Back to Obi-Wan's situation. Sorry if some of you are bored by alternating Anakin/Padme chapters with Obi-Wan's adventures, but it's all relevant to the plot. I'm aiming for artistic/literary integrity with no plot holes. I know "fluff" is popular, but too much of it bores ME. :P I'm also a woman who hates chocolate, so go figure.
I forgot to mention I posted a new one-shot the other day, a random crossover featuring a dialogue between Anakin & Edward Cullen. Not as inanely funny as "Palpatine's Dentures," the humor is drier and more subdued. Check it out if you're bored.
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Chapter 28
Pain.
Before Obi-Wan attempted to open his eyes, he felt pain. It encased the back of his skull like a cap. It also coated the inside of his throat, which ached from lack of water. He must have been out for a while.
Just how long, he couldn't say. There were no windows through which to monitor the sun's angle. Not one portal or aperture to connect him to the outside world. Only seamless slate gray walls in every direction, surrounding piles of crates on a floor so dirty it might as well have been solid dirt.
A few feeble movements on his part led to the discovery that his hands were bound behind his back. A cough, rough as the floor itself, escaped his pitiful frame. It also drew the attention of a figure that emerged from the shadows, cobalt blue eyes gleaming.
"Awake at last," it hissed. "Comfortable too, I hope?"
Blinking dust from his eyes, Obi-Wan made to crane his neck to see his captor, but the pain was too excruciating. The Rodian laughed as the Jedi winced.
"You don't need to see me in order to discuss business. Yarwat! Krol!" he banged on a nearby door. Two other Rodians entered with blasters drawn at their sides.
"Heavy sleeper," grunted the one on the left.
"Fine by me. Gave me time to clean up some other loose ends downtown," the other wiped the barrel of his weapon with a flourish.
"And one more before we call it a day," said the first, taking a few casual steps toward his captive. He twirled Obi-Wan's lightsaber grip in one hand. "So how have you been? Staying busy? Keeping the galaxy on their toes?"
Obi-Wan swallowed as best he could, but his voice didn't sound like his own. "You must have me mistaken for someone else," he croaked.
"A sense of humor, even in this state! I admire your spirit. But it is getting late, and the three of us have had a long day, so let's skip the jokes if you don't mind."
Hopelessly confused, Obi-Wan coughed again. "Just tell me what you want."
"Funny, we were going to ask you that," the middle one said.
"Another favor?" asked the third in a patronizing tone. "Is that what brings you to the neighborhood again?"
The first one squatted down to Obi-Wan's level. "We don't work for charity, you know. You've got to clear old debts before making new ones. Did you forget? Or maybe you thought we did?"
All three laughed at this. Obi-Wan's confusion reached peak levels. Was he too dehydrated to grasp what was going on? Should he recognize this villainous trio? He hadn't been on this planet in thirteen years, and he and Qui-Gon had no encounters or dealings with any Rodians during their stay. Watto was the only local they had any business with, and he wasn't flapping around nearby.
"I swear I'm not joking… you have the wrong man!" he insisted more forcefully this time.
"Really?" the other chuckled and plucked at Obi-Wan's outer tunic. "We haven't seen anyone else dressed like this in three years. After what you did today, you expect us to believe it's pure coincidence?"
"What I did?"
"We know where you went. We have eyes everywhere." The villain stood up again. "Made a few calls when we saw you in the hangar yesterday. Couldn't believe our luck, being there just when you showed up. Guess the Force was with us more than you, huh?"
They'd followed him? To that sorry handful of moisture farms? What little coherent grasp he had on this discussion was rapidly fading.
"What I don't get it why you waited so long to check the results. Three years? Again, maybe you thought we'd forget after all this time," the leader shrugged. "Whatever. Now you know the deed was done just as requested. But you also know it was never paid for in full."
Somehow through the dust, grime, and haze of this cell, things were starting to congeal for Obi-Wan. The deed was done just as requested… given the context, that could only mean Shmi Skywalker's abduction. These scoundrels were involved, he realized with a jolt. They must have been middle men of some sort – mediators between the Sand People and whoever commissioned the act. And that person had evidently worn Jedi garments.
If he could work through his pain and discomfort, this could be the pivotal opportunity Obi-wan thought he'd never find.
"I'm done arguing," he conceded. "But I'm a little hazy on the details. What's the remaining balance?"
"54,000 druggats," stated Yarwat from the back of the room, where he'd lazily propped himself with one knee bent against the wall.
"And the first installment was wired from Coruscant Central Bank, correct?"
"No, the Prime Galactic Credit Union," snapped the leader. "What a sloppy operation your kind runs! No two of you seem to know what the other is doing. Then again, with only ten thousand down, I should've known you clowned around."
"Sorry. I'm relatively new, but it's starting to ring a bell," Obi-Wan affected. "I can transfer the remaining amount, plus interest. I just need the account numbers. I don't have them memorized, and until you boys found me, I didn't think I'd need them on this trip."
The leader huffed a smug laugh as he pulled out a grimy, scratched datapad and pressed a few buttons. "There," he shoved the screen under Obi-Wan's nose. "Got it?"
"Now can you help me sit up and hand me my comlink? I need to contact my superior to clear the funds."
The three brothers exchanged uneasy glances.
Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. "Do you want your money or not? I can't very well do it with my hands tied and my face pressed against the dirt. Besides, you have my only weapon." He was banking on their relative ignorance of Jedi abilities, given they hadn't encountered any in three years.
"All right, but you've got three pairs of multi-faceted eyes watching you," the leader warned, slitting the twine around Obi-Wan's wrists. The requested comlink landed in the dirt with an unceremonious thud.
"A little privacy?" Obi-Wan rubbed his hands and sat up stiffly. "Sensitive information, you know."
Yarwat fired a single red blast just inches from Obi-Wan's right foot, sending a plume of dust into the air. Obi-Wan didn't flinch.
"We'll be right outside that door," were the trio's parting words as they backed their way out, blasters aimed at his upper torso.
When the door clicked shut, Obi-Wan dialed Anakin's frequency at record speed. He had no other choice. Naboo was less than half the distance from Tatooine as Coruscant was. Revealing his location and purpose on Tatooine was the only way out of this trap – alive, anyway. The Brothers Green were in for a surprise, and it wouldn't be fat interest.
Static from the comlink crackled through the musty air as he prayed for Anakin to answer. Obi-Wan's pulse quickened and his neck grew warm as the seconds marched on. Answer, damn it! You know it's me! He cursed his earlier secrecy, telling Anakin he'd be out of contact. But that was to prevent distractions, not leave himself totally adrift in a sea of mercenaries! Everything had gone horribly wrong and backfired. Adding insult to injury was the prospect of dying on the single most wretched planet in the Republic. It was just his luck.
As it always seemed to be in matters concerning Anakin. Who still hadn't answered his comlink.
He exhaled a long breath, trying to calm his nerves. Maybe one of the other generals was patrolling near this sector. Surely there were at least one or two within range of the Outer Rim. All he had to do was contact the Council and learn the current platoon placements.
"Done in there?" one of them kicked the door impatiently.
"Not yet," Obi-Wan called back. "Just two more minutes."
"You've got one!"
Should've asked for five, he thought wryly. No matter. Yoda or Mace would answer shortly, and once reinforcements were on the way, he could stall the Rodians to keep their money lust at bay for an hour or two.
Or maybe he could skip the posturing altogether…
It hadn't taken him long to recognize his holding cell was a sub room of a large warehouse. There was the industrial feel and construction, the distant sound of metal on metal and engines moving cargo, and lastly, random piles of boxes filling all four corners. Piles he'd only just gained the position of seeing clearly. Their labels were marked in at least a dozen languages, and as he absently scanned them from top to bottom, one caught his eye.
Chlorioma Humate, written in small, scrawling letters on a low-lying crate. That compound sounded familiar…
His synapses weren't too weary to recall the details. Senator Onaconda Farr, one of senator Amidala's ill-fated allies, had been poisoned with a Chlorioma substrate two years ago. Obi-Wan remembered it distinctly, not only from Padmé's distress when recounting the incident, but because of the unique circumstances surrounding Farr's death. The poison was Rodian-specific, a fact which led to incriminating Farr's Rodian aide, Lolo Purs.
And a chemical variant of that same poison was sitting mere meters away. With three hapless Rodians eager to step back into its vicinity.
Choosing this room for Obi-Wan's imprisonment indicated they knew nothing of the box's contents. That, or they assumed he knew nothing of it either. A reasonable assumption, since knowledge of the Chlorioma compound was fairly rare. He might be one of four or five current visitors in all of Mos Eisley who knew its lethal properties.
The Rodians had played the odds, thinking them in their favor. But they weren't counting on their captive having extensive knowledge of Kaminoan biotechnology.
Upon closer inspection, the crate had little to no safety mechanisms to bypass. Nothing a few concentrated Force maneuvers couldn't solve, anyway. Inside was a solid steel canister with pressure gauges at the top – exactly what he'd hoped to find. Once the valves were busted, toxic gas would fill the room in under a minute.
He'd already forgotten about contacting the Council. No need to bother them anymore.
"Time's up!" Yarwat kicked in the door, blaster raised.
"So when will our accounts be fed?" the leader pressed.
"Soon, very soon," Obi-Wan smiled disarmingly. "The funds are being transferred as we speak. We'll have this all wrapped up in no time."
"Good. Because if it takes more than ten minutes, one of us won't be watching the suns rise tomorrow."
"And don't think we won't be ready if you called your friends to pay a visit," Krol sneered. "No money, no one for them to rescue!"
Obi-Wan smiled again. "There'll be no rescue today, boys. Don't worry," he yawned. "But while we wait, maybe you could indulge my curiosity. As I said, I'm new to this operation, and I only know bits and pieces. Who was it that contacted you originally?"
"Never knew his name. Tall. Gray beard. Long nose he looked down on everyone from," the leader responded. "Thought he'd be trustworthy, being a Jedi. That was the first and last time we ever made that mistake."
Obi-Wan's mind raced. Those physical attributes… could it really have been? But who else matched that description?
Only Count Dooku.
But that meant he'd requisitioned Shmi's kidnapping before ever having met Anakin. The two first laid eyes on each other on Geonosis – just before the Count disposed of Anakin's right arm. How and why, then, did he know to target Anakin's own mother? What could have possibly been his motivation?
The link might very well lie in the Prime Galactic Credit Union's records. For now, he'd seized all that was useful from this misfit trio, and it was time to orchestrate his exit.
Yawning, he massaged the side of his neck and grimaced. "My neck is killing me, and my back is one giant knot," he stretched slowly, working each limb as if it were stiff as a board – motions that upset his center of gravity, causing him to lose his balance and stumble against the boxes behind him. Off popped one box's lid, and his foot landed squarely on the canister valve inside.
His hands went up immediately and his grimace deepened. "Don't shoot! I just lost my footing!"
"What's that hissing?" Krol demanded, trying to see past Obi-Wan's legs.
"What was in that crate?" the eldest brother cocked his blaster directly between his prisoner's eyes. "Tell me now or –"
The blaster drooped to his side as he clutched his green throat with his other hand. On either side of him, his brothers reacted the same. Obi-Wan summoned his lightsaber from the leader's belt with little effort, flaring it to life as the three captors coughed and wheezed.
"I'd be happy to tell you," he sidestepped toward the door. "Chlorioma gas. More than enough to knock you all out for a day, maybe two, based on the titration. Guaranteed to make heavier sleepers out of you than even me!"
It was all too easy weaving past their pathetic attempts to shoot. One was already collapsing to the floor, while another fell into a box pile quite ungracefully.
"Idiot!" the latter croaked before he blacked out. "You stupid… brother… Greedo…"
Obi-Wan paused in the doorway, grinning. "By the way, thanks for all the information. You don't know how helpful you've been! Good day!" He soldered the metal doorframe shut with his lightsaber on the way out.
Mos Eisley was especially grotesque under pitch black, but he oriented himself soon enough and reached his ship's hangar fifteen minutes later. He jumped in the cockpit without any hesitation. Owen and Beru would wonder and worry about him, but he couldn't risk being seen by the same eyes as before. And even if he could, matters were far too urgent to waste another second in the galaxy's armpit.
"Armpit, and then some," he muttered to himself as he ascended high above the cesspool. "The scum and villainy are in a league of their own."
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And so Greedo makes his first appearance. I invented the name of the Rodian-specific poison, but the subplot came straight from the Clone Wars episode "Senate Murders."
