DOOKU, Count of Serenno, Master Jedi of the Galactic Republic, descended the stairs of the Jedi Temple on Coruscant. Today was an important day for him—one he'd long anticipated—but his focus was diverted. He stroked his gray-flecked goatee and kept his eyes downwards, not regarding the other Jedi he passed. Dooku would not have called himself 'worried'—anxiety was fear, and even the lowliest of Jedi were to be above that—but he was considering many possibilities. His steps were hurried; he'd skirt around other Jedi who were walking ahead of him at a more 'relaxed' pace, including those engaged in conversations of a similarly methodical affect: hands clasped, backs straight, murmuring with agreeable detachment. These Jedi did not pay Dooku much heed, either, as he brushed past them. They knew how he was.
He reached a certain floor and found his way to an inner courtyard, where a group of young Jedi were practicing their forms in the open light of day. They were not quite Younglings anymore: each one of them, whether Duro, Human, Ciasi or Ithorian, was clearly nearing adolescence. Glass chimes clinked and glittered in the branches of a few gnarled old trees, barely audible over the thrum of lightsaber blades chopping through the air. Dooku stopped before this presentation, but hardly glanced up to look at it. With more than eyes does a Jedi see. He felt the flow of the Force around them, and around Tera Sinube, the old Jedi Master who saw to their instruction. Dooku breathed deeply, and tried to peer through the shifting murk of time and possibility, to perceive the paths the Force laid out before him. His decision here (if such a word as 'decision' could apply) was of the utmost importance.
One of these young Jedi, a gangly human boy who couldn't have been more than fifteen years of age, began to laugh. Dooku's concentration broke like an expiring storm. He looked up, now, annoyed by this distraction. The boy's lightsaber was shut off, and he was nudging one of the other Jedi next to him. He raised his saber-hilt in both hands up near the lock of thick brown hair around his right ear, elbows bent, then activated it. A column of bright green light sprung abruptly from the top of it with a dshhhht. He flicked the blade forward with a quick motion of his wrists; it rebounded to his left. Mid-motion, the young Jedi deactivated the weapon—shhhk—and tossed it, hilt spinning, from his bent left hand, over his shoulder and down across his back into his open right, with clear telekinetic assistance from the Force. Then he flicked the weapon forwards, fingers curled up over it, and turned it back on, thrust forward in his right hand like an armpit-couched spear. The move would have been quite dangerous—to himself, more than anyone—had he not timed the mid-swing deactivation very tightly.
Old Sinube shook his head, muttered, "Qui-Gon…" and now the Young Jedi noticed the newly-arrived Jedi Master looming near the doorway. His broad, cream-colored face went red.
Dooku smiled.
***
Cyslin Myr, a middle-aged Mirialan woman and Master of the Jedi Order, robed and resolute, trudged the walkways from her starship's landing-pad, and towards the high-sloping walls of the towering Jedi Temple. There to greet her, ambling with the assistance of a knotty old cane, was the leader of the Jedi Council and Grand-Master of her Order: a little green being, ancient and wise, named Yoda. She, far younger and longer of leg, was able to close far more of the distance. When she reached him, she stopped to heed the old Jedi's words.
"Ah, Master Myr," said Yoda, "resolved, the matter on Mathas is?" He had a peculiar manner of speech, where it seemed his sentences were cut-up, and the order of their halves reversed. Mysterious indeed, it was.
"Yes, Master," she replied, "The plot behind the plague has been uncovered, and the road to recovery is set. This new Padawan has many admirable qualities. I need only guide him to a deeper understanding of the force."
"A great blessing, an Apprentice is, great blessing," Yoda said, and he turned so they might walk towards the Temple together, "for the learner, a guidance towards the Force. And for the teacher also, lessons there are. Much to learn, all Jedi have, if open, their senses are." He tapped a long, green ear with his finger.
She walked slowly to match his pace, hands crossed and gripping either forearm within her robe. "The young must learn restraint, and we must learn how to put up with them." Yoda chuckled quietly, and she looked down at him. "And what of this matter on Gorelasg? I've heard the Senate wants Jedi to accompany their Ambassador."
"Hmm, not just Jedi. A delicate matter this is, hmmm, delicate. Made, a request has been, for a say in which Jedi is sent. Involved in this, the Alliance for Peace is."
"The Alliance for Peace?" Cyslin frowned, confused, "who are they, so comfortable weighing in on Jedi business?"
"A new coalition in the Senate, they are, and… skeptical, towards the role of Jedi," Yoda scratched the back of his head, the wispy gray strands, "From Alderaan, Kinyen, Naboo, and… Pantora, do the coalition Senators hail, if correct, my understanding is."
"And what gives them the right?" Cyslin extended her right pointer finger, questioning, the hand's elbow still resting on her crossed left hand, her brow still furrowed, "they request Jedi protection, and the Council obliges with Jedi of its own choosing. So it has always been. Why have they overstepped to request specific members of our Order? What does that say, Master?"
The two Jedi reached the outer entrance of the Temple. Past the guards and the doorway, there was a small, round hoverchair sitting in an alcove. Yoda climbed onto it and sat, legs crossed, and laid his cane in his lap. He pressed a button, and the chair rose to the height of Cyslin Myr's waist. The two continued inward along a raised catwalk, Yoda hovering beside her.
"Hmmm. Of their intentions does it speak. Complex, this issue is. The Council agrees: for a wiser resolution than a Shipping Bureau Ambassador would provide, does this Alliance seek. A political matter this is; very slight, the dissension, but a side, the Jedi take, no matter our decision. With the Alliance for Peace, aligned, we are. Send Jedi they've suggested, we will."
"What? But you just said they're 'skeptical' of us. Why—" she stopped, "which Jedi does this 'Alliance for Peace' ask the Council to send?"
"Hmmm," Yoda smiled, "the Count of Serenno. Master Dooku, does this faction of the Senate request."
"...Dooku? Of course they would—no one's more skeptical of… Master, I'm not sure I see the wisdom in this path…"
"Said the Alliance was skeptical of our role, I did, not of our Order itself," Yoda said, and he exhaled thoughtfully, "at times, a gesture given—returned more strongly it shall be. Sensed that these Senators wish to work with Jedi, and not against us, I have."
"But... Dooku? He—"
Myr looked up, and there he was: Dooku himself, walking briskly down the catwalk towards them, with his young Padawan, Qui-Gon Jinn, trailing close behind. Dooku addressed the two: "Master Yoda! Master Myr."
"Ah, my young apprentice. Speaking of your mission to Gorelasg, Master Myr and I were." Yoda hovered ahead to meet Dooku. Cyslin approached more hesitantly.
"I shall not speak of the machinations which bound me to this predicament," Dooku said, as his Padawan bowed silently to the other two Jedi, "still, the Raelgari have been a focus of my study. I hope that my assistance will be of use in this matter."
Yoda nodded once, slowly. "Shared, wisdom is, Apprentice. Impart it you may, but given, yes, given to you it may be, if open you are to receive it. Into a powerful Jedi you have grown. And with wider perspective, yet deeper may your connection with the Force become."
And Cyslin Myr added: "A Jedi's role is to listen calmly in times of strife. It requires great humility, to accept that the wisdom of another might elevate you."
"Yes, Master Myr, I… will have to remember you've said that." Dooku nodded dutifully. "I suppose I must be going, then. Farewell, my Master, until my return. Master Myr." He moved to step around them.
"May the Force be with you, Master Dooku," said Yoda, and just after, Cyslin said: "May the Force be with you." Dooku nodded again, and then he passed them by, with his Padawan stumbling to bow once more as he departed. Then Dooku and Qui-Gon were further from them, walking with their backs to the other two Jedi.
When human Master and Apprentice were past the threshold and out of earshot, Cyslin spoke quietly to Yoda, leaning: "I don't like this, Master. The people of Gorelasg are… reclusive. Why send a such a Jedi as Dooku, who might only be encouraged by their single-minded stubbornness?"
Yoda raised an eyebrow at her. "So certain are you? Admire this rigidity, Dooku will?" He smiled placidly. "Often it is, that to those flaws in others one shares, the most derision is given. One finger points outward; inwards, the other two face." He pointed with a stubby green finger to illustrate the concept.
The two both entered a turbolift, and turned around to face its closing door. The lift climbed. "I'm not saying he'd be cruel to them, Master," said Cyslin, "I don't doubt the sincerity of his… principles. But he is strange for a Jedi. He's only had that one Padawan, his first, for a few years, now, and he is not so young for a human. 'Derision' is the correct word, those quiet eyes of his... I don't see how even similar beings could lead Dooku to wisdom, when he's always so excited to name the flaws of others, and not his own."
Yoda grinned pleasantly towards the horizon. "A challenge more and more Jedi face. Listen, he will. Yes… listen."
***
The star cruiser was a sight to behold. It was over 30 meters long, its shape sleek and angular. Most of its surface was a dark matte blue; rough, patchy, almost rustic in its application, but this must have been a stylistic choice, a contrast: the ship carried no marks of wear, and it was trimmed at the edges with bright gold leaf, clean and lustrous. Most dazzling of all was the circular, six-pointed sigil of the Galactic Republic: itself fully gilded, jutting out flat like a docking ring, nearly alone in a sea of mottled blue along the curving side of the hull. There was only a low hum from its engines, and no strong odor; the ship ran clean. Qui-Gon marveled at it. He hadn't left Coruscant in some time, and certainly not in such a luxurious craft. Dooku stared blankly.
The boarding ramp was down—its durasteel surface was carpeted in gold-trimmed blue—and around it, the ship's crew was conversing with the owner and his retinue. The Captain was Rodian, but the owner (Dooku's assignment, as it were) was a teal-skinned Twi'lek man, of medium build and height, and middling age: a Diplomat, some ambassador for some department of commerce. His tunic and lekku-wrappings were both an elegant red-brown, and over the tunic he wore a dark gray robe, also gold-trimmed. As the Jedi approached, slow and stalwart in their plain brown robes, they drew the Diplomat's attention, and looking up he waved to them amicably, calling: "Ah, Master Jedi!"
Their pace unchanged, Dooku and his young follower reached the waiting assembly in a few moments. Again, the Diplomat addressed them: "Master Dooku, so pleased that you could join us. And this, why this must be your Jedi Apprentice. What is your name, young Jedi?"
Qui-Gon pressed his hands together, closed his eyes, and bowed. "Qui-Gon Jinn, sir. We are honored to be charged with the security of your vessel, and for your company."
The Diplomat smiled warmly, and returned the bow. "Likewise, Padawan Jinn. And I am Am'dur Urbezelle, esteemed Ambassador for the Bureau of Shipping and Mercantile. Do you admire it, my starship?"
"Indeed, Ambassador," Qui-Gon answered, grinning, "It is a fine ship. Doubtless it will make a favorable impression on the people of Gorelasg." Dooku sighed very quietly.
Urbezelle sighed also, not so quietly. "That is my hope. Come, protectors of the Republic, let us find a comfortable place to sit inside, while Captain Beelar and his crew make the final preparations." The Captain saluted all the passengers and marched ahead up the ramp, with his crew, the Jedi, the ambassador and his aides following. When the last aide reached the top of the ramp, it lifted up and in, and the bay doors hinged slowly shut.
"It's Demophonan," the ambassador said, gesturing around at his ship as he walked alongside Qui-Gon and Dooku, "Skyrunner-class, Mark 7: fast, though it's been customized according to my own specifications. This is not some stripped-down blockade runner." He stopped ahead of the Jedi, spread his arms; behind, his aides stopped also, and the crew continued on ahead towards the cockpit and out of sight, "the carpeting, these lovely interior panels are just the beginning. Every inch is finely considered, so you may sit and feel—or not feel!—the low hum of this glorious beast!" He raised both fists dramatically, then whirled around and carried on, back-turned, "a good impression must be made, indeed, young Jedi. A Diplomat must put his best foot forward, and there is no more exquisite shoe to step forth in!"
The passengers reached set of sliding doors, and through them, a wide lounge-room, with low, deep couches, a long oval table surrounded with high-backed and cloth-covered swiveling chairs, a counter with a window into the ship's galley, and hallways curving out from each corner. "The Meeting-Room!" said Urbezelle, and he pointed down one swooping corridor, "your quarters will be that way, Jedi—oh, I know, you're ill-accustomed to luxury, and carry little in the way of possessions to drop off. Still, go acclimate yourselves, remove those stuffy coats of yours. It's no Serennian palace," he winked at Dooku, "but there is much to be enjoyed here in our voyage. Yes, go relax a moment, and return here so we might entreat. We won't depart from Coruscant until our Master Jedi approves the matter personally." He shooed the Jedi down the hall, then turned to whisper to his aides. Dooku sighed again, and followed his awestruck Padawan away.
When they both were in the lobby of their suite, and the door closed behind him, chidingly Dooku spoke: "Do not be so easily won over by trinkets, my young Apprentice. A glittering surface does not wisdom make."
"We aren't to possess such material luxuries, nor covet them, Master, but it is no affront to admire the beauty of their craftspersonship, the intentionality… surely you must agree. This vessel is nearly as elegant as your own lightsaber."
Dooku snorted, smiling. "Yoda should've been stuck with you. I'd like to see how he'd react to confrontation with another 'wise fool'."
"Oh, you wouldn't like that, Master," Qui-Gon grinned back, "together, we'd become more 'wise' than you could possibly tolerate." He ran a hand along the smooth wooden curve that framed their own private couch. "And what of the Ambassador, and the Raelgar? What does this mission hold for us?"
"We are Jedi," said Dooku, "we are expected to watch like silent statues, and only intervene, or speak at all, in matters beyond the realm of 'Ambassadors'."
"Huh." Qui-Gon removed his robe, draped it over the back of the couch, then flopped onto it. "And do you think we will find such matters? A purpose to our presence, beyond standing around and looking serious?"
Dooku removed his own robe, folded it neatly, and set it on a nearby counter. Then he sat—straight-backed, almost perching—on the couch next to Qui-Gon. "We must hope not, Padawan. And yet…"
Qui-Gon perked up.
"...the Raelgar are a peculiar people… by Republic standards, anyway. They may not be so amenable to this, our Friendly Envoy."
Now Qui-Gon sat up and arched his back, pondering this. "You have studied Gorelasg, Master? Researched its entry in the archive?"
"I have searched far and wide to arm myself with knowledge. This mission is bound to be a challenge, and the Ambassador is aware of possible disagreement. We will discuss my findings more in time." Dooku stood abruptly. "For now, let us go meet our host's summons. I'm certain even he has something to teach you, provided you remember your ally, the Force."
Now clad only in their beige tunics, the Jedi left their quarters, Dooku leading, and ventured back down the corridor and into the central lounge. Ambassador Urbezelle was still there—or, perhaps 'still' was incorrect, for he also had removed his robe, and changed his entire outfit into something resembling nightwear: a looser purple shirt and pants, splotched blue, with a silken yellow undershirt beneath. He sat comfortably languid on one of the couches: legs crossed, lekku and one arm stretched over the couch-back, the other holding a spindly glass filled with some colorful liquid, and fruits garnishing within. Two of his aides had left, and one remained: a human woman, dark of skin and hair, wearing a deep purple uniform-robe and sat at a computer, working attentively.
Urbezelle raised his drink at Dooku and Qui-Gon, smiling widely. "Ah, my honored guests! Come sit, and dine with me, at the least."
Dooku swiveled a chair to face the man and sat, crossing his arms and legs, and glanced left to the aide in the corner. Qui-Gon followed, sitting in the chair beside his Master with his forearms resting on his thighs, and watched the Ambassador. Am'dur snapped and a galley-worker brought two plates of food out and set them on the table, then brought another smaller plate to the host. Dooku picked up a delicate sliver piece of grilled skolg-fish, popped it in his mouth, and gnawed at it, still looking absently around the room.
"...Master Jedi?" Qui-Gon, who'd been eyeing the catering, very nearly jumped, and turned around to look at the Twi'lek man with a sheepish expression. Urbezelle was looking at Dooku, expectantly, half-bored. "Shall we depart?"
Dooku continued to stare at the walls. "Yes. Let's be off, already."
Urbezelle cocked an eyebrow, then pressed a button on a device in his hand. The muffled thrum of roaring engines shook the room, and then everything was still. He smiled and tapped a hand on the couch to his right. "Gyro-shielded. Whole passenger quarters is. As smooth as she runs, it's even smoother for us. You wouldn't even know we're reaching orbit, but look here!" He pressed another button, and a circular metallic panel on the ceiling shimmered and transformed into a view of the star-speckled black void of outer space, "Your quarters come equipped with viewscreens to the back of the ship, and mine—you're welcome any time—show the forward view. The 'bow,' I should say." The man grinned.
Dooku was occupied by his own distant thoughts. Qui-Gon observed this, bit a chunk off a piece of fruit, gulped it down, then turned to Ambassador Urbezelle: "What do you think of this mission, Ambassador? Is it true that the Raelgar are… non-receptive to negotiations?"
The finely-dressed diplomat took a sip of his drink. "Mmmm. It is a sad truth. Their Turzdorel—'Queen,' as it were—spoke quite coldly to me over holocomm. Far be it from a politician to speak their mind directly, and a Queen is the most political of all politicians. Ah, her actual words were formal, polite; but the implication behind them was clear. 'Don't show up,' is how I'd translate." He scoffed and gestured, an exasperated fling of his one free hand. Then he paused, and pressed his remote again. Some low, calming electronic music began to float through the air around them.
"Do you think—" Qui-Gon cut his own words off, and looked up: the ceiling's viewscreen faded back to a steely gray, same as the surrounding panels.
"We're to jump," offered Urbezelle, "Up in the cockpit it's a beautiful view. All those stars and nebula-gases streaking by. Coming across the top, though, it's just nauseating. You were saying, Padawan?"
Qui-Gon nodded. "...Will we find danger in Gorelasg?"
"Ah-ha!" The Ambassador tapped his head, "it's not the Jedi way to seek Danger, and that is the way of the Republic also. Most Mid-Rim planets can be dangerous, you'll find, if you're on the wrong street at the wrong time. Our meeting is to be a peaceful one; on that, at least, the Raelgari Queen agreed."
The young Jedi furrowed his brow. "I feel unease in this. You say that she agreed to peaceful negotiations, but also that she was cold, and implicitly hostile."
"It is the way of diplomacy," the Twi'lek man said, between sipping the last drops of his glass, "...that neither party push too hard. Hopefully, there will be no need for such considerations. If there is to be danger, it will come from the, ah, 'common folk' of Gorelasg. There will be a great number of them in Durregrohd where we are to land and lodge. And many of them, no doubt, will be reasonable and law-abiding. But such teeming diversity brings the possibility of… radical outliers."
Dooku raised an eyebrow. He took another piece of food.
The Twi'lek took a little garnish out of his drink and bit the berry-like vegetable off its skewer. "My associates tell me that the Raelgari have no great love for the Republic," Urbezelle continued, "But that is why we visit, no? To impress them with Jedi wisdom, and win them over with opportunity in our Republic?"
"Indeed." said Dooku, flatly.
Qui-Gon leaned forwards in his chair. "There is a 'radical element' on Gorelasg? How so?"
"Mmm. Only theories, Young Jedi. Gorelasg is nearly at the far edge of the Mid-Rim, and it is said that smugglers and brigands incur as far as the planet somewhat regularly. And some say that the Raelgari themselves have ties to certain Underworld Organizations. But little is known of their dealings—they are a… secretive people, and so it may be that our voyage provides us as much information as we divulge with the Queen. More, perhaps."
"Wait… you're saying the system is a haven for intergalactic criminals?" Qui-Gon's eyes widened.
"Again, they're just theories. Rumors, really. Far be it from a peacekeeper of the Republic such as myself to accuse our hosts-to-be of any shady dealings without solid evidence," the Ambassador smiled pleasantly, "suffice it to say that the attention of Republican law enforcement could greatly benefit the system. It's one of many gifts we offer to ensure agreeable accords."
"But… why?" Qui-Gon asked. "Why would the Raelgari collaborate with criminals?"
Urbezelle sat up in his chair. "Ah, clever Jedi, now that is the right sort of question!" Dooku nodded agreement. The Ambassador continued: "Well, they are rather close to the Outer Rim, as I've said. It may be that those local criminal powers left the planet with no choice. Or perhaps…"
"Perhaps what?" The lad's attention was rapt.
"Well, this is just an observation, from my own first-hand expertise. But you will come to see the same: the Raelgari are a gruff sort of people, one might even say 'cantankerous'. They're generally wary of outsiders, unless they see some benefit to themselves. It's in their nature, some say; they are ungracious creatures to the bone. I would not be so blunt, as in my experiences I've found it is a tragedy of their culture. Any individual Raelgar could rise to become a respectable ally; someday I could even see their planet attaining representation in the Senate!" The Ambassador spread his arms. "Magnanimous guidance towards the Republican spirit of collaboration is but one more blessing I would offer them."
Dooku stood. "The hour is late, Ambassador Urbezelle. My Padawan and I must return to our quarters, to ruminate and rest. Thank you for the food."
"Of course, Master Jedi. And young Padawan… what was your name again?"
Qui-Gon stood and tried to hide the fried Chukh-mouse he'd picked up behind his back. "Qui-Gon Jinn, sir."
"Ah yes, Padawan Jinn. A pleasure to be in your company, and you as well, Master Dooku. We will have much more to discuss as these events unfold." He waved to the Jedi as they left.
Qui-Gon entered the sliding doors of their quarters a few paces behind Dooku. "Master, why did we have to leave so suddenly? I'm not tired yet. I was learning about Raelgari culture!"
"Not from—" Dooku lowered his voice. "...The man's a politician who derides the dishonesty of politicians. That should be enough to question what words spew forth from his smiling face."
"He's trying to help the Raelgari, Master, as we should. This is a peaceful negotiation!"
"That is what he says. He has a way with words, Qui-Gon."
Qui-Gon flopped on their seating-couch. "So what? He's dealt with those people directly. Don't you always say we should seek information from many angles, so as to see all facets of the truth?"
"'Seeking information' does not mean blindly accepting someone's word, without any investigation into the motivation behind their 'angle'." Dooku leaned over the table-counter of their private dining-space.
"What do you mean? You think he's lying?"
"Hmm," said Dooku, "a wise question. I see… inadequacies, in the way he presents the facts." He scratched his lips with his fingers.
"So, lies. Like what, what 'inadequacies'?"
"No." Dooku pointed emphatically. "Not 'lies' necessarily; a lie is a willful falsehood. For one, Turzdorel does not mean 'Queen'… it's more like 'Advocate'… or, no, maybe 'Primary Speaker'…"
"Ah!" Qui-Gon stood up. "So you have been studying their language! No wonder you've been spending so much time hunched over rusty old holocrons in the archives…"
Dooku scratched the goatee on his chin. "Yes… and I will teach you more in time. For now, quiet your mind. We must meditate." Dooku sat cross-legged on his bunk. A little dejected, Qui-Gon did the same. Dooku closed his eyes and spoke: "Focus on this truth: the perspectives of all living beings have value. Their opinions, their beliefs, the ways they separate Right from Wrong. But each being has its own values, shaped by experience, and the wills of those around them. Only through a firm grounding in verifiable facts, and strong trust in the Force, can you carve something good from all the noise and lies and contradictory motives. Something useful."
Qui-Gon breathed deeply and felt the flow of the living Force. Its rhythms; like a tranquil river of pure Truth rippling through time and space. It was as though his spirit, that mote of light which floated in the crown of his head, was resting upon the stream, connected to all living things, grounded and at ease. There was no ship, no Dooku, no lightsabers or dangers. There was only The Force, and Qui-Gon was a part of it. He opened his eyes, exhaled.
"You felt it?" Dooku looked at Qui-Gon, the young man nodded. "Good. It is as my Master spoke to me, when I was but a frightened boy your age. You have what you need for this, our mission. As all things, all days and all actions, this journey of ours is connected in the Force, and therefore critically important. Goodnight, Padawan Jinn." Dooku waved a hand downwards, and the lights in their cabin dimmed to darkness. He wrapped himself in a blanket and rolled over. Shortly, Qui-Gon heard him snoring. The young man lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, awake in thought for some time.
***
A knock came at the doors of the Jedi's quarters. Dooku waved a hand and the room brightened. He called groggily: "Come in!"
Their door slid open. Urbezelle's aide, the human woman, a comm-screen held in two hands flat to her waist, entered into the central sitting-room of their quarters from the foyer. "Master Jedi," she said, "we are to land within the hour. Captain Beelar and our host invite you to ready yourselves and meet by the landing ramp so we might all greet the landing party. The Queen intends to meet us all personally." She nodded and backed out, the door closed once more.
Qui-Gon stretched, yawned, and hurled himself out of bed. He searched the outer wall of their bunk-room (the one between his bed and his Master's), and found a small panel of buttons. Three clearly operated the nearby comm, but these ones… he hit a button. A gray wall panel shimmered, changing to a view of the outside. They were out of hyperspeed now, and Qui-Gon could see the gray-green sphere of Gorelasg below. He marveled; a button clicked to his right, and another viewscreen-window turned on above it. Tall and silent, Dooku stood and walked to see the view. It wasn't much like Coruscant; there was very little light visible on the planet's surface from up here. "Let us prepare ourselves," said Dooku.
Am'dur Urbezelle wore a most fashionable Ambassador's robe, silky blue cloth draped over a purple-trimmed white shirt; he stood tall, self-assured and smiling. His aides wore simpler fare of the same bluish hue, while Captain Beelar was clad in the maroon uniform of a Coruscanti starship captain. The Jedi wore the same brown robes, boots, and tunics as always. The hull doors of the ship opened, and the landing ramp stretched down from the entryway.
Urbezelle led the way down; Dooku and his apprentice flanked him behind and to the left. The air was cool, even in the full sunlight of the mid-afternoon. Standing just ahead on the landing platform was a small group of Raelgari people, who are short, squat, and bipedal humanoids, with thick, dry, bumpy skin, broad limbs, and four round digits on each hand. They'd be chest-height on an average-sized Twi'lek like Urbezelle, and a bit less compared to one as tall as Dooku. Their heads are thick, and shield-shaped when viewed from the front; crested with webbed frills, their eyes round and fishlike, their jaws bony and without clearly visible teeth.
These Raelgari were dressed in well-kept, but not particularly frilly uniforms of tans and earthy greens. One in particular, at the head and center of the group, wore more flowy garments of a muted bluish-gray, and a sprouting sort of hat of the same hue. This would be their Turzdorel, who the Twi'lek Ambassador now addressed.
"Ah, Turzdorel Alpulenya!" said Urbezelle. He extended both arms as he reached the bottom of his ship's boarding ramp, "it's generous of you to meet us here. I am pleased to see you in good health. I anticipate this gathering will be a fruitful one."
"Yes," Alpulenya responded. Though her voice was calm and clear, there was a certain rasp undercutting it. Her skin, also, seemed worn by age, "there will be drinks. You had a safe journey, Ambassador?"
"Uh, yes," the man replied. He clicked his tongue, and worked his jaw as though he was searching for something stuck in his teeth. "Yes, safety is but one of many things Emissaries of the Galactic Republic spread wherever they travel. I'm sure there is much more those I represent can do for you, as we continue to work together."
"Security, yes. Hence these Jedi Knights…" She looked at Dooku. "And you must be Master Dooku, of the Jedi Order."
"Indeed, Turzdorel," said Dooku, and he stretched one open hand, palm up, so it pointed at her feet, then raised it slowly to the height of her eye-line, "Gelrosht falmin, and thank you for speaking first, so that I may address you."
She scoffed, smiling, and extended a hand up towards Dooku's eye-line and twisted it, so that her own palm faced the sky, "Falmendi kusfogh, Count. You are as peculiar as they say. And this must be your young Padawan learner?"
Qui-Gon bowed nervously. He always does this! "Yes, Turzdorel Alpulenya, I am Qui-Gon Jinn, Jedi Padawan. Um, Gelrosht falmin, thank you kindly for this hospitable welcome."
She nodded pleasantly back to him, then turned to her entourage. "Soldiers, escort the Jedi to their Visitation Residence. They are shelosski, with no need of exquisite comforts. See that they are given what they need."
A few Raelgari bowed to Dooku and Qui-Gon, and gestured to a broad, squarish transport speeder. Dooku nodded to Alpulenya and followed. As he left, Urbezelle patted the front of the Count's shoulder and whispered: "You're full of surprises, Master Jedi. You'll have to teach me more greetings like that when we reconvene tonight." The man was smiling excitedly. Jedi tended to have that effect on people, Qui-Gon remembered.
Dooku shrugged and continued to the transport, Qui-Gon following. They sat in the wide passenger cab, and the thing lifted off slowly. Qui-Gon watched his Master stare at the politicians and their teams, and then their speeder floated away towards the city proper.
***
Durregrohd was a city that seemed to be made most entirely out of concrete. And this was not the pristine white stone of the Jedi temple, it seemed… sun-bleached, dirty, pocked by wind-wear; and above all industrial. The towering urban maze of Coruscant was gleaming metal that stretched down into darkness further than the eyes could see; these buildings were thick and low. The ground was visible, but not always easy on the eyes: cracked pavement, worn old cobbles, scrubby bits of trampled grass. Everything just seemed dusty; the thick boots and overalls of the Raelgari below started to make sense to Qui-Gon.
"Master," he asked, "what was that greeting you gave the Turzdorel? You could've prepared me to do the same."
Dooku looked up from his own surveillance of the city. "...well, that was 'gelrosht falmin'. It's a very common greeting… the words mean 'the Sun Raises,' though I suppose a closer translation is: 'May the sunlight elevate you'. Oh, and she responded falmendi kusfogh, 'We are strong, together in its light'."
"Huh, okay. And what about that word she called us… 'shelowsky'. What does that mean?"
"Hmph," Dooku snorted, amused, "shelosski. It's a compliment… it means something like 'humble,' or, 'intentionally lowly'. I think she was calling us ascetics."
"Oh. Yeah." Qui-Gon smiled. "It's like what you were saying, Master. We need only The Force."
The transport landed. "It is the ground beneath all we do, all we are," Dooku agreed, "but its greatest gift to us is self-reliance. We have need of information, and sustenance as well. I am confident that our Raelgari hosts will provide the latter," he said, nodding to an escort as he stepped down. "Dulabri meshgol," he said, and he slipped the man a few credits.
"Orkhumesha," the Raelgari replied, and he nodded the Jedi ahead.
The Visitation Residence in question was a tall, drab tenement. There were hundreds of identical windows, rectangular but rounded at the corners, marching up its face. It was no palace. Qui-Gon looked up at Dooku, and the older Jedi tilted his head down to speak: "I told him 'Good work'—it is a high compliment, here." Dooku glanced back. "He replied only 'Good day'—not a particularly friendly response, formal… it is the least he could say to placate a stranger. That is what we are to the people of Gorelasg. I suppose it is best to know where we truly stand."
"Okay." Qui-Gon shook his loose-robed arms. "I just hope we can get out into the city today. And that they have some good dinner for us here, I mean… this place looks kind of boring."
"Boring?" Dooku smiled. "Is it excitement you seek, Padawan? We should hope to be bored, here. And a place need not sparkle to tell of many compelling realities, if you are willing to see with open eyes. Look up there." He pointed up at a particular spot many floors up on the Residence.
So the building was not entirely symmetrical and plain all the way up. There was a web of white plaster around the corner of the structure, and one of its windows, so many stories up. Cracks, or perhaps a whole collapsed room, had been patched somewhat recently.
"It's been damaged!" said Qui-Gon, "do you think there was a battle here?"
"No, it's—Qui-Gon, you know blaster-fire scorches anything it hits. No, the archives hold no records of warfare here for many centuries. It would seem that Gorelasg knows how to maneuver into peace. But look again at the cracks, how they've been repaired. What do you see?"
Qui-Gon squinted up at the structure. "Well, it's uh, it's very neatly done."
"Yes, good, Padawan," Dooku said, "It's clear that the wall was repaired with the same broken pieces that came out of it in the first place—pieces which likely fell all the way down here, I would say. And how it's been smoothed to match the original shape; it looks like the spackle was applied from the outside. The Raelgari seem to be very careful about that sort of thing."
"Okay, yeah, they repair buildings well. Doesn't seem so interesting."
The Jedi entered the Residence's lobby. "These people take great pride in their work, Padawan, and that is worthy of note. Their culture is neither militaristic nor particularly greedy—they have what they need, and would rather care for the simple and functional world around them than bother themselves with trinkets or ambitions. And, it would seem, they are entirely disinterested in the use of droids."
"What? No droids? Why not, Master?"
Dooku bowed his head formally to a group of Raelgar attendants waiting by a large central turbolift. Two of them led the Jedi to a smaller lift, which they entered alone.
"This is one of many things I wish to learn more about, Apprentice," Dooku said quietly, "the ways of a people, one few Jedi have dealt with, that is a most intriguing prospect."
They stopped at a very high floor; Qui-Gon couldn't read the numerals, but it looked like there were three digits. Another attendant led them left down the hallway, where they were shown to a pair of open doors. Dooku bowed once more to the Raelgar woman, and she left them, trundling down the hall and out of sight.
"Two rooms," Dooku remarked. He smirked at the younger Jedi. "Ready yourself for a day of exploration; I will wait for you here at hour's end. And if you want intrigue, Padawan, consider this: are our bedchambers separated out of necessity—do all living-spaces in Durregrohd contain single-person bedrooms? Or is this a choice, to some end?" Dooku entered his room and closed the heavy wood door, leaving Qui-Gon to his own thoughts.
The Raelgari had left Qui-Gon a bit of something on the countertop in this little one-bedroom flat: there were flat pieces of bread like hard crackers (they were slightly sweet, and not so terribly bland) and a thick gray mug filled with a stiff, woody kind of tea (it hit Qui-Gon's taste-buds, and the backs of his eyes, like a hammer). Gnawing and sipping piping liquid were about all the young Jedi did as he sat on a little old metal-framed bed and thought things over.
After a few minutes, he ventured back outside, where Dooku was already waiting. The Master Jedi led Qui-Gon back towards the turbolift.
"Master, what was the answer to your question? Why were we given separate bedrooms?"
"A question might have many answers, Padawan. What did you make of it?"
"Well, I thought they might be trying to isolate us. We would be easier to assassinate that way."
"Hmm," Dooku considered this, "there's logic in that. But we are Jedi, and could sense peril to the other. With our ears, through these thin walls, if not within the living Force."
"Oh, yeah. Well, maybe they didn't consider that."
"The people of Gorelasg are very particular, especially in a matter as important as this. Remember that, Qui-Gon."
"Well, what's the answer then?"
Dooku hit a button in the turbolift. The doors closed, and they descended. "I don't know. It may be that nothing was meant by it, and it is as I had said: a sheer coincidence. In truth it amused me, the idea that you might spend time wrestling with some detail that is, in all likelihood, nearly meaningless."
"...you have… an odd idea of a joke, Master."
"Hah," Dooku looked down at the youth, sidelong, "then consider it an exercise. Either there is an intention behind this detail even a wise Master Jedi cannot perceive, or your old mentor has demonstrated to you a tactic of psychological diversion."
Qui-Gon frowned. It was just another bothersome question. "I think, Master, you've given me too few options. The truth is probably some combination of both, with a sprinkling of 'my grumpy old Master seeks to annoy me'."
"Yes, that is the tactic," Dooku said, "a narrowing of your focus away from the full truth." They exited the lift; the younger Jedi still frowning thoughtfully.
There was something like a banquet table in the Residence lobby, and there prepared was an impressive Gorelasgan feast, with two seats empty. A pair of Raelgari, dressed in robes of blue-gray and green, adorned with leather shoulder-pauldrons, sat at the head of the table. Qui-Gon wasn't confident he could parse gender among Raelgari, but he assumed correctly that one was a man, and the other a woman. In truth, he was more interested in the food. The people of Gorelasg seemed to have a strong preference towards bread and grilled meats.
"Sit, Jedi," one of the robed Raelgar said to the pair in accented Basic, "eat with us."
The Jedi sat. Practicing wise Jedi restraint, Qui-Gon decided not to engage with the spread of platters until his Master began to do the same. Master has a keen sense for the traditions of these people, he decided. If anyone was 'particular,' it was him.
It turned out to be a great deal of talking before anything could be eaten or imbibed; Dooku and the two Raelgari shared traditional greetings, spoke briefly about the weather and the journey from Coruscant, a bit about local stellar geography. Nothing very interesting. At last their hosts started distributing some roast whole beast, and then Qui-Gon lost the thread of conversation entirely. A Padawan wasn't supposed to speak much anyway, right?
At length Qui-Gon found the others at the table were standing, and hurried to stand himself, embarrassed. One of the robed ones chuckled softly. Dooku bowed and addressed the two: "Meyashkhu dolak, Petchfos Odtellky, Tsumbrochti."
"Meyashkhu dolak, Jedi Knights. The night air of Durregrohd welcomes you. Please see the Relief," the taller one replied.
Qui-Gon wiped his chin and nodded. A pair of attendants came and returned the Jedi's outer robes (which they'd taken before the feast). The two left the Residence on their own.
***
As Master and Padawan walked out into the evening bustle of the city, Qui-Gon held his arms together, so his hands disappeared into the heavy sleeves. The exposed half of Gorelasg's single sun bathed the world in orange light from a low angle. A good meal has a way of fueling the mind; he asked: "Master, have you achieved fluency in the Raelgar language? I could hardly make out what you were saying."
"Bah, certainly not. We were mostly speaking Basic. But here's another one I learned: those two were Tsumbrochti, which means 'Protectors'."
"What," said Qui-Gon, "like Soldiers? They acted more like civilians hosting a dinner in their home."
"An insightful observation, young Jedi," said Dooku, "now go, I'd like to see what you make of life in Durregrohd. I have… other matters to which I must attend. See if you can make sense of their aversion to droids."
"Other matters?" Qui-Gon widened his eyes. They were nearly into the crowds channeling through a main roadway of the city. Near-constant rows of hoverspeeders and wheeled vehicles ran back and forth in several lanes. It was like the skyways of Coruscant, limited to only two dimensions.
Dooku whispered faintly, with lips hardly moving, so only his apprentice could make out the words: "their shipyards, Qui-Gon. The archives gave little as to their space-faring capabilities. I would like to see their starships, and who else might be landing here." The Count nodded up the street, and then joined the river of foot traffic flowing down its sidewalk. He was nearly twice the height of any Raelgar, and so, he didn't do so great a job blending in.
But there were other nonnative peoples in the crowd; in fact, it seemed to Qui-Gon that this city, at least, was quite diverse. A Saurin there, a Dug here, a family of Grans, he even saw a human or two; and these were not smugglers or tourists, they wore the same work-uniforms as the native Raelgari people, tailored to fit the various body shapes. So the young Jedi's face did not make him much of an oddity. His Jedi robes seemed to, though; people glanced at him as they passed. Several seemed to be trying not to stare. It was better than plain old staring, Qui-Gon supposed.
The Jedi novice clipped his way through the crowd and up the street. This seemed to be some sort of residential road, without much of interest to see, and so Qui-Gon resolved to make his way towards the center of town, where people might be doing more than going home for the night. The air was going from cool to outright cold, so he put up the hood of his robes. Maybe he could look like some wandering desert-planet hermit, and not a Jedi Knight.
He found the main square of Durregrohd which, as seemed to be the case for all parts of the city at this hour, served as little more than a locus of traffic. They were all so orderly, somehow: interlocking lines of vehicles and living beings alike, passing close by each other in disparate directions like they were inside some enormous factory's sorting machine. It would be very much to get through and for very little reason: there were no merchant stalls in the square, no soldiers or news reporters; no one stopping long enough to do anything exciting at all. In place of a statue in the middle of the square, there was a large concrete block, which didn't look very noteworthy either. Qui-Gon resolved to find the trade district, wherever that might be. Maybe there were maps, somewhere? A Jedi must be mindful of his surroundings, he thought. He looked back the way he came, recalled the path back to his place of residence. Then he picked his way across a street, speeders slowing to avoid hitting him, citizens of Gorelasg ducking around him like he was a stone in a stream.
There were alleyways leading out between the buildings, and these looked much less congested. Qui-Gon stepped in one and out of the crowd; he leaned over and held his knees to catch his breath. It was a little overwhelming, to be alone among so many passing strangers in a strange place, dressed oddly, unaware of what social conventions drove these people. Qui-Gon fingered the lightsaber on his belt beneath his robe. He was a Jedi, he had The Force! He breathed and stood tall. The alley was darker, shadowed, lit only by a few plain yellow lights. He smelled rotting food waste in a nearby bin. What of their flight over the city, what can I remember from the view above? A Raelgar came out of a nearby building and added some garbage to the bin, without so much as a wayward glance towards Jinn.
The main square is to my left, the Visitation Residence is behind and to the left, so if I continue down this alley… The Jedi learner found his bearings. The was something like a commercial district further up this way. He'd continue straight and then head right at the next connecting alley or opening back onto a road. He stood tall, and started to walk down the alley with a clipped stride. He sensed a gathering of stationary people some few hundred feet in that direction. Maybe a public dining-area, or a set of bars? It was the right place for a foreign visitor to lurk and unseen learn the ways of Gorelasg.
"Ey, alien!" came a voice from ahead. It was a Raelgar speaking thickly-accented Basic, and though they all seemed short to Qui-Gon, this one especially so. Perhaps he was a child, or half-grown adolescent.
Qui-Gon stared at the boy for a moment. "Hello," he replied, "meyashkhu dolak." He raised one hand vertically for a gentle wave as he approached, the wide opening of his sleeve falling down to his elbow.
The Raelgar boy was sitting on a concrete stoop. "Hah, he speak!" he said, and reached into the front of a gray-brown vest. Qui-Gon stiffened, but softened as the boy produced a little square container. He couldn't read the label, but the picture was clear: an orange rendering of Kessel spice. This was just a child, after all. "You have credit?"
"No, I'm sorry," said Qui-Gon, "I am a Jedi. I am looking for information, if you'd be willing to trade for it."
"Not Jedi," said another voice from behind. Qui-Gon turned; from a darker part of the alley (one of the lights was out) emerged a second young Raelgar, a girl. She pressed her fists together, end-to-end, and whirled them around as one might when swinging a two-handed weapon. "Wshhh, wshhh," she mouthed, "Jedi are bretimgrol. Strong fighter."
Now the first one came dashing past his side; Qui-Gon raised his arms out of the boy's way. The front of his robe flared open, and his belt immediately felt lighter. The boy grinned, and brandished the shining hilt of Qui-Gon's lightsaber. "This bad tool. Where blade?"
"Hey, don't touch that, it's—ow!" Qui-Gon felt a sharp pain in his right calf, and knelt. There was a third Raelgar behind and to his right, and a fourth companion—a stalk-eyed Elom—and this member of the little gang had kicked him just beneath the back of his knee. "You scare, skavoyend?" asked this Elom boy, "show credits, or we beat you. Sell Jedi tool."
Qui-Gon winced and raised an open hand at the boy who'd stolen his lightsaber. He tried reach out and grasp the young one's mind with The Force, and said: "give that back, and go away!" in a hoarse half-shout.
The Raelgar boy chuckled. "Jedi power!" he shouted mockingly, "you want beat?" The boy fiddled with the buttons on the saber-hilt, but didn't seem to understand how it worked. He was perhaps more likely to hurt himself than the Padawan he'd taken it from.
Two bootsteps clattered sharply at the far end of the alleyway; Qui-Gon and the children looked up, startled. A tall, stern Jedi Master stood, the curving hilt of his (currently) un-ignited lightsaber pointed downwards in his right hand. With his left, the Jedi waved two fingers leftwards in front of his eyes, and said: "Tiy nuyek satry'lukochKaloryts Jediluf tosemny," which means: "You do not wish to battle a Jedi Knight." At the end of the motion, Qui-Gon's lightsaber sprung from the Raelgar's grasp and into Dooku's outstretched hand. The gang of children fled from sight in terror.
Qui-Gon stood and dusted himself off. "I could've handled that, Master," he said, and he extended his hand.
Dooku plopped the lightsaber into Qui-Gon's outstretched palm. "You could certainly have handled it better, Padawan." Qui-Gon returned the weapon to his belt, adjusted the leather, and wrapped his robe around the front of his waist. He followed Dooku back towards the street.
"You neglected your surroundings," Dooku said, "and worse, you forgot The Force. Your eyes are not to be trusted in the dim and variegated lighting of evening-time."
"But those—"
"We will speak more of this later," Dooku said, "come. I have seen much. And there is something I wish to show you."
They reached the street again, where the rush of pedestrians was finally thinning. Dooku moved against the tide; oncoming people parted around him, and he strode forward with the natural calm of one who didn't even think to expect any other outcome. Qui-Gon moved in his Master's wake, shying from the unremarking crowd, and eyeing each individual warily. They came to the central square, and crossed the street to reach it. Dooku looked up at the block of stone that stood above it, and his student did the same.
It was a large and detailed bas-relief, all the same gray as the stone it was carved from, depicting a wide line of Raelgar in work-uniforms. (The Tsumbrochtisaid something about a Relief, didn't they?) Some were adorned differently, or had slightly different faces, and many carried objects in their hands: for some, it was weapons (blasters, thermal grenades, a sword, a vibro-spear), while others carried civilian tools (fusion cutters, hammers, sonic mops, a hydrospanner, a grapple-launcher, a farmer's autoscythe). All the figures faced the onlooker (though some eyed each other or their equipment) with confident smiles. "'Strength in numbers'," said Qui-Gon, "Is that what you mean, showing me this?"
"Hmph," his Master snorted dryly, "that is but one of many meanings which those who created this piece could have intended. Look closer at that central figure."
Qui-Gon looked again at the Raelgar holding a broadsword aloft. It was just another Raelgar; a soldier, Qui-Gon could guess. There was something about the shirt he wore under his overalls, the roundness of his blade. "Wait. He's a Jedi!?"
"A-ha," said Dooku, "you probably haven't seen a Raelgari Jedi, have you?"
"That's not the point," Qui-Gon said, "he's some kind of hero to these people… he must be! Who is this Jedi?"
"Was," Dooku replied, "for he died long ago, and even before that he only was a Jedi. The archives left paltry hints as to why this nameless Raelgar left the Order, though I suspect it has something to do with why no other Jedi have been found on Gorelasg." Qui-Gon's eyes widened; he looked up at Dooku, who was smiling at the Relief.
"Yes, Padawan. It is this peculiar mystery above all else that has drawn me here. The Raelgar are very good at keeping things quiet. And I suspect the Council knows enough of this matter to share the same goal. There is something remarkable about this planet and its relationship to our Order, and I intend to find out what."
"Now come," said Dooku, "the hour is late. We should return to our chambers to discuss these matters further, and be promptly off to sleep." He began to walk towards the Visitation Residence. The streets had nearly emptied, and the night was all but black.
Qui-Gon was too curious to be scared. He strode after his Master, and furrowed his brow. "Oh, blast!"
Dooku stopped. "What is it, Padawan?"
"I still haven't found out why the Raelgari don't use droids."
"We will have plenty of time to investigate further tomorrow. Come on now, Qui-Gon, to what safety we've been given," Dooku said, beckoning.
The two walked briskly along the street.
***
Qui-Gon sat in Dooku's quarters. The room seemed identical to his own: plain, cramped, a drab little metal-framed bed, a pair of windows stretching from waist-height to just above the height of his forehead, a square table with four simple stools. A thick metal conservator and a few open shelves around it. And now, two Jedi from the distant planet of Coruscant.
"I'm not sure about these Raelgari, Master," Qui-Gon said, "they are not so welcoming as I'd hoped."
Dooku sighed. "Because some children tried to rob you, Padawan? I thought I saw an Elom in that little crew of thieves as well. I hear there are even thieves in the depths of Coruscant… perhaps the Raelgari have infested our own Republic also."
"I'm sorry Master, I didn't mean…" Qui-Gon scratched his head; his Master didn't look angry with him, only curious, watching intently. "Maybe it's true what Ambassador Urbezelle said. Or, there is some truth to his idea, that their culture breeds hostility towards the Republic and to visitors."
Dooku tapped his lips with a finger. "Hostility towards the Republic, hmm. Yes, it must the result of Gorelasgan hubris." Dooku stood and started pacing, pointed up emphatically, "and what, my young apprentice, does the Doctrine of the Jedi Order say of all living beings?"
Qui-Gon felt like he was missing some implication. Master Dooku can be so coy and preening when he thinks he knows something I don't. "Sure, 'The Force surrounds and binds all living things as one'. I understand; we should seek peace with them. There was even a Raelgar Jedi… or, uh, ex-Jedi I guess. But last night you said that people's beliefs are moved by the beliefs of those around them. Isn't it possible for a culture to be misguided or flawed, in a way that affects all individuals within it?"
"Indeed, clever Padawan. This is a question worth asking of any culture."
Qui-Gon groaned and leaned his head back. Whatever, he thought, if Master has something to teach me, at some point he'll come out and say it directly. He can't help himself.
"But I sense this matter is about more than cultural philosophy," Dooku said carefully, "you have been subject to a difficult danger, and fear to face the same again."
"I—I am trained in the ways of the Force," said Qui-Gon, "I didn't—I'm sorry, Master. As Jedi we are meant to release our fears."
"We do not release our feelings by stuffing them away and pretending they don't exist. We accept them, and allow them to flow from us into the Force."
"But how, what am I meant to—"
"You are strong of will, my Padawan," said Dooku, "I understand that you attempted to move the minds of your assailants, and failed to do so."
"I should be able to do the mind trick by now!" Qui-Gon protested, "there's no way those kids had stronger minds than I do. And anyways, I have The Force." He put his head in his hands.
Dooku seemed irritated at this. "A Jedi does not 'have' The Force, Padawan. You cannot command it any more than you could command those vagabonds." He stood, closed his eyes, and inhaled. "Moving the mind of another requires the most subtle of motions; you are not demanding control over their will, only nudging them slightly towards what they already desire. It does take strength also; focus, clarity of purpose. For it is said that any fool can swing a lightsaber, but only a master duelist has the power to dance with their blade as one continuous unit."
"But how can I focus, Master? I… I was afraid!" Qui-Gon looked away, ashamed.
"Yes. And that is not all you felt. What other insights did the Force provide you?"
"I guess…" the young Jedi stopped to think. "I guess I felt pity for them. They were young, and looked desperate. Underfed. I… I did want to help them, and look what good that caused! I was foolish."
"You believe it is foolish to help the downtrodden?" Dooku sat down on the stool next to Qui-Gon's. "No. You are a Jedi. However, your desire to help and your fear of danger formed a conflict in you, one which prevented you from acting. You must release one to find confidence in the other."
"How can I release my fear? How, when they were willing to hurt me, and even themselves to steal from me? Maybe I should have fought back."
"Perhaps," said Dooku, "and perhaps not. I have found, Padawan, that power can be used for good. That if you raise yourself in power, you may find it easier to lower yourself to kindness."
"Seeking power doesn't sound like the Jedi way..." Qui-Gon considered this seriously. "What, you mean I could become so powerful that I couldn't be hurt? And then be kind, detached from my own selfishness, even towards those who would do me ill?"
"Something like that," his Master replied, "though not so grand as you describe it; skilled, observant, and attentive enough to deal with people without the need for violence. This, any Jedi can do; it is the aim our training."
Dooku stood. "You can start by preparing yourself for situations like this. Training mind and body so they are capable of acting quickly, so you can defend yourself."
Qui-Gon jumped up. "So we should do lightsaber exercises, right?"
Dooku shook his head. "No, there isn't enough space in here, and we'd only attract attention if we used lightsabers outside. It's another curious fact of the sort of privacy we've been given."
Qui-Gon looked around at Dooku's little room, near-identical to his own. Is this intentional? Do the Raelgari not want us practicing with lightsabers?
"No, Padawan, you have spent plenty of time training your muscles. It is your mind which needs certainty. Let us consult The Force." Dooku sat on his bed, crossed his legs, and closed his eyes. Qui-Gon looked at the stained floor, and then sat on Dooku's table. It looked sturdy enough. He took a meditative pose.
Dooku spoke calmly: "Recall the dangers you faced this night, Padawan. If you were to meet similar people again, would you wish harm upon them?"
Qui-Gon Jinn breathed slowly. "No, Master."
"You are a Jedi. Would you be willing to defend yourself, and others if need be?"
"… Yes, Master. Only when needed."
"Do you begin to see the merging of these desires, Padawan? That a Jedi can gracefully defend themself from those they pity, avoiding violence while never shying from the need to act?"
Qui-Gon opened his eyes. "I'm not sure, Master. How will I know when action is needed? And what action to take?"
"You will know," said Dooku, "as you listen. To the truth of those you encounter, the thoughts behind their eyes, the reality of their bodies and their circumstances. And to The Force. You already knew, but paralyzing shame created the failure you anticipated. That, you can release."
Qui-Gon took two long, slow breaths. As the air exited his nose, he found the truth in his Master's words, supported by the Force that flowed through him. He opened his eyes more slowly. "It's done," he said.
Dooku stood up and spoke dutifully: "Good. Now, I suppose you should be getting to your own quarters, to consider these things more thoroughly." Qui-Gon gathered his robe and moved towards the door, and Dooku added: "—In the meantime, Padawan, there are other ways you could prepare yourself." Qui-Gon hesitated at the door-frame. "...Bring a few credits with you," Dooku clinked several Republic Credits into his apprentice's surprised hand, "and maybe some extra rations in your kit. That way, you'll have something you can give to release the tension of less-than-friendly demands. And keep your senses open; not just for dastardly Raelgar criminals, but for anywhere you can help, and to arm yourself with further knowledge so you might better navigate this place in the firm but kindly Jedi way. Now go!" Dooku all but shoved him out the door.
Qui-Gon looked at the credits in his hand. Why would he bring money, he thought. Actually, why does he have money at all, where would he… oh, right. Dooku was blood royalty from some wealthy Outer Rim system. No wonder he was so strange. Actually, a lot of what he was saying today made more sense with that in mind...
Qui-Gon had another sleepless night. His thoughts raced. Tomorrow, I will know better.