Author: Chaos
Rating: PG
Summary: A hyperdrive accident leaves Obi-wan and Qui-gon stranded on Earth (one that has never had the pleasure of watching Star Wars). There they meet a woman who helps them. This is a blatant Mary Sue, but I hope you will all enjoy it none-the-less. This story was inspired by Stacey Lee Feldman's In A Strange Land which can be found at the Qui-Gon Jinn Discussion List page.
Disclaimer: Qui-gon and Obi-wan and the universe they come from, along with their vehicle and all their luggage belong to George Lucas exclusively. They are respectfully borrowed with no intent to profit thereby or infringe on the copyright thereof.



Section 1


"Master, we're taking heavy damage. The shields are collapsing." The ship jolted under yet another hit and despite his extensive training, Obi-wan couldn't keep the note of urgency out of his voice. He spared a single moment for a hurried glance over his shoulder at the older man. "I can't out maneuver them with half our sublight engines out of commission." Another strong ion blast rocked their vessel, sending stray surges of energy skittering across the vessel's shields, underscoring the young man's words. The small, sleek shuttle raced away from the planet and the ship that had lain in wait for them.

"Are we far enough from the planet's gravity well to make the jump to light speed?" The low, lightly accented tone was calm, even.

"Yes, Master, but we don't have time to make the proper calculations. Whoever they are, they'll have us completely disabled long before the navicomputer is done processing the numbers."

"Make the jump. We'll drop out in a couple of minutes and take the time to properly calculate." Qui-gon's voice was a steadying rock in the storm of the attack and his apprentice clutched at it, not unlike a drowning man, and responded instantly, pulling back on the hyperdrive levers. The stars became fiery, glittering streaks as their speed accelerated exponentially and then they left normal space behind.

Obi-wan felt the tension leave his shoulders as the danger passed and he slumped back into his seat, only now realizing that he had been perched anxiously on the edge of it since that first shot had splashed across their shields. He flicked a switch to send their single astromech droid into action, repairing the damage they'd already taken. The young man turned to face his master's blue eyed regard. "Master, who would fire on us in that manner? They weren't trying to kill us, but disable us. Who could have known we were coming?"

"I don't know, Obi-wan. Several of our friends and the entire Council knew that we were going to Lyra on retreat. Who would want to try and capture two Jedi?" He watched as the young man shrugged, as perplexed as his master. Qui-gon glanced at the status readout on the ship. The damaged systems were slowly coming back on-line. "Did you get any sensor readings on that ship, Padawan?"

The sandy-haired young man turned to the main computer. "I didn't have time to check the scans during the battle, but I am sure that the computer will have any readings stored in recent memory. It will be an easy thing to retrieve the data when we return to Coruscant or any of the other Core worlds." He checked the chronometer and glanced at the droid's progress. "We should drop out of hyperspace and recalculate soon, Master. We don't want to risk bouncing through a gravity well and tearing the ship apart."

"Very well, Padawan. I leave it up to you."

Kenobi waited a few more moments. He wanted to make certain that the energy for the deflector shields was at maximum before dropping out of hyperspace. There was no telling what they might run into and he wanted them at full strength as soon after coming out of hyperspace as possible.

He was reaching out to pull the hyperdrive levers back down to the stand-by position when the ship lurched spasmodically and a bright light flared across the cockpit viewport. There was a muted squeal of protest and alarm from the R2 unit in back and Kenobi heard at startled grunt from his master over the tortured, metallic groans born of the ship's heaving movements. Both Jedi were tossed about the cabin like dice in a cup. Obi-wan called to his master, but Qui-gon wasn't in any better shape to help than he was. There was nothing either could do but ride it out and pray for the best.

*******

Kenobi woke slowly. His head felt thick and his muscles were sluggish to respond to even the most strident commands from his brain. He knew that he would be a sea of bruises and bumps till he could take an hour or so for a healing trance. Everything hurt, so he lay still and concentrated on forcing his eyes to open. After much urging they finally complied, but the result was out of focus and hazy. He blinked till the brown blurs in front of him resolved themselves into Qui-gon's booted feet. Wearily, he dragged a battered hand up and scrubbed at his face while trying to think. Obi-wan heaved himself laboriously up on his hands and knees and almost collapsed back to the floor as the effort made his head spin and sent fresh waves of pain crashing over him. Steadying himself with a heroic effort, he glanced again at his master's limp body. He blinked stupidly, his mind refusing to work properly.

Something was horribly wrong.

It was a vague sensation, but the only one other than pain that would register adequately. Things were off kilter somehow, but he couldn't force the idea through his pain-muddled mind. Disoriented and fuzzy-headed, he was unsure of what to do next. The sandy haired Jedi reached for the Force in a basic calming technique, but could not seem to grasp it. He reached again with the same result. He searched, frantically this time, but the outcome was no different from before. Seeking an answer he turned instinctively to his teacher.

"Master?" There was no response.

Blue eyes jerked wide and panic flooded adrenaline through his system when he realized that he could not sense his master. There was a great empty void where there should have been familiarity or pain or even just the grey fog of unconsciousness. The adrenaline racing through his blood stream lent new strength to his battered body and Obi-wan scrambled across the deck on all fours to his master's side.

He felt for a heartbeat.

Waited a breathless moment.

Then sighed and almost collapsed with relief. There it was, strong and steady. Now that he was reassured, he could see that the older man was clearly breathing, his chest rising and falling in a deep, regular rhythm. One eye was blackened and a deep blue-purple bruise was already beginning to blossom across one cheek. The Jedi student made a quick examination. No broken bones, no obvious head wounds, no cuts or bumps on the tall man's skull. The young man did a quick check of his own body and skull. No, aside from some scrapes, a few painful bruises and a small knot on the back of his head there was nothing that might impede his use of the Force. So why couldn't Obi-wan sense his teacher and friend?

"Master?" He gently shook Qui-gon's shoulder and after a moment those familiar greyish-blue eyes fluttered open.

"Padawan?" The Jedi tried to sit up, but immediately decided against it when the ship spun around him and he realized his tail bone liked things better just the way they were. "What has happened?"

"I'm not sure, Master." Obi-wan relaxed and sat down on the floor next to his teacher. A quick glance out the viewport confirmed that they were still in hyperspace. "The ship does not seem to be damaged, but I, I can't feel the Force, Master."

Qui-gon's eyes narrowed slightly in concentration, his mouth pulling into a thin line. A frown furrowed his brow. "I cannot touch it either, Obi-wan. This is most strange." With an effort, the Jedi Master levered himself up off the deck, his eye slitted against the pain that engendered. His student followed him to his feet a little more quickly. Both men staggered to their chairs and strapped themselves in securely. "We had better drop out of hyperspace immediately and see what has happened."

"Yes, Master." Obi-wan pushed the levers up and the strange mottled grey of hyperspace faded to starlines that shrank back to mere points of light that winked and glittered against the deep black of space as he also made sure that the sublight engines were off-line. From the engine compartment there was a muffled thump and an electronic sizzle followed by a distressed warble from the droid. A quick translation appeared on the screen. "That was the hyperdrive, Master." he reported tiredly. "Where ever we are, we're here until we can get it fixed."

Qui-gon reached forward and activated the senors. The instruments surveyed the region around the small transport and quickly relayed their findings to the readout. "At least we are not stranded between systems. There seems to be a hospitable planet, with signs of inhabitation within easy range of the sublight engines. Perhaps we can get our ship repaired there."

Obi-wan started the engines back up and steered toward the third planet from the glowing yellow primary. As they approached, it resolved itself into a shining blue-green world, streaked with the white of clouds. "It's pretty enough from up here, anyway. Not unlike Lyra. I'm going to attempt to hail them, Master."

"Good. I'll run another sensor sweep."

The young man flicked the appropriate switches and waited while the shuttle settled into orbit around the planet, but there was no response. "No answer, Master. We've rung the bell, maybe we should knock." There was a hint of his customary cocky smirk on the young man's face.

"I'm not sure that would be wise, Obi-wan." Qui-gon replied drily. "There is no sign of advanced technology on the scan. In fact, I don't believe that they are capable of more than limited space flight."

"That's impossible, Master. We weren't in hyperspace nearly long enough to reach any uncharted territory. We should be well within the Republic boundaries. We can't even have reached the Inner Rim."

One eyebrow raised over the grey-blue regard. "We should also be able to touch the Force, my Padawan." That quiet reminder was all that was necessary and the young man nodded in agreement and acceptance of the gentle reprimand. "We cannot be sure of how long we were unconscious since the chrono seems to be malfunctioning. We could have been in hyperspace for hours. I believe that we should switch to stealth mode."

"Will it work? That technology is brand new, Master, and not all the kinks have been worked out."

"We shall soon see, won't we?"

*******

"Sir, we've lost the trace." In the tech's voice there was a noticeable reluctance to reveal that fact and in the frenetic swirl of activity that gripped the underground facility the soft reply was almost lost. This was not a man to whom one reported failure lightly. The repercussions were all too often swift and unpleasant.

The answer was low, harsh and full of menace. It carried easily over the noise and a subtle hush fell over those nearest the two speakers. "What do you mean �lost it'?"

The tech dropped his gaze to stare at the three hundred dollar shoes in front of him and tried not to gulp in dismay. "It just disappeared, sir. When we lost contact it was in high orbit somewhere over central North America."

"So, what you're saying is that we could have an unidentified craft in our own backyard and we can't even find it?" The hissing shout clearly indicated the simmering rage that never seemed to be far from the surface of the suited man's emotions.

The tech raised his eyes as far as the neatly pressed double-breasted Armani suit coat and they flicked between that and the edge of his own duty station console, looking anywhere but at his superior. "That's about the gist of it, sir. From the change in it's mass signature it was traveling at hyper-light velocities and abruptly slowed to a full stop. It then came straight toward Earth and entered a high, non-geosynchronous orbit."

"Was it's entry vector straight toward Earth?"

"No, sir. It first appeared on a vector that cut across the outer edge of Neptune's orbit, perpendicular to the solar plane, then it turned toward us, sir."

The man in the dark suit gestured angrily at several of the other workers in the near vicinity and issued orders in a curt, harsh tone. He waited to see that those orders were at least started with the immediacy that he was demanding and then walked. Behind him, there was frantic activity near the technician and his attendant telemetry and tracking equipment that was quantum leaps past what was being sold as state-of-the-art. He stepped into a plush office enclosed by three concrete walls, the fourth wall being made entirely of bullet-proof, double paned, vacuum sealed glass. Checking to make sure the door was securely closed, he took a steadying breath and picked up a bright red telephone sitting on the desk. "Sir, Area 51 reporting a confirmed contact. We lost advanced radar lock somewhere over North America. Satellites are being redirected now." He listened attentively to the voice on the other end of the line and kept his face calm to hide the fact that he was now on the receiving end of a tongue-lashing.

A second tech stepped up to the sound-proofed window and waited to be noticed. When the suited man acknowledged his presence, the tech shook his head negatively.

"Sir, the skies are clear. We have a possible landing."

*******

I-80 runs for close to a thousand miles from Salt Lake City, Utah eastward across Nevada to kiss the south-eastern edge of Sacramento, California before turning south and dead-ending into yet another long stretch of black-top. The majority of its length is undisputably the most boring, hypnotic, desolate stretch of highway on the continent.

Boring. There isn't anything more boring than staring at nothing but brown dirt, brown rocks, and dead, brown plants with the occasional muddy, white salt flat, brown or fire blackened peak or muddy, brown gully to add variety. Hypnotically, the sun-faded white and yellow stripes strobe past in a continuous, unbroken pattern that never varies. The fence posts that line the road lean drunkenly, and the wire they support sags pathetically into the dust or mud that inevitably lines the roadway. The endless stretch of concrete and black-top races out to the horizon where the blued-steel sky arches down to seal in the heat and seal out any moisture. The only thing of that breaks up the monotony is the occasional big rig with attendant trailers that flashes past in the opposite direction, or the suicidal sports cars that flash past from behind.

That's the reason why Utah and Nevada rank up there with much more populous states like California and New York for vehicular deaths. Too many people staring for too long at something not worth staring at for more than a few seconds.

The desolation, that she carried with her. Debrah could have been in the middle of a tropical rain forest or a bustling city and felt it a desolate place. That desolation of mind and spirit was caused by what lay behind her and what lay ahead. Directly behind her was a U-Haul trailer with everything she'd managed to acquire during seven years of higher education jammed into it haphazardly in her rush to see Provo, Utah and the college campus in her rear-view mirror. Behind that was too many years of school, caused by seasonal illnesses, learning disabilities only recently discovered, and what is commonly known as school burn-out. There was too much time spent alone in dusty labs bent over electronic systems that often refused to work in the proscribed manner, or refused to work at all, and no lab partners to relieve some of the burden and frustration. There was the fact that in the dating and marriage capitol of the entire United States she had gone for four and a half years and never been asked out on a date. The two dates she had managed to pull off had only happened because she had spent several hours gearing up the courage to ask the men she'd gone with. Neither had done more than nod at her in a friendly way afterward. It was frustrating in the extreme. Then there was the saddest graduation in recorded history. Debrah's parents had died little more than a week before graduation; a drunk driver crossed five lanes of traffic, jumping the center barrier. She couldn't leave, not with finals looming. The funeral was done and over with and the rest of her family resettled back into their routines before the diploma crossed her palm. Finals had been a hazy blur and she had walked numbly through graduation like a zombie.

Before her was an empty house. Debrah had never had to pack up and move, as unusual as that was in this day and age. Her father had built that house when her older brothers had still been young. Her mother had lovingly decorated it. She'd been born there, fought and laughed with her brothers and sister there. She had cried and smiled and teased and commiserated. She'd had sleep-over parties and been grounded there. In short, she had lived out her entire life there with the only exception being dorm rooms and school apartments, and those were endured with the knowledge that at the end of each semester she could go home. But will it still be home?, she wondered as the miles slid past under her car's wheels.

Her mom and dad were gone. How can they be really gone? Her older brothers, Leigh and Charles and their families, with three children apiece, were in London and Seattle respectively. Her younger brother Justin had finally married his girlfriend of two years, Nanette, not three months ago, and her little sister, Christine, was quite happily married and attending the best art school money didn't have to buy on a full scholarship. There would be nothing left but a couple of overfed, spoiled cats and a lot of empty rooms that echoed forlornly with old memories.

Considering her state of mind at the time, it was understandable that Debrah didn't see them right away. Add to that the fact that she was traveling at close to ninety miles an hour and their tan tunics and darker brown robes blended right in with the roadside's lack of landscaping and it's a miracle that she stopped in time.




Section 2