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A scattering of glinting cylinders caught Qui-Gon’s eye.

“I might have mistaken them for asteroids,” the copilot said.

Obi-Wan leaned toward him. “Things are not always what they appear to be.”

Qui-Gon shot him a disapproving glance. “Remember that when we are on the surface, Padawan,” he said quietly.

Obi-Wan bit back a retort and nodded. “Yes, Master.”

The copilot called up a magnified view of one of the mines. “Command detonated,” he said over his shoulder to Qui-Gon. “They can probably be triggered by the terrorists’ sentry ships or from down below.”

As Qui-Gon was considering it, a female voice issued from the cockpit annunciators.

“Prominence, this is Ecliptic. Our escort advises that we raise deflector shields and hold fast to our course. Long-range scans show three fighter craft on the far side of the minefield. We have high confidence that they are aware of us.”

Qui-Gon touched Obi-Wan on the shoulder. “It’s time we rejoined the others in the salon pod.”

They left the cramped cockpit and walked aft down a narrow corridor that passed directly through the navigator’s station, the communications station, and the crew lounge. The corridor terminated at a turbolift, which they rode to the lower deck. Then they walked forward through the salon pod’s vestibule and into the roomy pod itself.

Nuzzled beneath the cruiser’s abrupt bow and forward sensor array, the cone-shaped pods were interchangeable and capable of providing customized atmospheres. In emergency situations, they could be jettisoned and employed as escape vehicles. This one featured port and starboard viewports and a large circular table, with a holoprojector at its center.

“We’re negotiating the minefield,” Qui-Gon said.

“Indeed we are,” Jedi Knight Ki-Adi-Mundi said from the starboard viewport. He had a smooth, elongated skull and a piercing gaze. His chin sported a long tuft of gray hair; his upper lip, dangling gray mustachios that matched his thick eyebrows.

“Worried your young Padawan appears, Qui-Gon,” Yaddle remarked from her seat at the table. “The minefield is it, or other concerns?”

Qui-Gon almost smiled. “That’s his normal look of foreboding. When he’s actually worried, you can see steam escaping his ears.”

“Yes,” Yaddle said. “Watch him train I did. Saw the steam.”

“I’m not worried, Masters,” Obi-Wan said good-naturedly. “I’m only thinking forward.” He waited for Qui-Gon to offer some piece of wisdom regarding the living Force, but for once his Master kept silent.

“Right you are to think forward, Padawan,” Yaddle told him. “Deal lightly with matters of consequence, and decisively with those of little consequence. Difficult it is to face a crisis and solve it gently, if not resolved beforehand you are, for uncertainty will impede your efforts. When comes the time, thinking forward allows you to deal lightly.”

Her big eyes shifted to favor Qui-Gon. “Agree do you, Qui-Gon?”

He bowed his head. “As you say, Master.”

Diagonally across the table from Yaddle, Saesee Tiin glanced up and smiled, as if reading Qui-Gon’s thoughts. Next to him, and as small in stature as Yaddle, sat Vergere, a female Fosh, and the former apprentice of Thracia Cho Leem, who had left the Jedi Order several years earlier. Vergere’s trim torso was covered with short feathers of varied color. Her slightly concave face was slant-eyed, wide-mouthed, delicately whiskered, and bracketed by willowy ears and twin antennae. A pair of reverse-articulated legs and splayed feet propelled her.

Alongside Vergere stood Depa Billaba, the hood of her brown cloak raised over her head.

The voice of the Prominence’s pilot crackled from the pod’s speakers. “Master Tiin, incoming transmission from our escort.”

Qui-Gon stepped closer to the table. Shortly, the image of an aristocratic human male appeared above the holoprojector.

“Esteemed members of the Jedi Order,” the man began. “On behalf of Lord Crueya and Lady Theala of House Vandron, it is our honor to welcome you to the