.                      Bonds of Choice #16
                  Star Wars: TPM FanFic Series
                         by HiperBunny
                        (message 4 of 4)
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Obi-Wan gazed into the small, hand-held mirror, his concentration so intent
that he had begun not only to resemble a statue, but to feel like one as
well.  At long last he set the mirror aside and let out a gusty sigh.

"I don't see it, Qui-Gon.  I looked, but I still don't see it," he spoke
aloud to the empty room.  He ran his fingers through his hair, careful not
to snag his braid in the passing.  WHY had the Council ordered him to grow
it?  What in the world could have possessed them?  He tugged his boots off
and settled into a more comfortable position on the floor, surveying the
many objects ranged about him in a semicircle, all within easy reach. 
*Never let it be said that I do things halfway,* he chuckled.

The mirror was only the first phase of his inquiries.  The next was a
little more personal, the gift Qui-Gon had given him upon moving into the
Padawan quarters in his master's rooms.  He'd not had time to use it much,
and had only solved a couple of the offered puzzles.  He'd been surprised
when the cube had shifted, seemingly of its own accord, into a new shape
for him to solve once the first one was completed.  Just now it was a
pyramid, divided into colored squares waiting to be separated and neatly
re-arranged.  For all that Qui-Gon called it a toy, he found his gift to be
quite hypnotic and relaxing.  An observer might have thought he was
meditating as he levitated and manipulated the puzzle, but that was not
quite so.  He'd simply given up on logic and skill and was letting his
brain run on autopilot.  

Normally, he'd've been sitting in front of Dauhge's tank, chewing on his
fingernails and waiting for enlightenment.  In absence of that reptilian
assistance, he was trying other methods of relaxing his brain.  For years
he had envied Jenji's ability to pick the threads of future possibility
apart through the Force.  That Qui-Gon could also do this thing was yet
another source of frustration in his past.  But he could do something
neither of them could do: take current events and find the truth, the
honest reality within the layers of obfuscation and deceit that perspective
lent an observer.  He could, essentially, shake a box of colored chips and
toss them out to create a masterpiece.  Sometimes.  If he really, really
needed to.

Right now, he needed to.

He wasn't sure when the idea had taken root, this plan to analyze just what
the heck was going on with him and Qui-Gon.  It had all started so ...
innocently.  Just desire.  He'd wanted Qui-Gon.  Truly, he respected his
master and cared for him in the deepest, most intimate and lasting sense
... but love?  Well, he just wasn't sure if he loved Qui-Gon in the
romantic, mated sense.  And he wasn't at all sure it would be wise to love
Qui-Gon, at least not at this point in his life.

And then there was Qui-Gon himself.  Obi-Wan had always assumed his master
wanted nothing more than to travel the stars, serve the Order and work in
the field until the day he ... died.

A tremor went through Obi-Wan at that thought, and something on some level
shifted within his mind.  He focused back down on that, trying to find the
source.  Mortality.  Not his own, but Qui-Gon's.  Something ... dark and
powerful ... very near ...  something there was that wanted Qui-Gon dead. 
Something strong in the Force.  Something sinister.

A fierce protectiveness welled up in Obi-Wan, gripped him in a stranglehold
of act/react, before he could really understand what had happened.  For a
long moment all he knew was that if something wanted to hurt Qui-Gon Jinn,
it would have to go through Obi-Wan Kenobi to do it.  As he relaxed himself
back down to serenity, it was interesting to note that this drive remained
firmly in place.  He studied it, looked at this ... reflex ... from all
angles, observed its placement within himself and his desires.  It looked
... right.  As proper as a cloud in the sky.  He opened himself to the
Force and sensed the harmony of it within the Will.  Yes.  Protect
Qui-Gon.  That was good and right.

And just another part of the puzzle.  The answer was still out there,
Obi-Wan was certain.  He just needed the courage to continue searching for
it.  He let the puzzle settle onto the floor once more, stretched and
popped his neck.  He noticed it was getting close to lunchtime, so left off
his ponderings for a while.  He made his way to the dining area and was
pleased to note that both Scratch and Nathan were there, but Obream was
nowhere to be seen.  *Good,* he thought smugly, and went to join the other
men.  "So, what's on the menu?" 

"Vegetarian pasta, tea, fruit," Scratch offered.  "Some of you Jedi are a
mite picky about what you'll eat."

"Not me.  I've gone without too often to complain when there's food on the
table," Obi-Wan grinned and headed for the caterer.  "Master says once a
thing has passed from this life, the damage is done.  Might as well see to
it that the death isn't a pointless one."

Nathan snickered under his hand.  "I'd like to meet this master of yours. 
He sounds ... practical."

Obi-Wan took a chair at their table.  "Not always.  I'm just drawn to the
more practical advice he gives, I think."

"Oh," Scratch rubbed his hand through his hair, as if trying to brush
something out of it.  "Are you okay, Obi-Wan?"

"Mmm," Obi-Wan assured him around a mouthful of noodles.  "Why?"

"You're making my hair stand up," Scratch shrugged, as if this was supposed
to make sense.  "Are you in some kind of trouble?"

Obi-Wan shook his head in denial.  "No, I spent the morning in meditation."

"Oh!  That explains it!"  Scratch turned back to his meal.  

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow at Nate, who chuckled and offered an
explanation.  "Scratch's mamma was a seer.  He's got a touch of it,
himself, I think.  Sometimes he can tell when something's about to happen,
something unexpected.  It makes his hair feel funky.  Good thing to have in
a deep-space pilot.  Little forewarning that the scanners can't keep you
posted on.  Jedi, though ... tend to cause a little interference.  You're
all so high-strung, energywise."

Obi-Wan began to wonder if he should apologize.

"You're cruising for a vin-dit," Scratch informed him.

Obi-Wan blinked.  "Surely not."

"You just go on thinking that, then," the pilot offered.  "It's on the way,
and no mistake."

Obi-Wan pressed his lips together, considering.  *Well, Force, is this what
I've been waiting for?*  No answer was forthcoming, but he had the niggling
sense that the pilot might be right.  He shrugged and continued with his
meal.  If there was going to be a cosmic shove that pushed him in the
direction of his true destiny, he couldn't say he hadn't asked for it.

"You don't sound too worried about it," Scratch noticed.

Obi-Wan shrugged.  "I grew up with the biggest collection of seers in the
Galaxy.  I guess I'm used to it."

"It's not the Force," Scratch pointed out, a trifle defensively.

"Okay," Obi-Wan agreed.

Scratch stirred his noodles for a moment.  "You're not going to try to
change my mind?"

"Nope.  No reason to," Obi-Wan replied.  But just for kicks, he scrutinized
his pilot's presence in the Force.

"I'm not a Jedi wannabe, damnit!" Scratch grumbled.  "I like my life just
how it is."

"So it would be a comfort to you if I reconfirmed that you probably
couldn't be a Jedi if you tried?" Obi-Wan smiled.

"Yeah, well ... sort of," Scratch grinned.

"We're not a religious order anymore.  It's not my job to preach," Obi-Wan
assured him. 

"Padawan!  I went to your rooms, but you had already gone," Obream greeted
from the doorway.

"I said I would meet you here," Obi-Wan reminded him.

"Oh yes.  Well ... let's see ... vegetarian!  Good!  I do so hate picking
meat out of my food."  

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes at his companions and they both suppressed
snickers.  "I rather thought this pasta could use a little duck."

Obream shot him a dirty look, suddenly recalling Obi-Wan's carnivorous
leanings.  "I hardly think that's a position becoming a Jedi, Padawan
Kenobi."

"A thousand pardons, Knight Trydal, but with duck it would be one of Master
Jinn's favorite dishes.  I suppose I'm just a little homesick," Obi-Wan
bowed his head to hide the smile that was tugging at his lips.

Obream made no reply, but settled at the table across from Obi-Wan.  "Will
you be needing any assistance in the local survey, Padawan?"

Obi-Wan started to say no, but then gave their supplementary crew a long,
considering look.  "I believe our good pilot might be of some assistance in
my endeavors," he finally announced.

"As you will," Obream accepted.

Scratch spoke up "I'd like to nose around a bit in San Saloor anyway.  I've
had a couple of strange words in my ear regarding Perrys and Eab Nanoorn.
Some of it might have to do with that ... tension in Ero Phelian, and I've
lost a friend or two out that way."

Obream nodded shortly "See that it doesn't interfere with our work."

Scratch assured him it would not and the meal continued in silence.

Obi-Wan ate quickly, anxious to return to his meditations.  If Scratch's
hair was a trustworthy indicator, he'd best to get a hold on what was
happening, and soon.

***********  

Qui-Gon poked through the sparse collection of knickknacks on Kourt's
living room shelves, a smile tugging at his lips.  Kourt had called him
with an invitation to dinner not long after Qui-Gon and Swed had knocked
off for the evening.  He had shared a pleasant meal with Kourt and his
Padawan, listening to Corubia's stories about Obi-Wan's various youthful
misadventures.  Corubia had eventually bid goodnight to himself and Kourt,
leaving them to discuss 'Master things' before Qui-Gon went back to his
quarters.  Kourt was dialing up some brandy from the catering unit while
Qui-Gon settled in for more serious matters.

*Hello, what's this?* Qui-Gon mused, finding a deactivated hologram
projector set carefully to one side of the display.  He thumbed the power
switch and was surprised to see the face of a stranger smiling back at him,
in miniature.

*Wait, I know this guy,* he realized with a start.  *Working out in the Ero
Phelian sector.  What in the world?*

The next holo made it readily apparent that this was no casual
acquaintance.  He was powerfully built, muscles rippling as he stretched
back on what looked like a sunwarmed rock.  His blond hair was cut short,
as short as a Padawan's but minus the braid and tail.  It looked good on
him.  Full, lush lips parted in an easy smile and those pale blue eyes were
obviously amused with the antics of the cameraholder.  Then something
changed, a tension that was visible even in this pale shadow of events. 
His hands crept slowly down strong chest, sharply defined abdomen to comb
through the ginger-blond curls below, stroking slowly ... 

Qui-Gon switched the holo off, well knowing that Kourt wouldn't have
stopped recording for anything short of war.  With a start, he realized he
was blushing, and laughed again.  Giavanni.  Master Kato Giavanni, work
partner of one Knight Zareen, his ex-Padawan.  The pair of them had been
sent out to investigate rumors of an army being amassed near Ero Phelian. 
Qui-Gon remembered this because he had been asked to go, then was told
others were taking care of the situation.  He hadn't seen Kato since their
very brief meeting just before the then-Knight took his first Padawan and
withdrew from active duty within the Group.  It was unclear as to how the
knight had joined the Group, which lent weight to the argument that he was
nowhere near as young as he looked.  Not conclusive, of course, but good to
have experience like that out near Ero Phelian.  Dangerous situation, that.

That recollection was like a blow to the gut.  *Oh skies.  Oh Kourt, why
didn't you say something?  You must be worried sick!*

"So, Quigs, did you get a chance to visit Cord?" Kourt returned with the
glasses of brandy.

"Yeah, there's no problem there.  I know it looks bad, but ... well, if
there is a problem, I can't find it."  Qui-Gon accepted the brandy with a
nod of thanks.  His eyes clung to Kourt's face, looking for signs of worry
or relief, anything that might indicate what was going on with his ...
lover?  Friend?  Nothing showed.

"And you looked as deeply as possible?  Left no stone unturned?" Kourt sat
down on the coffee table and sipped at his own drink.

"Mmm-hm.  Bent or broke every rule the Order has about personal privacy,
ransacked his memories AND all reflex-functions, so ... I'd say he's
clean," Qui-Gon elaborated.  *And what would I find if I dug through your
mind, Master Crowe?  What are you trying to hide from me, behind that
masterly façade?*

"You always were my best student, Qui-Gon.  I checked on Torlamin again. 
She's deteriorating just as she did the first time, so ... I guess there's
nothing for it."  Kourt turned the brandy snifter in his hand.  "I'm not
sure I can do it."

"And I'm perfectly sure that I can," Qui-Gon smiled, finally giving the
conversation his full attention.  "Don't trouble yourself.  I'll take care
of it."

"You're a good man, Qui-Gon Jinn," Kourt smiled back.  "I'll do all the
prep work if you'll do the ... finishing touches."

"No, I'm a good Jedi.  Two very different things," Qui-Gon reminded him. 
"So.  Western tower at sunset?"

"As protocols dictate. The Council is going to call Swed's trial any moment
now, and I'm to second Jayden on that.  We'll wait until that's decided,
but it shouldn't be long now.  You'd better get to bed, old man.  You're
gonna need your strength," Kourt offered him a hand up.

Qui-Gon tossed off the rest of his brandy.  "Anything else?"

"Are you absolutely, one hundred percent certain about Cord?" Kourt asked
once more.

"Yes, Kourt,  I'm sure.  However, since you're so worked up about it, I
didn't get a chance to check Anakin Skywalker.  I leave that to you, fair
deal?"  Qui-Gon stretched and returned his glass to his host.

"Fair deal.  See you tomorrow," Kourt bowed and turned towards the kitchen.

Qui-Gon walked slowly back to his room, mentally reviewing the Ceremony of
the Left Hand.  It was a not-often used bit of mind manipulation coupled
with a violent act, a situation of grave danger to the person who enacted
it.  *Kourt's right to not involve himself with this one,* Qui-Gon decided,
tucking his hands in his sleeves. The bond between Kourt and Corubia was a
strong one, strong enough to tip Kourt off-center when it came to Rue
Torlamin.  *And the Left Hand must be calm, centered, confident,
unwavering, unstoppable, pure and of the Light.  There is no room for
mistakes.*

The fact was, depriving a Jedi of their living form didn't necessarily put
an end to them.  On a day-to-day basis, this didn't much enter into
things.  Jedi were killed in battle, died of illness and injury and
occasionally old age.  A true Jedi, passing from this life to the Force,
went willingly into oblivion almost every time. It was not unusual for one
to take their body with them, a testament to their oneness with the Force. 
Only the most dire need, in times of extreme upheaval, would one cling to
their personality and the business of living.  Even in the times of the
Sith Wars there had been few cases of a Force-user staying on the job after
death, despite the fact that sensitivities of both sides were expiring at a
high rate.  A few, a bare handful, had.  Both Sith and Jedi spirits had
been seen and identified, even years after separation from their bodies. 
Those Sith had been the most destructive forces involved in the Wars. 
Those Jedi had been the only thing available to stop them.  

The Group had studied this phenomenon along with other aspects of the dark
users and had discovered a common thread to all those who died, but did not
pass on into the Force.  The Jedi ghosts had 'unfinished business',
something they absolutely needed to do that death had prevented them from
accomplishing.  Once that goal was achieved, they passed on 'into the
Light' as it were.  The Sith, it seemed, had uncompleted desires, something
they hungered for with such a passion that it transcended the natural law
of life and death.  Qui-Gon thumbed the lock on his door, pondering the
thin line of separation between the two cases.  He shook his head, focusing
on the needs the next day would bring.  Torlamin would have to be emptied
of both desire and unfinished business.  There were drugs that could help,
but they wouldn't be able to do everything because Torlamin would need to
be in her 'right mind' as much as possible, for the Ceremony to be
reliable.  She would, in fact, have to commit suicide.

*Well, she'll be 'suicided' anyway.  However you want to say it,* Qui-Gon
heeled his boots off and began stripping down for bed, leaving his clothes
in a trail from door to bedroom.  *No Padawan to discover such a mess and
be scandalized.* Qui-Gon wasn't sure if that was a happy thought or a sad
one.

He would definitely need his rest, saved against the exertion through which
Torlamin would be ... accounted for.  The Ceremony could take hours.  It
could take days.  There was legend of one that went on for nearly a year,
at the Temple on Mieral.  Qui-Gon thought that was probably due to poor
planning and/or an undertrained executioner.  Qui-Gon had no fear of that. 
Kourt was the leading authority on the Ceremony of the Left Hand and he had
trained Qui-Gon himself.  Qui-Gon shivered in memory of that training, the
long, grueling hours.  The gutwrenching pain and loss.  He took a breath
and pushed those thoughts aside.  *Sleep, Jinn.  Sleep and dream of
beautiful eyes and strong hands.  Make this universe a better place for
your Koatel.*

****************

Obi-Wan stepped off the Nathan Bereak and into the outer courtyard of the
Jedi Temple at San Saloor.  It was an effort to keep his jaw off his
chest.  Though he had long ago become accustomed to the stark beauty of the
Temple at Coruscant, he'd never understood how much it colored his idea of
what a Jedi Temple looked like.  From the outside, the main Temple looked
like nothing so much as a corporate office with huge towers atop it.  But
this!  Constructed from white stone, there were dozens of sculptures and
stained glass windows, delicate spires and elaborate facades that added
elegance and beauty.

Obi-Wan shook his head.  No wonder the place had been abandoned.  Jedi
presence would have drawn attention to the area, and the inevitable attacks
and destruction.  Now, though, with hostilities removed from San Saloor to
the other side of the Perrys sector, and those calming quickly, this
facility could be returned to use.  He approached the door and pressed his
palm to the touchplate.

Nothing.

"Great.  Facility's power is out.  We'll have to override the locks," he
called.

"How, if nothing's turned on?"  Obream asked.

Obi-Wan shrugged.  "Petitioner's door, maybe?"

Obream nodded.  "Why don't you and the pilot head on into town and we'll
see to things here."

Obi-Wan bowed his acceptance and headed back to the transport to grab his
pack.  Scratch was already backing the speeder out of the cargo hold when
he disembarked again and Obi-Wan went to join him.  "We're on local survey
detail.  Any suggestions where to start?"

Scratch nodded.  "Sure.  Granger's bar.  All the spacers stop there for a
drink and Granger knows everyone in San Saloor.  Or did, last time I was
here.  He'll be able to point us in the right directions."

Obi-Wan hopped into the passenger's seat and pulled his slate out,
resetting it for local time in his reports file.  He looked back at the
Temple doors and noted that Obream had gotten them open and was helping
Nate haul their gear inside.  Scratch pointed the speeder towards the
Temple gates and they were on their way.

There wasn't a whole lot to San Saloor, from what Obi-Wan could see.  The
planetary capitol was a long piece north, a goodly distance from the Jedi
stronghold, much to Obi-Wan's relief.  Being in a more-or-less remote,
primarily agricultural area would make the Temple easy to supply and out of
the range of local politics.  If they were efficient, the survey team could
be in and out of the area before anyone official knew of their presence. 
Given the uncertain nature of this sector's status and this Temple's
future, that would be a good thing.

Scratch pulled their speeder in at the end of a long row of battered
transports and hopped out into the dusty street.  "Welcome to San Saloor. 
It's small, but it's treacherous.  Can you handle yourself in a fight?"

Obi-Wan nodded.

"Good.  Keep your hands down and let me talk," Scratch said, pushing the
door open and leading the way into a dimly lit tavern.

The sounds and smells washed over Obi-Wan and he found himself falling into
step behind Scratch.  The pilot raised his hand in greeting to one or two
beings as he pushed his way to the bar.  "Granger!  Demi tawtaw atun nat
nalia."

A large, heavy-bodied, many tusked and horned barkeep turned around and
grunted.  "Scratch! Demi tawtaw.  N'atchka sebare vu?  Ketun kep tara du
Jedi."

Scratch laughed and pulled Obi-Wan forward. "Naetu Jedi. Demi tawtaw ata
Obi-Wan Jedi.  Naetu secunde Teril Jedi un Jenji Jedi.  Obi-Wan, demi
tawtaw Granger."

Obi-Wan bowed his head, "Demi tawtaw," he murmured.

Granger laughed.  "Du Jedi ketun kep tara du Pilots, neh?"

"Naw, na neh.  Du Jedi ketun kep heroics du Pilots.  Esen so," Scratch
leaned forward.  "Uten vu nolic de Eab Nanoorn?"

"Naw, na surgo. Uten vu nolic surgo de Ero Phelian?" Granger plunked two
glasses down in front of Obi-Wan and Scratch, then leaned forward to talk. 
Obi-Wan tried hard to mask his revulsion at the barkeep's breath.

"Naw, na!  Emet'ah du nolic de Ero Phelian," Scratch put a credit marker
down on the bar and it quickly disappeared into Granger's pocket.

"Ero Phelian ketun kep tara etata du Pilots.  Esper te gana, na esper te
remal," Granger confided.

Scratch turned to Obi-Wan. "There's trouble in Ero Phelian," he explained. 
"Pilots, all sorts go in, but don't come out again."

Obi-Wan sipped at his drink, thinking.  "All pilots, or any one kind?"

Scratch turned back to Granger. "Etata du Pilots? Ne un ocoto kinter?"

Granger scratched at his horns, thinking for a long moment.  "Naw na etata
du Pilots, epart.  Epart, secunde vu.  Du Pilots con kinter tese don de du
Jedi."

Scratch turned to Obi-Wan.  "At first it was just pilots like me. Ones who
were known to work with the Jedi."

"And now?" Obi-Wan pressed.

"Atun?" Scratch in turn requested.

"Etata du Pilots no kinder."

"Any pilot that no one's particularly looking out for."

"Du Pilots tese don de du Gilden no tara.  Du Pilots tese don de du no
kinter pera sebare du Jedi," Granger shrugged.  "Esper te gana, na esper te
remal."

"He says the Guild pilots are being left alone.  It's the pilots with no
friends except Jedi that are really being hit hardest."

Obi-Wan nodded his understanding.  "Just pilots?"

"Selo du Pilots?" Scratch inquired.

"Nako cura du unten?" Granger shrugged again.

"He wouldn't know, Obi-Wan," Scratch explained.

"What did he say?" Obi-Wan demanded.

"He said 'Who cares of outsiders?'  All he cares about is that his friends,
family, 'kinter' are disappearing and no one knows why.  This is going on
within Republic space.  Don't you know anything?"  Scratch pressed.

"Hey, I'm just a Learner.  They don't tell me anything," Obi-Wan defended
himself with an unrelated truth.

"Dekko emlo sekara?" Granger pointed at Obi-Wan with his chin.

Obi-Wan turned to him. "Nako cura du Jedi?  What does it matter what I
say?" 

Scratch eased his hand toward his blaster.

"Sekara Tene Tatu?"  Granger growled.

"Naw, na." Obi-Wan smiled.  "I don't need to speak it.  Du Jedi."

"Shut up, Kenobi," Scratch warned.

"Let him tell me himself," Obi-Wan invited.  "He speaks standard as well as
I do."

Granger gave Obi-Wan a long stare and turned back to his barkeeping with a
snort. "Du Jedi.  Ketu kep tara."

"Ketu kep heroics," Obi-Wan leaned forward, letting a stack of credit chips
rattle on the bar.

Granger scooped them up in passing.  "Nactu.  Ebarta sobren."

"Tonight, it is.  And well after closing, I do assure you," Obi-Wan bowed.

The daylight seemed triply bright after the gloom of Granger's bar.  The
pair walked to the speeder in silence, with Scratch shooting Obi-Wan evil
looks all the way.  "Where did you learn that?"

"Learn what?" Obi-Wan asked, the very picture of innocence.

"Tene Tatu.  Only pilots and spacers know that," Scratch scowled.

"Never heard of it," Obi-Wan truthfully replied.

"Bullshit.  You knew what we were saying!"

Obi-Wan shrugged.  "You translated for me."

"Come on, sheep.  Are you telling me that was some Jedi Mind Trick you
pulled in there?" Scratch demanded.

"Nah, that was just good negotiation.  Come on, we need to find some
suppliers ... "

"Damn it, Jedi!" Scratch thumped the seat between them.  "Tell, or I'm not
showing you a damn thing."

Obi-Wan sighed and crossed his arms over his chest.  "Really.  I have no
idea what language that was or what I said.  I was just running on the
information you gave me."

Scratch's hand wandered towards his blaster again.

"Okay!  Skies above!  I'm too young to die!" Obi-Wan held his hands up in
surrender.  "You said something like 'ketu kep heroics' and touched your
credit pouch.  You were smiling when you did it.  I figured that meant
money or something.  'Unten' is outsiders in tradespeak, so 'nako cura' was
'who cares?' and 'du Jedi' was pretty obvious.  'Nactu' is tradespeak,
too.  The rest, I guessed."

"And how did you know he spoke standard?"  Scratch demanded.

"Your native language is standard, one of the prime dialects.  I can tell
by the way you speak it.  Your accent is like mine.  You both had the same
accent in ... Tene Tatu?  So your native languages were the same.  Basic
linguistics," Obi-Wan folded his hands in his lap.

Scratch narrowed his eyes, then threw his head back in laughter.  "Damn
Jedi.  Always so much smarter than the rest of us."

"We have to be," Obi-Wan grinned.  "The rest of you would kill us if we
weren't."

"How's that?" Scratch pulled the speeder out into traffic and headed
towards another section of San Saloor.

"Everyone thinks a Jedi's first weapon is his lightsaber.  Not true, to
us.  We fight with information almost every time.  The saber just helps us
save the knowledge we carry with us."  Obi-Wan shrugged.  "And they're good
for starting campfires."

Scratch laughed again, nearly wrecking into a passing transport as he did
so.  "Where the hell did you get that?"

"Ever hear of Qui-Gon Jinn?"  Obi-Wan turned away to watch the town as it
passed by.

"Sure.  Who hasn't?  Kept Malistair from self-destructing last year.  Must
have balls of pure steel," Scratch replied.

"He's my master.  And his balls are flesh and blood, just like mine,"
Obi-Wan smirked.

"No shit?  Well!"  Scratch looked at his passenger with new respect.  "I'll
have to keep a closer eye on you, then.  Don't want him coming after me if
I return you damaged."

"Just forget it.  Where to, now?"  Obi-Wan changed the subject.

"Farmer's combine.  They'll be able to get your Temple what they need,"
Scratch explained.

Obi-Wan nodded and took his slate out to make a record of the day's
proceedings.  He made a footnote to the effect that the Jedi should try to
get hold of a Pilot willing to sell some of the Tene Tatu vocabulary if at
all possible.