Master
Apprentice  Archive
The Pit and the Padawan
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Rating: Strong PG-13 for violence, occasional obscenities, and some minor sexual innuendo.
Category: Angst mostly. Action/Adventure, H/C. Pre-slash, JA universe.
Summary: Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan are forced to fight in order to stay alive on a brutal world.
Feedback: Yes, please!
Disclaimers: Uh... they're still not mine? (Damn!)
WARNINGS: More Obi-torture and slavery. Sorry- it seems to be a phase I'm going through. Also an underage character involved in a slavery-type situation, if that bothers you. But there's also an of-age Jedi master involved in the same situation, if that helps. [g]
THIS IS A WORK IN PROGRESS!! It is quite possible that it will NEVER be finished. Do NOT read this story if you're the type that needs closure. There are currently 6 parts completed. I will be posting each part periodically.
Archive: m_a, Wolfie's Den if they don't mind it being a WIP.
Spoilers: Yes for Jedi Apprentice Books occurring before "Deceptions".
Authors Comments: I began this fic when Gladiator came out in theatres. It's been a long time in the works, and several JA books have come out since then, most notably "Deceptions" and JA #14, 15, and 16. Jude Watson changed an awful lot of things while I was writing this, so this story will definitely be AU. Also, there have been quite a few (but never too many for me! [g]) slave stories that have come out since I began writing this. Most of them are far better than this will ever be, but I still decided to post it anyway, since I've spent many a night working on it.
Special thanks: This story is dedicated to Diane Coffin, who has been the voice of encouragement and inspiration throughout the entire writing process. Despite the length of time it's taking me, Diane has never given up hope that I will finish it. She is a wonderful resource for ideas and can always be counted upon for help. Thanks also to Pumpkin, Alex, and Marie, all of who also gave me kind words that were greatly appreciated.
Qui-Gon Jinn walked through the narrow corridors, steadfastly ignoring catcalls and obscenities from other prisoners as he passed the doors to their cells. Despite his own situation, he was focused on one thing, and one thing alone. Somewhere up ahead, in the darkened fighting pit, his padawan's match had begun. Qui-Gon was unconcerned that his own bout would be beginning soon. His worry was for Obi-Wan, alone and Force-inhibited. The boy would undoubtedly be facing a formidable, and perhaps deadly, opponent.
As Qui-Gon's guards ushered him closer to the barred doors leading to the pit, the Jedi master could hear the sounds of primitive weapons clashing combined with the shouting and cheering of the bloodthirsty crowd that watched from above. His heart contracted, for he knew the sounds originated from Obi-Wan's struggles to stay alive.
The guards halted him just in front of the huge pit gates, and one of them laughed as he saw the posted roster that displayed the name of Qui-Gon's opponent.
"You have your work cut out for you, Jedi," one of them taunted in guttural Huttese. "You'll be dead before all the bets are in."
Qui-Gon didn't reply, didn't even bother to read the name scrawled on the slate across from his own. His eyes were only for the battle raging in the pit, and he strained with un-Jedi-like desperation for a glimpse of his padawan.
As if the Fates were mocking his desire to see the boy, Obi-Wan was suddenly slammed against the gates nearest Qui-Gon. The sound of his body striking the massive durasteel bars was sickening. Boos as well as cheers accompanied the impact, indicating that the spectators above had bet upon both sides.
"Obi-Wan!" Qui-Gon cried, straining against the hold of his captors as he watched his semi-conscious padawan slide slowly down the bloodstained gate.
The boy didn't move for a moment, and Qui-Gon had a clear view of his apprentice's injuries. Blood spattered his face and stained his tunics. Alarmingly close to his jugular vein, a large gash from some sort of sharp-edged weapon was shockingly visible. His short padawan braid was mired in blood from the wound. The boy's breaths were coming in shallow pants and sweat dampened his hair, darkening the normally golden strands to dullness.
"Obi-Wan!" Qui-Gon called again, ignoring the warning tug on his restraints from the guards and cursing the Force-dampener that prevented him from assisting his padawan.
Obi-Wan's half-lidded eyes opened wider and he raised his head at the sound of his master's voice. Their eyes met briefly before Obi-Wan suddenly rolled away from the blow of a spiked mace that would have killed him. The impact of metal upon metal was deafening as the weapon struck the gates where Obi-Wan had been only a moment before.
Qui-Gon watched helplessly as his padawan retreated from his opponent, an impossibly large Abyssin warrior who hefted the mace in one hand and a short sword in the other. Qui-Gon cursed again as he suddenly noticed the color of Obi-Wan's collar. Instead of the flat black of an un-claimed slave's collar, Obi-Wan's slender throat now gleamed with the golden band and etched number of a purchased fighter. Someone in the crowd had liked the boy enough to bid upon him, meeting and perhaps exceeding Obi-Wan's claiming price. That meant the boy's winnings would now go to his owner, who would certainly enter him in future bouts. Perhaps even elsewhere. A purchased slave could be transported off-planet, to fight in other death pits on other worlds as wretched as this one.
Assuming that Obi-Wan lived through his current match.
Not all the fights were to the death, and Qui-Gon held on to this vague hope tenaciously. Not only could he not accept it if Obi-Wan died, but even if the boy lived, the Jedi master would not wish for him to be forced to kill in order to survive. Thus far, Obi-Wan's bouts had been smaller ones, designed to keep both fighters alive long enough to catch a patron's eye and be sold. This match might be different. Obi-Wan had already been purchased and would no longer be sheltered. Jedi were trained to avoid conflict if at all possible, but fought and killed if needed to defend themselves. Obi-Wan understood this, as all padawans did, but still Qui-Gon hoped his apprentice would be spared the weight of such a decision.
Qui-Gon watched anxiously as Obi-Wan dodged his opponent's attacks. The boy was slower than normal, a combination of his injuries and Force-impairment. He was still faster than the heavily muscled Abyssin, however, and used it to his advantage. In a desperate lunge and roll, he managed to swipe a weapon up from the pit floor. The broadsword was heavy, and not at all suited to the boy's fighting style, but it was a defense nonetheless. Obi-Wan hefted it before him in both hands, and Qui-Gon could see his padawan's arms tremble with the strain.
Qui-Gon turned to his guards. "Let me in the pit," he demanded.
They exchanged startled glances and then laughed aloud. "Your time will come, Jedi," one of them chuckled, apparently amused.
"Change the betting scale and let me in," Qui-Gon tried again. "I'll fight my match as well as this one."
Startled glances were exchanged between his captors. "No fighters can be added once a match is in progress," the Nikto guard on his left said, as if quoting from an edict.
Qui-Gon laughed out loud, despite not being the least bit amused. "Since when are there rules?" he asked sardonically. "Seems to me your boss would prefer whatever draws more betting. Two humans against that Abyssin would certainly even the odds."
The guards exchanged glances again, and after several moments, one of them nodded. The other turned and spoke privately into a comlink. Qui-Gon couldn't hear what was said above the din of the crowd. When the guard turned back to him, it was with a firm shake of his head.
"The answer is no, Jedi. Boss's orders. The boy's been claimed. No more showcase rounds. This one's for real."
Qui-Gon stifled his despair and disappointment ruthlessly, his sharp eyes returning to his padawan.
Obi-Wan was exchanging blows with the Abyssin, but had better sense and training than to stand toe to toe with a stronger opponent. Soon he would have little choice, however. Fatigue was beginning to set in, and it was only a matter of time before the boy's body would betray him. A fatal error could be made in less than a heartbeat. Qui-Gon knew the limits of his padawan's strength and stamina as well as he knew his own, but taking the Force out of the equation changed everything. He could only hope that Obi-Wan would be able to rely on his own natural intelligence and cunning to keep himself alive.
Obi-Wan circled the Abyssin warrior, trying to maintain his focus and patience despite his injuries and exhaustion. His opponent had a weakness. Obi-Wan had recognized it immediately upon seeing the creature. The Abyssin had a very large, singular eye situated in the center of its forehead. Due to the eye's size alone it was vulnerable, and Obi-Wan knew if he could strike at it, he might have the advantage he needed. However, it would take time to find an opening, and the padawan knew that time was his enemy. The longer he waited, the more fatigued he became and the more his injuries screamed for his attention. He couldn't hold out much longer. He exchanged blows with the Abyssin only when forced to, lunging and rolling away when required, searching for his chance and despairing that it might never come.
After what seemed like a lifetime of patience, when Obi-Wan was almost burning his last reserves of strength, the brief opening he'd been hoping for appeared. The padawan was there in a heartbeat, discarding the clumsy broadsword he'd been wielding and reaching instead for a dagger he'd managed to conceal inside his boot at the beginning of the match. He wished vainly for the Force as he strained his already injured body and flipped into the dangerous reach of his opponent. As fast as he was able, he slashed at the creature's vulnerable eye. The Abyssin screamed and dropped its mace, raising one large hand to guard its injury while striking out blindly with the short sword in its other hand.
With the aid of the Force, Obi-Wan would have been able to easily avoid the strike. Without its assistance, he never even sensed the sword coming until it gouged brutally across his ribcage, leaving a trail of fiery agony in its wake.
Qui-Gon watched anxiously as his padawan found his opening. The boy leapt like a Corellian sand panther, striking at the Abyssin's singular weakness. But Obi-Wan was too spent, his attack depleting most of his remaining strength and leaving him little resources for retreat. Qui-Gon's shout of denial was lost in the noise from the crowd as he watched the Abyssin's sword cut deeply across his padawan's chest. Blood flew from the blade and wetly spattered against the pit wall as the Abyssin's stroke was completed. Obi-Wan staggered back, dropping to his knees and folding in upon himself at the same time the Abyssin collapsed against the pit wall to cradle its injured eye.
Obi-Wan's breaths were coming in labored gasps as he huddled on the blood-slicked floor. Qui-Gon felt fear clutch his heart as he wondered if the blade had opened the boy's chest. Obi-Wan was not getting up, not going in to finish off his opponent while he had the opportunity. Perhaps he was injured too severely. Or perhaps he didn't know... after all, he was but a padawan, and they'd never been called upon to visit Byss. He would never have had a reason to research the planet or its inhabitants, so how could he know?
"Obi-Wan!" Qui-Gon shouted, straining against the hold of his guards and hoping desperately that the boy could hear him above the noise of the bettors. "Obi-Wan!" he shouted again as the boy's head did not raise. "Listen to me!"
His guards growled a warning, pulling him back, but still Qui-Gon strained against them. "It will regenerate, Obi-Wan! Regenerate!"
Qui-Gon grunted in pain as his Nikto guard punched him hard in the abdomen.
"I said enough, Jedi," the guard repeated gruffly, threatening him with an electrojabber. "This isn't a classroom."
Obi-Wan felt the world coalesce into agony and begin to grey out around him as he collapsed. His weapon had found his target, but he'd been too slow, too injured to protect himself.
"Master, forgive me," he thought through the pain as he tried to draw breath. He wished desperately that he could see Qui-Gon again, if only for a moment. The brief glimpse he'd gotten of him earlier had not been enough, would never be enough. Obi-Wan realized that it was childish and dramatic, but if he had to die, he wished that it could be while cradled in his master's strong arms. He longed to hear Qui-Gon's soft voice tell him he would be all right and that they would be at the Temple soon, even if it was a lie.
The Abyssin was down, perhaps the fight was over. His guards had told him it was to the death this time, but they'd never said how long the dying had to take. If neither fighter could rise to finish the other, then certainly it would be over. Wouldn't it? Obi-Wan wanted only to lay down on the cold floor of the pit, perhaps never to rise again. If only he could see his master one final time.
It was all so pointless. He'd been willing to die for Qui-Gon before, in the mines on Bandomeer. He'd gladly die now if it would spare his master, but he knew that if he did it would be in vain. His master would still be a captive. Obi-Wan would never know if his master escaped from this hell.
He thought he could hear Qui-Gon calling him, but it was difficult to tell over the noise of the crowd and the sound of his own ragged struggles for breath.
Regenerate? Vaguely he heard the word, did not understand its meaning. If only he could regenerate. He'd heal his ribs, stop the bleeding, and regenerate his bruised organs.
Organs. It was a strange word, and in his semi-conscious state, Obi-Wan almost laughed out loud, despite the pain. His thoughts were fragmented, he vaguely remembered his Temple lessons. Some species could regenerate organs or limbs.
Eyes were organs. Some species had only one eye, he thought hazily, like the Abyssin he'd been fighting.
Eye...regenerate.
Regenerate.
Suddenly, Obi-Wan understood. His own eyes snapped open and he groped in the dirt for his dagger, rolling and twisting desperately, ignoring the agony. He thrust his weapon into the Abyssin's chest even as the giant's body descended upon him with the intent to kill. He could see his own haggard reflection in his opponent's perfectly healed eye as the dagger pierced the creature's heart and killed it instantly.
Obi-Wan barely had enough strength left to roll away as the heavy body fell, thudding beside him on the floor. Obi-Wan realized dully that it wouldn't matter to him if the creature could regenerate its heart. One way or the other, the fight was over, and the padawan met the darkness gratefully as it rose up to claim him.
Obi-Wan woke slowly. Sleepy contentment blurred his thoughts as he realized he was surprisingly comfortable and warm. He shifted slightly, and as he rose up another step of awareness, he could feel that he was ensconced in blankets and lying on a soft mattress. It was surreal to experience such comfort instead of the cold, hard floor of the cell he had become accustomed to. He could feel the Force, but it was muted and slipped through his grasp as he unconsciously attempted to focus it.
Memory and awareness rushed in then, and his eyes snapped open. Through sleep-clouded vision he could see that the room he was in was small and somewhat barren. Most important, however, was the fact that he appeared to be alone.
Obi-Wan sat up quickly, ignoring the sudden dizziness and vague nausea that accompanied movement. A slight weight against his throat immediately drew his attention. As his hand rose to his neck, he realized with a heavy heart that he was still collared.
Not rescued or freed, then.
He'd known he'd been purchased when the guards had changed his collar before his fight with the Abyssian, but he'd still held onto the vague hope that it wasn't true. Of all his fears in that cold, dark place, the worst was that he would become separated from his master.
Now it seemed that fear had become reality.
Obi-Wan slowly placed his feet on the floor, keeping one hand on the bed to steady himself as he rose shakily. He could feel vibrations beneath his bare feet, the gentle cadence telling him he was on a starship in transit. No hope for escape until they landed.
Obi-Wan breathed deeply and was surprised to find that he was not in pain. He ran a hand along his ribs, feeling no bandages or traces of wounds beneath the clean tunic and leggings he was dressed in. The last thing he remembered was the horrible agony in his chest as he lay on the floor of the pit, dying for all he knew. He wondered vaguely how long he had been unconscious.
"You spent two days in a bacta tank and cost me a small fortune, Jedi."
Obi-Wan started badly, whirling unsteadily to face a dark figure which slowly detached itself from a corner of the darkened room. Without the aid of the Force, the padawan had not even sensed the other's presence.
"Who are you?" Obi-Wan stammered, struggling to regain his composure.
The figure stepped farther into the light, its identity still concealed by a dark mask and cloak. The mask altered the individual's speech, but the voice was unmistakably masculine.
"I am your master, little Jedi. You are my property, my slave."
Obi-Wan fixed him with an icy glare. "Only one man is my master, and you are not he."
The man laughed, a grating sound. "I'm pleased to see that your experiences in the pit have not yet broken your spirit, little one. However, I will warn you that I have the controls to your electrocollar, and it would amuse me greatly to reacquaint you with the various settings."
Obi-Wan's glare did not subside, but he kept quiet. He was, unfortunately, very familiar with the levels of pain that the slaver's collar could inflict. His guards had enjoyed hurting him during the first few days of his and his master's arrival at the slave pits. Most of the time they would punish Obi-Wan in order to persuade Qui-Gon to do something. Once the Jedi master complied with their wishes, the pain would end and Obi-Wan would be thrust, half-conscious, back into his cell.
Obi-Wan's heart contracted at the thought of Qui-Gon, left behind on that Sith-spawned planet.
The dark stranger nodded as he saw Obi-Wan's defiance falter. "Good. I see that you are intelligent, after all."
The man made his way to the door of the room. "Rest some more, slave. I will have food and drink brought to you shortly. Enjoy your time here, for your accommodations will not be as comfortable once we reach planet-fall."
With that, he exited the room. Obi-Wan checked the durasteel door after a few moments, only to confirm that it was indeed locked. With a heavy sigh and an equally heavy heart, Obi-Wan settled back into the paradoxical comfort of his blankets, wishing for all the galaxy that he was back in his room at the Temple.
In his cramped and darkened cell, Qui-Gon surfaced quickly from yet another aborted attempt at meditation. It was difficult to center himself properly without being able to fully utilize the Force, but the Jedi master knew that was not the ultimate source of his difficulty. Ever since Obi-Wan had been taken from him, Qui-Gon had been unable to relax enough to calm his mind.
His guards had been certain to inform him that the boy's new owner had ushered him off-planet. They had delighted in telling Qui-Gon, knowing it would cause him pain even though the Jedi master was too well-trained and too seasoned to allow his emotions to show. However, what the guards did not realize was that in their attempts at cruelty, they had unintentionally given their captive one positive piece of information. That one vital fact had pierced Qui-Gon's personal shroud of darkness like a beacon.
Obi-Wan was alive.
When the limp form of his padawan had been dragged from the arena, Qui-Gon had not known whether the boy would be provided with medical attention, or if he would simply be allowed to die. There had been no way to find out. His own battle had begun before Obi-Wan's blood had even had a chance to dry on the arena floor.
Qui-Gon's match had ended unexpectedly when a disgruntled bettor with a smuggled-in blaster went on a shooting spree. Either by chance or by design, Qui-Gon's opponent had been obliterated by the rampaging Rodian. Several guards were hit, as well as a few patrons before the melee ended. The pits were closed for the remainder of the day, and the slaves were locked-down in their cells. There had been no opportunity for Qui-Gon to investigate the status of his padawan. Even those who might have been persuaded to give him information were inaccessible under such circumstances. He'd been left in the darkness of his cell, not even able to release his anxiety and fears into the Force.
After that, he had been forced into several matches, all of which he had fought only to defend himself. Without Obi-Wan as an instrument of duress, there was little the slavers could do to coerce him into killing for them. The matches had ended with his opponents unconscious or disabled, but that was never enough for the bloodthirsty crowd. Betting on the Jedi's matches was dramatically decreased, and the slavers had not been pleased. But no amount of personal punishment could turn Qui-Gon from the Code by which he lived.
It was many days later that the guards had provided him with information of Obi-Wan's departure. Even though Qui-Gon had despaired of the separation, his heart and spirit had lifted with the knowledge of his padawan's survival.
As long as they were both alive, hope still existed, however gossamer and capricious it might be.
Struggling to put his thoughts of Obi-Wan aside for the moment, Qui-Gon rose stiffly from his meditative posture. He slowly began a series of stretches to limber his cramped muscles in the confined space. The Jedi master knew his next fight would be very soon. He'd been informed earlier that the guards would be coming for him later in the day. Unfortunately, he also knew that he would still be fighting for the proprietor of the pits, and therefore not be for sale. Qui-Gon's main hope for escape lay in the physical aspects of being sold and transported off-planet. During such a transaction, surely there would be an opportunity to flee or to fight. Qui-Gon was hopeful that perhaps Obi-Wan had found such an opportunity himself.
It was some time later when his guards finally came for him. They led him toward the arena, prodding him threateningly with the dull end of an electrojabber if he moved too slowly. The sounds of the betting crowd grew steadily louder as they approached the pits. His guards were silent, which placed Qui-Gon slightly more on edge than usual. Normally, the exuberant Nikto at least would be taunting him with descriptions of his opponent, or of the many forms in which his death might seek him in the arena. There was no such narration this time, however, and it made Qui-Gon wonder why.
The Jedi master held his breath as they began to round the final corner before the pit gates would be visible. He could vividly remember straining for a glimpse of Obi-Wan through those gates during the boy's final match, could remember the sickening crunch of his padawan's body against the durasteel and the metallic scent of the boy's blood as he'd slid to the floor.
Rather than attending to the moment like a seasoned Jedi master, Qui-Gon was instead absorbed in thoughts of the past, letting his worry for Obi-Wan cloud his attention. Therefore, he was completely caught off-guard when at the last moment, his guards took a sharp turn and ushered him down a darkened corridor leading away from the pits.
"Where...?" Qui-Gon began, but was quickly interrupted.
"You'll find out soon enough, Jedi," one of the guards growled, giving him a light jolt with the electrojabber.
They walked until they reached a glowing energy barrier. One of the guards deactivated it, punching in a code on the wall console. Its steady hum coalesced and then died along with the light it provided. Once past, it was re-activated behind them with a sharp snap-hiss. Its hum grew faint as they distanced themselves from it, and the only sounds became that of their feet on the stone walkway.
Qui-Gon was led farther and farther down the narrow corridor, one guard in front of him and one behind. He was surprised when the passageway finally opened up and he found himself in an apparent holding area. There were empty pens and cages lining the walls, as well as a large stock of security devices. The guards stopped him and the Nikto reached for a pair of stun-cuffs hanging from the wall.
Qui-Gon hesitated, and was rewarded with an exquisite jolt from the electrojabber that drove him to his knees onto the cold stone floor. The Nikto only smirked at him as he placed the stun-cuffs on tightly.
"Get up, Jedi."
Qui-Gon obeyed with difficulty, staggering a little in the direction he was pushed. The corridor opened up onto a small auction block, lit only by the glare from a single light source. Qui-Gon was suddenly aware that there were others present, standing just beyond the light, their features obscured by it. He squinted and raised his bound hands to try to shield his eyes. He felt a warning jolt run along his electrocollar, and reluctantly dropped his hands.
"Are you certain this is what you want, my lady?" Qui-Gon recognized the voice of the pit proprietor, speaking in accented basic. "There are other slaves who would fight willingly for you, you know. This one will only fight under much duress. Although he is formidable, he lacks the blood lust that you will see in many of the other slaves."
"Yet you would keep him for yourself, if my offer wasn't so...persuasive." The other voice was feminine. Familiar? Somehow Qui-Gon could not quite place it.
The proprietor laughed. "Yes. It is not often that one is able to collar a Force-sensitive, much less a trained Jedi. But I regret that I allowed his apprentice to be sold. The individual who purchased him wanted them both, but I declined at the time. I've since found that this one is difficult to control without his boy as coercion. But, I'll be happy to keep him if you change your mind."
"No. My offer stands. Please have him escorted to my ship."
"By all means, my lady. I believe we just have a few monetary matters to settle first..."
The voices dwindled as the buyer and seller walked into another area to finish their deal. Qui-Gon's mind raced even as he fought for calm. He'd been hoping for this moment. Being transported onto a buyer's ship could be the escape opportunity he'd been waiting for.
Of course, with the Force inhibitor, the electrocollar, and the stun cuffs upon him, plus the added security of the guards, the outlook was far from bright.
"Get up!"
Obi-Wan cringed as the stinging lash seared agony across his back. He struggled to rise, staggering as he finally regained his feet. The slave trainer was a harsh, cruel man named K'jos. Obi-Wan's care had been relinquished to him upon arrival at the fighting pits of this planet. The padawan had come to expect such treatment, but here it was a hundred times worse. Here he was separated from Qui-Gon.
Obi-Wan's "training" was not much different than it had been at the previous slavers' facility. The electrocollar and Force-inhibitor remained intact, effectively preventing any attempts at escape. Obi-Wan had learned quickly that his captors were not hesitant to punish him.
Despite the slave trainer's harshness, Obi-Wan did not fear him as he did the dark man who had purchased him. That man had no name, at least not one Obi-Wan had been supplied with. The other slaves and K'jos referred to him simply as "master". But even after several whippings and two sessions with the agony of the electocollar, Obi-Wan still refused to acknowledge him by that title. The man had finally accepted it when Obi-Wan had broken enough to call him "Sir" or even occasionally "My Lord", but the padawan knew his acceptance was only temporary. Still, Obi-Wan had relished the small victory despite his primal fear of the man's tangible malevolence.
K'jos prodded him with the dull end of an electojabber, bringing Obi-Wan back to the present.
"Give me your hands," the slave trainer instructed roughly.
Obi-Wan submitted quietly as K'jos roughly clipped his wrist restraints together and attached a short leash to his collar. A few weeks ago, Obi-Wan would not have been so compliant, but he had learned his lessons well. His early defiance had earned him nothing but agony, isolation and near-starvation. Submission was rewarded with the absence of pain and hunger. At first, Obi-Wan had not cared. His separation from Qui-Gon had been enough to send him into a spiral of despair. Having to face such a situation without the reassuring presence of his master had almost been enough to break him. But then Obi-Wan had been able to meditate a little. Even though it had been in a cold, darkened cell, it had still helped and it had strengthened his will to survive. He needed to live and escape in order to rescue Qui-Gon. He would be damned for a Sith before he would abandon his master to hopelessness.
K'jos tugged on the leash, and Obi-Wan staggered a little, suddenly panicking as he realized he was being lead to a punishment area rather than back to his cell.
"But I didn't..." Obi-Wan started, cringing as the slave master turned quickly and brutally backhanded him.
"Shut up." K'jos fastened Obi-Wan's wrist restraints to a chain hanging from the ceiling and then cranked the chain higher, suspending the boy until his toes were barely touching the floor.
Obi-Wan could hear the rustling sounds from behind him as the slave master gathered his whip and moved into position.
"I instructed you to fight today, as I have done every day since you came here. You choose to play games with me instead. You know the rules, and the punishment for breaking them."
Obi-Wan closed his eyes, trying to center himself in preparation for the beating. This would not be his first, and he was certain it would not be the last. He managed to take two deep, almost cleansing breaths before the initial lash fell across his back. He exhaled sharply, trying to relax into the blows and release the pain into the Force, which he could no longer feel. But the lashes came quicker, harder, and soon he lost his control, one accurate and powerful blow finally wringing a strangled cry from his throat.
"Enough." The dark slave-owner's voice suddenly cut through the haze of pain in Obi-Wan's mind. The padawan squinted his eyes open and saw the man slither quietly from the shadows of the room where he had apparently been observing.
Two more blows fell suddenly, each arching the boy's back and flailing a desperate cry from him.
"I said, enough." The voice was no louder, but now held a darker undertone to it, and this time the slave trainer backed away. Obi-Wan slumped in his sweat-slicked restraints, exhausted.
"Forgive me, my master," K'jos apologized. He handed the whip over with a bowed head. "I submit him to your discipline."
The dark man shook his head and laughed softly, the sound grotesquely distorted by the mask he wore. "If only that were enough."
He turned, studying Obi-Wan coolly. "I'm afraid, my dear friend, that physical...persuasion won't work for our Jedi here." He shook his head, making a small "tsking" noise in the back of his throat.
Obi-Wan tried not to be afraid, but it was hard, so very hard, not to tremble beneath that inhuman regard.
"No," the man continued, stepping closer and reaching out to trail a gloved finger along his captive's jaw almost lovingly. "What we need is to think like a Jedi, despite the utter repulsiveness of such an idea." He toyed with the boy's hair, weaving the padawan braid through his fingers almost idly. "A true Jedi would never fear for himself, now would he, Obi-Wan?"
Obi-Wan started and looked up sharply, into the dull, dead eyes of the mask. This man knew his name. It was the first he'd uttered it, always calling him "boy", or "Jedi", or other less flattering things before. But it was undeniable now. This man knew who he was.
And didn't care.
"Who are you?" Obi-Wan whispered, truly afraid now.
The man laughed again. "Oh, now that doesn't matter much, does it? What does matter is how I can persuade you to understand things my way. You see, Obi-Wan, I paid quite a bit of money for you. Now, in order to earn back what you cost me, I either need you to fight, or I need to hire you out for other services, which you may find even less... appealing."
He walked behind the boy, trailing a finger along the back of Obi-Wan's neck, his breath escaping the mask to warm the boy's left earlobe. "I thought I'd let K'jos have some fun with you first," he whispered, "but I can see that he is getting nowhere, just as I'd suspected. So now we're going to play this game by my rules."
Obi-Wan shuddered, wishing desperately for Qui-Gon, but at the same time grateful his master could not see him like this.
The dark lord motioned to K'jos. "Bring out the Yuzzem."
K'jos nodded in understanding and did as he was commanded, returning with a heavily furred humanoid that was bound and restrained in much the same way as Obi-Wan.
Obi-Wan closed his eyes, wishing desperately to ground himself in the Force. He knew what was coming next; had known since the dark lord had first spoken of persuasion. There was only one thing that would make him cooperate, and that was the punishment of another for his own disobedience.
"Please," Obi-Wan whispered, knowing he was broken before it had begun. "Please don't."
"What was that, my Jedi?" the dark lord asked, taunting as he ran Obi-Wan's braid through his fingers again. "I'm afraid you didn't speak loud enough. I'm getting old, child. I need you to speak up."
Obi-Wan swallowed, closing his eyes again. But they snapped open when he heard the first hiss and kiss of the whip. It made an entirely different sound as it made contact with fur instead of human skin, but the pain was apparently not much different. The Yuzzem lasted somewhat longer than Obi-Wan had before crying out, but by that time, Obi-Wan was pleading.
"Please. Please stop. I'll do what you ask, just stop. Please."
"But Obi-Wan," the man said mockingly, "the whip isn't very effective on that furry hide of his. I haven't even gotten a chance to show you what his electrocollar can do."
"Please," Obi-Wan said again, and suddenly he knew what the dark lord wanted. He felt the bile rise in his throat at the thought. But as soon as the Yuzzem slave screamed and convulsed beneath the activated electrocollar, Obi-Wan knew it was over. He had lost.
"Please stop," he said, tears streaming down his face as he completed the request, "Master."
As quickly as it had begun, it was over. The other slave was removed and dragged back to his cell. Obi-Wan was crying openly now, beyond caring. He'd betrayed Qui-Gon, betrayed his Jedi training. He was terrified of this dark, horrible man, and he was lost.
"There, now, my Obi-Wan," the man said soothingly, tracing the boy's tears with his finger. "That wasn't so difficult, was it?" He ran his hand the rest of the way down Obi-Wan's face, tightening his grip on the boy's chin when he didn't respond quickly enough.
"N..no, Master," Obi-Wan stammered. It was easier now, that word. But Obi-Wan could still feel it like a dagger to his heart. He was truly desperate now. He would die here, and Qui-Gon would never know what had become of his padawan. Would never know of his betrayal. That was, if Qui-Gon was even still alive. Obi-Wan could not rescue him. This man was his new master now, and would determine his fate.
He was surprised when the man let him down from the chain, placing him back on his feet almost gently. The dark lord's hand settled upon Obi-Wan's arm like a steel band, and steered him firmly away.
"Come, Obi-Wan. Let us tend to your injuries, and discuss your future."
Obi-Wan was surprised to find his captor's hands could be gentle as they tended the deep whip wounds on his back. He hadn't known what to expect when the dark man had led him to his quarters, but he'd feared more pain and torment. Instead, he'd been locked inside the dimly lit 'fresher unit with a small pile of new underclothes and leggings and instructions not to come out until he was clean.
Despite being small and rather dirty, the 'fresher had been nothing short of a blessing. Obi-Wan could not remember the last time he'd had the luxury of a full session in a shower unit. Filth and blood had cascaded off him in waves, the warm water pure bliss against his skin, even when it stung in the new wounds. He'd scrubbed his matted hair, rejoicing in the feeling of cleanliness as he worked the knots out of the strands. His hair was so much longer now. He'd tried to think back to the last time Qui-Gon had given him a haircut, but surprising pain accompanied the thought and he'd squeezed his eyes shut tightly beneath the sluicing water. Even the stray remembrance of his real master made his heart contract, and he'd quickly made himself focus on the moment instead.
The old-fashioned lever mechanism in the shower had squeaked and protested loudly as Obi-Wan reluctantly shut off the water flow. He'd dried himself slowly, listening absently to the echoing sound of the water still dripping behind him. He'd tried his best to avoid looking at himself in the 'fresher's plasteel mirror. He knew how much he was changed. He didn't need to see it glaring back at him. And he certainly didn't need to see the gleaming collar around his throat to remind him of his captivity.
When he'd emerged from the 'fresher, his new master had set to the task of applying bacta patches and bandages to his wounds while Obi-Wan sat stoically on the single bed, trying to hide his nervousness.
There was a rat in one corner of the room, and Obi-Wan watched it indifferently as it skulked along the wall in search of food. The room was dingy but neat. An odd paradox, as were the gentle touches coming from this evil being behind him.
Exhaustion was taking its toll, and Obi-Wan reluctantly found himself relaxing as the man slowly wound bandages around his ribs and over his shoulders. The cool bacta felt good against his raw skin, and if he didn't know better, he would swear the bastard was using a bit of Force-healing.
"You can relax," his captor told him. "As long as you obey, you will not be harmed here."
Obi-Wan looked up at him briefly, his eyes hooded. "How is it that you seem to consistently be able to read my mind?"
The man laughed softly, the sound distorted by the metal mask. "Haven't you learned by now that not all Force users are Jedi, little one?"
A deep, ragged breath and Obi-Wan managed to center himself. He wished he could scan the Force currents in the room, read his dark tormentor the way he himself was being read. He wished he were back in his room on Coruscant, reading boring texts on astrophysics and Kitonak sociology. He forced himself to relax again, watched and listened as the rat continued to scurry amongst the shadows.
His back was massaged slowly, warmth from Force-guided fingertips spreading as the tissues beneath them began to heal. His captor leaned forward slightly, equally warm breath escaping from the confines of the mask to ghost against Obi-Wan's neck.
"I know you only called me master to stop the Yuzzem's torture, little slave," he breathed softly. "But one day you will call me by that title, and know in your heart that it is true."
Obi-Wan pulled away, but the grip on his shoulders had suddenly become steel.
"My apologies," the man said mockingly, as if amused by Obi-Wan's reaction. "Perhaps that is premature of me. Afterall, your former master may not be dead yet. There's still hope. Isn't that what you're thinking? That he'll come for you? Take you from me?"
"Leave me alone," Obi-Wan hissed, ashamed to feel tears stinging his eyes.
"Ah, but your master is a clever man. Qui-Gon Jinn is many things, but he has never been stupid. Perhaps he survived? Perhaps he's at the Jedi Temple now, looking over this year's crop of padawan hopefuls? Replacing the pathetic one he lost?"
"My master would never abandon me," Obi-Wan whispered fiercely, his conviction lending him strength.
"And that is what I'm counting on, little one."
Obi-Wan looked up sharply, his patience finally snapping its fragile bonds. "What do you mean?" he demanded. "And how do you know us? Know me? How is it that you can use the Force to heal but yet you use your power for such darkness?"
More laughter from beneath that damn mask, and Obi-Wan suddenly had the desire to rip the covering from the face, to reveal what kind of creature lurked beneath.
"Such spirit, my slave!" his captor taunted, openly amused. But quicker than Obi-Wan's eyes could follow, one gloved hand whipped out to harshly grasp his chin. "Now, if only I could convince you to use that energy in the fighting arena. It would be a pity if I had to sell you. Or kill you, I suppose." An abrupt shake released the boy's chin, snapping his teeth together with an audible click.
Obi-Wan's heart pounded in his chest as his owner turned his back to him in a fluid, almost feral movement. He was afraid. Oh, yes, but he was afraid of this man.
"It would be a true pity," the taunt continued, "particularly since I was hoping to work on some of your training myself."
And when he turned back around, Obi-Wan's world suddenly coalesced into the sight of a familiar, cylindrical object that was held almost reverently in a gloved hand.
His lightsaber.
He'd thought it lost, beyond recovery. But here it was, and for the first time in months, Obi-Wan felt joy surge into his heart at the sight of it. It stood for home and master and Code. It stood for truth and right and Light. And it looked so very wrong surrounded by the darkness of his owner's gloved palm. Obi-Wan's soul ached to touch it, to feel its weight in his hand, to see its blue glow surge to life, to allow its focusing crystals to resonate with his Force-sense.
But the Force was dead to him, locked away by a complex mechanism he did not understand. At the moment, the Force-inhibitor was his reality. The lightsaber and all it stood for was pure whimsy, a child's wish for something that could not be.
"I can feel how much you want this," his dark master taunted, apparently amused.
Obi-Wan shook his head, forcing himself to turn away. "No," he whispered despondently, knowing his desires would be fulfilled only with a price. And even unspoken, he knew it was a price he was not willing to pay.
"Oh, come now," the man chided. "You haven't even heard my proposition yet. Where is that Jedi diplomacy?" He leaned in closer, his voice deepening to a seductive purr. "The deal is this, little one. I will deactivate the Force inhibitor for a daily training session. You will obey me, and spar with me. Disobey me or attempt to escape, and I think you already know what will happen. The controls to the inhibitor and the electrocollar will be available to me at all times. In return for the freedom of the session and the use of your lightsaber, you will simply do what you were purchased for. Fight."
Obi-Wan stared at him dumbly. "S-spar?" He stammered. For him to spar with his lightsaber, that meant his opponent would also have to be equipped with a lightsaber. "I thought you said you weren't a Jedi," he accused, his voice returning to him, albeit shakily.
His owner only nodded. "You are correct," he replied simply.
Thoughts flew wildly through Obi-Wan's mind like mynocks. A chance to wield his lightsaber again could possibly lead to a chance at escape, despite the man's threats. Sparring could give insight to his opponent's weaknesses and strengths. And to be immersed in the Force even for a short time might leave his bond with Qui-Gon open long enough to sense something about his master. Even just knowing he was still alive would help to quell some of his fears.
But could he do as this man asked? He had fought before, for his life. But could he agree to fight willingly, not in self-defense? Would that path lead to darkness? Death was preferable to turning. He had made his padawan vows to Qui-Gon and he would never allow himself to be turned.
With the strength of that conviction coursing through him, Obi-Wan nodded once, meeting the deadened eyes of the mask. "I accept your terms, Master."
Many scenarios had passed through Qui-Gon's thoughts when he'd contemplated opportunities for escape that might exist during a purchase transaction. He'd gone over the possibilities again and again, wanting to be prepared for any breakdowns in security. He was well aware that his chances were slim. The Force suppressor and the electrocollar would circumvent most chances for freedom. He was also aware that if there was a method that would allow him to prepare for each and every circumstance in life, it was one he had not yet mastered.
He reminded himself of all these things as his guards roughly ushered him from the auction block's holding area and up a narrow stone staircase toward whatever might await him. Freedom, death, or continued existence as a slave, the future was always in motion, despite a Jedi Master's wishes to control his own destiny and that of his lost padawan.
Their footfalls and their breathing echoed in the confined space as they climbed the stairs. Insects scurried along the passageway, and one of the guards deliberately stepped upon a large beetle that wasn't quite fast enough to escape. It made a sharp crunching sound, amplified by the acoustics of the corridor and accented by a small grunt of satisfaction from the man who had ended its short life.
The apex of the stairway was near, and one of Qui-Gon's guards took a strong hold of him, giving a silent warning with the electrojabber as well as the controls to his collar. The other guard then moved past to first disable a complex laser gateway and then unlock a huge durasteel gate that was the final barrier to the outside world. The gate creaked and groaned as it lifted, sand falling from its edges like dry rain.
A shove from behind, and Qui-Gon was suddenly squinting as he stumbled from the darkness of the slave pits out into the sunlight for the first time in months. His eyes were tearing and his vision blurred as he sought to gather as much information as he could for his escape. He could make out a modestly-sized transport, with three figures standing near its ramp. He recognized their voices from the auction block, although this time the wind distorted their words.
His sight was improving. Or at least he thought so until he began to make out the details of the figures standing before him.
It couldn't be. Perhaps it was a vision. Or maybe he'd been drugged. But for whatever reason, the last two people in the galaxy he would have expected to see stood only a few meters away.
Jedi Knight Tahl and Padawan Initiate Bant Eerin were dressed for their roles. Instead of master and padawan, here they were apparently portraying a master and a slave. Tahl's outfit consisted of unrelieved black, her gold and green striped eyes striking above the high-collared tunic she wore. A blaster hung from her hip, along with a vibroblade and a thermal detonator. Her lightsaber was nowhere to be seen. Bant was dressed practically, in dark blue rather than black, and Tahl's hand was placed possessively upon her small shoulder.
The third person of the group was the bastard who had sold Obi-Wan. Qui-Gon recognized the owner of the pits immediately, and had to forcibly release his anger. If only he knew who his padawan's buyer had been! His base self longed to attack the man and physically force the information out of him. But the realist as well as the Jedi in him recognized that as pure folly and a certain path to the Dark.
Qui-Gon struggled to put aside the shock and anger and instead delve into his own role. The guards would be expecting him to put up at least a small fight. To go willingly might destroy the cover Tahl had so obviously worked to establish.
"Here he is, my lady," the pit owner was saying. "Are you still certain you wouldn't be happier with a more manageable specimen?"
Tahl made a sound in her throat that was almost a growl. "Are you implying that I cannot control my slaves?" she asked, a dangerous undertone to her voice.
The man seemed unintimidated, but he was careful. "Not at all my lady," he assured her. "I am simply sorry to see this one go. I had such plans for him. But, as I mentioned before, without his boy as coercion he is useless to me. Perhaps you will find another way to... motivate him."
Tahl smiled icily. "Yes, I am certain I will." She snapped her fingers at the guards. "Put him inside and make certain his restraints are intact. I don't want any trouble from him before we make planetfall."
The guards hastened to comply, and Qui-Gon knew this was when he would be expected to fight. In one fluid, twisting motion, he was suddenly behind his guards instead of in front of them, and his booted foot made a solid impact with the spine of his closest captor. He was turning to attempt to sweep the other to the ground when his collar was suddenly activated, and he dropped to his knees in agony.
Tahl moved forward in deliberate, measured steps until he could see his own haggard reflection in the gloss of her boots. She leaned over, collar controls in hand.
"One more display like that, slave, and I will have you drugged until we reach our destination. Do you understand?"
Qui-Gon nodded, trying to swallow, still unable to speak. The jolt from the collar had not been severe, but he would play his part.
"Then get up," Tahl hissed, "and get on the transport like a good little Jedi."
Qui-Gon would have been amused if the situation had not been so dire. Instead he simply nodded again, keeping his eyes downcast, and then slowly got to his feet. He allowed the guards to lead him up the ramp. He was restrained in one of the passenger seats, and the guard he had kicked couldn't resist backhanding him once before parting.
"Don't care what the boss says," the guard sneered, "I'm glad you're leavin', and I hope that uppity boy of yours is gettin' his, too."
His companion sneered. "Yeah, I'll just bet he's "gettin" it. Wasn't much of a fighter, but there's other things a pretty human slave like him could be used for."
They both laughed heartily at that, obviously pleased with themselves.
Qui-Gon remained silent. He was moments away from freedom and being able to search for Obi-Wan. He wasn't going to allow a foolish fit of temper to endanger himself or his rescuers.
The guard who'd hit him appeared disappointed at his lack of reaction, and almost looked as if he was going to try something else. But then his companion grabbed his arm and began steering him back out of the transport. "C'mon," he admonished, "leave him alone. Besides, maybe he'll enjoy this sort of thing. Galaxy knows, I wouldn't mind lettin' that blind girl rough me up a little."
They laughed conspiratorially as they disappeared down the ramp. Qui-Gon allowed himself a soft exhale of relief. They were almost free.
Tahl and Bant entered the transport a few moments later, moving past their newly acquired slave to occupy the pilot and co-pilot's seats.
"Get us out of here," Tahl instructed.
"Yes, Master," Bant answered obediently. Qui-Gon could see that she was quite familiar with the ship. Her small hands didn't even hesitate as they flew over the controls. The ship lifted off smoothly and accelerated into the atmosphere.
"Our destination?" Bant asked as she prepared to take the transport beyond the planet's orbit.
"Anywhere," Tahl exhaled quietly. "Just get us into hyperspace."
Bant nodded and guided the small ship out into the space lanes and then beyond, making the calculations for the jump. Once the transport shuddered into hyperspace, Bant set it for automatic cutoff so they could relax.
Tahl leaned forward and massaged her temples wearily. "Good work, Bant," she smiled when she finally straightened.
"Thank you, Master," the initiate beamed. "Would you like me to make you some tea?"
"That would be a blessing, child," Tahl replied sincerely.
"Ahem," Qui-Gon cleared his throat loudly as his two rescuers paid him no attention.
"Oh!" Tahl exclaimed. "Or perhaps we should have our new slave make the tea. What do you think, Bant?"
Bant giggled, but continued to move past Qui-Gon. "I'll get it, Master."
"Very funny," Qui-Gon commented dryly as the girl disappeared. "Would you mind unfastening the restraints now? And get this Sith-be-damned Force suppressor off me."
Tahl sauntered over to him, her expression unreadable. "I think you've forgotten who you're talking to, slave." She leaned in close, murmuring against his ear. "You belong to me now, Qui-Gon Jinn."
Qui-Gon was speechless for a moment, not knowing whether to be amazed by her words, the sultry cast of her voice, or the fact that she was able to move up to him so gracefully and speak almost directly into his ear without her vision to assist her. Finally, his paralysis ended and he exploded instead.
"Tahl!"
The Jedi Knight sighed dramatically and straightened, leaning on one hip. "Stars and galaxies, Qui-Gon, but you do know how to ruin a girl's fun! How often are you going to see me dressed this way, and how often do I get the luxury of knowing you're helplessly chained to a chair in my ship! Live in the moment, Qui-Gon!"
The Jedi Master smiled. This was the Tahl he knew. But then he sobered. "I can't, Tahl. Not while I know Obi-Wan isn't safe here with us."
Tahl deflated visibly and sank into the chair beside him. "Yes, I know," she replied. "We had hoped to find you both together. It was crushing to realize Obi-Wan wasn't with you. Bant was so certain this would be it."
Qui-Gon softened a bit. "You two seem to be working well together," he commented.
"Yes," Tahl grinned. "You can blame Master Yoda. I know this whole thing was a scheme of his to get me to take Bant as a padawan. And so far it's working. At any rate, I'm thinking this through."
Qui-Gon nodded. "As you should. Taking a padawan is a serious commitment."
Tahl nodded also, then broke into a wide smile. "Well, I'll have to keep this in mind. Sometimes it's better to chain you down if I want to have a serious conversation with you."
"Tahl..."
"Alright, alright," she interrupted. "As soon as Bant gets back I'll get her started on your restraints and that collar."
"Thank you."
"And then we have quite a bit to discuss, I think."
"Yes," Qui-Gon agreed.
TBC...