FYI - I'd written quite a bit of this story already but I'm coming close to the end of what I've written so far. Since I'm a very, very slow writer, I'm going to be posting at a slower rate so that you won't be waiting forever for the next post.

Chapter 26 - Conversations with the Living and the Dead

Part 2

Hurry... hurry...

The sharp slap of boot-hide on duracreet echoed in the stairwell, the noise ricocheting like blaster fire in the tiny space. Harsh breathing, too, whistled out of his throat as the effort to fly down the stairs began to take its toll. And from high above, Atel's frantic calls mingled and tumbled and pushed into a frenzied cacophony of sound.

It did little to slow Obi-Wan down. Ignoring all but his heart's imperative, he continued to jump from landing to landing in a furious effort to reach his Master before it was too late. He could not think about what was happening above him in the treacherous Council Chamber or the changes that the Jedi Order was about to undergo or even what his faithless Padawan might do once she found out the truth.

He could only think of the now and rescuing Qui-Gon.

Pushing ever faster, at last, there was one final platform and he had reached bottom. Shoving past the scarred door, he began to run frantically toward the lighted cell at the end of the hall. The length of tiled floor and dark cages of Jedi justice took on a surreal air as he scrambled past but he shook his head to clear the disturbing thoughts from his mind. He needed to be focused if he had any chance of saving his Master.

Ahead, in the muted glow of that hated prison trap, that cell that had held only terror and toxin and death, on the duracreet floor he could just make out a body in blue tunics, a head of brown-grey hair and one outstretched hand. He... Qui-Gon was lying on the floor, unmoving.

Obi-Wan did not have enough air to breathe out his fear and his brain was beginning to howl denial but he kept going. He kept on going.

As he got closer, all desperation and heartsick grief, he could see that abomination of a Jedi, Tharten, moving into view, gesturing towards the door, looking down and speaking to the man on the floor.

It was only then that he realized, Force help him, that she was talking to Qui-Gon. His heart began to beat again, blazing joy and relief in the knowledge that his Master was not dead, that he was still alive.

He wasn't too late.

Obi-Wan shook off the distraction. Much as he wanted to revel in the knowledge, there was a battle still to be won and he needed to gather his strength and stay focused if he was going to help Qui-Gon. For the briefest of moments, he slowed down, pulling himself together and then sped up again, more determined than ever to reach his Master and get him to the Healers before it was too late.

He saw Tharten look up, her head bobbing about as she tried to peer into the darkness. He knew she could not see him as yet; Obi-Wan was still in shadow. But sensing him in the Force was another matter. As she flowed into ready stance, it was clear that she was expecting trouble.

He would be just the one to give it to her.

His lightsaber humming discordant saber-song, Obi-Wan sprinted into the room, stopping a few centimeters from Qui-Gon. His Master looked terrible, bone-white, the stuttering rasps of pain speaking more clearly than words how badly he had been injured.

That Obi-Wan wanted to drop to his knees and help was an understatement of galactic proportions but he knew that Tharten's capture must come first - above his own desires to save Qui-Gon. He kept going, past the chilling spectacle of his dying Master, and stopped a meter or so from his quarry.

Tharten was standing there, beige tunic askew and smeared with blood, her crabbed mouth open in shock, her saber loose in her hands. She was blinking at him, a myriad of emotions passing over that corrupt face of hers; denial, domination, greed and, for a moment, an impossible touch of lust burnished into her eyes before she settled into brittle pity.

Stumbling backwards in order to avoid the heat of his blade, she spread her hands wide in a gesture of surrender and smiled tentatively, artificial joy and concern in her face. "Obi-Wan, you've arrived just in time. I tried to stop him but he was too fast." She stepped to one side, her dark eyes flicking between the saber and his face, trying to move surreptitiously away from the danger. "He's suicidal."

"Liar." The word seemed to vomit up from the roiling fire-pit of fury that bubbled just beneath Obi-Wan's heart.

His blade wobbled dangerously toward her throat for a moment before he forced himself to ease back. He had to remain calm. He was still a Jedi Knight and sworn to justice but the driving temptation to plunge the saber into that lying rsshak and end her miserable life was almost overwhelming.

Tharten put one hand to her chest, her gestures full of theater; her concern was a facade sliding between trickery and contempt. And lies upon lies, the vulnerable catch in her voice only angered him more. "Obi-Wan, you must believe me. I came down here to see if I could help him but he lunged at me. Stole my boot knife and plunged it into his chest. So fast. I couldn't stop him."

He almost laughed at her; the story she was spinning was just too absurd. But his blade remained, pointing straight at her heart. "You are under arrest for the attempted murder of Qui-Gon Jinn. I want your saber, Tharten. Give it to me willingly and we'll see what we can do to shorten your sentence."

With each word, her face grew more and more thunderous, fury painting her skin in splotches of red and vicious shadow. Eyes narrowing into slits, she drew herself up, haughty and contemptuous, puffing out like some kind of absurd predator. "Have you gone completely mad? You can't talk to me that way. I am the head of the Jedi Council and your superior."

It took every gram of strength he had not to gut her where she stood. "Your saber or I'll take it."

"I'll have you dismissed from the Jedi Order for this outrage." Spitting out her scorn, she moved back and stood there, glaring at him, daring him to take her weapon. The Force itself seemed to twist around her, its brilliant light shredding into smoky veils of fury, all black decay and corruption.

She was poison, wrapped up in the illusion of offended virtue.

He did not have time for this - Qui-Gon did not have the time - and it made him reckless. "I doubt it. We know all about your dealings with Sidious."

She went absolutely still with shock, her black eyes glaring out behind hooded lids, her mouth gaping open. One slight tilt of her head upward as if looking through the layers of duracreet flooring to the Council Chamber of the Jedi Order high above their heads and then she blinked at him and sent him an unsure smile.

With the lightest trace of mild curiosity in her voice, she said, "Sidious? Who is that?"

"Don't even try." That she would think him simple enough to swallow her lies only made him more furious.

Pushing down his anger, he ground out, "Did you think that you could keep it a secret forever? Sle'fey and the rest of them know all about you and your plans for galactic domination." Scowling at her, he watched as she methodically retreated from his blade, taking small steps to avoid the danger, seeking escape. But when she reached the far wall, he knew she was trapped. There was nowhere else to go but through him.

"Surrender your saber, Tharten and I'll let you live."

Snorting once, Tharten glanced down at the blade handle in her grip. The smirk that blossomed on her face was full of contempt, and frowning straight at Obi-Wan, she growled, "Come and get it then, foolish boy. As if you could. You are nothing but a ..."

Obi-Wan felt the Force shift, shrilling of danger and fury and death, a gift of a moment's foreknowledge.

Flashing out into brilliant cobalt fire, spilling ozone and discordant humming into the air, Tharten's lightsaber stabbed quickly toward him but he was already moving. The Force was with him.

Backpedaling quickly, he tried to get clear enough that he could disarm her. They needed to know who Sidious was, and if he killed her, much as he wanted to do so, it would be disastrous. But she seemed desperate to destroy him and escape at any cost.

As she slashed down toward his legs, he vaulted up onto the slab of seating and then flipping past her, catching at her blade just as she tried to skewer him. With a quick twist, she was the one in control, pushing his saber lower and lower, scraping it onto the floor. Ozone and dust clouded upward and small chips of duracreet peppered the air. He choked for a moment, his eyes watering and he made a hasty retreat. He heard the sound of her contempt as he jockeyed for position.

He could feel her in the Force, a red-black bubble of corruption, a stain in the light. It tainted him somehow that he could be in the same room with someone so filled with shadow. But he shivered off the sensation. Now was not the time for such things.

Blinking rapidly, as his vision cleared, he saw her standing there, dark blade tearing down toward him again and he shoved it back. Close to his, her face was a death-mask of frenzied hatred, all pulled skin and stark bone. But she was smiling, too, her smirk full of utter confidence.

"Come on, Kenobi. Is this the best you can do?" She mocked and lunged forward.

He jerked out of the way and almost tripped over his Master, lying there so still on the floor. She only laughed at his clumsiness. "Oafy-Wan, mind your step. We wouldn't want you hurting the old fool. Or your pretty face."

Ignoring the taunt, he swung his blade toward her right side, hoping to catch her saber at the hilt and destroying it but she danced away, impossibly fast. The cobalt sword was almost strobing in the dim cell, a fan of deadly light that seared past him lightning-quick. As she retreated, she scored a thin line across his arm, quicksilver fire.

It hurt like hell but he shunted aside the pain. He could not afford the distraction. Besides, it had been too close.

Breathing hard, he brought his saber back up into ready position. He knew he was at a disadvantage. Although he had been a field agent for many years, he was still fighting off the residual effects of the cell and beyond that, in his heart of hearts, he was worried about Qui-Gon. He could not afford that distraction either.

Tharten just tskked softly and shook her head, "My foolish Obi-Wan. Always doing things the hard way. Why don't you accept that I will win in the end?"

Keeping his saber high to fend off an attack, he looked around the room to see if there was something he could use against her but there was nothing except his Master at his feet, and on the floor, one smoldering square of fabric the color of his own tunic. Apparently, she had sliced through more than just skin.

"I will soon have the galaxy at my feet." She began to pace, hacking at the air with her saber, all careless gesture or so it would seem. In reality, she was slowly inching toward the exit.

He could not let her get away. He half-stepped toward her, blocking her escape. "You will never succeed."

"It is a golden opportunity for you, Obi-Wan. Join me. Learn about true power and the pleasure of using it as it was meant to be used." She sent him a brilliant smile, and cocked her head, waiting for his reply.

It was not long in coming. "Never, I..."

Before he could finish what he was going to say, she flung out one hand, sending a crashing wave of Force energy toward him, thrusting him aside. She began to scramble past him. As he strove to regain his footing, he grabbed onto her tunic and pulled her back.

She screeched at him, trying to jerk free. In an instant, her saber was there again, swinging high to meet his blade and then spiraling it down to jab at his legs. He still had a fist-full of cloth and it was dragging her off-center but with one powerful movement, she wrested free.

What she had forgotten in her haste to leave was that Qui-Gon was not dead, not just yet. As her foot flashed past his outstretched hand, he caught at her boot and pulled. It was not much, but it was enough. She spun awkwardly, collapsing into a pile of beige tunic and brown robes.

In a flash, Obi-Wan was there again, but she just scurried away, robes catching at her feet, her eyes black with hate. Impatiently shrugging off her cloak, she scrambled up, slashing and growling hoarsely as she rose, trying to destroy him. He backpedaled away but she stabbed at him again and the battle was on, hacking, jabbing, two enemies locked in a deadly duel that would only have one outcome - death.

In that one explosive moment, in the midst of it all, Atel pelted into the room.

"Master, stop. Don't..." His Padawan's voice was shrilled desperation. The clatter of her boots told him that she had slowed, turning a run into a careful walk towards him, edging close.

He wanted to warn her away but he knew she would never listen. Even if she had believed him and wanted to help, it was too dangerous for her in the enclosed space. Besides, he dare not give Tharten the gift of a moment's inattention.

However, there was one thing she could do.

"Padawan, help him." He nodded to one side, indicating the still form sprawled on the duracreet floor.

The sound of boot heels stopped abruptly. He knew then that Atel was finally aware of his Master's condition, that she was taking in Qui-Gon's pallid skin and the splattered blood and the unsettling harsh rattle in his throat.

Her shock reverberated in the Force, swirling, shadowy discord, a jumble of hesitation and loss. But it was her voice, so quiet, that tore at his heart, "Master?"

"Help him," he repeated desperately. He could not do anything for Qui-Gon as long as Tharten was free and able to attack. But if Atel could just trust his judgment for one moment, it might be enough. He prayed that she would make the right choice.

Signaling that she was willing to talk, Tharten stepped back and lowered her saber, sending Obi-Wan a sly grin. It was clear that she thought Atel could not see her; Obi-Wan blocked her view. As her smirk grew into a brilliant smile, she gave him a wink, and then looking past his shoulder, cried out, "Padawan, don't listen to him. Your Master is ill. I tried to stop Jinn from stabbing himself and Obi-Wan attacked me. I need your help."

As Obi-Wan drew back in disgust, Tharten began to move her blade back and forth, sweeping across the air in luminous cobalt light, creating patterns of beauty and death.

Escape was her goal, of course, but he could not allow it. In the end, justice must be served. It was the Jedi way and his.

Through the Force, he could feel Atel wavering, trying to make a decision. It hurt him more than he expected - to think that she was trying to decide if he was truly insane or if Tharten was lying. She should have known the answer immediately. What had gone so wrong that she couldn't trust him? But there was no time now for remorse or recriminations.

There was only time to say, "Atel, please." He hoped that she would understand.

"Yes, Master." Her hesitant whisper was all he needed.

From out of the corner of his eye, he could see her kneeling down and speaking softly to Qui-Gon. The low rumble of reply was too quiet to hear but at least Obi-Wan could take finally take a deep breath and release the terror that had been holding his heart captive. His Master was still alive and Atel would do what she could until the Healers arrived - if they ever did.

Laughing in a kind of giddy triumph, Tharten swept her saber up, "She can't help him. He's bleeding to death and even the Force is not enough to stop that. You fool, he is doomed and you with him."

With that, her blade became a ruinous band of light, jabbing toward him, and for the next few moments, he was on the defensive and fighting for his life. As the seconds wore on, he could feel the Force growing stronger even as the last effects of the cell tortures dissipated but he was getting tired. He needed to end this and quickly.

He flipped over, kicking at the ceiling and pushed down toward her, cutting through the air and into Tharten's side. She screeched in pain but it was not debilitating, merely a superficial wound. She was after him with renewed vigor.

So quick were Tharten's attacks that he did not have time to think about what Atel was doing. But as he slid past, for one brief moment, he could see her leaning down, her hand flat against his Master's forehead. She was concentrating hard; the deep frown seemed to bisect her skin. Her eyes were closed tight. Then he moved again and her face was hidden from view as he slashed and parried and tried to force the Councilor's surrender.

With every heartbeat, he was gathering strength, pushing Tharten back and back and she gave way until they were against the far wall of the cell. The Force was moving with him, the shadowed, diseased flow from Tharten counterbalanced by his clean grounding in the lightside. Sinking into the brilliant currents, letting go of worry and the fear for Qui-Gon and whether the Jedi would survive this latest assault or his own fate, he flowed into the mysteries of that radiant energy. He was dancing in the Force's light.

When the discordant ozone noise of a third lightsaber blade started humming loudly behind him, he was taken completely by surprise.

Tharten looked past him, and she began to laugh, sending shivers up his back but he dare not turn around. He dare not turn but it was already too late and so he did.

Glancing over his shoulder, he choked on the horror of it, at the betrayal of everything he had ever believed.

He started to stumble back, shouting at his Padawan. The woman he trusted with his life, the woman to whom he had entrusted the life of the man who meant so much to him and she had betrayed him. She had betrayed them both.

Hunched over his Master, Atel had already taken her saber and plunged it deep into Qui-Gon's belly. A bloody mist of iron-tanged gore blossomed outward, enveloping them both, coating her and his dying Master in brown slime. She was still frowning, and she kept the lightsaber steady and straight, but it was an abomination.

Qui-Gon must have already been unconscious because there was no scream of agony, no pain-filled bubbling protest that must surely come from such an attack.

Obi-Wan had no time to think of that. He acted, instead, on instinct. He had nothing left to lose.

Gathering a fistful of Force energy, he launched it straight at his wayward apprentice. The ripples of it tore across the cell like a dark meteor, crashing into his Learner and flinging her backward high up into the air. As she hit the corner where ceiling met wall, she let out a half-grunt and crumbled to the ground unmoving - like some broken doll. Beside her was the hilt of her lightsaber, still clanging slightly as it rolled away, useless.

Then Obi-Wan felt it, the agony as a saber plunged deep into his flesh.

His shoulder was on fire as Tharten's sword pierced through to the bone and out the back. The monster brayed with laughter, her eyes filled with triumph as she pulled the sword free. He tried to gasp out a protest but the burning went straight through to the depths of his heart, searing meat and bone and he could not breathe. He could not breathe. His body spasmed in torment.

But he was still acting on instinct.

Obi-Wan jerked back, away from her, his blade coming up. Tharten had left herself open in that last thrust, and without thought, he sliced through her, bone and flesh bubbling in fiery splendor, bits of skin and muscle and guts exploding away from the heat.

She shrieked then, looking down unbelieving at the ruination of her chest, and then reaching for him with the determination of the damned. Her body started to collapse inward and she crumbled to the floor, still screaming obscenities and cursing his name, all the while trying to push her entrails back inside her skin.

Her searing hatred spread outward into the Force. Almost a living thing, it seemed to react, fracturing into a great icy slush of darkness and disease, great debris-filled waves of corruption coating everything in filth. Roiling in obscenity, the once clear currents of the Force were choked with contempt and hatred and fear and pain. The Darkside clouded everything.

Reeling away from the contamination in the Force, Obi-Wan hobbled a step back from the carnage, still gulping air in vain attempt to quell the agony of his shoulder. He could not sense anything beyond the shadows, not the life energy of his Padawan or whether his Master still lived after all that had been done to him.

As he stood there swaying in pain and regret, he looked down to see Qui-Gon covered in a fine sheen of brown blood, the charred mess of his gut still sizzling from the heat. But there was no sign of life, no lift of chest, no movement beyond a tendril of smoke rising from the wound. Nothing.

He had been too late after all. Force help him, he had been too late.

Closing his eyes, he fought back the grief that threatened to overwhelm him. He would mourn later. Later. Now was not the time to give into sorrow, not the time to...

He still had one last duty to perform, one last way to honor Qui-Gon's sacrifice.

Twisting away, he stumbled back to Tharten and knelt beside her. The jostling movement was sending shudders of pain down his fingertips and radiating out into his chest but he forced himself to ignore it and focus.

Tharten was breathing up blood, a frothy mixture of agony and hatred. Glazing over, her eyes were narrowed and black as death and with each lift of her ruined chest, she coughed up more globules of bright-red muck. But she still had enough strength to spit in his face.

He wiped the mess off with his good hand, staring down at her. "Who is Sidious?"

The laugh that followed turned into another hacking cough and her face grimaced in pain. Rasping out fury, she growled, "Go to hell, Kenobi."

He knew he didn't have much time and it was a violation of every covenant of the Jedi but he had to know. A Mind-trick would not work here, no soft persuasion to a weak-minded lost soul but a hard, thrusting punch of Force coercion. Mind-rape. It would be hard and filthy and an abomination to probe into her contaminated spirit and it would hurt like hellfire but he would do it if she did not cooperate. This was too important. It could mean the death of the Jedi Order and thousands of innocents if he did not try.

Giving her one last chance, he said, "Tell me, or I'll go in and force the information from you. And I won't be gentle."

She snorted, then shivered with pain as more bright blood seeped through her fingers. She was growing weaker by the moment. "Kenobi the moralist? I murdered your Master and still you don't have the guts to take what you want. Weak fool. I'm just sorry I didn't kill you when I had the chance."

So be it.

He drew back, taking a deep breath, ignoring the fire flare of pain across his back as the melted skin in his shoulder tore again. Pushing away the agony and the despair, he centered himself and reached out to touch her through the still polluted shadows of the Force.

Tharten arched back, shaking her head back and forth, trying to keep him away by screaming obscenities at him. But he ignored her protests. He was far stronger that she would ever be and he needed to do this for Qui-Gon's sake.

Grabbing her head between his hands, he sent a Force suggestion down into her thoughts, asking for permission to enter. Even in the frantic touch of mind-to-mind contact, she shrieked and vomited hatred at him.

He pushed past her barriers and punched into the centers of her mind. There was a maelstrom of fear and shuddering torment that was almost overwhelming but beneath it all was her driving need to keep him from learning the Sith's true identity.

He sent a sharp probe of energy jabbing into the pain centers of her mind. There he was able to imprint his will on hers, forcing her to accept his control. She could not fight back; he was too powerful and she too caught up in her own agony to resist.

It was corruption of the worst sort and nothing a Jedi would do but he had to know.

As he pulled back into the reality of the cell, he felt as if his spirit had been dragged through the fetid waste of a thousand worlds and would never be clean again. But he ignored the taint and the darkness.

Waving one hand across her eyes, he demanded, "Tell me now, Sera. Who is Sidious?"

Tharten was still wheezing blood and curses at him and her throat was raw from screaming when he had forced himself into her mind. Still she fought him. With all the strength left in her, she sputtered out, "I wo... I... can.. not... I..." And as Sera Tharten shrieked out the last of her hatred, she said, "Palpatine..."

And she was dead.

Too numb to react to the realization that the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic was the Sith Lord, he tilted his head upward, glaring at the ceiling. In his mind's eye, he could see through the layers of Temple duracreet, through the great halls and winding staircases, up the shaft of broken turbolifts and into the dusty hall of Council Chambers. He knew that they were watching him, Sle'fey and Veendo and Nunb and Xacor and all the others. He supposed that there was satisfaction there in the lofty Council and a kind of vindication but he couldn't seem to care.

All he could do was stare up and wonder if they understood any of it.

He slumped back, ignoring the fierce agony of muscle and bones, and sat quietly for a moment. He had done what was needed but at what cost. Qui-Gon was gutted and lying there lifeless. Atel had betrayed him as had most of the Jedi Council and for what - to learn the name of a Sith Lord?

In that moment, it didn't seem worth the price.

Blinking in silence, unable to move, he sat there numb. He couldn't even care when a pair of Healers finally came trundling into the room, a hoverbed floating behind them. They were too late and it didn't matter any more.

It didn't matter.

One of them knelt down by Qui-Gon and started pushing needles under his skin, linking up bags of fluid, looking at eyes and mouth and burned gut. Obi-Wan recognized the man. Leabe was his name, and he was competent enough but not enough to bring back the dead. Once you had traveled into the Force, there was no way to return. Everyone knew that.

The second Healer knelt down to see if Tharten was still alive and just shook his head. Then he came over to Obi-Wan, pulling the ruined tunic off his shoulder and slapping bacta on his wound. The man started asking absurd questions. "How severely are you injured? Can you walk back to the ward or do we need another hoverbed?"

Obi-Wan just shook him off and closed his eyes for a moment. He was shutting down, pushing aside the grief, letting the numbness wash over him. It was easier than giving in to the pain. There would be time enough later to grieve for Qui-Gon Jinn.

Obi-Wan turned his head and stared at his now-awake apprentice. She was sitting there, gazing at him with confusion and impossible hurt in her eyes. At this moment, he could not even feel enough to hate her. Perhaps later, when it wore off and he could think again, he would make her pay for her betrayal but not now.

As the Healer poked and prodded him, Obi-Wan said quietly, "She murdered him. Murdered Qui-Gon. My devoted Learner was supposed to save him but instead she shoved her saber into his gut and roasted what was left of him. I trusted her, you see, and she turned on me. She killed him without any remorse. How could she do that? I trusted her."

As Atel looked at Obi-Wan with horror, Leabe, still working on Qui-Gon's dead body, spoke up. It was clear that the Healer was confused. "You are quite mistaken. She saved his life. He's in stasis right now. He was able to slow down his autonomic system to the point of almost perfect suspension. He's breathing but only just."

"But..." Obi-Wan could not comprehend what the man was babbling about. Qui-Gon was dead. He was starting to get angry. Why was the Healer spewing lies about his Master? "But she… he was bleeding to death from a knife wound and she gutted him with her saber."

"I don't have time to give you the complete explanation. We have to get him into surgery and then into a bacta tank when he's strong enough. Neil'don, help me with the hoverbed, and then call ahead and make sure they are ready for us. We'll need to get him to the ward as quickly as we can. And we'll send someone back down for you."

Obi-Wan kept blinking at the fool. Couldn't he feel the death? The Force was full of it, great shards of ice and contamination. His own spirit was slick with the poison of Tharten's hatred and foul black blood.

As the Healers began to float Qui-Gon's body out into the darkened hallway, Leabe called back, "She stopped his bleeding with her saber. It's a rather crude method but it worked. I think you owe her an apology."

With that, they were alone.

Atel gazed at him for a moment, then buried her head in her hands and began to cry.