Master Apprentice Archive Quick search:

Rogue Jedi

by Lilith Sedai

PART II: THE MISSION

Obi-Wan's room on the ship did not adjoin directly to Qui-Gon's, a distinct improvement over his accommodations at the Palazzo. The facilities aboard ship were much smaller, too, but still sinfully lavish, extending even as far as hot water showers linked directly to a small water recycler. He left his pack on the floor and laid out his cloak next to it.

Qui-Gon was waiting in the corridor when he emerged, and Obi-Wan noted the lightsaber at his hip, worn openly for the first time since they had met.

Obi-Wan felt genuine anticipation and eagerness filling him. He should not feel so, he knew, and he worked to release his emotions as they stepped into the empty room that awaited.

"It isn't ideal, but the walls are blast shielded, so if we collide with one, we won't wind up frying any critical circuitry." Qui-Gon adjusted his lightsaber to training intensity, the hum softening slightly, and he tapped the wall to illustrate. The blade rebounded without leaving damage.

Obi-Wan adjusted his own settings accordingly and rolled his shoulders, bouncing lightly on his toes, loosening his muscles. He took his ready position, waiting for Qui-Gon to ready himself as well.

"Soresu?" Qui-Gon blinked mild surprise. "A conservative approach. Not the one you once favored."

It was an approach much better suited to cramped quarters than Qui-Gon's preferred form, Obi-Wan knew. He centered on his breathing, reaching out to the Force, and found calm awaiting him there. He closed his eyes and his wrists darted subtly as he answered the Force's call. Flick. Flick. Flick. Three crashing blows impacted on his lightsaber in rapid succession, jarring him with their violence, but he was prepared for Qui-Gon's strength, and he did not waver. Backstep and circle, to Qui-Gon's weaker left.

"You expect me to exhaust my strength while you defend. Then you will go on the offensive." Qui-Gon mused. Obi-Wan opened his eyes again, awaiting the next attack, and did not respond. He could see the man's eyes darkening. "It will not work."

Qui-Gon lashed out, blade darting behind Obi-Wan's calf, targeting his hamstring, and he leaped overhead, body barely clearing the tall man inside the constricting space, his heels grazing the ceiling as he flipped. He lashed out with his saber as he came down, but Qui-Gon darted away from him and turned, resuming his guard. Qui-Gon advanced, unleashing a rain of powerful blows that arced wide and dove in from every direction; Obi-Wan blocked them all, absorbing the crushing power of Qui-Gon's strength with shoulders that began to ache under the battering strain. Qui-Gon's eyes were hot, and he pressed his advantage, stepping forward, driving Obi-Wan up against the wall. Obi-Wan flipped again and nearly took a blade to the midsection for his troubles, twisting in midair and half-fumbling the landing. The damned low ceiling.

Qui-Gon stepped back to allow him to recover, and Obi-Wan's face flushed hot with embarrassment-- he had just held his own against four blademasters, passed his Trial of Skill, and now this?

"That was irritation," Qui-Gon remarked conversationally. "Would you like to see anger?"

Obi-Wan frowned, not understanding.

"Different emotions enhance strength in different ways," Qui-Gon explained patiently. "And some detract from it." He stilled himself, drawing a deep breath, and waited until Obi-Wan resumed his guard. "I did not appreciate your treatment of Tiran this morning." He surged forward almost faster than the Force sang warning, and Obi-Wan leaped-- straight into the attack belied by the feint. Qui-Gon's blade crashed against his desperate, last-moment guard, forcing him back, step by inexorable step, then jerked away and cut toward his knees. Obi-Wan jumped, frantic, barely avoiding it, and retreated in disarray from the tornado of green flame that advanced, the humming blade seemingly everywhere at once. Obi-Wan abandoned rational thought and fled into the moment, reacting by pure instinct before blows launched, but Qui-Gon kept up the pressure, battering his blade until his hand grew numb, forcing him back until their sabers squealed against the wall.

"You can do this," Qui-Gon encouraged, voice grating low. "I've seen you do it before, fighting Bruck Chun when you were an initiate, though you didn't realize what you were doing then. Let yourself feel the anger. You believe Tiran and I have been intimate. He's beautiful, isn't he? As beautiful as you. More."

Obi-Wan snarled, clinging to his defenses by his fingernails. "Shut up." He drove his blade around, switching to Ataru, matching Qui-Gon form to form, a vicious slash pushing him back for a moment, just long enough for Obi-Wan to sidestep and regain room to maneuver.

"Good," Qui-Gon murmured, stepping back and resting as Obi-Wan circled, moving his blade into his weaker hand and shaking his right hand to bring circulation back into the fingers. "Your anger made you strong. Did you feel it?"

"You won't turn me," Obi-Wan hissed, exhaling, forcing the anger out.

"I'm not trying." Qui-Gon circled to keep himself facing Obi-Wan. "This is merely a demonstration. The Dark Side does not control me." He tilted his head, thoughtful. "I should try a different approach, shouldn't I?"

A faint smile touched his mouth, and he advanced again, his blade held in both fists before his body. He lunged forward, simple and direct, and his blade locked with Obi-Wan's, the two of them struggling, their lips drawing back in a grimace as they tested strength against strength. Obi-Wan spun, attempting a reverse, but Qui-Gon merely trapped his blade again and pressed forward. The big man slid his saber down Obi-Wan's toward the hilt, leaning dangerously close, his eyes sparkling with fire. Obi-Wan's concentration faltered in the flame of that look, just for a heartbeat-- but it was enough.

Qui-Gon set his feet and shoved, driving Obi-wan's hand backward sharply, and Obi-Wan was forced to jerk his own lightsaber to the side, away from his face, before it could burn him. Qui-Gon's extinguished in the same moment, and the momentum of his body drove Obi-Wan hard against the wall. The hilt of Qui-Gon's lightsaber was entrapped, pressed between their bellies. Obi-Wan might use his blade at will, but if the battle had been real, the illegal point was already scored-- a fatality, corps-a-corps.

Obi-Wan dropped his lightsaber, which clattered on the deck; A moment later Qui-Gon shifted his hips, and his own followed suit. He withdrew his hands and braced them against the wall on either side of Obi-Wan's head. His hot, muscular body held Obi-Wan trapped against the wall, and his breath brushed Obi-Wan's mouth as he spoke, feather-light. "Lust," Qui-Gon explained softly, eyes fixed on Obi-Wan's lips. "Quite a dangerous attack, but also the most vulnerable."

Obi-Wan fell still, his breath coming hard in his chest, waiting, frozen with anticipation, needing to feel Qui-Gon's mouth on his, craving it, but still unwilling to close the distance himself, unwilling to grant that extra measure of victory.

Qui-Gon stepped back after a long moment, offering his hand; Obi-Wan accepted it hesitantly and let himself be pulled upright.

"Master Drallig is the most competent Jedi blademaster in a millennium," Obi-Wan muttered to himself, disgusted. "I held him off, and three others, too, in my Trial of Skill."

"An opponent who can surprise you is always dangerous." Qui-Gon shrugged. "You were used to their methods, but not to mine-- and worse, you believed you knew how to anticipate me. I hope you will spend time meditating on this demonstration." He straightened his clothes, pulling his long mane away from his neck to cool himself.

"You always told me to avoid Vaapad." Obi-Wan frowned, trying to set aside the remembered sensation of Qui-Gon's powerful body crushed against his. "But what you did here today is very like it."

"Vaapad is a good analogy, at least psychologically. You can use your emotions to gain strength with any of the forms, however; this technique need not leave you exposed or vulnerable to Force-attack." Qui-Gon hesitated, his eyes crinkling with wry humor. "I have also found it works well with Dun Möch."

"Taunting your opponent." Obi-Wan remembered the effectiveness of Qui-Gon's comments about Tiran, and grimaced wryly.

"We can spar again later, if you like," Qui-Gon offered. "It would be my pleasure to instruct you."

Obi-Wan hesitated, but he would be a fool to pass up such an opportunity. "Very well, on one condition. I don't want to learn your techniques. I want to learn to defend against them."

"In case I betray and attack you?" One corner of Qui-Gon's mouth lifted, wry. "You might force me to that, if you're determined enough, just as you forced me to forbid you to leave. But you misunderstand. I have no desire to turn you. I am not a servant of the Dark Side, eager to corrupt others to serve its will. I serve the will of the Force in the moment, whatever it may be. The Force is not one thing or the other, neither light nor dark. It simply is. This is another fallacy of the Jedi. Respecting and using only one side of the Force does not lead to balance, or to serenity." He reached out as if to tweak Obi-Wan's braid affectionately, underlining his point, as he had done so many times before when he and his padawan did not see eye to eye. He stopped himself in time, though, abandoning the gesture with a rueful grimace. "I'm sorry. I forgot myself."

"It's sometimes difficult to remember we aren't who we once were," Obi-Wan admitted. He took his braid and tossed it behind his shoulder, putting it out of Qui-Gon's reach.

"Yes." Qui-Gon answered softly. He tilted his head thoughtfully. "An idea occurs to me. If you would try to channel your emotion as I do, only once, I think you could achieve a skill you believe is still beyond you. You could complete your mastery of Soresu even to Master Drallig's satisfaction."

"A padawan cannot master a form. It takes many years of--"

"You could," Qui-Gon disagreed simply. "One training exercise is all it will take, I think. The emotions you feel now are ones I do not possess in the same measure as you, but I see an application for them, devastatingly effective in Soresu-- and not of the Dark Side."

"Qui-Gon. My one condition."

"Soresu is a defensive form. You defend yourself against me emotionally. I can show you how to use your defensive emotions and make you the heart of Soresu." Qui-Gon's simple conviction rang in the Force. "I showed you lust, anger. Dark emotions. Now let me show you control of defense through restraint. Let me show you how to achieve the potential you already have within you. There is nothing dark in it."

Obi-Wan wavered in spite of himself, the power of Qui-Gon's enthusiasm infecting him. "Well. Perhaps once. But if I feel the Dark Side, I'm stopping the exercise."

Qui-Gon nodded, already moving to a cabinet, which opened to reveal row upon row of training remotes. He began to power them up-- one after the other, until fifty hovered in the air, turning and sighting. More continued to rise and hover as Obi-Wan watched him warily.

"Fifty remotes?" He tried to suppress the squeak in his voice; the numbing charge a tracer beam delivered was not pleasant, to put it mildly-- he had no desire to take so many hits.

"You'll handle them easily," Qui-Gon promised. "Now we need to generate the right state of mind. It may not be pleasant, but it will help to think of it as a meditation." He hesitated. "What would you do if I touched you intimately?"

"Shield," Obi-Wan responded honestly. "Shield and disperse emotion, then push you away." There was no point in attempting to deny the passions Qui-Gon stirred in him; the man had felt them.

"Yes. You would defend against feelings and sensations. You would block me out. But instead of dispersing your emotions and attempting not to feel them, I want you to feel them, then channel your reactions and control them. You will turn the emotions into your center, not direct them away from it. They will ensure I will not overpower you when you push me away." Qui-Gon approached, hands outstretched. "With your permission?"

Obi-Wan hesitated, but he had come this far, and he knew he was beaten-- by his own curiosity, if nothing else. "All right," he said. "But this had better have a more practical purpose than you seeking an excuse to touch my body."

"It will." Qui-Gon's smile blended amusement and pain. "Assume the first position, but do not ignite your lightsaber yet. You will know when." He moved to the side and tapped at the computer console that drove the remotes, then stepped behind Obi-Wan, invading his space, so close Obi-Wan could feel heat radiating between them. His hands hovered over Obi-Wan's collarbones. "We will begin."

His voice dropped, low and husky. "I am not the man you once knew. It's true, isn't it? You yearn for him to touch you, love you, but I am not him." His hand dipped, sliding inside Obi-Wan's tunic, hard, warm fingers caressing his flesh. "You cannot trust me; I am a seducer. A deceiver. I have told you little, and I ask much. I am dark, lost." His fingers found Obi-Wan's nipple ring and tweaked it, shooting liquid lightning to Obi-Wan's cock; his free hand began a long slow slide down Obi-Wan's side toward his flank. "I would bring you with me-- into my bed, and into the dark." His voice purred, smoke and honey. Obi-Wan felt his heart race, and reached for his center, abandoning the search for calm and letting his defensive emotions fill him. His body stirred, but he resisted, resisted pushing his body back into the hard cradle of pelvis that shifted to press against his ass.

"You feel my lust, yes." Qui-Gon's arms pinned Obi-Wan in place as he abruptly thrust against him, hard ridge of his erection nestling against the cleft of Obi-Wan's ass. "But you resist. I cannot take you; your will is stronger. Master the desire, and push it away." His voice throbbed against and through Obi-Wan, who took a shuddering breath, struggling with himself, diving away from the pressure to respond, rejecting the invasive touches, finding balance deep within himself against the incredible strain on his body and his mind.

"Good," Qui-Gon whispered, lips brushing his ear, tongue wet and hot against his throat. "My hands are on you. Defend against me, or I will bed you by force." His palm cupped against Obi-Wan's groin, one hard, callused thumb sliding along the ridge of his erect cock. "My hands are everywhere, but you resist. The remotes are my hands, my lips, my body. Defend."

Abruptly he was gone, and the air sang.

Obi-Wan moved without thought, without will, without awareness, barely conscious of the blue cloud that enmeshed him, seeming to float in slow motion. A second passed. Two. Five. It seemed an eternity of slow time, until the singing stopped and he came to rest, soaked in sweat and dripping, staring at the floor, where not fifty but a hundred or more remotes lay inert. He flexed his muscles cautiously, feeling deep weariness-- but there was no numbness, no lingering sting. Not a single bolt had penetrated his guard.

He blinked. "What happened?" He could not be sure.

"I recorded the session so that you could see." Qui-Gon moved to the wall, tapping at a panel there. "Observe, at quarter speed."

Obi-Wan stared at the recording, watching his hands and body explode into pure, efficient motion-- the slightest and most elegant flicker of hand and wrist, the most subtle turn of foot and thigh, creating a devastating defense. His lightsaber was everywhere, a blue blur that encircled him, though he barely seemed to move. He beheld his own effortless anticipation of every bolt, accurate deflection, an absolute economy of motion and perfection of form, each little red needle sent back to the droid that had released it, each remote bouncing to the deck.

"This is what you can do," Qui-Gon said softly, the faint traces of pain still lingering behind his obvious pleasure in Obi-Wan's accomplishment. He began the recording again, full-speed, Obi-Wan's lightsaber, his hands and arms, a featureless blur of pure Force, his body nearly stationary. "You are Soresu."

"Yes, my master," Obi-Wan whispered automatically, amazed and reverent, unthinking, then bit his tongue fiercely, wanting to recall the words, too late.

Startled, Qui-Gon drew a single shuddering breath as if inhaling the homage, his eyes closing as he savored it. He stood very still, and Obi-Wan felt deep shame, watching Qui-Gon accept both his unthinking tribute and his earnest desire to retract it. At last Qui-Gon released his breath slowly, bowing his head, and stepped away.

"You will need rest and food; there should be plenty to tempt you in the galley. The energy expenditure of such an exercise is intense, and has drained you. We will not spar again today." He paused, eyes hooded, and Obi-Wan could sense the turmoil in him, the pain and the desire. "Forgive me. I must meditate now." Qui-Gon slipped out in haste, leaving Obi-Wan alone.

"What did that cost you?" Obi-Wan wondered slowly, aloud. His stomach rumbled, insistent, but he ignored it, levitating the remotes back into their cabinets and tidying the salle. Qui-Gon had used every remote he owned-- every remote it took to challenge a master of lightsaber combat. For a student to reach such a triumph, through pure and absolute rejection of his teacher? It must require unimaginable humility for Qui-Gon to accept. "Was the reward sufficient?"

He received no answer.

Leaving the salle spotless, Obi-Wan sought out the galley, which was as richly stocked as he might have expected. He thought he detected Gida's thoughtful hand in that; nearly every item was carefully tailored to Qui-Gon's palate and his pleasure. A few things, though, must have been added just for him-- his favorite herbal tea, sweets he had enjoyed as a young padawan, slimy orange fruits that Qui-Gon detested and he loved, meats and savories he craved, all set aside in a section of the cooler for convenience.

He ate until his eyelids drooped, weariness overcoming him, but he paused to clean and stow his dishes and utensils before returning to his quarters. A nap would be just the thing-- yet when he stepped into his room, he realized he was not alone.

Slitted green eyes regarded him from his cloak, and a tawny head rose to inspect him with feline grace, long whiskers twitching. It was a cat, striped like a tabby but much larger, its body stocky and muscular, its powerful jaws and fangs more reminiscent of an arranha than a domesticated feline. It stared at him hostilely. Qui-Gon had mentioned running with the arranha; it made sense that he would enjoy the company of a feline on solitary missions. Cats were clean and low maintenance, and provided it was fed and watered, it would not suffer from being left alone. An ideal pet for a solitary man, Obi-Wan supposed.

Perhaps he should go and find Qui-Gon for help in dealing with the animal, which was clearly dangerous, but he did not like to disturb the man at meditation-- and he did not want to show weakness. He reached out with the Force, tentative, to gauge the cat's level of hostility. Its mind was simple and predatory; it owned this territory, and it was not best pleased by his intrusion.

"Hello." He went to one knee but did not advance. "I'm Obi-Wan." He paused, feeling somewhat ridiculous. "You're on my bed."

The cat growled faintly and kneaded the dark fabric of his cloak between its paws, unimpressed. Its tail lashed, thicker than Obi-Wan's wrist, the black tip twitching with irritation. Warily, Obi-Wan eyed the dangerous, thick claws protruding from its velvet toes. They could do a respectable amount of damage. "However, I'm sure you need it far more than I do."

It seemed to agree, yawning to reveal a truly alarming set of teeth, and Obi-Wan rose, edging around it cautiously. "I'll just sleep here." Obi-Wan indicated the mattress he had originally rejected. "If that's all right with you."

When he was sure the cat did not mean to attack, he slid into the 'fresher, ducked through a hasty shower, and then emerged, toweling himself. The cat was curled on his cloak, its eyes slitted with contentment. Too drowsy to bother with clothing, he avoided it carefully and lay down. The bed was as comfortable as it looked, and he rolled himself up in the down coverlet, sighing. Sleep took him at once.

He awakened an indeterminate time later to the sound of tapping at the door. "C'min," he managed muzzily, blinking at the shaft of light that opened along the floor, Qui-Gon's silhouette appearing at its terminus.

"I'm sorry to disturb you. I'm looking for-- there he is." He stepped forward and scooped up the cat matter-of-factly. Against all rational evidence, it let him chuck it under its chin instead of savaging him. "I should have warned you."

"I'll say." Obi-Wan sat up, belatedly remembering his nudity, and held the coverlet close around him. "For a little while, I thought I was going to have to look for another place to live."

"This is Chattan. He likes you, or you'd be both bleeding and homeless." Qui-Gon chuckled, rueful. "He doesn't always share spaces easily. Do you?" Another chin-chuck, and a rumbling purr. "Seriously, though. He's a wildcat, not a domesticated variety. I've developed something of an affinity for felines, thanks to the arranhar, and he took up with me when I intercepted a shipment of rare exotics Dramacore intended to exploit for profit. I'm astonished he let you in here at all after taking a fancy to your things; perhaps he's simply a good judge of character." Qui- Gon ruffled the cat's fur affectionately. "You shouldn't try to pet him unless you want to spend time in bacta."

"I don't think I own a cloak anymore," Obi-Wan commented, very dry.

"I suspect you're right." Qui-Gon grimaced, apologetic. "But there is an entire closet full of clothing in your size; I anticipated the need for you to come undercover with me." He let the cat flow out of his arms onto the floor. "How do you feel?"

"Better." Obi-Wan took inventory of himself. "A little sore."

"You've slept the clock 'round. That's a common side effect, and it's worse at first, until you develop your skills. It's true of Vaapad, too-- forms such as this consume a great deal of energy, required for both controlling the energy flows and compressing the acts of several seconds into one. You do the same thing when you use enhanced speed, only less so." Qui-Gon folded his arms. "I apologize for pressuring you to try it."

Obi-Wan sighed. "You've done little else than pressure me since I arrived, so don't pretend to regrets you don't feel." He scratched his shoulder. "Regardless of that, we may as well go on as we've begun. You've convinced me of the value of your techniques-- but I don't like them, and I will not attempt to use the Dark Side."

"You aren't ready for that even if you wanted to." Qui-Gon nodded soberly. "It's much more difficult to control, and the price is higher if you fail." He touched one of the silver streaks in his long hair, rubbing the strands between the pads of finger and thumb. "I was lucky; my instincts told me to channel the excess Force to ground. If I hadn't done it quickly, this could have been much worse. I could have aged a hundred years in a moment, or burned holes right through my hands. I might have lost significant skeletal mass, or endured any one of a dozen other potential side-effects of calling Force lightning."

Obi-Wan folded his legs against his chest, keeping the coverlet drawn tight around his body. "I didn't know the Dark Side would turn on a user. I thought it usually turned its destructive power outward."

"It can do either or both, in unskilled hands."

"Why did you risk it?" Obi-Wan demanded suddenly. "Using the Dark goes against everything you taught me a Jedi should stand for."

"I loved you." Qui-Gon responded without hesitation. "I hid it from you, and I had not acknowledged the depth of it even to myself, but the event of your kidnapping instructed me that I loved you without balance or limit, without control or reason, more than my own well-being, more than any number of others. You were more precious to me than my life, worth any risk or price. I was driven to desperation by the Council's intent to leave you unaided, to bow before Dramacore's corruption and negotiate with them rather than stand up and fight. That is what goes against everything the Jedi should stand for, and I would not endure it. I will not endure it."

Obi-Wan stared at him for a long time, unspeaking. Loved. Past tense.

"And now?" Very quiet.

"My feelings have not changed." Qui-Gon straightened his body, his posture mingling dignity and resignation. "Though I understand yours probably have. It is to be expected, given what has happened."

"I don't know how I feel about you anymore." Obi-Wan wrapped his arms around his knees, wishing for his clothing, his bare skin trapping him in the bed and in the uncomfortable conversation. "I loved everything about you then. But I don't know who you are anymore, Qui-Gon. We've only been reunited for a short time, but every word you've spoken and every action you've taken has been calculated to manipulate and use me for your own purposes."

"Yes," he agreed bleakly. "As I have always done. You didn't see, perhaps, before. But that was my method, and it was done to make you a Jedi."

"I wanted to be a Jedi." Obi-Wan dismissed him impatiently. "When I became your padawan, I agreed to allow you to shape me and help me become one. But now I'm not your apprentice any longer. I don't know what you want from me, or why, or what lengths you would go to in order to get it. I accept that you aren't wholly of the dark. There is more to you than fear or hate, more than self-interest. But that's all I can judge."

Qui-Gon looked at him for a long moment, blue eyes pensive. "That's true, and your distinction between a master and a manipulator is an important one." He cast his eyes down again. "But I have always known that some things are more important than the love between two beings, or the pursuit of pleasure. And the matters you touch on now, the secrets you want to know, are the most important I've ever kept. These secrets aren't mine to tell until I can be sure of you, Obi-Wan. There's too much at stake, too many others whose well-being depends on the outcome.

"I should never have let you go, but I had no choice." He rose, agitated, and began to pace-- a cat in a cage, fierce and controlled. "The man who left you on Lisyl was lost, centerless, half-devoured by darkness. I could not bear to risk letting that darkness infect you, not after you'd endured so much, not when I was so damaged and confused I couldn't care for you as you deserved. By the time I recovered myself and came to a full understanding of the events that had transpired, I feared I had made a terrible mistake in sending you back to the Jedi. But it was done. It was the will of the Force in that moment, and I obeyed.

"Tahl's report on your condition soothed my fears. I trusted that Yoda's influence would be adequate to protect you from the decay I perceived in the Order. I thought the foundation of my training and your own wisdom would help you see the same truths I've observed. You always seemed inclined to question the Jedi doctrine of serenity, and that gave me hope. My decision may yet prove well-founded; it's too soon to tell." He subsided into the chair again, broad hands folding over his lap. "I can only trust in the Force, and in my belief in you. You'll know what's right when the time comes, and you'll see fit to forgive me, when you understand."

He firmed his mouth, lifting his chin. "But if you don't choose to forgive me? That, too, is a price I will pay if I must, Obi-Wan. I serve others before myself, and I will sacrifice my happiness if the Force wills it. Service is why I became a Jedi, and it is why I chose to be celibate, except for the solitary indulgences I use now to help balance my body with my spirit." He scowled at Obi-Wan's doubting expression and raised brow. "No, I've had no lovers, not even Tiran, much to his discontent." He visibly set aside his embarrassment, calming himself. "I belong to you."

They sat for a moment in uncomfortable silence, Obi-Wan picking at the corner of his coverlet with fingers that very nearly trembled.

"I haven't yet abandoned my hopes for a future with you, Obi-Wan." He stood, his eyes deep, piercing sapphire, fixing Obi-Wan seriously. "And what that future contains will be largely of your choosing. But ultimately, I must admit that the emotions between us are not important, not in the greater scheme of things. They are personal, and they are deeply meaningful to me. But they are not important compared to the greater goal I must achieve."

He paused, his glance keen. "You think I'm a madman."

"The thought had entered my mind." Obi-Wan put his elbow on his knee and propped his chin on his palm. "I had it a time or two before Dramacore kidnapped me, I confess. But I require more data before drawing a definite conclusion." He could not help but smile. Force help me, I'm flirting.

Qui-Gon chuckled, startled into amusement. "I'm glad you're willing to give me enough rope to hang myself." He glanced aside, letting the intensity between them recede.

A madman? Obi-Wan thought of Windu, and shivered. Madman or not, Qui-Gon was at least partly correct about corruption among the Jedi. But something still didn't make sense. Obi-Wan already half-believed in the consequences Qui-Gon claimed were resulting from embargoes by the Trade Federation; anyone could understand the cause and effect relationships in play. If that was all, though, why the need for such secrecy? And as long as he didn't trust Obi-Wan with the truth, Obi-Wan couldn't trust him, either.

"Join me for breakfast?" Qui-Gon invited at length when the silence stretched, reaching for Obi-Wan's hand, and Obi-Wan felt himself flush.

"I have to dress first."

"Oh." Qui-Gon chuckled. "Really, Obi-Wan. I've seen your body before."

"I don't dispute that," Obi-Wan acknowledged. Between his training and the Dramacore holos, there was little he might do with his body that Qui-Gon had not seen. "But not today."

"I'll wait outside, then."

Obi-Wan dressed hastily, and after a moment's thought, left his cloak on the floor for the cat. He stepped out, feeling absurdly shy, and Qui-Gon's greeting smile was so soft it stole his breath like a punch to the gut.

He fell in at Qui-Gon's side without speaking, and they went into the galley, where the cat was occupied with a bowl of meat. It slid an evil, warning stare in Obi-Wan's direction, but Qui-Gon clucked and pointed a finger back at the bowl, and after a moment it resumed eating.

"He definitely likes you," Qui-Gon commented, and Obi-Wan rolled his eyes.

They sat down to cold meat salads, carefully served by the silent kitchen droid. Qui-Gon pulled out a datapad and laid it down between them. "We'll be arriving at our first rendezvous in a few days. Our cover begins there. I've contracted to smuggle medical supplies through the blockade. It could be risky; Nemoidians are easily influenced, but droids aren't, and they like to rely on them." He showed Obi-Wan a schematic of a cargo freighter, and of its hideaway compartments.

"We'll have legal goods through most of the ship, with Trade Federation tariff stamps and official documents. If we run into more trouble than we can handle, we'll trigger the freighter's self-destruct and escape in a fighter-- it's a prototype for the upcoming Delta 7, with an added hyperdrive engine mount, but I expect it's not so different from what you're used to. I usually go alone, and the fighter isn't designed for two, but it will work, in an emergency-- if you aren't too finicky about tight quarters."

"I've survived worse." Obi-Wan's eyes darkened for a moment with memory, and Qui-Gon laid a hand over his, the man's warm, dry fingers comforting.

"I'm a man of my word," he said softly. "You know I wouldn't take advantage. At least, not without permission." He chuckled softly-- again the subtle hint of predator in him, the flash of claws.

"And I can fly a fighter better from your lap than you can fly one sitting in the cockpit all by yourself," Obi-Wan sidestepped.

"I'll admit I've never had your natural talent for piloting, but you may find I've learned a few surprises since we last were wingmen." Qui-Gon squeezed his hand gently and then released it, to Obi-Wan's mingled relief and disappointment. "Necessity is an effective instructor." He paused. "Would you care to spar with me again today?"

"Very well," Obi-Wan agreed, hoping his eagerness was not obvious, but suspecting that it was.

Qui-Gon launched at once into full Jedi Master lecture mode. "One of the crucial principles is to understand which emotions will yield beneficial reactions to situations and which will not. You must be selective. Choosing the appropriate emotional response can easily mean the difference between effectiveness and defeat. For example, desperation is rarely an effective emotion to use in focusing combat energies; it tends to assume failure before action is begun, and encourages wastage of energy in exhausting and unnecessary extremes. In combat, defensiveness or anger are frequently the primary choices, but exhilaration may also prove productive." He stood to lead Obi-Wan toward the training salle.

"In battle, most Jedi use anger to a degree without acknowledging it, especially after a comrade is injured or killed. A surge of anger, properly focused, is difficult to control, but can be targeted to devastating effect. At times, though, feelings of joy, curiosity, or euphoria may prove equally profitable. The emotions should ideally be based in self, powerful and genuine; the stronger their reality, the more effectively and reliably they summon energy for you to focus. Today, with your cooperation, I'll show you how to apply joy to enhance acrobatic maneuvering in Ataru--"

Obi-Wan followed him out, shaking his head and laughing to himself ruefully. When I claim he isn't my master, who do I hope to deceive? Him, or myself? Another riddle to conquer.

They spent their days profitably, Obi-Wan accepting Qui-Gon's mentoring in his techniques with occasional ill-grace, but with at least some success. He found it hard to free himself to experience unfettered happiness or joy in his old master's presence; defensive emotions such as suspicion and wariness proved easier and more powerful. He could achieve enough joy to enhance his skills, but never reached the same pinnacle of perfection he had when Qui-Gon helped him master Soresu-- he was still able to duplicate that feat, if he liked, but he had no more breakthroughs of that magnitude.

"You're too guarded," Qui-Gon finally said, slumping into the lotus, swiping his hair back from his neck. "You don't trust yourself to control the emotions you need to feel. Or perhaps it's me you don't trust."

"Some of both, I think." Obi-Wan fell back onto the floor mat where he had just spent a frustrating hour attempting to work through the first kata of Ataru to Qui-Gon's satisfaction. "Maybe that's why I did so well when the emotions you required of me were distrust and defense."

"Yes," Qui-Gon agreed thoughtfully. "I think you could generate more aggressive power in Ataru if we worked with less positive emotions, also." He raised a hand to forestall Obi-Wan's protests. "I'm not suggesting we try it. I'm saying they're easier to generate, and they produce stronger results with Ataru, which is after all an aggressive form."

He looked at Obi-Wan seriously for a moment. "Whether or not you plan to use dark emotions for power, you may find yourself doing it in the moment. If you do, remember these urgent differences. You begin by making them your center, but you should not end that way. Negative emotions must be controlled and purged-- if they remain and grow after their usefulness is at an end, that is when you risk the Dark Side. Negative emotions don't want to disperse as readily as positive ones. You may even have to turn your wrath on an inanimate object and exhaust it there. Channel your negative emotion out of yourself when its usefulness is ended. Meditate on calm or serenity as you have been taught. But you must be sure to disperse negative emotions, or they will grow to control you."

Obi-Wan nodded soberly. "That's what happens to Jedi who turn to the Dark Side."

"Yes." Qui-Gon nodded. "Use the darker emotions in balance, only when it is necessary and obeys the will of the Force. If you use them casually or trivially, you may come to find them addictive."

"My focus determines my reality," Obi-Wan speculated.

"Yes. Focus too long in one area, and it begins to define you-- just as rejecting one area may also come to define you."

Obi-Wan considered this, looking up at the ceiling. "I can see that. I've let my unhappiness over you leaving the Jedi define me more than I realized-- more than was wise."

"As I let rejection of my sexual nature and denial of my love define me until my center was all but lost-- and I lost my place in the Jedi Order," Qui-Gon agreed quietly. "We all choose focuses that shape us, Obi-Wan. I can tell you've used your unhappiness wisely, to motivate your training-- you're more skillful now than I had dreamed. You're obviously ready to be knighted."

Obi-Wan did not answer, and Qui-Gon hesitated for a long moment, studying him soberly. "Of course." He closed his eyes, inhaling and exhaling a deep sigh. "I don't know why I didn't realize before. My capture is a condition of your Trials."

Obi-Wan considered the ceiling for a time in silence. "Yoda would say it isn't. He wants me to achieve understanding of us both and be at peace with what I learn."

"Ah." Qui-Gon nodded. "But others do not agree with him."

Obi-Wan levered himself to his feet and stretched his shoulders until they popped. He reached out, extending a hand to Qui-Gon, who took it and let himself be pulled upright. He stood there, only a handful of inches from Obi-Wan, their eyes and hands locked. The question hovered between them, unspoken.

Qui-Gon broke the silence first. "I will fight for my freedom, if you force me," he whispered, his voice hoarse with pain. "There is more at stake here than hearts, Obi-Wan. I must do what I believe is right."

Obi-Wan closed his eyes and nodded once, brief. "I, too, must do what I judge best, when the moment comes." Whatever that may be.

Qui-Gon leaned forward very slowly, setting his forehead against Obi-Wan's, and raised his free hand, his fingertips carefully brushing against Obi-Wan's cheekbone, and stilled there, mingling their breath. Obi-Wan closed his eyes and felt the tremble in the man's hand, mirroring the anguish in his own heart.

Obi-Wan shivered, wanting a kiss so much he ached. But neither man moved; they merely stood there in silence on opposite sides of an unbridgeable gulf of years and goals, taking bitter comfort from the tight clasp of palm to palm and from the warmth of sharing breath and the illusion of closeness it brought.

A soft klaxon interrupted them after a time that Obi-Wan could not measure; Qui-Gon withdrew upon hearing its low bleat.

"We're nearly to the rendezvous. You should change clothing and pack for departure; it won't do to advertise that you're a Jedi from now on."

Obi-Wan did as instructed, choosing a plain black jumpsuit and boots, packing his duffel with a selection of necessaries. He joined Qui-Gon in the cockpit in time for docking. The craft that awaited them was a converted ore barge, now used as a combination space station and refuel point for cargo ships. Qui-Gon locked down his ship, ensuring that the kitchen droid was prepared to feed the cat, and led Obi-Wan out into the barge.

Obi-Wan wrinkled his nose at the stench of unwashed beings and dubious foodstuffs, but followed close behind Qui-Gon as his former master guided him through the central promenade to a bay where a large cargo freighter waited, tended by a sparse crew.

Obi-Wan glanced at the man who guarded the bay, sunk so far down in a folding chair that he seemed ready to topple out of it, hat pulled low over his grease-stained face. He had a stick of spice between his lips, or Obi-Wan would have believed he was asleep.

Qui-Gon nodded to him brusquely and strode through without pausing; it seemed his face was known. The hatch of the freighter opened to his palm. Obi-Wan glanced around curiously as Qui-Gon consulted cargo manifestos and inspected the hidden compartments. Apparently satisfied, he re-sealed containers and bulkheads.

"I don't see your fighter prototype," Obi-Wan commented idly.

"It's mounted belowdecks. There's a breakaway infrastructure down there concealing it from visual inspection. This hatch leads straight into the cockpit." Qui-Gon stepped across the hold to indicate an innocuous-looking panel of floor with a handle recessed inside it. He pulled the handle and an airlock seal cycled. "Get in for a minute, and we'll key it to your palmprint as well as mine."

Obi-Wan obeyed, and Qui-Gon leaned down through the hatch to authorize the addition, his hair brushing Obi-Wan's face, threatening to make him sneeze. He looked around the cockpit-- the control panels seemed intuitive enough, not too much different from the Delta Six. He shifted inside the single pilot's seat, estimating volume. It was quite comfortably roomy enough for him on his own, but... "I hope we won't have to run in this thing," he muttered. "You might pour both of us in here if you liquified us first, but you won't get more than a gallon or two extra in afterwards."

"It'd be tight," Qui-Gon agreed. "I haven't needed it before. I hope our luck will hold."

Obi-Wan levered himself out with minor help, and glanced around. "I'm glad you didn't bring the cat; all three of us in there would be entirely too much of a good thing. How are we fixed for sleeping quarters?"

"One crew cabin with two bunks. I can sleep out here, if you--"

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. "I am capable of resisting your overwhelming allure in a one-room, two-bunk situation. I did it on missions for years."

"As I resisted yours," Qui-Gon retorted smoothly. "Settle in as you wish. I'm going to request clearance for takeoff."

Obi-Wan did, then found his way to the cockpit, strapping in just in time for departure. He watched Qui-Gon calculate the hyperspace jump, blinking with surprise at the coordinates.

"Naboo?"

"One of the planets that has fared worst from the Trade Federation blockades." Qui-Gon pulled back the throttle and the stars stretched as the ship hurtled into hyperspace, aimed right into the teeth of the Trade Federation.

Astonishingly, running the blockade gave them no trouble; battle droids might not be susceptible to mind-manipulation, but they were also extremely unimaginative when it came to detecting smugglers, and they signed off on the cargo manifests quickly.

Obi-Wan was glad for his lightsaber nonetheless, where it lay tucked away in an inner pocket Qui-Gon had thoughtfully had included in his civilian clothing.

The moment he laid eyes on Naboo, his skin began to crawl. The entire place gave him a bad feeling, and it didn't get any better as he and Qui-Gon swung their freighter along its programmed landing arc. The Force was vastly disturbed here, conflict scattered across the globe, and patches were smudged with eddies of deeper evil. He could sense the residue of the Sith Lord who had appeared here, killing the Jedi team assigned to protect Queen Amidala, whose brave but doomed last stand to protect her people had disintegrated into captivity and, finally, capitulation.

As they descended, he noted the surface of the planet was mostly idyllic, cerulean oceans and emerald grasslands-- but huge palls of smoke rose from cities and towns, and in places, sludge stained the oceans.

Their course eventually took them over the one-time capital city, Theed, and they settled onto a makeshift landing pad on the edge of the grasslands that abutted the city. The place was mostly rubble, with a few hollowed-out towers half-standing, enough to make Obi-Wan think it must have been magnificent in its heydey.

Now, it was a filthy refugee camp. Thousands of citizens milled through the rubble, clustering around the landing field where Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan settled their ship-- but they were held out by fences, and when the precious cargo was unloaded, it vanished into hovertrucks and was taken away without being distributed.

Qui-Gon gazed out toward the fences, his face calm, but his posture belied his seeming serenity. His deliberate gaze invited Obi-Wan to look as well, and Obi-Wan did-- thousands of pale, smudged faces, fingers twined desperately into the chainlink fence, only a platoon of droids with blasters keeping them from scrambling over the fence to seize the supplies that vanished so rapidly. Many of them had feet and hands bound in bloody rags, or bore terrible scars and wounds, and all the expressions were desperate, without hope.

The emptied carts returned toward the ship and Qui-Gon abruptly went up the ramp; Obi-Wan glanced idly toward the procession, then startled and looked again. That face-- surely he knew it.

He glanced back toward the fences, strolling idly along the ramp, under the belly of the ship, where the tips of the prototype's laser cannons protruded very slightly from the infrastructure, ready for use, and then back along the other side of the ramp. He had a very good view when the carts descended, and found himself eye to eye with Eekt Do'ha, several years older than Obi-Wan himself, whom he had known distantly in the creche, and who had been lost on a mission with his master four years ago, the two of them never heard from again. And that Bith, his bulbous head studiously bent over the crate he was shifting so that Obi-Wan could not see his face, was almost certainly Eekt's master, Jantak.

Eekt did not react, but kept moving, and Obi-Wan gave no sign, continuing on his rambling circuit. Of course Qui-Gon had allies-- but vanished Jedi? That was well beyond what Obi-Wan had expected. His suspicions sharpened, intuition whispering insistently; this was definitely some of the information Qui-Gon was withholding, and Obi-Wan was willing to bet he'd only glimpsed the tip of the iceberg.

Exactly how many Jedi, former Jedi, and failed Jedi candidates might one rogue Jedi Master call to himself and utilize in a hare-brained scheme to undermine the Trade Federation? Two? A half-dozen? A dozen, hundreds?

He kept silent when Qui-Gon came down the ramp again, pretending to study the refugees at the fence.

"We'll be traveling into the city to deliver the last of our supplies to my contact near the royal palace," Qui-Gon murmured. "Bacta powder, mostly-- we can't risk its loss."

Obi-Wan nodded casually. It would be fascinating to meet more of Qui-Gon's contacts. How many more faces might he recognize?

"Is it safe?"

"Hardly." Qui-Gon passed over a belt with a holster that supported a heavy blaster. "This will help deter criminal interest, but when people are so desperate, any evidence of wealth, or even looking like you don't belong, can provoke attack. We're expected to wait overnight, though; our cargo isn't ready."

"Cargo?"

"Plasma containment crates. There are rich deposits under the oceans. You may have noticed the discolored places in the water during our descent? Those arise where mining operations are excavating plasma from the planet core. Look at the crowds: all humanoid. You won't see any of the native Nubian species in that crowd. They live in underwater cities. They try to defend their homes, but they're slaughtered wholesale. Pairs of their ears are worth a bounty to the Trade Federation. Many of the locals hunt them in hopes of feeding their families." He sighed. "I haven't been able to discover a way to help them."

Obi-Wan shook his head. "You could have shown me these things without bringing me here."

"There are still sights to be seen." Qui-Gon clapped a hand to his shoulder, pretending joviality. "Let's go up and get our overnight packs."

They did, collecting the precious bacta packets from the best-hidden of the smuggling bins and concealing them in their gear, and went out. A detail of battle droids escorted them through the crowd. At the entrance, it consisted mostly of children, waving begging bowls, their slender bodies so thin that every rib and joint showed.

Many of them were wounded as well. Obi-Wan nearly retched with shock and pity when he spied one horribly disfigured female child with botfly larvae infesting the open wounds on her face. He scrabbled after a ration bar, meaning to give it to her, but Qui-Gon's iron hand caught his wrist before he could withdraw it from his pocket. "You'll provoke a riot. She won't get any, and many children will be injured." He shook his head firmly, his eyes cloudy and remote with unhappiness.

Obi-Wan swallowed hard, but his hand emerged from his pocket empty. After an uncomfortable few minutes, they were clear of the press, and began to negotiate the streets.

The remnants of beautifully carved moldings and cornices scattered the ground, and an occasional flowering vine peeked up shoots through the rubble, but blaster hits scorched standing walls, and a thick sludge of oily smoke had turned most of the city a uniform gray. Obi-Wan spied young men watching them from shadowed alleys, fever-bright eyes following them, but no one was yet desperate enough to attack obviously armed outworlders.

"We'll need to be indoors by nightfall," Qui-Gon murmured. "Follow me, and keep a sharp eye out."

Obi-Wan did, and they cut a disorderly path through the city, sometimes forced to double back to avoid roadways choked with rubble or even decaying bodies. The whole place smelled of death and offal, but even with the reek, there were no rats; Obi-Wan suspected they had all been eaten.

The sun sank alarmingly, and was halfway behind the horizon when Qui-Gon ducked into an alley where several arched doorways still stood intact. He knocked on one, delivered a complicated countersign, and he and Obi-Wan were invited indoors by a haggard black man whose battle armor had once featured ornate decorative leather over duranium, but now merely looked to have seen better days.

"Lord Jinn."

"Panaka." Qui-Gon inclined his head. "We've brought the medical supplies I promised."

"Bring them down into the caves." Panaka gestured briskly for them to follow.

"Have you news of the Queen?"

Panaka's eyes closed with momentary pain. "They haven't paraded her out for their holos in a long time. I suspect the worst. Once she signed their treaty, they didn't need her anymore."

Qui-Gon laid a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry."

"We should never have returned here after the vote of no confidence." Panaka sighed. "But she wouldn't listen. She thought the Jedi could protect her. We needed an army, not two men."

"No one could have anticipated the Sith." Qui-Gon shook his head. "Have the loads arrived on time?"

"All but one." Panaka glanced warily at Obi-Wan. "Who's he?"

"My associate." Qui-Gon remained carefully neutral. "Call him Ben. He won't cause any trouble."

"I hope not." Panaka sounded more jaded than worried.

I'll look into the missing delivery for you, and see what can be done."

"It's too late for you to make it back to the spaceport before dark," Panaka observed, leading them into a crudely cut tunnel. "The gangs will be out. We'll stash this and I'll put you up in a corner for the night."

It turned out to be rather more than a corner, but rather less than a bedroom, and when Panaka offered dinner, Qui-Gon politely refused. Obi-Wan followed suit, so they wound up eating ration bars, sitting on the floor in their niche-- half carved wall and half natural cave, with a wicked draft and only two worn carpets for bedding.

Obi-Wan didn't complain, but found himself wishing for the days when he and Qui-Gon would simply have curled up together, sharing body warmth and both carpets. He also wished for his cloak, left to the cat. Wrapping his arms around himself, he devoted a measure of his concentration to raising his body temperature and sat quietly, watching Qui-Gon, who appeared to be doing the same.

He tried to picture himself fighting the man in earnest, and could not. His eyes lingered on the line of the long body instead, on the soft fall of hair, on the way that the light from the single harsh lamp caught in the lens of his eye, illuminating the deep hues of sapphire in the iris.

Force help him, but he couldn't afford to revert to the wonderstruck padawan he had been so long ago, smitten with an insane case of lust and hero-worship, blind to Jinn's faults.

"Who else is helping you?" Obi-Wan asked, surprising himself; he had not intended to speak.

Qui-Gon blinked at him eloquently, and Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. "In addition to Eekt and Jantak, to be precise. How many more?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"You're working with Jedi who are missing, presumed dead, and you don't know what I mean."

"You must be mistaken." A note of obstinate resistance threaded into Qui-Gon's tone.

"Very well. You've just confirmed that you're working with an unknown number of Jedi, I hope you realize." Obi-Wan tamped down his annoyance. "Obviously, you're all working in a concerted effort to distribute humanitarian aid behind the Trade Federation blockades."

"I can't hide a thing from you, Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon's voice was mild, and the note of amusement in it rankled the hell out of him.

"Not for long you can't!" he answered hotly. He rose and began to pace. "I'll find out what you're hiding. You wanted me to come with you, and to report your position back to the Council. But you could have showed me everything we've seen without ever setting foot off Xinune. I'll admit that I pity these people, now that I've seen them. I never liked the idea that the Jedi should work with the Trade Federation; half the Order already thinks we should take aggressive measures to reverse these treaties and end the blockades. You don't need me for that."

"Only half?" Qui-Gon inquired mildly.

"This place feels like a den of slithering snakes. Not specifically this alcove," Obi-Wan responded to Qui-Gon's raised brow. "The whole city. The whole planet. Everything I touch, every breath I draw into my lungs, every current of the Force."

"The Dark Side is strong here," Qui-Gon agreed. He watched Obi-Wan intently. "What do you sense?"

"Suffering, mostly. Distortion of the Living Force."

Qui-Gon considered him for a long moment, then slid near, carefully not touching. "Reach out with your feelings," he suggested. "Let your mind drift. Think of your distrust, feel your distrust. Let it guide you, let it disperse, and follow where it leads. Tell me what you feel."

Obi-Wan did so, his breath slowing as he relaxed, spreading into the Force, feeling its soiled tendrils play across his skin, following them. "Pleasure in pain. Deception. Power." His voice was low, and he felt almost drugged. "Greed. Hatred. Poisonous, murderous hatred. Never-ending rage--" His throat was raw and burning with the intensity of it, the Force sucking at him, a maelstrom of darkness swirling, all-powerful, around and into that horrible hate, face seared red and black around burning yellow eyes--

"Come back." Warm arms caught him hastily, grounded him, pulling him back to his body. "Before he senses you."

"What the hell was that?" Obi-Wan gasped, struggling out of his trance. He felt soiled to his core.

"A Sith," Qui-Gon said simply. "The one who has the Queen, I think, and who murdered the Jedi that protected her."

Obi-Wan shuddered, turning his face against Qui-Gon's shoulder without thinking.

"I want you to do something for me." Qui-Gon's voice was sober.

"Yes?"

"Remember this touch of true darkness. Burn it into your mind, every nuance." Obi-Wan looked up at Qui-Gon's face, which was set and closed, carefully neutral. "A time may come when you need to know the dimensions of true evil, the length and breadth and depth of it. Do not be deceived by its pale shadow. Think then of that pure hate, that pure rage-- let it be your measure of the dark." Obi-Wan could not read Qui-Gon's aura, could not discern his emotions as he sat and stared into the shadows.

"What are you going to do?" Obi-Wan whispered, unformed presentiment gathering, swift and choking, like a child's night-terror.

"What I must." Qui-Gon's lips ghosted against his temple, barely there. "Rest here with me, while we may?"

Obi-Wan's arms stole around Qui-Gon, and Qui-Gon's cheek settled to press against his hair, chaste and undemanding. Together, they stared into the darkness and waited for the morning.

Eventually Obi-Wan must have slept; he awakened, stiff and shivering, when Qui-Gon's arms shifted around him. "It's time," the older man spoke. "We have to be going, swiftly."

Obi-Wan scrambled to his feet, hastily trying to stretch some of the stiffness out of his limbs, and fell in behind Qui-Gon as they slipped silently out of the catacombs and back up toward the street, through the sleeping bodies of Panaka and his allies. Obi-Wan stepped out into the alley first, glancing about, alert. The sun was rising, luminous rays slanting into the alleys and the rubble, catching a haze of smoke and turning everything to liquid gold. It was strange how nature could take nearly any amount of sentient destruction and transmute it into forms of beauty.

His attention was caught by a sudden rumble; a heavy cruiser was making planetfall, surrounded by a swarm of fighters and escort craft, including multi-troop transports for battle droids.

"Qui-Gon," Obi-Wan called. "Look-- I think that's the Supreme Chancellor's personal transport."

"Yes," Qui-Gon agreed softly. "It is." He stepped up and put his hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder. "I need you to trust me now, Obi-Wan. You must allow me to control your mind."

Obi-Wan blinked at him, the lambent, warm light of dawn rich in his long hair, gilding the rough planes of his face. "What? Why?" He took a rapid step back, hand falling to the hilt of his lightsaber.

"This is why we're here. I'll hurt you as little as I can, and release you as quickly as possible afterward. But I can't do otherwise." Qui-Gon's voice was gentle and his eyes sad, but there was a cool intent to his expression, and Obi-Wan knew he meant what he said.

"Have I lied to you, Obi-Wan? I will release you soon. I give you my word." Qui-Gon's voice rasped in his throat, low and terrible with pain. "Don't make me force you in this. If you retain any part of the love you once had for me, do not."

The Force sang warning between them, icy-cold with chill, heavy with the Dark Side, urgency hammering at Obi-Wan. He could not read the currents. Qui-Gon was right; he had not lied, not yet. Misdirected, manipulated, let implications lie for him, but he had spoken no lies to Obi-Wan. Given the closeness they had shared and the bonds that lay dormant between them, Qui-Gon could probably lever his way through Obi-Wan's shields and crush them, if he resisted-- or they might destroy each other in the attempt at attack and defense. That kind of psychic damage could take years to heal, if ever. Obi-Wan swallowed, his mouth dry, hearing his throat click.

To trust, or not. That simple-- the ultimate test of his insight into Qui-Gon Jinn and into darkness.

"I accept your word," Obi-Wan said softly. He let his hand fall from the hilt of his blade, and dropped his shields. Trembling, he submitted his mind to the man who had once been his beloved master.

Qui-Gon focused on him for a moment, and Obi-Wan could see him centering, touching the Force-- and his world imploded, his mind clenched in a grip like a vise, terrible and dark. He gasped. Qui-Gon's face was cold, remote, only his eyes hot, his hand extended, fingers touching Obi-Wan's temple, the same skin his lips had kissed so recently. The inexorable pressure of the man's will drove him to his knees, then to his face in the street, where he groveled, shuddering, scrabbling frantically inside his mind for a chink in the prison, for some way to retain ownership of self. Qui-Gon's leather boots felt cold against his cheek.

"You will come with me," Qui-Gon was saying, the words thundering through Obi-Wan's brain, reverberating in agony as he heard them with both mind and ears. "You will do as I say. You will move as I say. You will not resist. You are completely mine."

Obi-Wan whimpered, unable to keep himself from struggling against the shield of dark energy that overwhelmed his will, shoving against it so hard his vision began to recede in a roar of gray sparkles, but to no avail. The sparkles coalesced over his vision, and the roar drowned out all sensation, all hearing, all pleasure and pain, leaving only the master's voice, which possessed him.

"Two steps behind me," Qui-Gon directed. "Follow."

He set forth for the palace, Obi-Wan trotting mechanically afterward.

They reached the plaza as a shuttlecraft descended. Several shiploads of battle droids already lined the avenue, blasters in hand, and the inevitable holodroids-- Dramacore, always Dramacore-- zipped and buzzed about, seeking the ideal angle. Qui-Gon ignored them, working his way through the crowd with Obi-Wan at his heels, keeping a firm grasp on Obi-Wan's mind. There would be time later to pay the consequences of what he had done, and of what he was about to do. He could only thank all the little gods that Obi-Wan's voluntary submission had allowed him to reduce them to an acceptable cost.

The Supreme Chancellor emerged from his shuttle, smiling over the crowd, projecting benevolent wisdom. "Citizens of Naboo, my people, I bring good news! I have spoken with the Trade Federation leaders, and the breakdown of our talks is at an end. In mutual hopes of a new and fair trade agreement, they have allowed me to bring food and medicine--"

The ecstatic roar of the crowd drowned him out. Palpatine continued to speak, raising tolerant hands for silence. Qui-Gon dismissed his words; they were meaningless, fodder for the holovids. He tilted his head up, seeking the small, inevitable Dramacore ship. He would settle them later, if there was time.

He reached the bottom of the elaborate stair that still fronted the courtyard, in spite of the destruction of the monuments and ceremonial buildings that surrounded it. It made the perfect stage for Palpatine's message of renewed hope, and the golden morning sunlight seemed to give the man a halo as it caught in his white hair.

Qui-Gon gazed up at Palpatine serenely, feeling himself noticed and catalogued, the dark Force curling and stretching lazily out toward him, its interest in him subtle but perceptible.

The speech ended, and uniformed guards began setting up a food distribution center as Palpatine shook hands with what now passed for the local bureaucracy-- puppets and figureheads, all of them essentially powerless, mouthing platitudes. Qui-Gon leisurely led Obi-Wan up the stair, now an easy task as the focus of the guards redirected to the shifting crowd, so eager for nourishment they threatened to overwhelm those who prepared to provide it.

He had to Force-push a guard halfway up the stair, and Palpatine turned at that moment, gaze sliding past him without apparent recognition, but after that Qui-Gon's progress eased, the guards taking no further notice. Soon he and Obi-Wan stood atop the dais. Folding his arms, he waited.

He was not disappointed.

"Former Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn, I believe?" The Supreme Chancellor was not tall, slightly shorter than Obi-Wan, and stout. The man's voice was as oily as the tendril of Force that touched Qui-Gon, testing him. "One of the Lost Twenty. And friend. A young Jedi, if I'm not mistaken. How very interesting to see a rogue Force user and a Jedi keeping company together." Palpatine's focus narrowed to Obi-Wan, and Qui-Gon worked to keep the beat of his heart in check, calm and serene, as the man probed Obi-Wan for information, raising a brow to find him locked within Qui-Gon's will.

Qui-Gon looked askance to Obi-Wan, tilting his head slightly. "Attend me." Obi-Wan stepped up swiftly, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Padawan Kenobi and I have reached a special agreement." Qui-Gon spoke smoothly, watching the speculative gleam in Palpatine's eye, and covered Obi-Wan's hand with his own.

"I can see you have. It's most fortuitous that you're both here today, on this auspicious occasion for the future of Naboo." The Chancellor's smile sharpened. "I've been watching your career with considerable interest, Jinn. Would you care to join me on my yacht while the supplies are distributed?"

"I had hoped we might conduct business together. I believe I can identify several mutual interests," Qui-Gon spoke calmly. "Come, Obi-Wan."

They followed Chancellor Palpatine up the ramp into the shuttle-- which really was more of a yacht; it made Qui-Gon's own transport look plain and ill-furnished. Qui-Gon could feel Obi-Wan struggling against his control, and reinforced his domination, drawing the young man up next to him and settling his palm behind his neck. Physical contact eased the path to mental contact. He could sense Obi-Wan's confusion, pain, and fear, and again pushed him under, as carefully as he dared with Palpatine looking on-- it would not do to let his control waver. Not now.

"Take a seat," Palpatine invited him, snapping his fingers for a servant, who stepped up to pour rich red wine and hand it to the three of them-- Palpatine first, Qui-Gon noted. He sniffed its rich bouquet, appreciating the vintage, but did not touch his lips to the glass. Obi-Wan simply held his, awaiting command.

Qui-Gon hesitated politely until Palpatine seated himself in one of the rich brocade armchairs, then selected one of his own.

"Kneel before me, Jedi." He made the final word an insult as he snapped at Obi-Wan, who obeyed instantly, smoothly. "All fours." He put his feet up, crossing his ankles and resting his legs atop Obi-Wan's back. Palpatine gave him an enigmatic smile.

"How extraordinary." Palpatine pretended disinterest for a moment, and wet his finger in the scarlet fluid inside his glass, then ran his fingertips along the rim, dragging a low resonant note out of the crystal. "I wonder if you've heard news of my recent acquisition." He looked at Qui-Gon over his sharp nose, eyes ice cold.

"Indeed I have." Qui-Gon pretended to drink. "And may I congratulate you on your business acumen? I'm sure owning a holovid company will prove convenient in keeping the public informed about your career."

"It's always convenient to buy when stock values are low. But it is not convenient to own a company if its assets continue to sink." Palpatine savored a mouthful of wine. "It troubles me that my investment continues to meet with ill-fortune. I must confess, I shouldn't think anyone would have a lingering need to entertain a personal grudge against Dramacore and its subsidiaries."

"A point well-taken." Qui-Gon shifted his weight lazily.

"I am sure that if you act wisely, you will continue to prosper." Laser-sharp, Palpatine's stare bored holes in him. "And when businesses prosper, there is no limit to what can be done, wouldn't you agree?"

"None at all." Qui-Gon reached, lazily lacing his fingers into Obi-Wan's short, soft hair. "As you notice, my own circumstances have markedly improved in recent times."

Palpatine gazed at Obi-Wan, who knelt motionless, head down. "Indeed. May I congratulate you on your personal assistant?"

This was good, but it was not enough. Fingers tightening, Qui-Gon shook Obi-Wan softly. "He is quite satisfactory, isn't he? Of course, he does represent a regulatory body, and they can be a problem."

"An endless problem." Palpatine chuckled lightly. "One you seem to have well-in-hand at the moment."

"Such problems are unpredictable, unless kept firmly in check." Qui-Gon put on an expression of sly avarice. "Which isn't as difficult as some would have it." He let his smile stretch. "I've been looking for a chance to diversify and switch my theater of operations to more profitable work. Perhaps in enforcement. I find it is a particular talent of mine." He turned Obi-Wan's face toward him, studying him with elegant deliberation, running his thumb over Obi-Wan's lips. A flick of his mind, and Obi-Wan began to kiss his fingers, fawning. For Palpatine's benefit, Qui-Gon let himself savor the sight and the sensation of Obi-Wan's mouth and tongue caressing his fingertips.

"I'm not aware of any positions that are open in that area at this time." Palpatine took another sip of the wine, the beam of a recessed light catching in the glass, making the fluid glow blood-red. "But it always pays to keep a careful eye on the future." He watched Qui-Gon enjoy Obi-Wan's caresses. "The youngster is truly exquisite. Is he who I think he is?"

"He was Yoda's padawan. They sent him out after me to finish his Trials. Now he's mine."

"I must say, you know how to make powerful enemies." Palpatine raised an amused brow, draining the last swallow of wine and extending his glass to be refilled.

"Yoda doesn't concern me." Qui-Gon tilted his head, letting one corner of his mouth curl. "I have power he can't begin to comprehend."

"Do you." Palpatine's own lips curved with amusement. "I would be most interested in a practical demonstration. But I'm afraid my other affairs are pressing; we must meet again someday, when there is more time."

Was it enough? It would have to be enough; he could not refuse a dismissal. He stood, offering the Supreme Chancellor a faint bow. "I look forward to it. Come." He snapped his fingers and Obi-Wan rose, falling in quietly behind him, and they departed.

He didn't like the sound of Palpatine's penultimate comment; the more he thought on it, the more his stomach sank. It had the tone of a threat, and such a thing would amuse the Sith-- if Qui-Gon failed in a practical demonstration of skill, Palpatine would not have incurred a loss, but if Qui-Gon triumphed, he would rise in the man's estimation, and be considered more seriously in the future.

A demonstration was almost certain to be required.

He hastened their pace, and when they passed out of sight of the square, he hastily turned to Obi-Wan, drawing him aside into the mouth of a convenient alley.

He slid one arm around Obi-Wan's waist, arranging him to lean against Qui-Gon's shoulder, and then slowly withdrew his mental control.

PART III - Glossary