"What does this Relf Razuul look like, anyway? Do you have a holo of him?" Valia asked, suddenly curious. "How will you know who you are looking for?"
Qui-Gon brought up several images from the hologram generator in the small data pad. They were rotating pictures of Razuul at different ages, places, in different disguises. He waited for her to peruse this set, then produced another. Valia leaned closer, suddenly very interested. There was something very familiar about the eyes, the nose...
There was an image in the third set of holos that riveted her attention. Qui-Gon's and Obi-Wan's attention was on her as she closely studied the image. Surprise had played over her face, then puzzlement, and the second and third looks for confirmation. She finally leaned back.
"His name isn't really Relf Razuul. Or it wasn't at one time."
"Do you actually know him?" asked Qui-Gon.
"I was only slightly acquainted with him at one time. He is, or rather was, a neighbor when I was still living there. He's the older brother of the boy I...the man who...someone I knew much better at the time."
"What was his name then?" asked Qui-Gon, pushing aside the other, irrelevant question he'd thought of asking first.
"Jax Dekkar," answered Valia, having lost all interest in eating establishments, and their furnishings. She was thinking of other times, other places. She tried to recall everything she once knew about Jax, which really hadn't been much, trying to fit it with his present career. Her thoughts naturally turned to his younger brother. She'd known much, much more about him. She hadn't thought about Lommi in so long. So very long. Where was he now, what was he doing? Was he happy and well; was he with his family? She wondered then, for the first time in years, whether he ever thought of her, or remembered the brief flare of teen-aged passion they had shared. And the life they'd formed together by happy accident cut short by a caprice of nature.
"You're certain?" Qui-Gon's question interrupted her musings.
"Yes, Qui-Gon." Her voice was distant.
Qui-Gon leaned back into the couch. He closely studied her without revealing he was doing so by shifting his eyes her way. This was certainly interesting. She knew the fugitive they were hunting, and his younger brother had been her first love. And she'd insisted she would be no help in this matter... Well, he had wanted to know more about her than he already knew. It appeared he might get his wish. She had openly talked about her miscarriage and the events surrounding it several times without mentioning specific names. She was not afraid of discussing the subject with him, but he now sensed in her a very natural and private retreat into the past, into indelible and painful memories. He resisted an urge to gently probe her mind and follow her there. That part of her past did not bother him, but he admitted feeling more than a little curiosity about it, and those who had played a part in it. And a worried helplessness to stop her from going back there, to prevent the hurt. A Jedi would not mull over the past, but there was nothing to stop her from doing so. He reminded himself to respect her privacy, and to remember this was past history. The unchangeable past. She was still looking at the hologram set in front of her. He did the only thing he could and curled his hand around her shoulder to give her a light, reassuring squeeze.
"Well, this narrows our search considerably," he said softly.
"And now we know he's a native Nymean, and how he is so close to your family," Obi-Wan added.
"But why would he come back here?" asked Valia. "I would think this is the last place he would run to, back to his home world."
"He must have a reason, known only to him. But perhaps that is the train of logic he is expecting his pursuers to follow. He is gambling that they will look to all other points in the galaxy."
"In a way, this may make finding him harder," Valia cautioned.
"How so?" asked Qui-Gon.
"There is a strong tradition of protectiveness in families, between close family branches, and even between close neighbors in the region I grew up. When it suits their purposes, of course. You don't squeal on anyone. It tends to be frowned upon, and is in very poor taste. No matter what the person might have done, short of outright murder. There is a very strong 'good-old-boy' network in place that might be hard to crack."
"Well, that is why we are depending on you and your good brother to help us."
Valia wore a look on her face that resembled one she'd worn in the walk-in cooler at her store on Coruscant when Qui-Gon had first broken the news of this mission to her.
"Lia, I have to know...who won the beraggami game?" Obi-Wan asked, in an attempt to pull her out of her sudden and mysterious glum mood. It wasn't like her. He'd missed something in the conversation. He gestured toward the game board.
"Huh? Oh." Valia distractedly looked at it. Her wan look quickly shifted to a sarcastic scowl. "Neither one of us." She aimed her look up at Qui-Gon's face. "It ended in...well, not really a tie. I suppose the game never really ended. We had, um... a small dispute."
Qui-Gon snorted. "A non-dispute."
"Hiding key pieces is hardly an issue I would call a non-dispute."
"I was not hiding it."
"Excuse me, but tucking it into one of the many deep, fascinating folds of your tunic looks to my eyes like hiding."
"It was out of play, and I was merely putting it aside to avoid clutter." He cast a glance around the room, as if to point out how futile that effort had been.
"Thinking perhaps I would, at some point, forget it was out of play, Master Quick-Hands Jinn?"
Qui-Gon folded his arms and drew himself up regally. "I will tell you once again. I do not cheat." He affected a look of grievously wounded righteousness, but there was a telltale playful sparkle of mischief in his eyes. The sparkle had returned to Lia's eyes as well, Obi-Wan noted. He quickly rose from his seat, sensing the meeting was over, or at least the part of it that included him. Time to leave them alone to finish their...game.
"I hate to break this to you, Lia, but he sometimes does that," Obi-Wan informed her.
"What?"
"He really isn't hiding the pieces."
"I tried to explain to her it's simply a habit."
Valia skeptically looked from one face to the other.
"I just never went looking for them," Obi-Wan said over his shoulder, giving the cabin's cluttered floor a last wry smile as he moved toward the cabin door.
Qui-Gon quickly shook his head before the drop of sweat could run through his eyebrow and into his eye to sting it. The split second of time it took to do this was a luxury he could barely afford. The dark opponent was already well into another swing at him. He blocked it with a two-handed thrust and shoved with all his strength at the same time, to put some distance between the two of them. His foe kept getting dangerously close to getting inside his guard.
He circled again, prowling, seeking an opening where he had not been able to find one before. It bothered him that he could not see his opponent's face. Just when it might slip into the light and reveal itself, shadows of its black swathing would hide it again. Qui-Gon brushed aside his growing frustration at not being able to see the face. It was dangerously close to anger. Even the reflected light of their flashing sabers did not reveal it.
Qui-Gon plunged forward suddenly in an offensive move. He feinted right and slashed left. The dark man danced away, just out of the reach of his blade. Quick and slippery and wily, he'd been evading Qui-Gon for what seemed like hours. This could not continue on like this. Qui-Gon wearily reminded himself again to be patient, be careful. An opportunity would come. He would need all his abilities to be ready for it. But his strength was beginning to fade.
The dark shape whirled at him in a slashing sequence of moves. Qui-Gon's eyes followed the bright blade, predicting where along its length would be the best point to block. He waited until the last possible instant, conserving strength, and met the other blade with his own near the hilt. The snarl of wild energy and flying sparks filled the air as the blades slid along each other. Qui-Gon turned his shoulder aside almost too late. The other blade's tip flicked into the fabric, blackening it and burning his skin. The pain was minor, easy to ignore. For now. But this sloppiness was irritating Qui-Gon. This match should have been decided long ago. He had a vague sense that he had met this opponent before, that this was not the first time they had fought. There was something familiar about the man's moves. He was very well trained. Worse, he was confident. Qui-Gon summoned his own confidence and rallied with a roundhouse kick, nearly succeeding in knocking the man's legs out from under him. His blow didn't connect quite as solidly as he had hoped. The man whirled away before Qui-Gon could follow with a killing saber blow.
Frustration rose like a sharp pain itself. That maddening desire to know who he fought reared up again, too, clouding his concentration. He saw the blade coming at him again, and blocked it methodically. Emotion should have had no place here, yet that seemed to be every bit as solid as a second opponent. He fought that down, even as that perfectly controlled blade came at him again. There was no doubt only one of them would walk away from this match. There could be no other outcome.
The mystery opponent tried a brazen stab directly at Qui-Gon's heart. He swatted it aside and closed in with a punch with his fisted non-saber hand. His long arm sent the blow crashing into the side of the man's face. Seemingly defying the laws of physics, he did little more than waver to the side, not fall senselessly to the ground like he should have. Suddenly they were face to face. Where was his saber, Qui-Gon wondered wildly. They were now locked in close hand-to hand combat. And where was his opponent's saber? They wrestled, arm muscles straining and quivering, hands clawing and squeezing. Bigger and longer-limbed, Qui-Gon gained the advantage quickly. Still, that maddeningly hidden face. He now had his hands tantalizingly close to key pressure points on his foe's neck. Just a little closer and victory would be his. Then he would know who-- His eye caught a movement downward between their struggling bodies. A lightsaber hilt, in the hand of his opponent. It looked like his own. How--? Thumb on the activation switch. Blade end aimed at his chest. No! The crystal clear details etched themselves into Qui-Gon's vision as the blade sprang to life, and he raised his head to die, to become one with the Force, open-eyed and dutifully.
And found himself staring at the ceiling of a darkened stateroom aboard a space liner called the 'Diadem'.
He lay frozen for several minutes, letting the quiet of his surroundings sink into him. Normal sounds, sights and scents of a ship in its 'night' phase. He reached above his head to the shelving above the head and assured himself that his lightsaber was there where he had left it before settling down for the night. Close by where he could lay his hand upon it immediately. As always.
He carefully raised himself from the clinging, sweaty sheets. A shapely, bare arm and leg impeded his progress. Valia lay sleeping partially on her stomach, her limbs sprawled over him. Qui-Gon watched her carefully, studying her to see if his dream had disturbed her. On occasion they dreamed together, but it was at Qui-Gon's instigation. Still, he made sure that she hadn't been somehow pulled into the nightmarish episode, or stirred by any movement he might have been making. She continued to breathe evenly, her face half-buried in the pillow. If nothing else, she might soon be awakened by a numb arm and hand, as the other lay curled beneath her.
He carefully extricated himself from beneath her and gave her gentle nudges in several places. She rolled over on her own with a little sigh. Resting on her back, the circulation would soon return to her arm. He adjusted the covers over her. Her pale hair was a wild tumble across the bedding, much like the state it had been in before both of them finally slept. It was long enough to reach her waist when she let it down. He reached over to caress a satiny section of it, unable to resist but not wanting to risk waking her.
How young she looked. Her untroubled face had yet to be marked with the lines brought on by decades of cares. Or hopefully laughter. He saw she would be one of those women to whom age would be kind. Her fine-boned, well-balanced features would remain visible to the end of her life. Her sweetly arrogant nose tempted him to kiss it. But he refrained, promising himself he'd do it first thing in the morning.
He sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed his face. This wasn't the first time he'd had a combative dream such as this. Space travel sometimes made him dream more, and more vividly. But this one had been startling. Not so much for the details, but for the emotional involvement. He was still feeling scraped raw from it, and he took several deep, calming breaths. What did it mean? Did it mean anything? It could be the workings of the Force, with many layers of meaning. Or it could mean nothing. Nothing more than the after-effects of some new delicacy his love had charmingly coaxed him into trying at dinner last night. Or just an echo of their recent confrontation. The sensible thing to do was not to dwell on it or read too much into it. It was futile to guess or predict the ways the Force manifested itself. The meaning of the dream, if any, would become apparent if he quieted his mind, and approached the coming days, or weeks, or even months with an impartial attitude.
He became aware of muscle aches over his back and shoulders. Even his body had seemingly been drawn into the dream battle. Tensing against the paralysis of sleep, it now felt weary, and there would be stiffness if he didn't do something to relax. He twisted and stretched, rubbing his upper arms and shoulders and as far across his back as he could reach. He heard Valia stir and shift in her sleep behind him. A walk would be good. And some stretching. He would dress and limber up with a short stroll, and contemplate the chaotic, swirling void of hyperspace on the observation deck. The solitude would be comforting. She would never have to know he'd been gone. He crossed his arms, massaging his shoulders. And then her hands were there, with his. Her fingers meshed with his. He went still, letting her hold his hands. He turned to look into her heavy-lidded eyes. Her sleepy thoughts were all questions.
What's wrong?
Nothing. You should go back to sleep. Get your rest for tomorrow.
He knew she hated being awakened early. But let someone close to her be sick or in trouble, and she was on her feet quick as a soldier.
Don't try to hand me that. When does 'nothing' wake you up in the middle of the night, and have you sitting there hugging yourself? Are you sick?
No. Just a dream.
Not a good one, I take it.
She had taken over for him and was rubbing one shoulder. Resigned, he dropped his hands into his lap. She was doing a far better job than he could have, and her warm, competent hands felt so good. Her touch seemed to banish something dark. She gathered his thick hair and pushed it forward over his other shoulder to get it out of the way. She sensed a tightness, an insularity about him. In body and attitude. Evidently he hadn't been running through flower-strewn meadows wherever he had been. She put aside asking him what he'd been dreaming about. She might only get some philosophically sage answer if she asked anyway.
"You aren't having heartburn from dinner last night, are you?"
Qui-Gon winced inwardly at the term, and then smiled. "No. I'm not sure I'd know it if I were. I don't believe I've ever had such a thing."
"Of course not. You're disgustingly healthy."
Valia cozied herself against his back, her knees on either side of his hips. She slowly worked on his back and shoulders and neck for a long while until they felt relaxed to her. She moved his hair to the other side and massaged him a little longer. She frowned over a stubbornly tight deltoid. She was rewarded when he uttered a contented groan and turned to capture one her hands with his, and kiss it. She smiled and yawned. "Why are your muscles so stiff?"
"You've worn me out the last two nights," he offered.
Valia grinned. She looped her arms around his neck affectionately. "You old flatterer." She nuzzled her nose and lips into his hair behind his ear. "Nice try. Like I said, you are disgustingly healthy." She climbed out of the bed and stood facing him. Her own muscles complained in some blushingly intimate places. Who had worn whom out? This voyage seemed to be having some erotically catalytic effect on the two of them. He'd nearly had her climbing the cabin walls several times the night before. One's mention of needing to get some sleep had only been taken as a wicked challenge by the other. Maybe Obi-Wan's theory about the ventilation system hadn't been a joke. Maybe it was simply both of them getting away for a while. She covered another yawn with a hand, and straightened the thin white sleeping shift she barely remembered slipping on hours before.
But even more memorable than the physical closeness they'd enjoyed was the emotional connection they had reached. It had almost been spiritual. Valia recalled a moment of freezing with a sudden awareness that she could no longer be sure where she ended and he began. And his easing back, and soothing reassurance. He was completely fearless of this melding, this loss of all boundaries. Valia was not. It had been new to her, and unsettling. But even as he let her have her space, she'd known a craving for the taste of that oneness with him again.
Now she stood before him, her hands bracketing his shoulders. It was becoming obvious he was not going to offer any more information about what had woken him. It probably didn't matter now. But he still had that distant look about him. She pulled him close and sighed into his hair. How she wanted to go back to sleep, but she also wanted to make sure he wasn't going to broodingly wander about the rest of the night, like she'd known him to do occasionally. Qui-Gon sank to the floor on his knees and slid his arms around her waist.
"It's nothing, Lia. Just a bit of saber practice in my sleep."
His explanation appeared to pacify her. She yawned again and rested her chin on top of his head. Her hands drifted across his hair, his back and shoulders in long slow strokes. He felt his stiff attitude melting and he gave in to the craven need to be held by her. He bowed his head and rested his forehead against her breastbone, accepting her silent comfort. He exhaled long and deeply, his breath drifting between her breasts, down the front of her shift. "My Lia,'" he whispered.
"Your Lia. Right here," she mumbled after a few seconds.
She was falling asleep on her feet. Chances were good she would remember little, if any of this in the morning. She murmured something unintelligible, something about him getting cold. He slid his hands upward, flattening them against her back and helped her back into bed with a gentle scooping motion. She insistently pulled him in with her. She wrapped her arms around him and clumsily pulled up the covers. Apparently mistaking his head for his shoulder, she pulled them completely over his head, mumbled something else, and still holding him in her arms, settled into a sound sleep.
Qui-Gon waited in the suffocating darkness until he was sure he could move without waking her. Then he carefully pulled himself up to where he could breathe freely.
He smiled down at her gratefully. And since somewhere on a myriad of worlds it was morning, he kissed her nose. Had he told her he loved her that day? He had the day before. He wondered if he said it enough for her. Surely she must know how he felt. Didn't she? She seemed to have no problem saying she loved him, and didn't beg to hear it from him. It still wasn't easy for him to say it. Those three simple little words didn't exactly roll off his tongue. So he thought it to her.
I love you.
Her face twitched into a small smile, and then relaxed again.
After a short while, Qui-Gon found a deep and peaceful sleep.