Fallout
Chapter 10
They stepped into a small, well-lit chamber, a blank convocation of walls filled with pale light, and fitted with exactly two identical hatches: the one through which they had entered, and another which lay directly ahead. Seams in the opposite wall suggested compartments hiding some sort of equipment; the gentle hum of a power generator threaded subliminally through the silence.
The two Jedi looked about themselves, and then at each other.
"It's an airlock," Anakin guessed. "Or a radiation lock, in this case."
Obi Wan nodded, swept the original hatch shut behind them with a dull clang, locked it again. The light flickered, the thrum of the generator altered slightly, and a long compartment to the left of the second door popped open with a small creak of disused and brittle plastoid.
A very antique model protocol droid stumbled out of the recess, arms twitching spasmodically, like a zombie newly risen from its grave. "Oh – ah- oh. Ahem. Yes. Er… welcome. This is a restricted zone. All those seeking entrance must be decontaminated and have proper authorization."
"We are authorized," Obi Wan assured the silver droid. Its flat optic plates turned upon him curiously, and its movements lost some of their jerkiness as its servos and motivators eased back into use after what had presumably been a century-long nap.
"You are authorized…by what governing body or agency?"
"The Jedi Council," Obi Wan replied nonchalantly. Anakin peered at the droid, to see if this declaration would bear any weight with it.
"The Jedi Council?" their robotic interloctor repeated, with the same affectation of startled incompetency that Threepio sometimes exhibited. "Why, you are more than authorized. You are expected."
Obi Wan's blank surprise spread in the Force, a fleeting twist of chagrin and alarm. "Personally?" The Jedi master asked, taken aback.
"Hm? Well, no, not specifically, if you will forgive me saying so, our comms have been disrupted for some time. But we fully expected a response to our distress signal within a month. Now, what is the standard date, please? I have been on standby and my chronometer circuit appears to have a malfunction."
Anakin cleared his throat. "Ah… I don't think it's a malfunction." He proceeded to tell the poor droid the exact date, eliciting a moan of distress and a great deal of hand waving.
"Oh my, oh stars above. I must say, you are not very punctual. Indeed, you are terribly overdue. One hundred eleven years, nine months, and sixteen point five-seven days standard reckoning, to be precise. It's quite rude, if you will excuse my opinion on the subject."
Anakin rolled his eyes at this, but Obi Wan took it in stride. He bowed to the droid. "We came as soon as we were able," he informed it placidly. "We apologize for the delay."
"Yes, well," the protocol unit sniffed, "I wouldn't know about such things. But you'll still have to be decontaminated, I suppose. The surface is radiation poisoned, and we need to maintain strict cleanliness here among the Friends."
"The Friends?"
Their metallic host looked at him as though he were a half-wit. "Why yes, young sir, the distress beacon did communicate the relevant details did it not?"
Obi Wan intervened again. "Excuse our ignorance," he said. "We are somewhat pressed for time. Perhaps we could effect the decontamination and proceed inside?"
The droid hemmed and hawed for a moment, and then shuffled over to the other compartment hatches. These, it was soon revealed, closeted a wide array of radiation scanners and other equipment for neutralizing unstable particles and emissions. The droid beckoned them over to this impromptu workstation. "Very well," it burbled. "Please remove your garments. They are a primary contamination risk factor. This chamber is registering negligible exposure levels at present."
"Thank the Force," Obi Wan muttered, yanking the unwelcome helmet off his head with an enthusiasm seldom exhibited by any full-ranking Jedi. A moment later he was happily divesting himself of boots, tunics, and the despised clone armor bodysuit. Anakin grinned and followed his example, adding to the impressive pile of clothing and gear upon the smooth floor. He stripped off his mechno-hand's protective glove last of all, dropping it on top of the heap and flexing the chromium-plated digits thoughtfully. Without the covering, the limb appeared cadaverous, skeletal and ghastly.
He felt Obi Wan's gaze on him, and looked up into rarely exhibited but genuine sympathy. Biting his lip, he fought back the howl of rage that welled within him every time he glimpsed the prosthetic armature beneath the glove. Geonosis was not far behind them; its shadow still reached for them sometimes. He could see the thin white scars on Obi Wan's arm and thigh, too – the places where Dooku's blade had scored two sharp and unforgiving lessons on the master's body before maiming his Padawan forever. Those scars would never disappear, in contrast to the newer, already nearly invisible ones left by Kaion.
Anakin looked away. "Now what?" he demanded of the droid.
"No military equipment or weapons are permitted in the Friends' domain," it informed them. "Are you carrying any such?"
The young Jedi glanced down at the 'saber clutched loosely in his mechanical hand. There was no way in the nine hells they were parting with their weapons. He would scrap this interfering droid before he relinquished his lightsaber. He shot a meaningful glare at Obi Wan, a warning not to cooperate. He had his limits, and this was not the time or place for diplomatic niceties.
His former master's eyebrows tweaked together, a curt reprimand. No violence.
"Weapons including…?" the older Jedi prompted the droid.
"Any device with a hard blade, grenade, disruptor, vibroedge, trigger, blaster cartridge chamber, pulse generator, wire, or energy net matrix."
"Ah," Obi Wan smiled engagingly. "We only carry these tools, which do not fall under any of those prohibitions."
The droid peered at the 'saber hilt speculatively. "What is the precise function of this device?" it queried.
"To make light," the Jedi master replied diffidently.
"Light is permitted," their host decided. "You may retain these tools. Your other equipment and armor is prohibited, and your outer clothing and foot coverings are badly damaged by toxic preciputation."
It was true; even the thick nerfhide of their boots was scarred by the brief exposure to Rhellis Massa's corrosive rainfall. The droid hustled their possessions into a smaller compartment and shut the hatch with a click. "They will be returned to you upon your departure. The Friends will provide appropriate garments for you during your stay. This way please."
They were subjected to several scanners, to a brief spray-down with a slightly viscous substance, to a blood sample analysis. When the droid had satisfied itself that they had escaped the perils of the surface unscathed by radiation poisoning, he led them to the second hatch. "Beyond this door is a corridor with an inset rad-neutralizer. Please walk slowly through the energy field." It handed them two piles of neatly folded cloth encased in thin plastoid packages. "This is the customary garb of the Friends. Welcome, Jedi emissaries."
And with these cryptic words, it opened the hatchway and waved them inside the dark tunnel beyond. The Jedi exchanged a half-humorous, half-cynical look, and crossed the second threshold.
"Did I just see you mind trick a droid?" Anakin asked as the hatch clanged shut behind them. "I can't believe he fell for that bantha-chizzk story about our 'sabers."
"Are you calling me a liar?" Obi Wan raised an eyebrow.
"Well…no…but, master! 'Their function is to make light.' You're shameless."
"Well, you are the expert, so I suppose I must accept your judgement in the matter. Shall we?" Ahead, dimly illumining the short passageway, was a solid wall of sickly green light, a transparent film stretched from wall to wall. "That would be the neutralizer field." He tossed the packet of clothing through the shimmering wall, as an experiment. The edges of the barrier crackled slightly, but the plastoid bag made it through intact, and landed skidding on the far side.
Anakin's mouth twisted, and he threw his own package through the field with a disgusted flick of the wrist. "After you."
Shrugging, Obi Wan proceeded through the expanse of glimmering green. The energy field prickled uncomfortably across his exposed skin, lifted the hair off his head in crackling tufts, seemed to exert a mild resistance as he thrust his way through. On the other side, the air was markedly warmer, and smelled of something vaguely…floral?
Anakin emerged from the neutralizer field a moment later, shuddering visibly. "Uugh!" he complained. "That was pleasant. So now what?"
"We..ah..blend in with the natives," Obi Wan decided, examining the garments provided by the droid. The standard garb of the Friends – whoever they might be – was nothing more than a heavy drape of cloth and a thick sash, both in a vibrant golden hue. After a few vexing minutes, he discovered that this odd costume was meant to be worn wrapped around the torso and over one shoulder. It fell to mid-calf and was fastened by the sash in much the same fashion as traditional Jedi tunics. His saber nestled between two folds of the makeshift belt. There were no shoes included.
Anakin was issuing a steady stream of imprecations under his breath. "How the kriffing hell does this piece of kobunki poodoo work?" he snarled helplessly, half-tangled in the copious yardage. "This is the stupidest situation you've ever landed us in!"
It was difficult to suppress a grin at the sight of his former Padawan trapped in the folds of saffron cloth, but compassion must take precedence in a Jedi's life, so Obi Wan did his duty and extricated his surly companion from the predicament, deftly rearranging the offending garment into its proper configuration.
Anakin looked down at his new apparel with undisguised contempt. "This is a kriffing dress. Like Padme wears."
"It's a robe, Anakin. And Senator Amidala wouldn't look half as lovely as you do in it." He patted the young Jedi's cheek and allowed his insouciant grin break through to the surface. "Besides… you were the one who was so keen on playing fashion show not so long ago."
"You know what you are, master, right? You're a –"
"Shh."
They turned as one to the corridor beyond, where an unfamiliar rustling sound, as of scales dragging against stone, ruptured the heavy, perfumed silence of the warm air. The Force rippled ahead of this sound, in gentle waves, bearing the promise of power but no threat. The Jedi waited, fingers brushing against saber hilts but eyes and minds focused with singular curiosity upon the shadows beyond their small pool of light.
A moment later, a bizarre figure emerged, slithering, out of the gloom. His entire face was obscured by an overabundance of white beard and hair; he wore a garment similar to their own, only woven of brilliant white fiber; and beneath its hem, a thickly muscled length of limbless reptilian body coiled and extended behind. The serpent-man extended his two deep-olive toned arms in a gesture of welcome.
"Well met," he boomed, his voice issuing from a mouth which was veiled by glinting silver hair. "It has been many, many a long year since I have seen other members of our Order."
Anakin stared. Obi Wan almost found himself at a loss for words. "….Master Xerxes?" he managed to stammer out.
The ancient Thisspiasian Jedi bowed deeply from his waist, tail slowly curling behind. "I was beginning to think you hadn't got my message," he said.