Legacy 5
Chapter 14
Succession
Less than halfway to the clan dormitories, it became obvious that returning Anakin to Troon Palo's care was an entirely untenable idea: the boy's pleading had as quickly melted into sullen reticence - welcome enough alternative to his protestations of innocence – and from thence into barely contained anger, which soon enough morphed into its counterpart, self-pity, and from thence into unrestrained sorrow. Which was accompanied by copious if manfully silent tears.
Loneliness positively emanated from the Tatooinian prodigy in great waves, neither shielded nor moderated by any intrusive habit of reason. Obi-Wan came to a dead halt, bringing his captive up short beside him.
"I miss my home!" Anakin cried out, with a vehemence that surely ought to have shaken the bronzium sentinel statues out of their perpetual torpor. "I miss Mom."
The young Knight thrust both hands in to his cloak's wide sleeves, making a swift and expert tactical assessment of the situation. It would be ruinous to suggest that such raw, unadulterated emotion be delivered like an explosive bomb package to the initiates' sheltered enclave. The younglings – sensitive to a fault, readily thrown into psychic dissonance by the ills of their comrades, by the hard-edged mental projections of others in the Temple - would be set into acute disarray by Anakin's mere presence in this state of mind. Troon would be kept awake all night tending to evil dreams and inexplicable terrors, and his small charges would only be further alienated from the strange boy so suddenly thrown in among them.
On the other hand, he hadn't the heart to betray any sentient being, howsoever pathetic or vexatious, into the healers' care.
Blast it. On a long exhalation, he addressed his sniveling companion again. "It's late. I think perhaps you should simply rest in my quarters."
The boy dashed one small hand across his face and sniffled. "Okay," he concurred, mood shifting yet again, a mercuric scudding of clouds across stormy inner skies. "I'm tired," he added, as though by way of explanation.
"Come along." It was more straightforward to issue orders than to attempt comprehension, and hadn't Qui-Gon himself always espoused the 'direct approach'? Anakin Skywalker's whiplash temperament undoubtedly merited inclusion in the long list of subjects which he, Obi-Wan, was so lamentably inclined to "overthink."
Yes, that was it. A lift tube, two concourse intersections, an archway and a narrower passage brought them to his humble new abode. A terse wave of one hand opened the door to them, and they spilled over the dimly lit threshold in disorderly unison.
"Wow," Anakin remarked, gazing round at the painfully ascetical interior. "So… this is your home?"
An unexpected defensiveness tightened the young Jedi's jaw; he released his sudden pique into the Force. "Temporarily, anyway."
"Oh…. Uh, it's nice."
The insincere compliment brought a small smile to its recipient's lips. "There's the fresher, if you need to clean up…. And make yourself at home." He gestured to the low-set sleep couch and watched as the boy promptly kicked off his soft boots and rolled himself in the single thermal blanket with a spontaneous ease suggesting ownership, or possibly an exhaustion too advanced to leave room for etiquette.
"I'm choobazzi tired," the lump of bedclothes and sandy hair declared, in a pronounced slur.
In the next instant, he was asleep, and lightly snoring.
Obi-Wan raised his brows, shook his head, and beat a strategic retreat.
Containment wasn't a solution, per se, but it bought him a few more hours' peace in which to indulge his habit of overthinking.
It was Bant Eerin to whom the onerous duty of the night shift had fallen.
"Obi!" the Mon Cal assistant healer exclaimed when he presented himself in the hushed reception area. "Stars' end… it's nearly third chime. What are you doing here?"
He squared his shoulders for battle. "I've come to see Qui-Gon."
Bant would not be his dearest friend if she lacked for obstinacy or unyielding devotion to principle; though her round eyes blinked a soft and glossy apology, her posture stiffened to match his own. "You know visitors aren't permitted at this hour. "
"But you can make an exception for me," he shot off, flippantly passing one hand on front of her face in the gesture of compulsion.
Bant, naturally, had been immune to such underhanded Force influence since they were twelve years old. She scowled as he deftly slipped past and headed down the corridor on her left. "Obi-Wan Kenobi!" she barked after him, in a stage whisper calibrated to convey authoritative displeasure while not disturbing the ward's resting patents. "You are not visiting anybody at this Sithly time of night!"
He glanced over one shoulder; Bant was standing arms akimbo at the passage's far end. "Then I'm not violating any regulations, am I?" His sunniest grin, replete with dimples, accented the winning strike.
Bant growled deep in her throat but did not pursue him, so he counted it a ready victory and slipped inside the tiny chamber without further ado.
"I stowed the rascal in my quarters. The new ones, I mean."
Qui-Gon was the barest spark of light within the Force, a vital glimmer like the afterimage of a star seen in passing, like the ephemeral glint of sunlight on water – nothing more. And yet, it was something - and the Jedi master was in death or its simalcrum as patient a listener as ever.
"He won't ever fit in here at the Temple, Master. I don't know what you were thinking. He's like that blasted kinetoflora you adopted all those years ago… when we did that stint with the Agri-Corps. The one with tentacles, and teeth. It never adapted to domestic life; it should never have been transplanted to a pot. "
The monitors blipped a steady dirge, its bland monotony a gentle encouragement to unburden himself.
"And the Council think I've gone round the bend , not unlike my revered mentor. I'm fairly certain they've attributed the purported vergence on Tatooine to nervous hy steria. Or worse. Else why would I be effectively grounded on the flimsy pretext of 'recuperative leave'?"
Waxen and grave, Qui-Gon neither denied the charges nor lightened the mood with some subtle quip.
"The worst bit is, I find myself thinking they're complacent and short-sighted. And …dishonest."
The sky did not come crashing down in reaction to this last barely-voiced indictment, nor did the stars and planets quit their orbits. He swallowed and shook his head, laughing inwardly at his own haf-instinctual expectation of retribution for uttered blasphemy.
"They've allowed Dooku to keep a Sith in his infernal dungeon."
There. It was out, and once the levees had been broken, there was no stemming the deluge.
"He's locked away, going slowly mad in that thanatosine torture chamber. And we call ourselves compassionate. They've his ship as well… and whatever secrets it contains. Master Dooku would dissect his prisoner as readily as they've taken the ship to bits, if he were able. Deception and coercion are not the Jedi way, Master. And yet we now have Darkness chained like a pet rancor under the Temple. What does that mean?"
But that wasn't the end of it.
"Master Windu says I must face my anger. How can one face what exists in every direction? And Master Yoda exhorts us all to be more playful… " He ran tense fingers through a disheveled mane. "Something about losing a child's heart."
As though such a thing could ever be regained, innocence restored, hope vindicated, that bright and playful fire rekindled.
"The galaxy's going to hell, Master." It truly was; he had a very bad feeling about it. "And you've managed to step out at just the crucial moment. Very cunning. Don't tell me you've earned your early retirement by training three padawans. I think you just want to smile down on the rest of us from the netherworld. Smugness does not become you, Master."
Nor did death, really, come to think of it.
Even though there is no death.
He let his face drop into his hands, and surrendered the effort of sustaining this tedious one-sided conversation. Had Qui-Gon been present in more than body, he surely would have exhorted his former student to stop talking and over-thinking the matter, anyhow. He would have reminded him that there is no "going to", only the present moment and the unfettered spontaneity of the Living Force. He would have somehow spurned both Yoda and Mace's advice while subtly agreeing with the essential content of both their admonitions. And he would certainly have been outraged by the news of a Sith prisoner harbored beneath the Temple's modern foundation level.
And then he would have trumped every folly and every outrage by undertaking some mischief of his own, flying in the face of convention, expectation, and decency. Something blunt and pointed, some obstinate repartee to fate and the Council at once, a gesture and ultimatum which he would back with every ounce of his considerable obstinacy.
Halfway between a chuckle and inexplicable tears, the young Jedi sensed a presence directly behind him and twisted round abruptly to deter the intruder.
" I belong here," Ben To Li snipped, crossing both arms over his chest and matching the visitor's scowl with a glare of his own. "Unlike you, Kenobi. So wipe that frown off your face."
The old healer was comically attired in long night shift, full robe, and bare feet. Obi-Wan smirked.
A bony finger was thrust beneath his nose. "I've seen you in far more compromised conditions," Ben To tartly reminded his companion. "Now kindly honor this ward's regulations and stop disturbing my patients."
"I'm hardly disturbing anyone," Obi-Wan grumbled.
The senior healer's mien softened, fractionally. "Except me. I get precious little sleep as it is without you moping about in the middle of the night. Your shields are a disgrace for someone technically qualified as a Shadow."
"I am not – "
"You're a pest," Be To cut him off. "Always have been, always will be. You can demonstrate your penitence by making me tea. Go. Scoot."
The silpa first-leaf brew was exquisite, its sweet fragrance dulling the pervasive stink of bacta that clung about the healers' halls. Obi-Wan inhaled deeply, letting the familiar scent soothe frayed nerves and sort tumbling thoughts into more orderly cadence.
Ben To's thin face bore deeper lines than it used to; the older Jedi's pointed beard was shot through with streaks of purest white.
"We're none of us growing younger," the healer pointed out. "In a handful of years perhaps I'll retire to Ord Cantos and leave the burden of this calling to Vokara."
"Perish the thought." Ben To's heir apparent was a Twi"Lek woman of legendary genius and ferocity; abandoning the Order's ill and wounded to her tender mercy would surely constitute a violation of the pan-galactic humanitarian Gevros Conventions.
"My point," Ben To continued, ignoring the implied libel against his protégé, "Is that every one of us must leave a legacy behind, appoint one to carry on our work into the next generation, our vocation and vital fire. There were a great number of years during which I thought Qui-Gon would never do so, and that his light would be extinguished from the galaxy. "
They drank in silence.
"Fortunately, he did at last bequeath to the order and to us all a worthy successor. Our lives are complete when we have seen our last student take his rightful place in the service of Light."
Obi-Wan set his bowl down.
"I understand," he said, quietly.
Ben To drained his own cup, swirling the soggy dregs contemplatively. "You are not meant to grieve Master Jinn. You are meant, from the perspective of destiny , to succeed him. To play his role. To be him."
"I will never be as great a Jedi, Master."
"Greatness is made. And making requires doing, not brooding. It is time."
The younger man glanced up sharply, intuition supplying the unspoken truth. "The stasis is decaying, isn't it? The vitals blocker won't last much longer."
Grimacing, the healer nodded. "When it does, I will do all I am able. But it is in the hands of the Force. As are you – if you would but remember it."