Lineage VII


Chapter 7

Obi-Wan sat slightly hunched over the study-terminal, with its flashing display screen and touch sensitive input plate, and released his frustration and boredom in a single long exhalation. He discreetly adjusted the audio feed stuck in his right ear, so that the lecturer's droning monotonic rant was reduced to a mere annoying buzz, a murmur like that of a pesky tisska gnat.

He dared a glance upward at the other students crammed in the wide lecture hall, every one of them similarly ensconced at an interactive terminal, eyes glazed over in acute ennui, postures conveying a hopeless resignation to their fate. He could not imagine the torment he would suffer if forced to attend this so-called Workers Guild Training Center and listen to the misinformed drivel and fallacious arguments propounded by its staff day after day, hour after hour, without end in sight. The dull looks in some of the others' eyes were blank and staring testimony to the efficacy of such pedagogy: any society determined to prevent its citizenry from thinking much beyond the slogan of the moment would do well to establish such intensive brainwashing centers.

His screen flashed with a demand for answers, and he tapped in what he assumed would be the correct reply, without so much as needing to listen to the exposition. After an hour or two, he had a good handle on the basic tenets of the New Absolutes' philosophy and historical revisionist tendencies. He amused himself by composing a caricatured response.

Economic depression in our major urban centers and the continued struggle to establish profitable trade relations with surrounding systems is to be credited to the continued existence of Civilized influences on our government. The solution is a swift and thorough purge of all such detrimental ideas and those who disseminate them…. True progress cannot be achieved without the destruction of past corruption. Ewane and the early Libertarian Peoples Party constituted an unacceptable compromise. By permitting the Civilized faction to remain in existence on our planet they have impeded the true and inevitable Progress of Destiny, and slowed down our evolution toward absolute freedom and prosperity….

"Very good, number 53," the instructor's voice rang out over the intercom .

Obi-Wan grimaced to himself. Enough time spent at diplomatic functions and one acquired an instinctual flair for this sort of nonsensical bombast. He frowned over the next prompt to make its appearance on the display screen, however.

Describe the role played by the Republic and its Jedi agents in the incomplete revolution of the Peoples' Libertarian Party.

A quick glance to either side assured him that his companions already knew this answer by rote. They dutifully entered the desired information into their terminals, faces revealing only a placid boredom, that of pack animals trudging in a long-established rut.

It was time to stir the pot.

Without Jedi intervention, as requested specifically by the Supreme Chancellor, the revolution would have taken on a violent aspect, resulting in the loss of innocent life and much bloodshed. The relative stability of the government in the last two decades, prior to the rise of the New Absolutes. is further to be credited to the constitutional addenda included at the behest of the Republic ambassadors.

He submitted the answer and leaned back, bracing himself for an outburst of indignation, or at least a bout of lively debate. But the bland voice of the course instructor merely requested that Desk 53 report to the podium after the lecture period was finished – a decidedly disappointing reaction. The endless monotony of the history lesson resumed uninterrupted, and he settled in for a long ordeal, hoping ruefully that Qui-Gon's investigations were proving more stimulating and fruitful than his own.


Qui-Gon Jinn accepted a fiberfoam cup half-filled with tepid argees and nodded his gratitude to the slouching public servant who moved along the interminable line of visitors, distributing the not-quite-hot beverage and a standard admonition to wait patiently for admittance.

"The next available Coordinator will be with you shortly."

To the tall man's right, sprawled despondently over one of the waiting room's dilapidated couches, a grizzled man with lined features and a worn mech-union jumpsuit downed his serving in one gulp and tossed the crushed cup into the overflowing refuse receptacle. "Better'n a kick in the face," he observed wryly.

Taking this as an invitation to converse, Qui-Gon leaned forward. "Is it always so busy here? I was led to believe New Apsolis was more efficient and prosperous than our outlying municipalities."

The union worker showed his scorn by spitting on the worn carpet. "What? You a hick from the hills? People's Resources all go to the Purification effort. Not a lot of jobs left over, or much else. I been waiting here to be reassigned three, four months."

The Jedi master whistled low.

"No chisszk," his interlocutor assured him. "You came to the wrong place looking for work. What's your skill area, anyhow?"

"Astromechanics."

The grizzled technician released a bark of bitter laughter. "What? Kiss your chances goodbye. Didn't you hear the address yesterday? Interstellar's a Civvie luxury we don't need. Be surprised if the Newbs keep more'n a dozen spacecraft running, government use only. You'd do better to fake your creds… say you're a class delta all purpose mech laborer."

"I can't make a living on such wages," the tall man objected. "I have a son to support."

"All the same, comrade. I'd settle in and enjoy the caff if I were you. Nobody's getting a job here anytime soon, leastways until the Purification's done. Then we might get somewhere, see some real change. No more Civvie bugsquat holding us back."

Qui-Gon pursed his lips and subsided into a contemplative silence. Overhead, plastered to the opposite wall, a glittering holoposter of the new leader Eline smiled patronizingly down upon the lobby crammed with listless Workers waiting to be assigned to a taskforce for the New Collective. "Maybe it's time the Republic did something to help," he suggested quietly. "Lend support to Eline's reform programs."

The union man snorted. "Yeah, right. Republic's a cesspool run by effete Civvie barves. Sent a couple Jedi over here to supervise the inauguration, did you hear? Flippin' pair of lady-monks, hoity-toity as they come. Cleared out a while back, I guess."

"They left.. or they were thrown out?" Qui-Gon inquired.

His companion chuckled at the thought. "Like to see that. Tell you what, though. They disappeared pretty fast, all of a sudden. I had a temp job on the decks at the port authority – and I swear to you, their ship's still there. Never got off planet. Want to know my theory?"

The Jedi master leaned in, conspiratorially.

"..I think they joined the Hill people. Ran off to live like swine with the other Civvies. But just as well. They can rabble rouse out there all they want – when the Purification hits, it'll take care of them just the same as everyone else."

"A consummation devoutly to be wished."

"What's that?" the grizzled mechanic wrinkled his nose. "Don't get fancy, comrade. Remember – class delta all purpose. That's your ticket."

Qui-Gon stood, feeling an acute need to stretch his long legs. "I'll remember that. My thanks, comrade."

He left the discontent mechanic and his rickety lounge to keep each other's company, and strode purposefully around the perimeter of the crowded foyer, mulling over the reputed disappearance of the Republic's ambassadors, and the grim portent posed by the abandoned ship, until a utility droid appeared from an inner office and requested all class delta general laborers to queue up at window four.

The Force told him to go, and he obeyed without hesitation, sparing a fleeting thought for his Padawan: it was to be hoped that Obi-Wan's morning had been far less tedious and frustrating than his own.


The courtyard outside the Workers' Training Guild secondary annex was as bleak and lifeless as the drab buildings surrounding it. Students clustered in knots of twos and threes, shoulders curved inward against the pervasive chill in the air.

"Used to be heat-lamps out here," one of the youths near Obi-Wan remarked. He nudged his head in the direction of the disused heating banks on their spindly supports. "But the People's Resources are better spent on Purification now."

That recurrent theme again. The young Jedi did not have to work hard to feign ignorance. " Purification? I thought we were done with all that."

A familiar face from the evening previous appeared, a dark-haired youth jostling his way into the small crowd gathered curiously about the newcomer. "They don't teach you anything in Corollon," the boy scoffed. "Things won't really get better round here until all the Civvies is gone. New Abs are gonna take care of them, and then we'll see. Might even get some decent heaters working here."

The speaker, who identified himself as Jass, was accepted as natural authority by the others, who nodded and murmured their agreement.

Perhaps a different tactic would produce better results. "Oh," the Padawan responded. "In that case, I'd like to be part of it. I'm a man of action…this studying business you can take and shove."

Jass offered him a smokestick, sniggering. "Right, mate, saw you got called to the podium after class. What'd they give ya?"

Obi-Wan accepted the narcotic offering casually, making a tiny shrug of indifference. "Nothing much. This card." He held up the datachit handed to him by the instructor, one informing him that he would not be permitted to return to any lecture hall on campus until he had received clearance from the Remediation Counselor.

An uncomfortable silence fell over the group. Jass whistled through his teeth. "Kriff, Wan, what did you do? You don't get sent upstairs just for dozing off."

"I answered wrong, I suppose," he replied, carelessly. "Just some question about Jedi."

Jass lit his own smokestick and then passed the heat coil round. Soon they were wreathed in sinuous vines of smoke, soft blue creepers curling in the frigid air like so many curious eavesdroppers. "There were real actual Jedi here a while ago," he said. "When Eline got elected. You missed it."

"Real Jedi?" Wan raised a dubious eyebrow. "Please."

Another youth, Nnet, eagerly piped up. "No, they were real! Lightsabers and all. Of course, it was just a couple of dames. For the ceremonies. Not warriors or anything interesting."

Jass flicked ash over one shoulder. "I don't know, " he drawled. "That one – the young one – gods, what a looker. Highly interesting, I'd say. Jedi are pretty much Civvies, but boy I'd like to see that girl at Work, if you know what I mean." He ended with a ribald grin, winking broadly at all present.

Obi-Wan clenched his jaw tight against a tectonic surge of fury. A scattering of dead leaves and pebbles lifted from the cracked duracrete pavement, carried by a hot and invisible current of wrath, and then settled again. Fortunately, nobody noticed. The young Jedi exhaled through his nostrils, willing his pounding heart to steady itself.

Jass misinterpreted his tight-lipped silence. "Don't look so stricken, mate. She's totally out of your league – Civvie snob, ice-maiden type.. Besides, they're gone. Gave the election their stamp of approval and headed home. That's what the public holocast said."

"Well," Wan managed to grumble, with a sullen air, "I don't see why the fuss over one wrong answer. How am I supposed to know anything about Jedi?"

Nnet shook his head. "If you don't know what to say, don't say anything," he intoned, mournfully. "Now you gotta deal with Remediation. Better you than me."

Another member of the motley crew snatched the ominous datachit from the Padawan's fingers and squinted grimly at its coded magneto-field. "You're totally kriffed," he muttered, handing it back with a morose look. Slowly, the hangers-on dispersed, sidling away as though afraid of contagion.

Jass remained another few moments. "Listen," he advised. "You might be a newbie around here, but only an idjit doesn't know when to keep his mouth shut." He tossed the entire pack of smokesticks to the apprentice tradesman from Corollon. "Here, keep 'em. You need 'em more than I do." And with this paltry gesture of solidarity, he ambled off in the opposite direction, leaving Wan to ponder his uncertain fate in the midst of the cold and empty square..