Lineage III

Part 10: Strategist

"Padawan."

"I'm sorry, master." Obi Wan flushed, unable to suppress the outward signs of mortification at having nodded off during morning meditation.

Qui Gon patted him on the knee. "We will not persevere in a fruitless exercise," the Jedi master decided. "I have much to accomplish, and you are going back to bed."

"But I just rose an hour ago." The Padawan ran two hands through his hair, as though hoping the bristled riotousness of his short crop would somehow translate into physical energy.

Qui Gon rose in one fluid motion, while his apprentice remained wearily kneeling. He pressed his palm against the boy's clammy forehead. "Hm. You can rest here, or we can incarcerate you in the healers' ward again."

Obi Wan made it back to his feet. Slowly. "I'm going back to bed," he muttered.

Mace lost the first prolonged match of the morning.

"Congratulations," he told Qui Gon, "I thank you for the lesson."

"And you wish to continue – say, best two out of three?" his opponent added, dryly.

The Korun master passed a powerful hand over his shaven scalp. "I am distracted," he admitted. "Bruck Chun's death was a serious blow. A murder inside the Temple is something I have difficulty accepting."

Qui Gon clipped his saber to his belt. "You are not the only one, my friend."

They strolled slowly toward the exit, to collect their discarded cloaks and tunics. "The local Coruscanti police respect our independence, of course; but I fear that if the Sentinels do not present the villain to the Council for judgment soon, the Senate oversight committee will demand outside involvement."

"It's an internal affair of the Order," Qui Gon objected.

"Not where a non-apprenticed minor is involved. We merely have physical and legal custody until they take solemn vows. Technically, the Republic can claim jurisdiction. I'll meet with a representative and the Chancellor later today."

"Better you than me," his friend grunted. He laid a hand on Mace's shoulder. "You are far more deserving than I of a seat on the Council."

"You old gundark," Mace chuckled forlornly, as they made for the shower rooms.

Tahl pulled the abandoned datareader across the table's smooth surface and tapped the screen into life. "Ah. History of Telosian Civil Conflicts. And… even better: Advanced Ethical Disputations, with Commentary by Junn Ka'aal. I thought your Padawan was on leave from academic studies?"

"That," Qui Gon interjected, setting the tea pot down in the table's exact center, "Is Obi Wan's idea of light recreational reading."

"Force help you." Tahl poured the steaming liquid into two bowls and handed one to him. "Some might say that boy needs to get out more."

"Oh, if you asked him I'm sure he would assure you that he'd much rather be in the dojo, thank you for your concern, Master Uvain."

They shared a soundless moment of laughter, savoring the first hot sips of tea.

Tahl set her bowl down first. "I, by contrast, have willingly forgone all forms of recreation these last two days, and I have at last the glimmer of an answer."

Qui Gon leaned back, curious. "You've managed to access the Sentinels' records?"

She made a face. "Ha. And you were elevated to the Council. No, even I have my limits. But rather than wasting time on the obvious, I made other inquiries. The transport requisitions records were most informative."

Qui Gon raised his eyebrows. "Indeed?"

Tahl drew out the suspense, relishing her next sip of tea with meditative slowness. "Yes," she said, at last. "Syfo-Dyas has an airspeeder informally reserved for his personal use – one not marked with a Temple transponder code, fast and maneuverable. He's taken it out into the city with alarming regularity. He has in fact, requested this same vehicle again this very afternoon."

"He might be visiting a favorite restaurant," Qui Gon suggested, blandly.

Tahl tapped one finger against the delicate rim of her tea bowl. "Or a mistress," she hypothesized, idly.

"What did you do about it?"

She smiled, her generous lips curving gently upward. "I merely placed a micro-tracer beneath the intakes on the aforesaid vehicle. It's up to you to do something about it."

He solemnly accepted the tiny tracing beacon she dropped into his palm. "Where did you obtain this? I've never seen one so small."

Tahl folded her hands in her lap. "Ban Yaro – he's a very clever lad, did you know?- invented it for the Sentinels' use, but apparently Syfo Dyas scoffed at it. You know the old curmudgeon, he's positively contemptuous of technological innovations: the Force and only the Force, no repulsor-lifts or indoor plumbing for him."

"Don't let old Yoda hear you discourse in that vein, or the entire Temple will be summarily purged of the decadent comforts of civilization."

They shared another smirk, and Qui Gon tucked the cunning device inside his tunic. .

"Who's making the Temple uncivilized?" a slightly rasping voice inquired, somewhat confusedly, as its distinctly lackluster owner trudged blearily out of the apartment's second bedroom.

"How are you, Padawan?" Tahl slid sideways, to accommodate the newcomer at the small table.

"I'm very well," the young Jedi replied tonelessly, sinking down beside her.

One of her brows curved upward, doubtfully. "It shows. Qui, pour some more tea. I think your pathetic life form is drooping."

Qui Gon peered at the disconsolate bundle of rumpled cloak and disorderly hair, and pressed his lips together. "Obi Wan."

His apprentice turned glassy eyes upward. "Master? I'm fine."

"Hm." Qui Gon's eyes narrowed in swift appraisal, and he supplied the young Jedi with a brimming cup. "I may have an engagement in the city this afternoon. I would prefer that you remain in quarters during my absence."

The Padawan frowned into the amber depths of his tea bowl for several seconds, then managed a growling, "Yes, master."

"However," the tall Jedi continued, dryly, "Since I am obliged to keep company with you over the next few days, I have commissioned a mutual acquaintance to take you out for a walk later."

Obi Wan downed half the bitter tea in one long draught, and offered his mentor a tight, facetious smile. "Master Li, I suppose."

"Ben To is a worthy man and undeserving of such punishment. I've relegated the dubious honor to Knight Spruu, who is too inexperienced to know any better."

"Oh." The Padawan perked up at the mention of the Twi'Lek Jedi. "Well then."

Qui Gon collected the emptied tea things, and pointed a stern finger at his student. "A walk. Not running the Temple perimeter. Not swimming in the artificial river. Not sparring. Do not roll your eyes at me, Padawan, or your little outing will be a one way pilgrimage to BenTo's dungeon."

Obi Wan shoved his hands into opposite sleeves with a rebellious asperity, but managed to keep his expression nominally polite. Tahl covered her mouth with one hand and coughed delicately, eyes twinkling with a golden light.

Qui Gon raised his eyebrows in clear expectation.

"…Yes, master," Obi Wan sighed.

The Temple transport center was ruled with an iron fist. Or to be more accurate, a compressed plastoid and tritanium alloy fist.

"I am sorry, master Jinn, all available light air speeders are presently checked out or under maintenance," the requisitions droid burbled, supremely unsympathetic to the urgency of the situation. "Larger vehicles are available."

"I'll take one of the speeders lined up for maintenance," the Jedi master told it, brusquely.

The droid fidgeted, hovering fussily in place. "It is inadvisable to take out a machine in less than optimal condition – we maintain our fleet according to recommended manufacturer's specifications, and none of the vehicles currently in the maintenance docking bay on level four –"

"Thank you." Qui Gon was out the bay doors and on his way to level four before the cybernetic poltroon could elaborate any further.

Its counterpart was no improvement. "I am sorry, master Jinn, but regulations forbid me to release any of the vehicles without a full maintenance clearance. This is a repair deck; speeders and shuttles available for use are located in the south hangar docking bay, on level-"

"That one will do," Qui Gon decided, indicating a two-seater air car being serviced by a tech bot nearby.

"That vehicle is currently scheduled for a routine systems tune up, and a fuel cell upgrade."

Qui Gon cocked his head to one side, feeling the Living Force trickle sluggishly in this inane realm of circuits and metal. He waved a hand before the droid's optic plates. "That vehicle is available. You are happy to release it to me."

Twitching slightly, the imbecilic droid proffered the sign-out pad, and Qui Gon pressed his thumb to the screen with grim punctilio. Most Jedi would have issued a spluttering objection, to the effect that it was impossible to use mind influence on a droid – but Qui Gon Jinn had never been one to care what abstract rules theoreticians drew up on the Force's behalf. He shooed the tech bot out of the way with a burning glance and waved the various tools scattered beneath the ship's chassis into a far corner. A brief perusal of the console confirmed that the speeder was functional enough for his purposes; a moment laster he blasted out of the open bay doors in a whirl of brown cloak and gleaming chromium.

"Are you sure, my little friend? I've seen you looking more hearty and hale." Jedi Knight Feld Spruu paused mid-stride, leaning forward solicitously.

Obi Wan shook his head. "I'm fine. Besides, we haven't finished our conversation."

The blue-complected Twi"Lek threw up his hands in mock despair. "Captive audience to a sophist. The Force is testing me, I think." They continued upon their way, at the inception of their third meandering lap through the Temple's relatively unused lower levels, the more ancient portions of the structure which now served as basements and arcane underlevels to the modern additions above. History and tradition were solidified at the bottom of the pyramid, compressed by the weight of centuries into a rarefied vintage, a heady thickening of the Unifying Force. It put Obi Wan in a speculative and garrulous mood, a synthesis of opposites his companion found oddly charming.

"But what do you think, truly? Junn Ka'aal says that the Dark can never fully consume the core of a being; that there must remain a seed of light, which is the root of existence and free will. And because of this, redemption is possible even for the most hopelessly enslaved, the most depraved servant of evil. It's an extreme position."

"Oh, I don't commit to extreme positions," Feld replied lightly. "Master Ka'aal was a revered teacher, but that sounds a bit heretical to me. We all know that one fallen to the Dark is utterly destroyed."

The Padawan mulled this over as they traced their way through the dimmed corridors, the echoing passages, moving at a brisk pace. Feld wryly observed that it was he who was being taken for a walk, and that his young acquaintance had made an odd choice of surroundings for his afternoon stroll; but the company was pleasant and he was not of a temperament to fret overmuch about trifles.

"That is the doctrine; yet there are historical examples of fallen Jedi who turned back to the Light before their death. It's a paradox."

This elicited an amicable groan. "What does Master Jinn say upon this topic?" Feld asked.

The Padawan's dimples made a brief appearance "He says, and I quote, the Living Force does not give a womprat's ass what rules the philosophers have drawn up for it, Obi Wan; its ways are mysterious, and it is your privilege to discern and serve that purpose rather than brooding over conceptual niceties."

"Very characteristic," the Twi'Lek observed.

Obi Wan raised an eyebrow. "Master Jinn has a great affinity for the Living Force, particularly when he is kept awake by pestering questions after a harrowing mission."

"Manifestly, my friend. What answer did you make to this declaration of his, if I may ask? For I know that surely you had something to say in reply."

"Oh… yes. Well. I forget. But it resulted in a great deal of extra meditation and some unpleasant chores."

Feld chuckled aloud. "I think I cannot wait to take a Padawan of my own, " he decided.

"I shall warn the crechelings," his friend smiled. "And I think I may ask Master what he thinks again – on some other occasion, when he is sufficiently rested."

"Speaking of which," Feld interposed, "When shall we have the pleasure of sparring again?"

The Padawan's shoulders slumped. "Never, if Master Li has his way. But I'll do my best to thwart him… soon. I promise."

Feld rewarded this piece of brazen defiance with a slap on the back. "That's the spirit. May you recover quickly, so I can wallop you in good conscience."

They grinned, and continued on their way. Around the next turn, however, they met an unexpected roadblock: Master Yan Dooku striding along the passageway, his dark cloak billowing behind him as he approached.

The two younger Jedi bowed. Dooku's eyebrows rose. "This is a pleasant surprise. In what mischief are you two gentlemen engaged?"

Feld Spruu tossed both lekku behind his broad shoulders, folded his hands respectfully. "Philosophical disputation. It has been most entertaining."

"Indeed." The silver-haired master studied Obi Wan curiously. "I believe I should like an opportunity to converse with Padawan Kenobi myself, if you can spare him, Knight Spruu."

Feld glanced down at his companion, headtails twitching slightly in alarm.

But the young Jedi was not intimidated. "As you wish, master. I would be honored."

Dooku dismissed Feld with an elegant gesture of one hand, and they watched him make his formal bow and retreat down the passage, casting one last hesitant look at Obi Wan before he turned the near corner.

Dooku clasped his hands behind his back, and looked down upon the Padawan with piercing grey eyes. "Now that I've indulged your little request to meet you here, you may explain yourself."

Obi Wan inclined his head. "Thank you, master. I… I wish to speak to Xanatos DuCrion again. With your permission."

Seldom was Yan Dooku caught off guard. His hand brushed against his saber hilt, as though reorienting itself to some fundamental axis, a shifting line of balance in the Force. "You astonish me, " he drawled. "I take it Qui Gon knows nothing of this?"

The boy colored a vivid crimson but stood fast. "This is something I must do. And Master Jinn has not forbidden it."

"Hm." The Sentinel almost smiled, his sharp gaze edged with ironic amusement. "Remarkable." He sized up the situation for a few moments, then made a swift determination. "Very well; such boldness must not be allowed to run to waste. I shall take you to see him."

"Thank you," Obi Wan bowed, and followed Dooku in the opposite direction, deep into the ancient sublevels of the Temple.

The tracing beacon blipped away insistently, guiding Qui Gon through the tangled labyrinth of Coruscant's industrial sector. He skimmed along the rooftops of derelict factories, vast manufacturing yards, chasms and abysses in which the relics of past endeavors lay half-buried, rotting metallic corpses partially exhumed and left to decay through the centuries. Power generators and smoke-belching smelting furnaces sent mephitic columns of black and grey coiling into the heavy skies. Machinery groaned and clanked; thousands upon thousands of automated workers and their sentient supervisors milled about on scaffolding and hover barges.

The signal intensified near an abandoned shipyard district. He dropped lower, settled the light speeder on the roof of a decrepit warehouse. Dark ruins rose on all sides, forming canyons and valleys in which darkness lurked like a nameless sludge. He peered over the edge of the nearest, into the black and cavernous depths. The remnants of an old maglev system glinted dully below; beyond the broken line of railing, only the dim flicker of motion could be sensed. Rumor spoke of duracrete slugs grown to nightmarish proportions; of mynock colonies in the hundreds of thousands; of other horrors dwelling on the city's crumbling bottom layers like worms and beetles living amongst a forest's mulch. He remembered a particular mission with Dooku, long ago when the redoubtable master had been much younger and Qui Gon nothing but a callow youth…. And then he pushed the recollection out of his mind. It was best not to dwell on the past.

A sailing leap carried him across the chasm and onto the next roof, and a few stealthy minutes later he found himself crouched behind a support column on the wrecked upper floor of an ancient factory. Syfo-Dyas' speeder sat nearby, pilotless, the drives still cooling, rippling the cool air into a textured mirage. There was no sign of the Shadow, nor any indication what his business in the Underlevels might be.

Exhaling sharply, Qui Gon reached into the Force, seeking for the mysterious Jedi master in its invisible currents. But he found nothing; if the Sentinel had passed here, he had been shielding, slipping through the Living Force as lightly as a water bug skittering over the surface of a placid pool, disturbing nothing, leaving no trace. Frowning, he strengthened his own shields, blended with the universal, indistinct currents of life and memory, and set out to reconnoiter the area.

He had no inkling what question he ought to be asking, but a firm certainty that somewhere here, an uncomfortable answer lay in ambush.