SEVEN

"Mistress."

Before he even spoke, she knew the tall man standing in her doorway was her most trusted servant Yhriel. 'Most trusted,' of course, meant that she monitored him slightly less than the rest of her household staff. Nacena did not turn around but simply raised her hand, indicating that he should continue. "The Jedi are departing Coruscant as you have desired."

"But not for why I desired." She replied flatly. "But that is no bother; I will have all of my desires soon enough, be assured. See to it my transport is prepared. I will travel to Bahreen myself and observe."

"Mistress…" Yhriel repeated the word, only this time it was laced with concern. "And what of your appointment to the Senate?"

"I have been told to be patient for far too long, Yhriel. Chancellor Velorum and his senators can be patient now for me. I will arrive when I arrive and that will be good enough for them. Besides," Nacena now turned and gazed emotionlessly at her servant. "I am not the only newly appointed senator that will arrive this session."

"Perhaps not, my lady," Yhriel inclined his head respectfully upon receiving her full gaze. "But you are the most unique. And that by virtue will draw some attention."

Nacena smiled a little, almost amused at Yhriel's attempts to stay her hand. He had mastered the art of diplomacy rather well; a lesser effort from another servant might have resulted in…consequences. To this one, however, she merely nodded her head a little.

"Then my arrival will also be unique, shall it not? Ready my ship."

Yhriel sighed a bit; he recognized that as a final decision, not to be questioned. He bowed slightly from the waist, having learned at a young age that it was a good idea to be watchful as well as respectful. He backed from the chamber, leaving his mistress to her thoughts.

Her thoughts, which she had kept counsel with for many years, waiting for this moment.

Nacena smiled. She was waiting no longer.

+++++

Obi-Wan gave his sleeping quarters a last once-over. Everything had been readied for the journey, the room itself had been neatened up and didn't look quite so much like it belonged to a harried and somewhat less- than-domestic Padawan. Gathering his things and intending to put them by the door in the outer room, his attention was arrested by something lying on the floor next to the repulsor chair that was his master's favorite.

Putting everything down, he crossed over and picked it up. It was a holopic generator, a palm-held disk of a sort that was rarely used these days. Obviously it belonged to Qui-Gon; there was little chance that anyone else would have left it here. He started to lay it on the table, knowing that once he realized it was missing Qui-Gon would fairly turn the place upside down looking for it. Curiosity, however, reached out a snaking tendril and tickled his mind, making him wonder whose picture his master had been carrying around with him. His thumb found the tab that would turn it on, and he pressed it gently, not certain at all if the battered-looking disk would even work.

A tiny hum and the device sprang to life, generating the hologram of a woman. It was a simple close-up of her face, capturing the essence of porcelain skin and eyes so blue as to defy description. Her lips were parted in a single breath, as if she were calling out to him. She was frozen in time here and for a reason unknown to him, his master carried her image.

A reason that quite likely would--and should, he thought guiltily--remain unknown to him. He moved his thumb to switch off the device, when the small shift in the angle with which he viewed her caught his eye. Recognition slammed into him and he nearly dropped the little unit altogether.

She looked uncannily like the woman he had described to his master on the balcony as they'd stood there in the light of the rising sun. Swallowing convulsively, he quickly turned off the holopic and placed the disk on the table. A shiver coursed through his frame, although he wasn't quite sure why; it felt like a chill breath running straight down his spine.

Are you ready, my Padawan? Qui-Gon's touch against their bond was enough to make Obi-Wan jump, but he controlled the reaction and hurried to gather his things, left on the other side of the room.

I'm ready, Master. Kenobi took two steps toward the door, and then realized the required interstellar history datapad had been left conveniently in his room. Dropping everything once again he dashed in to retrieve it; when he emerged Qui-Gon was standing next to the table, casually pocketing the holopic disk into the folds of his robe.

He couldn't help it; maybe it was guilty conscience, but Obi-Wan's gaze went straight to the hand that was tucking the little holo-generator away, and he realized it almost at once and quickly dropped his eyes, suddenly making himself very busy tucking the retrieved datapad into his travel bag. From that one guilty look more than anything the Force could have told him, Jinn knew that Obi-Wan had seen the holo.

"It's all right, Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon said quietly, and his apprentice's head snapped up to fix him with a look. "Curiosity is no crime against the Code, after all. And I did forget it was here."

"Master, I…" The younger man started to apologize anyway, but his mentor shook his head a little. "Who is she?" The question was the next logical one, and he waited with uncharacteristic patience for Qui-Gon to answer him.

When he did, his voice was laced with…regret? Pain certainly…long dulled by time and change but pain nonetheless and Obi-Wan instantly wished he had not pressed the issue, not desiring to hurt his Master by any stretch of the imagination.

"She…was someone who taught me a great deal once." Qui-Gon lifted his gaze from where he'd taken up staring at the floor to meet his Padawan's earnest expression. "It's all right." He reassured again. It was enough comfort that, despite his reluctance to say more, drew out Obi- Wan's reason for asking.

"She…she's the woman from my vision." Kenobi's voice was soft, trying to blunt the shock of surprise that he knew his master would feel at the words and indeed he could sense it along their bond, a ripple that could be described as a gasp of sorts.

"That's quite impossible, Obi-Wan." Now Qui-Gon's voice took on a sharper edge, unintentionally but reflexively, covering an old wound that he had not intended his Padawan to ever see in him. "Now let's go; we have a half hour before the departure time set by the transport captain."

Obi-Wan recognized it as his master closing the door on a topic he did not wish to discuss, but he felt as if the question was being dragged out of him and he had to ask it.

"Why, Master?" Seeking to clarify as he started slowly toward the door, he repeated the question. "Why is it impossible?"

Qui-Gon too felt as if the answer was being pulled from him, even as he closed his eyes and wished he didn't have to speak it aloud, even to the one person he might trust with it and all that in entailed.

"Because, my Padawan, she's been dead for twenty years."