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Conflicting Loyalties, Part I

by Trudy West (truwest@hotmail.com)

POETIC PROLOGUE

From now on, like a departure seen from a distance,
in funereal positions of smoke or solitary embankments,
from now on I see him hurling into his death
and behind him, I hear the days of time closing.

From now on, with a jolt, I see him going,
rushing on in the waters, in certain waters, in one particular ocean,
and then, when he strikes, drops rise, and a noise,
a resolute muffled noise, I hear it forming,
a stroke of water lashed by his weight,
and from somewhere, from somewhere I hear those waters tossing and splashing
and they splash over me, those waters, and burn like acids.

His apparel of dreams and immoderate nights,
his disobedient soul, his prepared pallor,
sleep with him once and for all, and he sleeps,
for his passion plummeted into the sea of the dead,
sinking violently, joining it coldly.

"Absence of Joaquin", by Pablo Neruda

Obi-Wan remembered the instant Qui-Gon died.

Although he hadn’t witnessed it.

After Qui-Gon had been struck down, the Sith had withdrawn and Obi-Wan had pursued, to a generating chamber next to the one where Qui-Gon had fallen. With his Master out of sight but accessible through the training bond, Obi-Wan hammered down the blows, finally catching the Sith in a fatal error. Not pausing to watch the dying enemy falling into the depths of the pit, Obi-Wan bolted back towards the other room, reaching out through the Force, sending triumph and comfort towards his injured Master. He heard his own heartbeat, artificially loud and slow in his ears as he ran -- one beat, two, three --

The bond blinked out, like a light being extinguished. There was no sensation of pain. Just a blankness where moments before, Qui-Gon had been.

Panic-stricken, Obi-Wan skidded into the chamber, looking frantically for his Master. Qui-Gon’s clothes and saber lay on the floor, his body already dissolved into the Force at the moment of his death. Obi-Wan threw himself down on the tunics in anguish. The cloth was still warm from the vanished body.

He cried only briefly. He was Jedi. There was a mission. He did not have the luxury to choose the time of his mourning. He took the clothes and saber and went in search of the Queen.

Later he realized that was the last lesson his Master would ever teach him: that he could go on, continue, after the greatest loss. They were Jedi. They had chosen to sacrifice their personal needs to the greater good. With Qui-Gon’s death, he realized all that sacrifice would entail.

"Be brave and don’t look back," Anakin whispered at Qui-Gon’s memorial.

"What?" he whispered in response.

There were tears on Anakin’s face. "It’s what Mom told me, when I left her on Tatooine. Be brave and don’t look back. We can’t look back, Master Obi-Wan," and Ani took his new Master’s hand.

Tradition said that Obi-Wan should have destroyed the saber and cremated the clothing at the memorial service, but he for once defied tradition, in echo of his renegade Master. He took the items back to the Temple and secreted them at the bottom of a storage trunk in his new Knight’s quarters.

With Anakin’s help, he went through Qui-Gon’s rooms and disposed of the contents. He honored each object, remembering how his Master had acquired it, used it, cared for it. These things were imbued with Qui-Gon’s aura, and he would disperse them where they would do good. The houseplants went to other Masters. The antique paper and vellum books went to the library. The box of Qui-Gon’s favorite incense and a small, embossed burner went to Anakin. Useful collectables and memorabilia of various missions were given to the Initiates’ classrooms and teachers. The rest was discarded, the effluvia of a past life, meaningful to no one other than himself. He could scarcely keep all his dead Master’s possessions, however much he might wish to. Jedi were not supposed to be sentimental or fixated on material items.

In the end, he saved only two items for himself: a leather-bound book of poetry, and the square card of thick datapaper that Qui-Gon had been using as a bookmark. Obi-Wan almost threw it out, then pinched the paper’s corner just to check for any contents. Activated, an image appeared on the paper: a still of him, Obi-Wan, in mid-leap during a sparring match. There were two other images, also of him: in smiling conversation with Bant over a meal, and asleep in his clothes, curled up in a chair on a transport, returning from a mission. Three unimportant moments dear enough to his Master to preserve.

The datapaper had been inserted in the book next to a poem:

Every day you play with the light of the universe.
Subtle visitor, you arrive in the flower and the water.

You are like no other since I love you.
Let me spread you out among yellow garlands.

How you must have suffered getting accustomed to me,
my savage, solitary soul, my name that sends them all running.
So many times we have seen the morning star burn, kissing our eyes,
and over our heads the gray light unwind in turning fans.

My words rained over you, stroking you.
A long time have I loved the sunned mother-of-pearl of your body.
Until I even believe that you own the universe.
I will bring you happy flowers from the mountains, bluebells, dark hazels, and rustic baskets of kisses.
I want to do with you what spring does to the cherry trees.

It was likely a mere accident, the paper tucked into the book by that particular poem. But it made him think of an event years before, a truncated conversation that perhaps had not been wholly in vain.

He had been barely twenty, and after increasingly desperate yearning, had decided to confess to his Master and receive either absolution or penance -- whichever was deserved. He admitted his love, his desire, his fear. He confessed his violation of the Code and its requirement for serenity without passion. Knelt with his head bowed and waited to hear his fate.

After long minutes, his Master had said, "It was right for you to unburden yourself. This secret concealed was an obstacle for you. However, as you well know, the master-apprentice bond is a sacred trust, the most serious mutual commitment. It cannot suffer any taint. Meditate on this, and if you need further counsel, seek out the Soulhealers. You and I will not discuss this further." Obi-Wan nodded, mute in obedience. Then he heard: "But after you become a Knight, if you wish it, you may refer to this again."

He had kept his gaze on the floor, uncertain as to what that last sentence meant. At the least, it meant he was permitted in the future to express his devotion. At the most, it meant that Qui-Gon would welcome it. That thought was almost too exhilarating to contain, but he suppressed it. His Knighthood was years away.

He turned back to his training.

As the time passed, his relationship with his Master continued to evolve, away from teacher-student towards something more like friends. Occasionally he wondered if the small changes in behavior were only the result of that growing egalitarianism, or signs of something more: those chaste but affectionate touches; rare unguarded expressions; confidential side comments. He refused to indulge his hopes. He kept his attention to the here and now, to his training, his missions, his duty, as a Jedi should. The future would come in its own time.

That future died with Qui-Gon. All that was left were stillborn dreams, singed tunics, a saber too big for his own hands, and a worn book of poetry.

LATER THAT YEAR

He made a ritual of reading one poem daily, when he and Anakin were at home. He would consider its meaning and wonder what significance Qui-Gon had found in that verse.

Anakin progressed in his studies, but there was a problem. The boy thought overmuch on his mother. Anakin wanted to be a Jedi, but he was too much his mother’s son; Qui-Gon had told Obi-Wan of Shmi’s devotion to her boy, and a matching loyalty was evident in Anakin. Ani had difficulty focusing, and Obi-Wan often suspected Ani’s thoughts were with his mother.

In fairness, Obi-Wan himself was often distracted by thoughts of Qui-Gon, but as a trained Jedi he was better able to hide his weakness, whereas with the boy, it was obvious. Some of Anakin’s instructors complained, and it was clear something had to be done. A Jedi’s allegiance to the Light had to be beyond question. All other commitments were secondary. If Anakin could not overcome his familial ties, he would be asked to leave the Order.

He tried to reassure the boy that there was no need to worry about his mother. "She's doing all the same things that she used to do when you were there. Everything's just the same."

"But it’s not," Anakin said. "I'm not there to help out anymore. I always thought it would be so great to be a free person, but I can't do anything more for her than when I was a slave. I'm actually doing less. It's not fair. Why can't we free her too? Why not all the slaves? The Jedi could do it, if they decided to bother."

Obi-Wan gave a philosophical answer about how the Jedi can only help change occur when the time is ripe, and how everyone, freemen and slaves, were bound by their responsibilities and obligations, that we all carry chains of one type or another. It sounded lame to him even as he said it.

Anakin, with his usual directness, cut right through the moralizing. "You’ve never been a slave. What makes you think you know anything about it?"

That was rude, but he let it pass. "Actually I have been a slave on occasion."

"Yeah, when?" Anakin was curious but skeptical.

"On several missions, in disguise."

"Oh." The boy deflated. "That doesn't really count. That's just playacting. And you had Master Qui-Gon to look after you. Mom and I never had anybody looking after us. We were real slaves, not pretend ones."

The sound of Qui-Gon’s name gave him a pang, as it always did. He searched for the right thing to say, but Anakin preempted him. "Forget it. It doesn't matter. You don't understand. Nobody here does. Nobody here cares what happens to anybody back on Tatooine."

He couldn’t abolish the slave trade. But perhaps he could find a way to free just one person. For Anakin’s sake, and as his own small protest against injustice. Perhaps if his mother were free, Anakin could commit his whole heart to being a Jedi.

Obi-Wan looked up the balance in his personal account and then searched for information on the prices of slaves on Tatooine. He had to use an intermediate currency; Republic credits were of no interest to slavers. It didn't make a difference either way. It was far too little money.

He raised the issue with Master Windu, to get a Councilor’s perspective, and got a blunt answer. Many initiates came from difficult family situations. It wasn't possible to help them all, and while Anakin’s case was particularly unfortunate, it was dangerous to begin making distinctions about which padawans’ families would be helped while ignoring others. Part of being Jedi was learning how to come to grips with such fundamental issues as the unfairness of life. Obi-Wan should focus on helping Anakin treat this as a learning opportunity.

Intellectually he agreed with Mace. But emotionally it bothered him. He could so easily imagine himself pompously lecturing his Padawan about Jedi values transcending slavery, and alienating Anakin in the process. As if Ani wasn't alienated already as the too-talented, ignorant latecomer, the hick from a backwards dustball far beyond civilized Republic space.

He wondered, as he often did, on many other topics, how Qui-Gon would have handled this.

He wished, as he sometimes did, that the Council had seen fit to give Anakin to another, more seasoned master. A master with experience of padawans. Why give Anakin, one of the most challenging and high-potential padawans, to a green Knight? Other than out of respect for Qui-Gon -- or was it the reluctance of any other Jedi to take such a questionable choice for an apprentice?

He felt guilty for thinking of pushing Anakin to someone else. Anakin was his responsibility. The fact that he felt inadequate to the task was his issue, not his Padawan’s.

He knew he had to get closure with himself and Anakin concerning Shmi Skywalker. With all other avenues exhausted, he did the only remaining thing he could think of. He opened a credit account in Anakin's name, and transferred all his own savings into it.

When he told Anakin, he said, "I know it isn't nearly enough to buy your mother’s freedom. But at least you can send her money to make her life easier -- if you think that creature Watto would let her keep it."

"Don't worry, we can get around him," said the boy. Obi-Wan could see the mental wheels turning inside that blonde head. Anakin gave him one of his alert looks. "Thank you, Master Obi-Wan. I know you tried. And this helps a lot."

"You're welcome," he said. "I just wish I had more to give you." He realized it was the first time that he had ever cared how many credits he did or did not have. His inability to help Shmi made him feel impotent and faintly ashamed, a freeman’s guilt towards the enslaved. He was living the life of his choice. Shmi never had a choice.

His life, but not fully his choice. If it were his choice, Qui-Gon would be with him, but as a lover, not a Master. He knew with Qui-Gon’s steady presence, everything would be easier, and he wouldn’t be doubting himself at each turn. But as he had told Ani, everyone, slave or free, carries their own chains. His were his chronic sense of unworthiness, his grief and guilt over Qui-Gon, and the suspicion that he wasn’t fully ready for the responsibilities he had assumed: Knighthood, and Anakin.

He fought to suppress his yearning for Qui-Gon, even as he struggled through the challenges of being a competent Master to Anakin. Jedi did not pine after a fantasy, or wish to escape their responsibilities. But he did both, and paid for it with many hours on his knees in meditation. Not since his late Initiate days had he felt such a sense of inadequacy.

Perhaps Qui-Gon’s death was in part a message to him from the Force: that it was past time for him to stand on his own, without any dependency on Master or lover. To become a being of Light, not tied to any creature of flesh. To be truly Jedi.

THREE YEARS LATER

He was tossing a datapad on his absent Padawan’s bed when the boy’s desktop comm beeped. He thought of letting the call roll over to the message center, but realized that Anakin should be home at any moment. "Answer," he said.

It was a dark-haired, dark-eyed human woman, plainly dressed. He didn’t recognize her, but there was logically only one older female human who would be communicating with Anakin whom he, Anakin’s Master, would not know on sight.

"I was calling for Ani?" she said hesitantly.

"He's not here right now, but he's due back soon for latemeal. I'm Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi. You must be Anakin’s mother. Do you want to wait? This call must be expensive. If you don’t connect with him, I'm afraid he can't message back, the Temple doesn’t pay for realtime for personal communications."

"Yes, I’m Shmi Skywalker. It's all right, I'll wait a moment," said the woman. "So...you're Anakin’s Master."

"I'm sorry we haven't had an opportunity to meet in person." Obi-Wan knew this was a common occurrence -- masters never meeting their Padawan’s parents -- but it seemed odd in this case. Most Initiates were taken so young, they never had a child’s relationship with their birth parents. But Anakin had been strongly attached to his mother. Still was.

"I always wanted to thank you for the money," she said. "Ani said you gave it to him."

"I only wish it had been more," he said. "If we could have freed you, we would have. But I'm sure you found a good use for what few credits there were."

She gave him an odd look, then said, "There’s something I want to ask, and I’d prefer to ask you rather than Ani. I haven't seen Ani since he left. I know that he's fine, and that the training is time-consuming, but I wondered if he might come home for a visit. Sometime. With you, of course."

Obi-Wan hesitated. There was no kind way to say this. "In general we don't encourage Initiates or Padawans to have much contact with their families during their training. We have extensive experience with this, and it’s for the best." He didn’t mention the example that always came to his mind -- Qui-Gon’s apprentice Xanatos, whose misplaced loyalty to his father Creon resulted in his Turning to the Dark. "Sometimes a Master can engineer a stop-by during a mission, but Tatooine is out of the way for usual Jedi assignments. I'll keep it in mind, but right now I don't see that it's possible, at least in the near term."

"Oh," she said. Her face was polite, but he knew she had to be disappointed. "It doesn't sound like the Jedi are much for relationships. Personal loyalties must be too limiting."

"I'm afraid that’s true. Our commitment to the Order is paramount. Everything else comes second. I'm sorry, I know this is hard for you. He's your only family member. But we can't make exceptions. You and he have to believe that you're making a worthwhile sacrifice for his future, for the good he'll be able to do as a Jedi."

"I understand. I'd better be going. Please tell Ani that I called, and that I love him. I’ll talk to him next ten."

"I will."

"And please... I know that Jedi do important work, but so do many other people. It may not be as glamorous as helping the Senate, or rescuing princesses, or stopping civil wars. But with most beings, life is lived more in the small moments than in the grand ones. Please don't let Ani forget that, or forget where he came from."

"I won't," he said. "And I promise, if I can ever get him to you for a visit, I will."

She gave a brief, doubting smile, and her image faded.

POETIC INTERLUDE

I have gone marking the atlas of your body
With crosses of fire.
My mouth went across: a spider, trying to hide.
In you, behind you, timid, driven by thirst...

I lived in a harbor from which I loved you.
The solitude pierced by dream and silence,
Penned up between the sea and sadness...

Between the lips and the voice something goes dying.
Something with the wings of a bird, something of anguish and oblivion.
The way nets cannot hold water...

Oh to be able to celebrate you with all the words of joy...

My sad tenderness, what comes over you all at once?
When I have reached the most awesome and the coldest summit
My heart closes like a nocturnal flower.

"I Have Gone Marking..." by Pablo Neruda

SIX YEARS LATER

Obi-Wan focused so completely on his Padawan and his missions, he lost track of the count of years in his own life. When he attended Bant’s bonding ceremony, he realized that his agemates assumed that he was one of their number who was sworn to celibacy, as were many of the Jedi. Odd, he had never thought of himself that way, as a celibate, but it was true that he hadn't been intimate with anyone, ever. It never seemed to fit into his life. In his early years he had been waiting, unable to go to anyone else for love of Qui-Gon. Then after his Master’s passing, the thought of any other lover was a disappointment compared to what he might have had. And now, much later, he had no time or emotional reserves for a long-term relationship, and no interest in a short one. That left him with what he had always had: nothing.

He did retain a hidden weakness for a certain type: tall, stern-faced human males, particularly those devoted to noble causes: protesting their governments, serving the poor and oppressed, healing the sick. Especially if they happened to have long hair. He never acted upon his attractions, and no one knew of this chink in his armor, except his ever-present, ever-observant Padawan. Upon meeting such a one, Anakin would say to Obi-Wan under his breath, "He reminds me of Master Qui-Gon" and Obi-Wan would nod, glad to hear the sound of his Master’s name. Anakin would smile his conspiratorial smile.

He hadn't forgotten Qui-Gon, but that memory now finally tended to stay inside its box until he chose to take it out like a treasured heirloom. For that initial year after Qui-Gon's death, his thoughts had dwelt on the man constantly. Inappropriately for a Jedi, who should live in the present and not the past. After countless hours of meditation, the memories slowly began to recede. Finally they settled into a reliable, once-daily pattern: his last thought before sleeping was always of Qui-Gon.

He felt comforted that at least two people in the universe still remembered the Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn: Anakin, who remembered him as a kind father figure, and himself, who remembered Qui-Gon the core of everything he had ever loved or wanted, now reduced to a mere thought, an inspiration. What a Master should be. What a lover might be. Not perfect, still flawed, still human, but ideal. His ideal.

He was Jedi. He would take his ego, his lifelong loneliness and internal griefs and selfish desires, and bury them under a mountain of will and duty and self-control. The weight would slowly crush them over the years, compact them smaller and smaller, until one day they would be transformed into the purest Light, and he would feel nothing but the everlasting peace of the Force. Then he would be free. He would become a living embodiment of the Code: there would be no passion, only serenity and peace. He would be the perfect Jedi.

There were only rare events that touched him there, down in that cramped hidden place under the mountain. Out on their missions, he would sometimes see a tall figure with draping hair, and for an instant his heart would seize, and Anakin would look at him curiously, sensing a flinch in his Master’s shields. Because while his intellect remembered, other parts of his other mind did not. Some piece of him was forever looking, dumbly hoping, like a loyal dog watching for the return of the beloved master. His Master.

Then six years after his promise to Shmi Skywalker, an opportunity arose.

POETIC INTERLUDE

...If you were to come into being suddenly, on some sad coast,
surrounded by the stuff of the dead day,
face to face with a new night,
full of waves,
and were to blow on my cold, fearful heart,
on its lonesome blood,
its black blood syllables would sound,
its unquenchable red waters swell
and it would sound and sound in the shadows,
it would sound like death itself,
calling like a pipe full of wind and crying,
or a bottle gushing fright.

So it is, and lightning would glaze your tresses,
and rain would come in through your open eyes
to hatch the cry you have incubated here
and the black wings of the sea would whirl around you
with a great flail of talons and raven cawings.

"Barcarole" by Pablo Neruda

The Council had assigned them a mission that could be reached via Tatooine. Not on the trip out, of course; they were on a schedule and could not delay. But perhaps on the return, if things went well, and if they were not under instructions to return as promptly as possible, he might be able to arrange a stopover on Tatooine.

He didn't mention it to Anakin, and although the boy -- young man rather, as he was now eighteen, unbelievable as it seemed -- probably knew the mission’s proximity to Tatooine, he didn't comment on that fact. Anakin, Obi-Wan felt certain, assumed that the Order forbade any family contact. He refrained from saying otherwise. He didn't want to raise any hopes until the outcome was a certainty.

Events continued to align for them. The mission was short and amiable. There were no urgent communiqués from the Council urging them into another crisis. There was a small freighter available that had two stops on its trip to Coruscant, and the first stop was Tatooine.

Anakin apparently hadn't bothered to check the ship's manifest -- carelessness in a senior Padawan, Obi-Wan noted -- since he looked puzzled when the ship exited hyperspace. "Master, what's wrong? It's far too soon for us to be at Coruscant."

"This transport has two loading stops along the way, my apprentice, as you would know if you'd paid proper attention." Anakin shrugged and managed to look sheepish and rebellious at the same time. "We have a short layover at Tatooine. "

"Tatooine?" Anakin said slowly. "My mom...can I see my mother?"

"Yes, you can. We're even landing in Mos Espa, so you won't need a surface transit."

Anakin whooped with happiness. "I can't wait for you to meet her! I still can't believe how long it’s been. I guess I'd just blocked it out of my mind."

"I know the separation was hard on both of you, initially," Obi-Wan said. "But she must be very proud of you. Are you sure you want me to come along? I don't mind waiting here onboard. I have some reading --"

"Of course, you have to come! Aren't you even the least bit curious about her, and where I grew up? Besides, she'd be furious if we came all this way and I didn't drag you to meet her."

"All right, all right," Obi-Wan surrendered. "I’ll come along. But I'll probably disappear at some point to give you time together. Don't worry about me."

"How long do we have?"

"The ship departs tomorrow around midmorning."

"Still, that's a while, isn't it? We have this evening, we could even stay up all night. I wish I'd brought something for her...I think I have a few credits..." Anakin rushed off towards his cabin.

Obi-Wan watched the pale planet waxing larger in the view port. Tatooine. The damned furnace that was Tatooine. The only place he hated worse was Naboo. That was a thought unbecoming to a Jedi. This place was already having a bad effect on him.

Anakin was practically bouncing as they paced along the dusty streets. He kept up an endless patter: "Look there, that's the so-called Corellian Cantina -- old man Marf used to own that place, wonder if he’s still around. And over there, that's --"

To break the monologue, Obi-Wan asked, "Do you see anyone you used to know?"

"Not yet," said Anakin. "Besides, I'm sure no one will recognize me now." He fell silent for a moment, then started up his commentary again. "Look, that dump is still there, that was --"

It was like walking in an oven, despite the slanting of the late-afternoon sun. The hot air shimmered. Obi-Wan could feel the warmth of the sand through his boots. They wound through a maze of streets. "I'm taking us by the shop first," Anakin said. "It's not time to close up yet, I'm sure she'll still be there."

They picked their way around pedestrians, vehicles, and strange-looking and smelly beasts of burden. A few passers-by glanced at them surreptitiously, probably looking for any items worth stealing. Obi-Wan decided that this was a place where even a Jedi had best be careful.

"There it is." Anakin pointed at a door up ahead, a black mouth into sunlit wall. Anakin broke into a jog. "Mom!" He disappeared into the shadow of the entry.

Obi-Wan reached the door but waited just out of sight to the side of it, wanting to give them a few initial moments together. He could clearly hear Anakin bellowing inside, "Mom? Mom? Mother!" Then a shrill female shout: "Ani!"

A duet, one enthusiastic male tenor, one excited female soprano. "What are you -- layover -- when -- didn't know until -- how are --"

A third voice, deeper than the other two, cut through their chatter like an ax.

"You must be young Anakin."

Obi-Wan stopped breathing. It couldn't be. He had misheard.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you. Your mother can't say enough good things about you."

Oh by all the gods. It was impossible.

Anakin's hesitant voice, "Um, Mom...?"

The woman’s firm voice, speaking deliberately. "Ani, I want you to meet someone. Ani, this is Jon. Jon is a very good friend of mine."

"Hello...Jon."

"The boy's shocked, Shmi. I always suspected that you hadn't told him, despite all these years. But I'm not such a fool as to get between a mother and her son. I'd sooner stand between a bantha and her calf."

The blinding light of the twin suns had gone to his head. It was affecting his hearing. It was affecting his mind.

He couldn't stand out here any longer. He had to go in.

Obi-Wan lurched through the doorway, blinking in the dimness of the shop. Three figures came into focus: Anakin, with a thousand questions on his face; Shmi, with a warning expression; and the third...

Qui-Gon. It was Qui-Gon. His ears hadn't deceived him.

Qui-Gon, clean-shaven, darkly tanned, hair pulled back in a tail, wearing workman's clothes and wiping his hands on a smudged cloth. Squinting at him, the newcomer, backlit against the glare of the bright street.

Obi-Wan stepped further into the shop. Qui-Gon. But how --

Qui-Gon, whose puzzled expression began to change to one of recognition, then of horror.

Qui-Gon stumbled back, staggering against the counter, grabbing at it blindly for support.

"Jon," said Shmi urgently, "Jon --"

Obi-Wan moved instinctively to support the taller man, but Shmi got in his way, held him back. "No," she said, "just let him alone - "

"But he's --" Obi-Wan said, trying to pull away, push past her --

"No, just let --" she said, clinging to him. Obi-Wan yanked away urgently, and she stumbled --

He heard the impact the same instant he felt it, a dull smack accompanied by a crushing pain along his right cheek. It was like getting hit with a club. He went down, hard, on his knees, but there was someone holding his cloak, his tunic, and the cloth cut into his neck.

"Don't you dare touch her," a voice snarled, Qui-Gon's voice, violent.

He looked up into the fury, and under that fury, fear in those blue eyes. The raised fist twitched, "Stop looking at me!" and the fist descended like missile. Another explosion of pain, this time centered around his right brow. His head snapped back on his neck. He closed his eyes. Another blow, then another. He knelt there, trying to absorb the impacts both physical and mental, unable to believe.

Shmi: "Jon, stop it Jon! Stop it! You're hurting him! Stop it!"

The grip on his tunic shoulder released, and he fell heavily on his side on the crete floor. He lay there a moment, and felt a tentative hand on his arm. Anakin. He didn't want to open his eyes. He was afraid of what he might see. What he might not see.

The first thing he saw was drops of blood on the floor. Wetness was creeping down his face, dripping from his chin.

He dared to glance up. Shmi was poised next to a tall man, restraining his right arm. There was blood on that clenched fist.

The tall man was still Qui-Gon.

They locked gazes, and Obi-Wan watched as the anger melted and the fear grew.

Qui-Gon turned away, swiftly moving towards an open door in the back of the shop. Shmi started to follow him, but then glanced back at her two visitors. "Just go home, Jon. Go home. I'll be right there." She came back and crouched down beside Obi-Wan, peering into his face. "Ah, what a mess. I’m sorry, I’ve got a medkit --" She made as if to rise, but Obi-Wan grabbed her elbow and kept her down.

"It’s all right," he said, tongue thick behind his split lip. "Just tell me. Tell me everything."

"Master, why didn’t you stop him?" asked Anakin.

"It wasn’t necessary," he said, although he could have said, just as truthfully, that he didn’t think of it. He also did not add that a perverse part of him had welcomed the blows. The instant he had recognized Qui-Gon, the magnitude of the realization had paralyzed him. Qui-Gon was alive. Through what miracle, he couldn’t guess. However it had happened, Qui-Gon had survived on his own, without any help from his Padawan. He deserved his Master’s anger. He welcomed it.

Shmi and Anakin helped him shift a few arms lengths to the counter wall. Obi-Wan sat against it, tilted his battered head back, directed Force healing at the cuts and bruises. The outline of Shmi was hazy as seen through his swollen, slitted eye. "Please," he said. "Just tell me."

"I will," she said. "But you have to understand. I love Jon, and I won’t let you or anyone else do anything to hurt him."

Hurt him? Hurt Qui-Gon. Obi-Wan coughed a weak laugh. She won’t let anyone hurt Qui-Gon. And she felt she had to warn him of this, him, Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon’s own apprentice. Who had hoped, even if foolishly, to eventually become Qui-Gon’s lover, if a Sith hadn’t interfered.

"No," he said. "Never hurt him. Please, just tell me."

"Let me get you a damp cloth --"

"Just TELL ME!" he screamed. The echo vibrated off the walls.

Anakin stared at him in shock. He realized that Anakin had never heard him raise his voice before.

In the ensuing silence, Obi-Wan heard Shmi’s sigh, close enough to feel on his cheek. "All right. I’ll tell you what I know, but I don’t know all of it." Out of his good eye, Obi-Wan could see Anakin watching his mother with a predator’s intensity.

"We found him about seven years ago," she said. "I say we, but it wasn’t me, it was some friends of mine, neighbors. They said there was a wild man prowling the back alleys at night. Never hurt anyone, but gave people frights. They got a group together to flush him out, and I went along. I don’t frighten easily, and whoever it was, I wanted him to be treated as kindly as possible.

"We found him and stunned him down. His hair was long and tangled, he had a full beard, he was filthy and wearing rags. And thin, he was so thin. I didn’t recognize him, but something about him seemed familiar. I had him carried to my place. I left him in a room with food and water. The neighbors thought I’d lost my mind. They told me to at least chain him or lock him up, but that didn’t seem right to me. I shooed them out of the house, told them I could handle myself. Then I sat in the kitchen and drank iced tea and waited for him to wake up.

"When I heard shuffling noises in the other room, I coughed to let him know there was somebody else in the house. I had turned my chair so I wasn’t facing square in that direction. After a few minutes, I saw movement out of the corner of my eye. He was peeking around the corner at me. Finally he came further into the room, and I started talking to him, very softly. He was wary but he didn’t run away. After another while I offered him my mug of iced tea. He wouldn’t take it from my hand, but when I left it on the opposite side of the table, out of my reach, he crept up and took it.

"It took a few days to get him calm enough to let me touch him. I kept thinking that I’d turn around one day and he’d be gone, but he stayed. He didn’t talk. He didn’t even really stand upright, just hunkered down on the floor, against a wall, even under the table. He’d find some little corner and fold himself into it. When he finally let me help him get cleaned up, I was sure that he was Qui-Gon Jinn, the Jedi Master who’d taken Anakin away -- either that or his twin brother. But when I called him that, he panicked -- moaned and curled into himself and knocked his head against the floor. So I tried calling him other names, and he seemed to like Jon. If he was Qui-Gon, maybe it was close enough to his previous name to sound familiar, but not close enough to make him panic.

"It was a slow recovery, very slow. Over the tens he began to interact more, stand up more. He still didn’t say anything. Sometimes he’d just stare off into space for hours. He had nightmares, so after awhile I had him sleep in my room so I could wake him up easily. As disturbed as he could get, I never felt in any danger from him. The neighbors made jokes about my new pet. Must cost a lot to feed, they’d say, but they smiled at him, and he’d smile back.

"I bought him clothes, brushed his hair, talked to him. It got to where he would follow me to the shop and on errands. He seemed almost normal except he never spoke or showed any interest in language. Then one morning, I heard, ‘How did I get here?’ as if we were already in the middle of a conversation. I said, ‘We found you on the street,’ and he looked confused and said he couldn’t remember. And that was it, he could talk.

"He hasn’t remembered anything since -- not about being a Jedi, or what happened to him. Or if he does remember, he won’t tell me. Ani told me that Master Qui-Gon died, so there must have been something underhanded, that he was stolen away and damaged like this. Sometimes I think he remembers, fragments anyway, but he won’t tell me. It must have been horrible. He still has nightmares.

"The mention of Jedi puts him on edge. I talk about Anakin a lot, but it makes him nervous to think of Anakin being with the Jedi. He asked me once if I thought that was wise, if I trusted them. When I asked him why, he got tight-lipped and said the Jedi weren’t all they were reputed to be. I asked him how he knew that, and he just shook his head. Once I made the mistake of mentioning you -- I said something about Master Obi-Wan -- and he got so angry, his eyes went black. ‘Don’t ever say that name in my presence again,’ he said, and he stalked off. So I never did. I don’t know why it affected him like that.

"So...that’s it. That’s all. He’s been with me ever since. Aside from his memory problems, he’s a good man and seems perfectly normal. And I’m very happy to be with him."

Obi-Wan said painfully around his swollen lip, "You never told anyone?" How could the Order, full of Jedi so much more senior and insightful than himself, not have known that Qui-Gon Jinn was alive? Had the Council known and not informed him, letting him mourn in deserved ignorance?

Shmi looked at him steadily. "No one. I tried to tell you. You probably don’t remember. It was a short time after we found him, before he started to talk. I called for Ani once, and you answered, and I asked if you and Ani could come visit. And you said no, that Jedi discouraged personal relationships. You said that loyalty to the Jedi was more important than anything else. So I thought, what was the point. Jon isn’t a Jedi anymore. He doesn’t remember he used to be one, he can’t even stand to hear the word. And he seems happy here. So why not just let it be."

"Let it be?" Anakin echoed. "Mom, you should have told me, at least."

"No, Ani. You’re a Jedi now. I didn’t want to put you in that position, telling you, then leaving you to decide if you were obligated to tell Master Obi-Wan, or the others. You didn’t need to know."

Anakin scowled.

"Don’t look at me like that," she chided. "I’m still your mother."

Obi-Wan tried to speak, but his torn mouth wouldn’t work properly.

"What?" asked Shmi kindly, smoothing his hair back as if he were a child.

"...slave?" he managed to articulate.

"Is he a slave?" she asked. "No, he’s not, or not anymore. He did have a collar on when we found him, but there wasn’t any data in it. I cut it off and threw it away. He doesn’t have any implants. No, he’s a freeman. I tried to pay him wages for working in the shop, but he wouldn’t take them. Said he owed me more than he could ever repay. The shop’s mine, you know," she continued. "With the money Ani sent me, I bought my freedom and the shop too, from Watto. He was thrilled to be able to retire from the business and get offworld."

"It wasn’t enough," Obi-Wan croaked.

Anakin coughed self-consciously. "In fact it was, after I...augmented it, Master. I used your savings to gamble down in Coruscant’s lower levels. After a few nights’ work, I had a nice pile. No one expected a little street kid to be able to manipulate the Force -- after all, everyone knows that Jedi trainees are sheltered and naïve, you can spot them a click away. Don’t blame yourself, Master -- the Council had sent you away on solo mission, and, not to brag, but there’s no one else at the Temple who could manage me."

Touching his face gingerly, Obi-Wan could tell that, thanks to the Force, the worst of the cuts had begun to close, and the swelling was subsiding. He could see out of both eyes again. Anakin clucked his tongue. "You still won’t be winning any beauty contests soon, Master. Shall I help?" raising his hand to aid in the healing.

Obi-Wan gently waved Anakin’s hand away. "No, thank you, Padawan. This is good enough, for now." The pain was appropriate. It matched the brittle agony in his heart. It made this seem more real. "I want to see him."

"No," said Shmi firmly. "I told you. He can’t stand to hear your name, and he just showed what he’s capable of when you appear in person. Please, just let him alone. Forget you ever saw him."

"Forget?" Obi-Wan rasped. What did she think she was saying? But then he reminded himself: she didn’t understand. How could she? She didn’t know him or Qui-Gon, or what had been between them. All she knew was that he was one of those Jedi who don’t let children visit their mothers, one of those Jedi who place loyalty to the Order over loyalty to individuals.

"Let’s not talk about this any more here," Shmi said. "Let’s go home. Ani, help Master Obi-Wan, while I lock up."

POETIC INTERLUDE

Thinking, tangling shadows in the deep solitude,
you are far away too, oh farther than anyone.
Thinking, freeing birds, dissolving images,
burying lamps.

...night falls on you face downward, far from the city.

Your presence is foreign, as strange to me as a thing.
I think, I explore great tracts of my life before you.
My life before anyone, my harsh life.
The shout facing the sea, among the rocks,
running free, mad, in the sea-spray.
The sad rage, the shout, the solitude of the sea.
Headlong, violent, stretched towards the sky...

Who are you, who are you?

"Thinking, Tangling Shadows..." by Pablo Neruda

The two suns were barely above the horizon, and ink-dark shadows obscured the streets. Obi-Wan walked with a hovering Anakin at his elbow. But his attention was inward: his mind was unruly and undisciplined. He strove to control his emotions, to find his calm Jedi center. He told himself it was no use to cast about in wild speculation. He would see and hear the reality soon enough.

Anakin kept looking at him worriedly, undoubtedly sensing his disturbance, just as he himself used to deduce Qui-Gon’s mental state from minimal outward signs. As they turned one corner, Anakin began to talk; he had always taken comfort in the sound of his own voice. "This is still called the Slaves Quarter, but it’s not only slaves that live here. Actually it’s not a bad area, compared to the rest of the city, but the living accommodations are primitive compared to what some offworlders expect. Mom decided to stay in our house even after she was freed. All her friends were nearby, and she didn’t see any reason to leave."

"I’m not sure if I should bring you here," Shmi said. "Jon may see it as an unwelcome invasion. But I won’t turn either of you away. If Jon objects, I have friends who’ll take us in. We’ll stay with them and let him have the house."

Outside one door, Shmi said, "Please wait out here a moment. I want to see how he’s doing," and she went inside.

"I bet he’s up on the balcony," predicted Anakin. "That’s the best place to be in the evening, you can watch the suns set and the stars come out. And it’s away above the rest of the house so you don’t have to be with anybody else. Are you all right, Master?"

"What?" Obi-Wan asked. "Oh, yes, I’m fine."

"I didn’t mean your face," Anakin said. "How do you feel?"

How did he feel? "I’m fine," he repeated. "I’m surprised, of course. Shocked. Glad he’s alive."

"That’s it? You know, if you want to run screaming down the street, you can. I won’t tell anybody back home."

Obi-Wan smiled in spite of himself. "No reason to do that, I’m fine, really."

"Yeah, right," said Anakin. "What is it you tell me about being honest with myself?"

"I am being honest," Obi-Wan said defensively. "Why do you think that I’m not?"

"Come on, Master, I’ve known from the beginning that you were --" and Anakin cut off as Shmi returned.

"You can come in," she said. "He’s fine, he’s upstairs. We’ll just stay downstairs and not bother him. Master Obi-Wan, he did say he was sorry about striking you."

Obi-Wan said, "It’s all right," as they proceeded into the main room towards a table and cooking area.

"It’s not luxurious, but it suits us," said Shmi. "We don’t entertain such distinguished visitors very often."

"It’s comfortable," said Obi-Wan. "Homelike, actually. Jedi quarters are spartan by most people’s standards."

Shmi gave him a genuine smile. "You’re welcome here, even if you got a rough initial greeting," she said. "You sit -- Ani, give me a hand with the food and setting, please. Your friends will be pleased to see you -- Amee and Seek still live nearby."

"I’ll track them down tomorrow morning," said Anakin. "Tonight I just want to spend time with you," and he hugged her.

Mother and son chatted as they quickly assembled a simple meal. Obi-Wan sat quietly, pretending to listen, but in fact all his senses were tuned to the presence he could feel nearby, bright as a beacon.

Arranging a plate, Shmi said, "I’ll be right back. I want to take this to Jon."

"Let me, Mom," said Anakin.

Shmi said nothing but she wrinkled her brow.

Anakin persisted, "I want to see him. I wouldn’t have gotten the chance to be a Jedi if it hadn’t been for Master Qui-Gon. I won’t ask about his past or anything that might set him off. And besides, if he’s my Mom’s special friend, I’m damn sure going to speak to him. Come on, Mom, relax, it’s me. You know I’ve always been able to talk my way through anything."

Shmi handed him the plate. "Be polite. Don’t upset him. He’s had enough of a shock for one day. And here, don’t forget his drink."

Anakin snagged the cup of water with his free hand and bounded up the stairs.

Shmi sat down with a sigh. "Please eat if you can," she said to Obi-Wan. "But with the condition of your face right now, I understand if you don’t feel like it."

"I’ll be all right." Obi-Wan took a small bite and chewed gingerly. "So you have no idea of where Qui-Gon, Jon, came from before you found him?"

"I do have a guess. While his collar didn’t have any data, it was a style similar to that worn by the low-end slaves belonging to Jabba the Hutt."

"One of the local Hutts?"

"Rather the local Hutt. Jabba controls Tatooine. All the businesses here have to pay him protection money. Including me. Jabba’s got a lot of shady offworld connections. My guess is that someone parked Jon with Jabba for some reason -- perhaps to keep Jon in an out-of-the-way place, far from the Republic. Slaves don’t usually live long in Jabba’s service, so the fact that Jon was alive either means he was very lucky, or that he was meant to be kept alive. That’s what puzzles me. Why not just kill him?"

Obi-Wan swallowed painfully. "Because he’s a Jedi Master. Regardless of what was done to him, you can’t erase a lifetime of training."

"That would seem like a good reason to kill him."

"On the contrary. Most people outside of the Order don’t know this, but there’s a tradition of dead Masters returning to give advice to the living. I’ve never experienced it, but other Jedi have. If it was the Sith, the traditional enemies of the Jedi, who took Qui-Gon, then they might not want him dead. Alive, he’s still trapped in whatever mental hell they created. Dead, he’s free. Free to remember who he was. Free to warn the Order."

He had always wondered why Qui-Gon had never returned to speak to him. When he permitted himself to think of it, he agonized that it was proof that their relationship had been shallow, that it had faded to insignificance upon his Master’s joining the Force. That Qui-Gon hadn’t spoken to him because he had no interest in doing so. All that anguish, and it had never occurred to him that the reason for Qui-Gon’s absence in the Force was that he wasn’t dead yet.

They ate in silence.

"Will you tell?" asked Shmi.

"Tell what?" Obi-Wan asked.

"Tell the other Jedi. About Jon."

"They might be able to help him. I’m not a Healer. I probably wouldn’t be able to do him any good, even if he’d permit me to try. But our Healers are very skilled. Don’t you want him to get help?" Obi-Wan suppressed his anger: that she had closeted Qui-Gon here, when he might have had the best care that the Jedi could give.

Shmi put down her fork and leaned back in her chair. "He hasn’t gotten any better in years. He’s stabilized. Why risk that?"

Obi-Wan said, "He could tell us who took him, what happened to him. We never discovered the identity of the Sith Master. He might know. It could be very useful."

Shmi’s eyes flashed, and he realized instantly and belatedly that he had taken the wrong tact with her. "He’d be useful? Like a tool or a droid. Don’t you care about him as an individual? What probing his mind might do to him?"

"I care," he said. "I care very much." It sounded flat.

"You’re not very convincing." She rose, clearing their plates from the table.

He was failing to reach her. He took his frustration and released it to the Force. "I may not show emotion in the way you expect, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have feelings. Jedi are trained to manage their emotions, to keep them from clouding their thinking."

"That seems to have worked well with you," she said coolly.

He didn’t respond. She was afraid for her Jon, and her protective instincts were leading her to strike out against the nearest target: him. But the barb still hurt.

He had always thought of himself as someone who felt deeply and sincerely, even as he tried to be a good Jedi. Had he crippled his emotions so completely? Did that make him some kind of monster -- a human droid that imitated human behaviors? Why did her insult hurt so sharply? But then, even droids were programmed to feign hurt, to act as if they had feelings,.

Anakin came pounding down the stairs. "Sorry for the delay," he said, either not noticing or ignoring the tension in the kitchen. "We talked for awhile."

"About what?" asked Shmi.

"Oh, my training, whether I like it or not, stuff like that." Anakin gave Obi-Wan a meaningful glance behind his mother’s back. There was something Anakin wanted to tell him, something that he wouldn’t say with her present.

Conveniently, Shmi said, "I’ll just go up and check on him."

"I’d still like to speak to him," said Obi-Wan.

Shmi hesitated. "I’ll ask. It’s up to him." Dignified and graceful, she climbed the stairs.

"Master," said Anakin, "I had a strange conversation with Master Qui-Gon. Jon, I guess I’d better call him."

"How so?" He was desperate to hear what had happened, but the urgency didn’t touch his voice.

Anakin rattled quickly, "He asked me how I liked being with the Jedi, and I said I did. He asked if the training was difficult, and I said yes, but I could handle it. Then it got weird. He asked if I’d ever been forced to do anything that I didn’t want to do. Then he mentioned you, asked how it was being your student, and how was our relationship. I kept saying everything was fine, but it was clear he was driving at something, I wasn’t sure what. I asked him, was there some reason to worry about the Jedi, and he said cryptically that the Jedi weren’t all they were reputed to be. I said, what is it about Master Obi-Wan, and he got frosty. Just be careful, he said, you have to look out for yourself. Don’t trust anyone too much. Remember that you have a home here, if you need a place to go. Then he turned away. It seemed like he was dismissing me, so I left."

"He’s not well, Ani. Don’t take anything he says too seriously." Qui-Gon suspecting the Jedi? What had happened to turn a worldly Master into a Tatooine local who distrusted Jedi?

Anakin leaned closer, near whispering. "I got a peek inside while he was talking to me." At Obi-Wan’s stern look, Anakin said, "I know, it’s not nice to snoop, but this is Master Qui-Gon, and he’s in trouble. We have to help him. His guard was down, he was so focused on his questions, so I looked. Don’t worry, I didn’t pry, I just stood at the window and looked in, so to speak."

"I shouldn’t encourage you in this, but I do want to know what you saw," Obi-Wan said.

Anakin paused to gather his thoughts. "It wasn’t like anyone I’d ever scanned before. Jedi minds are orderly, and most other beings’ minds are messy, but him...he was structured like a Jedi, but there were parts of his mind that were walled off. Remember our mission to U’u’lan, when we got involved in that urban guerilla war? The occupying army had taken the centers of power, the governmental complex, the police station, the official media center. But the guerillas knew the city, and they infiltrated and slowly regained ground, one neighborhood at a time. That’s what it reminded me of. As if someone had taken over Master Qui-Gon, but he knows his own mind, its back alleys, its underground tunnels. He took back his mind bit by bit, but he can’t oust them from these last areas. They’re dug in too deep."

Obi-Wan digested that. If Qui-Gon had been able to regain control to that extent, perhaps other Jedi, the Healers, could help him win the rest of the battle. Or perhaps their intervention would push him further into madness. Who knows what mental traps had been left behind by the ones who’d ravaged him?

He would have to report this to the Council, and they would ask for his recommendation. What course of action would he advise?

They turned to face Shmi as she reappeared. "He’ll see you," she said soberly, looking at Obi-Wan.

He stood, suppressing a wince as his movement pulled at sore muscles in his neck. "Thank you." Pausing with his foot on the first step, he looked back at her. "I’ll be careful. I do care for him, Shmi. You may not see it in me, but I do."

She said, "I can’t predict what he’ll do, with you. Call us if he gets upset. I can usually calm him down."

"I will," he said, and ascended step by step towards the doorway, out towards the darkened sky.

POETIC INTERLUDE

...I am not, I’m of no use, I do not know
anyone; I have no weapons of ocean or wood,
I do not live in this house.

My mouth is full of night and water.
The abiding moon determines
What I do not have.

What I have is in the midst of the waves.
A ray of water, a day for myself,
an iron depth...

I live suddenly and other times I follow.
I touch a face suddenly and it murders me.
I have no time...

Do not call me: that is my occupation.
Do not ask my name or my condition.
Leave me in the middle of my own moon
in my wounded ground.

"Waltz" by Pablo Neruda

Qui-Gon -- Jon, Obi-Wan forced himself to think -- was sitting sideways on the low balcony wall, looking out over the lights of the city. The double suns’ glow still rimmed the horizon, but night was falling fast.

Obi-Wan stood waiting just outside the door, but Jon didn’t react to his presence. Approaching slowly, he saw that the man’s right hand, resting on his thigh, was caked with dried blood. Jon had split his knuckles from the blows he’d dealt.

Jon glanced at him quickly, then back at the city. "I’ll do better if I don’t have to look at you. And I’m sure you’d rather I didn’t pound your face any further."

"It’s not that bad. I’ll be all right." Obi-Wan felt detached. His first utterance to Qui-Gon, and it was banal. "Your hand looks like it’s worse than my head."

Jon huffed a humorless laugh.

This, at least, was one small thing he could do. It might provoke a violent reaction. So be it. Obi-Wan stepped forward, knelt, took the man’s right hand between his own two, and concentrated Force healing on the torn flesh. Jon stiffened but otherwise permitted the touch. Obi-Wan focused on the hand: that big hand that he knew as well as his own, broad palm, long fingers. Pattern of calluses different now. He closed his eyes and remembered: the approving clasp on his shoulder, the gentleness when he was injured.

The hand was healed. He held it a moment longer, then replaced it on Jon’s thigh.

There was a sweet, burnt scent in the air. Jon raised his left hand to his mouth and inhaled from an herbal smokestick. On the exhale, smoke ghosted from his mouth and nose. Obi-Wan watched, fascinated.

"See what you’ve reduced me to," said Jon, not looking at him. "This weed’s a fortune here, and I’ve gone through half a box already."

Obi-Wan said nothing, just watched, trying to assess this man, trying not to make any assumptions based on memories of a past life that this man apparently despised.

"Get up," Jon said abruptly. "I don’t want you crouching down there like that."

"I’m sorry," Obi-Wan said, and took a seat on the balcony wall behind Jon, close enough to hear and touch but far enough away to avoid bumping him accidentally.

"So," Jon said behind him. "What brings you here?"

"We’re passing through on our way back from a mission. I thought it would be a good opportunity for Ani to see his mother." It was the kind of shallow small talk made at diplomatic parties the galaxy over.

"Hmm," said Jon. "So you weren’t sent here, or requested to come here?"

"By whom?" he asked, bewildered.

"Oh, say, the Hutts," said Jon, suddenly glancing back over his shoulder at Obi-Wan.

What a bizarre thought. Was this illogical paranoia another effect of Qui-Gon’s damaged mind? "No. Hutts are criminals, exploiters. Jedi and Hutts are on the opposite ends of the spectrum. Even if they had a legitimate need, I doubt they’d consider contacting us for anything. Why would you think that?"

Jon smoked his stick. "Just a speculation," he said at last. "There’s a group of us here who’ve been organizing against the Hutts. Slowly, but it’s happening. I’ve been wondering when Jabba would notice, and what he would do when he did."

"Defying the Hutts could be dangerous."

Jon snorted and stubbed out his stick on the wall. "Well, that’s insightful. I’m glad I have a Jedi around to tell me that." He took out another stick but didn’t light it immediately, twiddling it in his fingers. "Things worth having are worth fighting for. Tatooine has a bad reputation as a place for bandits, smugglers, all kinds of trouble. But there are a lot of good people here, people who want to make a life for themselves. If they can get organized, they can bring some semblance of civilization to this place. Maybe even apply for admission to the Republic one day. It won’t be easy. Jabba’s ruthless. But we have a chance."

"We?" asked Obi-Wan.

"Shmi and I have ended up near the center of it. Shmi’s well liked and respected throughout Mos Espa, both among the poorer people, slaves and the like, and among the shop owners and small business people. There’s a Citizens Council that’s trying to improve things, carefully, without outright challenging the Hutts and bringing their enforcers down on our backs." Jon shrugged. "Maybe it’s a lost cause, but we have to try." Again he glanced over his shoulder at Obi-Wan. "I don’t suppose this is anything you could help with."

"I don’t see how," said Obi-Wan. This conversation was completely unexpected; he wasn’t sure how to respond but wanted to answer honestly. He could not allow himself to make commitments on a situation when he had no directives from the Council. "But I will put it in my mission report when I get back, and ask that someone be assigned to follow the situation."

"You do that." Jon smoked, clearly not impressed. Obi-Wan sat in silence, watching the other man’s back, and the wisps of smoke drifting around his head.

Finally Jon said, "Are you going to sit there all night? Shmi said you wanted to see me. So what is it?"

"I just...I wanted to ask how you were doing."

"How am I doing? I’m doing fine. Next question."

"Shmi said you have memory problems," Obi-Wan said carefully. Perhaps if he approached the topic indirectly, he might get some answers.

Jon waved a hand dismissively. "Everybody has some kind of problem. I’ve got memory problems, as you put it. I’d put it this way: my memories can be misleading. And they feel strange, not like my more recent memories, here with Shmi. So yes, something’s off, but not anything that makes a difference in my day-to-day life."

"Have you sought help?" asked Obi-Wan.

"What for? I told you, it’s not a problem in my daily life. I still have nightmares on occasion, but who doesn’t."

"What feels strange about your memories?"

"Shmi insists that they’re wrong, at least in parts. I trust Shmi. And I do find inconsistencies in them myself."

"Such as?"

"Well, for example, my memories tell me the Jedi are evil, that Jedi steal children away from their families and abuse them and brainwash them, then send them out as adults to do the same to others. Shmi says that’s wrong, that the Jedi are a good presence in the galaxy, and I say, if they’re so damned good, then where the hell are they when we need them."

"There are never enough of us to go around," said Obi-Wan.

"Yes, that’s why you Jedi report to the Republic Senate, to get your priorities set for you. Lapdogs for the corrupt Senate, now there’s an endorsement. But Shmi points out that political necessities make for strange bedfellows. She says I’m too hard on the poor Jedi. Ha, if she only knew."

"Do you remember what happened to you?"

"I don’t want to talk about that. Let’s just say I finally faced up to the reality of my past life. I’d sooner die than go back to that."

They were getting nowhere. Obi-Wan said simply, "Are you happy?"

"What? Am I happy?" repeated Jon disbelievingly. "Actually, yes. Yes, I am. Are you?"

"Am I happy?" Obi-Wan hesitated. "Yes, in general. There are a few things, a few very important things, that I regret, but what can’t be changed --"

"-- must be endured. Ha, see, I remember that. Another hokey Jedi aphorism. If more people focused on changing those supposedly unchangeable things, then less endurance might be required."

"Do you remember me at all?" asked Obi-Wan quietly.

"Remember you?" Jon looked over his shoulder again, this time angry. "I certainly do remember you, my dear apprentice. And it’s only due to my doubts and Shmi’s intervention that I didn’t kill you on sight."

What was there to say to that? "I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to provoke you," said Obi-Wan, rising. "Perhaps I should go."

"You do that," said Jon, exhaling smoke. It blew in Obi-Wan’s face as he went inside, making his eyes sting. Yes, his burning eyes must be from the smoke.

"Well?" said Anakin expectantly, as Obi-Wan rejoined them at the table.

"Well what, Padawan?"

"What happened? What did he say?"

"He said that there’s a local movement coalescing against the Hutts."

Anakin looked confused. A political discussion was clearly not what he had expected. You and me both, Padawan, Obi-Wan thought to himself.

Shmi nodded. "We’re trying to keep it quiet for now. We’re not ready to confront Jabba directly."

Anakin rallied. "Mom! You can’t overthrow the Hutts!"

"Why not, Ani? You used to talk about coming back and freeing the slaves, later, when you grew up. You know that would require fighting the Hutts. Why shouldn’t those of us who live here take the initiative?"

"It’s too dangerous. Why can’t you just run the shop and keep your head down?"

"You don’t mean that. You’re just worried because I’m your mother. If it were anyone else, you’d be cheering them on." Anakin scowled as Shmi tucked his braid behind his ear.

Mother and son continued to talk about local personalities and places. Obi-Wan listened politely, but behind his Jedi mask, his mind was still up on the balcony, watching a slouching man smoke herbsticks.

"Padawan, I think I’ll be returning to the ship. You stay here and visit. Just be sure to be on board before departure."

Anakin and Shmi both protested simultaneously, but Shmi’s voice won out. "You shouldn’t be out in the streets after dark, Master Obi-Wan. Please, you’re welcome to stay here, we have plenty of room."

"Please stay, Master," Anakin added.

Obi-Wan refrained from pointing out to Shmi that he had walked through much more dangerous streets than those of Mos Espa. Anakin was giving him a direct look. Unfortunately he and Anakin were not yet able to communicate telepathically in words, but he clearly picked up his Padawan’s desire that he stay.

He could sense the Force signature of the dead man who haunted his dreams, still somewhere nearby but out of sight. His premonition told him that their encounter was not yet over.

"Thank you for the offer," he said. "I appreciate it."

"It’s nothing," said Shmi. "I’m glad you’re here."

"It’s been a long day. I would like to retire, if you don’t mind."

"Of course," she said. "Ani, show Obi-Wan the guest room. You’ll have to move the clutter off the sleeping platform. I’ll get the bedding."

Obi-Wan knelt next to the sleeping platform, looking at the small square of sky that was visible through the window set high in the wall.

Up on the balcony, Qui-Gon might be looking at that same patch of sky.

Not Qui-Gon. Jon. This man was called Jon.

The Sith Lord had taken Qui-Gon. It was the only answer. While the apprentices fought, the Master had snatched the dying Qui-Gon for purposes unknown. Torture certainly. Experimentation? Recruitment? Or just the pleasure of breaking a Jedi?

It made him sick to even begin to think of the things that might have been done to Qui-Gon.

Had Qui-Gon turned? Certainly he hated the Jedi now.

How long had Qui-Gon been imprisoned and abused? For tens probably. Perhaps years. It had been three years from the time of his assumed death until Shmi had found him, near-naked and starving in the rubbish bins of Mos Espa.

How did he get to Tatooine? Why Tatooine?

Escaped? Or been set free? For what purpose?

What had Qui-Gon felt, caged and abandoned? How long had Qui-Gon hoped for rescue before he resigned himself to his fate? Was that the first crack in his formidable Master’s defenses: his disappointment in his Padawan, who failed to even notice, much less solve, the mystery of his Master’s disappearance? He had been so certain that Qui-Gon was dead, it had never occurred to him to look for evidence to the contrary. What signs had there been that he had missed? Instead of examining the scene, he had rushed off, to the Queen, to the mission, forward into his Knighthood, so determined not to look back. Because Jedi should live in the present moment, not the past.

Shmi had been right. He, Obi-Wan the dedicated Jedi, had thrown away his most personal relationship. All those years he had nourished his feelings of love, and what difference had they made, when the time came and he was tested? He had failed the person he loved most in the world. In the end, his love had meant nothing.

It was justice that Qui-Gon hated him.

POETIC INTERLUDE

Young homosexuals and girls in love,
and widows gone to seed, sleepless, delirious,
and novice housewives pregnant some thirty hours,
the hoarse cats cruising across my garden’s shadows
like a necklace of throbbing, sexual oysters
surround my solitary home
like enemies entrenched against my soul...

Seducers’ afternoons and strictly legal nights
Fold together like a pair of sheets, burying me:
The siesta hours when young male and female students
as well as priests retire to masturbate,
and when animals screw outright,
and bees smell of blood and furious flies buzz,
and cousins play kinkily with their girl cousins...

So for sure and for ever this great forest surrounds me,
breathing through flowers large as mouths chock full of teeth,
black-rooted in the shapes of hoofs and shoes.

"Lone Gentleman" by Pablo Neruda

Hours later, he stripped and lay down to sleep under the thin sheet. But sleep refused to take him. The air hung hot and still.

In the depths of the night, he sensed movement in the house, and knew it for Qui-Gon. He waited while that familiar presence shifted through the rooms.

He opened his eyes. Qui-Gon was standing at the door, bare-chested, sleeppants barely clinging to his hipbones. Obi-Wan began to sit up, and quick as thought, Qui-Gon was on top of him, pressing him down into the bedding. That large body was just as heavy and solid with muscle as he remembered from their long-ago training bouts. Those eyes were still that stunning shade of blue, seen from so close he could make out his own faint reflection in the pupils.

"Jon, what --" he started to say, and was silenced with fingers on his mouth.

"You’re even more beautiful than I remembered. Different, but beautiful. You didn’t have this before," Qui-Gon running fingertips over Obi-Wan’s short beard. But Qui-Gon’s face was openly hungry, not like any expression he had seen before on that reserved countenance.

Obi-Wan’s instincts prickled in alarm, and he forgot the right name to use. "Master, I --"

"Shh. Did you miss me, Padawan?"

He struggled against the confining weight, but not vigorously, not wanting to alarm the big man. There was one strong thigh between his legs, arms enclosing his shoulders and head. "Very much, Master --"

Qui-Gon kissed him, tonguing gently, seductive, his long hair falling around them, a curtain of silk. He couldn’t pull away; he was pinned to the mattress, but he moaned in distress. After an eternity, Qui-Gon released his mouth.

"Stop squirming," Qui-Gon said hoarsely, his eyes glittering. "You want this as much as I do."

"No. Qui-Gon, Jon, no, stop."

Qui-Gon seized Obi-Wan’s jaw in a vice grip. "Liar. How you used to beg for it. And don’t even think about using the Force against me, little whore. Come now," Qui-Gon nipped Obi-Wan’s ear. "You want it. I know you do. Ah, how I missed this, the feel of you under me --" In tandem with his words, his hips ground against Obi-Wan’s captured leg.

"No. You will stop, now." Obi-Wan gasped for breath against the weight of the man on his chest.

That teasing voice whispered, "What’s the matter? Are you so sated on your own apprentice that you refuse your old Master? He does look a fine boy, I must admit. Does he give as good service as you did me?"

"Masters do not have sexual relations with their Padawans."

Qui-Gon buried his laugh in Obi-Wan’s neck.

Obi-Wan continued, as if they were having a rational conversation rather than entangling on a bed, "You may not remember correctly, but it’s true. You know your memories were violated."

Qui-Gon pulled back slightly, just far enough to look Obi-wan directly in the eyes. "You want this. You always wanted this. You can’t lie to me."

Obi-Wan willed his aroused penis to soften; he could feel Qui-Gon’s erection pressing into his thigh. "I don’t know what you were made to remember. I want this, used to want this, because I loved you. But this is forbidden between master and apprentice. You and I were never lovers."

"I wouldn’t say lovers," hissed Qui-Gon, his glare frightening at such close range. "It started the way it always does, with rape. But you were a better learner than I ever was. You were always so talented, in everything. How quickly you turned it into seduction and manipulation. How many Masters were swayed by your charms, slut? How many Senators, how many leaders of worlds? You earned your Knighthood on your knees and your back."

"No, Master. Whatever you believe, whatever was done to you to make you believe this -- it’s not true. Someone wants you to hate the Jedi. Anakin -- didn’t you ask Anakin? He didn’t even understand what it was that you were asking."

"You’re telling me that you never touched Anakin?" Qui-Gon whispered fiercely.

"Not that way. I would give my life to protect Anakin, as you would, as you did --" Obi-Wan choked. As you did to save me, faded voiceless in his throat.

Qui-Gon’s stern expression softened. "Well." He rolled, turning them both on their sides facing each other, and nuzzled Obi-Wan’s cheek. "No matter about the past. But right now, we both want this. I won’t force you, Padawan, but why shouldn’t we indulge ourselves? I’ll give you a pleasant memory to take back to Coruscant."

One large hand was curling in his hair, brushing the hypersensitive back of his neck. While his body was responding, his mind was not, should not. This was a badly damaged man who, his instincts told him, was after something other than sex -- what, Obi-Wan didn’t know. "No. You’re not yourself. What about Shmi?"

"What about her?"

"She loves you. This would hurt her."

"She doesn’t need to know." Qui-Gon’s hand was sliding down Obi-Wan’s back, caressing his naked hip.

"No. I won’t deceive her. And I don’t think you will either. Why are you doing this?"

"Do you always talk so much during sex?"

"We are not going to have sex. Come with me back to the Temple. Let us help you."

Obi-Wan jerked at a stabbing pain in his ass -- Qui-Gon was thrusting an aggressive finger against his anus. Patience exhausted, Obi-Wan jerked away, shoving with both hands and the Force, knocking the bigger man flying off the edge of the sleeping platform. He hit the ground hard, with a muffled grunt. Panting, Obi-Wan sat up, waiting for the next attack.

On the floor, Qui-Gon slowly raised his open hands in surrender. His expression was calculating. "Peace, Jedi. I had to check. So. Your body supports your testimony. Or perhaps you just top now, rather than bottom."

"You’re talking nonsense," snapped Obi-Wan. "I don’t top or bottom or anything else."

"Next you’ll be telling me the Jedi don’t have sex," Qui-Gon grinned.

"Many of us don’t. I don’t."

"Playing the virgin, at your age?" Qui-Gon clearly thought he was making a joke.

"Many Jedi choose celibacy, and I’m one."

"Completely untouched, are you?" Qui-Gon asked, somewhere between sarcastic and intrigued.

"Why are you so interested in my sexual history?" asked Obi-Wan. This had to be related to something significant.

Qui-Gon snarled, "Because your history with me was nothing but sexual! From the beginning, I didn’t want another Padawan, I didn’t want to corrupt another boy, but the Council insisted, curse that meddling Yoda to a thousand hells. So they gave you to me, and I wasn’t going to take you into my bed, no matter what was expected, but you had other ideas. Damn my weakness that I couldn’t, I, once I’d tasted you I had to have you again, and you, damn you, you used me as much as I used you! You knew all too well what you were doing!"

Sick to his stomach, Obi-Wan said, "That’s not how I remember us."

"No doubt you’d say that." Calmer, Qui-Gon pressed one hand to his forehead. "I don’t, I’m not sure what really happened. My memories, or my fantasies, or my nightmares, they’re all mixed in together. I’ll never get them sorted out. They usually don’t touch my life now, but you, you and Anakin, brought it all out." Qui-Gon dropped his hand and stared directly at Obi-Wan. "If you hurt Anakin, if you hurt Shmi’s boy, I swear, I will kill you."

"I won’t," said Obi-Wan, around the lump in his throat. "I wouldn’t. Please believe that."

"Maybe." Qui-Gon rose gracefully, his height towering over the bed. Obi-Wan held himself still, looking up at the man’s face, suspicion still hiding in it, but less noticeable now. "Go to sleep, Jedi. I look forward to seeing the last of you in the morning."

Sleep didn’t come for Obi-Wan the rest of that night.

She knew when Jon got up and left. She waited, wondering, hoping he wouldn’t do anything unpredictable. Jon had never been violent, not without provocation, but then he had never encountered a Jedi before. She reassured herself by thinking that Obi-Wan could easily defend himself, if it came to that.

On his return, he saw her dark eyes open. Sliding back next to her, he said softly, "Sorry to wake you. I went to talk to the Jedi."

She didn’t say anything, only listened.

Jon folded a long arm under his head, his hair falling loosely over his elbow. "Maybe you and Ani are right. He didn’t seem dangerous. Or he’s so dangerous that he’s too canny to get tripped up by me. But I had to try, for Ani’s sake."

"What about for your sake, Jon?" she asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Jon...we don’t talk about this much, because it upsets you. But you were a Jedi once. Aren’t you interested in them at all any more?"

"The Jedi are a cult," he said harshly. "Perhaps they’re not as malevolent as my admittedly questionable memories say they are, but they’re still a cult, brainwashing their members."

Shmi said, "Jon, I didn’t know you well from before. You were only around for a few days. But from what I saw of you back then: watching you with Ani and with other people, doing your best in difficult circumstances...you didn’t seem brainwashed to me. You seemed very committed, very caring."

"With ice water in my veins, like that guest of ours? I don’t mean Ani," he added swiftly. "Ani seems to be a fine boy, Jedi influence or no. He’s strong-minded like his mother. But that Obi-Wan..."

"I know, I find him cold, too. But I think he does care for you."

"How would you know?" Jon asked irritably. "You hadn’t even met him before now."

"Ani’s loyal to him, says he’s a good man. Ani’s no fool and wouldn’t tolerate one as his Master. Ani says that Master Obi-Wan helped him when the rest of the Jedi were ready to give up on him. Obi-Wan was the apprentice of...the Jedi you used to be, just like Ani is his apprentice. Living together like that for years would result in a deep connection, no matter who the two people were."

"So do you want me to go?" Jon said abruptly. "Back to the Jedi?"

She set her jaw. "I want what you want, Jon."

He touched her face, his irritation melted into tenderness. "Do you want me to leave?"

"No, I don’t want you to leave," she said calmly, but a traitorous tear escaped from one eye. She blinked and more fell.

"Oh, now, hush, sweet," he soothed, kissing her brow, her eyelids. "Now you’re getting distraught as well as me. Don’t cry. I’m not leaving. I’ll never leave you. Come here, let me hold you."

She placed her head in the hollow of his shoulder and felt the embrace of strong arms. He was free to leave at any time, but she wouldn’t push him away. He was hers, and she would cherish every day she had with him.

POETIC INTERLUDE

Here I take leave, dear friends,
after so many leave-takings
and as I leave you nothing
you should all have something:
the most inclement thing I owned,
the most insane, the most intense,
sinks back to earth and into being --
petals of generosity
falling like peals of bells
into the green mouth of the wind...

And thus I go, and cannot know
to which earth I shall return
or if I’ll go on living.

"Autumn Testament" by Pablo Neruda

Obi-Wan watched the light grow in the sky through the small window. He heard Ani and his mother, but let them have their time together. Eventually he dressed and entered the main room.

Shmi was alone, cleaning the kitchen, but she had a tray of food saved for him. "Anakin’s off to see his friends, and I promised I’d follow," she said, and gave him an indecipherable look. "Jon went to open the shop, to give me more time with Anakin. He said he would appreciate it if you would drop by before you leave."

"Thank you, I will," he said. He forced himself not to rush through firstmeal.

The shop door again, looking just as it had yesterday. Except now he knew who was inside.

Jon was crouched down, peering into a droid’s innards.

"Hello," said Obi-Wan.

"Still here?"

"For a few hours only."

Jon put aside the instrument he was holding and fixed his attention on Obi-Wan. "I wanted to say something before you left. Shmi and Anakin both insist that you’re a good man, and you haven’t done anything, yet, that would lead me to believe otherwise. My memories say something else, but my memories are unreliable. So whoever you are, take care of Anakin. He’s an extraordinary boy. I have a hunch that he’ll be a great man."

"I’ll look after him as best I can," said Obi-wan. As in years before, Qui-Gon’s thoughts were on Anakin, not on him. The steady, dutiful apprentice needed no consideration; it was the unpredictable, wildly talented Chosen One who deserved attention. Qui-Gon remembered that much, even if he didn’t remember the actual facts and events themselves. The pain of being disregarded, pushed aside, flared inside him again, as fresh as if it were yesterday that Qui-Gon disowned him in front of the Council.

Jon nodded in acknowledgement, and turned to his work.

"I have something I want to say as well," interrupted Obi-Wan. Jon looked up with an air of impatience. Obi-Wan hesitated, then proceeded. "I just wanted to say that it was good to see you, and that I hope you’ll be happy here."

Jon gave a half-smile, so like Qui-Gon. "Thanks."

"If you ever need anything, if there’s ever anything that I can do, please contact me. If you put an emergency call to the Temple in my name, it’ll be routed directly to me, wherever I am."

"I’ll keep that in mind," said Jon, dismissively.

"Well...I’ll be going now." Obi-Wan waited a moment as Jon sorted through various tools. He wanted to stay, but he had no good excuse to do that. So he left.

There was nothing else in Mos Espa that he wanted to see. He went back to the ship and waited for Anakin to return. His mind kept turning back to the world outside, this small hardscrabble city that Qui-Gon now called home. What was he doing sitting here, with Qui-Gon just a short distance away? But there was no way he could go back. There was never any going back. The Jedi Master named Qui-Gon was dead, and in his place was a man named Jon, who had a life of his own, apart from the Jedi. But oh gods, how it hurt, how it opened up that sealed-over place inside of him.

Anakin squeaked on board just before departure. As the ship got under way, Anakin gripped his shoulder and said, "Master, I can’t even imagine what you’re feeling."

"I feel fine, Ani."

"The situation with Master Qui-Gon...are you angry at my mother?"

"Somewhat," Obi-Wan admitted. "I wish she had contacted the Order when she first found him. The Healers might have been able to help him more at that point. But I understand her reasons. She’s never had an authority figure that she could trust, living on Tatooine, so it’s understandable that she would hesitate to trust the Order, even if she does think the Jedi are basically good."

"That’s not what I meant," Anakin said. "I meant, are you angry that she’s with Jon? As his lover?"

"No," said Obi-Wan. "Why would I be? It seems to be a mutual attraction."

Anakin stared open-mouthed, looked away, looked back. "Master, this is me. Not some Councilor or Master or nosy Soulhealer. Me. I know how you felt about Qui-Gon."

"I’m not sure what you mean, Padawan," Obi-Wan said serenely.

"Stop it! Just stop it! Don’t do that, not about this!" Anakin pounded his fist on the table in frustration. Obi-Wan watched with alarm, wondering where this outburst had come from. Anakin had gotten so much better at controlling his temper.

"All right," said Anakin grimly. "Let’s have a open conversation, for once, my Master. And no pulling rank. You sit and listen to me until I’m finished with what I have to say."

Obi-Wan nodded. Anakin clearly wasn’t in the frame of mind to be scolded about his attitude.

"I’ve been with you for almost ten years," Anakin started. "And I swear by my mother’s life, I’ve hated you sometimes, truly hated you."

"It’s natural for an adolescent to resent --" Obi-Wan began.

"Shut up!" Anakin shouted. "Can’t you save your lectures and platitudes for one fucking minute?" Obi-wan sat, frozen, as Anakin took a deep breath and began again. "I hated you. You were so perfect. I got sick of hearing about it, sick of seeing it, sick of living with it. People told me how lucky I was, to have the best Knight in the Order for my Master. What a good example you were for me. How I had a lot to live up to. Now Anakin, what would Master Obi-Wan think? You wouldn’t want Master Obi-Wan to hear about this, would you?

"And the most annoying thing was, they were right. You are perfect, the perfect Jedi. On all our missions, I haven’t found anything that you can’t do well, and look good doing it. Fighting, flying, dancing, negotiating, flirting, you can do it all. You can puke into a toilet while saying ‘Anakin, kindly hand me that towel’, and you look better than most people do on their wedding day. You show everyone else up without even trying, and the rest of us can’t even resent it because you’re so nice about it.

"And you’re so calm. So even-tempered. So serene. In ten years, I’ve never seen you get angry, or pissed off, or drunk, or crazy, over anything. When you get really frustrated, your face tightens up for a moment, and then it’s gone, you have it under control again. If the Jedi could build a droid to be the perfect Knight, it’d be just like you. Sometimes I think you’re not even human."

Obi-Wan forced himself to keep looking steadily at Anakin, even though his own memories were rising up inside him: Obi-Wan, you’re too angry, too violent...you fight like a dangerous man...better than such a boy not be trained. How could Anakin think him so perfect when he was so flawed? Had he never told Anakin about how he had almost missed being a Padawan, how only Qui-Gon’s last-minute change of heart saved him from Agri-Corps? How he almost threw his apprenticeship away on Melida/Daan? He had had to work hard to overcome his weaknesses, his emotional outbursts. He swore he would never let the Council doubt their decision, Qui-Gon’s decision, to permit him to return to the Order.

Anakin continued, "There were two things that kept me from totally hating you. The fact that you gave me the money to free my mother, when the rest of the Jedi wouldn’t help at all. And the fact that you loved Qui-Gon. Don’t play coy with me, Master. You know what I mean. You were in love with him. And don’t tell me that the Code forbids it between master and apprentice. The Code forbids sex, but how can it forbid love? You loved him with everything that was in you. You defied tradition for him -- how long did you think it took me to find his clothing and saber hidden in your room? You can’t even look at a man who seems a little like him, without remembering.

"You can’t know what a difference that made to me, knowing that you could love somebody that much. Even if you never loved me, or anybody else, that at least once in your life, you had felt something that powerful, that wonderful. Sometimes when I really hated you, I’d gloat over it: Obi-Wan the perfect Jedi didn’t get everything he wanted, ha ha. But mostly I felt sorry for you, and a little envious too.

"So don’t play games with me, Obi-Wan. I’m not stupid, and I don’t appreciate it when you treat me as if I am. Sometimes I wish you’d talk to me friend to friend, rather than Master to Padawan.

"So, Obi-Wan: tell me again how you feel about finding Qui-Gon."

Given permission to speak, Obi-Wan found himself at a loss for words. "Pad...Anakin...I’m sorry. I feel that I’ve failed you as a Master. I shouldn’t have been so...unreachable."

Anakin snapped, "There you go again, with the shoulds and the guilt. If you hate imperfection in yourself so much, what impression do you think that gives of your opinion of the rest of us?"

"I’m sorry," said Obi-Wan again. "I obviously need to meditate on this."

"Oh, gods, meditate! Every time you think you might have been less than exemplary, you run off and spent hours on your knees. Spare me this once. I’d rather hear about Qui-Gon."

Obi-wan said, "What do you want to hear?"

"Everything. Well, not everything. Just what’s appropriate for public consumption." Anakin settled back into his chair, triumphant now that he’d had his say.

"I loved him since I was sixteen," Obi-Wan said. "For a long time I thought it was just a typical Master-Padawan crush."

Anakin cut in, "I never had one of those. Nothing personal, Master, but I prefer women."

"I understand," Obi-Wan said, and quirked a smile. "It would have been easier if I did, as well. I anguished over it for years. When I finally told him, he reminded me it was forbidden for masters and apprentices, and directed me to the Soulhealers. But he added that after I was Knighted, I was allowed to talk about it. I wasn’t sure what he meant, exactly."

Anakin laughed. "Only you would misunderstand something like that, Master. He loved you, he just wasn’t allowed to say it."

Staring at Anakin, he asked, "How would you know?"

His Padawan shrugged. "I’m quick about things like that. Growing up a slave, you get good at reading people. He wanted you, no mistake. What do you think happened to him, to make him what he is now?"

"I don’t know," admitted Obi-Wan. "The only thing I can think of, is that he was taken by the Sith Master while I fought the Apprentice. What I can’t figure out is why they took him, and why is this the outcome. Did they Turn him, but in the process destroy his mind? Is he a sleeper agent, a time bomb programmed to act at some point? But if so, then why put him on Tatooine? Your mother thinks that Jabba was holding him, keeping him out of the way, as a favor for someone offworld."

"Could the Jedi Healers determine if he’s a threat?"

"I don’t know. Sometimes the more accomplished Masters can sense a Dark influence, other times they can’t. I’ll have to tell the Council about this. They’ll decide what to do."

Anakin nodded. "I wish he’d remembered you more kindly, Master. It must be very hard to be resented by him, you of all people."

"It is," Obi-Wan said quietly. "I wish, I wish I could have reassured him. But he wouldn’t be convinced. At least he trusted enough to let you leave with me."

"He couldn’t have stopped me," said Anakin. "I love Mom, and I loved Master Qui-Gon for the short time I knew him, but my place is with the Jedi. And with you."

"I’m glad," Obi-Wan said. "Never doubt that, Ani. I’m very glad that you’ve been with me all these years. I do love you, Padawan."

"I know." Anakin’s smile was blinding.

POETIC INTERLUDE

What hope can be kept alive, what pure premonition,
what irrevocable kiss sunk in our hearts,
acknowledging the roots of need -- and the intelligence
self-confident and smooth on always muddied waters?...

Let what I am be then, in some part, at all times,
set and secure, a passionate witness,
taking itself to pieces carefully, unendingly preserving
the obvious pledges made, the original duty.

"Signifying Shadows" by Pablo Neruda

Back on Coruscant, Obi-wan, with an attentive Anakin at his side, reported to the Council. When they asked for his recommendation, Obi-Wan advised that the man Jon be left alone to live his life on Tatooine. After much debate, the Council agreed, although they gave directions for him to be watched, surreptitiously, by local agents in alliance with the Jedi.

Several days later, Obi-Wan said to Anakin, "I need to get something to your mother, Ani. Can you arrange it so that the package will go unscreened?"

Anakin grinned. "You’re finally willing to use one of my more unorthodox talents, Master?"

"I’ve always appreciated them, but I do need them in this case."

"No problem. Just give me the items, I’ll take care of it."

"Give me a moment."

Obi-Wan went to his room. On his bed lay Qui-Gon’s clothes, lightsaber, and poetry book with its bookmark. He quickly packed them into a plain, well-made box. Around the lightsaber handle, he wrapped a long length of hair. His own Padawan braid.

On top, he placed a hand-written note. It said: "Shmi: you know who these items belong to. I leave it in your hands to decide which, if any of them, should be returned to their owner. With my love to you both, wishing you the best in your life together, Obi-Wan Kenobi."

He gave the sealed package to Anakin. His Padawan looked at him with knowing eyes. "First of many?" Ani asked.

"No," he said. "I’m returning things that I held in trust."

"You think that’s a good idea?" asked Anakin.

Obi-Wan sighed. "I don’t know. But it’s all I have to give."

Anakin nodded and left their rooms, box in hand.

Obi-Wan stared at the door as it closed behind his Padawan. For once, he didn’t meditate. He didn’t try to find his calm center. He just let himself feel.

CONTINUED IN CONFLICTING LOYALTIES, PART II