Eliel Jensei's image flickered before him in the cockpit of his fighter and Tarc studied her intently as she spoke. A shiver of thrill ran through him. The transmitter had cost him quite a bit of money, but his contact had been correct. It could indeed de-scramble the frequencies used by the Jedi Order. He could only hear one side of the conversation at hand, but that was enough; Eliel was telling him all that was important enough to know.

"I think that it would be wise to make an effort to find Tarc Marin," she said. "I did a search of the databanks and his name comes up as having contact with Count Dooku."

Tarc sneered at her semblance. More likely Kenobi did the search, though the idea had probably been her own. Always her lap dog, that one.

"It is our belief that Tarc may have been recruited by Dooku after the death of Master YoshaNo, Master, I do not have any evidence that Count Dooku is involved. But when you take the weapons we found on Tatooine into account, it seems a likely hunch."

He winced involuntarily. Her instincts about his ties to Dooku were correct--though he'd sought out the former Jedi instead of being conscripted into service--and now that the connection was known to the Jedi Order, things would surely become more complicated. His Master would not be pleased.

He watched, puzzled, as her expression hardened and Eliel unconsciously drew herself upright. Explanation for her sudden adoption of a defensive posture came with her next words.

"I have not seen Tarc since he chose to leave the Order, Master Windu. I wouldn't have the first guess as to where to look for him, save to suggest that it's likely that he is on his way to Naboo, if turning Anakin Skywalker is his intent."

She was still doubted, then. By some, at least. Indignation surged through him on Eliel's behalf. How dare Windu hold a twenty-year old mistake against her?

Tarc shook his head suddenly, hoping to clear it of the mixed emotions swirling inside. He was not supposed to be championing Eliel Jensei. What's more, she certainly would not welcome his efforts. Not any more. No, Eliel was the enemy now and he needed to treat her as such. Learn what he could. Do what he had to. He wrestled his attention back to the transmission in time to realize that he'd missed any further conversation about himself.

"Anakin and Obi-Wan are in council at the moment," she said. "I am on my way back to our ship to make ready for departure. We will depart for Coruscant as soon as they join me."

Tarc keyed off the transmitter. He chewed his lower lip in thought, debating the merits of the plan forming in his mind. His Master would want to know this latest bit of information, but the blow might be softened if tempered with the news of the deaths of Eliel and Kenobi. Now was the time to strike--while they were separated and vulnerable.

He tapped at the keypad again, tracing the location of Eliel's transmission. When over-laid onto a holomap of Naboo, the signal showed her to be in the middle of a large lake. He frowned at the red dot for a few seconds before things became clear. Of course. She was on a boat.

Perfect.

***

Bel Eliel Jensei had vivid memories of her home world, despite the fact that she had only seen it once, many years ago. Oceans covered over ninety-five percent of the surface of the planet, leaving only three large landmasses for Cuan's inhabitants. When her ship--stolen from the launch pad on Coruscant where the Jedi kept their vessels--first broke into the atmosphere she had literally begun to weep, awestruck by the beauty of the place.

The tribes of Cuan were split into three types, each exemplifying a lifestyle dictated by the planet itself. Those of the Ocean hunted deep-sea fish and lived in gatherings of huts along the beaches. They were nomadic by nature, moving north or south with the migration of the sea life. The River tribes were more sedentary and built their villages in the lands near Cuan's major tributaries so that they might harvest the marsh grasses and vegetables for trade with those who dwelled in the Lake regions.

Eliel's own tribe, the Coimead, had been Lake dwellers before the battle that wiped them from the world. Her only memory of them consisted of a series of stone monuments standing along the shoreline of a ruined village. She remembered the smell of the water, though, and the feel of the air around the shore. She remembered the bitter taste of the draught she'd been given as part of the Mourning Ritual. And she remembered the stinging prick of the needle as it pierced her flesh repeatedly during the process of tattooing.

It was here that she tarried at the moment--somewhere between the wonder of her first sight of her home world and the pain of mourning--as the ferry sped across the water, bound for the transport station that would ultimately lead back to the ship she and Obi-Wan piloted to Naboo. The head start would give her time to prepare the ship for a swift departure. It would also give her friend a chance to have a much needed conversation with his Padawan.

The presence of a fighter registered in her consciousness as a growing malevolent spot, shattering the peace of the moment. She looked up, scanning the sky, and found its silhouette quickly. A fast moving dart on the horizon, the ship was clearly headed their way. Eliel closed her eyes and reached out with the Force, hoping to get a better sense of their potential assailant.

Tarc. His presence, familiar, yet tainted with an unknown edge, registered within her mind, sending a zap of adrenaline racing. Seeing his name on a listsuspecting himeven reporting those suspicions to the Councilall seemed surreal when faced with the certain knowledge that her former friend and lover was bearing down on the speeder with malice in his heart.

"There aren't many birds I don't know in this country," Paddy Accu said, shading his eyes to get a better view. "But I have to say that's one of them."

"That's no bird," she answered. "Turn around."

"What?" He reached for the electrobinoculars, intending to get a better look.

Before he could find them, though, she reached into the Force once more and turned the boat with a deft twist of her left hand. They heeled sharply and a plume of water shot high into the air as the engines struggled for purchase. "Back to the dock," Eliel ordered. "As fast as you can go."

The aging man nodded and began to work the controls, flooding his engines with all the power he could muster.

Eliel got up and planted a foot against the seat as she scanned upwards again and began to calculate trajectories in her head. They would not make it. The ship was gaining rapidly and bearing down. She felt, rather than saw, the pulse cannons lower near its bow and drew her lightsaber, ready to deflect what blasts she could before they were blown out of the water.

"Faster," she barked.

"This is all I've got," he shouted back, straining to be heard over the engines.

"Then we're going to get wet," she muttered as the first shots began to rain down on them.

"Wet is fine by me," he answered. "Dead is not."

Eliel was too busy to reply. She redirected twelve blasts from the cannons as the ship swooped over them and shot ahead, banking for another run. In the seconds that were offered as a breather, she jabbed at her left wrist, expecting to key her comm and call for help. Instead, she came up short against Nerilu's gauntlet and cursed.

Always make a point of wearing your comm on your off arm.

The words of wisdom had been drilled into her head no less than a thousand times by every Jedi she'd ever studied under. Even Jocasta Nu--the Librarian, of all people--had admonished her to do so once. She'd told Nerilu the same thing.

But her off hand had changed. The wound taken on Geonosis had forced her to switch to a left-handed grip on her lightsaber and, dutifully, she'd shifted her comm to her right arm. Eliel slapped at the comm, not waiting for a response to her hail.

"Company!" she bellowed, ducking as a wave crashed over the bow. "Tarc. I'll hold him off as best I--"

Eleven more blasts were fired and she sent them skidding harmlessly aside out of pure reflex. The twelfth--fired at the last possible moment--hit the engines and sent the small boat into a series of barrel rolls across the surface of the lake.

It took a moment for Eliel to get her bearings in the water, disoriented as she was by the spinning of the craft and the force of impact, but she righted herself quickly, shucking her robes as they began to weigh her down. She surfaced with caution, searching the sky for the attacking vessel. It was nearly at the far shore, making a lazy turn back toward her in preparation for a run at the lodge itself. She had a few seconds, then.

Treading water, Eliel closed her eyes and drew several deep breaths, reaching into the Force and searching for her lightsaber. It had been flung from her grip during the crash and was, no doubt, somewhere close to the bottom of the lake by now. She found it quickly though and called the weapon to herself, sending it shooting to the surface rapidly. It sailed through the sky in a high arc, coming to rest neatly in her outstretched hand.

Eliel stashed it on her belt, drew a deep breath, and struck off for shore, swimming for all she was worth. She would never beat the fighter to the dock, but if she could manage to stay alive long enough she would be able to assist in defending the house and its inhabitants.

The ship blasted by overhead, throwing up a wake on the surface that tumbled her backwards and filled her nose with water, then slowed as shore drew near. Eliel expected a full-out bombing run of the house and was shocked greatly when the ship touched down neatly on the permacrete retaining wall.

She spit water from her mouth, slicked her hair out of her eyes, and dove, breaking the surface a few yards away already pulling hard.

****

Obi-Wan Kenobi stared at his Padawan's back, taking in everything from the cut of Anakin's tunic to the breadth of his stance. The boy was deeply uncomfortable, that much was clear. But this conversation, he knew, was only a sliver of what Anakin would face in the Council Room back on Coruscant.

"Anakin, are you listening to me?"

The answer came quickly and in a sharp-edged tone. "Yes, Master."

Obi-Wan paced three steps around the low table in the center of the room and sank down onto the couch. He was tired. Bone tired. Too much to process, too quickly. Too much guilt. Too much horror. But if he stopped--if he gave himself even a moment to digest what he'd discovered about his student--he might never leave the cushion again. He drew in a breath and squared his shoulders, standing once more.

"Then answer the question."

Anakin turned to face him, eyes full of anguished shame. "I don't know what happened, Master. I was with my mother. She was hurt. Dying. And then--"

His confession was interrupted by a loud squeal from Obi-Wan's comlink. The emergency hail repeated itself, then Eliel Jensei's voice cut into the room. Her words, barely audible over the sound of laser fire and a screaming engine, registered with a cold wave down Obi-Wan's spine.

She was under attack. They were under attack.

"Marin," Obi-Wan muttered, scowling.

"Master?"

His eye's raked across Anakin's lean frame, assessing both the boy and the situation. It was not often that Obi-Wan found himself conflicted when there was a need for action but at that moment he was uncertain of what to do. Tarc Marin had not, in all likelihood, come to forcibly take Anakin. Nor was it reasonable to assume that his target was Senator Amidala. It was far more likely that he was on Naboo to finish the failed job of the bounty hunters back in Coco town.

"Go help Eliel," Obi-Wan ordered, already heading for the door.

Anakin nodded in response, hot on his Master's heels, but checked himself suddenly. "What about Padme?"

"The Senator," Obi-Wan spun, glowering at his student, "is not the one in danger here. Go help Eliel."

Anakin nodded once more and forced himself to obey. He sprinted down the hall and Obi-Wan followed, willing to let his student guide him through the twisting halls of the house.

****

Eliel hauled herself onto the dock with a grunt and turned onto her back, taking the luxury of a moment to catch her breath. Instinct pushed her toward assisting Obi-Wan and Anakin, but both logic and duty demanded that she seek out and protect the Senator.

She rolled to her feet and turned to where the ship had landed. Anakin, no doubt, would keep an eye on the woman he loved. She had some time to examine the vessel and perhaps find another piece of the puzzle that had been eluding her since Tatooine.

The craft, basically round in shape, was unlike anything she'd ever seen before and far smaller than anything she would be personally willing to pilot. Its body was octagonal and could be no more than a few scant meters across. Curved wings flanked the one-man cockpit, echoing the arc of the sphere.

Eliel cocked her head as she circled around it, taking in detail. She was not an engineer, but as a trained pilot in her own right, she could easily appreciate the design of the craft. Light and small, it would excel at maneuvering in combat and did not, so far as she could see, require an astromech droid as a co-pilot.

"Try to kill me, will you, Tarc?" she mused aloud.

Eliel drew her lightsaber as she moved around the craft. Her thumb went instinctively to the power button, but the weapon refused to ignite. Instead, it offered three cracks and a loud sizzle, sharply reminding her that it had been completely submersed in water just a few minutes before.

She groaned and returned it to her belt, continuing in her path around the ship.

"All right, then," she muttered. "We'll do it another way."

Eliel made an easy leap onto the canopy and laid both palms flat on the metal of the hull, reaching into the Force. She probed through the ship's systems quickly and gently twisted the grid of energy that would stabilize it in flight. In the vacuum of space, her vandalism would have only a minor effect on such a well-designed craft. Combined with Naboo's gravity, though, it would render the ship wholly unmanageable--even for a pilot like Tarc Marin. If, somehow, he managed to escape from his confrontation with Obi-Wan, Tarc would crash into the water--or perhaps a mountain--the minute he gunned the engines for flight.

Eliel looked up from her efforts at sabotaging the craft in time to see Anakin Skywalker skidding to a halt on the dock.

"Master Jensei, are you all right?"

"I'm fine," she answered, dropping back to the ground and straightening her tunic. "But the ferry Captain is still in the water. Find another boat and get him back to shore."

Anakin took a moment to search the surface of the water, spotting the elderly man bobbing a good distance from them. He nodded, agreeing to her command, then looked over at Eliel.

"Who's attacking? What do they want?"

"Long story," she answered, striding toward him. "Go help the Captain."

Eliel got three strides past him before realizing that the boy had yet to move. She spun on a heel, glaring. "Is there a problem, Padawan?"

He clasped both hands behind his back and widened his stance, looking down at the permacrete of the wall beneath them. "Padme, Master Jensei. Shouldn't someone be guarding her?"

"The Senator," she answered, struggling to control her temper, "is not about to drown. Find a boat. Help the Captain. I'll take care of her."

Anakin looked as if he wanted to throw both arms around her in gratitude, but Eliel never gave him the chance. Before he could respond or question her orders again, she put her back to him, heading for the stairs that would lead to the house. She was half way to the top when the sound of lightsabers crashing in battle met her ears.

****

Obi-Wan and Tarc moved back and forth along the terrace overlooking the dock, their lightsabers shrieking with every blow and parry. There were plenty of things that they could say to one another--dozens of questions could be asked and answered--but neither spoke a word as they fought.

Obi-Wan was a patient warrior. He took his time assessing any foe during the early moments of battle. He pushed, ever so subtly, in directions that he thought might lead to weakness or mistake and he waited for opportunity to present itself. His style, developed over years of training but rooted in his early days at the academy, had always proved efficient.

A pattern you must set. Master Yoda had drilled this into them during early sparring sessions. Strike with repetition. Seek out the familiar, your opponent will. When change the pattern, you do, surprised, he will be. Yoda's words had yet to fail him.

Two high, one low, followed by a slash at chest level, then reversed. This was the pattern he was setting. Each blow was met solidly and squarely, limiting the options of response. Once more through the routine and he would change it.

"Did you think that I forgot everything Yoda taught us when I left the Order?" Tarc asked suddenly, switching the angle of his blade mid-arc and disappearing suddenly from Obi-Wan's line of vision.

His lightsaber, moving with the force of momentum, slammed into the permacrete where Tarc had been, leaving Obi-Wan momentarily confused. He tucked and rolled with the movement, coming to his feet in time to block a blow aimed for his head. So much for being in control of the fight.

"That's always been the way with you, Tarc," he answered. "Take what you want and ignore the consequences."

Tarc Marin, former Jedi and one time friend of the man he was determined to kill, offered Obi-Wan a broad and somewhat malevolent smile in response.

From there, he began to drive backwards with a series of powerful blows. None of them, Obi-Wan knew, were meant to be anything but turned aside. The goal was to move him down the terrace and against the railing. There, hemmed in, it would not matter that they were equally matched. Whomever could get the better position would have the upper hand.

Tarc Marin had spent many hours sparring with Obi-Wan at the academy. He was well aware of the Jedi's tendency toward acrobatics in a fight and when Obi-Wan leapt into a back flip to put more distance between them, Tarc was more than ready for it. He tapped into the Force himself, pulling enough power to close the space and launch a kick in one fluid movement. His boot met the Jedi's jaw with an audible thud and sent Obi-Wan careening backwards over the balustrade.

He watched with a sneer as Obi-Wan, semi-conscious and bleeding, fell toward the water below. It was likely that the impact would put the Jedi out cold and from there it would be a simple matter of finding his body and running him through. Something whizzed upwards suddenly, though, speeding by his head with enough speed to send Tarc into a reflexive ducking motion. He turned, following the arc of the object, and saw Obi-Wan's lightsaber slap neatly into Eliel Jensei's outstretched palm.

"You forget I like the water, Tarc," she said. "Hard to drown."

He'd spent many hours sparring with Eliel as well. Moreover, he was intimately acquainted with her body and personality both. She was quick, agile, and capable of very lethal intent. She also smelled like spice fruit and was ticklish at the base of her spine. Knowledge of the last had made aiming for her on the water speeder harder than he'd expected.

"You're wounded, Eliel," he said. "I'll win."

She gave him a small shrug in response, swinging the lightsaber in a few low arcs. "Maybe. But doubtful."

Tarc began to stalk a circle, maneuvering himself away from the railing. Eliel had weaknesses--even apart from her wounds. He smiled at her, jerking his chin toward the water. "He's probably dead, you know. There are a lot of rocks down there to split a skull open on."

Eliel echoed the arc of his circle, closing the space between them slowly. "His skull's thicker than most," she answered. "And you're stalling."

Yes. He was. Orchestrating an attack by the Tuskens that might wind up in her death was one thing. Firing at a water speeder she was on was difficult, but manageable. Fighting her hand to hand, though, feeling his lightsaber slide through her fleshthat was something that Tarc Marin wasn't entirely sure he was prepared for.

"I'll make it easy for you, then," she added.

Tarc's lightsaber came up instinctively as she charged him and he met the blow squarely. Their eyes locked across the blades and he searched for a flicker of the warmth that used to greet him. Instead, Tarc found an icy mixture of disgust and anger.

That would make his job much easier indeed.

He dropped his right hand from the hilt of his weapon and slammed it into her sternum, soliciting a loud and involuntary gasp. A sweeping kick to her ankles sent Eliel racing toward the ground and he shifted his grip on the lightsaber, preparing to drive it into her body. Instead, a sharp bark of pain shot through his shins and Tarc fell; victim of a scissor-kick that brought him down with her. He landed hard on his back, somewhat dazed, and blinked up against the blueness of the Naboo sky. A second kick caught him in the gut and he rolled, watching her attempt to scramble to her feet.

Tarc caught her by the ankle and yanked with all his strength, rolling again as she crashed down on top of him. There were a series of punches and elbows jabs exchanged as they grappled, but he came out on top and pinned her neatly against the permacrete. Eliel struggled underneath him, bucking her hips in an attempt to throw his balance, but Tarc merely smirked in response. He weighed more, was stronger and, most importantly, was not wounded. She'd wear herself out before accomplishing anything.

"How'd you get the wound, Eliel?" He asked, slamming her wrists against the ground. "My Master's droid army prove too much for you on Geonosis?"

Her response came in a howl of absolute rage and Eliel threw her head upwards violently, crashing it into his nose. Tarc flung a hand up instinctively to cover his face as stars popped in his vision and he felt her twist out from underneath him. He let out a cry of pain as her boot made solid contact with his ribcage, but tucked and rolled, coming to his feet.

There was the nerve he'd been looking for earlier. Tarc used the Force to retrieve his lightsaber. There were only two people on the waterspeeder when he'd attacked. And she'd been alone on Tatooine before Kenobi arrived. "Ah," he said. "Too much for your Padawan, then. And you, no doubt, took your shot to the chest while defending her fallen form. That, Eliel, is why the Jedi discourage attachment."

Her eyes narrowed and Tarc smiled, confident that he'd been correct in his guess. He ignited his weapon. "Your first, too. What a shame."

"The shame of it was that you were stuck on Tatooine running errands for Dooku," she answered, squaring her stance. "But I suppose that speaks volumes about his faith in your ability to do battle."

Tarc let out a roar of outrage at the well-aimed barb and charged her. Not three steps later, he crumpled to the ground with a garbled cry of shock as Obi-Wan used the Force to slam a heavy stone planter into his back.

Eliel took a moment to simply enjoy the scene, then powered off Obi-Wan's lightsaber and moved to help her friend over the railing. She planted her feet as he caught her forearm in a strong grip and heaved, pulling him onto the permacrete.

"I could have handled it," she said.

Obi-Wan slicked his wet hair back from his face and pointed to the blood streaming freely from the newly reopened wounds on her right arm. "You're welcome."

In the thick of the fight, Eliel hadn't even noticed the scars being torn open again. Now that they were, though, she was certainly destined to spend more time with Master Ando. She groaned loudly, soliciting a chuckle.

He held out an open palm. "Where's Anakin? I sent him to help you."

Eliel passed back his weapon and pointed to the dock, indicating that Anakin was busy helping Paddy Accu ashore. "And, here comes the Naboo contingent," she shifted her finger back toward the house, where the Senator and a small cadre of guards emerged. "Better late than never, I suppose."

Obi-Wan took in both sights, then nodded, squatting to examine Tarc. "Did he tell you anything? Is he our missing link?"

"Dooku," she answered. "Why else would he be trying to kill us?"

He shrugged, affecting an innocent tone. "Maybe he was seeking revenge for the torrid affair that ended your relationship."

She narrowed her eyes and toed him in the thigh with her boot. "You're delusional."

"So was he." Obi-Wan stood, passing her Tarc's lightsaber. "He's unconscious, but he'll need to be restrained."

"And guarded," she agreed. "Preferably by one of us."

"My men can see to it that he is secured while your wounds are tended to," the Senator said, arriving in time to catch the tail end of their exchange.

"I'm fine," they answered, their words coming in near perfect unison.

"Bleeding is not fine," the Senator answered. "Not even for a Jedi." She pointed to the house as the guards bent to extricate Tarc from the shards of the shattered planter. "Dorme is waiting with a medkit and the sooner you are treated, the sooner you can guard this" she trailed off, staring down at Marin with a plainly hostile expression.

Several descriptive phrases came to Eliel's mind: traitor, renegade, and bastard among them. But she chose to hold her tongue, using the excuse of Anakin's arrival as a distraction.

[End Part 7]

Elismor
July 2002