Most of this part was actually supposed to be included in part 8, which is why it's out so quick!
Author's notes: The dream sequence in part 3 is mentioned again. Also, to avoid confusion, Madellin-ki translates to Dawning in Basic (see part 8) – I'll only use the Basic translation when it's from Obi's perspective. And no, this isn't another Obi-centric part! Well, not exactly, anyway. I thought I'd better break that habit before it gets the better of me - Also, the name of the ship Mercy Bound is the title of another Joan Baez song.
Gone From Danger - Part 9/?
On the bridge of the Dinisian ship Mercy Bound, a rather bizarre name for a craft that was a warship in all but classification, Qui-Gon stood behind the pilot's seat, grimly watching the targeting computer redirect the laser cannon and discharge another extended burst toward the planet's surface. His barely healed shoulder ached with tension, and although he favoured his right leg it still throbbed distractingly. However, he ignored the pain resolutely, intent on the planet below, his eyes narrowing in what could have been a wince as the laser cannon methodically stripped away plant life and soil to reveal more of the hidden Lamarin installation.
Movement outside the starboard viewport caught his eye and a battered, elongated ship drifted into view, bringing its squat nose round to face them: the unexpected, and from Qui-Gon's standpoint unwanted, allies who had brought them here after a week's fruitless search for Obi-Wan. Mek'Lee and her team of bounty hunters. Why they had chosen to help the Jedi, he didn't know and frankly didn't care; he deeply resented their aid but had been forced to accept it. If he wasn't so concerned about Obi-Wan, his anger toward them might well have been much greater.
There was something nagging Qui-Gon about the entire situation with the bounty hunters. While they had destroyed the Republic shuttle after their attack on the Jedi-controlled planet, they had left the communications equipment within the house intact, allowing Qui-Gon to contact the Council for assistance. Also, none of the Jedi had been seriously wounded – the projectiles they had used in their weapons had caused intense pain but minimal damage. Tiperis had sustained only bruising from the beating that the bounty hunters had given her, and Qui-Gon, aside from the pellet wounds, had woken with a minor concussion. Raeshin had been the most seriously wounded, but fortunately the projectiles had missed his spine and vital organs.
The attack could have been much worse, and that was what troubled him now. Their choice of weapons perplexed Qui-Gon. The projectile rifles they had carried seemed an inefficient method when they could have used stun bolts in their blasters, which would have incapacitated their targets far more quickly. Of course, blaster bolts could be deflected by a lightsaber and consequently used to injure the assailants rather than the assailed. However, in his experience bounty hunters were methodical – leaving the three Jedi alive and their communications intact meant arrogance, or carelessness. Qui-Gon didn't believe Mek'Lee and her team were either of those, but that could only mean that their actions had been intentional, and that conclusion, together with their temporary cooperation with the Jedi, worried him more. He could sense that their desire to assist was genuine, but why? Why would they want to help now and risk their reputation, as well as arrest? And why had the Council offered no explanation when the bounty hunters had arrived, despite the fact that Mek'Lee was adamant she had the Council's permission?
The other ship retreated from sight again, looping away to a position just behind the Mercy Bound, and Qui-Gon took a few moments to regain his composure. He felt someone come to stand beside him, deliberately remaining just out of his peripheral vision and forcing him to look away from the viewport. Ruya Sansaro offered him a strained, cheerless smile of support that Qui-Gon didn't bother to return. It had been Ruya and Noreif who had rescued the three injured Jedi from the haven world, having completed their mission on Banis and appropriating the Mercy Bound from a neighbouring planet, Dinis.
"Qui, please come and sit," the older Master requested, his smile fading and his tattooed face wrinkling into a stern expression.
Qui-Gon frowned and turned away from his friend, staring at the numerous displays cluttering the bridge. "I would rather remain here," he replied pointedly, folding his arms tightly and stiffening at a sharp jab from his shoulder.
"You're not helping by being here." Ruya's tone was just as cutting as the pain, and Qui-Gon could hear the frustration in his voice. "And if you don't rest you won't be much help when we enter the installation either."
The pilot of the Mercy Bound glanced at his co-pilot, then around at the two Jedi. "Perhaps you should do as he says," he remarked carefully. "I'll be taking the ship down in a few minutes, anyway."
Shifting his weight from his sound leg and testing the strength of the other, Qui-Gon had to admit that a brief rest would do him good - his right leg wouldn't continue to support him much longer. "All right," he acquiesced, reluctantly turning his back to the viewport and following Ruya aft, into the passenger compartment.
Noreif Leksalis, leaning against one bulkhead, looked up from the deck at their entrance, his dark eyes uneasy. In one of the chairs, Raeshin was cautiously massaging his back, gauging the extent of healing with an expression of satisfaction. Seated opposite him, Tiperis stretched and gave the two Masters a small smile, bruising still evident on her face but nowhere near as vivid as it had been a week ago. Her lightsaber hung from her belt once more, returned to her by the bounty hunters as an evident show of goodwill, along with Obi-Wan's, which Qui-Gon had stowed away in one of the warship's cramped cabins.
"The pilot will be landing shortly," Ruya announced, sitting beside Raeshin. Qui-Gon took a seat with Tiperis and sighed involuntarily, the ache ebbing from his leg and shoulder. "Getting in won't be a problem – the laser cannon has already taken care of that. However, the Lamari already know we're coming and we only have a vague idea of how well defended this complex is, so we'll have to go carefully."
Raeshin leaned forward slightly. "Weapons are not our sole concern. I can only speculate on Obi-Wan's condition and how much he might have deteriorated, physically…and mentally," he finished delicately.
"Mentally?" Qui-Gon stared at the Healer, waiting for elaboration.
"It is probable that the implant's growth will have caused damage to his brain. The tests I ran on him earlier indicated that certain areas would be affected if the neural web continued to grow in the pattern it was demonstrating. Memory loss, in particular. There might also be behavioural discrepancies." Raeshin's face was sympathetic when he looked at Qui-Gon. "Our priority is to find Obi-Wan, but use caution when you approach him. He might not recognise you, and if we frighten him he could lash out...we have already seen what he is capable of."
Qui-Gon stiffened in protest at the man's words but couldn't argue with him. "Very well," he acceded grudgingly.
The Mercy Bound shifted fractionally around them, descending toward the planet's atmosphere, and the five Jedi stirred at the movement. Qui-Gon felt tension build inside him again, now that their search was coming to an end. As anxious as he was to see Obi-Wan, he couldn't help a sense of trepidation – when he found his Padawan, would it be the same boy that had been taken from him? Would he look into Obi-Wan's eyes and see Light, or Dark?
In the main laboratory, Sashri paced impatiently, her gaze repeatedly drawn to the heavy blast doors that separated the room from the expansive hangar beyond. Twenty minutes had passed – the barrage from space had ceased, which meant that the Jedi would be landing shortly.
She slipped her hand inside a pocket of her loose robe, similar to the one that Kerrov wore, and found the solid, angular shape she had placed there, curling her fingers around it. It was one of the meditation stones she had brought with her from home, and also her means of keeping the neural web in check – she doubted that even Kerrov knew just how much control she had. She had to remain in constant contact with the stone to ensure that the implant stayed dormant until the time came to use it, which was a tiring but gratifying process.
Close by, two Lamari guards held Obi-Wan upright while Kerrov struggled to get the young Jedi ready, his efforts punctuated by grunts of frustration as he stripped off Obi-Wan's soiled garments and redressed him in a pale grey jumpsuit, leaving him barefoot. The scientist had already fitted a somewhat cumbersome headset, a slim but heavy lattice of metal embedded with sensors, and the unconscious boy's head lolled forward under the additional weight. His hair was damp, the caked blood that had matted there now scrubbed away, and both the scalp laceration and the fractured cheek bore bacta patches. It was a meaningless gesture, treating superficial wounds while leaving the more dangerous internal injuries unattended, but also somehow appropriate.
Kerrov glanced round at Sashri as he pulled a pair of tight-fitting gloves on over Obi-Wan's limp fingers, strapping them securely into place with cuffs. "I need a stimulant," he called to her, gesturing toward a tray of hyposprays near her. "The one with the blue tag." He turned the Padawan's hands over, scrutinising the network of glistening fibres that ran through the palms of the gloves and checking for loose connections.
Without waiting for Sashri to retrieve the stimulant, he motioned sharply at the guards and strode toward the blast doors, pulling a remote from a pocket of his replicated Jedi clothing and activating it as he approached. The doors – two sets in all – hummed to life and sighed apart, revealing the bustling hangar and the craft it housed: the massive, armed transport that had brought them here, already powering its engines in preparation for a swift departure, and a much smaller ship, surrounded by short cylindrical containers. The floor of the cavernous space was several levels below them as they walked out of the laboratory onto a suspended metal catwalk that brought them to a point directly above the two vessels, and it was the slighter of the pair that drew Sashri's attention.
No more than thirty metres long and ten across at its widest point, the Madellin-ki was reminiscent of one of Lamari's famed meditation stones, with a transparent outer hull constructed from the same material that formed the neural web, and an opaque inner hull. Halfway along the fuselage, the ovoid outer hull flanged into a pair of stubby wings that housed the ship's engines; its hyperdrive was located in a compartment within the outer hull, while the inner hull contained the tiny cockpit.
The Madellin-ki was rainbow-hued under the hangar's lights, its translucent fuselage separating the artificial light into a spectrum of colours – it was beautiful, with an air of delicacy about it, but Sashri recognised its menace. First and foremost, the craft was a weapon, to be powered by the captive Jedi and the neural web currently in his body. Like the meditation stones they were modelled on, both the ship and the web were conduits, an irresistible lure for the Force and a method of channelling its mysterious energy. The more Force-sensitive the user, the greater the power: that was the reason why they had risked so much to ensnare a Jedi at Obi-Wan's level and age, perhaps a little naïve in his youth but easier to manipulate because of it, and still formidable in his abilities.
Noticing the small group advancing, the cluster of technicians around the Madellin-ki paused in their work, a few clambering up onto the ship's flattened roof and opening the hatch recessed into the crystalline material. Sashri glimpsed a faint puff of evaporating liquid as the hatch irised open and the craft's inner atmosphere was exposed to the warmer air of the hangar.
"We're coming down!" Kerrov informed the technicians and began to descend a short flight of steps leading to a second catwalk a few metres above the Madellin-ki's roof, the two men carrying Obi-Wan behind him. Sashri looked at her wrist-chrono as she followed them down, noting that another ten minutes had elapsed and they had yet to integrate the Jedi with the Madellin-ki's systems.
Kerrov seemed oblivious to the constraints of time now, dropping through a gap in the catwalk and landing heavily on top of the ship, his legs folding beneath him before he regained his balance. At his word, Obi-Wan was lowered carefully through the hole into the scientist's grasp, then settled on the roof while Kerrov reached up again to help Sashri down. The pair of guards retreated up the steps and disappeared back into the complex.
"How much longer?" Sashri asked, passing the hypospray to him and watching her companion kneel beside Obi-Wan and press the tip of the instrument beneath his jaw.
"It will only take a few seconds to put him in," Kerrov replied, casting aside the hypospray and shaking the Padawan's shoulders firmly. "However, his body will need to equalise before he can operate the ship."
There was a groggy moan from Obi-Wan and his head jerked under the burden of the headset, wobbling upward to bring his face into view. His eyes were dull and unresponsive, and he expelled a heavy, snorting breath in reaction to the scientist's attempts to revive him.
"Look at him!" Sashri's tone was reproving. "He'll never be ready in time."
"Shh!" Kerrov hissed, his voice adapting to emulate Qui-Gon's once more. "Obi-Wan, wake up," he coaxed, his grip on the young Jedi becoming gentler, and Sashri shivered at the transformation. "Padawan, focus. It's your Master, Qui-Gon."
"M…thter…" The syllables were badly garbled and barely audible, but Kerrov understood them all the same. "Mah…ster?"
"Yes, Padawan. Do you remember?"
Obi-Wan blinked slowly, awareness gradually removing the stupor from his gaze, and his nod was exaggerated as he stared at Kerrov, a bemused frown appearing. "Mas…ter."
Trembling fingers lifted, trying to touch his face, but Kerrov released his shoulders and caught the extended hand before they made contact. "Obi-Wan, listen to me," he urged, adopting his persona of Qui-Gon smoothly. "Listen!" His voice sharpened a touch and he cupped Obi-Wan's chin with his free hand when the Jedi's attention wavered. "There are people coming for you. They want to hurt you, Padawan. We have to leave." Kerrov kept his sentences deliberately short and his hold steady. "Do you understand?"
Again, the overstated nod, but the eyes brightened noticeably. "Yes."
Kerrov sighed in relief, and he heard Sashri do the same. "Good, Padawan. I want you to go in there, where you'll be safe," he said, pointing at the open hatch.
"All right." Obi-Wan's voice was timid, his manner compliant, and Sashri took a moment to wonder at how much his demeanour had changed because of the implant. As a result of the technology she had helped to develop, by contributing her knowledge of the meditation stones and her own limited ability with the Force, this strong, determined and intelligent young man had become nervous, submissive; vastly different from the way he had been when she had first met him on Lamari, all those months ago. The power that she had over his life both frightened and thrilled her.
Between herself and Kerrov – she with the authority over the neural web, he with a rein over Obi-Wan's emotions – they could control the Padawan completely, and command him as they wished. It was a giddy sensation, to gain utter possession of a being that was regarded by most of the galaxy as untouchable…a Jedi, the embodiment of peace and justice.
The feeling was similar to the one she had experienced while she implanted Obi-Wan with the self-replicating material that would eventually form the core of the neural web. That memory, when Obi-Wan had learned to use the meditation stone on his own, had never faded in intensity for her, and she doubted that it had for Obi-Wan either, although he would have remembered it for different reasons. She could still close her eyes and see the earnest wonder on his face, half-shrouded by blossom petals and clutching his meditation stone tightly, unaware that the crystal he held was transmitting a substance into his body through his skin which would later grow into the web. It had been a glorious day for both of them, but ultimately one of tragedy for Obi-Wan, who had proceeded to turn time and again to the stone to help him commune with the Living Force, innocent to the fact that he was escalating his own downfall by doing so.
Her reminiscence was brief. She stepped out of the way as Kerrov rose and brought Obi-Wan up with him, propelling the boy toward the hatch with a reassuring hand between the shoulder blades. During her lapse of concentration, it seemed that Kerrov had already explained to the Jedi what was required of him, and finally there was intelligence in Obi-Wan's gaze, his cognitive functions starting to steady. When he glanced at her it was only with interest, reassuring her that the web was still working to suppress his memories. The speed of his stabilisation surprised her, but Kerrov was unconcerned.
A few murmured words in his ear was all it took to get Obi-Wan inside the hatch, climbing down out of sight, and Kerrov joined Sashri as technicians reappeared to seal the ship. Someone on the hangar floor gave a shout and machinery whined beneath the Madellin-ki, a powerful pump feeding liquid from the tanks beside the ship into the inner hull and flooding the opaque cockpit. The liquid, thrana, was manufactured on Lamari and used in some atmospheric craft as a buffer to counter the effects of high gravity. Even a few starships utilised thrana to supplement their artificial gravity and structural integrity systems, especially those that were required to make difficult atmospheric manoeuvres on a regular basis.
Sashri stared past her feet. "Will he be all right?"
"He won't drown," the scientist replied. "Thrana is breathable, and I warned him about what would happen when he went in. He trusts me."
"He trusts Jinn," Sashri corrected with a hint of contempt, allowing Kerrov to lead her away from the hatch, more technicians waiting to help them down to the floor. Heading toward the huge transport, they heard the Madellin-ki's engines power up behind them, increasing the noise in the hangar, and any lingering technicians detached the pump and scuttled away from the ship.
At Sashri's querying look, Kerrov smiled. "The Madellin-ki is slaved to the transport's computer – Obi-Wan can leave the planet, but he won't get any farther without permission from us. I told him to go. I figured the sooner he's in space, the less chance he has of being rescued."
The High Priestess nodded, moving up the boarding ramp and turning slightly to watch the Madellin-ki as it skidded sideways on its landing struts, realising that Obi-Wan was trying to figure out the ship's controls. The craft had no conventional method of steering; through the headset, the gloves that the Jedi wore were connected to the ship's onboard computer, allowing him to direct the ship by hand movements, emulating a set of controls.
However, a howling noise at the other end of the vast room drew all attention to the gaping maw of the open hangar doors, and Sashri could only stare in horror as a massive shadow sank down to block the exit. The warship nosed closer to the hangar, its engines deafening as the sound reverberated off the metal walls, and the laser cannon mounted beneath it was clearly locked on the Lamarin transport. A second ship dropped behind it, and beside her Kerrov gave a cry of triumph - the bounty hunters had returned, presumably to aid their recent contractors. But when the bounty hunters made no move against the warship, Kerrov's exclamation became a snarl of rage at the betrayal.
"What are we going to do?" Sashri shouted frantically, oblivious to the press of people around her as the remaining crew and personnel hurried to board the transport, seeking a false safety from the threat of the warship's cannon.
"The Madellin-ki will take care of it," Kerrov reassured, his voice raised above the din.
"Obi-Wan won't attack his own people!"
"As far as Obi-Wan is concerned, I'm his Master. He will attack." Kerrov was confident in his words, taking her elbow and guiding her up the ramp.
Finally, the Madellin-ki bobbed into the air and retracted its landing struts, its rounded nose swinging like a dazed animal shaking its head, and it slid past the transport with a tentative burst from its thrusters, light scintillating on the outer hull. At the hangar's exit, the warship shifted closer to the floor, extending a ramp, and a figure emerged from inside the craft, emerald lightsaber activated and waving like a beacon, as though to warn off the approaching ship. Sashri seized Kerrov's arm tightly, halting his progress.
"Look!" she hissed, pointing wildly. "It's Jinn!"
Balanced on the ramp, Qui-Gon was signalling the Madellin-ki to halt, clearly with no idea that it was his apprentice piloting the ship. However, the smaller craft veered uncertainly as it neared the warship, and it was obvious to Sashri that Obi-Wan had recognised his Master.
"It's not going to work," she moaned, inaudible amongst the whine of engines. While they could manipulate his mind, they couldn't fully suppress his Force-perceptions, and there was no doubt in Sashri that the Padawan now understood he had been deceived.
The Madellin-ki was wobbling erratically, quite likely matching the movements of its pilot's shaking hands, and Sashri could only imagine the conflict within the boy's mind. He was already in a dangerous state, and the shock of finding himself presented with another Qui-Gon could be the final blow to his sanity. She watched the Jedi Master and saw him stiffen, his lightsaber lowering slowly, no doubt realising at least some of what was happening through his connection to the Force, and even from that distance she could see his mouth form Obi-Wan's name.
Unexpectedly, the glinting ship steadied and resumed its course toward the warship, angling to dart between the large craft and the floor. Seeing his Padawan's imminent escape, Qui-Gon leapt back up the ramp and disappeared from view, the warship sealing itself after him even as it shifted to block the Madellin-ki, but the response came too late and Obi-Wan slipped past, easily evading the bounty hunters and accelerating away into cloudless skies.
The warship backed up and wheeled into pursuit, leaving its companion ship to keep the Lamarin transport imprisoned within the hangar; the bounty hunters' craft had more than enough weaponry for the job. Sashri felt a helpless anger well up inside her. With the Madellin-ki slaved to the transport, Obi-Wan could get no farther than orbit, and now that he knew that Jinn was aboard the warship, he wouldn't attack…he would be caught.
She had lost him, and at the thought she released her control of the neural web, breaking her link to the meditation stone in her pocket.
The web thrummed inside Obi-Wan like a living thing, and outside the cockpit he could feel the ship – the Dawning, "Qui-Gon" had called it – pulsating in unison, the vibrations transmitted through the liquid he floated in. In his lungs and throat, the thrana felt cold and uncomfortable, and he was still struggling to overcome the initial shock of trying to breathe through it while he tried to keep control of the craft. There was no seat, but strong cords around his ankles anchored him in place, and this time he was grateful for the restraints.
Displays surrounded him, feeding him information about the pursuing warship and the planet's terrain; while the inner hull appeared opaque from the outside, from within it was perfectly transparent, providing him with an excellent, if disconcerting and even vertiginous, view of his surroundings. He was momentarily shocked to see long strips of charred vegetation and smoking craters scarring the landscape, all evidence of the warship's laser cannon.
An alarm sounded, and he closed his right hand into a fist, rotating it through ninety degrees. The Dawning responded instantly, rolling away to starboard and narrowly missing a series of laser blasts from the warship.
Confusion was hammering at him, preventing him from thinking clearly, and he strove to push the uncertainty away. Qui-Gon was on that ship…he had seen his Master standing on the lowered ramp, and had recognised the Force-signature…but then, who had he been talking to before he had entered the Dawning? And why was he being fired upon?
A blast struck one of the engines and the ship bucked, yawing wildly. Obi-Wan's arms shook with the effort of steadying the craft, his hands clenched tightly; the controls might be imagined, but the resistance from the Dawning was all too real, pulling at the joints of his arms ruthlessly. The fluid around him helped to cushion his body, but the shuddering jarred him to his bones anyway, and he groaned aloud at the strain of holding the ship in check. A glance at one of the displays told him that the damage was nominal, and the Dawning quickly came back under control, the drag on his arms lessening.
There was a familiar claustrophobia building inside him, provoked by the warship's attack, and he hauled the ship's nose up, breaking for orbit. From what he could discern about the Dawning, it was essentially a weapon that would amplify the neural web's effects, making a devastatingly strong Force-push far more destructive. The Force was already swarming around and into him, collecting not just in his body but filling the ship as well, and the power was stupefying; Obi-Wan knew that he was drawing energy from Qui-Gon, and whoever else the Master had brought with him, but there was nothing he could do to stop it. He could only try to get away before he hurt anyone.
Laser bolts continued to stripe the sky as he climbed, and the Force surged in reaction, seemingly buoying the ship into the planet's upper atmosphere. Buffeted by the aftershock of his passage, the warship swung into a parallel course and continued to follow him up. He barely noticed when the first spray of stars appeared in the sky, blue hazing into purple then finally into black as he left the planet's atmosphere, focused on the awful disjointed feeling that filled him.
It seemed to him that he had separated into two beings, or that the web itself had adopted its own personality. At one level, he was aware that his mind was no longer intact, deprived of knowledge and memories that allowed him to function; at another, his consciousness was based purely on an intuitive urge to process all available input, with little thought to what he had lost. But which one was dominant? Whatever the answer was, he needed guidance…
The Force is a guide that transcends all others, for those with the wisdom to listen. Qui-Gon had often said that, and his actions had always echoed his words, fuelling his decisions to disregard the Council at times. Perhaps that was the answer – yet how could Obi-Wan seek counsel from the Force when he feared the outcome, perhaps even feared the Force itself? Because of the web, and with the aid of the Force, he had killed three people at Banis, and he had almost destroyed the bounty hunters' ship and all aboard it. He had even attacked his Master. He wasn't a guardian, a Jedi, with this device inside him, causing him to do things that had more to do with self than self-sacrifice.
"Stop it!" Obi-Wan screamed, feeling another blast strike home, his voice muted by the liquid in his ears and throat but his crazed desperation clear, fear battling with an alien rage at the unprovoked attack. "Master, please!" The web fed greedily from the Force, gorging itself, and it was a nauseating sensation that his beaten body was scarcely able to cope with, bordering on painful. Surely Qui-Gon could sense what was happening, yet the warship didn't desist or show any intention of breaking off.
No more, he thought savagely, flinging the Dawning around and facing the warship. No more killing. If his pursuers were so intent on destroying him, so be it. His faith in the Force was gone; his faith in himself was gone; in that respect, his life had no meaning, and there was no point in continuing.
He was startled to feel the Force concentration around him ebbing, dispersing in calm waves, and the neural web deactivated with shocking swiftness, becoming cold and still inside his body. The imminent discharge had stalled, petering out like a storm, and his incredulity was so consuming that he forgot the oncoming warship, which had to swing hard to avoid him. Had that been the key to the neural web's power: his own instincts of self-preservation? He turned the Dawning in a lazy spiral, spinning the ship on its port wing and relishing the quivering feedback that didn't come from Force-vibrations but from simple movement.
Bringing the Dawning out of the loop, Obi-Wan saw the warship hanging in space at a close distance, no longer firing on him. He began to move toward it, but pulled away almost at once, realising that now would be an ideal time to escape – with a ship, he could lose himself in the galaxy, place himself in isolation until he had learned to deal with the Lamarin web. No thought was given to the vital knowledge that he was still slaved to the Lamarin transport on the planet, preventing him from leaving orbit around the planet.
A spasm in his throat pierced his thoughts, and the liquid in the cockpit suddenly clouded with red, reminding him of temporarily forgotten injuries and dispelling his notions of seclusion. Without medical attention, it was more than likely that the Dawning would be found adrift, with its pilot dead inside it, and then anyone might lay claim to it. He couldn't take that chance…and besides, he was tired of running.
There was a gathering in the Force, directed not by him but toward him, and it took him only seconds to recognise the source. Qui-Gon. Obi-Wan gasped in surprise and was abruptly overcome by his body attempting to initiate a bout of coughing despite the thrana in his lungs, instinctively jerking his hands up toward his chest and neck. The Dawning slewed violently in response, careering back in the direction of the warship. Obi-Wan, still fighting to adjust to the thrana again, managed to stabilise the craft's course enough to sideswipe the other ship rather than driving straight into it, and the Dawning came to a halt at his command, drifting beside the warship, which seemed to have sustained little damage from the impact.
All he could see was red, the blood from his internal injuries colouring the cockpit fluid a dark crimson, and his body convulsed, crunching into a bent position as he hugged himself against the explosion of pain, the restraints pulling on his ankles and keeping him secure in the midst of his distress.
The Dawning had begun to move when his struggles lessened, the spasms calming, and he absently noted that his rescue had come – the ship was being tractored. But it was too late. His body was shutting down, beyond help, and he fervently hoped that he would be dead by the time Qui-Gon got to him. At least then his Master wouldn't have to suffer the agony of watching him die.
tbc…