Reading Time: 74 Minutes

Title: Initiate in Crisis
Series: Way of the Force – The Kenobi Years
Series Order: 1
Author: WestWind
Fandom: Star Wars
Genre: Family, Science Fiction
Relationship(s): Gen
Content Rating: PG
Warnings: Bullying
Author Note:
Beta: Grammarly
Alpha:
Word Count: 18,279
Summary: Obi-Wan Kenobi’s future with the Jedi order is nudged in a different direction by a Force orchestrated run-in with Master Feemor Stahl the night before he is to head to Bandomeer.
Artist: Saydria Wolfe

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Act 1

The ship’s ramp rattled under Feemor’s boots as he disembarked from the Vagabond, his Gauntlet starfighter. The sound was lost among the background noise of the active temple hangar. His nose involuntarily scrunched up as it was assaulted by the tang of fuel and thruster fire in the air.

He stepped off the ramp and just avoided running into one of the mouse droids skittering across the floor for its next assignment. It spun in a circle beeping curses at him before shooting off. He wondered if it was one of the droids his crèchemate Dearlo modified.

The hangar was full of movement – droids, sentient beings, and ships – all acted in concert to orchestrate travel in and out of the hangar. Since the temple was home to a range of chronotypes – based on species and personnel preference – the temple hangars were staffed and active around the clock to meet those needs.

It appeared to be one of the less active times as he hoped it would be.

“Master Stahl, welcome back,” A’ren Murla greeted as she approached with a datapad in hand and a utility droid following behind. “Any special instructions for her?” She nodded her head toward the Vagabond.

“Thanks, Technician Murla. Just the standard. EV-8M will let you know what she needs for any internal repairs.”

Her eyes scanned the small freighter that had got him in and out of many hostile places and been his home away from home on his longer journeys. The utility droid rolled around to the other side of the ship.

“That carbon scoring will probably buff out. Do you want us to touch up the paint if it doesn’t?”

“Only if it presents a safety or structural issue. Don’t want her looking too good…”

“… and drawing the wrong attention,” A’ren finished his standard reply. She tapped at the tablet to fill out the standard documentation. She clicked her tongue in approval. “EV has already updated the ship’s maintenance records.”

Feemor slid his hands inside his wide robe sleeves. His fingers automatically sought out the beskar bracers beneath the cloth. Their solid presence had become a comfort to him. They had saved his life and limb several times over the years since they were bestowed on him.

He hummed in acknowledgment. EV-8M was diligent about keeping proper records for review and analysis and used the data to find indicators of developing issues. Khir, his former padawan, called EV-8M obsessive and suffered through many cold showers because of it. He soon learned to not make that comment where EV could hear it.

The screen changed. A’ren radiated satisfaction. “Everything’s in order. We should have everything done by the end of the night shift.”

“Force willing, I won’t need it before then.”

A’ren’s answering chuckle rang of experience. “Force willing. Enjoy your evening and welcome home.”

Feemor inclined his head to her. “You as well.”

He adjusted his bag on his shoulder and headed out of the hangar.

~~X~~

Feemor watched as Master Rono Sidorn added the information he had brought back from his contacts and other Shadows in the field to the projection. The Force churned around them and radiated a strong warning that they both picked up.

‘LOOK, LOOK, PAY ATTENTION!’ it insisted.

“This is a worrying trend,” Rono said, studying the holo projection in the middle of his room. The Thisspiasian slithered around the holo.

Feemor took a centering breath. He acknowledged the Force’s warning. He exhaled and let his distress and anxiety go with it so it would not cloud his actions. He did not dismiss the importance of the facts or minimize the potential horrors it pointed to.

“Yes,” Feemor flatly agreed.

“Unfortunately, it is not enough for us to act on or convince the High Council,” Rono said.

“They would just say you are seeing shadows where there are none.” Feemor ran a hand through his shaggy blond hair and huffed. He pushed his frustration into the Force and was rewarded with a warm feeling assuring him he was on the right path.

Once more the question of why crossed his mind. If they all listened to the Force – why did the other Jedi not see the warnings he and Master Rono did? It was a question he had sought an answer to within himself, within the Force, and in discussions with other Force users – not all of them Jedi.

He had not come up with a clear-cut or satisfactory answer to the question.

“True,” Rono ran his hand through his brown facial hair – a gesture he admitted to picking up from his human Jedi friends. “But I know where to look for more information.” He looked from the projection and into Feemor’s eyes. “Keep your eyes and ears open, but I don’t have any specific assignment for you right now… maybe later on.” He waved his hands in a shooing motion. “But, go and enjoy being back in the temple while you can.”

Feemor bowed over his folded hands. “Of course, Master Rono. Good evening, and may the Force be with you.”

“And you, Master Feemor.”

He exited Sidorn’s quarters and headed back to his own. He lightly meditated as he walked and let the meeting’s topic and his list of information sources come and go as he sought the best path forward in the Force – just like Master Fay taught him in his first years of knighthood.

The Force had taken him to places and people he had never expected. The most surprising and beneficial was Jaster Mereel. He and his padawan had the misfortune of crashing on Korda VI in the middle of a battle and in time to save Jaster from being killed.

Because of his friendship with the Mand’alor, one of his valid identities was a Mandalorian bounty hunter who had many contacts in places where Jedi were not welcome. Some like the smugglers Fred and Luo whom he worked with a few months back.

The Force pinged at the thought of the two individuals, and he knew cultivating his Mandalorian identity’s relationship with them would be fruitful in the future.

‘Turn left now” the Force tugged more insistently than he had felt in a while.

He turned down the hall. The Force chivied him on to less used areas of the temple.

‘Faster… right… down… hurry… left…’

An initiate ran into him. Feemor’s hands instantly went to the boy’s shoulders to steady him.

The Force hummed with rightness.

‘Listen… help…’ was underlined with the tang of wrongness.

What was wrong? Feemore did not know – at the moment. There was something upsetting the initiate to tears, and he would find out what.

“Sorry… Sorry, Master, all my fault,” the red-headed initiate tried to back away and bow while babbling about his inattention and it being his fault.

Fear, anger, sorrow, and despair were only the strongest of emotions rolling off the heartbroken child. To be radiating the range of feelings was an indication of an issue. The Force having orchestrated their meeting emphasized the point.

Feemor tightened his grip just enough to keep the pre-teen from fleeing and squatted down to be closer to eye level.

“Shh… It’s alright. Take a breath for me,” Feemor softly coaxed.

The initiate refused to meet his eyes. Probably trying to hide the tears gathering in them. The boy sniffled and then took in the requested breath under Feemor’s instructions. It took a bit, but the boy calmed.

Feemor pulled a handkerchief from a pocket and handed it to the initiate. He accepted it but seemed to shrink in on himself more.

‘Listen. Help,’ the Force insisted again.

The boy blew his nose after wiping at his eyes.

“I’m Master Feemor Stahl. What is your name?”

The boy straightened and gave him a bow. “Initiate Obi-Wan Kenobi… well… not an initiate anymore.” He stumbled over the words.

“Not an initiate?” Feemor asked.

He had guessed the boy was around ten or eleven. He still had time before moving on to one of the corps unless there were other issues.

‘Look! Listen!’

“No master wants me. They say I am too angry,” Obi-Wan stuttered out.

‘False.’

“I’m leaving tomorrow for Bandomeer and the agri-corps.” Obi-Wan sniffled and looked at Feemor’s feet.

“How old are you?” Feemor asked.

“Twelve.” He shifted uneasily but did not pull out of Feemor’s light one-handed hold.

So, slightly older than he thought, but there was something off about the situation. He was too upset for someone who should have had weeks to transition out.

“Who will be going with you?”

Obi-Wan froze. He blinked several times, reminding Feemor of a rebooting droid. “Going with me?” He sounded very confused.

Feemor gave his growing unease into the Force and made sure to radiate and demonstrate calm sincere concern.

“Initiates headed for the corps aren’t just sent out alone. They are escorted by a Jedi or a corps member.”

The look of bewilderment grew. “They aren’t just sent away?”

Feemor shook his head. “No, they aren’t. That would be doubly true when headed to an Outer Rim world.” He paused and continued at the Force’s urging. “In fact, it’s odd that you are being sent directly to the Outer Rim. Standard practice is to send the young to a station in the Core for training before being given Rim assignments. Didn’t the Council of Reassignment go over this with you during your assessment?”

“Council of Reassignment? Assessment?” Obi-Wan muttered in bafflement as if he had never heard of them.

Feemor refrained from pinching the bridge of his nose and sighing at the mess he knew he had stepped into. Wide blue eyes met his for the first time, and he knew he was in the right place at the right time to aid Obi-Wan. As Jinn would say – he was following the will of the Force.

“I’m guessing you didn’t choose the Agri-corps.”

“No. I was just told I was going. I haven’t even told my friends yet.”

Feemor bit his lip and breathed through his nose.

‘Wrong! Wrong! Wrong!’ rang in the Force.

‘No, shit,’ he internally muttered back.

“This calls for a bit of investigation.”

Obi-Wan reared back. “What? Why? Surely you have more important things to do?”

“Because the Force is insisting that something isn’t right here. Take a moment, center yourself, and see for yourself.”

“But…” He could see the war on the kid’s face. He did not know if he could trust the possibility of hope Feemor was offering. “But… the masters decided I’m not fit to become a knight.”

“I’m not so sure about that.” It came out more cynical than Feemor wanted it to in front of the kid. But it seemed to be the encouragement Obi-Wan needed to trust him.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes. His breathing shifted to the rhythm taught for meditation. Feemor reached out to monitor the process. The maelstrom of emotions smoothed out and the initiate entered a tentative meditation state.

He waited. He shifted to ease his legs. The strain of being in a crouching position for so long was uncomfortable. The movement did not disturb Obi-Wan.

A crease formed between his eyes. His lips pressed tightly together turning them into thin lines before releasing into an ‘O’ of surprise. Obi-Wan’s eyes opened. Hope danced in them.

“I have a choice,” he whispered in awe.

He bit his tongue to not blurt out ‘Of course you have a choice,’ because he obviously did not know that from their previous discussion. It made him wonder what had changed in the initiate training that Obi-Wan was unaware of the assessment and transition process from initiate to corps member at his current age. He remembered having to attend a lecture on it around age ten.

“Yes, you have a choice – probably more than you realize.” Feemor stood and offered Obi-Wan his hand. “The choice before you now is to continue to where you were going or come with me and learn what choices you have.”

Obi-Wan did not hesitate. He took Feemor’s hand.

“The Force says going with you will not be…” his brow wrinkled as he ‘listened,’ “as filled with sorrow. I choose to go with you.”

The Force danced around Feemor at the agreement.

Feemor lightly squeezed Obi-Wan’s hand before letting go. He pushed his robe sleeve back to access the communication screen attached to the vambrace. He quickly sent a message to Master Filjo Lortoll of their impending emergency visit and needing to see the Ithorian in his capacity as a member of the Council of Reassignments.

Obi-Wan shifted closer to get a better look at the device. “Wizard! Does it work as a personal pad?”

“Yes.”

Master Lortoll responded swiftly verifying his location, and that he was free now. Feemor looked around trying to figure out where they were in the temple in relation to Master Lortoll’s quarter. Obi-Wan pointed down the hall he had come from.

“The room of a thousand fountains is this way,” Obi-Wan said, realizing Feemor’s quandary.

“Thank you.” He ruffled Obi-Wan’s hair automatically – just like he had to Khir when he was young.

Obi-Wan ducked his head and blushed under the affectionate action. Feemor pretended to not notice and headed in the direction indicated. Obi-Wan followed.

Obi-Wan slowed as they moved closer to the more traversed areas of the temple. He was huddling in on himself as if to avoid being seen when Feemor glanced back. He was once more radiating misery and shame.

Feemor stepped back to Obi-Wan’s side. He wrapped his robe around the boy and pulled him close to him, hiding him from others’ casual glances. Obi-Wan fused against his side. Feemor turned down a hall that would get them where they were going without entering the busy halls.

It did not take long to walk to Master Lortoll’s door. The door slid open before Feemor completed a knock.

“Feemor, welcome back to the temple. I’m happy to see you.” Filjo’s large black eyes darted down to the lump under his cloak but did not comment on it. “Come in.”

“Thank you, Filjo.” Feemor ushered Obi-Wan into the room and toward the table settings he knew his friend preferred when talking business. It was already set for their arrival with snacks, cups, and a steaming teapot.

The door shut, cutting them from the eyes and ears of anyone who did not need to be involved in the future discussion.

Feemor could read the concern on the Ithorian’s face as he approached. “Who do you have with you?” Filjo kept his melody light and welcoming.

He gave Obi-Wan’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze before pulling back his cloak. “I ran into Initiate Kenobi.”

Obi-Wan shuffled his feet. “I believe I was the one to run into you, master.”

“Factually true,” Feemor said, “but it was the Force that put me in your path.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes widened and looked at him with the amazement most often only seen in the young.

Filjo chuckled. It sounded more like a hum in four-part harmony due to him having four throats. “Since being knighted, Fee has become very good at listening to the Force.”

“All Master Fay’s fault,” Feemor goodnaturedly grumbled. “Sit!” He gestured for Obi-Wan to take a seat at the table.

They all took seats. Filjo poured tea into the cups. “Do you want cream or sugar for your tea?” he asked Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan shook his head. Filjo set the pot down and pushed the plate of snacks toward Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan obediently selected a sandwich square and took a nibble before taking a bigger bite. Filjo and Feemor exchanged knowing looks. They had both raised padawans and remembered the amount of food a growing child would eat.

Feemor placed several slices of fruit on Obi-Wan’s plate while Filjo insisted he take another sandwich. Feemor grabbed two of the small sandwiches for himself. It had been a while since his last meal.

The two masters caught up on the everyday happenings of their lives allowing Obi-Wan to eat and settle in their presence. Before the youth could work himself up over why they were there, Feemor asked, “Did the Council of Reassignment assess Obi-Wan and assign him to the Agri-corps on Bandomeer?”

“Bandomeer?” Filjo said, sounding insulted. “We would never send an initiate to such a place. That’s not how the system works.” He looked between Feemor and Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan sat frozen with a slice of apple halfway to his mouth.

“Then why was I told I would be going to Bandomeer tomorrow morning?” he blurted out.

Filjo’s finger tapped on the table. “That is a very good question, Initiate Kenobi. Who told you this?”

“Master Vant,” Obi-Wan said. “I was told to return to the crèche to pack my belongings.”

“Most unusual,” Filjo muttered.

“Has the Council assessed Obi-Wan?” Feemor asked.

“No,” Filjo said. “I haven’t seen his name come up in any of our duties.” His finger tapped more forcefully against the table. He studied Obi-Wan. “It should have been based on his age.”

Obi-Wan stiffened at that.

Filjo waved a hand. “Peace. We meet with all initiates between the developmental equivalent of tenth and eleventh birthdays.”

“They don’t have the special presentation anymore?” Feemor asked in surprise.

Filjo huffed. “Someone decided it was better for us to meet them one-on-one only.”

“Then you have to spend more time explaining it all to them – over and over again instead of answering clarifying questions.” Feemor was surprised at the change.

“They cited declining numbers of initiates as one of the major reasons for the change.” Filjo shook his head unhappy at the idea.

Feemor had a sinking feeling about this on several levels.

“Are there really so few initiates?” he asked.

Filjo’s head swayed back and forth. “There are fewer than in the past… but it is not outside the historical patterns. Some decades there are less Force sensitive children found than others.”

It was Feemor’s turn to tap his finger on the table in thought. Were there fewer force sensitives being born or were they just not making it to the temples? Did it have anything to do with what else was going on in the galaxy and the wisps he and his fellow Shadows were trying to follow?

‘Later… child now.’

Obi-Wan looked between them as if following a Nut-racket game as they conversed.

“Obi-Wan never met with any of the council.” Feemor did not phrase it as a question. He knew it was true. It just needed to be out in the open.

Filjo accessed his datapad and searched through the files. “He doesn’t even show up when I query his name in our systems.” He did more searching. “He does show up if I look for him in other capacities.”

“Why would someone hide him from you?” Feemor pondered.

They both looked at Obi-Wan, who looked at them in shock.

“Why would I know?” he sputtered out.

“Of course you wouldn’t,” Filjo assured and patted the back of Obi-Wan’s hand, “but you can tell us what has happened to you of late.”

“It may give us a clue to what’s going on,” Feemor added.

Obi-Wan sipped his tea, an obvious delaying tactic.

“Where should I begin?” he asked.

“Where do you feel is appropriate?” Feemor asked.

Obi-Wan bit his lip before centering himself. Feemor felt Obi-Wan reach out to the Force for guidance.

“I’m twelve and no one has selected me to be their padawan despite how well I do in classes or during demonstrations or how hard I try.” His eyes were closed as if he could not see them, it would be less painful to admit to them. “I’m not the only one in that boat in the crèche. We are all feeling the pressure and don’t want to be thrown out of the order – to be failures.”

Filjo growled but quieted under Feemor’s warning stare. Letting Obi-Wan tell his story was more important than Filjo interrupting with his displeasure of the beliefs expressed.

“Many of us have approached masters inquiring if they would take on a padawan with little success. There was a demonstration trial a few days ago. I wanted to prove myself to be worthy of becoming a knight so badly… but I let my anger at my opponent get the better of me. I won the fight, but it was fueled by my anger at Bruck who has always teased and bullied me.”

He moistened his lips and took a moment to breathe.

“Master Yoda brought Master Jinn over to introduce him to me.”

The two masters exchanged concerned looks over the table.

“Master Jinn said I was too angry and not cut out to be a Jedi.” Obi-Wan sniffled but pushed on. “He told Yoda that he would never take on another padawan. Then he marched out of the room. Everyone was watching. Yoda looked at me and sighed before going after Master Jinn.

“I know we aren’t supposed to show emotions, but I couldn’t keep the tears from falling. I ran and hid. Later, Bruck found me. He called me a failure and a washout. I should just leave now to save the embarrassment of being told to leave.”

Tears leaked out from under Obi-Wan’s closed eyes.

“I was hurt and ashamed and felt like a failure and that all my dreams were crumbling around me, and I felt unmoored with the idea of leaving the only place I have known and call home. I attacked him with my fists. We were separated, and I got in trouble for fighting – again. A day later, I’m told I’m going to Bandomeer.” He sniffled.

Feemor wrapped an arm around Obi-Wan and pulled him into his lap. The boy went easier than he expected. Feemor enveloped him in his Force presence and wrapped his arms around him. Obi-Wan buried his head in Feemor’s chest and sobbed.

“Crying is cathartic,” Feemor murmured. “You have been through a lot emotionally and physically and this is a natural reaction.”

“But Jedi are serine and emotionless,” Obi-Wan muttered.

“That’s a bunch of bantha poodoo,” Feemor said. “We have emotions, we just learn how to not let them control us and how to handle them. It’s not easy. It takes time.” He ran a comforting hand up and down Obi-Wan’s back. “There is no species out there that does not struggle with it, especially during their transitioning years to adulthood.”

“But… we are told…”

“We’ll talk about it later,” Feemor said. “There are reasons.”

Filjo snorted.

“It’s wrong that you let your anger get the best of you, but it is understandable given the pressures you described.”

“Really?” Obi-Wan said as if he were being thrown a lifeline.

“Yes.”

Obi-Wan slid his arms around Feemor and hugged him while he cried. Feemor held him tightly and swayed slightly side-to-side and waited for the exhausted boy to fall asleep. It did not take long for him to succumb to the pull.

Feemor arched an eyebrow at his friend.

“Definitely an interesting conundrum you brought to my door.”

“Quite.” He tipped his head at the pad still sitting on the table. “You recorded it?”

“I thought it best. Why make him repeat himself for the entire Council of Reassignment? I’m sure they will have questions for him… but it’s best they hear it in his words before he can second guess himself. I will not play it for them without checking with him beforehand.”

Feemor nodded. “So what now?”

“Now, I have an impromptu gathering to organize.”

“And the guest list just happens to be the rest of the council…”

“Best way to keep the meeting from being officially recorded.”

It would keep whoever was meddling in Obi-Wan’s files from noticing someone had caught on.

Act 2

Gentle shaking pulled Obi-Wan from sleep.

“Time to wake up, Obi-Wan.”

It was not a familiar voice, but he found comfort in it. A bit of comfort was nice after the week he had. He sat up and blinked his eyes several times. They felt sticky.

A blond man was smiling at him.

“Are you with us?”

He blinked more. He looked around the room. He saw Master Lortoll and remembered where he was.

“There you are,” Master Stahl kindly said.

Obi-Wan jumped from Master Stahl’s lap. Before he could be embarrassed, Master Lortoll chuckled.

“You will find Feemor to be more tactile than most Masters. It’s part of his nature.”

“Touch is a developmental need for many races, and offering comfort is part of helping others.” Master Stahl’s response had the tone of banter, just like Obi-Wan did with his friends.

Master Lortoll slowly blinked his eyes, the Ithorian indicator of acknowledging or agreeing with the other’s point.

Obi-Wan realized he had gotten wrapped up in the exchange between the masters and forgot about his situation. Before he could fall back into the mental mire of despair, Master Stahl stood and ruffled his hair.

“Let’s go get your things from the crèche,” Master Stahl said.

He froze and disheartenment filled his stomach. Master Stahl said he would help. Did he change his mind? Was he hopeless?

“Obi-Wan,” Master Stahl gently called. There was a peaceful Force presence wrapping around him.

He blinked, and Master Stahl was at eye level with him just like he did in the hallway.

“I told you that you have a choice, and I meant it.” Blue eyes almost glowed with his sincerity. “However, we need time to sort things out, and it is best to make strategic moves to not tip our hand to any who might interfere.”

Obi-Wan rolled the words through his mind analyzing them… testing them. If he thought about the situation like one of their strategy games…. Yes, gathering his things as instructed was a logical step to take. It just seemed wrong to be applying those lessons to fellow Jedi. He always thought they were above such things. The knights and masters were looked up to as models to be emulated. Obi-Wan had great appreciation and respect for them. Yet…

There was a lesson the Force was coaxing him to find. He did not feel ready to face it, so he focused on the now.

Gathering his things would give Masters Stahl and Lortoll time – at least until he was to be on the transport – to do whatever they planned to do. They both seemed to think his situation was not normal.

The Force was nudging him to trust them.

“OK,” Obi-Wan said. He released the building tension with his next breath.

Master Stahl smiled at him. It was warm and comforting. It put Obi-Wan at ease.

“We should swing by the cafeteria for late-meal when done.”

Obi-Wan nodded, having no objection to the plan.

“By then, Filjo will be done with his meeting.” Master Stahl stood.

“We will at least have a plan of action,” Master Lortoll said. He focused his large eyes on Obi-Wan. “I recorded what you told us earlier. I thought it would be better that you only have to share it once with the two of us. I would like to share it with the rest of the Council of Reassignment, but only with your permission.”

“Do they need to hear it?” Obi-Wan asked. “Can’t you just give them a run-down?”

“I will give them the basic facts, but if procedures are not being followed, there will be an investigation. Testimonies and interviews are gathered from those involved in such investigations,” he patiently explained. He sat back in his chair with hands folded and radiating serenity. There was not a drop of impatience displayed or projected.

Obi-Wan chewed on his bottom lip and appreciated that they were giving him time to think it through. It took a lot out of him to tell them what he had. The idea of sharing it with a group of masters was daunting. He did not want them to see his shame – his failure to be a good Jedi.

A warm hand rested on his shoulder and pulled him into a hug against Master Stahl’s side. It reminded him of his friends comforting him after being turned down or after another fight with Bruck. He leaned into the offered support.

But… if the rules were not being followed…. The idea was anathema to him. The traditions and rules were in place for a reason – for safety or so he had been taught. It was hard for him to always follow them, but surely once you became a knight it was easier…. Did he just feel amusement from the Force?

He worried a piece of dry skin on his lip between his teeth. He glanced at each of the masters in the room and made his choice.

“If they need to hear it,” he nodded his head, “you can play it for them.”

Master Stahl gave him a light squeeze in support. Master Lortoll did the slow blink.

“I will only share it when and with those who need the information,” Master Lortoll promised. “There may be questions only you will be able to answer once the investigation is started.”

Obi-Wan tried not to tense up at the statement.

“You will not be brought before the council,” he assured. “Standard policy is for one of the Council members to interview the initiate with an adult of their choice as an advocate and occasionally a close friend for support.”

That did not sound horrible. He felt better knowing the setting of any future questioning.

“Do I get to choose the council member?”

“If there is one you feel more comfortable with, yes.”

Obi-Wan took a breath and pushed his fears into the Force the best he could.

“Alright. Yeah, that is acceptable.” He tried to sound confident and thought he mostly succeeded.

“Thank you,” Master Lortoll said.

“To the crèche,” Master Stahl said. He guided Obi-Wan out of the room.

~~X~~

Feemor followed Obi-Wan into the crèche. The office attendant glanced their way but did not give them a second look. Masters often visited the crèche for a variety of reasons – from spending time to meditate in the young’s presences like Yoda did – to spending time with an initiate before offering to teach them.

It was late afternoon, and the youngest clans were sitting at the tables eating under the eyes of their clan masters. He could hear older groups moving around in their rooms as they passed. He nodded to those who gave him more than a brief glance, but none approached him.

The main room was the same. The books, toys, rugs, and the art hung on the wall had all changed, but it felt the same as when he lived here. The room echoed the overall joy and inquisitiveness of the children who lived in these halls.

It brought back memories of his youth with Ez, Zee, Dee, and Fil. He smiled, remembering their mischievous endeavors and the trouble they got into.

He did not let himself linger for long on his memories. However, it was enough time to lose sight of Obi-Wan. He continued walking in the direction the boy had gone and reached out in the Force enough to find his presence. He followed it down the hall and stopped outside one of the clan rooms.

He peeked in to find a relaxed Obi-Wan wrapped in the embrace of two younger initiates.

“Don’t scare us like that,” chided the female Mon Calamari into Obi-Wan’s shoulder.

Obi-Wan rubbed her back.

“What happened? Why’d you run away?” asked the boy who reluctantly stepped back. He noticed Feemor in the doorway. “Did you find a Master?” he asked excitedly.

The familiar excitement radiated filling the room. Feemor remembered the taste of this excitement. He had shared it with his clanmates in a room like this in a situation that… admittedly, looked like this – an initiate returning to the crèche with a Jedi Knight or Master in tow – when they each were accepted as padawans.

“No,” Obi-Wan stuttered out in confusion. He looked to where the boy was pointing and noticed Feemor. “Oh… um… well…”

Feemor stepped into the room and bowed to them. “I’m Master Feemor Stahl. You may address me as Feemor or Master Feemor. I’m helping Obi-Wan with what upset him.” He figured that was neutral and safe given what he heard. He would let Obi-Wan decide how much to share with them.

The Mon Calamari stepped back and intently studied Feemor but did bow. “Initiate Bant Eerin,” she said.

“Initiate Garen Muln,” the boy followed with his own bow.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you both.”

Obi-Wan shifted as skittish as a tooka in a room of rocking chairs. Bant zeroed in on it. She demanded answers with a look and a hand on her hips. Garen followed her lead. Obi-Wan rubbed the back of his neck. He glanced at each of them before sighing and giving in.

“Master Vant told me to pack up my things because I was leaving in the morning for the Agri-corps,” he admitted.

His friends gasped.

“No!” Garen exclaimed.

“They can’t.” Bant stomped her foot in outrage.

Obi-Wan looked sheepish. “According to Master Stahl and his friend, you are probably right.”

Her silver eyes locked onto Feemor. She radiated determination. “Am I?”

Feemor sat cross-legged on the floor. The initiates all shifted closer to him.

“I won’t say they can’t, but proper procedures are not being followed,” he admitted. “My friend is looking into it.”

Bant nodded as if things were right in her world now.

“Bet it’s Vant. She favors Bruck and thinks Obi-Wan’s the one starting all the fights between them. She’d be happy to have him gone.” Garen crossed his arms over his chest, radiating his righteous judgment on the topic, and then pouted.

Bant rolled her silver eyes. “She couldn’t do that.” She looked at Feemor. “Could she?”

That they thought their docent was capable of such a thing could point to other issues in the crèche. He would pass the situation on to Filjo to include in their investigation.

“Not without being in a lot of trouble.”

“But… who decided to send him away?” Garen stumbled over his words and sounded a bit choked up.

Feemor rested a hand on Garen’s shoulder. “I don’t know who or why, but I promised Obi-Wan it is his choice to go or not, and I promised to help him.”

Obi-Wan jumped in. “We talked to his friend Master Lortoll, who is part of the council that oversees assignments. He said I should have talked to someone from their group years ago about options.”

“Have either of you talked to someone from the Council of Reassignment?” Feemor asked them.

They both gave him negative indications.

Garen bit his lower lip. “I might have heard others talking about meeting with someone about future plans. I didn’t think anything of it because everyone knows I want to be a pilot, so why would I need to talk to anyone about it.”

“Interesting. I will pass that on to my friend. That’s the sort of information he needs to know. Thank you,” Feemor said.

Garen lit up at his help being acknowledged.

“What’s the plan?” Bant asked.

“We came to get Obi-Wan’s things and then late-meal,” Feemor said.

Bant’s face wrinkled in confusion.

Garen blurted out, “So they don’t get a clue about what you’re doing.” He laughed.

“Exactly.”

“Also Obi-Wan can’t stay here if someone is out to get him,” Garen said.

‘True’

Feemor had not thought beyond dinner… tomorrow morning at the latest, but Garen did have a point. Obi-Wan could not return to the crèche any time soon even with the council looking into things. He would be easy to access for whoever was behind this and pressed into the desired direction – for good or ill. He would wait to see what Filjo has to say before making further plans.

“I don’t know if someone is out to get him per se,” Feemor cautioned, “but someone has an agenda for him, and they are bending protocols to do so. We’ll figure out what’s going on and keep him safe.”

Garen looked at him like he was missing the obvious but let it go.

“Help me pack,” Obi-Wan said to his friends.

They nodded and headed to his assigned space to pack his belongings.

~~X~~

Half an hour later, the four of them walked out to the crèche. Garen and Obi-Wan carried the two bags that housed a majority of Obi-Wan’s belongings. The rest were stashed in Garen’s and Banth’s rooms for later retrieval.

“We can’t take these to the cafeteria,” Bant said. “It would draw too much attention.”

Feemor sighed and nodded. “My rooms would be best,” he said. It was the logical place. It was secure and no one would think to look there for the items or Obi-Wan – for now.

He turned down a hall to take them there. The three initiates trotted along with him radiating excitement and mischievousness of kids up to something.

“Master Stahl, what sort of missions do you go on?” Garen asked.

He felt the eagerness from all three for a chance to hear first-hand stories.

“I go where the Force leads me.”

They all groaned at the non-answer answer. He tried not to smirk now that he was on the other end of the exchange. It was practically a tradition. He remembered being frustrated with such answers when young. Now that he was a master, he understood it was a good answer to hide behind, especially if your missions were not suitable for the age of the audience or were not for general knowledge.

“I have done a bit of this and that. A lot of it falls into the realm of negotiations. Done a few searches in Mid Rim planets. I’ve had several escort and protection missions over the years.”

“Did you fight pirates or get into a starfighter battle?” Garen asked eagerly.

He did not have to look to know all three of them were looking intently at him.

“I have done both. Scared in both.”

“Scared, but Jedi aren’t supposed to be scared,” Garen said.

“Being scared in threatening situations is a natural reaction. Fear for yourself, fear for those you are protecting, fear that your ship will not make it to safety because it’s damaged. But as Jedi, we acknowledge the fear and don’t let it dictate our actions.”

“I thought we were to give it to the Force,” Bant said.

Feemor nodded. “That is one way to understand it. By giving it to the Force you are letting it go. You are not allowing it to influence your actions without thought, and in doing so, you have centered yourself to listen to the Force for what to do.”

The children looked thoughtful at his words. He knew that would not keep them quiet for long. Thankfully his door was just ahead.

~~X~~

Master Feemor’s rooms felt nice despite not being recently lived in. The traditional travel bag leaned against the wall just inside the room. Obi-Wan assumed it had been dropped off earlier.

Obi-Wan set his bags beside the larger one. Garen followed his lead. There was a line of three bags along the wall which gave the appearance of preparing for a mission.

Master Feemor ran a hand through his hair and studied them. “Change of plans,” he announced. “I’ll order food delivered for us.”

He asked them their preferences and submitted the order on the room’s datapad.

“I’m going to repack my mission bag while we wait.” Master Feemor snagged his bag and disappeared into his bedroom.

Garen pulled out his pad as soon as Master Feemor was out of sight.

Bant leaned closer to Obi-Wan. “Did you know him before?” she whispered.

“No. I didn’t recognize his name when he introduced himself… but there are a lot of masters. We can’t know or remember them all.”

“I thought you had a list of all the knights and masters who didn’t have a padawan,” Bant teased.

“Only those stationed at the temple for the past six months.” He glanced back to the bedroom door. “He obviously just got back.”

“Oh,” Garen gasped. He wedged himself between them on the couch. “Look,” he softly insisted and held the pad so they all could see. “No current padawan. However, he hasn’t been at the temple for longer than a week for the past four years. One of those times was for his padawan’s knighting.”

Bant leaned in. “When was that?”

“Two years ago. He was made a Master then as well,” Garen answered. He scrolled back through his mission listings.

“Maybe he’s ready to take on a new padawan,” Bant excitedly whispered.

“A lot of vague information on his postings,” Garen said.

“Not unusual. You have to have council-level clearance to see a lot of the details,” Obi-Wan said.

Garen kept scrolling. “Several assignments as a watcher after knighting…”

“Not unusual,” Obi-Wan said.

“His master was killed when he was nineteen.”

Bant shrugged. “So someone else finished his training. That happens. Missions aren’t always safe.”

“I know,” Garen said, “but there is no other master listed in his file.” He tapped a finger on the screen. “He was knighted at twenty-two, but there isn’t a master listed. The masters of the high council signed off on it…”

Obi-Wan pulled the pad closer to look at the record. “That is odd.” He examined the information. “His first master is listed,” he pointed out. He looked her up. “Master Aastra Meettam was from Coruscant. She worked mostly with the Senate…. She wrote several academic papers.”

Garen took the pad back to look at the new information. Bant leaned back in to read the new information. “She died on a mission…” He bit his lower lip and looked in the distance in thought.

Obi-Wan felt Garen’s spike of excitement before he was able to control it.

“What if… she didn’t really die, but it got too dangerous…”

“So she faked her death?” Bant’s skepticism was clearly expressed.

“Maybe she became a Shadow,” Garen theorized, not ready to let go of his train of thought. “It would explain why there is so little information on his missions between Master Meettam’s death and his knighting.”

Bant huffed in disbelief. Obi-Wan pressed his thumbnail against his front teeth as he considered the idea.

“That doesn’t explain why there is no master’s name for his knighting,” Bant insisted. “In fact, it points to the opposite. They would have created a false identity for her or assigned him another master, at least on paper.”

Garen huffed. It was his huff of reluctant agreement, but he was not ready to let go of the idea. “Maybe his new master was a Shadow.” He tapped on the pad and brought up the listing of assignments during Feemor’s last padawan years. “It doesn’t even name the planets he’s been to.”

They all leaned in closer to the pad. Sectors were listed occasionally. Most were identified with a number with no other details on the mission. His accreditations earned for the mission were listed. The type of award was clear, but only a file number was provided under details.

“Why else would so much information be missing?” Garen asked.

“Maybe because the Council thought that would be the best way to handle my second master repudiating me fifteen years after my knighting in a fit of pique,” Master Stahl answered.

All three heads whipped around to look at the bedroom door. Master Stahl was leaning against the doorframe with arms crossed over his olive green tunic that was visible since he removed his cloak at some point.

Master Feemor chuckled at their reaction. He pushed off the doorframe and took a seat in the chair.

“You were repudiated? Why?” Garen blurted out.

Bant shook her head at their friend’s bluntness. Obi-Wan bit the inside of his lip to muffle the amused snort from escaping. Trust Garen to walk all over sensitive topics.

Master Feemor folded his hands in his lap and met each of their eyes. “Do you remember Padawan Xanatos?”

Obi-Wan nodded his head. His friends were not as quick to answer.

“I remember him winning at a tournament we attended as crèchelings,” Bant said.

“He fell,” Obi-Wan whispered.

“Oh, that one.” Garen nodded his head, making connections. “Wasn’t he Master Jinn’s padawan?” He looked at Obi-Wan, knowing the information he had gathered on the masters in his bid to become a padawan.

Obi-Wan bit his lip, not liking where he suspected the story would go. He nodded in response to Garen’s question, but he could not look away from Feemor, who appeared calm. Obi-Wan reached out in the Force to get a reading on the master.

The Force was encouraging. Master Feemor radiated peace and acceptance. There was also confidence and self-acceptance that Obi-Wan envied. If he could have such confidence and acceptance within himself after being rejected so many times… maybe he would be a padawan already. Maybe there was something wrong with him, and he would not be a good knight.

There was a light smack against his shields imparting a message of ‘none of that thinking.’ Master Feemor arched an eyebrow at him in question and in reprimand. Obi-Wan found it an impressive combination to convey with one movement.

“Master Jinn was your second master,” Obi-Wan said.

Master Feemor inclined his head. “Yes. He finished my training to knighthood. I was his first padawan.”

Obi-Wan’s friends both let out soft exclamations at the news.

“Didn’t that show up in your research?” Garen slapped Obi-Wan’s arm.

“No,” Obi-Wan hissed.

“It wouldn’t,” Master Feemor said. “Just like my mission details are obscured without the proper clearance, so is the fact I was Jinn’s padawan.”

Bant tilted her head to the side. “But why? The other masters know of it.”

A hint of a smile curled at the corners of his mouth. “When Xanatos betrayed Qui-Gon and fell, he took it hard and blamed himself for Xanatos’ fall.”

“Was he?” Garen asked.

Master Feemor rubbed his jaw. “On one level… yes, as much as any master is responsible for their padawan. There were certain attitudes Xanatos had that should have been addressed early on by Jinn and his other teachers… but masters are not all-knowing or seeing. We are fallible. What we might see as justified self-confidence at the time can prove to be arrogance and entitlement in another.” He lifted a finger in the air to highlight his next point. “However, the choice was Xanatos’ to make and the responsibility for his fall is his own in the end.”

“But…” Bant began, “…if Master Jinn did something different…” Her discomfort at the fallibility of the masters radiated in the Force.

Master Feemor’s lips stretched in an understanding smile while his calm Force presence wrapped comfortably around them.

“Maybe, but what ifs are a dangerous path to walk.”

Obi-Wan could feel Bant getting ready to protest, but Master Feemor continued.

“Examination of what happened and what could have prevented or mitigated a situation is good. That is how we learn and grow as sentient beings. That is why we should seek out the advice of those older than us. They have lived through situations and seen things that we haven’t.”

“What happens if people don’t?” Bant asked.

Master Feemor leaned his head against the chair back and let out a slow breath. “One, they are more likely to repeat the mistake or they may decide the other extreme is the best path.”

“How do you prevent that?” Bant asked.

Obi-Wan checked on Bant. She was feeling very concerned in the Force.

“Be open to the Force, be open to talking to others, and seeing a mind healer when needed.”

“Master Jinn didn’t do any of that, did he?” Garen asked.

“No, he didn’t.” Master Feemor sighed. “Jinn… has always been sure of his actions – bordering on arrogant in some eyes – and sure that he is following the way of the Force.”

Bant squawked. “Then why was it his fault that Xanatos fell? Was his fall the will of the Force?”

Master Feemor chuckled. “That will lead to a long discussion on Force theology that we don’t have time for at the moment.”

Bant sat up straighter and her expression hardened as when she was readying to tackle a hard problem. Feemor waved his hands in the air in a placating gesture.

“The Force doesn’t dictate one way to follow it. If it did, there would not be various Force traditions across the galaxy.”

“There are others?” Garen asked.

“Not as many as there once were. The Sith could be considered one – if a dark path.”

“And if there were only one way, then Sith wouldn’t exist,” Bant slowly said, feeling out the words and concept.

“Neither would free will,” Obi-Wan said. That would mean that no matter what Obi-Wan did, he would still be where he was now… or there was only one path for him. He could only do things that led him to this point… but that would mean that there was nothing he could do to change it.

Master Feemor gracefully flourished a hand in Obi-Wan’s direction. “The first at its extreme means everything is preordained and leads to a fatalistic approach and attitude. Very few view the Force in that extreme.”

“Because the future is always in motion.” Obi-Wan could hear Yoda’s voice saying those words as he spoke the often repeated refrain. The feeling of a trap closing in around him eased at the counter to his earlier thoughts.

“One of Yoda’s favorite sayings,” Master Feemor said. He looked contemplative. “Dinner will be here soon, and we have veered off topic.”

They started to protest but subsided at a lifted finger.

“I have learned that the Force will provide you with the path that you seek and that is open to you. It may have an agenda, but it does not force that agenda on anyone. How we interpret the force is colored by several factors.”

“Such as?” Obi-Wan asked.

“What part of the Force we are more sensitive to, beliefs, experiences…”

“How do our experiences affect it?” Bant asked.

“You have learned our current interpretation of the code is a result of the last Sith wars…”

“The code changes?” Garen asked.

Master Feemor covered his face with a hand and groaned. “What are they teaching you?”

“It was part of the history class,” Obi-Wan pointed out. “It wasn’t stated as clearly as Master Feemor just said it.”

Feemor dropped his hand. “After the war, the High Council of the time felt that attachments led to the fall of many of the Jedi that went to the dark side. Therefore, they decided to not allow most forms of attachment.”

“Was that wrong?” Garen asked

Feemor shrugged. “It is one point of view… one path to address the issue. I am sure they felt the Force pointing them in that direction at the time. But it places an undue obstacle in the path of those species that need some form of attachment for their mental health.”

“Aren’t there exceptions for such requirements?” Bant asked.

“Some allowances are made – often reluctantly by the current High Council, but even within a species such needs vary based on individuals. Those that do need it struggle without realizing why.”

Obi-Wan rolled the ideas around – testing them and looking at the implications.

“Think about it. Read writings from before and after the war to get a better understanding of their thought processes. Make your own observations and conclusions,” Feemor challenged. “Back to Jinn.

“Jinn, in his emotional state, renounced his ability to be a master and to teach any padawan to knighthood and followed it with a vow to never take on another padawan in front of the High Council. Because of his poor choice of wording – intentional or not, he included me in the statement.”

Obi-Wan internally cringed at the life-changing devastation a few words could have.

“I had been a knight for fifteen years with a senior padawan of my own. The masters on the council knew my training, skills, and mission history. They acknowledged I earned my rank and thought little of it at the time.”

Garen leaned forward. “What changed it?”

“Jinn was not quiet about his repudiation outside the council chambers. Others, those not on the council or who did not know me, heard and started questioning my right to be a knight. Rumors spread outside the order and affected my ability to be a counselor and negotiator.”

“Ouch,” Garen said.

The door chime sounded. Feemor retrieved the food from the delivery bot and distributed it. The smell made Obi-Wan realize how hungry he was. He picked up his sandwich and took a large bite.

“Master Jinn didn’t correct the misconception? It was pointed out to him?” Bant questioned, applauded that a master would not fix a mistake.

“It was.” There was a thread of sorrow in Feemor’s answer. “He believed the Force led him to the wording and would not take it back. He believed he contributed nothing to me passing my trials.”

“Conceded much,” Garen grumbled.

“But you said the council validated your rank…” Bant said.

“Rumors, especially outside the order, influence perceptions more than true facts do.”

“Probably didn’t help that there was a bit of truth to base it on,” Obi-Wan pointed out.

“Exactly. I was repudiated by my master. The general public did not understand the nuances of the situation…”

“Just enough to jump to worse conclusions,” Bant said.

“Yes. By the time the council figured out the ins and outs of it, they decided it was best to just redact any reference in both our records of the other. Then they sent me on missions in the Outer Rim for a few years to let it fade from memory.”

“Why not put in another master’s name?” Obi-Wan asked.

“It was considered, but there wasn’t a good candidate in that timeframe,” Feemor answered.

“Has it faded?” Bant asked.

“In the eyes of the public, yes. In the temple, mostly.” He shrugged. “I don’t mind and enjoy what I’m doing.”

Feemor’s comlink sounded, and he answered. They shamelessly listened in.

“Hi Fee, would you come back to my rooms?” Master Lortoll asked. “My visitors would like to talk to you before we decide the next steps.”

“Sure. Just me?” He looked at Obi-Wan when he asked.

“For now.”

“Be there in a bit.”

“Great.”

The comlink disconnected.

Feemor picked up his sandwich and stood up. “Finish your meal. Obi-Wan, it’s probably best if you stay here.” He pointed at Obi-Wan’s friends. “You two can stay as long as you like… or until curfew.”

They voiced their acknowledgment of his instructions.

Once Feemor was clear of the room, Bant turned and leaned forward to look around Garen. “I like him. You should ask him to be your Master.”

“Exactly!” Geran said. “Although you may be out of the temple more than you are here.”

“Master Jinn isn’t much better,” Bant said.

Obi-Wan played with a carrot stick. “Maybe. He was nice and answered our questions.”

“Better than a lot of masters,” Garen said.

Obi-Wan bit into the carrot stick and pondered the idea. Would Master Feemor agree to take him on? Would they be a good team? What did the Force say?

He took a moment to center himself like Feemor had instructed him earlier. He queried the Force. An encouraging pulse flowed through him.

Obi-Wan is looking through the windows of a ship watching hyperspace go past. He looks over to see Feemor in the pilot seat. He is telling Obi-Wan about a past mission.

Feemor deflects blaster bolts with his lightsaber back at the shooter while Obi-Wan chivvies a group to safety.

Obi-Wan is running through a city on a planet with two suns following Feemor.

Someone shaking him and calling his name pulled him out of his visions.

“Obi, are you alright?” Garen asked.

He nodded his head. “Yeah. I am.”

“Visions?” Bant asked, very concerned. “Do you need to go to medical?”

Obi-Wan shook his head and smiled in relief. “I think the Force agrees with you.”

~~X~~

“Come in,” Filjo said.

His shoulders were slightly rounded, which told Feemor how concerned his friend was. He rested a hand on Filjo’s shoulder and reached out with the Force offering support before entering the full room.

Three masters sat in the main room. There was evidence that more had been present. Of the remaining three, he only knew Cin Drallig, the temple Battlemaster. He taught Feemor’s padawan saber classes years ago. The other two he had no dealings with in the past.

The Mikkian offered him a smile. Her yellow head-tentacles lazily moved through the air. The human male beside her was typing away on his pad with a furrow between his brows.

He offered them a bow before Filjo directed him to an empty chair. Filjo sat down.

“We are the selected investigating committee. You know Cin. This is Zer Nras with the Exploration Corps.” Filjo indicated the Mikkian. “And Tinn Gar with the Education Corps.”

Tinn looked up at the introduction.

“This is Feemor Stahl.”

“Thank you for bringing the issue to our attention,” Zer said.

“I am happy you are looking into it. I have learned more that you need to know. It seems Obi-Wan is not the only initiate not to be told their options. His friends Bant and Garen had not met with anyone from your council either.”

“We suspected that to be the case during the meeting,” Zer said.

Master Drallig looked solemn. “My numbers did not match with our records. I don’t teach every initiate or know their names, but I do know how many are being taught in my training halls.”

“I don’t know if this falls in your jurisdiction, but his friends don’t trust their docent to be impartial or not to jump to conclusions. Garen thought she was behind sending Obi-Wan away.”

Filjo hummed in concern at the news.

“What has led to their beliefs?” Zer asked.

“According to them, she always blames Obi-Wan for the fights he gets into when Initiate Bruck Chun is the instigator.”

Zer made notes on her pad. “We will want to talk to his friends.”

“His entire clan before we are done,” Filjo said.

Tinn adjusted his glasses. “Not until we get through the digital audit I started.”

The others nod.

“So this was deliberate,” Feemor said. Not that he thought it was an accident. “Why?”

“That is what we want to know.” Zer’s finger sharply tapped against the side of her pad.

“Why send him to Bandomeer without an escort? A lone force-sensitive youth in such a place… he might as well have a sign on him declaring him fresh meat or force sensitive youngling for the taking,” Feemor grumbled.

Tinn’s head snapped up at that. “He didn’t have an escort.”

“Not that he knew of.”

“I’ll add that to the list of follow-up questions for him,” Filjo said. He made the note on his pad.

Tinn snorted in disgust at whatever he pulled up on his pad. “I just tracked Obi-Wan’s itinerary. Guess who else will be traveling on the same transport?” His light brown eyes flashed with irritation.

“Who?” Filjo asked.

“Jinn.”

Cin groaned and pinched his nose. “That green troll,” he muttered.

They all looked to him to explain his reasoning.

Cin’s hand dropped to his lap. “Yoda was pestering Qui-Gon to take a new padawan at the initiate exhibition. I only heard part of their conversation in passing. Qui-Gon was quite vocal, as usual, about not taking on a new student.”

“It’s better that he doesn’t,” Feemor muttered.

Cin hummed in what sounded like agreement. Filjo did not react. He lived it with Feemor. The other two seemed confused.

Feemor sighed and ran a hand through his hair. There was a good chance that they were unaware of his history with the man.

“Jinn finished my padawan training after my first master died. I have no complaints about it. I was old enough that I had my training plans already set. On our missions, we worked together more like a couple of knights on a mission than a master and padawan.”

“Which is not unusual with senior padawans,” Cin confirmed.

Feemor nodded. “In the last years with Khir, I treated him like a partner more of the time than focusing on teaching.”

The others nodded in agreement.

“Those last years are to let them gain experience with someone to help fish them out if they get in trouble,” Cin said.

Feemor snorted. “It was the other way with Jinn. He was the one always jumping in head first with me as backup.”

“He hasn’t gotten any better about it from what I hear,” Filjo said.

“After Xanatos, he got worse,” Feemor said. He rubbed his face.

“Fee?” Filjo placed a hand on Feemor’s arm wanting to know if he was alright.

He smiled at his friend. “I’m fine.”

“He repudiated Xanatos because he fell, didn’t he,” Zer said. Her eyes unfocused as if she was searching through her memories.

“He didn’t just repudiate Xanatos. He included Feemor in his repudiation,” Filjo said in discordant tones that declared his displeasure with Jinn even now.

“Let it go, Fil.”

Filjo closed his eyes and breathed as he centered himself in the Force. He was more settled when he opened his eyes.

“It still bothers me when I think about what he thoughtlessly did to you.”

“I lived,” Feemor said. “I was thirty-seven, had over a decade of missions under my belt, and was in the last years of raising a padawan. I was not reliant on Jinn for my place in the temple.”

“But it did call into question your training by many,” Filjo said.

“Just those who didn’t know me and those who like to gossip,” Feemor countered.

It had not been the easiest of times for Feemor, but he made it through with a better grasp and appreciation of who his friends were.

“However, his broad sweeping response to Xanatos, his increasing recklessness in the field over the past four years, and knowing his teaching style… Obi-Wan would not be best served as Jinn’s padawan. It may even be detrimental to Obi-Wan’s development.”

‘True, true,’ rang in the Force.

“Then why try pairing them up?” Filjo asked.

Cin spoke up, “Feemor said it. Qui-Gon is getting more reckless every year. He’s one of Yoda’s last living grand-padawan. Yoda has no plans on taking on a new padawan at his age.” He lifted his hands, indicating his point was made.

Zen crossed her arms and scowled. “Ground him to the temple and have him see a mind healer if he thinks Jinn’s suicidal. That’s why those protocols exist.”

“The problem is Jinn is stubborn and thinks he corners the market on following the Force,” Feemor said.

“Don’t forget he doesn’t think mind healers are needed… you just need to let the Living Force guide you,” Filjo imitated Jinn at the end.

Zen punched at her pad screen. “No padawan’s for Jinn until he has been cleared by a mind healer.” She touched the screen with a flourish. “It’s official. He’ll be flagged if he or anyone tries to submit the paperwork for him to take on a padawan.”

Feemor knew Yoda was just as stubborn as Jinn. It seemed to be a lineage trait. Things pointed to Yoda wanting Obi-Wan to be Jinn’s next padawan for some reason. What would he do to get his way if he thought it was the right choice?

“Does anyone have the power to bypass your alerts?” Feemor asked.

Cin cursed. “The troll would do it too if he thought that would lead to the desired outcome.”

Zen hissed, “I’ll make sure to personally inform those who are in positions to act on it. So, even if he takes on a padawan through proper channels or not, as soon as we hear about it, his ass will be confined to the temple. The relationship will be thoroughly examined, assessed, and closely watched – if it’s allowed at all.”

Tinn finished typing on his pad and announced, “Obi-Wan has been removed as a passenger on the ship to Bandomeer.

‘Yes, good,’ the Force whispered.

Filjo rubbed the back of one eye. “What I don’t get is how having them both in the same place would convince Jinn to take Obi-Wan on as a padawan? I doubt he would even look out for Obi-Wan if he did realize he was unaccompanied.”

Feemor stroked his chin while he thought. The Force replayed Obi-Wan’s words that voiced his fear of being sent away… of not becoming a Jedi knight.

“Obi-Wan is so desperate to stay and become a knight… he will seek Jinn out and beg for any chance to be a padawan and to return to the only home and life he knows. With Jinn involved… something will happen… who knows what Obi-Wan would do or risk to prove his worth to Jinn.”

They all heard the Force ring out ‘True.’

Act 3

Feemor and Filjo walked back to Feemor’s rooms. Their meeting did not last long after Feemor’s revelation – just long enough to divide up the tasks to get to the bottom of what was going on. Filjo volunteered to talk to Obi-Wan and his friends since he already had a positive interaction with Obi-Wan. The others agreed that would be better than asking him to open up to someone he did not know.

“Is Obi-Wan the only one to feel so desperate?” Filjo asked.

Feemor shrugged.

“I don’t remember being desperate as an initiate.”

Feemor gave Filjo’s shoulder a pat. “You always knew you would work with the Agri-corps one way or another. I remember a couple of initiates who were determined to be knights. They were very intense with their training…”

Filjo tapped his fingers against his chest. “This has me wondering what else we are missing. Is this isolated to Obi-Wan and his friends or are more initiates under un-needed stressors? I fear what we will find. I fear that we have failed them.”

Feemor hummed an Ithorian understanding as best he could with only one throat. “At least you know about it now and can take steps to correct it.”

Filjo sounded a chord of amusement. “You, my friend…” He shook his head. “Looking on the positive side.”

Feemor shrugged. “Learned not to focus on the bad long ago.”

Filjo snorted.

“It should be acknowledged and not dismissed, but finding the positives in a situation helps keep a balanced outlook,” Feemor said.

They approached his door. He did the equivalent of knocking through the Force to give the kids a heads-up before he punched in his code. All three initiates were focused on the door when it opened. Feemor waved them to all stay seated when they saw Filjo following him in.

“Before we tell you what we can,” Feemor stopped by the end of his sofa, “Master Filjo Lortoll has a few questions for you to help give him a clearer picture of what’s going on if that’s all right.”

Garen crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes at them. “Why not tell us first?”

Filjo stepped forward to answer the question. “I don’t want to bias your answers with what we have learned. It could lead us to make inaccurate conclusions.”

Garen did not appear pleased with the answer but reluctantly accepted it.

“How can we help you, Master Lortoll?” Bant asked, always ready to help.

Filjo sat in the free chair and set a data recorder on the table in clear view. Feemor snagged a chair from the table. He sat closer to the children.

“Any objection to me recording our conversation?” Filjo asked.

All three initiates indicated they were fine with it.

Filjo started recording. “Before we start, I will explain the process and your rights in this process before we begin.” Filjo was watching for any sign of discomfort or objections from the kids. “You do not have to answer any of the questions I ask of you.”

“But aren’t you here to find out what’s going on with Obi-Wan?” Band asked. “Why wouldn’t we want to answer?”

Filjo tipped his eyestalk forward. “Yes. But some questions may be something you don’t want to talk about. You are not required to share things you don’t want to or that would break a confidence, oath, or promise you have given.”

Bant was the one to speak up once more, “But if we don’t tell you, how will you learn what’s going on?”

“Talking to you is only one of the initial steps as we try to understand what is happening and to identify the problem areas. You are key witnesses, but you will not be the only initiates we talk to during our investigation.”

“Ok,” she said and relaxed back against the couch.

“Feemor is here as an adviser for you,” Filjo continued. “You are initiates and should never be questioned by an investigative panel without an advocate present to look out for your best interest.”

The three looked at each other.

“Who would usually fill the role for us?” Obi-Wan asked.

“Your crèchemaster or docent,” Feemor answered.

“But we don’t trust our docent,” Garen said.

“And we don’t want to notify your crèchemaster yet for security reasons,” Filjo supplied. “Feemor was the individual to bring the issue to our attention which makes him a viable candidate for the position.”

“Ok,” Obi-Wan said with a glance at Feemor.

The other two nodded in agreement.

Filjo pulled his datapad out. “I would like to start with Obi-Wan.” He looked to the initiates to verify there were no objections. There were none. “You said Master Vant was the one who told you about the assignment. Would you tell me in more detail about the encounter? Where were you? What was said exactly, if you remember? That sort of thing.”

Obi-Wan nodded. “Sure.”

Bant slipped her hand in his and gave it a squeeze.

“We,” he motioned to his friends, “just finished with history class. She was waiting in the hall. She pulled me aside to talk to me.”

“She tried sending us on our way,” Garen said. “But we just went around the corner to wait on him.”

Filjo made a note on his pad but did not interrupt the telling.

Obi-Wan continued, “She told me that she received instructions that I was to pack up and be on a transport for Bandomeer to join the agri-corps in the morning. I was shocked… I tried to ask why and protest,” Obi-Wan fidgeted, “I’m not sure how coherent I was. I knew my chances of staying were low, but I still had time… she was telling me that I didn’t have that time I thought I did.”

The pain was clear in his voice during the retelling.

Garen returned from the kitchen with a glass of water and handed it to Obi-Wan. He accepted it with a grateful nod. He took a sip.

“She told me which dock and ship I was to report to and the time before dismissing me from the rest of my classes to pack. Then she walked away.” He took a slow deep breath. “I stood there as the news sank in. Bant and Garen came up and asked what she had said… that’s when I ran. I couldn’t tell them at that moment… life as I knew it was gone, the future unknown, and I hate plants. Agri-corps is my personal hell.”

“He kills plants if he has a hand in taking care of them,” Bant attested. “I did all the hands-on while he took notes in class when we were studying them.”

“Which hall did she tell you in?” Filjo asked.

It was Garen who rattled off the hall section identification code. Filjo entered the information into his pad. Feemor was sure they would be pulling the security feeds from that section and those around it to review.

“What was Mater Vant’s demeanor and attitude during the interaction?” Filjo asked.

Garen crossed his arms over his chest. “She looked like a tooka who got the cream when she passed us.”

Bant agreed.

“She delivered the news like it was what she expected and was happy to be proven right,” Obi-Wan said slowly as he appeared to be analyzing the memory. “It was direct without any preamble or care how it would be received. She did not take joy from my suffering…” He tilted his head to the side. “… but she did nothing to mitigate it… There was a bit of frustration from her at my reaction like it was my just dues and I should have expected it.”

“Did you have a location in mind when you ran?” Filjo asked.

Obi-Wan shook his head. “No, I just ran… away from my friends, away from my classmates. I just wanted to be someplace where I could cry without being made fun of for it.”

“You wanted to hide and lick your wounds,” Feemor softly said.

“Yeah. I don’t know how long I ran or what path I took,” he admitted. “I ran into Feemor in my dash deeper into the less used parts of the temple.” He shrugged. “You know the rest.”

“I know you have not had any sort of assessment by the Council of Reassignment. Has anyone talked to you about joining the agri-corps or any other service corps?”

“No.”

He looked at the other two. “Has anyone talked to either of you about the service corps?”

“No,” Bant said.

“I’ve talked to the pilots in the Starfighter Corp,” Garen admitted. “But, I sought them out because I wanted to know what it was like and how to become one. None of them came to me first.”

Filjo made more notes as he offered them an encouraging hum.

“Are there any masters or knights you interact with frequently other than your teachers?”

“Not really,” Obi-Wan answered.

“What about Yoda?” Bant asked.

“He’s always visiting the crèche,” Garen said.

“But you can’t deny he spent more time with Obi-Wan over the years than us,” Bant countered.

Garen considered the point before agreeing.

Feemor closed his eyes and mentally sighed. Yoda always had a handful of younglings he mentored for various reasons. The question was what reasons did he have in choosing Obi-Wan?

“That was because of my visions,” Obi-Wan said, dismissing the interactions.

“Visions?” Filjo asked.

Obi-Wan looked sheepish and down at his lap. “I’ve had visions since I was young. Some were so bad that I woke my crèchemates up. Master Yoda was called in to help me.”

Filjo froze for only a moment before asking, “How did he counsel you on them?”

“He told me not to dwell on them and warned me acting on them could bring them to fruition. The future is always in motion. I should focus on the living side of the Force and on the here and now,” Obi-Wan answered.

The deep red of Filjo’s skin told Feemor he was not the only one upset at the advice. It was the equivalent of pushing it into the closet, slamming the door, sticking your fingers in your ears, and singing while pretending the problem would go away as long as you ignored it. It was not teaching the initiates how to handle or address their problematic Force gifts appropriately.

Filjo quickly let the momentary irritation go. “Am I correct in assuming you lean more to the Cosmic Force over the Living Force?”

Obi-Wan flushed in embarrassment. “Yes.”

“There is nothing wrong with that,” Filjo assured.

“There’s not?” Obi-Wan said in surprise. “But everyone always says…”

Filjo tapped his fingers on his chest in the rhythm equivalent to a human pinching the bridge of their nose. “Despite what a vocal portion of the temple might say, the Living Force is not the way for everyone.” He waved a hand through the air. “That is not a rabbit trail for us to go down at the moment.”

He directed them back to the topic. He asked each of them about their experiences growing up in the temple and how they were being prepared for their future goals.

The children answered Filjo’s questions with open honesty. Each answer exposed a failure in the system that Filjo and his team would have to investigate and fix.

~~X~~

Bant and Garen left to make it back to the crèche before curfew. Obi-Wan watched them leave with a hint of melancholy around him.

“Let’s get you settled in for the night,” Feemor said. “You can stay in Khir’s old room.”

“Has he even requested a new room assignment?” Filjo asked.

“Not sure, but it’s not like either of us are in the temple often to be concerned with it.” Feemor stood and beckoned to Obi-Wan. “Don’t forget the bag with your nightwear.”

Obi-Wan veered to the bag they had packed with those things and grabbed it before following Feemor into the padawan room.

The room appeared to have more boxes than he remembered the last time he stepped foot in the room… which was probably over a year ago. He glanced at the shipping labels and realized Khir must have shipped them to the temple from one of his postings and the quartermaster had it delivered to his room.

Obi-Wan looked around the room and his eyes widened at Khir’s artifact and weapons collection crammed into the corners of the room. “Are you sure he won’t mind me staying here?” Obi-Wan hesitated. “I could sleep on the couch. I don’t want to invade his space.”

Feemor pushed down his sigh and wondered if Obi-Wan was naturally altruistic, deferring to a person of higher rank to curry favor, or because he saw himself as less worthy.

“It’s fine,” Feemor assured. “Khir would be the first to offer you his room.”

Obi-Wan drifted to the case Khir displayed and secured the more dangerous weapons in. His hand hovered over the glass but did not touch it. “Is that a flash grenade?”

“I believe so. He picked it up on one of our missions in the Outer Rim,” Feemor said casually.

That was true from a certain point of view. They were working with Jaster’s people and Garth insisted Khir needed a good supply of grenades which led his young padawan to learn to handle explosives. That was the first step on his path to his weapons obsession. He loved learning about all types of weapons and their history.

“He has so many… Is that allowed?”

“Yes. Granted most don’t collect such dangerous items or keep so many in their quarters, but it is Khir’s area of expertise and part of his ongoing research.”

“Research?”

Feemor nodded and took the opportunity to broaden Obi-Wan’s knowledge of the work of the order. “He chose to focus on archaeology and specialized in weapons. He now works with the explorer corps.”

“There are Jedi archaeologists?” Obi-Wan’s eyes scrunched in confusion.

“Yes. The Force is just as useful exploring dead cities and temples as it is in diplomacy or in a protection or escort mission.”

He could see that the wheels were turning in Obi-Wan’s head.

“But, Jedi are supposed to be protectors and uphold peace and justice,” Obi-Wan said. “That’s why we become knights. How does being an archaeologist protect people?”

“They help us understand the past. How can you truly understand and resolve current conflicts if you don’t know what issues and circumstances lead to it?”

“Isn’t that what the archives are for?” Obi-Wan said.

“Where do you think the archive gets its information?”

“News feeds… other planet archives,” Obi-Wan hesitantly said.

“News is often biased. What other sources?” Feemor gave him an encouraging look.

Obi-Wan chewed on his bottom lip in thought. “The Senate, mission reports… the watchmen.” He looked questioningly at Feemor.

“Yes. Those are all good sources, but they each will have their own bias – intentional or not.”

Obi-Wan’s face scrunched up.

“Think of a time when two different people told you about the same event.”

His expression turned thoughtful.

“Did they tell you the exact same things or did they focus on different details that they found more interesting?”

The initiate’s eyes widened. “Different even if the basics were the same.”

Feemor nodded. “That is normal. We pay attention and remember details that catch our attention or interest us.”

“That would apply to mission reports,” Obi-Wan said, seeing where Feemor was leading him. “The Senate? Wouldn’t their information be accurate? That’s what is used for missions, right?”

Feemor inclined his head. “The Senate does provide missions and information about the situation, but the Senate is full of beings seeking the best for their people or themselves. Many have no problem with slanting the facts to benefit their cause.”

Obi-Wan slowly nodded. “Like Bruck saying I was the one to start the fights.”

“Yes.” He ruffled Obi-Wan’s hair.

Obi-Wan yawned.

“Time for bed,” Feemor said, pointing to the bed.

Obi-Wan got under the covers. “Good night.”

“Night.”

Feemor made sure the bedroom door closed behind him and ran a hand through his hair. There was a pot of steaming tea on the table in front of Filjo. The fragrance indicated it was one of his caffeinated teas vs a soothing herbal tea. That did not bode well for getting to sleep anytime tonight.

Filjo motioned to the empty waiting cup without looking up from his datapad. Feemor sat down and filled the cup. He drank half the cup before Filjo sat his pad down.

“You have kicked over the hornets’ nest,” Filjo said. “The more we dig….” He shook his head.

“That bad?” Feemor said.

“More complicated… Each change or allowed deviation was not a concern on their own.”

Feemor leaned forward and propped his chin on his hand. “Intentional?”

Filjo vacillated. “In a case or two… maybe, but not all of them. It will take a full audit of the system and process.”

“But what’s going on with Obi-Wan doesn’t feel like a series of things slipping through the cracks.”

Filjo tapped a finger on the datapad. “It’s not. Those things do play a part in it. They have allowed the maneuvering around Obi-Wan to go unnoticed.”

Feemor’s hand slipped up from his chin to pinch the bridge of his nose and let his eyes fall close. “What is happening to us?”

“As you often tell me, Jedi still have the same fallibility as any other sentient, especially if we let our own biases affect how we interpret the Force.”

“True.” Feemor let out a long sigh and reached for the Force to ground him. He found his center, but it seemed to take a bit longer than usual. “I once more wonder if having only one large Force tradition is healthy.” He waved his hand. “I understand how we got here and the reasoning behind it…” He shook his head. “But is it keeping us from paths that would be better for us?”

“Do keep in touch when you become one of the wandering Jedi,” Filjo said with a teasing lilt.

It was a common comment from his friends. They teased him that with his frequent run-ins with Master Fay, he could be considered her student. One day he would follow in her footsteps of wandering space to where the Force led him.

It did have an appeal some days. However, the work he did as a Shadow was important. The Force rang through him with the need for him in the position and the networks he had developed over the years.

“I will.”

Filjo picked up his datapad when it beeped a message notification. He hummed satisfied as he read it.

“Good news?” Feemor asked.

“A way through,” Filjo answered. He returned his datapad to the table and folded his hands in front of him. His large eyes focused on Feemor. A shiver ran down his spine. “Obi-Wan needs to leave the temple for verisimilitude and allow us to continue our investigation a little longer without those responsible knowing.”

Feemor nodded. That was logical, but where could they send him and still be working within their mandate and with whom?

“How do you feel about a new padawan?” Filjo asked, drawing Feemor up short from his pondering.

“What?” was out of his mouth before he had fully processed the reasons for the question. Once his mind re-engaged, the reasoning and simplicity of the plan spread out before him. It was the obvious solution.

The Council of Reassignment, actually any of the four councils, had the power to approve a padawan/teacher pairing – barring safety concerns like Jinn presented, even if it was not used very often. Finding Obi-Wan a master was a good way to get him out of the temple without raising questions. Padawans trailing behind and leaving with their masters on a mission was a common sight in the temple.

Taking on a new padawan had only been a passing thought for him. He had not been sure he wanted to do that with his role as a Shadow. Although, Obi-Wan would probably be in less dangerous situations with his Shadow work than he would be if Jinn was his master.

None of that was crucial. The big questions were would they be a good fit and was he the master who was best to guide and teach Obi-Wan. Feemor calmed his thoughts and opened himself to the Force. It had guided them to cross paths.

“Teach the child.”

He moistened his lips. “I’ll ask him.”

“Good. He’ll accept. He wants to be a knight… maybe even foresaw it.”

“I don’t want him to accept me just because I seem to be the lifeline he’s been looking for,” Feemor said.

“I know,” Filjo said. “However, I feel the two of you will be good for each other.”

Feemor ran a hand through his hair and marshaled himself to get everything he needed done before they left in the morning. It looked like this would be one of his shorter stays in the Temple.

Act 4

Obi-Wan woke at the call of his name. He rolled over and saw Feemor standing beside the bed. The man looked like he had not slept. A glance at the chrono on the table attested to the early morning hour.

Obi-Wan sat up and let his feet hang off the side of the bed.

“Morning. Breakfast is ready. I’ll inform you what is going on and your options while we eat,” Feemor said.

Obi-Wan managed to mutter out a semi-legible acceptance. Feemor grinned and ruffled Obi-Wan’s hair before leaving the room. He tried to organize his even more messed up bedhead of hair with little success.

Despite the hours between crying and sleeping, his eyes still felt gummy and gritty from the tears. He pulled clean clothing from the bag he had carried in last night and headed to the fresher.

He emerged more awake and dressed for the day. This time he noticed the smell of food and so did his stomach, which let him know it was empty. Feemor waved him to the table when he hesitated.

He slid into the indicated chair and dug into the food. He kept an eye on Feemor, who sat down across from him with a mug of caf. Despite looking tired, Feemor seemed unworried. Obi-Wan reached out tentatively in the Force to test the waters. Feemor was concerned but calm and sure.

“We will be leaving the temple around the time of your original orders.”

A cold hand wrapped around Obi-Wan’s heart. Was he being kicked out? Where were they going? How could he find a master if he was not at the temple?

“Peace,” Feemor said and wrapped his soothing Force presence around him. It felt like a warm blanket engulfed him.

Obi-Wan managed to sputter out his concerns. “Where are we going? How long?”

“I’ll be returning to my assigned tasks,” Feemor said.

He tried to remember if he knew where Master Stahl was assigned and remembered how redacted his file was when they looked at it last night. They had gotten sidetracked with puzzling it out. Obi-Wan did not remember if Master Stahl’s current posting was listed.

“Where or what is that?”

“It varies depending on the Force, but I help Master Sollu Bamek.”

Obi-Wan tilted his head and tried to place that name. “I don’t know him,” he slowly said.

“Not surprising,” Feemor said. “He spent many years in the Outer Rim before becoming the watchman for the Mandalorian Sector.”

“The Mandalorian Sector… but…” Obi-Wan muttered. Mandalorians often opposed the Jedi throughout history. They fought for the Sith. They were their enemies.

He bit his lip as he vaguely remembered a big-to-do about Mandalorians when he was young… but he was young and only remembered the older kids talking about it.

Feemor chuckled. It was a nice sound without scorn or mocking in it. “Relations with them have improved in the last decade. I’ll tell you about it as we travel.”

Obi-Wan nodded and took a bite of his breakfast.

“As for how long… that will depend on a few factors. It depends on what they find, how far they have to look and dig, and how difficult those they interview are as to how long the investigation will take. They will investigate to identify where the system failed and why it failed the initiates. The cause is probably not just one issue. Filjo thinks it will take months to sort it all out.”

“Months!” Obi-Wan gasped in horror. He only had months left to become a padawan.

“We will find you a master. There is no need to fret about it,” Feemor assured.

“I’ve only got months, and if I’m not here?” He pushed the last few bites of food around on his plate.

“Filjo has it covered one way or another,” Feemor assured.

That boggled Obi-Wan. Were they bending the rules for him? Why? How?

“I don’t understand,” Obi-Wan muttered, staring into his now cold food.

Feemor ran a hand through his blond hair and sighed. “I don’t know all the ins and outs, but there are allowances for exceptions.”

“I’m one?”

“Yes. From what I understand, they will not allow any initiate to be transferred until the investigation is complete… and additional time will be given even then.”

Obi-Wan sagged in relief at the news. He had time even if he was not at the temple. His dream of being a knight could still happen. He looked up at Master Stahl to verify he was telling the truth. His eyes held a warm smile in them that reassured him. “That’s great.”

“Now on to your other options… and I don’t want you to jump at the first one,” Master Stahl warned.

Obi-Wan enthusiastically nodded his head.

“I want you to take the time to meditate and seek guidance in the Force before you tell me your choice.”

He sat up straighter and took a centering breath. “I will,” he solemnly vowed.

There was fondness in Master Stahl’s eyes that he was unsure how to interpret.

“I would be honored to be your teacher if you agree to be my Padawan.”

Obi-Wan inhaled sharply, and his eyes widened. Only the finger Master Stahl held up kept him from blurting out a yes.

“I don’t want you to say yes just because you think I am your only option.” He caught Obi-Wan’s eyes to make sure his point was getting across. “If you don’t feel I am the right match for you, we will find you one who is. I work with many Jedi in the field who I will introduce you to and that may be a better match.”

Obi-Wan scrunched up his brow. “Then why ask me? I thought you followed the Force…”

“The Force agreed that I should ask you when I meditated on it. I would not ask if I were not sincere.”

“If the Force told you to ask… shouldn’t I say yes? Why would it have you ask then?”

“Maybe you need to know that someone wants you. To help you see things are not as bleak as you think they are.”

That was not an angle he had thought about in this situation. He could see the wisdom in it.

“Meditate on that.” Master Stahl stood and ruffled Obi-Wan’s hair when he picked up his plate. “Make sure your things are packed while I clean up. We will head out in the next ten minutes.”

Obi-Wan’s mind was spinning with the swiftly changing situation of the past fifteen hours. He would be leaving the temple for more than a day trip or to Ilum. Master Stahl had offered to be his mentor. Did he want to be his padawan? He liked Master Stahl. In the short time that he had known him, he had taught him a lot and watched out for his well-being. He felt safe with Master Stahl.

He made sure all his things were in his bag while he turned things over in his mind.

“Should I bring everything?” Obi-Wan asked.

“Clothing, your data pads, and anything you don’t mind losing,” Master Stahl answered. “Sometimes things don’t go as planned, and items get… lost or destroyed.”

With that information, he spent several minutes moving things around. He carried the backpack out to the main room.

“Here, put this on and pull the hood up.”

He took the offered outer robe and put it on. Master Stahl helped adjust the hood.

“We don’t want them to get a clear look at your face,” he said and patted him on the shoulder.

Master Stahl pulled his hood up and picked up his travel pack. He rested a hand on Obi-Wan’s back and guided him out of the rooms. They moved through the halls at a quick pace, but not so quick as to draw attention.

“Why are we leaving so early? I wasn’t scheduled to depart for two more hours,” Obi-Wan asked low enough so only Master Stahl would hear.

“I want you safely secured on my ship before anyone thinks to look for you. There are fewer people about at this time to see us leave, and those who do see us will assume we are a Master and Padawan heading out on a mission. Not an uncommon sight.”

They did not say anything for the rest of the trip to the hangar. The door slid open when they approached. The noise of the busy hangar hit Obi-Wan almost like a physical blow. It was not the hangar he had used in the past. This one had more than the Order transport crafts in it.

There were many crafts without the Jedi insignia. There was quite a range from speeder bikes to small freighters. A lot of cargo was being moved around. Obi-Wan tried to not gawk as he was guided through.

Master Stahl moved them to the side when a pallet of supplies driven by a bot zipped around the corner and down the wide path they were following.

“Even if the path is wide, it’s always a good idea to get out of the way,” he advised. “We’ve not got far to go.”

He guided them down one of the side paths to a line of moderately sized freighters and starfighters.

“EV, open the back ramp, please,” Master Stahl said into his com.

The back hatch in the ship, two bays down, slowly lowered. The ship was bigger than Obi-Wan expected for a single master traveling in space… but the type of mission could dictate what type of ship was used.

The ramp clinked when connecting with the floor just as they got there. Master Feemor guided him up the ramp and into the cargo area of the ship. Obi-Wan tried not to gawk. There were several crates secured to the right in front of what appeared to be folded jump seats. The right side was open, probably due to the ramp to the second level, which aided in not making the space feel crowded.

Obi-Wan was startled as the hydraulic lifts engaged as soon as they cleared the ramp. He looked back, verifying the ramp was moving upward.

Feemor guided him further into the ship. He bled off tension that Obi-Wan had not noticed earlier with each step.

“This will be your room.” Feemor triggered one of two doors in the short hall off the cargo hold to open. “Drop your things here, and then I’ll show you the rest of the ship. Pick any bunk.”

The room had four bunks in it along with storage cabinets and a doorway that he spotted a small fresher through. Crew quarters if he had to guess. He dropped his bag on the lower bunk farthest from the door.

Feemor set his second bag beside one of the storage cabinets. “You’ll have time to unpack before we takeoff.”

“When will that be?”

“We have a 1015 launch time.”

It was just after 0700, according to the room’s com display.

“Come on!” Master Feemor said and walked out the door.

Obi-Wan followed. Feemor pointed to the door opposite his.

“Another crew/passenger room like yours. The front hold and engine room are through here.” He pushed the button and the last door slid open. “I use the space for saber practice on long journeys if it’s not too full.”

He stuck his head through the door to get a better look. There were several secured storage cabinets along the walls that left the space open for saber practice. He checked the ceiling height. Not great for the more acrobatic forms. That made him wonder what form Master Feemor used.

The door slid shut when Obi-Wan stepped back to Feemor’s side.

Feemor jerked his head to the rear hold for Obi-Wan to follow. “Upper deck.”

They crested the top of the internal ramp into a room with a table in the center. It seemed reasonably sized, but he could see it being tight if there were many people on board.

“Common room and kitchen. My room is back there.” He indicated the doorway leading to the space over the rear hold. Feemor led them to the front of the ship. “This is the command room.”

The droid working at one of the stations swiveled its head around on their entrance.

“All deliveries received. Pre-flight checks are running.”

“Thank you, EV,” Feemor said. He walked up to the holo-table in the center of the room and leaned against it. “Any messages or issues with our departure?”

“Negative.” EV tilted its head and focused its optic receptors on Obi-Wan. “We have no passengers listed in our manifest for this trip.” It was a statement lacking any judgment. There may even be a hint of curiosity.

Feemor rested his hand on Obi-Wan’s back and urged him forward. “This is Obi-Wan Kenobi. He’ll be traveling with us for a while. This is EV-8M. She’s my co-pilot and navigator.”

“EV is an acceptable form of address,” she told him. Her head swiveled to Feemor. “Usually, we don’t smuggle people out of the core.”

The idea of an illegal activity like smuggling made Obi-Wan’s eyes widen. Was that not what Feemor was doing – sneaking him out of the temple and off Coruscant?

“Only for good reasons,” Feemor countered.

EV hummed. “What level of access should I assign him?”

“That of a new padawan,” Feemor answered.

“Is he?”

“Possibly.” Feemor looked fondly down at Obi-Wan. “I’ve asked and am giving him time to meditate on it before he answers.”

“Very good. I will make the appropriate updates to the systems.” She turned back to the console she had been working at.

Feemor gently urged him on with a hand on his shoulder. “This way is the cockpit.”

The cockpit was standard for this type of craft in Obi-Wan’s very limited experience. He ran his fingers over the back of the second-row chair as they passed. The synthleather was soft and lightly worn. The seat Feemor settled into showed much more usage. The co-pilot chair oddly showed almost as much.

Who traveled with him frequently to cause it? It was most likely his padawan. Feemor was a master which meant he had trained at least one padawan to knighthood. That also assumed he had used this vessel for years.

He had assumed ships were checked out as needed for missions like the crèche masters did for their outings. But it might not be the same for the ships assigned to those going out on long or frequent missions.

Everything pointed to this ship being assigned to Feemor long term. If he did spend all his time in one sector of space… it made sense to have a ship as a home base. That would cut down on loading and unloading time to change ships. – These sorts of logistics never came up in their training… or even questioned by him and his friends.

“Sit! What vehicle training have you taken?”

Obi-Wan sat in the co-pilot chair. His eyes studied the control panel in front of him. “Nothing this complicated. I have finished the standard hover car course.”

“Hmm… and unofficially, what have you driven?” Feemor pushed several buttons and examined the reading he was getting.

“Unofficially?” Obi-Wan squeaked. “What would make you think I have ever…”

Feemor waved a hand and cut him off. “I grew up in the temple too. I remember sneaking out with my friends with a borrowed hover-car or speeder-bikes.”

Obi-Wan felt his face flush and looked down at his lap. Warm, fond tenderness wrapped around him.

“It’s part of growing up in the temple. As long as you aren’t getting into major trouble and aren’t damaging the borrowed transport, the masters turn a blind eye to it.”

“They know?” he squawked.

“The hangar bay staff always knows. So speeder bikes?”

“Yeah,” Obi-Wan admitted. “We’ve gone out with most of the types of bikes in the hangars.”

“Today you get to start learning about piloting a transport ship.”

Obi-Wan looked up and could not suppress a grin.

Feemor marked off several more items on his datapad and set it down. “In my experience, it’s never too early to learn for any padawan. Jedi tend to get in sticky situations at times. Borrowing a vehicle or having yours ready to take off is always a plus in those situations.”

Obi-Wan leaned toward Feemor. “You stole a vehicle?”

“Borrowed… we gave them back… usually in one piece.” He stood and ruffled Obi-Wan’s hair. “We’ve got a couple of hours to kill before take off. Go get settled in! Take time to meditate. If you still have time to kill, you can start reading the ship’s manual. You should have access through the datapad in your room.”

“What will you be doing?”

“I’ve got a few more things to check and then meditation.”

Obi-Wan chewed on the inside of his lip, debating if he could ask to join him. His shoe scuffed the floor.

“You can join me if you want.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes widened. “Yes, please.”

“I’ll come get you when I’m ready.”

“Ok.”

“Off with you. Your belongings need to be secured before take-off.”

“Will do!” Obi-Wan swiftly left the cockpit and headed to his room, feeling hopeful for the first time in months.

Epilogue

~5 months later~

Feemor entered the code into the holo-table and waited for the com to be answered. Obi-Wan hovered beside him, anxious to learn the conclusion of months of investigation his run-in with Feemor had kicked off.

Filjo’s blue-tinted image appeared above the holo-table. He looked tired but less stressed than the last time they had talked. “Hello, my friend and young Obi-Wan.”

“Filjo.”

“Master Lortoll,” Obi-Wan gave a small bow of his head in greeting.

“I am heartened to see you both well,” Filjo said.

Obi-Wan shuffled a bit closer to Feemor. He rested a hand on his shoulder in reassurance. Despite their talks and what could be shared with them about the investigation, his padawan still had the occasional doubts about his place in the Order.

Such insecurities were expected, but his were built up and reinforced one incident, one action, one careless or cruel statement, one rejection at a time. It would take time to tear those insecurities down and replace them with a better foundation. Feemor was determined to help Obi-Wan get there.

“You look less like crap than the last time we talked,” Feemor said.

“Master,” Obi-Wan hissed at him reproachfully.

He pulled Obi-Wan tighter to his side. “He’s my crèchmate. It’s like you talking to Bant or Garen.”

“It’s official Jedi business,” Obi-Wan objected.

Filjo chuckled. “Not all ‘official’ business must be handled formally – especially between friends.”

“What’s the damage?” Feemor asked.

Filjo hummed a sigh. “Not as bad as we first thought, but changes are being made. A lot of it is making sure the initiates and the padawans know their options and rights.” He rubbed at the base of one eyestalk. “Right now, all the initiates are going through the presentation we used to give to the ten-year-olds. The Masters and Knights are being re-educated on the process and who is responsible for what parts.

“We are going to start introducing all younglings to the parts of the Order starting in the crèche with visiting members of the different corps giving talks and special classes – age appropriate.”

“That would have been nice,” Obi-Wan muttered.

Feemor ruffled his hair.

“Better than leaving it up to a one-time event,” Feemor said.

“It also gives them and the temple a greater exposure to our siblings from the corps we don’t interact often with some of them. Hopefully, a better understanding and relations with them will develop.”

“How did the High Council react?”

Filjo rolled his eyes and huffed. “The standard mixed bag. We got them to move back into their lane, for now, and to keep their fingers out of areas outside their remit.”

“For how long?” Feemor asked.

“We’re planning annual audits of the system to help catch out of bound actions.”

“How’d it happen?” Obi-Wan asked.

“Like many things, gradually and over time,” Filjo answered. “Lines can get blurred as masters change positions. Someone who may have been in charge of the initiates is moved to another position – like High Counselor. They would still have influence over those they worked with before despite it not being part of their new position. Others who might not know the history see this and grant the being’s next request based on the first. It can morph the acceptable practice into accepting all High Counselor’s requests if not balanced by the knowledge and adherence to protocol. Hence the retraining.”

“Sounds like you have that well in hand,” Feemor said.

“Force willing,” Filjo said.

“My position with the order?” Obi-Wan asked.

Filjo grinned. “Secure. All objections to you being Feemor’s padawan have been addressed and dismissed. Your records are updated to your new position as padawan. Congratulations, once more on your partnership.”

Obi-Wan’s joy filled the room. He bounced on his toes. “Thanks.” He looked to Feemor. “May I go com my friends and tell them.”

“Sure.”

He watched Obi-Wan dash out of the command room and to his room on the ship.

“Will you be returning to the Temple?” Filjo asked.

Feemor focused back on the projection. “Not right away… I’ve several irons in the fire. He’s doing well in his studies. Being where I am, he does not lack sparring partners. I can safely leave him on-planet for anything too dangerous.”

“Better than most long-term missions.”

“I’ll make sure we are back for the courses and testing he needs to take in the Temple,” Feemor assured. “Was Yoda behind it like we suspected?”

“Yes. He saw they would be a good match years ago and was pulling strings when Jinn kept refusing to even consider Obi-Wan. However, Jinn’s restricted indefinitely from taking on a padawan per his mind-healer even if he wanted one.”

Feemor’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “He’s seeing a mind-healer!”

“You didn’t hear… of course you didn’t. Jinn had a run-in with Xanatos on his mission to Bandomeer. Master Sidorn sent a shadow in Obi-Wan’s place. Good thing, too. That fallen padawan was gunning for Jinn. I didn’t get all the details, but the shadow got Jinn and the slaves out of the underwater mine. She had to knock him out to haul him back here to be treated. He wanted to go after Xanatos.”

“That got him mind-healing?”

“No, him ranting about not being allowed to go after Xanatos and demanding to be let out of the healing halls got him admitted for mind-healing.”

Feemor ran a hand through his hair.

“According to Che, he was coming off as obsessed.”

“A chance to fix what he sees as his greatest failure…” He nodded his head, seeing how the pieces fit together. “How long?”

“He’s restricted to the temple for at least a year,” Filjo answered. “Should have done that years ago.”

Feemor had his suspicions as to why it had not happened. “Agree.”

They wrapped up the com. Feemor pushed the button, ending the connection. The blue image faded away. Any thought of Jinn or Yoda faded away with it. He had leads to follow up on and a padawan to train.

~The End~

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