"Master, no." Atel shivered in Master Tharten's arms, her vision wavering in the dim light. She could not believe that Obi-Wan, her master, the most caring person she had ever known, was even now being dragged like some criminal into the bowels of the Jedi Temple.

She should have listened to him. He had told her that he was trapped. The day they left on the mission, he had told her that he didn't want to do this. She hadn't believed him, thought he was exaggerating or more tired than he would admit but he had been right. It had been a debacle from the moment they had been handed this assignment. Her master had gone from being one of the foremost operatives of the Jedi Order, respected and admired among the Knights and Padawans at the Temple, to an prisoner in a single disastrous week, and, unbelievably, all because he had tried to defend his old master.

And how could he not? Ties of a long and happy partnership, of devotion and the love of a son for the father of his heart would all drive him to this moment, to save Jinn even from himself, no matter what the cost.

Could she do any less for the father of her heart?

She knew that she had to go to Obi-Wan, to try and undo this disaster before it was too late. Yet even as she began to tug free and follow, the blue-skinned Councilor just tightened her grip. "There, child, hush. All will be well. Master Kenobi will come to see reason in time."

Atel barely heard the nonsense words. Her eyes stared unblinking at the closed bronzium doors as though by sheer will she would be able to open them, would be able to fight off his guards and make them all see what was right and just, would....

But even as she tried to escape Tharten's harsh grasp, even as she took in one ragged breath after another, she realized that it would not work. They would never listen to a mere Padawan, certainly not to his padawan.

And yet she could not stand there and let them hurt Obi-Wan. Her voice was unsteady as she whispered, "Please, Master Tharten, please help him. He's only doing what he thinks is right. Surely..."

"Padawan, I am aware that he thinks he is doing the right thing." The older woman drew back, patting Atel's arm in a gesture of comfort and support. "But perhaps he is not well. After all, no one in their right mind would insult the High Council and think they could get away with it."

"He didn't mean... it's just... Master Tharten, please, I can make him see reason. I did it before. I can do it again." She knew that she was babbling but she couldn't seem to stop. "Please don't send him down there. He... he hates it there."

For a moment, Atel thought she saw a predatory glint in the Councilor's eyes - almost as if Tharten was enjoying the pain in her voice, the thought of Obi-Wan's torment. But when she looked again, there was nothing but sympathy in the Master's face.

With a gentle shake, the older woman let Atel go. "I know, child. I, too, wish that he would see reason. If we only knew the truth about this mission, things might be different." Master Tharten leaned down slightly, her gaze strong and sharp as a vibroblade. "I know that it is difficult, Padawan, but he needs to understand his position here. The time in that cell will do him little harm and may make him more cooperative."

Atel backed away from the doors, away from Tharten, and looked around at the hard faces - Sle'fey watching the scene with an undecipherable expression, Xacor frowning in distaste and Zaros smirking, the others a kaleidoscope of expression from uninterested to contempt. She shuddered at the sight. But she realized that there would be no help, not without sacrifice. And she would do what she must to save him.

With hesitant steps, ignoring the crunch of cracked stone beneath her feet and the harsh rasp of her own breath, she moved to the center of the Chamber. She could feel the weight of stares following her but she ignored them. And then, in one fluid movement, she knelt down and bowed her head, penitent.

The room was mute with astonishment. No one knelt before the High Council, not unless they were criminals begging for mercy or murderers shoved onto the floor for final sentencing. Even her master had not used such a tactic to sway them.

From behind her, she could hear Master Sle'fey talking urgently with someone, possibly Master Tharten or Zaros - she could not tell. And then the room began to fill with other voices, snippets of conversation, hurried whispers, arguments hissing sharp and strident, the biting comments of "What does she think she is doing?" and "She may be of use to us" and "She needs to learn her place". The Council Chamber resonated with discord.

Through it all, Atel knelt at the very heart of the Jedi Order, and stared unseeing, down at her hands. Waiting.

At last, Master Tharten called for order, prodding the Council back into session. One by one, the members of the High Council took their seats and, when Representative Zaros dropped ungraciously into the central chair, Master Tharten motioned for silence. Her voice was tired, almost indifferent as she sighed, "Padawan Sl'etah, you have something further to say?"

Carefully, still not looking at the Jedi Masters, she leaned forward, her hands splayed wide, and touched her forehead to the broken tiles.

"Take me instead."

"What are you talking about, child? You are not making any sense." She could hear Master Sle'fey shifting impatiently in his seat and the annoyed grate of his voice as he spat out, "Get up, Padawan. You do yourself no good scrabbling about the floor. Get up and face us."

Slowly, as if it hurt to move, she pushed back and, with infinite care, rose to her feet. Swaying with weariness, she wiped absentmindedly at her face. She was very alone.

"Masters, please. I offer an exchange. Let me take Master Obi-Wan's place."

Sle'fey turned almost grey beneath his mat of white fur and there was a snicker of derision from the bejeweled Zaros; Xacor frowned his concern. Beyond, from the corner of her eye, Atel could see the other Masters squirming in surprise.

But Tharten merely sat back in her chair, steepling her fingers together, and stared at Atel. The blue-skinned Councilor seemed to ponder this seriously for a moment and then asked, "And how will that help this Council? After all, it was his defiance that led to his incarceration."

Atel gathered her strength, nodding as if she knew the question before it had even been asked. "He.... Master Obi-Wan won't give in, not to save himself. Not even to avoid that place. Surely you must know this."

She watched as Tharten and Sle'fey exchanged significant glances. From behind her, the buzz of whispered conversations rose into white noise and dispute. But the sounds quieted as she continued, "But if someone else, someone that he cared about, was punished because of his actions, he might... reconsider." She bowed her head once more. "Please, Masters, I can't bear it. He's been hurt enough."

"Padawan, this does you credit but you must realize that we cannot allow this. He must accept that he alone is to blame and he alone should be punished for his actions." Xacor's voice sounded almost apologetic and when Atel looked up, she could see regret in his eyes. But it was only a moment's regret before it morphed back into apathy.

Desperate to break through their seeming indifference to her master's fate, she begged, "I will do anything you ask, tell you anything you want to know but please don't hurt him." She looked from one to another, her violet eyes black with dismay. "Please."

Tharten's reply was thoughtful. "Anything?"

Beyond, fragments of conversation echoed in the Council Chamber. Sle'fey's "Padawan, calm yourself" warred with Xacor's impatient "Let her talk. It may give us insight into this mess and whatever Jinn was trying to hide" and Veendo's "Foolish girl". The rest merged into noisy debate. Kenth Zaros just rolled his eyes in contempt.

Master Tharten raised her hands to bring back silence into the room. Then she stared at Atel, as if trying to gauge just how sincere she truly was. She spoke carefully, slowly enough that no one could mistake her words. "Padawan, if you are willing to tell us the truth about this mission, to tell us everything you know about Jinn and the Bendu, we are prepared to be lenient with your master."

When Atel nodded eagerly, the Councilor continued, pressing her point and making absolutely clear that there would be no further bargaining. "But he must still submit to our demands when he comes before us again. Will you do your duty to the Order?"

She could not get out the words fast enough, she was so anxious to agree. "Yes, Master Tharten, yes, anything. Just please, don't leave him there."

With that, Sera Tharten, head of the Jedi Council, leaned back, apparently satisfied, and nodded to the Bothan for the questioning to begin.

"Very well, Padawan. Start with the murders." With a diffident wave of his claws and an irritable huff, Sle'fey seemed almost uninterested in the proceedings.

Atel took a deep breath, centering herself, and said, "Master Sle'fey, there were no murders. Master Obi-Wan was telling the truth. The datacrystals he gave you will prove that it was all a lie." Standing a little taller, she lifted her chin. "I cracked the code myself."

Xacor's frown told of his annoyance at covering old ground. "Kenobi said the same thing."

She grew hesitant at that. She knew that it was late and the Masters were already disinclined to listen further - they were all restlessness and radiated indifference - but she had to free Obi-Wan. She had their attention for the moment. She would just have to do her best to make them see that her master did not deserve to be imprisoned. He had done his duty and now she would do hers. She only hoped that it would be enough.

Stiffening with resolve, she nodded. "Yes, Master Xacor, I know but it is the truth. Once you've looked at the crystals, you will know, without a doubt, that Master Jinn was framed. We never could detect who had done such a thing; it was someone with strong slicing skills and access to holonet security files but we were not able to trace it back to the source. The code was well-hidden."

That seemed to catch the Zabrak's attention. His eyes narrowed in thought. "Slicers have their uses... Kenobi said it was all a lie. So someone deliberately framed Jinn, then? Who was it? Did he know?"

She shook her head, "No, Master Xacor. Master Jinn said that it could be anyone. Apparently, he and the Bendu have many enemies."

"I'm sure they do." Master Xacor stared at her, searching for deception, and when he could find none, he sat back in his chair and lazily brushed at his woolen robe. Pulling on a thread that seemed to be unraveling even as he spoke, almost ignoring her distress, he said, "As we told your master, Master Sle'fey and I will study the crystals and come to our own conclusions."

Grief tugged at her chest while she watched him playing with the cloth. It would appear that a ragged sleeve was more important than a man's life in the Council of the most High. But she swallowed her misery and replied, "Yes, Master Xacor."

"The datacrystals are irrelevant. When they have been decoded, we will know the truth. There is a more important issue here." The Rodian, slimy with irritation and sweat, said sharply, "Kenobi did not explain why Jinn was dealing in slaves."

She turned to face the green-skinned Master. She was grateful that he was, at least, paying attention. "Master Veendo, my master was unable to find a direct link to the slave markets. Master Jinn would fly beings into Naboo from Tatooine and Ryloth, apparently with the correct paperwork, and then they would disappear."

His bulbous eyes glistened with contempt. "Very convenient for a slaver."

Atel shook her head. "Master Obi-Wan did not believe that his master was a slaver."

Waving his webbed hands at the rest of the room, gathering looks of weary amusement or disinterest from his fellow Councilors, Veendo spat back, "Kenobi is a fool if he thinks that. What else could Jinn be, but a slave trader and a criminal?"

"I..." Atel hesitated. She knew that her master should have reported his suspicions about the runaway safe routes when they first found out about Jinn's passengers. She knew that Obi-Wan had wanted to make sure of his evidence before he said anything, that there was no real proof. But, with the Council so antagonistic, it could be twisted into something much darker. They could imprison him for being a conspirator, perhaps even a partner in this. She would have to tread carefully.

"He accused Mace Windu, the head of the Bendu organization, of smuggling slaves into Naboo so that they could be freed. My master thought that there might be several locations on Naboo where the runaways could hide until the slave hunters had left."

Zaros exploded with fury. Banging his hand on the chair's armrest - the sharp sound like a crack of a whip on skin, he shrilled back, "These Bendu are no better than slavers then. Helping runaway slaves. Flaunting the laws of the Republic like that. It's completely unacceptable." Then, with an irate grunt, he rose to his feet and began stomping back and forth, muttering to himself.

Stepping back, startled by his vehemence, Atel swallowed hard and cleared her throat. "Yes, Representative Zaros, but we never found any proof. And both Masters Windu and Jinn refused to say."

He stopped abruptly and, pointing one bejeweled finger at her, he snapped, "We will get to the bottom of this. I will arrange for the Committee on Slave-Trading Consortiums to begin an investigation into this Bendu cult. This is outrageous that Jedi, even dismissed ones, would have the gall to mock the law."

Then he twisted around and marched straight for Master Tharten. Stopping just inches from her chair, putting his hands on his hips and puffing out his chest in a deliberate attempt to intimidate, he snarled, "Tharten, you and your Jedi Council shall be held personally responsible if this is true. You should have better control of your people."

The head of the most High Council of the Jedi Order was not impressed. Frowning sharply, she looked at the bureaucrat with hardly-concealed contempt and pointed out, "They are not our people any more, Representative Zaros, and you know it. They were cast out long ago. We cannot be expected to govern their lives once they are beyond our reach."

He huffed at the older woman, glaring ice-daggers that promised retribution if his wishes were not carried out to his satisfaction and quickly. "Well someone will pay. I refuse to have the Republic blamed for this."

Backing up and turning around slowly, he deliberately stared at the other Councilors, catching each of them in his gaze. "I suggest that you find out quickly the extent of this travesty and put an end to it. Or the Senate will have to look again at your funding and perhaps reexamine the personal files of the members of the Jedi Council. In detail."

Sle'fey held up his paw, patting the air to try and calm the rising tempers. He glared a moment at Tharten and then spoke gently, soothingly to the rat-faced Zaros. "Representative... Kenth, please. Of course, the Bendu are to blame, not the Republic and certainly not the Jedi. But you may be assured that we will investigate this thoroughly and turn over the criminals for justice according to the law."

With a huff and one last glare at Tharten, the bureaucrat sat back down in his chair. Still irritated, he demanded to know, "And what about this Bendu cult? What do they want?"

Atel hesitated for a moment. She did not want Zaros to twist the truth but when all turned to her expectantly, she stumbled on, "Master Windu was most gracious about showing us around. He answered all of our questions about their organization and goals. Showed us the classrooms and training center, the crop farm. Explained about where they get their money and how they disperse it. He was very emphatic that the Bendu organization was not competing with the Jedi Order, that they were helping those in need, that the Bendu were not the guardians of peace and justice and were happy that the Jedi continued to be so. He also stated that the Bendu were not in violation of any Republic law."

"Until the lightsabers were discovered." The flat tone in Master Tharten's voice spoke of indignation but underneath, there was just a touch of sated satisfaction, as if she were enjoying this far too much.

Swallowing her unease, Atel nodded. "Yes, until then. But I was there when they were found and Master Windu was surprised, very surprised. I'm not sure he was aware of them. And Master Jinn stated that it was his fault and his alone that the lightsabers were hidden in his office. I'm not sure if he was telling the truth or not. But Master Windu was livid."

With that, Master Tharten just grunted, "What else, Padawan?"

She shook her head and bowed. She was finished with her report and now all she wanted to do was get back to the promise of Obi-Wan's release. This inquest had taken more time than she had wished. Too long. "There is nothing else, Master. My master gave you most of the information earlier in his first report from Naboo and then today during..."

The Zabrak Master interrupted, waving Atel's explanation away. "Yes, during that rather nasty business. But you have yet to tell us about the Bendu agents."

"Master?" She was taken aback. "What agents?"

Xacor glared at her for a moment. Apparently, the thought of hunting Bendu was refueling his interest; at least, he had stopped playing with his ragged sleeve. "Were you able to find out if the Bendu have been hunting the dismissed ones? After all, quite a few of former Jedi have been killed and we have no explanation other than a bunch of lightsaber-wielding Bendu roaming the galaxy."

Impatient to see her master again and frustrated with this over-long interrogation, she was less prudent than was wise. "If you had just listened...." But as soon as she saw Xacor's sallow face grow stark with indignation, she gentled her tone. "My apologies, Master Xacor, Masters, but it is just not possible. The people we talked to were horrified about the deaths and they accused the Jedi of killing the Bendu. If neither group is doing this, who is?"

The Zabrak shot her back a withering look. It was obvious that he was not amused by her tone, her manner or her answers. "That is what we are asking you, Padawan. Is there anything that was said during the whole of your mission that could lead to information about the deaths?"

Gulping back her anxiety, she stammered, "No, Master, nothing.... but..."

"What is it, Padawan Sl'etah?" Tharten leaned forward, eager to hear what she had to say. "Speak up, child."

"Something odd that Master Jinn told Master Obi-Wan. They thought I was asleep." Atel looked away, out into the dark sky beyond the unwashed windows, gazing at the luminescent glow of traffic winging free against the backdrop of ebony night. For a moment, she said nothing, thinking of her master and his, of how they seemed to be close even after all those years apart, how they had whispered together like family. How she had almost driven her master away with her jealousy.

She would try to make it right somehow. Somehow.

And then blinking, she turned her attention back to the matter at hand. "Master Tharten, you had accused my master of insider information, of helping the Bendu hunt down and kill Jedi. But it was not possible. My master and I are rarely at the Temple and we didn't know about the killings until these last few days but..."

"But?" Tharten's dark eyes seemed to bore into hers, willing her to speak of secrets and Bendu and Jinn.

"You were right about one thing. I heard Master Jinn tell Master Obi-Wan that the Bendu had inside information about the dismissed ones. That once the six month observations were up, the Bendu got a list of former Jedi and where they were." And then Atel waited for the reaction that was sure to follow. She did not have long to wait.

"What?!?" Stunned, the Council seemed to sputter into cacophony. There were no bored faces now, no apathy, nothing but astonishment - and concern, even the faintest glimmer of dread.

Atel went on calmly, shrugging off the rising noise, "Master Jinn said that they were able to rescue quite a few former Jedi once the data started coming in. He said that, before the information was available, they were often too late to help."

The Councilors were all babbling at once but she could clearly hear Master Tharten growl out, "A traitor amongst us? This is intolerable."

Sle'fey called for calm at this latest revelation but it was a few moments before silence fell. Staring pointedly at Atel, his fur swirling with emotion, the Council seemed to hold their collective breath as he demanded, "And the name of this informant?"

"Master Jinn did not know." Atel just shook her head, "but he was grateful for the knowledge. It saved many lives."

"Was he lying to Kenobi?" Master Veendo glared at her, his snout wet with outrage and anxiety.

"I don't know, Master, I just don't know."

Tharten drew herself up, her head held high as she said, clear and very sure, "We will find this person and deal with them to the fullest extent of the law. The justice of the Jedi will prevail."

All around her, the other members of the High Council nodded their approval. Sle'fey and Xaros looked particularly pleased with the outcome and exchanged significant looks of satisfaction. Even Zaros seemed happy, all animosity gone.

Atel knew that this was her moment. While the Council was still of one mind and gratified with her report, she needed to remind them of the reason she was standing before them, of the need to free her master from that awful place before another minute had passed. He had already been there far too long.

Schooling her face into one of humility and humble requests, she stepped out of the heart of the chamber towards Master Tharten. Bowing as deeply as she could and then rising to meet the eyes of the head of the High Council, she said, "Master, Masters, I have told you everything I know. I have done my duty."

The blue-skinned woman watched her with interest. "Indeed you have, child and well done. You may return to your quarters until you are needed." At that, Tharten turned away, leaning towards Representative Zaros; Masters Veendo, Numb and Xacor began to talk among themselves. As the other councilors started to rise from their seats, clearly finished with the business of the day, Atel just stood there, shocked. But not for long.

"Masters..." Atel's voice was filled with desperation. And she stepped forward again, her hands rising in entreaty, looking about the room at the startled faces. "Please, you promised that if I cooperated, you would be merciful to my master. I beg you to release him. Confine him to quarters if you must but please let him out of that cell."

Master Tharten waved her fellow councilors back into their seats. With a deep sigh and regret, she shrugged her shoulders, looking at Atel with some small apology. "That we cannot do, Padawan. He needs to understand just who he is dealing with."

"Masters, please..." Her heart almost stopped beating; they had lied to her, drawing her out with false promises and, then when they were done, she was dismissed without thought.

As if she were reading Atel's mind, Tharten's eyes narrowed and her voice hardened into ice. "I do not need to remind you that we have done as we promised. To be lenient and we have done so."

When Atel looked horrified and thoroughly lost, the Councilor softened slightly, nodding toward her in a show of sympathy. "Padawan, normally, we would leave him imprisoned until he repented his words. Because of our promise to you, a night in the cell will suffice. Besides, it will not harm him overmuch. First thing tomorrow, after the datacrystals have been analyzed and confirmed, we will interrogate him further. If he has repented by then, this incident will be forgiven."

"But Masters..." She knew the protest would be in vain but she had to try.

But trying did not work and only made the Master indignant. Slapping her chair with the flat of her hand, the sharp sound cracking across the room and startling Atel into silence, Tharten glared at her. "Enough, Padawan Sl'etah. You forget your place. If you persist, we could lengthen his stay."

She swallowed hard and lowered her head in surrender. "No, Master. I'm.... forgive me."

The older woman sent Atel a measuring look and then turned away. "Councilors and our good friend, Representative Zaros, it's been a long day and Masters Sle'fey and Xacor still have much work to do. This session of the High Council of the Jedi Order is concluded."

As Atel twisted around, hoping to leave without notice and go back to her quarters for a very long meditative session in releasing her anger and frustration, she was stopped by Master Tharten. "Padawan, attend me."

She followed the Councilor out into the hallway, quietly trailing behind as befitted a Jedi Padawan, silent and attentive. She did not dare speak for fear of angering the woman further. She had already seen that pushing Master Tharten was unwise; she knew that she could not take the risk again. The realization that her master could have been punished for her impatience and foolhardy attempts at freeing him still clawed at her.

It was a little time later that they reached one of the Tower balconies retained for the Council's use. As the doors closed behind them, the sheltering walls let in the gentle song of wind and far-off traffic. A few dark shapes, growing things in black round pots, quivered slightly in the breeze. From beyond the balcony's edge, Atel could see the glowing dome of the Senate and the shimmering jewels of apartment complexes scattered about, a glorious radiance of luminescent energy. As she tilted her head up, lazer-straight lines of light - speeders and transports of all kinds, treasure flying away to distant lands and safety - illuminated the sky. She could almost feel at peace here. Almost.

Master Tharten waved one hand over a small panel near the door and soft glows came on, lighting the space. She stood there a moment, frowning worriedly at Atel, and then beckoned to the young woman. When she stopped an arm's length away, Sera Tharten reached out and picked up Atel's braid and stared at the many colored threads adorning it.

Atel didn't know what to do so she just stood there as the Councilor looked down at the thin line of hair, seemingly lost in thought. Finally, the older woman sighed and let the braid fall away from her fingertips.

"May I speak frankly, Padawan?" The Jedi Master moved to the edge of the balcony and, leaning on the balustrade, motioned Atel to her side. Her eyes were dark with sympathy and concern. "Your master is on the brink of a disastrous mistake. If he does not accede to the wishes of the Council, we will be forced to let him go and he may be arrested. I'm sure you don't want that."

Shaking her head, she stammered back, "No, but Master Obi-Wan is only acting in his own conscience."

The Councilor smiled slightly, nodding her agreement. "And to be admired for it but he does himself injury by defending Jinn."

"I...." Atel drew back a little. She didn't know what to say, what to think any more. Was Master Tharten actually on her master's side?

Tharten moved closer, her voice gentle and radiating compassion, and touched Atel's hand briefly in sympathy, a motherly pat of understanding. "Think carefully, child. You have brought us evidence, hard evidence, that Jinn is guilty of crimes against the Republic. And your foolish master is an accessory after the fact by hiding the truth from the Council. There is only so much we can do for him before the Senate will take matter into its own hands."

Her voice seemed to catch slightly as she murmured, "He did nothing wrong."

Looking at her once more with resignation in her eyes, Sera Tharten said, "Padawan, Atel, please. Your master has been blinded by his love for that rogue for far too many years. I would have thought that he would have realized the truth by now. But he refuses to accept reality." She shook her head slowly. Atel could almost see the admiration and regret in her face - as if a beloved child had done something incredibly foolish and now he had to be rescued once again. "You can help him."

"Master Tharten, I don't see how. I beg your pardon but the Council has only made things worse by punishing him for it."

Resigned, the Councilor nodded wearily. "He made that choice, by defending Jinn, by hiding the truth. And he knows that he can be released at any time if he would just ask." Softly, she chuckled, "He is too stubborn for his own good."

A brief shy smile was all Atel could give in return and she shrugged. "Yes, he is. But I'm not sure..."

Tharten leaned in again, close, and with rough urgency in her voice. One blue hand grabbed at Atel's ragged sleeve, holding her fast. It would seem that the Councilor wanted only the best for Obi-Wan and she was afraid for him after all. "Atel, reason with him. Make him see that you have only his best interests at heart as do we all. He must let Jinn go. If he does not, it is likely that he will be dismissed from the Jedi Order and prosecuted along with that... that felon. For his own sake and his career as a Jedi, for his life, help him."

The need in the Master's words hurried her reply. "It may not be possible. He might not listen to me."

"Anything is possible. He should be on the Council, not fighting it. Remind him of his duty. To the Order, to the Code, to you. Do whatever is necessary, Padawan. If you want him to remain in the Order, to be the Jedi Knight, the Jedi Master that he is capable of being, you can help him." Tharten jostled her arm once more, fear and anxiety seeming to rise with each breath. "Make him see reason. For his own sake. That criminal had led him astray. And, if he continues to side with Jinn, it will destroy his life. He will go to prison, Atel, prison. Do you want that?"

"No, Master." The very idea horrified Atel. And she swore to herself that it would never come to pass, that she would do anything, anything at all to prevent it.

"Then, Padawan, do what you must. Save him. From himself if necessary. But save him."

--------------------------------------------------------

"Qui-Gon, look at me."

"Qui-Gon, it's not real."

"Qui-Gon..."

"Sorry, Master."

The blow came out of nowhere, a blossom of pain across his cheek, and woke him from that nightmare horror. In one small part of his mind, the sound of skin bruising skin was strange and wrong somehow, and yet it was more right than ever the fiery agony he had writhed in only moments before.

But whatever its strangeness, it had done the job, drawing him out of the twisted trap - the twin swords of madness and terror hacking into his brain - and back into the dim lighting of a small, unadorned cell and the worried face of Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Qui-Gon looked up, blinking unsteadily, staring at his old Padawan. He felt odd, dizzy and afraid. And it seemed that he could not, could not get enough air to quell the terror in his mind.

It is said that fear is the path to the dark side, that it can sap your will, eat at your strength and leave you with nothing but endless night. But Qui-Gon Jinn knew that was a lie. It was not endless night but the crimson glow of fire tunneling into your heart that was the horror - burning, burning until he was filled with smoke and blazing heat and, beneath it all, the mindless panic that it would never stop... never stop...

"Focus on me, Master. Focus." Obi-Wan knelt beside him, holding onto one arm as if he was afraid that Qui-Gon would retreat into the corner and sink back into that hellish nightmare. "You're in cell AA23. Do you remember?"

Qui-Gon nodded slowly. He was drenched in sweat. His skin felt odd, tearing at him, rigid and rough, almost as if scarred from some horrific blast of super-heated steam. As he pulled up his hand to touch his face, he could see that his fingers were shaking. He frowned at the sight. But then the terror began to eat at him again; the trembling, translucent flesh, the hand-sized outline of bone and stark-white sinew, was such a fragile barrier to the flames even now trying to burrow into his skin... heat... trapped... no escape, no...

He shuddered off the panic and stared at Obi-Wan. "How long have I been here?" He grimaced at the sound. Even to his own ears, his voice was raspy and low, as if he had been screaming for days.

With one quick shiver, Obi-Wan turned slightly and sat down on the metallic floor, next to Qui-Gon. Pulling up his knees and curling inward, arms wrapped tight around his legs, protective and wary, he murmured, "Not long. An hour or so." He looked thoroughly exhausted and not a little frightened.

Qui-Gon sat up a little straighter, frowning his confusion. Shaking his head as if to clear away the shock, he said, "An... That is not possible. When I was here before, it was never this bad."

The younger man's face hardened into anger for a moment and then he looked away, toward the solid door and freedom. But it was locked tight and would continue to be so until the Council decided otherwise. "I know. Apparently, they've increased the intensity of the feedback loop. Last time, it took me a couple of hours or more before the fears began to grow. Now I... I can feel it pulling me in and it's only been a little while."

"Obi-Wan, what..." Rising heat...the crackling whisper of flames just beyond, out of reach... no, no, .... He murmured half to himself, "It is not real."

But the terror was still lingering just behind Qui-Gon's eyes, ready to rip into his skull at the first sign of weakness. Ignoring the phantom ooze of melting walls and heat-flash hiss echoing in his mind, he steadied his voice, "Obi-Wan, why are you here?"

With that, his Padawan slid his gaze to meet Qui-Gon's own and away again. Obi-Wan's eyes were black with dread. Shivering, he folded himself inward, impossibly tight, and laid his head down onto his knees. His voice was very small. "They wouldn't let me resign from the Order."

"I am sorry. I never wanted you to leave the Jedi." He leaned in, touching his shoulder in apology. "It was always your dream."

Beneath his fingertips, Qui-Gon could feel Obi-Wan's burgeoning fear. "I tried to... defend you. When I threatened to go to the courts, they wouldn't let me go."

But, even as the younger man spoke, he was already beginning to tremble, the conflict of muscles battling to remain still as he gulped for air. It would seem that he was trying to calm himself and losing the fight - badly.

Qui-Gon had to do something. He had to find out what was wrong... smoke curling, red glow... no... The flame-hot terror was trying to sink into his skin, to slip past his guard, but he pushed it aside with brutal strength. He could not let his fear rule him, not now. Intent on finding out what was happening and helping his Padawan, he rasped, "Obi-Wan, what is it?"

"I can't breathe. I can't..." The cultured voice, once filled with playfulness and wry humor, was rising in alarm.

He tried to keep his own voice steady, "Padawan, focus. It's not real. It's not..."

But Obi-Wan was not paying attention, trapped instead by fear. "I can't.... breathe... Force, help me.... buried alive... I'm...." And then his whispers died down into silence and shivering.

"Fight it, you must fight it." But instead of answering, Obi-Wan just huddled there. His whole body seemed to be quaking and Qui-Gon could hear his uneven breathing in the quiet of the cell. This was not good.

Qui-Gon's vision began to waver again.... bands of fire and smoke rising from the floor... stinking smell of cooked meat... no... scalding... not real.... Ignoring the gut-deep fear, he deliberately anchored himself to the moment by staring at Obi-Wan.

But, even through the flames and confusion pressing into his brain, he could see that there was something seriously wrong with his Padawan. Obi-Wan was panicking. It didn't take a Force user to read the signals of fear and he had known the young one for a very long time.

Sliding closer, he put one arm over Obi-Wan's shoulder, and squeezed, trying to let him know that he was not alone. But there was no response, not even the slightest acknowledgement.

Instead his Padawan seemed to have turned inward, ignoring all but whatever horror was locked in the depths of his own mind. He just sat there, rocking slightly back and forth, panting in frenzied desperation.

"You must fight it, Obi-Wan. It is not real."

Again no response. He began to shake him, first gently and then with increasing anxiety. And it was difficult to concentrate on what he was doing with... the flames spreading onto the walls in sheets of red panic... acrid smoke pouring out... no.... not real. Must see to.... Obi-Wan. Help Obi-Wan....Not real...

Somehow, he fought off the terror. If only for the moment. There was something more important than his own pain, more important than shreds of cooked meat and his bones turning to ash. He had to save his Padawan.

His throat seemed a scalded ruin; he could barely breathe but he managed to grunt out, "Obi-Wan..."

Still nothing but there had to be a key, some way to reach him without access to the Force. Leaning back, thinking about how Obi-Wan had pushed him out of his own terror, he realized that real pain, not the phantom horror that was locked in the depths of the mind, might be the way. After all, his Padawan had hit him hard enough to awaken him from his nightmare. Could he do the same? Would it work?

Crackling fire just beyond the door... walls hot to the touch.... not real... help him... He had to be sure but he needed to work rapidly. Obi-Wan was already drowning in the insanity of his own fears and he was not far behind.

Frowning down at his fists, his body still trembling with forced-back delusion, Qui-Gon deliberately opened up his hands and began to claw at his skin just above the left wrist. The ragged edges of nails pressed in hard, digging, digging in rapidly but painful as it was, it was not enough. He needed something more and fast.

Looking around for something to cut into his skin, something that would cause pain but not incapacitate, he looked down at his boots and the gleaming buckles. Realizing that the softer metal could be worried into sharp points, he began to tear at the fasteners.

But his frenzy was making it difficult to remove them. After all, with normal use, it wouldn't do for his boots to come undone. Until now. Knowing that he had only moments before the fear would burn its way back into his mind and they would both be lost, he pulled desperately at the frayed nerf-hide strap. And, thankfully, it came free, the large buckle falling into his hand. Red flames hissing behind his head, hair beginning to crisp... no... help him...

With a snarl, he turned back to the gleaming fastener, and began to twist the edges, this way and that, each push a little easier, metal softening fast.

And then it broke apart in his hand, a wonderfully-sharp edge cutting his fingertips and a shorter pointed piece cradled in his palm, a gleaming spike perfect for jamming into flesh.

Without thought, he plunged the point into the place he had clawed just moments ago, digging it in, pressing past skin into wet muscle and blood. It hurt like hell. But he plunged it in again, jostling the cut. Biting back a grunt, he drew in one ragged breath and then another. As the pain swelled, the panic started to recede and the terror, like fire quenched by cool water, gutted out.

Pain was the answer after all.

He forced himself to look at Obi-Wan. His Padawan had curled so tightly into himself that it seemed there was not a person there but a shivering mound of frayed cloth. Whoever had dumped him in the cell had taken his belt and outer tunic, perhaps to prevent him from harm, perhaps to humiliate, Qui-Gon could not tell, but that left him with undertunic and leggings and boots and nothing else. But it didn't matter. He had to reach him and quickly.

Taking a deep breath, he murmured, "Obi-Wan, I'm sorry" and punched him hard in the side, just above the kidney. But there was no response. Cursing at the Council, the Force and the universe for making him hurt the son of his heart, he hit him again, in the same spot and harder. But, aside for one stuttered breath, there was nothing. Obi-Wan remained as tightly wrapped as ever.

Centering himself, knowing that he wanted nothing more than to comfort but knowing, too, that he would do what he must, he lifted up the younger man's tunic and plunged the sharpened buckle into Obi-Wan's bare back.

It had the desired result. Even as he was pulling the metal point out again, Obi-Wan turned with a howl of pain, wild eyes and hands up in defensive position.

Qui-Gon scurried back, relieved that his Padawan was no longer a prisoner of his own terror. Gently, he said, "Obi-Wan, forgive me. I could not think of any other way to get through to you."

Blinking rapidly as if to rid himself of the lingering effects of induced madness, Obi-Wan crouched there for a moment. Then, realizing where he was at long last, he sat down with a thump and began rubbing at his face with the palm of one hand. He said nothing for a moment, just tried to control his breathing and fear still lingering there.

Then, moving carefully, trying not to jostle his wound, he gazed up at the Bendu and, much to Qui-Gon's relief, sent him a brief, tentative smile. "There is nothing to forgive." There was only acceptance in Obi-Wan's grey eyes. "I would rather have the pain than feel like I'm being buried al.... alive."

Qui-Gon had to know, "How long will the pain will keep it at bay?"

His Padawan closed his eyes, remembering other times when he had been alone and terrified in this very place. "Not long." But he deliberately pushed the memories aside and, looking up, gave his old mentor a half-grin. "Then you have to find a new spot and dig in."

When Qui-Gon glared at him, sending him the well-known and remembered-with-fondness Masterly look, Obi-Wan just sent back the guileless gaze of a rascally young Padawan. But it only lasted a moment before the boyish face vanished into the weary frown of a Jedi Knight. "Where did you get the blade?"

"My boot buckle." Qui-Gon leaned back, staring at the remains of the still-welling cut on his skin. "It's small but effective." He pushed against the wound, grunting a bit in pain but not stopping. Reality, even painful reality was preferable to the mind-terrified delusion of being burned alive.

Obi-Wan leaned against the wall and deliberately pressed against his own injury. The ache of cut tissue heightened his focus on remaining in the here and now. He, too, did not want to sink back into the abyss.

Stretching out his legs, he snickered, "Qui-Gon, only you would use a buckle." Then he lay his head back onto the metallic wall and closed his eyes. He was very tired but he kept on talking. He could not afford to relax, not now. "Normally, I have a knife hidden in my boot for this purpose. I learned the first time I was in here that pain could keep me from drifting into insanity and I've used it ever since. But they have gotten more effective at searching and found it." He shrugged away his annoyance. "I suppose that, next time, I'll have to hide it better."

Qui-Gon turned to him, his face set firm and resolute, his voice flat with disgust. "There will not be a next time." But when Obi-Wan didn't argue with him but instead shrugged away his declaration, he continued, "How long did the Council say you would be here?"

"Until I... until I cooperate." He pushed up against the wall, digging into his wound and frowning with pain. But at least he was not shivering at the phantom fears waiting for him in the dark corners of his own mind. For the moment.

"Can you get out now if you do?" Qui-Gon pressed for an answer. Perhaps, if he could persuade Obi-Wan to renounce him, he would be freed from this abomination.

The obstinate Padawan swung his head from side to side, and, with a lift of his shoulders, he replied, "Who said that I would cooperate?" But when Qui-Gon shot him another Masterly look, he gave in, "No, not until morning. Usually they like to have their prisoners think about what they have done first."

"I am sorry, Obi-Wan." He sat back, pushing into his wounded arm but it was already beginning to knit. The pain was lessening quickly.

Obi-Wan just looked at him, dignified and every inch a Jedi Knight. "I made my own choices and now I have to live with them. I chose to defend you, even against your own wishes. Even knowing that this might be the penalty." Flinching slightly, he waved one arm to encompass the dim surroundings. "I admit that I would prefer some better accommodations, though. A window or two, perhaps a nice comfy bed, a private refresher at the very least."

"I see you haven't..." Smoldering flame... snap-pop sound of melting thermoplast... rising... Qui-Gon closed his eyes, trying to hold back on the terrors that were beginning to surface once more. Taking one deep breath, he fumbled out, "lost your sense of humor."

Qui-Gon was already starting to sweat again and his hand shook. But Obi-Wan, ever observant, merely said, "Wait as long as you can, Master. Less healing to go through when it is finally over."

The Master wasn't the only one who was starting to tremble but it was clear that Obi-Wan was attempting to keep things light when he pointed out, "And they do shut off the feedback loop whenever they bring the food. Wouldn't want the prisoners to starve to death now. Looks bad for the Order. So uncivilized."

"What will you do when they do release you?" Qui-Gon forced out the question but his mind was hovering closer to the old terror. Stench of cooking meat... fire crawling closer.... hold on, hold on... He began to fumble for the metal spike, readying it, gripping it tightly in his hand. It would have to be soon, soon.

"Resign. Go to the courts. Get this reversed, somehow." Obi-Wan's voice lowered as he began to fight his own fears but he ground out his reply.

"Padawan, let it go." And with the last word, he plunged the sharp point back into his forearm. Pain, real pain flooded back into his mind, sweeping away the fire demons, cleansing his thoughts. But it hurt, it hurt.

Obi-Wan was beginning to shiver again, starting to curl up, his eyes darting towards the walls as if he could see them moving closer but he was still stubborn and still a Knight. With a distinct effort, he said, "Master, with all due respect, this has gone beyond your control. The Council has violated the Jedi Code and Republic law. They have imprisoned a non-Jedi in this cell. They have ignored evidence and tried to sentence you without trial. I cannot let it go. Even for you."

Qui-Gon breathed in his affection for this courageous young man. "Obi-Wan, I have missed you and your wisdom very much." Placing his uninjured arm about the shoulders of his old Padawan, he tried to smile, "When you are free of the Jedi, go back to the Bendu. They would be honored to have you there. As would I."

Struggling to remain in this reality for just a few seconds more, Obi-Wan nodded, "I will consider it." Then reaching out with one shaky hand, he whispered, rough-edged and weak, "Now, Qui-Gon, much as I dislike this, I would like to borrow your blade. I have some digging to do."