Chapter Three

"Tell me everything you know about the Pennetians," Qui-Gon said wearily for what felt like the hundredth time. He rubbed his aching temples. It had been a full day since Obi-Wan's disappearance by Zodek and neither Obi-Wan, nor any of the merpeople, had been seen since. He had been asking every known 'expert' on Penne't II for any kind of informational background on the Pennetians. So far all he had learned was what he already knew: they were proud, they kept to themselves, and they were fanatics.

Fanatics of what, no one seemed to be sure.

Now Qui-Gon sat in front of a very old woman who claimed to be one of the direct descendants of the original group of tourists that had crash landed here hundreds of years ago, discovering the beautiful world with its one land mass and extremely large ocean. He had not slept since Obi-Wan had been taken from him on the shore of the Un'ocean, and only adrenaline kept him going at full steam now.

The woman, gray hair neatly piled on top of her head, smiled and nodded at him, as if to impart a large secret to him. With the way the Pennetians kept knowledge of themselves away from the main populace, Qui-Gon was sure that anything beyond what he already knew would be a type of secret.

"My granddaddy, he was a fisherman," the old woman, who called herself Iriena, began in a soft voice that shook with age. Qui-Gon had no idea how old she was, but she seemed at least in her eighties, perhaps more. For her ease, they were sitting on the porch of her retirement home near the ocean in large comfortable chairs made of a substance that Qui-Gon had never seen before. It was dark green and resembled seaweed, though it was very strong and sturdy.

"He didn't ever fish here," Iriena was saying. Qui-Gon forced his tired mind back to the woman in front of him and listened more attentively as she went on. "First night we was here for vacation, he fell off our skip into Un'ocean. Anyone in the water beyond the Safe Point was a goner—we all knew that. We mourned the loss and went on." She gave a small chuckle and gestured to his glass of pale yellow liquid. "More limonaid, Mister Jedi?"

Qui-Gon shook his head politely; he had hardly touched what she had given him of the tart liquid. He took a sip when it seemed as if her need to continue rested on if he drank. He knew that the liquid was safe; he had seen her drinking out of the same pitcher.

"Well, we was at home on Coruscant when granddaddy just up and walked through the door one day, like he never had left. Caused grandmomma to about have a stroke right then and there, it did." Iriena chuckled again as she thought of it, her face wrinkling with many laugh lines as she did so. "He'd been gone over a year, you see."

"And where had he been?" Qui-Gon prompted her gently when she had been silent for a while, lost in memories.

Iriena leaned forward a little bit and Qui-Gon found himself leaning in closer to her as well. His heart began to leap—perhaps this woman would finally help him to shed light on his missing padawan's whereabouts and condition.

"With them," Iriena whispered. She pointed out at the ocean. "The merfolk. They caught him, you see, when he fell from the boat. Was gonna kill him, too, they were, but he made motions with his hands so that they could see he meant no harm. Curious little things, they are. They saved him because they were curious. Took him to a deep place where he said you couldn see nothin. They put him in this bubble thing they had already set up where he found someone else. They was left to themselves a while so they talked, though granddaddy said the other man never had enough strength to do much talkin."

Qui-Gon was now very interested, even though this was a tale obviously embellished throughout the years with the retellings. "And who was this other person? Another Mainlander?"

Iriena shook her head, her bun swaying dangerously as she did so. "Nope, not a Mainlander. Young fellow though. I was young with granddaddy died and nobody'd tell me the story after it, but I think I remember him sayin it was a Jedi by his clothes."

Qui-Gon's eyes widened. A...Jedi?

Iriena was finishing her story. "Granddaddy always shook his head when he talked of the poor Jedi. Said he was insane. Kept talkin about 'her' and 'she', but granddaddy never could figure out what he meant. Babbled about 'bringin...'" She stopped, touching a long, wrinkled finger to her lips. "What was it?" Her eyes cleared with the thought. "That's it. Balance. Babbled about brinin balance to 'her', whatever it meant.

"Well, soon the merfolk took him away to another city where he could walk around freely and talk to other 'lost ones' who were down there. Seems them merfolk don't just kill anyone whose in their waters, but they don't let them leave, either." Iriena huffed a little, patting absently at a pillow that helped her to prop up.

Qui-Gon immediately jumped up, sensing her discomfort. "Here, let me help you," he said kindly as he readjusted the pillow to make her more comfortable. When she was ready and he had sat down—and drank half the glass of the limoaid—Iriena finished.

"Them merfolk, they don't just let you leave. Once you're in the water, well, you're in it," she said, frowning a little. "Granddaddy never did talk of how he got out of there, but I do remember seein a big scar on his side. Think they tried to stop him, though he never told us grandkids about it." She stopped, peering at him. "Did I help, Mister Jedi?"

Qui-Gon smiled at her and gently patted her knarled hand. "I think so, dear lady."

Iriena cackled and a faint red stole over her cheeks. "Oh, mercy! 'Dear lady'!"

A young woman who seemed to be a younger version of Iriena came out of the house. She glanced at the two of them and saw Qui-Gon stand up. "Are you done with your visitor, Grandmomma?"

Iriena nodded, her eyelids already dropping with sleep. She was exhausted from her long-winded story. Qui-Gon quietly slipped into the house with her granddaughter and was on the front porch again shortly.

"You've caught grandmomma on a good day," the granddaughter, Welimina, said softly as they walked down the steps.

Qui-Gon was perplexed at her wording. "A...'good day'?"

Welimina glanced at him. "Didn't anyone tell you, Master Jedi? Grandmomma has a wasting disease that preys on her memory. The best doctors and healers cannot help her and so she has been taken here to live out the remainder of her days. Most days, she doesn't know who I am, or even who she is."

"What?" Qui-Gon whispered, his hazel eyes round with shock. "But, you said...today was a good day...for her memory, correct?"

Welimina shrugged. "I suppose. Maybe she remembered all that she told you, but most of the time she just sits there and makes up stories to whomever passes by." The young girl, just a few years older than Obi-Wan, patted his arm sympathetically as he digested this shocking turn of events.

"So...none of what she said was true?" Qui-Gon tried to reason out.

Welimina shrugged her petite shoulders, her blonde hair gleaming in the hot sun. "Maybe, maybe not. There were family legends about great-granddad, though none of us knew what was truth or what was fiction."

Qui-Gon almost did not want to ask his next question. "And did you hear of his underwater exploits?"

After a pause, Welimina shook her head. At his crestfallen look, she quickly added, "But I was very young when he died. After he left us, no one talked of him. It is the way of my family—to grant those who went on peace by refraining from speaking of them. I do not know what to tell you, Master Jinn." She looked stricken, wringing her hands in obvious agitation.

Qui-Gon smoothed his face of his emotions and let a smile grace his features—a smile he did not feel. "It'll be all right," he told himself as much as her. "The Force will show us what is truth in time. We must be patient."

Welimina lifted a stricken face to his. "But will it be quick enough for your padawan's safe return?"

As Qui-Gon turned away, his heart—and the Force—had no answer.