A/N: Sigh—this took me a lot longer than I had hoped to get out. But there's been school and babysitting and family things—I just didn't have the time to get this done. And now that it's done, I think it's going to be rather slow and unexciting for you. I introduce some random new characters in this chapter and they're not really important, although the chapter is mostly from their point of view. I don't have any specific plans to bring them into the story line in any prominent way but I needed a new angle, and they provided that angle—kind of a different view rather than Qui-Gon's continued laments (but don't worry, there's some of that here too). And it wasn't supposed to be this long but when I start getting into a character and a random angle, I just go on and on forever (actually, I go on and on forever no matter what I'm doing…I am practically incapable of writing anything short—whenever I write a paper for class and they restrict the word count or page number I always end up having to do some serious cutting and then they hand it back and tell me to elaborate and I'm like what?! Okay, irrelevant…see, I can't shut up?) So, I really, really, really hope this doesn't turn you off. I have the next chapter mostly ready and I think I'll get it posted before Friday of this week. I don't like begging for reviews (so I won't…except that I just did in a way…umm…) but I know I do like getting them. Thanks!
Chapter 11
When the ship descended softly through Coruscant's atmosphere, thanks to Anakin's gifts, Qui-Gon was not surprised by the great company that awaited them. He could see several Council members, including Mace Windu and Yoda, waiting expectantly, along with a handful of medical technicians and healers. They had come into contact with the Temple several hours ago. Qui-Gon had emotionlessly related the necessary information, apprising the Council of the situation on Naboo and the situation of their cruiser. Anakin had reawakened by then, and, sitting by Qui-Gon side as he relayed the message, the master wondered how easily the Council could detect their bond. Yet they said nothing, and he said nothing, keeping the conversation brief and terse.
After such an arduous flight, Qui-Gon usually would have found relief upon returning to Coruscant. But, in the tunnel of hyperspace, the consequences of his actions loomed ominously, but ultimately at bay. Now, however, his actions and judgments would themselves be judged. And, no matter how renowned he was for being a rebel, he never faced the Council, eager to tell them of his questionable misadventures. He believed in following his instincts, no doubt, but defying orders was much simpler on the mission, far from the penetrating stares of Jedi Masters. Ordering Anakin to initiate shut down, he went off to the small medical bay where Obi-Wan still lay, unmoving, on the bed. Moving to his bedside, Qui-Gon gazed sorrowfully into the drawn features. He had always relished Obi-Wan's vitality and his dry sense of humor. His smile was priceless, sometimes surprising, since Obi-Wan had developed a reserved demeanor. By Qui-Gon had seen this young man through trial and triumph, always by his side. They had been a match approved by the Force, there was no doubt, he thought, smiling ruefully. But…but now it was different. Now Anakin was in the picture.
Forcing himself to be more objective, Qui-Gon checked the monitors. The bacta patches still firmly sealed the wounds, and Qui-Gon regretted again the absence of a tank. Obi-Wan's condition continued to worsen. Activating a nearby stretcher, Qui-Gon resigned himself to waiting. The ship was nearly powered down by now, and Qui-Gon could sense that the ramp had been let down. Undoubtedly the healers could already detect where their duty lay, and Qui-Gon intended to be with Obi-Wan until they arrived. He owed the younger Jedi at least that much.
Although the bond between them was broken, Qui-Gon could still perceive the despair overtaking the younger man. As it had grown in intensity, the stability of Obi-Wan's condition had decreased rapidly. Now the despair filled the room so thickly that Qui-Gon could not be sure it still originated from Obi-Wan's still body and rather innately occupied the ship, depressing the inhabitants equally and uncontrollably. The medical readings coldly depicted what Qui-Gon feared—Obi-Wan had given up on life.
Tears sprang to his eyes without conscious knowledge. Silently, he begged the boy to live. Taking the unmoving hand into his own, he held it tenaciously. He closed his eyes and approached Obi-Wan as he would approach the stranger through the Force. Obi-Wan's Life Force hummed through the Force with a monotonous, weak pulse. He listened for a moment, hearing it fade away, disappearing into the silent cacophony of the surrounding world. Qui-Gon then visualized it and grasped for it with as much conviction as he gripped Obi-Wan's chilled hand. The essence did not protest or shy away, but merely continued on as it had, apathetic of anything else.
Obi-Wan had thrown caution into the Force and healed him from the brink of death. Qui-Gon was a Jedi—a much more experienced Jedi. He had healed before. Why couldn't he now? Maybe his concentration scattered in his new training bond with Anakin. Maybe his own physical injuries hampered his abilities. Maybe…maybe he wasn't trying hard enough.
With a choked sob, he sought to encompass Obi-Wan's Life Force. Dredging up energy, he directed at the young man, offering it to him without reserve. But the essence remained the same. Qui-Gon grappled with it but it slipped through his fingers, drifting again toward the Force. Maybe Obi-Wan would not allow himself to be saved. Qui-Gon sought with all his strength and will to establish a healing bond. Usually, when in the throes of overwhelming pain, the body and mind naturally left themselves open, if not seeking, such a bond. Others, in mental crisis, blockaded themselves in a corner of their essence, desiring death more than life. Yet Obi-Wan exhibited neither. He did not retreat but he certainly did not accept assistance.
Pulling away, Qui-Gon reopened his tired eyes. Drawing he lifeless hand closer to him, his grief became too deep to feel anymore.
And then he put the hand down. He arranged it gently upon the covers, unconsciously trying to give the illusion of sleep to the young man. Through the Force, he could sense presences rapidly approaching—certainly the healers. Idly, he reached out and smoothed Obi-Wan hair one last time, his fingers fondling the braid fondly in remembrance. The last 13 years flickered in his memory, now like a distant dream. He had no words to offer an apology; he had no means to offer an explanation. To this young man, he would offer neither. He would attempt to justify his actions to the Council, to the Senate, to the galaxy if he needed, but he would not speak a word to Obi-Wan. Through his actions, he had formed a rift between himself and Obi-Wan—and expansive, obliterating gap. Any words attempting to cross that gap would fall pathetically into the darkness, swallowed up only to enhance the sheer bleakness of the abyss.
He let the braid drop back down to Obi-Wan's shoulder as the door opened. Moving out of the way, he watched mutely as the healers immediately set to assessing their new patient. Their jabber meant little to Qui-Gon, who felt himself disappear into the background, away and forever apart from the young man whose life was in question.
Forcing himself to turn around, Qui-Gon stiffly exited the room. Tragedy raged throughout the galaxy, but, he reminded himself brokenly, the only way to recover from tragedy is to keep going. He would not let one failure cause another. The future needed him. Anakin needed him. Besides, in the wake of tragedy, usually came the birth of glory.
***
The ancient Jedi Temple, in general, possessed a soothing and meditative atmosphere, bathed in as much natural sunlight as could be drawn from Coruscant's busy skies. Most of the walls stood with a rich off-white color which neither excited or bored its Jedi inhabitants. The healer's wing shared these characteristics, with perhaps more attention, in order to aid the healing process. It was, in fact, likely the brightest section of the Temple, with not only more windows, but more artificial light, attempting to create a cheerier aura in the wing. The effort was noble and appreciated and even effective to an extent—some of Coruscant's healing facilities could unnerve even a Jedi, much less an untrained citizen. Nonetheless, nothing could ever rid the wing of a disjointed portentous ambiance, especially prominent in the eyes of the very young and those with apprentices. The healers, all Jedi themselves, worked with a serious vigor but generally masked it with a lightheartedness that stood out as atypical among the Jedi.
Nothing ever made the healers frantic at the Temple—panic was a trait they trained to rid themselves of completely. In the most perilous cases, they became utterly focused, almost exclusively so. To the unaccustomed observed, this demeanor could convey a reason to panic. When a master brought in a seriously wounded Padawan for the first time, often the master had to be forcibly restrained. The protective master usually resisted, straining visibly to assess the condition of the beloved student. The intent and oblivious faces of the healers made the stomach sink, convincing the distraught master that the worst had befallen their young Padawan. This unhinged state, usually held easily at bay by Jedi, manifested itself in only such rare moment grief. Jedi, after all, are merely mortal like the rest of the galaxy, prone to emotions as surely as anyone else. That was what made attachment so dangerous for a Jedi, as could be seen by the anxious masters and their inexperienced Padawans—it made them vulnerable to losing control. Without control, a Jedi lost the Force or, worse yet, misused the Force in desperation. Yet, despite all the training against it, no one criticized a master for their worry, nor a Padawan for their fear. These things were completely natural.
The healer's wing was maintained immaculately, lined with the newest technology and equipped with a plentitude of supplies. Various wards divided the wing, facilitating different types of services—long term care to typical examination rooms. The healers prided themselves—rather, as more the Jedi way, strove passionately to keep the number of patients at a minimum. After all, the more people that laid cooped up on one of their beds represented, in a sense, a failure in their care of them. But every healer acknowledged that injury and illness strike, even to Jedi.
The emergency bay, situated conveniently near the entrance, usually housed burned and bruised Padawans and Initiates, battered by another day's intense physical training. These wounds tended to be minor, requiring a minimal regeneration and antibiotics before the child was released back to their quarters.
While the Jedi Knights tended to elicit typically more noteworthy attention, Jedi healers underwent a training just as vigorous and strenuous. A Jedi Knight carried an air of mystery and legend through most of the galaxy—being either greatly loved or greatly hated, but nearly always respected. The healers did not garner such universal acclaim, but their contribution to the galaxy was just as important. Not only did they ensure the health of the Knights and other Jedi in the Temple, they also worked avidly in research, developing new healing techniques and remedies.
The Temple had a staff full of dedicated healers. Just as Knights, they too took on apprentices, who worked with them on a daily basis, learning and growing in their trade only to eventually take their place among the Jedi healers. Their arduous training usually lasted longer than the training for other positions at the Jedi Temple, including the illustrious Knighthood. Sek Lusga, Padawan to Healer Eskin Truek, had learned the life a healer well. While his daily routine consisted of rounds and research, he rarely found himself bored. Healer Truek specialized in emergency healing, thus granting Sek more action than most of the Padawans in the healers wing. Sek's passion lay not truly in medicine, but in patients. His theory of the Force's presence in healing tuned into the Living Force of a person, connecting and empathizing with that Living Force, then inspiring the patient's will to live—in theory, anyway. He often lost that idealistic vision when trying to study the anatomy of the thousands of species in the galaxy with which he may, at any given moment, need to treat.
Truek had been healing a young Initiate in Examination Room B when he had been called away on emergency. This wasn't particularly disconcerting—Sek had handled far more difficult cases and was used to finishing up Truek's patients. Sek himself was close to becoming a full healer with nearly 14 years of experience under his belt. Skimming the patient's history, Sek entered the room, smiling to the young girl on the table. "I'm Sek Lusga. How are you, Rinne?" he asked brightly, moving to the girl who was perched on the examination table, her arm in regeneration splint.
"Okay," the girl replied. "Better since Healer Truek gave me the shot."
"I'll bet," Sek said. "The break looked pretty painful. How did you say you did it?"
"We were doing hand to hand combat training," she said. "I went right when I was supposed to go left and had the completely wrong angle for the flip. I lost my center, otherwise I would have been able to keep myself from falling."
Sek didn't try to hide his smile. Healing children was always much easier than attempting to heal an adult—the Knights' explanations of injuries often were far more sparse, less accurate than the one-minded child's. As Initiates, children focused on their training and continual improvement. Honest assessment was at the heart of their development, facilitating the healing process with candor as opposed to the ambiguity the Knights generally offered. "Well, don't worry, the bone is healing nicely," Sek assured her. "You should be done and as good as new in a few more minutes."
Rinne tried to smile, but appeared to have difficulty rallying optimism. Although his specialization was not psychology, he knew enough to make an attempt. "Is something else wrong besides your arm?"
"It was a stupid mistake," she said. "All I've ever wanted was to be a Knight but Knights don't make mistakes like that."
"I'm sure all Knights made mistakes like that when they were your age."
"But I let my focus get away from me. I was so into the combat that I forgot that I need to focus on the Force first, and then the match will fall into place."
"You're too hard on yourself," Sek told her. He reached for her arm. "Now sit still while I check your progress."
She quieted, sitting somewhat dejectedly as Sek checked the setting on the splint. Her spirits drooped unhealthily, and Sek decided to pursue the matter further. "Do you know how many people we treat here?" he asked her.
Glancing out the clear glass walls, she observed the empty emergency bay. "I don't know," she said.
"Well, let me tell you, we treat a lot of people here."
"Really?"
"Of course. Jedi are always getting themselves into some kind of mess. We get countless sparring accidents—even among the older students and Padawans. We see a lot of masters and Knights who have misjudged an opponent or a move or a mission. We even get a Jedi Master a time or two—some of the Council members," he concluded in a hushed voice.
Rinne's eyes sparkled. "Really?"
"Really," Sek promised. "No matter how old you are, you make mistakes."
"But I've made this mistake so many times," Rinne sighed. "Master Yegin is always marking me down and assigning me extra meditations. Sometimes I think I should just give it up all together. I don't see how I'll ever be a Knight like this."
"Now stop that," Sek ordered. "Listen, you may feel like you're losing to these mistakes. It may seem like you'll never overcome them. But, I promise you, you will someday. Our feelings sometimes mislead us to thinking the worst. Even if you can't see how, there's no reason to give up hope."
Pensively, Rinne looked up at him. "Are you sure?"
"Completely. We all feel alone sometimes. We just need someone to remind us to keep on going."
"Thank you, Healer Lusga."
"I'm not a healer yet—call me Sek."
"Thank you, Sek," the girl modified with a shy smile. She had a small frame, typical of Tressians, who populated an average sized planet in the heart of the Republic. Being Tressians, her skin was a muted blue color, accenting her locks of long golden hair. She had the figure and appearance of a petite human female, with thin, delicate features. Besides her coloring, the most distinctive quality her finely ridged forehead. Tressian physiology was also mostly comparable to human, which Sek treated more often than not, likely because of the rigidity of the human skeleton and fragility of their organs.
"We all need to hear it sometimes," Sek said dismissively. "Now, try to keep your arm still—the process will go faster that way. I'm sure you're anxious to get out of here."
The girl nodded with an amiable distance. "Where did Healer Truek go?" she asked suddenly, her mood considerably brighter.
As if on cue, the doors to the emergency bay opened. A hover-stretcher was floated in, accompanied by a handful of healers and technicians. Leading the effort was none other than his master, Healer Truek. The stretcher was moved to the main emergency room, located just to the right of the entrance and directly across from Examination Room B. Sek had left the glass untinted, giving him and his young patient a clear view of the other room. He turned back to Rinne to find the girl looking readily confused. "Who's that?" she asked, indicating with a small nod the patient in the next room.
Sek peered closer, gazing through the healers. The stretcher carried a young man, a Padawan, Sek noted by the braid dangling off the stretcher. As they hoisted him from the stretcher to the table, Sek caught a glimpse of the injuries across the man's bare chest. He then realized the man was probably no older than himself—in fact, he quickly recognized him. It was Obi-Wan Kenobi, an Initiate only a year behind him in Temple training. He had never known Obi-Wan well, but they had been casual acquaintances and were known to be good sparring partners before Sek had been chosen by Healer Truek as an apprentice. He had known Obi-Wan was taken on by Qui-Gon Jinn and had seen him being treated several times throughout his apprenticeship. And, as of late, the Temple had been flying with rumors concerning Obi-Wan's actions on Naboo and Tatooine, with the added mystery of the Sith and Chosen One. Jedi, although they did it in a respectful manner, were still prone to gossiping. "It appears as though it is a Padawan," he chose to tell Rinne. Out of a healer's inclination toward healing, Sek began to examine the young man through the Force.
"What happened?" she asked, apparently concerned.
"It's hard to say," Sek spoke casually, trying to divert the girl's attention from the scene. He considered tinting the glass, but figured that would only serve to heighten the girl's worry and curiosity. "It seems as though he has just returned from a mission. Sometimes missions can be dangerous."
The Force seemed to suddenly lurch, pulling uncomfortably on his consciousness from the room across the way. One of the reasons Truek had been impressed with Sek was that, even as a young boy, he had had an unusual talent with the Living Force. He was just not acutely sensitive to the Force, but accurate at extrapolating from the Living Force and assessing conditions in others. He formed bonds rather quickly, wielding his ability to not only diagnose a patient, but relax them and gain their trust. He had the habit of assessing any patient he happened to be by, whether his or not, just as he had done with Obi-Wan. However, the despair in Obi-Wan's unconscious state had flared so dramatically, that even Rinne flinched. "He's scared," she said, somewhat perplexed by her observation.
"Yes," Sek murmured, also a little puzzled. The commotion seemed to rise in the other room.
Rinne's eyes widened. "He's giving up," she said, her voice small.
The girl was again correct. Sek sensed Obi-Wan's life signs faltering. Such despair rarely seized a Jedi so completely. "You should be focusing on your own healing," Sek advised her.
"But he feels alone!" she insisted.
"There is nothing you can do," Sek told her quietly. "If you're going to get worked up, I'm going to have to tint the glass so you can't see."
"But I would still feel it," Rinne said, almost surprised by her own words.
Sek looked closely at the girl. She was no more than eight years old. Probing her a bit deeper with the Force, he found her attention nearly solely on Obi-Wan. She, too, was gifted with the ability to comprehend the Living Force—but there was something more than that. Her compassion, elicited intensely and given without reservation, seemed to be boundless. Sek offered her a smile. "Rinne, the healers are doing everything they can. Healer Truek is over there. You must trust them."
"But they cannot save those who do not want to be saved."
She was right, and her words momentarily dumbfounded Sek. Looking again across the hall, Sek could make out extreme life saving measures being taken. Obi-Wan's Life Force flickered on the edge of existence, blending dangerously with the Force on a whole. He turned back to Rinne. "What do you think you can do?" he finally asked her, not unkindly, but with a foreknowledge of the answer she would be forced to give. For all of Rinne's compassion, Sek knew she was still a girl—just an Initiate with much to learn. Her intentions aimed nobly high—it would serve her well, but bring her heartbreak along the way until she learned to balance her compassion with reason. If she herself admitted her inability to help, it would soften the loss—which, Sek noted, was becoming more and more eminent.
The question effectively silenced Rinne for a moment, as the girl appeared deep in thought. Sek waited patiently for the somber revelation to come to the girl. Surprisingly, though, the girl looked him squarely in the eyes, her voice ringing with conviction. "I'll just assure him he isn't alone," she said softly.
Prepared to respond, Sek held off a moment as the girl closed her eyes, her brow creasing with extreme concentration. He sensed her employing the Force beyond her abilities, energized by a strange energy that her compassion seemed to create spontaneously in response to the situation. His attention drifting back to the scene in the other room, Sek could barely hide his disbelief when he saw the situation begin to slow. The undulation of despair began to abate, settling somewhat forlornly back into a tired hopelessness. Obi-Wan did not fight for his life, but he did not reject it apathetically anymore.
When Rinne opened her eyes, she sported a wide grin. "I think he's going to be okay now," she said.
"What did you do?" Sek asked slowly, skeptical and awed at the girl before him.
"Nothing," Rinne replied honestly. "I just showed him that no matter how alone he feels, there's always a reason to live, even if you can't find it. Just like you told me, Sek. Even though I keep making the same mistakes so often that it doesn't seem like I'll ever overcome them, I always have a reason to keep training, even if I can't see it right now."
His words being tossed so precisely back at him, Sek took a moment to formulate a response. "How did you know how to do that?"
She looked as uncertain as his question had sounded. "I don't know," she admitted. "The Force guided me, I guess."
"Are you sure you want to be a Jedi Knight?" Sek finally questioned.
"Yes, more than anything!" Rinne exclaimed. "Don't you think I can be one someday?"
"I think you'd be a wonderful Knight," Sek said. "But you'd be an even better healer."
Pausing, she considered the idea. "I never thought of it before."
"Well you should," Sek told her. "Now, I think you're time is up. Let's see how your arm is."
With that, he again took Rinne's arm. After pushing several buttons, the splint released. Carefully, he removed it from her arm, then began a close examination of the arm. A quick scan revealed the bone to be completely healed. "See," he announced. "As good as new. You'll need to be careful for a few days—I'll alert your teachers to keep you from physical training until you're out risk of aggravating the healed injury."
She flexed her hand approvingly. "Thank you, Sek," she said.
"No problem," he said, helping her down from the table.
He walked with her toward the door where she stopped, studying the scene across the room. Obi-Wan was being prepared for a stay in the bacta tank. "Sek, you said he's Padawan, right?" she asked.
"Yes, he has the braid."
"Then where's his master?"
The question seemed so obvious that Sek was surprised he hadn't thought of it. Many masters managed to control their emotions, standing somewhat passively by as their student is treated. Some are even as collected as to sit in the nearby waiting area, which Sek saw to be completely empty. No master ever abandoned their Padawan when peril struck. Master Jinn had always been very attentive of Obi-Wan, and Sek had been impressed by the depth of their relationship, even though he knew both only in passing. Qui-Gon was not injured himself, otherwise he too would be in an examination room—besides, injury rarely kept a master from a Padawan's side. "I'm not sure," Sek said slowly.
"Maybe that's why he's so sad," Rinne suggested. "A master is supposed to care and protect an apprentice—they're supposed to share their thoughts and their souls. I've heard that the bond between master and apprentice is unbreakable. Their duties to one another are second only to the Code. Wherever his master is, he must miss him a lot."
The child's simplicity never failed to conclude the most poignant truths. The lack of Qui-Gon's presence suddenly seemed undoubtedly the reason for Obi-Wan's despair. Sek couldn't begin to fathom the reason for the separation, but he suddenly could perceive with absolute clarity the intensity of the loss in Obi-Wan. He never would have seen it—if not for Rinne, if not for a child's eyes. "You spoke earlier of your failure in the combat exercise," Sek said. "But what you have just done—the way you used the Force—you have an incredible talent, Rinne. Do not be so quick to forsake it."
The child smiled one last time, nodded shyly. She gave one last glance at Obi-Wan. "Will you tell me if anything happens to him?" she asked hesitantly.
"You must trust the healers."
"And the Force," she said, her mouth twitching nervously in a smile.
"Yes."
"But you will tell me, then, won't you?"
"Yes," Sek promised. "Now go. Enjoy the rest of your day while you are excused from classes."
"Thank you, Sek," she told him. He sighed as he watched her trot out of the emergency bay, exiting the wing, heading toward the Initiates quarters. Only a moment had passed when his attention was brought back to Obi-Wan. Being Truek's apprentice, his presence would not be unreasonable, so he entered, approaching softly and keeping distance. The scene had noticeably calmed, and the technicians and healers moved with more assurance and ease, now that the immediate danger was at bay.
For the first time, Sek visually gauged Obi-Wan's injuries. There were two wounds—both from blasters. Bacta had already began preliminary healing on both, but since the bacta had been applied from the outside the effect was minimal. The wounds, especially in the abdomen, ripped deeply into the internal anatomy of the Padawan. To heal efficiently, Obi-Wan needed a bacta tank—the supply of bacta recycling in and about the body saturated the wounds, mending from all angles. One of the healers busily stripped Obi-Wan of the tattered and dirtied tunic—it was beyond repair and would be thrown into the recycling bin.
"Okay, his vital signs are stable," Truek said. "Do you have the gown ready?"
"Almost," a healer replied, giving one last gentle pull to the pants. She took the gown from one of her companions and they moved to dress Obi-Wan's limp form.
"Mind the injuries," Truek ordered. "We don't want to disrupt any of the clots."
The healers proceeded, maneuvering the unconscious Jedi until he was properly clothed. Satisfied, Truek motioned for a technician to bring a stretcher. "Let's get him into a tank."
Finding the rhythm of the process, Sek deftly interjected himself into the action, helping transfer Obi-Wan onto the stretcher. His presence neither disrupted nor enhanced the sure movements of the team as they directed the stretcher out toward the bacta tanks. The tanks were given a section all their own, just off the emergency bay. Each tank had its own station, equipped with monitors and supplies. Currently, all of the tanks were empty, and they moved Obi-Wan to the closest one. One of the technicians climbed the stairs that ran behind the tank, waiting for the stretcher, which the rest of them promptly floated up to her. With well practiced movements, the technician attached the stretcher to the edge of the tank. She took a moment, allowing a healer to instruct her as to which monitors to attach to the prone form. One that was done, she pressed the ejection button, slowly raising the stretcher upwards on one end. Guiding the unconscious Padawan, she ensured he slipped gently and smoothly into the tank of bacta.
"Good," Truek said approvingly. He punched in the settings. "If his intestines show rapid improvement, you can lower the intensity of the recycling, but until then I want to keep this going full throttle. He has a lot of healing to do and the quicker the better. Watch the muscle restoration in his shoulder—we don't want the tendons to heal too tightly or he'll have more therapy to undergo. I want him monitored constantly until we can take it down a notch, and then he must be checked every fifteen minutes."
"Yes, Healer," one of the other healers nodded.
"Good," Truek approved. "Now, I'll be back in an hour to check his progress."
"We'll be here," she assured him with a smile.
Truek nodded, beginning out the door, Sek on his heals. Before Sek could speak, Truek began, "How is Rinne?"
"Rinne's arm healed completely," Sek reported. "I kept her in the splint until the bone was at 89% capacity. I'll excuse her from physical training for a few days until she can reach 100% on her own."
"Very good. Did her demeanor improve?"
"We talked a bit, and things seemed better when she left."
"Good."
"She was worried about Obi-Wan—we could see him through the windows."
"They should have been tinted," Truek commented.
"How is Obi-Wan?" Sek hesitantly continued.
"Padawan Kenobi sustained some serious injuries—surely your preliminary observations told you that."
"Yes," Sek agreed readily. "But earlier—you almost lost him, didn't you?"
Stopping, Truek sighed, looking at his apprentice. "Yes."
"What went wrong?"
"He simply wasn't responding to treatment," Truek said. "It happens sometimes. I was nearly sure we'd lost him."
"But you didn't."
"No," Truek said. "I wish I could explain it, but I think there's some things that only the Force knows. Kenobi had practically given up, but then, suddenly, it was like he decided there might be some reason to live after all. The Force is a mysterious thing, Sek, and it works differently in each person. Sometimes you never understand it, you just have to trust it."
Nodding slowly, Sek ventured another question. "Where is Obi-Wan's Master? Shouldn't he be with his Padawan?"
Truek hesitated, indicating that Rinne had been right—the Master/Apprentice bond was disrupted between the two. Perhaps Qui-Gon had died—that undoubtedly negatively affected a Padawan. "That, Sek, is a very difficult question."
"Why? Master Jinn…wasn't a fatality on the mission, was he?"
"No," Truek answered quickly. "Nothing of that nature."
"Then what reason would he have for not being with his Padawan?"
"Perhaps if Kenobi was no longer his Padawan," Truek suggested sadly, recommence his walk through the wing.
"What do you mean, Master?"
"I'm not completely sure," Truek admitted. "And it is not my business to spread gossip—you know that Sek, and you're all too prone to it as it is."
Sek blushed. "I know, Master. But I could feel the despair radiating from Kenobi, even across the hall. It was so strong that even Rinne became aware of it."
"Yes," Truek murmured. "That's why I wasn't surprised when we nearly lost him. Truthfully, I was more surprised we got him back."
"What exactly happened between Qui-Gon Jinn and Obi-Wan?"
"Some
things that happen between masters and apprentices should not be spoken of," Truek told his apprentice firmly. "It is an implicitly private affair."
"Yes, Master."
They continued for a moment in silence. "It was Rinne, wasn't it?" Truek asked suddenly.
"Excuse me, Master?"
"Rinne saved Obi-Wan, didn't she?"
"I'm not sure, Master. She did initiate some sort of contact with him before he seemed to make a turnaround."
"Figures," Truek said with a small shake of his head.
"What?"
"There we were with all of our medical equipment and our devices and methods. We used the Force to encourage his body to heal. But we were doing nothing to save him. Even his master—in all his wisdom and knowledge of the young man—forgot how to reach him. Kenobi closed himself off because he felt alone. We approached him via his physical wounds. Rinne approached him via his mental angst. Kenobi may need physical healers and for that—healing bonds and Force-healing and bacta work wonders—but he needs a soul healer far more. You could learn a lot from children, Sek, never forget that."
Following his master into a patient's room, Sek said, "I won't, Master."
With a grim smile, Truek noted, "Perhaps if Jinn hadn't forgotten, this could have been avoided entirely."