Disclaimer: I wish I could take credit for creating Star Wars, but alas, I am not George Lucas, and I have no intention of getting sued.
Summary: As Qui-Gon, Anakin, and Bant protect the Republic from Darth Sidious, another Sith Lord emerges – Qui-Gon's presumably dead, former apprentice Obi-Wan Kenobi. Can the Jedi save the Republic, or is it already too late? The third story in the Jedi Trials series.
Author's Notes: Ah, another chapter closer to the fate of the galaxy... A huge revelation (at least, for Qui-Gon; I know that several of you were already able to deduce it) is revealed in this chapter, as is quite a bit of Jango's backstory. I hope you enjoy!
Revenge and Regret
By Kekelina
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Chapter Thirteen: The Vision
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Fire.
Pain.
Anakin is standing in the Jedi Temple, in the commons just beyond the main entrance. It is late afternoon teetering on the edge of evening, still too early for entrepreneurs and senators to be heading home, but late enough for some Jedi to begin their evening meditation.
But meditation doesn't appear to be on anyone's mind. The Jedi Temple, usually so calm and mellow, reeks of wariness and suspicion. Several Jedi guard the main entrance, where usually, one liaison sits to welcome the rare visitor.
No classrooms or training salles are in use, though evening classes are certainly not complete. In fact, Anakin can find no trace of a youngling anywhere.
But he can feel them. Their signatures radiate fear and confusion.
Fire.
Lightsabers blaze to life around him. The Force flows with foreboding.
Pain.
His head begins to throb, slowly at first, then stronger and faster with each beat, each pump of blood.
His ears buzz. The noise eats at his mind like an insect. He clutches his head and falls to his knees. It isn't just noise. It is pain – horrific and absolute – tearing him apart, burning every molecule.
He is on fire he is on fire he is on fire…
War suddenly rages around him. Jedi versus soldier. Brown versus white. Lightsaber versus blaster. The Temple has become a battlefield, a bloody slaughterhouse.
Screaming.
He is in the Council chambers. Younglings hold tightly to one another, huddling together against the transparisteel windows. Shuffles and bangs can be heard from the other side of the locked doors.
"Do you think it's Knight Kenobi?" a youngling fearfully whispers to an older Padawan, who's name Anakin can't seem to remember.
There is a grunt outside and, suddenly, the door opens.
It is not Kenobi.
Because Anakin is suddenly facing the Sith along a darkened corridor, away from the pain of battle. He looks nothing like he remembers. His mouth sneers sardonically, his face twists with demented pleasure, and his eyes…
There is a presence in his mind, carving his head from the inside out with a blunt spoon. He can do nothing but writhe on the ground as the world around him begins to scream bloodcurdling screeches that advertise utter torture.
No, not the world. He's screaming.
And screaming, and screaming, and screaming…
"ANAKIN!"
"Don't – STOP! Get it – get it out! GO! OUT! HELP!"
"Anakin, stop thrashing!"
"Stop! Please – out! Hurts - get away! A-AWAY! Leave me alone!"
"We need to get him to the Mind Healers. Quickly." Urgency laced with worry.
"Padawan, please…don't fight us. We're trying to hel – "
"AWAY! Master? Master – please! Make it stop! Make – STOP!" Arms flailed and legs kicked out in desperation, in helplessness, and in pain. Agony surged up the bond the two older Jedi shared with the writhing man in the bed, and had they not been stronger in the ways of the Force than he, both would've been knocked off their feet by the white-hot torment coursing through every cell and midichlorian with the intensity of a thousand burning suns. Every nerve ending was a supernova, bursting into flame.
Qui-Gon barely constrained a throat-tearing scream.
"OUTOUTOUT! GET OUT! AW – JUST GO AWAY!" Tears poured from Anakin's eyes, clenched tightly shut in pain and nightmare.
They tried to restrain his flailing limbs, but it was nearly impossible to fight the agony and a hysterical Anakin at the same time. Caught off guard, neither Qui-Gon nor Bant had been able to erect stronger shields than the usual partial shielding to parry this unseen evil.
"Anakin, wake up! WAKE UP!"
He tried to call out to Anakin through their bond, but razor-sharp tendrils of torture shattered any message sent. Anakin was too preoccupied with releasing whatever demon was trying to obliterate his mind to hear any call Qui-Gon made.
Crimson flecks of blood dotted Anakin's mouth, his throat completely torn to shreds, scratched raw by the razor-sharp fingernails of vocalized pain. They had to do something. There had to be some way to take the pain from him. Some way…
That was it.
Slowly, he lowered the few shields he had. It was a dangerous and risky trick – how many times had he warned his Padawans against trying it? – but if it would help Anakin…
He was willing to do anything to save him from this suffering.
The remaining agony that neither Qui-Gon nor Bant had felt bombarded his already-weakened mind. He stumbled and collapsed, clutching his head as his whole world exploded. He was being cleaved in half, ground into a million miniscule pieces, and blasted into oblivion.
A helpless moan escaped his shaking lips. Bant's arms were around his shoulders. Anakin had stopped screaming.
Then he saw them - brief flashes of images, like a stack of holopics shown in rapid succession.
White-armored soldiers. Jedi dying. The Temple in flames.
Friends. Acquaintances. Younglings. Masters.
Death. Blood. Fire.
Lightsabers. Blasters.
Obi-Wan.
The future. This was the future.
"NO!"
He fought against the barrage, the severe pain, and the suffering. There were too many images – it was too heavy, too painful. He grit his teeth together, though he was barely aware of doing so, and forced the pictures together, corralled them into a dark, empty corner of his mind. They burned crimson red in the Force, volatile and angry. As soon as he had them together, he forced his weakened self to erect shields around them – strong shields that would not falter against anything.
The room came back into view, like a transition from one scene in a holovid to the next.
Qui-Gon was on his back, Bant's arms firmly around his shoulders as if he had been convulsing. Anakin was barely visible over the edge of the bed, whimpering like a broken child. Sweat and blood plastered his face, and his eyes were dull…but not lifeless.
Thank the Force.
"Are you all right? That was a foolish thing to do," Bant berated, but her eyes relayed relief and concern. In a quieter voice, so the exhausted, fearful Anakin couldn't hear, she added "What did you see?'
What had he seen? He shuddered at the images that would be implanted in his memory forever. He saw the Sith – in the form of Obi-Wan Kenobi – destroy everything and everyone Qui-Gon held dear. He saw his home desecrated, his friends tortured, and…
Oh, Force…
Unconsciously, his eyes met Anakin Skywalker's, and the boy, slowly and resolutely nodded.
Kill or be killed.
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Sheets of rain poured forth from the grey skies – did it ever not rain on Kamino? In all the years he had lived there, Jango was quite sure he had never experienced a sunny day. Not that he minded. He had never been one for the sun, preferring dark streets to perform jobs for Huttese crime lords or warring factions.
This current job was anything but sunny.
He'd been at it for months now, on and off, traveling from his rainy home to the darkest planet in the galaxy at the beck and call of the (former) Chancellor. For a hefty sum of credits, of course. It was by far the best paying job he had ever held, but not the most accommodating. He hated leaving Boba – sometimes in the middle of the night – to answer the Chancellor's summons. Though technically his clone, Boba was his son through and through, and Jango adored the boy. Bounty hunter or not, Jango cared – perhaps more than anyone in the galaxy knew.
After being hired by a man called Tyranus on one of the moons of Bogden to be the original model for a clone army, Jango had known he had wanted a copy as his son. He'd always entertained the idea of having a son. He wanted someone to pass all his tricks to, someone to train in the ways of bounty hunting, someone to bond with over blaster practice. However, being a bounty hunter left little time for romantic endeavors – sure, he might find some woman to bed in a random part of the galaxy, but no one he found was worthy of being his wife or lover, and he doubted very few would want to be. It was a hard life to lead: he was gone much of the time, and on top of that, he didn't even have a true home set up, choosing instead to wander the galaxy like Alwari nomads travel the plains of Ansion. It was a very singular career, with little time for a personal life.
But when he had been offered quarters at the cloning facility, Jango had been unable to refuse. Not only was it a free residence (included in his payment under the second clause of his contract), but it would also mean a stable home for a son, with plenty of people willing to look over him should Jango need to depart the watery planet for any length of time.
Thus, Boba Fett, the first genetic replication of Jango Fett (purely unaltered), had been created
The early years had been the hardest. Boba had been in no means a docile child, and Jango had often found himself up at odd hours, trying to coax the wailing babe back to sleep. However, the (slightly) frazzled bounty hunter had dampened those joyous moments as soon as he had been able.
Contrary to popular belief, Jango had not abused his son, nor had he used any uncivilized torture methods to keep the energetic and sometimes disobedient child in line. Being a bounty hunter didn't mean he was a cruel man. He loved Boba and could not dream of harming him. That being said, it didn't mean that he hadn't taught his son a lesson when need be, as shown by the incident with the krayt draigon.
Thankfully, they hadn't had a repeat krayt draigon incident in quite a few years…
Because of his unique punishment style, Jango and Boba had become very close. Boba idolized his father and had done so since Jango had given him his first toy – a plastoid blaster with a mild laser bolt. It hadn't been, in hindsight, the smartest gift to give to a tantruming two-year-old (he still had the scars to prove it), but ever since that time, all Boba had wanted to do was to become a bounty hunter.
Jango couldn't have felt prouder.
As he grew older, the lesson grew harder, from simple point-and-shoot techniques to theoretical discussions about who to trust. Boba drank in his every word, and his skill quickly grew.
Boba would be a marvelous bounty hunter indeed.
However, Jango adamantly refused to take his son on missions with him. Not only were they dangerous, but he was also a liability to his employer's interests, and Jango would not risk either the credits or his son's life. This was where he became just another worried parent, concerned for his son's safety and feeling the conflict between his job and his child. Both were important to him, but had he not been assured that Taun We would look after the young Fett while he was gone (and if something should happen to him), he would not continue to take jobs from slimy politicians and grudge-holding businesspeople.
It was amazing what some people would do for power. Take his latest employer for example:
Chancellor Palpatine had contacted him personally because he had needed skill no other bounty hunter possessed. Disappointed in his current apprentice, Darth Tyranus, he had set his sights upon a new subject – a stronger, more powerful presence that would assure his survival in the galaxy and the survival of all those who allied with him. Unfortunately, there was one small catch – he was a Jedi.
Jango had always enjoyed a challenge.
After haggling over price and receiving half of his payment in advance, he had left Boba to study up on his latest target – the Jedi Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi. He had never heard of this Obi-Wan Kenobi, but it had not been difficult to gather information on him, especially when he had been assigned to investigate the assassination attempts on Senator Padme Amidala, a side job Jango had been given by Tyranus. It had proved very useful, as he had soon realized that Kenobi had a local informant by the name of Dexter Jettster. Once he had discovered this, it had not taken much effort to get the Besalisk diner owner to tell Kenobi to come back before opening one day.
Dexter Jettster had played his part well, to be rewarded only with death that night, and when Kenobi had arrived the next morning, Jango had been waiting.
Drugged almost to the point of death, Obi-Wan Kenobi had been quickly and silently moved to a disturbing planet named Korriban as per Palpatine's orders. Jango had spent most of his days in the dark, moldy cell, torturing the Jedi mercilessly. Palpatine had wanted him broken, and broken he had become.
Kenobi had begged for death.
After that, Jango had happily returned to Kamino, knowing it would only be a matter of time before Palpatine contacted him about the clones. However, it had not been the Sith Lord who had commed him, but rather the broken Jedi, now fashioned Lord Dementor.
Dead, Dementor had relayed about Palpatine. Dead at the hands of the Jedi, but not before making his apprentice promise to continue with their galaxy-dominating plan. Jango was not so foolish as to believe such lies. It was obvious Dementor had murdered Palpatine, but he played along – what did he care as long as he received his payment?
And he would be paid, Dementor had assured him before Jango had relinquished the coordinates for the water-planet. Dementor was on his way now, and, if his chrono was correct, would be arriving at any moment.
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The Other Author's Notes: Hmm, so Anakin has to fight and kill (or be killed by) Obi-Wan, who is on his way to Kamino to pick up his clonetroopers... Thoughts? Questions? Comments? I love to hear 'em, so don't be afraid to review! Stay tuned for chapter fourteen!