Lineage VIII


Chapter 7

"Yes, Ben-To Li made a pilgrimage here to lay down the law in person," the Temple's resident weapons-master observed kindly, folding his hands behind his back and studying the Padawan carefully. "The strictures were very clear."

Obi-Wan nodded earnestly. "It will be difficult to resist temptation – unless, of course I can find some engrossing new discipline. I've mastered all the basic katas already, so I was hoping perhaps you could give direction?"

Cin Drallig's broad features widened further as he permitted himself a small smile. "You wish to branch off? Oh ho – well," he said, warming to the idea. "Since it's purely for theoretical and meditative purposes, to aid your recuperation, I'm sure Master Jinn would not object to one of the lesser forms."

The young Jedi disguised his glee as sober agreement. "Yes, master – he does not hold with variant disciplines as a rule, but we've done some quarterstaff training… " He trailed off, politely inviting further input.

The weapons-master led the way into the corridor, pale hair brushed back neatly over his powerful shoulders. "The stave katas are beautiful exercises, and there are a few traditional meditative practices associated - but even so, I suspect the practice weapons might prove too unwieldy. You want something focusing on fluidity and grace, speed and cunning. I wonder…"

"Yes?" All curious innocence, the Padawan halted, waiting upon the older Jedi's expert opinion.

Master Drallig's eyes glinted with enthusiasm. "The staff is for someone of bulk and height, not a slim build. However, we should practice what suits us best. It's been a long time since I've taught the Ataru double-blade variant – it's quite complex, difficult – but I think it would suit you beautifully. There are some authorities who consider it the fair equal of Makashi for elegance. Of course, many Jedi are opposed on principle to the use of a shoto."

"But this is merely a theoretical study," Obi-Wan reminded him.

"True. There is little harm in broadening your repertoire of kata. We shall begin tomorrow, if your leisure permits, at sixth hour."

The Padawan's mouth twisted ruefully at one corner, but he covered his dismay with a grateful bow. "Yes, master. I will be punctual."

"Oh." The swords-master hesitated in the doorway to his largest classroom, "And you can prepare beforehand by looking up the relevant historical and technical tractates in the Archives. Master Seva wrote some excellent reflections on the form."

"I will, Master Drallig – and thank you."


"Stars' end! It's Kenobi - my favorite son of a pompous gundark!"

Obi-Wan shot Garen Muln a quelling look over one shoulder, setting his tray upon the gleaming countertop, where the attendant served him a heaping portion of pellzah.

"Thank you," he told the young initiate manning the serving station – clearly the subject of some imposed term of humility as a kitchen staff assistant. The boy blushed violently, eyes taking in the Padawan's braid and weapon with wistful yearning.

Garen stepped nearer, breathing the next affectionate taunt in his friend's ear. "Thought you were too old and worldly-wise to grace us with your presence any more." The young server filled Garen's bowl with steaming pellzah and waved them onward, too mortified by his present task and their sympathetic smiles to muster up any words.

"I've been too sophisticated for your company since I was four years old, Garen."

They found an empty table, private enough to suit their shared preference for personal space, and conveniently distant from Master Corr Attu's critical gaze.

"Right. Like you never enjoyed wrestling or food fights in the clan dorm."

"Noblesse oblige, my friend. I was coming down to your level for the sake of friendship."

They tucked in with mirrored enthusiasm, equally ravenous after the long morning's tasks.

"Whatever," Padawan Muln snorted, between mouthfuls. "Reeft and Bant and I were just wondering what your hoity-toity self has been up to – haven't seen you in days."

Obi-Wan's brows rose delicately. "Recuperating from injury," he replied. "Luckily for you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

A bland smile, conveying ironic detachment. "If I weren't such a cripple, I would not only haul you into the river myself, but jump in after and drown you, too."

It took the other Padawan some time to recover from his coughing fit. Obi-Wan politely offered him a hand-cloth, which he accepted, eyes streaming.

"You barve – how did you know-"

"I know everything," Obi-Wan informed him, severely. His fulminating expression melted into an impish grin. "Because I am a grown-up."

Garen Muln threw the soiled cloth at his face, only to have his missile easily deflected with a casual flick of the Force. It landed on the tiled floor and promptly became tangled in a servitor droid's shuffling feet, sending the unfortunate automaton tumbling forward, stack of dishes and utensils flying out of its grasp-

-to float in midair, suspended. The droid was gently set back upright, and its various burdens neatly settled back upon its tray.

Master Corr Attu lowered his outstretched hand and fixed the two reprobates with a look that required no verbal counterpart to make its meaning known. The two Padawans rose, and hastily bowed their apologies, and beat a strategic retreat before further punishment could be exacted - leaving their half-finished meals for the droid to tidy up.


On his way to the Archives, Obi-Wan was intercepted by Docent Vann again. Shaking off the niggling feeling that she was stalking him, he made a gracious bow and waited for whatever unsavory news the unfortunate messenger had to bring this time.

Apparently there hadn't been time to prepare a data pad, for she bombarded him with the next unpleasant Council dictate directly. "Oh, Padawan Kenobi," the brusque woman informed him. "Master Windu requests that you report to the fifth level hospitality lounge immediately – there is a visitor from outside the Temple who wishes an interview with you."

More legal nonsense. "Thank you. I am on my way," he responded, already changing direction and heading back at a brisk clip for the nearest lift tube. A request from Mace Windu was, of course, a mandate; he lengthened his stride and nipped into the carriage before anyone else could commandeer the lift.

Master Windu was waiting outside the now-familiar reception room, his Force presence filling the corridor to overflowing. One or two other passers-by hugged the opposite wall, giving the glowering Korun a wide and respectful berth. Obi-Wan dipped his head, hoping to smother his smile of amusement before he drew level with the intimidating Councilor. Clearly, Zuul Sangu had been ruffling feathers again.

"Kenobi," the tall dark-complexioned Jedi addressed him when he presented himself with a deep bow. "Chancellor Valorum has opted to exercise his prerogatives and ignore my advice concerning this matter; we have a … guest… who would like a private conference with you."

"A guest?" Not Sangu. But who, then?

Mace Windu's expressive mouth thinned, thunderheads gathering on the Force's invisible horizon. "A pabulum-monger," he growled. "Despite my strongly stated aversion to such a thing, the Chancellor thinks a public relations campaign will help palliate public concerns over Zan Arbor's impending trial."

Obi-Wan absorbed this bizarre news as best he could, eyes shifting to the closed door behind the tall Jedi master. He could sense a very inquisitive presence on its opposite side. "If there is public concern, then this case has somehow been made common knowledge," he said, queasily contemplating the prospect of his encounter with the fanatic scientist being a subject of housewives' gossip and holonet speculation.

"Zan Arbor's litigator has been busily propagating a smear campaign against the Order in general," The Councilor explained, succinctly. He fixed his young comapnion with a penetrating stare. "Let us not feed any fuel to the fire, am I understood?"

Well. "Yes, master, of course." It took conscious effort not to quail beneath the Korun's withering regard. He hesitated, waiting for the higher ranking Jedi to lead the way inside.

But the older man lingered outside the door. "I have just been summoned to an important council meeting with Master Dooku," he informed the Padawan. "I won't be able to –supervise this little playdate."

So. He was being thrown into the deep end on his own. "Yes, master."

"I trust you can handle this situation; you've proved your diplomatic skills on other occasions."

Fine. He would demonstrate his competency yet again, especially since others were obviously more than happy to delegate the odious task. "I'll do my best, master."

"Good." Mace's mien softened minutely as he waved the door open. In fact, Obi-Wan was certain he caught the faintest suggestion of an eye-roll as the Councilor ushered him into the warmly lit chamber. "May the Force be with you," he added, sotto voce, the overtone of sarcasm unmistakable.


The first thing he noticed was the hovering camdroid, a spheroid pest circling gnat-like in one corner of the domed ceiling. It battened onto him immediately, zooming forward for a close-up shot, huge lens eye staring shamelessly at its subject. Obi-Wan waved it away with the Force, focusing on the tall humanoid striding forward to greet him.

"Ah!" this person bellowed with affected joviality. "You must be Padawan Kenobi. A pleasure. Baro Spekkopolos." A broad hand was thrust in the young Jedi's direction. "I'm sure you know me, at least by reputation. But have no fear – I'm here to build bridges, not point fingers."

Obi-Wan bowed deeply, keeping his hands folded inside opposite sleeves. "And we are here to serve."

The holonet reporter or pundit or whatever he was dropped his extended hand, the ingratiating smile still plastered on his face. "By the way, my friends call me just plain Spekk. Feel free."

"Won't you have a seat, Mr. Spekkopolos?" The Padawan courteously extended a hand toward the low couches in the room's center.

Not taken aback in the least, the journalist plopped himself down upon the nearest cushion and propped elbows on knees, rubbing his hands together. "Right. Now: I've been specially commissioned to do a bit of public relations work, you understand? Make the Jedi Order more accessible, more sympathetic to the common Galactic citizen. An insider's look at the people and faces behind the mystique, that sort of thing. You follow?"

"All too well." Obi-Wan sat across from his interlocutor, again subtly flicking the droid out of camera range.

"Good, good. So…. let's start with a few questions. You're about to become a young celebrity of sorts, you realize this?"

The Padawan's brows rose. "Jedi do not crave recognition or public accolades –"

Spekkopolos brushed this aside with a snort and a wave of the hand. "Your name's all over the 'net already, kid. Listen: let's make sure we put the right spin on this, okay? Otherwise the opposition's got free rein to make what they want of the Jedi image. Could hurt the case in the long run – juries and judges ain't immune from subliminal messages, you know. They're already working the mysterious cult persecutes independent thinking scientist angle, right? So we gotta bust some of the negative myths surrounding you people. Just trust me. I know what I'm doing."

"I have no doubt."

The dry undercurrent of this statement sailed over the journalist's head, leaving not a ripple in his bright composure. "You mind if the droid gets a few zoom shots? I'm just looking at ya and thinking we got some good material for the ladies' holozine press release – picture's worth a thousand words and all."

Cooperation was one thing; encouraging voyeurism another. A quick Force-directing snap of the wrist shorted out the floating camera's repulsor unit. The heavy sphere thudded to the carpet. "I'm afraid your droid is malfunctioning," Obi-Wan observed blandly.

"Well, vape," the journalist exclaimed, scowling at his inexplicably blitzed equipment. "No worries- we'll get around to that another day. Just work with me here, okay? I need to build up the human element a bit. Gimme something to work with –personal details. Friends, hobbies, interests, that sort of thing."

Let's us not feed any fuel to the fire, am I understood? Obi-Wan racked his brains for some snippet of information that would render the Order more… relevant to common life. On the other hand, Dexter Jettster accepted the Jedi Order just as it was, demanding nothing and merely laughing at those parts of his friends' lives that he did not share.

"With respect, I don't think that's really necessary. I can explain our customs and principles, of course … understanding differences is more important than seeking trivial similarities."

Spekkopolos tilted his head to one side. "All right – you're gonna make me pull teeth. Let me just ask a few questions – bet I can get a rise outta you, kiddo. Let's see…. You gotta girlfriend, now?"

The Padawan's color rose, betraying him to his observant companion. "The Jedi Code does not permit –"

"Oh, so you got one the Code doesn't permit?" Now the reporter was genuinely intrigued.

"I did not – that is not- no."

"That's all right, that's all right. I don't want to get you in trouble. So let's do hobbies. How do you spend your spare time – you know, when you aren't studying or on a mission?"

The Padawan frowned, still unsettled by the last exchange. "Training, meditation, research, additional studies, occasionally the cultivation of other skills such as mechanical knowledge or language acquisition. There is much to be done – and we do not typically have a great deal of leisure time." There. A true response. He could cooperate.

Spekkopolos shook his head, grinning wolfishly. "Loosen up, come on! What do you do for fun - you've got friends your own age, I just know it. How do you blow off steam? You guys ever go out to the holo-flicks? Hit a few clubs, do some dancing? Uuntz concerts? Scramball matches? Or, uh… maybe you get up to things with that not-a -girlfriend of yours on the side, eh?" A calculating look followed this jibe.

The man was intolerable. "On occasion, I will peruse a popular holo-doc as an exercise in fatuity," Obi-Wan offered, acidly.

The journalist narrowed his eyes further . "Look, kid, my job here is to make you likable, get it? Chancellor's orders – not my choice, believe me. You Jedi guys serve the Republic, right- so how 'bout a bit more cooperation? Cough up some answers for me now and we can both be done with this bum assignment."

The Padawan bristled. Mace Windu's injunction rang in his ears – but then, Master Windu hadn't seen fit to endure this torment himself, had he? And no Padawan could be blamed for shirking what a Master dared not undertake. His brows rose. "You wish me to lie? I would by no means tarnish your professional honor with half-truths and fictions. You do have a reputation to maintain."

Spekkolos leaned back in his seat, mouth pressed into a vexed line. He jerked a thumb at the doorframe. "Your superiors tell you to come in here and be a little chizzsk to me?"

"They did not employ that turn of phrase, no." Though what exact terms they might employ should the contents of this exchange reach their revered ears, he did not care to speculate.

The man laid an arm along the couch's plush back. "So where do we go from here? I can't help you if we don't meet halfway, kid."

Obi-Wan's tongue ran ahead of his self control. "I am sworn to uphold truth; you, on the other hand, serve the popular media. It seems unlikely that we will meet anywhere at all." The words hung between them, edged with sardonic dismissal. He cursed himself inwardly; some show of diplomacy he was making here.

"You know, if you weren't a Jedi, I'd say your mother didn't spank you enough – of course, you probably don't even remember her, am I right?"

A flare of something indefinable leapt in the Force; but Spekkopolos was blind to its subtle warning. The man pushed harder, sensing only a sudden vulnerability. "I mean, she dumped you off here in weirdo cult land when you were just a wee lad, right?"

"Thereby doing me the greatest of services, for which I honor her," came the tight reply.

"I'd say she did your homeworld the greatest of services," the reporter riposted, with a smug smile. "Hey- let's talk about your mother. That's something anyone can understand… well, except you, maybe."

"What do you mean?" Control, control, control. He squirmed a bit, still stung by a barb neither of them could accurately identify.

The journalist leaned forward, "I mean, you don't know the first thing about your mother – bet you've never even bothered to look up her name. You hold yourself aloof from that stuff, right? Your mother could be dead, for all you know, and you wouldn't even care – betcha wouldn't even grieve, eh- no attachments and all, eh? You wouldn't have the first clue what it means to lose someone you love, a family member, right? What's that like – what's it like to grow up Jedi, huh?

The world seemed to slow to a crawl, the walls of the hospitality lounge contracting to a smothering narrowness. The young Jedi's lip curled defensively, heart pounding beneath his ribs. "Blessedly free of ignorant prurience, for the most part," he snarled, heedless of consequences.

The pundit threw up his hands in mock surrender. "Hokay, smart-ass. This interview is getting nowhere fast. You got a better idea how to run this show?"

He did; it involved his lightsaber and quite a number of things that were utterly and absolutely forbidden.

"Well? I'm open to suggestions here."

Oh really? In that case…. "You want to go home and rethink your life," Obi-Wan told him, making a small gesture of compulsion with one hand. He smiled acerbically. "Just a suggestion."

Dazed into compliance, Spekkopolos packed up his droid and recorder equipment, bumbling toward the door and the young initiate assigned to escort him to the public hangar bay.

The Padawan waited a few moments after the man had departed, smoothing his own strangely ruffled feathers, wrestling his undefined feelings back under control, and reeling in shock at his own conduct.

"Blast it."

Several deep calming breaths later, he finally took his leave, deeply disturbed and profoundly relieved at once.


The Archives proved a welcome retreat for the better part of the afternoon and evening.

Obi-Wan levitated the relevant tome down from its high perch amid the Archives' flickering holobook stacks and checked the title and volume number, adding his prize to the small pile tucked beneath his left arm.

"There you are."

"Master." He had sensed the tall man's approach, and vice versa; the spoken greeting was a mere formality. They turned down the long glowing corridor and into the central aisle, where bronzium busts of the Lost Ones mournfully watched their progress toward the record-keeping desk and then the exit.

"What have you there?" Qui-Gon inquired, filching the topmost book and turning the hefty holotext over in his hand. "History of the Teth Dynasties – Volume the Twenty-Third?… You are a glutton for punishment, Padawan mine."

"By definition, if I am your Padawan." Obi-Wan neatly dodged the Jedi master's attempt to swat him with the flickering tome.

Qui-Gon's mouth twitched, and he jerked his head backward, indicating that his student should adopt the traditional position to his left and one step behind, passing the holobook back to its present owner as his apprentice fell into proper place with a bow deep enough to conceal any sign of amusement.

"Mace sent a message by 'link to say you had an interview with the media today?"

The Padawan slipped the dynastic histories atop Master Seva's commentary on lesser known saber styles, and responded with a soft snort. "Interview would imply that both participants were fully sentient beings," he quipped.

"You are too humble, Obi-Wan."

They took the wide steps up to the main concourse three at a time, cloaks skirling at their heels.

Obi-Wan deemed it wise to shift the focus of their conversation before he was obliged to reveal too many details of his encounter with the holonet reporter. "What of your own studies, master?"

Qui-Gon slowed at the head of the stairs, allowing his apprentice to draw level with him again. He looked down in to the younger man's face, into a pair of grave eyes that spoke the burning question too improper to be voiced aloud. "Patience," he advised. "I will share with you what I have learned when the time is right." He inhaled deeply, looking inward to the ever-present Force. "I am not even ready myself, I fear."

For what? came the involuntary addition across their bond. Obi-Wan glanced down, mortified by the slip. "I am sorry, master – it's not my place –"

"Come," the Jedi master said, firmly, leading the way onward to their quarters. "Let us enjoy a tranquil evening. A trying day lies ahead and we both have much to contemplate."

It was a fair proposal. They walked on in companionable silence.