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
No sooner had the words been uttered than Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan leapt, somersaulting through the air as blaster bolts sizzled inches beneath their feet. They landed on opposite sides of the ring of guards, lightsabers ignited. A few of the soldiers had gone down from their own companions’ blasters as they fired at the Jedi, but too few. Obi-Wan fought as he had never fought before, but he was outnumbered ten to one and was slowly being encircled again. He stopped thinking, letting instinct and the Force guide him, tell him when to duck, jump, parry, dodge. Still he knew in the back of his mind he could not last forever.
A few times he managed to bounce a bolt back into the man or woman who had fired it. One by one the guards fell, but he was completely surrounded. Following a subtle prompting he dove to his left and rolled back onto his feet as the burning plasma whined past his face. Another guard fell. He could see Qui-Gon’s lightsaber flashing to his right. If he could get beside his Master, maybe the two of them together could defeat the rest of their assailants.
Slowly he began fighting his way towards Qui-Gon, still whirling his lightsaber in complex patterns around his body, deflecting the fire from all directions. A guard cried out and fell. //A young voice,// he thought vaguely. //Too young to have met his end like that.// But there was no time for regret. A line of blasters blocked him from his Master, barraging him ferociously.
Obi-Wan leapt again, parrying with the Force and his lightsaber as he spun over their heads. He felt a reassuring presence behind him and then Master and Padawan were fighting back-to-back. One by one the guards fell. Some retreated, wounded or disarmed. Obi-Wan felt the waves of the Force wash over him, multiplied by his Master’s presence. The two of them fought like one being, each knowing precisely where the other would move next. Their lightsabers became glowing blurs as each drew on the other’s power, and they were whole.
Out of the corner of his eye Obi-Wan saw Yemil Ch’Andri fade out of the shadows and draw a blaster from a fold of her robe. He was surprised; he had forgotten completely about the ambassador, and had somehow failed to sense her. As she raised the blaster he felt a prick of fear and the battle-trance broke. Confused and shaken that he had not felt her presence earlier, Obi-Wan should have parried the shot fired at his head, but, startled and unfocused, he ducked awkwardly. It missed him by a matter of centimeters.
Behind him, Qui-Gon cried out and crumpled to the ground, his lightsaber automatically deactivating as he dropped it. With horror, Obi-Wan realized what had happened. The bolt he had ducked had hit his Master full in the back. He felt anger rising within him, and despair. If he had inadvertently killed Qui-Gon....
No. He couldn’t allow himself to think about it. Obi-Wan stood protectively over the fallen Jedi, fighting now not just for his life, but for Qui-Gon’s as well. It seemed to take forever, but at last the remaining soldiers were dispatched, and Obi-Wan looked around for Ch’Andri just in time to see his ship take off with her in the cockpit and vanish into the city.
He sighed and deactivated his lightsaber, then knelt by Qui-Gon’s side, fear and guilt once again flooding his mind.
“Master?” he asked, and his voice cracked.
Qui-Gon looked up at him with clear, aware eyes, though immense pain was evident in his face. “Obi-Wan,” he said. It was a reassurance and a reprimand in one.
Obi-Wan felt a lump in his throat as he tried to hold back his tears. “I’m sorry,” he breathed.
“I know,” answered Qui-Gon, trying to smile. “It’s all right, Padawan.”
“I have to get you to shelter,” said Obi-Wan, a little more steadily. “They’re sure to find us here.”
Qui-Gon nodded. “I’m afraid you’ll have to carry me,” he said reluctantly. Obi-Wan knew his Master hated being waited upon and needing help, and he promised himself he would try very hard not to bring it up once they got home... if they got home.
Obi-Wan bent to hoist Qui-Gon onto his shoulders. As he began to lift, the older Jedi gasped and fell limp. Obi-Wan felt panic rising inside him. But he could still sense life from the still figure. Qui-Gon had only fainted, at least for now.
Obi-Wan laid the unconscious Jedi over his shoulders and set off into the city. He could only hope the Force would guide him to a haven before Ch’Andri’s forces could find them. He had never fully realized how big Qui-Gon really was. Now he knew as he struggled under his Master’s weight why people found Qui-Gon Jinn intimidating--he was enormous. Even with the Force Obi-Wan could scarcely hold him up. But he could feel Qui-Gon breathing steadily against his back, and as long as that vital rhythm kept going, Obi-Wan would, somehow.
The streets were dark and smelly. Obi-Wan saw no one, but he could not keep this up for long, wandering the streets, completely exposed. If his guesses were right, there would soon be a veritable army combing the streets for him and Qui-Gon. He was beginning a mental search for an abandoned cellar where he could hide, when he sensed someone approaching from behind. He turned, searching the gloom with his eyes as the adrenaline began coursing through him again. As gently as possible, he laid his Master down, wincing as the Jedi groaned slightly, and stood protectively over him as he had on the landing platform. His hand went to his lightsaber, but he did not ignite it.
The figure of a short man materialized out of the shadows of an alley. It was evident from the way he held himself that this man made a living of staying hidden. His movements were fluid and controlled and he seemed reluctant to step into the dim light of the street. Obi-Wan tried to read his intentions, but found only the same fear and anger he had felt since he came to Callodas Three.
The man crept over to Obi-Wan, looked him over, glanced at the dark mass at his feet, and hesitantly touched the Padawan’s arm. Obi-Wan reluctantly clipped his lightsaber back onto his belt.
“Need help?” mumbled the man. Obi-Wan nodded in assent. “Come,” said the man, and began to wind back into the shadows. He waited as Obi-Wan again shouldered his burden, then led the way into the alleyway.
Through a door hidden in the back of the alley, a maze of passages in which Obi-Wan lost all sense of direction, and several guarded checkpoints, there was a cavern. Obi-Wan stepped in, blinking in the sudden light. He was weary and disoriented, but what he saw in the secret cavern made him think twice about complaining. In every corner were old mattresses, each holding a wounded citizen. There were some missing legs and arms, blinded or torture-scarred. The sheer immensity of pain and sorrow filling the room nearly knocked Obi-Wan off his feet. Those able to stand and walk administered shabby first aid to the wounded, but even among those there were few unhurt, and all of them were painfully thin.
The man who had guided Obi-Wan there appeared beside the Padawan. “Find an empty bed for him,” he said gruffly, gesturing towards Qui-Gon. Obi-Wan nodded, too horrified to reply or object, and began scanning the room for a place to lie his friend. An old woman with an eyepatch and a limp took his arm and guided him to a far corner of the room, pointing silently to an empty bloodstained mattress. When he thanked her, she blushed and hobbled away with a little smile on her thin lips.
Obi-Wan gently eased Qui-Gon onto the mattress, making him as comfortable as possible. Then he knelt by his Master and studied the Jedi’s face. Qui-Gon was pale, but he seemed relaxed. His breathing was deep and even. Obi-Wan sighed with relief and let himself relax a little. Feelings of guilt and remorse washed over him. He had betrayed his training and himself, but most of all he had betrayed Qui-Gon. And now, because of Obi-Wan’s stupidity in letting his connection to the Force slip, Qui-Gon might die. The words ran themselves through Obi-Wan’s head until he thought they would drive him mad.
But Qui-Gon was not dead, he told himself fiercely. His master was right there in front of him, living and breathing easily. The Jedi had survived worse that this before, Obi-Wan knew. Qui-Gon would live. He had to live.
The old woman had limped over again and was now sitting next to Obi-Wan, carefully studying his face. The Padawan realized there were tears on his cheeks and brushed them hastily away. She smiled and handed Obi-Wan a bottle of old disinfectant and a bandage, then quietly limped away again.
“Thank you!” called Obi-Wan after her. As gently as he could, the Padawan peeled off his Master’s robe, vest, and tunics, then turned Qui-Gon over onto his stomach. The Jedi stirred slightly, then lay still again. Obi-Wan gasped in horror as he surveyed the wound. The blast had caught Qui-Gon in the middle of his left shoulderblade. The bone had shattered, but had at least stopped the bolt before it reached Qui-Gon’s heart. Still, the damage was devastating. If Obi-Wan couldn’t get him to a bacta tank soon, Qui-Gon might lose his arm.
But for now, he would do the best he could. He opened the little vial and dabbed the bitter-smelling mixture inside around the wound with an edge of his robe, administering along with it a surge of the Force, willing the tissue to heal itself and keep out infection. He wrapped the bandage and tied the ends together, then pulled his knees up to his chest and watched Qui-Gon breathe.
“Give him some of this,” said a husky voice from behind him. “And take some for yourself.” Obi-Wan unfolded himself to accept the cup handed him by the man who had brought him to the cave.
“Who are you?” asked Obi-Wan.
The man hesitated for a fraction of a second. “Garret,” he said. It was obvious he would tell no more. “You?” he asked. “Don’t bother standing up,” he added as Obi-Wan began to struggle to his feet.
“I am Obi-Wan Kenobi,” said the Padawan, trying to look dignified and Jedi-like. “This is my Master, Qui-Gon Jinn. We are the ambassadors sent to stop this,” he added dejectedly.
“The Jedi?” asked Garret, a twinge of emotion registering in his voice for the first time.
“Um...yes,” said Obi-Wan, surprised. “But how...”
“Let’s just say news travels quickly.” He nodded at Qui-Gon. “Ch’Andri?” he said, spitting the name out like a curse.
Obi-Wan nodded. Nothing made sense. Why was Yemil Ch’Andri so desperate to destroy the rebels instead of making peace? Why had she tried to have him and Qui-Gon killed? Who was Garret and how did he know so much? He wished Qui-Gon could give him the answers, or at least tell him it would all be all right, come up with some sort of plan...
As his thoughts turned back to his Master, Obi-Wan remembered the cup Garret had handed him. He sniffed it suspiciously. It smelled strongly of strange herbs and alcohol. Usually he would have balked at the idea of even being offered the stuff; the vows he had taken forbade it. But surely he could at least afford to give some to Qui-Gon for medicinal purposes. Garret helped the Padawan raise Qui-Gon into a sitting position.
“Master?” Obi-Wan called quietly, placing a hand on Qui-Gon’s forehead. The elder Jedi stirred slightly and his eyes fluttered reluctantly open. Obi-Wan breathed a sigh of relief to see his Master conscious again.
“Padawan,” said Qui-Gon. Obi-Wan might have imagined it, but his Master sounded just as relieved as he was. “Where are we?”
“A rebel medical center, I think,” Obi-Wan said, glancing at Garret for affirmation, getting none. If he was mistaken, it was obvious the rebel would not enlighten him. “Do you think you can drink this?” he asked, just to change the subject.
“What is it?” Qui-Gon looked suspiciously at Garret.
“Ale,” said the rebel sharply. “With herbs.”
“Please, Master,” said Obi-Wan before Qui-Gon could protest. “You need your strength.”
“No, Obi-Wan,” said Qui-Gon calmly. “I will not break my vows unless I must.” And that was that.
“Yes, Master,” mumbled Obi-Wan. Then to Garret, “Do you have anything else?”
“I can brew up just the herbs,” said Garret, “but it’ll taste like the sewer.”
“Thank you,” said Obi-Wan earnestly. As Garret headed off grumbling under his breath, Obi-Wan turned back to Qui-Gon.
“Master, can you ever forgive me?” he choked.
“What for, Padawan?” asked Qui-Gon patiently.
“For... for back there, at the landing platform. I let myself be taken by surprise, and because of it you...” he trailed off, blinking back tears. “I failed you, Master.”
Qui-Gon reached up and brushed a tear from his Padawan’s cheek as he had done years ago when the boy had a nightmare or became overly frustrated with a lesson. “I’m proud of you, Obi-Wan,” he said.
The Padawan stared at his Master with wonder. How could Qui-Gon look into the face of this betrayal that had nearly -- and might still -- cost him his life, and return only comfort and unconditional love?
Obi-Wan felt he did not deserve so great a man for his Master, or even his friend, and he silently cursed himself for his shortcoming. Apparently Qui-Gon sensed his discomfort.
“I’m not angry with you, Obi-Wan,” he said. “I forgive you.”
“I know,” choked Obi-Wan. “I just wish I could forgive myself.”
“Ah,” said Qui-Gon, more briskly, “here comes our host again.”
Garret handed Obi-Wan another mug, grunting as the Padawan sniffed and brushed tears from his reddened eyes. “When he’s done, come help with the rest of them,” said Garret, and slunk away.
Qui-Gon took the cup, drinking the foul-smelling mixture in slow sips, the very picture of determined dignity. When he had finished, he let Obi-Wan ease him back down onto the mattress, wincing as the torn muscles protested. Obi-Wan left him only when he was sure his Master was as comfortable as possible, and would get a good night’s sleep, then he went to tend the other wounded.