The medic who applied the healing gel to Obi-wan‚s injuries was required to ask their cause, but Obi-Wan was not required to answer. Mouth in a firm line, he said only, "It was a personal matter."

The droid scanned his chest, looking for any rib fractures. "You are fortunate, young sir," it said finally. "A blow of that severity is almost always accompanied by fracture, but you seem to have escaped."

It closed up the scanner and fixed him with a severe mechanical eye.. "No strenuous activity, of any kind, for at least 24 hours. You must allow the gel to do its work."

Obi-Wan nodded meekly, relieved that the pain in his knee was already subsiding. "I'll be careful," he said, sliding gingerly off the examining platform.

He deliberately tried to cultivate a new attitude as he walked back to his chamber. Even though Bruck's attack had been vicious and unexpected, he could not honestly claim that he had not provoked it. His conduct earlier had not been terrible, but it hadn‚t been blameless either. The old Obi-Wan would have been imagining ways to retaliate; this newer one would try to let his anger dissipate. He would remain calm.

As he entered the corridor where his room was located, he was surprised to see a Temple Service Droid humming quietly to itself outside his door. As he approached, it beeped a recognition code, and said, "You are Obi-wan Kenobi."

Obi-Wan nodded, although it wasn‚t really necessary.

"It was noticed that you have lost your lightsaber. A new one is provided." The droid offered it expectantly.

Obi-Wan's face burned. Someone had seen him without it, and assumed it was gone because of his own carelessness. Suddenly, he remembered Master Adim, in the hallway earlier, her wise eyes studying him and Bruck so closely. An inward groan seized him. Was this her doing? The thought took hold, and crystallized. It would be very like the serene Adim to notice his lack of weapon and organize this pointed but subtle return. He would be so embarrassed when he next encountered her! And how would she react to the news that Qui-Gon had requested him as Padawan? Would she disapprove because she thought he was careless? Would she tell the Council about the scene she had witnessed in the hall?

The TSD was patiently waiting for him to take the lightsaber. When he slowly grasped it and attached it to his belt, the droid turned and glided away. Wrenching his mind from the worried circle it was running, Obi-Wan keyed his chamber's entrance.

At once, the acrid smell of burnt fabric assaulted him. All other thought disappeared under a wave of foreboding as he leaped forward and slammed his hand over the lightkey, and then stared in shock at the devastation illuminated by the glowing lamps.

A Jedi student's chamber is not large, but over the years Obi-Wan had filled this space with a significant accumulation of tiny droids, drawings and mock-ups of inventive new miniatures, datapads, holocubes, schematics of various lightsaber designs, and small gifts from friends. All were destroyed. The floor was covered with dismembered droids and smashed electronic components; his drawings were ripped into long shreds. The cushions and blankets on his sleep couch had been slashed with a lightsaber, and burnt in many places. His small bag, dropped casually be the door when he had arrived this morning, was cut in two, and the contents reduced to tiny scraps. His spare tunic was knotted contemptuously around one of the lamps, still smoking slightly.

Then his eyes fell on his small desk, and a low cry escaped him.

Obi-Wan Kenobi, despite all of the varied possessions in this room, owned only one object that he held truly dear. It was a tiny sculpture, about twenty centimeters high, depicting a many-pointed star surrounded by a swirling galaxy. When he had been taken from his family as an infant to become a Jedi student, his mother had carved the sculpture and sent it with him. The Knight who had discovered him and brought him to the Temple had told him of his mother's words as she tucked the little package into the blanket wrapped around him:

"Tell him, someday when he is older, that this trinket is a picture of all his family's hopes. In giving him to the Jedi, we are giving him the universe. Promise you will tell him that."

And the Knight had. Obi-Wan had no memory of leaving his family, and saw them only rarely, but the sculpture and the love behind it were his most valued possession.

His only treasure.

Now it lay in a hundred splinters, mounded into a little pile in the exact center of the desktop, a potent mockery of all that the tiny ornament had represented. Whoever had done this had wanted him to feel the loss as deeply as possible.

It was too much to accept. In one day, he had been divested of his lightsaber, attacked by a fellow student, and now stripped of all he had ever possessed.

Bruck, he thought. Only Bruck could be behind this.

The cold rage that filled him now was the strongest he had ever experienced. He twisted violently, ignoring the screech from his injured knee, and strode out the door. He would find Bruck, now, and force him to pay for the pain he had caused. His furious imagination presented him with an image of Bruck cowering at his feet, and he gloried in it.

He walked three steps and then stopped, breathing hard, struggling mightily. The Temple -trained part of his mind was screaming at him to _see_ himself, to acknowledge the darkness of the hard anger filling him. The power it was giving him was huge and strong, and, if he met Bruck like this, he would surely defeat him as easily as a sandcat dispatches a rodent, but it was a dark, black power. As Obi-Wan gained enough calm to back away from the anger, he was appalled by the seductive strength of it. He turned on his heel and walked back into his ruined chamber. His hands were shaking.

Focus! Think! The same Temple training commanded him. You don't _know_ that it was Bruck.

But if it wasn't Bruck, a small inner voice asked, who could it possibly have been? Who would do something like this?

"I need my Master," he whispered. "I don't know what to do."

There are other Masters here, he reminded himself. But the fears of earlier that day rose up, and now an added fear joined them. If he told them about this, they would perceive his anger. Perhaps they would see this as another sign that he was unworthy to be Padawan to so great a Knight as Qui-Gon Jinn.

No. He must handle this problem himself. Somehow.

Qui-Gon Jinn stood before the Oracle of Triki.

He was rather surprised to discover that, despite being housed in an elaborately-carved wooden temple, the Oracle was a simple computer terminal. It stood on a thin pedestal centered in a large expanse of highly-polished wooden floor, lit from above by a single hidden lightsource. Lush bouquets of slightly wilted flowers and leaves were heaped at the pedestal‚s base. The effect was faintly incongruous, until one considered the Trikan aptitude for fusing technology with religion. Perhaps it _was_ only a computer terminal, but it was also the mouth of the Trikan gods, and was obviously treated with great respect.

Tread carefully, he reminded himself. He turned to General Molu and Cultural Officer Kai, who had accompanied him.

"May I approach it?" he asked.

"Of course." Kai spoke rather pompously. "The Oracle welcomes all seekers."

Qui-Gon inclined his head respectfully, and crossed the wooden floor, his footsteps echoing in the hushed silence. He circled the Oracle, examining it carefully, and finally said, "There are no outside ports."

Kai seemed horrified by the suggestion. "Of course not! The Oracle needs no contact from outside the Temple to speak!"

Molu smiled. "There's no question of tampering, if I understand the direction your thoughts are taking."

"Tampering!" Kai gasped.

"If someone wished to tamper," Molu continued as if Kai hadn't spoken, "they would have to come physically here to the Temple, and, as you see, the Oracle is constantly guarded."

Qui-Gon had indeed noticed the heavily-armed Trikan standing stiffly beside the entrance.

"The guard is changed every four hours, day and night, so there is no question of fatigue."

"And the guards are. . .completely trustworthy?" This was an awkward question, but Qui-Gon felt it had to be asked.

Molu nodded once, sharply. "Completely. I've trained many of them myself."

Qui-Gon smiled. "An efficient system."

"Yes. The Oracle is the center of our way of life. It must be protected."

Qui-Gon nodded slowly. The system seemed impenetrable in its blunt simplicity, and yet. . . why had the Oracle inexplicably called for him? Why did he have a nagging sense of wrongness?

He glanced at Kai, and asked, "Will it answer my questions?"

"The Oracle welcomes all seekers," Kai repeated.

"It may take some time," Qui-Gon said.

Molu grinned at him, fully understanding what Qui-Gon was saying. "Come, Kai, let us leave the Master Jedi to his task." He strode out of the building, Kai trailing rather reluctantly in his wake.

Frowning, Qui-Gon bent over the Oracle. After a moment's study, he realized to his relief that it was mostly voice-activated.

"Oracle." he said in a low voice. "I wish to discuss the Sacred Messenger."

"As you wish. All seekers are welcome," it replied, its voice mellifluous and very feminine.

Qui-Gon blinked, and then, recovering quickly, asked, "Why was the Sacred Messenger notified of his duty so long after he originally came?"

"His duty was not known originally."

"Why?"

"We had not been informed."

"Who is 'we'?"

"The gods."

Qui-Gon absorbed this. Slowly he asked, "Do not the gods know all? Why did they require information?"

The Oracle was silent for a long moment. Then it said, "I have no answer for that question. Do you have another?"

Qui-Gon thought for a moment. "Can you tell me who it was that informed the gods that the Sacred Messenger must re-."

Before he could finish the word, his Force-heightened senses warned him of movement in the air behind him. In less than an instant, he activated his lightsaber and spun, the fiery blade slicing easily through the metal shaft of the spear aimed at his back. The spear head clattered uselessly to the floor, and the spear's wielder stumbled forward, suddenly off-balance as his weapon failed to find its mark. With a graceful, deadly movement, Qui-Gon struck out, his forearm catching the attacker across the throat like a bar of steel. The man collapsed to the floor with a choking cry.

In the light shining down on the Oracle, Qui-Gon saw that his attacker was a Trikan soldier, much like the one who had been guarding the entrance, though younger. With a shock, Qui-Gon realized that it was the soldier who had glared at him earlier. Glancing up, he saw that the original guard was gone; the entrance was unguarded. He turned his attention back to the fallen youth, still choking and fighting for breath. Qui-Gon searched him quickly for other weapons, removing two knives and shockingly, a small, lethal-looking microblaster. He had never seen a Trikan carry such a weapon; it was forbidden by taboo.

"Well, my young friend," he said kindly, "you certainly came prepared for battle. And skillfully, too. I didn't sense you until you were quite near."

"You shouldn‚t have sensed me at all," the youth rasped.

"What have you done with the guard?"

A hint of pride crossed the soldier's face, and his voice became boastful. "I disabled him easily. You didn't even notice."

Qui-Gon nodded. "Yes. How did you manage that?"

"I can mask my presence; I am as silent as air."

Qui-Gon leaned back, studying him intently. "That's interesting."

His casual tone provoked a virulent glare from the young soldier, Ignoring it, Qui-Gon stretched out with the Force, probing gently, seeking an impression of the boy. After a moment, he realized that his captive was aware of the Force, and was attempting, with little success, to control it.

"Who has been training you?" he asked.

A startled glint flared in the soldier‚s eyes, replaced quickly with defiance. He clamped his mouth shut, obviously determined to speak no further.

Qui-Gon was very disturbed. There were undercurrents flowing here that he did not understand. Helping the youth to his feet, he said, "Perhaps it would be best for you to speak with your own people about this."

"I will say nothing," the boy protested shrilly, fear sparking in his eyes.

At that moment, General Molu walked back in, calling cheerfully, "Friend Jedi, I forgot to tell you that the Oracle is . . ."

He trailed off as he took in the scene before him.

"Teek? What. . .?" Molu stared at the young soldier for a moment, and then looked to Qui-Gon for explanation.

"I was speaking with the Oracle, when this young man approached from behind with a spear, and . . .attacked. I was forced to defend myself rather abruptly." Qui-Gon gestured at the knives and blaster lying on the floor. "He had some secondary weapons, as well."

The cheerful friendliness had drained out of Molu‚s face, replaced by an iron grimness. Stepping forward, he struck the youth across the face, so hard that his head snapped back sharply.

"You have shamed all tribes by attacking our most-honored guest." Molu‚s tone was quiet and implacable. "Teek, what say you?" v "I say nothing."

"Nothing? You offer no explanation, no defense?"

The boy shook his head, lifting his chin in blatant defiance.

"Then," Molu said, very softly, "you face the _trogo_."

"No!" Teek's face sagged.

"Will you speak, then?"

Slowly, the youth set his jaw. "No."

"So, the _trogo_ is our only recourse."

He grasped Teek above one elbow, turning him toward the door. Pushing the boy ahead, he looked back over his shoulder at Qui-Gon. "I am sorry. You must come as well. The gods demand that the accuser be present at the _trogo_."

"May I ask what this is?"

"It is the way of truth," Molu turned away, his shoulders bent as if under a great weight. "For the traitor, it is a hard way."

Pushing Teek ahead of him, Molu led Qui-Gon back to the Residence. In the Court, a lively crowd was gathered, shouting to be heard above bright, rhythmic music. As the three approached the center of the room, though, a gradual silence descended until, when they reached Orthu Bela, the room was completely still. Everyone present heard Molu say, "We must have the _trogo_."

To Qui-Gon's surprise, no one questioned this or asked for any details.. A large open space was cleared, and Teek was ordered to kneel there. Molu and Orthu Bela consulted together for several long minutes, and then the king strode forward and stood looking down at Teek, an expression of deep sadness replacing his usual jocularity.

"Teek, son of Jiro, I am your king. What say you?"

The young man turned his head to one side, refusing to meet Orthu Bela's eyes.

"You are my king," he finally muttered.

"You acknowledge my authority, yet you refuse to explain or defend your traitorous actions. For this, you face the _trogo_. Do you accept it?"

"No! I do not accept it!"

The king's voice was regretful. "I judge that the _trogo_ will nevertheless be performed. Submit to it, Teek. You know the consequences otherwise."

The boy looked up, a snarl disfiguring his face. "Do it, then! I can resist it! You will learn nothing from me! My strength is greater than some ancient tradition."

The king shook his head. "You say that easily now. But then, you have never actually seen the _trogo_, have you?"

Sullenly, Teek dropped his eyes.

Orthu Bela stepped back, and Molu and five other Trikans, prominent Court members by their dress, formed a circle around Teek. Each placed his hand, palm inward, on the forehead of the one to his right, and all focused an unblinking stare at the young man in their midst.

For a long while, nothing seemed to happen. But Qui-Gon saw great beads of sweat forming along Teek's hairline, and his neck began to bend forward with agonizing slowness, as if the boy was fighting the movement with all his power. Qui-Gon searched the Force, but beyond the pulsing life in the room, he sensed nothing. Whatever was happening here, it was not specifically Force-generated.

Suddenly, the boy gave a great, gasping cry, and slumped forward to lie still and crumpled on the damp stone floor. The six men around him dropped their hands, but remained gazing down on him. From across the room, Qui-Gon could feel their sorrow.

After a long interval, the fallen figure stirred, and the boy sat up. One of the Trikans rushed forward with a chair, and two of the Court members helped Teek into it. Molu motioned for Qui-Gon to join them.

Qui-Gon entered the circle and then stopped, shocked to see that Teek's eyes were dull, devoid of any intelligence. He turned to Molu, who said softly, "The _trogo_ is a way of sifting the mind for information. If the subject submits willingly and opens his mind, there is no discomfort or side-effect."

"And he did not submit," Qui-Gon said sadly.

"He tried to hide the information. You see the result."

Qui-Gon knelt, and cupped the boy's chin with one hand, studying the empty eyes. After a silent moment, he whispered, "What information was he hiding?"

"It was he who tampered with the Oracle."

"But why? I've never met Teek before. Why did he want me here so badly that he broke taboo to make it happen?"

Molu's forehead was creased with concern. "We cannot tell you. The boy's mental abilities have been strengthened somehow. We were only able to glean the information about the Oracle, and several vague images."

"Images of what?"

Molu frowned. "They were very unclear. But we saw a figure of a man dressed all in black, and a strange mark."

"A mark?"

"Yes. We could not see where the mark was located, or even its size or color, but the shape of it was very clear. Come, I'll draw it for you."

Molu led Qui-Gon out the side door, where the courtyard torches burned very brightly. Stooping, he pressed his finger into the soft earth, and traced a mark.

A broken circle.

Qui-Gon's whole being turned cold and still, his focus shrinking until that simple mark filled all his vision.

Molu looked up at him, and then straightened hurriedly to catch Qui-Gon's arm.

"Master Jedi! You know this mark?"

"Yes," Qui-Gon answered. "I know it. I know it very well."

TBC

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