Lineage VI

Chapter 10

The Xolinthi vessel lumbered its way past the sluggish ring of asteroids and into clear space at the edge of the system, the drives' vibrant hum diminishing to a barely audible rumble.

A trickle of perspiration crawled slowly down Qui-Gon's spine, joining the damp patch along his belt-line. He carefully contracted and relaxed each muscle in turn, keeping the persistent threat of cramp at bay, and drew in another calming breath in the close, stuffy confines of his chosen hiding place. He could just make out Merggum's rasping voice through the bulkheads, grumbling about the comm connection and the speed of transmission.

Eventually a familiar stuttering heralded the completion of a hologrammatic connection. The Jedi master could not see the Prime's interlocutor, but he could distinctly feel Mergumm's increased tension. He strained his senses to make out the conversation, using the Force to narrow his focus upon the words.

The figure in the hologram made some initial inquiry – a broken garble of static and blurred sentences that Qui-Gon could not untangle.

"A day or so… I think Gala may sign soon. The Prince is proving more obstreperous than I anticipated. But we have been working on persuading him, and I think he may see the light of reason soon."

The answer again came in an indistinguishable blur, one that seemed to end in the phrase "Home Rule party."

Mergumm's voice was rich with contempt. "I have demonstrated to Prince Beju the value of strict discipline. I do not think we will encounter difficulty suppressing his little insurgency once he grants us enforcement rights on the world. And the Nemoidians will withdraw their support at the first sign of trouble. They are infamous cowards, and their pathetic security forces are no match for our own resources. Droids cannot compare with trained sentients."

"See that it happens…," the mysterious voice commanded, "…. Before the Chancellior nominations are confirmed. We need…. electoral… consolidate control in the…. Your responsibility."

"I understand," the Xolinth Prime murmured, the subservient note in his voice unmistakable, a cold fear edging the Force with ice. "It will be done as you have instructed."

Another incomprehensible exchange ensued before the transmission ended. A creak as Merggum settled his ponderous weight back in his seat, and then silence. Qui-Gon breathed as slowly as possible, contemplating the possible meaning of this communiqué as the drives roared back to life beneath his feet. Merggum's apparent subordination to another, as of yet unknown party, was problematic. It suggested that the corruption in this sector was merely a lesser part of some wide conspiracy, one connected ultimately with the manipulation of political power at the Republic's heart. And the mention of trained sentients able to easily rout Nemoidian security droid battalions was worrisome. Republic law did not permit the amassing of independent military forces outside planetary jurisdiction and regulation. A free-ranging mercenary army was a threat to the general peace, and promised nothing good for the future. Already the Nemoidians' recent victory in procuring permission to guard their vast Core ships with automated soldiers had raised eyebrows in the Galactic senate and even the Temple itself. As legislative inefficiency rendered the rule of right more and more a distant ideal, the rule of might edged in to take its place.

And Merggum was only one piece in that greater puzzle, one star in a constellation that might extend across the ten thousand worlds. The Jedi master leaned his head back against the uncomfortable insulation panel and banished anxiety. He would meditate on it later; at the moment, he simply hoped he could endure the slow journey back to Xolinthi headquarters in the most inconvenient accommodations imaginable.

"Oh – ah, Mr. Jinnson," the bodyguard on duty stammered upon the royal valet's weary return to quarters. "You may not, ah, wish to disturb His Royal Highness at the moment, sir…" The Galan shifted about nervously. "He's been with a young lady all this evening and night, you see. Ahem."

Qui-Gon's eyebrows crept upward in astonishment. "Indeed?"

"Sweet pretty little thing," the fellow confided in him. "Barely old enough, if you ask me. Actually felt a bit sorry for her… but then, it's not our place to question, now is it?"

"It is most certainly not," the tall man sternly concurred, and the guard lapsed into a studied impassivity.

Jinnson unlocked the master bedchamber doors with a very judicious and discreet use of the Force, drawing in a deep steadying breath. Not that he precisely expected to find … anything amiss… but decades of experience as a Jedi field agent and as a master to impetuous and precocious apprentices did prepare one to grapple with the unexpected.

A beam of light fell straight from the threshold over the sumptuous bed, picking out the coverlet's elaborate embellishments and illumining the delicate features of a young adolescent girl reclining in its very center. Her reddish hair spilled seductively over the ivory pillows, her lips parted in a soft and virginal innocence. One white arm lay atop the blankets in a gesture of sweet abandon. Qui-Gon's heart skipped a beat, his gaze scouring over the room in search of his young charge. The remnants of a gourmet repast – including an obviously empty bottle of some rare vintage – cluttered their serving tray in one corner. A pile of princely garments had been tossed nonchalantly at the bed's foot.

Obi-Wan! the Jedi master projected sharply through the Force. Not that he was precisely concerned… but still…

Master, came the prompt unspoken response. Just a moment. Washing up.

Qui-Gon nudged the 'fresher door open and peered critically at the disorderly interior, wondering at the heap of wet towels on the floor and the lingering scent of spicy soap in the humid air. Obi-Wan emerged from the adjacent shower-room, a towel wrapped about his waist and his skin glowing with the after-effects of vigorous exertion.

The young Jedi must have sensed the subtle tautening of his mentor's nerves, for he raised one ironic eyebrow. "You will be pleased, master. I've done something tonight which I've never done before."

The tall man studied his protégé's face intently, noting the carefully constructed mental shields that rebuffed his curious probing. "Oh?"

Obi-Wan's eyes glinted. "I did just as you advised a few days ago, master," he continued, demurely. "I was able to release my anxieties and attend to the Living Force."

"Padawan – "

"In fact," said Padawan interrupted, pulling Beju's nightshirt over his head and running fingers through his damp hair until it stood in rakish spikes, "I don't see why so many masters at the Temple look askance at such things. I am fortunate that you are so open-minded on the subject."

The Jedi master's mouth thinned. He felt an unfamiliar clenching deep in his gut.

"I can't wait to apply the technique in the dojo," his apprentice added, thoughtfully.

Qui-Gon blinked, holding the boy by one shoulder. "Obi-Wan. What are we talking about.?"

One corner of the Padawan's mouth twitched upward. His eyes widened in mock confusion. "The Forked Lightning kata, of course… what else would I be referring to, master?"

The Jedi master released his pent-up breath in a rush. "Brat," he muttered.

Obi-Wan bowed respectfully, smug amusement swirling in the Force between them.

Qui-Gon shut the door and leaned against it. "Who is the girl?" he inquired softly.

All levity instantly fled the young Jedi's demeanor. "The daughter of Niik-Al. Merggum had her delivered to Beju as a … gift. I – I'm afraid it may be my fault. I told that Tervashsu I craved something novel, and I think my meaning was lost in translation."

"Ah." The tall man replied. "Novel as in novice. She must have been terrified."

Obi-Wan affirmed this with a fleeting, rueful smile.. "She thought I was going to.. well. I used a mind trick on her, master – she was beyond reason, and I didn't know what else to do. She said that Merggum would have both her and her father killed if she failed to satisfy Beju's desires. I can't send her away, but I won't play along with such atrocious cruelty." A rebellious note crept into this voice. "I'd rather this mission fail."

Qui-Gon regarded him soberly. "You make the dilemma worse by presenting the choice in such a light. I have not suggested that you do play Merggum's vile game. Do not cast me in the role of antagonist, Obi-Wan."

The Padawan dropped his gaze. "I'm sorry, master – I intended no disrespect."

The older man's expression softened. "There are many hidden pressures in this situation. Let us find a solution together. I think you might easily persuade Merggum to let you keep your new friend a few days. Perhaps she has insight into the Xolinthi Cooperative's underside – Merggum's enemies may be our best source of information, especially if there is an underground resistance movement brewing in the sector."

Obi-Wan nodded. "What about her father? Can we not find a way to release him?"

"That is more problematic. But I may have found a weak link in Mergumm's household. We must be patient and wait for the right opportunity – I feel we should continue our investigation longer."

"We do have evidence of criminal activity," the young Jedi objected. "Why not call in the local authorities now?"

Qui-Gon shook his head. "There are deeper things stirring here. I discovered today that Merggum is working for some outside interest, one with a stake in Coruscant's current political upheaval. We should extend our stay and seek further answers."

This decision did not inspire his apprentice with wild enthusiasm, but it did not provoke any strident objections, either. "There is Gala, also," the Padawan supplied. "I know Beju is a convenient cover, but there is something else… elusive."

"Another bad feeling?" Qui-Gon's eyes twinkled. "Force help us."

"I'm going to sign that Trade agreement tomorrow," Obi-Wan announced, crossing his arms. "It's the only way. It may solidify our relationship with the Xolinthi… and further alienate Beju from his homeworld."

"A bold gambit, but dangerous . Tread carefully. We do not know Merggum's ultimate intentions, nor what he is willing to sacrifice to achieve them."

"Yes, master… "The Padawan stifled a yawn. "I will remember."

"In the meantime, the Prince needs his beauty rest," Qui-Gon decided, ushering his young companion back into the main room. "To bed with you."

"But-!"

The Jedi master held up a finger. "Appearances must be maintained." He nodded at their slumbering guest. " I'll wake you before the meeting tomorrow." His unremitting gaze offered no quarter, and he maintained an imperious post by the doorway until his reluctant apprentice had gingerly crawled beneath the topmost coverlet, at the very edge of the wide mattress. The girl dreamed on beside him, blissfully oblivious to his presence.

"You overdid it," the Jedi master observed, on his way out.

"Really!" the Galan protocol unit dithered. "This is a travesty! His Excellency awaits the Prince's presence, and you haven't even roused His Highness? How is he supposed to make a punctual appearance, much less be properly groomed and attired? Have you any idea how many violations of etiquette are entailed in your tardiness?"

Mr Jinnson finished his tea and set the cup down in its saucer. "We will be there in a timely fashion," he assured the panicking droid. "It is inadvisable to disturb His Highness too early in the morning –"

But the fussing droid had already shuffled across the common room to the master bedchamber's doors and flung wide the portals. Several of the security men craned their necks to get a better view. The royal valet took another sip of tea and peered curiously into the room's quiet interior.

"Oh dear," the droid blustered. The young maiden, kneeling amidst the soft mountain of satin and silk, started and uttered a strangled cry of surprise, the fingers of one hand coiling tentatively in a stray lock of Beju's dark hair. The Prince himself, sprawled languorously against the pillows, slatted one eye open and glared at the intruder.

The girl jerked her hand backward, and the Prince jolted upright, scooting toward the mattress' edge.

"Get out of here, you prurient clod of excrement!" the ruler of Gala snapped. "How dare you violate my privacy?"

"Good heavens," the protocol expert muttered, looking upon the tender boudoir scene with manifest disapproval. "Whatever is the galaxy coming to? In my day, they taught the virtues of moderation and abstinence."

"You bore me," the Prince yawned. "Take your antiquated morals and shove them up your binary motivator."

The poor droid appeared to have blown a circuit somewhere. It staggered backward, emitting inarticulate cybertronic blips and screeches, limbs jerking in outrage.

"Your Highness," Mr. Jinnson interrupted. His tone of voice brought the impudent young aristocrat up short with an expression reminiscent of a schoolboy caught red-handed in some major felony. He stepped through the doors and shut them upon the much-intrigued audience outside. The droid's nonsensical ravings could still be heard through the panels.

Beju quailed under his servant's regard for a full ten seconds before he recovered himself. "Ah, Jinnson," he managed at last. "What is on my Royal Agenda for today?"

His valet cocked an eyebrow. "The Trade agreement meeting, if you recall."

The young girl had by this time backed her way into corner, staring at Jinnson with wide and fearful eyes. "Who are you?" she peeped.

Qui-Gon made her a short bow. "The Prince's personal gentleman, miss. I beg your pardon for the intrusion."

Niik-Al's daughter clutched at her gown, wide amber eyes shifting to Beju. "Oh, please.. you aren't going to send me away are you? I beg you!"

"I'm not sending you away," the Prince told her, earnestly. "I.. I will tell Merggum I am pleased with you."

The girl blinked. "But, but – you didn't, I mean we didn't…"

Beju lifted haughty brows. "It is my own prerogative to decide what pleases me," he declared, sauntering into the fresher as though this were the final word on the matter.

Mr. Jinnson rummaged in the Prince's wardrobe and produced a spare nightshirt for their guest's use. "I'm afraid you will need to stay here," the tall man advised her. "For your own safety."

The girl nodded, numbly, clutching the proffered garment to her chest. Her eyes rested on the closed 'fresher door. "The Prince is much too handsome to be as evil as they say," she confided in her new friend.

The Jedi master's mouth twisted slightly. "Appearances can be deceiving," he gently informed her. "But I think you are safe with His Royal Highness, for the time being. Forgive me, but I didn't catch your name?"

"Oh. Estra. My father is Niik-Al, the resistance leader."

"I see." The tall man nodded solemnly. "Your family background is, of course, not my concern. My duty is to tend His Highness' needs."

Estra puzzled over this statement, clearly unsure of its implications. Eventually she offered Jinnson a timid smile. "Thank you," she ventured. "You are very kind. Not – not at all what I expected."

"And what was that?"

"Well…" the girl perched hesitantly on the edge of the mattress, studying the wadded cloth in her hands. "You seem more like part of the resistance. Are you… are you from the Home Rule party on Gala? My father spoke of them, and their campaign to prevent the Prince from consolidating an alliance with the Cooperative. Is the Prince perhaps not such a monster as we were told?" Her dark eyes lit with hope.

Mr. Jinnson considered her cautiously. "You should perhaps leave such matters to those with more experience," he suggested. "Too much knowledge could be a hazardous possession."

"But, I thought – oh, I don't know what to do. Isn't there some way you can help? You seem so kind… and my father is imprisoned. Couldn't the Prince talk to Merggum? Use his influence? He could charm a gundark, I feel sure of it."

The valet maintained a stony impassivity. "I'm sure it is not my place to presume to say what His Highness might or might not do. I merely serve."

Estar rolled her eyes at him. "I'll ask the Prince myself," she decided, taking courage from the very suggestion. "…He has lovely eyes."

Mr. Jinnson did not even bother to seek any logical connection between these two statements. "If you will excuse me,"" he said, formally, "I must help His Highness get dressed." With these words, he left Estra to her own distressing thoughts and hastened to prepare the Prince of Gala for his all-important meeting with the Xolinth Prime.