Obi-Wan was seventeen and quickly approaching his eighteenth
year when he had cause to visit Shalsteer again. Unfortunately,
this trip was proving to be an adventure. The palace had been
looted, the queen and her advisors had barely escaped the
planet with their lives and even now were in refuge on
Coruscant, pleading with a divided Senate. Half of Shalsteer's
congress had been assassinated, the rest were in hiding. He and
Qui-Gon, holed up in a narrow canyon in the hills above the
capital city of Litayan, worked diligently to understand the
complaints of the rebels and to decide what course of action,
if any, to recommend to the Chancellor. Ten yards away, a tiny
rebel encampment went almost silently about its nightly
business; he could sense the sentries pacing the perimeter.
The night was cold, and stars shone brightly overhead,
twinkling through the thick atmosphere. Barely four miles away
he could just make out the hulk of the capital; what power
still existed was centered mainly around the spaceport,
quasi-neutral territory in almost any planetary war. The palace
itself was in ruin; half of the superstructure had been taken
out by energy weapons--the other snarl in this little conflict:
where had the lower classes acquired such heavy armaments?
Weapons like that did not come cheap. For it was indeed a
conflict between rich and poor, between enfranchised and
disenfranchised, and Queen Abitar's charm had not, after all,
settled a hungry and unhappy people.
"This is a classic example of a planet that embraced
interstellar trade too quickly," he whispered, stating the
obvious and hearing the morose tone in his own voice.
"So it would seem, Padawan," Master Jinn whispered back. There
was no censure in his voice, nor had Obi-Wan expected any; wars
such as this, so needless, so pointless, troubled him greatly.
If only the rigid ruling class had been able to learn more
quickly, had become flexible instead of remaining brittle,
these tensions might never have broken into global conflict.
"I still don't understand how a culture can care more about its
dogmas than about life," he grumbled. He wasn't sure if it was
the days without sleep or his empty belly or the sprained wrist
he held gingerly in his lap that fed his low spirits, and at
the moment he didn't care. He squirmed on his outer cloak,
seeking a more comfortable position for his backside and his
injury, and managed only to bruise his hip on a jutting rock.
He sighed. "I'm glad the queen escaped unharmed," he mumbled
on; the camp was in full blackout, and on this moonless night
he could just make out his master's form huddled two feet to
his right. He actually preferred the darkness; Qui-Gon had
gotten himself caught up in a battle while on reconnaissance to
the capital city of Litayan, and was covered in dirt and gore.
Not his own, thankfully; Obi-Wan still felt the aftereffects of
the adrenalin that had flooded him when his master had returned
to camp, his robe blood-soaked and covered with mud. Apparently
one of the recently dead had fallen on him as he made his
escape, for Qui-Gon assured him he was uninjured.
Obi-Wan, on the other hand, had managed to make a bad fall that
even a child shouldn't have made while avoiding a royal
scouting party three hours past, and his wrist burned like
fire.
"Let me see that," Qui-Gon said in hushed tones.
Turning carefully, Obi-Wan extended his left arm, felt large
fingers encircle his wrist, and actually smiled through the
pain as his master manipulated the limb; he had come far
indeed, so far that this rare and emotionless touch of skin to
skin no longer set his blood afire.
"What is it, Padawan?" Qui-Gon whispered, catching either the
glint of his teeth in the dark, or the less subtle rise in his
spirits.
"Nothing, Master." He cast about, and actually laughed. "I
remember the time before my first visit here, when I longed for
adventure and feared the galaxy was settling down!" He shook
his head. "I was so naive."
"Not naive," Qui-Gon said; his arm began to tingle, and he
offered silent thanks for his master's healing skills.
"Hopeful, perhaps?"
But Obi-Wan shook his head, still laughing quietly. "No. I
remember wishing fervently that there would be adventure left
for me by the time I became a man."
Qui-Gon chuckled at that. "Always adventure enough, don't you
think?"
"Always, Master." Dozens of missions between then and now, many
so dangerous he breathed his thanks to the Force that they had
escaped unscathed. As dangerous as this mission was. Risky, to
let his mind wander even for a moment, but circles had a way of
completing themselves, and it felt natural to consider his
master here and now, on the planet where he had first learned
to put his attention elsewhere.
They hadn't spoken of his feelings since the spring recital
eighteen cycles past, though the new distance between them
spoke more clearly than words ever could; he had nudged his
master away. Not too far, thank the Force, but what he could
only call professionalism had begun to color their relationship
within weeks of that dance. Obi-Wan accepted it, and his
responsibility in it, and at the spring dance five cycles ago,
had honored his master by requesting nothing of him.
What they had was enough; he loved Qui-Gon Jinn with a fervor
that he feared would never be matched for another, but with a
distance that kept that fervor from coloring his life or his
training. Their old, intimate laughter had faded from their
lives, replaced by an even deeper dedication to duty. For
himself, Obi-Wan had noted idly that giving his sexual energies
to the Force had further focused his mind, and he knew he was
advancing faster than many of his peers.
Master Jinn was proud... but they never spoke of the forces
behind his advancements. He supposed they both knew. Yes, his
master was proud; Obi-Wan, out of respect for both Qui-Gon and
himself, made a point of assessing his own actions outside the
boundaries of his love. They argued more often than they had
before, though perhaps more mildly as well, and Obi-Wan had
become both more stubborn and more respectful of a Code that
his master easily and happily ignored. It appeared that they
balanced each other quite well.
So asceticism had its rewards, after all. Challi Viswan still
rolled her eyes whenever they spoke of his chastity, but those
conversations became more rare as the cycles flew by. For her
part, she had thrown herself into her sexuality with happy
vigor and seemed none the worse for it; he wondered how she had
achieved such a balance when so many others floundered through
this transition.
"What time shall we break camp tomorrow, Master?" he asked
quietly, sighing with relief as the pain in his wrist faded
entirely. If not fully healed, he was at least fully
functional. A good night's sleep would do the rest. Carefully,
he drew his arm away from the other's touch.
"Just before dawn. I want to make my way to the palace, and
speak to the generals on site; I wonder if perhaps they aren't
as honest with themselves as they think."
Who is? He almost said it aloud, but it was a bitter
thought, and it didn't deserve voice. "You believe they deceive
themselves?"
"I believe, as you pointed out, that they care more for their
customs than for their people... but that they are not aware of
it."
He sighed. Such ignorance, and all that was required to cure it
was an open mind... an open mind the elite on Shalsteer had yet
to embrace. "All this bloodshed over resistance to change; can
they truly believe that covered skin is more important than
sentient lives?"
"That is the question we must find the answer to, Obi-Wan."
Obi-Wan. He savored the sound of his name from his
master's lips, so rarely was it spoken any more. "Padawan" had
become his name--a respectable title indeed, but pale by
comparison to the three syllables he preferred. Obi-Wan.
Briefly indulging his depression, he imagined the vista of
years before him, possibly five or six or eight, in which he
heard his name spoken only as many times by the man beside him.
Perhaps this was what Qui-Gon had meant when he had said that
having a small part of what you wanted sometimes cost dearly.
"Sleep now," his master said. "Tomorrow we'll clean up, and go
to the spaceport and pay whatever the market demands for a good
meal. I can't have you fainting when we breach the palace."
"Master!" he said, affronted. "I wouldn't!"
Qui-Gon chuckled, and the sound irked him even as he noted its
precious rarity. "Then perhaps I will faint. The Force enhances
us as our needs require, but it doesn't do to rely on it above
good sense."
"Yes, Master," he replied, noticing the sullenness that swept
through him without quite being willing to do anything about
it.
"Come now; energy surrounds us, yes, but our houses are still
merely flesh, and four days is long enough to go hungry."
"You sound like Master Yoda."
"Thank you, Padawan."
Obi-Wan frowned; he hadn't intended it as a compliment. He
wondered if Qui-Gon knew it, or if in fact their rapport had
faded so much that his master saw only those elements necessary
to teach: physical dexterity, embracing of the Force,
meditative skills, study.
Melancholy assaulted him as he lay back on his cloak; was it so
awful, then, to commit your heart to another? His instincts
told him no, even in the face of this evidence of what they had
lost. Silly padawan, he chastised himself. You
haven't indulged such whims in cycles upon cycles.
Still, he settled down and curled in on himself to conserve
body heat, facing the bulk of the other man and taking some
comfort in proximity. Only then did he finally obey his master
and put himself to sleep.
His internal clock set to the rhythms of the planet, he woke
with Qui-Gon about an hour before sunrise, rolling in the
darkness to waken muscles still sluggish from exertion and
hunger. His master rose more quickly, graceful now as always,
shaking out his cloak, stuffing away the few items they had
removed from their pack the night before. He rose shakily to
his feet, suppressing a groan, but the sharp head-tilt in the
shadows told him that his mood had been noted.
"Are you all right?" Barely a whisper, but he heard it, and it
reassured a part of him that had been feeling terribly alone,
of late. He heard his master's whisper because it was meant to
be heard, only by him, with Force-enhanced intention and the
sort of focus they had learned for each other over the years.
His master knew him, and knew him well... just as he was
reasonably sure he knew his master. Polite distances aside,
they were what they needed to be.
After breaking camp, slipping past the rebel sentries and
bathing in silence in a nearby stream, they made good time to
the spaceport. He watched in silence as Qui-Gon traded the last
of their Republic credits for a meal worth a fiftieth what they
were forced to pay. Inflation hit first and hardest at
spaceports when domestic conflicts arose--but spaceports were
the only reliable source of goods for non-natives. Obi-Wan was
just happy that they wouldn't have to steal a meal this time.
The price didn't dampen the taste, and Obi-Wan tucked in to
kasha grain and some sort of smoked fowl with gusto. The fruit
they ate for dessert was as the sweetest honey, and he found
himself sharing smiles as well as the melon-sized thing they
passed between them. More than anything it resembled a giant
peach. Juice ran down his hand, and he was loathe to lose a
single drop; he grinned as he licked his fingers and relished
satisfying his hunger, and Qui-Gon handed Obi-Wan the tiny pit
to suck on as they began their journey for the palace. It was
uncommonly considerate, something he wouldn't have expected, of
late; he popped it into his mouth and said nothing.
"I told you that you needed to eat," Qui-Gon said, serene yet
somehow smug at the same time.
"I apologize for arguing with you. That was delicious."
"And all we may get before we leave this planet, unless the
palace is better stocked than I suspect. Conserve your energy,
Padawan."
"Yes, Master."
He remembered the glittering road, the pristine and flowering
gardens, the gem of the palace proper... all gone, now, the
yellow road surface pock-marked, riveted with ground-car-sized
craters. Energy weapons again, he noticed; the exposed earth
beneath was glassy from heat scoring, and polished smooth.
Where once the gardens had stretched at least two klicks in
every direction from the palace lay scorched earth. More
conventional weapons had been used here; the smell of burnt
wood still rested heavily in the loam. Beyond that, what
remained of the palace stuck up at odd angles, its once-bright
walls crumpled in many places, a crater marking what he
surmised was once the grand ballroom. Shields had been raised
at some point, saving a third of the superstructure and, he
suspected, the underground command center. A hill of yellow
rubble marked the military's defense perimeter.
Qui-Gon pointed toward that hill, and Obi-Wan sighed, centering
himself. So they had a klick to traverse unseen over barren
soil likely seeded with mines or at least sensors, in the
half-light that heralded sunrise. He glanced at his master,
pursing his lips to keep from commenting.
Qui-Gon shrugged. "I suppose we could have used the sewers," he
said absently, then briefly the man closed his eyes.
Obi-Wan hadn't time for irritation at the moment; he closed his
eyes as well, reaching out to connect with the Force which
surrounded them, careful as always, now, not to feel too far in
his master's direction. When he had measured the distance and
become one with the energy which suffused all things, he opened
his eyes to find Qui-Gon several steps ahead of him. Calm now,
he felt his body shift in response to unseen energies, flowing
sometimes water-like, sometimes stiffly, as a desert creature
scuttles or rolls over sun-warmed sand. They both encouraged
the Force to ease their passing, and shrouded themselves from
sensors, alive or no.
Obi-Wan felt the sweat beading along his brow as they reached
the shadow of that rubble barrier, and Qui-Gon turned to
measure his progress. Nodding in silence, Obi-Wan took the
point and moved carefully, as the sentries ahead were nervous
and alert. Against his will his lip quirked; it would be ironic
indeed to be shot by the people they were ostensibly here to
assist. He held his breath as one guard rounded a corner and
passed within a foot of him. Behind him, he sensed his master
moving several feet to his right and into the open, ready to
offer distraction if necessary. But the guard marched on by,
joining his friend over a steaming mug of something a few yards
behind them. Glancing to his master, he accepted a nod and
continued on.
The rocks were harder, even with his senses extended to their
limit; he couldn't keep pebbles from shifting, and on occasion
a guard's head would pop up, seeking the sound of their
passing.
His hair was damp, spiking and sticking irritatingly to his
scalp by the time they reached the fortified remains, and a
headache was just beginning to start in the pit of his brain.
Obi-Wan stepped up to the guard gate, waved a gentle hand.
"Enter, please; you've been expecting us," he spoke, softly and
clearly.
The guard leapt to her feet, staring with some confusion.
Obi-Wan felt the stir in the Force as Qui-Gon enhanced his
failed effort, and finally the young woman mumbled, "Enter
please, we've been expecting you."
"Thank you," Obi-Wan said, and passed. He let Qui-Gon overtake
him, sighing when he saw the unruffled calm of the man; his
master may as well have been lounging on a rock, enjoying the
sun, for all the exertion he appeared to have made.
You're not a Jedi yet, are you, Padawan? The voice with
which he spoke to himself sounded strangely like Master Jinn's,
now that he listened to it. You did very well indeed, and
without your master's aid until this very moment.
"You did well, Padawan," Qui-Gon said quietly, startling him.
"I... yes, Master."
"Come along, I believe I've found who we're looking for."
They sidled down a hallway cut wide and high enough for ground
vehicles, lined with routing lights and just one floor below
ground. Fortunately the hall was empty, as Obi-Wan was already
overtaxing his energies. They came silently upon a door, beyond
which argued many discordant voices, two of which he
recognized. He raised his eyebrows, surprised; one voice was
clearly that of Shalar Zai, the Senator's aide, and another
that of once-Senator Morae.
"The Senate will never condone such conduct from us, General
Tambi!" Zai's tone was angry, though Obi-Wan read resignation
in it, as well.
"It is our planet and our culture; we defend it as we please,
from outsiders as well as our own upstarts."
"Not so simple, Tambi," Morae said. Obi-Wan sensed clearly that
Morae and Zai were on the same side. "The Republic has rules
which we accepted when we joined them. To break those rules in
domestic conflicts usually results in dismissal from the
Republic, and we need their protection against the trade
guilds."
"We were a free planet for thousands of years; why can't we be
so again?"
"Because our people have learned to want more of what the
galaxy has to offer," Morae said tiredly. "All of our
people. None are satisfied with the meager lives they once had,
compared to the variety of the universe. We became wealthier as
a planet when we entered the Republic, and the workers--fairly,
I might add--desire a part of that wealth."
"The queen won't have it."
"The queen has no choice!" Shalar Zai snapped. Impatience
tightened her voice, made it less beautiful.
"She has every choice! In this the congress has always
supported her position!" Mayhem threatened to erupt behind that
door, as the general's adjutants and congressional supporters
raised volume and emotion to riotous levels. It seemed that
Shalar Zai and Jakeo Morae were by far in the minority, and the
people in that room represented the bulk of the functioning
government on-planet. Some complained of dead relatives,
cousins or siblings who had been lost in the first purging of
the congress. Zai pointed out that it was that very insulation
of class and government against which the people rebelled...
again, rightly, Obi-Wan thought.
He glanced toward his master, silently seeking his attention.
He had the thought of splitting up, reconnoitering the
computer's data banks from a less active node somewhere deeper
in the compound whilst Qui-Gon remained here and continued to
gather information. But before he could shift a Force-echo or
reach out his hand, he sensed footsteps in the distance,
running from both directions. He raised his brows, reaching
instinctively for his lightsaber. Fight, or... what, dive into
that room filled with hundreds of potential enemies and only
two known allies? He drew the saber hilt from his belt as his
master did the same, and, moving a good ten yards from the
door, adopted a combat position trained into him since
childhood.
It felt good to have his master at his back, barely a saber-arc
away. They were just within each other's circle, so that if he
turned quickly he'd have to pull in his reach or slice his
teacher in half. Life opened blind eyes in the most interesting
of ways; here they were with their lives and futures and duty
in each other's hands, and just hours ago he had wondered at
all he had lost. Innocent Padawan, he heard his master's
indulgent voice again, a memory dredged from years past.
Well, the Force was difficult to interpret at the best of
times, just as were these shells of flesh. He set it aside as
the running boots skidded around the corner before--and
presumably behind-him, as Qui-Gon whispered, "Defense only,
Padawan."
Oh, good. That would make things so much easier. The first
blaster bolt ionized the air on its way toward his right
eyeball; he deflected it as he heard the sweeping hum of his
master's lightsaber behind him and expelled a deep, relaxing
breath; they had entered the dance. Lights flickered, bolts
fired, sabers moved in a frightening and beautiful duet. Native
minds reeled, new holes opened up all along this hallway as
deflected energy embedded itself in rock, steel and duraplast.
He sensed that one of them had been hit, but spared no
attention for who or where; it wasn't life-threatening, and
this was all Obi-Wan needed to know in the moment. They
continued to move, spin, dodge and whirl almost as one being.
Some uncounted time later (eighty-nine seconds, his brain
supplied), the first spoken words were shouted from behind him:
"Surrender your arms!" and Obi-Wan realized consciously that
non-targets had entered the wide hallway. He slowed as he
sensed his master doing also, but kept his lightsaber activated
and ready. Waited, breathing steadily, one with the Force and
all that surrounded him, the fragile thread that connected this
reality to the others stretched so strong and fine it
thrummed...
"Surrender?" Qui-Gon replied mildly. "We sought you out even as
this militia came upon us. I believe you were expecting us; I
am Qui-Gon Jinn, emissary of the Republic Senate, sent to you
by the Jedi Council on Coruscant. Forgive me for not
introducing my associate, but I'd hate to distract him until
you've called off your people." Qui-Gon's breathing was
measured and deep, his voice matching it with smooth, almost
friendly tones. And beneath that voice whispered the Force:
gentle surprise, non-threat radiating from two men known
throughout the Republic as the most staunch and aggressive of
peace-keepers... Obi-Wan still had so much to learn.
"We expected you via regular channels, and had an armoured car
waiting to greet your shuttle at the spaceport," General Tambi
himself snapped. Sneaking a glimpse through expanded peripheral
vision, Obi-Wan was surprised. A waspish man, he was slightly
shorter than Obi-Wan and several kilos lighter; he seemed
emaciated, eaten away from the inside, and the band of flesh
that showed above his veil was pinched and drawn. "We certainly
did not expect you to skulk around our own defenses, nor
did we expect you to break through our lines!"
Definitely not a diplomat, was General Tambi.
"Ah. My apologies, General, congressional members, Ms. Zai, Ms.
Morae... other members of your esteemed military," he added
after a brief pause. "We understood that you were drastically
depleted in resources, and we had no wish to tax you further."
It was almost amusing, listening to that cool, calm voice
speaking over the hum of two active lightsabers and a plethora
of charged bolt-lasers. Obi-Wan could picture the battle energy
sparking off Qui-Gon Jinn's body, the slight wildness to his
hair after so many defensive parries... He returned his
attention to his own concerns and weaved his hilt in a grand
esse, responding without thought to the glint of a twitching
rifle sight.
"Master Jinn, we welcome you." Shalar Zai, attempting to save
face and decorum. "Please, general, order your people to put
away their weapons. These men are our allies, and our friends."
In a show of good faith and to speed things along, Obi-Wan
deactivated his lightsaber, holding it at the ready until his
master bade him otherwise. A second later he heard his master's
saber power down, as well. "We do come in peace," Qui-Gon said
quietly.
The tension wound briefly tighter, the thread of this life
stretched so tight and fine, like spider silk against a
branch--and then came the general's order, "Put away your
weapons, return to your duties." As the guards lowered their
weapons he turned toward his master, extending his senses to
see behind himself in case further defense was needed, and
finally taking a moment to assess his physical condition: one
piece, one whole piece, no unaccounted-for openings or tears in
the wrapping. So it was his master who was injured. He reached
out, seeking the color of pain, found none. Whatever it was,
the other man had it well under control.
A brief glance guided him; he bowed shortly to the crowd at the
door. "General, representatives Zai and Morae, other esteemed
members of government, we thank you for your welcome," he
offered, stepping abreast of his master. "I am Obi-Wan Kenobi,
apprentice to Master Jinn and associate emissary of the Senate
of the Republic. How may I serve?" Another bow as he sent his
saber hilt back to his belt.
The general actually answered the rhetorical question. "You may
tell me how you came to be in this particular hallway at this
particular time," he barked.
"Of course, general." Yet another bow. "We traveled from the
spaceport via the Donyan road and entered the gardens through
the remains of the Landier-view gates. I was sorry to see the
condition of the palace and gardens," he added in mild aside,
"my deepest sympathies to you all. We crossed the gardens from
the point of the Landier-view gates to that pile of rubble
nearest the area where the fountains once were--" he gestured
up and behind with his hand, "and found the footpath between
that pile and the higher pile with the two orange rocks atop
it--"
"Enough," the general snapped when he realized there was no
actual information to be had. "Is this the kind of treatment we
should expect from the Senate?"
Obi-Wan glanced at his master, transferring focus back to him.
Qui-Gon said, "I assure you we are fulfilling the demands of
the Senate as best we can." Obi-Wan felt a most un-Jedi-like
urge to snicker at that, but held his face and his tongue with
ease. "The Council has sent us to observe and then make report
of our observations. At this point," Qui-Gon said formally,
sliding his hands into the sleeves of his robes even as he
shaped the Force around them, "I believe those of us on site
should discuss the situation in more detail."
Shalar Zai stepped in front of the general and defused the last
obvious tensions. "And we sincerely appreciate your presence
today, Master Jinn, Apprentice Kenobi. The situation is dire
and I fear it will only get worse without intervention. Please,
let me show you both to temporary quarters so you can refresh
yourselves after this... ordeal." She scowled toward General
Tambi.
Obi-Wan accepted before his master could refuse. "Yes, thank
you." He sensed his master's surprise even as he stepped
forward and urged her to lead the way, leaving the other man to
follow or make a scene.
And so the three of them walked down the hallway, speaking of
nothing, Obi-Wan feeling the eyeballs of a dozen suspicious
onlookers fairly stroking the back of his head.
"Apprentice Kenobi," Shalar Zai said, "I can hardly believe
you're the same boy of four years past; indeed, if I hadn't
known to expect you I wouldn't have recognized you at all."
Obi-Wan nodded, trying to remember to smile; he had taken on
Qui-Gon's habit of emotional detachment on the job, and had
recently been reminded that when he did it, he looked rude.
"You, Ms. Zai, look exactly the same." Indeed, he thought she
might be wearing the very same veil she'd worn when they first
met.
"If only I could say the same for Shalsteer." The sadness crept
through her professional tones, and Obi-Wan empathized.
He felt his master's mental nudge, and turned his head.
"Master?"
"Nothing, Padawan." Patently untrue, but Obi-Wan held his
tongue. "I was merely worrying the problem in my head. Ms. Zai,
do the other two branches of your military keep the same
counsel as general Tambi?"
"Fortunately, no. But he is in the majority, as..." she paused,
glancing between them, "...well, I hope you had opportunity to
hear the discord in the command center, before you were set
upon." So, she suspected they'd been spying, then. But she
waited only briefly for an acknowledgement that would not come.
"If you did," she continued discreetly, "you would know that
this situation is no different than what has happened on
hundreds of worlds. Because of the current conflict, military
powers make every effort to seize control. The true ruling
bodies have no wish to give up their power, and they cannot
separate custom from control. If they could," she said,
sighing, "they might understand that they could... keep... most
of that control, in exchange for trivial concessions."
Obi-Wan glanced to his master; this was overt confirmation of
his suspicions of the night before, and no less than either of
them had expected.
"And in your opinion, what is the likelihood of the majority
coming to understand this?"
She sighed, shaking her head; her veil rustled, whispering
against the fabric of her robes. "I do not know. But, Master
Jinn, I've lived off-planet for an accumulation of almost four
of your years, and more than half of that time on Coruscant. I
do know that if we cannot adapt, the Senate will not help us."
"You are wise, but perhaps too pessimistic at this stage,"
Qui-Gon said quietly. "The Senate is far from predictable in
matters of domestic dispute. If it serves your people and the
Republic, they will offer aid."
Obi-Wan listened in silence, his attention split between the
surprisingly honest conversation and his scans for sensors or
observers. These halls were almost empty, and the lack of
people set his mind on edge. "Where is everyone?" he finally
asked, when conversation had stilled.
"Guards are barracked in the north, east and west wings,"
Shalar Zai offered. "What remains of our congress, those who
stay here, are housed in this area. This section is reserved
for people of import, Padawan Kenobi; it is the best we have to
offer under these circumstances."
"Ms. Zai," Obi-Wan suggested quietly, "You honor us, but
perhaps it would appease your general to see us housed closer
to his own population." He caught Qui-Gon's look, and the
gentle reaching of force patterns as his master scanned the
surrounding area.
"But we must afford you the honor you deserve--"
"Our highest honor is in service," Obi-Wan provided smoothly.
"Please, allow us to quarter near the troops. It is in
everyone's best interest."
She paused in the hallway, looking uncertainly between Obi-Wan
and his master, very obviously waiting for the elder Jedi to
direct her course. Obi-Wan repressed a sigh. You're not a
Jedi yet, Padawan. His master, however, did not counter his
recommendation, and seconds later Shalar Zai was speaking into
her comlink, requesting new quarters and a military vehicle to
retrieve them from this part of the compound.
Their new quarters were spartan indeed, glowlights mounted in
strips along two walls, two air cots mounted in bunkbed fashion
against a wall, a mini-com center designed for short-range
traffic only, a small desk. Qui-Gon waved an arm to shield them
and spoke almost silently. "What did you sense, Padawan?"
"I'm... not sure. Only that it was better for us to be here."
His master's brows raised slightly. "Only that? Trusting your
intuition is of course your highest goal at this point in your
training, but be sure you aren't jumping at shadows."
Obi-Wan nodded. "I'm sure, Master." The fact that he didn't
know how he was sure bothered him not at all. "Now let me check
your injury and we'll reconvene with their war council."
"It's not a problem."
Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows, waiting. Injury well-tended
wasn't a problem. Injury ignored was stupidity, and
Master Jinn had told him that countless times over the years.
Sighing, Qui-Gon reached to unbuckle his belts.
"Ouch." It was all Obi-Wan could come up with when his master
dropped the trousers and turned to show him the hole. It was a
clean, small and perfectly cylindrical empty space where calf
muscle and skin should have been, and he couldn't help but
wince.
"It cauterized cleanly," the big man said flatly.
Obi-Wan resisted the urge to poke at it--the hole was almost
exactly the diameter of his little finger--and reached for his
pack to better assess the damage. "How are you walking without
a limp?"
"I'm pronating my foot."
Ask a straightforward question, get a straightforward answer.
Obi-Wan considered glaring up at the man, but decided that the
infuriating calm was probably as good a way as any to address
the pain. "I'll fill and seal it." Setting word to deed, he
applied a pressure bandage to the exit hole and started pushing
sterile agar into the open end to keep it free of infection.
"It's my low quadrant defense, isn't it?" he finally asked,
chewing on his lip. "I'm still not sensing deflections off my
standing surfaces."
"Yes. A good assessment."
Bloody obvious, if you asked him; the entry hole was lower and
in the back of the calf, the exit hole slightly higher and
nearer the shin. The muscle twitched and tightened as Obi-Wan
applied just enough pressure to force out unwanted air; he
winced in sympathy and sealed the entry wound. "Thank the force
for bolt weapons, eh?" he grinned, looking up. "No mess to
explain."
Qui-Gon nodded, and his face softened to a near-smile. It was a
poor negotiator who admitted injury before the conference table
was even set; the defending party would never relax enough to
trust the ensuing discussions.
"And I suppose I'm going to be drilling with ground source
targets for the next half-year?"
"At least. You're lucky they were using hand weapons."
"I think..." he paused, looked up, carefully not seeing as his
master pulled the breeches back into place, "I think if the
bolts had been larger, they wouldn't have slipped past my
guard."
Qui-Gon paused in the adjusting of his utility belt, and stared
at him briefly. "You could be right," he said, considering.
"You may get off with only three cycles."
Small mercies. His lower half was going to look like the
cratered surface of a moon after the practice droids scored him
for the next quarter.
Qui-Gon surprised him by pausing at the door to their room.
"Purge your guilt tonight, Padawan, before you rest. The Force
is unsettled here and we can't afford to be distracted."
Obi-Wan swallowed hard, his mind falling very near that place
he had strictly forbidden it to go; his poor defense had gotten
his master shot, and the man had knowingly taken that shot
rather than defend his rear and risk a similar opening on
Obi-Wan in the process. His master attended to his needs in so
many selfless ways... he remembered his thoughts of the night
before, of what had been lost, and felt very small, indeed.
"Stop it, Padawan." The order brooked no argument. "You're
young yet, and total serenity on the job isn't expected of
you."
Resisting the urge to frown in sudden misery, he said only,
"Yes, Master."
"Good." Then more gently, "I understand your reaction. It's
normal. But this is hardly the first time one of us has been
injured in the field, and you must set your reaction aside. The
matter of higher importance is diplomacy."
Obi-Wan stared up at his teacher's face, meeting his eyes,
focusing on that cool gray-blue and nothing more until his mind
was at rest, his emotions at momentary peace. Emotions were
like well prepared rations; one could eat of them now or save
them for later. He packed his own away and nodded, resolute. "I
am ready, Master."
Diplomatic expertise from him turned out to be unnecessary; the
general's glares every time he opened his mouth proved that his
input was counterproductive, and within fifteen minutes he had
leaned back in his chair and relaxed, simply observing.
So many things, these people said without knowing; they
displayed so much prejudice and fear. Fear leads to anger
leads to hate leads to destruction... and the war-wounded
building which lay split open and gutted above the bowels of
this level was ample proof of that. He thought again of the
hole in his master's calf, wondered what might have happened if
he'd been even less adept with his saber this morning. General
Tambi would likely have refused Obi-Wan as sole representative
of the Council--he still carried his padawan braid, but far
more offensive to the general, Obi-Wan still carried his youth.
Precious days or weeks would have been sacrificed to narrow
tradition and fear. Hundreds of thousands would likely have
died during the interim while another emissary was selected and
sent. The Shalstii would lose at least a generation of
technology, and another generation to rebuilding. Now that
their presence and resources were listed in the Republic's open
records, the Shalstii would also be subject to raids and
predatory buying runs from free traders and criminals. These
modest and somewhat xenophobic people would find themselves
conscripted as laborers and sex workers to every stronger, more
decadent planet in this part of the galaxy.
An excellent assessment, Padawan, his imaginary master's
voice commended. And what of you, when the body called
Qui-Gon Jinn ceases, leaving only the soul remaining?
Obi-Wan felt a gentle ache begin deep in his chest cavity, and
breathed carefully around it, nurturing it. He knew he would go
on with his life if his master didn't, just as he knew his
master would go on if Obi-Wan himself shed his corporeal coil.
The thought gave him comfort, for he couldn't imagine being
doomed to suffer an entire life thinking only of lost
possibilities and a truncated past. Your perspective is
developing quite well, Padawan, his inner voice praised. He
wondered if perhaps he wasn't becoming vain; that voice had
become incredibly complimentary, of late.
The talks dragged on with little progress. General Tambi, after
repeating himself at least thirty times over a number of hours
(and over the indignation of more moderate, interrupted
speakers), called a meal period, to which almost everyone
except Master Jinn agreed. Obi-Wan drew a meditative breath and
thanked the Force for breakfast; so they wouldn't be partaking
of these people's food. He wondered if his master was being
paranoid, but he could hardly complain; they were housed in
cramped, dim, uncomfortable and very empty military quarters
because he'd had a feeling.
Sure enough, they spent their break meditating in that cramped,
dim room, his master lying ankles-crossed on the upper bunk,
Obi-Wan sprawled on his belly on the lower. While his master
doubtless prayed for strength and patience and peaceful
resolution, Obi-Wan imagined himself a five course meal
complete with kayberry tarts that stained his teeth green for a
full hour after consumption. He rose feeling far more refreshed
than his teacher looked, and thanked the Force that will and
matter were occasionally one in the same.
"Was it good?" Qui-Gon queried, gathering his hair back and
digging through their shared pack for a comb.
Surprised, Obi-Wan nodded. "Delicious, Master."
"What did you have?"
"Quile egg soup and crispbread for starters, salad of my
favorite root vegetables. Cantor steak, snowball beans, acava
jelly for the main course and kayberry tarts for dessert."
"Excellent, Padawan. I thought I smelled kayberry."
"And you, Master? On what did you meditate?" He wasn't sure if
he was really curious, or just being polite.
"General Tambi's expanding vision. Peace for this planet and no
more loss of life." Obi-Wan smiled; they knew each other well,
indeed. "You might try it, when the talks reconvene; now that
you've entertained your belly and your palate, you should be
able to concentrate deeply enough, and the positive suggestion
can't hurt."
"Yes, Master."
Some seven hours later, Obi-Wan decided that progress was
actually being made. General Tambi had withdrawn into himself
as influential members of Shalsteer's fledgling space forces
began to topple toward peace like dominoes. Obi-Wan continued
to meditate lightly on his vision of peace, subliminally aware
that his master was doing the same, that they shared an
identical picture of green fields, heard identical sounds of
birds and insects, and breezes that blew through gently waving
grasses. It was a scene they had created some years before, a
focal point they had built together that, borne of their
combined imaginations and Force-influences, was serene in every
detail. He and his master knew exactly how many blades of grass
wafted in the breeze; the exact temperature of that breeze; the
varying colors of carpet flowers that grew wild through this
place.
During his regular and pointedly attentive glances around the
room, he saw each individual person through the screen of his
image, as through a hologram set between him and them. Every
place his eyes rested, he wished peace.
Shalar Zai compelled a rest break just after planet-midnight,
almost twenty-three standard hours after they'd awakened this
morning; Obi-Wan was looking forward to it. He rose with his
master, wishing blessings of sleep and offering his thanks for
the progress made today, then waited by the door. Qui-Gon was
embroiled in careful conversation with General Tambi, and even
from here Obi-Wan could feel the peaceful energies his master
offered.
Qui-Gon looked up suddenly; go, he mind-whispered.
Exercise and then rest. Obi-Wan bowed shortly and took
his leave, returning to their quarters, stripping down and
flinging himself onto the bed in one long, single, protracted
movement. He practiced isometrics in an imagined increase of
one gravity, until his skin was slick with sweat and his
breathing had picked up somewhat. Not too much, and not for too
long; just something to remind his body of its existence and
shake the fatigue of sitting all day from his bones. His master
would be along soon, and--
The bunker rocked hard enough to shake dust from the ceiling
and he found himself on his feet, breath quavering in his
lungs: the south wing. He was sure of it. Power blinked off and
back on, and Obi-Wan sought his master's presence during those
strobing moments. His master had been with General Tambi, who
was housed in this wing. There would have been no reason for
the man to go to the dignitaries' quarters, unless perhaps he
had escorted Senator Morae or Shalar Zai or any one of the
conservatives... Obi-Wan couldn't find his master's signature
in the roiling waves of energy, couldn't know for certain he
was alive-- "and so you can't know for certain that he's dead,"
he spoke aloud to the empty room, trying to calm the panic that
swept him. Just a few short hours ago he'd been happy to pat
himself on the back for his perspective, and now reality was
sent in to test him. Perspective, shash. He'd be sprinting down
these foreign hallways naked if he had even an inkling of the
direction he should be running in.
Noise in the corridor, booted footsteps running. He dragged on
his trousers and tunic, slid his boots onto his feet as he slid
his arms through the sleeves of his robe, telling himself he
was merely going to make reconnaissance. His hand was on the
doorplate when he felt a rush of light, its power reaching
inches past his skin: Qui-Gon. Non-directional,
somewhere safe and whole, on his way to their barracks room.
Calm. Obi-Wan sat down hard on the floor and focused entirely
on dissipating his relief.
When the door opened he felt almost composed. His master's eyes
moved directly to his, and the irony was strong when Qui-Gon
said, "You have excellent taste in sleeping quarters, Padawan."
Obi-Wan merely nodded, and picked himself up off the floor.
"We should go, offer our assistance."
Qui-Gon waved a hand. "We're under house arrest, restricted to
these quarters until called upon in the morning." His master
glanced around, smiled minutely. "Lucky thing we're not
claustrophobic, eh?"
"Don't joke," Obi-Wan retorted, not quite snapping. He was on
edge, and knew they should do something. "We could move
undetected, reconnoiter."
"Obi-Wan..."
His first name, twice on one mission. He couldn't decide
how--or whether--to react. "Yes?"
"You're progressing exceptionally well in your training. I
suppose I don't tell you that enough."
"You tell me that plenty, Master," he replied, uncomfortable.
The tone of voice invited intimacy, and Obi-Wan found he
couldn't cope with it just now, not with the ceiling still
raining mineral dust and the thunder of an explosion that would
have killed either or both of them echoing down the halls.
Something was shaking inside him as abruptly, as violently as
had the building.
"Are you all right?"
"Yes... no," he admitted, shaking his head, "I'm not." The toss
of a coin; he could as easily have moved them into the blast
zone, for all he knew; to trust such insubstantial trivialities
as insights? Emotions? Intuitions? Were their lives truly
regulated by nothing greater than that?
"What is it?"
The shaking built until he could see the tremor in his hands.
"I... I..." he looked up, saw the close attention his master
paid him, and somehow took comfort in that. "I was thinking,
earlier, about the injury to your leg, speculating on what
might have happened had it been worse... had it been mortal. I
knew Tambi would never accept me as mediator, and that these
talks would stall. I knew I would go on. I... I forgot to
consider what would happen between your actual death and my
continuance. I forgot to consider how much... losing you...
would hurt." He swallowed, feeling the tremor begin in his
belly and work its way to every extremity. His stomach clenched
hard, and he was glad he hadn't eaten all day.
"It's all right, Padawan." Gentle voice, now, and a soothing
touch of the Force to settle the violence of his nerves. "I
would grieve for you as well, very deeply. In fact," a lighter
tone now imbued his master's voice, "I'd have been worried if
you didn't feel grief at my loss. Compassion and empathy
are tools we must use in every moment."
"Is all of it a lesson, to you?" Distantly he realized he was
snarling, that fury and despair had outflanked him and overrun
his centre; the fear had spilled over, cresting out of the cup
of his body and splashing violently through this room. "Is
there nothing more of me than an animal for you to school?
Nothing more to this life we choose than diplomacy and
Senatorial errands and the needs of others, until we're
dead? Where are our needs met? Or are we
permitted none at all?" His nerves jangled, white-hot, setting
every cell afire with the need to move, to act.
To do something other than stand here and surrender to
events and accept, accept, ever-accept--
His master moved more quickly than thought, and arms surrounded
him, dragging him in close. He struggled, the touch a lancing
pain. "No! Don't--"
"Quiet!" Qui-Gon growled the order, fighting his wild flaying,
refusing to let him escape. Then more gently, against his
temple, "Hush, Padawan. Hush. When have I ever put up with your
lapses, hmm?"
Obi-Wan struggled harder, felt the wall at his back where his
master had pushed them up against it, felt the press of thighs
and a broad chest and overwhelming mass, felt the wild surgings
of mindless animal nature sweeping through him. It was all he
could do not to harness the Force, not to slam the man against
him with enough violence to send him from this room, from this
dimension, from this life altogether-- The sound was wounded, a
high, thin cry, and it came from his own mouth. Collapsing,
grabbing back, he sobbed once, twice, expelling some noxious
emotional batter of agony and shame. His hands curled in the
fabric of Qui-Gon's robes as his body shook and shuddered.
Some few seconds later he gathered himself, quaking quietly in
the safe harbor of his master's embrace.
"That must've felt good," Qui-Gon observed mildly. A hand
stroked between his shoulder blades. "We've talked before about
deferment; how long have you been ignoring your fears?"
"I-- I--" he cast back through the still-roiling waters of his
being, found a source. "Last night."
A quiet sigh. "At the rebel encampment? What makes you think it
was then?"
He sniffed, and forced his hands to uncurl, let them smooth the
crumpled folds of fabric. "I felt--alone, last night, and
remorse this morning for having felt alone. Guilt for ignoring
the sacrifices you make for me, and fear when you were
injured." He hiccoughed and kept casting, kept dragging in more
and more: feelings averted, suppressed and unacknowledged.
"Frustration with the talks..." he held on tighter, felt his
master's arms tighten in reply. "...with these people and their
infernal fears--" the tears began to flow freely now, "and then
the explosion and I couldn't pick your signature from the mass
of emotion that swept through the Force. I didn't know if you
were dead or alive. I felt selfish all over again, and as
afraid as General Tambi..."
A hand had started stroking his hair the moment he'd begun to
speak. It continued to stroke now. "Sometimes, you expect too
much of yourself, Padawan. Sometimes... perhaps I expect too
much of you as well."
He shook his head vehemently against the confines of hand and
chest. "No, I--"
"Be silent." Definitely a command, and he obeyed. "Now, calm
yourself." Then, more quietly, in barely more than a whisper,
"Your aggressive advancement makes a fool of me; I forget
you're still so young. The stresses of your growing body and
your youth can be subtle, but eventually they'll break out.
Accept that, and use this opportunity to learn a lesson that
has been a long time coming."
His body was calming down, nestling for comfort against the
familiar rock of his teacher and love. Oh, he had missed this
comfort. "I... it started long ago, Master."
The steady stroking of his hair paused briefly. "Yes?"
"I'm not sure, but... I may defer constantly. All the time. For
many cycles I've done so. It's the only way I know, to stop..."
he trailed off, loath to speak of his feelings while sharing
space and warmth.
Apparently he didn't need to, for his master answered quietly,
"Yes."
This time when he tried to pull away, he was allowed to. He
pressed against the wall, trying to dig his fingers into the
cool stone as he invited his face to compose itself, invited
his mind to still. When he turned to face his master, Qui-Gon
was sitting at the small desk, hands tucked into the sleeves of
his robes, watching him thoughtfully.
"You can't put your feelings aside indefinitely; sometimes they
must be exercised. In this way their energy can dissipate
naturally." Obi-Wan shrugged, sniffing hard. "We have a bit of
time..."
His master actually seemed to be waiting for an answer, and
while Obi-Wan wanted nothing less than to have his heart poked
at by the sterile probe of his teacher, he assumed it was
needed or the man wouldn't be suggesting it. "Yes, Master," he
replied dully.
Qui-Gon nodded and leaned forward in his chair. "You deny
yourself my caring for you because you think I deny you of it.
That isn't true, Obi-Wan, and it never has been. Understand
yourself better than that."
Silence descended, and lasted a long while. He felt emotion
cracking inside him, felt fear roll off in chills and silent
tears. Understand yourself. Do you know yourself,
Padawan? It was a question he'd been asked by more Jedi
masters than he could remember. It was the crux of embracing
the living Force. One must know oneself, and honor that self,
and always remain true to it regardless of adversity. He
glanced furtively at his master and sidled up alongside him,
then dropped to his knees. Qui-Gon didn't correct him, but
reached with his hand and pulled Obi-Wan's head gently against
the outside of his leg.
Obi-Wan breathed in the scent of dust and detergent and the
grasses they had slept in the night before, steadying himself,
applying his mind to the problem. Do you know yourself?
It seemed that every time he decided that he did, it was an
invitation to learn how much he didn't. The tears flowed again,
and he found himself sniffing against the darkening patches on
the fall of his master's robe.
"It's all right, Padawan." The hand continued to cup his head,
imparting strength and solidity to his tottering emotions.
After a time, Qui-Gon continued in a whisper, "Do you remember
the night of the dance of flowers in your sixteenth year?"
He wondered if his master had lost his senses. "Remember it?"
he snuffled. "Of course I remember it. I remember everything
about it."
Soft laughter stirred the air between them. "Of course you do.
And you remember that I encouraged you to seek other intimate
friends."
He clutched convulsively at the fabric of his master's robes.
"I haven't," he admitted. "I can't. Not yet."
The hand rose to the crown of his head, offering a soothing
pressure. "I know. But I'll tell you something now that I did
not foresee. I believe your self-imposed isolation has made you
an even stronger apprentice. Your empathy has increased far
beyond my expectations, for your age and training level. But
there is something you must correct for, or you'll fail in
other areas."
"Yes?" The touch to his head was becoming distracting.
"You're isolating yourself far more than is healthy. I think it
may be why you defer your emotions so strongly, which may
contribute to these occasional losses of control." Obi-Wan
wanted to point out that near-death experiences had more to do
with it, but he kept his mouth shut. "When we return to
Coruscant, I want you to actively widen your circle of
relationships."
"But..."
"It's an order, Padawan. Make more friends. Business
associates. Casual companions. Sparring partners. I don't care
what category you place them in, but do it. At least double the
number of people you'd speak to, if you passed them in a
hallway."
"Uh..." he wasn't sure he could. He knew he didn't want to.
"Master, I..." he gulped, concentrated for a moment on
completely calming his body, then pulled away and rose to his
feet. Qui-Gon continued to sit, tucking his hands back into the
sleeves of his robes and observing Obi-Wan silently. The man
looked somehow sad, and Obi-Wan wondered at how often he must
disappoint him. He scrubbed at his eyes and nose with his
knuckles. "I'm sorry, Master."
"For what? Being sentient? For feeling? There's nothing to be
sorry for."
"Then why do you look so sad?"
A smile accompanied a softly expelled breath. "Perhaps because
you can take so little joy in having saved our lives this
night. Or perhaps because I care so much for you that it pains
me to see you in pain. Perhaps I'm just feeling a bit
self-indulgent. What's good for the padawan is good for the
master?" he misquoted.
He watched his master, pondering those simple statements,
fanning the words of affection to larger and more vibrant
flame, when a thought occurred. Perhaps the love of this master
for his padawan was equally as special as the love of this
padawan for his master. "I seriously doubt that," he said,
sniffling through a watery smile. "It doesn't seem terribly
good for the padawan, actually."
Qui-Gon laughed aloud at that, an affectionate sound that had
always pleased Obi-Wan. "To bed with you, unless there's
something more you'd like to speak of?"
"No, master. I need to think."
"Yes." His master stood to strip off his clothes and Obi-Wan
helped, shaking out the robe and tunic and hanging them on the
single hook on the wall. Boots went beside the bunk, trousers
and tunics on top of the pack. He turned back from this small
task to find his master in profile, bent double, palms on the
floor beside long, tapered feet, completing a slow exhale. He
hadn't permitted their casual nudity to affect him in a long
while, but in light of the conversation he wasn't sure what
path was more honest, and he stared for a long moment, trying
to decide. His master was fit of form and spirit; none could
argue with that. He wondered if there was some place for
intellectual appreciation, and scowled. If there was, he
couldn't find it.
While Obi-Wan fidgeted, his master rebuilt his spine, rolling
up slowly and shaking his head at the end. "May I brush your
hair for you?" he asked, diffident and desirous and in all ways
confused.
"Not tonight, Padawan. Tend to your heart, then get some
sleep."
"Yes, Master."
He stripped down and curled onto his bunk, staring up where the
motionless bulk of the man he called teacher lay. He stared
without thought for at least an hour, letting the raveling
threads of his feelings loosen and fall separate. Eventually he
sighed; Obi-Wan Kenobi knew himself, at least a little. He knew
that love unrequited was better, more sentient, than no love at
all, and accepting that fact fully dispersed the lurking
depression that had grown in him for months. Fanning the
well-tended embers of his love, he let the warmth spread
through him, until his fingertips tingled and his skin ached
with desire. An unfortunate adjunct, this sexual desire for his
master, but he could not separate the two; perhaps he should
stop trying. Perhaps, when this mission was over and they
returned to Coruscant, he would curl up alone in his bedchamber
and finally, intimately, remember that kiss from the dance of
faces. Perhaps he would revel in the memory of that simple
touch and revel in the honor Qui-Gon had offered him by giving
him the lead in that dance, guessing rightly where it would
end. Qui-Gon was so very, very generous with him.
He pondered the future, spreading out in many directions like
roots from the trunk of a tree, though he couldn't see the
base-root, the strongest and most likely line. Perhaps he
simply refused to see it. But then, perhaps this was merely the
winter, a dormant season of their relationship that, like all
seasons, would give way to a warm and welcome spring. Perhaps
Obi-Wan would be old enough, when that spring approached, to
understand the depth of platonic love and embrace it with less
regret. Perhaps then the base-root would be clear to him, and
be a path on which he already walked.
He must learn greater self-honesty than he had managed thus
far.
He sighed again; right now, he must get some sleep. He tethered
his rest to his master's, telling himself to wake a few minutes
before Qui-Gon, and put himself down for the night.
The morning on Shalsteer was a bit hectic, as they determined
who had been killed and how the explosion had been set. Most of
the military personnel had been up all night, and tempers were
fraying badly. Among the dead was Shalar Zai, and Obi-Wan
permitted himself a moment to grieve for her, and for all of
the departed. Senator Morae had avoided the blast, and unless
Obi-Wan sensed wrongly, she'd also been induced by drugs to
sleep. She sat apart with silent dignity, though he sensed her
eyes watering behind her veil.
Over spiced waters and stimulants, Tambi halfheartedly accused
Qui-Gon of setting the charge, as it was generally accepted
that domestic guerrillas could not have penetrated the palace's
defense fields. It was an obvious ploy on Tambi's part to shore
up the resistance of several moderates to extra-planetary
influences, and it failed.
The perpetrator was actually captured before the sun reached
its zenith, and the prisoner presented an incredible boon to
the efforts of the Jedi, the Senate and the Shalstii moderates;
it was General Tambi's daughter.
Dragged into the conference hall, her face and arms fully
exposed, she seethed with quiet anger at her astonished father;
apparently he hadn't been aware of the strength of her
opposition to his beliefs. Tambi's tune changed dramatically
and, as his was the dominant voice for traditionalism, they
were able to make great progress with the negotiations. Within
four days they had hammered out a peace agreement, built on the
thirty-two people his daughter had murdered in war, and Tambi
himself grudgingly suggested amnesty for all sides; to do less
would have condemned his beloved child to death.
The mission had opened a great many emotional doors for
Obi-Wan, and he wasn't sure how, or if, they would now be
closed. Glad to leave Shalsteer behind them, for the first time
in his life he wasn't looking forward to returning to
Coruscant. His master's new assignment felt both unfair and
impossible: make more friends.
Chapter Four - In the Act
Obi-Wan spent an unprecedented five consecutive cycles on
Coruscant, his and his master's work uninterrupted by
diplomatic missions or other off-world emergency. Obi-Wan added
hand weapons training to his physical proficiencies track,
attended various meetings with fully one fifth of the Senate
delegates, learned about so many cultures they were beginning
to run together in his brain, and did the homework assigned to
him, as uncomfortable as it was.
Challi had been a blessing when he'd told her of his task,
dragging him along with her to various social and martial
events. But tonight she had abandoned him in a stranger's
rented quarters with at least thirty people, most of whom he
didn't know. He couldn't blame her; her master had called her
away an hour ago, and from the sound of it she'd be off-planet
for some weeks.
Obi-Wan wasn't sure he was willing to continue following this
crowd tonight. There were only three other apprentices present
among the civilians, and he'd learned early that he felt out of
place around non-adepts unless he was working. If his friends
had stuck to their schedule and taken the shuttle to Nurtasan,
he would have gone along and planned for the best; he'd
developed a passion for downhill skiing and vee-ball, and could
have indulged in both on Coruscant's most popular resort moon.
And if he hadn't been ordered to increase his relationships,
he'd have gone to Nurtasan alone. Instead, he found himself
adorning a wall, fending off offers of legal and quasi-legal
drugs, and feeling vaguely nervous. Eventually he offered his
thanks to the hosts, and bade his friends well.
And so it was that he returned to his quarters less than three
hours after lastmeal, and strode into their shared salon to
witness a scene that sent his entire body hot-and-cold with
shock. Jedi Knight Lina Shereld was with his master. He knew
her personally because Qui-Gon had recommended him to her for
hand weapons training. She was more than ten years his senior,
ample-bodied and tall, and possessed of a delightfully quick
wit. He found her kind and patient and incredibly skilled, and
he had enjoyed her immensely... but never had he seen her as
his master apparently did. They sat on the sofa in a full
embrace.
Well, "they" wasn't exactly correct; Qui-Gon sat on the sofa,
while Knight Shereld sat on Qui-Gon, straddling his open
thighs. Obi-Wan wished suddenly for transmutation as their
mouths parted and both heads swiveled toward him.
"Padawan," Qui-Gon sighed. He sounded startled, and sad.
Obi-Wan could only watch as his master's big hands slid from
her hips to the sofa cushions, where they rested in meditative
innocence.
He felt his mouth hanging open and snapped it shut so fast he
jarred his teeth. "Master. Knight Shereld. My apologies for the
interruption." But still he stood there, his muscles numb and
unresponsive, his feet fairly rooted into the floor.
For her part, the Jedi knight handled the situation with
aplomb; she leaned back on Qui-Gon's thighs, glancing between
the two of them to assess the situation, then pushed herself to
her feet and brushed her loosened hair back off her shoulders.
Standing, she simply crossed her arms waited quietly for events
to play themselves out.
Obi-Wan couldn't stop staring between them, couldn't miss the
heightened color at his master's cheeks, the dampness of his
mouth. Finally, throwing a rueful smile at Knight Shereld,
Qui-Gon slid off the sofa and strode up to him, blocking her
from Obi-Wan's view. "Padawan? Are you all right?"
"I..." he felt his jaw working, felt his emotions performing an
entire acrobatics act inside his body, but he knew the answer
to the question. Unfortunately it took a moment to manage
speech. "I'm fine, master. Dazed only. And truly, I'm sorry to
have interrupted."
A finger touched his cheek, and abruptly Obi-Wan regained
control of his body. He nodded once in gratitude, ducked around
his master and offered a short bow to Knight Shereld, who
inclined her head in reply. "Knight Shereld, Master Jinn,
excuse me. I'm retiring for the evening."
He walked calmly into his room, sealed the door behind him,
then nearly fell against it and slid down the wall into a
formless amoebic mass on the floor. His mind reeled, even as he
cursed himself in several languages. He shouldn't be surprised,
shouldn't be shocked. His master was an adult who had freely
admitted to a healthy and varied sexual history. Be
grateful, Obi-Wan, he chided himself. He has curbed his
habits infinitely for your comfort, and if you'd stuck to your
original plan this would simply be his own private business
instead of your dramatic revelation.
Right.
Be an adult, Obi-Wan, he told himself. Be
responsible. Apparently he wasn't listening, for within
seconds he had extended his senses to listen in. Just as far as
the salon, ostensibly their common area and therefore public.
His master and Knight Shereld had, after all, only been
kissing. Fully clothed. Challi assured him that her master had
walked in on activities far more expressive than that.
"...seemed surprised." Shereld's voice, mild, its raw-silk
roughness clear even through the wall.
"Obi-Wan has every confidence that he's in love with me," his
master replied quietly, pensively.
"Is he?" Obi-Wan strained to the point of pain but he neither
heard nor sensed anything in answer. "And you, Qui?" Knight
Shereld asked into the silence. Qui. He'd never used
such a nickname for his master, rarely used his first name
anymore even inside the privacy of his own head.
"I've been taking his feelings into consideration. Curbing my
own activities. This is the first time he has seen me with a
sexual partner."
Oh, that hurt, that knotted something in his belly and pulled
hard on both ends of it. That his master had shielded him from
this, had hidden a part of himself, or denied it altogether...
"Isn't he approaching eighteen?"
"Just past it, actually. And his five-year with me was two
months ago." Obi-Wan heard the sigh, imagined the hand reaching
up to rub the furrowed brow. "I may have handled this entire
situation badly."
"Do you need to speak with him? I can wait here. Or elsewhere,
for that matter."
"No. No. This, or something like it, was bound to happen
eventually. The Force has dictated my choices, and I can but
trust it. I'll speak with him tomorrow. Forgive me, Lina, for
my distraction." A smile imbued his master's voice, darkening
it and adding heretofore unheeded dimensions. "I won't let it
happen again... though I suspect we'll be safer from possible
interruption in my sleeping room."
"You don't appreciate a hint of danger, now and then?" The
playfulness in her voice surprised Obi-Wan, while the
suggestion merely shocked him anew.
"Not this danger," his master replied, chuckling and noticeably
unshocked. "If public sex is your pleasure, I'd much rather
take you down to West Swinsen and find a reputable club."
Obi-Wan felt the flush begin at his forehead and streak down
his entire body, lightning finding its ground and scorching
through him, leaving no cell or nerve unheated. Had Master Jinn
actually done that, or was he making a joke? Jedi were
graceful, strong and agile by training; the idea of such an
elegant and beautiful public performance by his master made him
fevered with sexual reaction.
"Very funny," she replied. So he had probably been joking, from
the tone of her voice... not that it mattered now. The image of
his master, naked and aroused, skin glowing with sweat as he
managed some balletic contortion with Knight Shereld on a low,
dim public stage, had him perilously close to release. He
hadn't lost control like this in at least a year. "I'm quite
happy with your sleeping room, Qui. After you."
He listened to the muffled movements of bodies, heard the door
slide open and closed between the salon and his master's bed
chamber, and released a long-held breath. His senses snapped
back to normal, and he stared blindly around his darkened room
for long moments, telling himself he was recovering.
But he wasn't.
His master had a lover tonight, was right now in or very near a
bed with her. Obi-Wan stripped off his clothes, letting them
land where they fell, and stared down at his weeping erection.
His master had a lover tonight, a woman of slightly more than
thirty years, with curves and breasts and a vagina that Master
Jinn would likely press his penis into. Would he groan at that
contact? Would she? Obi-Wan imagined himself as her, with a
body and mind and maturity that aroused his master. How would
his master's touches feel to that body? Where would those wide
fingers linger?
Obi-Wan bit back a groan of raw hunger and crawled onto his
bed, spreading himself out atop the cover. He imagined himself
under his master--or over, if Knight Shereld held to form; she
was far more aggressive than Qui-Gon. He imagined looking down
on that familiar face all flushed with desire, and feeling the
twitching of corded muscle that pressed against the insides of
his thighs. Imagined a thick shaft penetrating an opening he
didn't possess, and groaned again, spurred on by febrile
imagination.
Would she appreciate his generosity--for Obi-Wan couldn't even
imagine his teacher as a selfish lover--and respond in kind? He
wished fervently that the two of them felt even an inkling of
the joy he felt when looking upon his master with love. He
hoped that she was attentive to his master's desires, and that
they shared something of mind as well as body. Curling in on
himself, touching and stroking his body with a slow, nurturing
care, he wished that they might find great satisfaction in each
other.
There'd be no point to their coupling, really, otherwise.
His orgasm left him breathless, gasping like a fish and seeing
stars as he gently stimulated the head of his penis against his
belly. He hadn't fantasized about his master in nearly two
years, hadn't actively sought release unless his body
absolutely demanded it of him. Doubtless this intensity was due
to that. He had never imagined himself as a woman before, and
he found it intriguing. Of course, the common factor was his
master's interest; he could probably imagine himself as a
Jimcian tadpole if Jimcian tadpoles aroused Qui-Gon Jinn.
He sprawled out onto his back, rubbing his sticky hand against
his stomach to smooth the semen into his skin. He permitted
himself to ponder how long they might couple, and how many
times, resisting the slight twinges of envy that tugged at him.
He only wished his master joy; anything less was unbecoming of
a padawan learner. Finally, he turned his mind to the
meditations of sleep. He had a long day tomorrow, and his
master's business was, ultimately, his own. "Be well, Jedi," he
breathed to them in silent dimness, curling up alone. "Find joy
in each other." And then he slept.
The next morning Obi-Wan rose early and made breakfast for
three, reaching just far enough to determine that two people
still occupied his master's room. He was half way through his
own meal before his master's door slid open and Knight Shereld
exited. Alone. He rose and bowed deeply, extending his hand
toward a chair and the third plate in the alcove. While
bathing, he had debated how to address her, and finally opted
for a deeply formal bow but a more casual verbal greeting. She
had, after all, spent the night in his quarters. "Good morning,
Lina. I made breakfast, if you'd like?"
"I thank you, Obi-Wan, but my own padawan will doubtless be
wondering where I've gotten off to; she's very new to me and
still in the dormitories, and the only routine we've managed
thus far is breaking fast together each morning I'm at Temple."
She stepped into the alcove anyway, and examined the plate of
food. "Is that fresh moonfruit juice?" she asked, pointing to a
bowl.
"Yes."
"Well..." she glanced from the food to the door, then grinned.
"Two minutes won't hurt."
Straddling her chair in a way that reminded Obi-Wan far too
strongly of her straddling his master's thighs, she drank down
the juice and picked at the other fruit on her plate, and
conversation remained comfortably on hand weapons. He had a
proficiency test coming up in knife and short-club, and his
defense needed some work.
His master surfaced wearing a thin morning robe, nodded with a
lazy smile to them both, and went directly into the fresher.
Apparently the two of them had already said their good byes
this morning. Obi-Wan resisted the urge to smile gratefully at
her, and they scheduled three extra hours of private training
over the next week.
He had finished his breakfast and the remains of Knight
Shereld's when Qui-Gon strode out of the fresher. "It looks
delicious, Padawan," he said, eyeing the meal as he settled
into his chair.
"Thank you, Master."
"Did you and Knight Shereld discuss your hand-club practice?
She mentioned that you were having trouble with a few swings."
"You talked about me?" he asked, surprised. "I'd have
thought--"
"Don't."
The response was quelling, the meaning clear. Obi-Wan swallowed
his annoyance and said only, "yes, we scheduled three separate
hours for her to correct my form, and I thought I'd spend
twenty extra minutes each day until the proficiency test,
taking the time from lightsaber." He was well advanced in his
saber, as it was one weapon he and his master drilled in
regardless of where they were. He had needed it enough times
already to be grateful for that.
"Excellent."
Obi-Wan wanted to leave it alone; he knew he should
leave it alone. But the silence made his skin crawl, and he'd
have sworn his master was letting it hang there in case he
needed to discuss matters. "Master?" he ventured, watching the
man sop up the last bit of tofa from his plate, "You mentioned
that we'd talk this morning?"
Qui-Gon sighed and leaned back in his chair. "Tell me what it
will take to teach you not to eavesdrop for your own curiosity,
Padawan," he remonstrated. "At this point the only idea I have
left is beating you every time I catch you at it."
"And that," Obi-Wan finished the thought, "would only make me
better at not getting caught." Qui-Gon sighed, and nodded
absently, distracted by his thoughts. "You, uh, didn't answer
my question."
"How perceptive, Padawan." Dryly. "What did you need to talk
about?"
Dry or not, the question was sincere; they would talk now, or
not at all. "Do you regularly plan sexual encounters when I'm
scheduled to be away?"
"You really do think I'm superhuman."
Obi-Wan grinned. Given the density of his training routine, if
his master had a tryst every time Obi-Wan was scheduled to be
apart from him, the man would set a record worthy of a sex
worker. "No, Padawan. This was a rare occurrence. My habits
have become almost as monastic as your own, these last few
years."
"Is that what you meant, when you said you may have handled
things badly? Should I have become accustomed to seeing you
with your partners, and learned by your example? Or something?"
Qui-Gon looked as if the proverbial flame had just set the top
of his head on fire. "I never thought of that," he breathed,
sounding faintly shocked.
Confused and not a little hopeful, Obi-Wan probed, "Why not?"
"I am the teacher and you the learner, Padawan," his master
stated precisely, collecting himself. "Have you other
questions?"
"No," he answered slowly, "I don't think so. But Master..." he
wasn't sure how to say it, and thought hard before continuing.
"I feel regret, that you've been forced to remove something
special to you."
Qui-Gon shrugged. "Nothing was forced upon me. The situation is
what it is, Padawan, and I place no judgment on it."
Obi-Wan scowled. As teacher-student conversations went, this
one numbered among the least enlightening. "Yes, Master."
"I will say you seem less disturbed than I expected," his
master ventured.
Obi-Wan shrugged, then answered sincerely. "You deserve
whatever pleasure you choose to seek. I was shocked because I
didn't expect it. I'll behave better, when it happens again."
He was stared at long and hard, and Obi-Wan opened himself to
the examination. It was obvious that his master was suspicious
of his answer; the probe was gentle, careful and not so deep as
to intrude on any details of his own activities last night, and
after a moment Qui-Gon smiled at him, reached out, and squeezed
his hand. "I daresay you're growing up, Padawan."
Well. At least something good was coming of all this.
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