Master Apprentice
Archive
The Droid Strikes Back
|
|
|||
"What's wrong, Obi-Wan?"
"Uh... I just didn't realise it would be so... so big, Master!"
Qui-Gon smiled, indulgently, then set about easing his apprentice's evident discomfort. Large warm hands trailed down Obi-Wan's arm, rough callused palms sought out tender fingertips... and found them, after a little rooting around.
They barely stuck out beneath the hems of the massive brown sleeves.
Qui-Gon cleared his throat. "Well, I suppose I remembered you as being a bit taller than you actually are, young Kenobi. You certainly gave that impression... larger than life, if I may say so, Padawan."
Obi-Wan blushed, as much at the unaccustomed title as at the sight of the famed Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn - _his_ Master, he reminded himself – going down on one knee to cuff the offending sleeves to a serviceable length. The heavy, slightly prickly fabric of the new robe almost exactly matched Qui-Gon's hair, he noticed. Maybe a touch more red... very much like the thin braid dangling from behind his right ear, essentially a long plaited strand of Qui-Gon's hair woven into the stubby length of his own. It itched and tingled as it brushed against the side of his neck, and he wondered if he'd ever get used to it. Or the robe. Irritably, he shook his left hand free from the confines of the wide sleeve and scratched his neck.
You're a Jedi now, he reminded himself. And if that involves wearing a robe that one could hide in, instead of the slim coloured jackets the initiates wore in cold weather, then so be it...
"Oh, you'll come to appreciate the size of the thing soon enough, Padawan," Qui-Gon rumbled, reading the teenager's thoughts. "For a start, you'll never ever have to worry about cold hands again – " he demonstrated by slipping one of his huge paws into Obi-Wan's sleeve and gripping his wrist in a gentle squeeze, "and it makes for a decent emergency sail, and a wonderful blanket in the absence of anything else to sleep on, or in. In fact, I once had the good fortune to be marooned aboard a wrecked Ithynian freighter for four days, with all energy channelled into the life-support systems and no heating. The intergalactic hitch-hiker I shared the bunk with was so impressed with the thing that he had one made for himself as soon as we hit planet. Got himself voted worst-dressed being of the galaxy, of course."
Obi-Wan giggled, despite himself. "So you mean I'll always be protected, warmed, and effortlessly badly dressed?"
"Not quite, Padawan. You neglect the wide range of humanoid races. This gentleman," he grinned at the recollection of having to share a bunk with the biggest ego he had ever met in his entire career, "had two heads, and big heads at that. And three arms. You can imagine what that does to the intrinsic anatomy of a Jedi robe."
Obi-Wan laughed out loud, imagining the hitch-hiking stranger flailing his arms inside _three_ oversized sleeves (and hiding your hands in the robe sleeves Jedi-style was pretty much ruled out by the odd number as well), heads hidden under a double hood, looking to all the world like the humps of a hypercamel.
"Besides," Qui-Gon continued, straightening first his Padawan's other sleeve, then himself, "it takes a Jedi's grace and dignity to wear the thing properly. That you have, Padawan...," he hitched up the trailing length of brown wool, momentarily looking like an Ithorian groom carrying his bride's train, "and I am sure you will grow into the physical size of it soon enough."
Thrifty, Obi-Wan thought with an affectionate grin. Still, he didn't doubt he would, and admitted he looked rather dignified in the huge heavy robe, framing his brand-new pale tunics and matching the colour of the new braid. Padawan Kenobi. The sound of that took some getting used to... as did his new living conditions.
He turned away from the mirror, careful not to trip over his robe, and surveyed the scene. Small but well-ordained and blank-looking new quarters awaited the new Master-Padawan pair. Best of all, Obi-Wan would have a room entirely to himself here. The droid bringing his personal belongings from the Initiates' wing should be arriving any moment now.
"So when's your droid coming, Master?"
"My droid? I don't own one."
"No, I mean the one with your stuff in... you know, your clothes and books and... little personal things and so on." Obi-Wan did not for the moment want to go into a discussion about why his 'little personal things' included, among other things, a flask of black spaceship paint, several unused electric sparklers, a length of glittery green ribbon, a shard of selenium-tinted red glass, a woven name tag that said "D. Kolatte", a pair of ear plugs, and a woefully incomplete chess set.
"Oh, that. It's been – I moved in here a few days ago, to try and make things a bit more comfortable for you, Padawan." He allowed himself a quiet chuckle. "Seems like I've failed."
Puzzled, Obi-Wan looked around. The room looked clinically clean and spanking new. What on earth was the old man talking about?
Gently, Qui-Gon directed his new Padawan's gaze towards the door to his own private room. "I thought I'd leave the decoration of the common room until we have both agreed on a style. Meanwhile, all my stuff is in my bedroom..."
Obi-Wan gasped. The bed certainly wasn't visible among the boxes and crates, some transparent and ostensibly stacked with old books and papers, others stuffed carelessly full of clothes in a range of colours that clearly overstepped the limits of traditional Jedi earth tones. Dotted around the floor and trailing over the tops of the boxes, dozens of hydro-potted plants turned the Master's room into a messy small-scale jungle.
Obi-Wan decided he liked his Master.
A high-pitched hum at the door announced the arrival of the service droid, and Obi-Wan strode to the door, robe trailing, to let it in. It was dragging a small sealed crate on wheels behind itself, and the greenish screen it had for a face said, in neat yellow letters, "Padawan Obi W. Kenobi, please identify yourself."
Obi-Wan pressed his thumb onto the infra-red field almost out of reflex, then waited. Nothing happened.
He tried again. Nothing happened.
At the third attempt, the droid's screen lit up again. "No match of identity. Please key in identity code."
Obi-Wan sighed. If there was anything reliable about Temple droids, it was their unreliability. He'd more or less grown up with malfunctioning machinery, and was quite used to having to key himself in manually just about everywhere.
The code was met with resistance. He tried again, murmuring the letters and numbers out loud. Nothing.
A third time, then. This time, he made a point of deducing every single one from the letters of his given name, emulating the algorithm that had created his identity code. Nothing. The droid flatly refused to accept him as Obi-Wan Kenobi.
"Master!"
"Hm?" Qui-Gon emerged from his room, cradling a small purplish trailing vine.
"Master, did my identity code change when I got promoted to Padawan?"
"Not that I know of, Obi-Wan. Discounting major mishaps such as parthenogenesis and severed limbs cloning themselves, a Jedi's code should remain the same for life... let me see."
Placing the plant on top of the droid's sealed box, Qui-Gon bent down to read the screen. "Hm... it doesn't recognise your thumbprint nor your figure code?"
"No, Master. And I tried several times."
Qui-Gon fiddled with the droid's controls. "Maybe setting it to voice recognition mode will help... hello, this is Qui-Gon Jinn. Can you hear me?"
"Good afternoon, Master Jinn." The voice was tinny but apparently lucid. "Delivery of personal belongings for Padawan Kenobi. Please identify yourself, Padawan Kenobi."
Obi-Wan cleared his throat and spoke in the clearest accent he could manage. "Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi present. Please deliver my personal belongings now."
"Searching..." the synthetic voice squawked, then: "No identity match for voice. Please identify yourself, Padawan Kenobi."
Obi-Wan threw up his hands in despair. "I _have_, you stupid machine! What do you want – a blood sample? My mother's maiden name?? My favourite colour?? This is Obi-Wan Kenobi speaking, you malfunctioning pile of metal!" He thumped the droid on what passed for its head several times. The droid remained unimpressed.
"Please identify yourself, Padawan Kenobi."
Growling, Obi-Wan slammed his thumb into the infrared field, so violently that the green screen next to it curved slightly and momentarily acquired a brownish dent. Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow.
"Read the screen, Padawan. Notice anything?"
Obi-Wan fumed. Of all times to be teacherly and serene... he swore to himself he would drive that calm aloofness out of Jinn eventually. He had a minimum of ten years to achieve that, all told.
He read out the screen, enunciating with exaggerated clarity. "Padawan Obi W. Kenobi, please identify yourself – that's what it's been saying all along, Master!"
"Don't you notice something odd about the spelling?"
Silence. "Oh." Then anger again. "Yeah, okay, but... I know I'm the only Kenobi in the Temple, damn it. It's not like there's an Obi Winston Kenobi floating around. Or an Obi Walker Kenobi. Obi Winona Kenobi." He spat the names out, feeling his own lips quirking in a bitter grin.
"Obi Wrruztpiudathac Kenobi."
Obi-Wan exploded in laughter. Qui-Gon made a mock insulted face. "It's a perfectly common Wookiee name, Padawan."
"Yeah right... *giggle* Would Master Qui Gerfried Jinn be so kind as to help me out of this mess? What's the comm code for Temple Supplies?"
Qui-Gon nodded and disappeared into his room, probably to seek out the comm code among his books and papers. Obi-Wan sighed and stared at the droid.
There had to be some way.
"Padawan Kenobi, pleassssss..." Annoyed, Obi-Wan deactivated the voice function, then levered his way into the droid's circuitry. If it had been misprogrammed there was no reason it couldn't be reprogrammed to deliver to Padawan Kenobi with a 'Wan' in the middle, was there?
Brow furrowed in concentration, the boy leaned over the confusing wiring of the droid's motherboard. That metallic square there – that must be the RAM, he decided. Now to hook the thing up to a workable input device, and... he fumbled for his commlink, set it to off-network functionality, then gently worked one of the wires loose that led to the droid's central component. "Sith, a little more light wouldn't be amiss..." he murmured to himself, tilting his head a little to avoid casting a shadow on the area of operation...
With a hiss and a small sharp bang, the droid's electronic brain went up in a flash of orange light.
Obi-Wan blinked the stinking smoke out of his eyes. He held the little wire in his hand, still attached to the circuit on one end, and blank metal on the other. Everything looked fine where it had once been attached...
His neck itched, and he scratched it impatiently, then jerked back at the heat. His fingertips were sooty and he would nearly have burned himself on the smouldering remains of... of his Padawan braid.
Incredulous, he stared at the stinking singed strand of hair, and at the minor crater at the other end of the droid's electronic unit. He swatted out the pitifully short bit of leftover braid and was just about to cover up the electronic mess with the droid's service flap when Qui-Gon re-entered the room and made a face at the smell.
"Smells vaguely familiar. Something wrong, Padawan...?" As he caught sight of his blushing Padawan, robe hanging off his shoulders in a heavy lopsided slump, braid burned down to a blackened two-inch tail, he couldn't help grinning.
Obi-Wan straightened his hopelessly oversized robe, drew himself up to his full height and bravely announced, "Your hair, Master, has shorted out the droid's circuitry!"
"As well it should, Padawan," the Master smiled. "I always had a suspicion that my hair had a mind of its own. Especially when it comes to mechanised stupidity..." He gave the droid an experimental nudge with his boot, and nodded at its silence, apparently satisfied.
"Don't worry, Obi-Wan, I'm sure Supplies have lots more of these. I've spoken to Knight Qasd, and she will be along personally with the code to unlock the crate. And she'll rid us of this pathetic little squeakbox too, I hope."
"M-master?" Qui-Gon was surprised to see Obi-Wan's eyes shining suspiciously. Surely this was nothing to cry about?
"Padawan, it's all right. I'm not angry with you, and Supplies get this short of shit every day. There _is_ a reason why they have so many droids... I assume it's so that you have a chance of catching a functioning one once in a while!"
Obi-Wan's face lightened a little at his Master's spirited growl. "It's not about the droid, Master. I... I know they're replaceable, and there's tons of them in Supplies. It's... my braid..."
"Padawan." Qui-Gon closed in on an unresisting Obi-Wan and enfolded him in a tight warm hug. "I have well enough hair to keep your braid going until you've learnt to tuck it out of harm's way."
Obi-Wan sniffled slightly, then relaxed against Qui-Gon's chest. The rumble of the Master's voice was soothing, and the man's huge hands held him in a tight but tender grip.
"Though if you plan to continue that way on a regular basis you might find yourself with a _grey_ braid, young Kenobi!"
---The End ---