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Obi-Wan was with a small scouting unit, working through their designated route when he spotted the small store. One of the signs, hanging by a cord, swung slowly in light wind, read; Wyope! Fine things and More! It made Obi-Wan take a second look at the place. The display, window broken but still somehow pristine, is what made Obi-Wan stop.
“What’s the situation?” The scout leader tapped in.
Obi-Wan tapped back the all clear signal. “There’s something I want to look into real quick.”
“Is this going to be a Camp Pointe all over again?” Boil asked. Almost, but not quite snide.
Part of Obi-Wan was proud of the troopers. A year ago they never would have said anything to him. Obi-Wan just wished it was less criticizing.
“I’m just going to take a look!” Obi-Wan assured, “It will just be a moment.”
“As you say, sir,” Boil said politely. Then, as if off to the side, “Alright Bravo, be ready for a Camp Pointe.” The radio clicked off.
Obi-Wan sighed as he slid off the bike. The troops would never forget that, to his embarrassment.
He took care to step over the broken window pane, reaching out to steady himself on the old table in the center of the little platform. One of the display lights still seemed to have power and blinked sadly at him.
On the table was a showing of various objects. Reaching for one, Obi-Wan caught sight of his hands again, smudged black with soot and dust.
He hesitated, then undid his cloth belt from his robe. The long fabric was soft and still surprisingly white in parts. He carefully wrapped the belt around his hands making a sort of makeshift glove. Satisfied he gently picked up one of the items on the far edge of the display. Almost hidden behind the other items, as if it was an afterthought.
Obi-Wan turned it over. There was a tiny transcript, a tiny golden flower with the translated words ‘first edition.’
The world seemed to slow down at the moment. Like fighting through a thick fog, heart suddenly loud and blaring as it pounded in his chest. The words on the text seemed to get blurry. Blinking, he realized his hands were shaking.
When Obi-Wan had been young, the later years of the creche, Nu had once found him in the archives. He had tried to climb onto the large cases in the back rooms to get a look of what was inside. She had shown him, hands gentle as she flipped it open. Letting him press down on it curiously. Something he had never seen one before, everything now on datapads, but this was a book. The paper light and fragile. The odd smooth-scratchy feeling of the whatever was used as parchment. The smell of it like a quite room with the sun filtering through; soft and brilliant.
No one made books anymore. The last he had heard being printed had been several hundred years ago. It was a collection of myths and legends of the monks of what was now Byss. The Fragile Path it said, underneath Obi-Wan’s careful touch.
“Oh,” Obi-Wan breathed reverently.
That was when he also started to notice a distant whistling sound. Slowly, the walls of the building seemed to start to shake with the noise of it. One of the strange ornaments on the table tipped over, a metallic ball bouncing off the edge.
The force screamed.
Obi-Wan clutched the book and dove.
When Obi-Wan opened his eyes again, the air was heavy with dust and he was staring at a backside of plastoid armour.
He opened his mouth, to say what he hadn’t decided, and instead half coughed up his lung. Throat tight and dry. It was like he had swallowed a knife.
“Easy, sir,” someone murmured. A hand touched his shoulder. Waxer. It was Waxer he realized belatedly. Everything seemed to spin slowly. His head hanging down did not help.
“Next time we stay on mission, yeah?” The backside of the trooper moved. Boil, then. Was he being carried? Why was everything so loud? He could barely hear his own thoughts. Something waved in front of his face.
“He’s concussed,” Waxer said. Like he was speaking to someone else. The cool plastoid shifted beneath him.
There was something he needed to remember, Obi-Wan knew. He couldn’t quite grasp what it was, shifting through the foggy mess of his mind.
His skin shook.
“This is such a Camp Pointe,” Boil growled. The shaking happened again. His head along with it. It was a noise. The shaking recharge of a laser cannon.
“Rollies! Down, down, down!” Waxer yelled.
Obi-Wan found himself staring up at the dusty clouds above. Boil was crouched protectively over him, as he shot as something. Waxer was swearing somewhere ahead.
Obi-Wan blinked and the light of the sun filtered like haze onto them.
Beyond them the rolling spheres of droidekas. The sun reflecting off their hard shells like a beacon.
Obi-Wan half dragged an arm ahead of him. He had to- his mind felt like a hammer. The air thick as he stretched his hand out.
The air started a slow shimmer. Boil half yelled something before ducking over Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan had to- the shaking of the cannon again, and Obi-Wan clutched the air in a desperate fist, the shrieking noise of crushing metal like a hammer in his head.
“Osik,” Waxer laughed. “That was something, sir.”
“Still a Camp Pointe,” Boil agreed lightly.
“Oh gods,” Obi-Wan groaned, everything was spinning. He was done. Let him be done.
*
“Waxer said you wouldn’t let go of this when they found you,” Cody nudged forward the oddly wrapped package to the edge of the desk.
Obi-Wan raised a hand to brace it without thinking. A moment later he realized what it was. Carefully unfolding the wrap, his fingers lightly pressed down into the cover in wonder. He had remembered the book when he had woken up in medical. He’d near jumped out of the bed, waking with a sudden start, and had to deal with half of medical dog piling on him to keep him down.
“I didn’t think it made it out,” Obi-Wan admitted. All at once a great wave of love for his clones rose in him. He looked up at Cody and smiled.
Cody reached across the table, brushing a hand against Obi-Wan’s cheek. “Careful, sir, he murmured quietly. “Your feelings are showing.”
“Do you know what this is, my Dear?” Obi-Wan had to ask. He tapped the book lightly. Cody look down at it with a arched eyebrow.
“Other then a binding of flimsi?” Cody humored him.
“It’s not flimsi, Cody. It’s paper. They stopped using it long before even flimsi became a novelty.” Obi-Wan felt that encroaching giddiness again. At least his hands weren’t shaking this time. “This is cultural history, something that should be preserved. It’s cost is infinite.”
“It apparently cost enough that you got yourself blown up,” Cody drolly pointed out.
“Well,” Obi-Wan shrugged. Guilty, but also not terribly sorry. “Yes, you have a point.”
Cody dropped his head into a palm, laughing roughly. “What will I do with you, cyare?”
“Just bare with me, my Dear.” Obi-Wan reached back across to ruffle Cody’s hair lightly. He played the last few moments over in his head. Something was nagging him. Then, like lightning, it hit him. Obi-Wan swore and jumped back.
“What’s wrong?” Cody jerked up and was standing, ready to respond.
“I think we just stole this,” Obi-Wan admitted, back to gripping the book desperately.