Madness (Mutual
Assured Destruction) by Glacis. Rated R; no copyright infringement
intended. AU of SW: Eps.
1-3 with guest appearances by characters from the novel
canon.
He’d had a bad feeling about this since their first
trip to Naboo.
The fracas on Tattooine had only confirmed it.
The debacle in the Council Chamber when his Master
tossed him over for the Chosen One was the third gasp before he drowned.
He loved Qui-Gon like the father he’d never had,
but there was no denying the fact that the man was as stubborn as it was
possible for a sentient to be.
Particularly when he thought he was right.
Obi-Wan glanced over at the sulky blond boy
studiously avoiding his gaze and sighed.
He had a bridge to mend there. It
wasn’t the kid’s fault. It wasn’t as if
the kid ever had a chance, or a choice, for that matter.
“How are you holding up, Anakin?” he asked quietly.
“I’m fine,” the boy instantly replied, still not looking
at him.
With a wry smile and a shake of his head, Obi-Wan
moved over to settle next to the boy, who was working on a piece of junked
navigation equipment and doing his best to pretend Obi-Wan didn’t exist. His hand moved toward a spanner and Obi-Wan
handed it to him silently.
That game went on for awhile before Anakin began to
fidget. Having had patience pounded into
his head for years by the best, Obi-Wan could out-wait glaciers melting, so one
small boy was no challenge. Eventually,
Anakin set the tools down and stared up at Obi-Wan.
“Why do you hate me?” he asked plaintively.
Obi-Wan sighed, patting the small shoulder next to
him gently. “I don’t hate you,
Anakin. I said some things I wish I
hadn’t, and you heard some of them, and misunderstood.”
“You said I was dangerous,” Anakin interrupted.
“And I meant to say, the potential you hold for
power could be dangerous, if it couldn’t be trained properly.”
“You mean if I can’t be trained,” Anakin
interrupted again.
Obi-Wan placed a finger against the boy’s
lips. “Hold your words and listen for a
moment.”
He waited until Anakin nodded, then continued. “You have lived a very difficult life, and it
will be hard for you to learn and accept many of the lessons of the Jedi. That doesn’t mean you can’t be trained. It means it will be a long, difficult journey
for you. I disagreed with the way Master
Qui-Gon went before the Council, and with how quickly he pushed to take you as
Padawan, but I do NOT disagree with the fact that you must, and can, be
trained.” He paused and looked intently
into the wide blue eyes staring back up at him.
“I believe that you have the potential to become a
great Jedi knight,” he said solemnly. “I
also believe that you must be treated as Anakin, not as a
prophesy, or the fear from others around you will be detrimental, both
to you and to the Order as a whole.”
Anakin pulled Obi-Wan’s hand away from his mouth
and held it tightly. “Do you fear me?”
he asked seriously.
“No,” Obi-Wan answered quietly. “I fear for you.”
“Will you help me?”
The hostility had faded from Anakin’s expression, leaving behind a lost
little boy.
“Every way I can,” Obi-Wan promised him.
The conversation eased the way for them to
eventually become friends, and Obi-Wan felt better for it. At least one relationship was mended. The other was beyond strained.
Qui-Gon had never been particularly supportive of
Obi-Wan’s precognitive visions, fuzzy as they were. He was prone to telling Obi-Wan to live in
the moment and let the future take care of itself. That worked quite well for someone in touch
with the Living Force and weak in the Unifying Force. As Obi-Wan was
strong in the Unifying Force, it was equivalent to telling a man to ignore the
speeder heading directly at him with the throttle full open.
After a great deal of meditation and several
aborted attempts to warn Qui-Gon about his bad feeling, all of which ended in
Qui-Gon assuring Obi-Wan that he was quite sure Obi-Wan was up to facing any
challenge he met (a fact Obi-Wan was less sure about, but which was a moot
point, as it wasn’t what Obi-Wan was trying to warn against anyway), Obi-Wan
gave up.
Instead, he took a page from Master Yoda’s book,
and he got sneaky.
He spent time with Anakin, meditated with his
Master, and followed the vague but increasingly urgent warnings from the
Force. Determined to do whatever he
could to alleviate the strain on his partnership with his Master, especially if
this would be their last mission as a team, Obi-Wan watched Qui-Gon like a
hawk, covering his back more thoroughly than the man’s own robe.
It was a good thing.
The Sith came at them like a specter from a nightmare. For the first time in years, Qui-Gon treated
Obi-Wan like a Padawan to be protected rather than a brother-in-arms, but Obi-Wan
didn’t let him get away with it. Near
the end of the fight, as both Jedi were tiring, Obi-Wan lost his footing. As he pulled himself up onto the walkway to
rejoin the fight, he saw his Master pulling too far ahead of him, following the
Sith into an area where alternating red energy fields
segmented the corridor.
Following his gut instinct, Obi-Wan ran to catch
up. He also reached out with a tendril
of the Force, simultaneously pushing the Sith away as
hard as he could and pulling Qui-Gon back into range.
An energy field sprang up, separating the two Jedi
from the prowling Sith. Breathing hard, Qui-Gon glared down at
Obi-Wan.
Obi-Wan ignored him, concentrating on the Sith, and on regulating his own short breath.
“What were you thinking?” Qui-Gon hissed, when he
could speak.
“That we will only take this creature as a team,
and I’m not quite ready to lose you,” Obi-Wan answered absently, letting the
Force guide his words as he locked eyes with the Sith.
Qui-Gon muttered under his breath, “I am not so far
gone as that.”
“You would have been,” Obi-Wan broke in, then leaned forward.
The creature’s eyes were blazing yellow. Locked on his, looking at him so intently, as
if he could read Obi-Wan’s soul. Or pull
it out from him. Those eyes were…
hypnotic. Peripherally, he was aware
that the Sith had stopped pacing and now stood, stock-still, on the other side
of the energy field, staring as intensely at him as Obi-Wan stared back. He felt a niggling touch on his mind, slick
and fluid, heavy and unexpectedly intimate, and gasped, pulling back physically
as well as mentally.
The Sith smiled at him.
The energy field came down.
Qui-Gon leapt forward, ‘saber sweeping high. An instant later, almost an instant too late,
Obi-Wan sprang forward as well, ‘saber sweeping low. In time to see the Sith,
whirling like a dervish, nearly take off Qui-Gon’s
head with a powerful double-handed strike.
Obi-Wan flipped to the side to avoid being knocked
over by Qui-Gon as the strength behind the strike brought Qui-Gon to his
knees. Flowing with the Force, as if he
could see a different battle washing over this one, Obi-Wan blocked the
back-slash of the Sith’s lightstaff a centimeter before it would have disemboweled
Qui-Gon.
His ‘saber slid up the crimson blade with an
ear-shredding shriek, glancing off the hilt at such an angle that it cut
through the controls and nearly took the Sith’s
hand off as well. The
Sith twisted and fell back, now armed with a single-bladed ‘saber and a
burn from his wrist to his shoulder.
Pressing his attack, Obi-Wan threw himself at the Sith, blades tangling as they strained against one
another. The nightmarish black and red
face was close enough for Obi-Wan to feel the creature’s breath on his cheek as
they struggled. The
Sith hissed at Obi-Wan and Obi-Wan felt his breath catch in his
chest. For an instant it was only the
two of them, the push of their bodies against one another, a stalemate that
stretched on forever.
Then a green-white ‘saber blade slashed beside
them, jolting the Sith’s
blade and giving Obi-Wan the space he needed to disengage. He fell back with a shuddering breath and
Qui-Gon pressed forward.
The next few moments were forever a blur in
Obi-Wan’s memory. He heard the Sith
snarl, heard Qui-Gon growl, then there was a sizzling sound, and Qui-Gon
staggered back, his ‘saber falling as he clutched his stomach with his free
hand. Obi-Wan brought his ‘saber up
instinctively to stop the Sith’s killing blow before
it could strike Qui-Gon’s chest, then Obi-Wan threw
his shoulder into the Sith’s body in a risky move
that put him within the Sith’s grasp, Obi-Wan’s
entire body sliding under the Sith’s guard.
The advantage of the move was that it completely
blocked the creature’s path to the wounded Qui-Gon, and if the Sith tried to strike Obi-Wan with his ‘saber he’d end up
hitting himself as well.
The disadvantage was that it gave the Sith a good hold of Obi-Wan, and when the Sith fell backward
off the platform into the central well, he took Obi-Wan with him.
Struggling frantically, Obi-Wan slammed his head
back into the Sith’s face, hearing a crunch and
feeling as if he’d been spiked when one of the horns pierced the back of his
head, fracturing his skull. At the same
time, he fought to free himself, punching backward with both elbows into the Sith’s belly then ducking his head
down to bite the Sith’s forearm as hard as he could
through the leather.
It worked.
The iron-hard arms wrapped around him loosened just enough for Obi-Wan
to exert Force and leap away, clutching onto the side of the shaft with all his
strength. Force tendrils wound around
him, trying to hold on, or perhaps pull him down as well, but he fought them
off desperately.
With the last of his strength, Obi-Wan gathered the
Force and threw himself up and over the edge of the well. He rolled over to Qui-Gon, dizzy and
nauseous, nearly blinded with pain, but still able to move. Qui-Gon lay curled on the walkway, hands
clutching his belly, stained to the wrist, red with blood.
Obi-Wan scrambled to his Master’s side and placed
his own hands over Qui-Gon’s, channeling energy the
best he could in his weakened state. He
looked for his lightsaber but couldn’t find it. One shaking hand reached for the comm. unit
on his belt. The last thing he
remembered was calling for help, and Panaka’s blessed
voice telling him they were on their way.
He woke up in the infirmary. Rolling his head to the side, he saw Qui-Gon
suspended in a bacta tank, and Anakin, seated beside
his bed, one hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder, the other resting against the side of
the tank. Force energy flowed steadily
through the boy into both himself and his master, and Obi-Wan smiled his thanks
before letting himself fall into a healing sleep.
The Jedi were smarter than he’d expected.
The little one didn’t let the big one outrun him;
his strategy to divide and slaughter failed.
Even then, he had the skill and rage to defeat them, had not the little
one shown nearly as much rage as he felt… no, not rage… power, but of a
different sort than Maul had ever known.
He’d been caught, in those green eyes, the light
shining through them blinding even through the red energy field, even through
his own need to kill. It sang to him,
told him lies, made him promises, unlike any he’d
heard before. It distracted him.
The big one was slower and easier to hit, so Maul
had taken him down first, but before he could deliver the killing blow he’d
found himself with an armful of Jedi.
The little one moved fast, as fast as Maul himself, and his distraction
had nearly been his death.
He couldn’t see anything but the little Jedi’s
face, close enough to bite, couldn’t feel anything but the weight and fire of
the little Jedi’s body against his, and the little Jedi wasn’t so little when
he wasn’t measured next to his Wookie-sized Master…
was as big as Maul, and nearly as strong, and even more desperate.
He couldn’t get a clear target, couldn’t untangle
his hands from the Jedi’s robes, couldn’t force all that distracting Light away
from his face, then pain struck and they were falling… they were falling and
the Jedi was a whirlwind of force and movement.
Pain in Maul’s face and throbbing pain in his impacted horn, pain in his
abdomen and groin and chest from fists and elbows and shoulders, pain in his
shins from feet kicking back and sharp sudden pain in his arm where the Jedi
bit him… Bit him! What kind of Jedi was
it to fight like a Sith?
Then there was nothing but air, and a confusion of
Force, and Light leaving him.
Survival instincts honed since memory began kicked
in and propelled him to the side of the exhaust shaft moments before it would
have been too late, before his body would have been caught in the gravity well
of the main generator and turned into energy to fuel this Jedi-infested
planet’s defense system. Maul made himself concentrate through the pain tearing his head apart
and caught on with everything in him, slowing his descent and curving it until
he landed in a heap in one of the maintenance access ports along the side of
the shaft.
Time spread out thinly for too long, and when he
came back to consciousness he had a fracture in his skull surrounding his
forward left horn, a broken nose, two broken ribs, a cracked kneecap, and a lightsaber in each hand.
One, his own, in need of rebuilding and a new case; one, the Jedi’s, tingling against the skin of his palm.
It should have burned.
His injuries were minor given his training and
background, and he fought through the pain, sliding like a shadow through the
underground maze of tunnels and sewage system and water pipes and electricity
conduit shafts until he was well away from the city. Upon reaching his craft, he spent a necessary
few hours with bacta and the healing droid, not
calling on the Darkness until absolutely necessary. For when he did, his Master would require
answers, and none he had would satisfy.
Hiding, and licking his wounds, he set in motion a
plan he’d been working on for years. The
end had come, and it was time.
His Master didn’t accept failure, and by surviving
without killing the Jedi, Maul had failed.
His master did not know, however, how thorough Maul’s intelligence was
on his master’s plans. The way of the Sith was one of pain to strength to conquest, and had in the
past always required two.
The past would not be Maul’s future.
It was the work of mere hours to sabotage his
current vessel, with its full complement of tracking devices, so that it
destructed just outside Naboo’s atmosphere, and steal a clean unregistered craft from the Naboo space pilot
reserve armory. The place was in
disarray and confusion in the aftermath of battle and he made sure no one lived
to tell of his theft. Once secure and
away from Naboo, Maul made his move.
Instead of setting course for Strau
IV, the planet his master called the shadow palace, Maul headed for Wichrin, further along the Outer Rim. The three days hyperspace travel was used for
further healing and putting the final touch to the details of his plan.
The fact that much of it was spend
recalling the feel of the Jedi against him, the lure of the Light in his eyes,
was put aside to be considered later. As
was the fact that he kept the Jedi’s lightsaber,
stroking it with fingertips numb from tingling, as if it were a phantom limb,
some pleasure-giving device of his own, of the Light’s devising. One that should not have
given him pleasure.
A pleasure he was bound to pursue.
But those thoughts would have to wait. First he must ensure his own survival, and
the death of his master. Once his plan
was in motion, and he was sure he would survive the transfer of power, then and
only then would he turn his attention to his Jedi.
The summons came not from Coruscant, as he’d expected,
but from a near-lifeless rock even the Hutts didn’t
want, out in the Outer Rim. Xanatos
stared at the flashing text on his data pad for a long moment before opening
the message.
It took him nearly an hour to decrypt it. When he did, he found himself laughing.
A bit less than a year before, during a rare
appearance at the seat of Republic power, he’d been approached by the Senator
from Naboo. An
unassuming man with a mild smile and fluttering hands. The man wore power like a dark cloak, and
Xanatos had been amazed at how blind the Jedi were to it, until he recognized
the strength of shielding that went into maintaining that invisibility.
The Senator had a business proposition for
him. Straightforward
and to the point. Xanatos would
cooperate with certain members of the Trade Federation, the Commerce Guild, and
the Techno Union: the Senator, once his
power base was consolidated, would deliver one Master Qui-Gon Jinn to a place
of Xanatos’ choosing, complete with Force dampening collar and manacles. Intrigued, Xanatos agreed.
Less than a ten-day later he’d unknotted the puzzle
of that dark power, and returned to Palpatine, the Sith Lord, with a
counter-proposal.
He would do everything in his not-inconsiderable
power to strengthen and foster the Chancellor’s power, and in return, he would
stand at the Sith’s side and
destroy the Jedi completely.
Of course, both he and the Sith
lied. And, of course, the Sith said yes.
During his apprenticeship, at a distance as it had
been since the Senator and the businessman couldn’t be seen in public together,
Xanatos had known there was another player.
All his intelligence sources came up blank when he tried to find out more.
Until now.
The Sith’s apprentice had come to him.
His proposition was even more interesting than Palpatine’s. Xanatos
sent a single word affirmation and sat back to wait for coordinates. Within a few minutes he had them.
This… would be interesting.
As he piloted his single-man cruiser through
hyperspace toward the rendezvous point, Xanatos thought about his options. Over time, his determination to kill Qui-Gon
had calmed, until he could see through his killing lust to the root emotion
below it.
He didn’t want Qui-Gon dead. He wanted Qui-Gon. Full stop.
Oh, he would enjoy exacting payment from his former
master for the pain he himself had undergone, but his fascination with Qui-Gon
hadn’t changed since he’d hit puberty.
He wanted Qui-Gon under his control, under his command, under him in
bed. He would not have that satisfaction
if he continued with his agreement with the Senator.
Besides, he didn’t trust the Sith Lord.
Subordination did not come naturally to Xanatos, and he didn’t believe
the Sith would allow him to be anything but a
subordinate. And while he had no problem
killing, he honestly didn’t think he was strong enough to kill the Sith.
Not on his own.
Coming smoothly out of hyperspace, he waited
patiently for acknowledgment from the ship waiting for him at the predetermined
coordinates. A single beep from his
comm. unit and he looked up to see a face from a nightmare staring down at him.
The Sith apprentice had blazing red-ringed yellow
eyes, terrifying red and black tattoos covering every inch of his skin, and a
crown of horns jutting from his naked skull, as well as horns protruding from
his temples and the top of his skull.
His black robes seemed to absorb the light, until all Xanatos could see
were those eyes.
“My name is Maul,” the demon said softly.
Xanatos fought to maintain his composure. “I’d say it’s a pleasure, but for the moment,
I’m reserving judgment,” he finally said.
Maul smiled, rendering his face even more
frightening. “The results of our meeting
will be mutually beneficial.”
“Or?” Xanatos prompted.
“You have no alternative,” Maul said calmly.
Before Xanatos could challenge him on that
assumption, or launch weapons and run, Maul continued.
“You and I have similar goals, and have until now
served the same master. His goals are no
longer mine, and are no longer yours.”
Maul paused, and Xanatos slowly nodded. He didn’t yet know how much Maul knew, but to
a point, he was correct. Maul’s smile,
or snarl, it was hard to tell the difference, grew.
“I propose a change in tradition. I do not seek an apprentice. I seek a partner.”
Xanatos leaned forward slightly. “I’m listening.”
“Our master has begun the process of building an
empire, but his methods are too slow, bound to fail, as they rely on a single
presence. He cannot be effective if he
must remain in public on Coruscant at all times. He grows weak, as well.”
“How so?” Xanatos pressed.
“His attention is split too many ways. He has lost his focus. If he had not, I would be dead already.” Maul was completely calm.
Xanatos took a deep breath. “What’s your plan?”
“For obvious reasons, I could not slay him and take
his place.”
Biting his lip to restrain a smirk, Xanatos nodded
agreement.
“You, however, would do well in the Senate, as the public
face of our operation.”
“How would I take his place?”
“You wouldn’t,” Maul told him. “You would work behind the scenes and, when
the timing is right, step into the seat of power.”
“How do we stop the Jedi from blocking me?” There was no way the Council would sit back
and let a rogue take a seat in the Senate.
“They would have no choice. For you would have the backing of those
elements the Republic cannot control.
The Chancellor will have no choice.”
Better and better, Xanatos thought. “What would you be doing while I was gaining
this power?”
“Fomenting unrest
in the Outer Rim as you exploit the weakness of the Republic, ensuring that the
strength of an Empire is necessary to survive. Then creating
that empire.”
“I like the way you think.”
A partnership was born. And the galaxy began the controlled descent
into madness.
Everything was coming together as it should. The vote to replace Valorum
would be in place in a few days; his new apprentice was on his way to Coruscant
to take his place at his side; Maul would be appropriately punished for his
failure then sent on to his final mission, putting an end to Jinn and Kenobi,
taking the first real steps toward destruction of the Jedi Order.
Palpatine settled into his soft black-hide chair
and turned to look over the lights of Coruscant. Soon, soon those lights would be his. Decades of planning, of manipulation, murder,
pain released and inflicted, had led to this day… the beginning of their end,
and his beginning.
The Sith would take back their place of power, and he would lead for all to see,
and to fear.
He was still smiling at the dreams of days of glory
as he rose and walked toward the antechamber.
His droid attendant met him at the door.
Stifling his impatience, he nodded permission for it to speak.
“Your Pardon, Senator
Palpatine. Muma
from the Toydarian Trade Association is petitioning
your presence.”
Muma. He’d never heard of him, but
given his stated representation, he might well be one of the Nemoidians’ spies, come with a report. Reining in his impatience with practiced
ease, Palpatine smiled.
“By all means,” he invited, and the droid ushered
in the wizened trader.
The being was ancient, gnarled muzzle, bent wings
and clawed forepaws showing his age.
Palpatine let the last of his suspicion rest; this one was no threat
even if he wasn’t an ally. He allowed
his smile to broaden.
“How may I provide assistance, Muma?” He injected exactly enough courtesy to avoid
offense and equally as much hauteur to avoid any appearance of servility.
“I bring word from mutual friends,” Muma rasped at him, his voice barely bridging the meter
between them.
Palpatine stepped forward and reached to accept the
data pad, scanning it for threat before he touched it. It was clean.
A further push of the Force into the being that held it did little good,
but then, as most Toydarians were Force-resistant,
that wasn’t surprising. What he did find
was completely harmless.
The hand holding the data pad out to him was not.
A hair-thin needle pricked his wrist directly above
his palm, skidding into the vein with a precision that bespoke years of
experience. Palpatine didn’t feel the
injection, didn’t feel the subtle wrongness as it spread swiftly through his system
through his blood vessels. By the time
the infusion it carried began to work, it was too late for him to fight the
poison.
A poison concocted specifically for him.
The Toydarian assassin
watched calmly, backing up to a safe distance as Palpatine froze in place then
curled slowly forward, brain function ceasing even as his heart faltered. At the instant of death, as his Force
remnants gathered to attack, the secondary organism within the poison
activated, and the corpse imploded, eaten from within, body and what passed for
a soul completely destroyed.
Maul and Xanatos were nothing if not thorough. Maul provided the weapon; Xanatos provided
the means of delivery. They were an
efficient team, as their first joint venture proved.
Of course, had they not been, they would both have
been killed, rendering the point moot.
Muma holocaptured the death and transmitted it for
proof. Then he placed a single
high-intensity explosive in the center of the grisly remains and calmly flew
out the door.
“Have a pleasant day,” the droid wished him as he
left.
The explosion behind him ensured that he would,
indeed.
Unfortunately, he wasn’t aware of the rest of the
Sith Lords’ plan, or he wouldn’t have been quite as cheerful.
Cleanup was never easy on the disposable ones.
“The Council deems you worthy. Rise and take your place in the brotherhood
of Knights, Obi-Wan Kenobi.”
It was less of a battle to retain his composure
than he’d thought it would be, all things considered. Qui-Gon was there to cut and claim his braid,
even if he was still leaning on a walking staff and lean enough to pass for a
living skeleton. Peace radiated from
him, and Obi-Wan strove to reflect that peace.
Yoda beamed at him, ears perked up and large eyes
wrinkled in an unusual smile. “Proud we
are of you, Knight Kenobi,” he said, and Obi-Wan had the impression he spoke
once for the Council and twice for himself.
He smiled back, and let it go.
For a moment, inside that room, as he left one
phase of his life behind and faced the next, all was well with his world.
Then he felt a strange disturbance in the Force, as
if a dark cloud had rippled through him.
Glancing around he saw the Council members react as well, and Qui-Gon
drew a sharp breath. An instant later
the ground rocked slightly under their feet.
Obi-Wan beat Mace to the window by a fraction of a second.
There, a short distance away. Black
smoke billowed from the side of the Senate building.
“That’s where the Naboo offices are,” he reported
absently.
“First assignment,” Mace answered swiftly. “Let’s go find out what’s going on.”
They turned to the door and passed Qui-Gon on the
way out. “And you stay here!” Mace
ordered sternly.
From the look on his former Master’s face, it
didn’t set well; looked like he’d bitten unawares into a bitter fruit. But he was in no shape for combat, in fact,
would never be again. The Sith had
nearly gutted him with that last strike, the end of his blade nicking Qui-Gon’s spinal column, and it was a miracle the man was still
alive and somewhat mobile. Obi-Wan threw
him an understanding look over his shoulder then was
gone.
The Senate was in an uproar. Security forces and droids buzzed everywhere;
Senators were in lockdown in their offices.
Even Jedi robes and lightsabers didn’t get
Mace and Obi-Wan automatic entry. They
were retina-scanned and DNA verified before the security system would allow
them in the building.
Once inside, Mace split off to speak with the head
of security while Obi-Wan headed for the site of the worst damage. He’d been right; the Naboo offices were
completely destroyed. The explosion had
been contained within the core office of Senator Palpatine, who was missing, presumed
dead. Along with him were over a dozen
support staff and three visiting dignitaries.
Obi-Wan was relieved to
discover Padme Amidala wasn’t one of the missing or
dead. He didn’t want to have to tell
little Anakin his friend was gone. As it
was, Jar Jar and two other Gungan
representatives to the Naboo delegation were also killed in the blast. Obi-Wan had been irritated by the amphibian
but not enough to wish his death. It was
a loss for Jar Jar’s family, and Qui-Gon no doubt would mourn.
Senate Investigative Services were already on site,
and after an initial report of ‘no findings yet’ Obi-Wan left them to their
forensic work, busying himself with checking the surrounding area for any
further signs of terrorist activity. As
he cleared the last outlying chamber of suspicion, finding no further explosive
devices, Mace came up to him.
“Find anything?” he asked.
“No other threats in the area,” Obi-Wan
reported. “The lead investigator had no
information for me earlier. I was on my
way for an update now. Did you get
anything from the Security Chief?”
“The only unusual entry was a Toydarian
merchant representative that met with Senator Palpatine before the
explosion. Security holovids
show the man handing the Senator a data pad.
It looks like Palpatine had a seizure, perhaps brought on by a substance
on the pad. He collapsed,
the Toydarian placed an unknown device on the
Senator’s body, then left. Seconds later
the vid fuzzes out.
Time stamp confirms that was the moment of explosion.”
“Did you recognize the device?”
“Never seen anything like it,” Mace admitted.
“How about the Toydarian?” Obi-Wan threw out,
admittedly grasping at a straw but one never knew.
Before Mace could answer, the lead investigator, a
solemn-looking Chagrian, joined their
conversation. “This him?” he asked,
holding up a flat holodisk showing close-up details
of the face of an aged Toydarian. From the wide staring eyes and the blood
dried around its nostrils and muzzle, it was recently deceased.
“That was him,” Mace sighed.
“Found him in a garbage dump in Sector Eighty.”
Less than a
kilometer away. That was
fast. Mace and Obi-Wan looked at one
another then turned back to the lead investigator. They were in for a very long night, so they
might as well get started.
Qui-Gon stayed in the Council Chamber for an hour
or so after Obi-Wan so precipitously left his knighting ceremony. His fingers slid over the long braid now
coiled in his belt. Watching Yoda and Adi Gallia coordinate the containment of the threat to the
Senate, he allowed his memory to wander.
The last moments of the fight with the Sith on
Naboo were blurry. He remembered Obi-Wan
fighting desperately after he himself had been wounded too severely to finish
the battle. The moment the Sith and Obi-Wan stumbled over the edge into the gravity
well had nearly finished what the Sith’s ‘saber had
started. Despair and denial fought in
him, weakening him further, until somehow, miraculously, Obi-Wan was there,
blood on his face, hands shaking, pouring Force energy into him. Qui-Gon wanted to tell him to stop, to save
himself, to care for his own serious injuries, but he couldn’t find his words,
couldn’t gather the strength to fight his own battle.
Obi-Wan proved his worth, indeed, that day. He saved Qui-Gon’s
life, defeated a Sith, and finished the duties his master
could not. Qui-Gon had no qualms about
recommending Obi-Wan for Knighthood, once the healers finally let him out of
the bacta tank.
What he hadn’t expected was that their final
mission as a team would be his last.
When the healers told him that he’d regained as
much range of motion as he would ever again enjoy, he was stunned. He’d meditated on it for hours, trying to get
direction, find out what the next move should be. There was so much left undone. His top priority, now that Obi-Wan’s training
was complete, was to ensure Anakin was trained.
To his shock, Obi-Wan flatly refused to do it.
“Do you honestly think he’s that much of a threat?”
Qui-Gon asked, after trying for hours to change his former Padawan’s
mind.
“I think he’s too powerful not to train,” Obi-Wan
admitted, “and there is no darkness in the boy, now. But I am NOT the master for him.” When Qui-Gon opened his mouth to respond,
Obi-Wan raised a hand to stop him. “He
will need intensive training to catch him up on the years he missed. He needs patience, stability, and someone who
wholeheartedly supports him, on his side, advocating for him. You are that master.”
Qui-Gon gestured with his walking stick, sorely
tempted to whack Obi-Wan on the shins for his obstinacy, understanding for the
first time why Yoda spent so much time smacking people. “I’m not in the best position to-“
Obi-Wan interrupted. “Who better?
You will be here, at the
“It worked well with you,” Qui-Gon pointed out.
“I was raised from the crèche to know who I was and
what I would become. Qui-Gon, the boy
has spent his entire life as a slave! He
needs to learn who HE is, before he learns who he may become. And you’re the best teacher Anakin could have
for that journey.”
“Wise, your student has become,” Yoda’s voice came
from the doorway. “Listen well, you
should.”
Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan were both started, not having
heard the door chime, nor realized they had company.
“You agree with this, then, Master?” Qui-Gon asked
skeptically. “I thought you didn’t want
the boy to be trained.”
Yoda lowered an ear and glared at him. “Throw my words at me, you will not, cheeky
child. Right, Obi-Wan is. Trained, Anakin Skywalker must be. Yours, this responsibility is, Qui-Gon.”
That settled that.
Anakin hadn’t seemed to mind. If anything, he seemed relieved. He took well to classes, but preferred to
spend his time with Qui-Gon, asking endless questions, listening with rapt
absorption to endless stories. For the
first time, Qui-Gon discovered what it meant to be a teacher by design rather
than by example, and he found he enjoyed it.
Not that he didn’t
miss going off-world.
And not that he didn’t miss
Obi-Wan.
But Anakin was a bright lad, eager to please, and
full of potential. Qui-Gon was content.
Not that he had much choice.
The next few years were oddly calm, a routine of
classes and discovery for Anakin, of teaching and rediscovering limitations for
Qui-Gon, and the blossoming of Obi-Wan’s career. He’d learned well from Qui-Gon, but once he
was set loose on his own, his style changed to reflect his personality. He was adept at negotiation, a stickler for
detail with a warm personal style that drew beings in and created goodwill that
lasted long after he left the negotiating table.
It was a good thing. The Republic was in crisis. Unexpected figures had risen to positions of
power. A schism was in the making.
Anakin was a gangly fifteen year old when Obi-Wan
next got a chance to spend some off-duty time at the
Or so he thought, until he arrived at Qui-Gon’s quarters for mid-day meal. Qui-Gon wasn’t there, but Anakin was, and he
looked upset.
“Obi-Wan!” he exclaimed, happiness driving the
shadow from his face for a moment. “When
did you get in?”
“Just a while ago,
long enough to drop off my report and head here. The Council’s in session so I’m
spared that for now.” He grinned at
Anakin and the boy grinned back, but dropped back into a preoccupied frown much
too soon.
As Obi-Wan wandered over to the couch and sat down,
Anakin hovered. “Would you like some
tea? Or maybe a cold drink? Are you hungry?”
Obi-Wan patted the cushion next to him. “I’m fine, and you’re obviously not. Sit, Anakin.
Talk to me.
What’s got you all wound up?”
With a heavy sigh, Anakin plopped down gracelessly
next to him. “It’s Master Qui-Gon.”
“Is he sick?” Obi-Wan
interjected, worried.
“No, he’s okay, well, he’s
not physically having problems…” He
sighed again and blurted out, “Did you know about Xanatos?”
Obi-Wan winced.
“Some. He was Qui-Gon’s Padawan before me.
Failed his trials, turned his back on the order, had a big fight with
Qui-Gon… Master never talked about him, but the scuttlebutt around the time of
my Choosing was that Qui-Gon didn’t want to take another Padawan for fear he’d
have another failure on his hands. He
turned me down at first: in fact, I was on my way to Bandomeer
to become a farmer when the Force decided it had other plans for us.”
Anakin, having heard the tale of Obi-Wan’s
adventures before, nodded. “Well, he’s
surfaced.”
“That’s not good news,” Obi-Wan said slowly. “Has he approached Qui-Gon?”
“Nope,” Anakin shrugged, “but he hasn’t had
to. You know the new Senate seat that
was created for the Outer Worlds Federation?”
Obi-Wan nodded.
It had been quite a stir a year or so ago, when several of the
non-Republic worlds banded together and formed a Federation, supposedly to
protect their interests and boost their bargaining power in dealings with the
Republic. In a gesture of diplomatic
good faith, Chancellor Valorum had proposed, and the
Senate approved, a seat at the Great Hall for the new Federation.
“He’s their Senator,” Anakin told him baldly.
“Oh, that’s not good,” Obi-Wan winced. “How did Qui-Gon take it? And why didn’t he say anything to me about
it?” Not that he’d expect much; since
going out on his own, he and his former Master hadn’t kept in contact as much
as he’d have liked, but as busy as they’d both been, that wasn’t all that
surprising.
“You were undercover on Mirial,
then you were stuck in the Healers’ Ward at the
“Good point.
And it’s probably not something he’d want to leave in a message.”
“He’s been meditating a lot. So far I don’t think they’ve spoken, but I
know Master saw him, a couple days ago at the Senate when he was meeting the
Chancellor. He was really quiet when he
got home.” Anakin paused, then added softly, “I’m worried about him.”
Obi-Wan patted the boy’s shoulder
comfortingly. “He’s a strong man, but
sometimes the past can haunt you. Just
do what you can, listen if he decides to speak on it. Your presence is no doubt a comfort to him.”
“Do you think so?”
For the first time in years, the uncertain little boy shone out of
Anakin’s eyes.
Going on instinct, Obi-Wan gathered Anakin up in a
hug, and whispered in his ear, “I know so.”
Anakin hugged him back with all his strength. When he sat back, Obi-Wan was
pleased to see the shadows in his expression had lessened.
“You know, tea does sound good, come to think on
it.”
They were putting the mid-day meal on the table
when Qui-Gon came in. He looked tired
and frustrated, but his face lit up on seeing Obi-Wan and Anakin.
“You weren’t set to arrive for another three days,
Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon smiled as he and Obi-Wan clasped hands.
“Talked my way onto a Correllian
freighter and hopped it when I got the chance,” Obi-Wan admitted.
As they settled down at the table to eat, Obi-Wan
took the wildcat by the tail and said quietly, “I hear a new Senator’s been
seated.”
Qui-Gon glanced over at Anakin, who stared at his
plate, cheeks turning red in a blush. Qui-Gon
chuckled, surprising the boy into looking up.
“Didn’t take long for the news of Xanatos’ return to
make it to your ears.”
“Better forewarned than surprised,” Obi-Wan
quipped.
Qui-Gon slanted him a look, and he found himself
blushing a little as well. Anakin shared
a commiserating glance with him.
“Yes, he’s here.
He’s been keeping a low profile, though.
Very clean hands, and believe me, I’ve looked.”
“How are you dealing with it?” Obi-Wan pressed.
Anakin looked at him like he was insane. Obi-Wan shrugged. Better to have it out in the open so it could
be dealt with than have it remain a large white Proboscidea
in the room that everyone pretended didn’t exist.
“I’m releasing my frustration into the Force,”
Qui-Gon informed him through gritted teeth.
“Looks like that’s working well for you,” Obi-Wan
observed.
Anakin snorted juice through his nose, and Knight
and Master watched with interest as the Padawan mopped his face, the table, and
his tunic, while attempting to disappear.
“Xanatos is not the current cause of my
frustration,” Qui-Gon admitted.
“What now?” Anakin asked involuntarily.
“I have been installed, over my protestations, as
the newest member of the Council.”
Anakin was too busy gaping to say anything. Obi-Wan managed to hold it for a breath, but
then he was laughing too hard to say anything.
Conversation degenerated from there.
Thinking on it a few days later as he sparred with
Anakin in one of the larger training salles, Obi-Wan
decided it was one of the most enjoyable leaves he’d ever spent. Unfortunately, a situation blew up on Rodia, and once again, it was cut short.
Such was the story of his life. Sometimes, being the best was a tiresome
business.
As chaos grew steadily from the fringes of the
Republic toward the center, Obi-Wan was a beacon for
the Jedi, the best ambassador they could have put forward.
When war began, Obi-Wan added military strategy to
his political negotiation prowess. At
the head of divisions of the Droid army, he did his utmost to protect and
defend the Republic from the Separatists and their clone forces.
But events were bigger than any one man, and the
partnership in shadows had reached places no Jedi could expect.
By the age of ten, Anakin had seen more of the
seamier side of life and lived through more hardship than most Jedi ever
knew. By the age of twenty one, he’d
lived over half his life at the
It galled him that, after a decade under the
Council’s closest scrutiny, they still didn’t trust him.
They didn’t realize he could feel it. He’d felt their fear and distrust when he
first went before them, but was still a child, for all his years as a slave
surviving at others’ whims. His own need
to prove himself had convinced him they would come around. They would see how much he wanted to become a
Jedi, and they would believe Master Qui-Gon, and it would all work out.
Well, Obi-Wan had come around. Pretty quickly, too. And Obi-Wan had always been honest with
him. From the outset, he’d told Anakin
it wasn’t himself Obi-Wan feared, but his strength in the Force. As time went on and they became friends, that
fear had waned until Anakin felt nothing but affection, encouragement, and
occasionally friendly frustration from Obi-Wan.
It was a good match to the fatherly love and trust he got from Qui-Gon.
The Council still feared him. They’d just never had the courage to admit
it. Instead they shoved their fear and
their distrust onto Anakin, expecting failure, being suspicious of success, and
always, always watching him.
Yoda was the only one who came close to trusting
him, and it wasn’t because of Anakin. It
was because he loved Qui-Gon and hoped, for Qui-Gon’s
sake, that Anakin wouldn’t fall. But
still, in the shadows underlying his gaze every time he looked at Anakin,
Anakin could see the expectation of failure in Yoda’s eyes.
None of the others had even a hope that he would
become a decent Jedi. Or
any kind of Jedi at all. Windu
was the worst, but they all had it; that scared feeling that Anakin was
Sith-incarnate and it was only a matter of time before he showed his true
colors.
As the years went by, and he saw less of Obi-Wan,
and saw the toll Qui-Gon’s constant battle with the
rest of the Council over Anakin took on his health, it twisted the knife in
Anakin’s soul. How dare they? How dare they take the two best examples of
Jedi there were, and destroy them?
How dare they run Obi-Wan from mission to mission,
with barely a pause to patch him together when yet another hostile group hurt
him, while other Jedi barely left the
Everything Anakin saw of the two men he admired
made him long to be a Jedi. Everything
he saw of the rest of the Jedi leadership made him want
to throw it all over and become a pod-racer back on Tattooine.
It wasn’t surprising that he didn’t recognize
seduction when it found him, just as he never recognized his own seething anger
as the main cause of the Council’s lingering distrust. As far as Anakin was concerned, the Council
had damned him as a child before they ever gave him the chance, and they would
never accept him, no matter how well he did in his training.
The first time he met Xanatos was at a Galactic
Senate function, trailing in Qui-Gon’s wake as his
master represented the Jedi in his own inimitable way. It was the first Council duty Qui-Gon had
undertaken, and much as Anakin knew he was bored out of his skull, Qui-Gon
executed it with the perfect calm and dignity of the consummate Jedi Master.
Until Xanatos walked up and said, “Hello, Qui-Gon,”
in a low voice that sounded like an invitation to sin.
Qui-Gon froze for a bare instant before he turned
to face his failed Padawan. Anakin was
astonished to see that Qui-Gon’s hand shook, almost
imperceptibly, as he placed his glass on the table before folding his arms and
hiding his hands in his sleeves.
Anakin missed the first part of the conversation,
in blank shock from the most blatant signs he’d ever seen that Qui-Gon was
discomfited. When he brought his
attention around, he was surprised to see Xanatos toss him a smile before
bowing slightly to Qui-Gon and moving away to speak with someone else. Anakin watched Qui-Gon watching Xanatos until
the Senator was out of earshot. Then he
leaned close to his master.
“Are you all right?” he asked very quietly.
Qui-Gon shot him a glare that softened immediately
into a half-smile. “Yes,” he answered
just as quietly. “I thought I was
prepared…” His voice trailed off, and he
looked back after Xanatos.
After years of reading Qui-Gon’s
expressions, and even more importantly, reading his emotions in the Force,
guarded as they were, Anakin was not surprised to see the lingering pain in
Qui-Gon as he watched Xanatos work the room.
What he hadn’t expected was the muted, but still very deep, love.
It was because of that love that, when Xanatos sent
a message asking to speak with him several days later, Anakin met him at a
small, discreet restaurant a short distance from the
“Thank you for meeting with me, Jedi Skywalker,” he
said smoothly, no indication of anything other than sincere appreciation and a
hint of anticipation visible in either his manner or the Force around him.
Anakin took a seat and looked at his host. “As you requested, I’ve told no one of our
meeting. But I must admit I’m
curious. You know I will tell Master
Qui-Gon that I’ve been here with you.
Why do you risk it?”
Xanatos shrugged, spreading his hands in an elegant
gesture of helplessness. “Because I have
missed him, and he wouldn’t believe it.”
At Anakin’s narrow-eyed look, Xanatos continued, “I
wasn’t meant to be a Jedi, and my failure as his Padawan showed that
clearly. But I spent several years as
Qui-Gon’s student, and my failure wasn’t his fault.”
“I thought you hated him,” Anakin said. “He thinks so, too.”
Xanatos sighed.
“He’s a good man, for many years he was my best friend, and when I heard
he’d been badly injured on a mission, it forced me to re-evaluate my anger at
the situation. Qui-Gon fought hard for
me, worked as hard as he could with me, and in the end, my path led
elsewhere. But in my heart, beneath the
pain of our parting, is the truth that Qui-Gon is important to me. The thought that I could have lost him
without coming to peace with our parting was devastating.”
Looking deeply at him, Anakin could see he spoke
the truth. A great many of his
suspicions disappeared at that point.
After all, Qui-Gon had done the same for him; had fought for him, had
worked tirelessly to teach him, loved and supported him. No doubt he’d done the same for Xanatos, and
no matter how badly the end of their relationship had been,
if Xanatos was anything like Anakin, there would still be gratitude and
affection left in his heart.
He was silent as the waitstaff
brought their meal, feeling Xanatos’ eyes on him as they waited. Once they were alone, Anakin poked at the
expensive steamed fish on his plate until it fell into little flaky pieces
before he looked up to face Xanatos.
“I believe you,” he said firmly. “Why did you want to speak with me?”
Xanatos looked relieved. “Please tell me, how is he? I read all I could in the publicly available
files, but that’s mainly propaganda put out by the Council, and between the two
of us, I don’t trust them further than I could throw them. Well, except for Qui-Gon.”
Anakin could relate to that. He unconsciously nodded agreement.
“So tell me, is he well? Is he happy?”
They spent the next few hours discussing Qui-Gon
Jinn, and bonding over the unique and wonderful man who’d been Master to them
both. When Anakin left, he promised to meet
Xanatos again, and the meetings became a regular appointment whenever Xanatos
was on Coruscant.
For reasons he never fully clarified, even to
himself, Anakin never told Qui-Gon.
Perhaps because his master was already so careworn by the demands of the
Council and Anakin didn’t want to add to his burden of worries; perhaps because
it was such a relief to have someone to whom he could freely complain about the
Council’s failings; perhaps because he was, at heart, exceptionally lonely with
Obi-Wan away and Qui-Gon busy elsewhere.
He’d never made connections with the other padawans his age, preferring Qui-Gon’s
company; never even saw Padme anymore, and when he did, it was almost always
when she was working as Queen or Senator, stiff and formal and distant. Whatever the reason, or combination of
reasons, might be, the next few years saw many clandestine meetings between the
current Padawan and the failed Padawan.
He never noticed the darkness weaving so delicately
through him until it was as much a part of him as his blue eyes. So well-crafted was his conversion, even the
Council, on high alert for just such an occurrence, missed it completely.
So on the day, four years later, when he was
Knighted, his first thoughts were for Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan; pride in his
accomplishment and Qui-Gon’s vindication, and missing
Obi-Wan who was, as always, out on a mission and couldn’t be there for his
knighting.
His second thought was for Xanatos.
And when Obi-Wan was brought in, yet again, just
long enough to be regenerated in the bacta tank
before being thrown back out into the field, and when Qui-Gon lost one too many
arguments with the Council so that Anakin lost his first prime solo mission
simply, as he saw it, because the rest of the Council didn’t trust him, it was
the work of an instant to agree to join Xanatos in… finding a better way.
It felt like a lifetime since he’d last been on
Coruscant.
Since being knighted, Obi-Wan had spent nearly ten
years on constant active duty without a break.
He was worn to the nub, but there wasn’t anything he could do about
it. There was a war on, and horrific as
it was to contemplate, in his heart, Obi-Wan had the sinking suspicion the
Republic, and specifically the Jedi, were losing.
The fact that he’d been granted the position of
Master due to his accomplishments barely penetrated his fog of exhaustion. He didn’t even think to comm. Qui-Gon and
Anakin with the news.
Finishing his report on his latest mission, for
once not requiring the use of bacta tanks or a
prolonged visit with the healers, Obi-Wan forced himself to walk and not drag
his feet on his way to his quarters. He
was so tired he literally couldn’t see straight.
Which might explain
why he walked into Anakin and nearly knocked him over.
“Obi-Wan!” Anakin exclaimed happily, wrapping his hands around Obi-Wan’s forearms
to keep him from falling on his face. “I
didn’t know you were back!”
“Anakin,” Obi-Wan returned the affectionate
greeting, trying to ignore the slur in his words. Even his tongue was tired. “When was the last time we were both home at
the same time? A
couple years ago? And when did
you get so tall?”
Anakin laughed, then
sobered when he saw just how tired Obi-Wan was.
“This is insane,” he said abruptly.
“You’re so exhausted you can barely stand up. When was the last time you had any rest?”
Obi-Wan seriously thought about it, but couldn’t
come up with an answer. His brain was
also numb with fatigue. “Too long,” he
finally said.
“That’s it,” Anakin told him, hauling him firmly
down the hall toward very familiar quarters.
“You’re going to sleep, then I’m going to feed you, and you’re going to
spend the night with me and Master Qui-Gon.
No more reports, no more mission prep, no more sparring, just you, and a
bed, and as much sleep as you can handle.”
“Not sure you want me dead on your hands for the
next ten-day,” Obi-Wan mumbled.
It was the last thing he said before he fell,
face-down, across Anakin’s bed, never feeling Anakin pull off his boots or
rearrange him on the blankets or sit, quietly staring down at him, for a very
long time.
The next afternoon he finally surfaced, feeling
better than he had in a very long time.
With his new-found energy, he wandered down to the salle. Anakin was already there, going through one
of the most advanced solitary katas, and Obi-Wan
grinned at him. Anakin moved like he was
born with a lightsaber in his hands.
When he came to a rest, Obi-Wan asked, “Want to try
that with a partner?”
The next hour was one of the most enjoyable he’d
spent in longer than he could remember.
Anakin used a fascinating mixture of fighting styles, Qui-Gon’s imprint over them, working well with his height and
expanded reach, but with an acrobatic element that was unique to Anakin. Obi-Wan was pushed to keep up with him, and
thoroughly reveled in the stretch. When
they finally came to a halt, Obi-Wan won the match, but it was a hard-fought
win.
Anakin grinned up at him from his place sprawled on
the mat. “Are you hungry?” he panted.
“Very,” Obi-Wan answered, somewhat surprised. It had been awhile since he’d worked up an
appetite having fun rather than fighting or negotiating or running for his
life. He’d forgotten how much he missed
it.
Anakin slung an arm over his shoulder and steered
him back to Qui-Gon’s quarters. “On to lunch then. I won’t subject you to the commissary. I’ll cook.”
“Want a hand with that?”
He did, and they had a good time reconnecting over
chopping greens and sautéing yoppa root. By the time Qui-Gon escaped the Council and
joined them, the table was set and the food was ready to go.
“Obi-Wan!” Qui-Gon greeted him with a hug
and looked quietly happy to see him.
Obi-Wan was distressed by how his master had aged
in the time he’d been gone; stress sat heavily on his shoulders, carved into
the lines at the corners of his eyes and the streaks of white in his hair. But he still held himself straight, still
moved gracefully, still exuded dignity.
Anakin glanced over at him and Obi-Wan read the same concerns in the
younger man’s eyes. Unfortunately there
wasn’t a blessed thing either one could do to help, so Obi-Wan did what he
could do.
He distracted.
By telling stories and encouraging Qui-Gon to vent some of his frustration
and urging Anakin on to tell his own tall tales. At one point in the conversation Obi-Wan
delicately brought the conversation around to Xanatos.
“Perhaps it is my own judgment clouded by
experience,” Qui-Gon said, frowning, “but I feel like he’s up to something.”
“Anything you can pin down?” Obi-Wan asked. He glanced over at Anakin, but Anakin was too
busy eating to speak. Obi-Wan grinned
briefly, then looked back at Qui-Gon. Growing boys. ‘Though if Anakin grew much
more he’d be even taller than Qui-Gon.
“Nothing I can put my finger on,” Qui-Gon said
slowly, pushing his food around on his plate.
Obi-Wan couldn’t tell by his expression if he was relieved or worried by
the fact that Xanatos was so carefully covering his tracks.
Not wanting to worry Qui-Gon further, Obi-Wan
changed the subject to his bout with Anakin that afternoon, and they left the
prickly topic of Xanatos and his possible new perfidy for another day.
It was late by the time they retired, but Obi-Wan
could see a definite relaxation in Qui-Gon’s face and
in Anakin’s shoulders. It was enough.
It had to be.
Before dawn, the signal on his comm. unit
sounded. Another mission; another leave
cut short. At least he’d had the day
with his friends. He would take what he
could get.
Anakin met him at the door as he headed out.
“Already?” he asked, disappointed.
“I’m afraid so,” Obi-Wan answered quietly. He inclined his head toward Qui-Gon’s bedroom. “Still asleep?”
“No,” came Qui-Gon’s answer through the door.
Obi-Wan shared a smile with Anakin then poked his
head through the door. Qui-Gon sat up in
bed, smiling at him through the dim light.
“I see you have to go. So soon.”
“As the Council wills,” Obi-Wan quipped.
“Not this member,” Qui-Gon griped, then quickly shed his irritation with a shake of his
head. “Be safe, Obi-Wan. May the Force be with you.”
“And with you, my Master,” Obi-Wan answered
gently. Then he turned and left the
room, giving Anakin a quick one-armed hug on the way out the door.
He didn’t see the affectionate blue eyes watching
him as he left. Didn’t notice the ring
of yellow fire that showed, for a heartbeat, deep in those eyes, as the
affection tipped into lust.
Never knew he left a serpent in the heart of the
Xanatos had pushed for a grandiose gesture; the
utter destruction of the
Maul had a better idea.
With their apprentice’s willing participation,
Master Jinn was given one final outworld
mission. The Hutts
were causing problems out in the Rim, and the Council wouldn’t allow young
Knight Skywalker to take on the mission as a solo operative, but they were
willing to sent Master Jinn out to supervise his efforts.
It was a milk run, of a sort, since the Hutts wouldn’t directly challenge the Jedi in the
open. Skywalker could use the
opportunity to visit his mother, and Jinn would be out of the Council’s way
while they dealt with the increasingly worrying ascent of Senator Xanatos to a
position of power second only to the Chancellor in the Galactic Senate. The only reason they hadn’t acted before was
to spare Jinn the pain of seeing his former apprentice targeted by the Order…
and to spare themselves the argument with Master Jinn.
None of them, not even Yoda, felt the manipulation
of the Force that ensured they would agree to the assignment of the mission.
Two nights into the journey, their apprentice and
Xanatos’ pet Jedi master safe from harm, Lord Maul led the Separatist army of
clones in a direct assault on the
It wasn’t as risky a move as one might think. Over the course of the past few years the Sith had worked rapidly, fomenting unrest in the furthest
reaches of the galaxy, forcing the Jedi to spread their most able fighters
thinly on the front. Obi-Wan Kenobi,
Maul’s own pet Jedi knight, was himself far from the epicenter of destruction,
calming unrest to the best of his formidable ability on Thisspia,
not realizing the crisis was manufactured specifically to get him out of the
way.
The precipitating event, carefully coordinated with
the Kaminoan traders and the clone commanders, was a
special delivery to the
It was his last mistake.
Rather than the intelligence reports they’d been
expecting, the data sheets were coated with a micro-thin ultra-high
explosive. Shaak
Ti took the top sheet from the stack, and as she separated the filaments between
the sheets caught fire, triggering an incredible release of energy.
A flash erupted.
No one heard Yoda’s agonized cry of “WAIT!”
Too late.
In an instant, the central column and core of the
The clone army marched in.
The assault had begun.
The remaining Jedi were an exhilarating challenge,
and one Maul relished. Xanatos led the
flanking attack, in heavy disguise. The
clones spread through the buildings like a plague, slaughtering Knight and
Padawan and crècheling alike. Maul confined himself to strategy and those
Masters still left alive.
It was over all too soon. Xanatos met him in the center of the
The next morning, Senator Xanatos was one of
several who rose in sympathy and solidarity with the scattered remains of the
decimated Jedi order. While there were
some
All of which paved the way for the rise of the
Empire in the Outer Rim and Separatist sectors.
The Republic never saw it coming.
“Turn the ship around,” Qui-Gon ordered the
pilot. “We are returning home.” He accepted the pilot’s nod of
acknowledgement and turned to find Anakin waiting for him in the hatch leading
to his quarters.
“Master,” Anakin said shakily, “there is news from
Coruscant.”
Qui-Gon followed Anakin into the small room and
settled down in front of the vid-screen. As the hours flew past on their return trip,
he stared blankly at the newsfeed, unblinking eyes
fixed on the shattered remains of the
Then, when there were no tears left, he stepped off
the ship at the port in Coruscant, and got back to work.
At his side, Anakin said nothing. But
when Qui-Gon faltered, it was Anakin’s strong arm on which he leaned.
As the days went by, and the situation grew worse,
he leaned more often than not. Anakin
never complained.
And when Xanatos came to Qui-Gon and offered his
sympathy, Qui-Gon stared into the dark eyes looking back, and found he had no
words to answer. So he said nothing, and
when Xanatos left, Qui-Gon stared over the
Four days later, Obi-Wan made it back to Coruscant.
He walked into the chambers the Senate had given
the remnants of the Jedi and stopped, staring in horror at the bombed-out remains
of the
Obi-Wan ignored them and walked directly into his
arms.
They held one another for a long time before a
third set of arms wrapped as far as they could around both of them. No one spoke, for there was nothing to be
said. The tragedy was too deep for
words.
They could only act.
Together, Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon faced the devastation
thrust upon them, and did what they could to keep the Republic from falling
apart.
While beside them, Anakin watched.
Eight months later, Obi-Wan sported a vastly
different appearance. Beard wild, hair
tangled, clothes barely more than rags, he crept through the back alleys of Mos Espa. Tattooine was much different than it had been
when they rescued Anakin many years before.
The Empire had crushed the Hutts and imposed
their own brand of order on the Outer Rim world. It was chilling to walk through the streets
that had once teemed with chaotic life and see nothing but civilians, terrified
into obedience, observation drones, and clone enforcers.
It was also like picking his way through a
life-sized hive of stinging insects, naked and barefoot. He had to be extremely careful and he still
might get stung.
Still, the information gathered on his trip would
be valuable. Moving like the ghost he
was now nicknamed, Obi-Wan made his way to his cloaked ship, lying outside the
city borders in a sheltered dune. He was
nearly to the outbuildings when he felt it.
That touch.
In his mind.
The same touch he’d felt on Naboo. It skittered over the surface of his
thoughts, looking for a way in, searching for an opening. He slammed his mental shields even more
tightly down than they’d been and instinctively crouched in the darkly shadowed
alley, hiding behind a pile of broken crates.
When the Sith’s
seeking touch couldn’t penetrate his mind, it contented itself with tormenting
him. Invisible fingers roamed beneath
his rags, making him shudder as his skin was caressed, as they combed through his
hair and stroked down his back and up his legs.
His fists clenched in helpless denial as the touch moved over his body
until he finally worked up enough strength to expel the unwanted intruder from
him, physically feeling the removal in the Force around him.
Not until after he’d responded, unfortunately. Not until the Sith
had known, and celebrated, in Obi-Wan’s momentary weakness.
Obi-Wan ignored the dampness in his trousers
fiercely and concentrated with all his will on his escape. He had a mission to complete.
He’d worry about the Sith’s propensity for Force-rape later.
Maybe.
Or maybe he’d do as he always did, and lock it
tightly in the corner of his mind reserved for things into which he couldn’t
delve too deeply, for fear of what he might find in himself.
Two years passed, and the Sith
had accomplished what they’d originally sought… but at a price. Chancellor Valorum
gathered his most trusted and powerful advisors together for a strategy
session. The Empire, with its shadowy
leader, had consolidated power in the Outer Rim, driving the Federation into
retreat. It also controlled the
previously-Separatist sectors, knifing deep into Republic territory in some
parts of the galaxy. Each day the threat
to the Republic grew, but so far the Republic had fought the Empire to a
stalemate.
In his private moments of amusement, Anakin thought
of himself as a microcosm of the galactic conflict now ongoing. Sith masquerading as Jedi,
as the
Unfortunately, perhaps, their determination not to
kill Qui-Gon Jinn and Obi-Wan Kenobi had proven to be the stumbling block to
their total victory. Qui-Gon, without
the Council to hold him back, proved to be a strategic genius,
and his old friend Valorum relied heavily on him to
guide the Republican fleet and armies.
Obi-Wan, to Anakin’s shock, turned out to be a chameleon, slipping into
and out of Imperial worlds and bringing back the most
amazing information, allowing the Republic leadership to outfox the Emperor at
his best.
Even having Xanatos and Anakin both in the heart of
the Republic hadn’t helped. Qui-Gon and
Obi-Wan were simply too good.
Still, he wouldn’t have either of them die. Neither would
Xanatos.
And Maul was determined that Obi-Wan was his. Which might explain a few
of the hair-raising escapes Obi-Wan had made, not that Obi-Wan needed much
help.
Anakin stared down at the holographic deployment
grid in the center of the War Room and watched Xanatos from the corner of his
eye. Xanatos, in turn, watched
Qui-Gon. Qui-Gon watched Obi-Wan, as
Obi-Wan briefed the group on his most recent mission among the Rim planets,
gathering intelligence behind enemy lines.
Still, they were locked in a no-win situation, and
at this point, it was becoming a war of attrition on both sides. While the Sith were
quite willing to win such a war, they didn’t have the stockpile of materials
the Republic had; the Republic wasn’t willing to sacrifice so many
civilians. So they stood, staring one
another in the eye, each unable to defeat the other, neither side willing to
submit.
“It’s the only hope we have.” Obi-Wan sounded tired but resolute.
Anakin brought his attention back to the briefing
in time to see every advisor in the room, including Xanatos and Qui-Gon,
looking at Obi-Wan as if he’d lost his mind.
“Peace talks?” Valorum
squawked.
“With the SITH?!” Qui-Gon was slightly calmer but
his voice had a distressed note in it.
“Are you serious?” Xanatos asked.
“If we don’t,” Obi-Wan looked at each in turn,
“there will be neither a Republic nor an Empire left to save. We are at the point of mutually assured
destruction. We must either come to an
understanding, or face the fact that all will be lost. On both sides.”
Babble broke out in the chamber as the advisors
weighed in on the unbelievable recommendation.
Anakin watched as Qui-Gon approached Obi-Wan, hand resting on Obi-Wan’s
shoulder, a gesture of support Obi-Wan appeared to sincerely appreciate.
“Well, this is unexpected,” Xanatos said softly in
Anakin’s ear.
“Before he became the Ghost, he was the
Negotiator,” Anakin reminded him.
“Hm,” Xanatos murmured, a
speculative look in his eyes, quickly masked.
Anakin could feel his anticipation thrumming in his Dark connection to
the Force.
Several hours later, the War Council agreed with
Obi-Wan’s assessment, and sent word to the Emperor. Senator Xanatos was the primary author of the
proposal. He used most of Obi-Wan’s
recommendations, with a twist of his own.
Two days later, the Emperor answered.
Anakin stood in the back of the Jedi box in the
Galactic Senate as the hologram of the Emperor took shape before the assembled
Senate. Even knowing whom he saw, it was
difficult to make out Maul’s face in the enveloping black shadows of his cloak.
Beside him, Obi-Wan jerked minutely, then held
himself very still. Anakin gave him a
look, but Obi-Wan shook his head.
“It’s nothing,” he whispered, staring intently at
the hologram.
Anakin let it slide and turned to listen to his
other master speak.
“I accept your proposal. We will meet on the neutral planet of
Geonosis in three days time. As per your
offer, I and my Prime will represent the Empire, and I will accept Jedi Master
Kenobi and Knight Skywalker for the Republic.
The presence of any others at the meeting will be considered a betrayal
of this truce and the agreement will be reneged.”
With a snap, the image disappeared. Anakin took a deep breath and let it out
slowly.
Either it was now all over, or it had finally
begun.
The next evening, Senator Xanatos went
missing. Qui-Gon didn’t notice, too busy with monitoring the truce mission and
worrying about his other two former apprentices. Both the ship and the Jedi were outfitted
with transmitters to send back visual, audio and locator signals.
As soon as they passed into Geonosian space, visual
signals died.
When they reached the main Arena on the planetary
surface, the audio signals were jammed.
The only thing stopping Qui-Gon from going on his
own rescue mission immediately was the fact that the locator emitters showed no
signs of jamming or tampering. Built
into the emitter was a code red for emergencies. It still showed as functioning normally, and
it wasn’t triggered.
He’d still feel a lot better if he wasn’t blind and
deaf to what was going on at the truce meeting.
Letting his worries flow into the Force, he was
surprised and reassured by the calm feeling that settled over him. Somehow, he knew his Obi-Wan and Anakin would
be all right. The Force felt oddly
muffled, as if a grey mist flowed through it, but it wasn’t a threatening
impression. Quite the
opposite.
Peace settled on his spirit and he gave his fear up
to the keeping of the Force. Whatever
would be, would be, at the will of the Force.
And if anything did happen to Obi-Wan or Anakin,
he’d personally hunt the Emperor down and kill him.
Obi-Wan hadn’t wanted to return to Geonosis. It had been nearly a year since he’d last
been there, and he still hadn’t examined his experience from that time. It was too fresh, and too disturbing. The shudder-inducing touch hadn’t stopped at
his skin, that time. It very nearly
broke into his mind, filling him with hazy images of heat and sweat and
red-black patterned skin unexpectedly soft beneath his fingertips… He broke off
that train of thought quickly. To
remember was to invite weakness in his shields, and this was not the time for
such a breach in his defenses.
Still, the truce had been his idea, and the fact
that the Sith Emperor had named him as an acceptable Republican representative
wasn’t surprising. They had unfinished
business, he and the Sith. For while the others hadn’t recognized the
Emperor, this was the first direct hologram Obi-Wan had seen of him, and it was
clear to him exactly who the Emperor was.
The Iridonian Zabrak he’d
fought on Naboo.
The Sith weren’t supporting the Empire.
They WERE the Empire.
He hadn’t said anything to anyone, because Qui-Gon
would have protested his taking this mission if he had, and he had no wish to
add to Qui-Gon’s burdens. He could handle this. And it wasn’t as if he’d be alone. Anakin would be with him.
Once they arrived
on-planet, he tried to contact the War Council.
As soon as the connection was made he knew they would have a
problem. The small vid-screen
held nothing but static, although Qui-Gon’s voice
came through clearly.
“I don’t like this,” Qui-Gon said.
Neither do I, Obi-Wan thought, but what he said
was, “It’s to be expected, Master. Our
audio connection is still clear, and I sense no attempt to sabotage the
meeting. The Sith
work in darkness, and are nearly paranoid in their secrecy. It’s not surprising they don’t want you to
see what they look like.”
He tried to inject some humor to lighten the
situation. Anakin grinned at him in
response, but Qui-Gon merely grumbled.
“Watch your back.
If you sense any hint of a trap, get out of there with all haste.”
Qui-Gon must be worried if he was instructing the
obvious. Obi-Wan lifted a brow at
Anakin, who shook his head in exasperation in response. “Yes, Qui-Gon,” Obi-Wan answered gently.
“May the Force be with you both.” Qui-Gon’s
frustration at his inability to be there with them came through clearly.
“And with you, Master,” Anakin replied.
“And with you,” Obi-Wan ended the transmission.
“So,” he said to Anakin, tucking the portable comm.
unit into his belt pouch. “Onto the Arena.”
“Yippee,” Anakin said dryly, and took his place at
Obi-Wan’s back as they entered enemy territory.
They met no resistance as they walked the kilometer
or so to the Arena. Clones stood guard
but made no hostile move toward them.
Obi-Wan felt very exposed in his formal Jedi robes, white and brown
against the orange dirt and brick buildings, with the white-armored clones
watching them as he and Anakin walked into the Arena entryway.
A Koorivar met them, his
dark netted clothing looking out of place in the arid desert surroundings. He bowed respectfully and addressed
Obi-Wan. “If the
esteemed Jedi will please follow me.”
Obi-Wan glanced over at Anakin, who had his lips
pressed tightly together in a way Obi-Wan recognized as trying to stifle a
grin. The edge of Obi-Wan’s mouth curled
in the beginning of his own smile. Since
when had the Sith esteemed the Jedi? Still, it was a promising beginning. Even if it was an outright
lie.
They followed the being into a larger chamber on
the mid-level of the Arena. It opened
onto the huge pit, where the natives held gladiator-type competitions, fights
to the death for those condemned to them, too desperate to find another way to
survive, or those seeking death. The
parallels to their political situation were uncanny.
It was a starkly beautiful view, and Obi-Wan stared
at it for a moment, until footsteps from the side entrance drew his
attention. He turned to meet the Sith representative, and gasped before he could stop
himself.
So this was what Xanatos had been up to.
Obi-Wan’s hand went to the hilt of his lightsaber. Xanatos
raised both hands palms-out to show his benign intent.
“It wouldn’t get the peace talks off to a very good
start if you tried to kill the Empire’s representative before we could even
exchange greetings, Obi-Wan,” he said smoothly, a hint of humor underlying his
voice.
Obi-Wan took a deep breath and slowly pulled his
fingers away from his weapon. As strong
as the temptation was, it wouldn’t do well for the truce for him to slice
Xanatos into very small pieces. A faint
buzzing from his belt pouch caught his attention and he looked down at his
comm. unit.
“It’s jammed,” Xanatos offered helpfully. “Your beacon is operational. Should you feel at any time that you are in
jeopardy you may, of course, activate it, and you may leave. Know if you do, however, that there will not
be any other chance at a truce. So
choose wisely, Obi-Wan. Deal with us, or
return to war until the Republic falls.”
“As will the Empire,” Obi-Wan said evenly, eyes
locked with Xanatos’.
“Perhaps,” Xanatos said. He smiled.
“A chance we will take. But only
if you walk away.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Obi-Wan growled.
Xanatos’ smile turned feral. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
Closing his eyes for an instant to ground himself, Obi-Wan opened them again and stood upon his
dignity. For the sake of the Republic,
all the civilians caught in the cross-fire, Qui-Gon and those Jedi who
survived, he would do this.
“You know Knight Skywalker,” he said, waving Anakin
forward.
Xanatos bowed, and Anakin returned it. There was an unsettling feeling beginning to
slither down Obi-Wan’s spine, but there were so many things wrong with this
scenario he couldn’t be sure what was causing it. Before another word could be exchanged, the
door to the back of the room opened.
Obi-Wan felt him before he saw him. The Sith Lord, clad in his black Imperial
robes, swept silently into the room. He wasn’t a big man, no taller than Obi-Wan and a hand span shorter
than either Xanatos or Anakin, but his presence filled the air until Obi-Wan
had a hard time catching his breath.
The Emperor stopped within touching distance of Obi-Wan.
“Maul,” Obi-Wan breathed.
“Obi-Wan,” Maul said, his
voice nearly a purr.
Obi-Wan felt that voice like fingers against his
skin, and clamped down hard on his instinctive response. He couldn’t help licking his lips to ease
their sudden dryness, however. From the
corner of his eye, he saw both Anakin and Xanatos shiver.
It was reassuring to know he wasn’t the only one
Maul affected this way. Pulling his
thoughts back to the matter at hand, he said, “I thought you were dead.” No need to mention that he’d recognized the
hologram.
“I’m hard to kill.
As you know.”
The unearthly yellow eyes gleamed at him. Obi-Wan fought another shiver.
“Sidious…” Of course. Obi-Wan
shook his head. “You killed him.”
Maul nodded.
The undercurrents in the room threatened to
distract Obi-Wan. It was as if they were
having two conversations, one of words, one through the Force. He could feel it, reaching out between the
four of them, strongest between himself and Maul, but eddies swirled around
them all; between Obi-Wan and Anakin, Anakin and Maul, Maul and Xanatos, Anakin
and Xanatos, Xanatos and Obi-Wan… a web of connection from which he could
derive no meaning. Too
many layers. Too
many truths unspoken.
Too much grey.
“Leave us,” Maul said, and for a moment Obi-Wan
thought Maul meant him, until Xanatos politely gestured for Anakin to precede
him out the door.
Anakin looked over at Obi-Wan, but he wasn’t asking
permission. Oddly enough, he seemed to
be sending reassurance. Obi-Wan watched
him, puzzled but not calling him back, as he and Xanatos left the room, the
door closing behind them.
There was a threat here, but it wasn’t to
Anakin. And it wasn’t from Xanatos. It wasn’t a threat Obi-Wan recognized, but it
weighed on him.
Until Maul reached
out to him.
In a rush, the Force swept him up, moving him
forward without a conscious decision.
His left hand reached out and was clasped tightly in Maul’s, caught
between their bodies, the back of his hand resting against the steady beat of
Maul’s heart in his chest, as Maul’s rested against his. Obi-Wan’s free hand fell naturally to Maul’s
waist, and he felt the heat of Maul’s hand against the small of his back, even
through the layers of robes. They were
so close Obi-Wan could feel Maul’s breath against his lips.
An instant before Maul kissed him.
Lips and tongue worked together and Obi-Wan
drowned. Their fingers clenched around
one another, holding them both upright as the intensity of the kiss
deepened. In his mind, he saw/felt/tasted/heard
Maul, and knew nothing would ever be the same.
The hands he’d felt touching him through the Force
in the past returned with a vengeance, only this time, they explored with his
full participation. He sent out his own
questing touch, and Maul rumbled approval, hunger doubling in his kiss.
Touching, loving through the Force, they stood,
only mouths and hands and thighs touching on the surface, but thought and
emotion melding in the Force. Penetrated
and penetrating, caressing and accepting caresses, holding and held, an accord was reached that would never be broken.
From such an individual connection, peace would be
born.
But in that moment, there was only completion.
A tiny voice of logic was shrieking in his brain,
telling him this was insane, that he had to kill Maul or at least get a treaty
then get the hell out of there. That
voice was overwhelmed by the whirl of physical and Force sensation telling him
he was exactly where he was supposed to be.
He had been leading up to this moment since the first time the Sith held him on Naboo.
It was time to address unfinished business.
Watching through the observation wall, disguised to
appear as rock, Xanatos and Anakin stood side by side. Anakin’s mouth was slightly open and he had
one hand spread against the wall as if he could absorb the erotic energy
pouring off Obi-Wan and Maul. Xanatos
smirked at him, but kept his eyes on the pair kissing as if their lives depended
on it in the next room. Then he jolted
and looked closer.
Now, THAT was unexpected. “They’re mind-speaking!” he exclaimed.
“No,” Anakin corrected him, his voice hoarse and
breathless, “they’re mind-fucking.” He
moaned.
Xanatos glanced over at him. Oh. No
wonder Anakin was looking at them like a dog eyeing raw meat. “You can hear them?” Lucky bastard.
“Oh, yes,” Anakin sighed, then recoiled as if
struck.
Smirk growing wider, Xanatos said, “Maul caught you
looking.”
Anakin glowered at him. “No.
Obi-Wan did. And he smacked me!”
Xanatos couldn’t help himself. He laughed out loud. This treaty negotiation was going to be the
most fun he’d had in a long time. And
when it was over… he was going to Coruscant.
Qui-Gon waited, and Xanatos had his own Sith-Jedi
alliance to negotiate. He was looking
forward to it.
FIN
mutual assured destruction NOUN: Severe, unavoidable reciprocal damage that
superpowers are likely to inflict on each other or their allies in a nuclear
war, conceived as the heart of a doctrine of nuclear deterrence.
The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English
Language: Fourth ed.
c. 2000.