Seekers (by Cathy Pauline)
Chapter 9
Only six hours after they arrived on Coruscant, Qui-Gon, Tomas and Ki-Erin, together with Tahl, were summoned before the Jedi Council.
"It is the opinion of this Council," said Master Windu, "That Xanatos must be stopped: by his capture if possible; if not, by his death. His experiments with nephrolite have made him a potential danger to the safety of the people of the Republic and the Rim worlds. Your mission to rescue young Obi-Wan continues. You must do everything in your power to ensure his safety. However, we also charge you with this second mission: to learn what Xanatos is doing with nephrolite, and to stop him. The resources of the Temple are at your disposal. Tahl will go with you, to help with data gathering and analysis and any other computer or systems work you need done.
"Remember that Lansar is a world in transition. They have never shown an interest in joining the Republic; however, I enjoin you to respect their autonomy and what forms of self-government they use. Walk softly.
"Do you have any questions or requests before you leave?"
No one spoke. The four Jedi were eager to be gone.
"We have kept most of the nephrolite to examine here, but you may have need of some with you," said Master Billaba. "Here are two of the strands." She stood and handed the two packets to Tomas, who tucked them in one of his belt pouches.
"If that is all?" called Master Windu to the Circle. He folded his hands and looked to Qui-Gon and his companions. "May the Force be with you."
*****
The four Jedi left immediately for their waiting ship, fully refueled and checked in the Jedi hangar bay. Bant and Garen and Miro bade them farewell at the door to the lift. Soon they were in open space headed away from Coruscant, with Tomas at the pilot's station this time, and Ki-Erin navigating.
Qui-Gon helped Tahl to set her things in the cabin next to his own. While she set up her equipment on the desk, he sat on the sleep couch by her and let himself drift slowly into a meditative state. He was sensing the unifying Force more clearly than he did usually. Like a landscape viewed from a mountaintop he saw present and future stretched around him in its infinity of possibilities. He sank deeper into trance and let the vision fill him.
"What is it, Qui-Gon?" Tahl was sitting beside him, her face concerned, one hand on his. He looked down to see his fists clenched in his lap.
"Tahl." With an effort he released his tension; turned his hand to cup her fingers. The vision had left him with such restless anxiety as he had never felt before. He stood and paced the floor of the tiny cabin, feeling like a caged predator.
"I've never been one for visions and dreams, Tahl."
"You live firmly in the present." She tilted her head as though listening for some faint sound. "But you're troubled by them now?"
Qui-Gon nodded before remembering she could not see him. But it did not matter: she sensed his answer.
"You're anxious about Obi-Wan, and looking to the future: to our journey's ending."
"If Xanatos succeeds in his schemes to use nephrolite, he will be more powerful than ever. He will cause a great deal of destruction before we can stop him. Many lives will be lost."
Tahl waited for him to continue, and when he didn't, she ventured uncertainly: "You fear that the mission to stop Xanatos will have to take precedence over the mission to rescue Obi-Wan?"
Qui-Gon sat again beside her on the sleep-couch, shaking his head. "No, Tahl. No -- what I saw --" he paused, uncertain how to explain. "Obi-Wan is the key." So saying, he was struck with fear: fear that turned his gut, that made him sick at heart.
"You're afraid for him, Qui-Gon," Tahl said quietly, taking hold of his arm, her voice low and intense. "What have you seen?"
"Tahl -- he stands at the nexus. It will be his choices, his decisions that will mean success or failure for Xanatos."
Obi-Wan. He could feel his young Padawan's pain, his struggle with rage.
"A choice between Light and Dark?"
"I don't know." He drew a long shuddering breath, and looked down at his hands, clenched once more into fists. "Either way, his actions will put his life and soul at risk." He looked up to find Tahl's eyes on his face, brows pinched with shared anxiety. "Xanatos is tormenting him. Obi-Wan's anger is threatening to overwhelm him."
"We'll reach him as quickly as we can. He'll hold on. He's too stubborn to let Xanatos goad him."
"I know." Qui-Gon gave a despairing little laugh. "I can't think of anything else we can do. Light, Tahl, I want to reach him!"
*****
The day after they left Coruscant, Tomas, Tahl, Ki-Erin, and Qui-Gon gathered in the ship's common area behind the pilot's station. Tahl had her data station open at the table.
"The Mozelle are basically human stock," Tahl told the others, "they can still interbreed with humans. Their skin and eye color are unusual: their eyes have a particularly large iris, and their skin has a silvery sheen, and is resistant to damage from solar radiation. They are believed to have settled Lansar about twelve to fifteen thousand years ago, during a wave of outward migrations from the core."
"They currently have a tribal social system?" asked Ki-Erin.
"They are organized into mostly independent tribes. The tribes are organized into thirteen major clans. Major decision-making within each clan is done once per year at a gathering of the tribes at the end of their rainy season. Clan heads meet every three years, or if a gathering is called for."
"Technology?"
"They use some technology for communication and travel, and for pumping groundwater and growing crops during their rainy season. However, little of the technology they brought with them from the original period of colonization remains. The world is iron-rich, but poor in other metals. I'm assuming that much of the technology they now use was either brought by the most recent wave of colonists -- the Lansarites -- or acquired from offworlders at the Starways resort city."
"And they use slaves," Qui-Gon said. "Was that practice also introduced by Starways?"
"I don't know. I have no information on that subject -- what I have, I've pieced together from questionable sources as it is, and from a fifty-year-old senatorial report."
"What about the nephrolite?" asked Tomas, after the group had sat in thoughtful silence for several minutes. He took the packets from his belt pouch and laid them on the table. "What if the Council is right? Why would Xanatos be feeding it to Obi-Wan?"
Qui-Gon reached for the package with the dark strand. "There is only one way to know for certain," he said.
Tahl pinned Qui-Gon's reaching hand with her own. "Don't be a fool. You don't need to take that kind of risk."
"How else do you propose to find out?"
"You don't know what he might have mixed with it. You don't even know if that's what he was using."
"No, but I know at least some of the effects."
"Maybe that's all Xanatos meant to do," put in Ki-Erin. "Give him nightmares and hallucinations."
"If that's all, then why is he stockpiling it?" said Tomas.
"Why would he need so much of it?" Tahl mused.
Tomas answered, "the quantity in the mines created an incredible reservoir of power -- the kind of power that could move worlds."
"But if it can't be used without losing control, without losing the self --"
"Perhaps he's found a way around that danger," Qui-Gon suggested.
"But that doesn't make any sense," said Ki-Erin. "How could you use power without using power?"
"I don't know," said Qui-Gon, "but I think it might help to experiment."
"Without ingesting any," Tahl demanded.
"For now," he conceded.
Tahl nodded and withdrew her hand, satisfied for the moment.
"I wonder if it's possible to change the color of dark nephrolite to light," Ki-Erin wondered.
"Good question," said Tomas, unwrapping the dark strand and stretching it on the table.
Ki-Erin took a small knife from her belt. "Best work with a segment at a time -- we don't have much of this."
Tomas nodded, and they all watched as Ki-Erin cut a finger-length segment from the end of the strand. Tomas coiled the remainder and placed it back on its wrapping. Ki-Erin looked to her master for permission, and when he nodded, took the small piece in her hand and closed her eyes. She shuddered.
"It feels -- it repels me." She dropped the segment back to the table.
"Let me try," said Qui-Gon. Instead of picking it up, he placed his hands palm down on the table, encircling it with his fingers and thumb. He focused his mind on knowing it, letting his sight unfocus, reaching out with the Force to touch it.
Through a haze like a dream he saw a cave: a mining tunnel. It was wide and straight like the ones they had seen in the old mines of Vandos3A; dimly lit and crowded with people in rough dark clothes, torn and worn. The people wielded tools, and they were constantly moving: gathering strands of nephrolite that they piled into baskets and slung on their shoulders to carry away. Chipping at the stone walls, filling carts with the debris. Their hands were raw, elbows and knees and shoulders protruding from rips in their clothing, scarred and sometimes bleeding. Their eyes were dull and despairing. Over the noise of the digging and gathering he could hear the roar of a man not far off: shouting abuse, calling on them to move, to hurry. He heard the sizzle of an electrowhip, heard a scream.
Qui-Gon let his focus return to the present. The segment of nephrolite lay between his hands, unchanged. "It remembers," he told the others. "It holds its past."
He focused once more on the segment, this time holding in mind an image of it light in color, a light gray. Change, he willed it, drawing on the Force, pushing it toward the strand of mineral. He felt the Force bend away from the segment between his hands, repelled, as Ki-Erin had said. The nephrolite seemed almost to have a life of its own, to be feeding darkness into everything around it. Obi-Wan has this stuff in his body, he thought. Fear touched him. How is it affecting his connection with the Force? His thoughts, his dreams?
"It's not working," said Ki-Erin, disappointed.
Qui-Gon stopped pushing, looked around at the others. Tomas looked sad, thoughtful. Ki-Erin had covered her eyes with one hand. Tahl had her face turned toward him.
"It occurs to me," she said, "that when Qui-Gon began trying to affect the nephrolite, we all became quite... morose. Do you feel the dark Force? Its strength has grown."
Qui-Gon opened his senses more generally. Tahl was correct: the small chamber was filled with feelings of dread, despair, suffering.
"What will happen to Obi-Wan if he joins with the Force with dark nephrolite in his body?" he asked. Ki-Erin looked up at him, horrified. Tomas shook his head, mouth set in a grim line.
"Qui-Gon," said Tahl, "It's a serious question, and an important one. But I think we need to go beyond it. We need to know: can we stop this effect? Can we change the nephrolite?" She put her hand on his, still resting on the table by the nephrolite, and he felt care and reassurance like a current passing from her and through him, refreshing him. "Focus on hope, not anxiety."
He turned his hand to hold her fingers. Tahl, I am glad that you're here.
"It's changing," said Ki-Erin, wonder in her voice. The nephrolite had lightened to a dark gray; to their Force-sensitivity it seemed to be smoldering, pulling in the light Force that passed between Tahl and Qui-Gon, releasing the dark Force like a stream of smoke.
Tahl reached for Ki-Erin's hand on her left, and Tomas completed the circle, joining hands with Qui-Gon and his Padawan.
"It won't respond to our will," said Qui-Gon, "but it draws on the current we pass between us." Letting go his doubt, his anxiety for his Padawan, he extended himself through the Force, sensing the vibrant presences of the others, giving them his care and trust, accepting theirs in return: Tomas, as steady and dependable as a mountain; the warm and generous flame that was young Ki-Erin; and Tahl, dear Tahl, his soul's mirror. At the center of their circle the small strand of nephrolite drank from the whirlpool they created, to their sight growing steadily lighter in color.
*****
Lansar grew quickly in their viewports from a bright point of light to a red-gold sphere. Tiny clusters of lights on the dark side of the planet marked the few cities. No central authority hailed them in their approach. Using the data stored in their on-board computer, they determined the position of the Starways resort and headed in, locating a docking pad at the edge of the small city from the plethora of beacons in the landing frequency. As they settled to the ground on the ship's repulsors, kicking up red dust -- the 'pad' was little more than a space in the desert cordoned off by perimeter barriers -- a greeting message finally kicked in over the comm, at hailing frequency, in a bright female voice.
"Welcome to Starways resort, bright star in the desert! Whether you are here on business or for pleasure, Starways is the place for you. Walk our beautiful grounds, enjoy our recreational facilities! We offer everything from swimming to smashball. Enjoy the excitement of the arena, bet on your favorites in daring and death-defying contests! Our gambling facilities are without peer, and our markets feature exotic and hard-to-find commodities at fantastic prices! For full information on our offerings, and for important guidance on local rules and customs regarding slaves and droids, please pick up a Starways passcard from your local merchant or host. We hope you enjoy your stay!"
"Somehow I don't think so," said Ki-Erin with a shudder, as she finished the landing routine and system checks with Tomas. "This place already gives me the creeps."
"The Dark Side is strong in the city," agreed Tomas, "but there's more here than that..."
Qui-Gon silently agreed.
In silence, the four Jedi left the ship, hoods raised and travel kits in hand, Tahl with her data station slung from one shoulder. Their plan was to find a place to stay somewhere in the city that had grown up around the resort; with that as their base of operations they could look for Obi-Wan, and look for a way to get him out. They stopped at the gatehouse to the docking pad to pay the attendant, a human elder, female, with dull gray eyes and patchy skin.
"Could you tell us where we might purchase a Starways passcard?" Ki-Erin asked her, letting her hood fall to her back.
The woman's eyes narrowed and focused in on the girl. "Pretty girl like you, not safe for you around here. Not safe at all. What you doing bringing a pretty girl out this way?" She snapped at Qui-Gon accusingly. "Here to sell her?"
"No," said Qui-Gon calmly. "Why isn't it safe for her here?"
"Keep her close," the woman muttered. "Keep her close. Those here would steal her, sell her, pretty girl like that. Fetch a high price at the market." And she continued muttering as she took their currency, registered the ship, and counted the change. Ki-Erin looked to her master, disturbed, then pulled her hood to shadow her face and wrapped her robe around her, hands hidden in the long sleeves. Tomas put a hand on her shoulder.
"Starways passcard." The woman put a bright red datacard, lettered in gold, onto the counter. "Admits one to the arenas and resorts. Thumb-keyed, can't pass it around. Need to pay extra for the special shows. Like tonight, Sha-Zayet, that boy been winning -- I bet on him," she cackled.
"We'll take four," said Tomas, and counted out the units to pay her. He tucked the passcards in an inner pocket and led Ki-Erin from the gatehouse to the busy street beyond, the others close behind.
"Now I really don't like this place," said Ki-Erin. "Let's find Obi-Wan, finish our mission, and get out of here."
Qui-Gon felt the light touch of commiseration from Tahl's thoughts. He took Tahl's hand; helped her to navigate the cracked and broken road that meandered between garishly painted and often derelict constructions. Beasts of burden were more common here than vehicles of any sort; the people walking wore either the unisuits or nondescript tunics and cloaks of traders and spacers, or else long flowing tunics and lightweight wraps like the woman at the docking pad: apparently the native garb. The traders represented a range of species, but the natives were all human.
"One of the human enclaves?" Tomas asked in a low voice.
"Why are they all elders?" asked Ki-Erin.
Qui-Gon drew breath, and looked again more carefully. "They aren't all elders -- many are middle-aged people. But they haven't aged well."
"They look worn out," agreed Tomas.
"What is the crowd gathered for?" asked Tahl.
"Crowd?" asked Ki-Erin, confused.
"We can't see it yet, but I'm guessing from the sound that it's just around this corner," answered Qui-Gon. And indeed, as they turned the corner, they saw before them a wide space, clear of buildings, and filled with the press of colorful tents and people and wares: an open-air market. Nearby a man was calling out prices to the people who pressed forward to sample his fruits and vegetables; his hands were constantly busy with wrapping and bagging and taking money and giving change. A woman tended a collection of bowls and pots and cups; still other beings farther in sold cloth or mechanical parts or smoked meats or medicinals... a mind-bending variety of life and commerce, all open to the senses.
"Oh!" said Ki-Erin in a pained voice. A hundred meters away, near one corner of the square, was a tent and awning: and under the awning, about a dozen humans chained by the neck to a rail. A man was turning a girl of about Ki-Erin's age, looking at her: she wore a simple wrap of bright gold cloth around her middle, and was staring at the ground. As they watched, one of the merchants led her and the man inside the tent.
"Those slaves are very young," Qui-Gon noted. "I don't believe any one of them is older than twenty-five."
Ki-Erin shuddered. "It's awful. How can they bear to be looked at that way?"
"That's what slavery is: sentient beings turned into objects." Tahl spoke gently. "That is why we oppose it."
Ki-Erin nodded slowly, but she couldn't seem to tear her gaze from the slaver's tent. "I knew slavery exists still, amongst the rim worlds, outside the Republic," she said, "but to see it like this..."
Tomas squeezed her shoulder, a comforting gesture. "Time to find lodging, I think," he said, turning to the others, his hand on his Padawan's back. "Near here, but not too near."
"This will be a good place to get information, but we'll need a less congested entrance," Tahl agreed.
"This street should lead toward the Palace." Qui-Gon indicated the great steel building that loomed over the marketplace to the north. It proved a fortuitous choice, they found, as they walked it: the street was filled with inns and bars, catering to resort visitors without wealth enough to stay in the opulent Palace or other Starways hotels. They chose a guest house with a worn but serviceable sign out front and a short flight of steps leading up to the front door. It stood close to the junction with two other streets, one of which led toward the Palace; inspection suggested that it opened both on the main street and onto a small alleyway behind. They found the proprietor in a room overlooking the street, and arranged for lodgings for that night and the next.
Their apartment consisted of three rooms at ground floor, at the back and overlooking the alley. The furniture was shabby but serviceable, with a minimum of technological devices: some kitchen equipment, data access, and a holoreceiver. Ki-Erin switched this on, flipping through the local transmissions: most were entertainment feeds, or advertising and events sponsored by Starways. Tomas went to inspect the rooms, Tahl used her data station to log into the data access, and Qui-Gon inserted the Starways passcard into his datapad to review its contents: mostly schedules of upcoming events.
"I've gotten Starways' public site, now," Tahl informed them. "A first step, anyway," she added under her breath. "There's information here about availability of guest and slave quarters: for a premium guests can get quarters that include a private cell for the slave; or for a fee the slave will be quartered in the Palace's facilities... Registration for races and contests --"
"What kind of contests?" asked Qui-Gon. "Do any involve the use of a whip?" Tomas leaned on the seating unit behind him, having finished his tour of the bedrooms.
"Yes," Tahl answered after a short pause, and her fingers twitched on the tactile readout of her data station. "'Sha-Zayet. This exciting contest of skill, willpower, agility, and speed is a modern form of the traditional Mozelle fighter slave contest. There are two contestants. Each stands on a floating force-field disk that is three meters in diameter. The disks are separated by three meters, and are subdivided into wedges and circular subsections. Each contestant has an electrowhip with which to strike at their opponent and his force field platform. Strikes with the tip make sections of the platform disappear. The object is to cause the opponent to fall from his platform: the contestant who stays on longest is the winner. A contest between skilled opponents can last for an hour or more in a breathtaking display of acrobatic skill and swirling, tangling whips. Games of Sha-Zayet will be taking place from midday through midnight in arenas F2 and F3.' There's more information here on how to register slaves for the games, but I don't think it says anything of interest to us."
"That sounds like what I saw Obi-Wan doing," said Qui-Gon.
"Would this be Sha-Zayet?" asked Ki-Erin, looking at the holoreceiver. The image showed an empty arena with two glowing disks floating above the floor, red and blue.
"The transmission is giving odds," Tahl told them, who had linked in with her data station. "The defender, Red Demon, is favored to win, but there's some excitement about the challenger: Golden Boy."
Ki-Erin switched off the mute and upped the volume.
"...only four days, but he's already overthrown all the standing champions but the top tier, and against all odds! Being human and Lansarite, he's the favorite of all the local freedmen, despite not being favored to win. If he wins all three scheduled matches tonight, he will be challenging the Sha-Zayet reigning champion tomorrow.
"The doors are opening now -- and there we see them. Red Demon, the Ritanian on the left, will take the red disk. Golden Boy will take blue. The guards are escorting them out to the disks..."
"Obi-Wan... Oh, no..." said Ki-Erin, echoing Qui-Gon's thoughts.
He walked with his back straight and his stride sure, but his eyes were distant, and his face was a mask of endurance. He wore little: a leather wrap around his loins; slave harness bridging the brassy manacles on his biceps and wrists, as well as his legs, and encasing his torso in a halter of straps and buckles. His skin was tanned dark brown, and looked strange, almost glittering under the bright lights of the arena.
"The guards are giving them their whips now, and backing away... The disks are rising; the contestants play at a height of three meters. Red Demon is exuberant, eager for this match; see him bare his fangs! Golden Boy looks calm, ready..."
"He's painted gold," said Ki-Erin softly, and Qui-Gon saw she was right, as the holocams zoomed in briefly on his face: flecked with gold, as if it had been sprayed on. Even his short hair and lashes sparkled.
"Not now, my friend. We're not ready yet." Tomas spoke from behind him, both hands resting lightly on his friend's shoulders. Qui-Gon had tensed, as if to rise from his seat, without realizing he'd done so. Tomas moved around the unit to take the seat beside him.
"The whips are on -- Red Demon strikes first: lightning fast, as we've come to expect from him! Golden Boy blocks the strike however, and already has the first wedge and -- oh! He uses the tip to throw off Red Demon's second strike, we've not seen that before, and strikes immediately down -- and the outer ring is out! The crowd goes wild -- Red Demon bares his fangs and puts all his weight into this next strike -- straight for the torso, to knock the Boy off but Golden Boy rolls under! To the other side of the disk where Boy strikes again -- blocked by Red Demon --"
Moving with fluid grace, Obi-Wan danced around the disk, allowing his opponent only minor gains, steadily taking the red disk apart, never losing his calm. Qui-Gon could see what the announcer could not, or would not say: that this was no contest. Obi-Wan was drawing out the fight, making it look like a challenge. But Red Demon had no chance, no chance at all to win.
"Demon has little left to stand on now, he hops from one section to another -- the Boy's whip comes down, straight for the quarter-circle on which Demon is standing -- Red Demon entangles! Risking all -- and he's lost! Golden Boy takes the Red whip! Now the quarter circle, now the remaining outer wedge -- Red Demon howls, he knows its over -- and he falls! To the ground below, he's howling now, twelve minutes of the loser's penalty -- the higher the rank the longer the penalty -- Golden Boy's disk nearly to the ground now -- Ho!!! Red Demon has leaped for the Boy's throat! Golden Boy jumps aside, and Demon is out again -- guards all around him -- an unprecedented action! The Palace will have to reconsider the penalty for Ritanians -- a simple pain charge not enough to ensure his docility, that's certain --"
A look of pity flickered across Obi-Wan's face and was gone, as he looked at the writhing Ritanian. Then the boy turned, and, escorted by a cordon of guards, walked across the arena to the door by which he had entered, his face again rigid, expressionless; his eyes downcast. But not before Qui-Gon caught a look of pure disgust as the boy glanced to the golden force-field that separated him from the watching crowds.
"Golden Boy will play again after this next contest: Heavy Hand against Ready Dodger. His next opponent will be Mean Streak, the odds for the match being calculated now --"
"We've got to get him out of there," said Ki-Erin, lowering the volume once more.
"Why was he toying with the Ritanian, Qui-Gon?" Tomas' eyes were pained, looking at him. "That fight was easy for him, wasn't it?"
"I don't know why, Tomas. Certainly not because he was enjoying it." Qui-Gon's words were sharper than he had intended.
"The commentators don't agree with you, Tomas -- they're calling it a close match." Tahl was still following the monologue with her audio feed. "They're not giving good odds for the next fight."
"Can you get us diagrams of that area of the Palace, Tahl?" Qui-Gon's mind was racing ahead, formulating and discarding plans. "Some idea of security? There's got to be a weakness somewhere --"
"We can't very well get him out of the arena proper," put in Tomas, "but perhaps if we knew where he was being kept between contests --"
"Already onto it," Tahl told them. "Checking electronic security -- but I need to be careful, cover my tracks. We don't want Starways security busting down our door just as I get into their system."
"How long will it take you?" asked Qui-Gon.
"Go find something else to do for a while," she snapped back.
"As good a time as any to get the local perspective." Tomas raised his eyebrows and grimaced at Qui-Gon: both were familiar with Tahl's sharp tongue from their days as Temple students together.
"One of us should stay here," said Qui-Gon, "as a guard."
"I hardly think that's --" Tahl began.
"I'll stay."
Tomas looked with compassion to his apprentice, where she sat cross-legged on the floor beside the holoreceiver. He crouched beside her. "I've never known you to turn down a chance to explore," he said gently.
The girl flashed him a sad, wry look. "That market makes me feel... crawly inside. Angry. I'm sorry Master, I don't mean to shirk --"
"Guarding Tahl while she's working can hardly be considered 'shirking'," put in Qui-Gon. Tahl snorted loudly.
"Qui-Gon is right: it's an important responsibility." Tomas glanced wryly at his friend. "But I hope you're not trying to hide from your feelings, Padawan."
"No, Master. I just need some time, I think: time to come to terms with this place."
"All right, young one. But stay alert. And call us if you sense any danger, or anything out of the ordinary. We won't be far."