Upadana

Scene 5

Ali Alaan made a polite half bow to a pair of senior Masters holding a hushed conversation along the same path he and Obi-Wan traversed. The Thisspiasian and Iktotchi Jedi smiled benignly upon the youngling as they passed, causing the crèche master to quirk a wry smile. It was true the boy had a round face and a scintillating Force signature – but these were counterbalanced by a truly challenging spirit. It would be a mistake to think of him as all innocence and sweetness. He was, after all, a Dragon at heart.

"He's right here," the boy mournfully declared, crawling beneath the drooping fronds of a yarbanna tree by the river's edge. Ali Alaan dutifully crawled in after him, though it was a rather tight fit.

Obi-Wan stopped dead in his tracks. "He's gone."

"Are you sure you've got the right spot?"

"Yes. See, here's his lightsaber." The boy plucked at a broken reed. "Somebody took him!"

Master Ali made a swift examination of the scene. "No," he replied, after a moment. "Nobody has been here but you. Look." He pointed out the small smear of mud leading down the steep embankment. "I think your friend T'k'ta tumbled into the water. Gravity is to blame, not sentient malice."

He had to extend an arm swiftly to prevent his young charge from following T'k'ta over the edge.

"Oh no! He fell in?"

The crèche master peered at the burbling stream. "Yes. Though I don't see him. I'm afraid T'k'ta is gone."

"We can rescue him," Obi-Wan suggested, hopefully.

But that would be imprudent. The artificial stream was cycled through a powerful purification pump at one end of its meandering circuit, a machine large enough to pose danger to anyone caught in the current while swimming - one reason behind this activity's proscription. "No, I'm afraid he would already be caught in the filter system by now." He softened his tone slightly, perceiving that the tragedy was hitting his small companion hard. "T'k'ta is merely a thing, Obi-Wan. We will not grieve over the loss of an object."

"But he's the Scourge of the crèche." The boy plopped down, distress emanating off him in waves.

There was a vital lesson here, however – one so essential that its importance outweighed the need to provide succor. Ali Alaan braced himself and pushed onward, settling cross-legged beside the stricken child. "Tell me why T'k'ta is gone."

"Cause he fell in."

"And why is that? What was he doing here in the first place?"

"Garen and me – and I – we hid him."

"Why?"

A terrible pause. Obi-Wan swallowed and dug one finger into the soft mud beside him, troweling a small sinuous furrow in the yielding earth. "'Cause I was afraid Bruck would get him."

Progress. Ali Alaan nodded. "That's right. And why were you so afraid of that?"

"'Cause I'm leaving and I can't take him to portect him."

"Because you are afraid to lose him."

Now the boy had caught wind of where this was headed. He wiped his grimy fingers upon his trouser knees, leaving a dark stain. "Yes, Master," he whispered.

"And why are you afraid to lose him, hm?"

Lower lip thrust out, the boy hunched his shoulders and scowled.

"Because you are attached to T'k'ta, I think. And now you see where that leads. Attachment leads to fear of loss, which leads to anger – fighting, young one! – and then to actions that cause suffering. This plot to hide T'k'ta was his undoing. Your attachment has led to T'k'ta disappearing for good. Neither you nor anyone else will be able to sleep with him or to enjoy him now."

It was cruel, but it was needful. A lesson learned now was a disaster averted later. Ali Alaan breathed out his own sympathetic distress, bundled the utterly miserable child into his arms and carried him back to the crèche, with heavy step.

The two rascals were scheduled to transfer to Troon Palo's clan that evening. They had nothing to pack but their clothing, most of which was in the laundry unit anyway. The boys stood ready at the door with one small satchel apiece, having exchanged farewells with their erstwhile family. Obi-Wan did not have the heart to inform Garen of the afternoon's disaster, and indeed could barely stand to recall T'k'ta's inglorious demise to his own mind. Every time the thought brushed across his awareness, he shoved it aside with a jolt of guilt and dread. His stomach was consequently a mass of tight knots that had nothing to do with excitement over the pending change in living arrangements.

Garen, blissfully ignorant of the recent catastrophe, danced in place, eagerly anticipatingt the joys and challenges of life in Dragon Clan. "Do you think we get to stay up later?" he asked his friend.

When he received no definitive answer, he pressed onward. "We get to learn saber drills," he breathed, joyously.

Even this did not rouse Obi-Wan from his preoccupied state.

"Master Troon is loud," Garen enthused.

"You are loud," his companion griped.

"You are rude."

They glared at each other, but the incipient struggle was forestalled by the arrival of a Temple all-purpose service droid at the door. Master Ali answered the chime, and was handed a limp and twisted mass of cloth and stuffing.

"This was caught in the filter system for the arboretum river," the dorid's expressionless vocabulator intoned. "Scans indicate it originates from this level."

"Thank you," Master Ali replied, dismissing the messenger with a bow. He folded T'k'ta's mangled body into a corner of his wide sleeve.

Garen's eyes widened like a gaping mynock's mouth.

Obi-Wan bit his lower lip. "Is he… dead?"

The tall man stooped a little. "A few more stitches and a spell in the dryer, and he will be able to return to his Scourging duties."

The boys nodded, one in confusion and one in relief.

"Would you like to hold him a last time before you depart?" Ali Alaan inquired.

But Obi-Wan's eyes remained fixed on the floor. "No."

The crèche master straightened. "That is wise. You are truly ready to move on."

The boy threw his shoulders back and blinked rapidly. "You can portect everybody, Master. I know. I can sleep without T'k'ta, too."

"Good. Master Palo will be very pleased to have you with him."

Garen Muln tugged at his sleeve and bestowed a warm and affectionate parting hug upon both T'k'ta and Ali Alaan, while his small companion maintained a stoic rigidity and silence.

The crèche master extended a hand and brushed large fingers over the boy's head. "Attachment is forbidden, but I will still miss you, Obi-Wan," he said. "May the Force be with you."

A docent waited to escort the two younglings to their new home; they bowed deeply to Ali Alaan and set off in her wake, small strides carrying them toward the future's wide horizon. The tall man watched them retreat around a corner and then returned to his own domain, the Scourge of the Creche – somewhat worse for wear – tucked securely beneath one arm.

Finis