| As Long As There Is Hope Part Three By Jemmiah |
| "Wash the floors, scrub the boots, make the breakfast…" The young girl picked up the ragged looking cloth and threw it down with a disgusted splash into the bucket of soapy water as she inched along the tiled floor in the kitchen on skinny, reddened little knees. Her routine rarely changed from day to day. If she wasn't cleaning she was invariably cooking or mending. Still, it wasn't too bad. As long as it kept THEM away from her. The disgust turned into a grimace that twisted her pale lips, contorting the face into a mask of loathing. She'd never got any peace from them since she'd turned seven. Her tenth birthday had been just four days ago, not that she'd celebrated it particularly. It was just another date like any other in this place. Birthdays on Corellia had been big, festive occasions with cakes and presents and games. Mostly she couldn't remember her old life but there were certain things she could recall without feeling any sadness. The cloth was fished out of the bucket and splattered down onto the ground. Hands furiously polished at the floor, intent on removing every last piece of grime and dirt. It vaguely reminded her of that fairy tale she'd once heard her mother tell her when she'd been sick; the one about the kitchen girl who'd been cruelly treated by her step mother and sisters, until her handsome prince had come to steal her away… A deep cough from just behind her caused her to jump. "Hello, little insect." The nasal voice hailed her as she turned round to stare up at the man, his dirty black uniform marking him out as one of the guards. "I see you're at home there on the ground. Just where you should be." The girl said nothing. It was safer to bite her tongue. "You've made a good job of cleaning the floor, haven't you?" he grinned, kicking over the bucket with the toe of his boot. "Whoops! You'll have to mop that up, won't you? You should be more careful…wouldn't want you to slip in that puddle and break your little neck, would you?" "No sir." The girl lowered her eyes. "One mistimed step and snap! That's all it would take." "Yes sir." He walked to within three steps of her and stood towering above, boots covered in mud and filth. "Guess where I've been." He laughed raspingly. "Burial party. It can get mighty dirty out in the back of beyond…oh, dear." He frowned, tutting as he looked down at the trail of muck he'd spread across the once gleaming floor. "Look what I've gone and done." "But I've just cleaned that!" the child gasped. "Then you'll just have to clean it again, won't you? And while you're at it you can clean my boots. He stooped down and pulled them off one by one, enjoying the dismayed expression on the Corellian girl's face as she examined the floor, now awash with water and earth. "Unhappy are you, insect?" he leered. "Know what happens to insects?" "No sir." The eyes remained downcast. "They get stamped on." He replied before flinging both of the heavy boots at her, which she partly managed to dodge. "I want those boots cleaned by tonight. You can bring 'em to my room." He winked at her. "Yes sir." The girl growled at him. She watched him turn and go, thanking the gods that she was now left alone once again to get on with her work. The mud had mixed with the water and created a small slick of brown across the tiles. It tried her patience to the limit but she knew that one thing you never showed round here was defiance. If you did you soon got it knocked out of you. Emotions were only weaknesses after all. "Scrubbing floors." She hissed. "I hate scrubbing floors!" Scooping up the pail in her right hand, Jemmiah went to fetch another bucket of water. "So much for fairytales." Jemmy rubbed at her sore knees. "There's no handsome prince coming to rescue me…" ************* "You made it, then?" Mace flashed a rare and genuine grin as the tall, broad frame of his friend loitered uncertainly in the doorway. Even from half way across the room Mace easily picked up on the unease and edginess that Qui-Gon's body language was throwing out. Something had ruffled the large Jedi's feathers and no mistake, and it didn't take an expert to work out what was at the root of it. Qui-Gon reluctantly decided that as he had made the effort to attend the damn party he might as well stop by for a quick drink. For Zia. "Evidently." Qui-Gon gestured to himself. "Unless you think I'm an apparition." "Sith, I hope not." Mace sniffed at a rather unappetizing rolled Nerf sausage in pastry. "I'd hate to think I was hallucinating you!" Qui-Gon didn’t even smile once and Mace knew that he'd gone into one of his virtually uncommunicative moods. Well, the man might not be inclined to talk or enjoy himself but he'd try his best to get some small response out of him. "See?" Windu continued, nodding his head towards the table with all the various bottles of wine and ales where the majority of people were happily congregating. "Somebody made it here after all! Told you he would. Corellians can sniff out alcohol from up to three miles away." Jinn watched out the corner of his eye as Dex attempted to drink himself into a stupor by means of a variant game of Deathmatch. The blonde master seemed relaxed, as if his moments in the chapel with the old crèche master had somehow quieted his sadness, now seeking to release the last remnant of his grief by socializing with his fellow mourners. Even despite his own preoccupation Qui-Gon couldn't be anything but glad to see it. The idea of Dex with anything but a roguish smile on his lips seemed incomprehensible. "Good." He nodded slowly. "I'm sure he'll be fine." "He might be." Mace said through a mouthful of Nerf meat, pastry crumbs being spat into the air as he spoke much to Qui-Gon's disgust. "But what about you? Come on." The dark skinned master nudged his friend in the ribs with a bended elbow. "What's eating away at you?" Qui-Gon rested his back against the cold, hard wall. He suddenly felt fatigued and was glad of the support it gave him, wishing he were elsewhere away from the quiet rumble of conversation that was going on in the other half of the room. Dex laughed uproariously as Gilda Amaline lost the final round of the Deathmatch game, picking up the tankard and spilling the majority of the horrendous concoction down her neck as she attempted to down it all straight off. It was a strange feeling; he mused, being the observer in a room full of people who were happily doing their own thing. It was almost like an out of body experience. As he watched and listened in to select pieces of disjointed conversation that feeling stole upon him once more; the one that nagged and bothered and pricked at his thumbs as if something was just waiting to happen…something in the not to far distant future. Then just as quickly it was gone again, that illusive shadow of future that try as he might would not stay still long enough to be of help to him. Sometimes the unifying force felt like a curse. "Do you ever see the future, Mace?" Qui-Gon asked cautiously, watching the open concern on the council member's face. "Do you ever get glimpses of what might be?" Mace considered his words and nodded his confirmation. "Yes," he replied in a low voice, "I do. So does Yoda. Those strong in the unifying force are periodically subject to flashes of possible…" "It's been happening to me ever since I left my interview with the Chancellor." Qui-Gon admitted. "I don't like this, Mace." "The mission is an important one, Qui-Gon." Windu admitted. "We wouldn't be sending anyone out there if we didn't think there was a good reason to do this." "Oh, I know why Valorum's asked me. I'm his friend and he needs my help." Qui-Gon stared Mace directly in the eyes. "What I can't work out is why the council - or rather you and Yoda - are so very keen for me to go." "It's not just you, Qui." Mace retorted, nodding at Evla across the room who in turn raised a glass to him. "There's others, too. Master Ashdal is already in that sector on her own mission. When she's finished she will be helping you with the search." "And how is the mission going?" Qui-Gon asked, frown lines etching themselves onto his head. "I had heard they shipped her padawan back in pieces, virtually." "A slight exaggeration." Mace shrugged. "There was a brief skirmish with some unknown attacker in the Jantaurian system and Padawan Welasa did sustain some injuries. Master An-Paj informed the council that his injuries are not life threatening and that he's sitting up in bed demanding raw Nerf Steaks." "Lucky An-Paj." Jinn smiled. "Yes, well. Togorians don't make for the best of patients." Mace joined in. "But I won't pretend that this isn't a serious business. Normally the Jedi wouldn't stir foot in a situation like this but matters have escalated recently and the attack on Padawan Welasa makes it our business." "Nargotria." Jinn shook his head. "Other than what the chancellor has told me I know nothing of it." "Look," Mace looked uncomfortably at his feet. "You take care, Qui-Gon. I think this is one of those missions that could very well turn out to be…" "You don't have to say it." Jinn cut in. "I'm not superstitious but there's definitely something going on here that just makes me shudder. Like walking on my own grave." Mace regarded him sadly. Dex was now dancing on top of the table, twirling Master Pashaz around by the arm in some strange Corellian ritual, no doubt. Around him the others all clapped and cheered. "I hop you are wrong, my friend." He clasped Qui-Gon affectionately on the shoulder. "Keep your head down." "Yes, Master Windu." Jinn parroted. "And stay out of trouble!" ************************ Jemmiah finished her chores for the day and decided that she deserved a rest. Beralina and Rusa would be in soon to help with the cooking, so she could afford a few moments to relax before she had to start all over again. She didn't mind the routine and she wasn't afraid of the hard work. The women were all friendly to her and tried to keep her as far away from the guards and 'guests' as much as they could, and she was eternally grateful for their support and help. But she felt increasingly lonely. Since her mother had died there had been nobody to speak to about anything other than their life of drudgery and hardship. There had been nobody who would encourage her to go on and battle her demons, nobody to give her a hug. Not the sort that she wanted, anyway. Rusa was kind though. So were Nadine and Beralina. The latter was probably her best friend of all the women who worked in Merdan's camp and they would chatter and laugh as best they could whilst they worked in the kitchens. I hope she hurry's up, Jemmy sighed, sitting down on the bench in the kitchen. I'm so tired that I could sleep for a week. C'mon, Beralina! She'd been feeling more and more fatigued in the last few weeks, or so it seemed to her. Her energy would suddenly flag and cut out without any reason at all that she could tell. Beralina used to tell her that it was because she was working so hard for such a small person, but Jemmiah didn't think that was right. She wasn't doing any more than she'd been doing before. She'd wondered briefly if she were sickening like some of the women in the camp had done recently. Well, that was one way of escaping this place, she thought grimly. Permanently. A slight noise alerted Jemmiah to the presence of another in the entrance to the kitchens, and the familiar figure of the dark haired, voluptuous Rusa appeared by the door. "You've to fetch the wine from the cellar." She said bluntly, not looking the girl in the face. "I'll see to the food. Merdan's orders." "But why…?" Jemmy began, confused. "You know better than to ask why." Rusa said in her Tildarian accent. "Best do it and do it quick." "Beralina usually does the errands…" Jemmy protested. Rusa closed her eyes and counted to five, her mouth dry. "Beralina won't be doing the errands any more." She said finally, feeling the shock of her words sink in on the Corellian girl's face. "Fetch the wine." ******************* Qui-Gon woke to the sound of gentle footsteps outside his door. The culprit paused momentarily as if trying to see if he'd been detected, before continuing past into the living area and beyond. From the back of his mind Qui-Gon wondered why intruders never called at a more convenient time of day. It was now three in the morning standard time and the sky was dark and filled with little stars…at least he assumed it would be if he could be bothered to look out from behind his bedroom curtain. Well, at least the identity of this particular intruder didn't take much guessing, especially as he could just about make out the distant creak of the refrigerator door being slid back. "Padawan." He groaned, rubbing his eyes. "If I've told you once I've told you a thousand times about late night snacking." The master threw back the covers, annoyance spreading at having to get out of his comfortable bed to see to a constantly munching apprentice. Where did he put it all? He was as thin as a twig and yet he always seemed to have room for a continual supply of food. Had he been as bad as that at Obi-Wan's age? He had, hadn't he? "He's still going to get a talking to." Qui-Gon mumbled, trying to locate his padawan with the force and to his surprise found him no longer in the kitchen area but out on the balcony. Jinn frowned. "Welcome to insomniacs anonymous." He sighed deeply, making his way from his room and gathering his dressing gown on the way from the back of his door. To his credit, Obi-Wan didn't even flinch guiltily when he sensed his master standing over his shoulder. "Snacking again, Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon asked lightly, gazing at the distant traffic as it went past. "I was going to." The padawan admitted. "I made myself put it back in the refrigeration unit." "Indeed?" Qui-Gon paused. "I'm impressed. Might I ask what you are doing out of bed?" Obi-Wan shrugged, a gesture which Qui-Gon sensed rather than saw in the darkness. "I don't know…I just felt I had to get out of bed. This seemed like the right place, somehow." He turned to look at his master. "May I ask you a question?" "Of course." Qui-Gon nodded. "What is it you want to know?" Obi-Wan tensed, seemingly worried about his inability to express his feelings accurately. "I don't know exactly." He frowned, trying to gather his thoughts. "It's just this feeling that something is going to happen. It's not bad and it's not good either. I can't explain it very well, I'm afraid." Qui-Gon smiled. The unifying force, again. His padawan had a great empathy for it, along with Yoda and Mace and Dex. He himself was by far more attuned to the living force. "I understand what you are saying, Obi-Wan." He gave his padawan a reassuring squeeze of the shoulders. "I've experienced these feelings too. But it's important to remember the now, not just the future. Don't ever lose sight of that." "No master, I won't." He paused uncertainly as if wondering if he should continue with his thoughts. "I keep hearing a name in my head." "A name?" Qui-Gon frowned. "What sort of a name?" "Kil…Kilsomething or other." Obi-Wan shrugged. "Kilmartra, I think. Going round and round in my head like a whisper until I feel dizzy…" "Do you feel unwell?" Qui-Gon placed a hand on the boy's forehead, relieved to find that his temperature seemed to be perfectly normal. "No, I feel fine master. Just this whispering in my head." "And does it bother you?" Jinn enquired curiously. "No, master. It doesn't feel…wrong. Just persistent. Like somebody's saying something to me but I don't know what it means." Qui-Gon digested that slowly. In the morning he would have to discuss the mission with the boy and if the report Valorum had left behind was anything to go by it made uncomfortable reading. There would be no harm in being mindful of Obi-Wan's concerns, especially as they seemed to uncannily mirror his own. Perhaps they were more attuned than he had first given credit. The force brought us together, although I ignored it as best as I could. he thought grimly. The force is talking to him now. The message may be unclear but to push it aside again would be folly. "We will meditate on this before we prepare for our next mission." He looked at his padawan's face, trying to see if the delighted and excitable gleam was in Obi-Wan's eyes. To his surprise it was absent completely. Good, he thought, satisfied. He's learned that missions and travel to distant places do not guarantee an adventure of a lifetime. There's only caution on his face. Melida-Daan has taught him an important lesson. "The council has decided to send us on an important errand for the Chancellor. But no more talking for tonight. This can wait for the time being." Obi-Wan bowed slightly and turned back to face the stars. What was it that was going to happen that made him so on edge, so nervous? A thousand butterflies seemed to flutter within his stomach. Qui-Gon was right, he thought as he stifled a yawn. Whatever it was, it would keep. |