Echo - Chapter One

Obi-Wan fought the controls of the small two-person fighter. The white landscape of Rhen Var sped by beneath them, coming closer with every passing second. Black smoke billowed from the starboard engine and Obi-Wan struggled to keep the craft aloft long enough to ditch safely.

Bail Organa tried not to cringe. He was, after all, in the hands of a Jedi. If one had to be chased, shot at, and plummet from the sky, one was probably in a statistically much better position for survival with a Jedi at the helm -- even if that Jedi was only a Padawan.

In spite of Obi-Wan's best efforts, the ground continued to rush toward them at an alarming rate. Rhen Var, once a thriving economic center before the creation of the Republic, was now a world of snow and ice. If he decelerated enough, came in at the proper angle, and managed to find a snowdrift or two to skim against they should manage to walk away from the crash. His eyes scanned the landscape looking for a likely landing area. Clusters of half-buried ruins dotted the white landscape. Finally, Obi-Wan found what he was looking for.

"Hold on, Your Highness. This may get rough."

Somehow Bail was not terribly comforted by Obi-Wan's words, but they were no longer being shot at, and that was an improvement. The fighter that had blown out their engine seemed satisfied with the damage it had caused. Instead of ensuring the kill, it pulled up sharply to join its mate in chasing the craft that held Qui-Gon Jinn and Senator Doman Beruss.

"I'll take that under advisement," Bail quipped. His voice sounded far calmer than he actually was.

The first grazing of the ship against the snowdrifts jarred Bail and jerked him hard in his harness straps. He shut his eyes tightly and tried to suppress the fear he felt rising up inside of him. The second hit was much more extreme. The leather dug into Bail's shoulders and the metal of the hull groaned and popped around him. The third hit brought the sound of parts snapping away and Bail couldn't help the shout of near terror that ripped from his chest.

With a final violent jolt, the craft came to a stop. Bail's neck snapped and his head slapped hard into the support cushion. In spite of the padding, it hurt like hell.

A rush of cold air immediately followed. Obi-Wan wasted no time. He snapped his restraints and popped the glass canopy of the fighter, now spidered with cracks. "Your Highness? Are you injured?"

Bail remained silent, his eyes closed and his body shaking with adrenaline. His head throbbed, his chest felt like it had been stepped on by a thranta, and he had dug his nails into his palms, drawing blood.

"Your Highness? Senator Organa?"

"Well." Bail opened his eyes and smiled weakly at Obi-Wan. The Jedi had turned in his seat and reached over the cockpit divider to release Bail's harness. "I must say the takeoff was fine but the in-flight meal and landing left something to be desired."

Obi-Wan dryly replied, "I'll take that under advisement, Senator."

"What do we do now?"

"We get out of here."

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Rhen Var was supposed to be little more than a symbolic stamp on the trade negotiations between the Republic and a cluster of five outer rim worlds that called themselves the Tanthal Alliance. It had taken three standard months of meetings, with Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan acting as official observers and mediators, to come to a mutually satisfactory agreement. It was dry, tedious work, but the end result would mean a new shipping route and the addition of the small cluster of planets to the Republic. Qui-Gon was quite pleased with the outcome.

When the representatives from the Tanthal Alliance requested the final meeting and treaty signing be conducted at Rhen Var, Qui-Gon was not so pleased. It was an exceedingly strange request. When Qui-Gon questioned the location and suggested several others as better suited, he was politely rebuffed. The excuse was given that one of the representatives was a historian by trade -- that he had an interest in the Sith Wars -- and hoped to combine business with research.

Qui-Gon couldn't imagine why anyone outside the Jedi temple would have any reasonable call to be interested in the Sith Wars and he had a gnawing sense of unease regarding the request. Regardless, the ambassador was a historian and did, in fact, teach a survey course at his local University that covered -- albeit in a rather vague and sketchy way -- the period leading up to the formation of the Republic. In the end, Qui-Gon could find no real excuse to insist on another location, and the arrangements were made.

The transports containing the representatives of the Tanthal Alliance and the two Republic Senators, Bail Organa of Alderaan and Doman Beruss of Illodia, had arrived on time and without incident. A third neutral ship, provided as a courtesy by the Trade Federation, was already in orbit around Rhen Var when they arrived. After a brief meeting in which the usual political pleasantries were exchanged, the two sides sat down to a celebratory meal. Everything seemed to be going smoothly.

The second day an excursion was planned to the planet's surface to satisfy the request of the Tanthalan Ambassador. Initially, only Doman Beruss was to accompany the small party, but Senator Organa decided at the last moment that he wanted to attend as well. Qui-Gon had made the necessary arrangements with no small amount of unease.

It was, therefore, hardly a surprise to Qui-Gon when things had gone horribly wrong.

After landing near a set of ruins with three of the five Tanthalan Ambassadors, the two Senators, a Republic archaeologist, and several guards, they spent a few hours on the surface. At one point, when they found a particularly detailed frieze that depicted a battle, both the archaeologist and the historian became quite excited. Qui-Gon listened with amusement as the historian offered up tales of Sith Lords and Jedi locked in motral combat pulled from bad holonovels as if they were fact. It took every diplomatic skill that Qui-Gon posessed to simply nod and let the man go on instead of calling the man on his exagerations.

Finally, Qui-Gon had enough and loudly announced that it was time to return to the ship. As they were walking back to the transports, Qui-Gon's comlink chimed and then went dead. Immediately afterward, two short- range fighters dropped out of the sky and fired on the shuttle, blowing it to bits.

Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan shared a quick look between them before Obi-Wan snatched Senator Organa's arm and raced toward one of the two escort fighters. Qui-Gon shouted to the guards to take the members of the Tanthalan delegation back to the ruins to wait, then grabbed Doman Beruss and made for the remaining fighter as the attackers came back around for another pass.

Once aloft, Qui-Gon felt a rush of concern when he saw smoke billow from the starboard engine of Obi-Wan's fighter, but there was little he could do. He had complete confidence in his Padawan's abilities. His priority had to be the Senator in his craft and the remaining delegates on the ground. All attempts to communicate with the orbiter above brought nothing but static over the comm.

"Senator, we are no longer able to communicate with our ship. I think it advisable to eliminate the immediate threat and then attend to the delegation."

"Of course, Master Jinn."

"Hold on."

Qui-Gon banked the fighter hard left and went into the fray.

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Bail Organa was a peaceful man, as were the majority of Alderaani. He believed strongly in the power of words and held firm in his altruistic belief that all conflict stemmed from ignorance; that if two sides talked long enough they could reach a non-violent resolution to their differences. Education. Understanding. Compassion. Love. This was the currency Bail Organa tendered.

Over a year of work in the Senate had done much to open the young Prince's eyes to the injustice that ran rampant in the Galaxy, but it had not dampened his spirit. He now understood that sometimes even the best negotiator failed; that in those moments after the breakdown of communications there was sometimes a need for military intervention to restore order. Such situations were regrettable and deeply saddened him, but it was a reality he had come to accept.

As one of the younger representatives in the Senate and the junior of those from Alderaan, Bail found it necessary to adopt a guise of foppery. It was a trick that Bail had learned from, of all people, his sister Celly. Men, she said, would tell a woman anything if they thought she was an airhead and wouldn't remember. They would tell her even more if the lights were low and she was beautiful, charming, and made a habit of handing out favors on occasion.

After the revelation, Bail took the words to heart. He threw himself into the role of playboy with great aplomb. He socialized with all the right people. He made sure to be photographed with a new "lover" every month, never bothering to correct anyone on the assumption that the relationship was sexual. He threw parties for dignitaries, hosted conferences, volunteered his time at charities, and did his best to ensure that he never left anyone with a bad opinion of him. He spent hours selecting his clothing to ensure a proper facade. It was difficult and time- consuming, particularly given his studies and political responsibilities, but he was determined. In no time, he assumed the vacant Senatorial post in addition to his pending ascendancy.

By continuing his schedule of parties, outings, and dates after arriving on Coruscant, Bail's image was constantly plastered all over the holonet. The press was Bail's best friend in his act. The publicity assisted in the careful crafting of his image and distracted people from the sharp mind that lay under dark good looks and opulent clothing. Somehow, no one seemed to remember Bail's ability to speak over a dozen languages, his two degrees with distinction from one of the most prestigious universities in the core worlds, his internships that had garnered him the attention of prominent political figures, or his many other qualifications. That suited him just fine. By seeming to focus more on his social life and his clothing choices than on the business of the Senate Committees on which he sat, Bail was able to move between opposing sides of any issue without raising suspicion. He became privy to information about the private lives of other Senators and their aides. He was able to insert himself in social circles that moved at the highest levels of government, and it allowed him to overhear things that he wouldn't otherwise know. Additionally, powerful lobbies courted him thinking to use him as a patsy, assuming the young Prince to be easily brought under their influence.

They were wrong.

Being appointed as one of the two negotiators to meet with the Tanthal Alliance was a coup for the Prince. It was a high-profile assignment coveted by Senators many years his senior. He would work directly with the Jedi representatives -- something he had longed to do since his arrival on Coruscant. When he discovered that the Jedi representative would be none other than Master Qui-Gon Jinn, Bail was ecstatic. The man was a legend in his own time. It was heady stuff for a Junior Senator just turned twenty-five.

The problem was that Bail found it difficult to maintain his cover once the negotiations began. He couldn't help wanting to impress the Jedi Master with his grasp of the law and his negotiating skills. He had planned to court the favor of the Jedi with every ability at his disposal -- to watch Qui-Gon Jinn and learn from the man at every opportunity. After all, one couldn't use the guise of adolescent playboy forever. At some point, Bail knew he would have to shed his persona. When that day came, he wanted to be respected. Very few men in the Galaxy were respected as much as Qui-Gon Jinn, Master of Diplomacy. To find the secret of Master Jinn's ability to garner trust -- or even to earn the trust and respect of the man himself -- would be even more valueable than the political cache that the appointment as negotiator for a major treaty would provide.

Bail had been prepared to be somewhat overwhelmed by meeting Master Jinn. The Prince had great respect for the Jedi and their mission and, thanks to their mediation of the Ascendancy Controversy, his family owed the Jedi a debt not easily repaid. To meet a Jedi Master, any Jedi Master, was a rare and distinct honor that left many men flustered. However, it was when Obi-Wan Kenobi entered the room that Bail went weak in the knees. Something about the Padawan drew Bail in. He had found it hard to focus on Master Jinn and was strangely disconcerted as he looked at Obi-Wan's blue-gray eyes. Bail hoped that his public persona would allow his nervousness to be overlooked and did his best to recover, inviting Master Jinn and his Padawan to a formal dinner with he and Doman Beruss. While the Prince got the distinct impression that Qui-Gon Jinn was slightly amused by the invitation, it was accepted and Bail got down to the business at hand.

For three months Bail observed Master Jinn: how the man skillfully directed conversation, how he listened and said little, how he always managed to ask the right question at just the right moment, how he suggested a break when tensions ran high. Bail also observed Obi-Wan. He was intrigued by the way the pair worked so seamlessly together. It aroused a strange feeling of jealousy and Bail couldn't be certain of the source of the emotion. Was it a longing for the kind of close mentor relationship that Obi-Wan shared with Qui-Gon, or was it something more basic and much less impersonal?

In an attempt to discover the answer to that question, Bail made a concerted effort to get to know Obi-Wan Kenobi. The time he had initially planned to use ingratiating himself to Master Jinn he instead focused almost entirely on the Padawan. Yet, at the end of the three months Bail had little more insight into Obi-Wan than he had at the start. The Padawan was formal, correct, and aloof, never staying longer than was required to finish whatever task the Prince concocted. Even over working dinners, Obi-Wan remained detached and reserved, restricting conversation to the negotiations, the Tanthalan delegation, and pertinent legal precedents that might affect the agreement.

It was maddening.

Bail Organa had finally met his match. The question was, now that the negotiations were nearing an end, how could he managed to convert the working relationship to a social one? While he was attracted to Obi-Wan - - and who wouldn't be -- he wasn't fool enough to think he could bed him. Bail simply didn't have enough experience in the seduction department. While the press went on and on about the men and women Bail escorted, the fact was that the beings he went out with were not generally sexual partners. Things rarely went beyond flirting, kissing, and the obligatory public displays of affection. Behind closed doors, Bail was always a gentleman. It helped to ensure no hard feelings or messy complications when he moved on.

So, when Bail overheard one of the Tanthalan representatives discussing the excursion to the surface at the dinner party and determined that Obi- Wan could be in attendance, the Prince jumped at the chance. It seemed a perfect opportunity. He could make a few causal inquiries about the history of the Sith Wars or comment on the ruins. Then he could segue into how much he had enjoyed Obi-Wan's company over the last few months and suggest they have dinner upon their return to Coruscant -- somewhere casual, informal, relaxed. Perhaps he could manage a playful comment on how much he would like to get to know Obi-Wan on a more personal level.

Yes. That was just how he'd do it.

The reality, however, had been far different.

Bail grew frustrated when Obi-Wan lingered at the back of the group, quiet and withdrawn. The two attempts he made to draw Obi-Wan into conversation had been rebuffed. Disappointed, the Prince rejoined the rest of the group and listened politely to the historian and the archaeologist as they droned on and on about this carving or that bit of relief. Bail's dark eyes often flicked backward to Obi-Wan and he noted that the Jedi seemed pensive and kept fingering his lightsaber.

Finally, the outing came to a merciful end. Bail was unsure how to approach Obi-Wan before they returned to Coruscant since the signing was to happen the next day. Absorbed in his own thoughts, he didn't notice the fighters dive out of the sky. Obi-Wan grabbed Bail by the arm and jerked him around roughly, his body a shield between the prince and the exploding shuttle. Then, before Bail could register what had happened, he was moving -- being dragged in the direction of a small short-range fighter.

Shortly after takeoff, they had been hit in the starboard engine. The craft had spun dizzily -- corkscrewing through the air -- the pitch and yaw causing Bail's stomach to flip. It was a testament to Obi-Wan's piloting skills that he managed to get the fighter back under control. Bail was fairly certain they would end up as little more than a dark smudge on the pristine white of the planet below them, but Obi-Wan apparently had other thoughts on the matter.

Now, Crown Prince Bail Organa, Junior Senator from Alderaan and future Viceroy, was stranded on a frozen planet with little more than the clothing on his back, and was being hunted by someone who had tried to kill him.

It was not a very good day.

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Jedi Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi found missions where he did little more than sit on his backside and listen to politicians nit-pick over the salient details of treaties to be intensely dull. While he had the utmost respect for his master, and did his best to learn the finer points of diplomacy, it simply wasn't his proverbial cup of tea. Qui-Gon insisted that Obi-Wan would come to appreciate such missions as he aged -- that flying fighters, wielding a lightsaber, and going to exotic worlds would lose its allure -- but Obi-Wan sincerely doubted it.

The only thing that saved the negotiations from pure tedium was the participation of the Senator from Alderaan, Prince Bail Organa. Obi-Wan was in total agreement with his Master's opinion that politicians were self- serving, power-hungry manipulators that had little more on their minds than how any particular situation might be used to their own advantage. At least he had been, until he met Bail. Now he found himself wondering if he agreed with his Master only because the politicians he had the occasion to meet had been old men who probably should have retired long ago.

The Prince was intriguing. After their first meeting, Obi-Wan had gone to the archives and done some research on Alderaan in general and the Prince in specific. There had been quite a controversy about the Ascendancy on Alderaan, which had been resolved by Jedi mediation and resulted in a decision that granted the throne to House Organa. Afterwards, the Prince had not rested on his laurels as one would have expected. Bail had graduated at the top of his class with degrees in Political Science and Galactic Law. He had led student protests and, along with his eldest sister, championed the plight of refugees from the outer rim. Additional information from the holonet deepened the mystery. The staid, polite, and attentive man he had met did not seem to fit with the social butterfly the press made Bail out to be.

Obi-Wan's curiosity was only further piqued as time went by. Prince Organa seemed to be quite shrewd and discerning despite his reputation. Often the Senator would ask for Obi-Wan's input or viewpoint regarding some rather esoteric point of law or would request to have dinner to discuss a point of the treaty that seemed less than specific. The man was difficult to keep up with -- his mind moving at lightning speeds; his command of law from memory astonishing -- and Obi-Wan often when home from his meetings with the prince with his head reeling. Bail Organa, from what Obi-Wan could ascertain, took deliberate care in every aspect of his life; from selecting his robes and wine to choosing his words. The man even went so far as to engage a protocol droid to teach him some of the finer points of the language used by the Tanthalan delegation so he could communicate directly. Obi-Wan sincerely wondered where the Prince found the time. Had the man been Force-sensitive he would have made a superior Jedi. This, and the strange fact that he could sense nothing from Bail Organa in the Force, made Obi-Wan burn to know what the man's midi-chlorian count was.

Even Qui-Gon seemed impressed with Bail Organa. For someone outside the Order to earn even the grudging respect of Obi-Wan's Master was something of an occasion in itself and made the young man scrutinize the Prince even more. As the negotiations drew to a close, Obi-Wan found himself in a rather strange situation. In spite of the man's reputation, and his profession, Obi-Wan wanted to spend more time with Bail.

But how could he manage to do such a thing? Bail was a Senator -- a Prince -- and Obi-Wan just a Padawan. Without the pretext of the negotiations, there was no longer any logical reason for him to pursue a friendship with Bail Organa.

And there was certainly even less reason to pursue anything more.

There had been several times when Obi-Wan had been working with Bail late of an evening and he thought the Prince was reluctant to let him leave. Once or twice he thought he had detected a hint of interest during dinner, but there was nothing specific or overt. Obi-Wan chalked what little he did notice up to an over-active imagination. After all, with a reputation like Bail's, the Prince certainly wouldn't be shy about expressing a desire for their relationship to take a different turn.

Obi-Wan had hoped to find a way to broach the subject before the conclusion of negotiations. Bail seemed to be interested in Jedi history and had asked some rather obscure questions about the development of the Jedi Code one evening at dinner. After much consideration, Obi-Wan thought the best course of action was to give the Prince his comm frequency and offer a personal tour of the Temple. It would leave the option for a continued relationship firmly in Bail's court and give no hint of impropriety.

The days slipped by and suddenly the eve of the party was upon him. Obi- Wan thought the function a perfect time to make his move. The offer could be made as they sipped whatever alcohol was served prior to the formal seating and then would quickly be able to retreat into his role as Jedi observer. It would clearly be an offer to extend their working relationship and, perhaps, open the door to something more down the line.

Somehow, the offer was never made. Bail had been quite gregarious after his first drink and one of the Tanthalan representatives kept the Prince engaged in conversation. When the bell sounded to call the group to dinner, Obi-Wan had missed his opportunity and the moment was gone.

When he returned, dejected, to the quarters he shared on the orbiter with Qui-Gon, and his Master notified him that Bail had decided to accompany the group to the planet's surface in the morning, Obi-Wan suppressed a rush of pleasure. He would have another chance! His hopes, however, were quickly dashed when Qui-Gon uttered the phrase his Padawan had learned never boded well.

"I have a bad feeling about this."

In the morning, before the shuttle launch, Qui-Gon had taken Obi-Wan aside and reiterated his unease. He told his Padawan to remain vigilant and to stay at the rear of the party as a guard. Qui-Gon would stay toward the front of the group as scout.

Obi-Wan hated it when his Master was so terribly right.

At least he had been close to Bail when the shots were fired. The Prince had been distracted and Obi-Wan had to drag the man across the snow to the fighter. When the starboard engine went out in a spectacular burst of flame and smoke, Obi-Wan had his hands full getting the small craft under control. However, he had extra incentive to manage the nearly impossible task -- his passenger.

When the craft finally came to an abrupt halt, its front end buried nearly up to the cockpit hatch in a snowdrift, Obi-Wan quickly turned his attention to the Prince. The man was pale and had blood on his hands. Unlatching the harness that held Bail in his seat, Obi-Wan determined that the Prince was simply in shock from his experience and got down to the business of survival. He salvaged a med kit and an emergency pack from under the pilot's seat. Hopping out of the damaged craft, he checked the side panel that housed the emergency tent and other survival gear, but came up wanting -- it had been sheared from the ship along with the damaged wing and engine. Turning his attention back to Bail, he helped the Senator out of the cockpit and then pulled a utility belt and blaster from under the gunner's seat.

"Your Highness, do you know how to use this?"

Bail shook his head, dazed. "No. I'm sorry."

Obi-Wan slid the blaster into the holster and stepped forward. "I hope you will forgive my impertinence, Prince Organa, but I'm afraid I don't allow anyone but Master Jinn to wield my lightsaber." He radiated calm though the Force and smiled as he reached forward, threaded the utility belt between the folds of Bail's robes, and quickly fastened it on the Prince's hips. "You'll have to make do with the weapon I have available for you."

"Well, beggars can't be choosers, I suppose." Bail's discomfort at wearing a weapon was clear.

"We can't stay here. It's not safe, and the temperature will drop dramatically when the sun falls. We need some form of shelter. As we descended I noted a set of ruins in that direction." Obi-Wan pointed east toward the horizon and shouldered the packs. "Are you ready?"

The prince nodded. He didn't look terribly ready but Obi-Wan had to trust him. "Then let's get moving. We have a lot of ground to cover."

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