Legacy II

Chapter 25

The family's arthritic pets licked Qui-Gon's hands and whined for his attention, tails wagging lackadaisically as they sniffed at his boots and trouser knees, reading what dim narrative of his adventures might be gleaned from subtle scent. He remained patiently waiting, eyes tracing over the groomed and pedicured landscape to either side of the drive, thumbs hooked through his belt, mind sunk deep in the moment, where possibilities bloomed like lotus upon a supernal pond.

Minister Ichiru appeared, with her personal aides and helmeted guard, just after midday. The aircar cavalcade pulled to a halt and disgorged the elaborately coiffed and be-robed head of state, silver hair pulled into a severe sculpture and surmounted by a peculiar headdress. "Daijon Jinn," she greeted the Jedi master, mounting the creaking steps with great dignity

The beasts bayed loudly and were apologetically pulled away by Kashi-Tan, who popped out of the open doorway to effect this small service.

Tamasu ushered his honored guest into his home personally, wishing much peace upon her coming and guiding the entire retinue into a formal parlor on the first floor. The droid served tea, handing round the exquisite ceremonial bowls with exacting form, and retired into a corner to await further instruction.

"You have good news," the premier said, when the niceties had been completed.

Qui-Gon inclined his head. "Moderately good. The organization responsible for Senator Mushibi's death, and the further attacks here on Terajon, has been indentified and its local seat of operations neutralized. I think it unlikely that the group will attempt further terrorism on this system, at least in the foreseeable future, having shown their hand early, and to Jedi witnesses."

Ichiru balanced her bowl upon its delicate saucer. "And the identity of this organization?"

The Jedi master raised his brows. "Will remain classified, as part of a galactic security investigation."

The Prime Minister's composure faltered a trifle, her dander raised by this blithe declaration. "Surely as premier of the Stewardship, I have some right to know who is responsible for such villainy?"

"I am sorry. The Jedi Council will report to the Chancellor's office; you may sue for further disclosure through official channels."

Ichiru's mouth thinned. "I see." Too wise to press a losing agenda, she shifted tactics. "I may, then, stand assured that the secessionist propaganda originated with this off-world group? It is inconceivable that Terajon should be the origin of such dishonor and scandal."

The tall man set his bowl upon the inlaid table. "If, as you say, it is inconceivable, then that is the only possible conclusion."

Tamasu Kenobi remained stolidly reticent, the demure host.

"Good." The premier rose, gowns rustling."You have brought great lightness to my heart, and served the Stewardship well, Master Jinn. You have our gratitude."

The Jedi master rose, making his formal bow. "We come to serve."

"Daijon Kenobi," Ichiru smiled. "Perhaps you will escort me about your gardens? It is a lovely day."

The family patriarch bowed his acquiescence and proffered his arm. "At your leisure, Daijon."

They filed out through the double doors leading onto the back gardens, an elegant procession as pruned and trellised as any plant growing by the orderly wayside of their chosen path. Qui-Gon watched them amble into the herbarium maze and then headed upstairs on his own errand.

The medic was a short but robust man, silver hair bound in a long plait down his back, a wide sleeved healer's robe tossed nonchalantly over wiry shoulders.

"Daijon Kaimaru," the tall Jedi greeted him upon the landing. "Are your patients well?"

The energetic doctor shooed his droid assistant out of the nearest doorway and folded his hands. "The daijisa is resting peacefully, and Iko-Re – that hopeless scamp – his head is hard enough to withstand a harder blow than that. We'll monitor him closely of course.. concussion is tricky business… but I feel confident that he will recover nicely, so long as we can keep him down long enough. I remember once when he had the Dengar flu as a wee lad, he wouldn't stay in bed for the life of him, it drove his mother quite to distraction. A sign of things to come," he added, with a small chuckle.

"You have known the family a great many years."

Kaimaru waved a hand. "Every daiso in this sector, thirty two years and more. The modern medcenters are becoming more common, alas – but the old ways still exist here among the better families. Certainly this one. I delivered all three boys, for that matter - oh dear, I may have said too much, very few know about… but perhaps, you being a Jedi –"

The tall man smiled. "On that topic, I wonder whether you might have a look at my companion."

The garrulous doctor brought his wandering attention back to center. "Yes, of course – however I may be of service. But Tamasu said his two sons… is Kashi-Tan injured as well? I saw 'Owen earlier, he was hale and hearty. Nobody said anything about….oh. Ohhh."

Qui-Gon raised his brows and opened the last door on the left. "I will stay; you may require reinforcements," he grimly predicted.

"Stars' end," Kaimaru breathed, entering the dimly lit room. "How time flies. And to think…." He bent over the bed's sleeping occupant, laying two fingers over a pulse-point.

The young Jedi stirred groggily, gaze drifting vaguely about the unfamiliar surroundings until it lighted on Qui-Gon's face. "…Nng?"

The older man smiled. "No. Terajon. This is Medic Kaimasu."

The word "medic" had a predictable effect: in the next instant, Obi-Wan was bolt upright, the thumb of his right hand almost imperceptibly twitching forward, the tiny motion required to hit a 'saber's activation switch. Qui-Gon chuckled richly, and shoved his friend back down against the luxuriant pillows. "Relax."

Kaimasu for his part bobbed up and down upon the soles of his feet and beamed paternalistically. "Well, this is a most pleasant surprise. It has been a long, long time since I've laid eyes on you, Bibi-Wan."

Confusion flashed in the Force, even as Obi-Wan shot a suspicious glare at the Jedi master, whose grey eyes crinkled merrily at the corners.

The tall man spread his hands, proclaiming his innocence.

"I.. have not the honor of your acquaintance," the young Jedi hoarsely insisted, "Though you seem to know me." Another accusing glance at Qui-Gon.

Kaimasu summoned his droid assistant forward. "If you will permit, Master Jedi….?" He paused, mischievously. "I assume I will not need to ask the daijisa to hold you down, hm?"

"I can act as proxy," the Jedi master interjected, mouth quirking.

"You can try," his former apprentice grumbled, nonetheless meekly submitting to the indignity of the droid's scanners and prodding.

Kaimasu tutted and muttered over the lengthy readouts. "Stars' end… this is outside my general scope… but let's see… yes, I think…." He peered at his patient critically. "How are you feeling, may I ask?"

Obi-Wan cocked a defiant brow at Qui-Gon and blandly assessed his own condition. "Like a scorched bantha turd, thank you."

Kaimasu's eyes widened but he ventured no comment upon the deliberately uncivilized turn of phrase. "Toxemia… nerve inflammation.. yes, yes, I shall send away for some things. In the meantime, you stay put. And sleep . I can prescribe a very effective-"

"No need," Obi-Wan dismissed him. "My humble thanks."

Kaimasu was oblivious to the irony. "It's not every day I have a Jedi under my care… but then, we're old friends. He was a very healthy infant, you know. Fat and rosy cheeked, bawled fit to wake the dead- good pair of lungs on him, eh." He packed away the droid's equipment again and bumbled out, leaving the subject of this discourse in fulminating silence.

"Fat and rosy cheeked," Qui-Gon mused, unsuccessfully disguising his amusement.

Obi-Wan crossed his arms, narrowed eyes sliding sideways. "He's going to send for some things." A hearty snort. "I'm done here." He made a concerted effort at escape, flinging aside the synth-fiber quilts and springing to his feet with a small grunt. He made it a full three paces toward the door before his knees buckled; Qui-Gon deftly maneuvered him back to the palette's edge.

"We are far from done here," he replied, sinking down beside his young friend.

Obi-Wan stewed in his own thoughts for a long minute, arms crossed over his bare chest, feverish skin goose-pimpling in the cool air. "We should submit a report to the Council and hand over the mission to another team."

The tall man's brows rose. "That is my decision, in respect of seniority."

A prolonged scowl. Then, "Master. I have seen and heard enough. It is not appropriate for me to remain here, under this roof, while- "

"While I complete the mission objective? The elections must proceed, Obi-Wan; and I am duty bound to see them through to an equitable resolution. That is why we are here. Anything else is secondary."

"I cannot speak to her again."

Qui-Gon looked askance at his former student. "Who? Zan Arbor?"

"Daijisa Kenobi."

Ah. He exhaled slowly.

But the Yamalsa calming breath did not suffice for two. "This was your star-forsaken idea, Qui-Gon." A burning pause, in which the young Jedi's glower bored into the opposite wall. "Your project. Your need. Your desire to thwart the Precepts. I bent my own principles for you, and I've tasted the fruits of such false compassion. I erred, and I accept the burden of that error, but do not lecture me about the folly of the Code when its wisdom is burning in my veins." He hunched forward, curling around some immaterial and aching wound.

The tall Jedi reached a hand sideways, to rest upon the young man's knee. "Bitterness does not lend clarity," he warned.

"Clarity?" Obi-Wan scoffed. He was shaking now, agitation enhancing the baleful effect of fever. "Had I not been blinded by this… sentimental agenda of yours – had I not allowed myself to wallow in attachment- I would have seen. I would have sensed their deception, found the conspiracy, sensed that Mushibi's accomplices would be the target, discovered that secret data crystal, perhaps saved it from destruction. We might have been led to New Dawn's patron, uprooted the whole filthy operation! I might have hunted down Zan Arbor. And …"

"Killed her yourself?" That was a dangerous thought, one redolent of Dooku's haughty outlook.

"She's dead anyhow."

But it was perhaps recklessly optimistic to suppose such a thing. They had survived the lunar base's destruction; there was no reason to think the wicked scientist's luck had abandoned her, either. Qui-Gon tightened his grip on the young Jedi's knee. "You are ill. This is fever speaking."

"NO!" Obi-Wan leapt up again, eyes ablaze with self-contempt. "This is my failure speaking! You urged me to seek out my birth origins, my family, My roots. I have, Master, and I find them vile and dishonorable, weak and corrupted. And I –" he sought words, vainly. "I was prepared to embrace them. My own pathetic life forms." He looked away, then sagged against the wall. "….Forgive me. I need to meditate. I need-"

"You need to sleep. Medic Kaimasu was right."

Obi-Wan rested his head against the wall, miserably. "Forgive me. I …I am shaming myself."

"You are growing into wisdom," Qui-Gon corrected him, placidly. "It is natural to stumble on such a narrow path." They would face this obstacle, this sharp turning in the road, together. When the moment was right. With the Force as guide and support. But now was not that time, soon though the reckoning of accounts must be. Obi-Wan was still too fresh from the ordeal, or he would not exhibit such unembarrassed passion. How very, very deep ran the rivers of his conviction – a cataract of vital energy only rarely glimpsed, less often acknowledged.

"I need to meditate."

"You need to rest."

"We're saying the same thing."

Qui-Gon released his vexation on a long breath, and folded himself onto the floor in meditation posture. His recalcitrant young friend knelt beside him, shivering. They closed their eyes, reached for the Force's soothing currents, and plunged into the ethereal stream of being and becoming, that which surrounded them, penetrated them, bound all things together.

If, within the span of five minutes, Obi-Wan slumped gently sideways against the Jedi master's shoulder, his barely achieved trance melting into simple, restorative sleep, Qui-Gon merely interpreted this as the Force's generous affirmation that he was, in accord with his not-quite-renounced masterly prerogatives, right.

"I told you so," he murmured, smugly.