Betrayal - Chapter 25

Down the Stairway to Despair

 Hurry.... hurry.... hurry....

His heart wanted to burst out of his body even as it seemed to beat in time to his terrified thoughts. As Obi-Wan raced for the turbolift, almost skidding in his haste, his mind kept howling a desperate, Don't die, Qui-Gon. Don't you dare die on me.

Intent on reaching the single working lift, trying to burn a hasty trail to its shabby doors and force them open with sheer will if necessary, desperate to reach his Master before it was too late, he scarcely noticed the sharp sounds behind him - of Sle'fey calling for backup and Healers and Xacor's strident voice rising in an effort to be heard over the increasing cacophony of chaos that was the Jedi Council.

Instead, all that he was, all that he knew, was focused on a single purpose - saving Qui-Gon from certain death.

As he stared at the frustratingly unopened doors of the turbolift, for one microsecond, he considered taking the stairs. But, as much as he wanted to fly to his Master's side, he knew it was an absurd idea. It was a hundred stories or more to the bottom of the Temple and he would never reach his Master in time. Not that way.

The lift was notoriously slow; it had always been used as a lesson in patience. And the others had been broken for more years that he could care to remember. There was only one way down and he had to wait.

Force help him, he had to wait here while Qui-Gon lay dying at Tharten's feet.

Obi-Wan knew that he needed to calm down, to find his center, to let go of his fear. He would be no help to Qui-Gon or anyone else if he did not. But it was so blasted hard, especially after the sith-demon had gutted his Master and the turbolift was taking so... damn.... long.

His hand tightened reflexively on his saber as he stood there and tried not to panic.

Hurry... hurry...

It seemed like several lifetimes later but at last he heard it, the slight off-pitched whir of opening lift doors. Obi-Wan tensed, ready to leap into the car just as soon as he had enough clearance. His heart seemed to pound into his braincase as he started to move forward.

But his way was blocked. Some gundark was filling the space between the door and his escape into the turbolift, a fool who would not get out of the way fast enough for him. And as he tried to twist around the obstruction, he realized that he knew this person, this petite maroon-haired woman who stood there in ragged Jedi robes, looking so flustered, so unhappy, so... it was his Padawan, Atel. He hadn't even recognized her in his grief.

Her face was a map of frown and concern and she just stared at him for a moment in shock. She opened her mouth - to pour out a greeting, to ask him a question - he did not know. All he could think of was to get into the lift and push it downward as quickly as possible. He sidestepped past her, shoving her roughly out of the way and stabbed at the bottom-most button.

As the doors slid shut, Atel deftly slipped back into the car and stood there, gaping at him. "Master, what happened? You... you look terrible. Jinn didn't do that, did he? He...." Her small hand was reaching for him, as if to comfort, and her eyes was filled with anxiety.

But Obi-Wan would have none of it. The Jedi, the Council, her constant assumptions, it was all too much. "He would never..." He snapped back at her. "Blast it, Atel, must everything out of your mouth be a condemnation of him?"

She blinked in surprise, her pupils huge with shock. Pulling back, anxious and confused, she stammered her worry. "Forgive me but you were with him and now you are covered in blood. What else could I think?"

Looking down, he stared unseeing at the splotches of red-brown, little patches of despair scattered over his tunic. Jedi cloth stained in dried gore. He was wrapped in it, Jedi duty and disaster, filthy and torn - once a proud symbol of who he was. Now it was only reflected what he had become and what he had always been - rubbish to be discarded when their use of him was done.

Even his saber, clutched so tightly in his hand, was dark with dirt and neglect. Growling in disgust, he shoved it into the pocket of his leggings and tried not to think of the Council's betrayal.

But he could not let it go. He teetered between fury and grief; his heart was pounding out the seconds.... hurry.... hurry... as the moment to save Qui-Gon began to slip through his fingers.

When he was able to look up again, he saw her anxious face and realized that she would never understand. "It doesn't matter now."

Obi-Wan turned away, punching again at the control panel. It was all he could do to keep himself from tearing into the wiring and over-riding the safety protocols. Anything to speed it up. He began to think that freefall would not be fast enough, not if he was too late. Frustrated, he all but snarled, "Why is it taking so long?"

The turbolift seemed to groan in reply. But Atel didn't flinch at the sound, didn't seem to notice. Standing next to him, she asked carefully, "Master, where are we going?"

Scowling at the controls, he watched helplessly as the readout slowly counted down towards his destination but it was easier than looking at her condemnation. He tried to sound calm but the terror of what had happened, of what was happening now, leached through. "To rescue Qui-Gon. Before that monster finishes what she started." A fierce, half-whisper caught in his throat. "Don't you dare die on me."

Troubled astonishment colored her voice. "Rescue? Monster? Does the Council know of this?"

He twisted abruptly, glaring down into Atel's worried eyes. "Council... that sea of rshhak filth." Even now, he could not begin to comprehend how much they had betrayed him and Qui-Gon. Years of being used - he felt as if he had never been so dirty, so violated in the purity of his service to the Order. How could they do this? How could they?

Atel shrunk away, looking as if he had struck her. Then, stepping forward, her mouth grim with determination, she began to make excuses. "Master, what are you saying? They were mistaken about punishing you but they were only trying to do..."

Grabbing onto his arm as she spoke, she was jostling him a little with each word but he roughly shook her off. Staring at her, hoarse with disbelief, he spat back, "Naive little fool. Your so-called honorable Jedi Council has manipulated us into this. For power, using everyone around them for their own ends."

"Master, stop it." She was very firm.

Looking into his eyes, her own were filled with compassion, certainly not with the anger he had expected when he accused her precious Council of wrong-doing. If he had not been so furious and terrified for his old Master, he would have pressed for answers. As it was, it didn't matter. He had to focus on rescue, not delve into the mistaken assumptions of one Padawan Learner.

But he would like her by his side in this. She could be of enormous help if only she would see the truth of it. "Don't you understand? Those slimy obscenities have used him, have used me like bloody meat dangling in their trap. And Qui-Gon is going to pay..."

The frown on her young face deepened with each word. "Trap? But Master Tharten said..."

He stopped breathing then. His body knew even before his mind had caught up to the sheer enormity of it. She had talked to that demon from Ryloth's seventh hell. She had talked to Tharten. It must have been after he had been thrown into that torture chamber for there had been no time before that. Last night, she had consorted with the enemy - while he was in hell. And his fury at the Council and Tharten and the very Jedi Order itself turned on her.

With a voice as deep and as cold as the space between galaxies, he snarled, "What did she say, Atel? Have you and she... have you been spying on me, too? Telling her what you know? Have you?" All the while, he kept moving towards her, his hands outstretched, fingers curled like rancor claws.

Atel stepped back quickly, shaking her head in sharp denial. "Spying? I would never..."

There must have been something in his face. She blanched, almost radiating apprehension, and recoiled there in the corner of the turbolift, putting up her hands as if to stop him from getting too close.

Obi-Wan halted abruptly, looking down at his fingers and then at her. Her skin was pale corpse-color and she was watching him with wary consternation. Just how far had he gone down the dark path in his fear and anger - attacking Sle'fey and now this? And she thought, Force help him, she thought he was going to attack her. That she could be afraid of him hurt almost as much as the idea of her betraying his trust.

He had to regain his calm before he could face Tharten. He took one deep breath and then another. He would have to be ready when the lift reached the bottom of the Temple or else he would be no good to anyone, least of all Qui-Gon. He twisted aside, staring down at his hands, waiting for the doors to open and allow him to help his old Master.

Atel seemed surprised that he had not pressed for more information. When it was clear he would say nothing else, Atel said cautiously, "Master Tharten used to talk to me sometimes about you. She asked me yesterday to do what I can to help you. She really cares about you."

Hysteria bubbled just beneath the base of his throat - it was all he could do to keep from laughing at the absurd idea of Tharten caring about anything but herself. He thought about all the times the Sith-damned Councilor had cornered him, trying to force him into doing something dishonest, always telling him that it was for his own good. He wanted to vomit out the memories. "I'm sure she only wanted the best for me."

A gentle, hesitant touch. His Padawan was there beside him, tentatively stroking his arm, "Master, you are not well. You are not making sense." She hesitated as if she were afraid to make him angry once more, "Master Tharten said you might get like this."

He did laugh then and, even to his own ears, it sounded irrational. It was just so unbelievable that she would defend that woman. Glaring down at her, with a rasping, caustic growl, he said, "Don't speak her name. That rsshak monster. She's working for a Sith lord."

Atel's hand stilled at that and she looked at him with liquid regret, "That's... not possible. The Sith have been extinct for a long time. You told me so yourself. I think that..."

"I was wrong. Don't you understand?" He scrubbed at his face, the pain of this conversation skittering under his skin, bubble-pops of anguish, and for a moment, he flashed back to the cell with its own horrors. Black ice slicing through his brain, the panic and terror still there. He tried to push it all away but his voice was ragged with fear for his old Master. "She stabbed him. He's.. Qui-Gon is lying in a pool of his own blood right now and he may not live to... She's tried to murder him."

But Atel did not react with dismay, instead frowned at him with disbelief and regret. She shook her head, denial in her eyes. "Master, please calm down and think about this. Master Tharten would never do something so stupid."

"Stupid.... yes, I guess it was." He was blinking at her, almost distracted as he thought of all that had taken place in the last few hours. But it was better than thinking of the future, of death and the despair that kept clawing at his spirit. "A fatal flaw in her perfect world of corruption. She took the bait."

"Oh Master, you are talking nonsense." She sounded thoroughly miserable.

He looked away, his hands fisting in fury, and stared at the slowly changing turbolift panel. Their progress toward the bottom of the Temple was slow, too slow, too slow. He would never reach Qui-Gon in time, not at this rate. And Atel was spouting foolish platitudes. How could she not...

"Don't you understand? Sle'fey and Xacor set Qui-Gon up. Put him in that cell as if he was some kind of bloody prize, bait to trap her. And she took it. Blast it all to hell, she's tried to kill him and she's down there right now. And he's..."

Her "Master..." was soft and so very unhappy, as if she believed him to be teetering on the edge of insanity, as if she was determined to pick up the pieces when he came back from the abyss. She was looking at him with such pity that it drove him back into fury.

He did not want it, not her pity, not her incomprehension, not her liquid eyes gazing at him so sadly. And her inability to trust him in this only made his heart shatter into fragments and dust. "I'm going to save him if I can - from her, from you, from the whole damn Jedi Council if necessary." He stabbed again at the controls. "If only I could get this rancor beast of a turbolift to move faster."

Atel grimaced at the sound of flesh against metal, at the slap of his hand against the controls. "This doesn't make sense. Why would they do such a thing to you? You're... "

"Haven't you been listening? For power, power to rule over the Jedi. May they all burn in hell. To trap Tharten and get her to make some damnable mistake. They've been trying for years. Using me as bait." At the look of horror and abject pity in her eyes, he snapped at her, "Did you help them? Have you helped them manipulate me all these years? Spied on me?" She was shaking her head slowly and staring at him with growing concern. "Are you with me or against me, Atel? I have to know."

In soft, gentle, even tones, sounding very much as she did whenever she was faced with some savage beast or crazed madman, she hurried to reassure him. "Master, always with you. You know that. I've wanted only the best for you." She had to stop for a moment, her voice rough with sorrow. "But you are not well. Obviously that cell has made you see things that aren't there. A Sith lord - that's the stuff of legends and holovid stories, not reality."

"You are wrong." Could she not trust him to see what was right before his eyes? Did she know him so little?

By his side again, stroking his arm as if to calm him, she said, "Master Obi-Wan, listen to yourself. Please. Master Tharten told me of the side-effects from that feedback device. Confusion. Paranoia. Sometimes delusions, even after a short time."

"I am not... confused," He stepped back, out of her reach. She thought he was insane and that he was making up a tale so horrifying, so breath-taking in its scope that she thought he was lying about it all. Because of his experiences with that torture chamber.

It hurt to breath. He just stood, unsteady, blinking rapidly in the subdued light of the turbolift car and gazed at his Padawan. It was beyond comprehension that she would think so little of him, that she would believe Tharten over someone she had worked with, trusted her life to for all those years. It wasn't enough that the Council betrayed his trust. The Force itself seemed to be at war with him, to take away everything that he had ever valued - his honor, his duty, his love for Qui-Gon, his love for Atel. Was there nothing left? There had to be something; there had to be.

He almost choked out the words. "Tharten has been lying to you, don't you realize that?"

She nodded slowly. "I suspected that she might be. So I broke into your medical files last night. What I learned is that the feedback devise causes changes in a person's outlook. When you got out of the cell last time, you were raving about Qui-Gon dying for hours afterwards. And you were paranoid for days before the effects disappeared. I can only assume that it's happening again."

He towered over her, frowning down into her resolute face. He knew now that he would go on alone to rescue his Master, that he had no backup, no Padawan at his side, no one to trust in this, no one but his own skills and steadfast determination.

He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to gather his strength for the coming battle. Then he said, with grim resolve, "Atel, I'm not making it up. Qui-Gon is dying. But you'll see the truth soon enough. We'll get there, hopefully in time. Then I will do what I must."

"I can't let you do that. I'm sorry, Master but it's for your own good." She slid past him, nearing the door.

The Force hissed a warning, the turbulent currents of dark and light twisting into a black slush of icy anger and shadowed despair. Cold waves of danger shivered down his spine and Obi-Wan twisted around, looking for the cause. But it was already too late.

Atel reached over, moving toward him as if to grasp onto his arm. As he flinched away, she turned suddenly and pressed the emergency stop control for the turbolift. The car lurched abruptly, a tearing sound echoing in the small space, and then as it came to a complete halt, both Atel and Obi-Wan were thrown to the floor, all limbs and entanglement. In the far distance, an alarm gong started to clang.

He was the first to scramble up, pushing her brusquely aside, and lunging for the controls. But it was not possible to fix it, to change the codes back to its original setting. Once the emergency stop had been engaged, it would take precious minutes to reconnect. Minutes that Qui-Gon did not have.

He stood there, looking at the lighted panel in horror. Atel had condemned Qui-Gon to death with her action, condemned Obi-Wan to the hell of knowing that he would not get there in time. Never in time. Stunned, with the ache of bottomless sorrow, he could only whisper, "What have you done?"

"What I must, Master. You need to see the Healers. I'm sure that after..." He could not bear to hear one more word of her lies. He sent a scathing glare at her, and turned away, dismissing her from his mind, his heart, his life. He did not have time for this. Not now, not ever again.

Gathering up the Force, he reached out and began to push at the battered doors of the turbolift. He knew that he was close enough now that he could use the stairs to get to Qui-Gon if he could just get out of the lift in time. But the old doors were fighting him. They seemed to be almost alive, squealing into chaotic, high-pitched whines as he began to move them slowly apart; the electronics and servo-mechanisms began to shove back, shuddering with increasing power to stop him.

Atel was grabbing at his arm, trying to divert his attention. She was blathering on about paranoia and seeing the Healers, and he roughly shoved her aside. But it did not stop her. She was back at him in an instant, pulling him, grabbing onto his tunic, and twisting him away from the doors, jabbering all the while that it was for his own good.

It was too much, it was all too much. With one swift sweep of his hand, he Force-shoved her back into the corner of the turbolift, lifting her high into the air and then letting her fall abruptly to the floor. He didn't even look to see if she was all right. He just turned away and began to push at the doors again.

The soaring, strident screams of overheated motors and failing electronics began to war with the stench of burning wiring but the doors were moving apart at long last. He increased the pressure, and with one final shove, Obi-Wan could feel the collapse of the mechanisms as the doors slid apart.

He was between levels, of course, but it was only a meter or so drop to the next one. He slithered through the opening, jumping quickly to the floor and began to sprint for the stairway.

Most of his heart and spirit was focused on trying to reach Qui-Gon but his mind could only admire the irony. As he reached the door to the stairwell and pulled it open, he recognized that he had been at the very same spot only a week ago, telling his Padawan about his first encounter with Qui-Gon Jinn and laughing about it. The rough, abused door was the same but he would never be, not now, not after all that had gone on in the last few days.

But then there was no more time to think about her or forgiveness or the Council or his life beyond the now. There was only movement and the racing clock.

He began to vault downward, Force-jumps to the next level, then a quick spin around the corner and another jump. Spin and leap, twist and turn. His body dove into the rhythm of it; he ignored the sputtering lights and the trash among the treads of the stairway, the cracking tiles and the filthy trails of seeping moisture on the walls. He did not even hear the cry from high above, of Atel shouting down to him, "Master, come back."

There was only jump and turn, downward, downward. And a single thought - he had to reach Qui-Gon in time.

Hurry.... hurry.... hurry....
 

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