The Long Drift: No Sign Yet
Obi-Wan gave one last tug on the thick leather straps that bound his wrists together and gave up. They were certainly not going to give anytime this cycle. A maddening buzz teased his ear before he clumsily swatted the giant fly away. It circled the air a couple meters away before speeding back to his head. He brought his hands up again with an annoyed growl and was rewarded with the sharp sting of a switch on his back.
"Shut up!" Naz snapped, shaking the switch at the boy menacingly, "And stop squirming before I knock your head off your shoulders." The green splotches on his face had darkened; something Obi-Wan had come to recognize as a sign to be wary. The slaver's cruel, sickly yellow eyes made another cursory sweep of the crowd as he muttered irately, "Where is that flaming idiot? He's never on time."
Obi-Wan settled back on his haunches and ignored Naz's grumbling. He focused on keeping cool. They had only been outside for twenty minutes but the youth's hair was already damp with perspiration and beads of moisture trickled down his bare back. The air was humid and thick and Obi-Wan was desperate for a drink but pride made him loath to ask anything of his captor.
Naz had a slack hold on the leash he had secured to the loop of leather fixed around the boy's chest but Obi-Wan knew better than to run away. According to the slaver, he had implanted somewhere within the padawan's body a chip that, if activated, would stop his heart. Without his Force abilities Obi-Wan had no idea if this was the truth or not but had no desire to test its veracity through an escape attempt. He would simply have to bide his time until a less threatening solution presented itself.
He wondered for not the first time that week if the tall man beside him had lied about capturing Maube and Paf – the other two Rylians he had fought with, besides Foli. They were brothers and Obi-Wan knew he would be dead without them. He and Foli had been run into the forest and were surrounded when the two males found and saved them. Quick thinking, timed detonators, and plenty of yelling had their pursuers making a hasty retreat.
A slight frown fluttered across his features as he wondered if the brothers were still alive.
But he remembered what Naz had told him.
They were gone, and he was never to think of them again.
Were they dead? he had asked.
Naz shot him a cold glare before responding. "They shouldn't be. As far as I know, they're entertaining an old friend. Now, forget about them."
Another frown – this one wistful. He hadn't even been given a chance to help them escape much less say goodbye.
A sudden jerk on his leash and Naz ordered him to stand. Obi-Wan did so – after a short pause of quiet defiance – and glared at him.
Naz sneered down at him, "Don't you give me any flaming looks like that again or I'll put blinding implants in those pretty eyes of yours."
Obi-Wan snorted and looked away, tipped his head up in an exaggeration of somber dignity (fashioned after his own master's stance). A heavy blow to his kidney made him cry out and stumble forward.
"You're no flaming Jedi here," Naz spat. "Keep your eyes down."
Blue-gray flashed as the youth straightened, squaring his shoulders. "I am always a Jedi," he said firmly.
The green splotches turned so dark their color was nearly impossible to discern from black. Naz's hand shot forward and he wrapped long fingers around the boy's neck. He landed a sharp cuff on Obi-Wan's temple with his other hand and forced the boy down to his knees.
"I told you not to open your flaming mouth," he hissed, his pale yellow eyes reduced to sparking golden slits, anger transforming their dullness into something frighteningly intense.
Very little oxygen was able to make it past the iron grip and spots were soon dancing in Obi-Wan's vision. It fuzzed and he stopped struggling to save his depleting energy, sparks of true fear alighting within him for the first time since waking in that room aboard Naz's ship.
The slaver abruptly let go just as the youth was prepared to relinquish his grip on consciousness. The rush of air burned his aching lungs and he collapsed limply against the gravelly side street, shutting his eyes against the merciless glare of the sun. Obi-Wan narrowed his focus to the simple act of breathing. The dull roar in his ears faded, as he slowly became aware of a third presence. He opened his eyes into thin cracks and peered upward through his lashes.
A wide and extremely round man stood over him, speaking to Naz.
"…seems a little out of it, don't you think?"
Naz nudged Obi-Wan with the toe of his boot. "Get up." He tugged the leash.
The Jedi knew there would be trouble he could not afford to suffer if he did not comply. So, limbs trembling, he climbed to his feet. His knees shook dangerously and he swayed gently. The heat seemed worse. The sun was bigger. Had to be. It was everywhere, reflecting back at him off of everything with blinding brightness.
"He learns very quickly," Naz stated proudly.
"Hm."
Obi-Wan squinted – that made the brightness not so bad – and watched the newcomer warily. He had light pink skin, pointed teeth, and the padawan could count at least four chins.
"He was a Jedi, you say?" Nerves made the voice rise in pitch only a fraction.
Naz threw Obi-Wan a quick glare, as if daring him to speak out again, and responded, "Yes. But his magic has been, ah – restricted. Now, if you have need of it…"
"You can shut it off?" the man asked, surprised. He met Obi-Wan's eyes briefly and smiled.
"Block it," Naz explained.
"Ah. Lovely." He touched Obi-Wan's cheek and the boy forced himself not to jerk away, settling instead for a cold glare. "Has he been trained at all in the arts of giving pleasure? Or is he only a worker?"
This time Obi-Wan did jerk away.
Pleasure? His stomach did flip-flops. The last thing he had expected was…
"Well – no, not that I know of," Naz admitted, then hastily added, "But he did live with the Jedi. Who knows what they might have taught him?"
"Yes," the man said thoughtfully, looking down at the wide-eyed apprentice appreciatively. "Who knows."
It was then that Obi-Wan realized he might have to go to extreme measures to remove himself from his present predicament.
* * * *
Obi-Wan curled his body around the portable heat generator, hugging it to his chest. It was ancient and the highest setting that could be reached was simply not enough in the chilly hold. Naz had hastily beaten him across the shoulders with his switch and threatened him with more before tossing the young Jedi into the dark room for the jump into hyperspace
The slaver had been less than pleased when Obi-Wan had made his threats. The youth had not been able to say much before Naz forcibly silenced him, but the pink skinned buyer was not at all keen to know about the severe and gruesomely violent consequences he might suffer at the hands of a certain Jedi Master if he chose to follow through with a purchase. For the first time in his life, Obi-Wan was grateful for the general ignorance of the galaxy on the subject of the Jedi Order.
The man had decided to "think about it." He promised to get back to Naz later.
Obi-Wan was injured and cold, but still unsold and back on the same ship he had left Gloms in. He held no doubts that Qui-Gon would find him and soon everything would return to normal.
He dozed a little, unable to sleep the night through on the cold, hard decking. He stared out at the blackness, a hand to his bruised throat, and let the thrum and vibrations of the ship's engines fill him. A spike of sorrow coursed through him as his thoughts inevitably turned to the area in the back of his mind where there had been, and should still be, a warmth. His master's presence had, as the Force's had, become a rock, a constant, even when everything around him seemed to be falling apart. Now, with both ripped from him, Obi-Wan was left with nothing that seemed to matter, nothing to cling onto. He had never felt so desolate or alone. He closed his eyes and slept.
When he next woke the lights were on, one flickering erratically, and a plate of gruel was on the floor nearby. He shivered and pushed the broken heater away, then crawled toward the food, wincing at the stiffness in his muscles and joints. He crouched before the plate and dipped his finger in. Obi-Wan made a face and pulled the finger out, wiping it on his leggings.
The gruel was cold and held the texture of settled sludge. He stared at it distastefully, again wondering what was being put into it to keep him from accessing the Force – the drug didn't seem to have a taste and if it did, it must have been overpowered by the all consuming blandness of the gruel itself.
His stomach growled, just long enough and just loud enough to remind him of how very hungry he was. He frowned and worried his bottom lip.
Obi-Wan swatted the plate away before he could change his mind. It flipped over and the gruel splattered across the floor in gray and wet glistening lumps. He sat back against the wall folding his arms over his bare chest. He could survive without food for a while. There was no way Naz would allow him to die by starvation – the slaver had already invested enough money in him with the supposed chip that threatened to stop his heart if he fled.
Obi-Wan would not be allowed to die unless it was absolutely necessary. He rubbed at the still sore spot at his thumb.
Besides, maybe if the drugs wore off soon enough he could sense the foreign object in him and cut it out. Then, there would be nothing to stop him from unarming Naz and sending a message back to Coruscant. Qui-Gon would come for him and everything would return to normal.
Obi-Wan shivered in the chilly stillness around him and thought of home.
* * * *
"I'm sorry," Celeste said and distress fairly edged her words. "I'm sorry, Master Jinn. We should have said something – I should have said something. It was careless of me not to."
The longhaired Jedi stared at her blankly before gathering himself. He thinned his lips. "How long has this information been circulating the town? Obi-Wan and I arrived over two weeks ago – " He stopped speaking and stared at her, waiting for an explanation that he already knew would never be good enough.
To her credit she did not look away and the stocky man standing beside her, Quat Brul, was rather impressed. He had faced the absolute bottom of his planet's metaphorical barrel and still could not bring himself to face the man who had offered them so much, only to receive this tragedy in return.
Celeste hesitated slightly before masking her face with determination and plowing ahead. "We've known for some time, Master Jinn. We even have the ship's serial number and make. Only two of our civilians have actually seen the man and returned. As far as we know he's been picking off both sides of this fight the whole while. At least seven of our people have disappeared over the past four months."
"Ten, now," Quat muttered. "And then there's the boy."
"I don't understand," Qui-Gon sighed, allowing his gaze to settle on the dusty wooden floor, his hands braced at his sides. "How can you be so sure this man is enslaving who he captures? And why has no action been taken to prevent it from happening?"
Quat and Celeste exchanged glances before she answered. "Master Jinn – I understand that this all must look so terrible; if we had done something this may very well have been prevented.
"But the truth of the matter is, we're at the center of a war. We've only been able to spare a few people – at great risk, I might add – to keep an eye out for this bastard. I'm telling you right now, there is absolutely no pattern to his visits. We don't have the money to fuel the few ships we do have and take a joy ride around the planet…"
Celeste winced. Her tone had become increasingly snappish. Had she no compassion? Composing herself, she threw the big man an apologetic look and picked up. "Tobi and Miles are the only two who have seen him and come back. They'll have the most information for you. I'll have them brought in as soon as they report."
All were silent as Qui-Gon soaked in this information. He nodded before turning away and stalking out of the tent, needing to be alone. Needing to think. The sky was a smoky purple hue, deepening in color as dusk approached. He idly trailed away from the encampment, keeping in sight but feeling himself drawn back to that great and beautiful forest. Under the lush canopy and behind the sturdy wall of trees it was nearly black, as if night had somehow crept in unnoticed, stealing the life from the one place that should have been thriving with it.
He placed a hand at his side, resting it lightly over the hilt of not his own lightsaber, but the one he had nearly missed in his last desperate search for Obi-Wan. A soft glint of dying sunlight had caught his tired eyes and he discovered the weapon wedged loosely under the twisting root of a gigantic tree.
Obi-Wan had been kidnapped. Was that the word for this situation? He could not bring himself to accept enslavement. Obi-Wan had been kidnapped before. It made him cringe, but at the same time he was comforted. The boy had been kidnapped before and always returned in one piece; a little rough around the edges perhaps, but still – he had returned.
* * * *
Thank you, Lady A. for catching that spelling error. That was embarrassing. Completely my fault. Grift was something of a tenuous title, now it's drift. Got a problem with anything else?! :oP