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Nothing in the Dark - continued

(continued from part 6)

Obi-Wan sat forward with a jolt. On seeing his companion, he closed his eyes and went back to sleep. Mekall glanced at him, then redirected his attention to piloting the aircar. Shortly they arrived at their transport. Mekall gave Obi-Wan a mental nudge and the Jedi woke up.

"We're there."

Where? was Obi-Wan's sleep-dazed thought, as he saw a small ship that appeared able to take them to the next town but hardly as though it would travel from the outer edge of the galaxy to its inner rim.

Mekall looked amused as Obi-Wan blearily wandered through the cruiser's entry hatch. Obi-Wan tried not to scowl. He was tired and did not feel well. He had thought their joining meant he would no longer suffer the dull chill and recurrent headaches.

"You look like . . . you could use more sleep," Mekall commented tactfully.

The tenor of Mekall's assessment did nothing to improve Obi-Wan's snappish mood, but he held his tongue.

Mekall secured the hatch, walked past Obi-Wan to the cockpit and seated himself in the pilot's chair. Obi-Wan followed, sitting down beside him. Mekall shook his head.

"What?" Obi-Wan asked irritably.

"You're a stubborn man," Mekall told him, wondering why the Jedi did not go to the cabin to sleep.

"Hazard of the profession," Obi-Wan muttered, giving the compartment a once-over. He took a few quiet, studied breaths, attempting to improve his dispositon before inquiring, "When did you have the time to arrange this?"

"Oh, it's mine," Mekall answered, with a sly smile, as he went through the preflight checklist. "When you're in my business, you always have an escape plan or two ready. Hazard of the profession," he kidded.

"What business?" Obi-Wan responded seriously.

"I told you."

"No, really."

"Why don't you take it easy," Mekall said. "Go get some more sleep, whatever. There's plenty of time to delve into my nefarious history once we're in space."

"This'll go interplanetary?" Obi-Wan sounded dubious.

"With no problem," Mekall grinned. "Doesn't look like it, I know, but Lure and I fitted her out. She'll go longer and farther than we'll ever need."

Obi-Wan wanted an answer to his question, but he knew he was close to the end of his ability to remain civil. He decided it could wait. "Do you need any help?" he offered.

"No," Mekall said, getting up to finish the preflight.

Obi-Wan noted the increasing warmth he felt as Mekall slipped behind him to check another instrument panel. He wondered if Mekall felt it as well. Obi-Wan turned away before Mekall caught him staring.

"All right then," the Jedi declared, "I'll be back in a while."

"Take your time," Mekall replied.

The ship might have been small but it was top of the line. Not extravagant, but no expense spared either. He may not have had much information about Mekall, but Obi-Wan knew the craft was beyond what most had access and credits for.

There were two cabins. Obi-Wan took the first. He sat down to wrestle off Hilty's pinching boots, then barely had enough energy left to cross to the sleep pallet. He lay down and his breathing quickly evened into that of sleep.

"Ready for takeoff."

Obi-Wan distantly registered Mekall's voice coming over the com a short time later.

The cruiser's engines fired.

Obi-Wan sprang up, brought violently awake by the sense memory of the ship beginning to shimmy around him. He put his hand to his head, curious whether it had actually split down the middle.

Obi-Wan? Mekall sent. He did not get an answer. He had to get them off the ground before he could check on the reverberation of distress he had received. When Mekall got to the cabin, Obi-Wan was ghost-pale, sitting rigidly against the wall.

"If you sit forward, you won't feel it as much," Mekall suggested.

Obi-Wan's eyes were shut tightly. He moved away from the wall without opening them.

"Better?" Mekall asked, sitting down on the sleep pallet as lightly as he could, purposefully not touching him.

"No," Obi-Wan answered tautly. Then: "Yes."

Obi-Wan opened his eyes. Mekall's mildly sympathetic expression embarrassed him.

"Ridiculous," Obi-Wan said hotly. They had barely set foot off the planet and he was making a fool of himself. "A Jedi who can't fly."

"It'll pass," Mekall answered. "Is there anything I can do?"

"I'm all right."

"Sure you are," Mekall humored him.

"I will be," Obi-Wan revised.

Mekall was torn. He could feel Obi-Wan was upset and ill. He knew the latter was not being helped by his shielding from him. Even if Mekall wanted to let Obi-Wan in - and he had mixed feelings about it at the moment - he could not spare the energy. He was running on fumes himself.

"I could put you out," Mekall proposed instead.

That is the last thing I need, Obi-Wan thought. There was so much to be faced, how could he begin by giving in to fear? Nor did he much want Mekall in his head when Mekall was not granting him the same access.

"You're doing it again," Mekall declared.

Obi-Wan looked perplexed.

"You don't have to put that front up for m -" Mekall stopped himself. There was no point in criticizing Obi-Wan for a habit that was as ingrained as breathing. The Jedi facade. Poor bastard.

Obi-Wan had been so open to him before he remembered who he was. Interesting turn of events, Mekall considered. He had done everything in his power to bring back Obi-Wan's memory only to end up wondering if he had done the right thing.

"Never mind," Mekall said. "Look, if you can sleep, you'll feel better and it'll give your body time to get used to being back in space. Theoretically."

It was not a bad idea, Obi-Wan acknowledged to himself. It was certainly preferable to shaking and cringing away from the walls.

Trying to read Mekall's intent beneath his shields and aura of vague annoyance, Obi-Wan's eyes locked with Mekall's. They both experienced such a powerful connection that Mekall relaxed his guard incrementally. He moved closer, to help Obi-Wan lie down.

Obi-Wan did his best not to dwell on the heat of Mekall's hand on his back. He wasn't going to get any sleep that way. Mekall looked similarly affected. When he leaned in, putting his other hand to Obi-Wan's cheek, Obi-Wan thought Mekall was going to kiss him. When he did not, Obi-Wan closed his eyes and awaited Mekall's sleep suggestion.

Mekall leaned back against the wall, watching Obi-Wan until he lost track of how long he had been doing so. He tore himself from his reverie and made his way up front to program the hyperdrive.

Back in the cockpit, Mekall removed his leather jacket and sat in the pilot's seat. He fixed their location, then set the nav computer to run every possible course and correction while he plotted out several courses himself. After checking the system's results against his calculations, Mekall picked another selection of alternate routes then reran the lot through the computer. Try as he might, Mekall could not make the process take much time. The system chirped its completion. Mekall programmed the most direct path to Coruscant into the nav and prepared for the jump to hyperspace.

As the ship lunged into the silvery slide of stars, Mekall logged their start time and the time they should arrive at the central system of the Republic. He did not say the name of the planet in his head. It felt like a curse, a curse he was going to have to step up and willingly accept all too soon. He would permit himself the denial a little longer.

Mekall sent a channel of Force back to Obi-Wan. He was sleeping soundly enough. Interesting what pushed the padawan's buttons, Mekall thought. Whatever his unease, it apparently had nothing to do with having to kill one of Tallo Thaan's guards. The Jedi could philosophize you to death, but when action was called for, they took it quickly and decisively without second-guessing themselves later. Will of the Force, he mused darkly. Self-doubt was not big in the Jedi repertoire.

Mekall opened a wall cubby to his left. He dug into a cache of his slim cigars and picked out a disc of music. The mournful sound of an Aseltian za - a smooth tenor horn more expressive than words - began wafting from the speakers. Mekall turned up the sound and went to the lounge.

After a brief rummage, he found a bottle of Withnalian smokespirits to go with his cheroot. He filled a glass with the amber liquid and returned to the front of the ship.

The Tavin was a sport cruiser which Mekall, Hilty and Lure had retrofitted for stealth intergalactic travel. From the outside, you would never know it could go more than suborbital. Inside, it was as comfortable as limited space and practically unlimited funds could provide.

Settling back into his chair, Mekall released a stream of smoke at the viewscreen and took a long draught of liquor. Now he had time to think and that brought with it a surfeit of emotion. It began to sink in that he had left Larral for good. That he had left everything.

He raised his glass, wordlessly toasting his melancholy, the break from his home and the loss of his makeshift family.

To Lure, always where he was needed, ready to do whatever it took. Steadfast and true through it all.

To Yls, who understood the incomprehensible and now and then managed to convince Mekall that there might be some reason in the universe.

To Hilty, who reintroduced him to love when he thought it had been lost to him forever.

Mekall consoled himself that they were better off for his absence. He was grateful for the haste with which he had to make the arrangements and leave. He was not sure what he might have done if there had been more time.

Cruel to be kind, Mekall thought with a grim excuse for a smile. The doleful music on the sound system and the strong liquor were taking their toll. He put aside his cheroot, closed his eyes and sat deeper into the chair with a worlds-weary sigh.

Coruscant. He made his mind form the word. The Jedi Temple. Sight of his most ignominious defeat. Fifteen years. Fifteen years and he was returning to their midst. Walking into the lion's den, with one of her cubs under his arm. A battered, scarred, soul bonded cub, at that.

I _must_ be out of my mind, he thought. Force help me, slipped past his self-sensors. He snorted derision at the notion. Abnegating his skepticism, he repeated the phrase aloud. Finding the sound of those words in his voice at this late date too laden with desperation, he turned off the music and ground the cheroot into garbage. He got up to put the target of his temper down the waste disposal.

Grow up, he chastised himself. You're acting like some lovestruck padaw -

Nonsense! he berated the thought. Not now, not ever.

Okay. What then? He would take it one step at a time. The way he always had. Everything was manageable, if you broke it down into its component parts.

What was the next hurdle? Obi-Wan' s reaction to flight was, overall, a minor problem. If putting him to sleep did not produce results, he would get him drunk and keep him in bed for six days. The vision made Mekall smile. Until reality reared its ugly head.

The extron.

When they got to the Temple, they would know what he had done. One touch to Obi-Wan's mind and his master or his healer or whoever would find Mekall's handiwork and the compost would hit the propulsion system.

He had to tell Obi-Wan. There was really no choice.

He would have to wait for Obi-Wan to wake up. When he had just put him to sleep. Now he knew the Force was toying with him.

In the cockpit once more, Mekall sat down with resigned impatience. It had been a long, hard couple of days. He squeezed over-tired eyelids shut beneath the tips of his fingers. With the ship humming away beneath him, he dozed off.

"Mekall," Obi-Wan announced himself aloud, bringing Mekall out of his light sleep. He walked into the cockpit and sat in the copilot's seat.

"How do you feel?" Obi-Wan beat him to the question.

"All right, I suppose," Mekall answered without conviction. "You any better?"

"Yes," Obi-Wan said thoughtfully, "it's better, but . . . "

"You can say that again," Mekall concurred with a smile.

Obi-Wan smiled in return. He did feel better, less anxious, far less tired and the headache had subsided. Being close to Mekall seemed to be helping, as always. Which was troubling, as Mekall was still shielding almost completely. Since the safehouse. How to get him to see that letting him in would alleviate the burden not add to it?

"How long before we get back?" Obi-Wan asked, to make conversation.

"Ten days, five hours, twenty-six minutes."

"But who's counting?"

Mekall's lips turned up in what was not quite a smile. He could feel Obi-Wan testing the bond politely but insistently, probing for entry. He too wanted to reach out. At the same time, he wanted to protect Obi-Wan from his overflow of feelings about Hilty and returning to the Temple. He would have liked to protect him from the damage he was about to inflict. It offended his sensibilities that no more than one out of the three was possible and he was succeeding only marginally at that. He opened his mouth to speak and then shut it again.

"You're troubled," Obi-Wan said. He did not need to be a Jedi to pick up Mekall's agitation.

"Things on my mind, yeah," Mekall replied.

"Worried about Hilty?" Obi-Wan probed. He had been hoping for more than monosyllables.

"Hm? No - Well, yeah, but that's not . . . it."

"Perhaps," Obi-Wan posited, "it might be time to let down a bit."

"Let down?" Mekall responded, looking at him askance. "Do you have any idea what you're asking?"

"What do you think?" Obi-Wan answered steadily.

Mekall glared at him. "You can't, I mean, you have no idea what you're asking me to -"

"No?" Obi-Wan shot back, becoming annoyed himself. It's not like he's in this alone, he thought. "Then tell me."

"I - You -" Mekall stuttered in anger, then lost his pique in a rush of deflated righteousness as he looked at Obi-Wan.

"I've never been back," he improvised.

That brought Obi-Wan up short. "You've never been back?" he repeated, doing his trained diplomatic best not to laugh. It seemed a small and strange thing to worry about. "To Coruscant?" He wanted to be sure they were talking about the same issue.

Mekall nodded.

"Having second thoughts?" Obi-Wan jested.

Mekall could not help smiling back.

Obi-Wan's smile widened, then dissolved as turmoil returned to Mekall's face.

"That's not all that's bothering you," Obi-Wan observed.

"You asked me before what I do," Mekall said.

"You said you're a tech mercenary."

"Yeah, a thief, among other things. I've smuggled, mediated, done security work, soldiered. When I met Hilty, I was doing mindwork."

"Mindwork?"

"I used my Force abilities and a machine I invented to do brainwashing, for hire," Mekall elaborated.

"I see," Obi-Wan said.

"No, you don't."

"Then tell me," Obi-Wan repeated.

Mekall hesitated before he resumed. "There are things you need to know, before we go any further. Before we get to the Temple. When I brought you to my house, you were a speeder wreck. Beaten to a pulp, traumatized, deeply in shock, torn to shreds inside. You couldn't even speak."

All information Obi-Wan already had, but, as Mekall obviously needed to talk, he was willing to listen.

"I tried Force healing you. I didn't know if I could do it anymore, at least not on someone else. Once I started, I couldn't stop. You healed . . . physically, but you didn't wake up. You just laid there, staring. Catatonic, Yls said. You didn't show any signs of coming out of it. I didn't know what I was going to do with you. I thought, I thought if I could get you to wake up, that, well, that the situation would resolve itself."

Obi-Wan felt a chill of trepidation creep along his spine that had nothing to do with space flight.

"What are you trying to say?" he asked tensely.

"I had the device I had used in my work. It's a system which increases susceptibility and amps up Force suggestion. Mostly I used it for politics. Larral's political system is a joke. Corruption is endemic. The Parliament collapses twice a year like clockwork. Buying representatives was . . . "

Mekall became aware he was rambling as Obi-Wan's coutenance mirrored his own increasing anxiety.

"Anyway, the machine used light and sound to induce trance. Then I . . . did whatever was needed."

"I see," Obi-Wan said again when Mekall paused, his voice dry as chalk.

"Do you? I used the machine to dissociate you from your short term memory, the abduction and what came after," Mekall said.

"You brainwashed me," Obi-Wan got to the point.

"I erased your abduction and rape and -"

"You brainwashed me," Obi-Wan insisted over him, his anger evident in his tone.

"I planted a post-trance suggestion so that -" Mekall did not stop either, needing to cast what he had done in a better light.

"You br - Wait. What? You what?" Obi-Wan succeeded in cutting him off. His eyes flared, but there was no indignation when he spoke. His tone was measured, even analytical, although he waged an interior battle with a rising case of shakes. "You planted a . . . To make me do what?"

"Not to make you do anything," Mekall deflected, Obi-Wan's coolness making him defensive. The closer he felt to the man, the less Jedi he wanted and the more he got. "To put you to sleep."

"To put me to sleep," Obi-Wan said tonelessly. His face held a neutral expression honed over years of practice. There was a mere hint of sharpness in his eyes.

Mekall sensed the trace of outrage from Obi-Wan. Someone with no training would never have detected it. The last reaction he had been prepared for was this remote tactician to appear. He wanted Obi-Wan to be furious. Blow up, let it go, get it out in the open. He would have. He tried lowering his shields a little more. He needed a response, would have settled for pratically any one. That Obi-Wan was succeeding in repressing his touched old, badly healed scars in Mekall.

Obi-Wan repeated the Litany of Peace to himself until he found a reasonable response and the tone to speak it in, though he was feeling anything but reasonable.

"Why did you do that?" Obi-Wan asked simply.

"I thought you'd wake up and know who you were," Mekall explained, "what you are. If you'd have had access to the Force, you would have been able to resist a Force suggestion. I couldn't take that chance."

"The chance you would lose control of me?"

"No. Well, not like that. I didn't mean to control you. I didn't want you to hurt yourself and anyway, I thought you'd wake up restored. Except for Kiradian and . . . after. I was going to lend you some air, a few credits and send you on your way. I didn't plan to use it. I didn't think I'd have call to, but you always leave yourself a backdoor. In case.

"Look, I never . . . Obi-Wan, I'm not . . . when you didn't wake up with your memory intact, I didn't know what to do, with you or for you."

"I see," Obi-Wan stated, far too calmly for Mekall.

"Stop saying that. You don't see at all. I thought you'd wake up -"

"I heard you."

"I thought . . . I -"

"Did the suggestion create this . . . bond?" Obi-Wan asked, as if the word had become powerfully distasteful to him.

"No," Mekall protested strongly. "Of course n - I wouldn't - You were quite badly physically hurt, Obi-Wan. I only tried to . . . to . . ."

Obi-Wan was staring at him, as if he was beneath contempt.

"I never meant . . ." Mekall's denial faded.

"Of course not," Obi-Wan assisted him acerbically. "Is the . . . _suggestion_ still in place?"

Mekall was caught short. "I guess so. I don't - I haven't tried it since the . . . that night you almost nailed me in the workshop."

"That was real?" Obi-Wan responded, thrown off balance himself by the news.

"Oh, yeah," Mekall affirmed, his voice roughening as the recollected desire aroused him despite the current circumstance. "Those nights you . . . lost, you didn't lose them. I knew something was happening, but I was . . . scared. I didn't want . . . "

"You didn't want the bond," Obi-Wan completed the statement.

Mekall dropped his head back against the top of his seat, closed his eyes and let out a long, loud breath. He ran the tip of his tongue quickly over parched lips.

"No, Obi-Wan, I didn't," he said, opening his eyes to focus on the cabin ceiling. "I didn't want it. I didn't need it, anymore than you did."

Mekall sat forward abruptly, facing Obi-Wan. The Jedi would have drawn back had Mekall's eyes not burned him to the spot like two lasers.

"There are a million million stars, thousands of worlds, and here I am and here you are," Mekall finished, diving in to seize Obi-Wan's lips with his own.

Obi-Wan wanted to respond but threw the impulse off and withdrew. "No," he said, breathlessly, "it can't be that easy."

"Easy?" Mekall exclaimed. "I nearly destroyed myself. I've just flown away from my home and my life with barely a second glance. Nothing about this is easy. I swore I'd die before I returned to Coruscant, much less go strolling into the Jedi Temple. But everything we've experienced, everything I feel, tells me that this is right. Would I have told you the truth if I had any doubt of that?"

"I," Obi-Wan responded uncertainly, "I don't know." Overwhelmed, he stood to walk out of the cockpit.

Mekall let him leave.

Obi-Wan left the cockpit determinedly straight-backed and proud. Once he was out of Mekall's view, however, he had to lean against the wall to keep from keeling over. He bent forward as if he had been struck, nausea gripping the pit of his stomach.

Brainwashed. He had been . . . Had been . . .

He could barely breathe. Losing his battle against the shaking, he tried to center. Instead, without his volition, his mind drifted into the bond. He straightened up, turning to the wall as if in a trance and put the flat of his hand to its surface.

In the cockpit, Mekall swung his seat around, staring at the exact spot Obi-Wan occupied on the opposite side of the durasteel.

Their breathing synchronized. A minute passed. Two. Still they stared at where each felt the other to be.

The engine shifted, causing a vibration beneath the deck.

Mekall blinked.

On his side of the wall, Obi-Wan's eyes cleared.

What the hells? Mekall wondered.

Gods and monsters, Obi-Wan thought, I can't still want him. What has he done to me?

A puzzled frown clouded Mekall's face. He swiveled his chair to face front.

Obi-Wan watched his hand withdraw from the wall as if it were independent of him.

A lie. It had all been a lie. A program Mekall had created to control him. When Mekall was saying those words to him, doing those things to him . . . none of that was true. Nothing since he had awakened in Mekall's house. Not a moment, not an emotion. All a ruse, a front, a vile machination.

How many times must he be raped? And now he was soul bonded to his rapist. Linked irrevocably to a man who had wantonly violated the deepest reaches of his being.

Obi-Wan swallowed what wanted to be an agonized howl, to keep his anguish to himself. Not that he had any vestige of dignity left. He was an absurd, defamed, filthy joke. Mekall had been laughing at him; seducing him, bedding him, accepting his love, all the time knowing it was the result of the device and a cheap mind trick.

Soul bonded. The repercussions of what Mekall had done were almost unfathomable. His life as he knew it was over. Over. No trials. No knighthood. No future. It was all lost. Everything he had studied for, trained for, lived for was gone. He was ruined.

That went well, Mekall thought sarcastically. Could have been worse, I suppose. I wonder if there was any way not to screw it up?

Was he -?

It feels like he's still standing there, but -

Mekall got up and took a step toward the doorway.

No, he wouldn't still be . . . Is he standing there?

Mekall hesitated. His eyes narrowed. He wanted to know, but if Obi-Wan was still out there, he did not want him to think he was pursuing him. Or worse.

Mekall sat back down with an exhalation of dissatisfaction.

Awash in despair, an eerie calm settled over Obi-Wan. He breathed a deep even breath where he had been gasping for air. His mind swirled with a clutter of emotions: anger, resentment, humiliation and loathing. Loathing for Mekall; for everyone and everything that had gotten him into this obscenity. A feeling at once flame-hot and ice-cold filled his chest and made its way to his abdomen. He found his thoughts coming together with crystal clarity.

So, Mekall wanted him? Fine. He would go back into the cockpit, but on his terms. It was time to stop being used. There had to be blasters on the ship. Mekall did not have his machine here. Obi-Wan could gain the upper hand and once he had . . .

Use the Force? he mused to himself. I'll use force all right. Have to find those blasters. Blasters and . . . I wonder if he brought it.

Obi-Wan sought the Force, finding its answer quick, clear and sharper than he remembered. He followed its lead to a locked cabinet in the lounge. He cracked the lock. Behind double doors, he found blasters and a square, thin flat-metallic box. Expectantly, he raised its hinged lid. The Force inhibiting collar gleamed dully inside.

Of course Mekall kept it, Obi-Wan thought. Never know when he might have to subdue a Force wielder.

A bitter, twisted smile curled Obi-Wan's lips. He closed the box, put it under his arm and selected two blasters.

Time to exact his revenge. So many options. He could collar Mekall and make him do his bidding. Use the Force to see if he could do to Mekall what Mekall had done to him. Share some of his wealth of newfound knowledge about pain. Mekall had bought him, fucked him and fucked him over. If he likes fucking things up so much, Obi-Wan thought, I'll show him how fucked life can be. Becoming acquainted with shame from another perspective will be educational for him.

Obi-Wan devised a series of increasingly grisly scenarios as he walked to the front of the shuttle, but none of them was enough. There was only one way to ease this indignity. He would murder Mekall. He would kill him and he would enjoy doing it. Mekall deserved to die for what he had done.

Obi-Wan had a blaster in each hand. The box with the collar was in the waistband of the back of his trousers. He slowed as he approached the cockpit, knowing he needed to catch Mekall offguard to gain the advantage. As he balanced on the balls of his feet preparing to spring, the metal box fell to the floor and the Force collar bounced out.

Crouching, Obi-Wan placed one of the blasters on the floor and reached for the collar, but something stopped him. Instead of picking up the Force inhibitor, he ran his fingers over its cold surface. Memories of Kiradian swamped him, unspooling backward: the beatings, the shooting, the walk in the garden.

The Sector's garden. Warm sun and a cool breeze. His master beside him, serene and sure. Touching his shoulder, chuckling at a comment Obi-Wan made, affectionately ruffling his hair.

In a planning meeting, being briefed for his next mission, Qui-Gon's mind drifted, as it had countless times in the last weeks, to Obi-Wan. They were in the Sector's garden on Kiradian, talking and walking. Obi-Wan made a joke about the meal, which had been less than appetizing. Qui-Gon chided him, gently and transparently, before giving in to his mirth. Qui-Gon's amusement spurred Obi-Wan to the raucous, open laugh which emerged only when the two of them were alone together and Obi-Wan could be himself.

There had been no progress in locating Obi-Wan. Three days after the attempted rescue on Kiradian, Qui-Gon had had to abandon his search and resume his work at the negotiation table. A Jedi investigative team was dispatched. They had paired with the local constabulary to comb the planet for his padawan, but it was as if the planet had swallowed him whole. His Force signature ceased in the room where the insurgents held him. No one had seen or heard of him since, though both the Jedi investigators and Qui-Gon remained on Kiradian for a week.

When it became obvious negotiations would be ongoing for some time, Qui-Gon had been called back to the Temple and another diplomatic team was sent to Kiradian.

Gossip held that Obi-Wan was dead. Qui-Gon did not think so. He staunchly believed that if Obi-Wan had passed into the Force, he would have known. Believed it despite a disheartening silence in their bond. He had been given a few days off and continued looking into Obi-Wan's disappearance as well as he could from Coruscant. Then he had received his next assignment. While he did the necessary research and preparation, he had kept in contact with the Jedi who were still investigating Obi-Wan's case and made frequent calls to the head of law enforcement on Kiradian himself. Proving Obi-Wan still lived would once again have to be left to others. Duty called. Qui-Gon had to go back to work.

Knight Kuse Langor tapped his stylus on the table top, subtly calling Qui-Gon's attention back to the topic at hand. Knight Langor yielded the floor to Master Jalem. She would be accompanying Qui-Gon on his mission, as she was well-versed in the Hewn culture. Qui-Gon refocused his attention, not quite admonishing himself aloud in his head with the warning he had so often made to his padawan about keeping one's attention in the moment.

Obi-Wan's mind propelled him back to the present. He sank into a haphazard sitting position, shoving the blasters and collar away.

That is what the masters meant when they said the dark side is easier, more seductive, he thought. He had almost given in. In all probability that was what Mekall had wanted all along. Having fallen himself, he wanted to cause another's downfall. To take him, capture his affections, twist his mind until darkness came over him.

Something imploded inside the young Jedi. If he had nothing else left - and it felt as though he did not - he would not fall apart here. A target he may be, but he would be damned if he was going to make himself an easy one. Holding himself together with an iron will, Obi-Wan Kenobi stood and walked away.

He made it back to his cabin on sheer obstinacy. The door closed behind him. He checked to be sure it had locked. Not that that would stop Mekall if he was determined to have at him again. The impossibility of his position made Obi-Wan vacillate. He started to open the door to go to the front cabin and give himself up, then decided to stay where he was. Why make victory any quicker for Mekall?

Obi-Wan wanted to attempt meditation, but when he went to move into the room, his step wavered and he fell to his knees. Crying finally overtook him; his determination flooded out as rasps of pain were wrenched from some part of himself he did not recognize. He arched over until his forehead was touching the floor, unaware that he raised his arms to cover his head as if fending off an attacker.

Obi-Wan's body rocked with increasingly irregular tremors. His wails lapsed into muteness which stopped only when he did not have the strength left even to weep. Enervated, he slumped over onto his side, motionless except for breathing, his mind blanked by overload.

In time, the ability to think began to return. With effort, he propped himself up against the side of the sleep pallet.

How could I not have known? How could I not have sensed it was false?

How could it all . . . Could it all?

Was that all a lie or was this? Or was everything? What if none of it was true? What if he wasn't who and what he thought he was now? What if everything he knew about himself was a delusion Mekall had plugged into his head when he was crippled and defenseless?

But he knew who he was, didn't he? He knew about the Force and was able to access it. If that was true, then he had to be who he thought he was.

All right, that was one absolute. There was also the fact that before he had fallen prey to the bond, he had known something at Mekall's was not right. His intuition about being tampered with had been correct, even when he did not know who or what he was. Small consolation as he lay there recovering from a killing rage his libido still charged with persistent and powerful lust, but consolation nonetheless.

Obi-Wan got unsteadily to his feet. He was at once too worn out and too pent up to achieve a meditative state. The bond hummed along his consciousness, attempting to lull him back into the craving to be near Mekall.

Gritting his teeth, Obi-Wan quashed it. If he could not control these urges, he was as lost as he had feared earlier. That was not going to happen. Not as long as he had a will of his own left. Which was the question, wasn't it? Did he have any will of his own left? He thought he must have or he would be rutting on the floor of the cockpit right now, not alone in this cabin. Still, he could feel Mekall's touch on his skin, taste the kiss on his tongue.

Obi-Wan walked to the sink to cleanse his mouth. He filled a beaker and drank greedily, though his stomach filled and his thirst was not slaked. The hot and cold feeling was back. His head was throbbing. He shivered as he broke into a sweat.

After shucking off his clothes, Obi-Wan stepped into the sonic shower. He had to resist the urge to scrub himself raw again. It would, he considered with grim humor, have required ripping the top of his head off to get to the sight of this violation. He heard a harsh, choked sound which he registered was his own despondent laughter. A single tear escaped down each cheek.

As his headache increased in intensity, Obi-Wan put his hands to his head. He could feel the bond hungering, a want calling to something in him so primeval that even in his current state, it was very nearly stronger than his instinct for self-preservation. His body seemed to be pulsating with need.

This was untenable. He had to effect a break in the connection between himself and Mekall as soon as possible. To do so, he needed to concentrate, to focus, but each time he did, the pain tightened around his skull like a restraining band. He closed his eyes, tuning out everything except the drone of the sonics. The magnitude of the pain diminished. He breathed through the remaining discomfort, letting it dissipate into the Force. As clarity returned, his thoughts began to order themselves, following the disciplined path of a lifetime's teachings.

For days he had been shielding against his master. He had not wanted Qui-Gon to know what had been done to him. Such foolishness. The assaults to his body paled in comparison to what Mekall had done. If his master had been there now, Obi-Wan would have told him everything to secure refuge within his arms.

Qui-Gon. Oh Force, Qui-Gon. What was I thinking?

A wave of anguish washed over Obi-Wan, but he reined in his regret and gave it to the Force. That would not solve his problems. He must regain control and separate from Mekall. His life depended on it. Everything was for naught if he could not.

Obi-Wan took a deep breath, held it a moment and let it out through his mouth. Other than the barrier in the training bond, he had forgone shielding since reawakening to himself. It seemed incredible that he had left himself open to a virtual stranger. His mind had clearly not been his own.

Multiple shields required strength he did not possess. However, he did have the shield between himself and his master. Obi-Wan took it from the training bond and repositioned it between himself and Mekall. Shielding from his master was superfluous after all. Merely pride. Surely they were too far from Coruscant for it to be relevant.

Qui-Gon Jinn strode along the hallway of the Jedi Temple leading to the lifts to Hangar Level 4 beside Master Casir Jalem listening politely if uninterestedly to her. When it came to their mission, she was an organized, thorough and pleasant associate, but outside of work, he found they had little in common. Nevertheless, he made an exercise of his attentiveness, finding it also helped keep his mind off other matters.

He had had a poor night's sleep, filled with dreams of Obi-Wan in an array of peril the likes of which he had not envisioned previously. Abandoning his bed, Qui-Gon had spent the night in meditation, eventually finding some peace in being unable to pinpoint a reason for his restlessness. He deduced that the strain of recent weeks was being heightened by his return to active duty. He worked through his uneasiness and faced the day as best he could, sure his distraction would lessen once the mission was underway and he had a focus for his energies.

Suddenly, Qui-Gon felt a stirring of the Force so odd he could not tell if it was within or outside himself. He turned, on point, instantly at full awareness, ready to draw his saber, but there was no one there. The corridor was empty. He lowered his hood to surveil the other end of the hallway.

"Qui-Gon?" Jalem sounded concerned beside him.

"Did you -" No, they were alone in the corridor. Just what I need, Qui-Gon thought. Now I'm imagining things.

"I thought -" he said. But no. "I'm fine, Casir. What were you saying about pin strike averages in the kern leagues?" Best to refocus her on the sporting statistics she had been regaling him with.

Jalem considered questioning him further, then decided to leave well enough alone. Qui-Gon had a lot on his mind, but she knew he was ready for their assignment. She smiled, resuming her comparison of the teams within the local grid. Master Jinn was so interested in the subject.

Mekall checked the chrono. Time was crawling. He soon would be too if he did not get some rest. He had hardly slept at all the night before, watching, waiting. When he had finally gone back to his cabin to lie down, he had been too edgy to sleep for more than an hour at a time. Even though he knew damn well Obi-Wan would not be coming out anytime soon. He had reached along the bond and found Obi-Wan shielding. Who could blame him?

Mekall walked to the second cabin, stripped off and climbed between the covers but sleep eluded him. Eventually, he gave up, got dressed and went back to the front cabin.

Though they were steady on course, Mekall reoccupied the pilot's chair. He took readings and logged them. Looking around for something else to do, he decided to reorganize his storage cube. He found a dynamis disk in there and loaded it into the entertainment port.

The strategy game and a countdown clock came up on the terminal in front of him. Mekall touched the stylus to one square, then balanced it on the tip of his index finger to see how long he could keep it there. The seconds ticked away, unnoticed. When the timer blared, Mekall jumped and the stylus clunked to the floor.

Annoyed, Mekall punched the game off. Maybe he should go to Obi-Wan's cabin. Scoffing at himself, he sent a mind call through the link instead and hit a closed off other end. At least that meant Obi-Wan was well enough to keep shielding.

Mekall shivered and pulled on his jacket. He closed his eyes experimentally. It was not too bad, as long as he did not rub them. He breathed out and took himself down into meditation to see if he could track Obi-Wan's status more directly. There were backdoors for everything and Mekall was expert at finding them.

Feeling some cessation of the emotional pressure, Obi-Wan stepped out of the shower. There was a bureau which, it pleased him to discover, held not Mekall's clothes but Hilty's. They were nearly the same size and, lucky for Obi-Wan, Hilty seemed to like everything except his boots oversized. He dressed and did a few light stretches, to loosen over-stressed, underutilized muscles, continuing to reason matters out.

Hilty . . . and Yls and Lure. They all had to be part of it. If one had known, they would all have had to. A double-cross perhaps, in which Hilty had gotten caught in the backlash.

Obi-Wan sat down on the bed. He wanted to meditate, but knew the importance he was placing on it was as likely to impede it as induce it. That proved to be a self-fulfilling prophecy. So close. He was so close to getting home, to safety. They were off Larral. That was good. They were in space. That was good. Obi-Wan knew space, as well as any, better than most. They would have to stop somewhere, sometime. He would be patient and hold himself ready to escape.

Flying, for the moment, was more of a challenge than he had been expecting, granted, but he could work through his reaction. It was a perfectly understandable response to what had happened to him.

That was one of the first things Yls had said after he awoke. After Mekall had finished diverting his reason. Try as he might, Obi-Wan could remember nothing of that time before hearing Mekall's voice that night. The image of Mekall's face as it had first appeared to him rose before his eyes, the attraction accompanying it now revolting.

"Perfectly understandable."

Yls had known about the bond before either of them. Or had he?

Am I remembering everything about those examinations? Obi-Wan wondered. If they were all part of it, a conspiracy to capture a Jedi, then everything he had seen, heard or taken in was suspect, tainted. Did they want to turn him, or sell him to the highest bidder, or both? Yls, Lure, Hilty and even . . . Dharuje. A shudder rattled Obi-Wan's form from head to toe. Could the creature have been part of Mekall's plan?

Oh, gods no. Not that . . .

He clamped his eyes shut in misery.

(continued in part 8)