In Memoriam

They always seemed to meet under rather compromising circumstances. And now they parted in what could only be described as a hurried and awkward situation. It must simply be the will of the Force; and yet he could not help but think that Master Piell would have had it no other way.

With Anakin's help, Obi Wan lifted the tightly-swathed body into the air and gently sent it over the brink of the chasm and down into the waiting river of magma. Foooom. The corpse touched the surface of the molten rock, and was immediately incinerated. The funeral was complete. There had been no time for a pyre, and no question of carrying the body back to Coruscant for a proper ceremony. They had been inventive. Master Piell would have approved; he may even have been amused.

They paused for a moment longer, cognizant of danger on their heels, of the need to keep running. Their escape was not yet complete, and many perils still lay between them and the rendezvous point. The dead should be honored in memory, however, and in that brief silence overlooking the river of fire, he recalled the diminutive Jedi Master's life and deeds. Images of his own friendship with Piell flashed across his mind with bitter-sweet clarity…

The door opened before he could raise his hand to the chime.

"Vell, come in," the rich, accented voice summoned him out of the corridor and into the shadow and light striped meditation chamber. The doors slid shut behind him.

"Master Piell." He made his formal bow, and stood, trying hard not to fidget.

Smallest of the Council members and the Jedi, besides Masters Yoda and Yaddle, the dwarf-statured Evan Piell sat easily upon one of three wide round cushions in the room. A scar ran across one eye, pulling his face down with it; his mouth was fixed in a permanent drooping scowl. His large pointed ears turned down at the ends, and his single topknot of glossy black hair sat severely atop his head. The Jedi Master's one good eye peered at the boy out of the gloom, piercing and dark.

"Obi Van," he said. "Have a seat."

"Yes, master." Nervously he perched on one of the other cushions, swallowing and remembering to breathe.

"Now, let's get this straight," Master Piell began. His tone was businesslike, not condemning. "I'm new to the Council. I've never done this before, so I am hoping you vill be able to enlighten me. Vat is the procedure?"

Obi Wan frowned. Was this a test? Of course it was. He throttled a sudden urge to squirm in place. "I…the Council ordered that I meet with each of its members over the upcoming weeks. The masters…you…are to, well, speak with me about the Code or other matters relevant to my recent actions, and assign lessons or meditation, or other tasks as they see fit. I don't know that there is a specific procedure."

Piell's open eye crinkled in mirth. His mouth twitched, not into a smile, but into an odd twisting line. "Vell that's a relief," he grunted. "So ve don't have to go through some rigamarole. You're just here at my mercy, eh?"

Obi Wan didn't like the sound of that, and his stomach performed an acrobatic flip to prove it. Piell was the seventh Council member to have such a meeting with him. "I suppose so, master."

"Hm." The small Jedi cocked his head on one side and rubbed at his chin with thick, calloused fingers. "Tell you vat. Let's start vith insight, and then ve'll move on to questions and teaching a lesson."

"Yes, master."

"So. Look at my face," Piell ordered. Obi Wan studied the scarred visage carefully. "The wound that blinded me also did considerable nerve damage. I can't move the muscles of my face too much. Hence the famous look-that-kills."

"Does it really kill, master?" He shouldn't have spoken out of turn, but the grim Jedi master's words and mannerisms hinted at softness beneath his gruff exterior. There was a practical, humorous grain in his character, one which invited curiosity and frankness.

"Of course it does, youngling." Piell fixed him with a stern stare. "But not other Jedi."

"That is a relief, master."

"Now: the battle that gave me this wound and took my eye also changed my life. For the better. I vent on to follow the Path, and I bear the scars as a reminder. Ve can't erase vat happens, Obi Van. But ve can benefit from mistakes. That's your insight. Don't vaste it."

"Thank you, Master Piell. I shan't."

"Good. Now questions. Let's see." He squinted at the boy sitting across from him. "Hm. How old are you, youngling?"

"Thirteen. Almost fourteen."

"Dat's young to make such a terrible mistake. Ve don't have too many on probation at your age. Precocious."

Obi Wan didn't know how to respond to that; and it wasn't a question anyhow, so he held his tongue.

"How long have you been back at the Temple working on this probation now? Two months?" The boy nodded. "Are you tired?"

"I will do whatever is required." The young Jedi answered promptly, defiantly.

"Vo! Vo!" Piell chuckled. "Enough questions. Vat's next? Oh yes…I get to decide vat you need next. Let's see. Vat would you say to some grueling tasks designed to break your pride and push you past psychological limits?"

Obi Wan braced himself. "I am ready."

Evan Piell stroked his chin. "Vat about this: how 'bout I subject you to a mental probe so thorough you suffer an emotional breakdown and nightmares for three veeks?"

Obi Wan gritted his teeth. "I will do whatever is required," he repeated.

Piell jumped off his mat and stood directly before the boy. "You're too serious, Obi Van. Ver's your childhood gone to?" He patted the young Jedi's cheek.

"I…master, I don't know. My decision on Melidaa/Daan was immature. I am determined to correct that flaw. I will do anything to prove myself worthy of the Order."

The Jedi Master turned his permanently scowling face toward the shafts of light filtering through the window. "I think I know exactly what you need," he growled ominously. "You, my boy, need a little good old fashioned rough-housing."

Obi Wan blinked. But that was all he had time to do before Evan Piell's hard, round head slammed into his midriff, sending him sprawling backward onto the hard tiled floor. He twisted to the side to avoid the next attack, and then grunted as his arms were pinned behind his back. "Master!" he gasped, in shock.

"Come on, boy, defend yerself!" Piell ordered. "Corellian wrestling rules. Best two of three. And I'm not cutting you any slack – yer bigger than me!"

Immediately the match was on. Master Piell was the perfect wrestling partner – they seemed to be matched evenly in size, speed and skill…though Obi Wan had a feeling the diminutive Jedi was holding back a bit, on purpose. They grappled, rolled, twisted, tumbled, tripped and blocked and strained to subdue one another. The mediation cushions were shoved unceremoniously aside, and the smooth floor squeaked and slid beneath their boots. Soon tunics and hair were dishevelled and unruly. Master Piell grinned wildly, and Obi Wan found himself grinning back, even laughing between panting breaths.

Master Piell won the first round, ending up sitting on the boy's chest. The second round ensued immediately, with no respite. They squirmed and rolled and kicked and twisted out of holds and binds, struggling with savage delight to be the victor in an age old contest. Obi Wan had never played with such reckless abandon, even in the crèche. At last he managed to pin Master Piell down in a tenuous Rancor hold, his knee planted firmly in the Jedi master's back. He was immediately thrown off, and stumbled backward into the wall.

"Best two of three," Master Piell barked, launching into a new attack. The last bout was fierce and fast, but short-lived. Laughing with mingled glee and pain, Obi Wan found himself squashed face-first against one of the meditation cushions, his arms bent awkwardly behind him, Piell's sturdy weight crushing his ribs. He could feel strong, thick fingers pressing lightly into a pressure point on the side of his neck.

"Yield," the small Jedi demanded.

"Never," the young boy laughed. "Nev- ahh! Uung.."

"Surrender, my boy," Piell chuckled, digging deeper. Spots swirled before Obi Wan's vision. He knew what came next. "Admit the error of your ways. You should never have provoked me into attacking you."

Weakly, Obi Wan shook his head. No surrender. Never. He could feel Piell's laughter echoing in the Force.

"Have it your vay." The pressure increased, and blackness claimed him.

Some time later – perhaps not very long at all – Obi Wan opened his eyes. The stripes of shadow and light still gently played over the walls of the meditation room. Master Piell was seated upon one of the meditation cushions, his perpetual scowl softened by a glint of humor in his good eye.

"Vell. I think ve are done for today. I've taught you everything I can about your terrible mistake. The rest you'll have to figure out on your own."

Obi Wan pushed himself up, head still spinning. "Master," he said, managing an unsteady bow. He tottered for the door, hoping that nobody was in the corridor – and that nobody had overheard their tussle.

"Obi Van." Master Piell was regarding him with warm confidence. He nodded his head gravely. "You'll be fine, my boy."

"No, master. I am not doing this."

Qui Gon turned to him with an expression of pure disbelief. "What?"

"I said, no."

The tall Jedi master's brows contracted. "This is not a matter of choice, Padawan. This is our only and best method of concealment. And I have made the decision. It is not a matter of debate. I am ordering you to cooperate with this plan."

But the Padawan only shook his head and stiffened his back. His eyes shone with a stubborn light. "No. No, Qui Gon. I can't."

The master hesitated, still shocked by his student's outright defiance. He placed a hand on his Padawan's shoulder, noting the tension of the muscles under his fingers. "You are frightened," he guessed.

Obi Wan colored violently. "There must be another way," he insisted. "The Force will show a way. This is…..I cannot do it."

Qui Gon Jinn shifted impatiently. What a trifling, silly thing to stand in their way. He would have been sympathetic if the plan had included something truly dark or dangerous. But they were looking at a shipping crate full of bacta – arguably the most harmless substance in the galaxy.

"Vell, are you ready?" a deep, rich voice inquired. Both Jedi turned to greet the small figure striding through the cargo hold's enormous double doors.

"Master Piell," Obi Wan bowed to the newcomer.

"Qui Gon," Even Piell addressed the senior Jedi. "Medic Toori wishes to discuss the final details with you."

"Very good. I'll return shortly." Qui Gon turned to his apprentice. "You will be ready to proceed when I come back. We don't have time for delays." He disappeared through the doors at his long, easy gait.

Obi Wan watched his mentor's retreat with hands clenched into fists by his sides. He released a long calming breath.

Evan Piell watched the young Jedi stare at the enormous shipping container, wondering what the point of contention was between the young man and his teacher. "So…" he inquired. "Vat's the plan, then? Qui Gon has thought up a vay to get past the blockade?"

Obi Wan nodded glumly. "Yes," he responded tightly. "Since the Federation is obeying Republic blockade conventions, they are admitting shipments of staple foods and medical supplies through. But everything has to be scanned by droids, and no life forms are permitted to accompany the shipments. They are stored in a zero-temp hold and sent to the planet by Federation cargo barges."

"So you smuggle yourselves in wit some of the cargo."

The Padawan nodded. "Qui Gon and Medic Toori came up with this scheme." He indicated the shipping crate filled with gelatinous bacta. "The bacta would protect us from the cold and any standard scans. The medical facility on the planet is expecting the shipment, and has been informed. They will be waiting to release us."

Master Piell stroked his chin. "A good plan," he remarked. "Clever." But Obi Wan turned away. The small Jedi master sensed the Padawan's distress. "Vat kind of breathing apparatus will you use?"

"None," the Padawan replied. Unease rippled in the Force. "Anything conventional would create a disturbance on their scanners. Medic Toori," he said, slowly, "Has hyper-oxygenated this batch."

Evan Piell folded his arms. "Huh. So….how does that help you?"

Obi Wan looked white. "We'll have to aspirate the bacta. It's supposed to contain enough oxygen for hours. The medics at the other end will help clear out our lungs when we arrive."

The small master nodded. Ah…that must be the sticking point. "You don't sound very enthusiastic," he commented.

The Padawan ran a hand through his short hair and grimaced. "I don't fancy drowning in goop…no. Not by choice, anyway."

At that moment, Qui Gon returned in the company of Medic Toori. The moment had come. The tall medical officer stood patiently holding two plast-seal bags. "Your clothing and weapons should be placed in these protective packets," he explained. "We will submerge them in the bacta alongside you. Do either of you wish me to administer a sedative, Master Jedi?"

Qui Gon glanced at his Padawan, who returned a withering look.

"No; that won't be necessary. We need to be alert and prepared for action as soon as we arrive. Obi Wan – " he handed his apprentice one of the bags. "Quickly."

Evan Piell stood quietly by the medic as the two Jedi stripped down to underclothes and packed their weapons and attire into the self-sealing packages. Toori dropped the bags over the edge of the crate, and they sank slowly to the bottom of the gelatinous substance. Qui Gon followed, lifting himself over the edge of the shipping container in one fluid motion and dropping into the bacta. His head disappeared beneath the surface. Toori passed a bio-scanner over the side of the crate.

"Good – he's filled his lungs. He's not respirating externally. That will certainly fool any scanners. Next." He waited patiently for the apprentice to follow.

"I need a moment," Obi Wan said.

"Fine." Toori trotted toward the double doors. "I'll fetch the crate seals; I left them in my office. Get in when you're ready." He smiled – a genuine hint of encouragement – and slipped through the heavy panels.

Master Piell watched the Padawan lean against the side of the crate, hands pressed to its cool exterior. He took long, calming breaths. The muscles on his bare back were knotted with tension.

"Qui Gon is waiting for you," he urged.

"I hate bacta."

"Ah." The dwarf Jedi master smiled. "Completely disgusting," he agreed cheerfully.

"I can't fail Qui Gon."

"No," Evan Piell agreed patiently.

"I can't suck it into my lungs. I'll …choke. I'll spit it back up."

"Nonsense. You've been trained. You can control your reflexes."

"A Jedi does not know fear."

Master Piell chuckled. "Vell…maybe he knows fear – he just has to give fear the cold shoulder sometimes."

Obi Wan craned his head over his shoulder to meet Piell's eyes. Beads of sweat stood out on his forehead. "Master…" he pleaded.

Evan stepped forward and placed a broad, calloused hand on the young Jedi's back. "Don't think. Just act," he advised. "Go. Go on."

The Padawan gripped the edge of the tall container and pulled himself onto the edge. He dropped his feet over first, his face registering pure revulsion as his legs sank into the viscous goop. Medic Toori returned from his office, carrying the heavy seals which would render the crate airtight for its journey.

Evan Piell smiled. "You'll be fine, my boy."

Obi Wan closed his eyes and dropped into the bacta. He felt Qui Gon's hand reach out and gently close around his upper arm, giving a squeeze of encouragement. The warm sticky ooze claimed him, sliding against his skin, pressing in on all sides. His lungs began to burn; he needed air. But there was none here. Qui Gon squeezed his arm again, more firmly. Shuddering head to foot in revulsion, he opened his mouth and drew in a breath. Terrible, burning pain lanced through his chest as the bacta slimed its way past his throat and filled his lungs. He writhed, feeling the urge to cough, to vomit, to thrash. Qui Gon's hand was a steady pressure. He stilled himself, felt tears form in his tightly shut eyelids. The glop was inside and outside. He was drowning in sticky sick-sweet bacta….yet he felt awake, calm. The oxygen in the slime was being absorbed through his lungs. He was not really in danger. He relaxed, felt Qui Gon's last squeeze of approval, let his limbs loosen. He called on the Force and let his mind be suspended in its light, just as his body was suspended in this dark, soft mess. Evan Piell's words echoed in his mind: You'll be fine, my boy.

Medic Toori passed the scanner over the crate one last time, and then settled the heavy seals in place.

"All right, Master Piell. I'll leave the rest to you. This crate goes in the first shipment out, docking hangar four-nineteen."

"Very good. I'll take care of them from here."

Jedi Master Evan Piell wandered through the Naboo countryside, allowing the cool night air to brush against his scalp, toss his black ponytail lightly about in an eddying breeze. His short cloak whispered across the grass, where his footfalls left soft impressions. Here and there a bit of scrapped droid, or the mangled head of another, sat abandoned in the clover and soft grasses. He wandered in a battlefield.

Later, an effort would be made to clear away the robotic detritus. But the first wave of volunteers had collected the Gungan wounded and dead, carting them to a temporary camp where their wounds could be healed – or their funeral chants held in the proper manner. Even now he could hear the rise and fall of Gungan women's voices, chanting dirges for their fallen loved ones. The ceremony might last as much as a day.

Evan pushed on. Hours ago, he had stood before the funeral pyre of a fellow Jedi, Qui Gon Jinn. Jinn's passing seemed to mark a dark threshold in the history of the galaxy; for it could not be a coincidence that the great man had died on the blade of the first Sith to be revealed to the stars in over a millenium. Even more remarkable, or foreboding of war to come, was the astounding fact that Jinn's young apprentice had vanquished the self-same Sith in one to one lightsaber combat. The Council had not been blind to the implications; they had immediately granted the Sith-slayer the rank of Knight and their deepest respect.

But Evan had a feeling the twenty-five year old Jedi was in need of neither honor nor respect. He had just lost a master and a friend. A father, really. He reached the edge of the energy bubble which protected the Gungan camp, and a sentry admitted him with a bow, his flopping head-fringes swinging comically beneath his military helmet.

Inside the glistening blue energy bubble, the sound of the Gungan women's lament was much louder. It filled the air with a harmony of mourning voices, a slow sad keening and remembering. A Jedi funeral was quiet, solemn. The Gungan culture by contrast was noisy, flamboyant, and unrestrained. Here and there a singer threw up her hands in a dranmatic gesture of sorrow or pulled on her fringes as though to tear them out of her head. Hundreds of voices pulsed and surged around him. Medics, both Gungan and Naboo, made their rounds among the hurt and the dying.

To one side of the vast area, divided into rough shelters built of some hardy, fibrous material which stretched to form domed tents, he spotted the young Jedi. A droopping, mottle-skinned figure sat beside him, keeping up a constant stream of chatter which Evan was quite sure went entirely unheard. He approached quietly, unwilling to disturb the camp's suffering patients.

"Mesa not knowin' what to be sayin'! Yousa Jedi be boomin round like dat all de time? I thought mesa heart a gonna stop. Yousa should be grey an old by now – fightin' not for mesa, no sir. Too much! " the Gungan was blathering as Evan drew near. He paused and his attention turned to the injured Gungan laying in the bed beside his companion. "Hesa gonna live, Obi?"

The young Jedi sat slouched on a stool by the medical cot. One hand was pressed against the patients chest. "Yes…he'll live."

"Oh! That's happen-snappen good. Yousa shoulda maybe be a doctor, no? Way less boomin and smackin dan Jedi life, no? "

The young man rubbed two hands over his face and stared into the middle distance listlessly. "I suppose..but that isn't my path, Jar Jar."

"Well, mesa path is takin' me back to them ol' food lines, righto? Wanna come by?"

"Thank you…but I'm not hungry."

The tall clumsy Gungan stood and hesitated. His small expressive eyes regarded the Jedi slumped before him. Compassion and concern and blank incomprehension blended in their depths. "Ooooh!" he exclaimed, almost tripping on Evan Piell as he made to leave. "Mesa not be seein' you there, Master Jedi, sir!"

"Dat's all right," the small Jedi master dismissed him. He shook his head as the Gungan hurried away, his fringed head bobbing up and down comically as he threaded his way among the cots and tent supports.

Obi Wan turned to greet the newcomer with a weary smile. "You found me. Am I needed?"

Evan folded his arms. "No," he answered gruffly. "Though you're needing rest, I would say." He noted that this suggestion met with stony silence. "Don't tell me you dragged that boy out here, too."

Obi Wan grimaced. "Anakin? No – I left him with the Queen's handmaidens. They tucked him into bed hours ago. I just…couldn't sleep. The Force is disturbed."

"Aye, " the Jedi master agreed. There was death everywhere, and the echoes of battle and grief to accentuate it. Naboo was not a comfortable place for a Force-sensitive to be. The royal palace reeked of the Dark Side, as though the Sith assassin had exuded some foul scent behind it. "It vill pass."

Obi Wan nodded, and stood, pulling his cloak about his shoulders. He looked over the Gungan camp, eyes flitting from cot to cot. "I called them ..pathetic life forms," he said quietly. "Qui Gon reprimanded me."

Evan patted the young man's arm. "Let's walk, Master Kenobi," he suggested, leading the way out through the shimmering energy-field bubble.

The young Jedi silently mouthed the title, so unfamiliar. Master Kenobi. Evan smiled grimly and lengthened his strides to match the longer ones of his much taller companion. They passed over the moonlit field in silence, heading back to the palace at Theed.

"Qui Gon was my master for twelve years," the young man said after a long silence.

"I've trained a few Padawans in my day," Master Piell offered. "If you find you need advice."

Obi Wan nodded solemnly. "Thank you, master….I haven't yet grasped the full weight of the promise I made to him. I don't really know how to train a Padawan."

"Nonsense. You had a fine teacher yourself. You know exactly vat to do."

They walked further, until the dark masses of the palace loomed near, picked out in moonlight. The roar of the city's waterfalls drowned out the subtle night music of insects and the breeze in the long grasses. "Vell, " Master Piell said as they ascended the formal stairway into the central plaza. "Obi Van. You need to rest." He trained his one good eye on the haggard young Jedi standing before him, and jerked his head in the direction of the palace. "Get to bed."

Obi Wan's eyebrows rose. His gaze lifted to the distant stars, and one hand pressed against his lower chest, in the same spot where Qui Gon had taken the fatal blow from the Sith's blade. "I do not think sleep will help, master," he said quietly.

"No, but you need it anyvay," Master Piell stated.

Obi Wan's expression turned wry and he lowered his gaze back to the scarred face of the older Jedi. "I never …imagined this," he muttered, helplessly.

Evan Piell patted his arm, and they moved forward again, amid the shadows, under the soft moonlight. "You'll be fine, my boy. You'll be fine."

"Master Piell!" The boy's panicked voice cut through the inky dark, lacing the Force with white fire. "I can't feel him anymore! What's happening?"

"Shush, shush, Skywalker." Master Evan Piell crawled back along the ventilation shaft until he was nose to nose with the blond-headed Padawan. "Losing your head vill not help your master."

"He's in trouble," the boy whimpered, chewing on his lip in an effort to retain control. His blue eyes shone faintly in the dark shaft.

"Vell, yes – or ve vouldn't be here, vould ve?"

Anakin Skywalker's fingers scrabbled against the dust of the hard floor. "I want to come with you."

Evan Piell shook his head. "No! Listen to me, Padavan. You need to find dat ship and get up to the observation deck. Vithout a transport, ve are going nowhere."

The young boy nodded his head, eyes glinting with unshed tears. Panic was clawing at the boy's innards – it was clear on his face. "Yes, master. I'll get it. I just…what if he's not all right?"

The tiny Jedi master squinted balefully at the fearful boy. "There is no vat if. Ve deal vith each situation as it comes. Now: do as I say. Your master's life depends on you finding us a vay off this rock."

Skywalker seemed to understand that much. He nodded, a new flare of certainty warming the Force between them. The boy took the right hand turning, crawling swiftly and surely away toward the ducts above the hangar bays. His technical skill was astounding for someone his age; he woud be able to achieve his objective, whatever the obstacles. Evan had his own task.

He scooted on hands and knees along the disused shaft until he came to a place where the system had been sealed up, probably to prevent womprat infestations. His lightsaber burned a neat hole through the triple reinforced durasteel, and he cautiously slid his body through the gap, taking care not to touch the fused edges. Now he was in a newer vent system. Letting instinct guide him, he passed several branches and openings, and then kicked away the grill of the next opening on his left.

The droid security guard posted on duty did not even have time to gasp out a warning before his head rolled to the floor, severed by a lightsaber blade. Evan Piell squinted at the metal body and rummaged for the cell keys. He took the security coder and the comlink, and edged round the door. Two other sentries were posted in the hall, outside a single door. Piell pressed the comm. switch on the fallen guard's link.

"Eh?" the sentry answered.

"You vant to find some food and take a rest," the Jedi master spoke, allowing the persusive power of the Force to saturate his words. "Leave your companion on vatch and go to the upper levels."

There was a short muttered conversation outside the cell doors, and then one of the sentries slunk off in the direction of the heavy lift. The dwarf Jedi master pulled his hood over his face and approached the remaining sentry.

"Huh?" the hulking figure exclaimed, directly before a boot connected with his head, sending him crashing senseless into the heavy door behind him.

Evan slipped the security coder into the slot and keyed for entry. The door slid open.

"Ah. Obi Van," the Jedi Master sighed.

The young knight rolled over halfway. He groaned. "What took you so long?"

Evan Piell's hard, strong fingers searched for injuries. There were many. The cell was dank, the Force muddy and disturbed. "I think you've overstayed your velcome here, eh?" He shoved the younger Jedi into a sitting position, mindful of the bruises and cuts.

Obi Wan let out a long breath. His eyes drifted closed, even as Piell seized his shoulders and shook him back awake.

"Obi Van. Ve're leaving now. Come on. Stay vith me. "

Kenobi gasped as he climbed to his feet. Evan peered out the cell door; the other guard had yet to return. He dragged the limp form of the sentry into the cell and closed it again, then led the way back down the dim corridor to the room he had used as entry point. The younger Jedi followed, hand trailing along the wall for support.

"Up you go," Master Piell commanded, pointing to the grill opening above. "There's no other vay, so no griping about it."

Obi Wan stumbled across the room, and tore open a safe locker with the Force. He snatched his lightsaber from its confines. A fierce smile lit his features and he leapt for the opening overhead, managing only to grab its edges with his hands. Master Piell gave him a strong Force-push, shoving him through the opening, and then followed himself, rolling into the tight confines of the vent system.

"Obi Van. Ve must keep moving."

The young Jedi was on his side, heaving in shallow breaths. Pain warped the Force around them. "Master.." he sighed. "Not ….griping…but.."

Master Piell lifted his shoulders and pushed him up, onto hands and knees. "Follow me," he ordered. "That's an order straight from the Jedi Council. You may not fail. This is too important. A life is at stake. Yours."

Kenobi gritted his teeth and nodded. Evan could hear him shuffling behind him as they backtracked through the maze of tunnels, as the alarm was raised and the fortress set into a commotion searching for the escaped prisoner. The network of shafts twisted and wound its way through the ancient building. They came to the straight vertical maintenace shaft which would lead to the rooftop observation deck. The Jedi master's comlink chimed, a coded signal. Skywalker had found a ship and was ready.

"Ve need to get up this ladder," he told Kenobi. "You go first – I'll vatch your back."

But the younger Jedi collapsed against the wall, face as white as death. Evan seized his arms and pulled his weight over his own shoulders, but found the narrow space too small to fit them both. He dropped his burden and grabbed the man by the shoulders again.

"Obi Van. You must climb. Climb or die. Now."

"Master Piell….take Anakin. Go."

Evan shook him mercilessly. "Nonsense. You are climbing that ladder now. Your Padawan vill never get over it if you don't."

Obi Wan made a wretched sound and hauled himself into the narrow opening, laying hands on the first rungs. He dragged himself upward, each successive effort eliciting a stifled cry. Evan followed below, listening to the sound of probe droids humming down the shaft system behind them. "Faster!" he shouted.

The first droid emerged into the narrow aperture below them. There was barely room to maneuver a saber, but Evan managed to slice it in two. "Go!" he urged his companion, "Ve've got company!"

A bright surge of light in the Force, and they had reached the opening. Evan deflected an energy bolt back into the next pursuing dorid and slammed the maintenance shaft hatch shut, using his saber to weld the edges shut. Small footsteps pattered across the gravel of the observation deck.

"Master!" Skywalker's young voice cracked.

Master Piell grabbed the boy by the collar, hauling him upright, tearing him away from Obi Wan. "Get to the ship – pilot us out of here – there's no time, Padavan!"

The blond haired child glared at him. Evan glared back , his fixed scowl more terrible than ever. "Obi Wan!" the child yelled at him, tears running down his dirty cheeks, anger twisting in the Force.

"Go! The ship!"

Anakin Skywalker pelted for the boarding ramp, and the flare of the engines lit the dark platform. Evan thrust hands beneath Obi Wan's shoulder blades and hauled him into the ship just as they lifted off. The ramp closed and sealed behind them as a horde of security droids appeared on the rooftop, armed with blaster rifles. The shots sizzled and rebounded off the small craft's shields.

They rose and twisted through the atmosphere, Skywalker's impossible, precocious flying skills vastly outmatching the automated defense systems. On the deck behind the cockpit, Obi Wan groaned and curled on his side. "Hate flying…"

"That's too bad, Obi Van. Ve're flying, like it or not. Stop griping."

"..Not griping…."

Master Piell pressed a hand to the injured Jedi's forehead. They had no medical supplies on board. The flight to the nearest Republic –controlled outpost or cruiser might take hours. He summoned the Force and sent a powerful sleep compulsion to the younger man. He felt the shivering limbs go limp, the ragged breath calm and slow itself, and he let his hand drop away.

"You'll be fine, my boy. You'll be fine."

Jedi Master Evan Piell clung to Obi Wan's back like a kunga pouchling. They pounded across the hot, unforgiving volcanic rocks, leaving the shadow of the Citadel behind. The extraction team fled from the prison's security, running a deadly race against time for their secret rendezvous point.

"Vell, my boy, you did it. This is the first time anybody has ever broken out of the Citadel."

Obi Wan bounded across a chasm, followed by Anakin and the small Togruta Padawan. A handful of clone troops follwed on their heels, shouting as they barely cleared the gap.

"We haven't quite escaped yet, master."

"Don't ruin the moment, Obi Van. I vant to laugh in that warden's ugly face."

He could feel Obi Wan's chuckle, echoing in his chest. "Master Piell," he started.

"Don't say it! I am rakish, he is ugly. A Jedi master should know the difference."

"AS you say, my friend." They slid down a slope of treacherous shale, pebbles and dust avalanching beneath their heels. Obi Wan did not falter. Volcanic dust clung to the fibers of his tunics, his boots, settled in his hair and beard. They both coughed on the toxic clouds.

"You're hurt, master," Obi Wan pointed out. "If those anubas catch up to us, you cannot fight."

"I'll do vat I must, Obi Van."

A sigh, and then a breathtaking bound over another sheer rock face. They landed hard, and Evan loosened his grip. "I'll run on my own for a bit."

Skywalker called to them from the next ridge. "They're still following us! We need to spread out. Men, have your weapons ready."

Evan ignited his saber. It was good to have it back in his hands after so many days of cruel imprisonment, endless torture.

Obi Wan still crouched before him, resting on one knee. "Master…you can't fight. Let me carry you."

"Vat? You can't fight properly while carrying me. Don't be foolish, Obi Van."

The younger man stood up, reluctantly.

"I'll be fine, my boy."

They ran, the anubas gaining on them with every stride.

"We should go." Obi Wan heard his own words as though they were spoken by a stranger. Beside him, Anakin's dark-smudged face was drawn into hard lines of grief. The molten light of the magma flow reflected in his eyes. The anubas were only the vanguard of the search effort. They were still hunted; there was no safety until they had left this planet behind. The impossible task of escape still lay before them.

"Master Kenobi?"

He turned to Ahsoka. Her golden skin was also smudged and dirtied with ash. She should not be on this mission at all; a stowaway, she now bore the information which Evan Piell had died to preserve. Her thin shoulders seemed to sag beneath the weight of responsibility, beneath the shadow of Master Piell's death.

"We must keep moving, Ahsoka."

"Do you…would Master Piell have….this is awful. It's wrong."

He watched the child's master stalk away. Anakin, too, looked as though the Force had betrayed him. They had come to rescue a man, who was now dead. They had failed. Or not. Depending on your point of view.

"Master Piell passed the information onto you. You must fulfill your promise."

"I said I would deliver the codes to the Jedi Council."

"And so you shall. Master Piell would be pleased. And he is at peace, Ahsoka. He is one with the Force."

Her luminous blue eyes craved reassurance."It will be fine, Ahsoka."

He gave her bony shoulder a light squeeze as she turned to rejoin Anakin and the remaining clones. He hesitated a moment longer. Unbidden grief tugged at his chest. Master Evan Piell had returned to the Force, leaving this world forever. Was that a voice? Or nothing but the rumble of the magmaic river below?

You'll be fine, my boy.

He smiled, very gently, and passed a hand over his beard to hide it. And then he ran, to join the others. They had to keep moving.