Lansar grew quickly in their viewports from a bright point of light to a red-gold sphere. Tiny clusters of lights on the dark side of the planet marked the few cities. No central authority hailed them in their approach. Using the data stored in their on-board computer, they determined the position of the Starways resort and headed in, locating a docking pad at the edge of the small city from the plethora of beacons in the landing frequency. As they settled to the ground on the ship's repulsors, kicking up red dust - the 'pad' was little more than a space in the desert cordoned off by perimeter barriers - a greeting message finally kicked in over the comm, at hailing frequency, in a bright female voice.
"Welcome to Starways resort, bright star in the desert! Whether you are here on business or for pleasure, Starways is the place for you. Walk our beautiful grounds, enjoy our recreational facilities! We offer everything from swimming to smashball. Enjoy the excitement of the arena, bet on your favorites in daring and death-defying contests! Our gambling facilities are without peer, and our markets feature exotic and hard-to-find commodities at fantastic prices! For full information on our offerings, and for important guidance on local rules and customs regarding slaves and droids, please pick up a Starways passcard from your local merchant or host. We hope you enjoy your stay!"
"Somehow I don't think so," said Ki-Erin with a shudder, as she finished the landing routine and system checks with Tomas. "This place already gives me the creeps."
"The Dark Side is strong in the city," agreed Tomas, "but there's more here than that..."
Qui-Gon silently agreed.
In silence, the four Jedi left the ship, hoods raised and travel kits in hand, Tahl with her data station slung from one shoulder. Their plan was to find a place to stay somewhere in the city that had grown up around the resort; with that as their base of operations they could look for Obi-Wan, and look for a way to get him out. They stopped at the gatehouse to the docking pad to pay the attendant, a human elder, female, with dull gray eyes and patchy skin.
"Could you tell us where we might purchase a Starways passcard?" Ki-Erin asked her, letting her hood fall to her back.
The woman's eyes narrowed and focused in on the girl. "Pretty girl like you, not safe for you around here. Not safe at all. What you doing bringing a pretty girl out this way?" She snapped at Qui-Gon accusingly. "Here to sell her?"
"No," said Qui-Gon calmly. "Why isn't it safe for her here?"
"Keep her close," the woman muttered. "Keep her close. Those here would steal her, sell her, pretty girl like that. Fetch a high price at the market." And she continued muttering as she took their currency, registered the ship, and counted the change. Ki-Erin looked to her master, disturbed, then pulled her hood to shadow her face and wrapped her robe around her, hands hidden in the long sleeves. Tomas put a hand on her shoulder.
"Starways passcard." The woman put a bright red datacard, lettered in gold, onto the counter. "Admits one to the arenas and resorts. Thumb-keyed, can't pass it around. Need to pay extra for the special shows. Like tonight, Sha-Zayet, that boy been winning - I bet on him," she cackled.
"We'll take four," said Tomas, and counted out the units to pay her. He tucked the passcards in an inner pocket and led Ki-Erin from the gatehouse to the busy street beyond, the others close behind.
"Now I really don't like this place," said Ki-Erin. "Let's find Obi-Wan, finish our mission, and get out of here."
Qui-Gon felt the light touch of commiseration from Tahl's thoughts. He gave Tahl his arm; helped her to navigate the cracked and broken road that meandered between garishly painted and often derelict constructions. Beasts of burden were more common here than vehicles of any sort; the people walking wore either the unisuits or nondescript tunics and cloaks of traders and spacers, or else long flowing tunics and lightweight wraps like the woman at the docking pad: apparently the native garb. The traders represented a range of species, but the natives were all human.
"One of the human enclaves?" Tomas asked in a low voice.
"Why are they all elders?" asked Ki-Erin.
Qui-Gon drew breath, and looked again more carefully. "They aren't all elders - many are middle-aged people. But they haven't aged well."
"They look worn out," agreed Tomas.
"What is the crowd gathered for?" asked Tahl.
"Crowd?" asked Ki-Erin, confused.
"We can't see it yet, but I'm guessing from the sound that it's just around this corner," answered Qui-Gon. And indeed, as they turned the corner, they saw before them a wide space, clear of buildings, and filled with the press of colorful tents and people and wares: an open-air market. Nearby a man was calling out prices to the people who pressed forward to sample his fruits and vegetables; his hands were constantly busy with wrapping and bagging and taking money and giving change. A woman tended a collection of bowls and pots and cups; still other beings farther in sold cloth or mechanical parts or smoked meats or medicinals... a mind-bending variety of life and commerce, all open to the senses.
"Oh!" said Ki-Erin in a pained voice. A hundred meters away, near one corner of the square, was a tent and awning: and under the awning, about a dozen humans chained by the neck to a rail. A man was turning a girl of about Ki-Erin's age, looking at her: she wore a simple wrap of bright gold cloth around her middle, and was staring at the ground. As they watched, one of the merchants led her and the man inside the tent.
"Those slaves are very young," Qui-Gon noted. "I don't believe any one of them is older than twenty-five."
Ki-Erin shuddered. "It's awful. How can they bear to be looked at that way?"
"That's what slavery is: sentient beings turned into objects." Tahl spoke gently. "That is why we oppose it."
Ki-Erin nodded slowly, but she couldn't seem to tear her gaze from the slaver's tent. "I knew slavery exists still, amongst the rim worlds, outside the Republic," she said, "but to see it like this..."
Tomas squeezed her shoulder, a comforting gesture. "Time to find lodging, I think," he said, turning to the others, his hand on his Padawan's back. "Near here, but not too near."
"This will be a good place to get information, but we'll need a less congested entrance," Tahl agreed.
"This street should lead toward the Palace." Qui-Gon indicated the great steel building that loomed over the marketplace to the north. It proved a fortuitous choice, they found, as they walked it: the street was filled with inns and bars, catering to resort visitors without wealth enough to stay in the opulent Palace or other Starways hotels. They chose a guest house with a worn but serviceable sign out front and a short flight of steps leading up to the front door. It stood close to the junction with two other streets, one of which led toward the Palace; inspection suggested that it opened both on the main street and onto a small alleyway behind. They found the proprietor in a room overlooking the street, and arranged for lodgings for that night and the next.
Their apartment consisted of three rooms at ground floor, at the back and overlooking the alley. The furniture was shabby but serviceable, with a minimum of technological devices: some kitchen equipment, data access, and a holoreceiver. Ki-Erin switched this on, flipping through the local transmissions: most were entertainment feeds, or advertising and events sponsored by Starways. Tomas went to inspect the rooms, Tahl used her data station to log into the data access, and Qui-Gon inserted the Starways passcard into his datapad to review its contents: mostly schedules of upcoming events.
"I've gotten Starways' public site, now," Tahl informed them. "A first step, anyway," she added under her breath. "There's information here about availability of guest and slave quarters: for a premium guests can get quarters that include a private cell for the slave; or for a fee the slave will be quartered in the Palace's facilities... Registration for races and contests -"
"What kind of contests?" asked Qui-Gon. "Do any involve the use of a whip?" Tomas leaned on the seating unit behind him, having finished his tour of the bedrooms.
"Yes," Tahl answered after a short pause, and her fingers twitched on the tactile readout of her data station. "'Sha-Zayet. This exciting contest of skill, willpower, agility, and speed is a modern form of the traditional Mozelle fighter slave contest. There are two contestants. Each stands on a floating force-field disk that is three meters in diameter. The disks are separated by three meters, and are subdivided into wedges and circular subsections. Each contestant has an electrowhip with which to strike at their opponent and his force field platform. Strikes with the tip make sections of the platform disappear. The object is to cause the opponent to fall from his platform: the contestant who stays on longest is the winner. A contest between skilled opponents can last for an hour or more in a breathtaking display of acrobatic skill and swirling, tangling whips. Games of Sha-Zayet will be taking place from midday through midnight in arenas F2 and F3.' There's more information here on how to register slaves for the games, but I don't think it says anything of interest to us."
"That sounds like what I saw Obi-Wan doing," said Qui-Gon.
"Would this be Sha-Zayet?" asked Ki-Erin, looking at the holoreceiver. The image showed an empty arena with two glowing disks floating above the floor, red and blue.
"The transmission is giving odds," Tahl told them, who had linked in with her data station. "The defender, Red Demon, is favored to win, but there's some excitement about the challenger: Golden Boy."
Ki-Erin switched off the mute and upped the volume.
"...only four days, but he's already overthrown all the standing champions but the top tier, and against all odds! Being human and Lansarite, he's the favorite of all the local freedmen, despite not being favored to win. If he wins all three scheduled matches tonight, he will be challenging the Sha-Zayet reigning champion tomorrow.
"The doors are opening now - and there we see them. Red Demon, the Ritanian on the left, will take the red disk. Golden Boy will take blue. The guards are escorting them out to the disks..."
"Obi-Wan... Oh, no..." said Ki-Erin, echoing Qui-Gon's thoughts.
He walked with his back straight and his stride sure, but his eyes were distant, and his face was a mask of endurance. He wore little: a leather wrap around his loins; slave harness bridging the brassy manacles on his biceps and wrists, as well as his legs, and encasing his torso in a halter of straps and buckles. His skin was tanned dark brown, and looked strange, almost glittering under the bright lights of the arena.
"The guards are giving them their whips now, and backing away... The disks are rising; the contestants play at a height of three meters. Red Demon is exuberant, eager for this match; see him bare his fangs! Golden Boy looks calm, ready..."
"He's painted gold," said Ki-Erin softly, and Qui-Gon saw she was right, as the holocams zoomed in briefly on his face: flecked with gold, as if it had been sprayed on. Even his short hair and lashes sparkled.
"Not now, my friend. We're not ready yet." Tomas spoke from behind him, both hands resting lightly on his friend's shoulders. Qui-Gon had tensed, as if to rise from his seat, without realizing he'd done so. Tomas moved around the unit to take the seat beside him.
"The whips are on - Red Demon strikes first: lightning fast, as we've come to expect from him! Golden Boy blocks the strike however, and already has the first wedge and - oh! He uses the tip to throw off Red Demon's second strike, we've not seen that before, and strikes immediately down - and the outer ring is out! The crowd goes wild - Red Demon bares his fangs and puts all his weight into this next strike - straight for the torso, to knock the Boy off but Golden Boy rolls under! To the other side of the disk where Boy strikes again - blocked by Red Demon -"
Moving with fluid grace, Obi-Wan danced around the disk, allowing his opponent only minor gains, steadily taking the red disk apart, never losing his calm. Qui-Gon could see what the announcer could not, or would not say: that this was no contest. Obi-Wan was drawing out the fight, making it look like a challenge. But Red Demon had no chance, no chance at all to win.
"Demon has little left to stand on now, he hops from one section to another - the Boy's whip comes down, straight for the quarter-circle on which Demon is standing - Red Demon entangles! Risking all - and he's lost! Golden Boy takes the Red whip! Now the quarter circle, now the remaining outer wedge - Red Demon howls, he knows its over - and he falls! To the ground below, he's howling now, twelve minutes of the loser's penalty - the higher the rank the longer the penalty - Golden Boy's disk nearly to the ground now - Ho! Red Demon has leaped for the Boy's throat! Golden Boy jumps aside, and Demon is out again - guards all around him - an unprecedented action! The Palace will have to reconsider the penalty for Ritanians - a simple pain charge not enough to ensure his docility, that's certain -"
A look of pity flickered across Obi-Wan's face and was gone, as he looked at the writhing Ritanian. Then the boy turned, and, escorted by a cordon of guards, walked across the arena to the door by which he had entered, his face again rigid, expressionless; his eyes downcast. But not before Qui-Gon caught a look of pure disgust as the boy glanced to the golden force-field that separated him from the watching crowds.
"Golden Boy will play again after this next contest: Heavy Hand against Ready Dodger. His next opponent will be Mean Streak, the odds for the match being calculated now -"
"We've got to get him out of there," said Ki-Erin, lowering the volume once more.
"Why was he toying with the Ritanian, Qui-Gon?" Tomas' eyes were pained, looking at him. "That fight was easy for him, wasn't it?"
"I don't know why, Tomas. Certainly not because he was enjoying it." Qui-Gon's words were sharper than he had intended.
"The commentators don't agree with you, Tomas - they're calling it a close match." Tahl was still following the monologue with her audio feed. "They're not giving good odds for the next fight."
"Can you get us diagrams of that area of the Palace, Tahl?" Qui-Gon's mind was racing ahead, formulating and discarding plans. "Some idea of security? There's got to be a weakness somewhere -"
"We can't very well get him out of the arena proper," put in Tomas, "but perhaps if we knew where he was being kept between contests -"
"Already onto it," Tahl told them. "Checking electronic security - but I need to be careful, cover my tracks. We don't want Starways security busting down our door just as I get into their system."
"How long will it take you?" asked Qui-Gon.
"Go find something else to do for a while," she snapped back.
"As good a time as any to get the local perspective." Tomas raised his eyebrows and grimaced at Qui-Gon: both were familiar with Tahl's sharp tongue from their days as Temple students together.
"One of us should stay here," said Qui-Gon, "as a guard."
"I hardly think that's -" Tahl began.
"I'll stay."
Tomas looked with compassion to his apprentice, where she sat cross-legged on the floor beside the holoreceiver. He crouched beside her. "I've never known you to turn down a chance to explore," he said gently.
The girl flashed him a sad, wry look. "That market makes me feel... crawly inside. Angry. I'm sorry Master, I don't mean to shirk -"
"Guarding Tahl while she's working can hardly be considered 'shirking'," put in Qui-Gon. Tahl snorted loudly.
"Qui-Gon is right: it's an important responsibility." Tomas glanced wryly at his friend. "But I hope you're not trying to hide from your feelings, Padawan."
"No, Master. I just need some time, I think: time to come to terms with this place."
"All right, young one. But stay alert. And call us if you sense any danger, or anything out of the ordinary. We won't be far."