Another one of my stories formatted for theforce.net boards. I hope you don't mind. :) I'm actually currently working on one with longer, legitimate chapters to put here, but being a college student, it's always easier said than done.
Anyhow, the same things apply as to my other stories. I make no money on this. I am merely a poor college student who does this for her own entertainment. Heck, for the creative writing class I took, I couldn't use Star Wars material because it wasn't original. Don't sue, for I have nothing to take. Thanks, George, for your great world.
Now, without further ado...
Unknown Roads
Infection
Blood.
The IV hung from its rack, swinging slightly as though a breeze had broken into the small bedroom. The thin, red tube ran its way from the small bag into an older man's arm as he lay inert on the sleep-couch. His skin was an unhealthy yellow, indicating the jaundice brought by his failing liver. A medical technician stood to the side of the sleep-couch, taking notes of his heart beat and shallow breathing. He heaved a quiet sigh that echoed in the silent room and wrote something on the clipboard. Then, the medical technician left the room.
Qui-Gon Jinn looked up from the couch as the technician passed by, paying little attention to him. He was supposed to be in class, except he'd been exempted from them for the day, although the padawan had his suspicions that it would be longer than just today. That was the third technician he'd seen in and out of his master's room, and even without the Living Force screaming in his head or the distressing silence in his training bond, he knew his master was dying.
However, it wasn't as though he could claim astonishment at the situation. Riley Giovan had been sick for a long time, at least three years. For a long time during that sickly period, Qui-Gon hadn't noticed much of a difference between the vivacious and energetic man he'd come to know as his master. The treatments for what the infirmary staff had declared a bacterial infection didn't slow down Riley, and Qui-Gon's training had continued as normal.
Then, about four months ago, the padawan had discovered a marked difference. The infection had gotten worse, and whatever treatments his master was receiving had mysteriously ceased to work. Master Giovan was no longer able to keep up with his twenty-year-old padawan. Instead of going on missions or engaging in other more traditional methods of training, it had become part of Qui-Gon's duties as padawan to care for his master.
Tears beaded in Qui-Gon's eyes at that thought, though he blinked them away. None of the other padawans understood what it was like to be in his situation. He was simply the one whose master was sick. When he'd arrived at the rooms he shared with Riley, he had known something was wrong. Master Yoda was there, and a medical bed had been placed alongside Master Giovan's regular sleep-couch, with him unmoving in it. "In a coma, your master is," Yoda had informed him, his small features painfully blank and his ears flat and unmoving.
The rest of the night before was a blur of disbelief and people, other Jedi filling the small rooms as though their mere presence could make up for the missing company of Qui-Gon's beloved master. Yoda had also informed him that he would not be expected to show up at his classes the next day. When Qui-Gon had finally given up and gone to bed, he laid awake for hours, and when he did sleep, it was fitful and shallow.
Qui-Gon huddled down on the couch and curled up, watching the door with half-closed eyes. He was more tired than he could remember being in a long time, but sleep simply wouldn't come. The padawan's mind raced through a thousand scenarios. What if his master remained catatonic? What if he died? Would Qui-Gon be assigned to a new master? Would he be forced into the trials? What if his master recovered but was permanently disabled somehow? Qui-Gon drew a long breath and tried to release the questions into the Force. He closed his eyes and simply tried not to think, not to feel, any more.
Anyhow, the same things apply as to my other stories. I make no money on this. I am merely a poor college student who does this for her own entertainment. Heck, for the creative writing class I took, I couldn't use Star Wars material because it wasn't original. Don't sue, for I have nothing to take. Thanks, George, for your great world.
Now, without further ado...
Unknown Roads
Infection
Blood.
The IV hung from its rack, swinging slightly as though a breeze had broken into the small bedroom. The thin, red tube ran its way from the small bag into an older man's arm as he lay inert on the sleep-couch. His skin was an unhealthy yellow, indicating the jaundice brought by his failing liver. A medical technician stood to the side of the sleep-couch, taking notes of his heart beat and shallow breathing. He heaved a quiet sigh that echoed in the silent room and wrote something on the clipboard. Then, the medical technician left the room.
Qui-Gon Jinn looked up from the couch as the technician passed by, paying little attention to him. He was supposed to be in class, except he'd been exempted from them for the day, although the padawan had his suspicions that it would be longer than just today. That was the third technician he'd seen in and out of his master's room, and even without the Living Force screaming in his head or the distressing silence in his training bond, he knew his master was dying.
However, it wasn't as though he could claim astonishment at the situation. Riley Giovan had been sick for a long time, at least three years. For a long time during that sickly period, Qui-Gon hadn't noticed much of a difference between the vivacious and energetic man he'd come to know as his master. The treatments for what the infirmary staff had declared a bacterial infection didn't slow down Riley, and Qui-Gon's training had continued as normal.
Then, about four months ago, the padawan had discovered a marked difference. The infection had gotten worse, and whatever treatments his master was receiving had mysteriously ceased to work. Master Giovan was no longer able to keep up with his twenty-year-old padawan. Instead of going on missions or engaging in other more traditional methods of training, it had become part of Qui-Gon's duties as padawan to care for his master.
Tears beaded in Qui-Gon's eyes at that thought, though he blinked them away. None of the other padawans understood what it was like to be in his situation. He was simply the one whose master was sick. When he'd arrived at the rooms he shared with Riley, he had known something was wrong. Master Yoda was there, and a medical bed had been placed alongside Master Giovan's regular sleep-couch, with him unmoving in it. "In a coma, your master is," Yoda had informed him, his small features painfully blank and his ears flat and unmoving.
The rest of the night before was a blur of disbelief and people, other Jedi filling the small rooms as though their mere presence could make up for the missing company of Qui-Gon's beloved master. Yoda had also informed him that he would not be expected to show up at his classes the next day. When Qui-Gon had finally given up and gone to bed, he laid awake for hours, and when he did sleep, it was fitful and shallow.
Qui-Gon huddled down on the couch and curled up, watching the door with half-closed eyes. He was more tired than he could remember being in a long time, but sleep simply wouldn't come. The padawan's mind raced through a thousand scenarios. What if his master remained catatonic? What if he died? Would Qui-Gon be assigned to a new master? Would he be forced into the trials? What if his master recovered but was permanently disabled somehow? Qui-Gon drew a long breath and tried to release the questions into the Force. He closed his eyes and simply tried not to think, not to feel, any more.