DISCLAIMER: Star Wars and all publicly recognisable characters, names and references, etc are the sole property of George Lucas, Lucasfilm Ltd, Lucasarts Inc and 20th Century Fox. This fan fiction was created solely for entertainment and no money was made from it. Also, no copyright or trademark infringement was intended. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. Any other characters, the storyline and the actual story are the property of the author.
N.B. Thoughts indicated by // and Italics
Obi-Wan heard a blaster discharge and the weight of Yemil Ch’Andri’s foot was suddenly gone from his throat. He wondered that he was still in pain, and even more that he was coughing reflexively, gasping for air. He opened his eyes and saw the ceiling of the Palace.
The Padawan sat up, still coughing, confused. There was a body beside him. When he could breathe again, he gingerly turned it over and beheld the surprised face of Yemil Ch’Andri, staring blankly into space. He drew back in bewildered disgust and horror, nearly losing his balance and falling again. Qui-Gon lay his hand on the Padawan’s arm and drew him gently to his feet.
Obi-Wan pulled his gaze away from the body at his feet and saw Garret. The rebel was standing a few feet away, a smoking blaster in his hand. His face mirrored that of his fallen sister, a mixture of terror and shock. He slowly lowered the blaster and replaced it in the holster on his belt. He swallowed, looking lost and frightened for the first time. Obi-Wan couldn’t be sure, but he thought he could see tears starting to form in Garret’s eyes.
The rebel looked up, hostility beginning to show through his shock and sorrow. “Get outa here, Jedi,” he said hoarsely. “You’re not needed anymore.”
Obi-Wan nodded wearily. “Thank you, Garret,” he said, although he didn’t feel it was sufficient. He owed Garret his life, but he knew the rebel would rather he just go away. “May the Force be with you,” said Obi-Wan awkwardly, and with Qui-Gon’s help, he walked away. As they left the Palace, Obi-Wan thought he saw Garret kneel beside the body of his sister. He felt himself starting to cry again, but forced himself to stay calm.
The Force had chosen well for them; the exit led to a landing platform. There were several ships lining the sides, waiting for their owners -- diplomats or military strategists of some sort, most likely -- to return. Obi-Wan felt bad about stealing a ship, but there was no other way to leave Callodas Three, and he had the distinct feeling they had outstayed their welcome, even with the rebels.
Qui-Gon was practically carrying him now, for Obi-Wan’s legs had forgotten how to hold him up. He focused all his attention on the nearest ship. //I’m almost there,// he chanted over and over in his mind.
The Padawan was surprised at how little effort it took Qui-Gon to support him. He must have lost a lot of weight over the past week. It made sense; looking back he couldn’t remember ever eating or drinking after he heard Qui-Gon was dead. He held his hand up before his face. There was little more than bone and skin left, and his wrist was closer to the circumference he usually associated with his thumb than he liked to think about. No wonder Qui-Gon seemed to be trying not to look at him; it probably hurt.
Qui-Gon bypassed the ship’s security systems with a surge of the Force and the boarding ramp slid smoothly towards them. Just as they were climbing into the ship. Obi-Wan hesitated. He felt something coming towards him--a faint presence, a surge in the Force. He looked back over his shoulder. His neck protested at the movement, but he ignored it as best he could.
A small figure was running towards him, shouting to him to wait. The child was familiar. If he could just focus, maybe he could remember. He searched his clouded mind for a memory, a name, with the distinct feeling that he was just inches away from the name he was looking for.
KeRaad. That was it. The child he had reached out to from his cell, who had saved the rebels. Of course. She was standing before him now, looking up at him through large clear eyes. They were not the same innocent cheerful eyes he remembered from the rebel camp; fear and confusion spiraled through them. Obi-Wan wondered how much the child had seen in the last hour, and felt a dim anger at Garret for letting her come.
She didn’t say anything, but Obi-Wan felt her pleading silently. He knew she wanted to come with them, and he couldn’t refuse her; she had no family any more, and not much of a future if she remained on the planet. Maybe if they took her to the Council....
He looked up at Qui-Gon. “Master,” he started, but Qui-Gon cut him off with a glance.
The Jedi Master looked at the girl and smiled a little. “Get on board,” he said gently.
KeRaad’s face was flooded with relief and joy. She threw herself at Obi-Wan, embracing him tightly and weeping into his tattered tunic.
The Padawan gasped as the child’s elbow dug into his twice-hurt ribs. His vision clouded briefly. //No,// he told himself sharply. //I will not faint. Not in front of KeRaad. Not after what she’s been through already.// Despite his protests, consciousness was slipping gradually away. He sighed and let himself sag in Qui-Gon’s arms as peaceful oblivion finally found him.
Obi-Wan awoke in a ship’s medical bay. He was mercifully numb and slightly disoriented from a large dose of pain-killer. A tube was connected to the inside of his arm, pumping nutrients directly into his blood. He looked around, trying not to overtax his stiff neck. The room was small and white, containing several small cushioned pallets and some containers of basic medical supplies. There was a chair next to the pallet on which Obi-Wan lay. Qui-Gon was dozing in it, his chin resting on his chest. The Master’s eyes jumped open as Obi-Wan stirred.
The Padawan looked worriedly at his Master; Qui-Gon’s cheeks were hollow and there were dark circles around his eyes. His smile was still the same though, calm and real even under the weary exterior. He stood and walked to Obi-Wan’s side, laying a gentle hand on the boy’s forehead.
“How do you feel, Obi-Wan?” he asked gently.
Obi-Wan shrugged slightly. “Numb,” he replied, “but better.”
A silence fell. Obi-Wan felt suppressed emotions rising again inside him. Eventually, sorrow and self-doubt threatened to overwhelm him, and he gathered his courage to ask the question that was hammering on his mind.
“Master,” he began, his voice cracking slightly from emotion and disuse, “can you ever forgive me? I... you were disappointed,” he faltered.
Qui-Gon’s smile dimmed and he became completely serious. “You allowed personal emotion to sway your judgment, and you put the lives of a hundred innocent people at risk.” Qui-Gon’s face softened slightly and he brushed a tear from Obi-Wan’s cheek. “But you also saved them. KeRaad told me that you contacted her. I’m sorry, Padawan. I underestimated you.” He paused, looking slightly awkward. “Besides,” he said slowly. “If it had been you who was injured, and I had been given the choice, I’m not sure I would have been able to choose the rebels, either.”
Obi-Wan coughed a little, half crying, half laughing. He nearly leapt off his cot, embracing Qui-Gon as an enthusiastic child embraces his father. Qui-Gon looked startled, but returned the embrace, supporting Obi-Wan as the Padawan began to weep in earnest.
All Obi-Wan’s suppressed emotions--fear, sorrow, regret, relief, joy--poured out in a flood of tears. Sobs shook his thin frame and he buried his face in Qui-Gon’s shoulder, taking comfort in the Jedi’s strength and calm.
Eventually the sobs subsided and Obi-Wan lay back down on his pallet, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. He felt silly, having cried like a mere child, but it was so good to be free of all the stress that had been eating away at him for the past week. He now felt only the passive warmth he associated with the Force, and he felt balanced.
“Master,” he asked, both curious and eager to make conversation, “who was Yemil Ch’Andri?” The question had been nagging at him for some time--she had clearly been Force-strong, and the glimpse he had caught of her memories disturbed Obi-Wan greatly.
Qui-Gon was unsurprised. “I contacted Master Windu while you were asleep. I asked him the same question. He sent me her background.” Qui-Gon handed over a datapad.
Obi-Wan looked quizzically at his Master, then began reading. Yemil Ch’Andri, he learned, had lived with a wealthy and influential family on Callodas Three. When she was not yet a year old pirates had attacked the city in which she and her family lived. Several Jedi had been sent to intervene, but had arrived too late; the town was destroyed and nearly everyone had been killed. Among the survivors they had found a child--Yemil-- next to the body of a woman they took to be her mother.
The Jedi had sensed how strong the Force was with the child, and had taken her to the Temple to be trained as a Jedi. She had been a promising student, with an excellent connection to the Living Force and surprising control over her abilities.
When she was old enough, the Masters had given her the choice of either staying at the Temple and possibly becoming a Padawan, or of leaving the Jedi and living as an average citizen. She asked for time to consider, and they granted it, gladly.
A few days later a man and a boy appeared at the Temple--Yemil’s father and brother. They had survived the attack and escaped the city, but not before they had seen two Jedi killed by the raiders. Not wishing Yemil to meet the same fate they had come to the Temple for her.
Yemil, however, had made up her mind to stay with the Jedi. Her father became desperate, and, in the confidence of Yemil’s quarters, had told his daughter that it was the Jedi who had attacked the village and killed her mother.
The girl, still being young and trusting, had believed him. Confused and angry, she had left the Jedi and returned to Callodas Three. Over the years her anger had grown and she had embraced the Dark Side, proclaiming the Jedi her enemies.
Obi-Wan slowly put down the data pad. Everything snapped into place: Yemil Ch’Andri had married Kadden Badir, head of the Callodian government, in order to gain enough power to attack the Jedi. And Garret, horrified that he had been partially responsible for the change in his sister, had hidden himself away, organizing half-hearted rebellions to keep himself busy.
He handed back the data pad. “Why were we sent?” he asked quietly.
“Master Windu trusts us, and our judgment,” answered Qui-Gon with a little shrug. “He was not happy to hear of her death, but he understands that there was no other way.”
Obi-Wan nodded.
“Where’s KeRaad?” he asked, realizing that he had forgotten almost completely about the child before.
“She’s in the captain’s quarters, resting,” said Qui-Gon. “I should probably wake her; she said she wanted to see you as soon as you woke up. She’s very worried about you.”
“What will happen to her?” asked Obi-Wan. “She’s extremely Force-strong.”
“I doubt the council will agree to her being trained. She’s far too old.”
Obi-Wan sighed, annoyed. “But couldn’t you... you know, convince them?” Qui-Gon had quite a history of arguing with the Jedi Council, and sometimes he even won.
“This is not my fight, Padawan,” Qui-Gon said thoughtfully. “If you wish KeRaad to be trained, I suggest you go before the Council about it.”
Obi-Wan decided not to argue, although his heart leapt into his throat at the thought of facing the Council in argument, especially Master Yoda. But KeRaad deserved at least a chance. His jaw tightened with determination. He would go before the Council and speak on KeRaad’s behalf.
“You need rest, now,” said Qui-Gon, interrupting Obi-Wan’s internal monologue. “I think I can hold KeRaad off for a while longer, maybe even until Coruscant.” He smiled, and strode silently from the room.
Obi-Wan obediently lay back, enjoying the feel of a pillow under his head again, and surrendered to a deep dreamless sleep.