summary: On Tattoine, many years after TPM, Obi-Wan has an
unexpected encounter. This story contains speculation about
episodes 2 and 3.
disclaimer: This is George's universe. I'm just a pushy
tourist, getting in everyone's way snapping pictures and
grabbing souvenirs.
One last look at the small moisture farm, and then I head off
into the desert and my necessary isolation. The child will be
safe here; the last place that Anakin (or should I call him
Vader now?) will come looking is on this accursed planet.
The others of my kind are in hiding or already dead. I've felt
their lights extinguished over the last few months as I've fled
with Amidala and the twins from one haven to another. I may be
the last Jedi left, besides Yoda. He still lives; I can feel
his life force, reminding me of the old days, of the Jedi
Temple, of my lost Master.
The deserts of Tatooine are unspeakably hot; only someone as
foolish as a Jedi would set off across them under the blazing
noonday suns. My refuge is 50 kilometers from the farm, close
enough for me to keep an eye on things. The boy may need me.
His Uncle Owen was not exactly willing to take on the extra
burden of another mouth to feed, not to mention the threat of
bringing the wrath of the newly formed Empire down on his
family. Yet, there is kindness beneath his gruff exterior and I
believe that he and his wife will provide the boy with the kind
of home that I, who must spend the rest of my life in hiding,
would never be able to do.
My thoughts turn to Amidala and the girl, safe in the care of
Bail Organa on Alderan. I will never forget the sorrow in her
face as she said her final goodbye to her son. We both knew
that it would be safer if we separated; increasing the chances
that at least one of the twins would survive. I believe they
are the only hope that any of us have left.
Amidala. I might have loved her if things had been different.
Anakin believed I did love her; Palpatine convinced him that
our friendship was something more and that we had betrayed him
in the worst possible way. It was one of the many lies and
promises that he used to draw my former student to his ruin. If
I had only told him that my heart belonged to another, perhaps
he would not have turned, but who's to say? Maybe it was his
fate.
My reverie is interrupted by the tell tale odor of banthas. I
can't help but smile; my neighbors, the Tuscan raiders, are out
hunting for me again. I've heard that their leader has vowed to
use my worthless pink hide for a new pair of boots for his
mate. We shall have many years to get to know each other; I
suspect that they will be my only entertainment in this long
exile.
The long minutes pass by as I hide in the shadows of a cliff,
calling upon the force to eradicate any trace of me. At last,
they move on and I continue on my way.
The cave that I now call home is almost in sight, when I feel a
disturbance in the force. My heart sinks, as I reach for my
lightsaber. One of the Emperor's minions has found me and so
quickly too. I should turn and run, but I don't. The ripples of
the force that reach out for me are familiar. Rumours reached
us that when Vader swept through the Jedi Temple, he took a
number of the students alive in hopes of turning them to the
dark side. Maybe the one who waits to take my life is one of
the young people that I instructed on my last visit to
Coruscant, before everything turned to ashes. If it is, then I
have a duty to spare this unfortunate one the long slow descent
into hell that awaits him at the hands of his dark master.
Using the force, I open the door to my humble home and project
an image of myself entering. Nothing happens; my deception has
failed. Oh well, who wants to live forever? Carefully, I move
inside, ready to face my enemy.
A lightsaber appears in the darkness and he lunges for me. I
step to the side and slash, but he leaps away. Our lightsabers
poised, we regard each other. He is very big, much larger than
any of the young ones that I remember and he wears a hideous
mask. He feints to his left, but I've seen that one before and
I'm ready for him when charges from the right. Our sabers
clash, filling the tiny cavern with the sizzle of energy. We
are close enough for me to smell the scent of his body and
suddenly, I am angry, angrier then I've been in a long time.
I fling him back. He stumbles, and I seize the opportunity. The
smell of burning flesh fills the room as my lightsaber leaves a
vicious trail across his chest. He groans and sinks to the
ground, dropping his weapon, which automatically deactivates
and rolls away.
I should finish him, but something compels me to see his face
first. I rip the mask away and then it is I who sink to the
ground, while the world crumbles around me.
Master Qui-Gon.
And not Master Qui-Gon. He is younger, in his 20's, but the
face, the beloved face, is the same; the strong features, the
endlessly deep blue eyes, now filled with pain and fury. He has
no beard. Funny, I've never seen my Master without a beard; it
doesn't seem right.
I am not a fool; I know he's a clone. I've certainly fought
enough of them in my life, but I've never seen one of Qui-Gon.
I guess I assumed the enemy didn't have his genetic material.
He hisses in agony as he tries to rise. I raise my lightsaber
over his heart. He must die; there is no choice. Those eyes,
replicas of the ones that gazed on me so many years ago with
love and pride, show no fear; only defiance.
"Did they give you a name?" I ask. He doesn't speak, but the
force tells me that the answer is no. "Every creature should
have a name. I'll call you Joren." Joren was the name of a pet
Cori-nel that I had for awhile when I was a boy, until the
masters at the temple found it and took it away.
Rising, I rummage through my scattered belongings until I find
a medikit. Joren regards me in complete disbelief as I wash the
deep wound and apply the healing gel. I step back and use the
force to levitate him to my cot.
Kneeling by the cot, I help him drink. Not too much; water is a
precious comodity here. Difficult to find, even for a Jedi.
"Why?" he whispers.
I have no answer, so I set about preparing my dinner. He
watches me while I eat, as I watch him. He's about the age I
was when my Master was taken from me, and I'm about the age
that Qui-Gon was when he died. The silver in my long hair and
beard remind me of him every time I glance in the mirror.
Joren's hair is clipped short. If he had a braid, I would
believe that life had come full circle.
Master Qui-Gon would tell me to kill him now. Kill him and not
risk my life for a genetic duplicate, but I won't. I shall tame
him instead. The force is strong with him and he's clearly been
trained to some degree; yet, he has no true sense of self, and
I shall use that to my advantage.
There are many years left before the boy is ready to be trained
to fulfill his destiny. This clone, this replica, of the only
one that I have ever loved will help me survive the loneliness
of my desert prison.
I know what my fate is to be; I foresaw it on the terrible day
when Qui-Gon died. Death holds no fear for me as it will at
last reunite me with my Master, but until that day I shall take
solace in this gift from the dark side.
It may be that Joren has a destiny of his own. We shall see.
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