Title: Joint Strength
Author: Rene
Rating: PG, maybe PG-13 for the whole story
Notes: See Part One
Disclaimer: All for fun: no pennies earned from this labor of love
Summary of this part: Bant’s promise to Obi-Wan leads her to make a dangerous choice. Qui-Gon conducts an odd interrogation.
Archive: Padawan Journals and Early Years
Qui-Gon slipped through the thick Trikan darkness. Outside the king's
Residence, the torches had been extinguished, but he sensed movement inside,
and, as he drew nearer, the faint, jovial sounds of a party in its final
stages. Without pausing to knock, he pushed open the small side entrance,
and strode quickly into the Main Court.
Here muted light reflected off stone and wood. In a far corner, Qui-Gon saw several figures hunched over a game table, shouting encouragement to a tall, thin courtier who was spinning a multicolored diamond-shaped die on one end. As Qui-Gon approached, it whirled to a stop and tumbled on its side, revealing a black face which caused good-natured groans from the small group. A muscular arm reached up and patted the thin man sympathetically on the back of his head; Qui-Gon recognized it as the king's. As he stepped into the brighter light around the table, Orthu Bela glanced up, and then stood, a genial smile lighting his face.
"Master Jedi!" he called, his voice an understated version of its usual bellow. "I didn't realize you were a late-night sort of person!"
"It's not by choice, your majesty," Qui-Gon said. "I have an urgent need to contact Coruscant. May I use your transceiver?"
Orthu Bela's smile slid off his face, replaced by a stricken frown.
"No one can use the holonet tonight." He gestured upward, and his voice softened reverently. "The moon waxes. The gods are walking."
The Trikans at the table behind him dipped their fingers into their cups and goblets, and flicked droplets of liquid toward the ceiling.
Qui-Gon frowned. "I'm sorry. I don't understand."
"There is no need for apology. It is our way, not yours. But I will tell you that, when the gods walk, nothing may share the sky with them. No ships, no lights, no communication beams. The gods walk in purity."
"For how long?"
"Until the moon begins to wane. Tomorrow night."
Qui-Gon tried to keep frustration from coloring his tone. "Forgive me, your highness, but since I am not Trikan, perhaps I. . ."
"No." Orthu Bela's voice was suffused with regret. "No. All who walk below our sky are beneath the gods' tread. Even the Jedi."
A silence wrapped itself about them, as Qui-Gon's mind searched desperately for a way out from beneath the tread of the gods. But none presented itself. He knew as well as anyone the absolute firmness of Trikan taboo. No communication. And his ship would not return until the next evening.
The king's voice interrupted his thoughts. "I'm truly sorry. Can we help?"
Qui-Gon slowly shook his head. "No. No, I think not, though I'm grateful for your concern."
Orthu Bela nodded, and gripped Qui-Gon's shoulder warmly. "You will tell me at once if there is something we can do."
"Yes, at once. Thank you."
The king stepped over to a table overflowing with platters of fruit and bottles of varying sizes. He lifted one of these and raised a questioning eyebrow, but Qui-Gon shook his head, declining. Wishing the king "good sleeping", he left the Court. His face was calm, his stride smooth, but one clenched fist showed the agitation of his spirit. First, the broken circle, he thought, and then that blast of fear. Had it really been Obi-Wan he had sensed? He could think of no other being whose emotions he would be able to detect so strongly, and yet, he had only known the boy for a few short weeks. It was true that those weeks had been fraught with experiences destined to bind them together, but, still,. . .
He straightened his shoulders. No matter whose fear it had been, there was nothing he could do about it right now. He must be patient. He must wait.
Tipping his head to study the glowing moon, Qui-Gon Jinn sighed, a brief exhalation of frustration and concern heard only by the gods under whose sky he walked.
"How close?" The man called Morran leaned forward, his magnetic eyes locking Bruck Chun's gaze to his face.
"Close." Bruck handed the black cloak he had been wearing back to its owner.
"I need a more specific answer." Morran's voice was edged with menace as he flung the cloak around his shoulders and raised the hood. "Close enough to frighten him?"
Bruck wrenched his eyes away, looking at his hand, his feet, the opposite wall. . .
"Answer me, Bruck. How close?"
"Too close, all right? I struck him with it!"
The silence following this outburst grew long and thick. Finally, Bruck dragged his eyes upward to find Morran staring at him speculatively.
"You killed him?"
"No!" Bruck cried, horror evident in his tone. "No, of course not!"
"There is no 'of course', my young friend. Why did you strike him if not to kill him?"
"I didn't mean to hit him with it! He moved, he jumped right in its path. . ."
"You are free to tell yourself that, if it makes you feel more comfortable. But doesn't it seem strange that a highly-trained Jedi pupil such as yourself would make such a mistake?"
Bruck bowed his head, his face showing the dark confusion these words stirred in his mind. Beneath the deep hood of his cloak, Morran smiled slightly, a smirk which quickly disappeared as the boy looked up again.
"I wasn't trying to kill him," he said, a bit desperately.
Morran shrugged, "As you wish. Tell me, was he wearing a new lightsaber?"
Bruck receded inward, mentally focusing, remembering. . . "Yes. I saw it flash when he jumped. Why?"
"No matter. In any case, it's fortunate that you didn't succeed in killing him. By striking him, you've assured that he will make a report to the Council."
"I don't see how that does me any good."
"There is a great deal that you don't see. You must trust me. I have insight into the mind of Qui-Gon Jinn. He will never choose as Padawan one who goes running to the Council, which leaves the way clear for him to choose you."
Bruck nodded. His intense desire to believe showed clearly in his taut jaw.
Morran echoed the nod, his eyes' mocking glint hidden in the hood's shadow. "Yes. Trust me, Bruck. I know exactly what I'm doing."
Bant knelt.
Although synonymous with meditation, the familiar posture brought no accompanying peace. Her mind refused to focus on anything except the confused image of a shining knife aimed at Obi-Wan's head. Almost wincing, she strove to put the image away, but it refused to be dismissed, and at last she surrendered to it.
Someone was trying to kill her friend. No matter what Obi-Wan said, she was absolutely convinced that he was in grave danger. Could she allow him to blithely ignore a threat of this magnitude?
She opened her eyes, just enough to study the other students in the class. They all seemed deeply buried in meditation, including Reeft, who knelt to her right. His calm face gave no hint that he was struggling with similar thoughts, and yet she thought he must be. How could he or Garen not be equally as concerned as she?
The solution, the _obvious_ answer, was to find a Master immediately and tell him or her the entire story. But. . .Obi-Wan had made them promise, and Bant was Calamarian. To her people, loyalty was the highest virtue, above truth, above honor.
Above common sense.
She almost snorted in frustration, stopping herself just in time. All right, then, so she couldn't accept the obvious answer. What else could be done? Her promise to Obi-Wan had been only to keep silent, not to keep out of it. If he wasn't going to take this threat seriously, she would.v Her eyes slid sideways, to covertly study another member of her class. Bruck Chun was silhouetted against the window at the far wall of the room. His face, too, was a picture of serenity, but did she not detect a flicker of disquiet in him? Perhaps, just maybe, he was involved in all this. He might not have thrown that knife, but maybe he knew who had.
Yes, she thought. He might be completely innocent, but if he's not. . .I'll find out what he knows.
She watched him surreptitiously, accomplishing no meditation at all during the long class period. Bruck was motionless, but, perhaps because of her single-minded focus on him alone, Bant could feel his swirling agitation. Her conviction in her chosen course of action solidified into certainty.
When the class ended, and the students were dismissed, Bruck slipped quickly out of the room, speaking with no one. With a brief, furtive glance behind, he left the main hall outside the meditation room and turned down a much smaller secondary corridor.
Bant followed him.
When a misty dawn had washed the moon from the sky, Qui-Gon stepped out
of his small guesthouse just as Molu emerged from the direction of the
Residence. The general gave him a brief wrists-crossed salute, and then, as
he drew closer, called, "A fair morning, friend Jedi! Did you have good
sleeping?"
Qui-Gon hesitated. "I've had better."
Quick concern creased Molu's brow. "Insects? A snake in your bed?"
"No. Thank the Force." Faint amusement colored Qui-Gon's voice.
"As you say." Molu waited for a moment, and then, when it became clear that Qui-Gon did not wish to share the cause of his poor sleeping, he said, "Come. Let's investigate Teek's home. I'm not looking forward to what we may find there."
They were silent as they walked, Molu blanketed with edginess at the thought of the task before them, and Qui-Gon searching still for a gap in the wall of taboo that prevented him from contacting Obi-Wan. The Soldier's Circle was eerily quiet when they entered it. Molu grinned at Qui-Gon's unspoken question.
"I sent them all on river-maneuvers. More practice for them; peace and privacy for us."
Qui-Gon smiled. "You are a model of efficiency, General."
"I would not be a general otherwise, right?"
They paused in front of Teek's door, still half-open from Molu's aborted attempt to enter the day before. Eyes closed briefly, Qui-Gon searched the Force, but sensed no danger. He glanced over at Molu, who was waiting, brows raised. Qui-Gon shook his head. "All seems well. Shall we try it?"
Moving carefully, they entered the little house, pausing for a moment to let their eyes adjust to the dim light. The single round room was wretchedly untidy, piles of fruit rinds and bread crusts sharing the floor with discarded uniforms and crumpled towels. The bed was a whirlpool of dingy linen, and, as Qui-Gon watched, a gleaming black beetle scuttled across the creased pillow. A faintly musty smell pervaded the air, causing Molu to mutter, "He obviously didn't listen to my last speech about cleanliness." His voice suddenly rasped with regret and sorrow. "Or any of my speeches about anything, apparently."
Qui-Gon looked up from his examination of the bedside table. "Yesterday you told me that I bore no blame, that Teek had made his own choice. I think that same wisdom could be applied to yourself, General."v Molu smiled tightly. "But it's easier to dispense my wise sayings to others. Much harder to sink them in my own heart."
"How well I know that." Qui-Gon bent to scan the lower shelves of the table, which were covered with what appeared to be some sort of data solid. Gingerly, he lifted one, studying its iridescent depths. "Molu," he said, turning. "What is. . ."
He stopped abruptly when he saw the general's hand lift, commanding silence. With excruciating slowness, Molu lowered himself to his hands and knees, and then slid forward, his eyes fastened on a dark recess behind three storage baskets. He stretched one hand out to the side, fumbling slightly until he grasped a discarded shirt, and drew it slowly in toward his chest. Qui-Gon watched, utterly still.
Suddenly, with shocking speed, Molu sprang forward, his body stretching prone as he lunged into the dark corner, flinging the shirt. There was a grating shriek, and then Molu pulled the shirt out into the center of the floor. Something was struggling mightily underneath, emitting squawks of profound distress.
"Well," Molu said, breathing hard. "I think we have found what the boy was protecting."
Qui-Gon crouched beside him. "What is it?"
"Watch." Carefully, Molu lifted the shirt with one hand, making a soft clicking noise with his teeth. The squawks abruptly ceased. A small creature crawled out from beneath the confining cloth and sat on its haunches, blinking luminous green eyes at them.
Its body was sinuous and slightly elongated, covered with sleek black fur. The legs were short and muscular, ending in five-toed feet equipped with obvious claws. After a moment's study, Qui-Gon could see a subtle pattern of brown spots along the spine and shoulders. Two rounded ears were pricked alertly in their direction, and the creature's slim snout was raised, obviously drinking in their scent.
It opened its mouth, and said, "Watch."
Qui-Gon blinked. The creature's voice was recognizably the same as Molu's.
"What is it?" he asked again, looking over at Molu.
"What is it?" The creature tipped its head to one side, eyeing them quizzically. This time its voice was Qui-Gon's.
Molu grinned. "A _sinna_. They are marvelous mimics, as you see."
"Was this a . . . pet?"
Molu's smile faded. "I think it must have been. But the only way to keep a _sinna_ in captivity is to capture it at birth. I fear greatly that Teek may have killed this one's mother to do so."
Qui-Gon felt distaste rise in his throat. "I see."
Molu glanced at him, nodding. "Yes. It is a great evil, forbidden long ago, by Orthu Bela's grandfather. It seems that Teek had lost his respect for all of our laws."
The little creature copied Molu's nod. "Orthu Bela's grandfather," it said gravely.
Qui-Gon turned his attention back to it. "Does it understand language? Or just mimic it?"
"Just mimic, we think, but no one is completely sure. The _sinna_ usually run free, deep in the forest. Not much study of them has been done."
"So Teek planted the _wik_ to prevent anyone from discovering it."
"Yes. In the confusion of someone being struck, he must have thought it would surely escape."
"It didn't run, though. It hid."
Molu reached out a hand, stroking the creature's shoulder. "Yes. It obviously has no idea how to live on its own. The foolish boy should have realized that. In the forest, it would be caught by a predator in no time."
Qui-Gon paused. "Maybe he did realize it," he said slowly. "Maybe he was counting on it if anything happened to him."
"What do you mean?" Now the _sinna_ had crawled up Molu's arm and perched on his shoulder. It sat fastidiously grooming its whiskers.
"It mimics perfectly. How far back does it remember?"
Molu stared at him. "I have no idea. But even if you're thinking what I suspect you're thinking. . ." He shook his head. "How would you ever discover what it remembers?"
Qui-Gon didn't answer. Settling into a kneeling meditation posture, he closed his eyes, sinking into the Force, drawing it toward him. He perceived clearly the almost overwhelming life that surrounded him, and only after much concentration was he able to isolate the three of them in the room: himself, Molu and the little _sinna_. Then, he let awareness of his own body and the general fade, and focused solely on the creature.v Its mind was afire with life, sparking rapidly with curiosity, vague hunger, and contentment, now that it was comfortably ensconced on Molu's shoulder. Qui-Gon approached it warily, through the Force, and projected an impression of trust with all his strength.
Trust me. Trust me. I'll not harm you. You're safe. You'll be cared for. Trust me.
He felt the creature's mind focus on him with startling intensity, but the impressions flowing through it were too strange and too fleeting for him to grasp. He caught a brief, oddly distorted vision of himself and Molu, but, though he struggled with all his skill, he could discern nothing more that was understandable.
He opened his eyes to find Molu and the _sinna_ studying him with identical interested gazes. The _sinna'a_ glowing eyes suddenly flared with something akin to recognition, and, with a low squawk, it leaped off Molu's shoulder and folded itself into a waiting posture in front of Qui-Gon, looking up at him expectantly.
Qui-Gon threw a glance at Molu, who shrugged. "Perhaps it needs some sort of . . .cue?"
Qui-Gon sat back, crossed his arms, and said, "Teek."
The creature cocked its head, and said nothing.
Qui-Gon ignored Molu's skeptical expression, and tried again. "Oracle."
The creature lifted one foot and began to nibble a claw.
Molu rubbed his face, trying unsuccessfully to hide a smile. Qui-Gon set his jaw, and said, "Qui-Gon Jinn."
Dropping its foot, the _sinna_ widened its eyes and said, "Qui-Gon Jinn must die on Triki."
The voice was strong, arrogant, cold. It was Xanatos.
TBC
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