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“Too old I was,” Yoda said. “Too rigid. Too arrogant to see that the old way is not the only way. These Jedi, I trained to become the Jedi who had trained me, long centuries ago—but those ancient Jedi, of a different time they were. Changed, has the galaxy. Changed, the Order did not—because let it change, I did not.”

More easily said than done, my friend.

“An infinite mystery is the Force.” Yoda lifted his head and turned his gaze out into the wheel of stars. “Much to learn, there still is.”

And you will have time to learn it.

“Infinite knowledge …” Yoda shook his head. “Infinite time, does that require.”

With my help, you can learn to join with the Force, yet retain consciousness. You can join your light to it forever. Perhaps, in time, even your physical self.

Yoda did not move. “Eternal life …”

The ultimate goal of the Sith, yet they can never achieve it; it comes only by the release of self, not the exaltation of self. It comes through compassion, not greed. Love is the answer to the darkness.

“Become one with the Force, yet influence still to have …” Yoda mused. “A power greater than all, it is.”

It cannot be granted; it can only be taught. It is yours to learn, if you wish it.

Slowly, Yoda nodded. “A very great Jedi Master you have become, Qui-Gon Jinn. A very great Jedi Master you always were, but too blind I was to see it.”

He rose, and folded his hands before him, and inclined his head in the Jedi bow of respect.

The bow of the student, in the presence of the Master.

“Your apprentice, I gratefully become.”

He was well into his first lesson when the hatch cycled open behind him. He turned.

In the corridor beyond stood Bail Organa. He looked stricken.

“Obi-Wan is asking for you at the surgical theater,” he said. “It’s Padmé. She’s dying.”

Obi-Wan sat beside her, holding one cold, still hand in both of his. “Don’t give up, Padmé.”

“Is it …” Her eyes rolled blindly. “It’s a girl. Anakin thinks it’s a girl.”

“We don’t know yet. In a minute … you have to stay with us.”

Below the opaque tent that shrouded her from chest down, a pair of surgical droids assisted with her labor. A general medical droid fussed and tinkered among the clutter of scanners and equipment.

“If it’s … a girl—oh, oh, oh no …”

Obi-Wan cast an appeal toward the medical droid. “Can’t you do something?”

“All organic damage has been repaired.” The droid checked another readout. “This systemic failure cannot be explained.”

Not physically, Obi-Wan thought. He squeezed her hand as though he could keep life within her body by simple pressure. “Padmé, you have to hold on.”

“If it’s a girl …,” she gasped, “name her Leia …”

One of the surgical droids circled out from behind the tent, cradling in its padded arms a tiny infant, already swabbed clean and breathing, but without even the hint of tears.

The droid announced softly, “It’s a boy.”

Padmé reached for him with her trembling free hand, but she had no strength to take him; she could only touch her fingers to the baby’s forehead.

She smiled weakly. “Luke …”

The other droid now rounded the tent as well, with another clean, quietly solemn infant. “… and a girl.”

But she had already fallen back against her pillow.

“Padmé, you have twins,” Obi-Wan said desperately. “They need you—please hang on …”

“Anakin …”

“Anakin … isn’t here, Padmé,” he said, though he didn’t think she could hear.

“Anakin, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry … Anakin, please, I love you …”

In the Force, Obi-Wan felt Yoda’s approach, and he looked up to see the ancient Master beside Bail Organa, both staring the same grave question down through the surgical theater’s observation panel.

The only answer Obi-Wan had was a helpless shake of his head.

Padmé reached across with her free hand, with the hand she had laid upon the brow of her firstborn son, and pressed something into Obi-Wan’s palm.

For a moment, her eyes cleared, and she knew him.

“Obi-Wan … there … is still good in him. I know there is … still …”

Her voice faded to an empty sigh,