The Other Side
By:
Jemmiah
Set: 6 years or so before TPM
Author's Note: This story forms part of the Jemmiah Chronicles but no prior knowledge is really needed to understand the story. That said, if anyone wishes to read the rest of the JemChron stories they can be found archived at the Hell's Chance Cantina by visiting the address noted in my details.


Before the blackness engulfed him Qui-Gon had sensed the presence of another being not far away from him in the cove…and it hadn't been Obi-Wan.

Nor had it been Jemmiah, whom he had last seen hobbling barefoot across the stones in search for interesting shells to make into necklaces. He'd remembered wondering if he should allow her to go so far away or whether he should perhaps follow her to be certain of her safety. And Obi-Wan…he'd swum as gleefully and gracefully as an eel towards the small, distant island with its jagged black rock protruding from the water like an up-stretched arm. For all that it had been an exercise to strengthen the body and focus the mind Qui-Gon had been pleased to see his padawan taking so much delight in the little test. The last thing he remembered was seeing Jemmiah standing on her tiptoes at the edge of a large, slippery rock whilst scanning the sea for any sign of Obi-Wan…and then the sand had rushed up to meet him with a thud that shook his whole body.

Something had hit him. Something had knocked him down with the power of a speeder hitting an insect. He didn't know what it was or how long he had remained unconscious, but slowly he began to test his body to see if any damage had been done. It remained leaden and numb, as if stunned by some unforeseen impact. His mind was hazy at best, but slowly at least some of his mental faculties were beginning to return. Had Obi-Wan sensed the incident through their bond, he wondered groggily? And where was Jemmiah? What if she too had suffered the same immobilisation and was lying somewhere, hurt or unconscious? What if she had fallen in the water and had drowned, unable to pull herself back out?

The thought galvanised Qui-Gon enough so that he opened one eye - and found himself squinting uncertainly up at a short, shadowy figure that split briefly into two; then as the roaring in his ears subsided melded back into a single being once again. Fighting back considerable nausea Qui-Gon was aware that regardless of how many people his double vision told him there might be, he was in reality dealing with one individual…and that person was armed with a gun.

A gun that was aimed straight in his direction.

After a few moments the blurred and indistinct shadow began to develop features. The face was young: far younger than that of Obi-Wan, although possessing a strong and rounded chin. The lips were set into a determined line and the short, stocky build leant him a somewhat robust appearance. But what Qui-Gon found himself focusing on was the eyes: green and angry…frustrated even. Perhaps a touch frightened? He did not need the force to tell him that the individual who had stunned him was more than a little confused. The boy licked his lips nervously for a moment and then looked along the sight of the blaster, aiming the gun once more at Qui-Gon's heart.

Jinn stared back at him. If he'd had the strength he'd have gathered the force and tossed the blaster disdainfully out of the young man's hand. If breathing hadn't seemed so difficult he might have engaged his tormentor in conversation: maybe tried to gain his trust and win him over. Or if his body had obeyed him instead of lying unresponsive like a dead weight he might possibly, in a worst case scenario, bested the boy with his physical strength. Instead Qui-Gon found himself on his back, sand in his hair, mouth and eyes, a small trickle of blood running from his nose from the impact of the stunning device.

It must have been used at close range, Qui-Gon winced, Judging by the way I feel. And yet this boy could not have gotten so close without my sensing him. He could not have fired the weapon without my knowing he was there. And if he had then there is a good chance he would have killed me…

And then there was the weapon. Even half out of his wits Qui-Gon could see that it was not a stunning device, but a good old-fashioned blaster. Set to kill and maim, not merely bring a man down. There were many parts of the puzzle that simply did not make sense.

The blaster seemed to waver fractionally in the boy's hand, and Qui-Gon tried and - to his surprise - succeeded in flexing his fingers. It was enough however to put the young man on his guard, and this time the blaster remained unremittingly focused on the prone Jedi.

"Don't move." The belligerent voice warned him. "Don't try any tricks. I'm not a great aim with these things…" Qui-Gon watched as the blood appeared to drain rapidly from his foe's face, the hands suddenly shaking as he edged closer towards him. "I've…I've never shot anyone before. I don't want to make you suffer unnecessarily, so if you move it might be more painful for you. Keep still and it will be over quickly..."

Qui-Gon didn't move. He kept his eyes locked upon the sandy haired youth as he edged ever closer, trying to delay the moment for as long as he could. The boy was no killer, clearly, as even the thought of terminating somebody's life was obviously distressing him more than it was the Jedi. Again the young man subconsciously licked his lips, unnerved by Qui-Gon's stillness and calm, unblinking eyes.

I do not fear death. Qui-Gon thought emotionlessly as he waited for the boy to squeeze the trigger. But I have Obi-Wan and Jemmiah to think of…am I ready to relinquish this existence just yet? He tried and failed one more time to gather the force around him and push the youth to the ground. There was no strength…no energy. It was as if the force had died within him. Beyond and around him it swirled just out of reach, mocking his inability to focus.

The boy gritted his teeth, half closed his eyes in desperation and began to let his finger pull back upon the catch…and Qui-Gon waited patiently for the end. Maybe it was his time. Perhaps that was all the force would allow him. Should he fight the will of the force? But when had he ever not challenged the rules dictated by others?

His calm acceptance was shattered not by the sound of blaster fire but by the scurry of feet and the swirl of sand beside his head. Bare legs appeared from nowhere and with them the rustling of pink skirts. The sun was suddenly blocked by the presence of another, placing themselves between the source of threat and his own enfeebled body. Qui-Gon felt real, genuine fear rise like bile in his throat, replacing his composure with helplessness.

What is she doing? The alarm began to build within him. This will achieve nothing except bring herself directly into danger!

The boy looked shocked from what he could just about discern from behind Jemmiah's right shoulder. A new and unexpected challenge lay before him, wearing an expression of outright defiance, eyes blazing in a fury of Corellian indignation. The girl, her long hair whipping Qui-Gon's face in the breeze threw herself directly across the Jedi's chest, glaring directly up at the barrel of the blaster and the shaken face beyond it.

"If you're gonna kill anyone," she spat back at him, "go ahead and try. But you'll have to kill me first, because I'm not moving from here…"

Qui-Gon struggled to no avail against the invisible bonds that tied him down. He could face his own death if needs be with dignity and equanimity, but to see Jemmiah thus endangered made the hammering of his heart increase to the point where he thought both she and his captor must surely hear it. Unable to help in any way Qui-Gon could only compare himself to a fly struggling against the silken thread of a spider's web whilst all the time his enemy watched his enfeebled attempts to escape, waiting its moment to strike…

But the spider did not strike. It stood, uncertain of what to do, the blaster slowly and inexorably rising and lowering with each ragged breath. The battle no longer seemed to exist between himself and his youthful protagonist but rather within the boy's own mind: Qui-Gon could see humiliation and guilt, horror and fear warring with one another within the turbulent sea green eyes. The youth's face hardened…the blaster rising one final time…

And then he allowed it to fall hopelessly by his side.

"I can't…I can't do it." His voice was a desperate half-sob. "I'm sorry, master. I can't kill them."

The threat was gone in a heartbeat leaving behind a broken, pitiful child in its wake. He was little older than Jemmiah, Qui-Gon thought wearily, slowly feeling sensation beginning to return to his body. The blaster still dangled impotently from the youth's fingertips but the will to use the weapon had long since dissipated…and frankly Qui-Gon wondered now if he had ever been capable of firing it. There was no hate or malice visible, only abject unhappiness. And still the question remained as to why he had attacked them in the first place when he was quite clearly not a willing party in the affair…

Jemmiah had less forgiveness in her, but then she had seen first hand the devastation that blasters could bring. Qui-Gon didn't have to see the look on her face to know she was boiling over with anger: anger born of relief and distress. He could feel the shaking of her body against his as she slowly raised herself up, not completely trusting their aggressor lest he change his mind and strike.

"Give me the blaster." She held out her hand, her voice trembling. The young man stared disconsolately at the sand between his toes, not able to face her directly. A flush of violent scarlet blazed across his cheeks, and Jemmiah could see that it was not some act to put them off their guard: he was beaten…humiliated. At any moment Jemmiah expected him to run away and bust into tears like a child who'd had his bolo ball stolen from him - and yet he remained rooted to the spot.

He's got nowhere to go. Jemmiah realised, finally allowing a certain amount of sympathy soothe her fury at what had nearly happened to Qui-Gon. He doesn't know what to do…it's like he's waiting for Quiggy to get better and knock him into the middle of next week…

She raised her chin, forcing her voice to sound commanding and supercilious.

"Throw it away then, if you won't give it to me." Jemmy eyed him coolly.

The boy swallowed, hesitating. He looked down at the blaster in his hand as if it were covered with some unseen gore, and gave an involuntary shudder that Jemmiah managed to catch. Quickly, as if afraid he might somehow change his mind the boy's arm snapped out, causing her to jump backwards. He held the blaster out to her making no attempt to come any closer to either of them. Despite her brave words Jemmiah did not particularly want to take the blaster from him, afraid to touch an object that was capable of such extreme violence.

But she couldn't sit there forever, just waiting for the tide to come in and wash them away. Carefully, head still held impossibly high; Jemmiah got up from her knees and stood, her eyes not so much as wavering from the boy's face. She could imagine the anxiety that Qui-Gon must have been experiencing, Jedi or no, as she took a couple of reluctant paces towards the sandy haired youth, her own hand extending to collect the blaster. Her breath caught in her throat as she halted an arm's length away from him, half expecting him to change his mind and blast her in the stomach. His face however never altered from its expression of defeat, except when his uncertain eyes raised up to meet hers.

Quick as a lightening flash Jemmiah swiped the blaster from his hand and clutched it against her chest, backing away from him as rapidly as she could, keeping him in plain sight all the while. And still the boy made no attempt to run away.

She retreated until she felt the water at her ankles, some ten paces or so behind where Qui-Gon lay. It was amazing the feeling of power that such a weapon gave you, the knowledge that nobody could dare attack without risking their own neck. At that moment even if Rufus Merdan himself were stood before her and not this pitiful boy, Jemmiah would not have flinched. Was this, then, how Merdan had felt before he had gunned down her friends that fateful day on Nargotria as she had fled for her life? The memory caused her lip to curl in revulsion, snapping her back to the present, the blaster feeling suddenly unwelcome in her grasp. She turned; throwing the weapon towards the sea and watching as the waves engulfed the gun, dragging it out of sight.

That left the matter of the boy, and more importantly Qui-Gon. Jemmiah found her voice becoming instantly more clipped and fragile as it inevitably did when defensive.

"What did you do to him?" She asked coldly, nodding her head at the Jedi. "Will he be okay?"

The youth swallowed back a large lump in his throat and at first seemed reluctant to answer.

"Well?" Jemmy demanded, waiting impatiently.

"I stunned him." Admitted the boy in a croaking voice, which, although it had broken, was far from mature.

"With the gun?" Jemmiah persisted in her interrogation.

He shook his head.

"What then?"

Again the reluctant pause. "You wouldn't understand."

But Jemmiah was very far from not understanding. His dress was slightly ragged but simple in style; loose fitting tunic and trouser pants in some vaguely grey shade, whilst his hair was cut in a manner that suggested an attempt, albeit a poor one, to copy the fashion of a very familiar group of people. Everything, even the thread bare fabric belt tied around his waist had more than a suggestion of the temple about it.

"You're a Jedi, aren't you?" Jemmiah replied, feeling confidence in her deductions. She knelt down beside Qui-Gon once again and lightly brushed the sand from his cheek. "You used the force to stun him."

The boy shook his head. "I'm not a Jedi. But yes, I did use the force."

"Don't you know it's wrong to use the force for evil purposes?" This time Jemmy's voice sunk back into her customary Corellian drawl. "Do you know what you've done? You've only injured one of the temple's greatest - if not the greatest - Jedi masters! And if you think he'll be unhappy with what you did when he can move again you just wait until the council finds out what you did!"

"I…I don't usually use the force like that." His mannerism became meek, almost cowed. "I use it to help! I can heal things…I helped my master when she fell and broke her leg half a year ago. Admittedly it's perhaps not as good as it could have been but considering the mess it was in I think I did quite well…"

"Why didn't you take her to a proper medic?" Jemmiah frowned, already beginning to make the leap in logic. "Because you can't? You live here in exile, don't you? By yourselves?"

He nodded slowly. "We…we like to keep private. Away from anyone who comes here."

"And is this," Jemmiah wiped at Qui-Gon's blooded nose with her untied head-scarf, "what you do to people who get too close?"

His silence told her everything she needed to know. Maybe he would never harm anyone: perhaps he could never bring himself to kill when he believed in saving and preserving life, but what about this master of his? And what kind of Jedi master told a padawan to kill someone who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time?"

"You're scared of your master, aren't you?" Jemmiah added mercilessly, knowing that she had touched a nerve by the way that the boy blinked repeatedly as if trying to stave back tears. She knew what it was like to be afraid of the people she lived with. She also knew what would have happened to her had Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan not rescued her from her Nargotrian hell…

"I love her." The boy protested, before adding in a whisper; "but I am afraid of what she might make me do."

Jemmy looked him over before finally dismissing him as of no further threat. Her major concern was Qui-Gon, and making him well enough to find this so-called master and sort her out! The poor boy was so dispirited and hurt, as downtrodden as any slave she had ever met. And then there was the startled, almost wistful way in which he stood and watched as she tended to her beloved guardian. Was he wishing that he had a real master, the way that Obi-Wan did? One that didn't frighten him into doing her dirty work for her?

"You can help me with him." Jemmy sniffed imperiously. "Seeing as how it's your fault he's like this in the first place."

"He'll be fine." The boy took a few half-hearted steps towards her. "All I did was a reverse healing…instead of using the force energy to accelerate restoration I sort of sucked it out…but the force will return to him soon, I promise." His eyes shone eagerly, as if determined to make amends for his previous actions. "There should be no ill effects at all."

"I'm glad to hear it!" Jemmy growled up at him. "If there were you'd have me to deal with!"

His expression of dismay returned. "I'm truly sorry for what I did - I mean it! You know, if I really had wanted to shoot you I could have used the force to whip that blaster from mid-air before it landed in the sea. One split second and you'd have been dead!"

A hard prodding - like that of a finger against his spine - rudely interrupted his train of thought. Spinning round the youth found himself staring directly into the face of a slightly older man, stripped to the waist and somewhat damp and tousled in appearance. Light framed he might well have been but his added years also gave him a height advantage of half a head. Two ice-blue eyes stared back appraisingly, matched uncannily by the colour of the lightsabre blade now extended in his direction.

"I don't think so." Obi-Wan replied casually. "Do you?"