Chapter Five



Z'aherin stared at his captive as he floated in bacta. It was almost time for the boy to come out. He realized that the boy had nearly escaped him again, so he'd decided to heal him a bit. It was almost time for a bit more enjoyment, however.
He noted that the padawan's injuries were partially healed, and he eyed Obi-Wan critically. He barked an order and two of his servants rushed forward to get the apprentice out of the pink fluid.

The servants carefully lifted the limp young man out of the tank and carried him down the steps to the floor where Z'aherin waited. As they again strapped him to an upright table, he stirred slightly, though it was clear that in order for him to regain consciousness he would require added help.

Z'aherin shook his head. "Are you completely incompetent? My orders were to chain him standing."

The servants mutely obeyed. The boy's muscled arms soon hung from strong chains, his unconscious weight straining the muscles.

"Now get out of here!" Z'aherin barked at the servants, who quickly scurried off. He injected a stimulant into the padawan's arm to bring him around. "Time to wake up, Kenobi."

Obi-Wan snapped awake and, although he still couldn't see, he narrowed his eyes. "Still taking out your anger on me?" he said. Even though his voice was hoarse, it was also cold. "I thought by now you'd have found something better to do." His contact, however brief, with his master had made him bolder.

"This is merely for my amusement, Kenobi. I've been finished taking my anger out long ago. Even us criminals have our hobbies, you know," he said pleasantly.

"You need to get a new hobby," Obi-Wan shot back. Now that he knew his master was coming, he was determined to find a way out of this place. Without his sight, it would be hard, but he'd just have to rely on the Force more, that was all.

"New hobbies are so overrated, young apprentice." Z'aherin examined a long, thin rod with sharp points sticking out at various intervals, rather like an Alderaanian rose stem with no flower. He suddenly swung the rod viciously into the padawan's exposed back.

Obi-Wan cried out as the barbs bit into his flesh. He felt the flesh of his back give way and he bit his lip to keep his cry from becoming a wail.

Z'aherin continued to rain blows steadily onto the padawan's back, stopping only when blood ran down Obi-Wan's backside in a stream. He surveyed his handiwork, then put down the rod and walked over to his shelf to pick up a small bottle. He unscrewed the cap and sniffed experimentally. Perfect. Without further thought he poured the liquid down the padawan's back.

Obi-Wan screamed. He couldn't help it. The liquid was hot, it burned, it sizzled his flesh, it irritated the open wounds already there. His scream was long and drawn out. He only stopped when his voice totally gave out.

"Pitten got your tongue, young Obi-Wan?" Z'aherin said, grinning wickedly at how the apprentice had stopped screaming.

Obi-Wan hung from the chains, exhausted and spent. All he could manage was a weak glare.

Z'aherin put the bottle back on the shelf. He mustn't waste it, after all, on the first try. He was pleased the concoction he had invented had worked. "Well, have a bit of rest, Kenobi. Even terrorists have things to take care of once in awhile." He strode out of the room, whistling, leaving Obi-Wan semi-conscious in the empty room.

Z'aherin eyed the apprentice, who was still hanging by his arms. He walked around, studying the many options before him. He picked up the small cylinder and adjusted the knob on the side so the two inch flame shot out. "Ah, rest time is over, I think, Kenobi."

Obi-Wan thought that he could sense his master somewhere nearby. Was he onplanet? The thought gave Obi-Wan more courage. He swam to full consciousness just in time to hear Z'aherin's words and let a smirk play on his lips. "Oh, but I was having fun hanging here by chains," he croaked out, his voice nearly gone. His arms were straining, the muscles over- stretched and tight, aching with his body weight.

"Well, I wasn't planning on taking your enjoyment of that away from you anytime soon," his captor said pleasantly as he touched the two inch flame along the very edge of one of the padawan's gashes that was on his back.

Obi-Wan was too physically and mentally exhausted to do much more than squirm as he wept from the hot pain of the flame.

Z'aherin continued running the flame along the edges of the padawan's burns until he was sure that he'd gotten them all. After surveying his handiwork he turned the dial and the flame ceased. He lovingly picked up a sharp hook and thrust it into the padawan's back on one of his cuts for experimentation to see if he could get a stronger reaction.

A scream tore itself from Obi-Wan's throat. He screamed so loudly from the pain of having his burned, cut flesh lifted by a sharp hook that he was sure, again, that he could be heard within the next ten blocks. He quickly passed out, the arms of the Force reaching for him.... It would be so easy...so peaceful...no pain...to be One with the Force...

Z'aherin smiled as he watched Obi-Wan pass out. It was time to check on other things.

Qui-Gon froze as he heard a scream that he knew to be Obi-Wan's drift to his ears. His blood ran cold at the amount of pain he could both hear and sense in Obi-Wan's voice. He swallowed hard, wincing, and knew that he had to hurry to find him. He reached out to the Force, urging his padawan to hold on just a little longer...

Obi-Wan felt Qui-Gon beckoning him away from the Force's comforting light. He hesitated, then backed away. His master would save him. He sank into a deep unconsciousness that allowed his body to barely breathe.