Refer to Ch1 for full disclaimer and address to send hatemail to
****Like a clock whose hands are sweeping
Past the minutes on it's face
And the world is like an apple
Whirling silently in space
Like the circles that you find
In the windmills of your mind
- The Windmills Of Your Mind
****They were walking back down the corridor to their workstations and Billy couldn't help looking at the boy walking in front of her. Straight body, proud head, still slightly bloodstained despite her best efforts. (If he was a couple of years older he would be very nice to look at) Billy stifled a grin. Although, even at the age of 13 he looked good. Slim, muscular, only slightly scarred now. Her grin disappeared. His beating had been severe. If that is what the guard called being 'light' she dreaded to think what being 'stern' would be. Many of his cuts on his back had been deep and the bruising widespread. Hopefully none would become infected, the salve she had put on him had cost her about a week of her rations but she believed that it had been put to good use.
She remembered when she had first seen him. She had been just sold to a slave-lord and when she had stopped panicking to take in her situation she had noticed the boy standing next to her. What surprised her most about him was his shape. He was in good shape. Not sporting that thin, starved body that most slaves had but while not fat, he looked lean, fit and above all, looked after.
(Maybe someone took a liking to this one and decided they wanted him healthy for uh, rigorous activity. No, he's too young. Way too young for something that disgusting.) Her mind rebelled against a thought that horrible, but he looked so down, so sad that nothing else came to her mind. The poor boy looked almost broken so she decided there and then to take him under her wing.
"Hi. I'm Billy, who are you?" the words were soft just so that the boy could hear them. She could hardly hear his reply, so ragged and softly spoken was the answer.
"I don't know".
It had gone on from there. Needless to say he fetched a good price, being looked over like an animal. Good teeth, good body, good muscles, no scarring. The only reason he didn't fight the prodding and pinching was that the poor boy seemed to be in shock. His eyes were glazed and he moved funnily, like a zombie or somebody just remembering how to walk and what to do with life. The man that had bought the boy, took her as well because she also was strong, lean and pretty.. She bared her teeth at the memory.
It had been 2 months since they had moved into the factory. The boy had grown more talkative and she found out that he truly had no idea who he was. So she called him 456, due to the tattoo crudely burned on his arm/shoulder. His slave number. Day by day, he had grown more determined, more resolute about finding his identity and escaping. The guards weren't too bad considering some that she had had previously but for some reason they just had something against the boy. (Maybe because they can see he's still wild and it gives them great pleasure to break a wild animal and tame it) she thought. It wasn't anything too great but just the little things. Rations cut in half for him, breaks non-existent and absolutely no slacking off allowed. Physically they had worn him down, he had become thinner, bonier, skinnier and totally exhausted. Mentally he grew stronger. After several weeks his body got used to almost no food and no sleep and he worked well when needed. But gone was the lean, well-fed image of the boy she had known 2 months before.
He had gotten it into his head that he was going to escape. For some reason they had not given him any 'safeguards' against such an attempt, probably because they thought he was too young for such a thought. Needless to say, he had proved them wrong. And now he had one just like everyone else. (Fantastic) Billy rolled her eyes. (Stubborn little brat). She had thought that he was only talking and wasn't actually going to attempt an escape. She thought he was all talk. She had been wrong. 2 days ago he had streaked. And had been unsuccessful. The wounds she had just dressed were testimony to that. But his resolve to leave hadn't been broken.
"Stubborn little brat!" She muttered the words vehemently.
Obi-Wan turned slightly, he had heard her say something, "What? What did you say Billy?"
Billy grinned mischievously, "Nothing brat".
****Qui-Gon sighed. Still nothing. It was like the boy had him purposefully blocked. This wasn't getting him anywhere. He got up and stretched, his long slim fingers nearly touching the ceiling. He had to do something. It had been nearly 2 ½ months and there had been absolutely no contact.
"Damn!" he cursed and resignedly made his way to the long-distance transmitter. He pressed several buttons and a vision appeared shimmering in the air.
"Mace here" the ghostly apparition spoke.
"Mace, it's Qui-Gon here."
"Hey! How's the contact been going?"
"That's the problem. It's not. It's like the boy has got extremely tight walls around him. It's like he's shielding from me. I can't even detect his life-force. At all Mace!"
"Maybe he's become one with the force Qui-Gon"
" 'Become One with the Force' my arse. Don't you try to persuade me with that line. If he has died then I would've felt it, being the closest to him"
"But you can't even find his life-force. How do you know that he isn't dead?"
"Goddammit!" Qui-Gon cursed in several languages for leaving himself so open, "Because! Because! Just because……" his voice grew quiet.
"Ok, ok" Mace held out his hands in a gesture of peace, "Lets just not consider that possibility. If he is still alive what is the point of you being on that planet? It's highly unlikely that he'd still be on-world there, especially if you haven't seen or heard from him and you've been there for nearly 3 months."
"I think I know that", Qui-Gon ground out between his teeth in a dangerously low voice.
"Personally, I think that you should come back to the temple, and then think up a plan from there. Maybe even Master Yoda will have some ideas"
"Mace?" The voice was quiet.
"Yes Qui-Gon?" Mace realizing that his friend was having emotional conflicts asked gently.
"Do you think that Obi-Wan is still alive?"
The question surprised the councilman. Doubt from the ice-master himself? Several answers flitted through his mind and he dispelled the mushy, condoling answers (The man is a Jedi, he must know the truth) in favor of the cold, hard facts. 3 months of no contact. No force signature available. No sign of the boy. Nothing.
"The probability is slim. Slim but possible." It was the best answer he could come up with. True but still offering hope. (Aeterno Estel – Eternal Hope, it's all I can offer. That and pity but he is too proud to accept pity.)
"I thought so" the voice was so sad that Mace looked deeply at the figure in the hologram in front of him. The drooping shoulders, the bags under the eyes, the slack body posture – total exhaustion shown in every line of his body.
"He might still be alive. Why don't you try to get some sleep?" Mace tried to raise his friends spirits.
"Yeah. Whatever" and with that the connection went dead.
Mace was deeply disturbed as he returned to his previous business – paperwork. (Where are you boy?)
****I know that Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan and Mace are horribly out of character, so email me and tell me how much I suck!! (hangs head ashamedly) I know i'm not good at writing in character - i apologize)
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