Birthright
Chapter14
The Force was disturbed; and so Obi Wan awoke with a start, cold warning thrilling down his spine.
"Obi Van." Even Piell's mangled face swam into view, large ears and dark topknot blurring at the edges, but baleful visage clear enough to reveal that he, too, felt the danger looming near. "Velcome back to the land of the living."
"Ah…." He managed to say, hoping this would suffice as greeting. The imbalanced Force flooded through him in swelling waves, along with fresh pain and nausea. The combination was a bit overwhelming. And there was a mysterious soft weight pressed against him, a limp bundle of warm breath and bony, protuberant limbs. He shifted away from the odd lump, sending his various injuries into hysterical protest. "…..Blast!"
"Dat's enough griping," Master Piell added.
Obi Wan cautiously slid one hand to the side, touched… "Anakin!" he exclaimed, jolting into further wakefulness and hissing as he rolled halfway over to stare at his Padawan, sound asleep on the deck, wrapped in a rumpled Jedi cloak.
"He vasn't invited, but he came anyvay," the Jedi master explained tersely.
That elicited a groan. Anakin, Anakin, ….when would the boy learn to obey orders? Obi Wan cringed inwardly. The Council was going to have his hide. He sucked in a deep breath and gritted his teeth, attempting to rise – but Even Piell's hand pushed him down again.
"You're not going anyvere, my boy. Stay here vit that Padavan of yours – I'll go see vat's brewing outside."
Master Piell disappeared down the boarding ramp, his shadow lengthening across the bare stretch of rock which served as makeshift landing pad. Obi Wan had no idea what planet or system this might be, nor why they had made this unexplained detour; but he had a fair notion what might be approaching them like a storm over the horizon. He could feel the hungry, predatory malice in the Force – the savage pride and lust for power. It was all too familiar to him now; his side throbbed painfully, in synchrony with the driving beat of Rhakan's wrath echoing in the plenum.
He struggled onto his knees, cursing under his breath. Anakin slept on, apparently oblivious to the danger closing in on them. The boy was never greatly bothered by danger – indeed, he seemed to crave it, to flirt with the darkness at its edge. He feared neither injury, nor the displeasure of his superiors, of any naysayer who told him he could not, should not.
"You shouldn't have come, Padawan," he chided the sleeping boy. There were tear tracks running down Anakin's pale face- had he been weeping again? Since coming to the Temple, he had certainly learned to restrain his all too frequent displays of passionate feeling – but Obi Wan suspected that he did not truly release his emotions so much as bottle them up, to ferment in the dark places of his psyche, until they had undergone some alchemical transformation. And what the end product might be, he could not and did not wish to guess. He ran a hand through the boy's short hair, waking him as gently as possible.
"Hhhmph?"
"Anakin. Wake up. You need to wake up, Padawan."
Blue eyes squinted at him confusedly for a moment, and then the boy was jumping to his feet. "Master! I was so worried! I thought you were going to …I'm so glad we found you and we got away and we're going home." Anakin assaulted him, wrapping arms around him in a painful embrace, then stepping back with a small gasp. "You're really bleeding a lot," he frowned, his mouth forming a tiny grimace of distaste at the smears of red now staining his own tunics. "We need to get to a medcenter now. Master Piell said –"
"There's no time for that." He took a long moment to steady himself before continuing. "Why are we here? Shouldn't we be going somewhere?"
Anakin's face fell. "Uh…no. Not really. The stabilizers are rigged. I don't think we can go anywhere fast."
Oh dear. "I see." The reinforcing buttress embedded in the bulkheads was a convenient hand-grip; he rose shakily to his feet, but the support did not prove sufficient for long. Almost immediately he was sliding back to the deck again. "Anakin. There is an enemy approaching. Let Master Piell deal with him…don't try anything…stupid." He had to choose words economically, for fear of passing out before he finished. He willed Anakin to understand the danger.
"Don't worry, master," his young apprentice assured him fiercely. "I'll protect you."
No no no no no! But he had to settle for a weak shake of the head. When would the boy learn to listen? His heart sank; his side burned with pain; and the Force warped and twisted into a black knot as the distant whine of a ship's down-cycling drives penetrated the hull.
Gherru Rhak'an had arrived.
Even Piell had faced Togorians before. He had faced madmen before. He had faced maddened Togorians before. After all, he was a Jedi master, and in his late prime just a bit older than the most hale and hearty human had ever lived. He had been about the galaxy a bit, and seen a few things. But a maddened Togorian warlord reeking of the Dark Side, exuding it in palpable waves of malice, was something new to him.
It took him one second to determine that the ship descending a stone's throw away from their own stolen vessel was not the anticipated Bograashi medcenter shuttle; and it took one more second after that to determine that this was a situation calling for what generations of Jedi had given the droll nickname "aggressive negotiation."
The warlord surged forward, across the dry plateau, a vibroaxe in one gauntleted hand, a collection of long-handled throwing knives – the Togorian honor-shivs, marks of rank and battle prowess- bristling out of a wide sash, the braided kazhan or record of kills, every thread of massive twisted rope representing a foe felled by the bearer's own hand. Rhak'an's was a veritable tapestry of colors, the loose ends fluttering at his greave-clad knees. He stopped short of the Jedi master waiting to greet him, and guffawed softly, a rumbling cascade of notes issuing from deep in his chest.
"So. This is what the Jedi send to oppose Gherru Rhak'an. A maimed troll."
Even Piell planted his short legs firmly at shoulder's width, crossed his arms over his chest. "I tink it's time somevon cut you down to size, pirate."
The Togorian snorted in contempt. "Where is the other Jedi, little stump? Has he bled his life back into prama yet, or does he still suffer? He is my war-prize and I have come to claim his lifeblood as my drink of victory. I shall slay those who oppose me."
The Jedi's saber was in his hand and flaring to life before the Togorian had even finished his speech. "Dat's vat you think." He flourished the blade in warning. "You've got ten seconds to get your ugly backside out of my sight. Unless you vant me to lop it off your neck. Dat's your last varning."
Rhak'an's infuriated howl rang in the cold air. "You insolent stunted fungus! I shall crush you to a pulp!" He sprang forward, weapon raised, the Dark seething about him, spattering bloodlust and vengeance in an ethereal halo around his hulking figure.
Even Piell met the attack head on, saber slashing upward to meet the axe's blade at an anlge. The shock of the impact sent him sliding backward, his weapon slamming into the dusty soil beside the vibro-axe, but the blow went wide. Even's saber spun, faster than the warlord could pry his huge weapon out of the gritty earth, carving a searing line across the Togorian's knees. The thick armor saved the Togorian's legs from amputation, but the burning line where the saber struck glowed a lurid red-orange. The pirate howled in pain as the armor melted into his flesh.
Even leapt, dodging the next sweeping strike, flipped and kicked Rhak'an in the teeth he turned, landed in a low crouch and ducked beneath the next strike, slashing a burning line upwards along the warlord's belly, severing the bright sash and scoring another deep smoldering line up his armored torso.
"Foul runt!" Rhak'an screamed, and lifted his left hand. Even felt the Dark seize and fling him into the unforgiving rock, the power of the Togorian's hatred slamming into him like an invisible fist. He sprawled, breath leaving him in a grunt. Rhak'an fell like a hawk, the deadly vibroaxe hurtling downward to cleave his foe in half.
The Jedi master twisted away at the last moment, reversed and cut through the haft, separating blade from handle. The Togorian roared, seizing two shivs and lunging in for the kill- but Even had already rolled between his legs and sprang into attack, carving another burning slash across the warlord's hind-end, the slagging armor dripping molten bits onto the earth. With a renewed howl of rage, Rhak'an whirled, raising his hand again, the Dark flickering wrathfully about him.
Even met the assault with his own wall of Force power, and explosive collision of energies which sent them both flying backward – Rhak'an in the direction of the Jedi's ship, Even across the rock strewn plateau.
Writhing in pain as his armor fragmented into hot melting shards which stuck to his fur and flesh, Rhak'an sprang up again, calling out a terrible curse in his native tongue. He pounded toward the ramp of the stolen vessel, thin knife clutched in his massive hand. Even lunged forward, covering the space between them in mighty leaps - but too late.
Anakin Skywalker appeared in the open hatchway, training saber hissing to life in his small hand, running full tilt toward the approaching warlord. The Padawan sprang down the ramp to meet the Togorian at its foot, his small weapon flashing dangerously, blocking the warlord's strikes, twisting to knock the shiv out of his hand. But the young Jedi had seriously underestimated his foe; in a moment Rhak'an had used the Force to lift him off his feet and send him hurtlilng into the ship's hull.
Even closed in just as the Togorian seized the boy by the throat and lifted him high into the air.
"Drop your weapon, Jedi!" the panting warlord demanded, whirling to face his enemy, dangling the struggling child at the end of one arm. "Is this skinny cur a pup of your clan? The Jedi are a puny and feeble people indeed. Yield or I will snap its neck!"
Even caught the flare of panic in the boy's eyes, the sudden knowledge that death hovered near, waiting to claim him, the instinctive fear as his vision and hearing began to fade under the pressure constricting his neck. The Jedi master cautiously laid his saber hilt on the ramp at his feet, raising his hands in a placating gesture.
"Vo! Vo! Dere's no need to kill a child. Put him down. Vat kind of a varrior depends on such dishonorable tactics?"
The Togorian shook with black mirth, not noticing the 'saber's gentle slide up the ramp, between his boots, into the hold of the ship beyond. "The Jedi sorcerer has taught me well," he sneered. "Prama itself is a lover of treason, and metes out death without mercy or – aaaaaaargh!"
The arm gripping the Skywalker boy parted from its owner's body in a flash of green fire; the Padawan dropped gasping to the hard deck; Rhak'an lurched backward into the hatch framework, clutching at his arm stump; and Obi Wan stumbled a little, pale, half-snarling face highlighted in weird greens by the glow of Even's short 'saber.
In the next instant, the pirate had launched himself at his assailant, his one remaining hand closing hard about the Jedi's windpipe. The 'saber dropped clattering to the decks, then flew into Even Piell's outstretched hand. Anakin Skywalker pushed onto his knees, crying out in renewed horror; and Master Piell soared over his head in a tight somersault, bringing his blade around in a tight arc, neatly carving Rhak'an's head from his shoulders.
They landed in a heap; Obi Wan on the bottom, the Togorian's heavy corpse in the middle, and Even Piell on top. The warlord's severed head rolled to a stop near the overwrought Padawan, flesh and fur stinking as they smoldered and sent up a thin smoke-trail.
Anakin kicked it away with a guttural cry of disgust and hurried forward to help the dwarf Jedi drag the cumbersome body off his master.
"Anakin," Obi Wan groaned. That was stupid."
"I'm sorry, master, I'm sorry.!"
Even Piell clipped his saber at his belt, and watched in grim amusement as the Padawan buried his blonde head against his injured mentor's chest. Obi Wan patted the boy's back once or twice, and then let his head drop back, eyes closing in exhaustion.
The descending whine of another ship's drives made itself heard outside. With a shake of his head at the pathetically sobbing Skywalker boy, he hurriedly descended the ramp to greet the newcomers.
There were far too many voices, and they were all talking about him. As though he weren't present. It was appallingly rude. Obi Wan dragged open his eyes a fraction, aware that someone had managed to drag Anakin off his chest, and that among the murmuring voices was Even Piell's. The dwarfish master was watching him warily, a half-humorous twinkle in his one open eye.
"Dese people are from the Bograsshi medcenter, my boy, and you are going to co-voperate."
Not if he had anything to say about it. The last thing he needed right now – on top of dismembered Togorians, failing stabilizer arrays, illness, injury, and a flagrantly disobedient Padawan – was the aggravation of dealing with medics. "Master," he ground out hoarsely. "There's no need –"
"Dat's enough," the dwarfish Jedi interrupted, his face swimming in and out of focus. His scarred eye drooped in a fiendishly obstinate scowl, and his shining scalp reflected the painfully bright lights. "Your Padavan has plenty of defiance for two. Let's see von of you show a little respect for authority, eh?"
Obi Wan closed his eyes, too weary to press his point, breathing deeply through a fresh wave of sickening pain. On the whole, it would be easier to simply pass out again – but the sudden appearance of three other figures behind Master Piell yanked his awareness back to the unpleasant reality of the moment. One of the blurred silhouettes was a spindly medical droid. It leaned over him predatorily, thin arms waving in hungry anticipation.
"Are you experiencing any discomfort?" its soothing vocabulator warbled.
He peered at it sardonically and gestured vaguely with one hand, from head to foot. "This hurts," he grunted.
The droid had no sense of humor whatsoever, of course, and promptly laid into him with a vengeance, poking and prodding and passing bioscanners over him to its cybernetic heart's content. Its assistants were both humanoids – persons of uncertain age and gender, swathed in the sterile sacking of medcenters everywhere, nearly as impersonal as the droid.
He craned his head to one side, trying to keep Even Piell in his line of vision. "Anakin," he said, willing the small master to understand.
"I'll take care of him," Master Piell promised gruffly. "I've dealt vit harder cases. In the meantime, you need to vorry about healing. I vant you in good shape for the Council report for this mission. Ve've got a lot to talk about, hm?"
Even Piell's humor was as two-sided as the rest of him – frowning and smiling at the same time. "Wonderful," Obi Wan muttered. He could hardly wait.
The droid did something or other – without permission – and the world dissolved into a welcome oblivion, into the soft, golden embrace of the Force.