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The Best Medicine

by Russet McMillan (mcmillan@apo.nmsu.edu)

Archive: M_A by permission of the author. Anyone else please ask

Category: First time, hurt/comfort, drama, action/adventure

Rating: NC-17

Series/Sequel: Not as far as I know

Spoilers: Nothing that I can think of

Warning: UNDERAGE Obi-Wan alert! But wait, it isn't as bad as you think. It might not squick some readers who ordinarily hate underage stuff. In the main part of this story, Obi-Wan is 19 and is with Qui-Gon for the first time. However, flashbacks include scenes with a 14-year-old Obi-Wan masturbating and fantasizing about his master, plus mention of a 16-year-old Obi-Wan in a relationship with another padawan.

Disclaimer: I don't do disclaimers. Fanfic is copyright violation no matter how we excuse it, even if there's no money involved. I speed, too. So there.

Notes: This story is for Pumpkin, in lieu of the Sentinel story she's been waiting for. She said it would be okay. Thanks, Pumpkin! I hope you enjoy!

Summary: Qui-Gon is wounded in a pirate attack, and Obi-Wan must convince him that sex is the best medicine.

Feedack: Although this is my first Q/O, I'm an experienced fanfic author. I don't write solely for feedback and I won't beg or blackmail for it. But I do appreciate all that I receive and answer every message, short or long. I like to hear criticism as well as praise (but I usually can't resist defending my point of view, so be ready for a conversation!) I'm on master-apprentice irregularly, so please copy comments to me at mcmillan@apo.nmsu.edu

"An ice freighter?" Obi-Wan said doubtfully as they stepped aboard the transport that would be carrying them to Bristeetst for their next mission. "Why are we traveling on an ice freighter?" He shifted the two packs that hung from his shoulders.

Qui-Gon watched his apprentice assessingly, wondering if he should carry his own luggage. But Obi-Wan was 19, no longer a mere stripling overburdened by a heavy load. The younger Jedi would never be tall, but he had reached his full height a few years ago and was beginning to fill out into a muscular young man, well able to manage an everyday burden. Qui-Gon aborted his helpful gesture and looked away. "Is a mere freighter too humble for you, Padawan?"

Obi-Wan threw him an exasperated look. "Of course not, Master. I don't expect the Council to send us out on luxury liners. But isn't a freighter rather a slow way to get somewhere? Especially when it's towing a full load."

Qui-Gon led the way down a corridor of the ship, looking for the living quarters. "We're attending an inaugural celebration this time, not a planetary crisis. There's no need to hurry."

"I suppose not," Obi-Wan conceded.

Qui-Gon glanced over his shoulder, pleased to see his Padawan's expression softening from dissatisfaction to resignation and then to a more approriate acceptance. "I'm sure the Jedi Council will be relieved to hear that you concur with their decision."

Obi-Wan dropped his gaze in embarrassment. "I'm sorry, Master. I didn't mean to question the assignment. I'm just . . . a bit puzzled."

Qui-Gon stopped and turned to face the student. "If there is something you don't understand, Padawan, perhaps you should give it closer consideration. Has it occurred to you that there might be a reason for this particular transport assignment?"

"That there might be one, yes," said Obi-Wan with a rueful quirk of his lips. "The reason itself eludes me, however."

"Then use your brain. Why is an ice freighter going to Bristeetst in the first place?"

"Because they need water," Obi-Wan returned promptly. At Qui-Gon's expectant nod, he continued. "Their sun is quite old -- nearly ten billion years, isn't it? Most of the comets in the system have long since burned away or fallen into the sun. There's only the one habitable planet, and it doesn't have enough water to support all the orbital habitats the Bristeen have built. So, they ship the ice in from other Republic systems."

"Very good. And what of the other inhabited systems in the vicinity of Bristeetst?"

Obi-Wan looked blank. Apparently his pre-mission research hadn't gone that far. "Most of them aren't members of the Republic," he said carefully.

"True. What else?"

"Well . . . they're all part of the same star cluster. Oh, I see. All the stars in that cluster are just as old! So none of them have much ice."

"Precisely. Water is a very valuable commodity in the Cordeen cluster. And that means . . ."

"Pirates!" said Obi-Wan with a certain relish.

"Pirates," he agreed, taking note of the younger man's reaction. The satisfaction he sensed was not simply relief at finding the right answer; Obi-Wan had a definite air of anticipation about him. For an apprentice, the young man was extremely good with a lightsaber, and he took great enjoyment in challenges to his skill. Obi-Wan's favorite was a battle against odds that would have been overwhelming for anyone but a Jedi.

Qui-Gon had also seen his apprentice's reaction after a battle, however, and he knew that the boy wasn't truly bloodthirsty. Obi-Wan preferred to cut droids into pieces rather than kill sentient beings. Unfortunately, not all of a Jedi's opponents were wealthy enough to buy battle droids. Ice pirates, being a notably scruffy lot, were more likely to chivvy slaves into battle than to spend money on expensive fighting machines. Qui-Gon saw this realization come to his student, and Obi-Wan's eagerness was dimmed somewhat by a thoughtful frown.

"Pirates," repeated a whistling voice from further down the corridor. They turned to find the ship's captain regarding them with bright eyes under a crest of blue feathers. "The last three ice shipments made it to Bristeetst with less than a tenth of their cargo intact. They were attacked multiple times along the route, usually when they stopped for refueling. One of the ships disappeared altogether -- destroyed or taken, no one knows. This ice is badly needed back home."

Obi-Wan nodded to her solemnly. "We will do our best to ensure that it arrives intact and on time, Captain Ctecteru."

Her ruffled crest smoothed back at this assurance, and she clacked her beak in agreement. Flirting a few tail-feathers toward the half-fledged youngster at her side, she whistled, "My daughter, Satiirsti."

Qui-Gon bowed. "An honor to meet you, young one."

The fledgling whistled and stepped shyly behind her mother.

"If you're looking for your quarters," the captain trilled, "you will find them on the second hall to the right." She extended a feathery limb. "The door is labeled. And now I must excuse myself -- I have a ship to launch."

"Of course we don't wish to keep you from your duties, Captain," said Qui-Gon formally. "Thank you for directing us." He bowed again as she passed them and continued along the corridor.

"Rather blunt for a Bristeen, isn't she?" Obi-Wan murmured.

"By their standards, yes," Qui-Gon agreed. "For a freighter captain, on the other hand, she's astonishingly polite." He led the way along the corridor again, checking the signs on the doors they passed. "You've never piloted a freighter of this type, have you, Padawan?"

There was a pause. "No, Master," Obi-Wan admitted, and clearly audible in his voice was a faint horror that anyone might ever ask him to direct such a lumbering hulk.

Qui-Gon hid a smile as he keyed open the door to the cabin they had been assigned. "Then after you have unpacked our belongings, you should go up to the bridge and start learning the controls. After all, if there is a pirate attack, one of us might have to fly this thing."

"Yes, Master," said Obi-Wan in a stifled tone.

"Be sure to hang our formal robes carefully before you go, though. We mustn't let them wrinkle."

"No, Master. I'm sure the Bristeen would be very distressed by wrinkled robes at their inaugural ceremony."

This time Qui-Gon did smile. "Well, it's natural for an avian race to be concerned with appearances."

Obi-Wan relaxed a little at that, chuckling as he opened Qui-Gon's pack. "You realize, they only requested Jedi to witness their ceremony because they like beings that can fly. Or at least levitate."

"Well, it's good for interplanetary relations if they can find a way to relate to humans," said Qui-Gon mildly. He headed for the door. "I'm going to have a look round, see if there are any good places for us to exercise. After all, we will be on this ship nearly three weeks. Call me if you need me."

"Yes, Master." Obi-Wan sighed and bent to his work, glancing around at the cramped quarters. "Three weeks?" he murmured despairingly.

Qui-Gon pretended he hadn't heard.

Obi-Wan sailed through the air, turning a lazy somersault as he moved. At just the right moment, he straightened his body and reached out one hand to catch the wooden bar he was about to pass beneath. Holding the rough wood lightly to avoid splinters, he let his momentum carry him up and around, then started to fall towards another perch several meters below. Broad leaves slapped gently at his face as he flew by.

Since ice loads were towed outside of the ship and much of the freighter's interior cargo space was unneeded, one of the holds had been made into a recreational area for the crew. Flying being a favorite Bristeen pastime, the hold was fitted out with a faux forest containing various fat "branches" at suitable intervals, with screens of synthetic leaves to give an illusion of privacy and make short flights more interesting. The ship's gravity had been adjusted to barely half of galactic standard, the same as the gravity in the Bristeen orbital habitats. It was a lower gravity even than the Bristeen homeworld where the avians had evolved -- of course, they had lost the capacity for flight in their native gravity around the same time they were evolving intelligence. It was hardly surprising that they had designed their spaceborne homes to allow them to regain the illusion of flight.

When he reached the lower branch, having picked up some speed, Obi-Wan let himself rotate around it two full times before shooting off on a tangent, curled into a tight ball so that he would spin faster. He enjoyed this game quite a bit; he could understand why the Bristeen, with bodies that were almost designed for flight, would find it irresistible. He was looking forward to the inaugural celebration, where he would be responsible for making an exciting visual display while his master did most of the talking. He wondered if Qui-Gon had volunteered for this mission in recognition of his padawan's enjoyment of athletic display in general and acrobatics in particular. Obi-Wan had worked for years to conceal his unseemly tendency towards showmanship, but of course Qui-Gon wouldn't have been fooled.

Obi-Wan caught another branch and changed direction once more, this time spreading arms and legs and letting his loose tunic flap around him, trying out the illusion of wings the maneuver produced. Qui-Gon had granted him permission to spend the morning practicing his moves for the inauguration, since Obi-Wan had already learned all he could about the mechanics and control systems of the ship. They had completed their first refueling stop two days earlier, without incident, and now there was nothing to do but wait for the next time the ship was vulnerable. Wait for a Jedi meant study, and meditate, and exercise. The exercise was Obi-Wan's favorite part.

In this light gravity, it took only a slight Force assist to make impressive leaps, spins, and landings. That was just as well, since they had limited access to the Force at the moment. The ship was in hyperspace, cut off from contact with the rest of the galaxy. The Living Force still pulsed vibrantly in each of the crew and passengers, but there was a limited supply of the ambient Unifying Force available for use -- only what was left over from the ship's last visit to normal space, and the surplus given off by the living beings on board. If Qui-Gon or Obi-Wan should have reason to undertake a major working with the Force, they would need to wait for a return to normal space. Unless, of course, they wanted to turn to the Dark Side and draw directly on the Living Force, sapping the life energy from the crew around them. But Obi-Wan had been taught all his life to resist the reflexive reaching out for that rich energy source. The Living Force was to be heeded as a guide, not drawn upon even in the direst need.

"It's like gathering fuel wood in the forest," one of the Docents had said when Obi-Wan was still in the creche. "If you cut down a single tree and chop it up, that alone would be enough to provide heat for half a season -- but in doing so you would kill the tree and unbalance the ecology of the forest. Instead, you must use deadwood from the forest floor, though it means seeking farther even for a little fuel."

To Obi-Wan, who had lived most of his life at the Temple on urban Coruscant, the analogy had made little sense at the time. But he remembered it, and saw the sense of it many years later, when his missions with Qui-Gon took him to worlds poor in technology.

The branch Obi-Wan was falling toward was an especially rough one that had given him a splinter earlier. He used a breath of Force to reverse his body, and met the branch with his boots, springing off with a push that would take him up to the top of the hold.

He had performed gymnastic exercises similar to these at the Temple, in the heavier gravity of Coruscant. He never did them alone there, but made sure he had a partner or a spotter each time. He hadn't dared to do it alone since the time early in his apprenticeship when he had fallen and broken his wrist.

He grinned wryly as he recalled how Qui-Gon had discovered the injury even though he tried to hide it. He'd been so proud of himself for healing the wrist on his own, and doing such a thorough job that it only twinged a little if he turned it this way or that. But he found it hard to avoid turning the wrist in the course of everyday motion, and Qui-Gon had noticed his tiny flinch as he was cutting his food at the evening meal.

"What did you do to your hand?" Qui-Gon asked, holding out his own hand imperatively.

Obi-Wan extended his arm without reluctance. "It's my wrist. I fell a bit hard in the salle earlier. But I already healed it almost completely." He watched while his master inspected his handiwork with eyes, fingers, and Force.

Qui-Gon stood up. "Come, Padawan. We need to visit the healers."

Obi-Wan looked down at his plate. Even if he hadn't entirely finished the healing on his own, it was hardly a life-threatening injury. "Can't I finish my dinner first?"

Qui-Gon gave him a faintly exasperated look. "They'll have to re-break that wrist for you. Do you want that done on a full stomach?"

Obi-Wan swallowed and pushed the plate away from him.

Qui-Gon delivered a lecture on their way to the healers' wing of the Temple. "You must realize, Padawan, that there is more to healing a wound than simply pouring the Force into it. The chemical and cellular components of healing -- what the body would naturally carry out on its own -- those can be accelerated by a judicious application of Force. Even the processes of fighting infection can be helped along that way. But there is also a mechanical aspect to healing, which must be attended to first. Setting a bone is one example; reconnecting severed nerves and blood vessels in the case of a deep cut or saber wound is another. By not ensuring that the bones were aligned properly, you caused them to heal in the wrong position, and you compounded that error when you used the Force to speed the healing. This is why initiates and padawans are not to attempt self-healing without the guidance of a healer or at least a master. Not until you've had the seminar on battlefield healing techniques, in any case."

Obi-Wan grimaced. "That course was offered the last time we were here at the Temple, but I didn't have a chance to attend it between missions."

"Perhaps I should have made time." Qui-Gon sighed. "I can ask one of the healers to instruct you in some of the basics, anyway. I trust this will prove a valuable lesson to you in the future."

Years later, dancing from branch to branch in a vaulted cargo hold, Obi-Wan remembered the incident and smiled. He had gotten his lessons in battlefield healing, and they had proven invaluable on more than one occasion. He still wasn't as skilled as Qui-Gon at some of the finer techniques, but --

The ship groaned around him, and the branch he was reaching for shifted out of his way with a shudder.

Obi-Wan realized at once that something had jarred the ship; he, being airborne, had simply continued on his original path while the rest of the ship moved around him. He let himself float down through the leaves toward the floor of the cargo hold, using the Force to slow his fall until he could land lightly, poised for trouble.

He felt the familiar blurring in the Force and the sudden snap back into focus that came with a return to normal space. But they had already completed their first refueling two days ago and weren't scheduled for another stop for five more days. Why had they dropped out of hyperspace between star systems?

Then he heard and felt a series of sharp clangs through the ship's hull. A whining, grating sound was followed by an explosive bang, and a slight change in pressure troubled his eardrums.

They were being boarded -- by way of a hole cut in the hull rather than a proper airlock. It could only mean one thing: pirates.

Obi-Wan hurried out of the cargo hold, reaching out instinctively through the Force. His telepathic skills weren't entirely reliable -- when calm, he could usually get it right, but when he tensed up his messages sometimes got weaker and sometimes stronger. So he merely sent an interrogative pulse along the bond he shared with his master. The answer he received was immediate: an impression that Qui-Gon was engaged in fighting, and the clear command Get to the bridge. Repel boarders.

He ran easily down the freighter's long corridors, his strides long and bounding in the low gravity. He kept his lightsaber in hand but not lit -- until a blaster bolt came winging out at him as he crossed a side-passage. In an instant his blade was activated, and the bolt returned to its sender. A raw, high-pitched squeal told him that at least some of the pirates were Gamorrean.

More fire came at him from three or four different attackers in concealed positions. He worked his way down the side corridor, returning the bolts as nearly as he could to their sources -- if possible, he preferred to render their blasters useless rather than hitting actual people. But more squeals filled the narrow corridor as his return strikes injured hands and arms. Only one Gamorrean was still firing, with a blaster in each hand, when Obi-Wan reached their position. He cut one blaster in half and lopped off part of a hand with the other one.

Glancing around, he saw no attackers remaining in any shape to fight, so he started to backpedal down the corridor. Muffled sounds indicated fighting elsewhere on the ship, and a tendril of thought extended toward Qui-Gon told him the older Jedi was extremely preoccupied at the moment. Obi-Wan turned and started to run again.

But if the Gamorreans he had just encountered no longer had any working blasters, they were not entirely weaponless. A flicker of danger-sense warned him in time to dodge a shock grenade aimed at his head. He freed one hand from his saber and gestured, using the physical motion to guide his Force-push as he caught the grenade and sent it flying back where it had come from. He was around the corner before it went off.

His ears stunned by the compression wave from the grenade, he almost didn't make out the muted sound of another explosion elsewhere on the ship. It was only when the blast door at the end of the corridor slammed down in the blink of an eye, cutting him off, that Obi- Wan realized someone on the ship was using real explosives -- the kind that could cause real damage to the ship instead of merely stunning people as shock grenades would. Fire warnings began to toll down the hallways.

Obi-Wan had to stop at the blast door and open the control panel in order to tap in the all-clear, feeling grateful that Qui-Gon had made him learn all the ship's control sequences. On the other side of the door, he paused long enough to close it behind him before jogging along to the next blast door. There should only be two more between this position and the bridge, he calculated as he pried at the cover for the control panel.

In the next corridor, he found Qui-Gon with two of the crew bearing blasters. The master spun around to face Obi-Wan's approach, frowning intently above his green blade. His robe, which he hadn't taken the time to shed, was scored on the sleeve by blaster fire. But he relaxed and extinguished his saber as he recognized his apprentice.

"I'm not late for the party, am I?" Obi-Wan said cheerfully as he studied the collection of dead and injured Gamorreans littering the area.

"It's not over yet," Qui-Gon returned grimly. "We've got to get to the bridge. They're trying to take control of the ship. These brigands won't be content with carving a few chunks off the cargo -- they want the whole thing."

"How did they bring us out of hyperspace?" Obi-Wan asked as they started down the penultimate stretch to the bridge, the avian crewmembers following nervously at their backs.

"Towed a small asteroid into our path, I expect," Qui-Gon said, pausing to work on the controls for the next set of blast doors. "It would be easy enough to predict our route, and if they picked something with just the right mass they wouldn't have to worry about disrupting other shipping -- this ice freighter is the biggest thing likely to come this way."

Of course! The freighter's own mass made it more sensitive to gravity wells; it was one reason why large freighters always had the most expensive navi-computers and updated them at every stop. And this particular ship, with its long tail of enormous ice chunks harvested from some system's outer moons, was especially vulnerable. Asteroids that a small courier ship or luxury liner might fly past unnoticing were enough to pull this behemoth right out of hyperspace.

Having passed and re-closed the blast doors, Qui-Gon paused just outside of the crew's mess hall. His head tilted as if he were listening for something. Obi-Wan could hear nothing, and rubbed at his ears, wondering if he was still a little deafened by that shock grenade.

"Don't you feel it?" Qui-Gon asked. "They're right beneath us."

Obi-Wan had lost track of the Living Force again, but when he opened his senses it was clear: a large group of angry life-forms in the corridor directly below. "What should we do?"

"You go on to the bridge. I'll circle around behind them, and we can trap them between us." Qui-Gon lit his saber and turned back down the corridor, but at that moment a small figure darted out of the mess-hall doorway and hurried toward the last set of blast doors protecting the bridge. "Satiirsti!" Qui-Gon yelled. "Get back here! It's not safe."

The youngster paid no attention, obviously terrified and determined to reach her mother. Qui-Gon started after her.

Obi-Wan's danger sense was peaking again. "Master, wait!" He concentrated briefly on the pirates below them, and realized with alarm that they were retreating in a hurry after they had gathered in a huddle just . . . about . . .

"Qui-Gon, get down!" Obi-Wan shouted as he felt the explosion about to happen. His master couldn't fail to feel it also, but kept after the little Bristeen girl. At the last moment, Qui-Gon grabbed her and swung her behind him, starting to drop down --

Gouts of flame and shrapnel burst upward as the pirates' explosives went off. Obi-Wan was thrown back, trying to protect the crewmembers behind him as he sprawled awkwardly on the deck.

After the explosion, Obi-Wan opened his eyes to darkness. For a moment, he thought he'd been blinded -- then he realized he could still see the emergency lights at the end of the hall flashing a red fire warning. Some of the power conduits for this corridor must have been interrupted by the explosion.

"Master?" He groped around for his lightsaber. "Qui-Gon?" There -- the red lights gleamed off a cylinder amid the debris just in front of him. He could make out Qui-Gon's crumpled form a few meters short of the new hole in the decking. And he could just barely discern the blunt-snouted head that poked up through that new hole.

"Get back!" Obi-Wan growled menacingly as he scooped up the lightsaber and rushed the pirate. But the hilt felt wrong in his hand, too large and too smooth, and it didn't ignite when he told it to . . .

It was Qui-Gon's lightsaber. Obi-Wan had held it before, and his master had shown him the sequence needed to activate it. He had only to press the button and shift an internal switch with the Force, like so . . . . He hesitated, turning to look behind him for his own saber. He couldn't use Qui-Gon's weapon!

But the Gamorrean had seen him coming and was raising a blaster in his direction. Obi-Wan dodged the first shot and ignited the green blade instinctively, intercepting the second bolt. The Gamorrean took her own returned fire directly in the face, and fell back through the hole with a shriek.

But there were more behind the first one. And Qui-Gon was lying helpless on the deck, unresponsive to a quick mind touch. His master was still alive, Obi-Wan knew that much, but he couldn't be sure of the extent of the older man's injuries. He had no intention of leaving his master alone among the enemy.

So he fought. Standing over Qui-Gon's body, in darkness lit only by red warning lights and a green saber, Obi-Wan held the breached corridor against all comers.

The blade was too long for him, and not balanced for his hand; he almost took off his own kneecap as he swung downwards at a pirate trying to come up through the hole. He forced himself to breathe, stay calm, feel the Force flowing through him -- and his master's saber grew easier to manage.

After he had lopped weapons and body parts off the first four who tried to make it up to his level, the Gamorreans retreated a little. Before they could try another approach, however, blaster fire on their own level drove them back in Obi-Wan's direction. He realized that the crewmembers caught in the explosion with him must have circled back around, as Qui-Gon had been planning to do. Now they had the pirates trapped between them, and all they had to do was wait for the attackers to realize their position was hopeless.

It took a little more than that, of course; Gamorreans were not quite so stupid as popular opinion made them out to be, but they despised the concept of surrender. They made two further attempts to rush Obi-Wan or bring him down with massed blaster fire, until there were none of them left armed and unwounded. At last, a party of avian crewmembers swarmed them and took them prisoner.

Obi-Wan stepped back from the hole and listened carefully. There was no sound of further fighting elsewhere, and the automated fire warnings had stopped. The pirate attack had been turned back.

Only then was Obi-Wan able to turn and assess his master's injuries. Satiirsti was pinned beneath the Jedi master, face half-covered by the brown cloak. From her indignant whistles as she tried to pry the heavy body off her, Obi-Wan concluded that she wasn't seriously hurt.

The pool of blood spreading beneath Qui-Gon's form was another matter. Black and oily-looking in the light from the saber, it appeared to be coming from Qui-Gon's head.

Obi-Wan drew a deep breath, centering and calming himself. He let the beeps and hisses of the medical bay recede from his mind. Then, exhaling slowly, he reached out with the Force and carefully pulled on the fragments of skull that were pressing in on Qui-Gon's brain. Three segments as big as his thumb and many smaller splinters shifted under his gentle mind-touch. He closed his eyes, unable to bear the sight of bones traveling under Qui-Gon's battered skin. The pieces would not quite mesh into place; he didn't have the perfect control that was needed to move tiny objects so precisely. But he could feel the pressure easing as he pulled the fragments away to something approximating a normal position.

As he released his control and began to breathe normally again, Obi-Wan extended his senses to the fragile tissues beneath the damaged area of Qui-Gon's forehead. The soft layers seemed to be intact, though bruised and somewhat displaced by the trauma from the large chunk of decking that had ripped into the left side of Qui-Gon's face as he tried to turn away from the explosion.

On the opposite side of the medical pallet, a droid whirred a scanner across the Jedi master's head. "Remarkable," it droned. "I didn't realize such a thing was possible without surgery or micro-tractors."

"Did that help?" Obi-Wan asked, a little shakily.

"Oh, yes. The intracranial pressure is already decreasing. There's still some excess fluid in the affected area, but I've ensured that it will drain soon. He should regain consciousness within a few hours. Are you certain I shouldn't be giving him anything for pain? My data on human physiology --"

"I'm sure they're very extensive, TM40," Obi-Wan interrupted, "but it's different for a Jedi. Master Qui-Gon and I will deal with the pain when he awakens." He rubbed at his own eyes. "You've never worked with Jedi before, I take it."

"Correct. Neither as a patient or an assistant. I wish I had time to learn more about your methods, if this is an example. Can you do the same with the bone fragments in the rest of his face?"

Obi-Wan shook his head, forcing himself to look unflinchingly at Qui-Gon's shattered brow and cheekbone. "The pieces are too small, and there are so many of them. My control isn't that good. Qui-Gon might be able to do it himself, but it would take a great deal of time and . . . concentration." And Force, which wouldn't be available once they were in hyperspace again. Obi-Wan frowned.

"I see. Unfortunately, I do not have the tools required for such fine surgery, either. And I must see to my other patients, now that your friend's condition is stable."

Obi-Wan stared at the droid incredulously. "You mean that's all you're going to do for him?"

The droid bowed its head slightly. "I have eased the pressure on his brain, removed several pieces of shrapnel, sealed the worst of his lacerations, and taken precautions against infection -- that is all I can do at this time without neglecting my other patients. The only serious danger that remains is to his eye."

"His eye -- you mean he might go blind?" Obi-Wan was appalled. He should have guessed, seeing the rest of the damage in that area, but he'd been so relieved to find Qui-Gon's eyelid and eyeball intact that he hadn't investigated further.

"He is already blind in that eye, since the nerves have been severed. They can be reattached by any reputable surgeon at our next stop, along with the reconstruction of the rest of your friend's face. However, many of the blood vessels that feed the eye were also compromised. If the tissue begins to die, the eye will have to be removed. But there is still the possibility of regeneration or prosthesis."

Regeneration, which took months -- or a prosthetic, which all Jedi disdained because it could disrupt the connection with the Force. "Is this likely to happen within the next few days?" Obi-Wan asked. Five days until they reached their next stop -- longer, given that the lumbering freighter still had to get up to speed before entering hyperspace. And they hadn't even started moving yet!

"It's possible. I will have to check the eye regularly for necrosis. Excuse me now -- crewman Trecteeks is in need of my attention."

Obi-Wan dropped his head onto the edge of Qui-Gon's pallet, groping blindly for his master's still hand. Not for the first time, he cursed the lack of a bacta tank in this medical bay -- though it would have been an absurd expense, considering that the freighter carried a crew of no more than thirty. It would certainly have come in useful on this occasion, however, and not only for Qui-Gon's sake; three of the Bristeen crew had been injured in the attack, although none so severely as the Jedi. The ship's medical droid was apparently also from the low end of the cost scale, if it didn't have micro-tractors suited for fine surgincal repair.

And it would be the better part of a week before they reached civilization again. Unless . . . Obi-Wan considered going to the captain. He could ask her to drop the cargo. Without the millions of tons of ice towed behind, the freighter could probably make the nearest system in a day or two. He could tell her that Qui-Gon would die if he didn't get proper treatment soon.

But that would be a lie. Qui-Gon's life was no longer in danger -- only his vision, and his good looks. And that cargo of ice, after all, was what the Jedi were supposed to be protecting. It was badly needed at Bristeetst. Qui-Gon would no doubt call it vanity to abandon such a precious cargo for the sake of avoiding a few scars. He might even prefer to keep those scars as a reminder of this mission, just as Master Piell had done.

Shuddering at the thought, Obi-Wan threw his senses into his master's body once again, trying to trace the damage the droid had described. He realized quickly that fragments of the shattered cheekbone had pushed up behind the eye and had in fact punctured the rear portions of the eyeball. The severed nerve bundle was glaringly obvious. Obi-Wan might even be able to reattach the nerve himself, with some hours of deep-trance work. But he grew lost when he tried to follow the myriad tiny blood vessels that fed the eye with life. He could sense that many of them were closed and dying, but exactly where the damage had been done was unclear. There were too many cuts, displaced shards of bone, and swollen tissues throughout the entire area; Obi-Wan would never be able to fix all of it.

He opened his eyes and brushed a finger down the undamaged right half of Qui-Gon's face, trying to ignore the livid bruises and cuts on the disfigured other half. He could feel consciousness barely beginning to return, a stirring along their bond. Shunting his worst fears off to a corner of his mind, he reached out to his master.

Qui-Gon wandered in a vague world of smoke and darkness lit only by flashing red lights. He turned as Obi-Wan entered the dream, smiling in relief. His face in the dream-world was whole and clean, making Obi-Wan's heart ache. "Obi-Wan, good. I'm looking for the way back to --"

"It's all right, Master. You don't need to worry about it yet. Stay here a while longer."

"The pirates . . ."

"All killed or captured. The attack was beaten off. The ship is safe, Satiirsti is safe, I am unhurt. Your injuries were the worst; we are trying to deal with them now. You're better off staying asleep for the moment."

Qui-Gon's eyebrows went up with curiosity, but he didn't ask about the extent of his injuries. "Should I start a healing trance?"

"Not just yet. Rest and gather your strength. I'll be there when you wake."

Qui-Gon's mouth quirked. "Whatever you say, Padawan." He settled to the misty ground in a posture of meditation. "But I will be expecting an explanation."

"Yes, Master. Just rest for now." Obi-Wan let himself fade out of the dream, returning to the medbay only to find himself sitting uselessly with Qui-Gon's hand in his own.

He would have liked to ease his master into a healing trance, letting the Force soothe his pains -- but as Qui-Gon had taken such care to teach him years before, the mechanical healing had to come first. And mechanically, Qui-Gon's face was far from intact. Starting the healing process now would only set the scars and misshapen bones as they were, and the crushed blood vessels feeding the eye would atrophy away. Somehow those had to be fixed before Qui-Gon could begin his recovery. Obi-Wan wasn't sure how much good he could do before Qui-Gon awoke, but he had to try. He reached out, gathering the Force around him --

And the ship lurched. There was a brief honk from a decompression alarm, quickly silenced. The freighter's sublight engines began to throb.

They were on the move. Soon enough they would be in hyperspace again, and Obi-Wan would have no chance to use the Force. It wasn't enough time.

Frowning, Obi-Wan stood up. He hesitated a moment, then brushed a kiss onto an uninjured patch of Qui-Gon's forehead. Turning resolutely, he left the medbay and headed for the bridge.

On the short walk from the medbay to the bridge, Obi-Wan noticed that the blast doors had slammed down again when the decompression warning came through. Crewmembers were opening them and leaving them open, so the danger must be over. Obi-Wan nodded at the Bristeen who were busy sealing a new plate over the hole in the decking, and they flattened their crests at him in respect.

He was glad to find the ship's captain on the bridge, since that meant there were no emergencies elsewhere. He stood back and waited while she discussed something with her pilot, but she turned to him as soon as she noticed his presence.

"Jedi Kenobi!" she whistled. "I must thank you and your master for saving my ship. The pirates sent in three boarding parties by different routes, and you stopped all of them."

Obi-Wan bowed. "No need to thank us, Captain Ctecteru. It was our duty and the will of the Force. Tell me, is your daughter feeling better?"

The captain cocked her head to one side and then the other, a gesture that always looked vaguely like 'No' to Obi-Wan but was really the Bristeen equivalent of a shrug. "She's still frightened, but not badly hurt. There is a hairline fracture in her shoulder -- nothing serious." Fractures were commonplace and easily healed for the light-boned avians. "Master Jinn saved her from being badly injured or killed. I hope he will recover?"

"He will, but the healing will be difficult. The left side of his face was badly injured."

The captain closed her eyes and ducked her head to one side in horrified denial. "Terrible, terrible. Are you saying he will be . . . asymmetrical?"

Symmetry was vitally important in the Bristeen sense of aesthetics. There were jokes, of the funny-because-they're-almost-true variety, about Bristeen carefully counting the feathers on each arm and plucking out any that didn't match.

"He might be able to heal completely," Obi-Wan said slowly, "if we have the opportunity to work within the Force." He marshaled his arguments carefully, looking for the best way to lead up to asking that they delay the return to hyperspace. "I noticed the decompression warning. Does that mean we're on our way again?"

"Hmmm, yes -- we sealed the hole the pirates cut through the hull, but there was a small leak we didn't discover until the ships moved apart. All patched up now."

A new thought occurred to Obi-Wan and he was diverted momentarily from his request. "Have you decided what to do with the prisoners?"

"Well, as you know, we have no facilities for keeping them secure. We returned them to their own ship and disabled the engines."

"And you're just leaving them there, in interstellar space?" Obi-Wan was appalled.

"Oh, we'll tell the authorities when we reach the fueling station at Borritt. They can return to these coordinates, pick up the pirates, and tow that asteroid out of the shipping lanes."

Obi-Wan sighed in relief and prepared to return to his own concerns.

"Of course," the captain continued, "we didn't tell the pirates we'd be sending anyone back for them . . ." She let out a long, warbling chuckle, which was echoed by the pilot.

Obi-Wan grimaced at the thought of a ship full of injured Gamorreans, all thinking they had been abandoned in the middle of nowhere with limited supplies. How many would kill themselves or each other before the authorities showed up, in six or seven days? "Call them," he said shortly. "Tell them someone will be returning soon."

"We can't call them," the pirate whistled cheerfully. "We disabled their communications as well."

The captain clacked her beak. "We don't want them calling in more of their thieving friends to save them," she explained.

Obi-Wan took a deep breath, preparing to use the Force for mind control if he had to. "In that case, you'll have to turn back."

The captain's crest ruffled. "We can't do that."

"You can't just leave them there thinking they're about to die slow deaths! Some of them are badly hurt."

"They're hurt because they attacked my ship." The captain's voice was brassy, as close to a low growl as a Bristeen could get. "They deserve a few days of fear, not to mention a few years in the mines on Kessel." She paused and visibly calmed herself, lowering her crest a little. "In any case, we can't afford the time it would take to go back. We're already more than twelve hours behind schedule. If we arrive late at Borritt by a full standard day, we'll lose our place in the fuel queue. We could easily be delayed by another three or four days after that, which would affect our next re-fueling stop as well."

Obi-Wan went very still. "I see." A day's delay in their arrival at Bristeetst was no great matter, but five or ten days would make them late for the inaugural celebration. And this water was badly needed.

He closed his eyes and reached out to the Force for guidance. He felt no great presentiment of tragedy, despite the jagged dregs of fear emanating from all over the freighter. Distantly, behind them, he could sense the other ship. Distress was evident, and spikes of pain, but there was no apparent desparation. Someone was in charge, maintaining organization among the Gamorreans. Perhaps they would be all right for a week on their own. Obi-Wan relaxed and opened his eyes, giving the captain a tight smile.

But he couldn't bring up his own request now. He had been about to ask the captain to hold off their entry into hyperspace by a day or so -- but apparently that would be unacceptable. A delay of one day now would become many days before the end of this voyage, which would affect the Jedi's primary mission to attend the inauguration. Qui-Gon would never agree to that.

"When are we due to enter hyperspace?" he asked instead.

"We'll be up to speed in half an hour," the pilot answered. "Just over five days to Borritt, if we push the engines."

Half an hour was hardly more useful to him than no time at all; he wouldn't be able to make much progress in healing Qui-Gon before they were in hyperspace, cut off from the Unifying Force. Only the Living Force of the crew would be available, and they couldn't draw upon it even if they got willing volunteers. The Jedi could legitimately use their own Living Force without danger of turning to the Dark, but to expend their life energy in the service of healing would be self-defeating.

The idea sprang full-blown into Obi-Wan's head. It could work. But how would he ever persuade Qui-Gon?

"Captain." A crewmember had entered the bridge while Obi-Wan was occupied in thought. She bobbed her head at a point midway between him and the captain. "I thought Jedi Kenobi might like to see our new acquisition." She clacked her beak eagerly.

It was the crewwoman who had shown him around the ship's propulsion system and most of the lower decks. Eriskiett was the name he dredged up from the corner of his memory where he had learned to put such things so they wouldn't be lost. She appeared to like him; he wasn't certain whether her aggressive sociability was a personality trait or a form of flirtation.

"Acquisition?" he asked.

"Something we borrowed from the pirates." The captain did her head-tilt shrug once more. "Go ahead and show him, Eriskiett. Unless you had something else to ask me?" She turned back to Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan gave up his plans of asking her to slow the ship down. "No, I simply wanted to make sure everything is well with the ship," he said. "I should be returning to Master Qui-Gon soon -- that is, after I see whatever Eriskiett wishes to show me." He smiled at the engineer and she ducked her head shyly.

"If there is anything I can do to aid in your master's healing, I hope you will tell me."

'Stay in normal space!' was on Obi-Wan's lips, but all he said was, "Of course." He had his new idea to consider, in any case. Bowing, he followed Eriskiett from the bridge.

The crew in the corridor had finished sealing over the hole blown by the pirates. The lights were back on and the corridor swept clean of debris, but he could still make out a faint stain where Qui-Gon had fallen. With an inward shudder, Obi-Wan stepped around the spot, feeling the lightsabers on his belt sway with the movement. The extra weight of his master's saber hung uncomfortably on his right hip, and he felt another twinge of guilt that he had used it without permission. He was certain Qui-Gon would understand, but he looked forward to returning the saber to its rightful owner as soon as possible. Something about the feel of that hilt in his hand made him . . . uneasy.

Eriskiett was leading him toward the back of the ship and the unused cargo holds, and she apparently had no intention of speaking or letting slip any hint about what she was going to show him. Obi-Wan used the silence as an opportunity to consider what persuasions he might use with Qui-Gon.

There was the matter of the Bristeen sense of aesthetics. Qui-Gon would be unable to carry out a diplomatic mission on Bristeetst if half his face was badly damaged. He wouldn't even be able to go out in public without giving offense to any Bristeen who saw him. Of course, their mission was a simple one that Obi-Wan could easily cover by himself, but that particular argument might hold some weight with Qui-Gon.

Obi-Wan could also tactfully emphasize the unpleasant choice between regeneration and prosthetics if Qui-Gon lost his eye. The older Jedi would never agree to an artificial eye, but he wouldn't want to be away from the field for the months it would take to regenerate, either. That could be a telling point, so long as Qui-Gon didn't decide he'd be willing to function with one eye rather than take Obi-Wan's recommendation.

Eriskiett interrupted Obi-Wan's musings with a two-tone whistle as she palmed the lock on a cargo bay door. Obi-Wan stepped inside as the lights came up and paused in mid-stride.

It was a fighter. A small two-person Kestrel-8F starfighter, with blunt nose and swept-back wings, rated for atmosphere or space maneuvering. "This must have been a Bristeen ship originally," Obi-Wan mused, walking slowly around the vehicle and ducking his head to check the rotating gun mount on the belly. Bristeen aero-designers were noted for their fine work and attention to detail, and their ships were prized although expensive.

Eriskiett clacked agreement. "It was stolen from another ice convoy, about a year ago. They altered the controls, though, and repainted it."

The paint job was fairly obvious; no Bristeen artist would have combined swamp-green and shell-pink in such a way, almost obscuring the feather-tracery etched into the durasteel wings. Obi-Wan braced a foot on the wing and hoisted himself up to see into the cockpit, nodding as he saw the alterations that had been made. Both seats had been moved back and down to provide enough head-room for Gamorrean pilots, at the expense of some padding. A Bristeen pilot would have trouble reaching the controls now; even Obi-Wan would be too small in that cockpit. He could probably manage the foot-controls, he judged, but his head would barely come up above the console. And the helmets on the backs of the seats were useless for either Bristeen or human operators.

"Are you going to reclaim it, then?" Obi-Wan asked. He would have enjoyed helping with such a project, if he weren't so concerned about his master.

"Not until we get back home," Eriskiett admitted sadly. "We have too many repairs on our own ship. And this one's sensor net took a hit in some fight not too long ago; it will take a while to repair that." She waved a feathery hand at the scoring near the little fighter's nose. "But this bird will fly again one day, and fight off pirates the way she was meant to." Eriskiett made a preening motion toward her shoulder, clearly proud that this lost fledgling would soon be returned to the nest.

"Well, if you change your mind about fixing it, let me know." Obi-Wan gave the fighter one last glance as he turned away. Perhaps after Qui-Gon was healed -- or refused to go along with Obi-Wan's plan for healing him -- then he could get involved. "I should really be getting back to Qui-Gon now. But thank you for showing me this. You were quite right that I'd be interested." He smiled at Eriskiett, earning another shy head-bob from her. He did hope it was her personality and not some desperate crush she had on him, since his own affections were directed elsewhere and not likely to change.

Dismissing himself with a polite wave, he started back to the medical bay. As he walked the freighter's long corridors, he felt and heard the change in engine speed that preceded a jump to hyperspace. Moments later, the Force blurred and dimmed around him. It was like wearing earplugs, or being wrapped in a thickly-padded jacket that blocked almost all feeling. The sensation was not precisely unpleasant, but Obi-Wan always felt somehow diminished as a Jedi when he was in hyperspace, disconnected from the energy that pulsed throughout the galaxy.

Obi-Wan settled by Qui-Gon's medical pallet, checking the dressings over his master's face and straightening the thermal sheet across the still form. He slipped the older man's hand out from under the sheet so that he could hold it in his own. As he waited for the right moment to awaken Qui-Gon, the two of them created a picture of outward calm. Inside, Obi-Wan's mind was whirling with plans and memories.

When Obi-Wan had been apprenticed to Qui-Gon for a little over a year, they went on a mission to Alderaan -- a mission that Obi-Wan privately considered useless and boring. They were acting as couriers for some documents from the Supreme Chancellor to the Senator of Alderaan, who was currently on her home planet because the Senate was not in session. Certainly the documents were important, but they were not in any unusual risk of being stolen; any responsible courier could have handled them. Two Jedi were hardly needed.

What Obi-Wan didn't find out until several years later was that they had really been sent to Alderaan as a possible stepping-off point for a much more dangerous mission to Rhunir. They were only waiting for the Rhun to make an official request to the Council for Jedi intervention, and then they could make the journey in a much shorter time than if they had started from Coruscant. Instead, the Rhun decided they would much rather continue killing each other for a while longer, and Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan didn't travel to Rhun until another two years had passed and the exhausted combatants were ready for a truce.

In the meantime, unaware of the potentially dangerous mission, Obi-Wan found himself at loose ends on Alderaan, with his master couseling patience any time he complained. Obi-Wan preferred planets with more action and less culture. His only consolation was the Senator's youngest son, who was twenty-two Alderaanian years old -- or, in Coruscant terms, Obi-Wan's senior by just over a year. Fellist was sufficiently fascinated with all things Jedi that he was happy to pass time with a younger boy. And it soon became obvious that he hoped to learn more from Obi-Wan than obscure facts about life at the Temple.

For his part, Obi-Wan was quite certain that he didn't want his first sexual experience to be with Fellist Vaar. He was hoping for a first partner who was a little older and more experienced. But Fellist was a handsome and charming boy, with olive skin and blue-black hair and enormous dark eyes. Obi-Wan decided he would enjoy this opportunity to look openly at another human with desire in his eyes, to practice the mysterious art of flirtation, and even to steal a few kisses in the lower-level laundry where only droids could see them.

Of course, the fact that only droids could see didn't mean that only droids would know. When Obi-Wan returned with tingling lips to the rooms set aside for them in the Senator's mansion, he found Qui-Gon waiting in the common room. "We must talk, Padawan."

Obi-Wan sighed. "It's nothing serious, Master. We were just playing around. Experimenting."

Qui-Gon's raised brow was eloquent of doubt. "Obi-Wan, do you know the legal age of consent on Alderaan?"

"Er . . . no?"

"Twenty-five."

So Fellist still had two and a half Alderaanian years to go. Poor fellow.

"Do you know the age of consent on Coruscant?"

That was even older. "Eighteen. But Master, it's ridiculous! No one waits --"

"You must always know the law and respect it, Padawan, even if it is sometimes necessary to break it."

"Yes, Master. But we weren't going to break the law, really! I'm not ready to go all the way yet. And I wouldn't do anything that might offend the Senator."

Qui-Gon gave him a piercing assessment from under hooded brows. He had to know his padawan was telling the truth. Obi-Wan sometimes wondered if it was because of Xanatos that Qui-Gon seemed so suspicious of him all the time. He tried to be patient with his master, but he hadn't been doing anything wrong this time!

At last Qui-Gon relaxed back into his seat. "Well, that sounds more like the sensible Padawan I thought I knew."

Obi-Wan smiled in relief. Someday, his master would learn that he wasn't like Xanatos.

"But we still need to talk. Sit down, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan sat across from his master and tried to look attentive, since Qui-Gon always disapproved of any sign of impatience. But Obi-Wan had a feeling he already knew what this talk would be about.

"I know you missed many of the initiate classes when you were ten and eleven," Qui-Gon began, referring to an injury that had set Obi-Wan's training back by a year and a half, so that he almost wasn't chosen as a padawan at all.

"They assigned me to a new class with younger students," Obi-Wan explained. "I did attend the lectures on sexuality, Master."

A sharp look from Qui-Gon informed the apprentice that he was coming close to revealing impatience. "I'm concerned that you may have missed one lecture in particular," he said. He paused, evidently considering the most delicate way to continue.

Obi-Wan sighed once more. He tried not to be sarcastic with Qui-Gon, but it was hard sometimes, especially when his master acted as if he still belonged in the creche. It was obvious that someone was going to have to be blunt in this conversation, and it was apparently not going to be Qui-Gon. "Master, I am familiar with issues of reproduction, contraception, lubrication, and disease transmission. I also know about obtaining assurances of consent and taking responsibility for mutual pleasure. And I've read about common sex toys, games of dominance and submission, threesomes, orgies --"

Qui-Gon stiffened. "Surely they don't cover all that with the initiates," he objected.

"No, Master, but Coruscant has an extensive infonet."

Qui-Gon frowned. "Some of the information on the net is erroneous, you know."

"Master, I'm fourteen. I think I can tell the difference between a rumor site and a public information site."

"Padawan." Spoken ominously.

Obi-Wan winced. Perhaps he'd been a little too heavy on the irony, there. "Sorry, Master. I just mean to say that I know about all that stuff already. We don't need to discuss it if it makes you uncomfortable."

Qui-Gon made a small huffing sound, and Obi-Wan realized there was amusement at the back of his master's eyes. "There is more to sex than toys and games, Padawan. Did you ever attend the lecture on sex specifically among the Jedi?"

Obi-Wan drew a blank there. Why would sex be any different for the Jedi than for the Force-blind? "I suppose I did miss that one," he admitted.

"Ah. Well, then, perhaps you have noticed . . . I assume you engage in self-pleasure, Obi-Wan?"

Obi-Wan felt his face starting to heat up. Discussing sex was one thing, but this was getting personal! "Yes, Master." He studied the plush carpet beneath his boots.

"Good. Have you noticed a change in the Force when you become excited, then?"

Obi-Wan's eyes snapped up in surprise. "Er, no. In the Living Force?" He was always forgetting to pay proper attention there.

"In your own Living Force. Sexual arousal and release can cause a powerful buildup of energy in Force-sensitives."

"No, I never noticed." But now that he thought of it, there was the way he kept getting little shocks of energy when he went to the 'fresher afterwards to clean up. And there was that time . . . "Oh."

"Yes, Padawan?"

Now Obi-Wan's face was truly burning. "Remember last month on Malastare when the assassins came into our suite at night?"

"And you stopped all of them before they even reached my door? Yes, I recall." Qui-Gon studied his apprentice closely. "I see. Did they interrupt something, then?"

Obi-Wan shrugged, acutely embarrassed. "I was just getting started. But I've never felt so connected to the Force during a fight."

"That is what sexual excitement normally does to a Force-sensitive. The effect tends to be stronger in sex with a partner."

Obi-Wan's eyes widened. "Is it . . . harmful?"

"No, not at all. At least, not to us. You must be careful what you do with the extra Force, however -- especially if your sexual partner is Force-blind."

"What do you do with it?"

"There are several options, depending on your strength and level of control. You can absorb the energy into yourself -- this is probably what you've been doing so far on your own. It results in a stronger connection to the Force afterwards, although there can be some . . . uncomfortable effects."

Obi-Wan nodded, remembering the little shocks he had received. If it truly was stronger after sex with a partner, he would start to develop a phobia of running water!

"If your partner is also Force-sensitive, he or she can absorb some of the energy as well. Or you can dissipate it elsewhere."

"You mean, levitate something during sex? Like that?"

Qui-Gon smiled. "Few people have the mental control for levitation under such circumstances. But something simple, such as raising the room temperature a few degrees, will easily dissipate the excess energy."

"Oh. And making it warmer is probably nice if you have to be naked anyway," Obi-Wan mused.

"But you must be careful not to channel the energy into living things." Qui-Gon looked stern. "Especially -- and this is most important, Padawan -- never direct the excess into a Force-blind partner. It's true this can enhance your partner's pleasure, and because of that, you might find some people who will ask you to do so. There are even beings who will deliberately seduce Jedi in hopes of just such an experience. But channeling excess Force into a partner unable to handle it is unethical and can have dangerous side effects for your partner."

Obi-Wan swallowed. "What sort of side effects?"

"Exhaustion and immune suppression are the most common, but in extreme cases it can lead to premature aging." Qui-Gon looked at his apprentice very seriously. "Do you understand now why I had to make sure that you know about this?"

Obi-Wan nodded quickly, shivering as he thought of what might have happened if he had gone all the way with Fellist. Or if his master hadn't told him about this strange effect. How could he have missed out on such important information?

"Good. Now that you do know about it, I want you to try to become more aware of the Force. When you pleasure yourself, feel how it builds up. Try out some different ways of dissipating the energy, and also pay attention to how it feels if you simply absorb it instead. All these things will help you when you go on to try sex with a partner."

Obi-Wan instantly started counting up the hours until he could fairly expect to have the privacy to experiment on his own. His eyes flickered speculatively to the door of his bedroom, but he decided it would be a little too obvious to hole up in there during the afternoon.

Qui-Gon was watching as if he knew exactly what Obi-Wan was thinking, and the amusement had returned to his eyes. "Let me just tell you one more thing, Padawan, as a caution to you. I want to be certain you understand the importance of this." His mouth quirked a little sadly. "My own first sexual experience, many years ago, was with a fellow padawan. We were outside in a secluded meadow, since that was the only place where we could find any privacy. We allowed the Force that built up within us to flow into the grasses and plants around us. We thought it would be harmless enough, and we were quite charmed afterwards to find ourselves surrounded by flowers in bloom. But that night a harsh storm blew up, as often happens in that place and season. All the plants that had bloomed out of season were killed by the heavy rains. When my friend and I returned a few days later, the spot where we had lain was quite denuded."

Obi-Wan listened with his mouth open, struggling to get his mind around the concept of his master as a padawan, his master as a sexual being, his master as an awkward teenager looking for a place to make love -- making mistakes and learning lessons. It wasn't something he had ever thought about before, but now he had the strangest desire to go back in time and make those discoveries at young Qui-Gon's side.

"The lesson here is that even though the Force is the energy of life, and even though we use the Force in the service of Light, it can still be misapplied through carelessness or ignorance. You must always be careful what you do with such power, and always be aware of how you are affecting others."

Obi-Wan studied the carpet, his brow furrowed. He was more curious than ever, now -- what would it be like with a partner? Perhaps he should try going along with Fellist's ideas. But all of Obi-Wan's earlier reasons for keeping to a mild flirtation with Fellist still held good. He still didn't want to offend the Senator, and he still wanted a partner with at least a little experience. In fact . . . he glanced up speculatively at his master.

"Do you have a question, Padawan?"

Obi-Wan's face began to warm again. "No. Well, yes, I suppose. I thought . . . I mean, I've always thought I'd want my first sexual partner to be -- well, someone who knows what they're doing." He swallowed. He couldn't really do this, could he? Qui-Gon was so big.

"A wise decision," Qui-Gon approved.

"Yes, but now . . . I guess I have to find a partner who doesn't just know about sex, but also knows about the Force. Sex and the Force."

Qui-Gon considered. "You don't have to, but it would be a prudent precaution."

"Another Jedi," Obi-Wan said slowly.

"Is this a problem? You have many friends among the other padawans, both older and younger than you."

"Yes, but we're hardly ever at the Temple. I might have to wait a year or more before I get a chance to, er . . ."

Qui-Gon sat back, his face at its most inscrutable. His arms were crossed over his chest, and his hands looked enormous as they clasped opposite elbows. Yet those hands had always been warm and soothing as they comforted and guided Obi-Wan, treating his wounds or adjusting his grip on his saber. "You could reconsider your requirements. If you take care, there should be no problem in taking a Force-blind partner."

"Maybe. Or maybe --" Obi-Wan licked his lips nervously. "Maybe you could . . . could show me . . ."

"No, Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon's voice was gentle and a little sad.

Obi-Wan's eyes flew up to meet his master's, asking the questions he couldn't voice.

"You are my padawan. Your duties are to work with me, to obey me, and to learn from my example. Sexual involvement could only confuse our relationship at this point. Your duty of obedience, for example, would interfere with that business of obtaining consent, about which you are so well informed."

"But if I'm asking you --"

Qui-Gon continued smoothly, never raising his voice. "It is also illegal because you are underage, both here on Alderaan and on our home planet of Coruscant. I see no reason to defy those laws."

"Four years --"

"It need not be so long if you keep to your plans to seek out a more experienced padawan. Sexual activity among minors is generally overlooked so long as there is no coercion by an adult." Qui-Gon smiled gently. "Just a few minutes ago, you said you weren't ready yet to go all the way. You've done very well learning on your own so far, Obi-Wan. It won't be that long before we are on Coruscant again. Wait until you know your own mind; I'm certain you'll make a sensible choice."

"Yes, Master." Obi-Wan sighed and returned his gaze to the carpet again. He wasn't sure what he would have done if Qui-Gon had said yes; although he knew his master would never do anything to hurt him, it would still have been a little scary. So maybe he wasn't ready yet. But the more he heard and read about it, the more complicated sex seemed. How was he supposed to find someone to show him what it was really like, if Qui-Gon wouldn't --

"Put it out of your mind, Padawan," said Qui-Gon firmly, indicating that he had picked up at least a little of that stray thought. "I am your master, your teacher -- your partner in work, but not in other ways."

Obi-Wan nodded and stood up. At a nod from Qui-Gon, he excused himself to his room. The possibility of experimentation occurred to him, but there was too little time before evening meal. And he had too much to think about.

Put it out of his mind? How was he supposed to do that, when he had just started to look at his master in this new light? When he had just noticed the softness of his lips and the size of his hands? Was Qui-Gon just as big all over? The older man's skin might not be so smooth and clear as young Fellist's, but he had that lovely long neck. Obi-Wan wondered what it would be like to kiss his master there, where the life pulsed so close to the surface . . .

He was getting hard at the thought, and when he checked, he realized that the Living Force was swirling strongly all around him. And this just from thinking about his master's neck! Obi-Wan belatedly firmed his mental shields as strong as he could make them.

This was embarrassing. He had to work with Qui-Gon. He had to share meals with him. In fact, he had to sit down to a meal with Qui-Gon, Fellist, and Senator Vaar in just a few minutes! Obi-Wan rolled over to bury his face in the pillow with a groan.