The Color of Truth: Chapter Seventeen
There was a chill in the air, which heralded the upcoming change of seasons. Soon, the work of harvesting sap would begin. And if the city council's hard work paid off, there would be new productions to profit from.
They had found a buyer interested in selling what we were calling chala. It was a chewy and sweet byproduct of the syrup generally sold. So far, it had shown favorable results by adding some fruit flavors as well as a local mint. It was being packaged in long ropes, wrapped in linen. The council was hopeful it would lead to extended trade agreements.
The sap season meant an end to the flax harvest, and this year, the workers had surprised us all with new garments – Jedi uniforms, they had called them, although they were not even comparable to the scratchy and heavy tunics and robes worn previously. This new wardrobe had been made from the fine linen Dantooine was famous for, each garment dyed by berries gathered from the forest. The fabric turned out to be varied shades of pale to darker shades of blue, and it was airy and soft.
"Won't be much use in the cold," Vos mentioned, although I'd noticed he couldn't keep his hands from caressing the smooth cloak given to him.
Dela, who I was sure was behind this rather extravagant gift smiled at. She was now lacking several teeth and her pink gums were revealed.
"We've thought of that as well," she informed us, turning to request a young man pass over a crate.
Inside it was long leather vests and cloaks. The pattern on them looked vaguely familiar, and I immediately placed my hand over my mouth to stifle a gasp.
/Isn't this the skin of the stalker lizards we ate for mid-meal the other day?/ I asked Obi-Wan.
/Could be,/ he announced without much concern. /You know these Dantooians. They make use of everything./
It would take some getting used to seeing my daughter and husband wearing the skin of a lizard, although the workmanship was impeccable. These people were architects, seamstresses, master craftsmen, artists, chefs - In fact, there was very little they couldn't do! I felt strangely inept when I was around most of them and was determined to improve my talents.
Late that night, as we sat around the fire as we did most nights, I brought up the idea of possibly taking on an apprenticeship myself. Baking was what interested me most. Qui-Gon thought it was a good idea, although Obi-Wan seemed hesitant.
I asked him why through the bond, but instead of answering me, he merely reached over and grabbed hold of my hand.
"From the information Quinlan has shared with us, I think it's past time that we investigate the possibility of Dooku's release. If that happens, our troubles will once again start and more than likely increase."
Quinlan had been toying with the fire, watching the glow at the end of a stick he'd been poking it with. "Obi-Wan's right. Apparently, the others are going to keep sitting on their brains and not do anything about it. That leaves us."
"Exactly what would you suggest we do?" Qui-Gon asked.
"I say, we board the prison barge and kill the son-of-a-sith. Then, we won't have to worry about him anymore."
"That goes against everything we stand for," Obi-Wan argued.
"Everything you stand for?" Quinlan shot back. "I thought the Gray only followed the will of the Force."
"Are you trying to say it's the will of the Force for us to murder Count Dooku? I find that hard to believe."
"Believe what you want," he told Obi-Wan, "but you don't mess around with the Dark. You stomp it out of existence! The man is too dangerous to be kept alive. He should've already been dealt with."
"The High Courts in Coruscant don't condone executions," Padmé reminded us all.
"Pardon me, but I don't see any judges here. We're the ones who know what he's capable of, and we're the only ones who can put a stop to his treachery once and for all. Who's with me?"
I sat silent and still, staring at Qui-Gon. I wasn't sure if my Master agreed with this man's alarming plan or not and was surprised that he was just sitting there saying nothing.
I shouldn't have been surprised, however, when Leia raised her hand, albeit a little timidly to volunteer herself.
"I'll go. I don't remember him much, but I do remember the Sith Lord. I'll never forget his face and the way he felt in my mind. He scared me. And if there are those out there who feel the same and wish to do things he did? Then they don't deserve to live."
"So, you are to be their judge, jury, and executioner then?" I asked my daughter.
"Dad, he wants to kill us all! He's made that very clear. You said so yourself; if he's released, he'll only cause more grief and not just to us, but to everyone who is good and honest. Don't they deserve to live? And how can they live freely while he's still out there? Waiting to pounce on us like a laigrek?"
"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon spoke softly, the firelight dancing in his eyes. "She speaks the truth. Think about it. The Jedi Council may have been wrong about many things, but when it came to the importance of eliminating the Sith, they weren't. The Sith have been and always will be our deadliest enemy, and it doesn't matter how many there are. Even if there is just one, we are not safe, no matter how far we go to hide."
I recalled the battle I'd had with the Zabrak on Naboo and how he had tried to penetrate my shields with a powerful mental attack. He had not only come close to beating me in physical battle but had attacked my mind as well. His appearance was intimidating though I wasn't frightened by it. Neither was I frightened by the two lightsabers he carried. However, his attempts to intrude on my thoughts had taught me to control my emotions. His success in striking down my Master had infuriated me and it had not only clouded my judgment but hampered my ability to protect myself. I still recalled the way his presence had felt as if a red-hot blade was attempting to pierce the thin veil I had so precariously constructed. I knew exactly what Leia was talking about.
"Fine," I agreed, although not readily. I still was unsure if this was the right course of action and realized it would require an extended meditation come sun-up. "Quinlan and I will set out tomorrow morning."
"I'd like for Padawan Kenobi to come along," Vos mentioned casually.
/Is he insane?/ Padmé shouted in my head.
/At least let him explain,/ I surprised myself by answering.
"She was the one who led me here," he said, smiling graciously. "I could feel her connection to the Force and I was on the other side of the galaxy investigating a mining accident on Binn. I believe she has something to contribute to this ongoing battle we have with the darkness and she needs to be there."
Leia was beseeching both Padmé and me with her big brown eyes. It was going to be a dangerous mission, but at least I would be with her.
"Very well," I agreed while squeezing my wife's hand I suppose as a sort of an early apology.
"I'm going too," she announced unexpectedly. "I'll stay in the ship, but I can't bear the thought of anything happening to you. Either of you. At least I'll be close by if something does happen."
"Are you sure?" Quinlan spoke up. "You won't be facing a few brainless droids this time with a security force behind you, Your Highness."
His comment was close to being disrespectful although we were quickly learning it was just his way. We tried to overlook it.
"The Prison Barge is protected by Republic soldiers, who we don't want to harm, just keep out of our way. This mission calls for stealth and accuracy."
"Like I said," Padmé repeated, staring across at Vos with a stern glare. What Quinlan didn't realize is that he had met his match. Whenever Padmé had made up her mind about something, there was little anyone could to do change it. "I'm going."
"I'll just stay here and take care of the womenfolk," Qui-Gon said with a smirk. "It sounds like everything is settled. This old man is turning in for the night," he added while rising slowly to his feet.
/Uh oh,/ Padmé said to me silently. /Do you need to go talk with him? I think he's feeling left out./
There came a day in every Jedi's life when they had to realize they were no longer useful in the field. Qui-Gon was nearing seventy years of age. He had to believe his mission work was drawing to a close.
/I'll speak with him,/ I offered, although I had no idea what I was going to say.