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The Finer Shades of Why

by Kalujinn and The Rose (kalujinn08@yahoo.com and rosarocaminis@yahoo.com)

Why? thirteen-year-old Obi-Wan Kenobi asked himself. Why wasn't I good enough? Why did I train all those years, struggle to make the grade, to be the very best I could be, only to fail? Why did he choose another over me?

He moved slowly off the commercial transport that had taken him from Coruscant to Bandomeer, away from the only life he had ever known, the only dream he had ever dreamed. He followed the coat of the tall woman in front of him, not really caring where he was going, and paused for a moment at the bottom of the ramp. He hitched up the rucksack that contained all of his worldly belongings. They were few, but treasured. A Jedi did not need many possessions.

A blast of dust-filled air swirled around him, making him shield his eyes as he searched for the representative of Agricorps that he assumed would meet him. At last, he spotted a round little man scurrying towards him across the landing platform. Behind him trailed a young girl clad in the white tunics of an Initiate. She, too, clutched a bag, her expression one of resignation.

"I was beginning to think you had changed your mind, run off to join the circus or something!" the little man exclaimed, holding out one hand. "Dev Ryner, at your service."

"Obi-Wan Kenobi," the boy replied, shaking the other's hand.

"That is Zoe, from the Dantooine temple." He thrust his thumb towards the girl who was waiting behind him.

"Hello." Obi-Wan nodded to her and was rewarded with a slow, friendly smile.

"Now, if you'll just give me your orders, we'll be on our way. We're running a bit behind schedule. Don't want to miss dinner, you know," Dev joked, patting his round tummy. Obi-Wan obliged him by handing off the datapad containing his transfer orders. The man quickly scanned its contents, then thumbed it off. "My speeder's right through here, ser Jedi."

He led the pair away from the main terminal, down a darkened alleyway. For the briefest of moments, Obi-Wan felt a trickle of warning through the Force. He resolutely thrust it away, determined not to give in to his feelings of insecurity. Suddenly, the man in front of them stopped, slapping his forehead with his open palm. "I clean forgot! Wasn't there supposed to be another boy with you?"

"I don't think so-"

"Yeah, there was," Dev said. He snapped his fingers as if the motion would somehow trigger his faulty memory. "Boy your age, kind of aggressive. Know who I'm talking about?"

"Bruck Chun?" Obi-Wan offered uncertainly, his brows drawn together in confusion.

"That's it! Chun! Where is he?"

"He was chosen to be a Padawan learner," Obi-Wan explained, his gaze dropping to his feet.

"Who chose him?" Zoe asked, her voice as soft and melodious as a song.

"Master Qui-Gon Jinn selected him."

"Master Jinn! He's like a living legend! How lucky!" the girl exclaimed excitedly. "Did you get to see him?"

Obi-Wan nodded glumly. "Yes, I saw him."

"Well, we need to get going. You kiddies can talk on the way. Is that all your stuff?" Dev asked, once again scurrying along the tarmac. He shook his head, saying, "I don't know how you do it. In all the years I've worked for the Jedi, I've never seen anyone bring more than one bag. If I were moving off-world, it'd take a whole ship to move my stuff."

He paused for breath as they stopped beside a landspeeder. "Of course, my collection of Tyderian mindshells alone would take up most of the hold!"

The two young people smiled at the man's attempt at humor. Obi-Wan stood back, allowing Zoe to enter the vehicle first. She climbed into the back seat, plopping her bag down in the seat beside her. Obi-Wan took the front passenger seat, settling his rucksack between his spread knees.

Dev grunted and groaned as he worked his stout frame behind the steering mechanism. "All set?"

Obi-Wan nodded in reply.

"Good. Now!" the man shouted, turning quickly in his seat. Zoe grabbed Obi-Wan's arms from behind and pinned them against the sides of his seat.

"What-?" Obi-Wan's startled question was cut off by the audible hiss of a hypospray, which Dev had pressed to his throat. The boy felt a languorous warmth spread through his body, making him slump in his seat.

Dev's voice, saying, "See, duck, it's as easy as that," was the last thing he heard before unconsciousness claimed him.

Soft, feminine hands gently shook him. He opened his eyes, though he had difficulty in focusing, a lingering effect of whatever drug Dev had used on him. As his awareness grew, he realized his hands and feet were bound to the bed on which he lay.

Obi-Wan fought the momentary sense of panic that threatened to overwhelm him. He reached for the Force to center himself. With a dawning horror, he realized that its reassuring presence was little more than a distant blur.

"Wha... how...?" He strained against his bonds futilely.

"Dev, he's awake. You want to check him again?" Zoe called over her shoulder, then turned back to Obi-Wan. "We were worried about you. Dev gave you too much stuff when he knocked you out." Her tone was oddly conversational, as if she were discussing the weather, not talking with a victim of kidnapping.

"You won't get away with this," he said through gritted teeth, pulling against the ropes. "When I don't show up, they will search for me."

Zoe looked at him with a puzzled expression, then dawning amusement. "Don't tell me you actually believed that Agricorps story?"

Dev bustled into the room at that moment. He quickly moved to Obi-Wan's side to take his pulse, then lifted one eyelid to peer closely into his eye. Obi-Wan jerked his head away.

"Dev, he thought that he was really going to Agricorps!" the girl informed him, a peal of laughter issuing from her throat. "Oh, that's rich!"

The little man chuckled as well, shaking his head. "Whadya think, kid? Them Jedi fed you, housed you, all that stuff for twelve, thirteen years? And for what? You're a failure."

Obi-Wan did not reply, but began chewing on his lower lip uncertainly.

"You don't understand, " Dev continued. "All that training and stuff costs a lot of dough. And when they have to wash someone out of the program . . . Well, they gotta recoup their losses somehow, don't they? And let me tell you, brothels pay dearly for young, Force-sensitive whores."

Obi-Wan's eyes widened at the man's words. Surely Dev didn't intend to ---

"It adds to the client's pleasure, you know, that Force stuff," Dev continued. "Not that it's doing you much good now, huh? What with that drug I've got you on." He shrugged his shoulders and turned away. "Personally, I don't get it. But if them Jedi want me to sell you to the highest bidder, who am I to argue?"

"I don't believe you!" Obi-Wan shouted angrily.

"Why would I lie?" Dev tilted his head in curiosity.

"Well... what about her?" Obi-Wan asked in confusion as he nodded in Zoe's direction.

"Zoe? She's whatcha call my assistant. This is her first job. Pretty effective, huh?" Dev grinned proudly at the girl. "Don't look so glum, kid," he told Obi-Wan. "If you're lucky, maybe you'll end up as a personal body slave to some wealthy fru-fru or something."

From there, things only got worse.

Years later:

"Stay in that cockpit," Qui-Gon ordered, pointing emphatically at the towheaded boy. "You'll be safe there." He strode purposefully through the hanger, his apprentice at his side. A palpable twinge of warning from the Force slowed his steps as the blast doors before them opened to reveal a dark robed figure. The creature --- the Sith --- from Tatooine.

"We'll handle this," the Jedi master declared to the Queen and her company as he and Bruck wound through their midst.

"We'll take the long way," Padme acknowledged, gesturing to her troops.

The Jedi and their opponent shed their outer robes before reaching for their weapons. Beside him, Bruck ignited his saber and assumed a defensive position. The Sith dramatically ignited first one red blade, then the other as he issued a feral smile.

//Take the left side// Qui-Gon spoke to his apprentice across their training bond. Bruck, apparently still angry over Qui-Gon's desire to train his Chosen One, ignored his Master's instructions. Instead, he performed a flashy acrobatic somersault, ending up behind the devilish looking creature. With a dark scowl, Qui-Gon leaped forward, engaging the enemy before his apprentice could strike.

The Sith was every bit as strong as Qui-Gon remembered from his encounter on Tatooine. His speed was impressive, his agility incredible, rivaling that of any opponent Qui-Gon had ever faced. A feeling of disquiet rippled through him as he fought, aware of the increasingly reckless maneuvers Bruck was attempting. Their bond, though never exceptionally strong, was now tenuous at best as Bruck kept his shields tightly raised.

The Jedi attacked, but their blows were easily parried by the creature. Bruck backed away from him along the elevated walkway while Qui-Gon worried at his heels, looking for an opening. The Sith blocked a strike of Bruck's saber, then kicked Qui-Gon in the face, forcing him over the edge of the gangway and into a freefall.

"Master!" Bruck shouted, the long white rope of his Padawan's braid flying out as he whirled and attacked the Sith with angry intensity. Slowly, the pair advanced along the gangway, the battle leading them into a narrow hall that ended in a circular chamber.

Far below, Qui-Gon dangled precariously by his fingertips from the crosswalk that had broken his fall. He gathered the Force around him and propelled his body upward onto the structure. With a brief gesture, he called his deactivated saber to his hand and Force-leaped to the level above. In the distance, he could see his apprentice battling valiantly. Qui-Gon could tell by his movements, though, that the young man was tiring. He ignited his saber as he raced toward the pair, only to be brought up short by a laser wall. He could see that the hallway was segmented by a series of barriers and that, for the moment, his apprentice was safe.

//Rest, Bruck// he ordered, dropping to his knees to conserve his own energy. The white-haired young man glanced back toward his Master, but did not cease his restless prowling.

"I am disappointed, Jedi," the Sith growled saliently. "Surely the great Qui-Gon Jinn did not train you. You are pathetic!"

"I'm still here, aren't I?" Bruck countered, bouncing impatiently on his toes.

"Only because it amuses me to toy with you, boy," the other taunted, fanning the flames of Bruck's anger and frustration.

//Bruck! Wait for me!// Qui-Gon ordered as the laser walls began to recycle. He watched with horror as his Padawan leaped into the circular room, engaging the Sith again. Even with Force-enhanced speed, the Master did not reach the end of the hallway before he was cut off from the battle once again.

"I can see why your Master wants to give you up for another," the Sith chuckled evilly. His comment startled Bruck into momentary stillness. It was impossible for anyone outside the Council chambers to have known that. Bruck's lapse in concentration proved to be costly. With a whirling flourish, the Sith buried his red blade in the chest of the young man, watching with satisfaction as he crumpled to the deck. Still trapped behind the laser wall, Qui-Gon dropped again to his knees. "Nooooo!" he screamed, his mind flashing for an instant to another face, with red-gold hair and a cleft chin. Then, reality reestablished itself, and he stared into his enemy's eyes. Bruck lay in a bloody heap behind the Sith, barely moving.

An oily voice carried on the Force rang out, sounding hollow within the metal walls, bur clearly audible to both men. "The battle is lost, my apprentice. Retreat. We will defeat the Jedi another day." The tattooed man struck the laser wall separating him from Qui-Gon with his lightsaber before slinking down a side tunnel and disappearing.

When the barrier recycled, Qui-Gon dashed to his apprentice's side. He gathered the mortally wounded body into his arms. A trickle of blood escaped Bruck's mouth and trailed down his chin as he struggled for breath.

"It's --- too late," he said weakly.

"No!" the older man protested, parting Bruck's tunics with one hand to examine the horrendous wound.

Bruck reached up to grab Qui-Gon's hand. "Master --- I have to know."

"What, Padawan?" he asked, his brow knotted with his own helplessness.

"Why? Why did you choose me instead of Obi-Wan Kenobi?" The question rocked the Jedi master back on his heels. "He was the one the Force intended for you, not me. Never me. So why did you ---" He broke off, a bubble of blood appearing on his lips, as his last breath escaped his body and his eyes faded into death.

One year later:

"See, Master?" the blonde-haired boy said excitedly as he dragged the tall man forward by one hand. "There he is! Just like I dreamed. Can we buy him?"

Qui-Gon Jinn peered through the rusty bars into the dark, musty cage. Crouched there was a young man, naked save for some ragged, knee length pants. He was very thin and filthy, so filthy in fact that it was difficult to tell the dirt from the bruises, of which there were many. His straw-colored hair hung forward over his face, obscuring his features, if not the heavy stubble across his cheeks and cleft chin.

The Jedi Master felt the Force stir around him, but didn't understand its message. He reached out with both hands, as if to touch the prisoner, but ended up gripping the bars to keep himself upright as the man in the cage raised his eyes. Their challenging, gray-green depths seared into Qui-Gon's senses like the touch of a hot poker. He'd seen those eyes before, but where?

"Master?" Anakin said from beside him, tugging on his sleeve. "Master, are you all right?"

He ignored the boy, staring instead into those eyes. Who was this young man, and why did Qui-Gon feel he should know? The eyes stared back coldly, taking in the Jedi robe but with no hint of recognition. How long Qui-Gon stood there, staring into the cage, he could not say. Finally, a new voice penetrated his consciousness.

"Interested in that one, are you, Gentle Ser?"

Qui-Gon tore his gaze away from the green one and turned to the grubby Alturian now crouched beside him. "How much?" he said, his voice as hoarse as if he'd been screaming.

"Oh, valuable this one is," the quadruped told him, his tiny hands rubbing together and betraying his anxiety. "Up for auction he is tonight. The highest bidder will claim him."

"No," Qui-Gon said, extending one hand in a subtle Force gesture, "how much for him right now, before the auction?"

The Alturian didn't so much as blink. "Not available before the auction. Commissioned he has been, to go through the ring."

Qui-Gon frowned. He sent a stronger Force suggestion straight to whatever passed for the creature's brain. "I don't care to wait until the auction. I wish to purchase him now."

The Alturian shook his head, his drooping ears flapping against his neck. "Be the highest bidder," he said, apparently unaware of and unaffected by the mind touch. He reached into his stomach pouch and withdrew a small data cube. "Here is his information. Number 38 he will be. Good luck to you, Gentle Ser." He plodded away, and Qui-Gon turned his attention back to the prisoner.

The young man had turned to face the corner, hunched into a miserable looking ball and displaying his whip-scarred back to the Jedi.

"Master?" Anakin said quietly from beside him. "We're going to buy him, aren't we?"

"Yes." There was no hesitation in Qui-Gon's voice, although the lightness of his pocketbook was indeed a worry.

"Good," his apprentice said. "Because there's something about him . . ."

Qui-Gon turned to gaze down at the boy, his brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

Anakin shrugged. "I sense something from him. He's very strong in the Force, I think. What does the cube say about him?" his Padawan of only a year wanted to know.

Qui-Gon glanced down in surprise, barely remembering that he held it. "Why don't we see?" he said, placing it on his palm and activating it. He read the information through eyes gone strangely misty.

"Number 38," he read aloud. "Sexually intact human male, approximately 20 years of age. Well broken to the -" Qui-Gon broke off, reading the next part silently. Well broken to the pleasure arts. He swallowed the bile that rose to fill his mouth and cleared his throat before reading aloud again. "Free of infection and serious injuries, but not suitable for the undemonstrative owner as he lacks proper submission skills. A fighter. Purchaser is strongly advised to keep him chained or caged when not properly supervised, and to leave both restraint collar and -" He broke off again, blinking rapidly to clear his eyes. "And inhibitor collar on at all times."

He dropped the cube to the ground and turned his eyes back to the figure in the cage as memory clicked finally into place. "Oh, sweet Force," he murmured. "Obi-Wan."

"A credit line we will extend to you," Yoda said over the comm sometime later that evening. "If Obi-Wan this is, bring him home you must."

"Yes, my Master."

Yoda's ear tips twitched, then lowered. "Much damaged he may be, Qui-Gon," the small green Master said. "Gently you must treat him, but firmly, too. Abused he has undoubtedly been."

Recalling the bruises and the scars on his back, and the obvious malnutrition, Qui-Gon nodded, closing his eyes briefly against a wave of anguish. "He has, Master." He looked up at Anakin's call. "I must go," he said. "The auction is beginning."

"May the Force be with you all," Yoda said before closing the connection.

Qui-Gon moved swiftly to the front row seat that his Padawan had held for him, clutching his buyer's number. He watched in despair as one slave after another was paraded across the small stage. Most were clean and well mannered, though scantily clad or naked as they were paraded up and down. Finally, after a seemingly endless time, Obi-Wan's number was called.

He was dragged onto the stage by two muscle-bound Carmaks. He was cleaner now, though naked, his hair still dripping from what was obviously a very recent rinsing, and there was fresh blood on his lip and on his manacled wrists. He was forced between two upright poles and chained there, spread-eagled.

"Number 38," the auctioneer announced. "You can read all the information on him there in your cubes, so I won't repeat it here. I will say, however, that this is one who needs a strong hand." There were chuckles from the bidders' area, and Qui-Gon bit his lip to keep from screaming in rage as one of the Carmaks stepped forward and rammed a thick finger up into Obi-Wan's anus. "As you can see," the auctioneer continued as Obi-Wan howled in pain, "he's broken in but still good and tight. Bidding opens at 40 teves."

Five minutes later, and 97 teves poorer, Qui-Gon became the proud owner of slave number 38. Once the paperwork was completed, he was handed a small controller for the restraint collar. The being helping him pressed a button, typing in a four number code, and a few minutes later Obi-Wan was dragged through a side door.

His split lip and bleeding wrists had been seen to, or at least rinsed clean, and he was wearing slinky, ill-fitting pants in a dull green shade. There was a chain fastened snugly around his waist and both wrists were manacled to it. His gaze rose to meet Qui-Gon's challengingly, and the Jedi Master felt a chill investigate his spine. This was not the same boy who had once lived and laughed and trained in the Coruscant Temple. The face was years older, the eyes older still. And the waves of anger mixed with indifference rolling off of him were chilling. Such anger in a Force-sensitive being, let alone a Jedi-trained one, was deeply unsettling, and very dangerous.

"Do you need help getting him home?" the being behind the desk asked.

Qui-Gon cleared his throat. "No, thank you. I can manage."

The guards shoved Obi-Wan toward him and Qui-Gon caught one bony elbow, steering the younger man out the door. Anakin, waiting in the next room, jumped to his feet. He opened his mouth to speak, his eyes dancing with questions, but Qui-Gon waved him to silence. That silence held until they were inside their ship.

"Okay," Obi-Wan finally said, his eyes flicking to Qui-Gon's again. "You want to tell me when the Jedi started buying slaves?"

Qui-Gon blinked. "I could not leave you in that place," he said simply, unfastening the manacles. He started to remove the waist chain, then thought better of it.

"Why?" the young man grated out, his anger and confusion clearly visible on his face. "The Jedi didn't want me the first time around. Why would they want me now? Or, are you planning to just sell me again, for a bigger profit this time?"

"The Jedi didn't sell you," Anakin interjected. Then, he turned to Qui-Gon. "They didn't, did they?"

Qui-Gon shook his head. "Of course they didn't. Jedi do not believe in slavery. We don't know what happened to Obi-Wan."

"You don't know?" Obi-Wan exploded. "You sound like no one even realized I was gone!" His gaze narrowed, his mouth tightening into a thin line. "That's it, isn't it? I was an outcast, on my way to Agricorps, and no one was concerned enough about me to even wonder why I didn't show up! Dev Ryner stole me away and sold me into slavery, and no one fucking cared!"

Qui-Gon took a sudden step forward, emphasizing his size advantage by glaring down into the younger man's face. "You should know that I don't appreciate that sort of language, particularly around my Padawan."

Obi-Wan's face went suddenly pale as he stepped back, ducking his head and lowering his gaze. "Yes, sir," he said in an entirely different tone. Concerned, Qui-Gon reached out to clasp his shoulder. To his horror, the young man actually flinched away.

Qui-Gon slowly lowered his hand. "I won't hurt you," he said in his mildest voice.

Obi-Wan did not look up. "I'm tired," he said instead. "May I rest somewhere for awhile?"

The Jedi Master nodded. "Yes, of course. Forgive me for not thinking of that." He led Obi-Wan to the cockpit and seated him in the single rear chair. "Until I'm certain I can trust you," he said, locking the chain around Obi-Wan's waist to the arm support, "I'm afraid I'm going to have to keep you restrained."

Obi-Wan didn't answer, his head tipped forward as he studied the deck between his feet. With a slight frown, Qui-Gon glanced over at his shoulder and spoke to his Padawan. "I'm certain Obi-Wan is hungry. Why don't you bring him some of that fresh fruit you bought?"

Anakin's eyes flickered briefly to Obi-Wan. Obviously, there was much he wanted to discuss, but he nodded obediently. "Yes, Master," he said as Qui-Gon took the pilot's seat and began making preparations for lift-off. Within minutes, they were off the planet, the hyperdrive engines engaged.

"Where are you taking me?" Obi-Wan asked.

"Eventually, back to Coruscant," Qui-Gon told him. "But, right now, Anakin and I are on a mission. We're expected on Devinnar 3 in a few days."

"Coruscant," Obi-Wan repeated. "Why? I failed. I have no place at the Temple."

"You didn't fail," Qui-Gon said. I failed you, he wanted to say, but he didn't. Yet, he felt very strongly that it was true. He remembered the boy's eyes asking, almost pleading, to be his Padawan, and he remembered the look of despair when he was passed over. . "I'm going to recommend that the Council lets you finish your training."

Gray-green eyes opened wide at that. "Finish my training?" the young man answered in a shocked voice. "Why in the Sith hells would I want to do that, even if they'd let me? I'm never going to be anything more than I am, and you know it! And especially not a fucking Jedi!"

"I know nothing of the kind," Qui-Gon said, ignoring the cursing for the moment. "Your fate has yet to be decided, Obi-Wan. You must be patient."

The freed slave huffed but fell silent as Anakin returned. He spent the next few minutes filling his stomach, then seemed to notice Anakin staring at him intently.

"Forget it," he said gruffly, looking at the young Padawan and hunching further down in his seat. "I don't do kids."

Anakin turned to Qui-Gon, who was setting the proximity alarm to alert him when they reached their destination. "What does that mean, Master? 'I don't do kids'."

Qui-Gon glanced back at him, his mouth set in a thin line. "I'll tell you later."

Anakin plopped into the co-pilot's chair. "You always say that," he said with a frown. "Then you never do."

Qui-Gon nodded. "Of course not."

Behind them, Obi-Wan snickered audibly. "Keeping secrets from the boy already?"

Qui-Gon swiveled his chair, his gaze meeting the stormy green ones. "What are you implying?"

The young man sneered. "You know fucking well what I'm talking about, old man."

"I told you before," Qui-Gon answered him, his brows drawing together, "that I disapprove of vulgarity."

"All that Force talk. It's just a load of Bantha shit! My first owner was a healer; he explained it all to me."

"Did he?" Qui-Gon prompted. He did not argue with the younger man, wanting to hear what he had to say. "What did he tell you?"

"That the Jedi suffer from a form of mental illness, a delusional state that makes them think they have supernatural powers." Obi-Wan paused. When Qui-Gon did not dispute his words, he continued, warming to his explanation. "See, the Senate brings all the people suffering from Jedi disease to Coruscant or one of the other Temples. They fund their education and living expenses because the disease makes them susceptible to suggestion. They make great warriors. And nobody cares if they die."

"You mean, you don't feel the Force?" Anakin sat up, an intent look upon his face.

"Not since my master cured me," Obi-Wan replied, fingering the Force inhibiting collar he had worn for nearly half his life. "With this."

Anakin leaned in for a closer look at the collar. "How does it work?" he wanted to know.

"It keeps my body chemically balanced," Obi-Wan replied simply.

Anakin nodded. "If your first master was so fond of you, why did he sell you?"

"He didn't. He died," Obi-Wan's gaze went unfocused as he remembered the kind old man who had been his master. "His relations didn't want a slave. They wanted credits. So, I was sold."

"You have some studying to do, Anakin," Qui-Gon said. "And no arguments," he added when Anakin opened his mouth to do just that. He offered a hand to his apprentice, drawing him to his feet.

"Yes, Master."

Qui-Gon watched the boy exit the cockpit before he leaned forward in his chair. "May I ask you a personal question?"

"You can ask. Doesn't mean I'll answer," the young man replied, purposefully avoiding the other's gaze.

"This master, did he... touch you? Use you?" the older man probed gently. Obi-Wan shrugged his shoulders noncommittally, deeming not to answer. "You were about thirteen, weren't you?"

There was still no reply.

Qui-Gon propped his elbows on his knees and continued. "One of the first things an abuser does when he acquires a new victim is to destroy his victim's ties with the past. He will purposefully attack relationships and truths that his prey holds dear." Obi-Wan's gaze reluctantly moved up to the other man's face as he continued, "Once he had debunked everything you trusted, believed in, he began cultivating your affections, your love, even." Encouraged that Obi-Wan hadn't contradicted him, Qui-Gon went on. "Most sexual predators prefer a willing partner, Obi-Wan."

"Don't you call him that!" the young man said angrily. "He was very kind to me!"

"I'm sure he was," Qui-Gon agreed gently.

"Well, he was a lot kinder to me than you ever were," Obi-Wan said vehemently, pushing himself up out of the chair and moving to the end of the short chain, leaning his forehead against the cold metal of the wall.

Surprised, Qui-Gon leaned back in his chair. "So, you do remember me."

"How could I ever forget you?" Obi-Wan said in a hushed, anguished voice. "You ruined my life."

"I'm sorry, Obi-Wan," the Jedi Master offered quietly. "I was wrong. I know that now. The Force has shown me ---"

"Oh, give it a rest, will you?" Obi-Wan yelled, whirling to face Qui-Gon. "The kid's not here to impress! But, I'm going to make sure he knows the truth."

"Enough!" Qui-Gon said coldly, rising from his seat. "You are entitled to your opinions. But I will not allow you to interfere with the training of my Padawan. Is that clear?"

Obi-Wan panted, his hands clinching into fists, his face flushed with pent-up emotion.

"Is. That. Clear?" Qui-Gon asked firmly.

"So where is he?" Obi-Wan said, by way of a reply. "Where's your other Padawan, Bruck Chun? Is he a Knight now?"

"He's dead." Qui-Gon sighed, sweeping one hand over his face, feeling suddenly tired and worn. "He was killed about a year ago, on a planet called Naboo."

"My master was right, wasn't he? No one cares if the Jedi die. Not the Senate, not the people," Obi-Wan accused. "Not even their own Masters. You didn't mourn him, did you? You haven't even grieved for him."

Qui-Gon's shoulders slumped. "We were never very close, Bruck and I. My fault, I'm afraid. I would not let myself get close to him. "

"So, you didn't like Bruck very much, and you didn't like me because I wasn't good enough. Right?"

"No," Qui-Gon said. "No, you were good enough. I just -"

"If that's true, then why did the Council decide to sell me into slavery?"

"For the last time, Obi-Wan, the Council did no such thing," Qui-Gon grated out. "And I didn't take you because . . ." He broke off, turning away.

"Because of what, Master Jinn?" Obi-Wan yelled after him, jumping to his feet and jerking at the chain that bound him to the chair. "I was too angry, you said! Hah! So you took Bruck instead? Bruck! That lying, cheating scum was the very embodiment of anger!"

"You will not speak of him that way," Qui-Gon ordered.

"Don't bother acting like you cared about him, because I know you didn't. You are a cold, heartless bastard, Qui-Gon Jinn," Obi-Wan spat at him as he dropped back into his chair. He leaned forward, burying his face in his hands. "I hate you! I wish I'd never had to see your ugly face again!"

Qui-Gon sighed. He waited, his heart twisted with long forgotten pain, but nothing else was forthcoming. Finally, he turned on his heel and stepped out of the small cockpit.

He made certain that Anakin had obeyed him and was indeed studying, then he took a sonic shower, washing away the stench of the slave yards. As he scrubbed, he felt some unnamed emotion tug at him as he thought about young Kenobi. Obi-Wan could have been his apprentice, should have been, if he had heeded the Force all those years ago.

Why had he chosen Bruck? What had driven him to make that fateful decision? He remembered the hurt in Obi-Wan's eyes when Qui-Gon had rejected him. It had haunted him for years, and was in truth the reason he'd taken Anakin as his Padawan learner. Perhaps it had been a way of redeeming his poor decision, of making it up to the Force for ignoring its leading.

He was determined to meditate on these questions. Returning to the common room, he sank to his knees on the cold floor and cleared his mind.

Choices.

Life is all about choices.

How often do you hear someone lamenting a choice they made in life? Or rejoicing over one, for that matter? The tiniest, most innocuous decision can have far-reaching consequences. But for all the lamentations or celebrations, how often do we consider the effect that our choices have on those around us?

What leads us to one conclusion rather than another?

Why did I push him away?

Why didn't I choose Obi-Wan Kenobi? Was it because his anger reminded me of Xanatos? If that were true, then why did I choose Bruck? He carried anger like a shield all of his days. I was never able to train it out of him.

No, there has to be another reason for my rejecting Obi-Wan. Was it only because I felt drawn to him, the same way I felt drawn to Xanatos? Was I afraid of the will of the Force? Was I afraid it had failed me once before, with a fallen apprentice, and I wouldn't risk it again?

Now that I have a chance to make things right by him, will fear rule me again?

Footsteps echoed softly through the metal body of the ship, and Obi-Wan feigned sleep as Qui-Gon and Anakin stepped into the cabin. A niggling feeling of jealousy caught him by surprise as he observed through lowered lashes the interaction between the two of them.

"We'll reach Devinnar 3 tomorrow," Qui-Gon said softly as he followed his charge.

"And you can tell the Council how we freed Obi-Wan, right?" the boy asked in a like tone.

"Right," the Master replied with a gentle smile, cupping Anakin's spiked mop of hair with one large, callused hand. The jealousy peaked, sending a cold finger of pain through Obi-Wan's heart. He closed his eyes to block out the sight of the boy enjoying the place that should have been his.

"I think he's asleep," Anakin whispered dramatically, as the young are prone to do.

"I suppose he is," Qui-Gon replied in a much quieter tone. "And you should be, too."

"It's been a long time since he's felt safe," Anakin observed thoughtfully.

"Yes." Qui-Gon resisted the urge to sigh, and turned to ruffle his Padawan's spiky hair. "Bedtime, Anakin. And no holocomics."

"But, I wanted to - " the boy began, but he broke off when his Master shot him a look. "Yes, Master. See you in the morning." He turned for the door, then stopped for one final look at Obi-Wan. "I wish he trusted us," he said.

"All things in their time, Anakin."

"I suppose. Goodnight, Master."

"Goodnight, Padawan."

Obi-Wan held his breath as Anakin's footsteps faded into silence, waiting until the older man stepped closer and reached out to touch his shoulder. Obi-Wan moved like a striking serpent and captured the outstretched hand in his own, pressing the small knife he had stolen close to the other man's throat. "You should teach your Padawan not to give sharp implements to dangerous prisoners, not even to peel their fruit."

Qui-Gon looked deeply into his eyes, holding very still. "I thought you might be more comfortable in my bed," the Jedi murmured at last. At Obi-Wan's snort, he added, "Alone, of course. I have some reports to read."

"Yeah, right, alone." The younger man chuckled disbelievingly. "I've heard that one before."

Qui-Gon held very still as the dull blade pressed a little harder against his flesh. "You have my word."

"The word of a Jedi is meaningless," Obi-Wan said, his eyes narrowing. His hand tightened on Qui-Gon's wrist as his gaze dropped to the Jedi's throat. "I could kill you, you know."

"I know."

"It would make up for a lot," the young man continued, twisting the blade slightly and watching in fascination as a line of bright red blood appeared on the skin. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't?"

Qui-Gon made no effort to pull away. "Because you need me."

"No," Obi-Wan snarled.

"Yes. You need me if you are ever to regain what was once yours."

"What the fuck do you mean by that?" Obi-Wan snapped, unconsciously pressing the knife deeper. "You think I want to go back to the Jedi? You think they'd take me, even if I did? I'm a failure, remember? A washout! They'll only sell me again, for more money this time since I'm 'broken in.'"

"Oh, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said sadly, his voice betraying no pain as the knife edged deeper. "The Jedi did not sell you. You were taken -"

"I don't want to hear it!" Obi-Wan shouted. He shoved Qui-Gon away, hard, and watched as he slammed into the doorframe behind him. "I hate the Jedi! And I hate you!" He turned away, clutching the knife in one trembling hand. "Just leave me the fuck alone."

For a long moment, Qui-Gon didn't move. Finally, he straightened slowly, one hand reaching up to wipe away the blood trickling from the cut on his neck. With the other, he tossed the spare tunic he had brought onto Obi-Wan's chair. "I thought you might be cold," he said. "If you change your mind about the bed, just call me. I'll be up for some time yet."

Obi-Wan only grunted in response. He watched from the corner of his eye as the tall Jedi Master left the room, leaving him alone.

Why didn't I kill him when I had the chance? Obi-Wan wondered as he stared out the forward viewport. He's nothing to me. Worse than nothing. So why didn't I kill him? He chewed on his lip, pushing aside the answer when it swept into his mind. No, he told himself firmly. It wasn't because Jinn was being kind to him, or because he had rescued him from who-knew-what fate at the slave auction, or because his blue eyes were incredibly attractive . . .

Where the fuck did that come from? He got to his feet, trying for the second time to open the lock binding him to the chair with the small knife blade. It still wasn't working, although it should have. He'd picked locks similar to it before. Must be some damn new type of lock. In frustration, he threw the knife to the floor, barely hearing the noise it made on impact.

"Are you all right?" a deep voice said from the next room.

"Fine!" he snapped in response, hoping that Jinn wouldn't come back in here. He didn't want to see him, didn't want to talk to him, didn't want to look into those wonderful blue eyes again. He kicked the chair, hard, and yelped as pain shot through his big toe. "Fuck it!" he growled, hopping on one foot briefly.

"Obi-Wan?"

Uh oh. Now you've done it, Kenobi. He's on his way in here. He hastily looked for the knife, but it had slid beneath the pilot's chair and out of his reach. Then, there was no time for regrets, as Jinn appeared in the doorway.

"What happened?" the Jedi Master asked.

"None of your damn business!"

Jinn's gaze dropped to his right foot, and Obi-Wan looked as well, seeing the toe already beginning to swell. The Jedi sighed. "Did breaking your toe make you feel better?"

"I didn't break it!" Obi-Wan yelled. He bit his lip as a stab of sharp pain rippled up his leg. "At least, I don't think I did."

"Would you let me look at it?"

Obi-Wan frowned, fidgeting with the hem of the huge tunic he'd been given. He didn't want Jinn to touch him, but his foot was starting to hurt pretty badly, and chained up as he was there wasn't going to be anything he could do for it himself. Reluctantly, he nodded.

He put his foot up on the chair, holding very still as Jinn moved in close, bending over his bent knee. The fresh-scrubbed, slightly spicy scent of the man washed over Obi-Wan, the sheer power of his presence nearly overwhelming. He must have swayed, for the Jedi turned quickly and caught his elbow, steadying him.

"I think you should sit back down."

"I'm fine," he growled, but there was less anger in his tone than before.

"Please?" The softly spoken word ghosted across Obi-Wan's skin, making him shiver. He looked up into those eyes and was lost. Robbed of the power of speech, he nodded. He let the Jedi's large hand guide him back to his seat, then watched as the man knelt before him, lifting his foot and examining it with infinite care.

"Well, it's not broken," he pronounced a moment later, "but it was a near thing."

A flush of heat radiated up Obi-Wan's leg, feeling incredibly good though he didn't understand the source, and the worst of the pain eased. "Thanks," he muttered grudgingly when the Jedi finally released him. He looked up, noticing for the first time the scabbed-over cut on Jinn's neck. A twinge of guilt shot through him, but he quickly replaced it with a show of anger. "You gonna leave me chained to this chair for the whole trip?" he snarled.

The blue eyes rose to meet his, seeming seeing right through him. "The offer of my bed still stands."

Obi-Wan glared at him for a moment, trying to judge the man's sincerity. Finally, he gave a curt nod. "I can't get there like this," he said, tugging on the waist chain. Jinn leaned forward, reaching for the lock, and Obi-Wan caught a hint of that enticing scent again, and to his dismay, his body reacted. He heard the lock click open, though he hadn't seen the Jedi holding a key, and the chain around his waist fell completely away.

"Don't make me regret doing that," Jinn said, his tone deep and commanding, his gaze burning into Obi-Wan's soul.

The younger man didn't bother to answer, but rose quickly to his feet, turning his back on the Jedi in an effort to hide his sudden and unwelcome erection.

"Second cabin on the left," Jinn's voice called after him. "Just past the 'fresher."

Obi-Wan didn't look back, but he felt those blue eyes on him as he limped down the short passageway and found the correct door.

Obi-Wan slipped into the unoccupied cabin and stripped, allowing his erection to spring free. He stared down at it as if it had betrayed him. Why was he reacting this way to the Jedi's closeness?

He'd been used by lots of men, been treated as nothing more than a convenient tight hole to fuck or a handy play toy that screamed nicely when it was hurt. While exciting in some ways, the thought of being taken by Qui-Gon Jinn set his nerves on edge. It wasn't that the Jedi was any more scary than the others - although he was - or that his cock was probably larger than most - although it almost certainly was huge like the rest of him. But, the fact that this was a Jedi, a Jedi who could well have been his Master, made the situation confusing, and somehow almost wrong.

He had no illusions that Jinn would make a move on him. All of his owners fucked him. It was only a matter of time before this one did, too. Probably tonight, after the boy is asleep, he thought. His cock jumped at the thought.

This is stupid, Kenobi, he thought as he fisted himself, remembering the times when sex had actually been pleasurable for him. There weren't many. With his first master, certainly, at least after that terrible, terrifying, painful first time, and with a few others since then. Mostly, though, sex meant pain. He'd gotten used to it, after a fashion, even learned to distance himself a little. But he'd long ago given up the idea of ever liking it, let alone fantasizing about it.

He lay there in the darkness, listening to the soft hum of the engines, the almost inaudible creaking of the metal ship around him, slowly stroking himself as he waited for the door to open. Time passed, and the Jedi did not come. Maybe he's repulsed by me, Obi-Wan thought with a slight frown. Maybe hammering a pleasure slave is beneath the vaulted Jedi dignity. Besides, he's an asshole. Why do I even care?

He narrowed his eyes, his other hand coming up to fondle his balls.

Still, he couldn't help but wonder what it would feel like. Would Jinn think only of his own pleasure, or that of his partner? Those huge, strong hands - what would they feel like on his skin, guiding his movements, pressing him into the mattress? He imagined hot breath on the back of his neck, whispering his name as that long, thick cock buried itself deep inside him.

With a suddenness that shocked him, Obi-Wan came, shooting his essence onto his stomach. What the fuck? he thought. He reached for the shirt Jinn had loaned him to clean himself off. Come on, Kenobi, make up your mind. Either you want the bastard to fuck you or you don't. And why am you fantasizing about the man who ruined your life? When no answers were forthcoming, Obi-Wan resolutely put the matter out of his mind. He turned over, pulled up the blankets, and willed himself to sleep.

"Do it again! Faster!"

The throaty voice interrupted Obi-Wan's contemplation of the stars, sending a shiver of lust through him. He closed his eyes for a moment, unable to separate the words from the graphic picture they created in his mind. It was as if Jinn were actively taunting him, preying upon his fantasies from the night before. Willing his hormones back under control, he turned in his seat to watch as the Jedi Master led his charge through a series of katas, his movements strong but as graceful as a lacewing glider. Anakin was breathing heavily as they finished their activities. Jinn, on the other hand, had barely broken a sweat.

"You will find these exercises easier when you have developed a better command of the Force," the tall man said.

"Master, what is the Force?" Anakin asked as he collapsed to the deck.

Jinn paused for a moment, apparently giving his answer some thought. Obi-Wan rocked back in his chair, expecting to hear the standard explanation given to young children, that the Force was their guide and their friend. He wasn't disappointed.

"That is a good question. The Jedi have been exploring that issue for thousands of years. It is an energy field, of sorts, one that surrounds us and penetrates us. It guides us and responds to our needs. To some degree, we Jedi can command it. But we are also subject to its dictates."

Obi-Wan snorted in derision, rolling his eyes. Jinn turned to look at him.

"You shouldn't be lying to him like that," the young man said.

Jinn swarmed toward him, a raging thundercloud about to empty its wrath on his head. Obi-Wan tried to flinch back, but the bottomless blue eyes pegged him and held him captive. "I warned you yesterday," the Master said in a low, dangerous growl, "that I will not allow you and your opinions to interfere with the training of my Padawan."

Obi-Wan swallowed his fear and dared to return the glare. "Well, what kind of a worthless Padawan is he, anyway, if he doesn't know by heart all that tripe about the Force? Every Initiate -"

"Anakin was never an Initiate," Jinn said, his tone dipping even lower. "And you owe him an apology. Now."

Obi-Wan pressed his lips together. "I won't -"

"NOW!"

Obi-Wan glanced past Jinn to where Anakin stood, looking lost and broken. Suddenly, he felt guilty for calling him worthless. The boy was the innocent here.

"Sorry, Anakin," he mumbled. "I was just angry. I didn't mean what I said."

Anakin nodded, though his expression didn't change. "It's okay," he said softly. Then, he glanced at his Master. "May I be excused? I have some studying to do."

Jinn nodded without turning, his gaze still burning into Obi-Wan's. "Yes, Padawan. I'll be in shortly." As Anakin disappeared into his cabin, Jinn leaned lower until his face was nearly in Obi-Wan's. "Mind your tongue," he whispered, still in that low, threatening tone, "or you'll find yourself gagged for the remainder of our trip."

With that, he turned on his heel and followed his Padawan, leaving Obi-Wan to stare, open-mouthed, after him.

Obi-Wan retreated to the small cockpit, but how long he stayed there, alone, he couldn't say. He knew when Jinn returned, watched out of the corner of his eye as the big man slipped past him and settled into the pilot's chair, all the while feigning indifference. He took a moment to wonder if this was where the Jedi had slept the night before. It couldn't have been comfortable. Not that I care, he told himself firmly. Abruptly, he lurched to his feet, turning his back on the Jedi without a word, and headed for the cabin that was now apparently his.

"Good night," Jinn called after him.

"Fuck you."

He half expected to hear footsteps follow him, to feel that huge hand grip his shoulder and spin him around, perhaps even a blow to his face that would rattle his teeth. But, there was nothing. If Jinn was upset with his cursing, he did not choose to act on it. Satisfied, he made his way down the short corridor to the 'fresher. Shedding the slinky green pants and the too-large tunic, he stepped into the sonic shower. It tingled against his skin and stirred his hair. He ran a hand through it, remembering when it had been as short as Anakin's, remembering how he'd wished for a braid, for a Master.

He turned off the shower and leaned forward, pressing his forehead against the cool metal wall. He'd been delusional then, delusional and sick. He fingered the collar his first Master had given him. How different would his life had been, he wondered, if he had become Qui-Gon Jinn's Padawan? I'd probably be as dead as Bruck, he thought bitterly. And Jinn would probably not be mourning me, either.

Sullenly, he stepped out and slipped into the oversized tunic, the one that smelled of Jinn and covered him to mid thigh. A small, wall-mounted mirror caught his gaze, and he stopped to examine himself in it.

Well, you look like hell, Kenobi.

He rummaged around in the 'fresher. Fortunately, it was kept well stocked, and within a few minutes he was clean-shaven and looked rather more civilized.

All but that mop of dry, straw-colored hair. He ran a hand through it, wishing he'd held onto his stolen knife. He could at least cut this off then, and not have to bother with combing out the tangles. He pulled out a comb and worked at it for a few minutes, finally giving it up as hopeless. Slinging the hated green pants over his shoulder, Obi-Wan made his way to the cabin he had rested in earlier. Just before he entered, however, the sound of a soft sob reached him.

Oh, fuck, he thought, halting in his tracks. After only a moment's hesitation, Obi-Wan turned to the cabin across the hall and pushed open the door.

Anakin was face down on his bed, but he sat up in apparent embarrassment when Obi-Wan stepped inside, dragging one hand across his cheeks to wipe away the evidence of tears. Bright blue eyes, still glistening with moisture, met his warily.

"Look, kid," Obi-Wan began, not really sure what he was going to say. "I'm sorry about earlier. I was mad at Jinn - um, at your Master - and I don't really think you're worthless."

"That's okay," Anakin said, sniffling a bit but clearly trying not to. "It's just that ---" He shrugged. "It's just that it reminded me of something that happened when I was a little boy."

"Oh?" Obi-Wan asked, not bothering to wonder how his prying would be accepted. "What?"

"My mother and I were sold to this Toyderian named Watto and -"

"Sold?" Obi-Wan interrupted, his eyes opening wide. "You were a slave?"

Anakin nodded. "Yep. It was four years ago, and I was only six and still pretty little, not really big enough to do some of the stuff Watto needed done. He was all the time calling me worthless, and threatening to sell me if I didn't hurry up and grow." The blue eyes squinted at the memory, and another tear rolled down his face. Immediately sympathetic, Obi-Wan sat down beside him and slid a comforting arm around the boy's shoulders. Anakin snuggled against him gratefully.

"He was wrong, you know," Obi-Wan said. "Just like I was. You're far from worthless."

"That's what Master Qui-Gon says," Anakin said against his chest. "He says I'm going to be a very powerful Jedi someday, maybe even more powerful than him!"

Obi-Wan frowned and bit back another cutting remark. The boy didn't need to hear his opinion of the Jedi Order. Instead, he patted the shoulder under his hand, then looked down as Anakin pulled away. He watched as the blue eyes fastened on his collar. A small hand came up to touch it, and jerked away just as quickly.

"Ow!" Anakin exclaimed, rubbing his fingertips as if they'd been burnt. "How can you stand to wear that? Doesn't it hurt?"

"No," Obi-Wan said, touched by the boy's obvious concern. "It did when he first put it on. A lot. But, not anymore."

"I wonder why Master Qui-Gon hasn't taken it off," Anakin said thoughtfully.

The idea brought Obi-Wan to his feet instantly, one hand going to his neck as if to prevent such an action. "I don't want it off. It's the only thing that keeps me sane." Anakin was watching him, almost studying him, and he fidgeted under the close scrutiny.

"You really are afraid of the Force, aren't you?"

The question startled him, and Obi-Wan stiffened. "No," he said firmly. "I just don't believe in it." He watched as the boy stifled a yawn. "Look, you'd better get some sleep."

"Okay," Anakin said. Then, he smiled. "Thanks, Obi-Wan."

"For what?"

Anakin shrugged his slender shoulders. "I don't know. Just - thanks."

Obi-Wan grinned and reached out to tousle the spiky hair. "No problem, kid."

The next morning, Obi-Wan woke up with a raging morning erection. He blinked, bleary-eyed, down at the tented blanket.

Jinn. He had dreamed of Jinn, he suddenly realized. He pressed his face into the borrowed tunic he wore, noticing that it smelled of its owner. Flipping the covers aside, he took his cock in his hand, curling his fingers around it and thinking about how much smaller his hand was than the Jedi's. Smaller, and not callused as his undoubtedly was. He began to stroke himself, using a much firmer grip than normal. Jinn's hand was strong, he imagined, so his grip would be, too. His cock jumped at the thought, straining upward, seeking the heat of another body.

Angry at himself, Obi-Wan jerked his hand away. What the fuck am I doing? He pulled the covers back up, trying not to think how much their warmth might feel like the Jedi's mouth, how their light caress against his hip would be like the ghosting of his fingertips. I will not start jacking off and wishing is was Jinn! he told himself firmly.

He rolled onto his side. The body's needs were easy enough to ignore. He'd had to do it often enough in the past, when his owners had been more concerned with their own climaxes than his. He reached down and pressed his fingertip into that certain spot, feeling his erection wilting as he did so. There, that was better. He must have dozed off again, because the next thing he knew, he was being awakened by a small hand shaking his shoulder.

"Wake up!" Anakin's excited voice said. "We're there! You've got to see this!"

"I don't have to see anything," Obi-Wan grumbled, pulling his pillow over his head. It was just as quickly snatched away.

"No, really," the boy continued. He took one of Obi-Wan's hands in his and began to tug. "It's spectacular! I've never seen anything like it in my whole life!"

"You're only ten," Obi-Wan grumbled even as he let the Padawan pull him to his feet. "There's a lot you haven't seen."

"But, this is incredible!"

Obi-Wan rubbed at his eyes as he was towed down the narrow corridor and into the cockpit. Qui-Gon's broad back was the first thing he saw, before his gaze lifted to the wide viewport above the instrument panel. He sucked in a sharp breath, overcome by the sight before him.

They were flying low over a planet, green and gray and rather ordinary looking. But there was nothing ordinary about the sky ahead of them. It was the darkest of purples, streaked with crimson and orange clouds that seemed to dance with a life of their own. They shimmered like billions of bits of metallic confetti, swirling and shifting into ever-changing patterns of light and color. It was . . .

"Incredible, isn't it?" Qui-Gon said quietly from his seat at the controls, his voice breaking the spell that the approaching sunset had caused.

Obi-Wan frowned. "What's so fucking incredible about it?" he growled, turning away and striding out of the cockpit. He wanted nothing more than to be away from this man. He heard the Jedi say something else, heard Anakin answer him, but he didn't stop to listen. He didn't care. The Jedi could go straight to hell for all he cared.

A strong hand on his arm stopped him in his tracks. He whirled, ducking the blow he expected, kicking high with one foot to connect solidly with the Jedi's crotch. A soft "oomph" of pain was his reward. The Jedi went down, but didn't release his hold, dragging Obi-Wan to the floor with him.

"Let go of me, you Bantha fucker!" he cried, wrenching at his trapped wrist. He aimed another kick at the crooked nose, intending to break it again, but Qui-Gon threw himself forward, his greater bulk crushing Obi-Wan to the floor. He struggled, but to no avail. A second later, he was firmly pinned, Qui-Gon sitting on him, his arms trapped against his sides. "Get off of me!"

"Stop struggling," the Jedi ordered, deep and low in the tone of one used to being obeyed. It immediately triggered every rebellious circuit in Obi-Wan's head, and he fought that much harder, writhing under the other's weight.

He didn't think for a moment that he'd be able to fight his way free. The Jedi was a big man, powerfully built and in superb condition. He had no doubt that Jinn could break him in half with little effort. Even now, Obi-Wan could feel the strong leg muscles clamping tight around his hips, the large, blunt fingers bruising his forearms.

He abruptly became aware of the heat of Qui-Gon's body. It washed through him, searing his nerve endings, and he felt his cock rising to the occasion. In his current position, he knew Qui-Gon could feel it too, especially through the thin tunic that was all he wore. He squirmed, trying to shift enough that his growing erection wasn't pressing against the Jedi's thigh.

Jinn looked down, his blue eyes darkening as he took notice of the hardening cock, and Obi-Wan realized he was too late. The Jedi Master's face softened, and Obi-Wan felt his breath quicken as Jinn leaned slowly forward, until their lips were nearly touching. Hot breath washed over his face, mingling with his own. Unable to help himself, he opened his mouth . . .

"We've got landing clearance, Master," Anakin's voice interrupted from the cockpit.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. Finally, Qui-Gon sat up, long legs unbending as he rose to his feet like some graceful hunting cat. His steady grip on Obi-Wan's wrist drew the younger man up with him.

"You don't have to enjoy your time with us," the Jedi Master said softly, apparently intending to ignore what had just happened. "But I do insist that you mind your language around my Padawan."

"Go to hell."

Qui-Gon raised his eyebrows. "Actually, we're going to the Devinnar Temple," he said, just before disappearing back into the cockpit.

As their ship dropped deeper into the atmosphere, the drab gray and green planet transformed itself into a lush jungle. Obi-Wan peered out the viewport, curiosity getting the better of him. Gentle hills grew into steep mountains, and Anakin brought them down with only the smallest of bumps on a small platform that seemed suspended on the edge of a cliff.

Jinn rose and pushed past Obi-Wan, his Padawan close on his heels. "Come on."

The boarding ramp touched down on the concrete with a loud metallic scrape. Air that was crisp and rich with the sounds and smells of life washed over them. .Jinn strode forward, casual and confident at the same time, much to Obi-Wan's irritation. The young man resolutely descended the ramp, all the while fighting the urge to stop and gawk at their surroundings. Anakin felt no such compunction; he gazed at the mysterious purple sky above them and the sheer cliff to their right with a small sigh of wonder escaping his lips.

"Wow!" Anakin said, gazing into the distance at the magnificent scenery. Obi-Wan watched him until a hand on his elbow turned him around.

"The Temple is above us," Jinn said, motioning toward a stone staircase that looked like it had been carved from the mountain itself. Obi-Wan led the way, the pavement cold beneath his bare feet. The others fell into step behind him. By the time he reached the top, he was winded and lightheaded.

Before them stood the Devinnar Temple. It was a collection of tall, rectangular buildings of various sizes and heights, each with a sharply peaked roof in gleaming copper. Dozens of balconies, complete with copper-tinted railings, dotted the outer walls of the structure. Odd, round-topped double doors in the front of the smallest building marked the entrance.

On the ground floor, tall, twisted bushes were scattered here and there between beds of well-tended flowers. On either side of the Temple, larger gardens were visible. Underfoot, a walkway paved with metallic bricks wound gently toward the doors, then branched off to each side.

"This is wizard!" Anakin exclaimed, turning in a circle and trying to take everything in at once.

"Yes," Jinn said with an indulgent smile. He stepped up to the front doors and tugged on a satin cord that hung there. From inside, a soft chime rang out.

"Who is there?" a disembodied voice asked.

"Qui-Gon Jinn and Anakin Skywalker, from Coruscant," the tall Jedi replied. His gaze turned towards Obi-Wan. "And a guest."

"Enter, Master Jinn," the voice said. "We've been expecting you."

If the Temple was grand on the outside, it was modest on the inside. Plain stone walls tinted light greenish copper surrounded them. Here and there, large pots of the same color but several shades darker held strange plants. He bent to examine one more closely, only to be pulled upright by a firm hand on the back of his neck.

"Welcome to the Devinnar Temple," a small, squat man with a shock of white hair said. "I am Master Vindar." He nodded to his companions, a slender young woman and a four-armed Ritanian. "And this is Master De-She and Master Noxidia."

As one, the three bowed. Jinn and Anakin bowed in response, and the Jedi's hand on his neck forced Obi-Wan to do likewise. He wanted to growl out a protest, to say that he owed these strangers no respect, but the strong fingers tightened in warning and he held his tongue. As he straightened finally, he noticed that all three of the newcomers were staring at him.

No, he thought grimly, they're staring through me. It made his skin crawl, feeling as if they were stripping away his skin and seeing directly into his soul. He fidgeted and dropped his gaze to the floor. But he could still feel their eyes on him.

"We are sorry, Master Jinn," Vindar said, "but we weren't aware that you were bringing a quest. Should we prepare another room for him?"

"No," Jinn said, dropping his hand at last to his side. "This is Obi-Wan Kenobi, a former Initiate from the Coruscant Temple. We did not know that he would be accompanying us, but I'm certain our rooms are more than large enough for the three of us."

"Very well," Vindar said with another slight bow. "Please, allow Master Noxidia to show you to your quarters."

The Ritanian bowed again as the others left, waving one of his short arms toward a corridor on their right. "This way, please," he said in a high, squeaky voice that grated on Obi-Wan's nerves. He led them through a series of right angle turns, past row after row of closed doors, and finally up another flight of stone steps. As he walked, he kept up a running commentary, his arms swinging in four different directions as he pointed. "The library is down this hall, the study rooms through that door. This door leads to the northern garden, those stairs take you to the high tower."

They passed through the refectory, a large open room with heavy metal tables and benches, with dozens of beings dressed in Jedi robes sitting and eating a quiet meal. A young girl, wearing the traditional haircut of a Padawan Learner, was just collecting her tray. She bowed formally to Master Jinn. The older man returned the gesture, though without the same degree of deference. Obi-Wan felt a stain of embarrassment color his cheeks when the girl turned a scrutinizing gaze in his direction.

His discomfort increased as she took in his bare feet, the too-large tunic and ragged, clingy green pants. The expression of gentle understanding that crossed her face sparked a flame of resentment in the young man's chest. He looked away, refusing to acknowledge her, and realized with horror that most of the beings in the room had ceased eating and were staring - at him.

"Obi-Wan," Jinn called to him. "This way."

He moved quickly to follow, eager to be away from the dozens of pairs of penetrating if sympathetic eyes. As their guide led them up another stone staircase, he turned to glower at the Jedi. "That was a low thing to do, Jinn. Even for you," he uttered through gritted teeth.

"What?" the older man asked, turning his head to look at his companion. A frown of puzzlement crossed his face.

"What did you do, have them make an announcement over the public address system? 'Attention all Jedi nut cases, the next transport arriving has a bona fide sex slave on board, so everybody be sure and take a good look!'" Obi-Wan threw out angrily. He ignored the look of surprise that crossed their guide's face.

Jinn sighed, apparently refusing to acknowledge Obi-Wan's accusation, and began to take the stairs two at a time, leaving Obi-Wan and Anakin to follow at their own pace.

"It's all right, Obi-Wan," Anakin said softly as he slipped one hand into the young man's much larger one. "I know how you feel. I was the new kid, too."

For some strange reason that Obi-Wan couldn't explain even to himself, Anakin's words and comforting touch went far toward soothing his anger. They reached their rooms, finally, and Jinn ushered them all inside, thanking their guide with a small bow.

"Is there anything else you require, Master Jinn?" the Ritanian asked.

"Would it be possible for this evening's meal to be brought here? We are weary after our long trip."

"Of course," Noxidia said. His eyes swept past Qui-Gon and settled again on Obi-Wan. "Perhaps some proper clothing for your companion might be in order, as well?"

"That would be most appreciated," Jinn said, bowing again. "My thanks."

Their guide dipped his head and left them. Immediately, Jinn turned to face Obi-Wan. "As to your unfounded allegations on the stairs, I did not broadcast your arrival. Almost all of the Jedi on Devinnar are empaths. They sensed your discomfort. If anyone did any broadcasting, it was you."

Obi-Wan frowned. He could still almost feel their unwanted attention. It was like a nagging, half forgotten thought caught in the back of his mind. If he closed his eyes, he was sure he would see them, staring, pitying the poor former Initiate turned body slave. He dropped his gaze to the floor and firmed up his chin. "Fine. Whatever. Just point me towards my room, would you? I want to rest."

Qui-Gon nodded briefly. "There are two sleeping chambers. Either one you choose is yours."

Where will you sleep? he wanted to ask, but he bit the impulse back. What the fuck did he care where Jinn slept, or if he slept at all? Turning on his heel, Obi-Wan moved to the first bedroom. Only Jinn's voice stopped him from entering.

"One thing, Obi-Wan, before you go."

He turned back grudgingly. "What?"

"You're a free man now," the Jedi told him. "But, only to a point. You are a former Initiate. Therefore, I have a responsibility to protect you and see you safely back to Coruscant. Do not attempt to leave the Temple grounds. Except for a small community in the valley below the landing platform, civilization of any sort is days away by foot, and all the ships are Force-locked. If you leave, I will find you."

Obi-Wan frowned, feeling his brows draw together. "Some freedom," he growled, before stepping into his room and jerking the door shut behind him.

Some time later, the sound of a gentle knock on the door drew Obi-Wan out of his bedroom. He watched as Anakin admitted a young female Padawan carrying a stack of neatly folded clothes. The boy turned to him with a grin.

"Hey, Obi-Wan. Look! She brought you some clothes."

The former slave approached the pair and snatched the top item off the stack, holding it up.

"What the fuck is this?" he yelled. Both Padawans flinched at his tone, and Jinn stepped out of the small kitchen with a thunderous frown.

"Is something wrong, Obi-Wan?" he asked in a maddeningly serene voice.

"Yes, something's wrong!" Obi-Wan shouted, holding up the tan Jedi tunic. "I'm no fucking Padawan, and I'm not going to dress like one!" He flung the garment at the girl who had delivered then. Wide eyed, she caught it and began to back out of the room.

"Perhaps I can find something else," she suggested in a timid voice.

"Thank you, Padawan. That would be much appreciated," Jinn told her with an apologetic smile. As the door closed behind her, he turned to glare down at Obi-Wan. "Must we have another discussion of your language?"

The young man felt his rage double. "Fuck you!" he screamed.

Jinn grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, nearly lifting him off his feet. His blue eyes bored into Obi-Wan's like heat-seeking missiles. "I demand that you be civil to our hosts."

Obi-Wan bit back another curse. "Fine," he snapped, somewhat amazed at his own audacity. He held his breath, waiting for a blow to fall, but none did. Instead, Jinn released him, taking a small step back.

"Now," the big man said, his gaze still holding Obi-Wan's, "I suggest you get some rest while you can. I shall call you in time for supper."

Obi-Wan turned away. "Damn controlling Jedi scum," he grumbled softly under his breath as he retreated to the relative safety of his room.

The steamy mists of his homeworld provided the mental backdrop for Yoda's meditations. With a few centering breaths, the small Jedi Master could call to mind the scents and sounds of twilight on Dagobah. Tonight was no different. The memories remained sharp and clear despite his age and slowly waning health. He drew a landscape on the back of his closed eyelids, following the subtle contours of the land, the lush greenery of the vegetation. He felt the wind coursing past his cheek as he flew like a speeding treba hawk. He allowed the flowing eddies of the Force to guide him.

Below him, the foliage of the jungle was thinning rapidly. It disappeared altogether as he soared over a scorching hot desert.

Curious, he thought, no desert on Dagobah. Too wet it is. Know this place, I do not.

The craggy walls of a canyon rose up before him as he touched down on the ground and began walking. The arroyo narrowed quickly, ending at the entrance to a cave. The Force beckoned him inside. The air was much cooler here, easier to breathe, Yoda noted gratefully. A distant ping! ping! drew his attention. As he moved deeper into the cave, the light gradually faded to nothingness. Now, he had to rely solely on the Force. For what felt like an eternity, he shuffled forward, going first left, then right, as the Force dictated. At last, he detected a small dwelling ahead of him. And the smell of meat cooking! Sudden hunger added speed to his tired old limbs. He scurried forward, pausing in the doorway before him to study his new surroundings.

A small fire burned on the hearth of the fireplace carved from sheer rock. Around the room, various pieces of furniture, obviously handmade and very old, provided a homey touch. A man, clearly human, crouched before the fire and stirred the contents of a small metal pot suspended over the flames. He was old, it appeared, his hair whitened and a bit unkempt. He wore nondescript clothing, nothing which would draw attention to himself. Except for one item hanging from his belt. A lightsaber.

The man spun suddenly, scanning the room as if he had sensed an intruder. "Who's there?"

Yoda's eyes widened in surprise at the face before him. It was one he had never seen before, and yet he felt he should know it. Then, in the mysterious ways of the Force, the vision changed. The face of the man began to grow younger, his hair darkening to a subtle ginger color. The beard he sported turned red, then seemed to retreat into the skin of his face. Younger and younger the man grew, until at last he was just a boy. A boy whose visage was filled with profound disappointment. Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Qui-Gon stared at the closed door for a long time, until he felt Anakin gently prodding their training bond. He turned to meet worried blue eyes.

"Is he going to be all right, Master?" the boy asked softly.

Qui-Gon sighed. "I hope so, Padawan." He seated himself at the room's compact comm unit. "Now, we must contact the Council."

Anakin looked over his shoulder as he coded the frequency. A few moments later, the entire Jedi High Council came into view.

"Saved him, you have," Yoda said without preamble.

"Yes, my Master."

"So, it is Obi-Wan Kenobi?" Mace Windu asked, sitting forward in his chair.

"Yes." Qui-Gon didn't elaborate. "The question now is what to do with him."

Mace and Yoda exchanged a long glance, and Qui-Gon knew they had already discussed their options.

"Belong to the Jedi Order, young Kenobi no longer does."

"So," Qui-Gon said, holding tight rein on his temper, "is it the Council's decision to merely abandon him again?"

"That is not our intention, Master Jinn," Master Adi Gallia said. "Indeed, he will require many months of therapy. No one has ever been cut off from the Force for as long as he has without going mad in the process."

"And he wasn't abandoned in the first place," Mace snapped at him. "You know that. But, he cannot just pick up where he left off. He will never be a Jedi."

"He is too strong in the Force to be cast aside," Qui-Gon argued. "Once that collar comes off, he could stay at the Temple, at least. Begin to relearn what he has forgotten. Teach, perhaps."

"To stay at the Temple he is allowed," Yoda said. "To resume his training, he is not."

Qui-Gon frowned, but it was not as if he hadn't expected this. "Regardless, we have an obligation to him. We cannot just pat him on the back, declare him healthy, and call it done. At least let me teach him to defend himself!"

"Once on Coruscant, your problem Obi-Wan will no longer be. Until then, do with him as you see fit." Yoda's voice was firm, but his eyes met Qui-Gon's with familiar compassion.

Still angry, but mildly placated, Qui-Gon bowed. "Thank you, Masters, for your time." He switched off the connection and turned to his worried Padawan.

"They're not going to let him come back."

Qui-Gon shook his head. "Did you suppose that they would?" he asked gently.

"No," Anakin admitted. "But, I thought they'd do something for him."

The Master's hand found his apprentice's shoulder. "They will. And so will we." He rose, steering the boy toward the 'fresher. "Go clean up. Our supper should be here soon."

Dinner was a somber affair. While Qui-Gon did require Obi-Wan to join them at the table, he found it difficult to coax the too-thin young man to eat. Instead, Obi-Wan poked at his food, chasing it around on his plate for a time, before finally setting his eating utensil aside.

"I want to go to bed," he announced shortly.

"You haven't eaten enough to keep a Tatooine sparrow alive." Qui-Gon gestured towards Obi-Wan's plate. "I can understand if this food is not to your liking. In the morning, you will be permitted to choose your own meals. But for now, you will eat."

Obi-Wan glared up at him. "And if I don't?"

Qui-Gon shrugged, refusing to be baited. "As I said, you are my responsibility. If you refuse to eat, I will feed you. By any means necessary."

Obi-Wan jumped to his feet, his hands balling into fists. "I said I don't want this shit!"

The Jedi Master's eyes narrowed dangerously, and Anakin, who knew that look well, actually flinched and shifted away. "You. Will. Eat."

Obi-Wan glared back at him. "I will not!"

Qui-Gon rose and extended one hand, intending to catch the young man by the front of his tunic and physically place him back in the chair. But, Obi-Wan, an abused slave for nearly half his life, mistook the gesture. A brief flash of fear crossed his face, and he fell to his knees, both hands coming up to shield his head from the blow he obviously expected.

Horrified, Qui-Gon froze in mid-gesture. Tension fairly crackled in the air as he slowly lowered his arm. Obi-Wan, realizing that he had not been struck, braved a look. His eyes met Qui-Gon's, and the Jedi Master could see him drawing the tatters of his anger and resentment around him like a cloak as he cautiously rose to his feet.

"I believe I saw some fresh fruit in the kitchen," Qui-Gon said after a moment in an entirely different voice. "Perhaps that would be more to your liking."

Sullenly, Obi-Wan moved past him, returning a moment later with two sun-ripened vera fruits in his hand. He shot the Jedi one final scalding glance before disappearing into his room. Clearly shaken, Qui-Gon turned when he felt his Padawan's eyes on him.

"He really thought you were going to hit him," the boy said softly, his blue eyes wide.

Qui-Gon felt his mouth tighten as he nodded. "Yes." He released his worries to the Force, taking a deep breath to center himself. He glanced back at Anakin's empty plate. "Help yourself to Obi-Wan's dinner if you're still hungry," he suggested, knowing well the growing boy's ravenous appetite. A brief flicker of a smile was his only answer. "I must meditate. You may join me when you've finished eating."

As Anakin slid the other plate over to him, Qui-Gon sank to his knees on the thick carpet and cleared his mind.

In his private office on Coruscant, someone else was meditating, as well. Darth Sidious slowly opened his eyes. His deep communion with the Force often allowed him great insights into future events. This session was no different, and had revealed an unforeseen element. The young man that Jinn had rescued was indeed, as his sources had told him, Obi-Wan Kenobi. The Light surrounded the former slave, filled him. His power, though unrealized, was great. His presence put their plans for the future in serious jeopardy. He must be stopped, before he realized his own potential.

He reached out with all of his considerable power, searching out that unfamiliar mind.

There.

He concentrated on the aura, on the twisting, confused emotions that inundated it, and a slow smile spread across his face. Yes. This one could be manipulated. The Force-inhibitor around his neck made it easy, keeping the young man unaware of his tampering. He narrowed his focus, pushing his own thoughts into the struggling mind.

The Jedi are using you, he sent, feeling the being at the other end shudder at the thoughts he was inserting. Jinn does not care about you. You are nothing to him, to anyone. You will always be nothing. You will always be alone.

Sidious broke the contact and rose from his cushion. It was enough for now. The seeds he had planted would grow, festering into hatred. The young man would turn, eventually. And, if not . . .

The Sith Lord donned his robe as he left his private sanctuary, reentering his office. None of his staff had arrived yet, nor would they for at least another two hours. Confident that he was alone, he reached for his comm unit. A few well-placed keystrokes later, a holographic image appeared nearby.

"How may I serve you, my Master?" the tattooed form of his apprentice asked silkenly, his eyes seeming to glow in the predawn light.

"There is a new threat," Sidious said without rising from his chair. He steepled his hands in front of him. "I need you to go to the Jedi Temple on Devinnar 3. There is a young man there, a failed initiate. He is strong in the Force, and may well become a threat if allowed to live."

Maul bowed his horned head. "I will destroy him, my Master."

"See that you do." Sidious stood and strolled casually to the large window, staring outward at the never-ending flow of ships. "While you are there, I have another task for you. The Temple houses an archive containing some very old texts about the Sith."

Maul's head snapped up, his eyes following his Master. "Is this knowledge dangerous to us?" he asked.

Sidious waved the question off. "Possibly. But, regardless if it is or not, I wish you to destroy it."

"I hear and obey, my Master."

"Good," Sidious purred. He turned and leveled a gaze at the image. "You failed me on Naboo, Maul. See that you don't fail me again. You would not enjoy the consequences."

Obi-Wan sat cross-legged on the center of the bed. He had finished off the fruit in record time. He truly had been hungry, he realized, and it wasn't like him to refuse food, no matter how unappetizing it appeared.

So, why didn't I eat? he asked himself. He lifted one corner of the over-sized tunic to wipe his mouth, then stared at the fabric as if it were some poisonous reptile about to strike. Because Jinn wanted me to, he realized. He's only pretending to care about me. I'm nothing to him, nothing to anyone. I'll always be nothing.

He stomped angrily to the open door that led to the room's balcony. The night air was cool and crisp and filled with the sounds of life. Overhead, in a deep blue sky full of stars, a single bird was visible, gliding effortlessly on the wind currents, flying in endless, repetitive circles.

Alone, Obi-Wan thought with a twinge of pain. He's alone, just like me. He wrapped his arms around his torso, offering himself what comfort he could. It wasn't nearly enough. With a sigh, he stepped back inside. Still alone, he flopped onto the soft bed and fell asleep.

Well into the night, he was awakened by the soft sound of movement in the other room. He got to his feet and peered out into the common room, to see Qui-Gon just slipping out the front door of their quarters. Curious and suspicious, Obi-Wan dressed hurriedly, then took a quick glance into Anakin's room. Good. The boy was sleeping. Without a sound to betray him, Obi-Wan eased out the door.

He followed Qui-Gon to a garden, lit by four small moons high overhead in a sky full of stars. Here, in a grassy lane between two hedgerows, the Jedi Master stripped down to his leggings. Obi-Wan sank to his knees behind a thick bush, fascinated at the way the moons' glow highlighted Qui-Gon's chest muscles as he began a slow ballet of warm up exercises. As he limbered up, he moved faster, flowing into katas more advanced that any Obi-Wan had ever learned as an Initiate. His body bent and flowed and swayed in an elaborate dance, until sweat covered his skin and his leggings clung tightly to his form, concealing nothing.

Obi-Wan's eyes were drawn downward, past the broad chest, the firm stomach, past the drawstring waistband, to the clearly defined contours of his genitals. He swallowed hard, arousal coursing through him, and licked his lips hungrily.

Shit, he cursed silently a moment later, carefully controlling his breathing lest he betray his presence. I am not attracted to him!

Still, his body continued to respond. Then, something happened that made his breath catch in his throat. Qui-Gon picked up his lightsaber from the pile of discarded clothing. Terrified that he'd been detected, Obi-Wan froze in position, expecting at any second for that deadly green blade to come slicing through the bush in front of him. He nearly sagged with relief when, instead of attacking, Qui-Gon moved into yet another kata.

This one was different, though, the young man noticed. It didn't have the rhythm of an exercise, nor the gentle, graceful flow of one. Instead, it looked like a battle.

He leaned forward intently.

Yes, this was no ordinary kata. Qui-Gon was fighting someone, an invisible opponent. Once, twice, a third time, the Jedi went through the same moves, his face set into a mask of concentration. It was as if he were recreating some terrible battle, perhaps trying to find some other resolution for it. Finally, his body trembling with exhaustion, Qui-Gon dropped to his knees. He tipped his face up to the night sky, and the moonlight illuminated a single tear as it trickled down his cheek.

"Why?" Obi-Wan heard him whisper. "Why wasn't I there for you, my Padawan?"

Despite himself, Obi-Wan felt a wave of sympathy sweep over him. He quickly fought it back. This man was nothing to him. Less than nothing, since he, as much as the Jedi Council, was the one responsible for the pain and humiliation of the past few years. He set his jaw. No. He would not grieve for this man.

In the lane, Qui-Gon slowly regained his feet. He stooped to retrieve his tunic, used it to wipe the sweat and dried tears from his face. As he shrugged back into it, he cocked his head slightly in Obi-Wan's direction.

"You can come out, now."

Embarrassed at having been caught spying, Obi-Wan stood and stepped into the clearing. "Who were you fighting?" he asked.

A look of infinite sadness crossed the older man's face. "A Sith," he said in a hushed voice.

Obi-Wan laughed harshly. "As in the bogeyman Sith that the crŠche teachers use to scare their charges into obedience?" he said. "That's a fairytale!"

Qui-Gon shook his head sadly. "Would that it were," he answered. He donned his robe and started slowly back toward their quarters. Without thought, Obi-Wan fell in beside him. "No, Obi-Wan, the Sith are very real. Bruck was killed by one."

There was very real sorrow in the Jedi's voice, and once again Obi-Wan felt a pang of sympathy. He ruthlessly pushed it back. "Yeah, well," he said, putting all his bitterness into his words, "I'll believe that when I see one."

Anakin stepped forward into the body roll, his brows drawn together in a look of deep concentration. He was in the common room of their quarters, working on a new kata. Time and again, he reached a point in the exercise, only to stop and start over at the beginning. It was obvious to Obi-Wan that the boy couldn't remember the next move.

"Step on your left foot, extend your right leg to the side and balance," Obi-Wan finally offered without raising his eyes from the novel he was reading on a datapad.

Anakin turned to him, surprise reflected on his face. "You know this one?"

Obi-Wan nodded briefly.

"Do you think you could show me? I'd love to be able to do the whole kata for Master Qui-Gon when he gets back." The two of them had been left alone when Jinn said he had work to do elsewhere in the Temple.

"I don't know if I can still do it. It's been a very long time," Obi-Wan set the datapad aside and stripped off his borrowed tunic, leaving only the ill fitting green pants, then moved to stand beside Anakin. He performed a rough sketch of the maneuver. After just a few moments, his extended leg began to tremble noticeably. He lowered it, placed one hand against his groin, then crouched.

"Ow," he said, grinning ruefully. "Guess I'm really out of shape."

"Did you pull something?" Anakin's tone was solicitous.

"You might say that," the young man replied, wincing as he rose and tried to walk it off. "That'll teach me to try something without warming up first."

"But Master Qui-Gon said that this kata is a warm-up routine."

"I guess it is, if you're fit. I haven't had much opportunity to exercise recently." Obi-Wan gingerly lowered himself into his chair.

"That's odd!" Anakin sank to the floor near the other's feet. "When I was a slave, I got lots of exercise. Lots!"

Obi-Wan, looking uncomfortable, did not reply.

"How many masters did you have?"

"I don't know," the man said quietly, shrugging his shoulders. "Lost count years ago."

"I only had two. Watto, and before him, Gardula the Hutt. Have you ever seen a Hutt?"

"Yes, once or twice," he replied.

"Ugly, aren't they?" Anakin grinned. His amusement was infectious and Obi-Wan returned his smile with a nod of agreement.

"Obi-Wan? Can I ask you something?" The boy tilted his head to one side.

"I suppose," Obi-Wan said as he retrieved his datapad.

"How did you get all those scars?" he asked, leaning on one hand. "The ones on your back, I mean."

"My scars . . . well, you see, Anakin, I was not a very good slave. I got in trouble quite a bit. And sometimes I was beaten for it," he explained simply.

"Bad enough to leave scars? Wow." The boy looked at his companion with awe. "Did you bleed?"

"Usually," he nodded, shifting in his seat to try to ease the discomfort in his groin.

"Wow," the boy reiterated. "Watto never hit me hard enough to make me bleed and when we were with Gardula, well, I was just a kid."

"That long ago, huh?" Obi-Wan teased him gently. He was rewarded with a wide grin.

CONTINUED IN PART 2