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Qui-Gon sat back on his heels, eyes closed. Passive. Waiting. He heard the door slide open, the bars rise. A scuffle. Howls of rage. Of pain. The pain that had drawn him here.
The young Jedi opened his eyes and looked up as the bars lowered and the door closed again. A Wookiee stood across the cage from him, right arm raised, hairy fist shaking as he howled his protest. His left arm hung limp. Qui-Gon let his eyes follow the length of the limb. He froze. No hand -- just a stump that still dripped blood.
Without thinking he stood and peeled his cloak off. The sound of the hem ripping silenced the Wookiee, who cocked his head and stared at the Padawan as he tore a strip off the bottom of his cloak. Their eyes met and held.
Into the quiet, Qui-Gon spoke one of the few Wookiee phrases he knew. [May the canopy always protect you.] At least, that's what he hoped he said.
The Wookiee's arm lowered as Qui-Gon approached him. They were close to the same size. The Wookiee was young yet.
"Sorry. I don't know your language much." Qui-Gon forced a calmness into his voice he did not feel. "I've never been to visit Kashyyyk. Let me try to bind the wound and stop the bleeding."
The Padawan folded the cloth roughly into a rectangle and centered it over the stump. He gazed again into golden eyes.
"Could you hold the bandage? Just for a moment?"
The Wookiee silently clamped his hand over the stump. Through the Force, Qui-Gon felt the flicker of pain and held back his wince. He nodded and ripped another strip off his cloak.
"Thank you," he whispered as he gently pulled the young Wookiee's hand away and began to wrap the cloth tightly around the wrist.
[Why are you helping me?] The Wookiee's low growling question halted Qui-Gon's hands.
He glanced up, letting his puzzlement show. "You are in pain. I help because I should, because I must, because I want to."
The Padawan finished bandaging the wound in silence, tying off the ends as tightly as he could, drawing a soft grunt from the Wookiee.
Qui-Gon stepped back, picked up his discarded cloak and folded it into a cushion. He set it down on the ferrocrete floor and motioned for the Wookiee to sit. He moved a meter back and sank down to rest on his heels, wishing, yet again, that he was wearing his boots. His toes went almost immediately numb as they pressed into the cold surface. He rested his hands on his knees and waited for the Wookiee to join him. A moment passed. The Wookiee sank to his knees on the cloak and Qui-Gon let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
"I am Qui-Gon," he said with a slight smile.
[Jargarumpalla. Humans call me Jarga.] The reply was tinged by pain.
Qui-Gon glanced down at the wrapped stump and back up to the tan face with black striping that radiated from the eyes to disappear up over the back of the Wookie's head. Black stipes ran down his shoulders and down his legs, leaving his chest a solid tan. Jarga? Why did that name sound familiar?
[Soon, Qui-Gon, you will hear a buzzer. That is my signal.]
"To do what, Jarga?"
[To kill you. I refused to kill the last creature they put in the cage.] Jarga lifted his stump. [I dare not disobey again. I wish to be returned to my family in as few pieces as possible.]
Family? Of course. The senator's son from the newsvids. Kidnapped. Ransomed. Qui-Gon grinned at the surprised Wookiee.
"I am not very good at being killed. But I'm very experienced at disobeying." Qui-Gon let out a short laugh. "You could say I'm a master at it."
Jarga growled his anger. [Do you think this a joke, fool?]
"Of course not. I sense the truth in your words. But two are stronger than one, if you dare. And our captors are cruel and stupid men -- sentients with no intelligence. They don't even believe I'm a Jedi. It will be their downfall." Qui-Gon's blue eyes glittered as he regarded his potential ally.
[A Jedi? You can't even grow hair.] Qui-Gon heard the sneer.
He smiled as he stroked his jaw. Some day. "A Jedi and a warrior, friend." Softly he added, "Believe it."
Qui-Gon returned and held Jarga's thoughtful gaze. The Wookiee nodded.
[Perhaps I would rather die an honorable death, after all.]
Qui-Gon laughed again. "You sure know how to make a guy feel good, Jarga."
The bars started to rise into the ceiling. With a glance at the startled Wookiee, Qui-Gon jumped to his feet and stumbled as his deadened limbs responded slowly. He shook out each leg as he turned, surveying the empty room. He could sense Jarga's confusion. The bars had not been raised before, apparently. Qui-Gon poised on the balls of his feet.
A whirring drew the young Jedi's gaze upwards. One of three durasteel plates retracted into the wall to reveal a viewing window and five leering faces. Their captors were giving them plenty of room. They wanted a long and bloody battle. He turned to face Jarga and smiled.
As he started to speak a loud buzzer sounded.
After the sound died away, Qui-Gon asked, "How long before they send someone in?"
[Maybe they just gas us.] Jarga suggested.
Qui-Gon shook his head. "There aren't even ventilation shafts in this room. Oxygen only comes in when the door is opened. What weapons have you seen?"
[Blasters. Vibro-axes.]
"Nothing too serious."
[You can stop a blaster bolt?]
"You do that sarcasm thing very well."
Qui-Gon raised one brow, then turned and saluted their audience. He planted his fists on his hips and stared at the men. The center one was clean-shaven with shock-white hair. His four goons could only be described as scruffy, and large. Those four he remembered.
Behind him, Jarga shuffled. Whatever he was doing, the white-haired one was growing visibly angry. He jerked his head and the two goons to his left disappeared from sight. Blast. Qui-Gon had hoped to draw all of them at once.
One entrance. That limited their options. They'd come in firing. Qui-Gon motioned for Jarga to move behind him. As the Padawan stood facing the door, he felt the familiar shedding begin -- like an outer layer of skin falling away. The clumsiness, the sense of not knowing this stranger's body, disappeared, and he was filled with assurance.
Qui-Gon unconsciously reached for his lightsaber, halted and flexed his fingers in frustration.
What would Master Yoda say? Doubt in battle there cannot be. Belief, there must be. Belief, in the Force. Reach for it, you will. Qui-Gon nodded and took a deep, cleansing breath.
The door flashed open. The two guards entered and flanked the opening, backs to the walls. As the door closed, Qui-Gon heard the soft clicks of safetys being switched off blasters. Both weapons were aimed at him. He sidestepped. The blasters tracked him.
The guard on the left gave a toothless sneer. "Fight the Wook, kid, or ya die right now."
"What kind of a choice is that? asked Qui-Gon. "Why don't you just set down your weapons before you get hurt?"
Toothless laughed. "Kill 'em, Barg."
Barg grunted and raised his weapon. Qui-Gon reached out and yanked with the Force. The weapon flew out of the shocked guard's hands. As it slapped Qui-Gon's palm, he dove right and rolled. Popping into a crouch, he started firing.
Red blossomed on the toothless one's chest. Surprise painted his features. With a gurgle, he fell back against the wall, the blaster slipping from his fingers.
Qui-Gon tossed his blaster to Jarga. He dashed toward the other weapon, even as Barg reached for it. Qui-Gon launched himself feet first. His heels connected with Barg's temple, using the jolt to flip himself to the side and land upright, the Padawan dropped to one knee and reached under the unconscious guard to retrieve the blaster.
A strangled gasp drew his eyes to the wounded guard's face. The gaping mouth moved soundlessly. The guard tried to focus on the young Jedi, drew a raspy breath and expelled a whisper, "Fooled us..."
He slumped and stared sightlessly over Qui-Gon's shoulder.
Qui-Gon jumped back, teeth chattering. He willed himself to stop shaking. He'd seen death before. Then he remembered his audience. Clenching his jaw, he looked up at the viewing window and gave what he hoped was a careless shrug.
Raising the blaster, Qui-Gon fired a bolt at the transparisteel. The three men ducked as the red bolt richocheted harmlessly off the window. Just as he thought. Blast-shielded.
[My apologies.] Jarga's growl interrupted Qui-Gon's thoughts. [You are indeed a brave warrior.]
Qui-Gon took several steps back. Glaring at the crumpled bodies, he muttered, "Right. That was some victory."
[But the guards are down.]
"But the door's still locked," the Padawan snapped. He blew out his frustration. "Sorry, Jarga. I don't like killing that doesn't need to happen."
[But it was necessary. He was trying to kill you.]
Qui-Gon shrugged and looked away. The window was empty. He blinked rapidly.
"Was it just the five of them?"
[What...] began Jarga.
"The five men," interrupted Qui-Gon. "Is that all there were? Are there more? Think."
As he spoke, the young Jedi herded Jarga to the far side of the room, away from the door.
[I, I don't know. Maybe more. Why?]
Qui-Gon waved his hand down. "Crouch. Become a smaller target." He glanced at the young Wookiee, sensing his uncertainty, his fear. "I'd like to know how many more are about to come through that door, that's all. Don't fire unless fired at. They might forget about you if you don't draw their attention."
The Padawan moved away from his friend. He heard scuffling in the outer hall.
"If they leave the door unguarded, run for it."
[What about you?] Jarga asked.
Qui-Gon straightened and faced the Wookiee with a grin. "I'll be fine." As he turned back, he muttered, "I hope."
The door jerked open a few centimeters. Qui-Gon crouched and took aim. "The Force be with us," he whispered.
The door slid into the wall. A small brown-robed figure back-pedalled into the room. Qui-Gon lowered his weapon. In a familiar sling on the figure's back, perched an even more familiar figure.
Qui-Gon straightened. Shock filled his voice. "Master Yoda?"
No reply made its way past those tightly sealed lips.
The hood of the figure carrying the Jedi Master dropped. Qui-Gon gaped.
"Remi! What are you doing here?"
A gleaming white grin split the brown face of Qui-Gon's friend. "Here. We're about to have company," Remi said as he tossed a silver cylinder to his friend.
Qui-Gon dropped the blaster and caught his lightsaber, echoing his friend's smile.
"Go you must, in the corner," Yoda said to Remi.
"Ahhh," Remi started to protest.
"Now," Yoda said softly.
The young boy obeyed with a sigh.
The thundering of boots on ferrocrete pulled Qui-Gon's attention to the task at hand. His green blade leapt to life. Three men spilled into the room, weapons spitting fire. Then three more.
Qui-Gon twisted and parried red bolts. His blade snapped and sizzled. The Force flowed down his arms, directing his movements. A flip. Deflect two shots. Spin. Parry.
The Padawan caught a glimpse of Master Yoda standing in front of Jarga and Remi, his own lightsaber shielding the three of them. Qui-Gon grinned. Remi would be chaffing.
Another deflection. A body fell. Then another. Qui-Gon ran at the nearest man, flipped over him. Spun. Cut him down. He wheeled, his long reach slicing through the blaster barrel of the adjacent man.
Qui-Gon stepped back as the two remaining men hesitated in the door. The Padawan cut a lazy figure eight through the air, then lunged. The men startled, glanced at each other, then sprinted down the corridor. Qui-Gon listened to their retreating footsteps with relish. He turned to see the fellow with the useless blaster, frozen, except for the ruined weapon dangling from a shaking hand. Qui-Gon raised one brow and powered down his lightsaber. He paused, then jerked his head. The man took off after his retreating compatriots.
Battle adreneline still pumping through his veins, Qui-Gon turned to the three beings in the corner. His nostrils flared as he pointed at Remi.
A snarl laced the Padawan's voice. "What were you thinking? Bringing him into such a dangerous situation?"
Yoda's eyes widened slightly. "Nowhere to be found, was my own Padawan."
Dismay washed over Qui-Gon as he realized what he'd just said. He fell to his knees. "Forgive me, Master. I wasn't thinking."
Qui-Gon hung his head, fighting back tears that suddenly threatened. He stared at his shaking fingers and wrapped them tightly around his lightsaber's hilt.
"Your problem, that is. Rarely, do you think. Always rushing to act, you are." Yoda's voice rose and fell.
Qui-Gon could see the Jedi's green toes as Yoda paced back and forth in front of him. Shame washed over him. He could do nothing right in his master's eyes. A tear tracked down his cheek and he surreptitiously swiped at it.
"Leave not the Temple without my knowledge, I say. Obey, I say. Defy not, I say. But, you do, what?"
Qui-Gon worked the lump in his throat.
The gimer stick tapped his shoulder. "You do, what?" repeated Yoda.
"I defy," whispered Qui-Gon.
"Yes. Defiant, you are. And repentant, not at all."
[How can you speak so to such a great warrior?]
Qui-Gon cringed at Jarga's boldness, wishing his friend would stay out of it. Guilt niggled at the relief he felt as his Master's attention bore down on another.
A sharp tap sounded -- a gimer stick against ferrocrete.
"You, are who?" Yoda demanded.
The Wookiee's voice was measured. [I am Jargarumpalla. Qui-Gon saved my life.]
The Padawan raised his head to see his master's ears perk up and his eyes grow round. "Is that so? Looking for you, many are, young master. Very worried, your family is." Suddenly, Yoda's eye's became slits. "Took your hand, did your captors?" His lips pursed. "Sent it to your father, they have. Let him know you are safe, we must."
A moan sounded from near the door. Qui-Gon twisted around to see Barg starting to move. He was up and across the room before the others could react. The Padawan reached down and hauled the heavy man to his feet. He propped the guard against the wall, supporting him as he scanned him for injuries. The welt on his forehead was the only thing Qui-Gon could spot.
Dread filled Barg's eyes as he realized who was holding him. Qui-Gon shook his head slightly and sent out a wave of calm to soothe the man.
"Who was the white-haired man? Your boss? He wasn't in this fight. Where'd he go?" he asked the guard.
"Don't, don't know. Never heard a name. Don't know nothing," whispered Barg.
Qui-Gon sensed the truth in his words and sighed. "Listen, Barg. Your friends are all either dead or have run away. Take my advice. Find new friends."
Barg's eyes enlarged as he took in the sight at his feet. He mumbled something about nosy Jedi, then pushed away from Qui-Gon and staggered down the hallway, one hand braced against the wall.
"Return to the Temple, we must." Yoda's voice cut off Qui-Gon's thoughts.
The Padawan's shoulders sagged imperceptibly. Another failure. They'd never know who did this to Jarga.
"Yes, Master," Qui-Gon whispered. As he retrieved his cloak, he paused by the black boot of the tall one, looking as cruel in death as he had in life. Qui-Gon sighed and returned to Yoda's side to don the sling.
Remi helped Yoda get settled on Qui-Gon's back. The foursome headed out in silence, Qui-Gon flanked by Jarga on his right and Remi on his left.
