Deep in the bowels of Coruscant's sunless catacombs, Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn blocked a blaster bolt and sent it back along it's original trajectory. A scream rent the air. The smell of singed material and burnt flesh joined the haze of gray smoke that hung heavy in the poorly circulated air. Breathing was difficult, as was keeping sight of the hoard that followed close on their trail.

"There isn't much time. The way to the nearest surface lift lies through those doors, down the corridor and up another level. I will hold them off long enough for you to win clear to the surface, but it will be up to you to warn the Council."

His Padawan, occupied with blocking his share of the energy pulses fired their way, missed a shot in his surprise. Barely dodging what would have been a painful burn at best, Obi-Wan Kenobi ricocheted another shot even as he gasped, "I'm not leaving you here alone, Master. You're hurt!"

The knife wound in Qui-Gon's right thigh bled sluggishly, but the glossy wet stain on the pants leg and the squishy feel of his boot lining proved it had done so long enough to leave the large man drained and weak. His Padawan learner had tried numerous times to break from the fighting long enough to treat the injury, but the press of their pursuers made it impossible.

"Precisely why you must go on and I must stay here."

"But Master - "

Qui-Gon's voice sharpened with conviction. "It's almost dawn. If we don't warn the Council, it will be too late. You heard me, Padawan Kenobi - for the future of the Order, run I say!"

A stray bolt struck the door controls to Obi-Wan's right. Qui-Gon shoved his apprentice through an instant before the blast doors came together with a deafening, metallic clang.

Obi-Wan leaped to his feet and slammed his fist against the obstruction. "MASTER!"

[One of us must win through, Beloved.] His Master's voice rang clear and true in Obi-Wan's head. [I will not sacrifice myself needlessly, but the sooner you warn Master Yoda and the rest of the Council, the sooner you can lead help back to me. Go, my own.]

[Master...beloved. I will warn the Council. And then I will return for you.]

Turning his back to the closed blast doors was the hardest thing the Jedi apprentice had ever been called upon to do. The intervening layers of metal muffled but did not entirely block the unmistakable sounds of continued fighting. Obi-Wan's first steps were stumbling, as though his body argued with his brain; neither part of him wanted to leave his Master and lover to fight the terrorists alone.

Following his Master's directions, Obi-Wan took the lift to the surface. Once there, he immediately searched for the first available means of communication.

/Force be with me, there's our transport./

Obi-Wan ran to the ground car and hastily keyed in the lock code. He dug through the dash box until he found the familiar silver rectangle of his Master's comlink. Obi-Wan tapped in the Temple's code and waited impatiently for a response.

A high-pitched, sibilant whine answered. \\"Jedi Temple Communications Center. Am Bel Tor."\\

"This is Obi-Wan Kenobi, Padawan learner to Master Qui-Gon Jinn. This is a priority transmittal. Please transfer me to the Council Chamber, right away."

\\"Sorry am but Council in closed session. Call again later."\\

"I said this is a priority transmittal. An emergency. Put me through to the Council Chamber, now!"

\\"Sorry am but cannot. Call again later."\\

"There he is!"

Obi-Wan cursed in four languages. For the first time that day he was grateful to be away from his Master's side. Qui-Gon hated it when his Padawan swore.

Obi-Wan threw the comlink onto the seat and wheeled around to face the five terrorists. Rust brown Jedi robes billowed in the stiff wind that buffeted its way down the street. A blue light saber beam sprang to life with an angry, warning hiss. Obi-Wan stood ready to block their blaster fire, only to find that he was not their target. They were aiming for the transport's fuel cell.

The transport exploded. A plume of flames shot skyward and down the narrow thoroughfare in both directions. Terrorists, civilians and Jedi Apprentice scattered in all directions. The hem of Obi-Wan's cloak ignited from the heat, forcing him to cast it aside. He shielded himself against the rain of debris with a Force shield, but lack of time made the barrier incomplete. A single sheet of blistering hot metal, as large as his hand from fingertip to wrist, made it through the protection and struck him in the left side. The impact threw him to the ground, dazed, but his training held. He rolled with the blow and continued down the only avenue available to him, down which the terrorists could not follow because of the burning personal transport.

He twisted up one street and down another until certain that he'd shaken anyone on his trail. The wound in his left side was deep, the burn severe, leaving part of at least two ribs showing. Huddled in the blackest shadows of a filthy alley, Obi-Wan did his best to staunch the flow of blood. Pain washed over him in waves. He tried to disperse it into the Force, but such a move required concentration, which had been stolen from him by exhaustion and pain. A glance upwards showed the faintest of lightening to Coruscant's sky. Dawn was very close. He had to warn the Council, but how?

Public holocom booths were readily accessible, but use of them was out of the question. His assailants were too close. They might overpower or kill him before he had a chance to complete his message. Likewise would innocent civilians be endangered by the resultant fight. Where might he find a communications facility that was not readily visible from the street?

He called on his memories of this section of Coruscant, dredged from his wilder years as a mischievous young teen with equally mischievous friends. He was a good hour away from the Jedi Temple by public transport. Audio transmittals were ineffective; that spawn-of-a-Sith at Public Comm had already proven that, and it would hear from Obi-Wan once this entire matter was settled. The area held no private industries that might have secure holo-transmittal booths - mostly restaurants, shops, entertainment suites, and the occasional public garden.

Something about the list...the entertainment suites...no, they received transmittals, they did not send them. But still, something tugged at his memory. Force, what was it? The entertainment suites...received signals. From the central broadcast company, passed along by booster stations scattered about the city-planet's surface. One such relay station was only four blocks away. If he could convince the staff to redirect a signal to the Temple, he could appeal directly to the senior Master on duty in the Holocom Facility.

It took Obi-Wan far longer than he'd reckoned to travel the short distance. Weakened, trembling with shock and loss of blood, hair spiky with sweat and clothes reeking of blaster-smoke, he presented a memorable sight for the two techs on duty at the booster station.

"I must contact the Jedi Temple immediately."

"Here, the transmit booth is this way," the taller of the two techs, a Calimaran male, motioned through a side door.

"My thanks," Obi-Wan whispered and followed.

Once alone inside the spacious booth, Obi-Wan struggled to stay conscious long enough to input the codes necessary to make the contact. He sobbed with relief when the familiar form of Master Fem-Rin Gerosin, a creche-mate of his Master's, floated before him.

"Master Gerosin, thank the Force."

The tall human Knight blinked in surprise and said, \\"Obi-Wan Kenobi? You're Qui-Gon's Padawan, aren't you?"\\ The holo-image's eyes dipped toward Obi-Wan's side, to the ripped tunic and very visible bloodstain. His expression turned instantly solemn. \\"What happened?"\\

"Alert the Temple, Master Gerosin. There's a traitor amongst the servants. I don't know his name, but it's a male Bothan, newly hired amongst the cleaning staff. I'll explain the rest later. I must speak with the Council immediately."

\\"One moment,"\\ Master Gerosin said. The holo-image froze as the Knight paused the transmission.

Obi-Wan swayed on his feet. One hand gripped the console even as the other fought to stem the loss of blood. /Hurry, Master Gerosin, if you love the Force, please hurry./

The image of Master Gerosin scattered into particles of light. In its place, he found himself surrounded by the combined images of the entire Jedi Council. He stood facing Master Yoda's chair; Mace Windu sat to Yoda's left, his brown-skinned face blank of expression. Obi-Wan should kneel, he knew that, but feared doing so. If he sank to one knee, he was just as likely to fall all of the way over.