.                      Bonds of Choice #17
                  Star Wars: TPM FanFic Series
                         by HiperBunny
                        (message 5 of 5)
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++


Obi-Wan rolled out of bed in a much-rested, highly energetic mood.  He
fired up his dataset and began flipping through his messages.  One caught
his attention immediately and he opened it first.  It was from the Temple,
but from an unknown designation.

Padawan Kenobi,

Though you are far from being a full member of the Group, I must at this
time put you to work.  The information you sent to me regarding the
possible situation we discussed has confirmed suspicions long held by
myself and others who were researching said situation.  I have been unable
to contact our operative and must assume the worst.

DO NOT GO INTO THE AREAS IN QUESTION.

I leave it to your intelligence and unquestionable training to select the
beings who will be given the task which must be done.  The lives of Jedi
depend upon it.  Attached here is a coded credit float and a set of
instructions that MUST be delivered to the starship 'Millennium Falcon' and
its owner, Merane Solo.  Failing that, her son, Han Solo must be found and
given these instructions.  If you are not familiar with the song 'The Man
who Sold the World', seek it out through whatever channels available to you
and give it to your operatives as their security code.  The Solos will
recognize it.

DO NOT ALLOW YOUR SHEPHERD TO DISCOVER THIS ASSIGNMENT.

Do what you can to speed your return to Coruscant.  I will need you here
within the week, if at all possible.  The reasons behind your hasty
departure shall be resolved within the next 24 hours. You will be most
welcome at any point after that, and much needed unless I am quite
mistaken.

Swederantari Bvroukala has passed his Trials with flying colors.  A gift
would not be inappropriate.  Related news: Jayden Hunter has been made a
Master of the Order.  Let it also be known to you that your master still
can't carry a tune in a bucket after he is drunk, and remains unaware of
this fact.  Do not tease him on this regard, as it is a closely guarded
secret of the Group.

You are officially named a full operative for the duration of your mission
and are recorded as being in a hostile environment in the Order records.

The Judicial Darkbird

Obi-Wan sat back and let out a gusty sigh.  Skies above!  This could be no
less than marching orders from Master Crowe, and urgent ones at that. 
Obi-Wan transferred the attached files to his lightslate and went to rouse
Scratch.

To his surprise, the door to the pilots' quarters was standing open.  They
were laying in a companionable tangle made of sheets, ferrets and their own
lean, naked bodies.  Obi-Wan hated to disturb them, then pushed that
compunction roughly aside.  Duty.  Justice.  Life and death.  "Pilot
Scratch?"

The darker head moved a little.

"WAKE UP!"

Both bodies sat bolt upright in their bed.  "Wassat?  Whowhich?"  They
urgently inquired.

"Pilot Scratch, the Jedi call you into service," Obi-Wan intoned.  This
traditional phrase for conscripting a civilian might not be known to these
men, but Obi-Wan found comfort in its utterance.

"Can it wait till breakfast?" Scratch mumbled, fumbling for his glasses.

"Depends on if you're willing to sacrifice the lives of those who will die
in Eab Nanoorn between here and there," Obi-Wan drawled.

That, apparently, was enough for Nate.  He shoved Scratch out of their warm
nest and towards his clothes.  Muttering curses, Scratch got into them and
followed Obi-Wan off the Bereak.

Obi-Wan began talking before they have reached the speeder.  He knew he
would have to repeat himself, but that was the point.  He wanted his
companion to know that the Jedi held the key and only through him would it
be gotten.  *Make yourself the only stone in sinking sand, Padawan.  Then
the drowning will come to YOU.*  Qui-Gon's voice rang out clearly in his
mind, even as he pointed Scratch into the passenger's seat.  Hard on its
heels was another Jinn tidbit.  *Never chase the bid.  Needful buyers do
not make the price.*

"Okay, so ... what?" Scratch finally asked, admitting to needing a repeat.

Obi-Wan began again, in the most even and patient of tones, as if he were
accustomed to repeating complicated instructions to thickheaded civilians. 
As if he could continue to do so on into infinity, should the situation
require it.  "We are going to Grangers.  I will need two of our friends
from last night.  They well go out, today, no later than noon, one to Eab
Nanoorn, one to Ero Phelian.  There, they will seek out a certain ship and
a certain member of the crew and deliver a message and a payment.  Then
they will turn tail and run back to the safest port they can find and
forget they ever heard of us for a couple of weeks.  They will not return
to the safe port until they have succeeded, heard word that their
counterpart has, or have died.  They will be given a code to use, a
particular song that will be recognized by their targets.  If their
counterpart has succeeded, we will contact them through one channel or
another and use this song to signal the end of their mission.  Got that?"

Scratch nodded uncertainly.

"Tell me if you don't, because you need to understand.  You have to
translate all this for me, accurately.  Lives depend upon it."

Scratch nodded again, more firmly this time. 

"Okay, so now we pick our messengers.  Of all those we spoke to last night,
who would you choose to take Nate, Duran and Myrkit into Eab Nanoorn and
back out again?"  Obi-Wan pulled into a spot in front of the bar and
powered the speeder down.

"Lokelu and Serejon," Scratch replied without hesitation.

"Then that's who we want.  Arrange for it while I make a couple of
inquiries," Obi-Wan nodded towards the door.

Scratch got out and strode towards the bar without looking back.  Obi-Wan
got out and went in search of a banking source.

He found what he was looking for sandwiched between two busy shops.  He
fumbled in his bag and came up with his allocations card.  *Lrakin Rilka,
I'm putting you up for honors as soon as I get back,* he swore, inserting
the plastic into the reader.  He pressed his thumb to the plate and waited
for clearance.

A transaction inquiry blinked patiently on the screen and he dredged up
ideas from his master's past dealings with this sort of situation.  After a
moment's hesitation, he entered a request for hard chips.  Easy,
untraceable, not reliant on a moneychanger as long as they stayed in
republic space, which they were scheduled to do.  The amount was something
more of a problem.  

*Okay, lemme think here,* he stuck the side of his thumb in his mouth and
chewed carefully. The last time he'd been smuggled, Qui-Gon had paid quite
the hefty sum to a pilot for his services.  Obi-Wan took that amount and
halved it.  That was a reasonable price for extraction, but ... okay, half
again.  The sum was still on the biggish side, so Obi-Wan set his mind to
calculating expenses for a ship and pilot, say two weeks in hostile
territory, plus a bit for hazard pay and struck a balance.  It looked like
a sizable number, so he halved one last time and called it a fair deal. 
This now, plus the same again on completion.  He nodded and entered the sum
for both messengers.  The credit chips popped out in a thick stack, still
warm from the coding.  Obi-Wan stuffed them in his bag, retrieved his card
and headed for Granger's.

Scratch was nursing a drink at a table when he entered.  Obi-Wan sat down
and Granger brought him one to match.  The barkeep looked at him for a long
moment, then planted his hands on his meaty hips.  "Vu ketu kep hende du
Pilots.  Obi-Wan Jedi kinter du Granger."

Scratch cleared his throat and said "He says ... "

"I got it," Obi-Wan said.  "How do I tell him I wish I could do more?"

Scratch tossed his hair back and muttered "Vu secunde usenten.  Usenten
perful toka sufis."

"What does that mean, exactly?"  Obi-Wan pressed.

"You same as me.  Me wish was sufficient," Scratch shrugged.  "It's not an
exact language."

Obi-Wan nodded and repeated the words to Granger.  The barkeep snorted and
returned to his work.  Obi-Wan sighed heavily and sipped from his drink. 
Whatever Granger's bar lacked in sanitation, it made up for in its wares. 
"How long do you think they'll be?" he asked.

"They said they were on their way, but ... " Scratch shrugged once more.

Obi-Wan returned to his rich beverage and kept one eye on the door.  Before
too long a pair of familiar faces came in.  Granger pointed them towards
Obi-Wan's table and they took their seats.

Scratch laid the plan out for them, checking and rechecking details with
Obi-Wan as he went.  The messengers looked more and more doubtful as he
continued, and had plenty of questions when Scratch had finished.  "They
want to know what you know."

"Not gonna happen," Obi-Wan replied, to hide his own ignorance.

Scratch relayed that, which seemed to alarm the smugglers.  "Okay, what can
you do to help them?"

"Not a damn thing.  If I could do anything myself, I'd go get my own ship
and head out.  They're better equipped for this than me," Obi-Wan leaned
back in the chair.  "This isn't official work.  The Senate would bust a
seam if they heard about this.  Our hands are tied."

Scratch relaxed at that and relayed the information.  The smugglers
similarly relaxed.  "Okay, so ... where's the message?"

Obi-Wan handed them their datachips and asked if they could sing.  They
snorted, nearing laughter, then saw he was serious.  Obi-Wan taught them
their code as best he could, hoped it would be good enough for their
purposes.  When they were passable, for their purposes, Obi-Wan said as
much.  They glanced at Scratch, then glanced at Obi-Wan, then stood to go.

Obi-Wan held up his hand, saying "Wait."

They turned back to him.  "I can do this much for you ... " he offered,
putting the credit chips on the table in equal stacks.  "Half as much
again, when you're done.  That's the only thing you can contact me for."

They quickly disappeared into pouches and pockets, and the pair made a
hasty retreat to the door.

Scratch's eyes were wide with shock.  "Where the hell ... how the fuck ...
"

Obi-Wan gave him 'inscrutable' again and headed back to the speeder.  "If
Trydal asks where we went this morning, feel free to act like you're hiding
something.  If you dare tell him what's up, I'll know.  And I'll know I
can't trust you," Obi-Wan informed him.

"He doesn't KNOW?" Scratch demanded.

"Good question," Obi-Wan smiled.

"Kentu kep tara du Jedi," Scratch grumbled.

"What under the skies does that mean?" Obi-Wan demanded.

"Bringing big troubles of Jedi," Scratch admitted.

Obi-Wan laughed.

"Why do you Jedi say 'skies' all the time?" Scratch asked in return.

That brought Obi-Wan up short.  "Well ... I don't know.  It's just ... like
an all-purpose swear, I guess."

"Skies??" Scratch demanded.

Obi-Wan laughed.  "Well, we don't have anything else to swear by, do we?"

"What about the Force?  I mean ... that's important to you Jedi, isn't it?"

Obi-Wan snorted.  "You won't hear me doing it.  When a Jedi starts making
oaths by the Force, it tends to pay attention.  We don't use it unless we
mean it."

Scratch shook his head.  "And my mamma told me Jedi didn't *do*
superstitions."

Obi-Wan let that go.  It wasn't anything the spacer would really
understand, anyway.

************  

The party had lasted long enough to let Kourt sober up while everyone else
just wanted to sleep.  Good.  He'd done without sleep often enough that he
could do his work at this late hour of the night/early hour of the morning
and know he would be undisturbed.  He walked the corridors to the Oubliette
in total darkness, following his guts towards the Dark Jedi held prisoner
there.

Dark Jedi.  *Now there's a term to set your hair on end.*  

Rue Torlamin had come out of her rooms on the Fortnight Gannet as nothing
more than your garden variety Dark Jedi.  Kourt had quickly taken her into
solitary on that day, thrown everyone out of the holding area and begun a
process that he knew hadn't been used in near a thousand years.  Master
Sarafel had taught it to him almost a hundred years ago and he'd put it
into the category of 'interesting but useless information'.  That,
apparently, had been wishful thinking.  He remembered the conversation he'd
had with her that day, the bleak horror he'd felt at realizing what it was
he was learning.  Moreover, he remembered Sarafel's words when he voiced
his objections.

"Do you think there are any, anyone at all, who could simply kill another
Jedi?  Just, outright, cold blood, kill them?  It has been a mercy to the
Order that those who HAVE turned lately ended up dying in battle.  That we
can handle, killing in defense of others.  But execution?  It's simply not
an option," she had assured him.

And at that point, he'd believed she was wrong, flatly wrong.  He'd said "I
kill all the time.  I'm an assassin, for skies' sake!  It's what I do
best!"

She'd shook her head sadly, and taken his hand.  "Your targets are always
strangers, always enemies, always those who are totally unredeemable.  A
Dark Jedi is all of those things, but they will wear the face of a friend."

With that, she let the subject drop and never discussed it again.  Kourt
had continued to think on it, over the years.  Then he'd actually met it.

Almost six months ago, the Council had called him into their chambers. 
Called him *off* a mission to come and speak with them.  His instincts told
him to run, hide, find the Elders and never show his face in the Temple
again.  Only one thing had prevented such a defection, and that was the
mention of Qui-Gon Jinn.  

"We've had prophecies about Master Jinn.  We've already made our move and
now you must make yours," Windu had explained to him.  So Kourt had come
and listened, sickened by what he heard.  He had wanted to ease their
minds, tell them they were mistaken or that the future knowledge had been
negated by their actions, but it was not true.  From everything he knew of
the current situation, the future had NOT been altered.  Qui-Gon Jinn had a
date with a Sith, and one he was not likely to walk away from.

So he'd moved to make the changes himself, despite the fact that this
disrupted plans that had been years in the making.  The *plan* had been to
drop a little 'package' for pickup by Qui-Gon, to be brought into the
Temple and cared for there.  With Master Jinn outside the Group, he had
been left unaware of the plan.  Kourt trusted him to understand the
situation when he met up with it.  Erac, unfortunately, had been somewhat
privy to the plans, though many details had been withheld from him. 
Perhaps that was what moved him to do what he had done with the Skywalker
boy, despite the fact that Anakin was a red herring.  Kourt couldn't be
sure anymore.  His own choices split the Universe, removed them from the
one that was known and understood, explained and quantified, and pushed
them out into one of the unknown branches of possibility.

There were questions yet to be answered, clues that still needed
assembling.  Hopefully, Torlamin had a few more bits of knowledge within
her.  If not, Kourt didn't know how he was going to confirm his own beliefs
and suspicions.  Ever since his move to save Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan and their
now-undelivered parcel, the Force had not dropped any more hints his way.

Very well.  Silence implied consent, so his current actions must be in
harmony with the Force.  The Group had discovered the possible presence of
a Dark Jedi out there in Ero Phelian and Eab Nanoorn.  Surely he wasn't
alone, the funding was coming from SOMEWHERE, but it smacked of grandiose
plans, what was happening out there.  The swift kidnapping of Anakin
Skywalker from within the Temple itself ... that was a definite sign that
there was involvement with a person intimately familiar with the Temple on
Coruscant.  Add to that the detailed descriptions and holos of one Master
Qui-Gon Jinn that had been intercepted on the person of a bounty hunter
headed into position on Naboo, and it suggested the complicity from one
person. 

Xanatos.

But who else ... what else could be working with him?  Clearly he was not
alone. Clearly he had plans for expanding his sphere of influence.  
Clearly he was on the hunt for a student of his own.  Kourt shook his
head.  It was doubtful that any trust or real co-operation existed between
Xanatos and whatever filth he was working with.  It was obvious that
whoever this silent partner might be was supplying manpower and credit to
the operation.  It was also obvious that this second party had it in for
the Jedi in general and the Group in particular.  Kourt had supposed that
it might just possibly be the Sith.  Recent events had confirmed this
supposition and this confirmation chilled him to the bone.  Unfortunately,
the only source of information, reliable data on the Sith had fallen in
battle without being picked clean.  Skies only knew how much or how little
Darth Maul might have known about his quarry.  It wasn't even a certainty
that he had known what Jedi were on Reptha.  That meeting might have been
pure chance.  Kourt simply wasn't sure how much the Sith knew about his
friend, and now he might never know.

He was hoping Torlamin had picked something up, something of the plans of
the Sith and the Dark Jedi at the moment of her turning.  Instructions,
Suggestions, ANYTHING that might tell Kourt where he should start hunting. 
Sarafel had warned him, years ago, that facing a captive Dark Jedi was
unlike anything he'd seen before.

It was only when he spoke to Torlamin that he'd understood.  She'd been
lucid, if angry, every inch the person he'd known and occasionally worked
with.  Every bit the teacher and Jedi she'd always been ... but her desires
were completely altered.  She'd asked for Corubia, over and over, wanting
to show her student the new power she had discovered in the motivations of
desire, greed, powerlust, hate.  She'd offered to show Kourt, pled with him
at one point, said "You can't possibly understand the power of the Dark. 
All your research, all your studies and you'll never know what I know right
now."

And for one instant, he'd been tempted. 

 He'd very nearly given in. 'Knowledge before Power' was the oath of the
Group, the sworn promise to gather knowledge on the Dark Side from whatever
quarter it might spring.  He'd nearly given in to her offer, came so close
to reaching out in the manner she described.  Then, as if echoing through
time, a spike of icy pain had lanced him, right behind his eyes.  A voice
spoke, one so long removed from his life that for a moment he did not
recognize it.  "On this life, you will not turn from us."

Hard on the heels of that came every lesson he'd ever heard guarding
against the Dark.  The domination of destiny, the corruption of the soul,
the undermining of love, peace, serenity.  The total and absolute
separation from the Light.  He'd looked at Torlamin and seen, at last, how
she was manipulating him, tempting him with the very thing he was sworn to
stand against, for all time.  This time, his own Oath to the Group and its
effects had kept him from yielding to the temptation.  Only that and
nothing more. 

In *that* moment, he knew that Sarafel had been right.  He couldn't simply
kill this woman, not like this.  She might survive, might come back in
spiritual form and torment, break those without the will and safeguards
that Kourt himself possessed.  She'd have to be broken down, rendered
harmless, have this knowledge removed from her before she would be safe to
release from the safety of her flesh and bone.

"Vile betrayer," he'd hissed at her.  "Very nearly, but not good enough."

And she'd laughed at him.  "Time, it will take.  Only that, O bearer of the
Light.  You've shadow in you, and it calls to me ... and to the Force
within me.  I'll bring you to my side, have no doubt of that!"

That was the moment in which Kourt Crowe bowed to the traditions of the
Group, particularly those related to dealing with captive Dark Jedi.  He'd
begun the long-term introduction of hallucinogens, various psychotropics,
lead and his own brand of suggestion to start the downward spiral of her
lucidity.  Long ago, Sarafel had told him "You'll have to give the Council
a Dark Side they can see.  Something ugly that they can combat, something
violent and clearly of the Dark so that they will not heed the words of the
traitor.  For yourself, you must not, can not be the hand that ends the
life.  You will know too much and be well aware of your actions.  It will
weigh on you far too heavily for you to achieve the serenity required."

He hadn't believed that either, but tonight he surely did.  Tonight, as his
fingers danced out the security code to the Oubliette, he finally grasped
what it was she had warned him of.  Responsibility.  His and no one
else's.  Shadowy secrets of the Dark.  There were records of his actions,
but he very much doubted if anyone would ever look into them.  He'd unmade
the mind of Rue Torlamin, to make it easier on her executioner when she
died.

He shook himself, firmed up his resolve and let the door swing open.  His
work, earlier in the day, had rendered her the next thing to harmless.  She
was clean, dressed in her uniform, sleeping easily for the first time since
Reptha.  Her mind was broken, her body merely the shell of a remnant
being.  What memories she still had were basic, pure and almost wholly
disassociated from her concept of self.  There was only one bit of memory
left, sealed away from her recall, an ugly jewel lying in the bed of gray
matter that had once held the mind of a Jedi Master.  It was the
information she had offered him, if only he would pay the price of its
getting.

*I've paid the price.  I'll be damned if I don't get what I've earned.*

"Rue?" he murmured.

"Mmm?"

"Torlamin, wake up."

"Mmmkay," she turned over on her side and looked at him, eyelids drooping
at half mast.  She was drugged to the gills, probably incapable of rubbing
two thoughts together, exactly how he wanted her.  

"I want you to do something for me ... " he sat down beside her and drew
her head onto his knee.  "We're going to think back, okay?"

"Okay."

"There was a person ... a man.  His name was Darth Maul.  Do you remember
him?"

"The Power-Giver, the Setter of the Sun."

Kourt shivered.

"Yes.  Show me what happened between you two."

"Okay."

This was mere formality.  Kourt could have just gone in and grabbed the
information he wanted, no problem.  Something in him, though, made him
treat her with something like respect, even at this pass.  He wove himself
into her thoughts and waited for her to relax and accept him.  With no
further adieu, he let himself into those long-ignored, highly dangerous
memories.

His first impression was that he had not preserved this part of her mind as
well as he'd intended to.  He watched from Torlamin's point of view, but at
a remove, not as if it were himself.  He saw Darth Maul step out of his
spacecraft and walk forward.  Then, like a shoddy vid record, time seemed
to jump, then draw out.  An icy hand touched Torlamin's mind, whispered
something obscene and inviting ... ((You'll never be alone again.  Come
with me, I'll show you what they would not.)) and even as this was
recognized as a lie, a rush of white-hot pleasure bolted through her body. 
She tensed her muscles, felt the tickle of Corubia calling along the
training bond.  *No, oh no, run, Padawan.  Run as far and as fast as you
can!* Torlamin screamed inside her mind ... but for some reason she
couldn't speak.  Then she couldn't breathe, couldn't move, couldn't tear
her eyes from Darth Maul.  Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan were fighting the Sith now,
and his attention was wavering.  

((This is what you've searched for, all your life.  This is what will make
you better than them all ... )) and a heady rush of sheer power boiled up
around and within Rue Torlamin.  *Oh ... yesss ... * she sighed, as
passion, emotion, mindlessness and orgasmic seduction rushed over and
through her.  *NO!  Oh, NO!* she shrieked a moment later, mere heartbeats
too late.  Maul had a grip on her, had found her weakness and bore down on
her for the last few moments it would take to break her down.  

Kourt sensed the withdrawal of Maul's mind, then felt something uncanny and
disturbing.  The Sith focused a powerful Suggestion on Torlamin, then left
her to her own devices.  ((Jedi ... *Desire* ... this))

The memory jumped again, Torlamin running towards Obi-Wan, fighting the
younger man, fighting Corubia, attacking Qui-Gon, the final moment of anger
and rage as Corubia pushed her into unconsciousness again ... then nothing.

Kourt withdrew, unsatisfied.  He understood the *how* of it, the *method*
of her turning ... it was about what legend and rumor implied it would be. 
However, the *difference*, the actual, substantial quality that made
'light' and 'dark' remained a mystery.  Certainly, the root of the
difference was in the motivation ... but it went deeper than that and Kourt
still couldn't work out how.

He sighed and settled himself in to pull the plug on these final memories. 
He would be done then, and Torlamin would be ready to come under the Power
of the Left Hand.  Then Qui-Gon would need looking after, to be sure *he*
was ready.  Only then could Kourt finally lay down to sleep.