Sacrifice

by Flamethrower

Sacrifice

Author: flamethrower@deadcatharvest.net

Archive: MA (& My site, eventually - I hate HTML.)

Category: Q/O, AU

Warnings: *wince* Can't warn without spoiling. No squicks though, promise.

Summary: Part 8 in the 'Lonely Place' verse.

Series: Yep.
In a Lonely Place
Defiance
Shades of Grey
Geonosis
Falling Pieces
Checkmate
Dust and Honor

Mace Windu, flanked by the other three members of the Council, found himself staring around in disbelief. One after another, green-striped, armored soldiers were lifting off helmets, revealing the faces of friends thought long dead. "What the hell, Adi?"

"And why can't we sense any of you?" Shaak Ti added, turning this way and that as she tried to look at everyone at once.

"Oh! That." Adi Gallia grinned and reached up to touch her neck, picking a tiny black tab off of her skin. In the next moment her presence in the Force exploded into existence for Mace, and he smiled and embraced her, swearing at the armor that bruised his ribs. It was truly her - not a doppelganger, not some blasted clone. There was no mistaking that fine sense of her, like mist over water. "I missed you, too, Mace," Adi whispered into his ear, her hands warm on the back of his neck.

More presences began filling the dark spaces in the Force with light as Jedi after Jedi, Knights, Masters, and Padawans, removed their inhibitors. "Holy..." Kit Fisto breathed the word. "How many?"

Adi smiled. "Two hundred strong, Kit. We're the ones that our sneaky little friend could hide away, stealing us from the battlefield, making Darth Sidious think we were dead with the application of a handy little inhibitor."

"We thought you were all dead, too," Mace said, trying not to sound recriminating.

"The more everyone believed it, the less chance the Sith Lord would have discovered our existence. I'm sorry, Mace," Adi said, taking his hand and staring into his eyes. In that moment, he couldn't remember why they had ever decided it was a good idea not to formalize their relationship. "I'll make it up to you later."

"Not that I'm not appreciative, and believe me, I am," Agen Kolar interrupted them, though his expression brightened as he noticed one of his former Padawans in the crowd of milling, armored Jedi. "But why this? Why this level of secrecy?"

"The Sith had to be pinned, had to be trapped, both physically and mentally. As for the rest? How do you destroy Darkness, Master Kolar?" Adi asked, giving the Zabrak a tight smile.

Shaak Ti started to grin. "This might be overkill, Master Gallia."

"It's not overkill. It's certainty. The Sith cannot be allowed any chance of escape, or he could still manage to bring about the destruction of everything we hold dear." Adi turned to face the armored Jedi. They stared back, their eyes full of serene acceptance and carefully banked fire; some of them had waited almost three years for this moment. "My friends!" she cried. "Are you ready to end a war?"

He was standing on a hill in a place that he recognized, though it had been years since he had seen it last. The grass was green beneath his feet, and the leaves of the tree he stood under were red and gold. The sky in the distance was pink - sunset had come, but he did not see any stars. Not yet.

Obi-Wan was with him, staring off in the direction of the setting sun. He still wore nothing but those torn, dark pants, but the wounds on his body were gone. All that remained was a series of spiraling black tattoos, comprised of glyphs similar to those that adorned his face. The tattoos wrapped his arms, traced his ribs. There were several lines of glyphs that ran down his back, disappearing beneath the waistband of his pants. "That's new," Qui-Gon observed.

Obi-Wan smiled. "Not as new as you would think, though you are the first person to ever see them." The dying sunlight stole the color from his eyes, and Qui-Gon could not see if they were blue or amber. At the moment, he wasn't sure if he cared one way or another. Then Obi-Wan turned to look at him, and it seemed to Qui-Gon as if his eyes were both colors at once, which made no sense. "Where am I?" he found himself asking. This certainly didn't feel like death, or the Force, either.

"It's the memory of a dream. Or perhaps it would be better to say that it's the dream of a memory." Obi-Wan sighed. "This is where we were standing when I first knew that I loved you."

Qui-Gon didn't expect the spike of sharp agony that struck his heart, though he should have. Obi-Wan had been eighteen years old when they had come to this planet, mediating a treaty that ended a war before it had a chance to begin. His Padawan had loved him for two years before he was knighted. That humbled him, honored him, even as it pained him. Blast it all, he couldn't even remember the planet's name. "I should be dead," he said at last, not knowing what else to say.

It seemed that the sky grew darker with his words. Obi-Wan's smile faded, became melancholy. "You should be, yes. And as I held you, I gave you this memory. I wanted the chance to say goodbye."

"There is always the Force, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said, yet he was not sure if he was being truthful. He had always been taught that oblivion was the destiny for those who dwelled in Darkness.

Obi-Wan lowered his head. "I... do not think that we will see each other again. I have spent a long time trying to find a way out, and I have not seen it. I am certain that I go to my death. Though I do hope it will be worthwhile."

Obi-Wan planned to go after the Sith. Qui-Gon was not surprised by that, but it saddened him to know the fate that awaited the man he loved. "Then at the very least, I will soon have interesting company."

Obi-Wan's smile vanished. "Perhaps you will," he allowed. "Do me a favor?"

"What?" Qui-Gon asked, and the sky was growing darker still, but there were no stars. He was starting to grow concerned, starting to feel the first trace of fear within himself. The place they were in began to lose substance, and it was not darkness that pervaded. Pale green light started to filter in, and that light was familiar. "Obi-Wan?"

He smiled, but his smile was sad, and when he raised his head to look at Qui-Gon, his eyes were full of longing and grief. "When you wake up, my Master... try not to hate me too much."

It wasn't hard to find Sidious; his Master was sending out warped threads of energy that were misleading the Jedi, forcing them to stalk through corridors and rooms on an unending quest to seek the Sith. Such was the Sith Lord's mastery of Darkness, for how else could he have hidden in plain sight for so long without attracting notice? If he did nothing, the Jedi could roam this place forever and not find Sidious.

Well, perhaps Anakin could. But Anakin had another concern right now.

So far, pieces had fallen into place so neatly that it scared him. Everything needed to destroy Sidious was where it should be. It was only Micah Giett that had thrown him, and that angered him, despite the fact that he had already killed the man. Why the hell had they allowed the Master to guard someone's back? Did they not even question that maybe, at the very least, the man might have been coerced, compromised in some way?

His eyes were hard as he shook his head. Qui-Gon would not have believed it even if he'd shouted Giett's betrayal from the fucking towers.

That didn't matter now. His grip on his lightsaber left him white-knuckled, for he well remembered what had happened the last time he had challenged Sidious, years ago.

Not this time, he swore. He had a different goal in mind.

This time he wanted to lose.

Venge emerged from the lift that had taken him to the top of the citadel. To his left was a railing, and beyond that was nothing but a sheer drop to the tiled, spiraled floor far below. Straight ahead was a long walkway, and to his right was a series of windows that looked out onto the twisted landscape and dark skies of Byss.

Sidious was standing in front of the nearest window, cloaked but not hooded. "So you have decided to strike out at me at last," he said, and his voice was rough, angry - what Venge had always heard when in the presence of his Master. It was a far cry from the soft-spoken, pleasant tones that Palpatine had always employed as Chancellor. "Is your confidence in your abilities so abysmal that you would enlist the aid of Jedi to kill me, my apprentice?"

He found himself smiling, and didn't even need to lie to answer him. "My Master, they are merely here to serve as a distraction, not to kill you. No Jedi will lay a hand on you. I swear it."

That made Sidious turn, and he peered at Venge. His eyes were not the watery, blood-shot blue that his constituents would remember, but a baleful, reptilian yellow. His skin had gotten even worse since he had fled from Coruscant. It seemed paper thin, as if no longer capable of holding back the evil that his body contained. His hair had been a pristine white, but now it had yellowed as well, a further mark of the inner corruption of the Dark Side.

Sidious lifted an eyebrow, taking in the unlit lightsaber in Venge's hand. "You speak the truth," he murmured, and he smiled, pleased. "Perhaps you are ready to challenge me, after all."

Venge clenched his hand into a fist, summoning the Force, and a bolt of lightning appeared from the ether to strike the floor in front of Sidious. The Sith Lord's smile dissolved into a snarl. Some of those misleading threads vanished, but there were still more remaining. He would have to obtain the Sith Lord's full attention if he wanted them all gone. Venge offered his Master a mocking bow. "More than ready," he said, and ignited his lightsaber.

When Sidious saw the blue blade emerge instead of red, he gave Venge a pitying glance before drawing his own lightsaber from within his robes. "I see you have made your choice," he said.

He smiled. "I made my choice a long time ago."

Qui-Gon opened his eyes to more of that green light, and gods, but that hurt. He blinked against the pain, found himself drawing in a deep, involuntary breath - and coughed, his lungs cramping with effort. "Easy, Master," he heard someone say, and those two words were a horrid assault on his ears, which seemed to be working overtime. Then hands touched his skin, and that was almost worse. He was hypersensitive to warmth, to tactile sensation, to sound. The fingers that were holding onto his arms burned like firebrands, but with the branding came recognition. "Anakin," he whispered, and even that was too loud, though he resisted the urge to place his hands over his ears.

"Here," someone else said, her voice soft. Padmé. Then weight settled over his body, and rough fabric raked across his shoulders. The cloth also seemed to cushion him, comforting him against the assault of air moving against his skin.

He opened eyes that he hadn't even realized he had shut again, found himself staring down at a floor that was out of focus. He was on his knees, trying to curl in upon himself. Also, his clothes seemed to be missing. "What-" and then he coughed again, but it was easier, and his body didn't try to seize up. "What happened?" he said, and though he managed the words, talking was strange, and the sounds were slurred. His tongue didn't want to cooperate, and his mouth tasted like bitter syrup. He felt like his mind had jumped from one reality to another, then another, in the space of breaths. He was physically and mentally disoriented, and on top of it all his body was trying to contemplate vomiting.

With fierce will he pushed the nausea back, taking deep breaths until his lungs ceased cramping. The pain in his eyes started to recede, and the blurred floor tiles became clear and sharp. Better.

There was no pain coming from his midsection. Shouldn't I... hurt? he wondered, still dazed and surprised to find himself alive - and in the care of Anakin, no less.

Anakin's hands were still on him, resting proprietarily on his back, though this time there was the barrier of cloth between them. "Well, Master..." he sounded hesitant. "Remember how I said that you needed to still be in one piece when I found you?"

He nodded, and that felt strange. The floor did not wobble, but he did, like he wasn't settled into place in his own body. Which was... well, that was a ridiculous thought.

"Well... You're still in one piece. It's just... uhm... a new piece, Master."

Qui-Gon lifted his head, turning to look at Anakin, who was kneeling beside him on the floor. Now he recognized that green light for what it was; he was still in the Sith's cloning laboratory. "What?" he asked, and his voice was stronger this time, far less slurred.

He should have been dead. Instead he felt fine. Awkward and naked, bloody cold... but fine. This wasn't right. Darkness can heal, Master Jinn. It just always comes with a price. His heart seized in his chest. Gods, what had Obi-Wan done?

Several ideas hit him all at once, and he jerked upright, staring at his hands. His first panicked thought he could dismiss, for he knew his own hands: the shape and the size of them, the faint wash of hair, the lines on his palms. But they were wrong, somehow. He rubbed his thumb along his forefinger, and the texture was slick and smooth, like brand-new skin. No calluses. The scars on the back of his left hand, a constant reminder of one of Xanatos's attacks - gone.

"It's all right - don't... don't panic or anything. Gods, that sounds idiotic," Anakin was fretting, but for the moment he ignored it. He was wet, his skin shining and coated in something that didn't feel like water. He ran two fingertips along the back of his left hand where the scars had been, and the substance was gelatinous but near-frictionless. Qui-Gon lifted his fingers to his nose - also hypersensitive-and sniffed, and a rush of memory accompanied recognition. Kamino. Cloning tanks. Nutrient feed.

Gods.

"Where is he?" he asked, surprised by the calm tone of his own voice. He didn't feel calm.

"Who, Master?" Anakin asked, and Qui-Gon looked up into worried blue eyes.

"Venge. Obi-Wan. Where is he?" Some of the calm had leeched away, replaced by demand.

"He went after Palpatine," Padmé answered, and in that moment Anakin jerked back, almost snarling, his hands leaving Qui-Gon's back and pressing against his own forehead.

"Oh. Ow. Ow, fucking hells," Anakin yelped, and for a moment Qui-Gon was amused; of all of his Padawans, Anakin swore the least. "I think they'll be able to find Palpatine now, Master," Anakin said, his eyes squeezed tight against what he was feeling and seeing.

Qui-Gon reached out, and that hurt - the Force was there, but not like he was used to. It was faint to him, and his head ached with the strain of exertion in a way that he hadn't felt in long, long years. He clenched his jaw and reached anyway, and the whispering currents grew stronger. It took effort, left him feeling tired and more out of sorts than before. However, he would have had to have been Force-blind to miss what was affecting Anakin. There was a huge rift in the Force, a place where Darkness had erupted.

He couldn't decide which made him angrier - the Sith's now-obvious presence, or Venge's temerity. Qui-Gon touched the cloth on his shoulder and at last his skin recognized the feel of his own robe. He struggled to get to his feet and could not. He would have fallen, but then Anakin and Padmé were both there, supporting him on either side. "We have to find them."

"Yes, but Master, I'd really prefer it if you'd get dressed first," Anakin said, giving him a warm, if concerned, smile.

With what? he was about to ask, but before he could do so a medical droid rolled up to them. "Sir, a towel for you," it said, offering Qui-Gon a large white cloth. He took it, but his fingers had no strength, and the cloth slipped from his grasp. Padmé caught it and handed the towel back to him, and when he noticed the faint blush staining her cheeks, he decided that yes, clothing was probably a good idea. He wiped slick glop from his face - that hurt; the cloth was probably soft but it scratched and burned his skin. New skin. He flinched, tossing the towel aside. They didn't have time for that, anyway. "Clothing?" he asked the droid, trying not to snap at it.

"Yes, sir," it said, and it turned and retrieved a bundle of tan and brown from another waiting droid. It offered him the bundle with both arms, and Qui-Gon stared at the neatly folded lines of his tunics. Not just copies, they were his, right down to the dark sap stain on the sleeve, acquired from a plant in the Darkened gardens he'd paced through with Micah. "We have the rest of your things as well, Master Jinn," it said.

He thought of Micah, lying dead in a room that stank of blood and despair, and the anguish in Venge's voice. He did not think it had been faked, but then... what was all of this? "Did he plan this?" he growled, glaring at the unfortunate droid. "Your Master, Venge. Did he plan this?" he said, the word almost a curse as he gestured at himself.

"I'm afraid I am not privy to Lord Venge's plans, Master Jedi," the droid responded, unfazed by Qui-Gon's anger. "All I know to tell you is that I was instructed to destroy all of the clones that have not been put to use in six hours. All genetic samples are to be destroyed at that time, also."

"Put to use... you mean, if they don't wake up," Padmé clarified, and her hand was back on her stomach, moving in tight, soothing circles. There was a moment's bulge as one of the twins kicked out in response.

"That is correct, Senator."

In the end they had to help him dress, since he could barely stand on his own. It would have been embarrassing if his attention hadn't been focused somewhere else, on someone else.

"Well, Obi-Wan was right about one thing," Anakin was saying, and that snapped his focus back to where it should have been - on the two people that were helping him, keeping him balanced, figuratively and literally.

"Right about what?" he asked, not sure if he wanted to know.

Anakin looked at him, his smile uncertain, but there was a hint of laughter in his eyes. "You look really different with your nose unbroken."

That shocked him. His nose had been smashed in a not-so-brilliant moment when he and his Master were far from Healers, and Dooku had not been capable of much more than minor repairs. He'd been eleven years old. It disturbed him, made the bottom fall out of his stomach, to realize that the next time he saw a mirror he was going to see a stranger. "How... how do I look?" he found himself asking, his voice a tentative whisper.

Anakin paused, bewildered, throwing his wife a "Help me" look. Padmé smiled in response. "You look fine, Qui-Gon," she said to him.

It was, as answers went, really no help at all.

They battled their way across the observation deck at lightning speed, and there was a halo of sparks around the Sith Lord that told Venge that more lightning could rain down upon them at any moment.

Venge was good, and he knew it. He had been skilled enough to best Tyrannus, though arrogance had been the other Sith's ultimate downfall. He had destroyed Grievous and walked away, but wasn't foolish enough to consider it an easy victory - Grievous had come damned close to beheading him. Ventress had been the hardest, for she was the purest of them in the warrior sense. She had lived for nothing else save battle, and her hatred gave her strength and clarity instead of recklessness.

The Sith Lord was better than them all.

Venge ducked to the side and then rolled away as Sidious was suddenly there, his red blade chopping into the floor where Venge had been a second before. They faced each other again, blades at the ready, and for a moment neither of them moved. "You don't stand a chance," Sidious said, and his voice was kind. "End this foolishness now. One day you will be ready to take my place, Venge, but today is not that day. Oh, I will punish you, of course," the Sith mused, and the smile on his face was mocking. "But I am beginning to think you like my punishments. How you squirm for me..."

"You know, I think I would rather eat my lightsaber before enduring your touch again," Venge said, and grinned when the Sith Lord swung at him with a furious growl.

Anakin was supporting most of his weight, though Qui-Gon had told him in no uncertain terms that if they were attacked, being dumped on the floor was the least of Qui-Gon's concerns. Anakin had given him a wry smile before handing Qui-Gon his lightsaber. "We've fought in more inconvenient positions, Master," he'd said. Qui-Gon had nodded in rueful agreement. There had indeed been more awkward combat situations, though right now he was hard-pressed to name one.

Padmé was guarding their backs, having proved at the age of fourteen that she was a crack shot with a blaster. The years had only added to her proficiency. "Which way should we go?" she asked as they hit the junction of another corridor.

"The fight is somewhere above us - no, wait," Qui-Gon said, and Anakin halted their steps. His connection to the Force seemed to be repairing itself, and now he felt familiar presences. There were other Jedi approaching.

The others appeared in the corridor after a few seconds. Yoda was perched on Ki-Adi Mundi's back, his expression grim. Following them were Luminara Unduli, Plo Koon, Even Piell, and a handful of troopers with unfamiliar green striping on their armor.

For a moment they all stood there, and Qui-Gon felt himself flush as five sets of eyes stared at him in frank amazement. "What?" he snapped.

"What the hell happened to you?" Ki-Adi finally asked, giving Qui-Gon a bewildered look. "Your hair's gone! What-what happened to your nose?"

He groaned and exchanged glances with Anakin, who raised an eyebrow in response. Even if he were in the mood to answer, he had no idea what to say. "Don't ask," Qui-Gon growled.

One of the green-striped troopers stepped forward, pulling his helmet off to reveal dark brown hair and laughing gray eyes. "I think they're wondering why you chose such an inopportune moment for a makeover, Master Jinn."

"Shit-- Garen!?" Anakin exclaimed, staring at the other man. "You're supposed to be dead!"

"Really?" Jedi Master Garen Muln's smile was brilliant and predatory. "I guess I got better."

"Met us on their way down, they did," Yoda said, as the other green-striped troopers lifted off their helmets to reveal the faces of other Jedi, all of them listed as deceased in the Temple rosters. "Hid them from the galaxy, Obi-Wan did, so that one day, help us they could."

"How do you defeat a Sith Lord? Do something a Sith Lord wouldn't expect - throw a bunch of dead people into the mix. Two hundred dead Jedi, to be specific," Garen said, and his eyes grew hard. "Come on. I never had the chance to thank Obi-Wan for saving my life, and I think us saving his ass would go a long way towards repaying that debt."

Some of the anger Qui-Gon had been feeling melted away, replaced by respect and no little wonder. This level of machination went beyond anything Qui-Gon had expected. It was hard to believe that all of this was the responsibility of one man - and it was the man that Qui-Gon Jinn had trained to be a Jedi. "Then we need to go," he agreed. At least it meant that they would stop staring at him.

"Wait - Master Yoda, where is Master Yarael?" Anakin asked, glancing around in confusion. "I thought he hadn't gone with the others when we split up."

"Dead," replied Luminara. "He sensed something dark behind a locked door and decided to investigate. Before we knew what was happening, we had our hands full, fending off two hssiss. One of them clawed him across his back. The poison was... fast-acting," she said, lowering her eyes. "We had no chance to save him before he passed into the Force."

"Damn," Qui-Gon breathed. They hadn't even confronted the Sith Lord, and they were down two Council members - both of them Jedi Masters of great skill and ability. "Force preserve them both," he murmured.

"This has to end," Plo Koon's voice issued from his mask. "Let's go," he said, and the gathered Jedi turned to continue on down the passageway that led to the east, where a winding staircase was just visible in the gloom.

"No. Wait."

They all stopped and waited, watching Anakin with curious eyes. The young Knight had his head lifted as if scenting the air, or the currents of the Force. His eyes were half-focused, and his grip on Qui-Gon's waist tightened from whatever it was that he was seeing. "We need to go north. North and down."

"Certain, are you?" Yoda asked, his eyes half-closing as he sought to find what Anakin saw.

"Yes," Anakin said, shaking his head and focusing on the elder Master. "The room with the spiral pattern on the floor. That's where we need to go. That's where this is going to end."