1/19/2019
RESOLVE III
2.
Obi-Wan left the elegant black jacket on the bed. If he'd been a prideful being he might have refused the clothes entirely, but there was a line between defiance and stupidity, and all factors considered, he reasoned it would be better to take advantage of whatever generosity was afforded to him.
Having tucked the dark green pant legs into the expensive boots that had been set out for him, he fastened them with an ease that belied the fact that he'd been barefoot for eighteen months. Obi-Wan didn't bother to question how they'd known all his sizes. He certainly had been unconscious long enough for them to have taken his measurements.
He stood and tested the comfort of the shoes. It felt strange to have his feet contained again, but he knew he would quickly grow used to it once more. Obi-Wan appreciated the authentic nerf-hide leather used to craft the boots. It was similar to Jedi standard issue, and that was a small comfort to him.
Obi-Wan rubbed a hand over his face. He knew what Djon Tarrek was doing.
The crime lord was attempting to buy his complacency with comforts.
It won't work, Obi-Wan thought. A comfortable bed will never make me forget about my Jedi brothers and sisters. It will not erase Palpatine's evil from the Galaxy. It will not make me forget my purpose.
Obi-Wan stood and straightened the off-white shirt before tucking it into his pants. The cloth was soft, the sleeves long, and reminded him of the inner tunic he would wear beneath his Jedi robes and tabards. He missed those items.
It's just clothes, Obi-Wan tried to convince himself. But when he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror he didn't see a Jedi. He saw a mask, a layer that would exist for the world to see until he could safely break free from Djon Tarrek's hold and rejoin the Jedi.
He walked closer to the mirror and inspected himself more closely. His beard was neatly trimmed, but he'd done a poorer job with his hair. It was comfortably short once more, but choppy in places where he had difficulty seeing. With the minutest of shrugs he walked away from the mirror and towards the door. It was time to see if he truly was unleashed, so to speak.
The hallway was brightly lit, and the first being Obi-Wan encountered upon setting off down the marbled corridors was a protocol droid. It stood, as if waiting for him, beside a painting depicting a valley at sunrise.
"Good morning, sir Jedi," the droid said. Its silver casings sparkled, as if someone had spent hours polishing and buffing the droid to rid it of any imperfections. It's photoreceptors glowed a blue that strongly reminded Obi-Wan of his lightsaber.
How he missed the traditional weapon, that extension of himself perfectly balanced and tuned to him, and him alone. His blade was gone—probably sold on the black market—but his experience and knowledge remained. Stuck in that cell on Zygerria his meditations had often consisted of running through katas in his mind. Obi-Wan hoped he would soon be able to practice them with his physical form once more.
"I am C-3KV, and I am at your service," the droid finished.
"Truly," Obi-Wan said, intending irony but wasn't at all surprised when the droid didn't pick up on it.
"Indeed, sir. Lord Tarrek said I am to aid you in whatever capacity you require," it said.
Obi-Wan considered the droid's words carefully. He had intended to explore the grounds by himself, discover boundaries, study the terrain and security, but if the droid gave him a tour it would perhaps speed things up, and give him reason to linger in places he wished to study further. Protocol droids were programmed to be eager to help, to divulge information. Obi-Wan wouldn't be surprised if this droid knew the entire history of the building they stood in.
Oh he was certain that Tarrek wouldn't have allowed the droid to know anything that could reveal weaknesses, but Obi-Wan was trained to see what others wouldn't.
"Let's start with going outside," Obi-Wan said.
"Do you not first want a tour of the mansion, sir?"
"The mansion isn't going anywhere," Obi-Wan said. "I'd like to see the land while there's daylight."
"Very well, sir," the droid said. "But I wouldn't worry about daylight. It is currently forty-two minutes past eighth hour, and with the planet's twenty-six hour rotational cycle, daylight will last another ten."
"What planet are we on?" Obi-Wan asked.
"My programming prevents me from divulging that information to Lord Tarrek's property," the droid said.
Wonderful, Obi-Wan thought dryly, but he wasn't surprised. That would have been too easy.
They continued on down the corridor and headed towards the entrance hall of the mansion. Obi-Wan took note of the wood bannisters and columns, the smooth marble floors and the fine details of the window frames. Everything he saw reminded him of an older, rarely seen style. Few artisans in the galaxy still practised the crafting of older aesthetics. There was a kind of exclusivity to it.
Everything Obi-Wan saw gave him the impression that Djon Tarrek was a man who liked to show others how wealthy and powerful he was.
And I am just his latest toy, Obi-Wan thought. I don't suppose it will be long before he lets all his friends and competitors know that he owns a Jedi.
His breath caught in his throat when they stepped out into the sunlight. The mansion stood atop a hill overlooking a wide, grassy valley. Dark, angular rocks protruded from the earth in places, and trees grew in spontaneous clumps all over the plains. The greens and yellows seemed to stretch for miles. White wild flowers dusted the landscape, while soft clouds rolled by across a blue sky.
The beauty was obvious and, even though his still light-sensitive eyes were beginning to sting, he could not look away. The droid was saying something.
"On second thought, Threekayvee," Obi-Wan said, addressing the droid. "I think I would like to explore a bit on my own."
"Oh, very well sir," the droid said. "Should you require assistance I will be in the mansion, on the second level corridor in the western wing."
"Yes, very good, thank you," Obi-Wan said and began walking down the winding steps. He needed space to think, and having the droid around would no doubt prove hindering.
Obi-Wan opened himself to the Force as he walked. He hadn't felt it flow so strongly in what felt like a lifetime. It was rejuvenating, and he immediately knew that the planet he was on was strong in the Living Force. He wondered what the native life looked like. Were there creatures like the suubatars on Ansion? What about banthas and nerfs? Perhaps there were creatures he had never before encountered.
But, looking at the walls surrounding the compound, Obi-Wan knew that those walls weren't built to keep anything out. The sentries and tower turrets were pointed inwards.
Free reign? Obi-Wan thought. I suppose that applies as long as I stay within these walls.
The path ahead of Obi-Wan split three ways. He could keep walking straight to reach the main entrance of the compound, he saw. But that would likely be unenlightening. Left or right remained, and Obi-Wan took a right turn towards what looked like a greenhouse. He passed uniformed guards on the paved road, but they ignored him completely.
Obi-Wan shook his head. Wherever he was, and whatever Blackwater exactly was, it certainly was unconventional.
Minutes later he stood in front of the large revolving doorway leading inside the greenhouse. Curious, he walked up to the sensor, and was taken aback that it responded to him and allowed him inside. He walked along with the revolving door, and was only briefly taken by surprise when a faint mist of water was sprayed down on the other side. Where outside the air was dry, inside the greenhouse the air was kept humid.
Obi-Wan rolled up his sleeves as he took note of the rows of tall green stalks populating the area. The chutes came up to his chest, and while he was no expert on botany, it looked like the plants were close to flowering. He heard soft-spoken voices, but didn't spot anyone standing in the fields. Obi-Wan came to the conclusion that the speakers were either short, or they were crouching.
He walked around the rows of plants, glancing into the empty gaps to see if he could spot the occupants of the greenhouse. When he reached the end he noticed a pair of Twi'lek. A woman was crouching down next to what looked like a boy. They had their backs turned to him, and were speaking in hushed voices. Obi-Wan wondered if they were slaves, but discarded the thought. They likely were, and it would be indelicate to ask.
Taking care not to muffle his steps, a measure against startling them, he began walking down the isle of stalks towards them. The rhythmic tap-tap-tap of his steps alerted them to his presence, and the crouching Twi'lek woman abruptly stood and turned to face him, her eyes hard.
Obi-Wan stopped in his tracks, lips parted and brows drawing together in a mixture of confusion and dismay.
"Oola?" He asked, uncertain. "Oola Toqema?"
The woman's eyes softened and her shoulders slumped as a deep breath left her. The boy next to her gasped, his eyes widening.
"Master Jedi," Oola said. "I suppose he got his hands on you too. I can't imagine any other reason I'd see you here. I dare not hope for rescue."
"I don't understand," Obi-Wan said. "You're a botanist employed by the Republic. How did you end up here?"
"And you're a Jedi," Oola said. "Yet here you are as well."
"Are you and Silais all right?" Obi-Wan asked, his eyes turning to meet the boy's gaze. He'd grown since that day he met them on Kashyyyk, when they offered him free passage to Toprawa.
"We are as well as slaves can be," Oola said, crouching down to pick up an instrument that Obi-Wan didn't recognise. She stuck it into the soil and took a reading. "We don't have our freedom, but otherwise we are not treated poorly."
"As long as we obey," Silais piped up, his voice bitter.
"What did I say, Silais?" Oola reprimanded sternly.
The boy sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. "You said I mustn't show discontent," he said. Obi-Wan noted that the boy's basic had undergone a marked improvement in the years since he'd met him. He spoke clearly, without the need to stop and think about the words.
"The ceiling has eyes and the walls have ears," Oola said, nodding her head. "Now, these readings won't take themselves, Silais."
The boy sighed and crouched down on the other side of the walk space. He picked up a similar instrument to the one his aunt used, and started taking soil readings.
"I don't mean to disturb your work," Obi-Wan said. "But I've only just arrived here, and I'm a little lost."
Oola paused in her work, but neither stood nor met his eyes again. "We don't know much ourselves," she said. "We don't know where 'here' is, we don't know anything about what's going on outside the walls of this compound. What I can tell you, master Jedi, is that as long as you obey lord Tarrek you won't suffer. He treats us well. Silais always has clothes that fit him, and we always have food in our bellies. We have beds and roofs over our heads, and we even get days off."
"How did you end up here?" Obi-Wan asked again.
"We were concluding a year long project on Toprawa when our ship was attacked by a pirate vessel," Oola said, still working with the soil and instruments in front of her. "They took us captive, and. . . well. We we're lucky."
"How so?" Obi-Wan didn't see how getting attacked and kidnapped by pirates could be considered lucky.
"Lord Tarrek was at the slave market when we were brought in," Oola said. "As soon as he heard about my expertise he bought me and Silais both. It could have been much worse."
Obi-Wan nodded his head in understanding. Twi'lek slaves were often sold and kept as pleasure slaves. For Oola and Silais to escape that particular fate was a small mercy. But their freedom had still been stolen from them.
"And now you take care of his greenhouse plants?" Obi-Wan asked.
"Yes, and the gardens, as well as the agricultural fields to the east," she said. "We do as he says."
"Is anything he asks of you illegal?" Obi-Wan asked.
Oola scoffed. "What does that word even mean anymore?"
"I don't follow," Obi-Wan said, genuinely confused by the vehemence of her response.
She sighed. "Forgive me," she said. "It has been difficult since the Jedi's so-called betrayal. But of course you know all about that."
Betrayal. The word shot through Obi-Wan like a blaster bolt.
"No, I don't, actually," Obi-Wan said and crouched down next to Oola. "The last time I knew what was going on in the Republic is when I fought an army that had been sent, unprovoked, to attack the Jedi Temple on Coruscant. I nearly died in that battle, and I'm assuming an opportunist sold me to the Zygerians, because until yesterday I was stuck in one of their slaver holds."
Oola paused her work and turned to face him. "Chancellor Palpatine said the Jedi had planned to overthrow the Republic's democracy. He said they were in cahoots with the Confederacy of Independent Systems. He said the Jedi orchestrated the droid attack on themselves to garner sympathy."
Obi-Wan shook his head and pulled at his beard. "A tale of fiction if ever there was one," he said.
"True or not, it doesn't matter," Oola said. "When the Jedi disappeared it sparked war in the galaxy."
"War?" Obi-Wan said, only half-surprised. But he'd hoped. . . He wasn't sure what he had hoped for.
"Yes. Between the Republic and the CIS, and a third faction who believe the Jedi were framed. The rebels believe the Republic has abandoned its democratic values, and was attempting to use the Jedi to veil their intentions. Now that the Jedi have disappeared from the galaxy it's impossible to say who is in the right. As it stands entire systems are being ravaged by a three-way war. When Silais and I were taken five months ago, the rebels had been overwhelmed by Republic forces on Vulta."
"Who leads these rebels?" Obi-Wan asked. War between the Republic and the CIS made sense, to a degree. War had a way of causing distraction, and Palpatine needed distraction to weaken the Republic and further his goals. This rebel faction was a wild card, one that Palpatine probably hadn't anticipated.
"No one knows," Oola said. "Although, maybe now they do. . . We have no way of finding out. But back then it was speculated that Bail Organa from Alderaan was part of the rebel leadership. He denied it, and faced several inquiries before the Senate, but nothing could be proven. Regardless, he was forced to step down from his position."
"I see," Obi-Wan said. Things had unravelled in a most unexpected fashion. He needed to find out where he was, and how he could get out of there. There were bigger problems in the galaxy now, and he felt urgency rise within him. Palpatine needed to be stopped. But then he looked down at the diligently working Silais. The boy was a shadow of the excitable youngling he'd met two years previous.
As Obi-Wan continued to watch Silais work he noticed something sticking out the end of the boy's sleeve. "Silais?" he said, scooting closer to the boy. "What's that on your arm?"
Silais paused, glanced at his arm, then at Oola with a questioning gaze, as though asking for permission. Oola sighed and stood from her crouch to walk closer. As she did she drew back her own sleeve while nodding to Silais. The boy pushed his sleeve back, and on their arms Obi-Wan saw three parallel lines burned onto the skin, starting midway on the top of their hands, and stretching past the wrist joint and partway up the forearm.
"What are those?" Obi-Wan asked, masking his horror with well-practised stoicism.
"Brands," Oola answered dispassionately. "Lord Tarrek marks all his property with his sigil. Soon, he'll mark you too."
The afternoon sun beat down on Obi-Wan's neck. It shouldn't have shocked him to see the brands on Oola and Silais' left arms. He'd seen how callously Tarrek had treated a living man back on Zygeria. So it certainly shouldn't have surprised him to see how the man treated the living.
For hours after, Obi-Wan sat knelt in a meditative position on a patch of grass some distance away from the greenhouse. He delayed his exploration to meditate. The Force came to him with a sharp clarity, but it yielded no answers to him. He did not allow that to frustrate him. Instead he simply basked in its presence. It had been so long since he could simply be still with the Force.
As time passed he heard the sound of many feet pounding the pavement in a synchronous rhythm, the sound growing louder, then fading as it went by him. He heard the sound of swoop bike engines screaming past, the sound of probe droids floating overhead, and a variety of other sounds and noises that suggested daily activity within the compound.
Eventually the need to move drew Obi-Wan to his feet. He hadn't had a chance to properly stretch his legs in such a long time that he had no idea where his fitness level was at. As hard as he'd worked to stay in shape within the confines of his dark cell, there were few things quite as satisfying as sprinting through an obstacle course.
With the Force swirling through and around him Obi-Wan got to his feet. He began a slow jog around the perimeter wall of the compound. Sentries turned to look at him as he moved past, but didn't stop him. Once he was certain his muscles were warm and limber, he picked up speed.
A set of silos came into view—grain stores, he thought—and with Jedi grace he jumped to the top of the closest silo. The feat drew the attention of several sentries. Some raised their rifles in alarm, but they held their fire and simply observed the Jedi's acrobatic movements as he leaped the gaps between the silos.
Obi-Wan threw in unnecessary flips and twists as he leaped from building to building, joyful as a youngling as his body remembered how to move. As a padawan, and later as a knight, Obi-Wan poured as much time into training his body as he did training his lightsaber skills. He'd been lauded for his mastery of his neuromuscular system, showing a rare control that allowed him perfect balance. Hard work had gotten him to that point, and while he could feel the imperfections in his form now—brought on by his long time in captivity—it didn't bother him. He knew he could regain what he had lost. All he needed was time.
A large courtyard came up on Obi-Wan's right. Men were lined up within its boundaries, performing a kata that Obi-Wan didn't recognise. They all wore the same uniform, and Obi-Wan guessed that they were the guard force Tarrek intended him to train. He ignored their curious gazes as he sped by the courtyard and headed for the steep incline that lay before him. A system of durasteel stairs and walkways rose up it's side. Obi-Wan ignored those and used the protruding stones to half leap, half climb his way to the top.
When he reached the top he was met with several men aiming blaster rifles at him.
"Hello," he said in a calm voice, realising that he'd unwittingly leaped up to one of the guard towers. He put his hands on his hips and slowly turned his back to the men to survey the surroundings.
The compound was enormous. At the centre stood the mansion, a beacon of sophistication. A small spaceport lay behind it, and behind that were plantations of what Obi-Wan guessed was produce. The greenhouse stood off to the west, the large courtyard to the east. Along the rim were buildings that Obi-Wan assumed were a combination of barracks, stores, garages, perhaps even an entertainment centre.
Beyond the perimeter wall grassy hills and forests spread as far as the eye could see. He spotted a herd of nerfs grazing near a large river to the south. Not a single settlement was in sight. Clearly Tarrek had chosen a remote location to set up his operation. But through the Force Obi-Wan could feel that the planet was teeming with life. There had to be other settlements.
The trick would be finding them without leaving the compound, and without alerting Tarrek to what he was doing.
A comlink chimed behind him. Obi-Wan turned to look at the gathering of sentries. One of them held a hand to his ear and listened intently.
"Understood, my lord. It will be done," the man said before ending the communication. He met Obi-Wan's eyes and said. "Lord Tarrek would like to remind you of his dinner invitation at seventh hour. He wishes you to be dressed for the occasion and to tell you that he will be displeased if you are late or of inadequate hygiene. It is now ten past fifth hour."
Obi-Wan took a deep breath, enjoying the wind that tugged at his clothes and blew through his hair. Tarrek has been keeping a close eye on me today, he thought. I suppose that's what the probe droids were for. . . Tracking my every movement. He nodded his head. "I shall be on my way then," he said, then promptly leaped off the tower. He padded his landing with the Force, then ran along the path towards the mansion.
He would play Tarrek's game for the time being. He would bide his time, and when the moment came to turn the tables Obi-Wan knew he wouldn't hesitate.
Because the Force was with him, strong as it's ever been.
Djon Tarrek was already seated at the head of the long table when C-3KV led Obi-Wan into the dining hall. The crime lord was nursing a fine vintage, by the looks of it, but the food had not yet been served.
Obi-Wan glanced at the chronometer on the far wall just as it struck seventh hour.
"Good, you're on time," Tarrek said. "Have a seat."
Obi-Wan walked over to the seat Tarrek was gesturing to. It was the only other place at the table that had been set, and was on Tarrek's right-hand side.
"Oh," Tarrek said as Obi-Wan reached the chair. He stood and started taking off his silken jacket. "Do remove yours as well. As much as I love the elegance of a tailored suit, I find it a bit stifling to dine in."
Obi-Wan acquiesced with a simple nod of his head, and began removing the garment. What was the point of asking me to dress up to begin with? He thought. When he'd re-entered the bedroom assigned to him to find a tailored suit he wasn't exactly surprised. Still, the presence of the clothes irked his comfort levels. He'd never been fond of formal occasions. They always called for stiffer dress, and Obi-Wan much preferred the comfort of Jedi robes.
With jacket removed Obi-Wan stayed standing until Tarrek sat down. He watched as the man rolled up the sleeves of his crisp black dress shirt. Obi-Wan rested his hands on his thighs, and waited.
"What do you think of the compound?" Tarrek asked.
"Do you really care what I think, or are you simply making conversation?" Obi-Wan asked.
Tarrek let a half-grin slip onto his face. "I'm genuinely interested," he said.
Obi-Wan was silent for but a moment, then said, "It's elegant, large, well kept and well guarded. Though I'm still not entirely sure what the purpose of this place is."
"You didn't ask my lovely Twi'lek botanists what it is they do?" Tarrek said, smirking into his wineglass.
"I didn't get around to that, I'm afraid," Obi-Wan said.
Tarrek's smirk stayed on his face as he set his glass down and spread his arms wide. He took a noisy breath through his nose, and said, "Nabisna poppy!"
Obi-Wan leaned back in his chair with sudden understanding. The green stalks in the greenhouse, not quite flowering, were being tended to by an experienced botanist for a crime lord. He shook his head. "You manufacture nabium here."
"The best in the galaxy," Tarrek said with no small amount of pride.
It was difficult for Obi-Wan to keep his face neutral. Nabium was one of the most addictive drugs in existence. The very fact that a kind woman like Oola was now stuck tending the plants that formed the basis of the drug was like the stab and twist of a dagger in the flesh.
"And that's how you've made your fortune," Obi-Wan said. "Selling this drug."
"Indeed," Tarrek said. He glanced over to the door when a service droid came through the door, pushing a repulsor trolley loaded with different dishes. "But it wasn't until the war broke out that business really started to take off. The past year has been absolutely sublime. And with the botanist's help profits have been soaring."
"So you decided to buy yourself a Jedi," Obi-Wan said, ignoring the food that was being laid out on the table.
"Yes," Tarrek dragged the word out. "You are the single most expensive thing I have ever purchased, and I'm so glad to see you're still here."
"You didn't give me much choice," Obi-Wan said.
"Oh I gave you a choice," Tarrek laughed. "You simply cannot stomach what will happen if you do leave. I own you, in more ways than one."
A door behind Obi-Wan opened. He turned his head and watched as three men walked in. Two flanked his chair on either side while a third headed to a compartment inset in the wall behind Tarrek.
"Let's take care of business before we dine, shall we?" Tarrek said, that amused lilt still tainting his voice.
The two men flanking Obi-Wan dropped heavy hands on his shoulders. Reflex would have had him throw them clear across the room, but he stayed his hand. He'd been expecting this, and didn't at all react when one of the men took hold of his left arm and began rolling up the sleeve.
"Curious," Tarrek said as he stared at Obi-Wan's stoic face.
The third guard opened the sliding door of the compartment, and the room was immediately engulfed in a bright orange glow. When he turned around Obi-Wan could clearly see the red-hot brand he held in a gloved hand.
"Rather primitive, don't you think?" Obi-Wan asked, the flippancy in his voice matching the cruel amusement in Tarrek's eyes.
"By now slaves are usually begging," Tarrek raised his chin. The smile had drifted off his face. "You should have seen how the little Twi'lek boy begged and cried and squirmed."
Obi-Wan kept his gaze locked on Tarrek's eyes as the brand was brought closer. A defiant twinkle shone in his eyes, like the brightest of stars. When the brand made contact with his flesh, sizzling and searing the skin into smoking welts, he didn't flinch. He didn't even blink.
Tarrek frowned. He seemed almost disappointed for a moment, but then his face lit up into a brilliant, cruel smile. "Fantastic," he said. "Oh you were worth every credit."
The guards left, and Obi-Wan sat motionless as he watched Tarrek load a plate full of food before digging in with a civilised gusto.
"Please, help yourself," Tarrek said when he noticed that Obi-Wan wasn't touching the spread.
Obi-Wan could scarcely fathom what went on within the man's mind. He was a web of contradictions. Cruel, kind, civilised, barbaric. Manipulative to the core, Obi-Wan thought. There is nothing kind or civilised about this man. Everything he does is a front to better control beings with. I must not get caught in his web.
Obi-Wan turned his gaze away from the man, and began loading his plate with food. The pain in his arm was severely distracting, but he numbed the nerves with a Force-healing technique and did his best to ignore the sight of the cracked, bursting, charred skin and the blood oozing from the triple lines now engraved into his flesh.
Bide, he told himself. The only thing that will get me out of this mess is patience.
Obi-Wan ate his food.
