Betrayal - Chapter 26

Conversations with the Living and the Dead

 Shadows seemed to skitter along the dingy walls, following the lines of blood and terror-sweat toward the crumpled form at Sera Tharten's feet. She could sense the curdling patches of residual rage and jangled, wire-thin pain still threading through the Force, but instead of recoiling at the darkness as any mere Jedi would do, she drank it in. It was so glorious.

Leaning against the doorframe, her body loose and relaxed, she took a deep, cleansing breath, reveling in the victory that was finally hers. She looked about the dank cell in satisfaction - the rivulets of moisture staining the walls despite constant maintenance by the cleaning crews, overhead glows seeming to flicker in chaotic abandon, the harsh slab of seating. And best of all, there on the duracreet floor, centered among splatters of crimson was the harshly breathing form of one pathetic insect. Qui-Gon Jinn.

Even now, she watched him as he struggled to get up and attempt to escape his destiny. Foolish man. To rage so against his fate, to try and gather in enough strength to fight his impending doom.

Could he not see that it was hopeless? His death was inevitable.

Sera had to admit, though, that he was taking rather a long time about it. Dying could be a messy business and rarely went according to schedule. She thought to help him along but, after a moment's pause, she realized that she should savor this wondrous gift. How many times could something so desired come her way?

It was only right that she bask in the splendor of it. After all, she had waited so long to see the fruition of her plans, so very long. She had even doubted herself on occasion - much as the thought of it seemed absurd now. She should have remembered that she was above the rabble, those foolish creatures with doubts and fears; she should have remembered that she was destined for greater things.

But that was of little consequence - those doubts were long past. The paltry death of the old rsshak at her feet was merely the first step toward her final goal; soon everything she had ever wanted would be hers - wealth, power beyond anything that the cowards on the Council could perceive, mastery over the Jedi and over the Republic.

There was one last thing, one more personal goal, one that threaded through all of her dreams even more than Jinn's anticipated destruction.

She wanted, she craved, she would have - mastery over that luscious young trifle, Obi-Wan Kenobi. By her side, willing to do whatever she required of him without reservation.

She knew, she was absolutely certain that, above all other things, Obi-Wan would come to see that she had been right in the end - once his inept cretin of a Master was dead. Young Kenobi was no fool. In time, he would realize that hers was the only way to succeed. In time, he would crave her guidance and do her bidding. In all things. She licked her lips at the thought.

Oh, yes, in time it would all be hers - the Republic, the Jedi, Obi-Wan.

The hasty scrabble of fingertips on duracreet brought her back into the moment. While she had been luxuriating in her victory, thinking of how close she was to realizing her dream of power, the ever-troublesome Jinn was being uncooperative again. He had slithered a good meter away, leaving a trail of blood and sweat-slime in his wake. Even now, he was attempting to get up.

She sighed heavily and leaned back, folding her arms about her chest. From here, she could see the effort it cost him. His face was white with concentration and blood-loss, his strained frown cutting deep into his face and making that ridiculously crooked nose of his stand out even more. He looked absurd and pathetic at the same time and very, very vulnerable. This was almost too easy - almost.

Playing with her enemies especially when they could not fight back had always helped her focus. Now was no different. In a light, lilting voice, she said, "Does it hurt, Qui-Gon?"

When the Bendu scum did not answer but only continued to try and struggle to his feet, paying her no attention, Sera pushed off from the doorway and sauntered slowly over to his side. He hadn't looked well from a distance but up close it was clear that he was in a great deal of pain. He was trembling, too, with a light sheen of effort coating his face, several strands of hair plastered to his skin. He looked like hell but what else would you expect from someone slowly bleeding to death.

She had to admit that she had expected more of a fight from one of the most infamous Jedi rogues of the age. Qui-Gon always did disappoint. Such a pathetic example of a Jedi Master.

He had curled away from her, and was just beginning to rise, one sinew-sharp hand pushing at the floor, a knee wobbling under his weight. She could feel his feeble efforts in the Force; its muddied currents were polluted with Jinn's inept attempts to gather in its power.

Leaning down, she smiled satisfaction. "You know that it won't work. The effects of this place, the Force-dampening, will last longer than you have to live, my friend. Why don't you just accept it and... "

The question was never completed. Jinn's hand snaked out, hill-adder fast, grabbing onto her ankle and pulling hard. She went down in a flurry of beige synthsilk and brown robe, all awkward limbs and astonishment, and lay there for a moment.

He scrambled up and, grunting softly as he shifted his weight, one hand pushing at his bloody wound, he stumbled toward the exit. Droplets of gore led a red-stain trail behind him.

She almost laughed at the sight. He thought he could get away from one with her strength - the idea was absurd.

Deciding to play with him a bit, she did not stop him as he staggered toward the door. It was quite amusing to watch him lurch about in a parody of drunken abandon, his boots dragging on duracreet, the sounds of harsh breathing bubbling with agony. It was just too delicious.

She slowly got to her feet and dusted off her robes, all the while watching him stumble and bumble away from her. When he tripped and almost fell, only keeping himself upright through dogged persistence, she snorted softly. He was certainly trying hard to escape but while it amused her to dangle hope before him like bait, allowing him that reality was not an option.

So as he reached the door, his fingertips brushing against the entry, she lifted one careless hand and, through the Force, yanked him back and away. He soared, flailing about in the air and then hit the duracreet floor like wet meat, face-down and gasping in pain.

Humphing a bit, she watched him as he huddled on the floor, shivering in delayed reaction. But she wanted more; she wanted to see his face. Toeing him with her boot, pushing at him to roll over, he just laid there, a dead weight, bleeding all over the cold, grey floor.

Sera shook her head in disgust. Jinn could be remarkably uncooperative at times. But she knew there was a remedy for inattention, a simple remedy, a time-honored and thoroughly enjoyable one. Pain. She stepped back and, with a smooth swift movement, kicked him sharply into his injured side.

It must have had some effect. There was a satisfying yelp and then a long, slow groan and he shifted onto his back, trying still to get away. He was very pale.

She thought that perhaps the end was nearer than she had anticipated but the old rsshak fooled her yet again. It was obvious that he was not quite dead yet as he gasped out, "Why..."

At least, she had his attention. Sera let out a breathy laugh, all satiated satisfaction. "Why not? I did enjoy it.. after all. So very much. Watching you bleed to death has been something that I've looked forward to for a very long time. And now we are here." She squatted down, staring into his sweating face, and patting his shoulder in a parody of compassion.

As he shuddered away from her, her hand snaked out and grabbed his tunic, stilling him. "And I'm going to keep you company as you draw your last breath, making sure that you don't escape this time. " She gave a chuckle deep in her throat. "You've avoided your fate once too often. Watching you struggle to live and losing... oh, lovely." She could almost taste the pain.

Qui-Gon frowned up at her, questions and confusion and determination in his eyes. "Obi-Wan will...."

Tossing her head back, she gave a great bark of laughter. She was enjoying this conversation immensely. ""You think he will rescue you. You are very much mistaken, Qui-Gon." She sat back on her haunches, gazing at his bloodied face. "Obi-Wan.... he's quite the fighter. Trying to avoid his fate, doing everything he can to deny his destiny and failing. It has been so very satisfying, especially now that I know he will be mine soon enough."

"He has a... greater... strength than you could hope to know." But the words seemed to exhaust him and he lay back down, his leonine face set with the depth of his conviction.

"I suppose he does - which will make his final surrender so... delicious." Warmth spread through her as she thought of her future and the day Obi-Wan would be hers at last.

But the old fool just kept denying the truth, "He will never join you."

"Won't he?" She let out another amused huff. The man was certainly single-minded and blind to the ways of the galaxy. Gullible and shortsighted, he saw only what he wanted to see. That, of course, was his downfall.

"Don't worry about him, Qui-Gon. He'll find out soon enough just who's in charge." Glancing upward, she thought about what was happening at this very moment, in the Chamber of the most High Jedi Council - those foolish sycophants and lesser beings trying and failing to understand the uses of true power - and Obi-Wan caught in the middle of it all. "He's up there right now, discussing his fate and yours with the Council, oblivious to what is going on under his feet. When he finds out... well, your tragic end will drive him deeper into the dark."

"No..." His thready whisper was laced with disgust.

Smiling down at Jinn's pain-filled eyes, she murmured satisfaction. "Ripe, succulent and so very powerful. He will be a valuable addition to my group."

"Never..."

She just shook her head, looking at him with a remote pity. "When he learns that his beloved Master committed suicide... while he wasn't here to prevent it. You all alone and so desperate. Of course he will. The guilt should drive him. And the despair..."

"You are a monster..." Loathing etched his face, the sharp frown embedded in his skin.

Sera considered his accusation. It had some merit after all. Nodding thoughtfully, she said, "Yes, I suppose I am."

When Jinn tried again to slither out of her grasp, she let him go. But he said nothing else, just lay there on the floor gasping out his life, and so she slowly stood up and gave a heavy theatrical sigh. He was really rather a bore.

Scratching absentmindedly at her palm, she blinked down at her hands, only to realize that they was still encrusted with his blood. She knew that her soiled tunic would be easy to change but stained skin was another matter. She began to scour her fingertips, scratching flakes of red-brown filth from her knuckles, removing evidence from beneath her nails. She had always been fastidious and now was no time to stop. Besides, she couldn't go back to the Council with dried gore spotting her fingers. There might be questions.

"Although Sidious is so much more of a monster than I can ever be." There was one stubborn smear of brown that remained in the crease of skin between thumb and forefinger and she scrubbed more vigorously at it. "He thinks he's going to kill me. That I'm expendable."

She halted, looking off into the distance and gave a sharp snort, thoroughly amused at the thought. "He's in for a bit of a shock."

"Sidious..."

One last scrape of skin and the clotted blood came free. Inspecting her fingers for telltale signs of her fight with the so-called great Qui-Gon Jinn, she was pleased to see that there were none. She had scrubbed them all away. She looked down from her handiwork to see him watching her. "Ah, yes, Sidious. He thinks I'm afraid of him. Oh, I cower and cringe and play the fool but it's all part of the game you see. He likes those he thinks are to be of use to him to be servile."

Another bark of laughter and she began to pace. "It's certainly lulled him into underestimating me."

She stopped, a smile as cold as the space beyond the galaxy's rim frosting her mouth. "Let's just say that your old Master Dooku, and I have an alternate plan. The Jedi could be so much more than mere peacekeepers. We have the power. It is time that we used it."

"That is a lie. Master would never..." Qui-Gon blinked in shock, struggling to rise but falling back as she pressed one boot onto his chest in warning.

"Oh, how very mistaken you are. He's behind the Separatists, of course." As she spoke, she was leaning in, adding her weight to the pressure of a boot heel digging into injured flesh, enjoying the grimace of crippling pain in his eyes. Then abruptly, she spun away, pacing once more in the dank cell. "Dooku and I want the same thing. Jedi should be ruling the Republic, not taking orders. Rulers, not slaves to some stupid whim of the Senate."

A few gulps of air later, he rasped, "Senate... Council..."

"The Senate are filled with nerf being led to the slaughter by Sidious. And the Council... those pandering fools. You must be joking." Her shoulders were shaking with laughter and it took a few moments for her to regain her composure. "Really, Qui-Gon, you are quite amusing."

Her hand fluttered upward, pointing vaguely toward the Council Chamber high above. "Veendo and Nunb are useful enough but they are easily manipulated." And then she stopped, frowning a bit, her dark eyes narrowed and hostile. "Sle'fey has been harder to read, I must admit, but he supports me in the important things. Xacor is too busy playing the mighty hunter to give me any problems. And the rest are sycophants and of little concern. Besides, they have no idea what is going on at the moment." Shrugging away her concerns, she said lightly, "I've turned off the monitoring devices and there is no other means of knowing."

"Sera...." he breathed urgently.

Squatting down, she began to smooth down his matted sweat-soaked hair, an almost motherly touch. "You seem to be fading fast, my old friend. Shall I help you along?"

His face was bone-white and she could see the blood pulsing weakly at his throat. But he had enough energy to catch her hand, stilling it. A paper-thin whisper, "Sera, I need to know...."

This was the very thing she had dreamed of. So many years waiting for this moment that she flushed hot with the joyous burn of her victory. Soon, soon everything she had ever wanted would be hers for the taking. "Very well. Ask your question but be quick. I grow impatient and I have business upstairs."

"Sidious....do you know?" His dark eyes were begging for information.

She snickered at his simple-minded foolishness. Even now, at the end of his life, he was still so innocent and trusting. He would never have discovered the identity of the Sith Lord nor had he found the truth would he have believed it. But she knew. Oh, she knew. "Of course. He may be good at concealment but I have my own sources. I have been waiting for the right time to act. A few more days, I think."

"Tell me, who.... is...."

But she was no longer paying attention to the fool dying on the duracreet floor. She had been so immersed in the twisted pain-pleasure of Jinn's impending doom that she had ignored the charcoal tendrils of dark Force energy signaling that all was not well. Danger, danger was coming and soon.

She stood up abruptly, almost tripping on Jinn's outstretched hand, and reached for her saber. Peering out into the darkness beyond the cell, into the dank recesses of the Temple basement, she could not see any movement. But in the black pit outside the entrance, there was a small sound, almost a whoosh, as if a door had opened and slid closed and footsteps. Whoever it was, was running fast and coming closer by the moment.

Hissing down at the rsshak trash at her feet, Sera spat out, "Jinn, if you say anything, anything at all, I'll kill the fool. No matter who it is. I swear I will. Do you understand?"

Not waiting for a reply, she stepped back, giving herself room to maneuver, slipping into ready stance, gathering up the searing energies of the Force to fight, to dominate, to kill if necessary.

She would not allow failure. She would rule the Galaxy as she had been born to do. And no one would stop her.

No one.

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Hurry.... hurry...

The sharp slap of boot-hide on duracreet echoed in the stairwell, the noise ricocheting like blaster fire in the tiny space. Harsh breathing, too, whistled out of his throat as the effort to fly down the stairs began to take its toll. And then there was the frantic call of "Wait" and "Come back" from high above that mingled and tumbled and pushed into a frenzied cacophony of sound.

But it did little to slow Obi-Wan down. Ignoring all but his heart's imperative, instead he continued to jump from landing to landing in a furious effort to reach his Master before it was too late. He could not think about what was happening above him in the treacherous Council Chamber or the changes that the Jedi Order was about to undergo or even what his faithless Padawan might do once she found out the truth.

He could only think of the now and rescuing Qui-Gon.

Pushing ever faster, at last, there was one final platform and he had reached bottom. Shoving past the heavy door, he began to run frantically toward the lighted cell at the end of the hall. The length of tiled floor and dark cages of Jedi justice took on an almost surreal air as he scrambled past but he shook his head to clear the disturbing thoughts from his mind. He needed to be focused if he had any chance of saving his Master.

Ahead, in the muted glow of that hated prison trap, that cell that had held only terror and toxin and death, on the duracreet floor he could just make out a body in blue tunics, a head of brown-grey hair and one outstretched hand. He... Qui-Gon was lying on the floor, unmoving.

Obi-Wan did not have enough air to breathe out his fear and his brain was beginning to howl denial but he kept going. He kept on going. And then as he got closer, all desperation and heartsick grief, he could see that abomination of a Jedi, Tharten, moving into view, gesturing towards the door, looking down and speaking to the man on the floor.

It was only then that he realized, Force help him, that she was talking.... to Qui-Gon. His heart began to beat again, all blazing joy and relief in the knowledge that his Master was not dead, that he was still alive. He wasn't too late.

Obi-Wan shook off the distraction. Much as he wanted to revel in the knowledge, there was a battle still to be won and he needed to gather his strength and stay focused if he was going to help Qui-Gon. For the briefest of moments, he slowed down, pulling himself together and then sped up again, more determined than ever to reach his Master and get him to the Healers before it was too late.

He saw Tharten look up, her head bobbing about as she tried to peer into the darkness. He knew she could not see him as yet; Obi-Wan was still in shadow. But sensing him in the Force was another matter. As she flowed into ready stance, it was clear that she was expecting trouble.

He would be just the one to give it to her.

His lightsaber humming discordant saber-song, Obi-Wan sprinted into the room, stopping a few centimeters from Qui-Gon. His Master looked terrible, bone-white, the stuttering rasps of pain speaking more clearly than words how badly he had been injured.

That Obi-Wan wanted to drop to his knees and help was an understatement of galactic proportions but he knew that Tharten's capture must come first - above his own desires to save Qui-Gon. He kept going, past the chilling spectacle of his dying Master, and stopped a meter or so from his quarry.

Tharten was standing there, beige tunic askew and smeared with blood, her crabbed mouth open in shock, her saber loose in her hands. She was blinking at him, a myriad of emotions passing over that corrupt face of hers; denial, domination, greed and, for a moment, an impossible touch of lust burnished into her eyes before she settled into brittle pity.

Stumbling backwards in order to avoid the heat of his blade, she spread her hands wide in a gesture of surrender and smiled tentatively, all artificial joy and concern. "Obi-Wan, you've arrived just in time. I tried to stop him but he was too fast." She stepped to one side, her dark eyes flicking between the saber and his face, trying to move surreptitiously away from the danger. "He's suicidal."

"Liar." The word seemed to vomit up from the roiling fire-pit of fury that bubbled just beneath the surface.

His blade wobbled dangerously toward her throat for a moment before he forced himself to ease back. He had to remain calm. He was still a Jedi Knight and sworn to justice but the driving temptation to plunge the saber into that lying rsshak and end her miserable life was almost overwhelming.

Tharten put one hand to her chest, her gestures full of theater; her concern was a facade sliding between trickery and contempt. And lies upon lies, the vulnerable catch in her voice only angered him more. "Obi-Wan, you must believe me. I came down here to see if I could help him but he lunged at me. Stole my boot knife and plunged it into his chest. So fast. I couldn't stop him."

He almost laughed at her; the story she was spinning was just too absurd. But his blade remained, pointing straight at her heart. "You are under arrest for the attempted murder of Qui-Gon Jinn. I want your saber, Tharten. Give it to me willingly and and we'll see what we can do to shorten your sentence."

With each word, her face grew more and more thunderous, fury painting her skin in splotches of red and vicious shadow. Eyes narrowing into slits, she drew up self up, haughty and contemptuous, puffing out like some kind of ravening predator. "Have you gone completely mad? You can't talk to me that way. I am the head of the Jedi Council and your superior."

It took every gram of strength he had not to gut her where she stood. "Your saber or I'll take it."

"I'll have you dismissed from the Jedi Order for this outrage." Spitting out her scorn, she moved back and stood there, glaring at him, daring him to take her weapon. The Force itself seemed to twist around her, its brilliant light shredding into smoky veils of fury, all black decay and corruption.

She was poison, wrapped up in the illusion of offended virtue.

He did not have time for this - Qui-Gon did not have the time - and it made him reckless. "I doubt it. We know all about your dealings with Sidious."

She went absolutely rigid with shock, her black eyes glaring out behind hooded lids, her mouth gaping open. One slight tilt of her head upward as if looking through the layers of duracreet flooring to the Council Chamber of the Jedi Order high above their heads and then she blinked at him and sent him an unsure smile, all pretense and innocence.

With the lightest trace of mild curiosity in her voice, she said, "Sidious? Who is that?"

"Don't even try." That she would think him simple enough to swallow her lies only made him more furious.

Pushing down his anger, he ground out, "Did you think that you could keep it a secret forever? Sle'fey and the rest of them know all about you and your plans for galactic domination." Scowling at her, he watched as she methodically retreated from his blade, taking small steps to avoid the danger, seeking escape. But when she reached the far wall, he knew she was trapped. There was nowhere else to go but through him.

"Surrender your saber, Tharten and I'll let you live."

Snorting once, Tharten glanced down at the blade handle in her grip. The smirk that blossomed on her face was full of contempt and, frowning straight at Obi-Wan, she growled, "Come and get it then, foolish boy. As if you could. You are nothing but a ...."

Obi-Wan felt the Force shift, shrilling of danger and fury and death. A gift of a moment's foreknowledge.

Flashing out into brilliant cobalt fire, spilling ozone and cacophony into the air, Tharten's lightsaber stabbed quickly toward him but he was already moving. The Force was with him.

Backpedaling quickly, he tried to get clear enough that he could disarm her. They needed to know who Sidious was and, if he killed her, much as he wanted to do so, it would be disastrous. But she seemed desperate to destroy him and escape at any cost.

As she slashed down toward his legs, he vaulted up onto the slab of seating and then flipping past her, catching at her blade just as she tried to skewer him. But with a quick twist, she was the one in control, pushing his saber lower and lower, scraping it onto the floor. Acrid dust clouded upward and small chips of duracreet peppered the air. He choked for a moment, his eyes watering, and he made a hasty retreat. He heard the sound of her contempt as he jockeyed for position.

He could feel her in the Force, a red-black bubble of corruption, a stain in the Light. And it tainted him somehow that he could be in the same room with someone so filled with shadow. But he shivered off the sensation. Now was not the time for such things.

Blinking rapidly, as his vision cleared, he saw her standing there, dark blade tearing down toward him again and he shoved it back. Close to his, her face was a deathmask of frenzied hatred, all pulled skin and stark bone. But she was smiling, too, her smirk full of utter confidence.

"Come on, Kenobi. Is this the best you can do?" She mocked and lunged forward.

He jerked out of the way and almost tripped over his Master, lying there so still on the floor. But she only laughed at his clumsiness. "Oafy-Wan, mind your step. We wouldn't want you hurting the old fool. Or your pretty face."

Ignoring the taunt, he swung his blade toward her right side, hoping to catch her saber at the hilt and destroying it but she danced away impossibly fast. The cobalt sword was almost strobing in the dim cell, a fan of deadly light that seared past him lightening quick. As she retreated, she scored a thin line across his arm, quicksilver fire.

It hurt like hell but he shunted aside the pain. He could not afford the distraction. Besides, it had been too close.

Breathing hard, he brought his saber back up into ready position. He knew he was at a disadvantage. Although he had been a field agent for many years, he was still fighting off the residual effects of the cell and beyond that, in his heart of hearts, he was worried about Qui-Gon. And he could not afford that distraction either.

Tharten just tsked softly and shook her head, "My foolish Obi-Wan. Always doing things the hard way. Why don't you accept that I will win in the end?"

Keeping his saber high to fend off an attack, he looked around the room to see if there was something he could use against her but there was nothing except his Master at his feet and, on the floor, one smoldering square of fabric the color of his own tunic. Apparently, she had sliced through more than just skin.

"I will soon have the galaxy at my feet." She began to pace, hacking at the air with her saber, all careless gesture. Or so it would seem. But in reality, she was slowly inching toward the exit.

He could not let her get away. He half-stepped toward her, blocking her escape. "You will never succeed."

"It is a golden opportunity for you, Obi-Wan. Join me. Learn about true power and the pleasure of using it as it was meant to be used." She sent him a brilliant smile, and cocked her head, waiting for his reply.

It was not long in coming. "Never, I..."

But before he could finish what he was going to say, she flung out one hand, sending a crashing wave of Force energy toward him, thrusting him aside. She began to scramble past him. But, even as he strove to regain his footing, he grabbed onto her tunic and pulled her back.

She screeched at him, trying to jerk free. In an instant, her saber was there again, swinging high to meet his blade and then spiraling it down to jab at his legs. He still had a fist-full of cloth and it was dragging her off-center but with one powerful movement, she wrested free.

What she had forgotten in her haste to leave was that Qui-Gon was not dead, not just yet. As her foot flashed past his outstretched hand, he caught at her boot and pulled. It was not much, but it was enough. She spun awkwardly, collapsing into a pile of beige tunic and brown robes.

In a flash, Obi-Wan was there again, but she just scurried away, robes catching at her feet, her eyes black with hate. Impatiently shrugging off her cloak, she scrambled up, slashing and growling hoarsely as she rose, trying to destroy him. He backpedaled away but she stabbed at him again and the battle was on, hacking, jabbing, two enemies locked in a deadly duel that would only have one outcome - death.

And, in that one explosive moment, in the midst of it all, Atel pelted into the room.

"Master, stop. Don't..." His Padawan's voice was all shrilled desperation. The clatter of her boots told him that she had slowed, turning a run into a careful walk towards him, edging close.

He wanted to warn her away but he knew she would never listen. Even if she had believed him and wanted to help, it was too dangerous for her in the enclosed space. Besides, he dare not give Tharten the gift of a moment's inattention. But there was one thing she could do.

"Padawan, help him." He nodded to one side, indicating the still form sprawled on the duracreet floor.

The sound of boot heels stopped abruptly. And he knew then that Atel was finally aware of his Master's condition, that she was taking in Qui-Gon's pallid skin and the splattered blood and the unsettling harsh rattle in his throat. Her shock reverberated in the Force, swirling, shadowy discord, a jumble of hesitation and loss. But it was her voice, so hesitant and quiet, that tore at his heart, "Master?"

"Help him," he repeated desperately. He could not do anything for Qui-Gon as long as Tharten was free and able to attack. But if Atel could just trust his judgment for one moment, it might be enough. He prayed that she would make the right choice.

Signaling that she was willing to talk, Tharten stepped back and lowered her saber, sending Obi-Wan a sly grin. It was clear that she thought Atel could not see her; Obi-Wan blocked her view. As her smirk grew into a brilliant smile, she gave him a wink and then, looking past his shoulder, cried out, "Padawan, don't listen to him. Your Master is ill. I tried to stop Jinn from stabbing himself and Obi-Wan attacked me. I need your help."

As Obi-Wan drew back in disgust, Tharten began to move her blade back and forth, sweeping across the air in luminous cobalt light, creating patterns of beauty and death.

Escape was her goal, of course, but he could not allow it. In the end, Justice must be served. It was the Jedi way and his.

Through the Force, he could feel Atel wavering, trying to make a decision. It hurt him more than he expected - to think that she was trying to decide if he was truly insane or if Tharten was lying. She should have known the answer immediately. What had gone so wrong that she couldn't trust him? But there was no time now for remorse or recriminations.

There was only time to say, "Atel, please," and hope that she would understand.

The rustle of clothing and hesitant whisper of "Yes, Master" was all he needed. From out of the corner of his eye, he could see her kneeling down and speaking softly to Qui-Gon. And the low rumble of reply was too quiet to hear but at least Obi-Wan could take finally take a deep breath and release the terror that had been holding his heart captive. His Master was still alive and Atel would do what she could until the Healers arrived. If they ever did.

Laughing in a kind of giddy triumph, Tharten swept her saber up, "She can't help him. He's bleeding to death and even the Force is not enough to stop that. You fool, he is doomed and you with him."

With that, her blade became a ruinous band of light, jabbing toward him and, for the next few moments, he was on the defensive and fighting for his life. As the seconds wore on, he could feel the Force growing stronger even as the last effects of the cell tortures dissipated but he was getting tired. He needed to end this and quickly.

He flipped over, kicking at the ceiling and pushed down toward her, cutting through the air and into Tharten's side. She screeched in pain but it was not debilitating, merely a superficial wound. And she was after him with renewed vigor.

So quick were Tharten's attacks that he did not have time to think about what Atel was doing. But as he slid past, for one brief moment, he could see her leaning down, her hand flat against his Master's forehead. She was concentrating hard; the deep frown seemed to bisect her skin. Her eyes were closed tight. But then he moved again and her face was hidden from view as he slashed and parried and tried to force the Councilor's surrender.

With every heartbeat, he was gathering strength, pushing Tharten back and back and she gave way until they were against the far wall of the cell. The Force was moving with him, the shadowed, diseased flow from Tharten counterbalanced by his clean grounding in the luminescence. Sinking into the brilliant currents, letting go of worry and the fear for Qui-Gon and whether the Jedi would survive this latest assault or his own fate, he flowed into the mysteries of that radiant energy. Dancing in the Light.

Which is why he was completely taken by surprise when the discordant ozone noise of a third lightsaber blade started humming loudly behind him. Tharten looked past him then, and she began to laugh, sending shivers up his back but he dare not turn around. He dare not turn but it was already too late and so he did.

Glancing over his shoulder, he choked on the horror of it, at the betrayal of everything he had ever believed.

He started to stumble back, shouting at his Padawan. The woman he trusted with his life, the woman to whom he had entrusted the life of the man who meant so much to him and she had betrayed him. She had betrayed them both.

Hunched over his Master, Atel had already taken her saber and plunged it deep into Qui-Gon's belly. A bloody mist of iron-tanged gore blossomed outward, enveloping them both, coating her and his dying Master in brown slime. She was still frowning, and she kept the lightsaber steady and straight, but it was an abomination in the Light.

Qui-Gon must have already been unconscious because there was no scream of agony, no pain-filled bubbling protest that must surely come from such an attack. But Obi-Wan had no time to think of that. He acted, instead, on instinct. He had nothing left to lose.

Gathering a fistful of Force energy, he launched it straight at his wayward apprentice. The ripples of it tore across the cell like a dark meteor, crashing into his Learner and flinging her backward high up into the air. As she hit the corner where ceiling met wall, she let out a half-grunt and crumbled to the ground unmoving. Like some broken doll. Beside her was the hilt of her lightsaber, still clanging slightly as it rolled away - useless.

And then he felt it. The agony when a saber plunged deep into flesh. His shoulder was on fire as Tharten's sword pierced through to the bone and out the back. The monster brayed with laughter, her eyes filled with triumph, as she pulled the sword free. He tried to gasp out a protest but the burning went straight through to the depths of his heart, searing meat and bone and he could not breathe. Could not breathe as his body spasmed in torment.

But he was still acting on instinct.

Obi-Wan jerked back, away from her, his blade coming up. Tharten had left herself open in that last thrust and, without thought, he sliced through her, bone and flesh bubbling in fiery splendor, bits of skin and muscle and guts exploding away from the heat.

She shrieked then, looking down unbelieving at the ruination of her chest, and then reaching for him with the determination of the damned. But her body started to collapse inward and she crumbled to the floor, still screaming obscenities and cursing his name, all the while trying to push her entrails back inside her skin.

Her searing hatred spread outward into the Force. And, almost a living thing, it seemed to react, fracturing into a great icy slush of darkness and disease, great debris-filled waves of corruption coating everything in filth. Roiling in obscenity, the once clear currents of the Light were choked with contempt and hatred and fear and pain. The Darkside clouded everything.

Reeling away from the contamination in the Force, Obi-Wan hobbled a step back from the carnage, still gulping air in vain attempt to quell the agony of his shoulder. He could not sense anything beyond the shadows, not the life energy of his Padawan or whether his Master still lived.

But as he stood there swaying in pain and regret, he looked down to see Qui-Gon covered in a fine sheen of brown blood, the charred mess of his gut still sizzling from the heat. But there was no sign of life, no lift of chest, no movement beyond a tendril of smoke rising from the wound. Nothing.

He had been too late after all. Force help him, he had been too late.

Closing his eyes, he fought back the grief that threatened to overwhelm him. He would mourn later. Later. Now was not the time to give into sorrow, not the time to... He still had one last duty to perform, one last way to honor Qui-Gon's sacrifice.

Twisting away, he stumbled back to Tharten and knelt beside her. The jostling movement was sending shudders of pain down his fingertips and radiating out into his chest but he forced himself to ignore it and focus.

Sera was breathing up blood, a frothy mixture of agony and hatred. Glazing over, her eyes were narrowed and black as death and with each lift of her ruined chest, she coughed up more globules of bright-red muck. But she still had enough strength to spit in his face.

He wiped the mess off with his good hand, staring down at her. "Who is Sidious?"

The laugh that followed turned into another hacking cough and her face grimaced in pain. Rasping out fury, she growled, "Go to hell, Kenobi."

He knew he didn't have much time and it was a violation of every covenant of the Jedi but he had to know. A Mind-trick would not work here, no soft persuasion to a weak-minded lost soul but a hard, thrusting punch of Force coercion, mind-rape. It would be hard and filthy and an abomination to probe into her contaminated spirit and it would hurt like hellfire but he would do it if she did not cooperate. This was too important. It could mean the death of the Jedi Order and thousands of innocents if he did not try.

Giving her one last chance, he said, "Tell me, Sera, or I'll go in and force the information from you. And I won't be gentle."

She snorted, then shivered with pain as more bright blood seeped through her fingers. She was growing weaker by the moment. "Kenobi the moralist? I murdered your Master and still you don't have the guts to take what you want. Weak fool. I'm just sorry I didn't kill you when I had the chance."

So be it. He drew back, taking a deep breath, ignoring the fire flare of pain across his back as the melted bones in his shoulder scrapped together. Pushing away the agony and the despair, he centered himself and reached out to touch her through the still polluted shadows of the Force.

She arched back, shaking her head back and forth, trying to keep him away by screaming obscenities at him. But he ignored her protests. He was far stronger that she would ever be and he needed to do this. For Qui-Gon's sake.

Grabbing her head between his hands, he sent a Force suggestion down into her thoughts, asking for permission to enter. Even in the electronic sputtering of mind to mind contact, she shrieked and vomited hatred at him. And so he pushed past her barriers and punched into the centers of her mind. There was a maelstrom of fear and shuddering torment that was almost overwhelming but beneath it all was her driving need to keep him from learning Sidious's true identity.

He sent a sharp probe of energy jabbing into the pain centers of her mind. There he was able to imprint his will on hers, forcing her to do what he wanted at all costs. She could not fight back; he was too powerful and she too caught up in her own agony to resist. It was corruption of the worst sort and nothing a Jedi would do but he had to know.

As he pulled back into the reality of the cell, he felt as if his spirit had been dragged through the fetid waste of a thousand worlds and would never be clean again. But he ignored the taint and the darkness.

Waving one hand across her eyes, he demanded, "Tell me now, Sera. Who is Sidious?"

Tharten was still wheezing blood and curses at him and her throat was raw from screaming when he had forced himself into her mind. But still she fought him. With all the strength left in her, she sputtered out, "I wo... I.... can.. not... I..." And as Sera Tharten shrieked out the last of her hatred, she said, "Palpatine...." and died.

Too numb to react to the realization that the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic was the Sith Lord, he tilted his head upward, glaring at the ceiling. In his mind's eye, he could see through the layers of Temple duracreet, through the great halls and winding staircases, up the shaft of broken turbolifts and into the dusty hall of Council Chambers. He knew that they were watching him, Sle'fey and Veendo and Nunb and Xacor and all the others. He supposed that there was satisfaction there in the lofty Council and a kind of vindication but he couldn't seem to care.

All he could do was stare up and wonder if they understood any of it.

He slumped back, ignoring the fierce agony of muscle and bones, and sat quietly for a moment. He had done what was needed but at what cost. Qui-Gon was gutted and lying there lifeless. Atel had betrayed him as had most of the Jedi Council and for what - to learn the name of a Sith Lord? In that moment, it didn't seem worth the price.

Blinking in silence, unable to move, he sat there numb. He couldn't even care when a pair of Healers finally came trundling into the room, a hoverbed floating behind them. They were too late and it didn't matter any more.

One of them knelt down by Qui-Gon and started pushing needles under his skin, linking up bags of fluid, looking at eyes and mouth and burned gut. Obi-Wan recognized the man, Leabe was his name, and he was competent enough but not enough to bring back the dead. Once you had traveled into the Force, there was no way to return. Everyone knew that.

The second Healer knelt down to see if Tharten was still alive and just shook his head. Then he came over to Obi-Wan, pulling the ruined tunic off his shoulder and slapping bacta on his wound. The man started asking absurd questions like "How severely are you injured?" and "Can you walk back to the ward or do we need another hoverbed?" But Obi-Wan just shook him off and closed his eyes for a moment. The grief was beginning to push out again and he would allow it once he was alone. Not before.

Obi-Wan turned his head and stared at his now-awake apprentice. She was sitting there, gazing at him with confusion and impossible hurt in her eyes. At this moment, he could not even feel enough to hate her. Perhaps later, when the numbness wore off and he could think again, he would make her pay for her betrayal. But not now.

As the Healer poked and prodded him, he said quietly, "She murdered him. Qui-Gon. My devoted Learner was supposed to save him but instead she shoved her saber into his gut and roasted what was left of him. I trusted her, you see, and she turned on me. She killed him without any remorse. How could she do that? I trusted her."

And as Atel looked at Obi-Wan with horror, Leabe, still working on Qui-Gon's dead body, spoke up. It was clear that the Healer was confused. "What are you talking about? He's in stasis right now. His autonomic system has been slowed down to the point of almost perfect suspension, slow heart-rate, blood flow almost stopped. He's breathing but only just."

"But...." Obi-Wan could not comprehend what the man was babbling about. Qui-Gon was dead. He was starting to get angry. Why was the Healer spewing lies about his Master? "But she.. he was bleeding to death from a knife wound and she gutted him with her saber."

"I don't have time to give you the complete explanation. We have to get him into surgery and then into a bacta tank when he's strong enough. Neil'don, help me with the hoverbed, and then call ahead and make sure they are ready for us. We'll need to get him to the ward as quickly as we can. And we'll send someone back down for you."

Obi-Wan kept blinking at the fool. Couldn't he feel the death? The Force was full of it, great shards of ice and contamination. His own spirit was slick with the poison of Tharten's hatred and foul black blood and it was almost as if he was drowning in the darkness.

But the Healer did not say anything more, just began to float Qui-Gon's body out into the darkened hallway. Busy with his work and concentrating on triage rather than clarity, Leabe still had time to call back, "She stopped his bleeding with her saber. It's a rather crude method but it worked. I think you owe her an apology." And then there was no more to be heard as the Healers began to trot quickly toward the turbolift, leaving them in silence.

With that, they were alone. Atel gazed at him for a moment and then, turning away, she buried her head in her hands and began to cry.

To Chapter 27