Star Wars_ The Approaching Storm - Alan Dean Foster [160]
“Not really,” she said. “We’ve finished dinner, and there’s nothing urgent I have to do before tomorrow. I mean, I was intending to practice in the training room, but that could—”
The girl flushed and stuttered to a halt under the massed gaze of the Jedi Masters. “Padawan Scout,” Mace Windu said deliberately, “I am surprised to hear you have this much free time, given the upcoming Apprentice Tournament. I hate to think you might be bored. Would you like me to find you something to do?”
The girl gulped. “No, Master. Not necessary. As you say—practice—I should …” She bowed and backed out of the room, sliding the door almost shut, until they could see only one green eye. “But if there’s anything else you need, don’t hesitate to—”
“Scout!”
“Right!” And with a click the door slid shut.
Mace Windu shook his head. “The Force is weak in that one. I don’t know—”
Master Xan held up her hand, and Mace fell silent. Xan’s fingers truly were like iron, sheathed with muscle, the joints knotted from years of hand-to-hand combat training. She flicked her hand at the door in a gentle Force push. The door thunked and they heard a muffled yelp. A moment later, embarrassed footsteps pattered away down the corridor.
Mace Windu shook his head impatiently. “I don’t know what Chankar saw in her.”
“We’ll never know now,” Jai Maruk said. Together they paused in remembrance of Chankar Kim, another Jedi fallen in the ring at Geonosis. At first, there had been ceremonies and vigils memorializing that horrible slaughter. But time and the war had gone on, and the Temple was now bleeding from more than that one great wound. Every week or two, another report would come in of a comrade lost in a battle on Thustra, or blown up in high space over Wayland, or assassinated in a diplomatic mission to Devaron.
“Frankly,” Mace said, “I was surprised she was ever chosen to be a Padawan.”
The tip of Yoda’s cane swirled slowly over the chamber floor, as if he were stirring the depths of a pond visible only to him. “To the Agricultural Corps she should be sent, think you?”
“Actually, yes, I do.” A note of sympathy entered Mace Windu’s voice. “There is no dishonor in that. When you see how hard she has to fight just to keep up with children years younger than she is … Perhaps it would be kinder to let her work at her own level.”
Yoda cocked his head and looked curiously at him. “See her struggle do I, as well. But if you make her stop, tell you it is ‘kind,’ she will not!”
“Maybe not,” Jai Maruk said grimly. “But children do not always want what is best for them.”
“Nor do Jedi Masters,” Yoda said dryly.
The burned Jedi forged on. “Let’s be honest. Not every pairing of Jedi Knight and Padawan will be Obi-Wan and Anakin, granted, but the truth is we are at war. To send a Jedi into battle with a Padawan who cannot be trusted to hold her own is to needlessly risk two lives—lives the Republic cannot afford to throw away.”
“The Force is not as strong in Scout as it should be,” Ilena agreed. “But I’ve had her in my classes for years. Her technique is good. She is smart and she is loyal. She tries.”
“There is no try,” Master Maruk said, unconsciously letting his voice slip into the Yoda imitation for which, a lifetime ago, he had been famous among the young boys of the Jedi Temple. “There is only do.”
The other three Jedi in the room glanced guiltily at Yoda. He snorted, but laugh lines crinkled around his eyes. “Mm. Thinking of students, I am. Best then I should go to battle with him in whom the Force is strongest, hmm? With young Skywalker, think you?”
“He’s not polished,” Ilena said.
“And too impulsive,” Mace added.
“Hm.” Yoda stirred again with his stick. “Then best of all would be the strongest student, yes? Wisest? Most learned in the ways of the Force?” He nodded. “Best of all, Dooku would be!” His eyes found the other Jedi, one by one: and