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The city's decay was visible almost from orbit. Buildings were split down the middle, exposing their inhabitants to the elements. The broken-up streets were populated by hundreds of homeless. The marble palace at the outskirts had been turned into a crude hospital for the numerous sick.
It made Qui-Gon sad to simply watch.
Eyes turned to watch him as he carefully made his way through the decaying street. Families, huddled around fires, watched the tall Jedi stride through.
If only we could do more, he thought sadly. Coming to Brizame had been a straightforward mission, determining if the far-off world had a central government, and whether its people needed assistance. They did. The people were scattered and alone, and their poverty seemed greater since there was no riches anywhere. Their pain cried out to Qui-Gon, in a way that did not seem to strike Obi-Wan so deeply.
I'm blessed with a comfortable life, in comparison with these people, he thought.
The sound of a rock clattering and a round of angry shouting was heard from a nearby building's front. Qui-Gon whirled, and saw a ragged, dirty five-year-old boy squaring off with a trio of equally ragged teenagers. Behind the child was a toddler and a baby, huddling with some stale loaves of bread. The teens were gesturing belligerently, and the boy was wielding a rock to keep them at bay.
Qui-Gon's eyes narrowed as he strode toward them, and stepped in front of the leader, a boy. "Go," he said calmly.
Green eyes blazed. "Who do you think you are?" the leader growled.
Qui-Gon held up his hand. "Go."
The teen blinked, shook his head a little. Qui-Gon nudged his mind slightly, and the boy scowled. "Let's get out of here," he snarled, turning and leading his companions away. A moment later, they were out of sight.
Qui-Gon turned and smiled down at the child. He was staring up, open-mouthed. His small arms and legs were blue with the cold, and Qui-Gon was willing to bet that his little sisters were equally freezing.
"Thank ya," the boy stammered. "Thank ya very much..."
Qui-Gon nodded his head absently as he stripped the cloak from his shoulders, and quickly settled it over the boy. It fell in great folds around his feet, but the wind and cold would not penetrate it. The boy stared at it.
"Use it well, until the Republic arrives," Qui-Gon said, smiling. "For you and your family."
The toddler staggered to her feet and half-dragged the baby into the folds of the cloak, and her head popped into the hood next to her brother's. "Thank!" she shouted gleefully.
"Thank ya, sir," the boy repeated.
Qui-Gon smiled, rumpled their hair, and began the long walk back to the transport.