A/N: Sometimes, after proofing a chapter, all I can think is—"I wrote this crap!?" Well, that's the sensation I got today. Oh well. I don't have the energy to really start this chapter over from scratch, so I'm posting it as it is, with hopes that I may be overcritical right now. Does Obi-Wan sound a little too whiny and childish to anyone else? (that's not my intention but I think it's coming across that way…) This chapter forced me to be a bit more "technical" with things like ships and whatnot, which I know nothing about. I watch a lot of sci-fi, so not only do I have no idea what I'm talking about generally when it comes to space ships, but I also have a tendency to confuse terms from various shows/movies, so I hope I stayed within the realm of Star Wars and believability with everything. Thanks for all who have responded. To comment specifically on Jedi Takato's review—I thought that was pretty much implied and I really don't think it contradicts anything I wrote (Obi was stressed because of his master's lack of attention cumulatively over recent events). Hope this isn't as choppy as I think it is! Enjoy :)
Chapter 8
An explosion jarred Obi-Wan from his peaceful slumber. Slightly disoriented, he began to sit up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed to go investigate. Another jolt rocked the ship, throwing Obi-Wan ungracefully to the floor. They were being attacked. Obi-Wan had never been a so-called morning person—a truth he was sure his master would readily attest to. He always had preferred to prolong sleep until late into the night—his creativity heightened in the later hours—as opposed to waking early to deal with a situation in a more mechanical response. But, despite this and the exhaustion he hadn't been able to sleep off, in the face of danger he was quick to respond. The Force was swirling violently around the ship, accenting the already unnerving rocking of the ship.
The memory of sleep now gone from his mind, Obi-Wan picked himself off the floor. He was still mostly dressed—his tunic rumpled on his lithe form—and his lightsaber was still clipped to his belt so he wasted no time and departed his quarters for the cockpit. Consequently, he arrived first. The ship still hummed, running on autopilot as he had previously programmed it.
Plopping into the pilot's seat, Obi-Wan called up the display. Information began flashing across the screen rapidly as new data were processed. He switched off the autopilot and took the task of flying into his own hands. The vessel had minimal shielding, and it was already wavering under the attack. Attempting to take some of the burden off the defenses, he engaged in evasive maneuvers. With an unconventional thrust of the engines, he lurched the ship to the side, sensors indicating a blast grazing the hull slightly. He was not specifically trained as a pilot, but Obi-Wan was no slouch at the helm. As he jerked the ship again, Qui-Gon and Anakin came stumbling into the cockpit.
"What's happening?" Qui-Gon asked, sitting next to Obi-Wan.
"It's the Trade Federation—an attack vessel," Obi-Wan said, checking the monitors. Another explosion rocked their transport. "Fully equipped it seems."
Anakin's eyes were wide. "But I thought we beat the Trade Federation," he said nervously, looking beseechingly up into Qui-Gon's steady features.
"We won the battle on Naboo," Qui-Gon corrected him. "However, the Trade Federation's power extends throughout the galaxy."
"Why are they attacking us?" Anakin asked as another blast hit the ship. Obi-Wan tried to veer the ship in an evasive pattern but wasn't having much luck from the constant barrage of fire.
"They're trying to keep us from reaching Coruscant," Qui-Gon observed distantly.
"They know who we are then," Obi-Wan concluded grimly, wrenching the controls in an unorthodox method.
"I don't understand," Anakin said slowly, his voice hinging on fear. "How can the Trade Federation still be allowed to have power after everything they've done?"
"The Senate will likely revoke their trade franchise," Qui-Gon agreed. "But they haven't yet."
"And they can only revoke it if someone makes a statement to the Senate," Obi-Wan interjected.
"Someone who had been there. Someone trustworthy…," Qui-Gon continued the thought.
Anakin's young mind made the connection. "Someone like you," he said, holding onto his chair as the ship lurched again. "They're trying to kill us."
"Obviously," Obi-Wan muttered, eliciting a sideways reprimanding glare from his master.
"If the Queen petitions herself it could easily become a he-said/she-said debate. It would be thrown out before it even got anywhere," Qui-Gon deduced. "If they can kill us, they can destroy their only impartial witnesses."
"But can't let them win!" Anakin cried ridiculously, his youth and fear surfacing. His Force signature ricocheted through the ship, clearly resounding in both Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon. The boy had unusual gifts, but his control over them was still precarious and underdeveloped. Now, for instance, he could clearly comprehend the severity of the situation due to his ability to extrapolate from the impulses of the Force and project a multitude of futures subconsciously. This usually served to make his reaction time exquisite, but when in a position of passivity, it served to heighten his emotional insecurities.
"I don't intend to let them win," Qui-Gon assured him. Obi-Wan was still struggling with the controls. Suddenly, the ship lurched and shuddered.
"The last blast appeared to have knocked the fuel cells offline," Obi-Wan informed them calmly. "We're dead in the water."
Anakin appeared panicked by this change, but Qui-Gon remained passive. Obi-Wan removed the panel and started to fiddle with the circuitry.
"It's definitely the hyperdrive," Obi-Wan confirmed after his electronics experiment didn't work. "I don't think it's damaged, but rather that it has been knocked out of alignment."
"Then we will have to realign it," Qui-Gon concluded simply.
"Yes," Obi-Wan said, standing. "I'll go. It'll be quicker if we can do it down in the engine room."
Suddenly another jolt shook the ship, but it wasn't weapons fire. The ship creaked and moaned. The three glanced around the cockpit curiously. "They seem to have docked with us," Qui-Gon noted.
Sitting back down, Obi-Wan checked the sensors. "It's just a shuttle," he said.
"But a shuttle full of droids, no doubt."
"Master Qui-Gon!" Anakin said, sounding unusually young. "What are we going to do?"
Qui-Gon looked down at the boy compassionately. Although Anakin had led a difficult life full of unseen and seen dangers, and he had been a witness and participant in the battle on Naboo, he was still a boy. Their down time on the planet had brought a sense of reality to the child and, mixed with his deep desire to see his mother again, made him more vulnerable. Not to mention it was the middle of the night and the young man was undoubtedly battling the effects of tiredness. The typically fearless child was suddenly faced with a larger world, a scarier world, a less personal world. And for the first time he was unnerved by it. It was as if for the first time he realized his infinite freedom, but with this newfound chainless life came the fear of losing it. It was a sign of immaturity, one that they hardly had time to deal with.
"Anakin, you must focus yourself," Qui-Gon instructed. "Have faith in the will of the Force. Accept your fear, then let it go."
Anakin's small frame was heaving with deep breaths, but he listened, accepting the advice out of desperation. Obi-Wan watched on as the boy closed his eyes, collected himself in a remarkably short amount of time. When he reopened his eyes, he was substantially calmer, but still noticeably nervous. Qui-Gon smiled. "Good."
A sensor beeped at Obi-Wan and he turned his attention back at the counsel. "They've managed to penetrate our hull. They should be boarding within minutes."
Qui-Gon bent over Ob-Wan's shoulder. "Have you sealed of the section where they are docked?"
"Yes, but it won't hold them forever."
"We just need enough time to realign the hyperdrive."
"That'll take time," Obi-Wan said. "More time than we can keep the droids from getting through the door."
"Then I suggest we hurry," Qui-Gon said. He turned to Anakin. "I need you to stay here. When we get the hyperdrive back online, you get us out of here immediately."
"Why don't I fix the hyperdrive?"
"Despite all your time fixing things, you've never fixed a hyperdrive on a functioning ship—only the part. Fixing it while it is installed is entirely different," Qui-Gon said.
"But I know I can do it!" Anakin protested, craving to have a crack at the unknown engine for his own sake.
"So can we," Qui-Gon said with a smile. "Besides, you want a chance to pilot the ship, don't you?"
Anakin conceded. The compromise had definite draws to the boy, but he could not deny the selfish desire to do both, which he was confident that he could if only given the opportunity. "Yes, sir."
"Good," Qui-Gon said. "Now we must hurry, Obi-Wan."
Obi-Wan stood quickly, sparing only a mere glance at the boy they were leaving at the helm. He regarded him with a skeptical indifference, forcing himself to keep an open mind. Besides, there were more pressing matters than the future of a young boy. He followed Qui-Gon quickly through the corridors, until they reached the engine room. Obi-Wan had always been mechanically and electronically inclined, and was known to be able to fix, in some manner, whatever needed to be fixed. Qui-Gon had developed a confidence in this ability, so when the reached the engine, he allowed Obi-Wan to fiddle about.
Watching his apprentice swiftly work on the engine, Qui-Gon's mind drifted to Anakin. It had taken Obi-Wan years of careful study and use to master this type of makeshift engineering. Yet, as a mere slave, Anakin knew considerably more about so many things. Qui-Gon had not doubted for a moment that Anakin could have realigned the hyperdrive with ease—probably more ease than Obi-Wan. It was rather his desire to protect Anakin and to keep the boy's ego in check that had left him on the bridge. Obi-Wan's progress was slow, but steady, and Qui-Gon pressed on a nearby sensor array to keep track of the droids docked to their ship.
The monitor showed a small, but still substantial, fleet of droids cramming into the sealed of bay. Droidekas blasted away at the door. Like Obi-Wan, their progress with the door was slow, but steady; however theirs was also much more inefficient. Droids couldn't think. If an obstacle stood in their way, they didn't bother to try circumventing it; they tried to blast it into oblivion.
The ensuing chaos barely at bay, Qui-Gon still knew he didn't have to communicate the urgency of the situation to his apprentice. They were connected nearly subconsciously, and, although the bond seemed slippery in the heated situation, Qui-Gon could easily detect the sheer concentration of his Padawan. To speak would only serve to hinder the young man's progress.
A small spray of sparks crackled, causing Obi-Wan to draw his hand away instinctively. Immediately a humming resounded through the room. The engine, back on line, tripped clumsily as it tried to engage itself. Obi-Wan allowed himself to look pleased. Turning to his master he said, "It's back online. We just need to realign the controls to match. Do you think Anakin will think to do it?"
In his mind's eye, Qui-Gon could already see the boy pressing expertly at the control panel. "Yes," Qui-Gon said confidently. "I am sure he will."
"It should only take a few minutes."
The sound of creaking metal caught their attention. "The droids have breeched the door. It won't be long until they are able to overrun the corridors," Qui-Gon said, already moving toward the docking bay, Obi-Wan at his heels.
There was no need or time for words as they wove onward. The Force hung ominously about the ship as explosions threw their jog off-kilter. They were close now—the muffled sounds of the barrage of fire against the steel door now audible. The door would not hold out much longer.
Then something stopped Qui-Gon cold in his tracks. The Force screamed out at him, pulling on him mercilessly until his concentration nearly shattered. Visibly shaken, he staggered against the wall. Noticing his master's distress, Obi-Wan stopped and examined him critically. "Master? Are you alright?" he asked.
Qui-Gon closed his eyes, trying to sort out the blinding intensity. "Do you feel it, Obi-Wan?"
"Feel what?" Obi-Wan asked, glancing nervously over his shoulder at the door which held its position precariously.
"The Force…," Qui-Gon whispered.
"What about it?"
"Do you feel it?" Qui-Gon asked again, his voice begging his apprentice for assistance.
Eschewing his concerns for the droids, Obi-Wan blocked out the threat, entreating himself to narrow in on the Force. He could feel the turmoil of the droid's incessant movements. He could feel his master struggling against something…he focused on the something, trying to place it. There was something wrong—something off balance in the Force. It was substantial, but undoubtedly secondary to the real problems of the moment—the droids blasting through the door. "The Force seems to be unbalanced," Obi-Wan reported, hoping to placate his master, then draw his attention back to the inevitable fight.
Qui-Gon squeezed his already shut eyes with vigor. Yes, the Force was definitely off balance—that was an understatement, Qui-Gon thought ruefully. In fact, the balance seemed be rocking carelessly about, tipping steadily, though, to the Dark. But where? He grew pale, blanching as he placed the source. Opening his eyes, he said grimly, "I must go."
Obi-Wan looked bewildered. "Go where?" he questioned beseechingly.
"I need to go to Anakin," Qui-Gon informed him in a strained voice as he attempted to move down the corridor.
Obi-Wans breath caught in his throat, choking over one simple reality. He was afraid.
He reeled from that emotion, seeking to separate himself from it. Jedi of course felt fear—it would be ridiculous to deny emotions such as fear. But they did not dwell in fear. They released it. Emotions did not control them. Obi-Wan struggled to reconcile this simple fact of his training with the eclectic array of intense emotions that had suddenly blossomed within him. His sense of duty and loyalty could not stifle them any longer. Too much had happened on Naboo, and he had written them off then. He had quelled his desire to understand Qui-Gon's intentions with Anakin, admonishing his feelings as jealous and unfounded. He had moved passed the unresolved fight with the Sith—Qui-Gon had not explored it, he had not explored, and its implications for the galaxy remained elusive as did the implications of his brush with Darkness and his unadvisable initiation of a healing bond. His body ached, his mind spun. The future and the past haunted him with nightmares of a mysterious Dark opponent and an uncertain new independence of Knighthood. He was utterly frustrated with his emotions. He could not accept feelings which he put on hold and he certainly couldn't let them go.
The battle with these droids daunted him too, there was no refuting that. He always acknowledged apprehension—that was healthy, even essential to fighting successfully. And, no matter how valiantly he tried to disguise it, his body had not yet fully recovered. Even with adrenaline surging through his system, he felt tired, hampered by weariness. But, it was more than fear. It was so much more, but his brain processed the surrounding sensations lethargically, and he could not identify them. His consciousness bordered on something deeper, infinitely deeper. Something that ran the depths of his bond with his master. Something that flirted mysteriously with the young boy in the cockpit.
Obi-Wan threw it all into the Force, desperately and without reservation. He would admit to his fears and doubts. It was his only hope. "Master! No!" Obi-Wan yelled, his voice completely honest and wholly stripped of any pride he had. "I cannot do this alone!"
Qui-Gon barely acknowledged the apprentice. "Focus on the moment," he stated mechanically. "Feel. Don't think."
Obi-Wan felt frantic. "No, Master!" he implored emphatically. "Anakin will be all right in the cockpit. Together we can keep the droids from reaching there!"
"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said sternly, finally looking at him. He was disheveled from the actions, sweat glistening on his boyish features. And his eyes—they were pleading, they were…scared. Again, he saw a glimpse of the young boy he had taken as his apprentice all those years ago—a boy who had eagerly admitted needing him. But that seemed so distant, so long ago. It was like another lifetime. It had been a period transition for the Jedi Master. Obi-Wan had offered him a chance to live fully again, and, for that, he was indebted to the younger Jedi. However, the future beckoned him. Anakin, with the same eager need, beckoned him. The future needed him. Surely Obi-Wan could sense it as well. "You are more mature than this attitude. You have killed a Sith. You have proven yourself worthy. I must go to Anakin. I sense he…is in danger."
Obi-Wan flinched as if Qui-Gon had struck him. "But what do you sense from me?" he asked, his voice begging for his Master to remember their vows to each other through the Master/Apprentice relationship—the vows to protect one another, to honor one another. He didn't want to be alone. He couldn't be alone. When they returned to Coruscant, he may be granted passage to manhood, but for this day he still felt like a boy—an apprentice. A battalion of droids was not something a master or an apprentice could ward off. Being a Jedi meant knowing his limits. It required swallowing his ego, but he recognized, with a childlike innocence, that this was a fight he could not win. And like a child, he did not want to fight it alone. He had been alone with the Naboo on Tatooine. He had been alone fighting the Sith. He had been alone waking in the healer's wing. He was tired of being alone.
"I sense a man that is trying to hide behind a boy's appearance," Qui-Gon told him. "Anakin needs me. You will be fine. I will return once I am satisfied Anakin is under control."
Without allowing his apprentice to protest, Qui-Gon disappeared down the hall. The blasting at the docking bay doors was growing louder now and the blasts began to do significant damage. Obi-Wan swallowed hard, trying to accept his master's words. Perhaps his fear had taken hold in his heart—perhaps Qui-Gon could see this and was speaking so harshly as to snap him out of it. But as the doors failed, Obi-Wan felt sick. Leaving him alone to fight the droids was like a death sentence. The Force was screaming in his ears, telling him he could not win this fight. He closed his eyes and released the fear. Meek resolution swelled to fill the gap. Opening his pale blue eyes again, his face was set with determination. He would fight like the man Qui-Gon thought him to be. He would die, if need be, like a Jedi.
A large section of the door fell apart, finally malfunctioning and opening part way by default. And then the droids came. They weren't firing immediately, but rather scouting out the small corridor. Obi-Wan rushed to hide strategically but his reflexes were too slow and the lead droid spotted him, giving the order to open fire.
Abandoning his plan to hide, he activated his lightsaber, easily deflecting the fire. He began to charge the incoming droids, deflecting fire back at them and slicing through others. He would stop momentarily to send the Force powerfully at a pair or so, subduing them that way. With careful and methodical movements, he advanced ever so slightly forward as droids slowly maneuvered through the broken bay doors. But as their numbers increased, the door swung open completely, and they flowed into the hallways with more rapidity. Obi-Wan drew deeply upon the Force, managing to hold his tenuous ground. Soon, however, they were overwhelming him, and he was forced to inch backwards.
Fluidly, depending dangerously on the Force, Obi-Wan kept fighting. Slash, parry, block, push. One droid after another sizzled to the ground. Time and motion lost meaning, and Obi-Wan's existence settled into an acute pattern of defense and attack, defense and attack. He missed nothing—he could not—for when he did, he would not imagine the results. It would distract him too much. His abilities stretched beyond their capacity, relying on the Force with perhaps too much vigor. He was fighting beyond his means, and, while it was working for now, he knew it wouldn't be long until physics caught up with him.
Slash, parry, block, push.
Slash, block, block, push.
Block, slash, block.
He saw it coming before the first blast caught him in the shoulder. The shot came at him in slow motion, yet his lightsaber, already engaged in another defense, could find no way to move. Frozen by the restrictions of time, he merely watched in dread as it approached. He didn't have a chance. But, at the last moment, he twisted anyway, hoping to allow the shot to go right by him. The effect was only half successful. While the shot did miss him square on, he did not have time enough to avoid it all together.
The shock paralyzed him momentarily, sending him stumbling back against the wall. If he could recover, he could possibly still hold them off one handed—it couldn't be too much longer until the ship jumped to hyperspace, he reasoned somewhat distantly. But his tired body could not respond quick enough, and although he rallied quickly to remount his defenses, it was too late. The remaining droids were closing in on him. One of the droids found its mark, catching Obi-Wan with a blaster wound directly to his abdomen.
The ground rushed up to meet him with a thud he did not register. Fumbling with his lightsaber, he tried to protect himself—the droids didn't register his obvious defeat and their fire seared the bulkheads around him. Retreating, he took refuge near the door, collapsing in agony. Droids now approached the door, beginning to pass through. Seeing Obi-Wan prone on the floor, they seemed to acknowledge the need to take the rest of the ship. If they made it to the cockpit—no, they couldn't—but he had no means to fight. His master, Anakin…why wasn't hyperdrive back online yet?
His body was on fire. He desperately applied his training, trying to control the pain, but he could not contain its growing intensity. Struggling, he weakly sent the Force throughout his body, assessing the damage. Perhaps it was more the blinding pain than the contorted results, but he knew the injuries were severe. One of the important lessons he had learned over the years is to not be ashamed to ask for help. He could feel his consciousness drifting but retained the presence of mind to know that he needed to get help. Now.
He could not even attempt movement. So he grasped for the next best thing—his bond with Qui-Gon. He wouldn't be surprised if Qui-Gon was on his way already, to come to his aid, he thought with a half-delirious hope. It was a comforting thought, and he felt himself mentally calm. With this hope in his mind, he reached out for his master. Instead of sensing his master on the other end of the probe, he found emptiness. Qui-Gon was alive—Obi-Wan was sure of that, his death would have been felt strongly in the Force. Dismayed, Obi-Wan cleared his thoughts further and reached out again. The same response was echoed back to him.
Vulnerable as he was, despair exploited his fears. He reached out again, this time more haphazardly, his pleas for help bordering on desperation. But the bond was empty, it lacked substance—it was almost as if the bond was broken.
But how could it be broken? They were still master and apprentice, they were still joined. Things had changed and more changes were imminent, but Qui-Gon would never terminate the bond prematurely. He would not abandon Obi-Wan—not after 13 years of devotion and growth together.
In the emptiness, Obi-Wan stumbled across truth painfully. The injuries to his body existed on a different level, which was crippling enough as it was, but the sudden mental bareness overtook him with a powerful encompassing effect. Obi-Wan retreated deep within himself, to a dark place, a lonely place, any place to avoid the awful truth—the broken bond.
The darkness encroached upon him but he did not see it. It captured him without a fight.