“We don’t think we have a choice,” Si Treemba said softly.

Grelb and his men hurried down the hallways through the Arconan side of the ship. Jemba the Hutt’s miners had fought well against the pirates on their side, but dozens of stout Hutts and Whiphids had died.

There was a good chance that the Arconans would be dead, too. Grelb was hoping to steal some loot from the bodies.

But when he reached the doors to the Arconan hold, he found that the Arconans hadn’t fought at all. Instead, they’d let their pet Jedi protect them.

Grelb glanced around a corner and saw the hated Clat’Ha helping Qui-Gon off the floor. The Jedi had a deep wound in his right shoulder, and his left arm was sore and swollen.

The Hutt smiled, and jerked his head back from the corridor before anyone looked his way.

He whispered to the Whiphids at his back, “Go and tell Jemba: the Arconans are all cowards who dared not come out of their rooms to fight. And their precious Jedi looks as if he’s barely alive. Now is a good time to strike!”

Obi-Wan flew over a watery world from daylight into darkness, to a night lit by five glowing moons that hung in the sky like multicolored stones. Beneath him, enormous creatures flew in great flocks. They were silvery in the moonlight, with long bullet-shaped bodies and powerful wings. They looked like some strange species of flying fish whose wings had evolved to a remarkable size. They stretched their wings wide, half-asleep as they rode the wind. Some of them looked up at his ship curiously.

Clinging to the manual controls, with the ship buckling and rattling, Obi-Wan could see only ocean in every direction. Then, at last, on the horizon ahead he glimpsed one small rocky island, waves breaking against its shore.

He aimed the ship at the rock, held tight to the controls, and groaned with effort as he tried to slow the ship’s fall.

Dozens of miners had been killed or injured in the attack, so the sickbay was full. Yet few of those injured were Arconans. As Clat’Ha had predicted, all the Arconans but Si Treemba had locked themselves in their rooms at the first sign of danger. Most of the injuries fell to the ship’s crew and to some of Jemba’s miners.

Qui-Gon’s injuries would have been severe to a common man, but the Jedi waited until others were attended to before requesting the medic droid to bandage him in his room. Clat’Ha refused to leave his side, no matter how he urged her to rest.

“Not until I know you’re okay,” she told him steadily.

Obi-Wan landed the ship only a few meters from the rocky beach. Night hung like a mist over the island. After determining that the atmosphere was stable, a dozen of the ship’s crew had gone outside to begin repairing the damage to the hull, and others were checking the surroundings. The silvery draigons were everywhere, riding the night sky, apparently asleep on the wing. Many of them also perched on the island cliffs. It wasn’t safe to stay outside, and the captain said that no one would be allowed to work in the daylight, once the beasts awoke. The ship’s engineer reported that it might take two nights to get the ship running.

Obi-Wan reached Qui-Gon’s cabin just as the medic doid finished spraying a disinfectant bandage over Qui-Gon’s ghastly wound. Then he began to glue the wound closed. The pirate chieftain’s vibro-ax had slashed Qui-Gon across the back of his shoulders, down to the ribs. Obi-Wan felt dizzy just looking at the wound, but Qui-Gon sat quietly, letting the droid do his work.

“You’re lucky to be alive,’ the medic droid told qui-Gon. “But your wounds should heal in time. Are you sure you don’t want something to ease the pain?”

“No, I’ll be fine,” Qui-Gon answered, his voice steady. He turned his gaze to Clat’Ha. “Now will you get some rest?”

She nodded wearily. “I’ll check back on you later.” Clat’Ha left with the medic droid. The door hissed closed behind them.

Qui-Gon eased himself into a chair. Obi-Wan waited for him the speak or acknowledge his presence.

Qui-Gon’s blue gaze studied Obi-Wan keenly for a moment. “Obi-Wan, when you accelerated the ship, what thoughts did you have?”

“Thoughts?” Obi-Wan asked doubtfully. “I wasn’t thinking about much of anything. I was afraid of the pirates, and I just knew I had to get away fast.” He was too exhausted to care too much about giving the wrong answer. Better just to speak the blunt truth. Qui-Gon would approve of his actions or not. He was tired of trying to please him.

“So you didn’t think about the fact that you would tear the ships from the docking bays and kill hundreds of pirates in the process?” Qui-Gon asked in a neutral tone.

“I didn’t think about what I was doing,” Obi-Wan replied. “The Force led me.”

“Were you frightened? Angry?”

“Both,” Obi-Wan admitted. “I… fired on the pirates. I killed, but I didn’t do it in anger. I did it to save lives.”

Qui-Gon nodded, just the smallest of movements. “I see.” It was the answer Qui-Gon had been looking for. It demonstrated that Obi-Wan was growing stronger in the ways of the Force.

Yet Qui-Gon felt strangely dissatisfied. He tested his heart. Had he actually wanted the boy to fail his test? That would be a grave flaw for a Jedi.

But he couldn’t help himself. True, Obi-Wan had not let him down. He had bravely accepted the task of piloting the ship. Hundreds of lives had been in his hands, and he had not hesitated. He had done honor to his training.

Why was it so hard for Qui-Gon to trust him still?

Because I trusted another. I trusted Xanatos completely, and disaster was the result.

The sense of loss was so great that even now Qui-Gon felt it like a living wound. He’d rather have taken a dozen blows from the pirate chieftain’s vibro-ax than to ever feel such loss and pain again.

Obi-Wan stood before Qui-Gon, confused. He was tired he was almost weaving on his feet. Had he answered badly ot well? He didn’t know. All he could sense was a struggle in Qui-Gon that he didn’t understand. They had worked together to save the ship. A bond should have formed between them. But Obi-Wan felt they were farther apart than ever.

Should he speak? Perhaps if he asked Qui-Gon what he was thinking, the Jedi would tell him.

But before Obi-Wan could raise his nerve, a vicious pounding sounded at the door. Obi-Wan hurried to open it.

Si Treemba rushed in. The Arconan was out of breath, panting.

“What’s wrong?” Qui-Gon asked. He stood and tenderly stretched his shoulder, to see how well the glue had set.

“Please come quickly,” Si Treemba panted. “Jemba the Hutt has stolen our dactyl!”