An Unjust Peace

by Tilt (tilt@vol.com)

Archive: master_apprentice

Series: It's turning out that way. 1. "Love Knoweth No Law" 2. "The Quiet Stars" 3. "An Unjust Peace"

Category: Drama Angst Action/Adventure Romance

Rating: PG

Warnings: Might be a couple squicky things. If you watched the news about the Kosovo war without squicking or barfing, you'll have no problems. No Sex in this one.

Spoilers: None, pre-TPM

Summary: A messy situation on Eritralia. Qui and Obi are separated by a war and Obi's mind is taken over by the dying rebel leader. Working Title was 'The Star Wars/Kosovo Story'

Feedback: Is greatly appreciated, avidly consumed, and saved for later gloating.

Disclaimer: Playing in the House that George built. His toys, his house, his game, his money, his lawyers. In short, George Rules. In shorter short, I ain't touching his racket with a ten foot pole.

References:

Qui-Gon's poem on the hill at the refugee camp: Edna St. Vincent Millay

Obi-Wan's small snippet in the forest ("Better to die ...") : Sophocles

Obi-Wan's poem at the Temple: Alfred Joyce Kilmer, title -- "The Peacemaker"

The poem in Obi-Wan's journal: Algernon Charles Swinburne The title "An Unjust Peace" came from Cicero -- "An unjust peace is better than a just war."

"What is faith save to believe what you do not see?" -- Saint Augustine

Obi-Wan Kenobi ducked back abruptly into the concealment of a half-destroyed house, jerking the hood of his Jedi cloak over his head in one swift motion as he sank down to crouch in the shadows of the wall. Just outside the gaping hole in the wall, rain dripped in meandering droplets from the once-fanciful bright awnings that had shaded the front of the house. The leaden sky rumbled warningly, counterpoint to the rhythmic squelch of boots through thick grayish mud.

Through the rough slats of the fence that had once bounded the house's front courtyard, he could see the flashing green-brown-gray of forest combat camoflage, heard the various jingles and rattles of weapons, packs, tools. The lunging movements of determined walking, purposeful movement through the mud ever-present in this rainy season of mid-autumn. One of the soldiers stopped at the opening in the fence that had once held a wrought-iron gate, stood sweeping the muzzle of his gun around following his eyes as he raked his gaze around the empty, bomb-shattered cobblestones and rubble. Then he pulled away and followed his compatriots down the empty street.

Obi-Wan let out the breath he'd been holding and turned to nod at the two men huddled motionless under the concealment of an overturned table. They all stayed in their places for several minutes before standing carefully and moving swiftly to the back of the ruined house. The two men, dark, swarthy, wiry as were all the native Eritralia population, carefully began moving the pile of molding garbage and ruined furniture.

"You will be all right now?" Obi-Wan whispered anxiously to the two as they worked.

The two nodded. They were brothers, the last two surviving of a family that had once claimed sixteen children. Their dark, plain workers' clothing was torn, stained with the blood of others they had helped or held while dying. Concealed beneath the lining of their winter longcoats, Obi-Wan knew they both carried light disruptors. Disruptors that Obi-Wan and his Master, Qui-Gon Jinn, had distributed to them barely a fortnight ago, part of the covert, unofficial support of Supreme Chancellor Valorum. Obi-Wan remembered the private orders the Chancellor had handed in a hand-lettered note to his Master a month ago now: "Jinn -- In the cargo hold, the crates marked as Eltanin rice meal. To the rebels with my hopes and best wishes. Unofficial, of course, but you know the story. Good luck. Valorum."

That was the first time Obi-Wan had ever seen the Supreme Chancellor take sides in a conflict such as this. But obviously it wasn't the first time he had, as his Master and bondmate had merely nodded gravely with a small smile and turned to climb the ramp up into the small Senate cruiser, Obi-Wan trailing behind obediently. But Qui-Gon had explained once they were in hyperspace and locked in their cabin, curled in shared warmth beneath the thick thermal blankets. Explained that Valorum's homeworld had gone through similar "ethnic cleansing" two generations ago, and that the Chancellor's parents had been in the ethnic minority that was to have been eradicated. It had been the efforts of the Jedi and the determination of the oppressed that had won through the bloody conflict, brought them through the other side to equality and freedom. While the Jedi's official actions were to intervene as mediators and facilitators, Valorum's personal convictions would allow nothing less than wholehearted support of the Eritralian oppressed. Including, apparently, five cases of disruptors and two of ion grenades.

"So now we're the Chancellor's smugglers?" Obi-Wan had asked with a grin.

A soft chuckle in his ear answered him as strong arms tugged him back into the rich warmth of his bondmate's body.

Obi-Wan sighed now, remembering that wondrous warmth, wishing for it with all his soul.

The two Eritralian brothers had uncovered the hidden trapdoor now and were prying it open with knifeblades and fingers. Beyond stretched a blackness of unknown length, a passageway barely big enough for an adult to scramble through, leading downwards at an angle.

"You will cover the entrance again once we are gone?" one brother, the older, asked him.

"I will," Obi-Wan nodded. He moved silently to the torn wall again, peering out into the fitful rain, one hand on his lightsaber concealed inside the hidden pocket of his cloak. "Go."

The brothers nodded, brought their fingers to their foreheads then to their hearts in their culture's gesture of reverence and leavetaking, then turned and slid down the hidden tunnelway.

Obi-Wan swallowed down his fears, breathed in the freshness of the rain and the smells of mud and smoke, waiting. After a few moments he began replacing the items the two had moved to get to the tunnel. Then, glancing around at the failing daylight and the lowering sky, slipped from the house and called the Force around him as he flickered to the gate and away into the dripping forest beyond the wide muddy street.

Behind him, he left no footprints.

But in the whitewashed wood of the left-hand gatepost, a symbol was just visible on the corner hidden by the torn hinges. A symbol he'd put there a week ago in hopes that his soulmate's eyes would find it. A triangle within a triangle within a circle.

Swept apart in the riptide of war, they had lost each other a week ago in a night of blood and carnage, separated by the blast of a bomb that had destroyed the refugee camp they had been inspecting. All he was sure of was that his Master and soulmate lived. Anything else was up to fate.

"Ah, could I lay me down in this long grass
And close my eyes, and let the quiet wind
Blow over me, I am so tired, so tired
Of passing pleasant places! All my life,
Following Care along the dusty road,
Have I looked back at loveliness and sighed;
Yet at my hand an unrelenting hand
Tugged ever, and I passed. All my life long
Over my shoulder have I looked at peace;
And now I fain would lie in this long grass
And close my eyes."

Qui-Gon Jinn stood at the bald, rockstrewn top of the hill just to the north of the refugee camp and let his head fall back on the damp of his cloak, felt the chill clammy cold of his soaked tunics around him, the mud splattering him, the weight of water in the linen and light wool. Every dawn he came here to scan the horizon in every direction with his mind and soul and the Force, every day he prayed to feel the living sparkle of his Padawan's soul once more reaching out in joy to touch his. A week now, and nothing. Obi-Wan lived. That was all he knew.

Now he was just tired. Exhausted. Sick with worry. Sick with horror.

Not for the first time in his life, he wondered if the Jedi really accomplished anything at all.

It had happened so swiftly. One moment, the government officials of Eritralia were grudgingly giving the two Jedi a tour of the refugee camp just to the north of the border of the province the goverment was currently "correcting". Obi-Wan had been just behind him, just to his left in his usual place as Padawan. Close enough that a reassuring brush of warm fingers against his hand helped to ease a little of the anguish Qui-Gon held behind deep shields and the mask of Jedi serenity. Obi-Wan hated what he saw as well, hid it just as his Master did, and still sneaked a touch to his hand to let his old Master know he wasn't alone in his pain for these people.

The next moment, the world around them exploded in fire and thunder and concussion.

One of the more enthusiastic commanders of the government's killing squads had taken it upon himself to fire a half-dozen surface-to-surface missiles into the heart of the very refugee camp where the native Eritralians had been promised safety and shelter. The rogue commander had seen a golden opportunity to remove the Eritralians altogether by targetting the refugee camps so conveniently provided as stationary targets. The Senate had worked for almost a year with a succession of Jedi negotiators to get the government to provide even such paltry, inadequate shelter as these camps. Now, ruined. The native Eritralians had fled back into the hills and townlands, scattering, convinced there was no safety anywhere but in the hidden enclaves and boltholes they had made for themselves.

He and Obi-Wan had reacted instinctively, separating to find the most critically wounded and stabilize them through the Force until the medical teams could arrive. One shattered body led to another, to another, to another, through the night and into the day. No medical help had arrived. Why waste medical teams needed elsewhere on worthless natives?

So Qui-Gon stayed and did all he could until he literally collapsed where he stood, all energy long since expended, the Force refusing to hold him up any longer when he ignored himself to such an extent.

When he awoke some thirty hours later, he realized immediately that his bondmate was no longer within easy mental reach. Obi-Wan should have been curled in his cloak against Qui-Gon's side, or at least within arm's reach. Certainly within the reach of his mind. But the uneasy hollow in his soul told him Obi-Wan was far, far away. Too far.

He had found out later that Obi-Wan had volunteered to go with one of the refugee transports back into the territory now claimed by the government. One of the refugees had begged him to return to tend to someone too injured to be moved, and if they did not return within hours the wounded would undoubtedly be killed. The last anyone had seen of him, he'd been swinging up into the flatbed of the transport as it turned back toward enemy territory. He hadn't returned.

Qui-Gon stood here now under the growling thunder of yet another approaching storm and lifted his face to the gathering cold wind. Closing his eyes, he reached with his soul to the south, east and west. [Beloved! Where are you? Answer me!]

He waited, holding himself to stillness after the call. But there was still no answer.

"Master Jedi?"

He lowered his head and faced the torn and muddy valley below him before turning to answer the summons. He could allow himself no more time this day. Now, he must Heal. Later, when there was time and lives did not hang from his hands, he could search. But not now.

[Forgive me, beloved, but our duty must come first. You would say this to me were you at my side this moment. As perhaps you are. I have called the Chancellor and told him of what has happened. When the Guard arrives to take over, I will be free to come find you. I promise.]

Obi-Wan let the Force carry him through the twilight forest, barely stirring the deep carpet of evergreen needles and soggy leaves as he passed. Not a twig snapped, not a leaf or bough swayed to mark his passing. Save when he wanted them to, of course. One swift tug as he passed by snagged a huge pinecone from a tree. A few dozen yards later, another was swiftly acquired. He spotted a landmark and ducked down into the shelter of an overgrown culvert as he came to a road that passed through the forest. Darkness and vines enclosed him, and he settled against the curving earthen wall and began prying the spines off one of the pinecones to get at the small nutty nuggets inside. The sour, tangy taste dried his mouth out, but the pine nuts were fairly nutritious. While he ate he replaced the bitter waxy taste with sense-images of other things. Challia bread warm from the oven. Tatos and gravy. That incredibly decadent thing his Master liked to spoil him with sometimes that he called Chocolate Revenge. Qui-Gon himself, the rich musky taste of his skin.

Qui-Gon. His soulmate.

The ache slammed into him after so many hours of denial. And suddenly his eyes were streaming tears and the pine nuts were forgotten as he put his head down on his drawn up knees and let the aching grief and terror take him for a few minutes. He rocked silently and kept the keening inside, but his soul screamed within him with rage and fear and injustice. Mass graves filled his mind's eye, mutilated bodies left to rot in the open air in the holes they'd been forced to dig before their captors shot them one by one through the eye while their friends and family watched. The girl he'd found wandering in the forest just to the west of the small village a couple miles away, gang-raped and left to die, her mind in ragged tatters, her body ravaged by infections and blood loss and shock. After a few moments in the Healing he'd realized she had more than a few internal injuries as well. He'd been so very tempted to simply put her out of her misery. Instead, he'd Healed what he could and got her to one of the hidden rebel boltholes, praying the rebels had a true Healer close to hand. And then there was the minefield and his almost daily stroll through it as he brought refugees and rebels two by two from danger to an illusion of safety. How long would the boltholes remain hidden? How long could this nightmare go on?

" 'Better to die, and sleep the never-waking sleep, then linger on and dare to live when the soul's life is gone,' " Obi-Wan breathed at last with a sniffle, a wan smile appearing at the words he quoted. Six years of close proximity to Qui-Gon had filled his mind with the snatches of poetry his Master loved so.

There was still hope alive somewhere. He knew his beloved Master still lived.

"Master Jedi! Master Jedi! The ships! They're here!"

Qui-Gon's head jerked up as the sounds reached him, the glad shouts of the refugees around him mingled with the high-pitched roar of ion engines. Every eye was turned skyward. He glanced up in time to see the green hull of a Healers' transport and then the dull gray of an ordinary troop transport sweep by above, heading for the landing squares the refugees were swarming towards.

"Ah, the Dhanava are kind," the old woman he was tending to said as the Republic ships swept by overhead. "They are the help you called for, Master Jedi?"

"Indeed, milady," Qui-Gon answered as he turned back to finish cleaning the nasty laceration on her leg.

The old lady chuckled a little and reached out to pat his shoulder with a gnarled hand. "Now you can go find your son."

Qui-Gon's mouth quirked in a slight grin. It was all over the camp that one of the Jedi had gone missing eight days ago and that the older one went to the top of the hill and looked for him every morning. Common belief had it that Obi-Wan was his son. "That I can, milady, while I am searching for others who have been lost."

"Not lost, youngling. Just misplaced," she corrected fondly.

"As you say, old mother." Qui-Gon carefully taped on the fresh bandage, nearly the last of his meager supplies, and sat back at last. "There. Take the same care as before, milady, and try not to get it wet."

The old lady looked around at the mud and puddles surrounding them, the open tents and ramshackle shacks made of discarded pressboard and siliplastic. "I shall try, but --"

"I know," Qui-Gon said grimly with a nod. "I hope the Guard has brought a means to correct that." He closed up the medipack and got to his feet with a grunt of effort, bowed slightly as she touched first her forehead then her heart in farewell.

In moments he was being led by cheering, chattering children to the lead Guard ship, and the ramp was descending as he approached.

"Master Jinn?" the commanding officer asked as she came down the ramp. Qui-Gon was immensely relieved to see the face of a friend, a young lady he had met many times in the course of his dealings with the Senate and the Chancellor.

"Commander Laya, your arrival is nothing short of a miracle," Qui-Gon said as he came forward.

"Good gods, you look like hell!" the Commander exclaimed as she got a good look at him.

Qui-Gon would have laughed if he'd had the energy to spare. "Thank you. Your observation merely confirms days of speculation on my part. If you and your troops and the Healers can take over for me for eight hours--"

"Twenty-four," she interrupted. "Inside, now! Lergson, show Master Jinn to his quarters, would you? You, Master Jedi, will sleep a solid twenty-four hours if I have to get the Healers to give you knock-out drops!"

"I cannot. A bath and a hot meal will be enough. My apprentice has been missing since the attack, I must find him."

Commander Laya blinked at this. "Master Jinn, you wouldn't get past the border of the disputed province right now in the shape you're in. How are you going to do Obi-Wan any good if you get yourself shot?"

Qui-Gon blinked stupidly, too tired to think. "You are ..correct."

"And you're asleep on your feet," she answered. "Go with Lergson."

Qui-Gon swayed into motion again, following the lieutenant into the Guard ship as the Commander began snapping out orders to her troops.

Obi-Wan picked his way through the last several yards of the minefield, the Force guiding his steps in the meandering pathway through the random grid. With the Force enhancing his hearing he could hear the whine of the landmines' electronics, the oscillation hum of the crystals in the mechanisms. The government troops hadn't been here in a few days and the field hadn't changed. There were mines buried all over the overgrown farm field, but they could be activated or deactivated remotely. Some were merely inert, some active. The government kill-squads could random scramble the mines with the touch of one button on a controller. Obi-Wan had become very adept at avoiding the explosives.

Just as he got to the hedgerow at the edge of the field he heard voices approaching and the sounds of boots clomping on the dirt road.

He dived into the weeds and bushes of the hedgerow and huddled down under his cloak, going motionless as any forest animal under the eyes of a predator. Withered straw poked into him through his cloak, grass dust tickled his nose and he suppressed the urge to sneeze. As the steps and jangles of the soldiers approached close he stopped breathing and went completely still.

There were many feet. Too many for a six-man patrol. Reaching out with the Force, he felt the presence of at least two dozen individual people. An eight-man patrol and the rest had the feel of beaten animals. Prisoners. Time to get to work.

The group passed him and rounded the bend in the road around the edge of the field a few hundred yards away. Obi-Wan got to his feet and followed them silently, scanning all around for scouts or rear-guards. Thank the Force the government didn't believe in using droids. He'd have been contending with seekers or surveillance droids instead of nervous military troops. He slid his lightsaber from his cloak as the group stopped ahead just out of his sight. He crept forward and prepared to leap into battle.

The commander of the patrol had sent two of his men into the tiny cottage in the clearing, breaking down the ornate carved wooden door. Screams came from within and the sounds of things crashing about and strident commands from the troops. The group of prisoners already gathered began to protest and shout, but the commander and his remaining troops raised their guns threateningly and commanded silence. A moment later the two in the house emerged dragging a teenage girl and two young boys from the house by the hair, throwing them to the ground before their commander.

Leering laughter and agreeable noises among the government troops. The commander must have suggested they rape the girl. Obi-Wan twisted his mouth in a grimace. No. He would not allow it. Eight was not too many. He tensed to rise from hiding, clutching his lightsaber.

Then a voice raised from the midst of the prisoners and a tall young man, big, blond, thickly muscled, pushed his way through the crowd of prisoners and began yelling at the troops in their own language. He was obviously no native Eritralian. He must be one of the ethnic majority, the new Eritralians, the ones who had colonized Eritralia four generations ago. One of the enemy. But why --?

The boys and girl scrambled back into the arms of some of the other prisoners as the tall young man in the farmer's simple clothes obviously tried to halt the actions of his fellow countrymen. Obi-Wan could catch none of the words, he didn't know the language, but he could hear the remonstrating tone of voice and see the sharp angry movements of the man's hands. Sunny yellow hair stuck out from beneath the floppy leather hat the man wore. Obi-Wan wished he could see the man's face.

The commander was becoming furious, that much was clear. Finally he cut off the big blond man's tirade with a lifted gun muzzle and barked orders to his troops. Then Obi-Wan realized this was a kill-squad.

He was halfway across the clearing as the rapid-fire staccato of slug-shot began tearing into the screaming crowd.

The blue lightsaber blade flashed into existence as he reached them, and there was no serene oneness with the Force, there was no calmness. There was only the overwhelming urge to kill these monsters, only a mindless imperative to kill and kill and kill until no one threatened anyone anymore. There was only this whirling dance of blade and terror and screams, his own breathing harsh in his ears, the numbness in his heart, the paralyzed soul. Then it was over and he was looking down at eight bodies in twenty-four separate pieces. And he felt nothing at all.

Then he turned back to the prisoners. Those still alive cowered away from him, whimpering in fear and moaning in pain.

Save for the big blond man, who was hissing in pain as he clutched at the wounds dripping blood and bile down his chest and abdomen, driven to his knees by the multiple slug-shots that had penetrated the big body.

Obi-Wan tried to push the man upright but he refused to uncurl. "Do you speak Standard?" Obi-Wan said in a harsh voice. "Do you understand me?"

"Yes," the man hissed as he tried to breathe. "Some."

"Can you tell these others to leave the dead and follow me?" Obi-Wan ordered. "I can get them somewhere safe."

The man nodded and tossed a few shaky phrases back over his shoulder to the crowd.

"Can you walk?" Obi-Wan asked the man. A shake of the head and the hat fell off, releasing the curly blond hair. Pain scrawled across the man's face, but he was not crying out. Obi-Wan touched his shoulder and began scanning his condition.

No. He hadn't long to live.

"Tell them to go into the forest behind the house," Obi-Wan ordered as he silently pushed the man to the ground and flexed his fingers, preparing to call on the Force to begin healing the man. "I will meet them there in a little while. There shouldn't be another patrol for about an hour."

"Why trust you?" the man hissed through clenched teeth, beginning to go into shock as Obi-Wan knelt beside him.

"Because I'm Jedi," Obi-Wan said automatically.

A snort at that and he saw sweat beginning to bead the big man's forehead. Obi-Wan closed his eyes and began breathing deep and slow, reaching tentatively for the Force. He wasn't entirely certain it would answer his call. This hadn't been the first kill-squad he'd ...eliminated. He was skating so close to the Dark that it scared him. And a part of him was glad his soulmate and Master wasn't here to see what he'd done. What he had to do. But the power came when he called, filled him, sweeping away momentarily the miasma of self-doubt and vague fears, soothed the violence and taint away. His hand reached out and met the shaking shoulder of the wounded man before him and the Force broke through them both like a cresting wave.

But even as the Force surged forth from his hand, Obi-Wan felt the man dying, felt the panic, felt the lifeforces rushing in frantic erratic overload as the body tried to cope with the multiple wounds. The mind clawed in it's confines, shrieking as the body could not. Hoping to calm, Obi-Wan reached to touch the man's mind, summoning peacefulness even as he continued to work--

And choked as his own mind was assaulted by the terrors of death, the overwhelming urge to live, to survive at any cost, to flee the darkness that closed around him. Assaulted, battered, beaten, to gain entrance and --

His eyes popped open and he saw the man looking up at him feverishly, amber eyes alight with a fierce wildness, a savagery to match what he himself had just done moments before, the imperative command of a will much stronger than his own. A will to survive. A will to fight these monsters. A will to take without asking just this once in a life devoted to harmony. To finish what had to be done.

"No," Obi-Wan growled out as he tried to move his hand away. "No. I will not allow this."

The man was beyond words as the shuddering of shock intensified and the eyes began to go glassy.

Damn. Damn damn damn. Obi-Wan growled out a curse, put both hands on the man and called the Force with everything he had. If nothing else Qui-Gon would want this man to live. He must do this. He must. No matter the danger to himself, he was Jedi.

He felt the last pulsebeat under his hands. He felt the last breath taken and released in agony.

And then he felt himself sliding down and away and felt nothing more.

An hour passed, the sun sinking further toward the northwest. Finally two of the wounded prisoners crept from the forest, scurried to the two bodies in the blood of the road to check pulsebeats. The body of the tall blond man they left in the road. The young Jedi they managed to drag back into the forest. Behind them, unnoticed, Obi-Wan's lightsaber dropped out of the concealed pocket of his cloak and into the underbrush as they dragged him into the shelter of the trees.

The large speeder transport bobbed slightly as Qui-Gon slid down from the flatbed and strode purposefully toward the low sprawl of buildings the Eritralian government had commandeered as command headquarters for the province. He was halfway to the largest of the buildings when one of the Eritralian officials finally caught up with him. Three of the fools had insisted on accompanying him. Containing him, diverting him, was closer to the truth.

The double doors of the commandery opened as he approached and two government troops emerged and posted themselves beside the door, gun muzzles pointed directly at the Jedi Master.

"I must speak to your commander," Qui-Gon intoned quietly as he approached.

The two smoothly chambered rounds in their weapons, and red targetting spots appeared on the Jedi Master's chest as the muzzles tracked him unerringly.

"Ah," Qui-Gon said as a swift brush of the Force confirmed his suspicions. The two guards were deaf. Someone was taking no chances.

His green lightsaber blade flashed up, around, down, and the guns fell from stunned hands in pieces. Another swift blur of the blade and the door was a smoking ruin behind him.

"You've done a good job," Qui-Gon said to the government sycophant still following behind him. "Your services are no longer neccessary. You have better things to do than escorting a dangerous Jedi Master."

This time the suggestion took and he was striding down the long corridor alone.

"I am permitted inside. Your commanding officer has cleared it," he murmured to the two guards outside the door of what he assumed was the main operations center.

The sound of rounds chambering as the guards lifted their guns was astonishingly loud in the marble-lined corridor. As was the sudden snap-hiss-hum of Qui-Gon's lightsaber as the blade once more flashed forth and dealt with the weapons. One guard clutched a hand now missing several fingers, the cauterized digits falling with faint thunks to the cold floor. The anguished moans followed the Jedi Master into the room beyond.

The regional commander whirled from his situational displays and the holomap that dominated the room, calling out to his subcommanders in the abbreviated battle language his people preferred in the field. The blunt muzzles of blasters and disruptors appeared and Qui-Gon reacted faster than thought, his lightsaber deflecting the bolts as they came streaking toward him, bouncing the bolts to strike displays and computers.

After a moment, silence reigned.

"I am looking for someone," Qui-Gon said quietly. "A young man, my apprentice. Nineteen years old. Dark blond hair, blue-green eyes, this tall," Here Qui-Gon held up his hand to indicate Obi-Wan's almost two meter height. "His hair is cut short, with one long braid on the right side just behind his ear. The last time I saw him he was wearing his Jedi uniform with a dark rust-brown cloak." He slid his lightsaber back onto it's place on his belt and crossed his arms on his chest, glaring at the regional commander expectantly. "I want all information you have concerning strange events or phenomena in the province in the last nine days. Now."

It was nearly sunset when the government patrol transport squeaked to a stop at the ruined house. Qui-Gon was out of the vehicle before it came to a complete stop.

He'd felt Obi-Wan's presence, a wisp of tension overlaid with his soulmate's bright clear thoughtpatterns. An anxious Obi-Wan could color the psychic space around him for several dozen yards. A truly frightened Obi-Wan could pull even non-empaths into his fear. And the imprint Qui-Gon felt was either very strong or had been reinforced over several days.

Qui-Gon moved through the ruined gate, ducked inside the hole that had been blasted in the front wall.

Puddles. Rubbish. Muddy footprints on the squelching-wet carpet...

Footprints!

Yes! He knew those footprints! His heart soared as he crouched and touched one finger to the edge of a footprint, the right foot, the familiar knobbly pattern of bumps and wavy lines. Obi-Wan preferred those black combat boots he'd bought from the Fleet Resupply station on Coruscant, he'd snuck down there one day the last time they'd been home, paid six months worth of pocket money for them... Smiling, he stood again and glanced at the piles of rubbish in the corners. He could guess what this place was. A rebel bolthole entrance. He schooled his expression to Jedi serenity and slowly walked out of the ruined house.

If Obi-Wan followed standard procedure there should be...yes! There! He spotted the symbol as his eyes swept along the ruined wrought-iron of the gate.

[Beloved! I'm here! I'm searching! Come to me, Obi-Wan!]

Still no answer. But he felt so close now!

"Keep searching," Qui-Gon said gruffly to the driver of the transport as he slid back inside.

They came to the neatly-sectioned bodies when the subcommander assigned to drive the transport decided to take a loop of dirt road that would circle around to the main highway. Qui-Gon felt the odd tiny spots of deadness in a farmfield they passed, realized it was a minefield. Then the transport's headlights illuminated what was left of the bodies.

The sense of Obi-Wan's presence slammed into Qui-Gon and he swayed a little as he got out of the transport. The government troops that accompanied him were swinging their guns around as they tumbled out of the transport, clicking on helmet lights and targetting spots as two of their number went to examine the bodies.

Qui-Gon already knew what sort of weapon could section a body like that, could cauterize the cuts instantly. He wore one on his own belt.

Drawn forward, the Force and his soul singing with the light that was Obi-Wan, he stumbled toward the trees tossing lightly in the wind. The Force tugged him gently, directing him toward something. His foot connected with something solid in the leafmold, and he automatically scooped it up.

Obi-Wan's lightsaber.

He caught his breath and clutched the softly gleaming silver. [Beloved! Answer me! Where are you?!]

Why wouldn't Obi-Wan answer? Even hurt or unconscious he should have felt something.

Shouts from behind him, and he swiftly slipped Obi-Wan's lightsaber inside his tunic, using a touch of the Force to move the hilt around to rest in the small of his back, held securely there. He strode back to the house where the soldiers were now converging, guns held ready, shouting to each other.

Qui-Gon pushed forward roughly through the crowd at the broken door of the house, shoving the government thugs out of his way.

Pinned under the targetting spots of a dozen guns, Obi-Wan Kenobi sat huddled against the wall of the house, his arms clutched around his knees, shivering, his braid frayed and bedraggled, his cloak streaked with mud. But when he looked up at the soldiers and at last into Qui-Gon's eyes, there was nothing of Obi-Wan Kenobi in his gaze at all.

Qui-Gon moved, shoving gun barrels away, to kneel before his apprentice, joy and fear chasing each other in his mind. The uncomprehension in Obi-Wan's eyes, the utter lack of recognition, scared him. "I will not hurt you. I am Jedi, sent here to negotiate with the government for the end of hostilities on this world. May I ask your name?"

The shivering increased momentarily, then a whisper. "Ben...Ben son of Sirach and Kehbi, of Cormorthein in the north."

The subcommander and his troops let out harsh barks of laughter at this and Obi-Wan put his head down on his knees. Qui-Gon almost growled at the soldiers. "Cormorthein was destroyed, five years ago. Ben tel-Sirach is a name of treason."

Qui-Gon lowered his voice to a dangerous monotone. "He is my apprentice. Do not interfere. Clear your men from this house. I will bring him momentarily."

Another burst of laughter from the soldiers and they began to move away and back to the transport.

When the voices and laughter had faded somewhat, Qui-Gon looked up at his soulmate. "Ben. I know you have no reason to trust me, but I will tell you a thing that is true. You are not who you think you are. You are Obi-Wan Kenobi. You are a Jedi apprentice, I have been your teacher for six and a half years. You were not born here on Eritralia. You were born on a planet far from here called Tatooine. You were brought to the Great Temple when you were two years old." And you have been my soulmate and beloved for almost a year, his heart added silently. The still point of my existence for longer than that.

Wide blue-green eyes filled with fear met his words, emphatic headshakes of denial. "No! I am Ben tel-Sirach, I am --" the voice stopped and he looked down at his hands, then back up at the shattered door of the house and the raucous voices beyond.

"One who disagrees with his government and countrymen?" Qui-Gon murmured softly. "And perhaps does something more about it than polite protest?"

A convulsive swallow and guarded determination settled over Obi-Wan's form. "We were not here first. We are guests here. What they do is ...inhuman. I am only one man, but I do what I can. What I must. What you have said is irrelevant, Jedi. I have work to do." He tensed again as the subcommander came clomping up to the door and Qui-Gon nearly cursed aloud.

"Jedi! The boy lies! Ben tel-Sirach is right outside. Dead."

Qui-Gon had to mindtrick his apprentice into the transport. If he hadn't the government thugs would have left the two there in the middle of the night with kill-squads and patrols prowling about looking for Eritralian blood. Who, incidentally, might have gotten orders from their commanders to shoot first and ask questions of the corpse, especially if it wore a long hooded cloak. And Qui-Gon wasn't certain he could get Obi-Wan -- Ben -- back safely if his apprentice could no longer consciously call on the Force.

His mind refused to contemplate the magnitude of the problem. He concentrated instead on the moment and the immediate problem of getting Obi-Wan --Ben! He must remember to call him Ben! -- into the transport and calming his defiance and fear. It was definitely a strained, surreal trip, to say the least, with the sectioned remains of eight soldiers and their weapons piled just behind them. Qui-Gon automatically put an arm around his apprentice to steady him amidst the jouncing of the transport's rough ride and felt puzzlement and uneasiness thread through their soulbond. Ever so slightly Ben pulled away, squinching himself closer to the window and as far away from Qui-Gon as he could given the cramped confines of the transport's interior.

Qui-Gon showed nothing on his face, but inside his heart something twisted and he pulled away himself and closed his eyes, summoning the Force and calmness, willing as never before the peace and joy that enfolded him in meditation. One moment at a time. He had found Obi-Wan. The soulbond was still intact. Where there was life, there was hope.

Nothing could be done until the problem had been identified. Until then, he had a confused, frightened young Eritralian sympathizer on his hands. A young man he had to convince to go back to Coruscant with him.

He allowed himself a small smile. He had a plan.

"I will not leave Eritralia! My work is here! And you are compromising that work by keeping me here, Jedi!"

Qui-Gon sighed and tossed the datadisk he held onto the conference table. It skittered across the expanse of siliplastic and stopped just in front of the slim form now wearing a Fleet crewman's flightsuit. The Jedi Master sat back in his chair and indicated the holoprojector base on the table between them. "Plug in that disk. There are five messages there. One is the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic inviting you to Coruscant to give evidence against the Eritralian government before the Senate. One is your -- Obi-Wan's Grandmaster, my Master, Yoda, the head of the Jedi Council, confirming all I've told you about who you really are. One is Obi-Wan's mother, Shalia Kenobi. The other two are Obi-Wan's best friends, another Padawan apprentice named Bant and a young knight named Jael. You have a chance to tell the galaxy what is going on here on Eritralia, the truth we both know is not getting any airtime, and tell it to those who can make a difference. If that is not worthy of your time we have some serious talking to do."

Ben crossed his arms on his chest and glared at the Jedi Master. Then he turned and began to pace and Qui-Gon looked down quickly to hide the pain that must now be showing on his face. That was so much like Obi-Wan, so much his beloved, the frustration and anger redirected into restless pacing. Then he stopped before the window, looking out and down from the Healers' ship where they sat to the revitalized refugee camp. The neat rows of hard siliplastic domes had replaced the tents, a larger dome to one side housed the Healers, another the Guard command center, another a kitchen and dining hall, another a supply station. The improvement in conditions in only three days was astonishing.

"What's to prevent another missile attack?" Ben asked, gesturing out at the camp.

"The Guard brought a wing of starfighters. They have been targetting missile emplacements and launchers. Commander Laya tells me they should have all of them within a thousand-kilometer radius cleared by tonight."

"And what of the people still trapped in the province?" Ben asked. The voice, normally quiet and musical, had taken on the forcefulness of steel.

"The Guard is gathering all they can and bringing them here. And from the other provinces as well. Another camp is to be built in the south to handle the refugees from the south and east. All those who wish passage offworld will be given a choice of several Republic worlds to emmigrate. There are many colony worlds that need people eager to start over."

Ben whirled at that and the angry denial was plain. "Why should anyone be forced to flee their own homeworld? This is their world. We are the invaders."

"The option is there, should they wish it," Qui-Gon said in a level voice. "Some may see it as an opportunity."

Ben turned back to look out the window again. "If I leave and speak before the Senate...I can never return. You are asking me to abandon my homeworld to the hands of butchers and thieves."

Qui-Gon shrugged a little. "Your testimony to the Senate may play a large role in convincing the Senate to send something more than humanitarian aid. It may well be you could return once the conflict is done."

"If my words are strong enough," Ben said with a grimace. Stillness then from the tensed form. Then -- "I am no negotiator, Jedi. I am a farmer. I raise kirimana and sheep and I grow trinel wheat and Skalian oats. My words ..would not suffice."

Qui-Gon shook his head. "On the contrary, my friend, your words would have all the more weight. Who better to know the true predicament than one who has seen it from the standpoint of a common man? Who better than one who knows both viewpoints?" He stood and went to stand beside the slim form at the window and didn't react when the young man moved away slightly. Qui-Gon looked out the window as well. "All goes well here at the moment. You can be spared. The Guard is searching for the refugees and the rebels, they will ensure that the bloodshed ceases."

A long sigh and the young man grimaced again and yanked on his braid, tossing it irritably to his back. "All right, then. I will go. But I fear it will be a disaster, Jedi."

"Never. I would not have it so," Qui-Gon said firmly. "And please do not consider cutting off the braid. It is traditional for Jedi apprentices and marks them as such. I know it is annoying, but ...Obi-Wan would not forgive himself --"

"I am not this Obi-Wan you keep referring to!" Ben snapped. "If we are going to Coruscant, then go. The sooner we leave the sooner I return."

Qui-Gon nodded silently and turned to go speak with Commander Laya. "I will find you later, then." He left before his control slipped and he tried to shake some sense back into his soulmate.

For better or worse, until he could get Obi-Wan to the Healers at the Temple, it was Ben tel-Sirach who inhabited the body of his soulmate. How it happened and if it was permanent were questions that could only be answered on Coruscant.

"This is not the Senate."

The wary suspicious crackle in his soulmate's voice cut at Qui-Gon and he glanced up from the shuttle's descent through Coruscant's traffic to see Ben standing just behind him. The Jedi Master could sense the distrust that radiated from his apprentice's body. The young man was looking through the canopy of the shuttle at the approaching massive pyramid shape, and Qui-Gon could all but swear his eyes had changed color to a hard, icy blue.

"Indeed. It is the Great Temple," he answered after a moment. "I am the only one you know here, I felt it best and safest to bring you here. The Senate is not far, a ten-minute ride by maglev train."

Ben nodded once, curtly, and caught his breath as the shuttle dropped with a lurch toward a landing grid beside the Temple's main entrance.

The Jedi Master breathed a soft sigh of relief as the tension level dropped somewhat. In the two days of their flight back to Coruscant distrust had dominated every conversation and interaction. Ben trusted no one. After reading the files grudgingly provided by the Eritralian government he understood why.

Ben tel-Sirach had indeed been born and raised in Cormorthein province. The fourth generation of farmers to hold a five-thousand hectare plot of land the first ancestor of their house had chosen when the colonists had arrived some one hundred fifty years ago. Five years ago when the "ethnic cleansing" had begun, Cormorthein province had been one of the first to attack the native Eritralian population, blaming a high unemployment rate among the majority colony descendants on the minority Eritralian natives. No one really seemed to notice that the young colony descendants were all flocking to the cities looking for higher-paying technical jobs and opportunities to go offworld. The Eritralians were filling in the lesser jobs they vacated, farmhands, mechanics, animal tenders, factory workers. But Ben's family had been one of the few who refused to go along with their countrymen when resentment turned to hatred. Four generations of working closely with the natives did nothing to convince them that the Eritralians were "unclean pagans". As racial tensions had ratcheted upwards, the House of Sirach became a secret haven. Ben's father had sent many of his farmhands and their families out of danger to other provinces, intending that they could return when the "madness" blew over and everything settled back to normal. Only nothing had settled down. Instead, tensions had exploded. And the House of Sirach became leaders of a secret rebellion. Ben had worked ceaselessly, organizing his friends and brothers into a sort of intelligence network. One brother had managed to get a job in the government offices of the province and began funnelling information to them, enabling them to snatch intended victims of purges out of their homes and get them to safety sometimes only minutes before the government troops broke down the doors. The commander of the province began to suspect that there was something going on and set up a sting to capture the rebels. Ben had killed two men that night and barely escaped with his life. But he had been identified. There was now a price on his head that grew with each passing year as more and more Eritralians escaped the sweeps and kill-squads. He was a shadowy, elusive hero to the Eritralians, an embarrassment and a hindrance to the colonist government.

In the files there was also a copy of a marriage license. Ben tel-Sirach had married some two years ago to a young lady named Dehnabi. The picture that accompanied the file was a mugshot of an exotic, dainty Eritralian native woman, dark tan skin glowing with health, bright black eyes looking defiantly through a screen of long, straight black hair. Many references in Ben's files pointed to Dehnabi tel-Sirach as an accomplice. A brief note in one subcommander's report near the end of the files recorded the positive identification of a prisoner's dead body as Dehnabi tel-Sirach. The date was some six months ago. They'd been married a scant eighteen months.

Qui-Gon brought the shuttle in to land smoothly and cut the engines, locked down the controls and turned to look up into his soulmate's eyes. Even Obi-Wan's face was different with the other personality animating his features. Where was Obi-Wan in all this?

He gestured for Ben to go aft to the ramp as he rose from his chair. Obi-Wan would have been eager to be home, Obi-Wan would have been waiting at the ramp already with their packs, waiting with eyes glowing with mischief and a myriad of promises in his smile.

Now, Ben tel-Sirach refused to precede him off the ship, instead waiting to follow Qui-Gon down the ramp so as to keep a hawk's eye on the Jedi Master's every move. Qui-Gon had known battle-hardened mercenaries who weren't this paranoid, especially with Jedi.

"Home again, you are, Padawan," Yoda said as Qui-Gon cleared the ramp.

"Yes, my Master," Qui-Gon said and went to one knee before his Master. Yoda hummed a little and the small green hand reached out to touch his forehead in blessing and greeting. Then the ever-present walking stick thumped him gently on the foot and Qui-Gon opened his eyes and looked to his Master.

Yoda's serene blue eyes regarded him affectionately and Qui-Gon sighed in relief as he saw Healer green out of the corner of his eye. Yoda gestured Qui-Gon closer and whispered, "Believes he still he is the rebel leader of Eritralia?"

Qui-Gon nodded miserably.

"Then play along we will, until the illusion shatters," Yoda whispered. "Care for him, you will. Leave him not alone."

"If he will allow it, Master, there are...complications."

"Always complications there are, Qui-Gon. If easy the galaxy made things, Jedi would not be needed." With that Yoda looked up at Ben where he stood looking around from the foot of the shuttle's ramp. Qui-Gon rose to his feet again and called his name and the rebel leader came forward to join him. "Rebel leader of Eritralia, you are, Qui-Gon tells me."

"Yes," Ben said warily. "Ben tel-Sirach."

"Speak of Eritralia's plight, we will," Yoda said, turning back toward the Temple entrance. "Tomorrow. For now, long journey requires rest. Qui-Gon will care for you."

"How long do you think this will go on?" Mace Windu asked that afternoon as he and Qui-Gon stood watching a monitor in Mace's office. On the monitor, Ben tel-Sirach wearing the body of Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi was recording his account of the struggles on Eritralia and his own role in the fight.

"I don't know," Qui-Gon said softly, watching morosely. "He doesn't seem to remember anything of himself or his life as a Jedi. His voice, the way he moves, his mannerisms, even the expressions of his face, they're all different."

"I noticed that," Mace said, gesturing toward the small hologram. "He moves...heavier, is that the word I want? Like he's -- I dunno, Qui, it's the oddest thing I've ever seen."

Qui-Gon considered for a long moment, comparing in his mind the way his Padawan moved normally and the way Ben tel-Sirach moved. "The --well, I can't say real, his mind is present in Obi-Wan and that's the real Ben, but the original form of Ben tel-Sirach was a tall man, big-boned, very muscular. He was a farmer, accustomed to dealing with hard physical labor, toughened for that work. At least a foot taller than Obi-Wan. The center of gravity would be different, he would be accustomed to much greater strength. But I daresay he was not anywhere near as agile and athletic as Obi-Wan. It may well be he believes he is still in his original form and not in Obi-Wan's body at all."

Mace snorted. "You may want to hide all the mirrors in your quarters then." A long pause as they watched the young rebel leader. Then, "And what of you, my friend? You know what I'm asking, I think."

Qui-Gon shrugged slightly in silence.

Mace gave him a very hard stare. "Qui? This is off the record. I'm not going to haul you up in front of the Council for soulbonding to your Padawan unless I have to. We're all turning a blind eye to it officially, but the Council knows. You two are too good of a team to risk breaking you up and I for one think you're far too good for each other to even consider it. Now. How are you coping with this? And what do you feel from him?"

Qui-Gon swallowed and shrugged again, staring at the table before him. "We were separated for ten days, Mace. All I knew was that he lived. Then to find him like this, believing he's someone else, and there is someone else in his mind, no trace of him there. But our soulbond is intact, I can feel his thoughts and emotions, but it's not Obi-Wan. It's like I've suddenly been soulbonded to another person entirely, and that Obi-Wan has vanished without trace." He stopped, shook his head and rubbed his eyes wearily. "No, Mace, I am not handling this well at all. I've lost my Padawan and my soulmate, but he's right here in front of me. And Ben tel-Sirach will not allow me to touch him. Aside from his innate distrust of everyone he encounters, he is most emphatically heterosexual. The culture he was raised in condemns same-sex pairings."

"Have the Healers seen to him yet?" Mace asked.

Qui-Gon shook his head. "He doesn't believe there's anything wrong with him, so why should he go to the Healers?"

Mace shook his head at the dillema. "Once he's given his testimony to the Senate he'll want to go straight back to Eritralia, won't he?"

Qui-Gon nodded. "Fortunately the Senate has a full slate at the moment. He'll have to wait at least a few days before he can get even the first responses to his testimony. So we have time."

Ben's eyes raked around the living room of Qui-Gon's spare quarters, taking in the low furniture and the shelves built into the walls, the delicate kinetic sculpture hanging by slender silver threads from the ceiling, the dark wood panelling and fraying throw-rugs on the floor. "Somehow I expected the Jedi to live in much richer quarters. Do all of you live this way?"

"No, some live much worse," Qui-Gon quipped. At a frown from Ben he relented. "Actually, Obi-Wan and I don't much care how we live, so long as we're comfortable. Most of these, " and he gestured to the books and datadisks on the shelves, "Are poetry and textbooks and Republic law, some technical manuals, and Jedi histories. We spend only about four months a year at home. The rest of the time we are out in the field."

"So you only come home to do your laundry?" Ben asked with a wry grin.

"Precisely," Qui-Gon answered as he pushed open the door of his own room and tossed his pack onto the neatly made bed. If Obi-Wan had been himself Qui-Gon would have been tackled onto his bed before the door had shut behind them. By now he'd be half-naked with a wriggling, terminally aroused Padawan trying to drive him wild. And succeeding.

Instead, Ben tel-Sirach stood peering around critically at Qui-Gon's scholarly clutter.

Qui-Gon retrieved Obi-Wan's lightsaber from his pack and shrugged out of his cloak, tossing the fall of dark wool onto the hook by his bedroom door as he passed. He gestured to Ben as he pushed open the door to Obi-Wan's room. Ben hesistated for a moment before following him. Qui-Gon turned on the overhead light as he came into the tiny room and went to the dresser in the corner. On top of the dresser was a very precise arrangement of items of special import, the closest the Jedi had to a religious observance. Qui-Gon brushed his fingers over the chunk of Worlian glowstone crystal and the vibrations of his touch brought a bloom of gentle pastel green light to the center of the stone and a soft humming. To the left of the glowstone was a datapad and a bound, handwritten copy of the Code. The datareader was Obi-Wan's journal archives. The copy of the Code he had written out himself, it was one of the set teachings of the Jedi that every Padawan write their own copy of the Code by hand, one verse every day, meditating on each. Obi-Wan had copied his from Qui-Gon's own copy, another nod to tradition. To the right of the glowstone a small round wooden box lined with jeweler's foam held his spare lightsaber crystals. And directly in front of the glowstone was a simple length of smoothed wood, polished and hollowed out in a shallow cradle. Qui-Gon looked down at the lightsaber in his hand, sighed, and put it down in the wooden cradle where it was held securely but ready to be retrieved at a moment's notice.

[We are home, beloved, see? You are safe now,] Qui-Gon whispered into the shifting uneasiness of the soulbond.

Behind him, Ben shifted nervously from foot to foot, obviously feeling something but unaware of what and why.

Qui-Gon sighed softly, turned to look as he heard the slight rasp of cloth as Ben moved. Ben's hand went to his forehead then his heart in the Eritralian tradition.

"I did not think the colony decendants did that," Qui-Gon said softly as he opened one of the dresser drawers and began searching through Obi-Wan's clothing.

"We -- they -- do not," Ben said stiffly. "I have not considered myself a colony descendant in many years."

"I saw the gestures," Qui-Gon made a sketchy imitation of the fingers touching forehead and heart, "Many times I was greeted with such, and always when taking leave. I know it is religious in nature, but the information I was given did not provide much detail."

Ben snorted a cynical laugh. "I am not surprised, Jedi. The government would eliminate the faith as well as the people. But to answer your question, it means that the mind," and here he touched his forehead, "Is in service to the heart." And his hand moved to his own chest. "At the direction of the Dhanava, of course. The spirits that inhabit all natural things and the home." Ben gestured at the simple almost-shrine that Obi-Wan kept so painfully tidy. "Things like this make a place a home. And where there is home, there are the Dhanava, who must be acknowledged."

"Ah," Qui-Gon said in understanding. He pulled out a set of black workout pants and an old, faded, thoroughly abused cotton shirt. These ragged tatters Obi-Wan would wear when he had no intentions of going any further than the confines of their quarters until duty or lessons called him back. Qui-Gon tossed the clothing onto the narrow bed. "You may wear whatever is decent from the lowest two drawers in this dresser. If the Chancellor calls you to give live testimony we will manage something from Obi-Wan's uniforms and nicer civilian clothes. The bathroom is through that door there." Qui-Gon paused a moment, carefully not looking at Ben as he stood up again. "You may sleep in here, if you like, or out on the sofa in the living room." The Jedi Master turned to go then. pausing to brush reverant fingers over the glowstone and to touch the cold silver of the lightsaber again in mute farewell.

"Jedi," Ben said as Qui-Gon started out the bedroom door.

The Jedi Master stopped but did not turn.

"Thank you," Ben said softly.

The broad shoulders shook for a moment, then stilled. "There is nothing you need thank me for, Ben."

Adi Gallia stopped just inside the gymnasium door, shoved her hands inside her cloak sleeves to still the nervous knuckle-popping. It was quite late now, the training mats deserted save for one lone figure. Halfway across the vast floorspace, her yearmate Qui-Gon Jinn balanced serenely on one foot on a balance beam, moving slowly through one of the mid-level katas. As she watched the suspended leg straightened and swung slowly from front to side, curled, descended again to step lightly on the smoothed wood. Then he bent slowly from the waist, planted both hands on the beam and pushed up into a handstand. Adi shook her head silently, frowning a little. This wasn't like Qui. He had never much liked the acrobatics his apprentice seemed to crave. She walked forward slowly toward him, came to a stop nearby as he regained his balance upright again on the beam.

"Learning new katas, soshana?" she asked softly as the long muscled arms stretched to their full length and began sweeping upwards, his hands meeting over his head to descend along the front of his body.

Qui-Gon stopped at her words. "Adi. No, I don't think so. It's only the Fourth of Water. We've known it since we were...what, twelve?"

"Mmmm," Adi replied, her dusky face relaxing into thoughtfulness. "You did, Qui, it took me three more years to be allowed to learn the disciplines."

"You were with the Healers," Qui-Gon reminded her. He dropped off the balance beam and retrieved a towel from a bench nearby, scrubbed the sweat from his face and neck. "I take it you and Mace have been comparing notes."

Adi smiled at his tone. "As usual, yes. He says you are being stubborn with him and that you could never deny me anything, so he sends me to batter at the fortress that is our friend." She wrinkled her nose mischievously to take the sting out of her words, reminding Qui-Gon all too much of the prankster she had been as a child. "Where is he now?"

Qui-Gon tugged his workout shirt down, picking at one of the holes it had somehow acquired over the years. "In our quarters, brooding or thinking, I can't tell which. I left him alone so he could get cleaned up. He will not put himself in such a vulnerable situation while I am present. He distrusts everyone and everything. Me especially." He dropped down onto the bench and slumped, staring at the floor. "Adi, what will I do if Obi-Wan is truly gone? I cannot survive this, I cannot bear this, he --"

Adi dropped down beside him and took one of the trembling hands in hers. "Soshana, believe me, there is hope."

Qui-Gon leaned against her shoulder, longing to just put his head down and let someone else deal with it for a while. He prayed to go numb between the ears. "There is nothing of my Obi-Wan in Ben tel-Sirach. There is nothing there, Adi! I cannot feel him in his body anymore."

Adi pulled him into her arms and held him, but there were no tears, just trembling and pain like a knife wound in the belly. "I know, I know, but believe me there is hope. It cannot last. No night lasts forever. Your love and the Force will win through."

"I don't see how you can say that," Qui-Gon rumbled, looking down at their hands still entwined on his knee.

"No?" she asked and turned his face to look at her. "Think, Qui. I have known you all your conscious life and I have never seen you willingly perform your katas on the balance beam. Yet ever since the creche the training Masters have filled Obi-Wan's training records with protests that he spends more time in the air than on the ground." She gestured up and around at the balance beam, the uneven parallel bars, the tumbling mats, the springboards. "You have spent more than your fair share of time trying to convince him that he is not the Jedi Air Force. Yet here you were, not ten minutes ago, doing a handstand on the balance beam." She squeezed his hand as his eyes lit up. "He lives through you. He was restless. Obi-Wan is not lost. He is just unable to respond to you at the moment. But in your souls, you are still one, and you responded to the situation as he would have. Have faith, Qui. I have a feeling it won't be long."

Ben shook his head in frustration at himself and rolled off the bed to his feet, began pacing as much as he could in the small room.

This room was elusively familiar. It almost hummed with the feeling that he'd been here many times before. Everything was where it should be, there were no surprises in these almost shabby Jedi quarters. And that, perversely, made him more nervous than anything else.

He stopped as he turned at the end of his pacing track and his eyes roamed over the shelves built into the wall beside the desk. Small objects, keepsakes probably. Datadisks. Books. A large holocube, the image of Shalia Kenobi and her younger son Owen, both smiling at the holocam, the background behind them golden sandstone and hard blue sky. Another smaller holocube, two young men standing together, companionable arms around each others' waists, in Jedi uniforms, the taller one a handsome auburn-haired rogue with a devilish smile. The younger, blond-haired, slim, almost elfin, with a long braid dangling over his right shoulder. Both young men were laughing. Reminded of the damned braid, Ben twisted the annoying lock of dangling hair around his hand with a grimace.

Jael, Ben guessed. He'd seen the young Knight in the datadisk messages the Jedi Master had given him on Eritralia. The young Knight had spoken of how he and Kenobi had met on a training field trip some years ago when Jael had been re-assigned to the Temple training staff as recompense for playing a little too fast and loose with the rules on a previous mission. They had talked of pairing up as partners when Kenobi made Knight, but since then plans had changed.

Somehow he'd never thought of Jedi doing such things as making friends and having family. Truth to tell, he'd never much thought of the Jedi at all. They were offworlders, distant, unreachable, powerless to change Eritralia, uninterested in the ultimately petty squabbles that consumed his homeworld. The Jedi dealt with the galaxy, not with small backwater worlds intent on consuming themselves in racial and religious hatred.

Eritralia. He must get back home. The Senate must be made to see the atrocities, they must send help. But in his innermost heart he knew that nothing would change. The Senate would make nice-nice noises, praise his bravery, praise his efforts, but send him packing back with nothing. And he would have to make do with stolen weapons and ingenuity and luck, as always.

Something tugged at his thoughts, some demanding memory, words...

"What matters Death, if Freedom be not dead?
No flags are fair, if Freedom's flag be furled.
Who fights for Freedom, goes with joyful tread,
To meet the fires of Hell against him hurled."

The floor seemed to lurch beneath him and he caught himself with a hand on the corner of the dresser. The abrupt movement made the lightsaber rattle in the wooden cradle and moved the datapad and book a little bit out of their precise, neat alignment. He reached to straighten them and his eye caught the label on the spine of the datadisk casing in the datapad's port. "Journal Archive -- OW Kenobi"

He stared at it for a full minute before his hand reached for it. Shaking with some wordless inner keen, he dropped back onto the bed and hit the On button.

Qui-Gon raced up the corridors of the Temple, heedless in his haste, heedless of his flying hair, bare feet, the sweat of his workout cooling on his body. None of it mattered.

The poem. He'd heard Obi-Wan's voice in his mind, his soulmate's clear soft mindvoice, reciting a poem they often remembered together in volatile situations. The briefest of touches, the words weak and strained, as if his Padawan struggled beneath a great weight or a gate that would not open. Then nothing more.

[Beloved! Answer me!] Qui-Gon sent along the fading pathway the words had taken to reach him. He burst into his rooms and tried to push open Obi-Wan's door, but found it locked from the inside. [Obi-Wan, open the door, I'm here!]

But the door did not open.

Ben scrolled through the entries, some long and involved, some short emotionless passages merely chronicling a minor achievement or accolade. Randomly he picked an entry about a third of the way through and started reading. The timestamp indicated a time some three and a half years ago.

"The Council has asked Master to take over the cease-fire negotiations on S'gthi Prime. Knight Teryl has made a mess of things, too inexperienced for all he's a S'gthi native. Master will sort it out. Nothing but formal whites while we're there, the S'gthi are sticklers for formality, Master says. Says also to pack my winter gear, says he'll take me up to the mountains there if we have the time. Master says the snow is blue there. Should be fun."

Another entry, several screens down: "Finished the Eigth of Fire today. Master says try it now with my saber and it becomes the Twelfth of Fire. Just like him, to skip lessons."

Ben flipped down the entries to about halfway down. Ah, now it was getting into the usual teenage angst. "Why am I here? Damnit, I screwed up again. Master would be better off without me. Mispronounced one word in the formal greeting to the Kitkadin ambassador at the reception today. Master hustled me out and turned me into raw protein. Sent me back to the Temple and told me to go sign myself into the kitchen duty roster for the remainder of our time home. Oh well. I suppose there must be some sort of meditation to go along with peeling tatos. Hell, it was only one word. Thought Master was going to blow a fuse."

Further down a few screens: "Aora is a truly beautiful place. Pity the natives are friendly but their keepers are not. Nothing like watching people following your every move silently, forbidden to speak, while their owners go on and on about how prosperous their world is and how peaceful and how harmonious...just about made me sick. The Prime Minister was quick to remind us that all the slaves were happy and well cared for and healthy and ...yeah, sure, right. And I'm Chancellor Valorum. Tell me that when you've felt a dozen pairs of eyes following you out of a doorway when they themselves will live their entire lives within the space of one room. Master says we are not here to interfere with the slavery practices here, though it is part of the negotiations that we 'suggest' they abolish the practice. If it were me, I'd tell them in no uncertain terms that first free every slave, then we can think about talking. Mother tells me there are still slaves on Tatooine, owned by the Hutts. How can this happen in the Republic? Master says that we cannot judge, we can only show the benefits of a free population. People don't change unless they want to change, Master says."

Ben suspected he was going to get very tired of "Master says" if he kept reading this. But as he understood from the messages the Master Jedi had given him, Kenobi had been given to the Jedi at the age of two, brought to the Temple. The boy had been essentially Jinn's constant companion since the age of thirteen. No wonder every other sentence began with "Master says." Then his eye was caught by an entry and he scrolled it up to read...then blinked in surprise.

"How is it your whole world can turn upside down in the blink of an eye? How is it you can look up across the length of two sabers to meet eyes you've seen every day for the last three years and feel yourself falling into those eyes? How is it that all the sudden all you can think about is the last time your Master hugged you, how warm he was, his scent, how good it felt to have your own arms trying to go around that great thumping big body? How small you felt. How safe and protected, surrounded by his arms, his cloak, his voice. Force, what is wrong with me?! He's my Master!"

No. Ben shook his head at this. No. The boy was -- He scrolled down quickly through several months of entries and stopped, resumed reading. "I can't stand it. I just can't take it anymore. One moment he's driving me out of my mind, chasing me around the gym, whacking my butt with his saber, laughing his head off, the next minute he's cold as ice and yelling at me to re-do the last mission report for the third time and this time Kenobi GET IT RIGHT! Didn't even give me a hug when I fell off the bars today, just picked me up, made sure nothing was broken, and ordered me to continue. Ordered me! Since when did Master order me to do anything?! No. I know what it was. What it is. He must have seen me watching him. I think Grandmaster must have told him that the quickest way to get through the Padawan Infatuation stage was to come down on me with both feet and grind me into the floor. The operative theory being 'hard work is good for the soul and tires out the body so it won't think of what else it would like to be doing.' Or who else it would like to be doing it with. Whatever. It's not working. I still can't get him out of my head. Oh well. Jael said it's normal. Said if he was home he'd be happy to give me someone else to think about, but...no. Not Jael. I love him too much to screw up what we have with sex. Even if I knew what I was doing. Until then, I'll just grit my teeth and put up with Qui-Gon Jinn in a mood and slog through it. We're to go be bodyguards for the Archon of the Jivai-ji next week, and maybe that will put Master in a better mood."

A long series of entries then during a months-long mission on some planet, entries filled with the usual angst-ridden teenage poetry interspersed with tense short reports of destinations reached, names of ships they'd taken, brief funny anecdotes and jokes. Then the timestamps showed a three-month lapse and the tales resumed with an account of a long illness, a plague picked up on their travels. It was a slow-acting plague, and it had burst into virulent life when the boy Kenobi was under a great deal of stress during the long mission. He'd taken injuries as well, which only exacerbated the illness. "I woke every time to find Master by my side, awake and trying to smile at me or asleep with his head on the bed at my side, my hand held beneath his cheek. The Healers finally had to move another bed into the room. He would not leave. All foul moods gone now. I think he told Grandmaster he didn't have the heart anymore to keep me away. Thank the Force, he's already had this wretched viral plague, he's safe from it. I have barely the strength to write this, but always he is telling me I will feel much better soon. The sparkle is back in his eyes. He's laughing again, quoting me poetry. Love poetry. I feel horrible but my world is complete. Even nutrient broth is good when he holds me as I drink."

Ben swallowed in a suddenly dry throat. The boy Kenobi had fallen in love with his Master when he was...he checked the timestamps. Seventeen. Ben's mind rebelled at the thoughts, revulsion threading through his mind. He almost dropped the datapad when the urge to wipe his hands clean of the taint caught him before he could stop it. The very idea went so far against nature it turned his stomach. He reached for the Off button on the datapad, but something, some unknown thought, stopped him. His hand moved to scroll through the entries.

He stopped at a poem.

"Before the beginning of years
There came to the making of man
Time, with a gift of tears;
Grief, with a glass that ran;
Pleasure, with pain for leaven;
Summer, with flowers that fell;
Rememberance, fallen from heaven;
And madness risen from hell;
Strength without hands to smite;
Love that endures for a breath;
Night, the shadow of light;
And life, the shadow of death."

The entry continued: "It's happened. It's happened. I've been given the universe. He loves me. He loves me. And something more. I'm singing inside, screaming inside, dancing inside! A soulbond. We're soulbonded. He loves me. He loves me. He loves me. Trust the Council to ruin things. They're sending him to Xantalia alone. Without me. Qui-Gon says they must know about our soulbond and they're testing us. We just bonded this morning and now he's packing to go. It's not fair. But if we cannot prove to the Council the soulbond will not interfere with our work or my training, we cannot be allowed to remain together. And as that is something neither one of us will allow, we will endure. It doesn't matter. He loves me, I love him. Our souls are one now. We will have it no other way. We will defy them if we must to remain together. The Council does not speak with the will of the Force when they try to dictate terms to something the Force created. What words will they have for us when I am tucking my beloved into bed when we are slow with age and our love is as new and deep as it is at this very moment? I will be curious to hear them when I am sixty-four."

Ben swallowed and hit the Off button at last, dropped the datapad to the bed and put his hands to his face.

He remembered a shining moment, an eternal moment so long ago now, when he himself had looked down into bright brown-black eyes and felt such joy in simple love. Simple! As if anything about love could be simple...Bright black eyes filled with promise and hope and adoration. Dusky skin aglow in the light of a quartzhearth deep underground in one of the rebel boltholes. A mutilated corpse dragged by her hair, thrown into an open mass grave, left for the forest scavengers. A soul he had loved with all his heart, a body he had loved with all his soul. Somehow he had endured the horrors of the war, endured the tension and nightmares, because he had made a promise. A promise to Dehnabi that one day soon there would be no more war on Eritralia.

But he was -- dead.

[Beloved! Open the door!]

A frantic voice in his mind, demanding he open the door. How had it gotten locked? Noises now, he heard the Jedi Master's voice on the other side of the locked portal. He got up, staggered to the door, and hit the doorpanel.

"Jedi," Ben rasped out as he held himself upright with his hands clenched on the doorframe. "I am not myself, am I?"

For answer, Qui-Gon grabbed him as he started to fall and draped one arm over his own shoulders, pulled him into his bedroom and over to the mirror on the closet door.

Ben swallowed, looked up at his reflection, and his mind shattered.

Obi-Wan awoke to tears flooding down his face, sobs wracking his body, convulsing in terror and grief, his teeth chattering with it.

[There now, there, beloved, I'm here, you're safe, we're home --]

The deep purring mindvoice was his only hope. He clung to it, begged wordlessly for warmth to ease the icy ache in every limb, the chill of near-death sinking from skin to bone. Immediate response to the need he conveyed brought the molten heat of a wall of warm flesh clutching him close, wrapping him in long arms and something soft that kept the heat close.

The shivers eased in that loving warmth and he slipped into uneasy sleep. Qui-Gon held him wrapped in the comforter from their bed, murmuring all kinds of lovesick nonsense into Obi-Wan's hair, tucking his beloved's face into the hollow of his neck and letting his own tears dampen the pillow beneath his head.

"How much does he remember?" Mace asked softly as Obi-Wan disappeared into the Chancellor's office.

"Almost all of it," Qui-Gon rumbled. "He said his first memory after Ben's death on Eritralia was of me speaking to him in the house where I found him." He pulled his cloak around him, seeking it's warmth as he wandered over to the wide windows of the anteroom and peered out at the ship traffic over the Senate building. "He said it felt like he was paralyzed, that he couldn't move or even call me through our soulbond. Ben's overwhelming thought was freedom for the natives of Eritralia and hatred of the government. Obi-Wan saw an opportunity and took advantage of it. He used his own journal entries to trigger memories of Ben's wife who was killed, and that broke the cycle of Ben's thoughts and allowed Obi-Wan to shatter his prison. Once Ben gave in to the grief, his drive toward the future end of conflict on Eritralia was disrupted. And thus, the remnants of his psyche he had forced into Obi-Wan's mind were shattered." Qui-Gon took a deep calming breath and let it out again slowly before continuing. "Obi-Wan feels he must now take up Ben's cause as recompense. He feels he was the cause of Ben's death twice over. I have never seen him so adamant about something, Mace."

The dark-skinned Jedi Master came to stand beside him, folding his own hands inside his cloak sleeves as they watched the ships together. Then he grinned slightly. "You see? Adi was right. It wasn't long before Obi-Wan came back to you."

"Her years with the Healers were well-spent," Qui-Gon said with an equal smile. "We are lucky to have her on the Council."

"We are lucky to have her as our friend," Mace corrected him fondly.

Qui-Gon turned slightly at a wisp of troubled emotion that threaded through the soulbond, sent a wordless reassurance to his Padawan before turning again to face Windu. "Mace, I have a thing to ask the Council. I feel Obi-Wan needs some time to recover from this, time to work through all that has happened. I would like to request a three-month leave of absence for us both."

Mace heaved a sigh at this and his eyes went distant as he ran through the current roster of Knights and Masters and the slate of upcoming missions. "It might be possible. I will bring it up at tomorrow's session. Certainly it's warranted in your case."

"After he speaks with the Chancellor, I have insisted he go to the Healers," Qui-Gon said quietly. "He agreed without a fight, he knows he's not well."

"Wiser he grows, your Padawan," Mace said, paraphrasing Yoda. "If he's willing to admit he's not at his best and needs the Healers."

Qui-Gon nodded silently.

"I will leave you to it, then," Mace said, sensing his friend's troubled mood. "I'll call you with word from the Council as soon as I have it."

"Thank you, my friend," Qui-Gon said softly. Mace squeezed his shoulder momentarily and disappeared around the bend in the hallway leading to the elevators.

The Jedi Master stood there silently, watching the ships, unaware of the passage of time until the door of Valorum's office hummed open behind him. He turned at Obi-Wan's shaky mental inquiry.

Valorum stood beside the pale young Jedi Padawan, his face grim.

"Chancellor," Qui-Gon said and bowed briefly as Obi-Wan came to his side. Cold slim fingers slipped into Qui-Gon's hand and he wove them into his own to warm them.

"Master Jinn," Valorum said, nodding acknowledgement. "Padawan Kenobi has had a traumatic experience. But the information he has brought me is invaluable whether given by Ben tel-Sirach or as Padawan Kenobi. The Senate cannot ignore this first-hand account. I am calling an emergency meeting of the Guard and Fleet and I intend to mobilize a force to upgrade Commander Laya's humanitarian efforts to an armed occupation." He nodded to Obi-Wan as the Padawan caught his breath a little at the words. "And, as per your reccommendation, Padawan Kenobi, I shall also order an increase in humanitarian aid as well. The Republic is about tolerance of diversity, not persecution of differences."

"Thank you, Chancellor," Obi-Wan said softly.

Valorum smiled at him briefly. "Master Jinn, you have a very brave young man there. I don't think you need my encouragement to spoil him rotten."

"Indeed not, Chancellor, plans are already in the works," Qui-Gon answered as Obi-Wan looked up at him questioningly.

The two Jedi bowed and the Chancellor retreated back into his office. Qui-Gon turned to go, a grin tugging at his lips as Obi-Wan tugged at his fingers insistently. "Yes, Padawan?"

"What are you planning?" Obi-Wan asked warily.

"Nothing much," Qui-Gon answered innocently.

"Nothing much like what?"

Qui-Gon's eyes twinkled. "Well, for starters, I was thinking we'd sleep for a week, then maybe take a vacation, maybe back to Worla, or maybe to Eltanin ..."

"We rate a vacation? Since when?"

Qui-Gon smiled, laughed, and pulled his soulmate into his arms for a kiss.