"Commander Fox, this is Master Bant Eerin, Jedi Healer," said Quinlan. "Master Windu sent her to us so she can examine your soldiers." He smiled. "Besides, I'm here to accompany her."
Fox greeted Healer Eerin with a nod. "Thank you for coming, Healer Eerin. I know your time is valuable, and that we are only Clones. You honor us by agreeing to put your knowledge to work for us."
"But come on, it's only fair." Bant looked puzzled. "You are no less valuable than any sentient beings, despite your Clone status, Commander."
The Commander nodded, his face impassive. Quinlan knew that mere verbal assertions would not reassure Fox about how they were perceived in the galaxy. The Commander, however, seemed to have a positive attitude toward the Jedi and their natural inclination to treat the Clones like anyone else. Quinlan wondered what the Commander had experienced in the halls of the Senate to be so cautious. Quinlan knew that most Republic citizens had not questioned for a second the huge ethical and moral mess that was the existence of a Clone army, bred to be resilient cannon fodder.
They stood at the foot of the Jedi Temple's main stairway. The sun was already high in the sky. Despite the good weather, it was never warm in this part of the planet. Upper Coruscant was indeed several kilometers above the ground. At this altitude, the atmosphere was thin, and despite atmospheric densifiers, it was not enough to massively capture the infrared rays of the system's star. The climate on Coruscant was controlled and maintained in a perpetual state. The temperature was always the same and it only rained at predetermined and fixed hours. This ensured that the megastructure that made up the gigapolis would not fluctuate because of a chaotic climate, and that the supporting materials would remain strong.
Bant had put on thick robes, over her usual outfit. She seemed pleased to have been solicited by Master Windu. Quinlan had always known her to be like this: strong-willed and genuinely selfless. Her Healer duties suited her, and she carried them with dedication and dignity.
The Temple Healers were well known to the Jedi community at large, as were prominent figures such as the Jedi Council members. Their position inevitably placed them in everyone's path at some point in their lives.
Quinlan had known Bant when he was still a Padawan. His training as a Shadow in the Jedi Order predisposed him to risky missions, and he had quickly resigned himself to frequent visits to the Halls of Healing. Bant was one of his favorite healers to have. She was a close friend of Aayla's, and he enjoyed sharing stories and news of their mutual acquaintances when he had to get patched up.
Fox had come with a comfortable speeder to take them to the barracks. He drove with a steady hand, and fearlessly made his way through the busy lanes of mid-day Coruscant. The trip wouldn't be long, and Quinlan took the opportunity to close his eyes a little. He'd had time to get some sleep in the morning, but he felt that the sleep he'd managed to get wouldn't be enough to make up for a full night's sleep.
He had had a hard time purging his system of last night's excitement. The investigation was progressing well, and what they had discovered fascinated him. Knowing that the Supreme Chancellor was probably the Sith the Order feared was shattering his view of the situation. He realized that he had begun to harbor a dark and bitter vision about the galaxy, and had begun to lose faith in the Republic, but also in the Jedi Order's relationship with the Senate.
Everything was clearer now.
They had been manipulated in the most insidious way, and Quinlan could see distinctly now how far the corruption of the most fundamental values the Jedi stood for could take them.
The fall of the Jedi had been orchestrated. But something had happened to upset the path they should have taken, saving them from destruction.
Quinlan was eager to learn more about the mysterious assassin. This man obviously knew a great deal about the hidden Sith agenda that the Republic had nurtured in its midst. He almost wanted to go shake his hand and thoroughly thank him.
Bant had apparently realized that he needed to rest, and was not trying to start or maintain a conversation. The Commander, who must not have slept either, looked fresh and alert as ever. Quinlan watched the buildings go by, their gigantic size never ceasing to amaze him. He had spent much of his youth on Coruscant, but the sheer size of it was difficult for the human mind to comprehend.
Fox had briefed them quickly on the situation. One of his squads that had been mobilized during the hunt for the assassin had returned in a worrisome condition. The soldiers appeared to be physically unharmed, but they seemed to be suffering from a severe mental illness.
Master Windu seemed to think there might be a connection to the man they were chasing, and as such, he sent Quinlan to accompany the Temple Healer.
They must not have been far from their destination when the Commander's comm began to vibrate with notifications. Quinlan checked his own comm, but he had no messages.
"Is there a problem, Commander?" asked Quinlan.
Fox furrowed his brow in concern. "A problem in the barracks. Apparently, there's an issue with... water leakage?"
"Why are they bothering you with this?"
"That's what I'm wondering."
Standing in front of the barracks with all the irate Clones, Quinlan realized the extent of the problem. Apparently, the entire water supply system in the building had suffered a sudden increase in pressure, causing major leaks throughout the edifice.
"But how is that possible? Are there systems in place to regulate the pressure normally?" asked Quinlan, appalled.
Fox sighed, "The construction is not the finest example of architectural rigor. Unfortunately, we've had many other malfunctions. It's never been this spectacular and...embarrassing before, though."
"Has the problem been escalated to the proper authorities?" asked Bant, innocently. She watched as a group of soldiers took charge of getting an entire trailer of completely soaked sheets out into the open.
"I made sure to relay the information myself to the Chancellor and the Office of Military Affairs," Fox replied, his face closed, meeting Quinlan's gaze.
He didn't need to say anything more. Palpatine was a Sith, so he probably had other things to worry about than the welfare of the clones. Perhaps it even gave him pleasure to know they were suffering from poor housing.
One could expect anything from a kriffing Sith Lord.
Something bothered Quinlan about the overall timing of this event. Why now? Quinlan felt oddly paranoid about the whole thing, and didn't want to believe in coincidence. The Force was whispering to him that there was an intention behind this event.
"Where are the clones you want me to examine?" asked Bant.
"Follow me." Fox led them into the barracks, toward the infirmary. The plumbing rupture had occurred only a few minutes earlier, but already the Clones had organized themselves. Everyone seemed to know where to go and what role they could play. There were no issues of misplaced pride or insubordination among the Clones. Instead, troopers had a deeply held sense of their place and how they fit into the chain of command.
In situations like the one Quinlan witnessed, he had no doubt that a more conventional army, made up of soldiers from many different backgrounds, would not have behaved as effectively.
On the way, they encountered the CMO, a Clone named Surge, who greeted them respectfully, despite his tired look.
"Jedi Masters, thank you for coming." He correctly deduced that Bant must be the specialist they had requested, for he turned to her to continue, "We need your insight on a case that may have something to do with Force use." He launched into a detailed explanation that Quinlan tuned out. The Force whispered to him, urging him to press forward.
"Something's wrong." His companions fell silent. Quinlan grabbed his lightsaber and released it from his belt.
They entered the infirmary, which was empty. A half-sponged puddle of water shimmered on the floor.
Quinlan did a mental scan with the Force to detect any presence he could not see with his eyes.
Nothing. And yet, he knew that at least one of the rooms must be logically occupied. Either the infirmary had been emptied while the Chief Medical Officer had come to meet them, or someone must be projecting a powerful shield that resisted Quinlan's mental probes.
He turned to Surge and raised an eyebrow as he pointed to the door opposite. Surge nodded, looking perplexed, but professional enough not to break the silence with his questions. The CMO stood back, while Fox and Bant flanked Quinlan as he walked into the room.
The door opened with a sudden woosh as Quinlan flipped the switch. There, seemingly completely oblivious, stood a trooper in armor bent over a Clone lying in a medical bed.
The man had his two bare hands on either side of the unconscious soldier's head, in such a state of intense concentration that he did not react at all to their entrance.
On closer inspection, Quinlan realized that despite the armor, the man was probably not a trooper: his uniform was missing some parts, and he was not the standard size for all Clones.
Not to mention that he was obviously using the Force.
Quinlan activated his lightsaber.
]o[
There, Quinlan Vos stood on guard, clearly expecting to have to fight. Bant Eerin and Commander Fox had also adopted martial postures, and were looking at Obi-Wan, their faces closed and hostile.
Kriff!
Obi-Wan wanted to scream.
Of course, he wouldn't do it; someone would maybe recognize his voice. Fortunately, he hadn't taken off the helmet to deal with the Clones, and could still hope to get out of the situation without compromising his identity.
"Who are you?" asked Quinlan, his voice hard.
Obi-Wan wouldn't have time to finish what he'd started, which compromised part of his plans. Not that they'd been much followed lately. For now, the priority was to get out of there, planning be damned.
Obi-Wan didn't see how he could get out of this without fighting, and he would have to do it without hurting his opponents. He would have to settle for defense. Fortunately, that was a field he knew rather well.
He would just have to figure out how to get out of this room, when the sole exit was currently barred by two testy Jedi and one aggrieved Clone commander.
Not to mention that he was in the middle of the Grand Army barracks and someone had to have given the alert.
"You are under arrest for questioning. Keep your hands where I can see them," demanded Quinlan.
Obviously, Obi-Wan had absolutely no intention of allowing himself to be arrested, but he needed some time to think. Adrenaline pulsed through his veins, chasing away fatigue. Obi-Wan felt, however, that his mind was not as sharp as it should be. He still discerned that strange sense of disjointedness in his mind, but the sensation was not strong enough to keep him from concentrating.
Obi-Wan slowly raised his hands, his right hand still holding his lightsaber, which was turned off. His left shoulder was still very sore, the movement pulling uncomfortably on his wound. He moved away from the bed of the clone he was treating when he was interrupted. His opponents tensed visibly: Fox aimed his blaster at him, and Bant activated her lightsaber as well.
So much for hoping for a deescalate.
He sighed. He much preferred to negotiate, but unfortunately had not planned to speak under these conditions.
Too bad. He would negotiate differently.
]o[
Quinlan tensed. He was pretty sure it was the Chancellor's assassin. His outfit was obviously not the same, but he recognized the lightsaber's hilt the stranger was holding. The file Fox had compiled on their man had exposed him in close-up pictures with all the recognizable details.
Compared to a conventional opponent, the person standing in front of him projected no intent into the Force. His shields were impeccable, and did not let anything get through. The man moved with a precise, confident slowness. Quinlan, having watched the recording found in Palpatine's office over and over, knew he was a formidable opponent. If it came down to a fight, Quinlan would maybe find himself outclassed. He knew, however, that the man was probably injured and exhausted. Moreover, the man was curiously non-threatening.
Quinlan's suspicions were growing stronger.
He was convinced that his opponent was not really an enemy. What he had managed to capture from his psyche through the objects that had belonged to him was not malicious. Quinlan was, however, curious enough not to let it get away, and force a little discussion that would be welcomed.
"Drop your weapon." Quinlan knew it was a waste of time, but you never know. Sometimes unexpected things happened.
The man tilted his head to the side, as if asking a silent question, his arms still raised. Quinlan perceived the surge in the Force a millisecond before it happened, and had no time to find a counter to prevent it. The man lowered his arms sharply and joined his hands in an embracing gesture.
All the beds in the room, as well as those occupied by the Clones, were caught in a wave of the Force, and arced toward the door. With this maneuver, the man erected a human and furniture barricade between himself and his opponents.
Quinlan swore, careful not to hurt anyone in the confusion. He deactivated his saber before leaping over the entanglement of beds. The man was running towards the back wall, obviously intending to make an exit in that direction. From the crude construction Quinlan had witnessed, it was more than likely that the walls were not of the highest quality.
His opponent applied his hand to the wall, but before he had the time to do anything, Quinlan used a force leap to cover the distance in a second, while reactivating his saber. The man turned in time to deflect his blade with his own weapon. The plasma blade was yellow, like the assassin's lightsaber. There remained almost no doubt.
Quinlan was an imposing human, with a strong muscular build that gave him interesting leverage in battle. He was a practitioner of Form IV, Ataru, the Agression Form. This was a form whose philosophy was based on attacking, relentlessly, imprevisibly, to overwhelm the opponent with attacks that seemed to come from all sides.
Quinlan could deploy an impressive speed in the sequence of his blows, and use his weight and strength to add an impact that was difficult to counter.
The lightsaber, lacking mass, did not benefit from the strength provided by acceleration. The power of the blows was therefore very strongly dependent on the physical strength of the practitioner.
Quinlan had seen what his opponent was capable of. He did not hold back his blows, almost certain that the man would be able to counteract him. He was simply trying to slow him down.
As expected, his opponent, with a few lazy, well-placed counters, almost effortlessly deflected the onslaught. He did not retaliate, remaining in defensive mode, and staying well in front of all his opponents. He did not allow himself to be distracted by Quinlan, and he showed that he was aware of what was going on outside his duel.
Quinlan saw that Fox had taken cover behind an overturned bed a few feet behind him, and was trying to time his blaster fire to get in the way of his opponent. The man seemed to be able to counter the most vicious of Quinlan's hits, while, in the same movement, deflecting a blaster shot into the wall. Once again, Quinlan saw that his opponent was not trying to gain an advantage.
Fine. He would use other weapons.
"We could talk instead of fighting," Quinlan said, as he executed a complex maneuver, interspersing upward feints with a foot maneuver designed to penetrate his opponent's guard to destabilize his footwork. His opponent simply shifted his foot, never allowing his gravity center to move. He was as if anchored to the ground, immovable, always staying perfectly centered, perfectly balanced. He was not, however, a massive man. He seemed rather slender, but his way of fighting turned him into a mountain. He was obviously a master of Form III, Soresu, but he seemed to be intimately familiar with the form Quinlan was using.
Quinlan had always thought that Soresu was an outdated form, fallen from favor for its apparent impracticality. He was ready to revise his judgment, for, properly mastered, Soresu seemed capable of weathering any attack as if nothing had happened. It was not a showy form, and it obviously lacked the allure that other forms could exert on young Jedi in training. Soresu's strength lay in the science of redirecting the force of blow with minute moves and imperceptible adjustments in angling. Subtility in its highest form, when perfection resided in the slightest detail.
Quinlan faced a man who seemed to have faced entire armies single-handedly, and remained standing.
Quinlan's own form relied on speed, and on maneuvers designed to finish the fight as quickly as possible. His opponent seemed able to go on for hours without tiring.
However, this did not work in his favor.
The mysterious man could not afford to let the fight drag on indefinitely. He was in a situation that clearly put him in trouble: outnumbered, in the middle of an enemy building, wounded and tired. Even though Quinlan could barely pick up anything from his opponent, he seemed to feel the frustration radiating in the Force.
"You don't seem to be an enemy. Other than the Chancellor, your body count is zero. And, from what I've seen, it's nice that you've been in charge of the dirty work."
His opponent didn't answer, but Quinlan could clearly see that he faltered. Quinlan smiled with all his teeth. "Don't be shy, I'm sure we have a lot to talk about!"
The man suddenly operated a counter, uncharacteristically, and Quinlan abruptly lost his balance. His opponent followed up with a mercilessly forceful push that sent Quinlan tumbling against the wall. His lungs suddenly emptied of air as he hit the wall, and Quinlan laughed a little wheezily. "Oh my, so much violence."
As he stood up, a bright flash of light, accompanied by the sound of an explosion, blinded him. He shielded his face from the blast, which seemed remarkably contained. Through the dust, Quinlan saw a perfectly circular hole in the back wall, which his opponent had used to exit the room.
He ran after him, Fox on his heels, quickly giving deployment orders with his comm. Quinlan felt exhilarated.
]o[
Obi-Wan had used one of Kyber's fragments as an explosive. He would have liked to have kept one of his aces hidden, but perhaps the remaining traces would be too faint to detect. At this point, he was beyond caring anyway.
Lightsaber kept ready, Obi-Wan ran down one of the barracks' corridors. He easily deflected the blaster fire aimed in his direction. The Clones had not yet organized themselves to stand in his way effectively. Obi-Wan did his best to use the Force sparingly. The corridors were soaked, and the water made the floor slippery. He applied very short, extremely localized pushes to running clones, causing them to stumble and fall without having to use large, expensive wide-scaled pushes.
Despite his precautions, he could feel his headache getting dangerously worse.
Quinlan soon came after him. It seemed to Obi-Wan that the man was enjoying their confrontation a little too much, and he couldn't understand why.
He himself wasn't amused. He felt rather deeply annoyed.
The hallway opened up into a larger hall, where, unfortunately, the resistance was clearly organized with several squads waiting in ambush.
Barricades had been set up in the room, which seemed to serve usually as both a hub and a lounge. Some of the furniture had been pushed up against the walls, or knocked over for cover.
The Clones did not bother to shout a warning, they fired as soon as he slid into the room. They must have been ordered to shoot on sight, and they either didn't care about capturing him alive, or they knew they'd have no hope of slowing him down if they didn't give to the fight everything they had. The strategic part of Obi-Wan recognized that this was a good tactical choice, but it evidently didn't suit him.
Obi-Wan was also tired, and really not in his top form. He could already feel a worrying slowdown in his movements and reflexes; he wouldn't be able to keep up for much longer. He had to get out of there, and he didn't even know where the exit was.
Obi-Wan didn't have time to stop and gather his strength and get his bearings; Quinlan was on his heels, pressing him forward. The Clones had quickly learned that blasters were not the tactical weapon of choice against him. He kept his blade moving, putting an impassable barrier between himself and the fire.
On his way, a group of troopers fired an electric net, designed to stun and impair movement. With his left hand, Obi-Wan commanded the Force to send a box of ammunition flying into the net's field, triggering its electrical charge and diverting its trajectory from his own. However, with his attention diverted, he saw too late that his saber was about to meet a grenade. His weapon struck the grenade and exploded.
Obi-Wan barely had time to put up a Force Shield to protect himself from the brunt of the blast, but it was barely fifty centimeters away from his right side. The blast knocked him to the ground, his head slamming into the floor, his lightsaber slipping from his hand. Obi-Wan thanked the presence of the armor and his helmet, which saved him from being knocked unconscious.
Stunned, he staggered to his feet, calling his lightsaber to him with the Force, and backed up against the wall to keep all of his opponents facing him.
Things were not looking good.
Obi-Wan was up against dozens of highly trained soldiers and a Jedi Master who would not let him rest.
His endurance was failing. He could feel himself being drained of energy, and he was having trouble keeping himself from becoming desperate. Stopping the fight seemed an attractive solution. Perhaps he could find common ground with the Jedi, and lead them where he wanted them to go to ensure their survival?
But the part of him that he had inherited from Old Ben would not compromise on his freedom.
He would never be locked up. He would fight to the end if he had to.
Obi-Wan stood his ground, determined.
]o[
Quinlan felt the shift in the Force, like an ominous warning. So far, the opponent had not seemed especially threatening, remaining essentially defensive. It seemed to Quinlan that the man had gone to great lengths to avoid harming his enemies. So far, not a single Clone had suffered a serious injury.
Now Quinlan felt he was facing a cornered, and therefore unpredictable, beast. Things could get ugly if the fight continued.
He raised his hand, fist up, to indicate a cease-fire, which Fox wasted no time in relaying to his troops, without questioning the wisdom of Quinlan's decision.
Good soldiers, those Clones.
Quinlan deactivated his lightsaber. He thought he had correctly to figure his opponent out, and was acting on faith that the man would not attack him if he came unarmed.
"Easy… As I was saying earlier. I just want to talk. All this violence and destruction isn't really an effective way to communicate, don't you think?"
The man remained on guard, but Quinlan felt as if the tension vibrating in the atmosphere became a little less heavy. He remained silent and still, and Quinlan took the cue to keep moving.
Stay back
The thought came to him, alien. Quinlan startled. Being able to speak mind to mind was normally an ability limited only to Jedi who shared a very close bond with each other, such as the bond between Master and Padawan. That a stranger, with whom he had only had extremely limited interaction, could use mindspeak with him so clearly was impressive. And concerning, of course.
"I am willing to offer you certain guarantees if you promise me certain answers to my questions."
After a few seconds, the reply came suddenly, through the same channel: The roof. A clear pathway. A transport. No Clones.
Mindspeak was not really an articulated language. Concepts did not need the syntax to be organized. Rather, what was transmitted was the idea, before it was translated into words. The man's intent was clear to Quinlan, and he knew he could work with that. The priority was to preserve the lives and health of the men who were involved in the fight. And gather clues in the meantime.
Quinlan nodded gravely, and turned to Fox. "Commander, we need to de-escalate this situation. Let's get this man to the roof. I'll be the only one to accompany him."
Fox grimaced, as if he had swallowed something too sour, but again he showed unwavering compliance. "All units, fall back, I repeat, fall back and do not engage."
]o[
Obi-Wan breathed a sigh of relief, which he hoped would be discreet, as they finally reached the open air. Quinlan had led the way to the roof of the building, while Obi-Wan had followed him, keeping an eye on the troopers who had remained on the fringe of his perceptions.
Obi-Wan didn't dare believe that the situation would be resolved so easily. He had come close to triggering the overdrive on the Clones present and finally getting rid of Quilan, temporarily. This would have definitively burned the bridges behind him, but it would at least have given him freedom of movement until he could get to safety.
The whole operation was objectively a fiasco anyway. He had not succeeded in fulfilling his initial objective, and had simply made the situation much worse.
If he got out of this, he would not leave the Temple until he had recovered his full capabilities, because obviously operating in a degraded mode was far from wise.
He didn't quite understand Quinlan's motivation for not wanting to continue their fight. The Jedi was in a strong position, though, and if the fight had gone on, Quinlan was in a good situation to secure his victory.
Apparently, Quinlan wanted to talk.
Perhaps Obi-Wan could give him an answer or two, like a bone to chew on, to finally get rid of him and put him on another track. Force knew Obi-Wan had some juicy leads to dig into.
"Here we go." Quinlan walked over to an aircraft, and with a leap settled into the passenger seat. "Go ahead, take me wherever you want, wherever you feel comfortable talking, okay?"
Obi-Wan was sorely tempted to drop him completely, and run off in another direction. He sensed, however, that the Clones around him were on the alert, and already prepared to go after him if he didn't comply with Quinlan's planned scenario. Obi-Wan did not want to relive a chase like last night. He was less injured, but his fatigue was massive. He wasn't sure he would make it this time.
There was nothing to stop him from pretending to accept the terms of the offer to buy time. Taking the aircraft could already put a healthy distance between him and those damned barracks.
He accepted the offer, and carefully got behind the transport's commands. Turning his head toward Quinlan, he mentally transmitted the idea: behave.
The Jedi Master made a show of putting his empty hands prominently on the dashboard, with a mocking smile. Obi-Wan projected a frown into the Force. Quinlan's smile widened. Obi-Wan huffed.
The transport took off, diving toward the inner lanes leading to the underlevels. Obi-Wan knew that the aircraft was most likely tracked, and that he would have to switch vehicles soon.
Obi-Wan pulled the aircraft into traffic and engaged the autopilot. He needed to gather his last bit of strength if he was going to outrun Quinlan. A few minutes passed in silence, inhabited only by the constant hum of the Coruscant soundscape. The wind whistled against Obi-Wan's helmet, and Quinlan had not moved from his stance.
Obi-Wan felt his adrenaline level begin to plummet. His body and mind did not register Quinlan as a real threat. This was a problem, because, in his fatigued state, the only thing keeping Obi-Wan alert was the intense stress that had been his constant companion for the past few hours.
He could already feel his mind beginning to fog. He had to do something if he wanted to be able to fight again. Taking a deep breath, he abruptly lowered the control lever, which immediately caused the aircraft to shoot up dramatically.
In one fluid motion, he disengaged from the aircraft and began to plunge into free fall. The familiar feeling of weightlessness gripped him before the fall really began, but during this split-second, Quinlan had reacted with lightning reflexes.
Quinlan did not hesitate.
He must have expected something like this to happen, and Obi-Wan had time to complain inwardly that he had become so quickly predictable. Quinlan had grabbed his leg, and with a vigorous tug, was now gripping Obi-Wan's waist tightly. Obi-Wan didn't have the leverage to pull away, as Quinlan's bulk was far superior to his. Quinlan had also found a way to lock his right arm in a key, making any attempt to break free with physical force futile.
They fell, but Obi-Wan was no longer concerned. He felt his last bit of strength leave him. It was Quinlan's job now to make sure they got away unscathed.
Obi-Wan felt Quinlan tense up, which told him they were about to impact. As expected, Quinlan deployed a Force Shield the next second to absorb the kinetic energy. But the residual momentum was enough to roll them brutally against the ground, dazing Obi-Wan who had no way to orient himself.
Quinlan took the opportunity to tackle him to the ground by straddling him, using all of his weight to keep him from moving, and in the same move, removed Obi-Wan's helmet.
"Well, well," Quilan's smile was positively feral. "That's quite the interesting development, don't you think, Archivist Kenobi?"