Disclaimer: Characters belong to Lucas and gang. Though I
suspect I'm in the minority when I say I'm afraid they don't
deserve them. All of the credit must go to Ewan Mcgregor and
Liam Neeson, bless their sexy little bods.
Summary: Obi Wan is kidnapped and Qui Gon stretches the
boundaries of both his duty and his discipline to find him in
the midst of a diplomatic crisis.
Author's notes: Well, I have to start this off with groveling
gratitude to the late-night-poetry-spouting, lyrical,
hyper-talented insomniac Kirby for her masterful Beta. I am not
worthy. All I can say that if it hadn't been for her, this
would have been relegated to the "no way am I ever gonna finish
that" pile.
As for this little bundle of words and phrases, who knows where
it came from? But can't we all use just a little more of
Obi-Wan Getting Kidnapped? Repeat after me, "angst is good".
Enjoy.
Coruscant glittered like quartzite in the velvet of space,
artificial lines of light spreading across the entirety of the
surface, raying outwards from the nexus that contained the
Senate. He didn't even look out the viewscreen, instead
watching the scanner, waiting for Orbital Control to let him
down. They'd been holding in orbit for almost an hour, traffic
was unusually clogged.
Walen looked up as a mid-sized ship, bulky and unlike anything
he'd ever seen in all his years as a Captain, slid slowly in
front of them, momentarily blocking his view of the planet, a
strange symbol painted on its side. Completely uninterested, he
let his eyes fall back onto the scanner, waiting for the single
line of code that would give him his landing coordinates. Not
for the first time, he wished that his lone passenger might
have been in more of a hurry. He didn't doubt that she would
have the clout to get them onto the surface immediately. Jedi
tended to be able to get things accomplished where others
failed.
He let his gaze slip sideways in the small compartment, trying
to size up the Jedi Knight for the fifth time that trip. She
had discouraged his staring early on, but he'd managed a few
leers. Beautiful indeed. Small and reed slender, her body
nonetheless looked to be hard with muscle. Shiny black hair
framed a small oval face, brushing across a smooth forehead and
setting off dark, upswept eyes. She was dressed in the
tradition of her Order, soft ecru clothing with a long sepia
over-cloak brushing the floor. Her soft mouth was currently
thin with an emotion he thought might be displeasure. It was
obvious that she was not excited about coming to the Capital of
the Republic. Not that he blamed her in that respect. He wasn't
a fan of the planet himself.
She flicked her eyes towards him and he quickly returned his
attention to the scanners, frowning as he saw that they had
still not moved on the landing list. What the hell was going
on?
"Looks like non-Republic diplomats," her voice was both lyrical
and hard as nails, an interesting paradox. He squinted again at
the ship that had now gained no less than 5 Republic-Guard
escorts as it made its way down to the surface. "That's
probably why we're delayed, Captain Walen."
He nodded, thinking that he would have figured that out if he
hadn't been staring at her.
"Never seen a ship like that before." He muttered, wanting to
fill the silence between them, wanting to make up for his
inattention. They watched it move slowly away for a moment
more. "Wonder what they are?"
He didn't see her shrug, but he knew somehow that she had.
"Could be anyone. There are always worlds that want something
from the Republic. Just depends if they have anything to give
back." He looked at her again to see distaste twisting visibly
across her face again. The strange ship had moved completely
out of their way, lending them a clear view of the surface.
"Yeah," he said, "I don't like Coruscant either."
For the first time on their long trip from O'li, she actually
smiled. A thin smirky thing, but a smile.
"It smells." She said, finally looking over at him.
He grinned back, ready to nod, when his eye caught something
past her out the viewscreen. He tilted his greying head to one
side, reaching up to adjust his headset. A small, black ship...
looking oddly similar to the big stranger's ship they'd just
seen, shot quickly past, darting carefully and skillfully
through the waiting queue of freighters and liners. And then it
was gone.
"What was that?" he muttered with a frown.
She twisted her head to see what he was looking at, but it was
already out of sight. He shrugged and turned back to his
controls, delighted to finally see a set of coordinates and a
Landing Platform number come up on his screen.
"Nothing. Strap in. We're finally landing."
He was getting old and fat and he knew it was only a matter of
time before he would end up like his father had. Infirm, pushed
about in a repulsor-chair. Bah. One hand went up to his collar,
straightening it and then moved south to tug his tunic down
around his ever-expanding girth. Teede reached out to brush an
invisible piece of lint off his shoulder, smiling up at him in
a gesture meant to bolster him.
"Strength, Magister. The Republic will not deny us. We have too
much to give."
Vedic nodded after a moment, grumphing to himself. He hated the
idea of having to ask. Having to crawl. Think of the people, he
reminded himself. It is for everyone's sake that you do this.
This beggary.
The internal pep talk was not working very well, there was far
too much fear and worry in his heart. His stomach was roiling
and bubbling with acid at the very thought that he might be
turned away. At the very thought of asking at all.
The shuttle gave a gentle bump as it landed on the wide
platform and the Magister glanced at his assistant once more
before heaving himself up off the padded bench and pointing
himself in the direction of the gangplank. Teede gathered up
her datapad and followed a few steps behind as the rest of the
delegation moved to array themselves behind the Magister. With
a hiss and a thump, the portal lowered and Vedic let a mask of
cool control slip over his pale, moist features. His state
robes felt heavy and hot on his body and the semi cool air of
Coruscant's falling dusk slid welcomingly over his skin. The
sunset was still lighting the western sky in red streaks, a
painting of magnificent proportion.
A good sign.
He could make out a small cluster of figures at the end of the
platform walking towards his shuttle, but it was one in
particular that made him smile for the first time since he had
embarked on this foolhardy mission.
"Jedi Jinn!" He exclaimed heartily. "How good of you to come
out to greet my shuttle!" He reached out to clasp the human's
arms at the elbows, smiling down into the blue eyes. The man
grinned back wryly.
"I think I had little choice in the matter, Magister,
considering that you requested, nay, insisted on me
specifically for these talks."
Vedic laughed.
"That I did, that I did, my good Jedi. I hope you will forgive
the demand, but I knew that you were a man of honor and that
you would do right by my people. It will be just another debt
that I owe you."
Qui-Gon bowed at him.
"The negotiations are not over yet, my friend. Thank me
afterwards. It will still be up to the Committee whether or not
Biss is admitted."
The Magister just smiled, almost more of a grimace, then turned
to his entourage.
"This is my invaluable assistant Teede. " He swept a narrow
hand at his old advisor with a more genuine smile. "And these,"
he gestured at the six who had fanned out behind him with these
enthusiasm, "are my ministers." He rattled off their names and
titles automatically and then raised his brow-ridges at the
Jedi to introduce his own group.
"Obi Wan Kenobi, my apprentice," Qui-Gon nodded subtly towards
the slender man at his side, an intense looking youth with a
pretty face, "and these others are Diplomatic Regent Hedina,
Senator Lomman and Senator Vors."
The one that the Jedi had identified as Senator Lomman stepped
forward and bowed slightly.
"It is an honor to greet you Magister Vedic. We have heard
about the terrible conflicts on your world. I hope that things
have calmed some since."
A cold hand settled over Vedic's heart as he was brought
sharply back to the reality of the circumstances that had led
to the dismantling of his race's pride. The Civil War. The ruin
of his Protectorate's economy. The droughts.
"The fighting has indeed stopped, but I fear that the conflict
remains. And that is, of course, why I'm here, gentlemen." Once
more he bowed slightly to the small group.
The tall Jedi smiled almost sympathetically at him. Almost as
if he understood how difficult it was for him to come here. Of
course, of all the aliens on the platform, Jinn would be the
only one who might. It was why he had demanded him.
"I'm sure that you've had a long journey, Magister. We will
show you to the quarters we've arranged for you, if you're
ready. The first set of meetings will not be until late
tomorrow morning." Qui-Gon lifted his arm in invitation.
Rest. Yes, that would be good. It suddenly seemed as though all
the millions of miles of space they had crossed had caught up
with him. He nodded, and, as a group, they all moved along the
platform towards the light of the interior. All around them the
fading light of the day bled from red to indigo, the first of
the stars beginning to sparkle high above.
Bissians believed that a red sunset was a good omen. The talks
would go well, they had to. So why was his heart so heavy?
"How is it, exactly, that you know Vedic, master?" Obi Wan
asked as they entered the darkened common room of the quarters
they shared, neither bothering to turn on the lights.
His master was shedding his cloak, walking towards the
transparent plexi doors that led out onto the small balcony off
the main room.
"Especially," he continued, "since the Bissians have always
been so strict about contact between their Protectorate and the
Republic. I mean...no one is supposed to have even seen a
Bissian until today. Yet the Magister not only asked for you
specifically, he acts as if you are old friends."
Cool night air and metallic silver light swept into the room as
Qui-Gon opened the doors and stood there, looking out at the
glittering nightscape for a moment before turning back inside
the shadowed room. He looked tired.
"I was part of the first expedition out there. I was a brand
new Knight and it was my first mission as one. They didn't let
us land...in fact, quite the opposite. They shot us out of the
sky. Bissians have always like their privacy." He grinned as he
moved into the small kitchen and started up the small heating
unit for tea.
Obi Wan dropped his own cloak over a chair and sank into the
couch, stretching his lithe body out sinuously and watching his
master's unconsciously graceful movements as he fixed the tea.
"Shot you out of the sky?" Obi Wan stifled a yawn, his hazel
eyes hooding as he folded his hands behind his neck. It had
been a long day. Mostly making preparations for the coming
delegation. It made for boring work. They had cancelled their
sceduled mission to Yabbos for this. He snorted softly to
himself. He'd been happy at the time for the cancellation,
Yabbos was an ice world and he hadn't been looking forward to
it. But at least it wouldn't have been boring. He lolled his
head back on the edge of the couch and propped his feet up on
the low table.
"Once we were down there, to make a long story short, I ended
up, rather accidentally, foiling an assassination attempt on
the Magister's life. He wasn't in charge back then, he was more
of a Prince...but nonetheless, his father was grateful enough
to let us offworld in peace. " He poured hot water into two
small ceramic mugs and the fragrant, oily odor of crushed
Delenna leaves filled their quarters. "Hmp, out of tea.." he
muttered.
"That's why he asked for you specifically then." Obi Wan
murmured, sitting up to take the tea when his master handed it
to him. "Not the tea, the life-saving thing," he added with a
grin. "So why did Biss suddenly decide to sue for entry into
the Republic if they hate outsiders so much?"
Qui-Gon took a sip of the steaming brew, settling on the couch
next to his apprentice and closing his eyes. Obi Wan took a
ginger sip of his own, the smooth, slippery texture of the
beverage coating his mouth.
"Their Protectorate is falling apart economically. They need
the trade monies that entering the Republic can give them.
They've fallen into civil war, half their people are starving
from a 15 year drought... they need stability. "
Obi Wan watched his master's adam's apple bob smoothly as he
swallowed and he took another sip of his own, letting the heat
spread a lazy warmth through his tired body. He sent his eyes
drifting deliberately across Qui-Gon's light-silvered profile,
suddenly thoroughly uninterested in the Bissians or their
Magister or whether they were out of tea or not.
The older man started slightly as Obi Wan reached out and ran a
finger along the sensitive line of his throat, dark blue eyes
opening and regarding the youth with a stirring heat that was
all the invitation the youth needed.
His tea cup was set down next to the couch with a slow
deliberate movement, Obi Wan never breaking eye contact with
his teacher.
"You're going to be the death of me, Padawan." Qui-Gon said
with a smile that just barely lifted the edges of his lips. He
took another sip from his cup. "Can't you ever just let the old
man sit and enjoy his tea?" His warm regard belied his words.
"I don't think its in my contract," the young man grinned
almost ferally. "You should probably put that down." He
gestured at the tea cup as he rolled himself off the couch,
putting his hands on Qui-Gon's knees and looking up at his
master with hot eyes.
"Padawan...." The tone was trying to be admonishing and it
failed terribly. Especially when the last syllable shook
slightly as Obi Wan pushed his knees apart, still staring up at
him, not breaking away from his gaze.
"Yes, Master?" He asked, leaning forward, his hands sliding
smoothly along the insides of the long, muscled thighs,
thrilling at the slight tremor that shook the strong limbs
almost imperceptibly under his palms. His spread fingers
stroked their way upwards and he was pleased to see the
telltale stirring beneath the nubby cloth of his master's
tunic. "Master?"
The only thing that slipped past Qui-Gon's lips was a groan as
Obi Wan let his thumbs curl underneath the soft weight of his
master's balls, stroking softly. A grin stretched his lips and
he leaned forward until his face was buried between the long
legs, biting down on the hardening muscle gently through the
cloth, rewarded by an indrawn breath sucked hastily above him.
The clinking sound of the teacup finally being set down on the
side table was all he needed for permission to continue and he
reached his hands up to unbuckle the belt that wrapped his
master's waist. Hard hands grabbed his wrists suddenly and he
looked up into the citylit planes of Qui-Gon's face.
"No" his lover said, the low words almost a growl. "Stand up."
There was something in the tone, his voice was raw with a
quality that sounded like greed.
His body tingling with sudden anticipation, he did as he was
ordered... moving with a silky grace to his feet and standing
before his master, arms limply at his sides, breath shallow.
Waiting.
Qui-Gon just looked at him for a long moment in the crystal
blue veneer of light that the nightscape pushed through the
open balcony, his eyes an indigo fire.
"Take off your clothes, Obi Wan." It was a simple command, but
it nearly stopped his heart with the hunger in it. He shivered
slightly at the authority in the words, his desire slipping
another few notches up.
Slowly, he moved his hands down to his belt, not taking his
eyes off his master as he undid the buckle and let the leather
strip drop to the floor with a muffled thunk. The room was not
quite dark, cast in a contrast of white and black and he felt
adrift in unreality, his heart pounding, his body throbbing
almost painfully. His sash slipped to his feet with the barest
rustle of sound and his tunic fell open, baring his chest.
He felt his own need flare all the brighter as he watched his
master watch him.
A graceful shrug sent his tunic to the floor next and then his
fingers caught in the waistband of his pants, enjoying the
feverish anticipation in Qui-Gon's expression...knowing it was
echoed in his own face. He teased the fastening for just a bit
before pushing the soft fabric off his hips and letting it drop
to his ankles, leaving him bare to the gaze that watched so
intently.
He shivered slightly, a sultry mix of his Master's eyes and the
cool breeze that drifted through the open balcony. He let his
hands fall limply to his sides, waiting. His cock stood out
like a standard, almost embarrassingly hard. He forced himself
not to move, vainly enjoying being stared at. His heart was
pounding hard enough to rattle his ribs.
Qui-Gon said nothing, he simply watched him. The moments
stretched to minutes, the tension mounting as he shifted under
the heated regard. He swallowed, his lips parting.
"Master..."
"Hush Padawan. Stay still. I want you to show me how you
pleasure yourself." The voice was husky and it sent another
shudder, even stronger than before, through the youth. Forcing
his hands not to shake, he let his finger trail lightly down
his stomach, his eyelids hooding as he brushed the swollen
crown of his penis. Qui-Gon seemed to show no sign of being
affected, but he could see the shiver of the shadowline on the
strong throat as he swallowed.
He caught his lower lip between his teeth and let his fingers
lightly slide down the length of his penis, gripping the base
in a firm squeeze before slipping his palm back up to the tip.
His master let out a shaky breath as Obi Wan continued to
gently stroke his cock, his head falling back slightly, his
lips parting in a silent moan. Qui-Gon's eyes were like a hand
on his skin, hot and burning, stroking up and down his body in
an imaginary caress.
"How do you feel, Obi Wan?" The husky voice prompted. "Tell
me." He swallowed, summoning his ability to speak.
"My cock feels so hard, it throbs under my fingers. I feel
lightheaded... I want..." his voice was a whisper in the dark
of the room.
"What do you want?"
"You." There was no hesitation.
"Come here" It was an order that he wouldn't have refused even
if he'd wanted to.
Which, of course, he didn't.
Sometimes he simply couldn't believe his good fortune. Other
times he felt like he actually needed to pinch himself to wake
up. Obi Wan's body was alabaster and silk in the silver light,
carved in planes and curves fit for a statuary. This beautiful
creature was not only his in body, he was his in every sense of
the word. And Qui-Gon knew he was owned in return just as
wholly.
It was frightening to him still, frightening the sheer emotion
that Obi Wan instilled in him. He had never expected that his
early admiration of the youth would lead to the incredible
power of the feelings he had since gained. It was akin to
losing control of himself, allowing this almost violent love he
felt overwhelm him. In all his many years, he had never felt
this strongly towards anyone. He had even doubted himself
capable for a while. Before Obi Wan. And then, even after. It
was only lately that he had come to grasp an inkling of what
was close to a dependency within him. A terrifying sensation.
The idea that he might not be whole without the boy.
Most of the time, he preferred not to think of it that way.
With a grace that no one had a right to possess, the youth
sauntered deliberately towards him, his arousal catching the
fickle light, his eyes burning in the shadows.
"Stand here," Qui-Gon gestured to the floor just before him.
Was that his voice? It was raw greed. His own body was aching
desperately as he tried to retain a cool mien. He knew
instinctively that he was only moments from tossing his control
aside with much less aplomb than he'd shown his teacup.
Obi Wan was only inches away from him, standing between his
spread knees, his breath shallow, his slender hands flexing and
trembling slightly at his sides.
Not touching, Qui-Gon leaned forward, closer and closer...until
he could feel the heat of the youth's flesh against the skin of
his lips. He breathed on the flat stomach, still not completing
the connection, still teasing. He heard a shuddering breath
drawn in above him and he moved his head south from the navel,
following the lightly furred path to where the heat fairly
burned off of his beautiful apprentice.
Still, he did not touch. He did not taste. His mouth hovered
over the velvet-sheathed hardness, millimeters away... so close
he could feel the salty-musky scent against his tongue.
His hands came up, skimming the air just above the quivering
thighs, scooping around the curve of the tight little
ass...just close enough to leave a heat impression, a tickling
of tiny hairs, but no contact.
A moan ground its way out of Obi Wan's lips, his whole body
shaking as he forced himself to remain still. To endure. The
youth's stubborn refusal to beg or press was exhilarating...the
proud young martyr.
He had no sympathy for martyrs, he thought with an internal
chuckle.
He blew gently on the leaking tip, enjoying the violent shudder
that quaked through the young man. He was only too aware of the
fact that as much as he was enjoying the tease, he was not
going to be able to maintain his control much longer. And when
he finally reached out with the tip of his tongue and gently
lapped up the clear fluid gathering, Obi Wan's body-shaking
moan nearly undid him.
His hands finally claimed the smoothly hard curves of that ass
under his palms, pressing the boy forward forcefully enough to
drive his eager cock deep down his throat.
The howl that echoed through their quarters vibrated against
the walls and he felt hands clutch almost painfully into his
hair. He bit gently at the base of the thickened member and
then soothed it with his tongue, feeling it leap and throb
against the roof of his mouth. His own erection was becoming
more and more of a distraction, making it difficult to even
remember how to tease. Another of his Padawan's sobbing moans
was the end of it, and he pulled back, leaving the tormented
cock wet and abandoned, and surged up the length of the lean
body before him...hands fumbling at his own belt.
Obi Wan still had his long hair twisted in his fingers and he
yanked his master's head down to his eager mouth almost
brutally, sucking and biting at his mouth with a passionate
hunger rivaled only by his own need. Belt and sash were
suddenly at his feet, his breeches quickly following suit while
Obi Wan fed greedily on his mouth.
He didn't bother with the tunic that now hung open off his
shoulders, instead he bodily picked his apprentice up, turning
him and pressing him face down against the back of the low
couch. His Padawan's skin glowed ivory in a wash of pale
watercolor, the muscles of his back sharply defined in slashes
of shadow and light...his elegant spine a brushstroke of dark
blue. Obi Wan had braced his tautly muscled arms along the back
of the sofa, pressing his face into the cushions in expectant
anticipation.
Qui-Gon reached to the side-table where he had set his tea, now
long cooled. The beauty of the Delenna leaf was that it was
extremely oily, leaving a brew that, when cooled, could be used
as a soothing lotion of sorts. Dipping his fingers into the
fragrant fluid, he painted a long line down the center of Obi
Wan's back, letting drops of the pungent beverage speed down
the natural spillway of his spine. The young body arched
slightly in shock as the tepid liquid dripped down between his
buttocks.
The herbal tea tingled mildly on his fingertips as he dipped
his hand again and stroked lower, enjoying the view as his
apprentice pressed his body eagerly towards him, spreading his
legs further apart of his own accord. He smoothed the oily
water across the hard muscles, lowering his mouth to follow
behind, tasting the mixed ambrosia of salty skin mingled with
the sweetly menthol flavor of the tea. His tongue teased the
sensitive spot just above the now slick crack of Obi Wan's ass,
dipping down slightly. His fingers clasped the squirming hips
more firmly, smiling against the heated flesh as he realized he
was getting to enjoy his tea after all.
Thumbs pulled at the taut flesh, parting the rounded globes of
his Padawan's ass and he let more of the Delenna drizzle
downwards, holding his apprentice still as the tingling liquid
hit the sensitive area. Fingers followed, pressing...gently
massaging, coating with the natural oils of the tea. Deeper,
easing past the tight opening, clamping self control down all
the harder as Obi Wan's moans and pants became more pronounced.
Another hand drifted lower to run a palm along the velveteen
iron of his apprentice's arousal.
His own legs were trembling and he knew that he wasn't going to
last much longer. He braced one knee on the soft cushions, the
other foot on the floor to steady himself as he rose up behind
the slender blade of his Padawan's body. A single thrust
finalized the dance his apprentice had started what seemed like
hours before, and he began to move quickly and powerfully, his
hand still on the heated shaft of Obi Wan's cock...milking it,
stroking it.
The low cries that filled the room were a blend of both voices,
punctuated by the slapping sound of flesh hitting flesh. Faster
and faster, the cries giving way to breathy pants and then
sharper gasps. And then, too soon, it was over, his apprentice
giving a throaty howl as he spilled hotly over Qui-Gon's hand,
his muscles clenching like a fist around the man inside him. It
was only a matter of less than a second before his master
followed him over the edge.
They remained motionless for a long moment afterwards, the
fragrant scent of crushed Delenna surrounding them, mingling
with the more earthy odor of sweat and sex. He pulled away from
the younger man slowly, pausing to press a fond kiss to the pad
of flesh at his lower back.
"You're going to wear me down, boy." He muttered happily as he
bent down to retrieve his breeches, his tunic still hanging
loosely off his shoulders.
Obi Wan flopped over on the cushions, his young body sprawling
comfortably over the soft surface. He glanced down wryly at the
mess he'd made on the cushions with a grin.
"You? What about this poor couch?" he asked, his amused eyes
slanting back up at his Master under arching brows. "We can't
flip this cushion over again.
"You're the Padawan around here." Qui-Gon said, moving towards
the bedroom. "You clean it up. Consider it a lesson."
"A lesson?" Obi Wan asked in mock-outrage, pushing his nude
form up off the couch. "What sort of lesson, exactly?"
"Make something up." Qui-Gon threw over his shoulder as he
disappeared into the bedroom. "You're clever."
A well aimed couch pillow hit him in the back of the head.
The Salubrian Sea-mistress was not exactly a nice place as bars
went.
It was filthy, it was dilapidated... and it was on a Sub Level.
There was no such thing as a nice bar on the Sub Levels.
They didn't tend to attract the right sort of clientele. Lucky
for him, the 'right clientele' was not the brand of customer he
was interested in.
He glanced down at his chrono again, frowning mildly. His
contact had told him that this was the spot. It was certainly
past the time. A few more minutes and he was leaving. He wasn't
going to waste his time. At least not on a customer who he
hadn't worked with before, good money or no. If Kern hadn't
recommended this stranger, he would have left a long time ago.
It was murky and dim in the cramped metal room, a few aliens
here and there, huddled in the gloom sipping bad, watered-down
drinks and generally wishing they were dead. 'Course, the way
things went on the Sub levels, they would probably get their
wish soon enough.
"You Jearra?" The voice was low, a whisper of sound. He looked
up from the piss-water the bartender had claimed was Hilzian
Ale. The form was completely cloaked in blue. Expensive blue.
The sort of color that kings paid through the nose for. All
shot through with some sort of fancy sensor-net. The kinda
cloak you could get killed over down here.
"Blasted Boils!" he hissed, one strong hand yanking the figure
into the booth almost violently. "Why don't you just wear a
thrice-damned flashing sign?"
The alien, he couldn't tell it if was a male or a female in the
dirty light, leaned back, further encasing itself in the
shadows of the booth.
"I don't believe it is any of your business whether or not I
call attention to myself. You will get paid regardless."
He narrowed his pale eyes to slits, sitting back himself.
"Fine. Your funeral. I don't give a shit if you get yourself
killed, as long as you don't get me killed. What do you
need?"
"You know of the Jedi Knights?"
He snorted, taking a sip of his 'Ale'.
"Don't waste my time. Of course I do. There somebody in the
whole Republic who doesn't?"
The blue hood bobbed in acknowledgement.
"Good. I don't know when it will be exactly, but someone will
be in contact with you when the opportunity arrives. When it
does, your only job will be to capture one of these Knights. We
will specify who."
He began to choke on his drink, hacking and coughing for a long
moment before he regained control. His eyes returned to the
figure across from him. Good money yes. But that good? His
mouth opened, the words of a refusal about to spill out, when
he found himself reconsidering. The money was good. Very
good. Enough for a new ship. And it would be a challenge, yes?
The rep he would get if he managed to bag a Jedi...it was
definitely worth considering. Even if it was something he might
normally consider too risky to touch with a ten-foot pole. He'd
spent years very carefully keeping himself in a position where
he could never be threatened. This was the sort of thing that
might wreck all that in the span of days.
But the money...it might just be worth it.
"A Jedi huh?" He scratched the stubble of his chin, then let
his hand fall back to his glass, turning it in absent circles
as he thought. He had some favors to call in, a couple of
resources that might enable him to pull it off. What just might
work to his advantage with a Jedi was that they had to
be overconfident. Perhaps rightly so from what he had heard
about them...reading minds and all that shit, but there were
ways around everything. Doing the unexpected was a mighty
weapon.
"You will do it?" The voice was cool, but he could taste the
flavoring of desperation in the undercurrents. Desperate was
good. They were the best people to work with. Especially if
they had credits. And this one did.
He grinned suddenly. He could do it. This would make him or
kill him.
And who the blast wanted to live forever?
The warm pressure of lips on his cheek woke him and he twisted
his body in protest, burrowing under the thin sheet with a
sleepy groan.
"Obi Wan...." the voice was soft, and fingers stroked their way
down his throat. He cracked open sleep-fogged eyes to see his
master standing over the bed bending over him with a smile on
his face. "Obi Wan, I have to go. I have to meet with the
Senate's negotiation team before the talks later this morning.
Can I count on you to fill your day responsibly?"
Crystal blue eyes blinked blearily up at him, and the youth
licked lips that felt numb with slumber.
"What?" he blinked blearily, trying to comprehend the words
that were coming out of his master's mouth.
"I'm leaving, Padawan. Go back to sleep. I'll leave a list of
things that I need you to do today on the table." The smile was
fond and he felt fingers stroke through his short hair in a
caress that sent a wave of drowsy warmth through him.
He buried his face into the bed cushions with a another groan.
"List? I thought I was getting the day off." he muttered, only
half-joking.
"If I have to subject myself to the whims and vagaries of
diplomats all day, the least you can do is run a few errands."
The voice faded in volume as his master walked out of the room.
"And that, Padawan, is in your contract."
The last word was punctuated by the sound of the outer door
sliding shut.
He chuckled softly into his pillow as his own teasing words
from the night before were thrown back at him. He tried to
close his eyes and force himself back into the soft cotton of
sleep again, but failed. He was awake. Sunlight was streaking
in the wide windows, falling in a swath across the
sheets...making the bed uncomfortably warm now that he was
alert enough to notice.
List. What was he? A secretary? An assistant?
A slave, more like. He stumbled into the main room on sleepy
legs, rubbing at the night's growth of stubble on his cheeks.
The list Qui-Gon had left him was sitting accusingly on the low
common room table and he glared at it as he made his way into
the kitchen.
When his Master had been asked by the Senate to mediate the
talks with the Bissians, their Yabbos mission had been
cancelled. He'd entertained the idea that the Talks might be an
opportunity for him to have a little free time, since he wasn't
going to be in on them. He had told Kenda, an old friend of his
from his days in the Creche, that there might be a chance to
get together. It had been over a year since he had seen her,
and she was so rarely on Coruscant. She hated the Capital of
the Republic more than any other Jedi he'd ever known. She said
it stank.
He opened a cabinet, remembering only when he saw the empty jar
there, that they were out of tea. A grin split his face. They
were definitely getting more of that stuff. He settled on a
piece of fruit from the fresher and, munching on it absently,
he walked back out to peruse the 'list' he'd been assigned
with.
Fetch more tea - Kirkos Apothecary in the Gokkol
District
Apparently great minds think alike, he though with a grin.
And that was it. Raising his brows he turned the paper over,
looking for more. Tea? And then the day was his? He chuckled
fondly. Qui-Gon had given him the day off after all. The
bastard woke him up for the fun of it.
Alright then. Tea it was. And now he had plenty of time to meet
up with Kenda before she left.
Fully dressed only moments later, he made his way to the comm
unit, combing impatient fingers through his skewed hair. She
was in the Temple, staying in the temporary rooms usually
reserved for visitors. She was one of the few Knights who did
not have permanent quarters on the planet. She had refused.
The smell, she'd said resolutely.
He keyed the room she'd said she would be in and left a message
saying to meet in the Gokkol district. It was down near the
Ground Levels, but it was very hip in that grungy, colorful way
that all the best places to hang out were. He left directions
to a cafe on Ze Street, a time to meet and a sarcastic remark
about how good the Gokkol district smelled, and then he was on
his way out the door with a flip of his cloak.
He did not see the tiny surveillance droid that was clinging to
the ceiling just outside his door.
Kenda Leti hated Coruscant. She hated the reek of so many
creatures packed together. She hated the corruption of both the
people and the heart of their decaying government. No green
life. No trees that were not planted for decoration. Not even a
weed sprouting from a crack in the sidewalk. Impossible on
Coruscant, for when you walked the streets you walked on layers
of metal and synthetics that sometimes stretched miles between
you and the actual crust of the planet.
More than once she had wondered why the life-worshiping Jedi
based themselves here. Capital of the Republic or not.
Politics. Bah.
Her nose crinkled slightly as she stepped off the Transport
tube onto the landing. Sub-Level indeed. He had done this on
purpose, she had no doubt. Of all the places in Coruscant to
want to meet her, this was where he had chosen? She stepped to
the edge of the tall landing and looked over the edge, fighting
the feeling that the platform was shifting slightly under feet,
swaying like a treetop in the breeze. Perhaps if it had
been a treetop she might have been more comfortable. Perhaps
she simply didn't trust the supposedly strong, flexible
synthetic that the platform was built on.
Same concept as a tree, she reminded herself. Flexible was the
only way to support something as tall as this. The swaying was
not something that a normal person could notice, but she did.
The Force gently mocked her with the knowledge that the huge
platform, over 1,000 feet tall, was bending ever so slightly.
She watched the Tube shoot away and without another glance, she
hailed a transport, leaping lightly into the convertible top
and shoving her credit bar into the pay slot. The cabbie
glanced back at her, his three eyes widening slightly as he
took in her Jedi attire and then nodded a little hurriedly when
she spoke.
"Gokkol District. Sub Level, Ze Street." she said, sinking back
into the hard plasticene of the seat and watching the clogged
congestion of Coruscant's ever busy skies. The Cab shot
downwards at an almost dizzying rate, and if she hadn't just
returned from the O'Li Asteroids, the drop might have bothered
her. Tall buildings shot by on all sides, the glossy veneers
slowly showing a strata of age, getting dirtier, older and more
worn the deeper they went. Darker too. The sun was slipping
behind the immense towers, the streets getting narrower the
further down they went.
The Cab sidled through a warren of abandoned lower level
housing that had long since lost its walls, the structure above
it supported by several sides of enormously thick supports the
Cab darted around. There were less vehicles down here as well,
and she took note of increased foot traffic.
The cab burst into a wider avenue that she assumed was Ze
street, and the small transport did a quick flip, settling down
near a CabStand platform that was built out from the side of an
ancient synthstone building. She tossed him an extra credit for
getting her down so quickly and she jumped out of the back, her
dark cloak swirling around her slight frame as she trotted down
the short stair to street level.
Very cute, she thought wryly, looking around. The Gokkol
district was one of those places on Coruscant you would never
know about unless someone else told you. And you happened to
believe them. As a rule, the Sub Levels were populated by
criminals, the poor and those folk who didn't want to be
noticed. Dirty, dark, dank and foul, they were crawling with
vermin that were uniquely evolved from thousands of years
co-existing with a million other lifeforms and their trash.
She wrinkled her nose again. That was one thing that colorful
murals and quirky architecture couldn't hide. As flaky and
artistic as the cultural oasis of the Gokkol was, it couldn't
hide the smell of the Sub Levels with all the incense in the
Galaxy.
She passed tiny, thriving shops, jammed with crafts, herbs and
specialty items. Drugs and liquors and Dust abounded, much of
it illegal, and all of it displayed blatantly. Apparently the
Coruscant Authority had little influence here.
The cafe that Benny had told her about was perched on a corner,
the open air deck lifted a ways off the street level.
Surrounded by odd, pale plant life, apparently the only kind
that could thrive on such low levels of natural light, the
tables were covered with cute, colorful tablecloths and served
by all shapes and sizes of alien and droid. A popular place,
apparently.
Another thing Ben had done on purpose, she grimaced. He knew
how much she hated crowds. But then, she hated all of Coruscant
for that reason. It was impossible to escape crowds on a planet
that was populated on every square inch of its surface, both
above and below. Uhg, that was why she hated it. She felt
claustrophobic here.
Not long though. She would be off-planet by tomorrow, luck
willing. She took a table near the edge of the raised patio so
she could keep an eye out for the boy. Only about 4 years older
than he was, she had passed her trials and made Knight just 2
years earlier. She didn't doubt that Ben would be a Knight soon
enough, especially with a Master like Qui-Gon Jinn. Not only
was the man one of the best the Order had to offer, he also
seemed to have a unique and powerful bond with her old friend.
A cup of cold Herbal was set in front of her and she smiled as
her mind marveled, and not for the first time, at the depth of
the relationship between the most notorious warrior the Jedi
had and his handsome young apprentice. Certainly she knew
enough about Obi Wan to know that he was as open and honest and
loyal as they came. He was also one of the most passionate
people she'd ever met, and she had little doubt that if he
had set his sights on his rather magnificent master,
Qui-Gon would have had a hard time resisting him. The boy had
charm and charisma to spare. The rather loose Code that decreed
Master and Apprentice should never indulge in any sort of
indiscretions would not stand a chance.
She planned to ask him point blank when he arrived. There had
never been secrets between them. Not since that day long ago
back in the Creche when she had been the only one to take sides
with him against the others over ....what had that been? Funny
that she could remember fighting alongside him so clearly, the
bruises and the scraped knees and the hair pulling...but she
couldn't remember the why of it. She chuckled into her tea. He
had been so fierce, small as he was in comparison to those
who'd thought to gang up on him. How could she not back him up?
They had all gotten in a great deal of trouble for fighting,
but the punishment had been worth it. In exchange for the cuts
and demerits, she had made an invaluable friend.
Much later on, right before she'd become a Knight, they'd
tumbled into bed together...cementing their friendship before
she'd left on her permanent wanderings. They were the kind of
friends that didn't see much of each other, but never forgot.
She glanced at her chrono, dark brows slanting down impatiently
over upswept almond eyes. Late. Late. Always late. He was lucky
that the Jedi didn't count punctuality into their Code, or he
would be a Padawan for the rest of his life. She finished off
her tea, glancing up at the distance cracks of the sky...so far
away that it had been reduced from a pale blue to a stark
white.
She motioned to the Rodian waiter for another cup, settling
back into her chair and trying on different frowns for when Obi
Wan finally arrived.
Deep inside of her, a faint unease was stirring. Something that
only increased with every minute Ben failed to arrive.
Vedic rubbed tiredly at his large, slightly sunken eyes then
managed a weak smile at the Jedi who sat across from him. It
was late in the afternoon and the talks had already gone
through their introductory stages. Little had been accomplished
and Qui-Gon could tell that the Magister was frustrated.
Clearly, he was not a man used to the rather worthless
intricacies of diplomacy. He still remembered that from his
brief time on Biss all those years before.
"What do you think of Coruscant, Magister?" Qui-Gon asked
politely, looking out over the vast cityscape and sipping the
cooled Hava nectar Teede had brought out. They sat on a small
balcony that was situated right outside Vedic's suite.
"It is ...overwhelming, Jedi Jinn. I do not believe my mind can
fully wrap its way around the concept of an entire planet
covered by one metropolis. My people would not like this."
Qui-Gon raised his brows.
"Why is that?"
The older man thinned his lips, his eyes returning to the Jedi.
"They dislike clutter and worship order. There is...too much
here. This is exactly what they fear from any entry into your
Republic. They do not see the bigger picture."
"Is the opposition bad?"
"Perhaps not as bad as I might make it sound," he said wryly.
"But it is not good. There are several factions that have
arisen that have a great deal of financial backing. They would
do nearly anything to keep these talks from happening. We had
to keep our departure plans and destination coordinates a
secret up until the last moment."
"I didn't realize that so many would not see the benefits."
Qui-Gon murmured sympathetically. He glanced up as Teede
bustled back out onto the balcony with a tray of sliced fruits.
She smiled at him as she set the platter down, then disappeared
inside again.
"They are afraid."
"Fear is a powerful emotion." Qui-Gon nodded sadly. "It clouds
the mind to reason."
"We have been having trouble for some time. It was only once we
discovered the Duranium ore deposits on our third moon that I
realized there might be another way."
"The Duranium, yes." Qui-Gon had heard of the incredibly
valuable ore find. It was perhaps the only thing the
beleaguered Bissians brought to the table. It alone would make
their entry into the Republic worthwhile for most of the
Senate. "Since your people have little use for space travel, I
can see why the Duranium would have few benefits for you."
Vedic nodded. Qui-Gon could feel the man's indecision, even
without trying to. He was a great deal more at odds with
himself than he was letting on. And there was something else
too. Something he was hiding. He wouldn't pry.
"I can see you are tired, my friend." Vedic said suddenly,
pushing to his feet with a forced joviality. "Why don't we call
it a day? I will see you first thing in the morning?"
"Of course." He bowed slightly as he stood. Vedic reached out
and clasped his forearms again, firmly. Once more, Qui-Gon was
assaulted with his indecision and doubt. Even after his long
trip and his obvious soul-searching, the Magister was still
uncertain if joining the Republic was something he should do.
The Jedi wondered if perhaps there were more agendas at work
here that he didn't know about.
Abruptly, the Magister looked right into his eyes.
"I am glad that you are here to Mediate, old friend. I do not
think I could go through with this otherwise."
Qui-Gon had nothing to respond with. Instead he simply bowed
his head once more and squeezed the older man's elbows again.
A moment later, Teede was showing him out. He was just turning
to leave when she touched his arm gently. He looked down at her
small, round face, unusual in the narrow Bissians.
"Teede? Can I help you with something?"
"I just wanted to thank you for this. It has been very hard to
get the Ministers to come here at all. The opposition on our
planet to join the Republic is strong. You are the only human
that we knew we could trust." She smiled a little tremulously.
"You are our best hope for peace and our only light out of the
dark."
He opened his mouth to dissuade her from so much faith in him,
but instead thanked her, feeling too tired to argue.
"I will do my best, Teede." he said gently.
With a final squeeze of his arm, she vanished back into the
suite, the door sliding shut behind her.
After a long moment, he turned and walked towards the lift. The
Bissians were not used to dealing with other races, he decided.
Perhaps that was why Vedic made him feel slightly uneasy. Even
Teede, with her gracious manner and undying thanks...he
felt...apprehensive.
The sun was just dropping below the horizon as Qui-Gon made his
way tiredly back to his quarters. The first day was always
deceptively calm in any set of negotiations. Both parties spent
hours feeling each other out, trying to read body language,
attempting to ferret out true meanings. The real talks would
start the next day. That's when it would get ugly. He stifled
an internal sigh, reminding himself of his duty to the
Republic.
The quarters he shared with his apprentice were long with
shadows when he entered and he smiled slightly to himself as he
realized they were empty. No doubt Obi Wan was making the most
of his free time. The youth had mentioned something about Kenda
being onworld, and he suspected that his Padawan would not be
back until much, much later. The both of them were notorious
for their competitive natures, and any time they got together
it usually ended in either a physical contest or a drinking
contest. The latter was far more popular between them, and
considering the fact that Kenda hadn't been on Coruscant in
over a year, the odds of the drinking option winning out over,
say, arm-wrestling were much higher.
As usual, he didn't bother with the lights, instead moving out
of habit to open the balcony doors that the Temple servants
insisted on closing every single day. With a groan of pleasure,
he dropped his bones exhaustedly to the couch, staring
appreciatively at the crimson sunset.
He didn't remember closing his eyes, but the next thing he
knew, the comm was beeping at him from the corner, and the room
was dark.
Shaking the cobwebs out of his mind with an ease born of years
of staying constantly alert, he strode across the room and hit
the incoming button, noting that it was now quite late.
The lovely, dusky features he recognized as Kenda Leti appeared
on the screen, her gracefully upswept eyes peering sharply at
him. Her lips were slightly parted as her image blinked on and
he could tell that she had expected Obi Wan to answer.
"Master Jinn." She bowed her head slightly, her lips slightly
quirked in the half-smile that never seemed to leave her
features. He knew that many were torn between feeling that she
was always internally laughing at them and the idea that she
was just eternally cheerful. He suspected it was a little of
both. It was one of the many qualities she shared with his
apprentice.
"Kenda." He replied in turn. "How are you? Its been a while
since we last saw you around these parts."
She chuckled.
"You know what I always say, Qui-Gon..."
"Yes, the smell." He grinned back at her. "There are days when
I certainly share your opinion. So, what can I do for you? I
expected that you and Obi Wan would have still been out and
about."
Her delicate black brows swept upwards
"He never showed up at the cafe we were to meet at. He stood me
up. I take it he's not there?"
Qui-Gon frowned slightly, ignoring the slight frisson of
concern that bit at him. His apprentice was an adult, he could
take care of himself. He stretched his neck to peer in through
the open doorway of the bedroom. It was dark, but he could
easily make out the fact that the bed was neatly made. There
was no one in there.
"No. He's not. I'm surprised that he didn't make your meeting.
I know he was looking forward to seeing you. Perhaps something
held him up. Or perhaps he's just running late?"
Kenda snorted.
"He was supposed to meet me for lunch Qui-Gon. That was
over 9 hours ago. I realize that he's not entirely punctual,
but that's carrying it a bit far, don't you think?"
"I'm sure there's a good explanation Kenda. How much longer are
you going to be on Coruscant? I'm involved in mediating
negotiations right now and its likely to last another week at
least, so Obi Wan will have some more spare time. Perhaps
tomorrow?"
She crinkled her delicate nose.
"I was planning on leaving tomorrow. I suppose I can hang
around at least long enough for him to beg for my forgiveness.
Have him call when he gets back in. And he better have some
seriously good child-rescuing, planet-saving,
disaster-diverting explanation as to why he made me sit in that
crappy cafe for two hours of my life."
Qui-Gon laughed.
"I'll tell him. Goodnight Kenda."
The comm went blank and Qui-Gon stood there for a long moment,
not moving, his brow furrowing. It was too soon to worry, he
told himself. He was not Obi Wan's mother. And he had
given him the day off. Nevermind the fact that it was unlike
him to stand anyone up, much less his friends. There was
probably a good explanation that would have his Padawan
staggering in a few hours before dawn, bedraggled and probably
drunk.
The negotiations were going to start early the next morning,
and he could feel exhaustion snapping wearily at his heels.
Sleep was good, and it would do him better than sitting around
waiting for his apprentice to wander in, letting his
imagination cook up every awful thing that Coruscant could
inflict on a body.
He made his way into the bedroom and stripped his clothes off.
A moment later he was lying awake in his bed, staring at the
ceiling, still trying to convince himself not to worry.
It took a Jedi sleep-exercise to finally let him drift off.
"He's awfully pretty for a Jedi."
"What, do they only let you be a Jedi if you're ugly?" Jearra
scoffed at the big man, not bothering to hide the vague
contempt in his voice.
The building he had chosen to meet his employer in was situated
in the Sub Levels, of course, perfect for his needs. Isolated
and nearly abandoned, it was surrounded by humans and aliens
who couldn't have cared less if he'd been holding the
Chancellor himself.
He walked over and nudged a toe into the young Jedi's ribs for
the third time since they'd brought him into the small room.
Just to be sure. He was still out like a light. It hadn't been
easy to subdue the boy, but neither had it been as hard as he'd
expected. As he'd thought, the concept of a Jedi was larger
than life. When it came down to it, they were just as flawed as
anyone else.
Xerd, the single man of his own that he'd chosen to help him on
this gig, was sitting in the corner, his big feet up on a worn
plastic table that had seen a better century. He was working on
setting up an untraceable commlink with their contact. As soon
as it was up and running, they could initiate the second part
of their plan. Of course, Xerd wasn't in on that particular
part of it, though he would play a large part. One of the very
handy things about his business was the large pool of people
you could acquire that had no ties that could ever be traced
back to the source. In this case, him.
The blue-cloaked alien had called him early that morning with
the information that the Jedi it had wanted was on his way to
the Gokkol district. It had been a ridiculously easy matter to
set up an ambush. He couldn't have hand-picked any district in
the city better if he'd done it himself. Buncha spacey weirdoes
and artists that, if you had a colorful patchwork coat on,
would never take a second look at you.
"I don't know. I guess I just expected somethin' different."
Xerd muttered, tinkering with the datacrystal in his lap.
"Bigger...more menacing."
"He seemed pretty menacing when he was flinging all that shit
at us with his mind." Jearra reminded him.
"Yeah, that was pretty cool. But I guess I just...I don't know.
I didn't expect the tranquilizer to actually work on a Jedi."
He shrugged his massive shoulders and returned to his work.
There was a faint line on his forehead that actually suggested
the moron was disappointed they had been able to take the boy.
A myth dispelled, perhaps.
Jearra didn't comment on the fact that they'd used enough tranq
to take down a full grown Bantha, instead returning for the
fourth time to squat next to the bruised youth and test the
bonds that wrapped the lean arms and legs tightly together.
Regardless of what Xerd thought, he got the feeling that if
they hadn't shot him up with the sedative at first sight, the
boy would have mowed through them like they weren't there. It
had helped that the young Jedi had essentially walked right
into their trap. It couldn't have gone more perfectly.
And it had had to. This was just the sort of project
that made him paranoid and jumpy. The feeling that a single
mistake would have cost him his life. He still felt that way.
There was no way that the other Jedi in that big blasted Temple
weren't going to come looking for this one. The quicker they
could get him back, the better.
But he'd been careful. Very careful. There was not going to be
a single clue. He touched his pocket again, as if to be sure
that the creditchip was still there. Half now, half when it was
over. That's what the blue-cloak had said. True enough to its
word, Jearra was now very rich, and that was only half.
It was worth the risk.
But he wasn't foolish enough to let his guard down. He wasn't
stupid enough to think he was already home free now that the
hardest part was over.
No way. In his opinion, the hard part was yet to come.
Magister Vedic looked at the chrono on the wall for the 7th
time, frowning as it continued to give him information that
annoyed him. Where in all the Wasted Lands was the man? He
glanced over at Teede and she gave a helpless shrug. His
ministers were shifting angrily in their seats. It had been
hard enough to convince most of them to come to Coruscant in
the first place. This was not making it any easier.
The two Senators and the diplomat at the other side of the long
table were looking uncomfortable in the silence, as if they
were uncertain what to do. It was clearly unlike a Jedi Master
to be late. No one knew how to react.
The door slid open and Vedic sat forward expectantly, his face
smoothing into a welcoming, if tight, smile.
It was not Qui-Gon.
He pushed to his feet, his brow lowering like a thundercloud.
"What is going on here?"
The woman who had entered was dressed in the clothes of a Jedi,
but her cloak was a shade lighter than Qui-Gon's had been. She
was a tiny thing, delicate as a bird. Her short, pitch black
hair framed dusky golden features and large upswept black eyes.
Another human to be sure, but definitely not Qui-Gon.
She bowed to both sides of the table, her hands folded up in
her wide sleeves.
"My name is Kenda Leti. I'm terribly sorry Magister, Senators.
Master Jinn has had an emergency come up. He asked me to come
and relay his apologies to you. I can act as Mediator until his
return, or we can reschedule." Her words were firm and brooked
no argument.
Vedic felt a numbness settle in his gut.
"Emergency?" His voice was flat.
"His apprentice has disappeared. He has joined the search."
"Cannot others search? These Talks are more important than some
boy who cannot find his way home." That was Jovva, his Minister
of defense who spoke. His words were sharp with mistrust.
Kilpris, the evenhanded Minister of Agriculture, tried to wave
Jovva back down into his seat, but Jovva did not move, his
fingers nearly clawing the table at the perceived insult here.
The woman bowed her head slightly in acknowledgement.
"That is not for me to say, Minister. I have offered you the
option of continuing the talks with me as Mediator, or
postponing them until Master Jinn is able to return."
"How long will this take? Can't you Jedi just wave your hands
in the air or something? How hard can it be to find him?"
Jovva's voice was icy with contempt. Jovva was one of those who
Vedic suspected was backed by one of the factions against entry
into the Republic. There had been times that he'd been radical
enough that Vedic had wondered if he was the mysterious Haddoc
himself, the leader of the insanely isolationist Zininz
faction.
"It isn't that easy, Minister." That was all she said. Clearly
she was not going to go into it further, simply waiting for a
decision. Nor would she be provoked. Pupiless eyes were now
turning towards him expectantly. Many of them nearly begging
him to turn and walk out. To leave Coruscant.
It was tempting...
But he already knew what he was going to say.
He stood, wrapping his robes closely around him, rigid with the
humiliation of his position. He had not come so far to fail.
"I will not continue without Jedi Qui-Gon as Mediator." He said
coldly. Was this part of some plot to insult them further? To
discredit him personally? There had been many back on Biss who
had warned him of tricks that the offworlders would try to play
on him.
If this was such a one, he was not going to fall for it.
With that he swept out of the room, Teede and his Ministers at
his heels. He didn't know if he had done the right thing, but
he was not going to take any chances.
Not with his position at stake. Or his world.
They had come a day after the communication had been sent.
The boy had been kept drugged to the gills the entire time and
Jearra had spent only a few moments wondering what that kind of
long term exposure would do to a brain. He hadn't lost any
sleep over it. There had been no stipulations in the agreement
about the state of the Jedi. He just had to be alive and
physically undamaged.
For now.
They were aliens of a sort that he'd never seen before. Neither
had Xerd. That in itself was pretty unusual. They'd both seen
practically every species there was, least as far as he'd
known. When you worked in the Sub Levels, you got to know all
types. These were tall, slender, hairless things with long
skinny fingers and big eyes. They looked like bald humans until
you got close enough to look into their weird pupiless eyes.
There were three of them, and they were the silent types. Which
was fine with him, he hated small talk. Professionals, it
seemed. Good enough. He had gone and arranged to pick up the
special item his contact had asked for, and when he'd returned
with it, they'd been there. Grouped around the Jedi boy, just
waiting.
Kinda eerie...but then, most aliens were. At least ones that
didn't spend a lot of time on Coruscant, and these were clearly
about as offworld as you could get. He got the impression that
they hated everything about their surroundings.
"That's it?" The tallest one had asked, gesturing at the small,
black box under his arm.
Taking their presence in stride, he'd nodded, lifting the lid
of one to show them the strange opalescent blob. The thing
glowed with an odd inner light, a light that made him feel
slightly queasy just looking at it. Apparently the aliens had
the same reaction, for they recoiled quickly after peeking at
it.
"How does it work? Are you sure it will do as we asked?"
"I don't know a lot about it, but I've used it before, don't
worry. It'll do what you need, as long as you don't care what
happens to him after you're done with him." The tallest nodded
again, firmly, stepping aside to give him access to the young
Jedi.
Jearra glanced at Xerd, noting that the big man had gotten up
and was heading for the door. He knew that the synth-site
freaked the big man out. Xerd, for all his intimidating
appearance, was soft in the wrong ways. He wasn't especially
bright either. It would be easy enough to trick the man into
playing the part Jaerra'd planned in the little game they were
dicing with his mysterious employer. It was one of the other
reasons he'd chosen him as his sole partner in this. He hadn't
wanted anyone too smart.
Still, for all his thoughts of the plans to come, he didn't
blame the man for leaving just then. He didn't like the process
he was about to perform either. It was the money, he reminded
himself. It was worth the betrayal of a man he'd worked well
with before and it was worth using the alien device. Hopefully,
it would be for the last time. After all, he would have enough
to retire in style for at least 5 years, maybe more.
He took the final steps towards the still form and dropped to
his knees next to him, setting the box out in front of him. He
lifted the lid once more...the queasy unease filling him again.
The soft oval sac seemed to throb, mimicking his pulse as his
gloved hands approached it. He took a deep breath and picked
the thing up quickly, despising the soft texture of it under
the pressure of his fingers.
Almost as if it burned him, Jearra shifted it rapidly towards
the unconscious youth's head, dropping the glittering,
fist-sized sac onto the slack features and withdrawing his
hands. The thing sat for a moment and then it began to pulse
with a strange light, almost as if it were beating in time with
the boy's heart. It began to flatten, spreading out over the
pretty features, forming to the facial topography until it
looked as if there were a multi-colored mould on the Jedi's
face. The bright beating continued as the odd mask began to
thin down, the strange substance inside the transparent-walled
sac dissipating. Jearra knew from previous experience that it
was seeping into the boy's skull through his mouth, eyes and
nose...perhaps even his pores. He'd never wanted to know the
details.
Within two more minutes, there was only an empty, clear husk
lying across the youth's features. It was already crinkling up
as it dried and he reached out with two fingers and plucked the
lifeless thing off the boy, dropping it into the box. For a
moment, the Jedi's face glittered faintly, as if someone had
dusted his skin with gilt. And then it was as if nothing had
happened. He slept on, unaffected.
"It is done?" The alien's voice sounded more than a little
repulsed. He didn't blame him. Even after countless uses, he
still felt horrified himself every time he saw the thing in
action. There was something terribly disturbing about the
process.
"Yeah. It's done." He felt slightly sick to his stomach as he
got to his feet, wiping his hands off unconsciously on his
pants. He left the box lying where it was. "You're going to
have to wait about 48 hours before you'll be able to establish
a connection with it."
"And how is that done?"
Jearra shook his head, suddenly feeling very, very tired.
"Don't worry. I'll show you how."
Just as he had every time he'd done this, he promised himself
that it would be the last time. And likely it actually would.
After all, he was a wealthy man now.
And it was worth it.
It was.
There had been a time, a long time past, when you could not see
the stars from the surface of Coruscant. A thick cloud of filth
and pollution had hung like a pall over cities that had still
not blanketed the entirety of the world's crust. No more. A
thousand years of technology had cleared away the murk, leaving
the night sky free to glitter once more to the inhabitants.
He did not see the stars. He did not even look up. Large hands
clasped the railing that bordered the balcony outside his small
quarters in a grip that left his knuckles white. The high winds
that often buffeted the upper reaches of the tower the Jedi
called their Temple were oddly quiet, leaving a still silence
broken only by the unceasing whisper of the city's voice far
below.
When his Padawan was younger, perhaps 14, he had taken to
coming out onto this balcony and hanging out over the
railing...his legs twisted precariously among the metal bars as
he'd stretched his young body out as far as he could over the
abyss, arms spread wide. The boy would hang there and let the
strong winds of the heights buffet him, blowing his short braid
up and away from his neck, letting gravity pull at him until
his muscles trembled from the strain.
He'd thought that nothing could terrify him as much as the
sight of Obi Wan dangling over his death as blithely as if he
was just dandling his feet in a stream. Time and time again he
had woken in the night, his Padawan's name clinging to his lips
as he'd been jolted awake by the horror of that slender young
body torn off the rails into the emptiness of the air.
He had not been able to cure Obi Wan of the habit with
punishment or strong words. It had only stopped when the boy
had simply grown bored with it.
He closed his eyes. That fear he'd felt then, it was nothing to
this. Nothing at all.
The immense metropolis sparkled both beneath him in a vast
expanse of multicolored jewels and above him in the cold lights
of overhead traffic. A beautiful cold clear night.
He saw none of it.
He was supposed to be with the Bissian delegates.
He was not. And he did not even wonder if they had accepted
Kenda to take over his duty, though he doubted that they would.
The trouble that would cause was only a distant speck on his
horizon. Visible, yet too far away to concern himself with.
"Master Jinn, I've left you some food. Try to eat. You do
yourself no good like this, as you well know."
The voice came from behind him, from inside his quarters. Pol.
One of the many who served the Jedi in the Temple on Coruscant.
She was in her late 50s, having spent most of her life with the
Knights who had dedicated their lives to the peace of the
Galaxy. He barely took note of her.
It was only once she touched his arm that he turned and looked
down on her, his eyes distant and cold. This must be what it
felt like to be paralyzed, he thought. This numbness. This
disconnection from everything.
"You do young Obi Wan no good either..." she added firmly, her
wrinkled brow lowering in her version of a demand. The grip on
his arm tightened and pulled and he let himself be led back in
from the cool distancing heights of the balcony.
She pushed him down onto a cushioned mat and pressed a warm mug
of bland tea into his hand. He drank it automatically, barely
recognizing that it was nearly hot enough to scald.
"You will get some rest then. Right? After you've eaten?" Her
words were cajoling, but he could tell she knew that she had
pushed him as far as he was willing to go. Sleep. Indeed. He
could sooner force the sun to rise.
Blue eyes lifted to her face, a silent order for her to go. He
would not ask. She nodded and left without a word. She had no
force-sense, but she wasn't stupid.
After a long moment of kneeling stiffly alone at the table, he
simply folded his weight onto the wood veneered surface and
lowered his head into the makeshift cradle of his arms. The
pain was there. He was not numb after all, though he might wish
to be. It was as if someone had taken a part of him, slipped a
gentle hand into his ribcage and withdrawn several vital
organs...leaving him to slowly bleed to death.
How was it that he had allowed himself to be reduced to this?
How had he let Obi Wan get so close to him that he became
debilitated without him? He had been afraid of this for a long
time now. Since he'd realized what the boy meant to him. The
power that his own Padawan held over his sanity.
Two days now.
Two days since his Apprentice had gone out into the city on a
simple errand and vanished without a trace.
The morning before had dawned on an empty bed. An empty
apartment. And he had known then for certain that something
terrible had happened. By noon that day, several groups of Jedi
from the Temple had been sent out to join him in searching the
area that his apprentice had been thought to be headed to.
He had been out in the city all day and all through the night,
stretching his senses to their limits...coming up empty. He had
not stopped, not slept, not eaten, not answered any of his
communications. It was not until old Master Hovim had forced
him to return to the Temple and rest, that he had realized he
was running on little more than air and will.
Even then, he would not have gone if the Master had not put two
Temple guards on him to make sure he did as he was told.
It hurt. It hurt not knowing. And it hurt to think that Obi Wan
might need him, might be in terrible danger...and he was
sitting at his dining table staring at a plate of cold fowl.
His eyes lifted up and drifted across the small space towards
the shadowed side door that denoted the quarters of his
Apprentice. The quarters that had remained virtually abandoned
in the year since his Padawan had stubbornly confronted him
with his passion...and found it returned in kind.
The comm light blinked steadily in the darkened corner,
denoting messages that he hadn't bothered to return. They were
likely about the Negotiations he had blatantly turned his back
on. He wondered idyly if the Bissians were so insulted they had
simply packed up and gone home. Somehow the concern didn't seem
to matter in the numbing fog, a fact that disturbed him more
than a little somewhere deep. Deep where his conscience and
sense of duty still lived.
His eyes closed as fear and frustrated worry washed over him in
a wave so strong he physically shuddered.
And then, with a motion hard enough to nearly knock over low
table, he forced himself to his feet. He had not bothered to
remove his cloak, and it swished through the doorway as he
strode out. Food and sleep were not an option.
Back to the search.
The words were not his language. Or maybe they were. He
couldn't even be sure they were real.
Is he responding correctly?
So far.
It seemed as if a thick mold were creeping slowly through his
head, muffling his thoughts, dulling his senses. No, not
dulling. Distorting. There was pain somewhere. His legs?
Maybe it won't work on a Jedi.
An itch. Something was crawling down the side of his chin. Up?
Or was it on the inside of his skin?
It will.
This could be different.
Tingling. Stinging. Nausea.
What if it is?
That's none of your business.
A sharp lancing pain as light forked into his brain. A blurry
shape before him, moving slightly. Then blackness again.
His eyes are dilated.
A good sign.
What if you damage his brain? He won't do us much good then...
I promised you results. You'll get em'.
Why did he understand them? And they weren't talking. Were
they?
I think I've done all I can. Do you understand everything that
I've told you?
Yes. It seems simple enough.
Good. I will wait until you test it, and then we can consider
our business done. Yes?
A pause.
Yes.
He remembered when he was 6. Cold water. Glittering quartz
rocks littering a pale sand shore. He'd broken his wrist when
he'd jumped head first into a lake without checking the depth.
It had felt numb and distantly throbbing.
He felt that way all over now.
Knock him out first... I don't want to take any chances.
Darkness.
By late morning on the day after Obi Wan had vanished she had
started to look for him. Two days later over 50 Jedi and
Padawans had begun searching the Gokkol, spreading out in
concentric circles from the epicenter of the Kirkos Apothecary,
senses stretched to the limit. They moved in pairs and threes,
all looking for any spark or sign of the personality that was
Kenobi's, walking the edges of the Code by skimming thoughts
for any glimpse of the young Padawan.
Kenda herself was taking it a few, unspoken steps further,
using her powerful mind-sense to try and root out more than
just a glimpse. She was casting wide nets, looking for a
whisper, a glance, a scent amongst the minds of the District.
She had come up with nothing in two days of searching.
She had been guiltily glad when the Bissians had rejected her
as mediator. She would not have been able to run a negotiation
with her friend out here somewhere, buried deep in the bowels
of this noxious city. She could recall the time that Benny had
saved her life when she was 14 and he was a mere 10. She'd
fallen into the cistern and hit her head on the metal rungs of
the ladder. She would have drowned if the boy hadn't jumped in
after her, preventing her from getting sucked down into the
outflow grate.
But it was far more than just payback that drove her to search
as tirelessly as she had so far. Oddly enough, though she did
not know him very well, it was Master Jinn's unrelenting,
intense searching of his own that spurred her on when she would
have faltered. She was more certain than ever that there was a
deep bond between the two and it was all the more important
somehow that she find Ben. Not just for her sake, or his
own...but for Qui-Gon's as well.
And so, not surprisingly, it was not Qui-Gon who led the
search, it was Master Hovim...the elderly Temple librarian.
Several searchers claimed they had seen the tall Jedi now and
again, checking with them personally when he saw them, for any
progress.
He was following his own paths to his apprentice, she
suspected. She herself had run into him only once so far the
day before since the search had begun. Short, clipped sentences
had been his only communication...enough for him to discover
that she had no clues, and then he had vanished again. He had
been almost chilling in his intensity, and part of her
half-wondered if he had even recognized her as the woman who
he'd talked to on the comm 2 nights before.
Still, she had been a Knight long enough to know cast iron
control when she saw it. No matter how icy he looked on the
surface, she could see he was burning on the inside. He could
not completely shutter the windows that were his darkened eyes.
She shook herself free of her meandering thoughts. She needed
to focus if she wanted to find her friend...and she refused to
consider the idea that no one could find any trace of his
presence because he was dead. That was not an option.
She pushed through a crowd of Rodians clustered around a street
vendor and took a wide set of stairs two at a time up to a
building-spanning causeway that would take her safely across Ze
street.
She paused suddenly on the causeway, aware of something odd
tickling at her mind. People shoved past and flowed around her,
some cursing her sudden stop, but she ignored them
all...pushing her senses out, concentrating. They had always
been her strongest talent, her senses. The council claimed that
she had, perhaps, the most powerful ability any of them had
ever seen. It was one of the many reasons why she had made
Knight so young. At 27.
And it was also why they had asked her, specifically, to
mediate for the Bissians. Thank the Force they had declined. A
bigger bunch of straight-laces she never had seen.
An erratic sensation distracted her suddenly, almost as if a
moth were bumping up against the glass of her mind, fluttering
and shivering in and out of perception. She narrowed dark eyes,
one hand falling on the hilt of her lightsaber almost without
thinking. Something wrong. Definitely something wrong. And she
could almost taste Benny's presence now. She was certain of it.
Slim fingers slipped from the cold metal of her weapon and
found her comlink instead, bringing it up to her mouth
smoothly.
"Hovim, I think I found him. I haven't narrowed in yet, but I'm
sure it's him. Something strange about it. I might need
some help."
"Where are you, Leti?" The old man's voice had a note of
excitement in it.
"Sub-Level 6. I'm on the 4th causeway that spans Ze Street. The
wide one with the old-fashioned light posts."
"There are several searchers in that area. I'll contact them.
Let me know if you find him. I'll send a hover over just in
case you need a transport."
The communication ended and she replaced the com without
thinking. It was hard to focus in on the sensation when it kept
flickering in and out. She had never felt anything like it
coming from a Jedi before.
Suddenly two hands clamped onto her arms from behind, startling
her almost out of her skin. She had been concentrating so hard,
she hadn't taken note of anyone coming up on her. She found
herself spun around almost violently, her eyes landing on a
broad chest. Up. Dark blue eyes were boring into her from a
face of stone.
He didn't even talk, she simply felt the incredibly strong
sensation of his mind enveloping her...not intruding, simply
taking up the line she had cast out and following it. She could
almost feel him finding the same flickering presence that she'd
sensed.
"Do you know where it's coming from?" she finally asked. "I
can't get a fix on it." He stared down at her for a moment
longer and then nodded, finally letting go of her arms. She
became aware that he'd been gripping her hard enough to make
her skin tingle with renewed circulation when he let go.
Without another word, he suddenly spun and stalked back the way
she had come, people instinctively getting out of his way.
Not like she blamed them. The intensity in his eyes had scared
even her a little. Regardless, she quickly broke out of her
paralysis and trotted after him, trying to keep up with his
long stride. He had to have been in the area to have gotten to
her so fast, she thought idyly, keeping his silver-sand hair in
sight. He was moving quite rapidly, umber cloak billowing out
behind him.
He slipped into a narrow stair that led up a level and came out
on a dim, poorly lit hallway. Filth crusted the floor and dark
mildew crept up the walls. Somewhere, water was dripping. It
was clear that this building was no longer maintained. It
looked like it hadn't been for a century. Maybe more.
She could feel Ben again. That same confused shiver of
sensation. Definitely closer. But she still couldn't focus in
on it. Apparently Qui-Gon couldn't either because he began to
force open doors along the hallway indiscriminately. He didn't
seem to care if people resided beyond those doors or not,
though she doubted that anyone did. The building did not look
habitable.
She hesitated for a moment and then opted to check down the
other direction of the hall, just as the sound of footfalls
echoed on the stairs behind her. Both she and Qui-Gon spun into
stillness, flattening against the shadowed walls, senses
stretched and ready.
A big man carrying an open box with the smell of some sort of
food wafting from it appeared at the top of the stairs. His
mind was calm, buzzing gently with the ordinary, everyday
thoughts that most people filled their heads with...only his
thoughts contained Obi Wan in them.
She flashed on a vivid picture of Benny lying, trussed up, on a
palette in a dank corner. She knew that Qui-Gon had seen it too
and she immediately tensed for what she felt was coming. The
big Jedi Master burst from the shadows of the hall as soon as
the man cleared the stairs. Kenda sprang forward in tandem,
neatly blocking off his exit, feeling the sudden panic at their
appearance flood his thoughts. He stayed oddly cool-headed,
considering the situation he'd suddenly found himself in -
considering the large, threatening form of an angry Jedi Master
bearing down on him. Food went flying as he quickly discarded
the box and drew his blaster.
Qui-Gon gave him no time to target. The sudden snap-hiss of the
lightsaber flooded the hall with an eerie light and the thing
flew downwards, slicing the blaster cleanly in half. Moving as
quickly and quietly as a thief, Kenda snaked up behind the man
and grabbed both of his upper arms, fingers sharply driving
into hidden pressure points that would effectively deaden the
limbs.
A sharply indrawn breath was his only comment, even though
Kenda could feel something else in the man's head. Trap? His
anger was driving his fear away. He felt that he'd been
betrayed by someone.
Raising her eyebrows, she spun the man, who had to be easily
twice her mass, effortlessly into the wall, pressing his face
into the rusted metal. Qui-Gon rounded to the other side of the
man, stalking like a panther, his blue eyes burning with an
emotion Kenda recognized as tightly controlled fury.
He did not power down his blade, but neither did he raise it in
threat. It simply hummed softly by his side. A quiet addition
to the taut question that slipped past his lips.
"I will ask you now, where is the boy?"
First things first, of course, she thought. There were so many
questions, but that one had to be asked before any of them.
He was silent, his breath coming in short pained gasps against
the wall. Kenda's fingers were still on the pressure points,
and she dug a little deeper, knowing that muscles all over the
man's body were clenching painfully now. She let up only
slightly a moment later.
"Where is he?" Her own voice was cool and reasonable, as if she
had asked him if he had any tea.
He still did not speak, but instead, he suddenly lunged
upwards, flinging her off him with a mindless, brutal effort
fed solely by adrenaline. It only took an instant to free
himself and an instant was all he needed. She was back on him a
second later, but suddenly the Force flared briefly in her mind
-- movement, a missile, and then her captor's entire body
jerked with shock and collapsed.
She staggered under the weight and then simply let him fall to
the floor, looking down astonished at features there were now
slack with death.
"What happened?" She managed. Qui-Gon had knelt next to the
body with a ferocious expression on his face, his large hands
moving over the body as if he were weirding for water.
"I felt something..." he muttered under his breath. His brows
shot up suddenly and she watched as his fingers pushed aside
the dead man's collar exposing a tiny needle. Comprehension
dawned and she immediately spun around, her senses straining
for the attacker who had shot the dart into their only
suspect's neck.
There was nothing there...only the residual energy of the
shooter's intentions. He or she...whoever it had been, they
were already gone.
"Damn it all!" She snapped, looking back down at the body and
resisting the urge to kick the dead man in the side. "He could
have told us WHY first!"
"Undoubtedly why he was killed," Qui-Gon said mildly. She
glanced up at him sharply, warned by the cool tone of voice.
His emotions were still carefully shielded behind a wall like a
fortress, but his eyes continued to tell a story of frustrated
rage.
"He's here somewhere." Kenda snapped. "Let's find him first.
Maybe this guy's body will give us some clues later on."
The hall stretched both directions and she took the opposite
route of the Master, copying his earlier actions by wrenching
the ancient doors open with the Force. Showers of rust and mold
billowed damply up with each portal, tickling her nose and
making her eyes water. Dark pits scampered with creatures she
wasn't sure she wanted to identify and multi-legged insects
scurried from the weak hall light that spread into the newly
opened chambers.
The silence of the hall continued to echo with the forcing of
each new door until she reached the end of the passage. Only
three doors left, and still the odd flickering of her friend's
presence eluded her.
It occurred to her only then that it could well be a trap.
Perhaps a decoy used much like hunters who called game to them.
Anyone wanting to trap themselves two Jedi would find
themselves quite successful. Clearly there was duplicity at
work here. The dead man himself had called it a trap...and
although it was obviously for him, it didn't mean that they
weren't part of the plan.
The thought did not stop her from turning to the next door,
though she did hesitate. And in doing so, she saw that this
door showed signs of being recently opened. Piles of rust and
mold lay clumped around the track that it slid in and there
were smudges on the old stained metal. Catching her breath and
putting one hand on her saber, she yanked the door open with
her mind, stepping back as she did so...ready for anything. The
weak hall light illumed a quiet room. Still and silent.
Empty except for the unconscious form of a man dressed in the
dirty white tunic of a Jedi Apprentice lying limply on a
palette of blue cloth.
"Master Jinn!" She exclaimed, already rushing inside the room
and falling to her knees next to the youth. It was Ben, and
there was definitely something wrong with him. Even sitting
inches from him she could still barely sense his presence.
She reached out and brushed several crawling insects off his
bruised face, touching the icy cold skin and feeling for a
pulse. It was there, beating strongly. Looking at the pale
skin, she felt a strangely mixed relief at the proof that he
was alive.
Something was not right.
Footsteps announced Jinn's presence before he fell heavily to
his knees next to her and she took note of the slight trembling
in his hands as touched Benny's slack face.
"What's wrong with him?" she asked, her hand already reaching
for her comlink. Qui-Gon didn't acknowledge her, instead prying
open one hazel eye. Its usual multi-hued brilliance was dimmed
and the pupil was nearly the size of the iris.
"Drugged maybe." His voice was tight with emotion. She pushed
to her feet, moving a little away to make the call to Hovim and
have the hover brought in to transport the fallen Padawan back
to the Temple.
It made no sense to her. He was out cold in an abandoned
building. It looked as though he was basically uninjured and
his belongings seemed to be intact. Drugged? No sense at all.
Even as Qui-Gon lifted the weight of his apprentice into his
arms and bore him out of the building to the waiting transport,
now loaded with the dead kidnapper, she couldn't shake the
sudden, unpleasantly cold feeling that they were missing
something important.
Damn, she hated Coruscant.
Is it working?
I think so.
Excellent. Are we ready then?
Yes. Wake him up.
Something was smothering him. It was as if someone had wrapped
wet wool around his brain and stuffed sawdust into his mouth.
He could breath, see, feel and smell...but only through a
choking pall.
It was slithering, coiling and pinching inside him, blinking
millions of tiny little eyes in his mind. Watching him.
A tight claustrophobic terror was building...clasping at him
with cold hard fingers, scrabbling with sharp little nails. He
was drowning in mounting fear, fear he felt he was loosing
himself in...sinking under a tide of oily sludge. He couldn't
breath...he couldn't see...
...He woke up with a gasp, battling for air that suddenly
seemed readily available. The walls were familiar somehow.
Familiar but wrong.
They were blank, which was not unusual in and of itself, but
they were also a very pale beige instead of the creamy white he
was expecting. The bed was too small, the window was in the
wrong place and there was no meditation mat on the floor. He
was in his own room. The rooms he'd been given off Qui-Gon's
quarters after he'd been taken as Padawan. He hadn't been in
this bed for almost a year.
Blinking in disorientation, he pushed himself upright, propping
himself on his arms and peering around. The chrono next to the
bed told him that not only was it well past noon, it was also 4
full days from when he thought it should be.
Leaning forward, he ran one hand over his face, feeling the
rasp of stubble against his fingers. A sharp pain lanced up his
arm and he sucked his lower lip between his teeth in reaction.
Looking down, he could see several blackish-yellow markings on
the insides of his elbow.
Frowning, he lifted the light sheet and examined the rest of
himself, finding that he seemed intact in all other respects.
And he didn't feel anything but fine.
Shrugging internally, he determined to find some answers as to
why he was in his own room, what the bruises were and where 4
days of his life had gotten to. Shuffling through the open
doorway into the larger area of the main room with a yawn,
rubbing the back of his neck, he found his Master deep in
mediation...eyes closed, settled on the mat, unmoving. He
declined to disturb the older man, and instead he moved quietly
past him into the small kitchen on bare feet, scratching at the
low slung waist of his light sleeping pants.
He set a pot of water onto the heating unit and settled his
rear back against the ledge of the counter to wait for it to
boil. Tea. He remembered that he had been going to get some
more. They had been out. He frowned, checking the cabinet and
finding the jar empty. Apparently he hadn't gotten it.
His eyes traced the strong silhouette of Qui-Gon across the
room where he sat still as a stone, his large frame settled
neatly on his bare heels, his hands resting loosely on his
thighs. The bright daylight of a cool spring afternoon flowed
gently in through the balcony door that Qui-Gon tended to keep
open whenever they were onworld. Coruscant's temperate climate
allowed year round temperatures that were rarely extreme.
Obi Wan sucked on his lower lip in thought as he stared
absently at the long silvering hair on the back of his Master's
head. The longer he was up, the more certain he was that
something unpleasant had happened. The last thing he remembered
was getting on the Transport Tube and heading towards the
Gokkol District to buy tea and meet Kenda.
His brow furrowed as he realized that he didn't recall if he'd
made it to the Apothecary at all, much less the cafe where he'd
planned to meet his friend. There was a faint, blurry image...a
shape in his mind, a silhouette. An alley? Voices briefly
skittered across his memory like skipping stones and then
plunged into watery silence. He blinked, snapping himself out
of it. A small pain started up in his left temple and he
reached a hand up to press against the skin, dulling it.
"What are you doing out of bed?" The voice was harsh, almost
unrecognizably sharp. It startled him and his head jerked up,
wide hazel eyes meeting dark blue.
Qui-Gon stood just outside the kitchen, almost as if he were
held at a distance by an invisible shield. His face was
haggard, his eyes almost haunted. Obi Wan frowned, his lips
thinning. He didn't move from his spot, continuing to lean on
the counter, struck into uncertainty by the sudden atmosphere
change in the room.
Qui-Gon was closed up as tightly as a vault. And he looked as
if he had been ill. There were circles under his eyes and thin
white lines around his lips. His tunic looked wrinkled and
stained.
"What happened?" He managed, his mouth dropping open slightly
as he took in his Master's state. Qui-Gon blinked at him, brow
dipping down even further.
"You don't remember? Anything?" Where did that grating sound
of...desperation come from? There was a raw, vibrating quality
to his teacher's voice. It was more than a little frightening.
He hesitated slightly before shaking his head.
"No. Why? Will you tell me what's wrong?" He still made no move
for the older man, the odd tension in the air continuing to
hold him at bay.
"You've been missing for 3 straight days. When we found you,
you were unconscious and we couldn't rouse you. You've been
sleeping for almost a day and half. They couldn't find a single
damned thing wrong with you at the Medical center, so they let
me take you home."
Obi Wan's breath caught in his throat and suddenly he
understood the haggard look on Qui-Gon's face. He broke out of
his stasis and took a step towards the taller man, then stopped
when Qui-Gon almost instinctively backed off.
He frowned, a curling fear tickling his heart.
"Master? Qui-Gon?" He knew that his expression had dropped into
one of uncertainty and uncharacteristic need, and he tried to
school his features quickly into passivity.
It was too late. The older man had seen the hurt and a hissing
intake of his Master's breath was the only warning Obi Wan had
before hard arms, strengthened by years of unceasing discipline
were suddenly wrapped around him, crushing him into the broad
chest...gripping him as if he might dissipate into thin air.
He felt the force of Qui-Gon's movement drive his back up
against the kitchen fresher-unit, shaking it with a muffled
rattle. His breath left him momentarily and he was given no
chance to recover it as a hard mouth descended on his slightly
parted lips.
It was almost desperate, and the intensity behind the kiss
flooded his veins with a fire that burned him down to the bone.
His own hands came up of their own volition, tangling in the
long, sand-silk hair and tugging the devouring mouth even
closer. Unthinking, he responded eagerly, arching up against
Qui-Gon, his hips pressing roughly against his Master's.
There was nothing gentle about this, nothing tender. It was,
Obi Wan knew instinctively, an affirmation. A reaction. A
possession. The mouth finally left his and he gasped for air
like a swimmer breaking the surface. There was no time to catch
his breath fully before the burning mouth began a hard fiery
trail down his neck...across his collarbone, pausing to bite
sharply into the muscle that joined his neck and shoulder.
Tiny shocking bolts of pleasure were zinging up and down his
body, centering in his groin. Large hands grated their way down
his back, pushing the loose waistband of his rumpled
sleep-pants down and clasping his rear in a grip that he
suspected would show a bruise in a few hours. The minor pain
only fanned the flames, adding the dross of desperation into
the crucible.
Gasping, he arched his neck back, spreading his legs to pull
his lover closer, his hands abandoning the sandy hair and
smoothing their way down the broad chest. Suddenly the large
palms clasping his buttocks lifted him up, bearing his weight
into the main room and tumbling him onto the thin carpet.
His breath left him for the third time as Qui-Gon's weight
covered him, large hands capturing his wrists and pinning them
to the floor next to his ears. His own heartbeat rattled loudly
in his head as he gasped for air. All semblance of control or
thought had flown as his Master fed on his body like a starving
beast, dipping lower and lower. His pants were tangled around
his knees and he kicked his way free of them, thrusting his
hips up against his master's stomach, his cock rubbing roughly
against the nappy fabric of Qui-Gon's tunic. The sudden and
intense image of his fully naked body pinned beneath Qui-Gon's
fully clothed one burned through his body like a brushfire.
He was vaguely aware of animalistic groans and gasps that
seemed to come from both of them, blending together in a single
sound. And then, suddenly, there was a slick suction engulfing
the head of his straining erection and his eyes rolled back
into his head, a multicolored blaze of heat sparkling in his
skull. It was fast and hot and hard and he arched up in shock
as teeth grazed the tender underside, a squeak of stunned
ecstasy puffing from parted lips.
Fingers dug into the soft skin of his ass, holding him still
and his hands, now freed, curled frantically into the thin
weave of the carpet. He'd never been devoured this way, it was
as if his master was trying to take him inside himself. Through
a passion haze, he weakly brought his hands up to push at the
fabric on his master's shoulders, the notion upon him that he
wanted flesh under his fingers.
Without taking any attention from Obi Wan's needy cock, Qui-Gon
let go of his ass and pinned the straying hands back down to
the floor roughly. The youth was starting to see stars, his
breath coming in short gasps as wave after wave of intense
pleasure rolled over him. His whole body was starting to quiver
as he fought to hold off orgasm, but Qui-Gon seemed to sense
his attempt at control and he shifted slightly, letting go of
the trapped wrists once more and curling one tight hand around
the base of Obi Wan's thickened member, sliding it up and down
with the suction of his mouth.
Then, slick with saliva and precum, and without any preamble,
he thrust two of the slippery fingers up inside his apprentice.
Obi Wan bucked up into the greedy mouth, his own lips parting
as a howl burst past them, his eyes fluttering shut as his
pleasure overwhelmed him in a final maelstrom of ecstasy.
He lay there, shuddering, for a moment, blinking almost
owlishly at the ceiling his mouth still partly open, his chest
heaving. Qui-Gon had him around the waist, his beard prickling
his flat, quivering stomach...unmoving.
"Master?" he finally managed, his voice sounding weak and
echoing to his own ears. One hand moved to rest in the soft
fall of hair, stroking slightly. There was more than a little
bit of confusion and question in the single word.
"I didn't hurt you, did I?" The voice was so soft, he almost
didn't hear it. His throat closed up momentarily at the pain
woven into his Master's words. Wrenching his boneless body up
into a sitting position, he tugged the older man up to face
him.
"Hurt me? Of course not.." his voice was slightly breathless,
his brow furrowed in confusion. His mouth parted slightly to
ask his master to explain himself but he stopped, waiting
instead.
Qui-Gon took a shuddering breath, shaking his head and cupping
his apprentice's face between his hands. He placed a gentle
kiss on his lips and finally, finally smiled.
"Obi Wan, when you were missing...there was no trace. I wasn't
the only one who thought that the City had simply swallowed
you. I realized...I discovered that I couldn't bear the thought
of losing you. The reality of it was almost more than I could
handle." The words were spoken in a soft tone, but the strength
that he was so used to hearing in Qui-Gon's words was coming
back. It filled him with inordinate relief. Seeing his Master
shaken was enough to rock the foundations of his world.
The large hands slipped down his cheeks to rest on his
shoulders and he gave the youth a little shake. "I suggest you
never do that again."
Obi Wan grinned a little tremulously, his body still not fully
under his control after the mind-blowing orgasm.
"I'll promise not to do it again as soon as I find out what it
was I did."
The cloud slipped over his mentor's face again, the brow
lowering. An odd frisson of disquiet passed over Obi Wan as he
felt the peripheral anger and revenge that his master had been
battling.
"I want to know who took you. For taken you were. Someone stole
you for three days and then put you in an abandoned building
for us to find you in. It was actually Kenda who found you."
"Kenda? She's still here?" he asked, using his master's
shoulder to help himself regain his feet. "I guess I never made
it to our lunch. She's gonna kill me for standing her up." He
stooped to retrieve his discarded pants, pulling them back on
absently. His eyes flicked back to meet Qui-Gon's gaze.
"And are there any clues as to what happened to me at all?" The
water in the kitchen was nearly boiled away and Obi Wan turned
off the heat, uncoiling a thread of control and snapping it
across the short space to trigger the small button.
"Not really. The Council has an investigation going which Kenda
volunteered to lead once you were found. This is a fairly
serious matter, you know, the kidnapping of a Jedi right here
in our seat of power...and we really don't know yet what they
did to you, or why you were unconscious for so long. I'll join
the inquiry now that you're up and about again, and seem no
worse for the wear. How do you feel, by the way?" Dark
blue eyes raked up and down his body.
He shrugged.
"I feel pretty good, actually. I had a headache a little bit
ago, but its gone now." He grinned slyly. "I can't think why."
Qui-Gon didn't laugh, instead he frowned, his expression almost
apologetic. "I..I don't know what came over me, Obi Wan. I just
suddenly, I.." he stopped, his hand opening in a gesture of
helplessness, "I'm sorry." Obi Wan sighed.
"You did nothing I didn't already want. I don't know why you
didn't let me touch-" he got no farther.
The strange pounding in his temple suddenly burst back into
life and the room seemed to tilt oddly under his feet. For a
moment his inner eye was swept up and outwards and he was in
another room entirely, in a stranger's head, thinking a
stranger's thoughts. A glittering haze seemed to invade his
view, coating it in a thin veneer of transparent mist.
Strangers peering at him, strange pupiless eyes filled his
vision.
"Obi Wan?" he didn't actually hear his name, he didn't see his
Master's mouth moving, his hand coming up as if in slow motion,
his contrite expression turning to one of fear.
And then the edges of his vision fluttered and flared back out,
steadying. He blinked, then managed a reassuring smile for the
tall man in front of him who was now gripping his forearms hard
enough to bruise.
It was clear that Qui-Gon wasn't reassured.
His master said nothing, only led him to the couch and pushed
him down until he lay flat on his back.
"Don't you move. Just lie there. I don't want to see a twitch.
Understand?" It was a definite command. It didn't look like
Qui-Gon was in the mood for a humorous quip, so he simply bit
his tongue, nodding.
Lying down was a good thing, he decided. The room was returning
to its normal non-spinning state. He looked up at his Master
moving across the room towards the kitchen and he opened his
mouth to tell him that they were still out of tea.
But, inexplicably, he fell asleep instead.
I have the link established now.
Prove it.
I can only use this link twice, possibly three times if we're
lucky.
Once to prove to me. Once for the deed itself. That will be
enough. Prove.
The door chimed and Qui-Gon moved quickly to admit the caller
before it rang again. Obi Wan had fallen asleep on the couch
almost immediately, and it seemed to be a normal slumber.
The Jedi Master was more than a little unsettled, his body and
thoughts felt like alien skin...a stranger's form. The way he
had attacked his apprentice, the choking need that had consumed
him, it had frightened him terribly. And what he feared was the
strength of his emotions.
In the span of 4 days he had been taught the brutal lesson that
he became only half a soul if Obi Wan Kenobi was not a part of
him. His apprentice held a power over him that he wasn't
entirely sure he liked, and it was all his own doing. It was
something he had always suspected, and now knew for fact. His
feelings had spun wildly up and down the spectrum while the
youth had been missing and it had taken everything he had to
keep enemies like rage and fear under control.
He had never been closer to the Dark Side.
There had even been a part of him that had wanted to simply
kill the man they'd found in that filthy building on the spot.
Alien. This was not the man that he had come to know over the
span of his life. This was a stranger living in his skin.
Living there still, though he was muted now. Calmer. Obi Wan
had awoken, he would be fine. There was still the matter of
finding his kidnappers and discovering the purpose behind it
all, but he could concentrate properly now that he knew Obi Wan
was safe again.
The dusky porcelain features of Kenda Leti were frowning up at
him as soon as the door opened, her arms akimbo, her stance
aggressive. One eyebrow cocked up and she slanted a glance
around Qui-Gon into the room, as if hoping to catch a glimpse
of his Padawan.
"How is he? Has he woken yet?" Her voice was soft, belying the
fierce look on her face. Glancing instinctively back over his
shoulder to give Obi Wan a last check, he pressed the small
woman back out into the hall and let the door slide shut behind
him.
"He did wake. But had nothing to say. He doesn't know what
happened to him."
A sound that was half sigh and half a growl expelled itself
from her lips and she let her ass bump up against the far wall
of the hallway as she leaned back.
"The droid team found some things. The investigation has found
a few more. But they don't seem to help much."
"What did they find?" The word sliced through the still calm of
the hall, exposing too much of the stranger that Qui-Gon had
been battling within. She thinned her full lips, fingers toying
with the dark brown of her cloak. If she noticed his erratic
emotions, she gave no sign.
"We've gone over the room that he was found in with imaging
scanners and we've determined that there were at least four,
possibly six, different creatures in the room with him. One
sample matched our dead friend there, but according to the
other skin cells that the scanners found, they weren't all
human. The scanners didn't know what the non-human ones were."
"The scanners didn't know? How is that possible?"
"It's highly unlikely, but not impossible. The scanner is
programmed with nearly every race we know about. I certainly
wouldn't go so far as to think that it has everyone. Especially
not on Coruscant. Especially not in the Sub Levels." She lifted
her eyebrows meaningfully. "We've also got those synthetic blue
fibers that we found at the site and on Obi Wan. We've been
able to determine that they're rare enough that if we ever find
the garment they came from, we'll be able to match it."
"If we ever find it. I wouldn't bet we ever do. It's probably
in an incinerator somewhere." He sighed. "So then we still have
next to nothing. No witnesses?"
"Not so far."
"And what about the man?"
"He's been ID'd as a fairly high-tek criminal...usually hired
on by folks who need a strong arm or ...a communications
expert."
He narrowed his eyes. Communications? Since no one at the
Temple had been contacted in any way, that was likely a vital
clue.
"He was killed by a fairly common toxin, easy to come by...so
there's no lead there. We talked to the Corellian diner where
he'd gotten that food he was carrying and the owner said that
he always came in alone. The guy is a complete dead end.
Whoever killed him, didn't want him talking to us...in life, or
in death." She sighed.
Qui-Gon tightened his jaw as silence filled the hall, his eyes
finding a spot on the wall above Kenda's head. The need to know
who, how and why was a steadily burning coal in his mind. He
didn't want to call it revenge. It wasn't. Not quite.
"Qui-Gon," Kenda looked slightly apologetic now as she unfolded
her arms and tucked her hands into her wide sleeves, "I'm
sorry, but the Chancellor has asked me to remind you of the
Bissians..."
His eyes fixed on her, not understanding for a moment before he
realized how badly he had neglected his duty.
"The Bissians." He repeated, his voice soft and dull with a
shame that seemed only half real. He had turned his back on an
entire world for the sake of one young man.
"The negotiations have been delayed, for they would not take
anyone but you as mediator, and the Bissian Magister has grown
impatient and angry."
"Rightly so." He sighed, his eyes finding hers in the cool
light of the hall. "Will you watch over Obi Wan while I go and
see about mending bridges with Vedic? Be sure to be very
careful. At this point, I trust a Jedi more than any of the
Temple guards. These people who took him obviously have an
agenda in mind. I doubt we've scratched its surface yet, but
have no doubt that we will."
"Of course. Watching him for you was one of the reasons I came
over here." Kenda smiled, touching his arm gently. She looked
at him sympathetically for a moment longer, as if she
understood his secret turmoil, and in that span of seconds,
they both heard a muffled thump from beyond the door.
Instinct took over his body, rounding him away from the petite
woman in front of him and keying the door open with a slap of
his hand.
Obi Wan was not on the couch any longer. He stood, slim and
straight as a blade in the center of the room, his pale
watercolor eyes blank and wide. And he was holding a small
kitchen vibroknife. A low stool had been knocked over near him,
clearly the source of the sound they'd heard.
Both Kenda and Qui-Gon froze in the doorway, trying to
assimilate the information their eyes were giving them. His
Padawan's pretty mouth was slightly parted in relaxation, his
face slack and cool...belying the fact that he was slowly, and
with expert control, drawing the laser knife down his arm.
It seemed that all the breath left Qui-Gon's lungs and he stood
almost paralyzed, uncomprehending, while long, searing,
cauterized cuts trailed the weapon's steady bite. Obi Wan made
not one sound of protest, instead watching his self-mutilation
with detached interest.
The Jedi sprang forward, snatching the blade out of the young
man's hand like he was taking a toy from a child, flinging it
across the room almost violently. Then he was bearing his
apprentice back onto the couch and crouching in front of him,
his jaw clamped tightly shut, a muscle in his cheek twitching.
He took Obi Wan's arm in his hands, hissing through his teeth
as he saw the damage that had been done.
Obi Wan was simply sitting and staring with that odd,
unblinking vegetable gaze. Frowning, Qui-Gon stretched his mind
out over the boy, gathering up the unraveled twine of his
apprentice's thoughts.
A stranger. That's what occurred to him first. A stranger sat
before him in a strange place. A high place, surrounded by
faces he did not know. Features he could not make out.
Something familiar -- four tall spires piercing the hazy blue
of Coruscant's skies -- but not right somehow. And then it was
gone, wisping away out from under his mind like a spiderweb
disintegrating at a touch. Leaving only his apprentice and the
searing pain that suddenly flooded his senses through the
connection.
A harsh gasp rattled out from between lips suddenly whitened
with pain.
Kenda was there, on the couch next to his Padawan, handing
Qui-Gon a burn ointment that she had obviously retrieved from
the healing kit no Jedi was ever without. Obi Wan was crouched
over, curled around the arm that his master still gripped with
two hands. The cuts were bad, but not deep. It had been a
simple little vibroknife, meant for cutting vegetables and
roots, not flesh. It could have done a great more damage if it
had been a meat slicer.
"What the hell..?" Obi Wan's voice was raw with pain and
confusion. It was entirely clear to the Jedi who were so
focused on him that he had not known what he was doing. They
had seen the blankness in his eyes.
"Just hush, Obi Wan. Let us tend this before you ask questions
that we can answer no better than you."
The youth's lips were tight now, compressed colorlessly with
pain as his master spread the ointment tenderly over the long
wounds. An hour in a Bacta soak and these would heal. It could
have been so much worse. It had missed major tendons. What in
all the 25 hells was happening here? He could still feel the
distinctly 'other' presence that had been in Obi Wan's mind,
the will that had brought itself to bear on his apprentice.
Why? Why have him hurt himself of all things? And, no
disservice to Obi Wan, but why him at all?
It made no sense. None of this did. He held Obi Wan's arm still
while Kenda wrapped a length of soft white cloth around the
burns, his right thumb unconsciously stroking the bare flesh of
his young lover's upper arm. It was more for his own comfort
than his apprentice's, he realized abruptly. He withdrew his
grip, watching the handsome features intently as Obi Wan
experimentally flexed his arm, hissing involuntarily as the
movement pulled at the wound.
"Just let it lie Benny." Kenda said, her voice admonishing. His
arm fell into his lap, stilling.
"Someone going to tell me what happened now?" He asked coolly,
his eyes on his Master.
Qui-Gon sat back on his heels, folding his arms in front of
him. It was Kenda who spoke.
"You looked like you were in a trance or something. You were
just standing there, cutting yourself like it was the most
normal thing in the world." Her voice was calm, but Qui-Gon
could hear the same confusion and fear underlying it that he
felt in his own heart. And she hadn't even felt the other
presence like he had.
A blackness had seemed to settle over the room and he knew
instinctively that it was deadly. His future-sense was not as
strong as some, but he could read it now. And it told a tale
that made him want to curl in the corner and gibber in denial.
Whatever had just happened to his apprentice had set him firmly
on a path that seemed to end in the opaque midnight of the
abyss.
He shivered slightly and tried to pull his thoughts into order.
Fear was the enemy that must always be fought. Fear was the
dark road to suffering.
He didn't know what held his tongue. Why he didn't tell either
Kenda or Obi Wan about his sudden prescience. The presence he'd
felt. It was the key. It was what had done this. It was to
blame. It was the danger. And he had to find it before the
darkness closed gentle jaws around his Padawan and bore him
off.
He stood abruptly, breaking off the line that his apprentice's
eyes were throwing him and looking instead at Kenda.
"We'll take you back to the healers tomorrow. I have duties."
He said tightly, trying to pretend he wasn't fleeing. He did
have duties. He had to go to Vedic before he did anything else.
The life that he and Obi Wan shared did not come before the
lives of an entire system of Bissians. But after he soothed the
aliens, he would do some searching of his own.
So he told himself.
And he would forestall the despair he felt bearing down on him.
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