Summary of this part: Bruck is stricken with a most unwelcome revelation,
and takes steps to minimize the damage. Many separated parties are reunited, and Qui-Gon makes an announcement.
Feedback: Yes!
A synopsis of part sixteen:
In the last part, Qui-Gon and Xanatos face off after Obi-Wan goes over the railing. Through judicious use of the Force, Obi-Wan manages to land on the lower catwalk without further injury, and, upon examining A'ali, realizes that she has struck her head on the railing, and is deeply unconscious. Searching for a way off the walkway, Obi-Wan discovers a service platform floating on anti-grav repulsors, and pilots it back to A'ali, planning to get her to help as soon as possible. Meanwhile, Qui-Gon and Xanatos battle on the upper catwalk, and Xanatos realizes that he has seriously underestimated his ability to defeat his former Master. Seeking escape, he leaps off the catwalk onto the platform behind Obi-Wan. He taunts Obi-Wan with the fact that the lightsaber he has given Bant is a "death warrant", and then he sweeps Obi-Wan off the platform. He tries to escape, but Qui-Gon, Force-aided, leaps onto the platform with him, and the fight renews. At the same time, Bant has reached the council chamber. The lightsaber she bears is implanted with a trigger to a spidermine, which threatens explosion as soon as she enters. Molu, however, recognizes the sound, and the _sinna_'s sensitive ears pinpoint the source. Molu hurls the saber into the closing lift, and it explodes. The sound of the explosion causes Xanatos to exult that he has killed the Council. Knowing the battle must end NOW, Qui-Gon communicates a plan to Obi-Wan through the Force, and Obi-Wan acts on it, throwing A'ali's comlink so that it explodes against the gravity regulator on the platform's underside. The platform falls, Qui-Gon leaps to safety, and Xanatos does not. He falls between the slowly turning blades of the huge fan, and disappears. . .
Joint Strength Part Seventeen
Bruck Chun hunched against the curved wall, immersed in the deep shadow
of the catwalk’s canopy. An acrid sickness churned and roiled within him,
and he pushed his fists against his stomach to keep it at bay.
He had come seeking Morran.
Instead, he'd just seen him die.
Beckoned first by the distant sound of battling sabers, and then the open doors, he had entered the conduit access cautiously, finally flattening himself against the wall as he slipped forward, until he could see the main portion of the walkway. For an instant, his eyes had focused on Morran and Master Jinn, facing each other atop some sort of antigrav platform, and then, out of nowhere, a silvery projectile had struck it from below, and it had fallen. With a mighty leap, Master Jinn had landed safely on the catwalk.
Morran had not.
Now, he struggled to gulp down a rush of nausea, and his thoughts ricocheted frantically inside his skull while he watched Master Jinn brace his arms against the railing, looking down.
Morran was dead. Dead! No one could survive such a fall.
The horror that rocked him made him realize how dependent he had become upon Morran’s guidance. He felt the reality of what he’d just witnessed choking him, pulling him down, as if he were falling too.
No, he told himself furiously, I have to make something good of this. He took a silent shuddering breath, and forced his mind to concentrate.
Morran was dead. So be it. Perhaps, in the end, that was fortunate, for now there was no one to connect Bruck with the attacks on Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan might suspect, but he wouldn’t know for sure the depth of Bruck’s involvement. It would be Bruck’s testimony against Obi-Wan’s.
A sudden, bleak smile cracked the rigid planes of his face. I can tell a better story than Kenobi, any day, he thought. I’ll swear that he provoked me into that first fight. There’s no one else to say differently.
So. He would have to explain, somehow, his drawing of saber against Bant. But, for the other things, he would spin a story. He’d say, eyes damp with remorse, that Morran had deceived him, that he hadn’t known what Morran was really planning, that he had thought Morran was a fellow Jedi. Yes, that would work.
As for Qui-Gon Jinn, the original plan to ingratiate himself with the Master could still work. He just needed to. . .
The momentum of these thoughts screeched to a halt as Master Jinn spoke.
“All right?” he asked, gazing down upon something below the catwalk. His voice was rich with affection and concern.
“Yes,” came the answer.
The skin across Bruck’s jaw stretched suddenly taut. Kenobi!
He slid forward a few more centimeters, just enough to look over the walkway’s edge. On a catwalk below, Obi-Wan leaned heavily on the railing, beside a crumpled form that Bruck recognized, after a puzzled moment, as A’ali Cek.
Obi-Wan was saying, “But she’s really bad. . .”
Master Jinn nodded, face growing grim. “I’ll try to help her.”
Even from this distance, Bruck could see the pain in Obi-Wan’s eyes as he asked softly, “What about Xanatos? He isn’t. . .?”
Xanatos? thought Bruck. Wasn’t that the name of Master Jinn’s former appren. . .
“No. But he’s gone,” Qui-Gon said, with a subtext in his voice that Bruck couldn’t identify. The boy and the man seemed to be having a conversation consisting of more than the words they were speaking. “He means nothing right now, Obi-Wan. You, and she, and the Council, and your friend Bant: they are my priorities.
Obi-Wan nodded, “Bant, and the Council. . . they aren’t dead?” His voice was calm, but the anguish in his eyes had deepened.
Qui-Gon shook his head. “No. We would have felt a passing of that magnitude, in the Force. But I fear they’re in danger.”
Bruck’s mind skidded abruptly into a new channel of thought. He needed to impress Master Jinn and undermine Kenobi. Kenobi was obviously trapped down there, helpless. He would offer his strength and assistance, show he was more resourceful. . .
But even as these ideas arranged themselves in his mind, he was startled into further immobility by a sudden smile on Master Jinn’s face as he said. “I suspect that a leap is out of the question.”
Obi-Wan cocked his head to one side, face serious. “I could try. . .”
Bruck’s lip curled up in a sneer.
Qui-Gon held up a cautioning hand. “No, I don’t want you to risk further injury.”
“Is there another service platform up there?” Obi-Wan suddenly pointed almost directly at Bruck. He froze. He couldn’t be discovered skulking here in the dark! Frantically, he began to fabricate an explanation for his presence, as Qui-Gon took a few strides in his direction, examining the railing. He held himself absolutely still, trying to mask any thought or emotion that might leak out and alert them to his presence. Qui-Gon stopped short of the canopied section, however, and, after a moment, he said, “No. Looks like controls to summon the. . . other one..”
Both Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan glanced down to where the service platform lay crumpled on one of the rotating blades, still sparking fitfully. As one, they looked back at one another, and something almost like a grin passed between them.
“I don’t think that’s a workable option,” Qui-Gon said, striding back. “And time is passing quickly. I’ll lift you.”
As he spoke, A’ali moved suddenly, a sighing moan escaping her parted lips. Obi-Wan eased over to her, bending and securing his tunic more tightly around her shoulders. He threw a worried glance up to Qui-Gon, who nodded soberly.
“We must hurry. A’ali first.”
Obi-Wan straightened, taking an off-balance hop back.
Bruck watched as Qui-Gon stretched out his hand, palm downward, eyes closing. He felt the Force snap tight around the tall Knight, and then flow outward toward A’ali. Peering down, he saw that Obi-Wan also had closed his eyes, and reached out his own hand, palm upward. A strange, apprehensive tightness squeezed Bruck’s chest.
Slowly, Qui-Gon’s hand rotated and lifted, and, as it did, A’ali rose gently from the metal decking and ascended. His arm rose higher, and then to the left, as her body cleared the railing. Then, he turned his palm downward again, as he lowered her onto the catwalk at his feet. His eyes opened, and he directed a smile over the railing, where Obi-Wan was lowering his own outstretched arm.
“Thank you, Obi-Wan. Now, your turn.”
Bruck felt the Force surge again, as he concentrated on leashing his anger. How did Kenobi dare to just step in and assist a Master in the use of the Force? Who did he think he was? Eyes glittering darkly, he watched Obi-Wan’s head, and then the rest of him, rise over the railing and settle easily onto the decking beside A’ali.
The Force receded, and Obi-Wan pitched forward, as if its power had been the only thing supporting him. Face suddenly tight, Qui-Gon lunged quickly to catch his arm; Obi-Wan grimaced, shaking his head ruefully.
“Thank you, Master.”
For an instant the two of them regarded one another: Qui-Gon’s sleeve stained dark with blood, a deep cut in his upper arm glaring an angry red; Obi-Wan’s leg held awkwardly, a large patch of. . .something. . .glistening on the dark fabric. Then Qui-Gon smiled, and brought his other hand up to rest lightly on Obi-Wan’s shoulder.
“Well,” he said, “It’s been a busy day, my Padawan.”
The solid metal under Bruck’s feet seemed to disappear as his mind reeled backward in shock. ‘Padawan’! No, he couldn’t have heard correctly! It couldn’t be! ‘Padawan’. . . that meant that Obi-Wan was already Jinn’s apprentice! It meant that Morran, or Xanatos or whoever he was, had lied. . .
But his mind, disciplined however unwillingly by the rigors of Jedi study, mercilessly replayed Morran’s words: “Qui-Gon Jinn returns to the Temple today. He means to publicly name a Padawan.”
Oh no, that was no lie, only a skillful avoidance of truth. Even in the despair that engulfed him, a small corner of Bruck’s heart offered up a tribute to such a skilled manipulation. The rest of his spirit writhed angrily under the humiliation of being so used, but the admiration remained, anchored in the darkest harbor of his soul.
When he recovered sufficiently to look up again, he saw Master Jinn bent over A’ali, hand laid gently against her temple. The Force swirled around them, and a deep silence shrouded the catwalk. Many long minutes squeezed by; all three remained motionless.
Finally, with a slow exhalation, Qui-Gon lifted his hand from A’ali, shaking his head.
“I’ve tried to assist her, but. . .she needs a more skillful healer than I. Let’s go.”
He gathered A’ali into his arms, and straightened, indicating the door at the opposite end of the catwalk with his chin. “There’s probably another lift on that side of the conduit. You’ll have to use me as a support when we run out of walkway.”
Jaw set grimly, Obi-Wan nodded and grasped the railing. Qui-Gon gave him a quick, encouraging smile, and strode forward.
Bruck’s mind was racing, his entire being focused now on one goal: extricating himself from this whole situation. In addition to the story he had already planned to spin, wouldn’t it also be best to offer a load of eager helpfulness?
Before the thought was fully formed, he was running forward.
As his first step clanged on the catwalk, Master Jinn pivoted, somehow managing to draw and ignite his saber while still holding A’ali. He lowered it when he recognized Bruck, and frowned.
“Where is Bant? Didn’t you stay with her?”
Bruck blanked horrifyingly for a moment. He had forgotten about that. His scrambling thoughts lurched into motion, and he said glibly, “She went up the ventilation shafts. I told her she could move more quickly alone. Then I came to see if I could assist you, and I found you just now.”
His voice gave a tiny emphasis to the last two words.
Master Jinn’s eyes skewered him, his frown deepening, but he nodded, and said, “We’re grateful for your help. If you could assist my apprentice. . .”
Bruck molded his face into an expression of concern, ignoring the sharp stab of those words. Obi-Wan was staring at him with almost open-mouthed disbelief, but Bruck ignored that, too, wrapping his arm around Obi-Wan’s shoulders to support him.
Obi-Wan’s eyes were cold, but he accepted the offered help, and Bruck smiled inwardly. He’s a fool, he thought. By the time I’m done, even Obi-Wan will believe that I’m a total innocent.
Slowly, with Qui-Gon leading in an abbreviated version of his usual strong stride, the four of them made their way to the far end of the walkway.
Below, the blades of the fan continued their unceasing cycle. None of them were stained with blood.
*****
The explosion had cut off all power to the tower; only the light of
the city and its late-night traffic provided a shifting illumination.
With an ear-grating metallic screech, the buckled door of the Council
Chamber scraped to the side and then stopped abruptly, leaving a half-meter
gap. A slim whiskered nose thrust eagerly out, but General Molu seized the
_sinna_ around its middle and eased it gently back from the door, where it
crouched on its haunches and scolded him so vehemently that weary smiles
appeared on most of the faces in the room, flashes of white teeth in the
darkness.
“A courageous little soul,” murmured Master Yareal.
Master Yoda tapped the floor with his stick, “The hallway? Clear, it is?”
General Molu had already stepped gingerly through the gap, and he leaned in to answer.
“No.” He had been clutching the doorframe with one hand, and now he pulled himself back with a grunt. “The floor out there is unstable--it feels as if the supports underneath are cracked or completely broken. None of us could walk on it.”
He lifted his voice as several of the Masters began to speak.
“And, forgive me, honored Jedi, but, even if we could get out there, it looks as if the far end of the hall is collapsed.”
They all nodded, sensing rather than seeing the grim expressions shared among their faces. None of them had expected differently. And they all knew that the lift shaft itself was almost certainly destroyed. No one would be coming to rescue them that way. This was confirmed a moment later by Tel Udrunn, who had been murmuring into her comlink.
“Well,” she said, returning it to her belt. “The primary and secondary lifts are unusable. They are searching for another way to access this level that hasn’t been compromised.” Her voice thinned. “And there is no word of A’ali, or Qui-Gon Jinn and young Kenobi. They’re sending some people to search the power conduit, but we don’t know what level they’re on, so. . .”
Off to the side, Bant pressed the knuckles of one hand to her mouth.
General Molu's mouth tightened and he walked over to the window, regarding the hypnotic flow of traffic outside. Slowly, he said, “Is it possible that a shuttle of some kind could come and hover beside this window?”
His question was greeted by a brief moment of speculative silence, and then nods of agreement, bare flutters of movement in the darkness. Tel Udrunn’s hand dipped to her comlink, and three different Masters reached for their lightsabers.
*****
When they turned into yet another corridor, and saw a lift door
beckoning at its far end, Obi-Wan exhaled deeply. His entire leg throbbed,
a bone-deep pain, and his spirit was burdened, mostly with worry for Bant
and the Council, but also with reluctance to accept Bruck’s help. He had
kept his eyes focused on Qui-Gon’s back, trying to swallow the frantic
worry, and thus thinking mostly about the reluctance, and about the one who
provoked it. The other boy’s support had not wavered since they had left
the catwalk, but Obi-Wan’s every muscle was stiff with suspicion, unsure if
he could really trust the arm that assisted him.
What did Bruck know about Xanatos? Was Bruck really involved in destroying Obi-Wan’s possessions, in throwing the shiv in the dining room, in stealing Obi-Wan’s lightsaber and making it into some sort of ‘death warrant’? In the deep corners of his heart, Obi-Wan believed that he was. But there was no proof. What could Bruck truthfully be accused of? The fight in the hall, striking Obi-Wan’s knee, charging at him with saber drawn?
Somehow, Bruck would find a way to explain all of that. Obi-Wan knew this with a sudden, sinking surety.
The four of them crowded into the small lift, a secondary service mechanism exactly twin to the one disabled on the other side of the conduit. Strong relief colored Qui-Gon’s voice as the door closed and he said, “Healers Wing.”
*****
Rentzel Forrakim, senate courier, piloted his small shuttle through the
night traffic with a distinctly sour expression marring the fine blue skin
around his mouth. It was true that the business of the Republic never
ceased, but was it _really_ necessary to send Travian brandy to the Ulma
ambassador at this time of night? Did this even qualify as business?
Forrakim bared his teeth in annoyance, since there was no one around to tell him to practice a little more diplomacy. He thought of his mother, who was so proud of her son’s glamorous government career, and let his breath out in a sad hiss. If she only knew. . .
And then his eyes grew perfectly round in stark amazement.
His route had taken him directly past the Jedi Temple. There, at the top of the tower nearest him, something very strange was happening at one of the windows. He wrenched his vehicle out of the traffic lane and brought it to a halt, letting it hover silently as he watched, slack-jawed.
Three bright blades of pure light were drilling slowly through the window, cutting a vaguely rectangular shape. When the shape was complete, the blades withdrew, and then, with an odd, unnatural motion, the cut-out portion was yanked backward, though Forrakim could see no one inside pulling on it. From below, a small planetary shuttle came swooping up, snapping to a stop and then inching forward until its front end hovered a mere half-meter from the window. A rectangle of warm yellow light appeared as the door in the shuttle’s front was opened, and then some sort of slim metal plank was thrust forward to form a bridge between window and shuttle.
With an athletic hop, a man appeared in the open window, a very strangely-attired man, who took a tentative step forward onto the plank, and then strode quickly across into the shuttle, turning back at the last moment to gesture invitingly back into the tower. In quick succession, a whole parcel of other figures began appearing at the window and crossing the bridge, their robes and hair tossing wildly in the wind that always blew at this elevation. The last one across looked extraordinarily like Councilor Yoda. Forrakim leaned forward, eyes narrowing. It _was_ Councilor Yoda! Forrakim may have been only a minor diplomatic official, but he knew an important personage when he saw one.
Then the plank was swiftly withdrawn, and the shuttle dropped dizzyingly downward, leaving Forrakim staring bemused at a rectangular hole in the tower window. Slowly, his head swiveled to gaze speculatively at the bottles on the seat beside him. Deliver the brandy, or wing it back to the diplomatic chambers with the juiciest piece of weird gossip ever to come into his possession?
It wasn’t a difficult choice, really. Approximately two seconds later, Forrakim’s little craft lurched into top speed, careening into the traffic lane and skimming back the way he’d come, leaving a series of angrily-gesturing drivers in his wake.
*****
A’ali wrestled with consciousness.
Her eyelids seemed made of stone, and a sickening pounding around the perimeter of her skull made her wish fleetingly for soothing blackness, but she thrust that temptation away, and forced her eyes open.
An impression of blurry light, of subtle motion. Slowly, though thought and perception seemed agonizingly difficult, she realized that she was being held. She moved her eyes, and commanded them to focus on the dark figure above her. Finally, the fuzzy features coalesced into the face of Qui-Gon Jinn.
“Master. . .Qui-Gon?” Her voice rasped as if it had been unused for years.
He looked quickly down, and murmured. “Don’t try to speak. All is well.”
She lifted a clumsy arm, patting awkwardly at the bloody gash in her temple. “What hap. . .happened?” Her eyes widened. “Xanatos!”
Qui-Gon inclined his head in a subtle gesture, and suddenly her hand was caught and gently held. She turned her head enough to see Obi-Wan Kenobi’s young face, brow creased with concern.
“It’s all right,” he said, squeezing her hand awkwardly. “He’s . . . well, he’s gone.”
She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to banish the sensation of endlessly falling. . .falling. With supreme effot, she reached for the Force and cast herself into it, searching desperately.
*Master!*
Her mind touched Tel Udrunn’s, and her Master’s joy and fear washed over her. She felt the answering cry of *A’ali!*, and then the darkness reached out and enfolded her once more.
Qui-Gon sensed her fall away from them, and a brief glance at Obi-Wan told him the boy had felt it too. Obi-Wan’s face was bleak as his eyes sought reassurance from his Master, but Qui-Gon could only shake his head slightly.
The lift chimed, loud in the tense silence enveloping them. As the doors slid aside, Qui-Gon was already moving, his long strides carrying him quickly out into a hallway. Obi-Wan and Bruck followed slowly, blinking in surprise at the bright light.
“Why is the daylighting on?” Bruck murmured. Obi-Wan didn’t answer.
The main corridor of the Healers Wing was only a few meters away, and every light seemed to be blazing. Rounding the corner, the two boys saw Qui-Gon approaching the first doorway, and stopping abruptly as three Healers strode out of it, two bearing full medical packs over their shoulders. They skidded to a halt to avoid collision, and then startled recognition transformed their faces. Two of them leaped forward to take A’ali, and disappeared back into the room they’d just left without a word being spoken.
The third Healer smiled wearily at Qui-Gon, and indicated the pack on her shoulder.
“We were just setting out to search for you,” she said. “Master Tel Udrunn was. . .quite concerned.”
Qui-Gon nodded, but he was already turning back, gesturing toward Obi-Wan, his voice heavy with concern. “His leg is badly injured. . .”
Bruck backed away, leaving Obi-Wan to support himself with the corridor’s wall. Face grave, the Healer hurried forward to stoop next to him and run her hand along his knee. Her touch was exquisitely gentle, but Obi-Wan could not control a flinch of pain.
“Yes.” Her voice revealed nothing, which only deepened the grimness in Qui-Gon’s face. “Come, let’s bring him into this room. . .”
“Wait.” Obi-Wan held out his hand, eyes fastened on Qui-Gon. “Master, you’re going to see if the Council’s safe? And Bant?”
“When you are cared for, yes.”
“Please, Master, let me come with you now. Then we can come back here. Bant. . .he said it was a ‘death warrant’. . .” His voice trailed off.
Qui-Gon held his eyes for a moment, and then turned decisively to the Healer. “Do you have some means of support? Something to help him walk?”
The Healer’s expression revealed her disapproval, but she said, “I can put a temporary antigrav cast on it. He can walk on that.” Her mouth tightened. “For a little while.”
*****
The main shuttle bays were separated from the Temple proper by a large
atrium, filled with scores of potted trees and engraved metal paths,
darkened now except for the citylight that filtered in through huge
skylights high above. Along the graceful surves of the main walkway, the
twelve Council members swept forward, robes disheveled and faces cold.
General Molu followed in their wake, a bemused expression wrinkling the skin
around his eyes. Yes, he thought, he definitely would wish them on his side in a battle. An aura of undiluted power encircled them. He could almost feel a moment of pity for the perpetrator of the spidermine, until he remembered Teek’s empty face back home on Triki.
In any case, Molu was quite confident that his friend the Master Jedi would have rescued his young apprentice and dispatched the evildoer by now. The Council members would have no one to wreak retribution upon. Although, retribution wasn’t really a Jedi sort of motivation, was it? The General shrugged inwardly. He deeply regretted that he had not been able to assist in the dispatching, but he was glad he had been present to minimize the effects of the spidermine. The gods knew best.
He glanced down to his side, where the little fishgirl trudged, the _sinna_ cuddled in her arms, humming to itself. Her face was drawn and pale, and he wished he could impart some comfort to her. She feels deeply, this little one, he thought.
As they neared the far edge of the atrium, where a set of transparent doors led into one of the main Temple corridors, the Council members in the lead suddenly slowed. General Molu and Bant pressed forward to see the doors swing open. There stood Qui-Gon Jinn, with Obi-Wan Kenobi at his side, and Bruck Chun trailing behind.
They looked terrible, stained with blood and weariness, Qui-Gon’s arm deeply gashed, Obi-Wan’s leg encased in a bulky antigrav unit. But Obi-Wan’s face lit as he focused on Bant, and Qui-Gon’s eyes swept over the Council, counting each member, and both groups quickly took in the heady realization that all of them were basically unharmed. A spirit of joyous relief replaced some of the grim tension that had engulfed them. Tel Udrunn asked, “A’ali?”
“In the Healers Wing.” Qui-Gon answered gently.
“Xanatos?” Yoda’s voice was grim.
“Gone.”
Yoda raised his stick then, and gestured from Qui-Gon to Obi-Wan and back again, eyes narrowed testily.
“Mean to tell us about this at some point, you did?”
The remaining tightness seemed to drain away from all of them as Qui-Gon smiled. Slowly, he lifted one hand to Obi-Wan’s shoulder and said, “My apologies, Master. These aren’t quite the circumstances I had imagined, but perhaps it’s a good time for such an announcement.”
General Molu heard a quick, indrawn breath from the girl at his side, and looked down to see a brilliant smile erase the worrylines around her large eyes. She hugged the _sinna_ so tightly that it squawked, the sound echoing in the large room.
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