Master Apprentice
Archive
Stoicheia 5: Silicon
|
|
|||
Sighing quietly, Obi-Wan rearranged his crumpled-up robe under his right shoulder in a vain attempt to keep his right arm from going to sleep again before he did. It was no use -- the numbness settled right back into his aching joints like an old bed-mate, and his head felt like a thick heavy lump of rock where it rested on his abused shoulder. At least it was warm enough to use his robe as a pillow, he mused, otherwise the hard floor would have made it pretty much impossible to get anything resembling restful sleep.
No, it was pleasantly temperate aboard the line transport, a little on the dry side maybe, if the end of his braid was anything to go by. The staticky processed air made it look like a badly abused paintbrush, and the tickle of hair against his skin kept him from sleeping. Rearranging himself for the nth time since their takeoff, he cast a longing glance over to where Qui-Gon was sleeping, the picture of Jedi serenity, long body curled into a corner of the freight compartment, hair smoothed away from the perfectly calm face. Only the occasional quiet snore betrayed the fact that the big Master was indeed sleeping and not just ensconced in a particularly deep and relaxing meditation.
It had been an extremely urgent mission call, scant on details but apparently coming from a source familiar to the Council, for they had looked no further than the first team of warrior-diplomats to come off the active-duty roster that day. And that had been Qui-Gon and himself, naturally. Literally floating down from their drawn-out but ultimately satisfying negotiation stint on Shwef. Their _extremely_ satisfying stint on Shwef, Obi-Wan thought wistfully, wishing for the diminished gravity of that planet as the standard gravity aboard the transport was once more crushing his shoulder into thick prickly numbness.
Apparently there had been no time to co-ordinate dedicated transport for them either -- the Temple was short on facilities as it was, and rescheduling any number of missions to free up a ship for the trip to wherever it was they were going was once again not an option. Taking the next, and the fastest (and the cheapest, Obi-Wan surmised) line transport to their destination apparently was, and the Transport Master's computer had obliged with the flight data unusually quickly.
It was a fully booked flight, but it was the one they were to take; silicon could not be argued with.
A well-equipped credit chip and the IP address of the Temple's computer had secured them at least this modest mode of transportation, stowed away in one of the larger freight compartments, with a tray of cold in-flight food and, in all likelihood, ten times more legroom than any of the beings on the passenger deck had.
Of course the hardness of the floor was slowly driving Obi-Wan insane -- but silicon could not be argued with.
Silicon could not be argued with. It bought and paid its own masters, those for whom the hard latticework of atoms and the ones and zeroes they encrypted were just as pliable as the old analogue paper had been to anyone adept in the art of writing. If it was in print, it was true.
They'd been good at making truth so far, the masters of silicon. And they would continue to be good at it. He would see to that.
The series of wobbly jerks jolted Obi-Wan out of what he bitterly looked back on as the first few moments of real sleep he had got aboard the transport. The creaking and groaning of the vessel appeared to announce a landing, and a shaky one at that, and the groaning of his Master in his quiet corner announced the fact that Qui-Gon had been awakened by it too.
"-we there yet?"
"Sounds like it..." Obi-Wan massaged his numb arm while picking at his crumpled-up robe with prickling fingers. "We get off at the first stopover, correct?"
"Mahden Haad, if that's where we are. They promised to give us further directions once we'd made it to the spaceport and thus within comm reach again..." Qui-Gon got up and straightened his robe. "They'll probably deboard everyone else before remembering about us, Padawan, but it might help to be in some sort of presentable state when that hatch opens and we see daylight again."
Obi-Wan shook his slowly reviving right arm and shrugged into his robe with some difficulty. "I swear, Master, I'm getting too old for this kind of mission... Mahden Haad, then. That's the name of the planet, I assume?"
"Correct, Padawan." The sleep-crumpled features lit up in faint amusement. The Master was clearly feeling the next question coming.
"Any idea where we're supposed to be going from here?"
"Well, the place name was Lauchumni Haad, but I am confident we'll receive more detailed directions on how to get there once we're off this ship. And more details on the mission, one hopes -- all I could gather from the emergency call was that it involved two not-at-all-neighbouring countries and an impending execution that neither of them really wanted except they couldn't find a way out of it that complied with both their laws. Or something...", the Master shrugged, smiling wearily. He'd been faced with worse mission briefings in the course of his career as a Jedi field diplomat. At least this one had a place name and a rough outline. "I expect they'll give us a quick run-through of the details once we get --"
The hatch slammed open with a bang and a hiss of compressed air. "Sorry, lads, had to get everyone else off first. You know, them passengers just don't know what to do, and you being Jedi we thought..." -- "We had to make an emergency landing," a slightly calmer and more authoritative, and female, voice cut in, and Obi-Wan thought he heard a semicolon as the voice's owner straightened her spotless uniform, "due to a malfunctioning navigation computer and adverse weather conditions that did not allow for safe manual flight, we have had to touch down at some distance from our intended destination. There will be a spare transport ferrying all passengers to Mahden-te Haad spaceport before sundown, I am assured. If you would be so kind as to..."
"Wait a minute," the agitated male voice cut in again. Its owner was a short olive-skinned humanoid in dirty red overalls that marked him as a member of the technical crew, "you're the two lads in a hurry to Lauchimni Haad, right?"
"Lauchumni Haad," Qui-Gon corrected, calmly, glad to get a word in edgeways.
"Lauchimni, Lauchumni, all the same after a coupla drinks, eh Master? Anyway, you'd be faster getting there on foot from where we are and not waiting for the silly transport. Cos it's a night layover from Mahden-te Haad anyway, and then change at Vird Haad and bloody slow land transport the rest of the way...", he caught a glare from the spotlessly-uniformed flight attendant and caught himself, "...anyway, I was saying, if you walk about ten miles south-west of here, down the hills, always down the hills, you'll be in Lauchimni Haad long before the scheduled flight's even left Mahden-te, innit true, Miss?"
The flight attendant did not spare him another glance as she nodded, bowed stiffly to the two Jedi and left. Apparently unperturbed, the little technician chattered on, "So, as I was saying, all you need to do is keep walking south-west, it's all downhill, so no problems, and' if you just keep going you'll see the lights of Lauchimni Haad before sunrise...," without missing a beat, he caught the frown from Obi-Wan and continued, "but if the Pawadan would prefer some quality time under the stars, nudge nudge, wink wink, there's an excellent little nook just over halfway to the town, by a lake, all steep cliffs and stuff, but mark my words, just keep going along the shore, always facing south-west and you'll find the most gorgeous little cove, just perfect I swear..."
"Thank you, my good man," Qui-Gon said, loudly. "A walk it is, then, Padawan. Let us set off immediately." So that we needn't listen to this little chatterbox any longer, he added silently, and caught Obi-Wan's smirk at the overheard thought.
"Tell ya what," the little mechanic babbled as the two Jedi were reaching for their packs, "I'll have these sent along to Lauchimni Haad on the scheduled transport so you can walk easily, you know. Not that it's hard anyway, all downhill, and the forest isn't that dense, but you know -- diplomatic baggage should always be kept safe and arrive in a pristine state, I say, no? It'll be with you at Lauchimni Haad tomorrow afternoon at the... tomorrow night at the latest, okay?"
"That sounds like a fine idea, my man, yes..."
"Master?" Obi-Wan was clearly uncomfortable with parting with his pack.
"If you'd just give us a few minutes to rearrange, so that we can make sure all important items reach Lauchumni Haad at the soonest possible time. In other words, when we do," the Jedi master replied smoothly, then bent to retrieve his valuables and what scant information he had from his pack while his Padawan did the same. Their spare clothes and rations could wait until tomorrow, and their immediate necessities easily fit inside the belt pouches and the well-concealed inner pocket of his robe.
"As you wish, Master Jedi. I assure you the gear will be with you tomorrow evening, free of charge, natch." An oily grin, and the little man shouldered both their packs and threw them on a pile of baggage waiting for the relief transport to the spaceport. "It's that way -- into the forest, and just keep going downhill, remember, until you hit the lake..."
"Thank you, thank you. Padawan?" For once, Obi-Wan was glad of his Master's long strides as they took him away from that obnoxious little technician who was apparently very keen on acquiring a couple of Jedi specimens for his doubtless sizeable collection of talked-off ears.
"Coming, Master," he said, quietly, trying not to sound too enthusiastic lest Qui-Gon should decide to try and walk all the way to their destination in one go.
Qui-Gon smiled. "Never worry, Padawan -- I doubt our hosts would be very happy to be landed with a Jedi mediator incapacitated by lack of sleep. We _are_ going to rest in that cove, if we find it. If not, we are going to rest somewhere else. Now, lead the way, Padawan -- your white collar makes for a nice guiding light."
Relieved at his Master's good humour and at the prospect of a good night's sleep, Obi-Wan set off into the twilit forest.
It was not silicon. In fact, it was the only part of the plan that wasn't, and its efficiency relied upon that fact. It was just around the corner though, along a kink in the periodic table, and it hadn't taken much adjusting. A few ions moved here and there, to accommodate the increased size, the lattice loosened strategically... and it still retained its innocent exterior. It wasn't silicon in there. Not quite.
The footman with the instructions had been puzzled, but clearly too scared to ask questions. And a well-stacked credit chip had bought his confidence in the venture, and his reliability.
Silicon could not be argued with.
It was all downhill, that much was true. However, stumbling downhill in the humid warmth of the forest, along what was clearly not a path was almost as wearisome as walking uphill, if not more so. Daylight had long since faded into the wavering shadows of several moons scattered around the dark grey sky, and Obi-Wan was finding his way by touch more than by sight now. Which meant bumping into things, getting his face scratched and his tunic torn by low-hanging branches and sharp twigs and putting his sturdy standard-issue Jedi boots down really hard to avoid leaving any potential snake in a state fit to attack his Master.
It was the only instance where he hated being first, especially as that entailed getting his hands and tunic covered in what he supposed was some sort of resin, a copious exudation of the local trees, pleasant-scented but extremely sticky and impossible to get rid of without seriously damaging the skin. And it attracted dirt too of course... none of which appeared to bother Qui-Gon in the least as he slid along in the wake of his struggling Padawan, a soundless shadow. Obi-Wan had to turn around every now and then to make sure his Master was still following him, and invariably found himself faced with a calm and absolutely spotless Qui-Gon, smiling encouragingly at his dirt-encrusted Padawan.
He was smiling again now. Except he was looking over Obi-Wan's head.
Slowly so as not to lose his footing completely, Obi-Wan turned around. There, only a few more steps away, a pool of perfect darkness lay between the grey trees, speckled with bright shards of pale unsteady moonlight. The lake. Force bless, the lake.
"Oh Force almighty, just when I'm more in need of a bath than ever before in my life..," Obi-Wan almost ran towards the edge of the inviting darkness, caring little for the state of his clothing or face now that the desired water and the desired rest were so close.
It was only the steep drop to the water's edge that made him stop in his tracks, wavering on the top of a ten-foot cliff.
"That so?" Qui-Gon's voice chuckled, very close behind his ear. The shove came entirely unexpectedly, and didn't even leave Obi-Wan enough time to dive elegantly or quietly. Flailing and splashing loudly, five-and-three-quarters feet of fully dressed and rather grimy Padawan hit the surface of the lake with a scream, went under in a spray of shimmering cold water, and came up again seconds later, spluttering and laughing.
"Master, you bastard!!" a thoroughly soaked Obi-Wan yelled at the smirking robed figure high on the clifftop. "I _was_ going to take my clothes off first, you know..."
Qui-Gon's warm low laughter echoed along the ragged shoreline. "Two cfath with one stone, Padawan. That way you get your tunics clean as well... and may I add that you make a delightful sight soaked as you are, Obi-Wan?"
Obi-Wan blushed to the roots of his streaming hair. He'd acutely felt his pants clinging to his legs as the cool water enveloped him, tightly, sensuously. And yes, the way his soaked tunic stuck heavily to his shoulders felt quite... quite good actually. Quite apart from the fact that the clear cool water did a very good job of dissolving his sweat (quickly) and the ubiquitous resin stains (slowly), leaving him feeling much cleaner and more alive already.
"I can see the cove from up here, Padawan. If you swim along the shore you'll be there faster than I can walk up here..."
Not that Qui-Gon concentrated on walking much. Not when there was the delightful sight of a soaked Obi-Wan ploughing through the black waters with fresh determination, and with the tunic sleeves clinging to his arms just so... Qui-Gon forced himself to keep walking. After all, it wouldn't do to miss Obi-Wan's undressing once he'd reached dry land.
By the time Qui-Gon had negotiated the steep descent into the small cove, Obi-Wan was already perched on one of the rocky outcrops in tunics and pants, working his dripping boots off his feet. With an expression that was half disgust and half amusement, he upended each one, sending little waterfalls back down into the lake and losing a sock in the process, then leaned them against the still-warm dark rock behind him before climbing down to face his Master.
The combination of the sand beneath his bare feet and the amazed smile on his Master's face warmed Obi-Wan thoroughly, despite the soaked clothes still clinging to him coldly and tightly. The sand, however, was still warm from the day's heat, and so soft as to feel almost liquid. Only a small pocket of it had withstood the waves of the lake, and it reached only about three steps inland before giving way to the craggy brown rocks again. But this was where he was, and it was good, soft and warm beneath his feet, just like Qui-Gon's hands were soft and warm as they slowly and tenderly began undressing him.
The belt slipped off easily, the leather loosened by the water, and flew towards the rocks to curl around the boots. The sash followed suit, a wet ribbon of white against the dark rocks, soon to be accompanied by the stolas. Qui-Gon made a show of pulling the outer tunic off and wringing the water out of it until Obi-Wan stood in a puddle of slush formed by the cool water and the warm sand, slush that felt utterly gorgeous and not at all dirty as Qui-Gon squatted down, booted feet touching bare ones, to peel the trousers off Obi-Wan, revealing cool moist skin that was unearthly pale in the moonlight and felt like iced silk.
The inner tunic followed, translucent as it was, clinging to Obi-Wan's upper body in thin wet folds, and Qui-Gon fancied it was a little reluctant to come off, as if unwilling to leave Obi-Wan's creamy skin. Still, it joined the orderly display of drying clothes on the rock face, as did the loincloth.
Sighing, Qui-Gon took a step back to admire the shivering wet beauty that was his Obi-Wan. Light gooseflesh making the tiny hairs on his forearms stand on end, lips a faint shade of purplish pink, nipples tiny hard nubs that begged to be touched, caressed, suckled... oh, and his cock wasn't exactly cold-shrivelled either. In fact, it was jutting out between Obi-Wan's glorious creamy thighs, half-erect and rosy and just as edible as those nipples...
With a whimper, the shivering Padawan threw himself at his Master, burrowing deep under robe and tunics for that musky scent, that familiar solid warmth, seeking to envelop himself in Qui-Gon, just like he had sheathed himself in him only a few days ago, floating above the surface of a slightly stranger world than this one...
"Let's get you into something warm first, Padawan."
Obi-Wan frowned into Qui-Gon's neck, unwilling to give up skin contact for a moment. "But my gear's soaked, Qui... 'nd our spares are with the transport people, if you remember..."
"Don't worry, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon murmured, fumbling in one of his less-used belt pouches until his hand emerged holding a crumpled grey bundle of something, not even big enough to fill the Jedi Master's palm. "This will do nicely."
"What the..."
Qui-Gon shook his hand out, letting the small bundle unfold. Somewhat larger but still of no apparent shape, it was opaque and soft and appeared to be made of some kind of membrane. "Laminations, Padawan."
"Laminations?" He'd heard of them, of course. The field agents' emergency second skin, in cases of extreme cold or large-scale skin abrasion. He'd also not heard a single good thing about their wearability. "But... they're dead uncomfortable, Master. Honest, I'd rather snuggle into your robe with you..."
"You won't need to, Obi-Wan. Trust me, you'll come to like them." With that, he gently shoved his clinging Padawan to land on his bare bottom in the soft sand, and knelt down to insert Obi-Wan's still slightly sandy feet into the legs of the strange grey thing he was holding.
It felt tight, tight but not confining. Impossibly smooth, like a membrane designed to be frictionless, the thin material stretched over his legs, snugly encasing each one from toe to thigh, stretching effortlessly under Qui-Gon's sure warm hands. Mesmerised, Obi-Wan watched as the opaque material stretched over his limbs to a semi-transparent shiny light grey, clinging tightly, so tightly in fact that it blended into the sensation of his own skin, and by the time Qui-Gon had lovingly smoothed the gloved sleeves over his hands and rolled the top edge of the thin material up to Obi-Wan's neck, taking care to pull the braid out, Obi-Wan was feeling quite warm again, and not just from the delicate touches of his Master's hands. The stuff was doing its job. If only he wasn't feeling quite so sleepy already...
Qui-Gon grinned at his Padawan's obvious amazement. "There, that wasn't so bad, was it?" A contented purr from Obi-Wan was all he needed in terms of proof. "And if I may say so, Obi-Wan, it's almost as pretty as your first skin." With that, he let his hands roam over the delicious curves and planes of his young lover's body, clad in pale translucent grey and almost frictionless to his hands, but just as warm and deliciously soft as they always were... fingertips played over collarbones and shoulders, dipping into an armpit to tickle the lazily purring Padawan's senses awake, palms roving over smooth flanks, hands grabbing taut round buttocks and squeezing while Qui-Gon's greedy mouth devoured the little sigh of pleasure gusting from Obi-Wan's bluish lips. Oh, he was delicious, heavy-limbed and drowsy from a hard day's walk but so gloriously, languidly sexy as he slowly wriggled under him, moaning quietly, continuously now that Qui-Gon's teeth were worrying at the stiff little nipples that had gone from cold to arousal straight away and were delicious even through the neutral-tasting barrier of the laminations... oh, these little breathless sounds of pleasure... hungry, no, thirsty for more, Qui-Gon dived down towards Obi-Wan's groin, trailing a hot wet tongue along the length of his Padawan's cock, outlined so beautifully through the sheer transparent membrane, following the length of the hard organ with his lips and tongue, savouring the delicious fleshy hardness and the faint hot moans from Obi-Wan's mouth, moans that stoked a fire inside him that threatened to burn through his clothes... hastily and without ever taking his mouth off its delicious task, Qui-Gon worked his belt and pants open, let his tunics gape and reached for the flaming erection that twitched and throbbed in his hand, so good, so close, and his hand tightened on himself as he suckled and nibbled on Obi-Wan's silky flesh with renewed fervour, drinking in the ever more urgent moans, feeling Obi-Wan's thighs twitch under him, absorbing the bone-deep sigh that announced Obi-Wan's orgasm, only seconds before Qui-Gon himself went over the edge, spurting a thin ribbon of seed into the soft sand before collapsing on his Padawan's warm limp body.
It could only have been minutes later, Qui-Gon surmised -- his come had seeped into the sand already, but the moons hadn't moved and the sweat on his face hadn't dried yet... and Obi-Wan had gone over straight into sleep it seemed. Patting his Padawan's taut stomach, Qui-Gon checked for comfort -- after all, he had never yet heard of anyone _coming_ into his laminations and sleeping through the aftermath...
...only there was no moisture there. No seed. Obi-Wan hadn't come.
He didn't have the rosy flush of sex on his face and skin either. He was utterly pale... and cold. Obi-Wan hadn't come... he had passed out. Cold.
Sweat suddenly chill on his face, Qui-Gon listened for a heartbeat while scrabbling for his commlink. The signal from Obi-Wan's chest was faint, faltering.
The signal from his commlink was non-existent. Dead.
Swearing under his breath, Qui-Gon scrambled up the rocks to where Obi-Wan's belt and boots lay. Water had seeped into the casing of Obi-Wan's commlink, rendering it useless. Breathing heavily, Qui-Gon slung his Padawan's belt around his waist next to his own, lightsabres clattering in unison with his disjointed thoughts as he scrambled back down to the tiny beach where Obi-Wan was still lying, motionless, moonlit, too beautiful to be alive.
No. Never too beautiful to be alive. Never.
His heart was beating, only just. Breath as faint as his Force-signature, pale and elusive, a mind shrouded in the mists of unconsciousness, fading.
A single tear rolled down Qui-Gon's nose and dripped on to Obi-Wan's chest, still as grey marble. Gritting his teeth, the Master held on with bruising strength, hauling himself upright, the limp smooth weight of his Padawan over his shoulder. It would just have to be enough, his strength and the Force, until they could reach somewhere, could reach someone, someone that could reach Obi-Wan in the cold smooth prison that was his body.
South-west.
---The End---