Crushed
Part 1
"Obi-Wan!" The girl's voice was surprised and delighted at the same time. Obi-Wan Kenobi looked up from the bread rolls that he was separating in order to hand them out, one at a time, to the homeless and hungry citizens who'd gathered at the soup kitchen. It was one of a few kitchens on the lower levels of Coruscant that the Jedi Temple helped to maintain, and this week, Obi-Wan and his master Qui-Gon Jinn were on the roster to help out."Phar!" he exclaimed in the same tone of voice, looking at the girl he'd met while 'volunteering' at a rehabilitation program of the Coruscant Correctional Facility a year before. It had been his master's idea, a way of keeping Obi-Wan busy during a period of physical therapy. Obi-Wan hadn't seen Phar Swife since his arm had mended completely and his volunteer time had ended, but he'd found himself thinking about her occasionally. This wasn't where he had expected to see her again, however.
"Look at you," Phar Swife laughed. "You've grown up. How old are you now, seventeen?"
"Sixteen," Obi-Wan corrected her. He remembered that Phar wasn't quite a year younger than he was.
"You look much more mature," Phar assured him. "Must be the Jedi in you."
Obi-Wan felt himself blushing slightly as he asked, "What are you doing here? I thought you had a foster family on the other side of Coruscant."
Phar shot a guarded glance to the dark, brooding young man next to her and there was, for an instant, an awkward silence. Then she used her entire arm to indicate the four or five males in line behind them, all wearing the same shade of dusky red jackets. Like Phar's, the other jackets were also dirty, and even torn in places. "Oh, you know. I missed my brothers."
"Brothers?" Obi-Wan frowned slightly. As far as he knew, Phar only had one � but then he looked again at the group, which included a small, miserable-looking Rodian and a mangy-furred Togorian. Phar had sometimes spoken about her "family", meaning the small swoop gang she'd met up with on the lower levels. "Oh, you mean the gang brothers."
"Yeah, the gang, yeah. But I'm careful now! I'm reformed after my little spell in Coruscant's Correctional Facility Three Oh Eight." She smiled that smile, the one that made her entire face light up, then elbowed the dark young man. "Isn't that right, Drive?"
So that was Hyperdrive, or just plain Drive. When they'd been together during the rehabilitation program, she'd spoken about him the most, as he was her real brother. Obi-Wan had got the impression that he cared quite a lot about his little sister, but he didn't really look like it now. In a gruff voice, he merely stated, "We make sure she's careful."
"Careful not to steal, or careful not to get caught?" Obi-Wan wondered aloud, smiling back. Phar's smile was infectious, as he well remembered. He'd always come away from a meeting with Phar with a grin on his face, and now he wondered why Drive wasn't grinning along with them.
"Read my mind, Jedi, then you'll know the answer already!" she joked, her eyes twinkling. Obi-Wan found himself hoping she'd flash that smile again, but although it teased the corners of her lips, she didn't let it break all the way through.
"Come on, come on, stop holding up the line," Drive growled, giving Phar a slight shove with his hip.
"Sorry," she giggled, then leaned forward and whispered, "He always gets grumpy when he's hungry. His stomach works at hyperspace speeds, you know!"
Obi-Wan smiled sympathetically at the young man, as he knew what it was like to be hungry. For the week that they would be volunteering at the soup kitchen, he and his master would be eating only one small meal each evening. Qui-Gon had suggested the exercise to help Obi-Wan learn compassion by understanding what the homeless were going through. Obi-Wan always had an appetite, and fasting only made him hungrier. But Drive ignored the gesture, grabbing his bread roll with a scowl, then moved away, taking Phar with him.
After the meal, when Obi-Wan was helping to clean up the dirty plates and silverware, Phar came and stood close to him. "Hey, how's your arm?"
"It's fine," he replied, demonstrating.
"That's good! What are you doing here, anyway? I thought they didn't let young, good-looking Jedi like you into kitchens like these."
"What's age got to do with it?" Obi-Wan asked, mystified, but also a little gratified at being called good-looking.
"I don't know! Maybe you could tell me why all the Jedi I've ever seen here are either old, or hairy or scaly, or both!"
"We all take turns coming down and working in places like these," Obi-Wan began to explain, but just at that moment, Drive came up and said, "We're going now, Phar."
"Be right with you, brother," she replied, flashing Obi-Wan that dazzling smile.
"No," he corrected her, "We are going now, Phar."
The smile faded, and Phar allowed herself to be led away.
*****
Entering the Temple again, Obi-Wan saw a familiar initiate standing on one side of the great hall. The boy was tall and slender in an awkward kind of way, and when he caught sight of master and padawan, he bounced forward. "Hi, Obi-Wan, hi, Master Jinn!"
"Hi, Dyar," said Obi-Wan, groaning inwardly and hoping that Qui-Gon would simply greet the boy in passing, so that Obi-Wan would have an excuse not to stop.
But Qui-Gon stopped and smiled back. "Hello, Dyarbin."
"I built a new droid! Look!"
"Again?" Obi-Wan asked.
Qui-Gon had already glanced down, and Obi-Wan did as well, trying not show the touch of impatience that came over him. An indeterminate amount of legs or arms extended outwards from an ungainly jumble of parts. Two of the appendages had caught hold of Qui-Gon's robe and now the droid was pulling itself up, hand over hand (or rather, pincer-grip over pincer-grip). As it got closer and closer to Qui-Gon's hair, Obi-Wan could not help smiling.
"Can it go down as well?" Qui-Gon asked mildly.
"Of course!" Dyarbin spoke a command, and the droid reversed direction. "What do you think, Obi-Wan?"
"Wonderful," Obi-Wan said, trying not to sound sarcastic. Although he couldn't see what use a robe-climbing droid would be, or why Dyarbin insisted on showing him something new every day, he still felt a wave of appreciation for Dyarbin's ability and imagination. He himself had done a lot of tinkering when he'd been that age, and knew how difficult it could be, even with instructions. Dyarbin just threw things together and made them work. It was his one obvious talent � he didn't seem to be good at anything else, especially things that were important for padawans like lightsaber technique, acrobatics, or even diplomacy. Still, Obi-Wan reminded himself, not everybody with a high midichlorian count was automatically padawan material, and the Temple would find a place for him to serve.
"If you attached a small brush to one arm, it could climb up the curtains and clean the curtain rods," Qui-Gon suggested in such a tone of voice that Obi-Wan could not tell if he was serious or not.
Dyarbin laughed. "That's a good idea, Master Jinn! This arm, or that one?"
"Why don't you show it to your group mother and let her decide?" Obi-Wan asked, hoping that Dyarbin would take the hint and go.
"I will!" Dyarbin said as the droid clattered to the floor, but he made no move to leave. Instead, he commanded it to turn it around. "Do you want to see it climb up your robe now, Obi-Wan?"
"Don't you have to be at meditation now?" Obi-Wan asked more pointedly, stepping to one side to avoid the droid. He was familiar with Dyar's schedule now because the boy had told it to him. In fact, the initiate had been making a point recently of bumping into Obi-Wan in the hall and talking incessantly to him while showing off his latest droid creation.
"Yes, but I finished early," Dyarbin explained off-handedly.
"A Jedi never skimps on meditation," Obi-Wan told him firmly, repeating what his own master had often told him.
"Yes, but when the Force shows me how to adjust the motor, why should I meditate any longer about it?" Dyarbin asked in complete innocence.
"There's more to meditate about than just motors," Qui-Gon said with a smile. "Go on, now."
"If I do well at meditation, will you come and spar with me, Obi-Wan?" Dyarbin asked. He was good at ignoring things he didn't want to hear.
Obi-Wan cringed inwardly, having been hoping to avoid that very question. "Not to-day, Dyar."
"To-morrow?"
"Can we talk about it to-morrow, Dyar? I'm not sure what my master has planned for me this week," Obi-Wan hedged tactfully. "And anyway, you have to really meditate, not just sit there and think about motors."
"I'll do it. I'll see you to-morrow, then!" Dyarbin picked up his droid and bounced away, and Obi-Wan could hear the boy singing "Med-i-TA-tion" over and over again in a snippet of an off-key tune. He grimaced, but quickly schooled his features back to a calm expression as soon as he sensed Qui-Gon glancing in his direction.
When they were back in their quarters and getting their things ready to go down to the training room and spar, Qui-Gon stopped suddenly and looked at Obi-Wan. "I thought you liked Dyarbin, but this isn't the first time I've seen you act impatient and anxious to get rid of him."
Obi-Wan felt his heart sink. He hadn't been subtle enough. "Master, I do like Dyarbin, but lately he's been ambushing me."
"Ambushing you?" Qui-Gon raised his eyebrows in a silent plea for more clarification.
"Following me around, popping out at me whenever he can. And he makes a new droid to show me � every day! Then he always wants to spar with me."
"Why is that a problem, padawan?"
"Well ... he's not very good at it. It's boring to fight against him. It's not a challenge."
"You think not?"
"He can't get out of the way fast enough. He's not very coordinated, either, and he falls down a lot. I could 'kill' him three times before he gets up again � in fact, every move I make could be a kill point. And half the time he just stops fighting and starts talking about some droid he wants to build. I don't know why he wants to spar with me all the time, when I can trounce him with one hand tied behind my back, but he just keeps asking and asking."
"And you like a challenge in sparring?"
"Yes, Master," Obi-Wan replied.
"I will give you one to-day, then," Qui-Gon said, a very slight smile on his lips.
"Thank you, Master," Obi-Wan replied, not sure whether he should be happy or not. He had the feeling he had just let himself in for a very intensive, exhausting session.
They went to the training rooms and found an empty one, then began to warm up. When they were ready to fight, Qui-Gon removed something from a pocket and motioned Obi-Wan to approach him. "Put your arm behind your back � no, your right arm."
"I gave you a good idea, didn't I, Master?" Obi-Wan asked, remembering his earlier comment about fighting with one hand tied behind his back. He knew it was an effective form of training, and one that most Jedi practiced in case one arm was ever injured, but it didn't mean he had to like the off-balance way it made him feel.
"You did indeed," his master nodded. Qui-Gon ran a soft cloth rope around Obi-Wan's waist from the back, crossing it in front, then bringing the ends back around and tying them around his wrist, firmly but not too tightly.
Coming back around in front of Obi-Wan, he waited until his padawan had used his left hand to unclip his saber from his belt and activate it, then nodded. "Let us begin."