Help Me, Obi-Wan Kenobi, You're My Only Ho - cont'd
(continued from part 19)
Just three days after Obi-Wan's departure, Qui-Gon sat in a secluded area of the Temple archives, hunched over a data screen as he had been for some time. His vision swam and he had to replay a bit of the vid just to be sure he had not missed anything before the timestamp reached a time he was certain Kenobi could no longer have been at the gala.
He leaned back in the chair and pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes for a moment. That was the last of them. He had marked every section of security vid that showed Kenobi, and all the vids aimed at areas around the places he had been. Still, there were gaps. The security team had been more interested in minding the entrances and exits than on observing the guests.
However, he had not seen Obi-Wan leave by any of the exits, though he had checked all the relevant vids several times, and even had droids analyze the salient sections of vid. That yielded nothing.
He had managed to diagram Kenobi's movements, for the most part, but he had lost him soon after the time when Qui-Gon himself had left the gala. He called up the schematics. The last vid of Kenobi had him walking toward the main banquet area, into a blind spot in the vids, and he never appeared again on any of the screens. The blind spot included the majority of the banquet hall, a portion of the kitchens and some terraces on the east side of the building.
Open terraces.
"Oh, seven hells!" Qui-Gon pounded his fist on the edge of the console, angry that he hadn't seen it before. A speeder could have easily flown up to one of the open terraces from the building beside where the valets had taken the speeders. Qui-Gon hoped that high-security lot would have better security vid coverage than the gala itself. That would mean another talk with Valorum.
He gathered up his data and headed for his quarters. In the last three days he had been inside his rooms for less than two hours. Sleeping had been impossible, with his sleep couch still smelling of sex and lingering disappointment a reminder that he had not been what Obi-Wan had needed, when he needed it most. He could not bear to enter the room, and had stopped the droids from cleaning it or changing the linen.
As painful as it was, a trace of Obi-Wan's presence remained there and he could not let it be swept away like so much dust.
He'd wandered into the Padawan room the last time he had come by for a quick wash and change of tunics. Before he had known what he was doing, he sat upon the bed and buried his face in the pillow. It smelled of Obi-Wan, as clean and hopeful as Qui-Gon remembered him before everything between them went to hells.
Qui-Gon remained in a sort of hell himself a hell of uncertainty and loss, characterized by an increasingly desperate belief that what was lost could be restored.
Of course he hadn't slept, but such denial of one's physical needs was by its nature self-limiting, even for a Jedi. Soon his meditations would no longer refresh him sufficiently, and he would lose focus, perhaps miss something important.
Until then, though, he had work to do.
Everything was red, the color of pain. And bacta.
Slowly things around Xanatos came into focus. Keeping his eyes squinted, he observed his surroundings. He was in a bacta tank at the Temple, if the robes the Healers wore were any indication. How had he come to be here?
Everything came back in a rush, the delicious memory of darkness filling him, ending his pain. The shame and horror that quickly followed and his attempt to make things right, which had obviously failed or he wouldn't be in bacta.
Bruck. Bruck had not been quick enough to stop him from jumping, but he must have done something else to thwart his self-destruction. All Xanatos remembered was falling, the tug of the wind on his robes. Then there were arms holding him. . . the smell of flowers?
Xanatos could not make out whether the other tanks were occupied, but there was a very bright light surrounding one of them. He knew when he saw it though he had no idea how he knew that Bruck had risked himself to save him, and it was Bruck's life that hung by a thread somewhere in the middle of that blinding light.
It wasn't right; Bruck should have let him go. He could be of no use to the Jedi to the Galaxy if he walked in darkness.
And Xanatos *knew* he would fall to the Dark sooner or later. The darkness alone had eased the pain that had been his constant companion since his capture by Durante. There was no other respite that compared to it. He would fall to Darkness or madness, eventually. He did not doubt it in the least.
No one had noticed that he was awake. Perhaps he had time to correct Bruck's well-intentioned mistake. Moving slowly so as not to draw attention to himself, Xanatos reached up and pulled the ventilation hose from the mask over his face. He blew out the air that remained in his lungs, watching the slow bubbles form in the viscous red bacta and float slowly up to the surface.
Xanatos opened his mouth to receive the bacta into his lungs, but his body rebelled. His limbs flailed and his chest, wracked with reflexive coughing, drew more of the liquid into him. He struggled to control these reflexes, to relax and accept death. Distantly, he heard a claxon sounding, and seemed to see a rush of dark shapes gathering around the tank.
As these images faded, he hoped that this time he would be free.
Valorum had not been happy about it just asking him for access to the security vids for the parking complex had meant violating his promise not to ask for anything else but he had agreed to make the feeds available to Qui-Gon. "I'm not wasting any more of my aide's time on this, Qui-Gon. You'll have to go to the security office yourself to collect them."
"Thank you, Finis."
The former Chancellor of the Galactic Senate merely grunted with annoyance and switched off.
*Another bridge burned,* thought Qui-Gon. He made certain his robes were clean and neat before he rushed to catch a transport to the Senatorial District. As far as the security officers would know, he was coming to inspect the vids on official Jedi business, so it would not do for him to appear less than the immaculate, serene Jedi.
The pretense might wear on his patience, but there was nothing to be done about it. Going through official channels was out of the question Yoda had made that much abundantly clear but they could not prevent him from using other means at his disposal to find Obi-Wan. If the Council chose to censure or reprimand him because of this deception, he would only use that to renew his plea to be released from his commitment to the Order.
He had already made a search of courtesan license applications, and found that they were handled by an intermediary agency, one whose bond made them immune to requests for information that were not approved through the Republic's vast bureaucracy. They processed a variety of applications for various licenses throughout the Republic and were answerable only to the Senate and officials of the localities where the licenses were issued.
No wonder Cragin had been able to get away with so much in the way of shady dealings on Iptura the oversight of the pleasure industry was hopelessly muddled. Qui-Gon had still filed his request for information, but suspected it could be months before that bore fruit without help from the Council or other contacts within the government.
Qui-Gon realized his distrust of bureaucrats was beginning to rival his distrust of politicians.
When he arrived at his destination, the security officers were pleasant enough, thrilled to meet a Jedi in the flesh, though one of them seemed less than impressed. He was ushered into a private room where he could view the security vid logs at his leisure. He had a feeling this was going to take a long time, so he set up a data connection to the holonet and sent anything that seemed pertinent back to his comdesk at the Temple.
This was yet another blatant transgression of his agreement with Finis, but Qui-Gon no longer cared. If he could find Obi-Wan it would all be worth it, and if he could not, he didn't really care what anyone thought of him. Qui-Gon could not imagine giving up.
The massive information theft was almost complete when his personal comlink chimed, giving him a guilty start from a half doze.
"Jinn," he said with as much alertness as he could manage.
"Xanatos is awake." Healer Phol's voice, tight with stress. "He tried to disconnect his breather in the bacta tank, so we took him out."
"Had he been in long enough? How is he?"
"His injuries have healed well enough to have him out of bacta, but. . . we've had to restrain him to keep him from hurting himself. We couldn't risk sedating him. Tand is on his way, but I thought you should know."
"I'll be there as soon as I can." Qui-Gon shut off the comlink. He sat for a moment with his head in his hands, feeling empty and sick. When the data transfer was complete, he shut down his datapad and headed back to the Temple.
Xanatos fought them from the second he had regained consciousness. Still retching up bacta, he had broken the nose of Healer Phol's Padawan, and bent the injection armature off a med droid with his mechanical hand. Before they finally got him pinned, he had inflicted numerous minor injuries on a dozen other beings.
It felt good.
Even when they got the restraints on, he managed to break free with his prosthetic. They had to switch the padded medical restraints for crude but effective metal binders. He had a set of them on each wrist and ankle, with the other end attached to something sturdy below the edge of the bed.
Didn't stop him from fighting, though. His left wrist and both ankles were bloody and the binder had even scored the metal of his prosthetic. He had to show them had to make them understand. If they didn't put an end to him or let him put an end to himself he would hurt them. That was all he was any good for now destruction, hurting innocents.
He was ruined, rotting away inside. Orima had planted this disease inside him, and the only peace he knew now he found in violence. They had to see it. They had to box him before the Darkness took what was left of his mind. Once it had taken over, he would be able to fool them. He would be sly and charming the wounded but valiant Jedi but beneath that faηade he would be something else entirely. Twisted and evil.
Xanatos tried to tell them; he shouted at Phol and the others, but they only saw a distressed patient gone mad. They had no idea what he had done if they knew they would turn away and let him die.
Eventually he grew tired and stopped struggling. As his rage ebbed the pain returned. His chest burned, his head throbbed and his skin once again seemed raw all over. There was no escaping this torment. Perhaps it was no more than he deserved.
He had little idea how much time had passed when the door to his isolation room opened. Healer Tand entered, looking calm and concerned. "Hello, Knight T'Crion."
"Just call me Xanatos."
"If you wish." Tand sat near the bed. He noticed the abrasions on his wrist and ankles. "Are you calm enough to let them treat those cuts now?"
Xanatos gave him his most charming smile. "Why don't you take off the binders and see for yourself?"
Tand's russet eyebrows twitched up. "I think I'll wait a bit. We need to know what's going on with you first."
"You don't want inside my head, I promise you." Xanatos' smile did not falter. "You know, the last time I was bound this efficiently, I was raped by a few dozen smugglers. Among other things."
"No one here is going to hurt you."
"Good to know." Xanatos continued smiling. He barely managed not to laugh. It would be the mad laughter of a broken mind when it came, but he wasn't there yet. "Before, and after and in between the rounds of torture, Durante would stand over me." He paused and glanced pointedly at Tand. "Or sit beside me. He wanted to talk about my feelings, too."
"He wanted to hurt you," Tand said. "I don't."
"An important distinction, I suppose." Xanatos sighed. "You can't help me, Tand. I appreciate that you'd like to try, but. . ."
Tand waited a moment for him to finish, but when Xanatos said nothing else, he asked, "What is it, Xanatos?"
"I'm Dark." It came as little more than a whisper, but Xanatos knew he had to say it. He had to make Tand believe. "The only time I'm not in pain is when I'm angry. When I let myself fill up with hate. It feels so good. You've no idea. Lying here, everything hurts so much. And then I think of how it would feel to break loose from these binders and tear out your throat. I can feel the bones snap beneath my fingers, taste the blood that sprays across my face. .. and suddenly I feel. . . good."
Xanatos saw the look on Tand's face and knew that he had gotten through to him.
"What's the matter, Mind Healer?" Xanatos had begun to laugh. The creeping Dark inside him really was delicious; he could not resist it for long. "Am I making you uncomfortable?"
The pale Healer stood and looked at him. Were there tears glinting in the corners of his eyes?
"Xanatos, you need to know that this is not your doing," he said. "Healer Phol has found evidence that one of the drugs you were given poisoned your midichlorians. They can't access the Light properly, and seem to favor the Dark Side. This is not your fault."
"I knew he did this to me," Xanatos whispered. It all made sense, now. "I knew it." The anger welled up inside him, filling his head with visions of vengeance. His pain ebbed to almost nothing.
"You still have the power to choose the right path," Tand said. "You don't have to give in to hate. You're stronger than that."
Xanatos' laughter bubbled up again, thick as tar in his throat. "Am I?"
"Yes, Padawan." Qui-Gon spoke from the doorway. "You are too strong to let these men have such a victory over you. If you give in to your Dark emotions, they have accomplished their objective. Don't give them that, Xan. Please."
Qui-Gon came closer, and Xanatos could see his former Master's sunken eyes and careworn face, full of compassion and love. He took Xanatos' flesh-and-blood hand between his own; Xanatos tried to pull it free. "You wouldn't say that if you knew what I've done."
Qui-Gon opened his mouth and paused, as if he found it difficult to speak. "I know what you've done, Xan."
"Kenobi told you." Xan felt the fire go out of him. The welled anger drained away leaving only naked, trembling shame in its place.
Qui-Gon nodded. "I didn't believe him at first, but Xanatos, you must know that this never would have happened had we realized how seriously your midichlorians have been affected. We could have tried to help you sooner. Healer Phol is trying to find a way to reverse it as we speak. But only you have the power to choose the Light when all else is darkness."
Xanatos couldn't look his former Master in the eyes. The simple act of forming words had become difficult. "You should have let me die. I would rather die than turn."
Qui-Gon brushed his tears away with cool fingers, and gently stroked his hair. "I know you would, Xan, I know. But you are stronger than they are stronger than Durante and even the Sith. I know you are. After all he did, Durante didn't break you, and this won't either. Meditate with me, the way we did in the gardens. Remember?"
Xanatos nodded. It was all he could do with his throat too tight to speak. He remembered their joint meditation, the peace and calm that had descended over him, the likes of which he had not felt since before he'd been captured by Durante. He remembered, and he wanted to feel it again, more than anything.
"Just close your eyes, Xan." Qui-Gon's voice, soft and caring as it had ever been. "Let me guide you."
Xanatos obeyed without question, breathing deep of the Light with his Master's love to show him the way.
"How soon will he be able to testify?" Chancellor Palpatine asked the holo of Master Yoda.
"Uncertain, we are. Determined how stable he is, we have not."
"Pardon my saying so, Master Yoda," the Chancellor began smoothly, "but if the Jedi Council truly deems this kleranom smuggling ring to be such a grave threat, why shouldn't we begin the hearings as soon as possible? You've offered me no explanation as to why this issue should receive priority handling before the Senate. Now you tell me you are not prepared to present your evidence? Questions will be asked about this delay."
"Consider the health of Knight T'Crion first, we must," Yoda answered. "Barely out of bacta, he is. Ready to face a Senate Committee hearing, he is not."
"Yes, this latest accident of his is most distressing, after all he has been through." Palpatine sighed. "I've no wish to increase the burdens of a man who has sacrificed so much in service to the Republic. Perhaps I could arrange for his testimony to be recorded, with a few select members of the committee present to question him. Testimony must be given at the Senate complex, but he could be accompanied by Healers from the Temple. Would that be an agreeable compromise?"
"Sufficient that should be, Chancellor," the little troll said at last.
Palpatine smiled and switched off the comm. Master Yoda was a wily one, but still blinded by the pall of darkness the Chancellor himself had created to cover his dealings. Even the Jedi's aged Master had fallen into the trap laid for him. *In the end, I'll have all I desire, and the Jedi will be helpless to stop me.*
He smiled to himself, thinking ahead to the planned meeting with Xanatos. He would make a wonderful new apprentice. So attractive. So broken.
His heart light with the promise of pleasures to come, Palpatine pushed a few buttons to check in on the young courtesan. The vid feeds showed Kenobi at a comdesk, checking for messages. The poor thing had been leaving messages all over the Senate District, notifying potential clients those who had shown an interest in his services at the Chancellor's gala that he was available for appointments.
In the three days since his search for clients began in earnest, Kenobi had made no progress at all. This apparently vexed him, if the furrow between his pale brows was any indication.
Of course, what he didn't know what he would not learn until the time was ripe was that Palpatine himself had taken great care to sour the interest of his admirers. When he chose to reveal this, Kenobi would have no choice; he would fall into the Chancellor's hand like a ripe muja fruit. "You'll be mine before the ten is out."
A chime sounded on the Chancellor's chrono. Senator Organa, a creature of predictable habits, would be preparing to leave his offices for the day. Palpatine commed the protocol droid that served as his personal secretary. "Please inform Senator Organa that I wish to see immediately on an urgent matter."
This would be an excellent time to acquaint him with their new arrangement.
Bail was about to leave for the day, and rather anxious to be on his way. A certain someone was expecting him, and for reasons entirely his own he did not wish to be late. Those precious, stolen hours with Kenobi were far too few he had to keep up appearances, after all. His father's people were watching not all the time, but enough to notice if he started slipping off every night. He couldn't afford to arouse suspicion.
Things other than suspicion had been aroused, however. Since the night of the gala, when Kenobi had reawakened the fires inside him, the depth of his own depravity had surprised him. Bail Organa had watched himself transform from a monkish, work-oriented man to an utter sybarite. Two nights every ten had been the schedule he had chosen to best balance his need for secrecy with other, more exotic needs.
It wasn't enough to properly slake his lust, not by half. No matter how many times he managed to climax in Kenobi's embraces, he spent the days between growing progressively more randy and more distracted. Even taking matters into his own hands in the quiet darkness of his private rooms offered little relief. Delightful perversions filled his dreams.
Moments from freedom the sort of freedom Bail had so little of in his life before Kenobi appeared, offering a variety of physical delights without emotional entanglements the com chimed. The Chancellor himself was summoning him, and Bail could not refuse.
Once he made it to the Chancellor's inner office, Bail noticed an uneasy feeling radiating from the base of his skull, as if an iron hand rested there, waiting for the order to squeeze.
"Senator Organa." Palpatine greeted him warmly, as always, clasping one of Bail's hands in both of his. "Sorry to extend your work day, my dear boy, but this is an urgent matter requiring some discretion."
"No problem, Chancellor," Bail answered. His mask of calm attentiveness fell blandly into place. He hoped this wouldn't take long. "How may I be of service?"
This question prompted a somewhat disturbing smile from the Chancellor. He gestured for Bail to take a seat. "On the contrary, it is I who must be of service to you, it seems."
Bail's stomach did a slow, uneasy turn, and he wished for the seventh time the man would just get on with it. "Oh?"
"There is no easy way to put this, Senator, so I must apologize if this seems a bit brusque of me," the Chancellor said. "I have eyes and ears everywhere in the Senate District, and one of my agents intercepted a recording that I believe you should see."
A vid screen descended in front of them. A moment passed before Bail recognized himself, his face contorted in passion, eyes closed. A series of short clips showed Kenobi flogging him, holding him while he wept, sucking him off. The sweat beaded all over Bail's body, and tears stung in his eyes. He was too proud to let them fall. The Chancellor let the clips loop once before he shut off the vid.
"You look very pale, Senator," he said. "Shall I pour you a drink?"
Bail scarcely heard him over the rushing of the blood through his veins, the sick, dizzy feeling gripping his whole body. How could it be him doing those ugly, bestial things?
"Senator?" The Chancellor was near him now, placing a cold palm over his shaking hands. "You can see why I waited until now to show you. I didn't want to risk anyone else seeing this. Such things are hardly cause for alarm here on Coruscant, but I'm told Alderaan is another matter."
The Chancellor handed Bail a glass of some fragrant liquid that burned his throat when he swallowed it. Finally he managed to speak. He could still salvage this. "Quite a stunning forgery. Where did you get it?"
The Chancellor's smile spoke volumes. The old man knew it wasn't a forgery, but seemed willing to allow Bail the pretense of innocence. "I'm told it was intercepted before it could be transmitted to Alderaan. My first concern was for you, Senator. Forgery or no, I suspect you'd rather not be in the position of defending yourself against such images."
Bail nodded, feeling a chill spread through his very core. The muscles at the back of his neck contracted painfully. The trap had been sprung, and Bail had been snared by his own concupiscence. The glass almost slipped from his hand.
The Chancellor caught it. "My agents acquired the originals, so you should be safe from exposure."
"Your concern for my reputation is quite touching, Chancellor. I am in your debt." Bail could feel the sweat beginning to run down his face. He knew this man was not his friend, and whatever freedom he'd thought he had was now a memory.
Part 21
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