Master
Apprentice  Archive
Alternate
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Qui-gon frowned, trying to follow the peevish debate between the Recovery Committee members. The Queen, in her informal dress as Padme, caught his eye from across the room. She had noticed his fidgeting.
He didn't know why his mind was so scattered, like that of a flighty junior initiate. It wasn't the injury; his chest was mending, although it still ached. That was not unexpected. The saber had pierced his left side, breaking ribs and puncturing the lung; even with bacta, such damage would take time to repair to full health.
It was his mental rather than physical condition that worried him: his inability to concentrate, the flickering unreliability of his Force connection, that nagging feeling of loss and absence. These were the true cause of his wound, the invisible weaknesses that the Sith had exploited; a poisonous weed, slowly growing over the years, brought to full bloom by the knowing attack of a skilled Dark Force wielder. Plaguing him openly now, despite his efforts at control, despite the advice of the Healers. Getting worse rather than better. Perhaps it had to do that - burn itself out, like a fever. But this wasn't a biological illness, there was no viral or bacterial imperative behind it. What was driving it - he didn't know. He had tried to remember any event in the past that might have --
The woman seated next to him coughed, and he started guiltily. Woolgathering again. Qui-gon admonished himself. This was not the time for him to think of his own selfish concerns. In past days, on more than one occasion, the Queen had noticed his inattention and had chided him for overexerting himself, sending him out of the meeting. He wished to spare both her and him another such exchange.
Too late. Amidala was already at his side. "This discussion is of minor importance. Go and enjoy the gardens," she commanded gently. "I insist that you lay aside any serious effort until tomorrow."
He wanted to protest, but it would not do for a Jedi to set an example of disobedience to the Queen. He suppressed a sigh, bowed and went out into the shadows of the early night.
He wandered aimlessly along the dim garden paths, his mind meandering as well as his feet.
He was tired of endlessly reviewing his history, sifting through his memories for the origin of his weakness. Events circled endlessly in his head: his imbalance with the Force, his missteps with Anakin and the Council, his conflict with Obi-wan, his failure with the Sith.
He wasted no thoughts on his physical injury. It was of little importance. Being a Jedi was a dangerous calling; they all paid in blood and pain, many times over. Of far greater significance was his spiritual failing: a Jedi Master beaten down by the Dark, barely rescued by his own Padawan. It was patently unwise to permit such a Master to return to his regular duties without a better understanding of the source of and remedy for his incapacity. The Healers had suggested a meditative regimen. Master Yoda had listened to his fumbling explanations and pursed his frog lips in silence.
They all agreed that whatever this was, it needed time to emerge and be resolved. So while Obi-wan and others pursued the Sith Master, Qui-gon had been left behind on Naboo. Advising the Recovery Committee was deemed to be something that an incapacitated Master could do sufficiently. And he was unable to even do that.
He turned his thoughts to other topics. Anakin: who had been accepted as an initiate and returned to the Temple under the watchful eye of Yoda. Anakin would be trained but paired with another Jedi, a younger master, one who would still be an active field agent for the many years required to raise a padawan to knighthood. Qui-gon considered his near-miss mastership to Anakin. More a relief than a regret, he decided. He hadn't wanted another padawan, hadn't even considered it, until it seemed the only way to bring the boy within the protection of the Jedi. He had been happy with Obi-wan, expecting a few more months, even a year, together, companionable, their old antagonisms long ago resolved. Now here he was, without Obi-wan or Anakin. And while it was isolating, it was ultimately right. Those two were rushing to meet their futures. He needed to meditate on his past.
He allowed himself a bittersweet thought for Obi-wan, graduated from his long apprenticeship. He missed Obi-wan. The loneliness grew every day. That surprised him. He had been with Obi-wan for so many years, he had forgotten what it was like, to be a Jedi alone. He had always thought of himself as an independent man, comfortable with solitude. How wrong he was. Although he did not need many for friendship, he did need a rare few. And, he discovered, especially, he needed a one.
Obi-wan, first his student and later his friend, had been more than sufficient, a dear companion. He had never wanted more; his long-ago dreams of a full life partner had withered in the desert years after Xanatos' betrayal. He would never have a bondmate; it was enough of a miracle that he had one last padawan, a wonderful, caring young man. Now that man was halfway across the galaxy, never to return, not to the way things had been. Their life together, the mundane gems of daily shared existence, was over.
He had delayed thinking of Obi-wan's knighthood, allowing himself to live in the present, as was his inclination. He had not prepared himself for life without Obi-wan. Now the inevitable had occurred, and it hurt more than he could have anticipated.
Thank the Force that one event had been avoided: his own death. Not that he would have regretted that sacrifice, but that Obi-wan would have suffered for it. A near thing, such a near thing it had been--
That turn of fate, that knife-edge of chance, brought back to him one small mystery.
He knew all too well how close he had come to dying. When he had fought alone, within view of a trapped and desperate Obi-wan, despair had weighed him down like chains as he realized that the Sith was becoming more powerful with each stoke, while he was getting weaker. If he died, it was probable that Obi-wan would as well. No survivor left to mourn the fallen one, or to warn the Council. I regret that I led you to this, Obi-wan, he had thought, as he parried the hammering blows.
But his regret was premature.
An unexpected torrent of blaster fire had erupted from a far corner of the large room, targeting the Sith and putting the creature on a double defensive. Qui-gon half-deflected one last strike, taking the hit through his left side rather than straight into the core of his torso. A heartbeat later, Obi-wan leaped free from his confinement and drove the Sith back.
Qui-gon remembered falling heavily to the floor and lying in agony, breath whistling through his pierced lung. He had heard approaching footsteps and struggled to rise, fearing another opponent. In his blurred vision a man appeared, carrying a rifle, wearing civilian clothing but with a soldier's helmet concealing his face. The man had gently pushed his shoulder to lower him back to the ground. Qui-gon's Force sense was badly off, but it had seemed he should know this person, should recognize the man's Force signature. He had heard a noise dimly through his pain and turned his head stiffly to see Obi-wan bisect the Sith's torso. When he looked back, the rifleman was gone.
During the planning for the victory celebration, he had inquired after the man, wanting to thank him for his life, for Obi-wan's life. No one stepped forward to take credit, and the incident was dismissed in the flood of more important events. Forgotten, except by Qui-gon. He sensed there was something more, something that was escaping him--
Lost in his thoughts, he stopped to admire a fountain that foamed white in the moonlight, and became aware that he was being watched.
Jedi were often objects of curiosity, but unseen observers in an abandoned garden, late at night in the aftermath of a war, were reason for caution. Without giving any visible indication, he began to cast around for the location of the watcher. It was difficult to get a fix. The garden, while deserted of people, was filled with busy nocturnal animal intelligences, and the watcher blended with the chorus. Qui-gon could faintly detect the other's muted aura amidst the background energy.
He turned and walked in the direction of the observer. It seemed human, not animal, and felt oddly familiar. It was almost like --
"Obi-wan?" he asked into the silence.
A faint breeze stirred the leaves in answer.
"Come then, reveal yourself," he said to the breeze.
But the sensation was gone.
He examined the surroundings but found no trace. His visitor hadn't even left a remnant of an impression, which was disturbing. Only an accomplished Force user could have erased all evidence of their presence so completely. But what Force user would be haunting the gardens at night, spying on invalid Jedi Masters? Yet the contact had not seemed ominous. More like tentative, wistful.
He gave up the search and returned to his assigned rooms in the palace.
Now that Qui-gon was aware of that individual presence in the Force, he began to sense it more frequently. It always winked out when he turned his attention towards it. Perhaps it was only some shy outdoors creature, drawn to the mental glow of a Jedi as an insect to the light, but without any intent other than to observe and wonder from a safe distance.
But sometimes he could swear that it had the feel of Obi-wan.
That was impossible, he knew. Obi-wan was far away, absorbed in his mission. He sent regular communications to Qui-gon, messages that were a little too enthusiastic, designed to cheer his old Master and reassure him that things were proceeding well.
Qui-gon knew he must be projecting in his loneliness, reflecting some remembered echo of Obi-wan onto the faint visiting ghost. Surely that was the answer. What other answer could there be?
Knowing that he soon would be leaving Naboo, Qui-gon decided to make one last attempt to identify his occasional visitor. The first and strongest contact had been in the garden. Perhaps there the entity would feel safe enough come closer, show itself.
He went in the evening, near to where he had sensed the presence that first time, and sat watching the small night fliers swoop through the trees.
Waited.
He felt it, that light brush of consciousness. He refrained from reaching for it, from responding in any way. Instead he opened, receptive, carefully listening for any evidence of who or what the entity might be.
The contact, apparently deceived that his mind was inattentive, became stronger, more palpable. He focused. Human, certainly, there was a timbre to the consciousness that was unmistakable. He touched the emotional spectrum and was startled at the depth and intensity. Sorrow, loneliness, longing, depths of grief, sparks of old pain --
He failed to contain his sense of surprise and the presence recoiled, distancing itself, pulling away. He pursued it. He seized a mental tendril and was simultaneously on his feet, running towards the location of the sending. Close, it was close --
The communication stopped him in his tracks. //Please, no, Qui-gon, it hurts. You're hurting me.//
Concerned and astonished, Qui-gon loosened his mental grip. The tendril jerked free from his hold and vanished. He snorted frustration and bolted forward.
Dodging across the gravel paths, he turned behind a stand of hedges and found a small building. The door lock was only an instant's work, and he was inside.
It was a storage shed. He left the internal lights off. The faint glow through the window showed him several droids standing deactivated along one wall. Shelves held smaller items, while the floor was covered with larger equipment, containers of various sizes. He moved to the door at the back of the room, and opened it. A small fresher, as would be useful for workers who toiled in the gardens.
In an open space right under the window, he felt it through the soles of his boots. Someone had been lying or sitting on that spot, not long before. The Force aura was clear. His watcher, fled.
Outside the shed, he cast about for a trail but found none.
He spent the next few hours waiting at a distance to see if his watcher would return, to no avail.
The person had called him Qui-gon. So the person knew him, or knew of him, knew enough to call him by his personal name, either automatically while under stress or intentionally in guile. But who, and why?
His memory of the watcher mixed with other thoughts, until he couldn't get the flavor of Obi-wan out of his mind.
The following morning, Qui-gon approached the head of facilities for the palace, who referred him to the chief gardener, a gray-haired woman named Kerala.
"Access to the sheds? No one other than my employees and palace security," the chief said.
"I'm trying to find someone. I know this person was in a shed last night, over in the far quadrant."
Kerala tapped on her datapad. A grid of faces appeared on the wallscreen. "We'll try the gardening staff first, then the guards. These are the current employees. Any look familiar?"
Qui-gon scanned the images on the screen, trusting the Force to tell him which, if any, was his watcher. Faces young and old, male and female, but none called to him.
There was a blank square with "TBH" written across it. "And this?" he asked, pointing.
"We have a position available. Want to apply?" She chortled.
"How did this position come to be open?"
"We had a fellow resign recently. Offworlder. Yesterday was his last day."
"May I see his records?"
"Certainly," she said, tapping away. "I just removed him from the active list."
Another person appeared on the screen. His heart clenched. It was Obi-wan.
It was, but it wasn't. The face clearly belonged to Obi-wan. But this man had the prematurely aged look of the seriously ill, or those who have undergone some great trauma. There were stress lines carved into his brow. His eyes were undershadowed. The expression was one of dignity and resignation, with no sign of the quicksilver energy of his padawan.
The man's name was given as Benjamin Altern.
The impulse from the Force was clear. "That's him," Qui-gon said. "Where can I find him?"
"He's probably gone by now," said Kerala. "There's a chance he's still at the port."
"I'll look for him there."
"I'll come with you," she said briskly.
On the way, Qui-gon commed Panaka. Within moments he had permission to receive Altern's employment records and, even more useful, the status of the man's transport. "He's booked on Eja's Legacy," said the tinny voice squeaking from the comm. "You're in luck. They were scheduled to leave early this morning but were delayed. You have time to reach them before their departure window opens."
Fortunately Kerala didn't hinder him as he rushed through the port. Despite her diminutive size, she matched his pace.
At the arrival hall, he hesitated. Where would this man wait out the delay? On board? At a bar or lounge?
"Wherever he is, it'll be someplace quiet," said Kerala. "Ben's not one for crowds."
Start with the ship, then, away from the people in the passenger zone. Qui-gon shielded carefully so as not to be detected by his quarry.
The Legacy was a light freighter, its crew bustling to hand-load cargo. "Passengers aren't permitted to board until we're ready to lift, captain's rules," said one brisk worker, "he's waiting over there," waving a hand towards an open entry across the dock.
Approaching the door, Qui-gon sensed that strangely familiar aura. "He's in there," he said.
"I'll let him know you want to talk to him," offered Kerala.
They stepped through the door.
It was a storage area. There was a figure across the room, a man sitting on a crate, with a backpack on the floor. The man slowly rose as they approached. Qui-gon hung back to observe as Kerala bustled ahead. "Ben, before you leave, there's someone who wants to speak with you -"
"I d-d-don't want to t-t-talk t-t-to him," said the man. Obi-wan's voice, still elegant despite the stuttering. Invisible energy radiated from Altern. Qui-gon could almost visualize the man's shields, shimmering with the nervousness of an agitated Force sensitive who lacked the precision of Jedi self-control.
"I know the Jedi can be a little imposing, but this one's pleasant enough. He just wants to chat for a moment."
"I'd r-r-rather n-n-not." The man ducked his head, his hair swinging forward to conceal his face.
"I don't know that you have a choice. He seems very determined. You can at least be gracious, he is a hero of the war for Naboo." Kerala sounded like a chiding grandmother.
The man didn't respond.
Kerala shook her head, then walked back to Qui-gon. "I don't know if he'll talk or not. Give it a try, I'll wait right outside. As his employer, ex-employer, I apologize if he's rude. Some people just aren't comfortable around Jedi." She exited with an encouraging wave.
Benjamin Altern had turned away, facing the wall. Qui-gon marked the man's height. Very close to Obi-wan's, possibly identical. Altern's right hand, hanging by his side, looked twisted, awkward.
He said to the man's back, "My name is Qui-gon Jinn. Who are you?"
After a long pause, the man said over his shoulder, "I'm Ben Altern, as you already know. What do you want, Master Jinn?" The stutter was suspiciously gone.
"I want to know who or what you are, and I don't mean the name that you go by. We can begin by talking face-to-face."
The man turned around. Obi-wan's features, on this stranger. But with light gray mixed in the familiar reddish-blond hair, and fine lines around the translucent eyes.
Altern met his gaze placidly, but there was bottled tension underneath.
"Are you related to Obi-wan?" Qui-gon asked.
"Related?" Altern shrugged.
"Are you a clone?" Qui-gon said baldly. An insulting question, but it had to be asked. The resemblance was too strong. Although this man looked older than Obi-wan, there were techniques to accelerate aging in clones.
"No."
"What then?"
Altern studied him. "What does the Force tell you I am?"
"It tells me that you are, and are not, Obi-wan."
"Obi-wan Kenobi is a Jedi Knight, and I'm - well, I'm not," and Altern waved his crippled hand. "What do you want from me?"
Qui-gon noted that Altern had known Obi-wan's full name. "Answers," he said.
Altern said, "I'm sorry that I disturbed you in the garden. Please accept my apology and let me be."
A surprising admission. Qui-gon had expected the man to deny everything. "Not until you answer my questions." He steeled himself to lance through the other man's shields. It would be painful for Altern, but it might be necessary to get to the root of this mystery. Someone with Obi-wan's Force talents, unconstrained by Jedi morality - this man could be very dangerous.
Altern said, "I'm not a threat to Obi-wan. The Council knows about me. Ask them."
"I'm asking you at the moment. Council be damned."
The man's mouth twisted in what might have been either amusement or pain. "Some things are immutable."
"I'm not letting you board that freighter until I have answers," Qui-gon said, implacable.
"Or what?" Altern sneered, eyes flashing with anger. "You'll draw your saber, cut me down? Please do. I'd welcome it."
Where had that come from? Unless Altern had guessed or mentally detected Qui-gon's gathering of energy to pierce his shields. Taken aback, Qui-gon said evenly, "Of course not. Nothing so dramatic. The Queen's security forces would keep you here indefinitely, if I requested it. I can wait, if you make me do so. But I will eventually find out the truth."
They stared at each other, challenging.
Altern cracked first. With less defiance and more dignity, he said, "Please don't make me miss this ship. The fee would be forfeit, and I can't afford - I'd rather not lose that much money. I haven't done anything wrong. Please believe me."
"Explain then."
Altern sighed. "You won't let this go. I understand why, you think I could be - darkened, a clone, a rogue Force user. But please believe me. I'm none of those things. I serve the Light, in my own limited way. As for the rest -- ask the Council. If they want you to know, they'll tell you."
"I need more than that."
Altern clenched his jaw, then took a deep breath. "The ship leaves in a few minutes. If we speak until then, do I have your word that you'll let me go? There's nothing I can tell you that the Council can't."
Qui-gon nodded. Any concession to get the man talking.
Altern gave a slight ironic smile. "Better brace yourself. I'm a refugee, but not like any you've ever met before. I'm not from this universe. I'm from another timeline. Another universe." At Qui-gon's disbelieving look, Altern's smile twisted deprecatingly. "I know. Sounds like nonsense. Ask the Council. They can confirm it. I went straight to them after I came over, as soon as I realized what had happened."
"And what did they think of a Jedi from another timeline?" Qui-gon asked skeptically.
"I'm not a Jedi. I never was," said Altern. "Your counterpart left me on Bandomeer. I was never anyone's padawan."
Qui-gon's stomach lurched. "So you claim to be Obi-wan."
The other man's face was a bland mask. "Not any more. Obi-wan Kenobi is a Jedi Knight. I'm Ben Altern, and I worked for Agricorps up until the Republic fell."
"What?" Qui-gon gasped, incredulous.
"The Republic collapsed. Attacked from within and without. When we got word that Coruscant was threatened, I went back to the Temple to help. I knew that if the Jedi were eliminated, there would be nothing left, no hope. I had no idea what I could do about it, but I had to be there. So I was there when the Temple was destroyed. Witness to it all."
"But you survived," said Qui-gon.
"Survived? Yes, well. He wanted a few of us."
"He who?"
"The man who destroyed the Temple, one of the conspirators who brought down the Republic."
"Yes, who?" asked Qui-gon impatiently. "What was his name? Do we know him here?"
"Yes, you know him, the Council knows him, but I can't say his name."
"The Council forbade you?"
Altern flushed. "No. I physically can't say his name. Either he did something to me, or it's some damned post-trauma block. The healers in two timelines couldn't clear it. Here, I can still write it, strangely enough." He turned to the wall and raised his right hand, the fingers rigid and unnatural.
He traced the letters: XANATOS.
Qui-gon stood very still, keeping a tight leash on his reaction. Xanatos, long dead in this timeline. As evil as his former apprentice's actions had been, it seems they could have been worse. If this man Ben Altern was telling the truth.
"What happened after that?" Qui-gon asked.
"H-h-he, w-w-w-we were, h-h-he t-t-t -- " The stutter was back. Altern stopped, his chest heaving. In a moment, calmer, he continued. "Eventually we were able to kill him. That's when this happened," and he held up his twisted right hand with a grimace.
"You don't have to live with that. Bacta, regen, even a prosthetic --" Qui-gon said, permitting this small detour, puzzled by the man's expression of disgust.
"No, it's untreatable," Altern interrupted. "They've tried, it's -- Nothing helps. Some things are irreparable. It's not a problem of flesh and bone. It's in my head. I have brain damage, some of it physical, some of it they can't explain, but it's real. My hand, my stutter, my dreams, the manifestations, all of it -- "
They both turned at the shout from the doorway: "Hey there! Hurry up if you're coming."
"Quickly, then," Altern said. "I joined the Rebellion and eventually volunteered for a strike against the Emperor. In the confrontation, something happened, a massive Force event. I woke up here, in this timeline. When I realized where I was, that the Republic hadn't fallen here, not yet, I contacted the Temple as fast as I could and told them everything." Altern picked up his pack and began to walk. "That was over ten years ago. The Council knows. Ask them."
Too many questions, too little time. "Where have you been all this time? Why didn't you stay at the Temple?" Qui-gon asked, following Altern out the door, towards the ship.
"I didn't belong at the Temple, and they didn't want me there. They couldn't keep me locked in a room in the Healers' wing for the rest of my life, and how would they explain me to the rank and file of the Order? And there was Obi-wan. When I arrived Obi-wan was only fourteen, I'm older than he for some reason, the timelines didn't cross synchronously. The Council didn't want him influenced, and I'm not--my further presence was of no benefit to anyone. I don't belong there, I don't--it doesn't matter. It's all over now anyway, long over."
At the foot of the ship's ramp, Altern paused, hiding behind his lowered head and falling hair yet again. Qui-gon waited patiently, wondering, while the shorter man stood unmoving.
Still without looking at him, Altern reached over and took Qui-gon's hand. It wasn't a formal gesture of parting, but a hesitant child's touch. With no idea of what it meant, getting no information from Altern's mental shielding or his averted face, Qui-gon curled his hand reassuringly around the other man's smaller one, feeling the stiffness in the other's fingers, as if the joints had welded together.
After a few heartbeats, Altern pulled his hand away and rushed halfway up the ramp, only to halt again. He seemed about to say something, then shook his head.
Qui-gon, guessing, said, "I assume that I'm dead in your timeline, too."
Altern nodded. "Yes, you - he died, your counterpart died, he--ah, I--" Altern took a deep breath and finally met Qui-gon's gaze. His eyes were swimming, but the voice remained steady, Obi-wan's polite aristocratic voice. "It was good to see you. Be well, Master Jinn."
Ben Altern ascended the ramp up into the ship and out of sight.
Qui-gon moved aside automatically as the engines hummed. Was it truth? Lies? Or a mixture of both? Around the edges of Altern's impressively strong shields he had sensed a jumble of deception, honesty and intense emotions. No way to tell what was true and what was false.
Qui-gon dismissed the idea of having the ship delayed by Naboo security. He had enough information to track this man to ground if necessary.
As the ship's departure blew dust around the dock, Qui-gon lowered his own mental shields and reached out for that spark of consciousness that was ascending into the sky. There was an answering eager clutch back at him, poignant with wordless need, then it was gone.
He needed to contact the Council immediately.
Out of it all, one detail niggled. In their interview, Altern had called him by his formal title, as would make sense if they had not known each other well, a failed Initiate and one of hundreds of Masters who had passed him over. But then why had Altern called him by his personal name when they mindspoke earlier in the garden?
During their return trip to the palace, Qui-gon asked Kerala about Ben Altern.
"What's he like? Quiet. Not that you can blame him, what with the stutter."
"It wasn't that noticeable," said Qui-gon.
"Really? Usually it's hard to understand him. But some days it's worse than others. So: Ben Altern. No close friends at work, although most liked him well enough. Favored the simple life. He slept in the sheds sometimes, perhaps even most of the time -- I didn't care so long as he didn't clutter them with personal items."
"That seems unusual."
"Not so unusual in this business. We always have a few back-to-nature types. Gardening work appeals to them, get their hands in the dirt, fresh air every day, sleep out under the trees. But Ben was unusual in other ways. His disabilities, for example -- the hand, the stutter. I asked him about them once, and he said the medics couldn't help due to the nature of the problem. He did his work well, was very knowledgeable in horticulture, ecological science, and so forth. Oh, one strange thing: a few people said they'd seen him dancing in the gardens in the middle of the night."
"Dancing?" Qui-gon asked.
"Reportedly. I didn't care what he did in his off time, so long as he did his job during his duty hours. And he did. Let's see, what else? I heard he was associated with a local charity. That's all I know."
"How did he come to Naboo?" asked Qui-gon.
"Which is a polite way of asking how he ended up on our little backwater planet? I have no idea."
"Did he leave any forwarding information?"
"It's in his employment records. Just a comm address, I seem to remember. No guarantee that it's accurate. Some people give false addys, don't want to be found after they leave."
"Thank you, you've been very helpful. Please be aware that I'll be asking after him among the palace staff."
"Fine by me. Don't expect to uncover much. He's an ordinary man, better than many, but not anyone that the Jedi need care about."
Qui-gon said, "There are some things I'd like to investigate, however. Please send his records to the palace comm in my name, and contact me if you remember anything else about him."
Back at his rooms, Qui-gon left an urgent message for the Council, then viewed Ben Altern's employment records, which had arrived promptly as promised. Overall the records were less insightful than Kerala had been.
Qui-gon spent the rest of the day on the hunt, locating people who had known Altern. He had a breakthrough when he found that Altern had several friends among palace security and had accompanied them on their rounds. So Altern could have known enough to get access to both the plant and to weapons storage - including rifles and helmets.
Most of the people who admitted to knowing Altern thought he was quiet and harmless, if a bit odd. A few people, however, looked at Qui-gon suspiciously and either refused to answer his questions, or broke into an impassioned defense of Altern. "I don't know why you're asking these questions, but Ben is a good man," said the administrator of a community health facility, where Altern had volunteered. "Did he leave because you've been hounding him?"
"No," Qui-gon said, but he wondered. Altern had given notice just after their initial contact in the gardens. Qui-gon had been searching for the identity of the unknown Force user since that time. If it were not for Altern's fulfillment of the mandatory tenday's notice for resignations, he would have vanished before Qui-gon had identified him. Was Qui-gon's pursuit unknowingly the cause of Ben Altern's uprooting himself from his life on Naboo?
When Qui-gon returned to his rooms at the end of the day, there was a message waiting for him from Master Yoda. The mere fact that Yoda had left a message, rather than put through an emergency call to his pocket comm, he found reassuring. "Contact me you will," the recorded holo said. Qui-gon obeyed and reached Yoda immediately.
Watching the flickering image of the ancient diminutive Jedi, Qui-gon gave a summary of his findings related to Ben Altern.
"He said, the Council knows, ask the Council. So I'm asking, Master."
Yoda's ears stood out stiffly. "Yes. Know him we do. The truth he told you."
"How can you be sure?"
"Many years ago, this man to the Temple came. Volunteered for mindscan, he did. Useful his information has been. Some things true for his timeline only, some true for both."
"That was ten years ago. Where has he been?" demanded Qui-gon.
"Wherever he chose. Choice was always his. To the Healers he went, help they gave, but too damaged he was. Better yes, but not whole, never whole. Asked did we, what he wanted. Away, he wanted, away from temples, away from Jedi. So his own path he followed."
"And you let him go?" Taking a disabled man with nowhere to go and turning him out into the galaxy alone seemed a harsh freedom.
"His choice. Best for all it was. Knowledge of the future, dangerous it is. Misleads, it can. Fear and desire it stirs. The Council with it struggles. Not for all to have."
"Why was I never told?" Qui-gon found that he deeply resented being kept from the knowledge of something so personally significant. To think that Obi-wan, some version of Obi-wan, had lived here in this galaxy for years, disabled and alone, and he, Qui-gon, hadn't known it. How could he not have known? Or perhaps, some part of him had known--his distraction, the imbalance in his Force sense--could they be related to this?
"Not for you was this knowledge, at that time." Yoda persisted as Qui-gon frowned. "Different timeline it was, events and people some the same, some different. Focus on your own path, you should. Especially Obi-wan. Especially him. Finish his training. What there was to do, the Council did. Not you. Not him."
Qui-gon said irritably, "Then why tell me anything now? If the Council thought it best to keep me uninformed?"
"Discussed your message today, the Council did. Brought together by the Force, you were, you and Ben Altern. Obi-wan a knight is. Past the critical temporal junctures, we are. Agreed, we all did. Tell you we would."
"Master, are you certain about Altern's information and his motives?"
"Why ask?"
"When he was talking to me, I sensed deception, withholding."
"More there is, than what he told you."
"I want to know it all," Qui-gon said.
Yoda stared at him disconcertingly. "So sure you are? Why know? What good for you, or for him?"
"That's the first time I've heard you advocate for ignorance, Master."
"Not ignorance. Prudence. What is known cannot be unknown. Dangerous is knowledge without wisdom, without control."
"Do you think I lack the wisdom or control to bear this knowledge?"
"No. But a powerful thing knowledge is. Change your life, it can. Are you prepared?"
Qui-gon hesitated. Yoda was not given to exaggeration. If he was offering a warning, this information must be potent.
He turned to the Force. Predicting the future had never been his talent, but he felt the Living Force around him reaching for the man who was somewhere out in hyperspace between the stars.
"The Force brought me to this moment," Qui-gon said. "My life is already changed. My last and final padawan is raised to knighthood. My balance in the Force is unstable for reasons I don't understand. I can't muster enthusiasm at the thought of returning to the field, but I can't imagine accepting a position that would confine me to the Temple. This encounter with Ben Altern is another sign among many, and I need to follow where it leads."
Yoda nodded slowly. "For you only, this knowledge is. Not Obi-wan. No one outside the Council, without our permission."
Qui-gon indicated assent.
"Then talk to Mace you shall. Council member assigned to this, he was. Much can he tell you."
The little Master sat up straighter in the holo. "Remember what we say here. Dangerous, can this knowledge be. Misleading. Think first, then act. All beings' futures consider. The Unifying Force was never your strength, but this you must do now."
"I trust in the Force to guide me, Master."
"As do we all, my padawan. Fail us, you will not."
Qui-gon's call to Mace rolled over to the inbox. As impatient as he was, this situation did not justify an emergency page to Mace's pocket comm. He left a brief message, then went to join the evening session of the Recovery Committee.
Upon his appearance, the Queen waved him aside.
"I heard you were investigating one of the palace staff today," she said. "A gardener."
"Yes, your Highness."
"At first I was amused," she said. "Skullduggery amongst the flowers. Imagine my surprise when I reviewed this man's files myself. Especially the visuals."
"No more surprised than I was, Highness."
"Who is this man? Is he dangerous?" So even the Queen, who had known Obi-wan for such a short time, could tell from the vid alone that Ben Altern not a look-alike relative but some strange twin or illegal clone.
"Dangerous--the Council says not, they've known about him for some time. And I suspect that he was our mysterious rifleman, in which case I probably owe him my life. Please don't worry, Highness. This doesn't touch you or Naboo."
"And how does it touch you and Obi-wan?"
"I don't know," he admitted. "I'm attempting to discover that. But this need not concern you, Highness."
"It concerns me as a friend, not as a monarch." Her delicate eyebrows wrinkled. "When you find the answers to your questions, I would like to know as much as you are willing to share."
He smiled to reassure her, the young woman inside the Queen. "Who else knows about this?"
"About your investigation? Many people. The activities of a Jedi will not go unnoticed. But the specific resemblance? Only myself and Captain Panaka."
"Let's try to keep it that way. Please don't mention it to anyone, even to Obi-wan. I gave the Council my word."
"I will take no further action, then, unless I hear from you," she said, and turned back to the larger meeting.
He involved himself in the details of the committee, both as amends for his earlier absence and to occupy his mind. But he could not ignore the anticipation lurking in the back of his skull.
When the meeting ended, well after midnight, Qui-gon returned to his quarters to find a message: Mace.
He ran the decryption and found two files: a vocal from Mace, and the records of the man Ben Altern.
Mace's disembodied voice said, "Qui-gon, I'd rather do this in person, but I know you don't want to wait until you get back to the Temple. So here it is. I'd suggest you listen to my message all the way through first, it will give context for what's in the file.
"What Ben Altern told you is true. He appeared in this universe on a remote planet out on the Rim. Once he realized the situation, he contacted us. One of our first clues was that he used your private code to reach the Council. Apparently the other Qui-gon's code was the same as yours.
"Upon his arrival, he underwent a full scan. He volunteered for it, knew it was the easiest way for us to verify that he was telling the truth.
"The data we pulled from his mind was invaluable. He alerted us to what we had already suspected: a malignant coalition, under the veiled control of a central power. We learned of the continued existence of the Sith, and the identity of the Sith Master. And there's more, much more than what I'm summarizing here. Just be assured that the information made a huge difference in our ability to head off the outcome that his timeline suffered. The Council thinks that we've passed the major inflection points, kept the wave from breaking. No victory is permanent, but the outlook is infinitely better.
"Now to--other topics. Some of this will be difficult for you to absorb.
"Ben Altern, this other Obi-wan, had a near-identical history to our Obi-wan up to Bandomeer. His universe's history obviously has other earlier deviations from ours, but his life history parallels our Obi-wan's to that point. In his timeline, Qui-gon Jinn did not take him as a padawan. He joined Agricorps. He continued to practice certain Jedi skills in secret, but overall he was trying to adjust to a career in Agricorps.
"Meanwhile the Republic was falling apart. After years of warfare on an increasingly large scale, Coruscant was threatened, and Ben abandoned his Agricorps post and returned to the Temple. He admits he didn't know what he would do after he arrived, just that he felt he needed to be there. He was eighteen.
"Coruscant was in a panic. Troops were taking the planet sector by sector. The Temple had evacuated down to a skeleton crew and admitted Ben only because there was no place else for him to go. They were destroying the archives, records, supplies, anything of value. That timeline's Qui-gon was one of the Jedi who had stayed at the Temple to finish the demolition.
"Their plan had been to detonate the Temple's power center at the last moment. The plan failed. The attack on the Temple was led by Xanatos, who in that timeline was a member of the cabal that overthrew the Republic. The Temple was taken, and most of the defending Jedi were killed.
"That timeline's Qui-gon was captured, and Ben went after him, again for reasons he can't explain very clearly, just that he acted on impulse. So he was captured as well.
"I'll leave it to your own research to find out what happened to them. In short, they were both tortured and experienced permanent physical and mental damage.
"There's something else. In response to threats from Xanatos, that timeline's Qui-gon and Ben initiated a sexual relationship, which resulted in their becoming pairbonded. As you know, this can happen with Force sensitives under duress. Instinctively for their own survival as well as out of concern for the other, they bond, and the attachment can be very deep.
"At some point Ben managed to kill Xanatos, and he and Qui-gon escaped. By this time, the Republic had fallen and the Order was destroyed. All the Jedi were presumed dead. Our two retreated to an undeveloped planet that was too primitive to be of interest to the new masters of the galaxy.
"Over the following year, that timeline's Qui-gon deteriorated and finally died. Ben's not sure why, but he suspects something from their imprisonment, possibly a slow-acting poison. In the interim, however, Qui-gon taught Ben as much as he was able to teach, and Ben was able to learn, about the Force and the heritage of the Order; not exactly following the recommended curricula, but Qui-gon was clearly desperate. At Qui-gon's deathbed, Ben promised that he would secretly preserve the knowledge of the Order by creating and hiding records in several key locations and trying to locate any remaining Jedi.
"Ben found a few Jedi who had joined the dissident underground, called the Rebellion. He spent some years aiding them in an ongoing guerilla war against the new Empire. When an opportunity arose for a covert action against the Sith Master, now referred to as the Emperor, Ben participated.
"The team got close enough to initiate the strike. Ben doesn't know if the Emperor survived, but something happened in the explosion of Force energies that threw Obi-wan into this universe. He was hurt in the process, it reopened and exacerbated his previous mental injuries, so he was in poor shape when he contacted the Council.
"Our Healers did their best, but Ben will never fully recover. His remaining problems are mostly psychological, not physical in origin. His right hand is partially paralyzed. He stutters. He has terrible headaches, even seizures occasionally. His Force sensitivity is distorted. He can't reliably access the Force any more, even in those small ways that any Initiate can, but on rare occasions he breaks through and triggers something unusual. His prescience can be off the charts but it's erratic. He sees events from various points on both timelines. I suppose it's fortunate that he hasn't gone insane.
"He didn't want to stay at Coruscant or any of the secondary temples. Being around Jedi was too painful. We considered holding him, or giving him a memory block, but it seemed cruel on top of everything he'd already been through. We decided to risk having him out in the general population.
"So he left us. We give him a stipend, so he doesn't have to work, but he chooses to. He moves around, sometimes on temporary assignments with Agricorps, which gives him work at our behest, sometimes elsewhere. We always know where he is, it was one of the conditions of his release. We knew he was on Naboo. We aren't sure if his prescience led him there, but we were convinced that he would do nothing to draw attention to himself. Or so we thought.
"From what we know, he lives a quiet life. He can't do anything that requires a great deal of extended reading or datapad work - pity when you think of how intelligent he is, but his mental limitations prevent it. He has led some interesting projects for Agricorps, so he's managed to develop some of his skills regardless.
"Ben has asked about you, and about our Obi-wan - general questions, making sure you're both all right, particularly when he's had a vision of some kind that he fears is a foreseeing. But otherwise, he has no knowledge of either of you, your histories or experiences, anything after his assignment to Bandomeer.
"So that's the summary, my friend. Here are Ben's files. I've sent them all. Study what you like, but I warn you, some of it is unpleasant. Yoda and I, any member of the Council, or certain of the Healers, are available if you want to talk about it."
Mace's voice faded.
Stunned, but with a Jedi's professional detachment, Qui-gon skimmed through the records.
The transcripts of the thoughts, images, and emotions that they pulled from Obi-wan's/Ben's mind were extremely explicit, vibrating off the screen. The story of a young man, dragged down into hell and escaping back out, but not without paying the toll.
Ben had been resigned but diligent as a teenager in Agricorps, trying to make a place for himself. He heard of planets leaving the Republic, warfare breaking out in multiple areas, trade routes disrupted. After years of rising turmoil came the news that Coruscant was the next target. Ben took his meager savings and boarded a ship into the teeth of the war.
The remaining Jedi at the Temple were too busy to spend much time welcoming one returning ex-initiate. Ben took orders, did his part, suspecting that they were all on a suicide mission, but taking comfort in the fact that he was with the Jedi again, helping in some small way, even if only for a short time.
In the final moments, with the Temple gates breached and Jedi dead and dying, Ben glimpsed an unconscious Qui-gon being carried away by black-garbed soldiers. Rather than fleeing, Ben ambushed them in hopes of helping the Jedi Master, and instead was taken himself, cursing himself for his failed rescue, but reassured by the idea that Qui-gon at least would know he had tried, and that the Master would not be alone.
Unfortunately didn't take long for Ben to discover that, in the hands of a sadistic manipulator, other captives were a source of blackmail, not comfort.
After more routine tortures, Xanatos initiated a sexual relationship between Ben and that timeline's Qui-gon by threatening Ben with castration and more if either of them refused. Apparently that timeline's Xanatos had harbored lustful thoughts towards Qui-gon for some time, and found satisfaction in forcing a kind of mutual rape on his two prisoners.
(As an aside, it occurred to Qui-gon that if the same twisted infatuation was true of Xanatos in this timeline, it might explain a great deal.)
Apparently the two men were able to transcend the experience, form a mutually supportive pairbond and later destroy Xanatos and escape. The files were unclear as to the exact events.
During the period that the two hid away from Imperial authorities, the records showed that Ben found great fulfillment in the pairbond. Qui-gon's own feelings were unknowable, as the records were all based on Ben's memories only. Ben had worried about any regret or reluctance that Qui-gon might have regarding the bond, but in general Ben was too focused on keeping them both alive, and later with tending to Qui-gon, for him to brood overmuch.
After Qui-gon died, another area where the records were lacking an exact recitation of events, Ben had come very close to suicide - a common risk for the surviving member of a pairbond. But held by a promise extracted by Qui-gon and his own sense of responsibility, he went searching for any remaining Jedi, and found them several years later among the ranks of the Rebellion.
When Ben had found himself alive after the attack on the Emperor, he discovered the timeline crossover and immediately contacted the Council. During the mindscan, the observing Jedi had discovered that Ben intended to suicide after delivering his warning to the Temple. The Healers, like the other timeline's dying Qui-gon, had leaned heavily on Ben's sense of obligation to keep him from harming himself. All Initiates were taught that taking life, including one's own, was wrong and to be avoided whenever possible. As long as there was life, the Force had a use for it, no matter on how small a scale. As an ex-Initiate, Ben was susceptible to the belief system.
But despite the best efforts of the Healers, Ben wasn't able to recover completely, and he was haunted by the Temple and its inhabitants. Every room, every corridor, every Jedi, brought back agonizing memories - all those deaths, piles of corpses, the smell of burned tissue. Ben couldn't sleep, couldn't eat, was barely able to speak. He begged incoherently to leave.
So this other Obi-wan, Ben Altern, had set out into this new universe, living and working within the constrictions of his disabilities and history. Making a few armslength acquaintances here and there, but always moving on. The need to keep anyone from discovering his secret, possibly exposing the knowledge of the future that the Council had forbidden him to reveal, kept him migratory and solitary. The records at this stage had only curt notices of Ben's locations and primary activities. No Jedi had sought him out since he left Coruscant.
Qui-gon considered such a life, cut off from everything and everyone one had known, unable to talk freely for fear of revealing too much. There must be great loneliness in it. Even during the awful period after Xanatos' betrayal, Qui-gon knew he had the Force, the Temple, and his friends, even if he felt alienated from all of them. Ben Altern had none of these.
He felt deeply guilty about his part in causing Ben to flee Naboo. Ben had a habit of wandering, but the leaving should have been fully his choice, not a forced retreat from an intrusive Jedi. And of all Jedi, that it should be him. Qui-gon. The counterpart of Ben's dead bondmate. His dead lover.
Or perhaps that was what the Force intended. That it should be him. Needed to be him. Could only be him.
He pondered this while the night hours waned, until the sun rose, and it was time to convene the Recovery Committee again.
Ben had just closed the door to his assigned cabin when he felt the distant Qui-gon's shields drop, and suddenly Qui-gon was there, inside his head, with the graceful power of an accomplished Master. Reaching out, Ben embraced the Jedi's presence hard, clumsily, then roughly shoved Qui-gon out and slammed his own outermost shields down.
Ben threw himself on his knees to meditate.
He had seen this timeline's Qui-gon. Up close, not like those brief stolen glimpses across the palace gardens. He had touched him, touched that warm living hand. And Qui-gon had seen and touched him in return. They had spoken, and he had managed to keep his composure, more or less. Qui-gon knew he existed. And would know more, as soon as he talked with the Council.
This one was so like the other Qui-gon. It was uncanny. It was disturbing. Despite his occasionally wistful, foolish fantasies, he had not been prepared for meeting the man in person, for receiving the full weight of his attention, that steady even gaze. Ben had barely been able to keep his expression blank. It had seemed that all the cells in his body were fluttering tiny wings and trilling in delighted recognition at what they thought was the long-lost mate. Even his hated stutter had vanished in the presence of the Jedi.
It was completely predictable, of course. Ben didn't think he much resembled this timeline's Obi-wan. Their lives had been very different, spinning apart at year thirteen. He had almost ten chronological years and a nightmare of experiences over Obi-wan. Force forbid that his younger self would ever have to endure what he had endured.
But the two Qui-gon's lives paralleled for a much longer time. He, they, were well into their maturity before their histories diverged. This Qui-gon had been alarmed at Ben's resemblance to Obi-wan. He in turn was stunned at this Qui-gon's resemblance to his dead spouse. But it wasn't Qui, not his Qui --
His rationalizations weren't helping. His brain was still effervescing, and his heart, and his groin -- Sithspawn, his libido, after only a few minutes near the man.
There was no avoiding it. He had to sink into the experience, be immersed in it. He knew, with exactitude, how thin the veneer of his logical consciousness was. His maimed body and mind were often blatantly not under the control of his ego. Long ago he had realized that he could resent this, or learn to live on its terms. The confident self-control and pure willpower of the Jedi was not his way, could not be, anymore. He had had to find his own path.
He had never thought, back as a callow boy in Agricorps, when he was dutifully learning plant and animal husbandry, that those lessons in patience, holistic thinking, and tolerance of inborn limitations would have such direct application to himself.
So Ben surrendered and lost himself in thoughts of Qui-gon.
He lingered over the recent encounter, already branded into his memory. The face, the eyes, the voice, the body, a mirror image of his bondmate. Such a joy to know that here, a variant of his Qui lived and was happy.
But under that gratitude were darker things, woken and hissing. Paralyzing aloneness. Despair. Memories, so many of them painful. An anxious childhood, a solitary youth, hopeful consummation in the pairbond, rejoicing at acceptance, his occasional insecurities about the sincerity of Qui's love, and then - Qui dead and his own heart shattered. Anger. Why should this Qui-gon be alive, and his beloved dead? The bond, the torn bond, that crimson fountain in his mind, the endless craving for the other, forever lost, sought but never to be found. Ashes in a pyre, years ago, in another universe, impossibly far away.
Ben meditated until the ship's intercom announced a shift change. Food would be a welcome distraction.
He rose, joints stiff. His internal state had quieted. The overwhelming loneliness and need had narrowed down to a specific channel. He had trained it to do that. It was manageable. He could wait until that dissipated, too.
The crew glanced up only momentarily when he joined them. Apparently a passenger was a common enough event on board. He kept silent during their conversation, until one crewwoman said to him, "Not very friendly, are you?"
Ben stammered, "T-t-talking is d-d-d-d-d-difficult f-f-for m-m-m-me," and shrugged in apology. Away from Qui-gon, his stutter had returned full force. He had his voice emitter, which operated off his larynx implant, but he hated using it unless it was absolutely necessary. The stutter discouraged the inquisitive and gave him an excuse to abstain from interaction.
The crewwoman grunted, and turned back to her fellows.
One person, a standoffish man with a stubbled beard, met his eyes several times during the meal. Questioning. Assessing.
Back in his cabin, in the night cycle of the ship, someone buzzed at the door. The gruff crewman, with a bottle and two glasses in his hands.
"Drink?" the man asked.
Ben's Force sense was clear at the moment. He felt the other's interest, and his own latent arousal slithered in his head, and in places lower.
He waved the man into his cabin.
They perched on the narrow bunk and drank the liquor in silence. When the crewman put a hand on Ben's thigh, Ben put his glass aside and acquiesced.
After the man had left, Ben catalogued the aches. His partner had made an enthusiastic effort, and he bore the effects. He did this only rarely, when another moment alone seemed unthinkable. The first time, he'd been so repulsed that he'd vomited afterwards. Later he learned to, if not forgive himself, at least to show as much compassion towards his own flaws as he would towards the failings of any other well-meaning but weak-willed person.
He thought of the dead Qui-gon, left behind in that other universe, and he reminded himself, as he did after each anonymous encounter, that this was a poor way to honor his lost spouse. But when it worked, when for an instant he could believe that Qui was still alive - he would sell his soul for such a moment. What he did with his body was inconsequential.
Qui-gon continued his work with the Recovery Committee, each day subtly moving himself further from a key role, ensuring the group's ability to self-maintain after he left.
On his own time and during the more tedious discussions, he pondered the recent revelations. About Ben Altern, and about his own temporal twin, the other timeline's Qui-gon.
Over the tendays, Qui-gon sorted through a range of emotions. Compassion for Ben, for anyone, who had undergone such experiences. Regret for the other timeline, cast into galactic war. Towards his other self, curiosity. What had led his counterpart to reject Obi-wan at Bandomeer? What had the other Qui-gon later felt as Ben's bondmate? Had he truly loved him? The bond itself was no guarantee. Such joinings were not always the result of love, or the source of it. And a Jedi Master, even diminished in capacity, would probably be able to conceal his most private thoughts from a non-Jedi, even within a pairbond.
The only evidence would come from inside himself. He was almost that other Qui-gon, so close in life experience.
He spent much time in meditation, seeking answers.
Finally he resolved that he himself could indeed come to love his Obi-wan as a life partner, and become a bonded pair. There was a strong connection between them, a foundation of love and respect, that would allow it to occur. But he hadn't taken definitive steps down that path, and he suspected, neither had Obi-wan. If his ex-padawan was suffering from unrequited love, then he hid it extremely well. All evidence was that Obi-wan was reveling in his knighthood and independence. Obi-wan was the mythical arrow shot from the bow, moving away from his Master and towards his own destiny. Qui-gon hoped that they would transition from teacher and student to mutual friends, but he expected nothing more. He and Obi-wan were at two very different stages of their lives, and it would take a great effort on both sides to overcome that.
That still left Ben Altern.
The man intrigued Qui-gon. What he had learned so far had only whetted his interest. Ben's records contained certain data, but it was clinical, mechanistic, despite the lurid details. The records alone couldn't settle his curiosity.
Qui-gon's interest in Altern led him back to the health clinic where the director had accused him of harassing Ben from Naboo. He thought that perhaps giving aid where Altern had done would allay his own sense of guilt and also satisfy his desire to understand and connect with the other man.
Upon hearing Qui-gon's offer to assist, the director was astonished, but accepted instantly. The help of a Jedi was not to be scorned.
Upon each of his returns to the clinic, someone would give him a list of things that needed doing that a Jedi might do: equipment repaired, patients comforted, pain alleviated.
The work was more frustrating than he anticipated. His medical experience was with emergency situations, disasters of nature or of civilization, triage, field hospitals. His only contact with day-to-day healing had come from his own injuries, or those of his friends and his padawans. Injury or illness in himself had always annoyed him. In others, it made him sympathetic yet distant.
In meditation, Qui-gon uncovered the fear behind his surface reactions. Not fear of death, but fear of having to live with incapacity. Fear of being dependent. Fear of being an object of pity.
This, he decided, must be one reason why he was drawn to Ben Altern. The man was living the life that Qui-gon himself most feared, a life of isolation and disability, and Altern appeared to do so with a sense of purpose and dignity. Perhaps this was what he needed to learn from Ben Altern.
The Recovery Committee had achieved several milestones. Qui-gon's assistance was no longer needed. Thank you, Master Jedi, and have a pleasant journey back to Coruscant. The Queen kissed his cheek, clasped his hands, and made him promise to message her faithfully.
He made his goodbyes at the clinic. He was surprised at the extent of the thanks that were heaped upon him. Seeing him to the door, the director waited until they were alone.
"I was wrong, you know," she said. "At first I blamed you for driving Ben away. But Ben's leaving was Ben's doing. He's stuck, you see, running. That's what he does, he retreats when anyone gets too close."
"I still regret that I contributed to that," said Qui-gon.
The director squinted at him. "Don't be. I think it's what he needs. He needs you to go after him. So do that."
"What do you mean?"
"Ben needs friends. But we couldn't get to him. He always managed to stay out of reach. You, though, there's something about you. You might be able to do it. But you have to do it carefully. Like taming any shy wary creature," and she pointed to one of the small wild animals scampering nearby. "It's a matter of being present and patient. You have to be there, be available, but not frighten it by moving too fast. And you need to have something it wants. You'll have to find out what Ben wants."
"I'll consider it," he said, and turned to go.
"Ben used to be a Jedi, didn't he," the director said.
"No," Qui-gon said. "But he should have been."