Author's Note: Well, not so much of a delay this time! Aren't you proud of me? I realize this chapter is shorter than the last couple have been, but an author can only write so fast…Hopefully you will enjoy this segment. If you have the time, reviews are always great…

In the maze of hyperspace…

Luke's nerves didn't seem to have calmed down yet. The kid was fidgeting on the bench in the rec room, where Han had tried to engage him in a game of dejarik, and kept glancing around, and after Han's last move, had burst into tears clear out of the blue.

Han figured that was okay. He wasn't feeling too calm just yet either, after all the sudden turns his life had taken in the last hour—and in his opinion, the kid had every reason to be terrified about the old man. The guy was creepy in his own right; throw in Imperial headhunters, and you had a recipe for a nervous breakdown.

Luke now had his head down on the table in his arms, shoulders still shaking violently; Han was collapsed into the seat, watching him a bit blankly, at a loss for what to do. Krethin' Force, he wasn't some kind of babysitter! What in the Empire was he supposed to do with this kid?

Abruptly he remembered the data chips Kenobi had thrown in his hands—hadn't the old man said something about an address? Yeah, that was right. He was supposed to take the kid to some address; it must be listed somewhere in the chips. He rummaged around in his pockets and scattered them onto the game table amidst the hunkered down monsters. There were four of them, all of the same model; he could find nothing to distinguish one from another.

Well, they weren't going to be any good without a reader. He cast a futile glance around the rec room of the ship, and finally went back to watching Luke. The youngster seemed to be calming down some now. Probably he ought to do something.

Uncertainly, he shifted himself over beside the kid. "Hey, uh…you okay?"

Luke didn't respond at all. Clumsily Han reached over and patted his shoulders. "Hey, it's all right," he tried. "We got away just fine, and I bet the old—uh, your friend—will too."

Luke shuddered afresh, and broke into outright sobbing, shaking his head violently. Sheesh, what had he said this time?

After a while Luke finally answered, sounding breathless and despairing. "No—no."

"No what?"

"He's not gonna get away." The kid sounded as though he'd read the entire story of Kenobi's life, or seen a documentary on him or something—there was absolutely no hope in his voice.

"Hey, how about a little optimism?" Han countered. "He could get away, ya know—nothin's for certain."

Luke just shook his head gravely again; Han decided it was probably better to get off the subject of Kenobi altogether. "Okay, well, first off we gotta find that address I'm supposed to be takin' you to. I don't suppose you'd happen to know it?"

Luke shook his head, wiping his face. "I don't know where they are," he said softly.

"Your uncle and aunt, right?"

"Yeah."

"Got a datapad?" Luke frowned and reached down to his backpack on the floor, rummaging through it for a couple minutes, but came up empty-handed. They then tried the cockpit systems, which should have been a sure bet. But the ship was apparently older than either of them had thought. The darned cockpit systems were actually too outdated to handle the data chips.

After Han had expressed his opinion of the ship—or more accurately, impressed it upon the control panels, to the tune of several scratches on his fists—they spread out through the corridors to hunt for anything resembling a modern data reader. But none of the ship's systems were compatible. They met again in the rec room.

"What kind of krethin' sith-spawned son-of-a—" Han cut his rant off short at the disapproving glare Luke shot him from the seats. "What kind of an idiot owned this crate?" he amended.

"I think the owner was a third-rate dealer," Luke offered. "Probably nobody's flown her for years."

"Ya think?" Han groaned. "Any pilot with a working brain cell would've updated the systems by now!"

"Maybe there's a datapad in the cases," Luke mused.

On Alderaan…

Bail Organa paced nervously in front of his desk. He'd waited a good two days, to be sure that Vader's departure was permanent, before daring to activate a call to the emergency com number that Obi-Wan had given him on Polis Massa. He was still a bit reticent about using it now; but he had no idea what kind of danger Leia might be in, how much Vader might suspect, and there were only two beings in the galaxy that had a better clue than he did. And between Yoda and Obi-Wan, the latter would know more about Vader than the former.

Besides that, he didn't have a com number for Yoda.

So now he strode back and forth before his desk, casting impatient, nervous glances at the com system and the locked door. It would likely take quite a while for the call to be put through, at interstellar distances. And he had no idea anymore where the Jedi master was in the galaxy—he could be clear on the opposite side of it, in which case the call would still go through, but could take as much as twelve hours to connect. Possibly more, if Kenobi had ventured into the Unknown Regions…

No, he would not have done that. Not with the boy—too risky, certainly.

Bail sighed and sat himself back down in his chair. He had been waiting for three hours now—Force, but he hoped the call went through soon—

It chimed a ready signal, suddenly—Bail leaned quickly forward and keyed for the connection.

Corellia…

It was not quite so dramatic a setting as their last clash—the empty, bare-walled ground floor of a construction project, lit only by emergency lights and their clashing sabers. No fiery lava to illuminate the scene, or to make them watch their step—in fact it was eerily like the times they had used to hold practice duels in the blackout rooms at the Temple.

Except that even the blackout rooms had been equipped with ledges, sloping ground, rough uneven patches of flooring, obstacles—and this vast room was just flat.

Not a good setup for Obi-Wan. Given a demanding terrain, he might have gotten the better of Vader by virtue of being more nimble, and have possibly escaped him. But here the dark lord could use the superior strength of his prosthetic limbs, his height, to their full advantage.

He needed to find better terrain, or else he would shortly be made mincemeat. If he had to fight, he would certainly prefer escape to self-sacrifice. Desperately he wrenched his saber up into another block, and darted back several steps from Vader to gain a short reprieve, panting. His arm and leg and back all burned angrily, but thank the Force the injuries were not debilitating.

Vader circled for a moment before closing the distance quickly, and another rapid flurry of feints and parries cast sparks and the crazy flash of the blades across the bare permacrete. Obi-Wan broke apart again, barely escaping a slash that would have taken off his good arm. He shot a quick glance around the room, trying to find an exit—if not to freedom, then at least to more favorable ground.

There! A turboli—

The Force warned him and he ducked and rolled, pulled himself back up and had his lightsaber into a guard scarcely in time to deflect a particularly vicious attack from Vader. Thankfully his reflexes had not left him yet—he got quickly back into a two-hand defensive stance, before Vader could take advantage of his one-handed grip and slice his hand off.

A new strategy congealed in his mind—abruptly he switched to the attack, as hard and sudden and fierce as possible, driving Vader back several steps with the sheer speed of his attack and surprise. But if he had not anticipated an attack, even less had Vader expected him to break off mid-assault and tear across the room into the turbolift.

…

The dark lord snarled with rage beneath the mask as Kenobi fled him, slipping into a lift and sending it up. He had previously and still did know better than to assume the Jedi master a coward, but this!

Most likely Kenobi was hoping that farther up in the structure, they would encounter construction and the terrain would be friendlier. Or perhaps he simply wished to regroup. Either way, it seemed to be rather in contrast with his earlier sacrificial mood…not that Vader was in any way displeased by the prospect of a good fight. If Kenobi dragged this game of hide-and-seek on for too long, well, he would order his men to the construction control site and have them take over the building systems to slow the Jedi down.

But he was not averse to a bit of hunting…

…

Obi-Wan leaned wearily against the wall of the turbolift, and was trying to think where it would be best to stop when his thoughts were interrupted by a steady beeping.

It took him a moment to realize it was his—oh, Force, it was his emergency com! Was it even possible for life to get more hectic at present?

He seized it, switched it on, dreading the news he might have—and Bail Organa's voice came over the speaker.

"Master Kenobi?" he asked.

"Senator Organa," he gasped, still trying to catch his breath from the fighting. "Is she all right?" There was no need to identify she.

Bail frowned. "Other than suffering from some severe nightmares, she appears to be well enough at the moment," he answered. "But there was a worrying incident two days ago between her and a guest of the palace…"

"Quickly, please, Senator," Obi-Wan cut in, glancing at the lights on the lift. He wasn't far from the top—and he didn't want to leave himself trapped at the top. He stopped the lift and practically fled out of it. He had to keep Vader on the run long enough to speak with Bail.

"She fell into some sort of trance; our guest was with her at the time—apparently she was reacting to her nightmares, screaming and clearly terrified—I saw some of it myself. I fear that this may cause our guest to suspect her."

"Who was this guest?" Obi-Wan ducked down a side hall quickly. Vader was approaching via the lift he had used; but there was another at the end of this hall that he could take several levels back down.

Bail took a deep breath. "It was Lord Vader."

Obi-Wan nearly froze mid-stride.

"Master Kenobi, do you think he will suspect her?"

Obi-Wan dodged into the lift—he could hear the respirator growing louder as the doors sealed and the car plunged down. "Perhaps I could just ask him for you," he said darkly.

Bail stiffened. "What?"

Obi-Wan sighed. "Let's just say you may well not hear from me again."

"Master Kenobi—Force, what about—"

"Have a ship standing by for her with these coordinates," Obi-Wan cut him off, thinking quickly. He punched a well-memorized code into the com and transmitted it. "If the Empire comes after her, send her there. She will be cared for. Also—contact this number as soon as possible." He transmitted a second code as he ran from the turbolift to find another—he could sense Vader descending quickly after him. "It's the Lars' emergency com—there should be an important delivery en route. Check it until they tell you it has arrived. If it does not"—he racked his brains for a third code and transmitted it as soon as he had it—"tell them to begin searching for the ship with this transponder code." He arrived at another lift and desperately hit the activation key—but it did not respond. Vader must have had his men shut down the building's system. Desperate for just a little more time, he dashed down the first convenient hallway and discovered an emergency staircase.

Was that all he needed to tell Organa? "Did Vader give any indication he was suspicious of the incident?"

Bail shook his head. "Not in my presence," he said. "And I had her repeat their conversation—I don't believe there was anything suspicious. At least, not in what my daughter said. He seemed to be acting rather out of character."

"How so?"

"He was enquiring as to the reason why she could not sleep, and asking about the nature of her dreams and how long they had persisted—and according to her, even admitting that he himself had been unable to sleep."

Obi-Wan frowned as he ran down the steps. Indeed it did not sound like a Sith lord, particularly not one who had slaughtered children previously. The memory of the Temple recordings came sharply back to his mind.

Did Vader suspect the little princess' Force sensitivity? Was that why he had demonstrated an interest in her? Force, he could only hope not. "Keep a sharp eye," he finally said. "And do not let her go aboard any ship without having those hyperspace coordinates preprogrammed in. It would be best to keep her near the palace for a year—if nothing has happened by then, you may take it that she is safe." He emerged from the stairs, panting—and already could sense that Vader was on the floor. Of course. If he had men controlling the systems, he could easily order them to activate an individual lift for his use.

He didn't have much time.

"If there is anything I can do, I will do it," Obi-Wan said. "This com will not be good again."

"Yes, Master Kenobi." He paused, and then said softly, "May the Force be with you."

"And with you," Obi-Wan said tersely. He could hear the respirator again, faintly. "Kenobi out." He switched off the com, tossed it to the ground, ignited his saber, and drove it repeatedly through the device until he was absolutely sure nothing could be retrieved from its remains.

Thank the Force he'd been in the turbolift when that com went off—

The sound of the respirator came stronger to his ears. Desperately he glanced around, but in vain. If anything his situation was worse. He now found himself in a narrow corridor that permitted even less maneuverability than the ground floor had. And the turbolifts were down. On the rooftop, he might have managed to even the odds, given the rough constructions and scaffolding and other obstacles that were sure to have been present—but there was no way he would get up to the top levels now, not with Vader in command of the turbolifts.

His best bet would be back on the stairs, where he could at least perhaps gain the advantage of high ground. He spun in his tracks, decision made—and stopped promptly as a tall, ominous, black figure rounded the corner down the hallway.

Nothing for it now. Wearily the Jedi adopted his defensive stance once more.

"Your games gain you nothing," Vader hissed as he approached, clearly irritated by their little chase. "You cannot escape the power of the dark side."

Obi-Wan rather wanted to roll his eyes and remind Vader of the outcome of Mustafar; but he was still a Jedi, and Jedi did not taunt their opponents…

Suddenly he remembered Bail's frantic call; the possibility that Vader might suspect Leia's Force potential. There was no doubt in Obi-Wan's mind that Vader would indeed find such a peculiar trance most suspicious—the man had not been the Chosen One of the Jedi for nothing. Likely only word that he was on Corellia had distracted Vader from the incident…the Force had granted him only one chance to protect both Bail and Leia from the Empire.

Oh, Force, no, not this too…The mere idea was nearly enough to make him sick. I cannot do that to Anakin! I cannot!

Oh, but yes he could. He had to—else risk the lives of a leader of the Rebellion and one of that same Rebellion's best hopes. There was really no choice. It might or might not work. It was a great risk—and the price must necessarily be his life, in the event that it succeeded. Yet he had to try. It was either this or kill Vader outright—and that he could not do.

The first step…taunting, unfortunately. "You may have forgotten," he spoke up, "but Sith lords are my speciality."

A spike of rage went up from Vader at the reference to the duel aboard Grievous' flagship with Dooku, and all the memories that went with it.

"And," Obi-Wan continued mercilessly, ignoring his conscience as much as possible, "I believe my ability to handle this particular Sith lord has been conclusively proven." He gestured up and down the dark lord's mechanized hulk with his lightsaber.

The onslaught was so vengeful it was a wonder he survived it, but he contrived to dodge past Vader and give him a good distracting slash to a prosthetic leg. It didn't disable the unit, but it destroyed enough connections to play havoc with the impulses, causing the limb to go out from underneath the dark lord's hulk briefly—and distracted him just enough for Obi-Wan's grim purposes.

In terms of physical strength, Obi-Wan was the weaker—but when it came to dexterity in the Force, his greater experience still accorded him the superiority. With Vader momentarily distracted and in a blind fury, he was able to break cleanly through the weakened walls around the man's mind.

Lightsabers were immediately forgotten.

A howl of incredulous fury erupted from the mask's vocabulator as Vader realized his opponent's intent. To his credit, he regathered himself and renewed his defense—but he could not get rid of Obi-Wan's presence in his mind, for the Jedi master was still the stronger of the two on this front. Quickly Obi-Wan sifted through memories, until he found the one he wanted. It proved simple enough to alter—it was much harder to cement the fabricated memory irreplaceably in Vader's mind. He had to make very sure it was no less vivid and realistic than any other memory the man had, to ensure that time would not fade it and cause Vader to realize where precisely he had tampered—that might be as fatal as the original memory. And upon seeing this one, he did not doubt that Leia's life depended upon his success.

The shrieks of rage continued; Obi-Wan flinched as they took on a note of pain. Darth Vader was no less stubborn than Anakin Skywalker, and he was having to rip and tear and wrench all over to get the memory satisfactorily altered. And at no small cost of injury to himself, due to the man's fierce efforts to thrust him out—but Force, if it had been the other way around, he'd be doing no less—

Done. Obi-Wan made a final check, but he had missed nothing.

All memory of the incident with Leia had been stripped from Vader's mind. There was absolutely nothing left to give him any cause for suspecting her. And just as importantly, he had left no hint behind him as to which memory had been subjected to tampering. It was as strong and perfect a mend as he could make—and Obi-Wan was if nothing else a very deft hand at mental tricks.

He held behind a few seconds more—he knew all too well what had to happen as soon as he withdrew from Vader's mind, in order to ensure that the man did not attack his mind in turn and recover the information that had been taken. His hand was ready on his lightsaber hilt—subtly he turned it around, aiming it away from the dark lord, angling it up towards his own chin.

I'm sorry, Anakin, he sent gently to the raging mind around him. I loved you, brother. Nothing but raw fury answered him. One last time, he touched his lost apprentice's mind, trying to convey the depth of his sorrow and regret.

In one smooth, sudden retreat, he withdrew from Vader's ravaged mind—and before the dark lord could react, the blue lightsaber ignited, and Obi-Wan Kenobi was one with the Force.

Aboard a certain battered freighter…

Han and Luke were standing over the game table, fiddling busily with the locks on one of the cases when a bone-deep shudder shook Luke from head to toe. He dropped to his knees, and one hand was clenched around the edge of the table.

"Luke! You okay?" Han demanded desperately, not knowing what he'd do if the kid wasn't okay.

"He's gone," Luke whispered. Unlike before, there was no sign of tears—just utter shock.

"Huh? Who's gone? Kenobi?"

Luke nodded slowly, brow furrowed, as trying to understand the depth of the loss.

"Come on, kid, show a little optimism," Han tried. "We don't know he's dead."

"Yes, I do," Luke answered quietly.

Han laughed shakily. "How could you possibly know that?"

"The Force," was the simple reply.

"The Force?" Han's mind shot back abruptly to the strange mind-reading version of dejarik the two of them had been playing in the cantina only a few days ago. "For cryin' out loud, kid—don't tell me you actually buy all that Jedi mind-readin' sithspit," he scoffed. "A whole load of magic tricks and luck is all it—"

The young Corellian broke off mid-sentence as the case on the table abruptly leapt into midair and took itself on a weaving tour of the rec room before settling back down. He turned and found Luke watching him with a challenging spark in his blue eyes. There was a very long and uncomfortable silence.

"My father was a Jedi Knight," Luke finally said quietly. "So was Obi-Wan."

Han blinked. "You're tellin' me that crazy old man was a Jedi Knight?"

Luke nodded gravely.

And all of sudden, it made perfect sense why Kenobi had been so keen to avoid Imperial notice, and why he had ordered Han to keep Luke away from the Empire. If the Empire caught this kid—well, Han could pretty well guess how the story would end.

Fast.

He found himself doubting less and less that the kid might actually know something about what had happened to Kenobi. Which kind of made him a bit sickened, thinking about the old guy lying dead somewhere—sure, he'd been weird, but all around he'd been a pretty decent kind of guy…

Well—if Kenobi was dead, he was dead, and if Luke was wrong, he had no way of knowing, and either way there wasn't anything they could do about it, so they might as well get on with figuring out where he was supposed to be taking Luke.

"Hey—if you want, you could go settle down somewhere for a while," Han offered, doing his best to be sympathetic to the boy's evident grief. "I'll take care of getting this open and stuff, if you'd like to be alone."

Luke nodded, getting slowly to his feet; he vanished into the back of ship, and Han didn't see him again for several hours.

It took him awhile to get the case opened, without any of the passcodes, but the lock wasn't the greatest, and he got it picked eventually. Looking around some at the contents, he could tell that Kenobi must have packed this one, because he didn't recognize anything in it. Mostly it was just a bunch of random stuff—another sealed container with a sophisticated biometric lock, data chips, clothes, a compact training remote…and there (about time!) was a datapad. Almost gingerly he tried to insert one of the data chips…

"Aha!" It clicked in neatly, and the pad powered on to display the chip's information, just like technology was supposed to work. He skimmed through the information on the first chip, but found no address. The same with the second…but the third finally paid off his search. Home Code 56-1138-44B, Antilles City, Kytoa. Simple enough. He read it over once more to memorize it and went to the cockpit to consult the nav computer. Kytoa, Kytoa…there it was. Like you'd expect, given Kenobi's paranoia of the Empire, Kytoa was an outlying planet, even further out than Tatooine. He couldn't get a detailed planetary map now—probably he'd have to get it from the planet transportation department when they arrived in system. But he had the hyperspace coordinates for the place.

First, of course, they would have to complete the current jump. Han only knew three planetary hyperspace coordinates off the top of his head. Of course, he knew what Corellia's were—44-1-22-1-44, one of the easiest ones out there—and every idiot in the galaxy knew the coordinates to Coruscant, 00-0-00-0-00. Due to a rough street life, mixing around with crime lords and smuggling rings, Han had quickly picked up one more—15-6-33-2-75, Nal Hutta and Nar Shadda.

He didn't much want to go gallivanting into Hutt space; but at least he could be sure that the system would not be crawling with Imperials, which was more than he could say for Coruscant. Hopefully they could be in and out of the system without any trouble; all he needed was a few minutes to activate the next jump. He could work out the series he needed before they left hyperspace to save on time.

And hopefully Luke would be in something resembling a normal mood by the time they got to Nal Hutta. If not, well, he'd be dropping Luke off soon at this Kytoa.

Corellia…

Darth Vader stood frozen in stunned, utterly impotent fury, staring at the body of his master. And as he watched, even that faded before his eyes. He was left with absolutely nothing.

He could not quite stand to comprehend that the man had managed to rob him of his vengeance. It would not fathom. It was unacceptable. He would not allow it. Such a thing was impossible.

But there it was.

He would never now have revenge for the injuries done to him, never seize payment for the hideous betrayal—nor for the man's most recent offense.

A fresh rage swept through him—curse Kenobi, to all nine hells of Corellia and beyond! The pain in his mind launched him out of his stunned stupor—he slashed in mindless wrath at anything that came to hand, hacking great gashes in the wall and floor, shredding what was left of the man's empty robes, seizing up his lightsaber and almost physically tearing it apart—but nothing at hand could satisfy the dragon of his rage. Force, he had never felt so helpless, not even on the operating tables after Mustafar—

His rage quadrupled at the thought of Mustafar. Utterly impotent, seething as he never had before in his life, the dark lord stalked from the construction project.

His men promptly brought the landspeeder down to meet him.

"Lord Va—" That was as far as the officer got before a blood-red plasma blade sliced him into mincemeat; the two stormtroopers followed only seconds after him. His rage the slightest bit placated, Vader found himself sufficiently controlled to fly the speeder back to the Strip, where the crew of the shuttle met precisely the same fate as that of the speeder. He went back up to the Vindicator, and by heading straight for the detention block was able to avoid massacring the bridge officers who came to meet him.

When he left the detention block twelve hours later, there was not a single operational probe droid or living prisoner remaining aboard the Star Destroyer. His fury was far from spent—but Kenobi had inflicted plenty of very painful damage on his mind, and he could withstand the pain no more without rest and an effort to heal.