"And hearth and treelimb, earth and sea..." Qui-Gon paused, waiting. His Padawan was still, at last, in his arms; breathing gently. Not asleep, but deep in trance. He sighed with relief, then finished the final response himself, as was traditional: "contribute to the song: that all of life, and all of joy, be bound up in this harmony."

"Stars and galaxies," Tomas swore quietly. The Jedi and the four Enterprise officers were gathered around them now, looks of awe and frightened wonder on all their faces.

"The power is stilled but not dispersed," said Tahl.

Ki-Erin spoke up, leaning against her master as though for comfort. "Have you more of the inhibitor drug we found in Xanatos's lab, Qui-Gon?"

"I do, but I feel it would not be wise to use it: I don't think Obi-Wan's body can handle any further toxins. What we need is to remove the drugs entirely from his system."

At this Dr. Crusher spoke; she stood near to Qui-Gon, now clutching her young son close to her. "If the problem is one of foreign substances, we can remove them with a transport biofilter. I'll need to know which substances in particular are problematic -"

"We have samples," Tomas told her.

"Then the procedure should be a straightforward one," said the doctor. "It will take some time, of course - a few hours to make certain we won't be leaving any toxic byproducts or interactive effects. In addition we'll need to confirm with Geordi that the medical and transporter systems are stable."

"I'll tell him to make those systems first priority," Picard said firmly.

"Thank you," said Qui-Gon, feeling a measure of relief. His instincts told him to trust these people. Gently he scooped his Padawan into his arms and stood, careful not to disturb the boy's deep trance. Obi-Wan was hot and dry to the touch, burning like a furnace. Even with the power stilled, his spirit burned too brightly for his body and mind to endure for long. Whatever could be done, must be done quickly. Qui-Gon refused to think of the possibility of failure. He refused to let Xanatos's last words become truth. But he was anxious for the boy, more anxious than he wished to admit.

Dr. Crusher came to them with an instrument she had pulled from her pocket upraised; she ran it slowly a few inches above Obi-Wan's body, watching it carefully: a scanning device of some sort. "He has a high fever," she said. "Too high. And his mental functioning has stilled almost completely."

"He's in a trance," Qui-Gon explained. "But the fever is indeed dangerous."

"Will an antipyretic do more help or harm, do you think?" she asked.

He reflected carefully. "Help, I would say. His body, at least, needs to be cooled. The fever is doing nothing to impair the drugs' effect."

Smoothly the doctor pulled a small cylinder from a pocket in her uniform, which she pressed to the boy's neck. Within minutes his temperature had dropped several degrees.

Picard returned at that point; he had withdrawn several meters to talk with his other officers. "Lieutenant Commander LaForge assures me he will have the Sick Bay functions you need up and running within twenty minutes. Number One, you're to accompany them. I don't want to see you again until your arm has been tended." Qui-Gon saw Will Riker bristle at this statement, but the man did not object.

"This way," Dr. Crusher told him. She and Wesley led the way to the turbolift doors through which they had arrived.

"We will find you when the ship is secure," Tahl called to him. "May the Force be with you both."

-

Will Riker lay flat on the biobed, the tattered remnants of his borrowed shirt removed. On the bed beside him Obi-Wan lay quietly sleeping, his teacher at his side. Biofiltration had successfully removed all the toxins in the boy's system. The burns and long cut on his chest had been relatively easy to repair. Even the broken arm was soon fused whole. Though it would be several days before he returned to normal, the doctor told them - the high fever and the drugs had caused extensive low-level damage internally - he was now out of danger.

Sick Bay was bustling with cases of laser burns and other remnants of the battle, but Dr. Crusher had insisted Will should be her next case, and let the other doctors tend to the remaining patients. No one else, she said, had as extensive internal and external damage to be tended. So Will waited, trying to be patient, as she examined the clamshell displays. It was just as well he got to be next, he reflected. He hated Sick Bay.

"Doctor Singh, come look at this!" Beverly called. "Have you ever seen anything like it?" she asked when the man arrived. He shook his head slowly, evidently as fascinated as she, then returned, reluctantly, to his patient.

"Will, what is this stuff under your bandage? It's regenerating your tissues at an astonishing rate!"

"Ask Master Jinn," said Riker. "He put it there."

Apparently Qui-Gon heard them, for he rose from his student's bedside to join them. "It's called Bacta," he explained. "A living agent that actively aids in healing damaged tissues. I have more." He pulled a small case from his belt, identical to the one Ki-Erin had used, and drew from it a small tube. "Here. He'll be needing a second application in about two hours."

Dr. Crusher took the tube. "It's alive," she said, looking to him for confirmation.

"Yes, doctor."

"Do you mind if I analyze it, and try to replicate it?"

"Use it as you judge fit. We have more with us, but not much." So saying, he returned to Obi-Wan's bedside.

"Does this mean you'll stop poking at me for a while?"

"You still have several fractured ribs, and some internal bleeding. I promise I'll be quick, so don't whine at me."

"Since when have I ever whined at you?"

"Every time you come to Sick Bay as a patient."

Will gave a long-suffering sigh.

-

Several hours, a long nap, and another Bacta application later, Will woke from a second nap to find himself in a quieter Sick Bay. His and Obi-Wan's beds had been cordoned off with a movable wall to give them a quiet space to rest; the bustle of a few hours earlier was gone. Will turned his head, and saw that Obi-Wan was awake, and speaking with Qui-Gon. The man sat on the edge of his bed at his side, leaning over him and speaking gently.

"You're strong, you're brave, and very clever, Obi-Wan; but in the end you're still just a boy. You mustn't blame yourself. You are not ready for the burden of your own mission."

"I'll say. I've made such a mess of things."

"Your best is the most you can ever give, my Padawan, and it is always worth the effort. But come to that, I don't see that you've done so badly."

The boy laughed softly. "I'm just glad you're here. You don't know how often I've wished you'd just come and take over for me, and tell me what to do. I hope you don't mind if I stick to you like glue for a while."

"Just as well, since I intend to not let you out of my sight for a time, and I'd hate to seem overprotective."

Will closed his eyes and tried to go back to sleep. He was glad for the boy; glad he was back in the custody of his guardian. He just wished it didn't hurt so much to think of him, of what his young friend had been through for their sakes. Will breathed deeply and tried not to think.

-

One day later, released from Sick Bay, Will walked the corridor to the observation deck, accompanied by Deanna on one side, Wes and Beverly Crusher on the other. Obi-Wan had already been released to Qui-Gon's care when he finally awoke; Will had not seen the boy since he'd overheard his conversation with Qui-Gon. Captain Picard had permitted him to return to duty only that morning.

"The halls look almost normal again," the doctor commented.

"The repairs to the warp drive are nearly finished," Wes said. "I've been helping in engineering while you were in Sick Bay," he explained to Will.

"The crew are ready to go home," said Deanna. "Even with the dangers of the wormhole ahead of us."

"And whatever welcoming party the Romulans may have waiting for us?" Will asked dourly.

"I think they're trying to avoid worrying about that," she admitted. Are you alright, Will?

Will shrugged. He really didn't want to discuss his own feelings, right then.

They entered the wide lounge, bordered on three sides by windows on to the star fields. Silhouetted against one of the port windows, someone stood looking out, wearing a brown floor-length robe with the hood drawn up. Someone small.

"Ki-Erin?" Will called uncertainly.

The figure turned to face them, but they could see nothing under the deep hood. Two young, pale hands went to the hood; lowered it.

"No, just me." It was Obi-Wan. "How's your arm?" the boy asked Will, tentatively. He folded his hands within his voluminous sleeves, crossing his chest with his arms.

"Dr. Crusher says it's nearly mended." Will twisted his arm gently, to show the healing.

"That medicinal your people put on it worked wonders," Beverly added.

"Bacta," the boy nodded. "A staple of the Republic."

"And how are you doing?" Will asked, feeling somewhat shy himself. Deanna looked at him knowingly, then went to sit at the table nearby, facing them but far enough away to be withdrawn from the conversational circle. Will gave a mental shrug.

"I'm fine," Obi-Wan answered. "All my wounds were superficial, except for my arm and the drugs in my body. And Dr. Crusher took care of those problems." He smiled at her.

She smiled back. "And glad to help."

"You look so different in those clothes," Wesley said.

"Tahl and Qui-Gon brought my things from the Temple," Obi-Wan answered, a little embarrassed for some reason. "I feel a little different, now, wearing them. But it's a good feeling. A little like going home."

"You'll be glad to go home," Dr. Crusher guessed.

Obi-Wan nodded. "Yes. I miss my friends and teachers."

"And your parents?"

"I don't know my parents very well. They gave me into the care of the Temple when I was an infant. I visit them every year or so." He shrugged. "It's funny. A year ago I wanted nothing more than to leave the Jedi Temple; to have adventures. I lived all my life in those quiet halls. Now I miss the peace of being home. Life is gentler, at the Temple."

"It must have been strange, growing up in a religious house, away from your parents."

Obi-Wan grinned. "It can't be any stranger than growing up on a starship," he answered.

"No, I guess not," Wes laughed. He looked at the table. "Coming?" he asked over his shoulder as he went to take a seat.

"In a moment," Obi-Wan answered, but he didn't follow Wes or his mother. Instead he looked to Riker, catching and holding his gaze, his own blue eyes mournful.

They stared at each other a moment. Then, smiling softly, Will asked, "is it permitted to hug a Jedi?"

Obi-Wan laughed, and threw his arms around Will's middle. Will held the boy's shoulders. He found he was a little sad, still. He would miss this child. But it was better this way. Looking toward the table in the center of the room, where the Enterprise officers and guests now gathered, talking, he saw Deanna smiling at them, and Qui-Gon as well. The tall man nodded to him, seeing his gaze, and returned to his conversation with Picard and Worf.

Damn, empaths could be unsettling.

-

Conversation over the past few days had been lively, informative, and ultimately unsatisfying. Enterprise already sped toward the wormhole at warp six. In only an hour, if the wormhole remained stable, they would be on their way. They could not delay for fear of losing their only known route home. For the crew was certain, now: somehow they had stumbled on another galaxy.

Explorers that they were, they longed to stay. Every moment they spoke with the Jedi, every examination of the few pirate ships that had been left behind, uncovered more questions than answers. But the Jedi, too, had unfinished business. In the time since Xanatos had been defeated Enterprise and the Jedi had worked together to chase the last of the Offworld pirates from the system. Now the Jedi were tasked with the mission of helping to bring stability to this world, to prepare it to join their Republic. It would not be an easy task: Lansar was composed of many disparate tribes, with authority decentralized and scattered.

"You never got to show me your version of chess," Wesley complained to Obi-Wan, as the boy took a seat beside him.

"It's called dejarik, and it's an ancient game. Jedi invented it long ago."

"Are you considered a good player?" Will asked.

"Good for my age. I like to play with my friend Garen. Dejarik is played on a circular board, not a square one, but many of the pieces have similar rules of movement."

"We'll have to return here so you can have time to teach us," Picard smiled. "I enjoy a good game of chess myself. But now," he said, standing and raising his voice to be heard throughout the room, "I fear we must say farewell to our new friends. We approach the wormhole. Within the hour we must brave it and return to our own galaxy." Silence fell, and everyone turned their attention to Picard. "We can never thank you enough for all your help." Around the edges of the room, Guinan and her helpers passed glasses to the gathered crew and guests. "I propose a toast," said Picard, and raised his glass. "To friendship. To peace. To the free exchange of ideas and news. I fervently hope we may see you all again."

Qui-Gon stood as well. "We, too, hope to meet again. All is possible in the Force. We thank you for your help, for your kindness and your generosity. May the Force be with you all."

"Cheers," the Starfleet officers answered. The Jedi followed their lead. Then all drained their glasses.

-

An hour later the Jedi crowded the control cabin of their own small ship. They watched Enterprise, tiny against the backdrop of the natural hyperspace passage, move forward, watched it swallowed up in swirling energy.

Obi-Wan, in particular, hoped his friends would make it safely home. They had taken him from a place of anger, of cruelty, and gifted him with kindness. He owed them much.

Obi-Wan reached out to the Force. In its gentle flow he felt new certainty: Enterprise would reach her home. Even, he thought, he might see his friends again. He smiled. The universe was a vast place. Yet not so vast, perhaps, as some might think.