand boy with casual malice, his strides even, slow, calculating. He stopped a mere arm's reach away and stared.

"I believe that belongs to me," Obi Wan stated simply, extending one hand and summoning the saber into his own grip. He had a startled two seconds to ignite the weapon's thrumming blue blade and call on the Force.

"Its' that Jedi!" somebody shouted, and then the blaster shots started.

Energy bolts pinged and ricocheted off the walls and ceiling, leaving searing trails of sparks and blasting holes in the duracrete flooring. Bolts grazed off Obi Wan's blade, rebounded into attackers, clipped past his head or arms at a breathlessly close distance. He Force-lifted furniture, small objects, tools, a container of fuel or lubricant, and threw them at his opponents. He flipped behind cover, jumped into the rafters, dodged sizzling blasts, charged in close to his attackers – driving them backward in panic. The stink of burned metal and plastoid filled the air; his blade left a scent of ozone in the cold space.

"Get him! Get him!" a voice shouted. He spied a door to some kind of office and gratefully dived inside the opening, Force-slamming the panel behind him. Here, in the small closet of a room, was a desk and a pile of data pads. Rifling through them, he found only one datachip stored in their reader slots. He pocketed it.

"Blast the gretching door down!" a loud voice hollered.

A minute later, the heavy door exploded inward, in a toxic cloud of fragments and fire. The thugs rushed in to corner their victim….but the room was empty. A perfect circular opening had been cut in the ceiling. The edges still glowed red.

"Get the air speeder!" the furred guard yelled. "He can't be far away!"

But the tall leader knew better. "Won't do no good. They're like womp rats. Disappear into cracks. You'll never see him again ."

Qui Gon passed along the dimly lit corridor of the ambassadorial hotel, his footsteps making not a sound upon the carpet. By the chrono, it was well past fourth hour – the dead of night. Almost the next morning. But he felt a profound wakefulness, a sign that his night's work had gone well. He was following the path of the Living Force. Rounding a corner, he halted in surprise at the sight of his Padawan trotting up the hall in the opposite direction.

"Did I forget to assign you a curfew?" he asked as they met before the guest suite's door.

Obi Wan triumphantly held up his gleaming saber hilt and palmed the door open. Qui Gon followed, tucking hands into opposite sleeves of his cloak.

"I trust nothing unfortunate occurred in the course of your errand-running?" the Jedi master inquired.

"Nobody lost an arm," the Padawan grinned, fishing a small datachip out of the jacket's inner lining. "But they might have lost this." He tossed it to Qui Gon.

The older Jedi slid the thin object into his datareader and waited for the information to be decrypted. "Stealing, Padawan?" he asked.

"Returning a favor," the apprentice objected. "I owed them quite a few."

"A Jedi shall not know revenge…" Qui Gon said absently. His attention was arrested by the information scrolling on the small screen before him. His frown deepened. "Obi Wan, where did you get this?"

"From the thugs' hideout, master. It was the only thing of interest there – I'm not even sure what it contains. I thought we might hand it over to planetary security – in hopes of a future arrest."

"You never cease to amaze me." Qui Gon handed the datareader to his apprentice. "That chip contains the payroll and expense account for Tamax Hau's enforcement ring. You've been granted your wish – this is evidence the electorate cannot ignore."

Obi Wan looked stunned, but he recovered almost instantly. "So it's a good thing they ambushed me and took my saber."

"I wouldn't go that far, Padawan," Qui Gon warned.

"Yes, master….and what were you up to all night, may I ask?"

"Oh, not much. Playing sabaac with a charming old beggar, mostly. He won almost twenty dataries off me. But we had a most illuminating conversation."

Obi Wan knew better than to offer comment.

"What is this?" Taxan Hau roared. His retinue surrounded him in a tight circle. Members of the planetary security force moved in, stun rifles and blasters at the ready. The Hutt slewed around one more time in the center of the rotunda floor, leaving a faintly phosphorescent slime trail behind him. "What proof of these outrageous charges do you have?"

The captain of the security forces's mouth hardened into a thin line. "We've got you, Hau. We've known it for decades, but now we've got you."

"I own the courts!" Hau screamed. "You fools!"

The Speaker of the house stood up. "And now that we are an independent territory, Hau, we can petition the Senate Judiciary to intervene in your case. You won't be buying them off so easily."

The Hutt's screams of rage and fury drowned out the delegates murmurings. Obi Wan Kenobi took the opportunity to lean closer to Qui Gon. "If only that were true," he remarked.

The Jedi master made a rueful face. "At least the red tape will keep Hau occupied for many years to come. There is some use to be had in the justice system."

"Hutts live a long time, master."

"And we only have the moment in which to act, Padawan."

When the shocked reactions to Hau's arrest had finally died down, the Speaker called the session to order. "In the absence of Tanax Hau, we are reduced to three nominations. As the vote stands now, it seems unlikely that any of the candidates will achieve the requisite majority vote. I can only ask whether any of the present nominees will stand down, for the sake of the common good? With two nominees, we are assured of a valid election according to Galactic Senatorial law."

Her suggestion met with stony silence.

"If this is not resolved, I fear we will be without representation in the Senate," she insisted. "We must come to a resolution."

The rotunda again erupted into chaos, abuse and insults hurtling back and forth between the various parties. The minutes wore on with no signs of weariness, or indeed rationality, from any of those present.

"Their stamina is enviable," the Jedi Padawan murmured.

Qui Gon stood up. The room fell quiet at once in the face of his commanding presence. "People of Ikamra," he addressed the delegates. "I would like to make a further nomination."

A gasp of surprise drifted among the gathering. "The man I recommend to you today is a native son of your moon, a being of wide and deep experience, and a mind steeped in basic wisdoms." The Jedi paused for dramatic effect, needlessly. The entire assembly was hanging on his words. The Speaker was gazing at him as though he might pull a tribble out of a hat. Qui Gon held up a hand and swept it around the room, making eye contact with each of the delegates in turn. "He is a most deserving candidate for office."

Obi Wan gasped. He had clearly felt the tendrils of Force influence reach out and brush against the minds of all present. How could his master even contemplate such a feat? But then he reflected that the politicians gathered in the rotunda were among the most weak-minded he had ever encountered. "You will, I am sure, desire to elect him as your official liason to the Galactic Senate."

Already there were glassy-eyed mutterings of consent. "We want to elect him. He's a worthy candidate," echoed in soft tones around the circular chamber.

"Master…" Obi Wan groaned.

But Qui Gon ignored his apprentice's feeble protests. With a grand flourish he summoned his candidate out from a discreet side alcove. The beggar man of the alleyway stood before the legislature of his people, and beamed as they cheered and clapped and hailed him as the worthiest, most deserving, most beloved political figure of the moon's short, four day long history.

The fourth and final festival night was, if possible, more raucous and disorderly than the first three. Throngs of inebriated Ikammrains jostled and surged through the streets, singing incoherent snatches of song, embracing and staggering along in each other's arms. Sparkling torches were waved in the air, nearly singeing passersby; bottles of sakuri were shaken and then opened in a wild torrent of froth and liquid. Streamers and confetti and debris filled the gutters. The scent of roasting food blended with the carbon-burn trailing in the air from the last and most splendid firework display of all.

The two Jedi threaded their way through the crowds, using their well-honed reflexes to avoid being trampled or caught in the unwanted embrace of some drunken reveler. Overhead, the purple sky erupted into flowers and fountains of gold, blue, green, pink, and blinding white.

Qui Gon Jinn laughed aloud. The Living Force crashed and seethed around him, a wild river of emotion and energy. He felt like a youngling caught up and flung in wide circles by friendly arms. It was exhilarating. "Stop shielding, Obi Wan," he commanded his Padawan, trailing behind him with a tight expression.

"Master…" the young apprentice objected, but the rest of his words were drowned in the deafening boom of a firework explosion.

Qui Gon pulled him by the sleeve, finding slight shelter in the overhang of a tavern's doorway. "That's an order," he said in his apprentice's ear. "The Force is still the Force, even when it is this disturbed and wild. Let is flow through you – a Jedi does not indulge in such unfettered emotions and actions, but he does not fear them either."

"I don't fear this, master!" Obi Wan spluttered. "I just –" Boom. Boom. Boom.

"Relax," the older Jedi commanded. "Now."

Resigned to his unhappy fate, Obi Wan let down his mental barriers and was immediately assaulted by the frenetic tides of Ikammra's streets. The Force seethed and shattered and roared, swelling with the emotions and excitement of the people's festival. He felt like a youngling caught in some nightmare carnival ride, plunging and swooping without control or restraint. It was dizzying. For a moment he felt as though he had drunk an ocean of fermented sakuri. He wondered whether he would be sick right here in the street. Perhaps on Qui Gon's boots…that would be fitting…

Boom. Boom. Boom.

Qui Gon dragged his Padawan inside the shelter of the tavern and found a table for them at the back of the low-roofed building. Here the sounds of the street and the fireworks were mercifully dulled.

"You are going to be the death of me," Obi Wan complained, massaging his temples and slowly regaining his composure.

"Nonsense," Qui Gon chided. "You only feel that way because you haven't slept in three days. Besides, I am not the one who spends his evenings brawling with the lowest elements of society. There is a great deal I will have to omit from the Council report on this mission."

The Padawan shot him a wounded look. "I am not the one who broke the Code by directly interfering in a planet's election process."

"My candidate will win by a landslide," Qui Gon answered smugly.

"Your beggar," Obi Wan corrected. "I don't even know what to say this time, master."

Qui Gon raised his eyebrows. "That calls for celebration. Waiter!…A bottle of sakuri, if you please."

Obi Wan groaned. "You are going to be the death of me."

"…And resuming coverage of the recently emancipated moon Ikamra's first Senatorial election, we are happy to report that the Representative from the system has been duly elected by a landslide majority vote. Chazz Fidio will be take up residence on Coruscant and appear in the upcoming legislative session next week.

"Also of note was the simultaneous arrest of Tanax Hau, a long time participant in Ikamra's smuggling and illegal trade crime syndicate. Evidence against Hau has been submitted to the Senate Judiciary Committee for review pending trial. Many former employees of Hau's have come forward to present evidence in exchange for lenient sentencing. Prosecutors are expressing mild hope of a speedy trial, one lasting no more than four standard years. Behind Hau' s arrest is the newly appointed security force, and reports indicate that a Jedi presence during the new electoral process may also have contributed to Hau's swift downfall…."

The praise was wasted on its two recipients. Though the holonet feed was left online and active inside the passenger transport cabin, its occupants were not aware of its noisy contents, or of much else besides. The steady thrumming of the ship's hyperdrive and the gentle reverbrations of the hull provided a soothing counterpoint to the riotous festival nights on Ikamra. The transport had barely cleared the moon's purple atmosphere – a placid lavendar in its upper layers - before the two sleep-deprived Jedi had succumbed to the subtle invitation.

Master Qui Gon Jinn sat with his back comfortably propped against the bulkhead and his long legs stretched out across three passenger seats. His Padawan lay curled on his side upon the opposite bench, dark cloak pulled close against the chill of interstellar travel. Gentle snores filled the small compartment as the ship shuddered slightly, preparing for the hyperspace jump. The older Jedi's hand brushed instinctively against his saber hilt. "Blasted sakuri," Obi Wan Kenobi mumbled. Then they both returned to sleep.

The ship swooped forward, past light speed, and the purple haze of Ikamra disappeared into distance and memory.