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"Qui-Gon Jinn, it is the decision of this Council that you be banished for your actions."
Silence.
Qui-Gon Jinn felt as though something hard had struck him in the chest, draining the air from his lungs. His legs felt as though his knees had turned to water.
He could feel Obi-Wan's shock radiating like smoke from a fire, and his padawan's shocked gaze on the back of his head. He opened his mouth, desperately wanted to say something, but couldn't. His hands clenched into fists, the fingernails digging into his skin.
"What," he managed to choke hoarsely, "have I done to warrant such a punishment?"
Mace Windu's dark eyes were somber as he looked at his friend. "You destroyed the space station around Meidal'izan, boarded by twenty members of the royal family, as well as the reigning king."
Obi-Wan stepped forward, his face flushed, eyes flashing angrily. "And saved almost a thousand people on the surface of the planet," he said heatedly. "And another-"
Qui-Gon held a hand up abruptly, cutting his padawan off. "Obi-Wan, don't," he said in a rough voice. His eyes locked with those of his horrified apprentice. Don't say a word. I'm in trouble, but I don't want you dragged down with me.
But Master-
Don't... say... a word.
Obi-Wan's lips clamped together, as if trying to keep back the comments that rushed into his mind. He felt a hard, hot ache inside his chest, as he watched Qui-Gon straighten and look at the Council. They all looked unhappy, Adi Gallia looked almost ready to scream, and Yoda was staring at his clawed feet, unwilling—maybe unable—to look at his former apprentice.
Qui-Gon's face was composed, but he was deadly pale. "You've all read my report?" he asked slowly.
"We have," Master Koth replied quietly.
"Then you know that the alternative to destroying that station would have been the deaths—by hard radiation—of nine hundred and fifty-two innocent people on Meidal'izan," Qui-Gon continued tightly.
"That is not the point, Master Qui-Gon," Mace Windu said, his dark face softening a little. "Your assignment was to protect the king."
"Would you prefer I had just let all those people die?" Qui-Gon asked, a defensive gleam coming to his eyes.
"Not the first time, it is," Yoda replied, still not raising his heavy head. "Final our decision is."
The words had the effect of a thunderclap. Qui-Gon's face hardened into immobility. Banishment was almost unheard of among the Jedi, reserved for those who had committed heinous crimes against the Republic, but had not turned to the dark side. His mind raced over the devastating events of the past few days...
For a moment, he glanced at Obi-Wan with anguished eyes, then looked back at Windu and raised his chin defiantly. His voice was almost too soft to hear. "I understand... but I have a request."
Yoda raised his head and looked up at Qui-Gon. "Request?" he asked slowly.
Qui-Gon looked at Obi-Wan, who was staring at his boots. "I request that Obi-Wan not share in my disgrace, and remain within the Order."
"No-" Obi-Wan started, but another abrupt gesture from his master cut him off. He stopped, frustrated, almost ready to cry. It isn't right. Master, please...
Yoda nodded curtly, wanting to end the audience quickly. "Be trained by another Master, he will be."
Qui-Gon bowed slightly. "That is my only request."
Obi-Wan thought he heard a deep bell tolling as Mace Windu rose, deep pain lacing his features. "Qui-Gon Jinn, it is the decision of this Council that you be banished from the Jedi Order. You will be stripped of the title of Jedi Knight and Master. You will never return to the Jedi Temple. You will have no contact with the Jedi, or seek them out. You will be given passage to the planet of your choice."
Qui-Gon looked almost ill as he bowed again, respectful even in the middle of his disgrace. From beneath a fold of his robe, Mace Windu drew a plastic slip and held it out to his friend—it would gain Qui-Gon passage on any transport within the Republic.
Qui-Gon turned and walked out before Obi-Wan could utter a word. He bit back the tears that threatened to flood his eyes, and stared defiantly at Mace Windu before striding out of the Council Chamber.
The room was dark, a soft breeze wafting through the open window. Qui-Gon's few belongings were strewn on his bedcover: holocards of his family, a couple of leather-bound journals, and a small assortment of letters.
Qui-Gon tossed the beige leggings and tunics onto the bed, and took a long look at the brown robe hung by the door. "Never again," he murmured, quickly folding the tunics and jamming them into a bag.
This suite had been his home for the past forty years, in between the inevitable missions. But he had come back to it every time—it was one of the few constants in his life. And he knew, all too well, that his goodbyes would be left unsaid. This leaving was hard enough...
He sighed, and zipped the bag shut.
The transport was on the airborne platform, hovering two miles above the "ground" of Coruscant. Qui-Gon's blue eyes roved longingly over the tall skyscrapers, the hundreds of buzzing ships and airtaxis, and the tallest tower of all, in the distance.
Then he quickly walked aboard and seated himself by a window, in one of the small, red plush chairs.
A flight attendant wearing a golden tunic appeared next to him. "Destination, sir?" she trilled in an odd accent.
"Aladell," he replied quietly, his eyes misty. He slumped in his seat as the transport lifted off with a deep humming noise, soaring above the towers of Coruscant like a thick-set bird, aiming its nose toward deep space.