Because I Said So

Chapter 1

"No, Padawan. The answer has not changed. We are still going."

Obi-Wan shoved both hands inside opposite sleeves, threading his fingers together to keep them still. A pair of blue eyes watched Qui-Gon Jinn's face intently; a young mouth thinned into a determined line.

The Jedi master raised his brows, prompting.

A moment's confused hesitation, and then comprehension dawned. "Oh. Yes, master."

After two months' hard practice, they were getting better. The tall man turned and led the way down the passage, beneath the wide arch leading to the healers' domain, and into the soothing antechamber. As he walked, his Padawan fell further and further behind, until the boy had drifted from his position at Qui-Gon's side to a reluctant three paces behind and to the left.

Eyes twinkling, he summoned his young and somewhat lagging satellite forward with a short one-handed gesture. "Do I sense an insurrection brewing?" he teased.

"Your legs are longer than mine, master," his apprentice offered.

"Oh? Except when we are on the way to the dining hall, hm? At which time, yours appear to be longer than mine."

Outmaneuvered, the young Jedi held his tongue and settled for hunching his shoulders in vexation, the cloth of his slightly oversized robe sliding over his relatively slender frame. Qui-Gon reached out to tweak the adorable stump of a learner's braid sprouting behind the boy's right ear.

Senior Healer Ben To Li greeted them personally. "I thought you would never make it. Padawan, it is good to see you again."

Obi-Wan bowed. "It has been a pleasure, Master Li. Until our next meeting." He took a tentative step backward.

"No you don't." the healer draped a hospitable arm across the boy's back "Come into my parlor, said the arachnid to the fly. I'm told Master Jinn is dragging you off to X'Naar for some dreadful diplomatic talk-fest… perhaps I can be persuaded to place a medical restriction on you. – I am open to both flattery and bribes." So saying, he steered his young guest along an interior hall and deep into his lair.

"But I want to go," Obi-Wan protested. "I've never attended real negotiations before."

The two elder Jedi exchanged an amused glance over his head.

"Well, then, you'll be wanting this vaccine as well. The whole Mid Rim is in the grips of this pandemic. Mellsh Pox is nothing you wish to tangle with, believe me. It manifests very acutely in humans."

QuiGon relieved his charge of his cloak while Ben To putzed about with his supplies in a corner.

"What about you master? You said just yesterday that a true teacher treads every step of the path ahead of his student. Doesn't that mean you ought to take the first turn?"

The Jedi master held out a placating hand. "And I have – before you were born. I have in fact had the Mellsh pox, and am therefore immune."

The Padawan brightened. "Then perhaps I should simply take the same chance, and risk contracting it naturally?"

But his argument was quashed with a small shake of Qui-Gon's head. "No. I wouldn't wish it upon you." He tapped his crooked nose. "I bear the scars to this day."

His apprentice risked a skeptical eye roll, shifting testily as Ben To approached with a predatorial light in his bright black eyes. "I still don't see why," he complained, grumpily struggling out of his tunics.

"Not so fast, young one," the healer advised with a dark chuckle. "We're going to tackle this problem from behind, so to speak."

Qui-Gon placidly endured the scathing look sent in his direction by his affronted student. In answer to the petulant why? broadcasting across their fledgling Force bond, he leaned down, a smirk playing about the corners of his mouth.

"Because I said so," he gravely intoned, holding his Padawan's burning gaze for a full ten count as Ben To got down to business with a brusque and merciless efficiency.

They left a few minutes later. Obi-Wan's legs seemed to have mysteriously lengthened in the interim, for he unconsciously took the lead, striding away from the healers' ward with great purpose and only a slight limp.

"Padawan."

The single word brought the aggreived youngster to heel, and they proceeded along the next concourse with something resembling proper Jedi tranquility. Qui-Gon made a right hand turning and descended a wide stair, then turned left and skirted the colonnaded arcade outside the Hall of Consonant Wisdoms. Obi-Wan trotted curiously beside him, eyes turned up in wonder at the colossal statues flanking the west wall.

Only after the tall man had made a few more needless and labyrinthine detours through the Temple's less frequented third level halls and corridors did his protégé ask the obvious question. "I thought we were to stop at the quartermaster's stores?"

"We are going there now." He quickened his pace, forcing his twelve year old companion into a light jog.

Then he abruptly halted, settling on a bench inside a wall alcove, and patting the place beside him with one hand.

Obi-Wan perched upon the edge of the seat, right boot heel still bouncing nervously against the marble floor.

"Padawan."

The tapping foot stilled itself. Slim fingers curled into wide sleeve hems, and the boy waited. And waited. And waited. And –

"Master? I thought we were going to pick up new equipment?"

"Now we are resting."

"But ...why?"

The Jedi master pressed his back against the cool curve of wall behind him, exhaling slowly. "Because I said so," he answered, enunciating the words with measured placidity.

Obi-Wan released a long breath, and scooted back against the wall beside him. The bench was wide, and he tucked his feet up under himself lest they dangle off the floor. They really were getting better, after these first two months. But that was no excuse to slacken discipline. Qui-Gon allowed twenty minutes to pass before he relented.

"Let's go. You'll be late for your afternoon class if we don't hurry."

This provoked an exasperated sigh. "What about noon-meal?"

"Keep your focus on the present moment, Obi-Wan."

The boy kept his cool remarkably well. That was a good sign too. Qui-Gon spared a small smile for his bewildered apprentice, and found the most direct route to the storerooms, where they could requisition some extra supplies for their first official mission off-world as Master and Padawan.

Master Pakkra was pleasant enough when they submitted their lengthy list of requirements, producing the various items from their labeled lockers and allowing Obi-Wan to sign for his own field equipment, a quotidian record-keeping formality that nevertheless brought the new Padawan manifest pleasure. He affixed his thumbprint to the datapad with great and solemn satisfaction.

"Anything else, Master Jinn?"

"Just a standard shipboard emergency kit, if you have one ready."

The tall Quermian Jedi's head wavered atop his sinuous neck. "I'll gather one together for you in a trice, if you will wait."

"Yes, thank you."

Meanwhile, Obi-Wan was busily examining each of his new acquisitions before stowing it away in a belt pouch. "What's this, master?"

Qui-Gon glanced down at the unfamiliar object. "Ah. That is a rebreather. Oxygenator, for water or compromised atmosphere."

His apprentice's brows rose. "Are you expecting the X'Naaro to make us walk the plank or lock us in a toxic gas chamber?"

"No." the Jedi master demonstrated how the device opened, and then folded it back down to its compact configuration. "I do not expect any such thing."

Obi-Wan nodded, eyes twinkling. "So it will be an ambush, then."

The tall man indulged in a soft chuckle. "It is wise to be prepared for anything, but unwise to expect it," he answered.

The boy nodded, a plausible suggestion of agreement and understanding that flatly contradicted the amused dubiety leaking across his young and permeable mental shields. Qui-Gon smiled again. There was so much to learn. He watched as the new cable launcher, a small holoplate, an extra power comlink cell, a few emergency medical supplies, and the usual complement of protein and nutrition capsules were duly tucked away in their places. "If we do have to walk the plank, I will surely sink," Obi-Wan observed, with a small upward quirk of the mouth.

"It is not so very much to carry," the older man mildly remonstrated.

Master Pakkra had not yet returned from the back room; Obi-Wan glanced round to be sure they were alone and then addressed his teacher with bland impertinence. "I thought the Force is our ally; we need no other."

"I did not say we needed these things per se… they simply come in useful from time to time."

Mouth twisting quizzically, the Padawan fingered a soft fold of black cloth. "What about this… not a blindfold!"

"Keep it on you – it may come in useful, too. And do not roll your eyes at me, young one."

"I'm sorry, master."

"I hope so, Obi-Wan… otherwise I will be obliged to inspire you to exhibit better manners."

The threat was received with a joyful grin, one revealing a pair of deeply grooved dimples. Qui-Gon maintained his stern composure as long as possible before capitulating. His expression relaxed but he still held up a warning finger. "Particularly on X'naar. Comportment, even in the smallest matters, is essential to successful diplomacy."

"I will be mindful, master," the boy earnestly promised.

"I know."

The quartermaster returned with the promised case of emergency supplies, and sent them on their way. Qui-Gon chivvied his companion forward. "You face a difficult choice, Padawan: skip noon-meal or arrive late for Master Chopra's mathematics class."

Obi-Wan almost froze in his tracks, tragic realization flitting across his face before stoic resolve overlaid it. "I can wait till evening to eat," he asserted, bravely, with only the faintest suggestion of accusation undergirding his tone.

Qui-Gon nodded, keeping a steady pace, waiting…

"Our errands took longer than anticipated," his apprentice pointed out, on cue.

"Indeed." It was his fault, of course, but a Jedi must be flexible- and above all, not hold a grudge. "When you are finished with the instructional session, meet me in the Archives. We need to review some matters concerning X'Naar before we leave."

"Yes, master." A heartbeat's hesitation, in which Qui-Gon refused to soften the dilemma or its implications. He noted with a pang of unbecoming pride that the question why did not resurface into this discussion. Obi-Wan was a quick study.

"Off you go."

He watched the boy trot away down an adjacent corridor, heading for the nearest swift tube. The new cloak's hem skimmed the floor, just a fingerswidth too long for the wearer. But Padawans, like many other young and impatient things, matured rapidly - and it was best to leave plenty of room for growth.