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The thin pallet offered little comfort. The gentle hands tucking a worn blanket snugly around him gave much more. Qui-Gon smiled weakly into concerned green eyes. If the colonel had any idea how soothing the compassion of this young woman truly was to him, she would be taken away. Far away. Or killed. His limbs trembled as he felt another wave of fever cresting, ready to break over him.
Qui-Gon had warned Nyk right from the start. Not to let him loose focus. To keep him lucid, whatever it took. So long as he could touch the Force, the disease would not claim him. He had told her with a firmness of conviction that had been meant to reassure himself, as much as her.
Almost two days had passed, or so Nyk claimed. It was a little fuzzy. He had been surprised at how quickly, how viciously, the disease had taken over his body. It had been the infection, of course. A completely undefended beachhead. His arm still burned intensely -- like a white hot sun, where his body was only a cool red one.
Two small hands wrapped around his fevered one.
"Keep me talking," Qui-Gon whispered.
"What ...?" Nyk trailed off, then started again. "Do you really think your friend has gotten away?"
Qui-Gon smiled grimly. From beneath the pallet, his lightsaber pressed into his neck. He didn't remember it being slid through the food slot at the bottom of the door. Last night, Nyk had said. "Yes," Qui-Gon forced the words from a parched throat. "He's gone. And wi -with Master Eit, or he would have taken us. As soon as his m-master is safe, he'll be back." Qui-Gon braced himself as the flush of heat started from his toes and spread quickly upwards. "The, the other Jedi. Tell me."
Her voice was soft. "Two came before your Master Eit. The watchers say they brought the disease, and it did seem that way, as the epidemic broke out within days."
"Th-They want the people t-to fear, mistrust the J-Jedi." His limbs trembled as he resisted the rising fever.
"Yes." Her hand squeezed his as heat enveloped his arms and broke over his head. "I saw your Jedi Master. He did not have the disease."
Qui-Gon stared blankly at the ceiling, gathering what slim threads of Force he could grasp. "I, I know." He fell silent for endless moments as a convulsion gripped his body. The Force wove through his will, and he rode the wave of fire. Slowly, the scalding paroxysm subsided. The Padawan relaxed, sucking air into his lungs with quiet determination. He collected his thoughts. "Wha-what happened to those Jedi?"
"They died, of course." The colonel's voice made Nyk jump and her touch disappeared. The low harsh voice continued. "Get up, Jedi." Qui-Gon looked calmly into Nyk's fear-stricken face as she bent over to help him. "No," the colonel barked. "He will do it himself, or he will lay and watch while you receive his punishment."
As Nyk stepped back, Qui-Gon forced himself to move, rolling painfully onto his right side and pushing up to brace himself with his forearm. The simple act left him panting. He paused and marshaled his strength, enhancing it with the Force. Holding his left arm close, he pushed again, twisting to get to his knees. Right arm braced against the wall, he sluggishly rose to his feet, then fell back against the wall. His legs felt like Sullustan pudding. He licked his dry lips and blinked the colonel into focus. The man stopped slapping his baton in his palm to motion the Padawan forward.
Taking a few measured breaths, Qui-Gon eased away from the cool ferrocrete and carefully placed one foot in front of the other until he stood, swaying slightly, in front of the colonel.
Clasping his hands behind his back and shifting his weight from heel to toe and back, the colonel glared at the young Jedi for a long moment before speaking. "Do you know why you need to be punished?"
Qui-Gon immediately suspected what the man was referring to, but he shook his head.
Disbelief flicked through grey eyes before they became stone cold. "It seems that your master made a miraculous recovery last night and managed to escape, by stealing his own ship, if you can imagine." The colonel stepped close and tapped Qui-Gon on the chest. "But I think you can imagine that perfectly. You would have been surprised if I had told you otherwise." Through clenched teeth, the colonel added, "You lied to me."
He sunk the baton into Qui-Gon's stomach. The Padawan folded as he fought to absorb the lancing pain. He staggered back to keep his balance. Forcing himself to straighten up, he faced his tormentor. His voice cracked. "I, I never even spoke."
"You told me your partner had died." The colonel stopped and stared at the young Jedi. "No. You are correct. You did not speak, so you did not lie. You simply failed to tell me that whoever fell managed to survive." He moved closer again, using his baton to lift Qui-Gon's chin and then turn the Padawan's head to the side. After a long moment, the colonel's low voice continued, "It was you. I noticed the scratches before and assumed they were from traveling through the swamp."
The man's scar reddened as he regarded the Padawan. Suddenly the colonel went rigid and retreated two steps, his heels clacking against the ferrocrete floor. "Obviously, I have seriously underestimated you. Which makes what I am about to do all the more necessary."
He held out his hand and a guard placed med-gloves in them. The colonel donned them in silence. Qui-Gon swayed, his legs trembling as his energy waned. His danger sense was screaming, but he felt utterly helpless to do anything other than remain upright. The colonel held out his hand again and a needle appeared in his palm. The Padawan swallowed his fear. The needle from the desk. Qui-Gon's own breathing filled his ears as the colonel primed the instrument.
As he watched a few drops of liquid spurt out of the needle, the colonel spoke, "Your master -- if he is your master and not your partner's -- was served this concoction in his beverage, so it was slow to take effect. I would expect you will not have that advantage, given your current state of health." He sneered and met the Padawan's gaze. "You will need every bit of your precious Force you can muster to defeat this malady, young Jedi. You have my word."
The colonel's attention shifted. "Come here, miss." Nyk's reluctant shuffle scraped the floor. Her eyes seemed glued to the needle. The colonel said, "Have no fear. I simply wish for you to administer your friend's medication." When horror contorted her face, the colonel added, "Come, come now. Think of it as putting him out of his misery. The end will come quickly."
The silence was stifling. Nyk didn't move until the clack of blasters being made ready to fire echoed through the small cell. Her hand shook as she took the needle from the colonel's hand and turned to face the Padawan. He gave her a small nod. As she approached him, Qui-Gon was comforted by the tears running down her face to drip off her chin.
His low whisper was meant for her ears only. "It's all right, Nyk. So long as there is life, there is the Force ... and there is hope."
The needle glinted. He knew, without a doubt, he was looking at his own death.
Nyk stopped in front of him and looked up into his face. A tremor filled her voice. "I'm sorry, Qui-Gon."
The Padawan shifted, exposing his right arm to the needle. Nyk raised the instrument, hesitated, then swiftly jabbed the needle into her own stomach. Her eyes grew round as the needle slipped from her fingers to break on the ferrocrete. Qui-Gon's moan of disbelief was drowned by the colonel's roar. The enraged leader flung the young woman against the wall.
"Fool! Do you think your pathetic sacrifice will save him?" The baton dug into the base of the Padawan's neck and the colonel snarled into his face. "She has bought you a few days and that is all, Jedi. The second I have more serum at hand it will be coursing through your veins."
Tottering as his muscles melted, Qui-Gon remained standing by sheer force of will and returned the colonel's glare. The drooping left eyelid lifted slightly, then both eyes narrowed to slits. The colonel stepped back and landed a roundhouse swing of the baton on Qui-Gon's left arm. A cry of anguish tore from the Padawan's throat as he collapsed to his knees.
The cruel voice stabbed into his mind as Qui-Gon fought off a wave of nausea. "So nice to see you finally responding to our hospitality, Jedi. Enjoy stage two of your illness."
Qui-Gon stared at his fingers, splayed against the hard floor. Tiny blisters dotted the back of his hand. He groaned and crawled over to where Nyk slumped against the wall. He sat beside her, drawing his legs to his chest with his good arm and letting his head fall forward onto his knees. Trembling seized his limbs as heat began to build again.
"Why, Nyk?" His voice was muffled. "What were you thinking?"
She sobbed. "I wasn't thinking. I just don't want you to die."
Air hissed out of his lungs. "How are you feeling?"
"Like I'm going to vomit. A little clammy, maybe. But that could be shock more than anything."
Qui-Gon resisted the flames creeping up his legs, slowing their advance with the Force. His body quivered with the effort. A cool hand brushed his cheek. He willed his body to still.
"You need to rest," Nyk said. "Your temperature is climbing again."
He clenched his jaw. "You take the mat. We both need to rest if we are going to get out of here."
"You mean escape? But you can hardly walk."
"The Force will be my legs." Qui-Gon shivered as flames engulfed him. "W-we have to leave. Soon. I can f-feel it."
The Force wrapped Qui-Gon in a luminous embrace. He felt it coursing through his body, reclaiming lost territory, building up his meager resources. Slipping into a shallow Jedi trance had been risky, as it left him so open to physical attack -- not that he could have stopped that anyway. The disease was still there, but held in check; the infection was still swelling his arm. It would take more time to regain full health, but the Living Force was urging him to move. The strength that had returned would have to be enough.
Opening his eyes, the Padawan looked down at the young woman asleep at his side, her hair brushing his thigh. He reached out to tuck an errant lock behind her ear, then shifted aching shoulders against the wall. The slight movement woke Nyk. She rolled onto her back and opened her eyes, finding Qui-Gon's gaze in the dim light. He gave her a half-hearted smile.
She sat up and leaned against the wall beside him, cradling his right hand in hers. Her voice was hushed. "Your skin temperature has gone down. Are you feeling better?"
"Much." He hesitated. "Enough. And you?"
"I'm fine. Whatever was in that serum doesn't seem to have affected me much at all."
"Odd. Why would it affect Master Eit so much and not touch you? Could it be a virus that only attacks males?"
Nyk withdrew her hand and hugged her knees to her chest. Qui-Gon watched her stare intensely into the air as he cocked his head and listened to the murmured night sounds of the detention block. One guard outside their cell, speaking to another. The second one moved down the corridor.
Nyk's question caught his attention. "What makes a Jedi different from other people?"
He shrugged. "We can access the Force."
"No, no. I mean, physiologically. Are there any differences?"
Qui-Gon thought for a moment. "I guess the only thing would be the higher numbers of midi-chlorians in our system, because they are our channels for the Force."
"Maybe," Nyk stretched the word. "Maybe this virus attacks or gets its energy from these midi-chlorians. So it would effect your Jedi Master and not me. It could kill you but only give me a few hours of nausea."
Qui-Gon sat up straight. "Of course. When I cycled the Force into Master Eit's mind, he reacted like he was in great pain. The Temple has to know of this. We have to go. Now."
Retrieving his lightsaber from under the pallet, Qui-Gon automatically moved to clip it to a belt that wasn't there. It was amazing the guards had left him his boots. He tucked the weapon into his waistband and eased himself up, hugging his left arm to his side. He stood still, testing the strength of his legs. Satisfied, he paced slowly. Three steps forward. Pivot. Three steps back. He breathed out softly, his jaw quivering weakly.
Nyk took his arm and craned her neck back to search his face. "Are you okay?"
His eyes softened as he returned the look. "You really are quite short, you know."
She stared at him blankly, then shook her head. "You avoided the question, you know." She cut off his reply. "And I may be short, but I'll carry you out of here if I have to, you hairless Wookiee."
A silent chuckle shook his shoulders. "I believe you."
Qui-Gon moved to the door and closed his eyes, running his fingers along the seam. Radiating the Force out from his fingers like sonar he searched for the locking mechanism. When he was satisfied he knew where it was, he leaned against the doorjamb and rested for a moment before stretching his senses outward again. He could sense the single guard outside their door, but nothing else in the corridor. He focused on the guard. Bored. Tired. He slipped a thought into the sentry's mind, whispering it aloud, "Go to the refresher." A minute passed. Then two. Finally, he sensed the guard leaving. He sagged against the door, straightening up almost immediately.
Pulling out his lightsaber, Qui-Gon glanced at Nyk to find her staring at him with an odd expression that bordered on dubious. He motioned her to move back and triggered his weapon. The green blade cast a pall over his skin, darkening the green bandage that Nyk had applied to his arm from a strip of her own tunic. Qui-Gon cautiously inserted the blade into the metal door above the lock. Then he sliced downward in slow motion, leaving a trial of molten metal. He heard a dull thud and flicked off his blade with a tight smile. The door slid open, the melted strip fusing to the door frame.
"Wow," breathed Nyk. She peered down the hallway. "Where is the guard? Let me guess. Gone to the refresher, right?"
Qui-Gon nodded as he stepped into the hall and leaned against the wall to stop from shaking. "We don't have much time."
"Is breaking out of prisons always so easy for Jedi?"
"We're lucky. This is a primitive set-up. No alarms or vid-cams." Qui-Gon eased forward a meter and stopped, his shoulder never leaving the wall. "That door leads to the compound, right?"
Nyk halted beside him. "Yes. Every building in this complex opens on to the square. All the settlements are designed like that -- complexes separated by roadways, a few common areas." She paused. "Most buildings also have direct access to the street."
The young Jedi gathered his energy and spun around. "This way then," he said as he headed away from the door. Lightsaber in hand, he walked slowly, seeking to conserve his strength. Nyk caught up to him and started to speak. Qui-Gon jerked his left hand into the air to silence her and bit his lip at the burst of static the infection fired off.
Their cell was in the middle of the hallway. As they neared the end of the corridor, Qui-Gon moved in front of Nyk and stepped right, around the corner. The returning guard almost bumped into the tall Padawan before he halted, his startled face frozen in indecision. A second later he was reaching for his blaster. Before he could bring it to bear, Qui-Gon lit his lightsaber and sliced through the weapon, then wheeled and cracked the hilt on the man's temple. The guard crumpled to the floor.
Qui-Gon powered down his blade and braced his hand against the wall as he sought to channel the Force into his wobbling legs. The fever tingled in his toes.
"Is he dead?" Nyk' whisper came from near his elbow.
The Padawan shook his head and closed his eyes.
"Qui-Gon! Look out!"
He jerked upright and a red bolt bit into the ferrocrete by his head. The green blade sprang from the hilt and redirected a second bolt. Qui-Gon deflected the third shot back at the soldier firing. The man fell. The Padawan stood ready for a long moment, staring down the short grey hallway, then switched off his blade when no one else appeared, staggering forward to fall on one knee.
"I knew you were still sick," Nyk muttered, as she slipped under his right arm and helped him get back on his feet. She continued to support him as they stumbled down the hall as quickly as they could.
The next corner also turned right. Qui-Gon realized the building was square with inner and outer rooms and a central hallway also running in a square. Their cell had been on the inside, close to the center of the whole floor. This leg of hallway had a different feel to it. More alive. Not prison cells. Guard quarters, maybe. Sounds floated through the second door on the left.
The Padawan exchanged glances with Nyk and they cautiously approached the door. Maneuvering himself to stand between the young woman and the door, Qui-Gon motioned her to silence and leaned his left shoulder against the wall as he drew on the Force to scan the room. Eight. No, nine lifeforms. One just entered from ... outside. Qui-Gon blew out a soft breath. Why couldn't things ever be easy? Still, nine was better than a whole barracks. He closed his eyes and let the Force bathe his mind, calming him, centering him.
Shifting to press his back against the ferrocrete, Qui-Gon whispered, "This is the way out. We're just going to walk through like we have a right, understand? If we are challenged, I'll deal with it and you keep walking."
"You're crazy," Nyk replied.
"There are worse things to be."
"Yeah. Dead comes to mind."
Qui-Gon leveled a long-suffering stare at the young woman, then shook his head sadly as he stepped in front of the door. Waiting patiently, he let the Force pacify his mind. Qui-Gon tucked his lightsaber into his waistband, snug against his spine, and smiled down at Nyk when she moved to his left side.
She looked up at him, determination glittering gold in her green eyes, and said, "Where there is life, there is hope. Let's do it." She tapped a control panel and the door flashed open.
The exit was directly across from them, open to the warm night air, and they plotted a straight course for it, striding confidently. Out of the corner of his eye, Qui-Gon noted two sabaac tables, a few gaming stations and a bar to their right, with nine off-duty soldiers putting in some serious recreation time.
The two young people were almost two-thirds across the ten meter distance to freedom when a shouted, "Hey, you there!", froze their feet to the floor. Pivoting on his heel to face the suddenly quiet group, Qui-Gon willed his legs to stop shaking and stood tall. Easing his right hand behind him, he waved Nyk toward the door. He stepped forward, hoping to draw their attention away from her.
"Who're you?" asked a sabaac player with a heavily-shadowed jaw.
The Padawan gave the soldier a polite nod. "I am Qui-Gon Jinn." He moved a little closer to the tables as he sensed Nyk edging toward the exit.
"Where're you headed?" the same soldier asked.
Qui-Gon tilted his head. "I ... have an appointment I need to get to." Nyk was almost to the door. He took another step forward.
"Hey," a ruddy-faced soldier behind the bar said, "aren't you a prisoner here?"
Several men bristled. Sensing Nyk slip into the night, Qui-Gon gave the man a small smile and said, "I've been released."
The first soldier stood up. "On whose orders?" A murmur breezed through the soldiers. Several hands slipped down to their blasters.
Qui-Gon took a step back and shrugged. "By order of General Yoda." Forgive me, Master, for demoting you. He sidestepped toward the exit.
The men exchanged puzzled glances. The soldier behind the bar turned and hit a switch. Hearing both doors slide closed and lock, Qui-Gon took a calming breath, inhaling the Force as he grasped his lightsaber. Qui-Gon met the black gaze of the florid man who'd locked him in. The man's face darkened to the most amazing shade of scarlet and he growled, "There's no General Yoda in this outfit."
"Sorry," Qui-Gon said. "I must be in the wrong place."
The Padawan headed boldly toward the locked door. He spun to avoid the first laser bolt, snapping his lightsaber on. A bleak smile touched his lips as nine men hesitated while they watched the green blade extend with a hiss. He heard a quiet expletive rise on the silence.
Suddenly, bodies were diving for cover. Qui-Gon used the precious seconds to open himself completely to the Living Force -- it rushed in, filling him with pulsating energy.
The hail of red rain began. His blade wove a shield of green light, deflecting the deadly barrage. Twisting and parrying, he entered the dance with relish as the Force whispered, one step ahead, leading the way. Two men fell victim to their own ricocheted shots. Qui-Gon shoved with the Force and a gaming station fell over on two others. Somersaulting into the midst of the soldiers, Qui-Gon spun and sliced, lunged and swiveled, slashed and dived. One final uppercut and the room fell quiet.
He turned to face the last man standing -- the red-faced fellow behind the bar. The soldier dropped his blaster and held up his hands. Qui-Gon vaulted over the bar and backed the man into a corner with the tip of his lightsaber. He powered down his blade and stepped forward, lifting a trembling chin with its hilt.
Pinning the man's eyes with his dark blue gaze, Qui-Gon said, "Tell your colonel he was right. He did underestimate me." He knocked the man unconscious and triggered the door lock.
Stepping over the limp body, the Padawan headed for the exit. He observed the chaos around him, bodies flung about as if a couple of thermal detonators had gone off. They weren't all dead, he knew, but it still seemed so senseless. A few more steps and they would have passed unnoticed. A few more steps and these men would have continued their gaming in ignorant bliss. His energy leaked out in a sigh.
Tiredness suddenly washed over him, and his hold on the Force began slipping. He ran a shaky hand through his hair. His boots seemed filled with ferrocrete; his vision blurred. Qui-Gon halted, swaying as vertigo assaulted him. Spinning, he crashed into a sabaac table, gripping its edge to keep from falling. He leaned over the table, his chest constricting as he fought to suck air into his lungs. Pushing away from the table, he staggered across the room and fell against the wall, his left arm crushed against the rough surface. The young Jedi cried out and rolled to his back, moaning as ability to touch the Force drained out of him and disease flooded into the void.
Legs beginning to buckle, Qui-Gon lunged for the door, hitting the access panel with his elbow. The door slid open and he bumped into it as he stumbled onto the step. The warm air washed over him at the same instant the fever seized him. He tried to focus on the small body approaching him. He wobbled and reached for the handrail. As trembling fingers touched metal, his knees folded and he collapsed.
He came to with someone gently slapping his face. A head hovered above him, blocking his view of the stars. Which one is Coruscant? What is Master Yoda doing? Blast, my head hurts.
Nyk's voice helped bring her face into focus. "Snap out of it, Qui-Gon. We have to get out of here." Qui-Gon blinked his confusion. She said, "You really overdid it in there, didn't you?"
"Didn't," he said, "didn't do anything. F-Force did it all."
"Those soldiers might argue that point." Nyk slipped her arm under the tall Padawan's shoulder blades and heaved. "Come on, big guy. Help me out."
After struggling to his feet, Qui-Gon tried to find his balance, but his legs weren't cooperating. He leaned heavily on Nyk as she wrangled him toward a speeder. She almost dumped him in the back seat trying to get him settled in the front. Jogging around the back of the machine, she hopped in and started the engine. Qui-Gon slumped. His head lolled backwards and he found himself staring at the night sky again. The stars started to blur and fade away.
Nyk jostled his sore arm. He hissed, suddenly alert. "Sorry," she whispered. "You've got to stay with me, Qui-Gon. I can drive, but I don't know where to go or what to do."
Muted clanging floated out of the detention building. The Padawan wiped his mouth with a shaky hand. "I, I ... head for th-the gate. We have to get b-back to your settlement."
The speeder crept down the street. "What about the spaceport? Steal a ship? It's only a kilometer or two."
"T-too well guarded after Hakola's escape. G-got to get to my ship."
The speeder coasted to a stop. "The gate is left, about 3 complexes down. What do we do?"
"Crash it. Full th-throttle. It'll b-be a race." Qui-Gon thought of the air blowing against his face. Anything to relieve his burning skin. The heat was steady and increasing, melting his focus and fusing his thoughts. Blackness beckoned. He clung to consciousness by a hair's breadth. See Master, I keep telling you that you should let me grow my hair out.
She blew her breath out. "This is crazy."
"Yeah. Well, you kn-know me," he whispered.
The vehicle jumped around the corner, pressing Qui-Gon into his seat. Buildings flashed by as their speed increased.
"Qui-Gon," Nyk said, "what do I do? There are some speeders moving through the gate, coming towards us."
"Gun it. Straight th-through. They'll move." The Padawan clamped his hand on his left bicep to try to stop trembling. He closed his eyes. Either he would be right or they'd both be dead.
A growing, prolonged cry -- "Ahhh!" -- issued from Nyk as they hurtled toward the gate. A few shouts, a scrape and bump on the back corner and they passed out of the town. A blaster bolt shot over the windscreen. Nyk yelped and ducked, making the speeder rock. Qui-Gon's stomach lurched.
"K-keep it steady," he said, turning his head to see her white-knuckle grip on the controls. "Relax. Th-they'll chase. Shoot. Small corrections. Irregular weaving. B-but keep it on the r-road."
"Do you want to drive?" Nyk asked.
"I'll pass. M-maybe next time." The wind whipped over the flexiglass, cooling his head as it tugged at the Padawan's braid. He tried to clear his mind and reach for the Force, but he was too exhausted. He just needed to rest for a few moments ...
"Huh? What?" Qui-Gon jerked upright, the sudden movement bringing wooziness crashing down on him and pulling a moan from him as he sank back down.
"You fell asleep." Nyk's tone was tense. "We're in a race for our lives, soldiers who want to kill us have almost caught up, and you fell asleep."
"Sorry," he muttered. His head fell back against the seat again. He couldn't still his shaking limbs anymore. The heat. Force help him, it felt like he was flying into a supernova unprotected. The wind that had soothed, now tortured, as his nerves fired on all thrusters. The vibrations of the speeder made him want to scream.
"A Y-intersection's coming up. Jolla is to the right." Nyk paused. "Oh, blast. Qui-Gon. They have a roadblock set up. Looks like an ion barricade. It'll short the motor."
"S-stay calm." Qui-Gon spoke through clenched teeth. "Find th-the escape route. Through the ditch. Wherever. Don't t-take your eyes off the escape."
"Okay. Okay. I've got it. Right ditch. But there's a group of men ..."
"Th-they'll move."
A red bolt glanced off the flexishield frame. The speeder swerved, tossing Qui-Gon against the wall. He bit back a cry. He heard Nyk muttering his earlier instructions as she sought to evade shots from the pursuit vehicle. He tried to remain unmoving, but the little jerks, the tiny course changes, pitched him side to side, causing micro-bursts of pain to erupt all over his body, wherever one cell bumped anything else -- anything at all. His breath came in short gasps as he battled to stay conscious.
The speeder dipped into the ditch with shouts and lasers bouncing all around them; it yawed dangerously, Nyk's side lifting into the air. The vehicle bounced down and swung in a wide S-turn as Nyk fought with the controls. Qui-Gon groaned as he swallowed acidic bile. One final swerve and they were back on the road.
"I think that slowed the other speeder down," Nyk said. Qui-Gon didn't answer -- the fever was roaring in his ears, scorching his eyes. A black veil kept flapping in front of his face. Something hit his thigh and he cried out. "Hey, Qui-Gon. Stick with me. I can't do this alone. You're my adhesive here, big guy. I'll fall apart if you don't help me."
"H-help ..." Qui-Gon flicked his infected arm and jerked. Pain. Pain would keep him awake. He flicked again.
"We're about 20 minutes from Jolla. How far is your ship?"
Qui-Gon squeezed his eyes shut, trying to remember. "25 k's, I th-think."
"25! So how do we get you there? I can't carry you, that's for sure."
"Don't, don't know."
"You don't know! You had a plan for getting us out. You must have a plan for getting us to your ship."
"A solution will pr-present itself." He poked his injury, wincing.
"What is that? Some great piece of Jedi wisdom? That's supposed to make me feel better? Those soldiers will present themselves. Blasters first." A minute passed. "Where's the speeder?"
"What?"
"The speeder isn't behind us."
Qui-Gon stared at the sky, trying to focus, to think. He blinked. "It's getting l-light. They'll send out f-fighters."
Sick as he was, the Padawan sensed the sudden burst of fear.
"We're dead," she whispered. "The road is straight from here to Jolla. No cover. Nothing."
They rode in silence for several moments. Qui-Gon strained to reach through the curtain of pain and heat to touch ... He collapsed into himself, chest heaving. "S-stop the speeder."
Nyk slammed on the air brakes, throwing Qui-Gon into the dash. He slumped over, his body screaming, while she harangued him. "Now you want to get blown up. Just sit here and wait like a pair of greels. I don't believe this. You Jedi must be born with death wish implants."
"Be quiet and h-help me out."
She cut off. "You mean you still can't walk? I, I ... Stupid. I'm stupid."
Jumping into the back seat, Nyk helped Qui-Gon get to his feet and over the side of the speeder. He fell to his knees. She dropped beside him. "Swamp scum. You're burning up. Why didn't you say anything?"
"What w-would you have done? Stopped a-and asked your watchers for s-some meds?" He struggled to get one foot under him. "Got to get off the road."
Nyk staggered under the tall Padawan's weight. They collapsed behind a jungle tree. Nyk rolled Qui-Gon onto his back and gently brushed dirt off his face. A tear trickled down her cheek. "They'll find us here, but I just can't move you. I'm so sorry, Qui-Gon."
"Where there's life ..." Qui-Gon trailed off. He extended his waning strength to the limit, pushing through the cocoon of anguish enveloping him to reach for the luminous energy beyond. The Force flowed through his being, momentarily reviving him, and he focused his thoughts on the speeder. He heard the engine's whine building as the power increased to maximum with the brakes solidly in place. He started shaking violently. Not. Quite. Yet. He reached out through the Force, switching to auto-pilot at the instant he released the brake. Nyk gasped as the speeder took off down the road. The Padawan's energy cratered, and the Force retreated, leaving his core frozen while his skin sizzled.
A round something flitted through the treetops. Qui-Gon blinked and Nyk's face appeared above his own. A tear dropped onto his lips. He licked it and reached a trembling hand upwards. Nyk took it and guided his fingers over her brow.
"Go," Qui-Gon said. "D-don't let them find you."
"You've bought us time. Both of us. I'll find a way to hide you."
"So brave. You've b-been a good friend, Ny-Nyk. You're very special."
"You're pretty special yourself, Qui-Gon." She closed her eyes and pressed his palm hard against her damp cheek.
Qui-Gon stared up at the leaves quivering high above them. The edges of his vision faded to black, his line of sight shrinking fast. A glint of orange in the trees. He squinted, tried to focus, as the last of his vision faded away. He whispered, "Round birds?" Sound followed sight and the void claimed him.
