Title: AN AFFIRMING FLAME
Author: Mac amacker@iprimus.com.au
Archive to DPS and our site only (http://home.iprimus.com.au/amacker)
Rating: PG13 or R
With thanks to Sharon, Dee and Paula Laconstance for their excellent beta and reading assistance. Thanks guys.


  He walks as far as his sad, mangled legs will take him, and then he lies down on the ground, rests his head on his arm and waits for death. As he slides into that final sleep, he thinks that the cold outside is finally in balance with the cold within. He remembers another man's tears and a death he had engineered as the storm takes him. / /I had my way, and it still isn't enough.//

  In a strange way, the storm was comforting, for all its violence. A natural force, a primal energy unconcerned with losses and tragedies. He could smell winter in the wind, and the heavy sense of things changing. . . so much changing.

Caladyne was famous for its storms. Its thick atmosphere and intense magnetic fields generated fierce weather conditions that battered the surface and filled the sky with lightning displays. Caladynes were a stubborn and resilient people, as well as being somewhat fatalistic. Nothing is as certain as weather, they would say, except that it will turn bad.

Caladyne had always been special to Qui-Gon, perhaps because of its very unpredictability. It wasn't possible to be rigid or organised on a world that could change from idyllic to tormented in one daypart. Some people would bemoan their world's ways but the Caladynes had adapted to it, building beautiful structures beneath the ground with tough glass ceilings that let in the light. Observance of storms had become almost an artform.

The world would have been totally uninhabitable were it not for the three huge geosynchronous weather platforms that orbited the planet. They kept the magnetic fields balanced, made the planet relatively safe for life. Self-sustaining, they were five hundred years old, intelligent and held in the same awe by the people of Caladyne as gods would be to a simpler people.

It had been some years since his last visit, and a call for assistance to the Jedi from an Agri-corps group had seemed a boon. Qui-Gon had mentioned it from time to time and Obi-Wan had been excited at the prospect of visiting the world and was anxious to try some of the more adventurous activities Caladyne had to offer. Qui-Gon had doubts -- sport on Caladyne was of a different mindset compared to other worlds. You didn't just play, you competed: against each other and the elements.

"Master." When Obi-Wan used that tone, Qui-Gon had to smile. It was the 'I am not a child' tone that was three-parts sigh and one part affection. "Fallion has assured me it's perfectly safe."

"'Perfectly safe', Padawan, has a whole different meaning on Caladyne. Did you really have to choose High gliding? Rapidriding is, I am told, very exciting. "

"Yes, it is, very exciting. I plan to try it too, if we have time. You said 'choose'. I remember you saying so."

"I did." Qui-Gon sighed, then nodded. "Very well. Keep in contact, please."

He didn't say 'be careful', because Obi-Wan was rarely foolish and he didn't wish to sound overly-protective. As if this boy, among all the souls in creation, was more precious to him than anyone - which he was, of course.

Excited and obviously pleased, Obi-Wan changed into the body-hugging pressure suit required for the dangerous game of riding the thermals on powered gliders. The wings of the gliders were enormous, flexible but strong, built of the special fabric created for Caladyne's crop protection. Theoretically they could withstand the strongest winds. Still, many had died doing what Obi- Wan planned to do.

Qui-Gon immersed himself in his work so that he wouldn't wait, chewing his knuckles in a very un-Masterly way. It was a relatively easy job, to help the Agri-corps and the planetary agricultural mission with a number of problems relating to trade sanctions, imported crop diseases, and possible tampering with the crop shields. He spent the morning in discussion, then went for a lunch break in his quarters on the edge of the town. He walked through the door, turned to take off his outer robe, and then - -

Qui-Gon woke numb and heavy-headed and recognised the residual effects of a stunner . Blinking, he looked down and saw that he was tied to a chair by durosteel bands around his arms, wrists, ankles and legs. There was no light, apart from the flare of lightning beyond the domed transparent ceiling. He saw movement in the shadows and squinted as he tried to see into the shadows.

"Who are you? What is the meaning of this?"

There was a strange sound, a dry rattle of breath. "Meaning? I'd like to know that myself" The voice was a raspy whisper, but familiar still, and a chill rush of prescience made Qui-Gon's hair stand up.

"Who are you?" he asked again, knowing the answer but hardly believed it.

"A ghost A dead person.. You know, one of those tired clichés that comes back to haunt you. Fate. Destiny. Your just desserts."

The figure stepped forward into the strobing light and Qui-Gon's heart leapt in shock, as if the lightning had struck him.

"Revenge, there's another one. Payment in full."

Xanatos' face was like some child's clay plaything, all mismatched flesh and bone, a mass of scar tissue, a scrap of hair, almost unrecognisable. Qui-Gon couldn't stop looking at that wrecked face, at the eyes . . .still so perfect. They watched, hungry and intent.

"Aren't I a sight? All your doing, my Master. Your finest work. And I was so attractive, too."

The straps were tight and they didn't budge, even with all his strength, even calling on the Force. A heavy, soporific dullness clung to him, making concentration difficult - some sort of drug, he presumed, to befuddle him. With no lightsaber and no way of calling for help, there was no immediate resolution.

"So you have come all this way just to kill me, Xanatos? I'm sorry for what happened to you, but it was your choice, after all."

Xanatos walked back and forth, the long black robes swirling around him. His gait was uneven and slow. The hand that slid out to push the hood of his gown away from his face was mottled and missing fingers.

"I know, I do know. Yet it's just the final act of a long play, Qui-Gon. And truly, I am not going to rationalise it with you. I'm dying. you see. A bit more slowly than you thought, but still dying."

He stopped in front of Qui-Gon and bent forward, very close, so that the Jedi could see the myriad tiny scars of his ruined face.

"Do you know, it was cold, that acid. You'd think it would have been hot, burning, but it was cold. Like liquid ice, ripping off my skin, seeping into my brain - I'm quite sure it got through to my brain, no matter what the Healer I paid to fix me said. I feel it sometimes, the little cold tendrils of acid in my head, chomping away. It hurts more than you can possibly imagine. The Force kept me alive, the Force and the hate. When the cold got through to me over the last months, I would just think of you and Obi-Wan, and then the hate would warm up my belly."

Qui-Gon ran through options, but none of them seemed suitable. He suspected there was little chance of using rationale, and he swallowed down the sudden fear that, perhaps, there was no clear way out. So many narrow escapes in a life of risks and chances, balancing between success and fatality. He tried to think, but it was difficult in the face of Xanatos' hate. Yet, even with the fear, he grieved for what had been and was no more. Qui-Gon couldn't help seeing the brilliant child he'd taken as Padawan, now a sad shade standing in the ruins of that man's life.

"Will killing me heal you, Xani?"

Xanatos stood back up and arched his head back up towards the sky. "No. Killing you won't heal me." He looked back down, eyes wide. "But you killing your Obi- Wan will help."

"You're insane!" It came out before he could stop it, as he surged upright, ignoring the skin tearing beneath the bindings. "Leave Obi-Wan out of this! This is between you and me."

"It is, but he's got a very important part to play. Right now there is a programmed drone heading for the primary platform. When it hits, it will obliterate the station and the other two platforms will almost certainly cease operation. How many people," he finished softly, "do you think there are on Caladyne?"

"Xanatos, please. . .!"

"I know, exactly. Twenty five million, six hundred and twenty three thousand, two hundred and four. Give or take a birth or death. When Primary goes out, the storms will explode and lightning strikes will take out millions. When the others go, the atmosphere will be ionized in a day and the remaining population will suffocate."

Qui-Gon was speechless, shocked, suddenly cold. Xanatos was calm, a teacher lecturing to a captive audience. He finally found his voice.

"You can't do this, killing so many innocent. . ."

"Impending death has given me a very relaxed view of morality, my Master. Really, though, it's up to you. The drone will pass through the area where Obi- Wan is flying in a few minutes. It's not going very fast, but it has the highest level of stealth capability. No missile or ship on this planet is going to find it unless I want them to. All you have to do," he said softly, holding out a communicator in the palm of his mangled hand, "is call up Obi-Wan and tell him to fly his little ship into the drone. It will blow up safely and you'll do the Jedi thing and save the world. Of course, your padawan will die."

Qui-Gon fought against the restraints until his wrists were torn and bleeding. "Let me go. Stop this. I'll do anything you want. Kill me, if you have to kill someone."

"But I don't want you to die." The voice was hoarse and very tired. "Where's the benefit in that? I want you to live, to feel. I can't share the cold with you but there are other things that can eat away at the soul."

Desperation shredded his control. "You're lying. . .you could be lying. . ."

"I could be. Why don't we wait about five minutes and find out. Of course, if you're wrong, about twenty five million people will pay for your mistake. Then again, you can leave him flying up there and maybe he will survive the storms. Don't kill him. Either way, I win."

"'Win! What do you win, Xanatos? Gods, what can you win from this?"

"You'll see, just wait." He held out the communicator again. "Speak, or not. Your choice."

For a little while, Qui-Gon felt as if existence held its breath, anticipating his choice. Life or death. Do or do not. In that silent suspension he weighed the choices. The Dark said, you love him more than life, let those strangers you don't know die. The Light said, there is no choice, there is only The Way. The Way you have followed all your life, the beliefs you imparted to him. He looked up into Xanatos' eyes, searching for some small hope of pity, and saw nothing but pain. No choice.

"Very well." Heart pounding, stomach leaden and sick, he nodded once. "Tell me where it is."

    Obi-Wan was on his highest run when the call came through. He'd half-expected it - Qui-Gon was calling to check on him. He smiled and flipped on the comm link in his chinpiece. "Master, everything is fine, I'm having a good flight."

"Yes, Obi-Wan. There is - a problem."

That powerful prescience he was gifted with suddenly hit Obi-Wan with a chill of foreboding. "What is it?"

"There is a drone, an armed drone, on course for Primary platform. No-one on the planet can do anything in time. Only you can stop it, Padawan."

He looked about, searched the cloud banks and patches of sky. "I don't see anything."

Qui-Gon sent him a set of co-ordinates which he fed into his little navcomp. When he turned to the co-ordinates, he found the drone almost immediately. It was big, bigger than his little flyer, and though he tried to budge it off course with his Force strength, it didn't move. Too fast, too hard to concentrate on flying the ship and moving the drone.

"Master, I can't move it. Aren't there any defence fighters we can call on?"

"No time, Obi-Wan. Only you can stop it. Do you understand?"

For a moment he didn't, and then the meaning hit him. His body tingled in a rush of fear, and his hands shook on the controls. 'Yes. ..yes, I understand."

He wanted to beg for another way, to ask to be excused, to plead inability, to say, Master, I'm only fourteen, could I have a few more years of life - but he couldn't. "I. .yes, I can stop it"

"I know you can, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan heard it then, the anguish and grief, obvious even above the static and the storm. It cut through to his heart more surely than any words. His hands worked even as his mind ran in circles, instinctively seeking some other path. He'd always known it was possible, that someday he might be asked to die in the course of his duties. It had been a mere passing thought, not something that could happen to him.

Obi-Wan busied himself aligning the flyer, opening the power throttle full, thinking in a sort of disconnected way that he still had half a reservoir of power which would make a very substantial bang when it exploded --

Qui-Gon's voice softened as he spoke again, unfamiliar with affection. "Obi-Wan. I don't think I've ever told you how proud I am of you. Of how much you mean to me."

He blinked, wiped his eyes. "I know. I do know."

"So much I wanted to do. Teach you everything I know, see you knighted, cut your braid, be there with you in every way. Forgive me."

"I do. Please don't feel bad. Everyone dies, Master. I'd rather have lived a hundred years or so, but this way, at least I don't live to make a lot of mistakes. I know, terrible joke." Obi-Wan bit his lip as he aligned the little ship's nose onto target. The drone was climbing steeply now, nearing the edge of the atmosphere, and he only had moments before it was too late. "If you light a candle in the Hall of Remembrance, Master, I will try and find the light." "I will. Not a moment will go by without my thinking of you, my Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, and flung himself into the Light.

  It was cold. The storm had come, carrying sleet that cut through to the skin like a thousand little knives. Qui-Gon stood waiting for the ship to take him home and thought that Xanatos had been wrong. He'd wanted Qui-Gon's suffering to drag him into that cold Darkness that Xanatos had known, made all up of guilt and loneliness. In fact. Obi-Wan's willing sacrifice had filled Qui-Gon with joy, that he would spend his precious Light so freely for the good of others.

He had felt Obi-Wan die; a brief flash of pain, a pure expansion into the Force. No power in the Universe could stop the tears that had tracked down his face then, as he'd whispered Obi-Wan's name in farewell. It seemed the site and sense of his pain had been enough for Xanatos and he'd left without another word, without even having the grace to kill his victim.

They had found Xanatos' body out on the plain. The wasted figure was lying on the ground, face upwards, covered by a shroud of snow. Qui-Gon wondered if Obi-Wan's death had given him any peace at the end. He was human enough to hope not.

As for me, he thought, as the clouds parted and the stars shone out, I have the first of many candles to light, one for each day of Obi-Wan's life. When they have all burned out, I will count their light well spent.

End

Defenceless under the night Our world in stupor lies; Yet, dotted everywhere, Ironic points of light Flash out wherever the Just Exchange their messages: May I, composed like them Of Eros and of dust, Beleaguered by the same Negation and despair Show an affirming flame

WH Auden