Adumbration
by AlexPart 16
Sullust, located in the Sullust system between Yetoom and Ithor, is a volcanic world, covered with thick clouds of gas. The surface of the planet cannot support life, and so the inhabitants of this forbidding planet have built vast underground cities in the network of caves under its surface. The cities of Sullust are renowned as resorts, playgrounds of the idle rich. One of these cities, Piringiisi, is especially notable for its hot springs and caustic green mud possessed of therapeutic qualities.
Piringiisi is a beautiful city. Its structures are stone, carved so exquisitely and intricately, that they appear as delicate lace. There are tall spires of the peculiar pale-green volcanic glass particular to the surface just above the city. Sweeping archways of the same glass line its streets, one after another, giving the illusion of eternity, of endlessness. To preserve the impression of light and air, though it is underground, the entire city is lit by day by billions of powerful lightglobes, engineered to give the appearance of sunlight.
The inhabitants of Piringiisi are dedicated solely to pleasure. Those who do not indulge themselves are employed by those who do. At any time of day, there are thousands of ways to amuse oneself, if one can pay the exorbitant prices that pleasure can sometimes demand. The finest food, beautiful and talented courtesans of all species, gambling, the adornment and preservation of the body...none of these things are inexpensive
It is perhaps not surprising that there is more to the city than meets the eye. Any place that focuses upon hedonism above all else is bound to be corrupt in some fashion. Usually it comes of a widening class gap...the servants and the served. But if the servants, who are in the main native Sullustans, feel the gap, they rarely complain. Their needs are seen to by the benefactor who holds the city in the palm of his hand. An invisible benefactor who only rarely comes out of the outrageously beautiful stone palace he inhabits. Few Sullustans have ever seen his face, but all speak of him highly. He was instrumental, many years before, in the implementation of the city's industries that catered to the wealthy and caused Piringiisi's economic success. He provides for the Sullustans, makes them comfortable.
A comfortable populace is a docile populace. A docile populace never questions benevolent despotism, which crushes free will through providence. And the citizens of Piringiisi do not realize that the man who controls their city, their industry, indeed, their very lives, is the Sith Lord, Sidious. It is doubtful that even were they to be made aware of his machinations...financial gain through flattery, persuasion and trickery...self-aggrandizement in the stealthiest manner...that they would even care. Their needs and wants are addressed. What more is required?
The stone palace on the outskirts of the city is much-admired, though few have seen its interior, and those who have cannot be bribed to speak of it. It is enormous, with one spire shooting up through the ceiling of the cave that contains it. There is a single room at the top of this spire, in which sits the Dark Lord himself, black-clad, cloaked and hooded, watching the billowing, poisonous clouds of gas. He smiles to himself, certain of his eventual success.
Belial pulled Obi-Wan through the rooms of the palace. Obi-Wan's senses, dulled by the lightlessness of his prison and by hunger and pain, were assaulted by a profusion of riotous color and luxury in each chamber. Decadence upon decadence; gleaming halls hung with silk tapestries in deep blues and reds and purples, tiled floors polished to a mirrorlike perfection, deep soft couches piled high with cushions, small tables scattered everywhere, some covered with bowls brimming with fruit. The air was redolent with scent: flowers and food and the resinous substance that fueled the torches hung every few meters in rounded niches in the walls. Underlying the fragrant air was the slightly sulfurous odor that never disappeared, the smell of the planet's surface, its ash and lava, its clouds of gas.
They came to a door guarded by two Iktotchi who blinked at their approach, but at a gesture from the clone, they bowed and granted them passage.
It was a sitting room of sorts, and already occupied by several persons, painted and perfumed and expensively clothed. Some were dressed in the briefest of garments, scraps of silk held together by bits of metal. Courtiers, or whores, or both, they all gaped at Belial and Obi-Wan as the clone dragged the Jedi to a low couch and pushed him onto it.
"...My Lord?"
A woman slowly advanced, looking confusedly at the two men.
"Dreinn," Belial swept her into his arms and kissed her. She let out a little squeak of pleasure and clung to him. The others began to cluster round, murmuring, looking from Belial to Obi-Wan. Belial released the woman and dropped to the floor beside Obi-Wan, tugging affectionately at his unplaited braid.
"My friends," Belial said, "this is Jedi Obi-Wan Kenobi."
A dozen pairs of eyes gazed at Obi-Wan with renewed interest.
"A Jedi Knight, my Lord?"
"Indeed he is. A rare prize, and a beautiful one...wouldn't you say?"
A slender young man with long auburn hair and full, pouting lips knelt and reached out and grazed Obi-Wan's mouth with gilded fingertips. Obi-Wan remained still, staring into the boy's bright green eyes.
He was a mere child, surely no more than fifteen or sixteen, and he moved with a wanton sensuality that filled Obi-Wan with a compound of pity and loathing
The boy turned to Belial. "You look so much alike, my Lord," he breathed. "Is he your brother?"
Belial laughed. "No, Aran, my sweet one...no, not my brother. We are...related, however." He turned Obi-Wan's face to his and kissed him on the mouth. Obi-Wan shoved him away, knocking him to the floor, and the onlookers stepped back a pace.
"A fighter, my Lord."
Belial rose. "That he is. Hold him."
Several of the men and women eagerly complied, seizing Obi-Wan's arms and yanking them above his head. Obi-Wan struggled furiously as hands grasped him and held him down. Belial pulled Obi-Wan's robe open, exposing his naked body. There were soft noises of approval, and Obi-Wan averted his eyes from their hungry gazes.
"He is beautiful, my Lord. And strong." A woman's voice. "Is that why he wears the electrocollar?"
"It's not an electrocollar, my pet. It disrupts a Jedi's powers."
"It's true, then, what they say of the Jedi." The boy again, and his tone was reverent. Obi-Wan turned his head and looked closely at the boy, whose kohl-rimmed eyes were fixed upon him.
"What is it that they say of the Jedi?" said Obi-Wan.
"That you can run at incredible speeds...that you can call objects to your hand with the power of your minds...that you can crush a man's throat without touching him."
Obi-Wan's heart sank. This was a Republic world. Was this the reputation of the Jedi, as tricksters, or magicians? Was that all they knew of the Order? He fought a wave of despair again and forced himself to calm, ceasing his struggles against those who held him down.
"Yes, a Jedi Knight can do all those things. We use the Force to guide us and aid us. But all that we do is focused upon the Light. We are sworn to serve and to protect those who cannot protect themselves. We seek to stop those who would inflict suffering, or ignorance, or tyranny upon others." He looked at Belial, who smiled at him tauntingly.
"Aran," he said, "I am a prisoner here. Belial has abducted me from my home for his own evil purposes. And the one he serves-" and Belial's hand came down upon his mouth, and several onlookers were pushed away roughly.
"Get out," hissed Belial to the bewildered men and women.
Obi-Wan bit Belial's hand. Belial swore and slammed his fist into Obi-Wan's face. Obi-Wan fell from the couch, holding his bleeding nose. It hurt, though not badly. He smiled up at the clone, who glared at him and then wheeled upon the assemblage that had huddled together like frightened birds, alarmed at the conflict.
"I said GET OUT!" Belial screamed at them. They scattered, nearly tripping over one another in their haste to disappear. The door closed, and Belial and Obi-Wan were left alone.
Belial fell to his knees and pushed the Jedi to the floor, straddling him and holding his wrists pinioned above his head with one hand. With his other hand he grabbed Obi-Wan's hair, forcing his head back. Obi-Wan twisted under him, trying to kick him in the back, but Belial simply slid down until he lay full-length atop Obi-Wan's squirming body, effectively pinning him to the floor.
"That's the second time you've bitten me, Obi-Wan. I'll torture Aran to death if you make another move against me, I swear it."
Obi-Wan froze. "You-"
"Were you trying to enlist his aid, Obi-Wan? That was cowardly. Whatever happened to Jedi self-reliance?"
"I was not trying to enlist his aid," grated Obi-Wan. "They don't know what you are, or who you are."
"And what am I?"
"Clone. Sith. Evil."
"Obi-Wan...you will not see. I am as human as you are. You refuse to believe it, don't you? Don't deny it. You persist in seeing me as...what...as a droid? A cyborg? I may have been decanted, not born, but I am fully human, Obi-Wan. Your narrow vision can't accept that you and I are so close, so similar in so many ways. You fight me because it's easier to say that you were forced, isn't it? Easier than accepting the truth of what I am and the truth of what you will be."
"You prey on the minds and souls of others. Those people...you manipulate them, and they aren't even aware of it."
"Forget them, Obi-Wan. They're fools, every last one of them. Ignorant, willing bodies, too stupid to realize that they're not in possession of their own will."
"You deny them what is rightfully theirs."
"They exist to serve. Like the Jedi," said Belial, mocking him.
"You are not human."
"I am. You know that I am. And you fear that, you fear that you will become just...like...me," the clone said. "And you will. But when you do, there will be no further need for fear...you will embrace Darkness willingly."
"I'll die first."
There was a knock at the door. Belial rose and strode to it, flinging it open widely.
"I thought I said-"
The man in the doorway fell to his knees. "I beg your pardon, my Lord. But Lord Sidious commands you to attend him in the tower room, and to bring Obi-Wan Kenobi before him."
Belial turned and walked back to Obi-Wan, who had sat up and pulled his robe around himself.
"Do you hear that, Obi-Wan? He summons us."
Obi-Wan got to his feet. Belial raised an eyebrow.
Obi-Wan padded forward on bare feet until he stood directly in front of the clone.
"Let's not keep him waiting, then."
Thirty-eight levels down, and Qui-Gon was at last in unfamiliar territory.
Qui-Gon had only been in the sublevels on a few occasions, none of them particularly pleasant, and from all appearances they hadn't changed much. They were crowded, dirty, and rank, acrid clouds of steam rising from wide metal grates, massive structures slumped together, debris crowding the streets. There was never any sunlight or night sky in the sublevels, as most buildings, especially in the Senate district, were at least half a kilometer in height, and they were so closely grouped together that they blocked any view of the sky.
But this far...he'd never been this far down, nor had anyone else that he'd ever known. Even as a padawan, in his thrill-seeking, he'd never been this far. Once, when he was sixteen, he and Mace had gone in search of a bar that was rumored not to have seen the sun in ninety thousand years. They'd never found it, growing bored by the time they'd reached the thirtieth sublevel. There was nothing but wreckage, trash, hawk-bats, and shadow barnacles. Certainly nothing of interest.
Qui-Gon pulled his cloak more closely around him against the dank chill. He sidestepped the wreckage of an ancient speeder. His eyes picked out creatures scuttling away from him in the dark. Qui-Gon felt a brief flare of compassion for the fearful beings that shied away from him, beings compelled to live a subhuman existence, living-but not thriving-on foraged food...duracrete slugs and lichens, no doubt, making shelters in the burned-out husks of damaged starships and other refuse, their lives focused on bare survival.
He tightened his grip on his saber. He was a compassionate man, but not incautious.
Belial's Force-signature was stronger now. Qui-Gon had been correct in taking the downward path.
He increased his pace, almost seeing Belial's trail now. He hurried to a stairwell, an old transport-tunnel entrance. Down what seemed like a thousand stairs and it was almost completely black now. Qui-Gon powered his saber, holding it in front of him as a torch as he gingerly negotiated a path through the blackness.
He smiled with a touch of irony. He'd always regarded his lightsaber as intensely bright, its green glow illuminating everything around it. Now he realized that its radiance spanned less than two meters. Nevertheless, it was enough to keep him from tripping over layers of metal track and discarded slabs and chunks of duracrete without expending extra energy using the Force to assist his travels. This tunnel could be kilometers long, and Belial's Force-signature, though stronger, could take him hours to pinpoint.
His steps echoed in the silence, sounding as though someone or something was walking behind him, trailing him. Once or twice he spun around, saber held aloft, but there was nothing behind him. Nothing at all.
He continued his journey through the darkness.
The tunnel was long, perhaps two kilometers already, and the going was slow. Qui-Gon's foot touched something solid, yet yielding. There was a screech and he leapt back as the rat...Force, it was big...scurried away from him. He let his saber dip and was sickened to see that the rat had apparently been feasting on what was once a human being.
He stepped carefully over the pathetic corpse and began to hurry once again, almost running, his feet striking other objects, and this time he did not slow or stop to investigate. He felt an almost desperate sense of urgency. Obi-Wan in the midst of all this...a fierce protective anger swamped him, and he almost ran into the tunnel's dead end.
He stopped, breathing hard, frustrated. He switched off his saber and slid to the cold damp ground. Damnation, he thought angrily. I can find my way through Dagobah without a chart, why can't I find my own apprentice on Coruscant?
"When does a Jedi act, Padawan?"
Qui-Gon looked up, startled.
"Master?"
He'd heard Yoda's voice.
He swore he'd heard it, heard the old question that had been drilled into him again and again, unless his mind was playing a joke on him. It wouldn't be unexpected, he thought. I've seen and heard enough to make me think that I'm going mad already.
He had heard it, though. Tentatively he spoke.
"Master Yoda?"
Nothing. He dared not reach out through the old bond. The stern gaze of his former master was still too freshly etched into his memory.
But...
When does a Jedi act?
The whispered answer rose automatically to his lips.
"A Jedi acts when calm and at peace with the Force. To act in anger is to risk temptation to the Dark Side."
That answer, that most elementary of principles, one of the first tenets of the Code...forgotten by him.
There is no emotion; there is peace. There is no ignorance; there is knowledge. There is no passion; there is serenity. There is no death; there is the Force.
Oh...
Oh, yes...yes.
He stood slowly, and it was as though the tunnel had suddenly been illuminated in clean white light.
How long had he defied the Code, nurturing his guilt-stricken love for his apprentice? How long had he lived in shadow, not seeing what was in front of him, regarding the Code as an obstacle to be overcome, rather than as a guide and friend? There was no passion, no emotion...not as Qui-Gon had chosen to see it, no...but love could be encompassed within the Code, could it not? Of course, yes, and passion and emotion were elements of love, to be sure, but that was not the passion and emotion against which the Code warned. Qui-Gon laughed suddenly at the revelation and his own stupidity and stubbornness. He wanted to go to Yoda and fall at the tiny Jedi Master's feet and beg forgiveness. How many times had Yoda counseled him on points of view, and how many times had Qui-Gon simply ignored him?
He knelt and meditated.
All that I am is encompassed within the Force, he thought. Every moment comes to me with myriad possibility, only to pass on and into eternity, there to forever remain what I have made of it.
He rose again and turned to the dead end.
There, and he hadn't seen it before. A door, narrow, nearly invisible. Qui-Gon pushed it and it opened easily.
/Thank you, Master./
He ran swiftly through the corridor, which was feebly illuminated by dim suspensor globes. It was dazzling compared to the previous darkness, though, he thought. The clone's signature was so strong now...or was it that Qui-Gon was more receptive to the Force...? No matter, and he halted in front of a door. Belial's signature was especially powerful now, and he looked down. No handle. He drew and ignited his saber, and jammed it into the metal door, which began to glow orange, then white around the blade. Dripping metal splashed to the floor as Qui-Gon drew the blade up, cutting a passageway through the door. He kicked the center of the glowing rectangle and it crashed to the floor as Qui-Gon sprang inside, saber held in an attack position.
The chamber was empty.
There was some rubbish in the center of the room, and there were units on the wall that most likely held monitors at one time, but that was all. Qui-Gon advanced into the next room.
It was dim, and there was a single chair bolted to the floor in the center of the room. There were overturned racks everywhere. Bits of carbon rope littered the floor. Qui-Gon rested a hand on the back of the chair.
Obi-Wan...
He snatched his hand away as though he'd been scalded, and touched the chair again.
Yes. Unmistakable, they'd both been here, and he raced into the other rooms, finding nothing, but that faint trace of his padawan lingered. He went into the first room, searched the pile of scrap on the floor. Nothing. No evidence, no clues of any kind. He took a deep breath and concentrated. The Force had led him this far, and surely it-
/MASTER!/
"Obi-Wan!" He fell to his knees, shaken to the core at the cry, the first true mental communication from Obi-Wan in years, and he reeled at its impact. It was plaintive, desperate, longing, yet intermingled with another emotion...fear.
Not for himself.
For Qui-Gon.
/Obi-Wan!/
/Master...please...don't/
And that was all.
Time enough for Qui-Gon to fasten upon the cry.
He closed his eyes, settling into the deepest of trances, focusing inward, shedding all but the moment, the quietude of pure attention.
And he saw it, the place where Obi-Wan was held.
His eyes opened.
A ship. He needed a ship to take him to Sullust.
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