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Chapter 5 - Questions and Answers, Part I
“Damnit!”
The large, expansive room Alia was currently in was fast becoming more of a hindrance than a help. Another blast rocked the small Naboo cruiser, sending the tall brunette stumbling into a wall. A flash of pain caused her to swear again, first in Rodian, then in Huttese. One of the handmaidens looked on in shock at the foul-sounding words coming from her mouth. Ignoring the looks she was receiving, Alia squeezed her eyes shut as tight as humanly possible while pressing her hand to the wound on her shoulder. The bloody graze that would normally have been just an annoyance was now full-blown agony from being repeatedly thrown against the wall. Yet another blast caused the ship to rock, and beneath her feet Alia felt the tremors of the ship as it tried to evade the gun blasts from the Federation ships.
A shudder made the room shake violently, and suddenly she felt an overpowering sensation of nausea as the ship spiraled away past the blockade, the world falling into darkness as her head connected solidly with the floor.
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Someone was near. Blue eyes sprang open as instinct propelled her knee to come up and hit the person hard, somewhere in the lower regions she thought, before her legs whipped out, connecting with a solid thwack, and she flipped herself into a defensive crouch.
Horror and amusement bubbled up inside her as she saw who had tried to waken her. Obi-wan Kenobi, Jedi Padawan and dueler extraordinaire, was now sprawled on the floor, having gotten the wind knocked out of him. The moment passed, and with a flip of his own, he was back on his feet, glaring at her so hard she was surprised she didn’t spontaneously combust on the spot. A weak smile hovered on Alia's lips before she was struck by a sudden thought.
“Jar Jar!”
She was fast, but Obi-wan was faster, and stood blocking the doorframe with his body. Without even glancing up she shoved him aside again, and was racing through the corridors before he could turn around. Feeling seriously irritated, he had only been trying to get her to the infirmary, Obi-wan blew out a frustrated breath, mentally repeated the Jedi Code twice, then set off to find that stupid woman. Qui-Gon had placed responsibility for her on him, and by the Force, he would get her to the medical bay if he had to truss her up and toss her over his shoulder! Growling under his breath, the Jedi Padawan started off down the passageway.
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“And you’re sure you’re alright?”
“Al-ya, mesa okey-day. Wass dat red icky-icky goo on yousa clothes?”
Alia stared down at her shoulder blankly, before suppressing another curse. The blood from her wound had dried, but when she grabbed the Gungan in a tight hug, the damn thing must’ve opened. She ground her teeth in frustration; she had been so relieved to find her friend unhurt that for a moment the pain had gone, but now it was back with a vengeance.
“Perhaps now she’ll consent to be examined in the infirmary.”
Resisting the urge to grind her teeth again, Alia turned around to see Obi-wan glaring at her. His annoyance caused her back to bristle in defiance, and her chin to lift insolently.
“Yes, she will, now that she’s found someone to escort her who’s not laid out on the floor,” Alia replied acerbically.
His nostrils actually flared at her acid remark. In a perverse way, Alia was enjoying pushing the Jedi’s buttons, and vowed to add to his irritation with her anyway she could. At least until he loosened up a bit.
“Very well, then. You,” he directed to Jar Jar, “Take her to the medical bay, and I will attend to matters that actually concern me.”
“You’re very touchy, Padawan Kenobi,” Alia remarked as she and Jar Jar walked away, “I’m afraid that stick up your ass isn’t helping much.”
Outraged, Obi-wan turned around to confront her, but the hallway was empty. Breathing in deep, calming breaths, he struggled to force his anger away. He would control this. He would be calm. He would not think of ways to strangle, maim, or otherwise discomfort Alia Despin. Gradually, he felt the fires begin to fade as he gave up the irritating emotions to the Force. Again breathing in deeply, he made his way to the Audience Chamber, slipping into the room unnoticed by all except Qui-Gon. His Master raised an inquiring eyebrow, to which Obi-wan responded with a nod. A feeling of approval suddenly coursed along their bond, and as the dark-skinned Chief of Security began to praise the resourcefulness of the surviving droid, Obi-wan was able to forget about the source of his earlier irritation.
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“Jar Jar,” Alia said impatiently, “I’m fine; really. Look, we’re right outside the med bay, you can watch me go through the doors.”
“But why yousa no wantin’ mesa go wit you?”
/ Because I refuse to follow anyone’s orders except mine. / she thought silently, knowing how petulant she sounded, even in her own head.
“Look, Jar Jar, you’ve done what the Jedi wanted you to do: he said ‘take her to the medical bay’, and here we are.”
A look of annoyance suddenly settled over the Gungan’s face.
“Mesa no-care ‘bout dat Jedi! Mesa care ‘bout yousa!” he said indignantly.
A lump suddenly formed in Alia’s throat as she realized how deeply Jar Jar cared for her; wrapping her arms around him, she gave her silly friend a tight, affectionate squeeze.
“Thank you, Jar Jar,” she replied once they separated, “You are a true friend. Please, trust me on this one: go see how the Queen’s doing for me, and we’ll talk later, alright?”
Her friend nodded reluctantly, turned to go, turned around again, opened his mouth, shut it again, then once more turned to go. { Go, Jar Jar. she Suggested gently, smiling inwardly at the sound he made when his legs began moving before his brain could comprehend. Chuckling to herself, she turned to enter the medical bay. The door opened suddenly just as she was about to activate the switch, causing her to smack into the blond-haired man coming out.
“Oh, sorry,” Alia said sheepishly, “Didn’t see you there.”
The man smiled at her, fixing his slightly askew glasses.
“Don't worry,” he replied, “Beautiful women always bump into me on Thursdays. Today is Thursday, so you have helped me fill my quota. Thank you.”
Alia looked at him, nonplussed. A snort escaped from her throat, then a laugh, then a groan as the tremors of her laughter caused her wound to burn with pain.
“Here, now,” the man said concernedly, “What is the matter?”
Giving him a rueful smile, Alia removed the wide strap of her pack that had been concealing her wound. His eyes widening, the man, clearly a medic, quickly ushered her into the medical bay, telling her to sit and wait for him to get what he needed, that he’d be with her in a moment.
Left alone for the moment, Alia looked around, noticing the various people hanging about. A pair of guards seemed to be getting treatment for some burns, while another appeared to be having his leg examined. One of the other medics in the room, their uniforms blue, saw her by herself, and came over.
“Aie, miss, are ye here for tha’?” he asked, indicating the wound on her shoulder.
“Yes,” she found herself saying, “Though usually I’d just as soon take care of it myself. But I bumped into one of you folks, so I thought the least I could do was let him stick a hyponeedle in me.”
The medic laughed; he couldn’t be more than a year or so older than her. It was also entirely possible that he was actually her age.
“I see you have set the lady in your sights, Nhat,” came a voice from her right. She looked around to see the man she had bumped into coming toward them, a tray in one hand, “You must beware of Nhat Korbi, tasi. He is infamous for breaking hearts.”
A sound of dismay came from her companion. Alia smiled as she saw the mischievous glint in the blond man’s eyes.
“Well,” she replied archly, “I guess I’ll just have to find you when my heart needs some patching. Though I have to say, I usually like to know the guy’s name first.”
A blush crept up into his face as he answered, “Navras. Doctor Jorda Navras; I am the head of medical personnel on this ship.”
“Great! Then at least I’d be banging the boss!”
Nhat burst out laughing at the expression on his superior’s face, causing one of the guards being treated for burns to look up at them in confusion. He liked this girl, Nhat did. He liked anyone who managed to ruffle Jorda’s taciturn feathers. Add the fact that she was beautiful, and he was sure he was feeling the first signs of infatuation. What made him really like her, though, was the sense that she wouldn’t be cruel or unfeeling on purpose. At last though, he thought she decided to take pity on the poor doctor. She craned her head around, looking at the room.
“So, where do you want me?”
Apparently he thought wrong. The girl grinned wickedly at the brilliant red staining Jorda’s face. The head physician mock-glared at her and thrust the tray of instruments into Nhat’s waiting hands. He scowled at the wide smile on his subordinate’s face, then looked once more at the impish grin on the girl’s lips.
“Very well, then,” scowled the doctor, “I have other patients to see, and as I believe your wound to be superficial, I think I will leave you in the hands of your new friend.”
The pair grinned at each other as they watched him go. The girl turned to him.
“We haven’t been formally introduced, and I’d like to know the name of the one sticking the needle in my shoulder. My name’s Alia,” she said, holding out a hand, which he took.
“Nhat Korbi, medical trainee,” he replied.
“Wonderful! I get to be poked and prodded by a schoolboy!”
“Well,” said Nhat, laughing, “Le’s move ye over ta where this schoolboy can stitch ye, and ge’ this over with.”
She smiled at him, her blue eyes sparkling.
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“’Tis a graze from a blast, nuthin’ more,” the red-haired young medic trainee assured her, his accent betraying his humble origins, “Ye must be a free-bleeder, what with all this blood here an’ the like. An’ ye’ve got some bad bruisin’ here, but the bacta’ll set tha right. Don’ ye be worried now, I’ll stitch it up, an’ in a week or so, won’t be nuthin’ but a mem’ry.”
Alia nodded absently, her mind elsewhere.
“Right,” said the trainee, applying the bacta to her wound, wrapping the bandage gently but firmly around her shoulder. He looked her over with a critical eye, and then said decisively, “You’ll do. Now, no heavy liftin’, no carryin’, an’ no luggin’ that bag o’ duracrete ye call a pack. Ifn’ yer not careful ‘nuf that graze’ll break open an’ it’ll be hurtin’ summat awful. Ifn’ that happens, ye see the doctor quicklike, ay?”
Again she nodded.
“Thank you, Nhat,” she murmured softly.
“Right,” he said again, patting her bandaged shoulder lightly, “Doc’s got some supplies I got ta inventory. I’ll be seein’ ye aroun’ tha ship mos’ like, so I’ll see ye then.”
“Yes,” she nodded, “And I’ll introduce you to Jar Jar.”
“Never met a real Gungan, a’fore. But if he’s a friend a’ yours, I’m sure he’ll be a trip.”
“You have no idea,” Alia answered before heading toward the exit, the door shutting automatically once she had cleared the sensors.
Turning left, she walked in the direction of the main Audience Chamber, not paying attention to where her feet took her, simply letting them wander. She and Nhat had been in the medical bay when the announcement from the Queen came over the comm channel that they were heading toward the Outer Rim, to a planet called Tatooine. They would be there in a few Standard hours, and everyone should consider themselves in hostile territory. She felt a tingling in her arms, now, as she passed through the corridors, wandering aimlessly. Gradually, as Alia drifted toward the bow of the ship, she became aware of a current flowing around her, unseen yet visible to her. It Felt calm, at peace, and all at once out of place aboard the ship; following the current took her past the cockpit, past the galley, down to one of the supposedly empty cargo holds. The people inside the room, however, told her that it was most definitely not empty.
She hesitated at the scene before her. Both Jedi were sitting cross-legged on the floor, their cloaks folded neatly at their sides, their lightsabers resting atop the cloaks. The sense of calm that had drawn her to this part of the ship was intoxicating, like a balm to her troubled heart, causing her to take a step forward. When that sense of calm persisted, it bolstered her wavering certainty, allowing her the strength of will to move farther into the room, to seat herself beside them after removing her footwear, and to begin her own meditation.
Stirrings in the Force entered his mind, and with a mental query Qui-Gon was able discern that it was the girl, Alia, who was causing the changes. Breaking away from his communion with the Force, he opened his eyes to see what it was she needed. Sensing his Master’s mental absence, Obi-wan also opened his eyes, and began to feel the faint stirrings of annoyance well inside him. Why was she mimicking their meditative positions? Was it to mock them?
He had had enough of her willful eccentricities, and was about to prod her none-too-gently with the Force when Qui-Gon gave him a Look. Irritated, and feeling as though he had been chastised like a novitiate instead of an Apprentice, Obi-wan stood up, walking out of the room and down the hallway toward the engine room. Even though he already knew the condition of the hyperdrive, perhaps another look would bring a fresh insight on how to reroute the energy from the power influx conduit around the main breaker into a narrower secondary medium. And the boring make-work would keep his mind busy from thoughts of that irritating woman.
Qui-Gon, meanwhile, was examining his uninvited travel companion, his eyes traveling over features that were familiar to him and yet different, as if they had been softened or tempered. He studied the style of her clothing, and deduced that she must have spent at least some time in the Beroe Sector. While her trousers and synth-vin jacket could have been manufactured on any industrialized world, the boots at her side were undeniably handmade, with designs he had seen and admired long ago, when he had visited the Forest-World of Dysis en route to broker a truce between the Lyrisians and Diinari on the neighboring planet of Taras.
That had been a long time ago, and as he scrutinized the details of her face, he was transported back again to that world, with its ancient yet vibrant connection to the Force. The smells of the port city of Aibelen, the sound of the wind through the trees at sunset, how the light of the setting sun and rising moons reflected off the glass of the Temple Dome. He remembered vaguely that the people had seemed to worship a female Deity, but couldn’t recall for the life of him Her name.
All this passed through his mind in seconds, and with no small amount of amusement he watched her eyes open and widen in shock.
“How long have you been staring at me?” she demanded, a touch of irritation and annoyance in her voice. He noticed, however, that she hadn’t jumped up in alarm once becoming aware of his scrutiny, yet neither had she seemed surprised that he had been interested enough to look.
“Not long,” he replied, a smile quirking at the edges of his lips.
She returned the smile beneath lowered eyelids.
“Why do you keep your eyes hidden?” he asked, curious. Their few moments of shared meditation had been a unique experience for him: she used the Force, yet she was not Jedi. He had not sensed any signs of ill-intent around her and knew instinctively that she would not harm them or the Queen. Checking the sharpness of his interest, he continued, “They are unique; do your people have such coloring on your world?”
Alia looked at him, a thousand emotions running through her at his questions. Her people? Which people? What to say? What to hide? She gave him another smile, reaching over to grasp her boots.
“There used to be more of us, but…” she answered sadly, “The others…there was a sickness that made them too weak. They died.”
“A plague?” he asked.
His question, spoken gently, was given a bitter laugh in return.
“I guess you could call it that,” she said, her eyes narrowing in concentration as she tightened the straps of her boots.
“Did all of them die?”
“As far as I know, only I and another girl survived. We…had stowed away on a passing ship. The captain found us and took us to her world.”
Qui-Gon was intrigued.
“Are you still in contact with this girl?”
Sighing, Alia gave the strap one final tug before folding her legs beneath her once more. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she stared off into space before answering.
“A little. Every now and then she writes home, not too big with details.”
“Then she has left your…home?”
Alia began to trace the designs on one of her boots.
“Why?”
/ A simple question shouldn’t be so difficult to answer! / Alia thought to herself.
“Why are you so curious?” she countered defensively, her eyes flickering with doubt and suspicion.
At a loss, Qui-Gon took himself to task for pushing her too hard. There was a voice in his head that was asking that same question: just why was he so interested in this other girl? A whisper from his heart, however, something that he had always believed was his strongest tie to the Force, quieted the doubts in his head.
“I do not know,” he replied truthfully, sensing that honesty was the only answer this girl would accept, “I sense your inner conflict, but I do not mean to discomfort you. I am familiar with someone who carries eyes similar to yours, yet I cannot place them. Perhaps if you tell me more, I will be able to find the answer.”
She stared at him, mouth dropped open in shock. Struggling to regain any sense left to her, Alia snapped her jaw shut and drew a knee upward to rest the point of her elbow on its surface, cupping her chin with a thoughtful look on her face. After a few moments of silently wrapping the peace of the Force around herself, the brunette finally seemed to come to a decision.
“Living with the Captain’s people was…difficult,” she said at last, “Their ways are…not for outsiders to know. For a long time we were outsiders, before the Captain grew angry and threatened to leave if they didn’t accept us. She loved us, I think, in her own way. Before we were adopted by her Clan, she taught us how to…take care of ourselves if someone decided to play too rough.”
Listening to her voice was not a difficult thing, Qui-Gon was coming to realize. The way she spoke, the tones of her voice, were rich and sweet at the same time. Qui-Gon understood that she was setting him up for something, some event that was dependent on her past.
“There were other things she taught us, things that you don’t need to worry about, but she…the other girl,” Alia stopped, unable to express herself the way she wanted to, the way she wanted him to understand, “She...she began to change. We began to change.”
She looked at him then, with an intensity that startled him, before continuing.
“Dysis has a…complex culture. People-women, actually-who show signs of Possession, are taken before the High Priestess at the Great Temple of Kharan, and are…tested, to see if they have the Potential to Serve Her. Because of our people, we were…special.”
Here Alia glanced at the older Jedi, unsure if she was confusing him or boring him. When he signaled her to continue, though, she complied after breathing in deeply.
“The ones truly Possessed are Force-sensitive,” she remarked, “Some Potentials are as strong as any Jedi, but Dysean disciplines are very different.”
The girl spoke with a kind of candid honesty that was at once refreshing and disturbing. There was no tact in her statements, no art that he could see that was designed to ensnare him.
“What would you know about Jedi disciplines?”
The question seemed to fluster her for a moment.
“I…The other girl, Cadis, she knew about them. She would tell me the things she rem-read.”
Recalling something she had said before, Qui-Gon asked, “This girl, Cadis, why did she leave?”
“She left because she couldn’t conform to the Dysean ways; she couldn’t be what they wanted her to be. In one of her letters, she wrote that it was because she felt something…missing, something she had to find.”
“Did she tell you what she was looking for?”
“I-I can’t…,” she said, her distress written plainly upon her face, “I can’t tell you. I-I don’t know if she’d want me to tell you.”
Though his curiosity was raging, Qui-Gon quelled the urge to use the Force to find the answer. Instinct and something else told him that any aggressive move on his part would only lead to silencing her, something he had no wish to do. Nearly biting his tongue, Qui-Gon sought the Force to suppress his frustration. Moments passed between them in silence as he sensed the conflict within her. His patience was rewarded when she looked up with determination in her eyes.
“A Jedi,” she spoke quietly, “She’s looking for one of the Jedi.”
“If that is the case then why has she not come to Coruscant?” the Jedi asked with confusion in his voice and his eyes.
Tearing her eyes away from the Jedi Master, Alia spoke again, her voice soft, “Because she’s afraid of what she might find.”
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Tasi meaning “fair, beautiful woman.”
Comm channel shortened version of “communications channel,” or an intercom.
Synth-vin stands for “synthetic vinyl"; I know, if you think about it it's ridiculous, but give me some artistic license, here!
Lyrisians pronounced “Leer-iss-ee-ahn-s.”
Diinari pronounced “Dih-nah-ree.”
Taras pronounced “Ter-ahs.”
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