Title: Joint Strength, Part Three
Author: Rene
Rating: PG, maybe PG-13 for the whole story
Notes: See Part One
Disclaimer: All for fun, not a whit of profit
Summary of this part: Obi-Wan's "old struggles" resurface, and Qui-Gon's
Trikan situation may not be what it appears.
Archive: Padawan Journals and Early Years
During the noonmeal, Obi-Wan's mysteriously missing lightsaber was the
sole topic of conversation. Garen and Reeft stumbled over each other in
proposing a series of increasingly wild and improbable scenarios to explain
the disappearance, until both Bant and Obi-Wan were choking with laughter.
Their table was the most raucous in the room. Obi-Wan noticed many covert
glances and open stares directed their way.
So much for attempting to look insignificant, he thought wryly.
A soft chime sounded, warning the students that only a few minutes remained before their afternoon classes. Obi-Wan's three friends shared a panicked glance and hurriedly stood.
"We'll see you tonight, all right?" Bant said.
Obi-Wan nodded, and watched them join the stream of students pouring out of the dining room. A tinge of melancholy had settled over his heart. He was surprised at this, for he had thought that reuniting with his friends would bring pure happiness. It _was_ good to see them, and talk in the old way, but Obi-Wan felt oddly disconnected. A few moments of meditation showed him the reason: he didn't belong here any longer, not as he had a mere two weeks before. He hadn't realized how much his sense of "home" had become centered on his Master, even after only a few short days of apprenticeship.
Unofficial apprenticeship.
He shook himself, flinging that thought away. Worry is a symptom of weakness, he thought. So Qui-Gon isn't here. I can still do as he asked and work ahead a little.
He needed to get a datapad from his room, so, scooping his cloak up from the table, he left the dining hall and turned toward the Student's Wing, taking a shorter route through a secondary hallway. He had nearly reached the main hall when he felt it: a dark ripple in the Force, so faint as to be hardly noticed, but present nevertheless. Receding deep inside himself, he tried to focus on it, pin it down, but it slipped away elusively.
He was concentrating so fiercely that he didn't perceive the footsteps behind him. A rough hand struck him, hard, between the shoulder blades, and sent him stumbling forward. He grasped a door frame, preventing a fall, and whirled around. In front of him stood his old nemesis, Bruck Chun, and several of his friends. Bruck's face was innocent, and his hands spread with exaggerated contrition.
"Oh, so sorry, Oafy-Wan," he said. "Didn't see you there. You really shouldn't stand around daydreaming, you know. Some people have places to go, and you're in the way."
Obi-Wan swallowed the quick anger that filled his throat, and managed a cool face as he inclined his head slightly, and said, "Hello, Bruck."
"So you're back already, Oafy? Not good enough to be a farmer either, huh?"
"My mission on Bandomeer was successful." Obi-Wan tried to speak formally, to distance himself from Bruck's provocation.
"Oh, your mission!" Bruck opened his eyes wide, mocking. "Big, important mission, huh, deciding where to put the dung heap? Or maybe the best way to sweep out the barn?"
Bruck's friends snickered loudly. Obi-Wan felt his face flush, and decided to leave, immediately, before this escalated into something he would regret. As he turned to go, however, he saw Bruck's hand raised for another contemptuous shove. Spinning back toward his antagonist, Obi-Wan blocked him with a forearm and easily deflected the blow. The taunting grin slid off Bruck's face, replaced with anger as he brought up his other hand and struck furiously at Obi-Wan's face. Obi-Wan flung himself back to avoid the blow, and allowed the fall to continue, rolling backward in a quick, graceful move that brought him to his feet again three meters down the hall.
He cocked one eyebrow challengingly, bait that he knew Bruck wouldn't be able to resist. As his opponent charged forward, he stepped aside at the last moment, flinging his cloak so that it tangled with Bruck's legs and sent him crashing to the floor. Bruck's companions were momentarily stymied, and Obi-Wan smiled at their stunned faces. Waving a hand over Bruck, who was struggling to his feet, he said, "On Bandomeer, that's how you catch a particularly stupid herd animal."
A dark fury filled Bruck's face. With a incoherent snarl, he reached for his lightsaber, but one of his companions hissed, "Master Adim!"
The tall, beautiful Master had indeed rounded the corner from the main hall. She studied them for a long moment, face expressionless, and then asked, "May I be of service here?"
"No, Master," Obi-Wan said, just as Bruck gritted out, "All is well, Master."
The Master lifted a rather disbelieving brow, but she nodded and passed by, continuing down the hall. Obi-Wan turned to go in her wake, but a burgeoning sense of shame stopped him. He was suddenly remembering Qui-Gon's words: old struggles, old traps. New attitudes.
He swallowed and turned back. Bruck was walking away; his companions had already turned the corner. Obi-Wan stepped after him and reached for his shoulder to stop him, saying, "Bruck. I acted very badly just now. . ."
Whirling, Bruck chopped downward viciously with his deactivated lightsaber. The blunt end of the weapon caught Obi-Wan squarely on the outside of his right knee, the sudden intense pain dropping him like a stone. As he doubled over, Bruck's knee struck his chest with the force of a blaster bolt. Obi-Wan's breath left him with a loud gasp, and he fell heavily to his knees, where a sickening jolt of liquid pain gushed through his right knee, and sent him careening over to one side. He lay still, gasping.
Bruck stood over him for a moment, and then walked away, hissing, "Maybe someone'll find you here choking like a fish, Farmer Oafy."
He turned the corner, and the hall was empty but for the sound of Obi-Wan's painful, rasping breaths.
The planet Triki had a wide equatorial zone, so wide that it encompassed both of the world's major continents, providing them with a richly green, lush rainforest environment. Qui-Gon Jinn appreciated the rare beauty of such a world, but he also knew from recent experience that the emerald gorgeousness was accompanied by suffocating heat and humidity, drenching rain, and clouds of attacking insects. His mouth curved in a tiny smile. Despite all of that, it was pulsing with the Living Force; he luxuriated in the feeling for a moment.
His pilot muttered something. Qui-gon glanced down at her. "I'm sorry. I didn't hear what you said."
She looked embarrassed. "No, I'm sorry, Master Jedi. I wasn't really talking to you. I was merely. . .commenting. . . on the heat."
Qui-gon's smile grew fractionally larger. The damp heat was rolling through the open door of the courier ship like a great incoming tide. The pilot's face was already streaked with perspiration.
"But, at least," she said, brightening, "I won't be here long enough to really suffer."
A frown replaced the half smile on the Jedi's face. "I beg your pardon?"
"Oh, didn't you know?" The pilot looked up at him. "I have to take a document delivery to Deigidd. Then, I'll swing back here and pick you up again. It's not an urgent delivery; that's why I had time to drop you here in the first place. But it still has to get there by tomorrow, their time."
Qui-gon's frown deepened. "You'll return when?"
"Oh, I suppose about thirty-six hours. The Chancellor's office said that would be plenty of time for you to do. . .whatever it is you've got to do here."
"Yes. Plenty of time." Qui-gon shook off the frown. There was no alternative, and thirty-six hours wasn't terribly long. Obi-Wan would be all right. . .
He realized that the pilot was gazing at him with an expression of concern. "Is this. . .acceptable, Master Jedi?" she asked, a bit hesitantly.
"Of course," he hastened to reassure her. "This is a lovely place to visit; I'll enjoy my thirty-six hours."
She swatted away an iridescent flying beetle at least half as big as her hand, and nodded doubtfully. "Whatever you say."
She turned back to the craft's interior, regarded its echoing emptiness for a moment, and said, "Well, since you don't have any luggage to offload, I guess I'll be on my way."
Qui-gon smiled his thanks. "In thirty-six hours, then."
"Right." She gave him a stiff half-bow that was oddly formal from so breezy a person, and disappeared into the ship. Qui-Gon strode down the ramp, noticing as he did a small delegation of Trikan soldiers marching smartly up the wooden walkway that led to and from the docking pit. His escort, he assumed. Behind them, a nattily-dressed, pinched-mouthed man of indeterminate age scurried frantically to keep up, obviously furious at the resulting loss to his dignity. This could only be a government official, most likely a Cultural Officer. Fortunately, Qui-gon was well-rehearsed in Trikan taboos, and his equipment belt was empty, save for his lightsaber.
The Trikans did not shun technology; in fact, their weapons and communications systems were highly advanced. But integrating modern computers with ancient religion had resulted in a complicated set of iron-clad taboos, particularly regarding communication, which was sacred to their gods. As a result, any visitor to Triki was politely but firmly requested to leave all communication devices aboard his ship. A visitor with a comlink would be met with sideways stares and grim-mouthed disapproval, whereas Qui-Gon's lightsaber, a deadly weapon, had been greeted on his former visit with casual glances and open admiration.
The honor guard snapped to a halt at the bottom of the ramp. Breathing heavily, the government official pushed through them and planted himself directly in Qui-Gon's path.
"Welcome, Sacred Messenger. I am Cultural Officer Kai, sent to escort you to His Highness, King Orthu Bela, and introduce you to the Court."
"I am already acquainted with His Highness and the Court. My name is Qui-Gon Jinn. I delivered the Treaty a month ago."
The official showed no sign of recognition or even acknowledgement of Qui-Gon's words. He turned smoothly on his heel and led the way back up the pathway. The soldiers pivoted to follow, but one of them, Qui-Gon noted, shot the Jedi an amused glance from under half-closed lids. Qui-Gon returned a faint smile, and fell into step beside him.
"I am Qui-Gon Jinn," he tried again.
"General Molu." The soldier jerked his chin in the direction of the official ahead of them. "I apologize for him. He takes his position _most_ seriously."
"That's a small fault, really. I am honored that a general would come to greet me."
Molu's face grew solemn. "The gods themselves sent for you by name. How can I do less than come personally to meet you?"
"I'm honored, nevertheless." Qui-Gon paused, and then asked, "How is it that the gods asked for me?"
"The Oracle spoke the instructions. It said that the treaty would be unblessed without the Messenger's name to validate it."
Qui-Gon nodded. "Must all treaties be validated by their bearer?"
"Not at all." Molu smiled. "In fact, everyone was amazed by the Oracle's words. But they were very clear, and must be obeyed."
"Of course."
"Which is why all the tribal leaders are so relieved that you agreed to return. No one wants to resume the war. No one."
Qui-Gon could understand that. The Trikan intertribal wars had been deadly and protracted. He wanted to inquire further, but, as they turned a corner, he glanced back and saw that the soldier marching directly behind him was aiming a baleful glare at his back. When his glance intercepted the soldier's glare, the young man dropped his eyes hurriedly, leaving Qui-Gon wondering.
Could it be that not everyone looked with favor on the Sacred Messenger?
He had no further time to consider this, as they swept through the huge, carved doors of the King's main residence, and into the gigantic square room called the Court of Audience.
"Ah, Master Jedi!" The bellow echoed from the far side of the Court. A towering, muscular man dressed only in the short skirt of Trikan royalty came striding forward.
Qui-Gon smiled and bowed. "Your Majesty."
"I can't tell you how grateful we are that you've come. Very inconvenient for you!"
Despite his intimidating physical presence, Orthu Bela was a jovial, solicitous man. Qui-Gon considered him the most congenial royal he had ever met.
"I'm glad to be of service again," he said. "I must admit to being surprised by the summons, though."
"You, surprised!" Orthu Bela chuckled loudly and clapped Qui-Gon on the shoulder. "You should have seen the nobles' faces when we received the Oracle's message. No one had ever heard anything like it."
Qui-Gon felt his entire being go still as a trickle of suspicion dripped down his spine. Both Molu and now the King had emphasized the strangeness of the instructions that had brought him here.
"Your Majesty," he said slowly, "may I visit your Oracle?"
For long minutes, Obi-Wan lay fighting to take air into uncooperative lungs. His mind was a mass of pain and confusion, and he could not quiet it enough to bring the Force to bear. Slowly, his breathing returned enough for him to struggle to a sitting position, back supported by the cool metal wall of the hallway, and his mind focused enough to surround the pain with the Force's cooling balm. Holding carefully to the wall, he stood. The pain in his torso was receding, but his knee screamed in protest as he tried to step away from the wall.
He found it difficult to accept that a fellow student had attacked him with so little warning and such great ferocity. Yes, there had been rancor between himself and Bruck, but he had thought it an understandable rivalry, with unfortunately predictable results. This attack had been far different. Obi-Wan had seen enough hatred in the past two weeks to recognize it in Bruck's final actions, but he didn't understand it. Contempt, dislike: he could see the reasons for those. He knew he shared those feelings with Bruck, much as he was trying to rise above them. But outright hatred between two Jedi seemed inconceivable to him.
Qui-Gon, he thought. I wish Qui-Gon were here.
But his master was out of reach. He was alone.
Setting his jaw grimly, he began to walk. The medic room was only two corridors away, but his face was chalky white and streaked with sweat when he keyed the infirmary's door.
"You attacked him?" Morran's voice was even, but a muscle twitched in one cheek.
Bruck looked down sullenly. "He started it! He. . .tripped me, in front of my friends!"
"I see. So, in retaliation for a moment's embarrassment, you have jeapordized our entire plan of action."
Bruck's head jerked upright. "What do you mean?"
"Don't be a fool. Surely you can see that, from this moment on, anything amiss in Kenobi's life will be automatically blamed on you."
"I haven't done anything else to him."
"No? Well, I have. And since the point of all this was to make you look impressive and him look like a sniveling whiner, you should have had the intelligence to realize that you must remain completely above suspicion. What if news of this reaches Qui-Gon Jinn? Will he choose you then?"
Bruck flinched. "Kenobi won't tell. It makes him look bad too."
Morran's eyes narrowed. "Exactly. Kenobi won't tell. Your foolish action will make him reluctant to tell anyone anything."
Bruck shrugged. "I don't see why it's that important."
Morran turned away. "Leave me."
"But Morran. . ."
"Go. Now."
Bruck opened his mouth to protest, but something in the man's too-quiet tone warned him, and he shuffled away.
In the dim room, Morran's eyes glowed with dark emotion.
"Stupid boy. You have no idea. . ."
TBC
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