The thin, cold air of the tightly packed cargo hold made Obi-Wan's lungs ache as he crawled through the darkness. Sand and small bits of debris from the rough handling of the crates dug into the unprotected flesh of his hands. Crates and various netted objects grasped the green poncho he wore with phantom fingers as if trying to keep him from his goal. Roughly pulling the cloak free, the Jedi continued his journey toward a tiny line of white light and the promise of fresh air.
His journey through the dark cargo hold was held up as he ran into some large rectangular objects that kept him from the merciful light. Searching with his hands and through the Force, he found a narrow space above the crowded containers.
Stretching through the cramped space, the Jedi finally made it to the light and greedily took in the fresh air from the poorly sealed panel. "Thank the Force," he whispered softly to himself knowing there was no one else who would appreciate his gratitude.
The ache in Obi-Wan's muscles made him long for a warm place to lie down. He would be perfectly happy to spend one night in the comfort of a sleep couch, but above all he wanted the safety of one long night where he could rest in peace wherever that be.
Sleep much like his calm center had become elusive. What little he managed came in fitful starts filled with the living nightmare his world had become. Every time he passed toward sleep, he was startled awake by the remembrance of Anakin's haunted face. Or worse, he was ripped out of hope for a peaceful sleep by the phantom screams of the children as the Temple was blown apart around them. The screams that had torn into his mind, imprinting the terror, fear and the pain of death had left their mark and Obi-Wan knew he would never be able to truly rest again. Even though he had not been there when the Temple came under attack, he had felt it all and a part of him had died with them that day.
The exhaustion that had adhered itself not only to his mind, but his bones did not allow him the strength to mourn his friends and fellow Jedi. A part of him knew he had to conserve his strength for he was hunted but another part wanted so desperately to weep for all that had been lost.
In the twisted, unnatural position pressed against cartons and bound objects he could not even find physical comfort. Another unhappy obstacle keeping him from mediation. A silent, mirthless laugh played through the weary Jedi's mind. No, his center had been lost so long ago he wondered if finding mediative peace was just a dream. He would just have to have faith that he would eventually still his mind and find the peace he so desperately needed.
For now all he could do was accept what was and go on.
A withering sigh escaped the man who had once been a Jedi, but without an Order he was nothing. The Force, his friend that had always been there remained but felt bereft of the many that inspired and thrived in it leaving only a never ending sense of emptiness inside him.
Yet, this companion he had relied upon all his life may well be the very instrument that destroys him. The Sith used the Force to track the Jedi, the light signatures were like blinding beacons to the darkness. Every time he reached out with the ancient power, Obi-Wan wondered if it drew their attention.
Sucking in the recycled air from the tiny opening, Obi-Wan relaxed slightly. His heavy body pressed into the different shapes beneath him. Trying to turn a little, his right shoulder pressed into a locking device that protected one of the crates underneath. The metal jammed into a recently healed wound causing a sharp pain to lace through his nervous system. Trembling fingers protectively grasped his shoulder. The wound, like so many others inflicted by his former padawan were nearly healed but their reminders remained fresh. Warm tears sprang to his eyes as the pain slowly faded to a soft throb. He didn't remember it hurting as bad when Anakin's crimson saber had clipped his shoulder.
Of course there were many things in the ensuing months that he had forgotten or chose not to remember.
Then there were others that haunted him in their own way.
Live you will.
Three tiny words spoken by Yoda that carried more of a crushing blow than any curse Anakin had spat. They were the last of a string of orders given by the diminutive Jedi master that every part of Obi-Wan screamed to disobey.
Why should he be above others in the Order? Were there not better Jedi? Greater Jedi who deserved to live more than he did? Should he not stand with his fellow Jedi and die with them?
Doubt yourself, do you? Always you have. Give into this weakness you must not, stronger you are than you know.
There has to be another.
Watch over the son of Skywalker you must. Without him, the darkness will win. He is our last hope. Know this, you do.
He wanted so desperately to tell Yoda no, but the little master would not hear it.
Live you will.
Certainly there had been others, better knights more knowledgeable masters, ones who had not failed. Or at least not failed as completely as he had.
How could Yoda entrust the boy to his watch when he had already lost one apprentice?
_______________________
The hangar wall shook and exploded with blaster fire as Ruan Uri took his frustrations out on it. Growling fiercely he kicked a heavy black boot into the sandy floor sending golden dust skittering across the fallen man's green peasant garb. Breaking from his anger and seeking the calm he needed to perform his job, he studied the dead man. In his rush to take Kenobi out, he had accidentally killed a young mechanic that had arrived late to work.
Sighing into the mask, Ruan roughly holstered his blasters and stalked through the nearby door. There was no one in the small adjacent building to impede him as they had all fled in fear when his tantrum had begun.
Almost everyone.
The dock manager stood trembling behind the desk. Ruan imagined the greasy little man was trying to work up courage to charge him for the mess.
The bounty hunter's heavy boots marched steadily across the duracrete floor spreading more of the fine sand over the neatly swept floor. Skipping all pleasantries, the armored figure demanded, "You will tell me where that freighter is headed."
The greasy human nodded nervously and reached across to the console entering a code. "I cannot do that," he looked up evenly and said with surprising ease. "My customers pay well for their privacy."
Almost quicker than the eye could perceive, a gloved hand shot out and grabbed the fat man by the throat half dragging him over the counter that separated them. "I am in no mood to play your pathetic games. You will tell me now."
"I can't," the manager sputtered as he tried to twist free of the powerful grip.
Shoving the man back into the wall and knocking him unconscious the dock manager slid to the floor. Ruan marched around the desk and studied the screen. He tried to access the departure records but they were secured. Upon further study, he discovered a partially hidden DNA reader.
Naturally.
Lifting up the ship control panel from the wrist guard he removed a tiny vibroshiv from a concealed compartment. The masked figure knelt behind the desk next to the unconscious manager. He drably thought that the greasy man was a disgusting creature but knew it was standard for managers of little ports like this. Grabbing up one of the manager's thick wrists, Ruan straightened the man's fleshy forefinger. A swift, yet powerful slice easily severed the finger and he caught before it fell to the floor. The manager whimpered but did not snap out of his concussion-induced daze.
"Thanks for your help," Ruan growled returning to the console. Inserting the severed finger into the small device built into the counter, he waited patiently as a series of red flashes lit up around the reader before slowing and finally turned to a steady green light.
Immediately the system granted him access and he quickly searched through the random logs that cluttered up what should have been an easy running schedule. It was another security measure designed to frustrate and infuriate anyone who had made it that far. Unlike the greasy man's belief, he was not tripped up by the filing system. He had run a similar set up in his youth in the Corellian port of Coragata near one of the major spice routes. He easily by-passed all the false docking lists and found the real one.
The freighter was headed to A'tergo, a small transport hub on the Goean moon of Edo. The Jedi would find no friends there.
Pausing long enough to delete the information, he then pulled out the small comm device and activated it. "Dahla?"
"What are you still doing in Nasaux, Boss?" a feminine voice asked.
"Giving myself a headache," the bounty hunter growled and stormed back through the small office to the empty hangar. Kneeling next to the worker he had accidently killed, he searched the man's meager possessions for some sort of identification. "What's the news?" he asked softly needing something to break up the silence.
"They got another one, Boss. You're loosing a lot of kills chasing after that Kenobi. Why don't you give him up for someone else? There's still quite a few Jedi out there and even the worthless ones are coming up in price. You could recoup your losses real fast."
"I want Kenobi," Ruan answered. "I want to be the man that kills him.
Finding the dead man's paperwork stuffed in a pocket of the blaster-riddled poncho, he studied it. "Hey, Dahla?"
"Yes, Boss?"
"Got a special project for you." He searched through the roughened stack of folded papers. "I need a condolence gift sent to Nasaux, Porai sector, Adjot community. I want it given to the family of Zoret Nicial." He peeled back a worn picture of a woman and three very small children revealing the man's official work document. Like so many others in Nasaux, he was an indentured servant. The paperwork revealed he owed 3,000 credits or twenty-six years of working for the local boss. "Send the family 50,000 credits and transport to take them where they want to go. Then contact the local protection boss Bantu Metador's people. Pay off Nicial's debt."
"Yes, Boss."