Lineage III

Part 11: Rebel

"I must give due warning: you are unlikely to find the surroundings here… pleasant."

Obi Wan stopped in his tracks, the first stirrings of a very peculiar bad feeling providing adamant confirmation of Dooku's words. "I… what's.. the Force is wrong here." He tried a centering breath, but the sensation of slow suffocation and dizzying lack of balance did not abate.

The Jedi master smiled humorlessly. "DuCrion's present accommodations are of necessity somewhat secure. This particular wing is constructed of thanatosine granite." When the Padawan showed no sign of comprehension, he issued a cursory explanation. "Omphalos minerals are considered Force conduits; this particular substance is thought to disrupt the Force in its near vicinity."

The young Jedi 's lip curled. "It can..diminish the Force?"

"A crude concept, but sufficient for practical purposes. This level once contained prisoners of a powerful nature. That time is long gone, of course… but the Shadows do occasionally still find such provisions useful."

Obi Wan nodded, quashing the incipient nausea this revelation and its very physical manifestation brought on. He reached for the Force, but found it scattered, elusive, as though he were grasping at floating dust motes or holding sea foam in his cupped hands. The sudden voiding of the universe, the evisceration of the world into a hollow puppet-show of sounds and colors, left him reeling. Dooku released an impatient sigh and thrust one strong hand beneath his elbow as they descended a broad stairway.

"Has Qui Gon taught you nothing?" he snorted. "Here, boy, anchor yourself." He came to a halt. "Clearly, there are some glaring lacunae in your training. There are …ways, young Padawan, by which a Jedi might be deprived of the Force –at least temporarily. You should know what to do."

The bad feeling erupted into hot magmaic dread, but Obi Wan merely thrust his hand into his tunic's pocket and found the precious river stone Qui Gon had given him years ago. He rolled the tiny object between his fingers, feeling it warm to the touch, respond to his living presence. The Force flowed gently between them, a tiny closed circuit, a steady current of comfort. Some of the vertigo passed. Although he still had the distinct sensation of being isolated, a lonely island in an abysmal void.

"I'm ready, Master Dooku. I can go on."

The silver haired Jedi frowned over him for a few moments, unconvinced, but in the end he shrugged nonchalantly and led the way to the base of the stairs, where a single door was set in a blank wall of rough-hewn stone. "Here we are. Have a care, Kenobi – this isn't some game in the crèche."

He swallowed, his skin prickling unbearably for want of the Force; he suffered the illusion of being coated in slime, in turgid mud, of drowning in nothingness.

The door slid open, and Dooku stood aside. "I shall wait here."

There was only one other ship in the vicinity – a light shuttle, spaceworthy, and still warm to the touch. Qui Gon reached through the Force, straining for any sign of the Sentinel, of another sensitive in the area. A wavering note of warning seemed to underpin the complex harmonies in the universal energy; nothing imminent, nothing severe. He took a few more paces forward, slipped beneath the strange ship's hull.

If Syfo Dyas had a contact – an informant? A conspirator? Another agent, perhaps from a principality hhostile to the republic, or some neutral or unincorporated world beyond the rims? – then this ship would likely be the only link he would ever find. The engine housings were well-shielded. Qui Gon trailed experienced fingers along the length of the chassis, beneath the starboard dampers, until he found the tell-tale seam in the triple reinforced hull. Another quick scan of his surroundings; as of yet, he was undetected.

He pried open the access hatch with a quick nudge of the Force; there, beneath the protective panel, were the diagnostics for the drives. He slipped a compact knife from his left boot; after all, some things were too delicate for saber work. Carefully wedging the blade between the circuit box and its moorings, he gently extricated the sensor unit. The loss would not be noted until the ship went in for maintenance or encountered difficulties; and a talented hack could gleam much information from the circuits contained within the small object. Qui Gon slipped it into a belt pouch and cautiously shut the outer panel again.

He needed to show Obi Wan that particular saboteur's trick; he made a mental note to run his Padawan through a complete course in underhanded spacer's lore as soon as opportunity presented itself. He knew one or two people who might be convinced to…

A flickering disturbance in the Force tipped him off; he was dashing for cover before the echoes of approaching footsteps even reached the abandoned hangar.

The cell – for it was a cell, there could be no euphemistic veiling of that stark fact – was cold, the Force a faint stirring beneath his breath, nothing more. In the absence of its plenitude, the tiny space seemed a fathomless pit, and the man seated opposite the door, perched as it were upon the narrow shelf of a cot, seemed distant as a far-flung constellation, a celestial curiosity seen through a magnifying lens.

Xanatos Du Crion's hair fell lank about his haggard face. His knees were drawn up, thrusting thin and jagged to either side of his bowed head, twin pillars guarding his hunched form. They drooped, falling down into meditation posture, even as the gaunt face was raised to greet the newcomer.

"Kenobi," the former Jedi said, harshly. "This is unexpected. Did they send you back to comfort me in my affliction or are all Qui Gon's Padawans to be locked up here for safekeeping?"

Obi Wan crossed the infinite emptiness of the chamber on leaden legs. The Force was… gone. His skin prickled with sweat, crawled with absence of life. "Xanatos," he said, taking up a position a mere arm's length away from the… prisoner. "I did not speak justly to you last time we met. I have come to make amends." He could swear there was no air at all in the dank room, but his chest continued to labor, a bellows heaving in shuddering lungfuls of vitality, so he supposed there must be some oxygen. But it was strange not to feel it.

Xanatos's lips twisted into a sympathetic curve. "It takes some getting used to." He waved a regal hand. "Sit. Enjoy my hospitality. You did before."

Foul traitor. Murderer. The thoughts were mere inward sounds, signifying nothing, carrying no import into the plenum. He blinked, realizing that his very mind was enclosed in the same blankness, the same flat insignificance of this place. Obi Wan shook his head. "I'll stand."

"Suit yourself, little brother."

"I am not your brother."

The dark haired man laughed, a grimacing wheeze. "You already said that. I thought you were here to make amends."

"I wish to apologize for my words to you. They were unbecoming, and harsh. I will listen to what you have to say now."

Xanatos leaned back against the hard wall, the thanatosine-flecked stone. "Dooku wants me to take up a life of poverty and contemplation," he smiled wanly. "Penance. What do you think of that?"

Obi Wan frowned. "It seems right. You have done much evil. You've embraced the Dark."

Xanatos chuckled, a hollow rasping sound, leaving no ripple in the dessicated Force. "So have you, Kenobi. You just don't know it yet."

"What do you mean?"

"The Order…. Have you ever considered the corruption of the Republic? The Senate? And the Jedi serve these two rotting, filthy mockeries of light. You're oath sworn to perpetuate Darkness, little one. What do you think of that?"

"I'm not swayed by your ravings. Qui Gon taught you better than that."

"Did he?" Xanatos' blue eyes were rimmed in red, twin sapphires mired in pools of blood. Deep shadows ringed his eyes, painted his cheekbones. "He taught me the same lies he teaches you. Call them better if you will – children do not like the ugly truth about life revealed. I understand."

"I'm nearly done listening. What did you want from me?'

An alarming change came over the cadaverous young man. He leaned forward abruptly, a lunging motion that set the Padawan skittering back a pace. "Your friendship."

Without the Force, there was no clear intention behind these words, no bright corona of thought and emotion to give them context. The syllables fell out of the chill air, brittle hailstones of sound, devoid of real meaning. Obi Wan scowled. "I am not your brother, nor your friend. But… I will help you, if you need help." And without the Force, he did not know whence that promise sprang. It had welled up from his heart before his mind could interfere, and now he stood appalled at his own audacity.

Xanatos leered at him, hungry. "They want me to give over Offworld's assets and confidential files to the Order. Before I become a hermit."

Offworld. Phindar. Arbor Foundation. A net of conspiracy and power and connections, a veritable web of intersecting malice and sedition. Answers to many questions. "They are keeping you here until you agree." It was not the Force which whispered this realization in his ear; it was bleak intuition, the grinding wheels of reason, of experience. The Sentinels had brought Xanatos here to break his will.

"The Order is as corrupt as the Republic. Offworld is mine. If I can't have it, none shall. Help me."

"I… I don't understand." Xanatos was a liar and a murderer. He deserved all that he suffered; he had fashioned his destiny with his own hands.

The prisoner scrubbed two hands over his face. "Help me," he pleaded. " I won't yield over Offworld's records, or its wealth. I will die first, in the Dark. If there is a Light somewhere to serve, it isn't here. It isn't with the Order any longer."

"It is!" Obi Wan objected. "You must have felt it when you returned to the Temple. The Force is strong and powerful here."

A pair of despairing eyes roamed idly over him, their surfaces glazed with cynicism and regret. "If you feel Light here, Obi Wan, it is only that which you carry with you. Someday you'll wake up and realize that. I did."

"I am not you." He took a step backward, toward the door, yearning to escape.

"Help me," Xanaots repeated, in a hoarse whisper. "You're my only hope."

Obi Wan's back hit the hard panel of the door, and it slid open at the pressure, sending him stumbling inelegantly into Yan Dooku's supporting grip.

The Shadow sealed the heavy barrier with a flick of his wrist, held the Padawan hard about the upper arms. "Easy, boy. Did you make any progress?"

Here, in the ringing hollowness of the thanatosine, there was no need to shield. They were all alone, specks of trembling life in a sea of emptiness, stars shining without radiance in the endless void. "No, master," he lied, flatly. Even Dooku's penetrating stare did not pierce the choking, clotting Absence. "Please," he added. "I need to go back – up. To the Temple."

The Shadow was not without pity. His hard gaze softened a trifle, perhaps momentarily imagining a gangly and youthful Qui Gon; perhaps only seeming to. "Breathe, foolish child. Come, I'll lead you."

Obi Wan leaned heavily on Dooku's wiry, muscular arm as the elder Jedi guided him back up the the higher levels, where the stifling effect of the rare mineral was no longer to be felt. He made a shaking bow. "Thank you, Master Dooku."

The silver haired Jedi dismissed him with a small gesture. "Until next time." And strode away on his own mysterious business, his bent saber hilt slapping rhythmically against his thigh as he dwindled away into a shocked memory.

The Force rushed back in, floodwaters crashing through a dam, until the young Padawan was dizzy with it. He leaned on the nearest wall, close to tears of relief, teeth chattering. He could feel the world again, touch it, see it, belong in it. He was no longer undead, a walking corpse. It occurred to him that Xanatos DuCrion had been in that cell for days. A week. A spark of admiration kindled within him, and a swell of pity.

He noted, as an abstract afterthought, that he was in fact soaked with perspiration, and aching head to foot. Ben To would not be pleased.

He pulled his cloak tight about his shoulders and set off at a weary trudge for the residential level, his bad feeling pounding in his pulse, fit to match his splitting headache. By the time he arrived in the familiar corridor, he was only in tenuous control of his emotions. He prayed that Qui Gon would not yet have returned. He needed to think, and to meditate, and to sleep.

The encounter had been…. most disturbing.

Tahl was already in the Temple docking bay when Qui Gon edged the speeder back into the nearest available space.

"You found something," she breathed, after taking one look at his face.

He tossed the ignition cylinder at the sputtering transport droid and slipped the diagnostic circuit-box into her hand. "Buried treasure."

Tahl's shapely fingers closed over the prize. "A contact?" she asked. "Did you witness a liason?"

They strode down the hangar's central aisle, the sleeping vehicles lined up on either side, a silent and gleaming honor guard. "No," Qui Gon shook his head. "I did not stay to be apprehended. I have learned a few things over the years."

Tahl's golden eyes widened in mirth, remembering. "So all your mistakes have paid off. I'll have Ban Yaro look at this … he'll be able to take it apart in no time, and I'll be able to tell you what it means."

They reached the adjoining concourse and the soaring central hall. "You are a treasure beyond reckoning," he said, noticing, not for the first time, how exquisite her fine-boned face was, how delicate the sculpting of her hands, how the Living Force seemed to kindle gently like a vestal fire in the subtle valley above her heart.

Her golden eyes were half-veiled by their luxurious fringe of lashes. "And you are a mangy spice pirate masquerading as a knight," she scoffed, color rising into her cheeks, a tiny pulse beating at the base of her long throat. "Come see me later."

"I will."

"So we can look at what you've discovered."

He bowed. "I need to look in on my favorite brat first. Doubtless he's driven poor Feld Spruu to distraction. Compassion requires that I come to the aid of a fellow Jedi in distress."

Tahl snorted. "Honor among thieves." And she swept down the hall toward the lift tubes.

The Padawan in question was inexcusably late in returning to their shared quarters.

"I thought you were to have an escort at all times." Qui Gon blocked the doorway, his broad frame and sweeping cloak seeming to spill over the threshold, much as his displeasure spilled over their shared bond.

Obi Wan bowed his head. "I am sorry, master – it wasn't for long. I was with.. Master Dooku until five minutes ago."

The Jedi master shifted aside, gestured the truant Padawan through the door, into their quarters. "And what were you doing with Master Dooku?"

A long silence.

"Obi Wan."

His apprentice faced him, expression well-contained, fortified against siege. "I went to see Xanatos, master."

Something shattered, invisibly. Several heartbeats passed in stunned silence.

Some of the color drained from Qui Gon's face. His posture stiffened perceptibly, and the Force was abruptly tinged with his released anger. "Against my wishes," he ground out, tautly.

Obi Wan's chin came up. "Not against your wishes. You did not forbid me to speak with him; indeed, you said we should obey the Council's command to meet with him. I was fulfilling that mandate."

Qui Gon's eyes flashed dangerously. "Your version of obedience jeopardizes your honor, young one. Do not mince words with me."

Obi Wan waved a hand, slamming shut the still open door. "You never forbade it."

"That is a childish equivocation. You know full well that I would not, and do not approve of such a course of action on your part. Your failure to inform me beforehand is sufficient proof of that."

"You accuse me of lying, then."

He raised an eyebrow. "I accuse you of deception. Yes."

The young Jedi abruptly turned his back. Strange and lurid emotions set the Force into a pitched fever.

"Padawan." The acerbic tone brought Obi Wan round again, feet planted in a battle ready stance, hard lines of his face radiating a wounded indignation. "Xanatos is dangerous. And… " he deliberately steadied his voice. "Master Dooku is not a someone with whom I wish you to consort, either."

That had his apprentice's attention. "Master Dooku trained you!" he objected.

"Listen to me. Master Dooku spent much time with Xanatos before his… betrayal of the Order. I do not think his insight is for everyone. His path leads him into strange realms… some you are not yet prepared to encounter."

Obi Wan's bewilderment gave way to a fresh wave of outrage. "I won't Turn master! How can you even conceive such base calumny?" Outrage blossomed into real anger, laced with fear, with doubt and distrust.

The Jedi master narrowed his eyes. "A Jedi has no self; an insult is nothing but a blow to your pride. Do not tell me you are above reproach or temptation."

"I am not following a dark path," Obi Wan insisted, striving to smother his flaring temper beneath a blanket of calm. "I am following the will of the Force."

"You are defying your master," Qui Gon corrected him, sharply.

"From your point of view! You always defy the Council when the Force so prompts you! You told me that a Jedi listens to the will of the Force above all else."

In the name of -! "Do you suppose yourself a master already, that you so surely understand the will of the Force? That you can dispense with all guidance and find your own way?"

"You said that my balance should not depend so minutely upon your own! I am honoring your teachings!"

He seized the Padawan's chin in one hand. "Enough." They glared at each other, mental shields raised to excruciating intensity, the Force roiling about them, deafening and dizzying.

At last the tall man took a deliberate pace backward, loosing his painful grip. " Hear me. I forbid you to speak to Xanatos again. Do not defy my explicit order."

Obi Wan sank to one knee, stricken. "Master! I must. I do not wish to defy you. Please do not lay this command on me." He bowed his head, waiting.

But leniency was far too dangerous a luxury to indulge. "Disobey me in this, Padawan, and you will have committed a serious offense. The Council will not champion the cause of your insurrection, I assure you."

The young Jedi made no reply, but remained kneeling in mute supplication, a silent plea to be released from the crushing dilemma.

Qui Gon turned his back on the heart-rending spectacle, just as he had turned from a broken Xanatos on Telos so long ago, by an act of sheerest will. He would not allow himself to look upon a display of unbecoming emotion…. lest he succumb to the same.

Aching as he had not in years, he went to find Tahl, and peace.