When they finally let him be, Qui-Gon dropped to the ground weakly. All he could feel was the intense burning torture in his sides. It was cruel, more so then the pain, that the dark bliss of unconsciousness should not fall on him with it's sweet relief. A cheap, unfair irony.

Qui-Gon guessed he was on his back. It was hard to tell much of anything in his current state, but he vaguely remembered falling into this position. Conn hadn't stopped until the boy was half-dead. The damage to him outside wasn't particularly bad, but the sensation was wreaking havoc on his nervous system. He felt like he couldn't quite catch his breath, his skin was covered in a thin sheen of sweat. *Concentrate.* a soft, silky tone whispered in his mind.

"Master..." Qui-Gon exhaled the word, a breath of relief, more soothing to the boy's many hurts than any medical comfort could bring. *Rely on the force, not yourself. Alone you are nothing. It is your ally. Feel it, not the pain. You'll be fine.* This was not truly Yan Dooku, he knew; he hadn't felt his Master's mental touch in days, but nevertheless, the lesson gave him solace. Feel the force. "Yes..." he reached up into it's never-flagging reserve of power, and his focus sharpened. He felt it. Pure and blinding and mighty, the light consumed the darkness creeping into him.

It didn't hurt as much now. He realized the cold stone floor was becoming just as painful against his side as the electro jabber. With a moan, he rolled onto his stomach and started to rise. The movement was abruptly cut off by a heavy boot stepping down on his shoulder. A thousand expletives raced through his head. Conn!

He lay quite still, hoping that the Muh-Hadden would just leave. He didn't need added injury now.

"See, Jedi can be subdued." Conn's voice echoed in the tiny cell. Qui-Gon felt anger seep into him. The boot increased pressure. "Just like you and I, friends. He gestured at the guards. "Powers, or no powers, they are no different. This one has already submitted. We shall find extracting information from him simple. Once broken, easily dealt with."

Qui-Gon felt his face burn. He concentrated on the pressure from the boot to distract him. It was beginning to hurt. He focused on the pain...

"The spirit isn't as strong as some would think. Easy to snap, if you're rough enough." the boot nudged him. "Remember the little spitfire we brought in here? A boy afraid of the dark."

In the flash, Conn went flying across the room, propelled by a powerful force-burst. He barely had time to cry out before slamming into the wall with a heavy thud. The room shook slightly with the impact. The Muh-Hadden slid down to land in a crumpled heap on the dirty floor.

The gazes of the guards were not on their fallen leader, but on the prisoner, who was sitting up and glaring at Conn. His blue eyes blazed. The moment passed and the company split, half going to restrain Qui-Gon, and half to see if Conn was alive.

They needn't have bothered. With a bellow, Conn picked himself up. Qui-Gon's eyes widened. He had been so sure he'd killed him. The man staggered crazily over to where the boy was restrained. Blood trickled from his lip, and his yellowish eyes were livid. The Jedi found himself truly afraid.

"You've damned yourself, boy." Conn whispered, his voice strangely calm. He seized the electro-jabber and leveled it at Qui-Gon's shoulder. The boy didn't doubt it one bit.

The first few blows he could handle, but after ten minutes the padawan's torso was black and blue and he knew he could take no more. Conn was taking out his wrath by indiscriminately beating the helpless Jedi with the blunt end of the pole. He wanted very badly to cry, but held his dignity and silence, even as bruise was piled on bruise. He fell to his knees as the weapon slammed down on his shoulders.

Quickly, the Muh-Hadden whirled the electro-jabber and stabbed the sharp end into the boys shoulder, a little below where the last blow had fallen. The pain made his vision blur as the combined shock and cut from the device sliced into his skin. Darkness licked the edges off his mind, and he felt himself fall forward.

"A little taste of what's to come, whelp. I'll leave you to think it over."

Qui-Gon was in far too much pain to register the words. He felt the vibrations as the Muh-Hadden slammed the door, and the whirr and click of the lock activating.

As the door shut, the light was consumed. He pleaded silently for unconsciousness, so that he wouldn't have to feel this, but no quiet numb came. Tears pricked his eyes, and the miserable agony he had been holding back in Conn's presence hit full force. Rolling himself into a ball he began to cry silently, too weak to do anything else. He was so cold.

He was depleting his strength by this childish display. Qui-Gon knew that. No food, no water, he couldn't afford tears. The padawan tried to stop, but the hurt was too big for him, and he suddenly realized he was very small. So he resigned himself to laying on the cold stone, quietly weeping while the darkness held him tightly.

*

Tahl didn't stop to think. Even if she had hesitated, it was doubtful that coherent thought could pierce the tight wall of delirious grief that controlled her. She reacted, rather than considering a plan. The girl only was sure of one thing, and that was that she had to know. If there was any way...*any* way he could be alive... And there had to be, simply because Qui-Gon *couldn't* be dead. She was going to Childor. Tahl needed the facts.

But sneaking out of the Temple, borrowing a shuttle and getting it half-way across the galaxy was no easy feat, even for a girl as resourceful as Tahl. She didn't want her Master involved, that would lead to too may questions and delay's. But she needed a starship, quickly, with no pesky questions from the Council. So, naturally, she asked Clee Rhara.

Clee was Tahl's age, a fellow Jedi and friend, who worked on the Jedi's limited starship program. Even only as a padawan, she was an excellent pilot, and could get you a ship in a flash if it were needed. Tahl finally cornered her working on one of the speeders in the Temple hanger.

"ABSOLUTELY NOT!" The red-headed Jedi wiped at her eyes with an oil-smeared hand, trying to hide her tears. "Force! Qui-Gon?" she shook her head. "No. There's no way I'm helping you with this suicidal thing. Now it's Qui, then it'll be you, I know! Tahl-just stay here! Please!" there was desperation in her tone.

"Clee-I have to go! What if-what if there's a chance that he's a...a...." her voice cracked and the tears she'd held back spilled onto her cheeks. "Alive?"

"Qui-Gon's smart, Tahl. If he's alive in there, you can bet he'll show up in a few days at his own funeral and scare us all out of our minds." she seized her friends shoulders. "Please don't go. You could be killed...What good would that do to Qui-Gon, if you're dead?!"

Tahl's expression hardened and she shrugged off Clee's arm. "He's alone. He shouldn't die alone. Now, If you won't give me your support, I'm going to find someone who will..." She began to walk away.

"Tahl-" Clee began. Her friend half-turned. There was silence a moment. "-if you won't listen to reason, at least I can make sure you get a good ship. Come on, I think we have something here..."