Title: Joint Strength
Author: Rene
Rating: PG, maybe PG-13 for the whole story
Notes: See Part One
Disclaimer: The only profit I gain from this story is the fun I have writing it.
Summary of this part: Obi-Wan makes a decision; Qui-Gon and Molu face obstacles in their quest to leave Triki.
Feedback: Yes, absolutely!
Archive: Padawan Journals and Early Years
Obi-Wan stood in the exact center of the lift, head down, breath quick,
thoughts racing. The lift’s simple computer, programmed to avoid wasteful
use of power, prompted its passenger with a soft four-tone.
“Oh,” Obi-Wan shook his head, clearing away the knotted strands of unfocused thought cluttering his mind, and looked up toward the computer’s voder panel. “Take me to the Council Chamber.” He thought wryly of his fears the day before, his determination to stay silent about the destruction of his room and the knife attack. Those incidents now seemed almost trivial in comparison to the dark enemy he had found in the bowels of the Temple, and his worries concerning his own status seemed laughable. The Masters must know of this at once. And, if he needed to find a Master, best to go straight to most obvious source. . .
“This is a secondary lift, sir. Access to the Chamber level is not available.” The lift’s voice sounded faintly impatient.
“Right.” Obi-Wan considered this for a bare moment, and then said, “Take me to the nearest level with a lift that _will_ access the Council level.”
“Level six, sir.” The lift whooshed into motion, and fell thankfully silent. Obi-Wan lapsed back into thought, replaying the final moments down in the hall with his brow furrowed.
He wanted me to leave, he thought. Wanted me to get away. Why? Doesn’t make any sense. . .
One hand clenched unconsciously around his lightsaber. Wanted me to leave, his inner voice repeated. Wanted me to. . .tell the Masters? Does he _want_ the Masters to know he’s down there? Why?
But his mind refused to supply any plausible reason for such a desire on the part of his dark attacker. Every scenario that Obi-Wan could imagine led directly to the robed man being caught and held by a large number of skillful Jedi Masters. Why would the dark one want to be found? What possible objective would that achieve?
Despite the lack of rationality, a growing conviction solidified in his heart. The man down there _did_ want Obi-Wan to broadcast his presence. What other reason could there be for letting him escape?
The lift glided to a smooth halt, its doors sliding silently open. Obi-Wan remained absolutely still, his mind seeking the motives of another mind six levels down.
“Others are waiting for this lift’s service,” the voder intoned darkly.
Spearing it with an impatient glance, Obi-Wan strode into the hall, angling his steps toward the main lift at the far end.
It’s not really my problem now, he thought. The Masters are wiser than me, more qualified to deal with this. They’ll know what to do. . .
But even as this thought flitted by, his steps were slowing, until he came to a complete halt three strides away from the main lift.
Use your instincts, Obi-Wan.
He could almost hear Qui-Gon’s voice. He knew with absolute certainty, somehow, that these would be his Master’s words if Qui-Gon were here to give him advice.
His instincts. . .
What were they telling him?
The dark one wanted his presence known. He was using Obi-Wan as his mouthpiece. He wanted Obi-Wan to run to the Masters.
Obi-Wan’s mouth tightened into a thin, grim line.
All right, then. He would _not_ go. He would not be his enemy’s tool.
But what should he do? A spasm of nauseating uncertainty twisted his face. Stay here, or go. . .where? What to do?
He let out his breath in an explosive gust of frustration, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling.
And his gaze settled speculatively on the polished metal cover of a ventilation shaft.
* * * *
Qui-Gon followed Molu along a wooden walkway, this one roofed over with a series of latticework arches interlaced with blooming vines. A sweet, velvety scent thickened the air, and the faint sound of running water played a gentle harmony with the bird and insect song. The _sinna_ was dozing comfortably, curled around Molu’s shoulders. An absolute peace seemed to permeate every pore of the living jungle.
But it was a false picture. Qui-Gon smiled grimly, feeling the claws of fear scratching faintly at his heart’s door. Outward peace gave him no comfort just now, and he could sense the anguished turmoil within his companion without even making an effort. The beauty around them was wasted on an unappreciative audience.
After a few hundred meters, the walkway turned, and began climbing a set of broad steps. Qui-Gon realized that the dark shape he could see through the trees ahead was the back wall of the king’s Residence.
“Molu,” he said, voice low and slightly dangerous. “Why are we returning to the Court?”
The general turned his head, not really looking at Qui-Gon and not slowing his stride. “If I break the taboo, I break it with honor. I will not leave my world like a skulking thief.”
Qui-Gon reached forward and grasped Molu’s shoulder, forcing him to stop and face him squarely. The _sinna_ flicked its tail irritably without opening its eyes.
“General,” he said, “I don’t understand what you plan to do, but it has the sound of something large and irrevocable. I do not wish to cause you trouble with your people or your gods. So, I ask again, will you tell me where the ships are, and walk away?”
Molu shook his head. “No. My friend, sometimes honor demands sacrifice. Don’t sully our friendship by taking honor away from me. What I do, I do for myself and for Teek, because Teek can no longer act as his honor should demand, and the task of ridding the galaxy of his evil falls on me. The gods will it so.”
Qui-Gon studied him for a moment, sensing the absolute sincerity of his words. Slowly, he nodded and stepped back, indicating that Molu should lead the way.
The general looked down, the iron hardness of his face softening minutely. “I thank you, friend Jedi. May I be worthy of the respect you show me.”
Together, they strode into the Residence of Orthu Bela. The Main Court was filled with Court officials, members of the nobility and common Trikans with petitions for the king. Their animated conversations billowed through the huge hall, a wave of sound amplified by the hard stone floor. Beyond a particularly raucous group of courtiers, Qui-Gon saw Orthu Bela standing on a raised platform, deep in subdued conversation with several advisors. He was leaning casually against the back of his wooden throne, still managing, despite the easy pose, to look powerfully regal.
Molu walked straight through the noisy throng, pausing only to lift the drowsy _sinna_ onto a high shelf attached to one pillar. His eyes were fixed on Orthu Bela, his face so still it looked like wood instead of flesh. When he reached the king’s dais, he stepped forward and bowed deeply, wrists crossed in front of his face. He waited motionless for the king to acknowledge him.
“General Molu,” Orthu Bela said, bellowing cheerfully over the din, “Can I do something for you?” He looked past Molu to Qui-Gon, and raised a hand in greeting, flashing his jovial smile. Qui-Gon bowed in return.
“My king,” Molu’s voice was strong and solemn, “The Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn must return to Coruscant. I will take him aboard one of our military transports.”
Orthu Bela nodded, eyes faintly puzzled. “Fine. You didn’t really need to ask my permission. . .”
“Forgive me, Your Majesty. I haven’t made myself clear. We must go to Coruscant at once. Now.”
He waited, head bowed, as the meaning of those words penetrated the king and the others nearby. A strained, cold silence began to spread from the dais outward, like a drop of black ink in a basin of clear water.
Finally, the king spoke, his voice low. “You cannot go, my friend. The gods are walking.”
Murmurs of agreement hummed in the air. Several of the nearby courtiers shuffled backward a few steps, leaving a circle of bare floor around Molu. Qui-Gon turned his head, locking eyes with one of the shufflers until he looked down and away, eyes embarrassed and frightened.
Molu raised his head, snaring the king’s gaze with his own.
“My king, you know that I have served the gods and the people with all my spirit for these many years. I have given the gods their due honor. In this case, honor demands that I serve the gods best by breaking the purity of their sky. I have no time to explain the circumstances. We must leave, now, and you must trust me, based on my years of faithful service, that what I do is right.”
“Right!” an outraged voice shouted from the back of the room. “What do you know of right?”
Qui-Gon turned to see a short, exquisitely-attired man pushing his way forward. He recognized the pinched-mouth expression at once: it was the Cultural Officer, Kai, who had met his transport when he had first arrived. The man shot one virulent glare at Qui-Gon as he scurried by, and then focused all his attention on the king.
“Your Majesty, you cannot allow this sacrilege! The sky must remain pure; there is no excuse for violating it! Surely these men can wait a mere eight or ten hours until the moon begins its waning?”
Qui-Gon stepped forward. “Eight or ten hours could mean the death of one, or many, on Coruscant.”
“ ‘Could?’ “ Kai sputtered. “You do not have any certain knowledge?”
“We have enough,” Molu said coldly. “This business does not concern you, Kai. I speak to the king.”
“And what does the king say?” Kai spat out. “Our king will not allow this evil.”
“The true evil is being perpetuated even as we speak. We go to Coruscant to stop it.”
Molu’s gaze remained steadfastly on Orthu Bela, who had looked away, eyes remote, mouth grim. “The gods will it.”
Kai gasped, pulling back. “What do you know of the gods’ will? The gods speak only through the Oracle!”
“Enough!” The king jerked his chin toward Kai, his eyes bright with irritation. “This is not the time for theological speculation.” He turned to Molu and Qui-Gon. “You cannot wait?”
“No.” Qui-Gon’s voice was solid as steel.
A long silence grew, pressing down on the inhabitants of the Court until they began to stir uneasily. The king’s eyes bored into Molu’s face, and the general stared back, unblinking. Finally, after several minutes, the king looked up. His voice was firm as he addressed the entire room.
“Molu has spoken truth today. He believes his actions are right. The Jedi Qui-Gon Jinn believes his actions are right.” He paused, and his voice grew softer, suffused with pain. “But I cannot agree. The sky must remain inviolate. Molu and Qui-Gon Jinn must stay till the waning.”
Qui-Gon closed his eyes briefly, disappointment washing over him. Now he truly would have to find those ships himself, and his leaving would surely cause what his friend Valorum liked to call “an interplanetary brouhaha”, but he had no choice. He felt the Living Force calling him back to Coruscant at once.
These thoughts flickered through his mind in an instant, and he opened his eyes, determined to get on with whatever action was necessary to achieve his goal. Molu stood beside him, shoulders bent. Qui-Gon saw with concern that his friend’s face was ashen, as if he struggled with piercing physical pain. He stepped closer, and gripped the general’s arm, just above the elbow.
“Molu,” he said quietly, “are you well?”
The general shook his head, and twisted his shoulder, freeing his arm. He straightened, and murmured, “Step back.”
Qui-Gon stepped closer. His voice deepened to an urgent whisper. “No. Don’t do something you’ll regret. I can find a way myself. . .”
Molu strode forward, eyes fixed on the king. As he walked, he drew his shining dagger from his belt and lifted it shoulder-high, the blade directly in front of his face. The king stepped back with an exclamation, and two heavily-armed guards leaped forward, but Molu stopped two strides from the dais, and shouted, “Hear me!”
He turned in a full circle, the blade winking and flashing in the sunlight spilling from the upper windows. The crowd backed away, leaving a barren space around him as he finished his circle, and addressed the king.
“My grief stands tall because my king refuses to trust me. My heart lies low because I am attacked by one who knows nothing of what he speaks.”
All eyes in the room slid over to Kai, who shifted uncomfortably but stared unwaveringly at Molu, an indignant red spreading over his face. Molu raised the knife higher, above his head, pointing it straight at the ceiling. His voice dropped to a harsh whisper that carried to every corner of the huge room.
“Because none will hear me, I address myself to the gods. They alone will see me and judge my actions!”
A gasp ricocheted around the room. Orthu Bela sprang forward with a cry, his hand reaching for the knife, but Molu moved too quickly. He pulled his sleeveless tunic open and then, taking the hilt with both hands, he turned the blade to his own chest and made two quick slashes, directly below his collarbone. Qui-Gon crossed the distance between them in one quick stride, and seized the general’s wrist. The crossed marks on his chest were welling blood, which dripped unevenly down to his waist, but Qui-Gon saw at once that they were not deadly. He looked into Molu’s face, eyes questioning.
To his surprise, the general smiled almost imperceptibly. “I will explain later, friend Jedi,” he murmured.
An uneasy stirring filled the Court. Turning away from Molu, Qui-Gon saw that all the people in the room had dropped their eyes and begun backing away, as if the general had suddenly announced he bore a deadly disease. Even the king had stepped back behind his throne, but he still gazed at them, shoulders slumped.
Molu bowed deeply, giving Orthu Bela another wrists-crossed salute. Then, he jerked his chin toward the main doors.
“Come, Master Jedi. We go to Coruscant. No one will try to stop us.”
He did not see Cultural Officer Kai slipping out a side entrance with three royal guards.
But Qui-Gon did.
They had almost reached the doors when a piercing wail stopped them. They turned to see the _sinna_ leaping from its high perch and scampering across the floor toward them, slipping a little on the polished floor. The scraping of its claws was loud in the absolute silence permeating the room.
Molu bent, and the creature scrambled up his arm, leaving several new scratches to join the ones already marking his skin. As they walked out of the Court, the general glanced up at Qui-Gon, who smiled slightly.
“It seems you've secured a friend for life.”
Molu’s answering smile flickered almost too quickly to be seen. “I need friends. I fear I've lost many today.”
Qui-Gon’s only answer was a slow nod. “I hope that you’re wrong about that, but I don’t really understand what just happened.”
“I’ll explain as we go. This way.”
They walked quickly down a narrow walkway bordering the Residence’s north wall. After a few steps, Molu began to speak, motioning toward the slash marks on his chest.
“By marking myself in this way, I’ve placed myself entirely under the gods’ eyes. They alone will judge me. If what I have done pleases them, then the Oracle will pronounce me pure before the people at the next waxing of the moon.”
The walkway branched ahead, and he indicated the right-hand path. Veering onto it, Qui-Gon asked slowly, “And if the gods are displeased with your actions?”
Molu was silent. Finally, after many strides, he said, “The Oracle will pronounce judgment. I will likely be stripped of rank and banished forever from Triki.”
“You take a great risk in the name of honor. I wish. . . .”
Molu interrupted, shaking his head. “There is no risk. If banishment is the cost that the gods demand of my honor, then so be it.”
Qui-Gon murmured, “As the Force wills.”
They emerged from the trees to see a large docking pit ringed with open-sided buildings, each containing a small, sleek ship painted a bright primary hue. Molu pointed toward the nearest one, a vivid blue, and said, “A military transport ship. It can take up to ten passengers.”
Qui-Gon nodded absently, distracted. The Force swirled uneasily about him, turning his head just in time for his eyes to register a glimmering of metal in the trees off to the right. Taking no time for thought, he let the Force’s prompting carry him as he stepped easily in front of the general, catching with one hand the metal dart aimed at his friend’s midsection. With his other hand, he drew and ignited his lightsaber, and deflected three more darts.
A shout of rage streamed out of the trees. Molu, who had just now begun to react, was drawing his dagger. The _sinna_ screeched and huddled into a ball on Molu's left shoulder.
“No!” Qui-Gon pointed toward the ship. “Get it ready for departure!”
Molu leaped forward, as Qui-Gon defected a fifth dart, and strode toward the trees. Three royal guards raced out from under them, followed closely by Kai, as Qui-Gon had expected. He let the guards come forward a few more meters and then lifted his hand and blocked them with the Force. They fell backwards as if they had run full-speed into a stone wall.
Dazed, they stayed crumpled on the ground, ignoring Kai’s shouted exhortation for them to attack once more.
“Kai,” Qui-Gon said, his voice firm. “General Molu walks under the eyes of the gods. Why do you to attack him?”
“He is violating taboo!” Kai’s face was suffused with rage. “He is a disgrace to the gods!”
“Isn’t that their decision? Earlier you accused Molu of speaking for the gods. Aren’t you now doing the same?”
“No! I am a Cultural Officer! I do what is right.”
Qui-Gon saw the little man fingering another dart. With a quick flick of his fingers, he detached the weapon from Kai’s hand and flung it off into the trees. Kai emitted an inarticulate shout, and moved as if to follow it. Qui-Gon stopped him with a warning shake of his head, his eyes steely.
“Kai, Molu is committed to the gods, and I am committed to saving lives on Coruscant. I fear that you have lost track of what exactly it is that you are committed to. Your actions here are as much a violation of taboo as the general’s.”
Behind him, he heard the roar of the ship’s engines as they ignited. He could feel Kai’s rage filling the clearing, but beneath it he caught a tinge of desperate uncertainty, and deliberately turned his back to walk over to the ship’s entrance ramp. At its foot, he turned back.
“Molu rests in the hands of the gods. I suggest you leave him there.”
He strode up the ramp into the ship, thoughts already focused on their destination.
Obi-Wan, stay alive! he thought, flinging the call out into the Force. Use your instincts!
Molu was already strapped in the pilot’s seat, lifting the ship out of Triki’s atmosphere. He looked up as Qui-Gon seated himself and began fastening his restraints.
“I’ve already computed the route.” He motioned to the _sinna_, who was curled at his feet. "I guess we've got a third passenger."
Qui-Gon nodded, eyes remote. Unconsciously, his hands tightened over the arms of his seat.
Ten hours to Coruscant.
* * * *
In a dim room hidden in the Temple’s lowest levels, the man called Morran paced like a feral animal, his steps made staccato by a seething excitement. Watching from his perch atop a storage barrel, Bruck Chun felt his rage recede, smothered under the blanket of uneasiness laid over the room by Morran’s dark, strange emotions. The man looked over at the boy, and grinned sharply.
“We’re almost to the end of this,” he said, voice permeated with shadowy satisfaction.
“Any minute now. Any minute. . .”
TBC
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