/By the Living Force, but he is beautiful. And he is mine./

Qui-Gon Jinn leaned against the lichen-smooth archstone and watched his apprentice with an expression that was equal parts possessive and prideful. The Jedi Master found little fault in his padawan's movements through The Dance.

The blend of acrobatics and fluid, dance-like movements entwined the younger man in a multi-hued cocoon of power lines and light. To the non-Force sensitive, it was nothing more than a display of physical skill and grace - impressive and beautiful but nothing to gape over. To Qui-Gon, The Dance was so much more: a delicate connection between the physical world and the comforting, familiar energy fields of the Living Force.

Force willing, they would finish the diplomatic negotiations on Urath within a week, ten days at most. Once the new interplanetary boundary treaties were signed, master and apprentice would return to Coruscant, where a string of tense, often dangerous duties had earned the pair a long-overdue period of rest. Once he had his young lover away from the pressures and trials of his studies, Qui-Gon would join his Dance with Obi-Wan's, and together they would weave a tapestry the likes of which neither one had ever seen.

Early morning sunlight painted the young man's bare chest a burnished bronze and gave a brilliant golden sheen to his red-gold padawan braid. Perched on a decorative, floral-bedecked platform some twenty feet above the garden pathway, he moved with the sinuous grace of a jungle cat, boneless and smooth, muscles rippling under a growing tan. Strong hands opened and closed, fingers combing the delicate threads of power into a seamless web of living colors. Qui-Gon shivered as delicious memories of the night before rose to the forefront of his thoughts.

/Ohhh, the wondrous things that boy could do with his hands./

A wave of love rippled along their bond. His attention drawn from his lover's hands, Qui-Gon looked up and met Obi-Wan's brilliant smile. The Dance completed, the younger man gently released the power back into the Force, stroking each thread as it pulled free, as if in tender thanks. Qui-Gon nodded, pleased.

"You've been practicing, I see," Qui-Gon called. "Nicely done, Padawan."

A shining patina of perspiration glistened on the young man's skin as he sailed through the air, flipped four times before landing soundlessly on the spongy loam only three feet in front of his Master.

Qui-Gon gave his companion a teasing buffet against his head. "Show-off."

"One should show off what one has, Master."

Obi-Wan grinned impudently as he bent over to pick up his tunic, belt and lightsaber from a nearby bench, incidentally presenting well-defined hindquarters for his Master's view and earning him a growl of delightful promise. Side by side, the pair turned and headed back towards the Ambassador's Wing of the Urathian Negotiations Consulate.

"Unlike some who are - shall we say - chronologically challenged in such matters?"

"You wouldn't by chance be insinuating that I am old?"

"I, Master?" Obi-Wan asked as he slipped his tunic over his head and belted it in place around his slender waist. "Never. I have but to recall your performance last night to be assured that you are by no means ancient. Extremely experienced, perhaps. One might even say well seasoned, but never ancient."

"Should I thank you or toss you across my knee for a well-deserved spanking?"

"Either would do, my Master." Obi-Wan's eyes glittered with mischief. "But the latter sounds much more interesting."

Qui-Gon narrowed his eyes and growled again, drawing a relaxed laugh from his young companion.

"Ahhh, to have this tedious round of negotiations behind us," Qui-Gon sighed as he fingered the ivory-and-teal blossom of a flowering imachi bush, releasing a burst of sweet fragrance, "or at least a free segment of time to spend together."

"How do you do it, Master? Deflecting the tensions of the ministers is hard enough. Their Faithful make it doubly difficult. Which one funnels which emotion, and for whom did they channel it? We have fifteen people to keep track of at any given time, yet we can treat only with the three at the table."

"It does have its advantages," Qui-Gon said. "In all my years I've never seen negotiations like this go so smoothly. We've accomplished in weeks what normally would require months of heated, sometimes physical debate."

"True, Master, but how do you stay focused in a room where a dozen various emotions come at you from people you have to basically forget are even there? I can see how having the Faithful channel away intense emotion leaves the negotiators better able to stay to the task at hand, but isn't part of our job to discover the source of the discontent and find a way to settle it to everyone's advantage? Having to track second-hand emotions back to their source in a timely enough manner to deduce their cause makes that very hard to do!"

"It's not necessary to keep track of which Faithful is loyal to which minister. The transfer of emotion is instantaneous. All you must do is see who speaks and who answers, and put the Faithfuls' reactions in the same order."

Obi-Wan blinked in surprise, then found himself laughing at the simplicity of the tactic. Qui-Gon wrapped his arm around his lover's shoulders and squeezed.

"Don't feel bad, Obi-Wan. It took me two weeks to figure it out, and I've had many hours' more exposure to the ministers."

"Speaking of exposure to ministers, which of us is scheduled to arbitrate today?"

Qui-Gon sighed. "I am, I fear. Which leaves you free to enjoy the morning."

"If you can manage a brace of free hours directly after the noon meal, I will prepare a basket and arrange for transport. One of the servants made mention of a silver-sand beach north of the city, where one can go when one desires...seclusion. Hot sand, warm breezes, cool waters, and privacy. How does that sound to you?"

"It sounds wonderful." As the pair approached a vine-draped bend in the pathway, Qui-Gon sighed, "Until then..."

Sensing no presence in their close proximity, Qui-Gon stopped his lover and pressed him back against the living wall. Fingers entwined in his hair, gently tugging on his que as Obi-Wan pulled his lover's face closer against his own, deepening the kiss.

Love had a taste all its own - sweet, deep, and rich. Obi-Wan's lips still bore the rich aftertaste of the fruits upon which they'd broken their fast, the rosy flavor of ju'ishin nectar and yivin, the bitter brew served at the morning meals. The salt sweat of his morning exercises seasoned the blend, and made Qui-Gon yearn for more.

Their bodies pressed together, each fitting perfectly against the other. Heat and passion, fueled by love, flowed between them, around and through them.

Belatedly sensing the approach of several people, Qui-Gon broke the kiss with the greatest reluctance. He stared into Obi-Wan's passion-dilated eyes, drank in the view of flushed cheeks and swollen, pink lips. Qui-Gon closed his eyes against the siren lure of passion and leaned away.

"Silver sands, you say?" Qui-Gon whispered.

Obi-Wan's voice was equally breathless. "Warm breezes and privacy."

"Yes. Privacy. Something we sorely lack here in the capital city."

"Privacy. Very important, Master."

Chapter 2

Obi-Wan Kenobi closed the door behind him - a ridiculous thing made of orange-hued wood and copper decoration, with no sensors or mechanics, requiring manual attention to open and close - and engaged the locking mechanism. As added security, he activated a small portable flat-shield, which would delay anyone attempting to blast through the fragile portal. Only he and his Master knew the Force pattern that would disengage the mechanism and lower the field.

Not that an ambush would likely happen here on Urath, Kenobi reasoned. Yes, the planet possessed the knowledge of space-travel, as did their sister-planets of Romanth and Doolinar, enough to gain admittance into the Republic and result in the three-way space boundary disputes that required arbitration by a Jedi Master.

Yes, all three planets had weapons and wars, criminals and dissidents - Obi-Wan had yet to see a world that did not, but he had little fear of attack, especially here, in their personal quarters. The Negotiations Consulate was one of the few buildings in the capital city where security and technology were Republic-standard, wooden doors notwithstanding. Master Qui-Gon had inspected the security features their first day planetside, upgrading a few systems to insure the safety of the delegates and the privacy of their own personal quarters. He had, overall, seemed satisfied.

Obi-Wan put aside further thought on security. First order of business was a long, luxurious soak in the suite's tub. Perfect for drawing out the ache of workout-stiffened muscles and removing the stink of sweat. As he settled back into the water with a grateful sigh, Obi-Wan had to admit to a twinge of satisfaction that his Master was handling the more stressful points of negotiation and not himself. Qui-Gon's trick to track Faithfuls back to their lords would make Obi-Wan's next session easier, but he still had no desire to arbitrate matters that had everyone running on high emotion.

Clean and relaxed, Obi-Wan left the tub only when the water had cooled. A glance into the mirror wall revealed four oval love-marks on his chest, left during the previous night's rather energetic activities. He smiled. Qui-Gon was most experienced. Well-seasoned. And in no possible way old.

Obi-Wan Kenobi's body was visible proof of that.

Enjoying the cool drafts across his skin, he decided to dry the natural way. He put away his dirty clothes for later laundry, and laid out clean ones in preparation for the beach trip. He should arrange the meal and hire the transport now, then sit back and anticipate the afternoon. The thought alone was enough to rouse his interest and certain soon-to-be-involved body parts. Hoping for a distraction, he looked around the room until his attention focused on a chilled pitcher and glasses set on a nearby table.

/Ahhh, ju'ishin nectar./

The servants had quickly come to realize how much the younger Jedi representative enjoyed the mildly alcoholic beverage. Each morning they'd made certain to leave a full, chilled carafe in their quarters, along with two golden goblets. Obi-Wan grinned, recalling Qui-Gon's comical expression upon first tasting the nectar. He'd complained that the best way, indeed the only way, to accept the overly sweet, fruity taste was to sip it from Obi-Wan's own lips. Since then, the padawan drank the beverage as much for personal enjoyment as from a desire to hold the taste on his lips, ready for his Master's pleasure.

As was customary when participating in delicate negotiations, where threats against the arbitrators were not uncommon, Obi-Wan dropped an anti-poison tablet into his glass before filling it with the thick lavender liquid. Goblet in hand, Obi-Wan stepped out onto the balcony and surveyed the city, his modesty protected from distant prying eyes by a waist-high stone wall. His eyes moved beyond the boundaries of civilization, to the sparkling waters of the distant ocean. He sipped his drink and envisioned the pleasures of the afternoon. Lost in daydreams, he was a moment slow to sense that something was wrong. A vague shudder flowed through the Force. A prescient wave of cold raced across his flesh.

He whirled around, but saw no one. Though no immediate threat revealed itself, Obi-Wan's Master had taught him well. Mental shields raised, body fluid but ready, he set down the cup and "searched" for the wrongness. His vision misted then cleared. Obi-Wan shook his head and queried his body. The answer both alarmed and frightened him.

The pain was as intense as it was sudden. One moment he suffered only from a vague dizziness. The next his body exploded into a million microscopic pinpoints of agony.

Obi-Wan swayed, tried to catch himself on the small table, but missed. Both he and the table toppled over. He struggled to overcome the rising flood of pain that stole the very breath from his lungs. Gasping, he writhed in agony, too agonized to even cry out.

Qui-Gon. He had to warn his Master.

"I understand your position, Minister Verosri," Qui-Gon said with a respectful bow to the tall, sun-browned statesman on his left, "as I do that of Matron Domna," another bow to the willowy woman on his right.

"Your arguments have merit, and I do not see why both cannot be implemented. Romanth's position on asteroid mining should not interfere with Urath's desire for trade routes through the system. I am sure schedules can be implemented to insure that both mining operations and shipping lanes do not hamper one another."

"And how would this benefit Romanth?" Matron Domna asked.

"Or Doolinar," the portly, ancient Minister Feroi added. His Third Faithful, a young woman named Belina, paced in agitation, continually casting distrustful looks at the other ministers' Faithfuls. Matron Domna's Second Faithful, a tall, dark male named Zenon, glowered back a look hot enough to burn. "Our sovereignty must be protected."

Qui-Gon adjusted his robe around his body. A distinct chill hung in the air despite the bright rays of light coming through the skylights above. "Urath has the interstellar fleet and Republic contacts that Romanth lacks. Romanth, on the other hand, possesses minerals and mining experience uncommon here on Urath, yet overpopulation has left them with little in the way of viable land. Doolinar has a small population and no shortage of natural resources but little in the way of trade goods with which to barter. They do, however, have great expanses of land suitable for agriculture and tourism." He paused, knowing that no one could dispute these facts.

"I propose a type of three-way symbiotic arrangement, " Qui-Gon continued. "Urathi ships carry Romanthin ores to market, in exchange for passage through Romanthin space. Doolinar provides agricommerce to both worlds, and reaps rewards from tourism and vacation resorts, not only from their sister planets, but outsystem, as well. This will result in increased demands for mining materials and interstellar transport of life forms and commerce. All sides will benefit."

From the corner of his eye, Qui-Gon kept track of which Faithfuls reacted at which point of his statement. The emotion-focus seemed fairly evenly mixed between distrust and anger. Then why was Matron Domna's First Faithful, a round, quiet woman named Edina, staring dreamily out a nearby window?

"A possibility," Verosri ceded the point and drew Qui-Gon's attention back to the matter at hand, "if sufficient safeguards can be put in place to insure - "

[Master!]

Qui-Gon held up his hand to silence the Urathi minister. Obi-Wan knew better than to interrupt delicate negotiations without reason.

[Padawan? What - ]

[Master...danger!]

By all outer appearances, Qui-Gon was quite calm, even as his hand settled on his lightsaber's hilt. He automatically strengthened his shields, but the bond between them remained open.

"Master Jinn?" Matron Domna moved as though to lay a concerned hand on his arm. "Is something wrong?"

"A moment, Minister." Qui-Gon held up a quieting hand. When he put his arm back down, it was well out of Domna's immediate reach.

[What is it? What's happened? Obi-Wan!]

[Qui-Gon...Master...I...poison!]

The Jedi Master's brow furrowed with concern. "Obi-Wan. [Answer me!]"

Unmindful of the delegates' polite demands for an immediate explanation, echoed by the indignant curses and protests from several of their Faithful, Qui-Gon raced from the negotiation chamber, down halls that had never seemed so long, past uniformed guards standing station at regular intervals along the corridor. Behind him, guards, servants and dignitaries shouted their startlement at the Force-sped blur left by his rapid passage.

His concern mounted as his mindcalls went unanswered. His lightsaber hilt rested in his hand, ready to be used.

Qui-Gon at last reached the door to their quarters. A flick of his wrist, a sharp point of Force-energy, deactivated the flat-shield and threw back the locking bolts. He held his lightsaber before him, ready to activate it if any threat presented itself. His eyes swept the room in a swift, all-encompassing glance. Nothing appeared disturbed except for an overturned table near the balcony doors, a lone goblet, its contents staining the brightly colored rug and the naked, feebly twitching form of his padawan sprawled nearby.

"No."

Qui-Gon belted his weapon and gathered Obi-Wan into his arms. He breathed a swift prayer of thanks to find a spark of life in his love's aqua eyes, pain-filled though they were. A hurried examination confirmed his padawan's warning - somehow, for an as yet unknown reason, he had been poisoned. His eyes fell on the goblet. Qui-Gon reached for it, only to feel the man in his arms tense and struggle.

"No...don't...touch. Outside...poison on...outside. Ah! Master...hurts!"

Koom, head of Urathi security, pushed himself to the forefront of the gathered crowed, and asked, "Master Jinn, what's going on here? Is your Faithful ill?"

"Clear this room! Get everyone out!"

With a raised arm and a Force-powered shove, Qui-Gon Jinn bumped everyone into the corridor, then quickly re-shielded the portal. As secure as he could make them for the time being, he gathered Obi-Wan into his arms and hurried into the adjoining chamber. He laid his padawan on their shared bed and quickly examined him.

Pain ravaged his young lover's face, draining away every trace of healthy color. Muscles convulsed throughout his body. His breaths came short and sharp, each shuddered gasp fought for with rapidly depleting strength. His skin was ice to the touch.

"Obi-Wan, listen to me. You've been exposed to a neurotoxin. A powerful one by the feel of it."

"A...painful one...at least."

The bedside table comm buzzed, throwing an irritant into the charged chamber.

\\"Master Jinn,"\\ Duen, Minister Verosri's First Faithful, roared through the connection, \\"on behalf of my lord I demand an explanation for this atrocious breach in protocol! This gross insult to my planet and its government will be reported to the Senate at the first - "\\

Qui-Gon slammed his fist down on the controls, killing the incoming comm system. At the moment he could not care less about indignant planetary representatives or their overzealous servants. He did not trust the local medical facilities - he wouldn't trust anything or anyone on this Force-cursed planet until he found the person or group that had dared attack his padawan.

"Hold on, my love," Qui-Gon pleaded. "Obi-Wan! You must fight it!"

"I...I will...Master, but you must...guard y-yourself...target...t-too."

Qui-Gon cradled his apprentice close to his chest and ruthlessly shoved away the dread that gnawed at his heart. He gathered the Force, channeled it, guided it, commanded it. Fight the poison. Cleanse and heal. The toxin resisted, as if with a mind all its own. Obi-Wan's body convulsed, locked in a rictus of agony. Sweat broke out on Qui-Gon's brow. He poured more Force energy into the healing. Find that which does not belong. Destroy it. Protect the life.

Try though he might, the poison continued to steal his love's living Force, stubbornly resisting his every attempt at cleansing. One seizure after another struck the youth's body. His heart rate soared and grew increasingly erratic. His living Force flickered, dimmed, flared, and faded again. Qui-Gon refused to yield. He cast every spark of love and compassion into the healing flow. He would not lose his padawan, his soul, to a faceless, insidious drug.

[Love you...my Master.]

A pulse of love stuttered through their bond. Obi-Wan seized one last time, released a ragged breath, and slumped back against the mattress.

Chapter 3

Duen paced back and forth in front of the Jedi's door, leaving his lord free to calmly discuss the morning's events with the other attendees. Beside him, the anger Faithfuls for the other lords were similarly occupied. His lord's resentment swirled around Duen like a blistering cloud. Powerful emotions were mirrored by all of the Faithfuls who congregated close by - how dare he - his lord, that is - be ignored in this fashion. The midday meal was long past, and still the Jedi remained locked behind a closed door, unresponsive to any form of communication.

Driven by Verosri's funneled frustration, the Faithful slammed his fist against the closed portal. The locking mechanism released with a sudden snick. Duen stumbled forward when the expected resistance disappeared. Flushed with satisfaction, he strode three steps into the chamber, determined to tell the Jedi exactly what his lord thought of this shoddy treatment. His anger, and that of his lord, dissipated without being voiced. One look at the Jedi Master silenced all who entered the room.

Qui-Gon Jinn sat in a chair near the door into the sleeping chambers. Body slumped, the image of someone beaten and in agony. Grief. All-ensuing. All-encompassing. Leaving a bleeding wound visible to anyone with the slightest shred of compassion. Radiating forth in waves that could be felt even by those with not the slightest shred of Force-sense.

"Master Jinn?" Verosri found himself whispering, deeply moved by the Jedi's pain and for once not willing to let his Faithful deal with the powerful emotion.

"What has happened? Your Faithful One, is he...?"

"He is dead. Poisoned. Murdered."

Verosri's gasp blended with a dozen others. All eyes followed the Master as he forced his body to rise. He walked, weaving on unsteady legs, into the sleeping chambers. Verosri and the others followed only as far as the doorway.

The young knight lay on the bed as though in sleep, a blue-and-silver resting cloth draped across his body. Qui-Gon sat on the bed beside the still form. With aching tenderness he stroked the padawan braid that lay across the still chest.

"We grieve with you, Master Jinn," Matron Domna crooned. With misty eyes, she looked toward Edina, standing patiently at her side. "To lose one of your Faithful is the greatest pain one can know."

Verosri nodded, and offered loving smiles to Duen and Keppis, his own First and Second. "We can only imagine how it must be for you, a Jedi Master, to lose one so dear to you."

"I...appreciate your words, Matron Domna," Qui-Gon said, though his eyes never left the unmoving form beside him. "And yours, as well, Minister Verosri. Likewise do I accept your sympathies. But...I fear that I am...overcome...at the moment."

"We understand, Master Jinn," Minister Feroi motioned for his Faithful to withdraw. "We will leave you to grieve in solitude. Po-Riya give you comfort."

Domna stepped forward to rest a gentle hand on his shoulder. "My First is skilled with medicinals. Should you need anything, you have but to ask."

Qui-Gon stroked the smooth cheek of his padawan, then rose and followed the delegates into the common room. Ministers, their Faithful, uniformed guards and servants moved silently out of the Jedi's quarters. Last into the corridor, Domna turned back to close the door. Her final sight of Qui-Gon Jinn was of the Jedi Master sinking to his knees, his back cast in shadow by the sunlight that streamed through the terrace doors, his head bowed in misery.

Chapter 4

The instant the door closed behind the last local, Qui-Gon rose from his kneeling position. His movements fluid, he righted the overturned table, careful not to touch the toxin-coated cup, and reactivated the flat-shield. On silent feet, he strode back into the sleeping chamber.

"They are gone."

A deep sigh of relief arose from his bed-ridden padawan. Obi-Wan shifted and moaned, his entire body a solid mass of aches, pains and pockets of fever. Qui-Gon smiled. Distressing though the sounds might be, they were beautiful music to his ears.

"Nothing is harder," Obi-Wan sighed, "than playing dead while every molecule of your body hurts!"

Qui-Gon knelt beside the bed and rested his hand on Obi-Wan's bare shoulder. "Would you be more comfortable on your side?"

"I...think so, yes."

With infinite gentleness, Qui-Gon helped his lover turn onto his left side. He uncoiled the long padawan braid from around Obi-Wan's throat then tucked a mountain of covers around the younger man's naked, shivering body.

"That was far too close," Qui-Gon sighed, taking a moment to bow his head in thanks.

"You saved my life, Master. Again. Thank you."

"It's no more than you have done for me countless times over the years," Qui-Gon said.

Obi-Wan bit back a groan and shifted, searching for a less painful position.

"We've bought ourselves some time," Qui-Gon said, "though how much I cannot say for certain."

"I don't understand what happened," Obi-Wan sighed. "It just doesn't make any sense. Is the poisoner's grievance professional or personal? Against us both, or only one, and if so, which? Why attack us at all? And why choose poison as a weapon? Why strike today, when we have been here for weeks!"

"As to motive, reasoning or timing, I cannot even speculate at this point, but I think we can safely say that you, my trouble-magnet of a padawan, were the intended target."

"How so, Master?"

"I was clearly scheduled to handle negotiations today. Likewise, it is common knowledge that you, and not I, prefer ju'ishin nectar. I only enjoy it in a more...intimate container."

He smiled down on his lover and was rewarded with a wan, understanding grin.

"Could it have anything to do with the negotiations?" Obi-Wan asked, even though he truly expected no answer from his Master.

"I confess that I do not see how. The parts for which I served as mediator were too minor to draw an assassin's attention, surely. Trade concessions, guild points of note, that type of thing."

"Any jealous, jilted or insulted women..." Qui-Gon grinned, "or men?"

"One alone, and that only if you count yourself in the number."

Qui-Gon stroked his hand in soothing circles above the blanket-draped back, trying to ease his pain with a gentle Force massage. New puzzle lines appeared on the younger Jedi's forehead. "I have a new thought, Master. How do we even know for certain we're the intended targets? Maybe that pitcher was delivered here by mistake."

"That is a possibility, yes," Qui-Gon admitted, "but I am going to assume otherwise, at least for the time being. You must stay here, out of sight. Our poisoner, whoever he is and whatever his motive, believes he has succeeded. I do not want to draw attention back to you until you are strong enough to protect yourself. I'll come up with a story that will keep servants and guards out of these chambers - there are some advantages to the Jedi mystique, after all - and the flat-shield will remain in place. Short of using a hover bike to reach the balcony windows, there is no way to either climb up or rappel down that face of the building. If anything should happen while I'm away, you will have adequate warning, enough to call me if you need me."

Worry lines formed between Obi-Wan's eyebrows. "And where will you be?"

"Someone wants you dead. Our brief performance just now should convince him that he has succeeded. He will go forward with whatever designs or plans required your removal. I intend to watch for that move and track it back to its source."

Qui-Gon reached out and brushed light fingertips across his padawan's cheek. His voice took on a teasing lilt. "I have grown rather fond of you, Padawan Kenobi, and I do not care to go to the expense and time necessary to train another, as pleasant a prospect as that might be."

Obi-Wan tried to laugh but was instead caught by the clench of abused muscles that left him gasping and weak.

"Rest, my own," Qui-Gon leaned over and kissed Obi-Wan's temple, grateful once again for the living warmth that pulsed beneath his touch. "You must heal, and I must plan."

The Jedi Master slid onto the bed beside his apprentice, and took the shivering, sick young man into his arms.

Chapter 5

Qui-Gon Jinn stepped through the lichen-draped archway and entered the garden where, earlier that day, he'd taken such sensuous pleasure in watching his padawan. He pulled his brown cloak tighter around his body, tucked his hands into the folds of its full sleeves, and pondered the events of the day.

The garden looked drastically different. The alteration had nothing to do with the lateness of the hour or the soft light of Urath's three moons that bathed the area in silver streamers. It wasn't the fine sheen of mist that clung to the ground, or the natural perfumes of night-blooming flora. A Jedi was attuned to the Force; upon arriving at a place, he instinctively mapped its innermost feel . That impression remained, no matter the time, weather, or season.

No, the difference was subtle, an alteration of perception rather than environment. By day, carefree and relaxed, the garden had been a tranquil oasis of color and life that encouraged romantic thoughts and fantasies. To the eye, nothing had changed that might alter that impression; if anything, moonlight and mist should have amplified the effect. To explain the shift, he had only to recall those few frenzied moments when Obi-Wan's very existence teetered on the edge.

Qui-Gon closed his eyes and sought the calm center within himself where he could soothe away the tendrils of fear and dread that still clung to his heart. His padawan lived. Qui-Gon had no reason to grieve. Alerted to the danger, they would avoid further assaults, whether they be covert or overt. They would find the origin of the attack and end the threat.

His love lived.

Qui-Gon recalled his padawan's unanswered questions - who desired his death? Why him, why here, and why now? Somewhere close were persons as yet unknown who had the answers; he just had to find them. Sensing another presence in the garden, Qui-Gon paused in the walkway, unmindful of the way the moons' light played across his strong face and danced along the silver strands of his hair. Or the teasing way the gentle breeze played with his robes, revealing then concealing the tall, muscled form beneath. Silent and still, he seemed more a statue chiseled from moonbeams and dreams than a flesh-and-blood man.

He saw her there, seated at the edge of an ornamental pond, to all appearances lost in dreaming. Matron Domna studied the water, fingers drawing idle ripple patterns on its surface. As though she at last sensed his presence, Domna looked up and caught her breath - out of surprise at his sudden appearance, Qui-Gon assumed, though that did not explain the rush of color that stained her pale skin from hairline to shoulders.

The Minister from Romanth stood, her silken robes shimmering a rich green and gold in the moonlight. Qui-Gon pictured her as an elemental part of the garden landscape. She was still a beautiful woman, he was male enough to admit that, of an age with himself, willowy of form and borne of a natural grace. At one time, before discovering his soul-love - and without the obligations of his position as arbitrator - he might have enjoyed spending time with Domna.

"Master Qui-Gon," Domna said in greeting. She stepped forward and laid a hand on his folded arms. "Please accept my sincerest sympathies on your loss."

"I thank you, Minister." Qui-Gon bowed his head in thanks, even as he wished that her mind shield was not so powerful, that he could skim her surface thoughts for any hint of deception or guilt. Studying her expression carefully, he found only genuine concern. "It was so sudden, so...unexpected."

"Come. Sit." She urged him toward the nearest bench.

Qui-Gon did not resist, nor did he shift away when Domna seated herself close enough to brush their knees together. Mindful of possible danger, the Jedi Master scanned the area with every sense, physical and Force. A ripple pinpointed another person close by, on the far side of the hedgerow that ran behind the bench upon which they sat. One of Domna's ever-Faithful servants? Another insomniac seeking solace in the garden? An assassin or spy?

Deciding to test the situation, Qui-Gon asked as if making idle conversation, "I see no sign of your Faithful. Have you dismissed them for the night?"

"Yes. They served me well during this most trying of days. I felt no need to ask that they share my sleeplessness, as well."

"Is that wise, Matron?" Qui-Gon asked. "We know there is at least one person here who condones murder. The body of my padawan lies in cleansing solitude in our rooms, awaiting the pyre that will release his essence into the Force. Surely it is not wise to be wandering secluded garden paths without some form of escort."

"You are here with me," Domna said. "And I am here with you. We shall protect each other."

Qui-Gon looked at the hand she'd laid across his upper thigh. An innocent gesture of comfort, possibly, though he sincerely doubted it. The suggestion was there, as it had been in her body language and bearing since first being introduced to the Jedi. He could be wrong.

"I could...comfort you...if you like."

Or not.

Her fingers rubbed the inside seam of his trousers, suggestively close to body parts that, though she did not know it, belonged to someone else. Qui-Gon sighed and fought the urge to knock her hand away. He couldn't afford to alienate anyone, even a lustful planetary minister, until he'd found the persons responsible for Obi-Wan's poisoning, and until he'd completed the negotiations. He patted her hand, supposedly in thanks. In truth, he stilled her roving digits before they sought out things they had no right touching.

"Again, Matron Domna, my thanks for you concern. The bond between a Jedi Master and his padawan learner runs very deep. The break was so sudden, and with no time in which to prepare myself...I fear the wound is such that I cannot accept your offer at this time, tempting though it may be. Please accept my apologies if this causes any undue offense or ill feeling."

Domna nodded and withdrew her hand with a slowness that made it a most definite caress. "I understand, Qui-Gon Jinn. No offense is taken or perceived. I only ask that you remember my offer should you change your mind."

"I most certainly will, Matron Domna."

"I do understand the pain you are feeling," she said. Her voice fluttered with emotion. "I recall the day, only one short year ago, when my First Faithful, my confusion focus, died in a street riot. Kima, my current confusion/fear focus and Third Faithful, is wonderful. I love her dearly; we work quite well together. But Rese had been with me for over 20 years. Losing him was...devastating. And as you say, the unexpectedness of it, the violence...they are crippling, aren't they?"

Qui-Gon nodded. "That they are, Matron."

Domna nodded. "I shall go, then, and intrude no further into your mourning seclusion."

Qui-Gon sat there for a full hour beyond Domna's departure, meditating and planning his strategy. The faceless person behind the hedge row had likewise disappeared. He suspected the watcher was one of Domna's Faithful, zealously protecting his or her lord.

Meditation had eased, if not entirely erased, the disquiet in his soul. At regular intervals, he "felt" through the bond. Obi-Wan slept fitfully, kept from a full, deep, healing sleep by remnants of pain left in his muscles by the rigid spasms. He sensed no one close enough to their quarters to pose any threat to his sleeping apprentice, no hint of mechanical or droid surveillance. Still, he didn't want to stay away too long for fear something would happen.

Qui-Gon rose from the bench and walked down the pathway, bound for their quarters. Another check showed his apprentice very close to waking. Qui-Gon wanted to be at his side when he did so, to assure him that they were both still relatively safe. He drew his attention back to his immediate surroundings. His "near-sense" pinpointed the four stealthy figures in the bushes lining the walkway, and the fifth who crouched atop the lichen arch, ready to either drop a net or pounce on him as he walked under.

The Jedi Master continued forward. No hint of alertness or concern altered his stance or speed, yet still he knew every movement made by his stalkers. Rather than wait for their first move, Qui-Gon reached behind the nearest bush, caught the hiding figure by the scruff of the neck, and yanked him into the open. A fog of rancid body odor and alcohol fumes tickled his nose and made him want to sneeze. A single fist to his jaw removed the man from any further consideration.

Two figures closed in from his left, a third on his right. Qui-Gon ducked beneath their outstretched arms. Two kicks and another punch later, they finally realized where he'd disappeared to and resumed their attack. A capture-net dropped over his head. Lead weights dragged at his head and arms and hampered his movements. Three moonlit forms closed in, only to leap back with shouts of surprise and fear. A bright green beam appeared, almost as if drawn from their victim's heart. It sliced through the net as though it were made of paper. An arm, draped in a dark brown, full sleeve, caught the net's casting rope, wrapped it twice around a thick wrist, and pulled.

The attacker perched on top of the arch hit the ground and didn't get up again. Two men flew through the air, landing against the ground with a breath-jarring whumps. A last bounced off the trunk of a nearby tree and collapsed with a groan. Qui-Gon filled his lungs with air and released it, slowly, through his nostrils. He thumbed off his lightsaber and studied the groaning figures scattered along the no longer quite so pristine garden path. He chose the net-caster, whom he suspected to be the leader of the group.

"Why did you attack me, try to kidnap me? Who hired you?"

The man shook his head to rid it of dizziness and instantly wished he hadn't. "No one...no one told us...you were Jedi. Wouldn't have...if we'd aknown."

"Who hired you, and why? I will have answers, willing or no."

"I dunno. Someone...came to the tavern, a few minutes ago. He offered up a thousand cred chips if we'd capture the man walkin' in the garden and put him in a safe place. He skipped the locks on the gates for us."

Which meant it was someone from within the delegation, or a member of the building's staff. Too many suspects to question individually.

"How was he dressed? Did he speak with any noticeable accent? I need details."

"He - he wore a cloak, never saw his face. His voice was jaked with some kinda box. But...his shoes...red velvet, they were. With gold trim and little studs ac - across the arches. Pretty things...thought to take 'em but he had a grip on a blaster, like queen ladies carry that can blow a good-sized hole in a man."

"How were you to receive payment if you had no way of contacting your employer?"

"We got half pay...the rest when he came to get you. It seemed like easy money."

"Be warned in future: easy money usually isn't."

Qui-Gon considered the matter carefully. Guided by Force-inspired instincts, he implanted his plan into the would-be kidnapper's mind. Years of chemical and alcohol abuse had destroyed what little shielding the would-be kidnapper might once have possessed. Qui-Gon found it very easy to slip through his weak protections and influence his thoughts.

"You came to the garden but found no one. If anyone asks about your bruises, you will explain them away as the result of a street fight. When you meet your employer again, you will say that, while you missed the man tonight, you overheard a servant state that he would be there again tomorrow night after the funeral pyre, to meditate and grieve in private. You plan to go back and capture him then."

He implanted similar thoughts into the other men's minds, then left them to gather themselves up and leave the garden.