He thought about it for a while, but contemplating a possible physical relationship between Jax Pavan and Dejah Duare only made him lonely for Eyar Marath. He got up from the bed and crossed to his workstation, more determined than ever to contact her. He had half a letter composed already and now he was certain he would send it—would find out if the beautiful Sullustan singer was still awaiting him on their homeworld.
Rhinann slouched in the formchair at his workstation, mulling over the last half hour’s worth of conversations he had eavesdropped on. Oh, he’d certainly not been in hiding. With as much notice as the others paid him, he could hide in plain sight.
What was that Kubaz expression? An insect on the wall? An arthropod on the ceiling? Something like that. At any rate, something that was right in front of everyone’s nose, yet went completely unnoticed.
Not that he was complaining. His social invisibility had given him an unprecedented opportunity to observe interactions that he might not have overheard if he had been a notable entity.
What had he observed? He cataloged the items carefully, ticking them off in his mind.
There was the growing antagonism between the Zeltron female and Den Dhur, of course—well, at least Den’s antagonism toward her. He had the feeling that Dejah Duare found the Sullustan more amusing than annoying. No accounting for taste.
There was the obvious tension between Laranth Tarak and Dejah Duare—now, that was interesting.
Dejah was still angling for the Jedi—nothing new there, but now she seemed to be casting her net at the younger adept as well. Was that merely a reflex, or did she do it to a purpose?
Then there was the boy. He clearly had everyone spooked. Understandable; Rhinann was feeling far from sanguine about his sudden appearance himself. And truthfully, he was torn: instinct told him that the boy represented either a magnificent opportunity or a potential disaster—which it was largely depended on how well the youngling responded to Jax Pavan’s attempts to educate him. He was certainly an intriguing variable. What might be made of a Force-sensitive of such strength that he could overcome an armed, Sith-trained Inquisitor?
Rhinann was turning these thoughts over pleasantly in his head when an idea occurred to him that was so chilling he very nearly swooned. What if it was all a setup? What if the M’haelian boy had been planted where Jax Pavan would notice him, find him, bring him home?
What if Kajin Savaros was a mole?
Breathing gustily enough to rattle his nose tusks, the Elomin turned back to his workstation and connected to the HoloNet. It would cost an extravagant amount, but he would make certain that when he reached the Westport, there would be a ship to take him away from Coruscant at a moment’s notice.
He made his travel plans hurriedly, while in the back of his mind considering ways he could accelerate his search for the bota.
seven
Jax started Kaj’s training the next day with a series of meditations geared toward getting the boy in touch with his own center. He recognized the great difficulty of what he’d set himself up to do. He had trained as a Jedi since the age of two; spent years in meditation and study of Jedi history, Jedi philosophy, Jedi strategy. He had spent months and months in combat training, which consisted largely of learning the defensive forms from Shii-Cho to Juyo. He had spent countless hours on mental, physical, emotional, and spiritual control.
There was obviously no way to teach Kaj all of that in the compressed amount of time they might have. And there was no way to teach it at all without using the Force.
He had to find a solution to that problem somehow, but at the moment, as he watched Kaj sit cross-legged, attempting to master his breathing and control his heart rate, he could think of none.
“The Jedi have a code that we live by,” Jax said now, his voice soft, calming. He sat opposite Kaj on a woven mat in his room in a meditative posture, head up, eyes closed, hands lying open on his knees.
“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.”
He felt the boy stir and remembered his first real meditation on the Jedi mantra. He had been about six and the words—which he had heard over and over again for four years—had suddenly struck him and resonated … and raised no end of questions.
“Ask,” Jax said.
“There is no death?”
“What do you know of the Force?” Jax asked in return. “What have you heard or been told?”
Kaj looked uncertain. “I know only that it moves through me—sometimes like a quiet stream; sometimes like a raging river. I’ve heard only that its power can be channeled.”
Jax listened carefully to the words the boy used to describe that which he possessed but barely understood. “The streams and rivers flow into a great ocean. That ocean is the Force. It is the end of all journeys.”
There was a moment of silence in which Kaj digested what Jax had said, and in which Jax kicked himself several times for the simplistic metaphor. He’d been trying to follow Kaj’s lead.
“I’m from a farming family,” the boy said. “I understand what water means. How it permeates everything, how its presence gives life and its absence brings death. Is that what the Force is like?”
“You tell me,” Jax said. “Is that what it’s like for you?”
Again, the boy paused for thought. “Yes … and no. I mean, sometimes it’s like that if I just sort of … swim in it, I guess. But when I try so hard not to let it out, then it’s like water behind a dam—building up, building up, wanting to be let out. And that’s when it gets away from me. Then I think it’s more like fire. It burns.”
Jax pondered that. He’d never experienced the Force that way himself, nor had he ever heard anyone describe experiencing the Force that way. He wondered if the dichotomous images were partly explained by the fact that Kaj had had no early training—that his talent had grown up like a wild thing, untrammeled and free; a late bloomer compared with most. The visualization exercises that every young Padawan was taught to help him or her harness the Force were new to Kajin Savaros.
Just as teaching them was new to Jax Pavan.
“Right now try to think of the Force as water,” he said. “Water you can channel. You’re … you’re the high mountain lake in which the river starts. You determine how fast it flows, where it channels and erodes, whether it sings or roars. If you can learn to turn the water, you can keep it from transmuting into fire. You can control it. Now—can you see the lake?”
“Uh …,” Kaj said. Then suddenly as if in discovery, “Yes! Yes. I can see the lake.”
“Good. Let’s follow the river …”
They went on like that for some time—hours, in fact—during which Jax was certain Kaj would become bored or sleepy or confused and impatient. He did none of those things. He followed his river, making it go here and there, rise and fall, ripple and sing, without ever allowing it to become a white-water rapid.
After a time, Jax set a Sontaran song ball out on the floor between them and had Kaj perform the placid, soothing ritual of using the merest tendril of the Force to roll the ball back and forth between them. As they did this, they recited the Jedi Code as a call and response. The ball—which was made of a rare titanium alloy of great tensile strength—was composed of a sphere within a sphere. The two touched as the thing moved, creating a low, sonorous note that rose and fell like the breathing of an immense flute.
Jax gave the ball the barest nudge with the Force, rolling it to Kaj: “There is no emotion; there is peace.”
“There is no ignorance,” said Kaj, rolling it back, “there is knowledge.”
“There is no passion; there is serenity.”
“There is no death; there is the Force.”
The boy had hesitated at first, sometimes forgetting the words, sometimes unable to push the ball in the right direction. But he had mastered
it quickly, as someone with the reflexes of a youth rather than a toddler can, and now the ball sang between them in the weaving of Jax’s threads and the gentle push of Kaj’s currents.
It was a safe-enough exercise; even an Inquisitor standing in the street below their aerie would have trouble reading the gentle warp, woof, and tidal surge of the schoolroom practice. But what they would do when more rigorous training was called for, Jax couldn’t yet imagine. Sooner or later he would have to train Kaj to control his impulses in the heat of combat, and that would take a good deal more than gentle nudging.
Still, it was, all in all, a good start. Jax was congratulating himself when Dejah tapped at the door, then entered without waiting to be admitted. Simultaneously the song ball shot past Jax, barely missing his right thigh, and hit the wall behind him with a resounding crack and a loud thrum of the inner resonator sphere. Dejah leapt back a step with a high-pitched squeak.
“Kaj—the river. Mind the currents,” said Jax, keeping his voice pitched low, but the boy was already on his feet, his composure shattered to pieces.
“I—I’m sorry,” he stammered.
“No, I’m sorry,” Dejah said contritely. “I was just wondering if you were hungry. You’ve been in here for hours. I thought maybe you could use a break.”
Jax glanced from her to Kaj, whose face had gone almost as red as the Zeltron’s. He knew he should send Dejah away and make Kaj resume his meditations. It’s what his own Master would have done. Master Piell had not been a grim authoritarian, by any means, but had known that a Padawan must learn early how to retrieve lost composure or shattered concentration.
He opened his mouth to say the words We have more work to do, but a look at Dejah’s face stopped them in his throat. Instead, he nodded. “You’re right. We’ve been at this a long time. I’m sure Kaj could use a break and a good meal—right, Kaj?”
The boy nodded mutely, his eyes never leaving the Zeltron.
“Well, come on then!” she said pertly and curled a finger at Kaj before disappearing through the door.
Kaj scrambled after her, giving Jax an apologetic side-wise glance. “It won’t happen again,” he murmured.
Not true, Jax thought. With Dejah around it most likely would. And if it did …
Jax crossed the room and picked up the now slightly dented song ball. The plasticrete wall, supposedly resilient up to a metric ton of pressure, had sustained equal damage. And who knew how loud the roar of that white-water surge had been? Jax had been deep in his own meditation and he had felt it. His thigh still tingled with the residual energy.
In the outer room Dejah uttered a throaty laugh that was followed by a diffident echo from Kaj. Something stirred uneasily beneath Jax’s breastbone—something he couldn’t quite put a name to. One of the first things he was going to have to teach Kajin Savaros, he decided, was how to block or at least filter Dejah Duare’s heady “perfume.”
Rhinann had no reasonable expectation that the droid would divulge any information about the bota, but on the off-chance that some vestige of his original programming had survived Lorn Pavan’s tinkering, he asked anyway. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, as the humans said.
So when Rhinann and I-Five were alone in the workstation alcove, the Elomin decided there would be no better time. Everyone else seemed to be engaged in the current pursuit of smuggling a Togrutan female with nascent Force abilities offworld via the UML.
He thought of his travel arrangements, of how easy it would be to simply pack up and leave … were it not for the arrival of the Force prodigy and the fact that Rhinann had been less than aggressive in his search for the bota. It wouldn’t do to be slavish in sticking to a timetable. That sort of tunnel vision could lead to missed opportunity—like the one he was now presented with.
Deciding that honesty—or something close to it—was the best policy, Rhinann seized the moment, sat back in his workstation formchair, and said, “I am troubled by the amount of attention that may soon be trained upon us.”
After a moment of hesitation, I-Five disengaged from whatever online information he had been pursuing and responded. “Really? Why is that?”
“Why is that?” Rhinann repeated. “I should think that would be obvious, particularly to you.” He ticked the reasons off on his long, spatulate fingers. “Our houseguest is a Force-sensitive—that makes him a prime target for Lord Vader’s continued purges. He has been pursued by an Inquisitor—ergo, he has drawn attention to himself. Ergo, Vader cannot help but know of his existence. He has killed an Inquisitor—”
“We don’t know that for a fact,” I-Five said with maddening imperturbability.
“Then he’s injured one, at the very least. And he drew Laranth and Jax into his association. How can you possibly think that we are not at increased risk of exposure?”
“I can, because one thing has not changed: Vader has no more information about us or our activities or location as a result of Kajin’s appearance than he had previously.” I-Five gestured at the HoloNet link. “I monitor several different bands that convey classified intel, and none of them has given me any reason to suspect otherwise. Trust me: so far, Vader knows nothing of this.”
“He does if his Inquisitor saw Jax and Laranth come to the boy’s rescue.”
“A moment ago,” said the droid drily, “the Inquisitor was dead. He can have hardly observed anything in that state.”
Rhinann kept calm. “If he was only injured, he might have seen Jax and Laranth save the boy.”
“At the time that Jax and Laranth arrived on the scene, the Inquisitor was being blown sky-high by a blast of repulsor energy. Jax was blinded standing outside looking into the blast. I can’t imagine what the Inquisitor might have seen from inside the blast zone, but I doubt it was Jax and Laranth.”
The stupid droid was apparently bent on being utterly uncooperative. Rhinann strove for composure. “But he sensed them, surely. He would have known other Jedi were involved.”
“Perhaps he did. But he was incapacitated, or so Jax sensed.”
“How do we know that wasn’t the taozin effect?”
The droid had to think about that, and Rhinann felt absurdly pleased. “Jax has told me,” I-Five said, “that once you know what to expect, the effect can be sensed.”
“I heard him. He said it could be sensed as a complete absence or blockage of the Force—as if someone were no longer there. As if, perhaps, they had been knocked senseless?”
The metal face was completely opaque. “That is a possibility, I suppose.”
Thank the gods! At last, an admission of uncertainty. Rhinann pounced on it. “Well then, perhaps you can understand my uneasiness. If the Emperor’s henchmen were to locate us, it would be disastrous for more than just our company. The Whiplash would suffer as well, and a great many precious things would fall into enemy hands—Jax, that extraordinary boy … you. And of course, there is the Sith Holocron Jax is guarding and that bit of pyronium Anakin Skywalker gave him—and …” Rhinann turned to look at the droid directly. “And the bota.”
The droid’s only reaction was a cocking of his head and a brightening of his optics. “What do you know about the bota?”
“I know that Jedi Barriss Offee gave it to you to transport here to the Jedi Temple. I also know what properties the bota is supposed to have and their value to the Jedi … or to Darth Vader. I think we are both in agreement that for the Dark Lord to come into possession of such a prize would be beyond disastrous. It has the potential to render him virtually omnipotent.”
The droid studied him for a moment, then said, “Rhinann, we have no idea what the bota will do to one as steeped in the Force as Vader is. None.”
“Well, it can’t be good.”
“We agree on that, at least.”
Rhinann leaned forward in his chair. “Have you given no thought to what might happen if Vader should possess not only the bota, but the pyronium and the Sith Holocron?”
“I have given it as much thought a
s it deserves.”
Rhinann bit back his frustration. This was like talking to a cryptogram generator. “And has it not occurred to you that these items should be separated?”
“Yes. Some time ago, in fact.”
Rhinann feigned relief. “Then you’ve distributed them to several different hiding places.”
“I’ve done what I thought necessary.”
Maddening, perverse, obstinate … the list of vices that no droid should ever possess grew exponentially in length. What in the name of creation could Lorn Pavan have been thinking?
“So you’ve given the bota to Jax already?”
“I have seen to its safety. That’s all you should know, don’t you think?”
Stung, Rhinann opened his mouth to protest, but I-Five continued, “After all, if I tell you who has the bota and you’re captured by Darth Vader, then the dark side would alert him to the fact that you had information he wanted. Information he would cheerfully scour your skull to get.”
Rhinann felt the blood drain from his head. “You’re right, of course,” he murmured, surrendering. There was no use in interrogating a thing that would not permit itself to be interrogated. “I certainly wouldn’t want to be caught with any information Vader might find useful.”
“No,” said I-Five. “You wouldn’t.”
It was evening by the chrono and everyone was home from their various tasks when the door chime sounded. Jax felt a thrill of mingled dread and anticipation course through him. He’d been working with Kaj at improving the boy’s ability to concentrate, and Jax wryly realized that the interruption had disturbed his meditations far more than it had the boy’s. Kaj remained seated cross-legged, apparently a few centimeters or so above the mat upon which they meditated. Jax had dropped to the floor.
Silly, really: the enemy would not chime politely and ask to be admitted, so this was not an attack. Why the reaction? He thought of Tuden Sal and Laranth in the same heartbeat—Sal might be back to press for an answer to his proposal, and Laranth …
Star Wars: Coruscant Nights III: Patterns of Force Page 9
