Anaphylaxis
The oceanic planet of Ando lay in the Lambda sector of the Mid Rim. Orbited by twin moons, the planet was home to the Aqualish species, an amphibian race divided into three sub-species; the ocean-dwelling Aquala with their finned digits, the technologically-adept Quara of the wetlands, who had five-fingered hands and made up only ten percent of the population, and the imposing Ualaq of the caves and dark rainforests, distinguished from the others in having four eyes instead of two. With ninety-five percent of the planet surface covered with water, land was in scarce supply.
The planet had been ravaged for centuries by civil wars and territorial disputes, before conflict extended beyond the planet's surface to neighbouring worlds and colonies when the Aqualish had discovered space travel. Now, however, as a member of the Republic, the Aqualish had reached uneasy peace agreements with other worlds, and was represented in the Galactic Senate. The old Quara senator had retired, and, as such, the Aqualish had elected a new representative; Ualaq Senator Po Nudo. Ando was therefore playing host to a large gathering of senators and dignitaries to mark the occasion, and it was to this event that the Jedi Council had been asked to send an envoy.
It was both one of the easiest and most difficult assignments for any representative, Jedi or not, as there was little that one needed to do – except, that was, to avoid causing any inadvertent offence to any other person present in even the slightest way. And, with so many different species and cultures present, it was easy to cause offence. A war had once almost broken out between two planets when an ambassador had slightly moved another ambassador's glass of wine to reach something on a dining table, not realising that, in the other culture, it was considered highly offensive to touch another person's drink with an un-gloved hand. As such, the Jedi Council always made sure to send an experienced Master to these events, preferably with a Padawan in tow, as such gatherings made excellent learning opportunities for the youngsters.
On this particular occasion, the Jedi Council had despatched Master Qui-Gon Jinn and his teenaged Padawan, Obi-Wan Kenobi, to attend. It was considered to be something of a break for them after a long list of hard assignments; all they had to do was attend the party, make small talk with the other guests, and listen to a few speeches. They had arrived and were warmly welcomed by their hosts, having landed the smallest shuttle available to them on one of the largest land masses. With dry land at a premium, guests were arriving in tiny transports and one-man ships at the request of their hosts, to ensure landing spaces were available for everyone on the guest list.
The reception was taking place in one of the oldest gathering halls in the rainforests of the Ualaq region; from the moment they stepped off their ship, the rain had pelted down on them. They moved quickly down a marked path through the trees before entering the halls; a towering building with polished stone floors and a high, vaulted ceiling. Tables were laden with food and drink, a band played soft music from one corner of the room, and servers drifted around the cavernous space carrying drinks and nibbles to the assembled, chattering guests.
The two Jedi worked the room; Obi-Wan stayed the customary respectful two steps behind and just to the left of his Master, speaking when spoken to, listening to his Master, and taking in everything going on around him. Eventually, they found themselves brought before Senator Po Nudo, a relatively short Ualaq with a high, domed forehead, with long, white eyebrows and whiskers. He blinked both sets of eyes, flexed his tusks, and greeted them politely.
"Master Jedi," he inclined his head to Qui-Gon, "I am honoured by your presence."
"The honour is ours, Senator," Qui-Gon folded his hands into the sleeves of his robes and bowed down; Obi-Wan joining him simultaneously in the gesture of respect, "congratulations on your appointment to the Galactic Senate."
"I am grateful for the opportunity to serve my people," Nudo responded, and Qui-Gon suppressed a wry smile at the rehearsed, polished response, "I look forward to engaging in discourse to benefit the great Republic."
Qui-Gon was about to comment, when the band played a sharp, discordant note and ceased their music, instantly drawing the attention of the gathered dignitaries. A wizened old Aquala, the Mistress of Ceremony, held her arms up, and began to speak. Around the room, translators and protocol droids simultaneously translated her speech, a lengthy dedication commending the retiring Senator, listing her achievements and key debates during her time of service, before reciting the life and works of the newly appointed Senator Po Nudo.
"...And now," the elderly woman announced, lowering her hands at last, "we will salute Senator Po Nudo with a ceremonial drink brewed in his honour to mark his ascension to the Galactic Senate, confirming Ando's auspicious membership of the great Republic."
At her words, servers swept through the room, holding aloft polished silver trays with metal cups, each filled with a hot concoction that steamed gently, as the drinks were quickly distributed to every guest in the room.
"What is it, Master?" Obi-Wan took the tall, smooth-sided drinking cup, sniffing it curiously.
"Hoi-broth," the Jedi Master replied, accepting his own chalice from the server, "it is considered to be quite the delicacy."
"It smells like seaweed," Obi-Wan did not sound disgusted, only interested, "and there are things floating in it... is it some kind of soup, or a drink?"
"It is seaweed, boiled with spices," Qui-Gon nodded, "and it is both a soup and a drink. You will find it savoury, if a little salty. It is not terribly unpleasant. It is considered quite the honour for a guest of the Aqualish to be served hoi-broth. Rejecting it would cause great offence to our hosts."
"I have never tried it before," Obi-Wan grinned, "it will be a new experience; and I would hate to cause offence, Master."
Qui-Gon nodded approvingly, turning their attention back to the Mistress of Ceremony, who held her own drink aloft with both hands.
"Assembled honoured guests – please join us in celebrating our new Senator, Po Nudo," she announced, "for those unfamiliar with our customs, we invite you to partake in hoi-broth, an Aqualish delicacy. We will drink three times in honour of the three Aqualish races. Please raise your cups in both hands, and drink when I drink, a third at a time."
The guests obeyed, drinking vessels held high, as the two Jedi followed suit.
"Po Nudo," she intoned, "we drink to your appointment, your service, and your humility."
She drank deeply, and the guests joined in as requested. Obi-Wan took a deep draught; the hoi-broth was indeed a little salty, but not unpleasantly so, the spices offsetting the flavour nicely. At least, until he swallowed, and it burned all the way down his throat, settling like lava in his stomach. He suppressed a gasp, releasing his shock into the force, feeling a tinge of amusement from his Master down their training bond. Several other guests gasped aloud and there were a few murmurs from others new to the hot beverage, so Obi-Wan was consoled by the fact he was not the only one who had found the spicy aftertaste rather strange.
The Mistress of Ceremony raised her tankard again, calling out; "Po Nudo; we bid you to serve your people, we bind you to your duties, and we bless your endeavours."
She drank again, and this time, Obi-Wan was more prepared for the spicy heat, drinking down the next measure quickly, flashing a grateful look at his Master's signal of pride in his actions through their bond. His heart rate sped up slightly, and he felt a prickle of sweat across his skin. He suppressed a frown; the drink was spicy, but not that hot. He had experienced much hotter dishes in his travels across the galaxy, and although he generally tried to avoid overly spicy foods, he usually tolerated them better than this. He took a deep breath, wondering at the slight hitch in his chest, and whether someone had turned up the heat in the room. The atmosphere was getting decidedly warm and stuffy.
"Po Nudo!" the elderly woman's voice had reached a crescendo, "We send you forth to walk amongst the stars as our representative in the Galactic Senate. May the tides be always in your favour and the waves calm beneath your vessel!"
The guests upended their tankards, downing the rest of the hoi-broth in one go. Obi-Wan tried to join in, but to his horror, he found that he could not swallow. His heart hammered in his chest as his throat closed up, and he almost doubled over as a stab of pain lanced through his stomach. Without him realising what was happening, the metal cup fell from his suddenly lax fingers, clanging loudly on the floor, drawing shocked looks from the assembled dignitaries as the remains of the hoi-broth splattered on the floor. His head spun dizzily as he tried to gasp in a breath, and voices swirled around him.
"Obi-Wan? Padawan, what's wrong?"
"He spilled the hoi-broth!"
"How insulting!"
"This is a grave offence!"
"Is the boy alright?"
"Hah, too spicy for the child, no doubt!"
"For a Jedi to show such disrespect..."
"Outrageous!"
"Obi-Wan!"
He tried to focus on his Master's voice above all others, but his stomach hurt, his head was swimming, his chest was gripped in a vice, his heart was beating its way out of his rib cage, and his throat was so swollen shut he couldn't drag in enough air. The awful, wheezing, rattling noise he could hear, he realised, was coming from himself – his tortured efforts to draw in a precious breath. He shuddered, horribly, realising his vision was greying at the edges. He didn't even realise he was falling until he felt strong hands catching him, folding him into a supportive embrace. He was barely aware of being lowered to the ground, as the light faded, and he fell into darkness.
For his part, Qui-Gon had been quietly impressed with his young Padawan, who had behaved impeccably, making polite conversation with guests when spoken to, remaining respectfully silent when others refused to even acknowledge his presence, apparently preferring to confer only with his Master. After exchanging pleasantries with Po Nudo, Qui-Gon heard the band's signal to draw the attention of the crowd, and turned towards the Mistress of Ceremony obediently, taking the hoi-broth and explaining its significance to his young Padawan, pleased at the boy's eagerness to learn and join in the important ritual.
"Assembled honoured guests – please join us in celebrating our new Senator, Po Nudo," the Mistress of Ceremony had a piercing, shrill voice, her words reverberating around the room with ease, echoed in a hundred different languages by various droids and translators for all to understand, "for those unfamiliar with our customs, we invite you to partake in hoi-broth, an Aqualish delicacy. We will drink three times in honour of the three Aqualish races. Please raise your cups in both hands, and drink when I drink, a third at a time."
Qui-Gon had always held a kind of ambivalence towards hoi-broth; he never chose to drink it, finding it overly salty and spicy with little to enjoy. He did not dislike it, thankfully, but it was not something he ever chose to imbibe, which was why his Padawan had never encountered it before. He probably should have warned Obi-Wan about the burning aftertaste, but... well, this was meant to be a learning experience, after all, and what Master didn't occasionally have a little fun at their Padawan's expense?
"Po Nudo... we drink to your appointment, to your health, your service, your acts and your humility."
Qui-Gon drank, and took a sideways glance at his Padawan, amused as he saw the teen take a deep swallow, and then strangle a gasp. He expressed his amusement through their bond, and although Obi-Wan shot him a slightly sour look, his own amusement was evident.
"Po Nudo; we bid you to serve your people, we bind you to your duties, and we bless your endeavour."
The tall Jedi Master drank again, his eyes drifting slowly around the room. Something was tingling, prickling at his senses; a tremor in the Force. Not quite a warning, but something was not quite right...
"Po Nudo! We send you forth to walk amongst the stars as our representative in the Galactic Senate. May the tides be always in your favour and the waves calm beneath your vessel!"
Qui-Gon emptied his cup, paying little attention to the tang of the hoi-broth, as a slight frown creased his brow. The tremor in the Force became a ringing warning bell... behind him; he heard a strangled gasp, and the distinctive clang of a metal beaker hitting the polished stone floor. He whipped around; staring straight into the wide-eyed, terrified gaze of his Padawan. The boy was white as a sheet, trembling uncontrollably; his lips were moving, but the only sound that came out was a pained wheeze, as his shaking hands went to his throat.
Alarmed, Qui-Gon touched their bond, and was overwhelmed by a feeling of panic – Obi-Wan was in terrible pain, and struggling to draw breath.
"Obi-Wan? Padawan, what's wrong?"
He heard the other guests mumbling and gasping, some in fear, some in shocked dismay, others in outrage at the apparent insult, but he only had eyes for his Padawan.
"Obi-Wan!" he exclaimed.
The boy gave a great, pained shudder, and then, to Qui-Gon's dismay, his eyes rolled upwards and his legs folded beneath him. Qui-Gon's fast reflexes saved the Padawan from landing in an ungainly heap on the floor, as he dropped to his knees, cradling Obi-Wan in his arms. He reached out through their bond, his heart falling into the pit of his stomach when he felt absolutely nothing in response from the prone figure in his lap. He pressed his fingers to the boy's throat, his relief tangible when he felt a weak pulse. Obi-Wan's face was sallow, his lips tinted blue as each breath wheezed and rattled through his constricted throat. Around him, the assembled senators muttered their shock and horror.
"Was it poisoned? Was the hoi-broth poisoned?"
"Do the Jedi seek to offend the Aqualish with this display?"
"Is he dead? He looks dead to me..."
"Is this one of those weird Jedi things?"
"Oh, look at the poor boy, I think he's sick!"
"Let me through!" a piercing voice separated the crowd, the onlookers automatically stepping aside for the Mistress of Ceremony.
Leaning heavily on her staff, the woman peered down at the two Jedi.
"Send for a medical droid!" she snapped, "Immediately! Move! The boy must be allergic to hoi-broth!"
Allergic? Qui-Gon blinked in surprise, and held Obi-Wan a little closer to his chest. The boy wheezed painfully, each breath getting shallower and more drawn out. His right hand lay lax upon his stomach, his left arm hanging limply down, hand resting on the cold floor, as Qui-Gon cradled him protectively. Closing his eyes, Qui-Gon focussed on the Force, placing one hand on the boy's chest. Drawing together his own strength, he urged the boy to keep breathing, using his own will and command of the Force to coax air into his starved lungs through airways swollen virtually shut. The crowd fell silent, whispering in awe as the Jedi Master fought an internal battle to keep his Padawan alive.
Eventually, after a long few minutes, a medical droid buzzed into the room, floating over and scanning the teen quickly. It beeped, and uttered a simple diagnosis:
"Anaphylaxis. Patient in critical condition. Administering adrenaline and antihistamine immediately."
The droid extended a limb with a hypospray at the end, delivering the medication straight into Obi-Wan's neck. Qui-Gon did not cease his own ministrations with the Force, and although he called desperately to his Padawan through their bond, there remained no response from the unconscious teen. The crowd that had gathered around them began to murmur anxiously when nothing seemed to be happening.
"No positive reaction within allocated time frame," the droid intoned, "patient status remains critical. Administering emergency second dose."
The hypospray hissed as it was refilled, and then jabbed again into the boy's neck. For a drawn out moment, nothing happened, and then Obi-Wan's back suddenly arched in Qui-Gon's arms. His mouth fell open and he sucked in a deep, gasping breath, eyes fluttering rapidly, his right hand gripping his stomach, his left arm lashing out wildly.
"Easy, Obi-Wan, easy," Qui-Gon kept his voice low and soothing, holding the Padawan supportively in the crook of his left arm, his right hand catching Obi-Wan's left one, and holding it tightly, "I am here, my young Padawan. You are safe. Just breathe, Obi-Wan... easy now, gently, I'm here, just breathe..."
After a few stuttering breaths, Obi-Wan finally managed to blink his eyes open, gazing up at his Master in shock; then at the Mistress of Ceremony towering over him, and all around them, Senators and dignitaries from across the known galaxy. A red flush of embarrassment crept into his cheeks when he realised they were all staring at him. He felt weak and washed out, unable to even hold himself up without Qui-Gon's strong, supportive arm. His throat was raw, his chest ached, and his stomach was cramping painfully, and he could feel tremors of pain and fatigue shivering through his muscles.
"Muh... Mas... Master?" he managed to choke out, bewildered as to what had happened, reaching out to their bond; seeking reassurance.
A wave of love and warmth washed over him, tinged with concern, as Qui-Gon gently squeezed his hand.
"Hush, dear one," the Jedi Master murmured to him, "you had an allergic reaction to the hoi-broth... I am so sorry, Padawan; you have no history of allergies, I had no idea..."
"Not... your fault... Master. Didn't know..."
"Well, we do now," Qui-Gon finally tore his eyes away from his Padawan, glancing between the Mistress of Ceremony and Senator Po Nudo, "Mistress, Senator... I am sorry for what has occurred here today; I can assure you that no offence was meant, we did not know my young Padawan is allergic to hoi-broth..."
"No offence has been taken, Master Jedi," the old woman cut in, sharply, eyeing the room warningly before anyone else could speak, "it is not the first time someone has reacted badly to our hoi-broth. Please, take the young Jedi back to your ship. He needs rest, and perhaps further medical attention. You are excused from these proceedings; you may leave. I hope the young one makes a swift recovery."
"Thank you, Mistress."
Qui-Gon released Obi-Wan's hand from his, placing it gently over the boy's right hand where it still gripped his sore stomach, so that he could slip his arm under the Padawan's knees. With ease, he lifted Obi-Wan in both arms, holding him close to his chest. He managed a slight bow to the Mistress and the Senator, who both returned the gesture, and as Qui-Gon turned, the crowd obediently parted for him, all staring, whispering and pointing as he carried Obi-Wan out of the hall. He paid them no heed, stepping out into the rain drenched forest, bowing his head over his precious burden in an effort to shelter him at least a little, as he walked back to their ship as quickly as he could. Once inside, he raised the ramp. The ship was a tiny transport, fitted with small bunk bed at the back of the cockpit, and a tiny fresher in what was little more than a storage locker, just behind the seats for pilot and co-pilot.
Qui-Gon gently lay Obi-Wan down on the bottom bunk, brushing his damp hair back from his forehead, and straightening his Padawan braid so that it lay neatly on his shoulder. He removed Obi-Wan's boots, placing them to one side, and then crouched beside the bunk, taking one of Obi-Wan's hands in both of his. It felt cold and clammy, and he gave it a a warming rub between his own hands. Grey eyes met his, still clouded with a mixture of pain, embarrassment and confusion.
"Rest here a while, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon reached out and gently rubbed his thumb over the boy's cheek; wiping away some of the rainwater that had mingled with the sweat on his face, "I will take us up and plot a course for Coruscant. I am right here if you need anything, little one. Try to get some sleep."
"Yes, Master," the boy whispered, dutifully, his eyes already drifting shut.
Satisfied that the teen was now breathing deeply and evenly, Qui-Gon went to the pilot's chair. Within minutes, they were airborne, and then they cleared the atmosphere, leaving the pink-purple planet behind them. Qui-Gon plotted the course for home, and set the auto-pilot. Their tiny ship was far too small for hyperspace engines, so it would take them several days to get back to Coruscant. However, Obi-Wan appeared to be recovering quickly, so Qui-Gon saw the journey as an opportunity for them to rest, meditate, practice their katas, and review some of the things Obi-Wan had learned before the unfortunate hoi-broth incident.
Once the ship was underway, Qui-Gon activated the comm. system, patching through to the Jedi Temple.
"Ah, hello, Master Jinn," he was greeted by the holographic countenance of Council Member Adi Gallia, "to what do I owe this pleasure? We were not expecting to hear from you so soon. You are on Ando, are you not?"
"Master Gallia," he managed a ghost of a smile, "I'm afraid our attendance on Ando has been cut short; we are returning to the Temple as we speak."
"Is everything alright, Qui-Gon?"
"There was a problem at the reception, when the hoi-broth was served."
"Hoi-broth! How delightful. I am sorry to have missed it; hoi-broth is a personal favourite of mine. What was the problem?"
"Unfortunately, we have learned the hard way that young Obi-Wan is allergic to hoi-broth," Qui-Gon told her, "he has suffered a rather severe anaphylactic shock."
"Oh, no... oh, Qui-Gon... the poor boy – is he alright?"
Qui-Gon automatically threw a quick glance over his shoulder to check on his Padawan. The young Jedi lay still on the bunk, right arm draped limply over his stomach, the left one lying loosely by his side. His chest rose and fell with deep, even breaths, his head angled slightly to his left, facing his Master. Although he still appeared very pale, he was obviously sleeping peacefully.
"He was treated by a medical droid and seems to be making a good recovery, but he is exhausted from his ordeal; he is resting at the moment," Qui-Gon nodded.
"And the Aqualish? They do take the hoi-broth ceremony rather seriously..."
"Well, it did nearly cause a diplomatic incident, but apparently my young Padawan is not the first to have suffered such a reaction," Qui-Gon quirked a wry smile, "still, I'd be grateful if you would convey my gratitude and my sincere apologies to the Aqualish Mistress of Ceremony and Senator Po Nudo."
"Consider it done, Master Jinn," Gallia agreed, solemnly, "does Obi-Wan need further medical treatment? Do you need us to despatch a Healer to meet you before you arrive?"
"I do not think so, thank you," Qui-Gon shook his head, "he had two doses of adrenaline and antihistamine, which seems to have brought him out of it. I will let him sleep for a while and monitor him closely."
"Very well," the Tholothian Master nodded, "take care, Qui-Gon. We will await your return."
The communications link was severed, and Qui-Gon rose slowly from his seat. He knelt on the deck plates beside the bunk, and, very gently, to avoid waking the boy, he placed his hand on Obi-Wan's chest, lightly scanning him with the Force. A shiver of awareness at the touch vibrated through their bond, and Qui-Gon projected back a gentle pulse of calming energy. Obi-Wan accepted it, and sighed contentedly in his sleep.
Not wanting to wake him to get him underneath the bedcover he was lying on, Qui-Gon fetched one of the spare blankets from a storage unit, and draped it over the teen, tucking it around his shoulders. He tenderly combed his fingers through the boy's hair, noting the pallor of his face and the slight glisten of sweat that still clung to his skin. Satisfied that the young Jedi was sleeping deeply, he turned back to the pilot's chair, taking his seat and tapping into the controls. Even from this distance, he could access the records from the Jedi Temple, so he began researching the effects of anaphylaxis, especially as a result of consumption of hoi-broth, curious to know more about what had affected his Padawan so severely.
A few short hours later, Obi-Wan awoke slowly, opening his eyes and blinking them back into focus. He frowned, staring at the metal framework of the bunk above him, raising one hand to his head, the other automatically clutching his stomach as it cramped slightly. Taking in an experimental breath, he was pleased to find it easy to do so; his chest no longer aching and his throat no longer swollen shut.
"Ah, Padawan – you are awake. How are you feeling?"
"Better, Master," Obi-Wan replied, dutifully, easing himself up to sit on the edge of the bunk, shame already stinging his cheeks once more, "Master... I... I am so sorry..."
"You have nothing to be sorry for, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon turned to look at him from where he sat in the pilot's chair, and then gestured to the co-pilot's seat, "come, join me, if you feel well enough."
Obi-Wan obediently stood, waiting for a slight rush of dizziness to subside. Warily, he pressed his right hand to his churning stomach, willing it to settle, releasing his residual discomfort into the Force. He crossed to the chair, and sat down, lowering his eyes, unable to meet his Master's gaze, until he felt a tingle of amusement through their bond. Sensing no forthcoming rebuke, he finally raised his eyes, and was surprised to see an expression of warmth and concern looking back at him.
"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon was the first to speak, his voice soft and gentle, "what happened to you today was no doubt very frightening and unexpected. Even though the Force is a great guide, we are not all-seeing and all-knowing. It was not your fault. I am sorry you had to go through it. But you handled yourself well at the reception, and I trust you are none the worse for your ordeal."
"I feel much better, Master," Obi-Wan agreed, "still, I am sorry if I caused any... awkwardness."
"It was not your fault," Qui-Gon reiterated, "from what I have read, allergic reactions to hoi-broth are extremely rare, but not unheard of. Yours is the only one on record for a member of the Jedi order. At least we know that you must avoid hoi-broth from now on."
"Agreed," the Padawan nodded, earnestly, even as a small frown creased his brow, "but... you did say that to refuse hoi-broth can cause great offence to the Aqualish. Master, how can I avoid causing an insult in the future if I cannot drink it?"
"A wise question, my young Padawan," Qui-Gon angled a thoughtful look at him, "The Mistress of Ceremony said others had experienced similar reactions, so it is possible exceptions are made for those physically unable to consume hoi-broth... Or, perhaps the Healers have an effective antidote to your allergy. It warrants further research upon our return to the Temple, don't you agree?"
"Why do I get the feeling you're going to be sending me to the archives...?" Obi-Wan heaved a sigh, but without any real dismay.
"It is a Master's duty to teach..."
"...And it is a Padawan's duty to learn," Obi-Wan finished, for him, dryly, with an amused roll of his eyes, "thank you, Master; your wisdom knows no bounds."
"Much like your sarcasm, young Padawan," Qui-Gon shot back, but his relief that Obi-Wan was back to their usual banter was palpable in the Force between them, "now, Ando is just five hours behind us, and we still have several days until we reach Coruscant... so; let's see... how much of the traditional greeting given to us by the Arcona Senator did you understand?"
"Um..."Obi-Wan unconsciously rubbed his stomach, thinking back to the tall Senator with glittering eyes, clay-red skin and triangular head, "I think it was... 'well met are you both, our fellow travellers upon the path of life, who grace this being with the light of their life force'."
"Life essence," Qui-Gon corrected him, "but an otherwise excellent recollection and translation. What about the current situation on Tibrin I was discussing with the Ishi Tib Ambassadors?"
Obi-Wan opened his mouth to answer, then clenched his teeth to prevent a gasp slipping out as his stomach cramped painfully, blinking as the control panel in front him blurred slightly. Surreptitiously, he pressed his hand to his midriff, shielding his momentary discomfort from his Master. He was self-consciously aware that he had caused enough trouble for today, albeit unintentionally, and he had no wish to be the reason for further disruption.
"The sea quakes," he remembered, trying to swallow a sudden lump in his throat, "Tibrin is another ocean planet, like Ando, and they are experiencing an unprecedented amount tectonic movement beneath the seas. Many of the k... kelp farms of the ocean f...floors have been destroyed, causing w... widespread food shortages. The sea... the sea level has dropped an estimated three percent, while the landmasses are being struck by violent tsunamis. They are petitioning the senate for assistance in... in... installing... uhm... installing..."
Obi-Wan trailed off, screwing his eyes shut against a sudden rush of vertigo, one hand clutching his stomach, the other pressing to his head.
"Padawan?" Qui-Gon was at his side in an instant, launching out of his own seat, grasping Obi-Wan's shoulder, scanning him quickly with the Force, "Obi-Wan, what is it? Lower your shields, let me see..."
Gulping hard against the knot in his throat, Obi-Wan tried to release his flash of fear into the Force, feeling a tremor run through him. Oh, no...
"Not again," he muttered, lowering his hand from his head to his throat, pushing himself out of the chair, panicking, stumbling away from the navigational console, "no, please... not again..."
"Obi-Wan!" Qui-Gon grabbed his Padawan's shoulders, hearing the tell-tale wheeze creeping back into the young Jedi's breathing, "you must stay calm... release your fears..."
Easier said than done when he could no longer draw in a lungful of air... black sparkles danced in front of his eyes, and he reached out blindly, choking and gasping, only distantly aware of his Master calling to him. Hands grasped his outstretched arms, and he found himself being guided down to the floor, sitting with his back against the bunk. A strong wave of reassurance washed through their bond, and he heard movement, even as he clawed helplessly at his closing throat; the sound of a storage locker being opened, something being removed, and then his Master was at his side once more.
"You will feel much better in a moment, Padawan," murmured a soft voice in his ear, and a hypospray was pressed into his neck.
The medication coursed through his system, making him convulse, his eyes rolling back into his skull as he collapsed in on himself, feeling himself being lowered to the deck plates. He sensed his Master nearby and clung to their bond, willing himself not to lose consciousness. He felt his head being pillowed in Qui-Gon's lap, a soothing hand resting tenderly on his forehead, comforting him. Gradually, his throat relaxed, allowing him to gasp in some much-needed air. He could still feel shivers running through his muscles, as he blinked his vision clear, finally focussing on Qui-Gon's bearded features above him. His Master offered him a small, sad smile, before he felt himself being moved, gently lifted, and placed back on the bunk.
"What... what happened?" he mumbled, barely coherent, "I... I thought..."
"It is called a biphasic reaction," Qui-Gon told him, taking the Padawan's hand and rubbing his thumb soothingly over the knuckles, "a secondary reaction to the same allergen."
Obi-Wan was shocked to find that he did not even have the strength to grip his Master's hand in return.
Desperate for some reassurance, he asked; "Will it... will it happen again?"
"It is highly unlikely," his Master told him, stoking back his hair, "I am sorry, young one, I should have insisted you rest until the danger had passed. Thankfully, I had already confirmed our medical supplies contained adrenaline and antihistamine, and I had prepared a dose, just in case. How do you feel now?"
"I am... I am alright, Master," Obi-Wan blinked heavy eyelids, exhaustion washing over him like the tidal waves of Tibrin, "th... thank you, Master Qui-Gon."
"Sleep now, Obi-Wan. You will feel better when you awake."
He had no choice but to obey, and as he drifted off, he sensed his Master sitting at his bedside, one hand on his, the other resting tenderly on his forehead. He sent a wave of love and appreciation through their bond, and could not help the smile that flickered across his face as he felt it reciprocated, before he succumbed to a deep, healing slumber.
Author's note: Reviews would be greatly appreciated, thank you!