The Long Drift: Sum of Parts

Obi-Wan's whole world was the deafening thud of his heart, his breathing harsh and ragged to his ears, his feet pounding on the soft earthen forest floor. His hands were out in front of him, one tightly clasping a fork as he pushed thin branches out his way. He could only just hear voices behind him, yelling at him, demanding that he return.

Hah.

The entire situation was eerily similar to the one some few lifetimes ago back on Amund, when he had ran for what seemed to be days.

Any minute now, his implant could be activated. Obi-Wan didn't think Lord Vuyis would let him escape no matter h ow much his body seemed to be treasured. If he didn't get the device out soon he would die – but there was no going back. Obi-Wan just didn't want to be touched anymore. Since beginning his vacation Lord Vuyis seemed to be even more at ease with petting him, doing it freely whenever he was near.

He slowed, finally, and stopped, struggling to stifle his heaving breaths as he strained his ears for the sound of voices or footfall. They were far off, now. The lost Padawan crashed to his knees, holding the shining utensil out with scratched and sweaty hands. They trembled slightly and he uttered a harsh and nervous laugh. This was it.

The ache in his hand was unbearable, but Obi-Wan knew where to cut. Without giving himself time to think further he stabbed the fork into his palm, at the fleshy part between his thumb and forefinger, issuing a sharp cry of pain at the jagged and terrible sting. Blood spilled forth immediately, as if it had somehow known what he was going to do and had only been waiting for the action to happen. Liquid crimson covered his hand, dripping down to the damp grass and leaves, blotting red on the thin fabric of his leggings. It was everywhere. Eating up the wrists and soft weave of his simple tunic. Obi-Wan's chin quivered and tears rolled down his cheeks as he forced himself to dig further, to ignore the hurt of it all.

"…been through worse," he gasped to himself, "Been through worse…" but let the soft keening come, deciding that it was too much to focus on not crying.

The fork slipped from his hand and he hunched over the forest floor, holding his wound out in front of him, trembling viciously now. Both hands were completely smeared with his blood, defining the identifying prints in his hands, making them more pronounced and easy to see, soft ridges in his flesh.

With his unhurt hand he went to dig further with his fingers, to find the blasted implant, but stopped when he glimpsed something pale move under all that blood and exposed meat. Obi-Wan's mouth fell open and his stomach heaved violently. A tiny but very fat worm wriggled up out of his hand, sliding down the slick skin and dropping to the dirt. Another followed.

*  *  *  *

"He's a Force user."

The words broke through the red haze and Obi-Wan stirred where he laid, memories of waking to a similar light flashing briefly through his mind. A hand touched his leg and he fell still obediently, keeping his eyes shut against the world but listening keenly.

"We only caught one of the grubs. Is that enough?"

"That son of a Hutt didn't tell me he was a Force user!"

"Sir…"

"Enough if we keep him under. Buy more."

Hesitation. Then: "Is he dangerous?"

"Hah!" The hand moved up his thigh, rubbing absently. "He's harmless. What happened this afternoon was just a… a fluke. It wouldn't be the first time one of them tried to escape."

"They weren't put in properly, sir. He should never have known where they were."

"Put them in right, then, you dunce."

"Sir, there's only one! I have no clue where we might get more… they must be extremely difficult to come by."

And then a new voice broke through, quiet in the thickening stillness: "Not to mention expensive, my lord." Obi-Wan opened his eyes to slits, peering groggily up at the men standing over him. Vuyis' treasurer was there, and Obi-Wan would have wondered why if he didn't feel so tired. "You're estate is in trouble, Lord Vuyis," the man went on, gently reminding the slave master. "You cannot afford to entertain such a costly pet. There are much more urgent matters that demand your complete attention – as well as priority in your account."

Silence followed the man's words, a slight, whooshing sigh from Vuyis the only sound breaking it. Later, Obi-Wan could only assume that he had fallen asleep because when he was next jerked to consciousness it was to the feel of his loose pants being tugged down his hips.

With a cry he grabbed their hem, pain stabbing through his hand and giving him reason to let out a howl.

"W…what're you doing?!" It was all too dark; Lord Vuyis always kept the lights on. He tried again: "Lord Vuyis? Sir?"

The agony in his hand had helped pull him out of his groggy state and he realized he was surrounded by warm, squirming bodies, voices, and a stench that nearly clouded all his other senses. Obi-Wan's uninjured hand shot to his throat, feeling the studded collar still there, and something else…

Someone's hot, repugnant breath washed over his face and he could just barely make out a thick head moving back away from him with a soft grunt, fading into the hordes of what could only be other slaves. They were on a ship, he realized, a transport. Where they were going he had no idea.

Thoughts of Roark and Spyre flitted through his mind – were they here, too? He knew he could call for them… but, no. His throat hurt terribly, they probably wouldn't hear… He felt, sinking back into the bodies around him, eyes going half mast, that it hardly mattered, now, anyway. Whether he knew where he was going or not, he would get there all the same.

There was an incessant murmuring present, but Obi-Wan could sense no one close to him speaking. Ah, well... His uninjured hand still gripping the hem of his pants he tentatively sought out a connection with the Force, but found he could access it no better than he had been able to before he cut himself.

Just not his day…

*  *  *  *

Obi-Wan stared straight ahead at the wall some few centimeters from his nose. His hands were planted palms flat against it and he could easily hear the hacking coughs of an elderly slave a few men down. They were all lined up outside and as much as he tried Obi-Wan could hear no birds chirp. The sun was a glaring cruel white spot in the sky, closer than the boy had ever seen one before. He had been outside in this position for maybe thirty minutes and knew his shoulders and back were going to pay for it later.

They were all stripped to the waist and miserable in the terrible heat. Obi-Wan stared at a tiny crack in the plaster, wondering if it were any cooler inside the dark niche. The wound on his hand, injured from his messy operation in the forest, had been sewn shut albeit sloppily. Red easily blotted through the strip of gauze covering it. A sweaty palm gripped his shoulder suddenly, startling him – he hadn't even heard the cry of the man beside him – and seconds later a sharp pain exploded in his lower back, just above his left hip. Obi-Wan cried out, thick tears springing to his eyes and rolling down his face in fat salty drops, pattering softly down to the ground that begged for moisture.

"This one's tagged," a man called, and then Obi-Wan felt a hand touch the studded leather collar around his neck. "Oi… someone was fond've him."

"What's that there?" another wanted to know as the hand fingered the thin but heavy circle of machinery circled around his throat. "By Yetzi – he's a Force user. I don't recall seeing that in the books."

"Huh," the first man grunted, dropping his hand away and moving on. "Be sure to make note of it, then… Let's get this group assigned and move on to the females."