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... second of many chapters!
"It's going to be so big, Kay-Kay, even bigger than 'The Phantom Menace'. I mean, the public are just lapping it up, dahling, lapping it up. This little sci-fi epic of yours is the biggest thing to hit the comic scene in ages!"
Karis half listened as her agent twittered happily, amused as always by her banter. Illona was irrepressible, but a thoroughly capable business woman who hid her steel backbone beneath fluttering hand gestures and beaming smiles. Only Illona could get away with calling her 'Kay Kay' in reference to her initials. Only Illona had seen the potential of her work and moved heaven and earth to find a publisher to take it on. Sat at a moderately well-placed table in a trendy café bar, they were eating a lesiurely lunch, people-watching and talking all at the same time.
"Kay-Kay…? Dahling, I don't believe you've heard I word I said." Illona tossed her burgundy hair and peered at her over the rim of her glass, slowly sipping iced Perrier water.
Karis looked up from her plate and smiled, swallowing a forkful of salad before answering. The café bar was a little too trendy for her taste, there were too many fashionable young things looking down their noses at other people.
"Sorry, Ills, miles away there. What did you say?"
Illona sighed and rolled her eyes dramatically, drumming her fingers on the table with mock irritation. Her eyes narrowed and she studied her client intently. Fingers stained with ink and paint as usual, Karis fiddled with the heavy silver ring on her right hand, insomniac shadows dulling her chocolate brown eyes. She seemed edgy, almost jittery, which was unusual for her. Normally, nothing short of a major crisis ruffled her. If pushed or annoyed, she could explode without warning, earning the unfortunate person a sharp tongue-lashing, but was generally amiable. Throughout their lunch she had eaten little and said less, gazing off into space.
"Are you alright, dahling? You look dreadful, simply dreadful, if you don't mind me saying."
Karis shrugged nonchalantly, "I've not been sleeping very well, that's all. I've had a bit of a cold, too. Nothing to fret over."
Leaning back in her chair, signalling a passing waiter to bring the bill, Illona smiled knowingly.
"I know what's eating you," she announced triumphantly. "It's your birthday next month, isn't it? The big three oh?"
The question was answered by a puzzled frown. Unobtrusively, the waiter appeared and disposited the bill at Illona's elbow before swanning away to another table. She raised a perfect eyebrow.
"Well?"
"I'm twenty eight next month, Ills, I've a few years yet before I reach 'the big three oh'."
Illona looked put-out, slightly embarrassed at adding years to her client's age, and reached for her glass. Suddenly wishing she had a cigarette, but sternly reminding herself she had quit six months ago, she inclined her head.
"How're the drafts for the next installment coming?" she asked. "Have you decided on a title yet? The publisher is itching to know, dahling, just itching."
Somewhat surprisingly, Karis looked uncomfortable and dropped her gaze. Though modest about her work, she would happily discuss, criticise or analyse it with anyone. She squirmed a little in her seat like a child who has not done their homework, toying with the amethyst crystal beads around her left wrist.
"I've done some preliminary stuff, mostly sketches, I haven't really decided on a concrete storyline yet, just that it'll be thirty years down the line when Anakin is an adult. I think I'll have Obi-Wan in there somewhere, too," she said, pushing a sad piece of lettuce around her plate with her fork.
Illona fished in her purse for her credit card and placed it on top of the bill, examining a minute chip in her french manicure.
"It's a shame the publishers made you change the end of 'Phantom Menace' and kill off the Master, what was his name…? Qui-Gon Jinn," she commented. "He was a good character. But, who is the artist to question the publisher, dahling? They hold all the cards, more's the pity."
Karis scowled, feeling an inexplicable inner jolt at the mention of the Jedi Master's name. She had battled for weeks to get the publishers to change their minds, but they would not budge. They had felt his death at the climax, along with that of his lover, would add greater impact to the piece. Instead of the single dignified funeral she had envisioned, she had to redraw a double cremation, with extra frames of the grief-stricken Anakin and Obi-Wan. The decision still rankled with her, even though it was the only change she had been asked to make. Many artists found their work changed almost beyond recognition by picky publishers. It had felt wrong to change the storyline, almost like a violation.
"Tell me about it," she growled. "They better hadn't suggest any 'minor alterations' to the next one."
Leaning over, Illona patted her hand soothingly, flicking a brief smile at the waiter who came to whisk away the bill and credit card. Feeling like an overly temperamental artist, Karis's forehead wrinkled and she sat back, surprised by the depth of outrage she felt at interference with her work.
It's not like any of it's real, she thought. So why do I feel like I've lied?
Cross with herself and the world in general, especially ignorant publishers, she reluctantly accepted Illona's invitation to go for a drink at a nearby wine bar. As they left, she caught herself staring expectantly at the sky, which was clear and blue as a robin's egg. Not consciously knowing what she was looking for, if anything, she shook her head and followed her agent down the crowded city street.
*
Qui-Gon Jinn was engaged in the Jedi equivalent of impatient pacing. He shifted position in the pilot's chair infinitesimally, folded his hands in the sleeves of his robe, crossed and recrossed his ankles. He could feel Anakin watching him with frank curiosity, and was not surprised. The meditative quiet of the cockpit was beginning to feel restricting to the child; he needed more diversion than the muted tones of the various ship's systems. They had emerged from the rift into a binary star system of nine planets, only one of which appeared inhabited. The inhabited planet was an unremarkable blue green world with two polar icecaps and a worrying amount of atmospheric pollution.
Careful scans had revealed a low level of technological advancement; the primary communication methods were radio waves and digital information beamed to clunky satellites. Energy was provided by fossil fuel or nuclear power plants and most transports used internal combustion engines. To his relief, there were no orbital defence systems or security grids that could detect their starship.
"They seem a violent people," Obi-Wan had commented. "Judging by the information and entertainment channels we picked up, there are armed conflicts on all the major land masses. Thank the Force they haven't managed to travel outside their own solar system."
Staring out of the cockpit at the slowly revolving planet, Qui-Gon closed his eyes and concentrated on the Force. Somehow, it had not surprised him that humans, a great deal of whom spoke Basic, inhabited the planet. What did surprise him was the insensitivity they had to the Force. Country after country stripped the land of its resources with no thought of maintaining the delicate symbiotic relationship between the people and the earth. Here and there, small bright glimmers indicated groups of people who were Force sensitive, but he failed to detect any strong enough to be considered Jedi. The Force here was subtly different in ways he found impossible to verbalise. The sensation of filling light and connectedness was the same, but it felt different, as if the entire universe had shifted a tiny degree.
Focussing on the brighter emanations of the Force-sensitive, he consciously put aside his search and allowed the Force to guide him. After an hour of deep submersion, his blue eyes opened and he sat forward to place a hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder.
"Scan the small island just to the left of the largest land mass," he instructed, consulting a datapad on which he had stored maps plucked from the numerous audiovisual channels broadcast across the globe. "Britain."
Nodding, Obi-Wan's nimble fingers danced across the console. Anakin took the soggy end of his braid out of his mouth and leaned forward expectantly. He had studied a whole pile of datapads and had grown particularly fond of something called 'cartoons', amused by the way the ludicrous characters could be hit, squashed, ran over or otherwise injured and instantly bounce back with no apparent ill effects.
"I've found her," Obi-Wan announced levelly, features composed with typical unreadable Jedi calm. That's if she's still female. "Master?"
A strange expression had come over the Jedi Master's features, part elation, part apprehension. Blue eyes momentarily distant, he vacated the pilot's chair and gestured for Obi-Wan to take his place.
"Take us down, Obi-Wan. We haven't come this far to turn back now."
Activating the ship's stealth shields so the primitive radar tracking would not pick them up, Obi-Wan keyed in a descent course. Glinting iridescent like oil captured on water, the teardrop ship swung around, plunging through the thermosphere, mesosphere and finally the ozone layer to pass through the blanketing cottony white cloud.
Anakin gazed, rapt, as through the gradually thinning clouds an irregularly shaped green island came into view. He stared at the ocean surrounding it, amazed by the sheer amount of water. Water was a precious commodity on the arid Tatooine, and although he had seen the rivers and magnificent waterfall in Theed, he had never seen the ocean.
"Look, Master!" he cried wonderingly. "Look at all that water!"
Both the older Jedi smiled, amused by his naked wonder. Pressing himself as close to the cockpit window as he could, the Padawan craned his neck to get a better view of the sea, mouth hanging open. Spotting an aeroplane chugging lethargically across the sky, Obi-Wan made a minor adjustment in course and speed to avoid it. In the cockpit of the Jumbo Jet, the co-pilot blinked and rubbed his eyes. Shakily reaching for the polystyrene cup of coffee at his side, he turned to the Captain.
"Did you just see that?" he asked.
"That silver ship that just buzzed us?"
"Yeah."
"No," the captain said firmly, straightening the peak on his cap. "And if you value your career as much as I do, neither did you."
As the green island became a grey tangle of roads, cities, towns and seaports, Qui-Gon leaned over the console to consult the sensors. As they drew nearer to the ground, he tapped a large square keypad. The cockpit lights altered from pale blue to rich amber, the outer hull of the ship shimmering as it cloaked. Anyone who happened to be looking skywards would have seen a shining metallic spot suddenly wink out like a closing eye.
"We don't want to cause a panic," he observed. "I doubt the locals would appreciate the sight of a starship landing."
Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow appreciatively. He had not known the ship was carrying a cloaking device. His former Master had undoubtedly called in a lot of favours to secure the use of such a fine vessel. As they cruised over the city suburbs, nearing the centre, he spotted a large abandoned warehouse within reasonable distance of the source of the sensor readouts. Roofless, it provided an adequate site to conceal the ship from prying eyes. Manoeuvring sharply on its repulsorlift thrusters, the ship spun about like a compass needle and gently descended to the ground.
The boarding ramp lowered and touched the greasy concrete with a faint thump. Anakin was first to skip down, wrinkling his nose slightly at the pungent smell of mould, decaying litter and rotten roof beams. He paused to scrape a sticky blackish patch of moss from his boot and looked up at the sky, squinting in the lemony spring sunshine. The two older Jedi emerged some moments later, gratefully breathing in the relatively fresh air. After weeks of recycled oxygen, the city air was welcome.
"There are lots of petrochemicals in the atmosphere," Obi-Wan commented, turning to Qui-Gon. "Master, we're going to be less than inconspicuous dressed as we are."
A faint smile ghosted the Jedi Master's mouth and he folded his arms, hands disappearing into the sleeves of his robe.
"At least we are the same species, Obi-Wan. I doubt we could pass unnoticed if the inhabitants of this little planet had three eyes or two heads. We must be mindful of hostile intent, but judging by the diversity of clothing shown on the audiovisual channels, we shouldn't attract more than passing attention."
Obi-Wan did not look convinced, but chose not to contradict his former Master. Checking a small handheld scanner, he smiled as he saw Anakin rush to the warehouse doors, eager to experience whatever this strange, technologically backward planet had to offer. Calling his Padawan to his side, ruffling his hair affectionately, he passed the scanner to Qui-Gon. The three Jedi set off on foot, leaving their cloaked ship concealed in the derelict warehouse. Half an hour later, a spherical black metallic object bearing a long antenna zipped past, beeping and clicking as it flew. The probe droid stopped and hovered above the warehouse, revolving three hundred and sixty degrees before flying away at greater speed. No sunlight reflected from its dense black exterior.
*
"Mummy, mummy!!" a high-pitched childish voice squeaked. "Lookit those fellers in dresses!"
Following her child's chubby pointing finger, the mother spotted the three Jedi and goggled. Meeting her gaze, Qui-Gon inclined his head in greeting. Colouring with embarrassment at being caught rudely staring, she dropped her eyes and hauled the boy away.
"Don't be silly, Jake," she hissed, cramming a sweet into the child's mouth. "They're not dresses, they're robes, they're probably some kind of religious sect, maybe monks."
"Whatsa monk, mummy?" Jake demanded, sucking on his sweet, still staring with the unabashed curiosity of a small child.
Readjusting the weight of her shopping bags over her arm, his mother sighed, realising she was in for a barrage of questions. Reluctantly allowing himself to be towed away, Jake turned around and waved, delighted when the blond boy waved back.
It was mid afternoon and the sky had begun to dull, rolling grey rain clouds chasing the sun. The Jedi had made their way from the warehouse with minimal contact with residents. It seemed most people were out at work, or hurrying home to avoid being caught in the impending rain shower. Still near the city centre, though now in a residential district, they stopped at a street corner. Anakin sidled over to examine a parked car, touching a fingertip to the shiny metallic blue bodywork.
"Careful, Ani," Obi-Wan cautioned. "It may have a security system, we don't want you to lose an arm."
Anakin snatched away his fingers, startled, then grinned sheepishly as he realised his Master was teasing. He was entranced by the cars he had seen, comparing them to the speeders used by residents of Tatooine. They were roughly similar in shape, but had wheels instead of antigrav thrusters. He glanced up at Qui-Gon, who was thoughtfully studying the large sandstone building across the street. The building was old, the corners and elaborately carved lintels softened and scarred by the weather, but the windows were new. The warm cinnamon tones of the stone appealed to Anakin after a year on glittering silver Coruscant. It appeared to have been converted into several living apartments. What its former purpose had been was unclear, but it vaguely reminded him of the storage warehouses used by junk dealers.
His perusal of the building complete, Qui-Gon looked at the Padawan, who was gingerly peering into the interior of the internal combustion engine vehicle, his braid trailing over his shoulder. He had an insatiable curiousity where machines were concerned, needing to know how they worked and what they were used for. Suddenly detecting a strong presence in the Force, the Jedi Master's blue eyes lifted and despite himself he found the breath catching in his throat. Sensing the same presence, Obi-Wan looked up and saw what Qui-Gon had seen, his mouth falling open.
Crossing the road some distance away was a tall, slender woman in a long, close-fitting red velvet coat. Visible beneath the coat were the pocket-kneed black trousers and chunky-soled boots favoured by many young women the Jedi had seen in the city. Her stride was long and easy, with something of the economical grace of a Jedi. Stepping onto the pavement, she unhurriedly made her way towards the sandstone building. Her straight dark hair was cut short, highlighted with vibrant titian streaks that were probably artificial.
Pausing to rewind a red and purple scarf around her neck, she delved in her pocket for her keys. Fair-skinned, dark-eyed and obviously human, she nevertheless bore a striking, astonishingly close resemblance to the Jedi Master's dead bondmate. Qui-Gon was rapt, blue eyes very bright, hands clenching inside his sleeves.
"By the Force," he heard Obi-Wan whisper. "She's exactly like Mistress Nox."
As the Jedi watched, a young man in his late twenties clutching a wrapped bottle bounded up behind her, calling to her enthusiastically.
"Karis!" he cried. "There you are. Are you coming to my house-warming tomorrow night?"
She turned and smiled warmly, causing a tight fist to clench about the Jedi Master's heart. Reaching out, he touched her mind to ascertain what she was feeling. She was pleased to see the young man, who was obviously a new neighbour, but also tired and preoccupied. Something was bothering her. It showed in a tightness about her eyes, in faint blue shadows marring the delicate flesh beneath. Suddenly, she laughed delightedly and placed a hand on her neighbour's arm as he cracked a joke. Despite his self-control, a piercing ache developed under Qui-Gon's ribs, a pain as physical as it was mental. He abruptly longed to go over, to talk to her, ask her what was troubling her, anything to hear her laugh again.
"Qui-Gon," Obi-Wan warned softly, sensing his feelings. "Remember, it is not our place to interfere. We're here to observe only."
The Jedi Master frowned, knowing his former apprentice was right. He knew Obi-Wan had come along to act as a voice of reason. It wryly amused him to be warned about his feelings by a young man who until a year ago had been his Padawan.
"Yes, Master," he murmured dryly. "Don't centre on your anxieties, Obi-Wan. I haven't lost my focus."
To his credit, Obi-Wan managed to smile, gently but succinctly reminded who was the Jedi Master. Anakin was staring at her, mouth hanging open, the parked car forgotten. Still talking animatedly with her neighbour, she strolled towards to the entrance at the back of the building. Qui-Gon's gaze followed her until she was out of sight, his back straight, hands folded into the sleeves of his robe. A small sigh escaped him and his eyes slipped shut in an attempt to re-establish his centre. Silence. Nobody spoke.
"Master." Obi-Wan sounded worried. "She's carrying a droid locator tag."
"What?" The bearded Jedi's eyes snapped open and he took the proffered scanner. "How is that possible?"
As if in answer, a spherical black probe droid appeared, skirting the roofs of nearby buildings. Humming quietly along in the murky overcast afternoon, staying hidden behind rooftops, it halted over the sandstone apartment block. All three Jedi recognised the design of the sinister floating mechanical ball. Crossing the road in a burst of Force-speed, moving so quickly he melted into a beige brown blur, Qui-Gon stretched out a hand. The probe droid lurched drunkenly and dropped out of the sky, clanging to the pavement, shattering the flagstones. Blazing green, the Jedi Master's lightsabre made short work of it, cleaving it into two smoking, sparking halves.
"Did it get chance to transmit her location?" he demanded as Obi-Wan and Anakin arrived at his side.
The young Knight checked the scanner, brows drawing together in a frown. After a few moments he looked up, concern darkening his blue grey eyes.
"It transmitted a partial set of coordinates," he said, bending to retrieve an undamaged central data chip from the droid's interior. "We haven't much time."
Neither Jedi voiced the obvious. They had been followed through the rift by someone who used the same probe droids as the tattoed Sith who caused such carnage on Naboo. Such droids were too small to withstand the gravimetric forces within the rift, indicating the presence of another ship. Whoever had followed them did not want to be discovered, that much was clear.
"Master," Anakin hissed at Obi-Wan, staring at the wreckage of the droid. "I thought Master Qui-Gon killed Darth Maul?"
"He did," Obi-Wan replied curtly. "But whoever sent that droid is no friend."
Without another word, he pulled his Padawan to his side and they broke into a sprint, following Qui-Gon around the back of the building. They had half an hour at the very most before either more droids or the owner traced the partial signal. He shared Qui-Gon's sense of urgency; a disturbance in the Force signalling hostile intentions convinced him they had to get the woman, Karis, out of the area. Whoever had tagged her must have discovered she was the reincarnation of a Jedi, a science project undesirables the galaxy over would fall over themselves to obtain.
*
Unbuttoning her coat, Karis threw it over the back of the jewel purple sofa and crossed to the kitchen to switch on the kettle. Her large open plan apartment consisted of a huge lower floor and a smaller upper floor accessed by a winding black wrought iron staircase. The upper floor housed two bedrooms and the bathroom, the only rooms separated by walls. Floored with smooth varnished pine boards instead of carpet, the lower floor had a kitchen area to the back, a three piece suite, television, video and stereo in one corner and exercise equipment in the other, but the majority of the space was dedicated to her work.
By the large window, where the light was best, stood her desk and drawing board. Two huge cork panels covered with unfinished work flanked it. The space beneath the desk was taken up with boxes and boxes of pens, paint, brushes and neat stacks of paper in varying sizes. A massive silver-framed print from 'The Phantom Menace' hung above the reproduction white marble fireplace. The apartment was untidy, but not overly so, indicative of a busy life rather than laziness.
Dumping a generous spoonful of instant coffee into an outsized green mug, she waited for the kettle to boil. Absently rubbing at her neck, she winced. On her way home she had felt a brief impact and a sharp sting, like someone had thrown a pointed stone or piece of glass at her. She had looked around for the culprit, but only saw an arthritic pensioner tottering his way to the local pub. Pouring the water, she made the coffee without milk. Her head was a little fuzzy from an afternoon drinking ridiculously expensive wine and chatting to Illona in her favourite lunchtime haunt, the Italian-themed Cantina Bar. Throwing herself into the beckoning arms of the sofa, shoulders slumped, she recalled her neighbour's party invitation.
Owen's a nice lad, she thought, stretching out her legs. And I could do with a pleasant distraction at the moment.
Sipping reflectively at her coffee, she half-heartedly considered what she should wear. At that moment the doorbell rang. When she had first moved in, the doorbell had been a shrill electronic ring that grated on her nerves. One of the first things she had done was to change it to a softer musical chime. Sighing, she set her mug down at the side of the sofa and hauled herself to her feet.
Who could that be? she wondered, then smiled sillily to herself. Maybe it's Master Yoda come to borrow a cup of sugar. Come to think of it, how did they get past the security door?
The bell rang again, insistently. Karis frowned and quickened her step, whoever it was they were certainly impatient. Unlatching the door, her mocha eyes widened and she blinked, shocked and speechless. Two men and a boy stood outside her apartment. The boy was about ten years old, cherub-faced and blond haired, a long thin braid trailing over his shoulder. He looked up at her and tentatively smiled. The younger man trained his blue grey eyes on her, their sparkle softening the serious set to his mouth. Taller by head and shoulders, the older bearded man was powerfully built and chisel-featured, his long silver brown hair falling to his shoulders. All three were dressed in creamy beige wrap-over tunics, dark pants, tall leather boots and sweeping nut brown robes. She thought she caught a glimpse of lightsabre shafts at the belts of the two men, who both exuded a profound spiritual serenity.
"Don't be alarmed, we come in peace," the older man said, his voice deep, rich as cream and slightly lilting. "I'm Qui-Gon Jinn, and this is-"
"Yeah," Karis broke in, struggling to recover her composure beneath his intense blue-eyed gaze. "Don't tell me, he's Obi-Wan Kenobi and the kid is Anakin Skywalker."
For the first time in years, the Jedi Master was completely taken aback. He felt Obi-Wan's shock echo his own. She seemed annoyed by their appearance on her doorstep, her hands creeping to her hips.
"Was this Illona's idea?" she demanded, looking from one man to the other. "A little joke, perhaps?"
"No," Qui-Gon said levelly. "We don't know Illona."
"Oh, I get it," she breathed, her lustrous brown eyes narrowing. "There's copyright on my characters, gentlemen, I hope you realise that."
Obi-Wan looked at the young woman, hearing the anger in her voice. She was obviously in no mood for whatever game she assumed they were playing.
'Master, what is she talking about?' he asked silently. 'And how does she know who we are?'
'I have no idea,' Qui-Gon sent back. 'But I intend to find out. We haven't time for this.'
"Let us come in and talk to you, Karis," he said softly, making a subtle movement with his right hand. "You have nothing to fear or be angry about."
The heat of her anger subsiding as the mind-trick took effect, she stood back and allowed them over the threshold. Once safely inside, Obi-Wan motioned for Anakin to watch the window. The Padawan obeyed unquestioningly, skidding across the smooth wooden floor. He looked around the apartment and saw the hundreds of drawings, paintings, storyboards and prints pinned on cork boards or stacked on the floor. His gaze darted to the gigantic print above the fireplace that depicted him and Qui-Gon in mirror defensive positions, lightsabres activated, Anakin standing between them.
Qui-Gon walked to the drawing board, thick fingers brushing the fine quality paper as he looked at the drawing. The picture showed Anakin and Obi-Wan kneeling, engaged in their daily meditation. His gaze dropped to the litter bin beneath the desk. A dark furrow appeared on his forehead and he bent to retrieve the torn drawing.
"What is this, Karis?" he asked gruffly, striding forward. "Can you tell me what you meant by 'your characters'?"
Karis frowned and folded her arms, hardly believing she had let the trio in, much less allowed them to pick through her work. Obi-Wan – the man pretending to be Obi-Wan, she mentally corrected, stood in the centre of the room, looking around with a neutral expression on his face. His likeness to the Jedi in her dreams was unnerving, as was that of the older man and the boy. It was as if one of her drawings had come to life and stepped from the paper into the real world.
"It's my work," she stated. "I'm a comic book artist, as if you didn't know. That's from 'The Phantom Menace'."
Qui-Gon's expression altered almost imperceptibly, a torn half of the drawing in either hand. Silently, Obi-Wan stole to his side, a thick paperback comic book in his hand which he wordlessly handed over.
"It's all there, Master," he observed as the bearded Jedi flicked through the glossy, boldly-drawn pages. "The entire Naboo mission from start to finish."
Eyebrows lifting, the Jedi Master closed the book and turned to face Karis, who had moved to stand protectively before her drawing board. She met his gaze defiantly, chin lifting. Averting his eyes to avoid seeming confrontational, Qui-Gon held up the comic.
"Where does your inspiration come from?" he asked. "How did you decide on the storyline?"
She was silent, gaze dropping to the floor, her feet, anywhere but the questioning, compelling blue of his eyes. Still having no earthly idea why she had let them in or allowed them to question her, she laced her fingers and bit her lip. His eyes dipped and he appeared momentarily distant, as if listening to faint music.
"Did you dream it?" he questioned gently. "A dream so vivid, so real, you were driven to put it down on paper?"
Karis's chocolate eyes flew up to meet his own, wide and startled. She took an involuntary step forward, lips parting to speak.
"Yes!" she cried, surprised by the forcefulness of her voice. "How did you know? I've not told anyone that, not Illona, not anyone."
He did not comment or elaborate further, he simply fixed her with his penetrating blue eyes until she blushed, certain he could read every thought she had ever had or was likely to think. The younger man shifted position, expression unreadable. At the window, the boy was examining a set of coloured pencils with avid fascination.
"You believe what you have drawn is fiction?" The deep lilting voice soothed her jangled nerves, made her want to trust him implicitly. "That it's not real?"
Qui-Gon watched her carefully, looking for her reaction. It was possible memories of her previous life had filtered through on a subconscious level, finding expression in her artwork. It would explain why she thought they were imposters infringing copyright.
"Yes… no!" She abruptly seemed confused, upset and unsure. "I-I don't know," she finished miserably, tears suddenly darting in her eyes.
Without considering it, the Jedi Master stepped forward and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, rubbing soothingly with his thumb. She jumped and looked up, her brown eyes brimming with unshed tears of confusion and frustration.
"I-It all seemed so real," she whispered. "A-and I've been having the dreams so much recently…"
Wiping her eyes on the back of her hand, she took a deep breath, wondering why she had confessed her innermost thoughts to complete strangers who had turned up on her doorstep dressed as Jedi. She had been telling herself for weeks her dreams were the product of an over-active artist's imagination. Now she was not so sure. There was something about the two men and the boy, especially the man claiming to be Qui-Gon Jinn, that called to her soul. Collecting herself, she shook off the hand on her shoulder and straightened.
"Look," she said firmly. "I don't know who you are, or what you're trying to pull, but I think you'd better go. Some people have said my grip on reality is shaky, and at this precise moment I tend to agree with them. Will all of you please get out. Now."
The men exhanged glances, a wordless communication seeming to pass between them. At the window, the child put down the coloured pencils and looked to the younger man.
"We can't, Karis. You're in danger and we're here to protect you."
Incredulous, Karis folded her arms and stared at them. All three, the boy included, seemed deadly serious and sincere. She looked to the man who said he was Qui-Gon, finding him composed but extremely alert.
"And just what or who am I in danger from?" she asked disbelievingly. "Don't tell me Darth Maul is going to come bursting through the door to skewer me with his lightsabre."
To her surprise, Qui-Gon nearly flinched, but controlled the reaction before it occurred. Unconsciously, she put a hand to her neck and rubbed at the sore spot, frowning as her fingers came away coated with sticky half-dried blood.
"This is ridiculous," she muttered, staring at the sticky redness, starting to feel angry and affronted again. "Who're you trying to kid?"
"You see that?" He stepped forward and took up her hand, pointing to the blood. "That is from a droid locator tag. You were hit sometime this afternoon. It would have felt like a sharp sting. At this moment, the owner of that droid is tracing the signal here. We have to leave, Karis, soon."
Feeling her sense of reality, the boundaries between the mundane world and the inner realm of imagination, fantasy and creativity begin to slip, to blur, Karis felt like she was swimming upstream against rapids. The large, powerful male hand gripping her own was warm, slightly callused and undeniably real. So was the wordless sense of urgency communicated by a small tightening of his fingers.
"Why." Her throat constricted and she was forced to clear it before she could speak. "Why would anyone want to tag me, assuming for one minute I believe all the crap you've been spouting?"
Obi-Wan's blue grey eyes darkened and the line of his shoulders tensed. He looked to his former Master, wondering what he would do. She had a right to know why she was being pursued, even if they did not know by whom. All their intentions not to make contact, not to interfere, had been rendered pointless the moment they had discovered she had been tagged by a droid from their own galaxy.
"There's a reason you've been having your dreams." He heard Qui-Gon say quietly, his voice low and calm. "You possess the genetic sequences and memories of Lyxandra Nox, which it appears you access subconsciously. In short, you are her reincarnation, which makes you of interest to enemies the galaxy over."
The young woman looked utterly thunderstruck, which was hardly surprising. She gaped and her eyes grew huge in her face. Obi-Wan darted a rapid glance out the window, searching for aerial black spheres. Time was quickly running out. She shook her head fiercely, pulling her hands from Qui-Gon's.
"Rubbish!" she hissed. "I don't believe you! Anyway, if you were Jedi, you wouldn't have to stand here and argue with me, you could make me believe you."
"We can't do that," Qui-Gon said. "Please try to understand, time is short."
"You could use a mind-trick on me," she shot back defensively.
"No, we couldn't. This is a decision you have to make for yourself. We can't use our power to influence you."
Karis fumbled her way to the sofa and dropped heavily onto it, leaning her head in her hands. Everything she thought she knew was called into question. The concept of reincarnation was familiar to her, but she had never seriously considered or believed it. There was no way anyone could have known about her dreams unless they could sense her emotions, like a Jedi. Reality did a double backflip around her as she struggled to rationalise the events of the past fifteen minutes. She felt the sofa creak as someone sat next to her and looked up to see the boy peering at her with guileless cornflower blue eyes.
"Please, don't be sad," he said, brushing a wayward strand of wheat gold hair from his forehead.
Despite her turmoil, Karis felt a her lips curve into a smile. Unable to stop herself, she reached out and cupped his soft round cheek in her hand. He smiled back, a sunny, completely deceit-free grin. The window shattered at her back, shards of razor glass spraying inwards, dragged by the passing of a crackling red energy bolt. It hit the far wall, leaving a smoking hole in the plaster and brick. The hissing whoosh of activating lightsabres reached her ears almost the same instant the glass broke. Dazzled by the electric blue luminance as Obi-Wan lunged forward, 'sabre blocking a bolt that would have hit his Padawan, she threw herself flat, instinctively pulling Anakin with her.
"Let's go – now!!" Qui-Gon barked, turning in a swirl of brown robes.
Dropping down, his large fingers encircled her wrist, yanking her to her feet. Anakin leapt up, racing to his Master's side. Yellow plumes of burnt sponge puffed into the air as the sofa took multiple hits, fluffy motes floating like confetti. Karis was up and running as fast as she could before she had time to register what was happening. Boots clattering down the stairs, she slipped and almost fell, but a strong hand slipped under her arm to steady her.
Bursting out into the grey sunless afternoon, blinking as drizzle got into her eyes, she heard a low mechanical whine and looked up to see several jet black probe droids bobbing in the air level with her apartment window. They broke formation, diving like sentient cannonballs, raining crimson bolts. Blue and green, the Jedi's 'sabres whistled and hummed, deflecting the droid's fire back at them. Struck by their own energy bolts, three droids shrieked, exploding in cascading sparks and twisted slivers of metal.
"Head back to the ship," Qui-Gon ordered, lightsabre a dancing emerald blur as he parried more bolts. "There's too many bystanders here."
People were running, screaming with fright and shock, or simply standing motionless with their mouths hanging open, half-remembered snippets of science fiction movies running through their heads. The late afternoon traffic beeped, snarled and slowed to a crawl as motorists caught sight of the Jedi, the hovering droids and flashing tangle of energy weapon fire.
"So much for not attracting undue attention," Obi-Wan muttered, ducking as one of the remaining droids banked in low.
Yelping as a stray bolt tore up the pavement at her feet, Karis leapt back, nostrils filled with the smell of charred concrete. Sliced through, the droid that had fired fell, scattering its wire innards across the road. Sprinting down the street after Anakin, who was beckoning to her and seemed to know where he was going, she fought an urge to look back at the Jedi.
"C'mon!" the boy urged. "They'll be alright, they always are!"
Rising from behind a nearby semi-detached house, a new droid of slightly different design zipped through the stationary traffic, nearly clipping the roof of a Landrover. It headed directly for Anakin and Karis, a small appendage emerging from its centre. Firing a circular burst of lime green energy, it swung around for another pass. Anakin's blue eyes widened and he threw himself at Karis, hoping to floor her before she was hit. He was a fraction too late. Struck full on the torso, she spun like a child's top, her eyes rolling back to silver rims as she collapsed.
"MASTER!" Anakin bellowed shrilly, vainly trying to pick up the limp, seemingly boneless form.
The Jedi were at his side in seconds, Obi-Wan arriving last as he dispatched another droid. Deactivating his lightsabre, Qui-Gon dropped to one knee and carefully peeled back one of Karis's eyelids. When the pupil contracted in the light, he scooped her up like she weighed no more than a child.
"It's alright, Ani," he soothed, seeing the beginnings of panic in the young Padawan's expression. "She's just stunned, no lasting harm done."
Hearing the faint buzz of more approaching droids, along with a blaring siren he assumed belonged to local security forces, the Jedi Master straightened. Small clusters of people had gathered along the roadside, whispering and pointing, staring nervously at the sky in expectation of more flying mechanical monstrosities. Some things did not change, no matter what universe they were in. People would always gather at inappropriate times and places, putting themselves and others in danger. Resting Karis's lolling head against his shoulder, he nodded to Obi-Wan.
"I think it's time we left."
Powering down his 'sabre, the young Knight beckoned Anakin to his side. Extending the influence of the Force in a combined application of unnatural speed, the Jedi shot away, appearing to vanish where they stood. Minutes later, two police squad cars roared up, blue lights flashing, sirens wailing. Stepping out of the car, pulling on his cap, an officer took out his notebook, licked his pencil and stopped dead. He stared down at the droid wreckage at his feet, pencil poised over a clean page. As his colleagues questioned and unsuccessfully attempted to move on the crowds that had gathered, he turned to his partner.
"What on earth are we going to tell the gov?"
"Blokes in robes with lasers on sticks? Flying black balls that shoot people?" his partner said incredulously. "Christ knows, 'cos I don't… Who's going to believe that?!"
*
