Thank you, Liyanette. Cerasi5, you want to know what's wrong with Obi-Wan? You'll know soon ;-)
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Morning finally came, and everyone went to breakfast. They ate in a dining-hall - a large room, adorned with white columns, high ceiling and huge windows made the room seem to even larger - along with representatives and their staff. The arrangement of the tables provided room for private conversations. The Jedi chose their place so that to be able to watch everything in the dining-hall. More importantly, they could keep an eye on both representatives' tables.
Obi-Wan had been nudging food on his plate for what seemed an hour. He couldn't understand what was wrong with him. He ate yet he felt no taste. Everything was tasteless, stale. He would have thought it was because the food was bad if Kamon hadn't expressed his excitement about it being tasty. Obi-Wan raised his head and looked around. Everything was ordinary, but something seemed to be amiss - something in the colours. They were dull, lifeless, like on poorly made hologram or old holovids. Obi-Wan shook his head in vain attempt to bring back the vivid colours he was used to seeing. He blinked a few times but nothing seemed to help. Perhaps I'm just tired, he reasoned. And to speak truth, he was tired. The sleepless night didn't help things. He felt like he hadn't slept for at least a week. He didn't even realize that he had started to walk down a very dangerous path.
Surten Arones sat at the table to the right from the Jedi, quietly conversing with one of his aids. Anisa, Obi-Wan noticed, was late. As was Tarnos Imata. Namira, however, was here and the Padawan could tell she felt very uncomfortable at her table - to the left from the Jedi - surrounded by her uncle's aids. Occasionally she threw nervous glances to Kamon who, in turn, used all the mimics his face was capable of to reassure her.
Anisa stepped into the dining-hall and all eyes immediately turned to her. She looked like she had spent the whole morning in front of her mirror, which she probably had. She was magnificent. Obi-Wan felt his breath catch in his throat at the sight. Even her black business suit didn't spoil the impression - on contrary it seemed to emphasize her beauty. Pale, slightly tanned skin was shaded by silky mass of her chestnut hair. Seeing the admiration in his eyes she gave him a warm glance and half-smile in the corner of her mouth. She strode towards Arones' table and gracefully lowered herself into the chair to the left from him. The man abruptly cut his conversation with his aide and turned to Anisa.
During the whole breakfast Tarnos Imata still didn't make an appearance. Worry and relief warred on Namira's face - worry that something could have happened to him (no matter how horrible a man he was he still was her uncle) and relief that he wasn't there to talk about money as he always did.
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The breakfast was over, but Tarnos Imata had yet to make an appearance. One by one people - human or otherwise - filed out of the dining-hall to start their morning routine. Qui-Gon went to intercept Arones resolute to not leaving him unguarded. The Jedi had left all the representatives alone before breakfast to let them get prepared for the day. From now on the Jedi will be once again constantly guarding their respective wards.
Both Padawans joined Namira as she was about to exit the hall. They had made just a few steps in the corridor when one of Imata's aides came rushing their way. The blond woman was seemingly hardly aware of where she was going as she plunged headlong down the corridor. There was no way she could get past the three on such speed - she bumped into them almost knocking Namira over. The two females would have fallen onto the floor in a heap if Obi-Wan didn't react quickly, pulling the crazed aide to the side.
The next moment he found himself with his arms full of kicking and jerking woman that was yelling something incomprehensible. He tried to calm her down to get the reason for her odd behaviour - it's not that aides were running down the corridor like there was fire on their heels every day. Surprisingly, his voice seemed to cool the woman a bit, at least she stopped yelling madly. Now she was clinging to his tunic like her very life depended on it. Kamon joined Obi-Wan in his efforts and together they managed to bring some semblance of calm upon her, influencing her with the Force.
As soon as the woman was able to form a relatively coherent sentence, she told them to go to Tarnos Imata's apartment. She was still unable to bring herself to tell them what frightened her so. She was clutching Obi-Wan's tunic so hard that he had to work really hard to extricate himself from her. Once he was free, the two Padawans left the still sobbing woman in the care of Namira and started towards the apartment they had spent the previous night in.
When they reached the door to Tarnos' room they stopped and knocked at it.
"Mr. Imata," Obi-Wan called out.
Only utter silence greeted him.
"Mr. Imata, may we come in?" he called out again. Once again, he received no reply.
The two boys exchanged nervous glances, and then Kamon pushed the 'open' button. The door slid open revealing a horrible sight: Tarnos Imata was lying in the middle of the room, still dressed in his nightgown. His face was extremely pale, blue veins lining it in all directions. The grey eyes stared at the ceiling - unseeing. The reason for the aide's behaviour was obvious now.
The two Padawans rushed into the room, careful to not touch anything. Obi-Wan bent over Imata to check his pulse - and found none. Straightening, Obi-Wan pulled out his comlink. Throwing one more look at the glassy eyes of the dead man, he punched in the code. When he heard Qui-Gon answer he said:
"Master, could you please come here?"
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They gathered in Imata's common room waiting to hear what medics could say about his death - they being Namira and the three Jedi. Arones had already expressed his condolences to her, industriously faking a sorrowful expression on his face, and had retired to his apartment, saying that he had some business to attend to and asking to keep him informed. Namira was pale, her face drawn; she seemed to be at a loss as to what to do. Occasionally she threw at Kamon glances, full of hope as if she expected him to help her through this.
Being 21 she wasn't a child, but she never had anyone of her family die. Besides she felt guilty for not being able to really grieve for a man that was her uncle. Yet she felt she wasn't ready to loose him. And she most certainly wasn't ready to take all the negotiations here upon herself - to take the responsibility it meant. She had been sent here because her father wanted her to be here, to learn from her uncle how to deal with such situations, for she was the only Imata of the next generation - Tarnos had no children. And now she was left on her own to deal with Arones who she secretly feared. Her father, being an invalid - he had lost an ability to move both his legs in an air-car crash a few years previously - couldn't possibly attend to the negotiations.
Namira sat huddled in a deep plush chair, looking very young and lost. It was clear that Kamon wanted to comfort her but didn't dare to under the watchful eye of Master Jinn. Looking at the composed faces of the Jedi, Namira wished she could control her emotions like that. Little did she know about what was really going on behind the stoic mask of Jedi serenity.
Obi-Wan, for instance, had to struggle to maintain some semblance of peace on his face. The death of Imata weighted down on him - he was, after all, responsible for guarding the man. Guilt swelled within him as he once again looked at Namira. He knew the man's death was not his fault but he could not help thinking that if he were there it could be prevented, he could have done something. No matter how bad the man was he was a living being, and every life was priceless.
And Obi-Wan was cold again. He thought he felt cold this night, but now he was freezing despite the obviously comfortable temperature in the room - seemingly no one else felt any discomfort. He was so cold he had to grit his teeth to keep them from chattering. He could remember only one other time he felt so cold - it was when he and his Master were forced to spend some time on Hoth during one of their missions. But Allura was nowhere close in climate to the snow-covered planet. It could mean only one thing - something was wrong with him.
To keep his thoughts occupied Obi-Wan picked up one of the colourful magazines scattered on the nearby table. He flipped through the pages, looking at pictures there, but strangely enough, every picture reminded him of Anisa Tontri. One girl on the picture had the same hair, only without red streaks that added a special charm to Anisa. Another girl sat in the same graceful pose as Anisa had in the club… Am I getting obsessed? He silently asked himself. Somehow the thought of Anisa has made him feel warmer. He found he longed to see her again, to touch her. But this is not appropriate, he reminded himself sternly.
To keep his thoughts away from her - he didn't like the way they returned to him with every image he saw in the magazine - he started to read an article. He has read the half of it already, not really comprehending what he was reading, when a realization struck him, making his guts twist and heavy feeling form in his stomach - he couldn't recognize some of the letters. He had learned all the letters when he was two and never since had he forget any of them. But now he found himself looking in confusion at the symbols on the page. He ravaged his memory in desperate search for the meaning of these letters but has come up with nothing. Was it some sort of illness that made him forget?
He examined himself. Surely, he wasn't ill. It didn't feel like that. He wasn't even sure anymore that something was wrong with him. In fact, he couldn't remember ever feeling any different. It seemed that colours of the world around him were always this dull and lifeless. That the air smelled of nothing. Now that he thought of it, it seemed to him that he has always been feeling this way. Was it normal, then? Perhaps, he could reach through the bond he shared with his Master to find out if what he felt was the same for other people, but one look at Qui-Gon told him it was better to leave the older Jedi alone for the time being.
Qui-Gon was sitting in his chair, his face producing an utter calmness, but by his rigid pose Obi-Wan could tell that the other was concerned with what had occurred. The Master kept throwing glances at his Padawan, which the latter perceived as displeased and accusing. In truth, Qui-Gon was somewhat concerned with the too quiet behaviour of his apprentice and his somewhat pale countenance. Not that he was expecting Obi-Wan to pace the room but the boy moved only to turn pages of the magazine. He appeared to be deep in thought, and knowing him, Qui-Gon deduced that, most likely, he was blaming himself for the death of Imata. This was wrong, and Qui-Gon decided to talk to Obi-Wan about it. But this was not the right time, he will do it later, there was time to do it after they spoke to the medics. A cold feeling settled in the pit of his stomach, whispering him that he might not have that time, that there might be no later . But he dismissed this thought as a result of sleepless night.
Before he could think further on the matter, the door to the room opened, admitting a medic. All the eyes immediately locked on him as he quietly walked inside to stand in the center of the room. Qui-Gon stood up from his chair, not quite able to contain his relief that the long wait was over and eager to hear what the man had to say.
"I am Doctor Abar Konin. We have examined the body of Mr. Imata," the medic started, addressing mostly to Qui-Gon. Namira went even paler at the words. "I'm afraid we were unable to determine the cause of his death."
"What do you mean you couldn't determine the cause of his death? He couldn't die out of nothing," Qui-Gon put in as the doctor paused, the Jedi's brow raised.
"Yes, he couldn't just go and die for no reason," Konin replied, his face showing his indignation at the thought. "But we can't find what caused his death. He was a healthy man; all of his internal organs are intact and quite healthy for a human his age. He has no wounds, not even a scratch. It looks like life had been simply sucked out of him in a matter of seconds."
"Do you have any idea, how that could happen?" Qui-Gon asked, his own mind racing trying to find anything similar to this in the back yard of his memory.
"I'm afraid I'm totally clueless," the man replied, his face confused and apologetical.
You could repeat that. Qui-Gon thought to himself.
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