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Post by Ani-Chay Pinn on Jul 10, 2005 17:05:49 GMT -5
CONNECTION by Anne Davenport
“That’s not supposed to happen.” Coomens ran his hands through his graying, sandy hair and looked despairingly at the one-way window into the gray cell. The Jedi had uncrossed his legs; they twitched, his head fell forward and he shuddered. Then he stilled again, his hands rested in the lap of his blue kaftan, palms up. They hadn’t seen him sleep or rest in the two days they’d had him. Except for these occasional spasms, he didn’t move.
Najiid shrugged and scratched under one of his yellowing tusks. “He’s a little early this time,” Najiid noted. “Not that he really keeps a schedule.”
“Not him. That.” Coomens pointed at the blinking red activity indicator on the status screens under the window. Najiid leaned over to look. It stopped. They stared at it, then at each other.
“That thing’s not working. It can’t be. If it were, he would have been climbing the walls yesterday!” Coomens shouted at the screens that now indicated normal function. Najiid made a low rumble from the back of his throat.
“According to this, his brain is getting nothing but white noise from anything.” Najiid waved a claw at the readouts. “No sight, sound, taste, smell or touch. Nada.” The Jedi sat cross-legged again, in the middle of the floor, facing them. The senso-block band was still clamped around his forehead, the ready lights blinked normal. They waited. In the cell, the Jedi sat still, apparently oblivious to anything, eyes half closed, bearded jaw slack, his long brown hair falling down his shoulders. He wore nothing but the pale, blue, disposable caftan they’d put on him before locking him up.
He twitched again. The indicators flashed red again. His spasms looked disturbingly more purposeful this time; hands, then wrists, then arms. Then he stopped. The indicators went back to green.
Najiid looked back at Coomens. “You want to go in and check?’
“No,” Coomens responded quickly, pulling back.
Najiid grunted. “You’re afraid to go in there.”
Coomens crossed his arms. “I’m not stupid. He shouldn’t even be sitting there like that. I don’t want to find out what else he’s not supposed to be able to do.” Aside from his unnatural motions, Jedi were also trained fighters and Coomens barely came up this one’s shoulder.
Coomens warily sat down next to his partner. His expensive blue suit was rumpled and not very fresh anymore. He hadn’t left their hidden “spa” since their people had starting leaving. A pile of stale food cartons and a collection of cups cluttered the shelves on the wall behind them. One of their bio-engineers had absconded with their droids on his way out the door. Coomens reached inside his tailored jacket and fingered the small hand blaster in its holster.
“You don’t think we should...”
Najiid scoffed. “We’re already up to illegal bio-trafficking, accomplice to a negligent death of a family member of a well-connected politician and unlawful imprisonment of a Republic Judicial Official. They’ll double the punishment for that last one if we added attempted murder.”
“What do you mean by ‘attempted’? Who says I’m not going to do it.”
“You do. Every time you won’t go in there.” Najiid’s small, green eyes challenged him. “Come on. If we were up to killing him we’d be clawing our way to the top in the Outer Rim instead of making a cushy nest for ourselves on a core world.” Coomens gave in; his partner may have the tusks, claws and bulk of a tough, but he had the soul of a lawyer. And neither one of them had a taste for killing. Or keeping hostages, either. It was far too perilous.
At first it had worked. It had been just dumb luck that Coomens had the Senso-block with him when the Jedi had confronted Dirgish about the Baron’s son. The resulting panic, and Najiid setting off all the security and fire suppression systems on their floor, had given Coomens the chance slip the band over the Jedi’s head in the middle of the scuffle. With all his senses scrambled, the Jedi had been completely helpless while they’d stripped him, scrubbed him and tossed him in the holding cell until they could figure out what to do with him. But shortly afterward he’d actually gotten up off the floor and sitting, turned to the observation window as if he could see through its mirrored surface. Even while the monitors showed only minimal, random brain activity, he’d settled down for this vigil. That was when their cohorts had began to crumble.
“How’s he doing it?” Coomens asked, not really expecting an answer.
Najiid shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess a lot that mystical hoodoo they say about Jedi must be true. He’s using the Force. That’s what Dirgish said before she bailed.” Their most reliable chemist had taken the pittance than Coomens had offered her and bolted the planet, emphatically telling them never to ever contact her again for her services. So, had their bio-engineers. Even the hired muscle had left town with a fraction of their expected pay. Now it was just down to the two of them. And the Jedi.
He wasn’t moving. Again. For now.
“Do you still think we can wait him out? Until we can get more off world?“ Coomens asked without looking away from the window.
Najiid leaned over the console and punched up the Acquisition Alert that had frozen their accounts more than a day ago. The screen text flashed large and red with a matching bleep warning everyone that all transactions were frozen until further notice. “Sorry for the inconvenience” glowed steadily green in tiny text at the bottom of the screen. “They can’t keep this hold on forever. No one else can spend anything, either. All we need is a minute.”
And it had been such a sweet operation, too, Coomens moaned to himself. The highest and mightiest in the planetary government could go to work, do their jobs, get a few illegal thrills on their breaks or after hours and no one would know. No sneaking off to the dingy parts of town, no hiding strange expenses from their families. Once again Coomens regretted ever taking the Baron’s son’s money, especially after they’d been so careful about screening their customers (none of the others had given a pittance of information to the Inspectors; they knew how to cover their tracks). He’d obviously lifted one of their products with him on his last visit and had managed to kill himself with it, in front of witnesses, in the family pool. The Baron had been on a rampage ever since, first harassing the municipal police, the government inspectors, the planetary regulators and he’d finally escalated it to the interplanetary judiciary.
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Post by Ani-Chay Pinn on Jul 10, 2005 17:07:08 GMT -5
Coomens keyed up the Missing-Alert on the Jedi. There was a picture of the Jedi’s long, bearded face and a listing of last known locations. The description said that his name was Qui-Gon Jinn, but he was just “The Jedi” as far as Coomens was concerned. He didn’t know any other Jedi and right now he really didn’t care to. Jedi were supposed to have all kinds of mind powers, but until now Coomens had always attributed it to hyperbole.
The Jedi twitched. A little noise, a quick inhale came from the cell speakers. The Jedi slowly raised his hands.
“No...” Najiid started to rise from his chair. The Jedi had his hands on the senso-block.
“He can’t.” Coomens was out of his seat as well and pointing at their prisoner. He looked down at the senso-block’s key chip, resting on the console. “He CAN’T.”
The Jedi’s fingers tapped and pressed the black, plastic band at his temples. For long minutes, they only heard the tiny movements of the Jedi’s hands. Then there was an audible click. The senso-block slipped, falling down over the Jedi’s nose and then clattering on the floor. The Jedi immediately followed, toppling over to the side. He twitched and made involuntary grunts. But that didn’t reassure them. He’d done the same thing when they’d first put the senso-block on him and it had taken less than an hour for him to right himself.
“How much of our assets did you say we got off world already?” Coomens asked without taking his eyes off their “prisoner.”
“Less than twenty percent.”
Coomens shrugged. “I can live with that.”
“Yeah, me, too.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Strange, Qui-Gon thought. He’d never thought plain gray was such a violent color. But the ceiling above him assaulted him just by his being able to see it. The floor was hard like needles. Pungent air washed through him. Echoes rained down on him. Long minutes passed before the impact of his surroundings seemed to lessen and he finally lay still.
He knew he’d been cut off from his body for days, but not much beyond that. Jedi could control their senses, meditate and immerse themselves in the Force. This was the first time he’d ever felt...trapped by it. He shuddered and unsuccessfully tried to rise. His hypersensitivity to the room around him made him feel ill. He closed his eyes again and lay still again.
Qui-Gon ruefully thought about how sure he’d been that he’d created his own balance, how prepared he was. But no Jedi training, no exercise, no meditation cut one off so completely from the world. The body, the senses were always there, available. Now he saw that without them, he’d simply been clinging to where he should have been, an external specter to the body he could sense and move only through the Force.
His captors were near. He could sense them as well, only two left nearby. And...Obi-Wan was coming. He’d almost lost himself in the ever-expanding void of living beings of the crowded building, the district, the city around him until he’d sensed something, someone familiar to focus on. Distance had meant nothing; he could concentrate and feel a better connection to Obi-Wan than he had to himself. But Obi-Wan was whole, mind and Force, while he was...disjointed. And worse, he was weakening. While the Force gave strength to his spirit, it did little for the body he could not access.
But without any reference to the living world he could do little more than randomly agitate his padawan for days. How strange that he couldn’t even conceive of words or pictures without a body. He’d had only the intuition of memory without any of its form. It was only when he’d reached out to Obi-Wan when his padawan was deep in his own meditation that they’d merged what Qui-Gon knew with the world. It had been a huge rush of images and sounds, a jumble of days compressed into fleeting seconds, but it gave Obi-Wan the landmarks he needed to locate him and Qui-Gon enough thought to know what had cut him off from his senses and what to do about it.
He opened his eyes again. Not surprisingly he was in a cell. He felt the Force around him and he reached out to it. His hypersensitivity increased, but could push himself up off the floor and then slowly he stood. His body felt unfamiliar and clumsy and he was covered with only a single, long, rough piece of fabric. His mouth was parched; his joints hurt. his head ached. He needed focus.
Qui-Gon staggered to the large mirror he faced, pulled back and drove his hand through the reflection. Hand and Force went through the wall, bending it back and crushing the edges away from his arm. His lightsaber landed in his outstretched hand; his fingers closed around the hilt and it ignited. He heard cries and panic and retreat beyond the mirror. He pulled the lightsaber carefully back through the hole.
Back now turned to the wall, he slid to sit on the floor. He felt utterly drained and he dispassionately thought that he’d rarely used the Force with such focused and intense power like that. But it gave him no strength. That made him feel sad.
Qui-Gon closed his eyes, his hands in his lap, lightsaber held up in a salute. He concentrated only on its physical presence, denied to him for so long. The hum of the blade buzzed too loudly. The hilt balanced poorly in his hands. The floor was too hard. The wrinkles of fabric that he sat on irritated him. He felt discord even in the air.
Other noises and sounds intruded on his attempt at solace. He ignored them. Motion, voices, footsteps. He shut them out, ignoring their meaning. But equilibrium eluded him. After long minutes he realized that he was just shutting things out again. At least trying to, and doing it poorly. He felt sad again.
Something touched him. His lightsaber shut off. Qui-Gon opened his eyes. Obi-Wan leaned over him, his thin padawan’s braid hanging down from his otherwise short hair.
“Master?” Obi-Wan’s hands covered his. Qui-Gon hadn’t realized he’d been clutching his lightsaber so tightly. He loosened his grip, letting Obi-Wan take it away and lay it on the floor next to him.
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Post by Ani-Chay Pinn on Jul 10, 2005 17:08:15 GMT -5
“Obi-Wan.” He had no voice; it was just a whisper. His padawan looked worn and tired.
“I don’t look that bad?” Obi-Wan’s concern brightened when he smiled.
“You have looked better, Master.”
“Hm.” He nodded weakly. “I suppose I can do something about that now.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Inspector Mazik watched his lieutenant lead the suspects away. Sargent Hosim set loose a couple of audit droids on the computers. It had been a very productive day. She peered into the gray room where they’d found Jinn sitting on the floor. With that lightsaber on, no one would go near him except his partner. He looked terrible and a medical droid was already there. Kenobi hovered nearby. At least that kept both Jedi busy and out from underfoot and away from the real police work.
They did get the job done; Mazik had to admit that. After Jinn had gone missing and Kenobi could only insist on the vaguest, hazy “feelings” about what had happened, Mazik had thought about locking him up; Jedi or not, two days without sleep made anybody crazy. Then he’d planted himself in her office to “meditate” and three hours later, pow, he’d had a vision. Mazik had been shocked to discover that a Jedi vision was actually sufficient evidence for a warrant from a Republic magistrate, if you got the right one. Their methods were weird, but hey got the job done.
Kenobi led them right to Jinn. And everything else they were looking for. Illegal bank accounts. Embezzlement. Illicit services. And records for everything. Jinn had apparently kept them so badly rattled that they hadn’t erased much at all. All their underlings had disappeared but the real culprits were in custody. Mazik savored how really rare that was. The big ones usually got away.
Mazik had not imagined that the Baron would go so far as to get the Senate to sent Jedi to look in his son’s death inquiry. Mazik had seen that there was something big connected to it right away and had maneuvered the grieving father into demands that aided her. He hadn’t needed much prodding; the Baron had gone completely over the edge, spinning tales about deep rooted corruption in the government that could only be uncovered by powerful outsiders. How odd that now it looked like some the pod scrudings that he’d spouted had actually been true. She’d known that they were using government accounting to hide their profits, but Mazik never imagined that the criminals she was looking for were actually operating form the central government buildings.
Kenobi approached and told them they were taking Jinn back to Couroscant. The Baron had dispatched his private ship to ferry them back to the central world. Mazik thanked them and wished them well. She’d recorded everything they did for the courts; she didn’t need them anymore. Mazik decided that if she didn’t get a promotion for this case, she’d lodge a protest.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
They had just gone into hyperspace. The ship’s crew, all two of them, had left the Jedi in the Baron’s private cabin. It was small for private suite, but large and plush for a small space cruiser. Most of the furnishings were in shades of blue, trimmed with bronze, with a sitting area of low tables and padded chairs on one side of the cabin and another sitting area on the other, dominated by a large couch that could be curtained off and converted to a private sleeping area.
Obi-Wan spoke with the ship’s protocol droid in its alcove at the other end of the cabin. Qui-Gon lay wrapped in Obi-Wan’s robe in a plush, deep blue recliner by the long table by the window port. They’d found his boots and belt; Obi-Wan had put them with his lightsaber on a corner of the table. But his captors seemed to have disposed of his clothes, so they’d traded the disposable kaftan for a knee-length, cream-colored silken shirt from the Baron’s closets.
Obi-Wan approached and laid a tray on the table.
“Qui-Gon?”
Qui-Gon opened his eyes.
“The medical droid did say that you should eat something...” Obi-Wan nudged the tray toward him. Qui-Gon could not think of anything that he wanted to do less than eat. Which, of course, meant that should. He sat forward and looked over the offerings.
Obi-Wan had quite over-done it. Or perhaps it was the Baron’s droid. The tray was laden with sliced fruit, dainty vegetables, soft savories, crackers, flavored spreads, sweets, cookies, tiny pastries. And a choice of water, juice or tea. Qui-Gon picked the easiest thing to start with, the tea. It was too sweet, but cold and felt good going down. He selected the plainest looking cracker that he could find and a bit of fruit next. Obi-Wan watched every bite.
Qui-Gon knew he had to look terrible. The stern, black medical droid on the planet had filled him up with nutrients and fluids and insisted that his symptoms were consistent with weeks of deprivation, not days. In spite of the droid’s attention, Qui-Gon did not feel much better. His hypersensitivity had gone, but his whole body felt stretched and weak. He stared out the cabin windows at the swirling netherworld of hyperspace.
Tired of being watched, Qui-Gon gestured toward the tray. “You should eat something, Padawan.” Obi-Wan nodded, poured some water and ate a cookie. Obi-Wan looked worn out, his tunic rumpled and stained in a few places, but hardly ill. Qui-Gon leaned back in his chair.
“Are you feeling better, Master?”
“No,” Qui-Gon answered without pause or looking back at his apprentice. “But...I don’t feel any worse.”
“Perhaps we should have stayed?”
“We’ll be on Couroscant in a few hours. It is unproductive to reconsider leaving at this point, Padawan,” he replied a little testily, closing his eyes. He felt the Force but it felt strangely distant and that disturbed him to his core. The Force was the Force. It was all changing, but there was no changing it. That meant that there was something wrong with him. Something wrong in a way that no medical droid could fix.
“What do you see, Padawan?” he asked.
“Master?”
“You’re staring, Obi-Wan.”
Without even looking, Qui-Gon knew that Obi-Wan had lowered his eyes.
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Post by Ani-Chay Pinn on Jul 10, 2005 17:09:21 GMT -5
“What do you see, my young Padawan?”
“You look worn out. Older. Deathly older. Master.”
“Hmm.” Obi-Wan’s honest appraisal reassured Qui-Gon far more than his solicitations. It was impossible to go forward without a clear picture of where you were. He folded his arms across his chest, arms buried deep in the opposite sleeves of Obi-Wan’s robe.
“I feel...disconnected. Still. Yes.” After failing so thoroughly to achieve any sort of balance in himself on the planet he had simply stopped trying. Rested. Waited. He’d sat passively while the government droid ministered to him. Let it and Obi-Wan lift him into a float chair to take him up to the ship on the landing pad. He’d ignored the distress he’d sensed from his apprentice. Balance was not something to struggle for. Grasping for it would only make it disappear faster. He accepted his present state as they took him to the cabin and Obi-Wan spoke to the pilot before they’d left the planet.
Now...he felt as if he were drifting closer to picturing the source of his internal disturbance. His padawan sensed a deathly weariness in him. He didn’t sense that, but his mind told him that Obi-Wan’s senses were clearer on this, even if his own feelings failed him. He needed to—.
“Will you be finishing soon, Master Jedi?”
“Eugh!” Qui-Gon actually started at the sound of the Baron’s bronze-plated protocol droid’s voice coming up from behind him. Obi-Wan leaped up, crossed behind his master’s chair to shut the thing off. Then he bodily carried it back to its alcove. Qui-Gon never really cared about droids one way or another. He used them when needed and ignored them otherwise.
Qui-Gon now sat up, rigid in the chair, his disquiet magnified into genuine discord. It was unthinkable that a mere droid could surprise him like that. The half-revelation that he’d been nearing had completely evaporated.
Obi-Wan hurried back to his master. His blue eyes wide, Qui-Gon looked almost panicked. Whatever it was, it was worse. He regretted not more forcefully waving the droid off when he’d seen it approach. But no, neither he not the droid caused the problem, just aggravated it. Obi-Wan knelt by his master’s chair.
“Obi-Wan.” Qui-Gon almost choked, then swallowed. He reached down and Obi-Wan took his hands. “What do you see?” It was very bad. Whatever was wrong, Obi-Wan felt with a certainty that it would kill his master if it weren’t stopped. But if he could have named it, he would have driven it away or laid down and taken it on himself it he could.
“You look...as if you’re holding your breath, Master.” It was the first thing that came into his mind, without thought. Trivial as it was, he offered it to his mentor rather than stammer for the right words that he didn’t know anyway. But the older Jedi did look as if he were starved for oxygen as well as sustenance. That whatever was wrong was slowly, inexorably strangling him.
Qui-Gon’s eyes widened with surprise. He blinked a few times and withdrew his hands. Then he pressed them together before him, fingers intertwined. Then he pressed them to his stomach, just below his chest. Obi-Wan recognized the gesture. It was the simplest Jedi training. You imagined the Force flowing through you with each slow breath. One way to inhale, the other to exhale. Jedi taught it to small children in the Temple as one of their most basic lessons.
Yet Qui-Gon seemed to be having trouble with it. His breaths were shallow, unfinished. He strained, his eyes closed. Obi-Wan stood and pressed his hands over his master’s. He breathed in deeply, down through his whole body to the base of his spine and the Force flowed with it. The he exhaled, the Force giving him strength as he pushed all the air out. Qui-Gon seemed to catch on the second time he did it.
The Force doubled around them, tripled and more. Such a simple thing, Qui-Gon thought. Something that he’d known since before he could remember had been missing; something too trivial to see.
After long minutes, he lowered his hands. Obi-Wan stood to face him, his expression still grave, but no longer distressed. Qui-Gon felt as if he’d been washed clean. The Force flowed through a Jedi, gave the Jedi strength. But for days he’d been disconnected from the material world that Force flowed through. When he’d stretched out his mind to Obi-Wan he’d been relying on the Force within the cells of his own body, the one source of life energy that he had been connected to, whether he’d been aware of it or not.
“Master? Are you well?”
Qui-Gon nodded. “Yes, thank-you Obi-Wan,” he said sincerely. “I think am. For the first time in days it seems.” He sighed wearily and leaned back in the reclining chair, its cushions giving him only physical comfort. He’d been so very mistaken. He’d actually wondered if he might attained a kind of oneness with the Force; the kind that no living could ever achieve. No wonder Obi-Wan had sensed a deathly illness in him. If he hadn’t escaped it, he would have been dead within a day. And then he really would have been one with the Force.
He glanced at the table next to him. With his returning strength he actually felt an appetite as well.
He reached for a plate and invited his padawan to join him. They ate mostly in companionable silence. Obi-Wan thankfully gave more attention to his food than to Qui-Gon. But as they finished Obi-Wan did begin to ask Qui-Gon about what had happened to him. To both of them.
“I could sense your presence, but it was as if you were everywhere,” he explained. Qui-Gon nodded.
“That is how it felt. Space, dimension had no meaning. It was such a shock when I returned, I continued to draw only on myself, but I never realized it. Might not have without your help. You saw far more clearly than I did, Padawan.” Obi-Wan nodded.
Qui-Gon finished his second cup of tea. “A Jedi can feel the Force flowing through him. In me it was stagnant. I was isolated. Or constipated, I suppose .” Qui-gon frowned. That was certainly an unpleasant metaphor. He put his teacup down. “What do you see, Obi-Wan?”
Obi-Wan finished chewing the last of the sweet bread. “You look much stronger. The Force is with you, Master.” He smiled.
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Post by Ani-Chay Pinn on Jul 10, 2005 17:10:23 GMT -5
Qui-Gon considered this. He looked about the ship’s cabin. He gestured with one hand. A blue pillow launched itself off the couch, arced high across the room and bounced off the inactive protocol droid. It was a small, harmless test. But Qui-Gon felt greatly reassured with how natural it was to do. Another pillow flew off the couch, sailed through the air to land precisely in the bowl of a table centerpiece in the sitting area.
The next pillow, a shiny bronze one, was Obi-Wan’s. But it just missed the matching centerpiece in the sitting area, almost knocking it over before falling down in between the chairs. Qui-Gon looked unhappy. He pointed to the opposite end of the room for Obi-Wan and the near side for himself. After a moment two pillows, at opposite ends of the room, leaped up at the same time and met in the center of the cabin before plopping down to the floor below.
It was a simple exercise. Each Jedi used one projectile to “throw” with the goal of hitting the other’s projectile. It was a test of coordination between Jedi, working together and anticipating the other’s moves. Soon the room was littered with pillows. There were plenty to pick from; the Baron obviously loved his comfort.
They hit their mark every time, but that didn’t surprise Qui-Gon. Normally this exercise was done with objects more challenging than pillows, but they needed to be mindful of their borrowed surroundings. After a time they stopped. One of them was going to have to get up and reactivate the droid to clean up the mess.
Qui-Gon was quite satisfied that with a little recuperation he would be himself again. He could contemplate the deeper meaning of his experiences later. He pulled Obi-Wan’s robe closer around him and pulled up the hood; the Baron’s taste in clothes was a bit too thin for his taste. Strange, he thought, that existing only in the Force had cut him off from the living world that generated it. He would meditate on it later.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Depa Billaba surveyed the cabin while the ship’s pilot and co-pilot retreated to their thingypit.
Well, there was surely a truly interesting story behind this.
Pillows lay everywhere. A deactivated droid leaned in a darkened service alcove. Cups and plates and bits of food littered a large tray on a table by the viewports. One crumpled, blue napkin lay on the floor.
Depa didn’t know Master Qui-Gon Jinn or his padawan very well, but she’d met him in council often enough. But she’d supported the their mission against other council members misgivings and was pleased with hearing of its success. When the pilot emerged and informed her that his passengers were “resting” she’d gone to see for herself. She didn’t sense anything wrong, but she knew that Master Jinn had been captured and injured.
His padawan, Kenobi, was sprawled in a cushioned chair, his master in a recliner beside him. Kenobi’s hair was too short to be messy, but he looked like he’d been living in his clothes for days. And Master Jinn’s clothes seemed to have completely gone missing. He obviously wore nothing but a thin shirt that just covered his body and what looked like his padawan’s robe, since it was ridiculously short on him. His hairy, bare legs stuck out under it with his naked feet out over the edge of the chair support. His boots and lightsaber lay nearby.
Depa had been concerned and puzzled by Kenobi’s strange reports about his master’s disappearance, but upon his recovery the entire situation had resolved itself. The planetary government thanked the Jedi council for their intervention and begged discretion since now they seemed to be at the initial stages of a huge scandal.
But something odd, something intriguing had happened. She sensed no disturbance in the Force, no threat, but there was still...something. And she had only to look at the scene before her to confirm that. Not only had neither Jedi stirred when the ship exited hyperspace, they didn’t even awaken when the ship arrived at the Jedi Temple landing platform.
Yes, Master Billaba thought to herself as she tucked her hands into her robe’s sleeves, it was a rare circumstance indeed when a Jedi master and his padawan were caught in such an peculiar pose. There would be a very, very interesting story behind this.
– FIN –
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