WOUNDED WARRIOR
by ardavenport
- - - Part 2
For some time Obi-Wan stared up at the bland ceiling, contemplating many days of standing silently glaring at emotional and posturing delegates. He recalled his first meeting with Senator Bladdos who, without introduction, pronounced him 'too small to be any good' and demanded that Qui-Gon send back to the Temple for 'something bigger and meaner' before they left Coruscant. Qui-Gon's cold denial had sufficiently satisfied the Senator that at least one of his Jedi escorts could be useful for his purposes.
Obi-Wan had reviewed the facts and history of the Staretz unification talks, the factions, the traditions and objections of the various ethnic and corporate entities. None of that had mattered to Bladdos, or his staff, who sneered at the suggestion that either Jedi actually participate in the talks. He was more concerned that his Jedi not ever stand together so Obi-Wan's unimpressive stature was less obvious.
For the first few days Obi-Wan had sincerely imagined that he was looking at Bladdos whenever he glared at any disruptive delegates. Bladdos was pleased, but he had done it too well because Qui-Gon had sensed the real target of his ire and had admonished him for it in private.
Days of observation had revealed how exceptionally well suited Bladdos was at herding the snarling mass of delegates toward their duty. Just prior to this mission, Obi-Wan had prepared himself with puny facts. Bladdos and his staff had come armed with an arsenal of knowledge, cunning and skill. They knew who to flatter, they knew who to bribe, they knew who they could have removed from the room. But every trick and insult still advanced the talks toward their goal, establishing the unified governance. Qui-Gon himself had said, 'It was impressive.'
Accepting that he had much to learn about this type of negotiation, Obi-Wan finally looked down at his wounded toe, propped up on the white pillow. The bottom of his foot tingled a little, making it feel less like an object separate from himself.
Another holo-facz snooper cruised by the window.
The office was sparsely furnished with desk and chairs that had just enough metal-blue surfaces to make them desk and chairs. Matching abstract shapes decorated the walls and there were cabinets and a meeting table by the far wall where the droid had retreated. There were a few pictures of people on a shelf behind the desk as well as some text sheets, indicating that someone used the office, but otherwise it was very plain with pale walls and some squat plants in heavy pots.
Obi-Wan turned on the com on the stand next to him and tapped through the public channels. He saw holos of . . . .
. . . . Qui-Gon emerging from the office anteroom with Bladdos's Rhodian assistant. He impressively stared down the throngs of beings shouting questions at him while the security droids and officials warned them back.
. . . . the blaster confrontation in the conference room seen from different angles.
. . . . three commentators arguing over the merits of the unification of the Staretz, Po-Staretz and Staretz-Mek Confederations.
. . . . the blaster confrontation in the conference room replayed as he and Qui-Gon had originally seen it.
. . . . five holo-facz persons comparing what they did not know about the sequestered negotiations and a lot of speculation about what they did not know about the condition of the 'wounded warrior' Jedi Apprentice and how his Master would react if his condition 'became terminal.'
. . . . the blaster confrontation in the conference room recorded from a rather crude personal com belonging to a minor participant.
. . . . some holo-facz recordings of Jedi in confrontations on other planets and some inflated descriptions of Jedi abilities, along with a narrative about 'Ancient Jedi Blood Traditions' that Obi-Wan had never heard of.
. . . . the blaster confrontation in the conference room recorded from above the circular table with several voices arguing about the general ignorance of the commentators on the other com channels about Jedi. One voice affirmed that the Jedi Apprentice was at most grazed by the blaster fire since none of the blaster bolts exploded or ignited his robe. The other voices firmly denied that it was possible that anyone could be standing before what amounted to a firing squad and not be hit, and that at least one blaster bolt did explode on the Jedi's boot. The other voices also accused the first voice of increasing the hyperbole circulating about the invincibility of Jedi fighting skills.
. . . . an interview with a caterer about the food taken to the sequestered conference room.
Obi-Wan turned the holo-com off when he came across another recording of the blaster confrontation in the conference room set to music.
He looked down at his bare feet. He now had a cold feeling in his left foot. The pain began to return as well, but as a more subdued burning and itching only in his toe, not the sharp fresh pain that reverberated up his leg. He closed his eyes, clearing his mind and feeling his whole body through the Force, breath and heartbeat, the flex and twitch of muscle, the warmth of blood and weight of gravity.
Gradually, he narrowed his focus to his left leg, his foot and then his toe and the injured parts of it. The last effects of the anesthetic dissipated. Beyond the healer's treatment, he could increase blood flow and accelerate healing. He focused on that, the Force prickling throughout the wounded flesh. The burn had gone to the bone in one place. It would heal, but he would still not be able to wear boots for a few days.
Something else intruded on his concentration. Movement nearby, a presence.
Obi-Wan opened his eyes to see Qui-Gon stepping into the office. The door closed behind him. Blue light tinted the buildings outside the office windows; it was white sun down.
Qui-Gon carried a tray stand. He glanced at the droid in its corner, but the machine remained dormant. Only one blue eye-sensor came on, but quickly went out again as Qui-Gon went to Obi-Wan's recliner and set the tray stand over his middle. Releasing the Force and letting his awareness expand outward, Obi-Wan pushed himself more upright. The tray contained a plate of layered, savory-smelling and puffy triangles, bowls of cut-up fruits, pressed vegetables amidst leafy garnishes, multi-colored dried pellets and a large cylinder of water.
"Are the negotiations going well, Master?"
"For Senator Bladdos, they are," Qui-Gon said, sitting down on the stool next to the recliner. "He has been quite ruthless. All the parties are in public disgrace. Not only did they draw their honor weapons in anger, they were seen to be rather incompetent with using them, since we disarmed them so quickly."
"You disarmed most of them, Master."
Qui-Gon shook his head. "This is not a competition. You defended your position well and prevented a death, risking of your own injury." Qui-Gon glanced toward Obi-Wan's toe. "Bladdos has aggressively argued that their only hope of recovering any of their damaged honor is to quickly settle their difference and finish the unification agreements. And he has been quite successful, especially with me standing behind him as a reminder. He asked me to glare in the direction of anyone who spoke too long at the table."
"He asked?"
"Ordered, actually," Qui-Gon admitted. "But the reminder of their disgrace has been inspiring."
Obi-Wan grinned, imagining his Master glowering at the blustering politicians. "So, they will be done soon?"
"I do hope so." Qui-Gon picked up a long thin drinking tube from the tray and plunked it into the water cylinder on the tray over Obi-Wan's middle. "In the meantime, everyone is taking a break to eat. Otherwise they have vowed to not rest until they have finished the agreements." Qui-Gon took a sip.
"Um, I would like to eat. But I would prefer to visit the fresher first," Obi-Wan admitted.
"Oh." Qui-Gon stood, took the tray away and put it aside. Obi-Wan sat up and swung his legs over and then Qui-Gon helped him up. They limped together, three-legged, to the office's fresher door. Once inside the small space, Obi-Wan was able to do everything he needed to on one foot. He carefully avoided touching anything with his wounded toe. The pain had receded into a burning annoyance that intensified when any part of his foot bumped or brushed up against any surface.
When he finished, Qui-Gon was waiting for him and they limped back to the recliner. Obi-Wan offered the fresher to his Master but he declined and repositioned the tray over his Padawan.
"I actually went with Senator Bladdos when the gathering recessed, along with some participants that the Senator thought needed extra attention."
Obi-Wan stared back. "He wanted you to intimidate people in the fresher, too?"
Qui-Gon only shrugged. "It is most effective when the target is in such a vulnerable position."
Obi-Wan did not reply to that, picturing the dark shadow of Qui-Gon looming behind nervous politicians cringing before the fixtures in a fresher. He dipped his own drinking tube into the water cylinder on the tray and drank from it.
Qui-Gon told him about the talks while they ate. The participants had ceased to argue about orders of names, colors of banners and seating charts, and actually moved on to serious issues like the wording of the laws governing the unification itself.
The sky outside slowly changed to purple as red sunup approached while they talked. They ate from the servings of food, stabbing triangles and chunks with serving spears, dipping some in sauce. The contents of the tray were laid out as a single large meal for one, which surprised Obi-Wan.
"Apparently, from the questions shouted at us from the holo-facz, your ability to eat a meal is in some doubt," Qui-Gon explained calmly before eating a crispy brown triangle.
Obi-Wan watched his Master chew for a moment before reaching over to the holocom and re-activating it.
The first images, from many angles, were of the ministers exiting the sequestered conference room, questions being shouted at them. Next came the various holo-facz reps quoting from anonymous dignitaries about what might have happened.
Qui-Gon confirmed some of it to Obi-Wan and smiled at most of the other chatter. One commentator claimed that if the Jedi Apprentice of the Jedi Master died or was permanently injured then this would trigger Ancient Jedi Vengeance upon the Staretz Confederation and any of their supporters who fired on the main conference table. A perky elderly woman listed who they were and where they were residing during the unification talks. The image cut away to a map with blinking dots to better show the locations of their lodgings. They also had an interviewer on Coruscant report that the Jedi Temple there had 'no comment' about the current events in the Rhuping system.
Qui-Gon then spoke of his mission report to the Jedi Council, who instructed them to continue as they had been since Bladdos's report to the Chancellor had been very positive about the talks and about them.
"He is pleased with us?" Obi-Wan asked with surprise.
"He apparently appreciates our silence and obedience most." Obi-Wan thought his Master looked a bit unhappy with being complimented for his obedience.
"Did the Council have anything to say about what is now being said about us? And that I'm not really injured?" Obi-Wan asked.
"Nothing. But this is hardly the first time misconceptions about the Jedi have been circulated. And Bladdos has been forgiven before for some. . . . fabrications. He get results," Qui-Gon said, shrugging. He sipped more water.
They scanned several more com channels. Qui-Gon's fingers twitched, using the Force on the com selector to click through them. The flickering images that danced from info-seeker to commentators to replays of the talks and the shooting. Most of the images of Qui-Gon deflecting blaster bolts with his lightsaber seemed be from below, making him look larger and more dangerous. And most of the images of Obi-Wan seemed to include the toe of his boot exploding and then his dive for the floor with his robe smoking.
They finished their meal about the time they exhausted the sordid levels of data and mis-information from the holo-facz. Qui-Gon took away the tray and put it on the conference table. Returning to the recliner, he looked down at Obi-Wan's wounded foot, resting on its pillow.
"Senator Bladdos has found your injury quite onvenient for his purposes," he said, folding his arms before him and tilting his head toward his Padawan's heavily bandaged toe. Obi-Wan wiggled it. It hurt and the gauze chaffed on the toe next to it.
Obi-Wan felt embarrassed, exposed. "Master, is this deception wise?" he asked.
"No," Qui-Gon answered immediately. "If it is undone, then it could undo everything Senator Bladdos has accomplished so far, though I would not be surprised if he yet found a way to continue dominating the delegates. He is very good at it. And he quite enjoys it."
"But Master, you've seen the holos. You're being portrayed as Bladdos's silent, malevolent shadow. And I've practically joined the Force. And what is the Ancient Jedi Blood Vengeance, Master?"
"Aaaaah, Senator Bladdos made that up spontaneously during an interview. He has a surprisingly creative mind for a politician."
"But it's pure deception!" Obi-Wan argued. "Surely the Council objects to it."
"As I have already said, they do not. And the Jedi Council is notorious for ignoring mis-information about Jedi, especially if it enhances the mystique of the Order."
Sadly, Obi-Wan knew this was true. He had learned years ago that people of all species tended to gravitate toward stories that were most entertaining regardless of their accuracy. The Jedi made little effort to counter the sometimes overwhelming tide of sentient fancy, and at times like these, they even swam with it. It was practical to use the tales and exaggerations to their advantage, since they would be out there anyway, like a persistent fog. But the desirable mystique came tainted with an odious haze of misconception and prejudice as well.
The office door opened. Bladdos's Rhodian assistant came in, his featureless black eyes sweeping from Master to apprentice.
"The delegates are returning from their repast and we are needed. And the Senator wishes to speak to you about your placement." He pointed a skinny finger toward Qui-Gon, who put the hood of his robe up again, preparing to leave. The assistant turned and swept Obi-Wan's tattered robe from the desk where Qui-Gon had put it aside. He held it up, appraising the burn holes and tears before rolling it up under his arm and leaving without a backward glance.
Qui-Gon nodded to his Padawan before following.
Alone again, Obi-Wan wondered what use Bladdos would make of his robe. Probably, it would be a handy prop, a reminder of how badly the delegates had behaved.
He glanced toward the holo-com, with its indigestion of vacuous commentary and lurid speculation. He turned away from it. He carefully slid his legs off the recliner and put his feet on the cool floor. Standing, he found that if he put all his weight on his right leg, his left toe did not hurt too badly, though it twinged painfully whenever he flexed his foot.
Balancing on his right foot, Obi-Wan stretched himself, a routine that began his usual morning exercises. Facing toward the windows, he watched a few more holo-facz snoopers drifting past the building. A security floater would dart out with a yellow flash of a warning shot if any of them wandered too close.
Taking his lightsaber, he began a one-legged version of some simple exercise forms with the deactivated hilt. The push and pull of muscle helped him clear his mind of the clutter of petty annoyances and dismissive politicians who populated this mission. Outside the shadows faded from mauves to deep maroons as blue sundown approached.
Obi-Wan executed sweeps of his deactivated lightsaber in slow motion and meditated on patience. Patience with Bladdos. Patience with his staff. Patience with the delegates. Patience with standing, watching long pointless, petty debates with Bladdos savoring his victories over them. He had squeezed out any emotion - compassion, sympathy, empathy - from himself on their first day of this mission. Senator Bladdos treated them like brute muscle for the negotiations and Qui-Gon had agreed to play the part. And by default Obi-Wan agreed as well. He had been surprised at first that his Master had accepted Senator Bladdos's rudeness, but Qui-Gon had only smiled at his question about it and instructed him to observe. And imagine himself in Senator Bladdos's place.
So he had watched carefully. This conference would unify several systems. It was the final act of years of politicking. Bladdos had been a negotiator, off and on, nearly from the beginning. The result was logical; the unification would bring together the peoples of many worlds and stifle years of antagonism. The methods were a chaos of promised favors, appointments to persons of high rank and dubious qualifications, wrangling over trivial points of ceremony and hours and hours of deal-making. If this was how the galaxy was run, Obi-Wan wondered why it didn't all crash from the weight of its excesses.
Bladdos plowed through the political muck like a hungry horned eel, squeezing out favors and bullying anyone who hesitated. He mastered details that Obi-Wan had no hope of commanding unless he was willing to devote a large portion of his life to it. Obi-Wan cringed to think of himself buried in the arguing and backstabbing. He considered himself a good negotiator, and Qui-Gon had commended him for his growing skills, but this was no simple peace treaty. This was the depths of the dirtiest politics that dominated the lives of billions of beings.
Obi-Wan now understood his Master's easy detachment from what was clearly Bladdos's world.
He exhaled long and slow, pushing all the air from his lungs and lowering his lightsaber hilt. The light outside was blazing now in the rising red sun, painting the sides of the nearby city towers in fiery hues, the shadows deep red like dormant coals.
He glanced at the holo-com again. The unification talks would not go any faster whether he watched the information channels or not. He had exhausted his interest in useless babbling earlier with Qui-Gon. And he did not wish to see yet another replaying of the blaster confrontation, with him diving for the ground.
Yawing, Obi-Wan limped to the cabinets and peeked inside, but he only found boxes of disposable serving utensils and cylinders, a clutter of stylets, signs, several varieties of cord on huge spools, stacks of colored text sheets, a big box of colored data chits and a few odd droid parts. Shrugging, he supposed the temperature of the room was fine and a blanket was unnecessary. The air was freshly circulated and unscented. He went back to the recliner, eased himself back on it and replaced his foot on the pillow again. His toe burned and itched a bit, but not too insistently if he kept it still.
The recliner was cushioned, but firm, comfortable enough to sleep on. He felt a bit abandoned, forgotten, a leftover detail in the negotiations.
A sentry droid outside flashed yellow, clipping a holo-facz snooper which spun away wildly.
Closing his eyes, Obi-Wan relaxed, satisfied that he was serving well where he was.
- - - End Part 2
