The Toothless Krayt cantina was a small establishment, tucked into a blind alley in what was arguably one of the worse sections of Anchorhead. As far as Obi-Wan could tell from initial impression, there was only one door to the place, making it an inherently dangerous spot to linger under the best of circumstances. In a spaceport filled with smugglers, thieves, and wanted men, it stood out as a particularly poor choice of places to tarry. Most people, he knew, wouldn't cross the threshold in broad daylight for a stack of credits as tall as an astromech droid. Yet there sat Eliel Jensei, comfortably ensconced at the bar and displaying her back to the patrons in what could be construed as an open invitation.

He saw her left shoulder twitch slightly and watched as she took a measured sip of her drink. She knew he was there, then. And if she were happy to see him, she would have turned around to offer a greeting or, at the very least, acknowledge his presence. Right. He lingered on the stair for a moment, his conviction wavering. There was really only one course of action, though.

Obi-Wan crossed the room quickly, ignoring the attention he drew along the way. "Master Ando gave me very explicit instructions about what I was supposed to do when I found you."

She turned to face him, raising an eyebrow.

"I am to hit you over the head with a large, heavy object. Then, I'm to throw you over my shoulder and return you to the Healer Hall where, I quote, 'the thick-skulled idiot belongs.'"

Eliel took the time to drain her glass and set it down gently on the bar before looking up to meet his eyes. "Good luck with that," she said.

In response, he cracked a wide grin and pulled up a stool next to her. "I told him it wouldn't work. So he sent this," Obi-Wan produced a small vial from the folds of his robes, sliding it across the bar.

Eliel wrinkled her face into an involuntary mask of disgust. "That stuff," she said, "tastes like"

"The back end of a Gungan?"

"After six days without a bath," she nodded, taking the medicine and stashing it in the pocket of her shirt..

He tapped her on the arm lightly as she did so. "I'm to see that you drink that."

"Of course you are."

Obi-Wan caught the attention of the bartender and ordered a drink, then slipped off his robe and stashed it on a nearby stool. He pushed up his sleeves, plunked both elbows onto the bar and sighed, relieved to be out of the sun. A lot of effort could have been saved, had she simply answered any one of his calls on the comm.

"Is your comm broken?" He asked, making an attempt at an innocent tone.

Eliel shook her head. "Off."

He frowned, but managed to twist it into a smile of thanks as his drink was delivered. Three sips in, he decided to make another go at conversation. "Did you lose your robes?"

"Too hot."

"Agreed," he nodded, taking a moment to look at her clothing. Both shirt and pants were made of a lightly woven linen and were cut very similarly to the traditional Jedi apparel, but dyed a bright blue. The color was not remarkable in and of itself, but it was one of only a handful of times he'd seen her in anything other than the muted beiges and browns of the Order and, as such, was slightly jarring to his senses.

The most notable difference in her appearance, colors aside, was that her neck was exposed, affording a view of the intricate tattoos that were usually hidden from sight.

Swirling in a counter-clockwise direction, they were knit together expertly and it was nearly impossible to tell where one whorl ended and the next began. This, Eliel had once explained, was representative of the sacred belief that all members of a clan were merely part of a single entity. Individuals were given the freedom to live as they would, so long as it was never forgotten that they were part of a whole. The tribe came first on Cuan. The sentiment, he realized suddenly, ran remarkably parallel to the Jedi Code.

Even decades later, her tattoos were still somewhat hypnotic, especially when considering their symbolism. They would be a good image to meditate on and he suspected that Eliel probably did just that when taxed by her senses of duty and loyalty.

Loyalty. He'd questioned that back in the atrium.

Obi-Wan looked down suddenly, focusing on her boots. They were dusty from the streets of Anchorhead and somewhat more worn than his own, but she had not traded them for local attire. Her lightsaber hung plainly at her right hip; a clear sign that Eliel Jensei was a Jedi, no matter how she chose to fit that particular bill.

He had no right to even hint otherwise and she was well within her own rights to be furious with him for doing so.

"So," he said, going in for a third try, "what are we doing in this lovely establishment?"

She waved to the bartender, ordering another drink, then glanced at the door. "Well, I am waiting to meet someone who can tell me more about the Tuskens. You, on the other hand, seem to be Master Ando's delivery boy."

"I am here to assist you in any means you might need," he answered, perfectly mimicking the tone in which the same sentence would be delivered to a Senator, a planetary ruler, or anyone else who had requested the help of a Jedi.

The corners of her mouth threatened to turn upwards in a smile, but Eliel schooled her expression carefully. "Yoda sent you."

Obi-Wan nodded. "But I wanted to come."

"Liar."

"Madame," he answered, most sincerely, "a Jedi never lies."

She snorted in amusement.

"I am here to help you, Eliel," he said. "And I am sorry for what I said to you in the atrium. It was unfair. I had no right to question your loyalties. You haven't ever done anything to suggest"

She held up a hand, silencing him. "No harm done. You didn't say anything that any number of other people don't think on a daily basis."

"That's not true," he countered. "You have been a very devoted Jedi since"

She raised the hand a fraction higher and picked up her newly arrived drink with the other, taking a deep pull from the glass. "First of all, I'm more concerned about your Padawan than my reputation. And, secondly, can we not go over the past, please?"

Obi-Wan nodded, reaching for his drink as an excuse to buy some time. Apart from the tattoos, the only adornment Eliel wore was a silver gauntlet-like bracelet on her left wrist. The abstruse carvings were Yatirian, making it quite obvious to him that its previous owner had been her Padawan, Nerilu. Her words from the atrium came back to him, echoing in his head. I couldn't save my student. Let me help you save yours.

The past--especially the very recent past--was an undeniably uncomfortable place for her to dwell. "The present, then," he said. "Who are we waiting for?"

"Her name is Tillea," Eliel said. "According to the locals, she's as close to an expert on the Tuskens as there is. She's also," she added, frowning, "late."

He turned on his stool, placing his back to the bar in order to get a better look at the room. "Pretty unsavory crowd," he observed, "maybe she's spooked."

"It was her idea to meet here," Eliel responded. "And, for the price she set, she could have picked another planet entirely. One with shade, even."

Obi-Wan chuckled, only mildly surprised that this Tillea had the nerve to charge a Jedi for a meeting. Things were changing in the galaxy; the lower levels of society grew ever more bold--especially on planets like Tatooine, controlled by the Hutts and poised on the Outer Rim of the Republic. Then again, he supposed, it was possible that Eliel had not made her affiliations known when arranging things. The class of people that drank in places like the Krayt often shied away from dealing with the Jedi all together.

"What do you know about her?"

She shrugged. "Just what I told you. Beru gave me her name and everyone that I brought it up with agreed that she was the one to talk to about the Tuskens."

"Beru?"

"Whitesun. Soon to be Lars. Ah," Eliel interrupted herself, "there's our girl."

He looked to the door, taking in the sight of the woman who stood there. Tillea was far younger than he'd been expecting. No older than Anakin, she was small and lightly built. Something in her stance suggested a strong sense of self-reliance, though, and she met his gaze openly, clearly unimpressed by the Jedi's appraisal.

Tillea nodded to Eliel, then struck off across the room, choosing a booth in the far corner. Her passage through the crowd solicited glares and other hostile overtures, but she ignored them blithely and any ideas of violence were quelled in the wake of the two Jedi moving to follow her.

"You didn't tell me that you kept company with Jedi," Tillea said, jerking an impolite thumb at Obi-Wan as they slid in across from her.

"You," Eliel countered with a shrug, "didn't ask." She leaned back, giving the young woman a clear view of her lightsaber.

Tillea frowned in response, but composed herself quickly.

"Obi-Wan Kenobi," he offered his hand across the table.

She took it and gave a polite shake. "Tillea Redsand."

Eliel reached into a pocket and produced a small pouch, sliding it across the table. "Half now. The rest when I'm satisfied."

Their companion pocketed the currency and fixed them both with an even stare. At least, Obi-Wan thought, she was polite enough to refrain from counting the cash.

"Tell us about the Tuskens," he said.

Eliel shot him a small glare that clearly stated her wish for him to be seen and not heard and Obi-Wan squirmed in his seat, looking down at the table in silent apology. She was not Anakin. This was not his mission to lead.

Tillea looked amused for a moment, but her face quickly reverted to impassivity. "How much time do you have and what do you want to know?"

"A woman was taken from one of the moisture farms," Eliel cut in smoothly. "Over a month ago."

"Skywalker," Tillea nodded. "That was one of the biggest run-ins they've had with the farmers in a long time. Years. Decades, maybe."

"We have reason to believe that Shmi Skywalker was kept alive by the Tuskens who took her," Eliel continued. "And from what we know about them, that seems unusual."

"Very," she agreed. "They don't take slaves and they don't hold for ransom."

Obi-Wan looked to Eliel, seeking permission to interrupt. She gave him a barely perceptible nod in response and he shifted his gaze across the table to the girl. "Any idea why they might have treated her differently?"

Tillea thought for a long moment, then shook her head. "No."

So much for a simple solution to the puzzle.

"Are we done here?" Tillea asked, breaking the small and somewhat awkward silence that had fallen as both Jedi worked to find another route to steer the conversation along. "Because I have things to do."

Eliel's face hardened into a clearly irritated expression and she leaned forward across the table, closing the distance between herself and the girl. "For what I am paying you, you can sit here until morning and not offer so much as a squeak of complaint."

Tillea pressed herself against the back of the booth involuntarily and Obi-Wan hid a smile behind scratching his beard. A Jedi did not always need to dip into the Force to bend someone to their will. He'd seen that same expression cross Eliel's face many times during the course of their friendship and often found it somewhat intimidating himself. For all her bravado, be it false or justified, Tillea Redsand didn't stand a chance.

Eliel held the girl's gaze solidly until Tillea turned her eyes to the surface of the table in submission. "I'm told that you trade with the Tuskens," she said, sitting back once more.

Tillea nodded, visibly relieved to be free of Eliel's scrutiny. "Sometimes, yes."

"Have you ever had contact with the band that took Shmi Skywalker?"

"No, but it wouldn't matter if I had."

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. "And why is that?"

Tillea shifted her gaze from Eliel, looking him squarely in the eye. "Because their village was wiped out."

"When?"

"And," Eliel added, "how?"

The trader shrugged. "Few days ago. I can't tell you how--haven't seen it. Word travels quickly between the tribal bands, though. Whatever happened there set the whole tribe on edge when it comes to dealing with humans. Probably set me back five or six years worth of work, too."

Eliel looked to Obi-Wan, asking a silent question. He gave a slight nod in response.

"Could you take us there?" She asked.

Tillea shrugged again and held out her left palm, all traces of her previous discomfort vanished. "Sure."

He watched as Eliel produced a second pouch of currency and passed it to the woman, marveling at how self-possessed Tillea was for one so young. She might have made a good candidate for the academy, had she been found as an infant.

"There's more where that came from," she said. "You can have it on our return."

"Fair enough," Tillea got to her feet. "I have a speeder. If we leave now, we can make it back before dark."

Obi-Wan rose as well, and caught her lightly by the arm as she passed, using the contact to initiate a link between them. "Has anyone else asked you about this group of Tuskens?"

She met his gaze again solidly, giving him a good chance to examine her dark eyes. "No."

Nothing in the girl's response suggested that she was lying, but there was a small point niggling on the edge of his consciousness. A tiny blip had formed on his internal radar at her reply and he made a mental note of it. If, as Eliel postulated, someone had used the Force to manipulate the Tuskens, it was certainly possible that they had done the same to the woman who was well known for her associations with the Raiders.

****

Despite the fact that he loathed Tatooine with every fiber of his being, Tarc Marin had been perfectly content to follow Eliel through the streets of Mos Eisley, across the dunes to the Lars farm, and along the winding alleys of Anchorhead. It was worth the dust in his pores, the sweat down his back, and even the chafing of the coarse fabric of a hooded tunic worn in the heat of the day to conceal his face from her view.

Once, long ago, she would have been able to see through the thin disguise. She would have felt him behind her, even in the throng of the crowd in the marketplace. And she would have welcomed him. Once, he'd been one of the few people on Coruscant who knew why she wore high collars, even in the heat of summer. In light of that, he was willing to be uncomfortable and willing to linger on this miserable excuse for a planet, if only because it provided him with an altogether rare opportunity to set aside the past fifteen years of his life and pretend that she was the same woman he'd known at the Jedi temple.

Her hair, grown out now from the clipped style they'd both worn as apprentices, hung somewhat limply against her shoulders in the heat and appeared to be a shade lighter than he recalled, though he knew it was simply a trick of the light and the dust that coated everything on Tatooine. She'd filled out, too, exchanging the gangly limbs of youth for a tall and well-muscled frame indicative of a Jedi in the prime of life. Eliel was hurt, though. He could tell that just as plainly from the way she moved through the crowds--slightly hunched as if to protect a wounded torso--as from the livid and fresh scars visible on her right forearm.

He could take her in battle quite easily.

His orders were quite explicit, though, and with his mission on the desert planet seemingly complete, Tarc should, by all rights, be on his way to rendezvous with his Master. But Eliel's arrival complicated things on many levels and he'd chosen to linger on Tatooine to investigate her movements. She hated the heat and would prefer just about anything over spending voluntary time in the desert; something, he knew, must be driving her to trek hither and yon across the accursed planet.

Until Obi-Wan Kenobi showed up, Tarc had almost been able to convince himself that Eliel was on Tatooine for innocuous reasons--running an errand for Yoda, perhaps. But the arrival of a second Jedi, this one in particular, forced him to face the reality of the situation. Ever inseparable, those two. But it was no coincidence that the pair were on this planet so soon after his Master's plan had come to fruition.

He eyed them warily from a shadowy doorway deep in the maze of alleys in Anchorhead. Close as ever, they walked easily in step with one another as they followed Tillea Redsand to the maintenance bay where she kept her speeder. Kenobi's hand came up and rested briefly on Eliel's shoulder, steering her around a pile of refuse, and a scowl burst onto Tarc's lips. The word hypocrite rose in his mind and he savored it, unsure of whom the insult was actually aimed for. It didn't matter, really. Both suited the term just fine.

He had options, of course. Tarc could trail them until opportunity presented itself and attack. Odds were better than good that at least one of the Jedi would not survive. But this was neither the time for foolish action nor personal vendetta. Too much was at stake.

He would alert his Master of their presence, then. And he would return to the Tuskens, bending them to his will once again.

****

The Tusken camp was nestled among the dunes near a small oasis and consisted of a gathering of a dozen or so huts, all crafted from materials and fabrics that cleverly camouflaged them to a merely wandering eye. Indeed, if their guide hadn't slowed the speeder suddenly, both Obi-Wan and Eliel might have missed it all together.

"Stay close," Tillea warned as the speeder stopped and both Jedi moved to exit. "It's likely that we're being watched. They'll raid the place eventually and guards are probably set, ready to defend against marauders."

"Why wait so long?" Obi-Wan asked.

"Respect for the dead."

"Who's going to be doing the raiding? More Tuskens?" Eliel put in, clambering out onto the sand and wiping an arm across her sweaty brow.

Tillea nodded. "This band was part of a tribe. Their kin will come and clean the place out."

"Charming," Obi-Wan muttered.

Tillea shrugged. "When you live in the desert, you learn not to waste anything. I'm going to skirt the perimeter. I'll meet you on the other side."

He watched her stride away, then fell into step with Eliel as she moved toward the village. "What is it, exactly, that we're looking for, anyway?"

"I don't know." She shrugged, picking her way through a pile of tattered cloth and wood--part of a dwelling at one point, no doubt.

He wrinkled his nose, putting his hand over it instinctively as a sudden shift in the wind brought the stench of rotting flesh toward them. Eliel gagged as the stink caught in the back of her throat and the resulting coughing fit doubled her over, pain searing through her wounded chest.

"You," he stooped, offering a supportive arm, "should be on Coruscant. Not trekking across the desert half way to nowhere in the Outer Rim."

She coughed twice more, took a moment to wipe away the tears that had come to her eyes, gripped his elbow, and stood up, drawing in as deep a breath as her lungs and the smell would allow. "Mos Eisley is halfway to nowhere. This is downtown."

Obi-Wan chuckled. "She's right, you know. We are being watched. I can feel them."

Eliel nodded. "You go left, I'll take the right. We'll cover more ground."

Before he had a chance to remind her of Tillea's warning, Eliel strode off into the cluster of dwellings. He could follow, he supposed, but it would only serve to stir up an argument. And she was right, they would cover more ground separately. "Eliel!" He called, waiting for her to turn around. "I still don't know what I'm looking for!"

"Just look," she shouted back.

Obi-Wan nodded, waving her off, then began to move through the ruins. There wasn't a lot to look at, really. The desert was already re-claiming the encampment, sifting sand into pits that had once borne fires and covering a host of dead bodies. Whomever had attacked these Tuskens hadn't been discriminating in their killing spree. Men, women, and children lay strewn about the village. Some had tried to fight, he discerned, but most had fled, only to be struck down as they ran.

He ducked inside one of the tents, intending to search it, but was overcome immediately with the reek of death and pulled back, gulping for fresh air. He was doubled over at the waist, resting his hands on his knees and breathing through his mouth when Eliel appeared from around the back of the tent. Her mouth and nose were covered with a strip of cloth she'd torn from her shirttail, but he could tell from the grave look in her eyes that she'd discovered something.

"What is it?"

She pulled down the cloth, frowning, and avoided his eyes, focusing instead on the sand between his boots. "You'd better come look for yourself," she said.

He followed her around the tent and across a small clearing, coming to a stop beside her near the opening to another hut. Two small bodies lay near the flap, rotting in the heat and already showing signs of advanced decomposition. Obi-Wan looked at her, confused. The whole place was strewn with corpses, what made these two so very special?

"I found something I think you two should...ohhhhh," Tillea skidded to a sudden stop at the sight of the bodies. "What kind of weapon can do that?"

Eliel's frown deepened, but she made no answer.

"Poor bastard's cut clean in half"

Obi-Wan blinked against the brightness of the sand and stooped to examine the remains. Tillea was right. The Tusken had been cleaved in two diagonally from the shoulder to opposite hip. He gulped back the bile that rose suddenly in his throat.

"There's more," Eliel said. "All the bodies are..."

"What can DO that?" Tillea repeated, interrupting with a slack jaw.

Obi-Wan's head began to spin and he bent at the waist again. His gesture swept his robes aside, revealing the hilt of his lightsaber.

"That," Eliel pointed.

"No," he stood up suddenly. "You're wrong. He didn't do this."

"I didn't say that he did," Eliel answered. "But someone did. Someone who knows how to use a lightsaber. Someone capable of tremendous brutality."

"It wasn't Anakin," he said, his words punctuated by a simmering mixture of anger and repulsion.

Eliel raised both eyebrows, completely lacking words of any sort. She hoped, desperately, deeply, mightily, that he was right. Anything else was simply too terrible to contemplate.

"Who's Anakin?" Tillea asked. "And, wait...are you saying that Jedi did this?"

With a quick gesture of her left hand, Eliel reached into the Force and used it to silence the woman. "We'll speak of this later," she said.

"It can wait," Tillea repeated, her voice slightly flattened by Eliel's compulsion.

Eliel dropped her hand, satisfied that Tillea's curiosity was quelled for the moment, and their guide shook her head slightly, as if starting from a dream.

"There's something I think you should see on the other side of the village," she said.

Eliel cocked her head slightly in Obi-Wan's direction. In response, he flicked a hand and gave a barely perceptible shake of his head. He needed time. Time to think. Time to breathe.

"I'll go with you," Eliel answered.

Obi-Wan watched her go in a blur of blue out of the corner of his eye, then sank to the ground and drew several shuddering breaths. Each one brought with it the smell of decay and a sense of reeling. How blind he had been. How very, very blind. And foolish to think that he, Obi-Wan Kenobi, could train a Padawan like Anakin Skywalker. He'd failed. Failed Anakin. Failed the Order. Failed his own Master's dying wish to him.

Anakin had done this--wreaked this awful havoc on women and children in an act of vengeance. Anakin had lost control of his emotions and was, even now, busy indulging in them on Naboo with Senator Amidala. He needed to find his Padawan. This needed to be stopped now, before any more steps were taken down a very dangerous road.

Obi-Wan stood, intending to call for Eliel and Tillea, but he was silenced before a single word could escape as the blunt end of a Tusken staff made contact with the base of his skull. He crumpled to his knees, barely conscious and reaching for his weapon. He heard the sound of a lightsaber powering on and had a sudden surge of confidence as his fingers made contact with the cool metal of the hilt. There was a flash of bright blue in front of him and Eliel's voice rang loudly in his ears. It was followed by a sea of beige, a guttural cry, and a sudden burst of pain.

Then the world went dark.

****

Obi-Wan opened his left eye, then squeezed it shut again as a blinding and painful light shot into his skull. It was followed by a wave of nausea that nearly sent him puking over the side of the bed, but gentle hands eased him backwards and placed a cool cloth against his forehead.

"Easy, Master Jedi. Rest." The voice belonged to a young woman and was unfamiliar to him, but Obi-Wan obeyed, glad to indulge himself with a moment of unbridled misery.

He heard a door open and felt Eliel's sudden presence in the room. Maybe she could explain what was going on...where he was and why he was feeling like he'd just been dropped on his head from the spires of the Jedi Temple.

"Eliel," he said, opening his eye again. The light was still there, though, and his head threatened to burst from it.

"Try it now," she answered. "I've dimmed the light."

He eased his eye open slowly and searched the blessedly dim room for her form. "Where am I?"

"The Lars moisture farm."

Ah. The Lars farm. Of course. "Where's that?"

Eliel snorted out a small chuckle. "Tatooine."

Tatooine. Right.

"You have a concussion, Master Jedi," the strange voice said. "Things will make more sense when you've had time to recover."

Obi-Wan raised himself on an elbow, peering at the young woman sitting by his bed. His right eye, he deduced from the lack of vision and the throbbing pain, must be swollen shut, but he could make out the outline of her shape in the darkness. "And you are?"

"Beru Whitesun," she answered.

He tried to furrow his brow in thought, but the gesture sent more pain reverberating through his skull so he settled instead for the direct route. "And do I know you?"

Across the room, Eliel chuckled again. "Thank you, Beru. Why don't you get some sleep? I'll sit with him for a while."

He heard some rustling as they switched positions and squinted in involuntary pain as the soft click of the door shutting shot through his head like a pulse from a blaster pistol.

"Lie down," Eliel ordered, sending him backward into the pillows with a firm, but gentle shove.

"What happened?"

"The Tuskens didn't like us poking around that village," she answered. "You took a couple of good whacks to the head. It probably would have killed someone whose skull wasn't as thick as yours."

"You're not funny, you know," he answered, wincing.

She leaned forward, studying the livid bruise on his face. "So you keep reminding me. I can probably help get rid of some of the pain, if you want."

He eyed her suspiciously. Eliel was not a trained Healer, though she was rather adept at manipulating the Living Force.

"Relax," she grinned. "Ando's done it to me four times a day for the past ten days. I think I can wing it enough to let you sit up without puking out your last meal. It's either that, or we sit here in the middle of nowhere until you're well enough to fly again and the trail goes completely cold."

He held up a finger, silencing her effectively. "If I recall correctly, the Lars homestead is a good distance from the Tusken camp. We are east of nowhere, Master Jensei."

"East of nowhere, but a hell of a lot closer to it than to Anchorhead."

"All right," he sighed. "Give it a shot." Anything, anything had to be better than the pounding ache in his skull.

"Your confidence is under-whelming, Kenobi," she frowned. "Start by meditating. Reach into the Force and let it flow over you."

Obi-Wan lay back against the pillow, feeling somewhat awkward at the thought of sharing meditative space with her, and closed his good eye. He'd been through this process in the Healer Hall several times over the course of his life. It was the standard method of preparation for a healing treatment and, ordinarily, he could fall into a light trance quite easily. This time, though, it took quite some effort to wrestle his thoughts into submission. The pain certainly wasn't helping matters any, but it was only one of many distractions.

The confusion of events in the Tusken camp swam around in his consciousness, mingled with bits and pieces of concern for his Padawan. Added to the mix, he could feel the mixed emotions of the Lars family, safely ensconced in other rooms in the dwelling. Beru was clearly concerned for him, but the two men bristled with annoyance and suspicion, obviously far from thrilled with the notion of playing host to Jedi.

On top of it all, though, was Eliel, flickering brightly on the edge of perception. She was in pain too, he realized. No doubt the struggle with the Tuskens was more than she'd been physically ready for. He shouldn't allow her to put her own health at further risk.

"Not your call," she said, suddenly. "Justbreathe, please."

Before he could even think about protesting aloud, she placed both hands gently on his head. A small jolt accompanied the contact, but it dissipated quickly as she began to manipulate the Force around and through him. He felt his pain start to slip away and used the sensation to slip deeper into the trance, assisting her by pushing it outwards into the mesh of the Force.

Master Healers were trained to block themselves during this procedure in order to eliminate any chance that their own energies might mix with their patient's and impede the healing process. Eliel, though very skilled in using the Force, was not nearly as proficient at the task. She was trying--he could feel that--but bits and pieces slipped through, giving him small glimpses into the recesses of her self. She was in more pain than he'd originally thought and it was a thorough mixture of physical and emotional discomfort.

Nerilu Hic. The girl's image was raw and jagged in her mind, flipping back and forth between a whole, smiling Padawan and a bloody heap in the sands of the Geonosian arena. Each twist of the picture brought with it a sharp pang of fresh, stabbing grief strong enough to move him close to weeping.

Had she wept? Had she taken even one hour to mourn the girl and her own loss? Or was this whole trek to Tatooine a way of avoiding that, of focusing elsewhere with the desperate hope that it would ease the pain?

"That's enough, Eliel," he said, taking her gently by the wrists and moving her hands away.

Her eyes flew open, wide and apologetic in the dimness of the room. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to"

"It's all right. I feel much better, actually. Give me a few hours sleep and I'll be fine."

It was the truth, too. She'd done a remarkable job for her first attempt at healing with the Force. The agony had subsided to a dull ache, and one that was perfectly manageable, at that. With some rest and a meal in him, he'd be fine to fly back to Coruscant and report what they had found to the Council.

The Council. Any relief that Obi-Wan felt from the absence of his pain flew away into the dark Tatooine night at the very thought of admitting Anakin's deeds to the Council. He had to tell them, of course. The young man was already several long strides down a very dangerous path; only intervention at the highest levels could hope to bring him back on course. Assuming, of course, that they weren't already too late for that.

"I'm going to contact Yoda and Master Windu," Eliel's words interrupted his train of thought. "It's morning on Coruscant by now. Is there anything you'd like me to" she paused, looking down for a moment, "leave out of my report?"

"I'd appreciate it," he answered, "if you would let me tell them what we found in that village."

She bobbed her head twice in response. The news of Skywalker's transgressions was not really hers to share. "I'll tell them that we'll be returning as soon as you can fly."

"Tomorrow."

Eliel stood, letting his hands fall back to the bed as they slid from her wrists, and nodded again. "Get some sleep, Obi-Wan. Your skull's not that thick."

"Eliel," his call stopped her at the door and she turned to face him, sporting an expectant expression. There were several things he wanted to say to her, mostly about Nerilu, but something in the slight hunch of her shoulders told him that she would not be even remotely receptive to overtures of sympathy. Later, then. "Thank you. My head really does feel much better."

"You're welcome, but if you tell Master Ando that I did that," she smiled, "I'll re-concuss you myself."

****

They prepared to leave for Mos Eisley in the already brutal heat of early morning. It occurred to him, briefly, to wonder where Tillea had gotten off to, but Obi-Wan was quickly distracted by the ministrations of Beru Whitesun as she fussed about the two Jedi, packing water and food for their trip.

He climbed into the speeder, squinting against the brightness of the sun, and accepted yet another package from her, offering profuse thanks in return. The ache in his head was now reduced to a dull throb, but he found he could ignore it, for the most part, by focusing on just about anything else. Eliel sat next to him at the controls, sporting a wide-brimmed hat and swathed in light colored robes from head to foot. Both were obviously meant to protect her from the sun on their journey across the sea of dunes, but they were, in his opinion, slightly less than dignified.

"You look rather ridiculous," he said as she powered up the craft.

Eliel glanced over at him, smirking under the shade of her brim. "So says the man whose face is three shades of purple."

He offered a light-hearted scowl in return and waved at Beru as they sped off, leaving the Lars' farm a rippling image over the transom.

"Miserable planet," she said after a few moments. "If I never come back, it will be too soon."

Obi-Wan scanned the horizon before answering, taking in the shimmer of the sand. "It's not so bad. Rather beautiful, in a remote sort of way."

She shot him an incredulous look, clearly conveying the thought that he'd been hit very hard on the head and was not entirely in possession of his senses. "You're welcome to any and all further assignments here, then."

He chuckled in response, settling back into his seat comfortably and propping one elbow on the side of the speeder. The other hand, his left, came to rest on top of a large crate that was wedged between them. "What's this?"

Eliel spared the crate a quick glance, returning her attention to the navigational controls. "Weapons."

"Weapons?" He bent, peering closely at the container. "What sort of weapons?"

"From the village, of course."

He shook his head, confused, but quickly thought better than to repeat the action as the motion sent swirls of light dancing through his skull. "What village?"

She frowned, looking rather annoyed by his question, but it quickly faded as realization dawned across her face. "The Tusken village. You were busy being beaten on at the time, but that's what Tillea wanted to show us."

"Weapons? It doesn't make sense"

"From Geonosis," she added. "And the Trade Federation."

Obi-Wan's eyebrows shot upward entirely of their own accord and Eliel looked over at him, grinning broadly.

"Told you so."

****

Tarc Marin bowed low before the hologram of his Master, subjugating himself willingly. His attempt to resolve the problem presented by Jedi on Tatooine had failed, greatly shaming him in the process. The Tuskens were easy to manipulate and Anakin Skywalker had behaved precisely as predicted in the face of his mother's death. Perhaps he'd grown cocky with recent success, for events at the Tusken village had certainly not panned out as he planned.

"What is it, my apprentice?" Count Dooku's image asked, regal and poised, despite the fact that it was jumping and popping due to atmospheric disturbances.

"Kenobi and Jensei have returned to Coruscant," he answered. "They have discovered the weapons and will deliver them to the Council, for certain."

Dooku scowled openly at his student. "What of your plan to kill them in the desert?"

It was difficult to manage given his height, but Tarc genuflected further before speaking. "Kenobi was wounded. But I underestimated Jensei's condition. She fought off the Tuskens and saved him."

"And the guide?"

At last, he had cause to smile. "Tillea is dead. I saw to that myself."

"At least," Dooku mused, "you have not failed completely."

His Master's words stung, but Tarc merely bobbed his head in defeat. "What are your orders, my Master? Shall I deal with the Lars family as well?"

There was a long moment of static before Dooku spoke. "No," he said. "It would only raise further suspicion. But if you have any wish to redeem yourself, you will see to it that Obi-Wan Kenobi and Eliel Jensei are dead before they can trace those weapons."

"Yes, Master."

Dooku's image extended an arm, suggesting that he was about to terminate their communication, but he paused. "One more thing, my apprentice."

"Yes, Master?"

"My order to avoid direct confrontation stands. They should never be given the opportunity to see your face unless no other option is available. Do not show yourself on Coruscant. Hire someone."

Tarc looked up, making eye contact with his Master, despite the vast stretch of space between them. "A bounty hunter, Master?"

Dooku gave a curt nod in response.

"Master, a bounty hunter is no match for trained Jedi Knights. They will make quick work of anyone stupid enough to take the job."

Dooku's face twitched in clear annoyance. "There are bounty hunters more than capable of this task. Find one."

Tarc bowed his head, forcing his own expression into blankness in an effort to mask further impudence. "Yes, Master."

[End Part 3]

Elismor
July 2002