| Vernice had been listening to the young Corellian girl as she chattered away whilst working at stacking the washer with the greasy supper dishes. The child seemed content to talk about most subjects, especially the other women that she lived with on Nargotria and all the time Vernice took in the words in the hope that she might be able to draw the girl out into giving her some potentially useful information. What Vernice needed to know about was the guards, the layout (which in her brief stay she hadn't quite seen in its entirety) and most of all Rufus Merdan. Any background data was useful and an ally at this point would be extremely beneficial to her. The fact Jemmiah had taken her under her wing and sought to protect her by giving her survival tips and pointers touched Vernice greatly, but the need for solid facts regarding the missing Inga Calton was pressing and always at the back of the Jedi's mind. Jemmiah for her part seemed to sense this and skirted any topics that she felt were likely to get them into trouble in the long run. Talking about Merdan seemed particularly taboo. "Are you okay?" Vernice wondered, watching as the child tried to tidy up several large plates at once, scraping the scraps into a garbage disposal unit nearby. "You seem a bit…" "What?" Jemmy asked defensively. "I don't know. Tired?" she asked. "You look as if you could do with some rest. When do you get to sleep?" Jemmy shrugged, picking up a handful of cutlery in her oily hands. "Whenever Rusa or Beralina say…" she shut her mouth with a snap, realizing her mistake. "Not Beralina." Jemmy lowered her voice. "But my room's not too far away from here. And I have some time off in the next ten minutes. Thought I might go for a walk and catch some sun - what there is of it." "Your room," Vernice said in a conversational manner, "is it nice?" "It's okay." Jemmy shrugged. "It's plain but I have somewhere to sleep at night. I don't need much room what with only being ten and all." "Ten?!?" Exclaimed Vernice, sounding every bit as stunned as she felt. "You can't be ten!" "It was my birthday a week ago." Jemmy stuck her chin out belligerently. "I think I can remember!" "But…you don't look ten. You look barely seven…" the astonishment Vernice felt grew rapidly. She'd been convinced the child was much younger than she claimed to be. "You are so little!" "Yeah, tell me something I don't know." Jemmiah began to grow angry. "So, I'm tiny for my age. Big deal! Small people have feelings too, you know?" Vernice felt the color mount to her cheeks at her impolite statement. "I'm really sorry." She tried to get Jemmy to accept her apology. It hardly did to alienate her one potential friend in the entire place and goodness knows she could do with a friend in this hellhole. "That wasn't very kind of me. I didn't mean to be so blunt. Please don't fall out with me over this…I need all the help I can get." Jemmy shrugged the apology away, still feeling annoyed but deciding for the sake of an easy life not to harbor a grudge. The woman was new still and didn't know how to behave. It was up to her to teach her what she needed to know before the likes of Merdan decided she'd overstepped the mark and got rid of her just as he might a broken chrono. "S'okay." Jemmy pulled a face that indicated it wasn't really but that she'd overlook it this time. "Being small has its advantages sometimes." "Such as?" Vernice tried to get into the conversation. If she could only get the child to open up more… "I get overlooked in the kitchens most times." Jemmy replied, loading more dishes in the washer. "The only time they really remember I'm here is if they actively search me out. I'm a one-woman dish washer service. But it's not that bad in here, I suppose." "Not bad?" echoed Vernice. "Apart from peeling Gourals. I hate that." Jemmy held out a pair of work blistered hands for Vernice to inspect. "You poor thing." Vernice muttered, not realizing she had spoken out loud. "It could be worse." Jemmiah replied truthfully. "I could be dead. And I will be if I don't get a move on with these dishes." "Do you need any help?" Vernice asked. "I can do something, surely?" "Er…" Jemmy looked about her. "You can start passing me those side plates." Whilst her hands moved, handing Jemmiah the accumulated dirty dishes like a programmed droid, Vernice's mind ran through the many problems that currently faced her. If all had gone according to plan Qui-Gon would already be here or at least be on his way. What he would think when he saw Nargotria up close with his own eyes Vernice could only imagine but she had the feeling the scale of the oppression and misery would shock him beyond words. He would find the cruelty utterly abhorrent, as would any relatively sane being. That was the problem: there was a distinct lack of sanity in this nightmare world. Bringing this child into the equation would only harden Qui-Gon's resolve to do something to help these people. Vernice was not foolish, however. Aiding this collection of flotsam had not been on the council's agenda and doing so might get Qui-Gon and indeed herself hauled over hot coals. That would not be a new experience for either of them. If I can only engineer some kind of meeting… Vernice began to think furiously. How could he not wish to help this girl? Whatever happens, should I ever escape this place I am taking her and as many of the others with me as possible. I would never be able to look myself in the mirror again if I left them behind… She was so preoccupied with her own thoughts that she barely registered the slight movement from out the corner of her eye: the sliding grip that suddenly loosed itself from round the plate, the tiny staggering movement as the Corellian girl sought to keep her legs from giving way beneath her. Vernice acted on instinct, reaching for the child's small waist whilst with the most indiscernible of hand movements catching the plate in mid air before it smashed into fragments upon the ground. Slowly lowering Jemmy to a seating position on the floor, Vernice floated the plate down until it to came into contact with the chequered tiling. "Are you sure you're okay?" Vernice insisted in a voice that seemed sceptical of any positive answer Jemmy might give. Jemmiah stared at the plate. "How did you do that?" Her bright eyes didn't once move from the dish. "How is that possible?" "How is what possible?" Vernice attempted to get the conversation away from her and back onto the girl seated before her. "Is there something that I can get you?" "The plate." Jemmy pointed with an outstretched hand. "I saw it…it just sat there…in the air." "Oh." Vernice remarked. Jemmy regarded her for a moment. "Are you a magician?" "Sorry?" "A magician…an illusionist." Jemmy's face took on a distant expression. "We had one on Corellia when I was little," she fixed Vernice with a pointed look, "even more little than I am now. At a party. He did things like made blue milk come out of people's ears and ribbon's from their mouths." Vernice shook her head. "No," she spoke gently, "I'm not an illusionist." "Then what are you?" Jemmy persisted. "You're different to everyone else here, aren't you? I could tell the moment you were brought in." "How?" Vernice was partly dismayed but also intrigued. If this girl could see something then what was to stop the others likewise being suspicious? "I'm not sure exactly." Jemmy confessed. "You just seem so…confidant. It's like you know you won't be stuck here forever." Vernice bit her tongue. It was tempting to speak of rescues and make promises that might never happen, but if that hope was a false one - as it may well prove to be - it would be very cruel. No, far better to say nothing. "I pray that is the same for everyone who suffers here." Vernice tried to look onto the overly shining eyes, wondering if the child was feverish at all. When she put a hand to the Corellian's head she felt no heat at all, if anything she felt cold to touch. "Now, what about you. You're sick, aren't you?" "Don't tell them." Jemmy begged. "But if you're ill then surely…" "No!" Jemmy snapped in a voice that suddenly sounded both older and stronger than she was. "There's no need. I'll be okay in a moment. I just need to get fresh air." "There must be somebody I can tell who can help you…" Jemmiah sighed, as if she were about to impart some news of a very onerous nature. "They'll kill me." Her voice shook a fraction as she struggled to control her face. "Who will?" Demanded Vernice. "The guards. They shoot everyone who's sick. I mean really sick." Her eyes fell on the floor again. "They had a disease last year within the complex. It made everyone who got it really ill. They couldn't eat and they got thin. Then they couldn't walk. Their looks began to fade." Jemmy played with her hair as she remembered, twisting it round her finger as she spoke. "That wasn't any good to Merdan so he ordered them shot." "But that's monstrous." Vernice managed to say through lips that barely moved. "Why kill them? Is there no cure?" "Yes," Jemmiah swallowed, "but it's expensive. It's cheaper to buy a new slave than it is to heal a sick one. So you see," she continued carefully, "if you tell anyone I'm sick they will come and kill me. If you don't I'll last longer. I can hide down here and keep out the way. Nadine might help me, I don't know. She's maybe afraid she might catch it too and tell Merdan I'm ill. But I trust her, for what it's worth." The pained look that Jemmy gave Vernice indicated exactly what she thought it was worth: precisely nothing. She knew fine well that hiding would only work for so long. Sooner or later - probably sooner - it would all end with a blaster pointed at her head. "I tell you what," Vernice stroked the long hair and tidied it behind her ear, "I'll make a deal with you. I won't tell anyone you are sick if you don't tell anyone about the plate." Jemmy looked quizzically at Vernice. "How did you do that"? She asked. "I can't tell you." The Jedi replied. "Not yet anyway. Maybe later. But it's vital you don't say a word to anybody what you saw." "Me? I didn't see a thing." Jemmy whistled. "The thing about working in the kitchens is that the steam sometimes means you can't see properly. " "Funny," Vernice gave the girl's thin wrist a squeeze, "but it has that affect on me as well." At last Vernice knew that she had found the ally she was looking for. *************** The guard knocked three times upon the heavy panelled wooden door and pressed the com that was attached to the wall, eyeing Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan somewhat nastily as he did so. The man reminded the master of a Duramedal pack animal by the way he bared his yellow tabac stained teeth an a rough approximation of a smile. He didn't particularly care for his breath either but Qui-Gon had not been trained in years of diplomatic matters to state as much, right then and there. Vernice and his padawan apart he had no friends here and he reckoned he could certainly do without making any further enemies. "I've brought our new guests to see you as requested, sir." The man grinned. "Bring them in." replied the voice at the other end before cutting the conversation off abruptly. No time for idle chit-chat or pleasantries, noted Qui-Gon to himself. Won't appreciate flattery then. Keep it simple and to the point. That will be his own language. The door swung open from the inside and Qui-Gon could see the interior quite clearly. Everything seemed to be in the same rich velvets and dark wood that he and Obi-Wan had seen on their way along the corridor except it appeared to be more tasteful - deliberately so. He could see his padawan was also looking about him and for the same reasons: it always paid to be familiar with your surroundings. You could learn a lot about a person from their possessions. If the outside had been wall to wall sleaze there was none of that present inside, except possibly for a rather tasteful reclining female nude holo from the back, and as plenty of people (including the Chancellor) had a lot worse than that hanging up on their wall he couldn't exactly fault the owner for his taste in décor. The man was obviously careful and not given to flashiness, yet liked his own comforts. There was nothing in the room that screamed of real extravagance and nothing other than the rather odd sight of a large harp standing in the corner that gave away any of its owner's quirks and foibles. As the three men walked directly into the office, Qui-Gon was aware that he was being affixed with a pair of glittering grey eyes, the same way that a sand panther in a zoo might stare right back at his captor, waiting with sharpened claws for any moment of weakness. The eyes belonged to a man somewhat younger than Qui-Gon had expected, strangely handsome but in a very cold and hardened way. His whole posture was rigid and the eyes never blinked so much as once. The hair was dark, slightly long at the back and swept backwards from the hairline. Even the clothes the man worse screamed efficiency rather than flamboyance and Jinn began to assemble a picture of a very, very intelligent man indeed - and a dangerous one. It would pay to watch what was said. "I'm Merdan." The man said eventually, not offering either Qui-Gon or Obi-Wan his hand. "And I am Brad Logan." Qui-Gon replied in an equally staid voice, indicating his padawan with his hand. "This is my nephew, Jacen." Merdan's eyes strayed over to Obi-Wan and lingered there for a moment and the apprentice felt his skin crawl under the intense scrutiny but resolved to show nothing. "Ah, yes." Merdan nodded slowly. "I confess that intrigued me." "Intrigued?" Qui-Gon replied, making a small show of puzzlement. "Your boy. I believe I have his age down as…" Merdan looked down at his data pad even though Qui-Gon knew fine that the man had the answer already in his head. "…Fourteen years. I'm curious as to why an uncle would bring his nephew to a place like this at such a tender age." Qui-Gon found that the best way of proceeding was to copy Merdan exactly to the letter. If he wanted strict, no-nonsense answers then that was what the man was going to get. "Jacen has led a very sheltered life. I sought to expand his range of 'experiences' out of sight from those who might usually think twice about letting a boy of his age get up to all kinds of things they would consider inappropriate." Qui-Gon stared Merdan down, playing his part. "On my brother's death I inherited more than just his money." Jinn looked at Obi-Wan and the boy decided to look suitably downcast. "His father never did take much of an interest in his upbringing and I thought that I…" "Would see that he was given an all round education?" Merdan guessed with a cold smile. "I'm sure you'll find what you are looking for here. Have a look round. Meet the other guests if you wish. If not, go ask for Keleskladt at reception and he will see that you are fixed up with something to your specifications." The man stared at Obi-Wan for a moment. "What's the matter with him?" he asked in an icy voice. "My nephew also suffers from travel sickness." Qui-Gon let a suitable amount of distaste bleed into his voice. "It made the journey here somewhat…stressful. If you wouldn't mind I think it would be best if he went to his room until he feels sufficiently recovered." "You may do as you please." Merdan shrugged. "For as long as your money holds out." "In that case if we could be directed to our rooms?" Merdan, the feral glint never far away from his eyes, switched his gaze to the guard who had brought them. "See that they are safely ensconced in their accommodation." He commanded imperiously. "I'm sure your stay will be a comfortable one, Logan. If you need room service we will make sure you are catered for. There are plenty of other facilities to be used on Nargotria. We have gaming tables if you were ever in a mind to lose your shirt as well as your money. Please feel free to check it all out." "I might do that." Qui-Gon replied, his hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder. The two jedi got as far as the open door, pleased to make their escape, before Merdan spoke again. "I might wish to speak with you again, Logan." He said in a low voice. Qui-Gon tried not to feel undue alarm but could tell that Obi-Wan had become extremely unsettled by that last remark. It was a perfectly normal statement to make…and yet from this man it felt like a thinly veiled warning. "I will look forward to it." Qui-Gon turned slightly and bowed. Merdan watched as the two of them disappeared from sight, the boy looking rather jaded and unwell. Everything in their stories, their ID's, their backgrounds had checked out. Everything…and yet his sixth sense warned him that something wasn't quite right. He'd have Najwal do another check on them to see if anything at all could be picked up on them. If not, it was possible that this man was somebody that Merdan could do business with. With his plans for expansion he could do with all the capital he could get his hands on and if this Logan turned out to be as rich as all the checks said he was… Merdan had been stung by a business partner once before and he had vowed never to let that happen again. Now, as always, he remained in control. "Let them settle in first." Merdan thought slyly. "Then we will see how useful this man turns out to be." ************* "That was awful, master." Obi-Wan admitted once they had been safely shown to their rooms. Qui-Gon held up a silencing finger, and indicated that the padawan should join him in a search of the place for any listening devices or similar gadgets that might tell a tale or two. Obi-Wan chattered away in his new identity, complaining of feeling exhaustion, sickness and every other thing he could think of to moan about until both jedi had been convinced that the rooms were not bugged. "I'm fairly certain that the guest rooms do not have listening devices." Qui-Gon said finally, relaxing against the frame of the door that separated Obi-Wan's and his room. "Imagine the scandal should that be discovered by some of the more 'influential' clients that frequent here. I'd imagine this place would soon lose favor. The rooms for the guards and the females in this place are undoubtedly wired-up from top to bottom." "Master, I don't like this at all." Obi-Wan sighed. "I just can't get used to wearing these civilian clothes. I miss my robes. And as for Mister Merdan, he just gave me the creeps." "Oh, I think we have a very cunning man running things here." Qui-Gon admitted. "It will pay to watch our step around him, padawan. He seems naturally suspicious of everyone. The com on the door gave that away, not to mention the thickness of the wood. That wasn't there for ascetic purposes, it was to withstand blaster fire. That kind of hard wood will give a considerable amount of protection, long enough for said individual to put into effect an emergency plan of sorts. And if that doesn't work then I imagine the blasters strapped to the wall certainly do." Obi-Wan was feeling tired; he didn't have to fake that at all. He was sick of spirit and still reeling from the sense of misery he had felt when he'd first been brought to Nargotria. All he wanted to do was curl up into a ball on his bed just as Qui-Gon had told him to. "Get some rest, padawan." Qui-Gon instructed. "The rooms are certainly comfortable and I doubt that you will be disturbed at all. Just keep the door locked incase." He added. "Where are you going, master?" Obi-Wan asked incredulously. "I thought we would be staying here until we worked out what was what." "That's exactly what I am aiming to do." Qui-Gon answered, shrugging his arms back into his jacket. He knew exactly what Obi-Wan had meant about the clothing. After forty-nine years Qui-Gon couldn't really get used to anything else than that of the temple's standard outfitting. "But…" "Stay right here." Qui-Gon warned him. "If you want something to eat then there's a bar of ration chocolate in the bags they brought up from the speeder that brought us here." "That's if they haven't eaten it." Obi-Wan groused. "You can bet that they went through our luggage." "Then they will find nothing." Qui-Gon smiled. "Especially as we kept our lightsabres hidden on our person. Now, I meant what I said. Stay out of sight and keep out of mischief. I'm going to do a little investigation of my own." "Keep out of mischief?" Obi-Wan frowned. "What sort of mischief can I get up to locked in a bedroom in…a…brothel." His voice trailed off, his face once more turning as red as a sunset. "Quite padawan." Qui-Gon replied as he walked to the door. "Just leave the investigations to me!" And with that parting shot the master disappeared from sight, leaving Obi-Wan to lock the door firmly behind him. ************ Obi-Wan remained tired but his mind refused to let himself sleep. He felt strangely awake inspite of his fatigued body, whilst the whispers in his mind were quiet but unrelenting. The room was comfortable, yes. It offered all modern facilities that frankly many of the initiates in the temple would have dreamed of experiencing but the strange opulence in connection with the nature of the place set his teeth right on edge. Stay put, Qui-Gon had said. Considering he had been gone the best part of an hour Obi-Wan thought that was rich. Before, Obi-Wan had craved only sleep. Now he craved exercise. He'd tried meditation but it had not calmed him terribly much, possibly because he hadn't really wanted it to. What he really wished now was to go out and do some searching of his own. Qui-Gon would be extremely unhappy if he did but Obi-Wan would explain that all he wanted was a brief walk about and some fresh air. Surely he would understand that? His mind made up, Obi-Wan slid back the door to his room and looked about from side to side. There was no sign of Qui-Gon. There was no sign of anybody. Trusting his own memory and the force to get him back outside, Obi-Wan picked up his ID tag from the table and closed the door behind him on the empty room. ************* The light outside in the grounds was fading but certainly nowhere near darkness. Obi-Wan had no real idea what the time was on this part of the planet because his chrono was still set for Coruscant time. Back home it would just be coming up for breakfast, he decided. The thought made him wish he'd taken up Qui-Gon's offer of the ration bar back in the luggage. He was certain that it wasn't his unusual hairstyle that made him stand out but rather the grumbling of his stomach. The security men (who resembled prison guards as far as Obi-Wan could make out) had stopped him at one point but he had simply flashed his ID at them and explained that he needed to get some fresh air after a rather long and tedious journey all the way from Coruscant. He'd very nearly made a fool of himself by explaining further that if he didn't get the chance to exercise now he wouldn't get any sleep later on. That had brought him a lot of laughs, leers and nudges in the ribs from the men, who had simply waved him on his way. Obi-Wan found himself staring at his boots most of the time. It seemed the logical place for his eyes amongst this place of shame and degradation. The whole thing just totally appalled him - so much that he almost wished his master had left him behind at the temple. To use people as if they were animals sickened him. He could have tried to explain how he felt to Qui-Gon until he was blue in the face but it would have done no good. Of course his master was looking out for his safety but even so he had to get out of that room. He needed air. This place felt like it was stifling him…trying to reach up and pull him under the ground with long invisible fingers. There was nothing good about this planet, Obi-Wan decided hurriedly. He would be surprised if he ever found one single thing that would ever make him feel remotely glad to have visited here… The padawan, eyes still lowered on the cobbled courtyard floor, rounded the corner - and nearly came to a complete standstill in complete and total surprise. Sitting on a nearby step was a young girl of an age Obi-Wan couldn't quite determine, scrubbing away at what appeared to be a pair of mud stained boots with some kind of rag. Whilst he continued gawking at her, it was quite clear that she hadn't yet seen him. He wasn't sure if it was the rhythmic rubbing sound of the cloth against the leather that held him transfixed or rather the person whose tiny hands worked so hard at removing the clods of earth. Light reddish brown hair was tied back from her face with what looked like some kind of short head square, whilst a rigid expression of determination fixed upon the boots she was so busy cleaning. It was an odd feeling, just watching her. It felt like he was observing some kind of holo film without being able to reach for the off button. At first Obi-Wan wondered why anyone would bring their children to this sithforsaken place and then finally he realized that she was part of Merdan's workforce and the helplessness he had felt before seemed to fold in upon him tenfold. This can't be right, a detached part of the padawan's mind whispered. It just feels so wrong…like those dreams back on Coruscant. I have to do something here. The force is telling me but I don't know what it is. "Haven't you finished that yet?" a surly sounding male voice demanded from seemingly out of nowhere. Obi-Wan scuttled back around the corner to observe away from plain sight, not wishing to get caught up in an argument. This was his chance to try and find out a little more about what went on in this place other than the kind of things that usually tended to happen in brothels (the kind of things that Qui-Gon hoped he had little practical experience in). His eyes and nose barely visible round the wall, Obi-Wan saw a man in a black uniform arrive from a doorway near the far courtyard wall. If first glances were anything to go by the padawan didn't particularly care for this short, brutish looking individual with the oily looking hair and a sneer on his face as if he'd just eaten a particularly ripe piece of Naboo cheese. As if to confirm his impression the force began to scream out all kinds of warnings at him and Obi-Wan pressed himself closer to the wall. But it wasn't him that the man was bearing down upon; it was the girl cleaning the boots. The man hadn't even spotted him yet and Obi-Wan was torn between making a strategic withdrawal and watching the scene in the courtyard unfurl before his eyes. "Didn't you hear me, little insect?" the man persisted, his voice sounding rather more threatening than it had the first time. The girl looked up at him. "I heard you, sir." "Then give me an answer!" he made a lunge for her headscarf and grabbed a hold of the thick hair that lay hidden underneath. Obi-Wan suddenly got the impression the man had done this more than a few times before, although the girl's calmness astonished him. She didn't struggle; she didn't do anything other than stand absolutely still and stare the man in the eye. "I haven't finished, sir." The girl answered him. "Why not?" he shouted. "Because I had supper to make and the dishes to wash. Merdan told me to do it." She answered a touch smugly, knowing she had won that particular point. The man knew it too because he gave up and let her hair go and pushed her head aside with a snap. "Why are you out here?" he continued his interrogation. "Because it's my time off." She replied mouthily at him, the look in her eye anything but the sorrowful and downtrodden expression Obi-Wan had seen just seconds ago. The padawan held his breath, knowing fine well that the ill advised show of defiance was somehow going to get her into real trouble some time soon. He didn't have long to wait. Just as he had feared the man in black had not taken very kindly to the sarcasm shown to him and moving so quickly that to Obi-Wan it seemed like a blur, the guard knocked the girl right off her feet and proceeded to deal her a series of short, sharp kicks to the legs and feet. Watching, Obi-Wan wondered three things. Firstly, why the guard was intent on not aiming his blows above her waist. Secondly, why the girl didn't seem to even attempt to defend herself against him rather than just lying there and accepting what he did, and thirdly and most bemusing of all - why he was standing watching behind a wall when he should be helping in some way. Jedi defend the weak, Obi-Wan heard Yoda's words run through his head, but learn they must, when to accept the challenge and when to leave the battle. "Learn when to skulk behind walls." Obi-Wan felt utterly sickened, trying to decide between jeopardizing Qui-Gon's mission and doing what was right. The force had been telling him something before: now it shouted at him. Obi-Wan walked over towards the man so as not to make him any more trigger happy than he seemed, but even so the dark, hooded eyes locked with his almost immediately that he broke cover. Obi-Wan could feel his throat dry up as he approached him carefully and slowly like he was merely out for an evening stroll. The man never took his eyes off him for a second, which briefly made Obi-Wan feel very glad, for as long as he was watching him the padawan was at least deflecting his cruel intentions off the girl. He was somewhat worried that she hadn't made any effort to move away out of the guard's reach as he had hoped she would, merely lying face down on the ground where she had fallen and Obi-Wan mentally prayed that she was not too badly hurt. This was going to be difficult if he didn't play things correctly and for a moment Obi-Wan tasted fear in his mouth. Then he thought of Qui-Gon and how he couldn't let him down, and then the girl who it seemed was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and Obi-Wan drew courage from that. "And who might you be?" demanded the furious looking guard as he challenged Obi-Wan with his blaster. Obi-Wan nodded at the ID round his neck. "I'm a guest at the complex. You will leave us alone." "I will leave you alone." The man intoned, looking astonished. "You will go away now." "I will go away now." He repeated. "Enjoy your stay." "Please enjoy your stay." Mumbled the guard, feeling the force push at the blaster in his hand, urging him to reholster it. As he did so, Obi-Wan decided to try something else. "You will forget the last five minutes ever happened." He commanded. "You remember nothing." "I remember nothing…" And with that the guard began retreating back across the courtyard to where he had come from, shaking his head as if something incomprehensible had just happened to him but he couldn't work out what it was. The apprentice watched him leave, and noticed out the corner of his eye that the tangled mop of chestnut hair parted itself in the middle and followed the man's retreat with her own eyes. "That's a relief." The unsteady voice managed to say. "I'll say so." Obi-Wan agreed in an equally shaky tone. "That last bit's never worked before!" The girl managed rather painfully to help herself up; rubbing furiously at what Obi-Wan could only imagine was an almighty bruise in the making on her right thigh. "Damn Keleskladt!" she spat. "One day Merdan's gonna blow his stinking head off his shoulders and I just hope I'm there to see it!" The girl turned a pair of large, copper eyes upon the boy before her, examining him with a curious glance. "Am I the only normal person in this place?" she wondered. "First it's floating plates and now it's mind tricks." Obi-Wan felt as if he were an ant under a microscope judging by the way she was staring at him. "What's the matter?" he asked uncomfortably. "Your hair is TERRIBLE!" She continued to rub at her legs. "But my bruises thank you for what you did, even if you are strange." She held out a small hand. "I'm Jemmiah." She said seriously. "But you can call me Jemmy." |
| As Long As There Is Hope Part 7 By Jemmiah |