Detour

by Cajolerisms

Title: Detour (First part of a series entitled Beacon)
Author: Cajolerisms (cajolerisms@yahoo.com)
Archive: master_apprentice, my own site eventually
Category: Alternate-Universe, Pre-Slash
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: war wounds and blood, language
Spoilers: If you're here and haven't seen Star Wars, then, well, uh...good luck with that.
Summary: The first step into a cracktastic AU in which Obi-wan's life has been pretty boring up until now.
Feedback: Ooh yes, give it to me baby.
Disclaimer: You know what, Mistah Lucas? If you let them have some fun every once in a while, we wouldn't have to do this. Everyone belongs to you.

Timeline:
Beacon begins two years before TPM.
In Detour, Obi-Wan is 23 and Qui-Gon is 58.

/Telepathy/

"Change of plans, Padawan," Qui-Gon Jinn announced, studying the cruiser's communication console. "We're not going home yet."

His apprentice sighed heavily and settled into the copilot chair, scrubbing his face with his hands. "The last time you said that, our tour was extended three months."

"This one should be quick, Obi-Wan. We're taking a detour to Rothees to pick up a field team."

Obi-Wan Kenobi paused. The Force poked at him insistently. "Rothees? That's a warzone." This mission felt like it had the potential to run much longer than a quick grab-and-go.

"It is at that," his master nodded. "A team of two master-padawan pairs were sent in two months ago. According to the latest information we have, one of the masters is dead, the other master-padawan pair is wounded."

"Force," Obi-wan breathed. It was difficult situation for any Jedi, let alone a single padawan to shoulder. The Force jabbed at him again, an image of the Jedi crèche on Coruscant flittering past. These little messages from the Force were not uncommon for him, and this particular one made him uneasy. "Anybody we know?" he ventured.

Qui-Gon shook his head. "I doubt you know them, Padawan. They're based at the sister temple on Baltimn, but we and Coruscant are closer."

"Yes, Master."

Qui-Gon turned his gaze from the navcomputer to his apprentice. "Are you all right, Padawan?"

"I have a bad feeling about this, Master," Obi-Wan admitted.

Qui-Gon nodded, his sharp blue eyes becoming unfocused for a moment as he probed the Force. Whatever he found seemed to confirm Obi-Wan's trepidation. "We will be cautious, then. Go prepare the medical bay. We'll reach Rothees in four hours, and as soon as we land, we'll play shellhopper."

Rothees was a hellhole, Obi-Wan reflected. A hot, smoky hellhole. The landscape appeared charred and broken even before the entered the atmosphere. Every city and settlement they flew over was damaged in some way, many of them completely obliterated. Obi-Wan wondered if the remaining members of the field team were still alive at all. The last time anyone heard from them was nearly six days ago.

Since they were often assigned their own modest starship for these long tours in the field, the Jinn-Kenobi team found themselves acting as couriers for assorted supplies and bodies every few weeks between "real" missions. Years ago, Obi-Wan had named this particular tactic they were employing today the shellhopper, after the strange little gastropods in Qui-Gon's garden that stretched the front portion of its boneless body from plant to plant, with its shelled rear following with the rapid motion of a snapped rubber band.

Once they landed as close as they safely could to the last known coordinates of the missing field team, Qui-Gon had set out on foot supplied with a medical pack and his lightsaber. Obi-Wan's job was to sit and worry until he received a signal from his master to pick him and the team up at whatever updated coordinates Qui-Gon sent. They couldn't risk having their transport shot down, otherwise Obi-Wan would have preferred that they perform scan sweeps over the area. The uneasy feeling he had in hyperspace had grown stronger, and the idea of Qui-Gon venturing into an active warzone on foot with no one to watch his back made Obi-Wan's stomach twist.

He gave their training bond a gentle nudge and was glad to feel it open. /Tahl will have my ass if you get yourself killed, Master./

/She'll have mine too. Therefore, I do, in fact, plan on not dying,/ Qui-Gon sent back. /Their presence is faint, but it's getting stronger. They're still alive./

/Be careful,/ Obi-Wan sent as he felt Qui-Gon's concentration focus elsewhere and their bond close again.

For the next painfully long three hours, Obi-Wan busied himself double-checking the equipment in the medical bay. They had no sense of what specific injuries to prepare for, so Obi-Wan sure everything was prepped. Next he ran all the pre-flight checks again to make sure the ship would be up in the air as soon as Qui-Gon sent the signal. Finally, he settled back into the pilot's chair and proofread the last five mission reports that they would need to file with the Council upon their return. The presence of the closed bond told him Qui-Gon was alive and probably uninjured. Obi-Wan would sense the momentary break in concentration from the pain of injury, so he had to satisfy himself with the knowledge that his master was in one piece for the time being.

Suddenly, sound and movement filled his head as the bond burst open. At the same moment, the computer pinged in response to an incoming message.

/GO TIME!/ Qui-Gon sent. /HURRY./

Obi-Wan had the ship in the air before he even registered Qui-Gon's mental voice. The fastest way to the new location would be to stay low to not lose precious seconds building altitude, only to drop down again. Gritting his teeth, Obi-Wan swerved past crumbling towers and charred trees. The ship whined in protest, not built for rapid atmospheric maneuvering.

"Hold together, sweetheart," Obi-Wan growled. "Just a little furth—"
He threw a hard right to avoid the blast from a mounted cannon. With a surge of the Force, he pushed the ship back on course. No time to engage now. The coordinates Qui-Gon sent centered on what looked to be the blackened remains of a warehouse, fast approaching in the ship's view screen. Qui-Gon's presence flared across the bond, and Obi-Wan picked up the signatures of three other Force users.

/South side of the building. We'll need your help out here./

Obi-Wan brought the ship down on the far side of the warehouse, as close are he could maneuver to the only entrance. A cannon blast shook a piece of wall loose, which fell and crumbled a few yards from the ship's nose. As soon as the landing gear hit the dirt, he was down the still-lowering ramp, lightsaber ready.

The door burst open to the sight of a young Iridonian, wide-eyed and dirty, with a semi-conscious man leaning heavily on his shoulder. Past him, Qui-Gon knelt over a smaller person on a makeshift stretcher, tucking his robe around the still form. Obi-Wan lifted the stretcher with Qui-Gon and followed the Iridonian padawan up the ramp. Leaving his master and the other padawan in the medical bay to secure their passengers, Obi-Wan ran back to the cockpit. The reverberations of cannon blasts were getting closer.

"Strap in!" He shouted, the ship shuddering against Rothee's gravity as he pushed their trajectory to avoid the cannons. It rocked violently against a blast that hit its rear shielding, eliciting a colorful exclamation across the training bond. /Not much further, Master./ "Just a little more," Obi-Wan pleaded to the ship.

With a final push, the ship broke out of Rothee's gravity. Obi-Wan let out the breath he forgot he was holding. He checked the ship's readings. The mechanics were not going to be happy with him. The Force was still sending him that same tickling at the edges of his perception that told him to stay alert. He set up the hyperspace jump and engaged the autopilot, and quickly made his way aft to check on the passengers. The padawan that he and Qui-Gon had brought on the stretcher was still unconscious beneath a thin medical blanket. Obi-wan saw that Qui-Gon had attached oxygen and a fluid line, and was in the process of strapping him in for the hyperspace jump. The sooner they made the jump the better; the sickly palor of the human padawan's complexion looked bad.

The master was awake now, cursing fluently in Huttese as the Iridonian padawan cleaned an angry-looking wound at his shoulder that extended down to his elbow. The older man's long black hair has plastered against his pale neck with sweat, but his eyes were clear and focused. He turned to the sound of Obi-Wan's steps. "Ah, and this must be your padawan."

Qui-Gon smiled slightly. "Master Cri'jenchi, Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi."

"Master Cri'jenchi," Obi-Wan murmured in greeting, bowing his head. "How do you feel?"

"In need of a drink," was the brusque reply, followed by something in Huttese again as the Iridonian sprayed antiseptic on the wound. "Lords and fire, Mal, warn a man next time!"

"Sorry," replied the Iridonian named Mal, not seeming the least bit so. He finished spraying the affected area, ignoring the master's protests. Then he placed his fingers at Cri'jenchi's temple and said, "Sleep."

The master's eyes instantly rolled back in his head at the suggestion and his body slumped unconscious into Mal's arms. Mal eased him onto the bench and covered him with a blanket, followed by the soft, wide safety straps. At Obi-Wan's arched eyebrow, his response was matter of fact, "Well, we can't drug him, and he'd just hurt himself otherwise."

Qui-Gon patted Mal on the back. "I trust your judgment on the matter, Padawan Farol," he turned to Obi-Wan. "Are we ready for the jump?"

"Yes, Master. It should be a smooth ride through hyperspace. We'll see how the lift engines hold up after that retreat," Obi-Wan replied, casting a worried glance at the unconscious padawan, who was beginning to sweat. Dried blood darkened his pale hair. "How is he?"

"Stable for now. He needs the healers soon, though."

"I'll take us in, now that everyone is secure."

"Excellent," his master stood to follow him to the cockpit. "Padawan Farol, I'll send Obi-Wan to relieve you once we're in hyperspace."

Leaving Qui-Gon in the cockpit to compile the mission report, Obi-Wan made a stop in the galley for their last ration of field bars. Mal Farol was not much of a talker, Obi-Wan found, though he could hardly hold it against the other padawan after what he'd been through. After the immediate task of securing their injured passengers was finished, the energy seemed to have drained from him completely. He sat next to his fellow padawan's medical couch, frowning at the sensors' readouts. The only sounds in the medical bay was the soft crinkling of the field bar wrappers and the worrisome beeping of the unconscious padawan's medical sensors. Mal's hands shook slightly as he ate.

"Have you ever been to Coruscant?" Obi-Wan ventured after a while.

"A long time ago," Mal replied hoarsely between slow bites. He looked like he hadn't eaten in weeks. His drawn features and the sadness in his dark eyes made him seem old, though he could not have been any older than Obi-Wan himself.

"Well, don't worry," Obi-Wan offered him a smile. "You're master will be fine. His injury is not life-threatening."

Mal turned to face him then, for the first time since Obi-Wan had come in. His eyes were very bright. "Master Cri'jenchi is not my master," he said quietly.

"Oh," Obi-Wan was stricken. "Oh Force, Mal, I'm so sorry."

"You didn't know," it wasn't much more than a whisper now. Mal turned back to his field bar, suddenly interested in the nutrition stats.

"I…um," Obi-Wan stammered. "We're still eight hours away from Coruscant. Let me show you where you can lay down for a while."

Mal followed Obi-Wan wordlessly through the small ship until they came to one of two cabins. Obi-Wan cleared a datapad and some field gear from the bunk. Mal stood hesitantly at the door, "This is your room? I shouldn't--"

"It's fine, Mal," Obi-Wan gestured at the bunk. "You need the rest far more than I do."

When Mal made no move to enter, Obi-Wan gently took him by the elbow, leading him into the tiny room. Once he had Mal settled, Obi-Wan asked gently, "Do you need help?"

Mal nodded. Obi-Wan knelt beside the other padawan, fingers resting on his dry, cool temple beneath the crown of boney horns. Grief and fatigue weakened his defenses. Obi-wan sensed every muscle, exhausted but tense, in the smaller body. Mal's shields were shaky, but Obi-Wan gave them a polite nudge anyway. They opened easily, allowing Obi-Wan to send the suggestion /sleep/. Mal's eyes closed and his body went limp.

Obi-Wan sat with Mal, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest. Obi-Wan's own chest felt strangely tight. Life as a Jedi made him no stranger to suffering and death, but for Mal to lose his master and still have to fight for his life and those of two fallen compatriots on that mess of a planet was heartbreaking. Obi-Wan stood and headed back to the medical bay.

Qui-Gon found him sitting at the entrance of the medical bay, uneaten field bar in hand. "Where's Padawan Farol?"

"I put him to sleep in my cabin an hour ago," Obi-Wan replied. "I didn't realize it was his master who died."

"Ah," Qui-Gon pulled a seat next to his apprentice. "I wondered about that guilt in the bond. Was he offended?"

"No, I don't think so," Obi-Wan said, setting the unopened ration on the table. "I hope he'll be all right."

Qui-Gon rested a comforting hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder. "Oh I'm sure he will. Death is as much part of the Force as living. We orphans get adopted fairly quickly, and I believe Mal is near his trials anyway. If this mission was any indicator, he has the makings of a fine knight."

Obi-Wan turned in surprise. Qui-Gon rarely spoke of his first master. "Do you miss Master Dooku, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Not as much as you might think. We were only paired for a year when he died, and in the long run, I think Yoda and I were a better match," Qui-Gon gave Obi-Wan's padawan braid an affectionate tug.

Obi-Wan sighed. "I was thinking about what happened to Mal. I don't know if I could be that strong if I was in the same position."

Qui-Gon turned Obi-Wan's shoulders so that they were face-to-face. "I know you would, Obi-Wan," he smiled, pulling the younger man into a tight hug. "But I don't plan on dying anytime soon, so tough luck getting out of our partnership. The only way you're getting rid of me is when you get knighted."

Obi-Wan soaked in the comfort of his master's solid body and the warm presence across the training bond. He let out a weak chuckle. "Always trying to get rid of me, Master."

"Someday, padawan-mine, you'll be a knight with an apprentice of your own, traveling the galaxy with a bright, eager student soaking up everything you have to teach them. It's only when you lack the opportunities that you'll appreciate the wonders of regular sex."

"Master!" Obi-Wan exclaimed in mock horror. Qui-Gon laughed. "I really don't need to know what you and Tahl do with your down time."

"No you don't," Qui-Gon agreed. "But it's one of the perks of being a master to torment your students with implications. Now," his smile fell away as he stood. "Come help me with our patient. It'll go faster with two."

Beneath the papery medical blanket, were lengths of cut pipe running along the padawan's side from his armpit to his tattered boot, their ends melted and charred from a lightsaber, and another from his groin along his inner leg, all immobilizing a badly broken femur. They were tied around his shattered leg with strips of what looked like a field tunic, now long stained with dirt and blood. Someone had cut away most of his pants to access the damage, which was vividly bruised in blotches of yellow and purple.

"This is the worst of it, but his pelvis is broken also. Caught in the blast radius of one of those cannons," Qui-Gon explained, pulling away a bandage that was already soaked in draining fluid. Obi-Wan hissed in sympathy at the revealed flesh wounds. It was a wonder he hadn't died of infection already. Obi-Wan handed Qui-Gon fresh bandages and disposed of the soiled ones, administering a new dose of antibiotics to the fluid drip as his master redressed the wounds.

Qui-Gon left Obi-Wan in the medical bay to check in on Mal and to finish the mission report. Obi-Wan settled into his chair, keeping an eye on the monitoring equipment. Thankfully, Master Cri'jenchi's Force-induced sleep was deep. His vitals were strong and other than the blast wound and the broken clavicle that would need resetting, the master was doing well. His fair-haired padawan's temperature was dropping, but by tortuous increments. Hopefully, he would wake up on his own.

Obi-Wan had nearly drifted into a meditative trance when the Force shook him out. Blinking, he realized the padawan's eyes were open and looking around in a daze. He took a hand in his, and said softly, "Hey, it's okay. You're safe."

"Where--?"

"You're on a ship bound for Coruscant. Don't worry, your master is well. Mal is well. They're both sleeping."

"Master…Mal…" the padawan croaked. His face crumpled in despair, "Londra!"

Obi-Wan made soft shushing noises and found a cloth to wet and wipe the padawan's sweat-soaked face. "Londra's Mal's master?" the young man nodded. Obi-Wan continued with the cloth, which seemed to calm him. "Londra is with the Force now. Your master and Mal are safe. All will be well."

The padawan seemed satisfied enough with that for now. His eyes fluttered closed again, though his brow remained tightly furrowed.

"I'm sorry I can't give you anything for the pain," Obi-Wan apologized, rewetting the cloth and dabbing gently at his fellow padawan's neck. "We'll be out of hyperspace soon and the healers will take you first thing."

"'S'okay," he hissed. "Used to it."

"How long?" Obi-Wan asked.

"Dunno…two weeks… more…passing out," the padawan replied through gritted teeth.

Obi-Wan inwardly balked. With an open fracture left untreated in the heat and Force-knows-what contaminating the air on Rothees, it really was a miracle he was still breathing. Outwardly, he kept talking and bathing, trying to keep the padawan awake and comfortable. He wasn't sure how much time had passed when Qui-Gon called him through the bond.

/We'll be out of hyperspace in ten. I have Mal helping me. How are they?/

/Master Cri'jenchi is still out. His padawan is awake, but in bad shape./

/We'll be there soon. The lift engines are going to burn out. Our descent is going to be rough. Be prepared./

Obi-Wan gritted his teeth and secured the strap across the other padawan's chest. /Yes, Master./

Their exit from hyperspace rattled the ship, tipping over several containers on the table. The padawan let out a pain-filled cry, his grip tightening on Obi-Wan's hand. Obi-Wan murmured more comforting nonsense to him, touching fingers to his temple to ease some of the pain into the Force. Obi-Wan could feel their shift into Coruscant's gravity well, and with the state the ship was in, the landing would be bumpy at best. The padawan's eyes were shut tight as the rumbling increased and he felt the pull of planetary gravity crushing his broken body.

"Almost there, almost there," Obi-Wan soothed over the noise of their entrance into the atmosphere. "Breath. You can do this."

The rattling eased as the ship slowed its decent, cruising more comfortably in its slow course to the main hangar in the Temple. The padawan, however, groaned weakly. Obi-Wan glanced up to see blood seeping up through the blanket covering his lower body. A glance back at his face told Obi-Wan that he was close to passing out. Fuck.

"Master! Mal!" Obi-Wan shouted. He dropped the hand he was holding and pulled the blanket aside. The bandages were soaked with blood. Something must have ruptured from the strain of the descent. Swearing under his breath, Obi-Wan probed with the Force until he found the source of the bleeding, and pressed his hands over the wound, feeling unhealed fragments of bone shift beneath him. Double fuck.

Then Mal was there, shouting vehemently at the other padawan to stay awake and engaging the medical bench's adjuster to elevate the foot end.

With one final shudder, the ship docked. Obi-Wan vaguely heard the ramp hiss open and his master's voice shouting for the medics. His focus was on the thick red blood soaking sluggishly into his shirt sleeves and the traitorous vessels in his fellow padawan's mangled leg.

"Bruck! We're here," Mal said, his voice wavering. He took the padawan's limp hand in his. "Stay with me, Bruck. It's Mal, stay with me. It's going to be all right. Please stay with me."

Obi-Wan froze. The memory of a boy long-forgotten to Agricorps hit him, forcing the air from his lungs. The medics rushed in then, pushing Obi-Wan aside, transferring the unconscious padawan to a gurney and rushing him down the entry ramp, another followed a moment later bearing his master. Qui-Gon's voice brought him back to his senses enough to wipe the blood from his hands and follow the remainder of their ragged party onto the landing platform, mind racing.

Bruck Chun.