Lineage V
Chapter 7
The healers were waiting, as promised, just inside the arched threshold of the south-facing docking bay. Qui-Gon was down the shuttle's ramp, Tahl huddled in his arms, well before the cooling cycle was complete for the atmospheric drives.
Obi-Wan shut down the remainder of the ship's systems, leaving the full downcycle and maintenance check to the flight crew droids, before following the Jedi master out. It was good to be back – even under such harried conditions, the Temple offered the welcome of home. He paused at the base of the ramp, watching Qui-Gon swiftly accompany the grav-stretcher bearing Tahl to the healers' ward. Master Ben To Li was beside him, listening intently to his narrative; and Bant Eerin lingered just behind the procession, her large Mon Calamari eyes seeking Obi Wan's even as she was pulled, perhaps unwillingly, toward the interior exit.
He dredged up a sunny smile for her and kept it fixed in place until her concern melted into relief and her pale turquoise healer's tunic had disappeared into the passage beyond.
And that was that. Qui-Gon, of course, had not spared him a sidelong glance. He reached for the Jedi master across their bond, but was in no way surprised to find the effort futile. It would take an apology and perhaps more to mend that rift; he knew from experience how volatile and tenuous such a connection could be when either or both parties were… disturbed.
"Ah. There you are, Padawan."
He was not so isolated as he had supposed; Yan Dooku's graceful prowl across the decks had all the confident leisure of a stalking colwar. His dark cloak rippled in the thermal draft off the ship's hull.
"Master Dooku." No less than a deep and formal bow would suffice to greet one so respected within the Order, the teacher of one's own teacher.
The silver haired Jedi's aquiline features remained inscrutably composed as he studied his young companion, probing gently with the Force. Obi-Wan tightened his shields, in no mood for such subtle examination. If he wanted to be dissected, he would have accompanied his master back to the healers' wing.
A corner of Dooku's mouth twitched, signifying wry amusement. "Dine with me," he invited, without preamble or explanation. "You are, naturally, famished."
That was true; his hand strayed to his comlink, reflexively seeking Qui-Gon's permission.
"Tsk, boy, He knows how to contact you. I daresay you are aren't needed at the moment. Come and eat before you collapse. I should like to speak with you privately, as I said earlier."
"I – very well. Thank you."
A gracious lift of the brows, a regal sweep of the hand, and Dooku was ushering him not into the concourse adjoining this hangar, nor into one of the lifts at its far end, but to a row of smaller aircars reserved for use within the city. He almost objected that he was not allowed to leave the Temple without a master's permission- before collecting his wits and merely slipping into the passenger side of the nearest vehicle. Dooku offered him a tight smile, waved an imperious hand at the requisitions droid, and piloted the speeder through the bay doors with a smooth precision.
Ben To was very much occupied with Tahl; and so the unpleasant task fell to a mere apprentice, a Graan by the name of Parr Acel, recently assigned to the healer's ward.
"Master Jinn," the gentle lad addressed the Jedi pacing restlessly across the confines of the tranquil waiting area, "Master Li has asked me to remind you that you are not needed, and that your unrest is likely to disturb our other patients. With respect."
Qui-Gon turned on the boy; but the Graan's three eyes had such a soft and fearful amber light, one so different from the blue fire that so often kindled in his own Padawan's gaze – so compassionate, so attuned to the Living Force – that he was moved.
"Forgive me," he muttered, recognizing the truth of this mild reprimand. "I will withdraw. But, Padawan Acel?"
"Yes, master?"
"Would you ask Master Li to contact me… should anything change. Should he need any help, I would do whatever is in my power."
The young healer nodded, misunderstanding his intention, mistaking it for the same devotion which any Jedi might feel toward any one of his suffering brethren, interpreting the offer as one of universal, undifferentiated generosity. Qui-Gon bowed, then, and quietly withdrew so that his presence might not stain the serenity of the Halls of Healing.
He found an empty corridor and paced there, instead.
Obi Wan took in his new surroundings – careful not to overtly stare – as the host droid led them through the artfully arranged dining nooks toward a secluded alcove in the back – one with a panoramic view of Coruscant's spectacular entertainment district, decked out in its gaudiest nighttime finery.
Dooku watched him, amused. "You disapprove?"
Jolted back to awareness of his immediate surroundings, the Padawan blushed slightly. "It's very… ostentatious," he admitted.
Dooku sat at the sumptuously laid table and poured wine. For both of them. "Ah. But merely because we do not have possessions, it does not follow that we must be… uncivilized," he observed, replacing the decanter with unhurried elegance.
Obi-Wan frowned, a little. "Some might say such decadence represents the slow decay of civilization."
The silver haired master lifted his cut-crystal glass in salute. "Touché. However, it so happens that this establishment is owned by a distant cousin of mine; he takes it as quite the personal insult if I do not give him custom at least once a year. And so, you see, it is also possible for luxury to be an occasion of civility."
The young Jedi sipped at the wine in his glass. It was like darkest velvet, sweet and bitter at once, slipping seductively down his throat and warming his chest in a way the Force did not. He decided to forego any more. "What did you wish to speak to me about, Master Dooku?" he asked quietly.
The elder Jedi appeared to be perusing the menu; but the Force said otherwise. "I was about to ask you the identical question," he drawled, grey eyes still flittering idly over the evening's gourmet offerings.
Very well. Obi-Wan might be a junior Padawan, and very much out of his comfort zone in this milieu of lavish self-indugence, but he was also a trained duelist, and he did not allow his sparring partner to catch him off guard. His counterattack was swift. "Yes, master. I was wondering why the Sentinels were not aware of Master Uvain's capture, or did nothing to help her, if they have been investigating Arbor Foundation all this time?"
Yan Dooku set the menu down and studied him over the rim of his glass. "That is the question, isn't it," he replied enigmatically.
"What do you mean?"
"How did Qui-Gon discover the Foundation's approximate location?"
The Padawan stiffened. "What do you mean?"
Dooku scoffed at this. "You are not unintelligent, Kenobi. I know that your master put Tahl Uvain up to this covert operation, under the Council and the Sentinels' noses. And I know that he must have had access to classified records, as well. How did he manage such a thing?"
"I managed it," Obi-Wan told him, brashly. "Master Syfo-Dyas – before he turned – left a stink in the Force. But it is not my place to reveal another Jedi's shortcomings, so I shan't elaborate."
Dooku narrowed his eyes appraisingly and took a deep draught of his wine. "You do not disappoint," he smiled wanly. "You should have been a Shadow. You would be brilliant, though, ah, perhaps given to needlessly dramatic gestures."
The young Jedi's hackles rose. "I still don't understand why the Sentinels failed to intervene, or even to discover Master Uvain's plight. And I wonder what they will do now?"
Dooku unfolded his napkin and spread it upon his lap, thoughtfully. "Yes, that is what we must decide, is it not?"
"Jinn."
He turned, and discovered that BenTo Li had hunted him down. The healer's black and silver streaked hair was drawn back off his face, and lines of exhaustion carved deeply into forehead and around the eyes. It had been a hard few hours for him.
"How is she?'
Ben To spread his hands. "She is gravely damaged," he said. "I need to know as much as you can tell me about this facility. Can you give us any clue about her condition?"
He closed his eyes. This was a thing locked deep inside his heart already, chained and barricaded behind shields and purposeful forgetfulness, lest it set fire to the piled kindling of his …attachment. Yet, to help Tahl, he would unlock his own pain. He sighed and sank onto the bench set along one wall.
"It was an experimental laboratory. I did not witness anything done to her. When I arrived, she was weak, and blinded. And bruised in many places. And … I felt her once or twice during our journey, and even before that."
Ben To sat beside him, fingers loosely clasped between his knees. "My friend, anything you can tell me might help."
Qui-Gon exhaled. "Some sort of biotic agent – injected into the cranial cavities… I think sinuses, behind the eyes…" His chest clenched, and he fought down a wave of anger so fierce that his stomach rebelled at it. Not since Xanatos ha he come so close to losing control. "Forgive me, Ben To. I am not in full possession of myself."
He could feel the healer's eyes upon him. But no sharp retort met his confession. "Did your Padawan see this as well?"
Qui-Gon sighed. "I don't know."
BenTo stood. "I am sorry to cause you pain. But I think I understand now."
He wished to ask more, to barge back into the Halls and demand to see Tahl for himself, to touch her with his hands, to hold her presence within his own, never to be relinquished into dark and pain again… but he was Jedi.
He sat, and waited, in silent misery.
"Well, that settles the matter nicely," Dooku remarked, signaling to the waiter that it might collect their plates. Dessert had been incomparable, and sticky. Even Obi-Wan's adolescent appetite was more than sated.
He paled a little at the thought of Qui Gon's reaction to the proposed plan of action, but quickly thrust the thought aside. Both he and his master would obey the Council's injunction. They were Jedi, and they existed to serve the good of the galaxy at large.
Dooku settled the bill; and then stood. "Shall we?"
Outside, waiting upon the railed balcony where valet droids ferried air cars and hover-trams to and fro, the Jedi master spoke again. "The Council summons will come early; I suggest you rest well."
"Yes, Master Dooku."
Their vehicle was duly delivered, and they climbed in, a warm night breeze lifting the hems of their cloaks, teasing at hair and faces. The Force held its tongue, neither approving nor condemning.
And Dooku piloted them away, back to the pristine white towers of the Temple.
"You need to retire, " Ben To Li chided.
"I cannot rest knowing that she suffers," Qui-Gon objected.
Ben To made a sour face and gestured him into a private office, waving the door closed. "She's asleep, for now. And I might point out that your spectacular pout does nothing alleviate anyone's suffering - and scandalizes my Padawans."
Qui-Gon brushed this aside. "Ben To," he addressed the cantankerous older Jedi, "I must know."
The healer released a disapproving sigh and waved him into a seat. "Very well, you obstreperous gundark. And when I've told you, you are leaving this ward, by force of arms if necessary."
Qui Gon raised a brow, but nodded.
Ben To fixed him with a grave look. "She was given a blood thinning agent, which explains the bruising, and she has lost an alarming percentage of her total blood volume. Since there are no wounds save a series of puncture marks, I assume this was via intravenous extraction. The thinning agent would reduce clotting and make samples easier to analyze and separate, so again I assume this was either severely misguided medical practice, or a form of fanatical research. Much more and she certainly would have perished. "
The Jedi master's jaw clenched. He reached for the tumultuous Force and held on with all his will. "Tell me the rest," he grated out.
"Against my better judgement, I shall," Ben To sighed. "Her nervous system – primarily the brain cortex, the optic nerves, and spinal fluid, has been contaminated with a biotic agent we have never seen, and which binds to living cells like a synth-virus. Her optic nerves are completely destroyed; and I expect eventually other major nerve pathways may fail."
"How long?"
Ben To smoothed his pointed beard. "With Force healing techniques, she may be able to stave off the inevitable for some number of years. Master Uvain is strong and determined. And we shall research this, as far as we are able. But still…. I am sorry. It is the will of the Force."
Qui-Gon did not speak.
Eventually Ben-To made to leave, clasping the other Jedi's shoulder gently in parting before he withdrew. "When you are collected, Master Jinn, I suggest you leave. The other patients."
The tall man nodded, speechless and defeated.
Having been delivered safely back to the Temple, and having bidden Master Dooku a good night with his thanks, Obi-Wan found himself unenthusiastic about the prospect of returning to quarters. He did not know whether Qui-Gon would be there or not; nor could he say whether the prospect of encountering his master again or of haunting the empty rooms of their abode, solitary but for his own thoughts, would be more unpalatable.
His steps turned toward the indoor arboretum, comfort and verdant sanctuary.
Despite his master's claims to the contrary, he did feel the Living Force, and nowhere better than here, in the meditation gardens at the Temple's heart. There was a place – among his many favorites – that called to him especially tonight, and he sought its shelter without hesitation. Here, where a smaller waterfall tumbled over an artfully wrought lip of stone into a spreading pool below, he had once discovered a delightful hiding place. Then, the hollow behind the falls had seemed an enchanted cave; now of course, it was barely large enough to count as a hovel. He parted the curtain of water with a careful use of the Force, sending the glittering veils cascading to either side, leaving a space between, and jumped through, into the cool shadow behind. There was a dry ledge toward the back, one not soaked by the perpetual spray. He leaned into the gentle swell of the rock wall, facing the luminous tapestry of falling water and muted light, his face bathed in soft mist, his pale tunics and hands bedewed with moving light as the falls flowed and twisted into the placid waters beyond.
He closed his eyes and released all emotion.
Grief and anxiety tumbled, fluid, over his inner falls, pouring without cease into the serene and infinite pools of the Force. The torrent did not cease, but neither did the Force overflow. Its boundless depths received the unending cascade of bitterness, and sorrow, and weariness and smoothed them into vast abysses of light, of wisdom. There was a moment when he thought his self might tumble willingly over the precipice into those depths, and then another moment in which he knew he would not yet do so; the meditative trance wavered, a little, and he opened his eyes.
A dark shadow passed through the gleaming swath of water, emerging into the cave beside him. There was barely enough space for two, but the sweet-salt scent of Bant Eerin, clad in the odd leotard she donned for swimming, was as familiar and welcome as the hiding-place itself.
"Bant!"
The Mon Cal Padawan scooted into place beside him, her damp skin dripping all over his relatively dry tunics. She, and a few other Jedi of aquatic species, had permission to use the wider portions of the artificial river for a daily soaking; and while her human friends were not officially included in this exception to the rules, it would be untruthful to say that the regulations had never been flouted. Indeed, when they were all younger, it had been another rule observed more in the breach than the observance.
"I knew you were in here," she chided him. "I could feel you, you chosski."
"Oh. I'm sorry, Bant, I didn't think there was anyone-"
She hushed him with a playful slap of her webbed hand upon his shoulder, dampening him further. "Silly. I don't care. I'm.. I'm off shift for now. I thought I would swim… you know."
He nodded. He knew, all too well. And he did not dare ask. Yet he had to know. "Bant… Master Uvain. Is she going to recover? Her eyesight, I mean, and… in general?"
In answer, Bant wrapped a dripping arm about his shoulders. "I wish you hadn't asked me that," she lamented.
"Tell me," he insisted, bracing himself for the blow. He closed his eyes and rested his forehead on his knees.
"I'm not supposed to tell you/. Patients' privacy." Bant hesitated. "But she wouldn't care. I know .. well, I saw…"
"Bant, please." He could bear it, here beneath the shelter of the luminous falls, with the Force so close at hand.
"She's blind. Forever, even with implants. And .. well, as for the rest, ….. Master Li doesn't know. But it doesn't look good."
He took this like a Jedi. There was no emotion. "It is the will of the Force," he declared, manfully, looking up, gazing through the shifting and diaphanous layers of light, of falling rain, straining to see that far shore where there was only peace, only the Force.
He thought for a moment that he caught a glimpse of it – but then Bant shattered the vision, wrapping both arms around him and holding him tight, completely soaking his clothing. "It's all right," she said.
He thought he had already poured out his grief into the Force; but when his heart broke, another flood welled to take its place, and the softly weeping falls before them were joined by another. Bant stayed beside him for a long time.
