I'm a day early because I don't currently have power at home. Hopefully it gets fixed soon, but if my updates are ever late, it's due to factors outside my control.
A few things to note: This is the third and final book of Resolve. For each book I experimented with a different writing method. This last one was written with much less planning than the previous two. I always knew where I wanted the story to go, but getting there ended up being a very organic process. Much of what happens in book III came as a surprise to me, even as I was writing it. This book also contains a lot of things I referenced from legends content. If your experience with Star Wars is limited to the films, you may find some events in this book to be far-fetched.
As a general reminder, Resolve has always been about Obi-Wan's journey. We will see Anakin again, but not until around chapter 5-6. And while he will come and go within the story after that point, he is very important to the conclusion.
Get ready for nearly 90 000 words to follow. This is the longest book and I hope it is a satisfying read. If this weren't fanfiction I would likely have spent weeks or even months revising this, but I think it's time to put it to bed and move on to other things.
Resolve III is 18 chapters long and I will continue with my weekend update schedule. If I calculated correctly it means the final chapter will be up on May 11th.
RESOLVE III
1.
He'd long since grown used to the darkness that now surrounded him in near permanence. The rattling of chains and the keening of the fearful he'd also grown used to. He'd even grown used to the daily abuses of his captors.
Some days they wouldn't even give him a single drop of water, leaving him with a throat so dry he might as well have been stranded on the dunes of Tatooine. On others they would feed him, only to beat him later. He showed no anger, because he barely felt its tainting touch. It was what it was, and think hard as he might he knew he would not get loose without the perfect opportune moment. And that moment had not yet come. Perhaps it never would.
He accepted this, because he was a Jedi. And becoming frustrated or angry, or losing hope would not bring a solution to his predicament.
Obi-Wan took a deep breath. He barely noticed the musty odour of his cell. In the middle of the hard duracrete box he sat with legs outstretched in front of him. His hands rested flat on the ground outside his thighs, his bare arms straining as he pushed his full weight onto them, raising his legs off the floor.
Every muscle in his body engaged as he slowly pushed from seated position through to a perfectly stable stance on his hands. With eyes closed he held the position, not bothering to count. Shifting his weight and the position of his legs, Obi-Wan slowly leaned more on his left hand, until he could lift his right off the ground entirely. Steady he stood, again not bothering to count. He brought his right hand back to the ground then, and repeated the one-handed stance on the other side.
He may have been a prisoner, but he would not let his body wither in the enclosed space of his cell. Sluggish as the Force ran through him, with the inhibiting drugs they plunged into his veins each cycle, his connection was still strong enough to, in the most efficient way possible, harness the energy of every scrap of food he was given.
Obi-Wan stayed strong, and he waited.
The Zygerian guards looked upon him with disdain, some with fear. Not once had he fought back, but not once had he yielded either. Perhaps that was what frightened them so. They were incapable of breaking him down the way they broke other beings.
He was a mountain, and over time their winds may reshape his surface, but they would never move him.
No, the darkness didn't bother him. One did not need to see the daylight to know that it was there. And just so, one did not need to feel the Force to know that it was there. That had been his greatest struggle. His first days as a captive were blurred together. He remembered only bits and pieces from those drug-addled days.
He remembered two men and a ship, and little else until he woke in a Zygerian slave vessel, tied and collared. The Force had been nearly absent then. Only a faint glimmer, one he could feel but not reach out to, remained. Over time his body built a resistance to the drugs, and he could now levitate the dented cup that sometimes bore water for him to drink. He was careful to hide his prowess from the guards, lest they adjust the dosage or change drugs entirely.
Obi-Wan had no sense of how long he'd been in captivity, other than to judge the length of his hair and beard. It had become quite unruly, and he had not even a simple tie to tame the thick mess. But improvisation was an essential skill to a Jedi, so one day Obi-Wan simply used his teeth to tear a strip of cloth from his ragged pants, and used it to draw the thick locks into a knot at the back of his head.
The distant sound of a durasteel door sliding open brought Obi-Wan's strength training to a halt. He slowly lowered himself to the ground, then scooted back into the corner. He leaned against the cold stone and feigned sleep.
Footsteps, four sets from what Obi-Wan could discern, pattered down the hallway that stretched out in front of his accommodations. He'd not heard a single guard in quite some time. Droids came and went, as they deposited scraps of food or water through the slit in the door, but living beings only made their way down that way for two reasons; either to torment or to remove.
Obi-Wan was under no illusions about what happened there. The ones who were taken were likely sold, and the ones who couldn't be sold were sent to work in mines. And when they could no longer mine they were killed. He only wondered why they'd kept him for so long. Many beings had come and gone in other cells while Obi-Wan patiently waited in his little box of involuntary solitude.
The footsteps stopped outside his cell.
Obi-Wan remained where he sat, leaning against the wall and pretending unconscious bliss even as the door slid open. The flood of light caused an ache to form behind his eyes, even through closed lids.
One of the guards muttered something, and a moment later Obi-Wan jerked in reflex as a bucket of water was emptied over his form. He choked back a gasp at the frigid sensation. The torn, sleeveless shirt he wore clung to his body, his hair dripped water into his face and down his back, and his pants grew heavy as the cloth soaked up the moisture.
The only dry part of him that remained was his throat, and only his immaculate self-control kept him from sucking the water out of his clothes. He hadn't been given a sip of water in what felt like days, but he would not give these men the satisfaction.
"Get up, slave," one of the guards said.
"Do I have to?" Obi-Wan asked, his voice rough from dryness, but the cheek in his tone suffered not the same fate. "I was just beginning to get comfortable here."
One of the guards stomped forward and shoved the pommel of his inactive vibroblade against Obi-Wan's ribs. "Get up!" He growled in Obi-Wan's ear.
Resisting the urge to rub the sore spot, Obi-Wan pushed off against the wall and got to his feet. The guard shoved him in the back towards the door, and Obi-Wan had to squint as he exited the dark cell and entered the corridor.
It was too bright. He kept a hand above his eyes as they walked, preventing most of the rays from striking his light-sensitive retinas. Again, Obi-Wan wondered how long he'd been their prisoner.
Allowing the guards to guide him with rough hands on his shoulders, Obi-Wan kept his eyes on his feet. More so to avoid the light than in any sign of submission. He studied his bare feet and noticed the uneven toenails. He'd had to resort to biting them back when they grew too long. That in itself should have told Obi-Wan that he'd been stuck there for quite some time. Toe nails grew rather slowly, after all.
Obi-Wan sniffed. He was rather disgusted with the state of his toes.
At least my box has a toilet, Obi-Wan mused. I've not yet been driven to the point of base barbarism.
He thought of Silman, and the almost ten years of captivity the man had endured at the hands of the Pyke Syndicate. The man had lost hold of his mind, and Obi-Wan wondered if the same would happen to him. Perhaps it had and he simply was incapable of noticing. But no, somehow he knew he would endure where Silman had broken.
He was a Jedi.
Obi-Wan took no pride in his own strength and fortitude, but he knew himself. He knew he would not break as Silman had. There was simply too much at stake, and he could not afford to lose his way—or his mind—when the Jedi Order needed him most.
On numerous occasions his captors had attempted to convince him that he was the last member of a dead Order. He did not believe them, because he knew he would have felt something if that were true. He would have felt it in the Force, as he had felt Qui-Gon slip into its embrace upon his death, and as he had felt the lives of Jedi leave their mortal bodies in the battle at the Jedi Temple.
No, he did not believe their stories.
Rough stone beneath Obi-Wan's bare feet turned smooth as the corridor gave way to an elegant hallway. He could see his own reflection in the marble floors—no doubt polished to such sheen by droids—and could not help the amused grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. The beard had grown rather ridiculous, and made him look like the primitive men he'd seen in old history texts.
Bearing the ache in his eyes he dropped his hand and took in his surroundings. The sharp geometry of Zygerian architecture stood in contradiction to the flow of Jedi structure. Nevertheless, Obi-Wan could appreciate the beauty in it.
Gold pillars, accented with deep reds and greens, paved the way to a large chamber. Chairs lined the walls, and in the centre stood a small dais. The guards led him to the small platform, and forced him to stand upon it. They each took position at a corner then, facing him with their weapons held ready as deterrent against trying anything.
So, Obi-Wan thought, I'm to be inspected by a potential buyer then.
It would have bothered most beings, but Obi-Wan was far from typical. He saw opportunity in this. If he played his cards right he could forge a way to freedom for himself. He needed to get back to the Jedi, but he knew he would have to do it in small steps.
Scant minutes had passed when the enormous double-doors on the opposite end of the room opened upon their hydraulic hinges. A human man in an elegant black cloak strode in. Obi-Wan immediately noticed the sharp edge to the man's gaze. He was a predator, used to standing at the top of the hierarchy. His black hair was shorn short at the sides, and the longer strands at the top were combed back elegantly, spiking up at the front where the hairs were more stubborn. His short chinstrap beard was trimmed to perfection, framing a chiselled face that held a set of brown eyes so pale they almost looked a sickly yellow.
Obi-Wan did not need the Force to sense the man's purpose was fuelled by the deepest greed.
Beside the man walked a Zygerian trader, gesturing animatedly as he spoke. Flanking them on either side was another guard formation. Six men in all, but they were foreign to Zygeria. Their dark-grey uniforms, trimmed with red stitching that mirrored the human man's elegant dress, suggested to Obi-Wan they were in the man's employment. There was structure there, and that implied competence.
Who is this man? Obi-Wan wondered.
"Is this it?" The man drawled as he stepped up onto the dais in front of Obi-Wan. His voice was a deep baritone, but he spoke only loud enough to be heard. His right hand loosely rested on a cane made of black ivory, and it was clear that he did not need it for walking. Obi-Wan judged the man to be in his late twenties, and in peek health based on the man's broad-shouldered build.
"Yes, sir," the Zygerian trader said. "This is the Jedi we acquired eighteen months ago."
It took all Obi-Wan's self-control not to react to those words. He knew he'd been stuck there, isolated from the going-ons of the galaxy for some time, but he never expected it to be such an extraordinary length of time. And as that thought left it was replaced by questions. Were the Jedi safe? Was Palpatine still in power? Did the Republic even function still?
A prod on his left arm brought Obi-Wan back to the present moment. He pushed his questions aside and turned his head to see the aristocratic man poke and prod him with his cane.
"Filthy," the man said, mouth turned down in disgust. "But clearly strong. Do you feed this one more than the others?"
"All slaves receive equal nourishment," the trader said.
Nourishment, Obi-Wan scoffed in his mind. Outwardly he didn't even frown. What they were fed barely passed for edible. No less than five times did he have to purge parasites from his body with the aid of the Force. He'd nearly failed the first two times because of the suppressant drugs coursing through his veins.
"Then Jedi must simply be hardy creatures," the man said as he slowly walked around Obi-Wan to view him from every angle possible. He poked Obi-Wan's forearm, and took note of the bruises there. "You give him drugs?"
"Only to inhibit his Jedi powers," the trader replied, meeting Obi-Wan's eyes. He could not hold the Jedi's stern gaze, and flinched away soon after.
"That won't do," the man said. "If I am to buy it I wish it to be functioning at one hundred percent capacity."
'It', Obi-Wan thought, at once both amused and disgusted with the man. He took a deep, but quiet breath. On the exhale he released his negative feelings, and waited.
"That would be incredibly dangerous," the trader said. "Surely you've heard what Jedi are capable of?"
"Of course I have," the man turned, regarding the trader with a tilted head and a tone that suggested the trader was an idiot. "Why the hell would I even consider buying a Jedi if it wasn't to take advantage of their unique powers? I hear they can control minds, crush a person with a single thought. No, why would I want to de-claw a gundark, so to speak?"
"You couldn't de-claw a gundark," Obi-Wan said, unable to stop himself from speaking. "The gundark would kill you first."
The man narrowed his eyes and stepped closer to Obi-Wan. His chin was tilted slightly upwards as he stared down his long nose at the Jedi. "Was that a threat, slave?" He asked, his lips pulling into a snarl even as his voice remained calm.
"I never make threats," Obi-Wan said.
"Is it a promise then?" the man took half a step forward, sniffed, and pulled his face into an ugly sneer before stepping back again.
"I thought we were talking about gundarks," Obi-Wan raised his brows. "Now that I think about it, I have killed a few of those in my time."
"Do you see?" The trader asked, gesturing almost wildly with his arms. "The Jedi is dangerous. It's best to keep his strange powers suppressed."
"He simply needs a collar. He needs to understand who he owes his service to," the man said.
"I serve the Jedi Order and the Republic," Obi-Wan said without hesitation.
"The Republic," the man laughed and clapped his hands together. "No, from now on you will serve me."
"You seem rather convinced that I will simply obey you," Obi-Wan said.
"You will," the man nodded, a smile pulling at his lips. He held his hands behind his back and said, "Kneel."
Obi-Wan stayed rooted to the spot, drawn to his full height.
The man nodded slowly, then raised his eyebrows before snapping his fingers and gesturing to one of his guards. The masked man bowed and instantly retreated to the doorway through which they had entered. He returned with two beings in tow. A young togruta and an older human man stumbled in after the guard. They were both obviously malnourished, their pallor sickly. The guard brought them to a stop before the dais, and the man walked up to them. Both slaves kept their eyes trained on the ground, and Obi-Wan could see the effort it took them not to shy away further from the man's presence.
Without warning the man plunged a small knife into the older slave's neck.
Obi-Wan darted forward, intent on trying to help the poor man, but he was quickly restrained by the Zygerian guards. It would have been so easy to throw them off, but the gushing blood and the man's garbled breaths and twitching limbs told him that nothing he could do would matter. Seconds later the man was dead, and Obi-Wan felt responsible.
"Now," the man said, wiping the knife on a cloth provided to him by one of his uniformed men. "Kneel, slave."
Obi-Wan glanced at the togruta inching away from the body of the man he'd been brought in with. He heard the hitching of his breath before he saw the tears running down his orange-hued cheeks. He was little more than a boy, and the man's implication was clear. Kneel, or the boy dies too.
Obi-Wan kneeled.
"You see?" the man said, turning to the trader with triumph in his eyes. "Every dog can be muzzled. You simply need to find the one that fits. Jedi are sworn to protect the innocent, are they not? All this one needed was a little demonstration, and now I have him on a leash."
Obi-Wan forced his anger down and accepted that there was little he could do. For now, he thought.
"Right, Zarshan," the man said, addressing the trader. "I would like to conclude my business here. I will take the Jedi and the Togruta, and I will, of course, pay for the one on the floor as well."
"Very good, lord Tarrek," the trader bowed, then gestured towards the zygerian guards. Two of them stepped forward with energy-binders. Seeing the motion lord Tarrek held up a single hand in protest.
"That is unnecessary," he said.
Zarshan looked at him with vexed uncertainty. At last he said," If you insist," and motioned for the guards to step back again.
Obi-Wan watched the man with a careful eye, reaching out ever so slight with the Force. It still came to him sluggishly, but he sensed absolutely no fear in lord Tarrek. Here is a man, Obi-Wan realised, who always gets what he wants.
Throwing caution to the wind and challenging the man would be foolish. Obi-Wan knew he would first have to learn more about him. With calm patience he allowed Tarrek's guard to flank him, and escort him through the wide corridors of the Zygerian slave establishment.
The togruta boy walked ahead of him, exuding fear so strongly his bony hands shook. Obi-Wan took pity on the boy, and gently touched him through the Force, soothing his mind to a state of calm. It would be temporary, but it was all Obi-Wan was capable of doing for the boy.
They emerged out onto a wide platform where a starship stood. Obi-Wan instantly recognised the Nubian design. He somehow doubted that Tarrek was from Naboo, but his every manner spoke of sophistication and elegance, and Obi-Wan was not surprised that he'd acquired such an elegant ship.
Once inside Obi-Wan was roughly shoved into a small cabin and forced onto his knees. Beside him the boy received the same treatment. Tarrek came to a stop in front of them.
"You will be sedated for the journey," he drawled. "It's a precaution I take with all my new acquisitions. Resisting. . ." He paused and turned his eyes on Obi-Wan, and the intent in them was clear. ". . .would be ill-advised."
Obi-Wan was a quick study, and so he merely kept his eyes on the stony face of Tarrek as one of the guards injected him in the neck. He fought against the heaviness in his limbs for but a moment before he slumped over onto his side. Vision swimming, ears filled with cotton, mouth dry, a deep breath, the Force reaching out to him, and then he closed his eyes.
The journey back to wakefulness was slow.
At first he could not open his eyes. He could barely move, and so he listened instead. It was quiet, but the sound of distant birdsong reached his ears. Closer he could make out the sound of flimsi being handled, and realised that wherever he was, he was not alone.
Obi-Wan kept perfectly still. Sprawled on his back he could feel the hard surface beneath him, yet the sensation on his bare arms was soft. I'm on a carpet, he thought.
The sound of a throat being cleared caught Obi-Wan's attention. That voice belonged to Tarrek. He was certain.
Very well, then.
Obi-Wan fought against the heavy pull on his eyelids and forced them open. He closed his hands into fists and shifted his legs, but while his mind was clear his body still struggled.
"I wouldn't bother trying to move," lord Tarrek said.
"Why. . ." Obi-Wan trailed off. Even speaking was incredibly laborious.
"It's the sedatives," lord Tarrek said casually. "It will wear off within the hour, I'd wager. Until then you'll be weak as a kitten."
"Even kittens. . . have claws," Obi-Wan managed to say as he struggled to roll onto his side.
"Oh I do love your spirit," lord Tarrek said, leaning forward in his seat. Turned on his side Obi-Wan could now make out the man's features. He looked pleased. "The Zygerians seem to think you are unbreakable. I don't know if that's true, and frankly, I don't care. In this day and age a Jedi is like a unicorn. And I believe your mere presence will deter the competition."
"What competition?" Obi-Wan forced the words through dry lips. "All I know about you is that you have monetary wealth and an utter disregard for life." With pure force of will Obi-Wan pushed himself to his knees, into a position that mirrored the one he often used for meditation, one he learned from Qui-Gon. He took a deep breath. "Who are you and what sort of crime lord are you?"
"Bold," lord Tarrek grinned. "I am Djon Tarrek. You may call me 'my lord', 'lord Djon', or 'lord Tarrek'. I am the head of a syndicate known as Blackwater."
"Never heard of it," Obi-Wan said.
"Oh you wouldn't have," Tarrek smiled, but it did not reach his unusual eyes. "Blackwater operates in the outer rim. We sell our products to several distributors, who then sell to third party dealers. By the time it reaches the core worlds, your Republic worlds, few know where it originated from."
"And what is it you deal in, exactly?" Obi-Wan asked, wondering how forthcoming the man would be with him.
"Oh, this and that," Tarrek said. "Slaves, drugs, corporate espionage. I am a busy man."
"I bet you are," Obi-Wan said, briefly closing his eyes to ward off a wave of dizziness.
"And I bet you're wondering why exactly I bought you," Tarrek said. "It's quite simple really. You will serve as training instructor for my core guard force, and you will serve as my personal bodyguard whenever I have dealings with opposing clans."
"What makes you think that I will willingly serve you in such a capacity?" Obi-Wan asked, taking care to keep his voice level and calm.
"You already know the consequences," Tarrek said as he took out the small knife he'd used to kill the old man in the Zygerian slave market. From the table next to him he picked up an apple. He cut off a large chunk and ate it, chewing slowly as he observed the wheels turning in Obi-Wan's head. "I suggest you start with making your appearance more civilised. You smell, and looking at you as you are now disgusts me. Once you're neat and clean you'll have free reign in the compound. My guards will not stop you."
Obi-Wan had difficulty keeping his utter disbelief from displaying on his face. "You're playing games," he accused.
"Games?" Tarrek raised his brows. "No games. I'm simply offering you choices. For example; I wish for you to dine with me at seventh hour. If you do not. . ." he left the sentence hanging, but again the meaning was clear.
"You control beings by preying on their nature," Obi-Wan said, knowing he was right. Tarrek merely smiled a little wider. "I'll admit it's proving effective."
"Excellent," Tarrek said. He stood, turned his back on Obi-Wan, and moved towards the door. "I'll see you at seventh hour then."
"Do keep in mind," Obi-Wan said. He waited for Tarrek to turn around and face him once more, then he said, "I owe you no loyalty."
Tarrek smiled, held his chin high, "We understand each other, Jedi."
When the door closed behind Tarrek, Obi-Wan released a deep sigh and rubbed a hand roughly across his face. The sluggishness was leaving his limbs, but his mind was a whirling mess of troubles. He and Tarrek had communicated clearly with one another, without the need to truly say anything at all.
Obi-Wan knew he could not plan his next move yet. He needed to explore the compound, see the people—slaves—before he did anything. He would have loved to ignore Tarrek's orders completely, but he felt like he'd been steeped in faeces. A Jedi cared not for vanity, but there was a line there somewhere, and he would take advantage of the opportunity to make himself feel a little more human again.
Carefully he stood, then surveyed the large room Tarrek had left him in. Clothes had been set out on the bed. Expensive clothes. The bed was large, the bedding fit for royalty. Everything from the curtains to the ceiling lamps spoke of extravagance, and Obi-Wan wondered why Tarrek would give a slave such a room.
He pushed the thought aside and made his way into the refresher. He noticed its enormous size, but before he could study the facilities in any more detail he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror.
The marble floors of the Zygerian slave hold had given him a silhouetted, discoloured view of himself. But the mirror reflected his image back to him in perfect clarity.
Obi-Wan was taken aback by what he saw.
His skin had become so pale he could see his veins in places. His hair was oily, unhealthy, had sprouted grey beside his temples, and his beard was a tangled jungle. An ugly scar started above the outside of his right brow, neatly missing his eye before continuing down his cheekbone. Obi-Wan knew when he got that scar—during the Temple battle—and he'd felt its edges in the dark cell on Zygeria, but never before had he seen it with such clarity. If he'd lost his eye as well he would have been able to rival Jedi Master Even Piell in the category of most intimidating scar. Quite frankly, the mark shocked him more than it should have.
Obi-Wan turned his eyes away from the mirror. The man in there was unrecognisable to him. Transformation is a part of life, he told himself, then met his own eyes in the mirror. A wiser, more determined man stared back.
Off to the side of the sink a pair of sheers lay. Obi-Wan picked them up and began cutting away at his beard, then his hair. When he finally entered the shower and let the warm waters wash away the grime, he was struggling to keep hold of his emotions.
He may have finally left that dark cell on Zygeria, but he was still none the wiser to the fate of the Jedi, and to the fate of the Republic itself.