EIGHT

Sleep seemed to elude him, even though it was exactly what he wanted at the moment. The journey to Bahreen, Force knew, was not the most thrilling passage in existence and there was no real cause for his unease. He reached into the depth of the Force, breathing in and out evenly.

Yet here he was, still awake, unable to find enough of his center to slide into slumber.

Qui-Gon rolled up into a sitting position, bringing up the lights and blinking a little as his eyes adjusted to the sudden glow. He exhaled softly and rubbed the back of his neck. He knew exactly why he was not sleeping. Twenty years had been enough to take the edge off, but apparently not enough of it to prevent him from practically snapping at his Padawan for no truly good reason. Somewhere inside of him he still felt her death, still remembered cold air and salty tears and a scar. His fingers automatically strayed to it; a fine line of disfigured flesh hidden by his beard.

He owed his very life to her, his very existence and perhaps one day he would explain all that to his apprentice. Right now he knew he must find his center, anchor his thoughts in the Force, and listen to its whisper. For in a few short hours' time he and Obi-Wan would be walking on Bahreena soil.

Just now, however, he knew he would not sleep. It would not be the first time Qui-Gon had carried on a mission despite exhaustion, trusting the Force to keep him alert and quite likely would not be the last. So it was that he found his way out of the cramped quarters of the ship out into the common area to sit with his Padawan.

Obi-Wan's eyes were shut tightly in concentration and his lips were moving slightly as if reciting something. He was sprawled across a cushion on the floor; a rather un-Jedi-like position or at least not a terribly graceful one. His chin rested on his hands and both knees were bent, feet crossed in the air. In front of him were spread out several datapads and a cup of something. Qui-Gon reached into the Force, sharpening his senses to hear:

"…known as the Battle of Iu. This resulted in the signing of the Treaty of…" Obi-Wan hesitated in his memorization, his brows tightening in a frown. "Li…Lor…oh sith!" Qui-Gon stifled a chuckle as he watched his Padawan mentally retrace his steps along the timeline he had just recited. "General Yvi and Master N'chhav…Battle of Iu…and Treaty of…" Obi-Wan's eyes flew open and he rested his gaze on his master as if he'd known that Qui-Gon had been there all along. "I'm never going to remember that." He remarked matter-of-factly, flopping over onto his back with a groan. "Master, how did you ever get past Advanced Interstellar History?"

Qui-Gon did laugh now, and it brought a light to his eyes that had been missing since their last conversation back on Coruscant.

"Much as you are now, young Padawan." He assured his apprentice. "Only I used to do my studying in the sparring round, swinging my saber while I walked." At Obi-Wan's amused expression, Qui-Gon merely shrugged. "I always thought better with my saber. And you're not far off from your answer. Who drafted the treaty after Iu?"

Obi-Wan pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, rubbing vigorously as he turned his mind back to his work.

"Master N'chhav of course, and…" He groped for another name, trying to remember without consulting the datapad. "…Berie L…Lonore! The Treaty of Lonore!"

"Very good." Qui-Gon said approvingly, and Obi-Wan rolled back over onto his stomach again, tapping the pad to bring up the next outline and to pick up the nearby cup to drain the rest of its contents before scrambling up to his feet.

"At this rate, Master, you'll never be rid of me. You'll never be able to cut this braid and you'll be the only Jedi Master in history with a forty year old Padawan."

"Don't say that!"

The sharpness of Qui-Gon's tone surprised both of them, and Obi-Wan's expression sobered quickly, the lighthearted smile vanishing. Qui-Gon reached up to rub his eyes a moment, knowing it was not his Padawan who was at fault but rather his own desire not to break his word. I'm sorry, Obi- Wan. He breathed into the bond, and he felt Obi-Wan hesitate to reply. I take my vow to you as your Master very seriously.

Kenobi watched his mentor struggle for words and he knew instinctively that an explanation would fail him. He could tell that whatever was on his Master's mind was not open to discussion, but he could also feel the strong sense of faith in him Qui-Gon possessed.

I know, Master. He replied easily, simply, as he had always been able to do. And then he smiled again, waving around the now empty cup. "There's some lurasei juice back here if you'd like. Somebody told them we were coming."

"No…thank you. I think I've interrupted your studies long enough. I'll just…"

Something very like a sharp intake of breath crashed into the bond and Qui-Gon looked up in time to see the cup that Obi-Wan had been holding drop to the deck with a sharp crack. He jumped up quickly, thinking at first the Jedi apprentice was experiencing another 'encounter' with the mysterious Force-sensitive.

"I'm all right." Obi-Wan hastened to allay his master's concerns, bending down to retrieve the dropped cup. However it was with his left hand that he retrieved it; his right was tucked up surreptitiously into his sleeve. He placed the cup on the counter, and with his back to his master drew out his right hand, the hand that had been holding the cup moments ago.

His hand was shaking uncontrollably, almost as if it had a mind of its own, hell-bent to escape his arm or something. He was immediately grateful that the cup had been empty when the tremors started, else there could have been a small shower of liquid and quite likely…quarantine or something like it from his Master, banishing him to bed until their arrival. You worry too much, Master. He spoke calmly through the bond, and Qui-Gon merely raised an eyebrow.

Have a care, my Padawan…perhaps it is you who worries too little.

Flexing his fingers as the trembling ceased, Obi-Wan had to wonder just how much worrying he ought to be doing.

++++++

"There it is." The transport captain announced as the two Jedi stepped into the control cabin. "Bahreen. Not much to look at, is it?"

"The Force is never strictly concerned with the outward appearance of any situation, place or person." Obi-Wan answered first, forthrightly, and Qui-Gon had to smile at his apprentice's degree of focus despite the younger man's initial misgivings about a mission of this kind.

"Just so long as there's the appearance of a landing platform on the other side of this soup." The pilot was looking over the navigational readings he was receiving and shaking his head slightly. He wasn't a Jedi; he was not part of the Order at all but rather a hired pilot who had been assigned to them by the Council. His name was Kadath Ingly and he was Caldorian, the best description of which could be summed up as rude, crude, socially unacceptable--and some of the galaxy's most exceptional pilots, right down to the very last man.

"There will be a beacon." Qui-Gon said with certainty. "They're expecting us."

Expecting us…

It was as if the very words opened up a doorway and Obi-Wan, as curious as ever was compelled to "go" in.

The vision was so real, he could have sworn he could reach out and touch her, long flowing hair nearly to her waist, those vivid eyes pleading after the same manner as they had been the first time he'd seen them. She stood there motionless, silent and Obi-Wan found himself staring, just as silent. It was almost as if his brain had forgotten how to speak. It was when she finally reached out a hand toward him that he found his voice.

"Who are you?" He asked the most obvious question first. She opened her mouth to speak…

He wasn't sure if there were words or not. A searing pain exploded across his consciousness, like a flash of light behind his eyes and even as he instinctively closed them he could still see the white-hot flare as whatever it was she was trying to communicate slammed into him like a solid wall of brick. She was still speaking, her lips still moving, her attempt at contact buffeting him in the Force like physical slaps, hard enough to see stars.

Obi-Wan struggled to focus, to narrow his perception down to the words she was saying but the power involved was just too great for him to overcome. He stretched out a trembling hand, as if to seize her by the arm. "No…please…" He couldn't even beg for her to stop; it just rolled over him in a long unbroken wave until he crumbled to his knees, unable to think or speak or stand against it any longer.

"Obi-Wan? Obi-Wan, wake up."

Qui-Gon's quiet, persistent, worried voice flooded his consciousness, replacing the siren call in the Force with calm. Latching onto it, Obi-Wan dragged himself up into awareness, his eyelids fluttering open hesitantly. It was bright, and it hurt and he slammed them closed again, eyelids scrunching tightly closed. A moment later he felt a hand on his forehead, likely Qui-Gon, and he reluctantly opened his eyes again.

He was lying flat on his back; the deckplates feeling deliciously cool even through his robes, which clung wetly against trembling, sweating flesh. The back of his throat was raw, as if he'd been screaming for hours without rest or water and every muscle in his body ached as if he'd been put through a monthss worth of training in the span of a few short hours. His breath was coming in shivery gasps, and as he focused on Qui-Gon's face he could see the concern radiating from the older Jedi's expression.

"How…long?" His voice sounded almost foreign to him and he struggled to sit up. Qui-Gon shifted a little, moving to assist him in the effort.

"Little over fifteen minutes." Qui-Gon replied. Obi-Wan's eyes widened perceptibly.

"That's it?" He said incredulously. Qui-Gon inclined his head slightly.

"Longer than the first time." His tone was full of care and caution. Obi-Wan moved to try to get his legs under him, and Qui-Gon again came to his aid. "Easy…" He instructed. "Slowly." Together they got him up, standing shakily. "You're trembling."

"Just…a little tired Master." Obi-Wan assured, taking a few halting steps toward the nearest repulsor chair. "Where's Captain Ingly?"

"Gone to inform the House Master of our arrival and to apologize for our delay in greeting him."

"I'm sorry, Master…" Obi-Wan made to get up from the chair immediately, but Qui-Gon's steady hand on his shoulder convinced him to stay put.

"Wait a little." He said firmly. "A few more minutes will not harm what we do here. Captain Ingly's message on our behalf should suffice."

"A Caldorian on a diplomatic mission…someone has a unique sense of humor, Master."

"I have faith that my message will be delivered as requested." Qui- Gon replied; heartened to see his Padawan had not lost his good humor despite the demands being made of his body and mind. He brought a cup of water and Obi-Wan accepted it with both hands, a slight tremor remaining in them. With some effort, Obi-Wan stilled them and sipped appreciatively at the cool liquid, allowing it to bathe his aching throat.

"She tried to tell me something." He spoke more easily now, and he looked up at Qui-Gon. Jinn nodded; even though the Force-signature as before had been focused totally upon his apprentice, he'd had a strong sense of it being a different kind of contact, a sense of urgency that had not been present before. Like a residual, it fragranced the immediate Force-aura around Obi-Wan with a desperation of sorts. "I couldn't filter out enough to understand…"

"It's all right, Obi-Wan." He soothed. "We'll solve this mystery I promise you." Blue eyes looked down affectionately at blue-grey ones, an inherent apology despite none really being needed. "Think you're ready?"

"Yes Master." Kenobi rose, almost too quickly and wavered a moment on unsteady feet. Then he smiled at his mentor and preceded him from the control cabin.