Xanatos tossed and turned as he listened to Valorum’s even breathing from the bunk above his own. It was hard to comprehend, after so many years of bondage, that he now slept in the same room as the Lord High Chancellor of Taganor, the highest ranking official on that world aside from the Regent. It felt odd, even awkward, and it kept him from sleeping.

He concentrated instead on trying to feel the thrumming of the ship’s engines. He had imagined that after so many years bound to one world, he might have a sense of movement as they sped across light years, but he felt nothing at all.

Qui-Gon had come to him earlier in the sleep cycle and had asked if he was ready to remove the bracelet that had signified his bondage to Obi-Wan. The others had shed theirs early in the voyage, within hours of being brought on board, but Qui-Gon had come to him last for reasons Xan well understood. The question was not unexpected, but his refusal had surprised him as much as it surprised his former master. Qui-Gon’s face had been a subtle study in emotion – surprise, and a bit of confusion, and other things they would perhaps never be able to discuss openly.

He curled up beneath the utilitarian blanket and tried to remember what it was like to be free, to have choices. He had been given so few choices in his life. Strange that he would now choose to keep a reminder of the ultimate loss of freedom. Within that place, suspended in time, he had been free to choose with his heart, and he had done so.

As with all things, he knew that once exposed to the harsh light of Jedi inquisition, love often could not survive. Obi-Wan would return to the Order and many things would be put aside, never to be spoken of again. What they felt had never been a free love; as with caged animals returned to the wild, much would be deliberately forgotten in the quest to adapt and survive. A second lifetime would be forged, separate and apart from the first, like waking after a dream.

Soft chimes sounded at the door. Xan threw back the blanket and stood; with a quick glance at Valorum’s sleeping form, he went to answer them.

Obi-Wan stood in the corridor, looking tired and apprehensive, but the weariness lifted from his eyes as soon as he saw Xan. He stood waiting, without words.

“You needn’t ask permission to enter,” Xan said quietly.

Obi-Wan drew in a long breath. “Of all the things I must do, asking your permission to enter is perhaps the most important.” He tilted his head to the side, a familiar gesture of inquiry, and asked, “You understand why?”

“Of course I do. Just as you understand why no permission is required.”

They moved then, both of them at once, seeking the comfort of touch; nothing more needed to be said. Obi-Wan’s hands traveled Xan’s body, awakening the need Xanatos had tried to bury as soon as they boarded the ship. His sense of impending loss deepened when Obi-Wan drew him closer, so gently, seeking Xan’s eager, waiting mouth; he trembled inside the hidden places of his heart when Obi-Wan opened him, giving with restrained savagery a kiss Xanatos could not wait to take.

Together, they walked the short distance to Obi-Wan’s quarters, and Obi-Wan drew Xan inside, waiting only until the doors sealed before taking his fill of Xan; his mouth descended on Xan’s once again, devouring him with slow, sweet desire.

“Are your injuries healing?” Obi-Wan asked, hands shielding the sides of Xan’s body, as if to protect the healing ribs.

“As well as might be expected.” Xan took Obi-Wan’s hands and moved them, setting them to work on the fastenings of the soft, loose tunic. “However, these garments are confining.”

“You should not have slept in them,” Obi-Wan chided, and a spark came into his eyes as he plucked at the silky fabric. “And they do not suit you.”

“A change of clothing was necessary. And it seemed wise to be ready to disembark at a moment’s notice, since we may soon have an entire fleet after us,” Xan said.

Obi-Wan chuckled. “Then perhaps you should return to your quarters, fully dressed.”

“Perhaps not,” Xan said, and covered any further objections Obi-Wan may have had by licking at his lips, kissing them until a soft moan was produced. Their tongues touched, delivering knowledge in the language they were most accustomed to speaking.

Obi-Wan undid the remaining buttons of the tunic and removed it. “Sit,” he ordered, and Xan smiled as he settled on the edge of the bed.

“Yes, my master.”

Obi-Wan froze in the act of folding the tunic. After a moment, he resumed his action and set the clothing aside. Xan felt his heart race at the sight of Obi-Wan’s tight shoulders, his posture that of a man just rebuked. He reached out, caught Obi-Wan’s hand. “It was a poor joke, Obi-Wan. My apologies.”

Obi-Wan turned to him. There were shadows in his eyes; they had turned from beautiful hazel-green to dark, unreadable brown. “You are right. I should be more careful of my tone. Certain things…are habit, now. It won’t happen again.”

“Obi-Wan,” Xan said softly, but Obi-Wan pulled away and chose a chair on the opposite side of the small cabin. The furnishings were sparse; this ship had never been meant for more than quick transport across short distances. There were faint echoes of the life they had just fled, as evidenced by the soft coverings on the bed, and food left untouched on the undersized communication console. Those small luxuries were more than might be found in any other quarters aboard the military vessel.

The former Regent casually slung one leg over the arm of the chair and folded his hands across his stomach. “We have not yet spoken of what you did. Of how you saved my life.”

Xan felt a tiredness coming over him, and he lay back on the bed. The white bulkheads gleamed in the low light, a hypnotic distraction from this conversation he did not want to have. “The child would have killed you and turned to the Dark Side.”

“So I should not say that you saved me, but that you instead destroyed the darkness in Anakin?” There was some subtle challenge in the question, and Xan weighed it before he spoke.

“I saved you by destroying the darkness in him. There was only one way.” Xanatos turned his face toward Obi-Wan, whose eyes glittered from across the room. “I cannot help what I am…or what I was….any more than you can deny what you are.”

“So you know,” Obi-Wan said. The words were weighted with all the deceptions practiced, all the stories as yet untold. “That I was…am….a Jedi.”

“Yes. Qui-Gon told all of us shortly after we boarded the ship.”

“Good.” Obi-Wan sighed. “That will avoid several complicated conversations.”

“Like this one?” Xan smiled at him.

“Not like this one. In fact, we are not having the conversation I imagined. I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

“Begin by telling me of Qui-Gon,” Xan said.  “Or we can speak of the change between us, of what I feel now, between us.”

Obi-Wan chose quickly, Xan thought; the topic was decided in an instant. “Qui-Gon and I are bonded. The bond is deep and true. We can sense one another, even now.”

Xan rolled on his side, careful of his aching ribs, and stared at Obi-Wan, who met his stare without flinching. The horrible sense of longing expanded, grew until it flooded Xan’s heart. He asked the first question, the only question, to enter his mind. “Bonded by choice?”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “It is not a thing I wanted, but the Force compelled it. Perhaps there is a way to undo what has been done when we reach the Jedi.”

“That may not be wise.” At Obi-Wan’s questioning look, Xan said slowly, “If the Force has dictated that such a bond be formed, who are you – or anyone – to seek to destroy what has been put in place?”

“I cannot reconcile that bond, or my attraction to Qui-Gon, with what I feel for you,” Obi-Wan said bluntly. “And I cannot reconcile what I feel for you with my duty.”

“Then you are only mortal like the rest of us,” Xan observed with a slight grin. He crooked a finger at Obi-Wan. “Come here, to me.”

Obi-Wan swung his legs to the floor and crossed the length of the room, shedding his tunic as he moved. “Yes, my master,” he said, softly, dangerously. Xan laughed, and the sound of it lifted his heart. Obi-Wan stretched out on the bed beside him. His touch was light, but filled with need, and each stroke of his hand was a possessive exploration, a permanent imprint on Xan’s body.

“You can feel Qui-Gon even now?” Xan asked, as he nipped gently at the skin beneath Obi-Wan’s ear. “And he can feel you?”

“Not now,” Obi-Wan murmured, engaged in pressing soft, slow kisses to the tender areas of Xan’s body. “I do not want him here, with us, ever again.” He unfastened Xan’s trousers and slipped them down over his hips.

“It may not be your choice,” Xan said, and finished on a low moan as Obi-Wan’s lips touched the head of his cock, as his tongue flickered out and tantalized, moving lower and lower still.

“I have chosen,” Obi-Wan said, and raised his head so Xan could see his eyes. A thrill of pure lust went through Xan’s body at the look in those eyes. “In this moment, this is what I wish.”

“In this moment,” Xan whispered, “I am here with you. But this moment will end.”

In answer, Obi-Wan’s lips covered his, stealing thought, breath, obscuring all questions. A sudden desperation overcame Xan; he shoved it brutally aside. Obi-Wan raised his head and asked softly, “What troubles you?”

“I am not troubled,” Xan said, but Obi-Wan’s expression changed, and Xan knew with certainty that his own shock was mirrored in Obi-Wan’s eyes. It was as if the doors of Obi-Wan’s heart had been thrown open, and every emotion he possessed was shining through. Xan whispered, “You can feel what I feel, can’t you?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan answered, and Xan’s reply caught in his throat as he listened to the wild rush of emotion speaking through his heart, the certainty that Obi-Wan’s heart was connected there. “And you—”

“Yes,” Xan answered, and felt Obi-Wan’s fear.

Obi-Wan’s arms tightened around him, even as anger flared within him. Xan could discern the subtle fragments of it, like distant music, as Obi-Wan spoke. “I first sensed it as we left the planet’s surface, but I did not believe it possible. I didn’t want to see it for what it truly was. Now…”

“Now you have no choice,” Xan said, and it was a question as much as a statement.

“It is done,” Obi-Wan said simply. “I would not have forced a bond upon you. But it exists. How this can be, I cannot say.”

Xan took his face between two hands. “As you have said – it is already done,” he said, and kissed Obi-Wan savagely, with triumph. “Now show me. Show me what you feel.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes narrowed, and he shifted on the bed, to strip and toss his clothing aside. And then he stopped, and touched Xan with something close to reverence. “Chun,” he said, and Xan’s skin went cold.

“Forgotten,” he answered, pulling Obi-Wan closer.

“No,” Obi-Wan said. “These injuries remind you. Both of us. Are you certain you-“

“Would you have me remind you what I am? What I have been, what I have done as your property?” Xan did not flinch as Obi-Wan’s pain burrowed into him.

“It’s not necessary,” Obi-Wan said. “Nothing can atone for what I have been forced to do.”  

“Quiet,” Xan said. “See the truth of it. This is all I need to heal what was broken.”

Obi-Wan rolled to his back, pulling Xan with him. Xan stretched out across the length of Obi-Wan’s body, and for a time they held one another. Obi-Wan laid his hands at the small of Xan’s back and rested them there. He shifted, bringing one leg between Xan’s legs, and Xan closed his eyes. Even the smallest touch to his skin seemed to bring every emotion flaring to life, all out of his control and screaming with need.

He dropped his head down and found Obi-Wan’s mouth, and kissed him, a kiss made bittersweet because he was free to give it as he wished – or to leave, if that was his desire. He knew he would stay, and Obi-Wan knew it as well. They understood each other’s needs; it was this same insight that had long told Xanatos how to make his master writhe with liquid pleasure.

Obi-Wan stroked his palms hard up the muscles of Xan’s back, asking permission with this most basic of touches. Xan moaned and twisted his lean body tightly around that of his beloved. Obi-Wan’s unerring erotic map of Xanatos led him to taste the skin at the side of Xan’s throat, to follow Xan’s sounds of pleasure with sharp bites and soothing kisses, to draw circles with his tongue around the hard nipples.

Xan had the freedom to stop Obi-Wan when he would attempt to give pleasure. Oh, it was intoxicating, the knowledge that Xan was in control of all things, as he grasped Obi-Wan’s wrist and stayed its motion. “Not yet,” he said, and saw the spark of lust flaring in Obi-Wan’s eyes, waiting to be quenched.

Freedom, to take his time because it was his own path to follow, his own choice, to wrap his lips around Obi-Wan’s cock and suckle hard and fast, to still the bucking hips with his hands and gentle the man who was still his master. He could taste the elixir of liberty with every lick of tongue -- up, then down, then pausing to swirl quiick around the head. Xan enjoyed the sensation of power so familiar to him, a power magnified by doors without locks and places without boundaries.

Joy burned through him as Obi-Wan surrendered to him, as he lost control and gave over everything to Xan, everything Xan demanded. And when it pleased him to do so, Xan relinquished his dominance in order to have what he wanted most, to turn to his side and feel Obi-Wan filling him, feel the emotions swirling around them in currents too fast and beautiful to be denied any longer. He was Obi-Wan’s, as much as Obi-Wan was his, and they would have to accept the consequences of it.

He pressed his face deep into the pillow with Obi-Wan’s voice in his ear, speaking softly, words guttural and erotic, as his cock pulsed in Obi-Wan’s hand, and Obi-Wan shuddered behind him, still buried deep inside him.   

The sleep cycle was nearing a close. Xan could sense the shifting of time, though he did not know how late it was. He stretched out alongside Obi-Wan; he drew patterns on Obi-Wan’s skin for the sheer joy of touching him.

Obi-Wan cut right to the heart of the matter as he traced the cold metal of the slave bracelet. “Why do you still wear this?” he asked.

“I was not ready to relinquish it.”

Obi-Wan looked sharply at Xan. “An interesting word to choose. This connection must be cut and remade, once we are among the Jedi.”

“I know,” Xan said simply, and said no more.

Obi-Wan hesitated for a moment, and then added, “You are free to make your own choices. I don’t expect you to feel as you have these years when there were no other options for you.”

Xan closed his eyes, forcing back the sadness rising inside him. “Tomorrow, Obi-Wan. Tomorrow is soon enough to talk of this.” He met the clear hazel eyes, searching them. “Let tonight be what it is. Let it be what you need.”

“And what of your needs?”

In answer, Xan kissed him, and turned to look at the stars streaking by outside the portal.

*****

“I cannot believe he is dead.”

Ket’al raised his head abruptly from where it had been resting on folded arms; for his effort, pain lanced through the muscles in his neck. He rubbed at it, unconcerned, focused only on the first words Mathius had spoken in hours.

He could not erase the memory of Leyran’s death from his mind. Leyran, who wore Mathius’ handsome features, who was the identical twin of his lover. Things could so easily have been reversed, and now he would be mourning Mathius instead. It was too much to comprehend, and he could not fathom what Mathius must be feeling.

Mathius sat up on the bed, then stood. He grasped the railing of the top bunk and held it, tighter and tighter, until his knuckles turned white. “It should not have happened. I urged him to follow. Were it not for my instructions, he would be alive.”

“Perhaps.” Ket’al watched his lover as his hands tightened, released, tightened on the bar. “Or perhaps we have all been living on borrowed time.”

“I don’t want to play the ‘perhaps’ game with you.” Tighten, release. “To have survived the life of a slave, and to die just as—”

“Don’t you think he would rather have died seeking his freedom? Or do you think he wanted to be a slave forever?” Ket’al pushed back from the table and went to Mathius. “This was a gift. An unexpected chance to be free. He would not want you to blame yourself. He chose. Honor his choice.”

“It was my fault.”

“No. It is the fault of the Sith. Or the man who fired the shot that killed him. Or of Kenobi for holding us captive. How can you choose who you’ll blame? Blame no one. Let him go.” Softer, then, Ket’al said, “Let him go.”

“It is not so easy for me.” The words were controlled, but Mathius’ shoulders shook. Ket’al  wrapped his arms around Mathius and held him, a silent support for his pain.  

Mathius leaned back into his embrace; the tremors in his body eased. “What do you think will become of us?”

“I don’t have the slightest idea. I know that I intend to find a way to do damage to the Sith. Any way I can.”

“You were not meant to be a slave,” Mathius said, with tenderness.

“None of us were.”

“But I was born into it. You…you were free, once.”

“Yes. And I intend to get back home, someday.”

“I see,” Mathius said slowly, and Ket’al knew he did not see at all.

“You would love Corellia.” Ket’al ran a hand through Mathius’ messy dark hair and released the tie that held it in place. “It’s a beautiful world. Someday, we’ll see it together.”

“If we survive all this,” Mathius said.

Ket’al twined his hand in Mathius’ hair and kissed the nape of his neck. “Oh, we’ll survive it,” he said. “I promise you that much. There is too much yet to do.”

*****

“Three minutes to landing, sir.” The captain looked over his shoulder at Obi-Wan, who nodded and turned to the others.

“There will be a contingent of Jedi here to meet us; I contacted Master Yoda as soon as we were clear of Taganor,” Obi-Wan said. As soon as he had finished the sentence, he looked up in alarm, first at Xan, whose expression was neutral, and then to Qui-Gon, who had gone deathly pale. “Qui-Gon?….”

“I am all right,” Qui-Gon answered, dismissing further inquiry. Obi-Wan felt their bond slam closed.

“Is there…should we disembark in any particular order?” Ket’al asked. He stood shoulder to shoulder with Mathius; they had been inseparable from the moment they boarded.

Obi-Wan looked to Valorum with a wry smile. “You are all free citizens, just as I am. Once we have landed, passage will be arranged for all of you. You may return to your homeworlds, if you wish, although I would urge you to be cautious. If Imperial troops should board your ships, you will be treated as runaway slaves and sold back into slavery.”

Daro shuddered. “I’ve had enough of *that*.” His eyes twinkled as he looked first at Qui-Gon, then Obi-Wan. “I’m going to find myself a Jedi and teach him some of the more…pleasurable pursuits that come with having me around.”

Obi-Wan’s eyebrows climbed, and a grin quirked up one side of his lips. “If anyone can challenge the Jedi philosophy, it will be you.” He turned to Ket’al. “They are expecting me, and Valorum and Qui-Gon as well. We will re-introduce Xanatos, as he also has a place among these people. The rest of you may disembark as you choose. Suitable quarters will be found for you until you have decided where you will go.”

“And if we want to stay, and be useful?” Ket’al asked, looking steadily at Obi-Wan. “As free men among the Jedi?”

“There will be tasks that need doing. We can discuss this, once…once you have adjusted,” Obi-Wan said.

Conversation ceased as the ship swept down from the sky and dropped onto the landing pad, partially concealed behind a thicket of trees. “Lower the ramp,” Obi-Wan said, and looked to Qui-Gon, whose face was unnaturally still. “What is it?” he asked, in a voice pitched for only Qui-Gon to hear. Qui-Gon said nothing; he looked straight ahead, and the threads that connected them through their bond remained dark, without the light of constant empathy.

Daylight burst through the hatch doors. The smell of wet vegetation, not unlike Taganor during the long stormy season, flooded the interior of the ship, and brought with it a sweet pang of loss to Obi-Wan. He gestured to Qui-Gon. “After you.”

Qui-Gon descended the ramp, with Obi-Wan and Xan following close behind and Valorum on their heels. All four men halted at the base of the ramp and took in the sight of more Jedi than most of them had ever seen assembled in one place. Men and women from many worlds lined the short walkway, and at the end, a small platform where six Jedi waited – Obi-Wan suspected they were the remnants of the Jedi Council. Chief among them was a small being with wizened skin and a walking stick.

Qui-Gon moved first; Jedi nodded to him in recognition as he passed by. He took the platform stairs two at a time and bowed before Yoda. “Oh, my master,” he said, and his voice broke on the word. “I believed you dead with the others.”

“Needed elsewhere, I was. Best to let the Sith believe reports of my death.” Yoda smiled gently at Qui-Gon. “It is good to see you again, Qui-Gon. Pleased am I that you are well.”

“There have been…challenges. I fear I have not met them all as a Jedi should.” A muscle twitched in Qui-Gon’s jaw as he lifted his head.

“Done well, you have.” Qui-Gon did not speak; silence spread between them, and Yoda’s ears flattened as his eyes clouded. “Speak later of this, we must.”

With a nod, Qui-Gon stepped aside.

Obi-Wan strode down the walkway and stopped short of the platform. Seeing Yoda brought forth a flood of memories – training, sparring, lessons in mastering the Force, building his lightsaber under Yoda’s tutelage – and the accompanying emotions rushed upon him. With the force of his will, he wrenched his emotions back into a small corner of his heart and turned his attention to Yoda. “Master Yoda. It is good to see you again, after so many years.”

Yoda’s lips compressed into a thin line. “Arrogant you have become, Obi-Wan Kenobi. Show proper respect for your master, you should.” Obi-Wan smiled, feeling surprisingly grumpy and relieved all at once, and bowed deeply. Yoda harrumphed. “Better.”

“I am not accustomed to bowing, these days,” Obi-Wan said, as the visceral truth of it slammed home. “It has been…quite some time since I have given obeisance to anyone.”

“Time to remember your teachings, it is.”

“Yes, master,” Obi-Wan said, and bowed again. “Truly, it is good to be…home.”

“Such as it is,” Yoda said. Obi-Wan let his guard fall, let Yoda search his feelings; the Force flowed through him, enveloped him. “Troubled are you, Obi-Wan. I sense much turmoil in you. Much to overcome.”

“I am not the boy who left your charge to become a Sith apprentice,” Obi-Wan said softly.

“No. You are not.” Yoda’s head tilted; his gaze seemed to cut right through to Obi-Wan’s heart. “Come back a man, you are, and much changed. Much power I sense in you.”

“You sent me to walk a fine line,” Obi-Wan said. “I have done my best.”

Yoda nodded. “Many hours will we spend, speaking of your journey.”

“Yes, Master.” Obi-Wan bowed once more – for good measure – and stepped aside.  He turned his attention toward the gangway and watched as Xanatos descended down into the midst of the crowd.

Qui-Gon descended the steps of the platform and waited for Xanatos there; Obi-Wan understood his intention. It seemed appropriate that Qui-Gon should be the one to give the explanation, to find a diplomatic way to reintroduce the man into the society he had left as a boy, on the cusp of becoming a Jedi Knight.

Xanatos turned his startlingly blue eyes on Obi-Wan as he neared the platform. His gaze was filled with the tenderness and torment of the night just passed, and Obi-Wan met his eyes steadily, without regret. Xan walked on, past onlookers, past support staff.

At the lowest step of the platform, Xanatos dragged his gaze away from Obi-Wan and turned to a beautiful woman standing with presence and grace, watching the proceedings. Obi-Wan was not familiar with her – he had met few Jedi other than those chosen to instruct him in utmost secrecy – but her bearing, and the fact the Force was strong with her, told him she was likely a powerful Jedi.

Xanatos looked deeply into the woman’s eyes for a long moment, and she smiled at him with great warmth that all present could feel. “I am glad you are well, my pupil,” she said softly. There was much joy in her voice.

Immediately, Xan bowed low before her and picked up her hand to clasp it between his own. “I thought I would not see you again, Master.”

A frown gathered itself on Obi-Wan’s face, and he looked at Qui-Gon. What he sensed from his bondmate confirmed his own confusion. Qui-Gon had been Xanatos’ first and only master; there had been no other. Qui-Gon’s expression was composed, unreadable, but his heart was clearly singing a different song.

“Have the years treated you kindly, Xan? I sense…” The woman’s face clouded, and she stopped speaking.

Xan did not raise his head. “We have much to discuss,” he said, and with a little squeeze, he released her hand.

“I will look forward to it,” she said.

Quickly, without a backward glance, Xan began to move again, and ascended the steps with Qui-Gon at his side.

Qui-Gon stepped forward as Xan dropped to one knee in front of Yoda. “My master, you will remember my former apprentice, Xanatos. He was lost to us in the destruction of the Temple, and has been enslaved by the Sith since that time.”

Yoda’s gaze settled on Xan. He gestured at Qui-Gon. “Need information on this man, I do not.” Xan raised his head, and Obi-Wan stepped forward, for his lover’s face was wet with tears, but Yoda stopped him with a wave of his hand. “Xanatos. What say you?”

“The child is dead, Master Yoda.” Xan waited for the news to sink in as Obi-Wan watched, incredulous. “There was no other option. He would not accompany us here, and without the influence of a Jedi, he would have become a powerful weapon in the Sith arsenal.”

“Done your duty well, you have,” Yoda said, and his words were laced with deep compassion. “Time it is for you to resume a normal life, here, among us.”

“I…there is so much…” Xan hesitated, and his shoulders hunched forward. “I have failed, my master…it was only to be as a last resort…” He looked over at Obi-Wan, who ignored Yoda and went to Xan then, and knelt beside him.

“I don’t understand,” Obi-Wan said softly, in a voice pitched so low that only those nearest could hear his words. He settled an arm across Xan’s shoulders. Xan tensed and turned his face away from Obi-Wan.

“Understand all, you will, in time.” Yoda’s eyes stayed on Xan. “A Jedi you were. A Jedi you have always been.” He shifted his gaze to Obi-Wan. “Think you I would leave you alone on that world? Alone, you were not. One trusted advisor you had, when Valorum joined you. And one other.”

Like the heavy pressure left by the vacuum of lightning, understanding closed in on Obi-Wan, and enclosed Qui-Gon at the same moment. A roaring began in Obi-Wan’s ears. “It was all planned,” he whispered, as information settled into the vacant cracks and crevices in his mind. Betrayal flared into life inside his heart. “There was nothing random.”

“Forgive me,” Xan said, and raised his head. “But you were never to know.”

“You…” Obi-Wan dropped his arm, stood, stepped back. “How much of it was a lie?”

“I had a duty,” Xan said, and stood to face him. Passion burned in his eyes. “But I have not lied to you on any matter of importance.”

“For later, this is,” Yoda said, cutting off any further revelations. Stunned, Obi-Wan stepped back again. Xan looked steadily at him as Obi-Wan backed onto the steps, then down to the bottom of the platform. Qui-Gon appeared beside Obi-Wan and stood silent support. Xan spared a glance for them, then turned back to Yoda as the Master spoke. “Xanatos. Obi-Wan. Much information you have. Begin at once, we will, to hear what you have to tell of the Sith.”

All three men bowed. “My master, what--” Qui-Gon began, and Yoda interrupted him swiftly.

“No time for explanations. Meet, we will, when this business is concluded. Introductions, there are. Much to discuss.” The ancient Jedi Master made his way down the steps, followed by the others on the platform.

Without another word, the three men followed, one after the other.

*****

The Jedi asked Obi-Wan and Xanatos many questions; they stuck to details, brief and to the point. Obi-Wan struggled to center himself, to remain calm and focused on the subject at hand. There would be lengthy conversations with his master in the days to come, he knew, and he would be required to recount every detail of his training by the Sith. His days among them had given him knowledge more precious to the Jedi than a million Imperial credits.

Xanatos would doubtless have much to account for as well.

Obi-Wan’s thoughts returned time and again to the paradox of his pleasure slave. Not his slave, it would seem, but his watchdog, his guardian. The implications staggered him. The purpose of Xan’s presence there, the reasons for his attention, his devotion…how he came to be there in the first place, and how he made his way into Obi-Wan’s heart…. Obi-Wan was not ready to hear the insistent voice that chattered to him, whispering accusations about deception and deceit.

He was the last man in the galaxy who could make such accusations; his own reflection named him a hypocrite in the extreme.

Later, in the privacy of a meeting with Yoda, he would ask a thousand questions of his own. But there was time now only for the things that concerned all of them.

When the Council had been fully informed of the plans of the Sith, the sun was creeping below the horizon, and the artificial lights blazed brightly in the makeshift Council chamber. The members sat silently, having asked the majority of their questions as the men told their stories.

The beautiful woman Xan had greeted on the platform was the first to break the silence. “There are not enough of us left to wage war with the Sith. We are powerless to prevent any further violence unless we can increase our number.”

“Master Billaba is correct,” said a tall, white-haired gentleman, who had been introduced as Master Freeth. “But I do not believe the Jedi alone are the answer to this question.”

“The Empire has subdued entire worlds frightened those few allies who would rebel into the smallest, darkest corners of the galaxy. Even if we could find them, they are untrained, untried.” Billaba shook her head with frustration.

“We would need their leaders. And how will we find them?” Plo Koon asked. “They will not simply appear because we wish to see them. Every Jedi who leaves this place risks exposure.”

“We cannot hide here forever,” Billaba said. Many heads nodded. “The Sith will be hunting us with every resource they possess now that the child of prophecy has been eliminated. These unfortunate events have left us all in great jeopardy.”

“True.” Yoda looked to Plo Koon. “Imperative it is that we disperse our numbers. Take charge of this you will, Master Koon.”

“We have already selected a site for a second base of operations.” Plo Koon handed Yoda a small datapad. “I will begin relocation of half our number immediately.”

“Forgive me, Masters, but I have a suggestion.” Obi-Wan stepped forward. “A great deal of information was recovered from the Sith database. It will take time to sort through it all. There are numerous files on the rebellion; as you know, a contingent of their leaders has gone into hiding. I suspect they are attempting to build their numbers through recruitment. It may be to our advantage to attempt to contact these leaders. They may give us access to their rank and file.”

“This is a dangerous course of action,” Qui-Gon said. His voice was a welcome distraction among the sea of strangers. “We risk much if we reveal ourselves to the rebels.”

“Do you think they would so easily sell out their last chance to defeat the Empire?” This from Xan, who had been silent since he answered Yoda’s last question. “They will not betray the remaining Jedi. And we need not give them either cause or sufficient information to do the damage you imply.”

Obi-Wan nodded at Xan, then turned his attention back to Yoda. “What if we try to find just one of their leaders? I have an idea where one might be found.”

“Whom would you seek?” Freeth asked.

“Bail Organa.”

Immediately a low tide of murmuring began.

“Absolutely not,” Plo Koon said angrily. “He left this Order. He is a traitor to the Code, to all we have believed in for two millennia. I will not bargain with that particular devil.”

“Bargain, you will, or doomed to extinction we are. All of us,” Yoda said. “Why this man, Obi-Wan?”

“He was Jedi. He must have had his reasons for leaving the order. Among the rebels, he is their most highly regarded leader, and one of the few to have had some success in disrupting Imperial operations on a large scale.”

Yoda thought it over for a moment, then asked, “Think you, Obi-Wan, that Organa can be found?”

“I’m certain of it. But I don’t think a Jedi should go looking.”

“Who, then?” Billaba asked.

“Who better than a man looking for a cause?” Obi-Wan said, and smiled. “I have someone in mind.”

“One of those who returned with you?” Yoda guessed.

“Yes, my master. The freed slave called Ket’al.”

Billaba looked to Yoda for confirmation, then said, “Very well. Ask this man if he will serve, and we will dispatch one Jedi with him to find Organa.”

Yoda stretched and pointed his walking stick at Obi-Wan. “Rest, you must. All three of you. Tomorrow, speak more of these things, we will. All of us,” he added, looking pointedly at each man. “Do not dwell on your feelings tonight. Meditate, you should. Seek to find the Force, to bring its strength to you.”

The three men bowed as the Council left the chamber, single file. Obi-Wan knew it would not be so easy to follow Yoda’s instructions. Xan’s presence was like lightning filling every corner of the room.

Xan caught Obi-Wan by the arm as he tried to pass by. “You mentioned shifting boundaries, and choices,” he said, “and I told you we would talk of these things today. You see why I could not speak of it last night.”

“I see only that nothing has been what it appeared to be,” Obi-Wan answered; he squashed down his impulse to accuse, to speak with anger.

Xan’s clear gaze never wavered; he lifted his head high. “Not even you, Jedi Regent.” Xan dropped his arm. “There are explanations, and I will give them freely…when you are ready to hear them. But I will not come to you.” He looked to Qui-Gon, then back to Obi-Wan. “It must be your decision.”

“Xanatos,” Qui-Gon began, but Xan cut him off with a curt bow, and walked away.

Obi-Wan could feel Qui-Gon’s concern, his curiosity, but he closed his heart to everything but the feel of Xan’s presence, retreating.

Obi-Wan would find his answers, but for now there was work to be done.


*****

Darth Sidious, Lord of the Sith, Ruler of the Imperial Territories, stood quiet in front of a blazing fire, one that was consuming the two most promising apprentices he had ever chanced upon. The bodies of Anakin Skywalker and Bruck Chun would soon be nothing but ash.

He had arrived on Taganor with two battalions, ready to make an example of Obi-Wan Kenobi and to use his pet Jedi to find the rest of the Jedi in hiding. But Kenobi was a full day’s start away from the world he had been sworn to oversee, and there was nothing left. Nothing but bodies, and fawning councilors intent on saving their own skins.

In his initial rage, Sidious had killed several loyal attendants. Regrettable, but anger must have an outlet, if hate was to make him stronger. His personal guard had retreated to a safe distance, watching warily as he set fire to the pyre on which the bodies had been laid to rest.

There would be a reckoning. First he would find the Jedi, and then he would find Kenobi, for where one was, the other would be.

He would soon introduce Kenobi to the world of agony that awaited him as the enemy of the Sith.

End

Continue on to Chapter 15



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