Part Two
Bruck Chun executed a perfect running leap, spinning and twisting in the air so quickly he would have been a blur of motion to anyone watching, and landed gracefully in the center of his room. He drew his lightsaber out and began to practice the graceful dance of death that had become imprinted on the very cells of his body, over time. Each position flowed into the next without conscious thought. He focused one part of his mind on the exercise, on breathing and following through each move to completion, and turned the other part to the situation at hand.
He had, of course, declined to exercise his daily katas in the practice salles of the palace; it would not do to allow Kenobi to see what kind of fighter he had become, or to observe his strengths and weaknesses. The quarters he'd been given in the fortress were sufficient for his purposes, adequately large. When he and Kenobi had sparred last, Kenobi had impressed the instructors; his agility and speed, and mastery of aerial techniques, had drawn the attention of the Emperor.
Bruck had been whipped and starved for so many days he could not count them, all because his instructor was disgraced. Chun was the senior student. He was the one closest to being taken by a Sith Lord as apprentice. Kenobi was a boy from nowhere, a clumsy, awkward boy who should have been easily defeated. He lacked aggression, the will to kill; every teacher said so. He was not sufficiently converted to the Dark Side.
Despite all of that, Bruck had been beaten by that boy. Humiliated. Made to suffer. It would never happen again. It gave him a small measure of satisfaction that Kenobi had never completed his training as a Sith, and so was never permitted to carry a lightsaber. In all ways, Kenobi was inferior to Chun, and he would soon prove it to the Emperor.
He stretched his body into the more difficult positions. The hum of his lightsaber underscored his kata as he turned, rolled, propelled himself into the air. It was beautiful to see - he'd watched in admiration as it was demonstrated, many times - and was merely a distracting prelude to the ultimate outcome: destruction.
Pleasure was not his ultimate objective for the evening. No question, however, that every part of what was to come would be deeply satisfying. He could fully indulge his impulses, his every whim, with the pleasure slave, knowing that Kenobi squirmed over the challenge to his ownership. Every touch, every taste, every thrust would bring Kenobi closer to the edge. And Bruck wanted him on that edge, out of control, not thinking clearly. Kenobi had been smart enough to pretend nonchalance, but Bruck was no fool.
It was his best chance to win. Bruck had never been a particularly subtle strategist, and he had no illusions about his ability to manipulate Obi-Wan. There was not much opportunity for political maneuvering here, no behind-the-scenes ebb and flow of power. Windu might come in handy, but the man wasn't bright enough to be of much use. Anakin...the boy had shown insight, and glimmers of power, at dinner. He would be useful once Bruck cleared the way for himself as the boy's teacher.
One other small detail troubled him. It nagged at him, tickling the back of his mind. The tall bodyguard who stood in the shadows near Kenobi's chair, who moved forward when Bruck had shown his strength at the table. His face was familiar. Somewhere, at some time in the past, that man had crossed his path. In the service of the Sith, as a soldier, perhaps. There were so many of them, and those who survived the war with the Jedi had gone on to find their way as best they could, as mercenaries or in private armies.
Shrugging, he completed the cool-down phase of his kata and toweled off. The chrono indicated the approach of nightfall.
Door chimes rang softly, and he smiled. "Enter."
Escorted by two guards, Xanatos entered the room and sank to the floor in front of Chun. "My lord."
Chun rubbed the towel across his bare chest and took a long, critical look at the man kneeling before him. Finely muscled, lean and strong. Beautiful, in some respects. Someone who would not break under his unique attentions. Someone who would survive to tell the story, just as he wanted it told.
"You are Kenobi's favorite, I'm told." Chun reached for him, lifted Xan's chin. "What do you do for him that has gained his favor?"
"I do as I am told. I am my lord's to command."
"That you are," Chun said, chuckling. "Tell me, slave. Do you think your master will miss you tonight?"
"I don't know, my lord."
"I think you do. And I think, when this night is over, you'll be grateful to return to him. If I allow it." He leaned forward, looking at Xan's face, focusing on his eyes, darkest of all blues. "I might find you worth keeping."
There. Just for a brief moment, a flicker of alarm in those eyes.
Satisfied, Chun leaned even closer. "Will you please me the way you please the Regent? I wonder." He closed his lips over Xan's in a punishing kiss, without warmth, plundering and taking, and was not at all surprised to feel the response, equal in its brutality. This was, after all, a pleasure slave, trained to adapt. He bit savagely at the hot mouth beneath his own, reveling in the sudden gasp of pain, and lapped at the droplets of blood spilled against his tongue.
"Disrobe," he murmured. "And do it quickly."
With a nod, Xanatos stood and dropped his tunic and trousers, and waited unselfconsciously. Chun rubbed his hand across his aching erection, a gesture that was immediately answered by Xanatos, who reached for the fastenings of Bruck's trousers with graceful fingers. Bruck allowed it, watching with rapt fascination as his cock was removed from its constraints, handled with just a hint of roughness.
His hand shot out and clasped Xan's throat with cold cruelty, squeezing hard for a moment. "If you cause me any trouble, slave, you will not live one moment past your act of rebellion."
Xan's eyes signaled his understanding, and a gratifying amount of fear. Like an aphrodisiac, that fear went straight into Chun's blood, inflaming his desire.
Chun released his stranglehold on the slave, pausing to admire the bruises which had begun to purple on the pale skin, and sank back on the bed. His eyes narrowed as Xan knelt between his legs, then stretched out between them. A well-trained and practiced tongue began to trace the length of his shaft, swirling rough and quick over the head, then down again. He shifted impatiently, and as expected, the slave adjusted to the non-verbal cue. His lips opened, and he took the whole of Chun's shaft between his lips and into his mouth, sucking strongly.
Chun's fingers tangled in Xan's hair, tightening there as he forced Xan to increase the pace, watching as Xan moved his mouth rapidly on the slick, glistening shaft. His hips pushed forward and he fucked Xan's mouth unmercifully, rocketing toward climax in his usual efficient way. He spilled his seed in the slave's mouth, and lay still as he was licked clean.
Contentment filled him, a momentary sensation usually tied to the completion of a difficult mission, and his mind wandered through a jumbled collection of images, of past victories, comparing them to what was to come on Taganor. The defeat of the Jedi on Yarmen IV had been especially satisfying. He could still see the prisoners, shackled in the mines, and hear their feeble protests as the names of the Jedi who had escaped were tortured out of them...
"Son of a Sith!" he shouted, shoving Xanatos away; the slave fell from his perch on the bed and sprawled on the floor. He stepped over Xan on his way to the comm panel. "Enable a secured connection," he barked at the computer, which complied immediately, providing a secure access screen. Bruck entered his code and connected quickly with the Imperial Mainframe, and was into the database in a matter of moments. He scanned through the accumulated intelligence information until he found the file he needed, and began scrolling through holopics until...
Yes. Oh, yes.
He downloaded the information and hastily opened a communications link. Several frustrating moments passed, until the holoprojector began to shimmer with an incoming signal, and Chun dropped immediately to his knees.
A blue-tinted figure hovered over the vidpad. "What is it?"
"My Master. I have discovered evidence that Kenobi is harboring a fugitive Jedi, one of those who attacked and destroyed a cloning facility on Yarmen IV. I have sent the file for your examination."
"This is...regrettable." Emperor Palpatine was silent for a long moment. "You're certain of this information, Chun?"
"It is confirmed, Sire. Kenobi is the worst kind of traitor. He must be removed."
"Take no action until my troops arrive. I will send two squadrons to assist you. Do nothing. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Master." As the live projection disappeared, a feeling of deep, primal satisfaction overtook Bruck. It had fallen into his lap. Kenobi was once again undone by his stubbornness, his break of faith with the Sith. He was weak. And everything that once belonged to Kenobi would fall to Bruck as reward. It was fitting.
Slowly, he stood and turned to Xanatos, who had resumed a kneeling pose, one hand resting lightly against his ribs. The slave would have to be destroyed, lest he alert Kenobi. But there was nothing to prevent him from using the slave for the rest of the evening. He deserved a celebration.
A broad grin spread across Bruck's face. "Now. Where were we?"
******
Xanatos opened his eyes and fixed his gaze on the ceiling. Everything hurt - everything, from the top of his head to the soles of his feet. He breathed a shallow breath, experimentally expanding his lungs, and winced. Only a supreme will of effort kept him from flinching.
The outflung arm of the Sith weighted him. When he awoke, Chun would kill him. Nothing was more certain, aside from Kenobi's impending downfall. He could not estimate how long it would take the Imperial troops to arrive - there was no way to know where they were based.
He would have to warn Obi-Wan. He could not allow him to be caught unprepared, thinking Chun was his only immediate concern.
Without moving, he surveyed his injuries. A cough bubbled up inside him, and he recognized the taste of metal. Blood. He was bleeding inside. He could heal his injuries, perhaps, but he would not have the strength to use the Force much, if at all. Just enough to ensure he survived to his execution in the morning.
On the other hand, he might be able to deepen Chun's sleep, enough to allow him to slip away. The guards would be easily overcome. But his injuries would not be so easily ignored.
Xanatos closed his eyes again. There was no choice. Only two things had ever been important to Xanatos, and both of them were entwined with Obi-Wan Kenobi.
He called on the Force in a way he had not done for a very long time, waited until he felt it singing within him, pulsing in powerful waves. And he reached for Chun's sleeping mind, pressing it deeper into dreams, influencing him down deep in a way no Jedi would ever attempt in good conscience.
Now or never, he supposed. Grunting with effort, he picked Chun's arm off him and dropped it on the bed, then rolled to his feet. A sharp pain traveled through him as he stood, leaving him bent and gasping for air, and he found he could not straighten. He made his way to the door and reached for the petty minds of the men there, until their consciousness winked out like candle flames in a storm. Gingerly, he opened the doors and made his way slowly down the corridor.
There was not much time.
*****
"I should not have allowed this." Obi-Wan paced the room, almost oblivious to both Qui-Gon and Valorum, who paced their own corners of Obi-Wan's quarters. Qui-Gon watched helplessly as Obi-Wan worked himself into a state of agitation.
"You had no choice! If you hadn't agreed, what do you think he would have done?" Valorum's eyes blazed with angry heat. "He would have had your position here. All it takes is the smallest defiance of the orders of the Sith. And there were witnesses, men who would gladly see you executed for treason, for defiance of Imperial dictates! Not to mention what a disaster it would be to give him leverage over you. I know Xanatos is important to you, Obi-Wan, but-"
"Stop, Valorum. Stop." Obi-Wan had him by the throat before Valorum could choke out the remaining words. "I would not trade this world for any man's life. But I could have stopped this. I should have."
"No," Valorum said thinly, eyes blazing, as Kenobi released him. "You could not. He will take what he wants no matter the cost. We discussed this. Tomorrow, this will not seem so -"
A gasp from Qui-Gon caused them all to turn.
The reassurances died on Valorum's lips as Xanatos stumbled into the room. Blood trickled from his lower lip; hideous bruises had swelled on his cheeks, under his eyes, on his neck. Deep bite marks marred Xan's handsome features. One had begun to fatten on his lip, another across his cheek, and one puffed angrily on his shoulder. He walked gingerly, holding his side, and the burn marks on his wrists made the situation all too clear.
"Master..." Xan straightened, and the gesture was filled with pain, but Obi-Wan was there, lifting him.
"Xan!" Obi-Wan caught his lover in his arms, and with assistance from Qui-Gon, lifted him swiftly to the bed.
"I am...all right, my master. I am...something is torn." Xan hissed out a pained breath.
Obi-Wan's jaw tightened; Qui-Gon watched as he smoothed the hair back from the abused face, looking at the damage. "Valorum. See to it. Get a healer."
Valorum knelt beside the bed, pressing a palm to Xan's forehead. "I have called, my lord. The healer is on his way." His hands moved efficiently over Xan's body, stopping briefly at every indrawn breath and wince, taking inventory of injuries.
"Master. Chun knows about...Qui-Gon. He has told the Emperor you are a traitor. There are troops..." Xan's face contorted in agony.
Obi-Wan stood, and his eyes met Qui-Gon's across the room. The hazel intensity of his gaze burned white-hot. "Stay here. Protect Xan. Heal him, if you can."
"If you must do this, let me come with you," Qui-Gon urged, almost involuntarily. But Obi-Wan was moving, his body a mass of tensed muscles, of leashed fury waiting to be uncovered, set free. There was power there, barely concealed, deadly in its absolute ferocity.
"No. Xan needs you."
"Obi-Wan!" Valorum's voice rang out in the room, and Kenobi stopped. The Regent's body pulsed with need - the need to hunt, to destroy. Qui-Gon felt it in his blood; the room thrummed with the emotion bleeding from Kenobi. "*Think* for a moment. Everything is at stake, *everything*."
A long moment of silence passed. Qui-Gon watched the shifting muscles in Obi-Wan's back, saw the indecision in his posture as he tensed to go, felt the exhaled breath of reason. The Regent spun suddenly, fixing him with a look full of meaning. "This can't be delayed any longer. It's over. There is nothing to be gained by letting him live."
Valorum bowed low, showing more obeisance than Qui-Gon had ever seen from the Chancellor. "Obi-Wan, please. What of Anakin? There is much at stake, so much to lose. Think of your world. There will be a way to convince the Emperor you are loyal -"
"There is no way. The evidence is true. Denial would be pointless now; even if Palpatine believes me, he will not allow me to remain in control of Anakin."
"Obi-Wan!" Xan struggled to one elbow, and his eyes darkened with every beat of his heart.
Obi-Wan turned to look at Xan. "This is not because of you." The words carried no conviction. Every man present knew it to be at least a partial lie, and a pang of regret coursed through Qui-Gon at the understanding of it. Obi-Wan hesitated just a moment before returning to Xan's side, cradling his slave's face in his hands for a moment. His thumbs slid across Xan's lips, tracing the savage bite mark there, before he bent close to kiss the corner of Xan's mouth. "If I should not return, Valorum will help you find a way off this world before the Sith arrive."
"We won't survive this if you fall," Xan murmured.
Kenobi smiled without pleasure. There was a hint of evil in the smile, and determination. "I will not fall."
"Are you so sure?" No bitterness, just a simple question. Qui-Gon waited quietly for the answer, hoping he might still avert disaster.
Obi-Wan bowed his head for a moment. A shadow crossed his face, marring the light in his eyes, obscuring his expression. He dropped to his knees near the door and pushed at a panel in the wall with his fingertips. It gave way immediately, creating a small, square hole just large enough for his fist.
Qui-Gon took a step in the direction of the bed, but his eyes never left Obi-Wan's back as the Regent slipped his fingers into the darkness and withdrew them. His actions were hidden from view for a moment as seven distinct clicks, the sound of something being assembled, echoed in the quiet. Xan trembled on the bed and was still; Valorum closed his eyes.
Obi-Wan turned. "Valorum. If I do not return, you understand what to do?"
"Yes, my lord."
He was gone before any of them could think of a way to stop him.
A hand grasped at Qui-Gon, drawing his attention back to the moment. "Heal me," Xan whispered, his eyes carrying a stern plea. "Now. Before it's too late."
Valorum fixed his disciplined stare on Qui-Gon. "Now, Jedi, we will see what you are made of."
Qui-Gon stared at the closed door a moment more before turning his attention to Xanatos. He placed his hands on his former apprentice, but his mind returned to processing the image burned into his memory. Just a silver and black shadow at Obi-Wan's belt, barely visible as Obi-Wan attached it there and strode through the door, but it was something instantly recognizable to the Jedi Master.
A lightsaber.
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