Possessions
by ardavenport
- - Part 1
Going strictly by the Jedi Code, possessions were forbidden to a Jedi.
This was, of course, completely impractical.
No one denied that Jedi possessed their own lightsabers and that no one outside the Order would try to take them away. At least not without resistance. Practically speaking, they owned their clothes and boots and equipment, and small mementos acquired over the years. But Jedi claimed nothing more than what they wore, and nothing larger than what could be held in hand. They were assigned their own rooms at the Jedi Temple, each a single, plain, utilitarian cell, but it still amounted to an assigned territory, respected by others.
In theory, each Jedi possessed nothing, living unburdened within the Order. In reality, they owned what they carried, on their persons and within their souls. Only the direst circumstances would lead the Jedi Council to strip a Jedi of what little they had, making the 'no possessions' edict true, and paradoxically canceling their vows and status in the Order, and freeing them from that rule entirely.
Master Qui-Gon Jinn sighed as he contemplated this on the way from the nearest public transportation stop and trudged up the many steps to the massive Jedi Temple on Coruscant. His backpack weighed heavy with his new possession. He and his young apprentice reached the top and entered, the huge double doors parting before them.
Other Jedi passed them in the vast hall. Some glanced with sympathy at the disheveled pair; others swiftly avoided them. Their simple mission as peace negotiators had cascaded into new problems full of irritating people with issues scattered all over a series of outer-rim worlds. Qui-Gon's long, brown hair was loose, dirty and stringy, hanging about his face. His robe had been sacrificed three planets ago. His boots were scuffed and he'd been unable to get all of the hardened poswat excrement out from under the straps and fittings on the calves.
Walking next to him, his Padawan, Obi-Wan Kenobi, still had his robe though the hem of it was shredded from a run through a field of iron-spined berry bushes. The extended, multi-part mission had taken so long that his young apprentice had grown in that time; his stained and torn tunic and pants now looked a bit short on him. In addition, his hair was still green, though brown roots showed under the dye. The thin braid behind his left ear had been spared and was its normal color.
Obi-Wan also needed a shave. His new height had brought another sign of maturity that had taken them both by surprise, but Qui-Gon had not shaved his own beard in years, so there was nothing to be done about his Padawan's darkening chin. They had been too busy being ferried between minor disasters to petty catastrophes to find something to do about it, and it was not a good idea to experiment with other species' hygiene implements if you didn't have to. It was not much, mostly uneven, patchy sprouts of hair, but it promised to be a full, thick beard when it developed. Qui-Gon had not said anything, but he was privately pleased by the prospect. Obi-Wan was uncomfortable and he kept rubbing his chin, probing this unaccustomed change.
Neither one of them had their tabards or obis under their belts. They had been used for bandages after a traffic accident with a food cart and a transport full of caged feather-eared kittens with needle sharp little claws.
At the base of a grand staircase, Jedi Master Uln Hosk waited for them, his long, thick gray beard hung far down onto his chest; his arms were crossed and tucked into the sleeves of his dark brown robe. Master Hosk often assigned minor missions for the Council. Initially, this had been a minor mission, before it had become a planet-hopping string of minor crises.
Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan bowed deeply to Master Hosk, whose expression betrayed a little bit of surprise at their appearance. Reports and holograms never truly conveyed the tangible reality of a situation. Or the smell.
"Master Qui-Gon," Hosk began. "I'm looking forward to hearing more about these 'complications' you've been experiencing..." He quoted Qui-Gon's most commonly used euphemism for the delays in their mission.
Qui-Gon folded his arms before him and the husks of some shriveled, many-legged vermin fell out from his sleeves. Both he and Obi-Wan had been properly de-loused at their last stop, but the remains still tended to cling to their clothes. Plus, it had caused a sneezing fit for Obi-Wan. Qui-Gon's blue eyes stared back with that cool Jedi calm that said, 'So you think that you've got something more important than us getting cleaned up first?' Next to him, Obi-Wan sniffled.
"...after you've had time to rest and refresh yourselves," Hosk said, acknowledging the reality before him. Qui-Gon politely inclined his head as he thanked Hosk and excused himself and his Padawan. They headed out of the great hall, passing through an archway to a row of lift tubes. They got a car to themselves as they descended to a lower level of the Temple.
Qui-Gon had to admit that Hosk had every reason to inquire; they were more than a bit overdue. He wondered if the mission might have been shortened if they had used their own ship and not been picked up by the Vertaad government. But Qui-Gon didn't think that this would have cut off the tangle of events that they'd been caught up in. A ship would simply have allowed them to get to and from each disaster faster. Their final transport to Coruscant had been with an untidy family sympathetic to them, but its members had no concept of managing their personal squabbles. They had tried their best to stay away from the domestic fracas (difficult even for Jedi in the confines of a spaceship), but he had been unable to avoid the family's soggy, drippy infant who would not stop howling unless Qui-Gon held her. Qui-Gon still had baby spew stains on the shoulders of his tunic.
They exited into a plain, brightly lit anteroom. Three Jedi and a cluster of younger students stood around a blocky, gray-metal supply droid. One of the children saw them first and soon all eyes stared at them for a moment. Everyone quickly stepped aside and more droids were summoned.
He and Obi-Wan separated to go to private rooms. Qui-Gon happily removed all of his clothes and stuffed them into the trash receptacle, where they would be taken away to be incinerated, he hoped. His belt and equipment would be repaired and what was missing would be replaced. His boots would be properly cleaned and mended; a Jedi did not give up a good pair of boots that fit unless they were absolutely falling apart. In the meantime, the pale gray and yellow patterned plasti-stone floor of the small room was slightly warm and not uncomfortable under his bare feet as he used the facilities.
But there was one thing from his travel pack that he kept, along with his lightsaber, when the droid took the other things away. Wrapped in a layer of textured plastic and plush cloth under that, the Icon of Ylcur was, in a legally-binding way, his possession. Over the millennia, it had been through wars, pestilence, political marriages, small children, carnivorous pets, several floods and now a complicated excursion through nearly the whole Vertaad Union. Its intricate, silvery and translucent surfaces were hardly scratched; it was not fragile. The wrappings actually protected Qui-Gon from the Icon's weight bouncing around in his pack. It also massed about four kilograms including its wrappings and Qui-Gon was quite tired of carrying it around all the time.
He left the Icon still wrapped up on a stand with his lightsaber while he cleaned his teeth and then washed. Qui-Gon tended to his wounds as well as the stale grime; aside from not having been able to bathe properly for too long, he had numerous scratches and bruises. He used the lightly scented soaps, oils and bacta. Sweat, soured perfume, rank compost residue and Fwulak saliva all dissolved and washed away. He dabbed at the tiny, half-healed scratches on his arms made by the angry Keepers of Ylcur who had objected to their leaders' decision about the Icon. It was amazing how sharp those feathers had been.
Qui-Gon selected the proper instruments from a collection meant to accommodate many species and trimmed his hair and beard using wall-mounted and floating mirrors. By the time he had finished, the droid had brought him a new set of clothes. Everything else was still being mended.
He picked up the cream-colored pair of under-shorts from the neatly folded stack. Pale, long-sleeved undershirt, dark brown pants in plain, comfortable fabrics came next. Qui-Gon had asked for exactly the same things that he always wore; the Temple droids had all his measurements. He didn't see any reason to change them.
Qui-Gon slipped the outer tunic on, wrapping and tying the front in place. Jedi did not indulge in sensual pleasures, but he did take a moment to appreciate the fresh smell of the fabric along with the lack of holes, frayed edges and stiffened, discolored stains. After laying the tabards over his shoulders, he evened out how they hung down past the hem of his tunic, front and back, and then he wrapped the obi around his waist, tying everything in place. His gaze fell on the Icon, still sitting on the stand.
To the entire Vertaad Union, Qui-Gon Jinn was not just the custodian of the Icon, he "owned" it along with all its status and privileges, but he didn't feel like it belonged to him any more than the clothes he'd just put on. They were "his" because of convenience, the clothes because no one else wanted them; the Icon because it removed an object of ire and revenge from the midst of the factions that wanted it.
Of course, the Vertaad leaders had known that the complicated reasons for strife on their worlds went deeper that the mere possession of an ancient and revered sacred object. But taking the Icon from Vertaad space had removed some of the excuses for it. The Vertaad advisors had surprised Qui-Gon with their proposal; they had at first seemed to him to be merely a body of entrenched politicos with not a scrap of imagination among them.
He picked up a pair of brown socks. First standing on one leg and then the other, he put them on.
Even if he had known before he had agreed to the scheme how long it would take to ferry the Icon to the planets of the various leaders who could not attend the Grand Council, he still would have had to agree. The separation of the Icon from all parties had completely changed the level of negotiations in the Union; it seemed to make compromise, even between blood enemies, a reality. Unfortunately, too many Vertaad officials and minor royalty seemed to think that the Icon empowered the Jedi to solve all their other problems, too, no matter how strange or foolish. There had also been a few unfortunates who had actually tried to take the Icon from Qui-Gon. Things had gone very badly for them.
The last thing left in the pile was a folded, dark brown robe. Qui-Gon picked it up, letting its full length hang down to the floor. After a moment of figuring out which side was the inside and which the outside, and where the sleeves were in the folds of coarse fabric, he tried it on.
He had liked his old robe. It had been comfortable and worn in a way that new clothes could not imitate. But it had been left as a decoy when he and Obi-Wan had finally extricated themselves from their official escorts and commissioned their own transport back to Coruscant. Qui-Gon suspected that some of the Vertaad leaders had been having trouble letting go of the Icon and were adding things to their itinerary to keep them in the Union.
Qui-Gon adjusted the robe and pulled the hood out from under where it had gotten under the collar. The robe was too long. But that was expected; he could see that it would be just the right length with his boots on. He put the hood up. It smelled new, clean and maybe a little woody. He sighed and took it off. It was technically identical to his old robe, but it would be a little while before it felt the same.
He picked up his lightsaber and sat down on a pale yellow floor cushion to meditate, the weapon laid before him. It had only a few new scratches on its black and silver hilt and he would fix those later. He and Obi-Wan had kept their lightsabers clean and in good order, though with considerable effort. He had never before had to clean a lightsaber of mites and cookie crumbs, or rescue it from the bodice of an oversized female with an ego even larger than her generous body proportions.
He cleared his mind, his gaze resting on the Icon. The Vertaad advisors had quite understood the Jedi Code; they just had not cared about it. All they had needed was an acceptable third party to remove the Icon from the negotiating table. One scholar had brushed Qui-Gon's objections aside with the comment, "But nobody understands that here. People define themselves and their families by what they own." Then a retired admiral had pointedly asked Qui-Gon why he would object to someone taking his boots and lightsaber away if he did not really 'own' them. The fact that Jedi were forbidden possessions did not matter because nobody in the Vertaad Union would believe it.
A soft door chime sounded.
- - end Part 1