Corbin Naz was not unfamiliar with the concept of patience. In his most illegal occupation, he exercised the virtue, as some called it, on a near daily basis. When he needed it, he had it in great supply. In circumstances like these, however, he hardly gave it a thought.
His worn boots stomped heavily on the decking of his ship as he stalked to the hold where that boy – that flaming Jedi – was. Almost a month and no sale. Slaves had come and gone. That damned Jedi had even attempted to overtake his ship. He had clubbed Naz hard over the side of his head with one of his empty food bowls and nearly succeeded with locking the slaver in the hold.
Naz unconsciously rubbed the vaguely sore spot with a grimace. That had been too close. He had grabbed the boy by his ankle just as he had stepped out into the corridor. The slaver grinned. Sometimes being thickheaded wasn't so bad.
"And that's just what you are!" the boy had shouted after a brief struggle. Naz had eventually gained the upper hand and thrown the youth against the back wall. "That's the only reason you're not headed for a cell on Coruscant right now – your thick skull!"
Flaming Jedi…
He decoded the lock and palmed the door open, light from the corridor cutting into the dark room.
"You!" he seethed, yellow eyes sought and found the figure pressed into the back corner.
"Me?" a dry voice croaked.
He stepped into the hold, not stopping until he was towering over the youth. "You!" His gaze moved across
the small cell and came to rest upon yet another bowl of gruel flipped over some odd meters away. The runny, gray mush had splattered up onto the grimy steel wall and, now hardened, posed the annoyingly tedious task of removal. He glared back down at the boy beneath him, who sat with an amused smile on his cracked lips.
More food was wasted that way…
"All right. It was funny at first, but let's get level on one thing – " He crouched down before the boy.
"And what thing would that be?" the voice rasped.
What a flaming sense of humor. "They teach you that at your temple?"
Brows scrunched together slightly. "What?"
But Naz shook his head. "Forget it," and after a moment added, "It's not in the food."
Despair, or something like it – disbelief? – fluttered over the bruised face. "What?" Whispered.
Naz pointed one long finger at the bowl across the room. "The food. It's. Not. There."
"I don't know what you're talking about." The words were firm but soft. Fading.
Naz laughed out loud. "You think you're drugged – but you're not. I don't go half-assed when I get lucky enough to nab a flaming Jedi."
The boy's eyes flickered over to the gray wet lumps on the floor. "You mean…"
"You've been starving yourself for no flaming reason. I'm surprised you didn't realize sooner. It never helped, did it?"
"You force fed me." Naz could hear the boy's resolve crumbling. He shook his head at the feeble argument.
"Not until I had to. You should have guessed."
Dark eyes hardened and sought him in the dim light. "What is it?" the boy finally asked, his words clipped.
Another bark of laughter. "It's flaming delicious how you think I'd even dream of telling you." Naz stood and glowered down at the boy, a jagged grin suddenly cracking his face. "Idiot."
He turned away and stepped back out into the corridor. He wasn't afraid of that kid. The flaming idiot was too weak to offer up any real struggle now. Putting a hand up to the door lock, he paused. "I've had some calls. With luck you'll turn into a hefty pile of credits tomorrow." He smirked. "Eat up," and the door swiftly shut, the locking mechanism falling into place with an audible click.
* * * *
Obi-Wan stared blankly out at the dim light, not liking the cold shock that was burrowing its way deep into his mind.
Idiot…
Idiot.
Should have known. Should have realized… Qui-Gon would have known. Qui-Gon would not have been so damned blind. So far he had accomplished nothing. It had been… how long? Too long. Obi-Wan couldn't remember. The days were hazy. Sometimes he was awake, sometimes he wasn't. Sometimes he was on planet; sometimes in space.
It was all just a long blur.
Despair, having gained a strong foothold in his heart, had already begun its climb; the dull thud of loneliness became more pronounced, again grappling with some part of his mind that had been neglected and left unused for Force knew how long. He reached for that spot where he knew his master should have been, and knew even without his power that it was deteriorating, slowly rotting and falling apart.
Obi-Wan dropped his head to his hands, digging palms into tired gray eyes until he saw sparks. What more could he do? It seemed that despite all of his defiance, he was nothing more than a vague annoyance to this man. The Padawan wondered if he were simply digging himself into a deeper hole.
* * * *
Leather straps bound Obi-Wan's wrists together tightly in front of him and a heavy collar of the same thick material seemed out of place on his rigid shoulders. He stared hard down at the ground, at his bared and dirty toes in the dusty side street, desperately attempting to put together a plan that would get him away from these people. Naz was beside him, haggling with his customer – the one Obi-Wan knew would buy him in the end.
The sun warmed him considerably – were all outer rim planets hot? – but never penetrated the icy dread that coated his heart. He was being sold… How would Qui-Gon find him now?
Perhaps, he reasoned, it was better to stay stationed on one planet. It might even help his master locate to him more quickly. And maybe this man who Naz was speaking to would listen to him – hear his story and give him access to a communication unit.
Obi-Wan smiled in relief. This wouldn't be so bad, after all. He could easily link up with the temple and give them his location. His master would come for him immediately. Everything would be fine.
A sharp tug on his Padawan braid made him wince and refocus. He squinted up into the thin-faced man standing over him.
"What's this?" the man demanded. "Is this a joke? This is your proof?"
"It means he's a Jedi!" Naz insisted. "Don't you read?"
The man sneered at the gaunt slaver. "More than you would, I'm sure." He straightened, smoothed the rumples in the rich fabric of his shirt and then adjusted the long cape draped over his shoulders. "I do not have time for this, Sir Naz," he said curtly, casually glancing at the chronometer on his wrist. "I have already reached and nearly breached my mistress' budget for the day, and we honestly don't need another greedy mouth running about her house."
"Wait just a flaming minute – "
"No," the man said severely, exchanging a glance with his silent assistant, a more stout, darkly skinned man. "Stars, I think I've had enough. We should have gone to one of the establishments downtown…
"I'm nearly perspiring, Naz. It's hot. You've dragged me off to this dreadful part of the city with the promise of a real deal – "
"Blast it, Monparte! This is a deal. A flaming good one. He's a Jedi. And don't give me that 'downtown' nerf shit – you know as well as I do that they only sell the worst slave stock there."
Monparte sighed melodramatically, checking his chronometer once more. "Very well."
Naz grinned triumphantly.
"Prove it."
For a moment Obi-Wan thought the slaver might become violent. The splotches on his face darkened considerably with irritation and his yellow eyes narrowed into those all too familiar slits.
Through clenched teeth, he grated out, "Listen to what I'm saying, idiot: his powers are blocked. If I give him access to them he could turn us to ash in seconds, probably just by thinking it. Use your big head, you flaming ass!"
The man looked more bemused than angry. He chortled lightly in response and waved his hand in a vague gesture of dismissal. "Don't be upset, Corbin. Of course you know I'll purchase him. I'm only teasing. Our young master needs a servant."
Naz seemed to deflate at hearing this and the splotches on his gaunt cheeks lightened to a yellow green hue. The taut muscles in his neck and shoulders relaxed. "Blast, it Monparte," he repeated, more quietly. "Don't flaming do that to me. You wouldn't the believe the trouble I've had with this…this…"
"'Flaming Jedi'?" the other man offered wryly.
Naz barked with laughter. "Yeah! Flaming Jedi. He's a flaming handful but I'm sure your boy will wear him down. What happened to the other one you bought for him? It was a girl, wasn't it? Rii'Diarian? I thought I sold her to you."
"What? Oh." Monparte shrugged his thin shoulders, then complained, "Hell if I know, Naz… it's not important. It's not as if I'm the child's caretaker."
"Right, right. Not important." He grinned viciously down at Obi-Wan. "I'm finally rid of you, you great prat. I knew if I stuck with it, it'd work out for me in the end – "
"By the stars, Naz, stop babbling to that slave. I want to get the hell out of here as soon as possible. The stench is horrible. Just let me sign."
* * * *
Most of this chapter is unbeta'ed. All mistakes are the sole fault of Loryn. :o( Sorry about the long wait – next one will be much sooner.