While the Twi'lek Consular had distracted the Neimoidian with protracted negotiations, the Thisspiasian Sentinel had been triangulating the communications signal that the Separatist was broadcasting from. With such a large number of younglings, it seemed unlikely that the Separatists would have been able to move very far from where Gol and Dirandu had encountered those droids -- a move which, in retrospect, had been clearly devised to separate the Jedi from the younglings rather than achieve a simple victory.
However, it would have worked out quite spectacularly in that regard if not for the quick action of the Nautolan boy.
Now, why on earth had the youngling brought a lightsaber with him? He would have known it was forbidden to take the weapon from the Temple. Had he known that something was going to happen to them on Corellia? Or had foresight enough to sense a danger that had eluded both of the knights?
A shower of sparks erupted from either side of the thick durasteel door of the warehouse where he had tracked the signal, the door falling inward as the bearded, four-armed snake and a team of clone troopers came rushing through the door. The amber-bladed lightstaff twirled in the Sentinel's hand, as the knight charged in. His eyes immediately registered only that the younglings were present and alive, he ignored what they were doing and instead was already searching for the droid infiltrator -- as the clones swept the interior with the rifles drawn.
"Younglings, I've come to..."
It was then that the blaring music registered. Trailing off in mid-sentence, the Sentinel's mind slowly began to absorb the scene before him. A Zabrak youngling was standing by a cargo computer console, having apparently hacked the Holo-Nets for
an audio signal that he was remixing and playing across the internal announcer system like a miniature Holo-DJ.
"...to... rescue..." the Thisspiasian stammered, his tongue still occupied by the former thought as realization was slowly kicking in. The Nautolan boy, a Zygerrian girl, and an Iktotchi were seated around a Separatist holo-comm unit, which was displaying a small holo-vid of a youngling program. Seated not far from them was a cluster of four female younglings, who were watching another youngling holo-vid program. Three more younglings were dancing to the music that the Zabrak boy was providing, and two others were building something from what appeared to be the mauled and picked over corpse of a droid. Which, provided an explanation for what had happened to that.
"Well, this is anti-climatic," the Sentinel confessed dryly, shutting down his lightsaber as the clones lowered their rifles.
The younglings sat around the interior of the warehouse, clustered around the clone troopers who seemed somewhat disquieted for the attention being heaped on them by the curious mini-Jedi. The Twi'lek child-minder had stopped as a Biscuit Baron on his way to join the Thisspiasian's rescue team, arriving with jolly meals for the children and quickmeals for the Jedi and clones, allowing them the luxury of enjoying a meal while the two knights contacted Coruscant.
The young Nautolan was only vaguely aware of the conversation between Jedi that was taking place nearby, having taken seat nestled up against the right side of a clone whose name was Deuce. The Zabrak boy was pressed up to the clone's left, with the two boys exchanging the holocubes that had come in either of their jolly meals while chatting with the clone. Somewhere, between the incessant and random snippets of conversation, the boy thought he might have heard something about Separatists, the Outer Rim, and Mandalore.
Which, Mandalore was a planet... wasn't it?
He thought it was. It had been on a test anyway, though Zak wasn't sure whether he'd gotten the question right or not. Taking another bite out of the sandwich in his now greasy hands, the green-skinned youngling casually kicked his legs as he sat atop the crate and looked over at the two knights.
The small form of the Jedi Master known only as Yoda was distinctive in any form, though as a hologram he was even smaller than normal. "
Azul Gol, more to say have you?" the penultimate Jedi was overheard asking.
"My Masters, I wish to take Zak Dymo as my padawan learner."
The statement hung in the air, suddenly silencing all other conversation as twelve small heads all looked up with surprised interest at the bearded snake, then swiveled to look over at the green Nautolan whose mouth was agape.
"...What?"
"
No one may become a padawan without having undergone the Gathering," Master Dossa Ya barked shortly, the blue Nautolan Guardian making clear there would be no argument on that long-standing of Jedi traditions.
"Then I request that he be allowed that trial," the Sentinel countered in a matter-of-fact tone.
The four Masters turned to look at one another for a moment. "
Too young," Yoda remarked, as the small blue scan-line hologram was seen to look down and shake his head. "
He is too young to begin the training."
"There is little more he can learn from me," the Twi'lek teacher stated, speaking up from beside the Sentinel. "Education in the field, with individual attention, is more appropriate for him. Zak learns by
doing, not by reading."
"
Is reading not important to a Jedi, Teacher Dirandu?" the Kel-Dor Master on the Council asked pointedly. "
The boy must learn patience. Perhaps that is the lesson which you have yet to impart him."
"He will learn patience," the Thisspiasian answered evenly, reaching up a clawed hand and running it through the beard that hung down from his reptilian face.
"He is headstrong -- either brave or foolish, but he saved my life and the lives of his teacher and his clan. I feel as though our paths are linked. He was meant to save me and I am meant to teach him."
The four holographic Jedi Masters turned and seemed to confer briefly. A Cathar Master was the one to speak for them. "
The matter of Youngling Dymo's training will be decided another time," Nyah'mo dictated stoically, adding "
He may accompany you to Mandalore, if you wish. The Council has no objection, provided you are not distracted from your mission. But your padawan, he is not," the Cathar clarified bluntly.
The Thisspiasian paused a moment, as though debating whether to argue further. Brushing his claws through his beard one more time, the snake merely bowed his head in acceptance of the compromise. For now.
"We shall be in contact after we have arrived on Mandalore then, my Masters," the Sentinel stated finally.
As the hologram of the four Jedi Masters winked out of view, the two knights turned and bowed to another before they each turned and began moving back toward the clones and younglings. The silence that had punctuated the earlier announcement continued to hang in the air awkwardly. Ignoring that, the large Thisspiasian slithered up toward where the Nautolan sat on the grate and offered a clawed hand out to the boy.
"Come, my young friend," the Sentinel offered warmly.
"We must go quickly to find a ship to Mandalore."
The Nautolan's black eyes reflected the Thisspiasian's hand, dark spirals twisting through the large ovals of the youngling's eyes as the boy was presented with any number of perplexing emotions. Opening his mouth to answer the Jedi, the boy hesitated as he suddenly found himself wanting to express so many different things that he wasn't certain of which particular one he ought to say.
"Master, I don't want to be a problem," the boy stated finally.
The snake just blinked, as though startled by that admission. And then he laughed; a short, barking-like sound that echoed through the warehouse. Lowering his head down nearer the boy's, the bearded serpent said,
"There are many problems in this galaxy, Zak. One you needn't concern yourself with is you. If you're doing something wrong, I shall tell you."
"But, the Masters..."
"...are my problem, little one," Gol remarked gently-yet-firmly silencing the boy's objection.
"You are not a Jedi yet, youngling. The Council is my problem and I am your problem. That is the nature of our order."
As the Nautolan fell silent, the Thisspiasian reached down to take his hand.
"Let us go."
[/hr]
