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If this was being one with the Force, he had a bone to pick with Master Yoda. Everything hurt. Well, maybe not his toenails. But, everything else. It felt like he was strapped into a wooden casket, swinging and swaying and bumping into things. If he could only open his eyes. Was he drugged?
A hard thump jolted the Padawan and his stomach flopped. He wasn't nauseous. Hungry. He was hungry. He couldn't remember the last time he'd wanted food -- must have been before the fever. So he wasn't dead. But why couldn't he open his eyes? And why couldn't he hear anything? Was he captured? Was this some weird form of sensory deprivation? But he didn't sense danger. Did Nyk get away? He had to believe she did. That would be the worst torture -- knowing she was in the hands of that colonel. His shudder was cut short by another jolt.
Suddenly he was in freefall. Black, silent, stomach-clenching; a dream from which he couldn't wake. His ears popped. Swish. Swish. Whap. Jerking to a stop, his grunt bounced off the inside of his makeshift prison. The container rocked slightly as Qui-Gon swallowed hard and fought to calm his queasiness by breathing deep. The rocking ceased and a soft murmuring surrounded the hammock.
Cool air caressed the Padawan's face. His transportation slowly tipped, rolling Qui-Gon on to his side. Hands gently swung his legs out, pressing his head down when he brushed against something. The voices were still quiet; a language he didn't recognize. Then they were tugging his wrists, urging him to stand. As he did a small hand clasped his left hand and squeezed. He froze, expecting a burst of pain. Nothing happened.
"Qui-Gon?" Nyk's voice brought a rush of relief and he dipped his face down toward the source of the words. She said, "You can't see, can you?"
He shook his head.
"Your eyesight will return soon. They assure me it's just a temporary side-effect of the anti-inflammatory they gave you to fight the infection." Nyk led the tall Padawan to a patch of air that was warmed by the sun. "Sit. They said sunlight will speed the process of healing and of restoring your sight, now that you are past the critical stage."
Qui-Gon sank into a cross-legged position and ran his fingers over his heavily-bandaged arm. His voice was arid. "They?" A vessel was pressed to his lips, and water dribbled down his chin as he cupped the gourd-like container in both hands and drained it. He held it out. "Thank you." It was refilled and he drank the second cup down just as quickly as the first. The cup was removed. Qui-Gon tilted his head as he tentatively reached for the Force, to find it in easy reach, and radiated his senses outwards. The clearing they sat in was alive with lifeforms. Qui-Gon repeated his question, "Who are they?"
He heard the smile in Nyk's reply. "Mimbanites."
The Padawan stared sightlessly as he thought. "The sentients native to Circarpous V. But don't they shun contact with other peoples?"
"Yes. I've lived here most of my life and didn't even know what they looked like." She paused. "Here comes Bibula, now. He seems to be their chief, or spokesperson." Nyk cradled his left hand in both of hers and lifted it , brushing her cheek against his fingers. "You are a strange one, Qui-Gon. You say a solution will present itself and these kind beings drop out of the trees."
Heat crept up the Padawan's neck as she pressed his index finger against her lips. He extracted his hand and rubbed the fine stubble coating his jaw, then dropped to brush across his lightsaber, still tucked into his waistband. He felt, rather than heard, her soft sigh. Before he could give her reaction any thought, a presence settled in front of him.
"Rejoice, my people do, that you are recovering. Feared for your life, we did." The gentle voice was low and soothing. The familiar speech pattern puzzled Qui-Gon and he leaned forward. Could this be Master Yoda's homeworld? The voice continued, "Bibula, I am called. My apologies, please take. Mastered your language, I have not."
Qui-Gon sat back with a smile tugging at his lips. Not mastered Basic? That was one comment he would keep to himself back on Coruscant. He said, "Your Basic is very good, Bibula. And I need to thank you for saving my life, and my friend's. Does your culture demand life debts?"
"I know not, what you mean. Owe our lives in service, we all do, to the homeworld that birthed us. And the Jedi serve many worlds, already. We were glad to help a Jedi, for many generations ago, helped our people, yours did."
Qui-Gon blinked. The blindness seemed to be lifting. The very center of his vision had a dark grey spot that was slowly enlarging. "So you know I am a Jedi."
"Yes. Watched you, we did, from the time you landed."
A black shape was forming in the dark mist. Short. Round. "You ..." Qui-Gon trailed off, recalling flashes of color, high above. "You travel through the canopy?"
"Mostly."
His voice echoed his suddenly ragged thoughts. "Why, why didn't you help them? She was only a child."
A pensive silence stretched. When Bibula replied, his tone was sorrowful. "Mean you, the father and daughter you came across? We are not everywhere. We knew not, their location, until you discovered them." He sighed. "Regretful. Helped them, we could have. Knew the disease that gripped them, we did. As soon as we knew, prepared the, the ..."
"Antidote," Nyk supplied.
"My thanks. Yes. The antidote. The healing agent -- to help any others we found. Glad of it, for speak, Nykka did, of the illness amongst her people."
Nykka? A whisper came from near his shoulder. "I've told them it's just Nyk."
Qui-Gon nodded. "Did ... Nykka also speak of the soldiers that are keeping the people prisoner in their homes and letting them die?" He felt a gentle nudge in his ribs and suppressed a smirk.
"Yes. News of these soldiers, we had already heard. Spoke, did our brothers from far away, of a new settlement in the western jungles. Peopled by these men in black, it is."
"A secret base?" Qui-Gon could almost see the round figure bobbing in the affirmative. Other shadows were beginning to materialize in the fog.
"Yes. Yes," Bibula said. "A base. Near the birthing place of the disease, it is."
Qui-Gon's reply was interrupted by a keening wail. Alarm rippled through the clearing, as he sensed the Mimbanites scattering. Nyk grabbed his hand and dragged him under the shelter of the trees. Moments later he heard the buzzing hum of fighters flying overhead.
"Search for you, they still do," Bibula said. "Fooled for long, they were not, by the fiery transport."
A momentary frown creased the Padawan's brow, and Nyk said, "Don't you remember? You sent that speeder away on auto-pilot. The watchers blew it up, just like you'd expected."
Qui-Gon nodded slowly as hazy, disjointed memories surfaced. Pain. Fever. A flash of orange. He turned his face toward Nyk. Her features were obscured, grey on grey. "What color is our host?"
"Bibula? He's orange. The Mimbanites are a rainbow of colors. Very beautiful."
"Like tropical birds," Qui-Gon mused. He felt Nyk's silent puzzlement.
"Come," Bibula said. "Return to the canopy, we must, for the night."
Nyk led the Padawan further under the trees, though he could now see the outlines of their pillar trunks looming around him. His knee bumped something.
"Your transport," Nyk said, as she pulled his hand down to touch it. Qui-Gon knelt and ran his fingers over the cocoon-like structure. "Some sort of thick bark," Nyk said. "sealed at either end. In your case, they tied it closed and used it like a stretcher to move you. I rode in a similar one, but wasn't trussed up like a slab of roast nerf, so I got to see the trees coming at me. I don't know how they managed to swing around them every time."
"They swung us through the treetops?" The mental image was vivid and Qui-Gon smiled. "Did they gag you to keep you quiet during the ride?"
"Funny. Get in, big guy."
He crawled in and tilted his face up. "Are you sure they won't drop me? They seem rather small. What are they? Your height?"
Nyk leaned over so her breath blew onto Qui-Gon's cheek. "They're shorter. Have a nice ride."
Bibula called out in his own language and the hammock shot up into the air. Qui-Gon had a brief glimpse of colorless balls falling past him, then the ascent halted suddenly. His grip tightened. A bit of jostling and his transport was swooping through the trees. He glanced up to see a vague figure above and ahead of him, with another behind. From this angle, he could make out what were probably legs -- the hammock seemed tied to them somehow. Considering the ease with which they were moving, he assumed his hosts had arms, as well. Powerful arms.
Ten minutes of tree shadows flashing past, some close enough to scrape the sides of the transport, left Qui-Gon rather glad he'd had no opportunity to eat. Yet. He was still hungry. The ride came to an end with the hammock being raised slowly into the canopy, leaves grazing the Padawan as they hid the ground from sight.
Hands guided Qui-Gon from the hammock onto a broad limb. Darkness was falling faster than he was regaining his sight, so he carefully followed every prompt. Quiet sing-song voices drew him forward, to a platform ringed by indefinite forms. Light danced in the center of his vision, flickering over those closest to the flames. Nyk's hand slipped into his own and they joined the outer circle. Platters of fruit and nuts were passed around, and around again, as Nyk described the scene and the food in hushed tones, allowing the Padawan to imagine some color into his monotone world. As Qui-Gon munched from the bounty piled on his lap, the melodic voices broke out in song. Captivating a capella harmonies swirled and rose on the night breeze, carrying away lingering tensions. The Padawan's eyelids drooped, and he found his chin nodding toward his chest.
Rough hands settled on both his shoulders and Qui-Gon straightened. Bibula's voice sounded directly behind him. "Time to rest. Time to heal. Come, young Jedi."
The Padawan's body whispered agreement, and he gladly followed his host to a pallet piled high with large, supple leaves.
Birdsong lured Qui-Gon from a dreamless sleep. He lay on his back, and listened to the peaceful twittering for several minutes before opening his eyes. Grey sky winked at him from between silhouetted leaves. Disappointment tugged at his thoughts; he had hoped his vision would be normal this morning. As he stared upwards, a soft golden hue seeping into the sky swept the discouragement aside. Pre-dawn murkiness gave way suddenly, as blue and gold vied for supremacy. A smile stole over his face as the Padawan watched the ageless battle.
A muted giggle caught his ear. Qui-Gon rolled over on his left side to meet the wide-eyed gaze of a tiny Mimbanite -- a child, he decided. He scanned the small green being, with a head and round body that seemed almost indistinguishable. One eyebrow quirked. The little one sported four arms, and when he looked closely, he could make out four legs, as well. Funny. Nyk had mentioned multiple colors, but not multiple limbs. He had simply assumed the Mimbanites were bi-pedal. He could certainly see how the arms would be an advantage in moving through the trees. His gaze returned to inquisitive eyes and he smiled.
The little one giggled again and stretched out a tentative hand. Tiny fingers touched the Padawan's braid and quickly withdrew. Another giggle and the child spun away. A slender hairless tail whipped past Qui-Gon's nose, startling him. He blinked and the little one was gone.
A moment later, a larger orange Mimbanite approached the young Jedi. Qui-Gon sat up to greet his host, reluctantly laying aside a warm woven blanket as he ran fingers through hair kissed by dew. The day promised to be humid.
"Watched well, my young sentry did. I hope that wake you, he did not," Bibula said.
"The birds awoke me," Qui-Gon replied. "The Force is telling me that it is time to leave. I don't want to be a danger to your people."
The Mimbanite shifted his weight from his back legs to front. He nodded. "To your ship, then." He turned and strolled away, in a rolling gait reminiscent of a sailor on a water craft.
Qui-Gon scrambled to catch up. After waking Nyk and collecting some fruit to eat on the way, the threesome headed out. For a few minutes they traveled on a broad avenue of intertwined tree limbs. A gap in the trees brought their path to an end. Qui-Gon's eyes flicked from the vines dangling before them to the other side of the small clearing. It would be an easy jump. Sensing her nervousness, he glanced at Nyk as she licked her lips and clenched her teeth. Bibula whispered, "Down," and Nyk's relief touched the Padawan's mind. Is Nyk afraid of heights?
The Mimbanite grabbed two vines, two hands on each, and disappeared, descending hand over hand with the rapidity of an insect. Nyk rubbed her palms on her thighs and took a deep breath. Qui-Gon touched her arm and her eyes shot to his face.
"You don't have to do this," he said as he patted his own shoulder blade. "Hitch a ride."
Her green eyes sparkled. "Are you sure you won't drop me? You seem a little big and clumsy."
"Very funny." The Padawan crouched. "Get on."
Nyk climbed onto his back, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck and winding her legs around his waist. He cleared his throat and loosed her grip just a touch. Leaning forward, Qui-Gon grabbed a vine and swung out, twisting around to face the tree trunk. Nyk hissed and pressed her face into the back of his neck. He chuckled, starting down at a steady pace.
A few moments later, he heard a muffled, "Are we almost there?"
Qui-Gon tightened his grip, stopping their descent, and peered down. "You could look. It's only five or six meters."
"No. I don't really like heights all that much."
"But you rode in that hammock contraption."
"I, I do better when I'm in something."
Qui-Gon glanced down again. "Okay. I'll get us to the ground as quickly as possible."
Nyk's whispered, "Thank you," cut off in a squeal as Qui-Gon released the rope and dropped the remaining distance. He cushioned their landing with the Force and sank to one knee, prying Nyk's legs from around his midsection. She slipped to her feet and punched him in the arm. He fell to the ground, laughing.
"That wasn't funny, you, you swamp snake." Nyk stood, arms akimbo, staring down at the young Jedi.
Qui-Gon hesitated, looking into her face to find tears shimmering along her eyelashes. He popped to his feet. Cupping her face in his hands, he gently wiped the tears away with his thumbs. Electricity pooled in his fingertips, but compassion softened his voice. "You're so brave, Nyk. I guess the idea of a few meters scaring you struck me as ... well, silly. But, you're right. I was out of line."
Bibula stomped a foot. "Time enough for tenderness, when safe, you are. Now, we must go."
Qui-Gon stepped hastily backwards, almost tripping on a tree root. He looked away, suddenly unable to meet Nyk's gaze. Tenderness? Maybe it had been more than mere sympathy he had felt a few seconds ago, but just what, he did not know. He wasn't sure he wanted to think about it. He fell in behind Bibula and Nyk, his eyes drawn to her bobbed blond hair that swung sassily as she marched to keep up with the Mimbanite. His eyes drifted down her stiff spine and lingered on small hips and shapely legs. Groaning quietly, he tore his attention away. There is no emotion; there is peace. He glued his gaze to the heels of Nyk's boots and clung to the mantra as his mind groped for calm, attempting to shunt aside distractions and focus on the moment. But at the moment he was following a smart, daring young woman who was captivating his imagination. His gaze dropped to a meter in front of his own toes.
Slowly, the tide of confusing feelings waned and Qui-Gon was able to focus on the surrounding jungle -- the chittering of nearby primates, loud caws high in the canopy, the slithering of skin against bark, a predator's roar that caused a flurry of fleeing birds and animals. The Living Force imbued each sound, each movement, saturating the Padawan's senses and filling him with awe. Time flowed past him unnoticed.
Then, a tiny ripple touched the edge of Qui-Gon's consciousness. As he reached out through the Force, Bibula raised his hand for them to stop. Qui-Gon switched his focus to the Mimbanite, as Bibula softly said, "Feels different, the jungle does. Cautious. Under the canopy, strangers walk."
Qui-Gon expanded his knowing beyond the threesome. A moment later he opened his eyes to meet Nyk's worried gaze. He nodded to the trail ahead. "About a kilometer east there is a group of lifeforms. I sense danger."
"Yes. Yes," Bibula said. "There lies your ship."
Sweat trickled along Nyk's hairline and she wiped it away. "You mean, they're waiting to ambush us?"
"Not long, have they been there," Bibula said. "Or silent, the jungle would not be."
"Right," Qui-Gon agreed. "So they won't have had time to crack ship security and mess with any systems. We'd better get there fast."
"Just walk into an ambush? You're going crazy on me again, big guy," Nyk muttered.
"We wouldn't want to disappoint them, would we?" Qui-Gon turned to Bibula. "Thank you, Bibula. Please return to your people." He delivered a short bow, recalling Master Yoda's often-used parting. "We leave in peace."
"Seek to aid Nykka's people, we will." Bibula nodded at the young woman. "Await your return, I will. Look forward to teaching you, I do." He spun on one foot and quickly disappeared into the shadows.
"Teaching you what?" Qui-Gon asked.
Nyk smiled after the Mimbanite. "He has agreed to supplement my medical training by teaching me what they know of jungle remedies. It was almost miraculous the way that antidote worked on you, along with the anti-inflammatory. I want that knowledge."
Qui-Gon rested his hand on her shoulder. "I can understand that. I feel great. Almost like I'd never been sick." He hesitated. "How long was I, ah, out of the action?"
"You were only unconscious for two days. Isn't that amazing?"
The Padawan's tone was pensive. "Yeah. Amazing. Hakola should be less than a day away from Coruscant. We might cross paths with him in hyperspace without knowing."
"So send a message from the ship." A frown suddenly overtook Nyk's features. "Let's get this insanity over with."
Instead of moving, Qui-Gon studied her features, a smile sparking in his blue depths. Nyk returned an open, vulnerable stare. "What?" she whispered. Yes, what? Qui-Gon asked himself. He brushed the tips of her hair and wound a finger in the wispy tendrils at the base of her neck, losing himself in emerald green eyes. His stomach coiled with delicious tension and he leaned toward Nyk. Force help me, she even smells wonderful. Qui-Gon froze. His own odor rose to meet him -- days of swamp, sewage and fever that had fermented into ... His nostrils flared. He stepped back, suddenly self-conscious.
Looking away, he said, "We'd better go." He ignored the soft sigh behind him and started out, his long strides swallowing the distance to the ship. Minutes later, Qui-Gon halted beside one of the low spreading trees that dotted the area. Peering through the vertical branches, he sighted the ship less than 80 meters away. Nyk stumbled up beside him and grabbed his sleeve. Qui-Gon spun and clamped his hand over her mouth. He touched a finger to his own lips, motioning for silence.
Nyk's breath steamed his fingers and Qui-Gon's gaze flicked over the young woman. Chest heaving. Sweat dripping off her eyebrows. Distress darkened his features as he realized that his pace had been too fast for Nyk. His hand moved from mouth to forehead as he wiped the sweat from her brow. His murmured, "Sorry," was barely audible. When she just rolled her eyes and shook her head in mock frustration, he smiled and planted an impulsive kiss near her hairline, lips barely brushing her skin.
Bending close, the Padawan whispered his plan, oddly encouraged by the silent worry hovering in Nyk's eyes. He winked his reassurance and skirted around the tree to wend his way toward the ship. The first 60 meters were easy. The closer he drew to the clearing, the less cover there was, as trees thinned out.
Halting, back against a broad trunk, Qui-Gon closed his eyes and focused inwards, to his center of calm. As tension dissipated, his sense of the Living Force expanded until it seemed like the very air around him shimmered. He could easily sense his foes with their taut nerves and fidgety alertness. Time to move.
The Padawan burst from behind his shelter, jumping tangled root masses and dodging vines. He leaped between a pair of sentries. Their startled shouts were cut short by a criss-cross slashing of green. Qui-Gon paused. He caught a glimpse of Nyk sneaking through the jungle and gestured with his lightsaber to indicate where she should come. A small hand waved back.
Qui-Gon dashed into the clearing, immediately drawing blaster fire from the other soldiers ringing the ship. He followed the Force's lead, weaving a shield of green light before him as he advanced. A cry sounded as a deflected bolt found its mark.
Suddenly, Qui-Gon charged and somersaulted through the air. Landing behind a soldier, he wheeled and lunged. The man crumpled.
Qui-Gon darted toward the ship's aft landing ramp. He parried a flurry of shots. One more soldier fell with a yelp. Nyk crouched near the first sentries, borrowed blaster in hand, awaiting his signal. The Padawan could sense soldiers moving from the other side of the clearing to reinforce their comrades. There were too many for him to defeat. They had to move fast.
"Now!" he shouted, bolting toward Nyk as she zigzagged to the ramp controls. As she passed him, he planted his foot and began back-pedaling, shielding her with his lightsaber. A red wave came at them from the side and Qui-Gon pivoted to deflect the lasers.
Nyk cried out. Qui-Gon stumbled, a laser lancing the folds of his tunic before he could recover. He stood over Nyk, partitioning off his surging panic as he fought to keep the advancing cordon at bay.
"Nyk. Speak to me," Qui-Gon said. His green blade blurred.
"I'm, I'm okay. It's just my shoulder." Relief quashed his alarm.
One part of the Padawan's mind noted Nyk crawling to the ship, standing beside the access panel, keying in the security code. The other focused on weaving a deflective pattern through the air. As the landing ramp lowered to the ground, the hail of red thickened. A bolt skimmed past Qui-Gon's ear. Before the ramp touched down he was hollering for her to get on board.
Dashing up the incline, Qui-Gon hit the emergency latch on his way to the cockpit. He heard the ramp sealing shut as he threw himself into the pilot chair, fingers fumbling to bring systems on line. Nyk fell into the co-pilot seat. Qui-Gon mentally recoiled, blocking out the ripples of pain emanating from her to focus on the task at hand.
"Buckle up," he said. "This could get bumpy."
"Why?" she asked through clenched teeth. "Lots of turbulence?"
"No. Three fighters headed this way."
The ship's engine hummed as Qui-Gon powered up the repulsors. The ship jerked but didn't lift. Boosting engine power by dialing the shields down, he tried again. The ship rocked, the engine's whine building to a scream.
"What's wrong? What aren't we taking off?" Panic edged Nyk's voice.
"The landing gear has sunk into the mud, right up to the struts." Qui-Gon dropped the engine power down by 20%, then back up. They jerked against their safety belts. A soft curse slipped past the Padawan's lips.
"Why don't you just raise the landing gear?"
"Because you usually ..." Qui-Gon broke off and looked at Nyk's curious expression. His eyebrows arched. "That just might work."
Cutting engine and repulsor power, he flipped the manual override for the landing gear and switched it on. The ship settled. Qui-Gon closed his eyes and listened to the hydraulics. "It's working," he whispered. When the light came on indicating the landing gear was secure, he turned to Nyk and grinned. "You're beautiful." His grin widened when pink frosted her cheeks.
The rounded belly of the ship broke the suction of the soft
ground with ease. They rose slowly, as Qui-Gon watched the approaching
blips on the monitor. He eased the craft to hover just below the
canopy.
"Shouldn't we be making a run for it?" whispered Nyk.
Pointing with his index finger, he said, "We can't run when we can't see."
Qui-Gon felt Nyk's attention shift to the camo-net that was still draped over the ship and blocking the viewscreen. She muttered, "That never seemed to stop you before."
A corner of the Padawan's mouth twitched. "Almost here. Hang on."
"What are you ...? Ahhh!" Nyk screamed as they suddenly shot straight up in front of an incoming fighter. The ship flipped, dumping the camo-net onto the windscreen of the enemy craft, sending it into a careening dive into the jungle.
Qui-Gon rolled the ship upright and vectored it toward space. Heavy gasps drew his gaze to his co-pilot. Nyk glared at him, wide-eyed. "You were planning that."
"Of course I was. It would be a pretty stupid stunt to pull without planning."
"I'll definitely agree with the stupid part."
"Well, it worked." Qui-Gon glanced at the monitor. The other two ships were circling around behind them.
"Crazy Jedi," Nyk muttered.
"Beautiful med student," Qui-Gon replied.
A soft snort was strangled when the ship jumped to the side, dual lasers flashing past. Thick silence filled the cockpit as Qui-Gon urged the ship toward open space, juking the flight stick erratically. A hit rocked the craft. Then another.
Qui-Gon slammed on the air brakes. The two fighters shot by, splitting to circle around again. Tracking the right ship, Qui-Gon fired two quick ion blasts. The fighter wobbled as its systems shut down. It glided helplessly back toward the planet surface.
Toggling thrusters to full, Qui-Gon switched all shield power to the rear deflectors. Three more direct hits drained the shields' power level by half. The atmosphere thinned and the planetary fighter peeled away. The Padawan echoed Nyk's sigh of relief.
As he punched in the nav coordinates for Coruscant, the hailing frequency signal sounded. Qui-Gon shot a puzzled glance at Nyk and opened the channel.
The colonel's static-filled voice captured their attention. "You have proven to be a most annoying guest, young man."
"My apologies, Colonel. And ... thanks, for your ... hospitality." Nyk leveled a disbelieving stare at the young Jedi and he winked. "I'm afraid your next guests might not be quite as easy-going as me."
A sigh rose up from the com-speaker. "You force my hand."
"Can't say I'm sorry on that one," Qui-Gon replied. "By the way, Colonel. I don't think we were ever properly introduced." His fingers hesitated on the hyperspace lever as the indicator light blinked the all-clear.
"Not to worry, young man. I know who you are." The channel went dead.
"But who are you?" whispered the Padawan as he launched the ship into hyperspace.
Shunting aside an uneasy feeling, Qui-Gon swiveled the chair to face Nyk. He reached out and brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. "Let's get that wound fixed up, now."
Nodding, Nyk unbuckled with her good arm and stood up. She tilted Qui-Gon's chin up and stared into his dark blue eyes. The moment stretched. Her eyes sparked and she dipped her head, her lips brushing his forehead.
The mild, "Crazy Jedi," caressed his ears and his mind.
