TPM Tatooine Rewrite: Through Glass
By: Syntyche
chapter fourteen: all in a day's work
Obi-Wan was staring ahead blankly.
Qui-Gon was formulating a plan of escape.
Marjhan was pouting.
Delian was twitching in her sleep.
OOOOOOOOOO
Delian was twitching in her sleep.
The Corellian tossed restlessly on the hard bed provided for her by the thoughtful staff of the tiny Mos Espa medcenter, her attempts at rest disrupted by the dismal parade of images that flashed through her mind.
Tonight, she dreamed about Obi-Wan Kenobi.
She often had, since she'd first seen him in Watto's back lot. It wasn't hard to do, after all.
Still, she wished that she would have more of the Good dreams, and far fewer of the Bad. Particularly the one about the Room … it always ended there.
She told herself that it was just a dream, but it was so damned real that she had a hard time believing that, even though she always opened her eyes to familiar surroundings – there was never anything that looked like the unfamiliar Hallway in her dreams that led to that hated Room where she always found Kenobi's bloodied body.
She lay on the uncomfortable bed for a moment more, then sighed and pushed herself upright. Not even a hint of light shone in through the small, slatted windows: not quite dawn, then. No matter. Corellians needed little enough sleep, and so she rose from the bed, awkwardly smoothing down her rumpled flightsuit. One of the Healers had offered her a medcenter gown in place of the clothes she still wore from yesterday, but Delian had sternly refused. She wasn't by any means ashamed of her ass, but there was just no reason to be flaunting it in one those revealing gowns around little Anakin. Were it Kenobi she was going to visit, then hell, yeah, she'd have accepted it and most certainly flaunted it, but it wasn't Obi-Wan, so she just splashed some water on her face in the tiny adjoining fresher and set off through the quiet hall.
Where are you, Kenobi? What the hell is going on?
She missed him, and she wasn't ashamed to admit it.
She might possibly care about him, maybe, but that was something she didn't want to think about. Her emotions had taken quite a few spins around the racetrack since the Jedi had arrived and now he was missing. It was difficult to believe that it had only been a few days ago that she had hurried to Watto's shop in search of her errant mechanic-slash-racer.
It was even harder for her to believe what she had found instead.
Delian shuddered. An unconscious Anakin, a murdered Watto, and that … thing.
Life has certainly been interesting since you showed up, lover, she thought sarcastically to the missing Jedi, wherever he may be.
As she strode through the cool, cycled air in the hallways towards the room that had been assigned to her unexpected charge, Delian tried to piece together the missing parts to this puzzle, but there were just too many things she didn't know. Kenobi had a hell of a lot of explaining to do when he finally showed up. She seriously doubted that the Jedi had attacked Anakin and killed Watto – the Corellian was placing bets that Gruesome had been responsible for that stunning bit of carnage – but it wouldn't be like Kenobi to leave Anakin just lying there. And she was certain that Kenobi had been there – apart from the fact that his abandoned racer had been parked outside the shop, a long, silver-handled lightsaber was now clipped to her belt. It belonged to Kenobi, she was certain, and she had no intention of surrendering it to anyone other than its owner, though, she mused, he may have to do some 'special favors' to get it back.
The thought was deliciously warming as she entered Anakin's small room, and she hastily wiped the ridiculous smirk from her face lest the boy question her on it.
Anakin Skywalker was resting quietly in bed, and the fact that he was quiet at all suggested to the Corellian that he had been sedated; there was no other explanation for the lack of noise coming from the child.
"Hi," he said softly as she entered, and she replied in kind.
"Hi yourself, kid. How you feelin'?"
Anakin shrugged his small shoulders, and she was relieved to see that he seemed to do so without any pain. He'd been treated for moderate burns and kept at the medcenter overnight; this was the first time she'd seen him conscious. She knew she probably shouldn't push him for information already, but her curiosity was burning up her insides, and they needed to find Kenobi. She deemed it best to proceed with caution, even though she wanted to grill him with questions. He was just a kid, after all.
"Can you tell me what happened, honey?" she asked gently, reaching down to brush the blonde hair off his forehead. Anakin looked confused, and sad.
"I don't remember," he admitted. "The guy with the red lightsaber, he was looking for Obi-Wan… Delian," his blue eyes were wide, huge, as he thought back, "he … he hurt Obi-Wan, with Watto's transmitter."
Delian felt her gut clench sickly as she saw clearly in her mind's eye that twisted, sneering, tattooed face grinning up at her in a grotesque death mask when she'd stooped to roll over the body that she'd thought was Obi-Wan's. She was ashamed to admit she'd leaned over to the side and thrown up her breakfast.
That bastard had hurt Kenobi. "What else?" she asked faintly, her fingers anxiously caressing the smooth lightsaber casing, seeking comfort in the only thing she had that was the Jedi's. Anakin noticed and, if possible, his bright eyes widened even further.
"That's Obi-Wan's," the boy whispered in amazement.
"I know," she nodded. "I found it at Watto's. Can you tell me anything else about what happened, honey? Anything at all?"
Anakin shook his head slowly, distracted by his memories. "They were fighting … and I … I got angry."
"Angry?" Delian asked, eyebrow lifting. He sounded so concerned, but hell, she'd have been angry, too. She was angry. Bastard. How dare he touch Kenobi? Bastard got what he deserved, she thought, grimly satisfied. She was a little surprised by the vehemence of her emotion and tried to focus on Anakin.
"What do you mean, you 'got angry', honey?"
"I don't know," Anakin whispered, huge eyes filling with confusion. Tears began sliding down his pale cheeks, and Delian carefully settled herself on his bedside, continuing to thread her fingers gently through his sandy flop of hair. "I just … hated him … so much … I wanted to hurt him, but I couldn't think, I can't remember … "
"Shh," the Corellian soothed. "It's okay, sweetheart. Maybe when the meds wear off you'll remember," she encouraged warmly, "and then we'll find Obi-Wan."
"Obi-Wan's missing?" Anakin asked between sniffles. Delian primly retrieved a tissue from the box on the stand by the bed and handed it to him, drawing back just a bit as he blew his nose gustily.
"Yeah," she admitted regretfully. Probably should have broken that little gem to him later. She plastered a quick, reassuring grin on her face, though it was admittedly a bit sloppy. "But we'll find him once you're well. The doc says you can go home today."
Anakin brightened, but just as quickly sobered. "Watto's dead."
"I know," Delian tried to smile encouragingly. "But we'll get things sorted out. Why don't you rest now, and then I'll take you home, if you show me where it is."
"Okay," Anakin smiled, "Mom'll be glad to see me. I hope she's not too worried."
"Oh." As long as she'd known Anakin, Delian hadn't realized he'd had any other family. "Yeah, we definitely need to let her know where you are. Rest now, honey," she added, "and I'll see how soon we can spring you from this place."
OOOOOOOOOO
Qui-Gon was formulating a plan of escape.
In retrospect, it had seemed fairly easy. After all, he and Obi-Wan had managed to escape from Healers all over the galaxy throughout their long partnership.
Of course, he hadn't had a lightsaber hole drilled through his chest any of those times. And he'd had Obi-Wan with him.
His Healers kept him so drugged on pain medication that just thinking wore him out; it was hard to construct a decent plan for his liberation when he was continually drifting in and out of consciousness.
Also, Mace was on to him.
His friend stopped by several times a day; he was far more subdued once Qui-Gon had told him that he'd intentionally misled the Council, but still he came by with news and gossip and also, Qui-Gon was now certain, to make sure the Jedi Master was staying put.
Qui-Gon had thought that showing Mace how deep his chest wound was would keep his friend away long enough for him to escape, but once Mace had stopped gagging he had simply asked the Healers to fasten Qui-Gon's bandages in the back where he couldn't get at them. So now, not only had his idea not worked, he could no longer peel back the bandages in morbid fascination and poke at the healing wound.
Today Mace just looked tired. Qui-Gon pulled himself away from his deliberations long enough to focus on what the Council member was saying just in case Mace threw him a pop quiz to see if he had indeed been paying attention.
"….I don't know," Mace sighed quietly, irritation bleeding into his deep voice. "They're not pacifists like Alderaan, but I don't think this will bring them to war, either. I mean, how aggressive can a people be who let themselves be ruled by a pre-teenage girl?"
"That's rather judgmental of you," Qui-Gon automatically rebuked, but mildly as he did feel that his friend had a valid point. Better than being ruled by a pre-teenage boy, though, he figured, reflecting on some of the crazy stunts Obi-Wan had pulled during the early years of his training. Force, that was a long time ago, before Obi-Wan had decided that he needed to be the Perfect Padawan.
"I know," Mace retorted, "it's just frustrating. Who would they go to war with, though? There's no link between the Trade Federation and the queen's murderer; it's even rumored that the Trade Federation may renounce their blockade on Naboo." He leveled a serious gaze on the prone Jedi. "Qui-Gon, we need you on this one," he said simply, "we need your insight. You and Obi-Wan were on the Trade Federation ship – "
"I need to find Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon interjected, uncaring of the frown that crossed Windu's face. "That is my duty."
"No, it's not," Mace retorted flatly. "Your duty is to the Order. We need to figure out what's going on here."
"I need to find Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon repeated firmly. "And I will bring Anakin before the Council for testing."
Mace shook his head sharply, irritated but struggling not to show it. "Sure, Qui-Gon. I'd be interested in knowing how you plan to get out of bed and as far as Tatooine before you keel over, but perhaps your special brand of hard-headedness will keep you upright," he snorted. "You will do what you feel is right, of course."
Qui-Gon offered his most winning smile, though his eyes were cool. "I always do."
OOOOOOOOOO
Obi-Wan was staring ahead blankly.
He padded along quietly, part of a small group of slaves who had been purchased by the same man to assist on his moisture farm. He'd been told he would help with "harvest," but he had yet to figure out exactly what one harvested on this planet. The dubious-sounding "moisture"? Sand?
After a few moments during which Obi-Wan spent his time pondering what he would be harvesting, the man who had bought him dropped back just a bit until they were walking abreast, his dark eyes flicking continually towards the other slaves as they were herded along by his assistants. While the man's attention was diverted, Obi-Wan took the opportunity to appraise his new …owner. Perhaps half a head taller than he and twice what Obi-Wan had been told his own age was, this man walked with a pronounced limp but didn't seem hampered by it in the slightest, setting a pace for the small group that had a few of the new houseslaves scurrying to keep up. His shorn head glistened with perspiration in the evening heat, and his nose was bent at an angle that looked oddly familiar and suggested it had been broken at least once before.
He didn't seem unpleasant, nor could Obi-Wan sense anything malicious about him, though why he should automatically get a sense of the man's nature confused him just a bit. He shrugged and pushed that thought aside. He'd had his mind wiped; he should be glad he was just monstrously confused, and not a total, raving lunatic.
He thought, though, that if he reflected too much upon his predicament, he really wasn't too far from that, however. His name he clutched tightly to himself; he'd had to fight for it, and reach into the Locked part of his mind, but he needed it. His name was part of the Key to remembering everything else.
"Your handler says you don't have a name," his owner said without preamble. "That true?"
Obi-Wan decided to risk it. "My name is Obi-Wan," he said quietly, meeting the man's hazel gaze.
"Hm," His owner thought for a moment before announcing, "We'll have to change it. I paid for you, boy, and I can't have you running off in search of yourself or your past or whatever," he explained patiently though firmly.
"Please," Obi-Wan protested softly, fear trickling through him at the thought of losing the only thing left to him other than an overwhelming sense of the failures in his past life. "I swear to you that I will do everything you ask of me. I will work hard for you." His blue-grey eyes shone with sad earnestness. "Please," he said again. "They took my memories, and I have nothing else. My name is all I have left."
The other man's lips twisted in compassion. He'd heard the boy had had his mind wiped, but young Obi-Wan was the first slave he'd purchased who'd actually undergone the process. He was not a cruel man by nature; and while he was under no illusion that his slaves adored him, he treated them fairly, fed and sheltered them, and did not abuse his ownership.
It wasn't he that the slaves of his household feared.
"Fine," he smiled slightly, trying to impart a sense of kindness to the frightened boy, wondering if it had been a mistake to purchase a mind-wiped slave. He couldn't imagine the hell it must be to suddenly lose your place in the world and all that you were. "Obi-Wan you'll stay then, so long as you don't give me any trouble. Do your job well and things will be just fine."
Obi-Wan nodded gratefully, offering a small grin in return as he dipped his head in respectful gratitude. "Thank you, Master."
OOOOOOOOOO
Marjhan was pouting.
It was an unpleasant but not unfamiliar scene by the Lady of the House; her temper was rivaled only by her cruelty and her insatiable lust for "finer" things in life.
She knew that she was hated and she loved the feeling, for she desired the adoration of no one; the darkness in her soul spat and shied at light, and she would not allow herself to be swayed by any warm emotion. Her own husband did not love her, and she did not love him. They simply co-existed together like strangers with conjugal visits.
But now she was bored. She had been very bored lately, so she prowled around their spacious home – cool despite the heat outdoors – looking for something to do that would ease her restlessness, some bit of misery or mischief she could cause to fill the empty ache inside.
Her previous playmate was gone, and though she missed his company she wasn't sorry. He hadn't been much of a challenge at all, so when Risq had taken him back to help with the harvest, she hadn't minded. She wished that he were here now, though; he could be delightfully amusing at times, and her husband had been away at the slave auction for days. The house seemed so empty.
She was almost desperate enough to wander near the kitchen to see what the house slaves were doing. Her husband was adamant, however, that she wasn't allowed to interfere with the house slaves, and it might prove too tempting for her to be so close to her lessers and not be able to have any sort of fun. But if she were patient and pliant, she could please Risq into allowing her one of the new slaves for her own pleasure. Usually he made her wait until after harvest, but she was bored now and she was skilled at pleasing her husband; she might be able to coax a new toy from him.
She would know soon enough, for as she waited at the window she could see Risq's landspeeder in the distance; it had to be her husband, for all of the farms on Tatooine were sprawling, isolated plots, and no one else would have need to travel their long, sandy road.
Marjhan sighed.
She was so bored.
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