Frowning at the viewscreen, Heri clicked back several spaces, fixing an atrocious spelling error. Even though the program would correct her misspellings almost instantaneously, she preferred to do the amendments herself, trying to catch them before the computer did. Running a hand through her chin-length hair, she scanned over the notes she'd made, trying to remember exactly what she'd been thinking when the noxious spelling had caught her eye. That was the problem with editing as she worked; in the midst of changing her immediate wrongs, she often forgot what it was she was trying to say.

Heri checked her chrono, and found it was later than she'd guessed. The boys had gone to bed with their usual amount of protest, but Obi-Wan had been especially uncooperative. She knew he was doing his best under rather difficult circumstances, but that fact somehow seemed to slip away when the towheaded seven-year-old refused to relinquish his Master's robe for a much-needed washing. Sometimes it seemed like he was easier when he was four; at least then her presence had been enough to comfort him. Qui-Gon hadn't checked in with them for nearly three days, and she knew the separation was wearing on the small boy. Of course, Heri thought, it was probably just as wearing on Qui-Gon as well. Since bondings between master and padawan were rare for young children, data on them was elusive, but from what little Heri had been able to find, such bonds were noted for their intensity.

Stepping softly from the common room to the kitchen, she noiselessly placed some dishes in the sink, a skill honed from years of living with small children. As she walked down the short corridor past the boys' bedrooms, she gave a quiet sigh, thankful for a moment of quiet. Heri moved into her own room, sliding gratefully onto her sleepcouch. If there was one thing Jedi did not get enough of, she was sure, it was sleep.

A tremor streaked through the Force before her head touched the pillow, jolting her upright, and Heri leap nimbly from her bed, following the trail to its source. Palming the door to Obi-Wan's room open, she sent out a wave of calm even as she passed though the archway.

"Obi-Wan?"

From the dim aqua lighting thrown from his nightlight, she saw the boy tossing beneath the covers, still in the throes of a nightmare. Releasing a breath, she touched his shoulder lightly. "Hey, sweetie, it's okay."

Obi-Wan flailed his arms wildly, striking out at her, although her quick reflexes caught his rough movements in a gentle but firm grip. "Obi-Wan, wake up!"

The small boy gasped suddenly, his eyes flying open as he stared up at her. She released his wrists, smoothing a hand over his sweat-dampened forehead. "It's okay, it's okay," she whispered, wrapping an arm around his slender shaking shoulders.

He trembled violently, teeth chattering, and Heri pulled his master's robe from the end of the boy's bed, tucking it around his small form. "Talk to me, honey. What's going on?"

Obi-Wan sighed, slumping back against his pillows as he closed his eyes. "It was just a bad dream. I have them sometimes."

"I know you do," she said softly, bathing her words in a balm of the Force. "Do you remember any of it?"

"I don't know. It was hurting. Hurting my master, and it hurt," Obi-Wan said, his voice barely a whisper, his eyes turned on her face. "I hate them."

"Who do you hate?"

He took in a shuddering breath. "I know we're not supposed to say that word."

Heri gave his hand a squeeze, passing along what reassurance he would allow himself to take from her gesture. She had had a fair number of these conversations before, about the 'h-word,' and it never ceased to amaze her how much children understood. We never give them enough credit, she thought. "It's okay. You can tell me how you're feeling, and you can use whatever words you want. I promise it's okay."

"Are you sure?"

"Say whatever you want, Obi-Wan. It's just between you and me."

That seemed to satisfy him, and his lips screwed up for a moment before he found his voice. "I hate that he's gone. I hate that I'm too little and that people are hurting him." He gulped a breath, and continued, a layer of unshed tears coating his eyes. "Why do people want to hurt him? My Master would never hurt anyone. He's good. I don't know why they want to hurt him. Or take Slade. Why do they all hate us? Jedi are good. We help people. But they still hate us."

Heri sighed, knowing that one night would not be enough to answer the boy's questions. "Sometimes I ask myself the same things, Obi-Wan. I'm a good bit older than you, and I don't have all the answers. Your master is older than me, and I would bet that he would say the same thing. But I can tell you what I do know, and that's this: there is good to be found in every being in this galaxy, from the highest Jedi Council members to the smallest jawa. We Jedi do our very best to help everyone, even people who don't like us very much, because we believe that serving others is the way to peace."

"But why don't they like us?"

"Sometimes they're jealous of us, because we can do things that others can't. We use the Force, and not everyone can do that. Sometimes people just don't want to be helped, and they don't want us around. And sometimes, people just don't like us."

Obi-Wan scoffed, wiping at his nose. "But they don't even know us. That's not fair."

Heri brushed her hand over his hair, smiling slightly. "I know. But you have to remember that even though there are some people who don't like the Jedi very much, there are a lot more people out there who love us, and are so glad we're here. And think about the Temple. There are so many Jedi in this place, and each and every one of them would do their very best to keep you and your master safe. We don't just take care of the galaxy, we take care of each other."

Obi-Wan pulled his master's robe up to his chin, huddling inside its voluminous folds. "I think they were hurting my master."

"Did you see something in your dream?"

Obi-Wan shook his head. "No. I felt it."

***

Kerge yawned, shaking his head in hopes of clearing it. Neither he nor his master had gotten much rest over the past few weeks, but he didn't want his master to know how tired he actually felt. He had learned how to conserve his resources, to draw on quiet wells of strength that he hadn't even known existed, and how to suppress his own exhaustion. There were times a Jedi couldn't rest, and there were ways to push past one's own limits, as long as one made up for it later. Kerge hoped once they got back to Coruscant that they'd be able to make up for their lost sleep, because otherwise, he wasn't sure how much longer he was going to be a coherent padawan.

His master had ventured somewhere in the back of their small ship; he had said something about going over their reports. Through their bond, he sensed his master was deep in concentration, and somewhat withdrawn from Kerge's mind. He also sensed the subdued consciousness of Bronjiv, kept secure in the closet. Recognizing the other man's presence reminded Kerge of the host of questions he had for his master, but he filed them elsewhere in his mind. The answers would be given eventually, but as was often the case with his master, they only led to more questions.

A blinking light on the main console brought his attention back to the moment, and he frowned, checked the readout. At first it seemed like a regular distress signal, but when Kerge saw the call sign, he froze. It was coming over a restricted channel.

:Master, I think there's something you should see.:

Within several moments, he heard the distinctive heavy thud of his master's boot soles moving towards the cockpit, and Kerge turned back in his chair to greet him.

"What's the problem, Padawan?"

Kerge pointed at the viewscreen, running his free hand across his raggedly cut hair. "This signal. I thought it was civilian at first, but look at the numbers. This is coming across Jedi channels. Completely restricted."

His Master leaned over, his keen eyes focused on the screen. "Where's it hailing from?"

"It's not near much of anything, Master." Kerge brought up the navcomputer, keying in the coordinates. "The closest planet would be. . ." He waited a second for the display to process. "Was-4."

Kerge heard his master draw in a quick breath. "Answer it."

Careful to keep his expression from betraying his surprise, Kerge's fingers flew over the console. "You want visual?"

"Yes."

The communications screen speckled with static as the computer sought the connection with the other ship, and Kerge wondered for a moment if they would lose the signal. His master leaned against the console, speaking into the audio feed before the picture came through. "This is the Valeriant 6, Payter speaking."

The small viewscreen suddenly cleared, revealing a dilapidated Qui-Gon Jinn. "Payter, thank the Force." A gash marred his forehead, and a trickle of blood ran between his brows. "How fast can you get here?"

***

Looking across the small medical bay of the ship, Qui-Gon stood unsteadily in the doorway, watching the undulating lines that moved across the vital readouts over both beds. Bel-San and Seph lay unconscious on narrow cots, appearing strangely peaceful in spite of the violence that had been done to them. Qui-Gon drew in a shaky breath, still unable to believe what had happened. The deep chill of panic that had initially gripped him had subsided somewhat, settling into an aching twist of guilt in his stomach.

Moving to Bel-San's bedside, Qui-Gon fumbled through the contents of his medpac, finally pulling out a small canister of synthe-nutrients. Slipping it into the casing of the spray hypo, he pressed it against Bel-San's neck. He had already placed a bacta patch on the blaster wound on the other Jedi's side, and had given him a small dose of painkiller. At this point he could only hope that the med supplies would sustain his friend until the Healers could help him.

A brutal wave of dizziness crested over Qui-Gon, and he eased himself to the floor, closing his eyes. The seductive call of unconsciousness teased his mind, and he steeled himself to resist it. You have to stay awake, he thought. You have to stay in this. You owe them both that much. You were only out for a moment before, and look what happened.

He forced his eyes open, somewhat surprised by the sheer weight of exhaustion that seemed to drape over his frame. A numbing weakness had settled within him, and it made even the walk from one end of the ship to the other an arduous journey. He let his head fall back against the chill wall for a moment, hoping to draw some sort of strength from a brief second of rest.

A shrill beeping ripped through the chamber, and he climbed painfully to his feet, eyes wide as he checked both monitors, afraid to see a flat line. He then realized the sound came from the front of the ship. Walking stiffly back to the cockpit, he answered the hail.

"I'm docking with your ship right now. Kerge and I will be on momentarily."

Qui-Gon shook his head, amazed at how quickly Payter had gotten there. "You made good time."

"It's my job to make good time. Payter out."

Several minutes later, after the dull clank of metal on metal had signified a successful docking, Qui-Gon heard the hiss of the airlock opening, and he went to greet them.

Payter ducked his formidable height through the door, his sharp gaze pinned on Qui-Gon. "What the hell happened here?"

"We ran into some trouble getting off Was-4," Qui-Gon said, already walking towards the medical bay.

Payter stopped him, catching his arm in a serious grip. "You had better mean there is another Jedi on this ship besides you and Bel-San. They did not send you on this mission alone."

Qui-Gon scoffed, pulling his arm away. "Well, considering it wasn't recognized by the Council as a mission, technically they didn't send me at all."

Payter turned away from him, facing Kerge, who hung back a few paces behind his master. "Do a scan, and check the diagnostics up front." He looked back at Qui-Gon, taking in deep breath. "Where's Bel-San?"

"He's back here." They moved to the medical bay, and Payter let out a low growl as they entered the small chamber.

"What is that exactly?" he asked, eyes focused on Seph's shallowly breathing form.

Qui-Gon knew there was no good way to explain the situation, so he opted for the most straightforward. "He's a Sentili tribesman, one of the people Bel-San had been living with. He helped in the rescue."

Payter said nothing, but dropped a hand lightly on Seph's forehead. He pulled his hand away, his eyes like polished black stones. "A sonic bomb. Care to explain that?"

Qui-Gon held up a hand, meeting Payter's cold gaze. "You know, it would be really helpful if you would reserve your judgement until I've explained everything first. I think I deserve that much."

Payter shook his head. "Whatever. Just tell me what happened."

"On our way out of the complex, we ran into a group of Upanis soldiers, and they-"

"We need to get out of here." Kerge ran breathless into the room, his padawan braid slapping against his shoulders. He thrust the diagnostic scanner into his master's hands, pointing at the top of the screen. "Look. The lines are all convoluted. It's amazing that it's still running at this point. Someone must have messed with the ship on the planet or something."

Payter scanned the viewscreen quickly, nodding slightly in Kerge's direction. "Good work." Slipping the scanner into his belt, he looked back at Qui-Gon. "Get whatever medical supplies you have on board you can carry, because I don't have much on my ship. Kerge, I want you to get. . .what's his name?"

"Seph."

"Carry Seph. I'll get Bel-San. Let's get moving before the ship seizes and we all go down together, all right?"

Payter reached down and disconnected Bel-San from the monitors, and Qui-Gon heard the other Jedi swear under his breath when Payter saw the razed skin on Bel-San's chest from the charger. "What did they do to you?" he asked softly.

Gathering two medpacs into his arms, Qui-Gon followed behind Payter, who lifted Bel-San as if he weighed no more than Obi-Wan. "How far away are we from Coruscant?"

Payter stepped through the airlock, letting Qui-Gon pass through before he secured it. "Far enough."

Kerge had already laid Seph to rest on one of two wall cots in the small galley of the ship, and then ran back to the cockpit to disconnect the Valeriant 6 from Qui-Gon's ship. "Too bad your ship was the one that had to go," Payter said, gently placing Bel-San on the other cot. "This one's not built for medical emergencies."

The Valeriant shifted beneath his feet, and he heard the quiet whirr of the engines engaging as they pulled away from the other ship. "As long as it can fly, then I really don't care," Qui-Gon said, reaching over to check Bel-San's pulse, momentarily reassured by its steady rhythm.

Kerge walked quickly back to them, sticking his head in the doorway. "Um, Master? Everything's set. We're on our way, and we'll be in hyperspace within a few minutes." He met Qui-Gon's gaze for a moment. "Is everybody okay?"

"They will be," Payter said coolly. "Thank you, Padawan." Kerge gave a quick nod, and then moved back up front, seemingly glad to leave them. Payter took in a deep breath as he watched him go, and then frowned. "I smell blood." He looked down at Bel-San, and then over at Seph.

Qui-Gon sighed, tugging at the collar of his tunic to loosen it. "It's really nothing."

"If I can smell it, then it's something." Payter stepped beside Qui-Gon, pulling up the fabric of his tunic, and Qui-Gon felt the cool trickle of blood run down the back of his right shoulder. "You got shot. When did you have time for that?"

Qui-Gon winced as Payter inspected the wound. "Like I was trying to tell you before, we were being chased by Upanis soldiers. I was carrying Bel-San, and while we were running, the charger went off. Since I was holding him, the current shocked me too, and it pretty much knocked us off our feet. I think I hit my head when I fell; it took me a second to recover. That's when Seph got the idea into his head to take off the charger, but the Upanis had put a bomb in it. Right after Seph removed the charger, it exploded. Sonic bomb. Then I had two unconscious people to deal with. On our way to the ship, a few soldiers had caught up with us, and seeing how I had no arms free, I got shot." He winced again, taking in a breath through his teeth. "I think it passed through, though."

Payter snorted. "You think you'd be so lucky? Not so much." He rotated Qui-Gon's shoulder, and Qui-Gon gasped, surprised by the pain. "You've got a slug in there."

Pulling away roughly, Qui-Gon moved away from him. "Why don't you help someone who's actually in need of medical care, like one of these two gentlemen perhaps?"

"Bel-San's as stable as he's going to get without excessive amounts of bacta, and the other one, well, I think you know he's got big problems, bigger ones than we can fix." Payter's gaze rested heavily on him. "You, however, need to get that out of you. Now. It's just going to go deeper, and I for one would like to bring at least one Jedi back with me that can stand on his own two feet." He reached over, picking up one of the medpacs.

"What do you think you're going to do, a little field surgery?" Qui-Gon rolled his eyes.

Payter held up a sonic scalpel. "It wouldn't be the first time. Doubtful it'll be the last."

Qui-Gon shook his head, holding up a hand. "No. It'll be fine. The Healers will fix it right up when we get back to Coruscant. Nice, sterile Coruscant, where they have medical expertise."

A flash of warning moved through Payter's gaze. "You want to know something? That's the same kind of idiot optimism that got you into this situation. You think you're invincible, that you can go around and play hero to the galaxy and that everything will come around good in the end-"

Qui-Gon felt the harshness enter his voice before he spoke. "You'd rather I let Bel-San die? If I hadn't done something, nothing would have gotten done! Yes, I understand that people are injured, and yes, one of them isn't a Jedi, and yes, I take responsibility for that. But dammit, Payter, I didn't have a choice. It was me or no one."

"First of all, that's not true. You're not the only one in the Temple who has the ability to rescue people. In fact, I'm much better qualified for the job."

"Yeah, well, you were a little busy."

Payter growled low in his throat. "Yes. Picking up a lead on a certain ring of thieves. Not that that would be of any interest to you, considering you have a very young padawan."

Qui-Gon released the breath he was holding. "I'm not calling your work ethic into question, so don't insinuate. The fact remains, the Council was too busy having a committee meeting to go and rescue one of our own, so I did it for them."

"And I'm saying that's ridiculous. You are not the sum total of the Jedi order! You're one man. Get that through your thick skull before someone cracks it wide open."

Qui-Gon snorted. "Yeah, well if someone does, Force knows they won't go sending anyone after me."

Payter ran his tongue along his teeth, visibly calming himself before he spoke. "If you were in better shape, I would beat the shit out of you for saying something that asinine. But seeing how you're not, I will chalk up such banal ideas to blood loss and a blow to the head." He moved beside Qui-Gon, pressing down on his injured shoulder. "Sit."

A bloom of fiery pain blossomed in Qui-Gon's body, and given his exhaustion, he sank to his knees, gasping. "Stop."

Payter pressed a hypospray of painkiller against Qui-Gon's neck, and almost instantly, the pain receded like a tide, leaving him lightheaded. "I realize that we're in the middle of a fight here, and I'd be more than happy to continue, but it's very important that we get that slug out of your shoulder before it moves somewhere less pleasant, like your lung."

Qui-Gon felt the muscle relaxant start moving through his system, and he lay down on his stomach, resting his head on the cold surface of the floor. "I didn't know you were trained for this sort of work."

He heard Payter turn on the scalpel. "There's not a whole lot I haven't been trained to do."

Taking a shallow breath, Qui-Gon closed his eyes. "I didn't know things were going to go the way they did. We were almost to the ship…we were so close. Then all hell broke loose."

"They were wrong to send you alone." Qui-Gon felt the pressure from Payter's hand increase, and he hoped his friend wouldn't do any more damage by operating while aggravated.

"Truth be told, I would have gone whether or not they supported me," Qui-Gon said softly, trying to ignore the sound of Payter's work.

Payter grunted. "That's what I mean. I know that, and so do they. You may think you're unpredictable, but not very. Mace had better hope that he's on another planet somewhere very far away, or he and I are going to have words." He gave a quiet sigh. "You needed support on this mission, and I don't blame you for what happened."

"Mace probably would have come, but I did manage to insult him, and I think that might have swayed him."

"Hmm. Pride goes before the fall, especially when I knock you down," Payter said. "But seriously, Qui-Gon, I know why you did what you did, but you have people that depend on you that need you."

"Like Bel-San."

"No. Like Obi-Wan. Bel-San is a grown Jedi, and he has to answer for himself. He's my friend too, and I would do anything to help him, but Obi-Wan. . .he's a child. If something had happened to you out here. . ." Payter paused for a moment. "The way you two are bonded, well, I can't think that he would survive much longer than you, him being as young as he is."

Qui-Gon swallowed hard, shaking his head slightly. No one had ever said that to him before. The thought had never even formed in his mind. "Oh Force," he whispered, suddenly checking to make sure his bond with the boy was still intact, which it was.

"Hey. You need to calm yourself down, all right? Your heart's beating too fast. Concentrate on your breathing," Payter said. "We're almost done. I can see the slug. Buried deep, that little bugger is."

Qui-Gon forced himself to regulate his breaths, feeling his pulse slow. "Nothing is ever going to be the same again," he said softly, aware of the utter exhaustion that had taken up residence in the core of his being.

"Nothing is ever the same again. That's the risk of being alive." Payter heaved a sigh, and Qui-Gon heard the ping of something metallic against the floor. "There!" The other Jedi set down the scalpel, and reached for the laser cauterizer. "We'll be done very soon. Then we can get back to our fight, if you like."

Closing his eyes, Qui-Gon shook his head. "That's okay. You win."

TBC