ARCHIVE: M/A, SWA-L, Yes. All others, please ask. I'll say
yes, most likely.
CATEGORY: Q/O, drama, h/c, angst
RATING: R, for violence
DISCLAIMER: They belong to Sir George of Lucas, lord of the
Sacred Realm of Star Wars and all the awards, titles, lands,
and words pertaining thereto. Just think of me as Robin Hood,
borrowing from the rich to give to the poor, huddled,
fic-starving masses - Okay, I wouldn't buy that, either, if I
were you. No harm done (much, anyway, and what I broke, I
fixed).
No money, no foul. Okay?
SYNOPSIS: In order to warn the Council of impending danger,
Obi-Wan must leave his injured Master to fight their enemies
alone. Can he deliver his warning and return to Qui-Gon in
time?
FEEDBACK: If you would be so kind. Addictions are so hard to
feed. Please do your part.
SPECIAL THANKS to my betas, Iroshi and Nati_A!
/ thoughts [ ] telepathy \\ the "unseen" end of a communication
PS: When you meet Master Healer J'jinnisti'ta, think
"Phoooooooone Hoooooooommme."
Deep in the bowels of Coruscant's sunless catacombs, Jedi
Master Qui-Gon Jinn blocked a blaster bolt and sent it back
along it's original trajectory. A scream rent the air. The
smell of singed material and burnt flesh joined the haze of
gray smoke that hung heavy in the poorly circulated air.
Breathing was difficult, as was keeping sight of the hoard that
followed close on their trail.
"There isn't much time. The way to the nearest surface lift
lies through those doors, down the corridor and up another
level. I will hold them off long enough for you to win clear to
the surface, but it will be up to you to warn the Council."
His Padawan, occupied with blocking his share of the energy
pulses fired their way, missed a shot in his surprise. Barely
dodging what would have been a painful burn at best, Obi-Wan
Kenobi ricocheted another shot even as he gasped, "I'm not
leaving you here alone, Master. You're hurt!"
The knife wound in Qui-Gon's right thigh bled sluggishly, but
the glossy wet stain on the pants leg and the squishy feel of
his boot lining proved it had done so long enough to leave the
large man drained and weak. His Padawan learner had tried
numerous times to break from the fighting long enough to treat
the injury, but the press of their pursuers made it impossible.
"Precisely why you must go on and I must stay here."
"But Master - "
Qui-Gon's voice sharpened with conviction. "It's almost dawn.
If we don't warn the Council, it will be too late. You heard
me, Padawan Kenobi - for the future of the Order, run I say!"
A stray bolt struck the door controls to Obi-Wan's right.
Qui-Gon shoved his apprentice through an instant before the
blast doors came together with a deafening, metallic clang.
Obi-Wan leaped to his feet and slammed his fist against the
obstruction. "MASTER!"
[One of us must win through, Beloved.] His Master's voice rang
clear and true in Obi-Wan's head. [I will not sacrifice myself
needlessly, but the sooner you warn Master Yoda and the rest of
the Council, the sooner you can lead help back to me. Go, my
own.]
[Master...beloved. I will warn the Council. And then I will
return for you.]
Turning his back to the closed blast doors was the hardest
thing the Jedi apprentice had ever been called upon to do. The
intervening layers of metal muffled but did not entirely block
the unmistakable sounds of continued fighting. Obi-Wan's first
steps were stumbling, as though his body argued with his brain;
neither part of him wanted to leave his Master and lover to
fight the terrorists alone.
Following his Master's directions, Obi-Wan took the lift to the
surface. Once there, he immediately searched for the first
available means of communication.
/Force be with me, there's our transport./
Obi-Wan ran to the ground car and hastily keyed in the lock
code. He dug through the dash box until he found the familiar
silver rectangle of his Master's comlink. Obi-Wan tapped in the
Temple's code and waited impatiently for a response.
A high-pitched, sibilant whine answered. \\"Jedi Temple
Communications Center. Am Bel Tor."\\
"This is Obi-Wan Kenobi, Padawan learner to Master Qui-Gon
Jinn. This is a priority transmittal. Please transfer me to the
Council Chamber, right away."
\\"Sorry am but Council in closed session. Call again later."\\
"I said this is a priority transmittal. An emergency. Put me
through to the Council Chamber, now!"
\\"Sorry am but cannot. Call again later."\\
"There he is!"
Obi-Wan cursed in four languages. For the first time that day
he was grateful to be away from his Master's side. Qui-Gon
hated it when his Padawan swore.
Obi-Wan threw the comlink onto the seat and wheeled around to
face the five terrorists. Rust brown Jedi robes billowed in the
stiff wind that buffeted its way down the street. A blue light
saber beam sprang to life with an angry, warning hiss. Obi-Wan
stood ready to block their blaster fire, only to find that he
was not their target. They were aiming for the transport's fuel
cell.
The transport exploded. A plume of flames shot skyward and down
the narrow thoroughfare in both directions. Terrorists,
civilians and Jedi Apprentice scattered in all directions. The
hem of Obi-Wan's cloak ignited from the heat, forcing him to
cast it aside. He shielded himself against the rain of debris
with a Force shield, but lack of time made the barrier
incomplete. A single sheet of blistering hot metal, as large as
his hand from fingertip to wrist, made it through the
protection and struck him in the left side. The impact threw
him to the ground, dazed, but his training held. He rolled with
the blow and continued down the only avenue available to him,
down which the terrorists could not follow because of the
burning personal transport.
He twisted up one street and down another until certain that
he'd shaken anyone on his trail. The wound in his left side was
deep, the burn severe, leaving part of at least two ribs
showing. Huddled in the blackest shadows of a filthy alley,
Obi-Wan did his best to staunch the flow of blood. Pain washed
over him in waves. He tried to disperse it into the Force, but
such a move required concentration, which had been stolen from
him by exhaustion and pain. A glance upwards showed the
faintest of lightening to Coruscant's sky. Dawn was very close.
He had to warn the Council, but how?
Public holocom booths were readily accessible, but use of them
was out of the question. His assailants were too close. They
might overpower or kill him before he had a chance to complete
his message. Likewise would innocent civilians be endangered by
the resultant fight. Where might he find a communications
facility that was not readily visible from the street?
He called on his memories of this section of Coruscant, dredged
from his wilder years as a mischievous young teen with equally
mischievous friends. He was a good hour away from the Jedi
Temple by public transport. Audio transmittals were
ineffective; that spawn-of-a-Sith at Public Comm had already
proven that, and it would hear from Obi-Wan once this entire
matter was settled. The area held no private industries that
might have secure holo-transmittal booths - mostly restaurants,
shops, entertainment suites, and the occasional public garden.
Something about the list . . . the entertainment suites . . .
no, they received transmittals, they did not send them. But
still, something tugged at his memory. Force, what was it? The
entertainment suites . . . received signals. From the central
broadcast company, passed along by booster stations scattered
about the city-planet's surface. One such relay station was
only four blocks away. If he could convince the staff to
redirect a signal to the Temple, he could appeal directly to
the senior Master on duty in the Holocom Facility.
It took Obi-Wan far longer than he'd reckoned to travel the
short distance. Weakened, trembling with shock and loss of
blood, hair spiky with sweat and clothes reeking of
blaster-smoke, he presented a memorable sight for the two techs
on duty at the booster station.
"I must contact the Jedi Temple immediately."
"Here, the transmit booth is this way," the taller of the two
techs, a Calimaran male, motioned through a side door.
"My thanks," Obi-Wan whispered and followed.
Once alone inside the spacious booth, Obi-Wan struggled to stay
conscious long enough to input the codes necessary to make the
contact. He sobbed with relief when the familiar form of Master
Fem-Rin Gerosin, a creche-mate of his Master's, floated before
him.
"Master Gerosin, thank the Force."
The tall human Knight blinked in surprise and said, \\"Obi-Wan
Kenobi? You're Qui-Gon's Padawan, aren't you?"\\ The
holo-image's eyes dipped toward Obi-Wan's side, to the ripped
tunic and very visible bloodstain. His expression turned
instantly solemn. \\"What happened?"\\
"Alert the Temple, Master Gerosin. There's a traitor amongst
the servants. I don't know his name, but it's a male Bothan,
newly hired amongst the cleaning staff. I'll explain the rest
later. I must speak with the Council immediately."
\\"One moment,"\\ Master Gerosin said. The holo-image froze as
the Knight paused the transmission.
Obi-Wan swayed on his feet. One hand gripped the console even
as the other fought to stem the loss of blood. /Hurry, Master
Gerosin, if you love the Force, please hurry./
The image of Master Gerosin scattered into particles of light.
In its place, he found himself surrounded by the combined
images of the entire Jedi Council. He stood facing Master
Yoda's chair; Mace Windu sat to Yoda's left, his brown-skinned
face blank of expression. Obi-Wan should kneel, he knew that,
but feared doing so. If he sank to one knee, he was just as
likely to fall all of the way over.
In the subtly elegant Council Chamber of the Jedi Order, atop
the tallest of the five Spires of the Temple, Master Yoda
watched as the image solidified into a familiar form. Master
Gerosin had warned them, but even so, the small green Master's
eyes widened in dismay. The image of young Kenobi stood before
him, barely able to remain upright. A dark stain covered the
entire left side of his tunic and a goodly portion of his pants
leg.
"Padawan Kenobi?" Yoda greeted him with a nod. "Surprised we
are by your report to Knight Gerosin. What mean you by -"
\\"Pardon, Master Yoda,"\\ Obi-Wan interrupted the diminutive
Jedi Master, earning him a mixture of responses from all the
Councilors present, everything from blinks or chirps of
surprise to frowns of angry reproof. \\"You're all in great
danger. You must leave at once. There is a bomb hidden
somewhere within the Council Chamber."\\
"Bomb, you say? Planted by whom?" Master Yoda asked; Mace Windu
and the other Council members rose from their seats and
searched the room.
Obi-Wan's image staggered; pain pinched his young face. \\"A
spy for the Lu-Decati. Master Gerosin has the details. Please,
Master, the bomb is set to go off . . . at dawn. You must leave
now!"\\
Yoda looked out the window behind him. The sky was noticeably
lighter, but dawn was still several minutes away. "Time we have
to investigate the matter. Where are you?"
\\"Quadrant R-945-D, Surface level 1. Booster station. . . . My
Master and I were visiting friends in the area last night. . .
. We overheard members of Lu-Decati t-toasting their upcoming
victory. We followed them, tried to l-learn more. . . . We were
spotted and attacked. Qui-Gon . . . my Master was injured. We
were forced to separate."\\
"Here it is," Mace called. He stood behind Yoda's chair,
indicating a tiny metal sphere tucked under the seat. "It's
shielded. Any Force-use will detonate it automatically."
"Clear the Chamber," Yoda ordered. The other Council members
hastily left the room. Through the windows, the first hints of
dawn streaked the city-skyline. "Well you have done, Obi-Wan.
Remember this, the Council will. Stay there. Help comes."
Obi-Wan sank to his knees, both hands pressed to his side,
unable to stand any longer. \\"Go, Master. Please . . . go!"\\
Mace scooped Yoda into his arms and ran from the Chamber. Yoda
looked back over the tall Master's shoulder. The holo-image of
the wounded Padawan sank to the floor, sprawled in
unconsciousness or worse. Sunlight struck the bomb orb. The
room disintegrated in fire and sound.
Qui-Gon Jinn tried once again to summon the Force, only to fall
back against the cell wall, gasping for breath with nothing to
show for his efforts. Force-phobic his captors might be, but
they knew the right combination of drugs and shielding to best
contain a Jedi Master. Even without a debilitating injury like
the knife wound in his thigh, Qui-Gon doubted he could have
overcome both the drugs and the mechanical barriers that held
him prisoner.
His bond with Obi-Wan, however, reached deeper even than the
drugs could penetrate. Telepathic communication was out, but he
could sense his bondmate's presence in the farthest depths of
his subconscious mind. He felt the ghost pain in his side, and
knew the instant that Obi-Wan had been injured, though how
badly he couldn't determine. Qui-Gon found consolation in the
fact that, wounded or not, his Padawan still lived.
He waited several minutes then tried once again to summon the
Force. The move met with another failure, but Qui-Gon felt a
difference: the drug's influence was weakening. Soon, if the
terrorists failed to give him another dose, he would be able to
at least marginally tap the powers that made him a Jedi.
He slept fitfully, waking at intervals to test the drug's
effectiveness. He ignored the sounds of his captors moving
around the outer room. Only when rough, laughing voices
approached his cell did he sit back up. A sinking feeling
settled in his stomach. The bond left no doubt: Obi-Wan was
near.
The door opened. Four Decati, their ridged jaws flexing in
their races' version of a triumphant grin, entered the small,
bare chamber. All were armed, but only two actually held their
weapons ready and pointed at the Jedi master. The other two
dragged Obi-Wan by the arms, his body hanging face-down between
them, limp and unresponsive.
"Here is your fellow sorcerer," one of the Decati sneered as
they dropped Obi-Wan to the floor with no regard for his
injuries. Qui-Gon remained impassive, his body and expression a
serene, untroubled pool, reflecting nothing. Inside, he wept to
see the bright red stain on his beloved's clothing. "He was too
late sending his message. Your evil Council of Sorcerers is
destroyed, along with their befouled meeting room. And you two
will soon join them."
Obi-Wan groaned and rolled his head. The Decati walked over and
kicked him in the hip. The blow rolled the youth onto his right
side. Obi-Wan moaned. His body tightened into an instinctive
ball, seeking protection from the blows.
Qui-Gon flowed to his feet and stared at the Decati with eyes
of ice. "Touch him again, and no amount of drugs or shielding
will save you."
The terrorist leader hesitated. Qui-Gon had seen his type many
times before: pompous, zealous and cruel, but a coward at
heart. His fear of the Jedi sorcerer was greater than his
desire to prove himself before his friends or his 'god.' The
Decati snarled and stormed out of the room. His men quickly
followed, leaving the Jedi alone.
The instant the door closed, Qui-Gon's injured leg gave way
beneath him. Channeling away the pain as best he could, he
crawled across the floor until he could lift Obi-Wan's head
into his lap, cushioned on his uninjured left thigh. Obi-Wan
had lost his cloak at some point, and the cold room was not
good for someone in his condition. Qui-Gon tightened the
bandages around his Padawan's side, adding extra cloth to the
already soaked pad. Finding no other injury, he took off his
own cloak and tucked it around his lover's body.
"M . . . Master?"
The whisper pulled Qui-Gon from a light doze. Several hours had
passed since the terrorists had brought Obi-Wan into the cell.
Qui-Gon straightened his aching back, felt his spine pop back
into alignment, and rolled over to lie face-to-face with his
beloved. He reached out and gently stroked Obi-Wan's arm from
shoulder to elbow.
"I am here, Obi-Wan. Rest easy. You're safe. For the moment, at
least."
Bleary eyes opened and slowly scanned the room. "They found
me."
"I'm afraid so."
"Must've . . . taken me from the booster station. . . . I did
it, Master. The bomb went off, but I managed to warn the
Council in time."
"I reckoned as much. The Lu-Decati think they've succeeded, but
if so many beings as Force-sensitive as the Council had died,
every Jedi alive would have felt the loss."
"Who are they, Master?" Obi-Wan asked. "I know the general
gossip, but who are they really?"
"Lu-Decat is a cell of zealously religious anarchists from
Decat Prime who believe any use of the Force is a form of
sorcery. In their religion, witchcraft and sorcery are evil,
corrupt, and any such use is punishable by death, usually by
the most painful and prolonged means available at the time."
Obi-Wan shivered, moaning at the resultant spasm of pain. "The
floor . . . it's so cold."
Qui-Gon slid around until his back was against the nearest
wall. He pulled Obi-Wan into his arms and slowly raised him
until the youth's back pressed against his chest, his body
cocooned between the Jedi Master's outstretched legs.
Raucous voices and drunken cheers floated into the room,
growing louder. Qui-Gon tightened his arms around his young
lover's shoulders, as though pressing the young man's back
tight against his chest would lessen the danger coming towards
them.
Obi-Wan opened his eyes and whispered, "They're coming."
"I hear them." Qui-Gon smiled down on his lover, his blue eyes
alight with both pride and regret. "I love you, Obi-Wan Kenobi.
And I am . . . so . . . very . . . proud of you. You are a true
Jedi, and I am honored to be your Master."
The grin Obi-Wan gave back to him broke Qui-Gon's heart. In
spite of their desperate situation, a mischievous twinkle lit
the hazel eyes from within, and the joy of being in his lover's
arms shone through.
"The next few hours . . ." Qui-Gon swallowed against the
tightness in his throat and sighed, "they will not be
pleasant."
Obi-Wan's soft smile never dimmed. "It doesn't matter what they
plan for us, Master. I'm not afraid. We face it together."
A rough, calloused hand stroked the sandy-red hair. A knuckle
brushed the smooth, young cheek. A thumb gently traced the
upturned lips. Qui-Gon queried his command of the Force. He
could gather a small portion, but not enough for any kind of
successful resistance. It did, however, give him one option, to
which Obi-Wan would no doubt object. He shielded his thoughts
and smiled at his Padawan.
"So we will, my Padawan. So we will."
The lock released. The heavy door swung wide. Five Decati
strode into the cell, bodies clad in mismatched bits of metal
armor. He read menace in their every move. The largest of the
five, the hulking brute who had kicked Obi-Wan upon his
arrival, tucked his thumbs in his weapons belt and laughed at
his prisoners' stoic expressions.
"So, Jedi sorcerers. It's time to pay for your sins. We have a
special morning ahead of us."
Qui-Gon leaned forward. He kissed Obi-Wan's hair and stroked
his shoulder beneath his tunic, an unmistakably sensual
contact. The Decati muttered and shifted about. All of them
lost their triumphant expressions.
"They seem upset, more so than usual," Obi-Wan commented.
"Same-sex relationships are almost as grievous a sin as
sorcery."
"Then I suppose we are doubly damned," Obi-Wan said; the matter
didn't seem to bother him unduly. "They can only kill us once,
I suppose."
Qui-Gon huffed once in pleasant laughter. "We might as well be
doubly damned for something we enjoy."
They kissed. Deeply. Drinking of each other's essence and love.
Through touch of cheeks and lips, they said far more than words
could express. Obi-Wan's eyes darkened, turned smoky gray,
adoring and adorable. Qui-Gon laid his hand atop his lover's
forehead, stroked his hair one last time, and whispered,
"Sleep, my beloved."
"No . . ."
Eyes wide in dismay, Obi-Wan fought the Force-induced
imperative. Qui-Gon repeated the command. He watched as his
Padawan's eyes clouded and his eyelids drifted closed. By the
time their captors realized anything was amiss, Qui-Gon had
sent his companion into deepest slumber from which he would not
awaken without assistance from a Force-experienced Healer of
Jedi Knight. Come what may, he would spare one of them the
tortures planned by their terrorist captors.
Qui-Gon did not resist when two Decati terrorists stepped
forward and dragged him from the room. He voiced no protest as
they threw him against a "Y"-shaped frame, to which they bound
him with hoops of metal, soldered closed. He made no sound as
first the hot soldering iron then the heated metal burned his
wrists. He remained motionless, serene, even as they ripped
away his clothing until only his boots remained. Not until his
captors dragged Obi-Wan into the room by his heels did he show
any sign of protest.
The Decati leader pointed to the unconscious Padawan. "Wake
him."
"I cannot and would not, even if I had the power. You may
torture me, but I will not allow you to do so to him."
"You are sorcerers. You will both die. How you die will be up
to you. Wake him, Wizard, and I promise your death will come
less painfully than it will if you don't."
"If you must blame someone, blame me. I am his Master, his
teacher. He but follows the learnings of a lifetime sheltered
within the Temple. If someone must pay for the corruption, then
I will do so. The boy is blameless, and I will not allow you to
cause him further pain."
"If you won't wake him, then we really don't need him, do we?"
The Decati leader nodded to one of his men, who in turn pressed
a control on a nearby console. A box across the room opened. A
torture sphere rose from the casing on maneuvering jets, their
hiss and pop adding to its menace. Along its surface were two
needles, several sharp points, and a barbed hook. The machine
settled on the floor next to Obi-Wan's left calf. The droid
deployed a spinning, serrated blade from a panel in its forward
face.
Qui-Gon pulled against his restraints, fought to clear his
mind, to summon enough Force to push the monstrosity away. He
managed to throw it across the room but couldn't summon enough
energy to slam it against a wall. When next the droid settled
into place, his captors broke his every effort to concentrate
with blows against his wounded leg. Unable to watch them
mutilate his Padawan and bondmate, Qui-Gon closed his
tear-filled eyes and turned away.
A ripple shot through the Force, bringing Qui-Gon's eyes to the
far door. The portal glowed where the blades of five light
sabers, three green, one blue, one gold, sliced through the
metal. The material liquefied and flowed to the floor, leaving
a gaping hole wide enough for three humans to enter
shoulder-to-shoulder. Smoke billowed into the room. A vicious,
multi-octaved, hum drowned out all other noises. A forest of
glowing shafts of light appeared in the haze, moving closer,
materializing into ten saber-armed Jedi.
Zealots to the extreme, the Lu-Decati gave no thought to any
possibility of surrender. Within seconds, blaster fire and
buzzing sabers filled the room. From his unshielded perch,
Qui-Gon could only watch and pray none of the bolts came his
way. Obi-Wan should be safe enough on the floor, but even so,
he was more vulnerable than his Master liked. He squinted
through the smoke haze, blinked against the brightness of
electrical fires and shorted circuits in the wall consoles, and
struggled to identify the rescue party.
Mace Windu's tall form was readily recognizable, and first
through the door. To his left, stood Master Gerosin and his
Padawan, a fluid, elfin Vinerite. To his right strode Knights
Al-Mitak, Cu Mi Utan, and Selma Boll. Close behind them stepped
three other Masters, each with Padawans at their sides. In all
twelve saber-armed Jedi materialized out of the gray haze.
Qui-Gon sensed others waiting unseen in the corridor beyond.
A sensation of warmth flowed across his bare skin. The air
around him tightened, pressurized. Every hair on his body stood
on end. Qui-Gon recognized his former Master's mind-touch.
Though his great age prevented Yoda from participating in the
physical fight, his strength in the Force allowed him to cast a
shield around Qui-Gon. Random blaster fire bounced off the
protection. Obi-Wan slept through the raging battle, sheltered
under an identical Force dome.
The terrorists fought with fanatical conviction, but they stood
no chance against the superior forces of the Jedi. Within
moments, they were disarmed and bound, and given into the care
of three Knights for transport to the nearest holding facility.
Mace deactivated his weapon and jumped onto the raised base.
Recalibrating his saber to its lowest setting, he cut through
the bindings that held his friend immobile. Qui-Gon moaned as
the strain left his arms. He slumped into Mace's strong arms
and sank gratefully to his knees. Trembling, he grasped his
friend's hand in greeting. The dark-skinned Jedi removed his
cloak and belted it around Qui-Gon's naked form.
"You've never looked more beautiful, old friend," Qui-Gon said.
Yoda stepped forward, his cane tapping firmly against the
floor; Qui-Gon offered a weary bow to his old Master and asked,
"How did you find us?"
"Thank the technicians at the booster station, you can."
Mace took the explanation a step further, saying, "When the
Lu-Decat terrorists left with your apprentice, one of the techs
activated a remote camera-droid, set it for clandestine mode,
and sent it after the group. All we had to do was track its
transmission to find the groups' hiding place."
"Remind me to thank him."
Three Healers, among them Master Healer J'jinnisti'ta, swarmed
around Obi-Wan. Two others tried to light next to Qui-Gon, but
the Jedi Master waved them away. After a moment's struggle
against his own weakness, he accepted Mace's help over to his
Padawan's side. Yoda rapped him across the back with his stick
and barked, "Treat you, they will. Argue not." Only then did
Qui-Gon relent and allow the healers to treat his wound.
Master Healer J'jinnisti'ta rocked on his two stubbly legs, his
leathery, pear-shaped body almost comical inside the pale
Healer's robe. His long arms swayed over the sleeping
apprentice, the end of his first digit glowing as he scanned
the youth. With a purr characteristic of his race, the Master
Healer elongated his neck and swiveled his oversized head
toward Qui-Gon.
"Master Jinn, do you know why he's unconscious?"
"I sent him into level three Force-sleep."
Over his head, Yoda and Mace exchanged a long, knowing look and
a shared glance toward the room's obscene furnishings. Yoda
broke his enigmatic reserve long enough to soften his
expression and add a lilt of reassurance to his voice. "Fine
your Padawan will be, Qui-Gon Jinn. Rest. Tend to him, we will.
Protect you both, we will. Earned it, you have."
Qui-Gon gathered his sleeping lover into his arms, kissed his
forehead, and gratefully surrendered their safety to their Jedi
brethren.
{FINIS}
Dedicated to Iroshi, who dragged me kicking and screaming into
TPM. It's all her fault.
Archive 