Well, I finally finished chapter 2! It took a lot less time than I thought, but there was supposed to be much, much more. Huh, that'll have to be deferred to a later chapter; I know how über-long instalments can grate on people's nerves sometimes.
Ok, 112 hits to this story, and only two reviews? Come on people! Of course, no reviewing is better than flaming reviews. Continue, if that's the case.
Other than that, let the Force guide you to that little blue button at the bottom of the frame. Press the button….
Disclaimer: Obi-torturing and Ani lurv is my specialty. I think if Mister Lucas found out about it, he'd have some associates come to 'deal' with me, and I'd never be heard from again (except maybe as a newspaper headline…)
Chapter 2: Obi-Wan Kenobi
"People have hope
Because they cannot see Death standing behind them."
Tite Kubo, Bleach vol. 2
Sometimes he finds it hard to believe that he's a Jedi Knight.
As a youngling in the Jedi Temple, studying under the watchful eye of revered Masters such as Mace Windu, Qui-Gon Jinn and Yoda, he had thought that the venerable Jedi Masters knew everything. To a boy too young even to be a Padawan, they were almost God-like figures, strong with the Force, skilled with a lightsaber, commanding in presence and deed.
From the very beginning, he knew he would be Master Qui-Gon's apprentice. He desired that honour more than anything else in his life – more even, than his thirst for knowledge and understanding, more than his quest to be a Jedi Master.
More than anything, he wanted to be the Padawan to that great Jedi, and he had pursued that goal with the single-minded devotion that would later become the hallmark of his abilities as a Knight. When Obi-Wan Kenobi set his mind to something, it was only a matter of time before he achieved it, by some way or another. Younglings that are ready to become Padawan learners are not supposed to have a preference as to whom they wish to study under; they are certainly forbidden to compete in any overt manner to win attention.
Obi-Wan didn't have to. Though he wasn't the top of his class in lightsaber training, nor was he as competent as some in feeling the connection and nuance of the living Force, he still felt sure, in his heart, that he was destined to be apprenticed to the great Master. It wasn't arrogance; it was… a calling, an unshakable feeling.
He thought that Master Qui-Gon knew everything.
Experience had taught him differently. Qui-Gon had been as different from his very young apprentice as was possible – and in a galaxy filled to the stars with diversity, that was saying quite a lot. He had little to no regard for the rules, to which Obi-Wan strictly adhered, was cavalier about his instructions from the Council, preferring to follow his own instincts wherever possible, and had more than once clashed with his hot-headed young Padawan on the proper manner to carry out the missions to which they were set.
Obi-Wan had adored him. The feeling that had led him to that particular Jedi had not let him down, even if his Master had not truly been omniscient.
Sometimes he wonders what Anakin felt about him, as Padawan to Master; after all, he had been thrown in with a newly-ordained Jedi Knight, one without the vaunted reputation of many others in the Order
It is another defining characteristic of Obi-Wan Kenobi that he would be honestly surprised to hear that his praises are sung as clearly as those for Master Windu and Master Yoda. His reputation precedes him – and he is completely unaware of it.
As a Jedi Knight, he is serene, unflappable. He learned patience well from Master Jinn, though it is a skill he seems unable to impart to his own apprentice. He is a devastating sword-fighter, unparalleled in his preferred form of lightsaber combat, but one who avoids fighting at all costs. He is a brilliant pilot - not enough to match Anakin Skywalker, but no one in the Order is – but despises flying. A respected General in the Clone Wars who much prefers the peace and quiet of the Temple. A negotiator who could put a room full of Senators and diplomats to shame with his cool reasoning and mastery of words, he is deeply mistrustful of politics of all kinds and its adherents.
Master Conundrum, some of his friends from the temple refer to him affectionately behind his back.
His words are heeded by Padawans, Knights, and Masters alike.
Inside, he still feels he hasn't even approached the expectations of his former Master. Inside, he still feels like a green Youngling and wonders idly – rare though his idle moments are – whether or not another Master should have taken on the training of his most exceptional pupil.
For his deepest, most overriding concern is not the resolution of the Wars, as he knows it should be, nor is it the fate of the Republic which he serves with single-minded devotion. It is the fear that someday, somehow, he will fail the man who has become more than an apprentice, but a dear friend.
He worries that he will fail Anakin. He fears that he already has.
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Harsh light: orange, red, and searing at his closed eyes, brought Obi-Wan Kenobi back to consciousness. He groaned reflexively, struggling weakly to untangle one arm from the crash webbing that ensnared him, pressing his palm to the rancor-sized bump over his temple.
There was a slow, whistling murmur from behind him, indicating that, despite all the odds, R4-P17 had also survived the crash. For once, Obi-Wan didn't envy the droid's constant state of alertness – he was perfectly content to have been unconscious for their rather rough landing on this inhospitable planet.
"Just once I would like to crash-land on a place where showers are an available amenity," he muttered to the droid, who hooted a response. It seemed that he and Anakin always ended up in scorching deserts, frozen icy wastelands, or toxic jungles and swamps. Of all the pleasant systems in the galaxy to take a family vacation or a holiday, he and his Padawan always managed to find the sole uncongenial planet, moon, or asteroid field. It was a talent, it really was.
With another faint groan, Obi-Wan undid the crash webbing that had probably saved his life, only to tumble roughly to the floor - well, roof – of the damaged star fighter.What he had taken for flat land in front of him was really the steep slope of a sand dune. Now that gravity had forcefully reasserted itself, the battered Jedi Master extracted himself gingerly from the shattered remnants of the Delta-6. He winced at the damage – the space fighter looked almost as bad as he felt.
One of the wings hung by only a few connector cables, the metal was scoured deeply at one end, and long scratched extended the length of the fuselage. Shading his eyes, Obi-Wan noted the similar scrapes along a rocky cliff-face not too far behind where the ship had come to its final resting-place. On the other side was where the blast had struck the small fighter, the metal was blackened and twisted, the wing melting almost seamlessly against the hull itself. Only the cockpit and R4's seat had survived the descent, and even the transparisteel canopy was showing some hairline fractures. It was no longer even remotely possible to pilot the hunk of junk, even as a landspeeder.
Anakin would kill him if he saw this….
Obi-Wan felt the beginnings of frustration well within him and quelled the emotion with difficulty. It wouldn't help his situation any, and it would cloud his perceptions in the Force, which was about the only thing he had left to rely on. He stared blankly at the ruined spacecraft for a few moments in silence, remembering with a vaguely ominous sensation the mental comparisons he had been drawing between himself and the more outdated star fighter. He hoped that the Force wasn't trying to tell him something with this; if sign this was, it was indecently flagrant - not to mention rather morbid.
Obi-Wan shook his head in despair. This was why he loathed flying. These accidents never happened to Anakin… not that he regretted his decision to intercept the beam cannon. He didn't. It was just that it would be nice if, for once, Anakin was the one who was forced to crash-land on a barren wasteland, and he got to be the one to mount a rescue. It didn't do much for their relationship to have to be consistently rescued by his junior partner.
"Stay with the ship, Arfour," he called out to the astromech, which was occupied with extracting itself from the tangled mess of durasteel and wires. "I'm going to see if I can find some kind of civilization." He peered into the remnants of the cockpit, scowled in disgust to find that his supply pack had burned up with the wing, and double-checked to see that his lightsaber was still hanging from his belt.
So. He had his weapon, but no food or water, and only a pathetic excuse for shelter.
'Civilization - or whatever version of it exists on this planet - had better be within walking distance,' he mused, fingering the handle of the lightsaber thoughtfully. 'I'd take a cadre of Hutts if it meant supplies.' He tugged the silvery cylinder from his belt, activating the sky-blue beam thoughtfully. 'Although I may have to behave in a very un-Jedi fashion to obtain them….'
Returning the hilt to his utility belt, Obi-Wan trudged up the steep sand embankment, felt in the Force for some inspiration as to which direction he should follow, and began to walk.
Unlike Tatooine – the only comparable planet that Obi-Wan had ever had the misfortune to visit, thank the Force – which had two suns to slowly leech the life from the barren desert world, Veenat-III only had one star to its system. It more than made up for the lack of numbers by exerting extra effort. Obi-Wan instantly felt the crushing wave of heat, like stepping into a laser-blast, as soon as he reached the crest of the ridge. The traditional robes of a Jedi Master, designed to adapt for temperature, were already stifling him. Still, they would help to keep the sun off… wiping away the sweat that beaded on his forehead and prickled unpleasantly in his eyes, Obi-Wan tugged the hood of his robe up, shading his face from the intense light. It caused some measure of relief, but not much – the reflected glare off of the brilliant white sands was just as dazzling. His eyes teared up if he tried to stare at the ground for too long; instead, he found himself contemplating the pale, washed-out lavender of the sky.
Anakin was up there somewhere.
Obi-Wan hoped that his former Padawan had managed to hear his last, desperate message thorough the Force, and was continuing on with their mission. The sooner that was finished, the sooner the younger man could come and rescue him from this hellish place. It was just so… uncivilized. That was the word he wanted. Although it wasn't his home planet, he had lived on Coruscant his entire life. The other Jedi in the Temple were nostalgic for forested moons and oceanic vistas… to Obi-Wan, the word home would always conjure to mind the sweeping cityscapes of the Republic's capital. The towers that rose to touch the stars, glimmering in the sunlight, the majesty and grandeur of the Jedi Temple – the accomplishments that exemplified the heights that sentient beings could achieve.
Anakin, of course, always preferred exploring the depths of Coruscant, a place no sane person ever ventured, Jedi or not.
Of course, Anakin loved to fly, be it star fighters or in pod races, so his sanity was something that was very much in doubt.
The thought made the Jedi Master smile fondly. Anakin would tease him mercilessly, of course, when he finally got around to picking up the marooned Jedi, but it would be worth it, just to get out of this forsaken pit. Obi-Wan tugged at his robes in irritation, feeling sand slipping uncomfortably through crevices in the cloth, working its way into his skin, into…awkward places.
Although Qui-Gon would call him soft – and had done, on many an occasion – to Obi-Wan Kenobi, the defining point of civilization was hot-water showers. It most emphatically was not the hyperdrive, as his apprentice vehemently insisted….
There was a flicker on the horizon that immediately caught Obi-Wan's attention, peering through the harsh, unforgiving light with his ultramarine eyes. Was it movement, or a mirage…?
Oh Sith…
Droids. Marching along the top of the dunes with all the ease in the world, although the ubiquitous sand should have ground into their joints to halt them in their paths. No, they were heading straight for him….
With a wordless snarl, Obi-Wan slid quickly down the side of the sand dune, throwing off his dark outer robe to give himself better camouflage. The sand-coloured under-tunic blended more closely with his surroundings, and was already so dampened with sweat that it was picking up swathes of the minute, irritating grains. Hopefully, the droids would pass without noticing him; he wasn't overly concerned with having to dispatch a few droids, but he would prefer not to do anything that could cause an interterrestrial incident. Decimating some shah or terra-lord's personal bodyguard would certainly qualify. Perhaps he could slip away unnoticed….
Too late. The droid in the lead swivelled his head around, tracing the scar on the dune caused by Obi-Wan's rapid descent. It raised one hand, bringing it sharply downwards in the Jedi's direction.
Red blasterfire immediately filled the air. Obi-Wan leapt from his crouched position, whirling his activated lightsaber in a halo of blue light that seemed to encircle his entire body. Blue that was as brilliant and concentrated as the colour of the Jedi Master's eyes.
A ripple in the Force – more droids had appeared, lining the top of the dune he had so recently abandoned. Mentally, Obi-Wan cursed himself for twelve kinds of an idiot. He had given up the high ground to avoid confrontation, and as a result, he had lost any offensive capabilities in the skirmish. The sand was too fine for him to scramble swiftly up the ridge – not while keeping up the lightsaber work, at least. He would be slaughtered if he even tried.
What had Qui-Gon tried to pound into his brain, over and over again? The eighth Rule of Engagement – well, he thought it was the eighth, he had never managed to keep them straight – 'Exercise caution, even in trivial matters.' He hadn't even considered the possibility that he might end up fighting for his life.
As a consequence, Obi-Wan knew he might end up paying with it.
The droids were moving slowly down the hills now, legs splayed awkwardly to brace themselves against the steep descent. Obi-Wan took advantage of that, spinning the beam of iridescent turquoise left, then right, deflecting back the crimson bolts at their knee-joints, using the Force to guide his every movement. He didn't think, he acted. He didn't act, he became.
Droid after droid fell against this unsuspected defiance, but still they came.
He was trapped.
'Anakin… if you were waiting for the perfect moment to pull my sorry self out of the guntaar nest, this would be it,' he thought grimly, the faintest trace of wry humour quirking his lips. No, he was glad the boy wasn't here. Anakin deserved a better death than this one.
Funny. He'd always expected to die alongside his apprentice, to have Anakin there to ease his passage into rejoining with the Force.
Purely selfish, of course.
Still, the thought of his friend made him flick his gaze upward for the briefest of instants, and gave him a glimmer of an idea. The droids weren't a problem, no; the problem was being caught like a hawk-bat in a hole.
Summoning the Force to him, Obi-Wan jumped, twisting his body into a flip that carried him over the heads of the slow-reacting droids, landing behind them, to drop into a low crouch, sweeping the glowing blade in front of him with satisfied finality.
Cut in half, the sparking pieces of the battle droids collapses into little heaps of scrap metal. Obi-Wan kicked a blaster disdainfully out of his way, turning his attention to the other row of the mechanical eyesores.
One, two, three! Four! Bolts were deflected out of the air faster than thought. Indeed, had he for one second thought about the motions, he would have been dead. He didn't aim for the bolts; he went instead for where they would be by the time they arrived within his range.
As the lined-up droids fell, one by one, Obi-Wan began to smile thinly, feeling an elusive stirring of hope in his heart. Perhaps it wasn't his time to die today, after all.
Never trust to hope. It wasn't a Jedi maxim, nor was it a Rule of Engagement, but it was something that should have been drilled into him at an early age with equal rigor.
Never trust to hope. It was too ephemeral to build any confidence on it. To do so was to invite disaster.
He was barely in time to deflect the last blaster bolt, before whirling in a tight circle and bringing his lightsaber up horizontally above his head in a defensive manoeuvre. The crimson blade that slammed down upon it a fraction later crackled with the power of the Dark Side.
The same shadow of darkness that was echoed perfectly in Count Dooku's superior smile.
This chapter was originally supposed to go through to the end of their little encounter, but then it wouldn't be updated for a little while longer. Of course, I have nothing on Chapter 3 yet… sorry! I'll do my best to keep up with this story!
Xtine
