Archive of Our Own

“Oh, Force.” He sat down heavily in his chair and slowly raised his feet up on his desk. “I miss field work.”

A fresh cup of cold tea appeared at his elbow. “No, you don’t, Iggs. You’re just feeling the impending sense of doom everyone gets a few months before Master Yoda tells them to start looking at initiates.”

“No, Leila, I mean it. Sure, field work is exhausting, with mud, sleet, ice, windstorms, native fauna and flora and rockslides. But the field doesn’t ask me questions.”

Leila chuckled as she sat down at the adjacent desk. “How many were there?”

“Twelve, but it felt like a hundred.”

Leila laughed outright. “It’s not the same without Elliot popping in to be an extra set of hands.”

“And an extra brain,” Iggs agreed. “Think we can get any new volunteers?”

Leila shrugged. “We will eventually, but right now I can’t think of anyone to help. Zake is enjoying his retirement too much. Phyllos is too frail now. Schezen is starting to get bored, I’d say we’ll have a new volunteer, at least for the crystal classes, in a few months, but we probably won’t have anyone to help in the saber-building classes for a while.”

“Elliot is a hard act to follow,” Iggs sipped his tea. “At least Master Yoda is starting to look a little better.”

“Oh, I know,” Leila smiled faintly. “He was helping some students learn to feel the crystals last week, but he’s surprisingly unhelpful in saber building classes.”

Iggs paused, thinking it over. “Why? Surely, he’s built more sabers than the average Jedi over the centuries. Even if he rarely loses them, they do eventually wear out.”

“Don’t even get me started. First, he talks backwards; that’s fine for crystal contemplation, but not when giving directions to children building a potential bomb. Secondly, he’s so old he uses older terms, different units and studied advanced saber design in a different language. And finally, he has to climb up on each worktable to help. He’s a great source of wisdom about sabers and has good insights on customization but for adults in a classroom or the salle, not children in the workshop.”

Iggs chuckled at the mental image of Yoda climbing up and down from each worktable to check the student’s work. “Did Elliot have any padawans or mentees we could recruit?”

“Schezen is the only padawan left. Moosie died a long time ago. But he did mentor a few. I would have suggested Jono, even though he’s a field knight, but that was before he lost his hand. I’ll ask when he comes back to the workshop, but it depends on how much dexterity he’s managed to get back with the prosthetic.”

“Jono would be good with the kids, but not if he can’t manage the tools. Telekinesis is good and all for your own weapon, but it’s unhelpful for teaching,” Iggs sighed.

“Sister Selma is on the lookout for us for bored retirees. She said she may not find anyone on the South Terrace, but they have regular social events with other retired Jedi, so she’s been asking around.”

“Thank the Force for socially well-connected nuns.”

A knock on the far door sounded both timid and anxious. Iggs felt a nudge from the Force. “I’ll get it, you prep for your senior padawan seminar.”

Leila nodded her thanks, then began reviewing her notes, preparing for a zillion questions about multi-crystal blades from students who still couldn’t optimize single-crystal blades to their full potential. She was bringing an oscilloscope today and a very nice single-crystal blade Moosie had built long ago. The students were usually both awed and humbled by how strong a single-crystal blade could be when one really put their mind into building it.

Suppressing a groan as his feet protested standing up, Iggs shook himself, then headed to the door and opened it just as whoever was on the other side raised their hand to knock again.

“Can I help you?” he asked, startled to see a young boy dressed in a general field tunic and carrying a rucksack.

The child looked up at him, obviously intimidated by this tall knight he did not know. “M-Master L,” he managed to get out.

Iggs felt his face crumple as he backed up and indicated the boy should come in. After he closed the door behind him, he crouched down so they could speak at the same level.

“I’m sorry, young one. Master Ell isn’t here. He’s joined the Force.”

The youngster took a deep breath, obviously upset. Elliot had been a favorite of the children. This one would have been among his last groups of young students before he grew ill.

“I-I know!” the boy took another breath, calming himself. “I was at his funeral.” Another breath. “Before he died,” his voice broke a little. “He asked me to bring back my training saber when I didn’t need it anymore.” He unhooked the small, silver hilt from his belt and placed it on the table, following the safety rules for passing weapons in the workshop. “Here it is.”

Iggs frowned at the boy. The saber was just starting to be too small for his hands, but he could probably get another year or two out of it if he added grips to the hilt.

“Are you sure you won’t need it? And did Master Ell say why he wanted you to bring it back?”

The boy was looking at the floor. “Yes, I’m sure.” He sighed. “It has a really nice stone. I think he wanted it back. If I gave it to the docents, you wouldn’t get the stone back.”

Iggs grimaced. Most of the time the training sabers were disassembled and recycled, although the docents kept a few to replace broken ones or sabers that were outgrown too quickly. The Crystal Department had noticed that the nicest stones mysteriously never got returned with the other components and suspected at least one of the docents was diverting them to be sold as Jedi Stones on the black market. It was definitely a problem they could no longer ignore if the students knew about it.

“I don’t recall Master Ell waiting on a stone, but I can check the notes he left behind. What was your name?”

The boy was still looking at the floor. “Obi-Wan Kenobi, Master.”

Iggs chuckled. “I’m just a knight, Obi-Wan Kenobi, but let me see if I can find out why Master Ell wanted the stone.”

“Thank you.” The boy peeked up at him, a grateful look in his light eyes.

Iggs picked up the hilt and carried it into the back office, mumbling the child’s name to keep it in his mind as went to the cabinet where they kept a box of things Elliot had left behind that no one knew what to do with. On the very top was a framed flatpic of Elliot and Moosie, both looking up at the camera in surprise from where they were leaning over the workbench. Iggs smiled at it. They would have to find a nice place to hang it in the saber-building complex. The rest of the box contained odds and ends, data chips, heavily annotated texts and notebooks. (Like Moosie, Elliot had liked to draw things out). Iggs found the notes from Elliot’s last class, and a quick scan found nothing obvious, but he could take a more thorough look later. He put his palm on the hilt and yes, that did feel like a nice stone, but he wouldn’t know for sure until he opened it up to take it apart. He was opening the cabinet again to put the box back when he spied a padded envelope that must have fallen out of the box. He reached for it and as it came into the light he could see Elliot had written something along the top.

Kenobi, Obi-Wan. Training saber, and a date from almost two years ago.

“Why did you want the saber, Elliot?” Iggs asked, not expecting an answer as he opened the envelope and peeked inside.

“Oh.”

The envelope contained a small plaque in the same style as the large saber display case.

Training Saber with Safety Blade

Single Crystal, Asteroidal Sapphire

Initiate Obi-Wan Kenobi

Human, Age 11 years

It also listed the date the saber had been first lit and there was a flatpic print of a slightly younger Obi-Wan beaming next to Elliot, his brand-new training saber blazing in the safety box behind them. Elliot still looked healthy and very proud. Iggs suddenly realized what was meant to go in that last space left in the case.

The envelope also contained a printout of the saber’s schematics as well as a mechanical drawing of the hilt, the latter quite good for a child, with notes in Elliot’s hand. It was clear from the drawing that Elliot had kept a light hand on guiding young Kenobi, that the boy had a very good grasp of the mechanics, and most of the suggestions were for refinements that students didn’t usually get into until they made their real sabers the next year.

Iggs picked up the hilt and could just barely feel Elliot’s approval in it. He would have been so happy his student had brought this back when they were ready to move on.

He put everything back in the envelope, then put it on his desk with the hilt on top, then walked back to Obi-Wan to see if he wanted to wait while he put it in the display case. The boy looked up at him anxiously when he returned. He had a book tucked against his chest as if it would protect him from dangers unseen.

“Do you teach lightsaber classes?” Obi-Wan asked before Iggs could get a word in.

“Yes,” he answered, surprised. “I specialize more in crystals, but I do teach some saber-building classes also.”

Obi-Wan nodded, satisfied with his answer, then held out the book. “Master L gave me this. I can’t take it with me, and I think he’d want it to go to someone who would use it and my friends won’t understand.”

Iggs took the book, immediately recognizing it as a print copy of Elliot’s biography of Moosie and an introduction to Kanu techniques. It was much too advanced for a child Obi-Wan’s age, but Iggs suspected Elliot had known he wouldn’t live long enough for the boy to grow into it, even if he would benefit from it.

“You don’t want to keep it?” Iggs asked as he opened it, surprised to find a bookmark between the pages and a note from Elliot on the flyleaf. “It’s a little old for you, but I’d guess Master Ell wanted you to have it when you needed it, even if you can’t understand all the math and physics now.”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “I can’t take it with me, and I have to go.”

Iggs frowned, wondering why this child hadn’t just put it in storage or left it in his quarters if his master had a mission offworld. Some masters took no attachments to an unhealthy extreme, expecting new padawans to give up all of their childhood belongings, even ones they might still need or use.

Obi-Wan’s chin wobbled and Iggs realized he was fighting tears.

“Why don’t I just hold onto this for you until you come back, so you’ll have it when you need it?”

Obi-Wan still didn’t look up, but he shook his head. “Master L made a mistake when he gave it to me. It should go to someone who can use it.”

Trying not to wince at his stiff back, he crouched down again, hoping Obi-Wan would at least look at him. “I don’t think Master Ell made a mistake, he just knew he had to give it to you early, when you were too young to understand it. This is a great book, but you won’t need it until you’re old enough to make a multi-crystal blade.”

Obi-Wan shrugged. “I could understand some of it, and it was amazing. And I know I don’t know enough math yet to understand everything. But Master L made a mistake. I tried to tell him, but he didn’t believe me. I promised I would read it, and I did, as much as I could, but I can’t take it with me and I won’t need it later, and it’s a wonderful book and it should go to someone who will use it.” He looked up, eyes bright with tears. “The docents won’t understand and will just throw it away. Because Master L made a mistake.”

Iggs couldn’t argue that the docents would understand. Saber crystals were just something they couldn’t feel without the training and Force sensitivity the students had. “I understand.” He reached out to touch the boy’s arm. “But why do you think you won’t need this when you’re grown?” As he touched the boy he felt his Force presence like a jolt, feeling it in his fingers in a way his general Force sense could not. This one was much stronger than he appeared and also seemed to lean toward the U, an advantage in reading stones. No wonder Elliot had had his eye on him.

The tears finally escaped, spilling down his cheeks and onto his tunic.

“Farmers don’t build lightsabers.”

Oh.

“I’m sorry, young one.” He pulled away, rubbing his fingers against his palm, stunned the Jedi were letting a child that powerful in the U slip away, and to the Agri Corps of all places, where his talents would not be nurtured, withering like fruit on the vine, never harvested.

“I have to go. Will you find someone to take it?” he asked.

“I will.”

The boy swiped his face with his sleeve. “Thank you, Master,” he mumbled, then turned and fled before Iggs could say another word.

All he could think was it was a terrible waste. With a sigh, Iggs walked back into the rear office to put the book with the rest of Elliot’s things, to wait for the next student or knight who had a talent for the stones. He leafed through the pages and found some sheets of flimsi with notes about different types of stones. Most students Obi-Wan’s age and younger described them in terms of yes and no, indicating whether the stones sang for them or not. These notes (and judging by the handwriting, he suspected they were Obi-Wan’s) described the stones in surprising detail.

Argan Emerald: purrs like a happy tooka

Correlian Citrine: high-pitched like a bird

Alderaanni Sapphire: sings very loud, the notes change like a little song. A loud song.

This wasn’t how most Jedi heard the stones, this was how a crystal reader read the stones, hearing subtleties in all of them like a sommelier tasting wines, discerning fine differences most others could not.

Iggs turned to the inscription.

Obi-Wan,

It will be many years before you are old enough to understand everything in this book, but this hard-earned knowledge will help you brave the many challenges you will face as a knight someday. Don’t lose heart, Sweet Boy. I know you will be a great Jedi, even if it seems so hard now.

May the Force be with you,

Master ‘L’

Iggs closed the book.

Ouch.

“No wonder he wanted to give it away,” Iggs sighed. With Elliot gone he couldn’t even give it back.

“Hmm?” Leila asked as she packed up her notes.

“Leila, do you know an initiate named Obi-Wan Kenobi?”

“A little,” she nodded. “Good stone reader. Elliot wanted him to bring back his training saber when he outgrew it for the display case. Why?”

Iggs held up the small hilt. “He did.”

“So soon?” Leila asked. “Masters usually prefer new padawans have a training saber as a backup.”

“He’s being sent to the Agri Corps.”

“Kriff!” Leila’s eyes blazed in anger. “Elliot was afraid that would happen.” She released her anger, but the disappointment remained. “Those assholes. The least they could have done was send him to the Eng Corps and we could have used him as a technician. He leans to the U. What do they think he’s going to do in the Agri Corps? Shovel manure?”

“Well he’s not going to be helping the faltering crops,” Iggs sighed. “Why didn’t he get a master?”

Leila rolled her eyes. “For the same reason Moosie almost ended up in the Eng Corps. The docents didn’t think he was knight material, too many of the masters agreed and he ended up in A-group. You know how they treat A-group. Less enriched classes. Less opportunities to meet with potential masters. They’re discouraged from trying to advance and not recognized when they do well.”

“Did he have emotional issues?” Emotional dysregulation and significant academic difficulties were supposed to be the main reasons children were assigned to A-group.

“No more than any other senior initiate who was being ignored by the masters.” Leila shook her head. “That’s a shame.”

Iggs picked up the hilt, turning it over, then pulled out the mechanical drawing. “Was it an academic issue?” Perhaps the boy’s talents were one-sided.

Leila sighed. “He leaned to the U and had a lower midi-chlorian count than most of the initiates who are selected. Elliot called it the double whammy. He used the Force just fine, but had trouble sensing the L. The initiates curriculum deals with the L more than the U. You know the docents and teachers favor children strong in the L, they don’t use the U in any significant way. Couple that with a low midi-chlorian count and they just assume he can’t do anything, and if he does do well, it’s just a fluke.” She shook her head. “Didn’t they treat you the same way?” she asked as she went toward the door.

“Yeah,” Iggs nodded. “I wasn’t put into A-group, but I was always given extra Living Force exercises so the masters would notice me. I didn’t really stand out until we started feeling the crystals and got screened for psychometry.

Leila nodded. “Did they tell you how great it was that you were finally applying yourself? As if it was your fault they took ten years to find out what you were good at?”

“Yeah,” Iggs frowned. “I could do all the Living Force stuff, but I didn’t stand out. Stone reading came naturally to me.”

“It came naturally to Obi-Wan too, but the teachers didn’t believe him and didn’t understand what he was telling them. His midi-chlorian count was lower than many of theirs, so when he would say ‘this stone hums like a speeder engine,’ or ‘this one sounds like the birds in the Meadow Garden,’ they thought he was lying to cover up not being able to sense anything. They were going to make him take the class again with remedial students and passed their favorites who really needed more time. He came to the workshop for extra help because he had no idea what he had done wrong and didn’t want to fail again. He showed me his stone evaluation sheets, and I tested him. Not only did he pass the tests with flying colors, he did all of them in less than 2 hours. The teacher had refused to test him because he thought he couldn’t sense the stones. I read that man the riot act, let Obi-Wan pick his stone and stuck him in one of the workshops Elliot was helping out n in. Elliot was thrilled. When he went to write him a commendation for his file the only other one theb^&re was from Master Yoda. He was pissed.”

“He didn’t excel at the other higher U skills?” Iggs asked.

Leila rolled her eyes. “The docents weren’t sending him to the enriched U classes, just making him try L skills over and over that he had no talent for. They assumed it was due to his low count, not his distribution.” She sighed. “Elliot went to Yoda over it, and they intervened, but it must have been too little, too late, for him to get noticed. Yoda told Elliot he was very talented with saberwork, but when potential masters saw his count, they dismissed him out of hand.”

“He didn’t feel like he had a low count,” Iggs ventured, uncertainly.

“Elliot said it was a quirk of the blood, he was stronger than he seemed.” She looked down at the saber, trying not to feel depressed right before class. “That’s just awful. Maybe we can get him transferred in a few years if he stays attuned to the Force.”

Iggs slumped. “Would you?”

“At thirteen, after being told all my life I had no significant Force abilities? No.” She shook her head. “I’ve got to go. It really is a pity. That training saber you have there was better built than more than half the ones the students in this class carry and their masters are field knights.”

“Really?” Iggs glanced at the chrono. “You’d better go.”

“It really was. See you later.”

With a nod, Iggs carried the hilt to the work table and loaded it into the safety box to see if it worked. A brilliant, blue blade shot out of the hilt, singing steady, clear and true. The oscilloscope confirmed what his ears already knew; he’d seen knights in the field use more wobbly blades than this.

“Damn, Elliot. Too bad you couldn’t have taken him.” He turned off the blade and looked back at the cabinet, thinking about what Leila had said. Before he even realized what he was doing he had the book in hand and was down the hall, following the traces of sorrow the boy had left behind in the Force. If the child hadn’t been so upset he wouldn’t have been able to go more than a few steps, but the trail was clear, all the way to the lift. On a hunch, Iggs got off at the Visitor’s Hall and here the trail was fainter, harder to feel around so many others, but he found it, following it straight to the lift that took Jedi to the shuttles that served adjacent space port.

Iggs started to walk faster. When Obi-Wan had said he had to go, he hadn’t realized he was leaving right now.

* * *

Obi-Wan stopped in a public refresher and managed to make himself mostly presentable. The docents had arrived with two changes of clothes already packed along with the set he was wearing in the rucksack. He had been told he could take his toiletries and what small, personal effects that fit in the bag and he was to report to the spaceport in ninety minutes and to not be late. He was reminded to bring his identity chip and to save any files he wanted to his data chip because his data reader would be erased and returned to Stores. He was advised to make his goodbyes quickly and to not disrupt classes to do so. Most of the initiates were at lunch, but he didn’t want to face anyone right now. He had never heard of anyone else getting sent away before their thirteenth (or equivalent) birthday, unless they had done something so horrible they were sent back to their families. He had thought he would want to say goodbye if he still didn’t have a master on his birthday, but when it happened, he had found that he didn’t want to face them in his shame. Instead of looking for his friends, he quickly stripped his bed, bagging up most of his clothes for the laundry with his sheets. He kept extra underwear and socks, and one sweater. He then had emptied his desk and his side table into the box for recycling and redistribution. Then he had turned to his bookshelf, where he had prepared for this day when he reached twelve years, eleven months of age. He retrieved his model ships, powered them down, and put them on the piece of flimsy marked Garen. Garen loved flying machines, and piloting even more. He would appreciate them. Next to it was a small package of candy that he had bought the last time their group had visited Stores. It rested on the flimsi labeled Reeft. He had hoped he could share them with his friends to celebrate getting a master. Reeft would enjoy them instead. On the third piece of flimsi had been a framed flatpic of himself and Master L at First Lighting, now left for Bant. Bant had been in the spectator group, ready to start building her own saber the next quarter. She said she loved that picture because he had been so happy. He hoped it would help her remember him when he was gone.

The rest of the items he had put into the box the docents provided. Books would be redistributed. His colored pencils were worn and would likely be disposed of as would his drawings. He couldn’t bear to throw them out himself, so he put them into the box so the docents could. He had added the nightlight that he used when he had bad dreams and the slippers he wore when the floor was cold. In less than thirty minutes, he was down to his last three items: his favorite drawing, his favorite book and his least favorite book.

He had put his least favorite book, the text about farming and agriculture, into his rucksack. It was time to face his fate, however unwanted.

He had looked over his favorite drawing. It was of Master L’s face, based off his image in the frame and Obi-Wan’s memory before he got sick and died. He had wanted to give it to Master Yoda. The docents had told them Master Yoda and Master L were very good friends, and Master Yoda had been so very sad at the funeral, even if he didn’t cry. It had been a while since then, and Obi-Wan had thought the Grandmaster might want the picture, even if it wasn’t very good, but that had been weeks ago, before he had fought with Bruck and shamed himself badly enough to be sent away early. Master Yoda wouldn’t want to speak with someone like him, much less have his stupid drawing. Fighting tears, Obi-Wan had put the drawing in the trash can, feeling as if he should climb in with it and wait for the droids to come take him away with the rest of the rubbish.

His bag had been full. He had picked up his practice saber and his favorite book and left his room for the last time. No one had been in the halls. No one had been there to say goodbye to.

He had remembered when Kelci had left two months ago. Her best friend had walked her to the shuttle and said Master Yoda had been there to say goodbye. Obi-Wan hadn’t needed the Force to know no one would be there to say goodbye to him.

After he had dropped off his saber and his favorite book, he arrived at the shuttle stop twenty minutes before his departure time. The droid attendant scanned his ticket chip, activated it to allow boarding, and directed him down one level to the shuttles. He took one last look behind him. There was no one there. He wondered if his friends had been told yet. If they had missed him at lunch. If they would remember him at all.

They had stopped talking about Kelci weeks ago. Her best friend was a padawan now. He boarded the shuttle, determined to be a proper Jedi until he could be alone and out of the public eye. At least he hadn’t run into Bruck Chun.

The shuttle ride was very short, stopping in front of a cargo ship. Obi-Wan picked up his rucksack and walked over to the harried looking man running checks before departure.

“You Kenobi?” he asked before Obi-Wan could get out a word.

“Yes, Sir.”

“They don’t teach you Jedi to be early for space flights?”

“They said I had ninety minutes and not to be late,” Obi-Wan explained. “I thought I was ten minutes early.”

“We’re a week late already kid, and you were booked on this trip two weeks early. You’ve had three weeks to lollygag.”

Obi-Wan closed his eyes. “I’m sorry, Sir. They only told me I was leaving ninety minutes ago.”

The man gave him a skeptical look. “When was your birthday?” He was not unfamiliar with Jedi practices, having spent years shuttling back and forth between Coruscant and a belt of Agri Corps facilities. The food shipped in and the failed Jedi shipped out. Some of the young ones didn’t want to believe they had lost their last chance at knighthood.

“It’s next week.”

“Oh.” He only came to the Temple every two months but booking passage four weeks early still seemed excessive. He had certainly taken Jedi weeks past the deadline before. Even months. He wondered what this one had done wrong. “You pod number is on your ticket. Don’t eat in your pod. Learn your evacuation route and stay out of the way. You get two small meals a day until arrival, no more, so don’t take more than that, the droids won’t give you anything if you run out of meal credits on your ticket chip. Get in and strap in on one of the fold-down seats for take-off.”

“Yes, sir.” He wasn’t very hungry, so he didn’t think the food service would be a problem.

* * *

Iggs arrived at the shuttle waiting room, only for the trail to go cold at an empty shuttle bay. Obi-Wan had already left. It was too late to give him any encouragement, to tell him to study and apply to the Eng Corps. To just wish him good luck and for the Force to be with him. He was already gone. Disgusted, Iggs walked back up the stairs to the shuttle waiting room. It was less empty now than when he had first arrived.

“Grandmaster Yoda.” Iggs stepped up next to the small master, both of them looking out the windows at the ships loading and unloading goods and passengers. Iggs tried to spot the boy in the crowd and keep his disappointment in check.

“Farewells to say you had?” Yoda asked, his face solemn, his eyes on the ships.

“I was trying to catch someone before they left.” Iggs sighed. “Too late.”

“A good friend you missed?” Yoda asked.

“No,” Iggs sighed. “Someone I just met today.”

“Love at first sight it was?”

Normally Iggs would laugh at the Grandmaster’s gentle humor, but he was just too upset right now, even to fake it. “No, it was an initiate being sent to the Agri Corps. I was going to tell him to keep attuned to the Force and take classes so he could transfer to the Crystal and Weapons Division when he was older.”

“Hmm, yes. Very good at reading stones Initiate Kenobi is.”

Iggs turned to face Yoda, trying to keep his anger in check. “If you of all people understand how talented he is at stone reading, why is he going to the Agri Corps? We’ve been struggling to find instructors since,” he paused. “For a while now. Even if he didn’t have a master, we could have given him a better life working the stones than working the fields.”

“A better life it would be?” Yoda asked. “Working as a servant to his friends who all masters have? To every day see his dream realized in the eyes of others, while left behind he forever is?”

“I don’t know,” Iggs admitted. Yoda certainly had more experience with this than he did. “But going off to the Farm, where the only way to advance from scut work requires talents he doesn’t have, and the talents he does have, the skills he’s worked for, are meaningless,” he fumed. “That sounds like Hell.”

“Hmm, yes. Pleasant it is not, but the only path up the Living Force is not. His father an agricultural scientist became. Develops new crops in the lab he does.”

“Leila said he could read the stones.” He paused, hesitant to mention what was bothering him most. “She said Elliot wanted him to find a master.” He tried not to tense, half-wondering if the Grandmaster would become angry at the mention of Elliot’s name.

“Asked me to find him a master, Elliot did,” Yoda admitted. “Several times. Promised him that do my best I would.” He turned to look at Iggs. “Telling you the Force is that his master you should be?”

“Um, no.” Iggs really couldn’t argue with the will of the Force. “But it is telling me that it would be a mistake to waste that child in the Agri Corps.”

“Think you do that waste opportunities I do?”

Iggs looked back at him, hesitant to speak.

“Honest you can be.”

“I know you’ve been grieving since Elliot died, and I wouldn’t be surprised if you were less attentive lately than you usually are.”

“Think you do that if more on the ball I was, have a master now Obi-Wan might?”

That was rather direct. “Yes, Grandmaster, I do.”

“Hmm, ask me this Elliot did before sick he became. Ignore it I have not. Knew about the problem already I did. Listening to the Force I have been. Very clear it is who his master should be.”

At that moment Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn entered the shuttle lobby, giving Yoda a frustrated look as his ticket chip was scanned, and he was directed to a shuttle.

“May the Force be with you, Master Jinn,” Yoda called.

Qui-Gon tried not to grit his teeth at the well wishes. He was always relieved when he left the Temple, far away from Yoda’s meddling.

Not that his own master hadn’t told him it was time to get over Xan and find a new apprentice. At least Master Yoda had a kinder approach, even if the candidates he presented were ridiculous. He had certainly never been that aggressive as an initiate. He ignored the small voice that reminded him that Master Dooku had taken him on before he reached age twelve, and he had never had to face the deadline head on.

“May the Force be with you, Grandmaster Yoda,” he nodded as the shuttle arrived in the bay. “Good luck with,” he had forgotten the boy’s name already. “Your students.” Obi-Wan the Force reminded him. “They have much to learn.”

Yoda did not react to the insult. “As every good Jedi does.”

“Goodbye, Master Yoda.” Jinn turned and entered the shuttle, finally escaping the Grandmaster’s guilt trips and match-making.

“Hmm.” He followed Jinn’s shuttle with his eyes. “Problems on Bandomeer there are. Requested Jedi assistance they have in addition to agricultural support.”

Iggs was about to try to steer the conversation back to Obi-Wan when he realized what the Grandmaster had said. “Oh, Master, no. Not Master Jinn. He never even speaks to the children and he has no understanding of the Unifying Force.” As a crystal and saber instructor who also helped field knights repair and refine weapons, he was in a rare position to know these things.

“Very clear the Force has been. Bring them together I must so see Obi-Wan shine he can.”

“Isn’t it too late if you’ve already sent him to the Agri Corps?”

“Next week his birthday is. Some time he still has.”

“Master, Jinn is stubborn. What if he says no?” He watched the shuttle land. “He’s already said no, hasn’t he?”

“No he said but ignoring the Force he is.”

They watched him board the ship.

“He might still say no, Master,” Iggs warned.

“Right you are, Knight Igneous. Strong in the Unifying Force you are. Say no he still might. Fortunate it is that have a Plan B I do. If say no Qui-Gon Jinn does, another master waiting for Obi-Wan is.”

As much as this hurt, this felt right in the Force.

“When do you think he’ll come back?” Iggs asked.

“Hmm, hard to say it is. If say yes Master Jinn does, months it might be. If no he says, hmm, return passage booked is. A few weeks it would be.”

Iggs tucked the book against his chest. New field padawans almost always needed to repair and upgrade their sabers when they got back to the Temple. He’d let the staff know to keep an eye out for him.

“I hope your plan works, Master.”

“Hope this I do too.” Yoda’s eyes never left the shuttle Jinn had gone into, even as Iggs walked away, leaving him alone. “Getting too old to raise padawans I am.”

* * *

“Welcome aboard, Master Jedi,” the first mate resisted the urge to scold Master Jinn like he had the boy. No wonder young Jedi never learned to show up on time when the masters strolled in past both boarding and departure time. Fortunately, Temple Flight Control understood this and rarely gave him any trouble if they missed their window and needed a new assignment.

“Thank you. Are there other Jedi traveling with us?”

“Yes, Master Jedi. There’s a young man heading off to an Agri Corps facility and we may be picking up some transfers along the way, but if I recall correctly, they aren’t coming aboard until after your destination.”

Jinn rolled his eyes. “At least it’s only one. I’ll be in my cabin.”

“Strap in, Sir Jedi. We’re leaving shortly.’

“Good. Let’s not waste time.”

The first mate restrained himself from beaning the arrogant snot in the head with a socket wrench. Jedi drove him nuts, but they did pay well and could usually roll with the challenges of deep space travel. With everyone aboard, he shut the doors and headed toward the cockpit. He hoped it would be a nice, boring trip with no exciting interruptions. He didn’t like excitement.

* * *

Leila came back from class to find Iggs finishing up the new installation in the display case. She got herself a hot cup of tea and stood next to her co-worker, looking at the rows of sabers, the composition now complete. A last lesson from Elliot to train the Jedi long after he was gone.

“It looks very nice there,” Leila tried to let go of her deep disappointment.

“Yoda’s trying to set him up with Qui-Gon Jinn,” Iggs told her. “Says he has a back-up master if it doesn’t work out.”

Leila raised an eyebrow. “Yoda is sending Kenobi to a completely inappropriate assignment and he hopes the maverick Jedi Master will not only realize this, but save him from this fate?”

“More or less.”

Leila bit back a laugh. “Elliot did say Yoda was crazy like a fox. And Jinn is arrogant enough to think it was his idea.”

“I hope it works. It could go either way.”

Leila smiled. “But either way, he gets a master.”

“He did listen, Elliot.” Iggs raised his own tea in salute to the finished display. “He heard and he did.”

“He’ll be a great knight someday,” Leila agreed.

Iggs reached out to the Force, feeling that potential. “May the Force be with him. It’s won’t be easy.”

“It never is.” Leila pressed the button and they both watched the blade flare to life, still strong and pure.

Somewhere in the familiar click, hiss and hum, Iggs swore he could hear Elliot saying ‘thank you.’

* * *

“Go away!” The anguished wail was followed by a slamming door. “Leave me alone!”

“Initiate, you open this door right now!” an angry adult voice was accompanied by the sound of the door jostling, but the lock held fast.

Grandmaster Yoda turned the corner to find a docent trying to force open the door to Obi-Wan’s room and a crowd of nervous initiates looking on.

“Calm yourself you will,” Yoda commanded, and the children looked at him, relieved. “Frightened and hurt the child is. Your anger she needs not.”

The docent turned, embarrassed to be caught with so little control of his charges and by the grandmaster no less.

“I’m sorry, Grandmaster. She’s locked herself in.”

“Why need to go inside you do?”

The docent grimaced. “I was going to clean out the room. The occupant has left the Temple and it needs to be made ready for the next student.”

“Hmm, an occupant the room still has.”

“Yes, Grandmaster. One of the students is upset her friend left.”

Yoda looked around at the nearby students. “Hmm.” Bruck and Aalto were a bit surprised at the normally tranquil Mon Calamarian’s outburst, but most of the other children showed varying degrees of sorrow. The eldest children looked afraid, knowing they could be next. Losing peers to the Service Corps was frightening enough. Losing them early was even worse.

“No new initiates appointed have been. More important cleaning is than allowing the child to grieve?”

“Um, I didn’t want anything to be stolen, Grandmaster.”

Yoda looked unimpressed. “Returning to the Temple to retrieve his belongings Initiate Kenobi is?”

“Um.”

Yoda approached the door, gently pushing the docent away with the Force. “Go calm yourself you should. Lead children you should not if your own calm you can find not.”

“Um, yes, um, okay.” The docent wasn’t used to being dismissed.

Yoda tapped on the door gently. “Bant, Master Yoda it is. Come in I may?”

There was a frightened, heavy snuffle from behind the door. Yoda put his hand flat against the door and the lock clicked open. The Grandmaster turned and glared at the docent until the until the man retreated. Yoda opened the door and went inside.

The Mon Calamari girl was sobbing into a brown robe, obviously pulled from the laundry bag. There were no tears coming from her eyes, but there was viscous fluid dripping from her nostrils and her tunics were damp from secretions from her gills.

Yoda walked over to the distraught girl and began stroking her head and shoulders. After several minutes, the child was able to calm herself enough to speak.

“I’m sorry, Master Yoda. I wasn’t controlling my emotions.”

“You were not,” Yoda agreed. “But hurt no one you did, broke nothing you did. Still learning you are but regained your control quickly you did. Talk about it can you? Help you feel better it might.”

Bant sat up and carefully wiped her nostrils with a soft cloth she kept for that purpose, her facial skin too sensitive for Jedi robes. “Obi-Wan got sent away early and he didn’t say goodbye!”

“Ah,” Yoda nodded. “Hurts that does.”

“Why didn’t he say goodbye?”

“Know this I do not but being sent away hurt very much does. Perhaps thought he did that seeing you hurt more would. Perhaps angry or upset you would be he thought. Perhaps a struggle to control himself he had.”

Bant nodded. She knew how upset Obi-Wan had gotten as the days ticked down to the deadline.

“Master Yoda, why did they send him away early? It’s not fair. He had another week to try.”

“Hmm, he did,” Yoda agreed. “Another week he still has.” He patted her shoulder. “Got in trouble for fighting he did. Leaving the ship today was. If good behavior he had, wait for the next ship the docents might have.”

“They didn’t send Bruck away. Bruck fights all the time, and he only has two months left.”

“Perhaps learn to fight not he will,” Yoda mused.

“That’s still not fair to Obi-Wan.”

“No, young one. Fair it is not. Made the decision was. Left already he has.”

“Why didn’t any of the masters like him? He was nice and smart and serious, and he tried so hard, but none of them liked him. They wouldn’t even learn his name.”

“Hmm, a poor master one would be if know their padawan’s name they do not.”

Bant scowled. Master Yoda hadn’t answered the question.

“Correct you are. Kind Obi-Wan is. Smart Obi-Wan is. Serious Obi-Wan is. But sometimes even when work hard we do, fair life is not. Succeed we do not. Means we are a bad person this does not but known since small he was that become a Jedi knight he might not.”

Bant snuffled again, clearing her air passages. “I think he would have been a great knight.”

“Perhaps,” Yoda conceded, patting her one more time before he stood up. “Look at the bookshelf you have? Something there for you I think there is.”

Bant slowly got to her feet and walked over there, still wiping her chin.

“Oh.” She looked down at the neat labels. “He left stuff for Garen and Reeft too.”

Yoda went to the door and called both boys in. Garen gently hugged the model ships to his chest, sniffling. Reeft took the package of candy solemnly, not particularly hungry at the moment. Bant sniffed as she picked up the framed flatpic.

“He was really happy that day.”

“Yes, happy he was. Remember that day I do.”

Bant looked at the picture, forlorn. “Master L said he could be a great Jedi someday. The other masters didn’t. It made him sad.”

“Hard it must have been when Master Ellliot died did.”

“Yes. He was Obi-Wan’s friend too.” She frowned, not expecting that to be what the ‘L’ had stood for. “Master Yoda?”

Yoda nodded for her to continue.

“I’m calmer now, but Obi-Wan going to the Farm feels wrong in the Force. If we’re Jedi, aren’t we supposed to follow the will of the Force?”

“We are,” Yoda agreed. “But make every Jedi follow the Force in every moment, in every choice, we cannot.”

“I wish they had this time.”

“Yes, Bant. Wish this I did too.”

“Thank you for helping me calm down, Master Yoda.” She sighed. “I am prepared to hear my punishment and will take it without complaint.”

“Hmm, yes. Very loud you were. Yell at the docent you did. Hmm, meditate in your room you should until calm you feel. Drink fluids you should so feel better you will. Tomorrow, during your free time, go to the Aquaculture Room you should, help the technicians feed the fishes and prawns you will.”

Bant gave him an odd look. “Master Yoda, I like to help feed the fish.”

Yoda tapped her between the nostrils playfully. “Know this I do. Feed the fish. Have a happy moment, even while mourn you do.” He winked, then stood up straight and raised his voice slightly. “Very good you are, your punishment accepted you have without complaint. Go now. Meditate you should.” He lowered his voice. “Alright it will be. Tell me this the Force does.”

“Thank you, Master Yoda.” It didn’t feel alright now, it felt like it would be right ever again, but she was in control. She bowed to the Grandmaster, then turned and left, the framed pic clutched in her hands.

Yoda sighed and looked around the room. Everything had already been packed and set to rights. The clothing should go to the Laundry, but the box should go to Storage. Yoda checked that the items were secure and was surprised Obi-Wan had not taken his colored pencils with him, nor his art pad.

The door opened and the docent came in, starting in surprise to see Yoda was still there.

“Oh, Master Yoda. I’m sorry, I thought you had left.”

“Very eager you are this boy to erase.”

The docent sighed, not denying it. “Grandmaster, we both know he could never have been a knight. He fought with his peers, he was weak in the Force, and he excelled at nothing, at least not enough to make up for his deficits. None of the masters ever asked about him, much less asked to see his deep file, so none of them wanted him and they didn’t even know about his dubious parentage. He wasn’t steady enough for the ExploraCorps, he’s not a talented enough pilot for the Space Corps, he’s not intelligent enough for the Eng Corps, and he doesn’t even have the ability to make plants grow, so even the Agri Corps will only be able to use him for grunt work. We’ve made efforts over the years to manage Kenobi’s expectations, but it’s beyond me why you and that saber-building instructor kept telling him otherwise. The children are hard enough to deal with when they do have chance in Sith Hell of knighthood.”

Yoda raised his brow as the docent began checking through the drawers and the bedside table, making sure nothing was missed. “To determine who a knight will be your job it is not.”

The docent finished his check, then turned to the box, rooting through it with a frown. “I know, Grandmaster. My job is to prepare students for the next level, whether that is as a padawan or not. Kenobi didn’t give us much to work with. He wasn’t suited for any of the Service Corps and couldn’t be sent back to his family. Why didn’t the Jedi just put him up for adoption? Surely you knew his midi-chlorian counts were too low and he lacked talent before he was old enough to remember the Temple. He was a bastard, not a refugee. He didn’t have to stay here.”

“Only refugees should stay you think?” Yoda asked.

“He was never going to succeed here. If he didn’t need the Temple’s protection and didn’t have what it takes, it seems cruel to have let him think he had a chance.” The docent huffed, then looked up and around the room, not finding what he had been looking for.

“What looking for you are?”

“His weapons. He had a lightsaber and a training saber. We disassemble them and return the good parts to C&W.”

“Wanted his training saber Master Dedrin did. Wanted to put it into the display case he did. Suspect I do that brought it to C&W himself he did.”

The docent grimaced, not hiding his disappointment. “That’s one weapon accounted for, but not the other. Why didn’t he leave it behind?”

“Thirteen years old he is not. His saber it still is, for one week more. Turn it in to the Agri Corps Jedi he can.”

The docent scowled. “That’s a very nice stone to waste sitting in a drawer on a farm.”

Yoda gave him a stern glare. “Send sabers back the Service Corps Jedi do. With the stones. If by his birthday a master he does not have, reused the stone will be.”

“Good,” the docent replied, clearly irritated.

“Dissatisfied with your work you seem. Transfer you should.”

“I—”

“Protect you the Jedi do. Protect you in this Temple the Jedi need not. Figure out a better life for yourself you should. Serve the children you cannot when this unhappy you are. Thank you for your service I do. Need more than you can give the children do.”

“Master, I.” He could not deny the appeal of doing something else with his life.

“Suited for this you are not. Serve this child well you did not.” Yoda walked over to the box, rearranged the contents, then closed and sealed it, tapping in the codes to send it to Storage under Obi-Wan’s name.

The docent frowned, confused. “Master, that’s supposed to go to Recycling, not Storage. You said yourself Kenobi isn’t coming back.”

“No,” Yoda corrected. “Returning Initiate Kenobi is not. Return Padawan Kenobi will. Want his stuff he will.”

The docent snickered. “Is he going to grow himself a master?”

Yoda gave him a sharp look. “Very strong in the Unifying Force Obi-Wan Kenobi is. Told me the Force has, train him for knighthood we should. Help him reach his potential you have not.”

“I don’t agree with you, Grandmaster.”

“Hmm, fortunate it is that your decision it is not.” Yoda indicated the docent should carry the box to the hall outside the dorms to be picked up by the transport droids. “Go to the Work Assignment Office. Help you find your joy they can.”

“Yes, Master. I will, Master.”

“Return the student stones to C&W you will. If wish to learn stone-cutting for art, classes there are.”

“Um, yes, Master.”

“Just because a knight you are not, miserable you do not have to be.”

“Um, no, Master.” He sighed. “You really think Kenobi will find a master in time? No one has ever been interested in training him.”

“Bah,” Yoda scoffed. “Found two masters already I have.”

The docent shook his head as he left. Sometimes he wondered if he would ever understand Jedi.

Yoda took one more look around the empty room. It wasn’t the first time he had been here. Obi-Wan had been one of the few initiates bold enough to invite the Grandmaster into his room. They had developed a good rapport, enough that he was a bit surprised Obi-Wan had neither sought him out nor noticed him in the shadows when he was leaving. He supposed Obi-Wan getting in trouble over the fight with Bruck Chun might have made him hesitant to see him, despite their long friendship. He would have to make a point of letting him know he was forgiven for his foolish mistake when he came back. He could understand why Bant had been so distraught; he missed Obi-Wan already too.

He was just about to leave when the Force nudged him to take one more look. Following the impulse led him to the trash bin. Amid the scraps of flimsi and pencil shavings he found a drawing of Elliot of all people, smiling up at him on this very rough day. The drawing wasn’t sophisticated, Obi-Wan was still developing his artistic skills, but it was recognizable as Elliot and it captured his warmth. Yoda wondered why Obi-Wan had thrown this one away in the bin when the rest had been put in the box for recycling. When he lifted it out of the bin, he felt shame and regret. He turned it over to find a note on the back, along the margins.

Master Yoda,

If you are reading this, I’m sorry, I didn’t find a master in time and I won’t be a Jedi Knight someday. I wanted you to have this picture of your friend, because he used to say I could be a knight someday too, but if you are reading this, no one else agreed.

Thank you for all of your lessons and teaching me so many things. I’m sorry if I didn’t do, Master. I really, really, really wanted to.

If I have to go, I know I will miss you. I’ll try to remember your lessons and to follow and feel the Force.

May the Force be with you,

Obi-Wan Kenobi

Yoda turned the picture back over, wishing not for the first time that Elliot was still alive. Elliot would have been able to console Obi-Wan before he left. Yoda knew he himself was loved by many of the children, but as Grandmaster he could be intimidating. Elliot had been softer, more comforting. An authority figure, but he also had a bit of a creche master’s comfort to him. A nurturing warmth the children could feel in the Force just being around him. He had seen distraught younglings seek out Elliot more than once over the years.

He hoped he would still have that connection with Obi-Wan, that this regret could be healed when he returned as a padawan. He hoped Master Jinn would surrender to the will of the Force that was speaking so clearly without anything drastic happening (though he doubted it). Qui-Gon Jinn was nothing if not stubborn.

Of course, so was Obi-Wan.

And if it didn’t work out . . . then Obi-Wan would be returned to the Temple and offered a different choice. A different life.

He carried the picture to the door, turned down the lights and looked back into the darkened room, seeing a faint echo of happier times and feeling the deep sorrow of failure, of potential unrealized.

“May the Force be with you, Obi-Wan Kenobi. See you again I will.”

He walked out and closed the door.

* * *

Obi-Wan was already in hyperspace, speeding away from the Galactic center many times faster than light. It was night cycle on the ship, and he was supposed to be in his pod, sleeping. Instead, he was sitting in the cold lounge, watching the flares of stars fly by, wondering when this jump would be complete and the next would begin. Their first stop had been at the Arkela system, where the Jedi held retreats and wilderness training. Once they had left there, they were further from the Temple than Obi-Wan had ever been since he was a baby. Their next stop, a refueling station, would be his last chance to see Coruscant’s star by eye, possibly forever. They would be in the Mid Rim by the stop after next, able to see the Core, but it was supposed to be a glowing smudge by then.

He remembered his teachers explaining Faster Than Light travel, that if you looked back to where you had been, the light you could see was from before you had left. He had been fascinated by this topsy-turvy logic of it, that a world could be destroyed, or a star could go supernova, but you could still see it in the sky long after it was gone. That the earliest FTL travelers were afraid that by the time they reached their destinations they would already be gone, no matter how fast they were.

Right now, he knew he should be trying to sleep and to adjust to ship-time, but he wanted that one last look, one last goodbye to the only home he had ever known, to the only people he could remember. He wanted to see his home planet one more time and see it as it had looked when he had still been happy. When he still had had a chance. Or just before he had failed. He had tried at the last stop, but the system’s sun had been in the way.

He had been told when he was still in the creche that he had been born on the Mid Rim planet Stewjon, but his ticket was supposed to take him to Bandomeer, in the Outer Rim. He wondered how he was supposed to help grow food when he had such trouble using the Living Force. He wondered who his parents were, and if they were still on Stewjon. He wondered if the Jedi would throw him out entirely if he couldn’t help the plants grow. He wondered if his parents would let him come back if he failed to even be a farmer. He wondered if they had loved him, if they remembered him.

He wondered if they had said goodbye, or just handed him over and never thought of him again.

He wondered where the Jedi had sent Kelci.

“You should be asleep, Kid,” the first mate growled as he headed toward his bunk, the pilot on duty for the rest of the ship’s night.

Obi-Wan shrugged. “We’re coming into normal space soon. I wanted to try to see Coruscant Prime. You can’t see it from the Outer Rim.”

Sure enough, the ship shuddered back into normal space. Obi-Wan turned to the window, trying to orient himself. Trying to see home.

Most of the young Jedi who traveled on this ship hid in their pods, crying into their pillows if the laundry was anything to go by. The Temple always requested extra water and electrolytes for them on their meal tickets. He had always thought it was cruel to throw them away so young.

The boy was still staring out the window, trying to pick out the right star.

He came up behind him. “You can see the Deep Core, right?”

“Yes.”

“And you see that set that looks like a string of beads in a row over that way? The last is Chandrila.”

“Yes.”

“Follow in the same direction, as if the string was an arrow or a line. Two stars over is Coruscant’s sun.”

“I see it. Thank you.”

“You won’t be able to see the planet, but sometimes you can see the light reflecting off the Orbital spaceport further out.”

“They took us there once to teach us space piloting. We could see so many more stars than we could from the Temple.”

“Don’t stay up all night. You’ll miss breakfast. We’ll be at Bandomeer soon.”

“I know. I won’t.” He kept watching that one star until the ship moved and the refueling station blocked the view. “Do you ever bring Service Corp Jedi back? After they’re grown?”

“Sometimes,” he admitted. “They sometimes go back to the Core Worlds for more training or if they become ill or grow old and need care.”

“But not to Coruscant.”

“The Eng Corps Jedi are always going back and forth, always learning new things, but the Agri Corps Jedi usually stay out on the Rim, where they’re needed, unless they’re farming for the Jedi Temple. Most who go out there don’t come back, at least not on this route.”

The boy nodded. “I’ve never met anyone who came back. I’ll probably never see my friends or the masters again.”

“Well, hopefully you’ll see someone you were friends with.”

“No,” Obi-Wan turned to face him. “I don’t hope that. If they are sent out here, it means they didn’t get a master either.” He looked back at the station’s dark shadow. “I want them to be chosen. I don’t want them to be sent away all alone.”

“I’m sorry it didn’t work out for you, Kid.”

“Thank you,” he sighed. “And thank you for being kind. No one else has talked to me since I left.”

“I’m not a Jedi, but it’s not always going to feel this bad. I’ve seen older Service Corps Jedi onboard. It will get better.”

“Thank you.” The ship pulled in close to refuel, the dark shadow blotting out all the stars. “I’m going back to my pod now. May the Force be with you, Sir.”

“Um, thank you. May your travels be smooth, and your destination be welcoming.”

The boy bowed to him politely and silently walked off into the dark.

“That was very kind of you,” said a voice from the shadows and the infuriating Master Jedi came into the light.

“You Jedi shouldn’t rely on strangers to dole out kindness to your young when they’re hurting.”

If the elder Jedi was surprised by his criticism, he didn’t show it.

“A Jedi life is hard. He needs to learn to release his pain and give up his dreams. To serve the Force without serving his own emotions.”

“Does he? Does he really need that stiff upper lip while he picks fruit and tends nerf? You Jedi back in the Core are never going to think of him again.”

“You’re right.” The Jedi’s face was like stone. “He was not meant to be a knight. The Service Corps Jedi have their own role to play.”

“How old were you before your master sent you out into the galaxy alone to do your duty?”

“As a padawan? Hmm, I think I was fifteen or sixteen before he gave me small, independent roles.”

“Huh,” the first mate feigned surprise. “Not twelve.”

The Jedi Master closed his eyes to hide their rolling. “It’s perfectly legal to send thirteen-year-olds as unaccompanied passengers for interstellar travel on passenger ships.”

“That one’s still twelve. And that’s for direct jumps. You Jedi seem to assume this Force of yours is just going to make sure nothing will go wrong. We have a lot of stops to make, and a lot of time and space for things to go to shit. And you send them out alone. They may be failed Jedi, but they’re still just children.”

“Children with power. If they aren’t suited to handle the responsibility, it’s best to let their potential wither with less dangerous pursuits.” He sighed. “He’ll forget his friends soon enough.”

“I’ve been riding the spacelanes since I was sixteen. I still remember my friends.”

“His friends will become knights, or they won’t. The former won’t have time to remember him.”

“Will you?”

The Jedi Master looked at him for a long time, until the first mate left in disgust.

“No,” he finally answered, determined. “I won’t.”