Dismay turned rapidly to disbelief and indignation at the way in which he had been caught out. For all that he could harness the power of the force the young man had not sensed for a moment that he had been under observation, nor had he been aware of Obi-Wan's presence as the padawan had stalked him from behind. There had been nothing - not so much as a flicker - in the girl's gaze to give away that something was amiss and now the boy began to realise precisely how out of his depth he was.
"W-where did you come from?" Stammered the youth, his stare alternating between the figure of the apprentice and the chestnut haired girl.
"It's hardly important." Obi-Wan found his eyes straying over to Qui-Gon, his mouth quirking into an annoyed pout. "Let us just say that I have been watching you ever since you first appeared. The moment you had attempted to shoot my master and you would have found yourself standing on your head, up to your neck in sand." He paused, adding with a certain wickedness, "And the moment you'd tried to shoot Jemmy you would have found yourself sliced, diced and feeding the fish in the sea."
Stoutly the boy puffed out his chest. "Don't you know it's wrong to use the force for evil purposes?" He replied, quoting Jemmiah directly. He was pleased to see that this response had elicited a smile from the Corellian girl, but the padawan did not seem so easy to placate.
"I think that it is highly ironic that you are asking that of me." Obi-Wan answered stiffly. "You may be able to use the force but you are certainly not adept in all the Jedi arts. Do you not know how to shield your presence? You stuck out like a beacon in the night!"
Again the surly expression threatened to creep back on the boy's face and this time Obi-Wan decided to keep his criticisms to himself. He walked over to Qui-Gon and knelt down beside him, checking the pulse in his neck, then moving a finger back and forth to see if his master's eyes would follow. Satisfied that the Jedi was in relatively good shape Obi-Wan turned back to face the youth and stared at him, deciding what was best to be done.
"You can help me carry my master back to our ship." He said finally. "I think that is the least you can do to help. I am sure he will recover quicker there - out of harms way."
The words remained unspoken but the boy caught the hidden meaning: away from his master…on their own territory, so if he should try another attack they would have the advantage. A surety against any hostile action that might be taken against them. Whilst he couldn't bring himself to blame them for their distrust he wasn't certain he cared for the way that the balance of power had shifted away from him so rapidly. But he said nothing, merely walking over towards the broad figure of Qui-Gon Jinn with Obi-Wan's ever-present gaze falling squarely upon his shoulders.
Even with the force to aid them, trying to wrestle Qui-Gon into a position where they could slip their arms around his shoulders and drag him to his feet was almost impossible. The boy was not particularly tall and Obi-Wan at nineteen years of age had not yet finished his growth spurt. Qui-Gon was as substantial and well-built as a two hundred year tree. With red faces both Obi-Wan and the youth began to struggle to pull the master along beside them whilst Jemmiah, her concerns for her beloved Quiggy put to one side, found herself enjoying the sight of their exertions.
"Where's this…ship…of yours?" The young man asked, finding it easier to address Obi-Wan as an equal now that they were suffering in the same way. "How…far?"
Obi-Wan released a deep breath. "Over two miles away."
The boy groaned but realised that as the whole thing was his fault he really didn't have grounds for complaint.
"I just hope…I don't…drop him." He gasped, beads of sweat beginning to build upon his brow.
"Don't you dare." Qui-Gon managed to grumble through a mouth that hardly seemed to open.
The boy swallowed. "I'm sorry, truly."
"Save it for when I can move…"
At this Jemmiah tittered, and Qui-Gon just about found the strength to shoot her a warning glare.
The sandy haired boy struggled to get a firmer grip around Qui-Gon's shoulders, likening the whole experience to a really bizarre dance. Every time he thought he had a secure grasp the man's body would slacken and drag along the ground on his knees with the flexibility of a sack of gourals. Breathing heavily, he offered his name in the hope of breaking through the inevitable barriers that existed between them.
"My name is Mortimer." He offered shyly.
"Is it." Obi-Wan did not seem overly impressed by the revelation. "Well, I don't particularly care what you choose to call yourself, so long as it doesn't impair your ability to carry semi-conscious Jedi masters." And with that he attempted to haul Qui-Gon back on his feet, well aware that his master would not be enjoying this latest indignity one little bit.
Jemmy pulled a face. "Why not float him along with the force?" She asked, waving her hand magically in the air.
"Because I'm not letting you." Qui-Gon muttered malevolently.
"You'll wreck your back again." Jemmy warned him, tutting at his stubbornness. "That's if your knees don't give in first. I must say, that will be a first - me sticking bacta pads on your scrapes rather than the other way around…"
Jemmiah continued to babble, but Obi-Wan could tell it was calculated to take Qui-Gon's mind from the humility of being half-dragged along the shore. For his part the master closed his eyes, concentrating as best he could on rehabilitating his body, focusing on directing his tenuous grasp of the force towards his weary legs. The boy - Mortimer - struggled as best he could to hold onto Qui-Gon although seemingly lost in thoughts of his own. This time however there was no sign of the brooding face or the desolation and loneliness Obi-Wan had witnessed on the beach; rather he appeared baffled…lost…utterly bewitched by Jemmiah's chattering.
He can't be sixteen, probably not even that. Obi-Wan spared Mortimer a quick glance. And he's been here on his own for how long? Maybe he's never had any company save for his master. What must he make of us?
It might explain why, despite the terrible action he had taken against Qui-Gon, he remained desperate to stay with them. Obi-Wan could sense the dreadful, empty yearning…the desire for company. To live so long in virtual isolation must surely be intolerable? How could it be borne? What kind of master would hide away with only their padawan for company? It did not speak well for their sanity, thought Obi-Wan grimly, feeling strangely concerned for Mortimer despite the nature of their first meeting.
Mortimer's eyes were frequently seen to stray towards the gregarious, excitable figure of Jemmiah but that was understandable. She was lively where the Jedi might - at first glance - seem dull. Her smile, which came readily, brightened the blackest of moods. And of course, Obi-Wan remembered with a wry smirk, she was female - and from what he gathered Mortimer had never met one of those, his master apart. Small wonder if the boy was having difficulty concentrating on hauling his master's carcass towards the ship.
Poor boy. Obi-Wan noted sympathetically. His first and last contact with a pretty girl and it happens to be a Corellian. He won't know what to think…
Actually, he probably had quite a good idea of what to think. Just so long as Qui-Gon didn't catch him thinking it…
After what seemed like a lifetime of dragging, hobbling and - when nobody was looking - a little force-cheating, Obi-Wan and Mortimer finally managed to lug Qui-Gon up the ramp of the ship, laying him gently down upon the floor. Mortimer, his face red and perspiring, puffed breathlessly for a moment as Jemmiah bent down to make sure that Qui-Gon had come through the ordeal without any further injury.
"How's the shnoz?" She asked, tapping the bridge of her nose. "It seems to have stopped bleeding. Must have been some force that hit you…if you pardon the pun."
"I feel," Qui-Gon managed wheezily, "as if I've been the mallet used in a game of Hutt croquet. But I can just about feel my own legs again, thank you." He eyed Mortimer for a moment, although not in a particularly judgmental manner. "I've been worse."
Jemmy gave him a brief hug. "Thought you were a goner for a moment, Master J."
"I could say the same about you!" Qui-Gon glared back, managing to press a hand against his ribs. "But that can wait until I'm fit enough to argue!" His blue eyes darted once more towards the contrite youth who looked almost as ashamed as he was exhausted. "No doubt this young man can use some more of his fancy tricks to help speed up that inevitable confrontation, hmm? Or are you as good a healer as you claim to be?"
Mortimer stopped slouching and pulled himself upright. Was this some kind of a test? Why should the Jedi give him any kind of a second chance considering that he had almost murdered him barely an hour before? Alarm bells began to ring on the boy's head. Was this a trap? And if it were not, what would his master do when she found out he'd not only failed to dispose of the Jedi but was helping them into the bargain?
"Am I a prisoner?" Mortimer asked with a boldness he did not truly feel.
"The Jedi do not take prisoners." Obi-Wan replied, using the force to hit the mechanism that pulled up the ramp. "At least not unless necessary."
The doors behind Obi-Wan closed together with a funereal clang like the shutting of a giant tomb. Mortimer shuddered, the brilliant sunshine that had moments before bathed his back now turning to icicles down his spine. He pictured his master's features, young yet hardened, her disappointment turning to loathing and disgust.
How would he ever dare return to face her?
Obi-Wan paused long enough to rub at his aching back. He was beginning to understand why Qui-Gon insisted on these strengthening exercises: obviously he has foreseen occasions when carrying comatose Jedi masters around might well arise and had taken steps to prepare accordingly. Probably after the once yearly 'dangerous missions' that he, Masters Berlingside and Windu liked to undertake. Dangerous? Obi-Wan snorted contemptuously. The most dangerous thing was likely to be the stress of navigating their way from one cantina to another. Either that or avoiding the stampeding feet of Mace as he ran to escape opening his pocket book…
"Mortimer, help me carry him to his cabin." Obi-Wan sighed, wiping the sweat from his forehead. "Then you can have your chance to impress us with your healing talents."
But Jemmiah was far from happy. She stood blocking the exit, deliberately barring the way. She'd felt sorry for Mortimer, it was true, but he was a stranger amongst them! If anyone should be allowed to tend her beloved Quiggy then it should surely be herself?
"I want to help!" She pouted, hands on hips.
"You can," agreed Obi-Wan, "by standing aside."
"But…"
"Can you heal him?" He cut the protestations off before Jemmiah could launch into an impassioned plea about the delicacies of medical matters needing a woman's touch.
"No…"
"Can you use the force?"
"Well, no…it's just that…"
"Good." Obi-Wan and Mortimer grabbed hold of Qui-Gon again, who just about had the strength to roll his eyes. "That settles it then."
Jemmiah jumped aside in order to avoid being carried away by the on-coming tide of human traffic but had the wits to fry Obi-Wan with a ferocious glare as he swept past with Qui-Gon tucked under his arm. Mortimer shrugged apologetically with his one free shoulder, not knowing what else to do. Family disputes were not really within his level of understanding, and the relationship between the Corellian and the padawan was perplexing at best.
As if to assuage her fears Obi-Wan called over his shoulder, "Do not worry. Everything is under control," and then disappeared out of sight.
Jemmy rested her head against the wall, crossed one foot casually over the other and then counted to ten.
After a vague shuffling noise in the corridor accompanied by the sound of something heavy being dragged along the ground Obi-Wan and Mortimer briefly reappeared, still lugging the now protesting Qui-Gon in the opposite direction to which they had originally gone. Jemmy flashed a victorious grin at Obi-Wan.
"The cabins are that way, Ben." She pointed, shooting him an insolent wink. "But hey, you won't need me to tell you that, coz you've got everything under control…"
Obi-Wan thinned his lips, lowered his head with renewed determination and marched away, not caring whether Qui-Gon and Mortimer followed or not, or if his master's arms were pulled out of their sockets in the process.
When Obi-Wan returned it was to face a pointed and stony silence. Jemmiah sat in the recreation room with a jewel encrusted compact in her hand, making the most of Qui-Gon's absence by applying a stronger shade of gloss to her lips than he would normally have approved of. It was a sure sign that she was truly annoyed, Obi-Wan thought with a shake of his head, when she re-applied lipstick that did not need touching up. Some people sought solace in alcohol: others in food. With Jemmiah it was invariably make-up or clothes. Most often both, if her uncle's budget would stretch to it. Which, given the sparkling compact, seemed more than likely.
He'd been harsh with her - teased her as he always did - but he'd pushed his luck too far on this occasion. Her back was turned to him and it stayed deliberately so even when he politely 'coughed' to make his presence known.
"Ahem." He coughed a little more loudly this time. "Something tells me I'm not your favourite person at the moment, is that correct?"
"Why are you asking me?" Jemmy growled without even turning to face him. "I don't have the force. I can't read minds or heal people. I'm useless, remember?"
"I never said that." Obi-Wan replied calmly.
"As good as!"
"All I was concerned with was making sure that Qui-Gon received the best medical attention. Surely you can appreciate that?" He asked, trying to play on her natural concerns for her guardian. "You couldn't help him. If I'd tried to heal him I'd probably have engineered the force into growing an extra arm or head." His attempts at humour did not seem to appease her, so he tried to be practical instead. "It had to be Mortimer. You can see that, can't you?"
"We don't even know him!" Jemmiah replied, instantly sounding as petulant as any fourteen-year-old might in the circumstances. "We've known him for how long? A little over an hour! And you've left him in there - a person who tried to kill Quiggy - with his intended victim? Why do you not have a problem with that?" She began violently applying her lipstick once again.
"You were the one who seemed so taken with him." Obi-Wan felt the need to point out. "Besides, he's no threat. I can sense everything that's going on. He may be force sensitive but his shielding is non-existent. If he had any further murderous intent I would sense it instantly."
"Probably too late." Jemmy answered morosely, brandishing the lip-gloss with exaggerated movements.
Obi-Wan decided it was probably the right time to apologise and ventured to sit down in the seat next to her, risking a smile as he did so. Jemmiah didn't look at him, nor did she seem quite as hostile as she had before. Progress of sorts, he realised, knowing that the fastidious examination of her appearance was just a smokescreen to hide her real feelings. He held out a hand, waiting to see if she would accept the truce.
"Sorry?" He offered hopefully. "I meant what I said, Jemmy. He's no threat to Qui-Gon, in fact my master seemed particularly keen to hear what Mortimer had to say and no doubt would prefer to do so without an audience: that's the only reason I cut you out. If it's any consolation Qui-Gon more or less threw me out the room, too. At least he would have done if he could move properly…"
That at least appeared to cheer Jemmiah up enough for her to put her compact away and shake - albeit reluctantly - Obi-Wan's outstretched hand. He relaxed slightly, pleased to see her mood lighten a little.
"Thank you!" He bowed his head graciously towards her. "And don't you worry about a thing: I've smoothed it over with Mortimer. You don't have to apologise to him for your baffling behaviour. He was quite concerned that he'd caused ructions between us both but I told him that you enjoyed arguing and that it made you happy…"
Jemmiah squealed at him, smacking Obi-Wan roundly on the arm although grinning as she did so.
"You kriffing vrelts dropping!" she yelled at him. "You big, steaming heap of Bantha…"
"Disgraceful." Obi-Wan bantered right back. "I'm sure Evla didn't bring you up to use such colourful terminology. But I won't tell her, seeing as how Mortimer will be sleeping in your cabin."
Jemmiah continued to playfully slap at him until his words finally began to sink in. Her hand faltered, hovering momentarily in mid-air before it slowly fell back down towards her lap.
"My cabin?" She queried. "Why is he sleeping in my cabin? Why is he sleeping with us at all? We're supposed to be leaving today - a one day stop before returning to Coruscant, Master J said…"
Obi-Wan closed his eyes. "He can't stay on this planet. Surely you understand that? His so-called master obviously has little or no respect for life; certainly not that of her padawan considering what she made him do. One way or another, Qui-Gon will insist that Mortimer returns with us."
But Jemmiah did not look so certain. "Maybe he won't want to come back with us. What are you going to do? Kidnap him? Lock him in binders if he doesn't agree? That makes us as bad as this crazy master of his!" She saw the sad, gentle look in Obi-Wan's eyes, the one he always treated her to whenever he humoured her…whenever he believed she was too young to understand, or lacked the wisdom and insight bestowed by the force. "I know what it's like to have to make that choice, Ben. In my case you might think there was no choice at all: stay and be killed or leave and have a chance. But it's still frightening! Even although it may seem like common sense to you, sometimes it seems better the devil you know than the one you don't! Mortimer might want to stay with his master, even if she is a little crazy. And what right have we to interfere?"
"Because to leave him open to such abuse - to such evil intent - would be to condone it." Obi-Wan replied sharply. "And before you say it, I'm not unsympathetic to your words. But if he stays there is a chance that one day this woman might strike out against him, even if she does not intend to do so. He's already afraid of what she has tried to make him do. If she 'trains him' in anger and fear, she's leading him down the path to the darkside. It's only his good nature that seems to have counteracted this strange desire for isolation at all costs. And does she seem like a suitable candidate to train a padawan? What crime has she committed to be exiled on this planet in the first place?"
Jemmiah chewed fretfully at her lower lip. "No crime. If she had, the council would know about it. If she's worried about being discovered and getting rid of witnesses then it's because she doesn't want to be found. Her exile is self-imposed, I'd say. She's running from something."
"Or someone?" Obi-Wan wondered out loud, impressed with Jemmiah's logic.
"Maybe. Perhaps she just wanted to be alone. People shut themselves off, don't they? When they're troubled…" The Corellian reflected, her eyes focusing on the floor. "In the hope of being safe…"
"Then perhaps if Mortimer came back with it would be a good thing for her also." Suggested Obi-Wan, running a hand over his rather long and untidy padawan cut. No doubt Qui-Gon would insist that he had it cut the moment he had regained the ability to hold a pair of hair trimmers. "Maybe she will seek help. The soul healers, perhaps?"
But what would Mortimer's ultimate fate be? It was highly unlikely, given the peculiar background he shared with his master, that he would be offered a place at the temple. Certainly he had been trained in the ways of the force from an early age, yes; but what ways? And by a master who advocated murder just to protect them from discovery?
"She's damaged, Ben. These kind of people never seek help on their own. It's easier to suffer alone - and lash out at the world. Even the people you love best."
Obi-Wan nodded. "Then perhaps she's beyond assistance."
He didn't notice the disappointment in Jemmiah's eyes. She pulled her legs up towards her on the seat, hugging her knees to her. If her problem lay with not having Obi-Wan's force-related insight, then his invariably stemmed from not being able to look at the galaxy in any way except from a Jedi's point of view. It must be so easy to sit there and make judgements with all the temple's rules and regulations at your disposal, or with Master Yoda's words of wisdom to keep you on the straight path. To one who had suffered and understood self-destruction Jemmiah often found the Jedi view a very narrow one indeed.
"Yes." She said, turning her head away once again. "You're probably right."