Chapter 3: Azalus Bargon (Dangerous Deal)

By the time they make it to Ani's house, the wind has already picked up and is blowing things around pretty good. It is going to take Padmé and her handmaidens absolutely forever to get the sand and snarls out of her hair after this. Ani says that this is just the beginning, that it's going to get much worse and soon. Padmé is so glad that Ani offered them shelter; she would hate to be caught out in the open in this.

Ani's home is small, but cozy. He ushers them into the small kitchen and offers them each tiny cups of water to clear their mouths and throats of dust. Padmé almost refuses, realizing that water must be in short supply on a desert planet, especially for a slave, but Master Jinn catches her eye and silently bids her politely accept Ani's offering.

Ani flits about, getting their cups and cutting up something he calls pallie fruits. He takes a slice himself to encourage his guests to eat, but Padmé notices that he does not take any more. The fruit is bland, but refreshing. She wonders how much it must cost that the boy will offer it to guests but not eat any himself. She gestures for him to sit with them at the tiny table and hands him another piece, which he politely takes.

"Your parents aren't home, Ani?" Padmé worries that she hasn't yet seen him in the company of any adult, but as soon as the words are out of her mouth, she winces. What if he doesn't have parents? She's just stepped in it, like when she asked him if he was a slave.

Ani, however, just cheerfully shakes his head. "Not right now. Ben's probably sheltering in place from the sandstorm. Maybe you'll meet him after it dies down." Padmé recalls Ani mentioning Ben before as having been won with him in a bet. So Ani's father is also a slave. She notices that Ani only mentions a father. She wonders what happened to his mother, but this time knows better than to ask.

"I do hope so. We'd like to thank him for his hospitality," Master Jinn says.

"Has anyone ever seen a podrace?" Padmé is used to Ani's abrupt topic changes by now, so she takes this one in stride.

"They have podracing on Malastare," Qui-Gon replies. "Very fast, very dangerous."

"I'm the only human who can do it." Padmé doesn't know what a podrace is, but based on Master Jinn's description, she doesn't think she would want little Ani anywhere near one.

"You must have Jedi reflexes if you race pods," Qui-Gon says mildly. Ani bites his lip. It looks like he desperately wants to say something but is holding himself back. Padmé narrows her eyes at the Jedi Master. What is he playing at?

Before Anakin can work up the nerve to say anything, they all hear the pneumatic hiss of the door opening and the sound of the storm outside grows louder. Ani's face breaks into a huge grin.

"Ben!" he cries, and is up out of his seat and through the kitchen door almost before Padmé can blink.

All Padmé has to do is lean back slightly in her chair to have an unimpeded view of the tiny vestibule by the front door. She watches as Ani slams into the newcomer, wrapping his arms tightly around his waist. The man drops the bag he's carrying to return the hug.

"I'm so glad you're okay," she barely hears Ani whisper. His father drops a kiss on the top of his head.

Padmé looks away then, giving the two their privacy, and has to swipe a hand quickly under her eyes. Qui-Gon gives her a knowing look.

"Hey guys, this is Ben! Ben, these are my friends, Padmé, Artoo, and Qui-Gon." Padmé, composed once more, looks over to see Anakin dragging the new arrival by the hand into the kitchen. Ben is quite clearly startled to see two random strangers and a droid gathered around his tiny kitchen table, but he recovers well.

"Oh. How kind of you to introduce us, Anakin. And I'm so glad you decided to let me know well in advance that we would be having guests," he says, ruffling the boy's hair. Padmé stifles a giggle at the man's put-upon sarcasm. Though she has known Ani for only a few hours, she is quite ready to believe that he's a handful.

Padmé looks closer at the man whose roof she is sheltering under. He's much younger than she expected him to be, probably only in his twenties. He must have had Ani quite young. He has short, reddish-gold hair and kind blue eyes. That must be where Ani comes by that feature. There's something familiar about the man as well, like she's seen him before somewhere…

"Ah, the connection becomes clear," Master Jinn says. "No wonder Anakin was so eager to see the games, when his father was the one in the arena."

Padmé's eyes go wide in realization. Ben is Hell Hunter! They just watched him fight and win in the arena! Her eyes rake over him again, finding the evidence that Master Jinn spotted right away: the lean build, the sharp gaze, the injuries he's trying to hide. Even the bag that he dropped behind him has fallen open to reveal part of the armor he had worn in the arena.

Ben frowns. "Anakin. Were you in the arena today?"

Anakin sports the cringe of a little boy who knows he's in trouble. "Nnnnot really."

Ben raises an eyebrow. "'Not really'? How can you be 'not really' in the arena? Did you fly overhead? Astrally project yourself inside? Spit through the door?"

"Well, I wasn't there officially."

"By which I take it you mean that you were there illegally because you sneaked in."

"That's not what I said!" His father just levels him with a look and waits him out. "Okay, yes, I was there. But I was with Mister Qui-Gon the whole time, I promise!"

Ben glances over at Master Jinn and then looks back at Ani, catching his chin with a finger and gently tilting the boy's face up to meet his eyes. "Your friend does not have the authority to accompany you in the arena," he says firmly, but not ungently. "If you go, you go with Watto."

"Watto never wants to bring me!"

"Then you don't go at all. And frankly, I think that's for the best, Anakin. The games are not appropriate for young ones." Ben looks again at Qui-Gon, who is calm and serene as ever. "They're not appropriate for anyone, really."

"I—I just wanted to make sure you were okay," Anakin says, so softly that Padmé almost doesn't catch it.

Ben looks back down at Ani. "I know," he says, running a hand through Ani's hair. "We'll talk about it later. Now, have you offered your guests something to drink?"

Pretty soon, Ben has recruited Ani into whipping up a light midday meal for all of them. Padmé, feeling guilty that she's eating their food when they have so little, offers to help, and Ben, obviously sensing that she needs to feel useful, lets her set the tiny table. Qui-Gon doesn't ask at all, simply picks up a knife and cuts up pallies as Ani cleans them.

The food is simple, consisting of a type of flatbread dipped in fermented bantha milk that is lightly spiced, along with the pallies and more bantha milk to drink. Padmé notices that Ben serves her and Ani first with slightly larger portions than himself and Qui-Gon. She also notices that he is eating with his left hand, though he fought with his right. He is somewhat favoring his right side, presumably because he is injured. He is seated on an overturned bucket because there are only three mismatched chairs, so he has to stretch up farther to reach the table. She notices him wincing slightly every time he brings up his right hand. She wonders if he's had adequate medical treatment, but he rebuffs Master Jinn when he attempts to ask.

On the way here, before the wind became too strong for conversation, Anakin had hardly drawn breath as he talked non-stop about the fight. Evidently, it was the most "wizard" thing he had ever seen, and Padmé certainly has to agree with the sentiment, if not the choice of words. She has trained with a blaster and in self-defense, but that fight was something else entirely. The practice of making sport of killing is barbaric, but that's not how she would describe Ben's fight with the acklay. It held an atavistic fascination for her to see a man sparsely armed and armored take on a monster with all its natural weapons—and win. The fight was raw and primal, and she felt she could almost understand the appeal such fighters held. Not that she finds Ben in any way appealing, no, of course not. Just, she could possibly see why maybe he would be. Appealing. As a master of his sport, that is.

Anyway, Ani seems to sense that Ben doesn't want to talk about the fight, so he fills the conversation by rambling about his various mechanical projects. It's a bit out of Padmé's depth, though Master Jinn seems to be following it all right. Or maybe he's just using his diplomatic skills to pretend that he knows what Ani is talking about when he says sensor array, repulsor engines, omnidirectional solenoids. Padmé honestly doesn't know; she's started to space out of the conversation, until she hears—

"All slaves have a transmitter inside their body somewhere, to find us if we run. Or to blow us up if they don't want to bother with catching us. I've been working on a scanner to locate mine."

Padmé's mouth drops open. What did she just hear? That—that's sick!

Ben heaves a long-suffering sigh, running his hands over his face. "Anakin, you can't just announce to anyone that you're building a scanner to find your transmitter."

Ani's face goes white with shocking swiftness, and his eyes dart between her and Qui-Gon. "I—I—"

"Neither of us will say anything about it to anyone, my young friend. You have my word," Qui-Gon Jinn says firmly, as he pats Ani's trembling hand.

Padmé feels like a pit has opened up in her stomach. "Of course not. No one will hear it from us." Padmé wishes she could make her voice stronger, more reassuring, like Master Jinn's, but she's still shaken from Anakin's revelation.

Ani looks up at his father. "I'm sorry," he whispers.

Ben smiles weakly at him and lays a comforting hand on his shoulder. "It's all right. I think your new friends are trustworthy. But please, Anakin, watch what you say when you're in mixed company, all right?" Ani nods his agreement and leans into his father's palm, which rubs soothingly up and down his back a few times.

"I can't believe there's still slavery in the galaxy," Padmé manages, still a bit shell-shocked. "The Republic's anti-slavery laws—"

"The Republic doesn't exist out here," Ben says. "This is Hutt Space. We have to survive however we can."

Anakin's nose is wrinkled up in thought as he looks at Master Jinn. "You're a Jedi Knight, aren't you?" he says, what might be awe in his serious tone.

"What makes you think that?" Qui-Gon asks, as though he gets asked this question by curious children every day.

"I saw your lightsaber. Jedi carry that kind of weapon."

"Perhaps I killed a Jedi and took it from him." Qui-Gon, really? Why is he playing coy?

Ani looks him right in the eye. "So did you?"

Padmé has to hand it to him, the kid is bold. Master Jinn obviously thinks the same, as there is a pause before he answers, "No, I didn't."

Anakin nods, like he was confirming what he knew all along. "I had a dream I was a Jedi. I came back here and freed all the slaves. Are you here to free the slaves?"

"No, I'm afraid not."

Ani sags, suspicions seemingly confirmed. "Ben says the Jedi have lots of rules, and that their rules sometimes stop them from helping people. And there are a lot of people in the galaxy, but only a few Jedi, and they can't help everyone because there aren't enough of them, so they have to pick the places where they can do the most good."

Qui-Gon looks at Ben, who doesn't meet his eyes. "Your father is well-informed."

"If you're not here to free slaves, why are you here?"

Qui-Gon leans forward. "I can see there's no fooling you, Anakin. We're on our way to Coruscant, the central system of the Republic, on a very important mission. The fate of an entire system rests on our ability to get to our destination as quickly as possible."

"How did you end up out here in the Outer Rim?" Ben asks.

"Our ship was damaged, and we're stranded here until we can acquire the parts to repair it," Padmé replies.

"We're much better off now than we were when we landed," Qui-Gon says. "And that's thanks to the two of you." Ben raises a questioning eyebrow at him. "Ani told us that you were a sure bet to win."

Ben closes his eyes for a long moment, like he's trying to collect himself. "Ani told you to bet on me to win my fight, and you, what, bet everything?" His voice sounds strained.

"Well, not everything. But we certainly bet all our Republic credits. I think the gambling office is the only place in town that would take them."

Ben lets out a breath. "You're not wrong." He levels a sharp look at Anakin. "You and I obviously need to have another talk about appropriate conversation topics with strangers."

Ani scowls. "You mean a lecture."

Ben slumps in his seat, then winces when it puts pressure on his injuries. "Whatever it takes until you actually listen to me, Anakin. You have been incredibly reckless today."

"Your father is right," Master Jinn says. "If I were an unscrupulous being and was in any way upset by the outcome of the bet you advised me on, there's no telling what I'd do, to you or to Ben."

Ani appears to be considering this. "You're not bad though. I can tell."

"It can be quite difficult to discern a person's true intentions, even with instincts as good as yours, Ani." Then Qui-Gon smiles. "But in this case, you were right—about my character and about the outcome of the match, so I think you deserve a commission."

"What, really?" Ani's face lights up.

Ben groans. "I wish you wouldn't encourage him," he says, but he's grinning, just a little. He stretches gingerly, wincing. "So, does that mean you won enough money to get what you need?"

"Unfortunately, no," Qui-Gon replied. "The exchange rate I got for our credits was not even close to what they were worth. We have maybe half of what we need now."

"These junk dealers must have a weakness of some kind," Padmé muses.

"Gambling," Ben says immediately. "Everything here revolves around betting on the arena, the pits, sabacc, anything. And of course the podraces."

"Gambling. Greed can be a powerful ally," Master Jinn says. "Playing sabacc for high enough stakes to get the money we need is likely to draw attention, though." He quirks an eyebrow at Ben. "There is pit fighting here too?"

"Forget about it," Ben says. "Nothing good can come out of the pits. You'll regret you ever set foot in there, trust me. You'd be better off blowing all your money betting on pods."

"I built a racer. It's the fastest ever!" Ani blurts out, like he's been holding it in and desperately wants the others to know. "There's a big race tomorrow on Boonta Eve. You could enter my pod."

"Anakin, Watto won't let you." Ben's face is tense.

"Watto doesn't know I've built it!" The boy turns to Qui-Gon, a light in his eyes. "You could make him think it was yours and get him to let me pilot it for you." Ben shakes his head, grimacing. Anakin turns to him, putting a small hand on his arm. "I know you don't like it when I race because I could get hurt. I don't like it when you fight either. But I can help them! The prize money would more than pay for the parts they need."

Ben's face is stricken as he reaches for his son's hand. "Anakin…"

"I'm sure Qui-Gon doesn't want to put your son in danger," Padmé says, her heart going out to the man, who is only trying his best to protect his child in a dangerous world. "We'll find some other way."

Ben takes a deep breath, wincing as his ribcage expands, then lets it out slowly. "No. There is no other way. I may not like it, but he can help you." He looks from her to Qui-Gon, then returns his gaze to Ani as he says, "He was meant to help you."

Obi-Wan used to think that he was meant for bigger things. He was supposed to become a Jedi Knight and do his part to sway the universe to the light. He was meant to help people in need.

How wrong he was.

He hadn't seen his reflection in months, but he knew that he was in a pitiable state. His whole body still ached from the beating the spice smugglers gave him when they caught him trying to run. He wasn't sure how long it had been since he'd last eaten, but he'd had to resort to rolling his waistband to keep his trousers up. His clothes were ragged and stained, his hair tangled and matted, and the less said about his smell the better.

He'd been a slave in a deepsea mine and on a spice freighter. Neither position could boast a long life expectancy, but now in addition to a very short, painful life, he could also expect a brutal death. Pit fighters were the lowest of the low, even among slaves.

Obi-Wan eyed his opponent, an adult male Twi'lek with very visible scars on his chest and back. He laughed when he saw Obi-Wan, flashing teeth filed to sharp points. Obi-Wan supposed that a battered, scrawny, half-grown human boy probably didn't seem that threatening to him.

In the pits, there was no such thing as fair play. The promoters didn't care if he was fighting someone outside his weight class, or that he was a child. Any dirty move or trick was fair game. Fights lasted until one of the combatants was down and unable to get up, which meant that they frequently went to the death.

This was his punishment for trying to run. The smugglers wanted to execute him, but why just toss him out the airlock when they could get money and entertainment out of his death? Even if he somehow managed to live through this fight, it wouldn't matter. His owners would never let a runaway back on their ship. Unruly slaves were bad for business.

Still, he couldn't just lay down his vibroblade and wait for his adversary to kill him. He'd come this far, through everything, and he just didn't have it in him. He didn't want to fight this person, but he would, even if it would make no difference to his fate in the end.

The bell rang to signal the start of the match. Obi-Wan immediately focused on the fight, discarding the pain of his injuries and the hollow ache of his stomach to the Force. He and his opponent circled each other, both looking for weaknesses. The Twi'lek, though, clearly thought he didn't have to look very hard, as he almost immediately went on the attack, bringing his vibroblade to bear in a heavy downward stroke, making good use of his superior size and strength. Obi-Wan deflected and slipped away from the blade, dancing around the other and searching for an opening.

This was the strategy that he had developed over the last year and a half: defend, deflect, evade, endure. Survive, until he could find an opening to get in or get out. At fourteen, he didn't have size, strength or experience on his side. Only a quick mind, quick feet, and the Force. He was just glad that he had been off the spice freighter long enough to come down from the near-constant spice contact high—enough to coherently use the Force to speed his movements a little and sustain his bruised body's endurance.

The Twi'lek tagged his non-dominant arm, but Obi-Wan barely felt it, too busy using the opening created by his opponent's lunge to slash at his leg. Both came away bleeding, but the Twi'lek was also limping.

The fight continued on like this for several minutes. Obi-Wan felt every strike his stronger adversary landed reverberate through his whole body even doing his best to deflect the momentum of the blows. But he was giving as good as he was getting. His foe was bleeding from several wounds, and he was definitely slowing down.

The Twi'lek must have noticed this too, for he suddenly batted Obi-Wan's blade away and charged the boy with arms open in a final attempt to overpower him.

Obi-Wan, having seen the attack coming, managed to not allow the Twi'lek to get his arms around him, but he was still borne to the ground. The hard landing on his back knocked the wind out of him, but the boy didn't pause to breathe. He grabbed the other's wrist, twisting in an attempt to keep his opponent's vibroblade away from him, and brought his blade in low, biting deep into his foe's side, sinking between the ribs.

Though he was down and seriously injured, the Twi'lek did not surrender. Perhaps he thought he could still win, stay conscious long enough to outlast a boy half his size. Obi-Wan felt a huge hand wrap around his throat, stopping his air. He resisted the instinct to let go of his weapon or his adversary's weapon to claw at the fingers that were strangling him. Black spots rose in his vision as pulled his blade from the Twi'lek's side, so he relied on the Force more than his eyes to drive the blade home one more time.

He felt warm wetness splatter across his face, and he instinctively closed his eyes. The hand released his neck as the Twi'lek's weight disappeared from above him, and Obi-Wan sucked in a deep breath. He marshalled his heavy limbs to move, to get up and meet the next attack, and he rolled up onto his knees, trying to see through the blackness and the blood in his eyes—

The Twi'lek lay on the ground, hands clasped over his own neck, trying to stem the blood pouring from a slit throat. He gurgled wetly, choking on his own life. He wasn't getting up.

The noise from the crowd that Obi-Wan had been filtering out of his awareness till now crashed over him. The boy was suddenly cognizant that his whole body was shaking. He was sure that he would throw up if his stomach weren't empty.

A promoter grabbed his arm and yanked him to his feet, Obi-Wan still too stunned to resist the rough treatment. As he was herded back to a holding area, he turned his head for one last look at the body dying on the ground. He'd never killed another person before. Well, that wasn't quite true. He'd certainly put paid to quite a number of Togorian pirates when he shot down their attacking warships en route to Bandomeer, those many months ago. But he'd never killed someone like this before, facing them, with his own hands.

His mouth tasted salty and metallic. He didn't know if it was his own blood on his tongue or the person's he just killed.

"Surprising, boy. Good news: you've just earned yourself another fight." The promoter laughed as he shoved Obi-Wan onto a bench. The boy sagged where he sat. He didn't know if he could go another round, not after how the last one went.

Though all he wanted to do was curl up on the bench and go to sleep, Obi-Wan set to cleaning himself up instead. He bound his wounds with strips torn from his ragged tunic and wiped his face as best he could. Then he meditated, giving as much of his pain and fatigue as he could to the Force.

He didn't know afterwards how he got through the second fight. To be honest, he wasn't even sure if he won or lost, only that both he and his opponent were still alive at the end of it this time. He no longer felt the shock of killing the Twi'lek; it was buried under exhaustion and injury.

And still, wasn't it all for nothing? The two fights didn't end him, but he was going to die tonight anyway. Though perhaps it was for the best that he rejoin the Force now. He was sure that it would be kinder than whatever was left for him in this life. He had only wanted to help people. He had wanted to spend his life serving others as a Jedi Knight. But he had failed. He had failed the Jedi when he washed out, he had failed to help Bandomeer when he was kidnapped, and he had failed to even help himself when he was sold. He hadn't helped anyone, and now he had killed someone—not to protect others by fighting for what was right, but for nothing more than entertainment, for sport. He had fallen so low in so short a time, just slipping further and further down as he reached out in vain to try to catch himself, until he'd now hit the bottom of the slag heap. So what was his life worth in the end, that he should continue to cling to it?

The thought made his eyes burn, but he was too weary to weep.

Obi-Wan was so tired and miserable when the night was finally finished that he could hardly think, but when he realized his owner was talking about him, he forced himself to concentrate.

"—thought we'd just take him out back and shoot him. We can't stay for the fights tomorrow, we gotta get going tonight."

"Why shoot him?" the man talking to his owner was asking. "You don't have to enter him tomorrow, but there are other ports that have pits. He's a scrapper. With a little training, he could—"

"I ain't got time for training some kid, and besides, no way am I letting a runner back on my ship. He made me a little money tonight, so I'm not completely out the credits that losing him's gonna cost me. If it's a wash, that's good enough for me, and good riddance to this scum."

"I see. Well, would you consider selling him instead of shooting him?"

"Who's gonna buy him? You?"

"I'm thinking about it."

"Really? You want a runner? Well, it's your ass, man."

Obi-Wan listened detachedly as they haggled over his price. He was no expert, but he thought his buyer was getting quite a good deal for him on account of Obi-Wan being a runaway. The end of it was that the smugglers left with their losses recouped, the promoter acquired some new property at a rock-bottom price, and Obi-Wan got to live another day. The boy distantly wondered if this could be considered a win-win scenario. Maybe. Anyway, it was always good to try to look on the bright side, right?

Obi-Wan jumped when his new owner clapped him on the shoulder, jolting him from his disjointed, internal ramblings.

"Welcome to the pits, kid," the man said as he steered Obi-Wan to the exit. "You'll get used to the stench."

Obi-Wan couldn't wait.

And then Eric Idle pops out and starts whistling. XD

The pits in this chapter are not the same as the arena in the last chapter. If you've seen the Spartacus TV series, you'll have an idea of the difference. If not, I'll try to explain a bit more in the next chapter.