| Foundling, Part 3 By Darth Ishtar "Poor little guy..." It was surprising to hear G'emela use the phrase "little guy" instead of "cheeky whelp" or "son-of-a-Sith", but that was not what caught Qui-Gon's attention. It was the fact that she was exhibiting signs of severe compassion. Immediately, his eyes met hers so he could check for the dilated pupils that would prove that she was ingesting narcotics. Then, his hand pressed to her forehead, but there was no fever to scald his hand. All right, so the girl was in perfect health, so what was wrong with her? Having abandoned the traditional means of diagnosis, he frowned. "What makes you say that?" "I'm not sick," she pronounced, "but he's burning up and coughing something dreadful, so undoubtedly, the first place he'll see at the Temple is the Healer's." Qui-Gon sighed heavily. "He came back under my charge," he reminded. "It's a wonder he doesn't have the Promeus Plague by now!" "Don't tempt fate!" she interjected sharply. "It tends to listen to your suggestions!" He turned in his chair, looking back towards the passenger bunk. "Is he awake?" "No," she assured him. "I told him a bedtime story." He blanched automatically, remembering the well-meaning child who had once told him a bedtime story that had kept him awake for the next three nights. "Not the Redrum one," he pleaded. "Master!" she exclaimed. "How could you even think such a thing of me? Do you think I learned nothing in the last ten years?" Chagrined, he looked away. "Sorry, Padawan," he said genuinely. "I apologize for having so little faith in you." "It's all right," she said dismissively. "I told him the Green Tisane one instead." He didn't remember the particulars, but it somehow involved selling your soul to the Sith and spontaneous combustion. It was going to be a very long trip back to Coruscant. "You didn't." "He was grinning the whole way through," she said triumphantly. "I doubt he understood half of it, but he even mouthed the word BOOM!" Typical. The first reaction they'd been able to get out of him other than tears or a soft whine when he was hungry and it was an indication of bloodlust. "I have the feeling this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship," he observed mournfully. ***** "Name?" "Obi-Wan Kenobi," Qui-Gon supplied. "Age?" "22 months." "Complaint?" "High fever, cough, and strange-looking boils in the last day." The Padawan immediately moved her chair as far away as possible from the squirming child in Qui-Gon's arms. "I'll get An-Paj," she said hastily. "Good idea," Qui-Gon sniffed impatiently. "You can take Exam Room 5," she called over her shoulder. "Try not to touch anything." He carried Obi-Wan down the hall to the examining room, then settled on the table and found a tongue depressor to entertain the boy. The child had just discovered the imprudence of sticking it in his eye when An-Paj arrived, looking, at best, wary. "He's not yours, is he?" the Healer asked, point-blank. "Not to my knowledge," Qui-Gon replied with a slight smile. "Why?" "I hear he has an affection for food and he is spending his first day at the Temple in the Healer's Ward. If he's not yours, he simply bears an uncanny resemblance." "Enough of the comments," he growled. "He seems to have come out in boils." "Yes, I can see that," An-Paj said drily. He placed one hand on the boy's head, gauging the fever and the extent of the disease. "Hmm," was all he would say. "Hmm what?" "Any record of vaccinations?" "Not to my knowledge," Qui-Gon admitted. "His parents were killed and he had only been in the village where we found him for a week when they met their end, so he didn't have much of a history as it was." "Well," An-Paj said patiently, "you received the innoculation for Pakupox just before leaving the Temple. Therefore, you had an active virus in your bloodstream that could be airborne, but you had developed an immunity to it. Apparently, he was susceptible to it and he has a, thankfully, mild case of it." "Treatment?" "Quarantine," An-Paj pronounced. "We can't risk the entire Initiates' wing catching it, so we'll simply have to keep him 'round at your place until he's recovered. If you give him a bath in phraigmeal twice a day, the irritation should be..." "Now, wait one minute!" Qui-Gon spluttered. "Who said he was staying with us?" "The Council," An-Paj responded helpfully. "As soon as you accepted this mission, you accepted the provision that he would be under your care until he was accepted by the crechemistresses." Qui-Gon glanced wearily at the boy who was now trying to ingest the tongue depressor. Termite. It was going to be a long week. ***** "Master Yoda," he heard G'emela say pleasantly as he rounded the bend into the sitting room, "what an unexpected pleasure." "Come I have," Yoda grunted, "to see the boy. How fares he?" "Hungry," Qui-Gon explained, "which is an improvement." "Hmm," Yoda responded with a smirk. "Take after you, he does." "Why does everyone say that?" Qui-Gon muttered. "He's in my room." It would have been a simple matter to let the boy stay on the sofa, but he was so miserable that Qui-Gon's tender heart demanded that he cram himself onto the couch while the boy enjoyed the oversized bed. He didn't mind, as long as the child made some improvement. He could hear the vague murmur of voices, Yoda's attempts to cheer the boy up with teasing, then... "YYYYYYYOWCH!" And a sharp smack, followed by giggles. "YUM!" was Obi-Wan's first word. "Well," Qui-Gon surmised, "I guess that means I'd best get dinner on." |
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| The End |
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