Disclaimer: Star Wars brings in tons of money and as I have not seen a single cent of that money, I am not George Lucas and therefore don't own Star Wars. And sadly, that means I don't own Obi-Wan either.
Summary: The second story in the Jedi Trials series. Obi-Wan's been captured, Qui-Gon's left the Jedi Order, and Anakin must learn to trust his new Master. The Republic is on the brink of war and only Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon, and Anakin can save the galaxy.
Author's Notes: Wow! Over two hundreds reviews! I'm ecstatic! I never thought I would get so many! Thank you all! Here's the first new chapter for the new year, but my last update before school starts again (boo-hiss). I hope everyone enjoyed his or her vacation as much as I did!
Torture and Death
By Kekelina
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Chapter Seventeen: The New Assignment
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Duty had given him no time to grieve.
It had been two weeks since he had felt the bond snap; two weeks since he had lost his connection with his son. The dull throbbing had returned just before it had happened, then he had felt a mass of emotions flow through it, including anger, hatred, suffering, and despair. It had hit him like a tidal wave, causing him to stumble. But he did not fall. No, he had not fallen until he had felt the bond viciously torn from his mind.
It had felt like someone had grabbed the bond and pulled on it forcefully until it started to breakaway from his mind. He had heard it tear; he had felt his mind shatter. And he knew what it meant because he had felt it before, more times than he wished to remember.
Obi-Wan was dead.
His son was dead.
After all these years, he had never stopped thinking of Obi-Wan as his child, never stopped loving him as a father. He had watched him, more than the young Knight had known, and he had felt his heart break every time he had refused to speak to him – to even look at him.
He had never understood why he did that. What had Qui-Gon unintentionally done to him that made Obi-Wan look away, holding a bitterness in his eyes that Qui-Gon refused to accept was directed at him? Had he not shown his love to the boy enough? He knew that he hadn't always willingly shown his emotions. He remembered the confused looks Obi-Wan had given him more than once. But surely, the boy knew that he loved him?
Qui-Gon couldn't handle the thought of the boy dying without knowing that.
There is no death; there is the Force.
He had learned that standard as a child, lived by its words as an adult. But he felt little comfort from it now. Obi-Wan was dead, and he hadn't been able to say goodbye.
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He had taken to walking about the droid factory lately. Most were finished now, ready to be packed up and shipped off. He was just waiting for Dooku's word.
He didn't know what he found so fascinating in the factory. It was hot, dirty, grimy, and dangerous. It reminded him of the lower levels of Coruscant, only without a massive army being built around him. Anakin would've loved it; Obi-Wan would've shied away from it, claiming Qui-Gon had more of a love for pathetic life forms than he himself did.
That was the difference between the two. Anakin was always ready for an adventure. Anything that allowed him to move, swing his lightsaber around for a bit, and fly made him happy. Obi-Wan was always more of a negotiator. He was quiet by nature, wishing to solve a situation without violence, but his lightsaber at the ready if need be. He was a skilled fighter, and had been able to beat students above his age level when Qui-Gon had first met him.
It had scared him at first, for Obi-Wan had eerily reminded him of Xanatos, and the wound had been too recent – too deep. He had refused to take the boy as his Padawan, and instead took on another mission. But Yoda, that meddling old troll, kept pushing Qui-Gon to take the boy. He had even gone so far as to put them on the same transport, even though there were still a few weeks left before Obi-Wan's thirteenth birthday. It had taken disaster and a near-death experience for him to realize Obi-Wan's full potential and to see that he wasn't Xanatos – that he could never be Xanatos.
Then Anakin had come along. He was just a slave boy on a Force-forsaken backwater planet farthest from the bright center of the universe, but Qui-Gon had seen his full potential. He had heard the story of his mother's conception, seen the boy's midichlorian count. The Force had willed him to find the boy, and he knew the boy was destined for something greater than the life of a slave. He was the Chosen One.
The Jedi Council had been stubborn though, and they had refused to see what Qui-Gon saw. It was only after the Battle of Naboo that they saw Anakin's destiny and agreed to let him be trained. But Qui-Gon already had an apprentice, and the Code forbade that he could take on a second. He had to give one up – but which one?
It had been the hardest decision he had ever had to make, but in the end, he knew what he had to do. He had had twelve blessed years with Obi-Wan. He had taught him everything he had known; he had watched him grow from young Initiate to a skilled and wise senior Padawan. He had nothing more he could give to him. It was time for Obi-Wan to forge his own path. But Anakin needed him. Anakin had much to learn.
Obi-Wan's Knighting ceremony had been the proudest moment of his life. As customary of Jedi Masters, he had cut off Obi-Wan's Padawan braid. He had offered it back to the new Knight, but Obi-Wan had told him to keep it. There had been something in his eyes as he did, but Qui-Gon had though nothing of it other than any Padawan's normal reactions to finally becoming a Knight. He had been under Qui-Gon's wing for years, now he was going to have to face the galaxy on his own. But Qui-Gon would still be there; Qui-Gon had always been there.
Had he realized that?
Rushed footsteps and raised voices disturbed his musings. Someone was shouting angrily. Metal feet clanked on the durasteel floors. A horrid cough ignored the shouts of the others. The voices and footsteps were coming closer. A hand palmed open the door. Qui-Gon turned to greet the group, struggling to keep a bemused look off his face.
General Grievous stood in the middle of the Separatist leaders, ignoring their shouts. Many were red in the face, but all were angry – Qui-Gon could feel it in the Force. He could also feel their confusion and…fear? What in the name of the Force was going on?
"For you," Grievous said in his metallic voice as he tossed him a small holopad. Eyeing the General, but finding nothing to confirm or deny the wary feeling in the pit of his stomach, he pushed the button.
Two small, blue holographic images arose, locked in a grueling battle. One was cloaked entirely in black, the hood pulled over his face. The other Qui-Gon realized to be Dooku. His stomach clenched.
The two continued to duel. The first figure, which Qui-Gon assumed to be the Sith, shot Force-lightning out of his fingers towards Dooku. Dooku blocked the threat with his lightsaber, then proceeded to throw things at the Sith Lord with the help of the Force. They remained in a stalemate for many minutes, neither getting any progress from their attacks. Then suddenly, Sidious lunged. Dooku stumbled, caught unaware. Sidious swung. Dooku's head flew out of Qui-Gon's view. His body fell to the floor. The message ended.
Qui-Gon stared in shock at the space where the message had been for a good full minute. Dooku was dead. His Master was dead, and he hadn't felt it, too consumed by his grief over Obi-Wan's death. This was the Sith's doing. They were both the Sith's doings.
He gripped the holo hard, ignoring the pressure in his hand and turned to face the Separatists. "Set the course for Coruscant," he said roughly, his voice on the edge of breaking. "The March on Coruscant begins now."
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Dementor closed his eyes, his crimson lightsaber held out in front of him, and let the dark side fill him. His saw his target very clearly in his mind. To the left, no the right. He stood completely still.
A whir.
Dementor spun around, twirling his lightsaber, casting a red glow and eerie shadows on the durasteel walls, and struck down his opponent with force. He opened his eyes slowly and took great satisfaction in seeing the training droid smoldering before his feet. He nudged it with his new boot and smirked as it sparked.
One down, three to go.
Two came rushing at him on the left and the right, shooting at him with blaster bolts rapidly. He spun again until the droids were in front of him and he could easily block their shots. His lightsaber swirled in a breeze of color, finding the exercise all too easy. He gathered the dark side around him, called it to his hand, and shoved one of the droids roughly. It spun in the air, unable to correct its path of travel, and hit the wall with a sickening thud.
His focus now concerned on the droid in front of him, he somersaulted in mid-air and came down behind the droid before it had a chance to calculate his landing. He struck it hard in the center, letting his emotions control him, and it fell gracelessly to the floor.
That left one.
His wary eyes searched the dark room, but he saw nothing. It was dead silent in the room except for his slightly elevated breathing, and it unnerved him. He looked around the room at a quicker pace. He felt the droid, but he couldn't see it. He heard whispers of noise. The whir of an engine. A blaster cocking, locking on, ready to fire. He couldn't pinpoint…there!
He threw his lightsaber into his left hand and destroyed the droid zooming at him with one fell swoop. He stood there panting for a moment, allowing himself to regain his stamina, then roughly ordered, "Lights on."
The lights slowly rose back to normal power, and he found himself face-to-face with his cloaked Master. He instantly bowed, showing his respect for the man that had freed him and took him under his wing, and then rose as the Dark Lord as the Sith began to chuckle.
"Very good…very, very good," he said, walking over to Dementor, who still stood in the center of the training room. "You have improved much, my young Apprentice."
"Thank you, Master," Dementor replied gratefully. He pulled his black hood over his face as Sidious began to walk towards the door with an unspoken order for him to follow. "Did your business on Coruscant go well, Master?"
"Yes," Palpatine replied simply, a small smirk of victory on his evil face. "Lord Dementor," he said, his voice growing dark and eerie. "I have a new assignment for you."
"What is it, my Master," Dementor asked curiously. Since his recovery, he had been reforming his lightsaber skills. Not only learning to wield a lightsaber again, but also correcting the flaws the Jedi had taught him in his form. Palpatine was right; emotions made him more powerful than he could ever possibly hope to be without them.
"What do you know of the Lata system, my Apprentice," Sidious asked, countering the young Sith's question with his own. Dementor thought for a moment, retrieving what little information he knew about the system.
"It is a Mid-Rim system, my Lord, and all its planets are well-equipped for war."
"A Jedi team has been sent to the planet Latan in hopes of disengaging the growing threats of civil war." Dementor nodded curtly in understanding, his blood boiling at the mention of the Jedi. "See that they fail, Lord Dementor. Destroy them. Both of them."
Dementor bowed his head. "Yes, my Master."
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The Other Author's Notes: Gasp! Who is the Jedi team Obi-Wan's been sent to kill, and what exactly is the March on Coruscant? Hmm…I guess you'll just have to keep reading to find out! Don't be too shy to review!
Author's Edit: 8-21-2007