Hi =) Sorry for the long wait.But, I'm back now! Tosses post. Come and
get it!
Everything stopped.
The youth's scream pierced the air and everything simply - stopped; the yelling, the shooting, all of it - at least for Qui-Gon.
Actually, to a certain extent, the killing did slow. Blaster fire thinned and some holstered their weapons - whether out of actual concern for the boy's life or fear for their own is debatable - but, nevertheless, it was by sheer luck that the Jedi master, oblivious to all but his padawan's pain, crossed the room unscathed.
Or - perhaps - the will of the Force.
He dropped to his knees beside the fallen boy, unsure of whether to leap for joy at the rise and fall of Obi-Wan's chest, or panic at the labor with which each breath was drawn. Murmuring meaningless words of comfort, Qui- Gon's calloused hand sought the boy's small one - lying limply at the side of his unconscious body - while the other found its way to the padawan's chest, barely touching, careful to not put added stress on the abused lungs. The master pulsed the Force through Obi-Wan's injured body, coursing it into the boy before beckoning its return, demanding a report of his apprentice's injuries.
Nothing.
Not nothing; there was something, but it was indecipherable, blurred. The Force waves returning had been - altered.
Frowning, he slid his hand underneath the light tunic, brushing his palm against Obi-Wan's bare chest. Again, he sent the Force and again the same result. The boy's Force signature seemed distorted; it was there - the light that was his padawan impossible to mistake in any form it might assume - but twisted.
Though the discovery was disturbing to say the least, Qui-Gon pushed it to the back of his mind - instead focusing his energies on discovering the outward sign of injury. He would not be able to further examine - and correct - what he felt - or rather did not feel - if Obi-Wan was dead.
Finding no wound on the boy's stomach or chest - but spurred on by the amount of blood which already clung to his robes - Qui-Gon, released the small - so very small - hand and, with a tenderness belied by his great stature, turned Obi-Wan on his side, finally discovering the blaster mark.
Qui-Gon steadied the boy, mindful of the still rasping breath, and laid a hand over the mangled flesh, heedless of the crimson blood seeping through his fingers. Another wave of the Force was collected and pushed into the padawan - this time directed specifically at the wound. Thankfully - oh, how he thanked the Force - Qui-Gon's wave returned with a clear assessment of the injury. It wasn't life threatening - at the moment. Some torn muscle, a nicked artery, a kidney bruised from impact - possibly a few other moderate internal injuries would turn up upon deeper investigation - but Obi-Wan was stable.
Stable, but in need of urgent medical care.
The Jedi master channeled healing Force directly to the torn tissue and the blood-flow ebbed. As the artery's nick clotted leaving only a small amount of blood - comparatively - running from the wound, for the first time since he heard the heart-wrenching scream of agony, Qui-Gon became aware of the world around him.
Hands never leaving the precious boy before him - the boy which he had come far too close to losing moments before - the master raised his head and looked at the scene before him. Most had ceased fighting - only a few random shots to be heard - and fled. Fear of an enraged Jedi master, Qui- Gon mused offhandedly.
But, despite the small comfort in knowing the chance of being shot had greatly lessened, another knowledge pulled at his very being. Polusti - once proud, strong - knelt next to the lifeless form that was his daughter - rocking. His hands hovered over her body, head bent, and on his lips words of an ancient language - prayers for his lost child.
Without thought, Qui-Gon sent tendrils of the Force out to the body, checking - in vain - for some glimmer of life. However - and Qui-Gon had known this - there was no chance of finding such a thing; the bolt had pierced her heart. Her essence was gone before her body hit the ground.
The chief, as if sensing Qui-Gon's gentle probe, snapped his head up, breaking the whispered mantra. His eyes bore into Qui-Gon, expressing such torrent of emotion that it would have been impossible pick out each individual facet, though the prevalent were unmistakable - guilt, anguish, grief.anger.
His gaze rested but a moment with the master before traveling to the apprentice. The man's face softened, the hardness of features melting away, revealing the face of someone who had given his life to a noble cause - and lost all because of it.
They remained frozen for a few moments, Qui-Gon - though he despised what he must do - channeling as much healing Force as possible into the boy so that he might last his master's absence, and Polusti seemingly transfixed by the fallen Jedi. With a final burst of energy into Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon carefully laid him back upon the slicked floor and looked to Polusti, "Watch after him."
Polusti slowly pulled his gaze from the padawan but, when he met the Jedi master's eyes, his confusion was evident, "What?"
"While I," Qui-Gon took his clean hand and brushed it through Obi-Wan's matted spikes, "go after Samaron."
Polusti's eyes narrowed, "No, Master Jedi. I reserve that right for myself."
Qui-Gon shook his head, "It is my duty." He sighed as his gaze fell to the as if slumbering form in front of him, "I must."
Polusti stood, "What you *must* do is get off this planet. Your duty is to that boy, not me. We do not have the facilities to treat his needs. Go."
"But-"
"No," Polusti said fiercely. "I have seen one innocent perish today, I will not allow another." He turned to leave, but paused, "And don't go to the docking bay; I cut the wires in those ships. Use mine - it's right outside the southern entrance."
He started walking again, but stayed himself at Qui-Gon's call, "But what about you?"
Polusti turned slowly, all masks stripped from his countenance, raw pain far too evident, "Don't waste your concern on me," he said quietly, "I have lost more than any man should ever have to.You shouldn't worry about me."
He stalled for a moment, undecided, before walking quickly to where his daughter lay, kneeling at her head. He brushed her dark locks from her forehead and softly - done as if she was but sleeping and he was but a father bidding goodnight to his slumbering child - kissed the pale skin. With a final caress of Nariba's face, Polusti rose, his gaze lingering on the girl for a moment before he pulled a blaster from the billows of his charred robe, nodded farewell to Qui-Gon - his eyes wandering longingly to the small - alive - boy - turned, and strode from the room.
You all have been great about reviewing.I mean 199 for only 10 chapters, wow! I just have to say thank you. Everyone has been *so* kind, and all the feedback serves to give my day a major pick me up.It's like caffine, minus the expense of Starbucks. And, again, as always, be a good lil Jedi and review!
Everything stopped.
The youth's scream pierced the air and everything simply - stopped; the yelling, the shooting, all of it - at least for Qui-Gon.
Actually, to a certain extent, the killing did slow. Blaster fire thinned and some holstered their weapons - whether out of actual concern for the boy's life or fear for their own is debatable - but, nevertheless, it was by sheer luck that the Jedi master, oblivious to all but his padawan's pain, crossed the room unscathed.
Or - perhaps - the will of the Force.
He dropped to his knees beside the fallen boy, unsure of whether to leap for joy at the rise and fall of Obi-Wan's chest, or panic at the labor with which each breath was drawn. Murmuring meaningless words of comfort, Qui- Gon's calloused hand sought the boy's small one - lying limply at the side of his unconscious body - while the other found its way to the padawan's chest, barely touching, careful to not put added stress on the abused lungs. The master pulsed the Force through Obi-Wan's injured body, coursing it into the boy before beckoning its return, demanding a report of his apprentice's injuries.
Nothing.
Not nothing; there was something, but it was indecipherable, blurred. The Force waves returning had been - altered.
Frowning, he slid his hand underneath the light tunic, brushing his palm against Obi-Wan's bare chest. Again, he sent the Force and again the same result. The boy's Force signature seemed distorted; it was there - the light that was his padawan impossible to mistake in any form it might assume - but twisted.
Though the discovery was disturbing to say the least, Qui-Gon pushed it to the back of his mind - instead focusing his energies on discovering the outward sign of injury. He would not be able to further examine - and correct - what he felt - or rather did not feel - if Obi-Wan was dead.
Finding no wound on the boy's stomach or chest - but spurred on by the amount of blood which already clung to his robes - Qui-Gon, released the small - so very small - hand and, with a tenderness belied by his great stature, turned Obi-Wan on his side, finally discovering the blaster mark.
Qui-Gon steadied the boy, mindful of the still rasping breath, and laid a hand over the mangled flesh, heedless of the crimson blood seeping through his fingers. Another wave of the Force was collected and pushed into the padawan - this time directed specifically at the wound. Thankfully - oh, how he thanked the Force - Qui-Gon's wave returned with a clear assessment of the injury. It wasn't life threatening - at the moment. Some torn muscle, a nicked artery, a kidney bruised from impact - possibly a few other moderate internal injuries would turn up upon deeper investigation - but Obi-Wan was stable.
Stable, but in need of urgent medical care.
The Jedi master channeled healing Force directly to the torn tissue and the blood-flow ebbed. As the artery's nick clotted leaving only a small amount of blood - comparatively - running from the wound, for the first time since he heard the heart-wrenching scream of agony, Qui-Gon became aware of the world around him.
Hands never leaving the precious boy before him - the boy which he had come far too close to losing moments before - the master raised his head and looked at the scene before him. Most had ceased fighting - only a few random shots to be heard - and fled. Fear of an enraged Jedi master, Qui- Gon mused offhandedly.
But, despite the small comfort in knowing the chance of being shot had greatly lessened, another knowledge pulled at his very being. Polusti - once proud, strong - knelt next to the lifeless form that was his daughter - rocking. His hands hovered over her body, head bent, and on his lips words of an ancient language - prayers for his lost child.
Without thought, Qui-Gon sent tendrils of the Force out to the body, checking - in vain - for some glimmer of life. However - and Qui-Gon had known this - there was no chance of finding such a thing; the bolt had pierced her heart. Her essence was gone before her body hit the ground.
The chief, as if sensing Qui-Gon's gentle probe, snapped his head up, breaking the whispered mantra. His eyes bore into Qui-Gon, expressing such torrent of emotion that it would have been impossible pick out each individual facet, though the prevalent were unmistakable - guilt, anguish, grief.anger.
His gaze rested but a moment with the master before traveling to the apprentice. The man's face softened, the hardness of features melting away, revealing the face of someone who had given his life to a noble cause - and lost all because of it.
They remained frozen for a few moments, Qui-Gon - though he despised what he must do - channeling as much healing Force as possible into the boy so that he might last his master's absence, and Polusti seemingly transfixed by the fallen Jedi. With a final burst of energy into Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon carefully laid him back upon the slicked floor and looked to Polusti, "Watch after him."
Polusti slowly pulled his gaze from the padawan but, when he met the Jedi master's eyes, his confusion was evident, "What?"
"While I," Qui-Gon took his clean hand and brushed it through Obi-Wan's matted spikes, "go after Samaron."
Polusti's eyes narrowed, "No, Master Jedi. I reserve that right for myself."
Qui-Gon shook his head, "It is my duty." He sighed as his gaze fell to the as if slumbering form in front of him, "I must."
Polusti stood, "What you *must* do is get off this planet. Your duty is to that boy, not me. We do not have the facilities to treat his needs. Go."
"But-"
"No," Polusti said fiercely. "I have seen one innocent perish today, I will not allow another." He turned to leave, but paused, "And don't go to the docking bay; I cut the wires in those ships. Use mine - it's right outside the southern entrance."
He started walking again, but stayed himself at Qui-Gon's call, "But what about you?"
Polusti turned slowly, all masks stripped from his countenance, raw pain far too evident, "Don't waste your concern on me," he said quietly, "I have lost more than any man should ever have to.You shouldn't worry about me."
He stalled for a moment, undecided, before walking quickly to where his daughter lay, kneeling at her head. He brushed her dark locks from her forehead and softly - done as if she was but sleeping and he was but a father bidding goodnight to his slumbering child - kissed the pale skin. With a final caress of Nariba's face, Polusti rose, his gaze lingering on the girl for a moment before he pulled a blaster from the billows of his charred robe, nodded farewell to Qui-Gon - his eyes wandering longingly to the small - alive - boy - turned, and strode from the room.
You all have been great about reviewing.I mean 199 for only 10 chapters, wow! I just have to say thank you. Everyone has been *so* kind, and all the feedback serves to give my day a major pick me up.It's like caffine, minus the expense of Starbucks. And, again, as always, be a good lil Jedi and review!
