Chapter 37. Plots Within Plots

"Curse you," he grumbled and winced as a speeder buzzed past his office window, its engine in need of a tune up. Its shrill screech sent tingles up his nerves, and not the kind of tingles he was used to seeking out. He threw out a hand, barely noticing as it wavered and took a nose dive as he swiveled to take the incoming com call.

His face darkened. Ah, it was about time he heard from him. If the young man wasn't so useful for the jobs he didn't have time to do himself, he would be quite miffed. And his employees knew well how they suffered when he was miffed.

"Are you sure this call can't be traced?" Of course it couldn't, but he snapped it anyway. It didn't pay to assume in his non-orthodox business dealings.

"Yeah."

He could just imagine the smirk on his operative's face.

"Listen, I'm that good and nothing's changed here that I could detect. They're so secure in their safety that they don't monitor internal or external communications."

"You'd best be sure of that." Involuntarily, his fingers clenched at the cockiness he had never quite trained out of the boy. He trusted him with as much as he dared, but he dared little when it came to his own safety and well being. You only had one go round at life, and he planned his to be a long and prosperous one.

"Hey, it's my neck if I'm caught, not just yours. Listen, boss, I could walk right amongst them with my hood up and they would never know."

"You're that sure you can hide your Force presence? What if you ran into Windu or Yoda?"

"You taught me!"

"Oh, right." He smirked in turn, knowing he couldn't argue with that. He had taken the then bitter and angry boy under his wing years ago, molded him and taught him. He was almost a son, his young trainee and potential successor depending on how current events played out. There were, of course, safeguards to prevent the apprentice from aspiring too high, too soon, for he was a crafty son of a Sith and not at all averse to lining his pockets at his boss's expense.

Leaning back in his seat, he carefully lit a cigerello and took a deep inhale. Almost as an afterthought, he twisted around, stood, and peered through the window. Hmm, evidently that pilot was good; that speeder he had swatted away hadn't crashed after all. No matter. It had assaulted his ears; he had assaulted it in return. Debris and mayhem were all well and good, but not required on a daily basis.

No, honor was satisfied and his plans were coming to fruition.

"Boss? You there?"

Maybe he should celebrate, call up that red-headed woman whose wits were in direct opposite proportion to her impressive bosom, take her to dinner and a show, and then take her to bed. He appreciated a nice little tumble, willing or not, though willing was better. Seduction offered the largest payoff…he loved the stalk and then the pounce; loved it when the prey willingly offered up her flesh for his satisfaction and loved it when he walked away once he'd gnawed his fill. In some dim recess of his mind, he wondered how many by blows he'd left behind - the maiden now mother to a child or the married woman explaining to a lackluster husband how she came to be pregnant.

His heart belonged to just one unattainable woman, she of a station far beneath him and in virtue far above him. But the rest of him was freely shared with whomever he pleased.

And tonight, yes, tonight might be a good night to share his charms with another.

Mereinda was ripe for the plucking, the wine and dine so artfully done. If she pleased him, he would allow her to persuade him to spend the night in her arms. If she satisfied him, he'd give her a bauble or two before pleading business necessity as a reason to leave her mourning his absence from her warm bed. If she neither pleased nor satisfied him, he could always drop her off at his least favorite pleasure palace – they were always happy to accept his cast offs for the less picky clients.

"BB!" Normally he hated diminutive's. Cutesy. Childish. But "BB" had stuck. Boss's boy. In more ways than one, when he wanted something different. BB had resisted at first, but after his first taste, he now never minded.

"Boss?" The voice sounded wary now.

"Just seeing if you're paying attention." His boots thumped on the rare Afranian wood of his desk, unique in all the galaxy, as he leaned back in his seat. "All right, you're safely in the Temple. The little spawn is thriving, I hope."

"Jinn dotes on him."

"He should. I went to a lot of pain to assure myself of that and believe me, I'm no happier about how I'm accomplishing that then he would be, if he knew. I do believe our self-congratulatory and so very sanctimonious very calm Jedi master would rip around the galaxy like Windu if he ever lost control of Vaapad had he the faintest clue someone was digging into the blackest recesses of his primitive mind and hauling those fine dark instincts to the forefront where they are so inappropriately being expressed."

"The boy seems quite happy to be Qui-Gon's padawan."

His eyes narrowed. There was a hint of malicious glee bubbling underneath the words. Stab, twist, repeat. Well, he wouldn't be baited. If there was one thing he had learned from dealing with the Jedi, it was the advisability of never acting on pure emotion. He who rushed headlong into danger often lost that with which he led – as nearly had dear old Jinn on Naboo.

"He had his instructions and his warnings. He knows the price of disobedience is his mother. He's already seen me with her and of course totally misunderstood what he saw." He grinned. "Ever walk in on your parents getting busy – oh, right, you wouldn't have. If you were too young to understand, you might think the gyrations and cries were torturous rather than pleasurable. I made her whimper all right; the boy'll never forget that."

The two shared a conspiratorial grin, though they were on voice mode only. BB had free access to his favorite pleasure palace – the one he in fact owned – and he knew all about his predilections and quirks. The boy had no finesse and liked it rough. The girls didn't. They never complained, though, they had it far better than most pleasure workers and they knew it.

"You goin' back soon for some more; think she'll greet you with open arms and spread -"

"Shut the Sith up!" He was suddenly furious. "Where I go and when is none of your business let alone what I do or who I do it with unless I tell you it's your business, BB."

There was silence at the other end of the comlink. BB knew he had gone too far; there was a dark satisfaction in knowing his heavy breaths as he struggled to regain control of his temper had no trouble transmitting through the link.

"Uh, boss?" BB's voice was pitched a tad bit higher, came a bit faster. "I thought you'd like to know Chancellor Palpatine visited the Temple today to check on 'the heroes of Naboo'." He giggled.

Force, how he hated that giggle. Grown men shouldn't giggle. It wasn't manly. Only the insane giggled – and BB.

"Yes?" His voice warned that he wanted a simple recitation of facts. He glanced at his wrist chrono.

"You should have heard him with Jinn and the boy. Young Skywalker was preening like your favorite, ah, like a peafowl with twenty females tailing after him hoping for his favors. Both of them were lapping it up. Jinn is more convinced than ever that the boy is what he said he was."

"He is." He allowed himself a small smile. Delusions had merely been a precursor to happenstance and the Force double-twisted in its jokes. "What of the apprentice, Kenobi?"

He traced a lazy circle on his desk; again, his finger nearly completing a full revolution before twitching into the air, waiting for the words that would soon explode from the untapped volcano that simmered beneath BB's so-called heart.

A low growl came through the com link.

"Now, now, BB, set aside your personal feelings. Both of us wish him nothing but ill will, but our focus is Jinn, remember."

Tight with revulsion, a sneer no doubt twisting that pale face, the words came. "The sniveling coward has been coaxed out of hiding and has been assisting in some youngling classes and doing odd things here and there. Windu's apparently gotten tired of him sitting around and blowing his nose into his sleeves all day long. You should have heard Jinn lay into him for letting Kenobi stay with him in his quarters."

"Windu? He's been looked after by Windu?" That was unexpected. A senior Council member focusing personal attention on a discarded padawan? Yoda, perhaps he could see. The old Jedi had always had a weak spot for Kenobi, it was well known.

But Windu?

And Jinn didn't like it one bit! Well, well, well. Of course, the two were thick outside of Council; it probably stabbed him right in his pride to have his friend succor his castoff padawan.

"Windu," BB confirmed. His voice thick with delighted malice he continued on, "And did the Chancellor inadvertently stick a vibroshiv in his ribs - talking about what a wonderful team Jinn and Kenobi were, how their reputation was so well deserved and he just knew how close the two of them would remain once Kenobi was knighted. Then he just has to add how proud Jinn must be of him for killing a Sith and saving his master from certain death all while just a padawan – Kenobi was growing paler and paler – I was peering through a vent, dusty horrible places by the way – and I tell you, Palpatine could not have done a better job of just about destroying Kenobi if he'd been trying." Absolute glee infused the words.

"How destroyed?"

His voice was sharp. Kenobi was supposed to help in Jinn's destruction, not be destroyed himself, at least not yet. Events on Naboo had actually played into his hands; he was able to use the padawan's "affliction" and tweak Jinn's deeply buried conscience. One day the conflict between his actions and his horror at those actions would twist Jinn's guts into a realization of just how cruel and pitiful a man he had allowed himself to be twisted into becoming.

Jinn's pride and arrogance would be his downfall.

In many respects he was a kind man, even a decent man, but when he held to his unshakable conviction that the Force had guided him upon a certain path, the toes he would trod in its so-called service meant nothing to him – cause not for regret, sorrow or compassion. When his task was complete, regardless of outcome, he twisted his arm to pat his own back and claimed it was the Force rewarding him for his faithful service.

Sanctimonious bustaaba.

In his conceit in believing himself alone amongst his fellows to be the sole arbitrator of the Force's desires, he could be manipulated and used as a weapon by the deployment of his own deeply buried, primitive human weaknesses if he could be persuaded they were expression of the will of the Force. The Jedi could train a human to rise above his baser instincts, those arising out of deep-seated neuroses and fears, but not even they could train them out of existence. Deep inside, an ancient reptilian brain slumbered until awoken – especially if one knew how.

He did.

So it was that his desire to emblazon his name into history by the legacy he would leave behind, by an aging man's fears that his latest protégé had outgrown him and was soon to leave him behind, and by his wish to have his choices validated created an opportunity to twist those impulses into action. He had already repudiated his dearly beloved padawan and alienated his fellow servants of the Force. He had taken a viper into his nest and embraced him as his salvation.

And when the game was ended and the truth exposed, the great Qui-Gon Jinn would be reduced to a rotting carcass swaying in the wind of realization: that his sacrifice in the name of the Force had been at the behest of another. He would not be able to deny his weaknesses – preyed upon weaknesses, to be sure – had been the tools to carve out Kenobi's soul and cast it away, poof, gone forever.

Oh, revenge was sweet, indeed.

Deep within the bowels of the Jedi Temple, a glow lamp cast shadows of light and dark on a contorted face. BB was almost choking on his laughter, for Kenobi's shocked and wan face was emblazoned on his mind's eye, a mental picture he could haul out and gloat over as required. Hell, he thought between breaths, maybe wrecking havoc with his mind would be even more satisfying than killing him.

Exactly like the boss intended to do with Jinn! He was beginning to sense the attraction in that approach. Create mayhem and disruption, torment into mental anguish without end.

Whatever Jinn had done to the boss went beyond what he was privy to. The hot fire seeking revenge had cooled to a cold rage, an implacable determination that would wait to strike. His own fire had flared to incandescence here at the Temple, nearly within touching range of Jinn - and Kenobi.

And it wasn't like his orders weren't clear enough: concealment, observation, and non-interference unless absolutely required.

But Kenobi was at hand, vulnerable – his hands clenched and unclenched with his desire to kick that Rabiski wartslime forever into the Force.

He punched the nearest wall and nursed the bruised knuckles that followed. Kenobi! He could so easily slit the young man's throat or carve out his heart. It would be no great loss to the Jedi or the galaxy. Not even, it seemed, to the Force, for he had overheard enough in his prowls to know Kenobi was all but blind where it mattered, an even more worthless hulk of flesh and limited intellect than he had ever been.

Why shouldn't he kill the man when and if he had the chance? Kenobi was merely a tool, the boss had said so – and he could serve the purpose alive or dead. Desire firmed into resolve. Kenobi was a walking dead man.

In some dusty, unused portion of the Temple, a grown man giggled.

Obi-Wan wasn't in his quarters when Mace returned. Good, he thought, pleased that the young Jedi was occupying his time with various tasks and classes around the Temple. It was exactly what Obi-Wan needed, or so the healers said, reestablishing a routine, creating and recreating mental pathways within his brain and mind both.

Burned out was the roughest analogy they had found for layman such as himself; synaptic pathways disrupted and the flow of signals interrupted. For a Jedi in full command of the Force, such was reasonably quickly repaired, in the nature of a few weeks to somewhat longer.

In Obi-Wan's case, the timeline was much longer.

The healers were conferring with medical specialists outside the Order, specialists used to dealing with patients more like Obi-Wan – patients not able to use the Force.

Patience they counseled.

Half-whistling tunelessly under his breath, Mace set about preparing a small meal. He was almost head first in the cooking unit, poking at a dish with a finger to test its relative doneness, when the door opened.

Ah, Obi-Wan, just in time.

He straightened, fanning his head with one hand and turned; his words to wash up and get ready died unsaid. The man was bedraggled, more mentally than physically, his eyes dull as they had not been for some time now.

"I'm just – dispirited," Obi-Wan said quietly. He sniffed at the appetizing aroma, managed a smile and disappeared. Mace was about to follow him when he heard the sound of running water. A moment later Obi-Wan reappeared, reached for plates and utensils, and set the table.

When it seemed Obi-Wan was disinclined to explain his state of mind, Mace gestured with his head for the young man to sit. He brought out the hot dishes and after the young man had helped himself and taken his first bite, he asked, "Why?

Obi-Wan blinked and set his fork down.

"For a man who just received a personal visit from the Chancellor –"

"Well, that's just it," Obi-Wan interrupted, not even seeming to notice he had cut Mace off mid-sentence. "With every word out of his mouth, I got more and more uncomfortable. It was like – he had his version of what happened and he was determined I agree with his every word and every conclusion."

"What version would that be?" Mace kept eating, though he kept his focus on Obi-Wan. They were strange words for him to say, but Obi-Wan had always been perceptive when other things didn't interfere.

The young Jedi's face reddened. "How I was such a credit to the Order and Master – Master Qui-Gon's teachings –"

"You are."

The flush deepened. "And he knew from my fierce defense of my – my master and then my attempt to save him, how devoted to him I must be and how Master Jinn was in my debt and he was sure he'd never seen such a friendship and knew even after my knighting we would remain close…he brought up everything I want to forget and just move past."

Mace nodded and set down his fork. He folded his arms together. "Jinn and Kenobi: the team with a reputation. Your exploits were known around the Senate, it is no surprise he referred to it. I am sorry; we should have suggested he not bring that up."

"He did more than bring it up, he harped on it." Obi-Wan dropped his head into his hands and raked his fingers through his hair. "He just kept smiling as he twisted the proverbial vibroblade. I didn't think it would still hurt so much, Master Windu."

Just let it go into the Force, Obi-Wan. Those words were on the tip of his tongue but somehow he managed to refrain from their utterance. "His words only have as much power as you give them," was what he said instead.

"Look on the bright side – I don't have him chiding me for my attention to the Living Force, do I?" Obi-Wan let out a strangled gasp, half pain, half laughter. "And I've been blessed to see a side of the redoubtable Master Windu not many are privileged to see."

"What!" Mace quickly stood, peering up and down his body in alarm before reseating himself with a sigh of relief. "You scared me, young man; thought after my shower I'd forgotten to dress!"

"That's a privilege?"

The elder Jedi pretended to box the younger's ears. Inside he was thinking he was the privileged one. The Force had blessed him with one padawan of whom he was very proud, and now, for at least a few weeks, had blessed him with another all-but-padawan for a short time.

Perhaps in time he should seek the Force's blessings for yet another.