Absentis Incendia – Denago
By Arissa Kheri-a aka Free Spirited One
Rated R (Violence)
Disclaimer: All the characters you recognize (and some you might not) belong to Mr. Lucas. Tabiah and the story line are mine.
~~~~~
Out of a deep, dizzying fog consciousness crept, dragging with it pain and the red realization of blinding light on the other side if his eyelids. The antiseptic smell of hospital blended with the noxious scent of infection and filled his nostrils. As his drug addled mind struggled to process the information his senses were gathering, he reached out with the Force.
Dull pain exploded into fire, engulfing his body from the inside out. Limbs reflexively tried to curl in on themselves but his arms and legs were pinioned and he could not move. It burned, oh how it burned. Sharp teeth clamped down on, and then through, his lower lip but he didn’t feel it.
Instinct reached again for the Force. In the past it shielded him from some of the pain, but not now. A scream shoved its way up from his chest only to be caught behind his teeth in a last ditch effort to maintain control. It would be worse for him if he lost it, his Master’s patience for reactionary behavior limited at the best of times. The effort sapped the last of his strength. What have I done to deserve this?
~~~~~
“He is a Sith.”
“Your opinion we have heard on this matter, Qui-Gon.” Master Yoda looked and sounded tired. The aged Master was slumped in his chair, his still form in stark contrast to the bustle of the Coruscant skylanes visible behind him.
“He is trained in the Jedi arts, Masters. We cannot ignore that fact.” Qui-Gon, standing beside an unusually silent Obi-Wan, felt very much like the lone voice of reason. Surrounded by the wisest and most venerated Masters within the Jedi Order he was once again battling against their collective apathy. Again they were focusing on the simplest, least disturbing explanation.
This was not the
first and, Qui-Gon feared, far from the last debate they would have on the
subject of their prisoner. Those that battled him on Tattooine and Naboo
felt he was a Sith but those who encountered him at the
The Zabrak had spoken one word, his tone a plea, to one of the healers. The language was unfamiliar. Playback to a protocol droid finally gave the word meaning. He spoke in Re-en-kam, the language of the Kammau people. The word was ‘Master’.
Since their discovery a several decades earlier, speculation about the Kammau was rampant among the Jedi. As a people, they were an enigma hidden in an impregnable labyrinth of religion and mysticism. Adding to the mystique was the fact that there was a high concentration of Force users among them and a formal process of educating those who showed potential. Before their discovery, no other Order save the Sith, was known to have such a process. In the minds of many, that fact was enough to account for the Jedi like training the Zabrak displayed.
That such flimsy evidence could sway such a venerated body was unbelievable to Qui-Gon. But sway it had and the Council appeared to be fervently building a case around the Kammau theory.
Plo Koon pulled a datapad from his robes and confirmed Qui-Gon’s suspicions. “That fact alone does not a Sith make. We have gone through the records and discovered that over the years several Jedi have been sent to the outer rim region where the Kehmet system is located. All of them failed to return. It is possible that at least one of them stayed on Kehmet and trained the Force sensitives he encountered there.”
Mace took up the dialogue. “Many of our outposts were created in this way, Qui-Gon. Without those brave Jedi who blazed new trails into Force rich worlds we would not be as strong as we are today.” He shifted in his seat. “If you were to encounter such a world, a place with more Force sensitives than we could possibly train here, wouldn’t you establish a school?”
“I would have informed the Council first, Mace. In all those other cases that’s exactly what happened. But not on Khemet. Doesn’t that bother anyone else?” Qui-Gon asked.
“Kehmet is a strange place, Qui-Gon. They’re determined not to integrate with the Republic. It’s unfortunate for reasons you are well aware of.” Adi Gallia answered.
“The issues on Kehmet are very important but they have little baring on…”
Depa Billaba cut him off. “The timing of this attack is also worrisome. Senate negotiations with the Kehmet system are not going well.”
“Tensions between the Per-ah and Priesthood are increasing. Civil war must be averted. It is a priority of the Senate that trade routes established. The appearance of the Zabrak must be understood.” Mace said as if he were trying to explain a complex concept to a small child.
Obi-Wan finally broke his silence, “I agree that something is going on with the Kammau that requires more attention. I cannot, however, shake the feeling that the attack had more to do with the trade embargo on Naboo than negotiations on Kehmet.”
“What interest would the Kammau have in Naboo trade relations?” asked Even Piell.
“That’s my point, Masters. Why would the Kammau send a Zabrak to Naboo to battle on the side of the Trade Federation? As our negotiators are continuously reminded, the Kammau have no interest in trade outside their own system.”
Several Council members leaned back in contemplation. Qui-Gon allowed a hint of a smile to play across his lips. Do my ears deceive me, or did you become a negotiator while I wasn’t looking, Obi-Wan?
The proud smile collapsed when the newly Knighted Kenobe continued in the blunt manner Qui-Gon was more accustomed to. “More importantly, the Kammau are not Dark-Side adepts…”
“The nature of their use of the Force is unclear, Obi-Wan. You assume they stay in the Light. You cannot prove it.” Adi Gallia admonished.
Obi-Wan beat Qui-Gon to the obvious rebuttal, “If they were trained by Jedi as you surmise…”
“Enough.” The word came out like a sigh but it still carried the power to silence Obi-Wan and restrain the come back almost visible on Mace Windu’s lips. Ears low, eyes on the floor, Yoda ended the session. “More we will know after he is Force probed.”
~~~~~
The nightmare repeated itself over and over. Consciousness would return to him bringing with it fatigue and pain. But with each awakening, he learned a little more. He tried to familiarize himself with his physical circumstance; the space was small, blinding and he was tied down. There wasn’t time to discern anything more. As his senses came back to life his innards went up in flames. Always the same until the link was finally made.
It was the Force.
Each time he reached for it pain exploded inside him.
Even with that knowledge it took several tries before he was able to stop the instinctive reach.
As he woke yet again, going through the drugged fog to the red eyelids and the sanitized air he denied himself that sixth sense that he had spent a lifetime cultivating. When the red became tolerable he opened his eyes to a small room of blinding white. It was square with padded walls and no obvious entry. High above him were observation windows with a mirror surface. If beings were there he could not see them. He was strapped to a narrow bed. A white robe covered him.
Testing his bonds he found them strong and tight while his arms felt weak. Glaring at the restraints he discovered that the fastenings were under the table, out of sight and out of reach. He would not be getting up until someone freed him. Frustration crackled and the urge to use the Force to break free became a physical itch. Suppressing it took extraordinary willpower. It would be futile and make his situation worse rather than better. It was the will of his Master that he be bound but it angered him nonetheless.
What had he done?
He didn’t know.
Shaking his throbbing head, Maul tried to force memory out of drug-induced shadows and remember the chain of events that had resulted in his confinement and inevitable punishment.
Once located, the memory glowed like the twin suns of Tatooine, blinding in the light of recollection and burning with guilt.
He had failed.
One Jedi had fallen before him, the injury mortal. The second had overtaken him in a moment of arrogance dealing him a fatal wound of his own. Almost fatal at any rate. He had also failed to retrieve the Naboo queen.
Failed.
It was a terribly small word to bear so much shame.
He allowed himself one self pitying moment, wishing that the Padewan had struck true and killed him. His Master’s punishment for such failure would be unspeakable. What he’d already endured was but the appetizer to a feast of agony.
History dictated that it would come in stages, each worse than the preceding, until his body gave out or until his Master grew weary of the challenge of finding new forms of torture. Suppressing a shudder, he remembered the library dedicated to the subject at his Master’s headquarters.
Pushing his fear away, he resolved to meet his punishment with dignity, endure it as best he could. His failure had earned it. If he survived and was forgiven, he vowed never to fail his Master again no matter the cost. If death came for him then he would die with whatever honor a failed Sith Lord could hope for.
~~~~~
Qui-Gon pushed through the door into the observation room above a padded cell in the medical ward and was surprised to find it crammed full with the entire Jedi Council. Not one of them turned to acknowledge him as he entered. All eyes were on the prisoner far below.
He must be coming around, Qui-Gon thought.
The prisoner’s
wounds had been extensive, nearly fatal, and oddly similar to the ones he’d
inflicted on Qui-Gon. But while Qui-Gon had steadily improved, the Healers
and med techs had found the other a challenge. It had taken more time than
anyone wanted, but eventually they’d classified his species as Zabrak. is
unusual gene sequencing made further categorization into any of the known
sub-species or hybrids impossible. The good news was that Zabrak could regenerate
lost limbs and damaged tissue. Unfortunately, his injures were so extensive
that keeping him alive long enough for regeneration to occur was a problem.
Regrettably, due these physiologic complications, he’d become a living guinea
pig for medical research as they struggled to treat him. Blood and bacta
had to be specially synthesized for him making his first few days at the
Qui-Gon’s eyes traveled around the room, past the carefully composed facades of the Council, the fear festering beneath almost smothered by denial.
Firmly rooted in the living Force, Qui-Gon was not one to look to the future. This did not mean he was blinded to it. Change had been brought to the Jedi carried in the reluctant hands of a Zabrak Sith.
That which is done in secret holds great power. It was an ancient warning, a teaching of the Sith that Jedi Masters had passed down to generation after generation of Padewans. Hard to see the Dark-Side is, was one of Master Yoda’s more often repeated admonitions. Could this group of beings, whose collective wisdom had guided the Order to the brink of tranquility, not be heeding its own teachings?
Glancing over the shoulder of Adi Gallia, Qui-Gon shuddered. He believed he was looking upon the face of a Sith, the first seen in more than 1,000 years.
From so far above, the little room that held their prisoner was claustrophobic and blinding. The boy looked like a drop of ink on a clean sheet of paper. Feeling at once sorry for the Zabrak and less than safe in his presence, Qui-Gon asked, “He’s awake?”
He was answered as golden eyes shuttered open and focused with predatory malice on the observation window. In almost the same instant, the small room began to thrum with the collective Force energy of the Council as its members began to the next phase in their search for answers.
~~~~~
For Maul, the realization that he was in the clutches of his sworn enemies came with a barrage of Force probes that crashed into mental walls he’d built decades ago. He’d thought nothing could be worse than failure. He had not considered capture.
His rage exploded, his body burned and all went black.
~~~~~
It might have been a peaceful afternoon. ‘Might’ being the key word. Leaning on the railing overlooking the main training arena while sipping tea was about as peaceful a thing as Qui-Gon could think of. Many pleasant afternoons had been spent in such a way. But he was watching his soon to be Padewan struggle through first level training. Unlike most of his classmates, Anakin was having no trouble moving through the forms they were learning. Instead, he was struggling with his patience. His displeasure with repeating the forms over and over again for the benefit of students who did not master them on the first try was obvious.
Into Qui-Gon’s thoughts on the best methods to teach patience walked his old friend and favorite antagonist, Mace Windu. From the look on his face, all was not well.
For a long moment they stood side by side in silence watching the children practice below. The instructor was reprimanding Anakin. Mace shook his head. “Your Chosen One is a brat.”
Qui-Gon chuckled. Mace was not the first to say this. Ani had more chips and edges than a broken mirror. It would take some time to repair the damage his initial upbringing had done to him. “He’s still adjusting.”
Mace snorted and silence fell between them again leaving Qui-Gon to muse on the deep yet contentious friendship they’d developed over the years. There was no one he liked arguing with more. And he was Mace’s favorite target. He wondered what the topic up for debate would be now. He was laying odds that it would be something about Obi-Wan or Anakin. He was wrong on both counts.
“There’s a problem with the prisoner,” Mace said without looking at him.
“His wounds are infected again?”
“Not that kind of problem.” Mace shifted, turning to lean back against the railing. “His mind is impenetrable.”
Not possible, Qui-Gon thought. While remaining unwilling to entertain the idea that the prisoner was a Sith, the Counsel was willing to accept that he was a Dark-Side adept. To prevent his dark power they implanted at the base of his skull what they called an attitude adjuster, a small device that was triggered by anger, the emotion most linked to control of the Dark-Side. “The implant is supposed to block his access to the Force.”
“It does.”
“Then he shouldn’t be able to maintain his shields,” Qui-Gon stated the obvious while pondering the possible causes of such a thing. Perhaps he was calling on the Living Force to maintain his shields. Such a thought lent credibility to the notion that the prisoner was not a Sith. A Sith would die before doing such a thing. Would a Kammau? Qui-Gon shook his head. There had to be a reasonable explanation.
“He’s found a way around it.” Mace sighed, spreading his hands wide in disbelief. “He’d rather suffer the electroshock and unconsciousness than let us into his mind.”
Qui-Gon drifted away, his thoughts turning toward the few times he had witnessed the implants effects. The Zabrak’s reaction was always swift and violent. A burst of black hate would fill the room followed by searing pain. It only lasted for seconds, but they were terrible and left an indelible mark on any who witnessed it.
Mace stared at him, his need for supportive words written on his face. Qui-Gon had none to offer. He said quietly, “Just as you would if you were captured by an enemy.”
Mace glared at him but ignored the point preferring to continue explaining his problem, his tone dubious. “Every time we probe his mind, he goes ballistic and sets the implant off. Over the last five days it’s gone off nine times. He has been conscious for a total of 45 minutes in all that time.”
There was no doubt, no argument that could make the use of such a device anything short of cruel and unusual. As he often did, and was often reprimanded for, Qui-Gon spoke his thoughts. “The Code expressly forbids torture.”
Outrage etched an incredulous mask on Mace’s face. Without waiting a beat, he explained, “We’re not torturing him, Qui. He’s doing that himself.”
Deeply troubled by this argument Qui-Gon pointed out the gaping hole in his friend’s logic. “So you’re saying is that if he would simply tell you what you want to know, the pain would stop.”
“Yes,” Mace breathed, relief releasing the taunt lines on his face.
Clapping his friend on the shoulder, Qui-Gon gently admonished, “When was the last time you looked up the definition of the word torture, my friend?”
The look Mace shot him before stalking away was deadly.
~~~~~
Obi-Wan sat in the Garden of a Thousand Fountains and tried without success to center himself. Unable to focus, he stared at his boots. They needed to be resoled. New boots for a new life. New life. Ha. If he had the energy for it, he’d laugh.
Leaning back in the grass, giving up completely on meditation, he closed his eyes and let the sun warm his face. Maybe a short nap to make up for all the sleep he was missing lately.
Sleeping in the Knights’ dormitory was impossible.
Nightfall, which used to mean tea and dinner with Qui-Gon before study and sleep, had become something he dreaded. The painted warrior, Zabrak, Sith, Kammau, whatever it was, had taken center stage in his dreams. Night after night, he would wake chilled to the bone and wishing to turn on a light like a child. His sleep thus stolen, he’d brood till dawn trying to divine meaning from what little he could remember.
Adding to his consternation, Yoda had often told him that he was gifted with a strong attenuation to the Unifying Force. It was one of the reasons for his paring with Qui-Gon who was firmly rooted in the Living Force. They balanced each other. Qui-Gon lived in the moment and Obi-Wan lived in the future. Could his dreams be visions of things to come? He didn’t know and he no longer had the benefit of his Masters alternate viewpoint against which he could weigh his thoughts.
He’d known the change from Padewan to Knight was not an easy transition, but he thought he would at least be prepared for it. He had seen several of his year mates go through the process. It was supposed to be a gradual shift, a slow breaking of the Master/Padewan bond. Even under the most ideal circumstances, it wasn’t easy.
Frankly, nothing about being a Jedi was easy. That’s why so few actually managed it. The attrition rate was staggering. Only 25% of initiates became Padewans and of those only 30% became Knights. With odds like that, he should be thankful that Master Qui-Gon thought he was ready for this. He would be if it hadn’t felt like he was getting passed up just so Qui-Gon could be rid of him.
Draping an arm over his eyes, Obi-Wan wondered what the Trials would have been if the painted Zabrak hadn’t come along. Battling and capturing him had proved all the Trial he needed to become a Knight. The Council said they never could have come up with a better test for him and he supposed he’d proven his metal as a fighter. But not as a Jedi.
His victory had been a fluke. It had also been something he should have been punished for rather than rewarded. Better to have died than to have won only because he let his anger fuel him.
Qui-Gon hadn’t said anything but Obi-Wan knew he knew. He wished his Master had said something, stalled his Knighthood, given them a little more time together. But Qui-Gon held his tongue. Why? Because by holding his tongue, Qui-Gon had ensured his freedom to train the boy.
The boy. The
The kid slept in Obi-Wan’s bed now, probably sat in his dent in the couch and enjoyed the scent of Agwarian tea that Qui-Gon loved so much.
His banishment from his home of the last 10 years had been swift. While Qui-Gon was in the med ward Obi-Wan had moved out.
He was eating in the commissary again. He hadn’t been there since he was an initiate. The reality was, he was eating a lot better than he would if left to his own devises but he missed Qui-Gon’s culinary skills. It just wasn’t the same.
Nothing was.
~~~~~
Maul’s head was pounding and every muscle screamed at the slightest movement but he was no longer tied down. The expected Force probes did not hit him and he slowly opened his eyes.
He was greeted by blinding white. The mirrored glass high above him stared down like angry eyes and he felt watched. They were up there he knew, Jedi watching their Sith in a cage. He took a deep breath and pushed into a sitting position. The simple motion caused his head to swim, the swirl of drugs flushing away his reason leaving him floating for a time.
When his head cleared, he touched the tender place at his side feeling the bandaging under the stark white gown. With a grimace he climbed to shaky feet, the pull of cramped muscle against bone limiting his range of motion and making the normally graceful movement look and feel like an old man’s. He pulled off the gown, more uncomfortable with the stark white than he was with his nakedness.
Turning in a wobbling, weak circle, he surveyed his surroundings through semi-focused eyes. A wave of nausea cascaded through him and he leaned hard against the wall to keep from falling to his knees. He would not show weakness. It took a moment to force down his rising bile.
He looked around again but could not find a door, no entrance of any kind. The padding on the walls was done in columns that ran from floor to ceiling. There was an exit somewhere but he could not detect it. Next he surveyed for vents, the air cool and sterile. He found two, built into the ceiling at least 6 meters over his head.
With the Force he could jump or, with a clear head and extreme concentration, levitate to the vents. Without either, he could still climb. Claws were useful tools, but when he glanced down he discovered them blunted, hacked off to the quick, several scabbed over where his mutilator had been overly ambitious. His fingers flew to his head, probing and counting ten unaltered horns. He had never realized they bore any importance to him before that moment.
Maul pushed off the wall and began to pace, four unsteady strides, back and forth, ignoring the protests of his injured body.
~~~~~
“Qui-Gon,” Depa Billaba recognized him when as he pushed through the door to the observation room.
“You’re alone?” It was a rhetorical question since she was, in fact, the only person in the room but every other time he had entered the chamber there had been at least two or three Council members there.
“Yes,” she replied. “The others are in session to develop a new plan to extract information from him. Your comments to Mace seem to have had the desired effect.”
“No more Force probes I take it.” Qui-Gon smiled. Depa was famous among the Jedi for two things. Her extraordinary compassion and her persuasive tongue. If anyone could change Mace Windu’s mind, it was she. Depa knew better than most how stubborn he could be. She’d been his Padewan.
“They were proving ineffective and no one was comfortable with the results. It’s not our goal to hurt him. He’s been hurt enough.” Her voice was soft, the concern and sorrow evident in her tone. Her dark brown eyes cast down on the prisoner as she spoke.
Qui-Gon followed her gaze to the naked form trudging back and forth below him. The bold pattern of black and red was transected with scars both old and new, evidence of his hard life.
“What’s your opinion, Depa? Kammau or Sith?”
She glanced up at him, her expression grim. “I cannot answer the question, Qui-Gon. Neither option is encouraging.”
“No, they aren’t. Has the subject been broached by our negotiators on Kehmet?”
“It was. They are now on their way back.” She said, turning to face Qui-Gon for the first time. She looked like it had been a while since she last slept. “It did not go well, I understand.”
“What does the Senate have to say about it?”
“The Senate is still in upheaval over the removal of Valorum as Chancellor. The campaigning of Palpatine, Organa, and Teem seems to have preoccupied most of them.”
Qui-Gon nodded and let his gaze fall. Yellow eyes stared up and, though Qui-Gon knew he could not be seen, the Zabrak seemed to be totally focused on him.
~~~~~
Maul wanted those above him to know he was aware of their presence. After a long moment he let his eyes fall back to the floor. Their questions had not been answered and he wondered why they were leaving him alone.
The drugs were beginning to wear off leaving him more vulnerable and weak than he ever would have thought possible.
Channel your emotions, Maul. Your hate is your power. Feed it and it will grow. The practical application of that advice was to bottle his emotions, drive them down, bury them and allow them to ferment. It had been simple before. It was simple no longer.
If anger was the sand under which he buried his feelings, his beach had been washed away exposing a vast array of barely corked bottles, turning his mind into a minefield, each thought carrying with it a potential explosion.
The implant was unforgiving and it’s pain extraordinary. There is no pain where strength lies. His Master had pounded that fundamental Sith principle into his body, mind and soul over the years. It was the mantra that rooted his healing meditations. Chanting it now accomplished nothing and his faith was beginning to waver.
Pain was relative he knew, some beings brought to their knees by a single drop of blood and others fighting on through wounds that should have killed them. He was personally of the later category, a fact he’d repeatedly proven.
His Master listed his high pain threshold among his greatest strengths, the rare compliment precious in spite of its price. But the unimaginable burning of the implant eclipsed any pain he’d endured before.
This was torture, pure and simple and it confirmed all he’d ever been told about the sanctimonious Jedi. They were capable of great cruelty to maintain their power. The implant was a direct violation of their sacred Code. If a Sith could see this, how could the Jedi not?
There is no emotion; there is peace. There is no ignorance; there is knowledge. There is no passion; there is serenity. There is no death; there is the Force.
Let them remain ignorant. His presence inspired such fear that even the Jedi High Counsel succumbed to it, their use of torture their first blind steps into the Dark. It almost made his imprisonment and pain worth it. He wondered if Lord Sidious would forgive him if he were able to turn some of them. Doubtful.
With renewed vigor, he surveyed the tiny cell again. The location of the damned door remained a mystery though he suspected the floor could be raised making one of the observation windows the exit.
He no longer held his abilities in such high esteem realizing belatedly that his arrogance had been his downfall. The plan he was mulling over was fraught with arrogance. Even if he made it out the door and through the inevitable Jedi guard, he would be lost, drugged, injured and without the Force. It would not only be arrogant, it was stupid and predictable as well.
Disgusted with his inability to think more clearly, his pacing began to circle the small space. He reached for a horn but found that the simple act of moving his arm threw off his balance and he nearly fell. His anger almost overtook him then, but he managed to shove it back down determined to focus on the matter at hand.
His pacing resumed, steadied slightly by his resolve.
~~~~~
“Master Yoda?” Obi-Wan called as he walked as quickly as dignity permitted down the hall.
The revered Master stopped and turned, his expression bland, as if he’d been in deep thought and was hiding his irritation at being drawn away from it. Obi-Wan almost changed his mind then. Yoda had a tendency to rap shins with his gimmer stick when people interrupted him for unimportant things. From experience Obi-Wan knew it took several days for the pain to dissipate and over a week for the bruising to fade.
Wishing he’d thought through his strategy a little harder, he proceeded with what he had. “Pardon me, but I wanted to ask you something. I know I’m newly Knighted, but I was wondering when my first assignment would be. I feel very much like I need to be more active.”
“Activity you say you need. Bored you are?”
Oh no. Be careful how you answer that one, Obi-Wan thought. Once Yoda had given his attention there was no graceful escape. Choosing his words as carefully as he could Obi-Wan tried again, “Master, I’m just in a new role and would like to get started.”
“Ah.” Yoda’s green eyes narrowed. “A distraction you need?”
It was true. He needed something, anything, to take his mind off his anger at being tossed aside by the one man whose opinion really mattered. He was thinking too hard, allowing his emotions to rule him because he couldn’t find something else to focus on. That it was obvious was no real surprise. Qui-Gon had been forever telling him to guard his feelings better. He wore his heart on his sleeve. To pretend he didn’t would result in a sore shin. “I suppose I do.”
Yoda’s gaze fell for a moment as if he was thinking something through. When he raised his eyes Obi-Wan had the distinct feeling that he would not be enjoying whatever assignment he was about to get. “A new med tech we have. From Khemet she is. Tabiah Ke-khet . Learn all you can from her you will.”
“What?” It was
a terrible assignment, one frequently done by Padewans. Med Techs were not
Jedi. They were outsiders brought into the
Yoda tapped his walking stick on the floor silencing him. Without so much as a backward glance the old Master started back down the hallway saying, “Wanted something to do you did. Something to do you now have. Arriving today she is. Meet her in the lobby you will.”
~~~~~
Obi-Wan watched
a slight, dark haired girl enter the
She looked like a child. Small, shapeless, with long thick little girl hair and bangs cut too short like she’d done it herself for the first time. His only clue that she might be the woman he was looking for were the two bags she’d carried in with her. How could that little kid be a trained med tech? Sighing in resignation he walked up to her, discovering that she was even smaller than he’d thought. “Are you Tabiah Ke-khet?”
After a long pause, she turned toward him, huge black eyes giving him a once over that left him feeling diminished somehow. She sighed and shook her head, her penetrating eyes flicking away from him.
Relieved
that this person wasn’t the one he was looking for Obi-Wan used his voice
of authority and asked, “What is your business at the
She looked up at him again, brushing short bangs from her forehead as if his status was irrelevant. “I’m the new med tech.” She extended a hand, as was polite custom on Coruscant, releasing his hand almost the instant he took her offered one. “I am Tabiah.”
Oh great. This is just what I needed. He wondered if all Kammau were so rude. Masking his displeasure as well as he could he tried to adjust his voice to sound cheerful and welcoming. “Obi-wan Kenobi. I was waiting for you.”
Her expression changed. Her eyes, which he’d already thought were reminiscent of two black holes, went flat. She turned away from him, leaving him feeling like a dismissed child.
I’m really looking forward to spending time with this piece of work. Thank you soooo much, Master Yoda, Obi-Wan thought. But he was glad he wasn’t on Khemet dealing with crowds of beings like her. Without another word, he hefted her bags and started toward an elevator.
She followed him and he really wished there was a way to get her to take the lead or at least walk beside him. He could feel her stare boring into his back and he didn’t like being evaluated like that. She was making him feel more inadequate than he already did.
~~~~~
The Zabrak was interesting to watch. First and foremost, he could not sit still. He paced, he stretched, he sharpened nonexistent claws on the walls with the languid grace of a cat. He attempted to train but injury and lack of space conspired against him. Mostly, he paced.
He ate sparingly from the supply of ration bars they’d set out for him. He had no modesty, having discarded the robe on his first, wobbly day unrestrained and never picking the garment up again. He also didn’t seem to mind having an audience for basic bodily requirements though it bothered Qui-Gon and he always turned away.
Sometimes he would sit in the center of the small room and meditate. It never lasted long. It became something of a game to try and predict how long it would be before out of nowhere, he would climb to his feet and begin pacing again, fingers twirling round the horns at his temples.
Qui-Gon was spending far too much time there. His curiosity had grown and was becoming difficult to contain. He was glad the Council had retreated to their chambers to determine a new course of action. It gave him ample time to observe their prisoner.
The more he saw the more he admired. The Zabrak was more disciplined than most Jedi Qui-Gon knew. Though the circumstances were inherently distressing, the young man controlled his reactions, maintained a routine and managed to keep his mind shielded.
It was his shielding that was the true source of Qui-Gon’s curiosity. Because he suspected use of the Living Force, Qui-Gon had no choice but personally enter the Sith v. Kammau debate. Publicly he maintained his Sith argument but privately, he wasn’t as sure as he wanted to be.
The young man settled again, sitting in the center of the small chamber, legs crossed, hands with blunted claws folded in his lap, head bowed, eyes closed. It was a posture of meditation. Without benefit of a clock, every day at the same time, the Zabrak attempted to meditate.
Qui-Gon began timing. Over the last several days the longest he’d remained sitting was 28 minutes and the length of time continued to decrease. According to the droids monitoring him, the longest he’d slept was four hours and it appeared that he had nightmares. Qui-Gon ordered the droids to contact him the next time the Zabrak slept. He wanted to see for himself.
~~~~~
“Well, these are your quarters. I can send droids for the rest of your things if you like.” Obi-Wan dropped her bags on the floor without ceremony. He wanted out of her caustic presence as soon as possible.
“Thank you,” Came the mechanical response. Those black hole eyes were taking in everything with the same kind of disdain she’d damaged his ego with. She blew out a resigned breath that ruffled her bangs and momentarily brought back the childlike quality he’d first noticed.
“May I see the medical facilities now?” she asked. Her voice was very different from her eyes. The soft lilting quality of her speech was quite charming.
“Of course.” Obi-Wan stepped out of the doorway and walked beside her to the elevator and down to the medical ward. The entire trip was made in silence.
When the door to the ward opened, both of them flinched. Having been a frequent visitor, Obi-Wan was not a fan of the medical ward. He’d never liked how stark it was. The entire place was blinding white. Droids scurried about constantly cleaning, ensuring that the icy terrain was unsullied.
A protocol droid approached them, its silver skin blinding in the austere, colorless expanse. “I am N8-Q4, you must be Tabiah Ke-khet. Pleased to make your acquaintance. If you will permit, I will show you our fine facilities.”
Obi-Wan was thankful for the droid’s arrival allowing him to leave. He bowed to Tabiah out of habit saying, “I believe that’s my queue to go. Think you can find your way back?”
“I do, thank you.”
He knew her eyes on him as he departed and he again felt self-conscious wondering what she was looking at. When the doors closed
behind him he was grateful.
~~~~~
Not one Force probe had been directed at him for quite some time, several days at least though he couldn’t be certain. He didn’t know why the probes had ceased, but he was grateful for the reprieve.
Maul knew that the Jedi watched him. He could feel their presence and was aware of the periods when he was without living observer. No doubt droids watched his every move in those moments.
The drugs had worn off leaving him with a clear mind and an aching body. He felt as if his limbs were made of lead, heavy and stiff. He was unable to train as he would have liked and instead paced in a vane attempt to work off his growing agitation.
Over and over, with every step, his newest mantra repeated itself. My Master will come for me.
It was a pitiful state of affairs for a Sith Lord to be reduced to praying for rescue but he’d been left with little else.
For the time being, the only manner of escape available to him was if his Master broke him out. It was a bitter pill. He knew the repercussions for his previous failures would be compounded by his failure to free himself.
He shuddered to think what the punishment might be, but he would gladly endure anything to feel the enveloping darkness of the Force once more, to reach out and know his Master was there.
My Master will come for me.
But he could no longer feel his Master. The bond was broken. It had been an intrinsic part of him all of his life, something he’d taken for granted in the same way he understood his heart would beat without his express direction. The loss of it shook him to his foundation. Never before had he realized how much he relied on that bond for guidance and instruction. He felt set adrift without it, unable to think properly.
The concept of ‘always two’ had taken on a new meaning for Maul. Being ‘one’ was intolerable. The fulfillment of a days training, a new lesson learned, an assignment that showed his Master’s growing confidence in his skill was gone. He felt empty, like there was a giant hole inside him and the void was growing by the second.
My Master will come for me. My Master will come for me.
Without his rage to sustain him, he was beginning to feel things that were long since forgotten. Worry. Doubt. Fear. Emotions he
instilled in others were beginning to seep in. He tried to control them, to drive them out as his Master had done so long ago but the means were not at his disposal. The only option he had was the implant but he lacked the will to use it. Instead of being angry at his self defeat, he was depressed by it.
He would only recover his true glory if, he shook his head, when his Master came for him.
~~~~~
“Anakin.”
The little boy turned around in his chair, his head hung in shame, eyes on the floor.
Qui-Gon had been in the observation room when the news of Anakin’s latest breach of conduct had been brought to his attention. He’d been irritated by the interruption and that disturbed him. Anakin had to be his top priority.
Qui-Gon knelt in front of the child, sending a wave of reassurance to the boy through their fledgling bond. He’d already heard the story from Ani’s history teacher but knew how relative perspective could be. He wanted to hear Anakin’s version before passing final judgment. “Would you like to tell me what happened?”
“They were picking on me.” Anakin’s back straightened in indignation though his eyes remained riveted on the floor.
In a gentle tone Qui-Gon pressed, “Who are ‘they’?”
“The other kids in my class. They were saying that I was an aber…” He fumbled for the word, “aberration.” He finally lifted blue eyes that had grown cold with anger.
The look on his little face made Qui-Gon uneasy. There was so much hurt and anger in the child. Ani would have to learn to release his feelings into the Force. As he mentally prepared another lesson on the dangers of harboring anger Anakin’s expression broke and he slumped once more, his eyes filling with tears.
Putting arms around the child, spiky blond hair tickling his chin Qui-Gon said, “People will call you many things in your life, Ani. You have to remember they are only words and have no more power than you choose to give them.” The stiff form in his arms and the fragile shields erected between them told Qui-Gon that Ani wasn’t hearing him. He tried again. “Did you ever hear the saying ‘sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me’?”
Anakin melted into his arms, his face pressed against Qui-Gon’s shoulder. It was apparent the child was trying hard to resist crying. “Yeah, my mom told me that.” He snuffled and wiped his nose on Qui-Gon’s sleeve. “But it’s not true. Words do hurt.”
“Only if you let them, Ani.”
Anakin’s tendency to internalize his feelings was going to be a problem. It reminded Qui-Gon of the Zabrak prisoner, infinite pain harbored within. It was vital that Anakin learn to release his feelings into the Force. However, there was more to the story and he preferred to deal with the issue in its entirety rather than its parts. He prodded, “So, they called you names. Then what happened?”
“I told them to take it back or else but they wouldn’t.” The boy’s posture became rigid again, his anger turning him to stone.
Qui-Gon could feel the Force begin to swirl around the boy. He sent another wave of comfort to the child and stated, “Then you attacked them.”
It did little good. Anakin grew defensive. “Only the kid who started it, Master. He deserved it.”
Qui-Gon sat back on his heals, releasing his grip on the child, searching his face. “You were angry with him for being mean to you.”
“Yeah.” Self righteous indignation flared in blue eyes as tiny arms crossed over his chest.
“Then you took it upon yourself to teach him a lesson.” Qui-Gon said remembering what Yonos had told him about the incident. Anakin had flung himself across the room during a short break and attacked one of the other children, punching and kicking at him while a storm of small objects spun around the room. It had taken all the instructor’s skill to keep the other children from being harmed by the debris. Yonos had pulled Anakin off the other boy and had him removed from the room. The Council met briefly and determined Anakin would not be allowed to return to classes for a week and would instead work in the kitchen. It would also be necessary for Anakin to begin seeing a Healer for help with his anger and to increase his patience.
Neither task would be easy. For Anakin, it was as if the lesson structure had been reversed. That which should have been difficult like the physical training and regular schooling came with abundant ease. Emotional development and social interaction, the ‘easier’ parts, were coming to Anakin about as easily as tree sap flows in winter. It was frustrating at times. The assistance of a Healer he had to grudgingly admit would be helpful.
As Qui-Gon thought all of this, Anakin simply nodded that that was indeed what he’d done and for all intents and purposes looked as if he felt justified in doing so.
Allowing his disapproval to show a little Qui-Gon asked, “You believe it’s your job and not instructor Yonos’ to discipline the class?”
“I…” Anakin started to protest and then his gaze fell to the floor. “No, Master.”
“You owe Yonos and the student you injured an apology, Anakin, after which you and I will come up with a suitable punishment for your behavior.”
“But the Council already did that!” Big blue eyes got bigger still then they narrowed. His posture became a petulant sulk.
Qui-Gon sighed. “This is the third time, Ani. You must learn to release your anger. We shall work on it together.” Taking the little boy’s hand he started walking him back to their quarters. Classes were over for Anakin and Qui-Gon needed some time to think of how to incorporate the input of a Healer into his plan for Anakin’s development.
“Yes, Master.” Anakin said, watching his feet as he walked.
They continued down the hall, up the elevator and almost all the way to the door to their apartment when Anakin looked up at Qui-Gon and asked, “What’s an aberration?”
~~~~~
“Ankhneferaten was his usual self. Even though the Priesthood is rallying against him and the loyalty of his people seems to be swinging away from him, he refuses the help of ‘outsiders’.” A very tired looking Binn Ibes explained to the Council. He had just returned from Kehmet with his Padewan Reeft.
Depa had read their report. The situation on Kehmet was going from bad to worse. Each time the issue was discussed in the Council, she was reminded just how strange it was that there was conflict with a system that had peacefully existed outside the Republic for millennia. Up until the Senate expressed interest in them. They’d been known of and ignored for 30 years. So why were they now so important?
Adi Gallia asked, “And what was his attitude when you questioned him about the Zabrak?”
Ah yes, the Zabrak. The subject of many lengthy debates, countless sleepless nights and the reason that other issues that had been of great importance before his arrival were no longer discussed even in passing.
“He was less than pleased, Masters,” Binn answered. “The Per-ah requested that we depart immediately, which we did with an escort of 20 royal guards. He said that to even consider such a thing told him all he needed to know about the spirit of the Republic and he wanted no part of it and never would.”
Turning toward the other pair of Jedi, Mace asked, “Did the talks with the High Priest go any better?”
Clee Rhara answered him. “No, they did not. I think Hordedef is hiding something though. When questioned about the Zabrak he said he knew nothing about him but then began asking questions of his own. He only got angry when we told him the Zabrak had been killed. It was at that time that he asked us to leave in much the same manner as Knight Binn was.”
Depa lost herself in contemplation and didn’t hear the brief words of praise offered by Mace to the pair of Knights and their Padewans before they were escorted out of the Council chamber.
Hordedef’s suspected duplicity had been mentioned in the report Clee and her Padewan Garen Muln had filed. But hearing her explain it made something in Depa cringe.
Once the room had been cleared of non-Council members, Saesee Tiin voiced his fears, “Is it possible that the Zabrak was sent to Naboo with the express purpose of destroying what little confidence Per-ah had in the Republic? If we had failed to stop the blockade, the statement clearly would have been that the Republic was too weak to protect its membership. Why should he pay taxes to a weak governing body to increase trade when trade has never been something the Kammau had much interest in?”
“At Hordedef’s doorstep such a hypothis places blame.” Yoda, who had been silent throughout the briefing, interjected.
“It would appear to. But how, or better yet why, would he enlist the Trade Federation to do his dirty work? It seems too intergalactic a reach for a system determined to remain isolated. Remember, Ankhneferaten is not the only one with no interest in trade with the Republic.” Mace reminded the group.
Ki-Adi-Mundi leaned back in his seat. “Hordedef wants power. He wants control of the Kehmet system. I would not put it past him to dream up such a scheme. Bear in mind also that the Trade Federation is motivated by their greed alone. Kehmet is very rich. Their collusion would be easy enough to secure.”
“The wealth of Kehmet is entrusted to the Per-ah, not the High Priest.” Plo Koon said.
“True, but with the instability in the region all it will take is one misstep on the part of Ankhneferaten and Hodedef could become Per-ah. He has growing support among the people.” Ki-Adi-Mundi rebutted.
“Why a Zabrak?” Depa asked quietly. In all their discussions it was assumed that he was representing the Kammau. There was no proof, in fact, most of what they did know about the Kammau was in conflict with the assumption.
When no one answered her she restated her question. “I am unclear why they would train a Zabrak. In their history, as far as we know, while they live side by side with other species, they’ve never accepted any but pure blood Kammau into their Force training. So why would they take on a Zabrak?”
“To throw us off.” Eeth Koth answered.
“That would suggest someone knew this day would come many, many years ago. Such a thing would require planning that predated Hordedef’s anointing as High Priest and Ankhneferaten’s assent to the throne as Per-ah. Neither of those events could be predicted. Ankhneferaten would not be Per-ah had his brother not taken ill and died. Hordedef started out as a Priest to a lowly god offering no way to predict his rise to power. How then could either of them have had the foresight? If the Zabrak is a Kammau weapon, then someone else is behind this, someone we don’t see.” Depa sucked in a breath and offered the alternative that no one wanted to hear. “Or perhaps Qui-Gon is right and we do have a Sith in custody.”
“Meditate more on this question we should. An answer we must have.” Yoda said cutting off the sharp retort Depa knew was forming behind Mace’s lips. Others on the Council looked equally ready to rebuke her. But the question was back before them, the option no one wanted to face.
~~~~~
Questions. Too many questions.
Maul was still pacing, a trail along the outer edge of the cell becoming visible under his feet.
Maul was accustomed to orders. He was comfortable within the confines of his duty. He did not question it. He did not challenge it. He did as he was told and was content.
He was currently without orders. Being captured was not something his Master had ever discussed with him. It had seemed an impossibility. Maul did not know what he should do knowing that escape wasn’t possible yet.
As a result he was thinking too much, asking too many questions. Without the drugs clouding his memory, his thoughts had begun to betray him.
The events leading up to his capture were haunting him. Guilt was beginning to give way to something else, something he refused to entertain. Still it invaded his thoughts and colored his memory.
The question, the enigma, was whether or not his bond with Lord Sidious had broken before or after he lost consciousness at Naboo.
It had to have been after. It must have happened when the Jedi inserted the implant he could feel at the base of his skull. If it cut him off from the Dark-Side then surely it also cut him off from his Master.
But still he questioned and the more he did the more certain he became that it happened at Naboo, that the loss was what had driven him over the edge into unconsciousness.
But it could not be.
Lord Sidious would never have abandoned him. Too much time and effort had been put into his training. He was a valuable asset.
Wasn’t he?
~~~~~
Obi-Wan walked down his favorite path in his favorite garden heading for his favorite bench only to find his favorite person sitting on it with his least favorite Initiate.
He stopped short and crouched behind a bush feeling like an idiot for not having the courage to be seen by the pair.
He’d forgotten his introduction to his favorite place had been at the hands of Qui-Gon who had told him it was a wonderful place to find his calm center. Calmness was something Obi-Wan had struggled with as a Padewan. He still struggled with it.
Anakin also struggled, although in Obi-Wan’s opinion all the garden benches in the galaxy wouldn’t help the kid. Calm came from peace which came from releasing negative emotions into the Force. The kid was a control freak of the highest magnitude. No way he was ever going to calm down. Qui-Gon would get frustrated eventually and Anakin would be off to Agri-Corps.
Obi-Wan peaked around from behind the bush. What he saw was not at all helpful to his hypothesis about the boy. He looked pretty darn calm and Qui-Gon looked pleased with him.
Slumping down and resting on his heals, Obi-Wan wished they would hurry up and leave. He certainly wasn’t calm, hadn’t known peace since Naboo and felt like his head was going to explode right after his heart finally broke.
“Whatcha doin?”
The retched child had found him. Obi-Wan glanced around and his gaze landed on a flower. It was a fragile pink bud, pretty in a girly way. “I just noticed this flower. The bud is quite small and I wanted a better look.”
Anakin did not look convinced. Nor did Qui-Gon when he stepped up behind the boy and put a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve finally taken an interest in gardening, I see.”
Obi-Wan’s jealousy flared as he tried to tear his eyes away from the graceful hand resting with casual possessiveness on Anakin’s shoulder. He stood up to his full height, still a good bit shorter than his former Master. He shrugged, “I needed a new hobby.”
“I am glad you have selected such a rewarding one. There is nothing quite like planting a seed and watching it grow.”
Obi-Wan barely resisted the childish urge to repeat Qui-Gon’s words in a mocking, sing-song voice. The bloom was off the rose so to speak and Qui-Gon’s fatherly routine was wearing thin. Obi-Wan nodded his agreement and walked around the pair to claim his bench.
Behind him he heard The Brat say, “Obi-Wan doesn’t like me very much does he?”
“Why would you say that, Ani?” Qui-Gon asked, his voice harder to hear as the pair walked away.
“I just don’t think he does.” The boy’s voice faded out of Obi-Wan’s hearing for which he was grateful. He didn’t like the kid, never would.
Obi-Wan took up his spot on the bench and tried to center himself.
Again, even in his most calming place, he was unable to find peace. The tumult of thoughts refused to be subdued. He felt as if he was unraveling.
The Zabrak was in his dreams every night and his thoughts most of every day. The dreams told him something terrible was on the horizon but he could not define it, could not quantify it. Instead, he tried to convince himself that they were nothing, just dreams. But the fear remained.
Adding to that misery, he was having trouble with Tabiah. He’d asked again for something more challenging only to be asked what he’d discovered about the new med tech. Nothing. He had learned nothing except she was am irritating person who despised him. Failing to answer any of Yoda’s questions he was sent back to finish the task set before him.
He didn’t want to go back. Tabiah was a shrill little being carved in ice. He tried to be nice. He’d offered to take her to lunch a few times. She always turned him down. He saw her in the library and tried to start conversations with her but she always shushed him. He’d carried packages to her door for her only to have it slammed in his face in return. Obi-Wan was a little more angry each time he left her presence. He was being chipped away by her indifference.
As far as Obi-Wan was concerned his world was filled with evil. His days were filled with Tabiah and his nights were filled with the Zabrak.
It wasn’t fair.
~~~~~