“Study the stars you may, Qui-Gon,” Yoda said as he left. “They have much to teach you. But will it be what you need to learn?”

The Monument was an old Corellian barge, pocked and scarred from meteor hits. It was shaped like a crate, and attached to the front of it were a dozen cargo boxes push to Bandomeer. It was the ugliest, dirtiest ship that Obi-Wan could have imagined.

If the exterior was ugly, the interior was foul. Its battered corridors smelled of miners’ dust and the sweaty bodies of many species. Repair ports were left open, so that wires and pressure hoses — the ship’s guts — spilled out as if from an open wound.

Everywhere on the Monument enormous Hutts slithered about like giant slugs. Whiphids stalked the corridors with their moldy fur and tusks. Tall Arconans with triangular heads and glittering eyes moved in small groups.

Obi-Wan wandered in a daze, his bags in hand. No one had been at the entry port guide him. No one even seemed to notice him. He realized gloomily that he had left behind the data pad Docent Vant had given him. On it was his room number.

He looked for a crew member, but he could only find miners being transported to Bandomeer. Obi-Wan trudged on with gathering despair. The ship was strange and frightening. It was so different from the hushed, gleaming hallways of the Temple, where he could hear the sound of the fountains wherever he walked. He knew every corner of the Temple, knew the fastest route to get from the arena, where they practiced tumbling and balance, to the pool, where he would dive from the highest temple…

Obi-Wan’s steps slower and slower. What was Bant doing now? Was she in class, or a private tutorial? Was she swimming in the pool with Reeft and Garen Muln? If his friends were thinking if him, they would never imagine what a horrible place he had landed in.

Suddenly, a huge Hutt blocked his path. Before Obi-Wan could say a word, the Hutt grabbed him by the throat and threw him against a wall.

“What do you think you’re doing, slug?”

“Uh, what?” Obi-Wan asked in surprise. What had he done wrong? He was just trudging down the hall. With a sense of unease, he noticed that two particularly evil-looking Whiphids stood behind the Hutt. “B-Bandomeer,” he stammered.

The Hutt studied Obi-Wan as if here were a morsel of food. The creature’s huge tongue rolled from its mouth and slid over its grey lips, leaving a trail of slime.

“That’s not a ship’s uniform you’re wearing, and you’re not Offworld.”

Obi-Wan looked down at his clothes. He wore a loose gray tunic. He suddenly realized that the Hutt in front of him wore a black triangular patch that showed a bright red planet, like an eye. A silver spaceship circling the planet became the iris of the eye. Beneath the logo were the words Offworld Mining. The Whiphids wore the same symbol.

“He must be from that other outfit,” a Whiphid said.

“Maybe he’s a spy,” the second Whiphid growled. “What’s he got in those bags, you think? Bombs?”

The Hutt pushed his huge grotesque face close to Obi-Wan’s. “Any miner who doesn’t work for Offworld is the enemy,” he roared, shaking Obi-Wan roughly. “You, slug, are an enemy. And we don’t allow the enemy on Offworld turf.”

The Hutt’s fingers were like slabs of meat. They tightened around Obi-Wan’s neck, strangling him. Choking, Obi-Wan dropped his bags and grasped the Hutt’s fingers. His lungs burned and the room spun.

Using all his strength, Obi-wan managed to pry the Hutt’s fingers from his throat long enough to gasp a breath. He stared into the cruel, blank eyes of the Hutt, trying to summon his Force powers.

“Leave me alone,” Obi-Wan gasped, struggling to breathe. He let the Force carry the command to the Hutt, to batter his will, change his mind. This was not like fighting another student. He sensed a cruelty without conscience. There were no rules here, no Yoda to call off the fight.

“Leave you alone? Why?” the Hutt roared with cruel amusement.

I’m getting off to a good start, Obi-Wan thought despairingly.

The last thing he remembered was the Hutt’s fist coming straight at him.

Obi-wan woke on a cot in a warm, well-lit room. His vision was blurry, and his head swam. A medical droid leaned over him, applying flesh glue to his cuts, checking for broken bones.

A young Human woman with reddish-brown hair and green eyes stood across the room, watching him. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to tangle with a Hutt?” she asked.

Obi-Wan tried to shake his head, but even a tiny movement rocked him with pain. He took a long breath. He called on his Jedi training to accept the pain as a signal his body was sending. He had to accept the pain, respect it, not fight it. Then he’d have to ask his body to begin to heal.

Once he’d centered his mind, the pain seemed to ease. He turned to the woman. “I didn’t seem to have a choice.”

“I know what you mean.” The woman flashed him a brief grin. “Well, you survived. That’s something.” She walked closer to his bedside. “You’re lucky I found you when I did. You’re not one of ours.”

“Ours?” Obi-Wan asked. He squinted at her. She wore an orange worksuit with a green triangle on it.

“We’re the Arcona Mineral Harvest Corporation,” the woman responded. “If you don’t work for us, why did the Offworlders beat you?”

Obi-Wan tried to shrug, but pain shot through his shoulder. Sometimes it was hard to respect his body’s signal. “You tell me. I was only looking for my cabin.”

“You’re a though one,” the woman said cheerfully. “Not everybody could withstand a pounding by a Hutt. Did you come on board looking for a job? We could use you at Arcona Harvest. I’m Clat’Ha, chief operations manager.” She looked young to be running a mining operation — perhaps twenty-five.

“Have a job,” Obi-Wan said, trying to feel his mouth with his tongue. He was relieved that all his teeth were still in. “I’m Obi-Wan Kenobi. I’m with the Agricultural Corps.”

Clat’Ha’s mouth fell open. “You’re the young Jedi? The ship’s crew has been looking everywhere for you.”

He tried to sit up, but Clat’Ha briskly pushed him back. “Stay down. You’re not ready to get up yet.”

He laid back and Clat’Ha withdrew. “Good luck to you, Obi-Wan Kenobi,” she said. “Watch yourself. You’ve stepped into the middle of a war. You’re lucky to be alive. You may not be so lucky next time.” She turned to leave, but Obi-Wan touched her hand.

“Wait,” he said. “I don’t understand. What war? Who’s fighting?”

“Offworld’s war,” Clat’Ha answered. “You must have heard of them.”