Chapter 10.
While no one is expected to leap tall buildings in a single bound, our aspiring heroes will be tested on their courage, integrity, self-sacrifice, compassion and resourcefulness - the stuff of all true superheroes. ~~ Stan Lee
"Still no word from Obi-Wan." Mace strode into the Council chamber and sat on the edge of his seat, studying Yoda. "Have you seen anything in the Force?
"Only trouble and pain."
Leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees and his hands clasped under his chin, Mace asked, carefully, almost afraid of the question or perhaps the answer, "Is he alive?"
"Hard to see that is. Triumph and outrage stain the Force, the source nebulous as if coming from multiple sources, clouded it makes the Force. Young Skywalker senses our deception, I feel, although sure I am not whether he senses the entire truth or just a part. The triumph is his, as is the pain, much pain. Wrong we were by not telling him the truth sooner."
"We tried, Yoda; we could not reach him."
"Try there is not!" Yoda snapped back; then sighed. "No choice we had, but bad timing this was. Shaking off the effects of his enslavement by the Zygerrians Obi-Wan still was; affected was young Anakin as well. No respite has either had in months; much we demand of them- much the Force demands of them."
"We are servants of the Force."
"Remind me of that you do not need to. Bodies and minds we are as well; bodies and minds can only be stretched so far. Stretch a cord too far and what happens – it starts to fray, it wears out – eventually it will snap. We cannot afford to snap."
"And you think Obi-Wan is on the verge of snapping?"
"Mmm, stretching thin he is but nearer to snapping is young Skywalker. Wise this ruse was not." Yoda turned and faced Mace. "A mistake and yet, no other choice did we have."
Their conversation was broken off by the arrival of the other Council members; the lead topic was the Chancellor's preemptory assignment of Skywalker to pursue the escaped Hardeen, Bane, and Eval. Palpatine had single-handedly decided the Order's plans were a failure without once inquiring just what that plan was, and the consequences of his interference were unimaginable.
He may well have doomed one Jedi to die at the hand of a second.
Mace leaned back in his seat, eyes glittering. "The Chancellor should not have interfered; he quite likely has put Obi-Wan in peril by high-handedly sending Anakin after 'Hardeen.' If by chance Anakin has killed Obi-Wan – he will never forgive us. We cannot forgive ourselves."
"The Chancellor's doing it would be…but our own contribution we cannot overlook." Yoda looked down and absently traced a circle with his gimer stick. "Obi-Wan is alive, this I know but only because of young Anakin's triumph. Only pain would he feel if it were otherwise."
A slight hiss of relief escaped Mace's otherwise grim lips. "I've never seen Palpatine so high-handed before. We had this plan well underway to protect him from something he could easily protect himself from by just staying away from Naboo and he interferes, using one of us, using Skywalker, interfering with our plan without knowing anything about it. Doesn't the man know just how dangerous his interference is?"
He raised his hand to forestall whatever Yoda might have responded with. "Of course, he doesn't, he's a politician and they never think of consequences. I have to admit I am worried how this may end."
Just because fears are voiced, does not mean they are disarmed, as the Council would find out much later.
Dodging and weaving with the others, only half his mind on what he was doing, Obi-Wan's attention was divided between the blocks and furious deduction.
High above in the ceiling was a recess; it had to be an escape hatch. Last challenge, escape was found down, down below the deadly gas. That might well mean – yes, Obi-Wan considered and eliminated the possible for the probable – this time escape was up. It was a truism that most sentients tended to certain sameness in thought: opposition and parallelism the two bedrocks of design.
That tied in nicely with his observation that the blocks did not move in a random pattern. By timing one's move, one could race along one block, propel oneself forward and up to another, a veritable stairway leading directly below the recess.
Timing was the critical issue, for one would have to launch from a block only when it was in line with the next, but any reasonably athletic person could make it.
"I know how to get out; there's a pattern. Watch; if I can time it right, I can make it up to that escape hatch and you can follow. Get moving!" Obi-Wan shouted, easily leaping to the first block, then a second. He paused, waiting as the block he was on slowly retreated, waiting as the next one slowly advanced. Not yet, not yet – now! He leapt, landed, leapt again.
The others hesitated; the hesitation cost Onca his life as he was impaled from behind by the simulated lightsaber; the second death in this challenge for Kiera Swan already lay dead on the floor. Doubt and hesitation evaporated and the remaining bounty hunters followed, the Parwan using its tentacles to swing from block to block as necessary, the acrobatic Twazzi easily keeping pace as the others followed. Bane mistimed one jump and nearly plummeted to his death but his flailing hands found and latched on to the block.
Dangling from the elevated walkway, his breath of relief lost in the thundering of his heart, Obi-Wan hung, helpless to aid Qui-Gon. His master battled on, alone. Wait for me, Master, wait…
With a heave, a quick snatch of his lightsaber with the Force, and a massive Force jump propelled by anxiety and a desperate need to be at his master's side where he belonged, where Qui-Gon might need him, Obi-Wan pounded down the walkway. But Qui-Gon battled on, his focus so intent on his tattooed foe that his padawan wondered if his absence was even noticed.
With a grunt of release of that moment, to live in this moment, Obi-Wan's hand shot down to grab Bane's wrist. Much like Qui-Gon, Bane deigned his help; unlike Qui-Gon who merely rushed ahead, secure in his belief he did not need his apprentice, Bane glared and slapped his hand away, antagonism flaring though the Force, his lack of appreciation blatant and dismissive.
Fine. Obi-Wan turned away; face set – and deliberately relaxed, releasing his frustration in a puff of breath. Acting a part so alien to him was slowly invading his mind, not just his outward mannerisms.
He was not Rako Hardeen; he was Obi-Wan Kenobi, a Jedi, and he had best remember it.
So with Hardeen's easy swagger and Kenobi's calm confidence, Obi-Wan straightened, turned away from Bane and tipped his head upwards. He found what he expected, the way out and without hesitation, jumped. Hand over hand, he climbed upwards.
A hand smacked the console where Dooku and Eval watched the challenges play out matching the grimace on one less than pleased face.
"Hardeen has done it again; I'm beginning to believe Hardeen is the best one to lead our operation," Dooku mused, finding himself impressed with the assassin's cool head and penchant for teamwork. "Impressive."
"Hardeen is crafty, I'll grant you, but let's see how he does when he is not the key to their survival."
Was that bitterness or – aha, a twinge of jealousy – within Eval. Dooku hid a smile behind a hand. Not all the competition was before their eyes, not all tests were tests of strength, physical or otherwise. Some were tests of character and loyalty. Not that Dooku particularly valued character nor did he trust loyalty. Character could be corrupted; loyalty was best bought with a combination of fear and reward, and yet, was so easily betrayed by the promise of other credits, other fears – and of simple, simple greed.
Even he, Sith Lord, was not immune but a Sith's greed was always harbored within, banked and invoked in service of the self. Greed was a weapon Dooku could twist and pervert to his own ends in others. Eval was competent – enough – but incompetent enough to fear competency in others; in Hardeen. And when one seemed as capable as this "Rako Hardeen," assassin of "Obi-Wan Kenobi" – well, he might get quite greedy indeed.
Eval was not earning any awards for interior design; this room matched the first, down to the grid lines. The nine survivors gathered into yet another loose knot; the stakes were getting higher. All had survived the first challenge; two had fallen in the second.
"To reach my final challenge, you must pass through my ray shield." Eval's mammoth face was once again projected upon the walls as the walls flared red with the crackling of barely contained energy. "The switch to turn it off is also ray-shielded." A panel slid aside in one wall, below the looming face of Moralo Evan and well above the reach of the competitors before it, too, hummed behind its own shield. Another block rose into the air and opened up to reveal a hypospray. "You will need the anti-electrum serum to allow one of you to get through the ray shields, but –" he chuckled as Sixtat eagerly reached forward, "it is toxic to all but one of you."
Sixtat snatched his hand back.
With a faint grinding rumble, a number of the blocks rose unevenly like a square sided pyramid before aligning into a flat tapped platform large enough for all. The savvy or quick-witted quickly jumped onto it. The Rhodian, Jakoli, was less fortunate, too slow and when the floor flared with the energy, so too did his body, convulsing with the pulses until only death stilled him.
Between the platform and the recess holding the switch more blocks popped up like stepping stones. Losing his footing, another bounty hunter slipped and joined the unlucky Jakoli.
The Parwan gibbered something which no one understood, and reached forward.
"Now wait a minute, who put you in charge?" Bane protested, grabbing the syringe away from the tentacle. "Anyone know what this gasbag's sayin'?"
After a pause, Obi-Wan ventured, "I do; he says he can get us out." Stepping from behind Bane, he took the hypospray and handed it without hesitation to Derrown. "He's a Parwan; his blood type can take the electro-serum."
Bane crossed his arms. "Are you certain?"
Obi-Wan turned to him, a slight smile playing over his face, unseen beneath his helmet. "It's 50-50. It depends on his blood type."
"Uh, huh." Bane growled, but more out of habit than doubt for he made no move to prevent the Parwan from injecting itself. Though it seemed escape was within reach, random blocks dropped, forcing the bounty hunters to consolidate on fewer and fewer blocks as the ray shields slowly converged; the zone of safety getting smaller and smaller. "Hurry," someone shouted to the Parwan. Another one was claimed, dying when his foot slipped and in trying to recover his balance, contacted the ray shield.
Even with the serum, Derrown struggled to reach through the sparking particles, almost as if the shield was alive and fighting back. The will to survive was stronger than its resistance. A part of Obi-Wan was fascinated at the sheer power; even with the Force as one's ally he doubted a Jedi would ever be able to breach such a shield. Slowly, ever so slowly, the Parwan pushed forward, stretching and stretching even more, a tentacle first, then the head and torso, the second "am" tentacle – and then Derrown lunged forward and pressed the button.
The shield died and the room went black.
The lights returned as all the blocks slammed to the same level, a smooth pathway to the suddenly open exit before them.
Bane brushed by Obi-Wan with a suspicious, "How'd you know that?"
"I used to kill Parwans for a living," Obi-Wan replied smoothly, glancing aside at Derrown, who squeaked and swiveled its head.