Venom's Lair

by DBKate

A Jedi-Apprentice Novelette. A mission goes awry and Dark forces threaten Qui-Gon and his apprentice. Will they survive?

VENOM'S LAIR

by DBKate, 1999

---

Category: Story, Angst, Adventure

Rating: PG-13 for a bit of gore and violence.

Archive: Padawan Journals fine. All other's please ask. :-)

Disclaimer: These lovely characters are the property of George Lucas and while I'm playing with them, I wouldn't even dream of calling them my own. No money has or will ever exchange hands for this story. Also with nods to Jude Watson and Dave Wolverton for the JA series which further defines these characters and this universe.

Summary: A simple mission goes horribly awry and Dark Forces threaten the lives of both Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn and his fifteen year old apprentice Obi-Wan Kenobi. Will they survive the deceptions and trials that await?

---

It had struck without warning.

A slight flutter in the Force, a dark shape swooping down and that was all the time Obi-Wan Kenobi had to react.

It hadn't been enough.

By the time the attack was over, the mkahkstr was dead on the forest floor and Obi-Wan's master, Qui-Gon, was laying on his side, holding his bleeding arm above his chest and squeezing the artery above his armpit tightly in a deadly race against his own heartbeat.

Obi-Wan blanched at the amount of blood lost so quickly. A deep crimson pool was spreading fast but he forced himself to detach from the sight. Fearful gaping wouldn't save Qui- Gon's life but immediate action might. He tore off his robe and ripped it into long strips, leaving the hood intact to use as a blotter over the wound.

Obi-Wan knelt over Qui-Gon and examined the wound dispassionately. A large piece of flesh had been torn away by the mkahkstr's sharp teeth and he saw muscle and bone exposed beneath a thin layer of pink tissue and dark blood. Arterial blood he realized and he quickly grasped a pressure point to quell some of the loss.

Qui-Gon's voice was hoarse but still strong. "You might want to try a tourniquet at the upper point, padawan."

Obi-Wan shook his head. "No, I don't think so, Master. This place is quite forsaken and we can't guarantee you'll get the proper care in time to save the arm."

"Better to lose an arm than your life," Qui-Gon replied wryly.

Obi-Wan forced a lightness he didn't feel into his voice. "Yes, but I like sparring with you when you use both arms." He carefully raised the wounded arm higher, ignoring Qui-Gon's hiss of pain.

The slowing squirts of blood indicated that an artery was definitely nicked but not torn and Obi-Wan felt a burst of hope. If done correctly and quickly, the wound could be bound without a tourniquet.

He set to work immediately, clearing his mind and focusing only on the task at hand as Qui-Gon had taught him to. In the here and now, he chanted silently as he wrapped the wound, feeding it Force healing energy while he worked.

Qui-Gon's eyes closed and his breaths were slow and deep. Obi-Wan could feel him focusing his inner energy on healing and that was a good sign. He bound off the upper and lower points tightly, created a sling with the leftover cloth and everything began to look hopeful.

Until Qui-Gon's eyes shot open. "Obi-Wan," he gasped, his breaths suddenly short and erratic.

Obi-Wan's heart skipped a beat. "I'm sorry for hurting you, Master but . . . "

"No," Qui-Gon murmured weakly. He struggled to sit up, his pallor turning a frightening shade of gray.

A cold splash of fear washed over Obi-Wan but he forced himself to remain calm. "Master? What is it?"

Qui-Gon's entire frame began to tremble and he fell back, his voice sounding broken and weak. "Ven . . ." he gasped. "Ra . . .venom."

Obi-Wan's eyes widened with fear. Venom. Certain species of mkahkstr were rumored to be poisonous but those were thought to be so rare as to be non-existent. They were the nocturnal creatures of nightmares, used in stories to frighten children, nothing more.

Obi-Wan glanced with horror at the dead creature to his left, then turned back to his Master who was struggling for air, his eyes glazing over with agony.

With shaking hands, Obi-Wan reached for the small medi-kit hanging from his belt and yanked out an emergency adrenalhypo. Placed it carefully against Qui-Gon's throat and hoped his trembling fingers wouldn't miss their mark. Activated the release and heard a small pop followed by a short hissing noise.

Qui-Gon's eyes fluttered shut and Obi-Wan quickly bent over his Master's chest, listening intently for a heartbeat. Sweat trickled down his brow and he breathed a short sigh of relief when he heard it, weak and unsteady but definitely there.

His Master was alive but wouldn't be for much longer, unless they found help and quickly. Obi-Wan peered around the forest fearfully, debating whether to stay at Qui-Gon's side or leave and try to find assistance. Either choice seemed a bleak one and he was just about to fall into despair when a small, green face popped out from behind a flowering shrub to his right.

The creature stood no more than a meter tall and it bowed clumsily in Obi-Wan's direction until its amphibious face nearly touched the forest floor.

"Welcome to Kreitl, offworlder," the small green creature intoned. "I see you are in distress. Perhaps we can be of help."

"We?" Obi-Wan asked, looking around. He started slightly when an array of faces similar to the gnome's suddenly emerged from the surrounding wood.

"Yes, we, offworlder." The gnome motioned to his fellows and a hovercart slowly drifted over. "It is fortunate that we were traveling this way and discovered you, is it not?"

Obi-Wan's brows knit suspiciously. "Yes, it is most fortunate. Oddly so."

The gnome smiled, showing pointed teeth gleaming in a disquieting shade of yellow. "Come. We shall take you and your fellow traveler to shelter. The finest shelter on all of Kreitl as a matter of fact."

Obi-Wan glanced at his unconscious Master's pale face and bit his lip in consternation, realizing he most likely had no choice in the matter. "And where would that be?" he asked cautiously.

The gnome's smile grew wider. "To the Great Hall itself, offworlder. It lies just over that hill." He motioned to his fellows and they began to work on lifting Qui-Gon onto the hovercart.

Obi-Wan quickly rose and waved them off. Using the Force, he carefully lifted Qui-Gon onto the cart. His Master didn't wake as Obi-Wan gently secured him to its back frame, keeping a watchful eye on his wounded arm.

He sighed and took a seat in the hovercraft, keeping his eyes open and a tight hand on his lightsaber. "You said we are going to a hall?" he asked, grasping Qui-Gon's wrist and minding his pulse which was slow but steady. "What sort of hall?"

The gnome leapt into the seat beside him and took over the hovercraft's controls. "Why, the Great Hall of Ravae, of course," he chuckled as the vehicle slowly turned and took off toward the northern hills. "The home of our dear lady, Ravae Demona, Queen of the Kreitl."

---

The trip to Temobte had been plagued with bad luck since its inception. Of course, since there was no such thing as luck, Obi- Wan was at a loss to explain the series of catastrophes that followed their journey from Coruscant to their ill-fated crash landing on Kreitl.

Fate wasn't supposed to be so relentlessly unkind, he thought miserably as the hovercraft carrying him and his wounded Master made its way toward the looming Northern hills.

As always, Qui-Gon had taken each consecutive disaster in stride, serenely biding Obi-Wan to follow his example. The young apprentice's natural inclination was toward action, fighting against a bad tide, even when it proved to be fruitless and he'd chafed the entire trip there.

Qui-Gon never so much lectured as showed him the correct path. It was frustrating, yes but wise. When the ship's nav'puter broke down, he pulled out some dusty disc maps and used them, even if they were over fifty Standard years out of date.

When the hyperdrive regulator gave out, right in the middle of a secondary jump, Qui-Gon calmly guided the ship past a series of uncalculated celestial bodies using nothing but the Force and a steady hand.

And when the main thruster gave out and they were pulled into Kreitl's gravitational field forced to make a crash landing, he merely led Obi-Wan into an escape pod, shielded his apprentice with his own body and gave him a short lecture on the necessity of always being prepared for the worst.

Unfortunately it was a lesson that Obi-Wan soon had to take to heart.

Obi-Wan shook his head and checked on his Master. He was alive but drifting in and out of consciousness. Their bond still hummed between them but Obi-Wan could feel it slowly weakening, losing strength with each passing moment.

"Is it much further?" Obi-Wan impatiently asked the gnome, who was humming tunelessly as he steered them past a large group of dead trees.

"No, not much, offworlder. We are growing very close now."

Obi-Wan sighed as they made their way through the trees to a bright clearing. Off in the distance stood a looming gray structure, ancient and foreboding. Two huge stone draigons guarded its entry gate, their lips curled fiercely over long fangs, their wings spread and prepared for flight.

Obi-Wan peered at them for a long moment, not liking the mixed feelings the sight inspired. Shivers of apprehension and warning crawled up his spine but he ignored them. Grasped his Master's limp hand and squeezed it tightly, hoping to reassure, even if only subconsciously.

Felt a slight ripple over their bond in return and took a deep breath of relief. If anything, Qui-Gon was still with him in spirit and while Obi-Wan wished for more, it was better than nothing at all.

They arrived at the castle entrance just as the large red sun of Kreitl dipped beneath the horizon. Obi-Wan heard a shriek above them and winced as a colony of mkahkstrs flew overhead, making their way to the forest to prey on the unsuspecting creatures who lived there. He shuddered to think that he and Qui-Gon might still be in that forest if not for their rescuers, so he decided to give them the benefit of the doubt.

Never jump to conclusions was another one of Qui-Gon's lessons, and Obi-Wan was determined to follow them, especially in light of their current situation. He leapt out of the hovercraft and kept a steadying hand on Qui-Gon's chest as the cart floated through the long entrance way, into the main foyer. Glanced at the ornate carvings and brightly colored mosaics that lined their path, wondering at the strange creatures and beings represented among the masses of figures. They were unlike any Obi-Wan had seen before . . . two-headed pandus, fierce looking warriors atop armored Banthas, fighting against an army of tiny lizard-like creatures, most of whom were depicted dying beneath sharpened pikes or the thick heels of the giant beasts.

Depictions of blood were everywhere, bright splashes of crimson that covered nearly every piece of artwork from floor to ceiling. Obi- Wan turned away from the last few, they were far too gruesome for his taste and only made him more uncomfortable the further along they went.

He also didn't like the sound of the force fields buzzing to life behind them, effectively locking them in. Took another deep, calming breath, rationalizing that even the most benign royal house would probably be forced to take such drastic security measures, whether they wanted to or not.

The small group finally came to the main inner door of the palace and the gnome waved his hand over a small security pad, which immediately buzzed them onward.

Obi-Wan straightened up and focused his energy on his surroundings, keeping one hand tightly wrapped around his lightsaber, the other resting on his Master's arm. He wasn't going to make any sudden moves, not with Qui-Gon helpless at his side but he wasn't going to take any unnecessary chances either. If his hosts meant ill by them, he'd have to be ready and let them know that they would not be taken without a fight.

Or so he could only hope.

The chamber Obi-Wan was lit by weak hologens that gave off a distinctly yellow and sickly light. The walls were bare and cold looking, unlike most of the royal halls that Obi-Wan had visited in his two years of traveling with Qui-Gon. A slightly musty smell filled the air and he wondered at it, staring at the plain stone throne that stood in the middle of the hall. It was ancient and chipped, speaking of poverty and decay rather than royal opulence and wealth.

The sight confused him but he shook the uncertainty away. His main quest was to get medical help for his Master, whose life force was weakening by the minute. He shifted impatiently on the balls of his feet wishing he could simply drag a healer out from wherever they kept them in this dank hole and get on with it.

But, as per the etiquette of all royal houses, Obi-Wan knew that patience was his only recourse. So he forced himself to stand silent and still when a tired-looking courtier entered the throne room and blew a short note through a reed.

"Make way for Her Majesty, Ravae, Queen of the Kreitl," he intoned vaguely, giving the reed another weak whistle.

A tall woman in her middle years approached the throne and sat as Obi-Wan examined her closely. It was obvious that she'd been a great beauty in her youth but her features were now marred by time and a something Obi-Wan couldn't quite define. She was dressed in attire that was far too austere for most of the queens he'd met in his travels and her expression was one of almost preternatural calm, as if she were holding back a secret glee she dare not show.

It confused Obi-Wan, as did the odd braid she wore, hanging down at twice the length of the rest of her dull, dark hair. Her bearing was studied, uneasy and not suited to one who was born into royalty. Obi-Wan quickly made the deduction that she'd either been elected to her position or took it by force, neither of which gave him much comfort. He felt a slight shiver in the Force when their eyes met and immediately, he grew wary.

"You are welcome, offworlders," the Queen said with a slight nod. "I sorrow to see you are in distress."

Obi-Wan bowed low, a courtier's bow and answered in High Galactic. "Of your mercy Your Highness, we've had some difficulty. My companion here is gravely ill and in dire need of your succor."

"So it appears," she replied with a glance at Qui-Gon. "A mkahkstr attack, no?"

"Yes, Your Highness."

She tsked softly. "Oh, those horrid creatures. I fear they are a true plague upon our otherwise pristine forests."

Calling the putrid swamp they'd just abandoned a "pristine forest" was quite an exaggeration, Obi-Wan thought but said nothing.

The Queen sat back, her brow creased and Obi-Wan watched as she slowly tapped a long, manicured nail against her lip. "You . . . you are Jedi, are you not?"

Again, Obi-Wan felt a quiver in the Force. He took a moment to raise his shields around himself and Qui-Gon. "Yes, Your Highness," he replied cautiously. "We are Jedi. But at the moment, we are also simple human beings in desperate need of aid. His tone turned urgent. "And I fear that if my companion does not receive immediate help from a healer, he will die." Obi-Wan took a deep breath. "So, please, of your mercy, Your Highness, please help him."

The Queen looked a bit taken aback at Obi-Wan's vehemence, then motioned sharply to her attendants. "Oh. Yes, of course. Orobo! Wiuiz! Lytu! Direct . . ." She turned backed to Obi-Wan, her tone apologetic. "Dear me. I've neglected to ask your names."

Obi-Wan bowed again, his frustration nearly boiling over. "I am Obi-Wan Kenobi and I will answer for my companion who is unable to. He is Qui-Gon Jinn."

"Ah," replied the Queen, a small, enigmatic smile creasing her lips. "Yes, of your mercy Orobo, direct Master Qui-Gon to a healing chamber and give him whatever aid he requires. As for his young friend here . . ." She smiled at Obi-Wan. "We shall ask him to keep us company here and tell us of his travails over wine and supper."

"You are very good, Your Highness but I would much prefer to stay with my companion and not disturb you further," Obi-Wan replied, his hand clenching involuntarily around his lightsaber. The Force was humming wildly by then and he was growing leerier by the second.

"Nonsense, young one. Your Master is in good hands. You shall see him when he awakes." The Queen clapped her hands . . . sharply. "Orobo! Are you deaf? Gather the rest of you and take Master Qui-Gon to the healing chamber immediately!"

The gnome who'd brought Obi-Wan there shuffled forward, followed by a small miserable looking band of subordinates and together, they guided the hovercraft bearing Qui-Gon from the hall.

Obi-Wan nearly keened with frustration but bit it back and showed nothing. Instead, he turned his focus back to the Queen and tried to think of ways to escape her presence.

As Qui-Gon slowly disappeared from his view, the great crimson doors slamming shut behind him.

---

The Queen relaxed visibly when Qui-Gon was gone and motioned to her attendants again, this time for wine. "This is actually a most fortuitous event for both of us, Jedi Obi-Wan," she said, as two goblets were presented -- a large crystal one for her and a rough hewn, cracked one for Obi-Wan.

"How so your Highness?" Obi-Wan took the glass offered and carefully feigned a sip as Qui-Gon had taught him to. Galactic sovereigns had the bad habit of poisoning careless guests and he had no wish to end up on the Queen's floor, wide-eyed and blue.

"You've found me in your time of trouble just when I too find myself in need of aid, my dear Jedi." Her voice was berry sweet and her eyelashes fluttered coyly. "And I think you are exactly the person I've been waiting for."

Obi-Wan focused on her carefully, using the Force to mentally pluck at her, prodding through facades and trying to tear away inner masks as to gain insight to his host. Much to his surprise, little or nothing was revealed. For all he could see, she was as blank as a clear pool or a cold bit of shale. Either she was a 'droid, an idiot . . . or worse, she could shield herself as well, if not better, than any Jedi Obi-Wan had ever met.

Disturbed, Obi-Wan took another "sip" and nodded at her to continue.

She leaned toward him, her voice low and conspiratorial. "The Republic is suffering from a distinct lack of order these days, dear Jedi. In these dark times it appears that thieves and scoundrels are infiltrating all sorts of societies, even ones as peaceful and polite as the Kreitl."

"How do you mean, your Highness?"

The Queen sighed dramatically. "For the past two Standard years of my reign, Kreitl has been subjected to the most difficult and painful harassment by a group of settlers from the planet Uisielse. They landed here, searching for treasures that frankly do not exist and it has been an endless struggle to keep them from crashing through our peaceful forests, terrorizing my beloved people and looting and pillaging for the sheer pleasure of it." Another long sigh. "They've rebuffed all attempts at negotiation, laughed aside even my personal offers to placate them by handing over whatever poor resources we do possess and I'm at a loss at what to do next. It appears we are not impressive enough for these brutes and they feel as though a free reign over Kreitl is their Force-given right."

"I see," said Obi-Wan as he looked around her court and saw nothing but small, defenseless creatures, all of them with markedly sad eyes and trembling mouths.

The Queen peered intently at him, her face sad but her eyes narrow and cold. "It's a terrible thing but what can I do? In truth, Jedi, I am alone here and one weak woman is no match for such a horde of scoundrels." She waved a languid hand toward her attendants. "As you can see, I fear mainly for my poor subjects, helpless and dear creatures that they are."

"I cannot fight a war for you, your Highness," Obi-Wan replied slowly. "It is against the Jedi Code and frankly, far beyond my capabilities."

"Oh, no, no!" A hint of laughter colored the Queen's voice. "I'd never ask you to go against your precious Code, padawan knight. I don't need a warrior, young one; no, what I need is a negotiator. The Uisiel have finally offered to strike a deal with us but since they're expecting nothing more than a few of my little guards here, they probably believe they can garner whatever settlement they wish." A thoughtful look crossed her features. "However . . . if they were to be approached by a Jedi, well, then the outcome of these talks might turn out a bit fairer than could have been originally hoped for." She took another sip, her eyes never leaving Obi-Wan's. "If you understand my meaning, dear boy."

Obi-Wan did understand her meaning and quickly realized he was in a serious bind. The Code mandated that he could not stand by and let injustice be served by inaction. Add to that the succor given to his master, refusal of the Queen's request became all but impossible.

But that still didn't mean he had to like the idea. "You understand that I'm not experienced in direct negotiations of any sort," Obi-Wan replied coldly. "Nor am I prepared for these particular ones. I have neither the knowledge nor the . . ."

The Queen cut him off with a careless wave of her hand. "Oh, please padawan knight. The Uisiel are so stupid you shall speak rings around them. I tell you, they know only brute force and are cowardly beyond all things. I dare say they shall take one look at you and run for next system before you can say "Bantha."

"And if they don't?"

She shrugged and drained her glass with a smile. "Then you shall return here and I will give you and your Master safe passage off- world before the next sun has set. What could be fairer than that?"

Indeed, what could be fairer, Obi-Wan thought, his teeth clenched with anger. He now understood he had no choice in the matter and realized the Queen knew that as well. However, he made no sign of his fury, instead, he put down his wine, rose and turned to the High Language once more. "Then Your Grace," he said with a short bow, "I will negotiate with the Uisiel on behalf of yourself and your subjects to the best of my ability as a Knight apprentice of the Jedi, provided the Code of my Order be not broken or corrupted."

"Spoken as a true Jedi!" Her Highness beamed at Obi-Wan, then nodded at the last remaining attendant. "Wytl, take our friend here to the healing chambers so he can give his Master company and comfort." Turned back to Obi-Wan, her grin cat-like and sharp. "You must be the pride and joy of your Master, young one," she purred. "Really, you must."

Not quite sure that was the case, Obi-Wan didn't reply but instead, bowed his departure and followed Wytl to the chamber where his Master lay, his fate in the hands of the unknown.

---

When Obi-Wan arrived in the healing chamber, he carefully made his way to Qui-Gon's bedside, brushing past a small bacta tank and a multitude of machines, each one more frightening looking than the last.

His master lay unconscious but was breathing without the aid of a medi-'droid. Obi-Wan examined Qui-Gon's arm and was relieved to see the terrible wound was now nothing more than a few faded white lines, the bacta having made quick work of the gaping tear that had nearly killed him.

With a sigh, Obi-Wan brushed a stray lock of hair away from his Master's forehead and took a hold of his hand. Squeezed it gently and silently beseeched Qui-Gon to wake up, calling to him over their bond.

There was no movement or answer, not even a shimmer of Force over their link and Obi-Wan felt a sad wash of despair flood over him. Wondered miserably if Qui-Gon would ever wake and if he wasn't making some terrible mistake by leaving Qui-Gon behind while doing the Queen's bidding.

Obi-Wan felt he'd had no choice but was that really the case? Qui-Gon had always told him to trust his feelings, to obey his instincts and not to let rationalizations get in the way of the Force that guided him. Every instinct Obi-Wan had told him not to obey the Queen, to get himself and his master as far away from her as possible but he hadn't the faintest clue as how to accomplish that feat with Qui-Gon in his current condition.

Sighing, he knew Qui-Gon would tell him he wasn't looking hard enough, that the answers would come clear with patience and calm control but Obi-Wan couldn't wait. He wanted his master whole and well before they attempted any sort of escape, if that was what would be needed to leave Kreitl.

Obi-Wan bit his lip, then bent down to press his cheek against his master's temple for a brief moment. It felt cool, comforting and he imagined himself gaining Qui-Gon's knowledge and strength through the touch, praying it might guide him through whatever trials lay ahead.

"May the Force be with you Master," he murmured and squeezed Qui- Gon's hand gently, for what might have been the final time. "For I am with you, if not in body, always in spirit. I promise I shall do my very best and follow your teachings as well as I can until my return."

He heard a small shuffling noise behind him, followed by a short cough. Turning around, he saw the attendant Wytl standing in the doorway, his feet tapping upon the floor, impatiently waiting for Obi-Wan to notice him.

"Yes? What is it you want?" Obi-Wan tried to hide his annoyance at the intruder's rudeness but failed.

"The Queen has instructed me to gather you for a briefing on the Uisiel negotiations, oh most honored and revered guest." The sarcasm in the creature's voice was evident and Obi-Wan wanted nothing more than to slap him down where he stood. But he did nothing except nod and join the creature in the hallway, sparing only a quick glance back at Qui-Gon, who lay motionless and silent.

Sadly, Obi-Wan followed the creature back to the Great Hall, steeling himself for whatever might lie ahead.

---

It was shortly after dawn the next morning when Obi-Wan carefully picked his way through the dense forests of Kreitl on his way to meet with the leaders of the Uisiel. His heart was heavy with misgivings but he trudged forward, ignoring the muted growls of creatures that emanated from the layers of snarled growth that surrounded him.

His determination to go through with his mission was clear but that didn't ease the sadness and fear he felt as he strode on. Being on his own was one thing, being utterly alone was another matter entirely. For the first time in his apprenticeship he was responsible for both himself and Qui-Gon, and that frightened him more than he was willing to admit.

However, there could be little better test of his abilities, he told himself firmly and perhaps he could win a greater measure of respect and trust from his Master if he succeeded in bringing their mission to a safe and acceptable conclusion.

Which, of course, was one big "if."

Orobo, the gnome who'd originally brought him and Qui-Gon into the Queen's palace, followed at a discreet distance, only occasionally correcting their path toward the Uisiel encampment. He'd appeared nervous when instructed to accompany Obi-Wan, even more so when Obi-Wan began to question him on some of the specifics of their mission, Kreitl's history and the Queen's reign.

"How is it that you are ruled by a human, Orobo? Was Her Majesty elected by your people?" Obi-Wan's tone was casual, conversational even, but Orobo looked as though he'd been strapped to a chair and put under Ritalian torture beams.

"Her . . . Her Majesty is a most kind and gracious ruler," Orobo stuttered loudly, his silver eyes huge. "She is the soul of charity and goodness. She is the fount of all wisdom and her leadership is without peer."

"I have no doubt that she is all those things and more." Obi-Wan sidestepped a pool of quickmire and leapt lightly over some tangled vines. He turned to the pale, shaking creature beside him. "But you haven't answered my question."

Orobo wrung his webbed hands. "I . . . I don't remember exactly when she came to us, all I know is that it was a fortunate day indeed." He looked beseechingly at Obi-Wan. "Please, sir. Please ask me no more questions. The . . . the Uisiel are near and it is best to concentrate on your meeting with them rather than discuss things long past with a poor, foolish servant such as myself."

Obi-Wan considered the tiny creature for a moment, then decided to press the matter no further. It was obvious Her Majesty's subjects feared her and there was probably good cause to. He took a deep breath and struggled onward, keeping his eyes and ears open, taking measured steps, making sure to avoid the pitfalls that lined their path.

High overhead, something dark fluttered past them, then veered away. Obi-Wan tightened his grip on his lightsaber, tuned out all outside distractions and turned his attention inward, toward his skill with the Force.

In his own way, the little gnome was right. Obi-Wan's concentration had to be on the present and he should strive to clear his mind of doubts, gathering the Force to him and be at the ready for whatever dangers might materialize. Qui-Gon was always reminding him not to let his mind wander, especially when headed into a potentially difficult or dangerous situation. There would be plenty of time for questions after he'd accomplished his intended goal, not before.

The forest thinned out and beyond the next patch of trees Obi-Wan saw the Uisiel encampment. The makeshift city of black tents surrounding an ill-attended bonfire, its scattered ashes dotted with refuse and signs of a previous evening's debauch, appeared to be empty. There were no leaders waiting to meet with him, no greeting party at the ready . . . no signs of life at all.

Obi-Wan blinked in surprise. Cautiously made his way forward, keeping a wary eye on the surrounding forest, putting all his senses on high alert. "This is strange. Where are they? Isn't this the correct place and time, Orobo? This site appears abandoned."

Orobo swallowed visibly. "Well, sir, with the Uisiel it is hard to tell. They aren't exactly the most courteous or punctual of creatures. If we wait here, I'm sure one of them will eventually appear."

Obi-Wan didn't like the sound of that and slowly backed away from the open encampment, shrinking silently into a more secure covering of forest. Crouched down and motioned for Orobo to retreat with him, shaking his head as the tiny creature obeyed with obvious reluctance.

Something was wrong here. Very wrong, but Obi-Wan couldn't quite put his finger on the source of the danger. He saw nothing but an abandoned encampment and sensed nothing except a non-sentient being or two drifting beyond his immediate parameters, far past the scope of surprise attack.

But he could feel the danger surrounding him. There was an unmistakable tremor in the Force, crawling up and down his spine like a r'apiete, its venomous claws scraping at his nerves, preparing to strike. Obi-Wan focused on it, tried to ferret out its mystery, enticing it forward and command it to reveal its secret to him but it refused.

The danger was so close but . . .

Suddenly, Obi-wan heard a whisper of his Master's voice in his mind. Dreamlike and hazy, speaking to him softly of lessons past.

//Trust your instincts, Obi-Wan and pay no mind to appearances. Deceive you they will. Feelings, your feelings are what matter, for they will be right nine times out of ten. Trust in them.//

Obi-Wan bit his lip thoughtfully, pondering that lesson, one of the first Qui-Gon had impressed on him. What was he missing? Should he turn back now or stay and try to gather more answers? Would it be wise to return to the Hall or should he explore another path all together?

As if in answer, one of the tent dividers slapped open and an unkempt human emerged, his hair tousled, his expression bleary with slumber. His tunic was ripped and he stumbled as if still drunk from the previous night's excesses.

"Idejr! Rital!" the man shouted hoarsely. "Awake, you fools! It is grown late and if you do not rise now, you'll find yourselves in the worst part of the Seven Circles of G'worm's Hells. I said, up with you, scum! Now!"

Obi-Wan crouched lower behind the dense flowering of leaves, taking a moment to examine the man closely, paying sharp attention to his accent, the patterns of his speech, even the details of his dress. Everything seemed in place; the man appeared nothing more than an ordinary rogue spacer . . . drunk and disorderly, his Standard guttural but fluent.

But Qui-Gon's voice was still sounding in his mind, sharp with urgency.

//. . . Ignore outward appearances, padawan. Take care that you look beyond them . . . //

The voice haunted Obi-Wan, cautioning him to take better stock of his situation. He obeyed the subconscious command and focused intently on the man, mentally picking him apart, piece by piece. After a few moments, he finally noticed something new: a marking on the man's arm, barely peeking out from a small rip in his sleeve. A painted marking, a permanent one from the looks of it, was embedded in the man's flesh with bright crimson ink.

It was a tattoo. A tattoo of an entwined pair of blood red draigons, chained together at the neck, their long tongues lashing forward, fangs sharp and at the ready, their countenances terrifying.

The crude drawing spoke of evil, pain and misery and Obi-Wan's eyes widened with horror when he recognized it. It was well-known symbol in that quadrant of the galaxy, one Qui-Gon had expressly warned him about prior to their taking off for this mission.

It was the mark of Kelsiant slavers.

Obi-Wan swallowed hard. These so-called Uisiel were no ordinary thugs, they were the worst of all possible criminals . . . slave traders. Buyers and sellers of flesh, both human and otherwise and the danger they presented to all who crossed their path was immense. Respect for life was unknown to men of their breed; all they knew was the lure of money and the cruel seduction of being able to lord over beings weaker than themselves.

Obi-Wan grit his teeth in anger. To him, there was nothing worse than a slaver and his fingers itched at the handle of his lightsaber. It would be a pleasure for him to eradicate these villains from the galaxy; but in his heart Obi-Wan knew this wasn't the time or place for such action.

Besides, killing them in anger would lead him to a place far worse than even the worst slaver occupied, of that much Obi-Wan was certain.

The man in the clearing furiously kicked a small canister and cried out again. "Idejr! Rital! You sons of a Jawa's ass! Up with you, before I blast you out of your beds!"

Two more slavers stumbled from their respective tents and Obi-Wan quickly decided that inaction would be his wisest choice. For the moment. "Come," he hissed to Orobo. "We are leaving. These men cannot be negotiated with."

Orobo blinked at him. "But sir . . . you haven't even attempted to . . . "

Obi-Wan silenced the tiny creature with an impatient wave of his hand. "I've seen enough to know that these sorts aren't going to be swayed by any argument of mine." He motioned toward a clearing to their left, one that would lead back to the path by which they'd arrived. "Quietly now, follow me."

The gnome rose and shook his head. "I . . . I don't think so sir."

Obi-Wan stared at the tiny creature, the trembling, terrified gnome that barely came up to his knee. "What do you mean?" His eyes narrowed. "These men are slavers and I say they cannot be reasoned with. You must come with me now."

Orobo shook his head and instead of arguing further, the little creature raised a tiny straw to his lips and pointed it at Obi- Wan, who stared at him, bewildered.

The dart that flew from the straw was embedded in Obi-Wan's arm before he had time to think of reacting.

Obi-Wan felt a sudden radiating pain, followed by an immediate numbness that traveled the length of his body with shocking speed. His lightsaber fell from his grasp and he pitched forward, his muscles refusing to obey his command as he fell onto the damp, mossy ground. He groped desperately at the pinpoint of agony and with a hiss, he yanked the tiny dart out of his shoulder, watching with horror as a single drop of blood fell from its tip.

Gaped at Orobo, who peered at him with mournful eyes and obvious regret. "I am sorry, sir. Truly I am. But it was at Her Majesty's command."

Obi-Wan struggled to get up, to at least roll over and reach for his saber but failed. He tried to shout out for help but his tongue felt as though it weighed a thousand kilots and he could do no more than call out over the bond he and Qui-Gon shared, praying that somehow, it might be heard.

Master!

The world surrounding Obi-Wan quickly faded into a shroud of darkness and he heard Orobo call out to the slavers in the clearing, telling them to come and gather up their prize. Obi-Wan groaned and tried a last ditch attempt to rise and fight but the world surrounding him narrowed violently in scope until it was nothing more than a single, dizzying pinpoint of gray.

He called out once more over his and Qui-Gon's bond but this time it was not for help. Instead, he allowed wave after wave of regret to flow toward his Master whom he knew was laying far away, helpless and far beyond his reach . . . perhaps forever.

Master, please . . . please forgive me. I am so sorry.

---

The call cried out to him from a distant part of his soul. Desperate and pleading, demanding his attention -- begging for aid. A familiar voice and the dearness of it forced him to fight the darkness that imprisoned him.

Master!

Qui-Gon Jinn's eyes snapped open.

He began to cough, overwhelmed by the grim sensation of not being able to breathe. Coughed again and peered around, disoriented, feeling as though he'd been placed in suspended animation then suddenly returned to life after many months.

Perhaps years.

Master . . . please . . .

Again, that call. Qui-Gon struggled to sit up and a wave of nausea overtook him. Forced himself to relax and lay back as his senses assaulted him. Freezing air made him shiver and his ears rang as the bitter smell of bacta and medication filled his nostrils. He took a deep, cleansing breath, shut his eyes and sorted through the myriad sensations, trying to remember where he was and why he was in his current condition.

The memories flooded back with dizzying speed.

His last mission, the ship malfunctioning -- followed by a crash landing somewhere in the middle of a remote forest. Walking through dense undergrowth . . . something flying overhead, a quick flash of a lightsaber followed by confusion, bewilderment . . . pain. Blood tinged with no small amount of fear then. . . .

Venom. The invading poison, working its way down his limbs, numbing as it traveled through his bloodstream, spreading death with every treacherous beat of his heart. The impossible catch in his chest, the struggle for every hitching breath and then . . .

Master!

Obi-Wan. Qui-Gon opened his eyes again as his memory returned in sharp, crystalline detail. Obi-Wan had been beside him, helping him tie off the wound when the venom took its toll and darkness fell. Qui-Gon blinked, let his eyes grow accustomed to the dim light and when it revealed the stone walls of a narrow cell that imprisoned him, he had little need for further explanation.

"How good to see you again, Qui-Gon." The voice was soft, feminine but tinged with sharp undertones of menace.

It was a voice that Qui-Gon knew well.

Ravae. That was the name of the woman who sat before him, safely ensconced beyond the silver tinged force fields of his prison, her black cloak slung over salle-white shoulders and the immodest lines of a long crimson underdress plunging far below their intended contour.

She smiled sweetly at him. "I must say you are still quite a specimen, dear Master Jinn, even after all those years as one of the Order's most pompous and pious dullards. How are you feeling?"

"Where is my padawan?" Qui-Gon rasped, his tone neutral, even as the rage within seethed to a dangerous temperature.

"Which one? Xanatos?" Ravae's eyes grew wide with mock surprise. "Why, I haven't a clue. Last I heard he was leaving little love notes on your pillow describing in detail about how he was going to kill you the first chance he got." A long look from beneath dark eyelashes. "I'm rather glad he hasn't gotten around to it. Yet."

He ignored the taunt. "Where is Obi-Wan?" No outward sign of emotion but the muscles in his jaw began to hurt from being clenched so tightly.

"Oooooooh," she laughed. "You're speaking of that sweet little creature who brought you here, all afire and oh-so-worried about his injured master." She sighed and absentmindedly began to braid the long lock of hair that hung at her side. "The dear child. Honestly, Qui-Gon wherever did you find him? Such a devoted boy and certainly quite pleasant on the eyes. If you'd ask me, I'd say he was much more suited to a Cyrthian brothe . . . "

"Where is he, Ravae?" Same even tone but the underlying threat was evident.

"Now that's the question, isn't it, Qui-Gon?" A narrow glance. "But all will be revealed in good time. I'm glad I arranged this meeting between us, we have so much catching up to do. I'm unhappy to say I'm much too far behind on Temple gossip these days. Tell me, hasn't Master Yoda learned a new encoding language for mission orders yet? I mean, I know he's, oh what, a billion years old by now but honestly . . . "

Mission codes. Qui-Gon stared at her, small pieces of the puzzle falling into place. "You sabotaged our vessel, didn't you?"

A soft hint of laughter. "Of course I did, dear one. And what a job you did in overcoming all those 'coincidental' malfunctions. I was beginning to think I'd have to go up in my own ship and shoot you down myself. Of course, that would have defeated the entire purpose but . . . "

Qui-Gon glared at her. "Enough. Where is Obi-Wan? You will tell me immediately, or I will not be responsible for any actions I may take."

Her eyes narrowed. "Patience, Master Jinn. Isn't that the first rule of the Code? Patience even in the face of death itself." Ravae examined her braid, softing its ragged end with long fingers. "You know, I never understood the Jedi or their devotion to that silly Code, honestly, I never did. For a group that wields a power as awesome, as unimaginable, as they have within their grasp, they also have a list of the most ridiculous rules, every one of them as dull as the day is long."

"Such as the rule against killing your Master?" asked Qui-Gon quietly.

Ravae glanced at him, a tiny smile curling her lips. "Goodness, what a memory you have. You think I'd destroyed a herd of prized Rylte ponies the way the Council carried on after the deed was done." She shrugged. "True, maybe it wasn't the best behavior ever exhibited by a padawan, then again, even those of us with good intentions have our little failings . . . don't we?" Her smile sharpened. "Besides, my Master was such a bore."

"Why do you think that, Ravae? Is it because she bid you not to kill, not to succumb to your anger? Did you believe just because you were handed a light saber you were supposed to spend your days in bloodletting?" His tone was acid . . . unforgiving.

The smiled faded and she peered at him innocently. "Well, why in the Force's name did they give me that saber if I wasn't supposed to kill something with it?"

It was Qui-Gon's turn to shrug. "Whatever you say, padawan rogue." His tone turned careless, condescending. He was taking a grave chance, this much he knew but anger was a weakness and with care, he might be able to exploit hers. "But as far as I and the Jedi, are concerned, you are nothing but a dangerous, half-trained rogue and an ineffectual one at that."

His taunts had the desired effect. Fury burrowed its way into Ravae's features and her voice turned high-pitched and enraged, all pretense at calm lost. "Take care, Master Jinn. I am Ravae, Regina Domin of the Kreitl, Lady of Sith," she snarled. "And you . . . you are nothing, Qui-Gon Jinn. "

Qui-Gon chuckled softly. "Are you all that now, Ravae? It sounds very impressive but to me you appear no different than you did the last time I saw you. Padawan Ravae, the shameless, cowardly rogue who murdered her own Master by plunging a lightsaber into her back while she slept. I'm surprised that she was so generous with you, even in those final days."

"My Master? Generous? That bitch-dog of a f'ratdi!" Ravae cried, rising gracelessly, nearly knocking her chair to the floor. "She who called me 'a menace,' her 'greatest failure,' and her 'most grievous shame" Oh, that whore! Her death was deserved, anyone in their right mind could see that! Generous! That . . . that . . . " Ravae took a panting breath, her hands visibly trembling.

Qui-Gon examined her with cold eyes. "She was also a Master who felt such pity for the padawan who wept for her sorry life when the final battle turned sour, she allowed her to live. Your Master's only true mistake was lowering her guard one too many times on the way to the rehabilitation habitat she insisted on accompanying you to."

Their eyes locked and Ravae slowly sank back into her chair, her lower lip cracked and bleeding slightly from being bitten nearly through with rage. She took a long shuddering breath. "We all have our lessons to learn, Qui-Gon." She paused. "As you will find out soon enough."

His tone turned impatient. "Why am I here, Ravae? What is it you are looking for?"

"I am looking for many things from you, Qui-Gon but most of all I desire knowledge, knowledge only you appear to possess, dear one. This mortal coil is too short in so many ways, Master Jinn and time must be spent wisely. Remember, according to your beloved Code, I should be a seeker, not a saint." She smiled thinly, dark amusement shading her eyes.

Qui-Gon gritted his teeth. "You are neither. You are a murderer, a rogue and whatever knowledge you seek, I cannot provide you with."

"Really? Not even for your padawan?" She grinned at him, a grim death's head smile. "How odd. I heard you were rather on the cool side as a Master, Qui-Gon but such frostiness toward your own student is unique. Even my own late, unlamented Master was warmer than that."

A small sting of guilt bit at Qui-Gon but he didn't reply.

Ravae's smile turned brighter . . . knowing. "Ah, you aren't so heartless after all. Well, I shall leave you with your thoughts for now and, to show you how fair I am, I shall leave you a small reminder of your padawan to keep you company. When I return, we will discuss my terms for his . . . eventual . . . return to your cold but, oh-so-proper care. That is, if his new master will agree to it. But, you can use this to convince him."

She rose, pulled a lightsaber from her belt and laid it gently on the chair. Wrapped her cloak closely around her shoulders and raised the hood, glancing at him coyly. "I shall see you tomorrow, Master Jinn and for tonight, I wish you nothing but the most pleasant of dreams." She walked away silently, fading into the darkness of the hall.

Qui-Gon blanched when he stared at the saber. It was Obi-Wan's and he knew that his padawan wouldn't have relinquished it without a fight. He shut his eyes tightly and swallowed past the tightening band in his throat.

//. . . his new master . . . //

Qui-Gon knew what those words inferred and that cry, that desperate plea he'd heard over their bond, haunted him. Obi-Wan would never cry out for him in such a manner unless he was in trouble . . . serious trouble.

Qui-Gon wanted to rage, wanted to crash through the force field that imprisoned him but forced himself to relax and calmly examine his situation instead. He wasn't yet at full strength; he would have to heal completely before he could be assured of a clean escape. There was Obi-Wan's safety to think of and all might not be as it seemed, as Ravae wasn't only a murderous witch but a notorious liar as well.

She also had her own knowledge of the Force and Qui-Gon would have to tread carefully, patiently, before any action could be taken. But it was only a few moments later when his helplessness truly grated at him and the sight of his padawan's lightsaber suddenly sickened him. Obi-Wan could be anywhere, in the hands of anyone and that thought filled him with grief.

//So close and yet so far, padawan.//

But he had to trust Obi-Wan, as young and untrained as the boy was. They'd been in worse situations, yes, surely they must have endured worse, Qui-Gon swore to himself as he lay back down and began to focus his inner attention on healing, shutting out the voices that spun past his shields and haunted the recesses of his mind.

Even the voice that continued to cry out for his master through a vortex of pain.

---

Cold.

He was cold along with everything else -- the air, his hands, everything. It was as if he'd been camping outdoors on Hoth, placed on a glacier, alone and without protection of any sort.

// . . . Master . . .//

Obi-Wan shivered once and kept his eyes closed, willing the chill to dissipate. He was laying on a hard, frigid surface, smooth and metallic, vibrating beneath his tentative touch. It felt like a floor . . .

The floor of a ship in motion.

Obi-Wan swallowed hard and opened his eyes. Blinked once, then twice, squinting to make out his surroundings through harsh, overbright lights. Swallowed again, noting how dry his mouth was and how thick and strange his tongue felt. It wasn't pain, not exactly, but the sensation was disconcerting nonetheless.

The room he was in was bare except for a small sanitation unit in the far corner. There was no bedding or accommodations of any sort, just three metal walls shut off by a force field that shimmered with crimson warning beams from top to bottom. Obi-Wan had seen such fields before and knew better than to go near it. Getting too close could cause a shock that would throw a large creature a good few meters, let alone what it could do to a young, not-so-large human.

He rolled over and breathed deeply, calming himself. Felt around his waist and noticed that his belt and lightsaber were both missing. There was a pressure against his windpipe and Obi-Wan ran his hands over his neck, discovering he'd been fitted with yet another control collar, not unlike the one he'd been forced to wear while a prisoner on Bandomeer. Muttered a soft curse under his breath and shut his eyes again, this time against the sting of tears.

Both anger and despair tore at him. He'd not only put himself in an impossibly dangerous situation but left his wounded master behind with a band of creatures he now knew meant them both serious harm.

//. . .Master . . .//

And there wasn't a thing he could do about it. Not as he was, trapped on a ship bound for Force knew where, in the company of men he'd been clearly warned about by Qui-Gon just days before . . . Kelsiant slavers.

Obi-Wan wanted to rage against the unfairness of it all, against his own mistakes, wanted to pound and tear at the walls and floor of his prison but knew there was no point. If there was ever a time to conserve his energy, to tread carefully and patiently, now was it. He had no idea what lay ahead, where he was or where he was being taken to and why, so observation had to come before action.

Obi-Wan gingerly sat up and peered around, this time taking minute stock of his surroundings, noting every crevice of his cell and whatever else he could see beyond it. Covertly examined the force field controls, noticed a water spigot nearby, made a careful observation of a small bit of wiring that lie loose and discarded just beyond his reach. He took care to store away every bit of information he could, all of it to be recalled for future use. Called the Force to him and used it to sharpen his senses and begin working on overriding the collar that was faintly humming around his neck.

"Eh, there. Looks as if our little friend is all nice and lively now."

Obi-Wan looked up and quickly backed himself away from the center of the cell as the three slavers he'd seen on Kreitl stared at him from beyond the force field, their expressions a frightening mix of amusement and malice.

The human he'd seen first in the clearing, the one who Obi-Wan assumed to be the leader, peered at him malevolently, grinning and showing a set of black, rotting teeth. "Not bad, not bad. I'd say we undersold the commission on this one."

A shorter half-human, half-something else grinned as well. "Considering the buyer, maybe we should up the price upon delivery. He's got enough to spare if he really wants the goods."

"He also has enough to have us killed upon arrival," said the third slaver, a tall grim-looking K'tauian, his blue crest flattened against the top of his skull. "Let's leave well enough be."

Obi-Wan regarded his captors coldly. "Where am I? Who are you and where are you taking me?"

"Oh and he can talk as well." The tall human snorted and regarded Obi-Wan with obvious disdain. "You'll find out all things, Jedi, when you arrive. And yes, we know exactly what you are and what you can do, so don't try any of your magician tricks on us unless you want to learn what that collar around your neck is capable of. You aren't the first Jedi we've sold and you won't be the last. So be a good boy, or we'll show you how we treat our unsold merchandise."

The shorter creature laughed. "Why not show him anyway? I haven't had a nice pretty piece of . . ."

"Enough Idejr," the K'tauian interrupted angrily. "Remember, this one is paid for in advance. Don't even think of getting us into a situation that will later be regretted, by you especially."

"Shut your bill Rital, you blue-faced son of a . . . "

"Silence," snarled the tall human. He glowered at his underlings. "Both of you shut your holes before I shut them for you. Rital, keep your unwanted opinions to yourself before I kick them out of your head and Idejr, keep your filthy hands to yourself before I get the vibro-axe and chop 'em off. If I want anything from either of you, I'll just beat it out of you. Until then, keep quiet."

The leader turned back to Obi-Wan. "And you, you just be a good little Jedi until we reach Teklon Four. Don't worry, this ship is fast so it should only be another couple of days or so before we arrive."

Obi-Wan felt his heart sink but kept his expression blank. Teklon Four was on the very fringes of the galaxy, far away from most civilized systems and nowhere near Kreitl. The chances of getting back to Qui-Gon, or even contacting the Jedi Temple on Coruscant for help, were growing slimmer by the moment.

He backed a bit further away from his captors. "Why am I going to Teklon Four? Who is this "buyer" I've been sold to?"

Idejr snorted. Peered at Obi-Wan with bleary, malevolent eyes. "Why, you've been sold to none other than the Shar P'iet himse. . ." The short slaver didn't get to finish his sentence as a swift arm dealt him a resounding blow to his head and knocked him flat off his feet. He landed with an "oooomph" and looked around hazily for a moment before lapsing into unconsciousness, his head hitting the floor with a loud "thud."

The tall man glared at the immobile Idejr, then turned to Rital. "Get him the hells out of here and let that be a lesson to you to keep your cursed mouths SHUT."

The K'tauian nodded quickly, bent down and grabbed his companion by the arms. Yanked his body back with a grunt and slowly, proceeded to drag Idejr away, down into the dark narrow passageway of the ship's lower hull.

The tall slaver watched them leave and turned back to Obi-Wan, his lips set in an angry line. "Let that be a warning for you to take care, boy. While those two may be idiots, I'm not, and I tell you that I'll have no problem blasting you dead, whether you've been paid for by the Shar P'iet or not. He doesn't bother me and neither will you. So just keep that in mind."

Obi-Wan didn't respond as the slaver turned on his heel and stormed away, delivering a savage kick to both his underlings as he passed. Obi-Wan merely put his back to the wall and lay down, curling up onto his side, trying to keep warm. Closing his eyes, he attemped to calm himself through mediation and breathing techniques but his mind refused to rest, instead insisting on spinning at light speed, each thought more miserable than then the last.

He could hardly understand what was going on. He'd been sold! Sold, to what appeared to be a personage of some importance on a world far beyond the traveled sectors of the galaxy, with his helpless master left far behind and no help or escape route in sight. How had it happened, had this mission been a trap from the beginning? Nothing had gone right, from the moment he and Qui-Gon had taken off from Coruscant to their present predicament. Could all this have been a plot, an intrigue that he and Qui-Gon had known nothing about?

Maybe this entire fiasco wasn't his fault but that was little comfort to Obi-Wan, as he lay there and remembered his master's cold, unresponsive hands clasped between his own. Shivering again, Obi-Wan wiped angrily at a tear that slipped down his cheek, then slid off the tip of his nose.

He sniffled, then berated himself for being so childish. He was no longer a little boy at Temple, he was a second-year padawan and he knew that he wouldn't always have the luxury of having his master beside him, guiding his every action, protecting and comforting him when things went wrong.

Or would he?

Obi-Wan propped himself up on his elbow and felt around the inside pocket of his tunic. Couldn't help but smile faintly when he felt the familiar outline of his master's birthday gift to him -- the rock he'd once retrieved from a river on his home planet and handed down to his padawan as a Force- sensitive source of protection. Obi-Wan curled his hand tightly around the rock's smooth surface and channeled the Force through it, letting it surround him with warmth and peace.

//Where there is life, there is hope, padawan.//

Qui-Gon's words echoed comfortingly through Obi-Wan's mind and he quietly found his center as he shut his eyes and willed himself to get some sleep, reserving his strength for when he'd need it. He was going to survive this and he was going to try his hardest to make sure that Qui-Gon would as well.

No matter what it took.

---

Qui-Gon's meditations ended with the arrival of dawn.

He'd spent the previous eight hours in quiet reflection, kneeling in the middle of his prison cell and pulling the Force to him while focusing on clearing his mind of anger and impatience. Although some might have thought this was a waste of time, Qui-Gon had been in enough similar situations to know what he was doing wasn't only practical but essential if he was to have any hope of saving himself and Obi-Wan.

He opened his eyes, slowly rose to his feet and proceeded to make a close examination of the force field that barred his way to freedom. It was a clever design, two fields intertwined as one, their controls independently operating. The separation of the controls would hinder his use of the Force in overriding the field as a whole, giving his captors sufficient time to be alerted to his escape attempt.

For all that Ravae was, she wasn't stupid, Qui-Gon thought with a grimace of disgust. She'd been trained as a Jedi and knew many of the same things he did but Qui-Gon was willing to wager there were still a few things she didn't know.

Or, at least he could hope as much.

Qui-Gon turned away from the force fields and examined the other possibilities that might lie within his reach. Use of Force-voice was out of the question -- few, if any, Jedi were susceptible to such a minor trick. There was always brute force and Obi-Wan's lightsaber sat just a few tantalizing meters away but that was an option fraught with danger. It was easy to succumb to anger, easier still to succumb to fear for his padawan's sake but that was the weaker path and Qui-Gon knew it.

It seemed a cruel irony but the harder path, the path of patience and peace even in the midst of battle, was invariably the more successful one. Qui-Gon thought that accepting this fact would become easier with the passage of time but he found he chafed at the thought of waiting until the right moment, the moment when he was at his most reflective, to strike at his enemies.

Especially ones who struck at him through his innocent padawan.

There had been many such cowards, he and Obi-Wan had met them time and time again throughout their travels and they never ceased to enrage him. Obi-Wan was a skilled Jedi, trained almost since birth but he was still a student and beneath that all, still just a boy. And attacking a mere boy to get to the master . . . it made Qui-Gon wonder about the true nature of creatures who would call themselves "civilized."

Or maybe Ravae and her underlings didn't even bother with such self-deception.

Qui-Gon cleared his mind again, pushing aside his worry over his lost padawan and tried to unravel the mystery of what exactly his captor wanted from him. Any knowledge he possessed couldn't simply be handed over as one would relinquish a credit purse or some other valuable, it had to be taught as master to student, a role he could not and in Ravae's case, would not assume.

Unless the threat to his padawan was so dire, he'd be left without a choice.

Qui-Gon pondered this unhappy thought for a long moment, then grit his teeth. He would have to make his escape before such a need would come to pass. Qui-Gon shut his eyes tightly and was just about to resume his meditations, when he heard an odd noise echoing down the dark recesses of the detention hall.

It was the sharp rattle of metal against metal.

Qui-Gon opened his eyes and peered curiously past the shimmering force fields. Blinked when he saw a tiny, reptile-like creature approach, carrying, of all things, a tray laden with what appeared to be a vibrating metal cup and plate.

It took a moment before Qui-Gon realized that the plate and cup weren't vibrating but the creature carrying it was. The small green gnome was trembling violently as he approached Qui-Gon's prison and the silver, amphibious eyes were filled with terror.

"Hon . . . hon . . . ," stuttered the creature, as he stopped in front of Qui-Gon's cell. The gnome swallowed visibly and cleared its throat. "Honorable off-worlder. Ple -- please accept this small tray of comfort as a . . . a small, uh, gift from the Kreitl."

Before Qui-Gon could reply, the creature took a lightning glance around, punched a code into the control panel and a tiny sliver of the force field melted away. The tray was shoved underneath and in less time than took to see what had happened, the creature was long gone, disappeared into the darkness that surrounded the bleak detention area.

Qui-Gon stared at the tray, then knelt and carefully examined its contents. Lifted the cup and sniffed carefully, noting that it contained nothing more than a few spoonfuls of water. Slowly removed the cover from the serving dish and was surprised to see a small piece of white cloth, folded into thirds. Qui-Gon opened it and saw it was covered with Old Standard symbols, letters that formed two short but distinct words, their meaning recognizable in any language:

"HELP US."

Qui-Gon looked at the cloth for another moment before carefully refolding it and tucking it into the sleeve of his tunic.

With a small smile, he closed his eyes and returned to his meditations.

---

Time passed with maddening slowness for Obi-Wan as he waited for the slave ship to make its landing on Teklon Four. For the past two Standard days he'd tried to relax by employing various forms of meditation and exercise but those soon filled him with frustration and irritation instead of peace.

His imprisonment chafed at him and Obi-Wan shuddered to think that the trip could have taken months versus a mere day or two. He was grateful for the relative speed of the journey as well as the fact that his captors had paid little or no attention to him after their initial meeting. His food and water had been provided for by a pair of tubes leading into the holding pen and the sanitation unit was sufficient for most of his other needs.

All he was missing was his freedom but to Obi-Wan, that was far too much.

By the third Standard day of his trip, he felt the familiar gravitational tug of a ship making its way into a descending orbit and he sat cross-legged in his cell, mentally preparing himself for what may lay ahead. A sharp bite of fear shivered through Obi-Wan when the ship made its actual landing but he quickly let the emotion pass through him, rendering it useless.

Now was the time for calm observation and acceptance, no matter what fate had in store for him. He would face this trial as the Jedi he aspired to be and, even if he lost his life, no one could say that he'd sacrificed his honor.

He'd strive to make Qui-Gon proud of him, even in absentia.

With that thought in mind, Obi-Wan rose, clasped his hands together in front of him and calmly waited for his captors to approach. He didn't look up when he heard their noisy footfalls clapping toward him, instead he kept his eyes fixed on the floor, as not to give them any cause for anger. Obi-Wan was well aware of the collar that hung around his neck, its faint humming a constant reminder as to the danger of making any sudden or threatening movements.

He didn't move a muscle when the force field disappeared and was silent when the tall slaver threw a cloak over his shoulders and gruffly ordered him to put it on. Obi-Wan grimaced but composed himself when rough fingers hastily combed through his short hair and clenched his teeth with pain and annoyance when they became momentarily entangled with his long padawan braid.

Finally felt the pointed end of a blaster poke into the small of his back and he stepped out of his prison, beginning his walk down the narrow, bleak corridor of the ship's main hull toward the exit ramp. Kept his eyes discreetly lowered but remained at the ready, just in case good fortune would fall his way, facilitating some form of escape.

He was led down the ramp and forced to come to a stop a few feet in front of a small knot of uniformed men, all of them sharp-eyed and well-armed, dressed in identical red tunics and dark pants. In the center, stood a short, white-haired man, wearing a long cloak of dark blue valtort resplendent with large amounts of bright silver trim, his bearing cold and aloof, obviously a personage of some importance.

Obi-Wan kept his head bowed as the white haired man regarded him with a critical eye, then turned to the slavers. "A bit young, isn't he?" he said, his voice cultured, smooth and as cold as ice.

The tall slaver shrugged. "They start them early. He's a Jedi, just as you ordered." A toothy grin. "I'd keep my eye and that collar, on him if I were you. Even the whelps are deadly."

The white haired man frowned. "I don't think we will have any obedience problems." Turned a cold eye toward Obi-Wan. "Not if he wishes to stay alive for any appreciable amount of time." He motioned toward his soldiers and they surrounded Obi-Wan, weapons drawn. "Follow me," he said to Obi-Wan. "And remain silent."

Obi-Wan obeyed and the group took off at a swift stride through a long, perfectly maintained courtyard. He dared only furtive glances at the quickly passing surroundings and remained silent as the white-haired man walked beside him, instructing him as they passed through a looming marble archway.

"You are about to enter the palace of Larz't The Second, the Shar P'iet of Teklon Four. You are to remember that once you have passed through this archway, you will become nothing more than a piece of property, without a mind, voice, or will of your own. You shall speak only when spoken to and you will obey your new master sight out of mind, no matter what is requested of you. If you follow these simple rules you stand at least a slight chance of survival -- if you do not follow them, your death will be an inevitable and unenviable, certainty. Is this understood?"

Obi-Wan grit his teeth but nodded. "Yes."

The white-haired man glanced at him and his tone turned oddly gentle. "You are far too young to die, Jedi, but if you don't heed what I've just told you, you will."

"I understand," replied Obi-Wan coldly.

The dark corridor gave way to a brightly lit foyer, filled with what appeared to be thousands of gilded light orbs, lining the walls in patterns of faraway stars. It seemed endless, this corridor of lights, growing from narrow to spectacularly wide and Obi-Wan couldn't help but think that it was designed specifically to awe and perhaps even frighten all who dared to walk its vast length. He could see the throne room and its outline slowly grow larger as they approached, the lights replaced by huge hologon torches and thousands upon thousands of gilded banners hanging from a ceiling that arched over one hundred meters high.

Obi-Wan instinctively bowed his head lower, suddenly feeling smaller and more helpless than he had in a very long time. He could hear his own footsteps echo through the huge room, one step out of time with that of his guards. The urge to bolt and run nearly overwhelmed him but he bit it back with determination.

He was going to survive this, no matter what. His life and likely Qui-Gon's, depended on his patience and perseverance, even in the face of such overwhelming odds.

Even in the face of such awful fear.

The white-haired man leaned toward him. "When you reach the throne, it's forehead to the floor, young one," he whispered. "Don't even contemplate being proud, child, it will do you no good."

Obi-Wan swallowed hard and nodded, his mouth too dry to speak. They were beginning their walk down the final length of aisle and Obi-Wan could make out a figure sitting on the throne, slim, slight and dressed entirely in black. He quickly averted his eyes, looking no more than a meter or so in front of him and when he reached what must have been the steps to the dias, he immediately knelt and touched his forehead to the backs of his hands, his heart feeling as if it was going to thud out of his chest.

Heard the white-haired man speak, his formerly arrogant tone now humble and muted. "My lord, herein is presented to you as promised by Ravae of the Kreitl. This is Obi-Wan Kenobi, a Jedi of Coruscant."

There was a long moment of silence, then, a shrill, strangely high- pitched voice replied. "This is my magician, Terlot? Why . . . why . . . he's just a BOY!"

Obi-Wan didn't dare look up but he could hear the sudden discomfiture in the white-haired man's voice. "I've been assured my lord, that they are quite capable of all manners of power, even at such a . . . tender age."

"Humph. Make him look up, Terlot. I want to see his face."

Obi-Wan felt a small nudge against his shoulder and he slowly raised his head from the floor. He looked at the throne and it took every ounce of restraint he possessed not to gape at what he saw sitting there.

It was a young boy.

A very young boy, no older than ten or eleven Standard years, dressed in robes designed for a man much older, with a gaudy crown perched atop his head, hanging at a ludicrous angle. His eyes were narrow and filled with the same childish petulance and rage that Obi-Wan remembered from his days in the Temple creche fighting with Bruck Chan.

The boy seemed not to notice Obi-Wan's shock but shrugged with a bored expression and slumped further down into the oversized throne that nearly enveloped him. "He'll do, I suppose. Besides . . . " The boy's eyes narrowed further and a look of devious and murderous delight danced across his face. "If he isn't what he claims, it will be good sport killing him. Won't it, Terlot?"

The white haired man nodded, a fleeting look of sadness crossing his features. "Yes, my lord, I suppose it might well be." He motioned to the guards. "Show the Jedi to his quarters." His eyes met Obi-Wan's for a brief moment but he quickly turned away and Obi-Wan allowed himself to be led from the throne room to where his new "home" awaited.

At least for the moment.

---

Exhausted and miserable, Obi-Wan didn't bother examining his assigned quarters upon arrival. Instead, he threw himself face down on the pallet provided, pulled the coverlet over his head and shut his eyes, hoping that sleep would eventually creep up and take him away from his troubles if only for a few hours.

It did but at the price of terrible nightmares: ones in which he was running from unseen monsters, where crimson two-headed draigons waited for him at every turn and worst of all, a dream where Qui-Gon was calling for him, his voice distraught and filled with anguish. Obi-Wan tried to answer but found he couldn't speak and was unable to reply no matter how hard he tried. In the dream his master's voice eventually faded until it disappeared altogether and Obi-Wan was left behind: mute, lost . . . and utterly alone.

Obi-Wan awoke and sat bolt upright, crying out Qui-Gon's name.

Disoriented, Obi-Wan shivered violently, suddenly remembering where he was. Buried his head in his arms and took deep breaths while trying to regain his composure. Knuckled his eyes and finally looked up to take stock of his surroundings.

The room was small but comfortable, not at all prison or dungeon-like. In one corner sat an old hand-carved table with two matching chairs and small items of interest were strewn in various places -- a datapad on a wall shelf along with some battered looking info- cubes, a dusty holopic of a Wookie taken from an old readout, an empty bottle with a dead plant stuck inside sitting on the window sill. The pallet and coverlet he'd slept on were comfortable enough but like everything else in the room, they were slightly musty and ill-worn.

It was obvious to Obi-Wan this room had belonged to someone else at one point, someone who hadn't used it in quite a while. He wondered what had happened to them, then remembered the young Shar P'iet's words from the day before and shivered.

//"If he isn't what he claims, it will be good sport killing him."//

Perhaps the room's previous occupant was even unluckier than he was, Obi-Wan thought sadly. With a sigh, he rose and padded to the tiny 'fresher that adjoined his quarters. Took a moment to figure out the controls and breathed a long sigh of relief when copious amounts of hot water and cleanser shot out of the upright vents. At least he wouldn't be executed while covered with dirt, Obi-Wan thought wryly as he scrubbed away the accumulated grime from the past four days.

He stepped out of the 'fresher, found a clean bathcloth and dried off his hair, taking special care not to tangle his braid too badly in the process. Thought about redoing it but since that was a task normally reserved for his master, Obi-Wan decided to wait.

Maybe sticking to a bit of tradition would bring him some better fortune, he thought. Besides, what difference would it make if it were done or undone? Who would notice or care?

With that depressing thought, Obi-Wan wrapped the bathcloth around his waist and began to hunt for clean clothing, hoping he might find something that came close to fitting. A short search later he discovered a dull black tunic and gray leggings, only the slightest bit on the large side. He made do by rolling up the sleeves and hiking the pants, tying them off tightly, just below his ribcage.

Obi-Wan peered into the reflection glass hanging above the desk and winced when he saw his own pale face staring back at him, complete with dark crescents beneath both eyes and the ugly, black control collar still hanging around his neck, its red warning light blinking rapidly.

He took a step closer to the glass, wondering if he'd be able to figure out a way to remove the collar, when the door to his quarters slid open with a hiss. Obi-Wan jumped back and was startled to see the white-haired man, Terlot the minister, enter his room, carrying a large dinner tray covered with various dishes, many of them steaming and giving off a delightful smell.

Unsure of what to do, Obi-Wan immediately fell to his knees and touched his forehead to the floor. Remained there, motionless and silent, until he felt a light tap on his shoulder.

"No need for that, young one. Not with me at least." The voice was surprisingly kind and Obi-Wan looked up, confused.

Terlot smiled and sat, then motioned for Obi-Wan to do the same. Obi-Wan slowly rose from the floor and took the chair opposite of Terlot, trying very hard not to stare at the huge tray of food the minister placed on the desk in front of him. Obi-Wan hadn't eaten anything but dried nutrition cubes for over a week and his mouth watered at the sight of hot food, fresh fruit and iced drinks.

"Well, go on." Terlot slid the tray a bit closer. "It won't jump into your mouth on its own, lad. Go on, eat something."

Obi-Wan swallowed hard and reached tentatively for a piece of fruit. Examined it furtively and took a small bite, trying to fight against the urge to devour it all in one huge gulp. It was sweet and delicious and Obi-Wan discovered he could no longer resist. He threw caution to the wind, picked up a spoon and began to eat at a furious pace, occasionally peeking up and trying to gauge the minister's reaction.

But Terlot only seemed pleased. "That's it," he laughed, as Obi-Wan swallowed an enormous mouthful of toasted bread. "That's the appetite I was expecting to see in a boy your age. Now exactly how many Standard years are you? Thirteen? Fourteen?"

"Fifteen," Obi-Wan replied. He hesitated. "Sir."

Terlot peered at him intently, his expression suddenly serious. "No," he said quietly. "No 'sir'. In fact don't use any title at all with me. If you like, 'Terlot' will be fine."

Obi-Wan nodded and concentrated on eating until he felt a light touch running down the length of his braid. He jerked his head back and glared at Terlot. "Leave that alone," Obi-Wan growled, yanking his braid out from between the minister's fingers. "Don't touch it."

Terlot leaned back and casually folded his hands across his chest. "What happened to your master, young one?"

Obi-Wan blanched. "What? What are you talking about?"

"I know what that braid signifies and I know you either have, or at one point, had, a master Jedi training you." Terlot raised an eyebrow at him. "Is this not true?"

Obi-Wan stared at Terlot, wondering exactly who he was and if he could be trusted. Obi-Wan wasn't sure but if he had to follow his feelings . . .

"Yes," he finally whispered.

"Then where is he?" asked Terlot quietly. "I can't imagine he'd allow slavers to take his student away from him, at least not if he were present to stop them. Did something happen to him?"

Obi-Wan glared at Terlot, the memories of the past week filling him with anger. "Yes, something did happen to my master," he snapped. "He was wounded on the planet Kreitl, where we were both betrayed by its ruler, Ravae, whom I assume is the woman who sold me to you. The last time I saw him he was in her medi-unit, neither moving nor speaking. Knowing what I do now, I would say it's fair to assume he is either her prisoner or . . ." Obi-Wan stopped, suddenly feeling sick to his stomach.

Dead. His master, his dear friend, Qui-Gon ... dead. Obi-Wan didn't want to imagine such a thing were possible but he couldn't be sure otherwise. Their training bond was strong but it couldn't overcome a distance as vast as the multi-light year void that lay between the two star systems and Obi-Wan could no longer feel his master's presence in his mind.

He felt empty, lost and alone without Qui-Gon's strong and reassuring nearness. His eyes stung suddenly and before he could stop them, the tears started to slip down his cheeks. Obi-Wan quickly turned away from the minister's gaze, flushed with shame.

"There, there, young one." Terlot's tone was strangely sympathetic. "Don't grieve until you know your master's fate for certain. I'm sure if he were here he'd tell you the very same thing."

Obi-Wan wiped his eyes angrily. "Is that so? Well, until he arrives to impart this wisdom upon me, why don't you tell me something, Minister Terlot? Who is this woman who sold me into slavery and who is this child who purchased me? Doesn't he realize that even if my master is dead, the Jedi Council and Senate won't abandon me here?"

If Terlot was angered or upset, he didn't show it. "I don't know much about the woman who sold you, besides the fact that she was a friend of my lord's late father and that she's presumed to be quite cruel and ruthless. Of course, it makes perfect sense that she and the late Shar P'iet should have been friends under those circumstances." He shrugged. "As for the Council and the Senate, I highly doubt their ire would concern my lord or fellow ministers much. Teklon Four was never exactly what you might call an upstanding member of the Republic."

Obi-Wan's eyes widened. "You're a rogue system?"

Terlot chuckled humorlessly. "That would be putting it kindly."

Obi-Wan swallowed hard, then raised his chin firmly. "Whatever Teklon Four's situation may be, Minister Terlot, I'm informing you that the Jedi Council won't let me languish here. And if my master is still alive . . ."

Terlot's blue eyes twinkled. "Then we should all start preparing our funeral pyres, yes, young one?"

Obi-Wan stared at Terlot for a long moment then shook his head ruefully, unable to help the tiny smile that spread across his face. "No, my master isn't like that," he admitted. "He'd be unhappy, I guess, but he'd never hurt anyone if he could help it. That's not his way."

Terlot grinned back. "He sounds like a good man, your master. A good teacher as well." He paused. "I used to be a teacher myself, not very long ago. But, unlike your master, I turned out to be an awful failure at the art of moral instruction."

Obi-Wan blinked. "Really? How does one know when they've failed at doing that?"

"One takes a good look at their student." Terlot smiled mirthlessly. "If you haven't guessed by now, my lord the Shar P'iet is my student, or at least was until his father passed the throne unto him."

Obi-Wan regarded him curiously. "What happened to his father?"

"He died a surprisingly natural death." Drily. "Surprising for a Shar P'iet of Teklon Four at any rate." Terlot's mouth set in a grim line. The life span of a ruler here is usually a short and brutal one, my friend. I tried to stop that cycle with young Larz't, I honestly did but I fear the blood of his ancestors runs far too deep."

"Were they all cruel?"

"As cruel as the day on the northern pole is long, lad. It was as if they were in a race or a gaming day table, each one trying to outdo the other in ravaging and bloodthirst." Terlot sighed and rose. "I should have known better I'd suppose. I should have realized that some cycles cannot be broken and that it is better to quit while one is ahead. I should have given up teaching long ago."

"That's not what my master would say. He too had a student who turned out badly but he went past that." A quick vision of Xanatos flashed through Obi-Wan's mind. "As it turned out, we were lucky he decided not to give up teaching. If he'd quit, both of us would have been worse off for it."

Terlot laughed, a pleasant, hearty sound. "Well, he is indeed a lucky master with such a philosopher as a student." He placed a hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Just be careful, lad. Larz't is young but he still controls the parliament and the army. So when he calls you in to perform before the court, be patient, bide your time and obey his orders. As strange as it may sound, I'd like to see you survive this."

Obi-Wan smiled wanly. "I think I'd like to see me survive this too."

"Remember," said Terlot somberly. "Here we may speak, but outside of this room, I must obey my lord's command. You understand this, of course."

Obi-Wan nodded. "I understand." He looked up at the minister who stood at the doorway, about to leave. "But you understand that things can change for the better, don't you Minister Terlot? That all one needs to do is not give up . . . to always have hope."

The white-haired man glanced back, his expression tired . . . and sad. "You are a young one yet, child. Just do as I've told you and we'll keep our hopes silent between us. At least for now."

And he was gone, long before Obi-Wan could even form an answer.

---

In the detention area of the Great Hall of Ravae, Qui-Gon sat quietly, watching as a small band of gnomes slowly approached, all of them trembling and wearing nearly identical expressions of terror.

He regarded them calmly and listened carefully when the lead one spoke, beseeching him to assist them in overthrowing the Queen, who had not only enslaved the entire male population of Krietl but quelled any attempts at revolution by spiriting away the women and children to a location unknown with the implied threat that they would never be seen again, unless she were obeyed.

He made no movement when they offered their fortunes, their lands and their eternal allegiance to him in exchange for his help. His expression didn't change in the slightest when they told him that he would mean the difference between life and death for thousands of innocents, if he would only take up their cause and lead their revolution against Ravae's tyrannous reign.

After a long silence, Qui-Gon finally spoke. "Do any of you know where my padawan is? The boy who arrived here with me and is now gone. If you can give me this information and free me from this cell, I will help you."

The gnomes looked at each other, baffled, until one stepped forward, his amphibious face pale and drawn. "Ye . . . yes, sir," he stuttered. "The boy was . . . he . . . he was taken away by men hired by the Queen, sir."

Qui-Gon's eyes blazed. "What men and where was he taken?"

The gnome bit his lower lip. "He was kidnaped by slavers of the Kelsiant and taken to Teklon Four to serve in the court of Larz't, the Shar P'iet."

Qui-Gon blanched and his throat worked silently as he swallowed down the white-hot rage that suddenly threatened to devour him whole.

He could hardly believe his ears. His Obi-Wan, abducted by slavers, then taken to the infamous and debauched court of the Shar P'iet of Teklon Four, where vice paid homage to cruelty and virtue was rewarded with torture and death.

Qui-Gon's hands trembled but he forced himself to remain composed. Took a deep breath and addressed the gathered gnomes. "Then it is agreed. Free me and I will take up your cause."

The gnomes' expressions turned from terrified to exultant and Qui- Gon felt a furious rush of adrenaline when the twin force fields suddenly faded, then disappeared altogether from the doorway of his cell. With a tiny wave of his hand, Obi-Wan's lightsaber flew into Qui-Gon's grasp and he ignited it, motioning for the gnomes to stand back and stay away from its bright blue glow.

Holding the saber tightly in both hands, Qui-Gon strode down the far hall to the detention area exit, followed by a tiny band of rebels, all of them intent on overthrowing the evil that lay waiting on the other side.

No matter what it took.

---

The young king's feet didn't reach the floor and Obi-Wan watched as his tiny boots kicked idly against the throne's gilded legs. He lowered his gaze back to the floor and took deep, calming breaths . . . waiting.

There had been no instructions, no orders, just a summons to the throne room, accompanied by three burly guards. He'd followed obediently and immediately took his place before the throne, prepared for the worst.

Of course, exactly what that worst was, Obi-Wan hadn't a clue.

"My father always wanted a magician like you." The boy's voice dripped with boredom. "I can't see what you're good for, you don't look like very much to me."

Obi-Wan stared at the floor . . . and remained silent.

"But, I suppose we can have a bit of sport before we make up our mind." The young king clapped his hands and Obi-Wan looked up.

The boy peered at Obi-Wan lazily, his mouth puckering petulantly. "I've heard that you can lift objects without touching them, Magician. Let us see an example of this."

Obi-Wan swallowed hard, hesitating. Using the Force for such a trivial display went against all of his training but in the case of preserving one's life . . .

Obi-Wan looked around and spied a small time glass sitting near a back altar. Took a deep breath, centered himself within the Force and concentrated, raising his hand toward the glass. The object was small and it wasn't long before it began to shake, then rise, from its resting place. It floated in midair for a good dozen parsecs before Obi-Wan allowed it to lower back into place.

The boy king grinned. "Very good, Magician." His eyes narrowed and Obi-Wan shivered at their suddenly malevolent gleam. "Now as for the other things I've heard about . . ." He made a small motion with his hand.

A pair of guards came forward dragging a terrified man between them. He struggled momentarily, then fell to his knees before the throne, whimpering with fear.

The boy's lips turned up in a cruel smile. "It is said that your sort can strangle a man without touching him. We wish to observe this." He nodded toward the kneeling prisoner, his eyes dancing with anticipation.

"Kill him," he ordered Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan gaped, his gaze darting from the trembling man back to the boy who sat on the gilded throne, his crown dangling, his oversized robes hanging ridiculously low. He glanced pleadingly at Minister Terlot, who blanched and turned away.

It became obvious that he was alone and Obi-Wan began to tremble, with anger as much as fear. He steeled himself and met the boy's eyes. "I am sorry, your Majesty but this I cannot do. A Jedi may not take life in this manner at the command of anyone. A Jedi may only kill in self-defense and even then must strive to avoid doing so at all costs."

The boy's upper lip twitched. "You dare speak to me so?" His round face reddened, his voice grew shrill. "You dare speak to me at all?"

Obi-Wan raised his chin. "Yes, I do, your Majesty."

The boy began to sputter, his tone enraged. "You do not speak! You obey!"

Obi-Wan shook his head. "No, I will not." His anger flared; he knew that this would most likely be the end of him but he no longer cared. It was better to die than be the slave of a one such as this. "You are nothing but a cruel little boy, not fit for the crown you wear. How would your kingdom benefit from the murder of this man? How do expect your people to thrive beneath the rule of one who has nothing better to do than to abduct unwitting persons and kill his subjects for sport?"

"Silence, Magician!" the Shar P'iet howled. He leapt up and the crown fell from his head, clattering to the floor. His cheeks alternated crimson and white and he glared at Obi-Wan, his entire body shaking with fury. He motioned sharply to his guards, who flanked Obi-Wan, each taking cruel hold of one arm.

Obi-Wan did not struggle. "I am not a magician, I am a Jedi." Calmly.

"You are dead," the boy snarled. "No one disobeys me and lives to speak of it." He gasped for breath, a triangle of rage knotted between his brows. "Your death will be spoken of forever. I will make it the most terrible of any imaginable."

"There are worse things than death," replied Obi-Wan quietly. "I am not afraid."

The Shar P'iet's eyes burned with anger. "You will be." Whispered. He sank back onto his throne as a thin bead of sweat rolled down his pale cheek. His boots began to slowly kick against the throne's gilded legs, the blows increasing in speed and violence until a loud, steady banging echoed through the otherwise silent court.

"You will, you will, you will, you will," the boy chanted in time to the pounding as Obi-Wan was led away, past the well-lit aisles and into the darkened corridors beyond.

---

Qui-Gon made his way to the upper chambers of Ravae's hall, lightsaber humming and shedding a ghostly blue glow throughout dusty, unused corridors. Took a quick glance back, made sure the gnomes behind him were following at a discreet distance before taking the last few steps toward the main chamber door.

He called the Force to him, used it to test, to taste, his surroundings and was not surprised to feel it hum with danger. Drew its aura around him like a cloak, letting it warm and prepare him for the battle ahead. The saber felt light in his hand and he paused before the heavy shield door, laying his hand against it, reaching out with his senses, feeling the various currents brushing by him as a feather might, teasing his nerves.

With a quick push of Force, Qui-Gon willed the door open, only to see . . .

Darkness.

The throne room was pitch black except for the dull glow of Qui- Gon's lightsaber and he stood still . . . listening. Allowed the Force to guide his attention and it was within that small white space he heard it.

Fluttering. A rustling of wings, so slight as to be an illusion.

The faint smell of blood followed the noise and Qui-Gon immediately took a defensive position, his entire body held at the ready.

A large black shape swooped in toward him and with one glancing sweep of Qui-Gon's saber, it was immediately cut down.

He took a quick glance at the dead creature at his feet and grimaced. It was a mkahkstr. One of the venomous creatures that nearly killed him in the dense forests of Kreitl. Qui-Gon turned away, sickened by its huge leathery wings and its womp rat-like mouth, graced with a pair of long fangs, dripping with what appeared to be blood.

Qui-Gon took another cautious step forward, waving back the gnomes who huddled behind him, electric with terror. "Get back," he hissed and they complied, scuttling toward the far corners of the hall.

No sooner than they disappeared did Qui-Gon hear the noise again. That dreadful, deadly fluttering but this time it wasn't one creature . . .

It was dozens.

His saber flashed as it sliced through the air and a burning smell filled the hall as Qui-Gon hit mark after mark. He leapt and somersaulted as the shrieks of dying creatures echoed throughout the chamber. Landing hard, Qui-Gon felt one at his shoulder, ready to attack and he turned a mere second before its teeth sank into his flesh.

More flashes of his saber followed, until at last, the hall was silent.

Panting, Qui-Gon centered himself again, still waiting.

A light voice rose from the darkness. "I must say, you haven't lost your touch Qui-Gon." A red beam from another lightsaber lit the far end of the hall with Ravae's glowering face shining behind it. "But you haven't won yet."

Qui-Gon didn't hesitate but attacked. The Force hummed between him and his opponent and he struck at her aura, the dark light that emanated from her soul.

He missed.

"Try again, Jedi Master." Mocking.

Anger flared but Qui-Gon pushed it aside. He calmly regained his stance, then repeated his attack, this time with all the speed and focus he possessed. Sabers crashed, the smell of lightning filled the hall and Qui-Gon felt the black aura surrounding Ravae weakening.

Heard her breathing hard, gasping,as he slashed at her legs, forcing her to leap out of the way, forcing her to expend whatever last bits of energy she possessed.

Quickened his blows and felt a shift in the Force. Soon, he was nothing but a fury of light and whirling, slashing, leaping, he soon had her cornered in the far end of the hall.

Swung a final arc at her hand and the red lightsaber was heard clattering to the floor followed by a terrified shriek. Qui-Gon held his saber aloft and Ravae's outline appeared beneath the dull glow, her pale face filled with rage and fear.

"Well, go on," she rasped. "This is your chance to finish what my Master could not. Go on, kill me Qui-Gon Jinn. Show how the Light is so much better and wiser than the Darkness."

Qui-Gon observed her calmly and merely motioned to the far end of the hall. A soft light filled the room as dozens of gnomes came forward, all of them holding hologon torches in one hand, and a weapon in the other.

Turned off his lightsaber and stepped aside. "I think I will let those who have more to complain of you decide your fate."

Ravae's eyes widened with horror and she cursed loudly as her subjects came forward, no longer looking tired or afraid. Their blasters were leveled at her heart and they forced her to back away through the hall, down a dark, narrow chamber path.

Qui-Gon watched as she faded into the darkness, her shrill cries and oaths slowly growing fainter until they disappeared as well. Turned to Orobo, the gnome who told him of Obi-Wan's misadventure. "I need a ship, preferably something fast."

Orobo nodded. "The Queen's yacht. It's ready and waiting in the lower hangers." He motioned to one of his fellows. "Wylte can lead you there and show you how to set the coordinates to your destination." He hesitated. "You are going to Teklon Four, no?"

"Yes." Qui-Gon reached out with the Force and Ravae's saber flew into his palm. He belted it and sighed. "Take care with her," he warned Orobo. "She is a Force adept and very good in matters of escape."

Orobo's eyes narrowed. "Oh, we will take very good care of her. As good care as she took of us."

Qui-Gon nodded as Wylte waved him forward, torch held aloft. "Be sure to tell her Highness I will see her no more, unless my padawan has come to harm." Took a long look at the scattered bodies of dead mkahkstrs, still and silent in pools of their own venom and blood. His expression darkened. "If that is so, then I will surely see her again."

With that, Qui-Gon turned on his heel and took long strides after the tiny, scampering gnome, out toward the hanger entrance and to the ship that awaited.

---

The triangular vat was filled to the top with sephlaride, an acid so corrosive, it could melt the hull away from a starship within minutes. It bubbled and steamed violently, throwing up rancid vapors and deadly, caustic splashes.

The metal cage that dangled above the vat was barely large enough for a small child, let alone the lanky youth trapped within. Obi-Wan curled up inside his prison, knees drawn up to his chest, his arms wrapped around his shins. Rested his head on its cold metal bars and blinked against the stinging vapors, his eyes burning and watering uncontrollably.

Tried to maintain the proper awareness of his surroundings, but finally gave up and closed his eyes. Sleep refused to come and offer him its refuge, so he'd spent the virtually endless hours meditating instead, until that too grew wearisome. Finally, Obi-Wan lay his head upon his knees and let his thoughts take him to the place he'd been avoiding for the past two days of his imprisonment.

The dark place, filled with terror.

He didn't want to admit it, but for the second time in his life, Obi-Wan felt no hope. The collar around his neck still buzzed and the Force was dampened within him. He'd spent hours trying to call it to his aid but it had eluded him completely, wisping past his grasp, leaving only small shivers of its power behind.

This frightened him more than anything else, the inability to call upon the one thing in his life that had always been his constant companion and comfort. The void within him was cold and horrified at the loss of the Living Force, leaving him utterly alone . . . a soulless creature dangling over a roiling sea of death. Rescue seemed impossible and whatever confidence he'd clung to for the past few days had, at last, deserted him.

His master was mostly likely dead and he soon to follow.

It was unfair, he wanted to cry out. They weren't meant to die this way, at the whim of Darkness, by some chance of passing evil. Such an inglorious, ignoble death, it couldn't be possible, at least not for one such as Qui-Gon.

The cage's chain slipped down another few centipars and Obi-Wan curled more tightly into himself, burying his face against his knees, his eyes stinging but this time not from the fumes.

Qui-Gon. Dead, most likely by fault of his padawan's incompetence. It was a hard thought, worse than the knowledge of his own certain death, that Obi-Wan had, by his own folly, contributed to the death of one who had always taken such good care of him, no matter what the cost.

Obi-Wan remembered when he'd had Kr'anck's fever, the thick heat enveloping him until it was soothed away by a cool cloth and Qui-Gon's soft, reassuring voice. He'd been miserable, unable to eat or sleep for days, vomiting up whatever liquids he'd managed to choke down, aching in every bone. Rising from bed was impossible, let alone carrying out the vital mission they'd been sent to Kr'an on in the first place.

Never had Obi-Wan felt more helpless and humiliated but Qui-Gon had appeared not to notice or care. He'd tended to Obi-Wan easily, never once exhibiting the slightest bit of impatience or annoyance with his padawan's dependance on him.

"One day I may need the same of you, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon had said while gently sponging off Obi-Wan's burning forehead. "Jedi Masters aren't impervious to sickness, you know."

Or to death, Obi-Wan thought miserably, hugging his knees more tightly to his chest. He should have followed his instincts, trusted his feelings but instead he'd allowed himself to be caught in a tangled mire of rationalizations and debate. Not one of Qui-Gon's lessons had he listened to and now, they were to pay the price for his pride and stubbornness.

He had failed . . . both his master and himself.

Obi-Wan hissed with pain as a tiny dot of acid splashed up from the vat and hit him on the arm. His skin immediately blistered as he frantically wiped it away with a corner of his tunic, fighting against the urge to cry out. A dark, angry looking burn appeared in the blister's stead and Obi-Wan bit down the panic that began to well up within. If a small drop of the acid hurt that badly . . .

Shuddering, he forced the thought from his mind. If he were to die, it would be with as much dignity as he could muster. He would not allow Qui-Gon's legacy to be shamed or tainted by fear. He would remember Master Yoda's teachings and hold onto whatever he could gather of his courage, along with the tiny slivers of Force that somehow refused to desert him.

The guards hadn't taken away his birthday stone; Obi-Wan had tucked it into his closed palm, hiding it from their view. They'd have to take off his hand to get it now, Obi-Wan thought grimly, holding the smooth stone tightly within his clenched fist.

It may have been only a rock but it was his rock and his strength in Qui-Gon's absence. At once a reminder and a comfort, he'd never let it go, just as he'd never let go of the images of Qui-Gon and their time together.

Taking a deep breath, he mediated on this thought and let the memories fill him, the good ones as well as the bad. Smiled wanly when the happy memories quickly unnumbered the sad ones and decided to concentrate on those instead.

What difference would it make, he thought wryly. A few last hours of happiness wouldn't dishonor him, in fact, it might make his captors wonder why he was smiling so.

Even as he dangled above his own burning grave.

=======

Qui-Gon strode down a well-tended dirt road, straight toward the palace of the Shar P'iet. He didn't take stock of his surroundings, instead he focussed all his energy in the direction of the castle, hoping against hope to feel his padawan's presence.

He'd spent the past two days racing through uncharted systems, taking the quickest route possible to Teklon Four and had arrived in record time, less than two Standard days. Landed the ship in a secluded area outside of the capital city and began his journey at Force speed, practically flying down the main routes until he grew weary and was forced to slow his pace to something slightly more human.

There is no use in exhausting yourself yet, he berated himself. One foot in front of the other, one step at a time will do as well. Conserving energy was just as important as expending it on speed and he'd do well to remind himself of that.

Just as he'd have done well to have taken better care of the one who had depended on him so completely.

Sighing, he again called out over the bond he and Obi-Wan shared and was at once thrilled to feel a quiver of response. Slight . . . weak . . . but a response nonetheless.

//Master?//

Qui-Gon's pace quickened slightly and he concentrated on calling Obi-Wan's life force to him, bolstering it with waves of reassurance and gladness. The second response was at once bewildered, then joyful, as if his padawan thought he was dreaming but the hesitancy faded as Qui-Gon finally felt their bond reconnect fully, like two once cold wires sparking to life again as one.

//Master!//

//Yes, Padawan. I'm here.//

//Master, I'm in trouble. Please hurry.//

Qui-Gon lengthened his strides and sent more reassurance over their link. He was on his way, it was going to be all right, all Obi-Wan had to do was hold on, simply hold on a short while longer. Nothing was going to slow him down, nothing was going stop him, they were going to survive no matter what it took. Together.

Even if he had to kill the man who stood in front of the palace gates with a full accruement of armed guards behind him.

Qui-Gon blinked and slowed to a stop. The white-haired man was standing silently, his face lined with a patient expression, as if he'd been waiting for Qui-Gon to appear. The troops behind the man made no move but stood at strict attention, so still as to be made of stone.

Qui-Gon's hand immediately went to his saber but he forced himself not to use it, even as Obi-Wan's voice called out to him again, this time edgy . . . and fearful.

//Master . . . please.//

The white-haired man nodded curtly at Qui-Gon. "I've been expecting you, Jedi Master." A slight motion of his hand and the guards stepped forward, blasters at the ready. "I think you would do well to come along quietly, as this would certainly be a fight you cannot win."

Qui-Gon's hand left his saber and he swallowed, hard. Tucked his hands into his cloak sleeves and nodded, letting the mask of patience drop and disguise his features. Sent confidence and comfort over his and Obi-Wan's bond even as the guards fell into place behind him.

//I'm coming Padawan. Have no fear.//

The white-haired man motioned again and led the way as Qui-Gon followed him into the palace foyer, past the sculpted gardens and into the darkened hallways beyond.

---

Obi-Wan watched with bated breath as the young Shar P'iet idly plucked at a loose thread on the hem of his oversized cloak before taking a seat in the execution chamber. The cage that imprisoned Obi-Wan dangled less than three meters above the burning tank of selpheride and was being lowered at a terrifyingly steady pace.

He knew that Qui-Gon was on his way but had no way of determining exactly where his master was or how long it would take him to arrive. Somehow . . . someway, he had to stall the king, perhaps even dissuade him from carrying out the execution all together.

But judging from the look on the young monarch's face, it didn't seem likely.

"Not so mighty a magician now, are you?" the boy gloated.

Obi-Wan swallowed hard. Thought desperately, despairing for ideas when Qui-Gon's words echoed in his mind.

//One must do what an enemy least expects, padawan. Even if it means becoming their friend.//

Taking a deep breath, Obi-Wan suddenly feigned a bored expression. "Whatever." Made a show of examining his fingernails and sighed. "It's a shame really. I think you would have made a very good Jedi. Oh, well."

The smug look disappeared from the young king's face. He waved at the executioner and the chains lowering the cage ground to a shuddering stop. "What are you talking about?"

Obi-Wan shrugged. "Oh, nothing. I mean, it doesn't matter now, does it?" Airily.

The boy glared at Obi-Wan. "I order you to tell me what you are speaking of."

"Why should I? You're going to kill me and go on your foolish little way, never even once attempting to learn the secret of my powers." He glanced at the boy. "You know, I could have taught you how to wield those powers yourself, if you weren't so impatient." Another shrug. "I might have been persuaded."

The boy's eyes narrowed. "I don't believe you. You are lying."

"Am I?" Obi-Wan forced himself to look untroubled. Once more, he called out to Qui-Gon over their bond, beseeching him to make haste and felt a surge of relief when an answer came in the affirmative.

"Yes," the boy growled. "You are a liar, just like everyone else, and I'm going to enjoy watching you die." He raised his hand again, but stopped when the doors to the chamber suddenly swung open.

Obi-Wan nearly yelled for joy when he saw Qui-Gon standing there, pale and drawn looking, but alive and well, accompanied by Terlot and several armed guards, who pressed close as if they feared him.

His heart quickly sank. Qui-Gon was there, but obviously a prisoner as well. There would be no escape for either of them, not from the Shar P'iet's sadistic whims--or would there be? Qui-Gon was a Master, not a boy, and he wore no collar.

The Shar P'iet stared at Qui-Gon curiously, then turned to the white-haired minister. "Who is this?"

Terlot bowed. "This, my lord, is Qui-Gon Jinn, a Jedi Master from Coruscant. He has come to retrieve his student." He motioned toward Obi-Wan.

"And you've captured him." The boy's voice was gleeful. "Good work, Terlot. Perhaps we can get a bit of sport out of both of them now and after that . . ."

Terlot held up his hand. "Not so, my lord." He sighed heavily, his eyes filled with sadness. "I'm sorry, Lart'z, but I fear that this game must come to an end. Along with so many other things."

The boy's face fell. "What?" Shocked.

Terlot sighed again, suddenly looking very old. "It's over my poor boy. This cannot go on; I will no longer let it go on." Firmly. "Your rule has ended Lart'z. The army and parliament have decreed you are no longer fit to be Shar P'iet and I have recommended your removal from the throne."

The guards raised their blasters and pointed them at the young king, as his expression alternated between bewilderment and astonishment before finally settling on a seething grimace of rage.

Obi-Wan could hardly believe it when the cage's electronic locks buzzed and fell away as Qui-Gon reached for him, both arms held aloft, urging him forward. "Jump, my Obi-Wan. Have no fear, I will not let you fall."

Obi-Wan obeyed without hesitation and felt a sharp tug of Force, pulling him well past the edge of the vat, landing him safely into Qui-Gon's embrace.

He buried face in Qui-Gon's tunic, shivering, his racing with both joy and shock. "I'm glad to see you," he whispered.

The arms around him tightened. "I am glad as well, my padawan."

"Traitor!" the Shar P'iet screamed, his voice shrill with hysteria. "You are a traitor, Terlot and I'm going to kill you and him and the other one as well! He rose and howled at the top of his lungs, kicking and cursing, throwing anything he could clutch within his grasp.

Qui-Gon motioned sharply at the boy, his voice heavy with Force. "Silence."

The howling immediately ceased, but the Shar P'iet continued to sob noiselessly, kicking his throne and beating the cushions with his fists. His mouth was moving frantically but no words came out and Obi-Wan couldn't help but feel a small twinge of pity for the young king. He remembered all the times he'd felt such terrible frustration and rage, only to have it cloud his judgment and make him more miserable than before.

He moved a bit closer to his master, who in turn put a protective arm around his shoulders.

Terlot turned and bowed to Qui-Gon. "Forgive him, Jedi Master. Understand his failings are largely my fault, as I was his teacher. As a master yourself, I hope you will appreciate my shame." He hesitated. "If you must kill someone, let it be me. Lart'z is but a child, and as badly as he's turned out, he still owns a part of my heart and soul I have no wish to lose."

Qui-Gon shook his head sympathetically. "There will be no killing, my friend. However, this matter must be reported to the Council and the Galactic Senate. I don't know what censure may be placed on Teklon Four, but it's possible that the rule of his Highness's family may come to an end."

"Whatever is done, will be deserved, and I dare say, welcome. The people are grown tired of tyranny, especially at the whim of a child." Terlot sighed. "If he is to be censured, I ask that you recommend I be sent with him. It wouldn't be fair for him to be tried alone."

"I will do my best," replied Qui-Gon quietly.

Obi-Wan said nothing, but huddled closer to his master, watching as Terlot knelt and gathered the sobbing monarch into his arms, quieting him with soothing noises. Whatever sense of triumph Obi-Wan might have felt disappeared, replaced by weary sense of sadness.

Qui-Gon gently squeezed Obi-Wan's shoulder. "Come, padawan. The good minister has arranged transport for us back to the ship I've borrowed from our old friend, Ravae. I think you will find its accommodations more suited to your liking."

"Yes, Master. I think I will."

Together, they left the hall, leaving the sobbing monarch and his court far behind.

=======

"The trip back to Coruscant will take fifteen Standard days, Obi-Wan. Dare I suggest you leave a bit of food for the fourteen that remain?"

Obi-Wan looked up, his mouth full, the stand next to his pallet littered with empty ration packets. "I'm sorry, Master." Guilty look. "It's just that I'm so hungry, I could eat a Bantha."

Qui-Gon grinned. "I have no doubt that if presented with the opportunity, you would be good at your word."

Obi-Wan blushed. "I probably would."

Qui-Gon settled in beside him and opened the ship's onboard medi-pack. Rummaged through various items until he found a small tube of strange smelling ointment. "Now, let's take a look at those burns."

Obi-Wan obediently pulled off his tunic and winced as Qui-Gon began to smooth the cold ointment on the angry looking acid marks that dotted his arms and back and on his neck where his skin was rubbed raw from the collar.

"I'm sorry, but we can't risk infection in the middle of space, padawan." Soothingly. "I will do as little as possible now and finish after you've gotten some rest."

"That's all right," Obi-Wan sighed and glanced out the ship's porthole, watching bright lines of stars streak by. "I wonder what's going to happen to Lart'z," he mused. "Do you think he'll lose his throne for good?"

"I don't know. That's up to the Council and Senate to decide."

"I feel bad for Minister Terlot. It must be difficult being a teacher to a child such as that. Especially when he is a king as well."

"It's hard to be a teacher to anyone, my Obi-Wan." Mildly. "You invest so much of yourself and want nothing but the best for your students. You wish to protect them from the harsher lessons of life, but you often have to let go and allow them to learn on their own. There are so many lessons only life can teach them."

"I guess so." Obi-Wan stared at his boots. "I must say I think I've learned a few lessons on this trip."

Qui-Gon glanced at him. "Such as?"

Obi-Wan felt himself flush. "Such as I'd rather have you beside me than be on my own." Shyly.

Qui-Gon reached out and gently cupped Obi-Wan's cheek. "You did very well on your own, padawan." Ran his thumb along the smooth skin. "Your survival is proof of that."

"Yes, but I'd rather have you there, that's all." A pause, then a mischievous glance. "Besides, you always seem to know where the rations are hidden."

Qui-Gon chuckled. "Brat." He affectionately ruffled Obi-Wan's hair. "Get into bed and sleep. You'll need your strength for the days ahead. We're going to have to explain our little misadventure to the Council, you know."

Obi-Wan groaned. "Again?" He squirmed under the coverlet, pouting. "We don't seem to do anything but report to the Council, Master. Can't we just send them a datapad?"

"Sleep," Qui-Gon growled, pulling the coverlet up to Obi-Wan's neck and tucking it in tightly. He leaned down and brushed a light kiss upon the warm forehead. "Good rest, my padawan," he whispered, before dimming the timelight.

"Yes, Master." Obi-Wan snuggled beneath the covers and closed his eyes, until the hum of the ship's engine lulled him to a peaceful sleep, filled only with pleasant dreams, the nightmares of the past already forgotten.

For the time being.

=========

THE END

Comments: If you got this far and survived, I'd love to hear about it!
Mail to: dbkate2@aol.com

Author's Notes: Many thanks to Kass, my writing partner and everlasting source of encouragement and inspiration ("VAT THE BOY!"), to Destina for giving it a read-through and to the readers of Jedi_Apprentice list who are a very kind and generous batch of folks! Thank you!

I'm dedicating this fic to my Plushie Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon dolls who were such good sports about being stuffed in crab traps and hung from the ceiling above that bucket of orange juice. Couldn't have done it without you boyz! :-)