A/N: Update! Yay! I'm really excited for the next few chapters, though I hope they don't take as long. I realized I had to forgive myself for not writing a perfect questioning scene, because I've never really written one before! The next few chapters will have many similar "firsts," but hopefully I can remember this lesson and jump right in!
Chapter 8: Some Wonderful and Righteous Work
The next morning Obi-Wan was eating breakfast when he felt the familiar touch of the Force that meant Qui-Gon was awake and reaching out to "see" who he was. The Jedi Master slowly rose and joined him at the table. For a long time he did not speak, just stared at Obi-Wan intently as if trying to reconcile his features before giving up with a sigh and starting in on his portion.
For the past two days Obi-Wan had hoped to discuss some of the strategies for working around Qui-Gon's impairment, but the older man always brushed him off and changed the subject.
"Your friend was not here last night," said Qui-Gon after he finished chewing.
"No… it's strange, I didn't think it was Misshi's night off."
Qui-Gon wanted to meet her, but all the other nights he'd been fast asleep, too exhausted to stay up until she arrived.
Before they could discuss anything further, their breakfast was interrupted by a host of Lenoians bursting in through the door.
"Yes, those are the Jedi," Obi-Wan was shocked to see the speaker was none other than Dr. Shehlal, who stood at the back of the group.
Two burly Lenoians stepped forward, and a third rather weedy looking man nodded to Dr. Shehlal and followed behind, giving Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan a penetrating stare. Behind the weedy man were two other Lenoian men, one tall and the other with an unusual cropped hair style. With all the kindness he had received from Misshi and Dr. Lemleshor, Obi-Wan had forgotten how hostile and intimidating the completely black eyes of Lenoians could look. Now, with six pairs of dark eyes staring him and Qui-Gon down, the padawan was forced to admit to himself it was an event worthy of a nightmare. His Master, however, projected perfect calm in the face of the intrusion.
The weedy Lenoian opened his mouth as if about to speak, but at that exact moment Dr. Lemleshor burst in and loudly demanded to be told what was going on. At least, that is what Obi-Wan assumed, as the conversation following his outburst was entirely in Lenoian and at an unintelligibly fast rate. At first it was the two doctors who spoke loudly to each other, and with obvious mutual dislike. But the weedy man, who was by now obviously in some leadership position, rapped out several quick sentences, which were immediately followed by the two burly Lenoians physically removing Lemleshor from the room.
With so many bodies crowded into the small space, there was some awkward shuffling after this scene, as the two strong-men took up their place by the door and the weedy leader stepped forward to face the Jedi with Shehlal on his right, the Lenoian with the short hair on his left, and the tall one standing behind.
During the scuffle Qui-Gon had stood up. Obi-Wan was only able to slowly follow his Master's example. Though the leader used no physical force, the Lenoian's stare felt like a hand pressing him back into his seat.
"Do you confess to being the foreign Jedi?" the leader's voice was soft, but had an almost metallic edge and his accented common gave his words are peculiarly expressionless tone.
"We are," answered Qui-Gon, as steady and composed as if he were merely addressing the counsel back on Coruscant.
The weedy Lenoian drew himself up, taking on an official air, and said, "I am Inspector Vassol. We are here in connection with an investigation for the People's Tribunal. We will search your room. You will answer any questions put to you. Any objection or resistance will be taken as a sign of non-cooperation and complicity in the crime, leading to your immediate arrest."
Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan stood aside silently as the two Lenoians who had yet to speak made a sweeping search of the rooms, not that there was much to discover. They had the miss-matched clothes Misshi had found nearly two weeks ago out of the closet and messily deposited on the nearest bed in the blink of an eye. The short haired one began a careful search of the table and chairs while the tall one minutely inspected every corner and surface of the closet. They applied this same thoroughness mixed with disregard to the rest of the room, including the 'fresher, and ending with the unceremonious stripping and dumping of the beds' sheets and mattresses on the floor. What they emerged with for their pains was the data-pad, and the map.
Vassol first took the data-pad from the tall man's hands, and looked it over with an indifferent eye before handing it of to Dr. Shehlal.
"This is only a standard issue recpad, it can only receive public transmissions and cannot export data," said the doctor with an air of dismissal.
"We shall confiscate it, just the same," said the leader in the same cold tone, "This, however," he continued, snatching the map from the short haired one's grip, "appears to be much more interesting."
Vassol carefully looked over the map, even observing the blank side of the paper. When his face slowly formed a vicious closed-mouth grin, Obi-Wan was tempted to change his view of the man from "weedy" to "serpentine."
"The only question is," he said without any change in inflection while staring directly at Qui-Gon, "How such a detailed, and… compromising map came into your possession. Any thoughts?"
Qui-Gon answered slowly and deliberately, "I am afraid my memory is not quite as good as it was before my injury."
"Is that so," said Vassol as if it was a statement, but he gave the doctor a significant look.
Shehlal took it as an invitation to comment, "Considering his injures, it is more than possible, it is probable."
"Very well… I am no expert, but this handwriting," he said, motioning towards the map, "appears to match that of a nurse assigned to the night shift here, named Kira Misshi. Do you know her?"
"I have never met her," said Qui-Gon.
It was the truth, but a selective one, and Obi-Wan could see Vassol was not satisfied. The padawan had been part of enough diplomatic discussions and interrogations to know a delicate fencing match of words was to follow, with Vassol leading the attack.
"Surely you have seen her; she has been in and out of your room since you were admitted."
"I assure you, I have been asleep or unconscious… or delirious. I have no memory of any nurse on duty for the night."
"But you must know of her."
Qui-Gon seemed to hesitate slightly before replying, "My padawan has mentioned her, yes."
"You must have some knowledge how this map came into your possession. Why the woman gave it to you."
"I have no certain knowledge of her motive for leaving the map, if it is indeed hers."
"Very well," said Vassol after a weighty pause, his eyes narrowing to slits, "I see where we stand, for now."
The Lenoian slowly turned his gaze toward Obi-Wan, taking a long moment to consider the young man before speaking, "Perhaps you have something to add?"
Obi-Wan could feel his master tense up beside him, though he made no motion. The padawan carefully said, "What my master said is true."
"Is it also true for you?"
Obi-Wan hesitated before replying, "What are you asking?"
The wicked grin returned and Obi-Wan began to doubt his decision to invite the questions Vassol was going to press in either case. "How did this map come into your possession?"
Obi-Wan could sense Qui-Gon's silent urgings that now was a good time to practice the "from a certain perspective" method of "telling the truth." He also knew, instinctually, that being caught in a lie now could be more dangerous than being completely honest. "It was… left here."
"By whom?"
After a moment of hesitation, Obi-Wan replied, "By the night nurse, Misshi."
Even if Obi-Wan had attempted to avoid the question, he could tell Vassol would have pressed until he had the answer he wanted. His next question, however, left more room for equivocation.
"For what purpose was it left?"
"That, I cannot say for certain. Misshi spoke almost no common, so our communication was limited."
Obi-Wan could see this answer displeased Vassol as he frowned and took a step closer to the padawan. He could also feel Qui-Gon tense up beside him, ready to spring into action if his apprentice was seriously threatened.
"But surely, you must have reached some level of understanding. A map such as this is hardly an accident."
Obi-Wan squirmed a little, but before he could reply Qui-Gon stepped in.
"The boy is young, a mere apprentice; he is none of your concern. What ever he has done, it was done ignorance."
Something deep inside Obi-Wan resented his master's disparaging comment, but he pushed the feeling down. He could sense Qui-Gon infusing his statement with the Force, and knew his master only meant to deflect Vassol's questions. And yet, a part of himself railed against being dismissed as a "boy," he was most certainly not a youngling! But it was a childish part, and Obi-Wan carefully suppressed the instinctual reaction.
The short-haired Lenoian spoke up for the first time, and his accent was thick, "T'e boy isn noon ove owr problum. We've enuff, an' t'e time is small."
The padawan could feel the Force suggestion at work, and noticed Dr. Shehlal give an almost perceptible nod. The tall one was unaffected, but Obi-Wan suspected he spoke no common, as his expression had remained the same the entire time. Vassol, however, looked unconvinced. He turned his piercing gaze back to Qui-Gon, and seemed to struggle inside for a moment before speaking.
"Unfortunately, you are correct, Harrshir," said Vassol, tension now obvious in his voice, although he did not turn to look at his short-haired companion.
However, when he spoke to Qui-Gon again, the toneless quality had returned, "Jedi, we will continue this conversation later, under more… favorable circumstances. For now, this is all we need," he said, giving the map a slight wave for emphasis.
Without further ado Vassol turned and exited, leaving the rest of the group to catch up.
As soon as the last Lenoian was out the door, Obi-Wan saw his master's shoulders sag. He immediately stepped to Qui-Gon's side to offer assistance, but the larger man raised his hand to stall him, the other lifting to wipe his brow, and said, "No, Obi-Wan, I am fine. I just need to sit."
Obi-Wan watched with concern as his master lowered himself heavily into one of the chairs, but held himself back.
"It seems I have not quite recovered enough strength to use the Force so liberally," said the older Jedi with a rueful smile, hand still held to his forehead.
"Is it from your injury?" asked Obi-Wan as he moved the discarded clothing draped over the other chair to the empty bed frame so he could sit across from his master.
He could see the shift Qui-Gon's manner that indicated he knew his padawan was implying the blow to his head, rather than the other solely physical injuries.
"No, it is merely that my reserves are drained. Though I have spent much time using the Force to speed the mending of my broken leg, standing on it for such a long time, even without putting weight on it, was not wise."
Obi-Wan felt his face heat up, embarrassed that he could forget such a critical detail in his overriding concern for his master's memory. Then again, he thought after the first flush of shame wore off, Qui-Gon had gone to great lengths to ignore or conceal his condition, and that could be his intent now. Even so, however tempted his was to confront the older Jedi, Obi-Wan decided to set the issue aside for the time being.
Unfortunately, there were more immediate matters that needed his attention. Now that the Lenoians were gone the encounter would have seemed almost surreal, if not for the horrible mess they had left behind. Obi-Wan looked around the room before letting out a very un-Jedi like sigh. Qui-Gon gave him a swift look of disapproval that was somewhat ruined by the amusement underneath, having obviously followed his padawan's train of thought.
"You rest, Master, I'll pick up," said Obi-Wan, standing up and grabbing a single boot that had been discarded on the table.
"Is that my padawan, I hear, volunteering to clean?" said Qui-Gon, his voice full of gentle teasing.
Obi-Wan threatened to let the few things he had collected drop with a mischievous grin, and said, "Or you could sleep on the floor, Master, if you prefer."
"Oh no, do not let me stifle your initiative. What kind of master would I be if I did?"
It was good, in a way Obi-Wan could not quite describe, to banter as if they were safe again in their quarters on Coruscant. He could ignore the trembling in his hands and focus on the simple tasks before him: putting the clothes away in the closet, and remaking the beds. But it was a false comfort, and Obi-Wan could feel how brittle the moment was, how easily it could be broken. They needed to discuss what had happened, but not yet.
Qui-Gon had lain down to rest after Obi-Wan finished picking up, and was soon fast asleep. The young man knew that was not his master's original intention, but he could not help but be glad the jedi was getting some natural, healing rest. Lunch arrived early, and Obi-Wan had to gently shake Qui-Gon awake. The older man was startled at first, but Obi-Wan soon felt the familiar brush of the Force, Qui-Gon's fingertips lightly touching his braid. They ate silently by the open window, the air unusually still and heavy outside. Half way through the meal they both paused, as if by unspoken agreement.
Qui-Gon spoke first, "Our visitors this morning seemed most interested in your friend."
"They must have been seeking evidence for a trial like the ones I have been telling you about."
"Misshi seems to be in the power of some formidable people."
Obi-Wan understood what Qui-Gon left unsaid, "Perhaps she is in hiding."
"Perhaps…"
His master let the thought dangle, though Obi-Wan could tell he did not share the young man's tentative optimism. This, more than anything else, stole away his faint hope.
After a weighty pause, Qui-Gon continued, "I sense we are in some danger, Padawan."
"So do I," Obi-Wan said, "Do you think it will be soon?"
"It is difficult to say, but we must rest and prepare for what is to come, whatever it may be."
"Yes, Master," Obi-Wan gave the expected reply, but felt the tension disguised by the conversation's dry formality.
After a late dinner Qui-Gon prepared for bed and soon went to sleep, following his own admonition for rest. Obi-Wan remained seated by the window, absent mindedly listening to the growing noise of the crowd in the distance. He'd heard it every day since the coup, knew what it foretold, but the padawan found himself compelled to lift up the new data pad that had arrived with the meal and turn it on. Apparently the last person who used it was watching the local broadcast because the video immediately began streaming, the sound of the live feed a few seconds ahead of the distant rumble drifting through the window. Obi-Wan meant to change the channel, he knew it was time for the unpleasant results of the day's trials, but he found his eyes riveted to the screen when he recognized one of the condemned.
It was Misshi.
Obi-Wan felt a burning in his chest, until some remote part of his brain realized he had forgot to breath. He sucked fresh air in with and audible hiss as they marched Misshi and six others up to the scaffold to publicly declare their crimes and prepare them for execution.
It seemed impossible she could be tried and convicted when they were still gathering evidence this morning. Some part of Obi-Wan's mind refused to accept what he was seeing, but he could not look away. Slowly the reality of it began to cut through the numbness of his mind as the cheers of the mob on the tiny screen were invariably echoed in the distance. He watched with growing horror as bags were placed over each of the condemned heads followed by a noose. Obi-Wan thought he could hear the executioner tighten each one, though it was unlikely such a soft sound would be picked up by the mics. Time seemed to stretch painfully as the executioner slowly strode over to the lever, and, with a signal from a robed official, released the trap doors.
Obi-Wan's eyes never left the small, frail figure of the nurse until the rope tightened with a snap, and he could look no more. His eyes automatically fixed to the sky outside their window, to a tiny star fighting against the lamp-light, suddenly aware of his captivity in a way he had never been before. The crowd wash cheering for the "Traitors'" demise, and Obi-Wan did not have to look to know the cameras would linger on the dangling feet until the last one stopped. He shut off the pad in an abrupt burst of anger, but the noise of the mob continued to drift through the window. It was faint, accusatory.
With a sudden rush the guilt descended, shutting out all sight, all sound, the same phrase repeating its self in Obi-Wan's mind again and again:
What have I done.
A/N: Too melodramatic? Sorry I can't help myself sometimes... :D
As always, comments and constructive criticism are welcome, even if all you say is "Yay!" Thank you for reading!