Title: Death Shall Have No Dominion

Title: Death Shall Have No Dominion
Author: The Duchess Of The Dark
Teaser: Alternative scenario of during & after The Phantom Menace

Rating: PG13 – no nasties in here, unless you count Darth Maul

Disclaimer: All recognisable characters belong to The Flannelled One. I own not, you sue my regrettably pear-shaped English arse not. Karis Kavanagh, Lyxandra Nox & all other non-canon characters are mine.

Genre: Action/adventure and hints of more to come. For more dark fiction (not fanfic) visit my page at Illona's Place Vampires www.bloodlust-uk.com/helenmurphyfiction.htm

Archive: Yes, but ask me first, please.
Notes: Loved it? Loathed it? Tell me please... First of many chapters! Unfinished Text in italic indicates thought. Text in apostrophes 'italic' indicates telepathic conversation.

"Though they go mad they shall be sane,

Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again;

Though lovers be lost love shall not;

And death shall have no dominion."

Dylan Thomas, And Death Shall Have No Dominion' (1936).

The clashing hiss and static of lightsabre blows rang out loud against the low hum of power generators as the Jedi fought the solitary Sith Lord. With a pained grunt, Qui-Gon Jinn staggered back as a Force-strengthened down swipe caught his lightsabre squarely in the middle, nearly causing him to drop it. He was tired, wounded in a dozen places, feeling his age. The Sith was younger, more resilient than he was, bolstered by messianic hatred and rigorous training. Seeing he was flagging, Lyxandra Nox stepped in, the singing violet blue length of her twin-pronged weapon flashing as she parried a frenzied deluge of thrusts.

A darted glance back showed the Jedi Master's Padawan pacing with barely contained frustration behind a fluctuating reddish screen of energy, activated lightsabre clutched in his hands. Obi-Wan Kenobi was furious for allowing himself to be imprisoned, angry that the two Jedi Masters had not waited for him to catch up. Qui-Gon waited patiently for an opportunity to rejoin the battle, watching for a break in the blazing arc of shuddering light that would allow him to slip back in. Together they could defeat the Sith Lord, and if Obi-Wan got free in time, maybe even capture him to take back to the Jedi Council on Coruscant.

Darth Maul's manic yellow eyes gleamed as he leapt into the air in a flurry of black robes, double lightsabre whirling above his head in a crimson blur as he vaulted over the Jedi. Lyxandra tracked his leap with cool emerald eyes, long dark hair flying as she flipped over to meet the Sith's downward blow, sparks of purple leaping from her energy blade. The dexterity with which she wielded her weapon was astounding; she was the only one he knew who used a double lightsabre until he met Maul in combat. Feeling Obi-Wan's frustration and anger building, he sent a calming thought to the younger Jedi. His time would come, but his anger could prove his undoing.

Qui-Gon felt anxious for the first time, the fight was taking too long. The invading Trade Federation led by the Neimoidians was dangerously close to overrunning Naboo, and the Queen was somewhere in the palace, protected only by her loyal handmaidens and the stalwart Captain Panaka. Then there was young Anakin, whom he had left in the relative safety of a fighter cockpit. If it had been any other adversary, they would have overpowered or killed them in minutes, if not seconds. Biting back a cry as Maul caught her left shoulder, the flesh sizzling as it burnt, Lyxandra shifted her grip, favouring her uninjured arm. Concerned, Qui-Gon strode forward, green sabre whistling down, only to be blocked as the Sith twisted agilely about.

Maul suddenly feinted to the left, dropping down so Qui-Gon missed, sweeping the Jedi's legs from beneath him. He rolled into the fall, but slipped on the smooth floor. Following the move, supple and sure-footed as a Naboo swamp cat, Lyxandra drove in hard. Clipping her smartly on the chin with the shaft so she reeled, the Sith brought his arm around, taking full advantage of the two screeching red blades, and lunged. Scrambling to his feet Qui-Gon cried a warning, hand outstretched, too late to stop the stabbing blow. Blazing scarlet, the lightsabre scorched through tender flesh and bone, emerging from the centre of Lyxandra's slender back. The Jedi Master heard an anguished bellow of denial and realised it was his own.

A small, barely audible gasp of shock and pain fell from her lips. She looked slowly around and her vivid jewel green eyes met his, mutely imparting the certainty of her death. Maul bared his discoloured teeth in triumph, demonic red and black tattooed face animated with the realisation he had inflicted a deadly wound on one of the hated Jedi. She took a faltering step backwards as the Sith wrenched the weapon out, acrid smoke rising from the perfectly circular smoking hole. Her lightsabre fell from her rigid fingers and clattered noisily to the metal floor, twin columns of green energy winking. She collapsed to her knees, folding like so much material, and fell face down. Flopping onto her back, she lay motionless, a spreading pool of bright blue blood soaking through her beige Jedi robes.

Qui-Gon stared with disbelief. It could not be true, it was simply not possible. Maul sneered at the stunned expression on his bearded face, twirling his lightsabre in a challenging loop. Grief and fury shattered the mental discipline of long years of training, ruptured the Jedi Master's self-control. Roaring, ignoring Obi-Wan's shouted pleas from behind the energy shield, he flung himself at the grinning Sith Lord, the blood and hatred pounding at his ears-

He woke with a cry, flailing in a tangle of blankets, vision crowded with blackness, ears filling with silence. Drawing in a deep, shuddering breath, Qui-Gon Jinn fell back on the spare pillows, hands coming up to cover his face. Lying there, body tense and knotted, he calmed himself, waiting for the mad thunder of his heart to subside. It was the same nightmare every time.

Outside his compact quarters in the Jedi Temple, Coruscant bustled along ceaselessly, humans and aliens living, working, squabbling and loving as if nothing had happened. In the vast expanse of the galaxy, major events could easily pass unnoticed. Though it was night, the city-planet never slept, the streets and skylanes were always busy. In the spires and corridors of the Temple, Padawans, Knights and Masters alike would be going about their duties, even at this late hour.

It should have been me, he thought desolately, glancing out of the transparisteel window at the sea of twinkling lights in the darkness, squinting a little at the luminance from a passing shuttle. If only I hadn't asked you to accompany Obi-Wan and I back to Naboo

Closing his eyes, he tried to banish the image of her face as she lay dying in his arms, a warm trickle of blue running from her open mouth as she reached up a trembling finger to touch the tears running down his cheeks.

"Too late, my love, it's too late," she had said, her voice little more than a whisper as her lungs filled with fluid. "Do not grieve for me this is not the end."

Her clear emerald eyes had locked with his and slowly unfocussed as the life left her and she became one with the Force. How long he had sat slumped on the metal floor, slowly rocking her cooling body back and forth, he did not know. What had started as a diplomatic mission to Naboo had become a full-scale invasion coupled with the return of the Jedi's ancient enemy, the Sith. What was ostensibly a trade dispute became the single most traumatic event of the Jedi Master's life. Qui-Gon discovered a vergence in the Force in the form of a young slave boy called Anakin Skywalker and lost his beloved. A year had passed since then, Obi-Wan had passed the trials and become a full Jedi Knight, taking over Anakin's training at the Council's insistence. They did not believe Qui-Gon capable in his current state, and though Obi-Wan would never say so aloud, he could see in his former Padawan's eyes that he agreed.

"Time to grieve you shall have, yes, and to meditate," Master Yoda had declared solemnly in his quiet, rough voice, tapping the floor with his gimmer stick. "Lest grief turn to hatred, which to the Dark Side, the way is."

So, Qui-Gon Jinn, famous for his repeated defiance of the Council's edicts, had acquiesced with a soul-weariness he had never before experienced. Sighing, he rose from his bed and methodically straightened the twisted covers, padding on bare feet to the small kitchen for a glass of water. All around there were reminders of Lyxandra; the hand-stitched wall hanging she had made him for the anniversary of his ascension to Jedi Master, the intricately carved fragment of bantha horn he kept in his belt pouch that matched one he had given her for her naming-day. Her lightsabre reverently placed in a box in the cupboard. Even through the sealed door its presence tugged at him, the defining possession of a Jedi.

Sometimes as he was falling asleep, Qui-Gon imagined her could feel her lying by his side, hear the soft sound of her breathing. He almost thought that if he opened his eyes he would see her smiling in the darkness as she reached to stroke his beard and kiss him before nestling into his arms. Almost. Her passing had created a disturbance in the Force, but it had nearly destroyed him. It was true that one did not fully appreciate the worth of someone until they were gone. Returning to bed, the Jedi Master drained the glass of water and lay down. Closing his eyes, he allowed himself to anticipate, but not to hope. If what he had discovered was true, he could see Lyxandra again, alive and vibrant as ever she had been. If. With this thought uppermost in his mind, Qui-Gon Jinn drifted into an uneasy sleep.

Obi-Wan Kenobi was extremely worried about his former Master. As he sat watching Anakin go through a complex series of exercises designed to focus the mind and tone the body, his attention wandered. It was not that Qui-Gon neglected any of his duties, apart from his reluctance to take on another Padawan, but the cold, almost mechanical fashion he executed them with was disturbing. It seemed only half his mind was in the present, that the greater part of his being was looking back to the past. Obi-Wan was concerned his grief would lead him astray. Though he knew it would be many years before he was as consummate a Jedi as Qui-Gon Jinn, he could not help but worry that his old teacher was veering dangerously close to the Dark Side, blinded by his loss. Obi-Wan would never forget the expression of undiluted murderous hatred contorting his old Master's face as he launched himself at the Sith Lord, Mistress Nox lying motionless at his feet.

"Master, did I do that right?" Anakin's light voice broke in on his reverie.

The boy lifted an arm and a leg, perfectly balanced, and performed a neat handspring. Landing on his feet, milk and peaches face flushed with exertion, he looked with questioning eyes at his mentor. Obi-Wan nodded distractedly, the noise of the training hall suddenly flooding back. All around Padawans ranging from eight to twenty years old trained with their Masters or in organised groups, practising hand-to-hand combat, callisthenics and tests of endurance.

"Yes, Anakin, very good go on to the next sequence," he said, forcing a smile.

Anakin Skywalker bounded up to the older Jedi with the seemingly inexhaustible energy of a ten year old, round face sombre beneath his sweat-dampened blond hair.

"You're worried about Master Qui-Gon," he stated. "I can tell, your face gets all crumpled."

Obi-Wan stared at the small boy, once again surprised by his insight. Already Anakin could read most people's emotions, even if that person was Jedi-trained to control them. Wiping his face on the sleeve of his white gi, the former slave regarded his Master with guileless blue eyes.

"He's too sad," he observed with the blunt honesty of a child. "He doesn't smile anymore I think he needs fixing. Can't we do that, Master?"

With a heart-wrench that was almost physical, Obi-Wan smiled and clasped his apprentice's shoulder, shaking his head sorrowfully. Since the terrible events on Naboo, his former Master appeared to have lost his vitality, his confident aura of serenity and commanding presence.

"No, Ani, I'm afraid we can't. That's something he has to do for himself, nobody can help him. But don't worry, I'm sure he'll be better soon," he reassured, trying to convince himself as much as his Padawan. "Soon"

Temporarily satisfied with his answer, Anakin stepped back onto the mat and began another sequence of exercises. Joining him, Obi-Wan matched him move for move, using the graceful, controlled movements to help focus his troubled mind. He had the feeling Qui-Gon was going to do something dangerous; a small eddy in the Force, a ripple in the fabric of the future convinced him of it.

Be mindful of the future, but not at the expense of the present, he reminded himself, hearing both Qui-Gon and Yoda's voices. Please, Master, don't do anything that will get you killed or expelled by the Council

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Qui-Gon pressed his thumb against the scanner pad and watched the green band of light zip up and down as his DNA was tested and identified. With a muted hiss, the buff door slid back to reveal a dark expanse. As he stepped inside the small quarters, he pressed a switch, activating several wall-mounted lights. The gentle luminance revealed a tidy room; the walls were painted a pale magnolia, hung with large tapestry-like hangings from an unidentifiable alien world. A low sofa draped with Alderaan wool covers stood unobtrusively in the centre of the room, flanking a narrow glass table dotted with a selection of real paper books. Despite himself, he smiled. Lyxandra loved books, loved the smell of paper and the creak as she opened the carefully bound covers. She would make do with data pads day-to-day, but when she read for pleasure, it was from a book.

The air smelled little musty, testament to the deactivated air-conditioning unit, and to Qui-Gon's nose, of long-burned temple incense. It was strange to be back in her quarters; he had not been there for nearly a year, yet could not bear to see it lived in by a stranger. The Council had decided not to allocate the quarters to another Jedi Master, preferring to allow Qui-Gon to choose when someone could take up residence. When he did it would signify his acceptance of past events, indicating he was almost healed. Larger than the quarters of Knights without Padawans, a Jedi Master was afforded the luxury of a personal bathroom and kitchen, rather than sharing communal facilities. Like most Jedi, Lyxandra and her various Padawans had rarely lived there for more than a few months at a time, always away in far-flung corners of the galaxy, but the place was uniquely hers. The last time he set foot there was when he returned from Tatooine with Anakin. They had sat up most of the night discussing the child and his unusually high midi-chlorian rate.

"I understand why you think this way," she had said diplomatically, bare feet tucked beneath her as she sat on the comfortable sofa. "But the boy is too old to be trained, you and I both know that. Besides which, you have Obi-Wan to think about, he is nearly ready for the trials." She had paused and frowned slightly, darkening her eyes. "Anakin is too full of fear and anger. I've only met him once, but I think he is potentially very dangerous, maybe not now, but when he matures."

The Jedi Master heard the door sigh closed behind him and took several paces into the room, listening to the silence. He stopped dead and looked around, blue eyes distant. Gathering himself, he strode to the bedroom. Once there, he opened the tiny wardrobe. Unable to stop himself, he brushed a hand along the hanging clothes, fingers halting at a loose white robe, soft and slightly threadbare in places from use and washing. She had been wearing it when he had called after returning from Tatooine, answering the door with bare feet and a welcoming smile, her dark hair falling about her shoulders.

They had talked about the young slave boy, debated, argued and finally agreed to disagree rather than fight. Sometime in the early hours of the morning, she had yawned and announced she was going to bed.

"You can stay up and brood," she had said, standing in the bedroom doorway framed by a soft halo of golden lamplight. "Or you can come and massage this kink out of my back."

Her lips had bowed to reveal even white teeth as she smiled, one hand pressed to the small of her back as she stretched with exaggerated imaginary stiffness. Like all her species, her skin was faintly pearlescent, gleaming pale opaline in the dim light.

"I think I pulled a muscle helping Kia-Jo train some Initiates," she had mused. "But I can't be sure I must be getting old, the Initiates seem younger and younger these days."

Qui-Gon had quickly decided he was not going to stay up and brood. As always, she had won him over without trying. Closing the wardrobe door, hearing the pop of air as it sealed, the Jedi Master suddenly wanted to leave before another memory crept up and caught him unawares.

That's when I asked you to come with us to Naboo, he thought. Later on, when you were falling asleep. I hoping to persuade you I was right, that Anakin wasn't too old. My focus is in the present, that's all I saw, if I'd looked a little further as you did

Remembering the sudden glint of tears in Anakin's china blue eyes when he was told the Jedi Master was dead, Qui-Gon felt a renewed stab of guilt. The slave boy had been awed at first, then wriggled with delighted embarrassment when Lyxandra swept him up and hugged him. She sensed how much he missed his mother and knowing that neither Qui-Gon nor Obi-Wan would comfort the child in the way he needed, had folded him in a warm embrace. Taking a last look around the apartment, the tall Jedi left. He was beginning, against his better judgement, to hope.

Politely sidestepping to avoid a pair of rotund red-skinned aliens with prominent eyestalks and bare eight-toed feet, Obi-Wan Kenobi scanned the throngs with sharp eyes. The space port was extremely busy, the air filled with garbled messages broadcast in thousands of languages and the distant roar of departing ships. Cleaned daily by an army of service drones, the white floors and metallic walls gleamed crystalline. Hundreds of ships docked here each day and all through the night; freighters, military ships, private and passenger transports from dozens of worlds spanning many star systems. Coruscant was the centre of the Republic, home to the Senate as well as the Jedi Order.

Looking around for Anakin, he saw him engrossed in conversation with a pair of travel-worn pilots, gesticulating excitedly. Being a pilot, to span the stars at the controls of a fighter, was nearly as important to the former slave as becoming a Jedi. He had had a taste during the battle for Naboo, aided by the irrepressible astromech droid R2D2, and his appetite had not lessened.

"Anakin!" The tone of the Jedi's voice left him with little doubt it would be a good idea to do as he was told. Obi-Wan did not have Qui-Gon's patience, and something was clearly bothering him.

Hastily saying goodbye to the two highly amused pilots, the young Padawan hurried over, skilfully weaving his way through the dense crowd. Life in Mos Espa had taught him the quickest ways of slipping through an assorted crowd of humans and aliens.

"Sorry, Master," he apologised. "I got caught up, those two pilots say they've done the Kessel run, and"

He trailed off as he saw Obi-Wan was only half-listening, the opaque quality to his blue grey eyes denoting concentration as he withdrew his telepathic mind and listened to the Force. The Jedi's light brown hair was longer now, the severe short cut and braid of a Padawan gone. Amongst his friends, he was one of the few to have passed the trials, his boyish features hiding a serious, dedicated mind. Chin lifting, gaze returning to the outer realm, he started off across the vast glittering expanse of the space port lobby.

"Come on, Ani, or we won't catch him in time."

Trotting after his Master, struggling to keep up as he strode away on longer legs, Anakin wondered where they would end up this time. Obi-Wan had the determined set to his jaw that meant he was about to go into a precarious situation, his hand coming up to touch the lightsabre hung unobtrusively at his belt. Anakin was not old enough to have a lightsabre, and longed for his Master to decide he was ready to learn how to construct one of his own. The low-powered training sabres were all identical, nothing like the distinctive weapons constructed as part of a Jedi's training. Darting through a forest of legs, he caught up just as Obi-Wan stepped into a turbolift. As the large lift hummed along, crammed full of passengers and pilots alike, the boy looked sidelong at the older Jedi.

Obi-Wan seemed resolute, but unhappy; he looked like a Jedi who had foreseen something not to his liking. Reminding himself that the future was not set in stone, that it was malleable, Anakin decided not to question his Master. Everything would be explained in due course. The lift doors hissed open to reveal the organised chaos of a landing pad. A two-man Corellian fighter stood towards the back, cascading sparks and faint curses drifting from an open hatch as it was repaired by a frustrated mechanic. An even more frustrated pilot lingered outside, helmet tucked under his arm. Squat mech droids trundled here and there, bleeping and whistling incoherantly as they made final checks on departing ships.

Anakin's features lit up with excitement at the sight of so many different ships and he rushed forward, only to be restrained by Obi-Wan's firm hand on his shoulder.

"Stay close," the Jedi murmured, gaze sweeping the huge light-dotted expanse. "And keep an eye out."

He was looking for someone, though who that could be escaped the puzzled boy. Obediently remaining at his teacher's side, he looked eagerly around, listening to the clatter, roar and general hubbub. Spotting a familiar tall cloaked figure striding purposefully between two small blocky Republic cruisers, Anakin cried out.

"Master, look! There's-"

He looked around in time to see Obi-Wan thundering across the landing pad, loose brown cloak streaming out behind him. Breaking into a sprint, Anakin followed as fast as he was able. Seeing his Master make for a sleek silver ship that glistened like a captured teardrop, he veered off to the left in pursuit. Arriving at Obi-Wan's side a heartbeat after he skidded to a halt, he stared open-mouthed at the beautiful ship. A man stood with his back to them on the lowered boarding ramp, long silver brown hair pulled back from his face, broad shoulders bunched. Suddenly sensing a tenseness, an interruption in a careful plan, Anakin bit back the enthusiastic greeting leaping on his tongue.

"Master Jinn," Obi-Wan greeted formally. "May I ask where you're going in such a fine ship?"

Qui-Gon Jinn turned around slowly. His expression was neutral, but his eyes sparked with mingled annoyance and affection. His gaze skipped briefly to Anakin, but he did not speak to him.

"Why do my travel arrangements suddenly concern you, Jedi Kenobi?" he responded in an equally formal tone. "I believe you were once my charge, not the other way around."

Anakin would have laughed if he had not seen the sudden hardening of his Master's eyes. Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon had a close relationship, that of mentor and pupil, father and son. They seldom argued over anything for long, years of friendship proving stronger than passing disagreements. The situation here felt like it could undermine that friendship.

"Forgive me, but I feel a disturbance in the Force, Master." Obi-Wan smiled wryly, the title falling from his lips out of years of habit, even though he was no longer required to address him in this way. "A disturbance you're about to create"

He paused, obviously not wanting to challenge his former Master, but feeling he must. Anakin looked from one man to the other, keeping circumspectly silent. He could sense Qui-Gon's pain; the Jedi Master throbbed with it, no matter how he tried to control and hide it. There were some emotions even a Jedi's training could not master.

"Please, Qui-Gon," Obi-Wan said softly, dropping formality. "Tell me what you're doing. I sense you've chosen a dangerous path, and I won't allow you to walk it alone."

He took a few steps closer, one foot on the boarding ramp. Anakin remained where he was; this was between the two men. The older Jedi hesitated, a neatly packed bag hung over his arm. Wherever he was going, he did not intend to return for some time.

"I'm going to find Lyxandra," he said finally.

Stifling a small gasp, Anakin goggled, wondering if the bearded Jedi Master was ill. He vividly remembered Qui-Gon telling him Lyxandra was dead, remembered how numb and haunted he had looked, a stricken shell of a man. He recalled how during the funeral in Theed, Master Jinn had wrapped himself in his cloak and stared into the undulating flames of the pyre, more isolated than he had ever been in his life. Shattered in the head, wounded in the soul, he had not spoken a single word for days, not to Anakin, Obi-Wan or even Master Yoda. Obi-Wan suddenly felt cold, fearful for his old Master's sanity.

He's finally snapped, he thought, controlling his horror. His grief has driven him insane. A mad Jedi is an extreme danger to himself and others

"Mistress Nox is one with the Force, Master," he said quietly, soothingly.

"You think I don't know that, Obi-Wan?!" The Jedi Master's voice was abruptly loud and harsh, echoing in the vastness. "Do you think I didn't feel her passing, the disturbance it created in the Force? Despite what you think - which I can sense all too clearly, young Jedi! - I'm not mad. There is a way. The question is; will you help or hinder me?"

Obi-Wan looked completely astounded and suddenly unsure. He had known his former Master was about to do something characteristically unorthodox, but had no idea exactly what. Anakin had already privately decided he would help Master Qui-Gon. To his mind, anything that would bring back the awe-inspiring Lyxandra Nox, who had been both gentle and terrifying, was a very good thing.

"What exactly does this involve?" Obi-Wan asked, different scenarios running through his quick mind. "How are you going to find her?"

Cloning was the most obvious way to find' her, but it was illegal throughout the Republic and the clones did not possess the original's memories or personality. He instantly dismissed the idea; Qui-Gon did not believe in cloning and would never seek to reproduce an inferior copy of someone he loved. The Jedi Master drew breath to answer his ex-Padawan, only to pause as a passenger transport roared away nearby, making audible speech impossible. Anakin watched the transport soar into the blue void with engines flashing green white, then returned his attention to the two Jedi.

"Have you heard of the Ilian system, Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon asked.

"Yes," he frowned. "Very remote, past the Outer Rim there was a small border dispute we mediated on the third planet last year, why?"

A faint smile creased Qui-Gon's mouth; Obi-Wan made it his business to keep abreast of all affairs that concerned the Jedi, diligently keeping track of events that could have larger implications.

"There is a spatial rift near the sun, a tear in the fabric of the universe. Objects that pass through it travel to a different dimension. Ilian astrophysicists have recorded unusually high concentrations of unidentifiable energy entering and leaving the rift, they have even chemically tagged some deposits and tracked their progress back and forth." Qui-Gon stopped, seeing his former apprentice was puzzled. He took a deep breath and continued. "The deposits contain varying levels of midi-chlorians, memory engrams and traces of genetic material from dozens of species from across the galaxy, the scientists believe each deposit is a map of an individual who has become one with the Force, in essence, a soul."

Comprehension suddenly unknit the frown on Obi-Wan's face and he stared with mingled wonder and disbelief. Anakin scratched his head, not really following, but trying his best. Obi-Wan shook his head and clasped his hands.

"You are referring to the old legend that all souls eventually migrate when they've become one with the Force, that they're reborn in a different time, a different place, even a different dimension. This is what you believe has happened to Lyxandra." He trailed off and frowned again. "And you're planning to take that ship into the rift to search for her."

Qui-Gon nodded silently, composed and unconcerned as if he were taking a stroll through the Temple. He had the air of a man who had carefully thought something out and decided on a course of action. His former Padawan looked more concerned than before as he took a step closer.

"Even if this is true," he said quietly. "How can you find her, and more importantly what gives you the right to disturb the path of the new life the Force has chosen to give her soul? She may not be female anymore, or even humanoid, either way she will not remember you or her life here. This is madness, Qui-Gon, the Council will expel you for it."

Obi-Wan watched his old mentor's expression carefully, seeing conflict flicker across his features. The Jedi Master seemed to shudder almost imperceptibly, then collected himself, chin lifting to meet his former Padawan's gaze.

"If that is their judgement, Obi-Wan, I shall accept it," he said quietly. "I have to know what's happened to her. We made a promise, a vow that whoever became one with the Force first would come to the other in spirit. She hasn't, and if it's within my power to discover why, then I'll do it."

He took a few paces closer to the younger man, his gaze momentarily reaching to encompass the silently watching Anakin.

"Come with me, help me discover what's happened." He gestured at the dazzling silver ship. "This vessel has been fitted with shields to withstand the spatial forces within the rift, and it has a specialised sensor array to track the deposits. What I propose is feasible, Obi-Wan, I've investigated it thoroughly."

Unable to keep quiet any longer, Anakin raced up to the boarding ramp and skipped to the Jedi Master's side.

"I'll come with you, Master Qui-Gon, sir!" he announced eagerly. "I'll help."

Qui-Gon looked down at the boy's excited blue eyes and enthusiastic expression, a willingness to help shining from his chubby features. A selfless, generous child, Anakin put others before himself without hesitation.

"That's very noble of you, Ani," he said with an affectionate smile, placing a large hand on his shoulder. "But I'm afraid that decision is down to your Master."

Two sets of blue eyes turned to the Jedi with a questioning, one young and guileless, the other mature and fathomless. Resisting the urge to shift from foot to foot beneath their combined weight, Obi-Wan made a decision against his better judgement.

"Anakin and I will need a few things before we set off," he said tersely. "Can take-off be delayed until then?"

Qui-Gon nodded silently, arms folded. Although his expression remained staid, testament to Jedi training, a softening of his sharp blue eyes revealed his feelings. Anakin thundered off the boarding ramp to Obi-Wan's side and stood quietly, trying to contain his impatience. Obi-Wan held his former Master's gaze steadily, then dipped his head and strode away to make preparations for the long trip ahead.

It was cold, extremely cold, and she could feel her legs slowly starting to go numb, despite the comforting warmth of Qui-Gon next to her. Of all the places to be sent, why did Master Yoda have to send them to a planet where it was a tropical paradise by day and frigidly arctic by night? Newly knighted and without any Padawan learners to worry about, they had eagerly accepted the mission, partly to prove their worth, partly to spend some precious time in each other's company. The elderly Rodian freighter captain on whose ship they had booked passage had shown them the utmost respect, but could often be caught grinning and murmuring "two young hearts" under her breath.

She glanced over at Qui-Gon, who was feeling the cold far worse than she was. Human, his body could not self-regulate its temperature in climate extremes as well as hers could. Snuggling a little closer, she touched his ear, checking for frostbite. He turned and smiled briefly, rubbing briskly at his ear in way of an answer. More attuned to the Living rather than the Unifying Force, he was headstrong and frequently challenged his elders on matters others though trivial. It was one of the reasons she loved him. Love. It was such a small word for something so powerful.

They had been lying in wait for the Zabrackian arms dealers for over three hours. It was the middle of the night, and lying belly-down in ice-crackled undergrowth for that long was enough to tax even a Jedi's patience. The arms dealers had caused uproar; they were getting bolder by the year. Unlicensed, they pedalled illegal weaponry to anyone with enough credits to haggle. This particular planet was just within the jurisdiction of the Republic and the Senate had decided enough was enough.

There was a soft rustle of stiff leaves, twigs and other scraps of flora, and she felt his arm snake around her waist. Somewhere close by, a group of small mouse-like faboolas scuttled about their business. Despite the cold, they could not use the portable thermo-device they had brought with them without risking detection by the arms dealer's sensors.

I don't think I've ever been so cold in my life.' His mental voice echoed in her head, deep and softly accented, implicitly caressing. You don't feel cold... how, in the name of the Force, do you manage it?'

Stifling a gasp as his freezing hand found its way through her robes, under her tunic, and brushed bare flesh, she frowned, but allowed him to thaw out his fingers. A dedicated man of extraordinary warmth and compassion, he also had a playful side not many saw. There was something serious and commanding about his voice that lent him a powerful presence his youth did not, and in years to come she was sure he would become a great Jedi Master.

Resting at the curve of her waist his hand, now warmed, moulded to the contours, fingers lightly stroking. Resisting the urge to close her eyes, ignore the cold and discomfort, and let him carry on, she reached out and framed his clean-shaven face in her hands. Friends since childhood, lovers for scant months, they were comfortable with each other but the passion was fresh and vigorous.

It's freezing cold, I have icicles in my hair and we're in the middle of a forest waiting for a group of arms dealers who will definitely try to kill us,' she stated, tracing the line of his jaw with a fingertip. Have I left anything out?'

Qui-Gon Jinn grinned broadly, blue eyes shining in the weak silver moonlight filtering through the forest canopy. Propping himself up on an elbow, he reached across and plucked an ice-filmed leaf from her hair.

"Yes," he said aloud, voice a tone below a whisper. "This."

His lips found hers and despite the cold she felt herself melting, their tongues like two beating hearts, mouths honey and spices

Someone was shaking her, a voice blared loud and insistent in her ears. Reluctantly, she opened her eyes and discovered she was warm, alone and sitting on a tube train seat.

"C'mon, love, last stop," the guard said irritably. "Wakey wakey!"

Karis mumbled that she was awake and knuckled her eyes. The guard tutted under his breath and strode away down the carriage. Grasping at the tubular metal handrail, she fumbled her way off the train and onto the deserted platform. She had fallen asleep on the tube, again. Raking a hand through her hair, she found a bench and sat down, first brushing off an old chip paper and some sweet wrappers.

This is getting ridiculous, she thought, unwrapping a cough sweet and popping it into her mouth. I must be working too hard or something I mean, I'm dreaming about a comic-book character for Chrissake.

Giving herself an inner poke to the ribs, she stood up and headed for the escalator, buttoning her jacket as she did so. It was nearly April, but winter had not yet lost its bite. And to top it off she had caught cold. Rubbing her hands briskly together, she shoved them into her pockets and aimlessly read the adverts on the grey tube station walls as the escalator chugged along. Stepping off at the top, a bitter gust of wind swirled litter around her ankles.

"E-excuse me"

Karis turned to see a thin young boy of about seventeen, rigid with the cold. He wore a shapeless army-surplus jacket, voluminous combat trousers and Doctor Marten boots. His bleached blond hair stuck out at several different angles, held in place by gel and willpower. A silver ring glinted in his left eyebrow. Delving in her pocket, she found some change and held it out. The boy stared uncomprehendingly, then gave a shy grin and shook his head.

"Oh! No, that's not what I was after hang on" he delved into the expanse of his jacket and produced a well-thumbed copy of the first part of Star Wars: The Phantom Menace' and a magic marker. "You're Karis Kavanagh, aren't you? I-I love The Phantom Menace'! It's really great, I've been reading comics for years but I've not seen any sci-fi half this good! The artwork is so cool, and-"

Karis suppressed a smile as the boy stopped, blushed furiously and held out his comic to be signed. Her four part comic series had taken the underground scene by storm and was breaking into the mainstream. For an audience used to Marvel superheroes and Star Trek, it was a breath of fresh air. People who would not normally dream of reading a comic had bought copies. Her agent had spent the past few months in a state of complete rapture since a Hollywood movie-maker called George Lucas had hinted he was interested in developing her work into a series of films.

"What's your name?" she asked.

"Um, erm, Ben," he mumbled.

Signing the comic with her customary bold double K', she handed it back and smiled as the boy looked like he had been handed the Holy Grail. Stammering his thanks, he all but ran off, clutching his prize to his slim chest. Feeling better than she had done, Karis wound her red and purple velvet scarf around her throat and stepped out onto the street, thinking of tea, a hot bath and bed in that order.

I'll finish off those samples and synopses first, she decided. I did promise Illona I'd get them to her by the end of the week. Star Wars', only thirty years down the line when Anakin is a grown man turned to the Dark Side. Let's hope it does as well as The Phantom Menace'

Concentrating on her deadlines and workload, she hurried in the direction of home, head bowed against the fine cold drizzle slanting down to grease the roads and fill the gutters. She was still unsuccessfully trying to concentrate on the outline of the sequel some hours later. Sat before her drawing board, her fingertips coated with ink, she stared at the A3 sized drawing. It depicted Qui-Gon as he appeared in The Phantom Menace', a few decades older than the young Jedi in her dream. Proud features creased with anguish, he was cradling the lifeless body of Lyxandra Nox in his arms. In the background stood Obi-Wan Kenobi, imprisoned behind the crimson energy shield. An unfinished sinister red and black shadow to the left, Darth Maul loomed with his twin lightsabre activated.

Sighing, Karis reached for her glass and took a long swallow of vodka and lemonade, ignoring the smeary black stains her fingers left. Her studio was littered with artwork, a folder of finished pieces behind the drawing board, unfinished ones pinned to cork panels on the walls. She had a computer with numerous drawing programmes on, but preferred to do things the old fashioned way, loving the feel of the paper and the way the colours flowed on the page.

"You've got to stop this, girl," she said aloud to herself. "It's narcissism, sheer narcissism – you've become fixated on a character you created. You're finished with The Phantom Menace', you've other projects to think about."

Angry that she had wasted time, she reached for the drawing, momentarily hesitating before tearing it in half and consigning it to the wastepaper bin. Looking at the clock, she saw it was one a.m and groaned soundlessly. Tossing back the remains of her drink, she tidied away her pens, ink, pencils and paint and stalked off to bed, frustrated and exhausted. Once asleep, she began to dream once more.

"Obi-Wan is a bright child, if somewhat wilful," Qui-Gon declared, setting down his cup. "And he has limited understanding of the Living Force."

Laughing, she reached for the water jug and refilled both their cups. Watching a large group of young Padawans aged between ten and fourteen thunder noisily past to join the queue for meals, she placed her hand over his.

"Which is why Master Yoda encouraged you to take him on and I seem to remember a certain Padawan who was just as wilful, if not more so."

Qui-Gon's lips quirked and he inclined his head in acknowledgement, giving her fingers a light squeeze. A lot of Padawans found him intimidating, overawed by his height and dignified reserve, but once he smiled they were set at ease. Still headstrong in many ways, though not so fiery as in his youth, he radiated an alert calm that inspired trust. Sat at a corner table in the dinner hall, they were watching the Padawan learners and commenting on the progress of their respective apprentices. Meals in the Jedi Temple were a triumph of organisation and culinary expertise. The Order played host to some ten thousand Jedi, and although they did not occupy the Temple at the same time, there were enough of them to cause a logistical nightmare.

"Kia-Jo is progressing well," she commented. "But she is troubled by strong glimpses of the future, which is unusual in one so young. She had a terrible nightmare the other night about a huge space station that could destroy planets. She came creeping into my room shivering and shaking at three in the morning, poor child."

Qui-Gon opened his mouth to answer, but the dreamscape flickered, changed and the busy hum of voices and clink of plates was gone. It was drowsily quiet, warm and dark. Cocooned in sheets and blackness punctured only by the distant twinkle of multi-coloured lights, she listened to the regular, contented beat of the heart beneath her ear. A degree or so warmer than her own, his skin felt delicious against hers. They had not seen each other for six months, various missions sending them to opposite sides of the galaxy.

Sure and gentle, his large fingers twined in her hair, traced the contours of her face and the delicate point of her ear, played caressingly down her spine. Responding with a purring sigh of pleasure, she shifted position, fitting herself against him more snugly.

"Come back with me to Naboo," he said softly, lips against her hair. "I know you don't agree with me over Anakin, but we will need you to help protect the Queen I foresee the tattooed warrior will be there. There is something larger behind all this, but as Obi-Wan so succinctly put it, it is elusive'."

Raising her head she met his piercing blue gaze and read the emotions there; the belief in Anakin, the concern over what may be a Sith Lord, the compassion for the plight of a planet and a painfully young Queen. She nodded.

"I'll come. The entire Council is unnerved by the prospect of the return of the Sith." She paused and gave a wry smile. "Or as unnerved as the Council gets over anything. And with good reason, it seems."

She felt his gratitude, the swell of warmth and love through their telepathic bond washed through her like liquid sunlight. Pillowing her head against his chest, she closed her eyes and breathed in his scent. More sensitive than a human nose, the way a person smelled was as much a part of her concept of them as their face and voice. Feeling his arms tighten around her, she drifted into the relaxed, floating state that came just before sleep. The dreamscape shifted.

She was on Naboo, standing before the massive doors of the power generator complex, watching as they slid slowly back to reveal the black-robed Sith. Behind the Jedi, the Queen and her entourage balked. Amidala was an exceptionally brave, intelligent girl, but even she gave off jagged spikes of fear. The Sith's feral yellow eyes narrowed, burning from a tattooed mask of crimson and jet. Gloved hand lifting to reveal a long lightsabre shaft, the air flashed scarlet as he activated first one side, then the other. Either side of her, Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan thumbed on their weapons, green and blue respectively.

There was no doubt in her mind that this horned, tattooed creature was Sith. He smouldered with hatred honed and controlled into a perfectly balanced weapon. Attuned to the Force, he was incredibly focussed and disciplined. She knew he had one purpose here; to kill any and all Jedi he came across. They were all that stood between him and the Queen. As she activated her own twin-pronged sabre, his yellow eyes flickered with what could have been surprise and a hint of respect.

In her experience, there had never been a confrontation like this before; both sides were Jedi-trained, Light against Dark. The training battles between Jedi were fast, highly skilled and dangerous, but they did not intend to kill each other. There was always the risk of serious injury with a weapon as specialised as a lightsabre, but the intent was never deadly. This was different. Maul's upper lip curled in a faint sneer – he was as good as they were, if not better. Adopting a combat stance, she strode forward, Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan flanking her. The dreamscape rolled back.

Her shoulder was flaming agony, injured by a devious blow. Centering herself, she willed away the pain, reducing it to a dull throb. Grip impaired, she was not fighting at full strength. She could feel Qui-Gon's concern as he stepped forward, green sabre blazing, only to be floored by a hard, accurate kick from the Sith. He grunted as the breath was knocked from him, rolling into the fall. Seeing him slip on the smooth metal walkway, flank momentarily unprotected, she swung around to block Maul. Tattoo-patterned features contorted with battle-rage, he dropped under her guard and smashed at her chin with the haft. Head snapping back, she tasted blood as blue stars raced across her vision. Somewhere through a concussed haze, she could hear Qui-Gon bellow a warning-

Karis woke with a scream, the taste of blood she knew was not human fading from her mouth. Trembling uncontrollably, she realised she was sitting bolt upright in bed. Reaching to turn on the small bedside lamp, to expel the blackness, she touched her face and found it damp with perspiration. Swearing under her breath, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and stared at her bare toes, faintly, inexplicably surprised by the tone of her skin in the orange mushroom of electric light.

What did I think it was going to be? Pearlescent? Next thing you know I'll be wondering why my ears aren't pointed and why a little green man called Yoda isn't living next door. Shit

It had all felt so real, despite the shifting of time and place. More real than a dream. Climbing back under the comforting warmth of the bedcovers, she pulled them up to her chin and lay on her back staring at the ceiling. When dawn stole softly red over the rooftops, she was still wide awake. It had not felt like a dream, it had felt like memories.

Anakin sat with one leg crooked over the other, toying with his tightly-woven braid as he watched Master Jinn. Shivering a little, he rubbed at his arms until the goose pimples faded. Despite living on Coruscant for nearly a year, he still missed the dry heat of Tatooine and found space travel exceedingly chilly. Kneeling on the floor of the cockpit, the Jedi Master was meditating. Hands resting on his knees, he sat on his heels with a straight back and closed eyes, breathing slowly and regularly. The young apprentice wondered if he was listening to the Force, and if he was, what it was telling him.

Obi-Wan was in the pilot's chair before an enticing array of controls, buttons and levers. An intelligent child, Anakin had taken little more than two hours to master the controls, despite never having seen a ship like it before. He had been allowed to pilot it while in open space, laying in the course and speed, making adjustments as necessary, but now they were nearing the spatial rift, Obi-Wan had taken over. The Jedi Knight looked over at his apprentice and noted he was shivering.

"Take my robe, Ani," he instructed fondly. "Or you'll catch a chill."

Gratefully, Anakin retrieved the warm brown robe from the back of the pilot's chair and huddled into it. They had been travelling for over a week and he was beginning to get restless, disliking the confines of the ship. The small corridors and rooms did not allow for the physical training undertaken by a Padawan learner on a daily basis, so Obi-Wan had set him mental challenges. His use of the Force was improving; he had successfully held six datapads in a perfect concentric ring above his head for over half an hour the day before.

The previous night he had woken up and heard the two older Jedi talking in low, serious tones. He sensed Obi-Wan was worried about what may happen if they found Mistress Nox's reincarnation, concerned that Qui-Gon would not be satisfied by simply seeing her. Using their powers for personal gain was strictly prohibited, and the entire enterprise was a very personal one for the Jedi Master. Anakin knew Obi-Wan did not believe his former Master would knowingly violate the Jedi code, but was concerned he could lose his focus.

Although questionable in the strictest sense, merely observing did not contravene the code, nothing tangible stood to be gained. There were no possessions, power or influence in seeing the reincarnation, nothing to adversely affect another or disturb the balance of the Force. It was the associated emotional responses that could lead to complications. Willing to help complete strangers if he believed a cause was worthy, to put their life before his, the temptation for the Jedi Master to intervene in the life of the reincarnation of his bondmate would be overwhelming. So could the urge to re-establish a relationship of some sort, which would be personal gain. Anakin realised his Master had come along to try to prevent such things occurring.

If there's anything wrong, Master Qui-Gon will try to fix it, he had thought to himself, lying curled on the bunk with his eyes closed so the two men did not see he was awake and listening. He always does – he did it for me, and for Jar Jar If she's still a she, or what if she's a he? Or what if she's got six legs, eight eyes and tentacles?!

The ex-slave had thought about the possible permutations until his mind was in a complete whirl. He tried to imagine what it would be like if someone you loved was killed, someone you shared a bond with. Obi-Wan had patiently explained about telepathic bonds between Jedi before beginning to work on the training bond between them. Anakin was insightful enough to realise that the bond between Master and Padawan was very different to that between two mature Jedi. He hoped they would find Mistress Nox, hoped it would make Master Jinn less sad.

Qui-Gon's clear blue eyes opened and he stretched his back infinitesimally. Unfolding his long limbs from the meditating posture, he stood, remarkably gracefully for a man of his size, and crossed to the console. He seemed more focussed than he had of late, some measure of his placidity returning.

"We should be approaching the co-ordinates," he announced quietly. "What do the sensors show?"

Obi-Wan tapped at a few buttons and silently studied the readouts. After a few moments he shook his head, features washed pale blue by the illuminated display.

"Nothing as yet," he reported, then frowned slightly. "But-"

"You feel an eddy in the Force," Qui-Gon finished. "We're getting closer – maintain course and speed."

Anakin hopped down from his perch on a bulkhead and hurried to the Jedi Master's side, his borrowed robe trailing on the floor in a rich brown puddle. He looked up at Qui-Gon, who towered over him as always. Even though he had grown in the last year, he barely reached his elbow in height. He wondered if he would ever be as tall. Sensing the scrutiny, Qui-Gon looked down and his bearded face softened, one huge hand settling on his shoulder with the ease of familiarity. The reassuring strength in his grasp reminded Anakin of when he had won the podrace on Tatooine, of how the Jedi had beamed and hoisted him up onto his shoulder like he weighed little more than a baby wamprat.

Although Obi-Wan was his Master, a Council decision he understood but did not think was fair, Qui-Gon was the Jedi he aspired to be. He had grown to know, trust and love Obi-Wan, but still resented the fact he had not been apprenticed to Master Jinn. Less patient that his former Master, Obi-Wan Kenobi had the beginnings of wisdom that would come with age and experience. His teaching methods were similar, but he laughed more readily and allowed a little more misbehaviour than perhaps Qui-Gon would have.

He looked up at the two older Jedi and saw they both had their eyes closed, extending themselves through the Force to feel the spatial rift. Following suit, he edged out a cautious thought, following the bright stream of his Master's consciousness. Before he could stop it, a gasp escaped his lips and he staggered, only to be steadied by Qui-Gon's strong hand on his shoulder.

"Yes," the Jedi Master remarked, eyes still closed. "It's quite an overwhelming sensation, isn't it?"

Anakin could only nod, dazed by the endless ebb, flow and wheel of life and emotion suffusing the Force around the rift. It was like being bathed in a pure, white light that was somehow filled with millions of colours, each differentiation of hue a contained being within itself, possessed of unique emotions and memories. Untrammeled by physicality, the souls communed with the Force at a fundamental level until they were ready to journey onwards. Raising his head, the young Padawan stared out of the cockpit into space and raised a hand to point.

"Look!" he cried. "Look there!"

Like a slash across black silk, a long blue green tear glimmered against the starry void. Thousands of times larger than the ship, it shone with a beautiful, dazzling intensity. The edges were smooth, lined with scintillating dots of brilliant white, but the centre was dense blackness. Obi-Wan seemed frozen by the spectacle, his mouth soft with wonder. Gathering himself, he checked the sensors.

"The sensors can't detect anything in the centre of the rift," he reported, an eyebrow escalating. "It's like there is nothing there."

Qui-Gon leaned forward and began quickly keying data into the specialised sensor array. The ship shuddered beneath them, causing Anakin to shift his weight to avoid being overbalanced. Obi-Wan's swift fingers darted over the console, compensating for the pull generated by the rift. Silence as the child Padawan watched his seniors work, eyes tracking every movement of their hands, each change in their expressions.

"Master?" Obi-Wan prompted softly. "Did she pass through here?"

Straightening to his full height the Jedi Master nodded, his leonine features smooth and inscrutable. Adept at shielding his emotions, it was difficult for the other Jedi to ascertain what he was feeling. Straining as hard as he could, Anakin detected hope and apprehension in equal measure.

"Yes, she has been here."

Hearing the low rumble of Qui-Gon's voice, Anakin's gaze flew to his Master. Obi-Wan had made clear his feelings over the entire situation in the hanger on Coruscant.

"If you do not wish to continue, Obi-Wan, tell me now," the bearded Jedi said gently. "I will understand. You have a Padawan to consider, whereas I have only myself to put at risk. I can drop you on Illia, it shouldn't be difficult to find passage back to Coruscant."

Obi-Wan's blue grey eyes grew sharp, although he knew his former Master was not implying cowardice. He shook his head firmly, prompting Anakin to let out the breath he had been holding.

"No, we'll come with you. I gave my word and it is good. I can't allow you to do this alone. You were always there for me when I needed help, and so shall I be for you."

Qui-Gon's vivid blue eyes danced with warmth and gratitude, and he clasped the younger man's arm. In the year since the invasion of Naboo, they had drifted apart somewhat, duty, grief and the ritual severance of the Master Padawan training bond placing distance between them. With a simple clasping of arms they had closed the gap. Pleased and excited, Anakin watched as between them they laid in a precise course, adjusted the shields and reset the sensors.

As the sleek ship cruised towards the impenetrable heart of the rift, Qui-Gon stared through the transparisteel cockpit front, shoulders tensing beneath his brown robes. Anakin glanced at Obi-Wan, who met his gaze steadily, then they both looked at the Jedi Master. The ship began to tremble, shaking beneath the extreme gravimetric forces that formed the spatial rift. Gritting his teeth to stop them vibrating in his head, Anakin steadied himself by snatching hold of the pilot's chair, gaze pinned to the black void as it gradually became larger and larger. Despite himself, he felt a twinge of fear, unnerved by the lightlessness and apparent emptiness.

Everything began to grow fuzzy, to lose definition as if viewed through running water or a faulty energy field. Startled, he watched as the front section of the cockpit stretched away, the solid durasteel malleable as putty. Drawing and holding a huge breath, he screwed his eyes shut and gripped the back of the chair until his knuckles turned white. His limbs began to tingle, roaring disorientation flooding his head. The universe compressed itself into a sparkling dot, then there was nothing but blackness.

Anyone watching from a distance would have seen the teardrop silver ship elongate, stretching out of shape like a rubber toy, then vanish in a snap of bluish light. Scant minutes later they would also have seen a black double epsilon-winged craft slowly cruise in behind it, manoeuvring carefully on minimal thrusters. It had no Republic markings, no identifying insignia of any kind. Hanging motionless for a brief time, seemingly dead in space, it suddenly powered up its engines and followed the Jedi's vessel into the spatial rift.