Lineage IV


2.


"Blast it!"

Obi Wan sighed, wiping the analyzer plate clean for the third time. The gossamer-fine thread of vegetable protein on the slide scanner fluttered in his breath as he leaned too close, more than likely depositing more foreign DNA on the sample. Simmering with frustration and wondering darkly why the Agri-Corps could not afford a more updated model, one that included a simple steri-filter, he dumped the ruined specimen in the refuse receptacle and tried again.

And then the end of his braid brushed against the new sample just as he was ready to slot it into the analyzer.

"Son of a misbegotten Sith-whore!" he hissed, clutching the edge of the laboratory counter with both hands, resentment boiling over into the Force.

Qui Gon's delicate cough, issued from the vicinity of the doorway, had him wheeling about instantaneously, a melting heat rising like magma into his neck and cheeks, shame spreading molten in his belly. "Master! I …I …" He bowed his head, wishing at that moment that the Force would take him.

"It is frustrating, " the tall Jedi master observed, stepping past him to gaze at the bungled project. "But a trifling failure does not merit such a loss of composure and decorum." He adroitly prepared the slide anew, levitated it into the analyzer with a skillful use of the Force, and the set the machine to work, as though he were a biochemist by trade. "There," he said, sweeping his Padawan's mess into the garbage bin and turning around once more. "What I should like to know is why you did not simply ask for assistance."

"I'm sorry, master."

"That does not answer my question, Padawan."

The young Jedi squirmed in place. "Obstinate self-sufficiency," he muttered, miserably.

Qui Gon nodded, serenely, folding his hands into opposite sleeves. "Which springs from…?"

Obi Wan looked up at him, pleadingly, but the tall man merely raised an eyebrow, expectant.

"Lack of humility," the boy dutifully responded, addressing the scuffed floor.

"So long as we are in agreement on that," Qui Gon replied, heading for the door. "Come with me."

His shadow trailed behind him along the narrow corridor, and out the Agri-Corps headquarters main entrance. This morning, Ord Ursolon was only freezing; last night's dust storm had raised the ambient temperature a few degrees. Dust lay in deep drifts against the east-facing walls and struts of the prefab buildings. They crossed the main yard at a smart clip, boots crunching the dead and frozen grasses underfoot.

"I spoke with Ben To while you were , ah, working in the lab," the Jedi master offered as they made for the greenhouse domes. "He suggested that you take up some form of light exercise."

"That's good news," Obi Wan ventured, teeth chattering in the frosty air.

"Yes." Qui Gon stopped, gazing idly about the outbuildings of the Service Corps station, the far-flung boundaries of this lonely outpost. "Why don't you start now? I think a brisk run…say, all the way round the outside perimeter, would be very healthy. And it might improve your vocabulary ,too," he added, with a tight smile.

"Yes, master," his apprentice mumbled, shivering.

Qui Gon relieved him of his cloak and waved him away, watching in amusement as a tentative jog quickly transformed to a flat out sprint. The Ag-Corps reserve was rather large, and the morning air…. brisk. He decided to seek the warmth and shelter of the domes, chuckling quietly to himself.


Despite his hunched back, the result of a deforming and rare muscular-skeletal disease contracted in early childhood, Alepo Sator was a very spry individual. He nipped over a tall hedge of flowering bean shoots and stride across the rows of cultivated beds inside the dome.

"Master Jinn!" he called out. "'Bout time you Jedi rose off your sleep couches and started your day. Time for you to earn your keep here."

Qui Gon bowed to the station's crotchety director of operations. "We come to serve."

Alepo thrust one earth-stained hand toward the distant curve of the dome's buttressing system. "Look there – wind storm's stressed that girder. We'll need to lift a replacement up there before tonight."

The Jedi master studied the high fretwork of the dome's support structure, gauging the distance and the probable weight of the massive beam. It would make a fine training exercise in controlled Force manipulation. "Yes," he murmured. "We can do that. It will be our pleasure. Do you have a spare in storage here on the base?"

Alepo shook his head. "Coming in to the spaceport this afternoon. You and that sprout of yours can pick 'er up. I've got plenty to oversee here, can't afford the trip. Speaking of which, where is my labor force? The day's a-wasting."

"He's on his way," Qui Gon assured the impatient botanist.

On cue, Obi Wan appeared through the far doors, flushed with exertion and breathing deeply. "Master," he panted, making a formal bow to Qui Gon.

"You're late," Alepo Sator snapped. "What happened to strict Jedi discipline, eh?"

The Padawan cast a brief glance at his elder and then bowed to Alepo. "My apologies," he said, voiced pitched perfectly to express mild contrition. "Sending the biosample proved more difficult than I anticipated."

The horticulturalist snorted. "Well, let's set you to a task better suited to your talent. I want that irrigation ditch finished today."

Obi Wan's mouth thinned, but he did not register an objection. "Of course."

Alepo grinned and strode away, his hunched form melding into the mottled shadows of his domain.

"Well?" Qui Gon inquired, looking complacently down upon his apprentice. "Did your brief jaunt result in new insight?"

"Yes, master." Obi Wan hefted a long-handled digging tool in one hand. His gaze slid sideways and then met his mentor's. "I realize that I have been arrogant, and must recognize limitations. There are many things I cannot hope to accomplish without help."

Qui Gon nodded in approval.

The Padawans' dimples made a brief appearance. "For instance," he said, slyly, "This trench. I cannot possibly complete this task in the time allotted. I humbly ask your assistance, my master."

The Jedi master's eyes gleamed as he suppressed a laugh. "You learn quickly."

"I have a fine teacher."

Resigned to a morning's hard manual labor, Qui Gon accepted the proffered tool and followed his Padawan to the east side, where the half-finished ditch awaited their tender ministrations.


Obi Wan was a cautious pilot, by Jedi standards; although he pushed the rattling landspeeder along Ord Ursolon's desiccated landscape at a speed certainly over the legal limit – a restriction never enforced by the overburdened and understaffed planetary security – it was well within the bounds dictated by his Force-honed reflexes. He swerved around obstacles in long, graceful arcs, and kept the repulsors at low, hugging the dry earth as closely as possible. Qui Gon sat in the passenger seat, one arm stretched out along the vehicle's rusting side panel. The wind howled around them, buffeting them despite the cockpit damping field.

The spaceport was nothing more than a huddled collection of hangar bays and maintenance stations. A fueling platform had been erected at one end of the disorderly sprawl, and a line of supply shops and warehouses hunched along its northern boundary. The Jedi edged their speeder through the sparse ground traffic, halting before the massive doors of a ramshackle shipping house.

Here there was ice on the cracked duracrete tarmac, though the sun was well past meridian. Obi Wan pulled the heavy folds of an old duster over his shoulders. The garment- a worn favorite belonging to Qui Gon – reached past his knees and draped in thick folds over his tunics. Devoid of the customary robe, Padawan braid tucked into his nerftail, no lightsaber at his side, it was impossible for an outsider to identify him as a Jedi. He walked beside Qui Gon, subdued, as they entered the echoing warehouse and waited for the proprietor droid to totter forward in greeting.

"Oh, yes," the rusted manager burbled, surveying the Agri-Corps invoice on its datapad. "This way. The item is oversized; we will be charging an extra shipping fee. Will you require repulsor sleds for towing?"

"Yes, thank you."

The droid creaked away to oversee the hitching of the massive durasteel beam to the landspeeder's frame. Mouse droids and a gonk model zipped and lumbered by, respectively. Obi Wan gathered the duster's folds tight about his body and shifted in place, breath escaping in impatient white clouds.

Qui Gon frowned at the slow-moving droid crew puttering in the warehouse's furthest recesses. It was cold – though a Jedi ought to be able to maintain his body temperature for some time, his apprentice had barely recovered from a severe illness. He opted for the prudent course of action. "This could take a while," he decided ruefully, as the mechanical crew quarreled and crashed about in the background "Let's have a look at the local cantina."

Obi Wan's brows rose, but the prospect of waiting in the frigid shipping yards was by no means appealing, so he trotted eagerly along beside Qui Gon as the tall man strode across the spaceport to the line of dilapidated storefronts on its opposite side. The wind plucked at their hems, raked claws through hair and across skin. They were both grateful to attain the shelter of the sole public house.

"You got ID, son?" The portly bartender squinted dubiously at Obi Wan when they entered the warm, muggy interior of the low-roofed building.

"He's old enough," Qui Gon placidly asserted, passing one hand through the air in a subtle gesture.

The man nodded, splaying hands upon the countertop. "He's old enough. What's your drink, gentlemen?

"Two Bombshells, one of them virgin," the Jedi master promptly ordered.

He expected some form of objection from his companion, but the young Jedi's attention had been distracted by the holonet projector buzzing away in its corner. A stream of insipid gossip column items and newsreels flickered unsteadily over the plate, garishly colored. The unit was old and produced a wavering, badly focused image.

"Scramball scores, my Padawan?" he jested.

"Master… there was a news piece – a moment ago. Just a mention. There was a jailbreak in the Mograsshi sector- from the Illixi Detention center. That's a Republic high security prison facility, isn't it?"

The barkeep slid their bright blue and green drinks across the polished countertop. Qui Gon placed a credit chit upon the smooth surface and cautiously sipped at his own beverage. "Yes."

"That's very near here," Obi Wan pressed on. "Do you think the Council will call on us to investigate? The Senate will certainly ask for Jedi intervention."

Qui Gon set his glass down. "We are not the only Jedi in the galaxy," he pointed out, calmly. "And you are otherwise engaged."

"But if you contacted Coruscant, master, I'm sure –"

"There is no if, young one. And the Council knows precisely where to find me, should my services be required. At the moment, we have other pressing duties, such as the repair of Alepo's Agri-dome buttressing."

Obi Wan was discontent with this answer. He lapsed into an introspective silence, sipping at his own , much less potent, drink and watching the bar patrons trickle on and out of the establishment's doors.

"There is no need to go looking for more trouble, Obi Wan," the tall man assured him. "It has a way of seeking you out, in my experience."

The Padawan scowled into his half-empty glass. "It seems… wrong… to stay here doing nothing when there is an important matter demanding attention elsewhere," he protested.

"Ah." Qui Gon regarded his apprentice sagely. "But you have much to learn. We are not doing nothing. We are serving where we are needed. And importance very much depends on one's point of view. You may not think the Agri-domes worthy of your attention as a Jedi, but to Alepo and the people who hope to cultivate this world's land, they are of prime importance. If you exist to serve the needy, then by whose standard should you judge what cause is worthy? Your own or that of others?"

A difficult question. Obi Wan's hands slipped under the duster as he folded his arms across his chest. "Humility," he said.

"Yes." Qui Gon finished his drink in one long pull. "Let's go see about that girder, shall we?"