Notes: It is all Mac's fault! A while ago Mac sent out a post
to the list using the line that started with "How much for the
short one?" and things just got out of hand from there.
<g> Thanks, Mac. Also thanks to Thia for the wonderful
beta. Trust me none of you would want to read this if she
hadn't gone over it first. Your doing great Thia! And lastly
thank you Susan. Your comments got me thinking about this AND
what what might happen next. <g>
Disclaimer: Not mine, so on and so forth
Feedback: If you feel so inclined I would be delighted. If not,
that's okay too. Just remember, I can't get any better until
you speak up and let me know what worked and what didn't.
The silent sound of misery hung in the air like an oppressive
thing. Though slaves of every size, species, and sex imaginable
were represented here, some a little more then others, it was
strangely quiet. Only the occasional sounds of a body moving, a
chain shifting were heard from the restrained slaves that lined
the serpentine walls of the holding pits.
The only other sounds were that of slavers and guards making
their rounds. From time to time buyers were led though, though
that was not all that common. Most of the slaves heading for
the auction block here were usually to be sold in mass, or
section blocks as the slavers called it. Individual selling was
unusual. Most slaves that made their way to these holding pits
were undesired for some reason. Perhaps they were sickly or
injured. Some had been brought here because they were thought
to be unable to bring a suitable price on their own. Many were
slaves that were simply past their prime. Of course problem
slaves also accounted for their fair share, at least a third of
all salves brought to the pits fell into this category.
No matter how you looked at it, this was often the last stop
for most slaves. The life of a slave was never easy, but if you
came here you were at the end of the line. Buyers looking for
slaves here were looking for cheap labor. Disposable labor.
Workers for mines, heavy construction or labor work, something
where conditions were often the worst around, and few lived for
very long.
All of this Qui-Gon knew, because for the last year he had been
a slave, and for the last two weeks he had been chained to this
spot on this wall. Jedi did not make the best slaves, as
several slave owners had found out. Despite the use of force
dampeners, pain amplifiers, drugs, and various other forms of
control, he was deemed unsuitable for most slave uses. He knew
too much to be trusted around any kind of really tools or
equipment without constant supervision. Being devoid of the
force didn't really reduce the amount of damage he could
inflict if not constantly under watch.
One had tried to use him as a pleasure slave, back when he
still looked well fed and unmarked, but all the owner had
gotten for his attempts was a broken back. It had been doubtful
that man would ever walk again. Since that incident he had been
watched and when time and again he displayed his unwillingness
to follow even the most basic of orders he had finally been
sent here. Classified as a problem slave, he was to be sold in
a section block, most likely to a mining corporation that
needed disposable workers. No, things were not looking up for
the Jedi.
Shifting from one foot to the other, Qui-Gon tried to come up
with some way to keep his mind from blanking out. Not only did
the force dampening collar around his neck cut him off from
using the force in general, but it cut him off from the 'feel'
of it at all. While the lack of contact physically made his
senses seem dulled and sluggish, it also completely took away a
very basic way he perceived the world around him. In many
respects force had grounded his mind, his awareness, in the
here and now. Without it, he felt as if he was adrift. The pits
only made this sensation worse, with hours upon hours of
nothing to do but stare at the walls.
It was so easy to let one's mind go blank and drift here in
this place. It wasn't that he had stopped looking for a way to
get out of all this. By the force, at this point he would take
any opening that came along! But unlike when he had first been
caught he now knew such openings were so small as to be
non-existent. The slavers in this pit were too prepared and
careful. These men were, if one could pardon the term,
professionals, their lack of hygiene and properly fitting
clothing not withstanding.
Feeling his mind beginning to slip into an almost comfortable
haze, Qui-Gon shifted in his chains again. The result was
immediate. Aches and dull throbbing pain coursed throughout the
length of his long frame. Some were from old injuries acquired
during his capture while others were new such as his recently
broken arm. A good amount of the discomfort came from his
inability to move around and some was simply an over all dull
ache caused by lack of food and his body no longer able to draw
on reserves to protect itself from the present conditions.
He was trying not to rub at the deep ache that pulsed bone deep
in his forearm, when he first heard the slaver coming down the
twisting corridor. Listening without bothering to look up, the
Jedi took this opportunity to relieve his boredom.
"How much for the short one?" asked a cultured voice.
"One hundred credits," came the slurred answer. The Jedi winced
inwardly at the reply. Even after all his time as a slave,
seeing this seen played out over and over, it never failed to
amaze him that anyone could perceive life so cheaply. How could
a life be traded for nothing more then a few credit chips?
"For that!" exclaimed a third voice. "He is hardly worth twenty
credits, let alone one hundred."
"One hundred credits." The reply was delivered in the same flat
tone as before, and the Jedi could easily imagine Kul, turning
his lifeless brown eyes to the loud buyer. Such outbursts were
useless against the slaver. Kul never rose to them, nor did he
haggle over the price. The slaver was here for one thing and
one thing only, to earn money.
"Tulla, unless you have suddenly decided to purchase a slave, I
suggest you hold onto your opinion about the merchandise,"
again the softer tones of a more cultured voice. Not only did
this person seem to have a better idea of how things worked
down here, the Jedi master now knew which was the buyer. This
Tulla was probably nothing more then a tag-a-long.
"But.." countered Tulla only to cut off by his companion's
calm, "Hush."
All talking stopped as the sound of feet on stone continued
down the corridor. The pace was slow and interrupted several
time, presumably as the buyer checked over the wears on
display. The thought disgusted him and Qui-Gon was about to
ignore the group until he realized that they were headed his
way.
There was the ever present first rush at the idea that someone
was heading this way, that someone might take you away from
this place, that there might be a chance to escape. In the past
the Jedi master had chided himself at such thoughts. It was not
likely that someone would take him from here to any place
better. To some place different, worse, yes, better no. Still
the initial feeling persisted every time a potential buyer came
along. Waiting for the feeling to pass Qui-Gon collected
himself, willing his heart to slow from it's rapid beat to a
more regular one, and stood like all the other docile slaves.
The trio came into view and unobtrusively he observed them. The
slaver Kul looked much like he always did. He face pot marked,
eyes dull, and clothing worn and dirty. The other two were both
young human men in their early to mid twenties and dressed in
basic flight suits. One was tall and slim, his body moving
almost clumsy with its long limbs. Bright red hair cut short
stood out from his head in all directions and looked more like
a patch of red fur then real hair. His face was thin and both
his nose and chin looked pinched off, as if his creator had
decided not to bother with getting it right and simply finished
the face in a hurry. Eyes, too wide for the face they were on,
were a washed out color that matched the gray of flight suit he
wore.
The second man was shorter then the first, though he seemed
more substantial then his companion. Unlike the other his face
was well proportioned and pleasant enough to look at. He might
have been described as average if it weren't for his eyes.
Though the dim-ish light in the pits made it hard to discern
the color, the eyes held everything the slaver Kul's did not.
They were bright, warm, and more importantly alive. They moved
over the slaves chained along the wall quickly, yet without
missing a thing.
"What about that one?" asked the second man as he came to stand
before Qui-Gon. Holding perfectly still the Jedi felt the
younger man's eye sizing him up.
"Five hundred credits."
"That is totally ridiculous," broke in the red head again.
"Look at the man. He looks like he has been beaten, half
starved, and smells like he hasn't been bathed in a month!" The
thin face scrunched up in disgust at the last.
"Tulla." The warning in the smaller man's voice was clear.
Turning back from his companion the buyer turned back towards
Qui-Gon studying him again. "What is this slave's work
designation?"
Kul moved in closer to check the number ID tag that hung from
the collar around the Jedi master's neck. "Heavy labor,
mining," he finally replied. "Possible low grade construction
work."
"Because of his size, I suppose," mused the buyer out loud.
"Why the extra binders on the wrists and legs?"
"It tried to cause some trouble when it was first brought in."
"May I touch?" asked the buyer gesturing to Qui-Gon. The slaver
nodded as the Jedi knew he would. A buyer could do most
anything before acquiring a slave here so long as it didn't
cause any further or permanent damage. Qui-Gon steadied himself
not to flinch at the unwanted contact.
When the hand touched him it was not exactly what he had
expected. Instead of grabbing and pawing like he had been in
the past, this man simply let his fingers skim over a shoulder
and a collar bone, lightly testing the flesh beneath the
tattered clothing, until they came to the collar itself.
Continuing on, the fingers brushed against the collar nudging
it on his neck. Suddenly, the buyer's arm jerked away,and a
stunned look came over his face. The surprised glance the buyer
gave his companion did not pass the Jedi's notice and he
wondered for a moment what had caused the buyer's reaction.
Quickly the buyer tuned back to the slaver. "What does that
collar signify?"
At the slavers raised eyebrow, the young man elaborated, "It's
blue while all the others are standard gray."
"It's a restraining collar."
"Aren't they all?"
"No, the others are just plain collars. The bluish ones like
this mean his is telepathic, telekinetic, or such. The reddish
collars like that one over there," said Kul pointing to a slave
across the hall way, "Are pain enhancers."
The young man seemed to ponder this for a moment before asking,
"How exactly does the collar work?"
"That is irrelevant." Once more the tone was flat and
unforgiving.
"He's right, you know, it is irrelevant," snapped Tulla. "We
are here to purchase a bed-slave not some smelly working
trash."
"Tulla I never said I was looking for a bed-slave. I have never
lacked for opportunities for night time companions. Perhaps I
seek a different kind of slave."
"Like what? You certainly don't have any need for a mining
slave." Tulla glanced again at the Jedi and rolled his pale
eyes in disgust.
"Maybe he would be good as a body guard." The buyer turned back
to Qui-Gon adding, "Goddess knows he has the size and body for
it."
"Oh, you are impossible! I don't know why I even came here with
you. I can't believe I'm wasting what little leave time I have
following you around on such a pointless endeavor." With that,
Tulla turned and left. Qui-Gon didn't even bother to watch him
go.
The buyer studied him for a while more, he eyes again raking
over every part of Qui-Gon's body. Tipping his head to one side
as if listening to something the young man paused in his
surveillance, and then the unexpected phrase fell from his
lips. "I'll take him."
The procedure of payment and talk of transmitters passed by the
Jedi's notice in a haze, the phrase 'I'll take him' still
echoing in his mind. It wasn't until two larger guards appeared
next to him, their thick fingers undoing the chains that held
him to the stone wall, that he snapped out of it.
Somehow, somewhere along the way, Qui-Gon realized that he had
truly expected to be sold in mass to some kind of large mining
company. To be sold and put to work in a dark pit where he
would quite possibly never see the light of a sun again. To be
crowded in with others who were week and dying, perhaps to
spend his last days surrounded by rocks what would become his
tomb even before his body had died. He had never expected to
get out of this alive, but then again there was still no
guarantee that he would end up in a better place.
Shuffling off in the direction indicated, his legs still
chained together, with guards on either side, Qui-Gon caught
the slavers' inquiry about a name for the paper work. Turning a
corner the Jedi just barely caught the name of his new master:
Obi-Wan Kenobi.
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