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SURVIVAL

by: Skye

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Part 2

Obi-Wan stood shivering in the sterile confines of the medical unit. Qui-Gon was tucked into a monitored transport as the medical droids hovered over him. The younger Jedi stood back, knowing what his next responsibility was. The council needed the report on what had transpired here, for the impact across the Republic from today's events would be great. The defeat of the Neimoidian invasion would create political ripples that would disrupt the smooth surface of the Senate's pond for some time to come. The report of the Sith involvement would do far more to the Jedi council, as would the grim news of the cost of the Sith's defeat.

He hesitated only briefly before punching in the code that would connect him with the Jedi Temple on Coruscant. Using the power of his master's name, he quickly threaded his way through the various levels until he was speaking to Mace Windu himself.

The dark face clouded as he realized he was speaking to an apprentice rather than his old friend Qui-Gon Jinn.

"Obi-Wan," he nodded. It was both greeting and question at the same time.

Obi-Wan swallowed hard against the knot in his stomach and the tightness of his throat. "Master Windu. I wish to report that the situation on Naboo has been brought to a satisfactory conclusion. The Federation occupation of Naboo has been ended, and a satisfactory trade agreement has been signed by both Queen Amidala and the Neimiodian Viceroy.

Windu's eyebrows rose at this, and he turned slightly to look down at his side. Obi-Wan had little doubt that Master Yoda was standing by his knee. The scanner backed up a bit, revealing Yoda's bug eyes and wide eartips in the bottom of the viewscreen.

By the Viceroy this was signed? Pleased he is?"

"I doubt it, Master, but Queen Amidala is most satisfied by the outcome."

"The dark attacker. What of him."

The memory of Qui-Gon battling the Sith with such speed and skill surged forward, as did the memory of the red blade punching through the back of his tunic, of his master's knees folding in shock, of him collapsing to the floor-- Obi-Wan struggled to draw a breath as his chest constricted at the pain.

"He has been defeated, Master Windu," Obi-Wan managed to get out. It sounded almost normal, he noted absently. Such a simple sentence. Such a horrible truth behind it.

"Hmmm. Much sorrow do I feel in you," Yoda commented softly. "Bad news you bring. The disturbance in the Force we have felt." Yoda's ears lowered as though he already knew the answer. "Why speaking to us are you, instead of Master Qui-Gon."

This time his voice did fail him. Somehow saying the words in this official report to the council made Qui-Gon's death a reality. A second deep breath failed, but on the third try he heard the words as though someone else was speaking. "Master Qui-Gon was gravely injured by the Sith." Windu's eyes widened, then his gaze unfocused as he searched through the Force for some trace of his old friend, unable to wait for this apprentice to choke out the painful words.'

"He lives." he breathed, "but only just."

Obi-Wan nodded. "The wound is quite severe. They are tending him here as best they can."

"Is the situation on Naboo stable?"

"Yes, Master."

"Is your presence of any assistance to Queen Amidala?"

"I do not believe so, Master. I prefer to stay with Master Qui-Gon in any case, and she understands this."

"Is the care on Naboo satisfactory?"

"They are still in a state of disorder here, Master. They are doing what they can for him, but the medical droids feel that he will need great care and treatment.."

"Which they cannot provide for him at this critical time."

"No, Master. They are doing all they can, but there are so many others injured. They have kept him from dying.."

"So far," Windu finished for him. "Then if he has a chance of surviving the journey, bring him home," Windu ordered. "With all possible speed. I will make the arrangements."

"Yes, Master." Obi-Wan bowed, expecting the communication to end, but Windu unexpectedly leaned forward and caught his gaze. "What happened?

"The Sith had a quarterstaff -- a double-bladed lightsaber. He.it." Obi-Wan choked at the memory, words failing him. "The blade went completely through his chest-"

"Bring him home, young Jedi," Mace Windu ordered firmly. "With all haste. We will be ready."

The comlink chimed off, and Obi-Wan turned away from the comscreen on the wall and redirected his attention back to his Master, and the medical personnel.

"We're going to take him back to Coruscant," Obi-Wan said softly, looking down at the colorless face of his friend. "He'll have better care there."

Slowly Obi-Wan leaned over the transport on which Qui-Gon lay. "Master? Did you hear? All is well on Naboo. The mission has been fulfilled, and Master Windu has called us home to Coruscant. There will be healers waiting for us, and they'll take care of everything. We'll be there very soon."

The companel chimed and glowed to life again. "Jedi Kenobi? We have orders to take you back to Coruscant on the Queen's personal ship. We will be ready for takeoff within a few minutes. Would you and the others travelling with you like to board now?"

"We'll be there," he answered, then turned back to Qui-Gon. "See, Master? The fastest ship here is waiting to take us home right now." He reached out impulsively to stroke the hair away from the colorless face, to feel some life in him, some connection through the Force, no matter how faint. It was there, tiny but glowing within him like the final spark in a fire slowly burning away. The skin was cool and damp beneath his fingers as well. "You know how fast that little Nubian ship is. You're the one that got the hyperdrive for it, and it was a good one. We're going to run her wide open and we'll see just how fast she really is. She'll do the job, Master. I installed that hyperdrive and it's tuned and balanced and ready to streak"

There was no response. No that he'd expected one, but his heart was hoping, Obi-Wan realized. He straightened, then waived the medical droids back.

"Come on, let's get him up there." The transport was thumbed on, and it rose with a whine of servos to hover over the floor, ready to move when asked.

"We'll have you home in a few hours, Qui-Gon. Less if I can get them to really push it."

"We'll push it," a voice from the Comscreen answered. Obi-wan whirled to face it, startled by the new voice.

"I thought I broke that link."

"I got it back," replied Rik Olie', the Queen's pilot. "You get up here with Master Qui-Gon, and I'll show you just how fast this baby can fly. If anyone can make this silver bird take wing, it's me."

Hope surged in Obi-Wan, who swung the transport toward the door, toward the ship and toward home.

The transport was swiftly stowed inside the transport ship and locked securely into restraining clamps against the wall, lest it shift during their steep ascent. Rik Olie', true to his word, poured the power to this sleek craft and sent it rocketing skyward with unusual violence, sending a startled Obi-Wan reeling toward the nearest seat as the ship stabbed its way through the atmosphere. Once out into space, the pilot sent it leaping into hyperdrive within seconds of clearing the planet.

"Sorry about the rough ride," he called back to Obi-Wan, "But I figured the faster the better."

"Your haste is greatly appreciated."

The trip settled into a blur of anxiety as the craft efficiently did exactly what it was designed to do. There was nothing Obi-Wan could to but stand next to his master, watching the colorless face and the slight, erratic rise and fall of the chest. They had stripped away the Jedi tunic and shirt while under the planet's care, pasting quick covering over the wounds themselves, front and back. The odor of burning still clung to Qui-Gon, simultaneously nauseating and frightening. Obi-Wan had been through training with the lightsaber, was well trained in its use and the disciplines of fighting with one and was more than proficient with it. He had even been in a few battles that demanded expert use of the lightsaber, but it was seldom against a person. Droids, yes. They spark when struck by the glowing blade of a lightsaber. Some explode. They smell of ruined electronics and hot metal. But this was the first experience he had had with the lightsaber against yielding, vulnerable flesh. The results made him gag. He'd never thought of the wounds these weapons inflicted in terms of burns, but that is exactly what they were. Horrible burns with tissue vaporized and scorched in blackened, puckered destruction where there was previously whole and smooth skin. Oh, he'd been witness to the accident when Dors and Quigga were sparring, but that was a quick, superficial slice. A graze, mostly, and easily tended. It wasn't the deep, penetrating superheating of tissues as Qui-Gon's wounds were. This was something his mind had never considered and it was horrible.

Horrible. Just like the hole in Qui-Gon's chest. Black, ugly, weeping and big enough to admit two fingers without touching the sides. Surely those at the Jedi temple have seen injuries like this before? Surely they knew how to heal these. They had to. Elsewise, how would Qui-Gon live?

Hurry, he silently urged Rik Olie' and this clever ship. Hurry. Bending over his master, he indulged in another touch, smoothing Qui-Gon's hair. It was mussed now, first by the fight, then by being mauled by those seeking to help him. Qui-Gon never looked less than groomed; it looked so wrong, those loose, disorganized hairs. Obi-Won combed his fingers through the tangled strands, restoring them as he could.

The skin, where fingers touched his teacher's cheek, was now cold.

As they neared Coruscant, Obi-Won began to feel uneasy. The Force around him took on an uncomfortable sense to it, like an electrical hum felt, but beneath hearing. Something was not right. Closing his eyes, he centered himself within the Force, then reached to find the source of the growing problem.

The answer was swift in coming. Qui-Gon was the source. Or more specifically, Qui-Gon's pain.

Qui-Gon was not responsive. He wasn't moving, wasn't speaking. He seemed completely unconscious to the casual observer, but the Force around him vibrated with pain, sucking it up and letting the distress circle him like bits of broken glass in a stormwind. Obi-wan reached out to rub his master's shoulder gently, hoping somehow that contact could reassure, could offer some slight comfort. His touch was rewarded with a backlash of overwhelming pain and despair.

"Master?" Qui-Gon?"

The form under his hand shifted slightly, and the shoulder trembled at his touch. The moan he heard was only in his mind, but the agony behind it was building rapidly. There was no question of it; Qui-Gon was regaining consciousness, and it was not pleasant. There was a slight shift in the Force around Obi-Wan, and the sparkling explosions of agony quivered, then dimmed slightly as Qui-Gon fought for control with the habit of his years as a Jedi. It wasn't much, however.

"Qui-Gon, don't. Don't even try," Obi-Wan soothed softly. "Don't spend your energy on shielding. Let me help." This time the whimper was almost audible, and the trembling increased.

Obi-wan stepped away to look up the passageway toward where the pilot urged his sleek craft to her finest flight. "How far out are we?"

"Gimme ten more clicks and we're there. You said they would meet us at the Jedi Temple?"

"Yes, they said they'd set everything up."

"We're almost on top of them," he replied. "We're nearly entering the atmosphere now. I'll let them know we're coming in so they can be ready for us."

Obi-Wan sent a sigh of relief and gratitude to his pilot through the Force, completely forgetting that Rik couldn't feel it. "We're home, Master. Almost home. They'll help when we get there. Please.." The plea trailed off in the frantic hopelessness of the moment. He couldn't help, couldn't block the pain. Not even through the Force. He was too tired to be successful, and in truth, he wasn't strong enough for this massive effort on his best day. This was almost worse than what Qui-Gon had suffered on the floor of the melting pit. He was dying, yes, but at least he wasn't suffering like this.

Obi-wan felt new tears on his cheek and angrily swiped them away. "Sleep, Master," he crooned softly, trying to focus enough to influence that strong mind. "Sleep." It was less a command than a plea, begging Qui-Gon to return to the painless oblivion that had frightened him so badly only minutes before. The ship jerked beneath them, slowing as they entered Coruscant's atmosphere, barging into the line of ships travelling the magnetic lines.

"We're here and they're there," Rik Olie' yelled from the pilot's seat. "Coming down now. How's he doing?"

"He's approaching consciousness and he's in serious pain."

"They look - whoa, they've got half a medical unit waiting on the platform. They're ready for him, and we're.." He trailed off as the hiss of pneumonics heralded the extension of the landing gear, to be drowned out by the low growl of repulsors firing. The soft rock and thump of landing made their arrival on Coruscant official.

"We're here. Landing gantry down. Get unlocked and get him down there, kid."

"Thank you," Obi-wan gasped, hands flying to release the locks securing the transport. It was vibrating with the increasing violence of the Jedi Master's trembling, making the task more difficult. As he got it released and thumbed the transport into activity, the sound of boots running up the gantry reached him.

"Obi-Wan?" called a deep voice.

"In here. We're coming."

Obi-Wan was startled to see Mace Windu striding toward him. His face was not its usual serene, expressionless mask; now it was concerned, eyes dark, brow furrowed in anxiety as he reached them. He gasped, reeling back a step as the vibrations through the Force hit him. Eyes narrowed as he stepped into the cabin. "They've done nothing for his pain," he growled angrily, all but pushing Obi-Wan aside to bend over the trembling form on the transport.

"Qui-Gon, be still. Be still," his deep voice soothed. "Let me help." He reached out to rest one hand gently on the crown of Qui-Gon's head, the other large hand was centered on his chest, long fingers splayed across the horrible wound. "Sleep," he crooned softly but firmly. "Sleep, Qui-Gon." There was a moment where the rattling of the vibrating transport continued, then Qui-Gon sighed. The nervous, thin rattle stopped.

Obi-Wan's heart contracted in fear, in a painful throb that he'd experienced already this day. "Is he."

"Dead? No. Not quite. He's sleeping." Their eyes met for a moment, and Obi-Wan was startled by the anger he saw in those dark depths. "I had to do something. The pain was unbearable." They both stood still for a moment, panting in the almost painful relief that followed in the wake of the agony stilled. "How long has he been like that?" Windu demanded.

The last few minutes. "

They sent no medical personnel with him? No medications?"

"They had no one to spare, Master. And I don't believe.. I don't believe they saw any need for further assistance." The words unspoken hung in the air between them. Why waste medical resources on one already dead, even if it is a Jedi. There were living on that planet whose people needed care. Their freedom fighters deserved Naboo's best.

Other's boarded the ship, and Qui-Gon was hustled away, with the Master and the Padewan following closely.

"What care did they give him?"

"They gave me a readout," he offered, handing the information to the Master. "The only think I really know about is cooling the wound. The droid said his lungs were damaged, and that the damage was continuing from the residual heat of the burn."

"Hmmm," was Windu's reply as he quickly scanned the printout. Looking up, he realized that they were alone on the ship as the others clattered down the landing ramp. "They're taking him to the medical unit."

"I want to stay with him," Obi-Wan heard himself demand. His voice was high and thin, and it quivered with emotion that threatened tears, like an overtired child being left in a nursery.

"I do too," Windu replied gently, sending a touch of compassion to accompany the words. "Best you stretch those legs, apprentice. We'll need to hurry."

They charged down the corridor, barely slowing to send earnest thanks to pilot Rik Olie' who waved and called encouragement behind them. Obi-wan and Olie' had become friends that night the spent together on the Nubian transport while the sandstorm howled outside. How good a friend had just been proven.

They thundered down the gantry stride for stride, then scrambled wildly to stop their downward charge, jumping off either side of the ramp in their frantic efforts not to trample Yoda, who waited at the foot. The small Jedi master watched their efforts with benign grace, assured that they would never tread on him -- or never live down the disgrace of trampling an 800-year-old and most revered master.

"Will help you not," he advised them in his strange, gravelly voice. "Will help HIM not."

"Master Yoda, I apologize," gasped Obi-Wan, having recovered both balance and composure, returning to stand before the master.

The blue ears drooped slightly, and the saddened gaze rose to meet Obi-Wan's. "Difficult, this is for you. Saddened we all are, to lose Qui-Gon Jinn."

"But he's not dead," Obi-Wan protested instantly. "He's-" Aware suddenly of the Force that surrounded Yoda, Obi-wan choked." "He isn't, is he? Did he die?"

"Die, yes. Saw this, you did. Were with him. Held him."

Windu turned to stare first at the apprentice, then his fellow council member. He wasted no time asking questions, but closed his eyes and slid into the force, seeking the vibration of his friend. It wasn't there. It wasn't.. Ah, there. There! It was faint, and thin, barely there at all, but it was there!"

'Yes," Obi-Wan answered. The pain that surged upward with that memory escaped his control. New tears filled his eyes and threatened embarrassing escape down his cheeks. "He died. But he came back. The droid got him back . He's trying to stay."

"Strong his spirit. But weak the Force within him now," Yoda sighed sadly.

"Is he going to die, Master Yoda?" Obi-Wan nearly choked trying to force the words out, but if Master Yoda knew, he wanted to know now as well. The fearful waiting was unbearable.

"Difficult to see is his future. Fluid, the future is. Can change with each moment. Too delicate is the balance to be sure."

"Then he might live," answered Obi-Wan eagerly.

"Might. Might not."

"We're going to the medical unit," Windu informed Yoda, cutting the grim and convoluted conversation short. Reaching back, he grabbed Obi-Wan's robe at the shoulder, and towed him off the ramp as he strode into the temple.

Windu's legs were nearly as long as Master Qui-Gon's, and he strode through the hallways with an urgency that lent speed to his stride. Obi-Wan nearly trotted to keep up with him, but there were no complaints; his urgency was no less.

"Tell me what happened."

Obi-Wan was slow to hear the growled demand, focused as he was on that thin thread of his master's energy.

"Happened?"

"Yes. What happened. Qui-Gon is the finest swordsman of the Jedi. How did this happen?"

Startled, Obi-Wan's pace faltered for a stride, and Windu checked a stride, waiting for his answer.

"That startles you? Surely you knew of your master's standing among the Jedi."

"I knew he was a respected master, and that he was - IS -- a very fine teacher. But I had no idea he was the best."

Windu nodded, more at memories than Obi-Wan's comment. "He is the most skilled among us with a lightsaber. The best in 400 years. You are fortunate to study under him." The older man glanced back at the stunned apprentice. "He praises your skill highly, Padewan."

That was also a surprise to Obi-wan.

"So tell me, who could get inside his guard so completely as to pierce his heart?"

"The Sith.that creature with the horns and the red and black face."

"It was a Sith?" he asked sharply.

"It had to be. He was better than most Jedi. As good as Qui-Gon, I think. He knew the layout of the ship. He separated us. He used a lightstaff. It was hard to fight, hard to defend against, because everything was either very high or very low and as he swung at one of us, the other end swung out to block from the other side. We just couldn't close with him. Qui-Gon was beating him, though. He was winning against him, but.... It went right through his chest. I could see it glowing where it came out of his back and I couldn't get past the laser gate to reach him-" Obi-Wan's voice choked off as he relived the events of his Master's death. The telling of the event was little more than disjointed sentences, but the horrific memories were so vivid Obi-Wan knew that Mace Windu was seeing them as well. Words were unnecessary.

"Here," Windu skidded to a halt near an open door, and grabbed Obi-Wan's robes again, towing him into the room.

Those assembled turned, then gave them their attention, acknowledging the council chair's rank among them. The medical personnel were easily identified. They were healers employed by the Jedi, but not Jedi themselves. Therefore, they stood out as starkly within the Jedi tower as the Jedi did in the worlds outside.

"What can you tell us?" Windu demanded.

The healers nodded deferentially, acknowledging Windu's high rank, but their expressions remained closed.

"He lives, but that is a courtesy only. The damage is extensive and severe. Circulation is severely compromised. Tissue must be regenerated, organs cloned.it will not be easy. Nor can we guarantee a successful outcome."

"How long before you know?"

"Two days, perhaps three. Perhaps more. We cannot give you absolutes at this point. We still need to find out the extent of the wounds. It may be a fairly lengthy process. Or our work here may be very short indeed," he concluded grimly, casting another glance back as his patient.

"We offer our support." Windu spoke for the Jedi as a whole.

The entire resources of the Jedi Knights had just been offered in exchange for this life. Obi-Wan was stunned, and grateful.

The medical personnel inclined their heads graciously. "He has no strength of his own. The demands will be great."

"That doesn't matter," Obi-wan burst out. "Whatever he needs is his."

Mace moved to rest one large hand on the overwrought apprentice's shoulder. "Whatever he needs," he echoed softly.

~TBC~