Equilibrium : Balance in
the Force. A Star Wars : The Phantom Menace story by Glacis.
Rated NC17 for adult themes. No copyright infringement
intended. Alternate universe branching off from The Climactic Battle (the only
one worth watching, where the Sith revealed himself to
the Jedi. This is quite a bit more revealing).
Note : training or life
bonds don't exist in this universe, one of my nods to canon, which for me
consists of only the four movies, no accompanying novels. I do create
some aspects of the Force not shown on screen, since the only canonical
manifestations of Force we've seen are telekinesis, hypnosis, limited empathy
and precognition (mainly from Yoda), and spectral communication (including
mind-speaking from ghosts, not living persons). Balance requires some extra
effort.
Obi Wan Kenobi ran as fast as he could, not daring to augment too
strongly with the Force, knowing he would need every ounce of Force-strength he
could gather to defeat their enemy. He heard the laser fields charge and
skidded to a stop at the last possible moment, barely preventing himself from
frying within the force field. One last barrier. One Force-damned last barrier.
Qui Gon was a master warrior as well as a Master Jedi, but Obi Wan could
see that he was tiring. Counting the seconds down in his mind, eyes glued to
the fight, mind calculating odds at lightning speed, he almost didn't see the
Sith punch his master in the forehead with the butt of his lightsaber.
He couldn't miss the results.
One blow, piercing his master directly through the
heart. The startlement on his
master's face, the triumph in the Sith's
expression as it whirled around to face him, the desperate wail of his own
voice, screaming denial. Then the shield fell, and he exploded back into the
battle, damning his earlier restraint, damning his lack of speed, damning
everything in the universe that stood in his way when his master needed him. Over, around, lightsabers catching,
hissing into his enemy's face, feeling its breath on his own lips.
He responded to the raised hand instinctively, feeling the push through
the Force, ducking beneath it and riding the crest of it. His shoulder caught
the Sith in the belly, and the momentum of the
monster's own Force push carried it over him in an uncontrolled tumble. Obi Wan
scrambled to his feet, caught the fading echo of a
scream as the creature disappeared into the bottomless shaft at the center of
the power station, and turned immediately to his master's side.
Qui Gon was in shock, blood barely seeping from the cauterized wound
through the center of his body. Obi Wan spared a bare moment to brush the long
hair back comfortingly, then placed his hands on either side of his master's
body, sending wave after wave of Force energy into the traumatized tissue. Qui
Gon was trying to tell him something, words like 'too late' and 'the boy,' but
Obi Wan had no attention to waste. He closed his ears to his master's words and
opened his soul to pour it into the effort to save his master's life.
Footsteps pounded up behind him, and he recognized Panaka's
voice. Not daring to break his concentration, he rasped out,
"Healers!" then ignored them. He couldn't risk losing the fragile
hold he held on Qui Gon's life force. His master
tried once more to say something about the brat, and Obi Wan growled fiercely,
"If you want the boy trained, you'd damned well better live, master,
because I won't do it!" He meant it, too. The boy was dangerous, and Qui
Gon was wasting precious strength worrying about the boy when he should be
concentrating on healing himself.
Besides, Qui Gon was stubborn. If he thought Obi Wan would send Anakin
back to Tatooine, he'd live just to spite his padawan, and make damned sure the Council trained the brat.
Qui Gon did like to be proven right, and he was convinced that boy was the
answer to a prophecy. There was no way that he would allow that chance to be
missed, not if there was any way he could help it. Obi Wan grinned, a feral
expression with more resemblance to a death's head than joy, when he felt his
master begin to rally.
It worked. Barely.
The next three days were a haze of exhaustion so deep nothing seemed
quite real. Obi Wan shadowed his seriously wounded master, one hand on his
sluggishly bleeding body all the way to the bacta
tank, then staring at the unconscious form with one hand against the glass of
the tank throughout the journey back to Coruscant. Anakin huddled beside him,
and Obi Wan made unashamed use of the boy's potential, tapping into the
untrained Force eddies around the child to augment his own healing energies as
he poured them toward his master, weaving a web of life energy around Qui Gon,
sustaining him until they made it back to the central
Once Qui Gon was turned over to the master healers, and Anakin was
handed off to the crèche masters, Obi Wan slept for twenty hours straight. He
had a vague memory of reporting to the Council, but other than swaying like a
drunken Corellian and muttering something about the
triple damned Sith and the stupid laser field and his
own complete failure as a fighter, he didn't remember much beyond a truly
phenomenal headache. When he finally did awaken, he buried his face in his
pillow and tried to forget the small amount he did remember. Then he rolled
over and punched the comlink to the recuperation
chambers.
"Obi Wan Kenobi calling for information on Master Jinn's
condition," he asked as politely as he could, given the urgency of his
request.
"Master Jinn will be intanked for another
two cycles minimum, Knight Kenobi," the droid
responded. "Do you wish to stand vigil?"
Knight? Since
when? Obi Wan shook his head to try to clear the last of the fuzziness
from his thoughts and answered. "I must report to the Council. Then I'll
be down." He flicked the channel closed and rolled out of bed, absently
patting his robes in place and reaching out to straighten his braid.
The side of his head was naked. No braid. Just short
fuzz like that covering the rest of his skull. His hand wandered to the
back of his head.
No tail, either.
His eyes popped wide open, and he sat back on the bed, feeling a little
dazed. What had he missed? More than just a report, it would appear.
Hauling himself to his feet, he hurried to the Council chamber.
They were waiting for him.
Bowing to the assembled Council, he tried to find a way to apologize for
his previous behavior, find out how and when he'd become a Knight, and discover
what else he'd missed along the way. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
So he stood there, no doubt in his mind that he looked as foolish as he felt,
completely at sea.
Master Yoda took pity on him. "Confused, you are."
"Yes, Master Yoda," Obi Wan agreed. That was an easy one.
"Understandable, it is. Sacrifice, you have, for your fellow Jedi.
Brought back intelligence on the Sith, the presence of
the threat, confirmed, you have."
He had? "Yes, Master." When?
Ki-Adi-Mundi answered
the questions he didn't ask. "When you returned from Naboo with Master
Jinn, your mental shields were completely gone. You had destroyed them in your
efforts to sustain his life. You were successful. The result of your efforts
was not only the maintenance of Master Jinn until he could be given to the care
of the healers, but also, with the assistance of Master Tinn
... this."
There was a ripple in the Force around him, and Obi Wan felt his knees
give. A wave of Force energy from Yoda caught him, cushioning his fall, but he
paid it no heed. His attention was caught by images moving in the air in front
of him. Red-washed, hazy images of his master and the Sith,
the final desperate battle that Qui Gon lost. Then the red tint disappeared and
the Sith was close, so close to him, and he was reaching out to it, Force
energy like talons to rend it, claw it to pieces, tear it apart for killing his
master.
That face, a nightmare image of red and black, sneer pulling its lips
back, light glinting dully off the stained ivory of its horns, so close he
could read death in its yellow eyes. Frantic strength,
flowing together, meeting, throwing off, closing again, between and around
them. The clash and tangle of their lightsabers,
the thought of the Force push in the instant before execution, the final tumble
of the Sith into oblivion. Then an absence in his
mind, an emptiness, filled a moment later with the
need to give life, as urgent as the need to bring death had been -- the rush of
Force to hold Qui Gon's body and soul together.
He moaned, and the images dissipated, wavering then disappearing like
reflections in a pool. He raised his head to meet Ki-Adi-Mundi's
understanding eyes. "What was that?" he croaked out. His throat hurt.
"Your trials," Master Windu said quietly.
"Your experience was quite unusual," Ki-Adi-Mundi
continued. "Master Tinn was able to capture and
I was able to reconstruct your exchange with the Sith
because of a bipolarity in the Force, unique in our experience. The potency of
the Living Force you accessed left traces in your mind, not only allowing you
to draw on young Skywalker's strength to aid your own in saving Master Jinn,
but in allowing you to foresee and forestall the Sith's
actions, saving your own life."
"Trail, it was," concurred Master Yoda. "An advantage it
gives you, in fighting this Sith."
Obi Wan looked askance at him. "It weakens me now, Master Yoda. I
can barely stand, much less fight." It was true, he was exhausted again.
"Too close, now. But soon." The
bulbous green eyes closed and the wide ears lowered as Yoda sought answers
through the Unifying Force, attempting to chart a clear course through the
future. Obi Wan watched, fascinated, hoping for once
the ancient master would have a more definitive answer than he usually found.
He was disappointed. "Unclear the future is. A crisis point we have
reached." His eyes popped open, and Obi Wan bit his lip to keep a curse
behind his teeth. "The focus you have become, Knight Kenobi."
Obi Wan struggled to his feet, then bowed low to the Council leaders,
gritting his teeth and determinedly keeping his balance. Whatever his battle
with the Sith had done to him, it had made him weaker
than a newborn. "What am I to do, Master Yoda?" he asked politely when
he could speak again without panting from exertion.
"Go to Master Jinn. Call you, we shall,
when your course is set. May the Force be with you."
He murmured an echo of the blessing, then
forced his feet to carry him from the Council chambers without staggering.
Leaning against the wall outside with a sigh of relief, he took a deep breath
and headed for the healers' compound. The way he was feeling, he could use some
healing himself.
Marching through the door and settling himself onto a bench beside the bacta tank where Master Jinn was recovering, he waited
impatiently for the healer to update him on his master's condition. What she
had to say wasn't encouraging.
"The wounds aren't mortal, and for that it appears we have you and
this young man to thank." Obi Wan glanced around and saw a very pale
Anakin Skywalker huddled against the opposite side of the tank. He forced a
smile at the boy, and Anakin smiled shakily back. "But they are serious.
Serious enough to retire him from field work. His heart will no longer handle
the strain of interstellar travel."
Obi Wan swallowed with a throat suddenly gone dry. He didn't know how Master Jinn would take the news that he'd be
confined to Coruscant for the rest of his life. He looked away from his
master's peaceful face, and caught Anakin staring up at him through narrowed
eyes.
"The good news is he's going to make it," Obi Wan said softly.
"And there's another piece of good news, Anakin." The boy looked at
him distrustfully. Obi Wan smiled, more naturally this time. "I'm no
longer his padawan, and he's free to take another.
You have a lot of catching up to do -- and Master Jinn will be right beside
you, teaching you, just like he promised."
The boy's eyes widened at that, and the defensive posture of the narrow
shoulders relaxed. He smiled back at Obi Wan, and for the first time since Qui
Gon had confronted the Council about the boy, there was peace between them.
He had failed.
It had always been a possibility. Regardless of his master's expressed
confidence in him, killing a Jedi Master and his nearly graduated Padawan and
kidnapping a Queen from the middle of her protective phalanx had been a long
shot. Maul was well aware that he was a weapon, no more, no less, and that when
his usefulness was over, he'd be destroyed. He'd been planning for that
contingency since he was a child.
Momentary shock at having his offense turned against him so swiftly had
nearly been his undoing. He was tumbling uncontrollably down the winding
exhaust shaft almost before he realized he was out of the battle. Clenching his
hold on the Force, he turned his tumble into a dive, using the Force to slow
his descent, sparks flying from the metal sides of the shaft as the cushion of
air around him heated up from the friction of the Force he was applying to it.
By the time he was close enough to feel the heat of the reactor at the core of
the power station, he was clinging to the wall, his headlong plunge brought to
a complete halt.
Closing his eyes, he concentrated on the structure around him. First
things first, and the first thing was to get out of this Jedi-spawned trap. He
sensed an opening, several meters to his left and above him, and moved his body
toward it with a burst of effort. Rolling through the small maintenance access
way, he slumped against the wall and regrouped his energy.
As his body lay there, quietly resting, his mind went into overdrive. He
was dead, unless he made alternate plans, and kept them quietly enough to
himself to be able to carry them out. Disguising his Force signature and
blending into the shadows, he slipped through the disorganized confusion that
was the Palace after battle, and made his way to his Infiltrator. As he left
the atmosphere of Naboo, he sent a tendril of thought toward the Jedi Padawan
who'd nearly killed him. The man's presence registered as a pinpoint of
painfully bright light, pulled in different directions like a fire caught in
high winds.
If he was lucky, the stresses would tear the young Jedi apart. Their
confrontation had been too close to lethal.
The flight back to Coruscant was long, but barely long enough. Once
returned, he waited for his master to return from the celebrations on Naboo.
Maul closed his eyes, centered himself, and pulled a veil of hatred and
frustration across the plans he had made, willing it to be dense enough to
obscure them from his master's mind. When Lord Sidious strode into the chamber,
he bowed low, eyes to the floor, every atom of his being focused on the moment.
The future would take care of itself. He would be dead, one way or the
other.
"You failed. The Jedi live. The Queen lives. The Federation has
been dealt a severe blow."
Maul cringed under the softly hissed words. "They were stronger
than expected, my master," he offered, knowing it wouldn't be enough. He
raised his head enough to watch as Sidious turned from him, 'thinking' about
his words. As the old man turned, both hands curled into claws, and the
discharge of energy flew between them, Maul bit down on the detonator between
his molars.
Blades flew across the chamber from three separate angles, converging on
Sidious at neck, waist and knees. His lower limbs fell to the right, his torso
shifted to the left, and his head spun off the same direction as his feet. He
didn't have time to scream.
A vortex of energy spun around the dismembered pieces of Sidious'
corpse, swirling around the dead Sith Lord and gathering speed and energy as
they converged on Maul. Indigo, crimson and violet light danced over his body,
and he drew in breath to loose a scream that strangled in his throat. Force
energy wove around his body like a cocoon until he could no longer feel his own
skin, hear his own voice, know his own thoughts. The darkness sapped his soul, then fed it back to him, twice, thrice over what he had
been. His fingertips tingled, his scalp crawled, and his tongue singed his
mouth.
As the crackle of energy faded to a dull, continuous hum in his mind, he
smiled down at the remains of his master. Not all attacks were through the
Force, a lesson he'd learned from the Jedi and learned well. One
that had taken his master, and made him his own master.
It was time to begin his assault on the Jedi. Time to
take his rightful place.
Time for revenge.
Yoda stared at the patterns in the sand, four waving lines dancing about
one another, intersecting, separating, intersecting
again. The future was like that. Unclear. So important, to be so difficult to understand.
The shock of Force displacement rocked him on his feet, and he clutched
at his stick, raising it instinctively in reaction to the threat. Peering
around him, he saw that none of the other Jedi appeared affected. Frowning to
himself, he closed his eyes, centered on the disturbance, and concentrated on
clarification and understanding.
The taste of darkness was bitter on his tongue, ringing loudly in his
ears, a stench to his nostrils. His ears twitched,
then lowered, and he sighed. Whatever it had been, it had been close, but it
was absorbed very quickly. The Sith were, indeed,
reborn, and they were at the heart of the Republic.
One of the younger Padawans came
racing past him, and he pricked up his ears, deliberately eavesdropping on the
girl as she reported to her master. A murder! Yoda's eyes widened,
and he levitated closer, not wasting time walking. Chancellor Palpatine had
been murdered, in his private quarters, hacked to pieces by some madman.
Yoda doubted that a lunatic was responsible. He walked slowly back to
the bench and stared once more at the patterns in the sand.
They had shifted.
Two lines touched more often than they parted. Two others wove a
background, far distant, touching the primary pair only infrequently before one
faded to nothingness. The third remained alone.
The ancient master lifted his eyes to the pattern of ships crossing in
the early Coruscant evening. Chaos was coming. He
could feel it. Lifting himself from the bench and tapping slowly along the
corridor toward the Council chamber, he readied himself for what he knew was on
the horizon. The first shot had been fired.
Later that evening, he led the Council to the decision that would set
them on course to their destinies, and he set the stage for the lines of Force
and fate to intersect. Young Kenobi bowed solemnly as he was ordered to leave
his master, still recovering, and seek out the Sith.
There would be others on the hunt, but Yoda knew that in the end, Kenobi would
be alone with his fate.
Yoda prayed the Force would be with him.
He was waiting for her in the shadows as she walked wearily into her
hovel late at night. Being Watto's sole possession
after the Jedi left with her son hadn't made for an easy life, not that any
slave had what could be called an easy life. Shmi
lifted aching hands to loosen her hair.
The invisible net tightened around her, cutting into her skin, freezing
the breath in her lungs. Her mouth opened to scream, but no sound escaped. Her
eyes widened, and the net cut across their surfaces, bursting the fragile sacks
of fluid. Her hands caught in her hair, tearing out handfuls of long strands
and chunks of scalp. Her tongue swelled in her mouth, and her skin turned
faintly blue. Blood ran from a million tiny cuts, from her scalp to her heels.
She was a standing corpse in moments.
Maul stepped from the shadows and smiled at his work. Pressing a button
on his silver cuff, he summoned three small droids. Five minutes later, they
dragged Watto into the room.
The Toydarian began to blubber as soon as he
saw the remains of his slave. It did him no good. He attempted bravery, and
refused to contact the
Maul tore his wings off. One at a time. Very slowly. He courteously waited for Watto
to regain consciousness before he removed the second one.
The black tears coursing down the merchant's face were real, when he
sobbed out the news of Shmi's unfortunate accident to
the young Jedi knight at the
Carefully placing both corpses in the chill-house behind the slaves'
quarters, Maul settled down in the front room to wait.
Qui Gon Jinn stared at the static-filled transmission, listened to the
distorted, heartbroken words pouring from Watto, and
closed his eyes in pain. Shmi had been a good woman,
had dearly loved her son, and would be sorely missed. This was going to be difficult,
and he wouldn't be able to support young Ani in his time of need. His own
wounds had healed as well as they ever would, but he couldn't travel to Tatooine. He wished for a fruitless moment that Obi Wan
could be there to go with the boy, but his former padawan
was off on a Sith hunt.
Walking slowly toward the school rooms, leaning heavily on his cane, Qui
Gon paused outside the astrophysics lab and watched his new padawan
for a long moment. The boy was happier than he had been upon first arriving,
gradually becoming accepted, finding friends. His greatest hope was to be a
Jedi Knight, fulfilling his destiny, making his mother proud. Going back to his home world one day to free his mother.
That hope would never be fulfilled, now.
Bright blue eyes looked up from a datapad and
met his, and the sparkle disappeared in response to the look on Qui Gon's face. He gestured with his free hand, and Anakin
politely excused himself before trotting obediently to his side.
"What's wrong, Master Qui Gon, sir?" Such an
earnest face. Too young to know so much heartache.
"Walk with me, Ani," he invited softly. Anakin reined in his
steps to keep pace with Qui Gon's own slow steps.
"It's Mother, isn't it," Anakin said abruptly, staring
straight ahead. His eyes were narrowed, and he looked suddenly much older than
his years.
"Yes, Ani. I'm sorry. There was an industrial accident in the metal processing
plant." He'd leave out the more gruesome details to spare the boy.
"She died very suddenly. There wasn't any pain."
Anakin stopped, still scowling fiercely into the distance. "I want
to go see her."
Qui Gon dropped a hand onto the boy's shoulder, trying to give him as
much comfort as possible through the touch. "Yes, I know. Knight Merto will take you." Merto
was one of the younger knights, a good teacher, not seasoned enough for his own
padawan, but sympathetic and steady. "I'm sorry.
I wish I could go with you."
A deep sigh shook the small frame. "S'okay,
Master Qui Gon. I know you can't." Anakin's small hand came up and patted Qui
Gon's much larger hand, and for a moment the master
wondered who was comforting whom. "When do I get to go?"
"Tonight, as soon as you get your bag, in fact. I'm afraid you
won't be able to stay long, but you're her only survivor. You'll have to be
strong. There are things that need to be done. For her sake,
and your own. Merto will help you." He
didn't add that one of the reasons for haste was the fact that bodies didn't
last long in the harsh heat of Tatooine. Anakin had
lived there most of his young life. He knew the facts.
The blond head nodded, and with one final pat, the boy moved toward his
quarters. Qui Gon watched him leave, saddened by the weight on the young
shoulders. For a moment, the air wavered, seemed to thicken and darken. The
flash of presentiment shook him, and he called, "Ani!"
His padawan turned and looked expectantly at
him. He hadn't an idea what to say to the boy. "I'm sorry," he
finally murmured, and Anakin smiled briefly at him.
"I know," the boy replied, then turned back toward his room to
pack his bag. Qui Gon watched him go, troubled, but unclear just why, or what
the feeling might mean. Walking slowly back to his own quarters, he settled
down on a mat and cleared his mind. He struggled to find his center, clear his
thoughts.
For the first time in a very long time, clarity did not come easily, and
meditation failed him.
No one met them at the port, which was strange in itself, but Anakin
shrugged it off. He knew his way around Tatooine, and
he surged ahead, leaving Knight Merto to follow. He
liked the knight well enough, and tried not to be too impatient, but something
was pulling him home. There was something there, something he had to do,
something he had to see. It was waiting for him.
Calling to him.
Palming the door lock open, he walked a few feet into the room and
stopped dead. There was blood everywhere. Not just red blood, like he had, and
his Mom had, but blue blood, like Watto had. He knew,
because he'd seen it once, when his owner had cut his paw on the sharp edge of
a transmission block. There was a lot of it, now, splattered all over his
house. It was everywhere.
His instincts were screaming at him to leave when he saw the pool of red
by the dining room entrance. There was a lot of it, too, but it wasn't
scattered around. Just in one place. There were two footprints in the center of
the pool, oddly clear of blood. He knew them.
They were his mother's.
It was his mother's blood.
This hadn't been an accident.
He tried to turn, run out of the house. Warn Merto.
Get out. Every instinct he had was yelling full volume at him to hide, but he
couldn't move or cry out or even breathe very well. There was this invisible
blanket around him, smothering him, but not killing him. Just
holding him completely still.
"Anakin?" Merto's voice, Merto's step. Behind him,
but he couldn't move. Couldn't warn him. The light
went dim as the door snapped shut. "What the-"
There was the distinctive sound of a lightsaber
snapping on, and Anakin heard Merto fighting,
desperately. He couldn't see what was happening, but he watched the shadows on
the wall. A smaller figure, all flowing robes and fast energy, whirled around Merto. Merto fought as hard as he
could.
It didn't do him any good.
Merto fell, seeming to
freeze forever in shadow on the wall before he crumpled down to the ground. The
figure leaned over him and pressed something to his shoulder. There was a
hissing sound. Then the figure moved over behind him. Now Anakin could move, a little.
He could shiver. He was shaking so hard that if the Force hadn't been
holding him in place, he would have fallen over.
A hand came up over his shoulder and black material whispered along his
arm. A black glove holding a little box pressed it against his chest, and he
whimpered as something cut into him, something cold and fast. "Shhh," said the figure. "This will only take a
moment. This is nothing."
The box was removed, and the figure moved around to stand in front of
him. Anakin shook even harder, and he could feel tears starting down his face.
He knew this demon. It was the one Master Qui Gon and Obi Wan had fought on
Naboo. The one that had crippled Master Qui Gon. The
one Obi Wan was searching for, and not finding.
"This is nothing," the Sith repeated.
"Welcome to the darkness, my apprentice. In time, you will truly know
pain."
In his mind, he screamed, pleading for help, for rescue, for Master Qui
Gon to come get him. Nobody heard him.
Nobody answered.
News of the explosion that had destroyed nearly a square mile of the
slaves' quarters in Tatooine and taken the lives of
Knight Merto and Padawan Skywalker was received in
Coruscant early the next day. Genetic material found in the burnt out remains
of Shmi Skywalker's home confirmed what the Hutt's enforcers suspected. No one could have survived an
explosion of that magnitude. The cause of the explosion was, of course, under
investigation, but rumor had it that it had been a hit on Watto.
There was more than one hit out on the Toydarian,
since he'd reneged on several contracts since losing his business in a bet that
broke the wrong way.
Adi Gallia paused
outside Qui Gon Jinn's quarters and took a deep breath. She and Jinn had become
close in the months since he'd been confined to Coruscant. But the other master
was a very private man. She wasn't sure if he would let her share this burden
with him. She pressed the chime, and waited for his call.
"Come." He sounded tired.
Stepping into the front room, bright from the diffuse early morning
sunlight, she saw Qui Gon standing, staring out over
Today was going to be the hardest by far.
"Qui Gon," she started softly. "There's been-"
"I know," he interrupted her. He didn't look at her.
"You felt the disturbance in the Force?"
"I felt the disappearance of his Light."
She sighed and looked down at her feet. "He and Knight Merto were caught in an assassination attempt on the
merchant Watto. No one survived."
"I wonder," Qui Gon asked the cityscape. She stepped closer to
him, but didn't actually touch him. His stance warned her against any attempt
at intimacy.
"What do you wonder?" she asked gently.
He shook his head, looked down at her for a moment, then looked back at
the city. "It doesn't matter."
Biting her lip, wishing she could offer the comfort he so obviously
would not take, she thought perhaps it might have mattered, whatever it had
been. If he'd let it.
She watched the city by his side for a very long time in silence.
Kenobi stared at the remains of a village on Bator, and inhaled deeply.
It was almost as if he could scent the Sith. There was
a particular intensity to the Force in places where it had been, a kind of
flavor nothing and no one else exhibited. It lingered in the air after the
demon had been and gone.
He was getting used to it.
Two years of searching, further and further out along the rim, starting
at Tatooine and spiraling outward, had gotten him
nowhere. There were glimpses, more in his dreams than in reality, and that
taint in the Force. They were the only things that told him he wasn't mad,
wasn't chasing shadows.
For all he caught, he might as well be.
Staring down into Qui Gon's holographic face,
he frowned at the lines of exhaustion bracketing the older man's mouth, lining
his forehead. The situation was worsening on Coruscant, and the Jedi were
spread too thinly throughout the galaxy to fight all the fires the Trade
Federation lit. The Senate seemed helpless, drifting with no direction,
no will to fight the depredations of the Neimoidians
and their droid armies.
"Let me come home," he asked yet again. "I'm
accomplishing nothing out here, master. I'm always three steps behind."
"You're the best hope we have of finding and killing the Sith," Qui Gon responded, the familiar refrain grating
in Obi Wan's ears. "There must be something bigger than simple greed
behind this. The planets being targeted by the Federation are too important to
the Republic for it not to be the work of the Sith,
undermining the Senate."
Obi Wan seriously considered asking what work the Senate might be doing
that the Sith could undermine, since from where he was
sitting, the Senate wasn't doing a damned thing but whining while the galaxy
fell apart around their collective ears. As usual, he stifled the words, and
nodded resignedly. "Yes, master. I'll contact you again when-" if, he
thought, "I have word."
"May the Force be with you, Obi Wan," his master blessed him.
He smiled and returned the blessing, closing the comlink
and staring blindly into space for long moments.
He was so close. But then, he was always so close. Never
quite there.
It was almost as if the bastard could sense him.
Gathering his robe around him, he lifted the hood over his head and went
back out into the relentless heat, opening himself to the Force. Following the scent.
The last vestiges of Anakin Skywalker disappeared the day his master
shared his mother's death with him.
Impotent rage, mind-stealing frustration, soul-destroying hatred surged
through him. He wanted to kill the killers with his bare hands, tear their
throats out with his teeth, twist their necks until
their spines snapped like straw. Visit even a fraction of the pain and horror
his innocent mother had suffered on the instruments of her destruction.
Maul was satisfied. The raw material that would become Vader had
consumed the last remaining hidden light that had been Anakin. Now that the
darkness lived in the boy's soul, he could mold that Force into a weapon. His weapon.
The second volley in the war against the Jedi. His ascension to power
had been the first.
Patiently, using every tool at his command from terror to persuasion,
Maul began to rebuild what he had broken. He preyed on every inadequacy, real
or perceived, the boy had ever had. Within a year,
Vader understood that his mother's death would never have occurred had Qui Gon
Jinn not cheated his mother of her freedom, and Watto
of his wealth. Jinn had used him, kidnapped him, taken him from his home, and
left his mother unprotected against Watto's enemies.
There was no need for the boy to ever learn that it was Maul himself
who'd killed the woman.
From that first step, it was easy to twist the boy's fears into
realities. Master Mace Windu was the next target in the boy's mind. The Jedi
Master had rejected him from the beginning, so smug, so superior, lounging in his chair while declaring to all who would hear
that the boy was of no use to the Jedi. Too old, too fearful.
Windu would die as well.
Master Yoda was an equally easy target. The boy had distrusted him on
sight, not liking the way the large green eyes had seemed to look right through
him. All the talk of fear and how the boy was unsuited to be a Jedi fed
directly into Vader's insecurities, and from there into his hatred.
Oddly enough, for all his attempts, Maul couldn't get the boy to hate
Knight Kenobi. There was some residual resentment for Kenobi's initial
declaration that the boy was dangerous, but Kenobi, at least, hadn't thought
Vader unfit to become a Jedi, and he'd only used Vader once -- to save Jinn's
life. Since it had been what Vader himself wanted at the time, the boy saw
Kenobi as the one Jedi who had the proper respect for what he would become.
Just as well. Maul was saving Kenobi's death for his own pleasure.
By the boy's fifteenth birthday, Vader had forgotten that Anakin
Skywalker had ever existed, except as a source of pain. By then, he was quite
familiar with pain. His master made certain of that.
Seven years into his search, Obi Wan was no closer to finding his prey
than he had ever been. He peered out through the tattered shade of the run-down
hut he was sheltering in and watched the crowd outside quickly whip themselves
up into a furor. They knew there was a hated Jedi somewhere, and they were
going to find him and rip him apart. He bit his lip, looking for a back way
out, knowing there wasn't one.
The scene was becoming much too familiar. Packs of misinformed,
terrified people were turning on the one group still trying to protect them.
Sanctions, squads of quasi-military police imported from the Federation and
ignored by the Senate, food shortages, medicine shortages, embargoes, people
disappearing in the middle of the night never to be seen again -- he couldn't
blame them for being frightened. He did wish they didn't blame the Jedi for not
saving them from every misfortune they suffered.
There simply weren't enough Jedi to go around. And when there were Jedi
on site, the Senate wasn't authorizing action until too late to do any good.
Obi Wan leaned against the wall, carefully hidden in the shadows out of
sight of the angry mob milling and demanding his blood six feet away on the
other side of the dried mud wall. He'd lost too many friends the last few
years. If the death toll continued to mount at this rate, the Jedi would be
nothing but a skeleton order themselves, forced to
hide away and work underground to root out their enemies. When that day came,
the Republic would fall. He knew it.
His eyes flew open as he scented the Sith in
the Force. Fresh, this time, not old spoor. He nearly
followed it out the door until he realized that doing so would put him in the
middle of the mob that wanted to kill him. He froze, then
peeked out the corner of the window.
It was there. Standing just past the main cluster of
rioters. There was a circle of darkness around it, and the others
avoided it unconsciously. But there was no way for Obi Wan to reach it without
committing suicide. For a moment, he seriously considered it, calculating the
distance, to see if he could kill the Sith before the
mob killed him. Defeat was bitter on his tongue as he realized there was no way
he could complete his mission. The Sith nodded at him,
once, a taunt and an acknowledgement.
Not this time. Next time.
Then the Sith sneered, turned in a swirl of
black cloth, and disappeared. Obi Wan watched the spot where he had stood for a
very long time.
It was morning before he was able to escape the hut, evade the remainder
of the mob, and make it to his cruiser. Once safely through hyperspace, he
dropped into normal space long enough to risk communication with Coruscant.
Using a coded transmission, he called directly to the Council Chambers.
There was a long delay before the channel opened. When it did, he could
only stare in shock at what he saw.
A gaping hole marred what had once been a graceful, arching window.
Charred permasteel and hanging slivers of glass.
Three Council seats completely destroyed. Med droids and healers worked
frantically over the bodies of Saesee Tinn, Eeth Koth
and Even Piell. Even through the grainy transmission,
Obi Wan could see that it was too late for Yarael
Poof, whose elongated neck was bent at right angles to his body, and whose head
appeared to be crushed. It was also too late for Mace Windu. The remains of the
senior Master were scattered over several feet. He had apparently been at
ground zero for the explosion.
Obi Wan reached a hand out toward the image, unaware of his actions.
There was no sign of Yoda, or Kloon, or Qui Gon.
Surely they were all right. The survivors would have been taken someplace
secure, he knew, so their absence was a positive sign.
If there could be such a thing as a positive sign in the midst of
Armageddon.
His hand dipped and pressed the button severing the communication. The
Council had much more pressing concerns than a fleeting glimpse of the Sith. It had come so far that the enemies of the Republic
could launch a direct attack on the
Obi Wan stared at the wash of stars across his view screen and modified
his plans. There would be no further passive searching, following the trail as
it grew cold, always a step too late.
This was war.
Vader stared at the holoimage of the
destruction of the Council chambers and frowned. True, Windu had paid, and
there had been some satisfactory collateral damage. But Yoda lived, as did
Jinn. It was unacceptable.
"We must mount a second attack, master. While the
Jedi are still regrouping."
"In time, my apprentice," his master rebuked him. "The
Jedi are on high alert now. You must hold yourself back until the time is
right."
Impatience surged through Vader and he turned on his master, a snarl curling
his mouth. Before he could loose his rage, a surge of crackling Force caught
his throat, clamping down on the muscles and setting the tissues on fire. His
words turned to screams, that escaped as sibilant
hisses. His hands scrabbled at his throat, tearing the skin. He didn't feel the
cuts from his nails or notice the blood running down into his collar. As the
world was graying out, the pressure finally eased, and he carefully swallowed
the blood in his mouth from biting his tongue. Once, he'd been fool enough to
spit it out.
He hadn't walked for three days after that beating.
"Yes, my master," he whispered. Maul nodded.
"You will learn patience, my apprentice. My plans are larger than
mere vengeance, no matter how satisfying such vengeance would be."
Vader lowered his eyes, submission required and given. Deep in his mind,
where the darkness was most deeply rooted, madness
grew.
One day, he would have his revenge.
On all of them.
Master Jinn clamped his fingers around the defense console in the bunker
in the lowest levels of the ruins of the
Very Sithly of them.
To his right, he felt Tinn, confined to an antigrav chair since the attack three years before, but
with his formidable telepathic skills greater than ever, honed by defending
against the almost daily attacks. Behind him, his wife Adi
spread her hands over his back, lending him all her strength, bleeding away as
much of the damage as possible. To his left and directly in front of him, Yaddle and Yoda, fifteen centuries of experience between
them, alerted each of the surviving
The Jedi were losing the war.
It wasn't a thought he had often, and certainly not one he could afford
in the middle of a mental attack such as this one. But it was true,
nonetheless, and the calm center of certainty he'd relied on for ten long years
of relentless battle was worn nearly away.
A sharp crack from Yoda's stick and he braced himself once more, but his
moment of distraction was a moment too long. The attack wormed its way through
his mind and struck at his spine, and he twisted from the pain, screaming
involuntarily at the strain on his faltering heart. From behind him, Adi screamed in unison, a sound of pure rage, and somehow
her hands were reaching through him, latching on to the arrows of dark
Force, tearing them from his body. The flash fire of agony lanced through him,
through her, arcing back and forth between the two of them for what felt like
an eternity.
When it ended, the battle had finished around them. Tinn
was holding his head in his hands, crying softly, unable to stop, unaware of
his visible distress, caught up in the clench of pain in his mind. Yaddle and Yoda leaned against one another, bled nearly
white with effort, only a tinge of faint green left in the ends of their toes
and ears.
Qui Gon lifted himself with great effort, Adi's
weight dragging him down. He turned, gasping at the pain in his back and chest,
and pulled her up into his embrace. He bent to lay a gentle kiss on her lips,
and recoiled in shock.
Her face was missing.
Molten flesh dripped from pink-tinted bones, eyes melted in their
sockets, teeth clenched in a defiant snarl as she had taken every blow the
attackers had sent at Qui Gon into herself. Her hands were curled into talons,
hooked in his robes, the tips of her nails scraping his skin through the cloth
where she had fought to redirect every jolt of dark energy from her husband,
sacrificing herself for him.
He didn't realize he was screaming until Tinn
touched his mind. Then all he knew was blessed blackness.
Maul stared out over the war fleet spread for light-years around him.
His dead master's early machinations had paid off handsomely, and the
Federation was an unbeatable weapon under his own command. The Republic was
rotting from within; the Jedi were eviscerated; the Senate was emasculated.
Soon, his final few worthy enemies would be dead, and the power his master had
always craved would be his own.
As soon as Kenobi was dead. And Jinn.
He'd nearly succeeded with the latest round of attacks on the temple,
but the bitch Jinn had married had been stronger than he'd expected. The damage
was only temporary to the Jedi master, not terminal. He'd have to work on that.
As for Kenobi, the knight was getting too close. The last few forays had come
close to pinpointing him, and that was unacceptable. The two Jedi were the only
living beings other than his apprentice who recognized his Force signature. The only ones who were in a position to discover and stop him.
They had to die. Soon.
He glanced over at his apprentice, grown tall and straight, fair
countenance hiding a truly evil soul. Unfortunately, Vader's arrogance had
grown as well, which was also unacceptable. It wouldn't be long before Maul
would face the same threat his own master had failed to defend against -- and
he wasn't quite ready to die just yet. He smiled at the young man.
"It is time for your trials, my apprentice."
Vader's eyes widened before he hid his surprise behind a mask of calm.
"Yes, master," he answered with just the right amount of enthusiasm.
"How may I serve you?"
"There is a particular Jedi who is becoming a threat to our plans.
You will find and execute him."
"Yes, master." The enthusiasm went up a notch. Maul's smile
turned nasty.
"Obi Wan Kenobi."
Bright blue eyes swung to meet his, no expression at all in their
depths. After a long pause, Vader said softly, "Yes, master." Then he
turned on his heel and left the room.
Maul turned his attention back to the fleet, and his smile disappeared.
It would be a true trial for the Sith apprentice.
Either he would defeat Kenobi, and the threat from that quarter would disappear
-- or Kenobi would kill Vader, and the threat from the apprentice would be
neutralized.
An elegant plan.
Obi Wan felt the disturbance before he saw anything, relying on twenty
five years experience in the field to save his life. The lightsaber,
an eerie red in the darkness of the room, sliced through the bedroll where he'd
been sleeping moments before. He ended his controlled tumble with a sideways
leap, ripping the curtain aside with one hand to let in the sunshine and
hefting his lightsaber with the other. Blue clashed
with red and all he saw at first was the explosion of energy from where the two
blades meshed.
Then the sparks cleared, his eyes focused, and he nearly dropped his lightsaber.
"Anakin!" It couldn't be. Yet it was. The boy he'd thought dead a decade ago on Tatooine was a man now. A man who was
trying his damnedest to kill him. He raised his 'saber in a defensive
move at the last possible moment, his shock nearly immobilizing him.
Which would have lead directly to his being
beheaded. Anakin's skills with a 'saber were excellent. Obi
Wan let muscle memory take over the fighting while he tried to figure out what
the hell was going on. Was this a clone?
"My name is Vader," the young man growled, feinting low then
coming in overhand with a stabbing move that would have taken Obi Wan's right
arm off if he hadn't thrown himself to the floor.
He rolled to the right, then immediately to the left, then flipped to
his feet and into a somersault over Anakin -- no, Vader's head. As he
desperately fought, trying as hard as he could not to kill the man while not
allowing himself to be killed, Obi Wan diverted precious attention from the
fight and used it to probe the Force energy around his opponent.
It was Anakin. Stunted, twisted, fierce with rage and hatred, but
essentially at the root of that tortured soul was what was left of Anakin
Skywalker. "Oh, god, no," Obi Wan whispered, then had to throw
himself back into the air and dive sideways to avoid being sliced in half.
Vader, as he called himself now, fought in complete silence. Obi Wan
lunged under his defense and backhanded him, knocking the man off balance long
enough to score a small hit along his ribs, before a stunning flurry of blows
drove him back. Sweating freely, caught between the need to survive and an
equally pressing need to not kill Anakin, Obi Wan was losing ground steadily.
Gasping for breath, he pressed his offense, momentarily grinding the fight to a
standstill as their 'sabers caught.
"I believed you dead," he panted out, inches from Anakin's
face. "I saw the proof myself. What in the name of all that's holy happened
to you?"
Anakin disengaged with a surge of Force energy. Panting in return,
malevolence painting his face in darkness, he spat at Obi Wan. "I
discovered the truth, Jedi. And with it, my
destiny." The red blade darted at him, and Obi Wan reeled back,
barely escaping being gutted by a slashing blow. "And
your death."
The Force emanating from the younger man was pure darkness, none of the
Light Obi Wan remembered from when they had worked together to save Qui Gon
Jinn. There was nothing left of Anakin here to rescue, and he reluctantly gave
up any thought of capture and questioning. The fight escalated, neither side
gaining any real advantage, each man using every trick he knew to kill the
other. As they swept around the room, Force pushing one another, slashing,
jabbing, flipping and evading, Obi Wan saw a pattern of fighting emerge that he
recognized.
The Sith.
The Sith had taken Anakin,
and destroyed him to create Vader. Anakin was lost, but perhaps in this shell
of darkness remaining, Obi Wan could finally find the key to the location of
the Sith.
Gulping air, Obi Wan tried a last ditch move, lashing out with his foot
to strike Vader under the chin, following up with a sweeping movement that
severed Vader's hand, the lightsaber spinning away
into the far corner of the room. Vader screamed with rage and pain, and the
'saber flew on a wave of Force energy, aiming for Obi Wan's back. With the last
of his strength, Obi Wan caught Vader's shoulder in one hand and swung the
screaming Sith in place, using him as a shield against
Vader's own lightsaber. As the energy of the weapon
impaled the energy creating the weapon, both died at once.
Obi Wan draped himself over the cooling corpse, weaving himself through
the Unifying Force into the connections between Vader and everything around
him. The strongest connection led far away, but maintained its strength across
the distance. The cable of hatred led him to a face, startled at the intrusion,
familiar to his memory.
At the same time, Obi Wan spread himself the other direction, along his
own strongest connection through the Force. On Coruscant, Qui Gon started, his
head coming up and his eyes narrowing. Obi Wan released the images he had
harvested from Vader's dying memories, and the direction they had led, to his
former master. As the last of Vader's life energy dispersed into the Force, Obi
Wan tore himself with brute strength from his union with the dead man before he
was pulled into oblivion along with Vader.
Dragging himself to the side of the room where his bags lay, he rummaged
through his kit until he found his holographic transmitter. Within moments, he
was connected to the command center at the bunker in Jedi headquarters.
"Let me speak with Master Jinn," he ordered. The words were
scarcely out of his mouth before Qui Gon's face
appeared.
"Obi Wan! Is he
dead?"
"One of them, master," he replied wearily. "Did you
receive the impressions I sent through the Force?"
"Not well," Qui Gon admitted, and Obi Wan nearly cursed.
"But Master Yoda was with me, and he is much more attuned to the Unifying
Force than I. It's not much to go on, but it is a clue to his whereabouts. Are
you injured?"
Obi Wan shook his head in a decided negative. His wounds were minor
enough. The trail was fresh. He'd follow it.
"Good." Qui Gon continued. "I'm feeding the closest
coordinates we could determine from the trace through the Force into your locator.
Be very careful, Obi Wan. He knows you're coming."
"He's known I was coming for the last ten years, master," Obi
Wan protested weakly. He took a deep breath. "I'm sorry about
Anakin," he said much more quietly.
Pain crossed Qui Gon's expression briefly
before being banished behind his habitual mask of calm serenity. "Anakin
died a long time ago, Obi Wan. Good hunting. May the Force be with you."
Obi Wan stared into the haunted eyes of his master
for a long moment before returning the blessing and cutting the communication. Anakin might have died long before, but the Jedi shared blame in
allowing it to happen. He knew it, and his master knew it.
One more score to settle with the Sith.
Maul felt the eddy in the Force, a sifting of Light and Darkness, and
closed his eyes, concentrating on the eye of the storm. It was Kenobi, he knew the Jedi's signature, and his apprentice.
Ah, yes, a great sucking black hole of hatred. Who knew the boy had so much
strength buried under all his potential? His nemesis would die this day.
Vertigo struck him unexpectedly, and he was in two places at once, both
on the far planet dying by his own hand, and in his headquarters, feeling the
effects from a distance. His eyes flew open and he screeched in rage. Kenobi
had tricked him, tricked them both, and his fool of an apprentice had fallen
through his own stupidity. Even worse, he'd left a corridor open, one that led
directly back to Maul himself.
Through the currents of the Force he felt his apprentice's essence
dissipate, and with it, the light brush of Kenobi's mind, echoes of Jinn behind
him. Maul didn't hesitate. Punching the console, he growled out a predetermined
set of coordinates for his Infiltrator. Leaving detailed instructions for his
Federation generals, he strode from the room.
The time had come to end this, once and for all.
On the journey to a relatively deserted ball of mud far on the Rim,
nameless because it was too unimportant to deserve naming, Maul set his trap.
In rapid order, minions scurried into place and a clone army was dispatched.
The Jedi was determined to find him; Maul was equally determined to be found.
At a time and place of his own choosing. Events were
orchestrated precisely as he dictated.
On Coleba, a would-be assassin took aim at Obi
Wan Kenobi, and the Jedi deflected the pistol blasts with deadly precision.
Searching the body for clues to her identity, a datachip
was found. Kenobi spent half a day breaking the code. It led him to Malek IV.
He stepped off the dock at the main city of
As soon as the comlink was stabilized, Kenobi
reached into his pack and brought out a small piece of contraband technology,
an eavesdropper capable of tracing various types of communications links over
great distances, sliding in under the primary carrier wave to remain
undetectable while it was ghosting the transmission. When the communication
ended, Kenobi let the Iktochi go, speeding back the
opposite direction toward his cruiser. Once there, he fed the captured link
information to his onboard computer, and it spat out another set of
coordinates.
A tiny planet, just a speck in the wide expanse of
unexplored, unclaimed Rim planetoids. At least it had a
breathable atmosphere and some indications of water. Obi Wan sent out a signal
buoy, not trusting interplanetary transmission this close to Federation strongholds,
and set it on course for the
Maul listened with satisfaction to his spy, commended him on a job well
done, and commanded him to destroy the message buoy currently on its way to
Coruscant. He wanted no witnesses to Kenobi's death, nor any last-minute rescue
attempts. He'd waited too long to get rid of this particular thorn in his side
to be distracted by anything or anyone else.
He was waiting when Kenobi made planet-fall. As was a small army of Zabrak clones, with strict orders to bring in the Jedi
alive and relatively undamaged. It was amusing to watch the battle. Even facing
overwhelming odds, his escape cut off, his cruiser blasted to slag behind him,
the Jedi simply didn't quit. He whirled like a dervish, the blue flame of his lightsaber moving so quickly the light blurred in Maul's
eyes. Kenobi had grown very strong in the Force in the last decade, and he'd
nearly been strong enough to defeat Maul the first time they met.
The Sith wouldn't allow for
that possibility this time.
Sheer numbers finally overcame the best warrior left alive in the Jedi
caste. The Zabrak warriors swarmed over him, several
using all their weight to drag him down, three twisting at his arm until they
took his lightsaber, one being impaled in the
process. The corpse hanging from his fist slowed Kenobi down enough for a half
dozen more to get behind him, piling up on him and rendering him unconscious
with precisely measured blows.
Maul growled out a command, and they froze. Walking down from his hidden
vantage point along the mountainside, he reached out through the Force as he
came near, ensuring that Kenobi was actually unconscious, not faking it to draw
him out. He found nothing but blank drifting, his own sentience the only
coherence he could sense.
Making his way through the massed clones, he sent them off to their
quarters with a wave of his hand. They dragged their dead with them as they
went, and Maul was unwillingly impressed at the number of his warriors Kenobi
had managed to kill. He shrugged off the thought. There were always more clones
to be had. His underlings at the Federation made certain of that. He had more
important things on his mind.
Like Kenobi's death. Finally.
He stared down at his fallen enemy. Blood streaked fair skin, glimpsed
through tears in the rough fabric of his tunic and leggings. His face was
unmarked save for a bruise across his cheekbone and a trickle of blood from a
small cut on his chin. His knuckles were skinned, and there was blood on his
wrist, his shoulder, his thigh, from lucky hits the Zabrak
had been able to land. But they'd followed his orders well. Kenobi was
relatively unharmed.
His to kill.
Maul drew his lightsaber and swept back the
edge of his cloak. Flicking the knob at the end of the handle, he adjusted the
power of his blade until it streamed blood red, and lowered it to the
vulnerable nape of the Jedi's neck. The edge of the blade barely kissed the
dusty pale skin, and a thin stream of blood spread from the point of contact.
One slight push. It would be over. Kenobi's head would be separated from his neck. The
Jedi would lose their best warrior. The battle would be won. Jinn would be an
easy target once Maul's own personal nemesis was gone. Everything he had fought
so long and killed so many to achieve would be his.
Which didn't explain why he couldn't push down on
the damned 'saber.
Maul gritted his teeth and, concentrating all his anger and hatred into
one violent assault, sliced down with the blade.
It ricocheted and nearly took his arm off. There was a burning sensation
at the side of his own neck. He flicked the 'saber off
and put his gloved hand up to the site of the pain. When he drew it away, it
was bloody. He peered down at Kenobi.
The wound on the nape of his neck had healed.
Maul stared back and forth between the blood on his glove and the pink
healed scar on the Jedi's neck for a very long time. Growling softly, he
eventually hung his lightsaber back on his belt. Then
he reached down, slung Kenobi over his shoulder, and hauled him back to his
Infiltrator.
Something very strange was going on in the Force. It would appear that
the battle was not yet over. He dumped Kenobi on the floor in the main cabin
and stared at him, trying to work his mind around this latest twist in their
ongoing war. After much thought, he stalked to the secure safe under the
navigation console and retrieved a circlet of fine steel with a deep green gem
in the center.
Kneeling next to Kenobi, he pulled the unconscious man around until the
Jedi's heavy head lay in his lap. Carefully placing the gem in the center of
Kenobi's forehead, Maul eased the fine filaments at either end of the circlet
against the thin skin at Kenobi's temples. As they worked through the layers of
skin, bone and brain, Kenobi thrashed weakly, crying out in pain, but not
waking. Once the tendrils of filament were firmly seated and the circlet didn't
move, Maul sat back.
Even with the Force inhibitor invading Kenobi's mind, when he awoke he
would still be physically capable of fighting. Maul would make certain when he
tried, he'd fail. Gloved hands moved to the thick braid holding the Jedi's hair
back. He loosened the tie and threw it aside, then worked his fingers through
the mass of red brown hair. Watching the light glint off the thick strands, he
smiled. The Force dictated they move down a particular path. He would follow
the will of the Force.
And he, for one, would enjoy it.
When the blackness he was swimming in faded to gray, then further into
discernible light, Obi Wan fought the urge to vomit and extended his reach into
the Living Force, trying to determine the extent of his difficulties before
having to actually face them.
The wall of pain slammed into him from everywhere at once. Fire lanced
through his temples, centered between his eyes, and threw him, whimpering in
pain and shock, back into reality.
Not a reality he would have preferred.
Doing his best to ignore the imminent implosion of his brain inside his
skull, he fought to open his eyes and take a physical inventory, since it was
obvious he was too badly wounded to make use of the Force. The first thing that
impressed him, outside the sphere of flame that was his mind, was that his
hands were secured behind his back and his legs were shackled to some sort of
bar between his ankles. He hung suspended from a frame,
similar to one he'd seen on one of the Hutt worlds
that was used to discipline slaves. Straps crossed his chest and encircled his
waist, and a heavy chain ran from the thick strap at the small of his back up
between his shoulder blades, connecting to a strap around his throat then
continuing on, ending finally at a cross-bar at the top of the contraption.
He couldn't move.
He couldn't fight.
Somebody'd taken his
clothes away from him.
The only covering he had, and it wasn't nearly enough, was the cascade
of his hair falling over his shoulders and trailing down his chest and back.
Whoever had stolen his clothes had taken his hair tie, too.
Obi Wan felt absolutely ridiculous, uncomfortably defenseless, and
vaguely nauseous. His headache pounded every time he tried to access the Force,
and in sheer self defense he soon stopped. With time, and luck, surely he would
be able to figure out a way to open the cuffs binding his wrists. Then it would
be a matter of moments to pick the lock on his ankle shackles and rid himself of the straps holding him in place. He began to
wriggle, moving his hands and feet as much as he could, trying
to get purchase to begin his escape.
He had neither time nor luck on his side.
A door slid open then clicked shut behind him, and he froze in place.
The scent of the Sith moved past him in the Force, and
for the first time he realized that he wasn't injured, but that his ability to
use the Force was somehow restrained. Experimentally, he tried again, and bolts
of pain shot through both temples again, pulsing deep between his eyes. He
gasped and fought hard not to vomit.
"It's a Force inhibitor. Sith technology, the Jedi never did figure
out how to do it." Maul strolled around him, eyeing him closely, then came to a stop directly in front of him.
Obi Wan would have given anything he had, everything he was, to kill the
Sith at that moment. Maul must have read his
expression easily, because he laughed aloud.
"I know precisely what you mean, Jedi." One black gloved hand
came up to caress the side of the Sith's
neck, then lowered. There was a thoughtful expression in the strange yellow
eyes.
"What are you waiting for?" Obi Wan snarled. If he could prod
the Sith into attacking him, perhaps he could turn the
attack to his advantage. It was a slim chance, but the only one he could see at
the moment. And it was better than the possible alternative. While he didn't
believe he could be turned, he knew he could be broken, and he had to safeguard
the classified information he held about the Jedi and the Republic. "I
thought you wanted me dead? Now's your chance. Go
ahead. Do it. Try to kill me!"
Oddly enough, his taunts only made Maul's smile widen. "Would that
I could, Kenobi," he said very softly.
Obi Wan was confused. Wasn't that what they had been trying to do all
along? Kill one another? "Why do you hesitate?"
Again, the Sith touched his own neck, then
reached forward and gently touched the side of Obi Wan's neck. Obi Wan tried to
evade him, but couldn't move more than a few centimeters either direction due
to his restraints. Heightening his confusion, Maul then did precisely what Obi
Wan couldn't do -- he began to unbuckle the straps that held Obi Wan in place.
He watched the Sith closely, trying not to
flinch as the warm leather of those gloves lingered on his body with each strap
that was released. Long fingers traced along his ribs, around a nipple, parting
the hair that fell over his shoulder to glide along his collarbone. Against his
will, and to his own horror, Obi Wan found himself becoming aroused by the
feather-light touches.
"What do you want?" he finally screamed when the
exploration became too much to bear in silence.
"Not what I expected," Maul answered, a disconcertingly
whimsical tone in his voice.
"Please," Obi Wan found himself saying, unsure why he was
pleading, or for what. Maul stepped closer, his hands sliding up over Obi Wan's
chest to curve around his neck. Strong fingers worked at the clasp of the chain
at the strap around his throat, and Obi Wan turned his face away from the red
and black patterned skin brushing against his cheek.
He had to have imagined that those lips, so close to his skin, brushed a
kiss over the side of his neck as the strap was removed.
Maul stepped back a pace, then gestured at the shackles on his ankles.
The locks opened and the chains fell away, taking the bar with them. Obi Wan
stared at him.
"Why are you doing this? Why are you giving me the chance to
fight?"
The Sith didn't answer,
instead walking behind him to uncuff his wrists.
Before he removed them, Maul ran his fingertips over and over Obi Wan's
knuckles and fingers, until the skin was tingling. Then he ran his palms lower,
across the small of Obi Wan's back, down over his buttocks, along the tops of
his thighs. A moan escaped before Obi Wan could stifle it.
"Stop it," he tried to demand, but all that escaped his teeth
was a hiss.
Another ghosted kiss, this one in the center of his
back, then one to his right shoulder blade, a third, lingering one, to the nape
of his neck. Obi Wan was caught between loathing and arousal,
the need to escape warring with the need to kill the Sith
and be done with this once and for all.
The problem was he didn't know who he wanted to escape. Maul, or himself.
His hands were free, and he whirled to face his enemy. His fingers
spread of their own accord and wrapped around Maul's throat. He squeezed as
hard as he could.
His fingers didn't move.
In desperation, he tried once more to use the Force, and the pain
tripled in his head. With a cry of anger and pain, he lashed out at Maul with
one hand and scrabbled at his forehead with the other.
The Sith's hands got there
before his did. One hand gathered both of his into a confining fist, and the
other manipulated the side of the circlet. A sensation like a sliver of ice
slithering from his brain stopped him in his tracks, and he sobbed once, in
pure agony, before he regained some control over himself. The seeping ice
trickled out of the other side of his skull, and the pressure behind his eyes
dispersed with a surge of Force energy out through the green gem in the center
of the band. Maul ducked briefly as the shards of crystal blew from the front
of the circlet, then he flicked the destroyed inhibitor aside.
Obi Wan had to close his eyes and concentrate for all he was worth on
centering himself, or the rush of Force sensation would have knocked him from
his feet. The Sith's grip on his wrists actually
assisted him in grounding himself, an irony he knew he'd better appreciate with
time, distance, and Maul's death.
With that objective in mind, he shook off the last of his unsteadiness,
wrenched his hands from Maul's grip and threw himself forward toward his enemy.
His hands clenched once more around Maul's neck, and he was confident, this
time, that the Sith couldn't use the Force to stop his
grip. When he tried, Obi Wan would simply fight back.
His fingers still wouldn't close. He howled in frustration.
"What did you do to me?"
Maul shrugged, making no attempt whatsoever to defend himself. "I
gave you back the Force, Kenobi. Listen to it." He smiled,
a strange mixture of anger and resignation in the expression.
Not knowing what else to do, Obi Wan did just what Maul suggested. He
opened himself up to the Unifying Force, trying to isolate and overcome
whatever it was that was blocking his attack on the Sith.
To his complete surprise, it was the Force itself.
For the first time since his trials, the unusual manifestation of the
Force that Tinn and Ki-Adi-Mundi
had originally discovered in him blossomed back to life. Figures moved in the
air between himself and the Sith -- scenes from the
past, running together, overlapping, separating out and running again. Maul, knowing through a whisper in the Force when he was near.
Obi Wan, scenting in the Force where Maul had been.
There, in the Living Force, a cloud of Light and Darkness, swirling around Obi
Wan, swirling around Maul. The fight on Naboo, when they had
come so close to death, when Qui Gon had been crippled. The opposing
waves of darkness and light, melding, withdrawing, melding
again.
The Light enclosed the Darkness, and the Darkness penetrated the Light.
Where they met, a strange glow existed that was neither dark nor light, but a
synthesis of the two, each side fighting for ascendancy, forced into stalemate,
maintaining an uneasy equilibrium. It was there between them now, pushing them
apart, drawing them together. A unique balance in the Force,
between the Living and the Unifying, the Light and the Dark. Jedi and Sith.
He was moving in that glowing field before he knew it, reaching out for
the only stable point within it. Maul. Frustration,
hatred, anger, acceptance, disbelief, years of the Force tying them together
and keeping them apart, exploded as they touched. Leather and silk against bare
skin, strong hands pulling at clothing until skin touched skin everywhere. Obi
Wan didn't know who'd broken first, but the need came from nowhere, from
everywhere, from the Force surrounding them, the desire within them and the
demands of the balance between them.
They were trapped in a dream, or a nightmare, it didn't matter which.
All that mattered was the transmutation of the need to kill into the need to
preserve. Maul's mouth was at his throat, along his chest, between his thighs,
at the back of his knees. His own mouth was following his hands along strong
arms and lean legs, the firm roundness of Maul's rump, the breadth of his
shoulders. They had no need for breath or thought, only touch and taste and
urgency.
Their mouths met, their fingers twined, their legs wrapped around one
another, their phalluses strained against one another. The first climax was
only a prelude, and their mouths broke apart to continue their explorations.
Obi Wan closed his eyes as his mouth closed over Maul's erection, and he heard,
from very far away, as Maul screamed his completion. The taste on his tongue
echoed the scent of Maul in the Force, familiar and unknown at the same time.
Then Maul's fingers were inside him, the heat of the Sith's mouth was over his own erection, and the world
broke into a kaleidoscope of colors as his orgasm took him by surprise.
The energy they were creating fed back to them through the Force, ten
years of tangled, pent-up emotions driving them on. Obi Wan found himself
straddling Maul who was supine on the floor, the Sith's head bent back and his mouth open to let forth
a series of moans. Obi Wan took advantage of his position to lick and bite at
Maul's throat, and Maul's hands wrapped around Obi Wan's hips, slicking over
and over his thighs and ass. Obi Wan felt himself being lifted, then the
pressure of Maul entering him, and he cried out into the warm skin beneath his
mouth. He arched his back and began flexing rhythmically, instinctively. Maul
caught Obi Wan's lips with his own, his tongue piercing Obi Wan's opened mouth
in rhythm with the rocking of their hips.
The intensity was too great for them to maintain. Catching their screams
in one another's clinging mouths, they climaxed a third time and collapsed,
exhausted, against one another. Finally, the Force seemed satisfied. It was a
good thing, too, Obi Wan grumbled internally. Any more and neither of them
would have survived.
Gathering what little strength he had, Obi Wan managed to heave himself
off Maul's body and roll to lie at his side. Part of him was still in complete
denial about what had just happened. Part of him did not want to believe
the Force could seek such a balance.
Most of him knew better.
Maul appeared to be in shock. Reacting with twenty years of
battle-ingrained instinct, Obi Wan reached out with the Force and summoned his comlink to his hand. Opening the channel, he did something
he hadn't ever consciously done. He gathered the images he'd seen in the Force,
including the most recent images of he and the Sith
joining, and streamed them through the holoconnection
directly to Qui Gon Jinn. To his vague surprise, there were other images
besides his own memories : images of Federation
fleets; Anakin, then Vader, in training; the murder of Chancellor Palpatine,
wearing the black robes of a Sith Lord.
When the Force demanded balance, it demanded it from both sides. Obi Wan
smiled slightly to himself. It was one way to end the war. Enemies couldn't
fight if each side knew precisely what the other was doing.
The transmission was nearly complete when Maul came back to himself.
Rolling over abruptly, coming up on one elbow, he saw what Obi Wan was doing.
Growling with rage, he knocked the comlink out of
Kenobi's hand. It flew across the room and shattered against the far wall.
"It's too late, Maul," Obi Wan tried to tell him, his voice
raspy from screaming. Maul glared at him, madness and denial in his eyes, then flung out his hand. The red-bladed lightsaber
flared to life as it flew to his hand, and Obi Wan reacted defensively,
instinctively rolling away. To his shock, Maul turned the weapon on himself.
Obi Wan moved with Force-enhanced speed, not solely of his own volition.
His fist lashed out and struck the 'saber away before it could slice into
Maul's chest. The Sith snarled at him, striking out
himself, only to stop centimeters from hitting Obi Wan.
"No matter how much we want to kill one another, or even ourselves,
the Force will not allow us to do so," Obi Wan said softly. Maul stared up
at him, mutely defiant, even as Obi Wan read the belief in those glowing yellow
eyes. Then Maul heaved under him, throwing him off.
"This is not finished," Maul growled, then gathered his torn
clothing and dressed as best he could, as quickly as possible.
"I'm the only one who can kill you and finally end it, Maul. You're
the only one who can kill me. Neither of us can. It's a stalemate."
Maul scraped up Obi Wan's clothing and threw it at him. "Get off my
ship."
Obi Wan calmly began to dress. "And go where? I've got no ship, and
your Zabrak will tear me to shreds if I go out
planet-side."
For an instant, Maul's eyes gleamed, then they dimmed again, and Maul
shook his head. "I ... can't."
Obi Wan nodded in unwilling sympathy. Maul growled at him and stomped
out the door. Obi Wan watched the door close, and wondered what the hell he was
supposed to do now.
Qui Gon stared agape at the images dancing across the holoprojector, until an ungentle rap from the tip of Yoda's
stick caught him under the jaw and reminded him to shut his mouth. He had to
swallow several times before he was able to form a question.
"Philosophy is not my strong suit," he managed in a strangled
tone. "The last time I felt a divergence in the Force, it turned out to
mask a boy whose destiny was pure darkness. But ... could this be the balance
in the Force foretold by the legends?"
Yoda was silent so long Qui Gon thought the ancient master wouldn't
answer. He was about to clarify that it hadn't been a rhetorical question when
Yoda harrumphed.
"Fear it may be."
The words were out before Qui Gon could catch them. "Fear leads to
the Dark Side. Uhm, doesn't it?"
Yoda glared half-heartedly at him. "Hard to see,
when Light and Dark no longer separate are."
They stood together, staring at the images captured and replayed over
and over by the holoprojector. Automatically, Qui Gon
routed the position and strength information of the Federation's shadow fleets
to the High Command for the Republic. There would be battles ahead, but the
future looked brighter now than it had a few hours earlier. Caught in the holoprojector was the heart of the Sith's plan, and within moments the computers and the
generals were hard at work finding ways to defeat it.
Things weren't looking so bright for his former Padawan.
"I fear for his soul," Qui Gon admitted, not looking down at
his master.
"Safest of us all, he is," Yoda responded promptly. Qui Gon
finally looked at Yoda and raised a brow.
"In what way?"
"No harm will the Force allow to come to him. As it protects the
Dark, so it protects the Light. Where they converge, a truce there is. As long
as the Sith lives, so too live the Jedi."
Qui Gon hadn't the faintest idea how to respond to that bizarre truth,
and so he said nothing. He watched once more as Obi Wan made love to Darkness
incarnate, then silently turned off the holoprojector.
He and Yoda stood at the window of the Temple for a very long time, minds
focused on the uncertain future, firmly shutting away the unfortunate present,
about which neither could do a thing.
Far from Coruscant and the shifting tides of stalemated space battles,
chaos and order, Light and Dark, settled uneasily against one another in an
unthinkable symbiosis. On a remote planet, in silence, the Jedi and the Sith lay down together.
The battle was a over. The war would never end.
fin