LIVING HISTORY
by ardavenport
= = = Part 10
"No! Keep that on!" Tykon shouted. He pointed and shouted louder when Qui-Gon just stared back.
"Turn that sssats thing back on!"
Pekku already had his com out. "Falgan's on his way."
Qui-Gon ignited his saber again. Tykon glared at it.
Soon the stout man in loose tan clothes came hurrying in. His shirt had a huge purple stain down the front. Tykon pointed an accusing finger at Qui-Gon's lightsaber.
"Look at that!"
"Oh." Falgan put his hand to his mouth. "I didn't know they came in that color."
"Did you look at those holos AT ALL?" Tykon threw his hands up. "Do you know how much time we wasted arguing about the colors of these things?"
"Well, which one is going to have the green one?"
"Actually, both Minigan and Keth carried blue lightsaber blades," Qui-Gon told them. But he only got an apologetic glance from Pecku. Completely ignoring the Jedi, Tykon decreed that Minigan would carry a green lightsaber for esthetic reasons and to distinguish him from Keth for the audience. Falgan left to take care of it.
"Now," Tykon turned back to Qui-Gon, "show me what you two can do."
Sighing, Qui-Gon again turned back to Obi-Wan, who took his position and saluted again.
At first Qui-Gon backed up as he parried. Obi-Wan felt the Force, his lightsaber acting as an extension of his arm. Since this was only a sparring match, he had no intention of striking Qui-Gon. No boundary line had been set; the goal was to either drive his opponent into an unwinnable position, or disarm without any body contact with the blade.
Swinging in a horizontal arc, Obi-Wan lunged long when his Master suddenly hopped back two steps.
FFFFffffffffffzzzzzzkkkkkkkkk! Thak-a-tak!
Obi-Wan's saber clacked on the stone floor under the powerful blow from Qui-Gon, delivered at the base of his blade. Flexing his fingers from the shock, he shook his arm. Tychon started pacing around them.
Qui-Gon lunged back in a defensive stance, his saber held high and pointed at him. Exhaling, Obi-Wan spread his fingers, palm out to his fallen saber, a Force impression of it warmed his hand and then it was there, the sting and numbness vanishing immediately.
He swung low, but Qui-Gon blocked his blade, diverting it high. Then the taller man twirled, quickly getting behind him. Obi-Wan felt a light slap from the back of Qui-Gon's hand on his face, an unsubtle warning about where he had left an opening in his defense. Then he flipped his blade up and back, a simultaneous jab and block. He did not lose his saber again when Qui-Gon struck the base of his blade again.
Ducking back and to the side, he slashed back across Qui-Gon's middle and then up, aiming to place his blade under his Master's chin. But Qui-Gon flowed like water in the Force around him. He got another slap, this time on his buttocks, when his Master passed behind him.
He lunged repeatedly, but did not let Qui-Gon lure him into getting off-balance. Only the tips of their sabers engaged. Qui-Gon used his greater arm length to keep him back. His only hope of success was to get inside his defenses, but as he swung and thrust with his saber, no possible dash forward, no forward attack felt right; his focus settled on keeping Qui-Gon from counter-attacking.
The next time Qui-Gon closed with him, there was no hand slap.
The crowd watched. Obi-Wan knew his whole attention should remain on the sparring, but they were an unavoidable presence in the Force. Tykon continued pacing, coming out from behind Qui-Gon.
Qui-Gon's eyes flicked back toward the Director.
Obi-Wan lunged forward.
His swing stopped, halfway to its target, the glowing blue blade held high in a frozen attack. Qui-Gon's blade was down. It vanished and he stood, no longer in a fighting stance. He had disengaged, his gaze now turned to Tykon. Obi-Wan deactivated his saber.
Tykon scowled. "Keep going!"
Qui-Gon clipped his saber to his belt. "I believe that it would be best if you observed us from a greater distance."
Tykon let out a big, dramatic sigh. "I realize that you have been unwell. And that you arrived late." He spit out 'late' as he took a step forward, his eyes locked on Qui-Gon. "But we really don't have time for you to catch up.
Qui-Gon remaine silent, facing off against him.
"On this production," Tykon lectured, "we have over fifty thesps, a full orchestra of eighty-five, a stage gang of thirty-three, plus a technical crew of twenty-four, twenty-seven body decorators, eighteen fabricators, a creative Committee of seven, three assistant directors. And one," he held up a definitive finger, "Director." The finger pointed backward. "That would be me. With all that and with us already behind schedule, I don't have time for any extra privileges or Venerate niceties; I just need you to do what I tell you. No more, no less," he finished, his face less than an arms length from Qui-Gon.
Cringing, Obi-wan watched his Master's expression go increasingly cold as Tykon recited all that he was in charge of. For reasons that Obi-Wan did not understand, Qui-Gon was silently challenging the Director, whose small army of Darth Yarrs watched, tense and fearful. Qui-Gon gave Tykon no response at all, his face immobile.
Apparently satisfied that he had established his authority, Tykon stepped back. His arm shot out from his side.
"Thwurn! Saber prop!"
An energetic woman in crisp, clean tan clothes and shoulder length straight brown hair, trotted up, tossed Tykon one of their lightsticks and withdrew. Tykon caught it easily and flicked the glowing rod out. This one was red, apparently the type of prop that the Sith performers would be using.
"Now, your demonstration has been helpful. Clearly we need to add some things to the choreography. I am going to attack and then you will show me your response." He waved an arm toward the Yarrs. "This will be from the top of Scene 3 and then the middle of Scene 11. I expect you to all know these steps because now you're going to have to pay careful attention to the changes." He waved the lightstick at Qui-Gon.
"Now - - - "
FFFFfffffffffffffzzzzzzaaaakkkkkkkkk! Thak!
Qui-Gon's lightsaber flashed bright green and went out.
Gray and dark, the pole of the red lightstick rolled away from Tykon's feet. The end, still in his hand, sparked and went dead.
Qui-Gon clipped his lightsaber back onto his belt.
Obi-Wan grit his teeth.
Mouth gaping in undisguised surprise, Tykon looked up from the destroyed prop to Qui-Gon. He then kicked the stick away toward the Yarrs and threw the other end after it. The Yarrs ducked.
"That," he said angrily as he again placed himself oppressively close to the Jedi Master, "was not what I asked for."
Looking intentionally bored, Qui-Gon said nothing.
"Thwurn! Two saber props!"
Again, the brown-haired woman trotted up with new lightsticks. Tykon took one and activated it, backed up and whipped it around in a rapid swirl. Qui-Gon accepted his with some disdain. He activated the lightstick. This one was blue.
"Now," Tykon lunged back, low and graceful, his red, glowing stick held up in a vertical salute, "I will attack and you will defend." He swept his stick back, arm out in front of him for balance. His stick swung high and down.
Qui-Gon blocked it.
Tykon twirled and cut a horizontal arc in the air, the simulated blade making a faint whistle in the air with its electronic hum.
Qui-Gon quickly stepped forward, grasping Tykon's wrist with one hand, and bringing his own stick hard up under the Director's chin with the other. Tykon's hand twitched under the Jedi's grasp and his prop fell to the ground.
"Aaaaauugghh!" Going up on his toes, Tykon choked. The stick under his chin pushed his head back.
Qui-Gon released him.
Stumbling back and rubbing his neck, Tykon glared. "That was NOT what I asked for!"
"My apologies. Perhaps you have different definitions for 'attack' and 'defend'?"
Exhaling through clinched teeth, the Director again closed on Obi-Wan's Master. "We don't have time for these games."
"I agree," Qui-Gon answered, folding his arms before him. "So, if you can tell me exactly what you are trying to accomplish, then perhaps I can help you."
Tykon stepped toward Qui-Gon, leaning forward into his space. But Qui-Gon didn't budge.
"Can you dance?" he demanded through tight lips.
Obi-Wan saw his Master's dark blue eyes widen in surprise.
His expression triumphant, Tykon swiftly backed up. He raised his arm. "Pecku, music! After the song, Scene 5!" Then he waved a warning to the Yarrs. "Pay attention!"
The music started.
Tykon suddenly leapt to attention and flourished his lightstick before him in a salute. He held perfectly still through a pause in the music and lept forward in a wide attack as soon as the beat began.
Obi-Wan could not imagine anyone fighting like that, but Tykon's body seemed to be set free. He swung the stick out in beautiful, wide arcs, his coordination and precise stieps in perfect unison with the music. Swing, step, step, step, twirl, lunge, slash, slash. Qui-Gon narrowed his eyes at the performance and walked in the same direction. Tykon stopped at another pause in the music, twirled around when it started again with a spinning, rising tone.
Qui-Gon twirled with him.
Step, lunge, slash, twirl, kick, step, step, step, step.
Obi-Wan hastily backed away. His Master anticipated every one of Tykon's movements. Kick, slash, back-slash, twirl, step, slash, slash. Where the Director's body was fluid, his body like an instrument played to the music, Qui-Gon was just quick and powerful. His movements did not have the same effortless flow as the Director, but he matched every motion the Director made, down to the finger gestures.
Tykon's eye briefly widened in surprise, but he kept up the pace. His expression hardened, as if he really was in a fight, while Qui-Gon's face was calm, his movements guided totally by the Force.
It was a game that younglings learned in the Jedi Temple. One person moved while the second person mirrored what first one did as they did it. But while Obi-Wan needed to prepare and concentrate to do it for fighting moves, Qui-Gon mirrored Tykon's dance with serene detachment and the practiced ease and focus of a Jedi Master immersed in the Force.
Step, slash, step, slash, step, slash. Tykon lept into the air and posed, his arms out with angry determination, but Qui-Gon followed every movement like a shadow.
Turn, twirl, step, twirl, step, slash, slash, slash, step, turn, twirl, leap - -
Obi-Wan gasped.
Qui-Gon's turned too far in the air, landing with his foot bent under him. He hit the ground hard on his shoulder. Tykon stopped in mid-stride, eyes wide in shock. He reached Qui-Gon before Obi-Wan did.
"Pecku!"
"I've signaled the healers!"
"I don't want a nose-wiping healer! I was a floater up from that med-center they've got down below! Right now!" He laid a firm hand on Qui-Gon's shoulder. "Don't get up! I've seen careers ended on falls less than that. They've got a real med-center and droids in the lower levels of this place."
Obi-Wan knelt on Qui-Gon's other side. His Master looked more surprised by Tykon's sudden change in attitude than hurt. He stayed down. The Yarrs advanced warily, but kept a respectful distance from their Director who demanded that Qui-Gon demonstrate that he could move his hands and feet. Then he ordered Obi-Wan to take his Master's boots off. With Qui-Gon's wordless consent, Obi-Wan unbuckled them and slid them off.
By the time he was finished, Pecku had a medical floater and two Castle staff to help ease Qui-Gon onto it. Qui-Gon looked up at Tykon with amusement.
"It would appear that I cannot dance after all."
Tykon scowled. "You can dance all right." He crossed his arms. "Just don't give up your day job."
= = = End Part 10