It was only a shimmer, just a whispered echo of power; barely enough to penetrate the distance between worlds, and not enough to change the flow of the Force in the continuum around all things.  

Even so, when he closed his eyes, Sidious could feel it.

He let this ripple in the Force pass through him like air, insubstantial, as he sought its location. He was already aware of the source. His hatred guided him like a ship drawn to a star, but his fix was tenuous at best. Not enough to set an unerring course.

"You must feel it, too," he said, watching the stars through the porthole. "And your greatest desire is to know its purpose."

"A Jedi is not controlled by his desires."

"No?" The emperor chuckled low in his throat. "You have not yet come to understand my methods of persuasion." He waited for the fear, and soon enough, it began to seep from the Jedi, a futile attempt to mask his terror. "You release your fear as an ineffective means of control."

"I do not fear you."

"Ahhh," Sidious breathed. "Then you fear for your brethren." He turned to lock eyes with Ter Olukan, Jedi and prisoner of the Empire. "As you should."

Olukan's gray skin paled; his large green eyes narrowed. "I will tell you nothing."

"Perhaps not." Sidious leaned closer; this Jedi was strongest of the many he had interrogated. His outward calm could not fully conceal the wavering just beneath the surface of his mind. Sidious opened his hand, then closed it. Olukan choked and flailed as the invisible vise closed on his throat. "But when I have finished with you, I will give you an opportunity to change your mind."


*****



The sound of rain woke Xan late in the sleep cycle. He could hear its faint patter on the roof of the building, on the ground outside; he smelled moisture in the air. It wasn't quite like Taganor, but the sense memory of cool, damp night was the same. Obi-Wan's warm body pressed against his was comforting.

Obi-Wan stirred in his arms and lifted his chin. Too late, Xan realized his churning thoughts had been too loud; Obi-Wan's eyes were sleep-heavy, questioning him. "Just memories," Xan said quietly. "Go back to sleep."

Ever curious, Obi-Wan shifted and sat up, stretching away sleep before he turned to Xan. "Perhaps you should share what you're thinking," he said. "Gratify my curiosity."

"You know nearly all of it now," Xan said. He reached up to stroke his fingers across Obi-Wan's cheek.

"Nearly all," Obi-Wan answered. Xan felt Obi-Wan's wavering doubt, his intense desire to know Xan's history. There was much he had not asked, and much Xan hadn't told. Obi-Wan was not quite content to leave it that way, but he had clearly decided to let it go. Xan was touched by his acceptance.

"Is it really so important to you?" he asked. In answer, Obi-Wan kissed him, drawing breath from him. "Very well," he sighed, and closed his eyes.

With only a moment's effort, Xan could call to mind the smell of burning rubble, of charred flesh; he knew the terror of seeing limbs torn asunder, scattered everywhere, and the remnants of his teachers and friends. He'd fled to the streets of Coruscant, to the filthy sub-levels with their brothels and bars, and had hidden among those few willing to take him in. The Sith had been everywhere, their presence a cold shadow even in the deepest pits of the planet, and it hadn't taken them long to locate him. "The Sith found me in the streets of Coruscant," he said, shivering at the memory.  

Obi-Wan traced patterns on Xan's bare stomach with his fingers. "How long did they hold you prisoner?" he asked.

"I don't know," Xan answered, shading the truth. It had seemed forever; the Imperial inquisitors with their instruments of torture, their drugs and their grubby fingers, their whispers and promises and attempts to warp his mind, had done their best to wring the knowledge from his body. But he was only a padawan, not even a knight, then, and his use to them was minimal.

He had screamed; this much he was sure of, but no more. Their hands had been skilled, their voices flat, impersonal. His only value to them was contained in the information they sought from him, and the price he could earn from the slavers. In the cold nights, his cell had seemed unbearably small, and the collar around his neck had choked off all hope of reaching out to Qui-Gon, even if his teacher was still alive. He had known nothing - no one - could save him.

So many memories, floating free through his mind, his heart. He opened his mouth to speak, but Obi-Wan pressed his fingers there, touched Xan's lips and sealed the words off with a tap of his finger. He could feel everything; Xan held nothing back. Obi-Wan absorbed it all, eyes closed, his face tense and drawn.

After a long moment, Obi-Wan asked, "They sold you?"

Xan reached down to stroke his hand through Obi-Wan's hair. "To slavers in the Perescho region. The slavers taught me many things." Beneath his hand, Obi-Wan's body grew tense, and Obi-Wan turned his face away so Xan could not see his eyes. "It's all right," Xan said, with a faint smile. "They were useful things. I could never have served you so well if they had not educated me."

Educated. Xan could feel Obi-Wan's disgust, his reluctance to ask the questions bubbling to the surface of his mind. "No child should be forced into that kind of education."

"I was not a child, and it is the way of the world, now," Xan said. "Your childhood was taken from you; Anakin's was taken from him. We all serve, in different ways." He grew quiet for a moment, then said, "They searched for me, you know. Master Yoda was determined to retrieve me and reunite me with my master. It wasn't until he'd won me back at auction that he realized there was a new path for me."

"As my watchdog."

"And Anakin's as well."

Obi-Wan stretched languidly, arms flung out to the sides, and then folded Xan into a full-body embrace. "My old teacher has had a master plan all along, it seems," he said fondly.

"Yes. Although it would appear chance alone dictated some of his decisions."

Obi-Wan kissed him slowly, then said, "Yoda rarely leaves anything to chance. 'Chance? There is no chance. There is--"

"-only the will of the Force,'" they finished together, laughing quietly against each other's lips.

Xan let the lingering smile on his face ease the urgency of his question. "And now, what will you do?"  He was becoming used to the strange ebb and flow of emotion through their bond, the strange surges of uncertainty as Obi-Wan sorted out his own thoughts. "Where will they send you?"

"They have not asked anything of me, but I've decided the way of peaceful intervention is greatly overrated." Obi-Wan sighed. "With no peace to keep, we are the bringers of war now. It happens to be my area of expertise."

"You are thinking of helping Organa raise an army?"

"If they can find him, then yes."

Xan was beginning to find the idea of battle vastly appealing. "It so happens war and deception are my specialties as well. And you will need help with your plans."

"Sadly, I will need more help than you can give." Obi-Wan grinned. "But it's a start."

"Now to convince Yoda," Xan said; his breath caught in his throat when Obi-Wan sprawled over him, pressing into him.

Door chimes interrupted whatever persuasion might have come next. Obi-Wan swore under his breath and rolled off the bed. Xan watched with amusement as Obi-Wan yanked on his tunic and hissed "Get dressed!" over his shoulder.

Master Billaba bowed to Obi-Wan when he opened the door. "The Council requires your presence, Obi-Wan. Yours also, my former padawan," she said, with a glance into the room.

"Are we to be assigned to duty?" Obi-Wan asked. Xan stopped drawing on his left boot and looked up hopefully.

"I believe Yoda has information for you," she answered. "He has asked for the two of you, and Master Qui-Gon."

"Very well." Obi-Wan grabbed his saber and knife and jerked his head impatiently at Xan, who had thrown on his clothes in record time. Xan smiled at his haste and tossed Obi-Wan his cloak.  


*****

"Set the ship down here." Bail Organa rapped his knuckles on the forward viewscreen. "This is good."

"This world is completely barren," Valorum protested. Ket'al looked first at the scan screen, then through the porthole; a thick, forbidding fog obscured the landing site.

"There's plenty of life down there. Or hadn't you noticed?" Organa grinned as they peered out the window; Ket'al looked around Valorum's shoulder and grimaced as the fog swirled, then came clear, revealing the swampy landscape below.

"I was referring to sentient life," Valorum clarified.

"That, too. Listen, if you were an Imperial spy, would you want to spend your time crawling through the swamps of Dagobah in search of rebels?" Valorum's lips thinned. "Exactly. That's what makes this the perfect base."

"How many are here?"

"Hard to say. We accumulate volunteers from all over the galaxy, but they pass through here on their way to outlying cells." He motioned to Ket'al. "Come on, let's go."

Ket'al looked to Valorum for permission he half hoped the man wouldn't give, but Valorum nodded. "Use caution," he said, and for a moment Ket'al wasn't sure which of them the advice was for.

"He's as safe as a baby in its mother's arms," Organa said. That feral grin was back.

The ramp let them off into the foulest stench Ket'al had ever smelled. His stomach churned, then rolled upward and tried to escape through his throat. When he'd finished retching out his last meal, Organa hauled him upright and tugged him along. "Swamp gas," he explained. "It has that effect on some."

"Will it pass?" Ket'al gasped. Another wave of nausea rippled through him.

"For your sake, I hope so." Organa was watching the path ahead, picking his way through the boggy mess as though there were a paved road before them. "Step where I step. Got it?"

"Yes." It wasn't as easy as it sounded. Organa was fast, and light on his feet, and between his clenching stomach and his aching head, Ket'al was a good deal slower than normal.

"How many people are hiding here?" Ket'al asked, as he slipped in the mud and braced himself on a twisted, ancient tree trunk.

Organa gave him a long look, then gave him a hand over the tree roots. "I get nervous when people ask questions. So don't."

"Who would I tell?" Ket'al said, and stopped to catch his breath. He thought of Mathius, who was waiting for him, and of all the things they had yet to see together. He would have laughed out loud at the sight of Ket'al, sliding his way through the gooey mud and undergrowth. It made him miss Mathius all the more.

"Listen, I only trust people who've shown me something. So far, all you've shown me is a ship and the contents of your stomach. So let's get going." Organa quickened his pace. Ket'al swallowed his irritated reply and moved faster, determined to ignore his complaining belly.

Finally they reached the hollow roots of a huge, dead tree. Ket'al recoiled from it on sight, overcome with a wave of dread he had no explanation for, but Organa pulled his shoulder again. "Nothing here can hurt you," he said. "The place is strong with the Dark side, but it serves its purpose. Keeps nosy creatures and Imperials away." He stepped into the yawning black chasm. "Come on!"

It was like passing through an invisible wave of ice. Cold, clammy fear enveloped Ket'al. He caught hold of Organa's tunic and followed him through the smothering darkness, hyper-aware of his own heartbeat, of his own sweat. As suddenly as they'd plunged in, they were out, and Ket'al blinked in surprise as several men stepped forward with cries of greeting.

"Edger!" Organa threw his arms around a tall, thin man with graying red hair and clapped him on the back. "You made it here!"

"As did you, and with a new recruit in tow, I see," Edger said, grinning at him.

"I've come with new information that could change our plans."

Edger glanced at Ket'al. "Does it have to do with this pup?"

"Only indirectly." They grinned at each other. "Is Mari here?"

"Waiting to see you, like always."

"Lead on!" Organa waved Ket'al forward. "Listen, stay with me. Strangers don't go over well around here." He eyed Ket'al. "We'll get a medic to dose you for that stomach. Kid, you're going to have to toughen up a little."

Ket'al snorted, but didn't bother to answer. He'd have time enough to prove his skills in the days ahead.


*****


Obi-Wan's first surprise was the sight of Qui-Gon on the dais with the Council, but he supposed he should have known. It was inevitable, really. If he had been paying attention to the deep uneasiness Qui-Gon was feeling, Obi-Wan knew he could have figured out its cause long before they were summoned before the Council. It was simply easier not to listen, to understand; easier not to know. He was troubled by his own reluctance, but this was not the time to puzzle it through.

At his side, Xan watched him, alternating his attention between the Council and Obi-Wan. Not for the first time, Obi-Wan wished he knew of a way to completely control how much of his emotions Xan and Qui-Gon could sense, but he had no idea how it could be done. There seemed to be no way to rein in the scope of it, and if Yoda had any idea, he was silent on the matter.

Together, Xan and Obi-Wan bowed, then straightened, hands in cloaks, a posture so familiar it had come back to them without conscious thought. Obi-Wan waited for the Council to address him, as per tradition, before he unleashed his questions.

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said. His expression was oddly guarded. "The Council has decided to confer upon you the rank of Jedi Master."

You're joking, Obi-Wan thought, incredulous; beside him, Xan shifted his weight, a subtle signal. Qui-Gon frowned. Out loud, Obi-Wan said, "I deserve no reward nor added rank, Masters."

"Indeed you do not," Plo Koon said. "On this point, we may agree, Master Kenobi. However, if you are to act as the arm of this body, you must carry the proper credentials. A mere knight cannot wield our authority in these times."

"Forgive me, Master, but this Council barely wields any authority of consequence." Qui-Gon's frown deepened, but Obi-Wan went on despite Qui-Gon's look of warning. "So I do not see a need."

"Your lack of foresight is excusable, Obi-Wan, but your lack of courtesy is not," Master Billaba said mildly. "You will accept your new rank, and you will do as you are bid."

Obi-Wan bowed - inclined his head, truth be told - and stiffened his spine. He directed his stare at Yoda, pointedly ignoring Qui-Gon. Yoda met his gaze with a troubled look of his own.

"Much to be done, there is," Yoda said. "Little time remains."

"Master?" Obi-Wan had heard this tone before. It was the tone of bad news; as a child, he'd heard it rarely, but often enough for its mark to be indelible on his memory.

"Your old master is not infallible," Yoda said. "Wrong, was I, about many things. One thing, most of all." His gaze shifted to Xan, then to Qui-Gon; he raised his walking stick and waved to the Mon Calemari standing at the far corner of the room. "Knight Bant."

She bowed to the assembled Jedi and came forward, quick and nervous; her pale orange skin was shiny with moisture. "Masters," she said. "We have researched the prophecies governing the Chosen One in great detail. Unfortunately we did not have all the materials required, but the major texts were saved when the Temple fell."

"Enough there was to discern the truth - look in the right place, one must," Yoda said. "Continue."

Bant's gills made a strange fluttering motion, and then she said:  "Anakin Skywalker was not the Chosen One."

"What?"  Obi-Wan stepped forward and grasped Bant's arm as the assembled Jedi exclaimed to one another. She flinched away from him when he hissed, "How can this be?"

"Wrong, and foolish, I was." Yoda shook his head. He was silent for a long moment as he looked at Obi-Wan.

Bant went on, her voice wavering a bit as she briefed the Council. "According to Master Yoda's interpretation of the prophecy, a bond between three Jedi will prove the path to the Chosen One. The bond shall amplify and restore balance to the Force." Bant looked from Obi-Wan to Yoda.

"Ah," Master Billaba said softly. "Three for the seventh wave. So there is a reason for the Force-created bond, after all."

"Formed, it was, of necessity, to protect this fledgling bond. Even now you feel it," Yoda said, nodding to Obi-Wan. "And you," he said to Qui-Gon. "And you, also," he said, to Xan this time. "Felt this for some time, you have, Xanatos; this bond stretching, more than two."

Obi-Wan glanced at Xan, whose head was bowed; he could not see Xan's eyes, but he felt Xan's fear, a confirmation of Yoda's words. And something more... "Xan," he said softly. He looked sharply at Qui-Gon, whose eyes were fixed on Xan as though he was the only man in the room.

"Three of you there are; three in this bond, together."

"Xan?" Obi-Wan tried again, and suddenly a flood of emotion overwhelmed him, a double wave of regret and anger, from Qui-Gon and Xanatos. He opened himself to them both and knew it was true: the bond had grown to encompass all of them. His hands were shaking; he folded them deeper into his robes. "Why did you hide this from me?" he asked Xan, who shook his head and stared up at Qui-Gon.

"I did not choose this," Xan said.

"Nor did I," Qui-Gon said. His anger flooded the bonds between them, swirling vivid and tense in this strange new shared space. "It would seem my will is twice bent, twice overcome, by the Force."

"Strong in the Force are you, Qui-Gon. Always the strongest of my students. The key to all."

"What does it mean?" Obi-Wan asked impatiently. His frustration rose to match Qui-Gon's anger, Xan's fear. The Council - all but Qui-Gon - ignored him and focused their attention on Yoda.

"Master Yoda." Plo Koon folded his hands in his lap, a deliberate gesture of calm, and said, "Why are you so certain of your conclusions now? If you have been wrong before, might not you be wrong again?"

Yoda pursed his lips and nodded slowly. "First believed, I did, this bond was in place for Obi-Wan's protection. For what purpose, only the Force could know. To defeat the Sith, three there must be, strong in the Force. And one, Chosen among all others, from whom the power will flow."

Yoda's gaze was searing through Obi-Wan, and words were spinning through his mind: One. Chosen. One. Chosen One. "Are you saying..." he began slowly, then stopped.

"It's Obi-Wan, isn't it," Xan said. His face had transformed into an expression of triumph. Obi-Wan shook his head once, robbed of the ability to speak, and stared at Yoda.

"Perhaps." Yoda rose slowly from his seat and made his way down the steps to where Obi-Wan stood. "Perhaps. Take this for granted, you must not. Much depends on this."

"It isn't me," Obi-Wan said in disbelief. He sank to one knee and looked Yoda in the eye. "Master...it isn't me."

"Not for you to decide, is this," Yoda answered him. His eyes were kind, but they held the certainty of all his years of wisdom. "All will become clear in time."

"If it is true - if these three are the balancers of prophecy - there is no time to lose," Billaba said.

"No." Qui-Gon stood and came down from the dais. As he came closer, the bond between them hummed with Force energy, vibrant and alive. "Adar gives us no reason to believe we can know the Chosen One before the time of battle comes."

"You are familiar with the Adar Book, then," Billaba said. "Then you must also know the full text. The time of the Dark Lords is upon us; the rest of the prophecy will soon be fulfilled."

Obi-Wan rose to his feet and stared at her. "You're saying this was all predetermined," he said. "That there was no conscious choice in any of it."

Yoda tapped his walking stick on the floor. "Choices there are, for all of us. Prophecies can be undone. The question remains: is this such a prophecy? Time will tell. Now - allow this bond to grow, you must."

"Master Yoda," Qui-Gon began, but was silenced with a look.

"Put pride aside, and listen. Give in to the will of the Force."

"I..." Obi-Wan stopped himself; he'd been on the verge of protest, but it seemed foolish to continue in the face of such resolute certainty. "What must we do?" he asked instead.

"Be open to this bond. Let the Force flow through you. Guide you, it will."

Billaba spoke again. "In ten days time, you will relocate to Talia V. There is a moon on the far side of the planet; this is where half of our number will gather to make preparations for war."

"What of Organa?" Obi-Wan asked.

"Valorum has promised to send word as soon as the rebels have made their decision."

Obi-Wan bowed; Xan pressed close by his side. He raised his head and exchanged a glance with Qui-Gon. Not what he had expected; not the destiny he had been raised to believe was his.

None of them had been prepared for this.


*****


The moment Bail Organa drew a chair up to the table, took a breath, and said the word 'Jedi', shouting ensued. To Ket'al, it seemed as though everyone present could sense what Organa was about to say, as though the assembled men and women and various other species needed the words as their catalyst. Edger sat to Organa's right, and Ket'al on his left, and once the whirl of argument began, it escalated, a storm of words inside a hollow world.

"I didn't sign up to be a pawn of the Jedi!" Across the wooden table, a stout man with black hair pounded his fist down on every other word. "You bring them here and jeopardize our movement - for what? To restore their power? The days when the Jedi can dictate to the galaxy are over."

A few people clapped, but the majority continued on in their furious, hushed side discussions.

"Oh, you like the alternative, do you, Peron?" Organa leaned forward over the table, palms pressed flat against its surface. "You like having the Empire control our homeworlds, our families? You enjoy being hunted by the Sith?"

"The Sith," Peron spat, "are just like the Jedi. Same powers, same corruption. They exist because of the Jedi. Don't try to break this down into black and white for me, Bail."

"You're the one with the simplistic view," said a man to Peron's left. "The Sith may exist as a counterweight to the Jedi, but that's hardly the fault of the Order."

Peron ignored him. "Bail. Don't tell me I'm wrong. If you believed in them, you'd never have left the Order."

"I left the Order because I saw their insistence on peace and order was going to get them killed. I wanted to have a fighting chance." Organa shrugged. "Now we have one."

"I've had just about enough of hiding in a stinking hole, waiting for something to happen," the grizzled man said. "We can double our numbers this way. The Jedi can hide among us, and we can continue to recruit."

"Dodonna is right," Organa said, nodding to the man who'd just spoken. "Valorum and the others are proposing an alliance. Not a hierarchy with the Jedi on top. The people who lead will continue to lead."

"Do you seriously think the Council will take directions from you?" Edger asked.

"I know they will. They wouldn't have sent for me if they didn't intend to form a partnership. They know damned well I won't have it any other way."

"I don't like it!" Peron sat down, his face contorted by the weight of his frown.

"I'm not thrilled about it either, Peron, but it's the best we can hope for at this point."  To the left of Ket'al, Edger's wife Meri spoke up. "Think about it logically. It will take us years to build our numbers. What harm can it do to pool our resources?"

"Aside from the fact that once we ally with them, the Empire's bounty extends to us?"

A ripple of laughter went around the room. "Half of us have a bounty on our heads already," said a Mon Calimari at the end of the table. "So I don't see that as a persuasive argument against it."

"Listen," Organa said. "I'm not saying it's the best option. It's one option. Maybe the best one we're going to come across, and the only one that's been handed to us so far. I say we do it."

"Put it to a vote, like everything else," Edger said. "Shall we throw in with the Jedi?"

"In favor," Organa said. There was a muttered chorus from around the table.  "Against?"

Peron alone of the twenty or so at the table spoke. "Completely against." After a moment, he sighed. "But I won't undermine the majority."

"Then it's done." Organa sat back in his chair, relaxed for the first time since Ket'al had met him, and turned to Ket'al. "That wasn't so hard, was it?" Ket'al raised his eyebrows, but said nothing.  

Organa grinned.


*****

 
Sidious savored fear. Nothing pleased him more than a room full of frightened Sith Lords, their bodies trembling and their concentration scattered as they imagined what he might say, who he might kill. He had trained them well, but none of them could share his power. None could surpass him. None were worthy of their rank.

"Too long have the Jedi eluded us," he said softly. "Too long have their number been allowed to hide in the dark corners of the galaxy, spreading their lies and undermining the Empire. Who is to blame?" He turned his lightsaber over, end to end, passing it from his left hand to his right. "Who here has not missed some chance to take them prisoner, to extract vital information?"  Their apprehension was growing; he smelled it like blood from open wounds, flowing toward the source of Darkness.

"Tarkin," Sidious said. The slender man at his side turned; his dour expression did not change. "Make preparations for the bulk of the Imperial troops to rendezvous at Yavin."

"Yes, my lord," Tarkin answered, bowing low.

"You see," Sidious said. He smiled down at the body of the Jedi on the floor before him. "It did not take long to root out the necessary information. I know now where to find them, how to hunt them. The fools are huddled together, waiting for our arrival. And we will not disappoint them." He stepped down from the dais. "You will go to them, at the head of my troops. You will not return until all the Jedi are dead."

"Yes, my lord." The low murmur of their obedience pleased Sidious.


*****


If Obi-Wan had ever had any skill at meditating, it seemed to have deserted him completely. As he sat on the floor of his quarters with Xan to his left and Qui-Gon to his right, he tried to focus on the issue at hand, but his back itched, and his belt was too tight, and Xan smelled of sweat and Qui-Gon of soap, and he could sense Xan's irritation, even more than Qui-Gon's amusement.  Obi-Wan hadn't been so distracted since he was a very small child, captivated by the brilliance of butterflies in the meadow as Yoda talked him through his first lessons.

He gave up, unfolded his legs, and stretched out on the floor, prodding Qui-Gon's leg with the toe of his boot. "This is useless," he said. "Utterly useless. And don't try to tell me you are tuned in to the Force --- either of you."

"No," Xan said. He opened his eyes and sighed. "I always excelled at meditation."

"Or so you thought." Qui-Gon opened his eyes and smiled at Xan.

"Maybe we're not doing this right. Maybe we're supposed to be tapping into this bond, somehow. We did it before," Xan said.

"On the ship," Obi-Wan said. He rolled over on his stomach.

"Actually," Xan said, "I believe we did it once before that."

"You're referring to...on Taganor," Qui-Gon said. His gaze became distant, but Obi-Wan knew what he was thinking of, as did Xan. The memory of it warmed him through, and he looked away from them. Pleasure was not the point of their exercise.  

"I don't think that's the answer," Xan said. "Not...not exactly."

"No." Qui-Gon agreed.

Obi-Wan thought about the moment on the ship when they had joined together, the incredible power at their disposal. "If we can't find a way..." he began.

"We must," Qui-Gon said. "There is no other option."

Xan nodded. They lapsed into silence; the Force flowed through them, around them, waiting for their summons.




To be continued in Chapter 18



Back to The Seventh Wave page
Back to Main Page
destina@ix.netcom.com