TPM Tatooine Rewrite: Through Glass

By: Syntyche

chapter nineteen: closing in

The slim, ridged cylinder was clenched tightly amid his huge fingers; he knew that the battered casing, well-worn yet strong, wouldn't crumple in his tight-fisted grip, but the slowly healing Jedi Master still felt guilty for abusing the weapon he'd carried for more years than he could count.

He could not, however, bring himself to release his punishing hold: his old lightsaber felt tainted to him now, defiled by the filthy hands of the Sith monstrosity who had attacked both himself and Obi-Wan and killed the queen of Naboo and most of her ship's crew.

The Jedi had found his lightsaber clipped to the Sith's belt after he'd examined the rotting corpse in the corner of the junkyard. Qui-Gon remembered, vaguely, the leering grin of the Sith as he'd pried the saber from the Jedi Master's limp fingers after striking him through amidst the wreckage of the Queen Amidala's vessel. The Sith had promised with a malicious sneer to take care of Obi-Wan, and Qui-Gon allowed himself a grim smile that actual subsequent events had transpired quite differently than the Sith had anticipated.

He wondered if this was why the Force had intended for Obi-Wan to remain behind on Tatooine, to deal with the Sith, but if that was the case why then had Obi-Wan disappeared?

It irked the Jedi Master, so imbued with the Living Force, that their best hope of finding his apprentice lay not with him nor with the bond he and his Padawan had formerly shared through the Force, but in a tiny device that had been implanted in Obi-Wan's thigh to mark him as property and keep track of his movements so he couldn't desert his slavemasters.

It was wrong. It had all gone so horribly wrong. But it was the only lead he and Delian had, so they would see where it took them.

The Corellian had returned to the Skywalker's hovel for the night, but Qui-Gon no longer felt at ease there as he once did and had opted to look around Watto's back lot to keep his body busy while his mind raced with plans and possibilities. He knew that he should be resting, meditating, doing something Jedi-like, but his mind was simply too busy to concentrate.

So he stared hard at the weapon that had hung at his side for so long, and tried to will it to share the last moments of the Sith with him … to bring to life the slash from Obi-Wan's blade that had sliced off the Sith's arm here, and pierced the thickly-muscled midsection here.

The lightsaber disappeared into his huge fist as Qui-Gon pushed himself to a standing position. He'd agreed to wait for Delian's return and it chafed at him now; he should have left for Mos Eisley as soon as the idea to track Obi-Wan's transmitter had come to light. He was bound to his word now, however, and every second that slipped away grated on his already-thin nerves and tightened the ache that pulled relentlessly at his wounded belly. Despite the pain – or maybe because of it – Qui-Gon started pacing the small lot, ignoring the voices that said to rest, and heal, and instead he paced, focusing on his steps and welcoming the pain that seemed to sharpen his mind. Ten steps forward, ten steps back, over and over, until the quiet sigh in Delian's clear alto broke through his concentration.

"You know you're not gonna be any good to him if you keep this up."

Qui-Gon's thin lips tightened. "I'll rest after we find him," he said, a flash of stubbornness creasing his craggy features.

"Yeah, that's fine," Delian retorted, tossing her palm out in a gesture that Qui-Gon wasn't sure whether to take as conciliatory surrender or just 'whatever.' "All the same, I'm gonna drive, okay? I think it's better."

"Well, you know where we're going," Qui-Gon pointed out mildly, a touch of diplomat showing through.

"That too," Delian agreed, "but definitely not that only," she added, just to get the last word in, Qui-Gon was pretty sure.

The Jedi Master smiled thinly. Now that his mindless pacing had halted, exhaustion was flooding his tired limbs and he only wanted to reach Mos Eisley as quickly as possible.

"Of course." He quietly followed the sauntering Corellian to the landspeeder parked outside Watto's, and carefully folded his long body into the narrow passenger seat. Something tickled the edge of his tired mind, and Qui-Gon allowed his mind to focus on the soft whisper. Carefully, he slid his calloused fingers over the edge of the speeder. Obi-Wan.

A frown drew his eyebrows together. "Obi-Wan was here, in this speeder, wasn't he?"

Delian nodded shortly. "Yep. I … um, 'borrowed' him from Watto for a couple of days for some mechanical work." She smiled, a corner of her mouth twitching in amusement. "He's kind of moody, isn't he?"

Qui-Gon sighed in agreement, but felt some of the tension leach from his soul as he thought about his apprentice. "I've never been able to figure out if it's intentional or not; he's mastered the deadpan expression and I suspect at times he employs it just to irritate me," he added without malice, instead nodding approvingly. "He'll make an excellent negotiator one day."

Delian smiled dreamily, thinking of bright grey eyes and hard muscles. "Mmhmm. He certainly is … skilled."

The Corellian wasn't so far gone in her daydream that she missed the dry, somewhat judgmental look that flitted across the Jedi's expression and she realized that Jinn looked amazingly like Kenobi in that moment, except that Kenobi would have followed through with some smarmy comment whereas Jinn remained silent.

After a few moments, she glanced over and saw that Jinn's eyes had drifted shut and his head was slumped wearily against the backrest.

We'll find him, she thought, her gaze going back to the sandy stretch of road. We have to. We're the good guys, after all.

OOOOOOOOOO

He'd been so close to getting away.

The look of disappointment in his Master's eyes burned into Obi-Wan's memory, and there was no point in explaining that he'd tried to free the girl, Marjhan's slave Jubily, and one of Marjhan's overseers had caught him.

You should have just run, his Master shook his head ruefully. How can someone with no idea who they even are have a hero complex, boy? You know she won't let you out of her sight now.

The welts on Obi-Wan's back burned fiercely in silent testimony to the Lady's disapproval, and from where he stood slumped wearily before her, Marjhan smiled at him and he shivered. It was hard to believe that so much evil could be hidden behind such a simple gesture.

"Do you know what I have here, Obi-Wan?" she asked, waving a small vial playfully before his dull eyes. When he didn't answer, she just tsked at him, irritated by his continued reticence. "I have," she continued with a dark glare and an added flourish, "the key to you."

He couldn't help a smile that slipped through his defenses. "In a two-centimeter vial?" Obi-Wan's mouth turned down wryly. "Somehow I thought there was more to me than that. Damn my ego," he added, his tone drier than the scorching desert air.

Marjhan's annoyance fled as easily as it had appeared and she clapped her hands elatedly. "You see?" she said happily. "That's the Obi-Wan I want! I'll grant you, it was a poor effort, but I want your spirit, Obi-Wan – I want that spark about you that's so unusual."

She rose from the plush divan and glided over to him, so close that her light perfume tickled his nose, and she ran one long fingernail across his dirty tunic, through the open front and across his chest. "If you could just give me that part of you, willingly, I'll stop with the drugs and I'll give you this." Marjhan held the vial before his eyes, waiting for his curiosity to overcome him. She wasn't disappointed.

"And this is better how?" he questioned dryly.

"It'll break down the bonds of the suppressors in your mind." She smiled at the flash of interest that coursed through his unwavering blue-grey gaze. "You can see who you are. It'll be so much easier than for you to keep playing hard to get."

Wouldn't it be easier to take the path of less pain?

The thought echoed through his mind, but a small part of him whispered that that just wasn't who he was, that he didn't take the easiest way out – that for some reason, he belonged to the Light.

It was true, too, that he was remembering some things on his own as he carefully used his Key – his name, the one thing he'd been able to hide from the droids who had wiped his memory – to unlock small, incomplete parts of his memory. He remembered Delian, had latched onto her name like a lifeline during one of his punishments: solitary confinement for days inside a tiny, cramped box for an infraction he couldn't even recall. There were faces he couldn't put names to and names without faces, all wrapped in a haze determined to keep him out.

But he had a choice now. Marjhan was offering him a choice.

"Don't you want to know, Obi-Wan?" She was all around him, clouding his senses, her voice barely above a whisper. "All I want is a gesture, a token. All I want is for you to come to me freely." The words flowed past his ear on her warm breath, questioning, and offering hope to his battered soul: He would remember. The pain would stop.

He could escape.

The small voice that championed Light urged him to hold firm, cautioned that to give into Marjhan would be to welcome in the Darkness that teased him in his weak, pain-filled moments.

Don't give in, his mind whispered, you're a child of the Light.

Well, how am I supposed to know who I am? he asked himself irritably. I can't remember! How do I know that I feel that way? How do I know that I don't choose the easy way? How do I know that I'm not just being foolish in resisting?

"Come on, Obi-Wan," Marjhan breathed, delighted by the inner battle reflected in his clouded eyes. The strain of weeks of confusion and suffering were showing in thin cracks rapidly spreading across his tanned face. He was so close to breaking … she had nearly won.

"Don't you want to remember, Obi-Wan? It's so easy …"

OOOOOOOOOO

Dark Lords of the Sith didn't very often have what one would call a "bad" day, but on this day Sidious had to admit he was coming pretty damned close. By his reckoning, he was down one trained apprentice, one potential apprentice, one blockade, a group of Trade Federation cowards, and a queen who'd been a perfectly moldable pawn.

Damn Jinn for surviving.

Damn Maul for failing.

Damn Kenobi for not falling to the Dark but also for killing his trained apprentice and then disappearing.

And damn those worthless Nemoidians for refusing to continue the Naboo blockade after the queen had been killed. Fussing that now they looked like the "bad guys"… Sidious snorted disdainfully at their spinelessness.

Maul had blatantly questioned the wisdom of blockading a planet that no one had really noticed or cared about before, but Sidious had told him to be patient – there was a senator there who could easily manipulate the queen and help them attract the attention of the Jedi. The Sith Lord knew full well which team would be sent from the Temple … his mistake, he could see now, was not sending Maul to Naboo prior to Jinn's arrival. Sidious had had no doubt the two Jedi would outsmart the Neimoidians and reach Naboo safely; he had planned, however, for them to be detained on-planet for some time by his legions of battle droids. Hubris had been his error.

Well. There was no point in looking for Kenobi – if the Jedi couldn't find him, Palpatine certainly wasn't going to expend the effort, not while there were other candidates he could be priming in the interim. Dooku, Bilaba, Sifo-dyas … all with excellent potential to make an amusing diversion while he waited for the reappearance of his prize, though Sidious had a feeling that Sifo-dyas' usefulness was drawing to a close…

OOOOOOOOOO

He didn't even bother tracking the days anymore.

All he knew was that his life had been hellish since Marjhan had returned from Mos Eisley with what she announced was a "gift" for him. He'd been right to be concerned, but he'd been too naïve to realize that he should have been terrified instead.

After Obi-Wan's attempt at escape had failed, his Master had given up on trying to save him and Obi-Wan couldn't blame him, really. Marjhan was far too creative, too determined, and too ruthless to be denied for long. And so his Master gave him a sad smile and a brief pat on the shoulder as Obi-Wan limped painfully past him to do his work, and he kept the farm's overseers from working Obi-Wan too harshly – at least, the ones Risq had control over. There were a few that obeyed the Lady of the House, and she made certain that Obi-Wan's body was always too fatigued, his mind too tired, to even try to fight the drugs she'd purchased to use on him. Any method of punishment she could think of, whether he deserved it or no, her overseers were giddily ready to enforce, all for some illicit kernel of appreciation from their Lady.

He tried to quell the feeling that his Master had abandoned him; it seemed to him far too easy to settle into that way of thinking, like he'd spent time there before. But he couldn't remember why he should feel that way, so he pushed it aside and continued to stagger through his daily chores and try against overwhelming odds to avoid the Lady of the House.

At some point, Obi-Wan came to wonder why he bothered anymore. No one knew he was here. No one knew who he was. He didn't even know. Wouldn't be better to just stop fighting? If he gave in to Marjhan, she would lose interest in her game and he'd be left alone – she only wanted him because he fought her. His earlier thought came back to chew at him naggingly … wouldn't it be so much easier to take the path of less pain?

OOOOOOOOOO

Marjhan clutched her prize tightly, twisting it between her slim fingers, feeling the silky strands slide across her smooth skin. True, it had cost her a large dose of her latest acquisition from Mos Eisley, but in the end it had cost him more, and that made it worth it.

She had visitors, and she was intrigued by that. It was rare that anyone came uncalled-for, especially for her. The few friendships she'd managed to form never seemed to last long; the only one who had stuck by her for any extended period of time was dear Risq, and for that reason she kept him around. Well, and his money. There was always that.

Marjhan settled herself regally on her divan as a mismatched pair of humans were shown into her sitting room by Miral: a tall, hunched man with long, straight hair – good-looking in an extremely masculine way, much like her husband – and a short blonde woman dressed in dirty coveralls. Marjhan didn't invite them to sit; the furniture was far too expensive to allow road dust to sully it, and she also didn't want to give them impression she would tolerate their intrusion for long.

She nodded shortly but didn't speak. The man ignored her rudeness, which irritated her, but as the first words fell from his lips, all of the blood washed from her face and she stared at him numbly as he spoke.

"My name is Qui-Gon Jinn," the man said politely. "I'm here looking for my apprentice, Obi-Wan Kenobi. We've learned that he was sold to your husband to help with your harvest. He's approximately this height - " a quick hand gesture " - with brown hair and blue eyes."

The blonde shot Jinn a disgusted look and interjected swiftly, "Reddish-brown hair, probably pretty shaggy by now, blue eyes, tanned and muscular. Dimpled chin. Long, thin braid he tucks behind his right ear. Core World accent that'll melt you where you stand. Seen him?"

Qui-Gon gave her a look that paled in comparison to the one she'd given him, but it still conveyed his dissatisfaction quite clearly. "I want to purchase him back from you, and I'm quite sure we can negotiate an acceptable arrangement."

Marjhan stiffened, straightening her spine and glaring at Qui-Gon. Give up Obi-Wan? Now? But after the blonde's happily detailed depiction of Obi-Wan, Marjhan would have to admit to having slaves who at least resembled him. She would have to send the pair away.

"I'm sorry," she replied sharply, "we haven't any workers by that name or description. We use mostly droids. Your information must be incorrect."

The blonde woman tossed her head disdainfully. "I doubt it. Each tracking number is unique, and Obi-Wan's was assigned to your services."

"I see." Marjhan settled a cold glare on the blonde, cocking her head slightly as her eyes narrowed. Her fingers twitched restlessly against the object she held, sliding it through her palms and caressing its silken softness for comfort. "Well, I don't deal with the outside workers directly, you understand. It may be that he is indeed here, or perhaps my husband has found him unsuitable for the work required and already sold him on without having the tracking numbers changed."

"That's impossible," the woman interjected, bouncing forward on the balls of her feet, her impatience clearly getting the better of her manners. "If Kenobi had been sold again his transmitter would have had to have been changed to another owner or removed to keep it from imploding and killing him."

"Delian." The tall man dropped a firm hand onto the blonde's shoulder to keep her in check but she shrugged it off – or tried to. Jinn's grip was firm and she finally subsided, glaring daggers at Marjhan as she reclined across from them.

"Again," Marjhan said with small smile, "I don't deal with the slaves directly. My husband is currently away on business, but if you'd like to return in a week and ask him yourself, you're quite welcome to do so." She dipped her chin haughtily, blatantly dismissing them. "Master Jinn, Miss Delian. Good day."

With a final glare, the blonde turned sharply on her heel and stalked out, and Marjhan's senses, heightened by panic she struggled to keep hidden from her visitors, just caught her saying,

" … no, we don't have to wait a week. We can go back and get his location pinpointed as long as his transmitter's still active."

And Marjhan realized that something would have to be done very quickly with Obi-Wan Kenobi.

OOOOOOOOOO

Delian continued her protest as they drove back to Mos Eisley but Qui-Gon barely heard her. He was missing something, he knew it. They were so close to finding Obi-Wan, if he could just wrap his mind around the missing piece.

Marjhan had been a mystery he'd been unable to sense anything from. She could have been telling the truth or lying; either way, she projected nothing. She was a frustratingly blank datapad.

Delian fussed all through the midday meal she herself had insisted they stop for, having had nothing to eat since the previous night. Next, they would return to the trader's office to have Obi-Wan's exact location tracked down, an option they'd originally turned down because of the exorbitant expense involved, and they hadn't foreseen a problem confronting Obi-Wan's identified owners. Now, they didn't know what else to do, and Qui-Gon was tired, detached, and not as in touch with the Force as he desired, and he knew it was corrupting his focus.

He continued to think about Marjhan as Delian prodded him toward the trader's office, fighting for the connection he was overlooking.

And then he knew:

It wasn't anything Marjhan had said.

It was the long, thin braid of ginger hair she'd been twisting through her fingers.

OOOOOOOOOO