A/N: Time to turn up the heat. I've always loved writing action scenes. :) Again, my sincerest thanks for the kind words you've all given me. Hopefully, my writing muse will be more cooperative and I can get further along on the fic I'm currently working on! Until then, though, enjoy!
He was a tall man—even lying down I could see that he was probably even taller than Holmes—and powerfully built. His features were leonine, and his nose had been broken at least twice. A short, greying brown beard limned his jaw, and grey-streaked hair tangled about his shoulders. He was dressed much the same as Ben had been when we'd found him, though his robes were a darker brown. He was also unconscious, and the cloying smell in the air told me the reason.
"Opium," I said grimly.
"Opium is a native drug?"
For a moment, I thought he meant native to England, and started to answer in the negative. Then I remembered where he was from, and what he probably meant by 'native,' and I nodded. "It comes from the seeds of a poppy—a flower grown in some parts. It's a hallucinogen, and also induces sleep. In a diluted form, it's used as a painkiller called laudanum—which can be just as addicting as the actual drug. It's responsible for many shattered lives. If they've pumped enough into his system, it could give him problems."
"It isn't likely," Ben said. "Jedi, because of their training, are naturally resistant to drugs and poisons. Some of our Healers can actually purge impurities on the cellular level." As he spoke, he placed his fingertips lightly on the big man's temples. "I am not a healer, and my skills are nowhere close to that. However, I think I can remove enough of the drug from his body to allow him to regain consciousness."
"You think?" I was painfully aware of how short our time was.
"Well…it's not something I've done very often. My master and I have spent our share of time under medical care, but getting drugged isn't something that happens to either of us very frequently. Though it's certainly preferable to what we usually get," he muttered, mostly to himself. "At least drugs don't usually hurt."
"And if it doesn't work?"
"He'll have to be carried out." Ben closed his eyes then, bending his head over his master's. I eyed the form on the bed, and prayed that Ben's…whatever it was…worked. The prospect of carrying a man that size out of a guarded building and through an enemy held slum was not appealing.
The seconds ticked by, and I listened nervously for sounds indicating our presence had been discovered. I wondered what had become of Holmes—I fervently hoped that he was all right. He was a master at eluding pursuit, but there was no telling what sort of tricks these fellows might now have.
There came a soft cough from the bed, and I turned to see Ben's master opening his eyes. They were blue-grey, even in the near-darkness, and the same banked fire burned behind them as did in his apprentice's. "Obi-Wan?" His voice was very deep, and, though soft, surprisingly steady.
"Yes, Master Qui-Gon. Can you stand?"
"I…believe so." Qui-Gon swung his legs over the bed's edge to plant his feet on the floor. Then, assisted by Ben, he slowly stood. He swayed dangerously, and the younger man reached out to steady him.
"They've been keeping you drugged, Master," he said.
Qui-Gon rubbed his temples gingerly. "I noticed," he said with dry humour. "And the hangover is worse than ten Corellian screwdrivers."
Ben grinned, and I got the feeling that the reference was a private joke. "There are no Council members here to catch us singing this time," he replied.
The big man chuckled softly at that. Then he raised his eyes to me. I could almost feel a palpable touch from that steady gaze—it was as though my entire character had been thoroughly read in that instant. I was relieved when he turned an inquiring glance to Ben.
"This is Doctor Watson, Master. He and his associate got me out of trouble and helped me locate you."
"I am grateful, Doctor," Qui-Gon said gravely. He lifted his head, like a lion testing the air for danger. "We should leave—we are in grave danger." His hand strayed to his belt. "I'm afraid they took my lightsaber when I was captured. Obi-Wan—"
"I have mine, and Doctor Watson is also armed."
"That will have to do then. I don't know that I'll be much help—there's still enough of that drug in my system to leave me lightheaded."
In a cautious knot we eased out of the room, certain that we would be ambushed at any moment. The floor was quiet, though, and we quickly made our way back to the room where Ben had cut the hole. He went down first, followed by his master. I cast a final uneasy glance around before dropping through myself.
"It's much too quiet," I said, memories of the ambushes I'd endured in Afghanistan rising to haunt me. There, when the wasteland had fallen silent, it was almost certain that the natives would rise up like ghosts in their sand-colored garb to wreak havoc on Her Majesty's troops.
"I have a bad feeling about this," Ben muttered.
Qui-Gon closed his eyes. "There are about twenty men waiting outside in the foyer. I'm having some difficulty sensing them—it's almost like someone is trying to block me."
Ben was silent for a moment. "I can't sense anything at all, Master. Is it possible for twenty men in the same place to have natural shields? That seems a little coincidental."
"It's very unlikely. But I don't recall anyone saying anything about our thief having Force-abilities." The big man shook his head. "But now is not the time to worry—we must concentrate on getting past that ambush." He glanced around the room. "No window, or I'd suggest that."
I hesitated but decided I'd nothing to lose by speaking up. "Couldn't you just…cut through the wall, like Ben did the ceiling? I believe it should open onto the outside."
The two Jedi stared at me silently for a moment, their expressions unreadable. Then Qui-Gon chuckled softly. "Thank you, Doctor. You remind us that sometimes the simplest solution is the best."
He suddenly reminded me a great deal of Holmes—and I abruptly recalled the danger my friend had placed himself in. "Holmes!" I said. "We must discover what has happened to him!"
"I can't pinpoint where he is," Ben said reassuringly, "but he's alive, and unhurt." Not waiting to see my reaction to this, he turned his lightsaber on and began cutting through the wall. Qui-Gon watched him for a moment, then nodded curtly and turned his gaze to the door.
"Hurry it up, Obi-Wan. They're getting suspicious out there."
"Yes, Master Qui-Gon." With a small flourish, the young man completed the cut and pushed at the smoking, man-sized hole he'd cut into the planks. There was a crash as both the inner and outer walls—and a few of the wall supports—fell into the alley beyond. "After you, Master," he said with a bow. "Age before beauty."
"You're too kind," Qui-Gon said sardonically. "And you'll regret that comment, Obi-Wan, the next time we spar." He pulled his robes close around him as he stepped through, carefully avoiding the smoldering edges of the impromptu doorway.
Once we were in the smelly darkness of the alley, I helped Ben stuff the pieces of wall back into the hole to form a sort of barricade. "It won't hold them very long," Ben said as we stepped back to admire it, "especially if they have blasters." Shouts from outside the alley turned our heads. "Or they might just go out the front door instead," he added.
He moved to the front as the first shadowy figures rounded the building's corner and began firing their blasters. To my surprise, the shots rebounded off the glowing blade and were sent careening back into the mob, bringing cries of pain and fury. I fired a few shots of my own, felling two of our attackers.
"There's more coming out," Ben shouted over his shoulder. "They're trying to flank us—we have to get out of this alley before we're trapped!"
Qui-Gon nodded curtly, then paused, narrowing his eyes at our attackers. "A moment, Obi-Wan," he said, and lifted a hand. One of the men gave a startled shout, stumbling forward, and I saw a small dark shape hurtle out of the darkness into the tall Jedi Master's hand. It hissed, and green fire erupted from its end. "Very good," he said, clearly pleased. "Someone thought they would have a trophy. Thank you kindly," he called to the man, irony edging his deep voice. "Come, Doctor."
We began to run for the opposite end of the alley, Qui-Gon joining his apprentice in blocking shots. The drug seemed to still be affecting him, as his movements—though faster than I would have believed possible—were clearly slower than Ben's. As we reached the alley's mouth, five more shapes surged out in front of us. Qui-Gon flipped his free hand almost negligently in their direction, and they were knocked back as though struck by a giant, invisible hand. My jaw dropped, but Ben's hand at my back kept me from stopping to stare.
It seemed as though the entire district around us had suddenly sprung to life. Shouts echoed around us, and the whine of blasters filled the air, intermingled with the occasional real gunshot. As we passed yet another narrow, poorly lit street, three men pelted out of it. The two Jedi turned to block the shots, and I felt a searing pain burn along the outside of my shoulder. One of the assailants had a revolver, and the small bullet had broken through my companions' defense. I fired back, catching his knee, and he dropped.
A sound behind me caught my attention, and I spun, raising my gun. Another man—taller than the others, holding a blaster, which I recognized now even in near darkness. I pulled the trigger, but the hammer clicked on an empty chamber. Cursing, I stepped back, fumbling in my pocket for more ammunition. Then, as the man came closer, I stopped.
"Remind me never again to sneak up on you in a fight, Watson," Holmes drawled, raising his new weapon and firing at one of the other men. He missed, took more careful aim, and fired again. This time the attacker fell, leaving the Jedi only one to deal with. "It was fortunate for me you were out of bullets," he added, lowering the blaster. I saw Ben spin in close to the remaining attacker, even as his master continued to deflect shots and keep the man distracted. Then the young man kicked him in the face, and the street was, for the moment, quiet.
"I'm glad to see you alive and well," I told my friend.
"It's been a deadly game of hide and seek, Watson. They've been chasing me all over the district. I think I saw Colonel Moran, once." His smile was positively wicked. "He looked most upset, especially after I led six of his men into a blind alley and dropped a rotted back stair onto them before losing them over the rooftops. I should not wish to be in his place when he reports to Moriarty."
"You would be Doctor Watson's associate," said Qui-Gon, coming up to us. I had not been wrong in my judgment of his height—he was a good two inches taller than Holmes.
My friend eyed him for a moment, and then extended a hand. "My name is Sherlock Holmes."
"Qui-Gon Jinn," the big man replied, taking Holmes's hand. "I thank you and the doctor for your assistance to my Padawan."
More shouts and the sound of running feet drew our attention. "They're all over the area," Holmes said. "It has been increasingly difficult for me to avoid them—and it will be all but impossible with four of us."
"Are you suggesting we split up?" I asked.
"No," Qui-Gon interrupted. "I have a feeling that would be unwise."
Ben pulled out the small device he'd called a 'comlink.' "Time to call in reinforcements," he said. His master shot him a curious glance. "It's a long story, Master. The short of it is that there are Jedi posted here on the planet, and they've offered their assistance."
"If they have swoopbikes or something of that sort, then I strongly suggest they use them," Qui-Gon said. "We aren't going to get out of here on foot without a full scale war–which will draw far more attention than a few 'bikes."
"I'll do my best, Master." He turned away and spoke softly into it.
"There's a blind alley not too far from here," Holmes said. "It would be easier to hold them off there."
"Narrow?" I asked, running scenarios in my head.
"Perhaps six feet."
"Good. With some crates and debris to make a barricade, we should be able to hold them off quite well." I glanced around, noting our position, and gauging the distance of the enemy. "How far is it?"
"Right over there." He gestured to a dark hole a hundred or so yards away. "Lead on, Major Watson."
I raised an eyebrow at his use of my military rank—something he almost never did, and started for the alley. As I had expected, it had more than its share of junk, like most alleys in this slum. It was short work to make a barricade with the assistance of Holmes and Qui-Gon Jinn, while Ben argued softly with his little machine. We had just finished our wall when the first shots echoed across the street, one narrowly missing the preoccupied young Jedi. With a muffled oath he dove behind our pile. "Is that proof enough for you?" he snapped at the comlink. "I know it's conspicuous, but we need help if we're going to get out alive!" There was a short pause, then: "Thank you." He replaced the device in his pocket and turned to us. "Can we hold them off for fifteen minutes? MacEiver has to clear it with their Jedi Master before they send a squad out to get us."