Title: Joint Strength
Author: Rene
Rating: PG
Notes: See Part One
Summary of this part: Begins exactly where part seven left off: Qui-Gon is nudging the arming switch on the spider-mine, and Obi-Wan’s comlink is buzzing. In this part, Qui-Gon determines to leave Triki by any method necessary, Molu faces a heart-wrenching dilemma, and Obi-Wan makes creative use of the environment in which he finds himself.
Disclaimer: Characters borrowed from the great Lucasfilm library; I make no unseemly profit off them.
Archive: Padawan Journals and Early Years Archive
Feedback: Yes!
Joint Strength Part Eight
Silence.
The abrupt cessation of the spider-mine's piercing squeal created a momentary vacuum, quickly filled with an inrushing cacophony of bird and insect song. From his position at the tree's base, Molu slowly straightened, flexing shoulders that had unconsciously hunched against the coming explosion. An awed light glimmered around the edges of his impassive expression as he watched Qui-Gon lower his hand and open his eyes.
"The gods walk with you, my friend," Molu said, jerking his chin upward in the _sinna's_ direction. "The explosion would have destroyed everything in a one-hundred-meter radius."
Qui-Gon raised his eyebrows. "There was indeed a venomous snake in Teek's house."
"So it seems." Molu's face darkened. "The trigger must have been planted in the door frame. If the _sinna_ ever left the house. . ." He thrust his hands upward in an explosive gesture.
Qui-Gon nodded. "I find it difficult to believe that Teek would have planted such a device in his own pet. I sense the cold-blooded efficiency of a darker mind."
"Your enemy?"
"Perhaps." Qui-Gon rubbed his jaw, eyes intent on a faraway thought. "It hardly matters now, since we've avoided the trap. The fact remains that, whatever his original plans here, he's changed them to make my whole visit an elaborate decoy of some sort, and the true danger lies in Coruscant. I must go there. Now."
"There is no way to go."
"I will speak to the Oracle."
"Even if it grants you leave, your ship will not return till dusk, and by then the taboo will be lifted. Why not wait?" But even as he said the words, Molu shook his head, rejecting them. "No. No, I understand your urgency. This. . .fear. . . you felt, back in the house. You think it comes from your apprentice."
"Yes."
The two men stood facing each other, as the jungle sang around them. The _sinna_, freed from the torment of the spider-mine, eased down the tree's trunk in a loose spiral, chattering cheerfully. It leaped the short space to the general's shoulder and curled easily around his neck, hindquarters trailing off one side, front paws off the other. Molu reached up absently to stroke its head, but his face was tight with conflict. Although, like all Trikans, he was completely tied to his homeworld, he well understood that a larger galaxy existed around it. This Jedi possessed integral ties to that larger galaxy, and Molu felt that, through the friendship which had grown between them, he possessed those ties too, however tenuous. Only a week ago, the death of Jedi on faraway Coruscant would have meant little to him, only a moment's unfocused regret for the loss of lives. But now. . .
Could he stand impassively by and watch the evil wrought by his own soldier rip the heart out of this man, who had now twice saved his life?
Qui-Gon sensed a struggle in the general's emotions, but he made no effort to interpret it. His own spirit was wrapped in something very like fear, though he rode above it grimly.
Xanatos is wholly given to darkness now, he thought. Whatever light he possessed snuffed out by greed and rage and lust for vengeance. The darkness of the old apprentice threatens to bury the new.
His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
He would not allow that to happen.
"General," he said, his voice almost as brittle as the silence between them, "You seem doubtful of the Oracle's help, and I am inclined to agree. I must take more drastic measures."
Molu's face grew wary. "Such as what?"
"I know from my study of your world that Trikans rarely leave it, but I also know that the Trikan senator transports herself to and from Coruscant on a government ship. True?"
"Yes. But. . ."
"Where there is one government ship, there may be others. I ask nothing of you but that you direct me to where they might be. And walk away."
Molu did not answer, his eyes drained of warmth.
Qui-Gon stared directly into them. "Surely you break no taboo by providing me this small bit of information. Do the gods not reward the preservation of life?"
Molu's voice was low and flat. "They reward honor more highly."
Qui-Gon nodded and looked away, his mind already searching for other alternatives. He could think of no other persuasion. He would have to find the ships on his own, wasting precious time, time Obi-Wan might not have. . .
"But honor, in this case, seems to me a complicated matter." Molu studied the knife stuck in his belt, his face suddenly anguished. "Twice you have saved my life. Now the life of one close to you is endangered by the evil work of one who was close to me. Shall I repay your friendship by letting the evil grow and spread?"
"You must do what you think is right," Qui-Gon said slowly.
"The gods demand the taboo. But they also demand honor." Molu looked up, sharply, and gazed at Qui-Gon with eyes that were blinded with sorrow.
"Come, Master Jedi," he said. "I will take you to Coruscant."
A'ali Cek considered the comlink in her hand. It was silent, as it had been for several long minutes. With a small inward sigh she transferred her gaze to the datapad in her other hand, vaguely hoping that by ignoring the comlink, she might spur it into action.
It remained stubbornly mute.
Since she was alone in the antechamber, she allowed herself a grimace. The Masters had a long list of appointments and discussions on their agenda for this afternoon. The silent comlink represented a break in the smooth efficiency of the Council schedule.
She bathed the little instrument in one final, slightly malevolent stare, but it still refused to buzz, so she slipped it into its pouch on her belt, and approached a small, engraved door at the rear of the antechamber. It slid noiselessly aside to reveal a circular room, ringed with spacious windows that framed a matchless view of Coruscant's busy skyline. A second ring, this one of twelve variously-shaped chairs, also echoed the chamber's sweeping shape.
For all the grandeur of its view, the room itself was simple, its only ornamentation an intricately patterned floor. The chairs were all gray, with deep red cushions, and the chairs' occupants were all clothed in harmonious shades of cream and brown. Despite the differences in species represented, the room's twelve members were obviously one in purpose, if not always one in mind.
As A'ali entered, they turned to regard her. She smiled slightly and bowed to all of them, though she addressed herself only to a diminutive, elderly woman seated to the right of the engraved door, a woman radiant with an aura of controlled strength. She was Tel Edrunn, a senior member of the Jedi Council, and Master to A'ali Cek.
"Masters," A'ali said, straightening, "I have contacted everyone that you wished to speak with today, and all have agreed to come this afternoon or tomorrow, with one exception."
Tel Edrunn raised one brow, and several of the other Masters exchanged interested glances. It was very rare, indeed, that someone refused a summons to the Council chamber.
"The student Obi-Wan Kenobi has not answered his comlink," A'ali finished.
A small silence curled itself around the chamber, as the Masters considered this. After a moment, Master Yoda said, "Certain are you that he is present in the Temple?"
One of A'ali's shoulders twitched in what might have been an aborted shrug. Face neutral, she said, "I checked, Master. Shuttle records indicate that he arrived yesterday morning, on the same transport as Qui-Gon Jinn, and there is no record of him leaving."
"But he doesn't answer his comlink," Tel Edrunn frowned. "That's strange."
She glanced around the room, and then, sensing consensus, returned her gaze to A'ali. "Route the message to his chamber's datapad, Padawan. And check on it this evening. If he still hasn't retrieved it, perhaps you should seek him in person."
A'ali bowed smoothly. "Yes, Master. I'll send it his way at once."
The echo of the comlink's buzz was still bouncing off the far wall as Obi-Wan seized it and powered it off with a frantic slap. His pounding heart gave him no time to spare even a thought for who might be calling. He cared only to prevent another nerve-wracking buzz from broadcasting his presence.
Maybe he didn't hear it, Obi-Wan thought. Maybe it just sounded loud to me. . .
Even as Obi-Wan sank further back behind the last row of containers, his Force-augmented senses detected a footfall, and the door to the storage room slid aside with shocking suddenness. For a moment, Obi-Wan saw only a vague silhouette against the relative brightness of the corridor, but as the figure stepped forward, his features became clear, and Obi-Wan felt his jaw clamp around a gasp of surprise.
It was Bruck Chun.
He must have taken off the robe and mask, Obi-Wan thought, his mind circling confusedly.
But immediately, he realized that his attacker had been much taller and more powerful than Bruck. And no dark cloud of menace hung in the air as Bruck moved forward a few more steps. Whatever Bruck was doing here, he hadn't been trying to kill Obi-Wan out in the corridor.
He opened his mouth to speak, to challenge Bruck's presence, and then slammed it shut again as an icy trickle of darkness warned him. A tall robed form shadowed the doorway.
"Bruck?" his cold voice murmured, its edges tinged with impatience.
Obi-Wan held himself completely still, transfixed. That voice. . .?
"He's in here!" Bruck hissed. "I heard something." He raised his voice. "I know you're here, Oafy. Hiding like a scared little rodent. Come out. Show you're worth something!"
"If he were here, such a clumsy taunt would hardly be sufficient to move him," the tall figure said. His voice was low, almost a whisper; yet every word was distinct, etched with the acid of dark purpose. "Rather, I think that Obi-Wan Kenobi requires more subtle motivation."
The dark one strode forward, past Bruck, and began to walk down the aisle between the first two rows of containers. His words slid sinuously among them.
"It may interest you to know, young Kenobi, that Master Qui-Gon Jinn will be finishing his errand on Triki any moment now, one way or another. When he returns to Coruscant, I feel that he will be most interested in your activities while he was away."
He paused, gazing up toward the ceiling as if gathering his thoughts.
"Let's see. You have lost your lightsaber, provoked a fight with young Bruck here, been attacked with a knife by a mysterious stranger and yet failed to report it, or anything else for that matter, to the esteemed Jedi Council. None of these actions show much skill or wisdom on your part."
His voice dropped to a vicious hiss.
"Perhaps Qui-Gon Jinn will rethink his decision to take a Padawan."
The bile of sick horror coated Obi-Wan's throat. This grim figure somehow knew all his movements since he'd returned, and apparently, Qui-Gon's as well. He seemed to sense Obi-Wan's deepest fears. A miasma of emotion clouded Obi-Wan's mind. He shook his head slightly, to clear it, and shouted to himself, in the deepest confines of his sprit, "No! Qui-Gon accepted me as Padawan. He wouldn't change his mind that way. He wouldn't. He wouldn't. . ."
Wrapping his mind in those two words to the exclusion of all else, Obi-Wan lowered himself to his hands and knees, and began to crawl noiselessly down the row of containers. The robed menace was only three rows away, obviously listening intently, trying to sense Obi-Wan's location. But Obi-Wan filled his mind with a gray haze, focusing only on his faith in Qui-Gon, and of moving without sound.
Bruck had retreated to the stacks of smaller containers along the front wall of the room, and was peering behind them, his stocky back spotlighted by the open door's rectangle of light. The dark one had reached the end of the first row, near the far wall. Obi-Wan seized the chance. He leaped to his feet, grabbed the lid of the container in front of him and flung it at Bruck with all his strength, edge-on. The movement warned Bruck too late, and the lid struck him just above the ear as he turned his head. He dropped as if blasted by a macrogun. The robed attacker leaped over the containers, lightsaber ignited, but Obi-Wan was already running out the door. The enemy followed, slowing his pace almost imperceptibly as he lunged into the corridor. He was far behind when Obi-Wan made a graceful bend in mid-stride, scooping up the lightsaber he had dropped at the beginning of their battle, and activating it as he turned.
A glint of hard admiration showed behind the mask, but the robed man did not raise his own weapon. The glowing blade remained pointed at the floor.
"Are you really ready to engage me in a duel?" he called down the hall, his voice a rasping whisper. "You cannot possibly defeat me. You are intelligent enough to know this." He gestured casually with a black-gloved hand as Bruck Chun stumbled out of the storage room, so possessed by anger that he was incoherent.
"And even if you were willing to try your skill with me, Obi-Wan Kenobi, you cannot battle both of us." The menace in the voice deepened. "Give yourself up now. You cannot win this fight."
Beside him, Bruck ignited his saber and charged down the hall with an inarticulate cry.
At the far end, Obi-Wan looked at Bruck coming, but he focused on the dark one.
He wants me to leave, he thought. Why? Why let me go? He knows I'll have every Jedi in the Temple down here in five minutes. . .
But there was no more time to think. He must leave, or be forced to defend himself against Bruck. The other boy was almost on him. With a quick twist, Obi-Wan ducked into the lift tube. The door slid closed in front of Bruck's slashing saber, and Obi-Wan heard, faintly, the other boy's hoarse shout.
He could not discern the words, but the blazing rage contained in them was clear as starless space, and just as dark.
At the other end of the corridor, the gleaming eyes watching this filled with satisfaction, and the mask hid a smile born of genuine delight.
"Go, Kenobi," he murmured. "Take your lightsaber and run."
Garen and Reeft lingered over their food as long as they possibly could, but now the warning chime was sounding, and the two other chairs at their table remained empty.
"Where could they be?" Reeft said finally, breaking the thoughtful silence.
"I don't know," Garen said, fingering a crust of bread. "But I hope they're all right." He glanced around the rapidly-emptying room and lowered his voice. Reeft leaned forward to catch the words.
"I didn't see Bruck Chun here either."
Reeft nodded. The two boys shared a grim look as they stood.
"Maybe," Garen said slowly, "It's nothing. Maybe they just weren't hungry."
Reeft shook his head. "You don't really think that, and neither do I. There's something wrong. I have a bad feeling."
"Yes," Garen looked over to the wall where the mark of the thrown shiv was still faintly visible. "So do I."
TBC
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