Chapter 22: This Captive Ouran: The Mysterious Stranger

[Padawans' Quarters]

Bruck was late to arrive, but far from the last. He had been left with a lot to think about. To extend his time to think, he had taken a slow, meandering, leisurely route back to the common room. He was just in time to witness K'Kruhk claim his fifteenth victory at the dejarik board. Xiaan growled in frustration, but nevertheless handed over the wager – a small credstick, no more than loose change. The merry Whiphid nonetheless punched a hole in it with a tusk and proceeded to add it to his string of trophies he had threaded together. He looked around, an inviting smile plastered on his face.

"Who's next? Bruck?"

Bruck scoffed. "Do I look that stupid?" he sent back, leaning against the wall and surveying the scene. It was one of distracted fun. He knew most of them by name, but only Bant personally. She sat with Garen Muln, another friend of the oaf's, idly chatting over drinks as they watched K'Kruhk's devastation. The Tusken, A'Sharad, was sitting just behind Xiaan with his feet up and quite possibly asleep. Everyone, really, seemed well at ease – from the dorky Pablo-Jill to Reeft, that other friend of- Bruck could not help but notice, however, that two people in particular were missing. Sure, they weren't the only ones. There were others either in their rooms or presumably not yet arrived, but even so…

Bruck jerked his head when he realised he was being spoken to. He had completely failed to notice Bant now stood in front of him

"S-sorry, what?"

The Mon Calamari swallowed and asked again. "Your… issue. Did you work it out in the end?" And there she was again with those big inquisitive eyes.

"I… sorta. I guess." Awkwardly, he stuffed his hands in his pockets, boot scraping the floor. "Have, um, you haven't seen Oafy, have you?" Bant tilted her head at his words. That was an odd look she was giving him.

"He uh, he's with Siri. In his room. He looks pretty torn up though." It was Bruck's turn to look confused. Very confused.

"Wait, what? Why?"

"You didn't hear? Someone bombed the Room Of A Thousand Fountains. Master Jinn's in the infirmary!" Bruck's mouth flopped open.

"He- Fuck." Right then, his own woes seemed almost trivial. A light nuisance. "Is he going to be okay? Did anyone else get hurt." Bant sadly shrugged listlessly at his words.

"Don't know – haven't had word. But it's just him, apart from-" she glanced towards Obi-Wan's door. "They were right on top of it. It could have killed them or at least seriously hurt them. And they saw it all." Bruck's eyes widened the more Bant spoke.

"H-he saw the whole- fuuuck." Hissing, he summoned a spare drink from the counter. Yanking the pin, he cracked it open. Probably more vigorous than was strictly necessary. After a nervous couple of sips, he tried to get his reeling mind in order. Here he was, whining all about how shit he was while Oafy had to deal with a real problem. He really was worth- And Bant was speaking again.

"What's wrong?" she asked, studying him carefully. "You look like you just got hit by a mag-lev."

"Er, nothing, Bant." He downed his drink, warily. "I'm just shocked is all. I mean, a bomb? Here, of all places? Who could do that? That's insane!"

Just then, his eye caught Obi-Wan's door sliding open. Siri stepped out first, leading Obi-Wan by… by the hand. Bruck tried. He really did. But his eyes were glued to the scene, zeroing in on Obi-Wan raising the fingers of his spare hand up to his lips. Bruck stood, thunderstruck, watching in what seemed like slow motion as those fingertips lightly touched. The Echani's eyes drifted to Siri. Sanguine cheeks betrayed her mask of discipline, and the rest was written all over their faces.

Two plus two equals four.

Bruck's gaze was diverted by a crinkling sound. Looking down, he found the crumpled can sitting loosely in his grip, compressed by a strength no Echani hand possessed. Bant seemed stunned by it too. Her gaze panned up to Bruck's face, quizzical and askance. Then she turned, following his gaze – to the couple by the door. Then her head snapped back to the albino, an inkling -perhaps more- in her eyes. But Bruck was already shuffling past her, mumbling an excuse.

"Bruck?" Her tone was clear. Understanding was dawning, but the question still stood. He stopped short, rigidly remaining away from her. Slowly, his head turned, giving her a side profile. He smiled. It was a sad smile.

"I was stupid." His voice was steeped in resignation. He'd never had a particularly deep voice and right now it was as high as it had ever been; it was pure forlorn soprano. "So stupid." A single tear swept down from his ice-blue eye.

And then he was gone.

[Primary Operations Room]

The shattered fragments of the device lay on the holotable, annotations and analyses flashing up all around it. Zourvux lay her arms on the side and rested her chin atop to get a good up-close view. It was much like the first bomb, a uniform factory-make.

"And you're certain your systems haven't picked up anyone, Brig?" She asked aloud to the room.

"Nobody identifiable," the monotone voice answered. "Details of the suspect are stored, but are of little use. Humanoid, hooded cloak, no distinct features, vitals or biological cues. It is as if there is a hole in my sensory data that cannot extend past the garment." An extra-deep line creased onto Zourvux's face.

"How is that possible?"

"Unknown. Presumed sabotage, but repeated diagnostics yield zero sensory faults. Short of disassembling my entire structure manually, it may be impossible to determine if such functions have been compromised or not. However, diagnostics have found multiple minor to moderate system breaches and faults affecting some twenty-one point eight five six percent of the Ouran's systems." Zourvux tilted her head.

"What kind of problems?"

"Malfunctioning doors, timetabling errors, lighting problems and numerous other inconveniences. All malfunctions are not serious, but have already contributed to sustained disruption of the Jedi Order's efficiency aboard the Ouran since they began to emerge three standard hours ago. Master Daroon and the maintenance division are attempting to resolve the situation." The galaxy-worn master rose to her feet with a groan. As if they didn't have enough problems at the moment.

"A smoke bomb. Wonderful." She pressed both hands into the small of her back and briefly stretched. "Whoever we're up against, we can narrow our suspect list with capabilities like these."

There was a sudden clatter. Tahl, of all people, bundled into the room, her face aghast, blank eyes wide. She tripped on a loose panel and held fast to the table, directing her unseeing gaze at Zourvux.

"Qui-Gon!" she blurted. "I-I just heard! Where is he?"

Stunned, Zourvux blinked several times. "Tahl? I- he- what are you doing here?"

The agitated woman gripped Zourvux hard at each shoulder, desperation in her every syllable. "Where's Qui-Gon?!"

Zourvux, still trying to wrap her mind around Tahl finally stepping out of the archives, took each hand and prised them off. "Tahl. Slow down. Take a breath." Tahl would not be assuaged so easily, stammering and trembling in equal measure. She did let Zourvux guide her to a seat, though. Setting the blind Noorian down, the slightly older woman gave a small sigh and straightened up, hands clasped. "Qui-Gon is alive, but in no fit state for visitors. Vokara expects him to recover, but it will be delicate."

The Noorian let a breath out, fingers clenching the side of the table. Whatever she'd been dreading, it wasn't that bad. Lip chewing, she composed herself, visibly suppressing the blind panic she'd come in with.

"What can I do, then?"

Zourvux massaged a temple at Tahl's reply. Oh this wasn't going to be fun…

"What you can do, Tahl, is let us do our jobs. Please – you are far too close to Qui-Gon to even begin to investigate this."

"But I can help," she came right back, mahogany skin positively shining with vigour. "I-I can make suspect lists, cross-reference what we know-"

Zourvux held up a hand to stop her, before kneeling down and taking both of Tahl's hands, carefully. Yellowed sand over dark.

"I cannot quite believe I am asking you to do this, but please go back to the archives. Find a text to decipher or a cold case to solve. Or better yet, go talk to Bant – you know you owe her an explanation still. Just please go and do something not involved in this."

Tahl didn't seem to think much of this idea at all. However, recognising the subtle tone in the Keeper of First Knowledge's voice, she swallowed her pride. It was difficult and scraped her throat on the way down, like a pebble, but she managed it.

"If… you insist. How soon can I see Qui-G-"

"Sir!" 2JTJ, Tahl's short, stocky personal assistance droid, sailed into the room. "There you are! I really must insist you deviate from your present course – Master Reivzx has far too much to deal wi- oh, good day, Master Reivzx! Apologies for the interruption." She drew up to a halt, sensor focussing on the scene.

"Not a problem, 2J," Zourvux said, standing and releasing Tahl.

"I did try to tell her that there was no need to worry. How is Master Jinn? Is he recovering?"

She nodded. "He's weak, but slowly, yes. Now, I think Tahl will be needing your help back in the archives."

"Indeed." Tahl stood up as well. "Thank you, Zourvux. If you do need anything, you know where to find me."

The Mirialan offered a wry smile, nose wrinkling.

"Not to be too tactless, but it would probably be advisable to take advantage of being up and around to have a shower first, though."

[Hangar Deck]

No sooner had Stass set foot on the hangar deck than she felt the shift. All was not well aboard the Ouran. The atmosphere was tense. The usual air of muffled activity and warmth was gone. In its place sat a suffocating silence, that was settled over everything. It was anxious, tense, there was no remnant of the old, familiar welcoming embrace that she had come to find.

"What the-" muttered Agen, behind her, head looking around as he too felt it.

"I know," said Stass. What had happened to their home? Was it her imagination, or was it cold in here? She bundled her cloak around her to cover up any shivers.

Coleman poked his bony head out between them. "Hmm. Hangar control did say there had been an incident. It must be quite serious. Let's get us along and out of this hangar. It seems that there's going to be much for us to get brought up to speed on." He ushered the pair forwards.

After no more than a couple of paces, Stass caught sight of Agen's forearm down beside her. It was covered in goose bumps, every hair up on its end. No sooner had she seen it, did she feel much the same on her own skin. Tiny, stiff bobbles perked up. She could have sworn a small gust went past her back.

The halls were deserted and quiet. Usually sparsely populated and carrying a general murmur of peaceful activity, the passageways of the Ouran now lay deathly still, the tranquillity shattered. Where had all the people gone? The four of them meandered through the still paths, the only sound their echoing footsteps. Gone was the gentle sense of comfort that usually permeated the place. On and on they trod, with no sign of anybody living or droid. After what felt like an age, they reached a junction that would take the Padawans one way and the adults the other.

Turning to the teens, Norcuna spoke quietly and quickly. "I think we are going to need to be briefed. Stay in the common room, keep safe." After a mutual nod, they parted. With just the two of them now, the atmosphere seemed all the more eerie – hostile, even.

As Stass rounded another corner, she had to hop back to make way for a blue and white blur that almost bowled her over. Blinking in puzzlement, she glanced down the hall the shape had disappeared down.
"Who was that?" she asked aloud, mind tugging to put the pieces of semi-familiarity in place. "He's a padawan, right…? I think he knows Adi's." Suppressing the inherent twitch, she glanced questioningly at Agen for input.

The Zabrak was himself staring as well. "I think his name is Bruck. Talked to him one time. Nice guy."

When they came to it, the common room was significantly more active. Idle chattering between students – and the sound of a merry Whiphid claiming yet another credstick for his tally. A thunk of punctured metal followed by a jangle. Then K'Kruhk looked up at the two new arrivals.

"You are back!" He beamed, great cavernous maw splitting wide. The Mon Calamari girl he'd been playing ducked for cover. Stass wondered briefly why. Her attention was immediately diverted however, by the sheer charismatic weight of her friend. "Do you need to see one of the specialists? Either of you hurt? Was Teth at least nice?" Feeling somewhat overborne, Stass let him ring her hand in his.

"Uh. We're… fine, K'Kruhk," she mumbled, barely registering him releasing her and proceeding to terrorise Agen with kindness next. The boy took it more elegantly. A deft brushing aside, a thanks, and he was half way to the kitchen section. Left with just one (1) Tholothian girl (condition: damaged, handle with care), K'Kruhk rebounded at the speed of light. He turned back to her, clapping her by the shoulder with enough force to knock over a cart tegranah.

"Apologies, apologies. You don't need my fawning – what you need it my friendship and a good distraction!"

Slightly infected, Stass couldn't help but affix him with a knowing look, almost smug. "Do you seriously think I am dumb enough to sit down and get ripped apart by you at this table?"

He sent her knowing look right back. "Certainly not! I propose a fair game. You. Me. One kitchen."

"That… K'Kruhk, you can't cook."

"I know. And neither can you."

And in but a second, she felt like normal again. Snapping back like elastic. "Agen's gonna disown us both and you are fucking on!"

Looping their arms together like partners in crime, the pair approached the culinary station. Obliviously, Agen chopped away at a jandarra, efficiently segmenting it into even, neat slices. As he slid them into a bubbling pan, he caught sight of Stass, then K'Kruhk. Almost instantly, a resigned expression broke onto his face. And just a dash of suspicion.

"What? What have you done?"

"It's not what we've done, it's what we're about to do…" Stass was positively malicious, her violet irises glinting. "We need ourselves a culinary judge."

"We?" Agen looked between the two, as if hoping there may be more than just the two, hidden by K'Kruhk's furry bulk. There was no such fortune for him.

"Yes. Me and K'Kruhk will be having a little contest and you're such an excellent chef that surely nobody else could possibly be fit." She put on the more formal voice primarily for sport. It wasn't quite her calling card, but she used it enough for it to be a sure sign of fun inbound.

Wordlessly, Agen returned to his own cooking, occasionally shooting a glance at either the Tholothian or the Whiphid as the duo set to work on what they liberally dubbed 'cuisine'.

It started harmless enough – choosing ingredients, peeling, chopping, the idiot-proof stuff. Things even they couldn't possibly get wrong. And then, when the poor boy had been almost lulled into a false sense of security, Stass dumped her messily diced shuura into a frying pan of melting dewback cheese. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Agen blink rather confusedly. Next, she added strips of nerf-bacon and began frying the assembly. Her victim friend gave a little cough.

To Stass's right, K'Kruhk had started loading cubes of what had been some sort of bivalve into the magnetic blender. He followed up with whole gizka ribs and then some slices of some other meat she wasn't too familiar with. It was like a whisper – a sound at the edge of hearing. But there it was, nonetheless. Stass worked to stifle her giggle as she sensed the ripple emanating from Agen. K'Kruhk's thick finger hovered over the button to start blending. The little pulse from Agen grew in the back of Stass's consciousness, inflating in anticipation and dread. A bulge that may as well have been 'please no'.

The finger jabbed the button. A low, dull, wobbling sigh emanated from the machine. Almost like a perverse music. Immediately, the contents of the mixer splattered and crunched and dissolved into a thick, chunky goo. Many-coloured streaks swirling around every now and then before slowly melding in with the rest.

The liquid mix was swiftly slathered into a pan, quickly bubbling. K'Kruhk was not done with his affront to taste, however, dropping Iriaz steaks in to fry in the… sauce? Agen's eyes bulged behind the enormous fluffy mass as he went about his cooking.

"… You are hurting me."

[The Room Of A Thousand Fountains]

A short flash of viridian. A tinker, an adjustment. Then a flash of light again. A wiggle, and then another burst. Reaching out to feel, then tweaking to relax. Bant worked away, servicing her weapon. It wasn't terribly impressive like a standard lightsaber. The blade of her lightknife was only a hands' length – granted, Mon Calamari have rather large hands by proportion. It was, however, practical to her. She tested it on a strand of kelp floating up from the bottom of the pool. Severed it with ease. Good.

Inflating her swim bladder, Bant rocketed to the surface, breaking it and used her finned digits to propel herself into a swooping jump from the plunge pool. A torrent of water came with her, much to the consternation of the young man waiting for her.

"Really Bant, are you trying to short out my sabre?" Obi-Wan asked indignantly. "Not all of us have made the aquatic modifications, you know." He bundled his robes around himself, checking to see if he had been splashed anywhere.

The all-clear had been given no less than an hour ago, though with advice to not wander too far and to please avoid the Room of a Thousand Fountains.

"It's not a hard mod, you know." She gave a stretch. "Pretty useful to have."

Obi-Wan chuckled. "Yes, it is, but it does also turn it into what may as well be an energised club above the water. So slow to cut and-" He made a dive for cover as he saw Bant flopping backwards into the water again. "Warning, maybe please?"

Bant left him to sulk, doing a few laps. Eventually, she felt she could put off the small troupe of whales in the room no longer and swam to the rim of the pool. Perching herself on her thick forearms, she gazed up at him. "You want to know why I'm here, don't you?"

"Somewhat," he agreed, sitting cross-legged on a dry patch of the soft green grass. "I understand that you want to talk to me – I sensed you calling out in The Force. But why here?" He gestured around, most pointedly to the cordoned off and mangled remnants of the service bridge in the centre of the cavern.

Bant rolled her head – a Mon Calamari reflex – and firmly looked at him. "Because I refuse to be driven away out of fear. This is our home, not somebody's stage to herd us around on."

Obi-Wan gave her a smile that crinkled his eyes. "Bant, have I ever told you that you are far more a Jedi already than I shall be in ten years' time?"

She trilled, idly waving her floating legs behind her. "Oh please. Abandoned, picked up out of pity, and still not doing very well. There's no need to flatter me."

"Nonsense!" He took one of her webbed hands in his. "If you do not become a knight, it shall be to the eternal shame of The Order." Bant made to pull away but he continued. "You kicked me into talking. You sent me to therapy. You knew something was wrong and didn't let me bluster my way out of it. I shall hear no more of this twaddle, Bant."

"Hmph! This little meeting is not about me, Obi-Wan. It is about you."

He released her hand. "Alright then. What did you want me here for then?"

The salmon-coloured alien bobbed back out into the water, lazy in her slow, spirals of motion. She let the feeling of the current slide along her, immersing her, before she spoke. "Siri has kissed you."

The boy blinked. "…Yes. Yes, she has."

"And you enjoyed it?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Um, yes."

"Would do it again?"

"Yes? What are you getting at?"

Bant made a twisting turn in the water to face him. "Then why are you just this big blob of negativity? I can feel it rolling off you."

He gave no answer, looking down at the grass. She did not let up.

"Qui-Gon is going to be fine. You know this, you can sense it – as I can through you – without need for medical confirmation. You have finally managed to exchange fluids between a significant other of your species via the face, as is part of the typical mating ritual for most humanoids to my understanding. In spite of the sheer blindness the two of you tend to display, I might add. Yet Siri is unhappy. I sense it as clearly as you do. You too, are also unhappy. You were happy when it happened and right after, but then you weren't. Please tell me what the matter is."

The boy gazed somewhat sadly at her. "I suppose… I am afraid." She made as if to say something, but stopped, letting him talk. "I have no idea what I'm doing. I am, emotionally, a coward. I wouldn't know how to make someone happy if I tried."

With a slosh, Bant pulled herself out of the water again, dripping trails from her slimy epidermis. "And yet you did."

He had no answer to that.

"Maybe you should try kissing her next time and see how that goes?" She began towelling herself off – though not too thoroughly lest she demoisturise, which was never pleasant. "Smashball is in your half now. But, I did want to talk about one other thing."

"Oh?" Obi-Wan brightened up, eager to get off the topic of his love life.

"Bruck."

The boy frowned, confused. "Bruck? We haven't seen each other since the fight."

Bant made a sighing sound from out of her gills. "No, but Bruck has certainly seen you. I have no wish to betray confidences, so I shan't, but you really must spe-"

SSSSKEEEEEERRRRRRRUUUUUUNCH!

Zourvux swayed dangerously. The entire section swayed dangerously. Up until that moment, she had been in the process of manually reorganising classes timetabled under exclusively uncomputerized means. The moment she felt stable enough, she crossed over to the monitor.

"What in the name of The Living Force could that have been?"

"Unknown," replied Brig. Again. "I cannot ascertain details on the event, nor pinpoint its location precisely. More system failures. Furthermore, the alarm systems have failed."

Narrowing her eyes deviously, Zourvux snatched up a communicator. "That does it. It is time to go on the offensive. This assailant seems to know all about how we operate. So, it is time we operated differently." She switched the device on. "Adi, meet me in the rotunda please with anybody nonessential."

With that, she headed for the door. Stopping just before it, she turned on the comlink again. "And does anybody have any idea where The Dark Woman is?"

[Elsewhere...]

It was a small quarters in one of the quieter areas of the temple - not that it made much difference right now.

Made in the Echani style and cleaned regularly by the droids, it was most likely the property of a perpetually absent master. Pale grey metal, white stone, cushions of the faintest ice blue and snowy white - and as was typical of the Echani, centred around a training mat and a rack of weaponry. Whoever had dwelled here preferred staves and microblasters by the look of it, though Bruck had not yet dared touch any of them.

He hadn't needed to, anyway. For him, this was his little hideaway, a place to think. Rationalize. Be at peace, or get as close as he could to it.

Cautiously, he crept in, keeping quiet more out of reverence than concern for being discovered. There was a soothing coolness about the place. He slinked over to the training mat and perched on one of the cushions. Crossing his legs, he made a token attempt to meditate. As usual, a wasted effort. Trying to organise his thoughts was… difficult. A mess of whirling feelings, paranoias and something he couldn't quite place.

Oafy, Siri, everything was all such a… mess. Well, okay, not for them. They clearly had no problems between them. He supposed they had sorted everything out now. Probably to live a long and happy life together. But yet again, he shouldn't be so riled up about this. Someone had almost died.

"Something the matter?"

Bruck started. It was the stranger again. Couldn't even sense someone not three feet away – still so useless! He cracked a false smile at them.

"No, not really."

"… Bruck I don't need my affinity with The Force to know you're not being honest here. Please, do not shut me out."

The Echani gave a soft tilt of his head and slumped back on his palms. "Sorry. How did you find me, anyway?"

A snort. "How does anyone find the source of an explosion? Head towards the noise. And here I am."

The boy frowned. "I wasn't making any noise."

"None that you can hear. Frankly, I think the only reason more haven't come is due to the distractions of late." The stranger paused before continuing. "I would have expected your Master to, though. But after what I've heard from you, I suppose not."

At mention of Master Solusar, a line creased Bruck's face. "I don't want to talk about it."

Invitingly, the hooded figure smiled. "No, I think not. You wish to talk about what has brought you here. What has brought you here?" No rope whatsoever – not even enough for Bruck to hang himself with. In a flurry of cloth, the stranger closed the distance, seating themselves upon a second cushion – one of the more azure ones than white. Bruck had resisted before – and with good reason. But now it was fresher, more relevant. And he was feeling just that bit more battered and worn from the rawness of his revelation. Fuck it. It's not like he was headed anywhere worse than he already was. And so, Bruck conceded to tell the stranger, not the full story, but enough.

"There's… a guy." He stopped and swallowed. The little admission, the first vocal declaration, made it easier. The simple statement echoed around, reverberating in the chamber.

The stranger gave just the slightest, softest smile of understanding. "Of course there is. Why else would you still be here if not for something so beautifully illogical as young infatuation. Nice guy, is he?"

Just the teensiest smile crept onto Bruck's face. "Quite. Kind, considerate," it broadened into a grin, "also a right smug prick." Even as he said it, he could just picture the Oaf clear as day – and the look on his face at how insufferable he could be when he was correct.

"So why has this guy caused you such distress?" This stranger was now leaning forward on their hands, the very picture of eager attention. They were interested – enthralled, even. What he said mattered to them. No answer. Bruck looked down at the mat, fingers bunching and nails scraping quietly against each other nervously. The stranger gave him a few seconds more before patiently adding, "Bruck, I can hardly help you will not let me."

Giving a small little exhale, the boy relented. "Because he just snogged the shit out of the girl he's had a crush on for the last four years." A ringing silence followed. The stranger's face was set, thinking – intensively and deeply. This news meant something to them. Something deeply significant, and they had yet to place it. Lines of concentration crisscrossed, wrinkling skin. Ponderance, speculation, deduction, elimination, formation of hunch – and finally, conclusion.

"Obi-Wan Kenobi and Siri Tachi. I see. This has made things clear, to me." They fixed their eyes upon Bruck's icy blues.

Bruck's mouth fell open. "How… did you work it out?" he half-stammered, half-demanded.

The stranger waved away the question distractedly, like it was nothing, muttering, "I'm rather keyed into the affairs of The Order, s'not important. Hmm. And you are aware of what happened to Qui-Gon, I take it?" A soft incline of the head. He was very tempted to ask what exactly was so important about this to the stranger, but thought better of it.

"So, um-" He fiddled idly with the corner of the cushion, anticipation swelling inside him at what the answer may be. "-I don't know what to do. At all, I-"

He never finished his sentence, for a grinding shriek ripped through the room. Metal rending and squealing somewhere. The walls rang visibly, the horrendous sound emanating off of them. Close by. In a flash, the stranger was on their feet, weapon hilt at the ready. Not ignited though – the danger was not to either of them, something even Bruck's stunted link could tell. But somewhere, somebody was.

The stranger spoke quickly, in a commanding voice. "With me. We shall investigate."

Bruck started, scrambling to pick himself up. "Me? What good'll-"

"No time!" In a billow of cloak, they took off. Instinct took over and the angsty teenager found himself in step, moving with them as they did. Along the corridor, the pair found the source – an access door to one of the service catwalks of the Room of a Thousand Fountains. A pretty high up one to be on this level. It was still ringing with the grinding sound of metal on metal. Bruck's new friend opened the door with a flick of the hand and they rushed out, looking down.

One of the horizontal turbolifts several levels down had derailed and lay hanging in the twisted remains of its section of guidance exoskeleton, a tubular frame of thick durasteel rails that spanned the passage. The garden below was deserted – cleared since the bomb earlier. No witnesses.

"That one links the initiate dormitories to the education section," said the stranger, fearfully, as the ringing of their catwalk's handrail finally came to a stop. "Probably one Jedi minder, and the rest between four and twelve." With ginger touch, they laid a hand on the rail, then leaned over to get a better look. "The capsule could fall any second. What happened to the repulsorlift strips?" Making up their mind, they turned to a terminal by the door that linked into the Ouran's systems, fingers dancing over the interface.

"What are you doing?" Asked Bruck, confused.

"Trying to find out why the alarms haven't gone off- aha! System's been compromised. No accident, not at a time like this." The stranger straightened up and turned to Bruck. They stooped to his height, making eye contact again. "Bruck, I need your help. I need you to hold that Turbolift while I override the system to trigger the alarms. Make sure it doesn't fall!"

The poor boy gaped in horror. "Me? Hold up- n-no, I can't! I'll never be able to. I-I mean I can lift my lightsaber, but that thing?!"

"I believe in you, Bruck. You can do it." The stranger had turned back to the interface, frantically tapping away.

Biting his lip, he looked down at the pod, balanced alarmingly in a cradle of warped girder. "I can try, bu-"

"Do or do not. Try is an illusionary excuse for the insincere. Do it."

Mentally psyching himself up for what he was about to do, Bruck daintily stepped out further, along the walk. Looking over, he could see the car. Focussing on it, everything else fell away from his sight. Tunnel-visioning his awareness onto it, the Echani stretched out, extending himself through The Force. In his mind, he willed the thing to not move, not budge, not shudder. If he had even the slightest shred of confidence in himself, he may have attempted pulling it away from danger. But, with his track record, he felt he was pushing his luck already. And so, he mustered every inch of his might into making sure that little cylinder the size of an ant did. Not. Move.
And move it did not.

It was straining work, holding it. Every microsecond Bruck could feel the pull of gravity fighting him – and fighting the friction of sliding metal. The surface tension was on his side. Sliding was unfavourable. Work with the friction, laugh at gravity. Hehehe, 'gravity'. Such a silly thing. Such an inexorable thing. It pulled and it pulled and it pulled. Weakest of the fundamentals was beginning to feel like a whole steaming pile of reekdung. Even though it was cool up here, he sweated. Beads of it prickled under his robes. Kill the tingle, Bruck, before it kills the kids. But there was no denying it, the strain was mounting and he was beginning to lose. He was not doing it enough.

A slight disturbance in The Force. A familiarity he was not at ease with.

What? No. No, not here, not now! He couldn't b- Oafy-Wan Kriffing Kenobi was here. Bant too. Well, not 'here' as in right next to him. Here as in below. Bruck's sight shifted just a smidge. Yes, there they were, balanced on the transparisteel on the side of the Turbolift that was still properly in the shaft itself. A walkway ran parallel to the girder they perched on, probably for maintenance. He could dimly see two lights – blue and green blinking up. It was hard to see at this distance, but they looked like they were cutting into the pod. He had to hold it in place. He had to try. Do not try. Do.

So he did. It was exhausting holding it, but he did. He briefly saw the lights stop, then bug-sized figures leaving it, passed from one Padawan to the other. Getting the children out. At last, at long last, a larger figure emerged, the Jedi assigned to the younglings.

Vision hazy, Bruck saw what he hoped was the oaf scurrying back along the rail with Bant. It had to be, because he could keep this up no longer. Blurring sight, blurring thoughts, he swayed at his perch, and then tumbled, slumping against the safety rail.

He awoke to a gentle computerised hum and bright blue glow. Wherever he was, he was warm. Consciousness was sluggish, though he felt physically a lot better than he had when he'd blacked out. There was a small motion in his peripheral vision. Something hard was against his cheek. The boy stirred, sight getting slightly clearer. A small, soft knock sounded next to his elbow.

"Ah, you are awake. You did very well." Sense snapped into gear. Bruck became aware that his face was lying on a table. He eased himself up and looked around. Holobookshelves. The Jedi Archives. Looking to his slumped elbow, he saw a cup. Standing next to it, was the stranger. "Drink. That was quite an event for you."

Muscles still feeling a bit tender and leaden, he sat up, slowly and took hold of the drinking vessel. "Thanks." A short sip. "Face-of-my-Father that's good!"

"Indeed." The mysterious stranger held a rosy face. "It is a concoction of the Dathomiri Witch Tribes. Rather nasty people, but their beverages cannot be faulted."

Taking another, longer, drink, Bruck found his thoughts gathering together much better than they had been. "What happened?"

"Everyone is safe. In no small part to you, I might add. But the effort was too much for you. You fainted. Fairly common occurrence among the untrained performing feats of significant power. Or in your case mis-trained. Nothing peaceful surroundings and a pick-me-up couldn't fix, so I brought you here where you could recuperate away from any excitement. The infirmary is rather… beshadowed at the moment and would have been unsuitable."

"Master Jinn?" he asked, knowingly.

"Yes, Qui-Gon, indeed very much." The stranger leaned closer to Bruck, sitting on the table. "Though between you and me, I wouldn't have taken you there anyways. I am… unpopular in The Order."

A whirring beep, and a particularly stubby droid turned into their alcove. It looked vaguely familiar to Bruck, but he could not place it.

"Ah, 2J," said the stranger, "I take it Tahl has finally been convinced to exercise proper hygiene, then?"

"Oh, quite so. I feared she never would, but luckily Master Reivzx was most insistent. Greetings, Padawan Chun."

Bruck waved a little confusedly. Master Tahl's assistance droid knew this stranger? How odd.

A small smile played on the stranger's face. "Thank goodness. And how is our dear friend Qui-Gon?"

"Stable. Recovering. The Jedi recovered the remains of the second explosive device and have begun analysing it – it was much more intact than the one from the first attack."

A soft nod. "Well, as long as Tahl's not in need of you, we may as well get some things done. Here's what I want you to d-"

"Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!" A blue beam burst through the midsection of 2J. In a flash, it swiped across, melting through the helpless droid like a cheap prop. It tore through the end of the holoshelf 2J had been standing in front of, holobooks flickering, stuttering and dying as it did so. In the shower of sparks that resulted, Master Tahl stepped out from behind the shelf. Her blind face set with focussed displeasure as she pointed her weapon at the stranger.

"Bruck, get away," instructed Tahl with a sternness rarely seen from her. Her somewhat atrophied form straightened, a kind of dignity returning to her. Side-on, one hand folded behind her back, the other levelling the lightsaber towards Bruck's friend, rear foot sideways like her body, front one pointed like her sabre. One of the classic Form II opening stances.

The stranger was off the desk in a flash, staring down the woman. One hand hovered at the belt. "Told you I wasn't too popular, Bruck."

"You."

"Me."