Project Revision: Free Fall. Part IX. PG-13: Obi-Wan, Yoda, Anakin, OC.
Author's note: So basically this is the draft versions of Parts IX and X, combined; I decided in the "final" version to put them together in a single chapter, as I think it flows better that way. Otherwise, I haven't made any significant changes - a couple of minor alterations to the wording, nothing that would jump out at you if you read the older version (so you might choose not to read this one, I dunno). I started to include an explanation about the Force and genetics and research that appeared in a draft of the NEXT section, back when the next section was Anakin and Obi-Wan's conversation following all this hubbub (I have since decided to skip over that conversation, rather than dragging readers through another seven or eight pages of angst-ridden exposition). But in the end I decided that, while the one detail WAS important, it was something that could be dropped in later, as they move ahead in the story, and did not need an entire scene wrapped around it to set it up. (If you are curious, the item of information is not a secret, so you can totally just ask.) As it currently stands, the next piece begins with a Padmé scene, which is definitely new and different because, in the original version of FREEFALL on FFN, there were no scenes from Padmé's POV, only ones in which Anakin was missing her. I'm trying to keep better track of the characters who will be important later, here; but as the canon cast alone is capacious, this is proving to be something of a challenge.
Thanks go to pronker, kittywriter, and estora for feedback on the drafts.
Anyway, if you haven't read the draft version, I hope you enjoy this one - and if you read, please remember that I welcome your feedback and would love to hear from you! Also notice, you chronic lurkers, that anonymous comments are enabled, so you can comment AND lurk to your heart's content!
Okay, I think that's it for now. Woot!
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Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. This story is purely a work of fan fiction, and I am not making any profit from it.
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It wasn’t rational to be so hung up over a guy she’d only met three times. Ryn knew this. But she had felt him already, penetrating all her defenses, and he’d been ...
Warm. Compassionate. Kind. There was something wholesome about Anakin, in spite of his chaotic inner energy. And beyond all that, he had changed her, without even trying. Waking up in Anakin Skywalker’s arms had been like waking up in a whole new life -- like finally feeling alive, for the first time she could remember.
If only she didn’t feel so awful, it would be pretty great.
: : :
Obi-Wan might have missed the dark little figure huddled on the floor if he hadn’t been listening in the Force for any sign of life. It wasn’t the most auspicious beginning. But he crossed the corridor and approached carefully, as he might a wounded animal, and knelt down beside her. “Ryn?”
She lifted her head to gaze at him dully, then slowly rearranged her features from bleak despair into a fairly ghastly effort at a smile. “Master Kenobi.”
“Please. Obi-Wan.”
“Obi-Wan, then.” She pushed herself up to sit against the wall. “What did you want to talk about?”
But he had a question of his own. “What happened to your face?”
Ryn stared blankly. “My face?”
“You’ve got a bruise forming, just ... there.” He pointed, and watched Ryn’s fingers come up to gingerly probe the area around her cheekbone.
“I must have hit my cheek when I fell,” she decided dismissively. “I blacked out again.”
“After you threw up?” Obi-Wan gestured at the puddle of vomit.
“Unfortunately, yes.” Ryn grimaced as she shifted positions. “I’ll need to clean that up.”
“The Temple has cleaning bots that can do it.” Obi-Wan glanced sidelong at her face, the tightness there that suggested worry or pain, imperfectly concealed beneath the surface. “The main thing is to make sure you’re all right. Can you stand? We need to get you to the infirmary.”
“What?” exclaimed Ryn, jerking her head up with a panicked expression. “No! I -- I was just there his afternoon, I can’t -” She brought herself up short, swallowing hard, and lowered her eyes. “Apologies, Master Jedi, I forgot myself. Of course I will go, if you ask it.”
Obi-Wan frowned. So much fear and stiff-necked pride, bound together by a devotion to duty as deep as any Jedi’s. He admired her and pitied her, at the same time ...
“You were there today,” he repeated slowly, trying to stay on target. “And did they hurt you?”
“I -- yes, a little. I didn’t tolerate the latest ... chemical disruptions ... well. I -- I left early, when I felt -- when I thought I felt -- Anakin calling me. But he -- he wasn’t.” Ryn nodded once, jerkily, and looked down at her updrawn knees.
There it was. He had a choice: he could pursue the mystery of the healers’ experiments or the mystery of her attraction to Anakin, that odd, seemingly instantaneous resonance that allowed him to penetrate her defenses so easily, allowed her to sense his presence from across the Temple. Ryn had seemed to believe, when they spoke more than a week ago, that the vulnerability -- or whatever it was -- ran only one way; but Anakin’s experience this afternoon suggested otherwise. His Padawan’s anger still stung, a raw wound because Anakin wasn’t wrong. Obi-Wan had concealed things from him; for his own good, or so Obi-Wan had thought at the time. Now he wondered whether he had been more anxious to protect his Padawan than to instruct him. Trusting in the Force and his own instincts, he asked the question nearest to his heart. “You felt Anakin calling you?”
“Ye -- no.” Ryn leaned her head back against the wall behind her head and squeezed her eyes shut through one hard spasm. “I felt something, but he -- wasn’t -- trying to summon me. Just -” she cut herself off again, a muscle twitching erratically in her jaw “- thinking.”
“About you?” said Obi-Wan. “Why?”
“Ask ... him,” Ryn gritted. Her teeth were clenched against whatever pain kept tightening her muscles; he doubted whether she could speak more clearly even if she wanted to, which was not at all in evidence.
This investigation will have to wait.
“Come on,” said Obi-Wan, reaching for her. “You need medical help.”
But just as Ryn was shaking her head and Obi-Wan was considering the wisdom of simply overpowering her and carrying her to the infirmary by main force, a decidedly familiar voice burst into echo down the corridor behind him:
“Ryn! Ryn? Where --” and Anakin came skidding around the corner, rather wild around the eyes. “Master!”
“Anakin,” Obi-Wan acknowledged him. “What brings you here?” Aren’t you supposed to be meditating?
“I --” but he turned to Ryn without finishing the thought. “Are you all right?”
Ryn was staring up at Anakin with a look too stunned to be described as joy, too personal for awe. Her breath caught; Obi-Wan could see it in the hitch of her shoulders. Slowly her hard young face softened in the ghost of a smile -- weary and uncertain, but lit from within.
“More or less,” she said.
“You need a healer,” Anakin declared authoritatively.
“I was just --”
“Your master has been trying to convince me to go to the infirmary,” Ryn said; but her attention was all on Anakin. Her eyes kept searching over his face as though trying to commit it to memory. Obi-Wan doubted whether, in that moment, any force in the galaxy could have made her look away.
“Well, you have to go,” said Anakin, swiftly decisive. “You’re sick.” He took one long stride forward, reaching past Obi-Wan, and wrapped an arm around Ryn’s wiry shoulders to haul her to her feet.
Ryn’s eyes closed as she leaned into him, the taut lines of her face visibly relaxing. Obi-Wan glanced away from the naked relief there; he felt embarrassed, intrusive, as though he had seen her without her clothes.
“You smell good,” she whispered to Anakin, and Obi-Wan looked back in time to catch the discomfited expression flitting across his Padawan’s face.
“...thanks,” managed Anakin. “Come on, we need to get you--”
“I smell like vomit.” She sounded disconsolate about this; possibly it had occurred to her that this was not the best way to make a good impression on the boy she was so obviously attracted to.
Not a boy, Obi-Wan. A young man. Force.
“No you don’t,” Anakin told her forcefully, exhibiting a blatant disregard for the truth that Obi-Wan found frankly startling. “You smell wonderful.”
Obi-Wan thought this might be carrying it a bit far; but his reassurance seemed to please Ryn, who sighed once and then melted into Anakin like a child into sleep.
“Okay,” said Anakin, tightening his grip on her. “Let’s --”
Obi-Wan cleared his throat. “I think, considering the ... unpredictable ... effects you’ve had on Miss Orun in the past, perhaps it will be best if I escort her to the infirmary.”
They both turned to regard him closely -- Anakin with burgeoning resentment, Ryn with a small, unreadable scowl.
Then the Lorethan gave a small shrug of regret and straightened away from Anakin’s protective embrace. “As you wish, Master Jedi.”
Well. That had been unexpectedly easy. Obi-Wan put a hand on the girl’s arm to steady her and glanced over her shoulder at his Padawan. “Wait for me in the Room of a Thousand Fountains,” he instructed. “We need to talk.”
: : :
But before he could talk to Anakin, he had to deal with Ryn -- and dealing with Ryn was proving unexpectedly difficult.
It wasn’t that Ryn herself was being recalcitrant. She submitted docilely, though perhaps not happily, to his direction. Obi-Wan felt a sense of resignation from her, and she trailed along through the Temple corridors without complaint, her eyes fixed steadily just before her feet. Ob-Wan would have liked to have reassured her, but no words came to mind that would erase the memory of whatever had been done to her already, so the best he could do was to keep a steadying grip on her arm and promise himself that this time he would be there to take care of her. Even Jedi could make mistakes, and whoever had decided that it was a good idea to induce biostratic responses in a teenage girl had been very sorely mistaken.
There has to be an explanation, he told himself, but could any explanation really be sufficient for such cruelty? Exploiting other beings, willingly causing them pain .. that was a dark path, no matter where it led in the end.
But the answers he longed for were to be deferred even longer. When they reached the lobby of the Temple’s medical center, Obi-Wan sensed an unusual level of activity. Still hanging onto Ryn, he flagged down a harried-looking young Padawan. “Excuse me?”
The Padawan skidded to a halt and turned to face them; with a twinge of surprise, Obi-Wan recognized Anakin’s friend Arayna Dresnell. “Master Kenobi?”
“Er ... yes,” said Obi-Wan. “I need to speak with ... Nu Tai Eramon.” He felt Ryn stiffen beside him at the name; based on her records, he could guess that her associations with Eramon were not friendly.
Arayna’s big brown eyes widened further. “But ... you can’t!” she exclaimed, looking startled.
“Why not?”
“He -- Master Kenobi, he’s gone!”
Obi-Wan took a mental step back and reevaluated. “Gone?” he repeated, as though he might not have understood the word correctly.
“Yes, Master Kenobi! Just a few hours ago.”
“Gone where?”
“But -- but we don’t know!” said Arayna, hair standing practically on end with her near-frantic energy, entirely inappropriate to a Jedi. “He just ... left! Master Windu is looking for him.”
Obi-Wan frowned. Jedi were free to come and go from the Temple, of course -- but usually they left some indication of where they were headed. If Master Windu was out searching for him ...
Something is very wrong here.
“Master Kenobi?” Arayna was saying. “What … what do I need to do? About …” she gestured vaguely at Ryn.
Obi-Wan could feel the faint movement of Ryn’s shoulders as she sighed inaudibly. “First,” he said firmly, giving Padawan Dresnell an unfortunately well-practiced look of masterly disapproval, “you can find Lady Orun a comfortable place to sit while we wait. Then you will please find us a healer competent to -- er, take over for Master Eramon.”
Arayna licked her lips, eyes wider than ever and uncertain. “I -- I --”
“A chair, bring them!” ordered a familiar, graveled voice behind Obi-Wan’s left knee. “And Master Che, go and find.” Yoda nodded decisively as Obi-Wan turned with Ryn to face him. He stood there surveying them with both hands placed on his gimer stick in a thoughtful pose Obi-Wan recognized from lessons as a Youngling.
“Master Yoda!” exclaimed Obi-Wan. “Can you tell us what is going on?”
Yoda’s ears flattened. “Tell what I do not know, I cannot,” he pointed out. “Disturbing is this move by Master Eramon, and unforeseen. Understand it, I do not. Hmmm.” He tilted his gimer stick in Ryn’s general direction. “How feel you?”
“Tired,” said Ryn. She was shivering subtly in Obi-Wan’s grip.
“Mmm.” Eyes half-closed, Yoda regarded her with the Force and his own keen powers of observation. Obi-Wan felt the tremors of energy flowing around them. “Sick are you. Yes. Long time in pain.”
“I -- no,” said Ryn, although she didn’t sound too sure about it. Obi-Wan glanced to his left and saw her standing rigid, determinedly upright. Her expression was at once wary and puzzled.
“Of your physical body alone, I was not speaking!” declared Yoda, jabbing his stick at her more forcefully. “Much pain have I sensed in you. Hm. Much pain. Little joy. Unhappy you have been here, hm?”
Ryn was staring at him in obvious dismay. “I -- Master Yoda, please, I was not sent here to be happy --”
“Sent here to build trust, were you!” Master Yoda reminded her, in quelling tones. “Shown trust, you have not. What lesson is this, hm?” Sighing heavily, the Grandmaster shook his head. “Sensed this darkness earlier, I should have. Out of place in the Jedi Temple, some of Master Eramon’s work has been. To dissuade him, yes -- the Council should have tried.” He pointed one gnarled green finger at Ryn. “But spoken sooner, you should have. Hmp. Needless, your suffering was.”
“I didn’t realize you would regret that,” snapped Ryn, causing Obi-Wan to glance at her in surprise. Her voice was hoarse, but surprisingly tart, her gaze fixed sharply on Yoda. Evidently they had reached her patience’s breaking point. Obi-Wan could not decide whether in this case that was good, or bad.
“Hm,” was Yoda’s underwhelming response. He studied her for a moment, his ears pointing downward in concentration. “Anger I sense in you,” he said finally. “Yes. Help you, it will not. But help you the Jedi could have -- if asked, you had.”
“It was the Jedi who were doing it!” Ryn practically shrieked, her dignity disintegrating at last as she actually stamped her foot in frustration. This turned out to be unwise, since she lost her balance and had to clutch at Obi-Wan to stay upright. She stood there shaking, radiating anger and misery into the Force. “I thought Master Eramon’s ‘treatments’ were authorized by the Jedi Council -- and I had every reason to believe it!” She stopped, breathing hard. A trickle of blood mixed with spittle marked one corner of her mouth. “If you are unhappy with my performance,” she went on in a rather quieter tone, still fraught with nervous energy, “then I am sorry. But I did not come here to discipline your Jedi, or to question their practices -- and, Master Yoda, you have not earned my trust.”
Yoda’s ancient shoulders slumped. “To earn your trust, a little first must I have, with which to begin.”
“You handed me over to be tortured!” Ryn’s voice cracked in the middle of the sentence, so that what might have been a rising shout ended in a strained whisper. Her hair was falling out of its braid around her shoulders and -- Obi-Wan realized with horror --out of her scalp as well, so that she looked rather like an angry, molting bird. “How am I supposed to trust you?”
“Mmm.” Yoda sighed again, his ears twitching gravely as he absorbed her accusation. “How, indeed? Discover this later, we will. For now -- rest, you need, yes. And Master Che’s healing touch, hm?” He gestured to a side-door, prescient -- because even as he spoke, the Twi’lek healer appeared in the doorway, her lekku writhing in agitation. “Master Che, this girl’s healing, your first priority must be. Master Eramon’s patient she was -- needed, your skills will be.” He waved to Ryn. “With Master Che you go now. Go!”
Ryn turned unsteadily to obey; but as Obi-Wan moved to accompany her -- remembering with a pang that Anakin had once described the Temple infirmary as a cold and lonely place -- Yoda stopped him. “Obi-Wan! With you I must speak!”
Obi-Wan froze; he barely caught Ryn’s brief glance of farewell and acknowledgement combined, thrown over her shoulder as she followed Vokara Che from the room. It was an effort not to call after her to be careful, even though he trusted Vokara Che and there was nothing Ryn could or would do to protect herself in any case.
Slowly he turned back to face Yoda. “Yes, Master?”
Yoda tapped his gimer stick thoughtfully against the floor. “Angry, is young Orun,” he observed.
“Yes, Master.” But usually when Yoda stated the obvious, he was looking for a response more useful than simple agreement. Obi-Wan hesitated, then tried: “She has some reason.”
“Hmp!” said Yoda. “Always those who are angry think they have a reason. But reason, anger is not. Remember this, should you.”
“Yes, Master.”
“Hmp.” The vocalization was more sedate this time, accompanied by a nod as Yoda planted his hands atop the gimer stick once more. “Come tonight, why did you?”
Briefly Obi-Wan outlined the evening’s events, passingly lightly over Anakin’s turmoil and dwelling on his concern for Ryn. Their difficulties of communication, the struggle to hold each other’s trust, was a matter between Master and Padawan. “It was Anakin who convinced her to seek help tonight, Master; I’m sure of that.”
“Help?” Yoda twitched his ears. “Not help, young Master Obi-Wan. Afraid, she is but not of pain.” The old Jedi Master sighed a third time; he sighed a lot, these days. “Much damage, Master Eramon may have done. Difficult to repair.”
“It’s true, then?” Obi-Wan asked. “He just ... left? Like that, no warning?”
“Free to come and go, are all the Jedi … but yes,” answered Yoda. “Unexpected was this absence. And the records he left -- incomplete, they are.” Yoda’s eyes grew brighter, luminous with his own intensity. “Including those pertaining to our young guest.”
“And the other healers?” Obi-Wan asked. “Surely they know something of his research?”
“Hmmm.” Yoda shook his head slowly. “Alone, Nu Tai preferred to work. His habit, it was. Rare, are Jedi scientists; know this, you do. But Master Eramon’s insights served him well. A powerful Jedi he has been. A powerful scientist, as well. But too much power ... dangerous, that can become.”
Obi-Wan could hardly believe what he was hearing. “You think Master Eramon has turned to the dark side?”
“Say that, I did not, young Obi-Wan,” the Grandmaster reminded him sternly. “But … believe, Nu Tai Eramon did, that suffering for a few was justified if the knowledge gained could serve many. True, this might sometimes be … but the price … terrible, it is.” He lifted one hand from atop his gimer stick to gesture at Obi-Wan. “Know this better than most, you do.”
“I do?” said Obi-Wan, puzzled. And then he remembered. “Jenna Zan Arbor.”
Yoda made a small noise of agreement. “Colleagues, they were once, years ago … work together again, they might. Share methods, they did - and an interest in genetics.”
Obi-Wan blinked. “That’s what this is about? All these experiments? Almost killing a kid?”
“Understand the research fully, I do not,” admitted Yoda. “But from what Vokara Che tells me … unusually resilient, young Orun has proven. Not Eramon’s only subject, but his strongest. Able to recover quickly from many things. If typical of her people that is … powerful, such knowledge might be. In the wrong hands: dangerous.”
Obi-Wan shuddered to think what a scientist like Zan Arbor might do with that kind of information, if it were proven valid. No one was ever safe from her experiments. “But the residents of Loreth are only human, Master Yoda,” he argued. “Surely it is only the girl’s midichlorians that protect her under stress.”
“Human, yes … but unusual pheromones, they are said to have.” He gave a dry, wheezing chuckle. “Work on me, they do not, hm? Too old am I, and too different. But on other humanoids … rival the Falleen, they might, if harnessed. And a powerful asset that would be.”
The implications were staggering. If the Falleen lost their formidable advantage in negotiations … “Trade,” said Obi-Wan, still grappling with the possibilities. “Treaties. Political power …” The map of the Republic could be redrawn.
“See the problem, you do,” said Yoda gravely. “Only the pheromones they need, not the people. If synthesized, such a drug could be ... clouded, that future is. But dangerous, for certain. To find Master Eramon and recover his work, bring him back to the Jedi path -- critical, this is.”
Obi-Wan nodded. “Yes, Master. I can --”
“Supervising that work, Master Windu is,” interrupted Yoda firmly. “Another task, I have in mind for you -- if accept it, you do.”
Obi-Wan stared at him. “Master?”
Yoda answered him, as he so often did, in a roundabout way, by starting with an observation. “Begin you did, weeks ago, to investigate young Orun. Learn anything, did you?”
“I --” Obi-Wan cast his mind back over their brief interactions. “Not much, Master. I did ask her about her trips to the infirmary, but she said she didn’t know what the researchers were looking for. I sensed that she was hiding something -- but she was, as you said, afraid, and I did not want to push her.” He paused. “If she feared the same things you do … that would make sense. I have to admit, we have shown her little reason to trust the Jedi.”
“Hmmm,” said Yoda. “Her own choice, that is. Blame yourself for it, do not. But learn something of Loreth from her, we still might -- and supervised, she might be, hm?”
It took him a minute to realize what Yoda was saying. “I -- Master, surely Vokara Che --”
“Is a healer,” said Yoda, interrupting him again. “Heal Orun’s body, she can -- but of these other matters, no knowledge, has she. And to your apprentice -- willing to talk, the girl is. An advantage.” He flexed his hands on the gimer stick and cackled suddenly, in one of his unpredictable bursts of humor. “Heh! Experience with young ones not raised in the Temple, have you, hm?”
Anakin. Obi-Wan felt a pulse of worry for him, and swiftly shunted it aside. “Master Yoda, it’s more than that. Ryn has an … attraction to my Padawan. I don’t fully understand it; I’m not sure either of them do. And how he knew she was suffering tonight … I am concerned for him, for what this might mean. He is at a dangerous age for such temptations: attachments, and … other things.” It was surprisingly difficult to articulate his recent concern for Anakin’s sexual nature -- it had seemed to spring out of nowhere, fully formed, only in the last month; it could not possibly have happened so quickly, and yet somehow Obi-Wan had been taken by surprise -- to the venerable Master. What Yoda guessed was harder to tell. “It may not be … wise, to encourage too much intimacy between them.” And there was that word, which could be taken two ways ...
“Mmmm.” Yoda regarded him thoughtfully, his wizened head canted to one side. “Of her attraction, were you speaking, and not your Padawan’s attachment,” he observed finally. “Force this task on you, I will not. But such attractions … learn to deal with them, young Skywalker must. A boy, your Padawan will not always be. Sooner or later -- face these concerns, he will. Yes. Attracted to him, many of his agemates will be -- already. Heh!” Another glimpse of humor enlivened Yoda’s visage as he struck the end of his gimer stick against Obi-Wan’s boot. “The same for you, I remember, at that age! Heh!”
“Er …” said Obi-Wan.
“Decide you must, what is best to do -- shelter your Padawan now, or pursue with him the mystery. But not forever, will these lessons wait. And always most dangerous, that which we do not know.”
It was true, Obi-Wan knew; and yet to expose Anakin to more of the psychic contact and abject longing that had already so distressed him …
Anakin wouldn’t want me to just leave her here. She’s in danger too, as much as anyone. And Qui-Gon ...
He thought about the girl lying weakened under Vokara Che’s care, in the depths of the infirmary: heretic, unhappy, and quite possibly dangerous. Such a mess, she was.
In other words, just Qui-Gon’s type.
“I want to help her, Master,” said Obi-Wan slowly. “It feels right. But I will not force my Padawan into a situation that violates his trust in me. That choice must rest with him.”
“Hmmm.” Yoda’s lambent eyes were doubtful, but not challenging. “Trust your Padawan’s judgment, do you?”
But that wasn’t the point. “I trust his heart, Master Yoda. And his instincts are good.”
Yoda sighed. Something in his answer had made the old Jedi Master bow his shoulders, looking older than ever and very tired. “So be it, Obi-Wan. So be it.”
This entry was originally posted at http://wyncatastrophe.dreamwidth.org/115340.html. Please comment there using OpenID.
Thanks go to pronker, kittywriter, and estora for feedback on the drafts.
Anyway, if you haven't read the draft version, I hope you enjoy this one - and if you read, please remember that I welcome your feedback and would love to hear from you! Also notice, you chronic lurkers, that anonymous comments are enabled, so you can comment AND lurk to your heart's content!
Okay, I think that's it for now. Woot!
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Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. This story is purely a work of fan fiction, and I am not making any profit from it.
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It wasn’t rational to be so hung up over a guy she’d only met three times. Ryn knew this. But she had felt him already, penetrating all her defenses, and he’d been ...
Warm. Compassionate. Kind. There was something wholesome about Anakin, in spite of his chaotic inner energy. And beyond all that, he had changed her, without even trying. Waking up in Anakin Skywalker’s arms had been like waking up in a whole new life -- like finally feeling alive, for the first time she could remember.
If only she didn’t feel so awful, it would be pretty great.
: : :
Obi-Wan might have missed the dark little figure huddled on the floor if he hadn’t been listening in the Force for any sign of life. It wasn’t the most auspicious beginning. But he crossed the corridor and approached carefully, as he might a wounded animal, and knelt down beside her. “Ryn?”
She lifted her head to gaze at him dully, then slowly rearranged her features from bleak despair into a fairly ghastly effort at a smile. “Master Kenobi.”
“Please. Obi-Wan.”
“Obi-Wan, then.” She pushed herself up to sit against the wall. “What did you want to talk about?”
But he had a question of his own. “What happened to your face?”
Ryn stared blankly. “My face?”
“You’ve got a bruise forming, just ... there.” He pointed, and watched Ryn’s fingers come up to gingerly probe the area around her cheekbone.
“I must have hit my cheek when I fell,” she decided dismissively. “I blacked out again.”
“After you threw up?” Obi-Wan gestured at the puddle of vomit.
“Unfortunately, yes.” Ryn grimaced as she shifted positions. “I’ll need to clean that up.”
“The Temple has cleaning bots that can do it.” Obi-Wan glanced sidelong at her face, the tightness there that suggested worry or pain, imperfectly concealed beneath the surface. “The main thing is to make sure you’re all right. Can you stand? We need to get you to the infirmary.”
“What?” exclaimed Ryn, jerking her head up with a panicked expression. “No! I -- I was just there his afternoon, I can’t -” She brought herself up short, swallowing hard, and lowered her eyes. “Apologies, Master Jedi, I forgot myself. Of course I will go, if you ask it.”
Obi-Wan frowned. So much fear and stiff-necked pride, bound together by a devotion to duty as deep as any Jedi’s. He admired her and pitied her, at the same time ...
“You were there today,” he repeated slowly, trying to stay on target. “And did they hurt you?”
“I -- yes, a little. I didn’t tolerate the latest ... chemical disruptions ... well. I -- I left early, when I felt -- when I thought I felt -- Anakin calling me. But he -- he wasn’t.” Ryn nodded once, jerkily, and looked down at her updrawn knees.
There it was. He had a choice: he could pursue the mystery of the healers’ experiments or the mystery of her attraction to Anakin, that odd, seemingly instantaneous resonance that allowed him to penetrate her defenses so easily, allowed her to sense his presence from across the Temple. Ryn had seemed to believe, when they spoke more than a week ago, that the vulnerability -- or whatever it was -- ran only one way; but Anakin’s experience this afternoon suggested otherwise. His Padawan’s anger still stung, a raw wound because Anakin wasn’t wrong. Obi-Wan had concealed things from him; for his own good, or so Obi-Wan had thought at the time. Now he wondered whether he had been more anxious to protect his Padawan than to instruct him. Trusting in the Force and his own instincts, he asked the question nearest to his heart. “You felt Anakin calling you?”
“Ye -- no.” Ryn leaned her head back against the wall behind her head and squeezed her eyes shut through one hard spasm. “I felt something, but he -- wasn’t -- trying to summon me. Just -” she cut herself off again, a muscle twitching erratically in her jaw “- thinking.”
“About you?” said Obi-Wan. “Why?”
“Ask ... him,” Ryn gritted. Her teeth were clenched against whatever pain kept tightening her muscles; he doubted whether she could speak more clearly even if she wanted to, which was not at all in evidence.
This investigation will have to wait.
“Come on,” said Obi-Wan, reaching for her. “You need medical help.”
But just as Ryn was shaking her head and Obi-Wan was considering the wisdom of simply overpowering her and carrying her to the infirmary by main force, a decidedly familiar voice burst into echo down the corridor behind him:
“Ryn! Ryn? Where --” and Anakin came skidding around the corner, rather wild around the eyes. “Master!”
“Anakin,” Obi-Wan acknowledged him. “What brings you here?” Aren’t you supposed to be meditating?
“I --” but he turned to Ryn without finishing the thought. “Are you all right?”
Ryn was staring up at Anakin with a look too stunned to be described as joy, too personal for awe. Her breath caught; Obi-Wan could see it in the hitch of her shoulders. Slowly her hard young face softened in the ghost of a smile -- weary and uncertain, but lit from within.
“More or less,” she said.
“You need a healer,” Anakin declared authoritatively.
“I was just --”
“Your master has been trying to convince me to go to the infirmary,” Ryn said; but her attention was all on Anakin. Her eyes kept searching over his face as though trying to commit it to memory. Obi-Wan doubted whether, in that moment, any force in the galaxy could have made her look away.
“Well, you have to go,” said Anakin, swiftly decisive. “You’re sick.” He took one long stride forward, reaching past Obi-Wan, and wrapped an arm around Ryn’s wiry shoulders to haul her to her feet.
Ryn’s eyes closed as she leaned into him, the taut lines of her face visibly relaxing. Obi-Wan glanced away from the naked relief there; he felt embarrassed, intrusive, as though he had seen her without her clothes.
“You smell good,” she whispered to Anakin, and Obi-Wan looked back in time to catch the discomfited expression flitting across his Padawan’s face.
“...thanks,” managed Anakin. “Come on, we need to get you--”
“I smell like vomit.” She sounded disconsolate about this; possibly it had occurred to her that this was not the best way to make a good impression on the boy she was so obviously attracted to.
Not a boy, Obi-Wan. A young man. Force.
“No you don’t,” Anakin told her forcefully, exhibiting a blatant disregard for the truth that Obi-Wan found frankly startling. “You smell wonderful.”
Obi-Wan thought this might be carrying it a bit far; but his reassurance seemed to please Ryn, who sighed once and then melted into Anakin like a child into sleep.
“Okay,” said Anakin, tightening his grip on her. “Let’s --”
Obi-Wan cleared his throat. “I think, considering the ... unpredictable ... effects you’ve had on Miss Orun in the past, perhaps it will be best if I escort her to the infirmary.”
They both turned to regard him closely -- Anakin with burgeoning resentment, Ryn with a small, unreadable scowl.
Then the Lorethan gave a small shrug of regret and straightened away from Anakin’s protective embrace. “As you wish, Master Jedi.”
Well. That had been unexpectedly easy. Obi-Wan put a hand on the girl’s arm to steady her and glanced over her shoulder at his Padawan. “Wait for me in the Room of a Thousand Fountains,” he instructed. “We need to talk.”
: : :
But before he could talk to Anakin, he had to deal with Ryn -- and dealing with Ryn was proving unexpectedly difficult.
It wasn’t that Ryn herself was being recalcitrant. She submitted docilely, though perhaps not happily, to his direction. Obi-Wan felt a sense of resignation from her, and she trailed along through the Temple corridors without complaint, her eyes fixed steadily just before her feet. Ob-Wan would have liked to have reassured her, but no words came to mind that would erase the memory of whatever had been done to her already, so the best he could do was to keep a steadying grip on her arm and promise himself that this time he would be there to take care of her. Even Jedi could make mistakes, and whoever had decided that it was a good idea to induce biostratic responses in a teenage girl had been very sorely mistaken.
There has to be an explanation, he told himself, but could any explanation really be sufficient for such cruelty? Exploiting other beings, willingly causing them pain .. that was a dark path, no matter where it led in the end.
But the answers he longed for were to be deferred even longer. When they reached the lobby of the Temple’s medical center, Obi-Wan sensed an unusual level of activity. Still hanging onto Ryn, he flagged down a harried-looking young Padawan. “Excuse me?”
The Padawan skidded to a halt and turned to face them; with a twinge of surprise, Obi-Wan recognized Anakin’s friend Arayna Dresnell. “Master Kenobi?”
“Er ... yes,” said Obi-Wan. “I need to speak with ... Nu Tai Eramon.” He felt Ryn stiffen beside him at the name; based on her records, he could guess that her associations with Eramon were not friendly.
Arayna’s big brown eyes widened further. “But ... you can’t!” she exclaimed, looking startled.
“Why not?”
“He -- Master Kenobi, he’s gone!”
Obi-Wan took a mental step back and reevaluated. “Gone?” he repeated, as though he might not have understood the word correctly.
“Yes, Master Kenobi! Just a few hours ago.”
“Gone where?”
“But -- but we don’t know!” said Arayna, hair standing practically on end with her near-frantic energy, entirely inappropriate to a Jedi. “He just ... left! Master Windu is looking for him.”
Obi-Wan frowned. Jedi were free to come and go from the Temple, of course -- but usually they left some indication of where they were headed. If Master Windu was out searching for him ...
Something is very wrong here.
“Master Kenobi?” Arayna was saying. “What … what do I need to do? About …” she gestured vaguely at Ryn.
Obi-Wan could feel the faint movement of Ryn’s shoulders as she sighed inaudibly. “First,” he said firmly, giving Padawan Dresnell an unfortunately well-practiced look of masterly disapproval, “you can find Lady Orun a comfortable place to sit while we wait. Then you will please find us a healer competent to -- er, take over for Master Eramon.”
Arayna licked her lips, eyes wider than ever and uncertain. “I -- I --”
“A chair, bring them!” ordered a familiar, graveled voice behind Obi-Wan’s left knee. “And Master Che, go and find.” Yoda nodded decisively as Obi-Wan turned with Ryn to face him. He stood there surveying them with both hands placed on his gimer stick in a thoughtful pose Obi-Wan recognized from lessons as a Youngling.
“Master Yoda!” exclaimed Obi-Wan. “Can you tell us what is going on?”
Yoda’s ears flattened. “Tell what I do not know, I cannot,” he pointed out. “Disturbing is this move by Master Eramon, and unforeseen. Understand it, I do not. Hmmm.” He tilted his gimer stick in Ryn’s general direction. “How feel you?”
“Tired,” said Ryn. She was shivering subtly in Obi-Wan’s grip.
“Mmm.” Eyes half-closed, Yoda regarded her with the Force and his own keen powers of observation. Obi-Wan felt the tremors of energy flowing around them. “Sick are you. Yes. Long time in pain.”
“I -- no,” said Ryn, although she didn’t sound too sure about it. Obi-Wan glanced to his left and saw her standing rigid, determinedly upright. Her expression was at once wary and puzzled.
“Of your physical body alone, I was not speaking!” declared Yoda, jabbing his stick at her more forcefully. “Much pain have I sensed in you. Hm. Much pain. Little joy. Unhappy you have been here, hm?”
Ryn was staring at him in obvious dismay. “I -- Master Yoda, please, I was not sent here to be happy --”
“Sent here to build trust, were you!” Master Yoda reminded her, in quelling tones. “Shown trust, you have not. What lesson is this, hm?” Sighing heavily, the Grandmaster shook his head. “Sensed this darkness earlier, I should have. Out of place in the Jedi Temple, some of Master Eramon’s work has been. To dissuade him, yes -- the Council should have tried.” He pointed one gnarled green finger at Ryn. “But spoken sooner, you should have. Hmp. Needless, your suffering was.”
“I didn’t realize you would regret that,” snapped Ryn, causing Obi-Wan to glance at her in surprise. Her voice was hoarse, but surprisingly tart, her gaze fixed sharply on Yoda. Evidently they had reached her patience’s breaking point. Obi-Wan could not decide whether in this case that was good, or bad.
“Hm,” was Yoda’s underwhelming response. He studied her for a moment, his ears pointing downward in concentration. “Anger I sense in you,” he said finally. “Yes. Help you, it will not. But help you the Jedi could have -- if asked, you had.”
“It was the Jedi who were doing it!” Ryn practically shrieked, her dignity disintegrating at last as she actually stamped her foot in frustration. This turned out to be unwise, since she lost her balance and had to clutch at Obi-Wan to stay upright. She stood there shaking, radiating anger and misery into the Force. “I thought Master Eramon’s ‘treatments’ were authorized by the Jedi Council -- and I had every reason to believe it!” She stopped, breathing hard. A trickle of blood mixed with spittle marked one corner of her mouth. “If you are unhappy with my performance,” she went on in a rather quieter tone, still fraught with nervous energy, “then I am sorry. But I did not come here to discipline your Jedi, or to question their practices -- and, Master Yoda, you have not earned my trust.”
Yoda’s ancient shoulders slumped. “To earn your trust, a little first must I have, with which to begin.”
“You handed me over to be tortured!” Ryn’s voice cracked in the middle of the sentence, so that what might have been a rising shout ended in a strained whisper. Her hair was falling out of its braid around her shoulders and -- Obi-Wan realized with horror --out of her scalp as well, so that she looked rather like an angry, molting bird. “How am I supposed to trust you?”
“Mmm.” Yoda sighed again, his ears twitching gravely as he absorbed her accusation. “How, indeed? Discover this later, we will. For now -- rest, you need, yes. And Master Che’s healing touch, hm?” He gestured to a side-door, prescient -- because even as he spoke, the Twi’lek healer appeared in the doorway, her lekku writhing in agitation. “Master Che, this girl’s healing, your first priority must be. Master Eramon’s patient she was -- needed, your skills will be.” He waved to Ryn. “With Master Che you go now. Go!”
Ryn turned unsteadily to obey; but as Obi-Wan moved to accompany her -- remembering with a pang that Anakin had once described the Temple infirmary as a cold and lonely place -- Yoda stopped him. “Obi-Wan! With you I must speak!”
Obi-Wan froze; he barely caught Ryn’s brief glance of farewell and acknowledgement combined, thrown over her shoulder as she followed Vokara Che from the room. It was an effort not to call after her to be careful, even though he trusted Vokara Che and there was nothing Ryn could or would do to protect herself in any case.
Slowly he turned back to face Yoda. “Yes, Master?”
Yoda tapped his gimer stick thoughtfully against the floor. “Angry, is young Orun,” he observed.
“Yes, Master.” But usually when Yoda stated the obvious, he was looking for a response more useful than simple agreement. Obi-Wan hesitated, then tried: “She has some reason.”
“Hmp!” said Yoda. “Always those who are angry think they have a reason. But reason, anger is not. Remember this, should you.”
“Yes, Master.”
“Hmp.” The vocalization was more sedate this time, accompanied by a nod as Yoda planted his hands atop the gimer stick once more. “Come tonight, why did you?”
Briefly Obi-Wan outlined the evening’s events, passingly lightly over Anakin’s turmoil and dwelling on his concern for Ryn. Their difficulties of communication, the struggle to hold each other’s trust, was a matter between Master and Padawan. “It was Anakin who convinced her to seek help tonight, Master; I’m sure of that.”
“Help?” Yoda twitched his ears. “Not help, young Master Obi-Wan. Afraid, she is but not of pain.” The old Jedi Master sighed a third time; he sighed a lot, these days. “Much damage, Master Eramon may have done. Difficult to repair.”
“It’s true, then?” Obi-Wan asked. “He just ... left? Like that, no warning?”
“Free to come and go, are all the Jedi … but yes,” answered Yoda. “Unexpected was this absence. And the records he left -- incomplete, they are.” Yoda’s eyes grew brighter, luminous with his own intensity. “Including those pertaining to our young guest.”
“And the other healers?” Obi-Wan asked. “Surely they know something of his research?”
“Hmmm.” Yoda shook his head slowly. “Alone, Nu Tai preferred to work. His habit, it was. Rare, are Jedi scientists; know this, you do. But Master Eramon’s insights served him well. A powerful Jedi he has been. A powerful scientist, as well. But too much power ... dangerous, that can become.”
Obi-Wan could hardly believe what he was hearing. “You think Master Eramon has turned to the dark side?”
“Say that, I did not, young Obi-Wan,” the Grandmaster reminded him sternly. “But … believe, Nu Tai Eramon did, that suffering for a few was justified if the knowledge gained could serve many. True, this might sometimes be … but the price … terrible, it is.” He lifted one hand from atop his gimer stick to gesture at Obi-Wan. “Know this better than most, you do.”
“I do?” said Obi-Wan, puzzled. And then he remembered. “Jenna Zan Arbor.”
Yoda made a small noise of agreement. “Colleagues, they were once, years ago … work together again, they might. Share methods, they did - and an interest in genetics.”
Obi-Wan blinked. “That’s what this is about? All these experiments? Almost killing a kid?”
“Understand the research fully, I do not,” admitted Yoda. “But from what Vokara Che tells me … unusually resilient, young Orun has proven. Not Eramon’s only subject, but his strongest. Able to recover quickly from many things. If typical of her people that is … powerful, such knowledge might be. In the wrong hands: dangerous.”
Obi-Wan shuddered to think what a scientist like Zan Arbor might do with that kind of information, if it were proven valid. No one was ever safe from her experiments. “But the residents of Loreth are only human, Master Yoda,” he argued. “Surely it is only the girl’s midichlorians that protect her under stress.”
“Human, yes … but unusual pheromones, they are said to have.” He gave a dry, wheezing chuckle. “Work on me, they do not, hm? Too old am I, and too different. But on other humanoids … rival the Falleen, they might, if harnessed. And a powerful asset that would be.”
The implications were staggering. If the Falleen lost their formidable advantage in negotiations … “Trade,” said Obi-Wan, still grappling with the possibilities. “Treaties. Political power …” The map of the Republic could be redrawn.
“See the problem, you do,” said Yoda gravely. “Only the pheromones they need, not the people. If synthesized, such a drug could be ... clouded, that future is. But dangerous, for certain. To find Master Eramon and recover his work, bring him back to the Jedi path -- critical, this is.”
Obi-Wan nodded. “Yes, Master. I can --”
“Supervising that work, Master Windu is,” interrupted Yoda firmly. “Another task, I have in mind for you -- if accept it, you do.”
Obi-Wan stared at him. “Master?”
Yoda answered him, as he so often did, in a roundabout way, by starting with an observation. “Begin you did, weeks ago, to investigate young Orun. Learn anything, did you?”
“I --” Obi-Wan cast his mind back over their brief interactions. “Not much, Master. I did ask her about her trips to the infirmary, but she said she didn’t know what the researchers were looking for. I sensed that she was hiding something -- but she was, as you said, afraid, and I did not want to push her.” He paused. “If she feared the same things you do … that would make sense. I have to admit, we have shown her little reason to trust the Jedi.”
“Hmmm,” said Yoda. “Her own choice, that is. Blame yourself for it, do not. But learn something of Loreth from her, we still might -- and supervised, she might be, hm?”
It took him a minute to realize what Yoda was saying. “I -- Master, surely Vokara Che --”
“Is a healer,” said Yoda, interrupting him again. “Heal Orun’s body, she can -- but of these other matters, no knowledge, has she. And to your apprentice -- willing to talk, the girl is. An advantage.” He flexed his hands on the gimer stick and cackled suddenly, in one of his unpredictable bursts of humor. “Heh! Experience with young ones not raised in the Temple, have you, hm?”
Anakin. Obi-Wan felt a pulse of worry for him, and swiftly shunted it aside. “Master Yoda, it’s more than that. Ryn has an … attraction to my Padawan. I don’t fully understand it; I’m not sure either of them do. And how he knew she was suffering tonight … I am concerned for him, for what this might mean. He is at a dangerous age for such temptations: attachments, and … other things.” It was surprisingly difficult to articulate his recent concern for Anakin’s sexual nature -- it had seemed to spring out of nowhere, fully formed, only in the last month; it could not possibly have happened so quickly, and yet somehow Obi-Wan had been taken by surprise -- to the venerable Master. What Yoda guessed was harder to tell. “It may not be … wise, to encourage too much intimacy between them.” And there was that word, which could be taken two ways ...
“Mmmm.” Yoda regarded him thoughtfully, his wizened head canted to one side. “Of her attraction, were you speaking, and not your Padawan’s attachment,” he observed finally. “Force this task on you, I will not. But such attractions … learn to deal with them, young Skywalker must. A boy, your Padawan will not always be. Sooner or later -- face these concerns, he will. Yes. Attracted to him, many of his agemates will be -- already. Heh!” Another glimpse of humor enlivened Yoda’s visage as he struck the end of his gimer stick against Obi-Wan’s boot. “The same for you, I remember, at that age! Heh!”
“Er …” said Obi-Wan.
“Decide you must, what is best to do -- shelter your Padawan now, or pursue with him the mystery. But not forever, will these lessons wait. And always most dangerous, that which we do not know.”
It was true, Obi-Wan knew; and yet to expose Anakin to more of the psychic contact and abject longing that had already so distressed him …
Anakin wouldn’t want me to just leave her here. She’s in danger too, as much as anyone. And Qui-Gon ...
He thought about the girl lying weakened under Vokara Che’s care, in the depths of the infirmary: heretic, unhappy, and quite possibly dangerous. Such a mess, she was.
In other words, just Qui-Gon’s type.
“I want to help her, Master,” said Obi-Wan slowly. “It feels right. But I will not force my Padawan into a situation that violates his trust in me. That choice must rest with him.”
“Hmmm.” Yoda’s lambent eyes were doubtful, but not challenging. “Trust your Padawan’s judgment, do you?”
But that wasn’t the point. “I trust his heart, Master Yoda. And his instincts are good.”
Yoda sighed. Something in his answer had made the old Jedi Master bow his shoulders, looking older than ever and very tired. “So be it, Obi-Wan. So be it.”
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