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Conflicting Loyalties, Part III

by Trudy West (truwest@hotmail.com)

POETIC PROLOGUE

After taking a lot, who knows how long and far,
confused as to estates and territories,
sustained by miserable hopes alone,
saddled with bad companions, with diffident dreams,
I love that tenacity which still survives in my eyes.
at night, in darkness, in the grief of flight,
he who keeps watch along the rim of camps,
the traveler armed with barren defenses,
detained in deepening shadows, among trembling wings,
I feel myself exist - my stone arm defends me.

In the science of tears a shrine one can't make out
and in my odorless, hard-working afternoons,
deserted sleeping grounds invested by the moon,
familiar spiders, ruins I love too much,
I prize my own lost self, my blemished constitution,
my stroke of silver and my eternal loss.

I lie in wait, then, for the inanimate, the hurt,
and the strange testament which I uphold
with cruel method, written in ashes,
is the form of oblivion that I prefer,
the name I give the earth, the value of my dreams,
the endless quality which I divide
with my wintry eyes, every day of this world.

"Sonata and Destructions" by Pablo Neruda

He parked the speeder a polite distance away from the domed house. A woman emerged, shading her eyes against the suns.

Because not all visitors to a homestead were innocuous, he called "Hello, Beru," to reassure her.

She approached with a confused smile. "Hello, um.do I know you?"

"It's Ben Kenobi, Obi-Wan Kenobi."

"Obi-Wan Kenobi? Oh, I'm so embarrassed, I didn't recognize you!"

He knew how he must look to her: prematurely aged, slump-shouldered, in nondescript civilian clothes, with a mass of unkempt hair and beard. "It's all right, I know I don't look my old self. And I go by the name Ben now. I haven't been called Obi-Wan since.not for years."

Beru chattered, "All right, I'm sure I can remember that. Ben Kenobi. I suppose it makes sense, given the Imperial's attitude towards Republicans. Fortunately we don't see much of Imperials here on Tatooine, moisture farming must not be a big attraction for them. How wonderful to see you! You won't believe how much Luke has grown. He's the image of Ani when he was little. Luckily he's still too young to be doing things like podracing and all those stunts that used to give Shmi gray hair."

"Actually, I came to tell you that I've retired and am moving to Tatooine permanently."

"Oh," Beru said uncertainly. "That's nice. Where will you be living, Mos Eisley? It's not much but it's the closest thing to urban life on Tatooine."

"No, not Mos Eisley. I'm trying to find a place that I could purchase. Something out in the country. I like my privacy." Somewhere that I stay close to Luke without seeming to, he thought.

Beru said, "Be sure to talk to Cal Torrey, the proprietor of the supply store here in Anchorhead. He's quite the gossip, he'd be aware if there are any good homesteads available."

"Thanks, I will. Speaking of Luke, where is he?"

"Come and see," she said, and led the way into the house.

At the sight of an unknown, wild-haired man, two-year-old Luke ceased banging his toy landspeeder on the floor and hid his face in his aunt's skirt. "He's shy," said Beru. "We don't see many new people out here."

"He looks a fine boy," said Obi-Wan. Force talent radiated from the child - the early signs in the infant were confirmed in the growing toddler. Somehow the future of the galaxy was wrapped around this person. His prescience was clear on that.

Obi-Wan heard a noise behind him, and turned to see Owen Lars entering, a white dusting of evaporated sweat on his brow. "I don't think we've met," said Owen.

Beru interjected, "Owen, it's Obi-Wan, Obi-Wan Kenobi. But he's going by Ben now."

Owen gave Obi-Wan a level stare as Beru hurried on, "Ben's taking up residence on Tatooine, of all places. Won't it be nice to have him here."

Owen said, "Beru, I'd like to talk to Kenobi alone."

"Oh, of course," said Beru, giving Owen a look but not defying him. "Come on, Luke, let's go and get you cleaned up." Swooping the boy into her arms, she bustled out.

"Look, I'll be blunt," said Owen, once they were alone. "I don't want you around my family. You're part of a world that I don't want any part of. Wars, politics, all that nonsense."

This wasn't an unexpected conversation. Obi-Wan knew how Owen felt about him and his activities. But to have it occur immediately upon his arrival, when he was so tired, made it difficult to respond appropriately.

"I'm out of all that," said Obi-Wan. "I'm not a part of it anymore." That was both true and false. True in that he no longer directly participated in those larger events; false in that he had decided that his presence here was the best use of his efforts to help the future of the galaxy. There were others to lead the nascent Rebellion. But only he knew what was hidden here on this Outer Rim frontier world.

Owen was skeptical. "That's fine for you to say, but old habits, and old acquaintances, aren't that easy to get rid of. I don't want my family pulled into any damn fool thing that you get wrapped up in. You want to live on Tatooine? Fine by me. There's lots of land, you're welcome to it. Get your own place, start a homestead like we've done. I'll help you out if you have a problem, that's how we do things out here, we have to rely on each other. But I don't want you living here with us, and I don't want you around too much."

"I understand," Obi-Wan said. He, the skilled diplomat, felt unable to deal with the unyielding opinions of a Tatooine moisture farmer. Perhaps if he wasn't so exhausted.or perhaps what he said to Owen was truer than he knew, and he had left those skills offworld, as part of his earlier life. Either way, he couldn't think of anything more to say. He had intended to ask for a few days lodging, a few days rest with a family, people to talk to, a child to care for. But it wasn't worth antagonizing the man.

Owen added, "And stay away from Luke. He's still young, but I don't want him getting any ideas as he gets older."

"He'll probably have ideas nonetheless, given that he's Anakin's son," Obi-Wan said mildly.

"Not if I can help it. Look where his ideas got him. Luke's going to grow up and be a farmer."

"Luke deserves to know his own heritage."

"I don't see why. He's our boy now. I'll raise him the way I see fit. And you'll leave him alone and not go telling Jedi stories around him." Owen clapped Obi-wan on the shoulder. "Just so we understand each other. No hard feelings, but you can see my point."

"I certainly can," said Obi-Wan. "Thank you for being forthright. I'd best be leaving now."

"I'll tell Beru. If you stay in the neighborhood, we may see you up at Anchorhead sometimes."

"I'll look forward to it." Regardless of Owen's opinions towards him, he would make certain that he "accidentally" saw Beru and Luke at the local township. If he was barred from visiting the homestead, it would be the only way he could monitor the boy's development.

He returned to his speeder, wondering if it was only the deep sand pulling at his feet that made it so difficult to walk.

Piloting the landspeeder towards Anchorhead, following the directions on the simple navigation scanner, Obi-Wan squinted against the brilliant light. He needed to learn how the locals protected their eyesight. He would need to learn many things if he wanted to live here. This was not a hospitable environment.

Owen's message had been direct but not unexpected, or even unjustified. Intellectually, he knew he shouldn't blame the man. Leaving aside Owen's personal prejudices, there were few people in this Empire-dominated galaxy who would knowingly welcome a Jedi Knight.

Perhaps he should think of himself as an ex-Jedi, with the Temple in ruins and the Order shattered. But no, being Jedi was a state of mind. It did not rely on Temples and Councils. He would be Jedi until he died, and, Force willing, afterwards.

He should have been more tolerant of Owen, but he was tired, and resentful at Owen's cold dismissal. This is whom we sacrificed so much for, I sacrificed - for ignorant, callous fools such as this, he thought. It was a bitter thought, unworthy of a Jedi, and he felt ashamed but still resentful.

Wasn't sacrifice supposed to become easier over time, instead of harder? It had been hard earlier in his life, but back then he had always been certain that he was walking in the path of the Light, as best he was able. Now he wasn't so sure. If they had all been such fine Jedi, then why had this Darkness overtaken them all? Had they failed in some way? Had he?

Or worse, was the universe so random that it didn't matter? What if all his devotion, his sacrifices, his striving, were no more than one small being's narcissistic obsession with perfection that served no greater purpose than his own illusion of superiority? Perhaps he had played a pointless game with himself, and fooled himself into thinking that it mattered.

That line of thinking led nowhere. He forced himself to think of other things.

It felt odd to think of staying here, staying anywhere, for more than a short time. He had been on the move for so long. He and the rest of the Jedi had worked ceaselessly during the tumultuous years leading to the fall of the Republic, trying to hold back the rising tide of events that led to the establishment of the Empire. Afterwards, he had hastily brought Luke here and immediately departed.

He knew a few of his fellow Jedi and other Republican stalwarts had done the same - run to and fro among the thousands of worlds, before disappearing and quietly going to ground. Yoda had likely hidden on Dagobah. Tar-Elen, one of the more ambitious underground Jedi, had founded a school that secretly taught the Jedi arts to a few talented young, keeping some of that knowledge alive. A few others were creating information caches, hiding the precious holocrons, in places where Jedi history and learning could safely wait until it was discovered in a later, friendlier age.

Obi-Wan had decided that his place was here, watching over the child who might be an important part of the future. He sometimes had visions of the boy Luke, grown to manhood, wielding a saber, or surrounded by others who might be friends or other Jedi or both. He also had visions of the Lars homestead ruined and burning, with unrecognizable corpses lying in the sand. He had no idea which visions would come to pass, if any, or none. He could only wait and watch.

Ironic that he would spend his presumably last days on the same planet where Qui-Gon had spent his. Who could have known, on their first visit here in an emergency landing in the Queen's ship, that this barren parched rock would be a final home for both of them.

He had not heard from Qui-Gon after Shmi's death - that was six years ago. The changes that had occurred in the galaxy were unthinkable, back at that time. Even now he sometimes forgot. He would wake and remember the Temple, and remind himself no, it's gone, gone forever. So many faces he'd never see again.

He had heard, through his carefully nurtured connections in the unofficial twilight of those who wished their activities unnoticed by the Empire, that Jabba the Hutt was living in his new palace outside of Mos Eisley. Jabba's continued good heath was an indicator that Qui-Gon and his Tatooine allies had failed in their objective of overthrowing the Hutt's control of Tatooine. He could not imagine Qui-Gon giving up that quest, not after Shmi's murder, so he had assumed that Qui-Gon and the other die-hard resistors had met the usual fate of those who opposed the Hutts. He wished he knew where and when it had happened, but in truth the circumstances were irrelevant.

Looking at the blowing sand, he thought of Qui-Gon, who had loved living things and had spent the last years of his life in this barren waste. At least Qui-Gon probably hadn't remembered enough of his former life to harbor regrets.

POETIC INTERLUDE

From false astrologies and somewhat dismal rites,
changed into the undying and always laid aside,
I have kept a tendency, a solitary savior.

Who is able to boast a more enduring patience?
Prudence envelops me in a tight skin
of color concentrated like a snake's:..

In my guitar-like innards an old tune plays,
dry, resonant, fixated, motionless,
a loyal diet, a puff of smoke:
a steady element, a living oil:
a sentinel bird looks after my head,
an invariable angel inhabits my sword.

"Tang" by Pablo Neruda

Anchorhead was a ramshackle of weathered buildings, much smaller than Mos Eisley. After passing the perimeter shield limit, Obi-Wan slowed his speeder while several small rodents of some local variety bounded away from the incoming vehicle. The streets were empty except for a few parked vehicles and a group of shaggy pack animals lined alongside one building. He read the faded signs on a few of the buildings and pulled up next to a worn façade that said "Merchandise .Grocery."

Inside, the aged proprietor turned out to be Cal Torrey himself. Obi-Wan put an affable front over his perpetual detachment. Cal was pleased to meet a friend of Beru's and was happy to sell him supplies. Cal also mentioned a place to stay. "No hotel or boarding house in Anchorhead, not much need for it," said the old man, "but Jer has a spare room she lets out."

Jer was a dour woman with frizzing hair escaping from her braid, who was one of the local Anchorhead mechanics. She denied any possibility of a room until Obi-Wan mentioned Beru and Cal. "Friend of Beru's, uh? Well, you should have said so. There is one room that I let people stay in sometimes. Nothing fancy, and you use the shop fresher downstairs. But it's better than sleeping in the streets or in your speeder. You're welcome to take a look."

Upstairs from the main garage, the room was small and littered with mechanical parts and tools, but it did have two crank-open windows that let in natural light and fresh air. "It's just a storage room, you can see that," said Jer. "It's a last-resort crash pad for people when they're stuck in town overnight waiting for a part, or recovering from too many sunburns."

"People get ill from sunburns here?" asked Obi-Wan.

"From Tatooine Sunburns, sure, the liquid kind. People come into town to booze it up with their friends, need somewhere to sleep it off. But you look like the sober type, I bet I won't have to worry about cleaning up after you."

"I'm not sure how long I'll be needing the room. I'm looking for a place to buy."

"We'll do a per-ten on it, then."

Over the next few days, Obi-Wan settled into a routine. Each morning, he rose and used the sonic shower in the shop fresher. He had trimmed his hair and beard, although he had left them both much longer and fuller than was his personal choice. It was a good natural disguise, but as he became more comfortable here, he might crop them back further.

After the shower, he made himself tea and a small firstmeal, then went out in his speeder to explore the surrounding area. The speeder nav was limited, so he had purchased a folding datacard with all the available maps of Tatooine - such as they were - and set about making his own notes to them. The official maps were sketchy and showed only the main landforms and travel routes, and he wanted to know the area better than that, in case...just in case.

Obi-Wan also spent time talking to residents in Anchorhead, Mos Eisley, and the other settlements, under the auspices of "making friends," but with the real objective of learning how to live in this harsh environment. Water and where to find it. Sand People and how to avoid them. Cal in particular seemed to be Anchorhead's font of knowledge and liked having an appreciative audience.

Obi-Wan had entered through the back door and was picking his way through the aisles of goods in Cal's cluttered warehouse of a store, when he heard voices towards the front.

"...nice fellow and he seems to have plenty of credits, so you could probly name your price," Cal's voice said.

A deep voice replied, "Thanks for thinking of me, Cal, but I'm not selling. It took me long enough to get the place the way I like it, I'm not starting over somewhere else."

Obi-Wan knew that voice.

Heart and breath quickened, he turned the last corner and saw Cal waving to a tall figure that was exiting the front door. "Oh," said Cal, gesturing, "you just missed him. Jon, that's Jon the hermit we call him, has a place out in the Jundland Wastes and I thought -"

Obi-Wan brushed past Cal, saying "Be right back," and followed the departing man outside, where he was storing his purchases in the panniers of a battered swoop bike.

"Jon?" Obi-Wan asked.

The man turned. It was Qui-Gon. He looked startlingly like his prior Jedi Master self, long hair and short beard in his old familiar style. The sight struck Obi-Wan with a lightning bolt of hope: perhaps Qui-Gon had remembered, had he remembered.?

Qui-Gon frowned. "Do I know you?"

Crashing disappointment. Qui-Gon didn't recognize him. His memory wasn't better, it might even be worse, if he couldn't remember seeing Obi-Wan before at all. Still, it was wonderful to see Qui-Gon alive. He tried to keep the emotion from his voice. "I, yes, actually, we've met. I'm called Kenobi, Ben Kenobi."

Qui-Gon looked thoughtful as he loaded the bike. "Kenobi. Sounds familiar, but I can't place you. My memory isn't what it used to be. You get old and you forget your own name, much less other people's. But whatever Cal told you, I'm not interested in selling."

"I know, I heard. I just wanted to say hello and, and ask how you were doing."

"Doing well enough," said Qui-Gon agreeably. "You new to the area?"

"Yes, I am. I'm settling here, looking for a homestead."

"Easy enough. Ask around and get yourself some property, then build or, if you like readymade, you can buy prefab."

Obi-Wan offered, "Cal said you've got a nice place."

"I like it, and I'm keeping it," said Qui-Gon, mounting his bike. "I'd invite you to visit, but I didn't make the place easy to find, and the neighbors are unfriendly. Sand People, you know. But if you ever find it," with a flash of a grin, "you're welcome to stop by."

Qui-Gon revved the engine and sped off.

Obi-Wan watched the bike and its rider vanishing in the distance.and he was a last-chance Initiate, begging for a master while Qui-Gon turned his back.and then he was a junior Padawan, trying to please a reserved and unreadable Master.and then he was a senior Padawan, hearing Qui-Gon renounce him before the Council in favor of Anakin. and then he was a Knight standing awkwardly on Shmi's balcony, and Qui-Gon sent him away with a wave and a sneer.

The repeating refrain of his life, watching Qui-Gon move away from him.

As he always did in the face of a classic Qui-Gon retreat, Obi-Wan took a deep breath, collected his dignity, and took the logical next step. Which in this case, meant getting out of the sweltering, dusty street.

Back inside the store, Obi-Wan said, "Cal, what can you tell me about Jon?"

Cal was informative as always. "Jon's a newcomer around here, like yourself. Been here only about four, five years or so. Pleasant enough fellow, keeps to himself. Built a nice little house, what I hear from Beru."

"Where does he live?" asked Obi-Wan.

"Not exactly sure," said Cal. "Somewhere out in Jundland Wastes, and that's not anyplace you want to go. All hills and canyons, prime hunting grounds for the Sand People, full of krayts and howlers and those strange little dwarf banthas and who knows what else. Jundland's one of the wildest parts of the planet. Jon's the only person I've ever heard of to live out that way."

Frustrating. Now that he knew Qui-Gon was alive and nearby, he desperately wanted to find an excuse to see him again. Obi-Wan considered comming him, but doubted that it would get any useful response; Ben Kenobi was an unknown to Qui-Gon. He needed to find Qui-Gon's residence, then invent an excuse to drop by.

Cal continued, "But if you're determined, you should ask Beru. She knows Jon from when he lived back in Mos Espa. She's been out to his place. Get her to drive you out there. Just be sure to take a blaster. And extra magazines. Water, don't forget, plenty of water. And as good a scanner as you can afford, it won't tell you exactly what it is that's sneaking up on you, but at least you'll know there's something sneaking. And take a backup comlink."

Several days later, when Obi-Wan saw Beru at Jer's garage, he asked about Jon.

"Oh, that's right," she said, "I forgot that you had met Shmi and Jon, back when. I should have told you he was still around."

Obi-Wan smiled through his clenched teeth, and released his annoyance to the Force. If he had only know Qui-Gon was still alive.what? He wasn't sure, but he did wish that he had known before. "How is he?" he managed to say.

"I think he's fine," said Beru, distractedly trying to keep an active Luke from throwing himself into a nearby parts bin. "You know he has memory problems? But he seems to look after himself all right. He disappeared after the Mos Espa Massacre and turned up about a year later, coming into Anchorhead for supplies. I used to worry about him living out in the Wastes, but he just laughed and told me to stop fussing."

Obi-Wan said, "Cal told me he has a nice place."

"You wouldn't believe what he's been able to do out there. He has a wonderful garden, underground, of course, like we all do. He's got a way with plants. Owen pays him to come out and help us sometimes. He did some improvements three years ago, and we've had great produce ever since."

"I'd very much like to visit him," said Obi-Wan. "Would you take me there?"

Struggling with an armful of wriggling Luke, Beru gasped, "Yes, sometime, I'd like to, but not today. Owen's waiting."

Unfolding his map datacard, Obi-Wan asked, "Could you show me where it is?"

"I know the way more by sight than by map, but I think it's." She tapped a specific square and described the route, while Luke smacked the map with grubby hands. The instructions were therefore imprecise, but Obi-Wan thought he had enough information to act on.

He played with a cranky Luke and chatted with Beru until she left.

POETIC INTERLUDE

It is a lonely region, I have already spoken
of that region so desolate
where the earth is brim-full of ocean
and there is no one - only tracks of horses,
no one save the wind, no one
only the rain adding to the sea's waters,
no one, only the rain growing over the sea.

"Oceanic South" by Pablo Neruda

Jundland Wastes lived up to their name: an area of rocky hills crisscrossed with dry windcarved canyons. He agreed with what Qui-Gon had told him at Anchorhead: this place was starkly beautiful, in the same way that a bleached skeleton was beautiful, stripped of softness and baked to a dry permanence. This landscape testified to eternity. He thought he could come to appreciate it, in some ways.

He hesitated at driving straight up to Qui-Gon's home, even if he could find it. The man might suddenly remember him, or might not; either way, he didn't think he wanted to precipitate an encounter yet. He decided to investigate the surrounding area.

The landspeeder was unable to traverse broken terrain, and he began to have second thoughts about purchasing it. Qui-Gon's choice of a speeder bike made more sense now that he was away from the level ground of the flats.

His Force sense, and the proximity scanner he'd purchased, occasionally blinked a warning of nearby entities. Sometimes he got a feeling of sentience and assumed it was Sand People or Jawas. In the absence of the sentient overtones, he guessed banthas or another example of the local wildlife. Once he drove by a herd of what appeared to be miniature banthas resting in the shade of a cliff; they looked at him alertly as he passed by.

Behind a long ridge that, from his reading of the map, should be within sight of Qui-Gon's homestead, he had to leave his speeder concealed and hike up on his own two feet. Some kind of creature had made a trail that undulated along the hillside. His sweat evaporated frighteningly quickly, and he drank frequently from one of his two canteens.

The view from the crest was spectacular. He consulted the map, then trained the visual scanner in the supposed direction of Qui-Gon's homestead.

It took a minute of searching before he spotted an abnormally regular outline. There, that must be it. The house was partially set underground, as were most homesteads, and he could see the small dome exposed above ground level.

He had been sitting in the shade of a boulder for over an hour when he sensed a living presence nearby. He looked eagerly: no, not Qui-Gon, but a procession of Sand People, their banthas proceeding at a jogging pace. They crossed a distance from the homestead, but he was certain they knew it was there; this was their hunting ground, after all, long before the offworlders developed settlements and moisture farms.

The time came for him to leave; at this stage in his adaptation to Tatooine, he didn't want to be caught out after dark. He had seen no sign of Qui-Gon. With one last look, he climbed to his feet and made his way back along the dusty track.

Obi-Wan continued to visit with Beru, Luke, and Owen when they came into Anchorhead on errands. He and Beru met for lunch occasionally. Owen must have known about the arrangement but didn't protest, at least not to Obi-Wan's face. Otherwise, he stayed away from the Lars family and homestead.

He chatted with Cal and Jer and other Anchorenes and visited Mos Eisley every ten or so, making contacts there. He became known in Anchorhead as a kind of courier; most Anchorenes avoided Mos Eisley when possible, and were happy to accept Obi-Wan's standing offer to fetch items back and forth. He never charged anyone for the service, but people were always careful to return the favor with a gift of a meal, a container of Yagbitter the local ale, or a piece of useful information. People began to ask his opinion of things, as they would not a raw newcomer.

People thought he was odd, but they were beginning to accept him. He was becoming a local.

POETIC INTERLUDE

Some time, man or woman, traveler,
afterwards, when I am not alive,
look here, look for me here.
here I shall be both lost and found,
here I shall be perhaps both stone and silence.

"I Will Come Back" by Pablo Neruda

Obi-Wan went every few days to a location near Qui-Gon's homestead where he could sit and watch. Just watch. Watch the suns move and the shadows change and the wind blow. He needed time alone to think, to meditate. It was hard for him to adjust to this slow pace; he had always favored action. After his frantic dashes across the galaxy, it was time for a different game, a game of patience rather than speed.

Occasionally he thrilled to see a tiny figure moving about Qui-Gon's homestead. He tended to see Qui-Gon every other visit or so, always at an extreme distance. He took comfort in those momentary glimpses. The living speck was visible only briefly; no need to be outside under the twin suns unless necessary. Except for lunatics like misplaced and lonely Jedi, out spying on their old masters.

When he reached out through the Force for Qui-Gon, he sensed only a vague presence, indeterminately sentient. Qui-Gon was either shielding or his Force signature was muddied from his mental deterioration. Obi-Wan didn't push. He had no idea if Qui-Gon was aware enough to detect someone probing him through the Force, but he didn't want to do anything that the other man might experience as aggressive.

Obi-Wan prudently moved when he sensed a living creature approaching his location. He had no desire to encounter Sand People or anything else. He did watch once as a krayt dragon made its stealthy way along a draw. It was an impressive beast, impressively loud as well, and he became accustomed to hearing its rumbling bellow. He made a mental note of the sound; it might be useful to be able to imitate, in a pinch.

Once Obi-Wan awakened from his outdoors meditation to find that he had become physically aroused in his trance. He stared down at the bulge in his leggings with mild surprise. His libido had been long submerged; he was not exactly impotent, but for a long time his occasional erections had been just one more tiresome complaint from his overtaxed body. He had ignored it or yanked himself off efficiently. Here, there was no rush. He glanced around, both with his eyes and the Force; nothing but sand, rocks and sky. He considered, then experimentally spread his knees and unfastened his leggings, exposing his penis.

One stroke and he winced. Sand was abrasive on tender genitalia. He brushed his hands off carefully on his leggings, then took a small tube from his pack. He had taken to carrying the lotion with him everywhere; unaccustomed to the parched climate, the skin on his hands and lips tended to split in painful cracks without a moisturizer. Over time, he might develop the impenetrable hide of the locals, but until then, he needed the lotion.

He poured a generous amount in his hand and tried again. Oh yes, that was better, slick, fingers gliding over his shaft. He closed his eyes to concentrate and refamiliarize himself with the experience. The sensitive invisible line along the underside of his cock. How good it felt to close his palm over the head, and circle his fingers around the flared lip. His desire increased and he fisted himself, pulling hard. His unanchored lust cast about in his mind for an image, a thought, and he remembered that he was within sight of Qui-Gon's homestead, and in a panicky jolt of shamed joy, he climaxed.

His muscles tiredly lax, he opened his eyes and glanced down. His ejaculate was smeared over his hand and had made small drips on the sand directly under his crotch. It was already dry, the little dampness instantly absorbed by the thirsty ground. He wiped his hand and softening penis on the hem of his tunic, one more smudge wouldn't make any difference, and tucked himself away.

He glanced out at the open expanse, and sighed. It was past mid-afternoon, time to start heading back. At least he had one small accomplishment today. He had remembered how good it felt to masturbate. Perhaps he wasn't as emotionally dead as he had thought.

POETIC INTERLUDE

I did not know what to say, my mouth
had no way
with names,
my eyes were blind,
and something started in my soul,
fever or forgotten wings,
and I made my own way,
deciphering.

"Poetry" by Pablo Neruda

Several tens later, Obi-Wan was perched at a good viewing spot on the ridge when he sensed a presence approaching at a distance, from an angle. He looked but saw nothing.

Gathering his few things, he moved north along the ridge, away from the incoming vector.

After a few minutes of walking, he realized that the presence was closer, and that it had changed direction. It was coming directly towards him. More searching with the scanner, to no avail. No clear sense through the Force of what it was. Obi-Wan reversed course and went south double-time, passing his previous resting spot.

A half-hour later, he got another sense of the entity. It was now on the other side of the ridge, in the canyon, and moving south, parallel to him and behind on his right. It had to be was very near his hidden landspeeder. He hoped that the entity didn't find the speeder; he had enough water on his person to last for a day or two, but not enough to walk out, if his speeder was stolen or disabled.

He decided to sit and wait. When the creature had moved on, he would descend to the canyon floor. There was nothing to do until then. He had his comlink, with various people to call, but it was premature to message for help until he was sure that he needed it.

More minutes, and he realized that the entity was moving up the flank of the ridge, on an intercept course towards him. Whatever it was, it knew he was here. He glanced around. His back was to a sheer wall, with a long exposed section of trail to either side of him, and a sheer drop below. Reflexively, he reached over his shoulder into the flap of his pack; his saber was there, resting on top within easy reach. He would rather rely on his other skills, or even the blaster on his hip, rather than the saber; the saber was a give-away of a Jedi, for anyone who knew enough to recognize it. But it was comforting to know that it was close at hand.

His stalker was close now, very close. His senses rose to full alert.

His pursuer appeared around the turn in the trail. A humanoid. Even from this distance he could tell, from the stance if not the Force signature. Qui-Gon. A gush of relief, then renewed anxiety. Qui-Gon hadn't remembered him that time in Anchorhead, and might consider him a trespasser. He would rather confront Sand People and a krayt dragon together than face down a paranoid and amnesiac Jedi Master. He waved his hands slowly in greeting.

The approaching man showed him open hands in return but waited to speak until they were within a stone's toss. "What are you doing here?" asked Qui-Gon.

Not a welcome but a fair question, considering. "Sightseeing. Exploring."

Qui-Gon snorted. "They'll be thinking you as much a madman as they do me. The Wastes aren't for tourists."

"I like the solitude."

"That makes two of us. Unfortunately with two of us, it's not solitary any more. We'll have to decide what to do about that." Qui-Gon glanced past Obi-Wan. "We'd best be going. Keep quiet and come back this way, there's a troop of Sand People coming."

They quickly jogged along the trail. Obi-Wan noted to himself that Qui-Gon seemed as fit as he had ever been.

"Watch your footing," said Qui-Gon. "My bike isn't far, then we'll swing by your speeder before the Tusken find it."

"They haven't found it before," Obi-Wan pointed out.

"It's only a matter of time. The Tusken don't survive out here because they regularly overlook things like abandoned speeders. If I can locate it, so can they. The last thing I need is to find your carcass on my doorstep. And the last thing the peace of the region needs is for a settler to find it. The farmers are only too ready to get trigger-happy with the Tusken." Qui-Gon gave him a stern look. "There's been no settler deaths in this area since I've been living here, and you aren't going to ruin my record."

"I understand. I didn't realize the implications." That's just lovely, thought Obi-Wan ruefully, he thinks I'm the potential cause of a vigilante war.

"What did you say you were doing out here again?" asked Qui-Gon.

Intuitive hairs stood up on the back of Obi-Wan's neck. Even an impaired Jedi Master could probably smell deceit a parsec away. Tell the truth, but carefully. "I'm just getting to know the area, and looking for a site for a homestead. And I need time and space to myself right now. The Wastes seemed like a good place for that."

"Um," said Qui-Gon. "Why around here, exactly?"

Truth but not too much truth. Obi-Wan didn't think it would go over well for him to admit he was spying on the older man. "I find the Wastes more compelling than the flats. Beru told me that you lived nearby. I thought that if I had any difficulty, I'd best be near some place where I might get help."

"That was rash. Most emergencies out here wouldn't give you time to blink, much less place a comm. And you don't have my comlink, it's unlisted."

Obi-Wan protested mildly, "I've had experience with dangerous places. And I thought I could always comm Beru, or Cal, and one of them would forward me to your link."

They rounded a narrow edge and the path opened up slightly. Qui-Gon's swoop bike was tucked up against a rock face and covered by a sand-colored tarp. Qui-Gon quickly stuffed the camouflage into a saddlebag and waved for Obi-Wan to climb on. Obi-Wan straddled the seat and scooted backward so the bigger man could mount. The bike was built for two but the proximity was cozy.

Obi-Wan felt the vibrations through his feet and butt as the engine activated, and he was jolted back against the luggage compartment when the bike leaped forward. Qui-Gon steered directly towards a steep descent that tilted the bike more and more forwards until it seemed to be balancing on its nose. Gravity shoved Obi-Wan forward groin to ass with the other man. It would have been distracting had he not been getting a full face of wind and dust from their plummet earthward.

They ricocheted downwards through an obstacle course of boulders and hit the canyon floor with spine-crunching impact. Obi-Wan heard a barking sound and turned to see Sand People within shouting distance, waving their rifles. The bike jerked right and zipped along the winding floor, Qui-Gon laying it near-flat in the turn.

In moments the bike pulled up by the outcropping that hid his landspeeder. Qui-Gon shouted, "Follow me close. Once they're around that turn, we're in range again, but we can outrun them quickly enough." The bike pulled away as Obi-Wan dashed to the back of the overhang, vaulted into the driver's seat, and keyed the ignition.

Nothing happened.

The pile of junk picked the best times to be temperamental. He gritted his teeth and tried again. Nothing. He waited a moment for the contacts to clear, then tried again.

The engine came shudderingly to life, and he kicked it into forward gear. The speeder shot out into the open. The flattest part of the canyon floor was right down the middle, fully exposed, but safer and faster driving. Obi-Wan saw the distance-tiny bike paused at the next curve, waiting for him, and he gunned in that direction. He passed the bike in a blur and continued down the canyon, to be passed an instant later by the nimbler and smaller machine.

Ahead on the right he could see a low saddle where the ridge dipped lower. The bike angled to take them up the slope. Obi-Wan wondered if the landspeeder would make it but decided to trust the other man's judgment. Qui-Gon wouldn't have rescued him only to kill him in a speeder wreck.

As they topped the hump of the saddle, he caught a glimpse of a nearby boulder exploding into pieces the instant before he passed it, and was caught a rain of sand and small rock fragments. Then they were dropping down the flank of the saddle, a long easy stretch, out of view of the Tusken. The bike turned in the direction of Qui-Gon's homestead, and Obi-Wan followed.

As Obi-Wan pulled up in front of the house, Qui-Gon was already off the bike and on his feet, scanning the terrain behind them. Obi-Wan shook the sand from his hair and dusted gravel from the speeder seat.

Apparently satisfied, Qui-Gon clipped the scanner back on his belt. "They'll be annoyed that I got to you first. But they respect a strong opponent. The quickest dragon gets the bantha."

"Thanks again," said Obi-Wan, wondering if he should be insulted to be compared to a bantha.

Qui-Gon shrugged. "You might have been fine. Then again you might not. We'd best remain here for a few hours, and by then, you won't have time to make Anchorhead before nightfall. I don't mind traveling at night, but I'm the exception around here, another reason people say I'm crazy. Looks like you're stuck here for the evening. Hope you didn't have any plans."

Stuck. An entire evening with Qui-Gon. This was better than a short visit in the company of Beru. "No one will notice if I'm gone a few days. I've spent that much time away on trips to Mos Eisley."

Leading the way into the house, Qui-Gon commented, "Yes, word is that you visit Mos Eisley frequently. What's the appeal? You said you were after peace and quiet. That's not a good description of that cesspool."

Time for careful answers again. "I have business contacts to maintain."

"Ah."

Obi-Wan dropped his pack just inside the door as he went in. The main room of homestead was typical of the ones he'd seen, if more spartan.

"Speaking of business, I have some of my own to see to," said Qui-Gon. "Sorry to disappear on you, but I'd best take care of this now. Make yourself at home. There's food and drink in the kitchen, and a spare datapad or two if you want to log in, I usually get clear reception here. If you can't get a connection, wait a few minutes and try again. Fresher's at the end of the hall."

Disappointing, to be abandoned by Qui-Gon so soon after meeting him again at last. But he'd be gracious. It's not as though he had a choice.

Alone, Obi-Wan helped himself to a container of chilled water from the small adjoining kitchen and sat at the table, imagining Qui-Gon living here in this space. It wasn't difficult. The place had the feel of a Jedi's rooms. How often, when he had sat on the ridge a distance away, looking at the exterior dome, had Qui-Gon sat inside here at this table?

He went to find the fresher. At the end of the short hall were three doors. The left one was partway open and he peeked inside: small bedroom with large bed and an upper panel of windows. He couldn't justify snooping through the man's bedroom so he reluctantly looked away. Middle door slid aside to show a basic fresher: toilet, sink and sonic shower.

The door to the right was odd. It was a hermetic hatch, used to seal off a protected environment. He placed a hand on it, reaching out through the Force, and got a sense of life energy, a denser environment than the desert. Must be an entrance into the underground garden that Beru had told him about. It would be too intrusive to open a closed door. He left it.

He used the fresher and returned to the main room. There were a few decorative items, pots of exotic-looking desert plants, a basket full of small rocks. Still collecting rocks, then, his old Master, after all these years. Several gaffi sticks and Tusken rifles stood in one corner, crowned with Tusken headgear, breathing masks, and robes.

On a small table next to a bantha-hide chair, there was a portable envirobox. He wondered what collectable warranted such expensive protection. He inspected the latch, and realized the box was unlocked.

Obi-Wan lifted the lid. Inside was an antique leatherbound book, wrapped round with a thick ribbonlike object. He touched it: a braid. His own Padawan braid.

So Shmi had given Qui-Gon all his mementos after all. Not just the lightsaber. And Qui-Gon had kept them. Qui-Gon must have dug them out of the rubble of Shmi's destroyed home.

Obi-Wan wondered again what Qui-Gon remembered. He didn't seem to remember anything. But neither did he seem as angry and bitter as he had been during Obi-Wan's last two visits to Tatooine. Qui-Gon's demeanor and Force aura seemed much like his old Jedi self: calm, serene, full of Masterly aplomb. How had he regained his emotional equilibrium but not regained his memories?

Sitting in the chair, Obi-Wan took the book in his lap and, starting at the title page, began to read as he'd first read long ago. Poems floated before his eyes, old friends here with him in exile on this remote planet.

POETIC INTERLUDE

And it was at that age.poetry arrived
In search of me. I didn't know, I didn't know where
It came from...

"Poetry" by Pablo Neruda

It had fallen full dark several hours later when Obi-Wan sensed Qui-Gon moving towards the house. He considered returning the book to its compartment as if pretending he hadn't seen it, then wondered if that could be construed as dishonest. So he sat with it held carefully in his lap until Qui-Gon appeared through the front door.

"I was enjoying your heirloom," Obi-Wan said. "I hope you don't mind. It's not often one sees a collectable like this."

Qui-Gon headed to the kitchen, saying over his shoulder, "I'm glad you enjoyed it. Beru paged through it once and admitted she didn't care for any of it. The language was too exotic for her, as she put it diplomatically, sweet thing, she was afraid that she'd hurt my feelings. She didn't want to say that the stuff was incomprehensible."

"They were hard for me to understand too at first, but I developed a taste for them," said Obi-Wan, following the older man. No need for Qui-Gon to know that he was referring to his first readings, back in the Temple on Coruscant, and not to this afternoon.

"Yes, they get into your head and you find yourself mulling them later." Qui-Gon began removing items from the chiller and cupboards in obvious preparation for a meal.

Obi-Wan offered, "Please let me know how I can help."

"Nothing to help with. There's a bottle in the cabinet by your left elbow. Why don't you open it and pour a glass."

Obi-Wan did so while asking about the Sand People, which he suspected was a safer topic than poetry. Qui-Gon dove into a lecture on Tusken physiology, history, and culture that rivaled the Master's past seminars with the Senior Padawans back at the Temple.

During the meal, Obi-Wan expanded the conversation into other safe topics: local people, places, wildlife.

During post-meal tea, Qui-Gon put down his cup and said, "I have a few questions for you."

"All right," Obi-Wan said.

"What are you really doing here on Tatooine?"

"As I said, I've retired, more or less. I plan to live the rest of my life here, at least the next large piece of it."

"Why?"

"It's out of the way. I'm not fond of Imperials." That much was certainly true.

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow. "There are many more hospitable planets that are equally out of the way. It doesn't make sense."

"I like the desert. It feels...elemental. I can't describe it. But how about you?" Obi-Wan asked, thinking this was a good opener to the information he most wished to know. "I hear you aren't a born local, or associated with the farmers. What brought you here?"

Qui-Gon shrugged and looked away, sipping his tea. "The usual. Accidents. Fate. But I have ties here now. Do you remember that pinnacle of rock on this side of ridge, the one that stands clear away from that sheer wall?"

"I think so," Obi-Wan said.

"My wife's grave is on top. I built her cairn up there." Qui-Gon drank his tea.

Obi-Wan felt a twinge at the words my wife. So that was what had become of Shmi after she died. He gave the expected response, "My condolences for your loss."

Qui-Gon wore an indistinct expression, something between regret and resignation. "She was a fine person, generous and kind. But at least she was spared from hearing what happened to her son. She doted on the boy."

Keeping his breath steady and even, Obi-Wan asked, "What happened to her son?"

"Word got back that he died. He left to join the mysterious Jedi but he must have been wiped out along with the rest of them."

Yes, that fit: those few still alive who had known Anakin, thought he was dead. Only himself, and perhaps one or two others, including Yoda, knew the truth about Darth Vader.

Qui-Gon went on, "I thought of carving a memorial tablet for him up on the spire to sit alongside hers, but I didn't know him very well. To be honest, I don't remember him much at all, thanks to my faulty brain."

So the Chosen One as well as his last Padawan were both banished from Qui-Gon's failing memory. That old painful theme of the Chosen One treasured and the loyal Padawan shunned still hurt, like a childhood splinter worked deep in adult flesh. It was very un-Jedi of him, but it was true, and he would not deceive himself about his own failings. His weakness had always been that he had so wanted his Master to cherish him, as his faithful student at least, if not as a friend or a lover.

Apparently oblivious to his guest's inner monologue, Qui-Gon continued, "I don't get up to the top of the spire much these days. Swoop's the only way up there. Speaking of swoops, you should consider a bike, if you want to be gallivanting about in this terrain. That landspeeder's limitations will get you killed one day. Swoops are trickier to maintain here, but if you can handle that, they give better performance and more flexibility."

"I'll consider it," said Obi-Wan, wondering how to get back to the topic of Qui-Gon's past.

The opportunity was lost. Qui-Gon stood up and began clearing the table. "I'm turning in. I'd offer you the spare bedroom, if I had one, which I don't. You'll have to make do on the platform in the main room."

"Thanks, that will be fine," said Obi-Wan.

Qui-Gon offered, "I've got a spare bedroll, you didn't bring one, did you? Thought not. At least you have enough sense not to camp out at night. This desert looks empty during the day, but the night is when everything comes out looking for its dinner or its mate. Tusken aren't the worst of them." He moved down the hallway and began opening cabinets.

Obi-Wan went to inspect the platform in the main room; it had plenty of space to recline.

Qui-Gon returned with an armful of bedding. "Here you are. I've activated the perimeter alarm, so don't go out for a midnight stroll. Remember, whatever happens: you stay in the house. Understood?"

Obi-Wan repressed an instinct to say "Yes, Master" in response to that familiar stern voice, and said instead, "I understand."

"Fine. In the morning you can get back to Anchorhead."

The bedding was comfortable. The room was cool, even cold, as the daytime heat disappeared with the suns. The blanket over him smelled of Qui-Gon, and Obi-Wan, drowsy, felt a tightening in his groin. Oh no, he chided himself, not here. He was not going to masturbate or, worse, have a wet dream here as a visitor in this house. Though he supposed he should be thrilled to have a sexual response to anything other than his own hand.

He released his sexual tension into the Force and sent himself down into sleep.

POETIC INTERLUDE

But you hush the great trees, and above the moon, out past everything
you keep watch over the sea like a thief.
Oh night, my soul full of fear asks
you desperately for the metal it needs.

"Serenade" by Pablo Neruda

Obi-Wan came suddenly awake. His Force sense told him that something was approaching the house. It felt like Sand People, but he couldn't be sure.

He slid into his leggings, padded barefoot down the hall and tapped on the closed bedroom door. "Jon?" he whispered, then gently pushed the door, which slid open.

The room was empty. No Qui-Gon. The console near the bed blinked alarming indicator lights: the perimeter alarm must have been activated.

Obi-Wan dashed back to the main room, and grabbed his blaster from his belt where he'd laid his clothes near the makeshift bed. He tucked several spare magazines into his leggings pockets and thought of his saber, waiting there just inside the top of his pack, by the door. But no, not a good idea. He would use his saber only if absolutely necessary.

Setting the blaster on heavy stun, he took up a position kneeling just inside the open front door and waited for his instincts to tell him when to fire. A chill breeze touched the bare skin of his chest, and his nipples tightened in response.

The stalkers knew what they were doing. It was absolutely quiet, and were it not for his Force sense telling him there were entities out there, he would have thought the night empty.

Suddenly to his left: the buzzing hum of a lightsaber and a deafening roar. A green blade stood out like a bolt of lightning in the darkness, then disappeared. Obi-Wan sensed motion to the right and fired off several shots. The saber flicked into sight again, this time to right as well, and swung in a lightning-fast series of strokes. He heard Qui-Gon's voice shouting in a guttural language, and then one muffled squeal. The saber blade disappeared again.

A scraping, and hurried footsteps, getting fainter.

Obi-Wan stood up and advanced a step or two outside the door, feeling the packed sand under his bare feet. "What was it?" he called into the darkness.

"Tusken," answered the invisible Qui-Gon. Obi-Wan could just distinguish an outline moving towards him. "Almost certainly the warriors we encountered yesterday, out to restore their honor. Their chief will be round in a few days, making circuitous apologies for the rashness of youth. Fortunately no serious harm done, some broken rifles and gaffi sticks, and one fellow lost a hand, but that'll just enhance his fierce reputation."

A few strides away, visible now, Qui-Gon said, "That's a nice blaster. May I see it?" holding his hand out.

"Of course," said Obi-Wan, handing it over. "Does this happen often?"

Obi-Wan had his first snap of alarm when he saw that Qui-Gon gave the blaster nary a glance before he tucked it into the back of his belt.

Qui-Gon stared directly at Obi-Wan, waved his hand in the classic Jedi command gesture, and intoned, "You will forget that you saw this."

Force use. Qui-Gon remembered how to do a Force suggestion. "No," said Obi-Wan, dismissing it. If Qui-Gon remembered this, what else.?

Qui-Gon frowned and said more urgently, with increased Force pressure, "Forget this night."

Obi-Wan persisted, "The saber, you remember how to wield."

He cut himself off as the green sword activated in Qui-Gon's hand, the tip at Obi-Wan's throat. "I very much regret this," said Qui-Gon. "but you've made it inevitable. You've been watching my homestead for tens, yet you deny it. You've been evasive in your answers, and now you're resistant to influence. Careless of you, very careless."

It seemed that Qui-Gon had recovered many of his Jedi abilities, including his observant and deductive mind. Obi-Wan had an instant's joy before he sensed the other man's intention.

"Jon, wait," Obi-Wan said. He had been a fool: completely overlooked how his behavior might appear to Qui-Gon, a mistake he would never had made if he hadn't felt that he knew the other man. But to Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan was an unknown, a suspicious stranger lurking about the Wastes, spying, dissembling, maintaining unnamed contacts in Mos Eisley. He was lucky Qui-Gon hadn't killed him already.

"Kneel," said Qui-Gon, and Obi-Wan felt an irresistible Force push on his shoulders, pressing him down. He fought it, but found he couldn't move; damnation, the compulsion was strong, strong as Qui-Gon in his prime.

Obi-Wan said quickly, "Wait, Jon, there's something I want to show you."

Qui-Gon moved around behind Obi-Wan, out of sight, but he could still hear that thrumming blade close to the nape of his neck. "Don't be afraid," said the hidden Qui-Gon's voice. "It's quick. It won't hurt."

Panic was rising in Obi-Wan, not at his own death, but for them: baby Luke, that infant Force talent left unprotected, and Qui-Gon also left alone, his Force abilities awake but his memory still impaired. Either of them prime catches for the Dark, susceptible to evil, even if Vader and the Emperor never discovered them.

He put as much conviction in his voice as he could muster. "Jon, you will regret it if you don't see this item before you kill me. Please, just one moment. It's in my pack. Please, look in my pack."

Slow seconds passed.

"No," he heard Qui-Gon say, and a fireball of pain exploded in the back of his head.

POETIC INTERLUDE

.I lingered in soaping my face well
what wonderful foam
on my cheeks - I felt
the sea was giving me an endless whiteness,
my face was a vague island
rimmed round by soap reefs
and when, during the struggle
of the small waves and strokes
of the warm brush and the sharpened blade,
I was clumsy and, at once,
badly wounded,
I stained the towels
with spots of my blood.
all that appeared was my face in the mirror,
my face badly washed and badly wounded.

"The Long Day Called Thursday" by Pablo Neruda

His head hurt, oh it hurt. The rest of his body was comfortably lying on its back on his borrowed bedding, but oh his head. Obi-Wan moved to put hand to temple, and jarred his arm. Something was caught around his wrist. And his other wrist. His hands were bound above his head. He cracked open his eyes.

"You're awake," said Qui-Gon's voice. "How do you feel?"

A moment to breathe, and he said softly, "Hurts."

"See if this helps." He felt a touch to his throat, the round head of an injector, and the hiss as the drug was pumped in. He concentrated on breathing, calling on the Force to aid him. But he couldn't feel the Force.

He reached out, and there was nothing. His head injury must be serious. He stared at the ceiling, wanting to look for Qui-Gon but not daring to turn his head yet, for the pain. "How bad am I?" he whispered.

"Your head? You'll be fine. A headache and a lump on your skull, both will go away soon enough."

"Something's wrong," he said. "I can't feel it, I can't feel." How could he explain not being able to feel the Force to Qui-Gon?

"The energy field? I know. I put the collar on you, until I decide who you are and what to do with you."

Obi-Wan felt it, a band around his neck. Some kind of Force inhibitor collar. It seemed that Qui-Gon had remembered a great deal, even down to the specifics of inhibitor collars, even if he didn't remember the correct name for the Force.

A hand grasped his chin and turned his head slowly, and he was looking at Qui-Gon, seated in a chair next to him.

Qui-Gon held something up in front of his eyes. His lightsaber.

Qui-Gon said, "You have a laser sword."

"A lightsaber, yes," he said.

"Is that what it's called? How did you come by it?"

Obi-Wan thought, you taught me how to make them, but instead he said, "It's mine, I made it."

"You didn't steal it?"

"No, it's mine," he said.

"So that means you are." Qui-Gon hesitated, looking at him to complete the sentence.

"A Jedi Knight. As you are."

Qui-Gon said, "The Jedi are dead, wiped out."

"Not quite all of them. Not you or me, yet. Jon, are you just testing me? How much do you really remember?"

Qui-Gon looked away. "I'm not sure. I think I remember being one of a group of people who used the swords." Qui-Gon looked back down into Obi-Wan's face. "You.who are you?"

Obi-Wan said, "I used to be a good friend of yours, long ago. We worked together. I learned a great deal from you."

"What are you doing here?"

"I'm here to watch over the boy that Beru is raising," Obi-Wan said.

He had expected Qui-Gon to be baffled, but instead the taller man just nodded and asked, "What do you know about young Luke?"

Obi-Wan said, "I know who he really is. I brought him here after he was born. What do you know about him?"

"Know?" said Qui-Gon. "Almost nothing. But he's very bright in the energy field. I feel that he's important somehow. Will be important. I'm sure of it. You said you brought him here?"

"Yes, after his mother died and his father...abandoned his responsibilities."

Qui-Gon said, "His father, Shmi's son. Luke is Shmi's grandson. People say Anakin is dead."

Obi-Wan said, "He's not dead. Not as far as I know. But he's a lost soul, for now, and one of the most dangerous men in the galaxy. I'll die before I let him take his son into that life."

"You brought Luke here to keep him out of the way? Hide him?"

"That's right," Obi-Wan said.

"Was I involved?" asked Qui-Gon.

"What do you mean?" asked Obi-Wan. "There are many ways to answer that question."

"It just...it feels like I had some involvement in the events that led to this boy's presence here. But my damned memory is in tatters, I can't piece together what really happened. Sometimes I see a boy in my mind's eye, and I'm not sure if I'm remembering another boy, or foreseeing this child further along in his life. You say that you knew me. Did I have a role in this?"

"Yes," said Obi-Wan.

Qui-Gon said, "There's one thing that you haven't explained. Why have you been watching me?"

"I miss you," said Obi-Wan simply. "I care for you, and I was worried about you, and I missed you. The last couple of times that we met, after you lost your memory, you disliked me, and I didn't know what you would remember about me now. I hadn't decided what to do yet. I was just watching and thinking."

"You didn't search the house yesterday," noted Qui-Gon. "Why not?"

So Qui-Gon had been observing him remotely; the house must be wired. "I wouldn't do that, unless I had some reason to think that you might be a danger to yourself or others. I respect your privacy." Saying that he didn't think Qui-Gon a danger while he himself lay chained and collared was almost laughable, but it was the truth.

Qui-Gon said with frustration, "You say that we knew each other, and you seem familiar, but I can't place you. Before you woke, I was casting back, trying to remember. I don't casually access my more recent memories, but my earlier days, a decade or more ago, I do have parts of those remembrances. Unfortunately they're almost all visual, not auditory. And I can't clearly see you in any of them."

Obi-Wan said, "There's something I could try that might help. Do you have any depilatory?"

Qui-Gon gave him a look as if he thought he were out of his mind, then said, "No, I use a razor."

Obi-Wan said, "If you'll release me to go to the fresher?"

Qui-Gon nodded slowly, reaching for Obi-Wan's wrists. "All right. But keep the door open so I can see what you're doing. And if you're thinking of trying anything, remember I have your blaster as well as your lightsaber."

Obi-Wan sat up tentatively, Qui-Gon's hand steadying his shoulder. The headache was down to a low throb.

Obi-Wan eased his way to the fresher. He left the door open. Locating the razor, he worked the softsoap into his bristles. He felt groggy, and he shaved with exaggerated slowness. As more of his lower face came into plain view, he tilted his head to get around the angle of jaw, finally having to work more by feel than sight.

At the end, there was a pile of curled hair in the sink, like the bedraggled remains of a woebegone rodent. Obi-Wan ran fingers experimentally over his face. Shockingly smooth; he hadn't gone bare-faced since his Padawan days. But that was exactly why he'd thought to try this. Perhaps this would prompt Qui-Gon's memory.

He smoothed his hair back from his forehead, tucked it behind his ears. One last glance in the mirror showed his face clearly: not the face of the youth that had been Qui-Gon's Padawan, an older man, but clearly still the same individual.

He walked back to the main room. Qui-Gon returned his gaze, knitted his brow.

Obi-Wan saw when it happened: that spark of recognition. Qui-Gon closed his eyes, and his expression turned blank and inwards. Obi-Wan had considered that his shaving ploy might, if it brought back the memory of Obi-Wan, also bring back Jon's hatred of Obi-Wan. Qui-Gon had seemed stable, balanced. But he had mislead Obi-Wan handily about the extent of his Force skills. What if that emotional stability was also a facade?

Qui-Gon's eyes opened. He appeared calm, but Obi-Wan readied himself for an attack nonetheless.

"Padawan," Qui-Gon said.

His heart turned over. "Yes, that was me. I was your Padawan, your student."

"That's not your name?"

"No, it was the title for a Jedi apprentice, a learner."

"Apprentice." Qui-Gon seemed uneasy. "This may be foolish, but.you aren't my son?"

Obi-Wan kept a straight face. "No, not at all."

"Good," said Qui-Gon. "Because it seemed..well."

"What?" asked Obi-Wan.

"Never mind."

Who knew what that meant, aside from Qui-Gon himself, who had closed his eyes again, seeking his inner vision.

"Obi-Wan," said Qui-Gon with certainty, and reopened his eyes. "You were Obi-Wan."

"Yes," Obi-Wan said. How many years had it been since he heard his Master call him by name? "My name is Obi-Wan Kenobi."

'You sent me the poetry, and the lightsaber, and the data card images, and the braid. That was your braid."

"Yes, that's right," Obi-Wan said.

"But you're Ben Kenobi, not Obi-Wan."

"I go by Ben, as you go by Jon. And you, do you remember your old name?"

"I was called Qui-Gon."

"Yes!" For some reason, that small fact, that the man could remember his own name, thrilled Obi-Wan. "You are Qui-Gon Jinn. Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn."

"The Jedi, they're the people I remember, with the swords? The lightsabers? I suspected that, it's said that only the Jedi carried that weapon."

"That's not completely accurate, but it's true enough for this region of the galaxy."

"Jedi Master, what does that mean?"

"Why don't I tell the tale from the beginning?" asked Obi-Wan. "At least what I know of it. Some decades ago, an infant boy child came to the Coruscant Temple from his birth planet of."

He talked through the night. Qui-Gon asked questions, sometimes apparently to match his own memories to what Obi-Wan was telling him, other times to attempt to catch Obi-Wan in a contradiction or deception. Obi-Wan persisted, telling the story of the Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn, and introducing his own history, all the way to the events on Naboo.

As the dawn light appeared, Obi-Wan rubbed his forehead tiredly. His headache was returning.

Qui-Gon said, "You should take more painkiller, and rest. Your story is consistent with my memories, what's left of them. I believe you. I apologize for striking you, but you must admit, you'd given me plenty of reasons to suspect you."

"I know, I'm sorry," said Obi-Wan, massaging his temple. He felt the sting of the injector again, the touch of Qui-Gon's hands removing the suppressor collar, and the blessed rush of the Force. He clutched at it gratefully.

"Go rest," said Qui-Gon. "In the bedroom, it's climate controlled, you'll be more comfortable." He followed Obi-Wan down the hall, with a hand on his elbow; Obi-Wan wondered if the man thought he was going to pitch on his face. And he just might, given how weak he felt.

"Give me your clothes," said Qui-Gon, "I'll put them in the cleaner."

Obi-Wan pulled off his clothes haphazardly, had to sit down on the bed to manage the leggings, he was that unsteady. He could use a shower, but no way could he manage in his current condition. He looked up to see Qui-Gon staring at him. Yes, the last time his old Master had seen him naked, he had been twenty-five, young, fit. At his physical prime. No longer.

"Ya, the merchandise has had some rough handling," Obi-Wan muttered, "since last you saw it, if you remember, you prob'ly don't."

"You look fine, and you can shower when you wake up," said Qui-Gon. "Sleep now."

Obi-Wan collapsed into sleep so quickly, he had no time to think if it was the effect of Force suggestion or his own exhaustion.

POETIC INTERLUDE

I have to remember everything,
keep track of blades of grass, the threads
of the untidy event, and.
the textured face of pain.
even if one whole wall
has crumbled in my memory,
I have to make the air again,
steam, the earth, leaves,
hair and bricks as well,
the thorns which pierced me,
the speed of the escape.
I was always quick to forget.

"Memory" by Pablo Neruda

When Obi-Wan woke, the high row of windows in the bedroom showed night sky. He had slept the day away. The Force sang to him, clear and strong. He could sense Qui-Gon nearby.

His clothes lay neatly on the far side of the bed. Clean. He'd slept naked in Qui-Gon's bed, and he had been too sound asleep to appreciate it. Opportunity of a lifetime. Ah well, at least he'd have the memory.

His thoughts were sharper. There was something he needed to do, something he should have done last night, this morning, when they were talking, but he hadn't thought of it, or had the fine Force control required to do it. Now, he thought he could manage.

Obi-Wan dressed and wandered barefoot into the main room. Qui-Gon was sitting, reading poetry.

"Better?" asked Qui-Gon.

"Much," he said. "There's something we need to discuss."

"Eat first," said Qui-Gon. "And drink. You're dehydrated, you were out for the whole day."

Once the Master, always the Master. Amused but obedient, Obi-Wan raided the kitchen. This part was surreal; grabbing a meal at odd hours while his Master read quietly nearby. It could have been their quarters at the Temple years ago.

He took the bantha-hide chair across from Qui-Gon and said, "We do need to talk. Something I should have asked about last night."

"All right," said Qui-Gon, putting the book away. "Talk."

"Compared to the time I saw you last, you seem much more..." Obi-Wan hesitated.

"Sane?" Qui-Gon offered wryly.

"Even-tempered, I was going to say."

"That's generous. Yes, I'm told by my few remaining friends who knew me from that time to this, that I've much changed for the better. They thought I'd go completely over the edge after Shmi died. But quite the opposite happened. I buried her on the spire and then spent a number of days out in the desert. Grieving, then thinking. I knew that there had been something wrong with me for years, but I'd never deduced what."

"I found out," said Obi-Wan. "I know who did this to you. It was the Sith Lord, the traditional enemy of the Jedi, now the ruler of the Empire."

"How do you know that?" asked Qui-Gon.

Obi-Wan said, "Ah.he tried the same technique on me once, but only briefly, he didn't have time to finish it. I was captured once by the Imperials, and he took a turn at me. He knew who I was, who you were, and he told me what he'd done to you. Showed me."

"Gods," said Qui-Gon. "What was it for? Was he trying to co-opt me?"

"No, I don't think he was trying to Turn you," said Obi-Wan. "It seemed more like an experiment. Or an entertainment. See what it would take to break a Jedi Master. Though he did say that he envisioned that you would be involved in Anakin's mother's death."

"Gods," said Qui-Gon again. "You shouldn't fully trust what he told you, or showed you. Everything is twisted that comes from that source. I should know, it took me long enough to repair even part of the damage."

"What did you do?" Performing soul-healing and memory corrections on oneself was possible but difficult, Obi-Wan knew.

"It's hard to describe, especially since I don't have the correct words anymore," said Qui-Gon. "My memories had been near-uncontrollable.nightmares.and emotions...negative, most of them, and confusing, all of them. I'd been able to shut most of them away, but with Shmi's death, they all came tearing out again, and I looked at them, really looked at them, as I hadn't in years. And I began to find patterns."

"What kind of patterns?" asked Obi-Wan.

"Again hard to describe. The only thing I can compare it to, is one's sensory experience when one is affected by a drug. The world looks, feels and sounds odd, strange, but not in any way that's easy to describe. I realized that my memories had been tainted somehow, imbued with an alien maliciousness. Some of the memories were so permeated with it, that I doubt they ever truly happened. Others were doused in it, but there was a core that smelled true. So I went through everything I could remember and did a salvage. Things that reeked of falsehood I stripped out and locked away; other thoughts I cleaned up as much as I could. Oddly enough, it's my auditory memory that was most effected. I remember very few sounds or words from my earlier life. That's why I have difficulty with names for people or things. Most of the memories I have left are like silent holos."

"And the false memories?"

"Locked away. They're still there, but I don't access them. I blocked any pathways to accidental remembrance, so I have to intentionally concentrate to remember them."

Obi-Wan digested this information. It sounded feasible, based on what he knew of Jedi soul-healing techniques. Mental disabilities could be sometimes be blocked or sapped of power, when they could not be outright healed.

Their conversation of late last night had been about Qui-Gon's history before his injury on Naboo. Obi-Wan had revealed nothing about the events that were critical to this time: Anakin as Darth Vader. The Emperor. Hiding places of the last few Jedi. Contacts to the underground Rebellion. He could not in good judgment reveal such information until he determined that Qui-Gon was reliable. It was his right to endanger his own life in the company of a potentially deranged man, but he would not risk others without more assurance.

Carefully, he touched the lump on the back of his head, and decided that he felt well enough to try this. He preferred to get it over with as soon as possible.

Obi-Wan said, "There's something I need to do."

Qui-Gon cocked an eyebrow at him. "I'm not stopping you."

"This requires your cooperation. I need to know how stable your mnemonic register is."

"My what?"

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have used the technical term. I was referring to your memory. I need to evaluate the stability of your memory, and by extension your personality."

"And how do you plan to do that?" asked Qui-Gon.

Obi-Wan said, "I'm a Knight, not a Healer, but I know the basic techniques. If you'll permit, I think I can manage this."

"Why do you need to know?"

"I'm not sure how much you remember, since you say you culled those memories.but you were very emotionally disturbed during your first years on Tatooine. I'm very happy that you're more sane, as you put it, but I have to decide if and how much to trust you with confidential information. Last night was just personal history, nothing of import to anyone other than you and me. But there's other information that I have, and I can't share it without greater confidence that you will use the information appropriately."

"That's easy enough to resolve," said Qui-Gon. "Don't tell me."

"Don't?"

"Why do I need to know? Keep it to yourself."

Obi-Wan said, "I will, if necessary. But there's good reason for two people rather than one to know these things. If something happens to me, if I'm killed by Imperials or one of the local Tatooine hazards, I'd feel better knowing that you had the information to get yourself and Luke offworld and into friendly hands."

"You wouldn't feel better."

"What?"

"You'd be dead. How could you feel better after you were dead?" Qui-Gon said solemnly.

Obi-Wan sighed. Qui-Gon had apparently regained his odd sense of humor as well as his Jedi skills. "You're right. I'd feel better now, knowing that I could safely share this information. And you owe it to me to help me feel better, since you were the one that cracked my skull open."

Qui-Gon didn't smile, but the corners of his eyes wrinkled as they did when he was amused. "What do you want me to do?"

"Just sit comfortably. Drop your shields and think of something innocuous. That will give me the opportunity to examine you. I won't be digging, I don't intend to invade your private thoughts."

"No, just my public thoughts," said Qui-Gon wryly.

"Just your uppermost thoughts," corrected Obi-Wan. "I just need."

Qui-Gon interrupted him. "I understand. It makes perfect sense. I'm just stalling because the idea makes me uncomfortable. So go ahead, do it."

Wriggling his shoulders, Qui-Gon settled himself more deeply in his chair, placed his hands in his lap, and closed his eyes. Obi-Wan took a calming breath, and closed his eyes as well.

He could sense the Force currents arcing between the two of them. He extended his consciousness to the boundary of Qui-Gon's mind but could get no further. The man was blocking him.

//Qui-Gon?// he projected.

He got no response, but he sensed a flow of words running through the other man's mind: //.wistful lion from another planet, cast up by the high tide on the rocky coast with nothing more than an empty maw.// It sounded as though Qui-Gon were reciting poetry.

//Qui-Gon!// he pushed harder. //You're blocking me. Lower your shields.//

//I thought I had// responded Qui-Gon.

//Try again// Obi-Wan said.

Obi-Wan could sense Qui-Gon moving on the other side of mental wall, and then a metaphorical door opened. //That's it// Obi-Wan sent. //Go back to your poetry, I'll call you if I need you.//

He sensed Qui-Gon returning to his recitation: //.it was well aware of the foolishness of its aggressive appearance, and with the passing of years it wrinkled up in shame.//

Inside that barrier wall, Obi-Wan looked about with nonexistent eyes. His mind insisted on painting illusory images to interpret what his Force sense perceived. He appeared to be in a small city, and he remembered what Anakin had said, those years ago: that Qui-Gon's mind was like a city under siege, defenders fighting an urban war against an entrenched and hostile invader. But this city seemed tidy and at peace.

All was silent. There was no sound in this well-ordered city. If was as if sound didn't exist in Qui-Gon's remembered universe.

He wandered through the streets. The buildings around him hummed with internal life, but he had no desire to spy on Qui-Gon's actual thoughts, so he passed by, noting only the emotional overtones in the Force. So far, this psychological place seemed very Jedi: emotion present but restrained, honestly admitted but curbed. Occasionally he walked past fragments of Qui-Gon's memories: Qui-Gon and Mace as teen-aged Padawans, talking elbow to elbow; Qui-Gon kneeling in obedience to receive a lecture from a stick-wagging Yoda; Knight Qui-Gon with his saber drawn and ready.

At one point, he saw himself: an Obi-Wan looking to be in his early twenties, curled up in sleep, with an awake Qui-Gon sitting near him, looking down at the dozing man and slowly rolling the end of the long Padawan braid in his fingers. The visiting Obi-Wan paused, then he walked on. He was not here to satisfy his own curiosity. He had promised Qui-Gon that he wouldn't pry.

Standing apart from the rest of the buildings was an opaque black cube. Obi-Wan approached to inspect it. He could sense something active on the other side of those walls, but there was no door or window to glimpse inside. The cube's walls were reinforced with thick mental shields.

He wanted information before he acted. //Qui-Gon?// he called.

A simulacrum of Qui-Gon blinked into existence. //Yes?//

//What is this?// asked Obi-Wan.

//What it looks like. It's a prison. My false memories are confined here.//

//I need to see for myself// said Obi-Wan.

Qui-Gon's avatar nodded. //I won't come with you. I don't go in there unless I have to.//

//Better you stay here// Obi-Wan agreed.

The outline of a door appeared on the black wall. Obi-Wan stepped forward, into the wall.through the wall.feeling the curtains of Force shields part to admit him.and he was through.

He might have stepped into the mind of an entirely different person. The first sensation was noise, a cacophony of voices, angry, howling. Images swarmed over him like insects. There was a pervasive noxious smell. Memories battered him: distorted views of the Temple, violent Initiate training, Padawans being physically and sexually abused. When he began to see images of himself, as a young Padawan with a calculating look in his eyes, he decided that he had seen enough, and moved backwards to the wall, out of the avalanche of polluted memories, but not before he'd caught a glimpse of his false younger self coupling with a fervent Qui-Gon, and that false Obi-Wan's face showed cunning rather than love.

Obi-Wan burst through the Force shields and felt the black wall close behind him. He had seen what he needed to see. Time to get out. He took one last moment to enjoy the sensation of being enclosed in Qui-Gon's mind, a feeling of closeness similar to the long-lost training bond, then he drew himself out and back into his own brain.

He opened his eyes to find himself looking straight in the face of Qui-Gon leaning over him, looking into those startlingly blue eyes. "You look pale," said Qui-Gon.

"Oh?" said Obi-Wan. He did feel faint.

"What's the verdict?" asked Qui-Gon, with no sign of anxiety.

"I think you're fine," said Obi-Wan, cataloguing the exhaustion in his bones. He felt as if he'd walked from here to Anchorhead and back. While carrying his landspeeder. "I mean, not fine, but of the Light, I mean, stable. Trustworthy, at least as much or more than most people. As me. Trustworthy, that is. My head hurts." Was that why he couldn't talk?

"You were doing whatever you were doing for more than two hours," said Qui-Gon. "You must have overstretched yourself."

"Yes, probably," Obi-Wan said, "I'm not a healer, I'm not trained for this."

"Back to bed, my friend. Here, I'll help you." Obi-Wan felt firm hands assisting him from his chair, an arm around his back, and he gladly leaned into the bigger man.

"Anchorhead," he thought to say. "Supposed to get back."

"Don't worry about it," Qui-Gon answered. "I messaged Jer, she knows you're with me. She and Cal thought that the Jundlands had gotten you for certain. Jer's spare room isn't that comfortable; I should know, I've slept there. Why don't you live here with me? It seems that the last surviving Jedi should stick together."

"Um," muttered Obi-Wan happily, not sure if he'd really heard that.

"Sleep," said Qui-Gon. "When you feel up to it, we'll go to Anchorhead and get your things."

POETIC INTERLUDE

Perhaps this is the house in which I lived
when neither I, nor earth, existed,
when everything was moon, or stone, or shadow,
with the still light unborn.
This stone could then have been my house.

"House" by Pablo Neruda

When Obi-Wan looked back on that time later, what struck him most vividly was the string of déjà vu moments.

Almost thirty years later, and again he came to live with Qui-Gon. This time there was no spare Padawan's bedroom, but he assured Qui-Gon that he was comfortable sleeping in the main room, as he had done that first night. Again he had to adjust to sharing space with the man, establishing those rhythms of daily life: patterns of sleep and waking, work and rest, talking and silence, being together and being apart. It was like falling into the steps of an old dance that one had learned long ago, and delighting that one could still tango with one's old partner.

The intimacy enforced by small living quarters gave Obi-Wan his daily thrills: seeing a glimpse of Qui-Gon emerging naked from the fresher, Qui-Gon sitting in meditation out on the sands under the stars, Qui-Gon in the morning rumpled from his bed. Qui-Gon's memories returned in fits and starts, and Obi-Wan supplied him with the words to match his soundless memories of his life as a Jedi.

Every day, more little secrets were uncovered, more answers learned. One of the most pleasant surprises came that first day. Qui-Gon said, "Now that you're a permanent resident, I'd best show you all the facilities" and took Obi-Wan to the locked door at the end of the hallway, next to the doors to the fresher and Qui-Gon's bedroom.

"Do you know what's in here?" asked Qui-Gon.

"Something living," answered Obi-Wan. "I can feel it. I assumed it was an entrance to the underground greenhouse."

"It is, but there's an unusual vestibule," said Qui-Gon, opening the door.

As Obi-Wan stepped inside, his first impression was damp. Moist air on his skin, and he could almost feel the water molecules being sucked in by his parched cells. Simultaneously there was green: the entire room was green, green underfoot, green on the walls, green overhead.

It appeared to be some kind of a bathing area. There was a large tub, almost a pool, on one side along the outside wall of clear plasteel which was polarized to let in filtered light. A small fountain burbled. The interior wall was completely covered by plants and vines, with small clouds of mist descending from what must be a watering system set into the walls and ceiling. A few of the plants sported beautiful flowers in striking jewel-like colors.

It felt good just to stand in the room. Obi-Wan's Force sense rejoiced at the life surrounding him. His Force sense in the desert was always clear and sharp but empty, there so few living entities to engage it.

"It's beautiful," Obi-Wan said. "But why?"

"Why?" repeated Qui-Gon incredulously. "Don't you feel it?"

"Yes, it feels.alive, very alive," Obi-Wan said.

"That's why," said Qui-Gon. "The sense of living things is intense here, and in the garden on the lower level. This is a sanctuary of sorts. I come in here to rest, soak, meditate, even sleep sometimes. You're welcome to do the same. There's only two rules: don't bring anything in here that shouldn't get wet, such as that volume of poetry. And always keep the doors closed to seal in the moisture. Otherwise, enjoy yourself."

Obi-Wan couldn't resist going back later than same day. He clambered into the large basin; it had been designed with molded seats and footrests at different heights, to accommodate various positions. He found the one he wanted, and sunk into the hot water up to his neck.

The door opened. "Ah," said Qui-Gon, "I'll come back later."

"That's all right," Obi-Wan said. "We can share, if you like, or if you'd rather have privacy, I'll be leaving soon."

Qui-Gon paused in thought halfway through the door, then entered the room and began to strip. Obi-Wan watched out of the corner of his eye; it was the first time that he'd seen his master naked since before Naboo. He told himself he was looking for injuries and general conditioning. That play of muscle over bone, flexible spine, firm buttocks, well-shaped legs, glimpse of genitals.he'd best look away now.

Qui-Gon settled in the water opposite him, placing most of that distracting body under water. From across the tub Qui-Gon looked at him, a lazy, almost seductive look. Obi-Wan felt himself begin to harden, and immediately became embarrassed. All he needed was for Qui-Gon to notice his reaction.

He needed to distract himself. Conversation; what could they talk about? He picked the first topic that came to mind. "This is a lot of water. How difficult is it to get this much water from your vaporator array? And you don't have many of them to begin with. Only eleven. Even the smallest farms seem to have at least fifty."

Washing his shoulders and arms with a soaped cloth, Qui-Gon said, "The vaporators are supplementary. Most of our water doesn't come from them. The only reason I have them is to keep up appearances with the settlers and keep from arousing their suspicions."

"Then where does the water come from?" Obi-Wan watched the soap scum drift to the edge of the tub and into the recirculation filter.

"From one of the Sand People's wells." Qui-Gon stood up, water sluicing off his body, and began washing his torso, working his way downwards. Obi-Wan hastily shut his eyes.

"Sand People? I've heard people speculate that they have their own water sources," said Obi-Wan, his voice a little higher than usual.

"The Tusken consider their wells to be sacred, and they keep them hidden from outsiders."

"Then how." Obi-Wan tried to ignore the splashing sounds.

"Each Tusken sacred well has a keeper, usually one of their shamans, their wizards. They act as guardians for the wells, ensuring that the water is available to all who come to access it, and that it isn't controlled by one tribe at the expense of the others. The immediate area around a well is supposedly peaceful ground, although as always with the Tusken, someone may decide that their situation is an exception. The shaman guardians also act as impartial advisors to the tribes, resolving disputes that are brought to them, suggesting courses of action, interpreting omens and so forth."

Obi-Wan said, "And the Tusken tolerate your presence at this well because they think you're a shaman? A wizard?"

"They don't tolerate me here, they asked me to take over responsibility for this well. I lived with one of the tribes after Shmi's death. The Sand People found me in the desert one day, and we had a lively confrontation. My Force skills were returning, but they weren't fully under my control yet, and I triggered some interesting effects. Because of my warrior abilities and my magic, as they call it, they decided I was a shaman. I lived with the Tusken for about a year, until I began to actually want interaction with the outside world. The tribe recommended that I settle at a local well whose previous guardian had recently died."

"But where is the well?" asked Obi-Wan, risking opening his eyes. Qui-Gon had settled back into the water; it lapped against his collarbone. Obi-Wan breathed a sigh of relief.

"It's accessed through a cave entrance a short distance to the west of the house. You really have to know how to find it. Tusken come and go there often, that's why you frequently see them in the greater vicinity of the house. I did a geological scan and placed the house on a location where I could drill down to the water source. I didn't want to do anything that would reveal the existence of the well to a casual visitor. Even at the house, the pumping mechanism is hidden; I'll have to show you where it is, so we can both refill the tank when it's running low."

"I still don't understand. If the Tusken favor your presence here, why were we attacked that first night?" asked Obi-Wan.

"Ah that. That had to do with you, not me," said Qui-Gon, giving him a look. "You were just another outsider, and fair game. When I took you in, you should have been safe. Those young bucks knew they were doing something that they shouldn't, hassling a shaman, but they did it anyway. The Tusken aren't known for being subservient, even to all of their own traditions. We ran them off that time, but that doesn't solve the issue of your being here."

Obi-Wan felt a twinge. "If my living with you is a problem, perhaps I should leave."

"Nonsense," said Qui-Gon. "I'm not changing my living arrangements just to please the Tusken. We just have to think of a reason for you to stay that will make sense from their perspective. Tusken don't have same-sex marriages, so that excuse is out."

Obi-Wan flushed at the idea, even if it was only a ruse for the Tusken, but he thought that his skin was already red enough from sunburn and hot water that Qui-Gon wouldn't notice.

Qui-Gon continued, "The apprentice angle might work. A wizard has to pass along his craft, after all. Yes, that might work. You can be another shaman. The Tusken do understand seniority rankings." Qui-Gon glanced at him. "I hope that's not offensive to you. I don't consider you my junior in anything but years at this point."

"Not at all," said Obi-Wan, and they continued to discuss what it meant to be a shaman to the Tusken.

The next ten, they had the opportunity to test this explanation. A tribe showed up to talk with Qui-Gon. Obi-Wan discovered that the Tusken garb in the house's main room served more than a decorative function when the two of them put on the full headpieces, robes and gloves, and went out to confer with the tribal elders. "Any time you talk with them, cover all exposed skin," Qui-Gon had warned him. "It's one of their most serious taboos. That's one good reason to wear a robe at all times here, in spite of the heat; you can always manage to cover up with hood and sleeves."

Obi-Wan listened as Qui-Gon and the elders grunted in their guttural language. In his disguise, Qui-Gon was indistinguishable from the actual Sand People except for his height, although Obi-Wan could identify him by Force signature.

Later, back in the house, Qui-Gon told him the outcome. "They accept your identity as a shaman. But it's just a matter of formal politeness. They'll look for a chance to test you, sometime when you're out alone. So be ready."

"What will they do?" asked Obi-Wan.

Qui-Gon shrugged. "Sneak up on you. Shoot at you. Try to provoke you into either responding and displaying your magic, or fleeing in a panic. Tusken don't think much of cowards, shaman or no. There's no point in trying to avoid it; if we give the impression that we're hesitant for you to be out on your own, that won't look good. So be alert and be ready. Let them make the first move, then do something impressive. If one of them is highly aggressive, for example engaging you hand-to-hand, you'd better kill him."

"Kill him?" protested Obi-Wan.

"It's what they expect. Likely they won't be that assertive with you, unless you give them some reason to believe that you're weak. They're predisposed to be respectful, given what they believe you to be."

The encounter with the Tusken came quickly. Obi-Wan was on the way back from a run to Anchorhead when at a narrow gap in between two outcroppings, a mound obstructed the path. Obi-Wan slammed the brakes and the speeder skittered to a halt. The mound broke apart; it was Sand People, now advancing on the speeder.

Obi-Wan recalled Qui-Gon's comments: be visibly strong, brave and dramatic. Obi-Wan leaped from his seat onto the hood of his speeder, staring arrogantly at the advancing Tusken. The lead warrior broke into a charge, and Obi-Wan waved his hand, knocking the Tusken off his feet with a Force defense. Another leaped forward, with the same result. A third aimed his rifle from the hip and fired. In one swift movement, Obi-Wan ignited his saber and deflected the shot back towards the group. One Tusken squealed and dropped to the ground. Obi-Wan reached out, and the offender's rifle flew from his hand and into Obi-Wan's.

The Tusken scrambled back, routed, dragging their wounded fellow with them. Obi-Wan spared an instant of regret for the victim, but decided that a decisive response now would prevent a recurrence later.

Obi-Wan told Qui-Gon of the encounter later than day, and felt a surge of pride at Qui-Gon's approving grin.

He was now an official Tusken shaman. Qui-Gon commenced to instructing him in the basics of Tusken language. Yet one more skill he had to learn at his old Master's direction. He felt like a senior Padawan again, and he loved it.

Obi-Wan realized that he had expected his life on Tatooine to be dull, and it was anything but. Every day there was something interesting to learn and to do. The farm had its own work of managing the vaporators and, during the heat of the day, tending the vegetables, fruits and greens in the enclosed garden. The desert had its own charms: a variety of creatures lived there, and Qui-Gon, with his usual fascination with living beings no matter how inconsequential, liked to sit for hours observing jakrabs swiveling their long ears, or profoggs popping in and out of their holes. And because Qui-Gon liked to sit and watch, Obi-Wan found it enjoyable as well.

One evening, Qui-Gon was unusually silent during latemeal, and finally said, "Obi-Wan, we have to talk."

"All right," he said.

Qui-Gon continued, with a trace of discomfort in his body language, "When I invited you to live here, I hadn't fully considered.I'd been alone for a long time, and I'm finding it difficult to adjust to having another person around."

Obi-Wan instantly knew: this was it. His stay was over.

"I'm sorry that I wore out my welcome," Obi-Wan said.

Qui-Gon said hastily, "No, you didn't, but I'm accustomed to living alone. And this house was never intended for two people. You must be tired of sleeping on the floor and not having a proper bedroom."

Obi-Wan couldn't have cared less; he'd have slept in the fresher if it meant he could be near Qui-Gon. "It doesn't bother me, but I understand how the house could seem small for two. I always intended to get my own place, I can, I can go back to that. I'll head into Anchorhead tomorrow."

"You don't have to leave right away," said Qui-Gon. "It can wait until you find a homestead to buy."

"No, that's all right," said Obi-Wan. He couldn't stay, knowing that he was a source of discomfort for Qui-Gon. "I'd rather go ahead and move. Living in Jer's rental will be stronger motivation for me to get my tail in gear and purchase something."

"Yes, that storage room of hers is a bit of a dump, but if it's only for a few days.it would make it easier for you to look for a place if you were in Anchorhead or one of the other towns."

Obi-Wan said, "I appreciate your letting me stay here. It's been good to spend time with you."

"You're always welcome to visit," said Qui-Gon. "The Tusken would be glad to see you," said lightly.

"Right," said Obi-Wan, and to close the awkward conversation, he rose to clear the dishes from the table.

Obi-Wan didn't sleep. His last night under Qui-Gon's roof, his last hours living with Qui-Gon, he wouldn't waste it sleeping. It's all right, he told himself. I'll see Qui-Gon in Anchorhead, visit him on occasion. He had let himself fall into pretending that they were back together again, Master and Padawan, a team. But it hasn't been that way for years, and one couldn't resurrect the past. He had to go forward into the future, and be glad that Qui-Gon would be one of his acquaintances, a friend like Jer or Cal or Beru.

That was the logical way to approach this. But the thought filled him with sadness.

POETIC INTERLUDE

.the truth of it is, how huge the night is, how lonely the earth!
I have gone back again to single bedrooms,
to cold lunches in restaurants, and I
drop my pants and my shirts on the floor as I used to,
there are no hangers in my room, and nobody's pictures are on the walls.
How much of that shadow that is in my soul I would give to have you back.

Thus it hurts me to think of the clear day of your legs
in repose like waters of the sun made to stay in place,
and the swallow that lives in your eyes sleeping and flying,
and the mad dog that you harbor in your heart,
and thus also I see the dead who are between us and will be from now on,
and I breathe ash and utter ruin in the air itself,
I would give this giant sea-wind for your sudden breath
and the vast solitary space that will be around me forever.

I would give the wind off the giant sea for your hoarse breathing
heard in the long nights unmixed with oblivion.

"Widower's Tango" by Pablo Neruda

Obi-Wan couldn't decide if he preferred that his time at Qui-Gon's home had never happened, or not. Certainly it made it that much more difficult now to live in Jer's cluttered room alone, after having been together with Qui-Gon in his comfortable if plain home.

He couldn't yet bring himself to face the fact that it was over. He passed up an opportunity to buy a homestead, decent enough properties, but when he toured it, he could only think: it isn't our house, I mean, it's not Qui-Gon's house. So he stayed a renter in Anchorhead.

He didn't go to Qui-Gon's homestead, or out in the Jundland Wastes; it didn't seem right anymore. Instead, he and Qui-Gon greeted each other with polite reserve in Anchorhead, shared conversation and a meal every few days. More distance between them, less accidental intimacy that comes from living with another. Qui-Gon now an acquaintance, like his other acquaintances.

Obi-Wan tried to tell himself that it was enough. But sometimes he wanted more, so much more, and it hurt to think how close he had come, how far both of them had come over their lifetimes, only to have those possibilities evaporate.

He was a Jedi. He knew about sacrifice. He would go on, and eventually it would hurt less. That was what had always happened before.

POETIC INTERLUDE

You are standing over the earth, full
of teeth and lightning,
you propagate kisses.
You are like a sword, blue and green,
and you undulate to the touch like a river.

Come to my soul dressed in white, with a branch
of bleeding roses and goblets of ashes,
come with an apple and a horse,
for there is a dark room with a broken candelabra,
a few twisted chairs waiting for winter,
and a dead dove, with a number.

"Ode with a Lament" by Pablo Neruda

It was the anniversary of the fall of the Temple, the destruction of the Order. The death of thousands of Jedi.

Spikes of pain lanced through Obi-Wan's head. It was always like this, every turn of a Coruscant year that marked this date. He believed in honoring the dead, but why his body thought this annual suffering was a worthy tribute, he didn't know.

Rolling sideways from his kneeling posture, he stretched himself out flat on his back on the floor in the Corpse Asana. He was wearing only his leggings, having abandoned his boots and tunic due to the heat. He had been moving through every relaxing meditation posture that he knew. It wasn't helping. Neither had the painkiller he had finally taken. Neither of them ever did. He had to wait this out.

The pain was emotional, not just physical. Waves of grief would sweep over him, regret, guilt. At times he would sob quietly, tears falling; other times just lay still and feel the weight of all that loss, all that suffering, all that death.

Hours had passed; it was almost time for it to be over. He hadn't left his room this entire day, and the light in the windows was getting fainter. Sometime in the night this would end, and he could sleep peacefully.

He heard sounds downstairs: Jer rattling about. It was time for her to close up shop. He waited for the noises to cease. His Force sense was completely obscured, blinded by the echo of the passing of all those Force sensitives. He couldn't sense Jer, couldn't have sensed an entire tribe of Sand People if they'd been standing there right in front of him.

Footfalls coming up the stairs. Heavy and deliberate. Not Jer.

Obi-Wan levered himself into a cross-legged sitting position as a knock came at the door.

Of all the days for a visitor."Come in," he said, his voice sounding much steadier than he felt.

It was Qui-Gon.

Obi-Wan kept his seat on the floor; he'd likely fall if he tried to stand. Qui-Gon wrinkled his brow in puzzlement. "Am I disturbing you?"

"No," he said. State your business and get out, he groaned behind strained shields. Hard to imagine that he would ever have that thought about Qui-Gon.

Qui-Gon said, "Bike fritzed on me, I finally got it in here on low speed. Jer and I are going to work on it tomorrow. I told her I'd bunk down here, she knows that you and I are friendly."

"Um," said Obi-Wan, his eyes closed.

"Is that all right?" asked Qui-Gon. "You don't seem well. I can sleep downstairs."

"No, it's, I'm all right, I mean, I will be all right," said Obi-Wan. "You're welcome here. I have a devil of a headache, but it should go away soon." He glanced furtively at the container of water on the table nearby. It might as well have been continent away.

Qui-Gon followed his gaze, then walked to the table, poured a glass, and knelt by Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan took it, his hand shaking.

"You're ill," said Qui-Gon. "Have you called."

"No," Obi-Wan said. It hurt to talk. It hurt to think. "It's not, they can't, it's a Force reverb. Like being deafened by an explosion, except this is a memory, and has, has a temporal cycle. The Temple, when the Temple fell, and so many Jedi died.once a year, it, comes around, I mean, Coruscant year, not." What planet were they on again? ".not Tatooine, not local year."

Obi-Wan felt the glass taken out of his hand, and then Qui-Gon gripped his biceps. Obi-Wan's eyes snapped open. Another Force sensitive, physical contact - his inflamed memories surged for the connection.

Qui-Gon, his Master. His Master whom he'd loved, for whom he'd lusted, whom he'd disappointed, whom he'd failed. Qui-Gon rejecting him as a bad candidate for Knighthood. Obi-Wan abandoning his Jedi identity on Melida-Daan, throwing Qui-Gon's gift of Padawan status back in his face. Qui-Gon abandoning Obi-Wan in front of the Council, in favor of Anakin. Qui-Gon abandoned on Naboo by an unobservant Obi-Wan, too quick to believe in his Master's death. Qui-Gon taken and tortured, mind shattered. Qui-Gon left him Anakin to raise, and Obi-Wan failed with that as well. Anakin, killer of Jedi, Anakin the traitor, Anakin the murderer.

Memories collided with memories, pain rising to choke him. Through his tearing eyes, he could dimly see Qui-Gon staring at him.

I can't, I'm losing. Obi-Wan's mental shields crumbled, but in his Force blindness, he couldn't sense Qui-Gon's reaction. To his horror, he began to cry, and ducked his face to hide it, his throbbing head screaming at the sudden motion.

Qui-Gon was petting his shoulders, his neck, the back of his head. Obi-Wan choked, "Sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm."

"Hush," he heard Qui-Gon say.

"Failed you, failed him," he moaned, "failed them all.dead, all of them dead.left you, left you in the Dark.oh Master, I'm sorry, so sorry."

Now he couldn't see with his eyes any more than with his Force sense, but he felt arms around him, supporting him, and heard his Master's voice: "Sleep now, Obi-Wan, sleep."

POETIC INTERLUDE

By now sometimes it is not possible
to win except by falling,
by now it is not possible to tremble between
two beings.
Between lips and lips there are cities
of great ash and moist summit.
Therefore you are endless, gather me as though you were
all solemnity, all made of night.
advance into sweetness,
come to my side until the fingery
leaves of the violins
have gone silent, until the mosses
take root in the thunder, until from the pulse
of hand and hand the roots descend.

"Pact (Sonata)" by Pablo Neruda

The pain was gone, leaving a tangible absence where it had been.

Obi-Wan was knotted on his sleep pallet, knees to chest, elbows and hands tucked in defensively. There was an arm over him, and heat radiating against his back; Qui-Gon was curled around him. The air in the room was very warm. His face felt uncomfortably grimy with dried tears.

He eased off the bedroll, stood carefully and tiptoed to the table with the carafe of water. The glow of the town's safety lights through the windows provided a surprising amount of illumination. He dribbled water into his hand and wiped his face, then poured himself a cup and drank.

Qui-Gon raised himself on an elbow. "May I?" gesturing toward the carafe.

Obi-Wan poured another cup and handed it over. As the other man drank, Obi-Wan sneaked a look: the shape of the strong shoulder, with enticing hollows and indentations; the mound of bicep; elegant forearm; large hand delicately cradling the cup. Qui-Gon glanced up and caught his eye; Obi-Wan looked away. He blushed but hoped it wasn't visible in the dim light.

Qui-Gon gave back the cup and Obi-Wan took it and put it away. He looked at Qui-Gon, lying dignified as a large sandpanther on the pallet, watching him with alert but calm panther eyes. Qui-Gon in his bed, in Obi-Wan's bed. Obi-Wan turned his gaze elsewhere, thinking where else he might sleep; his bedding was not overly spacious, and Qui-Gon seemed to occupy most of it. Now that he was fully awake and in his right mind, it seemed unthinkable for him to comfortably plop himself down next to the big man.

Qui-Gon reached out, that long arm extending, hand open in welcome. "Come back to bed," he said.

Obi-Wan stared at the offered hand for a moment, then shuffled to the pallet and lay down on his side, his back to Qui-Gon. Fingers brushed his temple, and he remembered those times as a Padawan, injured or ill, when his Master tended him. He craved that, oh how he craved it, the comfort of a kind touch. All those years of being the Knight, the Master, the protector, the strong one who cared for others and needed no care himself. Now reduced to this, a sobbing mess, pathetically grateful for a petting, like a neglected lapdog.

"Sleep," he heard the command, and he obeyed.

His shyness had deserted him while he slept, for when he woke again, he was pressed full against Qui-Gon, half on top of the other man. Heartbeat under his ear, touch of bones through thin layers of muscle and skin, the cylinder of an erection under his leg. Experimentally he rubbed thigh against penis, and a hand grasped his errant leg and held it firmly, pressing it down against the bulge in Qui-Gon's groin.

What had he been thinking? Humiliated, he muttered, "Sorry."

"Don't be sorry," said Qui-Gon's voice, husky. "It feels wonderful."

Wonderful? Recklessly, he blurted, "I want you."

Qui-Gon's hands began to wander, stroking Obi-Wan's back and his thigh, lazy caresses. "But.you know my memory isn't reliable, but aren't you sworn to celibacy?"

"No," Obi-Wan said. He had never taken a formal vow.

"But some Jedi were so sworn?"

"Yes, some were, some weren't. I'm not."

"So you've had partners."

"Yes," said Obi-Wan. That was technically true.

"What a fool I am," murmured Qui-Gon. "I threw you out of the house because I thought you were untouchable and I didn't trust myself around you. If I'd only asked."

A sudden motion, and he found himself flat on his back with Qui-Gon over him. He had an instant of panic, then Qui-Gon kissed him. A sexual kiss, he wasn't sure how to respond, but Qui-Gon seemed willing to lead, and he tentatively imitated. It was so intimate, he hadn't guessed that from watching others do this, so intimate to have another's face so close, breathing a mutual breath, the gentle teasing of his lips and mouth.

The nuzzling moved from his mouth to his cheek. Qui-Gon whispered in his ear: "You'd lean over the kitchen table clearing dishes, showing the curve of your ass.reclining like a prince in the tub, or standing there naked and dripping wet."

Obi-Wan said shakily, because it was hard to talk with all the stimulation from hands and mouth and heavy body and undulating hips, "I thought I had annoyed you somehow."

"You were driving me raving mad, quite the tease, if I had only known, I'd have had you my bed rather than left you sleeping on the floor."

The mouth-to-mouth kiss resumed. His tongue was touched by its twin, strange to feel something in his mouth that was alive and probing. He groaned and that seemed to be a signal to Qui-Gon because Obi-Wan suddenly had a mouthful of tongue, and oh he wanted to come so badly, but his recalcitrant penis was only half-hard, at odds with the fire inside his skin.

The kiss stopped and Qui-Gon was looking down at him with an expression that was alive and alert and focused completely on him. Miracle of miracles, Qui-Gon wanted him, wanted to make love to him. All his dreams and fantasies and years of waiting, vindicated at last. He knew what to do next. Pulling away, he yanked his leggings down and off, fumbled for his toiletries kit, and took out the moisturizing lotion. He put the lotion down next to Qui-Gon and lay face down, opening his legs.

The other man settled between his spread legs, and Obi-Wan tried to brace himself and relax at the same time. It was all right. Qui-Gon knew what to do, he just had to play along. There would be pain, he expected that, but it was said that many people found penetration exciting. He could already understand that response. Just lying here, naked and exposed, fueled turbulent emotions.

Irresistible hands on his thighs, spreading him wider and adjusting the angle of his hips, an awkward and exposed position. He felt humiliated and vulnerable, eager and terrified. He jumped at the touch to his opening. Breathe, he told himself. Relax. An impossibly large finger pushed into him, scraping delicate tissue. It was only his body, he could control it, and he loosened his sphincter. The finger moved obscenely inside of him, slid out, and he felt the tips of two fingers pressing in, straining his opening. His analytical mind wondered at what point he would tear; he hoped Qui-Gon would be too distracted to notice. His hands were trembling, and he flattened them against the bedding. There is no emotion there is peace, there is no ignorance there is knowledge, there is.

Fingers pulled out of him. He felt Qui-Gon's body leaning close over him, and he waited for the first thrust. But instead, Qui-Gon lay down next to him.

Obi-Wan cleared his tight throat and asked, "What."

"You're not ready," said Qui-Gon, his expression tender but watchful.

"I am ready," Obi-Wan protested weakly. "I am. Tell me what you want, I can do it." He knew he had floundered; Qui-Gon had been aroused, then he had pulled away. Obi-Wan must have done something, or more likely not done something, to diminish Qui-Gon's ardor.

Qui-Gon said nothing, but looked at him appraisingly. Had he changed his mind? "I'm sorry, I'm not certain what to do," Obi-Wan admitted, trying to maintain his composure, "I'm not very experienced, but I'm sure I can -" His throat seized, and he felt wildly that he might begin to cry, for the second time this evening.

His whole body was trembling now, not just his hands, and Qui-Gon frowned. "Obi-Wan, I want you to put your leggings back on."

With habitual obedience, Obi-Wan struggled back into his leggings, ashamed. It did feel safer to be covered, and his shaking quieted, but he had only exchanged one panic for another. He felt less physically threatened, but he had thrown away his chance for intimacy with Qui-Gon. He tried not to think of the years he'd wanted this, only to ruin it with his timidity.

"Come here," said Qui-Gon, and pulled him close. Obi-Wan clutched at him in gratitude. Qui-Gon continued, "You said you had experience, why don't you tell me what experience you've had."

"Only a little," said Obi-Wan.

"What was it?"

Obi-Wan choked back a laugh. "It was.it wasn't really.I'd rather hear what you like, I'm sure your opinion is better formed than mine."

Qui-Gon said very quietly but with a touch of Force compulsion, "Obi-Wan, tell me what happened."

There was no subtle way to avoid it now; he could refuse to talk, but that would annoy Qui-Gon even more. Obi-Wan said, "I'm not a virgin. I've received penetration. But the circumstances were.unusual."

"You were raped," stated Qui-Gon, his tone unsurprised.

"Why do you think that?" Obi-Wan hedged.

"You're not easily frightened, much less put into a near-panic. At first I thought it was only nerves, but when I finally paid attention to what your body was trying to tell the both of us, I could see it, and feel the pressure building up behind your shields. So I'm right?"

Obi-Wan hesitated. "Not exactly, not the first time.the others, yes, I was, that was, that was assault. But the first time, it wasn't my choice but I accepted it, I agreed to it. It's not rape if you consent."

"Tell me what happened, Obi-Wan."

It came flooding back in awful detail, things that he had put aside, things that he didn't want or need to remember. The final battle, the Temple destroyed. Confronting Anakin, the one the others now called the Sith apprentice, Darth Vader, but he refused to call Anakin that. Thinking that there might be one last desperate chance, if he could sway Anakin away from the Dark, if he threw all his love into the balance, it might tip Anakin's fate in favor of the Light. Later he recognized that presumption for the arrogance it was, but at the time, he believed it. He gave himself up for arrest and interrogation.

POETIC INTERLUDE

There are lone cemeteries,
tombs full of soundless bones,
the heart threading a tunnel,
a dark, dark tunnel:
like a wreck we die to the very core
as if drowning at the heart
or collapsing inwards from skin to soul.

"Death Alone" by Pablo Neruda

Anakin laughed. "You think to Turn me, round and round again? Why? To save the others? Or to rescue poor Anakin from the Dark Side? If you really cared for me, my Master, you'd listen to me, see what I see. The Senate is hopelessly corrupt. The Jedi are quaintly archaic. How many innocents have suffered and died while the Senate and the Jedi deteriorated into irrelevancy? The only solution is to sweep away the old and begin anew. I've seen it in my visions, Master. A new Jedi Order will arise from the ruins of the old one, and it will be fresh and vital. Join me. We can create the new Order together."

"No, Anakin," Obi-Wan said, putting all the Force suggestion he had behind it. "You know this is wrong. Committing violence and excusing it, pretending that injustice will magically result in justice, that is folly. There's so much good you could do, if only you'd."

Obi-Wan felt a looming presence, invisible, as palpable in the Force as if it had been there in the flesh. The Sith Lord, watching their encounter.

Anakin shook his head regretfully. "You always excelled in denying reality, Obi-Wan. I should just leave you to be killed with the rest, but I do care for you, so I'll make one last attempt to break through your illusions. This won't be pleasant, but if it saves you in the end, it's worth it."

Anakin advanced on him. Obi-Wan tried to move but was unable. Force compulsion, stronger than anything he'd ever felt from his apprentice, and he sensed that invisible presence feeding Anakin, giving him strength and ideas upon which to act.

Anakin reached out and touched his cheek, trailed a hand down his chest, and began to unfasten his belt and sash. "Poor lonely Obi-Wan," he said. "He's at the root of it all, isn't he? You were so desperate to become a Padawan, and you fixed your last hope on him, and he rejected you, and you kept wishing and trying, again and again."

Outer tunic removed. "And when he finally accepted you, you were so grateful, so committed. You would repay his doubts, you would become the best Jedi the Order had ever seen, you would redeem his faint faith and Xanatos' betrayal and your own failures. By strength of will, with him as your example and inspiration, you would do it."

Inner tunic removed, upper body bare. Obi-Wan knew with dreadful certainty where this was going, and strained against the Force grip holding him still. Anakin pushed him down to hands and knees. Anakin continued, "Given all that, it's no great mystery that as you grew up, you fell in love with him. You kept yourself pure for him, and you refused all temptation, and you waited. And here you are, still waiting, and he's been gone for how many years?"

Leggings sliding down, Anakin's hands now on Obi-Wan's bare hips. "That's your flaw, Master, you persist in taking the initial intent far beyond logic, into utter stupidity. You don't know when to quit. So it's not up to you anymore. I'm stopping it."

Obi-Wan make an overwhelming effort and found himself able to speak. "Anakin, don't. You don't truly want to do this."

"I know, Master. But I love you and want to help you, so I'll make an exception in your case." Obi-Wan felt Anakin move close, touching his flanks. Ignore it, the objective part of his mind said, put aside fear and self-pity and focus on your apprentice. What terror and confusion must his apprentice have experienced that Anakin, his sensitive and perceptive Anakin, would stoop to inflicting such a violation on any being?

"Padawan," said Obi-Wan, reaching for some crumb of Masterly influence. "Padawan, please don't do this, for both of our sakes."

"Breath and relax, Master," said Anakin's voice. "When this is done, you'll be free of it all: him, your ridiculous virginity, your fixation on being the perfect Jedi. You'll finally be free."

Tearing pain, stabbing up inside. It was a knife impaling him, ripping deep up into his abdomen. They had butchered thousands of Jedi without ceremony, why was Obi-Wan, a single Knight, worth this humiliation?

His Force sense was drenched in the Dark, and that invisible presence was watching, watching them both, but especially Anakin. Anakin: the Sith Lord was focused on Anakin, not on Obi-Wan. This was about Anakin. Obi-Wan, as Anakin's master, was just a tool for the Sith Lord to drag the young man deeper into servitude.

But although the Dark might control Anakin, he, Obi-Wan still had his free will. He had a choice. If he chose this, it wasn't rape, and the Dark Lord couldn't use that against Anakin. "Padawan," Obi-Wan gasped against the pain. "I love you, Padawan. I understand why you're doing this. It's all right. I'd do anything for you, you know that. It's all right."

Impact across his lower back, like a club against his kidneys. "Shut up!" shouted Anakin, "stop with the damned perfect Jedi act, rot you, just stop it! I'm fucking you, you stupid bastard! Curse me to the seven hells! Anything, just act like a human being for once!"

"What for?" Obi-Wan panted, his body protesting under the jarring thrusts. "What good would my anger do either of us? I'm sorry for all of this, for every time I ever failed you, but I don't hate you, Padawan. You're fallen and misguided and inflicting pain on others, and on yourself, but I don't hate you for that, I pity you!"

"Shut up!" snarled Anakin, "I'll get one of the troopers to fuck your mouth while I fuck your ass - ah!" Obi-wan felt the other man's body stiffen and jerk.

The weight lifted off his back. He waited for a moment, then slowly rolled over. His anus hurt, and up inside. He felt wetness between his legs.

Anakin was on his feet and adjusting his leggings, glaring, furious. "I should have known better. You're a lost case, have been for years. There's nothing human left in you anymore. You want to be a literal fucking martyr, so be it." Anakin's boots clicked as he walked away. "Guards! He's yours. I'm finished with him."

As they came and put their hands on him, Obi-Wan told himself: breathe, breathe and relax. It was just his body. It would be over soon. It would be over very soon, and he would lay down the burdens of this life, and be at one with the Force. He recited to himself: there is no emotion there is peace, there is no ignorance there is knowledge, there is.

He had successfully distanced himself from his anguished flesh when a voice spoke close: "You can't hide in here, Jedi."

Not spoken in his ear. Spoken in the previously secure refuge of his own mind. That menacing invisible presence that he had sensed behind Anakin: it was in his own mind now, huge and oppressive. He strengthened his shields against it. The outer walls were ripped like tissue. He fled inwards, bracing himself for defense in the core of his being, trapped in a tiny space while the monster stalked outside. He thought of Qui-Gon, who had been mentally violated, his identity shattered. Was that his fate?

The Sith Lord laughed. "Ironic, is it not, Jedi? You betrayed your Master, and now he will betray you."

Obi-Wan refused to answer. Engaging in dialogue was the first step towards surrender.

"Do you know why many Jedi embraced celibacy?" asked the Sith. "Because love is the greatest weakness. Beings will commit horrendous acts out of love, your Padawan being only the most recent example. Your Master knew this. And then you came along."

"No," Obi-Wan said, despite himself.

"Liar," said the Sith. "You tempted him, and he fell, because he was lonely and you were a very beautiful boy. A very seductive boy."

"I didn't tempt him. I loved him purely."

"Was it purity when you touched yourself and thought of him? Did you think he wouldn't know?" asked the Sith.

Obi-Wan was silent.

"The master knows the apprentice better than the apprentice knows himself. He knew. He knew everything, your youthful lust made all the more irresistible when wrapped in your naïve, idealistic love. He knew, and that was his downfall. His attempt to protect you at Naboo, and his surrender to the Dark. To me."

"No! Qui-Gon would never."

"He fought the Sith and lost. Twice. Once in body, and once in mind. You don't believe me? Then look."

He was somewhere else, a place he half saw and half felt. A physical place or mental only, he couldn't tell. Qui-Gon, oh gods he could feel Qui-Gon, close, in agony, being flayed alive, flesh stripped from bone. He could see a Force projection of his Master's self-image, naked, curled in on itself in a fetal position, hands clasped tightly to his chest, and in those gripped hands, a tiny flicker of light.

Obi-Wan's vision zoomed closer; that microscopic spark in Qui-Gon's illusory hands was him, his Master's thoughts of his Padawan. Qui-Gon was clinging to his memories of Obi-Wan as his last defense against the Dark. He saw himself for an instant in Qui-Gon's eyes: the senior Padawan Obi-Wan, young but a grown man, handsome, strong in the Force, full of unspoken loyalty and love.

But there was another set of eyes watching that had also seen the spark of light.

There was a snap, and broken hands cracked open. The tiny firefly was instantly extinguished. Great hooked claws stabbed into the center of Qui-Gon's bare chest and pulled, ripping him open from throat to crotch. A huge beast with no face leaned down over the vivisected man, opened an orifice, and vomited blackness into the chest cavity. Glistening black muck soiled the internal organs, filled the chest, spilled over the sides, rose up around the body, climbing up past the ears and neck and over the face -

Obi-Wan found himself screaming. "Now it's your turn," the beast said, and it fell on top of him.

Hide, he thought frantically, hide away in a thought, in a memory, not love, it'll use your thoughts of love to find you.

But not all of his memories of Qui-Gon were loving. Obi-Wan thought of Jon: Jon scowling down at him, striking Obi-Wan in the face with his fist. Desperate as the blackness congealed around him, Obi-Wan concentrated on his memories of Jon: Jon's anger, Jon's harshness, his hatred of Jedi and especially of Obi-Wan.

He sensed annoyance from the Sith, then distraction, something calling its attention elsewhere. "Very well then," said the beast. "I will waste no more time on you, trivial as you are. Go and live, for a while, and be my servant, as he was. I heard that many people died thanks to him, including the mother, which was as I foresaw. Your master served my purpose in the end. As will you. Your ongoing existence will haunt my apprentice more than your death."

The beast laughed, a rattling caw. "You pitiful insect. You think this was ever about you? Or about him, the unrequited love of your life, the so-called Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn? Anakin, Anakin is the Chosen One. Your fates were decided when you came into his orbit. As for you, you played your part when your teachings drove him to me. Think on that for the rest of your short life, Jedi..."

Obi-Wan came back to consciousness in the hold of a freighter. He lay in a stupor until the crew tossed him out in the streets of what turned out to be the planet of Corellia. He stumbled to the home of a local friend, and with that assistance, arranged an immediate transport to Naboo. He had to reach Padme, she was in danger, as was her child.children.

POETIC INTERLUDE

What a pity that I have nothing to give you except
the nails of my fingers, or eyelashes, or pianos melted by love,
or dreams which pour from my heart in torrents,
dreams covered with dust, which gallop like black riders,
dreams full of velocities and misfortunes.

I can love you only with kisses and poppies,
with garlands wet with rain,
my eyes full of ember-red horses and yellow dogs--

"Ode With A Lament" by Pablo Neruda

Obi-Wan told Qui-Gon a little, a very little, but it was enough. Afterwards his entire self felt fragile, but better somehow. Describing the events locked them into finite words outside of himself. Speaking the unspeakable was a healing act.

Obi-Wan said, "So you see, when I told you, some time back, that I knew who had taken you and what they had done, that’s how I knew."

Qui-Gon said, "You told me that you’d been captured and interrogated, but you never mentioned all of this."

"No reason," Obi-Wan said. Many Jedi had been captured and tortured. At least he had lived through the experience.

Qui-Gon was silent

Obi-Wan said, "So--I still love you, and want you, I always have, that never changed. I just don’t know how to express that, sexually. I used to believe that my celibacy as an honorable sacrifice, but now I think it was just a guarantee of incompetence in bed. If I’d had lovers before, the assault wouldn’t have been as disturbing. And I’d know how to please you, at least I’d have some idea of where to start."

Qui-Gon continued his silence. What was he thinking? Obi-Wan had no idea. Was Qui-Gon remembering his own torture at the hands of the Sith? Or was he struggling to find a kind way to refuse Obi-Wan? Did he find Obi-Wan’s lengthy virginity embarrassing, even ridiculous, as Obi-Wan himself now did? Who had heard of a man nearing 40 standard years who didn’t know how to have sex?

Hoping to open a path out of the quiet, Obi-Wan offered, "We don’t have to have sex. But I am grateful that all this happened, because now you know that I love you. For so long I thought you’d never know, so many times I thought you’d died and the right time had never come to tell you. But now you know."

Qui-Gon took Obi-Wan’s smaller hand in his larger one and pressed it against his penis. The flaccid organ twitched and began to fill.

"The evidence indicates that I still want you," said Qui-Gon wryly. "But we need to take a more measured approach. Thank the Force I was still coherent enough to notice that you were acting strangely. If I had mounted, I’m not sure I could have stopped."

"I know I can do this," said Obi-Wan. "Just give me a little time, and we’ll try again."

"This isn’t a test that you have to pass," said Qui-Gon.

"Yes, it is," protested Obi-Wan. "It is. I don’t want my choices today to be controlled by what was done to me."

"I know," said Qui-Gon. "But this is best handled gently, rather than with a direct assault. We need to coax your sexuality along, not order it to come forth and assume the position. We’ll take our time."

Obi-Wan said nothing. He considered himself fortunate that Qui-Gon retained any interest in pursuing a physical relationship. But he was tired, tired, tired of waiting.

Qui-Gon chuckled. "You’re radiating annoyance. Don’t fret. I meant we should wait on anal sex. But virginity isn’t defined by penetration. Giving and receiving pleasure with a partner is more important than any one act. By that standard, you’re still a virgin. But you won’t be, by the time you leave this room. If that’s what you want." Qui-Gon’s hand moved along Obi-Wan’s thigh. "I can think of many, many ways to make you climax without penetration. We can try those any time you like."

"You’ll have to show me what to do," murmured Obi-Wan.

Qui-Gon rolled to his side, pressing Obi-Wan flat on his back. The bigger man ghosted his fingers over Obi-Wan’s face. "Force, your expression, you look like you’re facing down a firing squad. Close your eyes." He obeyed, and felt those fingers trailing slowly over his features: brow, cheekbones, jawline. A finger brushed over his mouth, and when he parted his lips, the fingertip dipped slightly into his mouth, tracing the edge of his teeth.

"Oh yes," he heard Qui-Gon murmur. "I can think of many, many things we can do together."

Obi-Wan began to turn his head only to have his jaw restrained by that large hand. "No," said Qui-Gon. "Just lie still." A warm breath and a tickle in his ear. Obi-Wan whimpered as the tongue explored the lobe and inner curve. Why should he feel that delicate touch along the nerves of his entire body?

Suddenly a hand closed over his crotch, and Obi-Wan jerked in surprise. His already half-erect penis hardened as Qui-Gon squeezed him through the fabric. "Oh yes," he heard Qui-Gon murmur. "This part of you is quite willing to be coaxed along. How long has it been since you last came?"

"Excuse me?" squeaked Obi-Wan.

"You masturbate, don’t you? Or have the occasional wet dream? How long has it been? It’s all right, Obi-Wan, we’ll be talking about these things now that we’re lovers. How long?"

Lovers, Qui-Gon was calling them lovers. Thrilled and distracted, Obi-Wan said, "Uh, days, a few days. Three days."

"Fully primed, then." Qui-Gon’s hand wandered in circles around Obi-Wan’s groin, down between his thighs, up the crease of his hip, down his shaft to his balls to the other thigh and up again. "I want you to talk to me as we do this. We need to keep your mind focused on the here and now, or else it will go wandering off as it usually does, and perhaps wander down the wrong path."

"I stay in the moment," objected Obi-Wan absently, tracking that wandering hand.

"Sometimes, sometimes not, my daydreamer," murmured Qui-Gon. "I lived with you for too long to forget that. So pay attention to what you’re feeling. I want to know what feels good to you, and how close you get. Can you do that for me?"

"Um," said Obi-Wan, pushing his pelvis up against the big restraining hand. He might not be able to talk, but he could moan. "More," he said.

"Yes, more," agreed Qui-Gon, hand rising to the waistband of Obi-Wan’s leggings. "These come off now."

Obi-Wan fumbled open the fly and wiggled the clothing down his hips and off his legs. "You writhe very nicely," Qui-Gon noted, humor in his tone. "That bodes well. Spread your legs so I can touch you."

Eyes still closed, Obi-Wan obediently opened his thighs. "Giving you orders could become very addictive," Qui-Gon’s voice said.

A gentle fondling of his testicles, and his cock twitched in sympathy. "Touch yourself," Qui-Gon whispered. "Show me how you like to be touched."

Obi-Wan took his penis in hand but couldn’t bring himself to do more. The idea of pleasuring himself while Qui-Gon watched was embarrassed. He would look a fool, pulling on his ridiculous stalk.

"Don’t be shy," prompted Qui-Gon. "It’s not like I haven’t seen you do it before."

"When?" Obi-Wan burst out, eyes flying open. His mind raced: back at the homestead, he had always been so careful to make sure Qui-Gon was away, or fast asleep--

Chuckling, Qui-Gon murmured, "When you first started spying on me, I knew you were out there. I did a bit of sneaking myself, trying to discover the identity of my nosy visitor. Once I was watching you through the scanner when you began to make a strange motion that I suddenly recognized as very familiar. It intrigued me; I wondered what kind of an assassin would stroke himself off while on watch. And I could tell even from that distance that you were a handsome man."

"It was just that once," groaned Obi-Wan, "just once--"

"It’s all right. I got hard watching you, if that makes you feel better. And now I want a repeat performance, and a closer view. I’ll make you a deal. Do yourself for me, and I’ll return the favor later. Would you like to watch me touch myself?"

"Yes," breathed Obi-Wan, beginning to move his hand, feeling more confident. Qui-Gon liked watching him, said it aroused him. At the least this was one sexual act that he knew how to do. He gripped himself, pumping.

"Beautiful," Qui-Gon said, running his hand slowly the full length of Obi-Wan’s torso, from inner thighs to hips to belly to chest and back.

"Harder," begged Obi-Wan, matching his own actions to the words. He didn’t want ticklish touches now, he wanted firm stokes. That big hand began to knead his flesh as it worked its way along his body. When the hand reached his chest, it paused to squeeze his nipple and pectoral repeatedly, and Obi-Wan could feel the sensation like a cord through his body, tying his nipple to his cock, teasing them both. "Oh," he said in breathy surprise, it felt so different to have another’s hands on him, and so good. His delighted cock ached.

Qui-Gon murmured, "I can’t decide which would be better, to watch you come, or drink you down. Have you ever been fellated? Been sucked?"

"No," he whispered, digging his nails into his overexcited penis.

"That settles it. Fellatio is one of the greatest joys of being male, you shouldn’t go another moment being deprived of it."

Obi-Wan felt long hair draping over his hips, and then a warm wet touch to the tip of his cock. Another hand was replacing his on his shaft, and he slid his freed hand down and under the back of his thigh and gripped the muscle there, hard. Slick caresses along the length of his cock, and it burned, it was so good. His orgasm was collecting in his balls, tightening them, and fingers explored the increasing snugness of his sac. The licking ceased and suction closed over the hypersensitive head of his erection, sliding down his length to the root.

He opened his eyes, looked down, and dazedly saw the top of Qui-Gon’s head moving against his crotch. The sight triggered the last cycle before eruption, and he whimpered a warning, twitching his hips, desperate for more, more, more. Qui-Gon glanced up, and Obi-Wan saw that mouth closed around his shaft. He felt the dam inside of him break, energy rushing along his spine, and he threw his head back and let his body buck and surge with the currents flowing through it, and he came, long and agonized, hearing himself moan loudly.

Qui-Gon eased up his limp body and kissed him on the forehead. "Lovely."

Obi-Wan lay on his back, Qui-Gon next to him. That was it, he thought. He had had sex. He hadn’t been an overly active partner, but he had managed to come. Which reminded him: "Did you--"

Qui-Gon kissed his ear. "Not yet. Don’t worry about it. We’ll do me later."

All right. Obi-Wan wasn’t certain he could move at the moment anyway. There was only one thing marring this experience. He had told Qui-Gon that he loved him, but Qui-Gon had not said the same. It shouldn’t matter; Qui-Gon wanted him as a companion, a friend, and now as a lover. If his own feelings were more romantic than Qui-Gon’s, it shouldn’t matter.

"What it is?" murmured Qui-Gon. "You’re thinking too much."

"Nothing," he said.

"So you’ll share your body but not your thoughts, ah?" said Qui-Gon, but his voice was fond, not accusatory. "It’s all right, I can sense it. You’re disappointed. I’m sorry, dear one, but it’s perfectly normal. Sex doesn’t always live up to the hype. It gets better over time, with practice."

"No, it’s not that," he said. Not fair that Qui-Gon should feel inadequate due to his, Obi-Wan’s, reactions.

"What then?" asked Qui-Gon.

"Nothing of import, really. I was just wondering--I just--I love you very much, and I’m not quite sure how you feel about me. I know you care for me, and that you want me. It’s just--I don’t know, I’m being foolish."

Raising up on an elbow, Qui-Gon leaned over him, intensity in his face. "No, I’m the one being an idiot. I was so preoccupied with your body, I forgot your heart. There’s a poem in your book, let’s see if I can remember: You are like no other since I love you, let me spread you out among yellow garlands, and I will bring you flowers and baskets of kisses..." Qui-Gon kissed his mouth gently, then whispered, "Lover, sweet one, the twin suns rise and set around you, my own. Let me drown in you, my own deep well, be with me forever and beyond--"

It was a dazzling bolt that went straight from his heart to his groin, and he felt himself stir. Qui-Gon was rocking against him, feverishly hot. "I want you," he heard himself say, "want you--"

Qui-Gon gasped, "Touch me, please, put your hands on me." Obi-Wan turned full against the bigger man, reaching in between their bodies. His fingers closed around a thick erection, bigger than his own. He rubbed it, and Qui-Gon moaned, "Yes, yes," and he worked the swollen flesh with both hands, from the soft globes to the damp tip. He was enjoying that stiffness in his palms, how he could play with it, ripple his fingers around it, and just as he thought that he’d like to try to take it in his mouth, Qui-Gon gave a rough shout and came.

Obi-Wan held on, softening his grip. Then he raised his hand and licked experimentally.

"Force save us," said Qui-Gon. "If I hadn’t finished already, that would have done it."

Emboldened, Obi-Wan deliberately licked his fingers with a mix of shyness and bravado.

"A quick study as always," said Qui-Gon. "Now here’s the plan. We’re going to get more sleep, and when we wake, we’re probably going to do this again. Then you will pack and stock supplies while I repair the bike. And then we will go home, and stay in the bedroom until we’ve exhausted ourselves. Does this plan meet with your approval?"

"Yes, but I do want to try penetration again tomorrow," said Obi-Wan.

"There’s no rush--"

"You want to, correct?" Obi-Wan asked. "You’d do it in a hot second if you weren’t worrying about me, correct? So it’s my choice. Promise me. I want to try again."

"Whatever you say, my heart. Although it’s a little soon for you to get so demanding in bed." Qui-Gon caressed him to show that he was teasing.

"Just you wait," said Obi-Wan drowsily.

POETIC INTERLUDE

At night I dream that you and I are two plants
That grew together, roots entwined,
And that you know the earth and the rain like my mouth,
Since we are made of earth and rain. Sometimes
I think that with death we will sleep below,
in the depths at the feet of the effigy, looking over
the Ocean which brought us here to build and make love.

--Sleeping and naked, love me: on the shore
you are like the island: your love confused, your love
astonished, hidden in the cavity of dreams,
is like the movement of the sea around us.

"Rain (Rapa Nui)" by Pablo Neruda

They followed the first part of the plan to the letter.

"I’m surprised," said Obi-Wan, during post-coital recovery. "You tend to prefer deviating from plan."

"Only when I don’t like the plan," said Qui-Gon. "This was an excellent plan, and I’m looking forward to fully implementing it. With your addendum."

While Qui-Gon tackled the wounded bike, Obi-Wan went to the store. Cal walked back to the garage with him, ostensibly to help him carry the supplies. The four of them chewed the gossip while Qui-Gon and Jer took turns fiddling with the bike’s innards.

As the events of yesterday and last night receded, particularly the terrible memories, Obi-Wan felt more and more like his normal self. He would turn to find Qui-Gon giving him a knowing look with a hint of a secretive smile. Yes, the events of last night had really happened.

Cal said, "You two seem to be in a good mood."

"Now Cal," said Jer, scraping bugs off the airscoop grill. Astute Jer gave Obi-Wan a wink.

"All right, all right," said Cal, "I’ll mind my own business," and he launched into the next piece of gossip, this one about the ronto that went crazy in the middle of Anchorhead’s main street three days ago.

It took longer than expected to repair the bike, even with Jer’s expertise. Obi-Wan mostly sat on his packed trunk and watched. Qui-Gon had forbidden him to load the trunk onto the landspeeder. "Leave it for now," said Qui-Gon. "Take the essentials, and we’ll come back for the rest of your possessions after we get you a decent vehicle. Give the Jawas that blasted excuse of a landspeeder, or Jer, you can have it for parts, if you like."

"Oh, so that’s your excuse for abandoning that wreck on my property? No thanks," said Jer, then reconsidered. "Well, maybe. I’ll look it over later."

It was after midday by the time they left Anchorhead. On the way back to the homestead, Qui-Gon began a series of complex maneuvers to evaluate the bike’s performance after its upgrade. At first Obi-Wan paid attention to the technicalities, then decided to relax and just enjoy the ride.

One side effect was that the maneuvers required him to cling tightly to Qui-Gon to avoid getting thrown, and the close proximity of their bodies was effecting him. As he hardened, his leggings got tight in a way that was both comfortable and uncomfortable.

Finally Qui-Gon leveled the bike into a straight fast run back to the homestead. Steering single-handedly, he grabbed Obi-Wan’s hand and clapped it to the bulge in his own crotch. With the ride now steady, Obi-Wan dared to slide a hand along Qui-Gon’s belly, fumbling through the layers of clothing to the skin, tickling chest and ribs, pinching nipples, playing along the waistband of the leggings. Qui-Gon remained still under Obi-Wan’s attentions, but the bike did seem to be going faster.

The homestead came into view. Qui-Gon opened the oversized workshop door, and the bike escaped the bright sunlight into the shaded garage.

No sooner had the bike stopped than Qui-Gon hurled himself off, spun on his heel, and threw himself bodily against the smaller man. Obi-Wan was the recipient of a tornado of hands, arms and mouth.

Frantically groping, Qui-Gon panted, "Do me a favor?"

"Um," said Obi-Wan through a mouthful of Qui-Gon’s neck.

"Fuck me."

Obi-Wan froze and peered at Qui-Gon. The bigger man pointed out, "You said you wanted to experience penetration, didn’t you? Why not start on top rather than on bottom?"

For some reason it had never occurred to Obi-Wan that Qui-Gon might enjoy being the receptive partner. He said, "You like that? I never thought--"

"Why not?" asked Qui-Gon.

"You’re so dominant, authoritative, I just assumed--"

"You think I can’t be dominant and authoritative from underneath? You have a lot to learn. But we already knew that. Are you interested, or do you want to do something else?"

Obi-Wan gasped, "I’m willing but I don’t know how."

"What’s to know?" grated Qui-Gon. "Stick it in and follow your instincts."

"Sounds easy enough--" Obi-Wan found himself speaking to empty air as Qui-Gon wrenched himself away. He watched as the tall man stripped off his clothes with reckless efficiency, grabbed an aerosol canister from a nearby table and strode back, his large erection bobbing with each step.

Obi-Wan started to dismount. "Stay right there," ordered Qui-Gon, spraying his hand with the canister.

"What--?" asked Obi-Wan. Events were proceeding quickly, his brain was rushing to catch up.

"Silicon lubricant."

"Is that safe?"

"I’ve used plenty of this on my own personal equipment. Back when you were living here, why did you think I was spending all that time in the garage? When I got too wound up to tolerate being around you any longer, I’d come out here and get some self-induced relief. Speaking of equipment, you should get yours out now."

Freeing his erection, Obi-Wan stuttered, "I didn’t, I seem to have missed, ah!" at Qui-Gon’s slick hand coating his penis.

Qui-Gon reached behind himself and locked gazes with Obi-Wan, and in the moment it took for Qui-Gon to prepare himself, Obi-Wan’s sense of propriety raised a tentative objection. "Shouldn’t we be doing this in bed?"

"How conventional," growled Qui-Gon. "We’ll be doing this in bed plenty enough as it is. What’s the matter, don’t you like the bike? I love this bike. And I think I’m going to be even more fond of it after this episode. Hold on, I’m going to turn off the repulsorlift."

The bike settled to the floor with a thump, and Obi-Wan’s feet touched the ground. Qui-Gon slung a leg over and straddled the seat, leaning forward over the steering console, pulling his knees forward to give Obi-Wan room to move close. "Any time," said Qui-Gon.

"Uh, what do I do?" said Obi-Wan distractedly, staring at the large back tapering to waist and curving into a shapely ass.

"One hand on my hip, one hand on your cock, get positioned, and push," answered Qui-Gon. "Couldn’t be simpler."

Obi-Wan followed instructions, leaning in close. "I don’t want to hurt you."

"You won’t."

"But ..."

"You won’t. Now put yourself inside me," Qui-Gon ordered.

Obi-Wan had never heard anyone say something that erotic, despite the stern masterly voice. He touched the crown of his penis to the impossibly small opening and pushed carefully. The tip sunk in.

"You’re very tight," he gasped.

"And you’ll like it that way," said Qui-Gon. "Now thrust."

"Yes, Master," muttered Obi-Wan, and rolled his weight forward. The snug grip of the other man’s body slowly enveloped his full length until they were pressed groin to ass. It was hot and tight and unlike anything he’d ever felt. Don’t come, he told himself sternly, do not come.

"That’s it," rumbled Qui-Gon, "that’s perfect, now move, slow, in and out. That’s it, ah yes, that’s it. How are you doing?"

Concentrating on the rhythm, Obi-Wan didn’t answer, mesmerized by the feeling of his cock squeezed inside that slick channel. His feet scrabbled at the ground and the bike, searching for purchase, and he struggled to keep his balance on the bike seat as he put more and more of his weight on the other man. This was a gymnastic event, not a sexual position.

"Talk to me, Obi-Wan" commanded Qui-Gon. "I can’t read you well through the Force, are you all right?"

"Yes," panted Obi-Wan, "sorry, my shields went up when I, I’m trying to concentrate, trying not to come too quickly--"

"Considerate, always so considerate," grunted Qui-Gon, "harder now, pump, roll your hips."

"Do you always talk this much during sex?" asked Obi-Wan. His balancing act and the conversation were actually helping him stave off orgasm.

"Only when I’m bedding virgins," gasped Qui-Gon. "You know the process for getting a nervous newcomer through anything, be reassuring, talk them through it, use their name frequently--there, right there, Obi-Wan, there, harder, harder!"

Qui-Gon roared and Obi-Wan took a desperate grip on the bucking flanks and slammed their hips together, again, again, and he felt Qui-Gon’s muscles clenching, Qui-Gon was climaxing, and now it was all right for him to come, he could let himself come, and he shouted as he emptied himself, and collapsed on the other man’s back.

Obi-Wan lay still, overheated and confined inside his clothes, and the surroundings came back into focus.

"Very satisfactory," said Qui-Gon from underneath him. "Although anyone could have predicted from watching you walk that you’d have good hip action." He looked over his shoulder and showed a full grin. "How are you holding up?"

Obi-Wan admitted, "I’ll never look at a swoop bike the same way again."

Shifting under him, moving to sit up, Qui-Gon said, "If you like, and when you’re ready, we’ll do you over the hood of your landspeeder. Piece of junk’s no good as a transport, but it might work as a sexual aid."

"But we just sold it," said Obi-Wan.

"Damn," said Qui-Gon. "Remind me to comm Jer and tell her we’ve reconsidered. Bed, weren’t you speaking of bed recently? Bed sounds good."

"It’s the middle of the afternoon."

"I’m an old man, and I need my rest if I’m to do sexual tutoring of the younger generation. And I want to hold you, Obi-Wan. Clutching that dusty bike reminded me why I prefer coupling face to face" Qui-Gon kissed him sweetly, and steered him towards the interior door.

They made it to the bedroom and collapsed. Obi-Wan lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. I did it, he thought. I had sex with Qui-Gon. I made him come. And it was wonderful. Odd, but wonderful. I wonder if people often have sex on swoop bikes? Perhaps that’s why they’re so popular?

Turning to look at the other man lying next to him, he said, "Thank you."

Qui-Gon rolled over to embrace him. "You’re all right? It was good?"

"Very good. Not anything like what I expected, but good."

"That was the point," said Qui-Gon. "On the way here, I was thinking of what to do with you, playing through various seduction scenarios, with incense and massage oils and tender compliments and whatnot, when I realized that the longer the build-up, the more nervous you might be, and the more uncooperative your body might become. Then I felt you getting hard behind me."

"So you decided we should have sex in the garage. On a bike. Using industrial-strength lubricant. Literally."

"I took inspiration in the moment. And it seems to have worked." Qui-Gon patted Obi-Wan’s shoulder. "Never fear, my repertoire extends beyond vehicular sex. If you want a more traditional courtship, we can do that, flirting and holding hands and the like. Or we can be restrained Jedi and meditate serenely in between humping like sandpanthers in heat. Or since we’re both Tusken shaman, we can do it the Tusken way and remain fully dressed while accessing relevant body parts through slits in our clothing. Any approach you prefer."

"I’d like to try them all," said Obi-Wan, chuckling.

"Ah good, a nascent hedonist who likes variety. We’ll get on well. But then we always have. I’m already sleep, Obi-Wan."

Lying there with the brightness of the suns muted through the polarized windows, Obi-Wan reached out through the Force, seeking his prescience. It came to him clear as the Tatooine sky: he saw it, their future years together, peaceful and happy, such a blessing, then one last great separation, and the final reunion in that life beyond death. When his time came, he would go willingly, knowing that he was going home, and that Qui-Gon would be waiting for him.

POETIC CONCLUSION

From dust-laden glances, fallen to earth,
or noiseless leaves, self-buried.
from tarnished metals, with the void incarnate,
with the absence of day, dead of a stroke.
in hand-heights, the dazzle of butterflies,
butterflies setting sail in their unbounded light.

"Alliance (Sonata)" by Pablo Neruda

END