Lineage X

Chapter 7

Solitude was elusive beneath the surface; the Young seemed to occupy every available nook and cranny of their labyrinthine domain. It took him a solid half-hour to locate a private scrap of shadow in which to meditate, and another hour for Cerasi to hunt him down and invade upon his self imposed exile.

She stood hesitant outside the curved threshold of his chosen stretch of fractured drain pipe, the pulse of her faint innate connection with the Force enough to unwittingly project a measure of astonishment at his behavior, curiosity about his present semi-prostrated position, and a certain trepidation at the prospect of disturbing him.

"I- I'm sorry," she murmured, her whisper echoing against the tunnel's cold curve. "I didn't mean to interrupt you… I thought perhaps – you seemed upset. Is there anything I can do to…?"

He did not lift his forehead from its position pressed against the hard curve of stone floor. "No. Forgive me – this is a private matter."

But Cerasi, who had been raised her whole life in the mores and customs of a tiny reactionary community, did not take the hint. He could hear the rasp of cloth as she slid down against the wall nearby, settling in to wait.

For Force's sake. But perhaps this was just the humiliation he deserved. After all, nothing happened by accident, and if the just punishment for his loss of control was a forced confession of his shortcomings to an outsider, then so be it. Releasing a long cleansing breath to quell his own inner arrogance, he raised himself into a kneeling posture and regarded her with a chagrined resignation.

"I've never seen anyone fight like that," she observed, levelly. "And believe me, I've seen a lot."

It had not been meant to cause pain, but the remark passed between his ribs anyhow, a sharp reminder of his failing. He closed his eyes briefly. "I am sorry that you saw it."

She tipped her head back against the concave wall. "You're a trained killer. More than any of us, I mean. That kind of skill …. I don't have to know anything about it to know it takes a lifetime to acquire. You're some kind of special operative, aren't you?"

The word peacekeeper longed to form itself upon his lips, but in all conscience he could not claim that title for his own. Not when he had veered so perilously close to the Dark. "I'm only a student," he deflected the inquiry. "Do not judge the Order by my standard."

In the dim lighting of the tunnels, the subtle depredations of time were erased, smoothed away. Cerasi was still a beautiful woman, a fine-edged blade. Her eyes wandered over the stained roof close above them, tracing a hairline crack in the dull surface. "What do you mean?" she urged him, softly. "I can tell you're upset. And we don't let things fester down here. It's not healthy for anyone. Dangerous, in fact."

He exhaled again. The Light was not a nursemaid, and it would not make this easy for him. It demanded his penitence on display for all to see. "I – your world is saturated in negative emotions. I should know better than to relax my control. What you saw was reprehensible, a manifestation of the Dark side. I did not fight with serenity, from a deep center; that was enjoyment of power and destruction. I should be …" he shook his head, words failing him. He should know better. What had overcome him? Where had all his years of training gone?

"Do you want to translate that into Basic for the rest of us?"

What could be more straightforward? "I violated the basic tenets of the Code. " He grasped his 'sabers hilts. "I should lay these aside now if I were not still duty bound to complete my mission." He let his chin drop against his collarbone and closed his eyes. There it was: the blunt truth. Let Cerasi declare him shriven if she wished – inwardly the brand of guilt still throbbed, leaving indelible testimony to his mistake. Beware the Dark side, Jedi.

But she did not offer ready absolution, perhaps understanding that it was not hers to grant. "Look… even if you somehow broke your own rules, we're very grateful. Those children… you've saved them from a horrible existence. You can't regret that."

He shook his head. "Of course not." Though the stricken expressions on their faces would haunt him for some time, as would the nagging suspicion that their new life here among the Young was itself doomed to be nasty, brutish, and short.

Seeming to reads his thoughts, Cerasi leaned forward, fingertips brushing his knee. "We're going to welcome them into the circle tonight – a celebration of sorts. People will dance and play borine and taro, and sing. Will you join us? They might not be so intimidated if you showed a softer side."

He frowned. Blast it if she didn't know how to negotiate as well as any Jedi. "I should spend the night in solitary vigil," he protested. "In order to –"

"And Nield wanted your opinion on the contents of those crates. They were full of… things. Not food or weapons at all."

Interest piqued, he looked up. "Things?"

She lifted her hands helplessly. "We have no idea – but you might be able to identify them. Cylindrical stasis containers… maybe medical supplies. We're hoping some kind of bacta. That would be fantastic. Well worth the effort and risk."

"I'm no medical expert," he cautioned her.

"You don't say." Cerasi's lips parted in a teasing grin. "You're looking a little peaked. You sure you didn't get grazed by a blaster bolt or something?"

He smiled ruefully. "A scratch – one of the Darshiki's darts…but don't worry, I'm more or less immune."

She regarded him quizzically. "To poison in general?"

"No. I've built a resistance to this particular one. It's a long story."

Cerasi pushed up against the wall, knees cracking. "Ow,"" she laughed. "Come on. Everyone's waiting for the hero to return… and you're keeping me from tending those poor little ones." She slid an arm through his elbow and tugged. "We did a good thing today – let's celebrate."

Perceiving that he would be afforded no more privacy until he cooperated, he allowed himself to be shepherded back to the main living quarters, Cerasi keeping a firm hold on his arm all the way back through the sprawling tunnel system.

And for some reason, he could not muster enough resentment to resist her gentle bullying.

Nield sent his handful of assistants away when Obi-Wan entered the makeshift warehouse, a disused bunker or storage locker deep beneath the surface.

"There you are," he grunted. "You're the talk of the town, you know. Laser swords, eh? Against blasters?" He jerked his head at the 'saber hilts on his companion's belt. "Wondered if those were weapons."

"What was in the crates?" the young Jedi inquired, firmly directing the conversation away from the topic of combat.

"You tell me." Nield tossed a heay metallic cylinder in his direction.

The object was heavy and smooth, and sealed at both ends with vacuum tabs. He shook it gently, feeling the slosh of a gelatinous substance within.

"Think it's bacta?"

Obi-Wan shook his head. "This is very unusual packaging for bacta. This is a stasis tube – to contain either radioactive or biohazardous substances. My guess would be weapon, not medical supplies."

Neild's worn face paled. "Gods. Now they're importing bioweapons."

"Perhaps." The Force was muddy, swirling uneasily about the canister, but not in the way it would if the contents had been deadly. On the other hand, his connection to the universal energy was compromised here, tinged with the pervasive darkness of the planet. Would he be so certain of evil, even if he held it in his hand? "I don't know."

"Should we open one?" Nield licked his lips, glancing at the door to be sure ot was sealed. "We have some protective gear…it would be good to know what we're dealing with if this is the latest threat."

Obi-Wan exhaled slowly. He was not here to solve this world's problems… "Blast it," he muttered. How could he possibly turn his back on these people? "Yes," he decided. "We should see what's inside." A pause. "I'll do it. I might be able to – well. I have certain advantages."

To his relief, Nield did not argue. He merely rummaged in a pack and withdrew an outdated respirator and face-mask, and some textured mechanic's gloves. "Best we've got."

Wordlessly, the padawan accepted the flimsy safeguards and withdrew his knife from its boot sheath. The vacuum seals yielded easily beneath the Vespari steel blade. He cautiously removed the cap and sent a questing tendril of the Force inside the narrow confines of the cylinder. Neild offered him a shallow basin; into this he quickly tipped the gelatinous contents.

Milky white goo. Not bacta certainly.

"What is it?"

He raised his brows. What indeed? "Bantha snot," he guessed. The Force rippled and writhed, sending a spike of apprehension up his spine, but revealing nothing. He passed hand over the strange slop, stirring its depths without touching, but the action revealed nothing.

"Do you have a microspec?" he asked.

"Well… I've got some macronocs I reversed the regulator lens on – think that might work?" Nield was hunched beside him now, staring into the small puddle of white goo as though seeking his fortune in a scrying glass. When his companion nodded, he dashed off to fetch the instruments.

Obi-Wan scowled over the containing tube, noting the guild marking along the seam. The manufacturer was unknown to him, but the patenting code was not. He had seen it before. "Arbor Industries," he hissed, heart plummeting into his gut even as his pulse quickened in anger. This was not standard pirate merchandise, and he would bet his 'sabers that the shipment had been commissioned specifically by Syfo-Dyas.

When Nield returned with the hacked macro-nocs, he hastily dialed them to maximum setting and scrutinized the mysterious glop through their magnifying filters. "Nothing. We need to make a slide."

They smeared the substance on a sliver of transparent flimsi and tried again. The macronocs were ungainly and it was near impossible to narrow in on the focusing field without using the Force to hold them steady. At last, his minute adjustments brought the wavering image into crisp delineation.

"…What in the blazes…!"

Nield could barely contain himself. "What is it? What can you see?"

Obi-Wan stared, and swallowed, nauseated. "The surrounding medium is some kind of plastoid – I can see regular geometrical matrixes, those are manufactured – and blood plasma corpuscles, at least I'm fairly sure." He needed Bant to be certain, but he had studied basic biology in Temple, and the cells were readily recognizable. And then…" He took a breath, lip curling over his teeth. "There are… droids. Nano-droids, I think they're called. They look like parasites, almost. There are… well, there must be thousands,." A hand swept over the emptied cylinder, the crates in their corner. "Millions. Billions. Trillions. Force – what is he up to?"

He dropped the nocs from his eyes and met Nield's appalled and yet uncomprehednihg gaze. "He? Who are you talking about?" the older man asked, bemused.

"The man I'm looking for." The man he had come here to kill. The Force drew nearer, a looming thunderhead. Lightning flickered in its depths, portentous, inviting Unifying vision. Obi-Wan wrenched his attention back to the present moment. No. Not now.

Nield pointed to the pallid soup in its sterile dish. "That's meant to go into a bloodstream," he said. "That's why the plasma base. It's a bioweapon. We've got to destroy it. This and the rest – I don't care if Melida or Daan started it, this could mean the end of all of us. Doomsday."

Obi-Wan nodded, sizing up the herculean task in his mind. All out assault on Syfo-Dyas' stronghold had not been in the plan… but neither had rescuing potential slaves. He was already far out of line. A deliberate calming breath. "We need to talk."

"With Cerasi. After the party tonight." Nield clasped his shoulder. "You were meant to come here. To help us." A warmth of gratitude suffused the churning Force. "Thank the gods, even though I don't believe in any of the useless barves.."

Obi-Wan merely nodded, privately teetering on the edge of being emphatically sick.

He had a very, very bad feeling about this.