“Now, Obi-Wan Kenobi, you will pay for your treachery against the galaxy! I will never let you escape, for I am Slade, the greatest Jedi Knight that ever lived!”

A rather humorous evil laugh escaped Obi-Wan’s lips, and the small boy leapt up on the couch cushions, poking Slade in the chest. “Oh ho! I think not, Slade. You and your Jedi friends have defeated me for the last time! I--” He dropped the menacing voice, taking up a frustrated whine. “Why do I have to be the bad guy this time? It’s my birthday tomorrow. I should get what I want.”

Slade scoffed, tucking his short practice ‘saber under his arm as he adjusted his tunic. “Because. I’m always the bad guy. I’m tired of being the Sith lord. You have to be him this time.”

“But the Sith lord always loses.”

“I know. That’s why I’m tired of being him.” Slade withdrew his ‘saber, waving it Obi-Wan’s direction as he adopted his overstated heroic tone once more. “Do your worst, Obi-Wan! I will thwart your evil in the name of all that is good!”

Obi-Wan stuck out his lower lip, narrowing his eyes. “Fine.” He cleared his throat, bellowing in treble tones, “Slade! How good of you to come, just in time for me to destroy your sorry Jedi butt! I will show you why the galaxy bows to me!”

The younger boy struck out with his small ‘saber, the two hollow tubes making plastic smacking sounds as they came in contact with each other.

“Take that! And that! And that even more!” Slade cried, using his strength to his advantage as he drove Obi-Wan back.

“Oh no, you don’t!” Obi-Wan shouted a high-pitched warrior’s cry, and resumed his furious attack, driving at Slade’s legs and tail. “You will never win!”

“Of course I will! I am a Jedi, and we always win!” Slade executed a passable spin attack, using the end of his ‘saber to knock Obi-Wan’s saber from his hands. “Ha ha!”

Obi-Wan fell backwards onto the floor, breathing hard. “You. . .defeated me. . .How?”

Slade looked down at him, shaking his head. “I told you, Obi-Wan. The Force always wins.” He drove the plastic ‘saber downward, and Obi-Wan caught it in his armpit.

“Nooooo!” he cried, kicking out his legs as he shuddered and flailed on the floor, finally growing still, his tongue hanging out of his mouth.

Qui-Gon walked out from the hallway where he’d been watching the entire affair, with not a little bit of discomfort. Even though he knew they were just playing, there was something kind of eerie about watching his Padawan play the role of the villain. “So. I see the Sith lord met his bitter end.”

Opening one eye, Obi-Wan whispered seriously from where he lay sprawled, “I’m not really the Sith lord. I’m just pretending.”

Suppressing a smile, Qui-Gon nodded back solemnly. “Thank goodness. I don’t know what I’d do if I had a Sith lord in my common room.”

Slade flashed him an easy grin. “Fortunately, you’d have me around to protect you, Master Qui-Gon.”

Qui-Gon shook his head, chuckling. It had been about a week since Master Rian’s phone call, and day by day, Slade been coming back to himself. His voracious appetite had returned, and he looked more well rested than he had in months. Qui-Gon wasn’t sure exactly what Rian had said to the boy, but he was thankful for the result, especially the return of Slade’s witty comments.

“And for that, I thank you, Slade. But maybe next time we can save the universe without jumping on the couch?”

Both boys exchanged a look, and Obi-Wan nodded, climbing to his feet. “Okay, Master.”

“I thought you guys liked playing space cops and pirates. Isn’t that fun anymore?” Qui-Gon couldn’t help his obvious aversion; he hoped maybe he could convince the boys of something less disconcerting to play.

Obi-Wan shrugged, leaning for a moment on his practice ‘saber. “I’m tired of playing Jedi and Sith lord. Being a Sith stinks, because you always end up dead.”

Slade rolled his eyes. “I’ve been saying that for days.”

“So you guys thirsty?” Qui-Gon walked into the kitchen, already pulling out the container of blue juice.

Obi-Wan scrambled behind him, preparing to jump up on the counter. “I’ll get the glasses!”

He reached over, catching the boy by the middle and setting him back down on the floor. “Obi-Wan, how many times do I have to tell you not to climb on the counters?”

His Padawan scowled, his plastic ‘saber tucked under one arm as he crossed them over his chest. “I wouldn’t fall.”

“That’s not the point.” He reached up and took out three cups, filling Obi-Wan’s with blue liquid and the other two with red. Slade, like him, wasn’t as fond as the bright blue juice as Obi-Wan was.

“Can we watch holovids tonight, Master?” Obi-Wan asked, his lips stained indigo.

“You finished your homework already, right?”

Slade nodded emphatically, his tail flicking back and forth. “We worked our fingers to the bone. It nearly killed us both, but we got it done, Master Qui-Gon.”

Qui-Gon shook his head at the boy, slipping him a grin. “You’ve got a gift for exaggeration, Slade. The Council’s going to love you.”

Pursing his lips, Slade waited a moment to speak. “Is that a good thing?”

“Definitely.” He walked out of the kitchen, sitting comfortably in his favorite worn chair, waving at the boys for them to follow. “So what are we going to watch?”

Slade and Obi-Wan busied themselves on the floor, looking through the decent stack of holovids that they’d acquired over the past several months. Qui-Gon turned on the vidplayer, tuning it to netfeed while they made their decision. He kept the sound down, watching the news stories flash by as he sipped his juice. There was another Lash virus outbreak on Yil; there were probably already Jedi on the way to help avert the crisis. Sometimes it seemed an impossible task: taking care of the galaxy’s problems while trying to promote peace and justice.

Words fed across the screen in several languages, some of which Qui-Gon could read and others he was only mildly familiar with. “Civil War,” the captions read, “Breaks on Mid Rim planet. Tribal Scuffle turns Bloody. Thirty people are already Reported Dead on Was-4.”

Qui-Gon stiffened, feeling as if a cold stone had been slipped down his throat.

“I think we want to watch this one, Master!”

“Shh!” He held up his hands, his eyes fixed on the screen. “Wait!”

“Peace talks moved from bad to worse today on Was-4, when the Sentili tribe was viciously attacked by the technologically advanced Upanis tribe,” the sexless voice of the autoreader droned. “Initially the trouble was sparked by border squabbles, but now the Upanis have laid waste to one of the Sentili’s temples. It appears to be a taste of things to come.”

The screen flickered, switching to the weather on Coruscant. Qui-Gon stood, steadying his breathing. “That’s it?” he said softly, still watching the screen.

Obi-Wan looked up, his eyes at once wise and innocent. “Master? Are you okay?”

Trying to reign in his thoughts, Qui-Gon made himself draw in a breath, reaching out to the Force for calm. Obi-Wan was already picking up on his concern, and he didn’t want to upset the child, especially after all he’d gone through recently with Slade. Tracing the thinnest block he could over their bond, he hoped to circumvent his own mind’s anxiety from reaching Obi-Wan. “It’s all right, Obi-Wan. I just need to make a few calls. Start the vid without me, okay?”

Obi-Wan looked up dubiously at him, but he shook his head, pressing start on the player and crawling up on the couch, Slade following suit.

Moving down the hall into his bedroom, Qui-Gon pulled out his comlink, sitting heavily on the edge of his bed. He knew that Bel-San was still alive; if something had happened to his friend, he certainly would have detected it through the Force.

Keying in the string of code, he waited in silence as his comlink signaled Bel-San’s. The comlink beeped each time it tried, and after ten beeps, Qui-Gon clicked it off. He’d tried two days ago to reach his friend and had left a message, but Bel-San hadn’t contacted him. He swallowed hard, shaking his head slightly. This wasn’t like Bel-San at all; the other Jedi had made a habit of at least sending a written message once a week since his departure. Qui-Gon hadn’t received one in nearly two. At the time, he’d chalked it up to a busy schedule, but now, he couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that something was very wrong.

Lifting the comlink to his lips, Qui-Gon keyed in the code to Heri’s apartment, hoping she was there.

“Heri,” her voice answered.

“It’s Qui-Gon,” he said, keeping his voice under control. “I need to talk to you.”

He heard Heri draw in a quick breath. “Is Obi-Wan okay?”

“He’s fine. Slade’s fine too. It’s not about them. . .it’s about Bel-San.”

“What happened?”

“I don’t know. I just saw on the newsfeed. . .there’s civil war breaking out on Was-4, and people are dying. It’s the same tribe that Bel-San’s living with--they’re being attacked. The thing is, I haven’t been able to get him on his comlink for almost a week.”

Heri sighed, and he thought he heard her curse under her breath. “What can I do to help?”

Qui-Gon ran a hand through his hair, considering his options. “I need to talk to Mace, find out what the Council’s doing about it. Maybe they’ve already dispatched a team, who knows. But I want to make sure something is being done.”

“Do you want me to come over and hang out with the guys for a bit?”

“Are you sure, Heri? I know you just got done with your last group of kids; you probably haven’t had a night off in months--”

“Listen. I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t mean it. Besides, Slade and Obi-Wan are a breeze compared to my last four terrors.” He could hear the smile in her voice as she spoke, although it was belied by the seriousness of their discussion.

“Thank you so much. Just give me a few hours, okay? And try not to let the boys know what’s going on. . .it’s Obi-Wan’s birthday tomorrow too, and--”

“Say no more. I’m on my way. Heri out.”

***

Mace Windu scratched his chin, listening as Yareel Poof’s nasal voice as he explained the situation on Was-4. The Temple’s contacts elsewhere near the Mid Rim had given them information even worse than the intergalactic newsfeed’s report; from those accounts, it was evident that the Upanis were resorting to ruthless measures in their attacks.

“What’s clear,” Yareel said slowly, “is that the Upanis tribe is using superior technology to wipe out the Sentili. The Sentili have no means to defend themselves against machinery; their primary means of protection are hand-crafted weapons, bows and suchlike.”

Plo Koon nodded, his breathing audible as air passed into his face-mask. “But is there a clear motive for their attack? What have the Sentili done to elicit such a response from the Upanis?”

“From what we understand, it seems to be quarrels over land borders and rights to the resources of the land. The Sentili take what they need from their habitat, and they are a smaller tribe, making their lands more rich with game. The Upanis have outgrown their robes, so to speak, partly due to their reliance on technology.” Yareel’s head swayed from side to side as he spoke, and Mace blinked several times, aware of his own fatigue. The meeting had been going on for several hours now, and despite the fact it was something of a privilege for one of the Council’s assistants to be present, he was ready for a recess.

Master Yoda met his gaze for a moment, and then looked to the assembled Jedi. “Troubling, this is. Contact with members of the tribe, impossible, it has been. No response has their been from Knight Jacoba for several days.”

Mace rubbed his forehead, cursing silently. He couldn’t help thinking of Sy-Mon, and he knew he wasn’t the only Council member recalling the lost Jedi. Somehow Bel-San always managed to get involved in missions that, for anyone else, would have been pure simplicity, but turned disastrous for him. And it didn’t help that he was alone.

“We need to send a Jedi team in to find Knight Jacoba, and hopefully to negotiate between the tribes. There has been too much bloodshed,” Yareel said.

Adi Gallia looked over at Mace for a moment, then meekly rose to her full height in her seat. “Masters, if I may?” She waited for Yoda to grant her leave, and then she took a quick breath before speaking. “I agree that we must investigate Knight Jacoba’s situation, and Jedi must be sent. But in all fairness, can we truly act as a judge between the tribes? They don’t abide by Republic laws or draw up any sort of property contracts. Would it not make more sense to simply remove Knight Jacoba from the planet and allow the tribes to settle matters themselves? I only ask because of the recent issues the Senate has faced regarding jurisdiction.”

“That’s a good point,” Plo Koon said, nodding. “Perhaps we ought to wait for Knight Jacoba to contact us.”

Mace cleared his throat, knowing that Bel-San would have contacted them long before if he was able. “If he’s in trouble, he may not be able to contact us. I would agree with Adi’s statement. Regardless of our stance on the tribes, we should certainly send a team for relief.”

Yareel pressed the tips of his long fingers together, and he sighed. “This is why a number of us felt Knight Jacoba should not be sent. He is an excellent scholar, but he has no practical field experience. The Sentili and Upanis have no love for the Jedi--”

“Past is past. Unnecessary it is to discuss what has already been decided,” Master Yoda said, his voice just slightly elevated. “Decide, we must, how far--”

The door to the Council chamber opened, and for a moment, there was no sound save for the hiss of air from the slide doors. A tall figure stood in the open portal, and Mace didn’t have to wonder for a moment who it was.

“Master Qui-Gon,” Yoda said, his voice passive, but Mace saw the corners of the old Jedi’s mouth twitch. “Speak to you, will we, after recess.”

Qui-Gon bowed, facing the Council. “Masters,” he said politely.

Master Yoda dismissed the Council members, and Mace rose stiffly, working the kinks out of his shoulders as he walked over to where Qui-Gon stood. “How is it possible that you of all people have the power to bust into emergency Council meetings?”

Qui-Gon smiled slightly, although it was more of a tired smirk. “The old master/apprentice training bond comes in handy every once in awhile.” Mace watched his friend draw a hand down his bearded face, and he could see Qui-Gon’s weariness start to show. “Can you believe this? It’s like he has a little black hole following him around.”

“I know. I was just thinking that during the meeting. I don’t know why in the world they ever agreed to send him in the first place. He can’t take care of himself.” Mace crossed his thick arms over his chest, taking a deep breath. “So are you going after him?”

Qui-Gon met Mace’s gaze immediately. “What do you think?”

“Why do you even bother to ask for permission?” Mace said, only half in jest.

“I like to throw people off by going by the book every now and then,” Qui-Gon said. “Besides, Payter’s off-planet, and Force knows you’re not going. I wouldn’t trust anybody but one of us.”

Mace raised an eyebrow, silent for a moment. If he hadn’t been in the Council chamber, he might not have allowed Qui-Gon to get away with such a cutting remark, but he held his tongue, changing the subject instead. “Don’t tell me you’re taking the boy.”

“I’m not. He’s too young.” Qui-Gon shook his head, his shoulders drooping. “He’s had enough trauma in the past few months, enough to last him through the next ten years. He’ll stay here. Heri can watch him while I’m gone.”

“And you think they’re just going to let you go?” Mace asked, incredulous. Only Qui-Gon would have the audacity to walk into the Council chamber and demand terms. What was even more bizarre was that he generally got what he wanted.

Qui-Gon’s eyes met level with his. “Well, I don’t imagine there are scores of Jedi just leaping at the chance to go to Was-4. I know I can do whatever needs to be done to get him out and--”

Qui-Gon stopped speaking, one hand moving to his chest. It seemed for a moment the other Jedi couldn’t breathe, and then the episode passed, leaving him gasping for breath.

“What . .?” Mace asked, speaking softly so as not to attract anyone else’s attention, sensing a brief, sudden change in Qui-Gon’s signature.

Shaking his head, Qui-Gon took in a ragged breath, the tension visible in his face. “He needs our help. Something bad is happening there. To Bel-San. I know it.”

Mace stepped back a pace, wary. “Are you sure?”

Qui-Gon’s expression became intense, and Mace remembered why he was one of the only members of their age group that had agreed to spar with him during their youth. “Bel-San is trying to block out the pain, to keep it from reaching the Jedi he’s bonded with, but it’s coming through. You know what that means.”

Mace nodded, holding up a hand. He didn’t allow his expression to show his discomfort, but mentally he winced on Bel-San’s behalf. Only when pain grew unbearable did a Jedi lose the concentration to divert spillover through his bonds. For a moment he wondered if Payter had felt anything, and then wondered why he himself hadn’t.

“And what’s coming through to me isn’t even close to what he’s getting.” Qui-Gon raised his voice, speaking loud enough for the room to hear. “So I think we need to end this recess and get someone there. Now.”

Unbelievable, Mace thought. And some of the Council members actually think Qui-Gon would be a good member too. Frightening. “That was subtle,” Mace whispered.

Several Council members actually moved to find their seats, and Qui-Gon looked back at him, a slight sheen of victory cast over his troubled features. “I’m surprised you haven’t tried that one yourself.”

***

Obi-Wan sat in the common room, waiting for Master Heri to finish talking with his Master. Slade had already gone to bed, but Obi-Wan wasn’t tired, even though he knew it was late. It had been fun to be with Master Heri for awhile, and she had made them popcorn and let them watch not just one but two holovids. She and Slade even made up a funny game where you had to make up a song and rhyme the last word with the first word, and they’d all laughed a lot, but Obi-Wan didn’t feel like laughing anymore. There was something wrong, and he wanted to know what it was.

The slide door hissed shut, and he heard his Master’s footsteps brushing across the surface of the thick carpet. Obi-Wan sat curled on the couch in his favorite pajamas, the blue ones with the feet, his knees tucked in front of him.

“Obi-Wan?”

His Master leaned over the back of the couch, looking in on Obi-Wan from behind. “There you are.”

“Hi Master,” Obi-Wan said softly, linking his hands around his knees.

“Did you have a good time with Master Heri tonight?”

“I guess so.”

“She said you guys were great. I’m glad to hear that.” His Master walked around the couch, sitting down beside Obi-Wan. “She said you were kind of quiet, though.”

Obi-Wan shrugged. He didn’t want to have to ask his Master what was going on. “I felt like being quiet.”

“That’s okay,” his Master said, his voice warm and assuring. “You’re allowed to be quiet.” His Master settled in beside him, folding his hands loosely. “Obi-Wan, I need to talk to you.”

“Um, okay,” Obi-Wan said uncertainly.

“I know how important Slade is to you, and how good of a friend he is, and that’s why when he was in trouble, I wanted to help. That’s why when he needed a home, I wanted him to stay with us. Because he’s your friend, he became my friend too.” Obi-Wan watched his Master’s face as he spoke, and he could see tiny lines forming between his Master’s eyes. Reaching out through their bond, Obi-Wan sensed a wall of frustration and concern, and he touched it for a moment, recoiling slightly. His Master was upset. “And now, one of my friends is in trouble, and I need to go help them.”

“Who?”

“It’s Bel-San. He’s all by himself, and there are some people on his planet that are trying to hurt him. He needs help, and I need to go help him.”

Obi-Wan looked up into his Master’s blue eyes, nodding slowly. “I knew something was wrong,” he confided. “I always know when you’re upset, Master. It makes my stomach feel kind of funny, like I ate too much.” He bit his lip, thinking for a moment. “When are we leaving? Is Slade coming too?”

His Master reached out and smoothed a hand over his head. “I need to go by myself, Little One. You and Slade are going to stay with Master Heri while I’m gone.”

“But. . .” Obi-Wan didn’t know what to say. Padawans were supposed to go with their Masters. He didn’t want his Master to go by himself. “But I want to go with you.”

“I might need to sneak into where Bel-San is, and it’ll be much easier if it’s just me.” His Master spoke gently, like he wasn’t trying to hurt Obi-Wan’s feelings, but Obi-Wan couldn’t help feeling hurt anyway. He didn’t want to be anywhere where his Master wasn’t. “I need to know that you’re safe while I’m gone. That’s the most important thing to me. And if you come with me, I’m going to be worrying about you, and I might get us both in trouble.”

Obi-Wan sighed, looking at the surface of the couch cushions. “When do you have to go?”

“The Council arranged a ship for me to leave very early tomorrow morning. Before the sun comes up.”

Obi-Wan took in a quick breath. He didn’t know it would be so soon. “Tomorrow. . .but tomorrow. . .it’s my birthday.”

His Master opened his arms, and Obi-Wan crawled into his lap, leaning into the warmth of his Master’s robes. “I know, Little One, and I’m sorry. If there was any other way for me to help Bel-San, I would. But the sooner I leave, the sooner I get to come back and be with you again.” He gave Obi-Wan a long hug, patting his back. “I was thinking maybe I could give you your present now, since I won’t be able to be at the party tomorrow.”

Obi-Wan shrugged, releasing his Master reluctantly. “I guess. But I don’t want a party unless you’re going to be there.”

“Slade and Heri are very excited about your party--I think you might change your mind about that. But I want to give you your present, because I think it’ll come in handy while I’m gone.” His Master stood and walked over to one of the high cabinets, taking out a small, brightly wrapped package. “Here. Happy birthday, Obi-Wan.”

His Master sat beside him again, watching expectantly, and Obi-Wan picked up the gift, halfheartedly ripping at the paper. He opened the box and pulled away the gauzy packing to reveal a shining silver object. Letting it fall into his palm, he felt its cool metal weight, turning it over in his hands. “What is it?”

His Master gave him a slight smile, producing an identical object from his pocket. “It’s a comlink, but it’s a much better one than the ones we usually use around here. You and I will be able to talk to each other, even when I’m on Was-4. It has a much more powerful signal. But you can still use it for the Temple, so if you want to use it to talk to Slade, you can do that too.”

Obi-Wan clutched the new comlink, holding it close to him. It looked like it was kind of expensive. “Thank you, Master.”

“You’re welcome.” His Master brushed a hand over his head, and Obi-Wan closed his eyes. He didn’t want him to leave.

“There’s something else I wanted to give you,” his Master said softly, reaching up to undo the clasp at his throat. “You know this is my favorite robe, but I think you should look after it while I’m gone. I don’t want it to get torn or anything on a mission.”

He draped the warm, worn fabric around Obi-Wan, and the garment swiftly became a blanket. Obi-Wan knew that his Master had worn that robe on a lot of missions, and he wasn’t exactly sure why he didn’t want to wear it this time. Taking a deep breath, he could smell his Master’s familiar scent buried in the fibers of the robe. “Don’t worry, Master. I’ll take care of it.”

“I know you will.”

Obi-Wan sighed, feeling lost amid the cloud of brown fabric. He sat up, wrapping his arms as far around his Master’s chest as he could, although they didn’t even make it halfway. Pressing his cheek there, he listened to his Master’s heartbeat, feeling somewhat comforted by its calm, steady rhythm.

His Master didn’t say anything for a little while, until finally he said, “You know I’m coming back, don’t you, Little One?”

Taking a shuddering breath, Obi-Wan nodded, burying his face in his Master’s tunic, suddenly wondering what it would be like to be so far apart from his Master. Since they’d become Master and Padawan, they had always done everything together. “I know,” he whispered. “I don’t want Bel-San to get hurt. I think you should help him. But then come back right away, okay? It won’t be the same if you’re not here.”

His Master nodded. “It won’t be the same without you either.”

TBC