Title: Joint Strength
Author: Rene
Rating: PG
Notes: See Part One
Summary of this part: Qui-Gon receives some erroneous information; Obi-Wan
is unable to keep from fighting, despite his promise to Bant in part 12.
Disclaimer: They belong to George Lucas, may his star burn ever bright.
I am the hunter _and _ the prey, Obi-Wan thought.
A prickling sensation crawled along the back of his neck, but, despite stretching out with all his skill, he could sense nothing of Xanatos. It was as if the enemy had pulled a dark cloak around himself and disappeared in a swirl of smoke like a holovid magician.
Obi-Wan stepped slowly forward through air thick with menace, his mind circling skittishly around unavoidable questions. Was Xanatos masking himself somehow, concealing his presence in the Force? Obi-Wan clearly remembered one of the Masters teaching that masking was a skill mined from the depths of the Dark Side, rooted in deception and malice. And if Xanatos was masking himself, how would Obi-Wan find him, and distract him from Bant? He could be anywhere! He could be right behind. . .
Almost of its own volition, his head turned to glance back over his shoulder. Nothing there.
The mazed hallways led him in disorienting circles. He pushed away disconcerting thoughts of Xanatos’ intimate acquaintance with the Dark Side, trying to focus instead on burying his own emotions deeply within, covering them with a thin veneer of shaky serenity. He would try to keep his own presence in the Force as subtle as possible.
He glided around a corner and stopped short, staring down the deserted hall. The lift door! But surely the lift was two corridors over. Wasn’t it? He must have become more disoriented than he had realized, and the knowledge that he was mistaken in his position rocked his confidence.
And where was Bant? Had she already gotten this far, and taken the lift up?
He shook his head slightly, and straightened his shoulders No, she probably hadn’t come here yet. She had gone around the long way; she was moving very cautiously. And, he thought suddenly, perhaps he had been mistaken, too, in the directions he had signaled to her. He might have misjudged the lift's location even then. He must get away from this corridor, at once, and then broadcast his presence somehow, to draw the enemy’s attention.
Silently, he slipped to the nearest junction, rounding the corner into another hall, and paused, one knee lifted for the next step. Faintly, at the very edge of his senses, he detected footfalls, the soft steps of someone determined not to be heard. Obi-Wan grimaced; he moved to intercept.
The footsteps were at the far end, coming along the hallway perpendicular to this one. Pressing himself along the wall, he slid forward, his mind rapidly devising an impromptu plan: he would leap around the corner, ram the startled enemy backwards with a blow to the chin, and then turn and run like. . .
He was at the corner, no more time for thought. He sensed the other presence clearly, only a few meters away. Gathering the Force, he launched himself.
* * * * *
Qui-Gon flung the ponderous main doors open with a sweep of his hand,
letting the Force bear their weight. He saw Molu shoot a bemused glance his
way, as the two of them strode into the Temple, but his attention was
focused solely on his mental search for any sign of his apprentice.
He hadn’t foreseen this.
When their sleek blue ship had pierced Coruscant’s atmosphere, he had immediately reached for his comlink, fighting a sense of premature relief. He would warn Obi-Wan of Xanatos’ threat, instruct him to go to his chamber and refuse to leave it for any reason, reassure himself that the boy was unharmed. . .
But the only response had been silence. Two more attempts produced only two more minutes of empty air. Contacting Obi-Wan’s datapad netted nothing, not even a routine recorded greeting. A memory struck him like a stormgale: himself standing half-crouched in the Trikan dark, heart thudding with the burden of Obi-Wan’s fear. His jaw had tightened noticeably.
His next action was to contact the Council and ask them to convene, despite the late hour. The end of that conversation replayed itself uneasily in his brain:
“Obi-Wan Kenobi?” Master Yareal’s voice had been puzzled. “Master Qui-Gon, it is very strange indeed that you should inquire about that particular student.”
“Why?” A chill skittering across his heart.
“Obi-Wan Kenobi is missing. The parties searching for him have been unsuccessful thus far.”
‘Unsuccessful.’ As he and the general entered the Temple’s great Entrance Hall, its soaring ceiling dwarfing even Qui-Gon’s tall frame, he thrust that word away with deliberate effort, and sought for Obi-Wan.
The Force was moving, but he could sense nothing specific, as if the boy had cloaked himself in layers of opaque fog. Even the echoes of physical pain had faded, but this caused Qui-Gon added disquiet rather than bringing him comfort. Of the many possible reasons for Obi-Wan's pain to have disappeared, Qui-Gon preferred not to dwell on most of them.
His head was bent slightly under the weight of his efforts. Molu looked over at him, and then gazed upward for a moment. “Great builders, your people, but overly fond of metal, I think.”
Qui-Gon glanced up as well, as he gestured toward the main lift at the far end of the Hall. The ghostly apparition of reflected light gleamed off the polished ceiling, beautiful and very different from Triki’s wood and stone.
“Depends upon your point of view,” he answered, leading the general into the lift. As they turned to face the door, pausing to let the _sinna_ scramble in, he caught a brief glimpse of the main doors swinging open again, and three figures slipping through it. The door slid shut.
“Students Quarters,” he said quickly, before the lift had time to inquire.
Molu’s brows arched. “We’re not going to your Council?’
“No, _we_ are not.” Qui-Gon looked over at him, mouth softening into a small smile for the first time in many hours. “You are, my friend.”
The general blinked. Slowly he said, “I would think, from the message you sent, that they will be expecting you.”
“Expectation is the threshold of disappointment.” Qui-Gon said, his voice pitched to indicate a familiar quotation.
Molu absorbed the words, nodded once crisply, and said, “Exactly.”
Qui-Gon shook his head. “No, they won’t be disappointed. Surprised, perhaps. . .”
Molu’s jaw tightened. “My purpose in coming here was not to give your Council an interesting surprise.”
The smile slipped from Qui-Gon’s eyes. “Forgive me, my friend. I didn’t intend to make light of your coming. But the Council must be informed of Xanatos’ threat, and the burden of telling them falls on you, because I must find Obi-Wan. At once.”
“Yes, I see that.” Molu squatted down, holding out his arm for the _sinna_ to climb. As the creature settled itself in its customary position on his shoulder, he straightened and asked, “But will they accept the testimony of a _sinna_?”
Qui-Gon’s eyes were shadowed. “They will have to.”
* * * * *
A’ali’s sure stride hesitated as the lift door closed on the Jedi Master
and his strange companion. But the impetus of the Force was strongly upon
her, and she broke into a smooth run, long steps erasing the distance to the
lift in a few quick moments. Garen and Reeft scrambled to follow.
She stepped into the neighboring lift, and barely waited for the two boys to tumble in after her, before wheeling to face the lift’s voder panel and saying, “Authorization 4563, Tel Udrunn.”
“Authorization confirmed. Inquiry?”
“What is the destination of lift. ..” she paused for a moment to visualize the lift bank. “lift 4.”
“Lift 4 is instructed to stop at the Students Quarters.”
“Take us there as well.”
As the lift shot upwards, Garen said, a bit doubtfully, “I thought you said they were going to the Council.”
A’ali’s face was slightly bemused. “I thought that was what the Force was telling me.”
“No vision is flawless.” Reeft intoned, quoting a Jedi saying currently much in use by his teachers.
“As you say,” A’ali tilted her head, running her thumb musingly along her jaw. “Why would they be going to the student’s quarters?”
“And why are we going after them?” Garen heard the petulance in his voice, swallowed it and tried to sound humble instead. “Um, I mean, what will we say when we catch up with them? ‘The Force told us to follow’?”
A’ali looked down at him, shoulders lifting in a small shrug.
“Of course,” she said. “There’s nothing else to say.”
* * * * *
The lift emitted a subtle chime. Molu’s feet were shifting nervously,
and Qui-Gon reached over to grip his shoulder. “You’ve seen Xanatos’ evil
firsthand, General. You’ll make them see it, too.”
Molu let out an explosive breath. “Honor demands that I try.”
Qui-Gon nodded once, and strode out of the lift. As the doors closed behind him, he drew in a deep breath , reviewing the thought process that had brought him here. When a Jedi searches, he follows a simple principle: begin at the center. What had been Obi-Wan’s center, here at the Temple? Despite the relationship that had grown between them in the last few days, he did not know Obi-Wan well enough to predict his actions. That would come in time, and he would welcome the increased familiarity, but for now, the newness of their partnership hampered his ability to sense his location. Starting with the boy’s chamber seemed the best course. Surely the room was the center of his life here.
Approaching the door, he entertained a faint hope that it would open to reveal Obi-Wan safe inside, sitting cross-legged on the sleep-coach, expressive face lighting with welcome. But this vision drained away as he activated the door and saw only a dark, empty chamber.
Once inside, he was shocked by the barrenness. He had instructed Obi-Wan to vacate this room, but somehow the aggressive emptiness seemed wrong. He noted a cloak hanging beside the door, and a carelessly folded set of clothing on the shelf beside it, but otherwise the room was completely bereft.
No, not completely, he thought, as his eye fell on a small pile of fragments lying almost ritualistically in the center of the table. He walked over and studied them thoughtfully. One hand stroked his beard, and the shadow in his eyes deepened. What had happened here?
Suddenly he became aware of rapidly approaching footsteps, and a young voice hissing, “What’s he doing in Obi-Wan’s room?”
He turned to see a Padawan and two students clustered outside the door, the same Padawan and students he had passed at the main doors. After a fractional pause, he recalled the name: A'ali Cek, Padawan to one of the senior Council members.
“Hello,” he said, brows raised in mild surprise.
A’ali bowed quickly. “Master Qui-Gon. We saw you arrive, and the Force prompted us to follow.”
Qui-Gon frowned. “I see." Suddenly the frown deepened. “May I ask what were you doing out on the front plaza?”
“We were searching for a student who is missing.”
“Obi-Wan.”
The three before him nodded as one, their surprise obvious though their faces remained composed.
“Why search outside the Temple?”
“A fellow student saw him leave. We covered the grounds with no success, and were about to broaden our boundaries when we encountered you.”
Obi-Wan left the Temple? Alone? Qui-Gon considered his knowledge, however sketchy, of the boy’s character, and concluded quickly that he would indeed do something so drastic if he felt the cause sufficient. A grim memory snaked through his mind : Obi-Wan crawling through the ventilation shafts of a transport ship to Bandomeer. Slowly he nodded. Obi-Wan was indeed willing to resort to unusual measures.
“I’ll go out and continue the search.” he said flatly.
“I must join you,” A'ali said, waiting for Qui-Gon's short nod of acquiescence before falling into step beside him. “You two stay here.”
In their wake, Garen and Reeft stared at each other. Garen said slowly, “Why does Qui-Gon Jinn care so much about finding Obi-Wan?”
* * * * *
Obi-Wan catapulted around the corner, fist cocked back like a piston, jaw clenched. And then his eyes widened in shock, and he pulled his blow back just in time. But he could not stop his momentum, and his flying leap carried him directly into the startled form of Bruck Chun, even as he tried to fling himself to the side.
The two boys landed in a tangle of arms and legs. Bruck’s breath left him with the explosive force of a hulled freighter. Obi-Wan curled into himself, protecting his knee, and then jumped to his feet, gazing down at Bruck in consternation. Bruck was gasping, unable to speak, but the venom in his eyes was eloquent as he stared up at Obi-Wan, echoing the hate-filled shout he had flung at Obi-Wan’s retreat into the lift earlier that day.
Obi-Wan returned the stare, feeling the familiar anger that Bruck provoked filling his gut with acidic bile. His hand strayed to his belt, and met only an empty saberclip.
And then he saw Bruck’s eyes shift.
He whirled, bringing his fist up for a back-handed blow, but his wrist was caught in an iron grip and he found himself staring into Xanatos’ lip-curled sneer.
In the sudden intense silence he heard Bruck coughing as he climbed to his feet, and his own hoarse breath. The cold light in Xanatos’ eyes pinned him in place like a captured insect. The man’s mouth stretched into a humorless smile, and then his eyes slid down to Obi-Wan’s utility belt.
The eyes widened almost imperceptibly, and flared with unfathomable emotion. With shocking strength, his other hand came up and fastened around Obi-Wan’s throat, thrusting him backward against the corridor’s wall with an audible thunk. Black stars swirled across his vision. When they cleared he found Xanatos’ face filling all his sight, as the man’s voice grated out, “What have you done with your lightsaber?”
An infinite moment, consumed with a silent, wrenching clash of wills. Then, the eyes narrowed, becoming slits of dark certainty.
“You’ve given it to the little girl.” With his other hand, he backhanded Obi-Wan’s face with such ferocious speed that Obi-Wan had no time to lift his arm and block it. Dimly, he heard the smooth voice hiss, “How chivalrous.”
Xanatos gripped Obi-Wan’s jaw viciously, forcing his head back against the unyielding wall, compounding by tenfold the lingering pain of the blow. His other hand pulled a vibro-shiv from his belt, and pressed the flat side of the blade against Obi-Wan’s jugular vein.
To Bruck he said, “The Calamarian girl, Bant. She’s down here somewhere. Go to the lift and lie in wait for her. Now.”
Bruck’s fingers were twisting nervously as he stared at the knife. Weakly he muttered, “I’m not sure about this. . .”
Xanatos’ head slowly turned to aim the full force of his glittering eyes at Bruck’s face.
“Not sure? You’ve come too far in all this to make such a claim. Go find the girl, and bring her here now, or I will make certain the Masters know exactly how it happened that Obi-Wan’s possessions were destroyed and his lightsaber stolen. That would be the end of your residence here in the Temple, wouldn't it?”
Bruck stepped backward, jaw slightly slack, a thin skin of sickened realization congealing over his eyes. Xanatos smiled.
“Did you really think that any of this was about you, Bruck Chun? Go. Go!”
The last word’s venomous force pushed Bruck back. He took one step and then two. With a final glance at the blade threatening Obi-Wan’s throat, he turned and hurried away, shoulders straightening with resolution as he went.
Bant! thought Obi-Wan thickly. Must stop him. . .
He shifted violently, suddenly, trying to free himself, but Xanatos’ grip held firm.
“Such a noble youth,” he sneered, eyes bright with hatred.. “So determined to follow the ways of the Force, so eager to be a Jedi! So concerned for your little friend that you give her the lightsaber.”
He twisted the knife, just enough to bring a thin line of welling blood under the jawline. “I know very well that you won’t tell me where she’s gone, just as I know that you think somewhere deep in your heart that _he_ will somehow return to salvage this whole situation.” The blade turned fractionally further. Obi-Wan fought to keep from wincing.
“But he’s not coming back, Obi-Wan. I’m so sorry to be the bearer of bad news.”
Obi-Wan’s heart convulsed nauseatingly. Xanatos shoved the shiv back in his belt and drew out a datapad, of a slim, sinuous design that Obi-Wan had never seen. Activating it with his thumb, he thrust it forward, holding the tiny screen before Obi-Wan’s eyes. For a moment, only darkness glowed there, and then a starburst of static, and then images.
Trees.
A tiny circular house.
A large frame filling the doorway: Master Qui-Gon!
Qui-Gon turning sharply as if startled, head cocked slightly, listening.
And then an explosion so immense that the virulent light invaded Obi-Wan’s squeezed-shut eyelids.
No! No! his heart was screaming. His body sagged against the wall. His eyes refused to open.
“Yes,” murmured Xanatos, voice musing and contemplative. “Not so satisfying as a duel to the death with sabers flashing, but so much more foolproof.”
The voice turned bitterly cold.
“Qui-Gon Jinn is dead. Dead, Obi-Wan. He's not coming back.”
The edge of the knife cut fractionally deeper.
“And since you’ve given away your saber, there’s nothing to stop me from killing you as well.”
* * * * *
The lift’s chime signaled their approaching destination. A’ali smiled.
“The Entrance Hall again. Do you feel a recurring pattern here?”
No answer. A’ali looked up to see Qui-Gon frozen in a posture of absolute attention. A listening posture.
“Master Qui-Gon?”
In less than a moment, as the lift slid to a stop and A’ali spoke the Jedi Master’s name with a questioning upward inflection, Qui-Gon Jinn reached out with the Force and sent the lift hurtling downward.
“Master Qui-Gon!”
One large hand reached out to steady her. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“What are we doing?”
Qui-Gon glanced at her. A small smile hovered on the edges of his mouth, but his eyes were frighteningly bleak as he answered, “We’re going down.”
TBC
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