A/N: Let me know about any typos. I've been writing and posting a bit too quickly lately, and I've missed some.

Chapter 25: Failure

Now the hologram showed only the emblem of the Jedi Temple, spinning in place, while Master Yoda was called. Qui-Gon stared at it, his breath gradually quickening with each revolution, until he was panting in harsh, gasping jerks. His knees felt suddenly weak, and he began to sink toward the floor with a breathless moan.

Julune grabbed his arm and flung it over her shoulders, bracing her slender weight against his side to hold him up. "Qui-Gon. Qui-Gon!"

He covered his eyes with a shaking hand. "Oh, my boy. My poor boy. Julune, Julune, it was the kidnappers, it must have been. They failed in stealing Obi-Wan by main force, so they chose a more powerful weapon—deception. And they succeeded. They succeeded. They took him away. Oh, my little one, precious little one, what is happening to you?"

Julune's arms wrapped slowly around his torso, then tightened, harder and harder, until breathing was almost impossible. He could feel her sudden, surging desperation, feeding on and multiplying his own. He knew that they needed to grab control, calm down, reason this out, but all he could think of was young Obi-Wan, just turned thirteen, alone and unprotected in a galaxy that was much too vast and full of dangers, with a man who was not a Jedi Knight. A man who had deceived them, who had suppressed the bond with barely a thought, who even as they stood here frozen and useless might be doing horrible things to the sweetest, bravest child Qui-Gon had ever met.

"Julune, Julune, I failed him so terribly. I never should have let him out of my sight. I never should have believed the first man who came to our door in Jedi robes. I should have wondered, I should have called, I should have—I should have . . ."

"Qui-Gon, stop it. Don't torture yourself like this." Julune reached behind herself with one long arm and snagged a chair from the table, dragging it next to the comm and gently forcing Qui-Gon to sit in it. Then she claimed his lap, wrapping her arms loosely around his neck and gazing seriously into his eyes. "Andros Martin is the one to blame here. He said all of the right things, convinced all three of us. He knew names and details, and you felt his presence in the Force. Did you sense the darkness in him?"

"No, no . . . he must have hidden it. But I should have looked harder . . ." Qui-Gon's eyes shifted restlessly away, unable to meet the gentle brown pools that studied him so tenderly.

Julune pressed his face between her hands and forced him to look at her despite his wishes. "We can't waste time on regrets, Qui-Gon. No one can change the past. All we can do is go on from here. And we will, darling. We will. We will find our boy and bring him home, no matter what it takes."

The words steadied him, gave him purpose. The world slowly ceased whirling around him, settling into the familiar lines and curves, no longer wavering like a scarf on the waves. Qui-Gon met his wife's eyes, and nodded firmly. "No matter what it takes. He's ours, ours forever, and anyone who thinks otherwise will soon know better."

"That's my Qui-Gon, my strong big papa." And Julune laughed softly, but with an edge of hysteria. Then she put her face down on his shoulder and wept. Her hands twisted in his tunic, and he enfolded her in his arms and laid his cheek against her hair. They were one in spirit again, and it was a sensation intensely sharp in its sweetness, but bitter for the cause that joined them.

The Jedi emblem flickered away, replaced by the face and shoulders of a creature with a small, wise green face, ears long and uplifted alertly, yellow eyes calm and intense. "Master Yoda I am. Something there is that I can do to help you?"

Qui-Gon took a deep, shuddering breath, and Julune raised her head to look at the little Jedi Master with reddened eyes. "Master Yoda, I am Qui-Gon Jinn of Thyferra, and this is my wife, Julune. Three months ago we were stationed on Bandomeer, and there we met a former Jedi initiate named Obi-Wan Kenobi. We quickly grew to love him as our own, and because he was no longer a Jedi, we made plans to adopt him. But before we could finalize our plans, a man came to our door who claimed to be a Jedi Knight. He called himself Andros Martin . . ."

Quickly he outlined what had happened, then explained what they had just learned. He had to fight to keep his voice calm and steady, and had to stop to swallow his tears a few times. "Master Yoda," he finished, near choking on his pain and fear. "I'm terrified to imagine what has happened to Obi-Wan, what he's going through as we speak. This man, Martin—he is able to use the Force. I can only surmise that he wanted Obi-Wan for some dark purpose. Is there anything you can do to help us? Obi-Wan was once one of your own. Surely you cannot abandon him now."

Yoda had shown almost no expression as Qui-Gon talked, though the man thought that he might have detected a flicker of sorrow in the large eyes, and the ears seemed to lose some of their perkiness. Now the little green master sighed and lowered his head, ears and eyelids drooping. "No, abandon a lost child we never shall. It brings great sadness to my heart to hear your tidings. A special student Obi-Wan was to me, always, very bright and eager to learn. Failed, we have, to keep him safe. An evil turn this is, a very evil turn." He shook his head slowly, and Qui-Gon could see the genuine sorrow in him.

Julune leaned forward slightly. "I don't understand. If Obi-Wan was special to you and you enjoyed teaching him, why didn't you accept him as your Padawan? He was heartbroken to be rejected by what he considered his home, and he worried himself until he was literally sick with it."

"Not the will of the Force, it was, for me to take Obi-Wan Kenobi as my Padawan Learner. Explain further than that, I cannot, for I do not know. Sorry I am to tell you this, Mistress Jinn, but infallible and all-knowing the Jedi are not, not even I, who is looked upon as the greatest of our number."

Julune leaned back against Qui-Gon, and he saw her free hand shape into a fist, the arm still about his neck tightening until it trembled. It wasn't a good enough explanation for her, and he wasn't satisfied with it, either. But it wasn't important right now—only Obi-Wan was.

Qui-Gon shook his head slightly, spreading his open hands in an unconscious gesture of supplication. "What can we do, Master Yoda? This is the son of my heart, and my spirit cries out to think of him in danger."

"Fear, I do, that too much time has passed for an investigation to succeed. But information we will send to every Jedi in the field, so all can watch for any sign of Obi-Wan, and to Bandomeer someone will go to uncover any clues that may be found. All that I can offer, this is. Your forgiveness I ask. Meditate, I will, on what else can be done."

"But what can I do, Master Yoda?" Qui-Gon asked. His empty hands felt useless, weak. "I won't rest until he is safe."

The small green face creased in a gentle smile. "And that means much, Master Jinn. Tell you what to do, I cannot. To your own heart you must listen, and follow the will of the Force."

Qui-Gon relaxed fractionally, unaware that he was doing so. This was the only Jedi ever to honor him with name of "Master." Not even Dooku had afforded him that. Yoda must have descried the Force-sensitivity in him, even across this vast distance. That spoke well of his sight, and his trust in Qui-Gon's judgment bolstered his own. "Thank you. I know you will do everything you can to save Obi-Wan."

The little green master nodded solemnly. "Indeed I will. Indeed I will."

Yet Qui-Gon could not help the pained certainty that filled his heart, the despairing fear that it would not be enough.

X

Obi-Wan stood in his corner of the study, careful to keep his eyes on the floor as Master Belimi and his guest discussed their business. He tried to pay attention, tried to focus, and most of all tried not to look at the open circle of metal that lay on the desk. He couldn't afford to let his mind wander, and he certainly couldn't afford to let himself think about escape. It was impossible. He knew that now.

The first time Belimi had brought him in here and removed the collar, Obi-Wan had been elated almost past the bearing. The feeling of the Force flowing through him again had been a surge of delight so overpowering that it almost brought him to his knees, and he could only stand there, gasping and blinking, reveling in the light and warmth that flooded his body and spirit. But it had been the hope that unmanned him—hope of escape.

How very naïve he had been. Belimi knew exactly what he was doing. Obi-Wan flung all the power he could command at that loathsome man, hammering into his will with the strongest mind-suggestion he had ever made. It didn't even make a dent. Belimi just smiled at him, ice-blue eyes revealing his genuine pleasure. Then he informed him coolly that the first attempt was free, but every future use of Jedi sorcery without express permission would earn him a severe beating. Obi-Wan was a slave, and he was subject to his master's whim, body, mind, and soul—including every skill he had ever learned.

Then Obi-Wan had tried to call the blaster from the holster of the guard standing at the door, tried to mind-trick the guard, flung paperweights and styluses and everything in the room that wasn't bolted to the floor, fought and screamed and nearly went out of his mind from the pain of having hope given, then torn from him so cruelly and capriciously. Somewhere in there he did earn a beating, and it was a bad one. He was sick for three days afterward, not least because of the Force-collar again around his neck, cutting him off from the gentle power that might have helped him heal.

The next time Belimi brought him to the study and removed the collar, he just stood there, waiting. He learned that he was to use the Force to test his master's business partners for dishonesty and to use his mind-powers against any enemies, all under the guise of being a simple serving-boy. It was no use explaining that Obi-Wan wasn't very proficient with this skill, that sometimes even non-Force-sensitive sentients had natural shields that would rebuff him, that failure was not only possible, but likely.

Belimi did not care. Obi-Wan dreaded these times in the study as fervently as he anticipated them. Feeling the Force was a glorious rush of light and life, every single time, even though he could do nothing with it except try to pry into another's mind. But every single time brought the possibility of failure, of being unable to fulfill his master's commands. And he had failed, inevitably, and taken his punishment immediately after.

Obi-Wan was very careful not to think of this now. His concentration had to be kept on the moment, on every word that passed between the two men. Afterward Belimi would question him closely about what he sensed during the conversation, and any lapse would earn another beating. Obi-Wan didn't know if he could stand another one, not so soon after the last.

Even this was better than being sent back to the fields, as had often been threatened. At least here in the house his duties were relatively light, and the food was usually fresh, if no more abundant. He did his best to think only of the positive aspects. Even not having the Force could be a blessing, for the visions could not find him here.

Sometimes it was very hard to convince himself of the good things, though. He longed so badly to see the stars, to step into the fresh air without a guard standing two feet behind him with blaster drawn. The chains in the house might not be quite so heavy, but they were still chains.

Today had been one of the good ones. The visitor's mind had been completely open and unshielded, almost as if it had been deliberately prepared for him to view. Obi-Wan had seen only honesty and genuine respect for Belimi, a slight irritation when the guest had lost an argument, anticipation of future dealings. He was glad to be able to report so. Of course, he did sense hidden depths in the heavyset man who sat on the other side of the desk, thin lips curved in a smile, but every sentient had those. There was no need to mention it.

At last Belimi and his guest rose in tandem, clasping hands, offering their farewells. It had been a good visit. Then the unprecedented happened. The visitor's eyes flicked back to the scruffy slave-boy who stood against the wall, and saw him as more than the furnishings.

And a voice spoke in his mind. Hush. Show no sign. Be patient. I will help you escape.

Obi-Wan drew in a deep breath and did not move, did not blink, carefully freezing himself in place. The door opened and shut, and the master's guest was gone. But he had left behind more than that satisfied expression on Belimi's face.

He had left a shred of hope.

And it hurt, because Obi-Wan knew it could not be true.