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The ship was dark, silent as a crypt.
The emergency lights were almost devoid of power, their glow almost gone on the edges of the shuttle. The monitors were dead, their plasteel readouts burned and melted. And sprawled on the gray carpet were bodies.
Qui-Gon's pulse began to race as he saw the bodies. Two young men, burns lacing their faces and gray-clad bodies. The unnatural twists of their torsos and arms made them look as if they had been tossed casually over the piloting chairs.
"Master!" Obi-Wan called, softly but urgently.
Qui-Gon looked up at his padawan, kneeling at the side of a third body. The long legs curled up beside him twitched and drew up a little.
Qui-Gon quickly rose and dropped to his knees beside the young woman. Stinking black burns criss-crossed her torso, and her small hands were pressed tightly to it, protectively. Her round face, with its dark halo of straight short hair, was almost blank. She was conscious, but her bright blue eyes did not seem to see the two Jedi beside her.
Qui-Gon slipped his large hand over her smaller one, and she started a little, her eyes fixing on him for the first time. "It's all right," he murmured. "It's all right..."
She relaxed, but Qui-Gon sensed that she was not afraid. In fact—he could barely sense anything at all from her, as if she hardly felt anything.
"Obi-Wan," he said urgently. "Call the medics."
Obi-Wan nodded and stumbled to his feet and back into the airlock, onto the transport they had come in. His voice was heard calling for the emergency medics, and a second, gruffer voice replying that they were already on their way...
Qui-Gon bent low over the young woman, followed her eyes. She was looking, with the same quiet intentness, at her two dead crewmates.
The walls of the Jedi Temple medical bay were muted beige, relaxing for the sick and wounded Jedi who came there. Under a translucent sheet, the girl from the attacked ship was lying. Her eyes were focused with the intentness of before on the wall. A faint smile curved her full, pale lips.
"We don't know who attacked their ship," Mace Windu said quietly, keeping his deep voice low to not disturb the patients. "The energy signatures of their weapons was unfamiliar."
Qui-Gon did not answer, but only fixed his blue eyes on the young woman. The computer records showed her to be Talia Tasises, a brilliant young pilot-in-training. "What about her?" he asked in a hushed voice.
Windu sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, as if the entire experience had exhausted him. "Her injuries are severe. She's not going to recover..."
Qui-Gon's gaze did not waver. He seemed to have slipped into a trance...
Mace Windu sighed again and put a large hand on his friend's broad shoulder. "It's late... you should try to get some sleep. There's going to be plenty to do tomorrow."
"In a minute," Qui-Gon replied softly. For a long moment, Windu simply watched him, pity and sorrow crossing his dark features at his friend's empathy for Talia. Then he quickly turned and was gone into the turbolift.
Qui-Gon pressed one large hand to the doorpad, and it slipped open with a hiss. The girl's blank blue eyes were touched with confusion as the soft clack of boots on tiled floors reached her ears. He smiled encouragingly at her.
"Hello," Qui-Gon said softly, feeling oddly ill-at-ease. Talia blinked for the first time, as if curious about him. The same tiny smile was still on her lips, growing slowly as her eyes resumed their blank stare, as if something fascinated her on the far wall.
Qui-Gon looked quickly behind himself, frowned at the blank beige surface, then asked, "Talia?"
Talia started, her eyelids fluttering over her lackluster eyes. Qui-Gon looked back at her, trying to read the muted emotions that she was—was ALLOWING him to read. No fear, or unhappiness... just serenity, just tranquility. A hint of excitement... at... reunion.
She knew she was dying, he thought, his spirit sinking. "Talia," he tried again. "Can you understand me?"
She did. He could sense that much...
"Talia, what are you looking at?" he asked quietly.
The dreamy smile melted to reveal a more mischievous, elfin expression in its wake. One small hand lifted from her side, rose up and wavered a little. Qui-Gon hesitated, then touched his large hand to hers. He winced a little at the icy coldness of her skin as her slim fingers curled around his.
Then she looked to the side, at the blank wall, and Qui-Gon started at the strange golden glow that seemed to be emanating from it. Two figures, barely outlined as humanoid, but shining like the compressed light of a thousand stars, were standing before it, arms outstretched.
Talia sighed, and the vision faded into the gray of night.
Qui-Gon looked down at Talia, astonished beyond words as her hand slipped from his. She smiled up at him, sighed, and closed her eyes. Her body relaxed, as if the pain from her wounds had been drained from her.
A nearby monitor uttered a piercing beep, as a readout went flat...
Qui-Gon stared dumbly at it, unable to speak as he looked at the dead woman. He had come to comfort her, and yet somehow she had comforted him, in a terrible, indescribable way. She had slipped from life without fear, or even a last word. But Talia had shown him the very edge of death. And it was something that he would never forget...