EXPERIENCE
by ardavenport
They were happy.
Happier than they had been in years.
Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn stood on the far side of the immense presentation hall. He stood apart from the celebration, in a raised alcove between two white swirl-molded columns. The sights and sounds around him seemed muted as if his focus dimmed the air around him, his own reality subtly shifted, separate from the rest of the hall.
Hordes of people in shabby, coarse robes bustled and danced under the immense vaulted ceiling. In spite of the bright artificial lighting tubes set high in the walls the people had set up a bonfire in the middle of the room before the old dictator's throne. Music beat and tooted throughout the huge space, improvised flutes and percussions pounded and tapped from stolen plastoid cast-offs and metaloid plates, corroded around the edges and mounted on roughly carved wooden frames.
Descending the few steps down to the main floor, Qui-Gon passed into the crowd. Some people casually patted him as a comrade as he passed by them, not realizing who he was. Brown, gray, dark blue robes; he blended in easily with the masses. Others, peering under the hood of his dark brown robe, started, eyes wide with awe. The blunt claws at the ends of their elongated fingers respectfully traced his arms, under the loose fabric of his sleeves.
The dictator's horde had been broken into. There were food and drink containers everywhere. People laughed and danced, spitting food crumbs and dribbling colored liquid down their long chins. The excess was appalling.
The smell of greasy unwashed bodies, uncleaned wounds and bodily wastes clashed with the sweet and savory of fresh food and drink among the clusters of dancers. The aroma of ignorance, generations of it. The damage of a despotic rule.
The adult Travidians were mostly his height or taller, so Qui-Gon passed through them with little incident. But as he neared the old dictator's dais a woman thrust her skinny daughter in his path, the girl, about his height had an elegant long face marred by greenish scabs. Her large orange eyes fearful, she clutched the edges of her fraying gray robe, her double knuckles visible under her scabby chin. They wanted a blessing, a mystical gift that he did not have. Qui-Gon genially smiled and nodded to them and pretended not to understand. He did not touch either of them as he passed and he smoothly evaded the mother's outstretched hand.
The crowd thinned below the steps up to the dais, the pristine white on white patterned floor smeared with grime and littered with broken white furniture and crunched food containers.
"Obi-Wan."
He did not speak loudly over the noisy celebration but his Padawan, Obi-Wan Kenobi, immediately heard. His head uncovered, robe open, he turned to look down from where he sat perched on the edge of the old dictator's throne. The clan elders and former servants turned as well. They had slightly rounder faces than the liberated populace, their clothes smoother with lines of brighter colors. And they were cleaner.
Qui-Gon twitched his head to the side, a sign for his eighteen year-old Padawan to follow. With only a brief excusing gesture to their hosts, Obi-Wan hopped down. Turning to his right, Qui-Gon did not acknowledge the look of puzzlement on the young man's face. He went past the edge of the crowd. Xihalu's former overseers had collected on that side of the presentation hall. They fearfully stepped aside for the Jedi Master and trailing Padawan. Qui-Gon walked up the steps of the former dictator's viewing balcony.
They passed through the strips of many shades of white that curtained the exit up to the outside balcony. They emerged into the night like walking from one world into another. One boisterous and full of life, the other cool and empty. The outdoor celebrations on the grounds were muted and on the other side of the building. A triangle of moons shone from above in a star-filled sky, one large and off-white, one medium and faintly gray and the last bright white. The multiple light sources muddied all the shadows under them. In the huge plaza below lay the wreckage of the old dictator's downfall. Broken statues that once glorified the old regime, machines and wrecked droids, already pillaged for salvageable parts. colorless and abandoned. The celebrating was elsewhere.
"Sit."
His eyes large and inquisitive, Obi-Wan sat with his Master. They both took a moment to bunch up their robes under them, a minimal cushioning on the cold white stone in the slight shadow of the heavy bannister that ran along the outer perimeter of the balcony.
His Padawan was innocent. He had only been standing with the new rulers of this little inhabited world when they offered him a seat. Obi-Wan sat on the nearest available place, Xihalu's now empty throne. Nothing had been meant by it, certainly not by Obi-Wan. But many had seen it. A cheer had gone up among scattered groups in the hall, but it hadn't been much louder than the general riotous partying.
A few people had started bowing to Qui-Gon after that.
Puzzled, Obi-Wan still looked at him, waiting for him to speak.
"What did the elders say? Overseer Kilchum?"
"They will petition the neighboring systems for aid."
Qui-Gon shook his head. "That is unlikely. Unless they offer compensation for the damages done by Xihalu's saboteurs."
"But they have so little, Master. The other systems have so much. Should they not help?"
"Should is not the issue," Qui-Gon admonished quietly. "They were damaged by Xihalu's attempts to extort what she wanted from them."
"But the people here were not responsible for her actions. She has cruelly abused them for years. It is only now that they have their freedom."
"They were her subjects and by default her supporters. The other systems will see it no other way."
Obi-Wan pressed his lips together. Qui-Gon knew there was more. Of course the elders had gone to Obi-Wan with their petitions. Younger, less experienced. Easier to influence. And the populace had seen Obi-Wan strike the fatal blow to Xihalu's rule when the old dictator had refused to surrender to the Jedi who would take her prisoner to be delivered to the multi-system tribunal. A ricochet from Obi-Wan's lightsaber had neatly ended her resistance. It had been the will of the Force. Obi-Wan's focus on that moment of the fight had been perfect. A long moment of shocked silence had followed after her smoking body collapsed to the ground before an immense cheer rose up from the combatants in the plaza.
"They have asked us to stay." Qui-Gon read surprise in Obi-Wan's eyes at his Master's insight. He reminded himself that his Padawan was only guilty of inexperience.
"They have requested the Jedi's assistance in negotiating a peace settlement with the neighboring systems," the younger man said.
That would be a perfectly reasonable request. If it were true. But Qui-Gon remembered that glorious victory earlier that day. Both Jedi had joined in the cheering as Xihalu's senior overseers lost their nerve and, cowering, surrendered. They had been thrown into the dungeons when the old dictator's enemies had been freed. Qui-Gon was quiet certain than most of them had suffered injuries on the way. But Obi-Wan hadn't seen it.
He had fought so well. Qui-Gon was quite proud to see his maturing apprentice reaching his potential, at least in some things. He was strong in the Force and would be a great fighter. But that was not what he most needed to be a great Jedi. That magnificent moment of triumph, the exultation of victory, freedom, connecting them all through the Force. . . . . Obi-Wan had hung on to that moment a bit too long.
Qui-Gon shook his head slowly. "They have not requested the Jedi's assistance. They have requested [i]our[/i] assistance."
"I . . . . don't understand the difference," he finally admitted.
"They do not want negotiators, Obi-Wan. They want a more benevolent dictator."
Now Obi-Wan's initial surprise turned to shock, as if Qui-Gon had accused him of a terrible crime.
"Master they did not ask for such a thing!"
"Yet."
Obi-Wan swallowed, clearly uncertain about how to respond. How to deny that he would ever do such a thing.
"You do not appreciate the real damage that Xihalu and her supporters have done to this world. While she was cruel and ruthless, she was also predictable and stable. Regardless of how lowly their existence was under her, the clan elders will seek to replace her with something they are familiar with. Just without the cruelty."
Suddenly unsure of the situation, Obi-Wan remained speechless. A moment ago he had been certain, confident of their success. He had planned to pass on the elders and the overseers' request to Qui-Gon. But now everyone's motives were in doubt, including his own. And uncertainty in himself still disturbed Obi-Wan terribly.
The curtains at the back of the balcony rustled. Sub-Overseer Kilchum and an elder appeared from the barrier of strips, dull white in the moonlight. A burst of party noise followed them until the curtain strips fell back into place behind them, muting it again. They looked down at both Jedi, obviously surprised to find them sitting on the floor, facing each other on the stone balcony.
"Master Jedi," Kilchum addressed them. They both bowed deeply, their heads bare, their long flat greenish hair gone gray in the moonlight. Qui-Gon remained in the shadow under his hood. He gave them a small smile but both Travidians looked fearful. "We were just discussing what is to become of us with your young student here."
"A ship from Coruscant will be arriving tomorrow. They will bring negotiators and some supplies, though I expect it could not carry enough for more than your short term needs. The negotiators will assist you in repairing the damage you have suffered and procuring more," Qui-Gon told them in a calm even tone. Neither one of them had done anything wrong. They were simply trying to re-establish the world they were most familiar with, the world they were comfortable with.
"Master Jedi," the elder stepped forward, her voice quavering. She had a jagged scar on one cheek, whitish on the edges with age. "We had hoped that you could stay, to assist us. There is so much hurt, we have suffered so much. . . . " Her plea trailed off when she saw Qui-Gon's head move from side to side.
"We will stay only until the ship from Coruscant arrives. Then we must leave."
"But please, Master Jedi," Kilchum clasped his long hands together, the fingers tightly interlaced. "In the name of compassion. . . . we need your help."
His expression seemed to lose all hope when Qui-Gon's head moved again. No.
"You will receive help, Overseer. But it cannot be from us."
The two senior Travidians looked at each other, their eyes sharing their mutual desperation.
"We will remain here for the night," he told them.
"But, but Master Jedi. We have prepared rooms for you inside . . . " Overseer Kilchum's objection died as he saw Qui-Gon's head move again.
"We will be fine here for the night. And we will join you for your morning meal," Qui-Gon told him. "You should rejoin the celebration. This night will be remembered for a very long time."
Unhappily, they bowed and withdrew back into the loud and brightly lit room behind the curtains. The silence of the night returned, the noisy joy of the people only a muffled background.
"Would it not be more compassionate to help them?" Obi-Wan's question drew Qui-Gon's attention.
"If I thought they only wanted our help, we could give it. But they want us to tell them what to do."
Obi-Wan shook his own head. "I don't understand."
"If either one of us gives an order, it will be obeyed by the people. It will done, simply, easily, quickly. There will be no arguments about what it right. In a way, we have inherited Xihalu's power by vanquishing her and her tyranny. But if the elders give orders - - if they can agree on what they want - - some will wonder why they shouldn't do things another way." Qui-Gon sighed. "It will be messy, time-consuming. Possibly violent if some of Xihalu's followers join forces and try to establish their own rule. The assistance they receive from Coruscant will help prevent that."
Obi-Wan lowered his eyes for a moment at the mention of that prospect before raising his next question. "Then would it not be more compassionate to help them avoid that possibility?"
"We can only delay it for them, Obi-Wan. Whenever we do leave them, the danger will return. Their best chance of making the change is when change first comes to them. When it is all new. And welcome." He looked toward the curtains and the muffled music and voices. They were all free now. And happy. Tomorrow they would learn how much change they were really prepared for. "For now, they are not looking for compassion. The want righteousness.
"We will meditate on the difference between the two."
Obi-Wan visibly sagged at the prospect of an unexpected Jedi vigil. Privately, Qui-Gon would have welcomed a warm bed in a deposed despot's liberated stronghold. Especially after spending a couple of days among the Trividians, preparing for their assault, easily hiding among the populace that the old dictator had for so many years abused and taken for granted. But Qui-Gon felt a weariness beyond the physical. Except for a few worried leaders, the joyous celebrants inside were blissfully unaware of how ill-prepared they were for the dangers of their new freedom. That they could destroy their own freedom even more effectively than Xihalu could have ever attempted. The Force would not reveal their future, but he would find peace with the possibilities. He could feel it now from the life inside. Happy. Free. Even with the possibility of bitter failure later, the moment still tasted sweet and he smiled.
And his apprentice could use the experience. Not just with contemplating the limits of compassion and the cruel realities of an uncertain future, but with an unexpected demand to renew his strength when he thought his task was done. A Jedi Knight must always be prepared to call on the Force any time and continue on, usually under circumstances far less pleasant than where they were now.
"Clear your mind, Obi-Wan."
Obi-Wan lifted the hood of his robe over his head and exhaled a long breath. Under the light of the moons, with Master and Padawan, the Force was strong.
**O**O**O** END **O**O**O**
Disclaimer: This story first posted on tf.n on 31-Oct-2009. All characters belong to George and Lucasfilm; I'm just playing in their sandbox.