THE FOG OF PEACE
by ardavenport
- - - Part 2
Bright late afternoon sunlight shone on the reddish stone of a rocky overhang overlooking a foggy shore below. The impenetrable haze made a weird, flat sea with no visible shore on the other side with the curve of the Zirosh crater's edge barely discernable from the ground.
A small light gray space ship with the red makings of the Galactic Republic cast a lengthening shadow over its improvised landing platform on the overhang.
The distant hum and rumble of engines drew near and grew louder. A convoy of speeders and transports emerged up from out of the gray. They formed a line before the Republic ship on the foggy shore of the crater.
People emerged. Tall thin figures with long arms and legs and heads. Yellow-skinned Pazash in tan uniforms. Green-skinned Tash-Pazash in light blue uniforms. Some guided two lift-flats, each with a still brown-robed figure on it.
An argument started.
A Pazash commander accused the Tash-Pazash of badly underestimating the Jedi and that they should have listened to their advice. And that everything had been ruined.
A Tash-Pazash diplomat shouted back that if the Pazash had kept better rein on the criers on their public coms that their current situation would never have emerged.
They traded unproductive accusations and insults. None of them immediately noticed one of the brown-robed figures struggling to sit up and blearily watch them.
The older Jedi turned his head from one group to the other, his arms supporting him, long hair drooping over the shoulders of his rumpled dark brown robe, bearded jaw slack and blue eyes unfocused. Some lower ranking Tazash and Tash-Pazash joined in with a few acerbic comments though it was unclear who was being critiqued. Diplomats from either side tried to divert the arguing back to discussing their problem . . . . until an underling squealed and pointed.
Pazash and Tash-Pazash stared, their large eyes fixed on the Jedi futilely swiping as some loose strands of brown hair. Simultaneously, two long darts, one with a yellow tail the other with green, struck the Jedi from both sides, jolting him into attention. A moment later he fell backward again onto the flat.
The arguing continued, but in hashed voices. A yellow skinned team hustled forward to take the lifter flats away out from under the Jedi, dumping them on the bare, reddish dirt. Some of the speeders and transports left, the remaining people speaking in more productive tones. More of them left until a single sleek speeder remained.
Commander Timash Outsh approached the smaller brown robe. He knelt by it, along with an aide who reached down with a white cylinder. Outsh turned the body over and the white cylinder hissed against Obi-Wan Kenobi's neck. The pair bent their long necks down to peer at him.
Obi-Wan felt a hot pricking in the back of his throat and his eyes opened to see a deeply shadowed green head looking down at him. Slender hands grasped his upper arms, the fingers going all the way around his biceps, and roughly shook him.
"Aaaash hooosh!" Outsh yelled at him to wake up. He and his aides' hands pulled Obi-Wan up to sit. He teetered precariously.
"Hoooweesh aash hosh-hosh-aaash auuush," Outsh went on, waving his arms theatrically about Pazash paranoia, Jedi arrogance and his security teams having to go rescue them from bandits. Obi-Wan squinted up at the tall thin security commander, catching most of Outsh's meaning but only half the words.
After finishing a summary of the critical report he would be transmitting back to their Jedi superiors Outsh and his aide left, sweeping their arms back dismissively.
Obi-Wan watched their speeder buzz away, making a sharp right turn at the fog-line of the crater.
He blinked.
Then looked toward the dark brown heap next to him.
Spurred into action, Obi-Wan reached for and then pulled himself to his Master's side, grasping a shoulder and shaking it. Getting no response, he pulled Qui-Gon over onto his back, the head flopping over to one side. Leaning close, Obi-Wan put his ear to the mouth, listened to the breathing, his hand on Qui-Gon's chest. He touched his forehead to Qui-Gon's. There was slow, steady life. No danger. But the older man was quite thoroughly unconscious. Drugged.
Sitting back, he ran a hand over his short hair, pulled the end of his Padawan's braid out from where it was trapped under the collar of his robe. Looking up at their ship, Obi-Wan waved a hand at it.
Nothing happened.
Closing his eyes, sinking into his focus, Obi-Wan raised his hand again.
This time, the ship's ramp lowered with a hum and whistling bursts of air.
He let his head fall back. Above him the cloudless blue sky stretched out to a bright, clear infinity. On his right, an ocean of fog filled the crater out to the horizon, white in the lowering sunlight. Inhaling deeply, the Force flowed through him, pushing back the haze of the drugs lingering in his body.
Leaning forward Obi-Wan grabbed Qui-Gon's arm, pulling him up. In one smooth motion he put his feet under him, his shoulders under Qui-Gon's chest and stood. Grasping a leg and arm of Qui-Gon, he looked toward the darkened interior of the ship and steadily walked up the ramp, his boots thumping solidly with both their weights.
The interior lights came on as soon as his boots touched the deck. With one hand motion, he activated the ramp closure mechanism. Then he went to his knees. Their ship was tiny, with only the pilot and co-pilot seats and rear storage. He had to lay Qui-Gon down on the deck with his feet between the two forwards seats and his head near the rear bulkhead. After he carefully lowered Qui-Gon's head into the rumpled folds of his robe's hood the Force seemed to leave Obi-Wan all at once.
He sat shaking with his legs under him, his forehead resting on a cool metaloid access panel. His skin flushed, he shivered and took deep breaths to calm the nausea rising in him. He remembered the brief euphoria he had felt after drinking Outsh's drugged water just before he passed out. He supposed that they had given him another drug to revive him, but this dose did not include any soporific bliss.
His left hand slapped a control above him, activating the ship's waste disposer, just in case.
For long minutes he concentrated on steady breathing. The nausea did not get any worse, but it did not get better. His fingers clumsy, he unhooked his belt and lightsaber and laid them to the side. He lowered himself to the deck, stretching out next to Qui-Gon. Tugging out some of the uncomfortable folds of both robes under him, he bunched up his own hood under his head to cushion it on the deck plates.
Lying down eased his queasy stomach a bit. He lay on his side, with his arm over Qui-Gon's middle and the body heat between them helped him relax. Qui-Gon remained disconcertingly motionless and insensate. Obi-Wan supposed that he should get out the ship's med-kit and try to revive him, but at the moment he thought that one of them feeling unwell was enough.
The light from outside was noticeably darkened through the forward view ports. The sun must be going down. . . .
- - - END Part 2
