Obi-Wan jogged through the corridors, hoping he could make it to his physics class in time, hoping he could find an empty lift, hoping he had at least one set of clean tunics and leggings in their quarters, hoping he would one day be able to cheerfully strangle Bruck Chun without turning to the Dark Side. It would be in service to the Light, he reasoned. I'd be doing the galaxy a favor.

He turned a corner and ran straight into Bant.

She managed to stay upright only through judicious application of the Force, and glared at him. "Not that I'm not delighted to see you, of course," she said sweetly, "but perhaps you could slow down just a smidgen?"

"Sorry, Bant. I'm late for -- "

She took a step back, her large eyes watering. "What in all the holy hells is that smell?"

He put a hand to his brow, feeling the beginnings of a massive headache. "I had creche duty with Bruck this morning. He thought it would be highly amusing to fling a diaper at my head. A full one."

Bant let out a string of curses in fluent Huttese. Obi-Wan was impressed in spite of himself. Perhaps she could help him brush up on the Languages courses he'd missed.

"Will he never grow up? What is his problem? And more to the point, what is his Master's problem? Never mind that I used to have a crush on him."

Obi-Wan's brows rose. "You had a crush on Bruck?"

"No, idiot," she said disgustedly. "On Master Jethyn. I mean, can't he see what Bruck is like? It's not just you, Obi, although you seem to be his favorite target. He's an asshole to everyone, at least everyone who doesn't outrank him."

"Bant, I appreciate that you're outraged on my behalf, but he's not worth the energy. I gave up giving a bantha's damn about anything Bruck Chun did or said years ago. Just let it go."

Bant subsided into muttered grumblings, and Obi-Wan squeezed her arm affectionately. "I have to run -- I'm going to be so late for class I'll never hear the end of it and I still have to get cleaned up."

Mindful of his new decorations, Bant gave him a quick, salty kiss on the cheek and they parted company.

He lucked out and managed to find an empty lift, not wanting to take the stairs up to the residential levels, but not wishing to trap anyone else in close proximity with his stink.

Casting a harried glance at the wall chrono as he entered the common room, he began peeling off his belt and tunics. If the Force was kind, he had a clean set of clothes hanging in his closet, and he would have just enough time to wash the nasty off and make it to his class.

The Force was kind, at least in regard to his closet, and he practically leaped out of the shower and into his leggings, hopping into his boots without bothering to buckle them. He'd take care of it in the lift on the way down. He snatched his tunics over his head, wrapping his belt around his waist as he ran back to the common room.

He'd made it almost to the door before remembering his datapads, the ones with his class notes. Spouting Huttese that would have made Bant proud, he leaped over the sofa to the table by the balcony where he'd left them. He swiped them off the table and straightened, tucking them under his arm.

Then howled in agony as his soul ripped free.

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

"As I live and breathe, if it isn't Qui-Gon Jinn! What brings you out to mingle with the common folk?"

Qui-Gon continued chewing calmly as his fellow Master sat down at the table across from him. "Mace."

"Finally surfacing from shacking up with your Padawan?" Mace asked, attacking his nerf steak with deadly, precise strokes of his knife and fork.

"And what a perfectly crass way to put it," Qui-Gon said in a mild tone.

"I'm on break -- I don't have to be dignified." Mace chewed ferociously for a moment. "Where is Obi-Wan?"

"He had to clean up the creche. I don't think he'll be getting noonmeal today."

"Ouch," came a soft voice from Qui-Gon's left, and he looked up to see Adi Gallia's smiling face. "I always hated creche duty." She sat down next to Qui-Gon.

"Don't let Yoda hear you say that," Mace warned.

"Heard you already, I did." The most recognizable voice in the Temple came from Qui-Gon's right, and he reached down to set the diminutive Master's tray on the table. With a slight boost from the Force, Yoda lifted himself into his chair and contemplated his meal with evident delight. "Thinking of making creche duty mandatory for all Jedi, I have been. Fair for Padawans to have all the fun, it is not."

Depa Billaba and Eeth Koth appeared with their trays, and the conversation turned to Council gossip. Qui-Gon listened quietly, interjecting a comment now and then, but remaining content to simply listen for the most part.

When his meal was finished, he felt a sharp, familiar prodding on his right thigh, and looked down into Yoda's all-knowing gaze. "How fare you, my Padawan?"

Qui-Gon didn't pretend to misunderstand. His Master knew what day it was better than any other, he supposed. "I'm good, Master." He felt a faint surprise when he realized it was the truth. "I'm good," he repeated, his voice colored with wonder.

Yoda's eyes narrowed, then he sat back in his chair, looking pleased. "And Obi-Wan? Good also, is he?"

Qui-Gon smiled, his heart doing its usual flip-flops when he thought of his Padawan. "Yes, my Master."

The tips of Yoda's ears rose and his eyes narrowed even further, a clear indication of his high good humor. "Good. Too long in the Temple, you have been. Need you on missions, we do."

"You'll get no argument from me, Master."

Yoda nodded with a grunt. "If good report from Fetra you receive, come see me you will."

"Of course, Master." Qui-Gon pushed his chair back and stood. "Will we -- " His voice rose in a scream as white-hot razors sliced into him, his mind, his soul. He dimly registered cries of alarm, felt hands reaching for him, but he couldn't seem to stop screaming, and he thought he heard Obi-Wan screaming as well ... Obi-Wan ... .

"OBI-WAN!" he roared, feeling something warm and wet flowing down his face, and then he knew nothing more.

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

Mace caught his friend as he collapsed, lowering him gently to the floor. Blood poured from Qui-Gon's nose, and Mace took only a moment to note that fact before snapping into Councilor mode. "Eeth!" he barked. "Call the healers. Depa -- find Obi-Wan's schedule, track him down. Adi, get to their quarters, see what you can find."

"Take me with you, you will," Yoda said to Adi, and she knelt down to allow the tiny Master to clamber onto her back. When he was secure, she raced through the crowd of curious Knights and Padawans that had gathered around their table, Yoda waving his gimer stick to clear a path for them.

With Yoda giving instructions in her ear, Adi blew past the lifts, flying up the little-used stairs with Force-enhanced speed. When she pulled up in front of the correct door, she paused, drawing and arming her lightsabre while Yoda waved his hand over the access control.

"Caution, Master Gallia," Yoda whispered, slipping from her back, and she nodded, firming her grip on her 'sabre as the door slid open.

She stepped inside, reaching out with the Force, sensing no one inside the common room, the kitchen, the bedrooms. She heard a rhythmic thumping near the balcony and glanced at Yoda before edging around the corner formed by the kitchen wall.

The balcony door slid back and forth, trying to close its circuit, prevented from doing so by the objects that lay scattered across the threshold.

Adi stepped closer, identifying the objects as datapads, spattered with drops of blood.

She looked back at Yoda, who stood by the sofa. His ears sagged down, and Adi felt a chill in her heart as the door continued its mindless bumping.

Pain. Incredible pain, like nothing he'd ever felt before. It seemed to originate in his head, a throbbing pulse that sent waves of excruciating torment throughout his body, crisping every nerve ending he possessed. He heard someone moaning, and after a moment or two, realized it was himself.

"He's waking up. Get Master Devi in here."

The voice sent another wave of torment flooding through him, as did the sensation of his skin sliding against cool sheets.

"Qui-Gon?" The same voice, louder, closer, ripping into his tortured eardrums. "Can you hear me?"

Yes, he wanted to scream. Be quiet, you're killing me.

"Qui-Gon?"

He forced his eyes open, gasping as the light slammed into his optic nerves. He bit back a scream and focused on the face swimming above him. Mace. Mace? Why wasn't his Padawan here?

"Obi-Wan," he ground out, fighting nausea at the sound of his own voice.

"We're looking for him, Qui-Gon, just relax. Master Devi will be -- "

Qui-Gon tried to shut out the sharp sounds, feeling along the training bond for his apprentice.

He screamed, arching up off the bed as the agony intensified, doubled, tripled. "Obi-Wan!"

Hands pressed against his shoulders, pushing him down. "Obi-Wan," he moaned, his voice breaking. "I can't find him," he gasped, "I can't feel him, Obi-Wan ... ."

Something cool pressed against his neck and he fell back into the darkness.

"Well?" Mace asked impatiently, ignoring the sharp look he received from Yoda.

Master Devi looked down at her datapad, then sighed, rubbing her eyes. "He's in psychic shock."

Mace sat back in the chair facing Devi's desk with a heavy sigh. "Then the training bond has been severed."

"Not just severed, Master Windu," Healer Fetra said gently. "It's been ... shredded."

"I don't understand, " Mace said, frowning. "Training bonds are broken all the time, when a Master or Padawan ... dies. Why is this affecting him so strongly?"

"See only the training bond, did you?" Yoda asked quietly.

Fetra looked shrewdly at the little Master. "No, Master Yoda -- I also found the bare beginnings of a soulbond."

Yoda grunted, closing his eyes.

Mace looked back and forth between Yoda and Fetra. "And when a soulbond is broken ... ?"

"The remaining partner either dies or goes mad," Fetra said with a sad smile.

"So Obi-Wan is ... dead?" Mace asked.

"Not dead," Yoda said firmly. "Know my Padawan, I do. If his bondmate died, follow him into the Force Qui-Gon would."

"Adi and Depa are heading up the investigation," Mace said. "But until we find Obi-Wan, what's going to happen to Qui-Gon?"

Master Devi gestured at her datapad. "According to my research, there are only two things we can do to keep him out of what must be excruciating pain. Keep him unconscious, or damp his midichlorians."

Mace stared at her incredulously. "You'd cut him off from the Force?"

"You saw what he was like, Master Windu." Devi's voice held an edge. "Would you prefer we keep him in a drug-induced coma until Obi-Wan is found?"

"The Force is what's causing his pain right now," Fetra said. "The severing of the bond has left a void that the Force is trying to fill. It will keep attempting to do so until either the bond is reattached, or both men are dead."

Mace dropped his head into his hands, knowing what disconnection from the Living Force would do to his lifelong friend. "What a mess."

There were 81,497 holes in the ceiling tile above his bed. He'd studied each and every one of them carefully, counted them dozens of times over the past tenday. It was all he'd had to replace his Force meditations, the best his sludgy, disconnected mind could do.

That, and wonder if he was going insane.

But no -- Master Devi and Healer Fetra had assured him he was not. Devi had been at his side when he'd awakened again, calmly explaining the situation, quieting his temper with a warning that any further traumatic psychic shock right now might just tip him over the edge, and he wouldn't be much help to Obi-Wan in a padded cell, now would he? He was not to be upset during these first few days, not to worry about his missing Padawan, not to say or do or think anything of a disquieting nature until his battered psyche stabilized. He'd been allowed no visitors, no datapads, no comlinks, no holovids, not even a handful of his precious books -- nothing that could possibly make him feel anything.

And, Devi had warned him grimly, if he didn't cooperate, she had an entire pharmacy full of drugs that would leave him as happy and biddable as a child in the creche.

So he counted holes, and tried not to think about his light, his life, his Obi-Wan.

And when the door to his private room in the Healer's Ward slid open, he tried to quash the flare of hope he felt when he saw Mace behind Master Devi. Seconds later, the hope died a natural death as the expression Mace wore became clear.

"You found something," he said, remotely appalled at how weak and listless his voice sounded.

Mace nodded shortly, glancing at Devi.

She walked to Qui-Gon's bedside, her face the perfect healer's mask -- calm, unruffled, slightly sympathetic, but not enough to make a patient think they might possibly get away with anything. She checked his vital signs, made some minor adjustments to the tubes that fed him and kept him away from the Force, then stepped aside, gesturing for Mace to sit.

Mace sat, clutching a datapad, and looked at Devi again.

She let out a brief sigh. "Master Jinn, Master Windu has some things about his investigation he wishes to share with you. I have expressed my doubts about your ability to withstand this information at this time, but the Council believe that you might possibly be able to aid them in this matter, and -- " she shot Mace an irritated look " -- as I am only a lowly Healer and not a Council member, my learned opinion in this has been overruled. The Council have, at least, agreed to leave the decision up to you."

As if he would willingly be kept ignorant of anything pertaining to Obi-Wan. He suspected Devi knew that as well as Mace.

"All I ask," Devi continued, "is that you try to remain calm and if you feel even the slightest pain, you must tell me at once. Agreed?"

Qui-Gon nodded, then looked at Mace. "Go ahead."

Mace cleared his throat, scowling at the datapad. "This is what we've been able to determine so far. Obi-Wan left the creche about halfway through the noon hour. He met his friend Bant just outside the lifts on level twelve, and stated his intention to change clothes, then go to his physics class." He shifted uncomfortably in the chair, glancing at Qui-Gon. "Evidence gathered in your quarters confirms he made it that far, and that he showered and changed. What -- whatever occurred happened at that time, as corroborated by eyewitness accounts of what took place in the dining hall." He looked at Qui-Gon again. "All right?"

"So far. Go on."

"When Masters Yoda and Gallia arrived at your quarters shortly after the ... incident, they discovered Obi-Wan's datapads, including the ones for his scheduled classes that day, scattered across the threshold of the balcony door, and out on the balcony itself. In addition, they found spots of blood trailing across the balcony floor and on the railing."

Qui-Gon stiffened, and Devi hastened to reassure him.

"It's almost a certainty that Obi-Wan suffered the same severe nosebleed you did when the bond was severed. Be calm, Qui-Gon."

There was no Force to release his feelings to, so Qui-Gon merely swallowed them. "Continue."

Mace took a deep breath and returned to his dry recitation of facts. "Investigation of the lower levels ruled out the possibility that Obi-Wan either fell or was pushed off the balcony, and several individuals questioned at the building opposite your quarters reported seeing nothing unusual during that time. Masters Gallia and Billaba then turned their attention to the hovercab companies that routed their vehicles in the area that day. After exhaustive questioning, they discovered a pilot who had seen something he thought unusual, but hadn't reported, feeling it to be of no real consequence." Mace frowned at the datapad, then sighed and turned it to face Qui-Gon. "This is the image captured by the hovercab's security camera."

Qui-Gon peered at the grainy, black-and-white image on the screen. It had been taken from too far away to make out any facial details, but showed a man in what were clearly Jedi tunics being carried by a tall figure in a dark cloak and hood. A small transport hovered at the balcony of their quarters, and the hooded figure appeared to be in the process of loading his burden inside.

Qui-Gon studied the screen in silence for a moment, then looked at Mace. "Have you attempted to enhance the image?"

Mace's lips thinned. "We have." He turned the screen around, entering commands on the keypad.

Devi moved closer to Qui-Gon's bedside, and he tried to control his sudden feeling of dread.

"Courage, my friend," Mace said quietly, then turned the screen back to face Qui-Gon.

He knew what he was going to see even before his eyes focused on the face of the man in the hood. The man's eyes were shadowed, only his nose and chin visible.

And his right cheek, with its raised, broken circle.

Obi-Wan had been terrified when he'd first awakened, unable to feel the Force, unable to connect to his Master, unable to control the raging pain in his head. His terror had only increased when he realized who held him, recognized the face he hadn't seen in eight years, the face of a dead man.

His terror had lessened, however, when Xanatos, other than keeping him restrained in a dark, tiny cabin and fitting him with a Force-inhibiting collar, seemed to lose all interest in him. After a few days of lying on his back with his hands and feet shackled, staring at nothing, seeing no one other than the silent, hulking Krellian who came to feed and water him at regular intervals, Obi-Wan found himself almost ... well, bored.

But not quite. He knew Xanatos a little too well.

He had spent the first day or so in an agony of terror for Qui-Gon. He suspected the pain he'd felt there by the balcony doors had also been felt by his Master. He thought he remembered hearing his Master screaming his name, but couldn't rely on the memory, as fogged by agony as it was. Xanatos obviously remembered the date as well as Qui-Gon.

Which meant, he thought with a heavy sigh, that Obi-Wan was merely a tool in whatever game was being played -- a way to strike at Qui-Gon, make him suffer. Or perhaps he was the bait for a trap. He knew perfectly well his Master wouldn't stop searching until he was found, with or without Council approval.

Maybe that explained why they were still in deep space, after at least a tenday by his rough count. It would be nearly impossible to track them.

The cabin door slid open and Obi-Wan turned his head, expecting the Krellian. He was greeted with Xanatos' darkly smiling face instead.

"Hello, little morsel." Xanatos crossed the room, seeming to glide.

Obi-Wan was dismayed to see that Xanatos had evidently lost none of his Jedi-trained grace and athleticism. Either he had recovered remarkably well from his immersion in the volcano, or he had been cloned. Obi-Wan fought back a shudder, not wanting to even think of the implications of such an idea.

He fought another shudder as black-gloved hands caressed his cheek, lifted his braid, gripped his chin. His head was turned from side to side, Xanatos performing a cold, clinical inspection.

"Hmm. I'm afraid that won't do at all." Xanatos dipped his head, his lips brushing Obi-Wan's ear. "We have a show to put on, my morsel. Are you ready?" He straightened, obviously not expecting a response from his captive, and waved a languid hand at the door. The Krellian entered and waited for its Master's command.

"Chain him up in the fore cabin," Xanatos said, striding toward the door. "And mark him up a bit -- nothing serious, just enough for dramatic effect."

Obi-Wan saw a huge fist descending toward his face, then he saw nothing but stars.

"I wish to state before the Council my objections to this patient being allowed to attend this session." Devi's spine was ramrod straight, her voice icy, clipped.

"Noted, your objections are," Yoda said. "Call for you if he worsens, we will."

Devi bowed respectfully. Turning, she gave Qui-Gon's shoulder a squeeze, then left the Council chamber.

"I appreciate the Council's prompt attention to my request," Qui-Gon said, grateful for the chair that had been provided. He was pain-free, but the drugs that damped his midichlorians made him tired and clumsy. Devi had assured him that the effects would lessen as his body became accustomed to the drug.

"We have several issues to discuss," Mace intoned, "not the least of which concerns your missing Padawan, Master Jinn. Security violations have occurred which might possibly be explained by the presence of a Dark Force user such as Xanatos, however, we -- " He broke off in astonishment as the chamber doors opened and a Padawan from the Comm Center ushered in a giant hovervid screen.

The girl guided the screen almost halfway into the chamber before Mace found his voice again. "What is this?" he demanded, almost squeaking in his outrage.

The Padawan looked up, startled. "It's the vidscreen you ordered, Master Windu."

"I never ordered any such thing!"

The girl's hand fumbled inside her cloak for a moment, then emerged holding a datapad. "But -- but Master Windu, I have the order right here! It asks for -- "

Qui-Gon's comlink chirped at the same time the vidscreen flared to life behind him.

"Hello, Master."

His hand froze at the sound of the silky voice, and, feeling as if mud were flowing through his veins, he slowly rose from the chair and turned around.

"Out!" Mace barked at the Padawan, and she fled.

"Xanatos," Qui-Gon acknowledged calmly. His former apprentice's face filled the screen, each vivid blue eye at least as large as Qui-Gon's head.

"I see you've recovered from the anniversary present I gave you." Xanatos put a finger to his lips, considering. "Although you do still look a trifle pale."

"Where is Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon asked, holding the back of his chair in a death grip.

A delighted smile broke over the still-handsome face. "I'm so glad you asked!" Xanatos stepped back to reveal a naked figure hanging from chained wrists, his head slumped forward. "Your Padawan is our star performer tonight." Xanatos went to the chained man's side, grabbing a handful of hair and yanking his head up. "See, Obi-Wan? A full house! I said you had nothing to worry about."

Blood streaked Obi-Wan's face from a cut over his left brow, and his bottom lip was split and puffed. He blinked at Xanatos for a moment, then turned his eyes forward. "M-Master?" he whispered.

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon moaned. He had to get himself under control. This was what Xanatos wanted, to see him suffer. He would not add to Obi-Wan's torment by making him see it as well.

Mace stepped up to Qui-Gon's side. "What do you want, Xanatos?"

Xanatos inclined his head. "You're looking well, Master Windu. What do I want?" He clapped his black-clad hands together twice, and a hugely muscled Krellian stepped into view behind Obi-Wan. "Allow me to demonstrate." Xanatos stepped offscreen for a moment, returning with a glass of greenwine.

He took a delicate sip, then brushed a stray lock of hair from his eyes. "The Krellians are a fascinating race. For those of you in the audience who might be unfamiliar with them, allow me to share a few little-known facts. For example, did you know that Krellian females only ovulate when they are torn by their mates? And by torn, I mean this, of course."

He gestured, and the naked, maroon-skinned Krellian stepped closer. A collective gasp rose from the assembled Council at the sight of the wicked-looking barb protuding from his enormous, rampant penis.

"Unfortunately," Xanatos continued, "we're fresh out of Krellian females at the moment." His shoulders lifted in an eloquent shrug. "I suppose we'll just have to make do with the materials at hand."

"Xanatos," Qui-Gon choked out. "Please."

Xanatos' face lost all traces of amusment. "Please what, Master? Please don't turn to the Dark Side? Please don't die? Please don't hurt my replacement?" The last word came out in a snarling hiss. He whirled around and nodded to the Krellian.

"Begin."

Qui-Gon wanted to scream as the Krellian stepped behind Obi-Wan again, wanted to hurl the chair at the vidscreen, wanted to die, anything but be forced to watch what was about to happen. Instead, he struggled to remain calm, locking eyes with Obi-Wan. I love you, he mouthed.

Obi-Wan's beautiful summer-sea eyes softened. I love you, too.

The Krellian's clawed hands gripped Obi-Wan's hips, lifting him into position, then he rammed himself home.

Obi-Wan's scream ripped through Qui-Gon like an acid-dipped razor.

To one side of the screen, Xanatos lifted his glass in a salute, his eyes never leaving Qui-Gon's face.

Obi-Wan's screams degenerated into mindless moans and whimpers as the Krellian used him, his arms straining against the chains that held him up. Xanatos continued sipping his wine as the assault went on, tapping his finger on the side of the glass in time with each savage thrust.

After an eternity, the Krellian roared his completion, eliciting one final scream from his victim.

Qui-Gon heard the sound of wood splintering, and some distant corner of his mind realized he'd crushed the back of the chair under his hand.

"Excellent!" Xanatos beamed at the Krellian, raising his glass. "Job well done, my friend!"

The Krellian bowed, then stepped offscreen.

"Well, that went better than I expected," Xanatos said, turning back to Qui-Gon. "Don't you think?"

"I will see you dead for this," Qui-Gon said in a dangerously quiet voice.

Xanatos rolled his eyes. "Like I've never heard that before." He stepped behind Obi-Wan's limp body, slipping a hand between his thighs. "As a matter of fact, that went so well, I think we should take this on a galaxy-wide tour." He returned to Obi-Wan's side and yanked his head up again. Obi-Wan's eyes were closed, his flushed face streaked with tears.

"What do you think, little morsel?" Xanatos asked, tenderly smearing Obi-Wan's cheeks with a mixture of the Krellian's semen and Obi-Wan's own blood. "Different systems, different partners? Why, if you hold up as well as you did tonight, we could keep going indefinitely." One gloved forefinger tapped Obi-Wan's nose. "You think about it and let me know, all right?"

Xanatos flashed a brilliant smile at Qui-Gon then took a deep bow. "This concludes tonight's performance."

The screen went black.

Deathly silence reigned in the Council chamber.

"Qui-Gon?" Mace finally said in a hoarse whisper, gripping his friend's arm.

Qui-Gon barely heard him, his mind filled with a roaring fury. "Too much," he whispered. "It's too much." His eyes rolled up in the back of his head and he collapsed into Mace's arms.

Obi-Wan lay curled on his side in the tiny cabin, wishing for death. Not only to escape the burning pain deep inside him, but to flee from the utter humiliation of his degradation before the entire Council.

And the image indelibly burned in his mind of Qui-Gon's anguished face.

When the door slid open, he barely registered the sound. He heard Xanatos' voice, speaking in low tones, and tried to brace himself against the next assault, but he had nothing left. Maybe this time, the Krellian would kill him and it would all be over.

Xanatos knelt by his side, and to Obi-Wan's complete astonishment, began to gently wipe his face with a warm, damp cloth. "Don't be alarmed, little morsel," Xanatos soothed. "We have something that will ease your pain."

Obi-Wan tensed when he felt the Krellian's hands on his legs, spreading them.

"It's all right," Xanatos said in the same crooning voice. "He won't hurt you this time."

Obi-Wan whimpered as something cool slid inside his torn anus, then gasped as the ravaged area was flooded with relief, the pain diminishing with remarkable speed.

"You see," Xanatos said, continuing his ministrations to Obi-Wan's face, "Krellian females are notoriously bad-tempered after mating." He winked at Obi-Wan. "And understandably so, eh? Once their healers developed this salve, the Krellian population increased rather dramatically."

Obi-Wan stared at Xanatos, dumbfounded.

Xanatos laughed softly. "Don't look at me as if I had two heads, my little morsel. There's still a small part of me that lives in the Light." He regarded his captive warmly. "I am, however, completely insane."

"I got that," Obi-Wan croaked, and Xanatos threw back his head, laughing long and hard.

"You are delightful, Obi-Wan. And I apologize for getting you caught in the middle of all this, but, well ... Qui-Gon and I have some ... issues."

Obi-Wan got that too, but decided silence was the better part of valor this time.

Xanatos stood, folding the washcloth. "I do wish we had time to get better acquainted, but I'm afraid we must part company soon."

A small thrill of fear coursed through Obi-Wan. "What are you going to do with me?"

"I have to entrust your keeping to another now." A beatific smile crossed the elegantly handsome face. "After all, I have no futher need of you until the next anniversary." He strode to the door, following the Krellian. "Don't worry -- I'm sure you and Brelk will get along famously."

The door slid shut, and Obi-Wan shivered helplessly. Oh, Qui-Gon, he thought. Please find me. Soon.

Two tendays later, Qui-Gon stood by the lifts, impatiently tapping his fingers on his crossed arms as he waited for the damnable doors to open. Fetra and Devi had kept him far longer than he thought necessary, but neither Yoda nor Mace would clear him to have a transport until the healers had cleared him to travel.

"Master Jinn?"

Qui-Gon turned his head to see Master Jethyn and his Padawan. "Jethyn. Padawan Chun." Bruck's pale eyes were red-rimmed, and Qui-Gon wondered idly what could possibly upset someone so seemingly unfeeling.

Jethyn put a hand on Bruck's shoulder. "My Padawan would like to say something to you, Master Jinn."

Qui-Gon felt a pang at the tableau. Jethyn was about his size, and Bruck's build was similar to Obi-Wan's. How many times had he and Obi-Wan stood just like that, the Master subtly guiding the student? "Go ahead."

"I -- I just wanted to say how sorry I am for what happened to Obi-Wan, Master Jinn. And I hope you find him soon."

One of Qui-Gon's brows rose. "I appreciate the sentiment, Padawan Chun, but you are hardly responsible for Obi-Wan's disappearance."

Bruck's lower lip trembled. "I think I'm partly responsible. If I hadn't ... played a prank on him that day, he wouldn't have had to change clothes. He wouldn't have been there when ... well, you know."

"Then Xanatos would simply have waited for another opportunity. My former apprentice is nothing if not determined." Qui-Gon put a hand on Bruck's other shoulder, trying to keep a straight face when the apprentice flinched. "You need bear no guilt for this, Bruck Chun."

Bruck bowed his head. "Thank you, Master Jinn."

The thrice-cursed lift finally arrived and Qui-Gon stepped away.

"Good luck, Qui-Gon, " Jethyn called as the doors slid shut.

It would take a great deal of luck to succeed in his quest, Qui-Gon thought as the lift sped upward. The horrific communication displayed in the Council chamber had been traced to an area somewhere in the Outer Rim, most likely broadcast while in transit. He had a few, tissue-thin leads, and when he exhausted those, he supposed he would have to search planet by planet. Without the Force to aid him.

But he refused to give up hope. It was all he had, all Obi-Wan had.

The lift deposited him at the landing platform, and he was not in the least surprised to see Yoda and Mace waiting by his transport.

"Everything's stowed," Mace called as he neared. "What did Devi and Fetra say?"

"Devi gave me incessant reminders to keep to my drug schedule. Fetra warned me not to remove Obi-Wan's collar if ... when I find him."

"Find him, you will." Yoda prodded Qui-Gon's shin with his gimer stick. "Missed, Obi-Wan is. Loved, also. Return without him, you will not."

"Try to report in at least once every cycle," Mace said. "If we learn anything, we'll contact you immediately."

Qui-Gon clasped Mace's hand. "Thank you for arranging everything. And for letting me go."

Yoda snorted. "No good to us you are without Obi-Wan."

Qui-Gon bent down, planting a kiss on Yoda's head. "I know, my Master. I know."

Five tendays later . . . .

He awoke with a gasp, aware of an overwhelming thirst and a throbbing agony in his head. He tried to sit up, but gentle hands pushed him down. He looked up, his eyes swimming in and out of focus with each pounding beat of the misery in his skull.

"Just lie still," a low voice said.

Squinting, he a saw a young, handsome face framed with soft black curls, black lashes fringing golden eyes. His lips tried to form a question, but even thinking about it hurt too much. He slipped back into the darkness, grateful for oblivion.

When he opened his eyes again, the agony in his head had lessened, but his thirst still raged. He sat up gingerly, looking around.

He rested on a narrow cot in a barred cell, its remaining three walls formed of a damp, moss-covered stone. Directly across from him, on an identical cot, lay a nude young man, his head resting on one outflung arm. He recognized him as the owner of the voice that had spoken to him earlier. It seemed odd that the man was naked, but for the life of him, he couldn't think why.

Looking down at himself, he realized that he was naked as well. That seemed odd, too, but again, he didn't know why. He ran his hands over his head and face, feeling spiky hair, stubbled cheeks. When he touched his throat, his fingers encountered a metal band. That was also quite odd. At least, he thought, I think it's odd.

Something whispered past his nipple and he looked down. A fuzzed, red-gold braid swung over his shoulder, threaded with a faded ribbon that might have once been red or brown, he couldn't quite decide.

"Good, you're awake." His cellmate had opened his astonishing golden eyes, and was smiling at him.

He blinked at him for a moment, then opened his mouth to ask a question. Nothing came out but a harsh grunt. He frowned, concentrating. "Wwwww . . . wwwwww." His frown deepened. He knew perfectly well what word he wanted to say, but his lips and tongue weren't cooperating. "Wwwwwwww -- "

"Where are you?" his cellmate asked.

He nodded, grateful.

The man made a graceful gesture at the cell bars. "Brelk's pens."

The words meant nothing to him, nothing at all. The man might as well have been speaking another language. Perhaps he was.

"I'm T'min," the man said, studying him with a frank, admiring gaze. "What's your name?"

He opened his mouth again, an automatic response, then clamped it shut in perfect horror as he realized he didn't know what his name was. But I should know, he thought desperately. I should know my name, I should know what I look like, I should know . . . the horror he felt turned to ice in the pit of his stomach as he realized he didn't know anything. He could remember nothing outside of the few minutes he had spent in this cell, with this man.

Nothing.

He clapped a hand to his mouth to stifle a low moan of fear, and suddenly T'min was on his knees before him, reaching out to caress his arms, a soothing gesture. "Little gods," he hissed. "The bastards mindwiped you, didn't they?"

His shoulders lifted in a helpless shrug.

T'min let out a short, chagrined laugh. "I guess you wouldn't know the answer to that one, would you?"

Incredibly, he felt the corners of his mouth quirk upwards, and he shook his head.

T'min smiled back, his eyes glowing amber.

He turned his head, peering through the bars. He saw nothing but more stone. He looked back at T'min, pointed to the bars and spread his hands wide, questioning. Were they criminals of some kind? Thieves perhaps, or murderers?

T'min's smile turned sad and knowing. "I hate to be the one to break it to you, my friend, but you and I are slaves. Pleasure slaves, to be precise."

He blinked at T'min in disbelief. I'm not a slave, he thought incredulously. Certainly not a pleasure slave. The very idea was laughable. He shook his head briskly, feeling sorry for T'min, that he would believe such an obviously ludicrous thing.

"I'm sorry," T'min said softly. "If you're here, you're a slave, and that's that."

No, he wanted to scream. I am not a slave. I can't be.

"It's not all bad, especially if you luck out and get a good master, one who wants to spoil you." T'min's slender fingers reached up and traced a scar over his right nipple, what looked like an old burn scar. He tried not to shiver at the feel of the warm fingers on his skin. "You don't look like you've been spoiled very much, though."

He looked down at his scar, suddenly furious that he couldn't remember how he'd acquired it. Furious, and very, very afraid.

Point nine-seven Standard years later ... .

Qui-Gon stared at the streaked light of the stars, his booted feet propped on the empty co-pilot's chair. He'd just left Nikurna, having spent three useless cycles there tracking down a non-existent lead. Someone who vaguely resembled the description, who might or might not have been Xanatos, and, in the end, had turned out to be not. As usual.

It was becoming his life now -- an eternal quest to find what might no longer be.

Daily he struggled with the temptation to stop taking his meds, to let the Force have its way with him, to end this dull, endless misery in a final flare of agony, to finally become one with the Force and perhaps find his Obi-Wan that way.

The memory of another life, a happy life, was the only thing keeping him going.

As they did whenever he sank too far into melancholy, his eyes turned to the holopic he'd attached to the console.

Obi-Wan -- unaware he was being photographed, just beginning to laugh at a friend's joke.

Qui-Gon had taken it one day in the dining hall, testing out the new surveillance equipment they'd be carrying on their next mission. It had turned out to be one of his favorite images of his Padawan, whose infectious laughter he could almost hear whenever he looked at it.

Qui-Gon wondered how long it had been since Obi-Wan had laughed.

He was jolted from his reverie by shrill beeping. His comm unit flashed its priority signal and he hastily punched in his code. After a moment or two of switching relay signals, Mace's visage filled the screen. "You were right."

Apprehension and hope warred inside Qui-Gon. Today marked the anniversary, one Standard year since his heart had been torn from him. "And?"

"It was sent to the Council chamber again. I'm forwarding it now."

Qui-Gon drummed his fingers on the armrest as the vidfile downloaded. He desperately needed confirmation that Obi-Wan still lived, but he didn't think he could bear a repeat of last year's performance. He gathered what courage he still possessed and pressed the start button.

A series of jerky, blurred images filled the screen, accompanied by the sound of rustling cloth. After a moment or two, the screen stabilized and Qui-Gon realized what he was seeing had been recorded on a tiny surveillance cam, probably attached to a sleeve or a collar.

He was looking down a long, dank corridor, filled with barred cells. A voice from the left, just offscreen, spoke. "This one here might be what you need, good sir. Only had two previous owners, very obedient and lovely to look at."

The camera swung around, focusing through the bars of one of the cells. A tall, blue-skinned man with a flowing mane of silver hair lounged on a cot inside the cell.

When the next voice spoke, very close to the camera's audio transmitter, Qui-Gon briefly closed his eyes. Xanatos. "He is quite lovely, but obedience isn't precisely what I'm looking for. There's no challenge, you see."

"Ah, I think I do see, good sir. I believe I have just the thing. If you'll go to the fourth cell ... ?"

The images onscreen bumped and jerked again as Xanatos walked down the corridor. His breathing sounded unnaturally loud to Qui-Gon's ears. "This one here?"

"That's right, sir." The man offscreen let out a piercing whistle. "Wake up, boy!"

The camera focused through the bars again. A slim figure lay on the cot inside, unmoving.

"Boy! Don't make me come in there!"

Showing complete indifference to the harsh tone of voice commanding him, the man inside the cell rose from the cot at a leisurely pace, stretching languidly before turning to face the camera.

Qui-Gon moaned in relief. Obi-Wan.

"Come over here so we can get a good look at you, boy."

"He doesn't have a name?" Xanatos inquired as Obi-Wan sauntered closer. Qui-Gon laughed in spite of himself, tears spilling down his cheeks as he recognized the prowl that had driven half the Temple wild with desire.

The offscreen man sounded genuinely perplexed. "What does he need a name for?"

"True," Xanatos said in a musing tone. "I suppose I can call him whatever I like, can't I? Any defects I should know about?"

"Well, sir, you can't take that collar off -- he's one of them weird ones. And he's been mindwiped -- " Qui-Gon drew in a sharp breath. " -- but there's some that wouldn't call that a defect, if you know what I mean." The coarse voice erupted in laughter and Qui-Gon's fists clenched.

"Turn around, little morsel," Xanatos purred. "Let me see what I'm getting."

Obi-Wan turned obediently, and Qui-Gon drank the sight in. His hair was longer, softly framing his face -- Qui-Gon was glad to see no one had yet cut the length of hair that should be his Padawan braid. There were numerous new scars, including what looked to be a fairly fresh set of whip marks across his back, overlaying a pattern of older ones.

Qui-Gon attempted to remain dispassionate about his examination, noting that Obi-Wan didn't appear to be malnourished or suffering overtly in any other physical way. His muscle tone had softened, but that was only to be expected after a year of no Jedi training.

"Very nice," Xanatos observed when Obi-Wan completed his turn. "What do you say, little morsel? Would you like to be my new slave?"

The offscreen man coughed delicately. "Er -- he doesn't talk, good sir."

"Why ever not?"

"Side effect of the mindwipe. He says a few things, but none of them well."

"Oh, how delightful! Can he say 'Master'?"

"You heard the man, boy. Say it."

Obi-Wan's stormy eyes flicked to the offscreen man before returning to Xanatos. The telltale line appeared between his eyes, the one that always signaled Obi-Wan's deepest concentration. "Mmm ... mmmmm ... mmmmaster."

The screen went black, then was abruptly filled with Xanatos' hatefully smiling face. "Happy anniversary, Mmmmmaster."