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(continued from part 6)

"Master Jinn?"

Qui-Gon roused suddenly from his meditation, heart racing.

"Yes, Kenobi, I'm here." The young man was beside him, just as he had been when their meditation began, though their meditative exercise had proven quite different than he had expected. The Force-talented pleasure worker was pulling on his sleeve.

"We have to go!" Kenobi strained to pull Qui-Gon to his feet, even as he was trying to stand. "We can help him, if we hurry."

"One moment, Kenobi," Qui-Gon sighed. He grasped the younger man's shoulders turning him to face him. "Tell me what you saw."

Kenobi looked confused. "Didn't you see it, too? You were right there with me –"

"I was with you, leading you in basic meditation, but what you saw was not clear to me." It had certainly set his heart pounding, though. The Jedi Master swallowed hard, forcing himself to stillness and trying to project that calm towards his excitable young protégé. "Tell me what you saw."

"I-I'm not sure, exactly, but…" Kenobi cleared his throat, and Qui-Gon saw that he was calming down a bit. "That white-haired Jedi was in trouble. Chun? He was calling for help. There were trees and a devil with sharpened teeth. He was afraid… and he was *fading*… What does it mean?"

"I don't know." Qui-Gon stroked his beard as he thought. Kenobi was relatively new to meditation, but the Force had shown him a vision? Qui-Gon had seen glimpses of it, what he thought of as a wood filled with strange trees that glowed with their own light, and someone screaming. His close ties with the Living Force had almost always allowed him to meditate without bothersome visions of the possible future or the pointless past. Yet, this boy, scarcely trained at all, had seen a vision powerful enough to bleed through to him during shared meditation. "It's very unusual for a Force Novice to see a vision during their first meditation, Kenobi."

Qui-Gon thought he saw pain in those clear grey eyes before the young man's face closed, hiding any emotion. Then Kenobi's jaw set in defiance, a look he was much more comfortable seeing.

"It was *not* my first meditation! You said yourself that what I was doing the other day on the balcony was like meditation, and that thing when I was sick – you showed me how to purge the drugs in my system. You think I'm making this up? Did I make up the Force push I used against Orima on Iptura, or the mind trick I tried on you on the ship? I didn't know what those things *were*, but that doesn't mean I didn't *do* them!"

Qui-Gon watched as Kenobi stumbled over to the reading chair and sat heavily, a look of confusion and fear on his face. The young man wrapped his arms around himself tightly. The Jedi Master moved towards him and sank to his knees by the chair. "This has happened before, hasn't it?"

"Not like this." Kenobi looked off into the distance as the Coruscanti suns dipped below the skyline outside the balcony doors. "Dreams. Sometimes a feeling, like I should avoid a certain customer, or walk one way down the street and not the other." Kenobi shook his head. "Was that the Force?"

Nodding, Qui-Gon answered, "Most likely. The Force is there to guide any who know how to hear it. You are right, Kenobi. I should not be surprised to find you more in touch with the Force than one generally expects in an untrained Force-sensitive."

"It's always been like this, as far back as I can remember." Kenobi looked up at Qui-Gon with a searching look in his eyes. "Dreams like that, only this time I wasn't asleep, was I?"

"No." Qui-Gon bit his lip. How was he supposed to help this young man? He was obviously quite strong in the Unifying Force – strong enough to drag Qui-Gon into visions. What about the strange dreams he'd had on the *Furlan*? Had Kenobi's nearness somehow affected Qui-Gon's Force sense? He shouldn't be able to do these things without training, without Jedi discipline. Kenobi's words broke his reverie.

"Have I done something wrong?" The young man whispered, with a look in his eyes strangely akin to fear.

"No, Kenobi," Qui-Gon said as reassuringly as possible. "Not at all."

"You look troubled."

"I was just thinking. It's not important." Qui-Gon shook his head, as if that would clear his doubts. "Tell me what you saw in these dreams of yours."

Kenobi seemed much more hesitant now, glancing up at Qui-Gon sideways as if ready to flinch from a blow. "You know I said that white-haired Jedi seemed familiar?"

Qui-Gon nodded.

"I realized where I've seen him." Kenobi was trembling faintly. Qui-Gon couldn't see it, but he could feel the slight vibration through the chair. "Where I've seen you."

The silence spread out between them, an expanding circle of stillness, and Qui-Gon let it stretch. The quiet seemed like a living thing, filling the air, caressing the walls. Kenobi took a deep breath and let it out in a rush of words, his tone low and anxious.

"I dreamed of you, before. Both of you. This place… I don't know how long I've been having these dreams. They fade quickly, but part of me remembers them. Then something happens and it's familiar to me."

Qui-Gon took a deep breath. He'd heard of something like this before, in non-Force-sensitives. A dissonance in their brains caused images or input to echo, giving them a feeling of familiarity. Episodes of this sort usually left the person believing they had dreamed it beforehand, but only just remembered the dream.

But Kenobi *was* Force sensitive. Very Force sensitive, and he had just had a powerful vision. Qui-Gon scratched absently at his beard.

"You don't believe me," Kenobi whispered, a mixture of anger and disappointment in his voice. "You *saw* part of it and you still don't believe me."

"I don't know what to believe," Qui-Gon answered honestly. "Tell me more of these dreams."

Kenobi pressed his lips together, considering. Perhaps he was angry at being doubted, but he finally decided to speak. "I remember flashes of things. I know I saw the Temple – bits of it were familiar to me immediately. Windows, mostly. A few faces – you, the white-haired Knight and the little troll. There was an old man with two faces. I know how strange this sounds." Kenobi laughed uncomfortably. "I don't blame you for not believing me."

"Actually, I believe you, though whether these dreams occurred when you think they did... Let us say that the human mind is a very complicated thing." Qui-Gon gave Kenobi his most reassuring smile. He sensed Kenobi's hesitation, but he didn't want to assure the young man he was believed if it wasn't entirely true. "Do you recall anything else? Any actions or context? What were we doing in these dreams?"

"There was some running and fighting, I think, but with you I remember…" A flush of embarrassment crept up Kenobi's face. "Nothing very clear."

It might not have been the first lie Kenobi had told Qui-Gon, but it was certainly the clumsiest.

"You must trust me, Obi-Wan."

Qui-Gon chose to use Kenobi's first name, hoping that they knew each other well enough for more informal address. It was worth a try, but Qui-Gon could tell in an instant that the young man saw through him. Kenobi's lips pressed into a hard line, and a cynical twinkle came into his eye.

"You would only tell me I need to learn to relate to people in different ways, or something. Trust *me*, Jinn. You don't want to know."

"I see." Qui-Gon stood and headed for the com, keeping his careful Jedi façade in place. "Well, let me see if Healer Tand will allow us to visit Knight Chun."

He felt a certain amount of prodding from the Force in that direction, and Kenobi had shared his feeling of urgency after his vision. Perhaps there *was* something they could do to help the young Knight. Not only that, maybe he could find a way to ease the dread that gripped his heart when he thought of his former Padawan.

He would let the Force guide him, and hope that following its will would be enough.

 A claxon sounded, rousing Xanatos from the haze of semi-consciousness that enveloped him.  He wasn't screaming anymore, though he didn't remember stopping. His throat hurt.

The room was bustling with activity; beings and droids moved quickly about, taking no notice of him. Durante stood nearby, casually wiping the blood from his hands.

A masked healer in white surgical garb was working over Fawks, who lay upon a hovering gurney. He appeared to be putting the boy's intestines back inside him, while droids and other beings treated his other wounds.

"Wake him," Durante ordered.  He didn't bother to look up from the bloody towel in his hands.

"Ser Durante, he is not stable," the healer warned. "Waking him now could kill him."

Durante said nothing in reply, and the healer nodded to one of his helpers who held a ready hypospray.

Xanatos heard the faint his of the injector and Fawks jerked awake.  One eye was still swollen shut, but the other opened, wide and panicked.  He began to scream with more force than Xanatos would have thought possible.

"No!  No, I won't go back!" He was obviously too weak to fight effectively, but he pulled at the tube in his chest with his good arm, and fought the healer who tried to stop him.

Durante moved closer to hie young victim.  "Something the matter, Fawks?"

"I won't go back in the bacta." Fawks stopped struggling; his voice was broken by weak sobs.  "You said this was the last time… You said you'd let me go, i-if…"

"That's true. I said I would let you die," Durante said, smiling.  "If you didn't scream."

"I-I *didn't*… I…" Tears streamed down Fawks' ravaged face, slow and silent.

"You didn't, until just now."  Durante gave him one last look of smug triumph before turning to the healer.  "Get him in the bacta quickly – I'd hate to lose him."

Fawks slumped, unresisting as the healer used another hypospray to sedate him.  Soon the group bore him out of Orima Durante's recreation room, leaving their master alone with Xanatos.

"That one never puts up much of a fight, but I do enjoy how he suffers." Durante came close enough that Xanatos could smell his sweat, and traces of  blood on his hands.  "I wonder if a Jedi would hold up as well."

Xanatos remained silent, trying to slow his heartbeat, control his breathing. Control his fear.  No matter what happened to him at the soiled hands of this monster, he was still a Jedi.  He would be strong.

Durante ran a flabby, sweating hand over Xanatos' clothing, slowly, as if noting the shape and density of the body they concealed. Finally, he paused over the Jedi's bare feet, stroking them both with a clammy caress.  "You've never bottomed for anyone, have you, Knight T'Crion?"

Xanatos stared into the man's squinty little eyes with all the ferocity he could muster, but said nothing. Durante released his feet, moving closer to his face.

"You don't have to answer. In my line of work, you learn to read people… their eyes.  Yours tell quite a story, so pale and cold.  I like them." He leaned in and licked Xanatos from chin to temple. The Knight flinched away, unable to suppress his disgust.

"Oh, yes," the fat man chuckled.  "I am *really* going to enjoy this."

"You don't understand what you're asking."  Healer Tand sighed as he smoothed a bit of lank red hair behind his ear.  "I said you both could come see Knight Chun, but I cannot authorize *anyone* to enter his room, especially not an untrained Force-sensitive." The light fell full on his face as he glanced at Kenobi, revealing lines deepened by the long hours he had been keeping since Bruck's mysterious illness began.  Qui-Gon felt a pang of sympathy for the man.

"We have come here at the urging of the Force." Qui-Gon felt Kenobi's eyes on him.  He had urged the young man to keep silent, to let him handle the Healer.  He laid a gentle hand on Tand's shoulder. "What harm could it do to let us try?"

"I doubt it would cause Chun any significant harm, but what about you, Master Jinn?  What about this fellow – he's not even a Jedi!  He'd be essentially helpless in there." Tand glanced at Kenobi. "No offense."

"None taken," came the cool, cultured response.

The Healer took a deep breath, letting it out in a long sigh.  "I can't risk exposing anyone else to this. You could feel it when you brought him in, couldn't you, Qui-Gon?  The *darkness*?"

"There was definitely *something*," Qui-Gon admitted. It hadn't been darkness exactly, not in the sense of dark emotions.  Nothing that clear. It had been more like a dense, oily film covering Bruck, filling the air around him.  Qui-Gon didn't relish the thought of facing it again, though he believed he was meant to do so.

"You're losing him, aren't you?"

Tand nodded, closed-lipped and not meeting Qui-Gon's eyes.  "Nothing we've done has had any effect, and his readings have become increasingly erratic.  Unless one of my team finds something useful in the archives… All I can do is keep him comfortable and make sure it doesn't spread."

"When is the last time you've slept?" Qui-Gon moved closer, lowering his voice.

"Maybe eighteen hours ago, for a little while."  Tand rubbed the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.  "I cannot take my ease while this young Knight is fighting for his life. There must be a way to help him; I just have to find it before it's too late."

"Sit with me a moment, my friend."  Qui-Gon pushed the Healer gently into a chair.  Kenobi, who was keeping a polite distance from the two Jedi, frowned at him. Qui-Gon responded with a pointed glance across the small monitoring room, before settling into a seat facing Tand.

"In all my years as a Healer, I have never felt so helpless," Tand said, quietly.  "Some things you can treat, some things you can't, but this – I don't even know where to begin."

"I think some rest would do you good."  Qui-Gon avoided glancing up at Kenobi as he moved quietly across the room.  "You could come at the problem with a fresh perspective in a few hours."

"Perhaps you're right."

"Of course I am." Qui-Gon leaned closer, calling the Force to his aid as he placed a fingertip at Tand's temple.  "You should sleep, now."

Tand blinked, very slowly. Then he shook his head and glared at Qui-Gon.

"I am *shocked* that you would attempt to use a Force suggestion on a fellow Jedi, Master Jinn.  You *had* to know it wouldn't work, and I'd be forced to report you."  Tand reached for the comm.  "Not only is it insulting, it is also terribly clumsy, for such a renowned diplomat."

"But as a diversion, it was quite effective," said Qui-Gon as Kenobi pressed the hypospray against Tand's neck.

The Healer slumped further into his seat, looking as though he had dozed off.

Kenobi was already searching through the staffing files on Tand's data set. "He should be out for a couple of hours, for all that he's a Jedi. That's some strong stuff – the same they've been shooting into Chun to keep him out, according to this."

"Well done, Kenobi." Qui-Gon couldn't help but be proud of his co-conspirator; the young man was constantly underestimated by others, and used that to his advantage.  "How long before someone comes to relieve him?"

"Most of his assistants on duty at this hour have been assigned to research in the Archives."

"He was deliberately keeping them away from Knight Chun."  Qui-Gon had felt the wrongness around Bruck, just as Tand had. They could be going into a very dangerous situation.  Qui-Gon was a Jedi Master, trained to face danger, but Kenobi had no such training. He had proven himself resourceful, but would his instinctive Force-use be enough to protect him? "Are you sure you want to do this?  I can go in alone."

Kenobi picked up Healer Tand's coded pass card and slipped it into his sleeve. "It was *my* vision, Jinn."  His smile was wry, but still full of good humor. "I have to go."

Qui-Gon smiled back.  Without another word, they headed for Knight Chun's Force-shielded room.

Bruck felt safe, and very, very warm.  Xanatos' weight lay against his back; he arched into the touch of his pale, gentle hands. They were in Knight T'Crion's quarters, making love on the common room floor.  Bruck was on his knees, his face pressed against the woven floor covering.

His body burned; sweat stung his eyes and slicked the places where their bodies touched.

"So good," Xan muttered as he pressed kisses along Bruck's shoulders.  The slick hand stroking him in time with Xan's thrusts inside him was too much; he came with broken cry just as his lover's climax shook them both.

"Gods, Xan," Bruck whispered, trying to catch his breath.  A leather glove creaked as it grasped the length of his hair tightly, pulling his head back.

Something was wrong. He wasn't in Xan's quarters; he was still in the dream wood, clenched hands full of dry, gray soil.

"I was there," the Sith whispered in his ear. "You liked it when your lover bit you here." The Sith's mouth descended on the juncture of Bruck's neck and shoulder, but he knew how to fight the Sith in this place.

"My flesh is hard, and you are toothless," he whispered, and it was so.  In a flash of thought, Bruck was free and standing opposite the Sith.  His white tunics were spotless.

He was calm.  "You are nothing more than an annoyance to me, Sith. You have no power here."

"No more than you have *there*," hissed the Sith.

Bruck frowned. "What do you mean?"

"You have not been alone in your mind since before you slew my body, but were you even aware of it?"

"I felt… something."

The Sith's lip curled in a sneer. "I was with you when you wept like a girl in your lover's embrace. I know more of you than you know of yourself, Baby Jedi."

"Bully for you."  Bruck seethed, indignant at the Sith's violation of his memories, but still released his anger to the Force.  This was his world, and he had learned to master it with ease if he could control his fears. "You will go now. I do not wish to see you again."

The Sith sketched a courtly bow, exposing his sharpened teeth in a smile.  "You won't."

The Sith disappeared in smoky streak shooting up towards the sky.

But there was no sky, only a distant, gray light that seemed surround everything in this strange wood.  He was alone again, or very nearly so.

"Master?"

*I am still here, my young knight.* Master Leem's answer came weakly into Bruck's consciousness. He was fading – had been for some time while Bruck tried to meditate and gain control of this place where he was trapped between the waking world and the eternity of the Force. He had to find a way out, and a way to be rid of the Sith's presence.

"What did he mean when he said he knows more of me than I know of myself?" Bruck sighed as he sat beside the tree that was a remnant of his master, somehow grafted to him through their bond.  "Does he know a way out of here?"

*I cannot say for certain.  He has been here almost as long as I have, but I have seldom seen him. He is very quick and hasty, and I have grown ever more slow and still. He is more of your kind than I, dear boy, but he is also a liar.  He may have seen your thoughts, but he hasn't the power to injure your mind, if that is what you fear.*

"If he is not keeping me here, then why can't I leave?" That was the crux of it. Why couldn't he regain consciousness?  The Sith had interrupted his meditations, used his own memories against him. He should not have been that easy to banish.

*Help is coming, young one. Be strong, as I know you are. I must rest now.* Master Leem's voice whispered on the edge of his awareness; he could feel the presence fade to little more than a distant rustle of leaves.

Bruck knew that he was on his own.

# Qui-Gon insisted on entering the Force-shielded room first, though it seemed rather ridiculous once they saw what awaited them there.  Bruck looked small and helpless, secured to the bed by wide restraints. His eyes were open, but unfocussed.

The Force-currents in the room were something of a disappointment, considering Healer Tand's precautions. Qui-Gon felt a great presence of the Living Force.  It was more than could be accounted for Bruck Chun alone, but it was not at all menacing. There was nothing of the unpleasant, oily presence he had sensed when he brought Chun here. He glanced at Kenobi, wondering what the young man could sense.

Kenobi met his eye and shrugged.

They moved closer.

"You are not authorized to be here," a med droid chirped at them, cheerfully. "Please leave, or I will be forced to notify seeecuurrrr…" The droid slumped forward, its lights and displays going dim.

Qui-Gon looked up at Kenobi, impressed. He had turned off the droid rather handily.  The boy shrugged.

"Cragin's doctor had one of those models. Never shut one off before, but I saw him do it."

Qui-Gon nodded, trying not to wonder why a doctor would shut off his med droid assistant while he was with a patient.

When they reached Chun's side, Qui-Gon noticed his distress. He was sweating profusely, fists clenched in the bedding; he struggled weakly against the restraints. His eyes were closed.

Bruck's body arched, and he let out a cry that sounded like a sob. "Gods, Xan."

"He's dreaming," whispered Kenobi. "Should we try to wake him?"

"Isn't that why we're here?" Qui-Gon reached out to Knight Chun with his feelings.  "It doesn't feel like a true sleep."

Kenobi reached over and shook Bruck's shoulder. The patient responded with a groan and began muttering softly. Kenobi leaned in to listen.  A frown creased his brow, and he glanced up at Qui-Gon.

"What did he say?"

Kenobi shrugged.  "It sounded like ‘you are toothless'."

"Perhaps we should try reaching out to him through meditation," Qui-Gon suggested.  "Together, as we did in our quarters."

A ginger brow arched sardonically. "*Our* quarters?" A teasing smile filled Qui-Gon with a spreading warmth.

"Don't let it go to your head, Kenobi."

His only answer was a broad smile as he reached for the patient's hand.

Bruck groaned, almost a growl. His eyes closed tightly and then opened, nothing more than darkened slits between white lashes. Making use of the few millimeters of slack in his bindings, his limbs all strained upward at once. A coarse whisper escaped his throat.

"Re…lease…me."

Kenobi tugged on the nearest wrist binding, but Qui- Gon stopped him.

"Wait. Do you feel that?" The Jedi Master was beginning to feel the same presence he had felt before Knight Chun had collapsed. Something thick, dark and suffocating.

"Re…lease…me…"

Kenobi stepped back, breathing hard.  "Knight Chun?" A deep, resonant laugh came from Bruck's mouth. It did not sound like him at all.

Qui-Gon placed a hand on Bruck's forehead, forcing it back so he could see the Knight's eyes.  "Whoever this is, it isn't Bruck."

"Wise Jedi," mocked the strangely deep voice.  "Baby Jedi isn't here anymore."  The patient's eyes opened widely, and Qui-Gon saw that they were mostly black with red-orange irises. Kenobi stepped back a pace, bumping into the deactivated med-droid.

"Gods! What is it?" Kenobi looked as pale as his tunic. Paler.

"Knight Chun killed a Sith on his last mission. Maybe…"

"Baby Jedi is the one who dies, now," hissed the dark voice. "Crying for his lover; talking to trees." A horrible, mirthless laugh filled the small room.

"He *is* still in there," Kenobi said, firmly. "How do we get to him?"

"Just as we planned."  The Jedi Master said grimly. "This presence doesn't have much power; as long as we don't feed it, we should be fine."

"*Feed* it?"

"This is a Sith, or part of one. I don't understand how it got here, but—"

"A *what*?"

"A Force-sensitive being versed in the Dark Side of the Force. The Sith use their negative emotions to increase their power. As long as we do not strengthen it with fear, anger and the like, we should be fine."

Kenobi did not look encouraged, but he nodded and closed his eyes. Qui-Gon stilled himself and began to reach out with his feelings, searching for whatever might remain of Knight Bruck Chun.

The Sith's laughter rang through the room, but neither man spared it any notice.

He had been drugged into oblivion shortly after Fawks was taken away; it would seem his captor was not up to more of his games so soon after …  Xanatos balked at the memory. There was more than enough for him to think about at the moment.

He had awakened in a small room, bound naked to an articulated framework equipped with pane induction nodes in various places.

So far, the pain had been random. He could not guess when the next wave would come, or where he would feel it.  The intensity varied between brutal and relatively bearable; he couldn't tell how long each burst lasted, but that seemed random as well.

Durante stood over him, watching impassively. He had not asked any questions. If he spoke at all, Xanatos had not noticed. He couldn't have answered anyway – the flexible bit secured between his jaws prevented speech. It also made breathing a little more difficult; perhaps it kept him from hyperventilating.

His breathing was almost normal when the next shock took him. This time the induction nodes were active behind his left knee, right arm pit and just above his tailbone. The pain radiated from those points until it washed through him completely. He held out as long as he could before screaming.

That was pride, nothing more. It was futile – he knew he would scream long before the nodes over-stimulated his nerves, leaving an aching numbness where the induction was most intense.  His throat was raw.

The pain stopped suddenly, leaving only the vaguest afterburn in his strained muscles.  That was not typical of pain induction; Jedi training on the subject said that the pain took some time to wear off. The numbness of over-stimulation was supposed to fade once the induction ceased, leaving lingering pain; sometimes it caused permanent damage. Perhaps this was new technology.

*Nothing but the best for Orima Durante,*  he thought bitterly.

"You try so hard not to scream," observed Durante, moving away from the control panel.  "Pride is a failing common to Jedi, I fear."

The fat, white-haired man released the mechanism that held the bit in place and pulled it free. Xanatos' jaw muscles cramped as he tried to move his mouth.

"Water?" Durante held a bottle before Xanato's eyes, his offer obvious.  "It's been hours since you've had anything, hasn't it?"

Xanatos swallowed hard. His need was so evident that it shamed him. He refused to look at the man or the water.

Durante tsked. "So proud. I won't make you ask for it. I know you've had nothing past your lips since you became my guest.  Depending on how hydrated you were before I captured you, you could last another day or two without water. A slow way to go, assuming I allowed it."

He opened the bottle and put it to Xanatos' lips, which remained firmly closed.

"I could have you hydrated with needles if I wanted; you could be drugged or poisoned the same way." The man's jowls drew up in a wrinkled approximation of a smile.  "You might as well take what is offered – you are completely at my mercy."

Durante's mercy?  The existence of such a thing was doubtful, at best.  Xanatos drank. He drank as hard and fast as he could, until his captor pulled the bottle away.

"Not so fast, my friend," he chided. "Make yourself sick."

Xanatos did feel quite ill. The constant nausea from the Force-suppressing collar still throbbed in his guts, and his head ached. All remnants of the pain-induction were gone.

"I have done nothing to cause you permanent damage, in case you wondered."

Xanatos pressed his lips together, refusing to give the man any response. What did he want, gratitude?

"Tell me, Knight T'Crion, what is it like to be a Jedi?" Durante's tone was mild and curious.

"You won't get anything from me." It sounded pathetic even to Xanatos' ears.

"I can take quite a lot from you, if I want.  You know that."  Fat, sweating fingers ran along Xanatos' side lightly.  "Don't be foolish."

"I have nothing to say to you."

"Then just listen." Durante pulled a chair close and sat heavily.  "I know you think I'm a monster, but I was not so different from you, once."

Xanatos snorted.

"I don't expect you to believe me, but it's true."

The Jedi Knight closed his eyes, unable to bear the sight of the man.

"Not that I could have been a Jedi, mind you. My people have been Force-blind for centuries. I was a simple trader when I was young, like my father. I inherited his ship when he died. It was an honest living." Durante was quiet for some time.  When he spoke again, he sounded as though he had forgotten Xanatos was there.

"I heard rumors of a planet on the outer Rim, where the populace was dying of a disease that sounded to me like Gracien plague. Not a very common affliction, even back then. I only knew about it because my father had managed to contract it."

Xanatos heard the heavy body move from the chair. Without thought, he instinctively tried to move away from Durante, but there was nowhere to go. The framework held his arms out from his sides, his legs only slightly parted.

"There is a vaccine, but it is hard to replicate and not very much in demand. This planet was stringently xenophobic, and their laws would not allow them to trade with other systems. How they got Gracien plague, I didn't know.

"They couldn't officially ask for help, but the rumors suggested that the ruling house was willing to pay handsomely for the vaccine. I needed money, so I took the risk. It wasn't easy getting through their planetary defenses, but I managed it. I crashed near the ruling family's stronghold. They arrested me, worked me over a bit, but I finally managed to convince them that I had the vaccine. When they realized I was telling the truth, they gladly traded the vaccine for my freedom, plus a healthy payday. Invited me to stay at the palace until my ship was repaired, even. I was treated very well. For a filthy alien, anyway."

Durante took his seat again, and said nothing else for a long time. Xanatos wondered if he had begun to doze.

"Ever been in love, Jedi?"

"None of your business."

"Perhaps not." Durante chuckled.  "Ever been with a woman? You can answer that—surely it's not a matter of Republic Security."

"Not a mater of Republic Security, no." Xanatos snorted. "But still none of your business."

"I'm a good judge of people, Jedi." Durante rubbed his round face for a moment, and leaned so that he was looking directly in Xanatos' eyes.  "I think you have, but the experience wasn't to your taste."

Xanatos was almost certain he showed no reaction, but his captor laughed.  "I knew it."

"Think what you want."

"I do, but I'm also right." Durante sat back.  "I think I may be a better judge of people than you Jedi, so wrapped-up in that Force poodoo."

"The Force is not poodoo."

"It is to me." Orima tapped his fingers on the side of his chair. "Tell you what— I'll tell you the rest of the story, and let you guess what I would do at the end. If you get it right—"

"You'll let me go." Xanatos couldn't believe the man would think he would fall for such a blatantly false guarantee.

Durante laughed. A hard, loud, belly-laugh. "No, no. Can't promise that. But if you guess correctly, I won't damage you in any permanent way. It's a good offer."

Xanatos felt a chill creep across his skin where his sweat was drying. He didn't know what scared him more – that Durante wasn't even pretending to offer him his freedom, or what he thought constituted a "good offer." He closed his eyes.

"Fine. Tell your story."

"Good." Durante settled back to resume his tale.  "The ruling family's oldest daughter was the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. I have no idea how old she was; all the people there had such gorgeous skin. Flawless. Her hair was like the finest silk. She was fascinated by the prospect of space travel; the idea of seeing different systems was very exotic to her. I didn't disabuse her of her romantic notions. I was quite smitten with her, to tell the truth – almost as smitten as she was with me."

Xanatos snorted. "You fucked her."

"Don't be crude, Jedi." Orima's voice was low and dark with threat. "I could turn the nodes on full and leave you here for as long as I like. I might anyway, just to see if this device is as safe as the claim."

Xanatos bit the inside of his jaw. That hadn't been very smart; he should have known better than to taunt this man.  But this story was absurd – the softness in the man's voice, the hint of longing – it must be a trick. A ruse.  He was not satisfied with capturing and torturing a Jedi Knight – he had to prove he could deceive one as well. It was not going to work; Xanatos T'Crion was no fool.

"She was the first woman to hold my interest so thoroughly for so long. Probably the last, truth be told. It went well enough until we were discovered. I was their hero, but I was still an alien. They gave me quite a beating; might have killed me, but the woman begged them for mercy. In the end, they let me take the reward and my ship, and told me I'd be killed on sight if I ever came back."

"Is this where I'm supposed to guess what you did?"

Durante laughed again, quite forcefully. "Not quite. I did what any man would do when asked to choose between death and escape. I ran like a bastard. "Oh, the money helped. I paid off some debts and what-not. The thing I had discovered, though, was that smuggling could pay much more than trading. It was riskier, but…"

Durante's voice trailed off and was replaced by braying laughter. Xanatos waited for the man to stop, reluctant to ask what was so amusing.

"This is the part I know you won't believe. I don't half believe it myself, and I was the one thinking it. See, the real reason I got into smuggling was that I wanted to become wealthy enough, *powerful enough*, to go back there and take the woman with me." He laughed until he wheezed. "Ah, youth!"

"You're right," Xanatos said when the laughter died down. "I don't believe you."

"Is it really so impossible for you to imagine that I once had tender feelings for a woman? That I began building my wealth and power for love?"

"Yes. Forbidden love for a princess, no less," Xanatos said.  "Didn't I see this story on the holonet somewhere?"

Durante answered him with pain – crippling, blinding pain -- directed at his testicles. When it stopped, Xanatos couldn't speak; he could scarcely breathe.

"A little respect, if you would be so kind." Durante's tone was cold and unfeeling once again. Whatever humanity Xanatos had heard in his voice had been deception, or his own imagination. This man had gutted Fawks while he was raping him. He was a monster. A clever monster, perhaps, but that wouldn't save him. Xanatos would have an opportunity, somehow, and he would see Orima Durante dead.

"I see that fire in your eyes, Jedi. If you were not immobile at the moment, I know I'd be a dead man." Durante chuckled again, a phlegmy barking, deep in his throat.  "I suppose I will get on with my story, before I'm tempted to rescind my offer. What say you?"

"You'll do whatever you like." Xanatos winced as Durante's fat hand squeezed his thigh.  "Play whatever game you like, but I know it's only a trick. Like the one you played on Fawks."

The bastard actually smiled at him. "Maybe so. I suppose we'll see, won't we?"

Durante had begun to stroke along Xanatos' inner thighs, very lightly with his clammy fingers. The touches didn't stop when he continued with his story, but his voice was colder, more business-like than ever.

"Some time later, I was well on my way to the level of professional success I have achieved. I had a few loyal men, a few contacts. I'm sure you can imagine. "One day I received a message from the woman, relayed through several different couriers. I was mostly in hiding by then, so it's something of a marvel the message ever reached me. It was somewhat late, in any case." Durante stopped talking and moved away from Xanatos. The Jedi allowed himself to feel relief at the slight respite in his captor's attentions. He knew those touches would not lead to anything good.

"She said she had been with child, my child. Her father banished her when she refused to let the pregnancy be terminated. The message was old, and she was hard to locate. One of my contacts finally found her at a brothel in the pleasure districts of Iptura."

Xanatos stiffened involuntarily at the mention of the planet that had started this whole mess.

"Interested now, are you?" Durante sat back in the chair next to Xanatos. "I thought that might get your attention. I went to see her. She was dying." Durante shrugged his rounded shoulders. "Seems her people's xenophobia was due to their surprisingly weak immune systems.

"Agents of her family had forged papers and sold her contract to a particularly upscale brothel. It was actually quite merciful – she would not have lasted so long as a slave. I paid for the best doctors – almost ruined myself, but it did no good. She faded away quickly after the child was born.  He was hardier than his mother, but I couldn't bear the sight of him. Never cared for babies."

Xanatos bit his tongue; he didn't want to give Durante an excuse to push more buttons. He tried to tell himself it didn't matter; Orima Durante would do whatever he pleased.

"The woman still had my heart, though. Even after everything, she was too beautiful by half." Durante paused. Xanatos heard him sigh. "Before she died, she begged me to take him, or at least see to his welfare."

Xanatos waited, trying not to care what came next. Durante stood and leaned in close over his captive's face.

"Can you judge me, Knight T'Crion?  Can you tell me what I did with the child?"

Xanatos closed his eyes and bit down on his lip. He would not speak; the man was only looking for another excuse to fry his balls.

"If you don't answer, it voids our wager."

Induction nodes all over his body began to hum softly, and he felt an insistent, painful itching spread throughout his body. It had to be the lowest possible setting, a threat of things to come. Xanatos was tired of being afraid; if Durante wanted to know what he thought, he'd tell him.

"You want me to play your little guessing game? Fine, I will. Even if what you told me is the truth, you're going to do whatever you like and I know it." Xanatos' heart pounded in his ears. "Here's what I think you did: You sold your own son to brothel, you sick fuck. Maybe you kept track of him, maybe you didn't. Maybe you went back when he was older and had a go. I don't want to know. I do know this: you will pay for your crimes someday, Orima Durante."

The itching turned to burning and then to cramping agony.

Xanatos could hear Durante laughing, over his screams. The pain stopped suddenly, just as Xanatos felt his consciousness fading.  Through the fog in his mind he thought he heard Durante whisper to him, breath tickling in his ear. "And where do you suppose my son is *now*, Jedi?"

The pain returned as quickly as it had faded, but soon Xanatos slipped away into the dark, comforting abyss of unconsciousness, glad that even Jedi had their limits.

On to part 8