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He swam up, up, up toward the shimmering light, pumping his legs and cutting his arms through the murky waters with powerful strokes. The lake had never seemed so deep. Or so cold. Tension gripped his calves. Tighter. Clamping down. He began to thrash mindlessly as the light started to recede. No. No! His lungs collapsed. With a gasp, his jaw sprang open. Fear rushed in with the water.
Qui-Gon sat up with a gurgle, chest heaving as he struggled to draw breath. The young Jedi flopped back on his narrow cot and pressed his arm over his eyes, as he concentrated on pushing back the panic and drawing air slowly into his mouth so it could seep down his clogged throat. Not again, he thought with a strangled moan.
He rolled toward the edge of the bed, tumbling to the floor when the tangled bedclothes wouldn't release him. Qui-Gon kicked his way out of the twisted blankets and pulled himself onto the only chair in the small room. He took a few more slow breaths before activating the light orb on his desk with a touch and watching it rise 30 centimeters as it came to life, floating in front of him like the elusive, receding light in his dream. He shuddered and reached for his tunic and belt.
Standing up to pull on his leggings, Qui-Gon's foot caught in the second leg hole and he tumbled forward. As he landed on the cot, his shoulder smacked the wall with a muffled thud. His breathing turned ragged. Clumsy oaf.
He hitched up his leggings and sat on the edge of the bed, staring at his feet. They ached at the thought of tugging on too-tight boots. Qui-Gon ran his hand through the stubble on his scalp and thoughtfully fingered the Padawan braid that sprouted behind his right ear. He was growing again, if his throbbing toes were any indicator. 1.87 meters and counting. Would it ever stop? He towered over every other 15-year-old he knew. He sighed. Who was he kidding? He towered over most adults, human or otherwise.
His breathing turned shallow as his throat constricted a little more.
Qui-Gon jumped to his feet. With a rueful glance at the tall boots propped against the chair, he stepped through the doorway. His knee bumped against something and he spun in time to catch a fern-like plant before it tumbled from its stand.
Relief hissed from between the young Jedi's lips as he placed the plant carefully back on the wall bracket between the two bedroom doors. Since getting it, his master had doted over that plant, which Qui-Gon gathered had come from Master Yoda's homeworld. An image of pursed lips and flattened ears popped into his head. He received enough reprimands and looks of frustration and disappointment as it was, without giving his master yet another reason to regret his choice of Padawans.
Qui-Gon swallowed hard and hurried toward the main door, snatching his cloak from its hook as he escaped the suddenly stuffy quarters.
The cool floor soaked up the Padawan's footfalls as he strode down the long hallway, slipping into his cloak as he went. Fresh air. That was all he needed. That had done the trick the last four nights, had eased the scratching, swelling pain in his throat.
Without pulling out his chrono, Qui-Gon knew it was 2:30 -- the same time he had awakened each night as this strangling sensation had gripped him. So regular. What could cause something so consistently? Was he being poisoned? That was ridiculous. Who would want to poison an untried Padawan? Unless it was meant to strike at his master.
Qui-Gon jerked to a stop. His labored breathing filtered down the corridor as his mind raced. Of course. A Jedi as powerful as Master Yoda would have many enemies -- but surely not someone inside the Temple. It had to be someone from outside, someone with access. Someone who didn't realize the Padawan was not loved by the Master, that the Padawan was a source of great disappointment to the Master.
The young man's shoulders drooped. He would have to speak of this to Master Yoda, admit to being a possible danger to his mentor. A failure. His knees wobbled as a wave of weakness crashed into him. He braced himself against the wall with one hand and squeezed the bridge of his nose with his other.
As the feeling passed, Qui-Gon ran his fingers down a nose that seemed too broad, too long for his face. His fingers paused by his nostrils, as he measured his breathing, shallow but steady. He traced the high cheekbone that was beginning to carve angles into his smooth cheek and then the jaw that was becoming ever more pronounced. The promise of fast-approaching stubble brought a grim smile to his lips. He had felt Master Yoda's censorious look whenever he was caught stroking his coming beard and he knew shaving his jaw would soon be as regular as shearing his head. But some day. Some day...
Pushing away from the wall, Qui-Gon headed toward the nearest Temple entrance, suddenly anxious to clear his throat and fill his lungs.
Slipping past a silent sentry, Qui-Gon melted into the shadows of the broad patio that led up to the Temple entrance. In the far corner, he sank down to sit cross-legged with his back resting against the stone wall. He stretched his arm out beyond the overhang and caught raindrops in his palm. The refreshing mist stroked his face and soothed his throat. Slowly, slowly the Padawan's breathing returned to its regular deep rhythm.
Tucking his broad hands into opposing sleeves, Qui-Gon let his head fall back against the worn stone. How many other Jedi in training had rested their heads against this stone while meditating their futures? He sighed.
"It's not that I want to defy you, Master," Qui-Gon whispered to the air. "I wish I could make you understand how strongly the Living Force tugs at me sometimes. I can't disobey it, any more than I can stop breathing. You say, 'stop, think'. It says, 'act'. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
The whisper trailed off into thoughts. He had been so pleased when the diminutive Master had taken him as his Padawan learner. Was still pleased. He greatly honored Yoda. Loved? Yes, even loved him. And it made the disappointed looks, the frustrated sighs cut so deep. Why couldn't he remember looks or words of pleasure, of pride, in a job well done? There must have been some. But not lately. All he could bring to mind were flat ears, tight lips, narrow eyes, and skin a darker shade of green. And a prodding gimer stick. Qui-Gon's hand floated down to rub his thigh.
If truth be known, he would give anything, do anything, to win the respect of his Master -- except ignore the Force's calling. Anything but that. The Living Force was his lifeblood, his reason for being. He could never turn from its call -- not even for a Master he loved above all others.
Qui-Gon sank inwards, away from surface worries, toward his center. The Force wrapped around him, warming and soothing and comforting. The dripping of the rain, the feel of cool stone, faded as the Force shimmered around and through him, carrying him away.
A disturbance niggled on the edge of his consciousness. Not here. Out there. The feeling, the familiar feeling came over him, tugged at his heart and his mind. The Living Force called.
Qui-Gon's eyes flew open. He stared into the night as the urging grew stronger.
The young Jedi stood and looked back at the doorway to the Temple. He wiggled his toes against the damp stone. If he went back to get his boots, Master Yoda would surely awake. He didn't seem to stir whenever Qui-Gon left, but always when he returned.
So be it.
Qui-Gon drew the hood of his cloak over his head and paced across the patio to the suspension bridge spanning the chasm between the Temple and the closest building. He took a breath and, without looking back, stepped onto the bridge and into the rainy night.
Barely half way across the bridge Qui-Gon regretted leaving his boots behind. His feet slapped down into puddles that were icy hard. He gritted his teeth and kept going, pulling his cloak tight around him.
Towers disappeared in the fog above, and were swallowed by the depths below. It was a world suspended in mid-air, through which speeding aircraft buzzed and wove and darted. The planet hummed with life -- was choked with life.
The young Jedi's senses were overwhelmed and his head pounded, until, in a fit of self-preservation, he narrowed his focus to extend barely beyond himself. So much pain. So much need. It would take a lifetime, and still, only a fraction would be, could be, helped. No. He refocused his thoughts. Help one life, and that one is freed to help others. Ripples of light extending beyond his knowing. His tension lifted.
The streets were deserted -- for Coruscant, that is. Myriad figures passed Qui-Gon, almost always skirting around him when they recognized the Jedi garb. He kept to the shadows as much as possible, avoiding curious eyes.
At the first intersection, he hesitated. Down. He was being urged down. Qui-Gon hopped on the closest turbolift. Forty levels later, he exited.
There were even fewer beings now, scattered here and there, mostly hunched against walls and in corners. Qui-Gon became more alert, scanning ahead, treading softly.
Then he heard it. A tiny mewling sound, off to his left. He stopped. There it was again. He glanced up and down the street. No one seemed to hear -- or care. The Padawan hesitated, then entered the murky shadows of an alley. The sound grew louder, more plaintive.
Qui-Gon cautiously approached the pile of crates from which the sound seemed to be originating. He rolled forward silently, heel to toe, heel to toe. The noise stopped. Crouching, he hesitated, listening. A wail sounded, almost in his ear, making him jump.
The young Jedi lowered his head and peered into the crate beside him. Inside, cowering in the corner, was a slender little, fur-covered creature. White with black-tipped paws and tail. Fear glowed in obsidian eyes. Qui-Gon reached his hand into the box, murmuring lowly, using the Force to ease the creature's mind. As he wrapped his fingers around the thing, it started to squirm.
"Shh, shh, little fellow. I won't hurt you," Qui-Gon whispered. He pulled it out of its hiding place. "What's this? A shattered leg. No wonder you're crying."
He tucked the creature inside his tunic, letting his body warmth soothe its hurting leg. As soon as he clamped one hand over its hind quarters so it couldn't move, he felt it relax. A smile brushed the Padawan's lips.
He straightened and headed back to the street. A scream and crash sounded behind him. The creature dug its claws deep into Qui-Gon's side. He flattened himself against the wall, expecting attack. None came. Some feral scavenger scared off, no doubt. He hissed at the creature's tenacious hold, and reached inside his tunic to flick tiny claws out of his skin, one by one.
Qui-Gon relaxed against the cold wall and reached for the Force. As he'd suspected. This little one was not his target. He needed to head deeper into the underbelly of the city. He sighed and wiggled his toes until a measure of feeling returned.
As Qui-Gon stepped into the street, a rough hand grabbed him and jerked him about.
"Just yer credits. That's all I want," a voice rasped.
Qui-Gon looked down at the flickering vibro-blade waving in his face. The thief's eyes slowly travelled up his chest. And up. Qui-Gon scowled, knowing all the thief would see is deep-set eyes and a heavy brow mostly concealed by the hood of his cloak. When their eyes finally met, the vibo-blade disappeared. Qui-Gon watched the the man's throat convulse as he stepped back hastily.
"I, I didn't k-know," the would-be thief stuttered. "I, I'd never ... Oh, ... Hutt pus."
Qui-Gon's shoulders shook as his eyes followed the quickly disappearing figure. "A reputation is a handy thing some days," he whispered.
Ten minutes and two levels later, Qui-Gon sensed he was close. But to what?
The rain had an oily feel at this level. A pungent odor assaulted his nostrils -- a mix of rotting foodstuff, filthy bodies, vehicle gases and feces. Qui-Gon shuddered and glanced over his shoulder. The Temple, framed by vertical slashes of ferrocrete, caught his eye and made him pause.
Peace radiated out from the flat-topped pyramid, caressing the Padawan from a distance. He hadn't gone as far as he'd thought. He let out a slow breath. Did Master Yoda miss him? Not likely. Did he care? Qui-Gon squeezed his eyes shut for a second and turned away.
Skirting around a prostrate body that moaned when he nudged it with a toe, Qui-Gon moved forward in search mode. Prodding with the Force. Scanning every surface. Soaking up every detail.
He turned a corner and stopped. A recessed courtyard, open to the street, led to a seemingly dilapidated structure. Qui-Gon narrowed his eyes. New doors made to look old. The yard oddly uncluttered, except for a few strategically placed dura-crates. No windows. But no signs of any kind of surveillance. This was the place. He could feel it.
The young Jedi took a deep breath and strode forward. Pain slashed through his mind, and he dropped to one knee. He tensed, face scrunched, until the feeling faded. Something terrible had just happened. Close by. In that building. The echoes died out through the Force and Qui-Gon pushed himself to his feet. Was he too late?
Heedlessly he hurried to the door, stepping over another homeless sleeper. He ran his trembling fingers over the seal, searching for a trigger mechanism.
Something grabbed his ankle. Qui-Gon twisted, slipping on a slime-covered stone. His head bounced off the ground and he fought to keep from passing out. Two grinning faces melted into one. Qui-Gon groaned. The sleeper - a watcher.
Three large shadows emerged from the doorway. Powerful hands grabbed the young Jedi's arms, hauled him up and slammed him against the wall. Qui-Gon's head lolled about as he tried to focus. Four faces, swarthy, shaggy, cruel. The tallest drew close, almost looking the tall Padawan in the eye. He recoiled from the vile breath blowing on his face, unable to hide his disgust.
A snort of laughter made Qui-Gon gag. His hood was yanked back. His chin tipped up.
The tall one grunted. "It's only a boy. Your mama know where you are, pretty boy?"
Qui-Gon brought the man into focus and said nothing. He pushed aside the fear hovering near his mind.
"Boss. Look at what he's wearing. This one's a Jedi," said a voice to the side.
The tall one looked down and sneered. "A Jedi, eh? Where's your boots, Jedi?" he asked as he ground his heel into Qui-Gon's toes.
The Padawan tensed, clenching his jaw, biting back the moan in his throat.
The leader pulled back Qui-Gon's cloak. "Where's your weapon, Jedi?" He laughed.
Qui-Gon's nostrils flared as spittle ran down his cheek. He froze as the leader's attention returned to his waist.
"What're you hiding, boy?"
Qui-Gon pursed his lips. Grabbing his wrist, the leader tried to pull his hand out of his tunic. The Padawan's arm shook as he resisted. Another hand joined the tug-of-war. He suddenly relaxed his grip, letting his hand fly, smacking a face to the side. A half smile touched his lips at the yelp his fist coaxed from the ruffian.
The leader pressed his right arm against Qui-Gon's neck and glowered at the Padawan as he reached into the tunic with his left hand. He swore and stepped back, pulling his hand free as he did so. The little creature clung to the man's finger, teeth sunk deep. With a snarl the man started to squeeze the helpless thing.
Qui-Gon jerked against his captors' hold and cried out, "Leave it. It's hurt. Leave it be."
Narrowing his eyes as he glanced from creature to boy and back, the leader soaked in the growing horror in the eyes of his prisoner. Qui-Gon shook his head wildly as the feral look sank into his consciousness.
"No. No!" he pleaded, wincing as the man wound up and whacked the creature against the durasteel door, crushing its skull with a sickening thud, cutting off a high-pitched squeal.
"And now it's dead." The leader casually tossed the limp body over his shoulder.
A look of revulsion spread across the young Jedi's face. Qui-Gon couldn't hide the horror he felt, the loathing at such a senseless act.
The arm slammed back against his neck. The leader snarled. "Wipe that look off your face, boy. Unless you want to be next."
Qui-Gon dropped his eyes as he tried to fight off a growing panic.
The leader jerked his head. Qui-Gon found himself being manhandled down a dim hallway. Grey walls and a ceiling barely two meters high. Stairs led to the left. He was jostled right, down a short corridor with two doors, directly across from each other.
The leader spoke into a comlink and the left door retracted into the wall. Qui-Gon was pushed through it and into a large, empty room. He stumbled to a halt. A blaster was pressed into his back. The leader's voice whispered in his ear, "Move to the center, boy." The blaster dug deeper. "Now."
Qui-Gon stared, transfixed, at the dark stain in the middle of the room. His hands started to shake. He spun to face his captors as fear gripped him.
"Don't understand Basic?" the leader taunted, as he nodded.
One of the other men gave Qui-Gon a little shove. He stumbled back a step. A third man sank his fist into the Padawan's stomach, making him fold in half. A knee glanced off his face. A kidney punch dropped him to the floor. A kick dragged a moan from him. Qui-Gon tried to crawl away, but another kick flopped him onto his back.
Qui-Gon reached a shaky hand up to wipe blood from his mouth. The coppery taste filled his mouth and trickled down his throat. Alarm fogged his mind as the leader stepped over him and nudged his head with the toe of a black boot.
"Do you understand Basic, boy?" Heavy sarcasm dripped through the words.
Qui-Gon nodded.
"Then move."
Another nod. Qui-Gon rolled onto his stomach with a moan and dragged himself to his hands and knees. He crawled toward the center of the room. A boot planted itself on his rear, sending the young Jedi flying forward, his cheek scraping the floor. He lay, eyes closed, awaiting the next blow.
Humming filled his ears. Qui-Gon rolled over to see vertical bars lowering from the ceiling, coming to rest mere centimeters from his face.
The leader crouched down and motioned with his blaster. "Touch them, boy."
Qui-Gon reached out his hand and hesitated. The man sneered and nodded his head. Qui-Gon closed his eyes and touched the bar. An electric bolt shot up his arm, numbing it. His eyes flew open in shock as he scrambled backwards, followed by a cruel laugh.
The Padawan fell on his aching arm, his whole body shaking uncontrollably. He watched, wide-eyed, as the leader rose slowly and circled the barred enclosure. Qui-Gon turned, and turned again, to keep the killer in his sight. He eyed the blaster as it waved around. He winced as a red bolt lanced through the air, a meter above his head. He had never felt so helpless. Terror blanked his mind, consumed his thoughts.
The leader stopped and crouched again. "You're no Jedi. What you are ... is dead. Look around, boy. This is the last home you'll ever know."
With that, the man left, followed by his three shadows. Qui-Gon was left alone with his fear.
The Padawan forced himself to his feet and paced the perimeter of his cell, eyes frantically searching for a vent, a window, anything, anything. His breathing came harder. He stood in the center of the cell and spun slowly. Blank walls. Blank walls. Blank walls. Nothing. Nothing except the door and three durasteel plates inset high in one wall.
Qui-Gon sank down and began rocking on his heels. He pressed his head against his knees, moaning, running his hands through the stubble on his head. Force help me. Force help me. His soul cried out for reprieve. Fear mocked him as it clanged through his mind.
The Padawan's little finger brushed his braid. He froze. He sniffled as he slowly wrapped his fingers around the slender tassle of hair. Qui-Gon melted to the floor, his cheek pressed against the cool stone, his hand clasping the symbol of what he was.
What was he? A Jedi? Or not? Beware. Fear, anger, hate -- lead to the Dark Side, they do. Yoda's voice echoed from a far recess of his mind.
His voice was a hoarse whisper. "Help me, Master."
Qui-Gon squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated on relaxing each muscle in his body, one by one. As the tension leaked away, he sensed the Force, a mere glimmer, deep, deep inside. He tentatively reached inwards. Slowly, slowly, it grew, until it burst upon him, flinging the fear aside.
Peace wrapped around the young Jedi. What his tormentors meant for evil, he would use for good. They thought him weak? They thought him helpless? They did not know his ally. And a powerful ally it was.
Was he a Jedi? A smile sparked in Qui-Gon's blue eyes as he slipped into a sitting position. Most definitely. Until he breathed his last.
