This part was supposed to be out much sooner, but my laptop went down and had to be repaired, which set me back about two weeks…and then there's been the whole thing… Anyway, I apologise (yet again) for the wait!

Author's notes: Things are finally coming together, so there are going to be quite a few links and connections made during the next few parts. In fact, I had to cut almost a third of this part because it was getting far too long, but most of that is now included in part 9. Like part 7, this post refers back to a previous section – probably a good idea to check out the memory sequence in part 3. And, at last, some of what went on in Finding Grace is explained!

Disclaimer (new for this part): the following verse from "Who Do You Think I Am" belongs to Joan Baez and the Grapevine Label.

"…and when it's over it's never over,

and when it's empty it's never done.

I am in silence gone from danger,

far away is the forgotten one."

Gone From Danger - Part 8/?

Obi-Wan woke to darkness, absolute and impenetrable except for a solitary woman who stood a few metres away, lit by some unseen source, holding herself regal and silent as she watched him with golden eyes that held a timeless intelligence. Her face belied her age, elegantly beautiful and framed by greying hair that lay over her shoulders; in a simple cream gown, she was radiant amongst the shadows…her shadows, the ones that pervaded his senses, seeping through his body.

"Come with me," she said softly, holding a hand out to him.

She commanded his limited world: she was master.

Master…

As he stepped toward her, his own hand lifting to take hers, another person materialised out of the darkness beside her, just as luminous as she in a pale, hooded robe that wrapped around his body, concealing much of his large frame but leaving his face exposed, his expression haggard and desperate.

"Don't leave me," he pleaded, his voice broken with grief. He was Master, more than she could ever be, holding sway over him with an anguish that was heartbreaking in its sincerity. "Please."

He was caught, frozen in uncertainty, his fingertips grazing the woman's, yet she seemed as trapped as he was for she made no move to grasp him. The choice was made for him when the man extended his hand, reaching for him; he gripped that hand tightly, holding it to his chest, and allowed the now weeping man to embrace him. The slim figure close by lowered her arm, her expression mournful.

"I am sorry," she whispered. "Forgive me…"

I forgive you.

Obi-Wan stirred with a shuddering gasp, words of absolution dying in his throat as his eyes opened, blinking fiercely in a futile attempt to clear his distorted vision. In contrast to the black of his dream world, his waking world was pleasantly bright, a warm glow that suffused his surroundings. However, it was that light that revealed the metal box of a room he had been confined in, and for a moment he craved the ignorance of darkness – at least then he could imagine that he was elsewhere, and not in the clutches of the people he had fled from for the past few weeks.

This new prison, despite its similarities to the cabin on the bounty hunters' ship, felt infinitely more oppressive, the light quickly becoming harsh on the constrictive metal walls, and while he had been allowed free movement within the room, the lack of restraints derided him, emphasising his inability to escape. His only relief came when he was taken out to use the adjacent 'fresher, and even then it was only another chance for his captors to reinforce his submission, because he didn't have the strength to challenge them. The Force had set him adrift again, lured by the Lamarin implant but noticeably shrinking away from him whenever he turned to it; occasionally, he could feel it ghosting against his mind, probing him as though searching for a change, but still it continued to give him a wide berth.

He was curled into the farthest corner from the door, his limbs gathered close to him and his head resting against the wall, the same position he had fallen asleep in. Blearily, he unfolded his legs and slumped more fully onto the floor, touching his hand to the warm stone floor, the pitted surface reminding him once again that he was planet-bound. He remembered nothing of the transfer between the bounty hunters' ship and the Lamarin craft that had rendezvoused with them – the lurch he had felt during his ill-fated escape attempt had been the ship decelerating out of hyperspace – nor landing on this planet and the subsequent relocation to wherever he was now.

He did remember the agony of waking and finding himself back in that chair, sometime before he had been moved, unable to control his emotions and screaming his Master's name with increasing anguish. It had been horrific, the culmination of one premonition that he had been so anxious to disprove, made worse by the knowledge that he had failed to alter events and that there was undoubtedly more to come.

Since he had regained consciousness here, time had passed in torturous periods of constant pain and troubled sleep that brought no rest. During brief intervals of lucidity, when the agony retreated, he was alarmed to find gaps in his memory that were growing with disquieting speed. The Lamarin web's incursion into his mind was becoming destructive, stealing memories by interrupting neural pathways in his brain. He was even beginning to lose his ability to speak, and articulate thought was increasingly difficult to maintain… Friends were becoming strangers, and even the memory of the Temple, his home, seemed alien. And Qui-Gon…

Obi-Wan gripped his stained tunic as a hacking cough tried to double him up, his vision hazing into grey from the pain, but his labouring lungs recovered quickly and his body settled, shivering spasmodically in reaction. Distractedly, he brushed a hand at his mouth, rubbing blood away from his lips, then looked at his fingers while the fog cleared from his sight. The blood was dark from internal injuries that had gone too long without proper treatment, and his heart sank, the threat of tears stinging his eyes, before he scrubbed his hand savagely against his tunic, leaving a faint crimson smear on the pale material. Dying was an inevitability he had thought he had accepted; an eventuality that he had known must surely come when this nightmarish situation came to its conclusion. In his heart, he knew that death was the only way out: this time, there would be no timely rescue, no daring escape. He found a limited comfort in the thought that perhaps the Force-forsaken neural web would die with him.

Sitting back against the wall, he picked listlessly at the other stains on his tunic, most of them caused when two burly male Lamari had attempted to force-feed him. It had been a humiliating experience for Obi-Wan, and one that had left bruises on his body and what was left of his dignity; the satisfaction from resisting the Lamari in such a task was minimal and hardly worth the additional pain, but it had been a compulsory defiance.

An image flashed unexpectedly into his thoughts, and his head tossed in surprise: nescra-blossoms, thousands of them, dropping down around him, choking the air with pale colour and heady scents. He concentrated on the memory as it pushed its way into his consciousness, savouring the distraction from the pain.

Somehow, it was different – before, the memory had been uplifting, a reminder that not everything in the past months had been unpleasant. Now, it seemed sinister, the beautiful blossom petals smothering him. The skin of his hands appeared to be frozen to the meditation stone he held, and he felt unbalanced, light-headed. The petals were distracting as they wheeled through the air, averting his attention from the warning signs his body was displaying, his mind so full of the Force that he hadn't given a thought to the darkness he had sensed, even then. A trick…

The hollow tapping of knuckles on the metal door startled him out of the memory and he pressed farther into the corner, the lights dimming around him in an effort to put him off-balance. However, the abrupt change in brightness only served to bring his focus back and he struggled up into a crouch, his fists balled on his knees as he watched the door guardedly, submerging the blooming, paralysing agony that roused at his movements, a protest from his aching body. The frighteningly real possibility that it was time for his purpose to be fulfilled rose in his mind, unsettling him, and he felt desperation swell within him, urging him to action. He was weakened, weaponless, Force-less – defenceless, but this time he wouldn't comply with their wishes.

A sliver of light appeared as the door opened, and he tensed himself to spring at the intruder…then sagged back onto his haunches, shocked beyond disbelief at the sight of the tall, long-haired figure standing in the doorway. "Master?"

Qui-Gon's face, made indistinct by the light behind him and the relative darkness of the room, mirrored his own for a moment, his mouth tightening in apprehension, then eased into a relieved smile as he strode into the room. "Obi-Wan," he sighed gently, dropping to one knee and opening his arms.

Irrational terror seized Obi-Wan, suffocating any other emotion he felt at his Master's sudden reappearance and blanketing his mind with doubt. The voice and face matched well enough, but his restricted sense of the Force informed him that the corresponding signature was wrong – it wasn't concentrated enough to denote the presence of a Jedi, and it certainly wasn't recognisable as Qui-Gon's. The notion that the neural web was distorting his ability to distinguish Force-signatures correctly was fleeting and easily dismissed in consideration of all the deceit that had already been presented to him. This simply wasn't Qui-Gon.

"Padawan?" A frown pulled at the man's features and he shuffled closer, lowering his arms. There was the sound of movement past the open door, and he looked round with an expression of resentment that Obi-Wan was unused to seeing on the too-familiar face.

"W-Wh-" His attempts to speak were foiled by fear and bitterness, brought about by his comprehension of a scenario that had been too good to be true; the Lamarin web's effect on his speech only added to the difficulty. The relief that had come from believing – knowing – that his Master was alive, the brief joy at being reunited at last, was slipping away from him, leaving him broken-spirited. "Why are you doing this to me?" he whispered bleakly, covering his face with his hands and wincing as his palm made contact with his swollen, injured cheek.

His emotions were fleeing him, taking his strength with them, and he suddenly couldn't find the energy to care anymore. Pain and his physical condition were becoming of less and less concern to him – the only thing of any importance that remained was Qui-Gon, and the Lamari had managed to corrupt that as well. They were trying to undermine everything he was, everything he held dear, in their ambition for Force power, and this mockery that they were presenting him with now had a feeling of terrible finality – a last, scornful blow to his psyche before they destroyed him. He was tired of being responsible for the web and its potential for devastation. He just wanted it out of him.

He had lost his resolve to fight, and they had won.

The neural web responded to his mental withdrawal as though a final hindrance had been removed, its already innumerable network of strands multiplying at unprecedented speed, and the effect was immediate. Reeling, Obi-Wan put a hand to his head and groaned, feeling the effects of the web's activity like a physical blow.

Specific memories, both short- and long-term, were being plucked from him, briefly removing all significance from the man kneeling in front of him. Worse, his already impeded sense of the Force was deteriorating further, his perception of his surroundings altering, simplifying. And pain, awful, blistering pain like nothing he'd felt even throughout the whole ordeal since he'd become aware of the web, white-hot and all-consuming, though thankfully it was already starting to ebb.

Someone patted at his arm and he flinched away from the touch, blinking dazedly and trying to regain his bearings.

"Padawan?"

The word caught his fragmented attention, giving him the focus he urgently needed, and he eyed the large, bearded man who had moved to squat before him. Intimidated by the proximity, he huddled farther into the corner, his eyes wide and frightened at the seething chaos inside him.

"Obi-Wan, please, don't be afraid," his companion coaxed soothingly, reaching out to him. "I can help you, but you'll have to trust me."

He stared at the hand and its implied offer of aid, relaxing out of his defensive posture. The voice demanded his obedience in a subtle tone that made a connection with some part of his mind that was unharmed by his inner instabilty, and he found himself taking the man's hand and lurching forward eagerly into a consoling embrace.

"I have him." The words weren't meant for Obi-Wan and he paid only the slightest heed to them, folding his arms around the stranger's waist; the mental strain and the neural implant itself was pressuring him into sleep, enforcing rest before vital areas of his brain became damaged by his body's instinctive resistance to the web's invasion as it wrested control from him.

As the young Jedi drifted into an imposed slumber, "Qui-Gon" grunted and shifted the sagging body in his arms to accommodate the increased weight of slackening muscles, his face brightening with the elation of success.

"Kerrov?" a voice enquired from the doorway, and he glanced at the woman standing behind him.

"It's done," the Lamarin scientist confirmed, his voice reverting to its accustomed pitch. The temporary surgery and weeks of coaching he had needed to effectively impersonate this boy's Master had paid off: the Jedi was theirs. "He should be receptive to suggestion once the web has stabilised."

"How soon can we integrate him with the Madellin-ki?"

Kerrov paused, frowning thoughtfully. "The physical merge can be done immediately, but I would rather offset that until he's conscious and received at least some form of preparation. He's more than just hardware. The psychological shock of insertion might damage his mind beyond use."

"It's not the mind I'm interested in," Sashri remarked as she approached and clasped the scientist's shoulder, staring down at Obi-Wan's face, pale beneath the livid bruising, and avoiding Kerrov's eyes, perturbed by the likeness to Qui-Gon that he had adopted. The illusion was troublingly real and brought feelings that were better left undisturbed.

Sighing, Kerrov shook his head. "Might I advise patience, then? In his state, too much stress might kill him, and the web won't work without a living host," he reminded harshly.

"The politicians will not wait long." Her fingers tightened on his shoulder. "They are buckling under the pressure from Valorum and the Senate to relinquish all information about the web. And the Jedi won't dawdle in their search either. We're running out of time!"

Kerrov said nothing. Events were moving much too fast for his liking, mostly due to the growing nervousness of the Lamarin government, which had been expecting a quick result when it had consented to this project – this long-term investment worried the politicians, and now they were beginning to panic. They had been the ones to push for bounty hunters, but snatching Obi-Wan had only further involved the Jedi.

And this…quickening the implant's maturation through manipulation and emotional breakdown was a cruel, rudimentary method that he resented greatly. He had known it was an approach that would succeed: the orchestrated attack on Dareela, still unexplained by the Dareelans and the Jedi, had worked in much the same manner. In both cases, a traumatic event involving Qui-Gon Jinn had served as a catalyst, inducing the web to accelerated growth and bringing the Madellin-ki project closer to completion.

Madellin-ki: Dawning. The technology that would bring Lamari out of the anonymous shadow of the Republic, making it a power that no one could defy. Lamari had gone too long as a dependant planet, fully reliant on others in the Republic, but this would be the first step toward regaining self-sufficiency. Recognition was the objective, not conquest; that, and the aspiration to connect with the Force as only the Jedi could. There would be repercussions, of course, for abducting a Jedi student, but if necessary Lamari would claim autonomy and withdraw its membership from the Republic. Besides, the decision to implant Obi-Wan was irreversible – there was no way to remove the neural web, and eventually, once the system was perfected and could be used by the Lamarin people, the Padawan would be killed. If the Lamari themselves didn't do it, then the web certainly would by consuming his body from the inside out.

Blinking, Kerrov broke his reverie and repositioned Obi-Wan's sleeping form in his arms again, pulling out of Sashri's grip and lurching unceremoniously to his feet, realising with a start that it would be mere hours before the neural implant fully established its control. Time was short – it had already been well over a week since the bounty hunters had captured Obi-Wan, and although their current position was sufficiently hidden, it was doubtful they could continue to elude the Jedi for too long.

Perhaps Sashri was right. Could they afford to wait, and waste time on preparing the Padawan for his insertion into the Madellin-ki, or might it be simpler to integrate him while he was still unconscious? After so many years of hard work, any delay irritated him but to make the wrong decision would have devastating consequences.

He nodded swiftly at Sashri. "I'll start the procedure immediately."

The High Priestess began to reply but was interrupted by a deep, bass hum that shook the room around them with its intensity, followed by a thundering roar of noise and the distant sound of rending metal. Silence descended, yet the floor beneath them continued to vibrate with the repercussions of a monumental impact.

"A bomb?" Sashri asked, hurrying to the door and leaning out; the corridor was undamaged.

Kerrov joined her, then pushed past and started to run in the opposite direction of the blast, heading for the main laboratory and its adjoining hangar. "A laser cannon!" he shouted back at her, hearing her footsteps behind him. "They're attacking us from space!"

True to Sashri's words, the Jedi hadn't delayed – somehow, they had traced the bounty hunters, who were now long gone, or possibly even the Lamarin ship, to this abandoned planet and discovered the underground complex, which was shielded but conceivably detectable to powerful sensors. It might be as little as an hour before touchdown; after that, only minutes until the Jedi penetrated the base and overcame their defences. An hour… He looked down at Obi-Wan, who slept on oblivious. Despite the dangers, the boy would have to be woken, regardless of how stable the neural web was. He wouldn't allow all the sacrifices they had made to get this far be for nothing. He would not allow this project to fail…not now…

tbc…