Dark Apprentice

by Lilith Sedai

Dark Apprentice
by Lilith Sedai

Archive: Master/Apprentice (not transferrable)

Categories: Slash, angst, action/adventure, Qui/Obi, drama, AU

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: Dark stuff of all kinds. Extreme angst, for certain. We've already had noncon and graphic sex, and those are still on the menu. BAMF Misguided Mace. Evil Bastard Ambitious Dooku. Graphic violence, dark imagery. Character death, and I won't say who. Moderate torture of a main character.

Spoilers: At this late date, if you get spoiled for canon, it's your own fault. ;-)

Summary: Rogue Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn seeks to bring down Supreme Chancellor Palpatine while Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi and Grand Master Yoda struggle to guide the Jedi Order away from destruction.

Feedback: It's been a long time since I've written in this fandom; I wasn't prepared for the Jedi boys to show back up and take over my life again. But I'm very glad they have, and I hope you are, too. I enjoy feedback, either on-list or off, but please know up front that I'm not particularly good at responding to it, especially when I'm consumed by RL responsibilities. If you would be offended by not receiving an in-depth response, please use your discretion. Still, there aren't a lot of Q/O people out there anymore, which greatly increases your chances. ;-)

Intellectual property disclaimer: I grovel before the mouse. Please, don't sue. But really, Disney. You guys aren't even selling Qui or Obi merchandise anymore. Surely this little dabble in the waters, conducted purely for fun and not for profit, shouldn't constitute a significant threat to your Galactic Empire....

Acknowledgments: Thanks to Merry Amelie for beta comments and encouragement. Thanks to Michele Lyons for insightful and inspirational comments about the Jedi Council and invaluable, timely support with the plot. Thanks to Ewan McGregor for Moulin Rouge, The Pillow Book, and Velvet Goldmine, and to Liam Neeson for Rob Roy and Kinsey-- and for providing the deliciously dark Henri Ducard, who helped me excessively with Darth Mallaigh. GUH! Thanks to both the boys, too, for being hotter than hell. And finally, thanks go out to all those kind people who sent me comments and let me know that they were enjoying what I've written. :-)

NOTES: I'm creating a glossary for this fic as I go; I'll include the latest version of it with the zero post for each section of the story.

This series has become increasingly AU as it progressed, and is now quite firmly in the land of "WTF!" Don't get sore with me; Qui-Gon's still alive, and who could ask for better than that? I can only hope my political plot is more interesting than George's.

PART I: TAHL'S CHOICE

"A Knight, I say he is!" Yoda thumped his gimer stick fiercely on the tiled floor of the Hall of Knighthood, pointing one clawed finger at Obi-Wan Kenobi. "Passed his Trials, he has, by any measure. Insights found, and inner peace. Passed through darkness and remained in the light. Difficult choices made correctly. Costs demanded and costs paid. Found his place among the Jedi, has Obi-Wan, and he is deserving. Not a condition of passage, was it, that he must capture Qui-Gon Jinn."

"I understood he was to bring Qui-Gon Jinn back to Coruscant." Mace leaned forward, his brows drawn into a scowl.

"Insight, capture is not." Yoda lifted his chin. "And not a fair Trial of insight would it be, to send a padawan to catch a dark Jedi Master."

The remainder of the Council looked between the two of them, impassive, listening.

"Even if I accept this, I will not vote to grant any padawan a knighthood while vital details of his Knight's Trials remain concealed from me." Mace Windu leaned back in his chair, staring austerely at Obi-Wan. "No information is too sensitive to withhold from this Council."

"Grand Master of the Jedi am I." Yoda lifted his chin stubbornly. "And Obi-Wan's master. Irrelevant to Obi-Wan's Trial, are the details you seek. Challenge my word, do you?"

Windu hesitated coolly, and tabled the question without comment. "You say all will be made clear in time."

"Yes." Yoda nodded, firmly.

"Then let his knighting wait until these secrets are no more."

Obi-Wan surveyed the Council, where a few heads nodded agreement with Windu's statement. Yoda's ears turned downward and his mouth folded, as near to bitter as Obi-Wan had ever seen him.

"Let him be knighted now!" Yoda thumped his stick again. "Need him, we do, against the threat of the Sith. Ready, he is, as any new Knight I have seen! Neither Obi-Wan nor the Jedi will be served by waiting."

"Argument does not serve the Order's best interests," Ki-Adi Mundi interjected smoothly.

"Agree, I do." Yoda sank back. "On this, we must resolve: insight, Obi-Wan has found, and wisdom enough to pass this Trial. Knight him we should, without delay. Work, there is, that he must do. Tasks suited for a knight, not a padawan."

Adi Gallia nodded along with him. "I am satisfied that Kenobi has passed his Trial of insight."

"And I," Mundi joined in-- together with Yoda, a solid power bloc.

Others agreed slowly. Eventually, there were only three votes in the negative: Windu's no and two abstentions, from Depa Billaba and Saesee Tiin. The vote constituted a quorum, one short of failure.

The Councilors exchanged glances, then stood, some more reluctantly than others, igniting their lightsabers and moving to circle Obi-Wan, who bowed, bending his head.

Yoda got up with a grunt of satisfaction, crossed the floor, and stood before Obi-Wan, who knelt before him. He ignited his small green lightsaber and cut Obi-Wan's padawan braid. He considered it for a moment, coiled it in his hand, and passed it to Obi-Wan. "Decide what will be done with this, you may, Knight Kenobi."

"Yes, Master Yoda." Relief tasted sweet on Obi-Wan's tongue, overwhelming the bitter tang of burned hair. "Thank you, master." Yoda had been a good master, and had cared for him faithfully, but they both understood his braid would go to Qui-Gon-- if circumstances ever allowed. He straightened, dismissing a moment of unworthy triumph.

"You may go, Knight Kenobi." Windu's voice was resonant, but emotionally flat.

"Thank you, masters." Obi-Wan bowed and swept out, riding the lift down to the Temple Ziggurat, slowing his steps deliberately. He was not disappointed; soon a familiar tapping heralded Yoda's approach. The Grand Master wove a shield of silencing around them as they moved down the corridor.

"Congratulations, Knight Kenobi." Yoda glanced up at Obi-Wan soberly. "A joyous occasion, this should be, but little joy for us, I feel."

Obi-Wan lifted the corners of his mouth, a wry smile. "There will be time for joy after we defeat the Sith."

"Hrm." Yoda thumped his stick. A small hoverchair silently jetted up the corridor and settled to the floor; he mounted it and seated himself. "Much there is to do, before face him we can. Much before we can even tell the Council what you have learned." They continued, unspeaking until they reached Yoda's private rooms and went inside, where stronger shields protected their conversation.

The Dagobahn habitat was just as noisome as ever. Obi-Wan sighed as he settled on a relatively clean meditation stone. "Master, Qui-Gon will need us. He anticipated that I would tell the Council of the Sith Lord's identity, and that we would bring support."

"Need us, he does. Need the Sith Lord's knowledge of his plans, he does not. It is my judgment that we cannot trust the Council." Obi-Wan had never seen the small master look so unhappy, his ears practically touching the shoulders of his robe. "Only the right things may they know, in the right time, so that untimely knowledge passes not to the Sith. Ensured this, we have, by sharing only what we did. Qui-Gon requires time to position himself, and time he will have. And as for you-- hear, the Sith Lord will, that Qui-Gon abandoned you on Naboo when forced he was to flee in the fighter, to save himself from the Sith apprentice."

Obi-Wan nodded quietly. "That will explain my resumption of autonomy. But master, you must know: I will not leave Qui-Gon alone in this. I, at least, will stand ready to support him."

"And I, Obi-Wan." Yoda firmed his chin, his lips thinning with his resolve. "And others will, as well. Discreet, we must be."

Obi-Wan's heart leaped in his chest to hear Yoda's declaration, but fell just as swiftly. "Master, to gather others in support of a situation that we dare not discuss with the Council," he halted, biting his lip, hesitant to continue. "Is-- the next thing to treason."

Yoda looked at him steadily. "A risk it is, yes. A grave risk."

"The Council--"

"Must not know until necessary."

"They will not approve."

"No." Yoda stared at him gravely. "Approve the Council will not. At best. Results may sway them, or proof, if those things we can provide. If not," he stared hard at Obi-Wan, as if gauging his determination. "Yes. Traitors, they may name us, to be tried, imprisoned, or executed."

Obi-Wan swallowed hard. "Qui-Gon thought my experience with the Chancellor would constitute adequate proof for the Council."

"Changed, the Council has, since Qui-Gon's time among the Jedi." Yoda shook his head, sinking to the ground and placing his stick across his knees. "My fault, perhaps. Complacent, I was. So much time I spent seeking the Sith, that my oversight has faltered."

"I think no single person is at fault." Obi-Wan thought of Mace Windu's hard, uncompromising face. "This problem has been growing for many years in spite of your guidance. Who can say how much worse it would be without your influence, master?"

"Perhaps." Yoda rested his chin on one fist, staring into the dirt as though to read messages in the random array of footprints there. "Resign my position I will not-- that would reveal us all the faster. Guide the Council I will, as much as I may, but no longer will I stay here. Hide my knowledge I cannot, not if the Council is called to serve the Supreme Chancellor." Yoda's mouth curled with distaste. "As we will be."

"Indeed." Obi-Wan spoke wryly. "Will you come with me, then?"

"Where go you?" Yoda studied him. "Preparations we must make."

Obi-Wan hesitated. "I thought I might return to Xinune, where I have unfinished business with the King. It could be conducted via holo-transmission, but I would feel better speaking with him face to face. From there, I hope to monitor the news nets for traces of Qui-Gon, and try to connect with his network of smugglers. The Jedi there should be willing to support him."

"Wisdom, this is." Yoda nodded. "Need them, we do. Already the Council ponders who to send to Xinune to investigate Qui-Gon. Undertake this mission, I will, and take you as my partner." He gazed forward, serene. "Accompany one another we must, Obi-Wan, for I wish to learn what you have to teach."

Obi-Wan's jaw dropped for a moment before he remembered to close his mouth. "Learn, Master Yoda? What could I teach you?"

Yoda's ear-tips rose with amusement, and he swiveled to face Obi-Wan fully. "What Qui-Gon has taught you, you will teach me. Any advantage we must take, to defeat the Sith. Yes?"

"I only grasped a small portion of what he had to teach." Obi-Wan recovered from his surprise. "It's highly unorthodox." He backpedaled desperately from the idea of showing Yoda everything Qui-Gon had demonstrated to him.

Now Yoda's eartips practically quivered with amusement. "To master Soresu in an afternoon? Fly through a coronal storm unharmed? Unorthodox, yes. And intriguing." Yoda stabbed his stick at Obi-Wan, serious once more. "Serenity, the Code teaches. Avoid strong emotion, it says, and you will avoid the Dark Side. A lifetime, this have I practiced. But our Jedi powers diminish. Blamed this on the Sith, have we, and yet the Jedi do not do much we once could, Obi-Wan. Old, I am, and with age comes serenity. But also comes complacency, passivity, a closed mind." He tilted his head up at Obi-Wan, eyes sober. "Perhaps the Jedi have made our younger blood grow old before its time."

He looked to the door. "Company we have, I think." A quiet chime followed close on the end of his words.

Obi-Wan rose to open the door, and went crimson to the ears. Master Tahl stood in the corridor, hands folded inside her sleeves, regarding them with perfect poise, her padawan at her side. Obi-Wan nodded to Bant, but was very glad Tahl could not see his face, and tried to cover his discomposure, shielding his embarrassment tightly. It must be unimaginably painful to love Qui-Gon Jinn in celibacy for a lifetime, and then to be confronted by the man for whom he had finally given up his vow.

"Master Tahl," Yoda greeted her. "Come in."

She swept in gracefully, Bant following behind. "Expected you, I did." Yoda gestured to an empty stone, and she seated herself as regally as a queen upon a velvet sofa.

"An interest you have in my next mission, Master Tahl. A research specialist we will need on Xinune, I think. Come with us, will you?"

"It is the will of the Force." She did not look toward Obi-Wan, and for a moment he thought he sensed a terrible brittleness to her dignity.

As Tahl began to speak softly with Yoda, Bant came to Obi-Wan. He rose and they went into the next room of the suite, allowing the masters a time of privacy.

"Congratulations, Knight Kenobi." Bant's voice was warm, and she showed no envy, though she still wore the string of beads that marked her a padawan.

"Thank you." He looked at his friend, trying to smile. "I didn't realize news of our next mission was so widespread."

"I don't think it is," Bant murmured. "Master Tahl told me to prepare for a journey before you ever returned from your Trial. She had a vision of the future."

Just as long as Tahl hadn't had a vision of him with Qui-Gon in that cockpit.

Bant frowned at his expression. "What happened, Obi?"

Obi-Wan hesitated, and Bant blinked. "It's a long story," he muttered. "Do you remember that game we used to play when we were younger? 'Not even if?'"

"The one where...?"

"Yes." Obi-Wan felt himself blushing again. "I, uh, found the answer."

Bant's already-wide eyes went even wider. "You mean you, and he--!"

"Not in front of Master Tahl," he mumbled urgently. "And that isn't the biggest news."

Bant fell silent, turning a deeper shade of salmon, glancing back toward her master. "Oh, dear."

Obi-Wan agreed whole-heartedly.

"Still, you aren't the only one with news." Bant's eyes shone with anticipation. "Master Dooku is set to join the High Council. Yarael Poof is stepping down to take an assignment on his homeworld, and everyone believes he'll be elected in Master Poof's place. The whole Temple can talk of nothing else."

Obi-Wan wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not, but he filed it for further consideration. "What else has been happening while I've been away?"

She filled the time with chatter of their mutual friends' social lives, and he indulged her-- but he couldn't help glancing over her head to Yoda and Tahl, who still had their heads together, speaking seriously. He wondered what was so urgent, but trusted that if he needed to know, it would be revealed to him in time.

Yoda hand-picked his allies with care over the next days. A few at a time, they departed the Jedi Temple: a handful of Jedi with varying missions, leaving on differing pretexts and at different times, with different itineraries, but the same silent mission.

Obi-Wan went first, bound for Qui-Gon's Palazzo on Xinune, with Yoda set to follow a few days after.

Upon leaving hyperspace and entering planetary orbit, he requested communication with King Tiran. The pause lengthened as he descended, leaving him to doubt his welcome, but finally the comm flickered to life, Tiran's guarded expression challenging Obi-Wan.

"King Tiran." Obi-Wan felt shame at the coolness and distance in his old friend's eyes. "I apologize for my rudeness when last we met. I'd like to meet with you, at your convenience, and discuss urgent matters regarding our mutual friend."

"He expected you, and left instructions that you should go to the Palazzo in Velon." Tiran looked out at him from shadowed eyes, his heavy brows drawn together in a scowl. "It's at your disposal, of course. Your palmprint isn't on the database, but he said one of your possessions would key the security systems."

"I thank you. Both of you." Obi-Wan tilted his head respectfully. "May I expect a visit?"

"When my duties allow." Tiran lifted his head and the anger in the blue eyes flashed at Obi-Wan-- more than anger at Obi-Wan's past rudeness, a true spark of pain and rage burned there. "Tomorrow, I think."

"I'll be looking forward to it," Obi-Wan said quietly, glad he would have time to prepare.

Tiran cut the communication and Obi-Wan radioed the transit authorities in Velon, obtaining permission to land on Qui-Gon's private facility. It freed him to wonder about the security system as he made his approach. Of course Qui-Gon had gone through his things when he disabled Obi-Wan's communicator, and would know what he'd been carrying, but what could be the key?

He listed his possessions twice through before remembering his birthday present, which he had carried with him when he departed Coruscant to seek his old master. But he had lost his pack when they fled from the Sith. All he'd taken with him in the prototype fighter was the clothing on his back. Could Qui-Gon mean his lightsaber?

He landed and emerged, still pondering the riddle, and went to the entry, where the door stood securely locked. His lightsaber did not trigger the system, and he hesitated, baffled, until the Force tickled at him. His gaze fell on the dark gravel border in which the panel was mounted, his eyes drawn to the single larger black stone that lay among the others, hidden in plain sight. Qui-Gon must have taken it from his pack and planted it here before they ever departed for Naboo.

"Cunning bastard," Obi-Wan murmured with admiration, and reached to pick up his birthday stone, which promptly triggered the panel.

He tucked it in his pocket, glad to have its warm, comforting presence with him once more, and went in to the Palazzo-- finding, to his astonishment, that the climate-control system was on and waiting for him. He shook his head at Qui-Gon and mounted the stair, his footfalls echoing in the silence of the enormous building.

The place seemed even larger without Qui-Gon's strong presence to fill it-- large and empty and oppressive, the vibrant plantlife almost intimidating in its green silence. Obi-Wan felt like an interloper invading an abandoned forest ruin. The servants must be somewhere, but he couldn't perceive any traces of them.

He grew more comfortable when he reached the living quarters, where he went to the room Qui-Gon had assigned to him to deposit his gear. His cloak lay against the wall where he had once slept, and he blinked at it; he remembered leaving it aboard Qui-Gon's ship for Chattan, but it had been brought here and arranged into a nest, and judging by the layer of fur in the hollow, it was regularly used.

The interior wall stood ajar, and he could see Qui-Gon's bed through the opening. Unlike his own, the covers had been drawn back to invite an occupant.

He entered the room in spite of himself, feeling the strength of Qui-Gon's aura increase. He stood still for a moment, soaking it in, eyes closing, then made himself walk farther inside. Something gleamed at him from the pillow of the bed, and he stepped closer to investigate, discovering a small pile of four data chips and a thumbnail-sized, intricately faceted gemstone of cobalt blue, which lay atop a folded paper. He eased the paper out from under them and opened it. He chuckled, half amused, half saddened, at Qui-Gon's typically laconic message.

For your life-day.

Of course. The date had passed a little over a week ago without his even noticing; that must be the reason for the gem-- Qui-Gon had always given him stones. And doubtless the data chips would prove useful.

The gem was cool and heavy in his palm, and he wondered what it had cost. It was not cut for a jewelry mounting, which was curious-- he hefted it for a moment, appreciating its symmetry, then reached out with the Force, sinking his mind inside its matrix. He found a perfect alignment of energies there: a lightsaber crystal, then. Very unorthodox, to use a perfectly clear, faceted gemstone in a lightsaber, but he had no doubt Qui-Gon knew his business.

He reached for the hilt of his weapon and unscrewed the casing, sliding out the components and slotting the crystal in to replace his old one, then reassembled the hilt and ignited his saber.

The blade emerged out of the hilt with a low hum, producing a deep throbbing vibration in his palm, and he eyed it thoughtfully, moving it through a careful arc. It was deeper blue than his old one, and he could sense already that it was more powerful than his previous crystal. It was a crystal fit for a master, to be used by only the best swordsmen. It produced a blade ideal for Guardians who saw intense combat, and who expected to battle others who would wield lightsabers. He would have to test it, discover its properties, and learn to anticipate and control the intensity of its gyroscopic effect.

He pocketed his old crystal and turned his attention to the data chips, plugging one into his datapad at random. It decoded only after he passed his black stone over the sensor-- records of the smuggling ring Qui-Gon administrated. Not comprehensive by any means, but it should enable him to make contact with key figures in the organization. The next revealed Qui-Gon's holdings, a net total of assets that made Obi-Wan blink; evidently his master had developed a considerable acumen with investing the resources he garnered from his raids on Dramacore. What stunned him even more was that Qui-Gon included his passcodes, identification numbers, and all information required for Obi-Wan to access the contents of each account.

His eyes stung, and he set the chips aside together-- if Qui-Gon were killed, he could use the resources to further his master's work. The third chip contained Qui-Gon's theories and research into his methods of channeling the Force, along with demonstration holos-- invaluable, if Obi-Wan meant to train others in applying the man's innovative techniques.

Obi-Wan held the last chip between his thumb and forefinger, his future sense stirring-- this one would be personal.

He moved to Qui-Gon's comm station and set the chip down, then went to the broad windows, toggling the control that dimmed the solar shielding, darkening the glass. It was unlikely he would be observed, but he wanted to prolong the anticipation and make a ritual of the viewing. He carefully secured the room, using the time to prepare his mind, finding his center and cultivating serenity so that he could absorb every possible nuance and commit it to memory.

Doors, shut and secured. Windows, darkened. Chip, burning a hole in the comm console. Obi-Wan made himself breathe as he pushed the chip into its slot and sat down in Qui-Gon's chair.

His master's image appeared in the middle of the floor, life-sized, smiling at him, almost demure, but with a flicker of heat behind the serenity-- most visible in the dark blue of his eyes. "My Obi-Wan." His velvet-soft voice caressed the syllables, and Obi-Wan swallowed hard, feeling his body respond to the sensual tone. "I knew you would come. I hope you'll enjoy your birthday present. It's part of an unusually pure specimen from Ilum that I had specially harvested for my own use. One crystal in the cluster took the blue matrix, and knowing your preference for a blue blade, I've kept it for some time in hopes of giving it to you. You'll find it superior to your own, though it may prove a bit more difficult to control; it will even cut through Mandalorian iron without draining the power cell." Qui-Gon's blue gaze warmed him for a long moment.

"I hope the other information may prove useful, however you see fit. Please protect it with all due care." He smiled to take the sting out of the unnecessary instruction. "You're more than welcome to enjoy all of the amenities of the Palazzo, including my personal suite. I've appended recordings of my favorite private katas, and more are stored in my meditation facility. Your stone will key them all, if you wish." His lips curved upward and his gaze moved toward the section of wall where the playroom waited; Obi-Wan flushed deeply at the offer.

Qui-Gon's body language shifted subtly then, growing serious. "I've received the communication-- the invitation-- I've been hoping for. Leaving this message is a calculated risk, one that can only be considered unwise. To reduce the danger of its interception, I've arranged to remain here until the last possible instant before you arrive, but we can venture no further amicable contact after this. I'm cutting ties with all my prior connections. Anyone from my past is now a potential target." Qui-Gon folded his arms, revealing his discomfort. "Whatever happens," he said, voice unusually strained, eyes focused to laser-keen intensity, "Whatever we are forced to do: remember that I love you."

He blinked out.

Obi-Wan withdrew the chip from the comm console and folded it into his trembling fist, his eyes filling with tears.

He raised his head at last, with a sense that he was being watched, and found Chattan sitting in the doorway to his apartment, staring at him. After a long moment the cat lifted a paw and began to groom its pads, licking with a raspy pink tongue.

"Our master is gone," Obi-Wan murmured. "I hope you won't object to guests."

The cat just gave him another slit-eyed stare and continued licking its paw. Obi-Wan rose, exploring the room, trying to decide where to conceal the data chips. There seemed to be no obvious location. After some deliberation, he put them in a case clipped to his belt; he would have to find a better place later. He sighed and sat back down, activating the comm and surveying the menu. He pressed the screen and waited.

"Obi?" Gida's voice. "Is that you?"

"Yes. Can you come up?"

"Right away. I was about to send up Chattan's supper; I'll bring it myself."

Obi-Wan went to the window and lessened the solar shield, letting the light flood in. He stared over the ocean, watching cumulonimbus clouds swell and soar on the horizon, their billowing tops shearing off in a haze of ice crystals that blew landward, the upper level winds stretching them across the stratosphere.

Almost silent footfalls echoed his own, Chattan moving closer to the door, eager for his meal.

Obi-Wan was waiting when Gida keyed the door and entered, pushing a cart-- laden not only with Chattan's supper, but one for Obi-Wan, as well. She set the cat's bowls on the floor and made a careful circuit around him. "He can be touchy until he's fed." She smiled at Obi-Wan, hesitant. "Lord Jinn said you would come today."

"When did he go?"

"This morning." Her expression was strained. "He didn't tell me what he was doing, Obi, but he said it was dangerous, and that you were the master here now. He said none of us should attempt to contact him, and that we shouldn't trust him anymore. He said that if we did, we would die." She swallowed. "Horribly, he said. His face, Obi--" her eyes filled with tears.

Obi-Wan's bit his lip, a wave of pain breaking through his heart. "He's right," he said softly. "He's lost to us, at least for now."

"Why?" Her voice broke. "What's he doing?"

"Something very important that requires him to go deep undercover as an enemy of the Jedi." Obi-Wan looked at the food, but his stomach rolled. "Thank you, but I can't eat right now, Gida. Let's leave this here for later. I need to go through the entire Palazzo-- the entire grounds-- and reset the security systems so that he can't get in. I need to know about every possible ingress or egress, every potential weakness. We could be attacked with devastating force, and we must be prepared."

She nodded, her face white. "Lord Jinn had extensive modifications made after he took possession of the estate. The Palazzo may not look it, but it's well-fortified. I'll take you to the command center."

The command center proved to be a heavily-shielded room buried deep under the Palazzo in the cliff, with an impressive array of computer equipment and weaponry stored inside. They spent the afternoon there, reviewing the defenses and changing security clearances. Gida was right-- Qui-Gon had installed a stunning amount of security, from state-of-the-art ray and particle deflector shields produced by generators imbedded invisibly in the cliffside to blast-armor that could be extruded to protect the castle itself. The whole palace bristled with concealed weaponry of every possible kind, including advanced turbolasers, shield-piercing ionization cannons, disruptors, and a few innovations with which even Obi-Wan was largely unfamiliar.

Surveillance cameras could be triggered from the command center to observe the city, grounds, or interior of the Palazzo; chemical agents such as stunning gas could be deployed selectively via the ventilation system. There were even escape tunnels delved into the cliff, running to various egresses in the city and to a concealed hangar at ocean level, where both ocean- and space-going ships were stored, ready for use. The entire defense system could be manned from this room, with only a handful of operators.

Obi-Wan shook his head in disbelief; the only comparable thing he'd ever seen was the defense systems protecting the Senate headquarters on Coruscant. The only method he could envision for overwhelming such defenses was a direct strike from a crashing ship, and it would have to be a large one to be effective. "This isn't one man's home. This is a military fortress," Obi-Wan muttered.

"King Tiran had some of this put in, but Lord Jinn enhanced and expanded it all. He said we might need it someday."

"I'll advise King Tiran to relocate here, at least temporarily," Obi-Wan decided. "He isn't safe where he is."

"He won't like that, and neither will Queen Ashea."

"I'm afraid what they like is irrelevant." Obi-Wan tapped at a panel, confirming the changes that locked Qui-Gon out. "Qui-Gon didn't exaggerate the danger. If anything, he downplayed it." As Supreme Chancellor, Palpatine could conceivably bring the entire assembled power of the Republic to bear against them, not to mention more subtle, insidious attacks.

Finished with the reprogramming, Obi-Wan and Gida went back to Obi-Wan's cold lunch, which he insisted would be adequate despite her offer to prepare a new meal for him. The cat had eaten and was nowhere to be seen.

Obi-Wan made himself eat, though he had no appetite; it wouldn't do to let his health lapse at this critical time.

A comm call interrupted him halfway through his meal, and he rose to answer. Tahl's cool expression met him.

"Permission to land."

"Permission granted. Welcome to Xinune, Master Tahl." Obi-Wan transmitted her trajectory to the local authorities and opened the shields for her ship while Gida cleared away the remains of their lunch. He went out to meet her.

She lifted her face to the warm sun, sightless eyes closing, her nostrils testing the air and flaring in appreciation of the subtle perfumes of flowers and ocean salt. "It is a fitting place. Are you prepared to allocate quarters?"

Obi-Wan blinked, caught unprepared. "Actually I hadn't thought of it, but there won't be any shortage. There are hundreds of rooms." He plowed ahead courteously. "You'll be on the private levels, of course, near my own lodging."

She arched a brow and accepted without comment. Obi-Wan led her in, helping Bant with the repulsorlift that bore their baggage. He raised his comm to his mouth. "Gida, I need a suitable living area for Master Tahl and her padawan on the private levels. A suite with two bedrooms if possible, near Lord Jinn's apartment."

"I have just the thing, Knight Kenobi," she responded smoothly. "I'll meet your party at the top of the stair."

While the new arrivals settled themselves, Obi-Wan quietly directed Gida to prepare additional rooms-- one for Yoda, on the opposite side of Qui-Gon's quarters from his own, and several others a floor down from Qui-Gon's private living area, suitable for lesser-ranked masters, knights, and allies who would join them in the near future.

"Dinner for three at nightfall?" Obi-Wan requested, and Gida nodded professionally.

"I'll send it to the dining area in the study where we breakfasted with Lord Jinn, if that suits? It won't accommodate a large party, but it's pleasant for five or fewer."

"Perfect." Obi-Wan smiled. "Thank you, Gida."

"It's my job." She winked at him and departed.

Bant emerged from the suite shortly thereafter, and Obi-Wan suddenly remembered Chattan.

"I ought to mention there's a cat wandering around the place. He isn't tame; he's one of Qui-Gon's strays. You shouldn't try to--" he choked back the words as Tahl emerged with Chattan in her arms, ruffling the fur at his ears with her fingertips. The cat purred, self-satisfied and content. "--touch him." Obi-Wan shook his head. "Is it a Jedi Master thing, or does he just hate me personally?"

Bant chuckled, a liquid gurgle of amusement. "He hissed at me when I cooed to him, so I guess it's a Jedi Master thing."

Obi-Wan gave them an abbreviated tour of the Palazzo, focusing on needful locations and taking a short stroll through the gardens so Tahl could smell the flowers. Bant exclaimed with amazement and delight, astonished by Qui-Gon's possession of such wealth. "I love this room," she gasped as they entered the orchid conservatories. "The air feels so good."

Tahl smiled at her, corners of her mouth lifting, and Obi-Wan was touched by the evidence of affection, standing slightly away, effaced. He had to admit, every moment he spent with Master Tahl made him feel more ill at ease, as if Qui-Gon's fingerprints were visible on his skin, shining proof of what they had done. "There are bathing pools near the basement levels. If you like, I'll show you later."

"I think you and I should confer after supper," Tahl demurred. "Don't you have a staff member who can take Bant to the pools?"

"Of course." Obi-Wan eyed the sun, which was starting to sink below the horizon. "Let's go in to supper; it should be ready now."

They spent a somewhat strained half-hour eating in the study, Bant subdued by Tahl's wish to talk to Obi-Wan without her, Obi-Wan oppressed by his discomfort with Tahl's potential perceptions. When the maids turned up to take the food, Obi-Wan directed one to guide Bant, and soon he found himself alone with the Jedi Master, who steepled her fingers and regarded him coolly.

"Qui-Gon has planned well. We must honor his efforts and adapt our own actions to complement his. What do you mean to do next?"

"I want to contact his allies-- his smuggling connections. At worst, their humanitarian aid is needed, and should continue. At best, some of them may assist with our activities against the Sith." He reached for the data chips in his belt. "He left me information about his organization, and I think I can make contact."

She nodded approval. "At Yoda's request, I've gathered information about possible Jedi contacts of Qui-Gon's. Missing Jedi are rare, but there are a handful of Jedi who disappeared in the last decade and bodies were never found. More likely, you'll find him allied with Jedi whose statuses are assumed known, but are inaccurate, or with double agents who are both serving their assigned missions and also working with Qui-Gon. Those are harder to identify, of course. I've assembled tentative lists of Jedi assigned to regions where the Trade Federation is particularly active, and coded them by their prior known affiliations with Qui-Gon."

She drew out a chip of her own and they exchanged. She plugged Obi-Wan's chip into her datapad and inserted an audio thimble in her ear while Obi-Wan scanned her listings. "When you do, you can use this to confirm their identification and access information about their history with the Jedi. It may help you decide whom to trust," she murmured, her expression distracted as she listened to the thimble. "He intended to give you a start on this course, it's clear."

"I've seen a few of his contacts myself already, and I thought to begin seeking more at the spaceport where he kept one of his smuggling freighters. I'm hesitant to return to Naboo," Obi-Wan admitted. "But I've considered trying to contact a pair of his Jedi operatives there: Eekt Do'ha and his master, Jantak."

"If they're operating out of Naboo, it may endanger them for you to attempt contact." Tahl tapped at his datapad for a moment, calling up the relevant biographical files. "As the Sith Lord's homeworld, Naboo is especially dangerous. As Jedi who are presumed dead, they're safer there than a live operative might be. I believe we should start at your spaceport and see where the Force leads us."

Again Obi-Wan was struck by a brittle quality in her poise, and he hesitated, tempted to offer comfort but constrained by her seniority and the awkwardness of their disparate relationships with Qui-Gon.

"You will not mention this to Bant," Tahl directed him firmly. "I don't want her to accompany us. We'll wait until Yoda arrives; you have important information to communicate to him. Afterward, we must go."

"Are you sure this is a wise course, Master Tahl?" Obi-Wan inquired as tactfully as he could. "I meant to go alone."

"You imply that I am unable to function as a Jedi without my eyes." Tahl stood, her jaw set. "I challenge you to spar with me, so that you may assess the extent of your error."

"Master Tahl, I did not intend to offend--" Obi-Wan backpedaled, ashamed, but she did not move, her hand on the hilt of her lightsaber.

"Your intention is not my concern." She raised her hand, gesturing him to lead, and Obi-Wan reluctantly did so-- if he was going to accompany her on a mission, it would be beneficial for both of them to know something of the other's fighting style and capabilities.

He took them to the ground level, where a massive ballroom stood empty, suitable for combat exercises. She lifted her head, sensing the size of the place, and ignited her lightsaber.

"Master Tahl, I apologize for patronizing you." Obi-Wan hesitated. "I would be glad of a chance to spar with you, but not with hostility."

"I cannot say I hold no anger toward you," Tahl spoke softly. "But I forgive you for doubting my abilities." She took her ready position, her blade held in one hand, her other hand folded across her chest, the classic opening of the Niman style.

Obi-Wan swallowed hard; it was easy enough to guess the source of her anger. "I have a new focusing crystal in my lightsaber," he disclosed, igniting his weapon and taking a defensive neutral guard stance. "I'll need to proceed cautiously until I grow used to it."

"I'll go easy on you," she responded dryly, and lunged forward, her hand snapping up. Force struck his chin, setting him back on his heels as she brought a sweeping slash around toward his ankles, forcing him to flip backwards and out of her range.

She pressed her attack, not letting Obi-Wan claim the offensive, barraging him with a shower of loose items in addition to wicked slices and jabs-- a blast helmet caught him on the temple, and he shook it off, jumping over her head and slicing down in mid-leap, only to be parried efficiently. He overextended his next attack, misled by the gyroscopic response of his blade, and had to dance back again amidst a shower of furniture as Tahl pressed forward. He switched to Soresu, focusing on defense, and his performance improved, but his concentration was split between the battle and controlling his lightsaber, and eventually he misread her intent as she hooked Force behind his ankle, jerking him down to the floor, ending with the tip of her blade at his throat.

Obi-Wan chuckled ruefully. "I am humbled, Master Tahl. You're more than capable." He reached for her hand, and she released the blade, helping him to his feet.

"You need to master that thing before it kills you." Tahl nodded toward his lightsaber hilt. "Or switch back to your old crystal."

"I only got the crystal this afternoon; this is the first time I've tested it." Obi-Wan flushed. "Qui-Gon left it behind for me."

"Then we'll continue," Tahl stood back and ignited her weapon again. "Let's leave free-form for now and go back to standard katas. Shall we start with the first velocity of Shii-Cho?"

Obi-Wan agreed, and they fell in together, working through basic initiates' routines until he began to find himself at one with the stronger responses of the new crystal.

Bant joined them after a time, and before long Obi-Wan had adjusted adequately to spar against them two-on-one. He hadn't faced his old friend in some time, and was surprised to see her skills had not advanced as rapidly as his own. That must be why Tahl wanted to leave her behind-- but leaving her would hardly help her develop her abilities. Still, it was not his place to criticize, and so he focused on pressing Bant's skills delicately, helping her learn to defend against a superior opponent.

They stopped when they were exhausted, then climbed the Grand Stair to their rooms. Obi-Wan excused himself first, ducking through his door with some relief. He wanted a shower badly, then sleep. Tomorrow would be a busy day.

The lights in his room were extinguished, and Chattan hissed at him when he turned them on. Sighing, Obi-Wan toggled them off again and retreated into Qui-Gon's rooms through the opened wall. The bed still lay open, a quiet invitation that he had rejected when it had mattered most.

Obi-Wan acquiesced to the silent request, sliding out of his clothing and padding into Qui-Gon's lavish bathing room. He soaked the stiffness out of his muscles in a steaming tub whose pulsing jets massaged his back almost as well as Qui-Gon himself might have done. He indulged himself, using Qui-Gon's hairwash, luxuriating in the familiar scent-- one thing that had not changed through all the long years.

When he was so relaxed that his eyelids drooped, Obi-Wan emptied the tub, toweled himself dry, and slid into the large bed naked, letting the soft mattress and warm coverlet enfold him in Qui-Gon's aura, slipping off into dreams of his former master.

Obi-Wan awakened to the sound of heavy engines, and rolled over, squinting out through the windows into the light-filled morning. No clouds marred the bright blue sky, only wheeling gulls riding the air currents over the sea.

He sat up on the edge of the bed. He could get used to a soft bed all too easily, and succumb to the temptation to stay in it instead of seeing to his duties, too. He rose, combing his fingers through his hair, and went into his room, which Chattan had abandoned in the night.

As he had suspected, clothing awaited him in the closets, a variety of outfits in his size-- including a more than acceptably close approximation of his preferred Jedi tunics. Obi-Wan smiled in spite of himself and took a set, slipping the clothing on quickly and settling a matching robe on his shoulders. He could sense Tiran's presence aboard the ship as it descended to the dock: primarily the King's irritation with him, his sadness, and his uncertainty.

He went out as Tiran disembarked, cloaking himself in serenity. He was aware that in this case, the formal layers of his clothing were as much a protective measure as a uniform; he felt ill-prepared to deal with the King's hostility.

"Your Majesty," he ventured, stepping forward. "Welcome, on behalf of Lord Jinn and, of course, myself as well."

Tiran's lips pinched tight. "Cut the poodoo, Obi-Wan."

"Very well. Come inside, and we'll talk." Obi-Wan maintained calm, leading Tiran in and selecting a small reading room for their conference. He ushered the king to a seat and took one himself.

"I was appallingly rude to you the last time we met," he began. "I regret my pettiness, and I apologize for it."

"I don't give a damn about whether you're rude to me or not, Obi-Wan." Tiran did not bend. "Have you apologized to Qui-Gon?"

Obi-Wan hesitated, looking down at the table that separated them. "I have made amends, yes."

"Amends." Tiran's voice cracked like a whip.

"Amends." Obi-Wan agreed quietly, thinking of the tiny cockpit, of the few precious hours spent inside it, of his master's body buried in his. "I was jealous of your time and closeness with him, Tiran. And I was ignorant of certain necessary information, facts he chose to withhold from me until later. When he stopped concealing secrets from me, only then was I able to make matters right between us."

Tiran looked away, some of the bluster draining out of him. "Then-- you gave him what he needed."

Obi-Wan felt his skin flush, and struggled without success to damp the automatic capillary response. "I made love with him, yes, if that's what you mean." He drew reserve around him consciously, tightening his robe.

Tiran's expression closed similarly, Obi-Wan's revelation apparently coming as cold comfort, at best. He reached out and took up a reading glass, his knuckles white as he turned it in his hands, watching light play along the metal rim, piercing the lens and pooling on the dark wood of the table.

"And more importantly, I gave him my full support in his enterprise." Obi-Wan remained circumspect; he could not know how much Tiran knew of the Sith, or of Palpatine. "That's why I'm here now. Other Jedi are coming to join me. We'll do everything we can."

"And what will that be?" Tiran's fist clenched on the handle of the magnifier, and he laid it down deliberately. "There's no telling where he is, or what's happening to him. And why do you have to come here, and bring other Jedi with you? What about the Jedi on Coruscant? He hoped they would all agree to move against the Supreme Chancellor."

Obi-Wan hesitated, at least one of his questions answered. "That's complicated." He gazed gravely across the table at Tiran. "Knowledge doesn't always constitute proof, and the Council would require absolute proof to move. I couldn't give it to them. Therefore, Master Yoda and I judged it best to wait-- telling them, and failing to obtain agreement, would be a fatal plan. The Supreme Chancellor could hardly fail to hear of it, and not only would he act against Qui-Gon, but he would be forewarned to move against the Jedi, as well."

Tiran struck the table with his fist, making the glass jump. "I tried to warn him. Politics aren't as cut and dried as he thinks--" He took a deep breath and mastered himself slowly.

"Qui-Gon knows that." Obi-Wan said softly. "He's been a diplomat all his life. He anticipated I would come here instead of acting from Coruscant; he left messages for me. He knows we must await the right time. If not, there would be no need for his current plan at all."

Tiran shook his head, staring at his hands again. "It's suicide."

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, trying to release his fear and pain into the Force. "That is a statistically significant possibility, yes."

"You sound just like him." Tiran barked bitter laughter.

"In his message, Qui-Gon said that anyone from his past could become a target of the Supreme Chancellor," Obi-Wan pressed on. "Tiran, I believe this includes you and your family. Jedi are already gathering here; you should relocate here under our protection until the crisis passes. I'm sure you're familiar with the upgraded defenses and armaments Qui-Gon installed. Can you match that level of protection in Takat?"

"No, but my wife won't agree." Tiran looked sour. "She hates anything to do with Jedi, and she loathes Gida."

"She can have an entire wing of the place to herself, as far as I'm concerned, and if she doesn't like Gida, bring your own housekeeper and chefs. Bring as much security and as many servants as you like." Obi-Wan leaned forward, intent. "Think of your children, Tiran."

"I'll see what I can do." He sat back, his face drawn with pain. "You aren't the only one who suffered due to Dramacore, Obi-Wan. When I came home, I had to marry Ashea, and it was all like a second act for me. Fucking someone I didn't want, to satisfy an audience-- a kingdom that wants heirs.

"I've spent nearly a decade imprisoned here, a figurehead, while I would have liked to be out there with Qui-Gon, helping take down those bastards-- he got Millim, you know, and he won't tell me what he did to him. But I can guess, and I wanted to do it myself. I hope he shoved his lightsaber all the way up the man's ass and then turned it on. And I could have helped with the smuggling, too, but all I could do was give him money and pretend to smile while I posed for an oil painting to put in the west gallery!" His voice rose to a shout, and he struck the table again; the glass jarred off it and thumped to the floor, the thick carpet saving it from shattering.

Obi-Wan picked it up and tucked it away on a nearby shelf.

"I regret your life hasn't been as you would have liked to make it." He met Tiran's eyes, sympathetic. "But you must know the money wasn't a small contribution, Tiran. Jedi have no money of our own. Without your funding, there would be no safe base of operations to work against the Supreme Chancellor, and there would have been no help for the people under the Trade Federation's blockades. Qui-Gon couldn't have accomplished a tenth of what he's done without you." Obi-Wan hesitated. "I would have liked to be out there with him too," he said softly. "I should have been. But personal goals and desires don't always serve the will of the Force."

"You do sound just like him." Tiran scrubbed his hand over his face, staring up at the ceiling. "The will of your bloody Force is going to get us all killed."

"One day," Obi-Wan agreed quietly. "We all die, one day, and rejoin the Force."

"I'll bring Ashea back if I have to put her in stun-binders, and on your head be it if she and Gida scratch each other's eyes out before nightfall." Tiran sighed.

"She must care for you in at least some way, or she would not be so jealous," Obi-Wan ventured, and the comment brought Tiran up sharply; he blinked at Obi-Wan for a moment, then laughed with amazed disbelief.

"Qui-Gon said that, as well-- right before she threw half the glassware in our audience chamber at him, the last time he openly visited the palace in Takat."

Obi-Wan could not restrain a smile. "Then I shall try to be more tactful."

"Don't be." Tiran's smile quirked upward too, irrepressible. "None of it touched him; he just stood there with his hand half-raised, wearing that little half-smile he gets, while it bounced off thin air and hit the floor. That made her so furious she threw even more. It was the best entertainment I've had since I watched the videos of him punishing you for drinking too much the first time you visited us."

"That wasn't punishment. That was training!"

They went out, still arguing the distinction, Obi-Wan's heart lighter than it had been since his knighting.

Throughout the day, more Jedi continued to arrive-- several came as a surprise to Obi-Wan, but all mentioned Yoda as their point of contact. He had Gida settle them in appropriate quarters, and then cleared the area while Tiran's family arrived, reserving the duty of greeting them for himself.

Ashea proved to be a tiny, slender woman with red hair and a fierce frown for him when he greeted her; he judged it best not to offer her the hospitality of a home she clearly still regarded as her own. Instead, he praised her wisdom and foresight in joining them, to provide for the safety of her children, and made himself scarce as Tiran's sizeable party departed for the eastern wing. He would have liked to get to know Tiran's children, who seemed lively and intelligent, but judged it best to wait for a better opportunity.

In the early evening, all his troops assembled in one of the dining halls, filling the better part of three large tables. Looking at them, overhearing their quiet talk, Obi-Wan could no longer avoid the uncomfortable insight that he was presiding over a refuge for Jedi who disagreed with the High Council on Coruscant. Certainly, Councilor Windu would see it as such whenever he became aware of the existence of the Xinune compound. Obi-Wan wondered how the Council might react if their numbers continued to grow. He could not be sure; he was not even entirely sure of how he felt, seeing the group coalescing around him.

As the staff gathered to serve their evening meal Obi-Wan stood to address them, thanking them for answering Yoda's summons. He had nearly finished when the doors swung open and Yoda himself hobbled in, leaning on his stick. The hall fell silent, respectfully awaiting his approach and gazing at him with expectance as he slowly negotiated the aisle between the empty tables, heading for the front of the room.

Obi-Wan yielded the floor with a vast sense of relief. The Grand Master's presence not only absolved him of his responsibility for leading the group, but gave the assembly a sense of validity he understood its members badly needed.

Yoda looked about, seeming to count faces, before nodding in satisfaction. "Appreciate your courage, I do, and your coming here." His strong, serene manner breathed calm into his listeners. "A great work lies before us. Many hands will be needed. Difficult, our path will be, but Jedi we are. Strong." His ears lifted as his gaze moved about the room, meeting eyes and lending strength merely through the solidity of his purpose. "The will of the Force calls us. Answer, we will."

He finished just that simply. Sidestepping the chair Obi-Wan offered him at the head of the foremost table, he went to a seat alongside the table instead. Obi-Wan called to one of the staff and they brought a taller chair for him; when he was seated, Obi-Wan took his cue and seated himself across the table from Yoda, leaving the head chair vacant-- the clear message that their leader was absent.

The others exchanged glances-- mild surprise, speculation, and eventually, acceptance.

Perhaps only Obi-Wan and Yoda knew. And Tahl, Obi-Wan realized as an afterthought, glancing toward her. She addressed herself to her plate with perfect calm, ignoring the questioning that hummed softly around her.

Yoda gathered him with a glance when the meal was finished, and Obi-Wan nodded, dispensing a few quiet words to those who sought him out before excusing himself and joining Yoda in the corridor.

"We'll use Qui-Gon's private salle," he murmured. "It's upstairs. Would you care for a lift?"

Yoda accepted, managing to maintain his dignity as Obi-Wan hoisted him onto his shoulders. They went up, Yoda gazing curiously about the place, the trailing cascades of flowers and greenery, the last warm rays of sunlight piercing the glazing. "Much of Qui-Gon, I sense here. Strong in the Living Force, is this place."

"Yes, Master Yoda," Obi-Wan agreed. He became aware of Tahl behind them on the stair, following without intruding.

He opened the salle and deposited Yoda on the floor, then dug in his utility belt for Qui-Gon's data chip.

"Qui-Gon left this resource for us. It details his methods, and suggests training strategies. I thought you might," Obi-Wan swallowed a bit thickly, "like to begin by seeing how he taught me to improve my grasp of Soresu." He knew he was flushing. His color deepened as Tahl entered, sealing the door behind her, but he took the chip anyway and plugged it into the comm panel at the side of the room.

The recording played, and Obi-Wan bent his head, folding his arms into his sleeves, waiting. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears, and he tried to channel his nervousness into the Force. Tahl's presence made it even more difficult than Yoda's, and Obi-Wan was keenly aware of the gravel in Qui-Gon's measured tones, the evident passion in the way the man touched him. He straightened as the recording finished, refusing to feel embarrassment.

"Effective, this method," Yoda judged at last, voice quite calm. He knew, better than anyone, where Obi-Wan's skills had stood before he met with Qui-Gon. "The results. Can you duplicate them?"

"Yes, master." Obi-Wan began to deploy remotes efficiently, then ignited his blade and stood among them, centering himself, calling up the power of the memory.

Again time blurred-- easier now than it had been, now that he knew what to expect. He finished, sweeping the remotes aside with a push of his mind, and gazed out at Yoda and Tahl. "Attack," he invited.

They came at him in a blur of blue and green, and he fell into himself, almost laughing at the effortlessness of it. He split his mind between defense and triumph, then fed the joy into his body and flipped over Yoda's saber swarm, catching Tahl with a classic sun djem, sending her lightsaber flying with a flick of his wrist as he landed, his mind catching the remotes Yoda flung at him in a flurry of battering power.

He fell farther inside his center, deeper, the room around him seeming to swim in slow motion. Obi-Wan easily intercepted each missile and each attack as Tahl stepped away, leaving him to face only Yoda.

Obi-Wan slid into Ataru as the joy waxed in him, meeting the Grand Master blow for blow, dodging and diving. He heard himself laugh; weightless, he danced.

At last Yoda disengaged, standing back, the tense energy of battle flowing out of him, leaving him bent and aged once more.

"Impressive." His eyes narrowed; his small chest rose and fell rapidly. "Mastered Ataru you have also, Obi-Wan. Close you were, before. But so much so fast? Unexpected. Typical, is it?"

"I don't know, Master Yoda." Obi-Wan wiped perspiration from his forehead, wishing he'd eaten more at dinner. He would have to call for Gida later. "As you say, my skills were advanced already. After my Trial of Skill, Master Drallig said he expected I would achieve mastery of these two forms soon, given adequate practice in combat."

"Try Qui-Gon's technique, I will." Yoda seated himself, crossing his legs and reaching into the Force. Obi-Wan waited, watching as Yoda's breathing evened and he began to expand his emotions.

Obi-Wan had never known the aged master to be other than serene, his aura touched only with faint notes of dismay or pleasure, mostly reflected in how he held his body. But now joy swelled in Yoda, his mental discipline enhancing rather than subsiding as he focused himself in it.

"Be mindful of your resources; the exercise may drain your strength. It helps to feed energy into yourself while you fight, as well as focusing it outward. Make the joy your center," Obi-Wan spoke softly. "Feel the lightness of it. Become it. It will guide you through the Force."

Yoda nodded, rising, and Obi-Wan summoned his own joy, reaching deep for his memories of Qui-Gon and their joining.

They began to move without signal, slowly at first, then faster as Yoda gained confidence.

Obi-Wan heard Tahl inhale sharply, then dismissed it; Yoda's attack took all his concentration, and the fight was not easy now as the Grand Master drove him back, falling fully into joy.

Thought ceased and instinct took over. He was hardly conscious of moving his body. The lightsabers' whine strained and keened, ionizing the atmosphere around them; his breath whistled through his teeth and he began to have to struggle to maintain his focus on joy as Yoda's attacks intensified, relentless, strikes coming from every angle.

Obi-Wan felt a remote strike his shoulder. He danced back, sliding from offense into the pure defense of Soresu, and still Yoda pressed him across the hall, moving faster than thought, his small blade a tornado of green fire.

"Solah!" Obi-Wan yielded, recognizing the end of the battle even before Yoda began the strike that ended with his saber at Obi-Wan's throat. They fell still abruptly, winded.

Yoda surveyed his lightsaber for a moment, as if unsure it was his own, before releasing the blade.

"Perilous, this technique will be, like vaapad. Seductive. Much self-control it requires." He clipped the hilt onto his belt and summoned his stick. "Focus, Jedi training does, on releasing emotion, not sustaining and controlling it. Different training will be required by those who practice this form. Fear and anger will beckon some, I think."

"Yes. Qui-Gon suggests a basic curriculum in emotional management for trainees in this method, beginning with the youngest Initiates." Obi-Wan retrieved the data chip and passed it to Yoda. "And he also warns of the danger of harnessing dark emotions. The methods he proposes for managing them are quite different from managing joy or caution. Negative energy must not be allowed to remain inside the user's soul, especially upon completion of a routine."

Obi-Wan studied Yoda, trying to gauge his weariness. "I think we need food and rest, master."

"Yes." Yoda turned his focus inward. "Drained, I am, as you predicted." He sank to the floor, folding his legs. Tahl moved forward silently and joined him.

"I'm working on learning to manage fatigue by balancing my energy channels during combat and absorbing enough to replace the outlay," Obi-Wan explained. "When I first tried the technique, I ate ravenously and then slept for many hours afterward. Now I think a snack will be enough." He stepped aside and touched the comm unit. "Gida, send food for three to the salle on level two. Lots of carbohydrates, please." He went to sit with the others.

The staff brought fruit and sugared ices, and the three of them ate quietly, buried in thought. When Obi-Wan had finished his dish, he set it on the tray and drew up one knee, resting his chin there.

"I plan to reach out to Qui-Gon's smuggling contacts," he said at length. "They'll need guidance to continue their work, and I may be able to identify rogue Jedi and bring them to join us on Xinune."

"A good plan, this is." Yoda nodded, still chewing a spear of yellow fruit. "I will remain here. Train myself, I will, and others: monitor the Senate, and the Supreme Chancellor."

"I will go with Obi-Wan," Tahl spoke, and Obi-Wan all but flinched at her cool statement of intent. "But Bant will not accompany us."

Yoda regarded her thoughtfully. "Benefit, your padawan could, from this training."

"Yes." Tahl put a spoonful of ice between her lips. "Her emotional control is excellent."

"Beware of Qui-Gon, you must. This time is crucial to his plans." Yoda wiped his fingers and tapped his claws together thoughtfully. "Much difficulty will he encounter in establishing himself as he wishes. Not simple is his path, or pleasant."

"Yes, master," Obi-Wan agreed, sober. "He warned me that if we met, it would be as adversaries."

Tahl simply set aside her empty dish, offering no comment. Obi-Wan wondered why she intended to accompany him. Her presence could be an asset, but could as easily be a liability. Though she could hold her own, she was not primarily a warrior.

"Now that Yoda is here to take charge, I plan to leave after resting for the night," Obi-Wan spoke to her, deferential. "Is that acceptable to you?"

"It is." She rose smoothly, brushing the folds out of her cloak. "Where shall I meet you?"

"I'll send a map to your comm station. There's a hangar in the seaward cliff. I've chosen a light Corellian freighter, the Stellar Envoy, so I'll be glad to have another crewmember aboard. She looks like a refugee from a Toydarian junkyard, but she's heavily modified, and Qui-Gon's records indicate that she can make up to .5 beyond lightspeed."

"Impressive, for a freighter."

"Quite." Obi-Wan nodded enthusiastically. "Smuggling bins are built in below the main deck, and they've been scan-shielded in case we need to pick up any illicit cargo, or even if we need to hide there ourselves. We can carry eight passengers, more in an emergency." He did not intend to be forced to cram more than one person into a single-man fighter again, if he could help it. "It's a popular model. If anything breaks down, we should be able to find parts anywhere in the galaxy, and I'm a better than decent mechanic."

Tahl's lips curved slightly. "Hold on to your enthusiasm, Knight Kenobi. We will need it."

They parted soon afterward, and Obi-Wan went up to Qui-Gon's room, pausing to extend a cautious greeting to Chattan, who lay in his nest, kneading the fabric of Obi-Wan's robe and growling low in his throat. He sat down at the comm station and sent a note to Yoda, warning him about the cat. Then he prepared another for Tahl, including the promised map, before finding himself at a loss.

The sun had sunk beneath the horizon, staining the sky with pale golden light. Obi-Wan was tired, but not sleepy, and sensed that he would not sleep well if he didn't exhaust himself before lying down.

He hesitated, eyes drawn irresistibly to the doorway of the playroom.

Where are you, my master? He glanced back out over the ocean-- so vast and empty, yet infinitesimally small compared to the galaxy beyond, where Qui-Gon was lost to him, vanished except for the gifts he had left behind.

He stood and let himself into the small room, refusing to second-guess his choice. A blush stained his cheeks as he looked around at the equipment Qui-Gon had gathered.

It occurred to Obi-Wan that he had colored more easily and frequently in the past few days than in his entire lifetime before, unless he counted the first few weeks of his early padawan crush on Qui-Gon. He shook his head at himself; he was going to have to come to terms with his embarrassment and overcome it gracefully, as Qui-Gon had done. Perhaps it would help if Tahl weren't always so close at hand.

He reached out and picked up a toy, an artificial phallus, and frowned at it. Something seemed strangely familiar about it, but he couldn't put his finger on the oddity. He glanced at the others and frowned again. They were identical, even the one on the apparatus Qui-Gon had used when Obi-Wan watched him via his hidden surveillance camera.

He blinked suddenly as insight struck home and the blushes that had stained his cheeks before paled in comparison to the deep crimson flush that spread through his body, flaming in his face and on his neck, leaving him with a metallic taste of startled lust in his mouth as certainty filled him-- these were modeled on him, on his own erect penis, without doubt extrapolated from the Dramacore holos.

Qui-Gon had prepared his body to accept Obi-Wan. Apparently, nothing else had ever been allowed to enter him.

Lust flamed through Obi-Wan along with the knowledge, and he gasped, his cock leaping erect with painful speed. He would never have dreamed his old master would be like this.

He set the toy down carefully in its place and fumbled at his belt for Qui-Gon's data chip, inserting it into the room's comm panel. He passed his birthday stone over the security sensor and drew himself upright, waiting to see what his master had prepared for him, knowing that Qui-Gon would not have neglected this opportunity.

Qui-Gon materialized in the middle of the room, wearing a soft white robe tied around his middle, the welcome and openness of his smile sending a melting flutter through Obi-Wan's belly.

"Obi-Wan. I'm glad you've come." Qui-Gon's smile held the faintest, intoxicating hint of mischief. "I'd like to share a meditation with you." He folded his hands loosely in front of his body. "I'm sure you have questions before we begin. I imagine you wonder how the man you once knew has become so uninhibited." The faintest suggestion of color touched his face.

"The question is one of balance. I see, with some regret, how my former asceticism has influenced you-- that you mistrust the pleasures of your body, and fear they will betray you. You demonstrated this when you emulated me in your intention to sleep on the floor rather than enjoy a comfortable bed, even unshared." Qui-Gon's voice was wry. "To some degree, wariness of the body represents wisdom-- as you know, the body can generate powerful emotions, which can be harmful if not controlled and channeled appropriately. But as I now understand, rejecting them out of hand is equally harmful. Perhaps if I had been balanced throughout my life, I would not have needed to reach to the extremes I have in order to achieve balance now." His hands moved, indicating the room that surrounded them. "I have a lifetime of neglect to redress, after all."

Obi-Wan supposed he had a point; Qui-Gon's devotion to goals was legendary among the Jedi. Unwavering, the man knew no limits to commitment when he decided on a course of action. He should not be surprised that his master's pursuit of sensuality was no exception.

"And too," Qui-Gon smiled a little, eyes warming, "I have been compensating for another lack in my balance-- no amount of masturbation, or of playthings, can replace a living lover. In giving me the gift of yourself, you have confirmed what I long suspected: there is no greater act of unity with the Force than using one's body to channel passion and love into another and to receive equal passion and love in return. But I have indulged myself to do what I could to satisfy my longings, while I waited for you."

Obi-Wan bit his lip, flushing, captivated by the candor in Qui-Gon's words, and the softness in his eyes.

Qui-Gon's voice dropped, deep and resonant. "It has not always been easy for me to express my sexuality-- at first, self-consciousness and shame intruded, crippling, restricting me and preventing me from achieving unity with the Force. But I have meditated and come to peace with who I am, and what I feel, and I have no more reluctance. I surrender this part of myself to you, and I am honored that you are here to share it with me."

Qui-Gon stepped back slightly, his hands moving to the sash at his waist. He untied it and let the robe drop, baring his body-- magnificent, long hard planes of muscle and bone, strong thighs and calves, and the thick, enticing line of his shaft at the center of his body, flushing deep rose and lifting as it filled. "Join me?"

He waited as Obi-Wan stripped, his hands trembling, fumbling with the straps of his boots. The air felt delicious on Obi-Wan's skin as he straightened, and the heat in Qui-Gon's eyes made him shiver-- he could almost believe Qui-Gon was really there next to him.

"Imagine my hands on you, as I imagine yours on me." Qui-Gon moved to one side, where a wall of mirrors waited. Obi-Wan obeyed and stood beside Qui-Gon, as he had done so often during his training-- learning katas while watching his master display the forms.

"Reach for joy," Qui-Gon murmured. He raised one hand to his own throat, splaying his fingertips against the skin there, and began to touch his skin. "Touch lightly. Barely there, yes." He let his fingertips trail down the cord of his neck to his collarbone, and across, hesitating at the indentation at the center. "Feel it, contain it in your center. Do not release it."

Obi-Wan obeyed, shivering at the unexpected intensity of the sensation. The fingertips circled, caressing, then slid over his chest, down to tease past a nipple and flick at it with a fingernail, a sudden sting that made his breath hiss between his teeth.

Qui-Gon teased him, leading their hands in a blazing track across their bodies-- over Obi-Wan's face and lips, around the angle of his jaw, across the down-soft fuzz of his earlobe, along the length of his own arms and between his fingers, then onto his taut, flat belly, around the curves of his ass, a teasing tickle at the entrance to his body. By the time he rested, Obi-Wan was gasping between clenched teeth, his balls drawn tight against him, his cock quivering with need.

"Contain it, yes." A low velvet rumble. "Let it sink deep, let it fill you. Control without dispersing. Breathe." Qui-Gon's soft murmur filled him, soothing him away from the brink without reducing the intensity, and Obi-Wan felt his consciousness expand, opening sweetly, ready for more.

"Again." This time with hard tweaks to his nipples, this time with long, slow strokes along his cock, over the soft-skinned head, through the droplets of moisture welling at the tip. This time the briefest tease inside, enough to make him whimper. When he could not endure another moment, Qui-Gon stilled once more, and again he took the sensation inside himself, accepting it, making it his center, letting it fill him and expand him.

He gazed at himself in the mirror, seeing suddenly how he must look through Qui-Gon's eyes, his skin radiant, his body perfect, young, and taut, his eyes brilliant with passion-- but Qui-Gon was still more beautiful, harnessed power and perfect control mingled with unabashed sensual splendor, his blunt nails scraping softly at his nipple as he waited, anticipating Obi-Wan's need to reflect. The love and desire in his eyes were inexpressible, flaring soft heat through Obi-Wan's groin, nearly undoing him.

"There is a box for you, on the third shelf down. Open it." Qui-Gon's eyes danced with anticipation.

Obi-Wan obeyed, and his lips curved with startled amusement. He laughed aloud for surprise and joy, lifting what it held-- a small crystal flask of warming oil, and an artificial shaft nestled in velvet there, the only one in the room that did not match the others.

It was a reproduction of Qui-Gon's own penis, carefully modeled and sculpted, fully erect, gloriously long and thick-- exactly perfect-- waiting there for him, synthetic flesh nearly indistinguishable from the real thing. It warmed in his hand as he reverently lifted it, his fingers trembling with longing.

His master laughed softly, echoing him, and Obi-Wan looked over his shoulder to see the expression that waited-- tenderness and heat, amusement and joy, and a hint of challenge.

"Shall we continue?"

Yes. Only and ever, always yes. "Of course, Qui-Gon," Obi-Wan murmured, and let his master's soft words guide him forth again, accepting and treasuring this timely gift, his heart spiraling out across the Force as he prepared his body, the act of penetrating himself become his most treasured prayer for the future, his devotion a silent blessing sent up to his master as he rose and fell, pierced to the soul by love and joy, awaiting only a time when this could be made real again.

When he had finished, he curled up in Qui-Gon's bed and slept more deeply than he could ever remember.

Tahl was waiting when Obi-Wan arrived at the hangar the next morning. He blinked at her, a bit surprised-- she had replaced her immaculate dress robes with far simpler, more utilitarian ones. They resembled the ones Obi-Wan had always worn, homespun and wool rather than silks and fine-woven fabric. She seemed smaller, pared down and efficient, and she carried a worn pack over one shoulder.

Her eyes struck him as he walked up-- green and gold, like Chattan's. Perhaps he had always avoided them, before.

"Good morning." Her voice was smooth and low.

"Good morning, Master Tahl." Obi-Wan keyed the entry hatch. "Shall we be going?"

She followed him up the ramp and to the crew quarters, where they left their packs in separate cubicles, then up to the cockpit.

Obi-Wan slouched into the pilot's seat and began a preflight check; she seated herself next to him in the navigator's position and took up her own duties with acceptable competence. In a few moments they were ready, and Obi-Wan fired the maneuvering thrusters. He directed them out of the hangar bay, over the slate-grey waves. The day was as wet as the previous one had been golden, heavy ropes of fog rising from the water and merging with the low-slung layer of cloud that drifted silently over the domes and tiles of the Palazzo.

He directed the ship through the cloud canopy, coming out in tiered white fields of sun-drenched blue.

"Where are we bound?"

Obi-Wan punched up his itinerary. "Qui-Gon took me to a small spaceport just before we visited Naboo. I think we should avoid Naboo for the time being-- I don't believe the time is ripe yet to return to the Sith Lord's home planet. But I thought we'd start at a familiar place, and that spaceport is the only other area I've visited with Qui-Gon. He gave me a name associated with the spaceport, and a code phrase to use. We should be able to pick up a cargo shipment and a destination there. I'll feed you the coordinates."

She nodded, receiving the coordinates and transferring them to the navicomp, which began to cycle audibly, calculating the hyperspace jump.

The ship made the transition smoothly, and Obi-Wan sat back in his chair. "It will take a few days to arrive."

"Yes." Tahl touched the console in front of her, activating the autopilot. "I anticipated that, and I hope we may make use of it." For the first time, Obi-Wan perceived something akin to discomfort in her, rather than the perfect smoothness of her normal reserve.

"You want to work on Qui-Gon's battle techniques?"

"I want to talk to Qui-Gon's final padawan learner."

Obi-Wan swallowed, reluctant. "Of course," he agreed politely. He rose and they moved to the ship's central lounge area. "What would you like to discuss?"

"Whatever is in your mind. How you were chosen to be Qui-Gon's apprentice. Your missions together. What you know of him."

"Surely Qui-Gon shared this with you."

"Very little." She seated herself, and looked up at him, clearly perceiving him there with the Force, if not her eyes. "When you entered Qui-Gon Jinn's life, I all but left it. It was not so with Feemor, or with Xanatos, but you were always different." She paused. "I have resented, perhaps even hated, you for a decade, Obi-Wan Kenobi. It was not fair of me, for you were blameless, but I believe you will find it understandable."

Obi-Wan gulped hard. "Yes. I do." He folded his hands. "I suppose I've always known, to a degree, even before I understood why. Bant has been my best friend since we were initiates, and we've spent our share of time together in your quarters, but I've never felt at ease around you."

She tilted her head, acknowledging his respectful tone. "Yoda suggested I share my burden with you, so that I might overcome it. He was right. I do not want to carry this darkness into my future."

"I'll tell you what I can," Obi-Wan said slowly, and cast his mind back to the very beginning. "Qui-Gon did not want me, at first. I think it was all because of Xanatos. Not being taken as a padawan learner meant I would be sent to the Agricorps, and I was, but he couldn't escape the will of the Force. Or maybe I was just more stubborn than him, for once. We--"

He talked on, sometimes halting, choosing his words carefully for candor so as to honor her own honesty, and she listened, rarely speaking, but he felt himself heard, and as the time passed, he began to sense acceptance in her.

When he finally finished with his account of his abduction by Dramacore, somewhere around noonmeal on the second day, she stopped him.

"You have told me what I need." Her voice was soft. "You love him as he loves you?"

"Yes," Obi-Wan breathed.

"He will need that badly when this is done." Tahl reached up and freed her hair, raking her fingers through it. She seemed tired, and something fragile in her lay open in a way Obi-Wan had never seen before. It reminded him of the first time he had seen Qui-Gon badly tested by a mission-- grieved and hurting, vulnerable, the armor of a Jedi Master broken, the human being shining through.

"I'm sorry," Obi-Wan ventured spontaneously, and she raised a brow at him. "Not that he'll need me. Not even that he loves me. I can't be sorry about that. It's the greatest gift I've ever been offered. But I'm sorry it hurts you, and I know Qui-Gon well enough to know that he must regret causing you pain."

"The Force moves as the Force wills," Tahl said with harsh simplicity. "It does not bring love to everyone, no matter how deeply they feel, or how deserving their hearts. You and I might both have gone a lifetime without touching Qui-Gon deeply enough for him to give all of himself, had your apprenticeship proceeded uneventfully." She stretched her shoulders. "I suspect he foresaw your power to reach him, though, from the first-- and I believe that is why he struggled so hard, and for so long, to reject you."

"I hope I will prove worthy of him."

"I hope you will both prove worthy of one another." Tahl smiled slightly-- more honest than her usual cool curl of lip, wavering a little.

"I see now why Qui-Gon loves you. I believe he does, in his way," Obi-Wan told her sincerely. "Perhaps not in the same way you love him, but he always cared more deeply for you than for any other. When I was his padawan, I often watched him check on your progress with healers, plan our visits to Coruscant to coincide with your availability, make time for you in a way he did not do with anyone else."

"You comfort me." Her voice was no longer smooth, beginning to fray around the edges, and he sensed her need to withdraw. Rising, he offered her his hand, and then watched her go to her quarters, closing the door behind her.

When she emerged again the next morning, she was the same cool and serene Tahl he remembered. It was a relief for both of them, Obi-Wan suspected, but just the same, he knew he would never forget the gift of truth she had shown him, and it was easier to work with her now that he knew she had purged her anger.

They soon arrived at the spaceport, which remained just as run-down and grubby as Obi-Wan remembered.

Their contact turned out to be the sleeping man Obi-Wan had noted before-- now sleeping again as he presided over a cargo bay. When Obi-Wan spoke the code phrase, he roused long enough to give Obi-Wan a keen glance and to summon an array of droids to load the Stellar Envoy with dried foodstuffs and tanks of purified water.

Obi-Wan noted two humans amidst the droids, and extended a tendril of Force toward them; other than boarding and disembarking with the droids, they operated independently, silently loading the smuggling bins with medical equipment and supplies taken from a cache slightly separate from the main freight stack, though the labels were identical.

None of the contacts at the spaceport were Jedi, a mild disappointment to Obi-Wan, but the encounter was a success. The sleepy man held out a manifest with two fingers before they left, and when Obi-Wan accepted it, he found their port of destination listed at the bottom of the page: Risatin, a Free Trade World targeted by the Trade Federation just as they had targeted Naboo.

They departed after only a few hours, the freighter heavy-laden, and set course for Risatin. Obi-Wan occupied himself inventorying the supplies, particularly the contents of the smuggling bins. He wasn't quite sure how to make contact with the next set of operatives; Qui-Gon's files were cursory. He would have to trust the Force to guide them.

Tahl made contact with a Jedi pair on Risatin while Obi-Wan supervised the unloading, and then they found another Jedi affiliate on Tondara. Slowly the pattern began to emerge-- one or more Jedi at every port of unloading, supervising the local relief efforts and subtly working to thwart the Trade Federation while distributing supplies and medicine to those who needed them most.

Two additional months passed peacefully enough. Obi-Wan extended his connections carefully among Qui-Gon's operatives, beginning to build trust with the operatives at several bases. Obi-Wan began to see why Qui-Gon had acted aggressively against Dramacore; the temptation to do something-- anything-- to stop the Trade Federation was mounting in him. Helping the victims was like trying to empty an ocean with a sieve; the problem needed to be targeted at its source.

Between ports, Obi-Wan put in a routine call to Yoda, and found the old master waiting for him.

"Obi-Wan." Yoda nodded. "Good to see you, it is."

"Yes, Master Yoda. Our drop on Tondara was successful. We identified another operative, and provided him with information about the Xinune compound."

"Good." Yoda's ears rose, but not as much as Obi-Wan had hoped; the old master seemed oppressed. Sure enough, his next news was bad. "Troubled am I, Obi-Wan. The Council has met several times in the past tenday. Conflict, there is, in addition to the Trade Federation blockades: rumors of secession. A new group arises-- Separatists. Some are members of the Trade Federation who dispute the Republic's right to tax trade; some are planets who are unhappy with the Trade Federation's blockades and wish to withdraw so they may set their own tariffs. The Supreme Chancellor rejects secession utterly. Civil war seems the likely outcome. The Sith Lord's work, this is."

Obi-Wan nodded grimly. "Is there any sign of Qui-Gon?"

"Not yet." Yoda shook his head. "Move in secret, he will, for as long as possible-- concealing his apprentice is still advantageous for the Sith Lord. But there are Jedi who openly support the secession. Master Dooku has spoken in its favor. On the Council now, he is. Master Windu disagrees. Support the Trade Federation's claims, he would, so that they will not secede."

Obi-Wan grimaced; he had never liked Dooku, though he respected the man's mastery of the lightsaber. He was an elitist, an attitude that Obi-Wan had never felt represented the Jedi Code. "Between the two of them, they'll tear the Council apart."

"Between the three of us, we may." Yoda lifted his head, his jaw set grimly. "Agree with neither of them, do I. As long as I am Grand Master of the High Council, the Jedi will enact the directives of the Senate-- the vote of the majority-- while the Senate lasts."

"While it lasts?" Obi-Wan asked slowly. "Is the Senate failing?"

"Still in motion is the future." Yoda shook his head. "Trust in Qui-Gon, we must." He would say no more.

Obi-Wan could only console himself with the knowledge that his work was helping others, and building the network of Jedi who supported an end to the bully tactics of the Trade Federation, and an end to the Sith's influence over the Republic.

Obi-Wan and Tahl continued their mission, and were due to put in at Vaklin, carrying an antidote to the rust plague once again running rampant among the populace-- an infection Obi-Wan attributed to the Sith Lord-- when Tahl spoke up.

"Did you see that?"

"See what?" Obi-Wan immediately extended his senses, but found nothing unexpected.

"Near the moon. I felt something." Her immediate Force sense was superior to Obi-Wan's, they had established early on-- a skill honed by mastery and possibly also her blindness. "I'm not sure what."

"We'll have to be careful." Obi-Wan had grown to trust Tahl's intuitions. He kept an eye on the sensor panel as they parked adjacent to the Trade Federation droid control ship to have their cargo scanned, but no anomalous readings showed on the display. "I don't feel anything like the darkness I felt on Naboo," he decided at length. "But the Force is troubled."

"Yes." Tahl nodded. "It has been at every world we've visited that's subject to a Trade Federation blockade. But this is different."

Obi-Wan reached out with his mind to sense the beings aboard a small shuttle setting out from the control ship, and found an anomaly. "There's a sentient aboard the shuttle."

It was unusual, and would have been enough to pique Obi-Wan's danger radar even without Tahl's prior alert. "Plot a hyperspace vector out of here. Let's keep it as current as we can. We may have to run."

"Noted." Tahl's fingers flew calmly over the panel before her. "Will you meet them, or shall I?"

Obi-Wan reached out for a sense of the being's gender-- male. "You, I think. Work some feminine wiles on him, if he's receptive."

"If he's a Neimoidian, I doubt it'll help. A bribe would work better." Tahl rose and went to the docking ring on the port side of the ship to await the shuttle. Obi-Wan checked his lightsaber, hanging concealed under his leather jacket.

He heard the clunk of the docking ring engaging, and went to back Tahl up, watching from the corridor as she welcomed the Neimoidian envoy. Typically hunched and cringing, he was nevertheless alert, and his eyes moved aside to study Obi-Wan for a long moment, nictitating membranes blinking across their bright ovoid surface.

"Show me your cargo manifests." He accepted Tahl's papers, and waved his droids farther into the ship. "Scan the cargo." He began comparing taxation stamps to a datapad of his own. "A humanitarian aid shipment?" He managed to make the words sound as if he were condemning them for transporting slaves.

"We just take the cargo they load us with, and draw our pay." Tahl's voice was rich, seductive; she lounged at ease, displaying the lean curves of her body-- all of it lost on the envoy, Obi-Wan judged, despite her best efforts. "Do you want me to open the crates for you?"

"I will break the seals myself," he snapped.

He proceeded, unloading half the crates, his temper deteriorating as he nitpicked the manifest, the seals, the taxation stamps, the quality of the goods-- everything but Tahl's hairstyle.

Obi-Wan felt his muscles tighten every time the official stalked across the deckplates beneath which the vaccines lay concealed. Remembering Tahl's summation, when the envoy turned his back, Obi-Wan reached into his pocket and withdrew a small pouch, which he tossed to the floor just behind the Neimoidian's heels.

"Pardon me, sir. You seem to have dropped something." Obi-Wan kept his look guileless and smooth.

The man snatched up the purse and opened the drawstring, peering inside. "Yes, I have." He swiftly stuck it into a deep pocket in his robe. "I suppose everything is in order," he said in a grudging tone, and straightened, signing their paperwork and returning it to Tahl. Then he spun in a swirl of robes and stalked back to his shuttle.

Obi-Wan managed not to exhale his relief until the envoy was gone and the shuttle had detached to return to the control ship.

"Well done," Tahl said, starting to re-pack ration boxes back into their crates; the droids had simply abandoned the mess on the floor. Obi-Wan helped her, and soon they had some semblance of order restored. "I'll check to see if he planted anything-- tracking devices or any other kind of sabotage. Get back to the cockpit; let's hope he'll clear us."

They were given clearance shortly thereafter, and Obi-Wan piloted them down toward the silvery disc of Vaklin. The planetary surface where they were scheduled to land was concealed below a thick cloud-cover, and Obi-Wan concentrated his Force-sense on finding a path through the turbulent air-flows as they descended.

"Someone's following us." Tahl sat up straight, a remote look in her tawny eyes.

"Are you sure?" Obi-Wan dodged a building cumulo-nimbus, then returned to their prescribed heading. He hated flying blind, but sensors indicated the reduced visibility extended all the way to the ground, so he was stuck with it.

"I'm sure." Tahl reached across him, re-directing an array of sensors to the rear of the craft. "Nothing scans, but there's someone back there."

"The Sith craft didn't register on sensor scans at Naboo," Obi-Wan said softly. "Should we abort?"

"No." Tahl closed her eyes, and Obi-Wan could feel her reaching out, extending herself as far as she could. "I don't sense a presence."

"Maybe the pilot is a droid."

"Maybe the pilot is shielded."

A tense moment stretched between them, neither of the two willing to name the possibility both were considering. "I'm about to transfer control to the landing beacon," Obi-Wan said at last. "We need to offload that medicine."

"Yes," she agreed. A flare of lightning polarized the cockpit glass for a moment, passing her face into shadow and out again. The freighter began to shudder as they passed through a layer of precipitation. Trails of moisture shivered like worms along the flat part of the window, and streamed back along the glass when they reached the edges.

Obi-Wan watched the altimeter counting down, sensing ahead for obstacles and finding none. He was ready to override the autopilot at any hint of trouble, but their velocity slowed as they descended, and after dropping between the cloud-shrouded walls of a canyon, they finally angled into a cargo hangar, the dark edges of the portal visible for only a few moments before they entered and the thick fog cleared, revealing a wide bay full of ships.

Moisture hung in halos about the bright overhead lights, but it was relatively dry inside the bay compared to the exterior. Obi-Wan let down the hatch and met the portmaster, showing his documentation from the Trade Federation envoy-- but the man did not respond to his code phrase.

Obi-Wan allowed the removal of the main cargo, watching the unloading crew carefully, but he did not recognize any operatives among the crew, and none offered him a code. He leaned against the landing gear, watching the cargo disperse, waiting for Tahl to emerge.

She did, after the last load trundled down the cargo ramp, and he gave her a pleasant nod, without the pre-arranged signal confirming a contact. She waited at the end of the ramp, her face inexpressive, but he could sense her tension.

"Will you be departing this afternoon?" The portmaster tapped on a datapad, registering the update to their status.

"No, I have business in the city. I'd like tentative clearance to leave tomorrow before midday," Obi-Wan ventured, remembering how Qui-Gon had contacted Panaka before.

"You've got it. Berth fee?"

Obi-Wan paid him without argument, then tucked away his credit chip.

"You've had the inoculations? No?" The man shook his head. "I wouldn't hang around here for long, if I were you." He took the money and lumbered away, wheezing; Obi-Wan watched him go. The portmaster had already contracted the plague, if the bluish tinge to his nail beds was any indication.

Obi-Wan hesitated, at a loss. Always before they had been met by a Jedi operative. What might have happened here, to prevent it? It would be awkward to unload the cargo bins now that the rest of the cargo had gone, though not unprecedented.

"He has a point about those inoculations." Tahl came to Obi-Wan's shoulder. "Two doses of the antidote should be good insurance, though it won't be proof against infection." Jedi didn't often take ill, but it wasn't unheard of.

"I'll withhold two in case we need them." Obi-Wan promised. "Assuming we can find a point of delivery for the rest."

"I don't like this." She scanned the hangar, eyes closed. "Vaklin has always been hospitable to the Jedi-- it doesn't feel right that none were here to meet us."

"Let's take as much antidote as we can carry without attracting attention, and go see what we can find."

They went back aboard, Tahl loading a data chip with Qui-Gon's information while Obi-Wan prepared their packs, stashing away hypospray injectors and vials of antidote.

The city was one of the more unusual structures Obi-Wan had ever visited, excavated deep into the heart of a canyon cliff, homes and businesses stacked atop one another in graduated tiers of striated red stone. The fog drifting through the city rendered it ghostly pale, angles appearing suddenly out of the mist. It seemed unnaturally quiet, far less populous and noisy than the starving refugee camps on Naboo. Obi-Wan glimpsed a few bundles of dirty cloth lying in alleys and doorways, human-sized, but the Force did not stir around them. Victims of the plague, they were already beyond help.

Fountains trickled in courtyards and at the junctions of pathways through the structure, and clear water dripped from the overhanging cave ceiling far overhead, echoing dully in the fog. "This is only the city face," Tahl murmured. "The excavation goes a long way back into the cliff. More people are active inside than out here."

Obi-Wan nodded, pausing at the top of a staircase that led out across the lip of the cave and down toward the bottom of the canyon.

"I hear heavy equipment." A dull thumping echoed through the canyon, vibrating in his palm where it lay on the railing.

"They're mining azetal." Tahl checked her datapad. "It's a flammable gas used to fuel cutting torches. It can be toxic to humans, breathed in sufficient quantity."

"And our contact?"

She just shook her head. "My records indicate that a Jedi ambassador resides in the city. We could sound her out."

Obi-Wan turned away from the stair and followed her deeper into the city, toward the rear wall of the cliff. "Who is it?"

"Master Misi Raksen."

Obi-Wan blinked, remembering Qui-Gon's harsh estimate of the woman. "Well, that might explain why we weren't met. Qui-Gon thinks she was sent to watchdog him on Lisyl, rather than to help rescue me; he considers her a puppet of the High Council. I'm sure he'd avoid dealing with her."

Tahl considered. "We should avoid her, then." She put her finger on the audio link in her ear. "Records show she's a recent assignment here, replacing an operative who spent decades on Vaklin."

"Recent? That's-- hang on." A flicker of motion caught Obi-Wan's eye, and he darted out of his path, coming up swiftly with a squirming child's collar twisted in his fist. "Not so fast!" He reclaimed the contents of his pockets, evading a barrage of frantic kicks and gnashing teeth. "I'd have given you something, if you asked," he told the child sternly, then let her go, watching her take to her heels and vanish into the silent warren of carved stone huts.

"That's troubling," he finished. "The Council may well be aware that this planet is a target of Qui-Gon's operation." Obi-Wan frowned. "For her to be here, replacing a long-term operative, is too much of a coincidence for my liking. She's an area specialist, a Watchman, who's spent many years working in the Xinune sector. This is well out of her normal range."

"She's certainly aware of Qui-Gon's activities on Xinune, and that means the Council is, too." Tahl shook her head. "It wouldn't be hard to predict that his operation would respond to a plague. If they have countermeasures in place, it might account for the shielded pursuit I sensed, earlier."

"I don't want to bring Qui-Gon's work to a crashing halt just out of fear of the High Council." Obi-Wan frowned. "I confess, it's hard for me to believe other Jedi would interfere to prevent us from treating plague victims."

"Is it?" Tahl's lips twisted with a bitter smile. "I've begun to wonder precisely what the High Council is capable of."

"If they're listening to the Supreme Chancellor, then I believe we have our answer: anything at all." Obi-Wan's eyes narrowed. "This is smelling more and more like a trap."

"I agree." Tahl nodded curtly. "Let's get back to the ship."

"Right behind you."

They had only made it half the distance when a squad of Trade Federation droids shuffled out to block their path, leveling blasters.

"Knight Kenobi and Master Tahl." Misi Raksen stepped out behind them, her arms folded-- and Obi-Wan spied the urchin he had freed, trailing nervously at her heels. Of course-- a paid informant. "You're under arrest on suspicion of activities in direct defiance of the will of the Jedi High Council."

"I will accept my arrest when I hear the order directly from Grand Master Yoda," Obi-Wan responded evenly. "Not before."

Raksen shook her head. "My orders come from Councilor Dooku. Authority enough." She gestured the droids forward.

Obi-Wan ignited his lightsaber, the blade singing softly, and beside him, Tahl did the same. "I'm afraid I disagree."

He and Tahl fell to without need for words, and in half a dozen deft moves, the battle droids lay dismembered before them on the pavement, the severed ends of their severed limbs glowing, sending up wisps of smoke. Misi stood still, dignified, not reaching for her lightsaber.

"Your actions prove that you, and by extension your entire Xinune compound, have gone rogue. It's no secret you've been gathering dissenters in Velon." Her mouth curled with distaste. "Including your revered Grand Master."

"Our status is not for you to decide." Tahl remained calm.

"Will you refuse to help the dying?" Obi-Wan asked her hotly. "That child behind you. Will you watch her die of the rust plague, and feel justified in it because you listened to Master Dooku?"

"Droidekas," Tahl warned softly, a moment before Obi-Wan himself heard the rhythmic clatter of their advance. Six. He could have cursed.

"Concentrate your deflection angle on a single individual. We can overload its shields if it absorbs enough firepower." Obi-Wan flowed into Soresu as he spoke, turning back the blasts-- the twin cannons on each arm meant he would have to contain twenty-four bolts every few seconds. He fell into Qui-Gon's teachings, extending his senses, working to shield Tahl as well as himself.

His blades flowed smoothly, a thoughtless extension of his body, and he felt a wave of Force flow from Tahl, the shockwave surging savagely at the droids. Two of them toppled, their shields intersecting. They fell with a crackling sputter, rolling against the red sandstone wall and their shields shorted out even as Obi-Wan's targeted destroyer sputtered and spat, the bubble around its body dissipating as its generator failed under the combined assault of deflected blaster bolts.

He was vaguely aware of Misi speaking into a commlink as he focused on a new destroyer-- the reduced volume of firepower meant he did not have so much ammunition to use against it. It retreated cautiously, its companions alongside it, still firing.

"She's calling for backup," he warned Tahl.

Tahl gestured again, and Misi's commlink flew, shattering against the stone floor. Obi-Wan barely caught a bolt that would have taken her arm.

"They won't have to work hard to figure out where we are even without a transmission to tell them," Tahl answered, her voice strained. "Run."

Obi-Wan did, feeling her tether her awareness to him as he sank into Force-enhanced speed, leading her toward the hangar. She covered their backs until buildings separated them from the droids, then caught up again. Obi-Wan could hear the rattling click of the droidekas' pursuit, but he knew he was faster.

B1 battle droids had already collected around the Stellar Envoy, but they were a simple matter compared to destroyers. Obi-Wan danced destruction through their ranks without pausing, feeling Tahl reach with Force to trigger the boarding ramp. A few bolts impacted the ship as they fled inside, racing for the cockpit.

"The boarding ramp is damaged," Tahl gasped. "It won't seal."

Obi-Wan allowed himself a curse, triggering the cockpit turbolasers and sweeping through the battle droids as he kicked in the ship's power supply. "We'll have to outdistance pursuit and take cover in the countryside until we can make repairs."

"Of course. It'll be that easy." She strapped herself into the navigator's chair. "Mapping."

The ship powered up, and Obi-Wan activated its shields just as the three remaining droidekas rolled in and extended their blasters, plugging away at their landing gear. "Hang on. It's going to get tricky." He managed to snap his own restraints into place as they accelerated out of the hangar.

Tahl's map appeared on the navicomp display, and Obi-Wan spared a moment to scan for trouble spots. "We'll stick to the canyons." The clearance ought to be adequate-- mostly. "If we can avoid being seen, it'll be easier to evade pursuit."

"Not much chance of a visual in this weather."

"Yes, but if we keep below the rims of the canyons, we won't trigger planetwide sensors. We'll have a much better chance of evading pursuit for long enough to make repairs." Obi-Wan wrenched the freighter onto its side and kicked in the sublight engines, careening down the canyon with all the speed he dared. Joy. He reached for it, wishing for more training, for more intensity. His Jedi history was a handicap in this, his emotions long ago released into the Force, their clarity dimmed by serenity and meditation. Was there truly so little joy in his life--?

"Remember him," Tahl said suddenly. "Remember what you need."

Obi-Wan did, reaching for his memory of the holovid Qui-Gon had left for him, his sense of loving and being loved, the warmth and passion in Qui-Gon's eyes-- and his joy centered him in the Force as he dove deeper into the canyon, the ship an extension of his will, diving and dodging around stony outcrops.

"Pursuit," Tahl interjected calmly. "Six snub fighters launching."

"We'll out-maneuver them." Obi-Wan could feel it, confidence pulsing through his being; how could he fail, when Qui-Gon Jinn loved him? He laughed, flipping the ship as he squeezed through a narrow passage, then power-dove into a deep flat plain. He hugged the canyon wall, accelerating, and snapped a tight turn into a side passage that beckoned to him.

The snub fighters, not encumbered by a desire to hide from sensors, caught up quickly, four diving in behind him while two hovered above, pacing them outside the canyon.

"Can you man the topmost turbolaser?" Obi-Wan asked. "We've got to pick those two off; they'll mark our position for planetary scanners."

"I'm on it." Tahl finished bolstering their rearmost and topmost shields, then departed. Obi-Wan could feel the subtle surges and dips in the ship's drive energy as she commenced fire, and he built them into his evasive maneuvers, bouncing the ship back and forth between canyon walls agilely to keep their pursuers from zeroing in.

He felt the danger a moment before it materialized-- one of the high-elevation fighters targeted the canyon wall in front of him and shot, bringing tons of rubble down to block their passage.

Obi-Wan snatched the yoke back and flipped the ship entirely, arrowing over the pursuit and returning the way he'd come, but that one had been too close. He heard Tahl yelp with surprise and hoped she'd strapped herself in, but he didn't have time to worry about that now, wrestling with stabilizers as he righted the ship at high velocity.

A fighter couldn't match his speed and lost control, plowing into the canyon wall in a billow of flame. Five left. --Four, as Tahl connected with the fighter that had blocked their path; he felt a second's regret as the spark of life in the fighters flared and died, but he released it to the Force and kept moving. He jigged to the right, following a new passageway, the ribbon of river in its floor glimmering only a few meters below the cockpit as he rolled the ship. It might be a freighter, but it moved almost like a fighter for all its bulk, and he blessed the Corellian engineers who had designed it.

His senses tingled, directing him around another turn, and he found himself confronting an abandoned mineshaft cut deep into the canyon floor. He dipped the nose and shot into it, losing another fighter in the process when it couldn't hang the turn and collided with the lip of the hole.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?!" Tahl shouted, still firing.

"Do you want to come down here and fly this thing?" he snapped back, unable to dodge a catwalk, which struck sparks as they snagged it between the mandibles of the bow.

"Watch it with that! Don't you know azetal is explosively combustible?" Tahl caught another fighter with the turbolasers, leaving two. The passage narrowed, and Obi-Wan struggled to maintain his enhanced link to the Force-- he hated this, every second of it, and clinging to joy was a struggle-- and managed to wallow through, striking more sparks as the catwalk caught on the stone, leaving billowing flares of fire in their wake. He realized there was more azetal gathering in the place as they flew deeper. The whole mine could go up, Obi-Wan realized; gaseous and heavier than air, azetal could fill open areas in the low-lying portions of the mine, and a spark-- or a laser blast-- could ignite an explosion they had no chance of surviving, even if the caverns remained intact.

It seemed the pilots pursuing them realized that as well; the buffeting laser fire ceased, but they didn't turn back. Obi-Wan threw on the retro-thrusters as hard as he dared, slewing the ship to a skidding halt in midair, and the fighters overshot them-- he took one with the forward lasers, and it careened into the final remaining fighter, wings sparking. The ships interlocked, spiraling downward together to the cavern floor-- where they exploded, plasma-bright billows of blue fire igniting in the gas that gathered there, buffeting the freighter savagely, but there was enough clearance, enough plain air, that the flames subsided without engulfing them.

Obi-Wan released the Force, finding himself soaking wet with sweat. Every time, he swore he'd never do that again, and every time, he had to break his vow.

"Has anyone ever told you clinically insane Jedi aren't allowed to pilot starships?" Tahl's voice echoed down the corridor, and he heard her boots hook themselves into the rungs of the ladder, then thump onto the deck plates.

"You should have seen the sunstorm I flew through when Qui-Gon and I fled from Naboo. This was a milk run compared to that. But we're alive," he countered. "And hidden." He powered up the thrusters again, cautiously moving downward. "Ideally, we should go deeper, get as much rock as possible between us and long-range scanners."

"And risk igniting more azetal?" Tahl eased into the navigator's seat, and Obi-Wan was gratified to see perspiration dewed her skin, too; he wasn't the only one who had found their escape taxing.

She opened a compartment in the wall and drew out respirators. "We should wear these. I'm already detecting trace amounts of gas in our atmosphere. It must be leaking in around the damaged ramp. We'll have to open the ship to fix it."

"At least we've burned away the worst of the concentration in this mineshaft." Obi-Wan maneuvered the ship toward the edge of the chamber, where a docking platform clung to the wall. He tentatively settled the freighter's weight on the platform, then when the foundation proved stable, he engaged the landing claws and cut the engines. "I can seal the blast doors nearest the ramp and conserve atmosphere when we open her up. It shouldn't take long to make repairs."

They examined the damage and equipped themselves, then sealed the hold and opened the ramp. The droideka blasters had punched a jagged double hole in the duranium plating where the ramp was supposed to lie flush against a channel carved in the ship's hull, a troublesome placement that meant Obi-Wan's repairs had to follow the contour of the metal with precision, or else the flexiseal around the ramp wouldn't bond to the hull and remain airtight when exposed to vacuum. He swore creatively, trying to build up the insides of the holes with weld as Tahl measured the concentration of azetal in the atmosphere, making sure his torch wouldn't ignite the very air around them.

"I'm going to have to use latex sealant for the last two centimeters of fill. It won't last forever, but it ought to be good enough to get us out of here. And even if the surface isn't perfect, it'll adapt under pressure." Obi-Wan muttered, his voice sounding tinny through his respirator. "We can run with the blast doors down in case the latex fails, so we won't have an explosive decompression on our hands if it blows out in the middle of our hyperspace jump."

Tahl didn't answer, and he glanced at her, noting her distraction with some concern. Her sightless eyes tracked around the cavern, and she was still perspiring lightly, a dew of mist condensed inside her respirator.

"What's wrong?" Obi-Wan set aside the welding torch and fanned the fresh welds, waiting for them to cool.

"Can't you sense it?"

He reached out, but sensed no additional pursuit from the city. "I don't sense anyone else coming after us yet."

"I don't mean the locals." She joined him in fanning the cooling metal. "I think it's cooled enough, Kenobi."

A patter of rock slid off the wall and cascaded into the void, dislodging more stones, which tumbled downward with an echoing crash. "The explosions may have destabilized the mine shaft," he muttered, fumbling for the latex applicator.

"That's not it, either." Tahl fidgeted, glancing around again and moving a few steps away from the ramp. "Hurry."

Obi-Wan focused on applying the sealant, pushing the bead into the recesses of the holes with his fingertips, then building it up and smoothing it off with the flat edge of the applicator. "Done," he said at last, looking up-- just in time to see Tahl vanish through a doorway cut into the wall. It hissed shut behind her, and Obi-Wan could hear the chug of an airlock cycler replacing the interior atmosphere.

"Tahl--!" he bit the word off with a groan and trotted after her; he supposed this was what you got when you took a librarian into combat: trotting off the Force only knew where at the worst possible moment, on a curious whim.

The door finished cycling at last, and he slapped his palm on the release, hopping inside before it finished opening and stabbing at the interior panel to close it again, hoping to speed the cycle.

The air compressor chugged implacably, taking its own sweet time in clearing the gas-contaminated air as Obi-Wan fidgeted, his hand on his lightsaber; Tahl's unease was starting to invade his mind as well, and a sense of imminent disaster was growing. He shoved his way through the door as soon as it opened, blinking against the sudden bright light.

This chamber of the mine was a sealed corridor, well-lit and free of gas contamination. It bore traces of recent activity: loaded ore-carts waited to be run through the airlock and loaded at the platform he'd just abandoned. But he only spared them a flicker of a glance; Tahl was more than twenty meters ahead of him already.

"Master Tahl--!" She ignored him. Her eyes were fixed on the arch where the ore-carts emerged from a wall farther down the hallway, and Obi-Wan's voice froze in his throat as a darker shadow separated itself from the archway and stepped forth: tall, forbidding, agonizingly familiar.

A single finger of crimson light traced its length across the shadowed body as the figure lifted its head. Qui-Gon. He stepped forward, unspeaking. The sight of him seared into Obi-Wan's mind like the unshielded brilliance of a dark sun-- his hair cropped brutally short, his face craggy and worn, his beard grown longer than before, his body sheathed in embossed black blast armor, sharp hooked spikes protruding from the shoulder guards and gauntlets. His boots tapped an implacable, certain rhythm on the stone as he stepped forward, raising his blade.

"Tahl!" Obi-Wan flung himself forward, and she finally glanced over her shoulder toward him. Qui-Gon would not harm them if he could avoid it, but they must not force his hand. "Come on, let's get the hell out of here--"

"Stay back, Obi-Wan." Tahl ignited her own lightsaber, her voice crystalline and clear in the still air of the corridor. She had removed her respirator, and her beautiful face was serene. "This is why we are here."

"No!" Obi-Wan brought his will to bear, summoning the Force to speed him beyond the normal capabilities of his body, but her lightsaber flashed, cleaving a pipe that lay at her feet. She drew the blade along its length and azetal gas whistled out, igniting on the plasma. It seethed upward, burning as it escaped. In less than a second, a blue-white veil of flame stretched to the ceiling, bringing Obi-Wan to a stumbling halt. He could feel his skin tightening from the relentless onslaught of the heat, and had to take a few steps back, for fear his cloak would ignite.

Tahl advanced further, her silhouette wavering in the heat, and the Sith apprentice stepped forward to meet her.

"Jedi Master Tahl." Qui-Gon's voice was no longer velvet, but broken glass over gravel. He brought his red lightsaber over his head, sweeping his free hand across his body, twisting half away from her. The Dark Side pulsated through him, swirling in his aura: to Obi-Wan's probe, he felt like a mighty tree stained with a thick layer of oily smoke-residue that had settled onto it and suffocated it, choking away its life, breaking it down into rot and corruption.

"Qui-Gon." Tahl readied her own guard, and Obi-Wan cursed, desperate-- as a swordsman she was no match for Qui-Gon, not even if he set aside his new techniques.

"Darth Mallaigh," he corrected her, bitterness and anger pulsing through him so strongly Obi-Wan could feel them baking the fringes of his senses like the heat of the azetal flame on his face. "You are a fool not to run, Tahl." He lashed out, brutally hard.

"That is so." She brought her blade up to halt the crushing force of his strike. Obi-Wan cast about frantically, trying to think of a way to extinguish the flames so he could go to her, aid her-- but how? How, without injuring Qui-Gon, or without letting him take the both of them down?

Tahl launched an attack of her own, a thrust which Qui-Gon easily parried, and she nearly shivered her own blade out of her hand as she crashed against the immovable force of his strength. He stepped forward, driving her back, his gait feline in its ease, a cat stalking a mouse.

How much of his soul remained? Obi-Wan fumbled desperately at Qui-Gon's shields, but they were firmly closed to him. He could not be certain.

"Go, Kenobi." Tahl's voice barked crisply. "This is my fight." She gave ground, summoning a stone and launching it at the Sith's head, but he ducked easily and the stone exploded as he directed a casual curl of Force at it, fragments pattering against the walls.

Obi-Wan stood frozen, watching as Qui-Gon brought his blade up to batter at her defenses. Her scholarly Niman was no match for the Way of the Vornskr; he toyed with her, delaying a fatal strike, driving her back until she was nearly in the flames; she stumbled and fell to one knee. He stepped back, blade humming.

"Are you too weak to end it, then?" Tahl's voice was almost too low to hear behind the hissing of the pressured gas jet hissing behind her. She swept her blade up, batting his away, and surged to her feet, advancing-- and this time he let her press him, retreating. "Your master will not approve!"

The taunt angered him, and he swung, just nicking her weapon hand; she rallied, striking at his shoulder, but her saber caught on a blade-guard and shorted out-- there was cortosis in his armor, then. Obi-Wan's fists clenched, helpless-- the only thing that would extinguish the blaze would be to exhaust the supply of oxygen. He could do nothing.

Tahl dropped her useless weapon and two combatants froze, the red blade pulsing at her chest, warding her off, but still, Qui-Gon did not strike.

Before Obi-Wan could blink, Tahl ran up the blade.

She lunged at him, impaling herself, forcing the lightsaber's blade deep inside her body. It emerged from between her narrow shoulders, but she did not stop, shoving forward until the hilt pressed against her chest. Qui-Gon deactivated his blade, too late, and Obi-Wan heard him groan as if the wound were his own.

Tahl raised her face, knotting her trembling fingers into his beard, and dragged his head down, lifting her mouth to his.

One arm came behind Tahl to support her as she kissed him. His eyes closed and he kissed her back, until she stiffened with a low sound of pain, her last breath escaping her, and her body went limp.

Still holding her corpse, Qui-Gon lifted tortured, blazing eyes to Obi-Wan. "Run," he rasped, the full weight of the Force behind the command, and Obi-Wan obeyed.

Stumbling, slashing his way through the airlock with his lightsaber, Obi-Wan emerged onto the landing platform and fled up the ramp; he hardly felt the tears on his cheeks, reaching out with Force to start the engines. The freighter was meant to be manned by two crewmen, but using the Force, a Jedi could manage it alone. He did, refusing to let himself feel, the echo of that anguished voice still resonating in his ears.

Obi-Wan maneuvered the freighter back the way he had come with all possible haste, sensing there would be no pursuit, but fleeing anyway. Desperation kept grief at bay in the moment, pushing away the horrible memory of the lightsaber's hiss as it emerged from Tahl's back, the thick sound of despair from Qui-Gon's throat.

He jettisoned the contents of his smuggling bins as near the city as he could manage. They would be found, and if Master Raksen chose not to use the plague antidote, let it be on her conscience. Then he blasted through the blockade that she had mustered to stop him, the Force answering his desperation with a gift of evasive action, dark energy flickering around him, a halo feeding on his pain.

In hyperspace, safe, he remembered to push the dark Force away from him as Qui-Gon had instructed, driving the virulent residue into one of the crew quarters. He could feel the flammable mattress ignite and burn, rivaling the ferocity of the azetal. Amber warning lights flared around him, and a klaxon blared as the ship's automatic firefighting systems engaged, sealing the cabin, but he ignored it, pouring his anger and pain away until all of the dark Force was gone and the contents of the room were a greasy film of ash, soaked in flame-retardant chemicals.

Obi-Wan collapsed, a shivering shell of himself, in the pilot's seat, his cloak wrapped tight around his body, so cold he felt he might never be warm again.

As soon as he located a convenient wayport near his vector, he pulled the Stellar Envoy out of hyperspace and docked. He had to make more permanent repairs to the landing ramp and re-supply the galley, but even more urgently than that, he had to contact Master Yoda. The call went through, and he was surprised when it connected live.

"Master Yoda--" he managed, before his throat closed.

"Felt Master Tahl's death, Bant did." Yoda spoke somberly. "I have expected this, Obi-Wan. Foresaw it, Tahl did, and spoke to me before we left Coruscant."

"But why--" Obi-Wan's voice broke.

"Necessary." Yoda thumped the floor for emphasis. "Think you the Sith do not have Trials? Tested, Qui-Gon must be, and found loyal to the Sith Lord. A sacrifice had to be made." Yoda shook his head. "Mysterious, are the ways of the Force. Sometimes beyond understanding."

"You should have told me."

"What good would it have done?" Yoda's ears drew level, and he stuck out his chin. "Answer me, hmm? Make you watch for it to happen, make you stick to her side, protect her? Force Qui-Gon to kill you both? Destroy him, that would. On this, Tahl and I agreed: her, it must be. Important enough, she was, to convince the Sith Lord, without breaking Qui-Gon."

Obi-Wan scraped his fingers through his hair, hissing through his teeth. "That's very calculating of you, master."

Yoda just stared at him without responding, and Obi-Wan finally looked away, his shoulders sagging.

"There's more," he said flatly. "We ran afoul of Master Raksen on Vaklin. She said Tahl's and my presence on a smuggling run would constitute proof to the Council that everyone in the Xinune compound was rogue, yourself included."

Yoda dismissed it with a flick of his fingers. "Undercover, I will say you are, infiltrating Qui-Gon's organization to dismantle it."

"Master Windu will find that highly suspect. It does not explain Jedi gathering at the Palazzo."

"Busy arguing with Master Dooku, is Master Windu."

"Nevertheless, he won't ignore what we're doing forever-- and neither will Dooku." Obi-Wan shook his head. "Much as I hate to suggest it, don't you think we should use this incident to turn the Council's attention toward the Sith, to persuade them of the threat?"

"Already they think Qui-Gon is darkened. No difference is it, to call him Sith."

"We aren't making any progress," Obi-Wan exploded. "How many more sacrifices will we have to make as this stretches on? How long before something breaks him? How much can he bear without turning, how long can he deceive the Sith Lord? How long before the Council turns on us?"

"Not long, I think, for the last." Yoda shook his head, ears sliding downward.

"We should move while we still have power to influence the Council-- before," he trailed off. "Before we are judged at odds with the entire Jedi Order, labeled renegades and traitors."

"Move, we will, when the time is ripe. Not yet." Yoda tapped his fingers on the handle of his stick. "Soon."

PART II: DARTH MALLAIGH

Dead weight, Tahl was much heavier than she had ever seemed in life, all grace and lightness gone from her, the light of her eyes extinguished, a grey web seeming to draw across them.

He loaded the repulsorlift stolidly, pulled her hood over her face, and maneuvered his grim cargo up the ramp into his ship. She could be preserved in his tiny sickbay until he presented her to his master, as proof of his loyalty.

He clipped her lightsaber at his belt, behind his own.

He could still taste her mouth, still taste the love in her kiss-- still taste the horror and pain in Obi-Wan's soul. His sense of Obi-Wan's presence was satisfactory: receding from him with all haste, escaping the planet's gravity well, evading the local authorities' pursuit, and finally making the jump to hyperspace. That spared him the need to pursue, and he was grateful.

He coughed-- a dangerous concentration of azetal residue had gathered in his lungs. He started the ship's ventilator, setting it for an atmospheric filtration to purge the gas, and took a harsh hit from a bacta mist inhaler. Making discrete, individual motions in sequence, one after the other, gave him a vague sense of purpose and helped him tolerate the boil of anger and grief in his soul. He could sense Sidious from afar: the Sith master felt his pain, and approved of it. Very well; he could provide all the pain that might ever be required.

Carefully focusing on his anguish and its attendant rage, Darth Mallaigh seated himself in the cockpit and began the long transit to Coruscant.

His presence was commanded.

Darth Mallaigh transmitted his clearance and accepted the autopilot set that would integrate his ship into the planetary traffic grid, waiting to divert toward the LiMerge tower, his final destination. Smoke rose from industrial exhaust stacks, gathering in a greasy brown haze over The Works, and as he entered the district the atmosphere grew filthy, stained and corrupt. The Living Force was relatively scarce here; few sentients dared to prowl the environs now that the factories which once prospered here had moved offworld to cheaper locales, leaving only pollution in their wake.

He maneuvered his ship into its docking bay and signaled the arrival to his master. He was quickly rewarded; Sidious appeared, his hologram life-sized, in the cockpit-- unhooded, in his Chancellor's robes.

"I have brought proof of my commitment, my master." Mallaigh stepped back through his ship to the medical bay, his master's image following.

"I have already felt your actions through the Force." Sidious smiled, his eyes sharp and predatory, watching as Qui-Gon drew back Tahl's hood to reveal her still face. "Who was the Jedi?"

"Master Tahl. I had no family to offer up to you, but I loved her since we were brought to the Temple as infants. She is the only woman I ever loved." Qui-Gon let the truth of his words, and his own helplessness and anger, fill him. He made no attempt to conceal his guilt-- the Sith thrived on his pain, and in this, they were agreed: Qui-Gon need not stint as he mourned her passing, and his role in it. If there was no pain, there was no sacrifice. His despair, misery, and guilt fed the darkness coiling about him as much as his anger; it gave the Sith Lord power to manipulate his emotions and his actions.

"It is sufficient." Sidious studied the ugly, cauterized hole through Tahl's chest. "You have done well, my apprentice."

Mallaigh nodded, bowing his head in deep obeisance.

"I am glad you've arrived. I'm entertaining an important guest this evening. Come dine with us in my suite in the Executive Building." His hologram winked out.

Mallaigh prepared himself, removing his armor and replacing it with a black cloak, lifting its deep hood over his face. Tucking his arms into his sleeves, he swept out and took a lift up to the lowest levels, which connected with Sidious' offices far across the city. A speeder bike awaited, and he mounted it, setting forth. If he was left at leisure, he planned to return later and commit Tahl's body to her pyre.

The transit took some time, winding through conduits and tunnels, but he was ahead of schedule when he arrived and made his way up from the basement to the twilight levels and finally into the Executive Building proper, where his identification chip permitted him freedom to pass into the Supreme Chancellor's suite, furnished in crimson, heavy statues dominating the severe room-- perfectly tasteful and decorous, but it gave Qui-Gon the impression that he had been devoured alive and was deep inside the body of some terrible alien, being slowly digested.

Places were set for four at Palpatine's sumptuous dining table, and his master stood nearby, looking out over the city at the setting sun. The blood-red furnishings contrasted starkly with his silhouette, clad in somber grey robes. He seemed deceptively mild as he gazed through the wide window, mild and reflective, even careworn.

Mallaigh stood, waiting to be acknowledged, and Palpatine turned, the harsh rays of the sun catching on his craggy face, lining it deeply.

"You will have to control your hatred of the Jedi for now, my friend. Tonight we dine with Jedi High Councilor Dooku." Palpatine strolled toward him, surveying his face carefully. "The two of you are well-acquainted, of course."

Mallaigh inclined his head, agreeing. "I was his apprentice."

"It is fortuitous for us that we are all of like mind, and that he provided you with such exemplary training." Palpatine smiled a little, secretive. "You will help me convince him of the prudence of certain ideas, I trust."

"Of course," Mallaigh acquiesced gracefully. "He will be easy to manipulate, my master."

"How proceed our plans on Kamino?"

Mallaigh squared his shoulders and walked alongside Palpatine as he paced before the broad window. "It's hard to adequately express the sheer magnitude of the operation. The order proceeds on schedule. If it becomes necessary, the clones' growth can be accelerated, but with some risk of behavioral instability."

"And Sifo-Dyas?"

Mallaigh smiled faintly. "He has been eliminated, and will not betray our purposes." That was one death over which he felt relatively little guilt.

"Good." Palpatine smiled up at him, benevolent, and a low chime sang out. "Our guests arrive."

Mallaigh removed his hood and composed himself to wait, aware of Palpatine's scrutiny He was uncomfortable around his former master. Even as a padawan, he and Dooku had not been a good match of personalities, and the situation worsened as both grew older. He had not spoken to the man in well over twenty years.

The lift doors opened, revealing his old master, still slender and elegant, his hair gone white. Mallaigh's eyes drifted down with some surprise to find a padawan standing by the man's right side, the human boy's pale blue eyes cool and assessing, seeming entirely unintimidated by the Supreme Chancellor's audience.

"Supreme Chancellor." Dooku strode forward with a small smile, the lad trailing properly in his wake. "And my old friend Qui-Gon Jinn. What a pleasure to see you both." His eyes were cold.

Palpatine stepped forward, face wreathed in smiles. "I'm very glad you could join us, Councillor, and your young padawan as well. Anakin Skywalker, is it not? You've been quite the talk of the Temple, young Skywalker."

The boy visibly inflated with pride to be recognized and greeted so warmly. "Thank you, Supreme Chancellor. The honor is mine." He was still young enough that his voice had not changed, but Mallaigh thought he could see the seeds of the man the lad would become-- a heavy brow over a shrewd look, and long, clean limbs. He extended a cautious probe. The boy was strong-- very strong in the Force.

"I'm glad the High Council has agreed to allow your training, young Skywalker. Truly it would be a tragedy for the Jedi if an adept as strong as you had been turned away." Palpatine kept eye contact, projecting friendship and trustworthiness in a way that made Mallaigh's hackles rise. The man clearly had a deep interest in the boy.

"They had little choice, once I was elected to the High Council," Dooku returned smoothly, gesturing Anakin to step back. The boy did, lowering his chin-- but not without a flash of anger.

"Shall we sit down? The chef has prepared a truly superior tenderloin of nerf, I am told." Amiable, Palpatine escorted his guests before him, seating Mallaigh at his right, which precipitated a sharp glance from Dooku, and a visible reassessment of Mallaigh's importance. Palpatine stepped aside, ostensibly to command the serving staff, but Mallaigh was well aware of his continued attention.

"Congratulations on your appointment to the High Council," he spoke first.

"Thank you. Though I must confess, at times I envy your autonomy." Dooku smiled. "We've placed your face among the Lost Twenty, were you aware? I find myself an object of some distinction, being the only living master to train one of the Lost." His hand went to cover Anakin's, possessive. "I will be sure to acquit my responsibilities with even more care in the future."

"I have always done as the Force guided me." Mallaigh did not back down, refusing to break the stare that stretched between the two of them.

"Indeed. Your integrity is beyond reproach." Dooku looked away easily, down at Skywalker, who remained still. "Though I cannot say the same for your former padawans. So disappointing! A true swordsman, Kenobi. I was most distressed when his name appeared on the Council's agenda for classification as a rogue and a smuggler."

Mallaigh shrugged. "He is no longer my concern. Tell me, how is the Master of the Order? I believe that would be Master Windu?" He let his voice purr the name, knowing Dooku's customary resentment for anyone who outranked him.

Dooku's eyes flashed at him. "He is obsessed with his plans to embrace corporate relations as the focus of the Jedi."

Mallaigh smiled. "How very pragmatic."

"Short-sighted," Dooku hissed. "The Jedi should be above pandering to any half-witted frog who amasses a handful of credits."

"You must find such petty conflicts frustrating." He let his amusement curve his mouth.

Palpatine chose that moment to rejoin them. "You touch on a matter that greatly concerns me, gentlemen." He widened his eyes. "Grand Master Yoda assures me that the differences on the Council do not represent a threat to the integrity of the Jedi. Should I be concerned that Master Windu will put his own interests above the well-being of the Republic?"

Dooku swelled visibly. "It is my opinion that both Windu and Yoda are a threat to the Republic."

"Truly?" Palpatine's mouth turned downwards in dismay. "Then you have news I do not?"

"Obi-Wan Kenobi was intercepted by a Jedi operative while making a smuggling run to Vaklin." Dooku picked up his glass of wine and swirled it, looking into the green depths of the glass and inhaling the bouquet with the air of a connoisseur. "He resisted arrest for questioning. He was with a partner, a Jedi Master Tahl." His eyes cut to Mallaigh, keenly observant. "Our representative sensed that Tahl died in the aftermath of the affair; it is not known whether she was aware of Kenobi's clandestine activities. It is possible that she was injured fatally in the pursuit, but the Council believes he may have killed her himself."

"How dreadful." Palpatine took up his own glass and sipped as if to steady his nerves. "I understood Kenobi became Yoda's padawan learner after you left the Jedi, Qui-Gon."

Dooku responded before Mallaigh could do more than nod. "He was, until he was knighted recently under conditions of great secrecy-- against the better judgment of many on the Council. Yoda pressured them to accept his own decree. Had I been seated then, I would not have allowed the knighting to proceed while secrets remained." Dooku set his glass down. "Return to the ship, Anakin, and await me there."

Again the flash of the boy's temper, a scowl which Dooku met and overawed with the force of his own glower. "Yes, master." He left sullenly.

Dooku waited until the lift was well away before speaking again. "In my opinion, Kenobi is acting at Grand Master Yoda's command. My sources indicate Yoda is gathering an enclave of rogue Jedi agents, loyal primarily to himself. They have appropriated your abandoned facility on Xinune, Qui-Gon." He met Palpatine's gaze. "I believe he is consolidating power preparatory to a hostile move against the High Council."

Mallaigh smiled subtly. "Yoda cannot secure the Palazzo against me, I assure you."

Again the assessing look from Dooku, this time including Palpatine in its scope. "Then it is fortunate indeed that we are met here tonight."

"I am vastly dismayed to hear of such a splintering within the Jedi." Palpatine steepled his fingers and considered them, frowning. "It would behoove us to proceed very carefully, in order to minimize the damage to the Republic. How much strength do you believe he commands?"

"At present, a small fraction of the Jedi. Perhaps half of one percent, a hundred or less. But if he were to call for support openly, who can say? He is old and powerful, and has made many alliances during his long life. He might draw more than half the Order."

"Then the Council will need a great force of strength to draw on, should such a catastrophe occur." Palpatine flicked his eyes toward Mallaigh. "Lord Jinn, perhaps you would share with us the information you so recently brought me regarding Jedi Master Sifo-Dyas."

Dooku turned to him, brown eyes alight with curiosity. "Yes, Qui-Gon. What information do you have?"

"Master Sifo-Dyas was deeply troubled by his sense of the future." Mallaigh spoke calmly, giving keen attention to Palpatine's aura. "He undertook a variety of acts upon his own initiative, many of which the High Council would never have approved."

"Indeed?"

Palpatine's satisfaction did not diminish, and Mallaigh continued. "Among them, he foresaw the possibility of war, and believed that a great force of arms would be required to protect the integrity of the Republic, so that the Senate could remain in power, enforcing its will without recourse to the Jedi, if need be."

"Fascinating." Dooku's eyes burned with interest. "And so he acted?"

"He came into possession of a fortune, moving prudently to obtain the trust of Hego Damask, then betraying him to his death." He felt Palpatine's approval swelling, and continued. "He invested the proceeds wisely, to guard against the future conflict he perceived." Mallaigh took a bite of his meal and chewed, declining further disclosure.

"Hego Damask was a wealthy man, indeed." Palpatine observed. "There would be no limit to what could be achieved with such a fortune." He turned his gaze upon Dooku.

"I perceive that you have shared your knowledge with the Supreme Chancellor," Dooku observed calmly, staring at Mallaigh. "Supreme Chancellor, what would you have me do to show that I am worthy to be entrusted with detailed information?"

Palpatine smiled, disarming. "I should think the Grand Master of a unified and solid Jedi High Council would be the only person I might be able to entrust with such sensitive knowledge."

Dooku's stare sharpened further. "I see. And if someone required such information in order to achieve that position?"

"Certain allowances might be made." Palpatine's jovial good humor had evaporated, leaving only razor-keen determination in his eyes. "After appropriate demonstrations of good faith." He examined his fingernails for a moment. "You have ties to the Separatists, I understand."

"Yes." Dooku stared at him thoughtfully. "I have fostered a connection there."

"It seems wise to remain closely tied to them, in order to better anticipate their actions." Palpatine smiled without warmth. "Or to guide them, in order to achieve goals of your own choosing."

"Yes." Again, deep and resonant, wary. In the very cadence of the word, Mallaigh sensed his old master's expectance, and the man's lust for power.

"Perhaps the notion of a unified threat against the Republic would suffice to motivate the High Council to heal its divisions," Palpatine mused idly. "If the Separatists prepared to secede, for example."

Dooku rose, his aura cool as ice. "I have much to think on, it is clear. Thank you for inviting me, Supreme Chancellor."

"Think nothing of it." Palpatine rose, smiling. "I look forward to our next meeting."

He waited until Dooku had gone, then turned to Mallaigh. "Did you eliminate all traces of Kamino from the Jedi Archives, as I instructed?" he snapped.

"Yes, my master." Qui-Gon kept perfect control of his expression, moving docilely at the Sith Lord's heel.

"Good." Palpatine's smile stretched, revealing his teeth. "I look forward to seeing what tonight's conversation will bring to pass, Darth Mallaigh."

"I too, my lord."

"When the Separatist faction leaves the Republic, I will promise to restore the Republic, and the Senate will do anything I ask to preserve their power." Palpatine slid a smile at him, sideways. "They will beg me to remain Supreme Chancellor."

He looked to Mallaigh, smiling very slightly. "And then, perhaps, when I have no more need of them, I may give my interest in Dramacore to you, Darth Mallaigh, as a reward for your services. And I think perhaps I may give you Master Windu, as well, so that you may inquire more closely into his motives for dismissing you from the Jedi." His smile curled wide, dead and horrible, like the wound stretching around a cut throat.

"Yes, master." Mallaigh bowed his head. He did not have to work to inject eagerness into his voice; the end of Dramacore in particular was an idea that did not displease him.

"It seems we find ourselves at leisure for the evening." Palpatine's lips curved with pleasure, and Mallaigh felt fear shudder down his spine. He accepted it, falling still. "I believe I shall use this time to attend to your further training."

"Yes, my master." Mallaigh fell in behind Palpatine as he stepped to the lift and keyed it. It took them downward swiftly, Palpatine's key bypassing the security lock that barred most of the building's occupants from going to the twilight zones, and below.

"My own master once said a wise thing to me," Palpatine smoothly observed, glancing askance at Mallaigh. "He said, 'Tell me what you regard as your greatest strength, so I will know how best to undermine you; tell me of your greatest fear, so I will know which I must force you to face; tell me what you cherish most, so I will know what to take from you; and tell me what you crave, so that I might deny you.'"

Mallaigh shuddered, unable to conceal the loathing he felt for this man and any master he may have had. "You have already taken what I most cherished." It was true-- from a certain point of view.

Palpatine's smile curled wider as he stared at Mallaigh. "Perhaps. Perhaps. But there is always more to take, is there not, when the time is ripe?" He chuckled, sounding almost paternal. "I think I need not be told of all your fears, Darth Mallaigh. I have sensed one in particular: you fear to have the Force taken from you." His hand struck like a snake at the nape of Mallaigh's neck, making all his nerves spasm with pain as a needle drove deep, injecting a substance that burned through Mallaigh's veins, dropping over him like a shroud. "Is it not so, my loyal apprentice?"

His last conscious memory was of Palpatine kneeling over him, eyes yellowing, face stretching in a rictus of anticipation.

Mallaigh awoke in near-darkness, surprised to find himself alive. A thick scent of sewage and rot festered in his nostrils. As he moved, vivid flares of color roped through his vision, meaningless spirals of searing light. His skin felt sensitized to the point of agony, and his mind along with it-- vivid emotion skittering through him, magnifying and echoing inside the vast emptiness of his brain. Empty.

He reached for the Force, and nothing answered his call. He struggled, drawing blood at wrists and ankles, where rusty cuffs bound him to a noisome concrete wall.

He was naked, all of his possessions gone from him, and as his mind floundered upward from unconsciousness, he realized he was deep in the sublevels, so far down there were no lights. A flutter of something brushed against his foot, and he nearly screamed-- a hive rat, or worse.

He enforced discipline on his quivering mind. His first order of business must be to escape the restraints, before the cthons detected him. Then, he would have to make his way to safety-- the LiMerge Building, if possible.

Sidious would be watching-- concealed nearby, or more likely, watching at leisure from some comfortable, secluded hideaway, viewing via a holocamera that would trail Mallaigh through the sublevels. He couldn't be sure which. The only thing he knew was that there would be no help forthcoming from his master.

He took stock of himself, trying as always to still a deep tremor of panic. How much had Sidious taken from his thoughts while he was incapacitated? He could not know. It was difficult to read an unconscious mind, but some sensitives could achieve it. The blocks he had woven inside the deepest core of his mind should withstand even the loss of the Force-- some of the contents he had placed there remained shielded even from his own knowledge-- but he could never be sure whether or how deeply he had been compromised.

He had never been confident of where he stood with the Sith; he could only know that Sidious found him useful enough, or perhaps merely entertaining enough, to keep him around in spite of the risks-- at least, until now. Perhaps for a while longer yet, if he was useful. If he survived.

He tested his bonds, grimacing-- razor cuffs. It was easy to insert a limb into one; they were lined with protruding spikes, all facing in one direction, but once the prisoner's wrist or ankle was inside, the only way out was by ripping the razor-sharp spikes back through the prisoner's flesh.

He tested the chains, exerting slow pressure, building power gradually, muscles straining. One restraint was badly attached to the wall, and its pin pulled free. The chain that held it clanked to the ground. He felt blood trickling down his ankle, but his foot rested solidly on the ground. None of the others seemed inclined to give.

Very well, then. A sacrifice was demanded.

Sacrifices, it seemed, were his specialty.

Summoning all his strength, Mallaigh folded his thumb into his palm, drawing his fingers in and making his hand as small as he could. Then he steeled himself and simply dragged his left hand back through the cuff. White-hot pain exploded through his nerves as he shredded skin; the hand would require a bacta treatment, but his master did not stint on healing aids to ensure his apprentice's continued prime physical condition-- assuming, of course, that he survived the tests which damaged him.

The hand was freed, at least. Blood trickled down his fingers, and the skin was furrowed, but the hand was not degloved. Deep cuts throbbed with the beating of his heart, but he could move all his fingers; fortunately, he had not severed any tendons.

The metallic scent of blood would be a siren's call to the underlevel scavengers; already he felt the hive rat return, sniffing at his ankle, and he kicked savagely at it, driving it back. The cthon would likely be next.

He reached and scrabbled at the chain that held his right hand, jerking-- he had more leverage now, and could feel the crumbling duracrete that held the bond begin to give way. He tugged harder, biting his lip until he could taste copper-- finding a rhythm to the insistent pulling that seemed to twist the anchor a little further each time, until his right wrist fell free, chain dangling from it.

It would suffice for a crude weapon.

He went to one knee, seeking the tether of the last manacle, and found it, probing it with his fingers. He swept his hands across the ground, kicking again at the hive rat-- there were more of them now, at least three. In sufficient numbers, their fear would vanish and they would swarm upon him.

His hand closed on a shard of metal and he used it to dig at the peg that staked down the manacle, scraping away crumbling mortar until it gave and he stood, free, blood still trickling down to his elbow from his wounded hand.

There was nothing to guide his path, no Force inside the vast silence of his mind, but he could not stay here.

Chains rattling behind him, Mallaigh set forth away from the hive rats toward a faint glow in the darkness. He centered himself on the emptiness in his mind, letting it fill him-- letting it keep treacherous thoughts at bay. Without the Force, he could not shield himself, and that could easily spell disaster. Perhaps Sidious had already taken what he needed.

But no; if he had, there would have been no waking.

Mallaigh forced himself onward, his mind still. One foot forward, filth squashing between his toes. Then the next. The drip of blood from his fingertips. The cool of the chain he held in his good hand. The growing light, approaching. The hive rats were following; he could hear the pattering of their naked feet and the slithering of their tails on the garbage-strewn pavement.

He needed a landmark, badly.

He turned and lashed out at the rats with the chain that trailed from his arm; it smashed on the pavement, but they did not retreat, skittering sideways with agitation and then continuing their advance. He raised his arm, circling the chain, and whipped it forward again. This time it struck over a rat's spine, snapping it and tearing the thing's rank fur, exposing bloody flesh. The rat squealed horribly, and the wounded beast's companions turned on it, surging over it to feast.

He swallowed bile and hurried away, picking his footing carefully in the growing light. A building had toppled against its fellows, its footers eaten away by duracrete worms, leaving an avenue to the sky.

He could see the spire of the LiMerge building in the distance; it was only a few kilometers away. His glimpse was also enough to give him a direction, and he began to believe he might survive.

A scrabbling in the rubble set him on alert, but he could see nothing.

He took a moment to arm himself, pulling a sharp rod of twisted metal from the wreckage and seating it in his left hand. Then he set out at a trot, finding an avenue that would give him a more or less straight shot to his destination.

He caught a flicker of motion on his left, but when he turned, again there was nothing. It was a bad sign; it indicated a sentient opponent. Cthon, almost without doubt-- gathering their numbers preparatory to an attack, like the hive rats.

He slowed, wishing that he had wooden weapons rather than metal ones; he couldn't use the metal to sweep in front of him, looking for shock nets. They would try to herd him into a pre-arranged trap and avoid a direct battle, if they could.

He glanced about, finding a ledge at the next level up, and he leaped for it, catching it in his right hand and hauling himself up painfully. Any unexpected motions would prove beneficial. He spiraled halfway around the building before finding another pavement waiting, and trotted across it, toward a flickering LED sign, long defunct. A droid stood there, its photoreceptors flickering in time with the sign, waving nonexistent patrons into an abandoned theater, and a tattered banner waved in the hot, fetid wind.

Mallaigh ripped down the banner and tore strips out of it, making himself a crude loincloth and binding the rest around his feet. It would give the cthon more time to consolidate a group, but it would also give him a considerable psychological fillip to be clothed again, and his feet needed any protection he could give them, so he did not grudge himself the delay.

The pulsing of the sign flickered in his brain; dragging at his perceptions and making his head ache. It played hell with his vision, cascading random swirls of color through his head again, and fear pulsed in him, threatening his blankness. Fear, and thoughts of--

Mallaigh slammed his left hand against the pavement, drowning thought in a wash of electric-bright pain. His heart thumped, heavy uneven pounding, and he listened to it until it resolved into a single steady thumping, and he realized the syncopated noise that accompanied it was an engine, grinding away somewhere close by.

Best to avoid such things; often they vented radiation into the air.

He turned his course aside again, hoping he could remember the vector to his destination.

This time when pebbles skittered down a nearby wall, he glimpsed one of the cthon, a white scraggly silhouette on a balcony several stories above him, capering-- signaling comrades. It was out of his reach, so he adjusted his course, bypassing the engine, and kept moving stubbornly. He had come perhaps a kilometer already, and had perhaps another half a dozen in front of him.

Where one cthon was seen, there were at least a dozen more in hiding. The odds were worsening steadily.

Mallaigh took cover in a roofed alcove, assessing his strategy; all but blind, he was a perfect target for their shock nets.

He slid out of his concealment and burrowed in behind a block of garbage-- it was plasticine, an encouraging development. The lid of a bin made a flimsy shield, but he thought it would not be particularly conductive, and he abandoned his metal spear for it, wishing in vain for his Force-sense to return.

He could move faster than the cthon, so he sped up, ignoring the damage the street-litter did to his unshod feet. He would force the attack now, before more of them gathered.

Sure enough, a whisper in the air warned him, and he barely managed to get his makeshift shield up in time as a shocknet descended. The tails of it licked at his flesh, sizzling pain through him, making his muscles twitch, but he had already surged to block the net with his makeshift shield, and it went flying, falling harmlessly to the street.

The cthon were close behind, their bodies white as fish-bellies, blind eyes hidden behind flaps of protecting membrane. He swung his chain and they ducked, diving for his legs, but he was ready for them. A skull shattered under his first kick, and he caught a throat in his bleeding hand, crushing it.

Mallaigh fought, catching throats in the circle of his chains, shattering kneecaps with his heels, driving his outstretched fingers into eyes and through thin-skinned bellies. His hands grew slick with blood and ichor, and their claws scored him, teeth struggling to latch onto his body, but still he fought, littering the ground with bodies, desperation and pain lighting a flame of bloodlust that grew stronger as he fought, stronger as he felt his weaker enemies crumple and go down around him.

He wielded the chain like a whip of death, driving them back, pursuing as they tried to slip away into alleys and up the sides of buildings, catching them and dragging them down, crushing them underfoot until none were left within reach, their heels flashing white as they fled, yammering in terror, from his wrath.

He shuddered, staring down at his arms and legs, streaked with blood that he could not wash away. This was what his master wanted, he knew-- this savagery, this battle lust. Sidious would be satisfied.

He fell to his knees and vomited up the acid in his stomach, retching helplessly onto the street, and rose with his stomach empty and his throat burning.

He could not stay; they would come back, with more nets, and maybe with corridor ghouls.

He pressed forward as the landscape around him began to shift, growing damper.

Feet pattered after him, audible as they splashed through puddles-- the cthon, hanging back just far enough to evade his wrath, pacing him as he advanced, awaiting reinforcements and better weaponry.

He forced himself to move faster, entering a particularly humid area, the air thick with the scent of decay. The walls here were covered with shadow barnacles, which withdrew their sensitive gill filaments when he drew near. The walls were pitted with holes, too, from duracrete slugs. In the street, huge blocks of compressed garbage moldered, half-supporting buildings with their infrastructure nearly eaten away. The air crackled, humid and charged with ions, threatening a localized storm, and he realized after a few minutes that he no longer heard the cthon.

That was a bad sign.

He inched forward, feeling his way with his feet, alerted to further danger by a warm uprush of air-- a chasm stretched across the way where a wide thoroughfare had once run; all bridging structures had collapsed into the pit.

He began to work his way along the void, looking for a surviving catwalk or something he could knock over that would let him cross. There was nothing, until he glimpsed a faint shining in the air-- a shimmering, as if the air were solid in places.

Kneeling, he reached out and his hands slid over-- something. A material so sheer as to be nearly frictionless. He could only feel it because his hands would not pass through the space it occupied. He could see it now, gleaming very faintly in the gloom-- a web of some kind, bridging the gap. Excreted by some insect, perhaps-- a route for travel, or a trap for prey.

If he tried to walk across that, as slick as it was, he wouldn't make it three steps, not without the Force. And if the beast came back when he was partway across, it would go hard with him-- the filaments were as thick as his chest, in places, hinting at a creature of enormous size.

He could traverse it using the chain fastened around his wrist, perhaps. He might fling the chain over one of the thick ropes and hitch his way along. He'd have to find a way to cross in places where smaller ropes joined the supporting one.

He tested his left hand, which was stiffening, blood crusting between his fingers. Could he grip for long enough to support his weight as he moved across the span?

He would have to believe that he could. The cthon were hungry; their fear of the beast that had woven the web would not hold them back forever, if they realized he was trapped.

He caught the chain in his right hand, wrapping it firmly around his palm, and laid it over the outermost rope, one of the thicker filaments. Then he wrapped it around his left hand, breaking open the crust of scabs there, and slowly eased his body from the ledge.

Dangling, white hot riots of pain blazing in his hands and shoulders, he began to hitch himself forward. It would be easier going for the first half of the transit, until the insect-silk bridge began to slope upward again.

He was doing well until he came up against the first connecting filament, which halted him effectively.

Drawing a deep breath, he swung his lower body like a pendulum, working to arch high enough to hook a leg around one of the filaments-- any of them. It took several tries, but he finally grasped one between his thighs, and when he had locked his ankles over it, he could finally free his chain to move it past the obstruction. He took the opportunity to rest his hands, hoping circulation would return to them while his thigh muscles took most of his weight.

After a moment's rest he let himself dangle again, and continued. He didn't like the way the entire structure swayed and bobbed every time he shifted, but it couldn't be helped.

He was nearly to the center when the jerking of the web intensified. Cursing, he stared up to see two faintly luminous green eyes, each the size of a single-man escape pod, advancing toward him. He glimpsed a dozen or more claw-tipped scuttling legs on each side, moving in grotesque delayed synchrony, and huge venom-dripping pincers, extended toward him.

He hitched forward again, but his chain reached another cross-filament, blocking him, and so he waited, heart pounding hard in his throat, his feet dangling, as it stalked him, pincers testing the air, legs clicking. A faint chittering sound emerged from its maw as it scented him, the poisonous glow of its eyes illuminating its claw-tipped forelegs. A filament of silk drooled from the spinnerets located beneath its jaws, and he knew that if he did not move quickly, it would fling forth more, and tangle him inescapably.

He swung his body hard, hooking a leg over the thick support filament, and dropped the chain, snatching at the thing's foreleg and catching it, his fingers locking around the joint even as his leg slipped and he dangled free. His other hand joined the first, and he hauled himself up by brute force, a rasping groan torn from his throat as the thing shrieked and scuttled back, dragging him with it.

He flung a hand up, half-supported by another bridge filament, and caught the next joint of its leg, and the next-- pulling himself up until he mounted its thick carapace, locking his hands and knees under a jointed segment as it thrashed beneath him, secreting thick slime from its mandibles and its body, noxious, lung-burning stuff that clung to his skin and hair.

It reared, the front third of its body flailing, silk flying everywhere, legs beating at the air, but he was latched on tight, clinging for dear life. He spared a hand to catch a trailing antenna veil, sinking his fingers in, and it went mad, squealing and thrashing so hard it nearly fell from its own web.

He hauled on the antenna veil, bringing its head about, and it tried to flee from the pain, scuttling along the bridge and onto the pavement beyond with him still aboard, its body hitching horribly. It circled in a frenzy of pain, its thick, armor-plated body bouncing off the nearby buildings, sending tattered blocks of duracrete tumbling, buffeting Mallaigh and nearly dislodging him. Risking his grip, he snatched for the other antenna veil, then captured it, and the beast evened out, accelerating down the avenue with frantic terror.

He laughed, hardly recognizing his own voice, and drove the thing forward, forcing it to carry him home.

His master would be pleased.

Getting off the insect was as simple as letting go. He did, when he was ready, and dragged his bloody, aching body into the LiMerge tower as it fled away.

Painfully, he made his way into a lift and set the panel for the lift to deliver him at the medical facility, pulling off his loincloth and swiping it in disgust at the slime that coated his body. The stuff came off him in thick, yellow-green handfuls. Four pearly white nodules, roughly the size of the ball of his thumb, adhered to his skin, one on his throat, one on his ankle, and another two on his arms where he had wedged them under the beast's carapace. He peeled them off and wrapped them in the filthy cloth. Droids helped him treat his shredded skin, and they fused a pair of broken ribs and a shattered finger. That was the extent of it-- painful, but mostly superficial.

The droids also transfused his blood, thereby neutralizing the drugs in his system, and he received the Force back into his mind with a relief so intense it bordered on orgasm, sinking himself in it and letting it fill him up at once.

As his left hand soaked in bacta, he tapped at a comm console with the right, identifying the beast he had ridden-- a taozin, rare even in The Works. He read through the record, idly curious, and then blinked, frowning. When his hand had healed, he took an empty synth-skin bag and went to the trash receptacle where the droids had put his things, rummaging through carefully, removing the white nodules he had found adhering to himself and wiping them clean.

They resonated oddly in the Force; like the filaments of the taozin's web, he could not feel them properly with either his hands or his mind. He smiled, suddenly, hand closing around one smooth white lump inside its plastic wrapping.

Tonight's torment had just proven unexpectedly worthwhile.

Released from the medical droids' care, he soaked himself clean in a hot shower, his mouth wry-- the luxury incongruous, not easily reconciled with the savagery he'd just endured, but welcome nonetheless.

His clothing awaited in a neat pile in his rooms, even Tahl's lightsaber-- he supposed he was to consider it a trophy, a reward granted for a job well done. There was no sign of Sidious, who wisely took great pains never to allow his apprentice to learn when he slept, or where.

He dressed himself with care, then went down to the hangar where his ship awaited. He filled a pack with necessary items and then carried Tahl's body out into the street, as far from the building as he thought prudent, outside its protective circle of lighting.

He glanced about, checking for threats, but for once, nothing challenged him.

Quietly he assembled all the flammables he could find at hand, then placed the gas torches he had brought, laid Tahl's body atop the pyre, and lit the torches one by one.

He stepped back and watched as the fire rose, shrouded in his cloak, occasional hot sparks winking out against his face. He did not stir until the pyre had burned itself to nothing.

At last he raised his hood and swept away, leaving Tahl's ashes to disperse among the winds of Coruscant.

PART II - Glossary