A glint of light reflecting off the smooth fuselage of a passing ship scatters through the glass of the window and ignites Qui-Gon's smiling face in a warm, orange glow. He brings a steaming mug to his lips and listens as Anakin excitedly talks from the cushion beside him. They both laugh at some joke I couldn't hear, then smile together at me. I know they said something funny so I laugh with them, watching the skin crinkle around Qui-Gon's eyes. I feel this pull from deep within, and know that I have to leave them. They're not mine to have, and I'm not a part of this happiness. A bitter-sweetness washes over this moment and my smile fades. I rise from my seat and turn once more at the doorway to watch them laugh together. Anakin's face is bright as he eagerly continues his story, and Qui-Gon listens, with such love and pride in his eyes. I know I have to leave, but don't know where I can go. This loneliness aches from deep inside. But I know this is the way it was supposed to be, and I don't mind one bit. My role was meant to be no role at all. I smile at the two of them and turn to leave.
As I walk down the grand hall, I pass by fellow Jedi, walking and talking together. Eventually as the crowd thickens, I pass through them, like I'm made of air. Some smile at me, but most carry on and don't acknowledge my existence, and I'm perfectly fine with that. The pull from deep within guides me out the Temple doors, and down the entry steps, toward the detached chaos of the streets below. I know Qui-Gon and Anakin can see me from the windows high above. I know they're happy together, and that's all I need. I'll miss them so much.
With a gasp, I jolt awake and try to sit up. I'm stopped by the pull of leather straps around my chest and on my wrists and ankles. I sputter on the fluids in my throat, and with each cough I feel searing pain erupt from my lower abdomen. I try to blink away the blurry clouds in my eyes, and struggle to recall why I'm in so much pain. There's a faint pulsing from deep inside. It throbs in a relentless rhythm. "…they're putting the bomb in you…"
My whole body goes numb, my mouth feels like its stuffed with dry cotton. I imagine myself tearing my skin open, clawing into my gut until I get the bomb out and smash it on the wall, but I just lay still, paralyzed, fighting the tears of rage. I'll never leave this planet alive. Not unless I can get it out. I close my eyes, breathing, and reach out into the Force to find any hint of Siri, Quinlan, or Anakin. It feels like my whole body is tumbling down into an abyss; an onslaught of screams and voices and intense, desperate movement, like the flurry of snowflakes in a blizzard. Impossible to grasp, passing by so quickly and melting away instantly in my hands if I ever manage to grab hold. I snap my eyes open and struggle to fight the wave of nausea. They must have dosed me up with another Force Inhibitor. I'll have to find them on my own.
There are bars on the upper part of the door, and no other window to the outside world. A distant scream echoes down the hall. It doesn't stop. It's desperate, full of terror and agony. And it sounds sickeningly like Siri. I try to cry out her name but choke on the pain in my abdomen from the effort. I'm coming, darling.
With all my might, I pull my arms up and attempt to squeeze my hands as small as possible. I manage to pull a few inches of my hands free of the restraints, taking a layer skin with it. The monitor placed beside my bed begins to beep rapidly in time with my heart. Then footsteps. I hear them in the hall, approaching my door. With a wave of panic, I kick my legs wildly and yank my arms, the monitors beeping and wailing, as if telling on me. Keys in the lock, the slide of a metal bolt. The door opens and in pours a man with ghostly pale skin and facial tattoos, storming toward me with the most terrifying glare. In his hand is a bat. He lifts it above his head, and cracks it down over my shins. I let out a scream, more of surprise than pain. He reaches over and grabs my jaw, boring his fingers in, and roughly pulls my face over until it's level with his. Those furious eyes bore into mine, and I can't help the trembling.
"I'm going to need you to shut the fuck up and stay still, Capitol scum." He seethes, his voice a menacing whisper.
Several nurses come into the room, one pulling latex gloves on with a look of exhausted frustration. He walks over to me, lifting up my shirt, and peels away blood-soaked gauze. I nearly gasp when I see the angry, massive scar; the skin bright red and weeping where the crude stitches meet flesh. He gently rubs his gloved fingers over the length of the scar and I wince in pain.
"Well it looks okay; he didn't rupture anything or break any of the stitches. You need to be more careful though," he's talking to me now without bothering to look at me. "You're not getting out of here until we're done with you, so if I were you, I'd be focusing on saving my strength and trying to survive this. Not many people are lucky enough to live through this, but you might actually have a chance if you cooperate."
"They never fucking do," the man with the bat shakes his head.
"Please, are where are the others? Are they here? Are they alright?"
The tattooed man grips my hair and shoves my face into his again. He nearly tears the scalp off scull as he shakes my head and spits into my face, "what did I just fucking tell you? Be quiet!"
The nurse grips his shoulder and shoots him a hard glare. "Hey, come on. Cool it. Let us do our jobs."
The man with the bat backs away as the other nurses close in. One steps forward with his data-pad. "Well, I suppose now is as good a time as any to bring him in for further testing. He's already awake and responsive, we might as well take advantage of it."
"What's next on the agenda?"
"Survival testing."
The tattooed man lingers in the corner. He sees my look of shock and confusion and his lips curl up into a twisted smirk. "It means they're gonna see what it takes to kill you. Don't worry, the protocol is three attempts at resuscitation for all subjects. I'm sure it won't take more than that to bring you back."
One nurse unlocks the brakes on the gurney and begins to cart me out of the room. As we pass down the hall, I sneak glances all around me, studying doors and passing guards, straining to listen for the sources of screams, any familiarity in the voices. In the corner of my eye, I catch the bat, swinging back and forth into my field of view with the gait of the tattooed man, who walks alongside me. We arrive in a room full of guards, who waste no time in hurriedly undoing the straps and pulling me off the bed. I wince in pain, but hold in any sound. A man I don't recognize comes forward, shining a small light into my eyes, and grabbing hold of my wrist to record my pulse on his data pad. He pulls out a small recording device and begins speaking into it while he waves a scanner across my face.
"Patient O2 98%, BP 120/80, pulse elevated at 110. Possibly dirty data, will need to measure again. Begin test number one, hypothermia threshold."
With that the guards pull me away toward a door. As soon as it opens, I'm blinded by a wash of light and feel myself being flung forward into the open air until I crash down onto my hands and knees. Through squinted eyes, I see them attaching chains to my wrists that hold me down to the snowy ground. The assault of cold already begins as I peer around and see that I'm in a walled courtyard. The sun shines happily oblivious, but I feel no warmth. Tiny ice crystals dance in the perfect, azure sky.
"Begin the test."
One guard kneels to turn a tap, and several nozzles positioned around me turn on and blast frigid water all over me. I gasp involuntarily, and begin to hyperventilate as I struggle to get my breath back. I crumple in on myself, ducking my head to escape the spray of water.
The doctor hands one of the guards a defibrillator. "I'll be back in three hours. If he dies before then, you have my permission to administer life support. If he shows signs of returning Force sensitivity, you're authorized to use another dose. As many as it takes."
My heart is thundering in my chest; my lungs spasm uncontrollably. The guards sit down or begin talking to one another, huddled together and shivering for warmth in the growing clouds of warm breath. I shake violently and let out little chocked whimpers.
I remember sitting beside the creek with Anakin in the moonlight, telling him about Force thermoregulation, proud to show off how I didn't need my cloak, wishing beyond anything to be back there. Wishing to see him again. "…you should have died, not him…"It looks like you'll get your wish, young one.
Come on, idiot, the principles haven't changed. You don't need a sense of the Force to get through this. Calm your mind, calm your breath. Breathe. Good. Conserve your energy, control the shivering. Get your mind right.
What would I do if I saw her again? If I flung open her cell door, freed her from her shackles? If we grabbed hands and tore down the halls together and broke through the perimeter and ran into the forest and kept running and running? We would huddle together again, like we did on Cirrus. We'd find a cave and keep each other warm through the night. I'd stroke my fingers along the smooth, angled lines of her jaw, and travel up to her full lips and finally know what they feel like against my skin. I'd undo the violence wrought upon us by giving her a kind and gentle caress to match every blow or violation we experienced, and try to take away the scars it leaves in her mind. If I could just take her hand and squeeze it, that would be enough for me. Focus on that. That's the goal.
My arms give, and I collapse into the soaking ground. The water under my cheek hardens and sticks to my cheek. There's a blurry movement of guards, and suddenly everything is quiet and a blanket of frigid air settles over me. It creeps into every bit of exposed skin, deep into every wrinkle of clothing that's now fused into flesh. I crack open my eyes and no longer see the endless gush of water, just people beginning to crowd around and block out the sun. A thermo-reader is waved over my face, a pulse-monitor is clipped to my wrist, and crouching guards look down at clipboards and mumble unintelligibly at each other. A wave of bliss and calm washes over me as my eyelids flutter closed. My freezing limbs scream in agony, but I can't seem to shiver anymore. I just don't have the strength. I just don't care.
"Hey," a voice whispers into my ear. They snap their fingers in my face until I open my eyes. "Hang in with us, okay? We got a few more rounds of this. Just think of the good you're doing, maybe that will help."
"W-what? What good?" I stutter through chattering teeth.
The nurse stares for a few moments, his lips pursed, reticent. He stands up and signals something to the guards, who back away and turn the nozzles back on.
.
.
.
.
The little mouse walks over to the tray on the floor, sniffs at the globs of untouched food. Some of his whiskers dip into the grey slop and are covered in it. Then he scurries away, slinking back under the door. Just like that my little buddy is gone; I'm alone again. I exhale onto my freezing hands and pull the thin blanket tighter around me.
Keys rattle in the lock, and I tense up, drawing my knees up into my chest and slink further back into the corner.
"It's alright, I got this one. You can finish the rounds." A woman whispers to someone outside in the hall, then she comes in. Without another word, she attaches probes to my wrists and forehead and starts annotating the results on her clipboard.
"H-hello t-there." I have to get this teeth-chattering under control.
To my shock she actually looks up at me and flashes a polite smile. "So, you're him," she says.
"Wh-what were you expecting?"
She just smiles and slowly shakes her head. "I don't know. You definitely look like a Kenobi, I can see that now."
I feel my face flush.
"Could you roll up your sleeve so I can get a quick blood draw?"
"I'm not used to you guys asking my permission for this." I drop the blanket, but hesitate. She's so nice, but something compels me to resist. Respectful but uncooperative, that's always our mandate.
She gently rests her hand on my arm and looks into my eyes. "It's really okay. Let's get this done so I can submit these results to the labs without any fuss. That's all they want, then they'll give us a break for a bit."
I sigh and roll my sleeve up. She takes my arm and has to hold it firmly to aim her needle amidst my shivering. "S-so when will this shaking s-stop? I feel like it's getting w-worse."
She laughs. "It's called afterdrop. Basically, after treatment for hypothermia you get a little worse before you get better. It's from the blood now returning to your extremities, which your core translates as you being in the danger zone again. It'll pass." She takes a glance over at my tray on the floor. "It would really help if you ate your dinner. I know when you passed out, they gave you some glucose drips, but you need a little protein and fat in you."
"Can't say I have much of an appetite. W-what with all the stress and all."
She smiles and adds another tube to the needle. I watch in detached fascination as it fills with deep red blood. Once she fills and marks all her tubes, she slips the needle back out and tapes a little cotton ball to the skin.
"Well, you passed with flying colors today, bravo."
I laugh and shake my head.
"Yeah, you were a tough one to crack. I guess they had to do a good eight rounds before you finally lost consciousness. They didn't even have to use the AED, they were able to keep your heart going the whole time."
"So w-what exactly was all t-that for?" My voice cracks like an adolescent.
"Well, the data helps us develop treatment protocols and possibly new preventative drugs for when personnel might be at risk for hypothermia."
"What personnel?"
She shrugs her shoulders. "Whoever asks for it. Mine workers, the Army, Jedi. Whoever wants to pay for the patents we develop."
"Jedi? You're not serious."
"Well maybe, I just assume. We get a lot of Republic contracts. I just assume it's either for use by military or Jedi." She looks at me thoughtfully. "I'd be a little more questioning of my higher-ups if I were you. You can't always trust everything you're told."
"Follow the money." I smirk at her playfully, but feel my stomach turning.
"I can see the relation, by the way," she says.
"Pardon?"
"To Rowan. You have his spirit. At least, before everything that happened. He used to be a lot like you. A charmer, never taking anything too seriously."
"Before what exactly?"
Her face is grave now, and she doesn't look back up at me as she begins putting her equipment away. "Before the Republic started making all those raids and taking infants. Taking you. And before his wife…your mother…died."
"Is it really true that she was killed in a raid? It wasn't a Jedi, was it?"
She gives me such a sad look. "I know you may not believe me, but yes. When the ruling came down that Jedi envoys could collect Force sensitive infants, most people didn't fight it. I guess they figured they didn't have a choice. A lot of planets even saw it as an honor. They reached out to the Republic to take their kids, like it would make their families famous. A lot of those people turned out to be full of shit, though. They made up some story about how their baby made their teething toy float or something, but the Jedi always saw right through it."
"But she fought back? My…mother?"
"The whole Kenobi clan did, yeah. There was no investigation into her death or anything. Claims of self-defense." She looks down at the floor, as if deep in thought.
"No offense, but you don't seem like the type of person that would work here. Why are you being so nice to me?"
"I'm sympathetic to the highest bidder, my dear." She gins at me and winks, slipping her lanyard over her head and handing it me. There's a little plastic card with her smiling photo dangling on the end. I hold it in my hand and just stare in shock.
"I always admired your father. He really meant well, when he started all this. I think things just really got out of hand. I don't blame him, though."
"I really don't understand."
"That's my key-card." She pulls the strap of her medical bag over her shoulder and stands up. "Here's what's going to happen tonight. I'm going to turn in your results to the lab, and they're going to crunch their data or whatever the hell they do. I'm going to go home, take a nice bath, and go to sleep. And you're going to do whatever it takes to get out of here. Tonight."
"Wait, what!? Are you sure about this?" I nearly shout.
She holds her finger up to her lips and takes a quick glance back at the door. "My partner is probably just finishing up the rounds now, which means you have a good two hours before the next set. Use my key-card. Get out of here. Head into the woods, and when you hear three blasts of a whistle, go toward the sound."
"Who will be there?"
"Your family. They're the ones who paid me." She starts to turn toward the door.
"Wait! I have friends here, I can't leave them. And why can't you stay with me? It would be so much easier to get out of here with help."
"I'm sorry, Obi-Wan. They didn't pay me quite enough for that. Tomorrow I'm going to claim you stole my key-card. I don't want to be connected to this any more than I have to. And if you want to save your friends, fine. I really wouldn't recommend it, though. Your best shot at getting out of here is to do it alone." She walks back over to me and touches her hand gently on my cheek. "Good luck."
I grip the lanyard in a trembling hand as I watch her slip out the door. I wait and listen, but there's no sound of the door being locked. Just her footsteps fading down the hall.