A/N: I think I like this chapter, but seeing as it's 3am, maybe it's not all that great after all. The culture references are intentional (and will be explained later).
I feel I should add a small warning here, based on the reviews I have recieved so far (thanks for those, by the way; it was great to know you liked this so far): this is probably not heading in the direction you think it is. That being said, I hope you will continue to read this anyway. I'm rather fond of the ending, and I think you will be, too. But then, I could just be partial because I came up with it. Either way, lemme know what you think?
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Obi-Wan sat silently across from his master. The two were on the last leg of their journey to the small, remote planet of Terrae. The only transport that they could find to take them there was through a run-down shuttle port in Terrae's neighboring system, and that had even been a bit of a struggle. This mission was certainly not making itself easy.
What, now he personified missions, as if they did these things all on their own? Maybe he was going crazy. Perhaps it would be a good idea to—Obi-Wan blinked.
A young woman was suddenly in the seat with Qui-Gon, slidding her arm through his and leaning forward conspiratorily. In his mind he could feel through his bond with Gui-Gon that the older man was about to tell her they did not require an escort service, but before the worlds could be said, the two men found themselves leaning forward to engage in a deep conversation with their long time friend.
"By the stars, did you see the chandelier at the Borrisson mansion?" the woman asked. "It was made of real crystal!"
"It was the most beautiful thing in the room," Obi-Wan heard himself say,"aside from you in that red gown, of course." The woman's cheeks flushed to the color of the dress she had worn to the party last night.
Qui-Gon chuckled. "He's right, you know."
"Oh, you two are just biased.
Obi-Wan's eyes barely flickered to the intimidating-looking, uniformed men stomping by, searching the rows.
"They had some of the most marvelous dishes, too," Qui-Gon observed, his eyes, too, returning to the brunette's face.
"The strawberries were my favorite," she added.
Obi-Wan laughed. "Of course they were! They were red to match your dress!" Qui-Gon and the brunette joined in his merriment. The unis shot them a look as they passed and exited the transport.
The woman's laughter trailed off as she watched the deck shrink beneath them. "Thank you," she whispered to them, standing, but they barely heard her. Who were the Borrissons? Obi-Wan thought, and why had he brought up a red gown? He'd been on another transport last night…
Qui-Gon recovered faster than his Padawan, and caught the woman's wrist before she could move away. "I've seen you before," he said softly. "No, you haven't. I'm so sorry to intrude—"
"Yes, actually." Qui-Gon pulled out the data-pad with the vid-clip, frozen on the last image.
Obi-Wan's eyes flicked back and forth between the stilled screen and the woman's face. She was a few years older now, but it was definitely her.
The brunette sank slowly back into the seat. "Who are you? And where did you get that?" she demanded in a whisper, eyes wary.
"How did you trick us into thinking we were old friends?" Qui-Gon countered.
Her eyebrows dipped in confusion. "I didn't. I merely sent you a suggestion, asking you to play along, lend me some cover."
"Then why did I—" Obi-Wan started.
"You made all that up on your own. Thanks for that, by the way, made it more believable. Now, I ask again, who the hell are you?"
"I am Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn, and this is my Padawan learner, Obi-Wan Kenobi."
Piercing green eyes darkened dangerously. "Jedi? As in, the 'keepers of peace and the bringers of justice'?" Her tone made the praise into an insult. "Where the hell were you five years ago, when we were requesting teams every single day? When we wanted you here, needed you here? When we were struggling to stay alive? Before we had systems in place to try and end all this? To fix everything? We don't need you anymore. You'll just screw it all up. Go home to your cozy little palace where you have more than enough to eat and children don't have their fingers cut off if they're found by the police." She left the compartment quickly, leaving two speechless Jedi behind her.
"Obi-Wan, go keep an eye on her, but don't let her know you're following her. I'm going to contact the council and see if I can get recordings of those requests."
"Yes, Master." He left silently.
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The curtain of mahogany hair hid her matching eyes, but Obi-Wan was rather sure that they were still studying the book (an honest-to-the-Force, leather-bound, paper book) before her with the same intensity they had been for the past hour. Obi-Wan had sneaked in close to see what was on the page, but the information didn't look that hard. Indeed, it was a children's book. So what was she looking for? How could—
"Your shadow sucks at covert surveillance, by the way. You two plan on actually approaching me, or are you going to pretend to spy on me the whole trip?"
Obi-Wan jumped, more from the voice than his master's hand coming to rest on his shoulder. Had he not been inconspicuous, then?
I don't know, Padawan. Maybe she's just very perceptive.
I'm sorry, Master. I tried to do what you said and keep an eye on her—
Dude, she can frikkin' hear you. Didn't your mother teach you it's rude to talk about people?
Both men's heads snapped up in surprise.
"How did you do that?" Qui-Gon demanded.
"Do what? Hear your shouting match? Not really that hard. They probably heard you in the cockpit."
"We were speaking telepathically."
Her eyes flitted from side to side, as if trying to visually find his point. "Yeah. And?"
"Through a special bond. With the Force."
"Hate to break it to ya, buddy, but whatever this 'force' of yours is, you'd better get a new physics tutor, cuz," she leaned forward and finished in a whisper, "your current connection isn't very secure." With that, she turned back to her book.
"No, it's not physics, it's—"
"Yeah, whatev." She didn't even look up.
Qui-Gon glanced at his apprentice, obviously taken aback by the woman's indifference. Resolutely, he sat down next to her. "Here's the thing: we suspect that there is a rather large problem on your planet, but we aren't entirely sure what it is. Something tells me that you could provide us invaluable assistance in our mission, and it seems to me like you need the help."
She closed the book on her finger. "See, that's the problem with you Jedi. You sit in that big, cushy temple, not knowing what a big, scary universe it is out there, assuming that you can swoop in and 'fix' everything that's not really broken, all the while ignoring the things that truly are. Not everyone wants to aid in swelling your heads. My planet has been messed up since before I was born, and I know for a fact we have been asking for Jedi intervention since even before things got as bad as they are. You people have yet to respond. Why am I supposed to trust you now?"
Qui-Gon had the sense to remain silent, head slightly bowed, for a moment to allow her passionate tirade to ring in the air. "I spoke with the Jedi council," he finally began softly. "They were able to transmit to me recordings of all previous requests from your planet. You are absolutely right, there are quite a number of them. I was also given the mission reports and official logs of the Jedi team that was sent to your planet ten years ago, and once again five years ago. Both teams were unable to find any evidence of what they had been told was occurring."
"These things do happen when you liaise with the oppressors, and not the oppressed."
"Then it is a good thing that we are speaking with you this time, isn't it?"
A mistrustful "hmph" was his only reply as she settled back in her seat, returning her attention to the book.
Qui-Gon must have taken that as a win, for he leaned back with a small smile, and motioned for Obi-Wan to take a seat opposite them.
As he did so, the woman sighed impatiently and closed the book. As she reached for her bag, Qui-Gon took the opportunity to question her.
"How is it that you overheard my telepathic conversation with my apprentice?" he asked. "Are you Force-sensitive?"
Her hand stopped searching in her bag and she gave him an odd look. "Uh, yeah, you give me a good shove, I'll fall over. Duh." She rolled her eyes.
"No, not that kind of force…"
"Oh, your whole 'not physics' thing. Yeah, whatever, so not your biz."
Qui-Gon waved his hand in front of her face. "You wish to tell me about your telepathy."
Obi-Wan darted a look at his master to make sure he hadn't sprouted another head while Obi-Wan had been studying the woman's reactions.
"Seriously? That supposed to work? Cuz if so, I think you forgot your pixie dust, Tinkerbell."
"Who is Tinkerbell?" Obi-Wan couldn't stop himself from asking.
"She's—" the woman sighed and shook her head. "Never mind. Look, I could hear you. Let's leave it at that, cuz I really don't trust you right now, 'kay? 'Kay, thanks."
She pulled her hand out an ancient style magazine. Curious, Obi-Wan tilted his head to look at the cover.
"Cerasi!" he exclaimed, his eyes widening.
Two pairs of eyes snapped to his face. "No, actually, it's Kysi. You know, in case you wanted to use it, stop calling me 'the woman'. And definitely don't call me 'Cerasi'. Ever." Even had her words not told them, there was something in her tone that would have alerted the men that this was not the first time she had heard the name, and that she had not taken kindly to it.
"No, on the cover," Obi-Wan explained, pointing to the picture. "I once knew her…" Though suddenly, taking another look at the picture, he wasn't so sure of that. The woman looked almost exactly like Cerasi would at this point, had she lived, though this woman's hair was more golden than his once-love's had been, a strawberry-blonde color. That hair was swept up into an elegant bun and was adorned with jeweled head piece. She was wearing a sparkling silver gown that attached to one bejeweled finger and swept down past her feet. She was seated in an elegant, haughty posture, nose high, glittering eyelids lowered. Her cheekbones, which arched in the exact same way as Cerasi's had, were delicately powdered to a pale porcelain perfection, and her cheeks were rouged just so.
Kysi turned the cover toward herself. "You know Princess Mykaela Kennaleighsah Jade Chloena Copperfield du Pont? I find that hard to believe. You don't rank high enough to associate with the likes of her."
"No. No, I don't know her. She just…looks like someone I used to know."
"She does look familiar to me, however," Qui-Gon interjected, before his Padawan could delve further into misery. He flipped through files on his dadapad and came to one he had just recently viewed. The three of them watched as a five-year younger version of the woman on the magazine cover regaled the Jedi council with a tale of misery, which was, she claimed, instigated by her father, King Midas IV. The young princess was thanked kindly for her courage and apprised that the Jedi would look into the matter.
"Ah, yes, the princess's last act, before she turned herself over to her father's will."
"What do you mean?" Qui-Gon asked.
Kysi looked around them out of the corners of her eyes. "This is not the place for such tales," she said softly. "Perhaps later. Of course, that is contingent on you convincing me I can trust you." Piercing brown eyes searched wise blue ones.
"You are rather mistrustful for one so young," Qui-Gon observed.
Those eyes suddenly looked weary and way older than the face surrounding them. "Youth does not preclude the type of experience that ages the soul," Kysi whispered.