Lineage II


Part 4: Rising Wind


Jedi healer Ben-To Li lifted one of his patient's eyelids and then straightened with a soft sigh of relief. "Well," he remarked, brusquely unclipping the empty cartridge from a pressure hypo and packing away his other clutter into a small medical case, "That is why we always keep a few conventional sedatives and painkillers lying about. When damage has been inflicted with the Force, the physical body can sometimes be a wonderful ally. Never underestimate the humbler aspects of our nature."

Qui Gon watched his drug-stupefied apprentice's chest rise and fall in slow cadence. He deliberately relaxed his own bunched muscles, breathed away some of the tension simmering beneath his silent regard.

Master Li ran a pensive hand over his beard, smoothing it to a well-groomed apex. " I think I shall linger for an hour or two. Now shoo – gawking won't do your Padawan any good, and I find it exceedingly vexing."

"Thank you, BenTo," Qui Gon replied softly, in no way deceived by the irritable mannerism.

The healer's bright eyes squinted up at him. "My pleasure," he muttered, with a silent snort of amusement.


Qui Gon sought release in the Living Force. He circumambulated the Room of a Thousand Fountains twice, traversing each meandering path in turn, weaving a fretful course between serene grottos and tranquil vistas. His boots crunched the gravel-strewn paths; droplets of moisture settled in an iridescent mantle upon the dark folds of his cloak.

And yet, he was still disturbed.

"Master Jinn."

And a Jedi who was disturbed was one whose focus was not in the present moment, where it belonged. He grimaced privately and made a deep bow to the diminutive master leaning on his gimer stick, mid-path, as though he had planted his gnarled self there like a miniature zaibon tree, waiting for Qui Gon to turn the bend. Indeed, he probably had.

"Master Yoda."

"Hmmmph," the ancient Jedi rumbled. "Disturb my evening walk, do you, with your fretting."

"My apologies," Qui Gon snapped.

A pair of wise green-gold eyes slitted into narrow crescents, curving scimitars of perceptiveness. "Resent you do, the Sentinels' interference with your Padawan."

The tall man raised an eyebrow. He would not play coy; he had no need to disguise his displeasure. 'Master Syfo-Dyas brutalized a fourteen year old child. Why should I not be concerned?"

Yoda's ears twitched, a combative signal. New lines appeared in his grooved skull and forehead as his brows rose. "Necessary he deemed it. Cooperate willingly, Padawan Kenobi did."

Qui Gon snorted. "He had no idea what was involved. Am I to understand that the Council approves the use of extreme interrogation techniques on the Order's younger generation?"

The gimer stick hit the gravel with a dull crunch of annoyance. "Appointed judge over the Council, you are not, Qui Gon Jinn."

He dropped to one knee – perhaps out of respect, perhaps because he wished to look the old troll directly in the face. "No. But I am the Force-anointed guardian of my own Padawan; and I shall stand between him and the Council itself before I suffer such an abomination to be committed again."

Yoda's blast of cold disapproval nearly took his breath away, but he gritted his teeth and held firm.

The ancient one regarded him with gimlet eyes, an imperiously assessing gleam in their depths. His mouth puckered into a wizened line. "Too old are you for such sentiment," he grunted. "Throw not a childish tantrum at me."

Qui Gon stood, trembling a little. Release. He would not nourish the bright fire of rebellion. He had, as Mace said, a young light to nurture. He exhaled slowly.

Yoda thrust his twisted cane upward, at the tall man's distant face. "Better. Need your diatribe I do not."

Silence. Water burbled faintly in the background.

"Walk with me," Yoda ordered magisterially, and he fell into slow pace beside the crotchety old master, the Force steadying into less bellicose rhythm around them. The water flowed, plants unfurled their leaves in the shafting light, bezzils and flitterbugs scurried hither and thither on their busy errands.

"The Council's explicit approval, Master Dyas did not have," Yoda grunted at length. "Sorry I am that young Obi Wan suffered."

It was a paltry consolation, but Qui Gon nodded. "I regret my brash words to you," he offered in his turn.

The ancient Jedi halted,and turned to regard him gravely, one hoary hand gripping the polished haft of the stick. A throaty sigh escaped him. "Dark matters, the Sentinels investigate, Qui Gon. Patience, must we have, and fortitude, if truth is to be sought out."

He bowed, sorrowfully accepting this, acknowledging that his argument lay elsewhere than with the Grand Master.

They continued down the hushed path in a meditative quiet.


Obi Wan woke early the next morning. At least, he stumbled out of his room with his eyes open.

"Padawan." Qui Gon rose from his dawn meditation and smiled down upon his groggy apprentice. "It is a rare treat to see you so early in the day."

The boy's hair was a disorderly sculpture of the Modern Expressionist school of art; his braid a frazzled womp-rat's tail. "Yes, master," he managed to reply, blinking in manifest confusion.

Qui Gon steered him toward the low inset bench in the common room's wall. "Sit. I'll make you some tea."

When he returned a few minutes later, the Padawan was halfway asleep again.

"Obi Wan. Drink. I'm afraid Master Li may have, ah, overdone it a trifle."

The young Jedi gratefully tipped the warm, soothing liquid down his throat. "Master Li?" he repeated, frowning. "I don't remember… Well. I don't remember. That would make the Syndicat happy."

Qui Gon's mouth thinned at the bitter undercurrent in this statement. He released his own tidal surge of resentment into the Light and forced a lighthearted chuckle. "Feeling better?' he inquired, taking the empty tea-bowl from his disoriented apprentice.

Obi Wan scowled down at the flooring, arms crossed tightly over his bare chest. With his jumbled thoughts came a boiling geyser of hurt. "The Sentinels," he rasped. "Why did they do that?"

The tall master felt his heart twist beneath his ribs. Release. "Master Syfo-Dyas is a famed seeker of truth," he replied cautiously. "I do not think he intended you any harm."

Obi Wan looked up at him, betrayal shining in hard blue eyes. "You knew."

The accusation was laced with a hundred barbed implications. Qui Gon exhaled. "I was apprehensive, though I did not know they would go so far. In that sense, I knew. But I let you go, Padawan, because as Jedi we are sometimes called upon by duty to do unpleasant things. You know this. I cannot and will not shelter you from that."

Their bond was still numb – with shock, Qui Gon supposed. Or distrust. Or both. He grieved, and released it. Obi Wan still gazed at him, bruised to the core.

"And you agreed, yourself."

"Yes, master." The Padawan swallowed audibly. "My head still hurts," he observed, as a dull afterthought.

Qui Gon reached out an arm and grasped the boy's chin, softly. "You need to go back to bed," he advised. "I'll make sure someone is here the entire day. To keep you out of trouble."

His apprentice nodded glumly.

"I'm sorry, little one," the Jedi master gently added.

They both pretended not to notice the single tear that escaped captivity and trailed down the boy's cheek. Qui Gon shepherded him back into the smaller bedroom with mock sternness, and allowed the door to slide closed behind him.

Release. Release. It was proving confoundedly difficult this morning. Qui Gon had to admit that, at least where his heart was concerned, he still had much to learn.


"Why, Qui Gon. I see your habits have not altered much in three decades."

The tall Jedi tore his contemplative gaze away from the slow procession of stars and plaents, the tiny holographic inscriptions beside them, the glimmering veins of hyperlanes and astropolitical boundaries. His sanctuary had been invaded; and by a most unexpected person.

Reluctant to disrupt the serenity of the moment, he let the map projector play on; the galaxy swept majestically above, around them. He bowed as the silver-haired master elegantly prowled his way around the observation walkway to Qui Gon's side.

"I find it easy to think among the stars," he smiled thinly. Dooku had never been sympathetic to his penchant for haunting the Temple's map room during the years of his apprenticeship. To the older master, it was a place of sheerest practicality; to Qui Gon, it was an enchanted grotto, his favorite after the indoor arboretum.

"You were always a daydreamer," Dooku observed dispassionately.

They watched the Rishi Maze idle its way overhead, blue and yellow and green light tracing its undulating contours, points of red marking its boundaries and the nearest jump points.

"I thought you were off-planet," Qui Gon said, bluntly.

"I was." Dooku was imperturbable. "I returned to discuss some urgent matters with Sifo-Dyas." His cool grey eyes slid sideways, testing his former student's reserve.

A cold pit tightened in Qui Gon's gut. "You were present when he interviewed my Padawan yesterday." By the Force…!

Many people over the years had described Yan Dooku's profile as raptor-like. Now, as he surveyed the twinkling holo-projected map, the luminous dance of solar systems and nebulae against the velvet darkness of the domed spire, that resemblance was more pronounced than ever. "I must say, the boy is quite a handful. I wonder at you, Qui Gon. Discipline is essential to teaching."

A muscle leapt along his jaw. "I have sufficient experience to be the judge of my own apprentice's needs."

Dooku raised one silvering brow. "Having just spent a week in the company of our friend DuCrion, I am inclined to doubt that; however let us not quibble over trivialities."

Qui Gon felt the searing Makashi strike across his composure. Indeed, Dooku had ever believed in strict discipline. He suppressed any flicker of reaction. "I do not wish there to be discord between us," he agreed flatly.

The elder man chuckled, a soft and musical sound without joy in it. "Yet you harbor a grudge, on account of my …what? Participation? It was fortunate I was there."

"What do you mean?" His hands closed round the smooth railing.

"Your Padawan is both strong in the Force and exceedingly obstinate. It took a combined effort for the two of us to break through his reflexive shields far enough to manage a thorough mind probe. And the child subconsciously fought us every step of the way – a most intractable temperament."

Qui Gon controlled his breathing carefully.

Dooku sighed and turned his back to the stars, leaning lightly against the rail, still not making eye contact. "You know, Qui Gon, the boy would actually make a fine Shadow. I've not seen such raw natural talent in generations. Perhaps you should consider transferring his apprenticeship to one of the Sentinels; or at least permitting his training under their direction. It would be a pity for such a gift to be wasted on… diplomacy."

Qui Gon feigned enticement. "If I thought that were in his best interest –"

"The best interest of the Order," Dooku corrected him sharply.

"Are they not the same?"

There was a silence, weighted with the narrow yet measureless gap between agreement and misunderstanding. The stars circled, oblivious to the struggles of mortal flesh.

"I am at present the only one among the Sentinels' ranks who is free to take on an apprentice, "Dooku quietly offered. "It would be my honor to take over the boy's training, Qui Gon. You have done me proud in all your years of service to the Republic."

In another life, Qui Gon might have misinterpreted this as praise, or the offer as a kindness. But he was grown wise, and bore silver hairs of his own, scars of wisdom to remind him of the lessons along the way. "You honor me," he said neutrally.

"Such a thing is highly irregular, but I have some small modicum of influence with the Council." He had in fact, sat upon it for a span of years, before choosing rather to serve as a Shadow.

Qui Gon smiled thinly. "I thought you said my Padawan had an intractable temperament."

But this objection was waved aside. "He would not be the first indocile youth I have had under my charge," Dooku said, meaningfully. "And such vices can be uprooted, with the proper application of authority."

"Such as cruelly violating his psyche in the name of zeal for truth? Forgive me, master, if I confess that I will be laid out on my funeral pyre before I would ever yield over my Padawan to such a fate ." He made a formal bow.

Dooku's posture froze into an icy rigidity. "I see you have indeed not changed much," he replied, trenchantly. His eyes burned cold as a dying star, before he swept away without another word, black cloak sweeping descending stairs, his curving 'saber hilt reflecting the star-map's splendour.

Qui Gon gripped the railing and lifted his mind into the Living Force, into the solemn dance of the galaxy's thousands of burning hearth-fires, sphere upon luminous sphere, all harmonious in their assigned paths, content in their peerless destinies.

But it was a long time before the renewed solitude and peace could settle his tumultuous thoughts into calm once more.


Tahl scooped a fourth helping atop the Padawan's rapidly dwindling third, and leaned back in amusement to behold one of the Seven Wonders of the Galaxy : an adolescent male appetite at work. The aromatic scent of black fava beans and rozza filled Qui Gon's living quarters, a rich counterpart to the haze of late afternoon sunlight beaming through the open balcony doors.

"I see that spicy djo makes an excellent side dish for brooding," she observed, casually. "Though personally, I would think the combination a surefire recipe for dyspepsia."

"You ought to try some of Master Qui Gon's culinary masterpieces then," her young companion quipped, between eager mouthfuls.

She snorted. "Have you?"

The utensil scoop hovered philosophically halfway between face and bowl. "Not yet." A dimple briefly appeared in either cheek. "Perhaps when I face the Trials."

"Finish your meal and your dark musings," she advised him."And spare me the irreverence."

"Yes, master," he said, contentedly applying himself to the former half of this injunction.

The door chimed; Tahl waved open the portal with a flick of one hand; and Garen Muln strode confidently into the room, grey eyes immediately lighting up with enthusiasm for the scent of spicy djo lingering in the air.

He bowed to Tahl. "Master."

"Garen." Obi Wan indicated a space directly beside him at the low trestle table. "You're just in time to be thrown the scraps, like the royal nekks on Vetruvia."

The second Padawan settled gracefully beside his friend. "I was told you were ill, and here you are indulging in gluttony. How is that?" He promptly helped himself to the remainder of the savory dish, laying into the food with relish.

"Diplomacy," Obi Wan replied blandly. "Perhaps someday you will come to appreciate its many applications. For example, negotiation can help one obtain an excellent lunch, while piloting commonly only causes one to lose it."

Garen Muln swallowed and scowled amicably at his companion. "You are the youngest old curmudgeon in the Temple, you know. Since birth." He plucked at the thermal blanket wrapped about his friend's shoulders. "Look. You've even got a shawl like an old wo-" he buried the rest of his remark in a bite of food, upon catching the warning glint in Tahl's eye.

Obi Wan shook his head in patent disapproval. "Diplomacy, Garen."

Tahl raised an arched eyebrow. "Says the one who cheated his way through a sabaac game to earn the reward of this meal."

The Padawan's mouth sprang open in protest. "I play exactly by the rules Master Qui Gon taught me!" he objected, hotly.

"From which it follows, that you are a cheater," Tahl blithely replied.

Garen Muln choked on his food and was absorbed in a prolonged coughing fit for the next two minutes.

Obi Wan's chin came up, with solemn defiance. "If my Master is an old reprobate, then I am honored to share in his infamy."

Tahl rolled her golden eyes. "I'm sure he would appreciate that declaration of irrational loyalty," she said. "But you don't need to borrow anyone else's reputation for trouble, Padawan."

"You oughtn't to taunt me, master. I am in shock," Obi Wan pointed out, tugging at the thermal blanket's hem. "Imagine Master Li's reaction if I relapsed due to sustained emotional abuse."

"Don't tempt me," Tahl shot back. She confiscated the boys' empty dishes and shoved a data-pad beneath Obi Wan's nose. "Back to your studies. That is why you came, Padawan Muln? To study?'

"….Yes, master," they chimed in unison.


Qui Gon carefully cross-indexed the search parameters for his request and set the Archives computer to work. Senator Valorum's list of grant recipients was cumbersome, and repetitive, and the technical references to avante-garde research obscure in the extreme; but he was determined to thresh out grain from chaff. Xanatos' organization would, of course, be cunningly structured – but anything grown past the scale of sole management had its weak links, its shatterpoint. There was a reason masterminded tyranny could never endure long on a colossal scale.

The system hummed and blipped dizzying images across the data display while he waited patiently, arms folded across his broad chest. One or two others drifted by in the towering aisles behind him, but at this late hour even the Archives were sparsely occupied.

He sensed Mace Windu's approach before the Korun Jedi entered the hushed library vault. The Force's tympanum sounded low and deep, heralding the master's arrival. Unless Mace conscioiusly shielded his presence, he was as discreet as a looming thunderstorm.

"Qui Gon."

"Mace."

They exchanged bows. Qui Gon regarded his friend carefully.

"I had requested to speak before the entire Council," he said.

Mace seated himself on the edge of the desk. "There was no time to honor that request today," he explained. "I've come to hear your grievance personally. Perhaps I can find a solution without the formality of a full session."

"What makes you think I have a grievance?"

The dark-skinned master snorted derisively. "What makes you think I'm fool enough to exchange sophistries with you?"

Ah. So this was a friendly conversation. Qui Gon settled in the chair again. "Syfo-Dyas had no right to rake my Padawan over the coals. For stars' sake, Mace – a mind probe?"

The Councilor's liquid brown eyes softened a trifle. "How is Obi Wan? Has he recovered?"

"Somewhat," Qui Gon grudgingly answered. "The Sentinels have no sense of proportion, or moderation. And the Council was irresponsible to approve their methods."

The computer blipped its readiness, and he commanded it to load the relevant data onto his 'pad. Mace gathered his thoughts.

"Let's walk," he suggested.

They found their way to an abandoned concourse and strolled leisurely down its central width, flanked by high columns to one side, and a smooth stretch of wall on the other. Nighttime serenity pervaded this hall, as it did every corner of the Temple. Their footfalls slowed to a contemplative pacing.

"The ends do not always justify the means," Mace stated. "However, in this case, there was little choice. Syfo-Dyas felt that the traces of damage left by any of the possible experimental technologies would be too difficult to detect through even ordinary Force-healing practices. This was as much for your Padawan's good as for the sake of the investigation."

"A convenient alignment of purposes," Qui Gon observed. "I wonder which would have taken priority had they not been so consonant?"

Mace scowled, a rumbling in the very Force around them. "As a member of the Council, I do not take the protection of every member of this Order lightly," he growled. "Your implication is insulting, Qui Gon."

"The suffering inflicted on my Padawan by the Sentinels is alarming," the tall man countered. "And what good has come of it?"

The Korun master halted, in the arched doorway to an adjoining classroom, now peaceful and empty. "Qui Gon," he said heavily. "They think the boy may have been subjected to some form of behavioral impulse conditioning – a temporary imprinting process. The details, I admit, were beyond my field of experience. They would like to call in an expert from the Rims, and investigate further. With the intention of specifying what exactly it is that the Phindian Syndicat had laid their hands on, its nature and effects."

Qui Gon returned his somber gaze unflinching. "I am taking Obi Wan to Phindar tomorrow. The Sentinels will have to continue without his assistance."

Mace's face hardened, his lips pressing into a line of challenge, stony determination carving his clear features into ebony stillness. "That will have to wait."

"You do not speak for the entire Council, Mace."

His friend bored into him with flashing eyes. "It will be the first agenda item tomorrow morning," he promised.

"At which time I will be en route to Phindar."

"Fierfek!" Mace exclaimed, the severe mask shattering to reveal hot irritation.. "Do not defy the Council again, Qui Gon."

"I will do what I must."

"Then you will cooperate with the Sentinels."

"Syfo-Dyas can take a meditative retreat in the lowest Sith hell before I permit him to so much as touch my apprentice again."

Mace's expression would have made even a senior Padawan melt into tears of dread. But Qui Gon Jinn was a Jedi master, his reputation well deserved. His defiance extended – by rumor – past the Council itself, to the very foundations of tradition. And yet he had ever walked in the Light.

Mace Windu narrowed his eyes, but he too had ever walked in the Light. And his instinct was said to be infallible. "I will not plead on your behalf when you are hauled before us for official censure again," he warned, at last.

Qui Gon smiled and inclined his head. "I look forward to your harsh indictment."

The Korun Jedi nodded once, sternly, and stepped back one pace.

Qui Gon bowed deeply to his lifelong friend and took his leave.


"Well. It's about time you came to relieve me," Tahl chided. "I'm growing weary of creche duty."

Qui Gon stepped over the threshold, equally weary in spirit, and looked for the source of her disgruntlement. The sparsely furnished common room was empty.

"He's asleep," Talh informed him. "I provided a good feeding and a highly educational bedtime story."

"Oh?" He sank onto one of the round cushions, pulled his legs up crosswise beneath himself..

"Yes. Pangalactic wedding customs. We had a most illuminating conversation."

"Indeed."

Tahl's smile was layered with subtle private connotations. "Your Padawan has a keen mind, an inquisitive disposition, and a hellishly clever imagination. I think we both found the discussion most engaging."

Qui Gon ran a hand over his face.

"You're tired. Which Council member did you accost ?"

He managed a wry twist of the mouth. "Yoda, Dooku, Mace. In that order."

Tahl's inhalation was an audible hiss. "You don't do anything by halves, do you, Qui?"

He shrugged, abruptly feeling his age. And then some.

Her hand traced lightly over his face, lingering against his brow for a moment. "Get some rest. Perhaps I'll see you tomorrow."

"We're leaving for Phindar in the morning."

She accepted this with perfect detachment. They were Jedi. "Then I'll see you later, Force willing."

"Force willing." Their customary words of parting hung in the warm air for a few moments after she slipped out the door.

Qui Gon rose, and dragged his heavy limbs to his own bedchamber, and gratefully retired, welcoming the gentle oblivion of sleep, and the end of this strife-wracked day.