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Cold stone. Musty smell. Back feels like it's on fire.
Qui-Gon groaned and shifted a little, not wanting to open his eyes, wanting to return to the painless limbo he had been drifting in. He wasn't dead: being dead didn't hurt, and the afterlife was not this uncomfortable. He knew that wherever he was, it was going to be miserable.
Open your eyes, Qui-Gon. Just open them, that's all you have to do. Don't move. Just open your eyes... OPEN them...
His eyelids fluttered open, bleary but slowly clearing.
The room was an almost stereotypical dungeon cell. Stone block walls, one barred window that had a few whispers of last sunlight seeping in, a steel door that looked a bit like a castle gate... Qui-Gon's breath caught in apprehension. A pair of adjustable manacles were dangling from the ceiling, adorned with rough brownish stains. He had no illusions about what those stains were.
Qui-Gon slowly braced his hands against the rough floor and pushed himself into a kneeling position. Touching his belt, he found that they had--not unexpectedly--taken his lightsaber. His back still ached, where they had shot him, but he was alive.
The second time they had taken him alive rather than killing him. Qui-Gon took a deep breath and settled himself into a Jedi calming exercise. He still wasn't certain why this General Tathor had kidnapped him. There was no possible way that Qui-Gon was going over to Tathor's side, and a Jedi, captured alive, wasn't enough of a prize to be worth the effort.
And stun. He had been stunned, not even really injured. Whoever wanted him wanted him alive and unharmed.
His breathing slowed, senses deliberately dulled. He quelled the pain and confusion within himself and sought calm.
When the soldiers flung open the door, he was waiting patiently, kneeling with his back to them. One of them quickly tied his hands behind him and pulled him out the door.
Obi-Wan set in the course for Thalon and sat back in his chair, massaging his sore leg. The bone ached less than it had, but it still hurt, and refused to support his weight for long. One good thing out of this, he mused. I get to sit down for a few hours at a time.
He only wished that someone had come with him on this mission. Without Qui-Gon, or even Master Yoda, he felt very alone and vulnerable. And the vulnerability was not helped by the fact that he could barely walk. If Qui-Gon was in serious trouble, Obi-Wan couldn't help him by sneaking around on foot.
And the feeling of loneliness wasn't helped by their last conversation. Qui-Gon had almost humorously soothed Obi-Wan's frustrations, which boiled constantly while his master was gone. He had clearly thought that nothing could go wrong.
A flash in the Force seemed to arc by Obi-Wan... Qui-Gon. The boy sat up straight in his chair, blue eyes wide as he reached for the flicker... and found nothing. His heart sank as he continued to search, but found nothing of his mentor within his senses. Frustration hammered inside him like a physical fist.
Patience, he reminded himself. Patience. You'll find him.
Another rough shove in the back threw Qui-Gon against the stone wall, scraping a patch of skin from his cheekbone. He refused to wince, grimace, or show any reaction as the guards yanked him back by his bound hands and shoved him further down the badly-lit passageway.
He kept his head bowed enough to shadow his features, but slate-blue eyes darted back and forth, taking in details. Suddenly the rough stone walls gave way to lighter, smooth walls. The flickering chemical lamps were replaced by electric lights. A few droids whizzed by him, only briefly glancing at the prisoner and the two guards before continuing on their way.
"Left, scum," the soldier behind him growled. Qui-Gon slowly turned left, getting a kick in the leg for not speeding up. Before him was a wide, tall door--probably a cargo lift. The smooth silver doors irised open, and the guards shoved Qui-Gon inside. He swayed, stomach lurching a little as the car went into motion.
He turned slowly. The lone guard was standing behind him, an insolent sneer on his face, aiming a blaster. But his eyes betrayed fear, but not fear of Qui-Gon. Fear, he thought, of this General Tathor, most likely.
Qui-Gon felt his stomach lurch again as the lift ground to a halt, and the doors opened. The guard stepped to the side and pointed his blaster at Qui-Gon. "Get out," he growled.
Qui-Gon stepped out into yet another stone corridor, the guard taking hold of his bound hands and twisting them a little, his chiseled face sneering and jocular. Aside from a slight tightening of Qui-Gon's jaw, no sign of pain or anger was evident.
The guard spun him into a doorway and slammed the metal door shut behind him. Qui-Gon stumbled, then looked up at a smiling statue of the ancient Thalon spirit Mirthu, chiseled out of white marble.
He was in a richly-furnished room, the walls draped with embroidered tapestries and the walls lined with plush furniture and exotic statuary, mostly that of Classical-Thalon period, like the statue Qui-Gon had almost crashed into. Huge windows opened to the best view of the capital city. The greenest, softest carpet that Qui-Gon had ever seen was on the floor, his boots slowly sinking into it. Even though the room was of a pleasant temperature, a fire was burning in a fireplace in one wall, made out of glowing white stone.
And sitting by the fireplace was a Thalon male--not exceptional in any way. He was of average height, build, and nothing in his physical bearing indicated that he was anything special.
It was his eyes that said that. Cold green eyes, with a hint of a sneering smile.
The Thalon turned and stared at the bound prisoner, then smiled. "Well, Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn, I am pleased to finally meet you."
"I wish I could return the sentiment," Qui-Gon said in a low voice.
"I am General Tathor."
"I had guessed that."
Tathor was smiling now, and the smile revealed alarmingly sharp teeth. He clasped his gloved hands and flexed them. The gloves were dark, studded with sharp silver metal bits. "Had you?" he said, clearly expecting some sort of reply.
Qui-Gon only stared at him, determined not to say a word more than was necessary. His large hands clenched in their bindings, tied tightly against his back.
Tathor turned around and stared out the window. "Well, Qui-Gon Jinn. You hate me."
"I don't hate you," Qui-Gon replied, desperately hoping that he spoke the truth.
Tathor raised one pale eyebrow. "Oh yes?"
"Yes," Qui-Gon said firmly.
Tathor's sharp-toothed smile appeared again. Qui-Gon suppressed a shudder at the look in the Thalon's jade-green eyes. "Don't worry. You will. Before too long."
His hand crept under the ornately-carved surface of his desk, and a faint buzzing was heard outside. The lift doors opened and a pair of guards emerged, aiming their blasters at Qui-Gon's back. Qui-Gon ignored them and glared straight at Tathor. "Where am I going?" he asked with forced casualness.
Tathor's eyes sparkled with amusement. It was as if Qui-Gon were some exotic pet made to perform tricks unseen on that world. The Jedi meant nothing to him... or maybe he did. But it was clear that his purpose was not peace or justice... war surrounded this man like an invisible cloud.
Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon whispered desperately into the Force, in the vain hope that his apprentice could hear his pleas.
He was so absorbed in his cries for help that he barely noticed the guards dragging him from the office, kicking at the bound man to encourage him to speed up. The only thing that he heard was a mocking laugh, like an omnipresent vibration, and a call of, "Don't worry, Jedi. You will. Soon."
Obi-Wan sat bolt upright on the foldout couch, his heart pounding, his shirt stuck slickly to his chest with sweat. He took a few shuddering breaths and tried to calm himself.
He had been trapped in a dark place, too dark to see anything, the air stale and sticky. His entire body had been burning as if someone were slicing him apart from the inside out. With the pain had been the despairing knowledge that it would continue, that it wouldn't end.
The nightmare had ended more peacefully but more disturbingly. Qui-Gon's cries for help. Not just a nightmare, he thought tensely. A plea. Qui-Gon was still alive, he knew it. Alive, and in need of his help.
The shuttle was already going at top speed. To go faster would burn out the hyperdrive. He sighed, tired now that he was calmer and sedate. His head was beginning to ache a little. He lay back down--
--and fell straight out of bed. The shuttle tilted madly to the side as the red sparkle of weapons fire blasted past the window, barely deflected by the shields. There was a noisy whirr, and the ships dropped out of hyperspace.
Obi-Wan staggered to his feet and jogged to the cockpit, ignoring the stabbing pains in his knee. Anger rose in him as he stared out, scanning for another ship. The shuttle was clearly marked as a neutral vessel; whoever was firing on it was violating one of the most cherished laws of the Republic.
A Thalon attack fighter's long, thin shape moved past the cockpit at blinding speed. Obi-Wan reeled a little at the proximity, holding onto the chair to keep his balance. He grimaced and spun the ship upwards, toward the faint indentation in the huge ship's skin...
Qui-Gon stared warily at the guards as they stood opposite him in the cell. Almost a dozen of them, against one Jedi with his arms bound behind his back. One of them was holding a vibroblade, his posture insinuating further use of it. Whether or not his hands were tied, he wasn't going to let them do anything further to him. He had had enough.
A pair of calloused hands grabbed him and twisted. Instead, Qui-Gon spun and slammed his shoulder against the soldier standing behind him. The man crumpled to the floor, crying out in pain and surprise.
A hard object hammered against the back of Qui-Gon's head. He staggered a little, his vision blurring, then felt the ropes binding his wrists fall away. Surprised, he pulled them in front of him and swung at the head of the guard behind him. The man tried to duck, but a powerful second blow from the huge Jedi slammed him against the wall.
The third and fourth ran towards him, but Qui-Gon extended one hand toward them, noting the bloody furrow in the flesh of his wrist, where he had strained against his bonds. A hard shove with the Force, and the guards were flung against the door. He refused to allow himself the luxury of feeling satisfied--there was still much to be done before he escaped this place.
He sensed the blaster bolt before it actually hit him. Qui-Gon tried to twist aside, but the bolt struck him in the shoulder this time, making his arm and side go numb. He gasped and twitched a little, willing the nerves to register.
Another blow to the skull, fragmenting Qui-Gon's thoughts and throwing his senses into disarray. Dimly, he felt himself being dragged to the wall, yanked up onto his feet by roughened hands, and cold metal being bound around his chafed, bleeding wrists.
He forced his eyelids to open, forced his eyes to focus on the gray-clad figures in front of him. They held sheathed instruments, the use of which he knew all too well. Tiny vibroblades, bone fragmenters, nerve probes... all outlawed within the Republic. Qui-Gon shuddered at the sight of them. They had one purpose and only one: torture and pain.
One of the Thalon stepped forward and jabbed Qui-Gon in the side. A spasm of rippling pain tore through him, making him curl inward instinctively. The guard grinned at him with a smile reminiscent of Tathor. Qui-Gon glared at him, fury rising within him. At another jab, he bit down on his lip, determined not to cry out...
Why are they doing this to me? Why?