Help Me, Obi-Wan Kenobi, You're My Only Ho - cont'd
(continued from part 17)
Bruck's body floated in a sea of pain, but his consciousness retreated to a place he had thought never to visit again - the dream wood where his Master's graft had once trapped him with the Sith. It was colorless and cold.
Once his awareness returned, he concentrated his energies on reaching the Place Between; there he could discern whether his lover lived. He had to know if Xanatos had survived.
He found the Place, and fought with all his strength to reach it.
Xanatos lived. His life force flickered, but did not go out. The Healers would help him, but would they know of his struggle with the Dark?
Bruck had no strength to warn them. He lives - that is enough, for now, he thought. He could do no more until he was stronger. Hold on, Xan, was the last of his thoughts as the light took him in bright oblivion.
Qui-Gon rushed into the Healers' Dome, barely noting the place where droids appeared to be fixing the skylight above the entrance, while others swept up shards of glass tinted pink with humanoid blood. His mind saw flashes of his Padawan falling, held in his lover's embrace.
He has fallen to the Dark, and couldn't bear it, an inner voice whispered. Qui-Gon shook his head -part denial and part merely willing the voices in his head to be still. He didn't need their prattling now, distracting him from his duty. Perhaps the broken skylight had nothing to do with his Padawan.
But in his heart, he knew.
He knew Obi-Wan had told the truth, as horrible as it was to contemplate. He knew his Padawan had fallen to Darkness, despite all his care. Qui-Gon knew, in some deep, empty place in his soul, that all he had done as a Jedi had come to naught, and what remained between himself and Obi-Wan hung by a thread.
He should have insisted that Obi-Wan come with him to the Dome. His injuries should be examined by a Healer. It was too late to go back for him; Qui-Gon decided to send for him as soon as he spoke with Healer Phol.
He found her in the Trauma ward near the bacta facilities. She was stripping off a blood-smeared smock and gloves as she approached him.
"Qui-Gon." She discarded the soiled garment covers and clasped his arm gently. "We've only just stabilized them. Xanatos is there, in the third bacta tank."
He looked numbly through the window into the tank, where med droids monitored his Padawan; he could see little of Xanatos through the tubes and the distortion of the red fluid. "What happened?"
"He and Knight Chun fell through the skylight at the north entrance. Knight Chun took the worst of the impact -- his body is tougher than a pure human's these days. He saved Knight T'Crion's life."
"You think this was. . . intentional?"
Phol gazed through the window for a moment; Qui-Gon saw that there was another occupied bacta tank at the far end. "I think Chun knew what he was doing when he landed the way he did, but as to how they fell in the first place. . . "
Phol caught the look on Qui-Gon's face. He must have lost his serene Jedi façade hours ago.
"You know something, don't you?" The Healer spoke gently, but Qui-Gon knew he couldn't put her off.
"Kenobi said. . . " Qui-Gon's voice cracked; he cleared his throat and continued. "Kenobi said Xanatos attacked him. I was meditating with Xanatos when I was called back to the Council Chamber. He said he wanted to apologize to Obi-Wan for the things he had said - he was in the Light, I'm sure of it. But Kenobi. . . his face. . . There were bruises on his neck that had to have been made by a prosthetic. I-"
Qui-Gon broke off before his voice gave way. He pressed both his large hands over his face, as if he could shut out the memory of what he had seen. He took a deep breath and pushed the tears away. He was a Jedi Master now, not some sniveling initiate. He cleared his throat. "You should send someone to check on Kenobi."
"How badly is he hurt?"
"Just scrapes and bruises, from what I saw." Qui-Gon hadn't asked. What had Xanatos done to him? Could it have been more than a beating? He felt cold.
"I'll dispatch a medical droid to your quarters," Phol said. She typed some instructions into the console. "Xanatos is - or was, earlier today - physically capable of killing Kenobi, but he did not. If he is struggling with the Dark Side, perhaps that is cause for hope."
Qui-Gon nodded, but spoke no more on the subject. "How bad are their injuries?"
Phol sighed. "All of his ribs were broken, his left lung was punctured in two places and he has a concussion. We can get the bones to knit in a day or so - he should be out of bacta by then. We contacted Lentrebi Prime for assistance in treating Knight Chun. They suggested some interesting things."
Phol nodded toward the farthest bacta tank, where droids appeared to be installing large UV lamps. "Even with that I expect he'll be in bacta for several days."
Qui-Gon stared at Bruck, wishing he could ask him what had happened, hoping that what his heart told him wasn't true. That his Padawan had not attempted to take his own life.
Phol touched his arm and he let out a breath he had not realized he had been holding.
"There's something I want you to see," Phol said. She led him over to a data terminal and turned on a holo display of two samples, side by side.
"These are samples of Xanatos' midichlorians. This one was taken before he was released from our care the last time." Phol indicated the one on the left. Qui-Gon had seen it before - evidence that Xanatos' midichlorians had been poisoned by a paralytic agent, probably derived from Kleranom venom.
"This one was taken a few moments ago." The one on the left showed the same type of cellular bodies, but these were a darker color and seemed to be twitching in an erratic manner.
Qui-Gon frowned, uncertain what the difference might indicate, but knowing it couldn't be good. "What is wrong with them?"
"The first set is healthy, but largely inactive. Paralyzed. The second set is hyper-active and unusually stressed. The sample bears certain key similarities to the midichlorians we found in the body of the Zabrak killed by Knight Chun on Naboo."
Qui-Gon felt the room tilt around him, but kept to his feet. "The Sith?"
Phol nodded. "But look here." She pointed to smaller bodies located at the rounded end of the midichlorians in both samples. "This portion of the midichlorians in both samples still appears to be paralyzed. The Sith's were not like that."
She loaded another image, which appeared to the right of Xanatos' most recent sample. The Sith's midichlorians twitched erratically, but all of their organelles appeared bright and mobile if somewhat smaller than those in Xanatos' samples.
"We had supposed that the erratic movement was a function of Dark Force use. When you compare them to healthy Jedi midichlorians. . ." She called up yet another image.
The healthy midichlorians moved very little, in slow, coordinated sweeps. The organelles clustered at the rounded end appeared larger than in the other samples and had slow, coordinated movement.
"What does this mean?" Qui-Gon kept his irritation from his voice, but it was a near thing.
"Not a lot is known about the function of midichlorians, Qui-Gon. We know they live, and we know they are the key to Force sensitivity in humanoids. I think our smugglers or someone working with them have found a way to injure midichlorians in such a way as to render them incapable of processing positive Force energy. I suspect it was tested on Xanatos."
This time Qui-Gon did sit down. He slumped onto a nearby stool, shaking his head. "I am certain we were united in the Light during our joint meditation."
"Perhaps his connection to you allowed him to access the Light in a way he couldn't on his own."
Qui-Gon nodded, acknowledging the possibility. "You think this toxin has made him Dark."
"No, Qui-Gon. He may be unable to touch the Force the way he once did. The Dark Side may be much closer to him now than the Light, but that alone does not make him Dark. Dark Force use is a choice, isn't it?" Phol looked grim, but she placed a warm hand on Qui-Gon's shoulder, squeezing gently. "That is my working hypothesis. I need to run some more tests. If there is a way to reverse this, I will find it."
Qui-Gon placed a hand over hers. A moment passed before he spoke.
"Thank you."
"I'd better get to work. I'll inform the Council of what I've found while the droids try to synthesize the substances we found in Xanatos' blood when we first recovered him." Phol began gathering information from various samples onto her datapad. "He and Bruck are in good hands, Master Jinn."
"I know." Qui-Gon managed a smile. He stopped in front of the bacta chamber window, staring into the tank that held his Padawan. Xanatos had not deserved this. Yes, he had been brash and reckless, but so had Qui-Gon in his youth. To have the Light torn away - what worse fate could there be for a Jedi?
Hold on, Xan. We'll find a way to help you.
He turned and left the Healers' Dome without looking back.
Before he had gone three strides, Yoda stopped him in the corridor. Qui-Gon
was in a rush to return to his quarters, but he could not refuse the ancient Master a moment, especially under the circumstances. He briefly told Yoda what Healer Phol had told him about the toxins Xanatos had been exposed to and her guess as to their intended use.
Master Yoda's ears drooped as he listened. "A grave threat to the Order, this is."
A sick lump coalesced in Qui-Gon's stomach. This had potential to destroy the Order, and yet all he had been able to think of was his Padawan's suffering. "You think the Kleranom smugglers were attempting to produce these toxins on a large scale."
"Assume as much, we should." Yoda's ears lowered as he studied Qui-Gon. "Considered the possibility, you had not."
Qui-Gon sighed. "I've thought only of my Padawan. Attachments limit my perception - even those sanctioned by the Order, it seems. I've said as much to the Council a dozen times by now, and you still refuse to release me from the Order."
"Bide the Council's judgment, you will," Yoda chided, his expression growing stern. "Time for making rash decisions, this is not."
"Of course, Master." Qui-Gon bowed, clutching his forearms inside the sleeves of his robe. "If you will excuse me, Master."
Not waiting for an answer, Qui-Gon turned toward his quarters, letting his long strides carry him back to Kenobi. He had to talk to Obi-Wan, to make things right between them however he could. He would beg his forgiveness for doubting his word about what Xanatos had done. There had to be more to this story, and he wanted to hear it all from Obi-Wan. He swore he would believe every word of it, without question.
The sound of Master Yoda's hovering seat told him that the old troll had floated up beside him. Qui-Gon didn't spare him a glance, knowing that nothing would dissuade Yoda when he had something to say.
"Choices, all attachments are," Yoda muttered. "Vowed to forsake them, you did."
Qui-Gon remembered himself as an initiate, how young he was, how little he knew of the Galaxy, of life, when he made those choices. "I barely knew myself back then, much less the scope of what I was surrendering. I know myself now, and I know I am not whole."
"Made commitment to the Jedi Order, you have," Yoda chided. "Convenient, it is not."
Qui-Gon stopped and turned to Yoda, his anger barely in check. "My life has never been about what is convenient, and you know it. I know the difference between a desire and a necessity - I have starved my soul of the attachment it craves until that soul itself has sickened. Jedi can control their needs, but they cannot deny themselves what is necessary for life. Not indefinitely. Even Jedi cannot will themselves not to take another breath."
"See to your body's needs, you must," Yoda began. "Love all beings-"
"This is not about sex," Qui-Gon interrupted. He started walking again, rushing for the lift. "Or about compassion for the lives of others. You say that attachments hamper a Jedi's ability to serve the Force - I cannot deny that. My experience bears it out, in fact. What I am saying is that I will never be whole without attachment. It is a shame I did not know this about myself sooner, and a shame I denied it even when it should have been clear."
The lift doors opened and he stepped inside. Yoda followed.
"Master," Qui-Gon said after a pause. Yoda turned to him, compassion as evident in his eyes as disapproval. "My soul is sick for want of connections to others - close connections. Attachment. It is a fact. I know you can see the truth of it."
"The truth I see," said Yoda quietly. "Needs you, the Order does. Most urgent, that need is."
Qui-Gon said nothing. The lift opened and Qui-Gon hurried toward his quarters. Yoda followed, saying nothing more. His silence soon became more irritating than his words had been.
He was about to tell the ancient Master to please leave him alone, when he saw the door to his quarters. The door itself was closed, but seemed to be sitting crookedly where it touched the floor. It was slightly dented on the bottom edge.
Qui-Gon rushed forward and palmed it open, hurrying through the opening before the damaged door fully retracted. He stumbled into a chair almost blocking his way, and shoved it aside. He searched the rooms and the balcony, but Obi-Wan was gone. The Padawan room was empty - even his things were gone.
Then Qui-Gon noticed the light flashing on the com. It seemed like someone else's hand reaching out to play back the recorded holo that Obi-Wan had left for him. The image of his lover appeared in three-dimensional blue before him. The brightness washed some of the detail from his face, but the bruises were still visible.
"Qui-Gon," Obi-Wan began, "Thank you for having them send a med droid to look at me. That was nice of you. I blocked the door with a chair when it left. I-I'll be gone when you get back."
Qui-Gon rushed forward to check the timestamp on the recording, while the projected image continued. "I wanted you to know I appreciate what you tried to do for me. It's just. . ." His voice trailed off, but then he looked right at Qui-Gon and continued. "Lady Essa once told me that, no matter how carefully I screened them, sometimes I'd have clients that wanted little more than my pain. When I asked what to do about it, she said, 'You give it to them.' I could have done that for Xanatos, if I'd had my head on straight. But all I could think of was you."
The image of Obi-Wan sighed and stroked a hand through his hair. "I don't know what you want, Qui-Gon, but I don't know if I could give it to you even if I did. It meant a lot to me, though - everything you did for me. It was the best time I've ever had, even with the giant bug and all." His voice broke, and he paused to clear his throat. "Don't worry - I have a few credits and a place to stay. Remember the good things, Qui. And don't try to find me. I'll be okay."
The image winked out. Obi-Wan had recorded it less than ten minutes before.
"Qui-Gon," Yoda said. The little Master moved closer on his hovering seat, but Qui-Gon had no time for him. He rushed out the door, mentally plotting the quickest route to public transportation leaving the Temple. Obi-Wan had been to the platforms near the lines that led to the Senate District before; Qui-Gon felt certain he would go that way.
He had to catch him. There was simply no other option. He had to tell him that he loved him, that he was wrong. He'd been a fool, but he felt certain that if he could speak to Obi-Wan he could convince him to stay.
Dun-robed Jedi blanched and stepped out of his way as he rushed along with Force-assisted speed. He might have heard the hum of Master Yoda's chair behind him, but it didn't matter. There would be time to deal with Yoda's questions and recriminations later.
As he reached the public transportation platforms, he looked over the railing and immediately saw Obi-Wan boarding a transport one level below.
"Obi-Wan!" He shouted, but the engines drowned out the sound. He thought he saw Obi-Wan turn and look at him through the window as the transport pulled away, but it was too late. The transport doors had closed and in seconds it had shot off into the air lanes.
Qui-Gon stood there staring after it, hands resting on the railing. He could not have missed him. Obi-Wan could not be gone from his life, just like that.
Yoda floated up beside him. Qui-Gon felt his presence there, but all his focus was on the other, the one slipping from his awareness into the mass of life on Coruscant. He would never be able to trace Obi-Wan's path through the labyrinth of Coruscant's public transport system.
This could not be the end of it. What they had simply could not end this way. Somehow, he would find him. Beside him, Yoda sighed.
"For the best, this is."
Qui-Gon didn't look at him. Couldn't. He gripped the railing until his fingers numbed form the pressure, trying to contain his rage. Yoda had no right to speak to him, to offer comfort, now. Master Yoda might think this was the end-might wish it to be so-because it served his purposes to think so, but he was wrong.
Anger boiled up inside him and he fought the sudden urge to grasp Yoda's hover chair and kick it across the platform with the little Master still on it.
Qui-Gon heard the humming noise that told him the chair in question had moved out of easy reach. This pleased him in ways a Jedi Master should not know.
"I'll find him, Master," Qui-Gon said quietly. "No one can stop me - not you, not the Council."
He turned and stalked back to his quarters. He had some inquiries to make.
Part 19
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