Chapter Twelve

The Lorian hung in dead space, a belying cocoon wrapping around its passengers, a false protector against roiling conflict marring the stars far beyond. Rather, its grey hull was protecting the rest of the galaxy from the worm manifesting inside. Obi-Wan Kenobi was not particularly anxious to see what would spring forth once its two unconscious occupants awoke.

Obi-Wan winced as he sank to the ship's corridor floor. Usually he could simply open himself to exterior elements of the Force, but now he struggled not to defensively block it. The filtered air shivered with disturbance, quivering like glossy, dark fur over a tightly-coiled predator. Or perhaps the prey? He could feel the deep, blackening purple bruise in the cargo hold. Sabé. But was she even Sabé now? What was the extent of the damage?

Damage. Obi-Wan shuddered as he peered into the open cabin door where his apprentice lay. Even after several minutes had passed, Obi-Wan still could not shake his disbelief. Stunned, he was stunned. By everything. By the revelation over Sabé, by his Padawan's actions, by the undeniable fact the dark side was here, by throwing his own apprentice against the bulkhead, and—Obi-Wan sucked in a tight breath—by shackling Anakin to the sleep couch.

What have I done? he thought, staring, uncomprehending. The action had been deliberate. He'd debated and weighed it, and although he'd done it, he could not quite justify it. If Anakin woke to find himself imprisoned by his own Master—well, Obi-Wan needed little imagination. Yet Anakin was still hemorrhaging, bleeding through the Force, unable to scab over. It felt infected. Whatever had happened in the cargo hold, it had not passed through Anakin, and Obi-Wan, no matter how much he wanted to, could not deny his Padawan had wielded the dark side with intention.

Maybe Anakin had not realized it—maybe he had. Did it even matter? Of course it did—but then what exactly?

Obi-Wan shook his head firmly. This was why he was going to meditate. He was still reeling, he needed to find his calm center, sort things out, and then take action. Emergency meditation. And, as much as it stung, Obi-Wan did not trust a conscious, free Anakin while he sorted out his thoughts.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, sinking into his own Force-woven cocoon of calm, knowing he would not find it immediately outside himself. Not with the Force shifting uneasily so. Soon he was calm, detached yet deep inside himself. The events in the hold floated through him, around him, like the thick, gelatinous but clear swamp water of Otah Gunga. He began easily, letting his examination of Sabé seep into and through him.

He'd found it difficult to connect the distant, closed assassin with the warm, open girl from his memory. Yet it was her, or a remnant of her. A reinforced piece of Sabé, tightly clenched, a fist. Obi-Wan had begun to believe it, to believe her. She burned under her stone shell. Accusing her of bounty hunting, of taking lives for money, had insulted the duty-bound handmaiden he'd briefly known on Naboo. "You understand duty, don't you, Jedi Kenobi?" What sort of duty meant murdering Anakin? And what did she mean by insinuating Anakin was not a Jedi? The questioning could only multiply here, and Obi-Wan moved on to yet another mystery surrounding his secretive prisoner: her training. She was not powerful in the Force, yet she felt . . . controlled. More so than he remembered; she could inwardly manipulate it. She meditated more like a Jedi; she was aware of her abilities and their limits. Who, if not Dooku, had trained her? And did that person send her after Anakin? And why did she leave the Naboo Senator's service, and why had Dormé been so uneasy about it? Obi-Wan did not need the Force to feel the deep, searing cut buried in Sabé at the mention of Amidala, and he sensed that, somehow, it all connected.

A thin tendril twined around him, and Obi-Wan obligingly focused. She accused Anakin of deceit, but what was it next? Padmé, his—what? Fury overpowered Anakin then, fury and . . . fear? Fear of what? And she mentioned Tatooine—

Obi-Wan paused and refocused, unwinding the tendril, examining it unfurled and drifting quietly before him. Something had happened on Tatooine. Something to turn Anakin ballistic. His mother had died, which explained anguish, but not anger or fear. What deceit on Tatooine? What did Padmé have to do with it? The tentacle twitched, bait on a lure, and Obi-Wan snatched it.

Anakin's feelings for the Senator were obvious. Deceit, Padmé, Tatooine . . . Fury and fear. It made sense, and yet Obi-Wan sensed he had not swallowed it all, something was missing, something big. Bigger than romance, anyway.

Reluctantly, Obi-Wan focused on his Padawan, acutely feeling the hemorrhage only meters away. He saw Anakin strike Sabé again. No matter the following events, one thing remained clear and sharp and conclusive: Anakin had used physical violence on another living being out of anger and with full intent to cause harm. Obi-Wan only felt a little relief Anakin had not used his mechanical arm. It would have killed her. Though death may be kinder in the end, he realized with severe trepidation.

What had Anakin done? Yes, Obi-Wan felt certain, Anakin meant to break through Sabé's shields, but subtlety was required. Anakin was not subtle. On a good day he was aggressively forthright.

Yet here . . . here Anakin attacked with power beyond aggression, beyond anger. It smote of the dark side, it reaped ash. Whether Anakin recognized what he was doing, it didn't matter, it would never matter. He had done more than lose control, he had wielded with intent, and it was irreparable. Even if Sabé withstood the onslaught, the consequences remained, were breathing and growing. The Force stirred and twisted with them.

Another tentacle swam past, twining around Anakin's actions in the hangar. What had he done to Sabé the first time?

Obi-Wan came out of his meditation with grim resolve. Of all the questions swirling around him, one thing was certain: He must get to Coruscant.

"You understand duty, don't you, Jedi Kenobi?"

Obi-Wan shook his head. That spectral look still haunted him.

As he rose, he felt only mildly refreshed. Putting Anakin under had taken more than he liked, and the crackling afterburn of—whatever that had been—drained Obi-Wan's energy. Still, emergency meditation helped. He felt calmer, a little clearer, but heavy foreboding dragged from his shoulders down to his feet.

But he must contact the Temple.

First he checked Anakin, finding his apprentice still unconscious, though he stung in the Force. Obi-Wan wavered over removing the manacles. What if Anakin awoke during the transmission to Coruscant? He would assume the very worst, and Obi-Wan knew whatever hold he still had over Anakin would be lost. Yet he could not risk the alternative . . . Frowning, Obi-Wan placed a palm over the younger Jedi's sweaty brow, buying a little more time.

Then he moved onto Sabé, cringing at her purple-black bruise in the Force and the one gracing the left side of her face. Obi-Wan had set it healing, but it still grotesquely marbled her pale skin. Again, a sharp pang gripped his chest. Had Anakin used his right arm, he would have killed her. No uncertainty of the consequences lay there.

Nor was Anakin anywhere in the clear. Sabé lay twisted under the blanket Obi-Wan had taken from the sleep couch. Her tightly-knit brow beaded with icy sweat, her eyes rolled under squeezed eyelids, and small, painful gasps passed through her lips. No one needed the Force to see and feel the agony she was in.

This . . . Anakin did this, Obi-Wan thought, a spark of anger mixing with revulsion and stubborn disbelief. He released the emotion, however, and reached into his calm. She cried out as he brushed her temples, froze as every muscle in her body contracted, and then slowly relaxed, becoming limp and submissive as the healing Force soaked through the bruising. When her breathing became closer to normal, though still shallower than Obi-Wan would've liked, he tenderly touched her cheek, aiding the superficial healing.

The Jedi lingered a moment longer, then reluctantly returned to the cockpit, unable to delay the inevitable and necessary.

Last time he'd contacted the Temple, it had been on Wydrillion. Just as he was wondering how long it would take to calibrate a secure Jedi connection to the Temple, Obi-Wan gained a second surprise. The ship's computer seemed almost ready and obliging.

"Perhaps the Force is with this computer," Obi-Wan muttered as he waited for the Temple to accept his signal.

The comm screen flickered to life, and Obi-Wan felt anxious relief to see Mace Windu and Yoda.

"Masters." Obi-Wan bowed his head.

"The transmission code was urgent," said Mace Windu, obliterating any pleasantries or formalities.

"Yes, Masters," said Obi-Wan, wishing for a brief moment he could stop time. "Something has happened with Anakin."

"Felt this, I did," Yoda said quietly. The Jedi Master's large, round eyes were dark and grey, and he seemed, to Obi-Wan, to peer far across the galaxy rather than at him.

"What happened?" demanded Windu.

Too much. Obi-Wan allowed a moment to collect his thoughts and words. He could not ease the facts; he must remain objective and detached, if only in words alone. Nothing less would be expected. Or acceptable. Dutiful, Obi-Wan thought, though it seemed to come from Sabé's lips.

"Anakin has done something . . . bad." Speaking before members of the Council, Obi-Wan felt, was never one of his strong points. Quickly, he reiterated the events as best he could, watching Mace Windu's impassive face hardened remarkably further. Yoda . . . he could not discern, which was nothing unusual or telling.

"You are certain you felt Anakin use the dark side?" Windu asked, once Obi-Wan concluded.

Obi-Wan could not hide a wince. "I am certain." I'm sorry, Anakin.

Windu and Yoda looked significantly at one another, but remained silent for another moment before the taller Jedi Master spoke again.

"Where is he now?"

"Unconscious. For how long, I do not know."

"Come to Coruscant as soon as this transmission ends," said Windu. "This matter will be discussed with the Council before you arrive. Obi-Wan," and here the Jedi Master looked almost sympathetic, "I am sorry. But you are right in telling us."

Obi-Wan nodded numbly. Nothing felt right.

"What should I do, Masters?"

"What you have been. Keep calm."

Only Jedi training and respect kept Obi-Wan from shooting Windu a dirty look. Keep calm, indeed. Sometimes he really did not like the Jedi Council . . . Obi-Wan pushed the thought away and glanced between the Jedi Masters, refocusing his uncertainty for something useful.

"What of S—the assassin?" he asked carefully.

Yoda's ears pricked forward. "Wise you are to use the healing Force on her, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan nodded. He had not expected much more of an answer. She was unconscious; little could be known until she surfaced, and even then, he had very little mind healing abilities or training.

"Do you have more to say, Obi-Wan?" Windu prompted when the younger Jedi slipped into silence.

A reluctant, inaudible sigh escaped him. He could not withhold the information, nor should he even want to. Yet he had the strange urge to keep Sabé's identity secret. Maybe he simply wanted to deny it a little longer, but that was not becoming of a Jedi.

"Yes, Master," said Obi-Wan. "I've discovered the identity of the assassin. That is really about all," he added quickly as Master Windu leaned forward; Yoda remained unflappable. "She is Senator Amidala's former decoy. Sabé."

Windu almost blinked, but allowed an eyebrow to arch. "That is . . . unexpected."

Master Understatement, Obi-Wan thought ruefully. "Yes."

Yoda only looked mildly contemplative as he stared at Obi-Wan.

"She's been trained in the Force, I have no doubt," Obi-Wan continued, "but not by Count Dooku."

"I vaguely remember this girl," Windu said thoughtfully. "Is she strong in the Force?"

Obi-Wan shook his head. No, she was not strong compared to a Jedi, not even close. But then why could he sense her so easily? "No, Master Windu, but she is well-trained." Absently he thought about Anakin's stubborn incomprehension that raw power itself did not measure a Jedi's abilities, but then the horrific vision of his Padawan clamping sheer power around Sabé's head filled Obi-Wan's mind.

Focus, focus.

"Intriguing, this is," said Yoda. "But more urgent, is this matter with your Padawan."

Obi-Wan opened his mouth to speak, but Master Windu cut him off. "We trust you to handle things until you reach the Temple, Obi-Wan. May the Force be with you."

"And you, Masters."

The transmission flickered out, leaving Obi-Wan in terrible silence. He took a moment to rub his eyes and transform the blaring silence into a quiet hum. Outside the viewscreen, empty, black space draped around the Lorian. Somewhere, far beyond the tiny pinpricks of the nearest systems, a war was beginning to wage, and yet, to Obi-Wan, it did not exist. Once again he stood in the death arena, but something worse, more dangerous, was waiting in the dark cage on the other side.

It's your weariness getting to you, Kenobi, he silently scolded himself. Perhaps Anakin will wake up, perfectly normal, Sabé will be fine, and all of this will blow over. Of course, Obi-Wan also reasoned as he set to the navicomputer and prepped the engines idling on conserve, he was not a Jedi known for optimism.

Just as the Lorian jumped into hyperspace, Obi-Wan felt a shift in the Force.

Anakin was waking up.


Sometimes Anakin Skywalker wished he did not, upon waking up, remember everything with perfect clarity. No matter how badly or well he slept, he always knew exactly where he was and what he'd been doing just before drifting off. Now he knew it was a Jedi trait, and a very useful one at that. But sometimes—like right now—he envied those lesser beings who experienced a few precious moments of blissful disorientation.

As he came into consciousness, Anakin had a very bad feeling he was in serious trouble and it would not be a very good day. This assessment was merely a crude summary of what waking up, especially on this particular occasion, was like. He knew he was awake because he could put simple words to the raging tumult in him and around him. All at once, each minute detail and sensation greedy for his attention, Anakin felt the blind, painful fury of the Tusken camp, wanted to scream with panic and rage as his assassin smirked disdainfully at him, her colorless lips gleefully spilling his deepest secret, his only source of happiness; his hands still throbbed with the thick but smooth, black-oiled power he'd bore down upon her; the intoxicating mixture of euphoria and nausea as he wielded such depth of the Force, saw what he'd been too blind with grief to see on Tatooine—

But he also ached from the slam into the bulkhead, inwardly shivered at the look in Obi-Wan's eyes. As if he, Anakin, was only a stranger . . . That told Anakin he was waking up, and it promised to be a very long day.

He also sensed Obi-Wan beside him, and knew it would be useless and unbecoming of a Padawan to feign sleep for even a second. Anakin opened his eyes as Obi-Wan finished slipping something into his robes.

The bad feeling, Anakin thought, was very correct.

Obi-Wan's face said it all. Or rather, it said nothing all, which was always the most telling. Anakin never liked seeing this particular face on Obi-Wan. It was worse than his Serious face, but somehow less severe but worse than his Very Serious frown. It meant Anakin had once again Disappointed, but Obi-Wan, being the Jedi and Master that he was, would do his best to draw out the impact as long as possible.

This always confirmed what Anakin had soon learned after coming to the Jedi Temple.

Masters were sadists.

Obi-Wan would have a different point of view. Of course.

I should probably say something, Anakin thought. Sitting up, he said, "Master." It came out as a croak. Anakin ran his tongue around a thick, dry mouth.

Obi-Wan, still stylistically expressionless, handed him a flask of water. Anakin drained it. The low-key hum of the ship's hyperdrive finally registered as he finished the flask, but it could not penetrate the cumbersome silence between apprentice and master. Anakin slowly capped the flask, fighting to keep edgy defiance off his face.

He's going to sit here and stare at me in silence until I say something, Anakin realized as a full minute passed. Whatever I say first will decide how this goes. He had to be careful, had to think this through. Surely, 'You threw me against the bulkhead!' would not be well met. Truth be it, he did not feel particularly wronged by that. A little hurt, yes, and just a touch annoyed. Okay, really annoyed. But, if Anakin wanted to be fair, his Master had some strong reason. Anakin had disobeyed, had hurt the assassin, had used the Force to hold Obi-Wan back until his focus slipped.

But Anakin had his reasons, too. He had no qualms in causing his assassin a little pain. They needed the information from her. More than Anakin's life was riding on it. If it was only his—well, it would not matter as much. But this—this killer had orders from someone else. She could be the link they needed. And—here Anakin felt immensely justified—she might know who had sent the bounty hunters after Padmé. That meant more than Anakin's own life, thatmeant more than those dead, nameless Padawans.

And she had betrayed Padmé! Leave her to hunt people for money. It made Anakin's blood boil, but at the same time, it ran cold. She knew, didn't she? Knew about their secret marriage, knew about Tatooine . . . Some information should never get out of her.

Never.

Anakin rubbed his eyes, stalling, as he delicately chose his opening.

"Er—how is she?"

There. Jedi show concern for others before themselves.

He couldn't quite meet Obi-Wan's eyes, but Anakin felt certain he said the right thing, even if it sounded like he was admitting to wrong. Humility usually worked well on his Master.

"Alive," Obi-Wan said sharply.

Well, that seemed a bit melodramatic. "What? I didn't exactly try to kill her or anything—"

"You nearly did, however."

Anakin looked up, bewildered. Then he blinked, remembering a small detail he'd forgotten. Glancing down, he saw his hand was slightly bruised. "Oh," was all he could think to say. "I didn't mean to."

"That, Anakin, is not an excuse."

But it's the truth! he wanted to scream. He didn't want to kill her! Just shut her up and break her will, so she would tell him what he wanted to know but not give anything else away. Had not Obi-Wan been trying the same thing? Only he'd been ineffective, unwilling to cause any pain to the one who tried to murder his own Padawan!

Anakin clenched his fists as the injustice riled. "Did it work?" he asked, unable to keep the defensiveness out of his voice. "Did I break her?"

"Her shields, I mean," he added when Obi-Wan's face snapped, horrified.

The Jedi Knight did not answer as he carefully slid behind the mask Anakin hated so much. "I do not know," Obi-Wan said finally. "Broken, she may very well be, but likely not in the way you mean."

'Whoops' seemed an inappropriate response. Anakin looked away and straightened his shoulders. "We're in hyperspace," he said absently.

"Anakin. Look at me."

A command. Damn it. Outright disobedience at this moment would not help him, Anakin knew. Reluctantly, he steeled his features and looked at Obi-Wan. His insides churned uncomfortably at the lost grimness in his mentor and friend's face. The light beard Obi-Wan had taken to a year ago accentuated his deepening frown; Anakin remembered calling Obi-Wan on his obvious attempt at visually reminding him who was the Master. Facing Obi-Wan now, Anakin felt a cold prick of fear. What would Obi-Wan do? Would he tell the Jedi Council?

"Anakin," said Obi-Wan, leaning forward. They were level and only inches apart, and yet Anakin felt as if some divide had cracked open between them, widening like a suns-killed trench on Tatooine. "I will be completely honest with you, but you must—and I mean you must—be honest with me."

"I am always honest with you, Master," Anakin lied.

Obi-Wan said nothing, only stared at him just like the Council always did. Through him.

Anakin looked away.

"Anakin."

Gritting his teeth, Anakin lifted his head. "Yes, Master."

Obi-Wan sat back and crossed his arms. He did not look stern, necessarily, nor did he appear relaxed. "Tell me what happened. Why you attacked Sabé."

He used her name. Something about it set Anakin on edge.

"I . . ." Anakin raked his short-cropped hair, then drew himself up. He was a man, damn it! Not some squirmy little Padawan! The sooner Obi-Wan and the Council realized he was man and accepted this, the better. Padmé saw it, didn't she? He was married, that would show them—but of course he could not tell them.

"I felt I could break through her shields, Master," said Anakin.

Obi-Wan's face twitched skeptically. "I do not recall striking the face to be the first step."

"Oh—" His face flushed. "That—I lost control." Better to admit some wrong. "I just—I could not stand to listen to her lie, or—or disparage Pa—Senator Amidala."

"Anakin," Obi-Wan sighed, rubbing at his eyes. Anakin noticed they looked a little bloodshot, and the weariness suddenly became apparent on the older man's face. "You cannot use loss of control as an excuse for your actions. A Jedi—"

"Jedi don't lose control, I suppose?" Anakin bit out.

"No, they do," said Obi-Wan, gently but not sympathetically, "and they take responsibility for it."

You don't understand! Again, Anakin wanted to scream his thoughts, but kept his . . . control.

"I understand these past few weeks have been hard for you, Padawan. You are facing trials that do not test your physical skills as Jedi, but your heart. It is not weak to ask for help."

"I don't need help." He stood up and moved to the far wall of the tiny cabin and crossed his arms, right shoulder against the bulkhead. Through the contact he could feel the ship's song as it streaked across the galaxy.

"We're going to Coruscant, aren't we?" he said, unable to keep the betrayal out of his voice.

Obi-Wan stood as well, looking more tired than he had after Geonosis. "Yes. The Council is expecting us."

"The Council."

"This matter has gone too far. Yoda already sensed it," Obi-Wan added quickly, probably sensing the angry protest Anakin felt in his throat.

"What? What did he sense?"

Obi-Wan looked away for a moment, and Anakin had a very bad feeling about it. Finally, his Master, grim-lipped, met his gaze Anakin. "The dark side. You used it Anakin. Used it on another being."

"I didn't . . ." The protest died on his lips. All too easily he heard the thundercrack of his lightsaber searing Tuskens in halves, heard their screams, felt the black, turbulent whirlwind that consumed him. He felt the liquid shine of the black oil ripple through his fingertips as he drove his will into the assassin. He could still feel her golden brown warmth filling him, as if he were breathing her essence in, her very life

"You did not realize," Obi-Wan said quietly.

Anakin shook his head. He felt hot and itchy. Sunburned.

"Not knowing the power you were using does not excuse malicious intent."

"Master?" No, no, he would not sound panicked, he would not. My intent was the same as Obi-Wan's, we had the same goal, he told himself. It stood to reason.

"I want to help you, Anakin. The Council will want to investigate your actions. I will stand by you—as your Master and friend—but I cannot defend you. But I will help you."

I don't NEED your help! I'm not a boy! But Anakin only nodded. "You told the Council," he bit out.

Obi-Wan should've sighed and run a hand through his hair, Anakin thought, but he didn't. He merely stood there, arms at his sides, looking intensely tired but firm.

"I had to, Padawan," he said quietly.

"Couldn't we sort this quietly?"

The frown deepened, if possible. "We were."

Anakin gritted his teeth. Fine. Fine. He messed up. He should've kept calm until Obi-Wan was resting,then he should've taken a turn at interrogating the assassin. Then he would not be in this mess. He could've calmly forced her will, and if she said anything incriminating, well, Obi-Wan would not be around to hear it.

A Jedi does not dwell on should haves.

"All right," Anakin said, throat tight. "What do we do now?"

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. "You are going to meditate, young one. You will also not enter the cargo hold or do anything to interfere with Sabé. Do you understand?"

His artificial hand clenched at those words. "Why do say her name?"

Obi-Wan blinked, thrown. "It is her name."

"She tried to kill me."

"I am fully aware of that."

"So, then why?"

"Anakin," and here Obi-Wan sounded a touch exasperated, "that has nothing to do with her name. Do not think for a single moment I have forgotten what she tried to do! She attempted murder, yes. That is not an invitation for my sympathy, if that is what you're afraid of."

Anakin looked away. Why was he trying to accuse Obi-Wan of anything? It was bad enough he'd told the Council; he didn't need another reason to be upset.

"Now," said Obi-Wan, "do I have your word you will meditate, refrain from entering the hold or interfering with Sabé in any way?"

He waited just enough to show thought and consideration, then nodded. "Yes, Master."

"Good. If you'll excuse me."

"Where're you going?"

Obi-Wan sighed and turned slightly. "If you will take a moment to listen, you will hear the damage you have done."

Now that he expanded his senses beyond his own little realm of the cabin, Anakin could hear the faint sounds of . . . crying? No, it was more of sob or choked scream, like someone having a terrible nightmare . . . It reminded him too much of his mother's cries that brought him to Tatooine—

Obi-Wan turned away, but Anakin still read the look in his eyes. Look what you've done. The door closed behind the Jedi's back, leaving Anakin in silence. He could still hear her if he listened, but Anakin did not want to listen.


It was one of the worst hyperspace journeys Obi-Wan could remember. When the Lorian had emerged into real space to switch runs, the Temple had rerouted them around the Separatists' latest strike. Apparently the Trade Federation and Count Dooku wanted to convey to the galaxy they were serious about this war. Even without the disruption, the journey seemed to stretch longer than it should. Only the tense journey from Coruscant to Naboo ten years ago compared to the taut silence between Obi-Wan and Anakin. But what could he say? What could he do?

Obi-Wan wearily rubbed his eyes and face as he sat on the cargo hold floor. He needed to sleep soon, but he dared not.

The Jedi Knight glanced down at the still, curled figure under his robe. The bruising had gone down. But would it be enough? Obi-Wan stared at Sabé's momentarily quiet form, unable to dispose of his grim fear. Yes, the bruising had gone down, but what did it leave behind? He only risked tentatively searching her through the Force, but she felt too tender for him to prod further. It seemed cruel to leave her on the floor like this, but allowing her the cabin bed would undoubtedly not sit well with Anakin. Not that Anakin should be coddled, but the situation was just too delicate to agitate Anakin any further.

Sighing, Obi-Wan rested his head against the bulkhead, thinking on the seemingly endless hours transpiring in the small ship. The silence was too intense, yet he could only break it with small, functional words. Anakin refused to speak about it, and Obi-Wan felt uneasy about pushing the Padawan too far. At least he could be certain Anakin was uncomfortable whenever Sabé cried out. Disturbed, more like. It meant he could be reached. And yet . . . as Obi-Wan studied her hollowed cheeks, he wondered just how this would affect Anakin. Outwardly it depended on the damage done. If she did not recover, Anakin was no doubt expelled from the Order, and Obi-Wan did not wish to think of the consequences there. But even if Sabé's mind was still intact, the damage to Anakin had been done, the actions still remained. It depended on the Council, Anakin's cooperation and behavior.

It was, quite simply, a mess of things.

The Jedi shivered and tried to blame it on the ship's environmental system and his lack of robe. Anakin had not looked happy when Obi-Wan had surrendered his robe to a trembling Sabé. That was just too bad. He'd have to deal with it. Obi-Wan had explained it bluntly. Anakin's fate may very well ride on Sabé's condition, and Obi-Wan did not want hear any complaints over helping her.

Obi-Wan's frown deepened as Sabé's smooth brow knitted again and her eyelids tightened. Her breaths began to tighten into shallow gasps as she shifted, clearly in pain.

"I'm sorry," he sighed, straightening up. Did he have enough strength to help her again? If, indeed, he was helping at all. Obi-Wan smiled derisively at himself. What sort of Jedi was he? It did not matter if he was too exhausted. The Force was not.

Just as he was reaching into his reserve, she moaned out a soft, "No." Obi-Wan paused, his heart and stomach switching places. Could it be? Or was it just hope? Incoherent monosyllables could sound a lot like 'no'. Reaching through the Force, Obi-Wan cautiously absorbed her presence, and battled a tight, sharp hope in his chest.

Painfully tender and obviously in agony, he could feel her familiar presence rising through it. This felt like a nightmare, not whatever tortured state Anakin put her in. Was it possible? Was she still Sabé somewhere in there, fighting her way out? Or was this just another stage, another inner hell?

"No . . . no, please!"

Obi-Wan sucked in a shaky breath. "Please, Force, let this be good," he muttered as sweat beaded her forehead. Should he ease the nightmare or let it unfold? Sometimes the mind needed to work it out on its own. The bruising was down, he could sense—dare he think it?—a consciousness somewhere under it. Interfering now could set her back . . .

She began to plead quietly, her voice rising as her breaths shortened. Obi-Wan shifted around as she started to thrash, adopting an alert, kneeling position. Tears seeped from her squeezed eyelids as she cried out in pain.

"Sabé," Obi-Wan said gently. The Force shifted as her attack heightened. "Sabé. It's all right."

"No! Stop . . . please . . ."

He sensed Anakin's approach just before the Padawan called out thickly, "What's going on?"

Obi-Wan only half-turned to see Anakin just barely peeking his head into the hold. He opened his mouth to sharply reprimand the boy, but stopped. Anakin was not, technically, in the hold, and although his face was very closed (a new skill he seemed to have picked up), the turmoil showed clearly in his eyes.

"I think it's a nightmare," said Obi-Wan. He tried to keep his tone gentle, but his throat was too tight, too strained. "You best return to the cockpit or the cabin, Anakin."

Anakin nodded after a moment and disappeared.

Obi-Wan had little time to think about Anakin's momentary obedience as Sabé's cries intensified and she twisted around his robe. "Sabé," he said, reaching out to touch her forehead. She jerked her head from his touch, then stilled as it lulled back against his fingertips. Despite her ashen cheeks, her skin burned under his touch. "Come on, Sabé," Obi-Wan whispered, pushing dark, tangled hair away from her face so he could read it.

She seemed to be calming, her brow smoothing as her breath evened through chapped lips. The nightmare seemed to be passing. He shifted back a little and rubbed at his weary eyes again. Was this good?

Then she jerked and cried out again, thrashing more violently than before.

"Sabé!" Obi-Wan snatched a flailing wrist before it cracked against a bulkhead. She was going to injure herself. He winced against the searing pain rolling off her in the Force and, just for a second, considered calling Anakin for help. Grabbing her other wrist, Obi-Wan tried to restrain her thrashing, but it must have sent her into a panic. She screamed and wrenched out of his grasp, one hand clawing at his tunic as the other thumped against the wall.

"Easy, Sabé, easy," Obi-Wan soothed, ignoring the sharp pain of her nails finding purchase just belong his neck. She let out a raw scream and jerked violently, her body shooting up as her eyes flew open. Obi-Wan grabbed her by the shoulders and steadied her.

Everything froze. Wide, dark bloodshot eyes stared back him, glossy and unfocused. She trembled in his grasp, breaths coming too fast, too shallow, her pulse erratic. She looked dead. A rag doll, head lolling to the side. Nothing flickered behind her eyes as she stared straight at him, unseeing, caught somewhere beyond him.

Obi-Wan fought his rising panic and focused intensely. "Sabé," he said quietly, firmly. "Sabé. It's Obi-Wan. Sabé."

Nothing.

"Sabé."

Something flickered. Or was it a trick of the light?

"Sabé?"

Those large, dark eyes seemed to focus on him. Obi-Wan held his breath, sickened as time seemed to stretch on. Something gold seemed to flicker behind those deadened eyes and her lips moved soundlessly.

"Sabé?" he tried softly, again.

She stared for another moment, then her lips moved again with her breath.Obi-Wan? He felt a nauseating rush of possible relief. Had she said his name? Did she recognize him? The weakened muscles in her right arm tensed under his grip as she slowly lifted a trembling hand, the other still clenching the V of his tunics. He dared not breathe, afraid she would shatter at any moment. Physically or mentally, it did not matter. Her fingertips stretched toward his face, as if, perhaps to confirm his existence. Just as he could almost feel them brush his cheek, her eyes flickered again and she dropped her hand, jerking out of his hold, gasping and clutching her head.