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
He found food and water waiting in his cell when he returned. He took both gratefully, and ate with an appetite born of neglect. There was just enough there to give him the energy he needed for the trance, he noticed happily. When he had cleaned his plate and drained his glass, he knelt in the center of the floor, his hands on his thighs, his eyes closed, and began focusing himself.
His head still ached and his muscles were cramped and sore. He breathed deeply, letting the calm energy of the Force relax him. There were a thousand little distractions he hadn’t noticed before: the almost inaudible buzz of the containment field, the watchful presences of the guards outside the cell, the weakness of his own body. He worked to push past these, embracing the Force completely until he was completely one with it.
He was unaware of passing time or of anything belonging to the world outside the Force. No emotions or physical sensations remained, nor could Obi-Wan ever remember a time when they had existed. He did, however, remember what he had to do. He stretched out, feeling the awarenesses of thousands of lifeforms around him, stretching out for one. He felt the pull of the Force exerted by the child KeRaad and allowed it to pull him in.
She had been searching for him, probably without realizing it. He gathered the energy of the Force around him and touched her mind. He felt surprise and fear. Obi-Wan let his calm flow into her, telling her not to be afraid.
“KeRaad,” he said mentally. She recognized him and cried out to him. “You are in danger,” he said. “You must evacuate again.” His energy was running out and the trance was slipping. He withdrew quickly from her mind so the breaking of the trance could not hurt her.
He was thrown violently back into his body as his concentration finally snapped. He was out of breath and only semi-conscious. He hadn’t anticipated the trance would be so long or so taxing, but he had succeeded. He only hoped his message had gotten through clearly and that Garret--or someone--would listen to KeRaad and evacuate before Obi-Wan and Ch’Andri arrived.
It had become a struggle just to keep his eyes open, so Obi-Wan gave in to sleep and dreamed of his Master’s face. It was frowning.
Obi-Wan awoke several hours later. All the old aches had returned and he was hungry again, but he knew there was hope, and it gave him strength. He waited for news of Qui-Gon, pacing slowly to loosen the muscles in his legs and back. He knew he was being watched still, but he could not see beyond the electric walls of his cell.
To his disappointment, he was given no more food. //It makes sense,// he thought. //If I get too strong I’ll be able to fight or escape. I can’t, of course, now that I’ve given my word, but I don’t suppose that means much to them.//
He began to think about what he would do once he and Qui-Gon were safely back at the Temple. He hadn’t realized how much he missed the Jedi Temple until now, with its air of ancient serenity. He missed the routine of life there and its dependability: wake, eat, meditate, exercise, eat again, study, meditate, lightsaber practice, eat again, meditate some more, wash, sleep.
He missed the people too. The other Padawans, the students, the Knights, the Masters with their ageless wisdom. He even found himself heartily missing Master Yoda’s sarcasm and biting criticism. Obi-Wan wondered if he could ever belong there again. He had, after all, agreed to betray a hundred oppressed innocents he had promised to lead. He had not acted out of fear or anger, but because he could not bear the responsibility for the death of his Master and, in part, because the Force had seemed to want it that way. Maybe the other Jedi would forgive him. He hoped he could forgive himself.
“Qui-Gon Jinn has recovered,” came a voice from the other side of the cell. Obi-Wan jumped. He hadn’t even noticed Ch’Andri come in. She was standing with her hands on her hips, radiating annoyance. She was flanked by two guards.
Obi-Wan tried to hide the hopeful, almost energetic expression on his face and keep his eyes dull and sad, but he was too late. The woman looked at him suspiciously, then motioned to her guards.
“You’re strong, Jedi,” she told him as his hands were bound securely behind his back, “but you shouldn’t get your hopes up; your precious Master isn’t safe yet.” He wondered what she meant by that, but didn’t say anything.
The guards dragged him roughly out of the cell. Obi-Wan noticed with pleasure that although he was still weak, the persistent headache and dizziness had subsided and the other effects of the multiple stun blasts were beginning to wear off. He kept his eyes downward and forced himself to limp slightly, but he had the distinct feeling that Yemil Ch’Andri was not fooled.
//Garret was right,// he thought. //She’s not just smart, she’s Force-sensitive. I’ll have to be careful.// He strengthened shields around his mind that he hadn’t even noticed erecting, hoping they would be enough to keep his thoughts from the ambassador.
“We’ll take you to your Master first, Jedi, just to prove we’ve kept our part of the bargain,” she sneered, all pretense of kindness gone.
“Then I will keep mine,” finished Obi-Wan for her. He wondered privately why she was suddenly so openly hostile. Probably just a bad mood. He wondered if there was anything he could do to make it worse; if he was lucky, anger might cause her to slip and betray something. If he wasn’t lucky... well, they couldn’t hurt him much -- they needed him to lead them to the rebels.
“Why do you need us?” he asked casually, still staring at the floor. “The Jedi, I mean. One would think you were almost afraid of Garret.”
Anger, this time. Ch’Andri stopped abruptly. “Listen, Jedi,” she hissed. “I am afraid of no one. You are here because I don’t like getting my hands dirty. Understood?” She turned and resumed walking, faster this time, making Obi-Wan struggle to keep up with her, helped along by the occasional shove from the guards who still had firm grips on his arms.
In spite of himself, Obi-Wan smirked. He had clearly hit a nerve. “If all you want is someone to do your dirty work for you, why take Jedi? Why not someone who couldn’t fight back?”
She glanced at him. “If that’s fighting back,” she said dryly, “I’m somewhat underwhelmed.”
He winced. She was right -- he hadn’t provided much resistance; he’d never really had the chance. “I did, however, kill several of your soldiers. I also armed your enemies and let them know they can still fight.”
“And how do you think they’ll react when they see their charismatic leader deliver them safely into the hands of their enemies? What about your Jedi honor then?”
Obi-Wan took a deep breath. It was tome to make his move. “This goes deeper than just a grudge against your brother, doesn’t it?” There was no reply. “Why do you want to hurt the Jedi so much?”
She stopped again, and took his chin roughly in her hand, forcing him to meet her gaze. “Let us get one thing straight,” she said quietly, carefully enunciating each word. “My motives are my own, and you will respect that if you value your life or your Master’s.” Her eyes bored into his, and for a moment her guard slipped slightly and he could see into her soul.
He staggered with the force of the pure hatred he saw there, mixed with anger and fear. He saw hints of old memories -- fire, death, unbearable pain. He looked deeper, unable to pull away.
A vicious blow to the cheekbone nearly knocked him to the floor, but the guards held him still. He saw stars floating in his peripheral vision, and his cheek and jaw smarted. He stared at the woman before him, stunned.
Her fists were clenched and she trembled with rage. “If you ever try that again, you will die,” she said, her voice shaky. “Come,” she ordered the guards, and strode forward again. Obi-Wan was dragged along behind, scarcely remembering to move of his own accord.
What had they meant, those images of suffering in her mind? They couldn’t possibly have anything to do with the Jedi--could they? Obi-Wan felt a prick of doubt. There had been so much hate, all directed towards him and the other Jedi. The Padawan was deeply troubled.
After a few minutes of walking in silence, they came again to the prison where Qui-Gon was held. The Jedi lay on the stone pallet in his cell, breathing deeply and evenly. He was asleep, Obi-Wan noted happily, and peacefully.
“May I talk to him?” asked Obi-Wan. For a moment he thought Ch’Andri might deny him the privilege, but she smiled predatorily, her composure regained, and deactivated the containment field.
“If he looks like he’s about to try anything,” she told the guards, “shoot him.”
Obi-Wan was ushered roughly into the cell, the muzzles of two small blasters digging into his spine. “Master?” he said softly, holding his breath. He sighed gratefully as Qui-Gon stirred and opened his eyes. It was so good not to see pain in them, for a change. But what he did see was almost worse... disappointment. They had told Qui-Gon of his Padawan’s promise and he did not approve.
Obi-Wan felt a wrenching pain inside his soul. A minute ago he had looked forward to the reunion with his Master, thinking only of how good it would be to se Qui-Gon again, alive and well. Now he realized he had given Qui-Gon an existence worse than any death. He had put the price of a hundred lives on Qui-Gon’s head.
The Padawan could have kicked himself. How could he have been so selfish? “Master, I...” he began, but Qui-Gon cut him off with a look.
“What were you thinking?” he asked sharply. Obi-Wan took a step back. There was anger in Qui-Gon’s voice.
“Master, please,” he whispered, tears forming in his eyes. “I only wanted...”
“I know,” answered Qui-Gon more softly. He closed his eyes. Obi-Wan had never noticed before, but Qui-Gon’s beard was beginning to show streaks of gray. “I am disappointed, Padawan.”
Obi-Wan sagged in the grasp of the guards, wondering if Qui-Gon knew how much it hurt him to hear those words from his Master’s lips. He no longer felt worthy to be called Padawan by Qui-Gon, or by any Jedi. And yet...
If he had the choice to make again, he still wasn’t sure he could make the right one, because even under Qui-Gon’s anger and disappointment, there was still love. In a way, that almost made it worse.
He wanted so much to cry out to Qui-Gon that the rebels still had a chance, that he had been able to reach KeRaad and warn her, but he couldn’t. Not even psychically. If he tried, the guards would see and shoot him. For a moment he almost considered it, feeling that death would be so much easier than the torture he was already going through. But if he died, it would hurt Qui-Gon, and Obi-Wan couldn’t bear to do that again. He had gotten himself here, and he had to get himself out. Sadly, he turned away from his Master.
“You need your rest, Master,” he murmured, as he was led out of the cell. He couldn’t be sure, but Obi-Wan thought he heard Qui-Gon sigh behind him.