SPOILERS: mentions JA characters, but no real spoilers
SUMMARY: A peaceful mission develops some unforeseen
complications, and Qui-Gon Jinn learns something new about
Obi-Wan Kenobi, and something new about himself.
FEEDBACK: would be lovely, of any kind.
Author's notes: this story mentions characters from the JA
books, but makes only one reference to specific happenings, and
doesn't build on the books except for the borrowing of those
characters and that one event, which is only mentioned in
passing. Many thanks to kir, Kirby Crow, Misha and my WLU sibs,
who encouraged and criticized and pointed out plot holes. I'm
sure this would have been better if I'd followed all their
suggestions. :-)
The hard-packed snow creaked under his feet as he walked. He
could see his own footprints from the day before, and the day
before that, and so on, overlapping with Obi-Wan's smaller ones
from the evening circuits. The weather had been clear and calm
for several days, but Qui-Gon would have known even without the
weather satellite's morning warnings that the winter storms
weren't over. He looked at the sky: pale grey overhead, but
darkening rapidly over the other end of the valley. There was
worse weather coming.
Reaching the final lookout, he stepped up to the post, tapped
in an access code and waited for the cover to retract. A blue
light winked at him, and the sentry recorder hummed to life.
Qui-Gon breathed deeply, crossed his arms over his chest in the
prescribed posture, and counted to ten before speaking. "Day
fifty-one of the long snow, fifth year of Ateyinniah regnant,
morning. All is quiet. The enemy does not come."
A soft beep of confirmation, another count of ten, and the
protective cover slid back down. Qui-Gon dropped his arms and
rolled his shoulders, stretching his spine, drawing cold air
deep into his lungs. He took a moment to admire the view from
this, the farthest and highest outpost on the perimeter.
Qui-Gon stood partway up a steep, rocky slope. To his right,
the valley stretched out in gentle undulations, wave after wave
of white broadening and finally merging with the wide plains
down below. To his left, it narrowed up into a mountain range.
Even knowing where the watchstation was, he could not see it
from where he was standing, it was so securely tucked away. It
was only when he used the force to search for it that he picked
it out: a large snow-covered boulder-like shape that emitted
entirely the wrong heat signature, and had carefully placed,
non-reflecting windows.
That heat signature seemed to beckon to him, and he started
back along the path at a pace that would keep him warm. Winter
temperatures on Remis were at the low end of what human bodies
could tolerate and survive, and only Jedi came here
voluntarily, to the snow and the emptiness. To guard and to
protect. Qui-Gon flexed his fingers inside thick gloves, and
looked back over his shoulder at the threatening clouds. They'd
already been snowed in once and had to dig free, early on in
their stay. He'd commented that at least it made for a change
in the routine, and Obi-Wan had lifted an eyebrow. Yes,
master. More snow certainly makes for a change from all the
snow.
The memory of a smile was on Qui-Gon's lips as he made his way
down. In places the path was steep enough to be more of a
rock-ladder, snow-covered and slippery, and made for Rem legs,
not human ones. He moved carefully. The watchstation had a good
healing facility, but to sustain an injury on a mission like
this would be ridiculous. After walking this path every day for
eleven days, he should know its dangers.
Once he reached more level ground, it was easy going and he
could stretch his legs, enjoy the simple pleasure of unfettered
motion. His body was restless; there was no room for any of the
larger katas inside the watchstation, and they could not draw
their weapons for practice outside its doors. It was too bad,
really--the rock-strewn, snow-covered ground would have made
for an interesting exercise--but for as long as they were
guarding the Rem, they would abide by Rem laws.
A few snowflakes drifted down, catching on the ends of his hair
where it spilled out from the edge of the hood. Qui-Gon wished
he could bring one inside with him and meditate on its small,
intricate beauty. It might help him with his restlessness, and
with the dar puzzle. Reaching the entrance to the watchstation,
he paused to take a final look at the valley. The enemy did not
come; the snow did. There was a haze of white in the air over
the other end of the valley, getting closer and closer. Come
evening, he and his padawan would be shoveling their way out
again.
The door slid open behind him, and he turned away from the snow
and went inside.
Stripping off his outer robe and several layers of thermal
insulation, he hung them up next to Obi-Wan's; the circuit
along the upper part of the valley was shorter, and his padawan
was always back before him in the mornings. Qui-Gon bent down
and exchanged the Rem snowshoes for his boots. The watchstation
was comfortable, but its floors were chilly. He brushed the
drops that had been snowflakes from his hair and went into the
next room, where Obi-Wan sat cross-legged on one of the large
square stools, reading. Qui-Gon went to look over his
apprentice's shoulder and recognized one of the texts from the
fourth advanced mathematics course. "You've been through that
three times now."
"Repetition is an excellent teacher," Obi-Wan said, not looking
up.
"I thought you might find the Jeteri poetry I lent you a couple
of days ago interesting." Watching closely, Qui-Gon could see a
slight hunching of one of Obi-Wan's shoulders, quickly
suppressed. "Perhaps later."
He went to take what had become, during this stay, his
seat, a higher chair by the table. A small pile of data readers
and old print texts waited for him, and so did the dar puzzle,
all clean translucent edges. Most of the pieces were still
waiting to be inserted. Qui-Gon picked one up, ran a fingertip
over the dry, slightly dusty stone surface. The force in the
puzzle spoke to him, had kept him working piece by slow piece
since their arrival. Perhaps he would be able to finish it in
their time here, find out what the crystal wanted to show him.
Qui-Gon tapped the short end of the piece against the structure
he'd built so far, feeling for resonance. Sometimes a piece
would fit in a place where it had already been tried and
rejected, and he wouldn't know what would have changed between
times: the crystals, his mood, the time of day...
He was too restless, and put the piece down. Instead he turned
to one of the printed books. He was trying to teach himself to
read Remi, something there had never been time for during his
other stays here, and found it slow going. The volume of myths
and legends was a simplified one meant for Rem children, but he
thought there were interesting things to be learned from it
about Rem culture, if he could only stop getting the verb
tenses mixed up.
Turning his head to look at Obi-Wan, he saw that his padawan
had given up on mathematics and was staring blindly into space,
a small line between his eyebrows. Perhaps--
Qui-Gon cleared his throat. "Do you want to talk about it?"
Too well-trained to jump, Obi-Wan nevertheless looked slightly
startled, but the look vanished quickly enough, to be replaced
by something polite and distant. "I'd really rather not."
Qui-Gon thought about pressing the issue, looked at the way
Obi-Wan's lips were pressed tightly together, and decided it
could wait. "Very well, padawan." He keyed one of the data
readers to the dictionary function, and immersed himself in the
story of how the first Rem discovered fire and grilled their
children... no, that couldn't be right. The Rem had discovered
fire when the gods had sent lightning as punishment for some
transgression, and--yes, they had burned their children
as a sacrificial offering, in... gratitude? Fear?
As a childrens' book, Qui-Gon thought, this volume left
something to be desired. He read on, and heard Obi-Wan get up
and go into the kitchen, heard the sound of water being poured
and the clank of kitchen utensils. The burned children returned
as ghosts and taught the Rem to cook food. That struck Qui-Gon
as being in extremely bad taste. He wished he could discuss the
story with someone who knew it, to get the Rem cultural
perspective on it.
Obi-Wan came out of the kitchen with two steaming mugs and set
one down before Qui-Gon. He looked subdued. "I apologize for
being so ill-tempered, master."
Putting the book aside, Qui-Gon leaned back in the chair and
looked up at his padawan. "You have my permission to mope
around with a broken heart for another five days," he said,
"but if you go on for longer than that, I'm sending you to the
Temple counselors when we get back."
Obi-Wan smiled faintly. "That will not be necessary, master."
He put his own tea mug down, too, and took a chair at an angle
to Qui-Gon's. "And my heart isn't broken."
"No?" Qui-Gon kept his tone light. "If it isn't, I'm cutting
the time down. Another two days."
"I'm sorry. I know I've been difficult." Obi-Wan looked down at
his hands, and Qui-Gon looked at them too, reading tension in
their unmoving lines. When Obi-Wan looked up again, his eyes
were determinedly bright. "Master, that puzzle you're working
on--what will it be when it's finished?"
Qui-Gon accepted the change of subject, but privately resolved
that if Obi-Wan would not voluntarily speak during the two days
he had been given, Qui-Gon would ask. It was a fine line to
walk--he wanted to respect, did respect, his padawan's privacy,
but at the same time it was his responsibility to look into all
things that could affect Obi-Wan's mental state. His
responsibility to make sure that his padawan's mind and soul
did not become mired in the trouble that kept him silent and
brooding.
"I don't know," he said, picking up one of the rectangular
crystal pieces and turning it between his fingers once more.
"The Rem call it a dar puzzle. It is force sensitive, and
responds to the emotions of whoever touches it." Brushing the
piece at random against another, he was surprised to feel it
slide into place. "When all the pieces are in place, it is
supposed to show an answer to a question."
"You have to ask a question before you start?"
Qui-Gon shook his head. "No. 'The answer to the question that
isn't asked,'" he quoted.
Obi-Wan looked interested, cocking his head slightly to one
side and studying the delicate interlace of crystal. "I don't
suppose there are any more of those around," he said. "I'd like
to know--" Then he broke off.
"I'd like to know, too," Qui-Gon said mildly. "Perhaps the
puzzle will tell me."
Obi-Wan went to get his mathematics text, and sat at the table
with Qui-Gon, reading and eventually building models on a small
projecting calculator, while Qui-Gon managed to place another
two pieces into the puzzle. What he had built so far didn't
look like anything. A lopsided snowflake, the model of some
complex protein... as soon as he began to wonder about it, the
crystals refused to cooperate, and he went back to reading.
Around midday, Qui-Gon went into the kitchen and steamed sala
roots for them both, and made more tea. They ate together in
silence, watching the snow fall outside. Winter duty on Remis
was a perfect time for meditation exercises, yet today, Qui-Gon
did not suggest it. He left Obi-Wan to his studies and took a
turn around the watchstation, making sure everything was still
in order, as if it would have changed since early morning when
he had walked the same rounds. In the communications room he
checked again on their real responsibility, the satellite link
net that would warn of invasion.
All was quiet, as quiet as in the snow-filled valley. There
were some messages to be downloaded, one for him, three for
Obi-Wan. Qui-Gon looked at the letter from Barkala and decided
to save it for later. He wasn't in the mood for the mix of
jokes and complaints that Barkala specialized in, and he
suspected there might be gossip about Obi-Wan in there,
questions he wouldn't and couldn't answer. He ran a diagnostics
check on the net and waited patiently for all the lights to
come up blue. Then he ran the same check on the valley sentry
posts.
The last one, the one where he had paused to admire the view
that morning, was a little slow to respond, although the lag
was small enough to be within acceptable parameters. Qui-Gon
keyed a separate diagnostic test for that one post, and got up
to look out the window while it was running. The snow was
falling more heavily now, piling up in soft drifts against the
walls of the watchstation. It seemed that the wind was picking
up, too.
When the console beeped, Qui-Gon turned his attention to the
results scrolling up, scanning for orange lines in the blue
text, grateful that the Rem had a primary Standard setting to
their programs for the benefit of the Jedi; he wasn't far
enough along in his language studies to decipher any complex
error messages. The delay could be traced to a coupling in the
post itself. He would ask Obi-Wan to take a look at it during
the evening circuit. Qui-Gon shut down the diagnostics program
and went back into the central room, where the projection from
Obi-Wan's calculator had taken on a surprising resemblance to
the dar puzzle.
Obi-Wan looked up, and Qui-Gon nodded at him. "I'm going out to
dig the door free," he said. "The snow is falling fast. If we
wait until it's time for the evening rounds, the drifts will be
up above your head, padawan."
"I will come with you," Obi-Wan said instantly, setting his
calculator aside.
Qui-Gon almost said that there was no need, but changed his
mind; on the contrary, simple hard exercise might be just what
Obi-Wan needed. As they could not spar, they would shovel. They
went into the entrance hall and wrapped up in all the layers of
their winter gear, taking care with each closure and fastening.
"There are Academy stories about how some masters make winter
on Remis an exercise in controlling body temperature," Qui-Gon
said.
"Yes, and make their apprentices sit naked in the snow,"
Obi-Wan said. "There are also stories about using the force to
move the snow each morning."
"And what do you conclude from this, padawan?" Qui-Gon tucked
his hair securely inside the hood of his winter-weight robe.
"That I shouldn't believe everything I hear." They picked up
their shovels, and Qui-Gon made sure that the inner door was
shut before keying open the outer door. As soon as it opened,
wind and snow reached inside to grab them. They had to clear a
space to step outside in, and then the door slid shut behind
them. "I hope you don't mean to ask me to strip now, master."
Qui-Gon laughed, and they began to work to clear the path. The
lessons he had been taught on Remis as a padawan, the lessons
he tried to teach on Remis as a master, had always centered
around not using the force for mundane tasks unless it
was absolutely necessary. It was something Obi-Wan had learned
well, after some initial reluctance. Although if Obi-Wan were
growing confident enough to predict his master's teaching
methods, it might be time to surprise him on the next mission.
They packed the shoveled snow into the walls on each side of
the watchstation entrance, pressing hard to prevent the rising
wind from catching it again. It took time to dig out a clear
space, and it was hard, sweaty work, lacking the precision and
control of lightsaber training, but with some of the liberating
qualities of meditation. Qui-Gon let his mind drift towards
emptiness, existing in motion, free and strenuously easy.
By the time they were done, the light was darkening towards
gray. The paths to the sentry posts would be buried deep now;
it would take much longer for Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan to make their
evening rounds. Qui-Gon keyed the chrono in his comm link to
check the time. "Obi-Wan," he said, pitching his voice to carry
over the wind, and his padawan came up to him, pink-cheeked and
pink-nosed with cold, looking much more cheerful.
"Yes, master?"
"It's getting late. We may as well set out now. When you get to
the final post, check on the green four-b coupling. There's a
lag in the link-up to the perimeter net."
"Yes, master."
They dug their way out between the two large boulders that
shielded the entrance to the watchstation, and then parted
company. Qui-Gon made his way towards the upper end of the
valley, alternately tramping the snow under his feet and
shoveling it out of his way. The first and second sentry posts
were shielded by rocks and easy to get at, but the third was on
the wind side of a boulder and barely visible; he had to dig it
partly free and kneel down on hard-packed snow to access the
panel. It answered readily enough, though. The posts were built
specifically to withstand this kind of weather.
Approaching the fourth post, he saw a large, dark shape through
the heavy snowfall, and stopped at once. Qui-Gon reached out
with the force and felt the fuzzy animal mind of a jarak. He
stayed where he was, perfectly still, with the snow blowing
into his face. The jarak was scratching its flank against the
sentry post, slowly and thoroughly. Then it turned, shook
itself, and lumbered off, taking no notice of Qui-Gon.
He went up to the post and found that the jarak had dented the
panel covering, and left strands of fur caught on the edge. If
he went for tools to mend the damage, he might not be able to
finish the circuit in the prescribed time. Qui-Gon used the
force to straighten out the cover until it could be retracted,
and rolled up the soft fur and put it in his pocket, intending
to take it back and show it to Obi-Wan, who had not yet seen a
jarak. He tapped in the evening code. "Day fifty-one of the
long snow, fifth year of Ateyinniah regnant, evening. All is
quiet. The enemy does not come."
The jarak did not count as an enemy, only as a nuisance.
Qui-Gon was well aware that it could eat him in three bites,
but in all the years that the Jedi had guarded the Rem during
their winter sleep, there was only one recorded case of a jarak
attack, when a padawan managed to provoke one of the animals by
trying to frighten it off with his lightsaber. Jaraki were
attracted to bright colors. Qui-Gon made sure that the cover
slid back down easily and fitted snugly over the panel, then
moved on towards the last post of the round.
The path was more exposed here, and as a consequence all but
invisible. He moved carefully, digging his way, wondering if it
would be snowed over again when he went back. At least the Rem
snowshoes kept him from sinking into the softer drifts. Qui-Gon
could only hope that there wouldn't be time for the snow to
pack together and grow hard around the sentry posts overnight,
or they'd have to 'saber the posts free. While such use of
their weapons didn't fall under the Rem peace laws, they would
run the risk of drawing the attention of the jaraki.
By the time he reached the last post, it was snowing so hard
that he seemed to be walking through a series of white
curtains; he could see less than a body-length ahead. This post
was free-standing and had only gathered a small drift around
the base. Qui-Gon shoveled the snow away, clearing the area
down to the ground. It would at least save Obi-Wan a little
trouble the next morning. After completing the ritual he turned
to go back, and the storm hit him full in the face.
Winter storms on Remis. He'd been here several times, as
padawan, as knight, as master, and knew these storms as well as
any Jedi. Fierce, bitterly cold, but only lasting for a day or
two... if they were lucky, they might wake tomorrow to clear
skies. The wind bit into him, and he decided it was time to use
the force to sustain his body temperature, after all. Thought
about keying the commlink and telling Obi-Wan to do the same,
but his padawan was certainly intelligent enough not to let
himself freeze to death, and did not need the reminder.
Qui-Gon started back, tramping and digging. Snow was beginning
to make its way inside the edge of his hood, melting in cold
rivulets and running down his neck. He cast his awareness out
as he walked; in this weather, he could walk right into a jarak
before seeing it. The path he was reinforcing would be gone
within hours. Still, he kept shoveling. It was part of the
Jedi's promise to the Rem.
By the time he made it back to the watchstation, it was dark.
Qui-Gon tried to brush off the worst of the snow before going
inside, but it kept falling on him until he went through the
door. He shook off all his outer layers in one corner of the
entrance hall before hanging them up, then used the shovel to
dump the resulting pile of snow in a bucket, and brought it
with him into the station proper. Qui-Gon went straight to the
central control panel for the station and activated the steam
room. He set the bucket in the cooler outside the steam room
door.
A short while later, Obi-Wan returned, rubbing at the tip of
his nose as he came in from the entrance hall. "I didn't find
anything wrong with the green four-b coupling, master," he
said.
"I suppose it could have been a temporary glitch." Qui-Gon
unclipped the commlink from his wrist and hooked it around his
utility belt. "It was well within acceptable parameters." The
system would set off an alarm as soon as any reading went over
or under the safety margins, and so far, that had never
happened. Unfastening his belt, Qui-Gon went on, "I thought we
could use some time in the steam room before dinner."
Obi-Wan nodded vigorously. "I'll just go check on our hosts,"
he said, going towards the communications room, then past it.
Qui-Gon went on undressing, listening absently to the muted
clang of the access hatch and Obi-Wan's light footsteps going
down the ladder to the vast underground caves. He put his
folded clothing on one of the low stools, picked a towel from a
shelf by the steam room door and went inside.
The heat wrapped welcomingly around him. He twisted his hair up
in a knot and pinned it in place, spread the towel on a wooden
bench and sat, relaxing with slow breath after slow breath.
There was a fresh tangy smell of herbs in the steam, soothing
and refreshing at once. He could feel his back muscles, stiff
from digging, begin to relax. Closing his eyes, he slipped into
a light meditative trance.
The cooler air that entered with Obi-Wan broke him out of the
trance again, not too much later. Obi-Wan put his towel down
one step higher, and Qui-Gon smiled; his padawan liked heat.
"Everything is unchanged down below?"
"Yes." Obi-Wan shifted, finding a comfortable position. "Well,
councillor Kerob has turned over in his sleep, and kicked off
his coverlet. But other than that, all is as it should be. They
sleep."
And would continue to sleep until the spring came, watched over
by Jedi guardians, as they had been every winter for well over
a century. The Rem had no enemies now that the tribes were
united among themselves, and technology had rendered them safe
from animal attacks, but Qui-Gon understood their paranoia. A
species that must spend half its life hibernating is quite
naturally worried that someone will move in and take over its
home, its planet, while it's asleep.
They sat in companionable silence for a while as the heat and
the herb-scented steam drove the winter chill from their
bodies. Qui-Gon rearranged his towel so that he could lean back
against the higher bench Obi-Wan had chosen. Glancing up, he
saw that his padawan had slipped down into a sprawled position
that looked nearly impossible, and was smiling blissfully, eyes
closed. "You might want to check on the comm console at some
point," Qui-Gon said. "You have some messages waiting."
"I'll get to them later, master." Obi-Wan rubbed a bead of
sweat from his upper lip. "It's probably Bant, asking about
Lilia--she must have heard by now."
And there it was, spoken of at last. Qui-Gon decided that the
head-on approach might be the best. "Rumor has it that she came
to the Temple and threw a plate of food in your face in the
middle of the apprentice dining hall."
"Well, yes." Obi-Wan opened his eyes, but didn't tense up too
badly. "I confess I was relieved to get away from Coruscant,
although I suspect it's too much to hope for that everyone will
have forgotten about it by the time we get back."
"And it will give you some time to come to terms with your own
feelings," Qui-Gon said gently. "You've been very quiet. I
understand that you were hurt by the break-up, but--"
"Oh, no." Obi-Wan pushed himself up on one elbow. "I mean, yes,
in a way, but-- Master, I was the one who ended the
relationship. That's why Lilia was so angry. She felt that my
motivation was... insufficient."
Qui-Gon didn't let his surprise show. He'd been sure that it
had been the temperamental Lilia who had broken up with
Obi-Wan, and more than half inclined to suspect that the
relationship would be resumed when Obi-Wan returned from Remis,
if his padawan apologized prettily enough for whatever had set
Lilia off. There was no doubt in Qui-Gon's mind that the Vaheen
diplomat's daughter was serious about Obi-Wan. But if Obi-Wan
had broken up with her--that was a very different matter. "What
was your motivation, then?"
"I can't love her the way she wants me to," Obi-Wan said
simply. He was winding his padawan braid between his fingers, a
childish gesture he reverted to in times of stress, but his
voice was calm. "Lilia is--she deserves someone who will put
her first. I am a Jedi. She doesn't want to understand what
that means to me."
Qui-Gon shifted position yet again, so that he could see
Obi-Wan more easily. "Obi-Wan, what does it mean to you?
What is it about being a Jedi that would prevent you from
having a relationship with Lilia? Do you believe that being a
Jedi means that you have to live without love?"
Obi-Wan opened his mouth as if to make a quick answer, and then
paused, and dropped his gaze; Qui-Gon could almost see
him think, put things into words. "Master, no, I don't think
that. I know it isn't so. Many knights and masters are married
or in long-term relationships. But even more... are not."
Qui-Gon, who fell into the latter category himself, could not
argue with that. Obi-Wan sat up, crossed his legs and leaned
forward. "It isn't easy to accept that your lover has chosen a
life that means dying for strangers should it be necessary.
Lilia wants all of me, and I don't have that all to give."
"She knew you were a Jedi from the moment she met you," Qui-Gon
pointed out. "Perhaps you underestimate her. Give her some time
to get used to the idea, and--"
"No." Obi-Wan shook his head. "When she understood that I was
serious, she decided that she wasn't happy with me, in--many
ways, and some other issues were brought up that-- It's over,
master. Really."
"Other issues?"
Obi-Wan dropped his eyes again. "I don't think--"
Conquering his curiosity with an effort, Qui-Gon said, "You
don't have to tell me, Obi-Wan."
That made Obi-Wan look up again, with a small, rueful smile. "I
have already told you so much, master. There was also the
question of our sex life, which I suspect is also discussed all
through the Temple, as she called me a cold-blooded wretch of a
Jedi kashk before she threw the plate at me."
"I've never studied Vaheenian," Qui-Gon said. "I gather that it
isn't a compliment."
"A kashk is a Vaheen lizard, about this big," Obi-Wan
gestured with a distracted air, as if about to lecture on
Vaheen flora and fauna, "that only mates once during its entire
life span and is apparently quite traumatized by the business."
Qui-Gon was beginning to feel a little worried. It seemed he
didn't know his padawan as well as he'd thought. And although
Obi-Wan had kept his tone light, there was some hurt there,
some uncertainty, old and deeply rooted. It made Qui-Gon feel
reluctant to probe, but Obi-Wan was finally ready to talk,
might even need to talk. So, "You don't enjoy sex?" Qui-Gon
asked.
"I don't dislike it," Obi-Wan said. "I've just never... enjoyed
it as much as my partners. And it was upsetting to Lilia that
she couldn't make me feel--" He broke off.
"That she couldn't make you feel the way you made her feel,"
Qui-Gon finished for him. "Lilia is a warm-hearted, generous
young woman."
"Yes," Obi-Wan said unhappily. "She is."
"Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon leaned forward and put one hand over his
padawan's. "Do you love her?"
Now Obi-Wan looked even more distressed; nothing a stranger
would have noticed, but Qui-Gon knew every expression on that
seemingly calm face. It took some time for the words to come
out. "I don't know." Obi-Wan let go of his braid, as if he'd
just noticed he was holding it. "I don't know, and
that's why I couldn't let things go on as they were."
"I understand." Qui-Gon squeezed Obi-Wan's hand, and sat back.
"Now, I want you to think about what love means to you, and
what role you think love should play in the life of a Jedi, and
how this applies to your relationship with Lilia, and your
previous relationships with others. I want you to meditate on
this. And then we will talk again."
"Yes, master."
Qui-Gon got to his feet and opened the steam room door, picked
up the bucket sitting in the cooler outside and quickly shut
the door again. He picked up a handful of snow and tossed it at
Obi-Wan, and fancied he could almost hear a hiss as the icy
crystals met Obi-Wan's heated skin.
Obi-Wan, the sedate, controlled Jedi padawan, jumped and
squeaked. Qui-Gon laughed. "It's time for us to clean up and
cook some dinner," he said, setting the bucket down and picking
up another handful to rub over his face. The shock of it felt
good, and Obi-Wan followed his example a moment later, stroking
the snow down over his chest and arms.
It melted quickly in the heat of the steamroom, though, and
soon enough they went outside, turning off the steam and warmth
before taking their towels along to the showers. There were
five shower heads; the watchstation was usually not called upon
to host more than four persons at one time, and that only when
one Jedi team passed on watch duties to another. Qui-Gon washed
with speed and efficiency, keeping his hair pinned up and out
of the way of the water.
He was amused to see Obi-Wan linger under the water, head
tilted back, eyes closed. There was a hedonistic streak hidden
under Obi-Wan's placid exterior, something Obi-Wan kept tamped
down in much the same way that he kept a tight rein on his
sense of humor. Perhaps that resolute control was the reason
behind Obi-Wan's apparent inability to fully let go with a
lover and enjoy the moment. But that was secondary to the main
issue. Love was more important than lust, and Obi-Wan must
search his thoughts and feelings, must learn to know himself
and understand his wants and beliefs.
Stepping out of the shower, Qui-Gon got himself dry and dressed
and was in the kitchen area cutting up more sala root by the
time Obi-Wan joined him. Steamed sala root was a staple of Rem
cuisine, and Qui-Gon found it relatively tasty as well as
nourishing, although he didn't object when Obi-Wan blended
chigurra and spices into a hot sauce to liven up dinner. They
carried filled plates and a pitcher of ice cold water out into
the main room and settled by the table, pushing Obi-Wan's
calculator and mathematics text aside.
Obi-Wan poured water for them both, put the pitcher down, and
looked sideways at Qui-Gon. "Master? When we return to
Coruscant, I would like to take the next applied astrophysics
exam."
"That's why you've been working on the spatial projections
again?" Qui-Gon wasn't surprised to see Obi-Wan nod. "We'll go
over the material together in our remaining time here, then,
but if you think you're ready, I believe you. You can send the
exam application from here, any time you like."
"Thank you, master." Obi-Wan's smile was sudden and brilliant.
"You will not, however, revise for the exams to such an extent
that you neglect the meditations I have charged you with,"
Qui-Gon said sternly. "You're very ambitious, padawan, and a
good student. But you must take care that your mind and soul
keep pace with your head."
"Yes, master." Obi-Wan bent his head and applied himself to his
sala root. It was not until they had both almost finished
eating that he looked up again to say, "And I will read my
messages."
"Good." They shared a half-smile. "I'm sure Bant is eager to
hear from you."
Obi-Wan cleared the table and went into the kitchen, and
Qui-Gon went back to his reading. He was vaguely aware, as he
read, of Obi-Wan taking care of the dishes, and then going to
the communications room, but the Rem myths absorbed the larger
part of his attention. Once he was past the child-sacrificing
parts, he found a lot of material that explained early Rem
culture, and some fascinating stories of talking jaraki. That
reminded him of his encounter earlier in the day, and he got up
and went into the outer hall to retrieve the jarak fur from the
pocket where he'd stowed it.
When he came back in, Obi-Wan was just returning from the
communications room. "I noticed you hadn't read your messages
either, master."
"I only have one," Qui-Gon said, momentarily forgetting the
first rule of inscrutability: never sound defensive.
"Now you have two." Obi-Wan had mastered the art of innocent
impudence at an early age. Fortunately, he was distracted as
Qui-Gon held out the jarak fur to him."What is this?" Obi-Wan
took it and rubbed it between his fingers. "It feels
wonderful."
"A jarak was using one of the sentry posts to scratch an itch,
and it left a souvenir."
"Oh." Obi-Wan rubbed his cheek against the soft tuft of fur,
eyes drifting half-shut. "I don't suppose jaraki would make
very good pets. But I would like to at least see one."
"I'm sure you will," Qui-Gon said, resisting the urge to pat
Obi-Wan to see if he'd purr. "Just don't try to cuddle it."
Qui-Gon went to bed early, and lay stretched out on his back in
the huge Rem bed, letting his eyes unfocus, thinking about the
Rem legends. The Rem were few, their nativity low; they
treasured children. And at the same time, stories meant for
beloved children described deliberate infanticide. The
dichotomy teased at his mind, would not leave him alone. He was
still thinking about it when Obi-Wan came in, silent as a
ghost, undressed and walked over to the window, stood there
staring out.
Closing his eyes, Qui-Gon fell asleep while his padawan stood
naked and watched the snow fall.
They woke at the same hour, but followed their separate morning
routines. Qui-Gon went to the kitchen for tea, leaving Obi-Wan
to get up at his own pace. The light was muted inside the
watchstation; there was snow piled up high enough to cover
several of the windows. Tea mug in hand, Qui-Gon went into the
communications room again and linked up to the weather
satellite. The storm was over, and the weather promised to be
calm for a while.
He sat down at one of the consoles and looked at his messages.
The second one was from Adi Gallia, asking him to hold a series
of lectures to the most recent crop of knights--the lectures he
privately thought of as The proper care and feeding of young
padawans. That was no hardship, and Qui-Gon sent back a
simple yes. It was very important to make sure that knights
were fully aware of the responsibilities involved in taking on
a padawan learner, and did not see it merely as a necessary
step towards becoming a master.
Then he turned more reluctantly to Barkala's message. As he had
suspected, it was full of dry comments on the occasional
obtuseness of students, particularly those in Barkala's An
introduction to Jedi history class. Random gossip: Tuara
Kanwathe and her padawan had returned from Yahadee after
successfully negotiating a peace treaty, and celebrated by
passing on Yahadee bug flu to half the Temple; Py Thesd had
passed the trials; Ch'Ca'taou was reorganizing the library
again...
And everyone is still talking about how interesting your
padawan looked, wearing clath paste all over his face and tunic
and blushing like a sunset on Taya, although the general
opinion seems to be that only a blush would be even more
becoming. You should tell him to pick less temperamental
girlfriends, Qui-Gon. They will try to quarrel with him,
and he has no idea how to handle it. Obi-Wan is an excellent
young man in many ways, but I don't believe he knows what he
wants, or would be able to deal with it if he did know.
Temporary celibacy might be the best solution.
Qui-Gon sighed, and sipped at his tea. He should have put off
reading this message even longer. He didn't want Barkala, or
anyone else, telling him how to handle his padawan, much less
making suggestions about Obi-Wan's private life. At the same
time, Barkala's message suggested a pattern that Qui-Gon had
not been aware of, that he should have been aware of.
Was it possible that in trying to grant his padawan sufficient
freedom and privacy, he had gone too far, leaving himself blind
to things it was his duty, as Obi-Wan's master, to know? He
pondered the question as he ran the morning check on the
satellite net, and decided all he could do at the moment was
ask Obi-Wan about it all.
The meditations on love that he had set his padawan ought to be
a good starting point, whether Barkala was right or not. There
was a quiet shield of self-containment around Obi-Wan that made
him seem older than his years, and Qui-Gon considered for the
first time the possibility that he had not looked far enough
past the surface, into the depths of emotion that were
undoubtedly there. That he had trusted Obi-Wan to show him all
that was important, without realizing that Obi-Wan himself
might not know what that was.
Blue light let him know that all was well with the satellites,
and he started the check on the sentry posts. There was the
same slight lag on the last post, and he ran a diagnostic on it
again, finishing his cold tea while he waited for the result.
The same green four-b coupling. Qui-Gon frowned and walked out
into the central room, where Obi-Wan sat at the table, hair
spiky-wet from a shower, eating cold sala root.
"When you checked on the coupling yesterday, you found no trace
of anything wrong?"
Obi-Wan chewed and swallowed. "Nothing, master. Is there still
a lag in the link-up?"
"Yes." Qui-Gon sat down and stole a piece of sala root from his
padawan's plate. "I'll check on it again. I suppose the fault
could lie somewhere along the link itself, except that the
diagnostics keep pointing to that coupling."
"It could be a routing error," Obi-Wan suggested. He looked a
little tired, and Qui-Gon wondered how long he had stood awake
at the window the night before. "I could look into the link
setup after morning rounds, unless you find the problem with
the coupling when you're out there."
"We'll do it together," Qui-Gon said. He bit into the sala
root. "Obi-Wan, are you by any chance doing some obscure
religious penance I am not familiar with?"
"No, master."
"Then you'll have no objection if I heat up your breakfast.
This is revolting." Qui-Gon took the plate and went into the
kitchen, heated the food, got out the remains of the sauce from
last night and some flat unleavened bread, and poured himself
another mug of tea for good measure.
He came back to find Obi-Wan leaning in close to the dar
puzzle, almost pressing his nose to the crystals. "It looks a
little like a landscape."
"It does?" Qui-Gon set the plate between them. "I thought it
was more like a complex molecule of some kind... Obi-Wan,
before Lilia, you were seeing Soo Lith, weren't you?"
"Yes," Obi-Wan said, in a tone that made it almost a no, and
sat up straight. Qui-Gon kept his eyes on Obi-Wan's face, and
after a little while Obi-Wan went on, "There was someone else
in between, but that was more... casual."
Qui-Gon dipped a piece of sala root in the sauce and pondered
the best approach. "Tell me about the ones that weren't casual.
Who were they?"
"Hana Kerstona, Soo Lith, and Lilia," Obi-Wan answered readily
enough. He cocked his head to one side. "You've met them all,
master."
"Yes." Qui-Gon considered what he knew of them, what he'd seen
of them with Obi-Wan, and how that compared to what Barkala had
said in his message. "Now tell me what they have in common."
Obi-Wan registered surprise with a faint twitch of one eyebrow,
and drank a little tea from Qui-Gon's mug before answering.
"Ah... they're all female, human or humanoid, relatively
young..." His voice trailed off. "I'm not sure what it is you
want to know, master."
"You can do better than that, Obi-Wan. You're a trained
observer, and you've been taught to see patterns that elude
others. Tell me again: what do they have in common?"
Closing his eyes, Obi-Wan drew a deep breath and tried again.
"Hana is a Senate lobbyist, Soo Lith is a junior diplomatic
aide at the Thurran embassy, Lilia is a diplomat's daughter and
unofficial apprentice. They are... were all attracted to me,"
faintest trace of embarrassment in the crisp voice, "and
actively pursued the relationship. They are strong-willed,
intelligent, passionate, argumentative individuals." Obi-Wan
smiled a little. "They're beautiful. A little unconventional,
perhaps, as much as those involved in political and diplomatic
circles can ever be. And," he opened his eyes, "they all wanted
more from me."
Qui-Gon nodded. "Did Hana and Soo Lith quarrel with you? About
that, or other things?"
"Well... yes, a little."
A little probably translated into a lot, knowing Obi-Wan. "Now
tell me about the casual affairs, and what they have in
common."
"Xi Pau," Obi-Wan said, looking down at the table, "Bruck Chun,
Ferenc Tuc, Larmin Anza..."
Qui-Gon did not choke on the sala root. "As in
Knights Pau and Anza?" he enquired mildly.
"Yes." Obi-Wan was still keeping his eyes on the table top. "Xi
and Larmin are knights, Bruck and Ferenc are padawans, they're
all male, human or humanoid, relatively young... I'm not
certain what else applies to all of them, except for having had
sex with me."
"What attracted you to them?"
Obi-Wan shrugged. "I don't really know, master. They were
there, and made it clear that they wanted me, at the right
moment. There was never anything more serious behind it." He
looked up, finally. "This isn't going to get Xi and Larmin in
trouble, is it? It was a while ago, with Xi, but--I was old
enough to know what I wanted."
"I'm not entirely sure of that," Qui-Gon said, then shook his
head as Obi-Wan's eyes widened. "No, I'm not going to
wrathfully accuse Xi Pau of corrupting my virtuous young
padawan, years ago--I take it it was several years ago?"
Obi-Wan nodded, to Qui-Gon's relief; Xi Pau was about to
celebrate the four-year anniversary of his marriage to a Temple
healer. "You needn't concern yourself with that. Is there
anything else you can think of that your lovers have in
common?"
For a moment it seemed that Obi-Wan was going to go back to
staring at the table again. "I think that they all
felt--although not all of them said it outright--that there was
something--lacking. In me. Because of the sex thing." Deep
breath. "Perhaps they're right."
Qui-Gon reached across the table and ruffled Obi-Wan's drying
hair. "Relax, padawan. I don't believe that there is anything
wrong with you. But I do believe you need to think more about
yourself. By your own account, all your lovers pursued you,
wanted you. But what about what you want?" Qui-Gon
smiled at Obi-Wan's outright look of astonishment. "You're
allowed to want things, Obi-Wan. And," carefully, "you don't
have to sleep with people just because they want you, and tell
you so."
"I haven't," Obi-Wan began to say, and then fell silent,
yesterday's small troubled line reappearing between his brows.
"Meditate on love, Obi-Wan, and what you really want. Do you
think there is a reason why your casual affairs are with other
Jedi, and your long-term relationships have been with people
outside the Temple?" Qui-Gon wondered how far to push. "You've
said yourself that your lovers don't understand your vocation,
yet you choose not to pursue any serious committment with
another padawan, who would be most likely to know what it's
like for you."
Qui-Gon stopped there; Obi-Wan was looking stricken, almost
overwhelmed. They finished their breakfast quickly, as neither
of them had much of an appetite, and put things away in
silence. In the entrance hall, Qui-Gon kept an eye on Obi-Wan
as they dressed, concerned that he might have gone too far too
fast in his attempt to make up for several years of neglect.
Obi-Wan was sunk deep in thought, and said nothing as they once
again shoveled snow away from the watchstation entrance and
cleared the open space in front. But he roused himself enough
to smile a little at Qui-Gon as they parted.
Reassured, Qui-Gon concentrated on digging out the path. Under
a high cloudless sky, without snow blowing into his face, it
was pleasant work; his back muscles ached a little. The first
two sentry posts were nearly buried beneath snow drifts, and he
spent time clearing the snow away down to the ground. After
that, the path climbed upwards and the angle of the slope had
prevented any heavy buildup. At the third and fourth post, he
only had to trample the snow down into a solid platform to
stand on.
"Day fifty-two of the long snow, fifth year of Ateyinniah
regnant, morning. All is quiet. The enemy does not come." The
air was pleasantly crisp, with the clean feeling that comes
after a storm. Qui-Gon started the climb up towards the fifth
sentry post with a smile on his face. Winter on Remis had its
beautiful sides.
At the fifth post, he spoke the traditional message and then
tapped in a code before the cover could slide down. First, a
simple self-diagnostic. That showed nothing wrong. Qui-Gon
unscrewed the left half of the panel and delved into the
interior of the post, checking the coupling manually. Nothing
wrong. Finally, he touched it with the force. Nothing. Probably
Obi-Wan was right, then, and there was a routing error
interfering with the diagnostic system.
Qui-Gon reattached the panel and watched to make sure the cover
slid into place. Trying to sense if anything was wrong with the
post as a whole gave him nothing beyond a vague feeling of
things working; a talent for dealing with the living force did
not lend itself to investigating possible mechanical errors.
With an inner shrug, he turned back and climbed down the slope.
Halfway down, the tracks of a jarak crossed his freshly-cleared
path and he studied the imprints for a moment, taking in the
half-circle of claws around the big round pads. A very large
jarak, possibly the same one he'd seen in the upper end of the
valley yesterday.
It would leave soon, Qui-Gon guessed. The valley was almost
empty of potential prey, and jaraki needed to eat a lot in
winter. He stepped over the tracks and continued back to the
watchstation, striding briskly, reaching out with the force to
sense the life in the valley. The jarak was up behind him
somewhere, hungry and a little ill-tempered. There were small
signs of life elsewhere, tiny thoughtless animals burrowed
down, hiding from the predator. A clear, bright, focused
presence ahead: Obi-Wan. And down below, deep in the earth and
stone, the huge sleeping awareness of the Rem, dreaming
steadily through the winter.
He came back to find Obi-Wan going through a simple stretching
exercise in the clearing by the watchstation door. Qui-Gon
joined in. He could feel all the muscles he'd used, digging.
After stretching out the kinks, they moved together into a slow
kata, Open Hand, that fit into the small space perfectly,
making the rocks and snow backdrop rather than confinement.
Qui-Gon could sense the force flowing through them both as they
moved, an invisible counterpoint, substance and shadow, shadow
and substance. It filled him beyond thought, and left him, when
they'd come to stillness, standing calm and happy, looking down
at the nape of his padawan's neck.
He flicked the short pony tail with one finger. "I believe
you're right about the routing error, padawan." They turned
towards the watchstation door, and Obi-Wan keyed it open.
"We'll have to check the entire setup."
"I'll get started while you look in on the Rem," Obi-Wan
offered, stepping inside and unfastening his robe.
Qui-Gon nodded agreement and began to strip off all his winter
layers as the door closed behind them. It might be an excessive
reaction to such a small problem, but he had a feeling it was
important. Buckling up his boots, he checked himself for traces
of snow before going through the inner door. Qui-Gon strode
through the main room, past the door to the communications room
and into the small chamber that held the access hatch to the
caves. He unsealed and opened it; it swung aside under his hand
with a dull metal clang. Soft lights came up to show him the
steps of the ladder and he began the descent, one hand on the
handrail.
Down below, there was the kind of silence that is really the
whirr of near-soundless machinery. The corridor sloped
downwards and he walked with long quick steps, coming out on a
walkway over a large cave where thousands of Rem lay in deep
peaceful sleep, securely closed away in a carefully controlled
environment. He could see them from above, through the clear
glasscrete, and from that height they looked like chubby, furry
dolls. Councillor Kerob, so jealous of his dignity, would not
like that thought... there he was, with the covers down around
his feet, as Obi-Wan had said. Most of the Rem thought covers
during hibernation were a vanity and a foolishness, and slept
without.
Beyond this cave was another, and beyond that still others, and
others, and great doors that would not be opened until the
spring thaw. Qui-Gon was not concerned with that. He headed for
the screens and panels of the control center, the heart of the
complex system that kept the Rem comfortable and safe. It was
the work of a moment to initiate the standard checks, but
Qui-Gon started a secondary diagnostic as well, obeying
whatever inner prompting had caused him to look more closely
into the lag in the sentry post linkup. The standard checks
said that nothing was wrong. Qui-Gon frowned. The secondary
diagnostic, slower to run, eventually also said that nothing
was wrong.
He looked more closely at it, checking the specifics of the
readout. Then, mouth set in a grim line, he changed the
parameters of the error search and ran the diagnostic again,
and this time it came up flaring orange, flashing urgently at
him. The climate controls were being fed conflicting
information; although the satellite net clearly said that it
was winter, there were other readings coming in that said it
was summer.
No wonder councillor Kerob had thrown off his coverlet. The
climate settings were affected, the temperature was beginning
to fluctuate, and... Qui-Gon keyed a request for more
information... yes, the individually tailored health and
nutrition programs were affected, too.
This was the real threat to the Rem as they slept--not animal
attacks, not enemies swooping down from beyond the stars, but a
breakdown in the advanced technology that cocooned them.
Qui-Gon quickly rerouted control of the cave systems to the
consoles in the communications room of the watchstation, and
strode back towards the ladder, as fast as he could without
actually running. He climbed up and let the hatch down with a
loud thump, and went into the communications room, where
Obi-Wan sat staring intently at a screen.
Obi-Wan turned as soon as Qui-Gon entered. "It is a
routing error, master," he said. "The real error originates
in--"
"One of the climate readers," Qui-Gon said. He sat down by the
next console, calling up the systems he'd rerouted. "It's
already affecting the climate controls. We must repair it
immediately, before it affects the Rem."
Obi-Wan nodded, fingers flying as he entered code after code.
Qui-Gon concentrated on the details of the climate control
system and how it used the readings from the satellites and the
sentry posts. Information was taken from each source in turn,
on a regular schedule. The message from most of the sources was
winter, sleep, but from one of them it was summer,
wake, and the conflicting input was beginning to wear down
the system. It was only a question of time before either the
climate controls or the nutrition programs would be seriously
disrupted.
"I've found it, master," Obi-Wan said. "It's in the same sentry
post as the coupling that isn't malfunctioning. It should be a
simple matter to replace some of the components."
"We're running short on time." The orange was overtaking the
blue in the readouts. "I think the system can function for a
while if I set it up to bypass one of the sentry posts, but it
will require some additional manual corrections at the climate
control panel down in the cave."
"I'll go out," Obi-Wan got to his feet as he spoke.
"Hurry," Qui-Gon said. He was already starting to construct an
alternative reading pattern for the climate controls. Obi-Wan
nodded and vanished without any further comments. Qui-Gon,
intent on the console, only dimly registered the sound of the
door opening and closing. The jury-rigged version of the system
that he was setting up now wouldn't hold out forever, but it
would at least buy the Rem another day, in case the repairs
turned out to be more complicated than Obi-Wan had anticipated.
He worked with complete concentration, losing track of time,
and had almost completed the new setup when his commlink was
activated.
"This shouldn't take long," Obi-Wan's voice said calmly. "Can
you shut down readings from the post while I'm working?"
"In a moment." Qui-Gon double-checked his work, then activated
the new reading pattern. "There. The temporary system is in
place."
Through the open link, he heard the clink of the panel being
removed, the scrape of metal against metal. "Some parts are
almost burned out. Someone's been sloppy. Did you shut down
the--"
A loud crackle of electricity drowned out Obi-Wan's next words,
and Qui-Gon could guess what they would have been. He cursed
silently at himself. Having shut the sentry post away from the
system, he couldn't access it now without reactivating the old
reading pattern. "My apologies, padawan. The main circuit
breaker is to the left of the red grid sensors."
"It lit up like a firework, master," Obi-Wan said a little
breathlessly. "I think it may have burned itself out
completely." A moment of silence. "No, it's all right."
"Good." Qui-Gon transferred control of the system back down to
the cave, and got up from the console. He had to get down to
the caves again and feed the new set of codes manually into the
climate control core reader, or the new version of the system
would be useless. Opening the hatch again, lowering himself
into the hole, he'd all but forgotten that the commlink channel
was still open, until halfway down the ladder he was startled
by a loud roar coming from it, and a shouted exclamation from
Obi-Wan.
Then there was a short burst of static, and complete silence.
Qui-Gon bypassed the last ten steps of the ladder, dropped down
to the floor and keyed the commlink. There was no response.
Obi-Wan's link had gone dead.
The silent hum of machinery around him seemed louder than ever
before. Thousands of Rem, sleeping, defenseless. Qui-Gon drew a
deep breath and opened himself up to the force, let go of his
feelings. He ran down the corridor and out onto the walkway.
Over at the control center, all the screens were beginning to
flash orange, and the first blare of a distress signal started
just before he reached the panels. A recorded voice was saying
something in Remi over and over.
Qui-Gon ignored it. He dropped into the seat by the climate
control screens and called up the program that would let him
access the core reader. Safety protocols, passwords--his
fingers flew over the keys until he could finally log in at the
level he needed. He had the authorization, as senior Jedi at
the watchstation, but had never used it before. Qui-Gon cleared
his mind of everything but codes and numbers, called on the
force to sustain him, and got to work.
Lines scrolled over the screen too fast for an untrained eye to
follow. A single mistake at any of the prompts would mean that
he'd be booted out and have to start over. As sequence after
sequence was recoded, the orange glare around him began to
soften, the distress signal slowed to a regular beep and
eventually died away altogether, and the Rem voice fell silent.
Qui-Gon kept working, until the last code had been altered and
the core was accepting data from the adjusted climate control
system. That would hold up for a day or two, enough to repair
the faulty climate reader. Then the codes would have to be
changed back.
Qui-Gon came out of his force-driven hyperstate and sat for a
short moment just staring at the console and its time readout.
He had been coding for well over an hour. Getting up, he went
to the other consoles and looked over the readings coming up,
all blue. Everything was within acceptable parameters, and
although that didn't reassure him as much as it might have
before the discovery of the routing error, it was probably the
best he was going to get. He ran two quick general diagnostics
at different levels, and both told him that the new system was
holding up.
Then he keyed his commlink again, calling Obi-Wan, and got an
error message. Link not operational. Not operational. It
wasn't shut off, it wasn't set to private (as if his padawan
would have a privacy setting that excluded his master); it was
broken. The commlinks were designed to withstand a great deal
of wear and tear, but of course it was possible to damage them.
Qui-Gon turned away from the control center and went along the
walkway, not looking down, and turned left into the corridor,
following its slope up to the ladder.
Climbed up, shut the access hatch carefully, went past the door
to the communications room and looked in to see that there were
no further orange error messages scrolling up on a screen
somewhere. The readouts all glowed blue, so he crossed the main
room in four long steps and went out into the entrance hall,
put on his winter gear, tugged off his boots, laced up the
snowshoes. There was a small medikit by the door and he clipped
it to his utility belt before closing his robe and turning up
the hood.
Outside it was still clear, sunny and beautiful. Qui-Gon took
the path down the valley, casting his awareness out like a net.
He didn't have to go far. He sensed Obi-Wan and saw him almost
at the same moment, coming around a snow-dusted outcropping.
Obi-Wan was limping; he held one arm cradled against his chest,
and his robes were torn and bloody. Qui-Gon lengthened his
stride and was in time to catch Obi-Wan as he began to stumble.
"Easy, padawan."
"Yes, master." Obi-Wan leaned against him for a moment, then
straightened up and began to limp along again. Qui-Gon stayed
by his side, putting an arm around him for support. "I'm afraid
my commlink is ruined." Digging into his robe, Obi-Wan took out
two buckled and twisted pieces of metal. "I had to cut it apart
with my lightsaber to get it off. I think it saved me from a
broken wrist."
"What happened?"
"It was a jarak." One of Obi-Wan's knees gave way and he
pitched forward. Qui-Gon caught him, straightened him up and
then calmly leaned him backwards until he could get an easy
grip and pick Obi-Wan up. "Master, please--you don't have to
carry me, it's only a sprained ankle, I can walk."
"Are you arguing with me, padawan?" Qui-Gon hefted Obi-Wan more
securely into his arms; the young man was a solid weight of
bone and muscle. He started back along the path, feeling his
snowshoes sink deeper with the added weight. "It was probably
the sparks from the sentry post that attracted the jarak."
Obi-Wan moved a little in something that could be interpreted
as a shrug. "I think it was very hungry," he said. "And I
underestimated its speed at first. I couldn't frighten it off;
I'm afraid I had to kill it."
"Your lightsaber couldn't have frightened it," Qui-Gon said.
"Didn't you read about what happened to Kendrik Wtac?"
"Yes, I did." Obi-Wan was silent for a long moment. Glancing
down to make sure his padawan was still conscious, Qui-Gon met
a troubled look. "I didn't think, I only reacted. Perhaps if
I'd shouted at it--"
"I wasn't criticizing you, Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon turned sideways to
get himself and Obi-Wan through the narrow passage between the
rocks. "If you'd shouted at it instead of using your
lightsaber, it would probably have eaten you." He put Obi-Wan
down and keyed the watchstation door open. "I know the jaraki
are a protected species on Remis, but although hunting is
forbidden, self defence is not."
Obi-Wan limped inside and began to fumble at his robe
fastenings one-handed. "At least I've repaired the climate
reader," he said. "Did you have any trouble switching the
system over, master?"
Qui-Gon stripped out of his winter layers even faster than he'd
put them on, and turned to help Obi-Wan. He peeled his padawan
like a sala root and urged him towards the inner door. "No. Now
come here and let me take a look at you."
The above-ground medical facilities in the watchstation were
not advanced; there was a fully equipped medcenter down in the
caves, complete with bacta tank, but Obi-Wan's injuries weren't
serious enough to require bacta immersion, as Qui-Gon saw once
Obi-Wan had taken off the rest of his clothes. A sprained
ankle, a bumped knee, a cut and bruised wrist, a row of
nasty-looking cuts across the shoulder and chest where the
jarak's claws had scored. Smaller grazes and bruises all over.
Considering what a jarak could do, Qui-Gon felt that Obi-Wan
had acquitted himself well, and gotten off lightly.
He made Obi-Wan sit on the cot as he cleaned the cuts, put on
antiseptic cream and lightweight bandages. "I think one of my
toes is broken," Obi-Wan said, wiggling his foot. He breathed
deeply, but showed no other sign of discomfort as Qui-Gon
pulled the toe straight and taped it up. "Thank you, master."
Qui-Gon put the medical supplies away while Obi-Wan pulled on
pants and shirt again. Turning back, he saw his apprentice take
a few stiff steps towards the door, and went to intercept. He
put his hands on Obi-Wan's shoulders, moved by an impulse he
couldn't explain. "Padawan. You know I love you, don't you."
And Obi-Wan looked up at him with eyes the color of water,
looking as steady and whole within himself as if he'd just
spent the day meditating on serenity. Smiled faintly in secure,
trusting acknowledgement. "Yes, I know." Then he gathered up
the rest of his clothes, and Qui-Gon followed him to the
bedroom and watched as Obi-Wan lay down and sank easily into a
healing trance, bright eyes closed, still body humming with
force and life.
He would be all right, and so would the Rem. Qui-Gon went to
the kitchen and made himself some tea, but decided to forgo
food in favor of work. He took the mug along to the
communications room and sat down by the nearest console, and
spent some time setting up a repeat diagnostic to run through
the entire climate control system, and another to check on the
climate reader that Obi-Wan had repaired. If the reader was
showing no signs of trouble by tomorrow morning, he would
switch the system back, and the repeat diagnostic would alert
them to any problems that might arise before that time.
Checking messages, Qui-Gon found that he had none, but Obi-Wan
had two new ones, one from Bant--again--and one from someone at
the Vaheen cultural attache's office. Lilia, then. Qui-Gon
sipped at his tea and thought about answering his own message
from Barkala, but he decided to put it off. He was grateful to
Barkala for making him aware of a problem that had to be
addressed, but at the same time, he felt a little disturbed
that Barkala had noticed something about Obi-Wan that Qui-Gon,
as Obi-Wan's master, should have been the first to know.
Besides, he could not discuss his padawan's private life with
another master.
Instead he went out into the main room, to his Rem books and
the dar puzzle. The translucent beauty of the dar pieces called
to his fingers. He closed his eyes and ran his fingertips
lightly over the crystal structure, feeling its shape, the
gentleness of its edges. The force provided no clues, but a
sense of purpose. Qui-Gon blinked, and took up a piece, and
slotted it in among the others. Then, another. There was
something, every time, something like the opposite of a
ripple--a closing into place, a settling, something growing
definite and still.
With every piece he picked up, his movements grew more assured.
He slipped into a rhythm of certainty; the pieces knew where
they would go, and all he had to do was move with them. Qui-Gon
watched the puzzle grow without any thought of what it looked
like, without trying to tease out its meaning, just seeing the
rightness as crystal met crystal. The stillness grew, as an
infinity of possibilities coalesced into a singular presence.
When he placed the last piece, there was a stillness and
silence that was almost tangible, reaching out towards him with
a touch as pure as the crystals. Then the strange fragile
structure he had built shifted before his eyes, its separate
parts melding into fluidity, taking on a new shape. A shape so
well known that Qui-Gon could only stare in disbelief.
Yes, he knew this: that arch of brow, the resolute mouth, the
cleft chin. Knew those eyes even transparent and unliving. It
was more than just a likeness, it was a perfect image, and
Qui-Gon could not stop himself from touching it in his
amazement. Force sang a silent song against his fingers.
Obi-Wan's face, caught in a moment of great determination, as
if before some dangerous mission. Beautifully rendered,
detailed, clear.
And then there was a tremor under his touch, and the force
currents shifted, and the crystal dimmed for a moment,
hardened, changed. Turned back into plain sharp-edged puzzle
pieces, tumbling down over the table with a clatter that
startled him so, after the silence, that he could only catch
the one that practically fell into his hand.
It lay there in his palm, an ordinary unmoving object, as if it
had never held another shape. Qui-Gon stared at it and tried to
see something else than his own reflection in its smooth
surface. He wasn't sure what to make of it all. If this was an
answer given to him, what had the question been? He looked
towards the room where Obi-Wan lay resting, and then down at
the crystal again. He would need to meditate on this. Qui-Gon
wished the image had not dissolved so quickly. It had been the
most extraordinary portrait of Obi-Wan, capturing essence as
well as likeness, spirit as well as features.
His tea had, as usual, gone cold. Qui-Gon drank it anyway. The
afternoon had slipped away. It was almost time for the evening
patrol, and Obi-Wan was still in trance. Qui-Gon took his tea
mug to the kitchen and rinsed it, then went to the entrance
hall and put on his winter layers. Obi-Wan's torn and bloody
robe hung askew on its hook. That would have to be cleaned and
mended, a pleasant domestic task for the long winter evenings.
Looking out the one small window, he saw that the weather held
steady, so there was no need to bring a shovel.
Outside, the brisk cold cleared some of the confusion from his
mind. He would find out what the dar puzzle meant to tell him;
if the force currents in it could read the answer from his
mind, then surely he could find the question for himself.
Qui-Gon went up the valley first, the shorter of the two
perimeter rounds, setting a fast pace over snow that was now
packed solid and easy to walk on. As he walked he watched the
landscape, seeing the subtle changes that came with each
snowfall. Features were hidden or revealed, blurred or reshaped
in new ways by the new drifts. Yet the rocky bones underneath
did not change, waiting for spring to reveal them in all their
stark sameness.
The first three posts gave him no trouble. At the fourth one,
the cover that the jarak had bent was a little reluctant to
slide back, and he found that a little fur had been caught in
the groove and carried back up into the mechanism. Rather than
take the entire post covering apart, which he didn't have the
time for, Qui-Gon teased the strands of fur free with subtle
application of the force, then buried them in the snow. Some
bird would find them and use them for nesting material come
spring.
All was as it should be at the fifth post, and Qui-Gon turned
back turned back again as the sky first began to grow hazy and
turn to twilight. He kept his pace quick but at the same time
unhurried. He would be able to finish the rounds within the
prescribed time. Passing by the giant boulders that hid the
entrance to the watchstation, he reached out and sensed Obi-Wan
still deep in trance. Tomorrow his padawan should be recovered
enough to take up his share of the duties once more.
Following the path down the valley, that eventually led up the
mountainside, he realized that he could chart Obi-Wan's limping
progress by the scuffled footprints and the occasional drop of
blood. It seemed that Obi-Wan had fallen in two places before
reaching the spot where Qui-Gon had met him. Qui-Gon spoke the
required message into one sentry post recorder after another,
tramping the snow by the posts down into greater firmness.
It was growing dark as he approached the fifth post. The vast
bulk of the dead jarak could almost have been another boulder,
only lightly dusted with snow. Walking up to it, he saw that
the head was nearly severed from the body, dangling down
towards the massive front paws. The body was relatively
undisturbed apart from the clean lightsaber cuts. A small
carrion eater was worrying at a hind paw, but it fled at
Qui-Gon's approach; unlike the jarak, it was winterwhite and
found easy cover on the rocky slope.
Blood stained the snow dark before the sentry post. Qui-Gon
stood for a moment looking down at the churned-up drifts before
touching the panel cover, making his report. "All is quiet. The
enemy does not come." Behind him the jarak loomed silently, a
presence even in death.
He turned away from the sentry post to look at the animal
again. Qui-Gon pulled off his right glove and laid his hand
against fur that was still just as soft, a fleecy wonder. One
of the Rem legends he had been reading came into his mind. The
Rem had been threatened by the anger of dark gods, their lands
in chaos, and so they had made a terrible decision. They would
offer up the most valuable things in their world as a
sacrifice. Their children, precious and beloved beyond words.
What had seemed strange to him was becoming much clearer. The
Rem had been willing to send the spirits of their children as
messengers to the gods, hoping that love had given the children
strength enough to prevail. Even so had Qui-Gon, choosing to
remain below in the cave and save the Rem's lives, been willing
to let Obi-Wan die.
Yes. He was was willing to sacrifice Obi-Wan to the world, just
as Jedi must always be ready to give up not only their own
lives, but what was infinitely more precious to them, the lives
of others. Masters must be prepared to sacrifice their beloved
padawans, give them as gifts to a universe that might break
them rather than treasure them--indeed, that did more often
than not. It was a harsh lesson to learn, but one the Rem had
known for millennia.
Qui-Gon stroked the soft fur once more, pulled his glove back
on, and headed down the side of the mountain. His steps felt
oddly light. He felt as though some basic truth had been
reaffirmed within him, grounding him more securely in who he
was. If their roles had been reversed, he could not doubt that
Obi-Wan would have made the same choice. This was what it meant
to be a Jedi. And this, Qui-Gon realized, was what Obi-Wan had
despaired of making his lovers see.
It was almost completely dark by the time he reached even
ground. Qui-Gon wondered as he started to walk back if this
moment of renewed insight was what the dar puzzle had been
trying to lead him towards by showing Obi-Wan's face--Obi-Wan
who seemed to have an instinctive understanding of the depth of
a Jedi's committment to his vows and beliefs. But then, Qui-Gon
had never doubted or wondered about that understanding. He had
known, ever since that day in the mines on Bandomeer, just how
dedicated Obi-Wan was. Perhaps the answer belonged to a
different question.
The snow made comforting creaking sounds underfoot. Above there
were stars, few and far between. Qui-Gon walked on and thought
instead about what could be done with the sala root for this
night's dinner. One knight he had shared winter duty with years
ago had taught him to mash it very soft with butter and just a
hint of chigurra. Obi-Wan would like that.
Returning to the watchstation, he got a shovel and bucket from
the entrance hall and went back out for a moment to remove the
patches of snow where Obi-Wan had dripped blood. The stains
might attract predators or scavengers, and Qui-Gon had no
desire to find either outside the watchstation door. He
backtracked for some distance along the path he'd come, until
he was satisfied that the small trace no longer led directly to
the gap between the boulders. Then he realized that this was
the stretch he had carried Obi-Wan, and checked his own robes
as he went back, looking for telltale spots but finding none.
When he came into the entrance hall, he put the shovel in its
rack and set the bucket aside; he'd pour the melted remains
down the drain tomorrow. This time he felt no urge to bring the
snow inside and throw it at an overheated padawan. Qui-Gon took
off his robe, trying to be patient with the need for putting on
and taking off so many layers, so many times. Winter duty on
Remis taught patience. Winter duty on Remis could, he thought,
teach many things.
The first thing he saw when he entered the main room was
Obi-Wan, wearing a long tunic and thin leggings, sitting
cross-legged on his favorite stool, reading the Jeteri poetry.
Obi-Wan looked up as Qui-Gon came in and his brows drew
together slightly. "You should have woken me, master." He
uncurled himself and walked over to Qui-Gon with only a slight
limp. "There was no need--"
"Obi-Wan."
"My apologies, master." Obi-Wan accepted the rebuke with
equanimity and went on, "I have heated up the steam room for
you."
"Thank you, padawan." Qui-Gon rolled his shoulders, still a
little too stiff, and crossed the room, taking off his belt and
sash as he walked. "You should join me, the steam will be good
for your bruises."
"Yes, master." They both stripped, and Qui-Gon snagged two
towels from the shelf by the steam room door. Inside it was
blessedly warm. He drew a deep breath, felt the fresh herbal
scent soothe him. Relaxation, dinner, then meditation. He ran
his hands back through his hair, rubbed a little with both
thumbs at the base of the skull.
Obi-Wan had settled a step up from Qui-Gon yet again, curled
like a cat in the sun, eyes closed. Seeing the easy posture did
more than anything Obi-Wan might have said to assure Qui-Gon
that his padawan would be well enough tomorrow to resume his
duties. He leaned back and closed his eyes as well, content to
let his mind drift. After a while he asked, "What do you think
of the poems?"
"They are like kitsu pastry," Obi-Wan said, his voice a sleepy
drawl. "Layers upon layers." Then, after a longer moment, "Some
of them are very good. With others, there is a feeling that...
the poet is trying to be clever, rather than honest. Or perhaps
the intent is masked by the words."
"Truth is not always obvious." Qui-Gon shifted, stretching his
left arm. He rolled his head from side to side, encouraging his
neck muscles to relax. "Give the poems as much time as you
would take to puzzle out a difficult astronavigation problem."
"Yes, master." Obi-Wan's voice hinted at self-mocking humor.
Qui-Gon, wanting to see if it was echoed in Obi-Wan's face,
opened his eyes.
Time stood still.
He saw Obi-Wan's face, the trace of a smile, half-lowered lids,
shadow of a bruise over one cheekbone, and overlying it the
same face in sheerest crystal, the dar's answer. Saw the curve
of sensitive lips, the spark of amused intelligence glinting
beneath lowered eyelashes. The determination, the courage. The
crystal face and the living merged into one, and Qui-Gon Jinn
gasped for breath.
He had said it himself: truth is not always obvious. Truth is
not always just one thing. They were Qui-Gon Jinn and Obi-Wan
Kenobi, master and padawan, Jedi on a mission, and they were
also two men naked together in a small, hot room. Drops of
sweat beaded on Obi-Wan's fair skin, slid slowly down over
shoulder and chest to pick up speed on the slicker surface of
waterproof bandages. The line of his throat, the sleek muscular
sweep of his back was pure sensuality. Desirable--and desired.
The pain of that realization rolled through Qui-Gon, an
unstoppable tidal wave, the awareness of an innocence lost.
What had been a closed bud within him had burst into full
flower and could never again return to its former shape.
Sinking back into silence again, he spoke sternly to his body,
over which at least he could exert some control. About his mind
he could do nothing--knowledge cannot be un-known. He
concentrated on every part of the present but his own physical
reaction to Obi-Wan, sat there feeling the air hot on his skin,
the steam sweet in his lungs, the softness of the towel and
under that the firm wood of the steam room bench.
He wasn't foolish enough to regret, for more than a fleeting
second, having found and used the dar puzzle. A Jedi must know
himself, strengths and weaknesses. But Qui-Gon acknowledged to
himself that sometimes the reason a question is not asked is
because one does not wish to know the answer. There is no
ignorance, there is knowledge, he thought wryly. And sometimes
knowledge can be both a gift and a burden.
After a while, he rolled his head again, feeling for tensions
in his neck and shoulders, and decided things were better.
Qui-Gon got to his feet and picked up his towel. "I'll get
started on dinner, it's my turn to cook," he said. "You can
stay a while longer."
"Mmmmm." Obi-Wan seemed more than half asleep, but then he
blinked his eyes open. "No, I'll come and help you, master. You
did my work for me earlier. Besides," Obi-Wan rolled into a
sitting position and wiped at his face to keep the sweat from
his eyes, "I'm getting hungry."
So they went together to the showers, and Qui-Gon deliberately
did not look, until Obi-Wan, hampered by his bandages, asked
for help in scrubbing his back. This had been such an ordinary
matter between them, Qui-Gon thought, lathering up a washcloth.
There was hardly any part of each other that they had not at
some point helped to clean, or bandage, or examine for insect
bites. And he had never seen that beneath his deep love and
affection, his simple appreciation of Obi-Wan's strong, healthy
body and pleasing face, something else was growing.
He used the washcloth, careful not to disturb the edges of the
waterproof bandages, and then handed it back to Obi-Wan with a
semblance at least of calm. It was childish to wish that things
would have remained unchanged between them, much too childish a
thought for a grown man and a Jedi master to entertain.
Everything changed, that was the nature of the universe. He had
loved and respected his padawan. Now, he loved, respected and
desired him. Obi-Wan turned his head and smiled at Qui-Gon over
his shoulder, and Qui-Gon stepped away rather abruptly to wash
his hair.
Later, dry and dressed, they went to the kitchen and peeled a
large amount of sala root. Qui-Gon made the spicy mash from
Aia's recipe while Obi-Wan brewed them tea, and they shared a
quiet dinner. Afterwards, Obi-Wan brought out his texts and
asked a question, and they spent the rest of the evening
working out a problem in applied astrophysics, building complex
projections on Obi-Wan's little calculator. Things were much as
they'd always been, except that now and then Qui-Gon would look
at the shape of Obi-Wan's head or the line of his jaw, and it
would be familiar and at the same time entirely new, something
beyond beauty created again and again for him to see. Something
he did not want to tear his eyes away from.
They had gone through several mugs of tea each by the time they
were done, and it was late. "We will continue tomorrow,"
Qui-Gon suggested, turning the calculator off after saving the
latest results. "You'll certainly be ready for the exam by the
time we leave Remis."
"Thank you." Obi-Wan twisted where he sat, turning more fully
towards Qui-Gon, and tipped his head slightly to one side.
Qui-Gon, familiar with this body language, knew a request was
coming. "Master, I would like your permission to spend the
night in meditation. I have given some thought to what you
said--about love--and this feels like the right time."
"Are you certain that's wise? You were injured today, you need
your sleep."
"If you advise against it, master--" Obi-Wan's voice said it
all for him.
Qui-Gon smiled. "No. If it feels right, do it. You must trust
your instincts, padawan." He got up and took their mugs out to
the kitchen, rinsing them in cold water.
When he returned to the main room Obi-Wan had already settled
himself into position--on the low stool, Qui-Gon noted with
some amusement, rather than on the cold floor, but that was
only sensible. Qui-Gon stood for a moment watching Obi-Wan, who
wore stillness like a second skin, and then went into the
bedroom. He sat down on the bed he'd been using and leaned back
against the wall. It was cool against his shoulders.
Winter duty on Remis. He had applied for it, thinking it would
be just right for the two of them after the strenuous mission
to Twa-ikku. A time for meditation and study, a time for peace,
away from the distractions of the galaxy and the crowds of the
Temple. A time for master and padawan to deepen their bond. A
time, it would appear, for a master to discover how he truly
felt about his padawan.
Qui-Gon sighed. Obi-Wan sat in the room outside, meditating on
love. He knew he should meditate himself on the same subject,
but thought kept getting in the way of reaching for calm. The
knowledge that Obi-Wan would want to talk the next morning
about whatever conclusions his meditations had led him to
didn't help. Remis had given him no peace. How could he advise
Obi-Wan, knowing this about himself?
Thinking of all he had said to Obi-Wan previously, the advice
he had already given on love and desire, wanting and being
wanted, he closed his eyes in real pain. It had been sound
advice. Whatever Obi-Wan wanted, he would have to figure it out
for himself, rather than accept whatever he was given from
those who wanted him. Even had Qui-Gon believed it to be
ethical, he could never approach his padawan now--only wait for
the impossible to happen, for Obi-Wan to make the first move.
It had to be Obi-Wan's choice. And Qui-Gon would bet his
lightsaber that Obi-Wan had never had any such feelings for his
master in his life.
At the same time, Qui-Gon wondered, was it right for him to
keep his own feelings secret? Qui-Gon knew as surely as he knew
anything in life that trust was the most essential quality of
the master/apprentice bond; he started and ended his lectures
to the young knights by emphasizing that. Not just the trust
and faith that let master and padawan stand back to back and
side by side in battle and other dangers, but the trust and
faith that made honesty natural and easy and forbade secrets
and shame.
Now there would be something unspoken between them, and that
was wrong. Qui-Gon knew that, but he wasn't prepared to share
his discovery. He could not tell Obi-Wan this. Not this.
Not now. Not yet. He needed time to learn the true depth and
nature of his emotions before he could decide whether this was
something that should be spoken of or not.
He had had similar feelings before, of course. He'd loved
before, been in love before, felt desire before. But new loves
were not patterned on old ones; old loves did not make the new
less real. Staring at the bed across the room from his, Qui-Gon
pictured Obi-Wan's sleeping body there as he'd seen it so many
times over the years, and wondered when this had happened to
him, and why he'd never noticed, why it had taken a toy from a
snowy world on the edge of the galaxy to show him the truth.
He'd loved before, but it had been a long time ago. There was
something new in his life, and he wasn't sure how it would
affect the shape of things. All he felt certain of at the
moment was that he would not be able to sleep, alone in here
with his new knowledge while Obi-Wan meditated on the other
side of the wall.
Getting up again, Qui-Gon walked to the window and stood
looking out as Obi-Wan had the night before. There were no
whirling snowflakes to catch his eye and distract him, just
darkness outside, and a lesser darkness that was the
snow-covered ground. He should sleep, but he couldn't. He
should meditate on love, but he couldn't. He might as well make
himself useful.
Qui-Gon left the bedroom, walked past Obi-Wan without looking
and into the kitchen, to get himself yet another mug of tea,
more out of the habit of having one on hand than because he
really wanted it. He brought it with him to the communications
room and settled in front of the console he used most often,
called up the climate control program, tapped in his entry
codes and patiently began to undo all the work he had put into
altering the reading patterns.
It was dull work, pleasantly so now that the lives of an entire
species did not hang in the balance, and he paused frequently
to sip his tea and make sure his mind didn't wander. The hours
passed as he coded slowly, checked and double-checked, not
wanting to leave any irregularities in the system that might
start to act up eventually. Knowing how to improvise in a
stressful situation was a useful talent, but knowing how to be
thorough when there was time was just as important.
When the old system was back in place, he went down into the
caves and tackled the climate control core reader once more.
This time he worked at a normal pace, and as with the system
recoding, checked everything more than once before proceeding
to the next stage. The presence of the Rem hung around him like
a slow, warm force current. Qui-Gon made a mental note to leave
them some suggestions on how to upgrade their system and put in
additional safety checks. What had happened with the faulty
climate control reader should not have to happen again.
While running a secondary and tertiary diagnostic check, he
called up the instructions left behind by the Rem as they went
underground for the winter to see what they said about exactly
how to report climate control errors. Once he'd checked that he
went on reading for the sake of having something to do, and
found that tucked away in the section on the valley ecosystem
was a set of instructions for what to do on finding a dead
jarak. Qui-Gon assumed that the instructions also covered what
to do on killing a jarak, and committed them to memory. He'd
never tried to skin such a large animal before; he and Obi-Wan
would be busy tomorrow.
Today, he corrected himself. It was morning; the night had
passed. The diagnostics results came up in blue. The system was
working as it should once more. Qui-Gon got up and stretched,
and went out on the walkway, leaning on the railing and looking
down at the sleepers. Generations of Jedi had watched over
generations of hibernating Rem, had walked up and down the
valley through snowstorms and sunshine, had stood as he did now
and reaffirmed their pledge: no harm shall come to you while we
are here. To this day, they had kept their promise.
Qui-Gon smiled a little. Battling computer codes and a faulty
reader wouldn't make for an exciting story to tell when they
returned to the Temple. Obi-Wan had had the more glamorous part
of the adventure, and would have the scars to show for it,
probably. With a last look at councillor Kerob, Qui-Gon let go
of the railing and went slowly along the walkway, turning up
into the corridor and leaving the cave behind. He climbed up
the ladder and sealed the access hatch behind himself, and came
into the main room to see that early sunshine was pouring in
through the windows and Obi-Wan had made breakfast and put it
on the table and was standing there, smiling.
"Good morning, padawan," Qui-Gon said, his voice a low rumble
after so long silent. He came over to the table and they both
sat down to flat bread and fruit and tea and little fried cakes
that turned out to be made from the remains of last night's
mashed sala root. They were quite tasty, with a pinch of salt
sprinkled on top.
When most of the food was gone, Obi-Wan leaned back in his
chair, holding his tea mug cupped in both hands. "I have been
thinking, master, about the results of my meditations."
"Yes?" Qui-Gon said, mildly encouraging.
"I have realized that I have conflicting feelings about
commitment--it is something I want, and at the same time do not
want." Obi-Wan looked down into the tea mug. "Looking at my
relationships with Hana, Soo Lith, Lilia... there is a pattern.
It's as though I will only let myself feel a deeper attraction
when I know it will probably not work out."
"And have you thought about why you feel that way?"
Obi-Wan nodded. He blushed a little. "I want--" He broke off.
Qui-Gon just waited, peeling a small red fruit. "I want so much
from love," Obi-Wan admitted in a low voice. "I want it to be
perfect, and I don't believe it can be perfect, and so I
look for something I don't believe I can find, and take care to
look for it where it's least likely I'll find it."
"Love is seldom perfect, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said, cutting his
red fruit into smaller segments. "One of the Jeteri poets says
that love is 'the most beautiful compromise in the universe'. I
don't believe you've given your lovers enough credit. You've
just assumed that they couldn't live up to your dream, whatever
that dream is."
Obi-Wan looked up from his tea mug, and there was trouble and
guilt in his eyes. "I haven't been fair to them--any of them. I
think I would do well to stay away from relationships for a
while."
"If you feel that it is the right choice for you, then do it,"
Qui-Gon said. Then, speaking directly to the look in Obi-Wan's
eyes, "You're young, padawan. There's time enough for you to
find love. You feel that you've used your lovers, don't you?"
At Obi-Wan's embarrassed nod, Qui-Gon went on, "By your own
account, they all sought you out, and I don't believe you ever
lied to them, or promised them anything you knew you couldn't
give."
"No." But Obi-Wan still sounded hesitant. "Not in so many
words." He put his mug down and rubbed the back of his hand
across his forehead. "Master, may I ask you a personal
question?"
Qui-Gon suspected what that might be, and took the easy way
out--which was, fortunately, the right way. "No, padawan."
Obi-Wan glanced up, surprised. "You need to find out some
things about yourself, and my personal experiences can't guide
you. I can teach you many things, but not what to feel and not
how to feel it."
"I understand, master." It was Obi-Wan's most subdued voice. He
stared down into his tea mug again, and Qui-Gon left him there,
going off to take a shower.
Standing under the hot spray, he reflected that Barkala at
least would be pleased, as it seemed that Obi-Wan was really
about to do what Barkala had recommended. Although Qui-Gon
would wait and see when it came to that: it was easy enough to
decide on a period of celibacy when you were half a galaxy away
from all your potential lovers. Obi-Wan might feel differently
when he returned to the Temple. Obi-Wan had not yet, to the
best of Qui-Gon's knowledge, seen his message from Lilia.
They would be here for another eighteen days before the next
team came to take over. That was at least some time for Obi-Wan
to begin to come to terms with his feelings. And for Qui-Gon to
come to terms with his.
Dressed again, he pulled his hair back into a utilitarian braid
for once, and went into the main room to find that Obi-Wan had
cleared away the breakfast dishes and was waiting by the door
to the entrance hall, looking more collected now. They went
through the door and dressed as they had every morning on
Remis, careful with fastenings and folds of cloth. Today they
wouldn't need to carry shovels, but Qui-Gon got out the
skinning knives from the storage locker in the far corner and
fastened them to his belt.
Obi-Wan was looking curiously at him. Qui-Gon acknowledged it
with a half-smile. "We have a jarak pelt to take care of," he
said.
They went outside and the door closed smoothly behind them. The
sky was clear, the light on the snow dazzling. The hard-packed
surface in the small space outside the watchstation bore no
traces of blood. Qui-Gon reminded himself that when he came
back, he'd have to empty the bucket still standing in the
entrance hall. For now, they had other work to do. He took a
deep breath, felt the cold air fill his lungs, and watched
Obi-Wan's face in the sunlight.
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