Chapter 21: This Captive Ouran: From A Certain Point Of View
[Emergency Medical Care, The Ouran]

"Adult human male, late fifties, caught in a bomb blast," Master Tholme rattled off as he helped push the floating stretcher into the theatre. Waiting for them was an assembly of Healers. Master Vokara Che, Chief Healer, rolled up her sleeves without a moment's hesitation, stepping up to the smouldering patient. She bent down to peer, her azure lekku bound behind her shoulders for the operation.

"How long?" she asked, gloved fingers probing at injuries.

"Less than ten minutes – Adi was right next to him."

Vokara nodded, continuing her surveying of the ravaged torso. Around her, the others began their work – checking the oxygen mask, prepping bandages and waste bins, some beginning to inspect other parts of his body.

"I've got extensive burns and lacerations here, wounds are full of shrapnel" Vokara called out, immediately being handed tweezers and some sort of scalpel. Those checking the rest of the injured man began also mentioning what they found, Vokara soaking up all the information.

"Right, shrapnel first. Caudle, standby to remove blood. Rig, you're on sealing. Sedate him now." In no time at all, her patient was prepared, his ruined top removed and Vokara began slowly excavating pieces from the many, many gashes. She worked slowly and delicately, taking care to assess each wound and check the damage, calling out what she found to be recorded for the next stage of surgery. This was going to be a long and rocky process.

Bultar's apartment was a modest abode consisting of a kitchen, bedroom, bathroom and not much else, some space for a couple other things. It was built into the basement of a modest four-story brick building – old neogothic, according to Kienyr, but Bultar had absolutely no idea what that actually meant. They had spent yesterday being taken around the city by Kienyr, getting a rundown of the local shops, landmarks and other points of interest. She had also gotten her first view of the Chevalier estate, perched on a low hill near the northern edge of the city centre. It was a handsome place – pale stone and columns and a very extensive set of gardens. They had stayed overnight at Kienyr's, before finally arriving at her new place of residence this morning. Twenty-eight hour days were a bit of an adjustment, but she'd get there. Suppressing a yawn, she plonked her bag down on the kitchen table and began unpacking.

"I've furnished the place already and the rent is covered by me," said Kienyr, checking his datapad. "Your interview is this afternoon, so no need to rush. I can't take you there, though, don't want to be recognised. It's about a half hour on the maglev. You ready?"

Bultar shrugged. She'd signed on for undercover work, but now that she was here, she wasn't sure if she was anxious or not. It was a simple mission, really. Get a job, find the broadcaster, report back. Maybe she had been expecting something more… risky?

"As I'll ever be, I suppose." She plucked out a top from her bag. It was a simple thing, really, a light blue short-sleeved garment with a shoulder pattern. Still. Would it feel odd to not wear her usual robes all the time? To not wear her lightsaber? She brushed the doubt aside like a cobweb. She'd make do, whatever life was like here.

Micah seemed somewhat at odds with what to do with himself, having awkwardly followed along in the tour and only making minimal conversation today. It wasn't often that her master was this unsure. If she were a betting woman, Bultar would hazard a guess that he was beginning to realise that their regular everyday was coming to an end. Heck, her apprenticeship was coming to an end. The first solo mission was a big step and heralded the beginning of the final stretch. Was it possible that he wasn't quite ready for that yet? Should she say something to him?

She saw him busying himself needlessly with crockery in her peripheral vision. She really hadn't thought to ask. Should she? Folding the top and chucking it onto a stack of clothes, she approached her master.

"Um… Master? You okay?"

Micah gave a small start, setting down a stack of plates he'd moved back and forth for the last few seconds.

"Oh, yes. Yes, I am, Bultar. Apologies, just been ruminating is all." Out of the corner of her eye, Bultar noticed Kienyr slip out of the room while Micah floundered. "Why do you ask?"

"You seem antsy, is all." She crossed her arms and leant against the table. Her not quite patented 'we both know something's up' pose. He was, however, spared from elaborating by his communicator beeping. Insistently. Without preamble, Micah swept it off his belt and read the message it displayed. An extremely deep line creased into being on his forehead as he did so.

"Oh dear. KIENYR!" He called the last towards the open front door. Kienyr's fair face poked around the doorway, his eyes big and inquisitive.

"Hmm? What's up?"

"There's been an attack on The Ouran, a bomb. A master is in surgery now and we're on high alert. I'm going to need to call in." Bultar's mouth fell open at Micah's words. A bomb? On The Ouran of all places? How?

Micah gave Bultar a quick hug around the shoulders, then sat down at the table, setting the device down upon it. Their talk would have to wait.

Adi, Zourvux, Healer Winna Di Yuni and a hologram of Micah watched the surgery from the observation room above the theatre, now four hours in. Obi-Wan and Siri had been told to remain outside and get some rest.

"I cannot stress enough how lucky Qui-Gon is that you were there to catch him, Master Gallia," Master Di Yuni summarised as she finished her report – a collection of all of Vokara's notes. Vokara herself was still at work below. Extraction had been completed - a tray of bloodied, metal shards in varying shapes and sizes sat on a table at the side of the theatre, being one by one scanned and bagged as evidence. Now, Vokara had begun the painstaking process of properly sowing up the openings and applying bacta to the burns and bruised flesh. In total, Qui-Gon had six shattered ribs, a cracked spine, over seventy cuts of varying depth, a punctured lung and a heavily bruised liver.

Despite all this, he was stable. Adi let out a breath, massaging her temples.

"Well, at least that's something. I'll take it. What do we know about the bomb?" She addressed her question to Micah.

"Not much, still got people going over the security recordings," he grunted. "We know it was a fairly uniform blast – likely factory made, not an IED. All the shrapnel looks like it was part of the catwalk, so not a frag. Det or thermal, maybe. Not plasma, not with such low burns. That's it." He shrugged, hands in his pockets.

"Xanatos prefers the personal touch, especially with his talent," Adi replied, "Nobody on Melida/Daan is in any position to get here so soon… New Apsolon's still got the Absolutes leaders locked up." She drummed her fingers for a bit, thinking. "Bando Gora's got no presence near here either. Did we do anything to kick the Hutt hive lately?"

"Not that I can think of," Zourvux said with a shake of the head, then stopped. "Wait, Qui-Gon was on Troiken – so were you and your Padawans, for that matter. Black Sun, Hutt Cartel… a lot of dangerous people were involved in Stark's cabal. They probably wouldn't be too happy about your role in breaking it up."

Adi's eyes widened. It made sense; a starting point.

"Better contact the others involved in that and tell them to look out then. Could be wrong, but I'd rather not take a chance." Micah stroked his chin as he listened.

"Either way, we need to find who did this quickly – can't let them slip away."

"Agreed, but first, I need to go tell Obi-Wan that Qui-Gon's stable." With that, Adi left them to confer amongst themselves.

Obi-Wan sat on the floor, back to the wall, by the door. His head was angled down, hands clutching his scalp. Oh, shaking too. The memory played over and over again in his mind's eye. The moment of horror as Qui-Gon had disappeared in fire and smoke, Obi-Wan himself flung back by a push from his master. The rending metal wrenching free, pieces flying everywhere. So much detail in less than a second – too much, too fast. It was so vivid in his head, but he just couldn't for the life of him pick out anything useful. Such a blur. And then Master Gallia had been leaning over the railing, hand outstretched, holding up the mangled form from falling any further with The Force. And now he and Siri were waiting out here for news.

She sat opposite him, the thin red line on her cheek, where a nasty cut had been, her only injury. Obi-Wan himself had taken something long and thin to the shoulder, but both Padawans had been patched up by the healers. Minor wounds, nothing serious. How close had it been? How long had they been sitting under that bomb? Was it timed or triggered? It had been so close to sending the pair plummeting to their premature deaths. Nothing they would have been able to do but scream. He gave a shiver. Or more accurately, a more pronounced shiver than his other shakes.

Would that have been preferable? He didn't know. Himself for his master? Possibly, but not Siri too. Who could have done this? Who could have smuggled themselves aboard The Ouran, evaded sight and sense to plant some sort of bomb? It was their home – their sanctuary. The Ouran was… had been safe. A place to rest, recuperate and slowly rebuild the ties he'd shattered last year. He couldn't sense Qui-Gon's state. Their bond had been broken with Obi-Wan's betrayal and had yet to reforge. The boy had absolutely no idea whether Qui-Gon was alive or dead. What if he never saw Qui-Gon again? Was his master forever lost to him? So much still remained unspoken betw-

His morbid reverie was interrupted by the hissing of the door next to him. Out stepped Master Gallia, shutting the door quietly behind her. She turned to regard the pair.

"He's stabilised for now. He's not out of the woods yet, but he is alive." She let out a breath, in unison with the Padawans. "We're investigating – get some actual rest. It'll be good for you." With that, she plodded down the hall and out of sight. Obi-Wan didn't move, just stayed staring downwards. He was prevented from delving deep into more depressing contemplation by a rustling sound, however.

Siri had gotten up. She quickly closed the distance and turned to slide down the wall and plop herself next to him. All of a sudden, he felt a slight contact from that side and across his shoulders. She was leaning against him, her arms around him. It didn't do much for the shell-shocked boy, but it was better than nothing. Desperate for any form of lifeline, he let himself lean against her in turn, his head tilting to rest on her shoulders.

Before he realised it, his tears came. Thick and fast and with a helping of, in his opinion, insufferable whining. For whatever reason, though, it didn't seem to really bother Siri. She held him tightly to her with her arm, letting him stain her tunic's shoulder. He… could sense something, an impulse, a feeling. It wasn't his. Some sort of warm, rhythmic heartbeat, maybe? Whatever it was, it was gentle, reassuring. Obi-Wan felt his eyes drooping. He was asleep before he knew it. Both of them were.

[Training Decks]

"Very good, very good indeed, Bruck!"

Bruck was sweaty, exhausted, but for the first time in a long time, overflowing with satisfaction. This stranger had done wonders for him, their teaching style very effective. He had no idea whatsoever who his mysterious saviour was, but he liked them.

"Shall we take a break?" Asked the stranger, standing up straight and returning their lightsaber to their belt. Bruck only nodded, wiping the perspiration from his brow and slicking back his fluffy white hair. The stranger led him over to a side bench and offered a water bottle. "So, your master, Master Solusar was it? I've heard of him, but never met him. Why have the two of you been having such problems, do you know?" Bruck sat, drinking at first, before unscrewing the top and just pouring the contents over his burning head. So good. So cooling.

"Well, he's… kind of a crochety old bastard, really," he began, "Like, yes, he's a famous and brave master. And yes, he's infamously impressive and booming and so on. But he's honestly- ahhh, that's so good- he just doesn't listen to me. Ever." As he spoke, his face sagged slightly into a frown. "Everything's always wrong with him, always negative. He just… won't tell me how to do things right, he only bashes me when I get it wrong." The stranger regarded Bruck sagely, before speaking again.

"Hmm. Odd. It sounds to me like he doesn't want to teach." A stroke of the chin accompanied the remark. Bruck gave a bitter laugh.

"Wouldn't surprise me – like, what, does he expect me to teach myself everything? We're supposed to have a bond by now… and we don't. Can't sense each other for shit. He could be literally on fire right now and I wouldn't know."

"That's… awful," replied the stranger, bug-eyed. "I've seen some bad master/apprentice relationships in my time, but this might actually take the cake." They scratched their chin, thinking. "And what about your friends? Can't any of them help you?"

The Echani gave a small start.

"Um… not really. I don't really-" He coughed. "-have any." The stranger cocked their head sideways, brow furrowing.

"Really? None at all?"

"Well… I mean. Some people sort of hang out with me, but-" He broke off, unable to finish. Understanding broke on the stranger's face.

"Ah, you don't feel you fit in?"

"Not really," Bruck replied, shaking his head and taking another sip of the much-depleted water. "Besides, two of them basically wanna go jump in bed together but can't admit it yet." He gave a flush.

"So, in conclusion," said the stranger, tenting their fingers. "Your master does not understand you, you're not really part of the group with your friends and your training is going so badly you face dismissal. Quite a pickle, that." The stranger made a show of suspense, face visibly lost in thought, jutting teeth and occasionally twitching their mouth to make various frowns. They were waiting for something, but what? Bruck to ask their opinion?

"Um. So what do you think I should do? If I may ask." Bruck asked, taking care so as to not sound too demanding in his tone of voice. Maybe just a little bit needy. Slightly. A little.

"Well, to be perfectly honest, I can only recommend severing your connection with The Order." It was a blunt reply and somewhat harsh to swallow. But at the same time, it seemed almost like the most honest thing this stranger could say. Regardless, the words hit Bruck like a cargo freighter.

"What?! I- I can't do that!"

"Why not?" Replied the stranger, adding a quizzical raised eyebrow. "You've said you have no real connection to anyone here. Why stay? Inside The Order, you face only impending failure and a life of lonely bitterness. Outside… an ex-Jedi, even an ex-Padawan, is a fairly lucrative position to be in. Just don't shoot your mouth off about it too much, lest you be constantly beset by sycophants and assassins." Bruck tried not to think about the possibility. He really did. Bu~uut…

"I. I can't," he insisted, "this is my home. I belong here."

"Do you? What's keeping you? From what you've told me, nothing." Bruck almost visibly squirmed in the face of that question. It begged responses that he wasn't entirely sure he was comfortable admitting to anyone – much less a stranger. Even one so pleasant and helpful. Oh wait, stranger is waiting for an answer. Shit.

"Look, I… no offence, but can I just not answer that right now?" The stranger looked puzzled, but nodded politely. "Just, even if, for the sake of argument, I did want to leave, where would I go?"

"Well, you could go back to Telos," said the stranger, "Very profitable place to live, lots of opportunities. I imagine your parents would also be happy to see you-" In spite of his best efforts, Bruck flinched at the mention. The stranger noticed and stopped. They looked intently at Bruck for a moment, hands unclasping to allow one up to stroke their chin, as if unsure to ask the leading question. Eventually, "Touchy subject?"

The boy pursed his lips, not entirely sure what to say. He supposed, on balance, he was more comfortable sharing this than… other things.

"I guess I'm." He paused, wetting his lips. "Afraid. Of what they'd say. What they'd think." The stranger folded their hands, realisation blooming.

"You don't want them to be disappointed. I see. Well, surely once they see how well you do outside The Order, that won't be an issue?"

"Hmm. Maybe."

With a small smile, the stranger tilted their head askance for what seemed like the fiftieth time since he'd met them.

"Does that mean you'll think about it?" There was something so warm and so inviting about this stranger. Bruck felt rather comfortable around them. But even so.

"I- I don't…" He sighed. "I need time to think." Oddly, the stranger seemed neither perturbed nor surprised by Bruck's words. On the contrary, they nodded vigorously and stood up, folding their hands behind their back.

"Not a problem, not a problem at all. I have errands to run as it is. Would you be interested in talking later?" They offered a hand. Relieved, Bruck took it, shaking with earnest.

[Emergency Medical Care]

Adi plodded down the hall, following the sense of her Padawan. It had been an hour or so and she'd realised she could sense Siri exactly where she'd left her. So here she was, retracing her steps with a blanket slung over her shoulder. Based on the slow, rhythmic beat of their connection, she was fairly certain Siri was asleep.

At last, she came to them. Huddled up together against the wall, Obi-Wan's head resting on Siri's shoulder. Both were indeed fast asleep. Adi was tempted to nudge them awake and tell them to go back to their rooms before Master Windu found them and gave them a lecture. Instead, she unfurled the blanket, draping it over the pair.

She stood watching them for a moment, the two bundling just a little closer under Adi's gift. Her expression softened some. She was unwilling to break the moment but was acutely aware of things that needed doing. Savouring the last of the peace, Adi closed her eyes.

Shortly thereafter she opened them again. Time to get going. Quietly, she turned and began walking away. Let them rest, just for a while. They really did need it. Not her, though. She had a bomber to catch.

Master Yoda was waiting on one of the terrace platforms in the Room Of A Thousand Fountains. He gazed almost reverently over the garden below, feet planted evenly in the grass. Zourvux couldn't help but smile watching him. The trickle of the tiny stream beside his perch as it fell into one on the level below was the only sound, save for the background rustle of foliage and insects that accompanied all gardens. The wizened but limber old master's ears perked just the smallest amount as she approached. She wondered if he was hearing her black dress rustle against the ground.

"Zourvux. Delighted to see you, I am." He spoke only very softly, turning his head a fraction.

"You did ask to see me," she chuckled warmly. Coming up beside him, she admired the view as he did. It really was a lovely place. Even with the twisted metal remains of the bridge from above.

"Indeed. The Younglings and Padawans are settled, yes?" He properly looked at her now, bulbous eyes finding hers.

"Yes, they are." Zourvux sighed, sitting herself down on the lip of the terrace, head near enough level with his. She let her legs dangle over the side, black and sanguine cloth fluttering. "But that is not why you wanted to speak."

Yoda nodded, scrutinising her beige face. A fond smile adorned him. "Always such a good student, you were. Observant and keen to understand, you were. Served you well as a historian, it has. Yes, other things I wished to speak to you of. Curious, I have become. A private person, you have always been, but of late, concern I must express." Zourvux's tattoos crinkled ever so slightly, following her cheeks in an almost understanding frown. Her carefree swaying ceased. Yoda was not finished, however. "Forgive me the intrusion but… almost secretive you have become of late. Anything that you would like to talk to me about, there is?"

Zourvux gave a small, throaty murmur. She stood up, dress billowing, and folded her arms behind her back. She took another moment to regard the waterfall at the back of the room. Then, she spoke.

"Master Yoda… if I asked you to trust me, to place your faith in me as I would you. Would you?" She looked down at him in earnest. Yoda did not so much as blink.

"Yes. Yes, I would."

"Then will you please trust that I have my reasons, but cannot tell you? Not yet. One day, I hope, I will. But for now, I must not." Yoda seemed rather surprised at her answer, but nevertheless nodded.

"Very well. My trust you have and have always had. Open to you, my ear shall remain nevertheless." He gave one of his little chirruping giggles. "A curious one, you have always been. Surround yourself with academia, you have for your entire life. And yet, when the time came, in many ways, more at home in battle and at war, you were. More so than anyone would expect. It marked you, called you, think I – as it did certain others of our Order's history. Reflected in your tattoos even, it was." Zourvux nodded.

"I always wondered why I chose them." Idly, she touched fingers to one of her two horizontal stripes as she spoke. "But… in hindsight, I suppose it was always more obvious."

"Warpaint," Yoda finished. "But talked enough of the macabre, we have. Walk with me, would you?" He gestured along the path of the stream, which ran across the terrace, under a little crescent footbridge and to its own tributary waterfall. Warmly, Zourvux knelt and held out her arm.

"Always. And I know what you're really after, you lazy old man, you."

Yoda seemed almost affronted at the accusation.

"Master Yoda? Lazy? Certainly not, he is." His smile turned playful. "But offering, if you are…" He scampered up her awaiting forearm and perched on her red-cloaked shoulder. Zourvux snorted.

"I am far too old to be fooled by the likes of you." She set off, slowly, swiping a shuura from where it hung on a tree as she passed it. Three, two, one…

"Old? Speak not to me of your age, Zourvux. Old I am, and was when but a child were you. When eight hundred years reach you do, speak to me of age, you may." It started as a chuckle. Then it was a laugh. And then Master Zourvux Reivzx, Keeper Of First Knowledge, openly guffawed, Yoda swaying on her shoulder. His hand reached across behind her head to get a firm grip on her other shoulder. Instead, he found her scarlet hood. Chuckling along with her, he yanked it up over her head. For a time, two old friends could just forget the pains of the day and just laugh together.

"I needed this." Zourvux glowed as she pulled the hood back down and ruffled her short fluffball of hair. She passed the shuura up to Yoda and plucked another for herself. The two munched in comfortable silence, basking in both the fruity flavour and the sounds of the Room Of A Thousand Fountains. Eventually, Zourvux's slow walk led to the footbridge. A lovely spot to lean against the railing and watch the stream just below.

No sooner had she placed a foot upon the first wooden panel, however, did she hesitate. It was just a feeling, but… she felt Yoda's feet stiffen against her collarbone.

"Something's wrong," she muttered. With widened eyes, she realised and dived into a roll.

BOOM.

She was up in seconds; Yoda too. Experience from what felt like a lifetime ago kicked in and her eyes snapped around, joined by her and Yoda's presence extending. Her eyes found it first.

There. Across the smoking ruin of the bridge, just by the little waterfall that fed the stream. A figure dressed in a hooded cloak. It was leaving. Wasting no time, Zourvux followed, leaving Yoda behind, hot on the tails of her quarry. Into a corridor, around corners and through doors, up and down stairs – all the time just catching a glimpse of the cloak's tail. She knew these halls like the back of her hand; and so must this bomber to be keeping ahead of her. In the back of her mind, she could feel it, each and every time she just missed them. Familiarity. She knew this person – or at least had known them.

She rounded another corner and found a beeping ball flying back at her. Reacting at once, she pushed out with her hand, sending it skittering the other way. She threw herself away from the blast, landing well and looking over her shoulder. A surge of water. Still kneeling, she threw her hand out again. As if glass had suddenly come between them, the wave stopped, sloshing back away. Rising to her feet, Zourvux saw the now-breached reservoir through the gaping hole the bomb had left in the wall. The bomber was long gone.

Siri jerked awake to the sound of klaxons. The lights of the passage were deep red. Then came the PA.

"… to their quarters. I repeat, this is not a drill. All hands - the Ouran is now in a State of Alert. This is not a drill. All Younglings and Padawans are to return to their quarters. I repeat, this is not a drill. All hands - The Ouran is now…"

What the- She blinked. She was covered in a blanket. It was comfy. Her hands felt the material in curiosity.

"Master?" she wondered aloud. Beside her, Obi was stirring.

"Mnn… hfff. Fivemoreminutes." Siri resisted the urge to roll her eyes and gave him a little shake.

"Hey. Obi. We need to get going. Something's happened." It was difficult, but she managed to haul him to his feet. Wordlessly, she guided him along the halls, up a turbolift and to the senior Padawans' quarters. Bant was waiting in the common room, stood aside from the rather noisy crowd. Apparently K'Kruhk had seen fit to organise an impromptu dejarik tournament as a distraction.

"Siri? How's he doing?" She peered worriedly at him. Siri shook her head.

"Give it some time, Bant, okay? Tell Reeft and Garen, would you?" She led Obi past without waiting for an answer, bringing him into his room. It was clean, but festooned with trinkets. Souvenirs from missions. The most recent additions being a dead Challat Eater in a glass jar and a holopic of Obi in a group photo with what looked like some sort of teenage militia, judging by the bandoliers and heavy weaponry. A young red-headed woman was awfully close to Obi in it. Siri hid her immediately developing frown and sat Obi down on his bed.

"Oh Obi," she patted his pale cheek. "You didn't deserve this, did you?" It sounded cheap to her as it left her mouth. Sitting next to him, she kept her arm around him. They were very close.

They were very close.

They were very close. Siri no. Her thumb began to slowly stroke against his cheek. He was leaning into it, eyes slipping closed. A small little grunt left his throat. Siri maybe… His breath was tickling her with a smell she wasn't wholly appreciative of. Still. His forehead felt softer than she'd have thought. Wait, forehead? Oh. Their heads were leant together, noses side to side. His eyes opened again, meeting hers. Blue irises met blue; bright sky to her midnight.

… Siri yes?

Hesitantly, her lips touched to his.

Siri very yes.