Archive: Master & Apprentice, QJEB, SWA-L and The Nesting
Place, anyone else please ask!
Category: A/U, Action/Adventure
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Q/O
Summary: Ben and Qui-Gon fight to make it off Golgatha alive
Disclaimer: Don't own them, George Lucas does. If I did they
would have had a much happier ending! The planet name as well
as the general idea of the Arena and the Games are borrowed
from Simon R. Green's Deathstalker series - no copyright
infringement intended as no money is being made off of this.
Feedback: Yes please, it's addictive!
Author's Note: Thanks as always to my darling betas, Holly,
Tracy and Heather, you know I love y'all! Thanks this time to
Van for siccing Kirk and Spock on me - or was it for
restraining them so I could finish this? ;)
//In the Arena
On the Sands
Blood is spilled
O'er shattered plans//
~ old Golgathan verse
"What did he say?" the medic exclaimed, dropping the argument
and darting to the injured man's side to check his vital signs.
"Something he shouldn't know about," Qui-Gon replied, a
troubled frown creasing his brow.
"What?" Maryja asked distractedly, her attention focused more
on the man in front of her then the one across the bed from
her.
The Jedi shook his head, his lips pressed into a thin line.
This was just another piece that didn't fit in the puzzle that
was Ben Ken'ba. When was he going to have collected enough of
them so that some sort of image began to emerge? Could he have
picked up the phrase when their minds were linked or was this
another indication of the Jedi training he could swear the
younger man had?
Frustration sparked deep with in Qui-Gon and he took a breath,
slowly exhaling it to release the negative emotion and to
center his thoughts. Once the fighter was sufficiently healed,
they were going to have a long talk, that much was certain.
"Are you certain you do not wish for us to send an aircar for
you, Sar Gonn?"
"That will not be necessary, Majordomo Tenlan. As Champion
Ken'ba was injured protecting me I feel I owe him the courtesy
of remaining here until he has recovered. Please convey my best
wishes to the Empress. If there is anything she wishes to
discuss with me, I am sure it can be done over a secure channel
or when I return."
The man bowed, obscuring his face for the moment. Qui-Gon had
the distinct impression he was sneering, but the other man's
expression was placid when he raised his head once again. "I
shall do as you wish. Would you care for any of your belongings
to be sent to you?"
Offering the servant a smile as patently false as the one he
had been given, the Jedi considered the question for a moment.
"It is kind of you to offer, but I feel that what I have with
me is sufficient." He'd be damned if he was going to give the
man tacit permission to snoop around his rooms - not that he
probably hadn't done so already.
"As you wish, Sar Gonn." Another bow, another hidden grin. "I
do hope that your stay with Champion Ken'ba will not be too
taxing on you then. Good day."
The viewscreen dimmed to black and Qui-Gon allowed himself the
luxury of rolling his eyes at it. "Damn toadying fool," he
growled, shaking his head. There was one more call he had to
make, and this one was going to be more challenging than
dealing with a puffed up piece of space trash like Tenlan.
"There are no records of anyone by that name ever being trained
here. If he had received Jedi training we would know." Mace
Windu's voice was so calm, so certain, that Qui-Gon knew
pursuing this line of questioning with the Council was futile.
No matter what he said they would refuse to believe that a
student of such high potential had slipped away from the
Academy unnoticed.
"Mindful of the situation you should be Qui-Gon." A soft thump
that echoed clearly over the link told the Jedi Master that
Yoda had just rapped his walking stick against the floor of the
Council chambers. "Uncertain the future is. Wary you must be."
"I always am, Master. There is more going on here than meets
the eye and I believe there are customs being practiced here
that the Senate will find repugnant if not totally illegal."
"We will await your full report on the matter. Until then be
mindful, and may the Force be with you."
The link shut off and Qui-Gon stared at his communicator,
mulling over possible courses of action and wondering just how
much time he had before violence erupted again.
Following the routine he had fallen into over the past three
days, Qui-Gon rose before the sun to make use of Ben's training
facility before the other man woke. He had been quite impressed
when Maryja had shown him the cavernous room and the various
pieces of equipment it contained. Since then he had made good
use of it, both as a way to maintain his training and to work
out the frustrations that built from dealing with the fighter.
Stopping in the doorway, the Jedi frowned. The lights were on,
illuminating the rapidly moving form before him in a harsh glow
and reflecting back from the slim-bladed sword that whirled in
deadly arcs around the younger man's head.
A lunge followed a lightning fast spin and merged into a
Force-powered flip as Ben wove his way through the bright dust
motes that swirled around him, leaving them tumbling wildly in
his wake.
His eyes tracking the fighter's movements, Qui-Gon mentally
critiqued the other man's form and technique. As he had noted
before, some moves were purely of the Order's training while
others had evolved into something more - a style of fighting
that was effective, efficient, and deadly.
There. A brief opening that would have been fatal if Ben had
been faced with a skilled opponent. It was plain to Qui-Gon
that the younger man wasn't yet fully recovered from the
Miriken sap poisoning; he only wondered if Ken'ba would
acknowledge the situation as well.
"Is there something you need, Sar Jedi?" The caustic question
was cut through with the fighter's labored breathing - deep
inhalations that strove to bring oxygen to muscles on the verge
of cramping.
"Just wondering if you wanted me to call your medic friend now
or to wait until you collapse before contacting her." A glower
was the only response Qui-Gon received so he tried another
tactic. "You left an opening the size of a star cruiser on your
left side during that last run through. Sooner or later someone
is going to notice that you're favoring that side and take
advantage of it."
Ben turned his attention fully to the other man at that. "Still
getting used to the new knee." It was a weak excuse at best,
even to his own ears. After leveling a long, measuring look at
the Jedi Master, the fighter spun on his heel and crossed to a
cabinet on one wall of the chamber. Hanging his sword on a pair
of empty hooks, he withdrew a pair of blunted practice weapons.
"See if you can take advantage of it," he stated, the challenge
vibrating in the air between them as he offered the older man
his choice of the swords.
"You should be resting," Qui-Gon commented mildly, accepting
one of the lightweight blades and testing the grip and balance.
"I have a match tomorrow." This was said as if it explained
everything and to Ben, it did. A champion could not decline a
legitimate challenge - all had to be accepted within a week of
their issue. Tomorrow was seven days since the message been
sent, therefore tomorrow was the date of the battle.
"Even more reason to rest."
"I can rest when it's over. If you don't want to spar, leave
and let me work."
"You're sure?" A quirk of an eyebrow accompanied the question.
In answer, Ben settled himself into an opening position, sword
extended toward Qui-Gon in invitation.
It was possible a defeat here would make the younger man
reconsider his decision to fight tomorrow. In light of this,
the Jedi set his blade down on the exercise mat and quickly
stripped off his tunic. Ken'ba was barechested and Qui-Gon had
the definite impression that the other man would take advantage
of any handhold he could get during the session, so it was in
his best interest to limit them.
Ben's attention never left the older man, but he was still
caught off guard by the swiftness of Qui-Gon's attack. A flurry
of barely blocked strikes, then he found the rhythm of the
fight. Ken'ba stopped giving ground and started his own
offensive.
The two men disengaged, circling each other warily, their
swords held at the ready for the next round. Sweat dripped down
Ben's forehead and he shook his head violently before it could
seep into his eyes and obscure his vision. The older man was
good, he would give him that.
In a motion too fast to follow, the fighter resumed the battle,
taking the offensive and using his greater speed and dexterity
to counter his opponent's strength and skill.
Swords flickered out like dull gray lightning, blunted edges
ringing as they came together. Droplets of sweat rained down
from both men's bare torsos, causing dark patches to bloom on
the surface of the exercise mat beneath them. Harsh breathing
rumbled like distant thunder, a muted backdrop for the sharper
exhalations that came with particularly difficult moves.
Another break, another slide around each other, another coming
together. In an attempt to sweep the younger man from his feet,
Qui-Gon tripped him while giving a shove with the Force.
Instead of resisting the motion, Ben rolled with it, flipping
backward, barely landing before re-engaging his opponent in a
series of blows that almost ripped the sword from the Jedi's
hands.
The dark durasteel blades clashed together again, locking grip
to grip, leaving the men standing less than two handspans
apart. Muscles shook with the strain as both combatants
struggled for the leverage needed to send the other off
balance.
"You aren't up for this fight with me. What do you think your
next opponent is going to do to you?" Qui-Gon asked, glaring
down into Ken'ba's slitted eyes.
"You haven't won yet and neither will he," Ben growled,
returning the stare and giving an instinctive push with his
mind.
It was the most natural thing in the world for Qui-Gon to
intercept the mental attack, coiling his command of the Force
around it, preparing to volley it back at the other man. What
he didn't expect, however, was the merging of the two power
fronts, the energy from each drawn into what he now recognized
as the fledgling bond that existed between them.
Tighter then Koradrian binding chords, more tenacious then
Iltherian spider webs, the net of the Force-driven bond wove
closer around the two men. Its sustenance was drawn from their
very souls, draining and replenishing the reaction needed for
its vitality with equal parts of tenacity and ardor.
"Gods, no . . ." Ben whispered, fighting the pull of the link
and actually managing to take a step back away from Qui-Gon.
His sword fell to the padded mat, unnoticed, and a fine tremor
ripped through the fighter's body as he strove to move and
increase the distance between them once again.
Feeling control rapidly slipping through his fingers, Qui-Gon
tossed his blade toward the far wall, not even noticing the
muted clang as it impacted the stone with tremendous force. "No
use fighting it." The Jedi's voice was raspy with desire and
the raw power that was coursing along the invisible shackles
that bound their minds together.
"Don't want it, don't want you." His gaze still riveted to the
older man's deep blue eyes, Ben made one last attempt to turn
away only to find himself pouncing on the larger man, the
motion rolling them both to the mat as their mouths sought and
devoured each other.
The silence was broken only by reluctant gasps for breath and
the sharp sound of cloth tearing as leggings were ripped from
all-too-ready bodies. Boots were impatiently kicked off, the
other sword sent flying toward its now bent companion piece -
rendering the immediate area safe from anything except natural
attacks.
The two came together again, the Jedi howling out his pleasure
from his hands and knees as a strong hand stimulated him beyond
the point of endurance. Above him the fighter stopped battling
the need within him,lost in the maddening oblivion of the union
of body and mind.
"You aren't really going through with it tomorrow, are you?"
"I have to. I know you can't understand why, but I have to."
A sigh followed by the sound of movement and the opening and
closing of a door.
"Damn fool . . ." Qui-Gon whispered to the now silent room. The
Jedi closed his eyes and lay back on the canvas mat, trying to
think of how to explain to the Council that he had bonded with
a man they would view as a murderer.
In the ready room under the Arena, preparations continued as
they had since times forgotten. Those waiting for their fights
warmed up or honed their weapons. Those returning from their
bouts tended their injuries and counted their winnings. Those
who did not return bled their life out on the Sands, but were
not mourned, except perhaps by their families and fans.
"Champion Ken'ba."
"Cratos." Ben looked at the shorter man long enough to note
that today the information broker's hair was a lurid orange
before he went back to checking the edge on his weapons.
"Haven't seen you around much this week, guess that Trade
Representative's been keeping you busy." The fighter's
blue-green eyes were icy cold when he looked up again, but
Cratos stood his ground. "Word is the two of you had quite a
time of it out at your place. Took out three guards too.
Interesting thing isn't it? They bore quite a resemblance to
the three who roughed up that pretty little thing was here last
time you fought."
"I pay my debts, you know that." A needle sharp dagger slid
home into a sheath, followed by a broader bladed knife that had
a wicked looking serrated edge to it.
"Never said you didn't, Champion. Just wondering if I could get
your side to it all . . . No? Ah well. Shouldn't have any
trouble with the kid they have you up against tonight. Heard
he's only doing it to impress his fiancee - tells you something
about her, doesn't it?"
"Tells me she may never be a wife if her intended isn't
careful."
Cratos chuckled at that. "A sense of humor shows itself. You
know, I think that Trade Representative is a good influence on
you, Ben. You need to keep him around a little longer!"
"Leave, Cratos, before I decide to warm up on you."
"Oh-ho, hit a nerve with that one did I?" The information
broker grinned as he dodged backward, putting some distance
between himself and the now plainly annoyed champion. "Be
seeing you later, Ben. Good hunting tonight."
"I hope you weren't inconvenienced by your stay at my
Champion's villa, Sar Gonn." The Empress, garbed in brilliant
white velvet ornamented with gossamer webs of gold, took a
delicate sip of her drink, then looked in Qui-Gon's direction.
"Not at all Your Grace. It was quite an educational
experience." She smirked at that and the Jedi composed his
expression into a knowing smile in response. The mission would
soon be over; he simply had to maintain the charade for a few
more days. Lurking in the back of his mind was the quandary
over his unacknowledged bond-mate. He couldn't leave without
the other man and he somehow doubted that Ben would accept his
explanation easily or graciously.
It was definitely something to meditate on.
"I am pleased that you enjoyed your stay. Ben is a handful but
with the proper motivation he can do the most outstanding
things, wouldn't you say?"
"I am in full agreement with you there, Empress."
Further conversation was forestalled by the start of the next
bout. Qui-Gon turned his attention to the Sands, knowing that
the Champion was on his way out long before the announcement
was made or the first cheer split the air.
The damn feeling was back. Even knowing where it came from
didn't lessen the sensation and Ben struggled to keep from
giving a reflexive shudder as the fire gnats crawled around his
mind, tickling thoughts better left unexamined.
//WILL YOU STOP IT!// he shouted mentally, not sure if it would
do any good, but pleased and surprised to feel the sensation
lessen until it gradually faded away.
Well, that worked. Perhaps it would mean that the damned
connection to the "Trade Representative" was also gone. Gods he
hoped so.
Free from the pervasive intrusion of the other man's thoughts,
Ben centered his attention on his opponent. A child. They
send a spoiled child out here to die . . .
While the man opposite him probably was chronologically older,
there was an aura of innocence and excitement around him - as
if he treated the whole thing as a game.
I need to quit. That was laughable. The only way he was
ever going to leave the Sands was by dying on them.
Another glance at the blond youth who had challenged him drew a
grin in response. When the gesture wasn't returned, the other
man faltered slightly before regaining his composure.
The pair saluted the Empress, then retreated to their starting
positions, eyes locked together, bodies tensed for the signal
to begin.
"This shall be quite entertaining." The Empress' attention was
more on the Republic's representative then on the men below
them. Waving her hand negligently, she signaled for the start
of the match, only then glancing away from her guest.
This was no fight, this was a joke.
After quickly gaining the upper hand in the battle, Ben drove
the taller man mercilessly across the floor of the Arena,
stopping just short of drawing blood, but working to exhaust
his opponent.
He should never have been cleared to make the challenge in the
first place. Only fighters of a certain skill level were
allowed to issue such a request and it was painfully obvious
that this man was not of that caliber.
The Bitch at work again. Someone, somewhere, is going to
profit from this, I just have no idea who. Ben easily
dodged a roundhouse swing, then brought his blade up to trap
his opponent's, stalling the action.
"Quit now, before it's too late," he advised the wide-eyed man
who shook his head violently in response.
"Then you deserve what you get." Sliding his sword free, Ben
commenced his offensive again, sweeping in on the other fighter
from all sides, his moves lightning quick.
Numerous small cuts opened on the taller man's arms and legs,
his movements slowing as pain and fatigue combined to work
against him. Another moment of strained stillness as their
weapons locked together once more, then the challenger was
flying through the air to land heavily, plowing a wide furrow
through the sand.
After a painful struggle to rise, he collapsed back against the
ground, his chest heaving. "I yield." The words were whispered
grimly as he let his sword drop from his hand.
Ben nodded at that. "Better to stay alive then to die for
nothing more than her pleasure," he murmured, before turning to
give the ritual gesture of respect to the Empress.
A startled gasp rose in unison from the throats of the crowd
and Ben, catching a fleeting image of something moving toward
him, spun. His sword sank home in his opponent's belly, ripping
it open and spilling his intestines down the front of his
blood-stained trousers.
"Just . . ." the older man gasped, trying futilely to press his
guts inside his body where they belonged. "Wanted to say thank
you for . . ." His eyes rolled back in his head and he
collapsed, a hand reaching toward the Champion as if in
supplication or a plea for an explanation.
Stark silence reigned in the Arena then the sound of a single
person clapping split the quiet. All eyes turned toward the
royal box at that, and the Empress' amplified laughter filled
the air. "Excellent, my Champion. A shocking ending to the
battle, but one I find most amusing. I am well pleased."
At this the crowd erupted into wild cheers, anxious not to
displease their ruler. Once the noise died down a bit, the
Empress smiled benevolently. "Come before me and receive your
reward, Ben Ken'ba."
His bleak gaze moved from the blood-soaked corpse before him,
to the ecstatic faces of the crowd and finally, to the smug
smile that adorned the Bitch's face. There was no need to look
at the Jedi. The shock and revulsion pouring off the other man
hit Ben with the force of ocean breakers, threatening to knock
him from his feet.
"I think not," he replied steadily, meeting the Empress' cold
eyes for a long moment before turning and striding from the
Sands, hearing the cheers die off into appalled silence.
Ignoring the outfit the Empress' retainers had brought down for
him to change into, Ben sank down on the low bench in the room.
After fumbling a stim-stick between his lips, the fighter
chewed it viciously; hoping the adrenaline would keep the
tremors that were hounding him away for a little longer.
No more. Today had been the end. Always before he could deal
with the life he led by reminding himself that those he killed
on the Sands would just have gladly taken his life, but today .
. . The memory of the shock and fear he had seen etched in his
opponent's eyes before he collapsed rose up before him and Ben
pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes, willing the
vision away.
Hells, he'd never even learned the other man's name.
One way out. It may not have been the simplest, or the
cleanest, but it was the only option left open. Pushing himself
slowly to his feet, Ben sheathed his sword at his side and
walked to the door, concentrating on the task ahead.
"I was just coming to look for you." There was no need to ask
if the fighter was all right. The Force was wound as tightly
around him as a shroud, blocking all mental and emotional
connection along their bond.
"Afraid you weren't going to get any tonight?" Ben slowed his
strides marginally, letting the Jedi fall in beside him as he
stalked toward the Empress' private rooms.
"This isn't about that!" Qui-Gon snapped. Taking a calming
breath, he reached out to grab a hold of the younger man's arm
only to have it wrenched out of his grasp. "This is about you
dealing with what happened out there - something you obviously
aren't doing too well."
"I am dealing with it Sar Jedi, trust me on that. Soon it won't
bother me in the least." Saying this, Ben brushed past the
guards stationed outside the Empress' rooms - the same guards
who blocked Qui-Gon's passage just as the fighter had planned.
"That attire is not suitable." Her lip curling in a sneer, the
Empress appeared from behind a decorative screen that shielded
her dressing area. "Change immediately."
"No."
The one word answer pulled the woman up short and her
expression curdled into one of complete loathing. "Do not defy
me, Ken'ba. You know what will come of it."
A flare of pain flared in the fighter's right temple and he
smiled. "Yes I do. It's time Elini. No more games. I'm not
going back out there again, so do it. I don't care any longer."
"Insolent bastard!" she shrieked. Her hand flashed out,
connecting with Ben's face, her pointed nails painting three
parallel crimson lines across the flesh of his cheek - lines
that began to lose their definition as blood spilled over their
edges, tracking in right angles down Ben's jaw to drip to the
white marble floor below.
"That's the best you can do?" The question came out with a
laugh. "I'm through. Make good on your threat or live with that
fact."
"Oh I shall make good on it - and I shall delight on watching
you writhe in pain until your brain boils out your ears. Take a
look around Ken'ba, my face will be the last thing you ever
see!" Hatred contorting her face into a rictus of anger, the
Empress stabbed at a button on one of her bracelets - and Ben's
world went red.
What was going on in there?
The fighter had closed himself off so totally that Qui-Gon
couldn't even get a hint of the events that were being played
out - something that worried him immensely.
A sudden commotion beyond the door culminated with a
high-pitched shriek from the Empress and the link flared into
life, carrying pain with it. A quick inventory of the other
man's feelings showed him to be . . .amused?
//By the Force, Ken'ba, what are you doing?//
//Dying.// The answer was stated calmly and with total clarity
of purpose - then a tidal wave of pain swamped the connection,
almost dragging the Jedi under with it.
That was it. Pushing the shared agony to the back of his skull,
Qui-Gon approached the guards who stared at him with bored
detachment.
"I am going to see the Empress right now," he commanded,
pouring every bit of persuasion he possessed into the
suggestion.
The pressure of the Force rolled over both guards, leaving them
agreeable to anything Qui-Gon said and they stepped out of the
way, allowing him access to the door.
What greeted him was a tableaux from some cheap horror vid. The
Empress stood, watching in detached amusement as her Champion
knelt on the floor, one hand pressed to his right temple. Blood
oozed from his nostrils and his torn cheek, turning his face
into a macabre mask.
Despite the agony that claimed the fighter, Qui-Gon could tell
he was attempting to reach his tormentor - and that the Empress
was not about to let that happen.
"This is none of your affair, leave now." It was the first time
the Empress' fury had been directed at him and the Jedi
understood what made her staff cower from the tone.
"But it is my affair, Empress. This shall not continue." While
he spoke, distracting the woman, Qui-Gon turned his attention
to rooting out the cause of the problem.
There. A small device planted in the fighter's brain. Once he
had discerned this, it was a simple matter for the Jedi to
deactivate it with the Force. Ben jerked at the sudden absence
of pain, his back heaving with his ragged breathing.
"How dare you intrude matters of state? I shall have your head
for this!" The Empress jabbed at another button on her bracelet
and the guards who had been stationed outside the door burst
inside, blasters drawn.
"Kill them!"
A quartet of energy bolts arrowed in on the Jedi. Drawing and
activating his lightsaber in the same motion, Qui-Gon deflected
the blasts. Two struck home, sending the guards flying backward
to connect with the wall behind them.
The remaining two men sought cover, firing randomly in an
effort to keep the intruder off balance. Through it all, the
Empress was screaming, demanding the death of both the men
before her.
More troops had to be on the way, this had to be ended swiftly.
A nudge with the Force tripped the near guard out into the open
just as he fired again. A shift in position to counter the
angle and Qui-Gon sent the bolt back in the direction it
originated from. It struck true, fracturing the blaster's power
source. The explosion left little in the way of identifiable
remains.
The last guard was . . . Dead on the floor, a dagger in his
throat.
That threat neutralized, Qui-Gon turned back to the Empress,
noting with relief that Ben had regained his feet and
apparently his bearings as it was his knife that had taken out
the final man.
The fighter's eyes narrowed as he looked at the four dead men.
"You're next Elini," he whispered, his voice filled with deadly
intent. Cold malice filled his eyes as he stalked toward the
young woman, his serrated edged knife held at the ready.
//No!// Qui-Gon started toward the other man, intent on
stopping him, but was held back by a solid feeling wall of the
Force.
//Do not try to stop me, this is my last debt.// Having backed
the Empress into a corner, Ben smiled down at her, his teeth
flashing white against his blood-stained face. "Now Elini,
where to start? So many innocents hurt, so many good people
killed. I regret that you can only die once." As he spoke, he
tickled her chin with the point of the blade, imagining the
pale skin splitting beneath the keen edge.
Qui-Gon cursed fervently. This wasn't the way. Ken'ba was on
the edge, teetering between the Light and the Dark. Giving into
his desire for revenge would turn him irrevocably and then . .
. And then Qui-Gon would have to challenge him.
Fear had turned the Empress' eyes near black and she kept
pushing backward, trying to wedge herself tighter into the
corner.
"Really, I would have expected more from you," Ben commented,
increasing the pressure on the knife a fraction. A single drop
of blood oozed from the puncture wound, rolling down the blade
and pooling against the guard.
A soft whimper escaped the Empress' throat and it was then the
fighter knew he couldn't do it. Silently cursing himself for
being a fool, he eased up on the pressure of the dagger, then
smiled once again. There were other methods of revenge other
than the obvious . . .
Ben sheathed his knife and cupped his enemy's chin in his hand,
feeling another drop of her blood slide over his fingers as he
did so. Leaning in, he whispered in the Empress' ear, his voice
as soft and compelling as a lover's. When he was sure that she
understood and would obey the suggestion planted deep within
her, he straightened and released her.
She slid down into the corner, her face hidden in her hands,
her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Ben stared down at the
woman for a time, then pulled off his championship rings and
dropped them into her lap.
Silver, black, silver, black, silver. Overlapping circles
representing the last two and a half years of his life - years
spent in service to the woman before him.
The Force wall vanished and Qui-Gon stumbled forward as Ben
turned and started toward him. "I would suggest we leave now
Sar Jedi. It won't be long before she recovers enough to send
more guards after us."
"What . . ." the older man began, then let the question die
off. There would be time for explanations later.
Luckily for the pair of fugitives, it had taken the Empress a
good half hour to recall enough of what had happened to her and
alert her guard.
After stealing a skimmer and engaging in a race at breakneck
speeds through the skies of the capitol city, Ben and Qui-Gon
found themselves hidden behind a stack of cargo containers,
watching guards stop anyone who bore the remotest resemblance
to the men they were searching for.
"This could prove difficult," the Jedi mused, picturing the
layout of the spaceport and the position of the various craft
near them.
Ben peered around the large box they crouched behind, then
ducked back again. "See that small cruiser next to the
Corellian freighter?" At Qui-Gon's nod, he continued. "I'll
handle the diversion, that's the ship you want to take."
"What is this 'I'? You think you're going to have a longer life
expectancy staying here then leaving?"
The fighter glanced down at the hand on his arm, then at the
Jedi. "You need to get off the planet. She's not going to let
you live having witnessed what you did. I'm immaterial at this
point. You get back and tell your Senate, or Council, or
whomever you have to. That will be enough for me."
"Damn fool . . ." Qui-Gon growled. "We're both leaving, do you
understand me?"
"Whatever you say, Sar Jedi." Ben's tone was
uncharacteristically agreeable and he smiled - the first
genuine expression of such Qui-Gon had ever seen from him. "Now
get ready to run on my signal."
One last check of the area around them, then Ben shot over the
top of the container, landing atop one of the guards and
knocking him from his feet. The commotion drew the others and,
once the path was clear, Qui-Gon sprinted toward the ship the
younger man had indicated.
Come on, come on, get going . . . Using the bond that
linked them, Ben tracked the Jedi's progress as he fought off
the guards, leading them on a chase through massive stacks of
cargo and luggage. //Get on the ship!// he ranted, elbowing one
man in the face and ducking a blaster bolt fired by a uniformed
woman.
//Not until you get here.// The stubborn comment made the
fighter growl, distracting him. He caught a flicker of motion
and started to roll, realizing all too clearly that the evasive
maneuver was going to be too late.
The sword tracked cleanly toward Ben's neck, only to be severed
by a blade of pure green fire before finding its mark.
"I told you to go to the ship!" the fighter yelled, skewering
one of the few remaining guards as Qui-Gon provided cover for
both of them from the blaster fire.
"After you my young friend," the Jedi replied blandly. The last
defender fell and he gave the other man a push in the direction
of the cruiser with the Force.
Cursing under his breath with each step he took, Ben moved, his
eyes scanning the area around them for hidden opponents or
obstacles. The hum of the older man's laser sword seemed very
loud in his ears, drowning out all other sounds.
At the ramp to the ship, Qui-Gon pushed at the smaller man once
again, sending him stumbling up the incline. In that moment of
inattention, one of the few remaining guards took a shot, the
bolt impacting solidly with the Jedi's right shoulder.
"Fuck!" Biting back a groan at the shared sensation, Ben spun
and grabbed the larger man, dragging him up the last few steps
to safety and sealing the hatch behind them.
The stench of charred flesh was heavy in the air, but Qui-Gon
shook off any attempts on the other man's part to help support
him as they ran for the cockpit, the Jedi having refused to
head for the med center until they were well away from the
planet.
Preflight took only moments - the ship having been chosen
because it was being readied for take off. Ignoring the summons
from the port controllers, Ben powered up the engines and took
off, causing guards and civilians alike to scurry for cover.
The pastoral blue and white surface of Golgatha faded to a tiny
dot behind them and Ben turned to his fellow escapee. "So?
Where to?" he asked.
"Coruscant," was the Jedi's reply.
Hearing the strain in the other man's voice, the fighter
nodded, pulling up the coordinates and feeding them into the
nav system. The push of a final button and the craft made the
shift into hyperspace, leaving Golgatha and the past behind
them.
~end~
8/31/99
Next: Thus ends Ben and Qui-Gon's adventures on Golgatha, more
await them on the way to Coruscant in "Pray for the Living" -
Part 1 of the second Gladiator book - "The Sojournor"
As you know, feedback is greatly appreciated at RinaSHW@aol.com
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