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Category: drama

Warning: seriously angst

Rating: NC17

Summary: In an alternate universe, where the Sith rule the galaxy and the Jedi are a subversive order, a Master and his padawan face a time of trial.

The apprentice twisted his body, spinning on his toes, grabbing for perfection denied him by his exhaustion. His body gleamed with sweat and perspiration sprayed from his skin with each movement. Dressed only in thin exercise leggings and light training half-boots, his young body flew through the air in a series of leaps that would have seemed beautiful to the unknowing eye.

The watching eyes were not unknowing. Nor were they satisfied, he could tell that. He finished the move and dropped to his knees.

"Master ... " he gasped for breath, then froze as he watched the boots stop before him, and he sensed the annoyance of the man above him.

"Boy, you've tried for that three times and failed each time. Are you feeble?"

He dared to raise his head and was rewarded by a slashing pain across his shoulders. He hissed and ducked his head again. "Yes, Master, I'm sorry. I will get it right."

His chin was forced up by the tip of the cane and he looked into his Master's face, saw the hot, feral regard. "I am displeased. Punishment is called for."

Without hesitation he bent over, pressed his face to his Master's boots. "Forgive me" He knew there was no forgiveness earned or likely but it was required he ask for it.

"You are not forgiven." The feet moved back and he stayed in position, his face to the ground, and waited.

The cane bit into his skin, wielded without restraint. Five, six times and he felt the skin break, felt the trickle of blood and still he made no sound. His refusal to cry out earned him further strikes, this time on his buttocks and then he did cry out as the cane struck into the tender skin around his asshole as his Master angled the cane directly into the gap between his asscheeks. He sobbed, crawled forward and begged again and the blows stopped.

He pulled himself up the long legs, pressed his face into the hot groin, took the swollen mass into his mouth and suckled on it, sucking at the heat coming through the fabric of the trousers. The hand holding the cane went to the back of his head and held him fast, pressing him deeper as the legs slipped apart. He lifted his hands and slipped one through the opening in the pants to take and caress the swollen flesh there, lifting it out so that he could take it in his mouth.

His reward was to hear his Master groan in pleasure and arch forward into his mouth, pushing the engorged cock deep into his throat. They ignored the others in the room who would not even stop to see this common sight. His Master took his pleasure in his apprentice's throat, discharged his seed in orgasm and withdrew, holding himself still until the boy had cleaned him and tucked the cock back into place.

"You will do the movement again," his master said, stroking the damp hair from his face, "and then you will bathe and oil yourself and come to my bed tonight for further instruction."

The apprentice bowed and waited until his Master was gone before sitting back with a sigh. It had been a hard day, but at least the night promised pleasure. Such was the life of a Jedi apprentice in this time of Darkness.

His life had been dedicated to serving the Jedi as his body and heart were dedicated to serving his Master. Neither were easy life choices. For the one he must fight a Dark that engulfed the galaxy in a reign offear and pain. For the other he must be obedient to the commands of one who would teach him to be strong, to survive in a hostile universe. It was not an easy life but it was all he knew, and all he wanted.

He studied his body in the full length mirror on the wall of his room. It was a tool, honed and crafted since birth for the purposes of combating the Sith. As perfect as a blade, without an ounce of excess fat, the musculature strong and subtle, the skin glowing with health. It was not unmarked -- his training was harsh and he'd taken many falls and blows. His Master, too, had marked him but that also strengthened him.

After showering he shaved himself, under the arms, down the legs, over his stomach and chest and around his genitals. It was a chore he did not particularly enjoy but it was done at his Master's orders. He knew his Master enjoyed him smooth and clean and it seemed little enough to do for him.

When that was completed to his satisfaction he took the special oil and rubbed it into his skin everywhere that he had shaved as well as inside his back passage. He anticipated a night of heavier usage than normal and allowed himself the treat of stimtab, a small indulgence that gave him extra energy and heightened his sensitivity.

After a final inspection he slipped into the long night duty robe, wearing nothing beneath it but his tingling skin and walked the short distance to his Master's rooms. He passed other Padawans in the corridors, many of whom wore similar robes and went to serve their own Masters and he smiled at those who were friends, ignored the younger ones new to the Order. Each knew their place and kept to it. In the hierarchy of the Padawans he was very near the top, soon to be a knight, serving one of the greatest living Masters.  

He keyed in his code and announced himself, waited for permission to enter before opening the door and stepping inside. It slid quietly closed behind him and he stood waiting, hands in his sleeves, eyes down.

"Padawan." The voice was cool, without emotion.

He looked up and saw his Master seated on a stool before his desk wearing his own evening robe.

"Master, good evening."

"Good evening, Padawan. Are you well and willing?"

The same question, the necessary question, that was always asked and answered. No Master might be served by a Padawan who was injured or unwell and none might be forced. "I am well, Master, and willing."

He walked across the lush carpet, his feet whisper-quiet, and touched one finger to the environmental controls. The lights dimmed to a warm glow and quiet Eltarian watermusic began playing from hidden speakers. As he walked back to his Master he collected a hairbrush from a wall shelf and stood behind the seated man to undo the long central braid in the back of hair.

This was one of his favourite parts of any evening together, when he brushed the long fall of golden brown hair till it gleamed. He could feel his Master relax under his hands, trusting his touch as he did with no other. In their lives faith was something rarely given, when even the closest friend could be turned and made enemy. To earn the trust of a Jedi Master was rare and precious.

Finished with the brush at last, he placed it back on the shelf and returned to spread the hair forward around the strong neck.

"With permission, Master," he said softly and edged the robe back from the other man's shoulders and halfway down his back. A small dab of cream from a bottle in his pocket moistened his palms and he began to massage the hard muscles of the neck and shoulder, working them deeply to find the knots of the days stresses and work them out.

The older man groaned softly at the pleasure/pain but stayed still under the determined hands. The robe slid down further over the stool to the floor as the young man worked his way down. When he was done he moved around to kneel before his Master, folding his gown neatly about his feet. He looked up into the familiar features. As always, the word "lion" came to mind -- perhaps because of the beard covering the square chin or the predatory watchfulness of the blue eyes. Beautiful seemed too soft a world to describe those features and that strong, strong body but he was no poet and knew no other word to describe it.

Those eyes locked onto his, assessing his response, looking for weakness or any challenge to his dominance. There was always this small battle, a dangerous game that required fine timing. As always, the young man dropped his eyes before his Master could read defiance in that stare.

"Did you do better with your exercises?" his Master asked, lifting one long-fingered hand to stroke his cheek.

The thought of lying never occurred to him. "A little, but not yet enough."

"What troubles you?"

"It is the Throwing Away. I manage the opening move but lose the pattern at the height of the leap."

The hand stilled, took his chin, pulled his head up. "This is your ongoing problem, Padawan. You must learn to centre yourself in the moment. Your Middle Trial is due in two weeks -- you know your fate if you fail."

All too well did he know. One either passed the Trials, or one died. And his Master would slay him, there in the privacy of their rooms, as he had his second Padawan.

"What are the first two statements of the Code, Padawan?" his Master asked, the fingers pressing his chin to the point of pain.

"First," he said evenly, "is that which does not destroy us makes us strong."

"You understand this?"

"Yes. As a blade in the flame, the weak buckle and break and the strong are hardened."

"The second?"

"Success or death."

"Success," he said, taking both of the boy's hands in his and pulling them to him, "or death. There is no middle ground. Do not make me give the Release to another."

He shivered at the desolate certainty of that voice. He would kill me though he knows I love him more than my life. Such was their way. Such, one day, might be his fate, to become Master, to Release a failed student to the Force. Sudden heat made him incautious and he looked up, wild with pride.

I will not fail you!I am strong, I will do better!"

"Such passion," his Master murmured, "it needs to be quenched. You are too hot, Padawan."

He ducked his head, smiled a little."My Master makes me hot, sometimes." He sighed as his hands were slid across hard thighs as the tall man stood, kicked the stool away to loom over his apprentice.He took the long braid in his hand and pulled it, making the young man slide forward on his knees.

"Pride leads to arrogance, arrogance allows in the Dark Side.Be proud, boy, but not arrogant.I will flay that weakness from you if I see it there."

He pulled back against the controlling hand, suddenly reckless, the fire in his blood making him test the boundaries of his relationship with this man.

"I am strong.I am getting stronger every day.It isn't pride, its truth!"

The tall man moved suddenly.A hand took his throat, pulled him forward, twisted him as another arm wrapped around him and teeth descended on his throat.He yelped at the sharp pain.

"You will submit!"

He twisted out of the grip, tore off his robe and grinned a sharp, fierce smile up into the narrowed eyes."Make me!"

He sensed the strike before it happened, the backswing of the hand to deliver the open-handed blow and he dodged, dropped to his hands and swung his feet up for a head kick. He almost connected, but his ankles were grabbed and he was swung around and one strong arm slid down to hold his waist and pull him forward against a hard chest.

Gathering himself, he tried to push out and spin but he was blanketed by a tremendous Force pressure, pinned in place no matter how he swung. And then one of those large hands slid down over his ass, pried apart his buttocks and pushed inside him. Not just the finger, the whole hand thrust into him, burying itself up to the wrist.

He cried out at the sudden burning pain of outraged flesh, writhed against the feel of the hand inside his rectum, probing him, pushing into his guts.

Submit!

He snarled, turned his face inwards, saw where it was that he hung. Reached out with a tendril of the Force, brushed the robe aside and surged forward to take the tip of his Master's half-erect cock into his mouth. Held the head of it between his teeth and bit down hard enough to bruise.

The hand paused, he heard the sudden indrawn hiss of breath and a hot thought pushed into his mind with as much strength as the hand in his body.

If you bite me again, Padawan, I shall push your rectum up into your stomach.

If you do, Master, you may be shortened by an inch or two thereafter ...

Impasse. Yet he knew his Master well enough to know that even mutilation would not force him to step back one inch from his position. Fighting to overcome the burning pain that spiralled up from his ass he let the penis slip from his mouth and dropped his head. He was lowered to the floor then lifted and pushed forward across the desk, stripped of his robe and held there with his arms spread and the weight of the tall body on top of him. He was panting, his cock was a rigid pole pressed up painfully against his stomach and wedged against the desk and sweat was dripping down his face and across his chest and arms. 

The hand stirred gently inside him, twisted to stroke across his prostate and he whimpered in a tortured combination of pain and pleasure. The deep voice hissed across his back.

"You will make no sound. You will abide. You will centre yourself and control."

The secret was control. Pain is only a signal from the mind and the mind could be controlled. He reached inside himself to where the pain was born, charted the pattern of nerves to his brain and settled himself there, building walls around it so that it became disconnected. It was still there, that drilling pressure, but it meant nothing. It was another's pain, not his.

This control was essential for his future survival. Capture, when he was unable to kill himself, would mean torture and manipulation as the Sith tried to turn him. If they could anger him, make him writhe and hate, then the Darkness would take him. His body would be used against him -- but if he controlled it, then the only way they could touch him was to kill him. Success or death.

He was aware, in a disconnected way, as the hand was carefully withdrawn and the body on top of him pulled back.

Stay still. Do not move.

He lay motionless, spread across the desk, floating in a sea of cool numbness. After a few minutes he sensed movement behind him and the touch of a cool, damp hand on his buttocks -- and then a sharp strike across his ass that brought him out of his meditative haze like a rush of cold water.

He yelped and was struck again.

"I told you not to move and to make no noise. Is this how weak you are? You will surely fail. Concentrate, boy, and be quiet!"

He ground his jaws together and tried to rise above the blows that rained on him as the multi-stripped flail worked his ass, whipping him to red discomfort. It was very hard to concentrate, the blows pulled him back each time he reached for the Force and his Master had no mercy, actually increased the pace as he faltered. Stubborn pride made him gather himself together, panting and cursing silently, the sweat running into his eyes as he opened them and stared at the wall. He opened his mouth wide to take in as much breath as he could and let himself drift into the Light that suffused the air around him. His Master was a pulsing source of power, standing behind him, steady and strong and intent.

He dove into the Light and pulled it to himself, felt it sing along his nerves, rich and sweet like nectar, like poetry and music and pure, clean water. Even the pain was there but it was simply another aspect of life, the life that sustained the Light.  

The pain drifted away and was replaced by pleasure as a warm hand stroked him, soothing and healing. Then he lost himself again as a mouth was pressed to his reddened buttock, as a rough beard scraped across the sensitised skin and he moaned, losing control.

He expected punishment, was surprised to hear his Master's low laugh. "So they will beat you and you will be sustained, but if they kiss you, then you will be lost. What can be done about this? Is there a cure for passion?"

You could geld me, I suppose. Then I would feel nothing and care less.

He felt the cold touch of a blade at his testes as his Master projected the feel of the steel into his mind and he winced at the image of the sharp, sharp metal piercing his skin, removing his balls, reducing him to a sexless, passionless shell. It was a high to pay for perfection.

"Not perfection. Disconnection. I would never mar this -- superb -- body -- so," and he punctuated each final word with a kiss deep into the warm space between the buttocks, followed it with his tongue. This body that will one day make more beautiful Jedi children.

He felt erotically charged to know that his Master thought him beautiful and practically purred as the long tongue worked at the bruised muscle, making it spasm and twitch at the warm, wet invasion. One hand held and spread him and the mouth delved deeper, the other slid beneath him, lifted his hips and took his cock in a hard, squeezing grip.

Held so, a hand at his groin, another at his hip, he let himself surrender to the will of the one he respected and admired above all -- his personal standard of perfection. Everything his Master did, he did with natural grace. Even if forced by circumstance to give his Padawan Release, it would be done with honesty and dignity.

Feeling that surrender his Master moved forward a little, slipped both big hands around him and turned him over and he sat up and wrapped his arms and legs around the tall body, beneath the robe. He rested his head under the bearded chin, closed his eyes and listened to the sound of the steadily beating heart beneath his ear.

His breath stirred the hairs on the chest and he noted a few silver hairs there, similar to the ones in the beard. But they were just the signs of a lifetime's service to the Jedi. He ran one hand over the chest, stroking the hairs, rubbed his cheek against them and took one nipple into his mouth. Strong arms held him close as he was turned and taken from that room to the next, to be laid down on the wide bed. 

The cool satiny cover of the bed was balm to the soreness of bruised and torn skin and he lay back with a sigh, spread arms and legs and looked up in lazy contentment as his Master stripped off his own robe to stand ready and aroused before him.This was the part of their time together that he enjoyed the most, when the training and the pain was done with and they simply pleasured each other.

His Master was magnificent in his nakedness, powerful, his long hair falling about his strong shoulders.There was nothing fragile or weak there, just velvet skin over hard muscle and bone.His Master knelt on the bed next to him and his long cock rose up only a short distance from the young man's face.He smiled briefly, twisted onto his side and took the cock into his mouth, gently this time, tasting the salty, bitter tang of the head, sucking the full length into his mouth and down his throat, using just a hint of teeth to make the man above him growl in pleasure.He enjoyed this, enjoyed the feel of the rigid flesh pushing into his throat, the erotic domination of it.

He worked the cock, holding it its solid root in his hands, squeezing and stroking it even as pushed slowly forward to swallow it to the back of his throat.Years of training had allowed him that skill, and he'd often thought that some of the things he did would have made him a great deal of money in a Sith brothel.Jedi apprentice, skilled at fellating, takes well to the cane, likes to be fucked.He smiled, lips rippling around his Mater's cock, sucking it in like the hot, sweet flesh that it was.

He worked for some minutes, then pulled away and turned onto his back.His Master pushed his legs up and over so that the young man could take hold of his knees and hold himself open.Familiar fingers probed at his opening, stretched the well-worked muscle,prepared him for the taking.He looked up, mouth open and panting as the tall man moved slowly against his ass, pushing inside with a low moan, rocking back and forth as he swivelled his hips.

And then, as often happened, he slowed, turnedit from lust to something like love, or as little love as they were allowed.The big hands stroked his legs and chest, warmth flowed across the bond between them, filling him with the mutual pleasure.He surged back against his Master, impaled himself even deeper on that magnificent flesh, felt himself filled and held, stroked within, his body played like the instrument it was.

They lay together finally, sweat-damp and tried and he felt himself treasured, needed in almost equal measure to his own need.

Two week later, he stood before the Council Four and undertook his Trial.

He stood on a podium in a darkened room, naked, unarmed, in a pool of light surrounded by darkness.The others were there, he knew that, but they were locked behind rigid walls, impenetrable.

He sought his inner peace, that anchor of his self within the Force, pushed away the tendency to drift, and waited.

They assaulted him with visions, with emotions, with images to tantalise and hurt him, and he weathered them all.They bit at his skin with phantom teeth, lashed at his mind with dreadful images, tempted him with pleasures and tried to feed whatever hungers he might have lurking there.Still he stood firm, certain of himself --

And then a vision came to him, from outside their circle -- a vision of his Master dying alone, dying without him, so anguished and sad -- and he cried out, swept away from the moment.Unbalanced, he fell from the podium, hit the floor and came back to himself to see the faces above and realised in horror that he had failed.

Failed.

The Master tried not to worry, not to pace, found excuses to linger outside the Chamber of Trials.He was there when the door opened and the Council members emerged. He saw their expressions, stopped dead, disbelieving.

No."No. Wait."He moved forward, grabbed Mace Windu's arm. "Please.He didn't." He took a deep breath, studied his thudding heart."Mace.What happened?"

Windu sighed."He was doing well until we threw a vision of you at threat. You are his weakness, Qui-Gon.The Sith would break him through you.No amount of training can overcome that."

Qui-Gon gripped the other Master's arm hard. "There must be some way.By the name of the living Force, Mace, this boy is special.Don't ask me to kill him!"

Windu drew his arm away, his dark, bottomless eyes weighted with reflected pain. "I am sorry, my friend.There is nothing I can do. The results are posted.   Obi-Wan has failed."

He was standing so, pain turning his heart to ice, when his apprentice emerged at last. The young staggered out, fell back against the wall, holding himself upright somehow, his face white."Master."

The older man looked at him, shook his head slowly."Tonight.It must be tonight."He turned without another word and left.

When the young man came to the familiar door, the Release Chime was echoing through the quiet corridors.None would walk the halls tonight, in deference to the loss the Order was suffering.This was the only way they mourned, they only way showed respect to the passing of one of them.

He had said goodbye to his friends, washed himself and changed into the formal white tunic and leggings that the occasion demanded.He had thought he would be afraid, but the fear had been swallowed by the misery.The door opened and he stepped inside.

It was dark, lit only by a stand of candles and there was no sound but the Release Chime. Qui-Gon was sitting on a cushion on the floor, half-hidden by shadow, half revealed by the yellow light, his head bent, his long hair falling into his lap.Obi-Wan could sense his pain even through those amazing shields.His Master mourned him as already lost.

He slid forward and knelt on the floor. "Master.I am so sorry.That I put you through this again by my failure."

Qui-Gon looked up slowly and Obi-Wan watched the tear-streaked face turn to him.   His Master watched him, the tears running down his cheeks, crying in silence, motionless in his grief."I will not do this."The words were soft, whispered, anguished.

Obi-Wan slumped, heart soaring.This was love, then.That his Master, most dedicated, most strong, would defy everything they believed in.For him.

He took in a deep, satisfied breath.His life, then, had not been totally wasted -- he had gained the love of one of the greatest of all Jedi."Master, I honour you above all living -- but I honour the Jedi and what we stand for above even you.   We fight for the future of the galaxy, of billions of innocent spirits.We cannot weaken, and permitting weakness will eventually destroy their last hope for freedom."

Qui-Gon reached out to take one of Obi-Wan's hands, curled his fingers around the slender, strong wrist."You are not weak, you are just --"

"Imperfect.We both know it.Oh, I am good, very good in most ways and I think I might have been a fine Knight.Yet if I'd been taken the Sith would have bent me, turned me, used that inner flaw against me and I would have become some dark, stunted thing."He smoothed the tension from Qui-Gon's hand, raised it to his lips."I was made for a gentler age, one where the Jedi were peacekeepers, in a galaxy in balance."He looked down at the open palm, up into the wide, staring eyes."We both know I'm right."

After a moment's hesitation, Qui-Gon reached out and took his Padawan into his arms, kissed the warm face."I am honoured to have been your teacher.To have loved you."The lips descended onto Obi-Wan's mouth, kissed him with deep, reverent care.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes in pleasure.Qui-Gon.I wish . .

The slim, sharp blade slid up under his ribs and into his heart in one precise thrust. There was no warning, no time to be afraid, no pain because his Master swallowed it, cushioned him with love.His last brief vision was shining blue eyes and then his spirit slid free and flowed into the Light --

He sat for the length of the night, till the Chimes faded with the morning hour, holding Obi-Wan in his arms, unconcerned at the blood that stained his own white tunic, aware only that he had failed.

Councillor Windu greeted Qui-Gon with gentle respect, showed him to a chair. "My sorrow to you, Master Jinn.He was a fine young man.It was a sad loss."

Qui-Gon looked across at Windu, expressionless, toneless."Yes.To me and to the Order.I find I do not wish to bear the burden of any further pain while doing my duty.I wish to apply for my Final Mission."

Windu nodded, it wasn't unexpected.When a Jedi was too old to further carry out their duties, or too burdened by the harshness of life to go on, they could request one final mission, a suicide run to strike some vital target, to cause as much damage as they could so that their passing served a purpose.The Council of Four had anticipated this request, since it was well known how close Jinn and Kenobi had been.

"We have such a mission in mind, Qui-Gon.We have found that the Emperor is visiting Eldoran in a few days and with only a limited entourage.A determined and skilful Jedi Master might just get close enough to kill him -- or at the very least some of his advisers and aides.Perhaps even Maul."

Qui-Gon nodded."Yes, that will do nicely.I will await the details."

Two days later, dressed in his formal whites, Qui-Gon Jinn said farewell to the Council and his fellow Masters, climbed aboard the small Dart and headed away from the great bulk of the starship Spirit of the Jedi.Their home, cleverly camouflaged and protected by round-the-clock Jedi shielding, was hidden in a lifeless star system on the edges of the Empire.Qui-Gon fed in the co-ordinates and did a number of jumps to disguise his path.When he reached the edge of the target system he wiped the navcomputer and destroyed its memory banks so that no-one would be able to trace its path.Then he landed on the planet's small moon and waited.

Two days later a fleet of ships came out of hyperdrive and assumed a precise orbit around the planet.Qui-Gon watched the shuttles take the Emperor and his party down to the planet and waited some more until the was certain no-one suspected his presence. He organised his plans, set the self-destruct on the ship and put in on course for the main city below.

He arrival was questioned by the planetary space command but he ignored it and drove straight down for the main city square.The landing was more a controlled crash than a true landing and he staggered away from the wreck and threw himself into battle.   The square outside the official residence was guarded by Sith servants but they were minor warriors and easily despatched.He had actually gained entrance to the building when he saw the familiar black and red figure ahead.

Maul, aide and chief assassin of Palpatine, Darth Maul, Lord of the Sith. The creature pushed his way through the milling soldiers and grinned, his sharpened teeth wide and feral.

Qui-Gon spun his blade, issued challenge.Maul shook his head."I think not, Jedi.The Master has other plans for you."

Before Qui-Gon could dodge away, stunner fire blanketed him and he fell, unconscious.

When he woke he was naked, spreadeagled against a cold metal wall, hands and feet tied by metal bands.Maul was there and oversaw his torture, ordered the heated rods that were put to his skin, wielded the knife that cut him in certain places that made him scream in spite of himself.Maul broke his bones and dislocated his joints and watched with pleasure as the Jedi was raped and touched with vicious, casual carnality.

Maul worked on him for days, thought he resisted, held out against the insistent probing, the various tortures perpetrated against him.He was drugged so that he didn't know reality from hallucination, starved until he was weak, handled and beaten until he shook in constant pain.Gradually the anger grew, swelling to hatred, giving him another sort of strength, replacing the cold misery in his belly with seething fury.

Maul tasted the older man's emotions as they swelled, the anger and the fear, the hatred and he drew those out as he drew out the hot blood, fed it back to the Jedi with the expertise of a master torturer and turner of Jedi.

"You will enjoy being Sith," Maul said, as Qui-Gon spat curses at the latest creature mounting him, "and one with such power as yours will father many strong Sith young.So many breeding women for you to chose from, Master

Jinn.And pretty boys, too, for your pleasure."

Finally, there seemed to be no Light left, no trace of the weakling Jedi philosophies in the worn and darkness-shot mind.He would need training still but remarkably little -- the benefits of turning a Master were that he understood the processes of power already.It was simply a matter of re-education.Of seduction to the pleasures of the Dark.

When he was ready, Maul had him taken down and cleaned, dressed in fresh dark clothing and taken before the Emperor for his oath of service. Palpatine had shown an interested in having this one bend the knee personally.Many Sith had died at his hands, and those hands would be set beneath the Emperor's feet.

Still weak from his beating, Qui-Gon was led into the Emperor's presence and made to kneel at his feet.He looked up out of red-rimmed eyes into the white face and saw the golden eyes watching him with hungry interest.

"So," hissed the malevolent voice, "it is always such a pleasure to see a Master fall to me."One white hand reached out, took his chin, raised it. "Yes, I can sense the Darkness in you.Excellent.You will make a fine servant."

"And you," Qui-Gon hissed with dark pleasure, "will make a fine corpse."He struggled upright even as Maul leapt forward."For the Jedi and for Obi-Wan."

Then he triggered the small chemical button in his brain and the tiny nanobites inside him formed into new combinations that reacted to the heat of Qui-Gon's body and triggered a chain reaction.Every cell in his body gave up its inherent energy in one convulsive outpouring.Qui-Gon exploded and everything within a hundred feet was obliterated.

That was very dramatic, Master?But I thought you turned?How can you be here with me?

Superficially only, beloved.I had planned it that way, knew I could not pretend, that Maul and Palpatine would sense the deception.But part of me never turned, because that part had gone into the Release with you. That part they could not touch.

Well, that is a relief.Can I tell you now that I love you?

You do not need to tell me, my love.I know it already.

The Force shared their joy and somewhere in the Universe, a sun was born.