Master Apprentice Archive Riding the Wheel of If ... Episode Twenty-Nine Quick search:

Feedback: Oh, give it to me, baby ...  emila_wan@yahoo.com

Archive: M_A, RTWOI page. Also available at http://www.jediphiles.com/index69.htm

Category: Angst, Adventure, Hurt-Comfort

Rating: NC-17

Spoilers: none

Summary: Obi-Wan rescues Qui-Gon from slavery and thinks he's found "the one," but the Master's prior obligations threaten to come between them.

Disclaimer: George Lucas is da man. He owns everything. We just play.

Warnings: Explicit m/m sex. SERIOUSLY graphic violence/torture. Angst. Big strong Jedi guys weeping.

Series: "Riding the Wheel of If" is a series by Terri Hamill, based on L. Sprague DeCamp's wonderful AU novel, "The Wheels of If." For the unenlightened, this series follows canon. Qui is dead, and in building a new lightsaber Obi accidentally finds a way to move to different realities, where he discovers many strange and wondrous things in his quest to be with his beloved Master again.

Special Thanks: To Daniel Keys Moran for his story "The Last One Standing: The Tale of Boba Fett" in Star Wars: Tales of the Bounty Hunters from which I took the planet Jubilar, the town of Dying Slowly, and the Regional Sector Number Four's All-Human Free-for-All extravaganza.

From Terri: I fell in love with this idea from the first time Mali and Emila-Wan sent it to me. It gives me such honor to know they wanted to play in my sandbox ... thank you.

Note: Knight Lezli lives in another alternate universe of mine called Master of Discipline. This, however, is not _that_ reality. Sad when your AUs grow AUs ...

Another Note: YOU ARE STRONGLY ENCOURAGED to read this series from the beginning if you want everything to make sense. You can find it in the M_A archives or at MrsHamill's Riding the Wheel of If ... page: https://www.squidge.org/~foxsden/kitchen/wheel.html

One More Note: I mean it when I say SERIOUSLY graphic  violence/torture. Don't say you weren't warned.

Episode XXIX

Obi-Wan came out of his trance the instant he heard the loud bang that meant he had materialized in the next "If." The sound echoed off the stone enclosures and ornaments of the statuary garden.

He had chosen this location long ago for its relative unpopularity, but this time somebody was here -- a Knight or a Master, by the look of her: human, maybe 40 standard years old, with straight, dark blonde hair cut short and a powerful, tall build. She was a few centimeters taller than he and looked every bit as strong. The woman had leapt to her feet, doubtless from meditation, and now stood staring straight at him, not two meters away. She did not reach for her weapon, though his was still burning the air into ozone around him. He felt no fear from her, only a well-suppressed hint of startlement and curiosity. At least he'd not popped into the middle of a sparring match this time, he reflected cheerfully.

She tilted her head. Her face paled, fell slack. "Obi-Wan Kenobi?" she whispered.

"In a manner of speaking." He grinned and shut down his lightsaber, then tucked it into the small of his back. His senses were singing with life; he stretched out and felt none of the Darkness that had stained other "Ifs." This Temple was very much like his own. Above, the sky glowed with light and energy. A tang of dust permeated the garden, along with the heady, verdant scent of new-cut grass. The woman across from him smelled faintly of citrus and flowers. He closed his eyes and sucked in a deep, grateful breath.

"But how can that be? You're ..." she waved her hand helplessly.

It was easy enough to get her meaning. "I take it I'm dead, in this reality?"

"This reality?" Her lips firmed, and her eyebrows raised in silent query.

"It's a long story. If you don't mind ... is there a Master Yoda here?" He started walking toward the main portal, and she fell into step beside him.

"Of course. Obi-Wan ..." Her expression changed, and suddenly she looked fragile. "Where ... do you know if ... Qui-Gon ... what happened to Qui-Gon Jinn?"

He stopped and looked at her. "He's not here?"

"He ..." She swallowed. "I think we'd better go see Yoda. I'm not sure what to make of you. I can sense you are telling the truth, but ..."

"But you don't know if you can trust me?"

She nodded, smiling to take the sting off. Her blue eyes crinkled a bit with the smile, and he was struck with the shadow of a memory for a moment.

They started walking again, heading for the main tower. He was so grounded in the Force now that he could sense Yoda, pick him out from the light of all the creatures and even the plants and insects that sung with energy in the Force throughout the Temple. He knew if he dared he could tap into the living Force of the whole population of Coruscant, though he felt his soul might catch fire if he tried. He was still burdened with the scars from his ordeal with the Sith, but even that was fading as his faith in the Will of the Force grew. _I am dead here,_ he thought. _And she seems to think Qui-Gon is alive. Perhaps this is Home. Perhaps he will be here._ He tried not to hope too much, but his pulse quickened a bit at the thought.

He waited outside the Council doors while the Knight -- Lezli, he heard the guards say -- explained about his sudden appearance. Mace and Ki were suspicious; he could sense their strong emotion even though the doors were closed. Yes, this was very much like his own reality. So far he had seen and sensed nothing to contradict it.

At last he was led into the light-filled chamber. It was bright at midday, and a storm arced lightning across a broad swath of buildings a few kilometers away. He could feel the energy of the storm even inside the shielded room, and he smiled as he rose from a deep bow.

He would have preferred to speak privately with Yoda, but this would do. At least he would only have to tell the tale once. He noted that Lezli was allowed to stay. Perhaps she was more important than she seemed, though still only a Knight.

When he was done, the Council exchanged glances. A buzzing at the edge of his consciousness told him they were speaking silently to each other. He dropped his shields enough to let them see his sincerity. His openness seemed to reassure them, and Yoda's gimer stick struck their silent conversation into stillness.

"Believe you, we do, Knight Kenobi."

He nodded. "That's all I ask."

"The Force leads you, you say? In each plane, a mission you have?"

"Yes, Master."

"What seek you here?"

The question took him aback for a moment. "I ... I believe myself to be serving the will of the Force. More than that, I can't say right now. In time I usually come to understand what I'm supposed to accomplish in each reality."

"Sense it, do you, when accomplished your mission is?"

"Yes, Master."

"And here, now ... how feel you?"

He thought about that for a moment. "I feel ... hope, Master. Hope that I may find a resting place for myself soon, perhaps in this reality."

"Seek you more than rest, I am thinking."

Obi-Wan checked his shields. He didn't feel like unburdening himself of _all_ the secrets of his heart in front of the entire Council. "I do not sense a compulsion to move on. Therefore, there must be something for me to do. And in every reality, my life is tied somehow to that of Qui-Gon Jinn. Is he here?"

"Lost, he is," Yoda said. "Presumed dead."

Obi-Wan resisted the urge to rub his temples. "Please," he said neutrally, "tell me what happened."

Mace Windu spoke then, his voice bitter. Obi-Wan wondered if he and Qui-Gon had been lovers in this reality, as they had in some others. "It was nearly thirteen years ago. He was on his way to Bandomeer when his transport was attacked, by pirates, we think. The ship was apparently destroyed before the crew could send a distress signal. By the time we got the report that Master Jinn had not arrived at Bandomeer and sent a search and rescue team to the site of the battle, there wasn't much left. Pirates or scavengers had taken everything but the smallest fragments of wreckage. We searched nearby systems, but never found anything. After a few rotations, we had to give up."

Obi-Wan thought he understood the bitterness now. To stop the search without knowing, possibly leaving a friend and fellow Jedi wounded or in grave danger, would have been a bitter choice indeed.

The Council were staring at him as if gauging his reactions. "And _your_ Obi-Wan Kenobi, was he on that transport, Master?"

"He was."

Obi-Wan thought for a moment. His "mission" nearly always revolved around Qui-Gon or himself in some way. So far he did not sense anything crying out to be remedied at the Temple. Perhaps this time, he would have to go further afield ...

"So," he said after a time. "It's entirely possible that one or both of them might still be alive."

"Felt Qui-Gon, I have not," said Yoda.

"But Master, would you not have sensed his death?"

The diminutive Master's ears twitched. "Felt nothing. Feel nothing still. Searched I did, through the Force. Find him, I could not."

Obi-Wan looked around. Most of the faces seemed indifferent. This was an old tragedy to them. "Masters, please, I ask your permission to search for them."

"Funding is short," said Ki-Adi-Mundi curtly. "We cannot afford to provide a ship and crew to follow a trail that has been cold for thirteen years."

Mace nodded. "I agree. I and the others did everything we could, spent tremendous resources in time and skill, and came up with nothing. The mission failed once; I don't see how it could succeed now."

Ah, so Mace had been one of the searchers. No wonder he seemed so adamant. How could Obi-Wan, a single Jedi barely made Knight, hope to convince the Council that he could succeed where their best had failed?

He dropped to one knee and bowed his head. "Masters," he said calmly, "if you will not help me, at least do not hinder me. I ask only that you allow me to search. I believe this is the reason the Force has sent me to you."

Yoda and Mace exchanged glances. The chamber was silent for long minutes. "Very well," said Mace at length. "Though we cannot give you help, we can and do give you our permission and our blessing."

"Keep us apprised of your progress," Ki added. Obi-Wan bowed and nodded his thanks.

"May the Force be with you," said Yoda.

Rising, Obi-Wan nodded once more and strode from the room, his mind already reeling at the immensity of his task. _All in its time,_ he thought. _First, I need to do a little research in the Star Map room. Second, I need transport. Everything else will sort itself out eventually._ 

Lezli caught up to him at the turbolift and brought him out of his reverie. "I want to help," she said.

He pushed the button for the concourse level. "Knight ..."

"Risge. Lezli Risge." She inclined her head.

He bowed respectfully. "Knight Risge. I'll take any help I can get." He frowned. "I don't suppose you have a starship I can borrow?"

She shook her head. "No, but I have a little savings. Perhaps it will be enough to buy passage ..."

He raised one eyebrow and waited for her to continue. She sighed. "I know, you don't even know where you're going, where you'll need to go, how long it will take ... Believe me, I know what you're thinking. If I could have gone looking for him myself, I would have done so by now." She looked deflated. "I have been on undercover missions almost continuously in the past ten years. If I thought, even for a moment, that he might still be alive ..."

He gave her a sideways glance. "What is he to you?" he asked softly, not sure he wanted the answer.

"He ..." She raised her eyes to his. They were dry and calm. "We were once very close." He could detect no dissembling from her, and he did not want to pry further.

They arrived at the Star Map room, and he brought up the starfield around Bandomeer. There it was, Slasdifan, the watery planet where he had crash-landed their transport after the pirate attack. It was there Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon had forged their bond, fighting draigons side by side. Yet in this reality, that bond had apparently never formed. Perhaps when he found Qui-Gon .... No -- he would not think that far ahead. _Find him, first, if he lives. Then worry about our bond, or lack of one._

Slasdifan was mostly uninhabitable, and none of its five satellites could   sustain life. It would make a poor pirates' nest, even as desperate as those Togorian creatures had seemed.   He touched his finger to nearby star systems, settling himself into a light trance and letting the Force guide him. Soon he had it, a planet called Jubilar, orbiting a yellow-orange star just outside the borders of Republic Space and Trade Federation control. A lawless and violent place, a dumping ground for convicts of all species. The main spaceport was called Dying Slowly. Just the sort of cesspit a pirate gang would love to call home.

He turned to Lezli. She watched him with something akin to awe. "You are so ... serene within the Force," she whispered. "I have never seen a young Knight fall into trance so effortlessly."

He allowed himself a small smile. "Thank you. I can take little credit. The Force has taught me some rather intense lessons of late."

She laughed. "It's like that Padawan levitation exercise where they throw you off the tower -- Fly or Die."

He chuckled. "Very much so. I remember I was terrified then, too." He froze, taken aback by his own words.

"Are you really?" She placed a gentle hand on his arm.

The touch was warm and comforting. He realized he was shaking, and suddenly her arms were about him and she had pulled him down next to her on the bench, his head resting beneath her chin. He clutched at her, fighting back a shuddering sob, and let her serenity and compassion wash over him until the worst of the tremors passed.

He sat back, putting some distance between them. "I thought I'd conquered my fear. But now ..."

"Your scars run deep."

He closed his eyes and nodded.

"I heard your recitation of the facts to the Council, Obi-Wan. But I also heard what you didn't say." She waited until he met her gaze. "You love him," she said softly.

He shrugged. "I think I'm looking for a reality where we can be together. So far I haven't found it."

"What are you afraid of? That you'll never find him?"

He shook his head. "The Force whispers to me that I _will_, eventually. No, it's ... what if ..."

"You're too damaged? You can't trust him once you find him? He won't want you?"

His eyes grew wide. "You're good at that. Yes, that about sums it up, all the awful eventualities."

She put her hand on his shoulder. "Yet we must trust in the Force, always."

"I do." He shifted under her gaze. There it was again, that citrus scent, tickling his subconscious. Had he known her in his reality? He couldn't remember her. "How did you know me, in the garden?"

She sat back and stared at the Star Map. "When you were still an Initiate, I was working with the little ones."

The memory finally clicked for him. The citrus scent, the comfort of her touch. "You were the one with the candy fruit treats. When I was hurt."

She smiled. "Yes. I was expecting a child of my own, a Force-strong one. They let me work in the creche while I waited to deliver. You must have been, oh, eleven or twelve years old." She pulled a treat from the folds of her robe and held it out to him.

He took it with a smile, popped it in his mouth. "This brings back memories."

He did not mention his other memories of her. In his reality she'd been on an undercover assignment in the Corporate Sector trying to break up a smuggling syndicate when she'd been killed in a crossfire with the assassins of a rival Hutt. That had been about a year before Qui-Gon had taken him as Padawan.

Lezli had continued to speak. "Right before he ... right before the mission to Bandomeer, Qui-Gon had come back for a time -- while he was here, Yoda forced him to come back to look at the Padawan hopefuls. Qui-Gon pointed you out to me."

"Why would he point me out? As far as I could tell he had no interest in me at all. At least, in my reality ..."

"Well," she hesitated. "He told me you were the one Yoda had hand-picked for him. He said he was being blackmailed into taking a Padawan."

Obi-Wan's eyebrows threatened to brush the ceiling. "Hand picked?" He laughed. "Hardly. Yoda let me go to Bandomeer, to the AgriCorps."

"Only to force Qui-Gon's hand."

Obi-Wan snorted, incredulous, and shook his head. "Not in my reality."

She sat forward, suddenly earnest. "Don't you see? After Kyratos turned, Qui-Gon was nearly destroyed. Yoda knew he had to give Qui-Gon something to live for, another Padawan to redeem what he perceived as his failure. Yoda picked you, your light, your generous spirit, as the perfect match, and he made sure nobody else chose you. You were reserved for Qui-Gon, and he made sure Qui-Gon knew it, knew you'd be wasted if he didn't take you on."

Obi-Wan felt as if his brain's circuits were overloading. _Kyratos_ he thought. _Not Xanatos. Wait ... Reserved_?

"What?" he finally said. "You mean, all that angst, all that suffering my thirteenth year, being passed over again and again, wondering what was wrong with me, _getting sent to AgriCorps_ ... it was all some sort of game Yoda was playing?" He felt his temper getting the better of him and took a deep breath. As he let it out he sighed. "It _would_ explain a few things ..."

He looked up, suddenly aware of time passing. "Were you serious about helping?"

"Of course. Here, let's access my accounts at that terminal."

She punched in a few codes, and a moment later they stared at the results. Obi-Wan shook his head. "Unless the value of currency is a lot different than what I'm used to, that won't even buy a one-way ticket to a skyhook, much less purchase a starship."

"Take it anyway. Here, I'll give you voice access."

At the prompt, Obi-Wan identified himself. At least if he did manage to get to Jubilar, he thought ruefully, he'd be able to eat. That is, if they had a banking and trade agreement in place with RepublicBanc.

Now all he needed was a transport. Perhaps he could hire himself out to somebody headed that way ... Suddenly an idea struck him. He keyed up the vitals on his friends. Sure enough, there they were, Bant, Reeft, Garen ... Garen, his ever-faithful pal, was flying with the AirCorps. And Garen was here, getting set to run supplies and personnel to the installation on, of all places, Bandomeer.

Obi-Wan picked Lezli up and spun her around, causing her to laugh out loud. She ruffled his hair for luck and then he was running down to the lift, punching the code for Hangar Twelve. The Force was with him after all! Now to convince Garen that he wasn't seeing ghosts ...

A few days later, Obi-Wan sat in the town of Dying Slowly on the planet Jubilar, in the 174th row of a stadium called the Winner's Circle -- an oxymoron if ever he'd heard one. The dust-covered arena was not a circle, but an uneven pentagram, and the contestants were hardly winners even if they did manage to survive the gladiatorial combat underway below. He watched with disgust as four muscular, sweating men pounded the blood out of each other with their fists and feet, each hoping to win a chance to advance to the next round of a repugnant spectacle known as the Regional Sector Number Four's All-Human Free-for-All Extravaganza. For their efforts the participants did not even earn their freedom, but simply the right to stay in prison and avoid being conscripted into the local armies. Jubilar, a penal colony and dumping ground for the convicts of half a dozen worlds, had been torn by internal wars for centuries. Obi-Wan had no doubt the conflicts were tolerated, even encouraged, as one more "deterrent" to crime in the surrounding systems.

The only reason Obi-Wan had come to the arena was to follow a rumor that a "Sith Lord" would be fighting in the final elimination. He stretched out with his senses and felt it finally, Darkness, coming from somewhere below. Obi-Wan wrapped himself carefully in layers of shielding. He did not want the Sith to feel his presence.

This was the last match before the finals. Obi-Wan closed his eyes, unwilling to watch any more, and waited. At last it was over, a winner declared. The other three combatants lay stunned or incapacitated in the stained dirt as the fightmaster raised the winner's hand. Fully seventy-five thousand beings, mostly human males, cheered and stomped and threw containers down onto the littered ground. The combined blood lust threatened to swamp Obi-Wan's emotions, and he swallowed bile. The rumored Sith was as close as Obi-Wan had come to a clue; he'd found nothing but false leads about the pirates he was seeking. It had been difficult, these last few days, to keep despair at bay. He took a deep breath and centered himself yet again. _I will find him,- he told himself.

The stadium was filling up. More spectators filed into the seats, arriving to watch the final round. The smell of so many unwashed bodies was nearly overwhelming. Obi-Wan took advantage of a rest period between bouts to buy a drink, a sickly sweet concoction containing a mild stimulant. He stood near the bar as men jostled past him. He had no desire to watch the display of naked, writhing Twi'lek females "dancing" for the crowd's pleasure.

At last it was time. He made his way to his seat carefully -- many of the patrons were drunk and belligerent, and it wouldn't do to find himself embroiled in a brawl that would likely attract the attention of the numerous armed guards. He smiled thinly. No, he had no wish to become one of Jubilar's "guests." He knew he looked vulnerable, small and young as he was. He was dressed in the common garb of rough-woven pants and short tunic, both non-descript, dark, and a bit dirty. He'd had to leave his weapons and backpack in a locker outside -- he could never have got past the scanners with a lightsaber. He found himself grateful that at least the others around him had been similarly disarmed. He wrapped himself in an aura of obscurity, and the others let him pass without really looking at him.

As he sat on the ferrocrete bench, the announcer began his litany, his voice reverberating through the large structure. "This is the final elimination. These are the rules. Wait! _There. Are. No. Rules!_" This pronouncement was met with a deafening chaos of catcalls and stomping. Obi-Wan had to stand on his seat to see the combatants emerge from their corners as they were introduced. One was the winner of the previous round, hosed down and no doubt hopped up on stimulants to keep him going. Two others looked much the same type, big bruisers who'd managed to outlast their opponents in previous rounds. But the last man ... Obi-Wan strained to see. The announcer stripped a purple, fur-lined mantle off the fourth man's shoulders and gestured with a flourish, bringing forth a frenzy of raucous applause and jeering. "I give you Lord Q, our reigning champion and Dark Lord of the Sith!"

Obi-Wan squinted. This was not Sidious, and certainly not the female Xanatos named Kyratos who existed in this reality. The man was tall, very lean, almost gaunt, but still muscular despite his obvious age. Steel-gray hair cropped short on a big skull. Clean shaven. Huge hands clenched into fists. Rangy body stripped down to little more than a skirt and straps of black leather and oiled to make his scarred skin gleam. He was too far away for Obi-Wan to see his features, but the way he held himself, his regal bearing and manner, caused Obi-Wan's soul to cry out in instant recognition.

"Qui-Gon," he whispered, and tears filled his eyes. What had his master endured, these last thirteen years? How was he being made to participate in this awful sport? Was he truly a Dark Lord? Then why would he be here, fighting in this squalid arena? The thought that somehow his Master might actually be a Sith made his stomach knot with acid. He swallowed heavily. _He was raised in the Light_ he told himself firmly. _This is not that other reality._

"The last one standing will be the victor!" The announcer cried. He stepped back into his corner, and the combatants began to circle each other.

Obi-Wan wanted desperately to reach out with the Force and touch Qui-Gon's mind. He wanted to leap into the arena and take on the whole stadium, grab his Master and run, but he could do nothing. He was forced to watch as the event played itself out.

The men circled and feinted, cautious at first. The two bruisers homed in on the most recent winner, still exhausted after the last bout. They took turns trading blows. Qui-Gon did not join in, but held himself aloof and ready.

The third man stumbled, and one of the bruisers turned to Qui-Gon, defiance and desperation in his stance. He swung a balled fist; Qui-Gon ducked it easily. After a few more failed attempts, the bruiser began a steady barrage of blows which Qui-Gon deflected easily with arm blocks and evasive moves. Meanwhile, the third man had been rendered unconscious, and the other bruiser turned his attentions to Qui-Gon.

The pair circled Qui-Gon, trying to flank him. They rained blows and kicks on him, some of them connecting, none of them doing serious damage. All the while Qui-Gon did nothing more than defend himself, until at length he saw an opening. His attackers had exhausted themselves, their guards were weakened. With a fluid ease that cheered Obi-Wan's heart, Qui-Gon ducked, kicked his leg out and spun, taking the feet out from under both men. One curled into the dirt, his breath gone. The other leaped up and attacked furiously. With an almost casual disregard, Qui-Gon raised a hand and met the man's attack with stiffened fingers to the solar plexus. The man dropped like a stone. The other man was struggling to rise. Qui-Gon took a step toward him and kicked him with a bare foot hard enough to send him rolling. Qui-Gon stalked after him and raised his foot for another kick, though the man was clearly not able to get up.

Qui-Gon looked up to the patron's boxes as if seeking guidance. At Qui-Gon's hesitation, the crowd cheered even harder. After a moment Qui-Gon's shoulders dropped. He lifted his foot and brought his heel down onto the man's temple, hard. Obi-Wan had no doubt the man would never rise again. He fought back another wave of nausea.

Qui-Gon turned, staring at his remaining man who was struggling to rise. The Master stood, hands at his sides, not moving, waiting until the man was on his feet, then let him come. As the man reached him, Qui-Gon grabbed his head and twisted, turned his body, letting the man's own momentum carry him into the air. When he hit the ground his head was canted at an odd angle. The crowd lost control. Betting slips and bottles flew through the air as they cheered. Fights broke out. Obi-Wan pushed his way to the back and fled as the spectators boiled around him. He barely noticed them.

What had his Master become?

Obi-Wan sat nursing a stiff drink in a bar a few blocks from the Winner's Circle, in a part of Dying Slowly aptly named Executioner's Row.

"What I don't unnerstand," he slurred convincingly to the huge, florid Devaronian next to him, "is why a Sith Lord would be fighting in the Free-for-All. Aren't they extinct?"

The drunken arena guard chuckled, then sloshed more liquid into his mouth. His partially gilded horns gleamed in the dull light. "If he's a Sith Lord, I'm the King of Corellia."

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. "What is he, then? He fights well enough."

The guard leaned toward him, talking his tunic in hand and bringing their faces together. His foul breath curled Obi-Wan's nose and brought tears to his eyes. "It's a secret," the guard said with a carnivorous grin.

Obi-Wan allowed a touch of Force to enter his voice. "But you can tell _me.-"

"But I can tell you," the Devaronian echoed. His voice dropped low. "He's a slave to Lady Kellia, her pet Jedi." He laughed and took another swig of his drink.

"Lady Kellia?"

"Don't you know anything, boy? She's the owner of the Winner's Circle and half the town besides. Best you don't cross her."

"How can I get to meet with her?"

The Devaronian stared at him as if he'd grown a second head. "Why would you want to do that?"

Obi-Wan grinned. "Oh, just a certain ... business proposition. A matter of trade ..."

The Devaronian laughed loudly and pounded his shoulder. "Oh, if it's smuggling you're into, she's the one to talk to. Nothing comes in and out of the port without her approval."

"Do you know how I can meet her?" He waved his hand casually. "She'd be grateful for the introduction."

"Sure." The Devaronian rose unsteadily. "I got a brother who works for her. I can get you in."

Obi-Wan was tempted to see if he could get the man to let him in the back way, but thought better of it. Too much use of the Force could alert whatever Dark being he'd sensed. Best to try a straightforward approach first, and if all else failed, fight his way clear. He smiled grimly to himself as he followed the tall, demonic creature from the bar.

Obi-Wan followed a phalanx of muscled female bodyguards through the dim corridors beneath the palace. He had chanced a small amount of Force suggestion as they searched him; his lightsabers had remained undiscovered.

As they reached the end of the corridor, the fiercest bodyguard, a human barely as tall as his chin, opened a door and stepped aside to let him through. "You're expected," she murmured.

As he brushed past her he took in the room, a small chamber lit with torches, walls and floor piled with rugs and pillows in deep jewel tones, its only furniture a padded chair on a dais. Around the chair, young men clad in breechcloths lounged about, some in gold collars, some in artful chains. Their bodies had been oiled to catch the gleam of the flickering light. The smoke of some sort of sickly-sweet, mildly narcotic incense burned in the air.

The whole scene was such a holo-pic cliche of decadence that he almost laughed, but two things stopped him: one was the sight of Qui-Gon, kneeling beside the chair; the other was the black-haired woman sitting on the "throne." It was Kyratos, idly stroking her taloned fingers through the cropped gray of Qui-Gon's hair. The Master's eyes were heavy and lifeless, and he wore nothing but the black leather outfit and tattered purple robe Obi-Wan had seen earlier. A collar of some dark dark metal gleamed on his neck.

"Obi-Wan Kenobi," said Kyratos in a silky voice. She rose with feline grace and moved to circle him, taking in the shabby clothes and the brown cloak that hid his body from her inspection. "You're new around here. I know everyone. Why haven't I seen you before?"

His mind was working overtime, trying to come up with a new plan. Obviously Kyratos would never consent to sell him Qui-Gon, not at any price. She'd kept him for thirteen years, presumably working her revenge by humiliating and torturing him. Obi-Wan pushed away his anger and resolved to wait for his chance.

"I'm from Tatooine," he said. That was true enough, from a certain point of view. "I represent a certain party who wishes to do business with you." Also true, though the business involved painful death at the end of a lightsaber.

She cocked her head, and her blue eyes pierced him. She even had the C-shaped scar on her cheek that he remembered from the Xanatos of his reality. "What sort of business?"

He cast a glance about the room. "Your pardon, my Lady, but I hardly think this is the time or the place for private deal making."

Her eyes drooped, and then she laughed. "You're right, of course! Come, you shall dine with me tonight, and only later will we talk of trade." She clapped her hands. "Dhersha! Jhisha! Come here!"

Two female slaves, one dark-skinned with short, black hair, the other as ruddy and fair as himself, scurried from the shadows and dropped to their knees in front of Kyratos. They were breathtakingly beautiful and artfully dressed to stimulate even the most stoic of men.

"Help Obi-Wan get cleaned up for dinner, then bring him to the hall at the regular hour."

Obi-Wan struggled to keep the discomfort from his face. "I assure you, this isn't necessary ..."

"What, are they not to your taste?"

"They are beautiful, but I ..."

"Would you prefer men, or boys, perhaps? I have a ..."

"No!" Obi-Wan blurted, a bit too loudly. His voice echoed through the chamber and all movement stilled. "No, thank you. I am  not used to having servants ..." His glance fell on Qui-Gon, still kneeling meekly next to the chair. Obi-Wan forced a sly grin to cross his features, and he met Kyratos's curious gaze with a predatory one of his own. "Though I wouldn't mind being attended by a Sith Lord."

She threw her head back and laughed. The sound pealed from the stone walls.

He stared. Finally she stopped laughing and wiped at her eyes. "Oh, you don't want anywhere near that one. If I left you alone in a room with him he'd kill you before the door finished closing. He takes a firm hand." She winked.

Inwardly, Obi-Wan raged. Outwardly he let the sly grin slide across his features again. "I bet he does." He glanced a Qui-Gon. The Master's eyes met his, but there was no more life in them than before.

Kyratos followed his gaze. Qui-Gon lowered his eyes, but not fast enough. Kyratos crossed the distance between them with unhurried grace and backhanded him across the face. "You'll pay for your insolence," she told him sharply.

She turned back to Obi-Wan as if nothing had happened, her voice again silky. "So, to the baths with you, then, and I will see you in an hour." She let her gaze rake over him. "I'm looking forward to seeing you out of that robe."

He bowed. "Until then, my Lady."

Obi-Wan endured the ministrations of the slaves with ill grace. A subtle sleight of hand kept them from noticing his weapon, a mock tantrum convinced them to leave him alone to finish dressing by himself. They had placed him in tight black pants and a green tunic, belted at the waist with a strip of woven platinum. His boots he kept, at his insistence, and his cloak, which served to hide Qui-Gon's lightsaber from view at the small of his back. He stuffed his clothes into his pack.

He paced the room impatiently. Something was wrong, dangerously wrong, and he felt he should not wait until night when all but a handful of guards slept to attempt his rescue. The Force was urging him to hurry. He shouldered his pack and opened the door to the corridor. Two of the ubiquitous female sentries stood watch just outside.

He settled his mind instantly into the tide of the Living Force that surrounded him. Everything seemed to slow and blur as he saw the myriad possible variations in his immediate future. Without conscious thought he leapt, kicked, and did not slow or turn his head to watch as the two guards fell, unmoving.

With his senses heightened he could feel the Darkness beckoning. Kyratos was already sending probes outward. She had detected his use of the Force, though she could not yet know what she faced -- one highly trained and thoroughly incensed Jedi Knight.

Obi-Wan drew the lightsaber and began to run at Force-enhanced speed, using his momentum on the corners to stride halfway up the walls without slowing his pace. The pack changed his balance slightly, but he compensated readily enough. He did not meet anyone in the halls, and was thankful for it. He found the room he sought; outside the door stood another guard. Obi-Wan was in front of her before she knew anything was wrong. He cold-cocked her with the hilt of his 'saber and she dropped, boneless and almost silent.

The Force was screaming its urgency at him now. He ignited his 'saber and plunged it into the lock, then kicked the door down and somersaulted in over it.

What he saw turned his stomach. It was a large, sterile room, plascrete and steel, with neatly organized metal shelves and tables laden with medicines, chemicals, lab equipment, surgical implements, and other things that made Obi-Wan shudder involuntarily. Kyratos had Qui-Gon chained on a round stone table, on his knees, wrists bound to ankles on both sides, face pressed to the table. His knees were spread wide in a humiliatingly vulnerable posture. The eye that Obi-Wan could see was swollen shut. The Master's face was a mask of blood. A collar of some sort of dark metal -- presumably a Force-dampener -- circled his neck. His nude body was covered with wounds -- whip marks, bruises, cuts, some partially healed, others fresh and bleeding. Blood ran freely from his anus, down the insides of his thighs and over his swollen genitals. Kyratos stood over him with some sort of flexible, studded rod, raised as if to deliver another blow. And the smell! The coppery tang of blood mixed with the stink of sour sweat in a miasma of desperation and pain. Obi-Wan tasted bile.

Kyratos looked up from what she was doing and said, "You!"

It took Obi-Wan no small effort to calm his queasiness and still his automatic reaction to the unwelcome memories of his own abuse at the hands of the Sith Lord.

His hesitation gave her the time she needed to call her lightsaber into her hand and ignite it. She placed the tip of the scarlet blade a millimeter from Qui-Gon's scrotum and grinned. "Move and he dies. Painfully and slowly."

Obi-Wan froze.

She cocked her head. "Kenobi. I knew that name sounded familiar. You're that noble little apprentice reject who begged so prettily before he died. But I distinctly remember killing you myself."

Obi-Wan said nothing. He cast about mentally for a plan of action.

"Kill her," rasped Qui-Gon. "Don't mind me."

Kyratos let the tip of her blade kiss the skin of his perineum for a split second. The Master flinched, but no sound escaped him.

Obi-Wan grimaced. He was out of options. If he moved, he had no doubt Kyratos would carry out her threat. If he put down his weapon, he, too, would be killed.

With a sigh, he extinguished his 'saber and held it out to her. She raised a hand and gestured, pulling it through the air. But as she did so, she relaxed her other hand slightly, and before she could do anything to stop him, Obi-Wan had her lit 'saber in his hand. He lunged for the attack, and then they were joined in a lightning-fast, deadly dance.

It was really no contest. In his own reality, Obi-Wan had nearly bested Xanatos when he was but 13. Now as a full Knight, one of the best swordsmen in the Order thanks to Qui-Gon's teaching and his own hard-won serenity, he was far above Kyratos. In desperation she tried flinging objects at him with the Force, but he ignored the blows and focused on disarming her. An outside observer could not have even followed the fight. It was over in moments; Kryatos on her knees, eyes blazing hatred and contempt, Obi-Wan standing over her with her own blood-red blade at her throat. He was breathing hard, but not from exertion. Anger and aggression turned the edges of his vision red.

"Go ahead, Jedi," she snarled. "Do it. If you've got the balls."

His lips compressed into a thin line and he swallowed convulsively. She did not deserve to live. No one would blame him if he ended her existence right here, right now. His hands shook.

"Kill her," Qui-Gon rasped again.

The sound of his Master's voice seemed to bring him out of a fog. He shook his head to clear it. He had not come all this way and survived all his trials only to allow this pathetic, deranged creature to tempt him into destroying his soul.

Gesturing to the holster of the unconscious sentry outside the door, he called the blaster to his hand. He used a flicker of Force to set it on stun even as he pulled the trigger. Blue energy pulsed over her, and Kyratos slumped to the floor.

He extinguished the 'saber, clipped it to his belt, and retrieved Qui-Gon's lightsaber to clip beside it. He tucked the blaster in his belt and set about figuring out how to free Qui-Gon.

As Obi-Wan worked the straps loose from the buckles, Qui-Gon croaked, "You should have killed her."

Obi-Wan poured healing energy into the worst of Qui-Gon's injuries: broken ribs, the tears in his rectum. "A Jedi doesn't kill unless it's unavoidable. My Master taught me that." He finished opening the last of the restraints and Qui-Gon rose to his knees, chafing his wrists to get the feeling back.

"This Master of yours has obviously never been to Jubilar. Are you really a Jedi, then?"

The question took him aback for a second. Then he realized with dismay that Qui-Gon must have lost his memory. "Yes, I am," he said after a moment. "Can you walk?"

Qui-Gon swung his feet to the floor, rose unsteadily. He grunted. "I think I can manage. Where are we going?"

Obi-Wan's Force sense was again urging him to hurry. A mere handful of minutes had passed since he'd left the baths, but someone was bound to discover the downed sentries very soon and sound an alarm.

"We need to get out of here, and off-planet, as quickly as possible."

He took Qui-Gon's arm and tried to hurry him along, but the big man resisted. Obi-Wan turned and saw that Qui-Gon was staring down at Kyratos, his hands clenching and releasing steadily. Obi-Wan could still sense nothing from him through the Force, but his body language was clear enough. Obi-Wan could sympathize.

"Come," Obi-Wan said softly. "Revenge will not heal you, it will only scar you further."

"Jedi platitudes," Qui-Gon growled.

"Platitudes you taught me, Qui-Gon Jinn."

Qui-Gon looked up at that. His blue eyes sank into shadowed craters. "Is it true I am Jedi? She told me that, but I don't ... I can't remember ..."

"You are a Jedi Master. Perhaps when we get this collar off you'll remember more. But we're short on time."

"She has the key to the collar. It has an explosive device, triggered if I leave the compound."

Obi-Wan stooped and began sifting through Kyratos's garments. Qui-Gon knelt to help him, grunting softly. Obi-Wan knew he was still in a great deal of pain, still losing blood. They _had_ to get out of here soon and find some sort of medical help.

There was no key. Obi-Wan swore, a long, guttural stream of Huttese.

Qui-Gon gave him a droll look which faded as he rose painfully to his feet. "I see they teach you Jedi _some_ useful skills."

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, centered himself for a moment. Then, reaching a decision, he unclipped Qui-Gon's lightsaber from his belt. "Think you can handle this?"

Qui-Gon stared at the weapon, reached out a hand, and took it. He hefted it slightly as if testing its weight. His expression was serious as he said, "It feels ... right."

"Well, come over here in the doorway and stand watch while I try something." Obi-Wan stood behind Qui-Gon and placed his fingers along the dark metal. He sank himself into the Binding Force, sending his mind to follow the circuits of the collar like a mouse running a maze. After a minute he said, "I think I see ... if this doesn't work, I guess we're both dead."

He'd started to close off a critical circuit when his concentration was shattered by the sudden movement under his hands and the almost simultaneous ricochet of a blaster bolt off the green blade of Qui-Gon's lightsaber.

Obi-Wan grabbed the straps that crossed Qui-Gon's back with his right hand and heaved the big man out of the doorway. At the same time his right hand found and activated Kyratos's red blade. He leapt into the corridor, repelled a hail of blaster fire from two guards, and ducked back inside. Qui-Gon had recovered his balance and had crossed to room to a shelf full of datacards on medicine and psychology.

Obi-Wan heard the sound of distant boots pounding down the corridor. A claxon alarm, nerve-shatteringly loud, blared to life.

"Come on!" he shouted. "What are you doing?"

"This way!" Qui-Gon yelled above the din. The shelf moved away from the wall, and he slipped behind it. 

Obi-Wan hurried to follow. As he passed Kyratos, he pulled his blaster, intending to stun her again for good measure. But there was no need; her chest had been burned all the way through, leaving a neat, circular hole with black char around the edges.

He swallowed hard, slipped the blaster back in his belt, and bolted through the hidden door. He turned and took a moment to close it and melt the mechanism before running to catch up with the bobbing green light a dozen meters ahead.

It wasn't hard to catch Qui-Gon; the man was practically staggering. Obi-Wan decided not to mention Kyratos for now. "Where does this lead?" The tunnel they were in was made of stone and seemed like some sort of maze. Corridors branched in all directions, some with doors, some without. With his sense of distance and direction, Obi-Wan reckoned they were beneath the arena. It was completely dark, and musty. This part of the facility must have lain unused for a long time. The only light they had was from the 'sabers, and it didn't stretch far.

"To her private transport, a modified Z-25. A backup, for when she wanted to come and go unobserved."

"He always did have a back door," Obi-Wan muttered.

"There will be guards. Usually two or three. She always piloted it herself."

After a few minutes they could see the end of the corridor, a rectangle of light about 50 meters away.

Qui-Gon stopped and turned to him. "Palace security will have almost certainly alerted them. But I don't think backup could have arrived yet. It will be a close thing."

"Just stay behind me and try to keep up." Obi-Wan extinguished his lightsaber, and Qui-Gon followed suit. They were plunged into profound darkness. They started forward, moving quietly but quickly, as fast as Qui-Gon could limp. Obi-Wan was struck anew with admiration for the man -- despite all he'd been through, despite his injuries, despite being deprived of the Force, he had not once complained. Now he was driving himself harder and faster than any man in his condition could ever be expected to endure, placing his trust in a young man he had never met.

Obi-Wan stretched forth with his feelings, and he knew the instant they'd been spotted. He ignited his lightsaber, and heard Qui-Gon do the same. "Stay behind me," he yelled, and plunged ahead, deflecting blaster bolts as he ran.

As they reached the doorway, a bolt got past his defenses. Qui-Gon deflected it, whether through unconscious muscle memory or plain dumb luck, Obi-Wan wasn't sure. But the ricochet zinged past his ear with only a centimeter to spare, and he redoubled his efforts to let nothing through.

By that time they had reached the door and plunged through to find two guards down and five more surrounding them in a semicircle. Obi-Wan skidded to a halt and backed up, pushing Qui-Gon behind him, until he stood just outside the door. A hail of laser fire rained about him. Unable to stand any longer, Qui-Gon extinguished his blade and dropped to his knees. He huddled, panting, as Obi-Wan braced himself in a wide stand and focused on reflecting the shots back to their origins. After a moment, only two guards remained. But Obi-Wan was tiring, and a shot made it past, biting deeply into his left arm. He didn't let it break his concentration, but shifted his grip to one hand and parried even more desperately until the last woman was down.

He turned and extended a hand to help Qui-Gon to his feet. At least, he tried to. The arm wouldn't move. Then the pain hit him, and he gasped.

Qui-Gon looked up at him, his blue eyes resigned. "You must ... go on ... without me."

Obi-Wan extinguished his 'saber, clipped it to his belt as he dropped to his knees. He reached with his good hand and touched the collar. "I'll be damned for a Sith before I leave you here now, after all I've gone through to find you." He closed his eyes, blinking involuntary tears, and summoned the Force, traced the path again, found the relay. "We go together or not at all," he said, and closed the connection.

Qui-Gon gasped. His hand rose and clutched Obi-Wan's arms, hard. Obi-Wan let out an agonized howl, and Qui-Gon released him. Suddenly Obi-Wan could sense the Master again through the Force. Qui-Gon was weak with fatigue, nauseated with pain, and thoroughly confused. Even then, Obi-Wan detected no fear in him, no anger, only a hope that was slowly fading to resignation.

"Do you remember anything?" asked Obi-Wan.

Qui-Gon ground his teeth, shook his head. "No." He clutched at his hair. "Nothing, nothing."

"Come on." Obi-Wan stood, dragged Qui-Gon to his feet. They staggered to the ship, with Obi-Wan bearing most of Qui-Gon's weight. The transport was locked, but Qui-Gon had observed Kyratos enough times to know the combination. Obi-Wan settled him in a bunk and ran to the pilot's chair, set the system to skip the pre-flight checks, and blasted his way clear of the docking clamps.

Once in the air he was far from home free. The Spaceport Patrol had been alerted, and he was fired upon almost as soon as he emerged. He searched frantically for the weapons systems and shields among the many unfamiliar control panels on the console, all the while juking and twisting to avoid laser fire. He felt an impact rock the ship; warning alarms lit up his display with red damage reports. The yoke grew stiff; his repulsors weren't responding properly.

Just as he thought he'd lost, that all his travels through time and space would end in a bright ball of flame over this miserable, dirty, depressing little planet, he heard a strange sound from the deck behind him.

He turned, and Qui-Gon was there, hunched over the remote gunnery controls, his eyes closed. Obi-Wan felt the stirrings of the Force as Qui-Gon fired on instinct alone. Soon they were outside the atmosphere, with clear space ahead and a second wave of pursuit too far behind to catch up. Obi-Wan punched in the coordinates from the navcomputer. The stars elongated, and with a dizzying lunge they entered hyperspace.

(Continued in next half of Wheel of If ... Episode 29.)