Archive: Master & Apprentice, QJEB, SWA-L and The Nesting
Place, anyone else please ask!
Category: A/U, Action/Adventure, Drama
Rating: R
Pairing: Q/O
Summary: Memories once locked behind the block are revealed,
and relived.
Warning: Violence, death, and rape - not graphic, but it's
there so be wary.
Disclaimer: Don't own them, George Lucas does. If I did they
would have had a much happier ending! The planet Golgatha as
well as the general idea of the Arena and the Games are
borrowed from Simon R. Green's Deathstalker series - no
copyright infringement intended as no money is being made off
of this.
Feedback: Yes please, it's addictive!
Author's Note: Sorry kaly! I promise you'll have Qui-Gon's
reaction in the next one, this one turned itself around on me
twice ;) Adalisa, thanks for the new picture of Ben, its truly
inspirational! Holly, Tracey and Heather - love ya for what you
do, hope you know that!
Two figures met on a broad featureless plain. Illumination came
in the form of flickering light the shade of green that appears
before a violent storm. There was no shelter, no protection
from the approaching tempest, only the men and the harsh
landscape of a shattered mind.
Eyes the exact same shade of blue-green met and held, each
daring the other to be the first to look away. It was a battle
of wills, of inner strength, and neither could afford to be
defeated.
"You are afraid of me." The younger of the two spoke first. He
was still more boy than man, slowly settling into his body,
possessing the innate awkwardness of one who is not quite
comfortable with who he is. His clothing was ragged and torn,
tears in what was formerly an agri-corps uniform revealing a
slim body covered in angry cuts and bruises. His expression
held pain and defiance, but also a glimmer of hope, of life.
Lusterless sandy red hair hung almost to his shoulders, falling
forward to hide half of his face before it was nonchalantly
flipped back out of the way.
The older man remained silent. Clad in well-worn black leather,
a sword on his hip and a multitude of weapons at his disposal,
he should have felt supremely confident - but he didn't. He
recognized some of the injuries on the boy, wore scars in the
same places on his body, though he lacked the knowledge of what
had caused them. The body itself was the same. He was an inch
or two taller, possessed more scars, and was harder of muscle
tone, but the small subtleties of movement were identical. "Why
should I be? You pose no threat to me."
"If you really believed that, you wouldn't be doing this. You
would simply accept me and what I offer."
"You do not offer me anything that I want."
"Then why did you agree to go through with the removal of the
block?"
The fighter made a dismissive motion with his hand. "There was
no other way. Too many questions remained unanswered. Questions
only you know the answer to."
"We lived the answer," the young agri-corps worker replied as
he moved closer. "Tell me why you want to repeat it."
Ben studied the sky, watching as sullen spears of lightning
cast a glow through the bruised looking clouds.
The younger man watched him for the space of a dozen
heartbeats, a quiet contemplation that spoke of an inner
serenity Ken'ba had never known. "It's because of him, isn't
it?"
"Who?"
A small smile greeted the hissed out word. "It all circles back
to him, you know. We would not have become what we are now but
for what happened at Bandomeer. It is only fitting that he be
the one to set the reconciliation in motion."
"I don't understand what you're talking about."
"Then take my hand, and see." The boyish smile widened into one
of welcome as the younger man held out his hand. "See and
learn."
"Fuck." Ben closed the distance between them in a single fluid
stride. His hand closed around the other man's; scarred and
callused fingers gripping their slightly smaller and less
hardened twins.
The sky exploded, raining jagged forks of lightning down around
the men. Power built until the atmosphere hummed with it. The
smell and taste of ozone filled the air - a dangerous,
portentous miasma. There was no shelter, no refuge. Violent
winds twined in a cyclone of destruction, whirling closer,
seeking to flay flesh from bone with their fury. In the center
of the maelstrom, the two figures remained standing, hands
linked as they braced against the tempest.
The landing platform was crowded. Bustling life forms hurried
this way and that, loading belongings onto the cruiser or
offering tearful farewells to loved ones leaving on trips or
for other assignments. Obi-Wan shifted his shoulders slightly
as he grinned at the approach of his old friend Si Treemba. His
newest Agricultural Corps uniform may only have been a few
months old, but it was already tight across the back and short
in the legs. Not that he minded the reminder that he was
growing; it just proved hard on the credits when he was
continually having to replace parts of his wardrobe (or what
there was of it) because they didn't fit any longer.
"Obi-Wan!" the Arconan cried, giving the young human a hug and
pressing a small bag in his hand. "We were worried that we had
missed you in the crush. We wanted to wish you luck on your
next posting!"
"Thank you, my friend, but didn't you do that last night at the
party?" Obi-Wan teased, "or did you drink so much that you
can't remember?"
"We were not drunk! Not like Dar Milanee who cannot stand up
this morning," Si Treemba retorted, stifling a giggle at the
thought of the older Arconan staggering down the hallway
singing an obscene drinking song at the top of his voice.
Obi-Wan clamped his lips together, trying unsuccessfully to
stop his own laughter. Seeing the attempt for the failure it
was, he hugged his friend tightly, then stepped back. "I shall
miss you. We had some adventures here, didn't we?"
Si Treemba frowned slightly, remembering the wildest of their
'adventures'. "We only hope that the trip to Etralia will be
calmer then our last voyage."
"No draigons or Hutt this time, please!" Obi-Wan laughed,
ignoring the tiny secret ache inside him. It was the only
reminder he allowed himself of what he had lost on that trip.
Of the dreams that had died when Master Jinn had left the
planet without taking him as his padawan.
Two weeks after that journey, he turned thirteen. Packing up
his lightsaber and sending it back to the Temple had been
difficult, but he had remained calm, almost detached. Accept
what you cannot change and go on. Maybe if he repeated that
enough, he would finally believe it.
"Obi-Wan?"
Si Treemba was looking at him curiously and the farmer ducked
his head, feeling the heat of a blush stain his cheeks. "Sorry,
was just thinking is all."
The Arconan nodded at that. "We understand. Changes make
everyone think of the past."
"I can only hope that I can find friends as true as those I
have had here."
"Have, Obi-Wan, have. Never forget that we are and always will
be your friend." Si Treemba clasped the other young man's
forearm, then took a step backward. "The ship is almost loaded,
we must go now. Take care of yourself, we shall miss you."
"I'll miss you too. Maybe we'll see each other again someday."
"We will count on that."
Obi-Wan started toward the cruiser, then turned and raised a
hand to wave at his friend when he reached the foot of the
ramp. The Arconan called out a final farewell, then vanished in
the crowds on the platform.
Settling the carrystrap of his satchel over his shoulder,
Obi-Wan opened the small bag Si Treemba had given him then
laughed aloud at the sight of the fruit it held. "Adventures
indeed, my friend," he chuckled softly, remembering the night
they had spent in the orchards not long after arriving on the
planet. "And many more to come."
"C'mon Obi! We need a fourth for the game an' Sarrla's too
drunk to sit in!"
"You just want another chance of getting the rest of my credits
you mean!" Obi-Wan laughed as he tossed his datapad on the
table and rose to follow the other man toward the rowdy group
surrounding the largest table in the lounge. Maxen was
eighteen, a tall, lean, dark-haired young man who flirted
equally with women and men alike. By silent agreement he was
the leader of the small group of teens who formed part of the
agri-corps delegation heading for the new colony world of
Etralia.
Grinning at the loud hails of greeting that accompanied his
arrival at the table, Obi-Wan slid into place between the two
other players. Har Nevad was a lanky dark-skinned youth from
Correlia who always managed to pluck a winning card from thin
air when he needed it most. On his right side was Tolin
Ch-horu, a young woman whose pale violet skin and golden eyes
had haunted Obi-Wan's dreams since they had met three weeks
ago.
Manus and Darak, two thick-bodied types from a heavy gravity
world, lounged nearby, calling out advice and making sidebets
as they watched the gaming. T'alona, at twenty, the oldest and
most seasoned of them, divided her attention between the sketch
she was in the process of creating and the star-streaked view
from the viewing portal. The final member of the group, the
Rodian Sarrla, was sitting in a chair leaning back against the
wall, his bare feet dangling six inches off the floor. His
breath was a raspy snore that verged on the edge of annoying
but never quite reached that point.
The eight of them made up a tenth of the agri-corps personnel
on the cruiser. Early on, realizing that there was little
chance of meeting any other young folk during their rotation,
they had formed a tightly knit group. Personal foibles or
eccentricities (such as Har's penchant for talking a subject to
death if he was allowed) were handled by light teasing or
good-natured resignation, and, as a whole, they got along well.
Their days were spent studying the geology and ecology of the
destination (a planet commonly known among the younger farmers
as 'Ick-tralia' due to the holo-images they had seen of it).
The undergrowth covered a nutrient rich layer of mud and mulch.
It was their task to stabilize the terrain by introducing other
species of plantlife, ones that would leech enough water from
the soil to firm it without depleting the resources.
It was going to be a long, arduous task, which was why such a
large contingent of workers had been assigned to it, but it
also looked to be a very profitable one when complete.
Tolin favored Obi-Wan with a warm smile as she dealt out the
next hand. He managed to smile back without blushing too badly,
then turned his concentration to his cards, studying the
patterns before him. Opening bids were made, discards made and
replacement cards dealt with Manus and Darak calling out bits
of information that were of no help at all to any of the
players.
The evening wore on and the advantage shifted hands several
times along the way. The pitcher of Nelanga beer was emptied
several times. The jokes grew more ribald and the cardplay
sloppier with each refill. Sometime during the evening, T'alona
had called it a night, gently reminding her younger cohorts
that they did have duties the next day before she headed off to
the cabin she shared with Tolin.
Obi-Wan was considering turning in himself at that point. He
was about even as far as wins and loses fell, and if he went to
bed now he'd still get enough sleep so that he wasn't too
exhausted come morning. He laid his cards on the table and
opened his mouth to speak when the whole ship shuddered
violently, throwing furniture, cards, and gamers to the floor
in a tangled mess.
"What the hells?!" Maxen exclaimed, rubbing the back of his
hand across his bloodied nose as he scrambled to his feet.
"Damn, my arm!" Har exclaimed, cradling his right limb to his
chest, his narrow features tight with pain.
"What happened?" Manus and Darak slowly extricated themselves
out from under the still oblivious Sarrla, propping the Rodian
up in the corner of the room and staring out at the now
unmoving starfield.
Warning claxons hammered to life, causing all the young folk to
cover their ears. They weren't loud enough, however, to hide
the muted thud that announced another ship had come into
contact with theirs.
He may not have continued his Jedi training, but Obi-Wan knew
enough not to ignore the pulse of danger he felt through the
Force. Pushing the toppled chairs from around him, he pulled
Tolin to her feet as he stood, shivering with the strength of
the warning. "We need to get out of here," he whispered,
feeling the sense of dread growing with each passing second.
"What happened?" Darak repeated, hoisting Sarrla to his feet as
if the green-skinned youth weighed nothing at all. "We weren't
scheduled to stop until we reached Etralia."
"We'd better go check in. Find out what's going on." Maxen fell
into his leader role, pushing his way toward the door, giving
the others someone to follow.
Manus and Darak fell in behind him, supporting Sarrla between
them. Har glanced over at Obi-Wan and Tolin, then followed,
taking care not to jar his broken arm.
"We need to get out of here," Obi-Wan said, this time in a
louder voice.
Tolin looked up at him; alarmed by the vehemence with which he
spoke. "That's what we're doing, Obi. The commander will know
what's going on, c'mon." She tugged gently at his arm, but was
surprised when he held back.
Obi-Wan's eyes were clouded and he shook his head from side to
side, sending loosened strands of his hair into his face. "Not
that way, they're there, can't you feel it?" A dark chill had
invaded the ship, one that was slowly inching their way, intent
on devouring their souls if it could.
"Feel what? Obi-Wan, what are you talking about?!"
Maxen shouted for them from out in the hallway and the violet
skinned girl glared at her friend in frustration. "We'll never
find out what's going on in here, now are you coming or not?"
"I - " For the first time in two years, Obi-Wan wished he had
his lightsaber at his waist. This was a transport cruiser,
there was no weapons on board, and he had the terrible feeling
that they would be needing them soon. "I'm coming." Better to
stay together then run off alone; at least this way he would
know where the others were.
"Good." Tolin slipped out of the door ahead of him, darting
down the hall after the others. Obi-Wan took the time to take
one more look out the viewport. A scream had him racing out of
the lounge in the direction of its source.
The heavy scent of blaster fire hung in the air, the dense
smoke growing more pervasive the farther Obi-Wan moved down the
corridor. Every instinct was telling him to turn and run the
other way, but he moved on, instinctually crouching, making
himself as small a target as possible.
"Don't hurt her!" He barely had time to recognize the voice as
Manus' before the sound of something solid impacting with a
softer object sounded, followed by a low moan and raucous
laughter.
"No lip or there will be more of that coming your way. We need
the merchandise whole, but the buyers don't care if it's a
little bruised . . ."
Another moan sent Obi-Wan careening around the corner, intent
on helping his friends. The first thing he saw was Manus curled
on his side on the floor, his arms wrapped around his torso. To
take down a heavy worlder like that took incredible strength or
concentrated effort.
"Don't ya just love it when they come to us?" The question
snapped Obi-Wan's attention to the men surrounding his friends.
"Get over here kid, and you'll avoid ending up like that one
there." A heavily booted foot nudged the youth lying on the
floor while the movement of a blaster backed up the motion.
Maxen's green eyes cut to a part of the corridor that Obi-Wan
couldn't see, and the older boy swallowed visibly. "They mean
it, Obi," he whispered his voice hoarse and strained.
For a moment, Obi-Wan was tempted to cut and run, counting on
speed to help him escape to get help. Then one of the invaders
shifted, giving him a clear view of what Maxen had looked at
and he felt the beer he had downed earlier rise in his throat.
Har's body lay there, looking somehow smaller in death, smoke
still curling from the massive scorch wound that covered his
side.
The member of this boarding party that seemed to be in charge
smiled thinly as he saw the young man staring at the corpse.
"No need to take the wounded with us. No medical facilities for
cargo, costs more than it's worth." Still obviously amused at
the horror his captives felt, the slaver prodded Manus with his
boot again. "Better get up, young one, or you'll suffer your
friend's fate as well."
Ducking under the hand that grabbed at his shoulder, Obi-Wan
darted forward, avoiding the kick aimed in his direction as he
reached the blond boy's side and grasped his hand. "C'mon,
'Nus, lean on me. We'll be okay." He could feel the others in
their group watching him, could feel Darak's desire to go help
his lover and his anger and frustration at the slaver who was
holding him immobile.
Tolin was weeping silently, trying to ignore the way her
captor's hands roamed over her chest as he restrained her.
Maxen earned himself a cuff on the head for daring to object to
her treatment.
Once all the prisoners were secured with binders, the slaver in
the lead started them moving down the corridor. Sarrla was only
partially conscious and the others had to bear his weight to
keep from dragging them all to the floor. A small trickle of
blue ichor wept from a darkened patch of skin on the Rodian's
skull, staining the collar of his shirt and making the others
worry for his health.
Obi-Wan, who was trying to think of any way out of this mess,
gave Har's body one last, grief-stricken look before he was
hustled away.
Their route took them past the doors to the living quarters.
Crashes could be heard coming from some of the rooms and pained
groans from others. The door to T'alona and Tolin's room was
ajar and the younger woman paled as she heard the harsh
grunting from inside that almost drowned out the soft, feminine
whimpers of pain.
It was too much for all of them. By the time they were herded
to the breached airlock, the young people were in a state of
shock. Sarrla wavered in and out of consciousness, so he missed
most of the atrocities the others witnessed.
Those who were injured or considered too old to bring a good
price on the block were executed without a second thought
(though if they were good looking enough, they were shared
around the invaders first). The crew was executed as a matter
of course. There was too much of a chance they would find a way
back to the Republic given their skills and no one wanted to
take that chance.
They passed other groups of captives as they were hustled into
the dimness of the other ship. The corridors were narrow and
twisted at odd angles, though whether it was by design or
accident, Obi-Wan couldn't say. He lost all sense of direction,
concentrating only on staying on his feet and helping the
others to keep from stumbling as their captors had the tendency
to strike out at those who didn't keep pace.
The slaver who seemed to be in charge of the group keyed open a
door and pushed the boys through as the others removed their
manacles. He neatly pulled Tolin out of the line, keeping an
iron grip on the girl's arm. She gave a small shriek of fright,
fighting against his hands to rejoin her friends.
"'Lin!" Obi-Wan whirled around, trying to reach her even if it
meant going through the larger men first. He made it two steps
toward the door before a fist crashed into his face, sending
him sprawling on the floor, blood streaming from his nose, his
eyes glazed over.
"No, don't let them, pleasseeee . . ." Tolin's screams for help
faded away as the door slid back into place, trapping the five
young men inside with their fears and helplessness.
There were four of them now. Sarrla had lapsed into a coma,
never regaining consciousness. The second day into the voyage,
the slavers had hauled his unresisting body out of the room
when they brought in food for the others. They never heard from
or saw him again.
Manus sat in the corner of the cell, holding his stomach. Any
attempts at eating resulted in an immediate regurgitation of
blood-stained vomit and the boy had finally stopped trying to
keep anything down. Darak hovered over him constantly, trying
to ease his pain or get him to take small sips of water.
"He's hurt bad," Maxen whispered to Obi-Wan. "I think they
ruptured something inside when they kicked him."
The younger man nodded. Now more than ever he wished that he
had better control of the Force. He could heal himself and help
others to mend, but this - this was beyond his capacity. "They
aren't going to help him, are they?" he asked, keeping his
voice as low as possible so as not to disturb the other two.
"No." The dark-haired youth's tone was somber and defeated.
"What's the point? He isn't of any use to them."
"Maybe - maybe we'll get to wherever we're going before - and
someone there will be able to fix what's wrong."
Maxen shook his head at that, but didn't do anything to
disabuse Obi-Wan of his hope. He still doesn't
understand, he sighed to himself. Maybe it's best that
way.
Manus died two days later, screaming out his agony through
blood-flecked lips as the others tried to do all in their
meager power to help. Darak killed himself that night, sawing
at his wrist with the ragged edge of his belt buckle while the
others were asleep.
They woke to find him lying in a pool of blood, his sightless
eyes turned toward Manus's body, the other boy's hand clasped
tightly in his.
The slavers were not pleased with the loss of a healthy
specimen and took out their frustration on the other two in the
cell, employing laser whips that didn't mark the skin, but
seared nerve endings until they begged for any kind of relief.
The days merged into a never ending blur, broken only by the
arrival of food and the sporadic torments of certain guards.
Finally, it may have been anywhere from two weeks to a month
later - the boys had given up counting - the incessant hum of
the hyperdrive ceased.
All curiosity had been beaten out of them, so Obi-Wan and Maxen
simply sat there, waiting. Their captors arrived, impatiently
motioning them to their feet. Their wrists were circled with
binders once again and they were pushed out of the cell, both
much thinner and cowed than when they entered it so long ago.
They joined a ragged line of captives, and while Obi-Wan
thought he recognized one or two other people, he really
couldn't be certain. Already the cruiser trip seemed like
another life or something that had happened to another person.
The captives shuffled forward; one or two showing enough energy
to snarl or spit at the slavers and earning themselves blows to
the head or stomach for their trouble. The door at the end of
the hallway kept opening and closing, devouring a single person
at a time. None of the slavers ever went in and there was
nothing to indicate what lay on the other side of the portal.
When Obi-Wan's turn came, he crossed the threshold only to be
blinded by a bright light. Disoriented, he struck out with his
manacled hands as he felt his clothes being stripped from his
body. A blast of water; first scalding, then freezing, forced a
shout from his constricted throat. The former Jedi initiate
tried to calm himself by chanting the mantra against fear. It
didn't work any more than it had the previous times he had
attempted it during the voyage.
The sonics came on, forcing the water from his body, and rough
hands grabbed his head, holding it immobile. The low purr of a
razor reached his ears, then the use-dulled blades swept over
his skull, shearing off his matted and tangled hair.
A thorough physical inspection followed, leaving not one inch
of Obi-Wan's body unexamined or probed. Question were fired off
at him during this period, ones that earned him a shock on the
soles of his feet if he didn't answer quickly enough or in a
wholly truthful manner.
After an interminable time, the barrage ceased. There was a
sharp stinging as something pierced the skin over his right
shoulderblade, and the youth was pushed through another door.
There, was handed a pair of shorts and told to dress. Another
door, and he was in some sort of holding pen mingling with
other men, all wearing similar garments and identical looks of
confusion and apprehension.
"Obi-Wan?" the whispered question came from another young man,
whose yellow-tinged eyes stood out in sharp relief against his
gray skin. "Is that you?"
"Theron?" He'd been introduced to the older man when he had
first boarded the cruiser and had shared several shift
rotations with him. As he had been a supervisor, he didn't
socialize with the regular workers but he had seemed likable
enough. Now the Zarabakian was pale and thin, looking little
like the man Obi-Wan had known. "Do you know what's going on?"
"It's an auction, and we're for sale." The agri-corps official
paused until he was certain the other man understood what he
meant. "What about the others? Have you seen any of them?"
"They killed Har, Sarrla and Manus. Darak killed himself after
that. Maxen . . . we were together until they brought us here
but I haven't seen him since. Tolin was alive the last time I
saw her . . ." He shuddered, remembering her screams for
assistance when she was separated from them. "T'alona - I don't
think she made it off the ship." The grunts and whimpers from
her cabin filled his ears and he struggled to block them out.
Theron nodded sadly at that. "They only want those they can be
sure of selling at a profit, anyone else is just so much
useless weight."
"But why?" Although he was much less sheltered then when he
left the Jedi Temple two years ago, Obi-Wan still could not
comprehend what drove people like this.
"Because as long as there are customers, there will be people
willing to take the risk to supply them with slaves." The older
man looked around them, from the other half-naked captives to
the guards who were watching them. "I wonder if those who died
weren't the luckier ones."
Unable to take any more of the other man's morose commentary,
Obi-Wan moved away from him, searching for Maxen or anyone else
he recognized. The press of other bodies around him was
maddening and only grew worse as he moved forward, drawn toward
the one exit by the push of the crowd behind him.
"Next up!" A collar clamped around Obi-Wan's neck and he was
dragged forward, out of the comparative safety of the group and
onto a brilliantly lit stage.
"Our next lot is Number 23-64-V. Human male, 15 years standard,
whole and uncut." Here the auctioneer paused to allow the
bidders to study the lot. Noting several looks of interest, he
continued. "Trained at the Jedi Temple, so he's
Force-sensitive; this is indeed a rare lot, gentlebeings. A
prime candidate for bedding or as a bodyguard. The medics
assure me that he will grow several more inches and will fill
out so do not be concerned with his current appearance."
There was something familiar about the auctioneer's voice. If
he could only center himself, quiet his thoughts, Obi-Wan knew
he could remember where he had heard it before. He tried to
turn to see the man, but was brought to his knees by a blow
from a padded staff.
"Still not completely trained, but that is part of the
challenge with this type." Rich laughter rolled over the
audience and Obi-Wan was hauled back to his feet so that the
bidding could begin.
This wasn't happening. It couldn't be. His humiliation was
completed with the removal of the one garment he wore, his body
offered up for examination by the most interested bidders. Rage
kindled deep within him and grew, refusing to be blocked by the
well-conditioned methods of dealing with negative emotions.
A scaled hand wrenched his jaw open to examine his teeth, and
everything exploded. Buoyed by a wave of the Force such as he
had never felt before, Obi-Wan struck out, smashing the alien's
hands away, breaking his manacles apart in the same motion. He
whirled, kicking aside the staff the guard swung at him, then
grabbing it and charging at the fleeing patrons, aiming blows
at any of them slow enough to get within his reach.
He leapt from the platform, flipping over one guard and
smashing the jaw of another one with a quick thrust with his
staff. The door was just ahead and once he was through it he
would run until he was free, until . . . Bands of the Force
wrapped around him, holding him immobile, scarcely able to
breathe. They remained in place as he was dragged back to the
platform and dumped there, still struggling furiously to free
himself.
"Well," the auctioneer chuckled, glancing at the prostrate boy,
then out at the nervous crowd. "That certainly provided our
excitement for the evening. I did warn you that he would be a
handful, but there are ways of working around that as you well
know. Now then, the last bid was . . ."
"I will take him."
All heads in the room turned to stare at the woman who had
spoken and a low ripple of commentary spread outward as she was
recognized.
She named a figure that had several of the other bidders
blanching and the auctioneer grinning. "Is there a
counter-offer?" None were forthcoming, so he signaled the
bidding closed. "Sold, to Bidder G127. I wish you well with
him."
"Thank you, darling, he shall make quite an interesting
diversion once he has been properly trained. Restrain him and
bring him to my ship." The regal looking blonde studied her new
purchase for a long moment, then turned in a swirl of expensive
furs and brocade and left the room.
New, heavier manacles were fitted around Obi-Wan's wrists, and
only then did the Force binding around him relax. "Good luck
young one," the auctioneer chuckled as the younger man passed
him by. His blue eyes sparkled with malicious glee and he
rubbed a thumb over an old scar on his cheek. "You shall find
Golgatha nothing like the Temple."
Obi-Wan trembled with the desire to wipe that sneer off the
dark-haired man's face but he knew anything he might try was
useless. The auctioneer was the one who had channeled the Force
so effectively, that much he could tell. Promising himself that
one day he would make this man pay, Obi-Wan committed his face
to memory, staring at the broken circle that marred his cheek
until the guards forced him out the door.
The trip to Golgatha was spent in the confines of a tiny cabin.
He was given far better food than he had been offered on the
slaver's ship and clean clothes to wear, but the manacles
stayed on almost constantly and no one spoke to him.
Fear for himself, for his friends, for the future began to gnaw
at Obi-Wan until he thought he would go mad from it. Where were
they taking him? He had never heard of the planet Golgatha, had
no idea of what to expect and the uncertainty more then
anything was getting to him.
Meditation didn't help. Every time he tried to relax into the
flow of the Force, Obi-Wan saw the auctioneer's cold eyes and
felt the constriction of the bonds around his body. After many
attempts that ended with this result, he gave up even trying,
unable to bear the continual failure.
He ate because he was punished if he didn't. He slept because
that seemed the only release from the hell he was trapped in.
Far-fetched plans of escape or rescue filled his thoughts and
dreams but vanished like so much vapor when faced with the
harsh reality of his situation.
The woman who had purchased him stopped by infrequently,
usually accompanied by several lackeys who hovered nearby,
waiting for an order or request from her.
She said nothing, but simply studied him, her dark brown eyes
holding both cruelty and contempt for the pitiful shows of
defiance Obi-Wan attempted. On the last visit, though, the
routine changed. "Do not worry, darling," she purred, catching
his chin in her hand and forcing him to look into her eyes. Her
nails dug into his jaw until thin streams of blood ran from the
crescent-shaped cuts. "Soon you won't remember any of this, all
you'll know will be serving me and you shall do so gladly."
Something in his expression must have amused her, as she
released him at that. She smiled thinly as she ran her fingers
across his chest, leaving red-tinted streaks in their wake.
"Soon, my little fighter, soon you will be reborn and your new
life will begin."
Icy laughter chilled the stark room even more as the woman
swept from the cell, her retainers trailing in her wake.
Obi-Wan backed slowly away from the door, shuddering and
nauseated. He wanted to wrap his arms around himself, but the
manacles made that impossible. A premonition of impending doom
enveloped him and the young man flung himself at the door,
screaming himself hoarse and pounding at the durasteel until
his hands were bruised and bloody.
Some time later, after he had collapsed in a miserable huddle
in the far corner, the lock disengaged and the door slid open.
Hushed whispers roused him from his stupor and he blinked at
the two forms entering the cell.
" . . . no harm in it. Won't remember anything come tomorrow
anyway. Besides, he's a slave, who cares what happens to him?"
"But he's her slave. You know what she does to people
who damage her belongings . . ."
"She won't find out if no one tells her. I know you've wanted a
piece of him since he came on board. Now's our chance."
Obi-Wan watched the two guards approach through barely cracked
eyelids. The door to the cell was ajar; if he could catch them
off guard, he could get out of there, find an escape pod
somehow get free of the hell his life had become.
"Mmm, you're right, he is a choice piece. Not going to have any
chance at him once we make planetfall either."
"Exactly," the first guard chuckled. "And you can even go
first."
"I'm not going to turn that down!"
The shadows bent over Obi-Wan and he bolted into action,
scrambling around them and darting for the door. A heavy hand
clamped over his shoulder, yanking him backward, away from
freedom.
"O-ho! Trying to get away, little one? Now why would you want
to do that? Aren't we allowed our fun?"
The breath left Obi-Wan's lungs in a painful gasp as he was
thrown to the floor on his stomach and summarily stripped of
his clothing.
"Nice, very nice . . ." one of the men commented, running a
hand over the youth's back and buttocks, then wrenching his
legs apart. "This will be worth it."
This wasn't happening, it couldn't be, it . . . Searing pain
dragged a scream from his throat, one that was cut off by the
closure of a meaty hand over his mouth.
"Keep quiet and I'll let you breathe, slut." The words were
growled in Obi-Wan's ear as the pounding agony continued, each
thrust ripping into him, pulling his mind farther and farther
from his abused body. One thought kept repeating in his
thoughts, one thought that kept him anchored to sanity. "I am
Obi-Wan Kenobi."
"Obi . . .Ken . . .bi . . ."
"What is he babbling about?"
"How would I know? We're just supposed to take him to the med
bay, not listen to what he's saying."
Obi-Wan flinched as the guards grabbed him, dragging him out of
the cell and down the corridor. He didn't offer any resistance,
only continued his half-whispered refrain. The low repetition
was kept up as he was hoisted up onto an exam table and
subjected to a body scan.
The med tech grumbled something to himself, and adjusted a few
settings, letting the droids repair the internal damage the boy
had suffered before returning to the task at hand. "Now just
lay back, this won't hurt a bit - or if it does, you won't
remember when you wake up."
"Ken . . .Ben . . . Ken . . .ba"
The whine of the laser drill overshadowed, but didn't
completely block the tormented scream that took up where the
recitation left off.
The mental howl tore through Qui-Gon's pleasurable dreams,
yanking the Jedi Master from boneless lethargy to total
awareness in an instant. The bed next to him was empty and he
flung the blanket aside, leaping to his feet in search of his
bondmate.
"Ben?" His voice echoed back at him, a mockery of the intamacy
they had experienced the night before. The scream still echoed
through his mind and, even as he strode into the other room to
look for the younger man, Qui-Gon knew he was alone.
Crushing emotions swirled around him, bringing the Jedi to his
knees with their intensity. "What have you done?" he groaned,
pulling his hands from his throbbing skull and dragging himself
back upright, fighting the pressure of the other man's
thoughts.
"Damn fool. Why couldn't you have waited? Didn't have to do
this alone . . ." The words were grunted out between harsh
gasps as Qui-Gon yanked on the first clothes he found and raced
out of the room.
The time to face his past was here; he only prayed he was ready
for it.
~end~
10/29/99
Next: The Sheltering Sky - How does Qui-Gon deal with the
repercussions of the return of Ben's memories
The angst continues ;) Send those waving lightsabers, axes or
other assorted things my way at RinaSHW@aol.com if you like,
meanwhile, I'll keep plugging away at the next one! If this one
was a little different, well I usually write this series to the
soundtrack from 'Last of the Mohicans' and this time Creed's
'My Own Prison' took over the CD player - but then that song is
very Ben Ken'ba-esque <g>
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