Lineage VIII
Chapter 25
The courtroom was packed to overflowing.
"No finer entertainment to be found in the Core," Obi-Wan grumbled, peering through the observation balcony window at the eager crowd. "Even at the Coruscant Opera House."
Qui-Gon settled pensively behind him. "Hm."
"We should have purchased season tickets, master. We've been missing out on culture."
"Relax, Padawan. The outcome will not be swayed by your irony."
The young Jedi subsided, folding himself down beside his teacher and scowling at the Judge's bench. The jury had not yet returned to its place, still sequestered in the chambers reserved for deliberation. The defendant's counsel table stood empty, Zan Arbor presumably kept under prison guard in an adjacent security holding cell.
Murderess. The Force was thick with it, cloying and choking. And yet, even as he suffocated on the fact, he felt nothing. There was no grief. There was only….purpose. There was only the next strike and counterstrike in an endless battle, the sempiternal struggle between Light and Dark, true death and false life. Whatever the jury's decision, whatever penalty exacted from the maleficent woman in the dock, this was no real and substantial battleground, no place of veritable judgment.
That would come later, as the Force willed. It was not limited to such decrepit and corrupt means of atonement. Balance would come whether the public willed it or not, no matter how many bribes and threats had tarnished the Republic's high courts. He glanced sideways, at Qui-Gon Jinn. Would the Jedi master approve such a pointed quest? He had announced that they would seek out the shaman of the Whills. But why could they not also seek out Syfo-Dyas, the rotting cancer at the center of their world's rot? Surely wisdom and justice walked hand in hand, their purposes in no way countermanding the other. What must be known and what must be done were, after all, but two aspects of the same Force that guided their every thought and deed. And surely the sage and compassionate Jedi master would understand this. Surely he would recognize that his apprentice harbored a deep yearning of his own, a sense of duty laid upon him by that which commanded them both.
Obedience bound him to Qui-Gon and to the Force at once. And he was content in that double yoke, secure in its welcome trammels. He could follow the dictates of his master and the Light, for was not the former a mere vessel of the other and greater authority?
They would seek the Whills. And they would destroy Sifo-Dyas. The Force willed it; and theirs was an alliance specially formed and shaped to render such a service. Just as Master Dooku had intimated.
"Master," he said, quietly.
The tall man met his gaze, feeling intuitively what was left unspoken. A smile warmed the lined grey eyes, a tiny glint of acknowledgment, of encouragement.
Outside their quiet watchman's post, the court had erupted into renewed energy. Zhuddi reappeared behind the bench, the bailiff called all rise, the defendant and the prosecutor took their places, the jury and their foreman filed into their row of waiting seats. The audience stirred, restive and expectant.
"Order! Order in the court!"
The Jedi leaned forward, entranced by the same spell that bound the curious multitude.
"Mister Foreman, has the jury reached a verdict?"
Zan Arbor remained impassive, almost smug, as serene and self-possessed as any Knight of the Order.
"We have, your honor."
"And in this matter of the People versus Doctor Jenna Zan Arbor, what determination has the jury reached?"
The foreman's antennae twisted ruefully. "We have debated the matter at great length, your honor, and we have concluded that there is insufficient evidence to merit a conclusive guilty verdict on the charges of attempted murder, imprisonment, torture, assault with intent to great bodily harm, illegal sentient experimentation, kidnapping, and conspiracy."
Zhuddi banged her gavel to restore order once again.
"And what have you determined regarding the charge of failure to obtain informed consent for medical procedures?"
A hesitance, in which the foreman cast a nervous glance in the indicted scientist's direction. "Ahem… the jury has reached a conclusion, your honor. We find Doctor Arbor guilty of violating the Republic's privacy and consent protocols while on Telos."
The Judge leaned back in her chair. "Jenna Zan Arbor. You have heard the verdict handed down by a jury of your peers, in this court today. As supreme authority, by the power invested in me by the Senate of the Galactic Republic, I hereby sentence you to payment of a fine in the amount of twenty thousand credits, and to the completion of five hundred hours community service within Republic boundaries. May I add, the neglect of proper paperwork is not an offense which this court or the people of the Republic take lightly. A second offense on your part will be met with strict reprisals."
Obi-Wan clamped his gaping jaw shut.
"Yes, your honor. I will take every pain to remedy the oversights."
The Padawan waved the audio-feed to its mute setting, swiveling about in his seat. "Twenty thousand credits?" he repeated, a tidal wave of feeling threatening to penetrate the numbing wall of blankness that had taken up residence in his soul. "Community service?"
Qui-Gon Jinn exhaled, mouth pressed into a thin line of disgust.
Obi-Wan stood. "I'm done here." His calling was elsewhere.
The Jedi master followed him onto his feet. "Yes. We are finished."
Their path lay elsewhere, far from this madding farce. It ran from the Temple's steps to some unknown destination, along whatever route the Force revealed. But it had no origin or destination here, where folly and corruption reigned in undisputed tyranny.
They had tasted failure before, but this was not their failure. It was the Republic itself that floundered and sank beneath its own weight, perjured itself in its own court, betrayed those that had laid down a thousand generations of life for its preservation.
There was nothing left to feel, and so the momentous revelation passed like a scudding cloud, like the drifting debris about a long-defunct star.
"There will be reporters everywhere," Obi-Wan warned as they descended the stairs at a brisk clip.
"It cannot be avoided," Qui-Gon grunted.
And indeed, it could not. The Jedi were the first to leave the building, and so the first to be assaulted by the cambots and ravenous gossip-mongers.
"Padawan Kenobi!" the voice of Baro Spekkopolos shrilled above the clamoring mob. "A comment on today's verdict? A credit for your thoughts!"
The Padawan paused, a half-pace behind Qui-Gon. "The Court has fulfilled its ordained purpose admirably," he told the reporter. "And I, contrary to accepted custom in the judiciary sector, cannot accept the proffered credit. Our Code forbids it." A short bow. "Good evening, Mr. Spekkopolos." And he swept away, tucking hands into opposite sleeves.
Nonplussed, the journalist shrugged and turned away toward the courthouse entrance and the tide of new arrivals, in search of less ambiguous commentary and a more alluring angle for his early evening special edition report.
There were several messages waiting for Qui-Gon on the public holo-comm receiver in their quarters. Obi-Wan tossed his cloak over the nearest meditation cushion, flicked the device to playback mode, and wandered into the adjacent kitchen to prepare tea.
"…sorry to inform you that your request for access to these files and artifacts is subject to Council approval," the droning monotone of a Temple Archivist droid burbled. Obi-Wan crushed the dried leaves into the cermaplast pot, waving a hand to delete the message.
"Hey, Qui-Gon ol' buddy!" Dexter Jettster's stentorian tones rumbled through the small common area. "Looks like I mighta got me a little place over in CoCo Town. Thanks for the real estate tip. Don't know how you do these things or where ya get your contacts." Obi-Wan filled the pot with scalding water, agreeing wholeheartedly with Dex's bemusement. Still, it was good news that the Besalisk had found a property to establish his own private business enterprise. "I'll have you and that bottomless pit o yers over for a bit of grub when I get the place set up."
Frowning over this last declaration, the Padawan set the pot to steep. Bottomless pit, was it? Apparently Dex had never met Reeft.
"For the last time, Qui-Gon Jinn, your request is highly irregular. If you would like to discuss the matter personally, I am available between the hours of sunset and sunrise every day. May the Force be with you."
He spared a silent snort of amusement for Madame Nu's irate blue image, which pursed its lips and folded its hands primly into opposite sleeves before disappearing in a fizzle of blue light. He set the tea down on the table, staring at a ring-shaped stain where Tahl's customary cup had sat and grown tepid countless times over the passing years, and the place where a sizeable chunk had been burned out on that day of infamy when he had…
The next message began playing behind him as he brooded upon the low table's innumerable scars and memorial scratches.
"Master Jinn," a measured female voice addressed the holo-cam. "I am sorry to disturb you once again. I depart for the Mid Rim in two days aboard the Sojourner; I shall not have opportunity to seek you out before then."
Obi-Wan turned and studied the small blue effigy intently, eyes tracing over the face again and again, a line slowly deepening between his brows.
"I wish merely to remind you of the promise you made, and of my humble desire to see such a meeting transpire, if it can be arranged in a manner at all convenient to you." A pause, in which the unnamed woman raised a hand to make some adjustment to the combs holding her coiled hair in place. "I believe you are, besides a Jedi and a man of honor, not immune to the anxieties of a mother or father's heart. Or so I would like to believe."
The woman was on the small side, middle aged, well-spoken, intelligent, and poised. And her eyes and voice were…
He deleted the message before the speaker could finish her polite farewells. A hand thrust through his bristled hair left it standing in indignant spikes. A few deep centering breaths returned his pulse to a sedate rhythm.
And then the door opened behind him.
"Is the tea ready?"
"Almost, master." His eyes remained fixed on the empty space where, a moment earlier, he had looked upon-
"Messages?" Mercifully, Qui-Gon did not seem to notice his perturbation, so preoccupied was the Jedi master with other matters.
"I …ah, Dex has purchased a property in CoCo Town."
Qui-Gon settled at the table and poured for two. "Excellent. What has you so disturbed?"
Or not. It was impossible to deceive the man. Obi-Wan raised his brows, throwing up a humorous defensive shield. "Beyond the obvious? Madame Nu called to deny some request of yours… She was quite aggravated, master - and indicated that she would release the records to your custody only if you publicly grovel before her and walk the length of the Archives main aisle on your knees."
The tall man's eyes narrowed. He took a preliminary sip. "Then it is fortunate I have a Padawan to whom I may delegate such tasks."
"Yes, master, I am sure your aging joints would ill tolerate such undeserved abuse."
Another sip of tea. "And I am likewise sure your impertinent rump would ill tolerate the abuse it so richly deserves."
Safely out of perilously uncharted waters, Obi-Wan folded himself down opposite his mentor and ventured into ones filled with more familiar dangers. "I do not think Madame Nu mentioned that part, master… unless of course it is a standing arrangement between you." A demurely lowered gaze as he raised his own cup.
Qui-Gon swallowed down a hot mouthful, clearing his throat forcibly, before answering with his next feint and thrust…. But no counterstrike followed, the mirthful dancing in the Force crashing down about their heads with an abrupt finality. The tall man sighed.
"Forgive me, master… it was meant as – I intended no disrespect." Miserably, the Padawan bowed his head.
"No matter," Qui-Gon assured him, heavily. "Perhaps another time."
After that they finished the tea in silence, and then meditated together yet each alone, and the message and its messenger were forgotten in dull march of empty hours.
Master Huyang was pleased to see him again.
"Ah, there you are. I thought perhaps you had abandoned your latest project, which would be a shame. A Jedi finishes what he starts, you know."
"Yes, master, I know." He knew.
The hilt and focusing chamber were complete already, the housing for the 'saber's heart ready to receive its crystal. He laid his own weapon down upon the floor, before his knees, and set the new one beside it, a more compact variation on the original, its fitting mate. And then he sank deep into the Force, where Master Huyang's solicitous presence could not follow. Expert or not, the droid was left behind, outside in the realm of the material and fallible.
He lingered in his inner sanctuary for a long moment, puzzled – with some distant part of his mind – that the Force itself seemed this morning to bear the faint aroma of spicy beans and djo, a strange incense to be sure, but one so weighted with association and memory that its ephemeral echo left him aching, the constricting numbness about his heart easing a trifle. Outside the walls of that shocked nothingness lurked a churning sea, a tempestuous infinity of passion and emotion. But it crashed harmlessly against the shrine of Light, impotent to overwhelm this sacred center of being.
And then he widened his awareness again, allowing the workshop and Master Huyang and the two sabers to encroach upon his solitude. The world appeared suffused with radiance, with the Force that penetrated and bound all things together, and he knew he was ready. The smaller, unfinished 'saber rose from the floor and separated, its components rotating gently, celestial spheres playing out their complex dance about a young star. The turquoise crystal rose and hovered mid-air; the focusing chamber reassembled itself about the delicate shard; the power couplings and insulation and emitter plate and grips and beam modification circuit and the outer hilt, the pommel, the body of this new creation all softly fell into place, united and aloft on a sea of Light.
He inhaled deeply. One mistake and the 'saber would obliterate him the first time he activated it, but there was no fear. Tahl's crystal shifted, edged minutely into the optimal alignment. He moved his hands, signaling completion; the disparate pieces fused together, melding into a whole, into his new-born shoto blade.
The crystal is the heart of the blade, the Jedi is the crystal of the Force, the Force is the blade of the heart.
Reverently, he reached out to grasp the completed weapon in his left hand, his right lifting the kenilum still waiting on the floor. He rested, the two sabers gripped loosely in his hands upon his knees, and exhaled again. Slowly, slowly, he released the Light and opened his eyes.
Master Huyang was leaning over, apparently entranced. "Well done," the droid burbled. "I must say, you are a natural."
Obi-Wan stood, and fastened both weapons at his belt, one to either side. "Thank you, master," he replied, making the droid a bow. He had room in his heart to spare courtesy to the pompous but innocuous workshop overseer.
"It is nearly sunset," Huyang observed. "I presume you will be attending tonight's ceremony."
He nodded, facing the exit and the ceremony that awaited, armed body and spirit.
Qui-Gon lit the pyre.
Not one of the many Jedi present in the Hall of remembrance remarked upon the choice of persons to fulfill this duty. Tahl's former master having long ago preceded her into the Force, and her two grown and Knighted apprentices being posted in remote journey mission territories in the Rims, the role fell naturally to some close associate. Qui-Gon Jinn was a well-respected member of the Order, a compassionate soul and a friend to many even outside the ranks of the Jedi.
They were known to have been comrades, to have spent innumerable hours debating the finer points of Temple philosophy, to have undertaken delicate missions as a very effective team in their younger years. If Obi-Wan knew more, he held his peace.
Mace Windu's rolling voice intoned the traditional words of the funeral ceremony. The tiered rows of spectators, solemn witnesses to this final parting, circled the central platform with cowls raised and cloaks fastened over pale tunics, a convocation of orphans, of those grafted into a millennia long lineage. When the rites had been completed, many remained behind in quiet meditation.
Obi-Wan stood beside his mentor, watching the ravaging flames finish what Jenna Zan Arbor had started, the immolation of Tahl's mortal frame, gross matter crumbling into ash amid fragrant wood and oil, the luminous being set symbolically free. Beside him Qui-Gon Jinn stood unmoving, mental shields impenetrable, leonine features hidden beneath the deep shadows of his cloak hood.
He, for his part, felt nothing.
The licking tongues of fire danced before his eyes, and deep beneath his ribs, upon the hearthstone of vitality. Shadows slithered and shimmered upon the colonnaded walls, upon the hollowed recesses of his soul. Desiccated flesh and youthful innocence withered, collapsing into rarefied ash, into purest white flame.
There is no death. Had he ever doubted the wisdom of the ancient mantra, he doubted no longer. There was nothing. There was the Force.
They stood sentinel, together and yet each alone, until the pyre's consuming flames had sung the final requiem and smoldered into haunting silence.