Inheritance

Required Assistance

Vokara, too, does not hedge or hesitate.

"Based on all the evidence, you will enter again into a state of dark psychosis, accelerating the already prolific spread of your current lesions, followed promptly by a catastrophic nervous disruption and complete organ dysfunction."

"Meaning?"

Vokara sighs, whether in sympathy or frustration, Obi-Wan is not sure.

"Meaning if you remove the collar the ensuing fit will most likely kill you."

"I see," Obi-Wan responds surprisingly indifferent about the rather definitive assertion regarding his foreseeably painful demise.

"Master, I have the results you asked for," a voice calls cheerily from down the hall. Soon, the two masters are joined by a familiar pair of gimlet eyes and an exceedingly handsome smile; a smile that Obi-Wan finds himself genuinely returning.

"It is good to see you again, Towani."

"Master Kenobi," the young Nautolan greets with a deep bow. For a long moment her midnight eyes hold his blue-gray hostage before Obi-Wan is forced to yield under the girl's intense scrutiny. With a bit more curtness than he intends, Obi-Wan bows his head to the two Jedi healers.

"Master Che. Padawan," he says then he turns to make a noticeably hasty exit. A small and somber voice fills the space left by the fleeing master.

"He is running out of time."

* * * * *

Many more days later...

Obi-Wan stares out of the window of his small monastic cell. The skyways of Coruscant teem with activity. Trillions of beings traveling to and fro, hither and yon, carrying on with their daily lives in the close companionship of others. In the Temple too life is all around him. He can hear it, see it, taste it, touch it, smell it, but he can no longer feel it. The cones of his eyes function normally, but the colors he sees are muted, washed out by an overlapping pall of gray, a half-world for his half-life.

The door chime sounds.

"Come," Obi-Wan calls after releasing a heavy sigh. He sorely does not want visitors, but this desire, like many others of late goes unfulfilled as Anakin steps into the room.

"They had me off-world. I only just found out what they did," he says. Obi-Wan does not need the Force to recognize the anger and resentment hidden within the rich tones of the familiar voice.

"Your anger is inappropriate, Anakin. The Council was only acting as it felt best."

"It was wrong."

"It was necessary."

"It was cruel."

"Yes, it was," Obi-Wan concedes finally. "But still necessary," he finishes as he turns to face his visitor for the first time since his arrival. He moves forward intending to take a seat, but his progress is interrupted when he clumsily stubs his toe on the leg of his small desk.

"Blast it!" he exclaims. Anakin has the good sense not to say anything. The Force is ever present in their lives. A constant whisper of danger, warning, instruction, direction, and even flashes of things yet to come. Its presence not only aides in supernatural feats of speed, strength, agility, and endurance, but also heightened reflexes, senses, and general awareness. As a result, Jedi simply do not bump awkwardly into things and they certainly never stub their toes.