Actually, in terms of being able to spend time
together, it was much easier for all of us once
Sionnach became Joma's padawan. In the creche
she had been a protected child, carefully brought up
to consider all Jedi her family, and we were
therefore permitted only the same visits as any other
child's relations. We occasionally passed a group of
children in a corridor, but there wasn't the sort of
constant contact we would have liked. As a
padawan, however, she was considered a fellow-
Jedi -- not an adult, and certainly always under the
guardianship of her master, but nevertheless she was
now able and allowed to cultivate relationships
outside the home. In public, she bowed to tradition
and called us Master Jinn and Knight Kenobi and
Padawan Skywalker, which all four of us quietly
found quite amusing; privately, though, when she
sometimes came to visit us on an evening off, we
were a family again. By the time she was fourteen,
she often had friends with her -- other young
padawans who were smitten with Anakin despite his
unavailability, or apprentice healers who didn't
believe what they'd been taught about her healing of
Qui-Gon's wound all those years ago. He always
obliged them, shrugging out of his tunic to show
them the scars on his breastbone and next to his
shoulder blade, and they always left in a bit of a
daze.
But the best was when she came home alone. She
would curl up on the couch next to Anakin, whom
she thought of quite as her own brother, and listen
to all three of us talk about our travels. Qui-Gon
had the best stories, of course -- but Sion's favorite
things to talk about were her parents, naturally, and
my own apprenticeship, which held Anakin's
attention as well. One evening, she was particularly
intent on Qui-Gon's tale of a mission he and I had
taken just weeks after I'd become his padawan. The
thing had been a series of errors, cock-ups and
bungles the like of which Qui-Gon said he had
never seen, but Sionnach interrupted him to ask
again how old I had been.
"Just about thirteen. Why?"
She looked back at her knee, picking at a loose
thread. "I never go anywhere. Just wondering."
"Not ever?" Anakin asked, surprised.
Sion shook her head. "Master keeps submitting our
names for missions -- easy ones, Qui, I promise --
but we always seem to lose the bid. We were just
turned down again today. She was pretty mad."
"As well she might be," I said. All three turned to
look at me. "They're doing the same thing to you
that they did to her. The Council. Bunch of short-
sighted --"
"What is it they're doing?" Qui-Gon asked.
"When Joma was a kid," I explained, "she was
never allowed to leave the planet. Her trials were
delayed because of it; she never got the field
experience she needed until she was older. Way
older, I mean, she was -- well, she's about three
years older than I am, and I was knighted three years
before she was." Anakin let out a low whistle.
"Right. And they said it was because she didn't
have enough control over her abilities, so sending
her someplace not shielded was too much of a risk.
I expect she thinks they're trying to pull the same
stunt with you, Sion."
"But that's the stupidest thing I've ever heard," said
Qui-Gon. "Particularly since Anakin's been
traveling with me all these years."
"I know, but you know how they are. I've tried to
think of --"
"Excuse me," Sionnach waved. "None of this
makes any sense. Why wouldn't they let her travel?
And what does it have to do with me? Or Anakin?"
"We're freaks, Sion," Anakin grinned. "You've
heard the word 'Adept'? That means that you and I -
- and your master and some other people -- are way
stronger in the Force than plain old Jedi like my
master." Qui-Gon and I chuckled. If he was a plain
old Jedi, I was a krayt dragon.
"Yes," I said, "and when Joma was a child they were
afraid that was dangerous. Afraid the Force energy
was so concentrated in her that she'd do someone a
harm."
Sion seemed perplexed. "But that
is the dumbest
thing I've ever heard," she said after a moment. "I
mean, wasn't Anakin
completely untrained until
he was eleven?"
"Nine," Qui-Gon corrected her, "but yes. So clearly
the Council is being preposterously cautious."
"Well, Master's going to talk to them about it
tomorrow," Sion said with a teenaged grimace. "I
figure we'll get an offworld assignment in the next
rotation. But then they'll just send us someplace
lame like Dantooine and settle some shipping
dispute."
"I don't know," I said, "those shipping disputes have
been getting a little exciting lately, with the
chancellor phasing in the government agency and
shutting everything else down. When you win a
vote by that narrow of a margin, you have a hard
time implementing the resolution."
"Can we not talk shop for just a couple of minutes?"
Anakin interrupted suddenly, getting to his feet. "I
have some news." He visibly collected himself,
taking a deep breath and shaking out his shoulders.
"I've asked Amidala to marry me," he began, "and
she said yes, so I hope you'll agree that it's a good
idea to have the ceremony here in the temple." He
rocked back on his heels, looked around at all three
of us, and grinned nervously.
For a moment we were stunned -- then Sionnach
whooped out loud and leaped into Anakin's arms,
and Qui-Gon rose to embrace him as well. "When,
Anakin?" I asked with a grin as I waited my turn.
"The day after I'm knighted," he smiled as he let out
a shaky breath. "She's going to stand for the Senate,
and we're sure she'll get in, but in case she doesn't,
that way I can go to Naboo with her and base out of
the branch temple in that region. Master, will you
perform it?"
"Perform the rite?" Qui-Gon asked, surprised.
"You're asking me to say your wedding?" Anakin
nodded. "I'd be delighted, Padawan." He bowed
formally.
"And Obi and Sion, we'd like you both to stand for
us," Anakin went on.
"Shouldn't some of these be her people?" Sion
asked, still wrapped up in a hug, looking up at him.
"Neither of us could think of anyone we'd rather
have," Anakin promised. "Will you stand?"
"I will," I said.
"I will, too," Sionnach finished, and Anakin
beamed. "Where's 'Dala, where is she?" Sion asked.
"We want to congratulate her too."
"Ah, she had to hurry home to discourage some
smugglers," Anakin said. "It would look bad if the
chancellor's own homeworld didn't comply with the
directive."
"Well, there are a lot of people not too pleased
about complying with the directive," Qui-Gon said
as he fetched brandy for everyone to toast Anakin
and Amidala's good health. "I was just speaking to
Organa and Delvin earlier today, and they've been
telling me their constituents are furious."
I wasn't surprised. Bail Organa was the senator
from Alderaan, a pleasant and comfortable world
only a few hours' travel from Coruscant. It prided
itself on a people with a peaceable disposition and a
high standard of living, but it hadn't gotten that way
by knuckling under to centralized control for
millennia. The Alderaanians were decent people
who lived well and ran a thriving export trade --
primarily ale and sea salt -- to farther-flung systems.
Under the chancellor's new operation, though, their
independent shipping interests were to be put out of
business in favor of a central, government-
controlled agency. The idea was to level the playing
field, to give all star systems, no matter their
proximity to anything else, the same dependable,
affordable service -- and to prevent the sort of
strongarm behavior we'd seen fourteen years earlier,
when the independent Trade Federation had
blockaded Naboo to force their acquiescence.
Palpatine had introduced the measure on the ten-
year anniversary of the Battle of Naboo, and it had
quickly won support in the senate from two main
groups: outlying regions, and xenophobic
populations who approved of Palpatine's
preferential treatment of humans. (It had been the
Niemodians who controlled the Trade Federation,
Palpatine reasoned, so clearly non-humans were not
to be trusted.) Many, many other worlds had
immediately resisted the idea, and it had quickly
become a major issue, which was why it had taken so
long to push through. Alderaan opposed the plan, on
the grounds that they stood to lose substantial
profits if they were required to ship all items to
Coruscant prior to delivery and to pay exorbitant
tariffs on all their goods -- to say nothing of the
rise in unemployment.
Even closer to Coruscant, meanwhile, was Corellia,
whose senator was Anders Delvin and which had a
large non-human population and a long tradition of
fierce independence. They opposed the chancellor's
plan on the grounds that they didn't like someone
else running their show. A maxim about Corellia,
handed down the generations, was that a Corellian
had no trouble with teamwork as long as he was
team leader -- and cliches didn't get to be cliches
without often being true. Delvin's people hated
being told they had to use the government agency
for shipping; they might have done so anyway, but
they resented the choice being taken away from
them.
"I'm sure they're not the only ones," I said.
"Not at all," Qui-Gon agreed, "but they're the most
vocal, and their homeworlds are the nearest.
Citizens are organizing lobbying groups already.
They're even less pleased that the ranks of their
supporters seem to be dwindling. As the new
system is instituted, it appears that people are
changing their minds and deciding it's not so bad
after all, and going along quietly."
"I'm sure Delvin loves that," I snorted.
"Indeed. But we weren't going to
talk about
work," Qui-Gon said, slapping his knee and turning
back to Anakin and Sionnach, who had resumed
their seats on the couch. "We were going to toast to
Anakin and Amidala's health and good fortune --
and I suppose while we're at it we should toast to
absent friends, since Amidala is away and poor
Shmi Skywalker is no longer with us." He paused
somberly, and Anakin bowed his head. His mother
had been killed a year before in a freak shop
accident, just before he had planned to buy her
freedom from Watto. He had been less upset by her
death, though, than he had been by the fact that it
hadn't affected him as much as he thought it should
have. Sionnach squeezed his hand sympathetically.
"So. To friends we've lost, and friends we'll meet
again, and to Anakin and Amidala and their future
together. May you live long and happily, in love
and comfort, and may you never regret a day in your
lives."
"To Anakin and Amidala," Sionnach and I said,
raising our glasses.
"And," Qui-Gon went on, surprising us in the midst
of our first sip, "I have some news of my own.
Your wedding day may be a lot sooner than you
think, Anakin."
Anakin was puzzled. "Master?"
Qui-Gon's eye twinkled. "Yes. Based on your
performance, I'm prepared to recommend at the next
session that you stand your trials one year from that
date."
Now the boy was astonished. "Master?"
"And I'm certain you won't have any trouble with
them."
"But -- but I -- really?"
"Yes, really," Qui-Gon laughed. "You're going to
be a Jedi Knight, son. Start planning your
wedding."
Anakin's eyes were as wide as they had been the day
he'd arrived on Coruscant. His hand trembled just a
bit as he scrubbed it over his face; he stared for a
moment at the ceiling, and then at me, his features
making a slow, smooth transition from puzzled
expression to elated grin. Suddenly, with very little
warning, he gave a shout to match Sionnach's of a
few minutes earlier and propelled himself at Qui-
Gon, who only just managed to keep his chair
upright under the impact. "You're welcome,
Padawan," he chuckled.
Anakin pulled himself together and stood up, still
grinning like a fool, and came over to me -- but I
was ready for him. I was on my feet by the time he
flung his arms around my shoulders, and only
staggered a bit due to his greater height. I slapped
his back, only partly to regain my balance.
"Congratulations, boy," I said. "You're on a roll,
apparently. Anything else you need to get done
today? You're sure to succeed."
Anakin laughed and whirled around to scoop
Sionnach, nearly as happy for him as he was, up in a
bear hug. "A message, I have to send a message,"
he said as he set her down. "Have to call her. We
only talked about 'someday' -- a year? A year from
the next session, which is when, Master? Four
cycles?"
"Three," Qui-Gon said.
Anakin threw back his head and shouted again.
"I've never been so happy before!" he said, dancing
Sionnach toward the comm station.
"And I hope this will be the unhappiest day of your
life," Qui-Gon nodded.
"
Master, I could walk on
air! Oh! Wait!" he
said to Sion, bending to speak to her face-to-face. "I
can!" And he pulled her into his arms again and
Force-lifted them both, rather quickly, off the floor.
Sionnach shrieked, girlish excitement combined
with just a little terror. Qui-Gon leapt to his feet.
"Anakin! Be careful!"
"I'm sorry, Master," Anakin said, flipping over
backwards in midair. "I know this is technically not
an appropriate use of the Force, but if I didn't
expend the energy somehow I'd break something."
Holding tightly to Sionnach, he turned upside down
and stood on the ceiling. "Surely you've been so
delirious with happiness you couldn't stand it,
Master. The day your first padawan was knighted,
maybe? Your bonding day?"
"We're not Adept," I pointed out, "so perhaps the
energy buildup wasn't so impressive."
"Probably true," Qui-Gon smiled. "Are you feeling
better now, Padawan? Would you care to come
down from there, before I have to explain to the
quartermaster why there are boot-prints on my
ceiling?"
"Yes, Master," Anakin said with a grin. He
carefully oriented himself and Sionnach to the floor,
and drifted down as gently and slowly as a blanket
settling on a bed. "I'm sorry, Master," he said again.
"Sorry about that, Sithspawn," he said to Sionnach,
ruffling her hair. "I'll try and warn you before the
next time that happens."
"Go call your fiancee," Sion told him with a push in
the direction of the comm station.
Anakin turned and walked backwards away from us.
"My
fiancee," he said, turning a spontaneous
backflip and laughing out loud before hitting the
transfer button on the comm station and
disappearing into his room.
"Wow," Sionnach commented.
"Yes," I agreed. "Qui-Gon, I don't think you and I
turned handsprings the day we agreed to bond, did
we?"
"In my heart I did, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon replied,
holding my gaze. Outside my field of vision,
Sionnach made retching noises. I was inclined to
join her. After a moment, Qui-Gon grinned. "No,
love, I don't recall that we did. But, of course, we
had been seriously involved for some time by then -
- we agreed to bond, as you say, rather than one of
us proposing marriage to the other. That day in the
combat salle, on the other hand, when Mace and
Depa had to shield the room and carry us home ..."
I felt my face flush. "Well, yes. There was that."
"What?" Sion asked, innocently curious. "Why'd
Master Windu and Master Billaba have to carry you
home? What'd you do?"
"Nothing," I said quickly. "We were, ah, about to
start -- walking on the ceiling --" I nodded at Qui-
Gon; he choked back a laugh -- "and as you've just
seen, that causes all kinds of Force-output that can
be dangerous if it isn't controlled. And we're not
Adept, so we wrecked our own strength in a big
hurry. Mace and Depa helped us
walk home;
they didn't carry us."
"Oh." Sionnach thought about that for a minute. I
gave Qui-Gon my best combination raised-eyebrow-
glare. If he hadn't been so dignified, or so sure that
Sionnach might look to him at any moment, I
believe he would have stuck his tongue out at me.
As it was, he raised his own eyebrow and curled the
corners of his lips in the barest beginnings of a
smile.
I nearly exclaimed out loud in relief when the door
chime rang before Sion could ask another question.
I hurried to answer it, and found Bail Organa of
Alderaan waiting on the other side. "Senator," I
said, surprised. I heard Qui-Gon and Sionnach get
to their feet.
"Knight Kenobi. Master Jinn. Padawan --"
"apVess-Norill," Sionnach said with a bow.
"I'm sorry to disturb you at home, gentlemen,
Padawan, but I'm afraid I've urgent business to
discuss that cannot wait until tomorrow. Do you
have a few minutes?" he asked Qui-Gon.
"I --" Qui-Gon looked from the senator to me and
back again, thrown by the suddenness of it.
"Of course you do," I said to him. "It's getting
toward time that Sionnach should be getting home
anyway. I'll walk her back."
"Excellent. Thank you, Obi-Wan. Good night,
Sha," Qui-Gon said, hugging Sion to him. "Be sure
to come by again soon."
"I will, Qui," she promised as she stood on tiptoe to
kiss his cheek. "Say good night to Ani for me."
Senator Organa came in to the apartment as we left;
we heard him apologize again for the intrusion, and
Qui-Gon say he supposed his padawan was still
tying up the comm station, before the door closed
and we couldn't hear them any more.
I've been told that the color of my eyes is difficult to
name, that they run the range from jade green
through grey to blue, though not as deep (or, to my
mind, as intoxicating) a blue as Qui-Gon's. I'd
never known brown or hazel eyes to do the same,
though, until I realized that Sionnach's eye color
was as hard to name as my own. When she was a
baby, her eyes were a sort of golden amber -- a bit
lighter and less green than what I'd call hazel --
striking without actually being unsettling. As she
grew older, though, depending on the light and her
mood and no doubt several other factors just as
easily quantifiable, those golden eyes could be as
rich as bronze (recalling the warmth of her mother's
dark eyes) or as pale as sunlight (like her father's,
clear and water-blue). She looked at me now, as we
walked, with eyes like a cat's, narrowed and
assessing and deep yellow like honey. "Yes, Sion?"
I asked, amused. "Is there something on my face?"
"No," she smiled, looking away. We walked in
silence for a moment. "Obi?"
"Yes?"
Whatever she had been about to say, she evidently
decided against it. She reached for my hand, as she
had when she was a child, and I gladly clasped hers.
"Obi?"
"Yes?"
She still wasn't ready, apparently. I squeezed her
hand to let her know I was still listening. "Obi?"
"Yes?"
"I wanted to ask you, there's something -- I mean,
Master is really helpful, but sometimes you need
another perspective too, and I'd have brought it up at
home but you know how Qui gets." I still didn't
know what she was talking about, but I did know
how Qui-Gon got where she was concerned, so I
smiled knowingly. "I'm sorry, let me start over."
She took a deep breath. "How do you know when
someone who's your friend -- how do you know if
you love that person?"
"Um ..."
"Or if he loves you?"
"Well, I certainly see why you didn't mention this
with Qui-Gon in the room," I joked.
"Right. He'd say 'Sha, you're wonderful, and anyone
who doesn't see that isn't worth your time.' Very
nice, but not very useful." She smiled ruefully.
"Indeed. So tell me about this young man?"
Sionnach turned to me with the same look on her
face that Anakin had worn when he was sixteen and
talking about Amidala. Oh, boy. "He's fantastic,"
she said. "He's sweet and funny and strong and
smart and
gorgeous and --"
"And does he have a name?" I asked.
My -- My what? She wasn't my niece; and though
I'd sworn to protect Sion just as Qui-Gon had, only
he was designated by her parents as her godfather.
My godchild-in-law? That's what Joma would have
called her. -- blushed. "Inayouk," she said, slower,
more quietly. "Inayouk s'Deki. He's Knight
Ferriling's padawan."
I cast about for faces to put with these names.
Kustin Ferriling was a knight a few years younger
than myself. I recalled teaching him in an
intermediate class in close combat, and calculated
that he must have been about seven years behind
me; thirty or thirty-one, then. So he couldn't have
been a knight for much more than five years --
which meant that this s'Deki was his first padawan.
I didn't know that I'd ever heard that name before.
"I know the master, but not the student," I said.
"He's, um, almost your height, and dark hair and
dark eyes," Sionnach told me, her own eyes shining
brighter by the second. "And dark skin -- not like
Master Windu, but like -- like -- like caf with milk
in it, I guess. And he has the most beautiful
smile ..."
That was when I knew. He had nothing of the kind,
of course -- Qui-Gon had the most beautiful smile.
But so did I, and so did Amidala, and so did
Anakin, and I was willing to suppose that so did
Sionnach herself, if you asked the right person. "It
doesn't sound to me like there's much question that
you love him, firefly," I said. "And I've never met
him, so I can't begin to guess whether or not he
loves you."
"Well -- he says he does," she hedged, "and I
believe him, but -- mostly."
"When do you not believe him?"
"Just sometimes. It's nothing that he does, I don't
think. It's me, I see him looking at me, and I
sometimes think he mustn't really love
me, he
must just want to --" she stopped and looked
sideways at me. "To walk on the ceiling," she
finished, with an eyebrow raised.
I gasped so hard I choked. So much for euphemism.
I tried to cover it with a cough, but I could see that
Sion wasn't fooled. "How old is this boy?" I
managed to ask.
"Seventeen."
"Seventeen. Well. I'll guarantee you that he does
want to walk on the ceiling. That's not open to
question. I'm prepared to believe, though -- based
on my impression when I do meet him, of course --
that two things are true: one, that he'd rather walk
on the ceiling with you than anyone else, and two,
that he sees you as much more than just someone
with whom to walk on the ceiling. Because -- and,
now, here's where I'm going to sound just like Qui-
Gon -- because you're wonderful, and a boy as smart
as you say this one is couldn't escape noticing that."
She smiled, and for a moment she looked so like her
mother I could scarcely breathe. The smile and the
crinkle in the corner of her eye were the same, and
her hair was dark and her eyes were brown. The
light from a passing ship's burners lit the corridor
with a bluish glow, and I would have sworn I was
looking at Liskat's ghost. But then the ship passed
by, and we came out of the dim spot where a lamp
had broken, and in the normal light I saw the red
hair and amber eyes of Liskat's daughter. We
reached the door of her quarters and I pulled her to
me for a hug. "You can't fault Qui-Gon for wishing
you'd never grow up," I murmured into her hair.
"Of course not," she said, surprised.
"The older you get, the less his obligation to your
parents to look after you, and the less his connection
to them," I said. "Your father was Qui-Gon's best
friend for many years. When Qui-Gon no longer
has you to hold onto, I think he's afraid Dorim's
spirit will desert him."
"But --"
"Of course he won't," I said, anticipating her
objection, "but there was only one person hit harder
by your father's death than Qui-Gon -- your mother,
and she died soon after. Just don't -- don't forget
how we love you, too, hmm?"
"I couldn't if I tried," Sion said, reaching up to kiss
my cheek. "Good night, Obi. I'll bring Inayouk to
meet you soon. He'll be really excited." And she
slipped into her apartment and closed the door.
I walked home quickly, disturbed by the memory of
Sionnach looking so much like a ghost of Liskat. It
shouldn't have bothered me as much as it did -- but
in any event, I wanted to talk to Qui-Gon about it.
Senator Organa was still there when I arrived,
though, so that would have to wait. I poured myself
another glass of brandy and settled on the couch to
pretend I was interested in their conversation. It
was the trade thing again, of course; from the sound
of Organa's voice and the look in Qui-Gon's eyes,
Organa had been doing most of the talking and Qui-
Gon most of the listening up until now. The senator
was evidently in two minds about some choice he
had to make, but the brandy and my tumultuous
thoughts conspired to draw my attention away.
Anakin had gone out to celebrate his various good
tidings with some padawan friends of his. I idly
wondered if Sion's friend Inayouk would be among
them, before reminding myself that the boy was six
years younger than Anakin and they were unlikely
to travel in the same circles. Come to that, how had
Sionnach met him in the first place, with him being
three years older than she was? Perhaps he had
been like me, a little older than some others when
they finally went as padawans. Sionnach had been
very young, but girls tended to go younger than boys
anyway -- they became insufferable in the creche
long before the boys did, we always told ourselves.
So it was possible that Sion and Inayouk had gone
as padawans at close to the same time. That option
made even more sense when I remembered that the
kid's master was a very young knight. But I hadn't
asked Sionnach how they'd met. Or what her other
friends thought of him. Or --
Qui-Gon was speaking to me, I realized suddenly. I
focused on him in time to hear him ask me if I
intended leaving any brandy for him and the
senator. It was only then that I noticed that I had
drained my glass, poured another, and grasped the
bottle by the neck, curling it close to me as though
to protect it from theft. With a sheepish smile, I
handed him the bottle so he could offer Organa a
drink as well. Qui-Gon raised his own glass in
preparation for a toast. Another one? What in the
worlds was he toasting now? "Here," he said, "is to
the triumph of right over might, and to the
continued prosperity and autonomy of the
Alderaanian people."
"Hear, hear," Organa said, raising his glass in kind.
"Yes," I added helpfully, entirely bewildered. "To
Alderaan."
What had happened? Qui-Gon obviously thought I
had been listening to everything he and Organa had
been saying before the toast, so he didn't enlighten
me. Was it possible that Organa and Delvin had
succeeded in stemming the flood of support for the
chancellor's proposal? Not by themselves, surely --
Alderaan and Corellia were important systems, but
the two of them alone couldn't accomplish anything.
Who were their allies? Was that even what had
happened? So many other things were possible,
particularly when dealing with Palpatine. The
chancellor was full of surprises -- and so had this
evening been, actually. First Anakin's engagement
to Amidala, then Qui-Gon's announcement of
Anakin's recommendation for trials, then Sionnach's
mention of this boy who loved her --
And how long had that been going on? I'd forgotten
to ask her.
Had she met him through Anakin? It
would make sense, in the same way her young
friends swarmed around him, for her to cast an eye
at friends of his, I supposed. I'd have been surprised
if he allowed it, though -- he'd always been quite
protective of her. And besides, I reminded myself
sternly, this s'Deki kid was too young to be Anakin's
friend. But you knew M'Liskatha Vess when you
were both padawans, a pesky voice in the back of
my head noted. You weren't close friends, but you
were certainly acquainted.
I shook my head to dislodge the random thoughts,
and saw that Qui-Gon and the senator were at the
door. Organa was on his way out, and waved to me
as he left. Qui-Gon turned back to me with a mildly
puzzled expression. I concluded that I was
exhausted beyond all hope of recovery. Coherent,
linear thought had abandoned me, and trying to hold
an idea together long enough to tell Qui-Gon about
it was making my head hurt. He seemed unruffled
by the meeting with Organa of Alderaan, so there
was no need to stay up and share concerns about
that issue; as he helped me to bed, removing my
boots and tucking me in as he had when I was a
padawan, Qui-Gon told me Palpatine had conceded
Alderaan's point on the higher cost of routing all
shipments through Coruscant, and agreed to
designate Alderaan a "hub" on the hub-and-spoke
system. If the same could be achieved for Corellia,
perhaps the conflict could be defused. I tried to
process that thought and tell him it sounded like
good news, and I wanted to ask him when the hub-
and-spoke idea had come into the discussion, and I
wanted to talk to him about Sion and her young
friend, but my eyes were heavy and my voice would
not come. I felt Qui-Gon slide into bed next to me,
and pulled him closer, just before I drifted off to
sleep. I could tell I was smiling, and my dreams
were sweet.
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