Chapter 3
"You- You're a droid?" Obi-Wan asked incredulously, marveling at the feat of
engineering before him. He looked his Master up and down, but could detect
nothing that would indicate he was anything other than Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn.
Well, aside from the robotic parts showing through that gash in his arm.
"It certainly looks that way," Qui-Gon answered, his warm yet dispassionate tone
just right, his eyes crinkling up in thought just as they always had. "And yet,
I feel just like…well, like myself. I remember going to sleep in my quarters in
the Temple, and then I woke up here. Like this." He gestured with the gashed
wrist, which had at least stopped bleeding.
"But that's amazing!" Obi-Wan walked around the droid, giving it another
careful inspection. It's hair looked real, and exactly the right length and
color. Well, perhaps there was a touch less silver than he remembered. It wore
the robes of a Jedi, complete but for a light saber at the belt. It even put
its hands on its hips and looked at Obi-Wan with one slightly raised eyebrow,
just like Qui-Gon might have done. "Oh. Sorry, Master," Obi-Wan apologized
under that gaze, just as if he was a Padawan again, as he always would be to
this man, or at least the original of this man, before him. "But I've never
seen workmanship like this before. The appearance is perfect. And you have all
of Qui-Gon's – I mean, your thoughts, memories?"
"Yes. I know everything, remember everything, every day of my life, right up to
the day we got back from our last mission. It was late, and I went right to
bed, as did you. And woke up here. They must have gotten us both."
"Wait a minute. What mission?"
"To Timbuska. The coronation dispute," Qui-Gon answered, with a slightly amused
expression. "I know you found it somewhat boring, but you can't have forgotten
it completely. It was only a month ago."
Obi-Wan's eyes grew big. "Oh. Of course, you couldn't know. You must have
been…before…"
"What are you muttering about?"
"Um, well, I…" Obi-Wan rubbed his chin, wondering how to explain. Then he
realized how pointless it was to concern himself with the feelings of a droid,
and spit it out. "Timbuska wasn't a month ago, it was ten years ago. That was
our last mission before…before you died."
"I died."
"Yes, battling a Sith."
"The Sith are extinct."
"That's what the Council thought, too."
Qui-Gon looked at his Padawan for a long moment. Obi-Wan's humor had always
been subtle and dry, and occasionally inopportunely timed, but now he did not
detect a hint of fabrication. "Perhaps you should tell me everything. Over
breakfast?" He gestured to the tray that sat waiting on the low table. Obi-Wan
nodded.
And so they ate, sitting on pillows around the table. Qui-Gon explained that,
while he apparently did not require food to survive, he did have a sense of
taste and still was able to enjoy eating. Obi-Wan told him the story of their
last mission together.
"And so I became a Knight, and Anakin my Padawan," Obi-Wan was concluding the
first chapter of his tale.
"Then why do you still wear the braid?" Qui-Gon inquired.
"I don't." But as he said it, Obi-Wan's hand went instinctively to his right
ear, expecting to find the style he wore as a General, his hair all one length
of several centimeters. Instead he found the once familiar plaited lock hanging
onto his shoulder, the hair around it cropped short. "What the-" One of the
framed pieces on the wall had proved to be a mirror, and now, as quickly as he
could, Obi-Wan sprang up from the cushion and hurried to it.
His jaw fell open at the image reflected back at him. He was young again. A
boy, his Master's Padawan. An innocent, from his current perspective, the
weight of the universe not yet showing on his shoulders or face. Qui-Gon came
up behind him and set a hand on his shoulder.
"You look just as I remember you. I feared I would never see you again, my
Padawan."
"But, I'm supposed to be ten years older," Obi-Wan protested to his own
reflection. "How could this be? Unless…" He looked down at his body, still
nude but for the sheet. His eyes fell upon his own wrist. Though the idea
revolted him, he steeled himself. Bringing a finger up to the smooth skin of
his wrist, he dug in.
Pain shot up his arm. His skin resisted. Every part of him screamed out in
protest. But he had to know. So, ignoring the pain, grimacing, he dug in
deeper, as deep as he could go. And when at last he peeled back the stinging,
bleeding skin, it revealed a mass of wires and the glitter of metal.
"You- You're a droid?" Obi-Wan asked incredulously, marveling at the feat of
engineering before him. He looked his Master up and down, but could detect
nothing that would indicate he was anything other than Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn.
Well, aside from the robotic parts showing through that gash in his arm.
"It certainly looks that way," Qui-Gon answered, his warm yet dispassionate tone
just right, his eyes crinkling up in thought just as they always had. "And yet,
I feel just like…well, like myself. I remember going to sleep in my quarters in
the Temple, and then I woke up here. Like this." He gestured with the gashed
wrist, which had at least stopped bleeding.
"But that's amazing!" Obi-Wan walked around the droid, giving it another
careful inspection. It's hair looked real, and exactly the right length and
color. Well, perhaps there was a touch less silver than he remembered. It wore
the robes of a Jedi, complete but for a light saber at the belt. It even put
its hands on its hips and looked at Obi-Wan with one slightly raised eyebrow,
just like Qui-Gon might have done. "Oh. Sorry, Master," Obi-Wan apologized
under that gaze, just as if he was a Padawan again, as he always would be to
this man, or at least the original of this man, before him. "But I've never
seen workmanship like this before. The appearance is perfect. And you have all
of Qui-Gon's – I mean, your thoughts, memories?"
"Yes. I know everything, remember everything, every day of my life, right up to
the day we got back from our last mission. It was late, and I went right to
bed, as did you. And woke up here. They must have gotten us both."
"Wait a minute. What mission?"
"To Timbuska. The coronation dispute," Qui-Gon answered, with a slightly amused
expression. "I know you found it somewhat boring, but you can't have forgotten
it completely. It was only a month ago."
Obi-Wan's eyes grew big. "Oh. Of course, you couldn't know. You must have
been…before…"
"What are you muttering about?"
"Um, well, I…" Obi-Wan rubbed his chin, wondering how to explain. Then he
realized how pointless it was to concern himself with the feelings of a droid,
and spit it out. "Timbuska wasn't a month ago, it was ten years ago. That was
our last mission before…before you died."
"I died."
"Yes, battling a Sith."
"The Sith are extinct."
"That's what the Council thought, too."
Qui-Gon looked at his Padawan for a long moment. Obi-Wan's humor had always
been subtle and dry, and occasionally inopportunely timed, but now he did not
detect a hint of fabrication. "Perhaps you should tell me everything. Over
breakfast?" He gestured to the tray that sat waiting on the low table. Obi-Wan
nodded.
And so they ate, sitting on pillows around the table. Qui-Gon explained that,
while he apparently did not require food to survive, he did have a sense of
taste and still was able to enjoy eating. Obi-Wan told him the story of their
last mission together.
"And so I became a Knight, and Anakin my Padawan," Obi-Wan was concluding the
first chapter of his tale.
"Then why do you still wear the braid?" Qui-Gon inquired.
"I don't." But as he said it, Obi-Wan's hand went instinctively to his right
ear, expecting to find the style he wore as a General, his hair all one length
of several centimeters. Instead he found the once familiar plaited lock hanging
onto his shoulder, the hair around it cropped short. "What the-" One of the
framed pieces on the wall had proved to be a mirror, and now, as quickly as he
could, Obi-Wan sprang up from the cushion and hurried to it.
His jaw fell open at the image reflected back at him. He was young again. A
boy, his Master's Padawan. An innocent, from his current perspective, the
weight of the universe not yet showing on his shoulders or face. Qui-Gon came
up behind him and set a hand on his shoulder.
"You look just as I remember you. I feared I would never see you again, my
Padawan."
"But, I'm supposed to be ten years older," Obi-Wan protested to his own
reflection. "How could this be? Unless…" He looked down at his body, still
nude but for the sheet. His eyes fell upon his own wrist. Though the idea
revolted him, he steeled himself. Bringing a finger up to the smooth skin of
his wrist, he dug in.
Pain shot up his arm. His skin resisted. Every part of him screamed out in
protest. But he had to know. So, ignoring the pain, grimacing, he dug in
deeper, as deep as he could go. And when at last he peeled back the stinging,
bleeding skin, it revealed a mass of wires and the glitter of metal.