III: Dreaming Deep
Qui-Gon
The atmospheric pressure became brutal as Thornwing dropped off the continental shelf. As they lost altitude over a small sea, Dooku constantly adjusted the environmental controls, frowning in thought. Eventually, Qui-Gon saw lowlands rising out of the water through the haze, a great forest sloping gently up to low hills. In the distance, Qui-Gon could sort of see a possible settlement, but the air was so thick and clouded that it was hard to make anything out. He felt like his mind wasn't working quite right either, and he had to take shallow, panting breaths.
The green-and-gold foliage of the lowland forest was blackened in a huge area. They were low enough now that Qui-Gon could see charred pillars that were once trees. Near the edges of the enormous forest fire scar there was less damage, and some of the trees were still alive and growing new leaves. Dooku brought their courier down in that area, hovering since there was no unobstructed surface to land on. He made a few last adjustments to the autopilot before he headed to the ramp and let himself drop to the ground many meters below. Qui-Gon followed and then looked up as Thornwing closed its hatch and flew off by itself.
"We may be a while," Dooku said softly, the deep thrum of his voice heavily distorted in the deep air. He turned and walked a hundred meters or so before coming to a scorched clearing that he examined and seemed to find satisfactory. Qui-Gon trailed him, before stopping dead as his intuition began to prickle.
Dooku turned and then his lightsaber suddenly jumped from his belt to his hand. The hum of the saber as it ignited was like a dull roar in Qui-Gon's head. The pale blue glow of the blade provided more light than the cloud-obscured sun and the feeling that Qui-Gon was underwater intensified. Dooku's arm pointed straight out and perpendicular from his body, but he was not anywhere near as vulnerable in his Makashi guard as an unexperienced combatant might assume. The point of his blade was the center of an invisible circle; to leave that circle was to leave the fight.
"It is a necessity, sometimes, to understand your physical limitations. Draw your sword. Now."
Qui-Gon obeyed. He'd nearly finished growing, and several months ago Dooku had finally allowed him to build his own lightsaber. It felt heavy now in his hand, though it sat more comfortably there than the training sabers he had used before. It seemed like a weird time for combat training, but Dooku was in a mood.
With a snap-hiss, Qui-Gon's saber ignited in green fire. Pacing around Dooku, he tried to clear his head. He trusted the Force to give him the moment to attack. Dooku stood still, and his apparently unprotected back was tempting, but Qui-Gon knew better than to be lured in. His circle was nearly complete before he took a sudden step inwards. His first attack was to test Dooku's defenses, as he knew Dooku's riposte was the real danger. As soon as Dooku committed to deflecting the blow, Qui-Gon put all of his physical strength and no small amount of his strength in the Force into winning that critical lock.
Qui-Gon had trained many years against Dooku . He knew better than to watch the man's face. Any betrayal of Dooku's intent would materialize in his grip, in the movement of his blade, or in his footwork. For now, Dooku was still effortlessly keeping him at bay. Qui-Gon had to get close. When he tried to step in once more, Dooku locked their blades in an awkward position. Qui-Gon was pushed back, until he had to drop his weapon or break his wrist. Even as he let go and stepped hurriedly back, his wrist ached sharply, though the pain was fleeting. Dooku did not push his advantage, instead lowering his own blue blade until it touched the ground. Qui-Gon called his lightsaber back to his hand in that reprieve.
"Again," Dooku said. He still held his blade low, so Qui-Gon struck high. In the space of a heartbeat, Dooku flicked his wrist to bring his blade up to guard and deflect. The riposte burned through the outer layer of Qui-Gon's robes before stopping. Qui-Gon knew it was a 'kill', but jumped back anyway.
Qui-Gon wasn't usually this bad when they sparred. Something was wrong with his reflexes. Something in the air, probably - it was thick and almost smothering. Dooku didn't seem bothered by whatever it was, though. Maybe it was all in Qui-Gon's head.
Dooku's low voice interrupted him. "Again."
The world seemed brighter with the dance of blades, and Qui-Gon thought the burned-yet-living trees were amused, too. He came in at Dooku again without any guard of his own, a completely foolish thing to do. It was foolish enough that Dooku wasn't expecting it, and by the time the point of the blue blade whirred towards Qui-Gon, Qui-Gon was able to block it. Dooku was less deadly with the edge of the blade, and Qui-Gon was now close enough to avoid the point. Here, Dooku's reach and precision advantage was less. He locked their blades, but Dooku kneed him in the chest and it was over again.
Qui-Gon picked himself up. He felt drugged, or worse. The trees were laughing at him now. He could tell.
"Again," Dooku said. He looked like he might have wanted to say something else too, but he brought up his guard instead.
Qui-Gon obligingly whirled in at Dooku, trying to bypass his impossible outer defense again. His hands felt numb and clumsy, and they weren't doing what he wanted them to do.
Dooku gestured faster than Qui-Gon's blurred mind could comprehend, and he felt his master's power in the Force lash out, holding him still.
"Qui-Gon," Dooku said, the pressure distorting his voice into something nearly unrecognizable. "You nearly cut your own leg off. Focus." And then Qui-Gon felt a faint echo of pain. He looked down at his own green blade lancing out to just touch his thigh.
Dooku turned and walked away a few paces. The air closed around Qui-Gon again- no longer exhilarating. He was drowning in it, and he knew it, and he couldn't seem to make his mind work. He turned off his lightsaber and looked at the shallow burn on his leg. In Qui-Gon's fevered imagination there were butterflies swarming out of it, but he blinked and they sparkled away. The faded colors of the burnt-out forest were bleeding together again into glorious madness. He took shallow breaths, feeling the weight of the air in his lungs.
Dooku's voice cut through the fog blurring Qui-Gon's senses. "Again."
Qui-Gon gritted his teeth. His saber hissed into new life as he launched another futile assault on his master. Dooku easily deflected the waning force of his strikes, holding his ground. While Qui-Gon had grown, Dooku still had at least an inch of reach on him, and Qui-Gon couldn't get through that dangerous envelope. Dooku was far more comfortable in his height than Qui-Gon was in his awkward, betraying body. He couldn't even get his master in a saber lock. After a few very sloppy blows, Dooku took his feet out from under him with a leg sweep and easily kicked him away. Why wasn't his body working right?
The word 'narcosis' drifted through his head, but couldn't find an anchor. It wasn't poison; it was something in every breath he took. Qui-Gon tried to reach out to the Force to remove the strange giddiness. It worked for a moment, and his eyes cleared. Dooku watched him, his outline more solid now, less wavering and unreal.
"Again," Dooku said. His voice sounded stranger...like it was ever so slightly out of phase with itself.
Qui-Gon dived low this time, trying to cut Dooku's legs out from under him. It wouldn't work; it never did. Dooku brought the tip of his blade down to block and the blades leaped to meet each other. Qui-Gon's considerable forward momentum was blunted by the resistance of the blades against each other. His leverage was off, and the tip of Dooku's saber swept down the length of the blade towards the saber hilt. Qui-Gon jerked away, crashing to his knees, blocking another swipe. Their blades locked, and Qui-Gon's was forced towards his face. He quenched his own blade, rolling urgently out of the way as Dooku's lightsaber flashed down to where his face was a second ago, scoring the dirt. His skin felt bruised and clammy, and his lungs felt like they were filled with soft choking liquid. He forced himself to be perfectly still as Dooku deliberately passed the tip of his blade a hairsbreadth from his throat. And then Dooku stepped back three paces.
"Again." Dooku's voice was cold.
Qui-Gon's efforts weren't working. The sickness in the air was too strong for his power to counteract. Sweat was running down his face - and then he realized it was not sweat, but tears. Once more he thumbed his lightsaber on, green in the darkness - another hum like wings to match Dooku's blade-song. He was not equal, never equal - a mayflitter to his dragonbird. He raised his blade in guard. Let Dooku come to him this time.
Dooku just looked at him with that damnable half-smile - not even in a ready stance. Qui-Gon read contempt in it and felt an anger rising in him that he wasn't sure he understood.
"Again."
The word seemed to wrap around Qui-Gon's mind, drawing out his resentment and fear and other emotions that he rarely acknowledged. They sparked into a sudden, unthinking fury and he launched himself aerially, feeling the thick and choking air bear him up. His saber flashed towards Dooku's neck, but Dooku was swifter and moved to block. Yet Qui-Gon's momentum was too much, and he felt his master give for a moment, saw through tears and madness the half step Dooku took away after the second blow. Qui-Gon landed at the base of one of the great scorched trees. He centered himself there, feeling the life and power pumped up from deep roots flow through him.
Dooku struck back. The tip of his blade reached out to score Qui-Gon, but Qui-Gon was ready. He took into himself the steadiness of the tree, the life of the forest, and all his own anger and terror and frustration. Stepping inside his master's guard, he attacked. Their blades slammed together - and Qui-Gon won this lock. Yet Dooku effortlessly whirled away, and Qui-Gon snarled in frustration. This wasn't a dance. This was war. Qui-Gon struck again and again, faster than he thought he could - faster than rational thought or conscience could follow. Instinct and insight fueled him.
Dooku missed one block, and though his reflexes served to avoid the blow, Qui-Gon saw an odd hesitancy in his master's movements as Dooku flowed back into stance. And with that, Qui-Gon realized he was winning. The joy of that buoyed him up as he made even the madness in the air serve him, weaving imagination into a true future.
He reached for possibilities, seeking weakness. There. An opening.
Qui-Gon went for the kill. His lightsaber seared a line of green fire through the air, past his master's inner guard, towards his throat. He saw Dooku turn, saw his eyes widen slightly--
Then Dooku flicked his wrist inward, thumbing a control on his hilt. His lightsaber somehow flowed through Qui-Gon's own before solidifying again to deflect the blow. Qui-Gon felt a tearing pain in his scalp, and his neck jerked back as Dooku seized his braid and hurled him to the ground. He hit hard and flopped on his back.
Before his eyes, the point of Dooku's glowing blade swung down and halted in front of him. Behind it, his master stood like a statue -- unmoved and unmoving.
Finally, after what seemed like years, Dooku spoke. "Every man has his breaking point. Know this."
The words echoed through Qui-Gon's head, growing to a cacophony. His breaths became short and labored. The blue blade snapped off, and Dooku bent down over him. Qui-Gon felt a gentle touch on his forehead, and his vision faded to black.
When he awoke, Dooku was gone. Qui-Gon got to his feet. He didn't think much time had passed from when Dooku had compelled his slumber, but he couldn't tell for sure.
Qui-Gon's thoughts were even blurrier now, and it was hard to work around the strange euphoria that still had him in its grasp. He tried a partial meditative state, which helped a bit. Except then he started to remember.
He had really screwed up today, hadn't he. Dooku had taught him to always strike to kill with a lightsaber - nonlethal wounds were for other weapons. A blademaster like Dooku might be skilled enough to show mercy, but Qui-Gon wasn't at that level yet. If the lightsaber was out, you were there to kill. A corollary to that was that the lightsaber should never be used on the vast majority of missions. But here, he'd crossed the line from 'striking to kill' - Dooku was so much better than him that he could try his best and it would never be enough- and actually wanting to kill the man. He didn't remember when or why it had happened. He'd just...snapped.
How much of that had Dooku picked up?
All of it, Qui-Gon thought glumly. No doubt.
What had Dooku meant by breaking points? He couldn't think straight. He brought himself out and felt the giggling fog settle in on him again. He looked around - and saw a pack set on the ground, with a small knife on top of it. Scored in the dirt by a lightsaber blade was a large arrow pointing to where the trees were green and healthy. Absently, Qui-Gon reached for his own lightsaber. It was missing.
Qui-Gon looked at the arrow and looked in the direction the arrow was pointed. Then he looked back down at the arrow. Finally, he looked skywards and allowed himself to indulge in some badly needed sarcasm. "Oh, that's helpful, Master!"
He felt a little better then. Rubbing his head, he looked in the pack - it was nearly empty, but contained a day's worth of food rations, most of his survival equipment, and lots and lots of water. Not nearly the complete set, though. There was also a breather there, hand-labeled by Dooku. 'Helium mix. 4 hours', the label read. Qui-Gon frowned and put it back for now. He had the feeling that that was for emergency use and he really didn't know what he was up against yet.
Nothing for it, then. Qui-Gon got his bearings, enough to navigate even with the mind fog. He had been the top of his class in survival. And then he...followed the arrow.
Oddly enough, his connection to the Force seemed increased by the fuzziness of his conscious thought. Qui-Gon submersed himself in it and let its currents flow through him, letting it guide his steps when his physical senses failed him. He'd hit a trail several hundred meters in, going the direction he wanted, and was making excellent time. He was a Jedi, after all. He could faintly sense Dooku far ahead and still moving. The man's shielding had been very fragile ever since they arrived, and Qui-Gon worried about that in the brief moments he was lucid enough. Most of the time, Qui-Gon couldn't sense Dooku across the room if he didn't want to be noticed.
Qui-Gon kept going into the early evening. He couldn't see that well with his light, but he couldn't see that well anyway, Ultimately, he relied on the Force.. It wouldn't fail him.
It never did.
It was about two hours after sunset when Qui-Gon saw another light ahead along the trail. Squinting, he slowed. He'd gained some altitude, and he felt a little better, but trying to think about what to do besides 'follow Dooku' was too much work. He didn't feel like he could be effectively stealthy in this state of mind. So he walked up and a little off the trail to find a campsite. There was a small tent, and a man staring at him with knife drawn,holding an emergency comlink.
"Who the hell are you?" the man demanded in a low voice.
Qui-Gon blinked at him and grinned a little. "Hi," he said, and sat down.
Silence, as he was looked over. "You- you're not from around here. Were you in a crash?" The man stood up and walked carefully over. He sounded a little puzzled, but it was hard to tell due to the distortion. "You must be really narced," he judged finally.
Qui-Gon thought about that and nodded.
The Serenni man grimaced. "Stay there." Rummaging in a pack, he pointed to himself. "I'm Isk." Then he spoke slowly. "What's...your...name."
"Jedi apprentice Qui-Gon Jinn," Qui-Gon rattled off automatically. Isk's face blurred as Qui-Gon started to lose track of the focus and connection to the Force that had helped him on the trail and against Dooku, but he couldn't bring himself to care right now. He was deliriously happy all of a sudden. Everything seemed to make sense, and then it all shattered and slipped out of his grasp like a greased serpent.
"You're-- are you a Jedi? What are you doing here?"
Qui-Gon was aware someone was talking to him, but it wasn't important right now. Isk took Qui-Gon's pack off and looked through it, finally discovering the breath mask and fitting it over Qui-Gon's head.
One breath, two. Then Qui-Gon was coldly sober again. He looked down and around, seeing another scorched arrow in the campsite-clearing. He pointed to it. "How long ago was Dooku here?" His voice came out a combination of squeaky and muffled by the mask.
Isk grinned as Qui-Gon's voice chirped, but wrinkled his brows as Qui-Gon mentioned his master. "Dooku? He's here? That was him?" He pointed at the arrow. "I heard a hum for a few seconds and saw a flash of light and when I turned around those burns were there but nobody was around. This was a bit before sunset. My day's been weird like that. Was that a lightsaber? Do you have one?"
"Yes...um...no. I don't have mine with me right now. Not a great weapon to use when your head's not working right," Qui-Gon said. He was starting to ache all of a sudden, and he grimaced. "Um, yes, I'm a Jedi. I'm not sure exactly what I'm doing here. I'm not even sure exactly what my Master is doing here. As usual, he hasn't told me. And my day has...also been weird." Though it had also been educational in some ways.
Qui-Gon fiddled with his tunic. It was kind of foul now and stuck to him unpleasantly. He was sweating a lot, but it seemed to stick to him instead of cooling him down. He'd gone through much of his water, and was glad he'd remembered to drink. Loosening his belt, he pulled his tabard and tunic over his head It was too hot for it anyway, and he thought he might have been running earlier. It worried him that he wasn't quite sure. Plus, there were a few lightsaber burns on them and that wasn't something he felt like explaining right now. Dooku had really done a number on him. Ow. Lesson learned, he guessed. The perfect solution to the problem Dooku had set before him would have been to refuse to fight. Had Dooku actually told him to attack?
No. He'd assumed it. Dooku knew exactly what buttons to push to make Qui-Gon throw himself into the fray again and again, in a fight he couldn't win under normal circumstances, let alone these. Carefully artificial openings, the illusion of weakness... and he'd jumped upon it. The blocking move at the end had probably been one of Dooku's Makashi saber-flicker tricks that he'd been too out of it to recognize. Now that he was lucid, he understood that Dooku had been in control the whole time. Defending himself from his apprentice's blows, refraining from killing his apprentice, and, most importantly, stopping Qui-Gon from killing himself accidentally.
Qui-Gon was distracted from his musings by Isk looking up and staring at him. "Eater of Worlds! What happened to you?"
Qui-Gon looked down at his body and saw for the first time the impressive pattern of bruises where the undertunic revealed his arms, dark purplish-blue. He was sure there were more underneath. Usually, he was treated with topical bacta before they got this bad. "Oh, uh..."
"You're so narced you've probably been running into trees," Isk said. "Or something ran into you, but there aren't supposed to be any big predators around here."
The most dangerous predator on the planet was in your camp a few hours ago, Qui-Gon thought. "Something like that. It's all kind of fuzzy. I'm fine. It doesn't hurt." He frowned. "Well, it didn't hurt." Something about the air had taken his pain and his reason away. Oh. Nitrogen narcosis. That was what he had tried to remember during the fight. The pair of them had done exotic atmosphere training a long time ago. It'd boiled down to 'wear your breath mask and bring the correct canister'. He remembered now that Dooku had made an amused noise and had said 'What if you don't have a breath mask?' He'd said something derogatory about teaching standards later.
"I have bacta patches to spare. Let me take a look."
"Use mine," Qui-Gon said. "They're military-grade."
Isk nodded. Fishing through Qui-Gon's pack, he frowned as he took out a multitool. "What's this?"
"Logic probe, laser-cutter...doubles as a firestarter..."
Isk looked a little pale as he looked over Qui-Gon again, but he nodded. Finally he found the bacta patches and started to apply them.
Qui-Gon sat still and let him. It was kind of nice, actually. Isk was non-threatening, genuinely concerned, and didn't seem to be interested in screwing with his head for fun. Unlike, say, everyone else on the planet, including Dooku. Qui-Gon felt the patches start to release onto his bruises, tingling oddly as they worked towards healing them. One went on his face. Lying back on the ground, he focused on breathing.
A thought struck him, and he frowned up at Isk. "And why aren't you...narced?"
"We're not designed that way here. Some people have problems at sea level, but that's rare. This is our planet, and we're bred to live here. I probably couldn't handle the thin air where you're from. I've heard it's awful. It's bad enough up where the old colony is."
"I'm having a little trouble handling this," Qui-Gon said. "Er, obviously."
"More than a little. You really shouldn't be out here," Isk said . He looked a little worried. "Stay with me, okay? Do you want me to call for help? I'd fail the Run again, but that's not important."
"I...think I'll be fine," Qui-Gon said. "Master Dooku wouldn't put me in this situation if he didn't think I could handle it, and he's almost always right about that sort of thing." He rubbed his head. "Master wants me to follow him on foot. So it's probably a good idea."
Isk looked dubious.
"I trust him," Qui-Gon said. "Really. I do."
"Okay," Isk said. He fidgeted a little. "You can have my tent tonight, if you want."
"That won't be necessary. I'm used to sleeping in the rough. There's no way I'm getting any real sleep down here, so I'll be meditating anyway. Shake me when it's time to go? And, uh, I think it's best to save the mask for an emergency in case I really need it."
"I guess that works," Isk said.
Qui-Gon turned off the feed and curled it back into his pack. The air hit him again like a physical thing, dragging his consciousness away. He closed his eyes and focused on his heartbeat until the rest of the world was drowned out.
It was a little past dawn when Isk shook him awake. There was a brief moment of confusion when Qui-Gon thought the other man was Dooku, but the differences were enough that he realized his mistake before he said anything stupid. Isk was shorter, younger, weirdly-accented, and a lot less self-possessed. At breakfast, they compared rations, and decided Isk's were tastier.
On the trail, Qui-Gon was surprised at how slow Isk was. The other man took frequent breaks and got adorably paranoid whenever Qui-Gon slipped out of his sight. Qui-Gon could have gone faster, even with his mind strange, even with the wound in his leg and the stifling weight of the air. However, he liked the company. He took the time to make the acquaintance of several nice trees and a bird-insect-something that he managed to tempt onto his hand with the Jedi rations. It obviously liked them more than he did, and Isk had extra, so he left a meal's worth behind.
Qui-Gon was somewhat aware that they were climbing up a valley, but the river took him by surprise. He hadn't heard the sound of water over the other sounds in his head. Most of those were probably hallucinations, but Qui-Gon wasn't being judgemental about that sort of thing right now. The river was about seven or eight meters wide and fairly fast flowing. Downstream, on the other side, there was a mud smear on the bank.
"Someone fell in." Isk said, catching up. There was a difficult but passable crossing over boulders in the stream. "I think it might be time to get the mask out. I don't know how well you can swim."
Qui-Gon closed his eyes and leapt, feeling the world fall away beneath him. He landed in a crouch on the opposite bank and glanced back. His lank and sweaty hair hung over his face, and he grinned widely. Isk's jaw dropped, but he snapped it shut and started picking his own way across.
Qui-Gon found the third arrow on the trail shortly thereafter. He looked at it blankly for a while, until he felt Isk's hand on his shoulder. Isk made sure he was okay, looked around, and then knelt at the side of the trail. He drew a knife similar to the one Qui-Gon had recieved and reached for a low-growing shrub . He cut a leaf off and stood up.
"What'd you do that for?" Qui-Gon asked, offended on behalf of the plant. The poor thing had been cruelly mistreated on the side facing the trail. Many leaves had been cut off, and there were old scars where it looked like whole branches might have been pruned. He looked at a flower and decided the plant was a girl.
"Have to bring in three leaves for the Run, from three particular plants," Isk said. "It's kind of silly, but it's traditional, and I need to do it to get my voting shares. If I fail it a third time, it's going to be just embarassing. Even if I have you as an excuse"
Qui-Gon laid a hand on the little shrub and tried to speed her healing. It had lost a lot of leaves these past few days. He disapproved. The knife in Isk's hand then caught his eye and he poked at it curiously, but Isk yanked it away, sheathed it, and headed up the trail. He was worrying, Qui-Gon sensed, as he considered the injured plant again. Isk seemed to do that a lot.
The series of steep switchbacks out of the valley worried Isk too, but Qui-Gon handled them with ease. About halfway up, the cloud over his mind swiftly faded. This was so unexpected that Qui-Gon actually jumped down a level to see if it came back, and it did. Then he hopped back up and it left again.
"Careful!" Isk yelled, from a few turns below.
"I'm fine!" Qui-Gon yelled back. He reached for a handhold to steady himself and focused, drawing the Force to himself. With a gesture, he slowly levitated Isk up the broad incline. He heard a yelp and saw the petrified look on Isk's face as he stared down at nothing at all below him. Qui-Gon waved his hand again, pulling Isk in and finally releasing him when they were next to each other.
"Brain's working again." Qui-Gon informed him.
"That's...nice." Isk said faintly, before rallying. "Can you warn me before you do something like that?"
"You looked like you were having a bit of trouble." Qui-Gon said defensively.
"I know I'm not in great shape. I realize that you could probably go faster while carrying me." Isk scowled a little. "But you don't have to point that out."
Qui-Gon looked down. His master often said that he needed to be less...blunt when dealing with outsiders.
"I can take your pack if you want," he offered, instead. "Sorry if I offended you. I wanted to see if my focus was really back or if I was just hallucinating again."
"You mean you could have dropped me!" Isk choked, a little red-faced.
"I wouldn't drop you." Qui-Gon smiled.
Isk sighed, shrugged his pack off and handed it over. "Maybe it will slow you down." He looked at Qui-Gon then, eyes narrow. "You're crazy. Has anyone told you that?"
"Yeah."
Isk stared at him before finally breaking into a little grin. "Just a little further," he said, "and then we get to the flat and we can break for midday meal." Isk rubbed the back of his neck, stretched, and headed up the trail.
Lunch was more of Isk's rations. The forested valley gave way to sparser trees and scrub with meadows interspersed. The trail was well-worn, and the place where they stopped seemed to have been used for this sort of thing before. Isk hunted through the grass before making a pleased noise and cutting another specimen. Qui-Gon helped this plant out a little too, then rummaged through their packs for food and water. They ate quietly for a bit, but Isk was obviously very curious. And to be honest, Qui-Gon had questions of his own.
"So what are you doing here, anyway?" Isk asked. "You and your, um, Master. I thought you Jedi spent all your time saving the universe or something. No time for family or anything like that."
"Well...we aren't supposed to be in touch with our biological families. I don't even remember mine. I guess Master Dooku does. Strictly speaking, we really shouldn't be here. I don't know what he's trying to accomplish"
Isk chewed some more before blurting out, "Did he meet the Contessa? How did that go?"
"Uh." Qui-Gon thought back. "As far as I can remember, she accused him of killing somebody and he called her a whore. What's the story there, anyway? Nobody will tell me and I'm almost afraid to ask."
"Oh. Oh dear." Isk smirked. "Well, I don't know if I know the whole thing, because it's not something you talk about when there's any of her people around. And it was a long time ago. Before I was born, even."
"I knew there was a story," Qui-Gon said darkly.
"I shouldn't really share," Isk said. "You're not one of us." He clearly wanted to, though.
"Tell," the Jedi said, losing his patience. Maybe there was even a wee bit of compulsion in there. Dooku would be annoyed at him, but Dooku should have bloody well told him what was going on in the first place.
"Fine, fine, fine." Isk grinned. "This is all a little semi-mythical, you understand. There's all sorts of Idis stories, and they really can't all be true. Anyway. Once upon a time there was a little boy named Idis. Idis was a smart little boy. Precocious, rebellious."
"I can imagine..." Qui-Gon said.
"By the time he was walking he was getting into all sorts of trouble. He was quiet, but he got everywhere. He didn't like being left alone. He always ended up somewhere he wasn't supposed to be, watching people. The Contessa couldn't get away from him. I suppose that was when she started to hate him. His sister had been no trouble at all, you see--"
"Wait." Qui-Gon said slowly, as pieces finally came together and an unpleasant realization began to dawn. "She's his mother?"
Isk gave him an odd look. "Well, yes. Sort of."
"Sort of? How can you sort of be a mother? Was he ...adopted or something?" Qui-Gon scrambled to recall how things worked outside the Order. His initiate clan had had a head that acted like a mother-surrogate, and Dooku was sort of like a father, maybe, but his knowledge of real families was a little thin. He knew that in most common species the females bore young, and pair-bonding sometimes occurred. He'd heard more reminders that Jedi didn't have families than actual information about them.
As for the Contessa... she had made herself desirable, and, well, he'd desired her. He'd pleased her, and she was certainly more experienced than he. --He remembered the sharp feeling of triumph he'd felt from her after, the innocent purr as she wondered if his master might not be missing him. She'd returned to her lab work as he'd left, as if nothing had happened. She'd taken what she wanted from him. A Jedi was a tool of the Force, but nobody liked being used.
"No, she, er, designed him and grew him in her lab. Her father wanted her to marry Indrea, and she was having none of that. There's a sort of...responsibility to bear children, here, but she wanted children her way. She's very stubborn, and very, very clever, and does not like being crossed in anything. And she remembers grudges forever."
Qui-Gon winced, reaching out with the Force to discern if Isk was lying. This was bad. He didn't want to be a weapon in this private war. Pawns got sacrificed, and the perfectionist drive in Dooku was incredibly deep-rooted. Once he had accepted a task or a challenge, he did not back down. He suspected Anare was much the same in her own way. "We, um, met. Yeah. She gave me a tour of the lab. Showed me what she's working on these days." He tried to imagine his master growing somewhere in there, but all his mind produced was an image of a six-inch-tall Dooku in a jar with a murderous expression on his face.
"She's really good. Some of her projects have been hugely profitable."
Qui-Gon eyed him. "That can't be the whole story. Go on." This was important. More precisely, this was 'how dead was he going to be when he caught up to Dooku?' important.
"Well, he didn't talk at all until he was past two. The Contessa was trying to get him out of her hair - she had a meeting with one of her folk. She promised him she'd be back to see him in the evening. And it's said that his first words were 'Don't lie to me.' as he gave her a tiny version of one of her stares and then toddled off. Whether or not that's the case, he still didn't talk much, but he seemed to pick up on things really fast. There were rumors he could read minds - he always seemed to know what was going on. She couldn't handle him. He'd show up at her cohort meetings and lurk invisibly, chirping up at the worst possible times to screw up her plans. Her father the Execsar thought it served her right for being difficult herself as a child, but Idis was worse. He wasn't rude to anyone else - well, he didn't like her lovers, but other than that it's said he was perfectly polite."
"Her lovers?" Qui-Gon asked cautiously.
"She had a lot of them and he really didn't like that."
Qui-Gon twitched. If he was lucky, Dooku would kill him quickly.
"Most of her political opponents thought the situation was incredibly amusing. It was hard to take her seriously when her toddler was running rings around her. And when she started trying to terrify him into submission, which sort of worked for a while, she still couldn't win in everyone's eyes. He adapted to that though, and near the end he was really sharp and very good at fighting back. The memory of Idis completely stunted her ambitions for at least half a decade after he left."
"What happened when he left?"
"Well, I mean, they only test here every four - er- four of our years, anyway. I think yours are close. They take somebody about every forty or fifty years, I've heard."
"That'd be well above average considering your population." Probably because you're so inbred, Qui-Gon carefully didn't say.
"Really? Hmm. Well, Idis is the first one who's ever been trained as a real Jedi apprentice, I think. He was, well, 'born', just after the last time the Jedi came, so he had four and a half years to run around. The Contessa did her own test on him when he was nearly four, but they refused to bring him in until they had an official test done."
"I've heard he's nearly off the charts, yeah. I can see why they'd ignore someone's homebrew test if it came in that high."
"The Jedi came. There was all sorts of chatter when they found him. They said they were taking him straight to the main Temple, and not the regional training facility where they usually bring people from this sector. Idis kept asking why he was going away. And the Contessa said he didn't belong here, that he never had, and they rather had it out."
"So?" Qui-Gon asked, leaning forward.
"So she stripped his name publicly." Isk said. "Nobody's sure if she was quite allowed to do that, but she did anyway. She said he was dead to her, and she took back the name she had given him. The Jedi gave him another one. But Indrea's folk still call him Idis, and her folk don't talk about him at all."
"What side are you on?" Qui-Gon asked.
Isk shrugged. "Indrea's dull, and the Contessa is just scary. I'd rather not have either, to be honest. Most of us are hoping the Execsar hangs on at least another few years. But Indrea's been helping Indagren and he knows more about what the job means, you know?"
"He's dying." Qui-Gon said. "Your Execsar. I think that's why we came."
"That's bad," Isk said. He didn't seem too surprised though. "That's really bad. We need to get back."