Help Me, Obi-Wan Kenobi, You're My Only Ho - cont'd
(continued from part 31)
Qui-Gon followed Mace through the halls of the Temple, surprised when he realized that he was not heading toward a security holding cell or even a Force-shielded room under a Mind Healer’s care. The other Jedi fell back as they approached Master Yoda’s quarters. Mace stopped beside the door as it opened, letting Qui-Gon enter first.
The little troll sat on a large cushion on the floor, looking serene and untroubled. Qui-Gon clenched his jaw, trying to force back the turmoil inside – the urge to fight, to run after Obi-Wan and bring him back by force. Instead he lowered his eyes and walked to the cushion across from the little Master, and knelt there, not looking at Yoda. Mace handed something to Yoda, then left without another word.
“Your ‘saber as a Padawan, this was.” The wizened green claws caressed the casing of the lightsaber Mace had taken from him.
“I loaned the one I built to someone.” Qui-Gon knew that Yoda could sense his agitation – he’d made no attempt to hide it in the Force. Why had his Master not addressed it directly?
“Knight Chun-al-Leem.” Yoda looked up, his large eyes seeming older and wiser than Qui-Gon had remembered. “Offered to return it to you, he did.”
Qui-Gon nodded.
“But take it back, you would not. Because trust yourself you do not.” Yoda ignited the ‘saber. “Insufficient to your skill the reach of this is. Have served you well against Master Windu, it would not. Knew this, you did. Yet go about without a ‘saber at your belt, you could not.”
“You see much, Master.” Qui-Gon took a deep breath, shaking as he did so, whether with anger at the Council or fear for Obi-Wan he could not say. “My serenity is shattered. I have broken the Code for love. Is that what you wanted, for me to confess my failing?”
Yoda sighed, seeming to shrink with the exhalation of breath. “No.”
“You’ve sent my lover to his death, or worse.” The words were empty, as Qui-Gon was empty. There was no room in him for anger any longer, so filled was he with the gaping void of loss, which seemed now a foregone conclusion. Obi-Wan had gone, and Qui-Gon felt stretched, splitting with the fullness of grief.
“Speak of things you cannot know, you should not.” Yoda looked on him kindly, with a deep sadness glistening in the corners of his eyes. “Failed you, I have.”
Qui-Gon answered what he believed Yoda would say next, ignoring for the moment what he had actually said. “I lived my whole life by the Code. I followed the Jedi way. Yet I never lived until I met Obi-Wan. Even now, I cannot regret that.”
“Failed you, the Order has.” Yoda looked off into the middle distance, attention focused on something Qui-Gon couldn’t see. “Too rigid, we have been. Chosen from outside our number, the Force has. Meet this challenge, we could not.”
Qui-Gon had expected Master Yoda to scold him, to repeat the infallibility of the Force and the Jedi Code. The sad, broken posture of the small Master was unexpected, confusing and more than a little disturbing. “What do you want of me?”
Yoda sighed again. “Need you, we do, Qui-Gon Jinn, but restore your serenity you must. Or of no use you will be.”
He felt the tickle of anger rising in him again. “To whom am I to be of use? The Council?”
“To the Force, and to Obi-Wan,” Yoda said softly. “Hope there is, but control your passions, you must. Or lost we all will be.”
Qui-Gon did not answer at first, but sat there, looking at Yoda. The little Master had not been scolding him — he could see that now. With an effort of will, Qui-Gon tried to release his anxieties to the Force. Each time he touched the Force, the churning emotion inside him seemed to reach out and grasp him by the throat, choking him. Yoda touched him with a small, claw-like hand upon his large, callused one.
“Help you, I can, if allow me, you do.”
Qui-Gon answered with a nod and a strangled sob he could no longer hold inside. It rent the last shreds of his Jedi façade like the rotted canvas of an ancient sail, long neglected. His tears flowed freely, taking with them some measure of pain. Yoda’s touch flowed with comfort and calm. Like a cool wash of water drenching him, Qui-Gon felt the Force enter him again, washing him clean of fear and doubt. An empty cup, scoured by pain and rinsed with tears, once again he felt clean. In that moment, he believed. He believed that all would be well, that his world would have beauty and meaning once again. His first instinct was to reject this feeling as false, but he fought to hold it close to him.
The pain and loss still circled him, waiting to return; Yoda helped him hold it at bay. “What am I to do?”
Bruck felt the ship enter hyperspace, even though he could not see the stars streaking past. When Xanatos emerged from the cockpit and approached him, Bruck had difficulty meeting his gaze. Soon enough, he didn’t have a choice. Xanatos came close, looking down on Bruck, filling his vision with cool sternness.
“There are a few things we need to get straight before we begin.” He opened a small storage compartment beside Bruck, and popped open a false bottom inside it. “Both our lightsabers are hidden here. If we have to use them, the mission is fucked, we’re fucked – probably the whole Order, too. Still, it might be a comfort to you to know that they are there. We’ll need to stow your clothes in here.” He took Bruck’s ‘saber out of the hidden compartment and replaced the false bottom. “My guess is that Durante will have bragged about having a Jedi for a son, which means we’ll have to take extra precautions. That’s why I have this.”
He pulled out a shiny, golden collar, and held it in front of Bruck’s face.
“A Force inhibitor?” Bruck couldn’t hide his shock. “But-”
“Tand modified it. It will appear to be functional, even if they test it.” He smiled, then, and Bruck saw the glint of sadistic pleasure in his eyes. “It won’t be comfortable, but you should be able to function reasonably well with it on, once you’ve gotten used to it.”
“But if I’m cut off from the Force, how-”
“You won’t be. Not entirely. Tand seemed to think it wouldn’t be enough to compromise my connection to the Light through you.” Xanatos held the collar tightly, gesturing with it. “I warned you this would not be pleasant for you. If you want to back out, now is the time to tell me, before we’re committed.”
Bruck swallowed hard, though his mouth was dry. There was no choice. This was the only way. “I’m not backing out.”
“Good.” Xanatos didn’t look at Bruck as he turned toward his quarters, the ship’s single berth. A thrill of mingled dread and anticipation coursed through Bruck as he considered what their sleeping arrangements might be. Somehow he doubted that Lairso Meenk would be much of a cuddler. “I’m going to go change. We have a few days to work on our cover while I make some stops around the outer rim, spreading the word of Lairso Meenk’s triumphant return. It could be a ten before we’re put to the test, but we should be well into our roles before then. You understand?”
Bruck nodded, not trusting his voice. When Xanatos emerged from his quarters, he would be Lairso Meenk, and Bruck would be his bed slave.
Xanatos went to his quarters and didn’t look back.
Palpatine sat in his borrowed offices, fuming. Soon enough Senate Security would clear the building of reporters, and he could go back to his own office and take care of a few things before the end of this accursed day.
He could not see for certain what had become of Xanatos T’Crion, but he had not felt him fully turn. At a distance of many light years, he could sense the darkness blossoming in him steadily, then nothing. He did not for a moment suspect that Durante had managed to kill him. Beyond the absurdity of such an idea, there was the fact that he could still sense his presence in the Force, if somewhat muted and obscured by the same interference he had sensed before. Whatever stood between him and having Knight T’Crion as his next apprentice, at least now he knew for certain that it was not Master Jinn. The hooks of darkness were singing in him even now – a pleasant and unexpected consequence of the Kenobi debacle.
Ignoring the throbbing in his temples at the thought of the day’s events, he leaned back in the chair that was not quite to his liking and thought of Bail Organa’s downfall. He would be recalled to Alderaan in a matter of days at the most. Palpatine smiled. Organa’s political suicide had been spectacular, and would have worked out to Palpatine’s unquestionable advantage had it not been for that business with Kenobi. Organa had no evidence that Palpatine could not have dealt with easily, so the grand gesture of him falling on his sword would have amounted to little without the addition of a certain comely courtesan to the mix.
He hoped the ex-guard and his accomplices would be freed soon. It would be so much easier to make them suffer were they not in custody. Perhaps he could have them killed spectacularly and see that Organa was blamed for it. The idea had possibilities, but Organa would be long gone before the men were freed, and Palpatine certainly wasn’t going to have their bond paid. No matter how many layers of separation and holding companies he used, if the miscreants were suddenly freed, public opinion would assume he had arranged it. No, he must leave them to rot, possibly even exert some influence to see that they were not freed. Yes, that would be the best course of action.
The door opened, slowly, setting the Chancellor’s teeth on edge. The building could not possibly be cleared of the press yet. “I told you not to bother me until I can return to my own offices unhindered.”
“Yes, Chancellor, but there’s someone-”
“I am not speaking to anyone on this matter until tomorrow!” He turned to see the underling leaning half in the doorway cringe at his tone. He glanced up fearfully, but didn’t leave.
“It’s Kenobi, sir.”
Palpatine could feel a familiar Force presence at a distance, but was immediately on his guard. “Are you certain it is he?”
“We are, sir. It seems he slipped around the press unnoticed.”
Kenobi here, and avoiding the press? That could have possibilities. “Search him thoroughly and bring him here.”
The underling bowed and left without a sound.
The Chancellor leaned back in his borrowed chair, staring at the door. This could prove interesting.
Xanatos put on his Lairso Meenk finery, or the nearest thing to it he could gather on short notice before the mission began. Black leather trousers, fitted but not binding, and possessed of many useful features and a loose tunic of the finest silk, in midnight blue to bring out his eyes, to which he added the faintest hint of kohl. A pair of black boots with knee guards, black gloves and his own loose hair completed the look.
Xanatos grinned, eyeing his misty image in the polished metal of a bulkhead. He had to admit, he was a sight to behold as Lairso Meenk. He didn’t want to leave his quarters, though, didn’t want to face Bruck, even as Meenk. How hard could it be? All he had to do was be self-centered and pleasure-seeking, only nominally concerned with the interests of others. Yet he could not deny how he longed to heal the rift between himself and Bruck, and not only for the chance to remain a Jedi, as Bruck assumed. He picked up the modified Force inhibitor and opened the door.
Bruck started at the sound of Meenk’s boots on the decking, looking up from the neat pile of his clothing that he was placing inside an open locker. He was completely naked but for the bracelet, the bacta bandage on his upper arm and the wavy fall of pale hair slipping across his bronze shoulders.
Xanatos had noticed most of the changes to his lover’s appearance wrought by the integration of the Lentrebi graft, but until now he had not paid much attention to the shimmer of his skin, or the fine black lines that circled his flesh like the straie of a birch. The effect was strange and stunning; he had stopped midway between his door and Bruck, but soon caught himself and moved closer. He schooled his features to a look of disinterested appraisal. Bruck lowered his eyes and waited.
“We’ll leave the hair down for now,” Xanatos muttered, stroking the silver-white mass as he moved it behind Bruck’s shoulder, to better expose his chest. “Keep your chin up and your shoulders back, like the haughty bit of rough trade you are. Understand?”
Bruck nodded, pale brows knitted in concentration as he corrected his posture.
“Good,” Xanatos said. “But for the fact that I cannot hear your head rattle, and would rather not be troubled with always having to look at you. You should respond aloud whenever I speak to you. Perhaps you should address me as ‘Master’?”
Bruck’s eyes widened as he looked at Xanatos in the face for the first time since he’d emerged from his quarters. Xanatos grinned.
“It is a bit of a loaded word for a Jedi, I know, but I prefer it to ‘my lord’ which sounds a bit effete to my ears.” He smoothed one broad hand down Bruck’s chest all the way to his narrow hip. “You will call me Master, then. Do not for a moment think that your wishes do not interest me. My decisions will be made entirely on the basis of my own desires, mind, but knowing yours will be enjoyable to me. To that end, you are to keep both our bonds fully open to me at all times. To close them would risk serious unpleasantness for us both, you understand?”
“Yes, Master.” The word seemed to stick in Bruck’s throat, and the sound of it filled Xanatos with undeniable pleasure. He held up the Force inhibitor.
“Let’s get this over with, shall we?” Without waiting for a response, he closed it around Bruck’s neck. The clasp caught on a few stray hairs, which Xanatos pulled free, breaking them. Bruck staggered as if under a blow, but Xanatos made no move to steady him. “Follow me.”
He walked to the open door to his quarters and turned to see Bruck three paces back, struggling to find his balance. He reached out to Bruck through their bond, feeling his pain for a fleeting moment. “Tand said this will pass,” he whispered. “He tried it himself.”
Lips pressed to a pale line, Bruck made his way forward. Xanatos fought the impulse to remove the collar. Bruck must adjust to it before they reached the first outpost. He could still feel Bruck through their bond – he was still connected to the Force.
Another step and Bruck straightened up with an effort, and walked with deliberate slowness to his side. “Forgive me, Master.”
Xanatos remembered his role, and spoke without conviction. “I will punish you if you dawdle like that again.”
“Yes, Master.” Bruck crossed the threshold and Xanatos followed quickly. He knew a way to get Bruck’s mind off the collar and get himself firmly in character. He grabbed hold of Bruck’s silvery mane and pulled him toward the ‘fresher.
“I’m only going to show you this once, so pay attention.” Once in the ‘fresher, he pushed Bruck into the sonics stall, and turned it on its highest setting. Bruck flinched as the sonics bombarded him. “Every day you will cleanse yourself for me. Do not neglect hidden areas.”
Xanatos reached in and spread Bruck’s cheeks. The sonics’ safety features would engage before the skin was damaged, but they would leave him tender. Xanatos turned Bruck roughly, making sure to clean under his foreskin. Bruck gasped at the shock of the harsh sensation, and the sound went straight to his cock. He pulled Bruck out quickly, and bent him over the sanitary unit.
“I’ve laid in some special supplies for this trip.” He smiled as pulled out a fluid-filled bag with a long tube attached. “I want you clean, inside and out.”
The first enema lasted until Bruck pleaded for relief, the second, a bit longer.
When Bruck had been cleaned to Xanatos’ satisfaction and sat trembling and empty on the sanitary unit, he said, “There now. That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Before Bruck could answer, he added, “But there is one more thing.” He pulled Bruck into the sleeproom and bent him over the edge of the bed. Using a small tube with a long nozzle, he squirted a sizeable dollop of lubricant inside him.
“I expect you to do all this for yourself every morning, unless I express a desire to assist you. If I find that your work is less than thorough, you will not enjoy the consequences. Understood?”
“Yes, Master.” Bruck’s answer was barely more than a whisper.
Xanatos slapped him hard on the behind. “Speak up.”
“Yes, Master!”
“That’s better. Chin up! Now stand over here.” He motioned to the space between the foot of the bed and the door, and Bruck complied, the look on his face so wary it was almost comical. “You may reach up and steady yourself with your hands on the bulkhead if you find it difficult to remain still.”
Bruck placed a hand on either side of the bulkhead as Xanatos circled him, touching him lightly, exploring his body. He discovered that the fine lines that covered Bruck’s skin were almost as sensitive as his nipples and that tender place just below each ear.
“Interesting,” Xanatos whispered into Bruck’s hair, letting his breath tickle that long neck. He let his hands roam to scattered places of scant body hair, petting the thin white fuzz in Bruck’s armpits, stroking down his belly to the nest of coarser hair at his sex. “I don’t think you have enough pubic hair to bother with shaving.”
Bruck’s cock was beginning to stiffen under his touches, despite the collar, and Xanatos soon found himself ready to play as well. He thrust his leather-covered crotch against Bruck’s bare backside, earning him another one of those delectable noises from deep in Bruck’s throat. Through the bond he could feel Bruck’s desire. In spite of the shame and guilt of the past days, he could not help but respond to his erstwhile lover’s touch, even if it was devoid of genuine warmth. Xanatos nuzzled in closer and breathed deeply, filling his lungs with a strange, flowery perfume. “You smell so good.”
Xanatos stepped back, sensing Bruck’s arousal growing through their bond. “Do I turn you on? Is that why you suddenly smell so intoxicating?”
“Yes – I think so, Master.” Bruck’s breath caught in his throat as Xanatos grabbed his cock with a gloved hand, squeezing gently.
“Not so soon,” Xanatos muttered, releasing him. “My pleasure comes first.”
Bruck groaned as Xanatos sat on the end of the bed and freed his cock. “Show me how well you can please me, fucktoy,” he said with a purr.
Bruck knelt before him, taking his cock in his mouth and hands. Xanatos gave himself over to the pleasure for a moment before spreading Bruck’s knees with the toes of his boots. Bruck’s hips had begun to thrust as he sucked. Xanatos enjoyed the hungry, pleading movement, but made certain there was no means for Bruck’s pleasure within reach.
“Oh, you are good at that.”
Their bond open wide, Xanatos could feel Bruck’s conflicting emotions — love and desire mingled with guilt and self-loathing. Xanatos did his best to shut out these feelings by concentrating on the pleasure. He grabbed Bruck’s head and thrust hard, not slowing his pace until his climax washed through him. He lay back for a moment, stunned and twitching, as Bruck gently licked him clean.
Eventually the pleasure faded, and he sat up. Bruck’s hair was wild and his eyes wide, with pupils enlarged by desire. His lips looked so bruised and moist that Xanatos could not resist running his thumb over them.
“You missed your calling, Jedi.” He spread moisture collected at the corner of Bruck’s mouth across his swollen lower lip. “You’d have made an excellent whore.”
Xanatos saw the look of shock and shame flash across Bruck’s face before he could mask it. He did not allow himself the luxury of regretting his words, but leaned over and kissed Bruck’s abused lips. At first, he did not respond; Xanatos might have been kissing some passive doll made of warm flesh. Then he let out a breath, a broken little whimper, and kissed him back, hungry and desperate. Xanatos pulled him up on the bed beside him. They had few hours yet before their first stop – time enough to play.
Palpatine moved his fingers rhythmically on the desk top, not making a sound. The Darkness showed him much, but not enough about Kenobi to give him any insight into the courtesan’s sudden appearance. As things stood, all he could feel from the young man wending his way ever nearer was a pervasive sense of dread. Interesting.
Soon enough, the outer door opened and Kenobi walked in, closing the door behind him. A moment passed in silence before the courtesan moved, and then he merely lowered the hood obscuring his face, which still showed signs of recent abuse.
Palpatine examined him minutely without appearing to do so. “What may I do for you, Kenobi?”
“It is not a question of what you can do for me, nor is it a question of what I can do for you. The question, Chancellor, is what we can do for each other.” The courtesan ended his little speech with a lopsided grin, still overconfident of his gifts despite the bruises.
“I assume you’re going to tell me.”
That lip twitched again, the ghost of a grin. “Due to recent developments – developments for which I hold you blameless – I have lost the one client I ever had on Coruscant, excepting yourself.”
Palpatine grinned. Hadn’t the boy learned that he was immune to his charms? “You expect me to maintain you in the manner to which you’ve become accustomed? I would say that is a bit presumptuous on your part.”
“Not at all.” Kenobi stepped forward boldly. “I can offer you something that no other being on Coruscant could give you.”
“And what is that?”
“The return of your good name.” He stood close enough to the desk to lean forward, palms pressed against its dark, reflective surface. “If I appear with you tomorrow, smiling and comfortable in your presence despite my healing bruises, the press will realize they have misjudged your character. I will, of course, restate your position that Larkin was not acting under your direction, with the added information that Larkin was, in fact, set upon harming me because you fired him. I will present myself as your lover if you wish. Or, if you prefer it, I will speak of you merely as a friend who has been assisting me in obtaining the proper licenses to be a practicing courtesan on Coruscant. Whichever role best suits your political machinations, I will play it convincingly.”
Palpatine could sense Kenobi’s confidence and determination, but no deception. “And what would you require in return for this valuable service?”
Kenobi didn’t hesitate. “A permanent license to practice my trade here on Coruscant, lodgings suitable for doing so, paid for until my income is sufficient to cover it. With all this publicity, I should not imagine that will take long, provided you lift whatever secret ban you placed on me to prevent the growth of my business before our previous dealings.”
“Would you like your old lodgings restored to you?” Palpatine felt the thrill of fear and disgust course through Kenobi, though he gave no outward sign. The taste of his anguish was exquisite.
“No, Chancellor. I will live wherever you deem suitable, provided it is not that place.” His features remained placid, the sudden stillness of his posture more telling than his carefully schooled expression. “The inside was rather damaged in that business today, you understand.”
“Of course. How foolish of me.” Palpatine smiled.
“I will require proof that you have taken all these actions before I appear with you publicly, you understand.”
He has learned caution at last, Palpatine thought. “That could prove difficult, in the case of your potential clientele pool.”
“I’m sure you’ll manage.” Kenobi smiled, sitting on the edge of the desk. “My second option, under the circumstances, would be to appear publicly with Senator Organa while he is still on planet. The potential client pool such publicity would provide is less desirable than those an agreement with you could provide, but I could still see to it that my license is approved with alacrity, as any delay would be attributed to you.”
Palpatine did not allow his own smile to falter. “I believe you overestimate the attention span of the press.”
“I’m afraid you’re wrong, Chancellor. The fickle nature of the hordes outside is the very reason this offer has such a short shelf life.” Kenobi stood, pulling up his hood. “I will appear before the press first thing in the morning, one way or the other.”
Kenobi made his way toward the door.
“You could easily decide to retire from the public eye.” Palpatine let the words hang for moment, bringing Kenobi to a halt mid-stride. “Slip off tonight for parts unknown.”
Kenobi laughed. “Which is why, if I do not appear on the news feeds by the ninth hour tomorrow, a vid I’ve recorded and sent to three trusted sources will be released to the media. It states my intention to expose you. I assure you that in it I am clearly in fear for my life, terrified you’ll have me vanish the way you did my mentor, Lady Essa.”
A moment passed before Palpatine realized his jaw had clenched painfully. It had been a long time since he had to mask such unexpected rage. No doubt he referred to someone at the Jedi Temple, a place still firmly outside Palpatine’s reach. “Dear boy, I’m afraid you misjudge me. I have no knowledge of what befell your mentor, and naturally I have nothing but the best wishes for you. I’m certain we can come to a mutually satisfactory agreement.”
“I’ll give my comlink code to your man waiting outside.” He opened the door, but paused on the threshold. “If you have me followed, make certain your men know it is not in your best interests for me to have an accident. It would be most unfortunate for you should I slip in the ‘fresher in my suite at The Diplomat.”
The door closed behind the courtesan, and Palpatine cursed. The Diplomat was a hotel favored by media from off-world. No doubt the boy would let himself be seen in the lobby within the next twenty minutes.
He let his rage boil, suffusing him with the raw power of the Dark Side. Yes, he’d been out maneuvered by a cocky whore who fancied himself a courtesan, but the game was far from over. He’d give him everything he wanted, for now. But when the next big story bumped their imaginary love triangle from the headlines, Kenobi would have no cards left to play.
They had landed somewhere; that was all Bruck knew for certain. They hadn’t been in hyperspace more than a few hours, so he suspected that they were still in Republic space. Xanatos, or rather the rogue smuggler Lairso Mink who shared his lovely pale skin, had bound Bruck to the bunk, spread-eagle, and brought him to the brink of orgasm several times, never allowing him release.
Alone now, lying on his back, Bruck wriggled in his bonds. He didn’t like enforced immobility, and stretched as much as he could by arching his back. An uncomfortable tug on his pubic hair reminded him that Xanatos had bound more than his wrists and ankles. Ever one for ingenious improvisation in sexual matters, he’d bound Bruck’s cock and testicles with the thong taken from his hair.
Xanatos had promised him that he would adapt to the collar, and he had not lied. It caused an annoying, low-level buzzing in his head, blurring the lines of fate that had recently been visible to his Lentrebi perception, but he could bear it. He wondered if Xanatos had begun the sexual torture to give him something to focus on besides the inhibitor.
He’d said, “Think of me while I’m gone.” Then he had left the room, landed the ship and soon enough Bruck had heard the whine of the ramp’s hydraulics as it lowered. When he came back, Bruck knew the games would continue. His cock throbbed and his balls ached and burned.
It was no more than he deserved. Everything that had happened to Xanatos – everything… Durante had done – was ultimately Bruck’s fault. He had not been able to fight off the Sith in time to save Xanatos; he had only been able to help Qui-Gon rescue him when the worst was over. If Qui-Gon had not had to deliver Bruck to Lentrebi Prime, maybe they could have found him sooner…
Gods! He’d started that infernal itching in his eyes again, the sensation that had taken the place of tears since his transformation. Even that, he deserved. He would suffer for Xanatos, for as long as it took. Perhaps his lover’s frozen heart would warm to him again, if he suffered well. Whatever pain it took to win his love, he would endure it.
Qui-Gon took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He was sweating profusely, despite the cool temperature in Tand’s special meditation room. He had expected the process to be difficult, learning to cope with the challenges presented by the bond he had formed with Obi-Wan. The fear and anger at his loss still thrummed beneath the surface of his skin. With Master Yoda’s assistance gone, he felt like tinder, awaiting the spark that would destroy him.
“You’re doing well, Master Jinn,” Tand said over the comm. “Just a little bit longer, and you can rest.”
Qui-Gon resisted the urge to grunt derisively; Tand had been saying that for he knew not how long. But he would do this willingly, gladly, for as long as it took. He must do it for the Order. For Obi-Wan.
Phol entered and administered another hypospray. “This is enough for now. It’s time for you to rest.”
“Just a little bit longer,” he whispered, not opening his eyes. “I’m close.”
One more deep breath, and he was reaching out to the Force again, drawing it into himself, around a kernel of peace inside him, though all the rest was chaos.
Part 33
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