"This interface is garbage," Adam muttered as he ran through the holographic timeline. "We're one planet that has had computers for less than a century, and we have more intuitive devices than this."
"Intuitive to whom?" My fourteen-year-old apprentice asked.
"Sorry, dear?" The spike in his frustration had been momentary. By the time he'd finished voicing his complaint, he'd already moved on from it; he certainly hadn't expected a response. But he looked up from the device and gave the girl his attention.
Olana seemed… annoyed… by his strident attitude. "Intuitive to whom? Humans, I assume? How narrowly tailored do you think we should make our devices so they're better tailored to humans?" He nodded and opened his mouth to respond, but she continued. "And which humans, exactly? Which set of light conditions? What surface capacitance, what temperature range? Which assumed technology level, which reading format, which culture? How many sentients do we exclude in order to make you, sir, marginally better at navigating the menu?"
"You're saying that the clunky interface maximizes universality. I didn't understand that. Thank you." He glanced at me, firing off, "An excellent example of my larger point," before resuming his rapid perusal of my notes.
"... which is what?" The oldest Olana finally asked after a pregnant pause.
"I add nothing here. Obi-wan already retains whatever aspects of my memories and thoughts are useful, and has seven years of living in this Galaxy to contextualize it."
"We aren't here to provide new knowledge or skills," the oldest Obi-wan noted from where he sat, near the misty edge of the clearing. "We are here to give young Kenobi here perspective, an opportunity to confront himself."
"Excuse me," my Padawan interjected, "but there are six of us here, and only three different names. Can we decide on whom to call what?"
"We can use Ewan, Alec, and Dominique," Adam suggested. This merited a confused look from both my Olana and her older version, which amused him to no end.
"The actors' names," I explained. "I don't think that works."
"You can call me Ben," the old man offered.
"Chion will do for me," the eldest Olana supplied.
"Sounds like a plan," Adam agreed, pointing to the members of each trio in turn, oldest to youngest:. "Ben, Obi-wan, Adam for us three. Chion, Olana, and Lana for you. Any objection? Good then."
Olana frowned at Adam, turning to me. "He just… decides. Hands down proclamations, almost."
Despite her comment being directed to me, the Earth man scowled and addressed it. "Wait patiently for consensus resolution, and little gets solved. You can feel very good about the twenty percent that you accomplish with full, thoughtful participation from everyone, as the eighty percent languishes." He groaned audibly as he lifted his bulk from the ground, looming over the girl. He was noticeably taller than anyone else. "Jump in and provide an answer yourself, and you might completely screw it up a third of the time. Maybe even half the time. But you still end up getting more done right than if you waited on consensus."
Chion glared. "And if more than one person 'jumps in'?"
He grinned; it was more predatory than pleasant. "Great! As long as neither person is fool enough to get territorial about it."
"Wouldn't it be better for people to properly focus on what they're best at?" Olana challenged.
"Fine, if you can get folks to agree. But note that people overestimate their abilities in areas where they are inexperienced, and underestimate their abilities in areas where they are skilled. Plus, we all have other biases to take into account." He stopped himself, and frowned, considering something. "Let me take a closer look at that timeline." When no one challenged him, Adam trudged as far away as he could get from the rest of us in the clearing before re-opening the portable projector.
"You know," Ben mused, "over the years, there were any number of times where the abilities of a Seer might have saved us quite a bit of trouble. It certainly seems to fit your personality, Obi-wan."
Chion said to Ben, "Master Kenobi was never without confidence about his path, or the future. There was always speculation that you were a hidden Seer."
Ben smiled, chuckling quietly. "No, I was stumbling around in the dark from one impossible situation to another. I can't imagine anyone would choose the path I did if they could actually see it ahead of time."
"How can you say that?" Chion asked. "You accomplished so much, fought against injustice, over and over again. We're all flawed, Obi-wan… I mean, Ben… but I can't see abandoning any of the people or planets you saved. What would they do, if you had diverged from the path?"
Ben gave a nod to acknowledge the point. "But what of those the Order could not save, who fell at the hands of pirates, the Separatists, the Loyalists, or the Republic? Those caught up in the machinations of corrupt and evil men. Those who happened to be on the losing side of costly and destructive conflicts that meant nothing to them."
"Like you said," Olana pointed out, "you didn't know the future. Neither of you did, right? You did everything you could."
"An impossible standard," I said. "We don't just fail to exceed the limits of our abilities; we inevitably fall well short of our true potential."
"Which is not an excuse to do less," Ben admonished. "It is a motivation to do more." He adjusted his robes wearily. "The Galaxy is full of enough injustice, atrocity, and tyranny to fill a thousand lifetimes. There is always more that can be done to help."
"Is that why we're here?" Olana asked, turning to me. "To see what we become, when we reach our full potential?"
"Perhaps," Chion said slyly, pulling her lightsaber hilt from her belt. "Would you like a demonstration?"
"The way of the Jedi is to be a path of peace," Ben said, "and yet how quickly did we send our children to war."
"To preserve the Republic," Chion insisted.
"Oh, I know," Ben agreed. "But a war changes any democratic society. The moment we took up arms in earnest, led soldiers into pitched battle, we were preserving a different Republic. A different Jedi Order."
"The Order, at least," I noted, "was a warrior culture long before the Clone Wars. Knights define themselves by combat, even in peacetime."
"So do police," Chion replied. "There is honor in having the strength to defend others."
A choking noise came from Adam in the corner, although he didn't look away from the holo-display. "Honor is a poor proxy for character," he rumbled. "Plenty of 'honorable' men are evil when the lights cut out."
"Honor is like any other currency," I disagreed. "Its value depends on how others in society react to it. Being known to be an honorable person, or part of an honorable group, can open doors."
The general frowned. "But you don't value it, inherently?"
"Honor is a multifaceted concept. I inherently value the part that implies personal integrity and consistency, or 'character' as he put it." I nodded to my Earth counterpart. "The part of honor that is about reputation and glory: the value in that is pragmatic, not intrinsic."
Olana observed, "If you didn't care what the people around you thought of you, it wouldn't matter if you had honor."
"Honor was taken from us, in the end," Ben told us. "The Empire made no short work of sullying the reputation of the Jedi, saddling us with crimes against the Galaxy, and pointing to the evil attitudes of the Order as being at the heart of it."
We fell to silence for a minute after that, broken only by an incongruous bark, "Ha!" from Adam in the corner.
"What next, then?" Chion asked. "We've gone over at least the basics of your actions and plans, and I see no reason to think you've averted the Clone Wars. They might play out differently without the same level of backing from powers you've done more to damage, and the explicit Jedi involvement in growing and training the Army of the Republic will certainly have some effect," that got me a brief approving look, "but we're still talking about a conflict devastating to many worlds. One that we clearly lost, since it led directly to the Empire, even if we're unable to recall how."
Olana spoke up. "Padme and I are unconvinced of that."
"I wasn't aware that you'd been speaking with Queen Amidala," I admitted.
"It was Artoo's idea, because we'd both been peppering him with the same sort of questions about the timeline," my student explained. She turned back to her older counterpart. "What I mean is, we're not convinced that the Republic lost the war. Padme says that the portrayal of the Galactic Empire is more consistent with a decisive victory over the Separatists, followed by an internal coup. If a leader or group of leaders were able to claim credit for saving the Galactic Republic in the war, that might give them the support they would need both politically and militarily to establish the Empire."
Chion nodded. "We certainly received our share of glory during the war. A dark Jedi, disguised as a victorious general… it fits."
"Many different scenarios fit," Ben reminded us, "when we're missing so many key pieces of the puzzle. We can't truly anticipate the future, even if we think we've seen it."
Adam's gravelly voice was louder, this time, as he hauled himself to his feet again. "And so we find ourselves circling back to the initial question: why are we all here? Why the four of us, to serve what purpose for the two of you?" He handed the holo-display back to me. "The new file on there is encrypted, for Artoo only. Please don't try to open it."
I frowned. "Didn't we already establish that you're just a part of my mind? You know what I know?"
He nodded. "But not the converse. I don't think there's any process for you to acquire memories of my new experiences. For the best, in this case."
"This is the matter that Artoo asks us to help with, but won't explain why?" Olana asked.
I nodded. "He's made it clear it's better if we don't pester him about it; I get the impression he wished we wouldn't think about it either."
"Which leads you to believe," Ben said, "that our droid companion is investigating what is clouding your mind."
"Directly or indirectly," I agreed. I glanced at Adam, but a stony expression looked back. He wasn't giving anything away.
"This ends at sunrise," Chion noted. "Four more hours, give or take. So," she stepped to closest outcropping with a nearly vertical surface, and leaned against it, "what now?"
I felt a hand tug at the corner of my robe, and looked down at its tiny owner. The Jedi robes, small as they were, managed to look oversized on the wisp of a girl. I knelt in front of her, and softly asked, "What is it, Lana?"
"Where are we?" she asked simply.
I saw from the corner of my eye as Adam took a step forward, than stopped, his hands half outstretched to the girl already. Years ago, when I… when Adam had first become a father, it had become part of his core identity to take charge of any small child in distress, to hold and comfort and protect. But we both saw that Lana leaned back, keeping hold of my clothes and clearly claiming me, rather than him, as her protector. Adam nodded with a resigned half-smirk and kept his distance.
I took the hint, though, and helped Lana to climb into my arms, held against one hip, similar to how Adam had carried her before. To her question, I answered, "We are in a sacred place, so that Olana and I can remember you. Is that okay?"
She leaned in, swiping her nose back and forth on my shoulder. Then she nodded. "Yeah. I'm glad you 'member me."
Adam cleared his throat. "The question is still why? What do the four of us have in common, something that can be worked out in one night?"
"You may be giving the Temple, here, too much credit," I pointed out. "We can't know for certain that every element of the encounter is a planned part of a deliberate message. Some of it may just be pulling from our minds in a particular way."
"Just your mind, I think," Olana said. "I'm getting emotional readings and surface thoughts from all four of them, and each has a… it's hard to describe, but a 'flavor' that reminds me of you, Master."
"Even Lana and I?" Chion asked, and Olana nodded.
"That would explain why I can't read anything, mentally, from them," I agreed. "They're all technically just extensions of my mind."
"So... " Olana nodded to Lana, who had settled against my shoulder and seemed happy to watch and listen. "Is this how you see me? The young, helpless toddler you rescued all those years ago?" Her emotions were well-concealed, and even her face was coached to neutrality.
I swallowed, but nodded. "I have been deliberately trying to see you more as the independent young woman you've clearly become, but yes. My instincts are still very much like my Vision counterpart's, there: to comfort and protect you. We destroyed your life on Kegan, me and Siri. I want to give you a better one."
I looked down at the little girl in my hands, and the memories came almost unbidden: the frantic running and fighting; the impossible fights. The frightened girl who became an unwilling focal point for a societal revolt. "Do you remember, when you first came to the temple?" I asked her. "How one of the two of us, me or Siri, had to stay with you at night?"
"Hey, look," Adam pointed to the nearest formless mist… or what had been formless. It had defined shape now, and it showed the translucent scene of two Padawans contently falling asleep, a tiny bundle of wiggling energy between them.
Olana approached the misty figures, noting where the edges of the white mist had rolled back away from them. "Yes, I needed you then. And you never let me down, either. You or Siri, either one. You were always there for me, in those first months. Later…"
The two adults evaporated, and the form of little Lana climbed off of the big bed and into a smaller bunk. She slept soundly, there, and was awakened in the morning by the beaming faces of her age-mates. I felt emotion coming from them, too; it was faint, but clearly showed genuine interest and affection.
"Later, I adapted." Leaping out of bed, the girl followed the laughing, running forms of the others. They played, read, ate together. The images were a mishmash, and would have been hard to understand if not for the strong emotional impressions that accompanied each one. "They welcomed me; I was part of the family. I had big brothers and sisters. And as I grew…" Gradually, little Lana was bigger, and rather than following others, she was leading them, "... I became the big sister. The one that all the younglings know they can come to with anything."
The background and other figures faded until only the misty form of Lana was left… and she wasn't Lana anymore. She matched the size and stance of my apprentice. As I continued watching, the illusory form of Olana walked confidently to the real thing, and faded into her. She didn't flinch; she simply nodded her acceptance.
"So, you see," she smiled, "I am still your student, Obi-wan. I still respect you, admire your wisdom and your skill. But I am not," she nodded to the form on my shoulder. "I am not O-Lana of Kegan. Not a little girl in need of a caregiver. I'm the Padawan, Olana Chion. And I need a Master to teach me."
I felt little Lana stir on my shoulder. "That's right. Okay!" she said, and pushed at me to let her down. When I did, she bounded over to Olana, and let the fourteen-year-old pick her up in a tight and sincere embrace. The mist rolled forward again, enveloping them both… and when it swirled away, Olana stood alone.
After a stunned silence, it was General Chion who spoke next. "That… didn't make any sense."
"To the contrary," Ben offered. "The little girl showed a flaw in Obi-wan's relationship with Olana. He clung to an outdated view of her, refusing to recognize her achieved maturity. Once they acknowledged the issue, Lana could go."
Chion mused. "So, in the remaining three hours, we need to fix the rest of Obi-wan's relationships?"
"His mistakes in thinking," Adam corrected. "The places where he's holding onto something he shouldn't. And we don't have to fix the mistakes; we just need to bring them to light. Somehow. So," he gave his predatory grin again, "who's next?"