Lineage IV
4.
"Padawan," Adi Gallia addressed her apprentice. "Locate Alepo Sator, the director here. We will need to use his communications center. If he is willing, set up a standard relay base signal on Republic pulse-band Aurek three."
"Yes, master," Siri Tachi responded demurely, bowing.
"If he's not in headquarters," Qui Gon advised the young woman, "Try the laboratory outbuilding or the Agri-domes."
"Thank you, Master Jinn, I will," the Padawan nodded, hurrying away on her errand.
Adi and Qui Gon quickly moved from the ship's boarding ramp to the shelter of the nearest structure, a storage barn for yet-to-be harvested grain crops.
"I was not aware Ord Ursolon was subject to snow storms," the elegant Tholothian Jedi stated, her eyes roving over the frost-coated landscape.
"I believe the Service Corps projects can boast of moderate success. Increased precipitation is a result of flourishing plant life. The water cycle is the first priority in a restoration project like this; though snow is more of a problem than a benefit."
Adi Gallia was a diplomat, the scion of a well-placed Core family. Agriculture was not her passion. "I've been sent to collect you," she said, cutting straight to business. "The prison break on Illixi needs swift intervention."
"I assumed as much," Qui Gon replied. "Who was responsible?"
The tails of Adi's headdress stirred as she turned her head to face him. "It was an inside job- guard corruption, all the usual. Over a dozen vital prisoners in the affected bloc made an escape; but we think it was masterminded by Soll Carthag."
The tall man said nothing.
Adi's deep, mellifluous voice conveyed a minute degree of disgust. "As you can imagine, the Council is eager to see him apprehended again. Several other teams have been assigned to hunt down the other escapees. You and I –"
"Are to find Carthag."
"We will use this Republic Service Corps station as a communications hub," his companion continued, matter of factly. "My Padawan can oversee the search effort and coordinate the interchange. It will be a good training exercise for her."
Qui Gon lifted his brows. "And keep her out of the way."
Adi resented his bluntness. Her generous lips pressed together in displeasure. "I'm not taking my Padawan anywhere near that monster," she said, tightly. "And neither are you. By the Council's express mandate."
He nodded, releasing a long breath. "A wise decision."
"We'll leave as soon as Siri has the signal established," Adi added. "The sooner he's back in prison, the better for the galaxy at large."
Qui Gon could not have agreed more. Obi Wan would not take the news well; but they had come here to practice humility and obedience, had they not? "I'll be prepared," he answered heavily.
This was a duty he could not possibly neglect.
Obi Wan was up to his elbows in bantha dung.
If he had ever harbored any doubt that Alepo Sator's inspired choice of chores and tasks for his temporary underling had been made in conspiracy with Qui Gon Jinn, those doubts were forever dispelled by this morning's assignment.. A mountain of reeking fertilizer had been deposited in the Agri-dome's far corner by early delivery; and Alepo had blithely informed the young Jedi that this rich and malodorous excrement was to be spread evenly over the entire extent of the cultivated beds and orchard plots in the massive greenhouse.
He had barely begun the unsavory task, and he was already filthy. And the dome was sweltering, in contrast to the snow thawing outside, running in messy rivulets down the lower reaches of the glass walls. The humidity was oppressive; perspiration ran down his bare back and spattered in the dark, reeking heap of dried dung.
Several imaginative imprecations sprung to mind, but he was making a conscious effort to curtail his more inventive deployments of vocabulary, in accord with Qui Gon's wishes.
He shoved the digging tool into the odiferous heap with the ferocity of a trained warrior, and flipped a hefty lump of fertilizer into the hover-barrow near at hand. Humility, he reminded himself. Service where it is needed. His next strike sank the haft of his improvised weapon a meter's length into the stinking mess. If he could just….spar, or even practice kata… The thick scoopful was flung tartly atop the others. He idly spun the tool in a salute and then reversed grip and plunged it backhanded into the filth again. Take that.
"Nice," a slightly husky, slightly sardonic female voice remarked behind him.
He spun, startled, and appalled that he was startled – because now that his mind was back in the present moment, he immediately felt the newcomer's Force signature – and clamped his mouth shut.
Padawan Tachi. Here. In the Agri-dome. Recognition did not ameliorate his feeling of being caught off-balance. It was a good thing the heat inside the dome had already flushed his skin with exertion; otherwise his embarrassment might be markedly visible. He swallowed and inclined his head, tongue cleaving to the roof of his mouth. A shaft of light spilled onto Siri Tachi's golden hair, setting the loose wisps, the rebellious strands that refused to stay in their tightly braided place, into a glorious conflagration. The Living Force was very, very full and present here beneath the dome. Suddenly.
She slowly raised a taut-skinned melorine fruit to her lips and took a contemplative bite.
"Those fruits are off-limits," he protested, before he could stop himself.
Her ice-blue eyes narrowed, and she tilted back her head.. 'You are in no position to be lecturing anyone about the rules and regulations, Kenobi," she answered, taking another bite. A drop of juice escaped and trailed down her shapely chin. She brushed it away with the back of her hand. "I see you've been demoted…. Just a little."
He thrust the shovel head into the dark, yielding pile and leaned on it, fingers tightening about the handle. The humidity was surely increasing; his lungs could not seem to get enough air.
Siri Tachi's mouth curved into a supercilious half-smile. "When the rumor got around that you were in deep poodoo with the Council, it never occurred to me to interpret the news literally," she remarked, teeth sinking into the melorine's flesh again.
Obi Wan skidded down the incline, making sure to kick a generous scattering of dung onto her boots and knees as he slid to a graceful halt before her. He folded his arms across his chest. At this distance, he could make out the faint freckling across her nose and cheeks, and smell the fruit's sweet-sour tang, like perfume. He raised a brow. "Rumor," he said, disdainfully. "As you can see, I haven't time to peruse shallow holomag gossip columns…. But I bow to your superior expertise in that regard."
Siri Tachi loved a good fight… but this wasn't the dojo. And the humidity seemed to have dazed her, too, for her attention was fixed on the uncivilized layer of sticky grime coating his chest and belly. Her nose wrinkled in distaste. He tried to wipe some of it off, frowning.
She gathered her wits. "I'm looking for Alepo Sator. Master Jinn said he might be in the Agri-domes…?"
He gestured to the entry. "The southwestern greenhouse," he said. "He's transferring seedlings. This is the main dome, but the auxiliaries have projects underway, too."
She bowed, and hastened away, tossing the pit of the melorine into the composter on her way out. Only when she had disappeared into the frigid world outside, en route to the smaller domes, did he think to wonder why she and Master Gallia were here on Ord Ursolon in the first place, and why she needed Alepo Sator… and whether he and Qui Gon were to be involved.
Obi Wan took the news surprisingly well. In fact, upon first hearing of the proposed arrangement, he simply nodded his understanding and retreated into the 'fresher, where he proceeded to indulge in an extraordinarily lengthy shower, leaving Qui Gon to marshall his forces in preparation for the inevitable delayed assault. His Padawan did not like to undertake a prolonged argument while dirty; but that did not mean he would surrender so readily once properly scrubbed and groomed.
True to expectation, his apprentice reappeared half a standard hour later, armored in a crisp, clean tunic and wielding however many cunning arguments he had concocted during his introspective communion with the hot water supply.
"Master," he began, without preamble. "I do not think you should go without me. I have a very bad feeling about it."
Direct and to the point. Qui Gon slipped to one side, dodging the strike. "As do I, Padawan. But I have a worse feeling about you accompanying me on this mission."
Annoyed, and confident in his ability, Obi Wan parried that almost aggressively. "Why?"
"Because it poses unique dangers," Qui Gon told him, circling, warily.
"That I am not competent to handle," the Padawan finished for him, also prowling, looking for his opening.
"Perhaps." The master was patient; he would wait for the attack.
"Why do you think I'm not capable?" Obi Wan demanded, emotion powering the sloppy thrust.
Qui Gon sighed. "Because you asked that question." A clever, Makashi hit.
It hurt. The Padawan regrouped, pushing the injury aside, trying another tactic. "Padawan Tachi will be here to oversee the communications. She is quite competent. My presence would be superfluous."
"You," the tall man corrected him, "Are still serving your time under Alepo. This mission is not your concern. And the Council has not yet reinstated your rank, so technically you are not eligible to accompany me on such an assignment." Another hit., more brutal.
"And technicalities always take precedence over intuition, master." Sarcasm gave the boy speed and accuracy; Qui Gon had to admit he was a skilled duelist.
"Just as obedience takes precedence over puerile enthusiasm," he finished, disarming and felling his opponent with a last lightning strike.
Even defeated, Obi Wan was graceful under pressure. He sank to the floor in meditation posture, the set of his shoulders conveying eloquent contrition. "I'm sorry, master. I will do as you say. But," he risked an upward glance at Qui Gon, "It would be easier if I understood why."
Dooku would have answered that with cold disapproval; how many times during his own apprenticeship had Qui Gon learned the necessity of absolute, unquestioning obedience? It was the traditional way…
"You did say that I should ask for help when needed," ObI Wan continued, apology still softening his tone. "And I need help … to obey. Understanding why would help." He dropped his gaze to his hands, which played minutely with the hem of his tunic. "With respect."
Tradition was only the dry paper shell of a festival lantern; it was the Living Force that illumined it from within. Qui Gon once again chose the essence over its time-honored vehicle. He slid down to the floor beside his Padawan.
"Master Gallia and I have been tasked with the capture of an escaped criminal," he said, quietly.
"One from the Ilixi prisonbreak," Obi Wan supplied, intuition leaping boldly ahead.
"Yes," the Jedi master sighed. "His name is Soll Carthag. I do not consider you incompetent to participate in such a chase. The Council, and I, have both decided to exclude Padawans from this particular mission because of the nature of Carthag's past deeds."
The young Jedi watched him intently, brows furrowing as revulsion echoed faintly across their bond.
"Soll Carthag is a depraved murderer," Qui Gon said, after a moment's pause. "He has been incarcerated for at least a decade now, but in his earlier years, before he was apprehended, he was infamous as a Jedi hunter."
"But how-?"
"He is Force-sensitive," Qui Gon said, bluntly. "And he has killed Padawans before. In the most… deliberate manner. It would be irresponsible for any of us to take a young apprentice into such a risky situation, when it is not strictly necessary."
He let the words sink in for a moment.
"But master, if he hates Jedi so much, then-"
"Master Gallia and I are better equipped to defend ourselves, and to overpower him. Do not underestimate a foe such as this; humility also demands that we acknowledge our own vulnerability."
Obi Wan was silent, a night of melancholic reflection already in its seminal stages. "Thank you, " he said at last, heavily. "I do understand better."
A bittersweet smile tugged at the corners of Qui Gon's mouth. "But it doesn't help after all, does it?"
Obi Wan mirrored his dark amusement. "Not really, no…. but I will do as you ask."
He laid a hand on the boy's shoulder and exerted a small encouraging pressure. "I know. Shall we meditate? And then you can retire to your sleep cot and brood in comfort, so long as you permit me to sleep."
It was a jest, though little could truly alleviate their shared mood.
But it was something."Yes, master."