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... Fourth of many chapters! Unfinished…
*
Looking down at her feet, her platform sole boots making tiny squeaks on the sparkling almond-coloured tiles, Karis pressed her knees together and resisted the urge to fidget. Sneaking a glance left at Qui-Gon, she saw he was composed and to all outward appearances relaxed. Gaze sliding right, she saw Obi-Wan was a little less serene. Although he was sitting still, ankles crossed, hands resting in his lap, he had an air of suppressed agitation.
How do they do it? she wondered disbelievingly. How can they sit here so calmly?
Looking out of the window, she watched the omnipresent crosshatch lines of aerial traffic zipping across the twilight sky in ceaseless glittering lines. Everything about Coruscant glittered like a new penny, soaring towers, buildings with hundreds of floors, landing platforms for shuttles, massive gardens and nature reserves hanging suspended in transparisteel domes. Upon arrival, she had stared until she thought her eyes would burst, enthralled at the sheer scale of the place.
When she saw the five proud spires of the Jedi Temple soaring to the clouds, she had nearly wept. Her heart thumping against her ribcage, every fibre of her being told her she had come home. In the three short hours she had been in Imperial City, she had been rushed around by various nameless Temple staff, examined by unnervingly calm healers, eaten a brief meal, taken a hurried shower and changed into clean clothes. Now dressed in rusty brown pants, a close-fitting ivory tunic and her own boots, she sat with the two Jedi outside the Council Chamber, waiting to be seen.
Feeling very much like a recalcitrant school child waiting outside the Head Master's office, she sat on her hands to stop her fingers tying themselves in knots. When she had asked Qui-Gon about how best to answer any questions from the Councillors, he had sensed her nervousness.
"Don't let them intimidate you," he had advised. "And don't lie – they will sense any deception. Tell the truth and you have nothing to fear." He had paused and given a reassuring half smile. "Obi-Wan and I will be with you, we won't let you go in alone."
Recalling the Jedi Master's advice, Karis sucked in a deep preparatory breath as the chamber doors opened and they were summoned into the presence of the revered Jedi Council. The silver grey chamber was large, huge concave transparisteel windows that stretched floor to ceiling affording panoramic views of the twinkling city skyline. Glass smooth, the light buttermilk-coloured floor was decorated with a massive circular design she could not identify. Walking a few paces behind the two Jedi, she found herself standing inside a ring of twelve unique seats, each tailored to their occupant's size. In these seats sat the humanoids and aliens who made up the Council.
Hoping her anxiety was not showing on her face, despite the fact she knew the Council could read her every emotion as if it were scrawled across her features in indelible ink, she waited quietly, hands clasped behind her back. Nailing her gaze on the far window, she tried not to stare at alien Councillors such as Yarel Poof, a Quermian who had four spindly arms and a pea-shaped head on the end of an elongated stalk-like neck. She felt very small, incredibly young and unspeakably awkward in the presence of such wisdom.
Master Yoda was first to speak, as was his right. Touching a minute thick-nailed finger to his lips, he leaned forward in his chair.
"Concerned, the Council is, Master Jinn," he said in his strange gravelly voice. "But to examine your motivations, we are not here. What is done is done. No purpose would to discipline you serve. The young woman you saved."
Beside her, Karis felt Obi-Wan's relief, echoed by her own. She knew he had been concerned the Council would take drastic action against his former Master. Qui-Gon had clashed with them in the past and each time their patience had grown thinner. She was beginning to think that as wise as the Council were, nobody could ever tell what they would do.
Qui-Gon dipped his head respectfully in the direction of the diminutive wrinkled green being.
"Thank you, my master."
Yoda harumphed gruffly, giving the impression the decision not to take action against him had been closely fought. Turning his attention to Obi-Wan, the ancient Jedi Master's conch-like ears lowered.
"Jedi Kenobi, placed your Padawan in needless danger, did you. Your concern Qui-Gon's undertaking was not."
Obi-Wan bore the criticism without any visible reaction, back straight, eyes forward, his hands folded into the sleeves of his robe. Humming softly in his throat, Yoda struck the floor with his gimmer stick, making Karis jump.
"Understand, though not condone your actions, the Council does."
Bowing his head in acknowledgement, Obi-Wan glanced at Karis, who could hardly believe the entire matter had been dealt with in less than four sentences. Both the Jedi had spent some hours via a secure channel discussing the matter with Master Yoda during the voyage to Coruscant, but she had expected a more detailed questioning.
Yoda's pale green brown eyes moved to rest on her, almost unbearable in their knowing. Feeling the gazes of the other nine Councillors, she mentally steadied herself and prepared for whatever was coming.
"How feel you?"
"Tired, Master. Tired and confused," she answered, being as brutally honest as she could. "I'm not sure what's happening to me."
The Councillors exchanged glances, a wordless communication passing between them. Adi Gallia, a beautiful dark-skinned Corellian, lifted a slender brown hand, the fronds of her white Tholoth headdress swaying as she inclined her head.
"Do you believe you are changing into Mistress Nox?" she asked, her voice like spiced velvet. "That you are her reincarnation?"
Karis turned to face her, considering the question. She had a gut feeling Mistress Gallia wanted to know for more than purely objective reasons. When she looked at the willowy, chocolate-eyed Corellian, she felt she saw an old friend, someone she had known for years.
"I don't know," she answered truthfully. "There's something strange happening to me, I mean, until a week ago my eyes were brown and I wouldn't have known one end of a lightsabre from another."
"And how does this make you feel?"
The question came from Mace Windu, who was sat next to Master Yoda, leaning on one elbow. Shaven-headed, of black human origin, he was a senior voice on the Council. Turning back, she found his penetrating dark eyes locking with hers, probing every emotional reaction. The effect of such deep, incisive scrutinty was disconcerting, but Karis calmed herself and replied.
"Worried… it's something I didn't expect and have no control over."
"Afraid?" Yoda rasped.
Feeling the collective scrutinization by twelve Jedi Masters increase, she felt her resolve wavering. Almost immediately, a tangible feeling of reassurance surrounded her. She glanced at Qui-Gon, whose expression was carefully neutral, silently thanking him for his wordless support.
"Yeah, I'm afraid," she admitted. "I'm afraid I'll lose myself, that the person I was will be lost when… when I've finished changing. I'm scared I won't remember who I was, where I came from, why I'm here."
The Council digested her response with comment, without any interpretable reaction of any kind. The fingers on all four of Yarel Poof's hands fluttered slightly at the arms of his chair and Mace Windu stroked his chin, but what the gestures meant was unclear.
"What know you of the Sith?" Yoda asked, rough creaky voice even more serious than before.
"Hardly anything," Karis whispered, hating how unnerved she sounded to her own ears. "I know Lyxandra was killed by Darth Maul, I know what he looks like and what a Sith probe droid looks like. I know he must have a Master somewhere – there's always two; a Master and an apprentice."
Information concerning the Sith had become the Jedi Council's primary concern since the Naboo mission. The Republic transport carrying the Neimoidian Viceroy and his underlings back to Coruscant for trial had had the misfortune to explode before he could be questioned concerning the Trade Federation's involvement with the Jedi's ancient enemy. Traces of an unidentifiable chemical explosive had been found amongst the wreckage. Feeling her mind being simultaneously probed by twelve others, Karis battled the urge to back away.
"Since you cannot return home, what do you plan to do?" Master Windu asked, pressing his fingertips together before his nose, the change of topic seemingly indicating the Council was satisfied with her last answer.
Karis felt her heart begin to pound a little harder, sure that if it grew any louder the Council would hear it. She was not sure how acute the alien Councillors' hearing was, but her heart was crashing like a snare drum.
"If I may answer that," Qui-Gon broke in firmly, stepping forward.
"This is something you have discussed?" Mace questioned, one brow escalating as he sat back.
"Yes, we have. I ask that Karis be retrained as a Jedi. Her midi-chlorian count is still rising and she is regaining the knowledge and skills of her former life."
A ripple passed through the Council at the bearded Jedi Master's words. Mace frowned, leaning his chin in his hand, shaking his head slightly. Quiet and reserved as always, Yaddle, a four centuries old member of Yoda's species, sat forward in her chair.
"This discussion before we have had," Yoda said sharply. "A grown woman she is, no child like Skywalker. Too old she is."
Sensing the renewal of an old disagreement between Qui-Gon and his former Master, Karis unconsciously held her breath. When Qui-Gon had raised the possibility of her training at the Temple, of developing her newfound Jedi traits, she had felt a great surge of joy and had agreed she wanted to do it without even thinking about it. It just seemed the right and natural thing to do. She was beginning to accept she would never be able to go home, starting to consider what she would need to do to build a new life in the Republic. That the new life could be away from the Jedi Order was something that had not entered her head.
"Her Jedi traits are growing stronger as time progresses," Qui-Gon reiterated patiently. "Would it not be wiser to guide her rather than leave her to struggle with the capabilities of a Jedi Master thrust into an untrained mind?"
Karis listened as he stated her case to the Council, knowing it was something he felt strongly about and would use any means at his disposal to achieve. The previous day he had sat facing her across the cockpit with a datapad showing various images and asked her to try to visualise them using only her mind. To her immense surprise, she had found it astonishingly easy. Images of varying objects from cups, plates and chairs to speeders and starships flashed through her mind like a series of projection slides. Anakin, who was sat by her side, had leaned over and whispered that he had been subject to exactly the same tests.
"She is too old," Mace disagreed. "She would never reattain the required levels of discipline to use her powers, no matter what she remembered."
Karis felt rather than saw a flare of determination and annoyance from the Qui-Gon. Her sensitivity to the emotions of others was growing rapidly, a sixth sense she had unconsciously begun to use and was only just aware of. He moved to behind her, large hands settling heavily on her shoulders.
"I will train her, without the Council's permission if I must," he warned, voice forceful and uncowed. "I take Karis Kavanagh as my Padawan learner."
Shocked, she twisted around to look up at him, only to find he had locked gazes with Mace Windu, stormy blue eyes blazing with resolve. His hands remained on her shoulders, pinning her in place, despite the fact his grip was light. Obi-Wan was staring at his former Master with undisguised alarm. After travelling with Karis for over a week and witnessing her burgeoning transformation, he had agreed in principle that she would benefit from Jedi training, but had thought she would be best apprenticed to another Master. He was not surprised, however, that the Council had disagreed.
"Beware, Qui-Gon," Yoda growled softly. "Allowed it with Skywalker we did, a second time not so. Mindful of your feelings be."
Feeling she should speak, to put across her viewpoint and defend Qui-Gon, Karis stepped forward.
"Sorry to interupt, Master," she said as firmly as she could. "But I want to train as a Jedi. I want to use whatever talents I have, or will regain, for the good of the Republic."
"And on what basis do you feel competant to make this judgement?" Master Windu retorted levelly, piercing her with a stern look. "You have told us of your confusion, of your fears. Fear has no place in a Jedi's life. What you want, young lady, is not the issue here."
Elegant and regal in her flowing headdress, Adi Gallia sat forward and appeared about to speak. She caught Master Yoda's gaze, silently communicating a differing opinion. Several other Councillors, incluing Plo Koon, a masked, insectoid-faced Kel Dor, did the same. Looking at his fellow Councillors, Yoda hummed in his throat and held up a tiny wrinkled hand.
"A decision by the morning you shall have, Master Jinn," he announced. "In peace go."
Qui-Gon bowed respectfully, mirrored by Obi-Wan. Bobbing her head, Karis followed them out, trying not to appear like she was hurrying. Increasing her pace to match the Jedi Master's immense stride, she caught up as they rounded the corner into an adjacent corridor. Dragging her gaze away from the windows, from the staggering drop to the city floor beneath, she frowned.
"Quite a bombshell you dropped in there," she observed a touch acidly. "When were you planning on discussing it with me?"
Without breaking his steady pace, the bearded Jedi looked askance at her, sensing the umbrage concealing her relief at leaving the Council's presence. Obi-Wan quite sensibly speeded up, putting a suitable distance between them.
"It was a decision made in the moment," he declared.
"Really?" Karis snorted. "And I'm Master Yoda's mother."
Inexplicably amused by her sarcasm, a smile tugged at Qui-Gon's mouth, deepening the thunderous frown etched into her forehead. Stopping dead, he turned and trained his expressive cobalt eyes on her.
"Would it be such a bad thing if you were my apprentice?" he asked tranquilly. "Do I offend you so much?"
Karis felt the frown melting from her features, despite her indignation. He was not a man wounded by words or the attitude of others, but the thought she could have inadvertantly slighted him was unacceptable. If nothing else he deserved her courtesy and respect. She owed him at least that much.
"No," she murmured, shaking her head apologetically. "Not in the least. I'm just used to having a little more say over things, that's all… and I get snappy when I'm surprised like that."
An eyebrow quirked and he resumed walking, long distance-eating strides of easy power. He moved unbelievably lightly for a man of his size, shattering the stereotype that big men always lumbered.
"So I've noticed."
Unsure if he was teasing her, Karis noticed they had caught up to Obi-Wan, who tipped his chin in greeting. Dusk had been falling over Coruscant when they were summoned into the Council's presence and it was now completely dark. The cityscape twinkled and shone like handfuls of metal beads cast onto blue black velvet, stitched with silver threads of slowly moving traffic.
"I have to go," Obi-Wan announced, giving a rueful smile. "I've a feeling Anakin will have taken apart the holovid if I don't get back soon. Master, Karis."
Wishing them both goodnight, he strode away, booted feet tapping smartly on the smooth tiled floor. Seeing Karis stifle a yawn, her eyes crinkling, Qui-Gon realised how tired she was. Her transformation was sapping her physical and mental energy, leaving her easily exhausted. She stretched, wiggling her back in such a familiar fashion the Jedi Master was forced to look away.
"I think we'd better get you to bed before you fall over," he observed.
"All bathed, fed and tucked up like a little Initiate, hmm, Qui? Do I get a bedtime story?" she yawned playfully, opening one brilliant emerald green eye. She coloured, slowly lowering her arms from the stretch. "I-I don't know why I said that."
Qui-Gon shook his head, "It's alright. I'll walk you back, the Temple is a maze if you don't know your way around."
They walked in silence, a slightly uncomfortable silence from Karis's perspective. More and more she would open her mouth and strange things would leap out of their own accord. She had found herself talking to the dignified Jedi Master, who was at least ten years her senior, like she knew him very well indeed.
That's Lyxandra talking, she realised. Not me. I suppose I'm going to have to accept that. God, this is difficult, and it's not going to get any easier if I keep changing. What if I wake up one day and I'm not me anymore? How do I know that what I feel and think is me and not her? Shit…
Qui-Gon monitored her as they walked, dismayed at how she had withdrawn back into herself. Each time she let her guard down a fraction, began to relax and communicate, it would slam back up again when she said something she thought was inappropriate. She would begin to talk about unrelated events from Lyxandra's past in the first person, then withdraw into troubled silence and insist, often truthfully, she could not remember any more. The Jedi Master was as concerned as she was that her personality would dissipate beneath the onslaught of returning memories, but knew any attempt to suppress them could be equally dangerous. The Force had decided to bring her to their galaxy, and it was his task to make sure no harm came to her – physical or mental. He noted with interest as they were walking that she was unerringly taking the correct route, often turning corners or heading for lifts before he did.
Withing a relatively short space of time, they reached the guest quarters assigned to her. Due to the boundless efficiency of the Temple staff, accomodation, clothes, toiletries and other such necessities had been found within an hour of their arrival. Keying in the identity code, Qui-Gon opened the door and shepherded her inside. She gratefully collapsed onto the well-padded sofa, head lolling over the back. Weariness shrouded her like a lead cloak, dragging at her shoulders, tightening the delicate flesh around her eyes.
"Will you be alright?" he asked softly, refraining from touching her shoulder as was his natural inclination.
She nodded tiredly, rubbing absently at the tip of one ear. "I'll be fine after some sleep, though I don't know how long 'I' will mean Karis…" she trailed off and stared at the far wall, chin dropping to her chest.
Despite the light flippancy of her tone, Qui-Gon could sense her fear, the nameless terror of feeling losing herself, of slipping into an inescapable fugue. Crossing to the front of the sofa, he dropped to one knee so their eyes were level, large hands coming up to frame her face.
"Whoever you are, whoever you turn into, I will be here for you," he promised. "You're not alone."
She looked at him for what seemed a long time, holding his gaze as if to satisfy herself he meant what he said. Finally, she gave a faint, distant smile and folded her hands over his, drawing them from her face.
"Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you for caring about me because I'm me, not just because of who I used to be."
Hesitantly, as if it was against her better judgement, she leaned forward and hugged him. Arms instinctively wrapping around her, pulling her closer to his chest, Qui-Gon realised her embrace was as much to comfort as to thank him. Not permitting himself to read anything more into it, viewing the situation with a Jedi's disciplined objectivity, he nonetheless found his right hand settling caressingly at the nape of her neck. All too quickly, she pulled away, leaving him empty-armed but easier of heart than in previous days. Wishing her goodnight, he left.
Watching the tall robed figure stride away, Karis had mixed feelings. She sensed that in some ways he needed comfort and reassurance as much as she did. His sense of direction, of his life path, was normally so clear, but had become murky with Lyxandra's death. The impulse to lean forward and throw her arms around him had been sudden, a reaction to his declaration that he would support her. His conviction and determination to treat her as Karis Kavanagh, despite his feelings for his dead bondmate, had touched her. She had hugged him in the same way she would a friend of either gender, but as his arms had settled around her, pulling her close, filling her nose with the scent of his tunic and hair, she had felt a twinge of something more.
It doesn't help he's such a bloody attractive man, and the last date you had was more concerned with showing off the fact you're 'famous' to his arty friends… she said to herself. The vain idiot.
Sighing aloud as her thoughts turned to home, she dragged herself from the sofa and gazed blearily around. It seemed strange to be alone after over a week cooped up on a ridiculously small starship with two Jedi and a mischievous young Padawan. It was the first time she had been truly alone since the Force had conspired to yank her from her comfortable life and dump her in the middle of something exciting, terrifying and bewildering. For the first time she had nobody asking her how she felt or hovering with placid concern when she was upset or hurting.
Unsure if this thought bothered her, she spotted the quarter's computer station in the corner by the window. Stumping over, she plopped down into the chair and waved a hand over the activation pannel. The fact she knew exactly how to operate it despite never having seen one like it before flashed across her mind, but she was too tired to care. Accessing the Temple's database, she spent a few minutes familiarising herself with the layout of the buildings. Almost before she realised, she had keyed in a name and was staring at the picture and text profile that appeared on the screen.
"Bloody hell," she breathed.
She was looking at her double, an opaline-skinned, emerald-eyed rendition of herself clad in flowing brown Jedi robes. Unable to stop herself, Karis touched her fingertips to the screen and then to her face. She had not known the physical similarity was so great. Scratching at her ear, she paused, fingertips exploring the outline of the pinna. Finding it a fraction more pointed than she was accustomed to, she looked at the screen, at the dainty tip of an ear protruding through the shining red black mass of Lyxandra Nox's hair.
Quickly scanning the information provided with the profile, she saw that at her death Lyxandra had been fifty nine years old. Despite this, she looked no older than Karis; her features were smooth and unlined, only her luminous eyes betraying the decades of harsh experience as a Jedi.
That makes Qui-Gon nearly sixty, she calculated. But he looks no older than a well-preserved forty… these Jedi certainly age well, must be something to do with the Force. I suppose she looks so young because of her species… She looked at the profile again, Valuxan… "average life span two hundred standard Republic years". Hmmm, she would've outlived him even if Maul hadn't killed her.
Suddenly, she felt sad and guilty, recalling how she had hugged him and then moved away. She felt she had unwittingly tormented him, literally placing Lyxandra back in his arms then snatching her away.
I won't do that again, she vowed fiercely. God, how must that poor man have felt, with me looking so like her? He's Jedi, oh-so-good at burying things beneath that damned serene mask, but he's also a man who had to watch his lover being murdered by an enemy that shouldn't have existed…
Swallowing her guilt until it sat uneasily just below her breastbone, she continued to read. She devoured profile after profile, calling up random names that popped into her head, swearing with frustration when certain sections flashed up security restricted and would not allow her in. She read until she was dizzy with exhaustion and the display floated before her eyes as a multi-coloured blur. Too fatigued to consider moving, her head sank onto her crossed arms and she was deeply asleep before she realised her eyes were closing.
An indeterminate time later, she came awake with a shuddering jerk. Eyes snapping open, she stared into the blue black darkness, the computer screen before her dull. Fuzzily asking herself if the light had been switched off when she fell asleep, she lifted her head from her arms, wincing as her stiff neck protested vigorously. Wiggling the kink from her back, she slowly rose from the chair, the various articles of furniture around the room vague blocky shapes in the lightlessness. Abruptly, she froze, knowing with absolute certainty there was someone else in the room. Listening intently, the silence smashed against her ears, broken only by the sound of her own heart muffled in her chest.
Reaching out with her nascent Force abilities, she felt an unnerving absence of emotion, a gaping void where there should have been a person. Over the course of a week in the company of the Jedi, she had learned that even when they shielded their emotions they still gave off an impression of their being, an indicator of life and personality. It might be nearly impossible to discern what they felt, but their presence in the Force was unmistakable. Something Master Yoda was fond of saying came to her as clearly as if he had been shuffling around her feet, gimmer stick tapping; "Hard to see, the Dark Side is."
"Who's there?" she demanded, suddenly frightened. "I know you're there!"
Unsuccessfuly attempting to reassure herself that she was safe in the Jedi Temple, that nobody would dare pursue her to the very heart of the Order, she took three paces forward, aware that the door was within dashing distance. When nothing leapt from the darkness, she took another step. As her right foot lifted from the floor to take another, a terrifyingly strong gloved hand snatched her wrists, a second hand clamping over her mouth to stop her screaming.
"Sleep," a deep feline male voice decreed.
The command drove into her mind, shredding all her untrained attempts at resistance. It was not a firmly persuasive Jedi mind-trick, it was a razor slicing through her awareness, cutting the fragile thread of self-control and autonomy. She could do nothing but obey. Her legs went from under her like she had been kneecapped, refusing to kick out and struggle, her arms hung useless at her sides. The blue-rinsed night, her hot terror and the bruising, suffocating hand over her mouth vanished as her mind shut down, leaving only blackness.
Picking up one of a dozen datapads strewn across the small table, Qui-Gon tapped a key, calling up the first page of information. To all outward appearances he was reading intently, chair pulled close to the table, long legs stretched out underneath, a small indent of concentration marring his brow. Tossing the datapad back onto the pile, the casing clattering, he reached for the half-full cup of water at his elbow and drained it.
Focussing on the brownish taupe walls of his quarters, he made a conscious effort to centre himself. He had meditated, completed his formal written report to the Jedi Council and was catching up with events that had occurred in his absence, an automatic task for any returning Knight or Master. Like most Jedi apartments, his was functional, even austere, with few items of furniture or decorations. All a Jedi really required was his or her lightsabre, the clothes they wore and food to eat. Anything else was a bonus.
His attention strayed to a shelf on the far wall housing various artefacts he had collected or been given over the years. There was a small wooden flute presented to him by a child minstrel from Alderaan, a complex puzzle Master Yoda had given him when he was still a Padawan, a hardwood sculpture Obi-Wan had slaved over for a birthday gift some ten years ago. Extending his open hand, he watched as two large conical crystals lifted from the shelf and floated smoothly across the room.
Plucking them from the air, he held them up to the light. One was sea green, the other midnight blue, each with something captured in their faceted depths. Looking first at the plaited coil of red black hair in the blue crystal, then the brown braid in the green, he allowed himself a smile. As young Padawans, he and Lyxandra had a long-running competition to see who could cultivate the longest braid. When his had reached past his waist, she had grudgingly admitted defeat, but not before tugging it hard enough to hurt. Not long after, Master Yoda had instructed him to shorten it as it was getting in the way when he practised lightsabre exercises. Nevertheless, at the event of his Knighting, it had been over a foot and a half long.
Standing, he ambled over to the shelf and replaced the two crystals with a heavy clink. As was usual since he had seen the rift implode in a crimson starburst, thoughts of Lyxandra trasmuted into thoughts of Karis. Despite her avid wish to become a Padawan, he sensed much conflict in her, conflict of emotion and memory, reason and instinct. As sure as he was that the conflict would eventually resolve itself, he wondered what the cost would be. Knowing he was too close to the issue to impartially come to any conclusions, he turned to return to the table and the waiting datapads.
A spear of violent emotion caught him completely off guard, hurled through the Force by sightless instinct and utter desperation. It lanced through his mind to the heart of his being, shatteringly imparting panic and shock. Staggered by the instantaneous intensity, he sucked in a breath like he had caught a hammer blow to the abdomen. A scream of furious terror echoed in his head, unable to find expression through a voicebox.
The Jedi Master was through the door and down the corridor before it faded from his mind, booted feet pounding at the floor as he ran full tilt. Passing a scattering of thoroughly surprised fellow Jedi, he tore through the Temple grounds towards the guest quarters, brown robes billowing in his wake. Propelled by a prolonged burst of Force-speed, he crossed the open space in seconds. Shunning the sedate pace of the lift, he flew up the wide stairs three at a time, feet barely touching the cool amber stone.
Even before he opened the door, activated 'sabre drawn back defensively, he knew the apartment was empty. Crossing the threshold, the glowing emerald length of his weapon singing near his ear, he looked quickly about. Only the overturned chair by the computer terminal indicated anything was awry. Closing his eyes, Qui-Gon withdrew his awareness from the room and searched using the Force. Finding only indeterminate echoes of fear, he powered down his lightsabre. Crossing to the terminal, he activated the comm.
"Obi-Wan."
Within moments his former apprentice answered, sounding tired and unenthusiastic. From his tone of voice he had probably been asleep.
"Yes, Master?"
"Karis is gone. Someone has taken her."
*
