Chapter Two

Ashanti was praying to whatever deities would listen the whole time she hung out in the nothingness called space. The horrid cold seeped through the protective suit, proving that the suit was a temporary guard against the harshness. Ashanti took a deep breath, double checking her oxygen controls on the wrist band. Normal. Good. An accident would be most unfortunate. She grimaced. Yoda was going to pay for this first chance she got, the little pointy-eared know-it-all. And Ki-Adi-Mundi as well, just on general principles.

She poked around the shaft where the droids were to emerge from the interior to the exterior of the ship. She saw no blockage at first, but on closer inspection, she saw it wasn't blockage. The hole was melted to slag from a direct hit. A well-placed, highly improbable direct hit. The thing had been sabotaged before they even left the space station.

She cursed.

They were in trouble.

No ship escaped droid fighters without weapons. That made them sitting ducks for the droids to pick off at their convenience. The transport barely made light speed, so escaping was almost an impossibility in that respect. They had to have weapons in order to have any chance in hell.

She took a deep breath, rechecked her oxygen level and made her decision. She prayed that her commlink with the bridge worked and that Clea was as clever as she seemed. As she inched her way across the ship, grimacing as various blasts missed around her from the droid fighters, she managed to tap the commlink button. "Bridge, this is Ashanti."

The commlink was the wrong one, as it broadcast her voice all over the ship, getting everyone's attention. The dignitaries stopped their complaining at the Jedi's voice and, still outside the airlock, Qui-Gon's head whipped toward the speaker unit.

"Bridge here, what's going on? Did you get the droids moving?" The pilot sounded optimistically hopeful.

"No. We're doing this the hard way. Put Clea on." Ashanti's eyes widened and she ducked a laser blast that missed her by inches. She hastily beat out the small fire it created. One hazard prevented, she reassured herself, fighting down the panic rising within her. What the hell was she doing out here? Knowing there was no other way, Ashanti continued her way to the front of the ship.

"Clea here. Where are you?" Ashanti had crawled up to the bridge's left-hand viewport and peered through. She could see Clea staring puzzledly at the speaker. Qui-Gon was nowhere in sight, no doubt waiting impatiently with the droids for her return. He might be waiting a long time, if she wasn't careful.

"Look to your left and I'll give a little wave." Clea's white, pupilless eyes turned in horror to the viewport and Ashanti gave a little wave as she said she would, and then continued her path to the weapons array poking out a couple of meters from her current location. "I'm going to have to fix these blasted thing manually, and you, my former apprentice's clever padawan, can hopefully tell me how. The droids can't get out because their exit is slag material." She heard the pilot mutter a curse in great length. "You were more polite about the situation than I was. Whoops!" She dodged another blaster shot.

Clea plastered herself against the viewport for a better look at Ashanti. "Master Qui-Gon is going to freak!" Clea exclaimed rather unnecessarily.

Qui-Gon at the moment was having heart failure as he raced back to the bridge. *Are you insane?* he shouted in his mind.

*There's no need to shout, you know,* Ashanti informed him in a prim manner. *I can hear you just fine.* He burst into the bridge, practically running his padawan over in the process. *Tell your padawan to stop gaping and give me instructions on how to fix the damn thing.*

"Talk to her," he ordered a gaping Clea. When she looked about to protest, he interrupted her. "If she's going to risk her life doing this insane stunt then we're going to do our best to make she gets back alive so I can strangle her." He turned to the pilot, who looked shell-shocked at the events unfolding. "Do evasive maneuvers, mild ones, to avoid letting her get hit. Please tell me that she has a toolkit attached to that space suit?"

"I already checked, dummy," came Ashanti's dry voice. "I'm not completely impulsive. I thought this through."

Qui-Gon's lips thinned. "Why don't I believe that it wasn't for more than two seconds?" he snapped back in response.

Clea, back to business began firing questions at Ashanti. "What does the damage look like? Any missing parts? If so, what? If not, any meltdown or freezing? How about..."

"Can I get there first?" growled Ashanti. "Whoa! Watch the space debris! It may not be significant in there, but it is out here!" Qui-Gon's expression turned even more thunderous as the pilot apologized and the co-pilot began keeping a close eye on the space debris. Clea could feel the frustrated anger radiating through the Force. Qui-Gon, in her 8 years in his care, had never been this angry. It unnerved her but she focused on the task at hand.

"This is impossible!" the co-pilot exclaimed frantically. "We can't keep an eye out for everything!"

"You better or we're all dead." Ashanti informed him calmly. "Okay, no meltdown, no missing parts, as if I'd know that anyway. Some ice, but I can knock it off without much problem."

"The ice indicates the heating core for the laser unit isn't functioning. Do you have a thrumming driver?" asked Clea, closing her eyes, hoping she could remember what the laser looked like on this model of ship.

"Is this it?" asked Ashanti, holding a thrumming driver in front of the forward viewscreen.

"Yes!" snapped Qui-Gon.

*Testy, there, Qui-Gon?* quipped Ashanti as the hand disappeared. "What do I do now?" she asked outloud.

"Unscrew the main cover and look for three wires. They may be either green or blue in color." Clea's eyes were scrunched tight in concentration.

Qui-Gon closed his eyes and pushed the Force out from himself and to his former master. He could tell Ashanti could feel the boost. *Thanks, Padawan,* she told him. *I need that.* Their link mingled and tightened as it had many years before when he followed her dutifully through the teachings of becoming a Jedi knight.

Ashanti felt the rush of the Force flow through her, grateful for it's energy boost and power. Holding on was getting harder and harder with each dodge the pilot made oh so carefully from the blasts of the droid fighters. She got the cover off and stared at the wires.

Not a damn one of them was blue or green.

"They're not blue or green!" she shouted.

Clea frowned. "What colors are there to pick from?"

"White, white and white!" ground out Ashanti, her panic rising again. She tamped it down ruthlessly. I'll hyperventilate later, she promised herself.

Clea's eyes swung to Qui-Gon. Qui-Gon controlled his emotions for Ashanti's sake. Clea obviously had no idea what to do next. He looked at the pilot and co-pilot, hoping they could help. "We're temporary pilots for this ship. We took it only for this mission." The pilot looked apologetic and was obviously going to be no help.

"Inspiring!" quipped Ashanti. Everyone could hear the undercurrent of strain beneath the false cheerfulness. "What am I supposed to be doing once I find the mythical pretty wires?"

Clea took a deep breath. "Any loose connections?"

As Ashanti wiggled each wire, she was struck from behind and lost her natural hold on the ship. Her hand whipped out and grabbed the edge of the laser opening. "Slow down! I'm losing my grip!" she shouted, frightened. She couldn't fail. The mission depended upon this. Hell, their survival depended upon this.

"I can't," whimpered the pilot, trying to dodge laser bolts at the moment.

"Do it or I'm gone!" shouted Ashanti again, her grip slipping ever so slightly. Her other hand had the driver in it and she shoved it in the laser hatch and grabbed the edge with her other hand. "Prophecies, I wish my tail was not around my waist," she muttered.

Qui-Gon caught the muttered words and his scowl increased. *Ashanti, you better get back here so I can tell you I told you so!* he informed her, hoping the banter would help her confidence.

*Qui-Gon, I love you like a son, but WILL YOU SHUT UP!* snapped Ashanti in his mind. He jerked his head back in surprise at the force of the words. After some maneuvering, praying and juggling the Force into aiding her, Ashanti got reattached to the ship. The Force flowed through her, imbibing her with a better grip on the steel outer layer.

"Okay, I'm back," she breathed. "The wires look secure. Now what?"

Clea looked paler than normal again. "Is there a small fluid tank? It should contain the cooling fluid that the laser port uses against overheating."

"Yes, I see it. It has a nice hole in it." Ashanti sighed. "Let me guess, it needs that coolant, doesn't it." It wasn't a question but a resigned statement of fact.

"Yes, but we can by-pass that considering how frozen the systems are right now." Clea took a deep breath. "Look for a welding torch in your toolkit." Ashanti's hand emerged into view again with torch in hand as if asking if this is what she wanted. Qui-Gon forgot that Ashanti was even more worthless in her knowledge of tools than he was. At least he knew what a damned welding torch looked like. "Yes, that's it," assured Clea. "Now, try to unfreeze the laser muzzle itself. Don't overheat it. Put the welding torch on low power and keep it back from the muzzle by about three inches. When the metal turns an deep orange color stop immediately. The cold of space will cool it off soon enough. Let us know when you have that done."

Silence descended the cabin as Ashanti worked. Qui-Gon continued his Force link with Ashanti, hoping it would be enough, praying that it would be. He'd rather Ashanti told him the "big, bad secret" instead of Master Yoda. The seconds crawled by, making everyone tense. The pilot managed to avoid further droid hits, but time was running out and they all knew it. The droid fighters would get them eventually if they didn't regain the ability to fight back.

"Ok, it's orange."

Pause.

"Icky brown."

Pause.

"Charcoal black. Done."

Qui-Gon let go of the breath he didn't know he'd been holding. Ashanti was going to be the death of him.

"Now what?"

Clea grinned in momentarily relief. "Move out the way and we'll see if they'll fire."

"Right. Moving."

Pause.

"Moved! Fire when ready!" The laser cannons blasted one droid fighter in one shot. The second blast clipped a droid fighter wing, sending it careening into another, causing them both to explode at the impact. "Woo-hoo! Good shooting! Toast them babies!" shouted Ashanti exuberantly.

"Stop shooting!" Clea ordered. "Master Ashanti, go back and check to make sure that the muzzles are still hot. If so, if we keeping shooting they'll be heated against space's cold."

Pause.

Pause.

"Yes, hot as hell in the summertime."

"Then get back in here," growled Qui-Gon.

*Touchy.*

*Did Master Yoda ever do this to you?* he asked as he watched her crawl past the left viewport.

*No, I did this to Yoda. So at least you're not alone in the heart attack league.*

*Not amusing, Ashanti Vende, and you know it.* he told her in exasperration. He nodded to Clea, his eyes telling her stay put. She nodded. She was needed more here than in the droid room where Qui-Gon would no doubt be killing his former master.

Ashanti looked like she could handle herself.

Qui-Gon rushed back down the corridor to the droid compartment, but stopped at the open door of the room the dignitaries were occupying. They were quiet, composed and probably in shock. "Is everyone alright?" Qui-Gon asked, noting their lack of squabbling.

"Is she insane?" asked Ishati in a near whisper.

Qui-Gon grimaced. "That has been under debate for many years amongst the Jedi. General consensus is yes. Sometimes I wonder if it's insanity or lack of self-preservation. Either way, if we can get past the droid fighters, we'll be in the clear to head for the nearest Republic-friendly spaceport."

"Tell Master Ashanti that her heroism will not go unrewarded," a female ambassador informed Qui-Gon with great ceremony.

"Stop this war and that will be plenty of reward for her heroism," Qui-Gon responded and then continued toward his destination.

Ashanti was almost through the airlock door when he got there. He waited until the door was completely closed and the compartment depressurized before he barreled through the entrance of the room. Ashanti was removing the mask, grimacing at the difference in the clean oxygen from the tank and the filtered oxygen of the ship. Neither said a word as she removed the suit and placed it back it's closet. Her tail carefully unwound, as if stretching, which was the case, considering it's scrunched environment. For a limb that moved freely as if a separate entity, being confined like that had to have been highly uncomfortable.

Ashanti finally faced her former apprentice, ready for the anger to be unleashed at the stupid stunt she had just pulled. And it was stupid, she'd be the first to admit that, but it had been necessary and thankfully successful.

"You won't be so lucky all the time," Qui-Gon told her solemnly.

She sighed. "I know, but those are the risks you have to take." He hugged her tightly, releasing the tension and worry he'd had built up. "Besides, do you think Master Yoda would let me go like that? He still has another hundred years of pestering me to enjoy."

He laughed, relieved that at least her sense of humor was still intact. "Thank you for including me in that list of people who care for your welfare."

"I already know you can't live without me," Ashanti told him smugly, heading for the door.

"Oh," countered Qui-Gon, "and why would you think that?" He knew what was coming. It was an old argument between them. Her response would be...

Ashanti turned the tables on him. "Because you are the better half of me." She left him standing there.

That wasn't the answer. The answer was supposed to be 'You couldn't live without my sage wisdom and superior skills.'

By the time the two Jedi reached the bridge the droid fighters had been destroyed or driven off. The pilots had already laid in the course to the nearest Republic friendly spaceport. Clea rushed to Ashanti with a beaming smile of relief and then smacked her arm. "You almost gave my master heart failure and then where would I have been?" she reprimanded mock-sternly.

Ashanti patted her on the head parentally. "Don't worry, I would have taken you on." Clea's eyes widened in mock horror.

"It's nice to know I'm appreciated," Qui-Gon commented to no one in particular. "Shall we get the ambassadors to their separate chambers before they kill each other?"

"Clea, can you handle that?" asked Ashanti. "Qui-Gon and I need to have a talk. He'll brief you on the mission when you get done." Clea nodded and vanished out the door. Ashanti motioned to Qui-Gon. "There's a briefing room down the hall."

"Let us know if there's any further trouble," Qui-Gon told the pilot. Now that things were on an even keel, the pilot had no doubts he could handle anything that came along.

Qui-Gon entered the small privacy chamber after Ashanti and they both got comfortable at the briefing table. "What do you want to know first, family or mission?"

"They are tied together, aren't they?" Qui-Gon arched a brow at Ashanti, who flushed guiltily. "You lied to me, didn't you? You *are* here to check up on me."

Ashanti looked down, unable to face the censure in his blue eyes. "Yes, but in my defense I will say it was Yoda's idea, though I agreed to it wholeheartedly."

Qui-Gon interrupted. "Am I trusted so little by the Council that I need a babysitter?"

Ashanti looked up, disapproval evident on her sharp features. "Don't dramatize this more than it already is. Neither the Council nor the Supreme Chancellor had anything to do with this. This was Yoda, and Yoda alone, drafting me."

Qui-Gon just looked at her. After a moment of the battle of two stubborn wills, Ashanti's eyes dropped away again. Qui-Gon sighed and relaxed. "Okay, start from the beginning."

"I was trying to," muttered the small woman, her tail wagging in a huge arc.

"Ashanti." The name was drug out in warning. Qui-Gon's patience was coming to an end.

"When Yoda sent you on this mission, he had no doubt that you could handle it without any problem. When the ambassadors were kidnapped, he still had faith in you and Clea. However, when we learned that your cousin was one of the ambassadors, things got sticky." Ashanti looked at a spot directly over his left shoulder, refusing to meet his eyes.

"Why? What harm could he do to me?" Qui-Gon was puzzled.

"Not so much to you as to these proceedings, your family and, yes, I suppose your future. He's a dangerous man, Qui-Gon, and very resentful of your lack of involvement in the family's welfare." Ashanti finally looked at him, her teal eyes almost turquoise with guilt. "I knew you would have to do this, but I hoped that with the circumstances surrounding you, Plumeran traditions would allow for some bending of the rules. There has never been a Jedi from a Dome family before."

"Not everyone bends rules as easily as you do, Ashanti," snapped Qui-Gon. "I had a responsibility to uphold and you didn't tell me. That's not acceptable, no matter how good your intentions."

"By the Code's very structure, we are not allowed to interfere in political goings-on of a planet, unless we have no choice, been asked to or just cause," sighed Ashanti, knowing this was going to be difficult. "A knight must worry about the day to day events, the future of the Order, and the big picture of the future as guided by the Force. The trivial day to day things are to be less of a concern than they are to others. Even with our own families, we are to take a hands off approach. You know this."

"But it concerns the ruling of a world important to the Republic. Surely, I can name an heir, give him or her the power of proxy and be done with it! How interfering could that be?" Qui-Gon insisted.

Ashanti gave him a helpless look. "I don't know. I agree with you but I don't know. I didn't write the Code, sweetie, I just follow it." The endearment was natural, as her endearments to him always were, indicating her regard for him as more than a former apprentice but the godchild that he was to her.

"When it suits you," Qui-Gon pointed out.

"I have never broken the Code, Qui-Gon. Never. I have bent the ethical rules that we have had pounded into us, and yes, I may have scraped the line many a time, but I have never broken the Code outright. Master Yoda knows this and so does the Council." Ashanti's face held a stern mask of rebuke and it was Qui-Gon's turn to look away.

"I'm sorry, Master," he said, falling into the habit of padawan to master. He grimaced, as did she. Even with their 9 years apart since Qui-Gon's passing of the trials, some things were hard to break. He still called her master in times of worry and apology, despite her desire not to be called 'master'.

"Apology accepted, now let me finish my story." Her tail looped up to brush a lock of hair from his eyes. "Your cousin, naturally, covets your heirdom. His father is old now, and will no doubt die soon from age. That leaves you and him as the only males within the family. If your cousin does not produce an heir, then all will be lost when you and he die."

"Then I will name him my heir on the stipulation that he names another cousin or nephew as his heir," Qui-Gon stated firmly.

"There are none." Qui-Gon looked at her in surprise. "That's what makes him so dangerous. Rumors have been filtering through the other Dome families on Plumera that if Ishati can convince you to make him your heir, or even make him Dome of Jinn instead of you, his political clout now combined with that power will then make him unbeatable in the Primary elections."

"Giving him control of a powerful planet not only in this system but in this quadrant as well," finished Qui-Gon. "I see. But surely Yoda knew who the ambassadors were before he sent me on this mission?"

Ashanti sighed. "Here's where it got complicated. Ishati wasn't supposed to be the ambassador sent. How he got here to begin with I still don't know. When Yoda was relayed the information on the ambassadors, he about twitched his ears off in aggravation. He pulled me out of touchy negotiations and sent me here to make sure you weren't getting into trouble, courtesy of family. Ki-Adi-Mundi was sent in my stead to the negotiations with his own apprentice."

Qui-Gon nodded once, pondering the information placed before him. He knew Ashanti wouldn't lie to him, but Yoda was often up to something in his roundabout way. He always spoke in riddles and poked a person's consciousness around in order to teach a lesson or get a point across. Was Ashanti part of Yoda's strategy unwittingly or was this the honest truth?

"No game. No lie. No powerplay or lesson. Straight truth." Ashanti answered his doubting questions and Qui-Gon knew she had picked up on them through their link. He cut it off ruthlessly and she drew back with a hurt expression.

"How old and important is my family to Plumera?" Qui-Gon asked, still thinking.

For a moment he didn't think Ashanti was going to answer, but she finally murmured, "Five hundred generations and they are the oldest Dome family on Plumera." Qui-Gon registered the information with some surprise and pride. His family was indeed distinguished!

"Importance?" Qui-Gon pressed.

"More than Yoda has on the Council." That was considerable, Qui-Gon knew, with Yoda's extreme age, experience, and wisdom to contribute. "And their wealth is enough to make the richest Hutt suicidal with grief."

Qui-Gon gave her another startled look. He had known of the fortune he inherited upon his father's death. It was quite large and he only used it when he had to have immediate resources in severe circumstances, like buying supplies, replacement parts for transports or clothing for the needy when he saw they had no other options.

"That raises the stakes considerably, doesn't it?"

Ashanti nodded grimly. "The fortune currently at your disposal is the personal fortune your father made without the help of the Jinn Dome. That is a drop in the Azure Sea of Gems in comparison." The Azure Sea of Gems was an entire planet of water, so Qui-Gon was staggered by the comparison. "I too inherited a small portion of that fortune, but I have used none of it. Upon my death, it will revert to the Council for any wards they are left with that cannot be trained as knights. Otherwise, it sits there for those just-in-case emergencies."

Qui-Gon sighed heavily. The stakes were indeed high, higher than he really wanted to deal with. He had no idea how to proceed. "Do you have council to give me?" he asked hopefully.

Ashanti looked him dead in the eye when she answered, "You alone have the power to disband the family and divide the family fortune among them evenly. This would resolve the whole problem, but it would a tragedy of tradition for the planet itself. Your people value tradition greatly, like the Jedi, and such a move would throw them off-balance. I have no doubt they would recover however."

Qui-Gon didn't respond. He sat quietly, digesting the information and rolling his options through his mind in his careful way. Finally, just before Ashanti couldn't stand anymore silence, he spoke. "What has this do with the mission that Clea and I were sent on."

"We believe Ishati manipulated his way into your path and means to use this opportunity to his advantage. Yoda wants you off the mission and me in your place. I can deal with him with a more protected mind than you can." Qui-Gon frowned. "You are an open book to be written to Ishati's advantage. I can warn you all I want but that doesn't necessarily mean you'll take full heed. You are like me," Ashanti told him with a smile, "You follow your own path and damn the consequences."

"No," Qui-Gon corrected her coldly, echoing her words from earlier, "I am like my father." He stood up and left the room without looking at her or pausing at her calls for his attention.

"Honor be damned!" spat Ashanti, her tail knocking over the chair he had been sitting in. "If he won't listen, I'll take matters into my own claws!"