Chapter 33
General and Commander
Long after the sun had gone down, Bant had organized a little trip out of the Temple to the Dizzy Mynock. It was a mid-level bar, not too upscale, and not too seedy; it was a place they'd all gone as soon as they were of legal age to drink. After sending Vader to bed, Obi-Wan left the Temple to rendezvous with his old comrades.
They'd all beaten him there. Bant was sipping at some Mon Calamarian wine, Garen had a glass of dark brown Chandrilan ale, Siri fingered a tall glass of some kind of clear alcoholic drink with little pink berries floating in it, and Quinlan had a squat glass of something greenish sitting near his hand. Obi-Wan slipped into the booth with them and keyed in an order for some blue Corellian whiskey.
"Ah, Obi-Wan!" Bant greeted cheerfully. "Now we're all here."
"First time in a long time," Garen remarked.
"Yes," Obi-Wan smiled slightly and a server droid delivered him his whiskey.
Quinlan fixed Obi-Wan with a curious look. "Tell me, Obi-Wan…what happened to your Padawan's hand?"
"His hand?" Siri frowned.
"His right hand was recently replaced with a mechanical prosthesis," Obi-Wan informed her. "He lost it on Geonosis."
"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that," Bant blinked. "If he has any problems, bring him to me."
"I will," Obi-Wan promised.
"What exactly happened to him on Geonosis?" Garen inquired curiously.
"We attempted to stop Count Dooku from fleeing the planet and we were…less than successful," Obi-Wan replied dryly. "Vader was beaten down more soundly than I was."
Quin leaned in. "The two of you went head-to-head with Dooku?"
"And survived?" Siri added disbelievingly.
"Yes," Obi-Wan shrugged and sipped at his drink.
They all stared at him with varying degrees of shock and awe.
"So…what?" Siri frowned thoughtfully after a few minutes. "Vader rushes in, gets his hand lopped off, you save him, and then you get knocked out?"
"Not quite," Obi-Wan responded stiffly. "He jumped the gun, was brushed aside with a burst of Sith lightning, I interceded, Dooku cut me on my arm and leg and was about to finish me, Vader then interceded, they dueled for a while, then Vader lost his hand, and then Master Yoda had to save us both."
Garen let out a low whistled. "Wow! That sounds like some duel."
"Yes," Obi-Wan sighed grimly. "It was."
Siri stared down into her glass. "I had no idea…"
Perhaps that will be enough to soften you and your Padawan's views on him, Obi-Wan mused.
"Do you think your Padawan will be all right?" Bant asked. "Do you think he'll be able to handle going off to war?"
"I don't know," Obi-Wan admitted wearily. "I hope so. But I just don't know."
Bright and early the next morning, Vader slunk down to the machine shop to finish constructing his new lightsaber. Most Jedi, under ideal conditions, would take a month or perhaps even more to build their weapon; carefully designing it to reflect their personality and pausing throughout construction to meditate deeply on it. But, not only did he lack such incredible patience to do all that, he was in a hurry, and he had the skills to build high quality things very quickly.
For most of the morning hours and into the early afternoon, he expertly machined the cylindrical outer components of his new saber hilt. Then it was a simple matter of putting the two parts together; attaching the interior parts he'd put together on the long flight back from Naboo to the inside of the newly created hilt shell. And when that was done, only the final step remained: testing it.
Lightsabers were very precise weapons. If the components were incorrectly assembled or if the focusing crystal was not properly aligned, the weapon would either not work or it would explode. In no mood to lose another hand, he gave the newly completed saber to one of the test droids, a robot whose only purpose was to turn on a lightsaber, run it through a few paces, and then give it back.
"Success," Vader smirked a few minutes later as he watched the primitive droid give the new sapphire blade a few experimental twirls.
When the droid had completed its routine, it gave him the weapon back and turned itself off. Vader ran his fingers over the hilt for a moment before hooking it onto his belt. The weight of it bouncing against his hip was comforting, he'd sorely missed it.
Well now what? he wondered as he ambled out of the machine shop in the bowels of the Temple. Done with the lightsaber… Should I go to the training halls?
He gazed down at his right hand and slowly flexed the golden fingers. No, he decided. I think I need to do some modifications first.
Thinking back to that pathetic mock-duel on Naboo, and the more recent delicate mechanical work on his lightsaber, he found the dexterity of his new appendage to be lacking. The wrist was stiff and the fingers sometimes would stick for a minute or two. Being the prodigy with machines that he was, he intended to correct these minor problems before they flared up into a bigger problem.
After catching a snack in the cafeteria, he returned to his room where he kept his tools. While Jedi were not really paid, they were granted an allowance. Padawans didn't get very much, Knights received a little more, and Masters earned a little more than that. Most saved up their money for emergencies or to decorate their quarters. He used his to buy tools.
At first, when his tool collection was new and small, he didn't have much to do with it. He'd done a little tweaking of Orbie's circuits, and sabotaged a few droids for kicks, but that was about it. But, every now and then, he'd work up the nerve to slink out of the Temple late at night to sort through the trash heap for broken things to fix. Sometimes he'd find components to put in Orbie, and other times he'd just find broken things he could fix to amuse himself.
Walking into his room, he had to duck as Orbie almost crashed into his head. "Hey, watch it you!"
Orbie whistled some cheerful apology and darted around him to dart around the common room of the apartment.
Okay, maybe I tinkered with his electronic brain just a little teeny bit too much. Shaking his head, he flopped down at his desk and pulled out his box of tools. Note to self: Do not mess with Orbie anymore. Instead, transfer need for fixing/modification to my new Delta-7.
He laid his right arm out on the table, rolled up his sleeves, and stared at the golden thing as he pondered on how to proceed. This thing is so damn creepy! A shudder wracked him as he contemplated the join between the stump of his biological arm and the droid replacement. Grow up Skywalker! Just think of it as a machine, not a part of your own body…
Swallowing hard, he opened the tiny access panel near the base of the prosthetic and started to study the mechanisms in detail, looking for any way at all to improve the function…
Obi-Wan regarded Vader critically from across the sparring mat. The boy had come far in just over three weeks, about a full month since his injury. He wasn't ready for combat yet; he was still far too vulnerable on his right side. But, at the rate that he was going, in another few weeks Obi-Wan felt that he would be ready.
Well, at least physically ready. Whether Vader could handle the mental and emotional strain of prolonged battle, Obi-Wan didn't know. Outwardly, Vader seemed stable enough, but beneath that façade he knew that it was a different story.
Behind all the curses, glares, defiant behavior, and sulky attitude, was a fragile mind. He'd seen glimpses of it, most especially in their early days together. After some stressful situation – a fight, an animal attack, an explosion, anything unexpected, really – Vader would look shaken, almost sick, and would general seek solitude if he could, lash out verbally if he couldn't.
Vader appeared to be much better recently, but his vulnerability remained. The level of depression following his maiming on Geonosis was a good indication of just how fragile his mind could be. Obi-Wan had expected him to take his injury hard, but the depth of the young man's despair had surprised him.
But, with a little comforting and encouragement, Vader was back on track and rising to the challenge again. With his new lightsaber constructed, he threw himself into training to adjust to his new hand. Every day he worked himself into exhaustion with katas and drills and spars. Obi-Wan couldn't decide whether to be impressed by Vader's intense dedication or worried by his obsessive practicing.
With a fractional nod, the match was on and Vader charged him with an aggressive lunge. Obi-Wan easily countered with his Soresu style, weaving a tight defense against Vader's more offensive style. Originally, Vader had focused his lightsaber studies on the laser fire-blocking Shien style of Form V, but now he was beginning to incorporate maneuvers from the more lightsaber-on-lightsaber-oriented Djem So styling of Form V.
A consequence of the duel with Dooku, no doubt, Obi-Wan mused as he continued to efficiently turn aside Vader's lightsaber strikes. When before all he cared about was knocking aside blaster bolts, now he worries about deadly lightsaber duels and so modifies his combat style accordingly.
Obi-Wan let the duel drag on. The longer the fight lasted, the more tired and frustrated Vader would get. And that would lead him to make mistakes that Obi-Wan could then exploit.
After many grueling minutes, Obi-Wan spotted the opening he was looking for. He caught Vader's blade with his own, pushed it up, stepped in close, and hooked his leg behind Vader's, knocking the younger man flat on his back. Before Vader could regain his feet and press the attack again, Obi-Wan had the tip of his blade at the young man's throat, trapping him.
"Concede?" Obi-Wan panted.
Vader gave him a venomous look. "I concede," he wheezed.
"Good," Obi-Wan smiled and deactivated his weapon. "How about lunch?"
"Fine," Vader grumbled as he put away his own weapon and staggered to his feet.
"On second thought, shower first and then lunch," Obi-Wan decided after consulting a nearby chronometer and realizing just how long they'd been working.
"Yeah," Vader agreed and dragged a sleeve over his face to wipe away some of the sweat. "I call the shower first."
"You most certainly will not shower first," Obi-Wan frowned and gathered up his cloak. "You'll use up all the hot water."
"Whatever," Vader growled as he picked up his own cloak and trudged after his guardian.
Obi-Wan shook his head and continued on to their quarters. He would get the first shower, not just because Vader would use up all the hot water, but because he was the Master, and that position came with a few perks and privileges. Vader had lived in the Temple with him for just over four years now; he really should be used to this.
Leaving Vader to rest in the common room of their quarters, Obi-Wan slipped in the refresher to shower.
Things were getting ugly out in the galaxy. The war was only one month old and already it was going badly. The Separatists were ready for war while the Republic was not. The Republic was stronger than the Separatists and their Confederacy of Independent Systems, but only two hundred thousand clone soldiers out of their initial order of one million were ready for action and only a fraction of the ships ordered for them were complete. So the Separatists held the advantage while the Republic scrambled to keep up.
After the fighting had erupted on Geonosis, several other flashpoints had flared up. The Republic had targeted Atraken, a mining world of the Confederacy, to try and disrupt the flow of mineral ore to slow the production of battle droids, but the Separatists clung fiercely to the planet and the warrens of mines made it difficult to dig out the enemy. The Trandoshan race jumped in with the Separatists to gain more weapons and support to try and finally conquer Kashyyyk and enslave the Wookiees—a goal they had been working towards since they discovered space travel, and their nearest neighbors. Mirgoshir was now a battlefield, Excarga occupied by the Separatists, and the ancient, ruined Jedi world of Ossus was under threat.
No, things are not looking good at all, Obi-Wan sighed as he let the hot water of the shower soothe his bruises and aching muscles. I don't see how much longer the Council can let us stay in the Temple. They'll be sending us out very soon. The only questions are where and when…
After Vader took his shower, he felt a bit better. A nice, hot shower was one step away from heaven, and it was even better after a long, sweaty work-out. Feeling clean and refreshed, he followed his Master to the cafeteria for lunch.
Obi-Wan led him to a smaller table populated with is friends. Knight Muln and Healer Eerin sat side by side as they discussed a news-fax. Master Tachi sat one seat away, alone; Ferus was nowhere to be seen. And Master Vos was also missing.
"Hey, Obi-Wan," Knight Muln greeted distractedly as he studied some article in the paper. "Glad you could join us."
Obi-Wan shook his head and set his attention to his hot soup. "So, what are the rumors for today?"
"Nothing much new," Healer Eerin the Mon Calamarian shrugged. "Except for one big one that's just been whispered about an hour or two ago."
"Yes," Master Tachi frowned, "something about Supreme Chancellor Palpatine using some of his new executive power to give Jedi military ranks to clear up where we fall in the command structure."
Vader frowned as he speared a meat-stuffed square of pasta with his fork. Say what?
"I thought the hierarchy of command was already clear," Obi-Wan replied. "The clones obey the Jedi commanding them."
"I guess the chancellor just wants to make it official," Knight Muln shrugged.
"Perhaps," Master Tachi snorted. "But the consequences of such a broad act could mean that all Jedi are required to participate in the war, regardless of their personal opinions and beliefs on the matter."
That could be a problem, Vader mused. "Wonderful," he muttered sarcastically.
"My thoughts exactly," Obi-Wan agreed. "If you're right, Siri, this could lead to even more problems."
"I think I am," Master Tachi sighed. "Quin was called up to meet with the Council about a half hour ago. Hopefully he'll be back soon to clear things up."
"Hopefully," Obi-Wan nodded.
Vader munched on his meaty pasta and only half-listened as the conversation drifted onto the more mundane "how was your day?" topic. It was strange to think that, if Master Tachi was correct, he might be given a military rank. He – a runaway slave, coward, and imposter Jedi – might soon be a…a captain…or something like that.
How weird would that be? he wondered.
And then his thoughts shifted to possible deployment. He knew that he and his Master would be sent somewhere, and soon. After a month of laying around in the Temple, he couldn't imagine that the Council would give him much more time to adjust to his new appendage.
I wonder where we'll go… Ossus maybe? That'd be neat.
Wherever they ended up going, he hoped that Dooku wouldn't be there. After Geonosis, he was torn between wanting to kill the old bastard very slowly and painfully and staying as far away from him as possible. Neither choice seemed like a plausible option for him, but he really couldn't think of anything else to do if he ran into the elderly count again.
If I run from him, it would be cowardice. If I try to painfully kill him, it would be revenge. So which sin to commit? Vader idly twirled his braid around one metal finger. Decisions, decisions…
"Hey, Quin!" Master Tachi called, interrupting Vader's thoughts. "What's the word?"
"Not good," Master Vos grumbled as the Kiffar Jedi joined them. "The rumors are true. Chancellor Palpatine has bestowed military ranks on all Jedi of the Order. All Jedi who are currently in the field will by cycled out to officially receive their ranks, and those of us who are already in the Temple will be getting our titles within the next few days."
Oh boy, Vader frowned.
"So what sorts of ranks are being handed out?" Knight Muln asked curiously. "Captain, commander, general?"
"Master and Knights are being made generals," Master Vos answered, "and Padawans are being made commanders."
So what, Vader blinked, I'm Commander Vader now?
"What about Jedi Healers?" Healer Eerin inquired worriedly.
"I'm not sure," Master Vos shrugged. "But I'm sure that you'll be kept very busy soon enough in treating the wounded."
"Of course," the Mon Cal mumbled thoughtfully.
"Obi-Wan, the Council wishes to see you and your Padawan within the hour," Master Vos announced. "Something about your first deployment, I believe."
Great, Vader gulped nervously. This is really it. Vacation time's over. Not that it was really much of a vacation…
"Did you hear anything about where we might be sent?" Obi-Wan asked quietly.
"I heard the name 'Raxus Prime' while I was up there," Master Vos replied.
"Raxus Prime?" Obi-Wan frowned thoughtfully and stroked his beard.
"It's in the Outer Rim," Vader muttered, disgusted. "It's a garbage planet. Big companies dump all their waste there to avoid polluting their own planets." At the surprised looks from around the table, he shrugged. "What? I've heard of it before." Yeah, I've heard that it smells awful there. What the heck do the Separatists want with that place? I don't see them as big recyclers.
"Interesting," Obi-Wan muttered. He glanced at a nearby chronometer and sighed. "Well, Padawan, let's finish up here and pay a visit to the Council. Might as well get it over with quickly."
"Yes, Master," Vader agreed politely and focused on devouring the rest of his lunch. Oh this is going to be fun! …Not.