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"Blast it. The message is set to go, but look," Hakola pointed at the monitor. "The data feed is broken, at the top of the tower, just under the dish."
Qui-Gon glanced over his shoulder at the two guards propped in the corner, bound and gagged. His palm grazed through his short hair and he sighed. "That's no coincidence. I'll go up and reconnect the wires."
Hakola glanced down at Qui-Gon's arm then up at his face pointedly. Qui-Gon flexed his left hand, biting back any hint of pain. He ignored the dull throb and met Hakola's gaze. "I'll be fine. You're the one who's good with computers. You need to stay here."
Climbing up the central service ladder of the com-dish, Qui-Gon soon found himself rising above the trees that crowded up close to the station. Every other rung brought an involuntary wince as he grabbed it with his left hand, causing a short burst of electricity to radiate out from the wound. He could feel the shakiness in the limb and sought to push up more with his legs. Half way up -- at 75 meters -- he stopped and wiped the sweat off his palms. He let the breeze refresh him with its faintly musky scent and cool touch. Drawing on the Force, he resumed climbing, feeling the strength cycling through his body, pulling him through the pulsating pain of his injury to a place where he felt bathed in light that was more vibrant than the sun. Reaching the top, he was vaguely surprised that he had gotten there so quickly.
Qui-Gon rested in the shadow cast by the huge dish and opened his comlink. Hakola told him what to look for, and where. When he found the neatly cut wires, he signed off and went to work splicing them back together. The job done, he let Hakola know and started back down. Ten seconds later his comlink beeped. He halted and flipped open the channel.
Hakola's voice burst out, "We have company. Due west and closing fast. Looks military, Jinn. Get down, now."
Cutting the connection, Qui-Gon squinted his eyes and scanned the horizon. Two fighters, almost eye-level, were honing in on the tower. The Padawan looked down, then back at the aircraft, his instincts screaming. Dread grappled to control his thoughts. He jumped from the ladder to the outer girders of the tower. The wind whipped at his cloak, and fear fused his fingers to the metal. He struggled to relax and searched for the fighters again. Panic nibbled at his mind. 140 meters. His ragged breathing caught in his throat as the tell-tale white streak leapt ahead of the first fighter.
"Master, help me," Qui-Gon whispered as he blew out his unease in a short puff. He summoned the Force to him and sprang out, away from the tower, like a diver off a cliff. He somersaulted, concentrating on gathering tendrils of Force energy to cocoon him and slow his fall. As he tumbled through the air, he caught a glimpse of a yellow fireball. The shockwave hit a second later, smashing him away from the station, farther over the trees. His rate of descent increased sharply, and, for a brief instant, the panic grabbed hold of him. Arms and legs flailing, it suddenly surprised him that of all the ways to die ... Master Yoda's voice intruded. No death there is, the Force there is. The Force. In desperation he flung out his senses, and there it was, waiting to burst upon him.
The Force enveloped him, and Qui-Gon focused on cushioning his fall, slowing it. But the trees were coming at him too fast. He pushed at them with the Force, resisting their reaching limbs. Leaves slapped against his face and he twisted. Twigs snapped all around him. He grabbed at them and they yanked out of his hands. His legs struck a heavy branch and he flipped. Another caught him in the stomach. Air slammed out of him.
The Padawan slowly slid off that branch and onto one a meter below. His chest constricted like a speeder was parked on it, as he stretched out on the wide limb and stared up through the ragged tunnel he had created. Suddenly, air rushed back into his lungs with a gasp. Qui-Gon lay perfectly still, and worked at calming his breathing while he mentally checked over his bruised and battered body. His left arm screamed. He lifted it to see that the branches had torn the makeshift bandage and scraped furrows through the infected injury. He clenched his jaw and shunted aside the pain. Other than that, he felt remarkably unscathed. A smile played at the corners of his mouth as he stared at the blue sky, marred by a billow of black smoke. Over 100 meters, and he would walk away. Running a shaky hand over his face, he paused at his jaw line to brush away a few tiny twigs that had clung to ... stubble? The smile blossomed into a full-fledged grin.
The tall Padawan was sitting on the lowest branch of the tree that had stopped his fall, swinging his long legs and retying the tattered bits of cloth around his left arm, when he heard his name whispered from far below. He leaned forward and grinned at Hakola, who stood, arms akimbo, staring up, his golden face a mixture of consternation and relief.
Qui-Gon dropped the ten meters to the ground, the Force cushioning his landing. Hakola frowned at the beaming scratch-covered face. "What are you so happy about, Jinn? I thought you were slag."
"Yeah. Me, too. But the Force ... it was incredible." Qui-Gon craned his neck back to peer up through the branches, still in awe over the power he'd touched. He thought his face must be glowing with it, such was the warmth that still tingled over his skin.
"I'll take your word for it, Jinn. I'm just glad I'm not taking your toasted bits and pieces back to Master Yoda."
The name had a sobering effect, and Qui-Gon brought his attention back to the other Padawan. "Did the message get away?"
"It was reading 73% complete when I took off. Must have been about six or eight meters clear when the explosion brought the dish down on the building. So ... 80% got out there, if we're lucky."
"That means Coruscant will hear of the epidemic, but may not find out about this odd military presence -- these watchers."
"Right. So help may, or may not, be on the way." Hakola paused, then softly added, "Either way, we have to find Master Eit. I still don't have any sense of him, Jinn."
"Do you think he's dead?"
"No. I can't explain it. There's no logic, but I just feel like he's not far."
Qui-Gon rested his hand on the other Padawan's shoulder. "That's the Living Force, friend. The more you listen to its whisper, the more you learn to trust it."
Hakola sighed. "You're a bad influence, Jinn."
Qui-Gon walked away, chuckling.
"There has to be another way in," Qui-Gon whispered.
"Well, there isn't," Hakola replied. "Not without a full-scale battle."
Hunkered down behind a boulder on the edge of the jungle, the two young Jedi peered intently at the vile sludge flowing through the sewage grate to disappear amongst the trees. Pain pulsed up Qui-Gon's left arm. He glanced at his poor bandage job and back at the scum-coated tunnel. He stifled a sigh. They'd scouted the six kilometers of perimeter. Except for one heavily-guarded gate and this sewer drain, the settlement was sealed up tight. Qui-Gon lectured himself to look at the bright side: the grate was unguarded, and it was close to 150 centimeters in diameter, so they would be able to crouch instead of crawl. He ignored the warm throbbing of the infection and nodded grimly, whispering, "So be it."
Hakola dashed across the clearing, crouching low. Qui-Gon followed close, flattening his back against the rocky outcropping beside the grate, lightsaber at the ready. The patrols seemed to be spaced every 15 minutes; the next one would be by in less than ten. Qui-Gon glanced both ways, scanning farther with the Force, as he guarded Hakola's back.
"It has hinges," the older Padawan announced quietly. "I'll slice through them and the patrols probably won't even notice."
Qui-Gon heard some splashing, a lightsaber igniting, and a thunk as the grate came loose. Hakola whispered, "Give me a hand, Jinn."
Clipping his weapon back on his belt, Qui-Gon turned and stepped into the sludge to help the other Padawan shift the grate so they could slip through, before carefully repositioning it. Inside the tunnel, the odor slammed into him with the force of a rampaging Wookiee. When he reached out a hand to steady himself, his palm slipped on the slimy ferrocrete. He wrinkled his nose and wiped his hand on his leggings. Hakola held his own re-breather out and jerked his head to get moving. Qui-Gon nodded, slipping his breathing apparatus on as he went. The air filtering into his mouth had a metallic taste, but at least he could breathe without smelling what they were sloshing through.
Forty minutes of moving through the sewer in a low crouch brought the Jedi beneath the place that seemed to have the strongest concentration of vibrant Force signatures. They tucked their re-breathers into their belts and listened to the muffled humming coming from behind the round metal cover they stood under. Qui-Gon laced his fingers together and lowered his intertwined hands; agony lanced up Qui-Gon's left arm as Hakola stepped up. He bit his lip and lifted the other Padawan up the vertical shaft to reach the cover.
A quiet scrapping, and Hakola's weight lifted. Qui-Gon wiped his palms on his leggings and looked up at the circle of light. He bent his knees, reached for the Force, and jumped. As he emerged from the hole, he twisted to the side and dropped to the floor of a small power plant. Generators thrummed on the left and right, and heat vibrated through the air. Qui-Gon stretched tall, rotating his shoulders.
A shout spun Qui-Gon around as he snatched his lightsaber. His green blade leapt to life, deflecting a laser bolt, then another Three guards opened fire without restraint. Hakola's blade danced on the edge of Qui-Gon's vision. One of the men started retreating and Hakola charged, hurling himself between the guard and the exit, cutting the man down in a smooth arching of violet. Qui-Gon deflected a bolt straight back at his attacker, and powered down his blade as Hakola speared the final guard with a forward lunge. Hakola turned on his heel and locked the door.
Qui-Gon closed his eyes, cycling the Force through his arm, allowing the mounting heat to bleed away. He blinked his eyes open to see Hakola regarding him with a curious expression.
"You okay, Jinn?"
"Fine. Let's hide these bodies and plan our next move."
White eyebrows arched. "The Living Force lets you plan?"
A tight smile touched the tall Padawan's lips. "One step at a time, Doy. I know that must be tough on your Cosmic sensibilities."
Hakola rolled his eyes and set to work. Moments later they were crawling through a ventilation shaft, Qui-Gon in the lead.
"Jinn. You stink," Hakola muttered.
Qui-Gon glanced over his shoulder. "You don't exactly smell like a flower garden, either."
Following his instincts, Qui-Gon led them up one level and through several turns. The shaft retained its width, but became shallower, finally coming to a dead end, and Hakola squeezed up beside Qui-Gon to squint through a grate high in an office wall.
Several men, dressed in military black, were gathered around a desk, talking over a holo-map of a star system. Qui-Gon frowned. The system looked familiar somehow. Not Circarpous, though. He strained to hear what they were saying. Snatches of the conversation rose above the desk. "...base ready..." "...12 weeks..." "...agents in..."
The tallest one, with a stony face capped by reddish blond hair, straightened and held his hand up for silence. The others complied instantly. His low voice rang clear.
"Gentlemen, it smells like a sewer in here. Lieutenant, find out if we have a drain backing up."
A smooth-faced young man nodded and spun on his heel to march out of the room. Alarms started ringing through Qui-Gon's mind and he saw the same trepidation echoing in Hakola's golden gaze. He inhaled slowly and felt an inner urging. Unclipping his lightsaber, he pressed it into Hakola's grasp.
"Get out of here," he whispered. "Find your master and get him to safety. I'll deal with this bunch." Hakola started to shake his head. Qui-Gon cut him off. "Do it. If we are both captured, Master Eit will die. I feel it."
Hakola stared into Qui-Gon's deep blue eyes for a long moment, then nodded. He started backing down the shaft. He'd only gone a short distance when one of the lightsabers scraped across a metal ridge. Qui-Gon drew a calming breath when he saw the leader's grey eyes snap to the ventilation grate. He had to give Hakola enough time to get away.
Three blasters were suddenly trained on the metal covering. Qui-Gon watched with wry amusement as two others scrambled to get chairs and pry the grate off the wall. He had no intention of fleeing, but they could hardly know that. It wasn't quite so funny when they grabbed him by his forearms and hauled him out, letting him fall to the floor in a heap. The Padawan lay on his left side, cradling his infected arm, struggling to push past the flames igniting his skin where rough fingers had dug into the tender swollen limb. A boot nudged his right shoulder, pushing him onto his back. Qui-Gon looked up into a pair of wide-set eyes, the left eyelid drooping a fraction where a scar started and ran back into the hairline. One chiseled cheek shifted as thin lips curled into a sneer.
"Looks like we found the source of the stench, gentlemen. A rodent crawled in through the sewers. A Jedi rodent." The leader nodded at the men flanking the Padawan.
Qui-Gon was jostled to his feet and frisked. The leader held his hand out to the side and a set of binders were handed to him. Qui-Gon bared his wrists and calmly watched the man snap the binders in place. He was moved to stand in the middle of the room. The leader stepped behind the desk, the windows behind him throwing him into silhouette. Qui-Gon glanced past him to the compound beyond, where black uniforms bustled about. Definitely a military operation. The holo-map winking out drew his attention back to the man standing behind the desk.
Someone stepped into the room. "No drainage problems, Colonel. Shall I ..."
The colonel held up his hand. "No need, Lieutenant. Go check on our ... special guest."
Footsteps faded down the hall before the door slid closed. The colonel's shadowed face was surrounded by a halo of red gold. Qui-Gon returned the stare he could barely see. The colonel began a slow back-and-forth pacing.
"I would have thought," the Colonel began in low measured voice, "that after your friend was killed this morning, you would have given up."
The grey gaze snapped to the Padawan's face. Qui-Gon looked away and stared out at the intense sky, made bluer by the bubble forcefield.
"Quite a gruesome way to die," the colonel said. "Falling to your death like that. One of the fighter pilots saw the body crash into the trees. But it was a quick death, I am sure. Which is something you will not experience."
Fingers tapping on the corner of the desk drew Qui-Gon's gaze to the needle resting beside the colonel's hand, but his eyes flitted to the tattoo of a streaking comet that marked the man's wrist, its tail disappearing under a pressed cuff. The Padawan looked back into the granite eyes, allowing him to see his confusion. The colonel seemed greatly amused by what he saw. The mirth quickly hardened into cruelty.
"That was very bold of you to try to take over planetary communications. Unfortunately, for you, we had that broken link closely monitored." He stepped in front of Qui-Gon, his nostrils flaring in disgust at the aroma clinging to the young Jedi. "Tell me about the message you tried to send." The reply of silence was met with the colonel pulling a baton out of its belt sheath and gently slapping his palm with the stick. "We are reasonable people, young man. All I am asking for is a little cooperation on your part. In exchange for a reprieve, even. See? What could be more reasonable?"
Qui-Gon lowered his eyelids slightly and stared at the leader. Dealing with an epidemic by executing people was reasonable? He looked away. A hand clamped on his left arm and the Padawan winced before he could stifle the reaction. Cunning filled the colonel's eyes as he slowly released his grip and looked down at the tattered sleeve and bandages. A nanosecond of regret touched Qui-Gon -- leaving his cloak with the packs had seemed like such a good idea.
"What have we here?" The colonel grabbed the bandages and reefed on them. Qui-Gon's left side crumpled as pain crashed over him. Someone clutched at his short hair and hauled him upright. The sneer was back on the colonel's face. "So, you did not make it out of the swamp unscathed, after all. Very foolish, young man. Crawling through sewage with an open infection. Perhaps, you will soon be in the same shape as your master without any help from me."
Qui-Gon searched the man's face intently. Master Eit still lived. Hakola would find him -- no matter where he was hidden.
The colonel arched a thin eyebrow. "Oh, yes. I know you are a learner. Young. Not even a weapon." He paused. "Still unwilling to talk? Even if it means being able to see your master before he dies?"
Qui-Gon closed his eyes. Time. He had to buy Hakola time. The baton crashed down on his oozing wound. The Padawan crumpled silently to his knees, his arm wracked by agonizing heat. Anger leapt into his mind. His chest heaved as he struggled for calm. The Force cloaked the pain, slowly encouraging it to ebb. He traced the pattern of the inlaid wooden floor with his eyes, letting the Force soothe his mind.
Black boots stepped close and a toe softly kicked the Padawan's left wrist. The colonel's voice floated above him. "What is your assessment of our prisoner, Major?"
"He will not be broken by his own torture, Colonel." The dispassionate reply made Qui-Gon suppress a shudder.
He was hauled to his feet, upper arms held in vice-like grips as he was turned to face the pacing colonel. The leader stopped and eyed the Padawan speculatively. "Interesting choice of words. Your own torture. What about the torture of someone else? What effect will that have on you, young man?"
He returned to the desk and opened the top drawer, tossing a few items onto the dark green desktop. Qui-Gon stared at the glowrod and collection of nutrient bars. His gaze shot to the colonel's. The stony face melted into a snarl. "Oh, she is dead. Pathetic really. Hiding in the jungle, waiting for death. The father should have given himself up and ended their misery before he became too ill to move. And you must admit, it is quite ironic." He motioned to the supplies. "You sought to help them. Hide them. And all you did is lead us to them."
Anger welled up again. Qui-Gon squeezed his eyes shut and reached for the Force. It wavered out of reach. The Dark Side breathed through his mind, its stench overpowering anything clinging to his clothes. He struggled for control. There is no passion, there is serenity. Tranquility stole over him as light filled his inner core. His body relaxed and he opened his eyes to return the colonel's stare. He saw disappointment flare briefly in those steel grey eyes.
The colonel nodded his head toward the door. "Come. Perhaps we will visit your master, after all."
A blaster pressed into the Padawan's back, urging him to follow. He did -- flanked by two guards, two steps ahead of the major and his eager blaster. To the right, down a flight of stairs, and out a door leading into the compound. Halfway across, the colonel held up his hand, bringing the entourage to a halt.
Qui-Gon watched as a pair of soldiers half dragged a small person, blond head hanging down, across the courtyard. The men snapped to a precise stop in front of the colonel. The prisoner straightened, then looked up. Qui-Gon's eyes widened imperceptibly. Nyk. The young woman from the other settlement. He scanned her face, clenching his jaw at the sight of the large bruise painting one cheek. Her eyes met his and recognition flashed across her face. Shame quickly followed and she lowered her head.
"Thank you, miss, for confirming the identity of our young Jedi. It is a comfort to know we need not be looking for another pair of the troublesome creatures." The Colonel's tone hardened. "Take her to detention, men. She may yet be of some use to us." As they started to turn, he said, "No, wait. Bring her along. Her medical training will add an interesting dimension to our tour of the infirmary."
Their first stop was a door with two sentries. Inside the room, a single occupant lay strapped to an examination table. Master Eit. Qui-Gon stretched out with his senses. Hakola was near. He sent a message through the Force. Here. It would be enough. The blaster nudged him forward, and he sensed what was expected.
Moving to the Jedi Master's side, Qui-Gon looked down at him. That the man had been, was being, ravaged by some disease, was evident. His face was gaunt, eyes sunken and unfocused. The skin was dry as parchment. His limbs trembled. Qui-Gon narrowed his eyes. This was not the disease of the epidemic.
The Padawan gently brushed Trev Eit's cheek with the back of his bound right hand. For his captor's benefit he said, "Master, what have they done to you?" Through the Force, he whispered, Hakola comes. The name brought an instant of recognition to the bleary eyes, but no Force reply. Qui-Gon hung his head and channeled the Force into Master Eit's mind. The Jedi convulsed, and the Padawan stepped back in alarm.
Rough hands grabbed him and pulled him back to the door. The Colonel eyed the young Jedi, seemingly pleased with what had transpired. They headed toward the double doors at the end of the hall, stepping into a large infirmary when the doors retracted into the walls. The soldiers all slipped on med-masks and gloves that were piled on a table by the door.
The aroma of sickrooms everywhere -- antiseptic, vomit, sweat and blood -- met the group and enfolded them. For a moment, the smell even overpowered Qui-Gon's own stench. His nostrils flared as his gaze skimmed row on row of patients in varying stages of illness. This was the disease he'd glimpsed in the jungle. Whatever Master Eit suffered from was entirely different. The Padawan could sense Nyk's anguish as they were moved into the room.
The colonel stepped ahead and turned to face the two prisoners and their guards. He stood at ease, hands clasped behind his back, feet spread. But his slightly muffled voice retained its hard edge. "Terrible disease, isn't it, miss?" He glanced toward Qui-Gon. "The young lady has been working at the infirmary at Jolla Settlement. A very hands-on way to advance her newly-begun medical studies, would you not say so, young Jedi?"
Qui-Gon stared at the colonel, unsure as to where this was leading.
The sound of retching turned his head. A worker was cradling a patient's head as he vomited into a basin. Without waiting for the patient to finish, the colonel took a few steps and snatched the basin from the hands of the surprised worker. He returned to stand in front of Qui-Gon and stared into the bloody froth swirling around as he commented, "The disease is mildly infectious through airborne means; much more so by exchange of liquids. Which is why we made sure to infect all the water supplies."
Nyk gasped. Qui-Gon easily quenched the angry outrage bubbling up; he suddenly realized he'd known it all along. The colonel shot an amused look toward the girl and continued, "Tell me, miss." He grabbed the Padawan's binders and stretched out his arms. "What would happen if the disease were to come in direct contact with an open wound?"
The Padawan felt Nyk's gaze probe his angry red arm, just as he felt the obvious enjoyment radiating out from the colonel at the young woman's distress. Qui-Gon stared at the cruel face before him. It would be so easy to hate. Hot enticement tugged at his thoughts; dark shadows danced through his mind. Qui-Gon sheathed himself with the Force.
A tremor filled Nyk's voice. "It would be a death sentence. Please. You can't mean to do such a thing."
Qui-Gon watched the face contort into something ... not quite human. "I cannot, you say? No one tells me I cannot."
The Padawan kept his gaze glued to the colonel's face as the foamy liquid drizzled over his wound. His arms trembled slightly as he sensed disease joining with infection and taking immediate hold in his body. From the corner of his eye he saw Nyk slump as her sobs washed over him like a balm. His narrowed gaze honed in on the colonel and he raised one eyebrow slightly. Red suffused the man's face and he wound up, back-handing the Padawan so hard he staggered back two steps. The major buried his blaster in Qui-Gon's spine.
Regaining his composure, the colonel stiffened into a ramrod. "Take them to detention, Major. I think his own torture might yet be enough to gain his cooperation. And let them share a cell. I want this Jedi to experience her anguish as well as his own."
