Ratings: Well it ain't a Peter Greeneway flick or the Story of
O. I'm sure you're all big girls and boys and can read this
story without worrying about it.
Warning: Now that would be telling.
Summary: Once upon a time in the rundown spaceport of a very
rainy planet there lived a consumptive prostitute and quite a
few bands of guerillas...
Feedback: Yes please. Public or private, postive or negative,
and send lots. I may be easy but I'm not cheap.
There was a figure in a black rain cloak leading the way, an
unknown quantity. If there was a middle ground between dark and
light, this felt like it. Obi-Wan Kenobi followed only because
it was his only hope, his only link to his Master.
Obi-Wan had lost contact with his Master abruptly in the middle
of a diplomatic mission on Belgar, a planet known mostly for
having the highest per capita mud, rain and combat deaths in
the Republic. He got the brief impression of a scream and then
darkness.
The mission was a bloody, pointless mess and there was nothing
Obi-Wan could do about it. Around election time the Senate
sometimes took it into their collective heads to 'deal with'
the sore on the Republic's reputation that was Belgar. Usually
this involved sending in a battalion of heavily armed
peacekeepers to disarm the guerrillas. The guerillas had
learned to respond to this by hiding their weapons at the
bottom of a well until the elections were over and the Senators
got back to their usual business of arguing among themselves.
This particular year, between a drought on Risdi and an
inflation crisis on Couruscant itself, someone had decided to
get stingy with the budget. This time the problems on Belgar
were only bad enough to warrant a pair of 'neutral' arbitrators
in the persons of a single Jedi Master and his apprentice. The
locals had responded cheerfully to the official downgrading of
their troubles by canceling their usual election time armistice
and going at each other with biologicals.
Obi-Wan and his Master had landed in the Salaam Spaceport City
less than forty-eight hours ago. It was an area that passed for
neutral ground, mostly because it had been bombed to slag so
many times there wasn't much there but ragged refugees to fight
over. The ragged refugees greeted the Jedi by sabotaging their
ship and then ignoring them for all they were worth.
In Obi-Wan's opinion, his master took the setback with an
equanimity that was sickening even for a Jedi Master.
"It is the will of the Force that brings us here, Padawan. We
will do what we can for this benighted planet."
Since no one asked for Obi-Wan's opinion he logged a message to
the Senate asking for military back-up and settled into the
task of trying to repair the ship while his master went looking
for someone in a position of authority to arbitrate for. In all
the histories of Belgar there was no indication such an
authority had existed since a young man by the name of Terin
had blown himself, most of the faction leaders, and more than
nine tenths of the capital city to atomic dust a century and a
half ago.
The engines were sabotaged more thoroughly than even Obi-Wan
could have predicted. He put together a mental list of the
parts they would need and compared against the funds they had.
Then he logged another request with the Senate, this time
asking for a budget increase. The secretary who took his note
promised it would be routed to the Appropriations Committee
sometime before New Years. It was while he was raiding his
extensive vocabulary in order to be thorough about telling her
what she could with her committee, her mother, and her dog that
he heard a loud call from Qui-Gon followed by silence. And more
silence.
Obi-Wan smiled, showing all his teeth, and said a polite
goodbye to the secretary. She promised him that New Years meant
this year. Really it did. When he stepped out of the ship the
rain soaked him to the skin within five minutes and a passing
vehicle splattered mud over his cape and boots. He repeated the
Jedi litany of serenity in his head.
When a hand tapped on his shoulder he didn't take an automatic
swing at the body the hand belonged to, so in his mind the
litany had been successful.
The hand belonged to a figure completely cloaked in waterproof
black material against the weather, but from the voice Obi-Wan
guessed at a female. "If you buy me a drink, I'll tell you a
story, Jedi-boy," she said throatily. Obi-Wan didn't bother to
ask how she knew he was a Jedi.
He blinked water out of his eyes. "Oh?" He tried to raise a
single eyebrow in the assured way that his Master could. He
assumed he'd made a mess of it when the being didn't react.
"What kind of story?" he prompted.
"It's a good one. It's got war, anarchy, treason, sabotage,
intrigue... even a bit of kidnapping of Republic officials
toward the end."
Obi-Wan kept his face still, but it took effort. "It does sound
like the sort of thing I want to hear. But what if I don't have
enough money to buy you a drink?"
The covered head tilted to one side, taking in the sight of his
rain soaked body. "Come in out of the wet. I'm sure we can work
something out." The air of mystery was broken when the woman
dissolved into a cough. The throaty voice was from a damaged
throat, he realized. When she recovered, she gestured a
direction.
The Force moved in him and he nodded. Whatever was going on,
following was the right thing to do. A slender, gloved hand
reached out and took hold of his, leading him into a dark but
dry little tavern a few blocks from the spaceport. The wood and
brick were scarred by blaster fire and the furniture was cheap
and solid. The place looked it had survived being used a
battlefield. Obi-Wan assumed that it had been used as several.
"So what's your name, Jedi-boy?" she asked. When she'd removed
her hood he saw it was definitely a she. Rail skinny and milk
pale with long, dull hair, she gave the impression she was
being burned alive by fever, addiction, or both. He'd be
buggered if she were much older than he was.
"Obi-Wan Kenobi. What's yours, Storyteller-girl?"
"People like me don't have names." He just kept looking at her,
using Qui-Gon's patented intrusive stare, guaranteed to get the
truth out of obstinate Padawans. Amazingly, it worked for him.
"Jetha," she muttered and strode past him to the bar.
The bartender was a being of indeterminate sex whose face was
only slightly less scarred than the walls. He or she had a nose
that looked like it had survived someone's attempt to slice it
off. "The gentleman and I will need a private room, Otho,"
Jetha said.
The bartender leered at Obi-Wan, "You caught a fresh one, eh?"
Obi-Wan kept his silence.
"Something like that," Jetha said.
"Well see that he pays you first, girl!"
"I always do."
With that Jetha lay a single coin on the bar and pulled Obi-Wan
down a musty smelling corridor to a stark little room with
nothing but a sleeping couch and an uncovered light.
Obi-Wan stepped up to the woman in a gesture that was made
menacing mostly, if not solely, by the mass he had over her.
"You know where my Master is." It wasn't a question.
She held out a warding hand. "I didn't have anything to do with
it."
"But you know who did." He smiled his most reasonable smile.
She shrugged. "I can help you repair your ship and get off this
mudball."
"We weren't talking about the ship."
"Forget the old man, Obi-Wan. You won't get him out without an
army." She looked suddenly hopeful. "Is the Senate going to
send an army?"
Obi-Wan made a disgusted sound, but didn't answer her. They
might send an army after New Years if they found money in the
budget once they were done repainting the roof of the Senate
Chambers in Couruscant. Maybe. Damned if he was going to admit
that. "Soon enough. Now. Where. Is. He."
She barely seemed to hear his anger. "If I tell you, you have
to do something for me."
"And what's that?"
She looked down at the slimy floor. "I'm not from this hole of
a planet, you know. I'm a Corellian, a pilot. Commercial
license, but I could have gotten a battlefield appointment if I
wanted one."
"Fine. I'll play, why aren't you out there running cargo?"
"I managed to get myself a little problem."
"Stims?" he asked. It fit with her burnt out appearance.
"I picked up Devor Fever when I was making a run over that way,
and I couldn't afford treatment. The Stims helped me deal with
it a little at first, but now... My employer dumped here when I
couldn't--" she whispered, still not meeting his eyes. "No one
could help me. I looked. They say you Jedi have healers... I
thought that maybe." Thin shoulders shuddered and he bit his
lip, knowing that he didn't have the authority to promise
anything. Then he thought of Qui-Gon, stuck alone somewhere on
this hell hole.
"I'll do what I can, Jetha." He put a gentle hand over hers,
trying to do what Qui-Gon would. Compassion for all sentient
beings wasn't really his talent, but she didn't seem to notice.
"Tell me what you know."
"I have a-- a client in a group that call themselves the Druri
Cell. Sick bastard." She shrugged, as if trying for maximum
nonchalance. "They're anarchists. More than most, I mean. About
two years ago, someone tried to get a mail system going again
and the Druri... well, they say you can still hear her
screaming when the artillery barrages get quiet enough. They're
the ones who chop up all the Republic soldiers they can trap
whenever the Senate sends them. When they found out the
Republic was only sending a pair of Jedi--"
"How did they find that out?"
"I don't know that. The man I know claimed a Senator told them,
but I wouldn't put much stock in that. But they knew somehow.
And someone provided them with shields against the Force."
Obi-Wan nodded. He didn't really believe it was likely a
Senator had anything to do with a terrorist cell here himself.
"Why didn't they get me?" he asked.
"I don't know. You barely left the ship, maybe they didn't get
a chance." The ship had needed him, Obi-Wan reminded himself.
And there was doubt a mere Padawan could have prevented
anything that could get Qui-Gon anyway. It didn't make him feel
better. "Where is he?"
"They probably took him to their base camp. It's about an hour
outside of town by Flyer."
"Do you know where that is specifically."
"I don't, but I know who does." She grinned viciously.
"Your sick bastard?" Obi-Wan guessed.
"That's the one. Shall I take you to him?"
Obi-Wan flicked his gaze across the girl and pushed aside a
brief surge of guilt. He had to be sure of her. "One thing,
Jetha." He gathered the Force to make his request a command and
pushed into her mind. It was well ordered and he suspected that
if she hadn't been worn by drugs and fever he could never have
influenced her. "Tell me everything one more time, just for
laughs. And do make it the truth."
A half an hour later he leaned back against the bed and rubbed
the space between his eyes tiredly. "Thank you, you've been
very helpful. You can forget we had to have this discussion
twice, eh?"
"We never had this discussion twice," she said dully.
"And you won't be needing those Stims any longer."
"No more Stims," she agreed, so fervently that he suspected
she'd tried to quit before. The little help he'd given her
eased some of his guilt.
He released his hold on her mind and watched as she blinked
herself awake. "What? I-- where?" she murmured softly.
"You fell asleep," he told her. "I'd say you needed it."
She frowned. "I'm surprised you waited for me."
"It wasn't a problem. You were going to take me to your
bastard."
"Of course. His name is Arid." She smiled wanly. Obi-Wan
shrugged. She'd already told him that. "We don't have much time
if you want anything left of your Master to rescue. How long
will it take for your back-up to get here?"
"Let me worry about that."
"If you die--"
"I'll send a message to the Council. If anything happens to me
they'll see you safe."
"Fair enough." She offered her hand. The skin was clammy and
loose. He kept himself from shuddering before he released it.
"There's some rain gear under the bed that should fit you. I
keep it here for emergencies."
"Thank you." He didn't ask what kind of emergencies. What he'd
found out about her life from the brief interrogation was
already enough to give him nightmares. When he left this planet
he would have to spend days in a shower to get himself clean.
The rain cloak covered every inch of skin, which was a relief.
He wasn't sure how much longer he'd be able to keep his face
properly serene. Jetha disappeared under her own cloak,
becoming again the inhuman figure she'd started out as.
Obi-Wan ignored the leers of the bartender and the patrons as
they hurried out through the door so steadfastly that he almost
walked right into the gang that was waiting for them outside
the door. A quick count told him there were five, armed with
shock sticks.
"You pretty under that cloak, off planet?" The biggest
demanded.
"Otho said he was pretty. Looks like the off planet whore's
found herself an off planet pretty boy." Another snickered.
"Otho? That--" Jetha hissed something filthy under her breath.
Obi-Wan thought about Jedi serenity. Using the Force in anger
was the straight path to the Dark Side. He cast aside the Force
and used his fist instead, knocking the bigger man into the
ground.
Jetha had him one better. The bully that had gone for his back
collapsed. His stomach splattered over Obi-Wan's back, driven
by projectile fire. Obi-Wan tried not to flinch, despite the
fact that projectiles were illegal throughout the Republic just
because of this kind of carnage.
The other three goons didn't have projectiles. They ran like a
pack of wolves were hunting them.
"Scare weapons," Jetha said, with quiet satisfaction. "Worth
the money." Obi-Wan didn't say anything and hoped the rain
would get it off him quickly. "Otho's a damn cheat," Jetha
continued as if nothing were wrong. She pulled the rain hood
off the goon Obi-Wan had knocked out. "But he saved us some
trouble this time." Her voice lightened.
Obi-Wan tried not care about the gore splattering him. "This is
Arid?" he said nonchalantly.
"That's right," she sounded positively gleeful about it.
Obi-Wan nodded and put his foot on the man's neck, letting the
heavy heel bite at his skin. Arid groaned. "We have a few
questions we need to ask you. I think you'll want to answer
them." Obi-Wan put scruples aside. The Force was with him and
he knew what he did was right.
When he had what he needed, Jetha blew Arid's head off. No one
in the street seemed to notice. She didn't get any on Obi-Wan,
which made him feel better about it.
"Thank you for your help," he said. "I'll be going now."
"You're not getting reinforcements, are you?" she asked
quietly.
"No."
"The terrain outside the city is impossible on foot. You'll
need a pilot to fly you out there."
"I'm a qualified pilot."
"Flying space isn't the same as in a gravity well. Gravity will
get you if you fuck up even a little."
"I'll have to risk it."
"Do you even have a ship that runs?"
Obi-Wan shrugged. Silence stretched between them, only broken
by Jetha's occasional hacking cough.
"I'll take you if you want," she said suddenly.
He thought about gore and illegal weapons. He thought about a
small dank room in a bombed out tavern where she had obviously
taken men before. "Thank you, Jetha. I'd appreciate that."
"You're sure this thing won't collapse under us before we get
there?" Obi-Wan stared doubtfully at the heap of metal Jetha
called a Flyer.
"She's the fastest piece of junk this side of the galaxy. Have
a little faith, Obi-Wan Kenobi." Faith was hard to maintain
when Jetha dissolved into a coughing fit that made it sound
like she could hack her lungs out without half trying. But
since he didn't want to risk trying to find another pilot he
didn't mention that.
Jetha was right about speed. She redlined her Flyer all the way
to their destination, but it wasn't fast enough for Obi-Wan.
His Master could be hurt or dying because of some idiot
bureaucrat in the Senate.
"What's he like, your Master?" Jetha asked after about ten
minutes of listening to each other breathe.
"What do you mean?"
She shrugged. "When I apprenticed to the pilot's guild I had a
decent Master, but I wouldn't have put myself in the fire like
this for him. Nor for anyone."
Obi-Wan stared at her, amused. "But you're here now."
"Your Jedi are going to help me if you pull this off. What've I
got to lose?"
"Jetha," he said slowly, needing to be honest with this woman
now. "I'm not sure the Jedi can help you."
"Obi-Wan, I haven't needed a Stim since you got here and I'm
not an idiot enough to not know who to thank. I have faith in
you."
"It's temporary. The Stims change your body chemistry, the
cravings will be back."
"Okay," she whispered. "Temporary's more than I had before you
showed up. And maybe I'd like to do a little carnage of my own
anyway. Whatever the outcome."
Obi-Wan shook his head. "This planet doesn't need anymore
carnage. If they'd only listened to Qui-Gon, maybe they'd see
that!"
"He's a good man, then?"
"The best I've known."
Jetha seemed to think that one over. "I've never loved anyone
like that, like you love him. Is he good in bed?"
Obi-Wan almost choked on the image of Qui-Gon in bed. It was
not one he'd needed to have at all. He supposed his Master was
a handsome man, for someone of his age, but he was, well, his
Master. "Not everything's about sex, Jetha," he managed to
choke out.
She grinned suddenly. "Good. Just as long as you know which
things are."
He pondered that until they landed safely and she leaned over
and claimed him for a thorough kiss. Her tongue danced over his
mouth, tasting him. Slender fingers dug into the muscle of his
back. It had been a more than a year since he'd had the time
and inclination toward anyone, man or woman, and Jetha was
fever hot in his arms. Burning her life out in his arms.
Unconsciously he groaned. "For luck," she whispered when she
released him.
"For luck," he agreed, trying to hold on to the feeling of her
heat in his bones. They would need it.
Outside the city the rain was even more vicious. Obi-Wan was
mildly surprised to learn that was possible. Water trickled
through his waterproof rain gear and down the back of his neck.
As they approached the coordinates of the Druri camp and the
Force shields, his thoughts became more disorganized and
walking got harder. Obi-Wan had learned to use and integrate
the Force into his every action since he was a small child.
Without it he was half crippled. He didn't want to contemplate
what might be happening to Qui-Gon, who was so much closer to
the Force than he.
"Are you going to be moralistic about projectiles?" Jetha
asked.
"Yes."
"Do you know how to fire a blaster, then?"
"That's not a Jedi's weapon. Too crude."
"But unlike a lightsaber it doesn't rely on the Force. Do you
know how to use one?"
"More or less."
"Wonderful. More or less." She handed him a blaster anyway.
Despite his words the weight felt reassuring in his hands.
If he hadn't been cut off from the Force he would have noticed
the camp first as an aura of horror and decay. As it was, he
was almost flattened by the stink of death that even the rain
couldn't wash away.
The camp was surrounded by a fence made of skeletons. Humans
and aliens, but all sentient. Obi-Wan stopped feeling
moralistic about projectiles.
Jetha hardly seemed to notice. He was cut off and unsure of her
emotions and her face was too well hidden to read, but her step
was untroubled. He remembered she'd lived on Belgar for nearly
five years.
She seemed to know his thoughts without being told. "Welcome to
Belgar, Obi-Wan Kenobi. There is nothing too horrible to be
contemplated. Welcome to war." Her voice was bland and
matter-of-fact as a tour guide's.
"I'm sorry," he said. Sick helplessness welled up in his gut.
"Don't be. It's hardly your fault."
He took her hand and clung to it for dear life. The grip must
have hurt, but she didn't say anything. A Forceless Jedi and a
dying woman out to take on whatever monsters had done this
needed all the comfort they could get.
Except a brief reconnaissance showed something else surprising.
There didn't seem to be anyone inside. No perimeter guards. No
guards at all. No butchers or builders. The borrowed blaster
was destined to remain unfired.
"What now?" Jetha asked.
"We go in."
"They could be waiting for us."
"Did you have a better idea?"
"Blast the place to slag from space," she spat.
"Later," he promised. "Later."
They went in. The bodies lay scattered in heaps or simply
strewn like so much rubbish. Young and old, male and female,
human and alien. Indiscriminate. Obi-Wan stared helplessly into
the faces of the dead, sick and relieved and almost grateful
each time he knew for sure that he wasn't seeing his Master.
The stench faded with his exposure. For some reason that seemed
almost as wrong as the rest of it put together. A smell like
that shouldn't fade, should never go away, and should linger in
his nostrils forever.
With a sudden insight, Obi-Wan knew it would linger in his
dreams at least that long.
"Over here!" Jetha called. "This one's alive, over here!"
Obi-Wan's head snapped up. Without remembering the steps he
took in between he was at Jetha's side. She had found his
Master under a heap of human flesh. He was alive and
unconscious. Unaware of the horror around him. The weight of
his thoughts was too much. Obi-Wan lay his head on his Master's
chest. He felt water on his face, too warm to be rain. There
was a cheap message chip hanging around Qui-Gon's neck. It was
Jetha who pushed it.
A blurred figure faced them, the hate in its eyes the only
thing Obi-Wan could make out for certain. "This is your only
warning, Republic scum," the voice hissed and crackled. "Stay
away from Belgar, the Druri are watching."
Obi-Wan pulled it off his Master's neck with a single harsh tug
and stuffed it into his pocket. The skin on his hands crawled
with revulsion.
Between them they managed to drag Qui-Gon's limp body to the
Flyer. It never even occurred to Obi-Wan to try to wake his
Master. He wasn't sure what he'd seen, but if it was possible
Qui-Gon had been unconscious throughout his ordeal Obi-Wan
didn't Want him to have to know, not ever.
It was a new feeling, this kind of protectiveness. It felt so
horrifically lonely. It made him want to scream and break
things, anything to make it stop.
"Obi-Wan," Jetha said. Her burned out voice broke the spell.
She was there. She knew. She was there. Unseeing, he reached
for her, clutching her thin frame to him. He was crying now,
helplessly, bitterly. "Don't cry, you're embarrasing me, the
old lady." She stroked his hair gently. "How old are you
anyway?"
"Twenty-two," he muttered.
"Really? So am I. You wouldn't catch me crying. Come on, it's
alright, don't you see?" she told him gently. "You survived it.
You can survive anything. So can you stop it now."
He looked up into her pale face. She had strode calmly through
all the horror, but she bit her lip slightly and look like an
uncomfortable teenager now. He released her to fly.
Obi-Wan spent the journey curled up next to his Master's
chilled body, trusting in Jetha to get them out of there.
Obi-Wan logged his final report on Belgar from space. He
wondered if anyone would bother to read it. Probably no one
until the next hapless diplomat decided to research the planet.
Qui-Gon's memory was as blank as Obi-Wan had hoped. His Master
promised that the Council would get help for Jetha, or else he
would do it himself. Qui-Gon had already done something. Flesh
gathered on her bones and some of the terrible heat had faded
in the deep chill of space. It eased something in Obi-Wan to
see her physical recovery. It spoke of hope.
"Do you love her, Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon had asked when she was
taking a shower, curiosity and not a little worry dominating
his voice. Obi-Wan thought about serenity and managed to not
snicker.
"It doesn't matter; she's a Corellian. She'll want to get
another ship and some space under her as soon as she's
recovered. A ship is like... like having the Force is for a
Jedi to her."
Qui-Gon nodded. "That will be for best."
"You don't like her?" Obi-Wan wondered why that surprised him
so much. Even he couldn't bring himself to like Jetha.
"She is not a balanced person, Padawan."
"I'm sure the Council would agree with you, Master."
"The Council is right more than they are wrong. It is why we
follow them."
"As you say, Master."
"You disagree with me?"
"It doesn't matter," Obi-Wan repeated. There was no way he
could explain the truth that Jetha had taught and make Qui-Gon
anything but horrified.
"Obi-Wan, Padawan," Qui-Gon said gently, holding his apprentice
by the shoulders until Obi-Wan squimred out of his grip. "I
know things went badly on Belgar. I'm sorry you were hurt and I
wasn't there to help you."
"Don't be sorry," Obi-Wan found himself repeating Jetha's words
from the blood soaked forests of Belgar. "It's hardly your
fault."
"I am grateful for what you did for me. And what she did as
well."
"I know that, Master."
Qui-Gon didn't try to look his Padawan in the eyes and Obi-Wan
felt only relief at that.
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