Master Apprentice
Archive
Two-Card Nestor
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"Congratulations, you've won the game."
Qui-Gon looked up from his research. It was the third time in only a few minutes that he'd heard Obi-Wan's computer announce a win, but what was his fifteen-year-old padawan doing, he wondered? Not wanting to interrupt, he leaned back in his chair and watched Obi-Wan from the corner of his eye.
The young man sat slightly hunched over his workspace, a tight line of concentration between his brows. His gray-green eyes darted back and forth across the small screen and his hand moved steadily on the control panel.
"Well done, you've won the game," the datapad chirped. A fleeting look of pleased satisfaction washed over Obi-Wan's face.
Qui-Gon smiled. It wasn't often that his all too serious apprentice took time off from his studies for a purely entertaining pastime. "Obi-Wan?"
"Yes, Master?" the padawan answered, his eyes still on the screen.
"Having fun?"
Obi-Wan looked up, blushing slightly. "Yes, Master. But I've finished all my work."
"That wasn't a condemnation, Padawan." Curious, Qui-Gon rose and crossed to his student's side and gazed down at the datapad. Excitement clutched at his heart. Obi-Wan was playing Two-Card Nestor. He cleared his throat, and was careful to keep his tone neutral. "Is this what you've been playing all evening?"
The blush deepened, washing the boy's cheekbones with a flush of red. "Yes, Master. Sorry. I just . . ."
"Oh no, Padawan, don't apologize." He gestured toward the datapad. "I enjoy this game myself. Please continue."
Obi-Wan blinked, apparently wondering if he was being set up, but after a moment, he obediently continued. Qui-Gon watched, spell bound, as the boy deftly matched pairs of cards, quickly whittling down the deck until only a handful of unplayable cards remained. He glanced at the score. 38.
"I'm not very good at it yet," the boy said, ducking his head a bit as he started a new round.
"On the contrary," Qui-Gon said, automatically calculating the odds of getting that high a score. "You appear to be quite good. How long have you been playing?"
"Just a couple of hours."
"No, I don't mean just today. I mean how long total? How many days?"
Obi-Wan looked up, the line between his brows deepening. He blinked. "I played it for the first time this evening."
Qui-Gon's pulse sped up, but he forced himself to retain a look of nonchalance. "You know, there is a Temple-wide tournament tomorrow . . ."
"That's how I found the game to begin with, Master. I saw the notices about the tournament, and was curious."
Qui-Gon nodded, his brain already considering the possibilities and wondering if it was too late to get the boy entered. "Well, have fun." He moved toward the door and snagged his robe.
"Are you going out?"
"I'll be back shortly. Please, keep playing." He stepped out into the hallway, hearing Obi-Wan's "Yes, Master" floating after him, and was quickly at Mace Windu's doorway. His old friend apparently read something in his face, because he was instantly on the alert.
"Qui-Gon, what's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong. But something might be very right." Qui-Gon pushed past him into the tidy apartment.
"Oh, do come in," Mace said dryly as he shut the door.
"I know how we can win the tournament tomorrow," Qui-Gon said without preamble.
Mace Windu waved the idea off. "I gave up trying to win that years ago, Qui," he said as he turned toward the teakettle that had just begun to whistle. "I'm surprised you haven't."
"I want to enter Obi-Wan."
That stopped Mace in his tracks. He turned, slowly, and met Qui-Gon's eyes. "Obi-Wan? I didn't know your padawan played Two-Card Nestor."
"He didn't. Not until a couple of hours ago."
The look of startled disbelief on Mace Windu's face was priceless. "Two hours? And, you think he's good enough to enter the tournament already? Qui, what have you been drinking?"
"I heard him win four games in only a few minutes, and he scored 38 on the one I watched him play."
"Four wins?"
"Yes."
"And a score of 38, as well?"
Qui-Gon nodded, scarcely breathing.
"That's very unlikely unless he's cheating."
"He's not cheating. If he'd been using the Force to manipulate the programming, I'd have known."
"How often does he score that high?"
"I don't know. I didn't ask, I just came straight to you."
Mace moved almost blindly to the couch, ignoring the now screaming teakettle, and sat down, staring at his steepled fingers. "It could just be the luck of the draw, but if it isn't . . ." He looked up. "Do you know what this could mean?"
"Yes." Qui-Gon sat down opposite him. "It could mean we might finally get our revenge."
A flicker of a smile crossed the dark-skinned face, but it was gone quickly. "A Jedi seeks not revenge," he murmured. "Still, if there's a chance we can whoop Yoda's ass . . ."
"Exactly."
Mace looked up. "So, you haven't entered him yet?"
"No. I wanted to talk to you first."
Mace nodded, getting to his feet. "Okay, I'll take care of the entry. You go back and watch Obi-Wan play. See how often he scores over 30. I'll be there as soon as I can."
"Fine." Qui-Gon rose and headed for the door. "I assume you'll help me tutor him?"
"Of course. I wouldn't miss this for the world!"
Not long thereafter, the two Jedi masters watched over Obi-Wan's shoulder as he won yet another game. They exchanged a meaningful glance.
"You were right, Qui," Mace said softly, not wanting to interrupt the boy's concentration. "He's good."
"He's better than good, Mace. He's excellent! He scoring over 36 in sixty percent of his games, and winning about one out of five. The last time I saw someone this good was -"
"- Knight Stonci." Mace nodded. "I'll never forget the year he beat Yoda at Nestor . . ."
Obi-Wan overheard and raised his head. "Master Yoda plays Two-Card Nestor, too?"
"Yes, he does, Padawan," Qui-Gon said, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder to steer him back to his game. "He's won the tournament for the last several years."
"Yes," Mace grumbled, narrowing his eyes. "And we want to see him lose."
Obi-Wan looked up again, startled. "But -"
"What Master Windu means," Qui-Gon said, flashing the other man a frown, "is that we're certain Master Yoda must get bored, since he has no real competition. I'm sure he'd love playing against someone who actually stands a chance to beat him."
Obi-Wan nodded, albeit a bit uncertainly. "Oh."
Mace squatted down next to his chair. "I took the liberty of entering you in the tournament tomorrow, Padawan Kenobi. And in the meanwhile, your master and I can teach you a few strategies certain to increase your chances of winning, if that's all right."
Obi-Wan looked at his master, who was nodding. The young man smiled hesitantly. "Um, sure. I guess that would be all right."
"You want to try to plan as many moves in advance as you can," Mace said later that night as he hunched over Obi-Wan's shoulder, watching as a new set of cards appeared on the screen.
"But you don't want to spend too much time on it," Qui-Gon chimed in. "Remember, there's a time limit for each move."
"But not for the game itself. You don't have to hurry."
"But don't dawdle."
"Yes, Masters," Obi-Wan answered, trying to settle on a happy medium between playing as quickly as he liked and slowing down enough to please his audience.
Mace tapped the three upturned Kings with a fingernail. "If you have a choice of which cards to play, calculate which match will give you the most new moves."
Qui-Gon's hand squeezed his shoulder lightly. "But remember to follow your instincts. That's very important. And don't worry about what your opponent is doing."
"But always be mindful that you don't fall too far behind him."
Obi-Wan finished the game with a score of 36. He sat back. "Master? I'm confused."
Qui-Gon knelt beside him. "Confused? About what, Obi-Wan?"
The young man let his gaze flicker to Mace Windu's face briefly before meeting his master's eyes again. "Why is this so important to you? I mean, it's just a game, isn't it?"
"It's not just a game," Mace's deep voice rumbled somewhat ominously. Qui-Gon cut him off with a sharp look.
"Of course it's just a game, Padawan. But, winning the tournament is very prestigious -"
"And we want to see you beat Yoda," Mace cut in.
"Not that a Jedi should seek prestige -" Qui-Gon added.
"But it would be the first time someone besides Yoda has won in years -"
"And a Jedi should always strive to do his very best, even in a mere game."
"And we want you to knock Yoda off his high-horse."
Obi-Wan looked back and forth between his master and Mace, a little snicker of worry blossoming in his chest. Surely it wasn't revenge the two were after, but it certainly sounded like it. "A Jedi seeks not revenge," he murmured, afraid to say it too loudly.
Mace Windu frowned, but Qui-Gon had the grace to appear slightly embarrassed.
"Of course not," Qui-Gon said. "But -"
"But we still want you to win."
"If possible," Qui-Gon put in hastily. "We just want you to have fun, and to do your best."
Obi-Wan sighed. "Yes, Masters." He turned back toward his game, suppressing a yawn.
They continued long into the night, teaching him the finer points of the game. They showed him how to search the upturned cards to discover what was still hiding in the deck. They instructed him in calculating the odds. By the wee hours of the morning, Obi-Wan's average score had been increased to 40; something the two masters seemed inordinately pleased about. But as the hours wore on, Obi-Wan found it harder and harder to stifle his yawns.
Obi-Wan heard the Councilman's knees pop as he got to his feet. "Maybe we should let him get some sleep, Qui."
"Nonsense. Obi-Wan's fine, aren't you, Padawan?"
"I am pretty sleepy," Obi-Wan admitted.
The hand on his shoulder anchored him to his seat. "Well, let's play a little while longer. There are still some things you need to work on."
"Yes, Master." And so the night continued. Each time Obi-Wan would yawn, one or the other of the masters would promise "just one more game." But one turned into many, until finally his master called a halt. Obi-Wan glanced at the clock. The sun would be up in only an hour or so.
"You've done well, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said as he switched off the datapad. "Now, to bed with you. You've got time for a nice long nap before we break our fast. How about if I make your favorite?"
Obi-Wan looked up through bleary eyes. "Razzberry cakes with honey?" he asked sheepishly.
Qui-Gon nodded. "You'll need a good breakfast before you face down Master Yoda."
"Yes, Master."
"That's the spirit, lad," Mace Windu said heartily. "See you in a few hours, Obi-Wan!" The Councilman slipped out the front door, and Obi-Wan was certain he must have only imagined hearing him say, "Soon, you overconfident little green troll, you'll find out how it feels to lose at your own game."
The Two-Card Nestor Tournament always drew quite a crowd, and this year was no exception. Not that the outcome was ever in doubt. It had been so long since anyone had beaten Yoda that few remembered it. Mace and Qui-Gon did, though. They'd both come close to winning, way back when they'd been newly knighted. However, Yoda always managed to emerge victorious. Even though the room was heavily Force-shielded, Qui-Gon still had a suspicion that Yoda cheated. Somehow.
He just didn't know how he did it.
With an average score of 42, Obi-Wan easily beat everyone he competed against, playing even better than he'd done the night before. Soon, he was seated at one of the two large-screen computers, ready to face Master Yoda. The elderly green Jedi stumped heavily up to his chair, allowing a young knight to help him climb into it. His eyes met Obi-Wan's.
"Well you have played," he said, poking the air with his gimer stick for emphasis. "Have a talent for the game, you do, like your master before you."
Obi-Wan ducked his head in a polite bow. "Thank you, Master Yoda."
"Ready, are you?"
"Yes, Master."
Yoda nodded at the officials, and they set the timer. "Begin," one of them said softly.
"He seems nervous," Mace whispered as the first round commenced.
"He's fine," Qui-Gon said. He watched with pride as the boy matched set after set of cards. His final score for the first game was a respectable 34, a full six points lower than Master Yoda's 40. But Qui-Gon wasn't worried. It was the final tally that mattered, and they had nine more rounds to play before the winner was decided.
Obi-Wan won the next game, matching every set of cards on the playing field, but so did Yoda. When the third game was finished, Obi-Wan had a solid four-point lead.
"He's going to do it!" Mace hissed. "He's actually going to beat that obnoxious little -"
"There's still seven rounds to go," Qui-Gon reminded him. "Don't get overconfident."
This really was fun, Obi-Wan thought, although he'd been a little hesitant at first to play in front of so many onlookers. As time went by, his concentration increased, and he slipped easily into his winning mode from the day before.
Still, facing Master Yoda was a daunting task. Not that he would have admitted it, though. He could almost feel his master's eyes on him, drilling into the back of his head like twin blue lasers. He knew Master Windu was back there, too, and both of them were counting on him to do his best.
No, he corrected. They were counting on him to win.
Halfway through the eighth round, he stifled a yarn, wishing he'd gotten more sleep last night. He looked up to see Master Yoda's eyes peering at him from over the top of the screens. How odd, Obi thought. I've never seen his eyes do that before. The pupils are getting bigger, then smaller, then bigger, then smaller. It was almost - hypnotic. Suddenly, his own eyes became heavy.
"Well you are, Padawan Kenobi?" the small master asked, a strange half grin on his face.
"Yes, Master. I'm just a little sleepy."
"Hmm."
Obi-Wan continued the round with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. He was still in the lead, but only by a few points. He couldn't afford to slack off now. It was getting harder to concentrate, however, and he was no longer able to hide his yawns. His head felt as if it were wrapped in cotton, and he propped it on his hand, unable to hold it upright without support. And for some strange reason eyes kept trying to close.
You're a Jedi! he reminded himself sternly. Well, almost a Jedi. And you don't want to disappoint your master.
He turned over the final deck card and matched it with the last upturned card, silently admitting that if he never played this stupid game again it would be too soon.
"Congratulations, you've won the game."
Yoda's eyes appeared again above the screens, looking vaguely annoyed. "Call for a short break, I do," the master said. His ear tips wiggled as he gazed at Obi-Wan, his eyes still doing that weird thing. He sat back in his chair, sipping his cama juice as if he had all the time in the world.
Obi-Wan allowed himself another huge yawn and slid a little deeper into his chair.
"What's the little troll up to now?" Mace Windu growled.
Qui-Gon lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. His focus was on Obi-Wan as he read the obvious signs of fatigue in the boy's body. I shouldn't have kept him up so long last night, he realized.
Mace followed his gaze. "You shouldn't have kept him up so late."
Qui-Gon shot a glare at his friend. "I seem to recall you being there, as well."
"You're his master."
"And you're just as responsible." Qui-Gon turned back to watch as Yoda leaned toward his padawan. He whispered something to Obi-Wan, but Qui-Gon couldn't hear it over the murmuring of the crowd. Nor could he hear Obi-Wan's answer. Qui-Gon narrowed his eyes. Just what was Yoda up to? Even if he'd been permitted to ask, there wasn't time, as Yoda motioned for the tenth and final game to begin.
Qui-Gon nearly groaned aloud as he watched the cards appear on Obi-Wan's screen. It was a difficult hand. Even knowing that Yoda had been dealt an identical set of cards didn't ease Qui-Gon's mind.
"The two's," Mace said from beside him, his voice so soft that no one but Qui-Gon could hear it. "Play the two's."
Obi-Wan hesitated for a long moment, studying his cards, before finally playing the two's. Qui-Gon felt a tight coil of tension unwind from around his lungs.
"It's okay, Mace. Obi-Wan can do this."
The Councilman nodded, his eyes glued to the screen. Obi-Wan continued to match up cards, moving slowly, thoughtfully, but still well within the allotted time for each move. Qui-Gon was a little concerned, however, by the fact that Obi-Wan seemed to be sagging a bit lower in his chair with each minute that passed, his head resting heavily in his left palm. The hesitations between moves increased until Qui-Gon thought his last nerve would snap.
"What's he doing?" Mace asked tensely when one of the hesitations continued to lengthen.
"Just wait," Qui-Gon advised. And so, they waited.
And waited.
And waited.
Then, barely audible, a sound reached Qui-Gon's ears. He groaned softly. He knew that sound.
It was the sound of Obi-Wan snoring.
The timer buzzed, indicating that Obi-Wan had surpassed his time limit and forfeited the game. Qui-Gon glanced at the score. Yoda had won the match by 4 points. Mace Windu buried his face in his hands and groaned.
"He fell asleep. I can't believe he fell asleep." Dark eyes opened and met Qui-Gon's accusingly. "I told you that you should have let him go to bed last night!"
Qui-Gon was spared from answering as an annoying familiar cackle sounded from just in front of him. He turned to stare down at Master Yoda, who was leaning heavily on his gimer stick and positively grinning. Oh how Qui-Gon wished he could wipe that grin off his face.
And, as always, Yoda had something to say. "Defeat leads to envy, envy to a thirst for revenge and to working your padawan to the point of exhaustion." He paused, and chuckled. "Serves you right, this does. If wish to defeat me you still do, then send a boy to do it you should not." Yoda walked past them, cackling in that annoying way of his. "Knock me off my high-horse you did not, hm? Teach you this should. Not the Jedi way it is to seek revenge."
He limped away, chortling.
"Teach you this should," Mace parroted under his breath. "You just wait until next year, Yoda."
Qui-Gon glanced back at his apprentice, still sleeping peacefully despite the increased noise level in the room. He sighed. "Yes, if Obi-Wan ever wakes up."
The End