Title: Vengeance is Mine
Author: Darren1
Genre: Horror
Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars and all related characters
Summary: A horrible accident leaves a healer dead, and her padawan will do
anything to have his revenge, even if it means the slaughter of the entire
Jedi Order.
Comments: I would appreciate very much your comments, especially any
constructive criticism.
"What are you doing out of bed?"
Obi-Wan Kenobi was leaning against the infirmary's wall, staring out of the window into Coruscant. At his Master's words, he turned his head slightly, but wouldn't meet his eyes. Qui-Gon's heart clenched at the tears he saw streaming down his apprentice's drawn cheeks. Without a word he guided the young man back to his bed and got him settled in, tucking the blankets in around his still-too-thin form.
"It wasn't your fault," he said in a quiet voice, a statement he had spoken repeatedly to the boy for the last two days. "It was an accident."
His words elicited no response, but the Master could see it in the depths of his padawan's blue eyes. He still blamed himself for Nedra's death. Knowing his padawan would not be able to sleep on his own with such a weight on his mind, Qui-Gon inserted a sleeping drug into the boy's liquid tube.
Obi-Wan had contracted a deadly virus on their last mission. He had begun losing weight rapidly, sores started to appear on his body, and his temperature skyrocketed. Nedra was the healer attending to him, doing everything from taking his blood to mopping his hot forehead with a cool rag.
It was Obi-Wan's blood that had killed her. After drawing a fresh sample, she had accidentally stuck herself with the needle. She had died within days from the same disease that had almost taken his padawan away from him. Now the boy blamed himself for her death.
Deep down, he knew his padawan was aware that it was human error that had caused her death, not him. Yet the rational part of his mind was not functioning in the face of this loss of life. It would take a long time and many hours of tears and meditation to get him past this death.
Qui-Gon ran his hand through his apprentice's ginger-colored hair. It was sticky and in clumps from the sweat that had formerly covered his forehead. Usually it was the padawan of the attending healer's job to keep patients clean, but Lingo hadn't come out of his quarters since his Master's passing.
Wanting to do something to help as the boy slipped into unconsciousness, he exited the room and went in search of a padawan healer. He found a young girl fairly quickly, told her what he wanted to do, and asked her for a cool rag and a cleaning agent of some sort. The request seemed to frighten her.
"Do... do you want me to do it?" she offered, her brown eyes huge and scared at even the thought of it.
The Master nearly sighed. Nedra's death had scared most of the normally annoyingly proximal healers away from his padawan's side, especially the younger ones. "No, little one. Just fetch me what I need." Within moments she was back with a wet piece of cloth and a bottle of some type of cleanser. He nodded his thanks.
As he made his way back to the room, the Jedi had an uneasy feeling in his gut that heightened when he saw that the door had been accessed and left standing wide open. He shifted the supplies into one hand, and let the other rest on his lightsaber as he entered.
Lingo Y'dari stood facing the bed, his eyes blank and dead looking. It didn't appear that he was even breathing as he stared hard at Obi-Wan. Something about the way he was standing caused Qui-Gon's senses to become more on edge than he all ready was. The soft lighting of the infirmary cast an eerie yellowish glow about the room, reflecting off Lingo's short golden hair and making him shine like an angel.
Or glow like a demon.
"Can I help you, Padawan Y'dari?"
No response. He didn't even turn his head to acknowledge that he had heard the older Jedi speak. Hands crossed in front of him, he looked straight ahead, not even blinking.
"Are you all right?" he tried again, and got the same response... or lack there of. Worry tingled at his spine, and he took his comlink out of his robe. The boy obviously needed some sort of help.
"Healer Jea? Send someone down here. Padawan Y'dari is down here, and I think..."
The force sent warnings coursing through his blood in the form of adrenaline, and he looked up to see Lingo hurl himself onto Obi-Wan's sleeping form and grab the larger boy by his throat.
"I HATE YOU!!"
Such a loud sound coming from such a small padawan, added to the adrenaline in his veins and the threat to his padawan, made Qui-Gon jump so high he swore his hair brushed the ceiling.
"I...HATE...YOU!!"
Obi-Wan, in his drugged condition, was barely aware of Lingo's presence and was in no state of mind to defend himself. His sedated mind couldn't even fathom why he suddenly couldn't breathe or why his neck was hurting so badly.
In an instant, Qui-Gon grabbed hold of him and tried to pry him off the bed. But anger is a powerful ally, and Lingo was not about to let go without a fight. In fact, his hold was so strong the Master was afraid he would have to knock him out or injure him to get him to let go.
Locking onto the boy's wrist, he jerked Lingo's hands from Obi-Wan's neck with all his might, twisting them as he pulled. The enraged padawan was forced to let go or suffer two broken arms. They both tumbled backwards onto the hard floor. Once they landed, Qui-Gon thought he had a live bantha in his arms. The boy kicked, hit, screamed, scratched, and bit with everything he had in him.
"I HATE HIM! LET ME GO! I HATE HIM! I HATE HIM!!" he shrieked, thrashing with all his strength.
Lingo's anger and use of the dark side made him hard to control, and a smaller Master might have been forced to let him get away. But even anger and the dark side in all their intensity can't overcome the protective instinct of a father for his son. He held onto him tightly, unwilling even to let him get off the floor.
The ruckus caused a group of healers to come crashing into the room. Two of the males rushed to help assist Qui-Gon, while a female rushed out of the room and quickly returned with a needle. It took all three men and two of the women to hold Lingo still while the healer inserted the drug into his arm. Almost instantly the drug took affect, and the small teen went limp.
"It's not over," he whispered softly as unconsciousness rushed to claim him. "He'll pay. Vengeance is mine. Ven-geance-is-mine. Veng-is-m-" His head dropped to the side and his eyes slid closed.
His tone scared the Masters even more than the screaming had, for it was not the tone of an angry, grieving padawan. It was more than just an idle threat from an adolescent.
It was the voice of the dark side itself.
"What are you doing out of bed?"
Obi-Wan Kenobi was leaning against the infirmary's wall, staring out of the window into Coruscant. At his Master's words, he turned his head slightly, but wouldn't meet his eyes. Qui-Gon's heart clenched at the tears he saw streaming down his apprentice's drawn cheeks. Without a word he guided the young man back to his bed and got him settled in, tucking the blankets in around his still-too-thin form.
"It wasn't your fault," he said in a quiet voice, a statement he had spoken repeatedly to the boy for the last two days. "It was an accident."
His words elicited no response, but the Master could see it in the depths of his padawan's blue eyes. He still blamed himself for Nedra's death. Knowing his padawan would not be able to sleep on his own with such a weight on his mind, Qui-Gon inserted a sleeping drug into the boy's liquid tube.
Obi-Wan had contracted a deadly virus on their last mission. He had begun losing weight rapidly, sores started to appear on his body, and his temperature skyrocketed. Nedra was the healer attending to him, doing everything from taking his blood to mopping his hot forehead with a cool rag.
It was Obi-Wan's blood that had killed her. After drawing a fresh sample, she had accidentally stuck herself with the needle. She had died within days from the same disease that had almost taken his padawan away from him. Now the boy blamed himself for her death.
Deep down, he knew his padawan was aware that it was human error that had caused her death, not him. Yet the rational part of his mind was not functioning in the face of this loss of life. It would take a long time and many hours of tears and meditation to get him past this death.
Qui-Gon ran his hand through his apprentice's ginger-colored hair. It was sticky and in clumps from the sweat that had formerly covered his forehead. Usually it was the padawan of the attending healer's job to keep patients clean, but Lingo hadn't come out of his quarters since his Master's passing.
Wanting to do something to help as the boy slipped into unconsciousness, he exited the room and went in search of a padawan healer. He found a young girl fairly quickly, told her what he wanted to do, and asked her for a cool rag and a cleaning agent of some sort. The request seemed to frighten her.
"Do... do you want me to do it?" she offered, her brown eyes huge and scared at even the thought of it.
The Master nearly sighed. Nedra's death had scared most of the normally annoyingly proximal healers away from his padawan's side, especially the younger ones. "No, little one. Just fetch me what I need." Within moments she was back with a wet piece of cloth and a bottle of some type of cleanser. He nodded his thanks.
As he made his way back to the room, the Jedi had an uneasy feeling in his gut that heightened when he saw that the door had been accessed and left standing wide open. He shifted the supplies into one hand, and let the other rest on his lightsaber as he entered.
Lingo Y'dari stood facing the bed, his eyes blank and dead looking. It didn't appear that he was even breathing as he stared hard at Obi-Wan. Something about the way he was standing caused Qui-Gon's senses to become more on edge than he all ready was. The soft lighting of the infirmary cast an eerie yellowish glow about the room, reflecting off Lingo's short golden hair and making him shine like an angel.
Or glow like a demon.
"Can I help you, Padawan Y'dari?"
No response. He didn't even turn his head to acknowledge that he had heard the older Jedi speak. Hands crossed in front of him, he looked straight ahead, not even blinking.
"Are you all right?" he tried again, and got the same response... or lack there of. Worry tingled at his spine, and he took his comlink out of his robe. The boy obviously needed some sort of help.
"Healer Jea? Send someone down here. Padawan Y'dari is down here, and I think..."
The force sent warnings coursing through his blood in the form of adrenaline, and he looked up to see Lingo hurl himself onto Obi-Wan's sleeping form and grab the larger boy by his throat.
"I HATE YOU!!"
Such a loud sound coming from such a small padawan, added to the adrenaline in his veins and the threat to his padawan, made Qui-Gon jump so high he swore his hair brushed the ceiling.
"I...HATE...YOU!!"
Obi-Wan, in his drugged condition, was barely aware of Lingo's presence and was in no state of mind to defend himself. His sedated mind couldn't even fathom why he suddenly couldn't breathe or why his neck was hurting so badly.
In an instant, Qui-Gon grabbed hold of him and tried to pry him off the bed. But anger is a powerful ally, and Lingo was not about to let go without a fight. In fact, his hold was so strong the Master was afraid he would have to knock him out or injure him to get him to let go.
Locking onto the boy's wrist, he jerked Lingo's hands from Obi-Wan's neck with all his might, twisting them as he pulled. The enraged padawan was forced to let go or suffer two broken arms. They both tumbled backwards onto the hard floor. Once they landed, Qui-Gon thought he had a live bantha in his arms. The boy kicked, hit, screamed, scratched, and bit with everything he had in him.
"I HATE HIM! LET ME GO! I HATE HIM! I HATE HIM!!" he shrieked, thrashing with all his strength.
Lingo's anger and use of the dark side made him hard to control, and a smaller Master might have been forced to let him get away. But even anger and the dark side in all their intensity can't overcome the protective instinct of a father for his son. He held onto him tightly, unwilling even to let him get off the floor.
The ruckus caused a group of healers to come crashing into the room. Two of the males rushed to help assist Qui-Gon, while a female rushed out of the room and quickly returned with a needle. It took all three men and two of the women to hold Lingo still while the healer inserted the drug into his arm. Almost instantly the drug took affect, and the small teen went limp.
"It's not over," he whispered softly as unconsciousness rushed to claim him. "He'll pay. Vengeance is mine. Ven-geance-is-mine. Veng-is-m-" His head dropped to the side and his eyes slid closed.
His tone scared the Masters even more than the screaming had, for it was not the tone of an angry, grieving padawan. It was more than just an idle threat from an adolescent.
It was the voice of the dark side itself.