Legacy

Book I


Chapter 2

"Gracious stars," Madame Jocasta Nu murmured, tsking softly in her throat. "It is past midnight, young one."

Summoned back to the present moment – and the pool of soft radiance now crisply delineating his chosen study alcove from the dusking solemnity of the main Archives hall – Obi-Wan raised his head and offered the revered matron of learning a rueful half-smile. "So it is," he agreed.

Madame Nu looked down her aquiline nose at him, brown eyes twinkling with a light that might be considered mirthful in a person less habitually sober. "Rank may enable one to supercede the Senior Padawan curfew limits," she informed him, laying one age-spotted hand upon the nearest pile of glimmering holo-tomes, "but it does not absolve one from the need for rest, you know."

The young Knight stood, gathering his cloak from the back of a low armchair. "Yes, Madame… you are right." His own eyes glinted mischievously. "Though it would seem age does?"

The Archivist replied with a quiet snort calculated to conceal her amusement. "Seniority," she said, repressively, "bears with it many privileges and burdens."

They strode along the central aisle together, Madame Nu's floor-length embroidered robes whispering against the polished marble, her tight bun and ferociously supple and sharp hair-pin casting long shadows over the watchful bronzium busts of the Lost Ones. To either side, a double storied honor guard of glowing stacks kept perpetual vigil over a millenium's accrued wisdom.

"Good night," the elderly guardian of this sanctuary intoned, ushering the young Jedi out the double entrance doors and firmly dismissing him with a curt nod of her silver head.

Obi-Wan bowed. "Good night." And he was off, flowing up the ceremonial stairs and down the adjacent empty concourse at a fluid and characteristically jaunty gait, cloak billowing and 'saber hilt slapping against his thigh.

The senior Archivist harrumphed softly to herself, closed the massive bronzium portals, and retired for the night.


"Open," Obi-Wan quietly commanded the door, striding across the threshold and casually tossing his cloak onto the inset hook with an exactitude begotten of many years' practice.

He halted in surprise. "You needn't have waited up for me," he addressed the common room's other occupant, his twisting wryly at one corner.

Qui-Gon Jinn's long, silver-threaded mane and leonine features were picked out in the chiaroscuro glow of a meditation candle set upon the low central table. He tipped his head back, regarding the late arrival placidly. "Who says I was waiting for you?"

The younger man joined him, settling cross legged upon the empty meditation cushion. "I can sense it – there's no point in obfuscation."

"Ah." The Jedi master smiled a little at the stern tone employed by his counterpart. "I stand guilty as accused."

Obi-Wan sighed. "Master," he grumbled.

The technically obsolete honorific only served to widen the tall man's lurking smile. "Have you eaten?" he politely inquired.

But the innocent question brushed the felix's fur the wrong way, so to speak. Eyes sliding sideways ironically, Obi-Wan released a small breath of vexation. "I can take care of myself."

"No one doubts it," Qui-Gon answered, rising in one graceful motion and crossing the room to close the open balcony doors, shutting out the chill night breeze. A featherlight gust of apology eddied in the Force, across the invisible connection between mind and mind.

Obi-Wan colored slightly, annoyance melting into mortification at his own raw and prickly mood. Perhaps Jocasta Nu's advice regarding sufficient rest had been spot-on. He acknowledged the courtesy with a small dip of the head.

The older Jedi's eyes gleamed with understanding; he sank back down opposite his former padawan and rested powerful hands on his bent knees. "There is a good chance we will be dispatched on a mission tomorrow," he informed his young companion.

"Another diplomatic assignment?"

Qui-Gon shook his head slightly. "No. A situation brewing in the Outer Rim. It would not be… an ambassadorial mission."

Dangerous, in other words. Obi-Wan nodded gravely, absorbing the news. Six months had elapsed since his elevation to Knighthood – a long stretch of time in which he and Qui-Gon had been sent as a team to negotiating tables, peace summits, and interplanetary labor disputes, but nothing more perilous or demanding. The Council had, however, apparently judged that they were separately and collectively prepared for a return to business as usual.

"You are disturbed by this?" the Jedi master broached the simple question tentatively, doubtless mindful of his prior slip.

"Well." Obi-Wan shrugged, then offered sly commentary. "It can't be any more harrowing than Chandrila, now can it?"

They shared a hearty chuckle, voices blending into a harmonic overtone of decorously contained mirth. "Ever the optimist," the older man remarked. "No, I think we may safely assume there will be no, ah, … liturgical entanglements this time."

The young Knight shuddered at the recollection. "Thank the Force for small mercies."

"However… the briefing will doubtless be called early. At the risk of giving further offense, might I suggest we retire?"

"Yes, of course." Here Obi-Wan let his gaze wander across the shadowed common room, tracing the familiar lines of its worn furnishings, the pale curve of the walls, the silhouettes of Qui-Gon's beloved botanical specimens tucked away in their various nooks. The Living Force was placid, welcoming here – but sleep often brought dreams, and Unifying vision: a panoply of twisted faces, fire and floods, screams of a new-born babe, the shriek of saber clashing on saber, the deafening silence of coldest space. Dark veils rose and fell, diaphanous and yet obscuring; white towers crumbled, dark moons eclipsed the sun, dawn broke bloody over an eerily empty horizon. Sleep did not always mean rest, for one so gifted.

And it would be foolish – hypocritical, even – to seek out Qui-Gon's counsel or sympathy after snapping at the man for a simple act of solicitude. He kept his silence, lowering mental shields a trifle, though, in some irrational hope that his unease might be read therein, noticed despite his self-imposed reticence.

But the Jedi master merely unfolded himself and took first turn in the 'fresher, leaving his former student to brood in the gathering darkness. The candle guttered and went out, sending up a fragrant coil of smoke to the ceiling. Obi-Wan breathed it in, centered on the day's multitudinous distractions, and silently took his own turn when the older man had finished. Ablutions complete, he stepped back into a pitch black apartment, navigating his way across the hall without need of sight.

The larger bedroom of the suite's two was now his – Qui-Gon having since his two-year hiatus adopted a more ascetical habit of life than ever – and he dropped onto the wide sleep-couch with a muffled sigh, frustrated at his own lack of communication skill. Though Qui-Gon Jinn was no longer technically his master, the man still occupied an informal but openly recognized role as mentor; what sort of budding diplomat snarled at minor and largely imagined grievances against his own perceived dignity, and then squandered the opportunity to ask for guidance when it was needed?

He shimmied off one boot and then the other, folded clothing in a neat pile at the bed's foot, and rubbed absently at one or two new bruises left upon his hide by Feld's enthusiasm in the salles. Brooding in earnest, he perched upon the mattress' edge, reverently hefting the smooth 'saber's hilt in his hands, tuning himself to the soothing inaudible chime of the twin crystals embedded at its heart. Wisdom. Serenity. Patience. He reached out to place the weapon upon the small bedside stand – only to unexpectedly brush fingertips against a curve of hot ceramplast.

His mouth tightened into a pained smile as his hand closed about the tea-bowl. The sweet-sharp scent of crushed herbs floated up to greet him, soft coils of steam laden with a decade's memory, the earthy incense of a devotion founded upon solemn vows, upon timeless tradition. Brows quirking together, throat inexplicably tightening, he exhaled roughly, his breath ruffling the hot surface of the peruma tea so discreetly - so knowingly- left there for his benefit.

He drank the gift with almost ritual solemnity, and surrendered to its soporofic effects within minutes, sprawling upon his thin palette in dreamless peace while the city-planet ponderously turned upon its axis, carrying them all toward the new day.


The Council did indeed convene early, and they were the first to be called into that august chamber the next morning. Coruscant's golden sun had not yet climbed past the jagged eastern horizon more than a scintillating whisper; beams of intrepid radiance, the vanguard of day, slanted upward through the lofty panoramic windows and played gaily upon the domed ceiling, prismatic bands of color visible where the transparisteel caught their rays at precise right angles.

Master Yoda's wispy white hair was as unruly as ever, his tiny robes more rumpled and frayed; it might have been a sign of indisposition toward early rising, a theory which Obi-Wan entertained playfully for three seconds before riveting his attention back upon the circle of gathered masters and the purpose of this premature but sober meeting.

"We have decided to send a Jedi investigative team out to Niffrendi, in the Meruu subsector. The rumors we have heard are alarming, and their ramifications extend far beyond the local political situation. We need more reliable information before we can recommend any action to the Chancellor."

Qui-Gon, standing at the center of the inlaid marble floor with Obi-Wan directly beside him – not a step behind, as hitherto had been the younger man's place – inclined his head. "I am familiar with the developments, though…" – he glanced sideways at his former student – "A concise summary would doubtless be appreciated."

Mace Windu steepled his fingers together and launched into a brief narrative for he younger Knight's sake. "The Niffrendi system lies on the far edge of the Meruu cluster; its neighboring worlds are either Hutt controlled or under Togorian territorial claim, for the most part. Recently, the government has submitted petitions to the Senate, asking for permission to raise and maintain a standing army as protection against purported slave-raids by neighboring principalities."

There were already numerous notable exceptions to the Republic's disarmament laws – particularly in the Rims. "Under such conditions, it seems reasonable for the Senate to grant permission," Obi-Wan ventured.

Mace nodded, his growling baritone textured with subtle irony. "The Galactic legislature is seldom fettered by the demands of rationality," he remarked. "However, in this case, their hesitance is justified. The Togorian cheiftans in that sector have been under attack by a new barbarian warrior tribe styling itself the Paxellian Legion."

This had the young Jedi's attention. "I thought the Legion was defunct."

"So did we," Ki Adi Mundi interjected. "But recent intelligence reports seem to indicate a renewed confederacy strong enough to threaten the Togorian monopoly on pirated hyperlanes. And given the Paxellian proclivity for punitive action, there is reason to believe that the creation of a Republic sanctioned militia in that region could spark severe hostilities. The Supreme Chancellor is concerned to preserve the tenuous accord between Rim territories and their non-incorporated neighbors."

Qui-Gon straightened his spine and released a long breath, hands going to his belt. "Though such concord should not be bought at the price of innocents. If there are attacks being made on Republic citizens, we would be negligent not to act - and swiftly."

Mace stirred impatiently. "We are not sending you to act, Qui-Gon. Your mission will be to determine the veracity of these claims about raiding parties – and if they are real, their extent and motivation beyond profit. The Legion never strayed this far into Republic space even during its heyday in the last century."

Obi-Wan frowned. "And if the reports are true?"

Old Yoda grunted, one clawed hand scratching at his ear before he rasped out his reply. "Then confer with Council , you will. Provoke a war in the Outer Rim, we must not. Decide the Republic's course of action, the Senate and Chancellor must."

"Yes, Master." The young Jedi allowed a fraction of his disgust to bleed into the Force, where it was swiftly washed away upon invisible currents. "... So we are acting at the Chancellor's behest, rather than the Niffrendi premier's? "

"Neither. You are acting as private agents of this Council," Mace cut in, leaning forward in his wide chair. "It would be best if your presence on the planet were not ostentatious."

"So this is to be a clandestine mission," Obi-Wan clarified.

But the Korun favored him with the most fleeting hint of a smile. His eyes flashed white against his striking dark features. "No," he said, bluntly. "The Galactic Senate and the Niffrendi government will both be informed… at the appropriate time."

After the fact. "Yes, Master. I understand."

"Good," Mace intoned. "An unregistered shuttle has been requisitioned for your transport. A charted commercial freighter will drop you inside sublight distance of the planet; use Katarn protocol for communications. May the Force be with you."