Part Two
After the staff meeting, Dooku went on to the guest rooms. It would be expected for the cover story they set up and he could feel the Force swirling. The waves were powerful yet lacked any sort of finesse, meaning Kenobi's young Padawan was doing something. Given what he'd seen of young Skywalker thus far, he doubted Kenobi was controlling the child, so Dooku prepared himself on how to interrupt something no one else could see.
He took a quiet breath and knocked quietly before entering. Dayu had young Kenobi' shirtless as she ran a small scanner over him to check for any injuries that weren't obvious, her continual thoroughness making her a valuable member of his staff. She was frowning, but Dooku was certain that had more to do with what Kenobi was doing, rather than any findings.
To Dooku's pleasant surprise, Kenobi was taking his young Padawan through mediation. The swirling Force he had felt was Skywalker's attempts to calm enough to touch the Force more directly.
Deciding against interruption, Dooku walked over to Dayu's side. "How are they?" he asked quietly.
"Little Anakin checks out fine," she replied. "Master Obi-Wan is a little more banged up than he likes to let on. But he's well on the mend."
Dooku waited, watching as young Skywalker let a burst of frustration out and Kenobi's call in words worked around and through it.
"Milord," the maid said, putting down her scanner and turning to him. "They're meditating. Once I got them settled, little Anakin was asking question after question and Master Obi-Wan just stopped him and started this meditation thing." She frowned. "It's not right. The only way to connect to anyone or anything is to talk to them. No one understands a person until there's conversation."
There was a shift in the Force as Anakin finally reached the Force and stilled.
"I apologize if this upsets you, Grandfather," Kenobi answered quietly, his face flushed in embarrassment. "When... when Mother... when she was no longer with us, Father started to get interested in meditation. It was supposed to be a way to connect with her."
Dooku nodded. "I understand that much of this heritage," he gestured around, "might seem strange to you. You will adjust."
"Yes, Grandfather."
The maid gave a soft smile to the three of them. "I'll check in on you in the morning," she said. Turning to Dooku she gave a flat, though respectful look. "He needs his rest, milord. Don't stay too long."
Dooku raised an eyebrow, but nodded.
Dayu left, leaving the three Jedi alone.
Kenobi bowed his head, "I apologize," he said. "You had said this planet, indeed this sector, was xenophobic, but I didn't realize that meditation would be received so poorly. Many cultures have meditation, even if it's only in priesthood or such."
Dooku's lips thinned, but he merely nodded. "Perhaps I did not explain enough of this planet. The spiritualism here on Zeltrax is based on human contact. The belief is that the purest form of communication is through human interaction and conversation. As an example, the primary market of income for this planet is handmade material, usually furniture or decorations. This is because if an item is handcrafted then, there is a much more personal connection to the item, therefore making it more valuable. Methods that use alternate forms that decrease human interaction - such as protocol droids or meditation, are severely frowned upon. Jedi and Force sensitive children, in particular, are not viewed favorably because they have means of connection that are, literally, inhuman."
He paused, letting the information sink in before continuing. "There are many layers in how you present yourself, formality decreasing as you get more familiar and close to one another. Assuming your stations are equivalent."
Kenobi nodded. "Akin to feudal cultures then?"
"To a degree," he replied. "While there are many noble families, there is no true monarchy. I present myself as nobility, so there is a certain, professional distance, if you will, between anyone I meet and I as a result. How I decrease the formality is up to the one I'm speaking with and I. Conversation determines how familiarity affects the difference. Those I speak with more often have a somewhat less-formal method of address, but they will never get personal unless I allow it."
"And you're waiting to grant that to the man you're looking for."
Dooku raised a brow. "Very astute."
Kenobi looked away at the compliment.
The Jedi master held back a sigh and instead, changed topic. "I've taken the next three days 'off' from my usual appointments in order to have a 'get to know you' period. I'll explain more about this world's culture, your 'heritage', as would be expected of me."
The boy nodded. "Will your staff look down on us for being 'offworld'?"
Dooku gave a smooth smile. "No, the sob story of the death of your father and my never having a chance to know you has swayed the both of you to sympathetically ignorant, though my staff will expect you to conform to culture over time."
"Of course," Kenobi agreed.
Dooku looked to young Skywalker, who was still meditating at the foot of Kenobi's bed. "I suspect he'll have the most difficulty in acclimating."
Kenobi nodded. "He doesn't handle culture shock without preparation very well."
Dooku knew it wasn't his place, but he was going to have these children in his care for likely months before the Jedi could arrange for pickup. "What on earth possessed you to take this boy as a Padawan?" he asked. "His lack of training is so blatantly obvious. Did you think you could do better than Yoda?"
The boy looked down and there was a spike of grief in the Force from him, but Kenobi looked to Skywalker and gave a wide smile. "Anakin is... something special."
Curiosity surged forth from discussed child, and Skywalker fell out of his meditation.
"Say, were you just talking about me?" he asked, bright-eyed.
Dooku was about to make a comment about pride or arrogance, but Kenobi spoke first. "Merely of your training and of your marked improvement."
Dooku couldn't quite hide a disbelieving frown.
"Really?" Skywalker asked with a touch of hesitance. "I've caught up?"
"A fair bit since the last time we spoke with Yoda," Kenobi agreed. "But you've still got a long way to go and this stopover won't help."
Skywalker merely smiled. "That won't matter," he said confidently. "I've got you and you were trained by Qui-Gon, the best Jedi ever!"
"Boasting, Anakin," Kenobi said with the long sigh of an often repeated phrase.
"Oh, sorry," the child replied, still smiling. Looking around the rooms, Skywalker's eyes fell immediately on a small cleaning droid that was quietly humming around the room and cleaning the dirt that Kenobi and Skywalker had unintentionally swept into the room.
"Cool! This world has droids! I can still tinker!"
Dooku just knew this child was going to be a headache.
A very strong headache.
He was up very late drafting the necessary requests and reports for the Jedi Council, but Dooku knew his body well and went to bed with enough time to wake up before dawn and still feel refreshed. The staff understood that mornings were Dooku's "personal" time. When Benaag came to announce breakfast the false count always made certain he was in a chair by the window, watching the sunrise or reading a book or perhaps drafting a letter. That was when he sensed the butler's approach, however. Up until that point Dooku was instead meditating in his own right, pondering his next move or - on very rare occasion - practicing his forms. The 'saber practice did not happen nearly often enough for him on this assignment, but Dooku found as he aged that he was no longer as light-footed as he once was. He could not risk a creak in the floor and making the staff wonder what he was doing, and so his physical workouts were far more traditional, usually a few laps around the gardens or some weight training in the otherwise ignored exercise room.
This morning he was contemplating Kenobi and Qui-Gon. He had lost touch with his Padawan long before the introduction of Obi-Wan, and so he found himself wondering how the two had met and bonded - Qui-Gon had a way of meeting his Padawans in the most unorthodox manner. He did not have a clear read on Kenobi, yet. The youth was clearly well versed in the techniques of the Force - few indeed could summon the will or the ability, injured as he was, to leap up a cliff side after and obviously protracted battle. He was intelligent, certainly astute; all of these things were common in Qui-Gon's choices.
And yet...
Every interaction Kenobi had with his Padawan was against almost every tradition ever conceived of in the Jedi Order. Kenobi openly coddled the boy, bending over backwards and going out of his way to make things easier for little Skywalker, and for the life of him Dooku could not equate such folly to the intelligent and talented man he was seeing. It was like he didn't know how to raise a Padawan, or perhaps more accurately that he didn't know the dangers of attachment. Dooku knew the dangers all too well, and suffered them over and over, and the Jedi master debated with himself - heavily - if he should instruct Kenobi formally during the respite here.
There was also Skywalker to take into consideration. The lack of discipline in the boy was astounding - one would think he had never received instruction from Yoda. The two had hinted that that was perhaps exactly the circumstances, but Dooku had yet to openly ask the question - not and expect a reply. On that score he wasn't certain who would provide the most complete answer, Kenobi or Skywalker.
To compound the lack of discipline was the lack of honest manners, no sense of decorum or layers of polite diction. The boy had yet to even say an honest "thank you," and the bitterness and spite that filled the child only touched the surface of the wellspring of anger that permeated the boy. How was he even taken into the Order? Why hadn't the Council even considered discharging him? Dooku could only imagine the disciplinary record the boy had. Even Qui-Gon knew when to back up and let someone else take the lead.
Dooku regretted - not for the first time - responding to the distress call. But, regrets served no purpose, and so the Jedi master put it away and instead transformed himself into the Count, sweeping away his emotional musings and standing. He grabbed the book he was using as a prop and flipped several pages forward, replacing his bookmark and setting it in his chair by the window. The sunrise was glorious, and Dooku took an honest moment to admire it before he went back to playing his part.
He left his quarters to check on his grandsons, passing Benaag on the way and nodding to the butler, who of course replied in kind.
The door was open to the guest rooms, and Dooku could make out the distinct sound of the cook's voice.
"So no allergies that you know of?" Tori pressed.
"None other than what I listed."
"I've never heard of some of these, I'm surprised you even know them."
"The planet I was on before did a very thorough screening," Kenboi said. "For Anakin, too."
"All right. I'll check the molecular structure for some of our more exotic plants, wouldn't want anyone getting sick on my watch. What kind of palettes do you have?"
"Anakin has a sweet tooth, unfortunately," Kenobi said.
"What kid doesn't?"
Dooku heard them both laugh and he satisfied himself with leaning against the wall, listening.
"My palette has grown bland over the years. I like milk-based soups, all sorts of tea, and vegetables that have a crisp texture until they are cooked. Anakin... there was a restaurant down our street that served Huttese cuisine, and he developed an affinity for it."
"Spicy, then, with a lot of meat and proteins and very little greens."
"Yes, unfortunately."
"Well, we don't serve any of that here on Zeltrax, but I do know a few substitutes I can use."
"Milady, if you please, I'd rather he have a healthier diet."
"I'm hardly 'milady,' young master, though I'm honored you'd give me such a lofty title. Here, I'm either just Tori, or 'ma'am.' Same for Ms. Dayu and Mr. Benaag, and everyone calls the gardener 'Old Anton.' Except the master, of course."
"Oh... Sorry..."
"Aw, don't worry about it, the title structure is pretty complex here - even I get it wrong sometimes, and I've lived here my whole life. With your status just about everybody is below you in rank, so you can just call everyone 'sir' or 'ma'am,' so in that respect you have it easy. And don't worry about the Huttese cuisine, Master Dooku has a very strict diet himself, but there are always little ways to tailor any recipe to someone's taste. Today's breakfast is fish and eggs, for example, so for young Anakin I'll be smoking his dishes in the fire-oven and adding peppers to emulate his preferred taste buds. Of which, I better get going; fire-ovens take a while to heat up."
"I understand, mila - er, ma'am. Don't let me keep you."
"See? You're learning already!"
There was a pause, and Dooku almost made his entrance when he heard Tori speak again.
"Young master, my kitchen is always open," she said. "If ever you want to talk, or just hide for a while, I'll always be free."
Dooku entered just as she finished, and nodded to her as she left. The tiny cook smiled warmly at him, mouthing, "I like them," before disappearing to the ground floor.
Kenobi looked up to Dooku. He was seated as his bed, Skywalker seemingly still asleep just behind him, wrapped up in covers except for the blond tuft of hair that peaked out from a fold of blanket. "She is a very caring person," he said slowly.
"The best cooks on this planet are very caring," Dooku replied. "It is their sensitivity to the tastes and moods of others that affect their cooking - a human interaction that is highly valued here. The entire staff and we shall eat together, per custom. The only break in this tradition is for afternoon tea - which is often a moment of private contemplation - or because one or all of us are engaged in some function or gala."
Kenobi nodded slightly, absorbing the information, before nodding again. "I supposed I should wake Anakin, then."
"Yes. I'm surprised he isn't up already."
The Jedi looked away, embarrassed again. "He had a bad night last night," he said simply, before turning in the bed and giving an intense focus to the boy. The blond tuft squirmed in response to the mental probe.
Dooku frowned, wondering what a "bad night" entailed, but said nothing as young Skywalker finally moaned and sat up in bed, rubbing his face and blearily looking around.
"Breakfast shall be in a little less than an hour," Dooku explained, "I expect you both dressed and ready by then." He turned on his heel and left, going back to his room to look over his report to Yoda and, if there was time, to send it.
He preferred sending the messages when the house staff was away - competent though they were Dooku did not completely trust them - but with the arrival of his new "family" he took the risk. The entire staff were now focused on those two, reducing the danger, and he needed as much information on the two as he could get and as quickly as possible.
Breakfast itself was slightly strained. Kenobi had great difficulty eating with his broken arms, and Skywalker was torn between eating his own breakfast and helping his master. The staff was giving less than subtle looks at the two (with the exception of Benaag, of course), and one could see and sense the questions ready to burst from their lips if the opportunity ever struck them. Decorum and tradition kept them quiet, however; one did not ask after information that was not volunteered, and Dooku was not about to offer up anything until he was certain both of them could handle the scrutiny. Kenobi was iffy, but Skywalker...
And, right on cue, the child opened his mouth.
"Hey, how come it's so quiet?" he asked. "I thought mealtime was a sacred tradition of talking or something."
Benaag made a noise of disapproval, and Dooku closed his eyes at the approaching horror.
Tori spoke up first, feeling perhaps more comfortable after talking to Kenobi earlier that morning. "Formality," she answered. "We can't ask a question of our superiors unless they allow it, young master."
The child's eyes narrowed. "Superiors? Young Master?"
"Yes," the cook said. "Zeltrax has a social hierarchy based on title, rank, occupation, and income. You are grandsons of a count, putting you very high up in the hierarchy. We are service staff, mid ranked, roughly."
"Are there any slaves here?" Skywalker demanded, his face intent.
"Anakin!" Kenobi hissed, throwing a meaningful glare at the whelp.
"What?" the boy hissed right back. "It's just a question. If we're gonna live here I gotta know this kind of stuff."
"You think we're some kind of Hutt subspecies, boy?" the gardener Anton growled, his sour disposition showing. "You've got our blood, boy, and that makes you just like us."
"That's not what I asked," Skywalker exclaimed, outraged at the comparison to a Hutt.
"It is," Anton badgered. "Did your runaway pa give you such a low opinion of his home planet? Of your heritage?"
"That isn't what I'm talking about!"
"Anakin, stop talking right now," Kenobi whispered in a low voice - and to Dooku's surprise the boy did exactly that. Young Skywalker didn't even try to dig in his heels and continue making a scene, nor did he look the least bit surly at the command, he simply glared at his master for a moment before looking down at his plate.
Kenobi looked to the staff, his jaw tight. "You must forgive my brother," he said after a false start. "Slavery is a sore subject with him."
Tori frowned. "Why?"
Kenobi looked away. "You'll have to forgive me," he said slowly, "but that is a topic best kept private."
The entire staff nodded. "Of course, young master," Tori said. "We hope you'll come to trust us in time."
It was brilliant, in some ways. Kenobi had not only subverted the explosion known as his Padawan, but he also had invoked the traditions of Zeltrax to deflect further questioning - and done it with a humility and bearing that had earned the understanding of the staff. By setting a boundary of "private" Kenobi had dispensed of the one of the boundaries of "foreigner," and the gesture was an immense relief to the members of Dooku's employ. The count allowed himself to smile slightly, as he drank his tea. Kenobi was proving to be an interesting puzzle, and Dooku decided he was curious enough to try and solve it.
Dooku was in his office again after lunch, under the excuse that he had a backlog of things to do since his family emergency. Kenobi had returned to his room and Dooku could already feel the gentle waves of a healing trance. Hopefully Kenobi would use those sparingly, as a miraculous recovery would be suspicious. After his brilliant performance at breakfast it was a stupid move, but then, Kenobi seemed full of contradictions.
So the fake count ignored it for the moment, focusing on the work at hand. His excuse of backlog was true, after all. It just didn't take much time with the Force guiding him. His letters of polite decline for the functions he would miss and apologies for what he had missed were all drafted and written but in his neat script, part of the personal touch the people of this world favored. Granted, there were technological means of communication, viewscreens and holograms were adored for being able to see whom you spoke with, but Dooku's age put him among those who would prefer handwritten messages. While it took longer than a hologram, after months on planet, Dooku found something soothing about sitting down and penning a letter by hand.
He was in the middle of a tentative acceptance letter for a function later that week when his home comm. chirped. This was unusual, as if anyone needed to contact him, it would come through Benaag. That left his staff, and they knew better than to interrupt him when he was working.
"Yes?" he answered, opening the audio.
"Milord," came the old voice of Anton, "would you come and collect your grandson?"
Skywalker.
With a silent sigh, he agreed.
Dooku had thought Kenobi had taken the child with him, but on reflection, if Kenobi was healing, that would leave Skywalker idle. Younglings never did well on idle. They found methods to entertain themselves, often with disastrous results.
He debated briefly on pulling Kenobi from his trance and making him deal with the child but decided against it. It could do more harm to pull a Jedi from a healing trance, so Dooku headed out the back of his manor and started walking at a brisk pace.
His grounds were hardly extensive. After all, he was in easy distance of the city, but he did have a small orchard that Tori the cook made excellent wines with, to say nothing of her pies. There was also a vegetable garden and a large lawn for any functions or gatherings Dooku would hold.
Anton maintained all these with a careful eye on color and fragrance, as well as the front gardens with its impressive displays of flowers and planters. But where Anton spent most of his time was in a secluded grove of trees by the orchard. When Dooku had arrived, it had simply been trees and brush. It marked a boundary of his estate and was left wild. Once Dooku had seen it and hired Anton, he'd made plans for it. After all, he'd likely be undercover for well over a year. It would be a place for meditation. There would be fountains and stonework to go with the natural trees and brush and it would be a wellspring of the Living Force in its natural disorder that both he and Qui-Gon had believed in.
It would be a monument to Qui-Gon. Not a commissioned statue, as the Jedi had done, not a note in the Archives, but something far more suited to his most successful Padawan. It would not last. Whatever owners of the land came after him would eventually make their own gardens to their own tastes, and it was in the fact that this little grove wasn't permanent that Qui-Gon would have adored it.
To have Skywalker butting in was beyond inappropriate and disrespectful.
It was a fifteen minute walk at a good pace to reach the grove, Dooku having opted not out of any sort of transportation in order to have time on how to plan for how to deal with the errant apprentice of his Padawan's Padawan.
When he arrived, Dooku was appalled to find two droids causing most of the chaos in the grove. One was a standard droid designed for mowing lawns, something that didn't require the personal touch of the gardener for the type of handcrafting that was so acclaimed on this world. The other, Dooku couldn't even recognize the design for, unsurprising given the sheer variety of droids in the galaxy.
The droids were currently battling each other.
The signs were in the very ground and trees. Much like the shuttle that had crashed on the savannah Dooku had found his fellow Jedi, the ground bore deep gouges, upturned and scattered. Boulders meant for design and flow and beauty were chipped and marred, and the ancient trees that had marked this border of the manor now bore scorch marks and scars that would never heal.
And between the two droids intent on dismantling each other was young Skywalker, a datapad in one hand and a long rake in the other to fend off the droids. Behind him, several meters away and going red in the face with anger was his gardener Anton, only the respect that Skywalker held a higher rank holding his tongue from a tirade that would likely scar the eardrums of the troublesome youngling.
Dooku took a moment to just stare before his brows descended and he strode forward with disappointment and irritation leaking off of him in waves. He picked up an abandoned (and battered, likely from fighting off the droids) shovel and stepped forward with all the grace and precision of Makashi, using the blade of the shovel like it was the blade of a lightsaber. With the mowing droid a precise shiak stab with all the natural fluidity and elegance of the Way of the Ysalamiri he'd learned decades ago that sent the droid skittering back with a substantial dent breaking all the innards with the massive force Dooku applied, even without the aid of the true Force. For the unidentified droid, a sweeping sun djem with economic movement disarmed the mechanical limbs by removing them from the very droid before a another shiak sent the machine flying away.
The Jedi master stood still, his moves taking only two precise and powerful steps. With both droids gone, Skywalker was looking up to him wide-eyed and with his jaw somewhere down on the ground. Anton as well had a look of shock, though he recovered quickly.
Now that safety was re-established, Anton was stepping forward, a stream of politely-worded complaints ready to spew forth when Dooku turned and glared at Skywalker, his disappointment and displeasure radiating even further.
Skywalker had the grace to at least look ashamed. "Wow," he muttered. "I thought only Obi-Wan could do that."
Whether he meant Dooku's sword work or his saturation of the Force with his irritation was irrelevant.
"And what, pray tell, are you doing?" the Jedi master demanded.
"Trying to help!" was Skywalker's extremely defensive response.
How, just how did Kenobi deal with this youngling?
"Really?" he asked, sarcasm flowing from that one word like a waterfall.
Skywalker's spine stiffened and he offered a pout that would become a terrible scowl once he was fully grown. "Well of course! Those droids were basic beyond basic! They don't - didn't have enough programming to fulfill their designed functions!"
Dooku drew a breath. "And did you ask anyone before you started your... tinkering?"
There was no denying the tone behind "tinkering" showed how highly he didn't think of it.
Skywalker looked down, his posture showing that this wasn't the first time he'd gone behind someone's back to do that. That just raised Dooku's irritation. Was Kenobi blind or merely turning a blind eye?
"I see." Dooku took a moment to close his eyes and reach for the Force. This youngling... He suddenly had several flashback's to Qui-Gon's pathetic lifeforms, all manner of plants and pets that tramped their way through their quarters over the course of Qui-Gon's apprenticeship. While Dooku didn't mind his old Padawan's attention to the Living Force, he had cared for the mess often left behind. This youngling was a terrible combination of all of Qui-Gon's bad points and Dooku had yet to see any redeeming qualities.
After (another) deep breath he crossed his arms, still looking down to young Skywalker. "On this planet," he said as if he were recording a holocron on lightsaber techniques, "we prefer handcraftsmanship. I keep Anton on staff because he has a finer eye for beauty than any droid could. Every item that is hand crafted bears a little of the soul that made it. As such, droids are relegated to the mindless work they are best for. We can't have them doing their full functions simply because it would be counterproductive to the time and effort people put into what they make. Droids are best for drudgery."
Skywalker clearly didn't care for Dooku's culture lesson. "But I build droids! Doesn't that fall into the whole hand-crafting thing you've been talking about?"
Dooku took a breath to respond, but Skywalker was already digging in his heels.
"I once build a podracer all on my own! I -" Skywalker stumbled in his wording before starting again. "That racer won the Boonta Eve classic. Are you saying I can't take pride in what I can build? By hand?"
The Jedi master had a rebuttal forming on his lips when Anton, politely, stepped forward. "Podrace?"
Skywalker immediately turned, with a bright and prideful smile on his face. "Uh-huh!"
Dooku groaned. Anton, in private, had a great fascination with Podraces. Any difficulty the two had after this first confrontation had essentially been wiped away.
That did not, however, erase the issue.
"But you did not ask anyone. You are a youngling and need to listen to people who have more experience and wisdom than you."
Skywalker's heels dug in further. "But that dismisses all my experiences and wisdom!"
The gall! How did Kenobi deal with this? Why did he chose to deal with this?
"And how, precisely, does a mere dozen years trump decades?" Dooku asked with contempt.
The child's face reddened and was about to argue right back when the Force swirled with a proverbial swat.
Skywalker instantly backed down. He bowed his head in stiff formality and said, "I still have much to learn... Grandfather," before he stomped away, no doubt heading straight for Kenobi who was clearly up.
Dooku couldn't quite help raising an eyebrow. Skywalker, who showed no finesse, no ability, indeed seemed well behind any training that Yoda would have provided before an apprenticeship, was strong enough and able enough to feel the mental swat that Kenobi had thrown from across the property.
How very interesting.
A grey room.
The walls were uniform, the same slate grey, as was the table he was sitting at. There were no shadows, no light source, everything was exactly the same color and yet Dooku somehow knew there were four walls and a ceiling, even as he knew he was sitting at a table. The grey was mundane, mediocre, the exact median between white and black.
Between Light and... Dark.
Dooku stiffened.
"I see you've met my Padawans."
And suddenly Dooku was turning sharply to look across the table and find... find...
Find thick brown hair, half pulled back; a scraggly mustache and beard; piercing eyes that were smiling as they always did, and the brown cloak of a Jedi. Qui-Gon Jinn was sitting opposite him.
Dooku blinked, rubbed his eyes, and blinked again. Thought, rational thought, all but left him, and suddenly he was fighting every inch of his body to keep from exploding like a Federation hauler. Electric shocks started filling his head, between his ears, as fight-or-flight energy started trickling down to his body. He clenched his fists, sat rigidly straight - almost painfully - to keep himself from springing up from his chair and... and... he wasn't sure what he was going to do, only that he had to control it because there was no way he was sitting across from Qui-Gon Jinn!
His old Padawan leaned back in his chair and smiled. "I see we have a long way to go," he said brightly. "This might take a while, and Force help me if it does; we both know my attention span isn't the best when it comes to long projects."
Something snapped in Dooku's head, listening to that light, melodically accented voice, and his voice betrayed him.
"You're dead."
Qui-Gon nodded. "Yes, I am."
"You can't be here."
"From a certain point of view, I can't."
"Then what-"
Qui-Gon leaned forward, placing his elbows on the median grey table, hunching forward for an explanation. "From a certain point of view, you're right, I can't be here. But, and you'll have to forgive me my old master, I've shed that point of view several years ago, and since my death there are many points of view I no longer have."
Dooku shook his head, still in denial, still fighting for control. His emotions were overtaking him, and that was utterly unacceptable, and he fought against them viciously as he stared at the face of the only Padawan he ever had that didn't betray him. This wasn't possible. This wasn't possible, and yet there he was! Qui-Gon! Alive! Here! There were so many questions, so many things he wanted to tell his old Padawan, so many things he never said when the man was alive... But it was too good to be true. Becoming one with the Force made it impossible, this simply couldn't be happening, and so it was a trick - of the mind or some other influence had yet to be determined, and Dooku would be damned before he fell for a trick as painful as this one.
His entire body was shaking.
And suddenly there was a hand on his, warm and light, and he looked down to see Qui-Gon was holding it, squeezing it gently, and that smile was still on his face.
"I suppose," he said, "before we can get anywhere, you have to decide what point of view you're going to use for this. I could be a Force ghost, but it looks like you really don't want to lend yourself to any hint that this all might be real. I don't particularly care how you wish to see me, but I'd be very disappointed if you thought this was an external influence meant to torture you." He smiled, softly, gently. "As I recall I more than tortured you during my apprenticeship, and I doubt anyone could recreate that experience. Not for lack of trying, of course, on the parts of Obi-Wan and Anakin." The smile morphed into something with pride, and Dooku shook his head again, still uncomprehending.
Qui-Gon frowned for a moment, before withdrawing his hand (and Dooku's body quailed at the loss of contact, a shudder threatening to run through his spine) and leaning back in his grey chair.
"All right," he said seriously. "Let's call a hyperdrive a hyperdrive, shall we? This," he said, gesturing to the grey room, "is all a dream. When you wake up and remember this, you can decide then what to make of it. I'm running out of time, I'm not strong enough to do this for long periods of time. I'd rather hoped we could spend our first meeting in, well, a long time just reminiscing and talking about my two Padawans, but unless you can finally let go of that terrible self-control you have we're not going to get anywhere. So make up your damn mind."
"This... this is a dream?" Dooku asked, appalled that his voice sounded like a squeak but unable to let it affect him as it should.
"Yes, one of many you'll be having I expect. Your stubbornness is well-known, but then, you have passed it on to me, so we'll see."
"Why are you here?" At last, a rational question. Dooku internally smiled at himself, and slowly his self-control began to reassert itself.
Qui-Gon gave a mischievous smile. "Now, where would the fun be if I just told you the answer? Let's just say, 'It is the will of the Force,' and leave it at that for now. I doubt I could explain it more succinctly than that."
"Then... what do you want?"
"To talk to my old master," Qui-Gon said expansively. "I was surprised when you came across my two Padawans, and I wanted to take the time to catch up with you while the three of you are together. Tell me, what do you think of them?"
Dooku mulled over that question for a while as they sat in the grey room. He had only known Kenobi for at best a week - most of that time spent with the young man in a healing trance of some kind. And Skywalker, he was Qui-Gon's Padawan? How? He expressed his much to his former Padawan, still feeling surreal, but at least now he was capable of rational thought. "Kenobi has been in a healing trance most of the time, and Skywalker... How can both of them be your Padawans? Kenobi is barely old enough to be a knight."
Qui-Gon, in response to his decidedly neutral answer, nodded, a knowing look on his face. "That's typical of both of them. Obi-Wan literally worried himself sick when we first met; gave himself a fever on his way to AgriCorps. He has a decidedly small sense of self-worth, and most of that is my fault - especially at the end. And Anakin, in the most technical sense he is not my Padawan, but much like any Jedi who finds a child gifted with the Force, I feel a little attached to him. He has a very bad habit of redefining impossible, but he hasn't fully grown into that yet. For now we'll just say he's a child of extremes."
"... Why are you telling me this?"
And Qui-Gon smiled. "Because they're precious to me, the same way you are. I wanted to share."
"But... why?"
"Because I'm trying to help you."
And suddenly Dooku opened his eyes and looked not at the solid grey of that room but the pre-dawn blues of a vaulted ceiling, his room on Zeltrax. He blinked, realized belatedly that he was breathing hard, and sank into his bed. A dream, it was only a dream...
Author's Notes: Gyaaah, what to say... In case you haven't noticed, this will only be from Dooku's POV, and, as you can see, his views of Obi and Ani are a little skewed. He doesn't know their respective backstories and so he's looking in a purely objective Jedi manner. Remember, Ani had enough fear and anger in him to be rejected from the Jedi, despite his potential, and that's all Dooku can see right now. Similarly, Obi and his "period of self-doubt" are in full force, so he's presenting a puzzle box of pure competence but no confidence.
This chapter feels a touch flat because there was a lot of establishing of the culture of Zeltrax here. The culture needs addressing as it's a new place and it does affect plot to a degree. At the same time, we avoided doing the usual trope of just flat out explaining for three or four paragraphs what the history of the planet was and that's why it is the way it is.
For the sharp-eyed reader, we're being distinctly playful with all the names for this planet. They're coming from something specific and we can't help but wonder if anyone will notice where (or rather, what series) we're pulling the names from. Hehehe.
And, of course, the dream of Qui-Gon. Dooku's going to have a couple of those, and there's a degree of symbolism in there. But we'll leave that be and let you figure it out. ^_^
Our beta-reader, the lovely Angel-san is now done with this story, so we can start posting weekly again. Now she has the lovely task of beta-ing AC2, which she's been waiting patiently for. Too bad our writing isn't done yet.
See you next week!