LIVING HISTORY
by ardavenport
= = = Part 2
Obi-Wan jumped down before the elevator lift reached the floor of the darkened level below the apartment. In two steps he reached the top of the spiral staircase. Round and round, down and down he went, touching only every other step as he descended from the height of the tower. Pale yellow artificial lights came on as he went, adding to the dusky light from the high narrow windows he passed.
Finally reaching the bottom, Obi-Wan slapped the door control and slid through as soon as it had opened enough to let him pass. Desperate to find help, he ran, his running footsteps echoing loudly in the upper hallways, dark and empty. At the top of a stairway, he heard noises from below.
Coming out onto the gallery overlooking the spacious Tamwa Hall, he saw people gathered in small groups. As he rushed down more stairs, he spotted their guide from that afternoon, his head and long blue tunic and light blue smock recognizable from the others he stood with.
Pushing his thin Padawan's braid back behind his right ear, Obi-Wan ran to him.
"Venerate Temba," Obi-Wan bowed. "I - - "
"What?!"
Obi-Wan found himself looking up at a tall, broad shouldered-man, longish blond hair swept aside from a high brow. Dark brown eyes glared down at him critically.
"You told me that the Republic was sending Jedi for this Play." He turned away, pointing an accusing finger down at a middle-aged man in a loose blue tunic and smock decorated with silver trim. "Not younglings," he finished derisively.
Shocked, Obi-Wan just stared. Next to the his accuser, another tall thin man cringed; he had dark brown wavy hair hanging down to his shoulders and wore a long straight white tunic over a dark green skirt.
"Director Tykon, please!" another Naardin Castle official shouted, hurrying toward them. White-haired and stout, she wore long deep blue tunics trimmed with gold, a sign of rank. "Vernerate Jedi Obi-Wan Kenobi here is the apprentice to Venerate Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn. He is an honored guest and must be treated with respect."
"Jedi Master?" Tykon repeated. He whirled back to Obi-Wan again. "Well, where is he?"
Obi-Wan gathered himself from his surprise and addressed the Castle officials.
"I'm sorry, Master Qui-Gon isn't feeling well and - - -"
"Oh, not another one! What's else can happen?!"
Obi-Wan drew back. Tykon thrust his fist downward in angry frustration. The other people in the group blanched and leaned back away from him.
"We'll get someone to see him right away," the man in the green skirt reassured. The man in the blue smock with silver trim was already speaking into a comlink.
"Director Tykon, please!" the senior Castle official demanded. "This is not helpful - - "
"Not helpful? Not helpful?!" Tykon raised his hands, his tone rising. He was athletic and well muscled under his sleeveless gray shirt and tight-fitting red leggings. "These Jedi have already got us a day late on this and now one of them is sick? Mwemas wants to make this into a cheap melodrama and we've hardly started the auditions? And I'm supposed to produce this event in eight days? How do you expect me to work under these conditions!"
"But . . . I heard you had a . . . special relationship with Director Mwemas; and you've worked with her before. 'The Long River' was brilliant, I saw it myself!" she stammered.
"After we cut all that talky dribble she wanted to put in it!" Tykon countered.
A person in purple head veils and thin matching outer robe over loose brown pants, shirt and cap came hurrying to the group.
"Venerate Custodian Tykon, you've had another case?" he breathed to the white-haired woman. Tykon was a very common name on Maarzim and Obi-Wan had seen multiple unrelated people with it listed in the mission briefing before leaving Coruscant with Qui-Gon.
She sighed, obviously grateful for the interruption.
"Yes, Healer Zhenum. This is Venerate Jedi Obi-Wan Kenobi. He says his Master is not feeling well."
Obi-Wan found himself facing the newcomer, a round-faced man of middle years, brushing his veils back over his shoulders in annoyance.
"How long have you been here?" Healer Zhenum asked without any further introduction.
"We just arrived today."
The Healer's brown eyes widened with dismay.
Hefting the strap of a brown case over his shoulder, Zhenum demanded, "Take me to your Master."
They left the group behind without a backward glance though Director Tykon continued complaining.
"Tell me about everywhere you've been since arriving," the Healer asked as Obi-Wan led him back to the tower. Obi-Wan told him everything they had done as they climbed up the many steps of the spiral. The young Jedi had to stop and wait a few times while Zhenum paused to catch his breath and grumble about the historical accuracy demanded of the Living History Lands that did not include the anachronism of a lift that went all the way up to the top of the tower.
When Obi-Wan finally asked about Qui-Gon's illness, Zhenum shook his head, obviously recognizing the symptoms.
"It's a serphrada virus. It's been popping up around all the Living History Lands for the past few days. We told those fuzzy-brained academics running this place that it would spread if they didn't isolate, but they insisted that the Living History protocols would keep it contained," the older man huffed, plodding up the steps.
"If your Master got exposed to it in one of the entry points then it will be everywhere in a few days and they'll have to isolate and postpone this five-story circus," he finished vehemently.
"Is it serious?" Obi-Wan asked, not really sure what a serphrada virus was.
"Not for most, but it can be. I don't know what the equivalents are for you in the Republic, but serphradas are devious little burrowers. You've got to hit them hard when they first show up, or before you know it, they're everywhere. And if you don't treat it aggressively right away you could end up chasing down chronic symptoms from it for years."
When they reached the lift, Obi-Wan took out his key card and put it in the slot in one of the a heavy support pillars.
Something clicked inside the mechanism and the circle of floor they stood on slowly began to rise.
Obi-Wan anxiously looked up at the mirror hemisphere above. Most of the daylight was gone, only a few pale yellow ceiling lights shone in the darkness of the shiny globe. Already he could see something was wrong, but he waited until the lift rose high enough for him to jump up into the apartment to confirm it.
Qui-Gon was gone.
Only rumpled white coverings remained where his Master had lain.
Something thumped behind the fresher door. When it slid aside Qui-Gon stood, leaning heavily on the door frame, the light of the small white cubicle behind him, his long brown hair hanging down loose around his face.
Obi-Wan and the healer rushed up to him, catching him as he nearly fell forward. The large man's weight caught Obi-Wan by surprise, but Zhenum was stout and clearly experienced with handling infirmity. They got Qui-Gon back to the sleeping platform together.
Stepping back, Obi-Wan saw Qui-Gon roll his eyes back and then squeeze them shut, hair splayed out on the white pillow. Zhenum dragged a stool over and clicked on a light control at the stand by the sleeping platform. Pale yellow lights came on overhead, leaving shadows only on the floor. The wide window-walls of the apartment were dark except for a glow of lights from other parts of the Castle and a scattering of town lights in the hills. The healer shoved his case at Obi-Wan.
"Hold this for me," he demanded. The young Jedi grabbed it and Zhenum retrieved equipment from the compartments before turning back to his patient. Obi-Wan stared over his head at his stricken Master.
"Now let's get an I.D. on this," the healer muttered after slapping a blinking scanner-box onto Qui-Gon's chest. He lifted one of his patient's arms, pushed back the tight fitting sleeve on it and jabbed the exposed skin with a probe. Then he immediately tossed the instrument aside onto the blanket and began rummaging in his case again.
Limited to watching and standing and clutching the medical case, Obi-Wan did not know what else he could do. He and Qui-Gon had both been injured at various times during his apprenticeship, but he had never seen his Master so badly disoriented. Now he felt trapped by his inability to help. Ready and willing to do anything necessary, he had no direction. Sitting on the stool, Zhenum calmly laid out a serious of instruments while Obi-Wan could sense his Master's suffering, a tense endurance of weakness and fever.
"Perhaps we should take him to a medical facility? With a medical droid?" Obi-Wan suggested. Zhenum sneered up at him.
"A medical droid? In the Living History Lands? Not unless he's critical. They're damn stiff-backed about preserving the atmosphere. That's why I have to wear all this." Zhenum tossed back the annoying purple veil from his face. "And if he can get to the fresher on his own, he's not that bad. I know you Galactics go running to a medical droid for every little hangnail, but a personal touch can do just as well for cases like this."
The probe bleeped. Zhenum picked it up and clicked through a list of text on the device's small screen.
"Hah! There you are. Serphrada-vee-tee-oh-oh-twire. Practically the brother of the other specimens we've collected. He got it here alright." He held up the probe so a chastised Obi-Wan could see a fleeting pink and maroon image of something with long tendrils on it. Zhenum tossed the device aside and picked up something long with a light on the end. Then, uncertainty clouding his brisk efficiency, he looked up at the young Jedi.
"Uh, what's his name?"
"Qui-Gon," Obi-Wan answered, not bothering with the titles. Nodding, Zhenum didn't seem to care. His stool scraped loudly on the floor as he nudged himself closer.
"Now, Qui-Gon, you've got a serphrada virus. Nothing life-threatening, but they're still a bit rough. There's no direct way to kill it without risking it mutating into something worse. The best that can be done is go with some immune boosters so you can fight it off yourself, viral suppressers so you're not contagious and some relief for the symptoms. Now your assistant here said that you had a lot of dizziness, some fever and chills, headache, some soreness in the joints and a scratchy throat. Those are pretty standard for this thing, and I can see those on my scanner." The healer lifted his instrument from Qui-Gon's chest and checked the readout. "Anything else?"
"No," Qui-Gon answered, his eyes still shut, the first sound Obi-Wan had heard him make since he returned with the healer.
"Didn't have any more problems than might be usual in the fresher just now?"
"No."
"Hmmm. Serphrada doesn't usually cause many problems in the digestive tract." Zhenum clicked through the readings on the scanner, hardly glancing at his patient. "Any nausea?"
"Some."
"Well, we can do something with that," Zhenum announced, finally putting the instrument aside. He looked back toward Obi-Wan. "Can you get me a cup of water?"
Jumping up immediately, Obi-Wan put the medical case down next to Qui-Gon's leg and quickly went to the food prep area. He did not know how much water was needed, so he brought back two cups, one large and one small. When he returned he found Zhenum leaning over an unhappy Qui-Gon and looking closely at his eyes with his lightstick. He accepted the small cup from Obi-Wan who put the larger one on the stand next to the sleeping platform.
"Now," Zhenum said, leaning over and digging out a small clear-plas container from his case. Amber drops from it immediately dispersed into the water, "this tizote will help a lot with the headache, the nausea and the dizziness." The healer sat back. "Though I'm not really sure if it really treats the symptoms, or just makes it so you don't care about them. You should feel much better in the morning in either case." He looked down at his patient.
Without moving his head, Qui-Gon opened his dark blue eyes enough to glare at an unfazed Zhenum. Obi-Wan exhaled, relieved to see the calm critical expression, not the earlier dizzy confusion that had sent him running downstairs to seek help for his Master.
Qui-Gon closed his eyes again and inclined his head, a tiny motion of consent. Obi-Wan started to forward to help, but Zhenum already had his hand under the older man's head, lifting it just enough for him to sip the liquid in the cup. Eyes still shut Qui-Gon sighed back into the pillow.
Putting the cup aside Zhenum collected more scans and jabbed for a blood sample. Obi-Wan cringed when the healer stuck a swab up Qui-Gon's nose with no warning. But Zhenum just sealed up that sample into a clear tube that went back into his case, apparently unaware of his patient's now hostile glare.
"Then I should be recovered tomorrow morning," Qui-Gon stated, his voice steady but rough and quiet, lacking its usual strength.
"Hmmm, more like the morning after that," Zhenum replied, his eyes on the injection he was preparing. "It will take a little time for this to work." He tried to push back the close-fitting sleeve of Qui-Gon's undertunic, but it wouldn't go up very far.
"Oh, take this off," he said, annoyed.
Qui-Gon tugged at the fasteners, his movements clumsy and weak. Obi-Wan hurried to help him and Zhenum stepped aside out of the way. After releasing the fastener tabs and sliding the undertunic off his shoulders, Obi-Wan pulled it out from underneath. Qui-Gon's shoulders shivered. His skin felt clammy with sweat under Obi-Wan's hand and he reached for the blanket.
"Oh, not yet. I'm not finished."
"He's cold," Obi-Wan protested, his hand grasping the blanket that only half covered the sick man.
"I'm almost done. This is the last one."
Out of the case came an enormous injection this time. A cylinder of dark red liquid attached to a huge hypodermic needle.
"Turn him on his side." Zhenum already had his hand under Qui-Gon's hip and levered him up. Then he yanked the pants waistband down and in went the huge needle and the red liquid.
Obi-Wan clinched his teeth, his hands supporting Qui-Gon's shoulders. They shivered again.
Zhenum took the needle out and briskly rubbed the fleshy place where it had been.
"There," he announced, obviously pleased with his work. "That one's done."
Obi-Wan pulled the blanket up over Qui-Gon, covering his bare chest with the plush material and smoothing it down. From the Force he felt a feeling of relaxation, a headache lessening, fading into a warm haze. Or perhaps his Master was just relieved that Zhenum was finished with him. But when Obi-Wan looked up, he saw the healer preparing another huge injection of dark red liquid.
Zhenum saw his surprise.
"Oh, this isn't for him. It's for you."
= = = End Part 2