TITLE: Joint Strength
AUTHOR: Rene (padawan30@hotmail.com)
RATING: PG
SPOILERS: "Jedi Apprentice" novel 1, 2 & 3
SUMMARY: Just after JA #2, back to Coruscant to be approved by the Council. Leads into #3. Bruck tries to get back at with dark help, someone traps Qui-Gon.
"Two are better than one. For if either of them falls,the one will lift up his companion. And if one can overpower him who is alone, two can resist him. A cord of three strands is not quickly torn apart."
from the Book of Ecclesiastes
Coruscant's metallic silver glow filled the viewscreens of the boxy commercial transport. Although most of the passengers were jaded by many approaches to the capital planet, they drifted over to watch the cityscape grow ever nearer, for the capital's beautiful strangeness was unique in the galaxy.
Two passengers stood slightly apart from the others. Their pale tunics and brown cloaks were simple, their stance casual, but, still, an aura of controlled power drifted subtly about them. The other passengers gave them a little extra space, without really recognizing why.
The older of the two, a tall man, glanced down at his young companion's serious face, and felt a tug of concern. The circular journey that had brought them together to Bandomeer and back had been a difficult one , and yet, he thought that the boy had grown much through it. Would those fragile lessons stay with him when he returned here, to his old environment, with its old challenges?
For his part, the Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn felt great hope for his brand-new apprentice.
The thoughts of the apprentice, Obi-Wan Kenobi, rested not on their approaching destination, but on his own approaching future. He was overjoyed that Qui-Gon had accepted him as a Padawan learner, but a deep well of insecurity flowed beneath that happiness. Their new partnership had not been made known to the Council, or formally approved by them. It was true that this was usually done in person, but Qui-Gon could have called the Council from Bandomeer and requested their approval. He could have saved them this long trip back to Coruscant. Why was he so determined to see the Council face to face? Perhaps he felt that the Council might not approve. After all, this was the same Council who had sent Obi-Wan away, to Bandomeer, to the Agricorps! Maybe they would think that Obi-Wan was not worthy. Qui-Gon himself had hesitated for a long time before accepting him.
Maybe. . .
"And my birthday's in just a few days. . ."
His 13th birthday. His last chance to be a Jedi.
He didn't realize he had spoken that thought aloud until he felt Qui-Gon's reassuring hand on his shoulder.
"Your birthday is no longer a day to dread, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said quietly.
"Yes, Master." Obi-Wan looked down, embarrassed that Qui-Gon had recognized so easily the panicky tenor of his thoughts. "I guess old worries are hard to get rid of."
Qui-Gon smiled. "They are, indeed. But you can let go of this one, I think. The Council will approve."
"You're certain." It was not a question.
"Yes, I am. The Council has desired me to take a Padawan for some time now."
A Padawan, yes, thought Obi-Wan. But perhaps not such an uncertain one.
Qui-Gon gazed down at the boy's bent head, and felt deep regret. He saw clearly that his delay in accepting Obi-Wan had opened deep rents in his confidence.
Feeling regretful isn't the answer, he thought. I must find a way to repair this.
He started by squatting down so that he could look up into Obi-Wan's face, and saying, "Not just any Padawan. You and I share a destiny now. The Council will see that as clearly as I do. Their approval of our decision will be complete, I promise you."
Obi-Wan smiled, trying to show his gratitude for his Master's assurance, but a small flame of fear still burnt in the deepest part of his spirit.
Qui-Gon straightened his tall frame. The transport was beginning its final docking.
From the spaceport, a dish-shaped taxi delivered Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan to the broad front plaza of the Jedi Temple. Together they walked toward the immense building, so familiar to both of them that they were immune to its grandeur. As they reached the first set of wide steps, where several engraved pathways led in various directions, Qui-Gon stopped Obi-Wan with a touch on his arm.
"We must separate here," he said.
Obi-wan looked up at him, startled. He had assumed that they would go to the Council at once.
Qui-Gon smiled. "I'm afraid we have different missions today. I have been summoned to the Chancellor's office on a matter of old business, and then I must go to several senators."
Obi-Wan nodded, trying not to look awe-struck at Qui-Gon's casual tone. Summoned personally to the Chancellor. . .!
"You, however, must close out your affairs here at the Temple."
"My affairs?" Obi-Wan had no idea what his Master was talking about.
Qui-Gon folded his arms, nodding. "Yes. After today, you travel with me. The Student's Quarters aren't your home any longer."
Obi-Wan processed this thought for a moment. He recognized suddenly how thoroughly his life was changed. The Temple, the center of his existence, had ceased to be central. He tested this thought, but found no sadness in it. He smiled. "So I guess they'll need my old room for somebody new."
Qui-Gon agreed with an answering smile, but his eyes searched Obi-Wan penetratingly. He was pleased to see no dismay cloud his apprentice's mind at the thought of closing the door on all that was familiar. It was another sign that Obi-Wan was meant to be his Padawan.
"So," he said, "we will do our separate tasks. Then I'll return this evening, and we'll go before the Council together."
Obi-Wan felt his stomach tighten with apprehension, but he tried to nod coolly. Qui-Gon saw this and frowned inwardly. More work to do there, he thought, but he said only, "I'm afraid you won't be able to take many of your things with you. I travel very lightly."
Obi-Wan grinned, looking down at the two small bags at their feet--one for Qui-Gon, one for him. Qui-Gon grinned, too. "Even this is more than I usually take. So, don't pack much."
Obi-Wan bowed deeply and intoned, "I heed your words, Master." This was a very formal acknowledgement of great wisdom received from one's Master.
Qui-Gon laughed. "Well, for that mockery, I banish you to your dull task." Then, he said, more seriously, "I'll return this evening, then."
"I'll be ready."
Qui-Gon strode off down the pathway toward the hanger where shuttles were kept for the Knights' use. Obi-Wan turned and began to climb the long flight of steps to the Temple's main entrance.
Earlier that morning, in a small exercise yard behind one of the Jedi Temple's main gardens, a solitary Jedi student worked. Balancing precariously on a slender pose set between two three-meter-tall towers, he brandished his lightsaber in a series of stylized slices and spins. He was skillful and strong, but his movements lacked the grace and effortlessness of one who was truly in tune with the Force, and he felt this. Suddenly, he threw down his lightsaber in frustration, and sank into a dejected posture atop one of the towers.
Only then did he see the man watching him.
Humiliated that someone had seen his display of temper, he called out brusquely, "What do you want?"
The man made no answer, but walked into the exercise yard, retrieved the fallen lightsaber and handed it up toward the student. The boy reached for it, but somehow the man held it just out of his reach.
"You are the learner called Bruck Chun, then?" he asked, his voice warm and courteous.
Bruck looked down. "I'm no one's Padawan," he muttered.
"Forgive me," the stranger said smoothly. "I meant 'learner' in its more general sense."
"My name's Bruck," the boy acknowledged.
"Ah, Bruck. I have been seeking you." The man handed Bruck the lightsaber.
"Why? Who are you?"
"I am called Morran. I come to you with information that will be to your advantage if you will use it wisely."
Bruck eyed him suspiciously. It was difficult to see his face clearly, for he wore a long black cloak with a deeply concealing hood, like a Jedi's, except for the color. Bruck had never seen a Jedi wearing a black cloak.
"Are you a Jedi? How do you know my name?" he demanded, and then curiosity compelled him to add, "What information?"
A soft chuckle issued from beneath the concealing hood. "So many questions. Such impatience. Are you truly a Jedi pupil?"
Bruck's face turned a painful red. He stared down at the lightsaber in his clenched hands. "I beg your pardon, Morran."
"You have just cause for curiosity. Some of my information concerns an old friend of yours. One Obi-Wan Kenobi."
Bruck's jaw tightened. "Kenobi is no friend of mine!"
"No? Well, then, perhaps you will be interested in my other bit of news."
"What's that?"
"Only that the Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn returns today to the Temple. He means to publicly take a Padawan."
Bruck leaned back in amazement. "But. . .everyone says that Qui-Gon Jinn will never take another apprentice."
Morran was still for a moment.
"Do they? Well, everyone is wrong. Qui-Gon Jinn will definitely name a Padawan today, here." He paused and then said silkily, "Perhaps that Padawan will be you, Bruck Chun."
Bruck stared down at him, so shocked that for a moment he could not speak. Qui-Gon Jinn was one of the greatest Knights. To be chosen as his apprentice after all these years would be a mark of huge favor. Everyone would look on his Padawan with admiration, and perhaps with deep envy.
"Me?" he said finally, his voice embarrassingly high-pitched. "I mean, why would he? I fought for him once, but. . ."
"And it was a memorable fight, wasn't it? Walk with me, Bruck. I will tell you more."
Eagerly, Bruck leaped down from the tower, and joined the stranger as he turned away. They walked slowly out of the yard, the stranger's voice murmuring seductively, like the ripple of a dark stream.
Qui-Gon was halfway to the enormous Senate complex when the shuttle's
comlink buzzed.
After procuring the shuttle and instructing it to take him to the Senate, Qui-Gon had sunk deep in meditation, an exercise sorely missed in the frantic action of the past two weeks. He engaged himself in a close study of his heart's new warmth, and was forced to admit that the past years of solitude had created a drought in his spirit. There is an old Jedi saying: "The heart which focuses only on itself is barren." By closing himself off and living as a solitary warrior, he had denied himself the blessing of caring for another's well-being and growth. He had not realized, until encountering Obi-Wan, that being a Master was a greater benefit to the teacher than to the student.
Lost in these thoughts, he was almost startled as the comlink's insistent buzz pulled him back into the here-and-now. He activated it, and then sat back in surprise. Revolving on the control panel before him was the Supreme Chancellor's personal holographic cryptocon. Qui-Gon stated his name for the voiceprint identification, and then the cryptocon dissolved, reforming as a hologram of Chancellor Valorum himself. Qui-Gon bowed slightly. "Chancellor. I'm on my way to your offices now."
Valorum shook his head. "There isn't even time for that, I'm afraid. You need to go to the main spaceport at once."
"The spaceport?"
"Just head that way, and I'll explain." Valorum sighed, and ran his fingers through his thick white hair. "You remember the treaty you delivered to Triki last month?"
This was obviously a rhetorical question, but Qui-Gon answered it anyway. "Of course. The two dominant tribes refused to even step onto the same continent without a Guardian of the Peace between them, and then, when I finally did arrive with the treaty, they threw themselves in each other's arms and commenced a week-long party before remembering to actually sign it."
"Yes. Well. . ." Valorum seemed to be having some difficulty in maintaining his serious expression. One corner of his mouth curled upward as he said, "It seems that now they claim the treaty to be invalid without the signature of the 'Sacred Messenger' inscribed atop their own."
"What?"
"Yes, O Sacred Messenger." Valorum was smiling openly now. "You must return to Triki and sign your name atop theirs in the presence of the tribal leaders."
"I'm not a sacred messenger."
"Apparently their gods have declared that you are, my friend." The Chancellor's young-old face grew serious. "Qui-Gon, they insist that the war resumes at nightfall unless you ratify the treaty. You know what that means."
Qui-Gon nodded grimly. Hundreds, no, thousands of Trikan dead before the night had passed. Of course he must do what was necessary to prevent such an event. He searched his mind for alternatives.
"What about a hologram?"
"They say it has to be you, with a real pen and real ink."
"A facsimile, delivered by. . ."
"It has to be you, Qui-Gon, and it has to be today. Their Oracle was most insistent."
"Why is it in such a rush? And how did it know that I was returning to Coruscant today?"
Valorum spread his hands. "Excellent questions. I suggest you ask the Oracle itself. It seems to be a big fan of yours."
Qui-Gon sighed and rubbed his eyes. Triki was a monotonous ten-hour hyperspace flight away. He could see the spaceport, which he had left a mere two hours before, looming in the distance.
Valorum's face was sympathetic. "I've already had an aide inform the Jedi Council of this development, and arrange one of my courier ships for you. If my office could be helpful in any other way. . .?"
"Do I have time to return to the Temple and pick up my apprentice?"
Valorum gazed at him for a moment, one eyebrow quirked inquiringly. "Since when do you have an apprentice? I can see we must meet for lunch again soon and have a long chat."
A faint smile crossed Qui-gon's face. "Since not very long ago. He's not officially recognized as my apprentice yet. We were going to take care of that today."
Valorum nodded slowly. "I see. There's a good story there, I think, but we don't have time for it. In order to take him with you, you'd have to explain all this to the Council, right? And I don't think there's time to go back to the Temple, find the boy, get the Council together, get their approval, get back to the spaceport, and so on and so on. Nightfall on Triki is coming fast."
Qui-Gon paused reluctantly, but there was no disputing the truth of those words. "You're right."
"I'm sorry that it has to be this way."
"It is as it is."
"Now there's a nugget of Jedi wisdom if I've ever heard one. Good luck. . No, for you I'll say, Force be with you, my friend."
"And with you."
Qui-Gon closed the connection and took control of the shuttle, angling it toward the Spaceport. With the Chancellor's personal clearance codes, he was landed and parked in a matter of minutes. Settling back in his seat, he retrieved his personal comlink to call Obi-Wan, deeply disliking the disappointment he was about to inflict. He hoped that Obi-Wan, in the past few days, had learned to trust him enough to see that there was no alternative. Their meeting with the Council would be delayed, and with it, Obi-Wan's official recognition as his Padawan.
At that moment, Obi-Wan was excitedly demonstrating his proven technique for beheading an approaching draigon. His first act upon entering the Temple again had been to locate his three best friends: Garen, Reeft and Bant. Their reaction, after affectionate greetings, had been to demand an immediate recounting of all his adventures since departing for Bandomeer two weeks before. Obi-wan was eager to tell them of his new apprenticeship, but that was the end of the story, and his orderly mind demanded that he tell the beginning first.
So, his arms were raised high above his head in a simulated battle stance when his comlink buzzed, introducing such an improbable noise into his dramatic story that his friends all laughed. Grinning as well, Obi-Wan thumbed the comlink's activator.
"Obi-Wan?"
The deep, commanding voice drew a stare from Obi-Wan's three friends. They had known him since they were all little children; they knew all the same people. But none of them recognized that voice. And more surprising still was the fact that Obi-Wan didn't seem the least startled by it. He smiled at them, said, "Excuse me, please," and retreated to a far corner of the common room. The three friends looked after him in consternation. Obi-Wan had never exhibited a need for privacy before, either.
Bent over the comlink, Obi-Wan listened intently as Qui-Gon explained the Trikan situation.
"You see why I must go at once."
"Yes, Master. Their society sounds very. . .unusual."
The sound that came over the comlink was halfway between a laugh and a grunt. "'Unusual' is a wonderfully neutral way of describing it. I commend your tactfulness."
Obi-Wan smiled at the slightly sour tone in Qui-Gon's voice. "When will you be back?"
"Soon, I hope."
"Unless another week-long party develops."
"I'll do everything in my power to get the treaty signed before any celebrations begin." Qui-Gon paused. "I'm sorry about this. I'll return as quickly as I can, and we'll go before the Council, but your status will seem. . . uncertain, to others. Will that be a problem?"
"No, Master," Obi-Wan replied, trying to ignore the fist of worry in his stomach. "I'll attempt to look insignificant. Maybe no one will notice that I'm back."
"That's not likely, I'm afraid." Qui-Gon paused again. "Obi-Wan, hear me." These were the formal words of a Master requesting his student's most serious attention.
Obi-wan bowed, even though Qui-Gon couldn't see him. "Yes, Master?"
"When I first encountered you, there in the Temple, you were. . .struggling."
Obi-Wan felt his face flush, remembering that day: his fight with Bruck, his anger, his desperation.
"This isn't a rebuke," Qui-Gon said softly, as if he could see his apprentice's embarrassment. "But I want you to strive to meet those old struggles with your new attitudes. You have grown in the last few weeks, but returning to the scene of former battles requires deliberate effort not to fall into the old traps."
Obi-Wan winced, but he was truly grateful for his Master's advice. "I heed your words," he said, using the phrase seriously this time.
"Good. Well, if you find the time heavy, you can always work ahead in your studies. Then we can discuss what you've learned when I return from my stint as. . . Sacred Messenger."
The very faint whiff of sarcasm hanging over the last two words made Obi-Wan laugh.
"Go in peace, Master."
"You also, Padawan."
Clicking the comlink off, Obi-Wan turned to find his friends very busily not looking at him. He rejoined them, feeling the air thicken with their unspoken questions, until Garen blurted, "Who was _that_?"
Obi-Wan opened his mouth to tell them, enjoying the thought of the sensation Qui-Gon's name would cause, but in the split second before speaking, he realized that to do so before their relationship had been approved by the Council was nothing less than boasting, a dishonorable motivation, disrespectful to Qui-Gon. So he said, "A friend I made, on my trip to Bandomeer."
They nodded, but Bant's gaze was questioning.
Change the focus, he thought, a bit desperately. He gestured toward the door of the common room and said, "I've been traveling so much, I really want to work for awhile. Want to do some flips?"
Garen glanced at Reeft, who shrugged. "Okay. But, maybe we'll work on 'sabers." Garen wasn't particularly adept at acrobatics and tended to avoid practicing them unless required.
"All right," Obi-Wan said, and led them out of the room.
As they walked, he felt Bant's eyes on him. When he looked down at her, she said softly, "Something happened to you, out there, something more than just adventures."
Obi-Wan nodded, silent.
Bant looked away. "You don't want to tell me."
"No! I do, Bant, really, but I can't right now. It wouldn't be right."
She was quiet for several strides. "Well, okay, I'll wait."
There were many small exercise rooms scattered throughout the Temple, but only one Obstacle Room, a huge rectangular space equipped with a thickly padded floor and numerous large blocks, ropes, ladders and poles. It was used exclusively for practicing agility, and had been the scene of a great deal of despair and frustration for many students. Leaping and flipping were not easy skills to master.
Obi-Wan loved it. He might not be the best student in the Temple with a lightsaber, and somewhat erratic in his control of the Force, but he was very good at flips and leaps, achieving an effortless connection with the Force in those movements that was difficult to maintain at other times.
Eager to begin, he removed his belt and outer tunic, draping them casually over a padded bench near the door. The others did the same, and Garen and Reeft moved to a clear space at one end of the room, assuming the first positions of a classic lightsaber drill. Bant whisked up one of the tall ladders and began a graceful walk across a thin pole toward another ladder at the far end. Obi-Wan ran to the room's center, feeling his body loosen and warm, and leaped to the top of the room's largest block, flipping once in mid-air to do so. From the pole high above, Bant called, "I wish I could do that so easily!"
Obi-Wan grinned up at her, feeling the familiar exhileration take hold. He flipped downward, over three more blocks, and then began a fast-paced circuit of the room, leaping, spinning, shifting, his mind empty of everything but the Force and the joy of movement. Garen and Reeft finished their drill, and drifted over to sit on several smaller blocks, watching Bant hop down from the ladder, and Obi-Wan finish his circuit with a skillful forward roll that ended with him sitting cross-legged at their feet.
Garen shook his head with an exaggerated sigh. "You don't have to make it obvious that you're better than everyone at that."
Obi-Wan laughed, rolling backward to lay flat and stare up at the ceiling. "Not better than everyone," he said. "Maybe just better than you, right?"
Garen snorted. Bant gave Obi-Wan a playful nudge with her foot. "It's almost time for noonmeal, and we can't go like this." She pulled at Reeft's sweaty tunic. "Let's clean up."
Reeft, who was always hungry, stood with alacrity and strode toward the door. The three others grinned at each other, following more slowly and stopping at the door to slip back into their outer tunics.
"I don't know," said Obi-Wan, teasingly, to Reeft. "Maybe we should skip noonmeal, just this once."
Reeft looked up, horrified, causing all of them to laugh. Obi-wan had slung his belt around his waist, and was nearly finished fastening it when he realized that his lightsaber was no longer attached to it.
"Does one of you have my 'saber?" he asked.
His friends paused in fastening their own belts and stared at him, puzzlement and then concern dawning on their faces. Garen dropped to his knees to look under the bench, while Reeft turned in a full circle, searching the ground. Obi-Wan and Bant fruitlessly checked the perimeter of the room.
No lightsaber appeared.
The four studied each other, disturbed.
"It couldn't have just walked away by itself," Bant said finally.
"Well," said Garen, sharing a baffled look with Obi-Wan, "someone must have helped it along."
In a windowless room dimly lit by a portable lightwand, a dark figure bent over an improvised workstation constructed of a flat panel laid across two barrel-shaped containers. With smooth skillful movements, he locked an odd, disc-shaped device into a small power cell, and then maneuvered the cell into the handle of a lightsaber. With an audible click, the cell slid into place. The robed man activated the weapon, and studied its humming blade carefully. With a satisfied nod, he switched it off, and, then, as footsteps sounded outside the chamber, concealed it within the dark recesses of his cloak.
The door slid aside, and Bruck Chun entered, breathing hard.
The man called Morran raised an inquiring eyebrow.
Bruck grinned triumphantly.
"You were successful in your mission then." Morran's voice was tinged with warm approval.
"It was easy. They were all so busy showing off for each other, they didn't notice anything."
Bruck unhooked a lightsaber from his belt where it hung next to his own, and tossed it onto the table.
"Morran," he said. "Now will you explain why we needed to take his 'saber?"
"Why, to keep him off-balance. To give you the edge in battle."
"He'll just go request another one. That's what any student would do if he lost a training saber."
"But it will be unfamiliar, not precisely the same as the weapon he has used for so long. It gives you an advantage."
"I don't need an advantage." Bruck scowled. "I can beat Kenobi in any fight!"
Morran smiled. "I'm sure you can. But it is best to look for the unsought path, right."
This was a Jedi phrase; Bruck had heard it dozens of times from the Masters. He looked curiously at the man, wondering.
Morran ignored his unvoiced question. "Go now. You'll be missed."
As the door closed behind Bruck, the man motioned to the corner of the room and a Temple Service Droid hummed out of the shadows. The TSDs were flexible machines, whose simple minds could be instructed in a wide variety of tasks. Removing the lightsaber that he had concealed from Bruck, Morran handed it to the DROID, and murmured a short set of instructions.
Then he watched the droid trundle off, a faint smile tugging the corner of his mouth.
"Good," he said. "Very good."
TBC
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