LIVING HISTORY
by ardavenport
= = = Part 22
Qui-Gon listened to his Padawan's account of his vision.
As soon as he returned to the apartment, Obi-Wan told him what he had been doing. They meditated every day. His apprentice was exceptional and dedicated but only after years of training would his senses be developed to the level of a Jedi Knight. But visons had more to do with the will of the Force than the Jedi.
"And then she vanished. Well, no, she didn't vanish. She dissolved. Into the Force, I think. But there was nothing left. I felt it." Obi-Wan licked his lips, his eyes upward, waiting for his Master's appraisal.
Frowning, Qui-Gon let him wait for a bit. Obi-Wan had been deliberately meditating about Darth Yarr's holocron and he had deduced that it was intact. While he had not been directly or intentionally meditating on the Dark Side, using a Sith artifact as his focus and without his Master's guidance was bad enough.
It could have been worse. This vision sounded relatively benign, not at all like the flashes of evil that Qui-Gon had been struck by. He started to pace, head down, thinking carefully about his response. Obi-Wan's expression of hopeful anticipation sank into worry.
"You have just told me that you were using the Force, meditating to discover the mystery surrounding Darth Yarr's holocron."
"You indicated that there might be some danger involved with it . . ." Obi-Wan's excuse died under his Master's cool glance before he continued pacing.
"I agree that I communicated to you that there might be some danger. And perhaps I was over-cautious with my warning for you to contact the Jedi Temple if you could not locate me." He stopped, staring toward the food prep area of the apartment, pausing before turning around and passing in from of his Padawan again. "Perhaps the lack of information for you - - details that I am duty bound to withhold - - made my concerns more . . . dramatic and exciting than I intended." He stopped again, lifting his head, staring toward the fresher unit. He turned around again. Obi-Wan's eyes followed him as he passed.
"Whatever your reasons might be for wanting to help, I must ask you, my Padawan, do you believe your training, so far, to be sufficient for containing or challenging the danger of an active Sith holocron?" Facing the food prep area again, he looked past Obi-Wan's right shoulder. His apprentice lowered his eyes, bowing his head.
"No, Master."
Qui-Gon turned around, slowing pacing again. "And if that situation arose, what would our best course of action be. For either of us?" He stopped, facing his sixteen year-old apprentice again.
"Contact the Jedi Temple immediately and warn them."
"Yes. That is exactly what should be done, should any Jedi encounter any active Sith artifact." He stood over Obi-Wan; the tension in his apprentice increased with his growing realization of the magnitude of his error. The little sounds of the apartment filled the silence between them, the gentle wind outside blowing a few stray drop of rain on the roof and veranda; the leaves of the bushes rustling; Obi-Wan licked his lips and swallowed.
Qui-Gon sighed; he laid a hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder. "Come." He guided him toward the padded bench in his Padawan's side of the apartment. Sitting him down, Qui-Gon sat next to him, arm over his shoulders.
"I have examined Sith holocrons in the Jedi Archives."
Obi-Wan wide eyes looked up at him.
"Only senior Masters and members of the Council are allowed access to them." He paused, remembering. "They are incomparably evil. Imagine instead of being in balance with the Force, you use it like food, or a drug, never wanting to let it go and always craving more.
"The Sith gained power from controlling and taking the lives of others. The Force does not flow through a Sith, it flows into them and from them. Aside from their consquests and wars, the Sith need to control life, not live in balance with it. For Sith, there is no cooperation, there is no sharing or loyalty, even with their own. In the end, a Sith, either apprentice or master, always uses power simply to acquire more power. They are never satisfied, no matter how many people and worlds they manipulate, corrupt and destroy.
"A Sith holocron would embody all of that and it could be a dangerous temptation for any Jedi to examine and become corrupted. As tempting, I suppose, as a mystery would be."
Obi-Wan lowered his eyes, thinking for a long minute. "I do not understand how that could be desirable."
Qui-Gon smiled. "I hope you never do. No Jedi living, not even Master Yoda, has ever fought a Sith. They have been gone for nearly a millennia. Some think they are extinct, but the last known Sith was not destroyed. The holocrons are their last remaining essences. And they are kept so we would recognize the Sith in case they returned."
He rubbed Obi-Wan's shoulders, feeling the tension easing in his Padawan. "And if we are fortunate, it will be at least another millennia before anything like that happens. If it ever happens at all."
%% ]]]-x-[[[ === ]]]-x-[[[ %% ]]]-x-[[[ === ]]]-x-[[[ %%
Director Tykon started yelling at Qui-Gon almost as soon as they arrived in Tamwa Hall that morning for the final day of auditions. It was a sunny day, blue sky and the cratered face of the planet's largest moon visible through the high windows, enormous black panels hanging between them. The stage looked complete though technicians kept emerging from and disappearing underneath it. All the viewing platforms, four tall and another six shorter ones were complete with workers installing chairs and fixtures at their tops. The musicians had emerged from their private practice rooms and were testing the seating arrangements in front of the stage with their instruments. The writers and composers for the play, Roobi Mwemas, Thrwun Aka and Quembu Smetin conferred with the keyboardist who had played through all the auditions along with four other musicians who would be also be playing for the final trials.
Tykon first complained that Qui-Gon was late; then he complained about where Qui-Gon was standing; then he lectured his performers about the seriousness of this final day and that even though these auditions were for the minor parts of the History Play, they were no less important than the leads and that their full effort was expected. Especially if other people did not exert themselves for their own selfish reasons, he finished with a poisonous glare toward the older Jedi.
Obi-Wan watched his Master, who did not react at all to Tykon's repeated insults, both direct and implied. Qui-Gon had said that Tykon wanted him to participate in the Play itself. Obviously, the Director did not accept his refusal well.
"Pecku!" Tykon called for his assistant, who came running up as his superior stomped off to the sidelines. Pecku had his longish brown hair tied back with a pale gray strip of cloth that matched his skirt.
"As you know, we are only having auditions today. You have all been practicing. We will start with the Hulus auditions, singing and dancing, break for midday meal and then finish with servant and guard medlies for the final minor parts." Pecku turned to the Jedi. "We will need both of you for the Hulus auditions."
He gestured and Obi-Wan went to where he pointed. "You will be the first attacker. And you," He pointed again and Qui-Gon went to a spot several paces away," will harass without making contact when he drives the candidate toward you."
Glancing toward the rows of dancers, Obi-Wan was doubtful. "Should we not practice before the auditions? Neither one of us has seen any of the steps."
Pecku waved a hand. "No, no. We are testing for improvisation. We've already evaluated everyone for skill and precision," he reassured. "Basko! Two saber props. One green, one blue."
Dressed in neutral pants with tunics belted at the waists with pale green sashes, the dancers watched attentively. The Hulus costume was not required for this audition. It was a small part since the Sith apprentice was killed almost immediately after the Jedi arrived on the planet.
There in the front row was Yana Twarn and Timoz Wemi. Yana grinned and gave him a covert fist pump gesture while keeping her arms at her sides. Leary of showing favoritism, Obi-Wan only half-smiled in her general direction as he accepted a light stick from a young energetic man who brought it over from the prop box. He clicked the switch. He had the green one. The man trotted over to Qui-Gon with the second prop.
"No!"
They all turned their heads toward Director Tykon, at the side of the practice area. The humming holo-recorders zoomed up overhead.
"Use the real one!" Tykon waved at Qui-Gon and the young man froze, the prop in hand. Pecku turned around, staring.
Qui-Gon folded his arms before him. "No. I will not."
Tykon's mouth snapped shut, his face going blank. Then his expression darkened. "You what?"
"No. I will not threaten anyone with my lightsaber for such a frivolous reason."
Taking a step back, Obi-Wan watched the temperature going up on Tykon's anger on his left and his Master's ruthless calm on his right.
"Frivolous?" He marched toward Qui-Gon and stopped. All the performers flinched back as if he was coming for them.
"Yes." Qui-Gon nodded. "Frivolous." His voice lowered to a more ominous tone. "The lightsaber is the symbol of the Jedi, our ideals, our Code, the Force itself. It is just as much a sacred symbol as all the trapping of your History here." He raised his hands and gazed up around Tamwa Hall. "A lightsaber is not a prop for your entertainment."
"Entertainment?" Tykon echoed in a near whisper. He exhaled, his face going blank, the growing tension dropping from his shoulders. The wide-eyed performers stood frozen in place.
Ssssatsim," he cursed softly at Qui-Gon. "I had no idea that you Jedi were so sssats IGNORANT!" Tykon's fury returned full force, his outrage echoing from the vaulted ceiling high above them as he advanced again. "Well, I suppose you know all about it then, don't you? We should just model this whole thing on that colorless, lifeless Jedi Code that you live by? No emotion, no fear, no fire, no passion, no music, no acting and we can watch all our work fall into DUST!"
Tykon strode up to Qui-Gon who did not move at all. "When you were standing around for a bit part in a third-rate holo, twenty years ago, I was making HISTORY! And I do not take direction from pretenders like you! And I will say when we will use a real lightsaber or not!"
Obi-Wan felt the Force, like a low, inaudible rumble of thunder. Qui-Gon raised a hand. "Of course you will. But you don't need one now." The hand passed before Tykon's face, a deceptively gentle motion. "But it would be much too distracting for the audition. The saber props will suffice."
"The saber props will suffice," Tykon repeated blandly with a mindless nod. His brow furrowed for a moment. "Pecku!"
Qui-Gon's hand went up again. "No need to shout. We can all hear you. The acoustics in this Hall are quite adaquet. And the auditions will go much more smoothly if you show your . . . appreciation for everyone's hard work."
"Yes." Tykon nodded. "Yes. Pecku. Please, give him the prop. And you've been doing a very good job, even with these delays and re-writes, keeping things going, thank-you. Good job." Tykon's gaze swept somewhere past Pecku's left shoulder toward the performers. "Yes, you've all been working very hard. I like that. You're going to need it. Good job everyone."
Obi-Wan cringed at the look of total horror on Pecku's face. The rows of performers stared in shock at the transformation of their volatile Director. The keyboardist, musicians and composers stared, their mouths open.
Qui-Gon took the prop from Pecku and stepped back. "Shall we begin?" he invited. Pecku did not move and Tykon looked too confused to know what came next.
The composers and musicians approached slowly. Pecku started shaking Tykon who very politely asked him if he needed something from him. Qui-Gon let out a sigh and went back to his place for the audition. The eyes of all the performers followed him. Obi-Wan felt as if he had failed a task, but he know it was not his failure. He went to Qui-Gon and stood before him, eyes upward.
"You made them afraid of us."
Qui-Gon opened his mouth and then stopped, his dark blue eyes wide with surprise. He looked down at him and Obi-Wan knew that his Master had not realized the effect he'd had on everyone else watching.
Qui-Gon closed his mouth without saying anything.
%% ]]]-x-[[[ === ]]]-x-[[[ %% ]]]-x-[[[ === ]]]-x-[[[ %%
Roobi Mwemas and Quembu Smetin came over, but it was unclear if they wanted to help. Mwemas loudly demanded that Pecku give her a holo-copy from the recorders still circling above. All the performers hastily averted their eyes when Qui-Gon caught them looking at him. He sighed. His Padawan was right. He had only succeeded in making everyone afraid of him. They feared Tykon because they feared failing or disappointing him. Now they feared him because they believed he could hurt Tykon. And by default he could hurt them, ruin their auditions and their futures. Fear was never a good motivator, but the fear that Tykon routinely inspired in others had its own narrow purpose, driving the performers to work hard for the Play.
Pecku abandoned Tykon to follow Mwemas who was going after the droid controllers on a long table beside the audition area. Smetin stayed back and stared at Tykon who still had not regained his line of thought. Qui-Gon had simply impressed upon him the feeling that his History Play was going very well, something that the Director badly wanted. But Tykon's brain knew what his Play's shortcomings were and it fought the undeserved expectation of glory while the other half of his mind fiercely clung to it, leaving him wavering between the two.
Obi-Wan turned and marched back to Tykon. He raised his hand.
"My Master is sssats ignorant and you should not listen to what he says."
Brows furrowed, Tykon's befuddled brain took a few seconds to register this information. Then his face transformed.
"Aaaaaaaauuuuuggggghhhh!"
Swiftly turning his body sideways, Obi-Wan evaded Tykon's downward swing. The saber stick missing its target and clicked on the ground. Obi-Wan's own saber stick blocked the next three blows aimed at his head. Qui-Gon stepped back. It was obvious that even an enraged Tykon could not hurt his apprentice.
Obi-Wan dodged to the side and Tykon whirled around, saber stick sweeping low. Obi-Wan jumped high, flipping over Tykon's head and landing behind him. He snapped a blow at the back of Tykon's knees and then another to his buttocks, driving him down to the ground. Tykon caught himself and swung around blindly, but Obi-Wan bent back, just out of reach of the wild swing. His stick smacked onto the Director's wrist and the saber props dropped and rolled away.
Qui-Gon smiled. The Force was strong with his Padawan; his defense had been perfectly executed, exactly as he had been trained.
Eyes wild with rage, Tykon glared up the length of Obi-Wan's weapon.
"There!" he turned to his performers, dragging himself away. "I want fighting like that!" Jumping to his feet, he waved an arm at them. "And I had better see it in your auditions!"
= = = End Part 22