Chapter Text
”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.” ~Jedi Apprentice: The Rising Force (pg43)
Obi-Wan tried to release his anxiety to the Force as he took in the ship that would take him to his new life.
An old Corellian barge that looked like it was held together by plasti-tape and spite, the Monument was deeply scarred and pockmarked from its travels through space. Obi-Wan had never imagined what his future would entail—aside from nebulous dreams of knighthood—but he didn’t think it would begin with the dirtiest ship Coruscant had ever seen.
As he watched, a collection of Hutts and Whiphids boarded, bypassing clusters of spindly Arconans who whispered amongst themselves nervously. It was at that moment he realized the datapad with his room assignment had been left behind. What am I supposed to do? He thought worriedly, blue eyes darting through the bustling spaceport in search of a crew member who might be able to direct him. Is there anyone I can ask for help?
Each moment that passed, with no helpful face in sight, Obi-Wan’s dismay at the situation grew. Barely out of Temple, and already at a loss. Biting his lip, the former initiate blinked rapidly in an attempt to keep frustrated tears at bay. No wonder no one wanted you.
Just when his despair had grown to unmanageable lengths, a friendly voice broke through his thoughts.
“Hey there,” they said, “you lost?”
A boy a year or two older than Obi-Wan with a mess of inky black braids pulled into a sloppy bun at the nape of his neck, had stopped in front of him. Curiosity was reflected within the older boy’s dark eyes, Force buzzing with sincerity and concern.
Obi-Wan nodded. “I’m uh,” he swallowed nervously, “I’m headed to Bandomeer, but I lost the datapad with my room assignment,” he admitted softly.
“That’s alright,” the other boy replied jovially. “M’headed there too! Bet there’s a crew member onboard who can point ya in the right direction” gesturing toward the ship, a toothy grin broke out across the other boy’s face. “I’ll help ya!”
Returning the grin with a hesitant smile of his own, Obi-Wan allowed himself to be steered forward.
“M’Quin,” the boy—Quin—introduced, shooting a friendly wink down when he caught Obi-Wan looking.
“Obi-Wan.”
“Nice to meet’cha Obes,” Quin replied cheerfully, completely disregarding Obi-Wan’s pointed side-eye at the nickname. “You here by yourself?”
Nimbly avoiding a Hutt’s tail as it slithered onboard, Obi-Wan found the interior of the ship was just as desolate as its exterior. Perhaps more so, given its dim lighting and the musky scent of moldering fur permeating the cramped space. There was something else there, though it was probably better left unidentified.
He nodded.
Quin hummed. “Just me and m’dad,” the older boy said. “Bandomeer’s ‘sposed to have lots of opportunities for folks like us, so we’re hoping the trip is worth it.” Obi-Wan took in the threadbare worksuit, the patched jacket faded grey with age. Aside from the leatheris gloves, it was obvious they were old and just a little on-the-side-of too-big as opposed to baggy.
Probably hand-me-downs, Obi-Wan thought, fingers scratching against the rough material of his initiate robes. Despite their simplicity, Jedi clothes were sturdily constructed and could last a long time in all sort of conditions. Supplied by the Temple Quartermaster, though some lineages preferred to hand down certain pieces, initiates and padawans never had to worry about what they would do if they outgrew their wardrobe. He’d never thought what it would be like for those outside the Temple.
“I hope you find what you’re looking for,” Obi-Wan said sincerely.
Quin stopped, dark eyes once again trained on Obi-Wan’s face. As though considering. He opened his mouth—
“Quin you better not be up to some mischief,” a gruff voice exclaimed.
Both boys turned. A man, wearing a similarly worn worksuit, had just rounded the hallway. His eyes swept from Obi-Wan to Quin, a grizzled brow raised in question.
“Dad!” Quin said. “This is Obes,” Obi-Wan ducked as the older boy gestured wildly, “m’helping him find his room.”
The eyebrow turned towards him.
“Hello sir,” Obi-Wan greeted politely. “I’m Obi-Wan. Quin’s helping me find someone who can point me towards my room. I uh, lost the pad with the number…” He trailed off sheepishly.
Face softening, Quin’s dad offered him an amused smile. “Down that corridor,” he nodded towards the hall he’d just exited, “three doors down on your left. You’ll find the ship’s quartermaster. They should be able to point you in the right direction.”
Obi-Wan bowed. “Thank you sir!” Turning back towards the other boy, he offered a shy smile. “It was nice to meet you Quin, thank you for your help.”
As he left, the other boy’s voice echoed behind him.
“It was nice to meet you too Obes!” Quin yelled. “We’re bunked in B-47, feel free to stop by anytime!”
As his padawan watched the other boy leave, Tholme could only sigh with fond exasperation.
“Do you think it wise to tell him where we’re staying?” Affection trailed down their training-bond, negating the sternness of his words.
Quinlan shrugged, eyes trained down the hall. “He’s by himself,” Quinlan muttered. “Almost had a panic attack when I found him.” Teeth dug into the meat of his lip, a habit they still hadn’t been able to break. “Think it’s his first time away from Temple.”
Tholme had recognized the boy’s initiate robes. It was concerning he was here without an escort, but they had their own priorities to deal with. “It’s important to keep your mind on the mission,” Tholme gently reminded. “Though we’ll do what we can to make sure he gets to Bandomeer safely.”
His padawan was still staring down the hall, eyes fixed on where they’d lost sight of Obi-Wan.
“Quin?”
“I don’t know,” the boy said, “just a feeling.”
Tholme lead them back to their quarters. It was a four day flight from Coruscant to Bandomeer, assuming they weren’t waylaid by pirates or suffered mechanical difficulties. Plenty of time to worry about his padawan’s first official mission as a shadow-in-training. And, Tholme thought wryly, look out for an initiate.
Obi-Wan offered up a grateful smile as he exited the cramped office.
Quin’s dad had been right. The moment Obi-Wan had introduced himself and mentioned his assignment with the AgriCorps, the quartermaster—an Arkanian woman, who’s silver hair was cropped close to her skull and wore a dingy grey flightsuit with a logo that might’ve been the Monument fifty years ago, when it was still shiny and new—had quickly pulled up his information on the ship’s mainframe and directed him where to go.
A-12 wasn’t too far away from his newfound friend. Obi-Wan privately hoped the other had been sincere when he’d extended an invitation to stop by. It would be nice to have a friend, he thought.
Rounding the corner, Obi-Wan had just enough time to gasp, before his back met the wall painfully. A meaty green fist followed, grabbing a handful of his robes, before lifting him slightly off his feet.
A Hutt stared down at him coldly, green-gold eyes narrowed with disgust. “What do you think you’re doing, rat?” They hissed.
Two Whiphids stood behind them, hands on the blasters at their waist. A quick look revealed that the hall was entirely empty. He was trapped.
Swallowing dryly, Obi-Wan tried to release his fear into the Force, but it was hard when there was a Hutt glaring down at you with two friends who looked like they’d rather shoot him than help him.
“I-I,” He swallowed again, throat tight. “I’m j-just going to m-my r-r-rooom?”
If Hutts had eyebrows, Obi-Wan didn’t doubt that this one’s would be raised dubiously. As it was, a slimy grey tongue came out and slid across their lips, making Obi-Wan’s nose wrinkle at the foul scent that wafted from its disease-ridden gums. “That a question maggot?”
“N-no s-ser,” Obi-Wan stuttered out anxiously. “I-I’m a passenger h-here.”
The Hutt snorted. “Sure ya’ are, and I’m a Wookiee,” cold eyes trailed down to the bag Obi-Wan had dropped. “Search him,” they said to the Whiphid on their left. “No doubt he’s a spy from those slugs over at Arcona Mineral.”
“W-wait,” Obi-Wan protested, making a weak attempt to grab his belongings only to groan as he was once again slammed against the hard metal of the ship’s hallway. “Y-you can’t just—“
The Hutt leaned in dangerously, and Obi-Wan gagged as its foul stench only intensified at the forced proximity. “I think you’ll find I can do whatever I want,” a cruel smile worked its way across the Hutt’s face. “Goodnight, maggot.”
Pain blossomed, hot and sticky, before the world turned dark.
A whimper slid past Obi-Wan’s swollen lips as sharp artificial light pierced the darkness.
Rhythmic whirring echoed in his ears, a sound that was familiar, though he couldn’t pinpoint why. His face felt like it was on fire. His body ached, as though he was just one giant bruise, and Obi-Wan struggled to remember what had happened. I was headed towards my room, wasn’t I?
“Hey kid,” a husky voice soothed. “Just take it easy. You got a nasty bump on the back of your head.”
Fluttering his eyelashes open—why were they so heavy?—Obi-Wan winced at the blurry figure, though his eyes were able to focus after a few seconds. A human sat next to him, dark green eyes narrowed in concern. There was a med-droid hovering nearby, applicators methodically applying an assortment of bacta and glue to the worst of his injuries. So that was the whirring noise.
“Wh-where,” Obi-Wan grimaced at the copper-taste of his mouth, and swallowed. “Where am I?”
Reddish-brown eyebrows rose in surprise, before amusement lit across their face. “Medical,” they supplied. “You remember what your name is?”
Slowly working his way up, Obi-Wan gratefully accepted the proffered arm, taking in his mysterious helper as he did. Their hair was the same reddish-brown, tucked under a dusky orange cap that matched their worksuit. A green triangle was the only decoration.
“Obi-Wan,” he said. “Obi-Wan Kenobi.”
His guest smiled. “Clat’Ha, she/her.” She regarded him for a moment. “You’re not one of ours, and I know you’re not part of the crew,” her green eyes turned considering, “what are you doing here Obi-Wan?”
Hadn’t someone asked me that? Cold green-gold eyes and a meaty fist flashed through his mind. That’s right, there was a Hutt... A quick glance revealed his bag was missing, and the boy slumped defeatedly. The last few pieces of home he’d managed to take with him were gone.
Clat’Ha’s question was kinder than the Hutt’s, but the sudden mistrust in her voice had Obi-Wan cringing back. “O-on assignment from the Jedi Temple,” he replied quietly. “I’m on m-my way to the ArgiCorps outpost on B-Bandomeer.”
“You’re a Jedi?” Clat’Ha asked, clearly surprised. “What’s your beef with Offworld?”
“I’m…” Obi-Wan wasn’t sure how to answer. Am I still a Jedi? He wondered. Even though his dreams of knighthood were well and truly passed, the Jedi Service Corps were still part of the Jedi Order. Maybe I am? “Offworld?” He asked instead.
Though Clat’Ha looked like she had questions, she thankfully allowed Obi-Wan to steer their conversation away from his questionable Jedi-status. “Those Hutts and Whiphids onboard? They’re part of Offworld Mining Corporation,” a thick finger tapped the green triangle on her worksuit. “I’m the chief operations manager for their competition, Arcona Mineral Harvest.”
’No doubt he’s a spy from those slugs over at Arcona Mineral.’ The Hutt’s words played back in his mind.
So that was what he meant. “T-they mentioned A-Arcona,” Obi-Wan admitted quietly.
Clat’Ha snorted, grim amusement dancing across her features. “I don’t doubt it,” she replied. “Although we’re just a local corp, we’ve managed to snipe some of Offworld’s most experienced miners over to Arcona with our equal-profit model.” At his questioning look, Clat’Ha explained.
“Offworld has overseers and chieftains who retain the bulk of profit a mine produces, while their laborers receive a pittance—if they’re paid at all. But at Arcona, everyone gets an equal share of the profits.” Dark green eyes turned to the patch on her worksuit, expression shuttered. “It’s helped to expand our operations, but its also put us right in Offworld’s crosshairs.” For the first time since he woke-up, Obi-Wan realized how young Clat’Ha looked. She couldn’t have been older than twenty-five. Maybe a year or two older, though that was pushing it. To be so young and have the weight of an entire organization on her shoulders, Obi-Wan winced in sympathy.
“If everyone gets an equal share,” Obi-Wan started, grimacing with pain, “does that mean everyone has equal ownership?”
The heavy expression that had worked its way across the woman’s face broke as she offered Obi-Wan a tiny smile. “You’ve got it in one kid,” Clat’Ha said. “Anyone who joins with Arcona is given part-ownership of the organization.”
It sounded like a fair business-model, Obi-Wan quietly reflected. “Then who own’s Offworld?” He wondered.
What little progress he’d made in lifting Clat’Ha’s spirits vanished at the question.
“No one knows who owns Offworld,” the woman replied, voice dropped to a husky whisper. “Probably a being that’s been around for centuries—Offworld is one of the oldest and richest mining companies in the galaxy.” Hey eyes darted nervously to the entrance, as though weary of being overheard. “Whoever owns it, they didn’t get there by letting people get in their way,” she leaned in and Obi-Wan couldn’t help but copy the movement. “There’s been rumors about crews vanishing in cave-ins, despite the mine’s previous stability. Of workers who simply disappeared and executives found dead, victims of a random mugging gone wrong.”
The fear-horror-uncertainty that quivered in her Force presence made the hair on his arms stand up. “If that’s true,” He said, voice dropped to a hoarse whisper, “then why are you both on the same ship?”
There was a deep shame that lingered in Clat’Ha’s eyes. “Despite our growth, we’re still a tiny local who can barely afford the fuel it took to offload our cargo,” she admitted. “Our options were limited. By the time we found out Offworld had chartered the same vessel, it was too late to cancel.” It was left unsaid that Arcona Mineral probably couldn’t have afforded to—not with the amount of workers that were currently onboard and looking to get back.
But something didn’t add up. “Why did Offworld get onboard if they knew you’d be here?” Obi-Wan asked, brows furrowed in confusion.
If things were as bad as Clat’Ha said they were, then surely neither company would want to be in close proximity to the other, let alone for the four days it would take the Monument to transport them to Bandomeer.
“Offworld stays rich because they use the cheapest labor and transports possible,” Clat’Ha said. “Not to mention they trade in intimidation and shady business dealings.” She cast another surreptious glance towards the door, before returning to Obi-Wan. “You’ve just entered the middle of a war zone kid,” standing up, she made her way towards the exit.
Before she left, Clat’Ha turned one last time, her dark green eyes shadowed with something Obi-Wan couldn’t name. “Be careful, Obi-Wan.”
He was still mulling over his conversation with Clat’Ha hours later. Obi-Wan idly pushed around the nutri-paste on his plate, doing his best to stay out of sight from the gathered Hutts and Whiphids in the ship’s mess. The Arconans, he noted, stuck to their clusters.
No one knows who own’s Offworld…
…one of the oldest and richest mining companies…
…cave-ins…workers disappeared…executives found dead…
Then finally, Clat’Ha’s solemn face before she left. ’You’ve just entered the middle of a war zone kid,’ she’d said. Her dark green eyes glinted with an emotion Obi-Wan couldn’t voice. ’Be careful Obi-Wan.’
She’s scared, Obi-Wan thought, spoon letting out a distant screech as it scratched the bottom of his tray. Why haven’t the Jedi investigated?
“Hey, Obes!” A familiar voiced shouted, causing Obi-Wan to glance up.
Quin stood there, a broad grin on his face as he almost smacked a nearby Whiphid with his tray as he offered Obi-Wan an excited wave. Behind him, his father let out an exasperated sigh, though his expression was fond. He murmured a quiet apology as the boy flounced across the mess, agilely darting through the crowd before happily dropping his tray with a resonating thunk.
“Were you able to find your bunk?” Quin asked, already shoveling a heaping spoonful of nutri-paste into his mouth. Obi-Wan noticed Quin had left his gloves on as he ate. Is he worried about germs?
Seeming to notice where Obi-Wan’s attention had drifted, the other boy offered a sloppy grin. “Nerve damage,” he explained cheerfully, before shoving another spoonful into his mouth.
Obi-Wan simply nodded.
A quieter thunk sounded beside them. Quin’s father offered him a tired smile. “Hello Obi-Wan, I hope you don’t mind if we share your table?” He cast an amused look towards his son, who sheepishly continued to stuff his face with food. “Quin sometimes forgets he’s supposed to ask.”
Despite the stress of the situation from earlier in the day, Obi-Wan couldn’t help but return the older man’s smile. “That’s okay sir, I’m happy to share.”
The man waved his hand. “You can call me Thom.”
Obi-Wan grinned. “Yes Thom, sir.”
Thom elbowed Quin teasingly. “Maybe you can learn something from your friend here, huh?”
Quin mumbled mutinously into his tray, but didn’t glance up.
“Were you able to find the quartermaster?” Thom asked, turning his attention back to Obi-Wan. There was a scar that ran down the left side of his face, and Obi-Wan distantly wondered how the older man had acquired it. “Settling in okay?”
The man’s eyes traced his swollen face with concern, and Obi-Wan belatedly realized he probably looked like he’d been in a brawl with a trash-compactor and lost. Beside him, Quin finally looked up from his food, face creased with worry.
“Kid?” Thom’s voice was gentle in a way he couldn’t remember hearing since he’d turned twelve. “Is everything alright?”
Blinking wetly, Obi-Wan could only nod.
“Someone do that to you?” The man asked, a dangerous edge to his voice though the Force hummed with warmth-protect-concern. Quin’s fingers tightened around the neck of his spoon.
Blue eyes darted towards the tables Offworld had claimed, before meeting Thom’s dark eyes.
“Accident,” Obi-Wan finally managed, unable to hold the other man’s gaze.
If Offworld was as dangerous as Clat’Ha said they were, he didn’t want his new friends involved.
’Bandomeer’s ‘sposed to have lots of opportunities for folks like us, so we’re hoping the trip is worth it’. Obi-Wan blinked. “A-are you with Arcona Mineral?” He asked, trying to be nonchalant about it, though judging from Thom’s bemused expression, he’d failed.
Quin snorted. “Nah,” he said, taking a hefty swig of muja juice. “Dad and I are what’cha’d call freelancers.” A trickle of juice trailed down Quin’s chin as he spoke.
Thom rolled his eyes as he threw a napkin in Quin’s direction. “What my son is trying to say, is that we do a little bit of everything—though usually we try to avoid mine work.” At Obi-Wan’s curious expression, Thom smiled. “With Quin’s nerve damage and my bum-knee, the payout’s not really worth the hardship.”
Having finished wiping his face, Quin nodded.
Obi-Wan hesitated. “Have either of you heard of Offworld?” He asked carefully, voice nearly lost to the general clatter of the mess.
Thom’s brows furrowed as his eyes once again traced Obi-Wan’s injuries, though Quin was already nodding.
“Oh yeah,” the other boy agreed, leaning forward conspiratorially. Obi-Wan followed. “Rumor is, they were responsible for what happened on Varristad.”
Obi-Wan tilted his head in question.
“Haven’t heard about it?” Quin asked in a shocked whisper. “About five years ago, the bio-dome for a local start-up malfunctioned—it’s an anti-ox planet, which made it really difficult for most species to even live on it.” Quin explained, voice low. Beside them, Thom rolled his eyes but didn’t contest his son’s claims, and Obi-Wan felt a shiver run down his spine.
“What happened?” Obi-Wan asked.
“Nearly a quarter-of-a-million workers died,” Quin whispered. “Company had to claim bankruptcy, which allowed Offworld to buy up all the mineral rights. People died and Offworld made a fortune.”
Grief. Obi-Wan realized. That was the emotion in Clat’Ha’s eyes before she’d left. Her eyes had been filled with grief. Who did she lose? He wondered. If she was as young as he thought she was, she’d have been twenty at the time. A parent? Sibling?
“And Offworld was responsible?” Obi-Wan chanced another look across the mess. Could one company really be behind so much tragedy?
Quin opened his mouth, but his father gripped his shoulder. Thom’s face was somber as he regarded them. “There’s speculation,” he admitted, “but nothing concrete.” You didn’t get to be as old or as profitable as Offworld without having raised corporate espionage to an art form. “You should eat kid,” Thom advised, nodding to Obi-Wan’s plate. “Best to keep your strength up.”
And as his companions turned to their own meals, Obi-Wan recalled Clat’Ha’s warning. ’You’ve just entered the middle of a war zone kid,’ dark green eyes filled with grief.
’Be careful Obi-Wan.’
Obi-Wan was smiling as he left the mess. Quin and Thom were great dining companions, with the older boy sharing wild tales of their escapades across the galaxy. His father, used to Quin’s theatrics, patiently corrected the more outlandish details though he allowed the boys their fun. Obi-Wan didn’t think he’d ever had such a wonderful meal before.
It’s nice, he thought, having a friend.
He had friends at Temple—Bant, and Reeft, and Garen.
They’d grown up together, learned together, dreamed together.
But now the dream had ended, Obi-Wan would never become a Jedi Knight. May never see the Temple again.
It hadn’t escaped his notice that of his friends, Bant was the only one to say goodbye.
Maybe I can comm them when I get to Bandomeer.
Entering the room code the quartermaster had provided, Obi-Wan froze as the door slid open.
Master Jinn stared back at him, equally surprised.
“Initiate Kenobi,” the Jedi master greeted. “What are you doing here?” A bag was placed in the overhead compartment. There was a meditation mat set in a corner of the room. Master Jinn had obviously been here for some time.
Obi-Wan frowned. “T-the quartermaster said my b-bunk was here.”
Master Jinn raised a condescending brow. “The Temple secured these accommodations for my mission to Bandomeer,” he said serenely. “The quartermaster must have been mistaken.”
He turned back to the datapad in his lap, apparently done with the conversation.
But Obi-Wan wasn’t sure what to do. The quartermaster had told Obi-Wan that this was his room assignment, and the ship was already operating on its sub-light systems. Where am I supposed to go?
“Master Ji—“
“Initiate Kenobi,” the older man interrupted, turning once again to face him. “You are not my responsibility,” Master Jinn said, voice kind despite his indifference. “My mission to Bandomeer is classified by the Senate, you do not have the clearance to know its particulars. I’m afraid I can’t help you, even if I wanted to.”
Biting his lip to keep from crying, Obi-Wan offered a shaky bow as the Jedi dismissed him. Again.
The door slid closed with a definitive click.
Where am I supposed to go? Obi-Wan thought, tears finally bursting through the dam they’d been fighting since he’d received news of his reassignment. Where can I go?
He remembered warm laughter and dark eyes, a grizzled face that shone with genuine concern as it took in his injuries.
’We’re bunked in B-47, feel free to stop by anytime!’
Sniffing, Obi-Wan wiped his eyes.
He hoped Quin had been sincere in his offer of stopping by.
“Ow. Owwww. Master! Ouch! There’s a person under there y’know!” Quinlan grumped.
Tholme raised an unimpressed brow, cloth held in one hand.
They were turning in for the night, and while Quin’s idea to disguise his qukuuf had been clever, it also meant his poor padawan was now facing the reality of his brilliant plan.
This wasn’t their first mission, but it was Quinlan’s first official mission as a shadow-in-training. Quin wouldn’t just be introduced to their investigative techniques or intelligence networks, he’d also have to learn how to maintain an alias. Which was why Tholme had allowed him to create their covers for this mission.
Including their disguises.
He gestured with the cloth. “Your instincts were good,” he said. “A qukuuf is too distinctive, and would have stood out on Bandomeer when the majority of the population is a mix of baseline humans, Meerians, and Arconans.”
His padawan smiled at the praise. Tholme huffed in amusement. “However, you’re the one who decided to use makeup instead of synth skin, which means that applying it and removing it are part of the basic maintenance for your cover.”
Quinlan nimbly dodged when Tholme moved. “I’ll just sleep with it on, it’s fine!” The young teen groused. They were barely into the beginning stages of removing the heavy cosmetics he’d applied earlier in the day, and the boy was already over it.
“You’ll get acne if you sleep in it,” Tholme remarked, feinting left.
“That’s okay, I hear acne is very in this year!”
Just as Tholme was seriously contemplating tackling his wayward padawan, a soft chime echoed through the cabin. They looked at eachother.
Sub-light systems were already active as the ship’s passengers prepared for their sleep-cycle. It was unusual for anyone to still be out and about, let alone to buzz their room.
Wordlessly, Quinlan’s hand reached towards his hair, fingers grasping the vibro-blade he’d hidden there while Tholme discreetly palmed his own weapon.
He made a quick movement with his hand.
Stay out of sight. Wait for my signal.
Quinlan quickly signed out an affirmative before fading into the shadows of their cramped cabin.
Steadying his breath, Tholme sent out a discrete probe through the Force, only to receive sadness-anxiety-fear-hope back. With a barely visible frown, he entered the lock codes.
The door slid open.
“Obi-Wan,” Tholme breathed out, surprised to find the boy outside their cabin. “Is everything alright? It’s late to be wondering about by yourself.”
“Sorry sir,” Obi-Wan replied, head down. Tholme belatedly realized there were tear tracks on the initiate’s swollen face, thin arms wrapped around himself tightly, as though seeking comfort. What the kriff happened? “I just, I—“ the boy sniffed, ducking his head further. “I’ll just go.” He trailed off, making to turn away until Tholme reached out to stop him.
“I thought we’d gotten past all that ‘sir’ stuff at latemeal kid,” Tholme said, voice gentle. Something must’ve happened on the way to his room. “Quin said you’re free to stop by anytime, and he meant it.” Obi-Wan offered a wet sniffle, and though his head was still ducked, he hadn’t tried to leave again. “Did something happen?”
“I—I just-“ lower lip trembling, Obi-Wan finally glanced up. His eyes were red with tears. “I lost my r-room number, a-and the quarter master—but then M-master J-Jinn told m-me it was a m-mistake and—,“ What the kriff if Jinn doing here? The boy waved his hands despairingly, and Tholme noticed how the kid didn’t even have his bag with him. Had he lost it?“—I d-don’t k-know where to go…”
Something wasn’t adding up here.
Obi-Wan—who was still in his initiate robes—had been sent to Bandomeer without an escort. A planet that had a limited Jedi presence. Qui-Gon Jinn was apparently onboard, though he’d traveled separately from Obi-Wan, and secured his own accommodations. There was distinct lack of braid in Obi-Wan’s hair, and it was odd he’d received an assignment via pad instead of the council of reassignment…
Either way, as the senior Jedi onboard wasn’t willing to take responsibility for a Temple-raised youngling, Tholme would have to step-in. “You can stay with us,” Tholme said, already guiding the trembling initiate inside as he discretely tucked his weapon back into its hiding place. “It might be a little cramped, but we’d be happy to have you.”
Quinlan exited the fresher, face a smooth tan, which meant he’d reapplied the make-up hiding his qukuuf while they’d been speaking. He projected pride-good thinking-well done down the bond, and Quinlan shot him a small smile, before greeting his friend.
Upon finding out that Obi-Wan’s belongings had disappeared after an unfortunate incident with a Hutt, Tholme had to quell his padawan’s rage, as the boy offered an extra pair of sleep clothes he’d packed to the sniffling Obi-Wan.
When Obi-Wan went into the fresher to change, master and padawan shared a look.
Obi-Wan was theirs now. They weren’t going to let anything happen to him.
They were just finishing up first-meal when a familiar bob of reddish-brown hair darted across the mess in a confident stride. Obi-Wan turned.
Clat’Ha looked like a woman on a mission, face twisted with impatience as a young Arconan trailed after her.
An elbow nudged him gently. “Who’s that?” Quin asked around a mouthful of food.
Wrinkling his nose, Obi-Wan lightly shoved him back. “That’s Clat’Ha,” he replied. “She’s the chief operations manager for Arcona Mineral.”
Thom looked up from his caff. “The mining corporation?” He asked curiously.
Obi-Wan nodded, pushing up his sleeve before it could get any gravy on it. Quin had provided him with a spare worksuit he’d packed, and while it might have been baggy on the older boy, Obi-Wan was nearly swimming in excess fabric.
“She looks mad,” Quin observed, stealing Obi-Wan’s mug of tea and taking a noisy sip. “Wonder what’s got her so worked up this early?” He ignored Obi-Wan’s cry of indignation with an ease that belayed the fact they’d only known each other for a day.
Once he’d successfully managed to get his mug back from Quin’s thieving hands, Obi-Wan frowned. Why is Clat’Ha so upset?
His eyes sought out the woman’s form, only to startle when he realized she’d stopped at Master Jinn’s table, and from the looks of it, she was arguing with the Jedi Master.
Thom followed his gaze. “Who’s that?” He asked, idly tracing the rim of his mug.
Swallowing, Obi-Wan looked down at his half-finished breakfast. “T-that’s Master Jinn.”
“Wonder what business she has with a Jedi.” Quin remarked, swiping the nerf bacon from Obi-Wan’s plate.
He darted another glance towards the miner. Why was she arguing with Master Jinn?
Before he could think about it further, Clat’Ha’s angry voice cut through the mess like a knife.
“—and you expect me to believe it’s just a coincidence that the thermocoms for our tunnelers disappear!?!”
“Thermocoms?” Obi-Wan asked, unfamiliar with the term.
He allowed Quin to steal the rest of his bacon as the other boy explained. “It’s uh sens’r that reg’lates dah coo’ing sys’ems,” crunch, crunch. “Tunn’lers ge’ hawt!”
“How hot?”
A napkin was shoved in Quin’s face before he could speak. Thom’s eyes were stern as he stared at his son, who grudgingly wiped his mouth.
“Let’s put it this way,” Thom said. “With the amount of friction that happens as a tunneler drills through layers of rock, the hull can get hot enough to fry a tip-yip in two minutes.”
Obi-Wan’s eyes widened. What could that do to a sentient being?
Thom nodded grimly.
”Sie batha ne beechee ta Jemba?” A booming voice shouted. The entire mess grew quiet as the biggest Hutt Obi-Wan had ever seen slithered forwards.
Clat’Ha’s face turned an angry, flushed red, while Master Jinn remained serenely seated beside her quivering form.
“No, Great Jemba, we’re simply discussing an issue with a few tunnelers,” Master Jinn replied.
“That’s the Offworld exec that was stationed on Varristad,” Quin whispered.
Jemba slithered closer, his gargantuan frame towering over Clat’Ha’s slight frame. “Choy?”
Before Master Jinn could answer, Clat’Ha growled. “I know you stole those thermocoms you sleemo!”
While the Whiphids behind Jemba bristled, the Hutt merely laughed. “Je? Moocha? Ha, ha, ha!”
Master Jinn calmly got between the two executives. “Do you know what may have happened to Ms. Clat’Ha’s equipment?”
The Hutt’s green-gold eyes narrowed, slimy grey tongue sliding across its lips. ”Chess ko, jeedai,” Jemba hissed. “Mo meendeya jee-jee nopa pateesas.”
Master Jinn raised his hands placatingly. “I ask with all due respect, Great Jemba. I apologize if my question offended.”
Obi-Wan leaned closer to Thom. “Why is he being so nice to them?” He asked quietly.
Thom’s eyes were trained on the chaos happening across from them, but he leaned down to answer. “Offworld outnumbers the crew three-to-one, it would be in no-one’s best interest if a fight broke out.”
Jemba smiled smugly. ”Koth,” the Hutt boomed. But before they could move, Clat’Ha swung around Master Jinn’s still form and got right up in Jemba’s face.
“I know it was you,” she hissed, eyes blazing. “I know you’re responsible for this, and I won’t rest till you get what you deserve.”
Jemba’s smile turned cruel. “Kava do solo?” They asked mock-sweetly. “Ta rocka rocka wermo. Juma-na?” Laughing as Clat’Ha gasped, Jemba slithered away. Their guards followed.
Master Jinn tried to put a comforting hand on Clat’Ha’s shoulder, only to be pushed away.
Before anyone could say anything, she left.
“What’d they say?” Obi-Wan asked worriedly, looking from Master Jinn to Clat’Ha’s retreating form. “What was that?”
Quin bit his lip. “Jemba asked about her brother…if…,” for the first time since he’d met him, the older boy looked uncomfortable. “It wasn’t good Obes.”
The rest of the mess slowly returned to their meal, now that their entertainment for the morning had ended.
Except the Arconan who’d trailed after Clat’ha as she spoke with Master Jinn.
Obi-Wan observed them as his table mates finished eating.
While they had the distinctive triangular head and flat face all Arconans possessed, Obi-Wan noticed they were slightly shorter. With skin that looked more green than the more common grey. Glowing green eyes swept across the mess hall nervously.
Thom stood, causing both boys to look at him. He offered them a reassuring smile.
“I’m gonna go check on a few job postings I put in for,” he nodded back towards their cabin, “so if you two want to explore, feel free. We can meet here for mid-meal.” As he began walking, Thom shot a quick glance back at their table. “And keep him out of trouble.”
Quin held up a solemn hand. “Don’t worry dad, I’ll look out for Obes.”
The man snorted. “I was talking to Obi-Wan,” he said dryly.
Obi-Wan laughed at Quin’s outraged squawking as Thom walked away.
Once he was gone, Obi-Wan waved to the Arconan.
“What are you doing?” Quin asked, grabbing the untouched biscuit on Obi-Wan’s tray. He slid it over to the other boy.
“I’m going to ask them what happened.” Obi-Wan said matter-of-factly.
“But why?” Quin was frowning as he chewed. “We a’ready kn’w wh’t h’ppened.”
But Obi-Wan felt like he’d finally found a purpose on the Monument.
Even if he couldn’t be a knight, he could still be a Jedi. He could still stand up to the injustices of the Galaxy, starting with the missing thermocoms. Quin might not understand the sudden fire lit in Obi-Wan’s chest, but he was sure the other boy would support him regardless. That’s what made Quin, Quin.
The Arconan, who’d noticed the wave, shyly walked over.
They reminded Obi-Wan of the stray tooka he’d taken care of as a youngling, with their big green eyes and twitching fingers. Lula had been much the same, before Master Ali-Alann had told Obi-Wan that the Temple was for younglings and Jedi—not little tooka kits.
“May we help you?” They asked softly.
Obi-Wan frowned, looking behind their guest before shooting a questioning glance at Quin. His friend shrugged.
“Um, I’m Obi-Wan and this is my friend Quin,” he waved, “what’s your name?”
The Arconan took the offered seat. “We are Si Treemba,” they introduced.
It was a little strange Si Treemba kept saying ”we” even though they were alone. Obi-Wan wondered if it was simply a mistranslation of pronouns or if there was more to it than that. Either way, it was a little different but not terribly so.
“Are you okay? Things looked like they got a little heated. Is it okay to ask what happened?” Si Treemba had been with Clat’Ha as she argued with Master Jinn. Had trailed into the mess with her, as a matter of fact. Which meant they knew more than anyone else about the situation, except for maybe Master Jinn and Clat’Ha herself. They might have a clue about what happened to the thermocoms.
The Arconan bowed their head sadly. “Thank you for your concern, Obi-Wan,” Si Treemba sighed. “We were asked by Miss Clat’Ha to check on our new tunnelers this morning—it’s one of our jobs,” Si Treemba proudly informed them. Both Obi-Wan and Quin offered suitably impressed looks so the Arconan could continue. “But when we did our routine inspection, we noticed the thermocoms had been removed and the coring couplers were damaged.”
Quin frowned. “Damaged in what way?” He’d abandoned what was left on Obi-Wan’s tray as Si Treemba spoke, dark eyes narrowed thoughtfully.
“The outer casings had been stripped,” Si Treemba replied mournfully, their earlier pride at having such an important job vanishing. “The wiring that would carry out the command to disengage the tunneler was cut.”
“Are you sure it wasn’t just a scurrier?” Obi-Wan knew that although the mouse-droids did a good job of keeping pests out of ships, some still managed to sneak through. With a ship as dirty and ill-cared for as the Monument, it was unfortunately the more-likely explanation.
A nod. “We found no chew marks,” Si Treemba whispered. “The cut was clean.”
“And you’re sure the tunnelers had their thermocoms before they were loaded on?” Quin chimed in. “Lotsa gangs and other bad folk in a spaceport, might’ve decided to nick something small that could fetch a profit.”
Obi-Wan hadn’t thought about that! What if the thermocoms weren’t even on the ship? What if they were still on Coruscant? The hope that had been building when he finally thought he could help someone, began to flag. What can a Temple-reject do that a fully trained Jedi Master can’t?
But Si Treemba was nodding. “We are sure,” they said seriously. “Miss Clat’Ha insists we check the tunnelers everyday, there’s a report.” They waved their hands. “It shows the thermocoms were there yesterday, and that the coring couplers were undamaged.”
So several machines that were managed by Arcona Mineral were deliberately damaged, either by Offworld or by someone who’d want Offworld to take the blame. Obi-Wan thought, sipping his lukewarm tea. Could Clat’Ha have done it?
The woman was incredibly angry when she’d walked in.
Dark green eyes flashed with grief. ‘You’ve just entered the middle of a war zone kid…be careful Obi-Wan.’
Then there was whatever Jemba had said about her brother, though Quin refused to translate it.
They know each other. Obi-Wan thought. Either through whatever happened on Varristad or as competing executives.
But Clat’Ha had seemed genuinely terrified of the fact Offworld had charted the same ship to take them to Bandomeer, and they couldn’t have known Master Jinn would be on the same flight. He’d told Obi-Wan his mission was classified.
An attack of opportunity?
“Is it very hard,” Obi-Wan started, “to remove thermocoms?”
Si Treemba shook their head. “Not if you’re familiar with tunnelers, all of the major sensors are located in the central drive of the engine core.”
Quin seemed to be following Obi-Wan’s line of thought. “And is it normal for them to be part of a routine inspection?” The older boy asked.
The Arconan thought for a moment.
“Most of the machinery Arcona Mineral has are second-hand,” they explained. “So we routinely check parts that are more susceptible for wear-and-tear, like the thermocoms.”
So not exactly normal, but not unusual either.
“Hey Si Treemba,” Obi-Wan looked up, “would you be able to show us the tunnelers that were damaged?”
After double checking his counter-surveillance device was engaged, Tholme pulled out his encrypted comm and dialed a familiar number.
Typically, most handheld comms couldn’t be used in hyperspace, but this wasn’t a typical device. It was specially designed by the Temple’s Technical Division for shadows, which meant that in addition to being highly encrypted, it also allowed shadows to communicate anywhere in the galaxy. Theoretically.
He didn’t have to wait long until a familiar grinning face appeared, tendrils pulled back with a strap of leatheris. “Why hello there,” the Nautolan greeted salaciously, big black eyes alight with humor. “How goes the mission?”
Tholme rolled his eyes. “Well, all things considered. We’ve got a Temple initiate onboard, two competing mining companies, and Qui-Gon Jinn.”
Kit’s forehead wrinkled. “What the kriff is a Temple initiate doing onboard a vessel like the Monument?”
Tholme would like to know that as well.
“I’m not sure, but Quinlan’s practically adopted him so it’s likely you can ask him that yourself.”
Laughter met his dry response.
“But moving on, do you happen to know why Jinn might be en route to Bandomeer? According to Obi-Wan, he said he’s here on a classified mission for the senate.”
It was highly unusual that the Council of First Knowledge hadn’t been apprised of Jinn’s mission parameters. Especially as they’d already sent a team to Bandomeer to continue their investigation of Offworld. The councils did their best to ensure their respective members wouldn’t interfere with any current missions. But with an initiate onboard, in addition to an infamously blunt consular Jedi, it seemed as though there’d been a communication breakdown somewhere down the line. One that could very easily cost Tholme and his padawan the mission.
Just lucky that Jinn probably won’t recognize us, he thought wryly.
Kit shook his head. “My source inside the governor’s office hasn’t indicated any official request has been sent for Jedi intervention,” he clicked his teeth. “If it’s a senate request, it didn’t originate from here.”
That was far more worrying than a simple communication breakdown.
“What’s the word on the ground?” Tholme asked.
The Council of First Knowledge had decided to send an advance party to gather intelligence on the planet prior to Tholme’s arrival. Although it had been a risk to send the Nautolan given their rarity on Bandomeer, it had proven beneficial as the other shadow had access to information most shadows would have had difficulty getting too.
“Disappearances have gone up, especially in Bandor, after several local mining chapters switched over to Arcona Mineral,” Kit shared, the normal smile on his face thinning. “There’s been an influx of activity on Offworld’s deep sea mining platforms.”
Tholme hummed thoughtfully. “You think the disappearances are related?”
Kit shrugged. “It’s possible,” he allowed, “a good place to make people disappear, but I haven’t been able to get near enough to verify.”
“We’ll keep it in mind,” Tholme assured. “Anything else?”
They needed to end this quickly, he didn’t like how many competing interests were onboard, but he needed to get a lay of the ground before they landed.
“There is one thing,” Kit said. His forehead was creased. “There’s rumors about a new Offworld exec taking over their Bandomeer operations.”
Tholme frowned. “Not Jemba?” It had been a surprise to find the Hutt onboard, as he typically preferred to stay planetside. All of their previous intelligence on Offworld indicated he was the current executive who’d taken over the corporation’s Bandomeer portfolio.
Kit shook his head. “No, that’s what’s odd. I haven’t been able to find a name, but supposedly it’s a human male, aged between twenty and twenty-five.”
That was incredibly young for a company like Offworld to entrust such a large investment too. Jemba might have been problematic, but he had a history of turning a profit for the company and ties to some of the major syndicates. Why would they be replacing him?
Deciding they’d been on long enough, Tholme nodded. “We’ll be planet-side in about two days, we’ll rendezvous then.”
Offering a cocky grin and one last flirtatious wink, Kit signed off.
Cheeky bastard.
“So this is where you keep the tunnelers?”
Quinlan had to admit Obi-Wan had good instincts, the younger boy getting Si Treemba to open up about his experience with Arcona Mineral, how long he’d been working with the company, and about Arconans in general.
Turns out Arconans were hatched in nests, that could range anywhere from twenty to thirty individuals being born at a time. As a result, they had no sense of individual self, instead looking at the world as a collective whole—the ubiquitous we of their vocabulary. They did everything together, having evolved to rely on one another completely. Where one Arconan was, their community followed.
Would I have been able to get Si Treemba to have revealed so much if I was by myself?
One of the first things he’d learned as a shadow-in-training was that of the various sources of intelligence that was available, the most essential—and unfortunately most unreliable—was sentient-intelligence. There might be entire divisions devoted to intercepting comms or signals from hostile organizations, but shadows relied on intelligence that could only be gathered from other sentient beings. Their emotions and unique perspectives often revealed more about a situation than hard data ever could.
Quinlan had an advantage in some regards, due to his psychometry, but he still hadn’t quite mastered the ability to foster camaraderie with potential informants. Not like Master Tholme or Knight Fisto.
I wonder if Obes would be interested in shadow-training? He thought, turning to look at his friend.
Obi-Wan looked ridiculous in the dingy blue worksuit he’d borrowed, though Quinlan couldn’t help but think it was kind of cute. There was just something about the other boy, something Quinlan wasn’t sure was the Force or his own instincts, that told him Obi-Wan was someone he could trust. Maybe I can convince Master to train the both of us…
Si Treemba nodded. “Yes, Miss Clat’Ha had already leased the cargo hold for the machinery before we’d boarded.”
Quinlan glanced at the keypad. It was a generic model, one found on most ships and easy to splice. It didn’t even require a passcode, simply a pre-programmed keycard that Si Treemba had pulled out of a pocket. Easy to duplicate or lift with no one the wiser.
“D’ya know how many folks have access to the hold?” Quin asked.
Another lesson he’d learnt was to try and narrow the pool of suspects as quickly as possible. Right now, their potential suspects were too many to count. It could’ve been someone from Arcona Mineral hoping to place suspicion on Offworld, just as easily as it could have been some underling hoping to climb through the ranks.
Not to mention a crew member hoping to make a quick credit.
The Arconan frowned as he counted out on his fingers. “We do, as does Miss Clat’Ha. A couple of senior miners and the safety engineer.” His frown deepened, before lighting up. “As does the crew, for safety reasons.”
Alright, twenty or so potential suspects is a lot more manageable than a couple hundred.
Obi-Wan was inspecting a nearby tunneler. “Do you know if anyone from Offworld uses this hold?”
That was actually a pretty good question. Quinlan was kind of disappointed he hadn’t thought about it himself.
Si Treemba shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
And we’re back to a couple hundred. Holding in his sigh, Quin took a closer look.
The tunnelers were obviously old, though in suprisingly good condition. A bit like a hover-us, the digging equipment was stationed towards the front of the vehicle, while further down there was an entrance for miners to get on and off as needed. There was a control panel just to the left of the cab. From the outside, it didn’t look like anyone might have tampered with it—but looks could be deceiving.
Obi-Wan was frowning. “Just how big are thermocoms?” He asked.
Si Treemba held apart his thumb and index finger to indicate their size. It was small, about three inches or so. “They are very small, easy to conceal.”
From the look on Obi-Wan’s face, Quinlan could tell his friend was willing to tear apart the entire ship in his search. Not wanting to go though the various storage rooms, lounges, or cabins the Monument boasted—not to mention the trash compactor, yuck—Quinlan made a quick decision.
“Hey uh, Obes?” He whispered.
His friend shot him a curious glance, but obligingly leaned closer. Master Tholme was probably gonna blow a gasket at Quinlan for ruining their cover, but they needed this information. “Can you distract Si Treemba? I’ve got an idea on how to find out what happened to those thermocoms but I need some privacy to do it.”
Although his look of curiousity deepened, Obi-Wan didn’t ask any questions. Something Quinlan was absurdly grateful for.
“Hey Si Treemba, how long have you been working for Arcona Mineral again?” Obi-Wan asked, already leading the other boy further down the cargo hold.
“Oh, well we have been—“ as the two carried on their conversation, Quinlan carefully pulled off one of his gloves. It was risky, especially seeing as these vehicles were second-hand, but he might be able to get the most recent impression off it, which could lead them to the saboteur. He’d have to try.
His palm met cool durasteel.
”I’ve got a great deal for you,” a rodian salesman grinned.
“Stupid hunk of junk’s malfunctioned again—“
A woman with reddish-brown hair was inspecting the tunneler, making notes on a datapad as she went.
Si Treemba, carefully inspecting each part of the tunneler, wanting to impress their new boss. Hands tracing the couplers and exhaust vents. Taking in the various sensors and belts, making a note on his pad with each piece he looked at.
A cold presence in the Force, anger and cruelty emanating from their being. It had been easy to swipe the keycard off that stupid Meerian. Two drinks in and already boasting about the fleet of vehicles Arcona Mineral had secured on Coruscant. A few credits slipped to a crew member, and the cameras monitoring the hold were turned off.
The Hutt smiled. Jemba would be pleased.
Quinlan gasped as he came back to the present, hand trembling as he worked his glove back on.
Obi-Wan was looking at him with concern, their Arconan companion nowhere in sight.
“S-Si Treemba?” Quinlan asked, voice shaky.
“He said he’d go check with Clat’Ha if there’d been any progress on the missing parts,” Obi-Wan answered, pale brows furrowed. “Are you—“
Quinlan cut him off. “We need to get back to our room,” he said hurriedly. “I know who took the thermocoms.”
“So, just to sum it up,” Tholme began, dark eyes going from his guilty padawan to Obi-Wan. “You both decided to investigate the missing parts, without informing a responsible adult, despite the fact you knew we’re currently in the middle of a corporate showdown between Offworld and Arcona Mineral.”
The boys flinched.
“Secondly,” Tholme ticked off. “You somehow managed to enlist an Arconan into your plans, and entered a secure cargo hold.”
Quinlan glumly stared ahead as Obi-Wan offered a hesitant nod.
“Last, you managed to blow your cover barely two days into our mission and reveal a rare Force gift in front of an initiate—though you felt it was worth it, since you managed to uncover the identity of the saboteur.” Tholme concluded. “Was there anything I missed?”
Obi-Wan looked up, blue eyes apologetic. “It was my fault sir. Quin was only trying to help,” he looked down. “I thought if I found out what happened to the thermocoms, I could still be…” swallowing, the boy seemed to grow even smaller. “…that I could still be a Jedi…” The last bit was said so quietly Tholme had to lean in to hear it.
“If you should punish anyone, it should be me.”
Quinlan glared at his friend. “No way Obes!” He turned back to his master. “I was the one who decided to risk our mission. Obes was doing a great job gathering intel, but I didn’t want to do the footwork in searching for the parts!” His dark eyes were filled with fiery determination. “It’s my fault master, punish me!”
“Quin—“
“Obes—“
“Enough.” Both boys startled, wide eyes turning back to Tholme. “No one is getting punished,” the Jedi master sighed.
Although it wasn’t ideal, Quinlan was right.
They didn’t have the time, or the manpower, to search the entire ship top to bottom. Not to mention the potential risks that such a search could have presented. The Monument was one giant powder-keg waiting to blow. His padawan had chosen discretion over valor, even though it meant exposing his Force-sensitivity.
He crouched down, making sure to meet both boys’ eyes. “I’m proud of you two,” Tholme said quietly. They looked surprised at the comment, though he made sure to send sincerity-pride-amusement down his bond with Quinlan. His padawan blinked wetly. “I won’t say I’m impressed at the way you put yourselves in harm’s way,” they both looked away embarrassedly, “but it was a good call to gather intel from a primary source and secure a list of potential suspects.”
Obi-Wan flushed a soft pink, while a smile curled at the edges of Quinlan’s lips.
Tholme looked at Obi-Wan. “Since the loth cat’s out of the bag, Quinlan and I were sent to investigate Offworld’s business dealings on Bandomeer,” the initiate stared, even as his padawan shot him an incredulous look. “Don’t give me that look Quinlan, your friend is exceptionally clever and probably would have figured it out if given half the chance.” His padawan pouted, while Obi-Wan let out a quiet giggle. “Obviously we’d appreciate your discretion, our mission depends on it.”
The boy was nodding before Tholme finished. “Of course master, I wouldn’t betray you or Quin like that. I promise.”
The Force rang with his sincerity, and the shadow couldn’t help but smile. “I know that youngling,” he assured. “But as shadows, our identities are held even from our fellow Jedi. For their safety, and ours.” He stressed.
Pale brows furrowing, Obi-Wan tilted his head. “Then why is Master Jinn aboard, sir?”
He flicked the boy’s forehead. “I thought we already talked about all that ‘sir’ nonsense,” Tholme groused. Obi-Wan’s face turned chagrined. “But that’s a very good question Obi-Wan.”
Quinlan, apparently feeling left out, sent a quick nudge through their bond. “We weren’t informed by CoFK that another Jedi was being assigned to Bandomeer,” he commented, though the nudge was inquisitive.
“No padawan, we weren’t,” Tholme said. “Though considering we also have an initiate onboard, in addition to Master Jinn, I feel there’s more at work than a mere communication breakdown.”
Obi-Wan flushed darker.
“Do you know why you’re on the Monument?”
Playing with a stray thread on Quinlan’s spare worksuit, the initiate shrugged. “Master Vant said I’d been reassigned to AgriCorps. Said it didn’t matter my birthday wasn’t for another four weeks, the ship I was supposed to head out on was already prepping to leave.”
Quinlan frowned beside him. “You didn’t meet with the Council of Reassignment?” He asked.
Tholme was similarly confused. Crechemasters weren’t in charge of informing initiates of reassignments, and they certainly didn’t send their charges on public vessels to their supposed posting. “Obi-Wan,” Tholme said softly, “did you even choose the AgriCorps?”
Blue eyes glanced up at him in shock. “Choose?” He asked, surprise coloring his voice.
Quinlan’s frown deepened. “Yeah,” he said. “You’re allowed to choose which corps you’d prefer if you’re not selected by a master.” His nose scrunched up. “Reassignment never mentioned that?”
Obi-Wan shook his head. “I never met with them,” he answered.
This was not how things were done. What the kark was going on at the Temple?
Deciding that they’d address the mystery of Obi-Wan’s reassignment later, Tholme turned the conversation towards a different topic. “Regardless of how you got here, I’m glad you did.” Obi-Wan’s look of surprise faded into something more vulnerable, and beside him, Quinlan offered his own sweet smile. “Even though it might not be the safest, I’d prefer if you’d accompany Quinlan and I as we complete our mission. We can take you back to Temple once we’re done, and figure out what happened then.”
“Really?” Obi-Wan asked, mouth quivering as he held Tholme’s gaze. “You’d—you both w-want me?”
Quinlan was nodding enthusiastically, projecting yes-YES-YES!!! through the Force. Tholme was more restrained though equally as sincere in his response. “Of course you have the opportunity to decline, but you’ve already shown a remarkable knack for investigating and I need all the help keeping this one,” he nodded towards Quinlan, “out of trouble.”
“Hey!”
But Obi-Wan was still looking up at him, expression heartbreakingly insecure. “R-really?” He asked, voice small. “N-no one wants me.”
Gangly arms wrapped around Obi-Wan’s skinny form, before the boy was pulled into Quinlan’s chest. There was a soft oof as he collided with the padawan, though he didn’t fight Quinlan’s sudden embrace.
“You’re awesome Obes,” his padawan murmured, burying his face in ginger locks. “I’m sorry those koochoos at Temple can’t see that, but we can see it for ourselves. You’re awesome, and don’t let anyone ever tell you anything different.”
There was a wet sniffle in the vicinity of Quinlan’s chest.
Tholme nodded. “You’re wanted Obi-Wan, more than you know.”
After several minutes had passed, where both shadows assured Obi-Wan of how much they wanted him there and the initiate shyly agreed to stay with them for the duration of their mission, Tholme turned back to Quinlan.
“You said you knew who’d stolen the thermocoms,” he started.
“Right,” Quinlan said, finally releasing his hold on the smaller boy.
Obi-Wan tried to straighten out the wrinkles on his borrowed clothes, though it was a lost cause. Quinlan rarely had clothes that weren’t wrinkled to begin with.
“I got a few different impressions, but the last one was the most recent.” His padawan explained the emotions coming off the being who’d stolen the sensors, how they’d been deliberate in their plan to get to them and had even paid off a crew member to turn a blind eye to the theft.
In the middle of his explanation, Tholme’s pad chimed. He opened his inbox to find a message from the bridge.
“It was a Hutt, but not Jemba,” Quinlan concluded. “They were hoping it would impress him enough that they’d get a promotion.”
Tholme looked up from his pad. “That’s gonna be hard,” the Jedi master said, expression grim. “Jemba’s dead.”
The last two days aboard the Monument were tense, its passengers doing their best to avoid one another.
Jemba had been found dead in his stateroom, guards stationed just outside.
Though there were no obvious signs of foul play, suspicion had instantly fallen on Clat’Ha. Everyone who’d been in the mess that morning recalled her threat of Jemba getting what he deserved.
Fortunately, the chief operations manager for Arconan Mineral had several witnesses who placed her on the opposite side of the ship at the time of Jemba’s death. Despite the alibi, the woman still received dirty looks from the assorted Offworld employees. Including a Hutt who Quinlan identified as the saboteur.
Obi-Wan realized it was the same Hutt who had accosted him outside the quartermaster’s office.
Everyone breathed a quiet sigh of relief when the Monument finally docked in Bandor.
Quin checked the headscarf one last time, giving an experimental tug. He grinned when it remained stationary, not a single lock of hair exposed.
Obi-Wan’s red hair was far too recognizable, and they didn’t have the materials required to dye it. Not that Quin wanted to, the younger boy’s ginger curls were simply precious. Tholme had been considering a cut, until Quin quickly recommended a headscarf, remembering they were common place on Kiffu and wouldn’t look out of place in Bandor due to the air pollution.
Sacrificing one of Tholme’s tunics to the cause, much to Obi-Wan’s embarrassment and the Jedi master’s amusement, Quin had spent the last two days tucking and hemming the material, then showed Obi-Wan how to wear it.
He smiled. “Got your stun baton?” He whispered.
As an initiate, Obi-Wan hadn’t received any prior instruction on non-Jedi weapons, which meant the vibro-knives Tholme and Quin favored were out of the question. Luckily, Master Tholme had packed a few non-lethal weapons, and it was the work of a moment to teach Obi-Wan how to use it.
His friend nodded, subtly patting a hidden pocket of the borrowed worksuit.
Beside them, Master Tholme smiled. “Boys,” his voice was soft, “welcome to Bandomeer.”