The Field Trip
Day 2
Bright yellow light filtered through the thermal shelter's roof in an aura of diffuse warmth. Dust motes floated in the golden swell, tracing a silent dance in some complex synchrony beyond sentient understanding. The sharp scent of a burned out fire, of wood turned to black ash now cold, wandered slowly through the drowsy air.
"Well, are you going to be on your way, or do you intend to sleep all day?' A deep, mellow voice inquired nearby.
Obi Wan jerked fully awake, propping himself onto his elbows. The lazy golden light shifted into stabbing lances of fire and the dust motes smeared into a blur. He drew in a hissing breath and choked on the acrid wood smoke in the air. He squinted cautiously about, ignoring the headache. Thermal shelter. Camp. They were camping….on Tanaab 4. A field trip.,,,Memory flooded back. He leapt up onto his feet, yelling.
"Master!"
Qui Gon only chuckled. He remained kneeling in meditation position to one side of the low-roofed tent.
"Why didn't you wake me?"
The older Jedi merely smiled in that infuriating, noncommittal manner of his, and motioned at the unpacked gear, the scattered clothing, the shelter and its glow unit. "It's almost meridian. You'd better pack."
Obi Wan shot him the most venomous look he could muster, and then scrambled outside for some fresh air. Vertigo seized him and shook his insides. He stumbled a few paces away, found a clump of bushes, and was quietly and efficiently sick. Kneeling, drawing in the Force to recenter himself, he reached out into the empty landscape. Nothing. Morbidly curious, he prodded at one or two of his healing firebeetle bites. They were scabbed over, still tender, but not so bad as yesterday. The fever was gone, though headache and nausea were not appealing replacements.
A few more long breaths and he felt ready to deal with his master again.
"They are long gone," he scowled at Qui Gon when he re-entered the shelter. "And they've taken the ship with them. You're stuck with me unless you wish to sit here a few days until they get back."
The Jedi master only raised an eyebrow, so Obi Wan threw on his tunic and set about packing their gear with a brusque irritability.
"Temper," Qui Gon reproved mildly, not offering to help. He rose and moved outside the shelter, calmly observing the proceedings.
"How long was I asleep?" the Padawan demanded, breaking down the tent with ruthless energy, and reducing it to a small roll. The gear he smashed into the survival pack with deadly precision. This he slung over his back with few colorful expressions he had learned from a Phindian acquaintance.
"Language," Qui Gon warned. "You were out cold for a solid fourteen hours."
Obi Wan hoped his feeling of hopeless rage at this statement did not show in his face; the disastrous delay was Qui Gon's fault - though he would never go so far as to outright accuse the tall master. He clenched his fists and turned his gaze away, to the craggy line of hills which divided the peninsula from the swampy lowlands below.
"I'm afraid that local remedy for the beetle venom was a bit more powerful than I anticipated. Though doubtless effective, it seems to have a kick like fortified Corellian brandy," Qui Gon remarked.
The young Jedi ran both hands through his short, gritty hair. His head hurt; his stomach was displeased with him; and his master was driving him steadily toward the Dark Side. The prospect of a grueling day-long march across the rolling plains of Tannab, and whatever else lay beyond those distant hills, made his heart sink. But that was the appointed task for the second day of this blasted trip: get from point A to point B before nightfall. He sighed and started tramping over the empty, dry landscape. Let Qui Gon follow if he would.
A steady two-hour hike, heading steadily upward into the hills, had a very salutary purgative effect. By the time the gentle hillocks of waving grass and low brush had given way to rockier, barren soil littered with huge boulders, Obi Wan had sweated off both the headache and the foul mood. He began to feel a thread of remorse for his snarling disrespect earlier. Casting a glance over his shoulder for the first time since he set out, he spotted Qui Gon easily keeping pace with him, a long stone's throw away. He sighed and slowed down a bit, edging along a cliff face that looked as though a giant hand had sheared chunks off it with a blunt tool. He threaded his way among the huge detritus, the slabs broken off the abrupt, thrusting faces of the cliff, and paused in a tiny hollow encircled by several flat boulders and graced with a skeletal lantern tree, now bedecked with dry and rattling seed pods.
The survival pack dropped to the ground, and a swift Force-push sent the dried and fallen branches and grit flying off the tops of the flat rocks, creating a more or less clean surface. The tree's lacing branches provided a semblance of shade from the beating afternoon sun. Qui Gon strolled into the clearing a few minutes later and settled himself cross-legged on one of the low, flat rocks.
Obi Wan drained a bottle of water in one long pull, wordlessly handing another to Qui Gon. Wiping his face with the back of his sleeve, he turned his gaze upward to the looming cliff-tops, and considered his position, the remaining distance, the time of day. Emotion wrung away by exercise, he came to the obvious conclusion with an almost dispassionate clarity.
"We won't even be halfway there when night falls. I needed to start at daybreak."
"Then it is fortunate you are not traveling alone today as anticipated," Qui Gon responded. "Tanaab is not a pleasant place after dark."
"I wouldn't require a traveling companion had I started on time," Obi Wan insisted. "You could have woken me, master. It wouldn't have been a violation of the rules."
"Weep not for the past," Qui Gon advised with a shrug, rummaging in the pack for something edible. "Besides, it isn't my role to act as your personal valet." He produced some protein sticks and a powder that could be mixed with water to replenish vital biocompounds.
They ate the completely unappetizing meal in silence.
"I don't suppose there is another way around or through these hills," Obi Wan wondered aloud when they had finished.
"Again, this is your exercise. I am merely here to ensure that you don't; try to get yourself killed again. You have a remarkable talent for it."
"Thank you. I try my best to do honor to your teachings."
Qui Gon raised an eyebrow. "Impudence is not included in the standard curriculum for survival training," he said.
"Perhaps the Temple masters never went on a trip with you, master."
The tall man fixed his apprentice with a stern look. "You are allowing yourself to be distracted by this amusing, but irrelevant, conversation."
"Yes, master. I shan't pay any further attention to you." Smirking, and jumping up to stand the nearest boulder, the young Jedi focused on the problem at hand. The second night's rendezvous was twenty or twenty-five klicks from the first camp, and lay on the other side of the Ba-Tanaab ridge. The trek would involve an arduous climb down the opposite, much steeper side of the hills. A holo-map which he had been permitted to examine for twenty short minutes before departure had depicted a sheer drop into treacherous bogs. And the few tidbits of information he had hurriedly gleaned from the Archives had told him that Tanaab 4 was infamous for its ferocious and predatory fauna. As he now knew from experience. There was also the problem of navigating a safe course through the swamp in pitch darkness….but that was thinking too far ahead.
"Have you formed a plan?" Qui Gon prompted.
"You must have patience," Obi Wan countered, dead-pan, as he picked up the survival pack and set off into the hills again. Qui Gon fell in beside him as they picked their way over the uneven terrain toward the massive jumble of boulders which marked the true ridge crest.
"Seventh precept," Obi Wan said after a while, as the dramatically increasing slope slowed their pace. "Use every resource at your disposal."
"Very wise."
"I happen to have you at my disposal, master. I wasn't permitted access to detailed geoscans or biosurveys of this region before we left. But you were. What are the strongest and swiftest animals in the hills?"
"What makes you think I studied such information?" Qui Gon challenged mildly.
"You were prepared for the firebeetles. Therefore you made a thorough study of the terrain and any possible obstacles. Besides, you always do before a mission."
"Perhaps I do know a great deal than you about the possibilities here. But why would I willingly answer your question?"
"Because you want to survive, master. Any sensible person in your position would be eager to share his expertise with me."
Qui Gon laughed a little at that. "Very well. I see I shall be subjected to your eloquence until I cooperate. The strongest and deadliest predator is the pychuta. The only beast capable fierce enough to defend itself against this predator is the mountain tharex. You would do well to avoid both these creatures, if you don't want to get yourself killed."
"I thought that was my specialty."
It took the remainder of the day to gain the true summit of the hills, a craggy height from which the entire peninsula could be seen, stretching desolate to the ocean. A deep fog had settled on the far side, blocking the unknown land below from view. Here, far above the swirling mist on one side, and watching the evening shadows of the hills creep toward the sea upon the other, the Jedi rested and ate another utilitarian meal. They donned their cloaks and drew them close about their bodies as Tanaab's daytime heat again gave way to a chill night. A sharp wind picked up and whistled through the darkening masses of rock on every side. The shadows quickly deepened to unrelieved black. Only a few stars peeped through the veil of clouds above. The night seethed with peering eyes, scuttling bodies, rustling grass. The hills came alive under cover of darkness.
Obi Wan crept toward the cliff's edge and peered over, as the last rays of the sun beat upon the flat expanse of rock below. Here there was a sheer drop into the fog swirling below. Tiny ledges jutted out here and there- a natural but extremely treacherous stairway. He felt confident in his ability to descend the contorted path in daylight - he had practiced on the most difficult of climbing walls for years - but in pitch darkness? He supposed it was no different than scaling the same wall blindfolded. Still, this was no Temple training circuit. Here, one slip or miscalculation as he made his way down, and…
A warning tremor in the Force. He froze in place, obeying the prompting of instinct. Behind him, shrouded in the darkness between the rocks, a snuffling and snorting presence made itself both felt and heard. Turning, slowly, noiselessly, he peered through the murk. The outline of an immense animal suggested itself to perception, a heavy hoofed thing with immense curling horns crowning its head. Its hot angry breath escaped in grunts from wide nostrils. Shaggy coils of hair hung from its hide and trailed the ground.
Tharex. It could not be anything else. Several more of the beasts appeared behind the leader. Alarm and defensiveness swelled in the Force; the tharex were not pleased to discover him here, intruding on their customary resting place. The leader lowered his head, threatening.
Obi Wan's fingers brushed against the hilt of his saber, but he did not lift the weapon from his belt. It would be wrong to slaughter mere animals simply because he had unwittingly trespassed on their territory. Surely he could find some other way to avert the impending stampede. The tharex's fear spiraled outward, growing in intensity, a deep resonance in the Force. Their dim minds pressed against his, their brutish unease threatening to smother his far more delicate, more complex, thread of awareness.
Suddenly he knew what to do.
Extending both hands outward, relaxed, searching, he reached into the Force, and found the animals' minds. There could be no language-based compulsion with the tharex…but another suggestion, emotional or imagistic, perhaps? He touched the leader's odd, instinctual awareness, its murky blend of sense and unthinking reaction, and concentrated.
Move away from here. Go the other way. We are dangerous. Go quickly. Flee.
For a long moment nothing happened. The tharex stamped and shifted nervously, the whites of their eyes showing in the gloom. Their breath was released in a grunting staccato... Obi Wan held on….should he push harder? Was this going to work?
Suddenly, the herd shuffled and snorted in unison. Their fear became sharp, panicked. The great bodies shifted and turned, in a jumble of hooves and rasping breaths, and they thundered away through the jutting faces of the cliffs, leaving a cloud of dust behind. The young Jedi wrinkled his nose at the lingering musty odor of their woolen hides.
He grinned. Not only had he done it, he had overdone it.
"Obi Wan!" Qui Gon's shout of warning coincided with the blinding scream of danger in the Force.
A dark shape dropped from above, claws and fangs flashing pale in the darkness. The young Jedi rolled aside as the beast landed on soft feet, a long tail lashing behind. Obi Wan had just time to register that this, and not his mind influence, had been the casue of the herd's retreat, before the enormous pychuta growled, crouching before him. His saber sprung to life and swung into a ready position as the predator gathered itself for a second spring. It was easily three times his weight, and every inch of its smooth dark skin rippled with muscle.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw another shadow drop from a high perch onto Qui Gon; heard the hum and flash of his master's saber, and a horrible yowling rebound off the rocks. Then the pychuta sprang at him, and he was in desperate motion.
The beast flew forward, claws and teeth open to rip him apart. He spun, shifting his weight and hoping to cut its underside, but it twisted away in mid-air, as graceful as a silk ribbon on the wind. He came up to attack again, but the beast had turned and was diving for him already. He vaulted over its back, cutting down and missing. The creature was like quicksilver, flowing through the narrow space without effort. It jumped yet again, and he surged into ther attack, coming under its wide-spread limbs and striking hard into its chest. A bloodcurdling scream rent the air, and he was smashed backward under the weight of its body, the open jaws still seeking and finding his shoulder even as the thing spasmed in death.
He writhed beneath the weight, and summoned the Force with a gasp, shoving the carcass off his chest. He rose, panting. At his feet lay the severed head of the second pychuta, the edges still smoldering form Qui Gon's saber edge. The tall Jedi was at his side in two swift strides, kicking away the grisly spectacle as soon as he saw his apprentice's eyes fixed on its frozen snarl.
"Are you all right?" he asked, grasping Obi Wan's shoulder and then pulling his hand back when he felt the hot damp of blood.
"Mostly," the Padawan replied, through gritted teeth.
"You are injured. Let us call Master Pertha- he can pick us up."
Obi Wan shook his head, appalled. "No…no, master. I- we can… can keep going. I want to finish this."
Qui Gon drew in a long breath, and stood unmoving with arms crossed over his chest. "That is extremely unwise."
"I am not giving up!" Pain eroded his control. He was not going to fail twice in a row. He would at least walk into that camp tonight on his own legs, tardy but successful. The idea of a second defeat so soon after yesterday turned his stomach. He glared up at Qui Gon, though he could not see the Jedi master's face.
"I could order you to comply."
"You said this was my exercise!" Obi Wan exploded. How dare Qui Gon use the same excuse to justify both hampering and passively neglecting to help him? It was intolerable. "I'm continuing. Now." He strode forward to the cliff's edge, gripping hard at the tear in his shoulder. It throbbed. So what? He crouched down, tugged at the creeper vines growing along the steep sides of the precipice. A sharp tug on the sturdiest of the creepers suggested that it would bear his weight. He breathed out, grasped the nearest with both hands, and dropped over the ledge, swallowing a scream as his wounded shoulder took his full weight. Bracing against the hidden rock with his feet, he gently lowered himself hand over hand. The twisting natural rope held.
Soon enough, he heard Qui Gon slither over the rim and join him, climbing down a second knotted twist of vine. He said nothing, only kept careful pace alongside his Padawan, whose rate of descent slowed steadily as he progressed. His shoulder seemed to be in agreement with Qui Gon about the folly of this enterprise. The climb down took what felt like half a standard year. Eventually they dipped beneath the surface of the fog layer; tiny cold droplets settled on their hair and garments and then steadily soaked through clothing. The survival pack began to drag at Obi Wan's good shoulder. His hands were slick with green grime from the vines, and slipped dangerously on the smooth surface, sending him rapelling downward many meters. His left arm and side begged for release form the prolonged strain. Staring downward, he could not judge how far away the bottom of the drop might be. He stopped, heaving deep breaths.
"Almost there," Qui Gon reassured him, no doubt sensing his worry.
Obi Wan held on, his left hand and arm going suddenly numb with exhaustion. His grip loosened, and he hung by one arm. He wrapped both ankles tightly in the dangling creeper below him, and clung to the cliff side. "How much further?" he asked, aware that he could not climb another meter.
Qui Gon paused. "A short drop. There's water below us, I think."
Obi Wan buried his face in the crook of his raised arm, trying to wipe sweat and fog droplets and grime and tears off in one sloppy stroke. He had to get down. He had to finish this.
He reached into the Force, tugged and pulled at the vines' supporting tendrils, the tiny places where the living plant had moored itself to the rock, and loosened their hold until the he was slowly dropping, sliding down the rock face. He heard Qui Gon mutter somthig under his breath, something Obi Wan had not heard before and thought might be a Toydarian curse. More and more tendrils were yanked free of the wall, and he picked up speed. Soon he was sliding rapidly down the cliff-face, in a shower of tumbling vines and falling leaves. A lurch, a sudden drop in to space, and he was falling through the air, calling on the Force to break his fall.
He plunged hard into cold stagnant water, aware of a second body hitting the surface a second after he did. He kicked upward and found that he could not move; his feet were mired in something heavy and soft, at the bottom of the pool. Slowly the ooze sucked at him, keeping his head below water. His fingers fumbled for the rebreather at his belt; with its assistance he could breathe – but not see. His hands tugged at the boots' straps, but with nothing to brace against for leverage, he made no progress. The sticky morass pulled him inexorably deeper, and all his struggles were in vain. He unbuckled the boots, and wriggled first one foot and then the other free, keeping them high above whatever slimy menace lurked below. With a pang of regret, he abandoned the boots to their fate and struck for the surface, finally breaking through into the clean air and shaking oily water out of his face.
"Master!" he called out, turning once in place, floating atop the misty swamp water.
"Here," Qui Gon 's voice called out through the darkness, a short distance away. There was a palpable thread of relief in the tall Jedi's voice; Obi Wan realized he had been under the surface for an alarming length of time. He swam steadily toward the sound and bumped into a tussock of muddy grass and tangled roots jutting out of the swap's surface. He clawed his way onto this uneven foothold, unsure at first whether it would hold his weight, and then dragged forward cautiously onto a damp rise of land beyond. Qui Gon's figure emerged from the gloom, held out an arm, and pulled him all the way up onto the tiny mass of mud and rotting plants.
They stood together in the center of the squelching island, a place where reeds had grown into a knotted mat where mud and grasses had settled. The unlikely sanctuary stank of rotting leaves and the bog's natural gases. Qui Gon drew forth a small glowrod from his belt pouches and snapped it, casting a small circle of light about them. He looked his Padawan up and down, then made a similar wry appraisal of his own muddy, begrimed person. They stood and dripped and shivered for a moment.
"I see you have lost both the survival pack and your boots," Qui Gon observed after a moment's consideration.
Obi Wan forced a grin. "Do I get extra points?"
But the tall man was not in a jesting mood. "This has gone far beyond the intended scope of the exercise, " he replied quietly. "It's time we called for help."
"But -!"
"Obi Wan. Recognition of limits is a vital skill."
"But….we're so close." He sank down into a crouch, shivering. Just past this swamp, and then a few more klicks, and…well… He pressed the heel of his hand against his torn shoulder. Just a few minutes' rest….there had to be a way to finish. He had to finish.
Qui Gon sat down beside him. "We cannot stay here all night without shelter or medical supplies. The water is full of predators and the bog is treacherous. And you have no idea how to find the camp."
Obi Wan scowled ferociously into the black mists. "I'm willing to try."
"I am not. I am calling for Master Pertha to fetch us."
"No!" The young Jedi stood up. "You'll have to go without me. I'm finishing this. I won't fail. Not again."
"While I am certain you would countenance being abandoned to the swamps as bravely as possible, the decision is out of your hands. As a referee, I am disqualifying you on grounds of physical incapacity. Now sit."
Obi Wan sat, eyes wide. Qui Gon seldom employed such a tone. He hugged his knees and rested his forehead against them, abandoning any hope of completing the challenge, much less making Qui Gon proud. The swamp stank and burped all around them. Qui Gon quickly entered a coded message into his comlink and left the beacon signal activated. Obi Wan stayed hunched in his angry ball, fighting temper and cold and exhaustion. As an hour rolled by at an agonizingly slow pace, his ire cooled into resentment and then indifferent sulleness. His shoulder hurt. He was cold. He was hungry. He was tired.
Eventually, Qui Gon stirred and moved closer. His arm draped over his apprentice's shoulders. "Given the late start," he said, evenly, "Which in all fairness was not your fault – you did very well. We made remarkable progress in the course of the day. The task simply couldn't be completed against such odds. Not every failure implies a mistake. And sometimes it is far wiser to surrender than to persevere in a hopeless struggle."
Obi Wan nodded, without looking up. This field trip was going to either drive him mad or kill him.
"Meditate on it, Padawan. Today's lesson is an important one," Qui Gon said.
There was the slightest increase of pressure around his shoulders – the ghost of an embrace. Obi Wan shifted his weight almost imperceptibly, leaning very gently – almost not at all - into Qui Gon's side and uncurling a very, very little.
They sat marooned on their stinking island, in silence, until the illuminators of Master Pertha's small repulsorcraft appeared over the dark water, bringing promise of rescue and an inglorious end to another grueling day.