Lineage IV
6.
The roof of the small, southernmost greenhouse was lit with pink and orange striations, a dawn aurora. Beneath the grubby plasteel dome, it was warm. Seedlings nestled in their hydopods along the perimeter of the small space; moss grew in the cracked pavers covering its central expanse. Obi Wan exulted in the heft and feel of his saber, the pure tone of its blade, the easy, joyful pounding of his blood in his veins as he drove through the advanced kata in a whirl of blue light, noting the still to be adjusted imperfections, smiling a bit as he twisted through the air, the blade singing about him, baring his teeth in feral satisfaction as he landed, cutting the warm air with deadly precision. The Force surged and flowed; the tiny plants seemed to watch in quiet approval; the day's first light gradually strengthened, even as he felt strength and skill returning to him after long hiatus, the Force blossoming, like a forgotten sun over a lonely horizon, a subtle daybreak within his every cell.
He closed his eyes and breathed it in, let it breathe him in, heart beating against his ribs with a bright martial ferocity, with perfect mantra-like calm.
It was good. All was well. The Living Force was full of light and peace.
The door opened, its pressure valves squeaking in unwelcome dissonance.
And there was Siri Tachi, come to disrupt his serenity and bliss. "Oh…," she stammered, upon seeing him standing in the center of the warm space. "I'm sorry to interrupt. I just thought this would be a fine place to practice."
Her 'saber was clipped at her belt, just visible beneath the heavy folds of Jedi robe. Her cheeks were bright pink, scoured by the stinging cold outside. "It is a good place," he answered, crisply. "Though, lamentably, too small to accommodate two." He hoped that she would sense just how un-lamentable this was.
Siri was not easily intimidated. She tucked herself against the side wall, near one of the hydro-pod racks. "I'll wait," she decided.
Stymied, he raised his brows. She was going to watch? To refuse would be to back down. He turned in the opposite direction and centered himself. She had seen him work with a saber before; it wasn't as though this was a blasted freak show in the Corsuscanti circus. Shrugging, he set to work again, starting the Rising Wind kata from the beginning. And this time it was perfect; his distraction serving to unseat his focus from self-concern, leaving him entirely empty, receptive to the Force. He wasn't thinking about his form, and so his execution was flawless, power and grace wedded together, speed and control melded into gorgeous precision, saber and body one thing, one blazing expression of light. He finished in a deep lunge, blade parallel to the floor, exhaling with soft reverence. Force! How he had missed this.
And then he remembered his audience. He straightened, snapped the blade back into its hilt, clipped the weapon at his side.
"That was beautiful," Siri said, in a stunned voice.
His chest tightened. "Don't. You can have it now… I'm finished." He made for the doors, calling his discarded tunics to himself from the far corner. They flew into his outstretched hand.
"Wait," she protested. " Perhaps you could teach me."
Incredulous, he hesitated. Was that an apology? If so, it wasn't a very compelling one. He smoothed his features and glanced at her over one shoulder. "I would by no means corrupt your inviolable perfection, Padawan Tachi," he shot back. "May the Force be with you." And he was out the doors, tugging the duster over his head as he plunged back into the frigid dawn. Frost crunched beneath his boots as he stormed toward the main dome, where Alepo would doubtless be waiting.
Teach her? She could kiss his treacherous, defiant, dishonorable, hellbent-on-failure, sword-masterly, beautiful arse.
He smirked a little and jogged faster along the gravel path to the central greenhouse.
The Illixi prison warden was not impressed.
"A little late, aren't you? The kanrri's flown the coop already," the portly Devaronian snorted, escorting the two Jedi masters down the central aisle of the high security wing. To left and right, empty cells stared at them, eye sockets gaping in the aftermath of injury. The energy containment doors had been shorted out. Open doorways gaped wide, revealing tiny smooth-walled chambers beyond.
Adi lifted her chin. "Show us where Carthag was housed," she ordered.
The warden eyed her gleaming saber hilt and decided to comply. "Here," he grunted, stabbing a finger at the last cell on the right. "Extra precautions for him. We had him in an electro-collar, too, and under surveillance." The blasted remains of a compact camdroid lay abandoned in one corner of the cramped space.
Qui Gon entered the tiny space, brushing fingers against the wall. "Carthag is possessed of rare insight and skill," he pointed out. "Even your best security practices would not contain him, once he had cultivated the proper allies."
The warden rocked back on his heels, mouth thinning. "I was against keeping a Force-sensitive here in the first place," he spat out. "Damn Senate bleeding-hearts overturned the Judiciary's recommendation for experimental suppression techniques."
Adi joined Qui Gon inside the tiny room. "You cannot subject prisoners to experimental cruelty," she declared, in her low and sonorous voice.
"I would think," the Devoronian snorted, "That you Jedi would have been in favor, considering what he did to some of your own. I was just re-reading the trial transcripts last night." He whistled, expressively. "Nasty son of a vetch. Pervert."
"We do not embrace revenge," the Tholothian Jedi told him, severely. She closed her eyes, ignoring the warden's dismissive stare. "And depriving a Force-user of his gift is slow mutilation. I would call that perverse sadism."
"Your opinion, master Jedi. But now we got a runaway on our hands, and how the hells are we gonna contain him this time? You ever think about that?"
Qui Gon skewered him with a harsh look and closed his eyes as well.
After a moment, the warden made a disgusted sound deep in his throat and shuffled away down the echoing corridor, boots clacking against the polished tile.
After a long period of silence in which the two Jedi stood, unmoving within the confines of Carthag's long-time home, Adi stirred. "He had an accomplice outside the prison," she said softly.
"I sense it too," Qui Gon agreed. "Expectation. Confidence. And concern for timing. Presumably, he had a prearranged rendezvous, most likely within the system. It would be paramount to rid himself of the stolen prison vehicle as quickly as possible."
"That narrows our search. But the local security forces have made no progress in tracking down the ship."
Qui Gon turned in a slow circle, surveying the smooth, unyielding stretch of reinforced durasteel. "We'll try the moon of Yarbel," he decided. "The spaceport there is a hub for non-incorporated passenger lines and Hutt controlled trade. He would know that a major spaceport would be subject to thorough search."
Adi agreed, silently. They stood another moment in the cold cell. "This was the wrong place to keep him, " she decided, heavily.
Her companion nodded gravely. "The Judiciary made what it felt was a prudent choice. But… this would drive any of us to madness. I can feel the Dark here."
"As can I. If Carthag has worsened, he may sacrifice his cover in favor of another killing spree. Force forbid that he harms innocents before we catch him."
Qui Gon could not have agreed more heartily.
Alepo Sator was not a cautious pilot, even by Jedi standards. He pushed the Agri-Corps tractor-trailer along the frostbitten landscape at a speed far in excess of safety limits; the repulsors whined and groaned as the heavy cargo boxes fixed behind the engine cab rattled and bumped over swells in the earth and uneven surfaces. The cab itself rumbled in dismay, since the botanist had insisted on exceeding the weight limit, insisting grouchily that he was only making one trip out to the reforestation site and the obstreperous machinery would simply have to deal with it.
In the passenger seat, Obi Wan made a conscious effort to follow this advice himself, deliberately unclenching his hands and releasing his anxieties into the Force. If they crashed, he would be better able to marshal its power to save himself from flying through the fragmented viewsheild if he were relaxed.
Am I making you nervous, lad?" Alepo chuckled, with a knowing twist of the mouth.
"No, sir." The speed was making him nervous, and the fact that he was not in control of this hurtling bucket of rusted bolts.
"You're killing me!" the horticultural expert snorted. "Don't you Jedi fly starships all over the place? Hm? And Master Jinn told me about that time you jumped off a three hundred meter high docking platform."
Obi Wan kept his focus on the far horizon. So Qui Gon had been swapping amusing tales with Alepo Sator, had he? It would appear his mentor suffered from early-onset senility. "Master was the one who jumped," he peevishly corrected the man. "I was pushed. By him. It was his idea of a special life-day gift."
This only earned him another round of wheezing laughter. "Builds character," Alepo chortled.
Builds acrophobia, the young Jedi amended mentally. He swatted away an insidious green tendril - one tugging coyly at the collar of his tunic.
Alepo Sator glanced sideways at the cab's third occupant, wedged firmly between the two seats. "You sure about that thing?' he asked, for the tenth time. "I thought you had taken a hankering to it."
"Master Jinn charged me with the preservation of its life," Obi Wan explained dryly. "And believe me, if I have to spend another night in its company, I can make no guarantees of its safety."
The botanist shrugged. "Suit yourself. There's plenty of room out on the ecopreserve. Just make sure it's settled near the established forest. More critters for it to eat, and the root system won't interfere with the newer seedlings."
"I'll make sure it's happy," the Padawan promised. "I think it's big enough to move out on its own."
"That takes longer'n you would think," the botanist advised him. "Fr'instance, how many standard years is your typical Jedi apprenticeship?"
"Oh…ah, ten. Sometimes more. Sometimes less."
The tractor skipped and rattled as they hit a stretch of uneven shale at the foothills' edge. Alepo cursed, adjusted the repulsors, and barreled forward up the jagged incline. Their convoy of cargo palettes banged and groaned behind them. Qui Gon's adoptee writhed its tentacles in distress, seizing Obi Wan's left wrist in a crushing precautionary grip. He yanked himself free.
"When are you goin' to move out on your own, then?" the botanist inquired, conversationally.
At eighteen? Nineteen? For the sake of humility, he widened that estimate. "When I'm twenty," he guessed.
Alepo Sator snorted disdainfully. "Twenty five and not a day before," he chuffed. "Believe me, lad."
The Padawan crossed his arms over his chest and busied himself studying the landscape. What did Alepo understand about the Jedi path, anyhow? On the other hand, this talk of leaving Qui Gon Jinn's tutelage left him with a distinctly bad feeling. He reached into the unifying Force, seeking for a glimpse of what that would mean, of how that…friendship? Dare he so name it? – would feel… but the shifting veils of the future did not part, nor even skim diaphanously over obscure forms. His premonition failed him, and he was left bemused, and annoyed. The cab bumped and lurched ever upward, ascending into the high reaches of the hills, where the restoration of Ord Ursolon's forests was well underway.
He swatted a creeping tendril away from his thigh, and braced himself against the console as Alepo brought their vehicle to a sudden, emphatic halt.
"Here we are," the horiculturalist grunted. "Enough chatter -time to get to work."