Title: Joint Strength
Author: Rene
Rating: PG
Notes: See Part One
Summary of this part: Bant acquires an uncomfortable companion: General
Molu and the Jedi Council eye one another; Obi-Wan fights a double-edged
pain; Qui-Gon finds Obi-Wan.
Disclaimer: All of this is strictly created out of love for the characters,
who belong to George Lucas, God bless him.
Feedback is sincerely appreciated.
Since it has been taking me awhile between installments, here is a brief recap of part 13:
As this part began, Obi-Wan was stalking the maze of hallways, attempting to locate and then distract Xanatos so that Bant could escape on the lift. Meanwhile, Qui-Gon Jinn discovered that Obi-Wan was nowhere to be found and, after sending General Molu to report to the Council, he began a search, starting with Obi-Wan's barren chamber. While there, he was joined by A'ali Cek, Garen and Reeft, who told him the erroneous story of Obi-Wan leaving the Temple. Qui-Gon and A'ali determined to leave as well, to search outside the Temple grounds. Down below, Obi-Wan encountered Bruck Chun, and was then held at knife point by Xanatos. Xanatos realized that Obi-Wan had given his saber to Bant, and angrily sent Bruck to search for her. When Bruck hesitated, he threatened to reveal Bruck's complicity in the plot to the Masters, and Bruck left Obi-Wan to his fate to obey Xanatos and find Bant. Xanatos then showed Obi-Wan a datapad recording that seemed to reveal Qui-Gon's death. At the same time, in a lift above, Qui-Gon sensed Obi-Wan's despair and realized that he was still somewhere in the Temple, far below.
Joint Strength Part Fourteen
Hidden in the deep shadow pooling behind a large storage unit, Bant studied the lift door twenty meters away.
The corridor was utterly silent, yet she did not enter it. She didn’t trust the stillness; the hours spent with her dark captor had taught her well the devious subtleties of his mind. The deserted corridor, the unguarded lift: it was all too easy. Her hand strayed to the lightsaber clipped at her hip, and tightened over the hilt until the knuckles turned pale cream against her vivid coral skin.
Too easy.
But every second spent here was one that led Obi-Wan closer to confrontation with the enemy, somewhere in this maze of hallways. Despite her suspicions, she could no longer delay.
She squared her shoulders and melted out of the shadow, moving along the wall with extreme care, eyes fixed firmly on the lift, senses seeking danger in every direction. She heard the footsteps a split second before Bruck Chun slipped out of a side corridor opposite the lift door. He saw her at once, his eyes sparking with quick surprise that faded into a satisfied glint. An uneasy tingle slithered down the back of her neck.
For a moment, she stared back at him, wondering at his sudden presence. Then, she saw his eyes narrow with dark purpose, and he shifted his position to block her access to the lift. She knew, without questioning the knowledge, that he presented a formidable obstacle.
With a slight lifting of her chin, she fired the opening salvo.
“Bruck,” she said, “Don’t interfere with me. I’m taking the lift up. Now.”
“No,” Bruck shook his head, mouth curling into a smirk. “Someone wants to meet you.”
“They’ll have to wait.”
He didn’t answer, his face hardening. Bant centered herself inwardly, and stepped toward him, mouth pulled into a determined line.
I’m leaving even if I have to climb over you to do it, she thought, her gaze dueling fiercely with his.
Suddenly he leaped forward, reaching for her sword arm with one hand and drawing his saber with the other. With a swift movement, she swerved aside and unhooked Obi-Wan’s lightsaber from her belt. Bruck snatched at it violently, and she countered by seizing his wrist, pushing his arm upward and ducking under it. Bruck whirled and they faced each other, just out of reach, inactivated lightsabers held at ready.
And then Bruck ignited his weapon.
“You’d better just come with me,” he hissed. “It’s easier.”
Bant slid back a halfstep, eyes wide and startled, thumb hovering over the activator of Obi-Wan’s saber.
“You’re drawing saber on a fellow student? What’s the matter with you?” Slowly, she shook her head. “I’m not interested in ‘easy’. I’m getting into that lift, whether it’s easy or not.”
She feinted forward, as if taking a step, and then, as he lunged toward her, she darted around his larger figure like a snubfighter evading a battle cruiser. He pivoted sharply, flinging out his free hand and catching the back of her tunic. He jerked at it with all his strength; she stumbled back, and then fell. He jumped backward to avoid her falling body, and met the unyielding wall with a solid thunk, the impact causing him to lurch forward again and plant a large foot directly on one of her bruised wrists. She cried out, and flinched away, pulling her arm from under his foot and rolling into a sitting position, cradling her wrist with her free hand as he stumbled again toward the lift door.
Which gave a gentle chime and swished open.
The empty opening was instantly filled with a large figure that somehow dominated the entire corridor. Bruck’s eyes widened in panicked surprise, and he swung his lightsaber sideways to avoid striking the man before him, just as the man reached out to catch him. With a sizzling crunch, the tip of the blade punctured the wall . An explosive pop echoed down the corridor, and a plume of incandescent sparks arched out from the point of impact while the lift shuddered slightly, its lights flickering off to leave the hallway bathed only in the ceiling’s customary dim glow. The sparking wall threw garish shadows across the tall man and the two students, who stared at one another in a tableau of mutual amazement.
And then the man turned quickly to assess the danger posed by the sparking wall, and a Padawan appeared from behind him. After one startled glance at the scene before her, she bent forward to help Bant to her feet.
Bruck felt a suffocating pressure squeezing his chest as he stared at the man. Qui-Gon Jinn! He _had_ returned, just as Morran had said. Perhaps that meant that what Morran had told him along was true! But. . . those threats, a moment ago in the corridor. . .No, no, that must have been a trick. Morran had said those things just to conceal their friendship from Obi-Wan. Yes, that must be it. Obi-Wan. . .
An image of a shiv pressed to a defenseless throat thrust itself to the fore of his harried thoughts, but he pushed it away savagely, focusing instead on Bant as she accepted A’ali’s grip and climbed to her feet. What was she going to say? How was he going to explain what had just happened? How to excuse the ignited saber? What to say. . .?
A’ali was already gazing at him inquiringly, and Bant’s mouth was opening to speak. The Jedi Master turned from his inspection of the wall and fixed an intense gaze on Bant’s face. . .
Distract them! Bruck’s mind commanded. And his mouth obeyed, blurting out the first thought that came to him.
“We’ve got to save Obi-Wan!’
The three facing him instantly stiffened to acute alertness. Qui-Gon Jinn leaned forward and grasped Bruck’s shoulders.
“Where is he?”
Ignoring Bant’s incredulous eyes, Bruck focused on sounding absolutely sincere. “I don’t know! Down here somewhere. He’s gotten himself in trouble. . .”
“What’s happened?”
Bant wheeled to face the Master, her expression turning urgent.
“Sir, there’s a man down here, an evil man. He’s got access to the Temple, and to the computer core, and he’s dangerous. . .”
“A man dressed in black, black hair, blue eyes, tall. . .”
“Yes!” Bant stared at him, startled. “You know him too?”
“Too?”
“Yes. Obi-Wan, he knows him. He’s trying to distract him so I can get away. . .”
Her voice trailed off as an iron grimness drained the life from the strong face before her. Before she could speak again, he was talking rapidly.
“Listen carefully. You must get out of here, now, but you can’t take this lift. The lightsaber damaged the power cable to the lift controls; it’s not going to function. Find a way off this floor, and go to the Council Chamber. There’s a man there, a stranger. You’ll see what I mean. Tell him what you’ve told me, and tell the Council. He will help you communicate the urgency of this to them.” He flicked a glance at Bruck. “You go with her, and help her.”
Bruck’s eyes wavered.
“But he. . .” Bant began, and never finished. From far away came the faint sound of a muffled crash, and a muted groaning cry.
“Obi-Wan!” Bant cried, lunging forward. But a strong hand caught her arm and she dragged her anguished gaze to the Jedi Master’s face.
“No,” he said. “You must do as I said. Find a way off this floor. Go to the Council.”
Bant swallowed, her face white, and nodded. “We’ll find a way.”
The grip on her arm tightened momentarily. “And I will find Obi-Wan.”
Then he made a quick sideways gesture to A’ali, which sent her instantly running down the left corridor. The Jedi Master ran swiftly to the right, leaving Bant and Bruck staring uncomfortably at one another. With the tip of one finger, Bant stroked Obi-Wan’s lightsaber.
* * * * *
It was not completely unheard of for the Jedi Council to be summoned
late in the evening to hear the report of a Knight, but it was sufficiently
unusual that the twelve members stood in a uneven knot in the center of the
room rather than taking their accustomed seats. The message from Qui-Gon
Jinn had been even more terse than usual, and much of the murmured
conversation humming in the air focused on that Knight and various
implications of his previous mission to Bandomeer. None of them could
foresee the motivation behind the message they had received.
The sound of the lift’s door opening out in the passage sent most of them to their seats, where they settled themselves just as the door slid aside, and a man entered the room, followed closely by a slim creature who took one look at the frankly staring Jedi Masters, sat up on its haunches, and cocked its head at them with mammalian impudence.
The Councilors had been expecting Qui-Gon Jinn. This was most certainly not he.
For a tense moment, General Molu of Triki and the twelve members of the Jedi Council regarded one another in stony silence, each taking the other’s measure.
The general broke the impasse by bowing swiftly, wrists crossed before his face.
“Esteemed Jedi,” he said, “I bring news from Qui-Gon Jinn, regarding an old enemy.”
Master Yoda leaned forward slightly, ears raised. “An enemy of Qui-Gon’s?”
Molu stretched out a closed fist. “My enemy as well.”
He swept the room with his eyes, gauging their reaction as he said. “His name is Xanatos.”
* * * * *
Obi-Wan sagged against the wall. He heard Xanatos’ hissing words, he
felt the knife’s edge kissing his skin with a faint edge of pain. But these
things passed unheeded into the whirling vortex of his mind, completely
consumed by the image of a bright explosion. He heard and felt nothing but
the horrifying reverberations of that blast.
Master Qui-Gon. . .dead!
It couldn’t be true! No, no, no. . . And then a faint pop sounded, from far away, and his Force-heightened instincts felt Xanatos’ attention waver for a tiny breadth of a second. Mindlessly, for thought was still lost in the explosion, Obi-Wan twisted his head away from the knife and slammed his palm upward into his enemy’s chin.
With a sharp grunt, Xanatos stumbled backward. For an instant, their two gazes drilled into one another, Obi-Wan’s eyes glazed with horrified sorrow, and Xanatos’ with volcanic fury, and then Obi-Wan leaped to the side and opened the nearest door with an outflung push of the Force. He dashed through it, his grief-blinded eyes taking in a wavering glimpse of a short passageway abutted with containment doors before he turned, hand outstretched, to close the door behind him.
It slid, perhaps a quarter of a meter, and stopped with a jerk, shuddering.
As if someone else was trying to hold it open with a determination equal to his own desire to close it.
He felt the dark Force of Xanatos’ power twisting and curling around the edge of the door, even as his ears detected the faint scrape of his enemy climbing to his feet out in the hall. Obi-Wan hunched his shoulders, his arm shaking with effort as he directed the Force, willing the door to break free and close.
And suddenly the opening was filled with Xanatos’ tall form, thrusting his hand out with malevolent intent. The Dark tendrils, augmented by their wielder’s blazing rage, seized Obi-Wan’s body and flung him backward; he struck one of the containment doors with a horrific crash, and his right knee smashed awkwardly against the canted corner of the door frame. A hot explosion of raw, familiar pain forced itself out of his mouth in a hoarse cry.
He fell heavily. But he instantly pushed his back against the door and used it to lever himself upward, his eyes locked on the dark figure stalking toward him. There was no time to do anything; yet a Force outside himself shook him, and he slapped his hand against the controls of the containment door, which slid aside with astonishing speed. Obi-Wan saw Xanatos leaping forward, but he thrust himself through the doorway with his left leg and pounded the controls on the other side with his fist. The door slammed shut with the enemy still two strides away.
He knew he had acquired only a second or two. He used the wall to gain his footing, putting all his weight on the left leg, arm braced against the wall, and hopped awkwardly forward through the containment cell and out the door, twin to the one he had just entered, the door behind him that was even now sliding open. He punched the controls on this door, too, with a fleeting thought that it would take Xanatos at least a few moments to locate the controls on that side. Those few moments were all he had.
His mind was vibrating with a cacophony of pain: the strident echoes of the image on the ‘pad and the discordant countermelody in his re-injured knee. His eyes were dulled, almost insensate, as he took another hop, and realized that suddenly he was surrounded by space. A huge soaring void above and below, contained within the gigantic cylinder of the Temple’s main power conduit.
With a quick look behind as he continued his pained hops, he saw that he had entered through a sort of covered catwalk, and now he had passed out from under the canopy. With no more wall to brace against, he reached forward to grasp a metal railing, its thin tubing his only barrier against the void around him. A quick glance down sent a wave of vertigo rippling through him; below, perhaps fifty meters or so, a series of immense blades turned slowly, creating the cold breeze that swept upward through the conduit. Above, the thick cables and junctions receded into a black infinity, threaded here and there with additional walkways and access bridges.
Two more hops, and he heard the door back under the overhang swish open, and then closed. Silently, he pressed himself against the railing, taking more weight on his arm and wrist as he pushed himself forward. He knew his darksuit would make him difficult to see in this dim light, but he also knew that Xanatos had only to follow the catwalk to find him.
Nowhere to go, he thought, and no legs to go there with.
And then he heard the door slide aside once more.
Three quick, firm footsteps under the shadow of the catwalk’s canopy, and then a short indrawn breath, not quite a gasp.
A long silence.
Suddenly, Xanatos’ voice, sounding shockingly loud.
“Hello, A’ali. I haven’t seen you since you were. . .let’s see, eighteen, perhaps?” A low, glissading laugh. “Your braid’s gotten longer.”
“Xanatos,” a woman’s voice, expressionless. “What are you doing here? Where is Obi-Wan Kenobi?”
Obi-Wan took one hop back, toward the voices, and stopped again as Xanatos’ voice said coldly, “That’s the only greeting you have for me, a former fellow Padawan? Well, if the boy’s your only concern, maybe you’d like to join him. I believe he’s right out here.”
Two figures stepped out of the shadow. Obi-Wan vaguely recognized the woman, one of the older Padawans in the Temple. Her eyes sought his, silently assessing his condition. He could almost see her focus slip from Xanatos to himself and a shudder of warning shook him, a shout bubbling in his throat. . .
Too late.
As she took a half-step toward him, Xanatos kicked one foot from under her, caught her arm as she flung it out for balance, and flipped her off the catwalk.
“No!” Obi-Wan shouted, horror clawing at his heart. He pushed off the railing and caught the opposite one, risking a desperate glance downward even as he heard the harsh clang of her body striking metal. His eyes focused almost unwillingly and then he nearly choked on a spurt of relief as he saw her, not in amongst the huge blades, but crumpled on a lower catwalk four or five meters below. The relief died quickly; she lay absolutely still.
Steps on the catwalk, stalking him.
He looked up warily, watching Xanatos walk toward him with a numb detachment.
“Going to throw me over, too?” he asked. “That’s kind of repetitive, isn’t it, even for you?”
Xanatos shook his head. Eyes glittering, he stopped a pace away, and stood regarding Obi-Wan.
“So controlled,” he murmured. “Accepting the pain of it all, are you? Your leg, the scene you just witnessed, Qui-Gon’s death? Shielding your emotions so I don’t detect your pain and fear? Such an apt student of the Force.”
He paused, but Obi-Wan said nothing. The mocking smile grew wider.
But in his heart, Xanatos felt the icy rage redouble as he looked into Obi-Wan’s face. Rage at his obvious courage, his skill. He had so easily filled the position that Xanatos had been certain would be vacant forever, a shrine to his ability to cast an eternal shadow over his old Master.
He may have filled it, he thought. But it will be a very short apprenticeship.
Suddenly he reached down, and ignited his lightsaber.
“You’ve been a notable nuisance, young Kenobi,” he said. “I won’t miss you.”
He lifted the saber to strike. Obi-Wan’s reacted instinctively, gripping the railing, taking all his weight on his arms and kicking out with his left leg. His foot struck Xanatos’ hand, sending the saber spinning away.
With a growl of inarticulate rage, Xanatos flung out his hand, calling the weapon back. His eyes were filled with murder; he reactivated the weapon.
“I wouldn’t,” a calm, cold voice said. “Your battle is with me.”
TBC
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