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Dull sizzles echoed around the small practice arena that was designed for beginners, with its padded floor and few obstacles. Quiet grunts accompanied each strike of one low-powered blade against the other.
"Come on. Come on. Don't stop now. Press your advantage. I'm cornered. Lunge!" Qui-Gon flipped up and over his opponent, twisting to land on his feet.
He held his arms open wide, practice saber flickering dimly in his right hand. "Why didn't you push the attack, Remi? Surely you anticipated how I would escape?"
The tall Padawan sighed and powered down his weapon. He tossed it on the practice mat and moved to crouch in front of his small dark-skinned friend, Remcil Windu. He studied Remi's downcast features for a moment.
"So you didn't know I was going to jump. The Temple foundation won't collapse because of it, Remi. We'll just try again." Qui-Gon kept his voice soft.
Shimmering black eyes peered from under thick eyelashes. Remi reached out and fingered Qui-Gon's Padawan braid, then nodded. Qui-Gon sensed the longing in that touch. He chucked the boy's chin and stretched to his full 1.87 meters. He ran a hand through the infernally itchy stubble coating his scalp and regarded his small friend's hopeful demeanor. Teaching was more difficult than he'd anticipated. He was starting to regret his hasty promise. Qui-Gon shunted the thought aside. If nothing else, this session was a great warm-up for the day.
"Attack me," he suddenly directed.
"But you have no weapon," Remi said.
"Do it. Come on. See if you can even touch me," the Padawan dared. He thumbed his tunic's belt in a deliberately cocky manner and motioned the boy forward with his fingers.
Remi ran at him. Qui-Gon side-stepped the charge. And the next. He saw the boy's face turn thoughtful as the attack became more studied, more planned. Still, Qui-Gon eluded each thrust and cut with ease.
The Padawan heard someone enter the practice arena, but chose to ignore it. The boy obviously hadn't heard. They continued for a few more minutes. Suddenly, Qui-Gon gave a mighty jump up and back, landing on a horizontal bar, out of Remi's reach. He slowly paced back and forth on the beam.
"What gives a Jedi such fast reflexes, Remi?" Qui-Gon placed his hands on his hips as he glared at his friend, who was now laying spread-eagled, directly below him, panting.
Qui-Gon dropped to the mat, landing with his feet on either side of Remi's chest. He suppressed a chuckle at the way the boy's arms crossed protectively in front of his face.
The answer was muffled, "A Jedi sees things before they happen."
"That's right," Qui-Gon said, as he pivoted away and twisted down to sit cross-legged beside Remi. "Now, the question is, Remi: do you?"
Remi lowered his arms and wiped a trickle of sweat off his brow. His lower lip started to tremble. "N-No. Not often."
Qui-Gon laid a reassuring hand on the boy's forearm. "That's okay. Tell me what you are thinking when we are fighting." He scrambled to his feet and retrieved his practice saber. Activating it, he held it a few centimeters from Remi's nose. "Are you thinking about how long my reach is? Where my feet are pointing? What's for lunch?"
Remi giggled. "I, I'm thinking ahead, trying ..."
"Ah ha!" Qui-Gon's shout startled the boy. "That's your problem." Qui-Gon tossed the lightsaber up in the air, watched it somersault lazily, then jumped up and snatched the handle, bringing the blade back to bear on the wide-eyed boy.
"When you are in a battle," Qui-Gon paused dramatically, enjoying the rapt look on the young learner's face. He continued with a flourish, "The worst thing you can do is think ahead."
"But our teachers say to be mindful of the future." Remi propped himself up on his elbows forcing the Padawan to sweep his practice saber to the side.
Qui-Gon dropped to his knees, shaking his head slowly. "The only thing you will see, if you look to the future during a battle ... is your own death." He held up his hand to stop the protest. "Everything has its time and place. Your teachers may be right -- but not when it comes to fighting."
The Padawan popped to his feet and called Remi's saber to his hand, tossing it to the boy. He assumed a fighting stance and motioned for Remi to rise. As they slowly exchanged blows, gradually picking up speed, Qui-Gon continued instructing.
"During a battle, your complete concentration must be on the moment. Feel. Don't think. Use your instincts. Let the Living Force be your guide. It will reveal your opponent's every move." He flipped backwards, out of the boy's reach. "And nothing will touch you."
Remi dropped his darkened blade and cocked his head. "Are you always concentrating on the moment, Qui-Gon? When do you look to the future?"
Qui-Gon narrowed his eyes and stroked his Padawan braid. He strode over to the boy and crouched before him, laying a hand on his shoulder. "Late at night, when I am meditating on the coming and glorious career of my young friend, Remcil Windu -- that is when I look to the future."
Remi's head dropped to his chest and he walked toward the bleachers lining one wall. Qui-Gon stared blankly after the small boy, then caught up in two long strides. He rested his hand on the back of Remi's neck and accompanied him in silence to the first bench. Remi slumped on the seat, while Qui-Gon dropped to the floor at his feet.
"I knew something was up," Qui-Gon said. "Your heart wasn't in the fight. No gusto today. So, tell me."
Dark cheeks glistened as Remi met the Padawan's gaze. Qui-Gon's heart constricted at the strain in his young friend's voice. "I've heard from my birth family."
Qui-Gon quirked one eyebrow. "Unusual, but not unheard of."
Remi took a halting breath. "If I haven't become a Padawan learner by the time I'm thirteen, they want me to go home." His eyes grew round. "That's only two years, Qui-Gon. I'll never be ready in two years. I, I don't want to go home. This is my home."
A stern look shrouded the Padawan's face. "Never say never, Remi. Your focus determines your reality. Always remember that. Two years is a long time."
"But Master Yoda took you as his learner when you were only my age."
"That was to shut me up and get me away from the other students. I was causing too much of a disturbance in class." Qui-Gon's voice dropped to a whisper. "I was taller than him even then, you know." He chuckled at Remi's offended expression. He stood up and spread his arms. "But look at me now. In four years Master Yoda has whipped me into great shape -- even if he can only reach my thigh." Qui-Gon rubbed his leg ruefully.
"Qui-Gon! You're talking about, about THE Master Yoda."
"Yes. THE Master Yoda and his very pointed gimer stick." Qui-Gon slipped to his knees. "I mean no disrespect. I have the best Master, ever. Someday you'll have a master, too. And he'll whip you into shape. You'll see."
The Padawan hesitated. The dark mood still hovered over the boy; his usual quick grin was nowhere to be found.
"What else?" Qui-Gon asked.
"What else?" Remi echoed.
"What else did your birth family have to say? There was something else."
The boy sighed. "My mother is expecting another child."
"You never see them. Why would that be a problem?"
"The Force runs strong in our family. What if that baby ends up here? At the Temple?"
Executing a single somersault forward, Qui-Gon stretched himself out on the mat and looked up into Remi's face. "But that's great. You'd have a little brother at the Temple."
Remi's voice dropped to a whisper, "What if he's better than me?"
"You and your brother will each have your own strengths. He'll look up to you, no matter what." At Remi's doubtful expression, Qui-Gon rolled over and pushed, jumping to his feet again. "Consider us. I think of you as a little brother, and you always look up to me. Mind you, that's because you're such a short little Hatchling."
Qui-Gon waited, hands on hips. When a gleaming grin split Remi's brown face, Qui-Gon dropped his hands and smiled back.
"Let's go eat," the Padawan said. "I'm starved."
As they left the practice arena, Qui-Gon nodded to the small hooded figure sitting near the door.
"Good day, Master Yoda."
Qui-Gon clamped his hand over Remi's mouth to stifle the gasp.
Tahl sputtered her juice all over her breakfast plate. "You said that when he was in the room? Are you crazy?"
Qui-Gon gave a careless shrug as he kicked Remi under the table. Remi flinched. The Padawan stared at Tahl and Remi as they stared back across the table at him.
He snatched Tahl's now juicy breadstick. He broke it in two and stuffed one half in his mouth, speaking around the mouthful of warm bread. "Apparently."
Tahl tossed her laser-straight brown hair back from her face and crossed her arms. Her normally straight brows furrowed into two slender arches that strained to join together. "So you knew he was there all along. You knew he'd hear you."
Qui-Gon popped the second chunk of bread into his mouth and reached for Remi's. He nodded. He wasn't about to admit to Tahl that he'd felt a twinge of remorse after that first comment about Master Yoda's height. She could be so bossy. Just because they were the same age and had known each other forever. Well, nine years, at least, from when a six-year-old Tahl had arrived at the Temple.
A smirk snuck onto Qui-Gon's face. "Kind of sounds like something you might have said just a few years ago, right Tahl? Before you tapped into that endless well of patience you've discovered." At Tahl's daggered look, he sweetly added, "If you aren't going to finish your breakfast, I might have room for it."
Tahl shoved her plate across the smooth surface, knocking Qui-Gon's own plate onto the floor. As he bent to retrieve it, he knocked his head on the edge of the table. He heard Tahl's muffled giggle and felt heat creeping up his neck. He took a calming breath and popped back into a sitting position with a grin on his face.
In unison with Tahl, he chimed, "Klutz."
He dropped his head quickly, knowing Tahl would see that the grin hadn't reached beyond his lips. Her eyes were too sharp by far. He focused on the food before him, emptying the plate with practiced efficiency. Sometimes he hated his body; the only time he felt like his old self was in battle practice. He towered over everyone. His feet were constantly tripping him up. His life was a long parade of bruised temples and smarting shins. And now Tahl had taken to teasing him about it. He wondered if Master Yoda would consent to training him on Kashyyyk. At least there he wouldn't feel so blasted ... tall.
A cool digit brushed the top of his hand. Qui-Gon cocked his head sideways to see the Quarren Padawan, Riglyk, setting his full plate on top of Qui-Gon's empty one. The Quarren's mouth tentacles wriggled before Riglyk spoke. "I grabbed this by mistake. Human food is beyond my understanding. Perhaps you could devour this for me. You will certainly need the strength."
Qui-Gon trapped the Quarren's long slender fingers and stared into the squid-like face of his fellow trainee. "My thanks, Riglyk. But why do I need it?"
"For the battles, of course. Hakola is bragging how he's going to beat everyone. He claims he will wipe the mat with a certain ... ah ... clumsy Padawan, if he gets the chance."
"What about you, Rig? Who are you betting on?" Qui-Gon asked softly.
The Quarren pulled his hand away. "I am not a Corellian. Hakola is very fast. The odds are in his favor." He moved off, shaking his head.
Qui-Gon pushed aside Tahl's empty plate and replaced it with the new one. He stared at it for a moment, then looked up at his friends, twin studies in curiosity. He scanned the room, his eyes coming to rest on the golden-skinned Hakola Doy. He glared at the white hair until Hakola felt it and turned, looking for his adversary. When golden eyes locked on Qui-Gon's blue ones, Qui-Gon gave the other Padawan a slight smile and nodded his head briefly. White eyebrows arched and the young man turned away, laughing.
Remi's low voice interrupted the Padawan's dark thoughts. "No one knows how good you've become, Qui-Gon. Master Yoda takes you away with him on missions, training you out of sight of the others. They think it's because you are failing." He paused, then raised his voice slightly. "Your focus determines your reality."
Qui-Gon jerked his attention to Remi and nodded, thankful for his friend's support. "So Hakola doesn't know where I stand? I'd wager that he thinks the way I walk down a hall echoes the way I fight." He smiled at his friends and added, "Which gives me the advantage."
Qui-Gon tore a piece off the fresh breadstick and chewed thoughtfully.
"Hakola is expected to win the tournament, Qui-Gon. Do you really think you can beat him?" Tahl's tone was merely curious.
"With my eyes closed."
