REMNANTS IN THE MIND - Cascadia
See part 1 for notes, disclaimer, etc.
CHAPTER 3-THE RAIN OF SLUMBER
When they had started the trip to Rymie, Qui-Gon knew his student might be uncomfortable, but he would never have guessed the extent to how moody the boy would be. They had left the Jedi Temple early that morning, while the sun blazed harsh beams on the waking world. Obi-Wan, sullenly quiet, had merely walked by his side, dutifully answering when required, and avoiding eye contact.
They had boarded the diplomatic cruiser, making the necessary greetings and exchanges with the pilot and copilot, before retiring to their assigned sleeping cabins - where the boy would end up spending most of the trip.
Obi-Wan held a frosted glass of ranga juice and gently swirled its plum colored contents, as he sat in a stiff cushioned chair in his cabin. The juice was sweeter than he liked it, but it was the only juice stocked on the ship. Licking the sticky taste off of his lips, he looked up when the tall Jedi master entered the room.
"The juice is too sweet, isn't it?" Qui-Gon said, as he slid in a vinyl-covered chair near the doorway.
After a small hesitation, Obi-Wan nodded, sweeping his eyes back to the glass in his hand. With his thumb he swiped at the condensation on its outside, and heaved a sigh.
"Uh," Qui-Gon started, marginally uncomfortable. "We'll skip 'sabre practice today." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
Obi-Wan's eyes jumped up, sharply eyeing the master.
Midnight blue eyes steadily met the youth's gaze. "I don't think we're that out of practice. A few days won't hurt," Qui-Gon remarked, inflecting sincerity with a gentle smile.
Quietly clearing his throat, Obi-Wan glanced out the door, past his mentor, but said nothing. He knew his master was disappointed in him. Earlier, when they were sparring in the cargo hold, Qui-Gon had reached out quickly, snagging the padawan's tunic with his hand, and pulled him into a hold, with his emerald blade held to the padawan's vulnerable throat. It was a clear defeat - and a bitter embarrassment.
He glanced at Qui-Gon again, wandering when, or if, his teacher would ever tell him of that disappointment. The man's posture appeared slightly tense, fingers twitching almost indistinguishably, but the face was unreadable - as it almost always was.
Just tell me, Obi-Wan thought, bitterly. He could not stand this stupid silence and pity anymore. The old man hid behind a wall of silence, periodically gracing him with a hollow word or a forced smile, all the while suppressing waves of pity.
It made him sick.
He sipped his juice, while he nervously bounced his knee. He could feel Qui-Gon's clear eyes studying him, but he leaned his head back against the wall, and closed his eyes as the stretching silence grew between them.
Qui-Gon sighed and stood. "I'll go review the Rymian request."
A freezing cold curtain hung in the air, and white fog was everywhere. The early morning light filtered hazy through the drifting veil of fog, offering only dreamy glimpses of the tall skyscrapers lancing the air, looming slate gray and mighty, staking their place as immovable. Yet they were no where near the size of those on Coruscant.
He and his master stood on a large landing platform, periodically stung by a blast of winter chill. Strategically placing himself next to his master, Obi-Wan was able to miss most of the erratic gusts. After a few minutes, Qui-Gon favored him with a warm, knowing smile, which, the padawan thinly smiled back.
Next to them stood a small contingent of soldiers, armed with golden ceremonial pikes, held proudly in front of them. Their long, maroon coats tossed wildly about by the wind.
Obi-Wan shifted uncomfortably, tucking the end of his braid beneath his robe after it slapped him across the face. Beside him, Qui-Gon's long, light brown hair whipped about his face. The Jedi master tried to focus on the task at hand, though it proved difficult after the uneasy distance that had formed between he and his student on the trip here.
Qui-Gon scanned their surroundings. The city looked very industrial, very commercial, very much like the Core Worlds - and if nothing was out of the ordinary, then he would probably recommend it for Republic acceptance. The sounds of the city floated across the vast open air. The rumble of traffic, the muttering of voices, and just across the lush park to their right, stood a large hostel he had been informed they would be staying in.
He felt a rush of apprehension and turned to Obi-Wan, who was trying very hard to ignore his gaze. The boy knew he was looking at him. He was sure of that. Sending a mental touch out to the boy, he felt Obi-Wan send a quick affirmation, but it withdrew as fast as it had come. The master had let this kind of behavior recently slide, but it was recurring too often since they had left Coruscant. Making a note to himself to bring the matter up at some later, more appropriate time, he looked back to the direction of where it was assumed the Premier would come from.
The Rymian Premier, known to keep outsiders waiting, finally appeared and strolled across the platform, with a soldier at each side. He was a distinguished looking man, baldheaded and with a gray streaked beard. His deep violet coat trailed to his knees, while his black boots clicked upon the hard, gray deck.
The two Jedi bowed when he came to a stop in front of Qui-Gon. He exchanged a curt bow, and spoke in a clipped tone. "Follow me, please." A quick wisp of fog followed his breath.
Wordlessly, the Jedi followed him into the interior of a copper minaret-topped, squat building.
The shade of night fell quickly, as the last rays of natural light tilted over the horizon, abandoning the city to a thick translucence of shadow. It was then that the capital city of Rymie came to life, during the time of the Korgill - when the inhabitants celebrated the passing of ancestors of long ago. It was near worship of the ones who had lived long ago, with remembrance culminating in a huge weeklong fete. Everyone - it was expected - was to take part.
"Really, Master Jinn," Premier Valioh Sherveld smiled, looking down the length of his nose. "I think your apprentice is old enough to decide for himself." The tone was jovial, but Qui-Gon detected the underlying judgment.
The Jedi master glanced at Obi-Wan, who was watching a group of young children engaged in revelry nearby. The presence of the creamy foam-topped, olive drinks in every hand did not go unnoticed by either Jedi, nor did the richly spiced scent easily assaulting the senses.
Obi-Wan looked back at him.
"Thank you, but we are not thirsty now, Premier," the Jedi master responded in kindness.
"We don't care about age here, Master Jinn," the Premier said arrogantly, sweeping his arm towards the crowds.
"Thank you, but we must decline for now." Qui-Gon looked at his student.
/We don't know what may be in those drinks, Padawan. This culture is still esoteric. Perhaps, later during dinner with the Prince, if. . . we sense no warnings./
/I understand, Master./
The words made Qui-Gon smile, yet the tone of the boy's mental voice was dutiful, and lacked warmth. He had not sensed any reason to be cautious, but it was wise to be prudent in a culture that he knew very little about. Clearing his throat, Qui-Gon said, "I'm sure there are other things to enjoy here."
With Qui-Gon's lead, they sauntered along the boardwalk. The three soldiers escorting Sherveld, followed.
The festive music blared, drowning the entire city in the swells of joy and celebration. Colorful banners covered streetlights, pastel glow lamps spilled in a vivid fantasia of sight. The atmosphere was cheerful and almost made Obi-Wan feel at ease.
Almost.
But there was a sprouting darkness. A cold, black, creeping darkness that he could feel, watching, waiting to ensnare him. Must have been that bad feeling that had started back at the Temple. Only now, it felt much stronger.
Did Qui-Gon feel it?
Force, why would he?
The cold trickle of an uncontrollable shiver ran down his spine, but he hastily pushed it away. With trembling hands, he pulled his robe tighter around him when a quick rush of cool air drifted by, and studied his master. Qui-Gon appeared aloof, consumed by the Premier.
He sidestepped a drunken couple who nearly ran him over, and pushed on through the crowd, tramping along the paper-littered boardwalk in the wake of the Premier and his entourage.
Coming into a large - and loud - carnival area, they stopped, surveying the chaos. Various games were set up along the boardwalk, where vendors encouraged passersby to play. Small children skittered by, nearly running into them. The sweet smell of pastries hung in the air. Noisy chatter and laughter rumbled all around.
"You see, Master Jinn. Our culture here is well rounded," Sherveld went on, elaborating on the superiority of his planet - 'far above any in the Republic', the man had earlier said.
Obi-Wan glanced around at the crowds, ignoring the ramblings of the Premier. In the course of a day, the arrogant man had become a source of irritation for the padawan. Unfortunately, Sherveld had insisted that they accompany him to this festival, and afterward, to join him for a feast with the Prince. But the entire tour had been crammed full of snide comments and pomposity. Add to that, the fact that the man took every opportunity to try to put he and his master at odds.
Checking out a planet for acceptance in the Republic was usually considered an easy mission, but not this time, Obi-Wan thought miserably. If his anxiety for being here had not existed, he would have still disliked the mission by the Premier's actions alone.
Strolling past the muddle of Rymians, he felt a vague sense of being watched. Wary, he searched through the jumble of bodies, searching for whatever it was he sensed. There were people short, tall, thin, thick, winding around one another in disorder. Voices and bodies, thrown together in a clogged mass of confusion.
He blinked, fighting a sense of vertigo that had suddenly encompassed him, and slowly turned around, searching for. . . whatever it was he was looking for. But there were moving bodies everywhere.
Then everything faded away. . . . And oh Force, he saw it.