On Distant Shores (I)

Care not what dangers may await you at your destination. Far more deadly are those you bring thereto. –Jedi proverb

Jedi Master Qui Gon Jinn eased the rattling, ill-maintained Pelioni security shuttle out of hyperspace, raising a critical eyebrow as the vessel gave a hiccupping jolt and flung him hard against the safety harness. A blue planet – a shimmering, swirled marble of glass, it appeared at this distance – loomed before them, its cheerful young sun shining gold and bright at the far left of the forward viewport.

Merrid Altus. He knew next to nothing about the system, and at the moment he cared only about a single one of its inhabitants, an individual whom he knew only by reputation and hearsay. It was the thinnest of hopes, the slimmest of chances. Yet he had no choice but to gamble everything upon it. He craned his head over his shoulder as a young woman entered the cockpit. Striding softly to the co-pilot's seat and leaning over its backrest, she also peered with mingled curiosity and anxiety at the pretty blue globe with its blurred halo of atmosphere and its thin coronet of asteroid debris.

"He's asleep again," she said, abruptly.

"I know," Qui Gon answered. "This is the system. We'll drop in closer and orbit until I can locate Yervei Adah."

"Adah," the young woman repeated. She had an elegant profile, and her silver-gold hair was pulled back in a simple knot. Her expensive garments were frayed, and dirty, and spattered with lurid crimson stains, yet she bore herself with all the grace of the hereditary rank of Duchess to which she had been born. "That is the person you described to me earlier. Will he be able to help?"

"Let us hope so," the Jedi master answered grimly. He eyed the fuel gauge and eased up on the thrusters. He had to allow for the possibility that they might not be able to refuel onworld; he had little desire to be stranded on this tiny, exotic planet.

The young noblewoman nodded, her eyes full of unstated misgiving. She slipped into the co-pilot's chair and her long fingers tapped against the nav computer's data display. "The asteroid belt is full of metallic substances. How peculiar. Is it a junkyard, do you suppose?"

Qui Gon frowned. "Unlikely. To the best of my knowledge, the culture here is not technologically advanced. And there are no trade routes or commuter lines through this part of the sector." He spared a glance at the active scanners.. It was true: the asteroid belt contained many objects that looked suspiciously like spacecraft flotsam – the sort of thing left in a planet's orbit after a battle, or a pirate raid. There were thousands of small, rectangular forms floating amid the wreckage, like so many children's toy blocks. But he was far too preoccupied to give the matter any more thought.

They slipped into the planet's gravity well toward the northern magnetic pole, avoiding the asteroid field and its maze of rocks and junk. The ice cap in the arctic regions was immense, extending in jagged lines over a third of the visible hemisphere. To its south, in every direction, stretched the endless deep blue of Merrid Altus' single unbroken ocean.

"There is no land!" the Duchess gasped, staring at the spectacular view from high orbit. "Not a single continent."

"There are small island archipelagos in the equatorial region," Qui Gon reassured her, dropping through the upper atmosphere in a single, controlled glide. "I will be able to sense Master Adah's presence; the Force resonates here."

She looked at him with a tiny wry smile, one which meant if you say so, then directed her gaze back to the rear compartment, a thin line of concern appearing between her delicate brows. "I should check…" She trailed off, and hastily returned to the back of the ship – little more than a stripped-down cargo hold fitted for transporting criminals.

Qui Gon let her go. There was nothing she could do. But, like him. she had to try.

The Jedi are our hereditary enemies, my lady. To be entangled with them – I think it unwise. An extremely complicated position. –Pre Vizla, Governor of Concordia, to Satine Kryze

The air on the tiny crescent-shaped island smelled sweet – like rainfall and rich, dark soil. Birds chattered and unnamed animals screeched and called in the lush jungle rising up the steep slopes of the central landmass. Here, on a white beach tumbling to a placid lagoon, the shuttle sat on its landing prongs, ramp lowered to admit its passengers onto the shores of the miniature paradise.

"He's up the mountain a short distance," Master Jinn murmured, shading his eyes with one hand as he scanned the tiers of drooping trees which fringed the stony promontory above. A small flock of brightly colored birds winged its way past. Not a cloud marred the deep cerulean sky overhead. "I'll be in contact. Stay here."

As if she would go anywhere else. Satine Kryze nodded, and watched the Jedi master head up the slope at his long, easy gait, his light colored tunic swiftly disappearing from sight beneath the shade of the tropical growth. She turned to the ocean, its tantalizing cool waves breaking on the shores and lapping back again as gently as a mother stroking her babe. On the near horizon, where the water seemed to change color, she spotted a dark silhouette – a boat? The distance was too great to be sure…and she had other worries.

Leaving the tranquil vista to its unsullied perfection, she returned to the interior of the ship and its sole remaining passenger. He lay half-curled upon the deck, wrapped in three self-heating synth-fiber blankets.

"Master Jinn has gone to find help," she told him gently, kneeling down on the deck's scuffed dura-mat. She could not be certain he was even awake. Her hand brushed against his cheek, found the narrow Padawan's braid lying curled against his neck, let the smooth plait slip through her fingers, every twist of its length a reminder of the years and years he had spent single-mindedly training for a life few in the galaxy could imagine. A life which precluded many things, many joys, many comforts, but certainly offered no sanctuary from danger or suffering.

"Don't give up," she urged, fiercely. "If you die, I shall never speak to you again."

His eyelids flickered, and the faintest of smiles tugged at one corner of his mouth. "…Don't tempt me," he weakly muttered.

Satine smiled at the jest – but fickle emotion betrayed her, transforming the smile to bitter tears. She dashed them away with one hand and pulled the blankets tighter about his shoulders. He flinched at the slight movement, letting out a long, controlled breath, edged with pain. Two B'Omarr nerve probes were buried deep against his spine, their trailing microfilaments entangled about cord and vertebrae alike. The med droid back on Pelion – the vile thing – had said it would be impossible to remove them without doing further damage. It felt no remorse at having implanted the wicked devices in the first place, or at having coolly observed while they slowly chewed their way upward to the nerve plexus between the shoulder blades. It had referred to the excruciating torture as a "procedure."

Satine felt her eyes burn again, this time with outrage. Violence. Violence was the true enemy. All those who were seduced to use it – for whatever cause – were delusional fools, slaves to a cruel, consuming master. "Please, Obi," she begged. "You must keep fighting. Help is coming. I know it."

Finding the right man for a job is easy. The hard part is convincing him to take it. – Senator Palpatine, of Naboo, in a public press conference.

Qui Gon met Master Yervei Adah halway up the slope. Or halfway down, depending on your point of view. The ancient Jedi wore a simple brown robe reaching to his feet and a peculiar flattened cone of a hat – a crude device woven of dried plant fronds. His silver beard was tucked into his belt for safekeeping, alongside a satchel bulging with the hard shapes of a dozen different objects. His sandaled feet practically flew down the hillside, threading their way among stones and roots with the familiarity of one who knows the land as well as his own thoughts.

"What brings intruders to my refuge?" he called when the tall Jedi was in hailing distance.

"Master Adah?' Qui Gon answered, halting beneath the shade of a naberri plant.

"Yes, yes," the elder replied, huffing up to his visitor and raking him up and down with sharp black eyes. His skin was tanned to a rich hue of golden brown and deep creases surrounded his eyes and mouth. "And who might you be? An emissary from the Council, sent to harass an old man is his retirement?"

"I am Qui Gon Jinn," the tall man offered, "I come only to ask your help. My Padawan is in desperate need of assistance. You are famed as a healer."

"I'm famed as more than that, I daresay," Adah snorted. "You went to great deal of trouble to find me. There are plenty of others who might help you, Qui Gon Jinn."

Qui Gon's eyes flashed with impatience. "His life is in peril. There is no other Force-healer within fifty parsecs. Will you help us?"

Adah sighed. "You should not have come here," he muttered. "But since you have, I will not turn you away." He took a few paces downhill. "Lead the way. What is wrong with this Padawan of yours that you should be so rash and rebellious about his destiny?"

Qui Gon descended behind the old man, who trotted along with the agility of a curly-horned mountain gorsk. "He has B'Omarr nerve probes deep in his spine. They have been there some time."

"And he's still alive?" Adah barked.

"Yes…barely."

"B'Omarr technique, eh," the ancient Jedi muttered as they reach the foot of the slope and trotted across the shaded green undergrowth near the beach. "What have you been doing, you fool? Can't you people ever leave well enough alone? Didn't you teach the boy not to go sticking his hand in an open gundark's mouth, hm? This is what comes of your crusading and interference, you know."

"I would be most grateful for your help," Qui Gon repeated, stiffly.

"Yes, yes, you said that already."Adah dismissed him with a short, exasperated wave, and clambered up the boarding ramp without waiting for an invitation. "What have we here?" his voice echoed down from within the bare hull.

Qui Gon ducked inside a moment later, waving Satine out of the way. The haughty young Duchess raised her eyebrows at the bedraggled spectacle of the ancient Jedi, but she silently obeyed Qui Gons' injunction, rising form her self-appointed station at Obi Wan's head to stand beside the tall Jedi master in the open hatchway.

Adah pressed two long gnarled hands against the Padawan's face. "Ah. Hm." He rocked back and forth on his heels for a moment, and then deftly stripped off the thermal blankets, peering closely at the young Jedi's back. Livid bruises spread in darkening ripples from the base of his spine to its summit, erupting into an angry knot of red and purple between his shoulder blades. Satine turned her face away, stricken.

"He will die," Adah stated, flatly.

"No," the Duchess breathed.

"He has not yet," Qui Gon frowned. "The future is not ours to know. What can you do?"

Adah favored him with a sour look. "I can help him die even more painfully and slowly than he is already," he snapped. "Is that what you wish? This is what comes of your brazen meddling with the ways of the universe. You cannot undo the inevitable by throwing your will against it."

"I know this," the other Jedi replied, deliberately calm. "Nor do I presume to pass judgment on another's fate. Such is a path of presumption."

The old man studied him with narrowed eyes. "You should not have come here," he said again. "I can do nothing for your Padawan. He chose this fate when he took his learner's oath. He chose this when he built his first lightsaber. He chose this when he first used the Force for anything besides knowledge, its only right use. Do not compound your foolishness with defiance."

"You will do nothing?" Qui Gon exclaimed, self-restraint slipping away.

Adah's face hardened. "You are old not to have learned acceptance," he scowled.

But before the Jedi master could make an angry retort, Satine had thrown herself onto her knees before Adah. "I beg you," she said, voice trembling. "I implore you – for the sake of one who is still living. Are you not sworn to compassion? Will you not have compassion for me?" She held out one hand in the Mandalorian gesture of supplication.

Adah's eyes widened in disbelief. He looked from the kneeling Duchess to Qui Gon's stern face and back again. Then he sighed – a wordless curse of annoyance and misgiving. "Carry him, then," he spat out. "My home is at the top of the ridge. I shall cooperate with your folly. But you are duly warned: only more suffering will come of this." Having thus pronounced judgment, he tramped down the ramp and led the way back into the thickly forested heights.