Obi-Wan looked at Astri. “Let’s go.”
CHAPTER 7
Qui-Gon waited for his hour of freedom. He did not know when Zan Arbor would grant it. He wanted it so badly it was difficult for him to think of anything else.
Being suspended in this vapor without sight and sound was a particular kind of torture. Deprived of his senses, he experienced dislocation. He had to be conscious of his mind at all times, wrench it back to its surroundings. He could move his muscles very little, and he flexed them, one by one, every half hour. That was an effort. The constant withdrawal of blood was beginning to sap his strength.
He knew that at the Temple he was appreciated for several things: his physical strength, his connection to the living Force, and his patience. Now he hung in a chamber, and none of these things were available to him. He would just have to find other things he was good at.
The loss of his patience was the worst. He could not calm his raging desire to be free. He dreamed of freedom as another might dream of food.
So much for his great forbearance. Now he realized that he had many more lessons to learn. How many times had he heard Yoda advise an advanced student that for a Jedi, true mastery of a skill was only the beginning step to understanding it? How many times had he said the same to Obi-Wan?
The more you know, Padawan, the less you know.
By the time this was over, he would see how much he still had to learn about patience.
Was it his imagination, or was the vapor beginning to thin? Qui-Gon looked down and could see his feet. Yes, the vapor was slowly siphoning away. Did that mean that Zan Arbor was about to release him?
He had made no plans for his first release. His only intention was to talk to Zan Arbor again. Somehow he felt he would gain a clue of how to proceed.
The vapor cleared. His heartbeat quickened. He saw movement outside the transparent wall of the chamber.
“I see you’re excited, Qui-Gon.” Zan Arbor’s cool voice penetrated the chamber. “Try to contain yourself. I didn’t throw you a party.”
The chamber walls slid down, disappearing into the floor. Qui-Gon’s knees buckled and he fell forward. The floor against his cheek felt like a gift. Sense had been deprived for so long that the texture of the stone, the coolness of the temperature, felt like fresh rain on his face.
He saw Zan Arbor’s boots approach, centimeters from his nose.
“Men have fallen at my feet, but it was in my younger days,” she remarked. “How nice to see I still have that power.”
He would not speak until he knew his voice would be steady. He reached deep inside for the reserve of strength he knew was still there. He had protected that reserve during the long hours of his captivity.
He did not raise himself to his knees until he knew he would be able to get to his feet. He stood in one smooth motion. He locked his knees.
He had always seen her in rich robes, her hair elaborately styled. Now Jenna Zan Arbor was dressed simply in a white tunic and trousers. She was smaller than he remembered. Her hair was drawn back and held with an intricate silver clip.
“I would have thought you were the type of woman who prefers beings to meet you eye to eye,” he said.
She smiled. “But so few can. I am told I am intimidating.”
“That’s what makes the few who match you more valuable.”
“I have no interest in other beings anymore, or any conventions of what the majority of those in the galaxy want,” Jenna Zan Arbor said coolly. “I don’t need friendship. Only my work drives me. Nil!”
A tall, thin being shuffled forward. Qui-Gon recognized a being from the planet Quint. Quints were covered in delicate fur and had small heads with triangular eyes. They were extraordinarily quick and fast. Nil had two blasters strapped to his waist. He put his sharp-nailed hands on his blasters and gave Qui-Gon a contemptuous glance.
“Watch him,” Zan Arbor instructed Nil. “Even an unarmed, weakened Jedi is a formidable opponent.” She turned back to Qui-Gon. “I should tell you that my security is state of the art. And if you attempt escape, Nil will not hesitate to shoot you.”
Qui-Gon had no intention of attempting to escape. He knew he was too weak. He didn’t acknowledge what she’d said, but ignored Nil and returned to their conversation.
“How does your work drive you?” Qui-Gon asked. While they talked, he examined the space around him without seeming to glance. It was a Jedi skill. To Zan Arbor, he appeared to be totally fixated on her face.
“How does my work drive me?” she repeated, puzzled. “That seems obvious.”
Stone floor. Long metal lab tables. Records piled neatly on a desk. Sensors, computer bank, lab equipment along one wall.