"Obi-Wan, if you're busy, you don't have to—" Padme Amidala is saying over the comm; Lana carefully thumbs through a document on her datapad that Dexter Jettster himself had given to her via datastick, giving Obi-Wan the illusion of privacy as best she can.
"Nonsense, Padme. Just give me an hour or two to finish up my business. I'll be along to assist after that," Obi-Wan says, leaning against the Temple-issue speeder. He's squinting in the midday sun, perhaps because he's chosen to fix his eyes on the shiniest building in the CoCo Town district.
Lana's brows raise as she gets to a pictorial representation of the galactic situation circa 3611. Mandalore in chaos, she observes, watching as the looping image shows a deep burgundy blob spilling out of the core planet of the Mandalore sector; a year forward, and Concord Dawn has been engulfed by the same color. Nearby planets are bright pinpricks of red and orange and yellow, all according to danger level and frequency of open combat. The Mandalorian Reformation had not been bloodless, despite best efforts by the Duchess and a team of Jedi negotiators. Though Mandalore is now peaceful, it had come at a cost that the Alliance of Neutral Systems is still recovering from twenty-five years down the road, the description below the graphic reads.
"What's that?" Obi-Wan asks, glancing at the infographic as they make their way to the speeder.
"Report on the impact of the Mandalorian Reformation," Lana mumbles, brows furrowing as she reads on. "I hadn't realized that Bandomeer was among the planets caught in the crossfire…"
Obi-Wan sighs, a deep, weary sigh that lets the universe out along with his breath. He starts the speeder engine. "That would be Dex's smokescreen—the blighter. See if there are any links in the middle of the study."
Lana looks. Sure enough, a single letter in the middle of a sentence about the Mandalorian Duchess is slightly discolored—a lighter shade of blue than the text itself. She taps it, pauses for a moment at the encryption key prompt that pops up, then inputs the numerical code Dex had slipped under her tall, frosty blue milkshake. The document that comes up makes her whistle. "This is as confirmed as I've ever seen anything, Master."
"Wonderful," Obi-Wan grumps, suspicion evident in the way he regards the drivers around them in the airlane.
"I suppose this means there's more going on—almost a relief, really. These kinds of things always do get so much more complicated. It's nice to know this now instead of months down the line, when our only hope is an astromech with an attitude problem."
Obi-Wan glances at her. "Are you often in the habit of investigating the deaths of high-ranking personnel that guide the course of galactic civilizations?" he asks mildly, dodging a Twi'lek on a single-seat speeder with a calm that would be alarming if she couldn't see the way he's been clenching the steering wheel since they took off.
She gives him an amused smile. "Well, I have read rather a lot of mission reports from the Diplomacy specs…"
"Ah. Naturally."
"You might want to look out, Master. Looks like the Twi'lek is coming back for another go at us."
He sighs. "Blast. I suppose they couldn't resist the temptation of two Jedi outside of their normal habitat."
"Are assassination attempts that common outside the Temple?" Lana asks curiously, glad for the domed chassis of their speeder.
"Only for those in Investigation," Obi-Wan says after a moment of thought. He dives down one lane, then another. "Hold on. This could be a bumpy ride."
It's evening by the time Obi-Wan returns from looking after Anakin's children, and his spirit is unsettled. Well—moreso than usual. When one is a General on forced medical leave when one ought to be fighting in an active war, one tends to be haunted by disquiet regardless of what one does; Obi-Wan just so happens to have received word from the front and three separate reports that corroborate on the fact that the Hutts have closed off their space to both the Galactic Republic and the Confederacy of Independent Systems for no clear reason, and they're not letting anything through.
Anakin, halfway across the galaxy, does what Obi-Wan intellectually knows to be impossible: he sends a soothing pulse of calm over a training bond that should've shrunk to nothing in the time span they'd been apart after Anakin's Knighting. Obi-Wan's leg, an absolute bother of a thing, stops protesting as it has all day and instead settles on being mildly cantankerous when he extends it too far forward. He shakes his head as he tentatively directs gratitude in the direction of Anakin's omnipresent warmth. This far off, it's more like a hearth fire than a blazing supernova, but it should still be impossible.
Much to his consternation, impossible is a word in his rather extensive vocabulary that doesn't seem to be as valid a word to describe anything in his life as it once was. Qui-Gon's visit comes to mind; so do the gaggle of Jedi younglings progressing down the corridor with what some of the older Masters will undoubtedly view as undue excitement in their gaits. Obi-Wan has enough presence of mind to step out of the way. The Zabrak girl is the first to reach their destination; she tumbles to a stop in front of Lana Ruhr, who kneels down to meet her at eye-level.
"Hello there," Lana says, eyes sparkling as she reaches out to steady the Zabrak. She greets each youngling in turn—there are three of them, all with their childish excitement and joy bleeding into the Force. "How go the lessons, young ones?"
"We learned how to find planets, Padawan Ruhr," says the little Miralukan boy, grinning. Obi-Wan nods to himself without quite realizing it; the boy's accent is perfect, and if he hadn't known that the boy hailed from Alpheridies, he'd have never thought it out of place.
The most unusual of the bunch, a Neti sapling brought back by Ood Bnar one of the rare times in galactic history he'd returned to Coruscant, gives Lana what is probably a smile. It's hard to tell, seeing as the sapling is a particularly knotty one. "Lessons are… like sunlight. Master Yoda says so."
"Master Yoda is very wise," Lana agrees. "Why did he say that lessons are like sunlight?"
"I bet it's 'cause sunlight helps you grow, Sha," says the Zabrak. Eagerness dances around her signature; she has something to tell Lana, and she wishes to do so now, but she exercises self-restraint by waiting.
"The sun grows my body, and the Force grows my mind," Sha says, nodding.
Lana smiles again. "Make sure you listen to Master Yoda, yes? But don't be afraid to ask questions if you're confused. He enjoys spending time with you," she says, as if confiding a great secret. "If you ever get to hear him lecture in the foyer of the Residential Halls, he'll always say something along the lines of entrusted with the future, we are, so nurture it, we should. Then he opens the floor to questions. The Archivists say it's very edifying."
"I think I should like to be an Archivist," Sha says thoughtfully. "The Force flows so smoothly around them."
The Zabrak shakes her head. "Well, I don't! I need t'move 'round! Master Drallig said so once."
"That would be because you can never sit still, Nawah," the Miralukan boy informs her.
She sticks her tongue out at him and turns to Lana, wiggling closer than is strictly permitted for Jedi in the halls in order to tug at Lana's braid. Lana allows it; Nawah looks up at her, careful not to let the nubs on her forehead graze Lana's cheek. "What about you, Padawan Ruhr? You're a Senior Padawan now, aren'tcha? What are you gonna be?"
"The Force will show me what I am to be, Nawah. Just as it will show you," Lana says, reaching out and carefully patting Nawah on the head. "Remember: don't be afraid. When we begin to fear each other, we start to drift from what the Force has for us. United we stand…"
"…Apart we Fall," the three younglings chorus, looking up at her with adoring eyes.
She doesn't seem to notice. "It was very compassionate of you three to check up on me. Thank you for your concern, young ones, but please don't be late to your classes."
Nawah's eyes widen. "Oh no!"
"Let's go, Sha," the Miralukan boy says, grasping at both Sha's wrist and Nawah's. "It would not be wise for Nawah to miss the beginning of fourthlesson again."
"Hey," Nawah complains, and the three depart down the hall, arguing all the way. Lana watches them go, a small smile on her face. It fades when they turn the corner, something more like her usual reserve returning to her features.
"Master Kenobi," she says, approaching him without pretense. "Have you heard the news?"
"That would depend on what news you're speaking about in particular," Obi-Wan says, gesturing for them to continue on. He can see Jocasta Nu coming from some ways behind them, and he has no desire to see Lana subjected to a lecture on Jedi propriety—he's endured the sharp edge of Master Nu's tongue too many times to allow that fate to be inflicted upon anyone else.
Lana bobs her head, less a response, more a habit. "Hutt Space has gone silent, Master Kenobi. The HoloNet is buzzing, especially after the morning's rumors. No word from Fulcrum, though."
"You expected something from them?" Obi-Wan quirks a brow as they turn right. Lana is headed toward the salles; he had intended to return to his quarters and mull over the happenings, perhaps to meditate and connect with the Force, but something tells him that this is the first time she's actively sought anyone out for a rather long while.
She shrugs. If she's trying to do anything other than be a friendly, helpful mission partner, he can't sense it. "It's what those HoloNet personas do. Fulcrum, Variance, Kel Doraniq, Rogue One—they're all about keeping their finger on the pulse of galactic news, shining a light into the places the mainstream news outlets won't go to. Fulcrum's new, admittedly, but they're shaping up to run in the same circles."
"Rogue One," Obi-Wan says thoughtfully. "Where have I heard that name before?"
Lana tilts her head. "Hmm. Maybe the expose they did on Senatorial involvement in the slave trade on Ryloth—that'd've been a year ago, just about. I believe Master Billaba and her Padawan were aiding the local freedom fighters when the news broke. It went a long ways toward positive perceptions of the Jedi on the HoloNet. If I had a credit for every time I saw a post using that candid holo of her Padawan to mock the Senate, I'd be a rich woman by now."
"You certainly seem on top of things yourself." He tries not to seem too curious—Jedi are permitted their hobbies so long as they remain able to give them up should the Force ask it of them, and keeping up with the news is a rather useful one for their investigation. She only gives him a smile, less pronounced than the overt warmth she gave the younglings freely, but still there.
"Being Temple-bound for three years helps you develop some interesting habits, Master Kenobi," she says, and palms the door to one of the smaller salles open. With a touch of anxiety she probably thinks she's hidden better than she actually has, she glances at him over her shoulder. "Care to spot me? I'm trying to teach myself Niman, and I'm afraid it isn't going very well."
The Force nudges him. Go, it whispers. Do.
Obi-Wan gives her a small smile. Wherever the Force leads, he will follow. "It'd be my pleasure."
It is a truth, if somewhat scandalous to speak, that the Force is not always with the Jedi. If one looks at the ebb and flow of the Order as a whole, it becomes clear that there have been periods in galactic history when the Jedi have been out of step with the will of the Force; in such times, other proponents of the Force take precedence. One example is the Guardians of the Whills, the millennia-old protectors of the Temple of the Kyber…
"Lana?"
Lana looks up from her datapad. "Knight Justiss," she says mildly. "What seems to be the issue?"
Kai Justiss blinks, the only physical indication that he is in any way discomfited. He gives her a quick, uncertain smile. "Not that I'm one to talk, but… isn't it a tad early to be browsing the Archives?"
"Perhaps," Lana grants. Master Nu will not wake for another two hours, after all, and there is an unspoken rule about the Temple Archives: keep well away until Master Nu has come to the desk. Perhaps it has something to do with the way the shadow of the Dark Side has grown long, or with the reports by the younglings of unfriendly voices whispering to them in the night, promising power and glory if they only give in, or even with the tension in the air that the Jedi on guard duty bring with them. Like Kai.
"Firstmeal will be soon," Kai says after a protracted silence. "Perfect katas won't do you any good if you don't have the energy to perform them."
It's a rather gracious dismissal, all things considered. Lana gives him a tight-lipped smile and gathers her things. "I'll be reporting in to the Healers at 1000 hours," she says. "By all means, inform Master Che that she won't have to hunt me down today."
"May the Force be with you, Lana," Kai murmurs. Caught up in her musings as she departs, Lana doesn't really hear it.
"I'm afraid there's nothing distinct, Master," Lana says to Yoda's hologram. She shifts, uncomfortably aware of sitting cross-legged on a bed in the Healer's Ward as Vokara Che watches on. "There are—places I've never been before, gigantic spaceships that almost look like the Praxeums, pretty vistas, deserts. I was underwater once, feeling hunted, but there was nothing around me. And when I looked deeper, the Force jolted me awake. It was like being doused with cold water."
Yoda makes a contemplative noise. "Purposeful, the Force is. Of these 'pretty vistas', tell me you must."
"One was a jungle," Lana says, heart jumping into her throat with a sudden anxiety. Yoda never quite inquires further into her visions, particularly not when he's taken the 44th Legion out on deployment. If he's bothering to ask now— "It was evening, and I was standing in front of a stone temple. It looked abandoned. I knew it was very old. There was a dark presence nearby—not in the temple, I don't think, but it was watching me. Just watching. When I realized it was watching, it laughed at me; it started to say something I didn't fully hear. This is not going to go, or something like that, and the rest of the sentence was cut off. Then I was underwater."
"Concerning, this is," Yoda says. Lana nods. "Many jungles in the galaxy, there are. Difficult, finding it will be."
"Pardon?" Lana asks. Vokara coughs, but when Lana glances over, Vokara's face is serene and free of emotion.
Yoda taps his gimer stick, a motion that doesn't quite have the same impact when he's in holographic form. "Meditate on this, I will. Focus on your investigation, you must."
"Yes, Master," Lana murmurs, frowning.
"So eager are you to know the Grand Master's business, Padawan Ruhr? Center yourself on the present moment, you must. Investigation you have to carry out." Yoda harrumphs at her. "In tune with their surroundings, a Jedi must be. Assess how well you have followed this, I will, when I return."
Lana feels her face burning. None of Yoda's projects are spared personal dignity, she knows, but he always has a way of cutting to the heart of the matter that cuts her down to size along with it. "Yes, Master."
"Take care, Master," Vokara cuts in gracefully, taking pity on her patient; she and Yoda exchange goodbyes, and the hologram winks out of existence. Vokara turns to Lana, a crisp motion that sets her robes aflutter. "I didn't have to have you hunted down today, Padawan Ruhr. Are you feeling alright?"
I was, Lana thinks, but it is impertinent, and the Jedi are no fun. Instead, she shifts on the bed and stares somewhere above and to the left of Vokara's head. "My dreams have been dark, as of late."
"You say that every time," is the chiding response as Vokara strides over to the bedside table and picks up Lana's patient chart.
"Unfortunately, it remains true," Lana replies, dipping her head. "Forgive me. I've been unable to employ your teachings properly."
Vokara hums, looking over the chart. "You're no healer, Padawan Ruhr, but something tells me you were never meant to be. The Force guides us all to our proper places."
"But what happens when the Force doesn't illuminate the path, Master Che?" Lana crosses her arms and studies the cracked tiles on the ceiling. Perhaps it's a matter of an answer the Force has veiled for some reason, or a step of faith that must be taken…
Vokara glances at her half-heartedly, then again, sharper, body tensing ever-so-slightly as her eyes dart across Lana's tiny form. There is something guarded in the Healer's eyes, if amused, that Lana has never quite seen before. "The Force is always illuminating the path, Padawan," she says. With a wave, Lana's chart slots itself back into the folder that Vokara seems to carry with her permanently these days. Her lekku twitch. "If one cannot see it, then perhaps they ought to look deeper in a way they have not before, no? If the door is not open, look for a window."
"That's not very honorable," Lana says after a moment of thought. It's not a disagreement.
"To save lives, Padawan, one must occasionally go beyond the traditional lines of thinking," Vokara says dryly. She gestures for Lana to get up, a sharp motion that belies the softness of her hands. "Now, away with you. Stars know I've had enough philosophers in here today."
Lana waits until she's at the door to speak. She'd seen the visitor's log on her way in to her appointment. "Master Kenobi sure is a handful, isn't he?"
"Out, brat," is Vokara's irritated response. Lana smiles to herself. Success.
As Lana exits, the Force tugs at her navel—an insistent sense of follow me, dancing on the edges of her sixth sense. Lana puts a hand on the counter, ignoring the inquisitive glance of the Healer Padawan minding the desk. What? she thinks, surprise bleeding over and into the almost-physical hold the Force has on her. She shakes her head, pushing that aside for the moment. What is it?
Again the sense manifests itself. Whether it's the call of a ghost so old it has forgotten how to show itself before physical eyes or the Force choosing a direct way of making its wishes known, Lana is a servant; it is her duty to follow, so she does. Lost in a haze, she hardly notices the winding path she takes down lesser-used hallways and half-abandoned turbolifts. The Force urges her to pay attention, but the feeling of being so deeply immersed in it is so rare nowadays that Lana shakes her head and reaches further—
Abruptly, she finds herself bereft of the floating calm and quite by herself in a disused entrance chamber. The Force hovers just beyond her perception, there if she should need the abilities it grants her, but otherwise denying her the comfort of an easy meditative state. Lana bows her head for a moment, ashamed of herself. Some days, she is no better than the legends the people of Ikamra tell of the boy, Ikkaru, who flew too close to the sun; she knows better than some that the Force is not a thing, to be used in the pursuit of one's own glory, but separation from it as Coruscant grows darker with the shadows of war has been—difficult, particularly when she only ever seems to fully find it in her dreams.
I apologize, for whatever it's worth, Lana thinks at the energy field that binds the universe together, feeling quite silly.
No response.
"Right," she murmurs. "Shouldn't have expected it. To business, I suppose. What's brought me here?"
Nothing, apparently. Nothing obvious. Lana looks around the bare chamber, a frown on her lips. There is purpose in the Force's every leading, even when that leading is to walk into rooms in the Temple that can't have possibly been used in at least three decades.
Her eyes fall on the door. Light from outside, scant and undoubtedly electronic, shines through the thin crack between the two halves of the door; beside it, a numpad glows a soft, impossible green, considering that the Temple technicians have taken to consolidating most of their power usage in the areas of the Temple that people actually live in.
She glances at the wall, and at the sight of the cool burnished metal characteristic of all the older parts of the Temple, she remembers that she doesn't have anyone to exchange glances with. Shaking her head, she approaches the door.
"…safe here," filters in from beyond, a mechanized voice produced by a voice modulator. Lana pauses.
"You're sure they'll listen?" comes a man's voice.
Shhhk-hiss. A sigh. Lana forces herself to breathe out. "Just ask for Master Kenobi. If there's anyone in there who'd listen to sense, it's him."
"Fulcrum!"
A silence.
"Thank you for everything."
"Repay me by relaying the message to Master Kenobi," is the brisk reply. Lana wastes no time; she dashes over to the numpad and jabs in the code she's watched Master Mar-Suu use to unlock the balcony entrance on the fifteenth floor. As the door opens, the cool light of the streetlamp spills in and combines with the warm underlights of the entrance chamber, making the metal almost look like it emits a soft glow; in front of her, a tall, dark-skinned man with dark hair that falls to his back in curly ringlets stares down at her in surprise. He's dressed in nondescript pedestrian clothes, a sure attempt to blend in that does not quite work with how distinctive his high-boned, elegant face is.
Lana blinks and scans the area behind him. No Fulcrum in sight. Blast.
"Ah… hello?" the man ventures uncertainly, a hesitant smile on his face. "I've a message for General Kenobi…"
"Many do," Lana replies, tilting her head. His eyes bounce from her dangling braid to her face. He has a kindly face, and his signature in the Force doesn't radiate overt hostility, but she has to be sure. "He's a man in high demand, I'm afraid. What makes your message of note?"
"I've been working with the coroners in charge of the Chancellor. I know what happened to the body," he says, and the faint, unconscious way his hands shake as he speaks is what clinches it for her.
Lana gestures to the chamber as she scrabbles for her comm. "Come in. I'll get you to him. Got a name?"
"Daud. Daud Antema," he says as he follows her in. The Force ripples, the ringing gong of destiny making its garrulous presence known once more in her life; Daud looks around, rubbing his arms. "I didn't know the Jedi kept bells."
He's Force-sensitive, Lana marvels, staring at her comm and willing Obi-Wan to pick up quickly. A Force-sensitive witness. "We don't."
"Then what—"
"Kenobi," comes Obi-Wan's voice from the comm. Daud quickly shuts his mouth. "Is something the matter, Padawan Ruhr?"
"You could say that, Master Kenobi. We've got a witness that backs up what we learned the other day. West side, fourth floor, down the dusty turbolift and hang a left."
"I'll be right there."