.                      Bonds of Choice #5
                  Star Wars: TPM FanFic Series
                         by HiperBunny
                        (message 2 of 7)
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Obi-Wan sat, cross-legged beside his bed.  The Kho'la'bo was leaning in the
corner, a muted shadow in the sunlight.  He thought not of it, but of
himself and the Force around him.  He was good at the physical portions of
his training.  They came to him easily, almost without effort, except for
his struggles with the R'Antha.  It was the spiritual, internal portions of
his training that he took the most joy in, though he kept that joy to
himself.  He was not absolutely certain that he should feel such unbridled
happiness in his abilities, although he could think of no reason why he
should not.  He made a mental note to ask Qui-Gon about it when he returned
home.

Home.  Now there's a thought to set the pond rippling.  He smoothed the
surface of his thoughts, brought his mind under control, stilled the
worries and thrills and all other considerations from it.  When he was
ready to begin his meditation, he pictured a tall cylinder of cool, green
liquid.  The image came readily to mind, although he remembered his early
troubles with focusing on that one image.  When he was sure the image was
perfect within him, he saw a cream colored pearl dropping into it.  Down,
down it drifted, slipping through the thick fluid.  Slowly, for long
moments he allowed it to fall until it rested on the bottom of the
cylinder.  He held that picture now, in his mind's eye, the stillness, the
perfection of the pearl, the beauty of that particular shade of green.  His
breathing was deep and steady, body relaxed, held in perfect pose, as still
as the image in his mind.  Now the pearl began to rise within the liquid,
retracing the meandering path it had taken through the fluid on the way
down.  It rose under perfect control, swaying, lifting, floating until it
stopped at the top of the fluid.

Again, the stillness took the image.  Now the next stage, more complex, but
Obi-Wan so enjoyed the concentration he must exert to complete the
exercise.  He placed himself within the image, seated at the bottom of the
cylinder.  As the pearl began to drop, this time in a perfectly vertical
line, Obi-Wan let his body rise upwards.  He felt the soothing, cool fluid
flow around him.  He let his form become buoyant, passing the pearl halfway
up.  The pearl fell away from him and he let it go from his mind, unfolding
his body slowly from the cross-legged pose.  He spread his arms and legs,
drifting up and up, turning, relaxed and serene until he felt his chest
touch the ceiling.  He hovered there, perfectly still, perfectly ready and
open, the Force flowing through him as easily as his breath, his blood. 
Then the slow descent, down, gently down, slowly and under his total
control.  The sweet surrender to discipline engulfed his mind for the
eternity of the Moment.  No past, no future, just the current, the now,
serene and sure within him.  He settled down on the carpet, utterly at
peace.

When he opened his eyes and turned over, he saw Qui-Gon standing in the
doorway.  "Was that the Pearl Drop meditation, Padawan?"

"Yes, Master.  It is one of my favorites," Obi-Wan replied.

"I have never seen it done more beautifully, or with more surrender to the
Moment."

"Thank you, Master.  It brings me a great deal of joy."  Obi-Wan clamped
his mouth shut.  It was one thing to consider asking his master's opinion
on a subject, quite another to admit to feeling something he wasn't sure to
be correct.

"Really?  I shall have to look into teaching you similar exercises very
soon, then."  Qui-Gon's response was all Obi-Wan could have hoped for.  "I
spoke to Re'Nath Nurian, but I suddenly believe you will understand what he
had to say much better than I did at first."

"Do you know what makes the Kho'la'bo work?" Obi-Wan was too at peace to be
excited, but he certainly felt interested.

"Well, no.  But I believe I can guide you to the path of discovery."

They spent the afternoon discussing the possibilities and theories of the
Kho, spinning long passages of conversation between them.  They were about
to begin an experiment when Qui-Gon's vidphone chimed.

Cord Random appeared on the screen.  "Master Jinn, can you and your Padawan
get your things and come to the main training hall?  I have need of you."

"Of course, Cord.  We shall be there directly."

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

When they arrived Cord met them at the door and led them to a smaller
practice room.  "We must seal the door.  There is something I must show
you."

When they were safely behind closed doors Cord brought out the ruins of a
lightsaber.  The hilt looked to have been cut clean through, but he turned
it on.  A bright red blade sprang to life.

"Where did you get that?"  Obi-Wan whispered, appalled.  The lightsaber
seemed to radiate anger and hatred.

"It is half of the weapon used by the Sith on Naboo.  I have never seen
it's like.  I had a damnable time repairing it,  but it confirms my fears. 
The Sith have found a crystal that is perfect for their purposes."  Cord
switched it off and handed it to Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan took the dark blade in one hand and rested the other on his own
lightsaber.  "What kind of crystal is it?"

"It is called a Chendry.  There is only one planet that produces them. 
They brought them to us years ago, but they were deemed unsuitable."

The reasons for that ruling were obvious.  The nature of the crystal used
in a lightsaber determined its color.  More than that, it determined the
energy the saber would use.  Obi-Wan's own lightsaber had Orilian sapphire,
a beautiful yellow crystal that focused calm.  The indigo-blue glow
reflected that calm, helped Obi-Wan to attain the mental stillness needed
in heated battle.  Qui-Gon's own Tradian emeralds promoted logic.  The
spiritual powers of crystals had long been used in meditation, healing, and
training in attuning sensitivity to emotional states.  It was a natural
progression to use those attributes into the construction of the Jedi
weapons.  This blade cried out for blood, for vengeance and pain.  Obi-Wan
was almost afraid to turn it on.  Still, he needed to know.  They all did. 
The blade sprang to ugly life in his hands.  The conflict between himself,
his calm and balance and the focus of this blade was painful.

He turned to face his master.  "Well?  Shall we?"

"I suppose we must," Qui-Gon said, turning his own saber on.

They turned the power down as far as they could and entered into the
patterns of a training exercise.  With each blow, each parry, every use
Obi-Wan put it to, the blade tried to draw bitterness and hate out of him. 
He carried on using it, feeling sick to his stomach every time the two
beams met.  The raw and shadowed power screamed across his senses.

"Enough.  I think we've seen enough," Qui-Gon finally said, gasping.

Obi-Wan put the Sith weapon aside, grateful for the respite.  He drew his
own then,  grateful for the comfortable calm he felt from it.

"I think we shall have to go and see who might have purchased these
components."  Qui-Gon took the lightsaber, opened the casing and removed
the crystal.

It was white, with veins of silver and violet shot through.  Even removed
from its power source, Obi-Wan could easily sense the disturbance it caused
in the Force.  Cord handed Qui-Gon a small cushioned box to house the
Chendry.  Once it was put away the angry energy faded.  They all shared a
sigh of relief.

"You will take this mission, then?"  Cord asked.  "I have much to do here,
now that Anikin is doing better.  He is far from healed.  I fear some
lasting damage may have been done and I hesitate to expose him to this kind
of input."

"I think it would be better if Obi-Wan and I looked into this," Qui-Gon
agreed.  "You are wise to keep the boy separated from this."

"I will advise the Council of our plan, then.  When can you be ready to
leave?"  Cord snapped the Sith saber casing closed and put it into a small
pack.

"This evening, I should think.  We will need to prepare a cover.  It would
not do,  I think, to have a pair of Jedi inquiring after these.  It would
arouse suspicion," Qui-Gon said.

"Perhaps you could say you were procurers for a manufacturer?" Cord
suggested.

"I think it would be well.  Let the Council know that Drel Mran and Faydrus
Dekk will be working on their behalf."  Qui-Gon turned to go.

"Oh, Master!  Not Faydrus Dekk!"  Obi-Wan protested.

"You know it is for the best, Padawan.  Call Corubia and ask her to help
you with your hair."

"Yes, Master."

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

"There.  All done.  What do you think?"  Corubia put the last bead on the
last long braid and stepped back to look.

"I think the same thing I always think, Cor.  I hate it."  Obi-Wan shook
the heavy hair back past his shoulders, resisting the urge to yank on it.

"It looks good on you," she said, trying to soothe him.  She ran a hand
over her own short-cropped hair and tugged on her braid for good measure.

"I'm a Padawan!  I have no business looking like ... like ... who looks
like this, anyway?" he cried, frustrated.

"The Mrendi."  Qui-Gon looked up from his own braiding.  "Traders to the
last.  That's why we'll be accepted, honored even.  If they can get an in
with the Mrendi, they'll never have to look for buyers again."

"I think I could learn to despise the Mrendi," Obi-Wan informed his
master.  "Why do I have to be the ... you know."  He picked up the plastic
case of cosmetics and turned back to the mirror.  His face was framed by
long auburn braids, each one secured with bright colored beads.  Corubia
had spent two hours working the extensions into his hair.  It was a good
thing he hadn't found time to get a haircut recently.  He stuck his tongue
out and screwed up his face, then set about selecting his further
alteration.

"Because you're young enough and pretty enough to be taken for a
bubbleheaded fool.  And you're a better actor than I am."  Qui-Gon was
amused at his Padawan's ongoing dislike for this role.

Obi-Wan began applying color to his eyes and lips, making them look bigger,
softer, foppish.  Arrgh.  " I'm sorry, my friends.  I can not love this
necessity."

"Nor I, Obi-Wan.  But it is a necessity." Qui-Gon had already treated his
hair to have more silver in it.  The thick streaks looked distinguished.

Obi-Wan looked the proper idiot.  He finished with the lip liner.  The
effect was not yet complete, but the groundwork was laid.

"Go on," Qui-Gon encouraged.  "You'll be all right once you get into
character."

The damnable thing was that this was true.  Obi-Wan would fall into the
role, hide behind the mask and only be Obi-Wan deep inside, where no one
would see.  It was a very peculiar sensation.  He went to change clothes.

When he returned he wore pants of a tight, stretchy material in a vivid
green.  A puffy shirt of shimmery blue material was offset by a richer blue
quilted vest.  His lightsaber was tucked in back, far from where it
belonged on his hip.  Corubia and Qui-Gon surveyed his costume and
pronounced it perfect.  Qui-Gon was also dressed in rich color, but nothing
as outlandish as the electrics and jewel tones Obi-Wan now wore.

"Go on, Obi-Wan.  Do it," Qui-Gon urged.

Obi-Wan blew out an exasperated breath and obeyed.  He abandoned his wide,
battle-ready stance, bringing his feet close together.  He bent one knee,
letting his hip jut out, drawing attention to his pelvis.  He slumped his
shoulders, becoming the picture of lazy ease.  One more heavy sigh and he
let go the normal, attentive look in his eyes.  Obi-Wan's eyelids drooped,
opened again too wide in innocent surprise, then drooped again with bored
disinterest.  His lips parted slightly, moist and lush.  The tip of his
tongue rested on his top front teeth.  "Well, Drel?  Am I a properly stupid
young fucktoy now?"  His rich, cultured accent had degenerated to an
affected, throaty, suggestive tone.  Utterly unimpressed with anything the
galaxy had to offer that didn't directly cause him pleasure or
satisfaction.  He looked at his master and friend from hooded eyes that
spoke of disdain and snide condescension.

Qui-Gon stood, drawing up every inch of his elegant height, slid one arm
around Faydrus's hips and murmured, "Yes, Koateleu.  I believe you are."

Obi-Wan leaned into the embrace with his body, but his eyes still glittered
with boredom and disillusionment.  "As long as you are satisfied."

Corubia burst out laughing.  "You two are just perfect!  I don't know how
you do it!"

Obi-Wan regarded her as if she were some pretty but unimportant species of
bug.  "My dear lady, what ever are you tittering about?"

That only sent her off on further gales of laughter.  Obi-Wan didn't mind. 
She didn't matter one single bit.  Inwardly, he shuddered.  "What time does
our transport leave?" he asked, not really caring.

"Not long now.  Our luggage is already aboard," Qui-Gon said.  He had the
tone of a doting father trying to placate a spoiled and petulant child.

"Very well.  I suppose I shall have to wait until they're done mucking
about."  Obi-Wan draped himself across the sofa, adopting a relaxed sprawl.

Qui-Gon glanced quickly at Corubia and the hum of a lightsaber filled the
room.

Obi-Wan was on his feet in a flash, his back to his master's, lightsaber in
a defensive position.

Corubia switched off her yellow saber.  "Wow.  I've never seen anything
quite like that.  It's like having a butterfly shoot a blaster at you!" 
She doubled over with laughter again.  After a moment she regained her
composure.  "I'm going to go finish up my alterations on the Fortnight
Gannet so you two can get out of here."

Obi-Wan stalked into his bedroom to stare at Dauhge.  He'd do his part, but
he didn't have to like it.

Obi-Wan settled in before Dauhge's tank.  The little turtle was, as usual,
blissfully unaware of his owner's inner turmoil.  *Ah, to be so lucky.* 
Obi-Wan smiled.  He lived most of his life in a fishbowl, except that he
got all the annoyance and none of the benefits.  He would be expected to
play a role he loathed, play it well and keep his calm no matter where that
role led him.

Even into some stranger's bed.

Things had never gotten that far.  Yet.  Qui-Gon could puff up into a fit
of jealous indignation in no time flat, should someone get too close to
'his' boy.  That was the only thing that saved Obi-Wan, half the time.  The
other saving grace was that Faydrus happened to be an insulting little
snot.  Rude, self-centered, whiny, all the things Obi-Wan never wanted to
be.

*It's just a game.  It's not real.*  Obi-Wan reminded himself.  He focused
on Dauhge, watched the dim light cast shadows through the water where the
little reptile drifted.  The current from the water pump drove Dauhge back
from the branch Obi-Wan kept for the turtle to rest on.  His pet struggled
to gain his perch.  Obi-Wan recalled how Qui-Gon looked at him when he
played Faydrus, the heat behind his eyes, the desire he feigned so well. 
Obi-Wan couldn't help but wonder now how much of that had been acting.  How
much of it was what Qui-Gon truly felt about his Padawan?  Did Qui-Gon wish
Obi-Wan was some brainless twit?  Someone who could simply await the Master
Jedi's pleasure, cause no more trouble than that …

Obi-Wan shuttered at the idea.  Pretending to be nearly useless was bad
enough.  Actually living that way would be unthinkable.  Obi-Wan knew he
was being silly.  Qui-Gon made no mention of their future.  They both knew
that things could only go on this way for a limited time.

Dauhge finally clambered on top of his stick and stretched his neck out
happily.  Obi-Wan intended to cherish his time with Qui-Gon while it
lasted, but to accept the end when it came.

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

Master Kourt Crowe approached the Fortnight Gannet with some trepidation. 
The H-class Nubian had been given over to Padawans Nall and Kenobi some
years before.  It had served a long string of duties in it's lifetime,
passed from Council to recon to transport pool and finally to the junk
heap.  At the time it had been considered a hopeless case, an exercise in
futility to keep two students out of trouble.  Imagine the surprise of all
involved when the two students had managed to get the thing in working
order.

Imagine the surprise at discovering it could outdistance and outlast any
other ship in its class.

Crowe had never gotten up the guts to actually take a ride in the thing,
although it could easily have been arranged.  It was widely rumored that
the two had the ship souped up to the point of no return, that one needed
Jedi reflexes just to pilot the thing, much less get her through combat. 
And combat-ready she was.  Two forward arrays and a ball turret had been
added to the basic design of the craft.  Crowe shuddered to think what
they'd done to the interior.  Well, if the exterior was any indicator, it
should be interesting, anyway.

As it stood, the Fortnight Gannet looked like a giant chrome duck. 
Feathers and all in startling detail.   He squinted his eyes and turned his
head to the side.  No, not a duck, a panorama of chrome mountains.  No,
wait …

He finally caught on that the exterior was playing tricks on his eyes and
gave up.  The gangplank was down, and he clumped his way up as noisily as
possible.  The interior, while more colorful than usual, kept to standard
lines.  Well, the front hallway did, anyhow.  About halfway down the hall,
he saw a pair of legs sticking out of an access space.  "Hello?"

The exceedingly dirty form of Corubia Nall extracted itself from the ship's
interior.  She held a microwelder in one hand and a piece of wire in the
other.  Her dark goggles kept him from seeing the expression in her eyes,
but from the way her eyebrows tried to join her hairline, he'd guess that
she was surprised.  "Master Crowe!  How may I help you?"

"I just came to check on the progress of Master Jinn and Padawan Kenobi.  I
understand you helped him with their preparations?"  Crowe asked.

"Yes, Master.  I only need finish these modifications before they go." 
Corubia pushed her goggles back, put her tools down, and settled into a
kneeling stance, palms resting on her upper thighs.  She did not raise her
eyes to meet the Master's gaze.

"And how are you doing?"

"Very well, Master.  Master Torlamin says I am progressing more acceptably
now that I have a better grasp on the Sevens meditation."

"The meditation on the Dark Side?  She says this has improved your
performance?"  Crowe was shocked.  The Sevens meditation could be truly
disturbing to one so young, especially if concentrated upon for extended
periods of time.

"Yes, Master Crowe.  We do it three times a day now, rather than just two. 
I feel I truly begin to understand the nature of the Light side, by
understanding the nature of the Dark."  Corubia picked up her microwelder. 
"If it pleases you, Master, I must finish these modifications before Master
Jinn and Padawan Kenobi can leave on their mission."

Crowe sat down on the deck.  "Corubia, I've known you almost all your
life.  And yet, in the past couple of years you've become more and more
formal with me.  I know from the other Masters and their students that this
is not the case with the better part of the Order.  Will you tell me why?"

Corubia raised her eyes and dropped them again, quickly.  "Master Torlamin
says you have things that you might teach me, things that I must earn the
knowledge of.  She says one must always defer most properly to one's
teachers, even if they are not your teacher yet."

"And do you so defer to your master at all times?"  Crowe asked.

"Yes.  Of course."

"I see.  Well, I leave you to your work.  Master Jinn and Obi-Wan have a
most important mission before them.  They are going to retrieve some rather
ugly components from what may prove to be a Sith.  Good day."  Information
planted, Crowe retreated from the Fortnight Gannet.  If Torlamin didn't
already know what Quigs' mission was about, she'd know before sunset.

And then the situation would bear much watching.

Master Kourt Crowe had no doubt that Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan were about to
embark on a most interesting mission, even by his own standards.