He tried to draw breath, but he couldn’t. Some foreign thing forced air into his lungs at intervals, slow and regular and not at all what he needed. Struggling, his arm thrashed, moving sluggishly as though through liquid, and he fought to open his eyes. Murkiness greeted his vision, pale red, and for a moment Bel-San thought he was still in the cell, his vision washed with his own blood, masking the fetid confines of his prison.

“Don’t fight the respirator, Bel-San, let it work for you until your lungs are strong enough to do it on their own.” The voice floated to him, clear and surprisingly gentle for one of his captors.

It took him some time to comprehend he’d been called by his name and spoken to in Basic. Understanding was only a few steps behind as he realized he was looking out into the infirmary on Coruscant from the inside of a bacta tank, the thick fluid making his movements slow, not restraints. His hand shot out again, fighting against the warm currents of the healing liquid as he hit the clear wall of the container. They always felt like tombs to him. The few times he’d had to spend time in them they had to keep him heavily sedated to stave off panic, the rising emotion that was currently breaking against his slowly waking mind.

He hit the glass again, his weak hands doing little more than tapping the sturdy surface. Out. He needed out. In the early days of the bacta tanks there had been almost more mishaps with patients than there had been healings, and he would be damned if he would suffocate because his respirator malfunctioned or the mix of chemicals and medications was off. It was like drowning and being buried alive at the same time, only he could feel the sterile air forced into his lungs and clearly see the group of healers gathering to stand before his tank.

“Bel-San, you must calm yourself. Let the bacta do its work. You’ve been very ill and you need the time in the tank to help you heal.” The voice clicked off and face of a compassionate and well-meaning healer hovered closer to the tank.

Smacking his fist against the glass at the man’s face, Bel-San was distantly pleased to see him jump. Focusing as best he could through the drugs and the pain that was slowly creeping through his limbs, trying to think past the overwhelming panic that threatened to freeze his thoughts, he focused on a single word, projecting it to the assemblage.

OUT!

The warm currents of the bacta caressed his skin, trying to soothe him into a more relaxed state, but he shivered at the touch instead. He was cold, the heat from the gel not nearly enough to stop the shaking in his limbs brought on by terror He needed out, they had to let him out, right now or, he didn’t know, but they had to release him. Anything had to be better than the medical prison, anything.

He could see the Healer’s heads grouped together, talking quickly and glancing at him as he shook in the tank. Several of them checked over readouts, not doubt showing his condition and increasing heart rate. The pound of his heart echoed in his head, making it ache with each pulse and he closed his eyes against the pain, only to force them open again so he could see that he was in fact in the infirmary and it wasn’t a hallucination.

Perhaps that was why they wouldn’t let him free; he was imagining the entire thing. It had happened before while they held him, as the pain grew worse. He’d even imagined himself in the infirmary a few times, though when he’d awakened he was always surrounded by his friends, not nameless healers. He beat his fist against the glass again, this time breaking the flesh on his hand and trailing a thin spiral of his blood through the liquid. It was healed over in moments, but it seemed to suspend the healers from their indecisiveness.

The one who had spoken before stepped up to the tank and placed a hand against the smooth surface, almost as though he could touch Bel-San through the barrier of glass and liquid. “It’s all right, Bel-San, try and calm yourself. We’re going to get you out, but you have to let us help you. You really shouldn’t be out of the tank for another day or two at least.”

He shook his head. He needed out now, couldn’t they understand?

“It’s okay, we’re going to bring you out, but it has to be slowly so you body doesn’t go into shock. We’re going to drain off the bacta a little at a time and then get you settled into a bed. How does that sound?” The Healer nodded to one of his associates and Bel-San instantly felt the pressure change within the tank.

Instead of comforting him, the statistics and accidents that had happened with this procedure ran through his mind and he was certain he recalled every scrap of information he’d read about it in his lifetime. He wanted to insist they pull him out immediately, to throw himself against the glass until it shattered and released him, but he found himself overcome with exhaustion, barely able to keep his eyes open. All the while the Healer spoke with him, but Bel-San couldn’t concentrate enough to follow his words, instead letting the tone wash over him as the bacta slowly drained and he was eventually pulled from the suffocating tube by gentle hands.

As the gel was cleansed from his skin, he almost wished to be immersed in the liquid again as the burn of living in his damaged body came back, muted by the Healer’s presence and medication, but far more apparent than it had been in the tank. They transferred him through the white halls of the infirmary to a bed in a room all his own but cluttered with instruments and monitors, which he recognized as belonging to the area for intensive care.

They refused to remove him from the respirator and Bel-San forced himself to relax and allow the device to breathe for him. It was uncomfortable and unnatural, but he couldn’t bring himself to fight any more battles. Everything hurt and he just wanted sleep, but the pain arced across his vision and pulled him at unexpected moments, jarring his rest and keeping him from oblivion.

Finally the Healer stepped to his side and pressed an injection into the line that fed into his arm. Instantly the pain faded to nothingness, leaving him lightheaded and fuzzy.

“That should help.” He placed a hand on Bel-San’s shoulder, squeezing in support. “Sleep if you can. It’s the best thing for you now.”

***

When Bel-San cracked his eyes again, the respirator was gone, each breath a labor, but one of his own making. Gone too were many of the machines and the Healers that had hovered at the edge of his consciousness since he’d been taken from the bacta tank. His inner sense of time was distorted, he knew it had been some length since he’d been in the tank, but he couldn’t connect then to now without massive gaps.

He let his eyes wander the room, his head feeling too heavy and painful to move just yet, and was surprised to find the form of Kerge sitting at his side. The boy looked nervous and his fingers moved in restless patterns against his leg to ward off fidgeting. The young man turned his attention from one of the monitors against the far wall and jumped when he found Bel-San regarding him.

“Teacher Bel-San. Are you awake for real this time?” He leaned forward, his fingers creeping to the edge of the bed to rest lightly against Bel-San’s arm.

He felt a ghost of a smile cross his lips, certain now he’d had moments of half-wakefulness in the past. “For now.” His voice was dry and the words hurt to leave his mouth, as they traveled through his abused throat and pushed out by overtaxed lungs.

Concern overwhelmed Kerge’s face and he leaned closer. “Do you want some water?”

Torn between a nod and a verbal acknowledgment, trying to decide which would hurt less, Kerge was at his side in a moment, anticipating his need. The cool liquid slid past his lips and down his throat as a healing magic. Nothing in his life had felt quite as good and he closed his eyes, relishing in the moment where something he did didn’t hurt.

Two more swallows and the water was taken away. He opened his eyes to glare at Kerge, who looked back apologetically. The boy shrugged uncomfortably as he sat back. “It’s been so long since you’ve had anything, they said not too much at first when you woke up.” Kerge jerked his head back to the door.

Nodding he relaxed, releasing Kerge from his wrath. He supposed it made some sense, though he didn’t like the necessity of it. “Where are the others? What’s happened?” He couldn’t remember much from the time Qui-Gon had first appeared in his cell.

Kerge hesitated, his eyes flicking to the door. “I, uh, I don’t know that I’m the one who’s supposed to be filling you in on that. I think it might be good to wait until my Master gets here. He’s on his way now.”

“Payter’s here?” Bel-San frowned, wondering why it had taken him such a long time to make the connection between Kerge and Payter. Of course his friend would have to be on Coruscant if the man’s padawan were sitting in the room. “When did you get back?”

“You don’t—“ Kerge shook his head. “I guess you wouldn’t remember. Master Qui-Gon’s ship had some trouble and me and my Master--” He grimaced. “My Master and I were headed back when we heard the call.”

“Good timing.”

“That’s my job.” Payter stepped into the room and Kerge jumped to his feet as his Master approached. His friend dropped a huge, fur-covered hand on his padawan’s shoulder and squeezed gently. “Thanks, padawan. I believe Master Gorivan wants to go over some things with you.”

“Yes, Master.” Kerge offered a quick smile to Bel-San. “I’m glad you’re feeling better,” he said before he headed out of the room.

Payter let out a huge sigh as he collapsed into the chair his padawan had just vacated. His friend looked tired, as though he hadn’t been sleeping, but also weary in a way that went deeper. The shadows in Payter’s eyes had more than physical exhaustion behind them. He watched Bel-San with great care, his large eyes roaming over Bel-San and the monitors in the room. “Are you?”

“Feeling better? I guess.” It was hard to tell, as he could feel the medication flowing through his veins and knew it was covering a multitude of pains. “I’ll probably feel even better when you fill me in with what’s happened.”

Payter sighed. “I doubt that.”

Bel-San closed his eyes, wishing he were still asleep. “Are you going to share with me or just keep making vague suggestions about the bad things that happened? I was there for most of them, Payter, I know it was bad.” He fought a sudden surge of anger; they were all tiptoeing around him as though he would shatter into a thousand pieces if they told him what happened. He’d survived weeks in a cell little bigger than this bed; he was truly certain he could take a little bad news.

“Some hurts are more damaging than others.”

Bel-San sneered. “What could be so—“ he stopped, the air rushing from his lungs as though he’d been hit. “It’s not Qui-Gon, is it?”

“Qui-Gon’s fine, or he will be, given some time. Your little friend, though, the native, is another matter.”

Bel-San shook his head, regretting the movement as it set off shocks of pain behind his eyes. “Who?”

“The one who helped Qui-Gon get you out.”

“Seph.” The words left him in a whisper. He’d never wanted to involve Seph in anything to change his lifestyle. All he’d wanted was to protect the Sentili and see that some of his way of life was studied and recorded for others to see. “He’s not here, is he?” At Payter’s nod, he struggled to sit up. “He can’t stay here, Payter, it’s too different for him…the air, the noise the people, it’ll kill him, you have—“

Payter reached out and placed a hand on his arm, squeezing until Bel-San stopped. It wasn’t easy as his thoughts spiraled to what the environment on Coruscant would do to the native who’d never even been in building higher than a single story his entire life. To live hundreds of miles above the surface of a planet he’d never seen would wound him in a way Bel-San shuddered to think about.

“It’s a little more complicated than that, Bel-San. The situation on Was-4 reached critical mass after you escaped. We can’t send Seph back to his home, because there isn’t one for him to return to. The Sentili were wiped out in a massive and highly coordinated attack by the Upanis. Seph is all that’s left of his people. They would kill him if he returned.”

Shaking his head, ignoring the pain this time, Bel-San tried to sit again. He accepted Payter’s help, feeling that he could think better upright than while lying down. “It can’t be. There must be some of them left. The wild areas, the wilderness, it’s their home. They know it better than anyone and they can hide.”

Payter was shaking his head. “I’ve had some people look into it; it was planned for a long time, the Upanis had been searching out the Sentili for years and they took them all out. None of them are left.”

Bel-San closed his eyes, leaning his head against the bed. So many lives, their culture, their stories and nothing remained but a single man and the things he himself had managed to record during his short stay with them. He was glad now that he’d brought the visual and audio recording devices with him, allowing him to capture ceremonies and rites that now would never be seen in the galaxy again.

Remembering one of their more beautiful ceremonies, Bel-San lost himself in the memory, ignoring Payter’s presence for a moment. They’d waited until midnight, standing in the dense heat of the jungle as the first rain of the new day began, drenching them and coloring the light from the night moon a dark grey. The men from the tribe circled around them, dancing in the downpour, welcoming the turn of their year and the beginning of the rains. They’d celebrated until dawn, lost in the fervor of the ceremony and the joy of a new season.

Seph had taken him aside as dawn neared, the pale pink light of the sun just peeking through the dense foliage. They sat together on the limb of one of the great trees, shoulder to shoulder and watched the sunrise as the celebrations continued below them. The watchman for the tribe spent the silent time pointing out different insects and small animals waking for the new day.

As the rains stopped, Seph had turned to him. “Is your home like this?” The tribesmen hadn’t asked him much of his home. It seemed to suffice most of them that he was from far off, but Seph had always been more curious than the rest.

Bel-San had shaken his head, small droplets of water flying from his beaded hair. “Not at all. Great buildings rise from our ground, not trees.”

“What of your forests?” A frown had crossed Seph’s face as he tried to imagine Bel-San’s words.

“They’re long since gone. We’ve replanted some of them, in my home many gardens are part of the building, but it is nothing like here.”

Seph had been quiet for a long time. “I don’t know how you can live in a place with no trees.”

“Bel-San?” Payter leaned forward, breaking him from his memory. His friend looked concerned and he realized he’d been lost in his own thoughts for several minutes at least.

“He’s going to hate it here.” He sighed. “Maybe we can find another planet for him, somewhere that will take him in. If he’ll go.”

Payter gave no answer and it caused Bel-San to look at him, seeing there was more the other man had to tell him, something he’d been holding back. It was difficult imagining what could be worse, what more Payter could tell him that would cause the pained look in his friend’s eyes. “Maybe when you’re a little better I could take you to see Seph.”

“Take me to see him? Why can’t he come here?” The answer was obvious, but he was hurt enough and angry enough at life in general to make Payter say it, to make his friend tell him the news instead of just allowing him to infer it.

The other Knight seemed to recognize Bel-San’s intent, and his expression tightened. “When they were trying to get you away, there was an accident. The bomb that had been attached to you was sonic, and it went off too close to Seph. You and Qui-Gon were mostly safe because of distance, but he was almost on top of it. The healers have tried, for days they have, everything they know and developed some new procedures in the process, but they couldn’t help. His eardrums were utterly destroyed during the explosion and the damage was so extensive they can’t even repair it enough to offer implants. Seph will never hear again.”

***

Bel-San stared at the ceiling, grateful that Payter had finally left. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate his friend’s company, especially when no one else he knew appeared able to come and see him, but he wanted to be alone. He had so many things to take in, to believe as real and as having happened, and he couldn’t do it with the great hulking wolf man sitting at his shoulder with an expression caught halfway between concern and impatience.

Payter had never been all that good at bedside manners.

It was difficult believing everything Payter had said was true. At moments he still didn’t even trust that this was real, that he was in the Temple surrounded by people who didn’t want him dead. To think that an entire society of people had been wiped away in the time it had taken him to regain consciousness was unbelievable. Fury ripped through him and he forced himself to release it. He could do nothing now, and the anger would only cripple him. Still, he found it difficult to understand how the Senate could allow something of this magnitude to happen. It wasn’t as though they hadn’t known of the possibility, or had the means to stop it. Instead something that could never be replaced was lost to them, and would now only be studied by students dedicated to extinct cultures.

It was such an utter waste, and it seemed like an apt analogy for his life at times.

And then there was Seph. He couldn’t imagine the nightmare that for him was just beginning. He had nowhere left to go; the Upanis had taken his home, his family, his way of life and his hearing. For the watchman of his tribe, it would be heartbreaking for the younger man, the loss of a sense that had helped to keep his people safe from dangers was now out of his reach.

He could imagine Seph, shuffled off to some room, kept warm and dry and completely out of touch from everything he’d ever known and distant from the one form of surroundings he was used to. Bel-San doubted anyone in the infirmary would have been quick enough to think of taking Seph to sit in one of the gardens. They would be a pale comparison of the thick jungles he’d spent all of his life, but they had to be better than the lifeless rooms of the infirmary.

Seph would have to be frightened. To be in a strange place surrounded by strangers and unable to even hear them speak, Bel-San knew some of what his friend might be feeling. He could almost picture the man who had become his friend over the past few months huddled in the corner of a room, dying slowly by inches not because of his health but because he was cut off from living things.

The image, once conjured, implanted itself into his thoughts, haunting him until he could no longer stand it. Bel-San sat up slowly, careful of the things the Healers still had attached to him and allowing his head time to adjust to his movements. He surveyed his room and the line that was attached to his arm for only a moment before he pulled it out, heedless of the fresh pain. It was weak and paltry to the unending agony of the past several days. Pushing himself up, he moved as quickly as he dared, balancing the time he would have before the healers descended on him and his own health. It took several moments, more than he wanted to spare, for him to finally reach his feet and once there, he was uncertain that he would actually be able to carry out his plan.

Drawing a breath and pulling on the Force, rejoicing briefly in the feel of it flowing unimpeded through him for the first time in too long, Bel-San steadied himself and used the added support to move from the room and into the hallway. Payter had been more than informative about Seph’s condition and where he was being kept and Bel-San relied on that information as he moved, quickly tracking the other man’s presence. It took him only moments to locate the lonely yet familiar sense in the Force at the far end of the hallway.

Running a hand along the wall for support, he made his way down the hall, each step a jarring agony, but he didn’t care. The pain had become so much a part of his existence that he could push past it, accept it as part of himself and move one. He now had a mission of the highest importance. He needed to see Seph, to know that he was whole, if not well, to let the other man know he was there and was prepared to do whatever he could to help.

Luck was with him in that Seph was not far away, and he encountered no Healers on his short and highly ill advised journey. In a room not far from his own, Bel-San could feel misery radiating through the closed door out into the hallway. How any healer worth their title could walk by the door and not feel compelled to help the man on the other side baffled Bel-San. He pressed the release for the door and stepped inside, instantly saddened that Seph didn’t turn at the sound of his entrance.

Seph was tucked in the farthest corner of the room, his back to the door and his shoulders slumped in defeat. His friend looked smaller than he was, wrapped in borrowed clothes a size too large and of a make that did not sit properly on a man who’d spent much of is life wearing clothes he’d made himself. It took Bel-San’s breath from him in sorrow and he stood silently watching the still form for a long moment, trying to collect himself. When he was able, he crossed the room and collapsed at Seph’s side.

The Sentili jumped at the movement, his head snapping around and his arms were raised in a defensive posture. Only a second later, Seph dropped his arms, his eyes widening as he recognized Bel-San. He opened his mouth to speak, but shut it before he could say anything, waves of misery washing out from him.

Reaching out, Bel-San clasped Seph’s hand in his own and brought it to his chest, concerned at the cold fingers from a man who’s touch had been called the warmest of the tribe. He rubbed the cold fingers in his hands, trying to bring some heat to them before gathering the Force to him, trying to find a way to communicate his sorrow and his support.

While he’s been close with Seph, the young tribesmen had been one of the first to befriend him when he arrived on Was-4, Bel-San wasn’t entirely certain he would be able to form any sort of bond with him at all. It wasn’t unheard of for Jedi to be able to speak with non-Force sensitives, but it was difficult. Stretching himself until his head ached and he thought the Force would flare out from him, scorching them both, he gently touched the other man’s thoughts, trying to gain a connection firm enough to allow speech.

:Seph?:

Eyes flashing wide, Seph reared back. “What magic?” His words were too loud and strained, as though Seph hoped he could hear his own voice if he only spoke loud enough.

:No magic, only the Force.: He watched as Seph relaxed slightly, leaning into his touch and Bel-San was certain that no one had taken to time to see to his friend. :Are you well?:

Seph shook his head, his eyes bright as they looked away from Bel-San. “I can’t hear them, Sani.”

Bel-San swallowed. :Have the Healers…haven’t they told you? Your ears—:

Cutting him off with a sharp shake of his head Seph made a sound of low pain. “No, here,” he brought his fist to his chest, to rest at his heart. “My people, I cannot hear them here.”

TBC