Lineage IV
11
"Kriff it boy, cutting it a little close, aren't you?" Alepo chided, helping Obi Wan push the hovering speeder into its storage shed. The first edges of the storm had already arrived, whipping dust and grit into spinning columns, thrashing at the plasteel walls of the Agri-Corps outbuildings.
"Better late than never," he replied.
"Next time I'm sealing the domes and leavin' you out in the elements," Alepo threatened. "You can mouth off to Mother Nature, see how far that gets you. Sound fair to you?"
Obi Wan knew better than to aggravate the horticulturalist any further. "Yes, sir."
Alepo snorted, his wrath dissipating. "This vaping dust storm's gonna delay the Ord Fromag people. Won't be seeing that evacuation transport until the storm's done… and comms are down for the duration, too. These people are gonna eat up all our surplus and then some before we've seen this through." He sighed, and chivvied the young Jedi into the protective walkway connecting the vehicle shed to the main dome network. "Why don't you go get a bite, and then I need a hand securing the perimeter shields. You gotta half hour."
"I'll be there," the Padawan promised.
Alepo chuffed his approval and retreated in the opposite direction, toward dome two. Obi Wan continued through the narrow tunnel until it issued him into the temporary dining hall. The odor of mandrangea beans filled the warm air. He sighed and took up his place in the serving line, calling upon his diplomatic training to feign gratitude when a weary Ag-Corps staff member dumped a generous helping of bean curry and rizzo on his plate.
"Here, young fellow! Come keep an old man company!"
His retreat to the far corner was derailed by this amicable invitation, issued by the man called Choollo. The grizzle-haired fellow was scooting over on his own bench, making space for Obi Wan at his table. A gnarled hand summoned the young Jedi over; Choollo's face creased into happy lines of expectation; a few heads turned to observe the exchange.
He slipped into place beside his would-be friend in order to avoid making a scene.
"Did you hear?" Choollo confided in him. "Comms are down for the duration of the storm, and the evac team can't get through until its done, either." He sighed and shook his head. "Not that I'm ungrateful, but the sooner I can leave this whole incident behind and get on with my life, the better."
"I understand," Obi Wan assured him, wolfing down his dinner in the interest of time and, perhaps, not having to endure the flavor of mandrangea beans longer than strictly necessary.
His companion chuckled. "Young people your age always feel that way, no matter their circumstance," he declared. "You should slow down, look around, enjoy what's in front of you. For example, that other Jedi lass… what's her name? Tachi? She's a mighty pretty girl, you must admit."
"I haven't noticed," he lied, digging into the pile of rizzo. Apparently Choollo had no familiarity with the Jedi Code.
But Choollo was in an avuncular mood, and not to be put off. "What are you two doing here, anyway?" he inquired. "Don't Padawans always travel in the company of a master?"
So the man was better informed than his initial remarks might have suggested. "Our masters are on a mission," he responded tersely. "I expect you will have departed before they return."
Choollo nodded, his intelligent eyes twinkling. "Not anything to do with that prison break all over the news, is it?" he guessed. "What a terrible thing. Terrible. Are they close to finding that fellow Carthag, do you know?"
The Padawan shook his head apologetically. "Mission details are confidential," he answered. Then, to divert the conversation from this awkward vein, he added, "May I ask you a question about the crash?"
"Of course. I suppose you would be interested, being the hero of the day and all."
Obi Wan scowled. "No – but did you notice anything wrong? Was there a problem in the cockpit? Did the pilots say anything, make an announcement, explain why you reverted or entered atmosphere? What happened just before the ship went down?"
Choolloo surveyed him with raised brows, a faint smile pulling at his creased face. "Whoa-ho," he exclaimed jovially. "All that happened in the passenger hold was a general conniption. I assumed we had a major systems malfunction. Did you know I've always dreaded hyperspace travel? It just gives me the jitters. Truth be known, I hate flying. And after this accident… I daresay I'll never make another interstellar journey in my life.'
Obi Wan frowned. "I think it was a hijacking gone wrong," he asserted quietly.
But Choollo only laughed at him again. "You Jedi are an imaginative bunch. Oh dear – now I've insulted you. Do forgive an old man, I don't mean to belittle your instincts."
"No offense taken." He took his leave with a bow, half-tossing the empty plate into a nearby receptacle. Alepo was expecting him, and this line of inquiry would clearly yield nothing. He stalked out of the dome, brooding upon his indefinite and irksome bad feeling, and wishing that the communications system was not out of commission while the storm blew. This would have been a time to contact Qui Gon - if only to vent his unsettling suspicions into some solid grounding, some wise bedrock in which his vague unrest might be unleashed and dissolve into patience and reassurance.
But this was not to be, so he went to find Alepo and whatever chores the botanist had in store for him.
Karnas was a favorite layover on many inter-rim smuggling routes, primarily due to the local government's laissez faire attitude to any form of commerce which kept its tax revenues flowing steadily. As long as pilots declared the contents of their cargo holds on the required Republic customs forms and paid the requisite sums, the officials were content not to bother with the tedious formality of verification. A quick transmission to the Temple, and a rapid consultation of the database records there, directed the Jedi to the likeliest "free trade" center on-planet, a spaceport town in the northeastern hemisphere.
"Charming," Adi remarked as a large native insect collided drunkenly with her face. She brushed the enormous creature away and surveyed the bustling interior courtyards of the docking area. Droids and ground mechanics, pilots and crew, service clerks and uniformed officials swarmed over the duracrete amid a deafening riot of noise.
The Jedi headed for the outskirts, where cheap hostelries and the usual assortment of taverns and shops were clustered beneath a long arcade. Seeking for a distant Force echo here was like trawling a river in full flood; but they had little choice. It was not likely that Carthag had remained here longer than necessary to meet his contact; but unless they could find some fresh clue, his next destination would remain a mystery.
They patrolled the long pedestrian concourse twice in each direction, without success.
"This seems to be a dead end," Adi admitted after almost an hour. "I sense nothing."
"A solution will present itself, " Qui Gon responded placidly. He turned a slow circle, gazing at the milling crowds, the shop patrons, the busy servitor droids.
On cue, a voice hailed them from the covered portico of a café. "Hey! Jedi!"
The tall master quirked a smile at his companion and strode over to the stranger's table, straddling one of the small wrought-metal chairs. The reptilian opposite stirred the pale blue foam atop his caff thoughtfully, and took a long sip, smoothing the front of his synthsilk jacket. "I know who you're looking for," he smiled, displaying an alarming row of small, pointed teeth.
The Jedi master folded his hands over the back of the chair, waiting. Adi hovered nearby, senses on the alert for signs of treachery.
The reptilian set his cup down precisely in the center of its saucer and patted his lipless mouth with a delicate mincing motion, folding the napkin carefully into his lap again. "If you're wondering where Soll Carthag is, I might be able to help you," he said, his voice a sibilant hiss issuing from between his wide jaws.
Qui Gon tilted his head back. "For a price, I presume?"
A forked tongue shot out and flickered humorously. The fellow's nictitating membranes snapped over his bulbous eyes a few times. "Your Republic ship's transponder beacon codes would be very…. Useful… for someone in my line of work," he suggested casually.
Adi Gallia's brows beetled together. Qui Gon ignored her. "Really? But you would prefer to tell me without payment," he insisted, making a subtle gesture beneath the table with one hand.
His interlocutor blinked apathetically. "I don't think so," he smiled, folding his clawed hands atop the clean linen.
Qui Gon shot a quelling glance at Adi. "Very well," he answered. "And where is Soll Carthag?"
The reptilian raised one scaly brow. "He met Chucabra Yollo here a few days ago; they boarded a passenger liner together. Departing from terminal seven." The tongue flicked in and out again, sharply. "Shall we… have a look at your ship's ID codes now? I am sure you Jedi have need of haste."
The tall Jedi master stood, holding out a hand. "After you."
There wasn't a half-meter's space to spare on the floors of Agri-domes three and four, nor inside the small housing unit. Vehicles, equipment, and smaller plants had all been crammed inside the protective greenhouses for the duration of the storm, leaving precious little room for the hundred some-odd sentients also taking shelter beneath their curving plasteel roofs. Obi Wan found himself hard-pressed to find a humble nook or corner in which to spread his own sleeping mat.
Until he thought to take advantage of the vertical dimension.
The main dome housed Alepo's sprawling bean rows and a flourishing orchard. There wasn't much space among the neat rows and beds which extended to the convex walls; but high above, the rafters beckoned, promising a rare peace and privacy. The young Jedi used his cable launcher to pull himself to the girder he and Qui Gon had recently repaired. There, balanced atop the thick durasteel beam, he used a tarp and some spare cord from the supply sheds to rig himself a simple but sturdy hammock. He slipped into it, like a caterpillar into its pendant cocoon, and tucked his hands behind his head.
It was perfect; at the top of the dome, the temperature was cozy; the hammock gently swayed back and forth in some subtle air current, a lovely soporific rhythm; and the storm outside was visible through the grime and moisture smeared dome as a kaleidoscopic dance of warm color and swirling wind-forms. He relaxed into the moment, into the silence and the warmth and the scent of the rich soil and foliage rising up to surround him.
Qui Gon would have loved this high and secret eyrie; it was a pity the Jedi master wasn't here to share the perfection of the moment.
Presently, he felt Siri Tachi's bright Force signature appear inside the dome, far far below on the ground amid the mandrangea beans. She was doubtlessly looking for a place to sleep for the night. It was tempting to shield his own presence and leave her to her own devices; but an unexpected pang of comradeship with his fellow Padawan prompted him to lean over the side of his makeshift nest and call down to her. After their little…discussion… this morning, he was feeling generous toward her.
Fifteen minutes later, she was neatly ensconced in her own hammock beside him. They lay in silence and watched the storm curl and slither along the outside of the dome, breathed deeply of the lush air, redolent of sap and bark and fresh green leaves. It was luxuriantly warm beneath the dim vault of the dome roof.
"Thank you for not cutting off my hair earlier," Siri offered, after a long silence.
Surprised, he smiled. "I wasn't going to, anyway," he admitted.
"I know."
She did? Oh. Well, then.
"Master Gallia has suggested more than once that it is an inappropriate personal ornament," Siri continued, as though eager to justify herself in his eyes. "But she hasn't ordered me to lop it off. I … I don't think she will."
He frowned quietly to himself. It was only hair… he would have to ask Bant about this sometime. Although, his aquatic Mon Calamari friend was distinctly hairless, so perhaps she wouldn't have any useful insight. "But you would if she did."
"Of course. It doesn't really matter."
Then why hadn't she shorn it off already? He puzzled over this for a moment, then shrugged. If he was feeling bold, he might ask Master Uvain to explain it to him, when she returned from her mission. Or – he smirked a little – Master Qui Gon. After all, his own esteemed mentor sported a similarly inappropriate personal ornament. And come to think of it, Adi Gallia was never seen without her traditional Tholothian headdress. So this would appear to be one of the precepts that was honored more in the breach than the observance.
They watched the storm swirl and morph outside the dome. In the dark, in the quiet, the rasp of dust particles against the hard canopy overhead sounded deceptively like gentle rainfall.
"I'm surprised anyone would bother trying to restore a wasteland like this," Siri remarked after another long stretch of silence.
"Alepo says the lowlands may never recover," Obi Wan told her. "But you should see the hills. The reforested parts are thriving.. And there are waterfalls, and meadows., and even some snow on the peaks. It's beautiful."
"It sounds a bit like Alderaan. Have you and Master Jinn ever been there?"
"Not yet. We did go to Yarrod Minor, though; and Ragoon. And Tanaab… though beautiful might not be the right word for the Peninsula."
"I'd like to see the better side of Ord Ursolon," Siri decided. "It would be good to see what all this-" she waved a hand at the dome above, the orchards and garden beds below-"-ultimately produces. It's easy to think of the Service Corps as inconsequential."
"Don't let Alepo hear you say it," he remarked wryly. "He has a way of making his work seem very consequential."
Her laughter textured the warmth with a bright cascade of notes. It was a nice laugh, when it was not edged with scorn. He smiled and snugged deeper into the cloth of his sling, the Force smoothing into something more than tolerance, if not quite true understanding. He shifted his saber so it did not dig into his hipbone, and relaxed even further, drifting with the subtle motion of the hammock, only half-heartedly resisting the inexorable pull of sleep.
"I'll take you out there," he offered, around a wide yawn. "You really should see it. When the storm subsides."
"Mm," Siri drowsily agreed.
And they drifted away into welcome slumber, nestled in their secret rooting places high above the verdant expanse of Alepo's private kingdom.