Incognito12 – Alas, the cliffhanger might be anticlimactic … for now.

Chapter 7

~ 1 year later ~

Qui-Gon slipped into the small room, smiling at how cheerful it managed to be despite the fact it was on the Healers' Wing. The curtains were pulled back from the room's lone window giving a splendid view of the east gardens. He fingered the bright, colorful fabric that seemed so out of place among the Jedi. Mia had decorated the room herself, and no one had objected to her making it her home.

The shelves were lined with holos Qui-Gon had chosen to send over the past year. Crion looked down on his mother from all around the room. He had adjusted well to life in the Jedi crèche on Coruscant, and the beaming smile in each image was testament to his happiness. Qui-Gon found himself glancing away. It was a smile the Jedi master remembered too well, shared by another.

He turned his attention to the figure lying bundled in the cot that faced the window. One of the healers, a young human woman, was leaned over speaking softly.

"Miss Kender?"

Mia barely registered the words. It seemed the thought of turning her head or even opening her eyes was too much to bear. The healer said that her patient had been drugged heavily and was in no pain, but nothing could supply energy and strength that did not exist. Death was near, maybe hours, maybe just moments. It was hard for Qui-Gon to believe the frail woman resting comfortably was the same determined mother who had fled from Xanatos and brought her son to Coruscant.

"Miss Kender, you have a guest," the healer tried again.

Mia didn't have to ask who her guest was. Qui-Gon was the only one who ever visited her, usually just an hour stop-over if he and Obi-Wan were nearby after a mission. He wasn't sure why he came. Perhaps there was still a lingering feeling of obligation. He had raised the man who had once loved her and fathered her child. In a way, he was the only family she had.

Her eyelids fluttered open. "Qui-Gon?" she whispered.

"I brought more holos," he said as he pulled a tray toward her.

He set four precious images out one by one, watching the smile on her face grow. "He's grown," she murmured, her eyes trailing along the first, the second, and then the third.

"He just celebrated his second life day."

"Your apprentice?" she asked as she looked at the fourth, an image of Obi-Wan and Crion building a tall tower out of blocks.

"Yes."

The answer had him shifting uncomfortably in his seat. The holos he had sent or delivered personally over the past year, the information so carefully gathered on Crion's progress – all of it was courtesy of Obi-Wan. Qui-Gon had found him unable to visit the boy. Watch from afar, hidden, yes. But to actually interact with the son of his former apprentice was too painful.

"And this is the one you requested," he said, shifting out of such thoughts.

The image he activated was simple. Crion was not in initiate tunics, nor could the location in any way be identified as the Jedi Temple. He looked like any normal, happy boy.

"Good," Mia murmured. "Place it in the parcel on the table."

Qui-Gon did as asked. Mia's eyes were closed when he turned back. He gently lifted her hand, holding it between his palms. She lifted weighted eyelids to look at him again.

"I need … deliver … discreetly to Offworld."

"To Xanatos?" Qui-Gon asked in surprise.

"Has a right … should know Crion is safe and well," she said. "Please."

"I will see that it is delivered," Qui-Gon promised.

The time that followed was filled with stories of Crion, Obi-Wan, his latest missions – anything she wanted to hear. She drifted in and out of consciousness as he spoke in his soothing baritone. He continued to hold her hand as she closed her eyes for the last time, and her life force peacefully slipped away.

He had almost given up hope. The last trace of Mia and Crion had been left on Ryloth where shopkeepers had reported seeing her and the boy. Apparently, she had been warned to leave. Mia wasn't stupid. They had begun to travel as refugees. On the Corellian Run, they could be anywhere in the galaxy.

Then just two days ago, there was activity in one of her accounts. To be more specific, she had removed all the funds. He worried about her carrying that many credits around with her, especially here. He wished she had at least stayed on Ryloth. Why would she come to somewhere as dangerous as Nar Shadaa in her condition? Why would she bring Crion somewhere like this? Xanatos knew why. It was a haven for those who wanted no questions asked. With the amount of credits she had withdrawn, she could have easily bought her escape.

He extended an image across the counter to a rough-looking human, the owner of the shop he had been directed to by a banker. "Have you seen them?" Xanatos asked.

The man looked up, running a hand through greasy, slicked back, dark hair. He said nothing. After a lengthy pause, Xanatos pushed a sizable stack of credits toward the man.

"Yes, yes, I remember her now." A smile pulled at a scarred cheek. "Beautiful … too beautiful to be alone in this sector," he suggested, not knowing that the lust and greed rolling off of him was fanning dangerous flames of darkness.

Xanatos clenched his fists tightly, his pale knuckles nearly turning white.

"It's dangerous. She would bring a good price in the slave markets …"

In seconds, the man was grabbed up by the front of his tunic in Xanatos' fist and flung against a wall, feet kicking in a desperate flurry.

"You'd better pray to whatever deity you might worship that you didn't lay a hand on either of them."

"No, no!" The man cowered against the anger that burned brightly in Xanatos' eyes. "I only sold her a ship. She barely bargained, and had a blaster aimed at me the whole time. She obviously wanted to leave quickly, maybe to get back to the boy."

"I need to know everything about that ship," Xanatos said curtly. "Can you trace it?"

The shop owner let out a hesitant, fearful chuckle. "Where do you think you are – the Core worlds? I sell to smugglers, and wouldn't have the reputation I have if I sold things that could be traced."

"I see," Xanatos replied, settling the man back to his feet.

"It was an old Corellian model – fast."

Weak-minded and consumed with greed, the shop owner was an open book for Xanatos. Fortunately for him, he was telling the truth.

"Thank you for your time." Xanatos slipped a chip containing Offworld contact information across the counter. "My aide will wait here for the specs on the ship. I trust you will contact me if you hear anything else. I will pay handsomely for information."

"Of course."

Xanatos spun on his heel, exiting the small shop. Crion had not been in the shop with her … that meant she had help. Of course she had help. While Xanatos had always pictured her alone on the run, the fact was that her life before him had afforded her contacts all over the Outer Rim. He would start tracking down her former contacts in the area, but as far as he was concerned, the trail was dry again. Mia had a ship and could be anywhere.

Xanatos gazed at the parcel over folded hands as he had for the last five minutes since it had been delivered. The neat, curvy handwriting was familiar, painful even, as it had delivered note after note in the time he and Mia were together. There was no record of where the parcel had come from, probably passed through a multitude of couriers if Mia had been careful, which he trusted she had.

Finally deciding there was nothing left to do, but actually open it, he slid the parcel toward him. The first thing he recognized inside was a voice recorder, the second a holo. He activated the image first, his breath catching as a small image sprang to life on his desk. Crion smiled at him brightly, obviously healthy and happy.

Xanatos breathed a sigh of relief. He had wondered after losing their trail on Nar Shadaa if he had condemned his son to a life of destitution, traveling as a refugee, only to end up in a orphanage reserved for the unwanted and discarded of the galaxy. Obviously not. He should have known Mia better.

Still eyeing the small image, he activated the voice recording.

"Hello, Xanatos. By the time you receive this package, I will have passed on from this galaxy."

Her voice sounded so weak, so lifeless. An unexpected pang of regret brought discomfort to the pit of his stomach. She should have been here with him when she drew her last breath, not alone somewhere, possibly among strangers.

I am sending this so you are not left to wonder about your son. Crion is happy. He will never lack for anything. My only regret is that he will not grow up knowing two parents who both loved him very much.

It was surprising how much the simple assertion meant to him. He loved Crion more than he could express in mere words, and wondered if Mia had even seen him as capable of that in the end.

I don't expect for you to ever forgive me, though I hope one day you may understand why I had to leave you.

Her voice broke, her breathing labored. It was obvious she had been unable to continue whether from sheer weakness or because she was overwhelmed with emotion.

He placed a hand over the recording device, wanting desperately to crush it. Only the certainty that he would want to listen to it and hear her voice again kept him from doing so.

Standing, he collected the two objects and left his office. He made his way through the hallways of his home, staff parting to allow him to pass. No one looked him in the eye. By now all knew that he had received a package from "her", and were waiting for his reaction. They still remembered when Mia's trail had grown cold. He had locked himself in the nursery and given into fiery, hot rage. Everything in the nursery had been destroyed beyond recognition, most of it without him even touching it. No one remarked on the state of the room. No one questioned his demand to have it returned exactly to its original state. His bidding had been done.

That very room was his destination. He stepped through the door, knowing no caretakers would rush to give him an update on his son. When he closed his eyes and concentrated, the slightest hint of Crion's presence still lingered in the nursery, something he knew would sadly fade in time. He walked to the crib, handcrafted a second time from the artisan who had built the first. His fingers fell to the pale blue blanket hanging over the side, the precious item Mia had left behind in her haste.

Composed, ignoring the pain that constricted his chest, Xanatos placed the holo up on a nearby shelf along with those he had from his son's first year of life.

The time had passed for anger. All that was left was unwavering determination. He would find Crion. It might take time. His son might nearly be grown by the time he succeeded. It didn't matter. He wouldn't give up … he couldn't give up – ever.