Warnings: Lustful thoughts for members of the same gender. If
it's not your cup of tea, leave the pot for the rest of us. No
spoilers.
Disclaimer: The characters are George Lucas's, bless him for
having such a fevered imagination, even if it's not as fevered
as mine. I should be so lucky as to make any money from writing
stuff that's this much fun to write. Unfortunately, I'm not.
Note: Alas, this seems to be turning into a series, though with
no formal title to it. Since I'm not keen on serials, I promise
to keep the stories complete in themselves, sans cliffhangers.
If you want to read them in story order, as opposed to the
order I wrote them in, this is the first story, "Crime and
Punishment" is next; then "The Anger Exercises"; then "The
Geometry of Desire,"; then "But For Grace; then "Master &
Apprentice." Stories are subject to eventual revision, when
this series comes to a logical end, so watch your mailboxes.
Thoughts in italics (or /); telepathy in //.
Summary: Qui-Gon and his apprentice go undercover to
investigate slave trading in the Outer Rim Territories. Their
roles fit them both a little too well.
Feedback: The more I gets, the more I writes, so if you like
what you read, please feed the writer. Warning: Proportion of
writing to feedback may increase exponentially, unless I go up
in flames shortly. E-mail only, please.
"This mission is going to be very hard on both of us, Padawan,"
Qui-Gon informed his apprentice, his face unusually grave
despite the truly exquisite taste in his mouth. He and Obi-Wan
were in their quarters, sharing the evening meal Obi-Wan had
prepared. Both of them regularly ate in the refectory with
friends or each other while at the Temple, or occasionally
ventured into the city itself. Tonight, with their leave
drawing to a close, Obi-Wan had decided to do something for his
master to show his appreciation for the time off he'd arranged
for them. Mostly, he had just wanted to do something for
his master because, Qui-Gon suspected, he could not do what he
most wished to. The tension, sexual and otherwise, had been
building between them for months and needed some sort of relief
valve. Qui- Gon had hoped to be able to deal with it during
this time at the Temple, but Obi-Wan had assiduously avoided
the least mention of it, deftly changing subjects or needing
abruptly to be elsewhere. Well, if the boy wasn't ready to
discuss it yet, it would do no good to force the issue, and
truth was, Qui-Gon felt none too certain he was ready to
discuss it himself. Even so, it would have been better to deal
with it before this mission.
"I was hoping this assignment would be given to another pair,"
Qui-Gon continued, "but the Council insists we're their first
choice and, since we are available and well-rested, I'm afraid
it falls to us." Qui-Gon went on, sipping the bowl of broth and
anticipating what was in the bottom. Obi-Wan, even in the
field, was an excellent cook. With the Temple's facilities at
his disposal he was superb.
"You make it sound as if they're sending us to hell, Master.
More wine?"
"Please. The next closest thing to hell, actually. We're going
to the Outer Rim Territories to look for slavers." Qui-Gon
fished out the tasty slivers of vegetables and meat from the
bottom of his bowl, savoring them.
"That does sound unpleasant. These next."
"What is this, Padawan? It smells wonderful."
"Steamed buns with a spicy filling," Obi-Wan replied. "Here's
the dipping sauce for them. They're a bit on the hot side, and
I don't mean temperature."
"I don't think 'unpleasant' begins to describe it. We'll be
traveling incognito, obviously, since no one is going to sell
slaves to or buy them from two Jedi."
"We'll be trading them ourselves?" Obi-Wan gawked.
Qui-Gon looked pained, and not from the steamed buns, despite
their bite. "I hope it won't come to that. But I'm to pose as a
Finder, with Senate funds in credits and hard cash and our own
ship, which you'll be piloting. We may, at some point, at least
need to make a purchase to give some verisimilitude to our
cover. I'd like to come back with one or two witnesses."
Obi-Wan smiled inwardly. Of course he would; it would mean one
or two less creatures suffering in servitude. Knowing Qui-Gon,
they'd be lucky if they didn't come home with a hold full of
witnesses. At least it made some sense having Qui-Gon play a
Finder. It was an occupation sometimes taken up by Temple
initiates unchosen as padawans, since Force sensitivity made
finding objects and people easier.
"It's a directive from the Senate then, not a request from an
individual system?" Obi-Wan asked, biting into one of the
savory buns. I outdid myself. These really are quite
good.
"The Sentients' Rights subcommittee. We'll be making our report
to them when we return. It's a fact-finding mission only. We're
not to act on what we find, only gather information on the
routes and most prominent dealers."
"Oh." Knowing his master, Obi-Wan realized this was going to be
very hard indeed on Qui-Gon. Inside his stern, tightly
controlled, calm exterior ran a wide river of empathy. His
master felt very deeply for the lost and injured and had,
indeed, often exasperated his apprentice in his insistence that
they divert from the main course of a mission to help some
troubled creature. Obi-Wan both loved his master for it and
found it highly annoying in someone who was always telling him
to focus.
"I'm afraid it's going to be hardest on you, however, my
Padawan. You're to pose as my personal slave. The Council
thought I should at least own one, if I am going to be dealing
in them."
"Indeed, Master." Obi-Wan could not quite keep the smirk from
his face. This was more likely to be a great deal of fun than a
hardship.
"Feels strange," Obi-Wan grinned, brushing his hand over the
short hairs at the back of his head and neck. His ponytail was
gone now, thanks to Qui-Gon's straight razor. Only his braid
remained to mark him as a Jedi padawan, and that had been woven
with beads and brightly colored threads, and tied off with a
thin thong dangling shells and feathers. Qui-Gon had pierced
one of his apprentice's ears from top to lobe and threaded a
coil of anodized titanium through the holes and healed them
with a touch of the Force so it looked long-done. Instead of
his plain Jedi leggings and tunic, he wore a loose emerald-
green shirt with an open neck and wide sleeves cuffed at the
wrists, tucked into tight black pants and black knee-high
boots.
Qui-Gon was similarly, if not as gaudily, transformed. Obi-Wan
had braided his hair tight to his skull and into a long, thick
braid down his back, tied off with another feathered thong. One
ear was pierced with a bluefire stud, and his shirt was a
cobalt blue that picked up the color of his eyes and made them
more piercing under the fierce brows. He looked harder and
crueler in the black and blue, his features unsoftened by the
heavy mass of hair he usually wore around them--but also
heartbreakingly handsome, at least to his apprentice.
"We'll keep the cloaks," Qui-Gon said, "but I've drawn us two
black ones from stores. I'll have a blaster in plain sight,
which we won't use unless there's no other choice, and my
lightsaber in the shoulder sheath." This was an uncomfortable
harness contraption that let the hilt of the saber sit between
the wearer's shoulder blades so it could be drawn from under
the neck of a shirt or jacket. "Yours I'll carry under my
cloak, since you'll be unarmed. I want it where you can get at
it easily."
"What if it's seen?"
"Then I'm a rogue Jedi who's left the order."
Obi-Wan laughed. "There's a few who already think you are."
"But no one would ever believe it of you, Padawan, even if you
weren't my slave."
"Too young, you mean."
"And too angelic, I daresay," Qui-Gon smiled.
Obi-Wan felt his face flush and his master smiled wider. "I'd
think you were enjoying this if I didn't know you better," he
muttered.
"There's very little I'm going to enjoy about this, Padawan. I
might as well enjoy looking at you. You're very pretty in that
get-up."
It was all Obi-Wan could do not to squirm under his Master's
eye. This was going to be much worse than he imagined if
Qui-Gon insisted on mock-flirting with him. Obi-Wan would have
enjoyed the real thing, but it was hard to bear as a joke.
"What about names, Master?" he said desperately changing the
subject.
"I think we'll keep the ones we have. Neither of us are well
enough known in the circles we'll be traveling in to be
recognized, and it will make the role-playing simpler. Calling
me Master won't be out of character either. How long have I
owned you, boy?" Qui-Gon's voice sharpened and dropped, losing
all warmth.
"Four years, Master," Obi-Wan replied sullenly, falling into
character. "You took me from a colony on Lesath raided by
pirates. Six of us survived. You decided to keep me and sold
the rest off, including my younger brother."
"Very good, Padawan. Did you get the dummy implant put in?"
"Yes, Master. Harmless, of course, but it will look like a real
slaver tracking device on the appropriate scan." Obi-Wan fell
back into character. "If it weren't for that, I'd be gone in a
heartbeat, but not before cutting your throat."
"Bloodthirsty little bastard." Qui-Gon's grin was feral. "Don't
know why I keep you."
"Perhaps because you like fucking me so much . . . Master." Two
could play at fake flirting. Only in his case, Obi-Wan wasn't
sure how much of it was fake.
He thought he saw a slight flush creep into his master's face.
There, he thought, payback for dressing me up like
this and enjoying it. But he'd barely time to think that
before Qui-Gon had taken his jaw in one hand and shoved him
hard against the wall, trapping him against it with the weight
of his body, one thigh grinding into his groin. Normally he
would have enjoyed the sensation, reveled in it even, since it
was as close as he was likely to get to what he wanted, but
this was clearly a threatening move.
"I would hate to have to put a stun collar on that pretty neck
of yours, my boy," Qui-Gon hissed, moving his hand down from
jaw to throat and tightening it. "But I will, if you don't
watch your tongue. Do I make myself clear?"
"Y-yes, Master," Obi-Wan croaked, eyes wide, heart pounding.
Who was this man?
Qui-Gon stepped back, drew in a deep breath and reached to
touch his apprentice's throat again. Obi- Wan flinched away,
but the fingers on his skin were gentle and warm with the
Force. "That's the sort of treatment you're likely to receive
from me during this mission, Padawan. Or worse. We're running
with a ruthless crowd and in this guise, I cannot afford to
worry about your feelings. I didn't want the roles dealt this
way, but the Council felt it made a better cover, and little as
I like it, I think they are probably right. I'll do and act as
I must for the success of the mission, without hurting you
unnecessarily. I've no plans to purposely endanger you, but it
may come to that. It has before, little as I've liked it. But I
want you to remember, Obi-Wan, no matter what I say or do, it's
merely the role. I would never hurt you or demean you. You're
my padawan, and my friend. Nothing will ever change that. Do
you understand?"
But what if I want it to change? Obi-Wan shook himself.
"Yes, Master. I understand. It will take some getting used to."
"For both of us, Padawan," Qui-Gon agreed and left it at that.
Maybe this wasn't going to be so much fun after all.
From the moment they stepped aboard the Asura Obi-Wan
knew for certain he'd been sent to hell. As agreed, they
assumed their roles when the hatch closed, and the last civil
words Qui-Gon spoke to him were "May the Force be with you," as
they walked up the ramp. Once inside, Qui-Gon's shields slammed
down and his master pushed past him to the captain's quarters
and ensconced himself in their relative luxury while his
apprentice went to the cockpit to do the preflight. He'd done
the walkaround earlier in the day and again just before they
boarded, finding the ship basically sound if weatherbeaten.
Once a smuggler's light freighter, it had been confiscated and
its cargo holds refitted for the present mission. Obi-Wan
suspected it had been Corellian-owned because it was well taken
care of and heavily armed for its size. The crew's quarters
were spartan, but comfortable enough. Not that it mattered. It
looked like he'd be spending much of the trip in the cockpit,
simply to avoid Qui-Gon.
Their first stop was a world situated between Hutt space and
the Outer Rim Territories, and for most of the trip, his master
ignored him. The rare times they spoke, Qui-Gon's voice was
cold and haughty or deeply cutting, so much unlike his master
that Obi- Wan wondered where he had found this person to
inhabit his flesh. Usually, there was some contact between them
through their training bond or thought to thought, even on
delicate missions, but Qui-Gon had raised his shields and
closed him out the moment the hatch slammed shut, as though he
wanted not the least bit of empathy or feeling for his
apprentice to crack his facade. Once they docked, his treatment
of Obi-Wan only grew worse.
It wasn't unusual on missions for Obi-Wan to take care of the
menial tasks like arranging for quarters and unpacking them or
seeing to docking arrangements if they had their own ship, so
he wasn't surprised the same tasks fell to him now. But on
other missions, Qui-Gon assumed he had a competent apprentice
who could perform his work without needing to be told how, and
never let Obi- Wan's help pass without thanks. The master he
served now berated him constantly and was grateful for nothing;
everything he did was wrong. He had thought he would be able to
shrug it off as simply part of their mission, but it became
increasingly more difficult to do so as Qui-Gon remained
scrupulously in character. He felt alone and adrift, unsure of
himself, cut off from the bond with his master. It made his own
role as a sometimes rebellious but increasingly demoralized
slave that much easier, but no less painful.
Their investigation led them to several worlds, each with
underground markets dealing in "laborers" of every sort, most
of them Hutt controlled, a fact which was no surprise to either
of them. Most of the "merchandise," they discovered, was coming
in from slavers raiding small, isolated colonies throughout the
Rim, worlds newly settled and unaffiliated with the Republic,
but often harboring homesteaders who had once been citizens.
The majority were human, but there were a number of non-human
and humanoid species as well. Whomever was unlucky enough to be
caught on the ground when the slavers landed was swept up or
killed. The same dozen names cropped up again and again,
supplying the same dealers on the same worlds. Buyers' names
were more difficult to come by, but their list was growing. A
disturbing number of slaves were disappearing into the
Corporate Sector, in large batches.
After three weeks, they made what Qui-Gon determined would be
their last stop, on Dschubba, another Hutt-controlled system,
out of which, they were told, the largest of the slave markets
was run, and where they hoped to deal directly with at least
one of the slavers or marketers, or find willing witnesses who
could identify them and purchase their freedom. By this time,
Obi-Wan could hardly wait to return to Coruscant. During the
last three weeks, he had been manhandled and slapped and shoved
and humiliated in public, and ignored in private. As often as
he told himself it was only the role, it lessened the pain very
little. It felt too much like rejection, if not outright
contempt. Qui-Gon wore this mask too well for his taste, and he
was starved for the contact of their training bond and civil
conversation.
That evening, they made the rounds of the local cantinas and
bars, Obi-Wan fetching his master's food and drinks and
kneeling subserviently behind his chair, hating every moment of
it. Qui-Gon made his own discreet inquiries at the bar and
spoke with traders and smugglers and petty thieves--but no
slavers. There were rumors of course. There were always rumors.
But slave trading carried one of the stiffest penalties the
Republic could hand out, so confirming those rumors was an
involved process on each world they'd stopped on. Tracking them
to the source was even more difficult.
The pair dragged back to their rooms late that evening or early
the next morning, depending on your point of view, after
fruitless hours of skulking questions and wasted time and
money. Obi-Wan slept on the floor for the remainder of that
night, badly, on a pallet at the foot of his master's bed, his
dreams full of anguished faces, terrified screams, blaster
fire, and the hum of a lightsaber. They rose before dawn for a
tour of the markets, black and otherwise, finding foodstuffs,
illegal weapons, handicrafts, intoxicants, live and dead
animals, arms wholesale and retail with or without the serial
numbers obliterated, stolen goods, droids, prostitutes,
jewelry, genuine imitations of everything valuable, real
antiques--but no slaves. Only more rumors of them, but this
time, one that was particularly intriguing and very disturbing:
Somewhere, apparently, was a slaver who dealt in
Force-sensitives.
Obi-Wan felt his master's anger coalesce out of nothing at the
Duro sitting across from him, then felt him let it go into the
Force and his shields slam down once again. The released rage
brushed by him like the x-ray shockwave from an exploding star,
invisible and burning, but it was somehow a relief. Inside
those shields, his master was still Jedi, still warm and
feeling. Obi-Wan added his own sudden anger to it, following
his master's example. Force sensitives. Bad enough the dealing
in sentient lives at all, as though something as marvelous as
the unique combination of spirit and breath and body were
merely a commodity to be bought and sold. He knew it shouldn't
make a difference; all life was equally precious. But somehow
it did. These were people like them, attuned to the Force,
gifted. Enslaved for it.
"What is his name, this dealer?" Qui-Gon demanded.
"That will cost you, human," the Duro replied, expression
unreadable. His greed, however, was impossible to overlook,
with or without the Force.
Out of patience, Qui-Gon passed his hand over the tabletop as
though caressing some invisible creature and projected his will
into the humanoid's mind. "You are most generous. It will cost
me nothing and you will tell me gladly."
"Never let it be said Marbu is not generous. I'll tell you
gladly, human, for nothing. His name is Khamor MalDurzi.
"And where can he be found? You would tell me that also."
Qui-Gon made another pass with his hand.
The Duro shook his head, confused."If I knew, I would say, Ser
Jinn."
Frustrating.
"Go. Buy yourself something to make you forget we've spoken."
Qui-Gon shoved a credit chip across the table, making a third
pass.
Qui-Gon began paying for the rumors then and letting it be
known he'd pay for more accurate ones. Dubious characters of
all sorts all but lined up to oblige him. Obi-Wan never thought
his master's diplomatic skills would be used quite this way,
but with a combination of cajolery, flattery, outright
coercion, and a judicious use of the Force, it was neither
difficult nor expensive--only time consuming--to find the right
rumors. Qui-Gon pursued the search like a man possessed. His
apprentice followed him with equal fervor, for once. It might
be something of a sidetrack from their main mission, but he
agreed with Qui-Gon that, in the Council's viewpoint, it would
be a vital piece of information.
The purchased and extracted rumors led them, over the course of
many days, to other rumors, and those rumors to all the levels
of Dschubba's underworld: the back rooms of certain cantinas;
from thence to an illegal sabaac table in a ramshackle
warehouse; to a vast dreamtime den in an abandoned building lit
only by the flames touched to hundreds of smokebowls; and from
thence to a brothel--one of a string of them--and from thence
to the brothels' owner.
The Hutt who owned them was young, still serpent- quick and
relatively lean, as Hutts go, massing only perhaps twice as
much as Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan together and boasting twice their
combined ages. Unlike the greater Hutts, this one spoke for
himself, rather than through a protocol droid or officially
designated Mouth. Durga's Basic was as good as Qui-Gon's,
though his voice reverberated through the room like a sonic
boom.
"Great Ser Durga," Qui-Gon bowed when led to the room by a
Rodian lackey. Obi-Wan was only a moment slower in following
suit but Qui-Gon cuffed him hard anyway. His apprentice
flinched away and mumbled an apology, sounding thoroughly
broken and submissive. It made Qui-Gon's heart clench. He had
purposely cut himself off from his padawan from the start of
this mission, knowing that with even their usual bond it would
be much more difficult to achieve the appearance of casual
cruelty he sought to project in this role. What he hadn't
expected was how much he needed Obi-Wan to know it was merely a
role. That was something he would have to examine later, in his
own meditations. "My thanks for granting this audience."
"What brings you to me, Ser Jinn?" The Hutt rumbled."I don't
often see customers myself. Ulurga doesn't like to waste my
time."
"I am not, in a sense, a customer, Ser Durga," Qui- Gon
replied."I seek advice. Your brothels are spoken of as the
finest in the Rim Territories, and while I have no wish to
compete with you, I have a commission from a client with rather
special tastes. I find I am having some difficulty filling it,
and I pride myself on always providing what my clients want."
"You're a dealer then, Ser Jinn?"
"A very select dealer. A Finder."
The Hutt's eyes dilated and his laugh made small objects dance
across their tabletops."Oh ho. A Finder. What happy
coincidence. I have need of a Finder."
"I would be pleased to make a business arrangement with you,
Ser Durga, but it must needs wait until I fulfill this
commission, and for that I need your help."
"Perhaps we could come to a mutually beneficial agreement,
then. Tell me what you seek."
"My client is looking for an assistant to do very sensitive
work. Strong, young, high pain tolerance, agile, a quick study
and a quick healer."
"Gender? Species?"
"Not that particular but the preference is for humanoid."
"I confess I'm puzzled, Ser Jinn. None of these qualities are
in particularly short supply. Perhaps you have more to tell
me?"
"The assistant my client seeks should also be an empath or
telepath--trained or untrained, but fairly gifted."
"Ah, much more difficult to find. The Jedi take so many of them
at young ages, and they are so rarely found to begin with."
"Precisely, Ser Durga."
"I begin to see your difficulty. However, I may have a solution
for you, or at least the name of a dealer who could help you."
"Khamor MalDurzi. I have heard of him. But finding him is
another matter."
"Perhaps I can help you with that. For a price."
"I would be happy to compensate you for your efforts on my
behalf, Ser Durga. Say, 500 Republic credits? Or cash of your
choice."
"I was thinking more in terms of a deal, Ser Jinn. What is this
pretty one to you?"
"A servant, merely. He pilots and sees to my needs. Why do you
ask?"
"Then perhaps we could arrange a loan in exchange for this
information, if he is only a servant?" the Hutt said, stroking
an oily finger along Obi-Wan's jaw, leaving a streak of slime
behind. He jerked away, distaste plain on his face."I have a
client of my own who would fancy a night with one like this."
Qui-Gon smiled lazily and stroked his knuckles along Obi-Wan's
cheek, wiping the slime away. At first, his apprentice flinched
away then leaned into the touch and looked as if he didn't know
whether he loathed or desired it."I prefer not to share," his
master said.
The Hutt laughed again, rattling the curios once more."Very
well. Let me see the shape of your money. And come back to me
when you've done with this job. I have another for you."
"It is a pleasure doing business with Your Greatness, Ser
Durga," Qui-Gon lied smoothly.
Once outside the brothel, they had walked only a few paces
before Qui-Gon rounded on his apprentice, slapping him with an
open hand hard enough to send him reeling into a wall. The slap
was doubly shocking as Obi-Wan was still basking in that brief
touch of affection and ownership, however feigned it was."Don't
ever embarrass me like that again, boy," he snarled as Obi-Wan
cowered back against the rough ferrocrete surface. //Obi-Wan,
let me in. //
"Master?" //Master?// Word and thought echoed together,
undertones of both pain and relief in both of them.
//I'm sorry. I had to get your attention. // "Flinching away
from me like that. You're mine. Do you understand? I'll do with
you as I like, and you'll be grateful for it."
"Yes, Master. I'm sorry, Master," Obi-Wan sank to his knees in
the muddy alley, the picture of abject submission and
fear."Please forgive me, Master."
//Keep our link open tomorrow, when we go to see this slaver. I
don't know what's going to happen, but I have a bad feeling
about it. // "Get up, you fool. Have you no more brains than a
nerf, kneeling in the dirt like that? You're becoming more
trouble than you're worth. Perhaps I should have let the Hutt
have you after all."
//I don't like it either. // "No, Master! Please! I'm sorry--"
Obi-Wan turned panic-stricken eyes on his master, clutching his
cloak."Don't sell me. I'll do whatever you ask."
Qui-Gon grabbed a fistful of hair and dragged Obi- Wan to his
feet with it."Shut up, you groveling fool. Go clean yourself up
and find a meal for me. I'm hungry and tired and have the stink
of Hutts on me."
"Yes, Master. Right away, Master," Obi-Wan sniveled, hurrying
away. //I've missed you, Master,// he sent before disappearing
around a corner at a trot.
Khamor MalDurzi was a twisted nightmare of a man, human, but
barely recognizable as so under a mass of facial and body scars
and prosthetics that had left him hairless, blind in one eye,
his mouth loose and drooling, useless for speech. One arm was
shrunken and contorted, yet still apparently quite strong, and
he walked with a dragging limp and posture deformed by a
crooked spine. A voder implant was attached to his throat and
it was from this that his voice, tinny and flat, issued. He was
also very strong in the Force himself, which explained why he
specialized in Force sensitives. His mind was strongly shielded
from Qui-Gon's probings, which suggested some sort of training,
or long years of trial and error. The two of them circled one
another verbally, obviously both aware of each other--and of
Obi-Wan--through the Force. There was no possibility of Qui-Gon
and his apprentice using their bond to communicate without the
slaver knowing. Both closed their shields tightly.
Qui-Gon presented the cover story he had given to Durga the day
before, casting himself as a Finder and Obi-Wan as his servant.
"This one's a fine specimen himself," MalDurzi responded to
Qui-Gon's request, nodding in Obi- Wan's direction."Why don't
you sell him?"
Qui-Gon wrapped his fingers in Obi-Wan's braid, jerking him
back hard until his apprentice was leaning against him, not
quite squirming in the embrace but arching slightly away from
Qui-Gon's body, so there was as little contact as possible. His
face was impassive, but he was still obviously reluctant."The
offer was made," Qui-Gon admitted, "but this one's not for
sale," Qui-Gon said, wrapping one arm possessively around
Obi-Wan's waist and sliding the fingers of his hand down the
front of his apprentice's tight pants, pressing him back
against his body, stroking the ragged end of the braid down his
cheek and neck with the other, rubbing his beard against
Obi-Wan's temple."I've grown rather attached to him." His
apprentice shivered and closed his eyes, his breathing a little
faster, unreadable, locked tightly behind his own shields.
MalDurzi cackled, rather horribly, through his voder."However,
someone like him wouldn't be amiss. What stock do you have?"
"I've three new ones in today. Have a look."
Qui-Gon let him go without a second thought and Obi-Wan
stumbled along behind, so aroused by his master's overtly
sexual embrace that he could hardly think. He wanted so badly
to be touched that way in earnest, not this playacting. Somehow
it was both humiliating and terribly erotic. It just might kill
him if Qui-Gon did it one more time and left him hanging like
that.
The slaver led them to a dank subcellar sunk well below street
level. Inside it, blinking in the unaccustomed light, were two
human youngsters and a Devaronian child of about four. They
were filthy and terrified, but largely unharmed, though their
fear was strong enough to choke any Force sensitive within a
hundred meter radius. Qui-Gon felt his heart clench in pity and
anger. Obi-Wan crept from his side, as though hoping he
wouldn't be noticed, and knelt next to the forcefield
separating them from their freedom, projecting comfort and
warmth. The wave of need and desperation that came back to him,
raw and uncontrolled, nearly knocked him over.
"They're very strong, Master, both of them, and the little one,
too," he said hesitantly, as though afraid he'd overstepped his
bounds.
"I might consider a trade . . ." the slaver offered again.
"No. I've said this one's not for sale."
"Say, the two humans for your boy? They're brother and sister."
"Not for sale, Ser."
"Pity. I might throw in the child, too."
Qui-Gon hesitated, calculatedly glancing in Obi- Wan's
direction. His apprentice's eyes locked with his, widened in
feigned panic, but that look was all his master needed."No
master, please. You can't--"
"Silence!" Qui-Gon reached out and casually backhanded his
padawan, who reeled back, hands flying to the hot and bruised
skin, whimpering."Let me see what else you have. Perhaps we can
strike a deal. But he's worth a great deal more than three
youngsters, tiresome as his whining is becoming. I've invested
quite a lot in his training."
MalDurzi smiled, or what passed for it on that face. "I'm sure
you have, Ser Jinn. All right then. Bring him round to the
market tomorrow night. In the warehouse behind Docking Bay 32.
After dark."
"Padawan," Qui-Gon said later when they were alone in their
rooms, breaking character for the first time in weeks."Are you
certain?"
"Yes," he answered without hesitation."It won't be much work to
get away from him. After I've found out where he's getting them
from."
"Unless he drugs you unconscious until you're off- planet, or
puts a real tracking device in you, or any of a thousand other
things."
"It's worth the risk. At least we'll be able to get someone out
of this nightmare. Those two in that cellar, they're not much
younger than I am. And the little one . . ."
"He's still of an age to bring to the Temple," Qui- Gon
finished.
There was no further discussion.
The slave market was hot and close but well-lit for the middle
of the night. It occupied an empty hangar behind the docking
bay and was crammed with dealers herding groups of cowed
humanoids and others with prod sticks, stun collars, and verbal
abuse. Qui-Gon and his apprentice passed the obligatory wall of
toughs hired by the Hutt to act as security and walked through
the building cataloging and observing everything, committing
faces and overheard names to memory, heartsick and, at least in
Obi-Wan's case, choking back anger. Qui-Gon seemed cooly
imperturbable, watching everything while seeming to ignore it
all, and affecting a thoroughly jaded air to boot. They found
MalDurzi near the auction block with a small gaggle of mostly
human youngsters in tow. None of them were older than
sixteen--the two they had seen yesterday--and a few were mere
toddlers. Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan exchanged a look, realizing how
young MalDurzi's "stock" was. Half of them could still be
trained at the Temple. There was no question of leaving any of
them behind, regardless of what they had to do.
In the end, Qui-Gon bargained only for the two oldest ones he
had seen the day before, and another very young human girl of
about four who had somehow been overlooked by Jedi scouts, one
who had truly extraordinary telepathic and telekinetic
abilities. The moment Obi-Wan had touched her mind, she had
flung herself against him in relief, sensing safety. He stood
holding her now, soothing her and petting her, tickling her
with his braid and whispering silliness into her ear, making
her giggle through drying tears, probably for the first time
since she had been taken.
Qui-Gon almost smiled, watching him. Someday he would be that
good with his own padawan. Instead, he turned a cold eye on the
slaver."I'll take these three, though I'd hoped for someone
older. The brother and sister will do for me and the little one
has some uses, but my client requires someone with more
stamina, an adult."
"Adults are hard to find," MalDurzi shrugged in his lopsided
way."The Jedi take them young and twist their minds until
they're useless. The young ones like this you can mold. I do
have one older one-- about this one's age--that I've not been
able to sell, but she's unmanageable. However, if you care to
look I'll have her brought out."
Qui-Gon agreed and MalDurzi's assistant, a sturdy looking
Sullustan, lumbered off, returning a few minutes later dragging
a young woman a little older than Obi-Wan. Her blonde hair was
filthy and had been shorn off and grown back raggedly, but both
Jedi recognized her at once for what she was--the junior half
of a master/padawan pair who had gone missing a year before.
There was a stun collar around her neck and the flesh was
burned and angry beneath it, her face was bruised from blows,
and there were stun binders on her wrists. The Sullustan forced
her to her knees and she looked up at Qui- Gon dully, not
drugged or hopeless, but worn and sick. He laid the back of his
hand on her forehead, feeling the heat of fever, and telling
her with touch alone through the Force who he was. She didn't
react visibly, but he felt a spark of fierce hope from her. She
turned to look at Obi-Wan with feverish but clearing eyes,
acknowledging his presence, telling them both she knew who they
were. He planted a kiss on the cheek of the child in his arms
and whispered something in her ear, by way of reply. The little
one turned to look at her too, nodding to Obi-Wan's whispers.
"This one's ill and damaged, not just unmanageable," Qui-Gon
objected.
"A small fever only, Ser. A dose of anti-infectives and she'll
be fine. The rest are merely superficial injuries. I'm nearly
giving her to you."
Qui-Gon took her chin in his hand, peeled back her eyelids,
then pulled her to her feet. She struggled under his hands, but
only half-heartedly."Stand still, little bitch, or I'll have
you stunned again," he growled, shaking her. She collapsed
against him, apparently half-fainting; Qui-Gon used the Force
to snap her cuffs open while her hands were out of sight
between them, whispered "There's a blaster under my cloak. We
may need to get out of here quickly," into her ear and set her
upright again, one hand squeezing her ass. Keeping her hands
together so the cuffs still appeared closed, she glared at him
and snarled, "Not if you were the last cock available, you
piece of slaver shit."
Qui-Gon laughed."Oh, I like this one, yes. I want to know what
sickness she's got, but I think I'll take her, if it's nothing
serious."
"In trade for the boy, yes?"
"With the other three we agreed upon."
"Well, Ser, that's a bit steep . . ." MalDurzi began. They
dickered a bit longer, Qui-Gon adding cash to the transaction
before they agreed on a final price. Qui-Gon ran a medical scan
on the other padawan, confirming she had only a slight fever,
probably from the burns on her neck.
"Now, if you're satisfied, Ser Jinn, let me inspect your goods
before we make our trade. Take them off," MalDurzi said,
plucking at the waist of Obi- Wan's pants.
They had both hoped to avoid this, but it wasn't unexpected.
Qui-Gon himself had done a cursory physical inspection with a
mediscanner and by gentle and reassuring touch of the three
youngsters before agreeing to trade his apprentice. He watched
his padawan's face for signs of panic or ambivalence, but found
none. He seemed, instead, as resigned to his fate as any slave
would be. Obi-Wan's shields were closed tightly and Qui-Gon
could neither reach nor read him. Obi-Wan set down the child
he'd been holding, herding her toward the two older "purchases"
with a reassuring pat. He glared at Qui- Gon, who forced
himself to lean casually back against the auction platform as
his apprentice stripped off and dropped his cloak to the
ground, then his shirt, his boots, and finally his pants and
underclothes with an air of determined anger. Then he stood
calmly, his face impassive.
Lords he's beautiful, Qui-Gon caught himself thinking
and felt a little ashamed. But he was beautiful, standing there
in nothing but his dignity, less naked than the man looking him
over with obvious greed and lust, as though he were merely a
piece of meat, a thing to be used and used up.
MalDurzi watched the disrobing with avid interest, his gaze
traveling feverishly up and down Obi-Wan's almost perfect body,
such a contrast to his own. When Qui-Gon's apprentice was
naked, the slaver shuffled slowly around him as Obi-Wan stood
quietly, his chin up, breathing evenly. Doing
meditations, Qui-Gon guessed. MalDurzi walked around him
once, looking, then a second time running both hands around his
ribcage and waist and hips, thumping lightly and kneading flesh
and bones, slapping his ass. Obi-Wan bore it without flinching
or changing expression. The slaver stopped in front of him,
pulled his jaw open, shoved a finger into his mouth, feeling
teeth and tongue and gums, then wiping the spit off on
Obi-Wan's own cloak. Not the barest look of distaste crossed
the younger Jedi's face."Look up," the slaver said, pulling
back his eyelids, then, "Down." Obi-Wan blinked a few times
when he was released, but that was the entirety of his
reaction.
He acts like he's used to this, Qui-Gon thought,
impressed with his apprentice's control.
Then MalDurzi grabbed his balls and Obi-Wan started a little,
but quickly recovered himself. Even when he squeezed, Obi-Wan
let out only a small hiss of pain."Nice equipment," the slaver
observed. "Bend over and spread, boy."
Hesitating only a second or two, Obi-Wan did as he was told.
MalDurzi sprayed a coat of surgical barrier over his good hand,
waited for it to gel, and unceremoniously shoved two fingers
into Obi-Wan's rectum. His apprentice only grunted a little but
it was all Qui-Gon could do to keep from drawing his lightsaber
and cutting the slaver's heart out and feeding it to him.
Better yet, the bastard's balls, he thought darkly,
dismayed by his own strong reaction.
"Cough, boy," the slaver said. Obi-Wan obliged. "Tight as a
Hutt's purse and hung like a gundark," MalDurzi said
appreciatively, withdrawing his fingers, peeling off the layer
of rubbery gel and discarding it."And you've taken good care of
him, Ser Jinn. Fed him well. Made him exercise. He's built like
a fighter." And suddenly, more quickly than either of them
anticipated, MalDurzi had Obi- Wan on his knees in a chokehold,
a vibroshiv pressed to his ribs, drawing a thin trickle of
blood. Any sort of move would split open ribs and lung and
liver in less time than it took to blink."But he would be,"
MalDurzi hissed, "a lovely little padawan like this, in his
prime. Did you think I would not know my own merchandise, Jedi?
I've had this one long enough to know her ilk."
Qui-Gon could hear the crowd beginning to murmur in the
background and the word he kept hearing was "Jedi." In a
moment, they would be a mob and not a crowd, and he and these
two padawans--not to mention the others they hoped to
rescue--would be the focus of its agitation. But there were
other players he hadn't counted on.
"Don't hurt my friend!" the little one Obi-Wan had been holding
yelled, stamping her feet, and the shiv was wrenched from
MalDurzi's hand, landing out of reach.
Quick as thought, Qui-Gon dove for the slaver, grabbing him by
the throat and shoving him up against the auction block."Try to
cheat me, will you?" he roared."Cheat me in a crowd like this,
you little vermin? I'll have the Hutts on you faster than I
could slice you open!" Qui-Gon called the shiv to him, pressing
it underneath MalDurzi's chin. His assistant had disappeared at
the first sign of trouble. //I would have bought them from you
honestly, slaver, but now you'll forfeit all of them, and make
no protest, do you understand?// Qui-Gon told him silently.
//Unless you'd like to accompany us back to Coruscant like one
of your own stock. //
The slaver quivered in Qui-Gon's grasp, all bravado leaking out
of him."Please not all--"
Qui-Gon choked him off. //Silence. Yes, all of them. The one's
you've hidden, too. // As brutally as he'd pushed the slaver
against the auction block, he pushed his way inside the
slaver's shields, feeling only the slightest twinge of
conscience about it. //You'll take us to them,// he
"suggested." //You're very sorry, Ser Jinn, and you'll be happy
to make it up to me. You've just the item I'd like, if only I'd
come with you. Your assistant will hand this lot over to my
mine. //
Eyes a little glazed, MalDurzi repeated Qui-Gon's phrases,
looking around for his assistant. Obi-Wan, in the meanwhile,
had grabbed the opportunity to put his clothes back on, once he
was sure his master had things in hand. The other padawan
watched them both, waiting. Quick as he was about getting
dressed, his shirt was still hanging open and untucked when
MalDurzi's assistant reappeared with the Hutt's hired security
toughs.
"Jedi," the commander--a scarred Barabel whose tail had been
lopped short in some unfortunate incident-- called, fanning his
disreputable squadron of goons out around the little group. The
crowd closed in behind them, curiosity, bloodlust and greed
propelling them. Even before Qui-Gon replied, bets were being
laid with long odds on the survival of Qui-Gon and his
"servant."
"There are no Jedi, here," Qui-Gon said mildly."My good friend
Khamor misspoke. We've had a slight misunderstanding. Nothing
more."
The Sullustan chittered frantically, gesturing wildly at his
employer and Qui-Gon.
"Not what 'e sez, Jedi."
Qui-Gon waved a hand."There are no Jedi here," Qui-Gon
repeated, without much hope that his influence would work on
this species.
"You lie, Jedi. Are you afraid?" the commander hissed in what
passed for a chuckle."You should be. Take 'em."
So much for that, Obi-Wan thought, forgetting about his
half-dressed state. From that point, it went as smoothly as if
they'd rehearsed it. Obi-Wan reached to draw his lightsaber
from Qui-Gon's belt with the Force, igniting it as it flew to
his hands, as his master drew his own from under the neck of
his cloak, green blade seeming to spring from inside his
clothes, and the other padawan shucked off her cuffs and called
Qui-Gon's blaster to her, stunning MalDurzi's assistant with it
almost before it was in her hands and the slaver himself an
instant later. She scrambled for the stun collar's control,
first on the Sullustan then on MalDurzi's body, finding it on
the latter and tucking it into her pocket, while the two oldest
of Qui-Gon's "purchases" herded the remainder of the slaver's
stock into a tight little group, the older ones carrying the
younger. The three Jedi surrounded them protectively, facing
outward. Less than ten seconds had passed.
"Stay together," Qui-Gon told them all quietly as the hired
security hesitated in the face of that flurry of activity.
The tone of the crowd was suddenly different, seeing the blades
of two lightsabers bobbing and humming and hearing the
commotion they had caused. Their murmuring had an undertone of
panic and surprise in it, now that there apparently were indeed
Jedi among them. More frantic betting was going on at the back,
however, now that the stakes were higher.
The guards rushed them and the crowd fell back. Moments later,
they seemed more surprised than disappointed when eleven of the
fifteen guards, including their commander, lay dead by their
own blaster fire ricocheting from Jedi blades, or stunned by
Qui-Gon's blaster, or maimed from lightsaber strikes. The
remainder fled and the crowd backed off again, losers muttering
darkly.
"That's the trouble with hired help," the other padawan
remarked, grinning tightly."They don't stick when the going
gets tough."
"Let us pass and no one else will be hurt," Qui-Gon told the
mob.
The crowd surged for a moment, uncertain, like a thing with its
own life, then parted, revealing a narrow avenue leading toward
the exit. Jedi and children made their way out of the hangar
slowly and cautiously, then ran for all they were worth, the
other padawan scooping up a lagging child, dodging down
alleyways and between docking bays until they reached their
own."Hatch secure," the other padawan called as she and Qui-Gon
herded the children into the ship."Nice equipment," she
grinned, tossing Obi-Wan's cloak into the locker behind the
cockpit.
Obi-Wan shut down and disengaged the hangar umbilicals and was
cruising out of the docking bay before they'd hit the ground
behind them. The good thing about the Outer Rim spaceports, he
thought, blasting their ship out of Dschubba's atmosphere
without so much as a fare-thee-well to ground control, was the
ease of arrivals and departures. In a few minutes, he warned
his passengers they were clearing the system's gravity well and
then the stars slid into the long lines of a preprogrammed
hyperspace jump to Coruscant. Obi-Wan had never been so glad to
see cold vacuum.
A few moments later, the other padawan reappeared, dropping
shakily into the navigator's station.
"Your master sent me up here to return this," she said, handing
Obi-Wan the blaster she seemed to just realize she was still
clutching. She looked a little more the worse for wear, now
that they were safe. Her face was flushed and her eyes
fever-bright and a little glassy. Her hands shook as she passed
the weapon over, butt first, with some distaste."He's getting
the little ones settled. I'm Rian Binradin."
He took the weapon from her and flicked on the safety, then
stowed it in the weapons locker just inside the cockpit
bulkhead."Obi-Wan Kenobi," he replied, holding out a hand.
She shook it with a look of surprise."Master Jinn's padawan?
That was Qui-Gon Jinn?"
"One and the same. Thanks for, ah, covering my ass, shall we
say?"
She grinned gamely."Well, it was a little bare. Cute, but a
little bare. I don't know how you got into those pants so
fast." She looked embarrassed suddenly."Sorry. I'm running on
adrenalin and my mouth got away from me. That was really
uncalled for. No offense intended."
"None taken," he replied, smiling."I don't know how I got into
them either. Are you all right?"
"I think so," she said, not sounding very certain."If I get out
of this damn collar I'll be a lot better." She shivered
suddenly."I just wish you two had come along about a year
earlier."
He got out of the pilot's seat and touched the backs of his
fingers to her cheek, pushed her gently back into the
navigator's station when she started to rise. "Sit still.
You're awfully warm. I'll get you something to eat. You look
like you could use it."
"Thank you," she said faintly, putting her head back against
the seat and closing her eyes.
But before he could get out of the cockpit, Qui-Gon appeared
with the child Obi-Wan had been holding earlier."This little
one insisted on being taken to you," his master said, obviously
amused. She was holding tight to the Jedi Master until she saw
Obi- Wan, then she flung her arms out and strained to reach
him. He could feel her tugging him toward her with the Force.
Smiling, he scooped her ragamuffin form out of Qui-Gon's arms.
"That was a very brave and very dangerous thing you did,
Jicky," he told her, squeezing her tight.
"He was going to hurt you," she said solemnly.
"And you stopped him. Who told you to do that?"
"Nobody! He was going to hurt you," she repeated indignantly,
as if that were reason enough and completely self-evident as,
Obi-Wan supposed, it was, whether you were three-and-a-half or
twenty.
"Well, don't do it again without telling someone first, all
right? You could get hurt. Promise me?"
"Hokay promise, Ow."
"'Ow'?" Qui-Gon echoed, raising an eyebrow. Rian snickered a
little hysterically.
Obi-Wan actually blushed."She can't say my name yet. That's
what the initials spell," he explained, mimicking her
indignation."Let's go get Rian something to eat, shall we? And
you too, if you're good. And possibly even something for mean
Master Jinn as well." Jicky still in his arms, he sidled past
his master and aft to the galley.
"You're Nadai Kinereth's padawan," Qui-Gon said, squatting on
his heels in front of Rian, back resting against the bulkhead.
He touched her forehead with his palm, then pulled off his own
cloak and wrapped her in it."Until we can get you fed and
cleaned up and settled in quarters," he offered."What
happened?"
"Thank you," she said tiredly."Our ship was attacked just off
Ammuud a little less than a year ago, I think, on our way back
from a mission. We'd gotten passage on a freighter. Pirates
thought she looked like a good target. They killed most of the
crew, and my master, sold me and the other survivors to
slavers. I was traded off to this one about three weeks ago.
Thank the Force."
"Yes. Or we might have missed you." He took her hand and
squeezed it."I'm sorry about Nadai. He was a good man and he'll
be missed. You both have been already. At least we'll be
bringing one of you home again. And your master is one with the
Force." He knew how little comfort that was.
She nodded, tears starting, and leaned over, pressing the heels
of her hands to her eyes."I'm sorry," she said in a muffled
voice, her shoulders shaking."It's just relief--"
"And grief," Qui-Gon added softly, but with certainty."I don't
imagine you've had time for that before now," he said, rubbing
her back soothingly. After a moment, he pulled her onto his
knees and into his arms, holding her tightly."It's all right,
Padawan. It's all right," he murmured, rocking her gently as he
would have done for his own apprentice."Let it go. Let it go,
Rian. He was your master and your friend and you loved him.
It's fitting to mourn him."
She tried to fight it, but her stamina was gone and her grief
still fresh for having been swallowed for so long. Qui-Gon's
kind words and embrace shattered her control and a great sob
forced its way out of her throat, becoming a long wail that
filled the small space of the cockpit like something physical.
She shook and shivered in his arms for several minutes and
Qui-Gon continued to hold her, riding out the storm with her,
giving her both an anchor and a safe harbor.
Obi-Wan found them like that, a short while later, returning to
the cockpit with a steaming mug. He'd taken a few minutes to
see their new charges were bedded down comfortably in the
converted hold, and that the older ones could keep the younger
under control. Most of them seemed frightened and dazed, having
been uprooted so many times in the recent past that this seemed
just another such event to them. It would be some time before
their lives resembled anything normal again. It would be some
time for Rian before her life seemed normal, too, he realized,
watching her weep in his master's arms. The brief pang of
jealousy he'd had at the first sight of them disappeared almost
unnoticed, hearing her misery.
Finally, she gave along shudder and pulled away, wiping her
eyes on her sleeve and smiling gamely up at both of them."Thank
you," she whispered. Qui- Gon set her on her feet, took the mug
from Obi- Wan and walked her back to the crews quarters.
Obi-Wan, suddenly tired beyond belief and relieved this mission
was over, dropped into the pilot's seat once more and reclined
it, intending to take a quick nap before he saw to feeding the
little ones.
Instead, he woke, still in the reclined pilot's chair, but
covered with a blanket, Qui-Gon sitting beside him watching the
stars skim by. A quick glance at the chron told him it was
several hours later. He sat up with a start and an oath,
throwing off the blanket and climbing out of his chair. Qui-Gon
caught his arm.
"Sit, Padawan. Everyone is fed but you. I wanted to say a few
things to you before I sent you off to your quarters for a meal
and some real sleep."
Obi-Wan sat back in his chair, bracing himself for Qui-Gon's
regular post-mission critique of his performance. It wasn't
exactly what he wanted to hear right now, but his master would
deliver himself of it when he chose, not when Obi-Wan was
ready. Might as well be now, Obi-Wan thought. Then I
can go back to my quarters and lick my wounds over a hot meal.
Something to look forward to.
Instead, Qui-Gon turned away and looked deliberately out the
cockpit's windshield and said nothing for several minutes.
Obi-Wan held himself very still, waiting out his master's
uncharacteristic silence with some concern. I can't have
been that awful that he doesn't know where to start, he
thought. Finally, Qui-Gon spoke, sounding deeply disturbed, but
the words were not what his apprentice expected."You should
know, Padawan, that I wanted very badly to kill that slaver for
humiliating you as he did. Then I realized that my treatment of
you since the beginning of this mission has not been very much
superior to it, and I'm not at all certain--"
"Master," Obi-Wan interrupted, intending to forestall anything
else he might say by reassuring him, afraid of where it might
lead in the end, "you were--"
"Let me finish, Padawan. I'm not at all certain that most of
what I did to you was necessary. I thought it would be best if
we maintained our roles throughout the mission, even in
private, but now that seems somewhat extreme to me. I know it
was very hard on you--I was very hard on you--and I want you to
know that your conduct was quite extraordinary throughout. I
doubt many others would have held up as you did, especially not
tonight." Qui-Gon turned finally to look at his apprentice and
there was both pain and regret in his eyes."You made me proud,
Padawan, and you made me ashamed of myself. I apologize for
hurting you, and I know I have." He ran his fingers down
Obi-Wan's braid, twining the ragged end through them."You must
know that you mean a great deal to me, not just as my padawan,
but as my friend. I am sorry, Obi-Wan."
"We both did what we had to, Master," Obi-Wan said quietly."No
one's to blame. I am glad it's over, though."
"And I, Padawan." He gave Obi-Wan one last searching look and
rose from his seat. Just outside the cockpit, he turned
again."Obi-Wan, when MalDurzi was . . . touching you, what were
you thinking? You were so calm."
"I was doing the third meditation, Master," he replied."'There
is no passion, there is serenity.'" It was not quite a lie.
If Qui-Gon thought that an odd focus, he said nothing of it,
only: "I was impressed by your control."
"Thank you, Master," Obi-Wan acknowledged with an incline of
his head--and a sigh of relief as Qui- Gon finally disappeared
aft. The falsehood in his reply lay in the fact that he had
only been meditating on the part about passion, not serenity.
And wishing the hands touching him were Qui-Gon's.
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