of your future credit account. Are you familiar with the secessionist movement?'
The Ansionian made a negative gesture. 'Only movement Bulgan know is in bowels.' He thought a moment longer. 'Kya-khta be unhappy,' he muttered. Then he reluctantly stepped behind Barriss and passed a desealer across her wrists. The opaque bond that restrained them promptly dissolved, breaking down into cellulose, catalyst, and water. Relieved to have her hands free, she rubbed firmly at her wrists. As the circulation began returning, she beckoned for him to approach.
'Come here, Bulgan,' she instructed him gently. He did so with head bowed, shuffling his feet like a child approaching its mother. A very strong, very dangerous child, she reminded herself. She did not have to ask him to lower his head farther. His poor bent spine had already placed it within reach. Extending both hands, palm downward, she tenderly cradled the sides of his skull, careful not to cover the aural openings. His flesh was warm to the touch- the normal Ansionian body temperature being several degrees higher than that of a human. Her eyes closed, and she began to concentrate.
A throbbing ran through her as her focus sharpened. An en during, agonizing ache that through straining and training she made her own. She let herself flow outward toward it, surrounding it with the soothing balm that was her own harmonious inner self. Within the damaged, misfiring neurons that were the source of the native's ongoing hurt, the Force compelled a subtle realignment of tissues, an almost imperceptible but physiologically critical alteration.
She stood holding him like that for several long, silent min utes: healer and patient locked together in that mysterious, inscrutable mutual melding comprehensible only to another master of the Jedi healing arts. Not until all felt normal and natural and well did she finally allow herself to withdraw from the vulnerable state into which she had placed them both.
Opening her eyes, she found herself staring back at her captor. But there was something different about him now: a faint but discernible change of posture, a glint instead of a dullness in his eye. He straightened slightly, as much as his broken, permanently bent back would allow, and looked slowly around the room.
'How do you feel?' she finally prompted him when no words were forthcoming.
'Feel? Bulgan feel-I feel good. Very good.' Making fists of both three-fingered hands, he raised them toward the roof. 'Really exceptionally remarkably good! Haja, jaha, ou oul' The little dance he proceeded to perform, joyfully throwing his arms repeatedly into the air all the while, lifted her hopes in concert with his spirit.
Then he stopped, lowered his hands, and said to her in a no tably different tone of voice than he had used before, 'But you're still my prisoner, Padawan.' When she slumped, he grinned, showing fine Ansionian teeth. 'For about another minute.'
'You mean?…' His intent became clear when he walked over to her with a spring in his step that had been absent previ ously and bent to pass the desealer across her ankle bonds. They dissolved promptly, allowing her to stand. Her feet and legs numb from lack of use, she would have fallen had he not caught her in his strong arms.
At which point the door clicked and Kyakhta entered the room.
To say that the senior Alwari was startled by the sight that greeted his bulging eyes was an understatement worthy of a senior tax collector. The sight of the Jedi Padawan unbound was disquieting enough. The sight of her slumped slightly in his partner's arms was a spectacle that constituted an irresolvable conundrum. If Bulgan did not with his first utterance say exactly the right thing, Kyakhta was ready to bolt back outside and lock them both back in.
Fortunately, the heretofore guileless Bulgan was now in a cerebral position to do so.
'She fixed me,' he informed his companion simply and straightforwardly, tapping the side of his head. 'Fixed me here. She can fix you, too.'
'No promises,' Barriss warned them both.
'Fix what?' Kyakhta had already taken a wary step backward. 'I not broken. What do you mean, fix me?'
'Up here.' Once more, the mentally mended Bulgan touched hand to head. 'I have no more pain in my mind. I know you suffer from the same syndrome, my good friend. Let her work her Jedi healing on you.'
Another step back. The door was within reach. Easy to dart back out into the hallway, slam the barrier shut, and seal the lock. But-what had happened to Bulgan in his absence? Kyakhta wondered. He hadn't been gone very long. Only a few minutes, and now his good, honest, dumb companion in mutual exile and disgrace was talking like an infernal city councilor! No, he corrected himself. Not like a councilor.
Like a true Alwari nomad: independent, confident, and free.
Three fingers hovered in the vicinity of the door. The Jedi made no move to stop him, though he sensed she might have done so. 'What this nonsense about 'Jedi healing'?'
'She worked it on me. Fixed my head, my mind. It doesn't hurt anymore, Kyakhta! I can think clearly again. My thoughts haven't been this free since I was a child and was thrown from that suubatar.' His voice lowered. 'That was the same throw, the bad dismount, that broke my back and stole my eye-and damaged my mind.'
'But I…' Kyakhta was at a loss for words. In the face of the evidence, in the face of his friend's face, he was forced to accept a seemingly inconceivable reality.
There was another reality that would have to be faced, and quickly. Unbound hands outstretched, the Jedi was advancing slowly toward him.
'Let me help you, Kyakhta. I give you the same promise I made to Bulgan. Whether I can help you or not, I am still your prisoner.'
That was true, Kyakhta realized. Dissolved bonds notwith standing, he and his friend were still the ones in control here. Only they knew the way out of the building in which the cell was located. Only they could get her past the outer guards and security checkpoints. Of course, a Jedi Knight would probably make short work of such minor obstacles, but a Padawan still in training. .
Unarguably, she had worked a marvel with Bulgan. Could she take away the similar pain that had afflicted him all his adult life; remove the regular, pounding waves of agony that daily stabbed through his brain? Wasn't it worth, if nothing else, a try?
'Go ahead,' he told her, adding by way of warning, 'if this a trick, the bossban may not receive you
