The marketplace was crowded the next morning, even though there was even less for sale. The desperation on the faces of the Phindians mirrored Qui-Gon's. He paced impatiently, waiting for Duenna to appear.
Finally, he could wait no longer. "I'm going to headquarters myself," he told Guerra and Paxxi grimly. "I'll find a way."
"Wait, Jedi-Gon," Guerra pleaded. "It is hard for Duenna to slip away, but she always manages it."
"And so there she is!" Paxxi cried.
Duenna threaded through the crowd toward them. She was not wearing her coat, but a cloak and hood. She carried a large satchel.
"Any news of Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon asked as soon as she came up to them.
She put a hand on her heart to catch her breath. "Headquarters in on high alert. Prince Beju arrives tomorrow?"
"What about Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon barked impatiently.
"I am trying to tell you," Duenna said. "I have never seen them act so fast. He? he was taken to a cell."
"Where?" Qui-Gon asked urgently.
"He is there no longer," Duenna said, laying a gentle hand on his arm. Suddenly, Qui-Gon noticed that here eyes were full of pity for him. His heart fell.
"What happened?" he asked hoarsely.
"He was renewed," she said, her voice breaking. "Last night. And transported off-planet at dawn this morning."
Paxxi and Guerra peered around the corner into the room where Qui-Gon sat, eyes front, cross-legged, not moving. Duenna had to return to headquarters, so they had gone straight to Kaadi's house. Being on the streets was dangerous during the day.
As soon as they entered the house, Qui-Gon had gone to the spare room where they slept. He sat down in the middle of the floor, not speaking. He had remained there for an hour. The brothers had left him alone for a time, but he could feel their anxious eyes on him.
Without opening his eyes, he said, "I'm not giving up. I'm forming a plan."
"Of course, Jedi-Gon," Guerra said, relief coursing through his voice. "We knew this."
"Yes so," Paxxi agreed. "We know Jedi do not give up. Although, we must admit we worried a tiny bit. It is such bad news about our friend Obawan."
Qui-Gon opened his eyes. He saw the same haunted desperation in the eyes of the Derida brothers that he felt in his heart. He had had to struggle to overcome his anger at himself. It had taken time to calm his mind. Time and again he had tried to formulate a plan, only to be filled with anguish at the thought of Obi-Wan's plight. He was rocked to the core. The thought of Obi-wan without his memory, without his training, was unbearable.
He had failed his Padawan. He should have known the Syndicat would move fast. He should have tried to rescue him last night. Now Obi-Wan was doomed to a life so empty it made Qui-Gon shudder every time he tried to conceive of it.
What of Obi-Wan's Jedi training? All of that, lost. What would the boy become? He would still be Force-sensitive, for the Force was not dependent on memory. But how could Obi-Wan use it without the lessons of the Temple to guide him? If he discovered its power, he would have it without allegiance. Would he become a lost, neutral warrior for hire? Would he use the Force for darkness, like Qui-Gon's old apprentice, Xanatos?
He did not believe that could happen. He would not believe it. If Obi-Wan had lost his memory, surely he would still retain his goodness.
Yes, Qui-Gon was full of worry. But he was also heartbroken. The boy he knew was gone. The diligent boy, so curious and intent on knowledge. The quick study. The boy who wanted to learn.
Qui-Gon refused to believe that all that was gone. He had to hope still that somehow the memory wipe would be reversible, if he could find Obi-Wan.
"And so what are you thinking, Jedi-Gon?" Guerra asked tentatively.
"We must act tomorrow," Qui-Gon said. "We must break them wide open. What better time to act then when they are trying to impress Prince Beju? First of all, they will be distracted. And second, we can destroy their alliance with the Prince before it even begins."
"It is true so," Paxxi breathed.
"We must open the warehouses when the Prince arrives," Qui-Gon said quietly. He had formed the plan in his mind, and he believed it could be done. "Can Kaddi rally the people?"
"Yes so," Guerra said, nodding.
"That will be our diversion," Qui-Gon said. "The people will rush into the warehouses. The Syndicat will panic. There will be chaos in the streets. We will go straight to headquarters with the anti-register device. That's when we'll steal the treasury."
"In the daytime?" Paxxi asked. "But it will be dangerous. And Duenna cannot help us then."
Qui-Gon turned to look at them. His blue eyes burned across the room. "Are you with me?" he asked.
The two brothers looked at each other. "Yes, so," they said together.
The hum from the engines underneath Obi-Wan throbbed against his skull. He had been thrown on the floor of the transport, locked into cargo hold. He kept his eyes closed. He had to keep his concentration strong. He felt completely drained. Exhausted. Sick.
But he remembered.
They had not broken him. They had not won.
They had entered, and he hadn't even looked up, not even when they laughed at him. He slipped the river stone into the pocket of his tunic quickly, so they would not see it and take it away. The stone kept a steady glow of heat against his heart. He had drawn strength from it. It was tangible proof that the Force was with him.
While they set up the memory-wipe droid, he had built Force walls inside himself. He had enshrined every memory, even the haziest one. He had embraced the painful with the good.
His first day at the Temple. He had been so young, so frightened. His first glimpse of Yoda, coming forward to greet him, his heavy-lidded eyes looking sleepy. "Far to come, far to go it is," he had said. "Cold and warm, it is. Seek what you are looking for, you will. Find it here, you shall. Listen."
The sound of the fountains. The river that ran behind the Temple. The chimes that the cook had hung in a tree in the kitchen gardens. He had noticed those things then, and something in him had uncurled. He had thought, for the first time, that he could feel at home there.
A good memory.
Twin metal rods were screwed against his temples. The electro-pulsers.
The stone glowed against his heart.
A visit home. His mother. Softness and light. His father. A laugh, full-bodied, joined by his mother's, just as full, just as rich. His brother, sharing a piece of fruit with him. The explosion of sweet juice in his mouth. Soft grasses underneath his bare feet.
The droid activated the memory wipe while the guards watched. A strange sensation began in his temples and moved inward. Not pain, not quite…
Owen. His brother's name was Owen.
Reeft never got enough to eat.
Bant's eyes were silver.
The first time he'd drawn his lightsaber. It had glowed as he activated it. Most of the Temple students had been clumsy. He had never been clumsy. Not with his weapon. The lightsaber had always felt right in his hand.
Pain now. White hot.
The Force was bright, too. He pictured it, golden, strong, glowing, forming a barrier around his memories.
They are mine. Not yours. I'll keep them.
The Syndicat guards were surprised to see him smile.
"Happy to see that memory go, I guess," on of them said to the other.
No, it is not going. I have it. I'm holding it now…
Rough linen against his hands. He clung to his mother. The end of the visit. Yes, he had wanted to go back to the Temple. It was a great honor. They knew they could not keep him from it. He wanted it so much. Yet good-bye was so painful, so hard. A soft cheek pressed against his.
I carry you always.
The way dusk fell at the Temple. Slowly, because of all the lights and white buildings of Coruscant. Light took long to leave. That's when he'd go to the river with Bant. Bant loved the water. She grew up on a humid world. Her room was kept supplied with steam. She swam like a fish in the River. As dusk fell, the color of the water would match her eyes.
Pain. He felt sick. Consciousness was slippery. If he passed out, he would lose.
Yoda. Yoda he would not lose. Strength you have, Obi-Wan. Patience you have as well, but find it, you must. It is there within you. Search you will, until you find it and hold it. Learn to use it, you must. Learn that it will save you, you will.
How would not lose Yoda's lessons. He created a Force barrier around them. Pain crested again, sending dissiness through him. He could not last much longer.
"What's your name?" the guard asked harshly.
Obi-Wan rolled blank, sick eyes toward the guard.
"You name," the guard repeated.
Obi-Wan pretended to search, pretended to panic.
The guard laughed. "This one is cooked."
The droid detached the electro-pulsers. Obi-wan slumped to the floor.
"He's sleep now," the guard said.
"He won't dream," the other added.
But he did.
He was hauled to his feet. A Syndicat guard leered in his face.
"Ready to face your new life?"
He kept his face blank, dazed.
"I've got money riding on this," the guard said. "You won't last three days on Gala."
Gala! Obi-Wan kept a neutral look on his face as relief surged through him. What a stroke luck! At least on Gala he could find a way to help Qui-Gon.
He knew Prince Beju's plans. Perhaps he could find someone on Gala, one of the rival politicians running for governor, to help.
The landing ramp slid down. He could see a gray stone spaceport lined with battered starfighters, A number of checkpoints prevented anyone from entering. Obi-Wan remembered what Qui-Gon had said. The royal house had plundered the planet. Rival factions fought for control. The people were close to revolt.
"Have fun!" the Syndicat guard chortled, and gave him a push down the ramp.
