“Don’t mind him,” Bant said. “He’s a fool.”

Obi-Wan turned away and finished his meal, just as a huge black Barabel fruit plopped on the table near his tray. Juice from the fruit splattered on Bant and Garen Muln. Obi-Wan glared over at Bruck, who had come halfway across the room to throw it.

“Plant it, Oafy,” Bruck said. “I hear they’ll grow just about anywhere.”

Obi-Wan started to rise from his chair, but Bant put a hand over his and held him down, trying to calm him.

Obi-Wan smiled at Bruck, keeping himself in control. He want to anger me, Obi-Wan knew. He hopes to anger me. How often in the past have others played me like this, making me lose the chance to become a Padawan?

Obi-Wan held his anger, and merely smiled at Bruck. Yet a white-hot fury was building inside him.

Just then, Reeft muttered, “I don’t mean to sound greedy, but are you going to eat that Barabel fruit?”

Obi-Wan nearly burst out laughing. “Thank you, Bruck,” he said, scraping the fruit off the table and placing it in a cup. “The people of Bandomeer will be honored when I share with them your gift — the gift from one farmer to another.”

In the upper room of the Jedi Temple, Master Yoda argued with the senior members of the Jedi Council. They were meditating in a huge greenhouse, the Room of a Thousand Fountains, where fountains and waterfalls streamed through an emerald forest

Outside, the surface of Coruscant was hidden by black storm clouds.

“Obi-Wan Kenobi must be allowed to fight before Qui-Gon Jinn this day,” Master Yoda said, just as a bolt of lightning snarled through the clouds below. “I have foreseen it.”

“What?” Senior Council Mace Windu asked. He was a strong, dark-skinned man with a shaved head. He studied Yoda with eyes that could pierce like blaster bolts. “What would be the point? Obi-Wan has proven once again that he cannot control his anger or his impatience. And Qui-Gon Jinn is not ready for another impatient Padawan.”