Obi-Wan made his way to his quarters warily, looking for any signs that an alarm had been raised. Miraculously, his battle with Chun had drawn no attention - most of those who might have intervened had been felled as Obi-Wan approached Chun's quarters. There were too many dead Sith strewn about in the halls and corridors; his first instruction to Valorum had included a small team of men to clear away the bodies and debris.
His mind worked incessantly on the problem at hand, the problem that he could no longer solve through his tenuous control of either men or machines. They were all in danger, and if the Sith regiments arrived before he could gather his men and evacuate the palace, they would all die - Xanatos, Jinn, Valorum, and any others he had not managed to remove from harm's way. His fault, and no way around that fact. His responsibility; his burden to carry, and one he could no longer shoulder alone.
He had given in to impulse, justified it with rationalization, and now the course for all of them was irrevocably set. They would never know if he could have persuaded the Emperor, or if Anakin could have naturally become the leader he was born to be. Taganor would fall to one of the many Sith Lords waiting for a berth in the ever-expanding Empire, and the citizens would starve, and die. And those slaves unfortunate enough to remain in the seraglio, slaves he had intended to free upon his death - they would be butchered, or sold again into harsh servitude.
All was lost, because of him. He had failed.
There would be a thousand questions, and he would have to provide explanations. Even now, he could feel Qui-Gon's urgent curiosity, his burning need to understand. That would be the first conversation; he would satisfy that thirst to know, and assuage the Force-driven pounding in his skull. Beyond that, there were plans to make, contingencies to solidify. If his calculations were correct, the data in Bruck's console indicated the Sith would take less than one day to reach Taganor. They would have to hurry.
He stopped before the door of his quarters, taking a deep, exhausted breath and holding it, then exhaling, centering himself. Just a little longer, to keep up appearances, to show his strength, and then he could try to remember what he had been in the beginning.
Just a little longer.
He keyed his personal code and entered the anteroom. As he approached the inner rooms, the door slid open, and Qui-Gon met him there, concern blazing in the blue eyes, along with something Obi-Wan was too tired to acknowledge.
"Excellency. Are you all right?"
Obi-Wan nodded. He reached for goblet and pitcher, and poured a glass of water to ease the words that seemed stuck in his throat. "Chun is dead. Was Valorum here when I summoned him?"
"Yes." Qui-Gon reached out a hand, and Obi-Wan allowed it settle on his shoulders without protest. "You are injured. Let me help you."
"I need no assistance," Obi-Wan said sharply, drawing back.
The hand remained fixed in place as Qui-Gon's eyes darkened. Obi-Wan watched truth bleed into those eyes and waited for the words that would reflect that truth. Quietly, Qui-Gon said, "You are not speaking to a slave any longer."
Obi-Wan tilted his head up, met Qui-Gon's eyes, and opened the bond. As the full impact of his emotional state flooded into Qui-Gon's awareness, he saw the effect of it, felt the visceral reaction to the tide of love and doubt, blood lust and regret, and slowly, he shut it down, like the damming of a waterfall. Qui-Gon's hand tightened on his shoulder.
Obi-Wan raised his hand and touched the long fingers of the Jedi. "The Emperor is on his way. At most, we have a day. If we are not off this world by sunset, we will die, or be enslaved. Palpatine will not tolerate the death of his most trusted minion. This is the end of everything, and we must act quickly."
"What can I do?"
"Once Valorum is finished disposing of Chun's body, he will begin arming my men. You may be helpful in this." Obi-Wan's mind was racing, leading him down paths he had long ago prepared to travel. "There are a few men in the seraglio who may be useful, and whose lives are...important to me. You know my favorites?"
"Daro, the twins, and Ket'al," Qui-Gon said, sure of this one piece of information as he was sure of little else.
"Yes. Arm them. Tell them the cost of joining us aboard ship. If they remain behind, they will not be treated kindly, but they will live."
"That life is not a life worth living, if they are sold into slavery for the Sith," Qui-Gon said. Bitterness crept into his tone.
"Then you must convince them. In this way, you can help me." Obi-Wan looked past Qui-Gon, at the closed doors behind him, and finally allowed himself to ask the question that had preoccupied him since he had first gone to meet the Sith in battle. "How is Xanatos?"
"Sleeping. He will recover. He is...I was able to heal the majority of his injuries."
Gratefully, Obi-Wan nodded, and his heart signaled his thanks through the bond. "Return to your quarters in the harem. I will join you there to give you the information you will need. There is much to explain, and we have little time." Obi-Wan paused for a moment, then added, "Do what you must to arrive safely, and let no one question you."
With a slight bow, Qui-Gon was on his way. Obi-Wan watched his departure with an odd mix of apprehension and complete trust. His mind began to race again through the thousand aspects of the task at hand. If he thought back, he could remember a time when all of this had seemed like a distant, impossible dream. He had been so young, and so many things were still distant and unimaginable. His master had warned him that one day, his world would disintegrate around him, and all he would have left was the Force, and his own indomitable will. It was the reason he was chosen.
But he had been fortunate; he had much more than just those simple things.
He keyed the door and entered the bedchamber. In the semi-darkness, Xan's outline was barely visible in the bed; he was wrapped in blankets, sleeping peacefully. Obi-Wan approached silently, undoing the fastenings of his belt as he walked. His belt came loose in his hands, and he slung it over a chair, pausing only to run his fingertips over the cool surface of the lightsaber.
Obi-Wan stood by the bedside, looking at Xan, filling his eyes with the pale beauty of the man he loved.
With due caution, he climbed into the bed, slipping his arms around Xan's still form, reveling in the warmth of his body, the soft exhalations of breath. Xan, alive, breathing, warm and alive, and oh, how close they had come, how much he had nearly lost in service to his duty.
It would not happen again.
He buried his face in the curve of Xan's shoulder and closed his eyes. In the silence, he listened to the sound of Xan breathing, let the sound become his world, and for a time, every other horror retreated into the background. There was only Xan, and he held his lover closer, soothed by his warmth, by his presence.
*****
Qui-Gon paced the spacious quarters he had been given. He was no longer a prisoner; that much was clear. Yet he was not free to leave, and would never be, as long as the bond existed.
It was not easy, this knowing, the understanding that Obi-Wan would sacrifice his own life for Xanatos. The Regent would expect the same from Qui-Gon, but for completely different reasons. One man he loved; the other was bound to him in service. Still, their bond pulsed with life. The Force was compelling him in ways he had never believed possible, and he was at a loss to understand.
Obi-Wan had opened the bond for only the briefest moment, had allowed Qui-Gon to share his fears and sacrifices. Like a supernova, he had understood the magnitude of Obi-Wan's determination not to allow any more pain for those he cared about. It was an illuminating moment, as they connected through that bond.
He had to know. And he was aware Obi-Wan was on his way, bringing the information he craved. The thought of it filled him with an odd sort of dread.
Moments later the doors slid open, and Obi-Wan walked through. His posture was tense, almost rigid, in contrast with the deep weariness in his eyes. He nodded to Qui-Gon and dropped his weapon on the table; the lightsaber clattered across its smooth surface, glittering in the light.
Qui-Gon watched as Obi-Wan approached the open terrace doors and stopped, absorbing the sounds of the night. Somehow, everything seemed alive, awake, and Qui-Gon understood: this was the last time Obi-Wan would hear these sounds.
He was capturing the memory, to take with him.
Softly, Qui-Gon asked the question. "Who are you?"
Obi-Wan's face changed subtly; he stared out into the night, and folded his arms across his chest. "When I was a small boy, men came to my mother's house. They asked me questions, gave me tests. Things I didn't understand. I tried to please them because I understood it was what they wanted, but I knew my mother was frightened. Imperial spies were everywhere. No one was safe." He paused, and turned to look at Qui-Gon with immense sadness in his eyes. "She was killed, not long after. This was still a world consumed by slavery and greed, in those days. She never had a chance."
Qui-Gon accepted the pain he could feel pouring from Obi-Wan and enfolded it in understanding. He said nothing; he merely looked at Obi-Wan, and made no attempt to hide his own feelings. The bond between them was open and clear, filled with the light of wordless communication.
With a brief nod, Obi-Wan continued. "They were satisfied with my performance. They gave my mother compensation and took me away. I don't remember much from those early years, just a great deal of sadness. I was taken from everything I knew. Almost from birth, I was given to understand that I was going to be the savior of my world, and perhaps of the freedom of the Old Republic. There was always instruction. Tests, training, endless sessions with my master. There was never a moment I was alone with my own thoughts. Always too much to learn, and never enough time." Obi-Wan paused.
Qui-Gon caught his breath. "Then you are..." He could not bring himself to say it. It seemed impossible, not within the realm of reality.
Obi-Wan smiled slightly. "My master told me once that there would be a moment I would have to sacrifice something dear to me, in order to preserve the things I was sworn to protect. It has not been as easy as I once believed." He turned to Qui-Gon, truth blazing in his eyes. "I am like you, Jedi. I am of your order."
"You are a Jedi." The words seemed to take on a life of their own, and as he spoke them, Qui-Gon could feel Obi-Wan's relief.
"Yes." Obi-Wan drew a deep, heavy breath, and tension seemed to dissolve from his body. "There were Jedi who foresaw the coming fall of the Temple and the destruction of the Order; they feared the Jedi would scatter throughout the galaxy. Thus they created other places to learn, to train. The Jedi who were with my master hid me away on a tiny moon on the far side of the galaxy, in a place the Sith would bother with only after they had swept the rest of the galaxy clean. I had no master classes, no wisdom of Jedi who had come before me to rely on. There was only my master, and those few who were recruited to train with me and protect me." Obi-Wan faltered for a moment; he seemed to be in the throes of a memory, and deep loneliness emanated from him into the bond he shared with Qui-Gon.
He closed his eyes for a moment, then continued, "When I was taken, I was trained to be above the temptations of flesh, to remain removed from the torments of average men. Every moment of my training focused on the avoidance of passion, on the discipline to resist anger, to avoid temptation. I was trained to go among the Sith, to take my place among their ranks. The plan they devised was a simple one; I would become the best of my kind, and thus the best among them. I would earn Palpatine's favor and once close to the Emperor, I would kill him. My life was nothing, in the scheme of things."
"You were trained to withstand Imperial influences?" Respect crept into Qui-Gon's tone, and colored the bond. "I heard plans of this nature discussed among members of the Council when they met in exile, but I did not imagine anything would come of them. The Council did not dare to meet often enough for their plans to coalesce. I would not have believed it to be possible, that anyone could avoid turning under those conditions. It must have been....unbearable for you," Qui-Gon said. He watched Obi-Wan's eyes, saw the storms of memory there.
"The Force is strong with me, stronger than any of the Jedi I trained with, and my master knew I would be chosen by the Sith to become a part of their order. He foresaw it. He believed that if I distinguished myself among the Sith, I would eventually be taken by Palpatine as his apprentice." Obi-Wan rested his head against the palm of his hand for a moment, then rubbed his eyes tiredly once again.
"Sith methods are grounded in understanding and acceptance of the Dark Side. How did you...?" Qui-Gon left the question unfinished, because there was no way to ask it.
"I was not made a Sith apprentice. I undertook their training and caught the eye of the Emperor, but the focus of my assignment changed as I was in the midst of it all."
"They found Anakin?"
"Yes. He was the unforseen circumstance." Obi-Wan turned away from the window and looked at Qui-Gon. His face seemed old, shadowed by regret. "It could not be avoided. I had blood ties to the child, and he was the Chosen One, or so they all thought. When it was decided I would infiltrate the Sith, it was assumed I would make my way through the ranks until my family position brought me to the Emperor's attention. But here was the perfect situation, one they could not have engineered any better even if they had tried. Here on Taganor, I would be in a position to turn the child, to see that he was not unduly influenced by the Sith and their dark ways."
"And in the process, save Taganor from the Empire as well," Qui-Gon surmised.
Obi-Wan nodded. "So the purpose I was to serve changed, but to the same end. I was able to maneuver myself into position to oversee their Chosen One, to ensure there would be no apprentice to the Emperor. If I had tried and failed to kill Palpatine, the child would still be there, waiting to be made into a tool of the Darkness. He could prove to be more powerful than the Emperor himself. But with me to guide Anakin, it was hoped there would be no need to sacrifice Jedi in attempts to assassinate Palpatine."
A short, impatient breath, and then Obi-Wan shrugged. "It made no difference to me. I did what I was told." Another short pause, then, "I survived the Sith. But something in me changed. I became more like them. Ruthless. I used power to my best advantage." He fell silent for a moment, then continued, "I surrendered to the need for power, and I never looked back." Obi-Wan's eyes shifted to the window and he stared out into the night. "Until you arrived."
Denial came forth immediately, and Qui-Gon said, "The Force sings in you. There is no Darkness in you, my lord."
Obi-Wan turned on him, anger written plainly in his eyes. "I am not your lord," he said savagely. "You are free. You have been free since the moment I killed Chun. I am not even your equal, Jedi. I was not made a Knight. I have had no apprentice. I have failed the only mission I was set." Disgusted, he slammed a hand into the wall. "And because of me, this world will die, and Anakin will turn."
"There is still a chance he will not turn." Qui-Gon went to him then and reached out with a steady hand. His fingers traced the small scar on Obi-Wan's jaw, slowly, almost reverently. "You may yet convince him to leave this world with you, and if you can do so, he can be trained in the ways of the Jedi."
"You have seen him use the Force, Qui-Gon. You have felt his power, his command of the Force. Do you really believe it will be so simple?" Skeptical and knowing, Obi-Wan's eyes plainly showed his doubt. "Since Chun's arrival, I sense less confusion in Anakin. There's more determination, more arrogance. He is still young, but I believe his path is set." Obi-Wan turned his face toward the gentle touch against his cheek. "There are only two options."
"You will persuade him," Qui-Gon said. His hand remained rested at the juncture of neck and shoulder, as his thumb mapped the strong muscles knotted there.
"We will see." As he had done before, Obi-Wan rested his hand atop Qui-Gon's, and stilled the motion of his fingers. They remained that way, touching gently, until Obi-Wan stepped away. "I will collect Xanatos and Anakin. You will see to the men of the harem? I can do little else; there is not enough room-"
"You needn't explain." Qui-Gon cut him off. "Where can I obtain weapons?"
"You know where Chun's quarters are?" At Qui-Gon's nod, Obi-Wan keyed the comm console.
"Valorum."
"I am sending the Jedi to you. Give him four weapons."
"Yes, Excellency."
Obi-Wan glanced at Qui-Gon's lightsaber. "Will you require additional weapons?" Qui-Gon smiled, amused. Obi-Wan smiled in return and closed the communications channel. "Bring them to the ship as soon as you can. Be cautious, but as I said before - let no one stop or question you."
"We will be there."
*****
Ket'al's hands roamed absently up and down the broad back of his lover, but his eyes were trained on the door. Something was wrong. He could feel it tingling in his bones. The entire palace was crackling with tension. There were rumors among the slaves that there had been trouble elsewhere in the palace, that the Regent was in danger of losing his position. If that were to happen...the consequences would be horrific for them all.
He shifted in the bed and moved closer to Mathius. One arm snaked across Mathius' back as he pressed a kiss to the smooth skin of the other man's shoulder, then rested his chin there. Xanatos had gone to Chun earlier that evening. It was nothing the rest of them had not done on more than one occasion. It was, after all, their duty to entertain their master's guests. There had never been a question about it, until this night. Xanatos was the unquestioned favorite, and Obi-Wan rarely allowed his current favorite to share the bed of another. It was disturbing to see the balance of power shifting so rapidly.
Voices sounded in the corridor, moving closer. Daro, and someone else, and they were speaking animatedly. "Mathius," Ket'al whispered. "Get up."
"What is it?" his lover answered in a low voice, still heavy with sleep, as he swung his legs to the floor and threw the sheets aside.
"Something is happening in the courtyard." Even as he spoke, Ket'al watched the door slide open, and Daro stepped through. Something flew at him from the darkness; instinct caused Ket'al to reach out for the blurry shape and catch it in midair. The unfamiliar feel of a laser blaster in his hand made his heart beat faster, and he exchanged an amazed look with Mathius.
"Get up, let's go!" Daro's eyes glittered with excitement in the half-light.
"What the -" Mathius took the blaster from his hand. "This is a working blaster! Where did you get it?"
"From me," came a voice from the corridor, the one Ket'al had been trying to identify. Qui-Gon stepped in behind Daro and tossed another blaster to Ket'al. "We have to move quickly. Do you know how to work one of those?"
"Yes," Ket'al said, and his fingers were exploring the blaster with fluid competence to prove his point.
"We are going. Now. I don't have time to explain. But you must all be prepared to use these, if need be. If anyone tries to stop us between here and the docking bay." Qui-Gon met each of their eyes, and looked behind him at Leyran, who hovered in the doorway. "Understood?"
"But Kenobi-" Mathius began.
"-will meet us there!" Daro answered gleefully. "That's the best part. He's setting us free."
"I don't understand," Ket'al muttered in disbelief. His world was spinning on its axis, and he felt suddenly as though he were about to be thrown off into nothingness.
"There's no time for explanations. It will all become clear to you once we are on board. There is danger for you if you follow me, but you must believe me when I say that if you remain behind, you will wish you were dead. Let's go." Qui-Gon gestured to the door.
Hastily, they pulled on clothes and scrambled for boots and cloaks. In moments, they were moving through the corridors, following the Jedi's lead. The place was deserted, but signs of waking were everywhere; Sith and Imperial troops were scattered about, and were easily dispatched by the Jedi with simple Force tricks. Ket'al had seen Kenobi use those tricks before, but he was still amazed by the power of the Jedi.
They rounded the corner near the docking bay, and Qui-Gon pressed them back as he looked ahead. "Remember what I said," he instructed them. They nodded. In a single-file line, they crept with him towards the doors.
Qui-Gon pulled up short and gestured to them all to stay behind him; Ket'al raised the blaster as the bay doors opened without being triggered. As light from the bay flooded into the corridor, Maul stepped through, trailing ten Imperial soldiers.
"You will surrender your weapons to me," Maul said pleasantly, softly. "Now."
Feedback welcomed. destina@ix.netcom.com
Back to Seventh Wave
Back to Main Page
Back to Star Wars fiction