Title: Joint Strength
Author: Rene
Rating: PG, maybe PG-13 for the whole story
Notes: See Part One
Disclaimer: They all (with the possible exception of the good general and all those Trikans) belong to the Flanneled One. No profit is made from my time spent with them.
Summary of this part: This begins where we last saw Qui-Gon and Molu in part six, with Xanatos’ cold voice filling the room. In this part, Qui-Gon and Molu learn how far Teek has gone to nullify the security risk that the sinna represents; Obi-Wan looks around a little and finds more than he expected.
Archive: Padawan Journals and Early Years
Feedback: Yes, please!
Seated on the dingy floor of Teek’s house, two men and a sleek creature regarded one another solemnly. The long-remembered voice echoed hollowly in Qui-Gon’s heart. He turned to Molu, whose face reflected the gravity Qui-Gon himself was feeling.
“Your old enemy?” Molu asked, jerking his chin at the _sinna_, who responded with a low chortle.
Qui-Gon sighed. “Yes. His name is Xanatos. He was . . .an apprentice of mine, who turned to evil.” He flashed a sudden, wry smile. “An interesting parallel between us, General. Lost protégés.”
“It seems that your lost protégé bears a grudge.”
“He does indeed. He’s tried to kill me twice in the past month.”
“Twice? Teek’s attack and also. . .?”
“My last mission took me to a planet called Bandomeer. Xanatos arranged the circumstances so that he could rid himself of me and my apprentice, Obi-Wan. . .”
“Obi-Wan Kenobi.” The _sinna_ scrambled up Molu’s arm, and perched on his shoulder, blinking rapidly. “Obi-Wan Kenobi. Obi-Wan Kenobi.” The voice was Xanatos’ again, though the repetition was surely the product of the _sinna’s_ quicksilver mind.
A cold foreboding swirled through Qui-Gon’s spirit. Why would Xanatos have been discussing his new apprentice with Teek?
He focused on the little creature, catching its luminous gaze with his own. “Obi-Wan Kenobi?” he prompted.
“Obi-Wan Kenobi is young and insecure, unsure of his Master’s acceptance.”
The surge of dismay that flooded him took a long moment to subdue. He knew that those words were at least partially true, and the truth is a powerful weapon in a skillful enemy’s hands. On Bandomeer, Xanatos had preyed on Obi-Wan’s youth and inexperience. Was he repeating that tactic somehow? How? Obi-Wan wasn’t here; he was on Coruscant. With a sickening lurch, he recalled the overwhelming fear that had wakened him in the night. What was happening back there?
He stretched his hand out toward the _sinna_. “Coruscant?’ he asked.
“Coruscant.” The hard voice issued eerily from the creature’s toothy mouth. “We’ve a new plan. _Don’t_ kill him here, keep him here. Death will visit Coruscant is his absence.”
“What?” Molu leaned forward. “That sounds very bad.”
“Death?” Qui-Gon prompted, his voice urgent.
“Death will visit Coruscant,” the _sinna_ repeated obligingly.
“What does it mean?” Molu’s hand reached up to stroke the animal’s snout. It ran its jaw along the man’s fingers, trilling with contentment. Qui-Gon shook his head, concentrating fiercely, searching his mind for another cue to encourage the creature’s helpful tongue.
“Vengeance?”
The _sinna_ bobbed its head twice, and began snuffling in Molu’s hair.
“Kill?” He winced slightly at the word’s bald harshness.
The _sinna_ stared at him, and then stretched its jaw in a wide yawn. Qui-Gon was opening his mouth to try again when the creature finished its yawn and said, “Kill them all.”
It paused, grooming one ear with a slim paw, and then continued. “I will use his apprentice to kill them all.”
* * * * *
Bant had never tried to follow anyone before, not when the stakes were this high.
As she pressed herself as flat as possible in a tiny niche behind a potted tree, she reflected grimly that, whatever the virtues of stealth training, she would have preferred to learn it from a Master in a classroom, instead of acquiring practice in the field, so to speak.
Although she was inexperienced, her natural tendency toward discretion had so far kept her safe from Bruck’s detection. When he had left the meditation room, he had gone, by a very roundabout route, to one of the library rooms, where he had stayed for some time. She had crept gradually closer, using the various workstations and study circles for cover, until she had been able to gain a vantage point which clearly showed his frustrated expression. Despite his muttering and cajoling and forceful tapping, the computer had apparently not divulged the information he sought.
With a strangled exclamation that had sounded to Bant suspiciously like a nasty oath, he had flung himself away from it. As soon as he strode out the door, Bant had risked taking the moment necessary to call up on the computer the last node he had requested.
Now, with the plant’s feathery branches trailing uncomfortably over her head and down her back, she wondered about that node. Why would Bruck Chun be interested in the biographies of Jedi who had left the order? He certainly didn’t seem like the sort to have a keen interest in history for its own sake. So what was he looking for?
And when, she thought wearily, was he _ever_ going to come out of his room?
From the library he had come here, to his chamber in the Students’ Quarters, and here he had stayed. At first Bant had been pleased to have a little time to secrete herself into a good hiding place, but, as the minutes came and went, each one longer than the previous, she had become stiff, and irritable, and very bored.
She began to amuse herself by making the treefronds wave with her breath. Then she tried imagining all the ways that a Knight might occupy herself while on a mission that required surveillance. Perhaps a Knight would weave the tree's branches into a beautiful pattern with the Force, or maybe use the extra time to impart great wisdom to her eager Padawan. . .
The swish of an opening door brought Bant back to the present with a thud. She forced herself into complete immobility as she watched Bruck stalk down the hall in the opposite direction of her concealing plant. She waited until he turned the corner at the far end, and then scrambled out, brushing a frond impatiently out of her tunic’s collar, and sprinted after him.
Now the chase became difficult, for Bruck strode straight through the busiest parts of the Temple, past the exercise rooms and the common areas, and the huge indoor garden. Everywhere, students and Masters and others filled Bant’s line of vision, and she struggled valiantly to keep Bruck in sight. He was moving quickly, so fast that she almost lost him. At the far end of the garden, he veered suddenly into a side corridor. Only a gap in the large group of younger students passing in front of her allowed Bant to see him turn.
Jostling through the students with a mumbled apology, Bant jogged over to the corner. Cautiously, she tipped her head around it, just enough to see a lift door about halfway down the hall slide silently closed. Clenching one fist in frustration, she walked up to the door and gazed at it sourly, shaking her head. She wasn’t sure what part of the Temple this particular lift serviced.
Behind her, a dark figure detached itself from the shadow of a small alcove. A strong hand reached out and gripped her shoulder.
“Looking for someone?” the hand's owner murmured smoothly.
With admirable control, Bant turned to face the speaker. Her face was expressionless as her eyes studied him: a tall being swathed in a dark robe, his face hidden in a deep hood.
“Not anymore,” she answered truthfully, shifting her shoulder from under the man’s grip.
She backed away, two steps, eyes still intent. “If you will excuse me, sir, I have other duties.”
The hood nodded politely, and she strode off without a backward glance.
The robed man entered the lift. As its doors closed, he whispered, “Very interesting. . .”
* * * * *
Obi-Wan swung his new lightsaber, snapping it to a stop in a fully upright position and then lunging and parrying with an invisible adversary. The saber was only minutely different from his old one, though he felt the difference keenly, having to concentrate all the harder on the drill he was performing. The polished steel walls of the exercise room reflected his movements, but he steadfastly avoided watching himself, one of the greatest temptations to failure, and focused instead on the saber’s glow, until it seemed as if some other force were swinging it, rather than his own arms. The drill required progressively faster movements, until at last, theoretically, the blade became a blur of light. He concentrated on the saber’s dance, working toward that goal, when his foot slipped fractionally, and he lost control. The lightsaber blade swung awkwardly sideways, and he overcompensated just enough to bring it back almost into his own face. He stopped the motion, barely, and then stood quietly, breathing a bit harder than he should have been.
He moved his shoulders irritably. I performed this flawlessly three weeks ago, he thought. What’s the matter with me today?
But then he smiled. He knew precisely what was the matter. He felt as if he were merely waiting for the next disaster to strike: a lightsource falling from the ceiling, perhaps? a message from Qui-Gon saying he was staying on Triki for six more weeks? slow-acting poison in his muja juice at dinner?
His smile stretched into a grin at his mind’s melodramatic suggestions, but the grin faded quickly.
I’m not doing myself any good here, he thought. I've been practicing since breakfast and not improving. Maybe I should just track down Bruck, confront him directly about the knife and my broken stuff, and see what he says. See what the Force tells me about him.
He thought for a moment, head down, but no better idea came to him, so, with an inward sigh, he deactivated his lightsaber, attached it to his belt, and walked into the hall.
He angled toward the Students' Quarters, growing more determined with each step to put an end to this feud with Bruck immediately. But, suddenly, as he skirted the indoor garden, a darkness edged past his consciousness. He froze, remembering in a rush that he had felt this same dark ripple yesterday, before the fight with Bruck had driven it completely from his thoughts. He emptied his mind, focusing only on the shadowy impression, capturing it, until he was certain it was real, and that it was leading downward. Moving slowly, he followed the darkness’ vague pull.
Since the feeling seemed to be emanating from below, he found a secondary lift tube, and took it down as far as it would go. He stepped out into a dimly lit corridor. Like every part of the Temple, it was spacious and scrupulously clean, but Obi-Wan saw at once that he was in the very roots of the building, amongst the rarely-visited storage rooms, mechanical repair stations and power plants that supported life on the floors above.
The dark ripple had grown to a stream. Having latched onto it securely, he could sense it now without having to concentrate. Moving more quickly, he slipped down the hall, a frown creasing his brow, hand on lightsaber, every sense alert.
He still didn’t hear the attack coming.
The hiss of an activated lightsaber gave him a split-second warning. He whirled, drawing his own weapon with commendable speed. But this wasn’t his old familiar lightsaber, and the activator button was further up the handle. His thumb slid frantically, searching for it, even as he leaped backward to avoid a sweeping blow. His opponent’s blade sliced down a hairs-breadth away from his own out-thrust saber, coming so close to his fingers that the skin was burned. With a shout, he dropped his weapon. There was no time to retrieve it ; his attacker struck again. Obi-Wan flung his body into a forward flip, clearing the deadly blade. Landing lightly, he continued to flip, backwards three times, giving him enough space to gain a quick glance at his enemy. He saw only a flowing dark robe and a featureless face.
Mask? a small dispassionate part of his mind wondered. The rest of it was clouded with fear, as he faced, unarmed, a skilled lightsaber-wielding opponent who seemed intent on causing him great bodily harm. Deadly anger was blazing from the dark figure like an explosion.
“What are you doing down here?” the attacker hissed. He lunged forward again, slamming his blade down. Obi-Wan ducked, and kicked out sideways at the dark one’s midsection, feeling a satisfying impact. Despite his cushioning robe, Obi-Wan’s opponent grunted in pain, and bent reflexively. Moving without thought, directed by the Force, Obi-Wan rammed his elbow back with all his strength, into the attacker’s masked face. He stumbled backward and almost fell, and Obi-Wan ran.
Fleeing around a corner, he knew that he had only moments before his enemy recovered. He scanned the featureless doors surrounding him, and chose one at random, three doors down. As it slid closed behind him, he found himself in a barely-lit storage room, filled with barrel-shaped containers that hummed quietly. Cooling units, he realized. Food storage, probably.
Without seeing it, he sensed that his enemy was moving again. He slipped silently into a shadowy space behind the first row of containers. His fear was choking him, and he knew it must be flaring out like a beacon. If his adversary was the least bit Force-sensitive, the fear would guide him directly to Obi-Wan. He tried to calm himself, to let the dimness around him fill his mind, so that this enemy would sense nothing but a gray haze. The silence in the room was so total that it seemed thick and viscous. Obi-Wan stilled his breathing, his pounding heart, his thoughts. . .
And then stumbled backward a full meter as the silent air was shattered by the buzzing of his comlink.
* * * * *
Molu shook his head gravely, his eyes disturbed. “If this little creature is repeating what it has truly heard, I fear that this plot runs much deeper than merely the corruption of my one soldier.
Only silence greeted his comment. Molu glanced over at Qui-Gon, and then leaned sharply forward, startled by the blank emptiness on the Jedi’s face.
“Master Jedi? Master Jedi!”
Qui-Gon turned to him, slowly, but his eyes did not focus on the general’s face. He seemed to be watching something far removed from the dim walls around them.
“Friend?” Molu’s reached out and tapped Qui-Gon’s shoulder. “What is it?”
Between one heartbeat and the next, Qui-Gon’s focus returned to his surroundings, but his eyes were puzzled.
“What is it?” Molu repeated, his voice tinged with an uncertainty that was almost fear.
“I’m not sure.” Qui-Gon rubbed one hand along his jaw, rather wearily. “Fear, again, maybe. But it disappeared, into. . .grayness.” With a graceful, decisive movement, he stood. “I must return to Coruscant at once. There has to be a way.”
Molu got to his feet, as well, his face filled with concern. “There is no way, my friend. The taboo. . .”
“The taboo may be the death of my apprentice. Do the gods require such a sacrifice?”
“No, no.” Molu scooped up the _sinna_ and jogged a few steps to catch Qui-Gon’s arm as he strode out the door. “But they are Trikan gods, with their eyes on Triki. Coruscant and, forgive me, your apprentice, mean little to them.”
Qui-Gon whirled to face him, his eyes darkened with urgency. “At the very least, I can approach the Oracle and request to send a message.”
Molu nodded, but his expression was doubtful. “You can do that, yes.”
Qui-Gon nodded once, sharply, and pulled his arm from Molu’s grasp. The two men walked out the door , into the brilliant light of the Circle, but, suddenly, as they crossed the threshold, a jarring, high-pitched squeal filled the air, assaulting them from all sides. Qui-Gon reached automatically for his lightsaber, looking at once to Molu for explanation.
The general’s face was rigid with shock for a fraction of a second, before his soldier’s training snapped him to attention, demanding that he master the situation at hand. Locking eyes with Qui-Gon, he shouted rapidly over the horrific noise.
“It’s a spider-mine. A tiny explosive set to arm and detonate when a specific boundary is crossed. The squeal means we have less than a minute before it blows.”
“Where is it?”
“I don’t know!”
But then, the same idea seized both of them, and they focused on the lithe creature clutched in Molu’s hand.
With his free hand, Molu combed roughly over the _sinna’s_ silky coat. In just a few seconds he shouted, “Here!”
He seized Qui-Gon’s wrist and brought his hand down onto the _sinna’s_ neck, behind the left ear. Qui-Gon felt the tiny, vibrating bulge at once. Molu transferred the creature to his left arm, drawing a flashing silver knife out of his belt with his right hand. “I’ll have to cut it out and disarm. . .”
Before he could make another movement, the _sinna_ gave a tiny panicked yelp, and twisted out of his grip, leaving two identical sets of bleeding claw marks on his arm. It scurried away, circling frantically, trying to escape the punishing squeal. Molu dived at it, but it swerved to one side, staring at them with puzzled, frightened eyes . It backed away and then swarmed up a nearby tree, squawking pitifully.
“How long?” Qui-Gon shouted.
“Ten seconds, maybe.” Molu’s voice was grim.
The _sinna_ was climbing higher, its claws scrabbling desperately at the tree’s hard bark. Molu ran to the base of the tree, clicking his teeth in a futile effort to call the little mammal down.
Six seconds.
Qui-Gon stretched out his arm, drawing the Force and directing it after the _sinna_. He could sense the creature’s palpable fear with no effort.
Four.
The _sinna_ had found a crook in the tree and huddled into a ball, twisting its head awkwardly and snapping its jaw, vainly trying to bite away the painful noise.
Three.
Molu turned back to Qui-Gon, resignation shadowing his eyes.
Two.
The Force surged, enveloping the struggling animal. Qui-Gon’s eyes drifted closed. In the Force, he could sense the _sinna’s_ little body, curled in pain. He located the alien metal object implanted behind the left ear.
One.
He sensed its simple composition, found the arming switch, nudged it. . .
Zero.
TBC
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