DISCLAIMER: Star Wars and all publicly recognisable characters, names and references, etc are the sole property of George Lucas, Lucasfilm Ltd, Lucasarts Inc and 20th Century Fox. This fan fiction was created solely for entertainment and no money was made from it. Also, no copyright or trademark infringement was intended. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. Any other characters, the storyline and the actual story are the property of the author.
N.B. Thoughts indicated by // and Italics
Obi-Wan sat cross-legged on his bed, examining the datapad. He smiled.
“The rebels have control of Callodas Three, Master,” he said casually. “They’re establishing a full democracy.”
“Is Garret running?” asked Qui-Gon, running a comb through his hair.
“No,” answered Obi-Wan, smirking, “but Brehan Ch’Andri is.” He stood and stretched. His strength was returning and his robes no longer fit quite as loosely. His cuts and bruises had healed, although his ribs still ached occasionally where they had been broken.
There was a tentative knock on the door.
“Enter,” called the two Jedi in unison.
The door slid upwards to reveal KeRaad, fidgeting in the hallway. She was looking much better, too, Obi-Wan reflected. There was a growing roundness in the child’s cheeks and her eyes were bright.
“Hello, KeRaad,” he greeted her. “Are you ready to go before the Council today?”
“Actually,” she said, meekly stepping into the room, “I’ve been thinking about it, and I don’t think I really wanna be a Jedi.”
Obi-Wan nearly dropped the data pad. “Why not?” he stammered.
“Well,” she said, clearly uncomfortable, “I just want a family, and a real home, too, if you know what I mean. I... I know it’s good to be a Jedi and help people and stuff, but you guys didn’t look like you were having much fun back there.”
Obi-Wan was silent for a while. She was right. A Jedi’s life was a cruel one, without a real home or family. He could understand why she wouldn’t want to follow it.
He bowed. “Very well,” he said.
She looked surprised. “You mean you’re not mad at me?”
He smiled gently. “KeRaad, there are hundreds of people who make the exact same choice, and for them it’s a good one. Some people, like me and Qui-Gon, are meant for the Jedi life. Some, like you, aren’t. There’s no shame in that.” He placed his hand lightly on her shoulder, hoping it was the right thing to do. “If you like, we’ll find you a foster family back on Callodas, or wherever you like.”
She appeared to consider that for a while. “Um, could I be... maybe a pilot instead? I’ve sort of always wanted to fly.”
“There’s a very good flight school on Coruscant,” said Obi-Wan halfheartedly. “You’re a little young for enlistment, but I think they’ll make an exception for you, if that’s what you really want to do. And I know it’s not quite the same as an actual home, but many young people live at the school and have that as their family.”
“You can also still train at the Academy without becoming a Jedi,” offered Qui-Gon. “Many people do it, and it would help you greatly with your piloting skills, even if you only came once or twice a week.”
She was silent for quite some time, digesting this information. She looked up. “Will you come visit me?” she asked.
Obi-Wan looked at Qui-Gon, who shrugged, then pulled the front part of his hair back and bound it with a simple black thong.
“We’ll try,” answered Obi-Wan. It was a promise, and the Padawan suspected KeRaad recognized it as such.
“Okay,” she said, smiling slowly, “that sounds great.”
“But for now,” interposed Qui-Gon, “how about breakfast? We’re already late, and I’m getting hungry.”
“Me, too,” admitted KeRaad.
“Can you wait in the hall for a while?” asked Qui-Gon gently. “I need to have a talk with Obi-Wan. It won’t take long, I promise.”
“Oh, okay,” answered the child warily. “I’ll... um, be outside.” She paused at the door. “You’re not going to talk about me, are you?” she asked nervously.
Qui-Gon smiled a little. “If we do, it will be only with the greatest admiration and respect,” he answered smoothly.
KeRaad smiled back and slipped out the door, which glided shut behind her.
“I’m jealous,” remarked Obi-Wan smugly. “If I tried to get away with something like that, she’d just laugh at me.”
“You’re surprised by her decision, Padawan.” It wasn’t a question, but neither was it an accusation.
“Well, yes,” answered Obi-Wan, trying to figure out what his Master was hinting at. “But I do respect it,” he added hopefully.
“I know it,” replied Qui-Gon evenly. “You know,” he said after a pause, “you can still make the same choice, if you want to. There is no dishonor in it, and I won’t blame you or try to stop you.”
Obi-Wan could have laughed out loud. “Sorry, Master,” he said, “but I’m not so easily gotten rid of. I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.” He stared at Qui-Gon with mock solemnity.
Qui-Gon grinned outright, an extremely rare occurrence. “Then I guess I’ll just have to grit my teeth and take it like a Jedi,” he replied. “Let’s go, Padawan. KeRaad’s waiting.” He headed for the door. “Oh, and Obi-Wan,” he added over his shoulder. “When we get back, you have ten minutes to do something about this room. After that, I shall not be responsible for my actions.”
Obi-Wan groaned inwardly. “Yes, Master,” he muttered, and followed Qui-Gon through the door.