Chapter 4

Master Windu and Master Vos had managed to catch up with them in record time. Few words were exchanged upon their arrival, all of them somehow caught in a kind of trance.

He could not remember ever having seen his Master so silent and at the same time so skittish. Not that Anakin could blame him.

They found themselves in one of the small meeting rooms and it was as if the air was almost burning with tension. Together, they methodically cleared the center of the room and sat down on the cold metal floor - Quinlan in the center, Mace, Ahsoka and he around him.

"Do you have it?" the Kiffar asked quietly, holding out his hand.

Anakin nodded and pulled out the piece of cloth he had found on Kadavo. It still reeked of fear and pain. "Here," he finally said, handing over the piece. Master Vos took it with trepidation, almost like he was handling a bomb.

The Jedi Master's expression was ashen as he looked at it in his palm. "Are you sure you all want to stay?" he finally murmured detachedly, "... I can't control what we are about to witness."

Psychometry was a rare skill - and both a curse and a blessing. It let you see out of another person's eyes, feel what they felt. Thoughts, emotions - everything.

Anakin let his eyes wander to his Padawan. "Ahsoka, I think you'd better go."

She looked up, her eyes flashing. "What? But master..."

Shaking his head, he held her gaze. "Please, Ahsoka...," he said calmly, "You really don't need to see this part. "

He watched her jaw muscles work, defiance reflected in her eyes.

Ahsoka is headstrong. But she still is a child. And even if I can save her from only a fraction of the cruelty, I will.

"Go," he said again, this time more gently, "Get some rest, if you can."

His padawan still continued to look at him, but it seemed that she started to understand. Slowly, she finally stood up.

"Okay," she breathed silently, before tipping her head shortly and leaving the room.

Anakin waited until the door closed behind her before turning to the other Jedi present. "Are we ready to begin?"

He would be lying if he said he wasn't tense. Force, he was afraid. Even Master Windu seemed to share his state of mind, his face unnaturally forced neutral.

"I will start then," Master Vos said, adjusting his position one last time, "...brace yourselves."

Clenching his teeth, Anakin closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

And then he was pulled in.

His legs dragged over the rough ground, dirt and small stones getting caught in his already existing wounds. He was too weak to even try to pull his feet under him. Not that the guards would even let him.

His right leg still throbbed painfully from when one of the Zygerrians had just shattered it months ago without mercy - just because he had stumbled while pushing one of the carts. It had been a mere act of dominance and arbitrariness, emphacising that he was nothing.

It never healed right. He would never be able to walk sensibly again.

But that did not matter. There was no escape for him now.

Anakin's heart lurched.

The guards hoisted him into a small room whose purpose he could already guess. For a moment his mind screamed at him to fight back - but then there was the overwhelming resignation again. The Force was taken from him long ago, the unforgiving collar an unforgettable reminder. And the mask - it never stopped whispering. It twisted his thoughts, took his beautiful memories he desperately had clung to and twisted them. Made him drown in pain. Made focusing impossible.

Obi-Wan had been almost grateful when the Zygerrians had put the Force-suppressing collar on him. Taking the Force - and the Dark Side's taunting - away. The mask still didn't keep its silence.

He had tried to rip it off once. They had broken his fingers instead.

Keeper Agruss hovered in the corner of the room, a gleeful expression on his face as he took in his pitiful state. "Kenobi," he drawled inching closer, "I heard you need another lesson."

Obi-Wan fixed him with blood-shot eyes. "Are you going to get your own hands dirty for a change today?" he rasped, the material of the mask catching on his skin.

Agruss laughed coldly. "I don't think you want me to," he got off his throne and strode over to him, roughly taking hold of his head, "I am not known to be gentle."

Glaring, Obi-Wan fixed the man with sharp eyes. The Keeper's mouth twisted into a snarl and not a moment later a fist collided painfully with his jaw. He would have fallen if the other guards weren't still holding him.

"Make sure he learns his place," Agruss hissed angrily, wiping his fist and climbing back onto his throne.

Immediately, another guard appeared in his field of vision, holding something in his hand. Obi-Wan's eyes widened as he realized what the man was about to do. He began to struggle and tried to pull his head away, but he had no chance.

Desperately he tried to pull his head away, but a second guard came to the rescue and rolled his mask up a little and forcibly opened his jaw, almost making Obi-Wan feel like it was going to break.

"No, please...," he continued during his stuggle, but his protest was silenced as the gag was shoved into his mouth and locked behind his head. It had been part of the mask all along. She had only removed it when she had felt like feeding him. If you could really call it food what she had forced into him.

The Zygerrians, on the other hand, had found a cruel pleasure in hearing him scream. Since the mask had always covered his whole head, he had only been able to eat when they allowed it, momentarily freeing him from this thing.

The mask was again pulled over his head and closed with his collar.

"If you're lucky, your new owner will remember to remove it once in a while," the keeper grinned sardonically, "If not - well maybe see it as a mercy that you're finally meet your end."

A spurt of panic surged through him. New owner?

The slave driver seemed to have caught his panic and laughed again. "You heard right, you've been sold," he drawled, "Your new master expects your arrival in three days."

Behind Obi-Wan the door opened and he heard something obviously heavy and metal being brought in and set down rudely on the floor. But he couldn't turn from his position to see what it was.

Agruss moved his throne closer to him. "Your transport will actually only take a couple of hours," he grinned, "But since we don't like you having so much contact with the newcomers - well, we'll just pack you up already."

He signaled the guards and abruptly they lifted him up, letting him dangle in the air between them. Suddenly they heaved him backward and Obi-Wan threw his head back, craning his neck to see what their intention was.

He spotted a small durasteel box.

No. No. Nonono.

With renewed vigor he tried to rip himself free. This time he did manage to loosen the guard's grip and tumbled to the floor. He grunted as he slammed painfully to the floor, but shoved the pain down.

There were hands trying to grab him and Obi-Wan kicked out wildly, trying to hit anything. It was futile and his pitiful struggling just added insult to injury. They pressed him to the ground, ripping his clothes further and unceremoniously clasping binders around his wrists and ankles. Like a piece of meat ready for loading, they lifted him again by his arms and feet, only to shove him into the waiting crate.

Obi-Wan screamed and yelled into his gag, pure terror keeping hold of him.

Anakin bit his cheeks, as he wanted to get sick. He hated seeing his master like this. Obi-Wan never showed that he was afraid. Except when it came to dark and tight spaces. A trauma he had never overcome.

They crammed him into the too small box, forcing his limbs to bend at odd angles. Through the eye slits of the mask he saw how a guard lifted the heavy lid that was to finally lock him up. Almost painfully slow they slid the lid into place - and then he was sealed into darkness. There was a tiny hole somewhere at the side of the box, apparently his poor excuse for an air supply. The light that fell through it was mocking him.

"Seal it," he heard the muffled voice of Agruss, and a moment later he heard the hiss of the device, followed by unspeakable heat.

Obi-Wan tried to flinch away as the hot metal burned into his flesh, but there was nowhere to go. Wailing he shifted in his confinement, trying to escape the agony.

When they finally finished, someone knocked on the lid of his prison. "Hope you're comfortable in there," came the gleeful voice of the Zygerrian, "Might take a while."

"Where should we put him, boss?" asked one of the guards.

A grunt was heard. "Just put him in the warehouse with the other stuff that's supposed to go to Kessel."

Anakin was abruptly jerked back to reality and instantly began to dry heave. "Those monsters," he forced out, trying to get his body back under control.

The other two seemed to feel the same way, but it seemed that Master Windu was the most collected of all. The Korun rubbed his face with his hand, looking visibly more pale than usual. "Kessel," he finally murmured, barely able to hide the tremor in his voice, "at least we know where to look for him."

Quinlan, still sitting in the center of the room, said nothing and merely let the piece of cloth slip from his hand, staring ahead. Anakin didn't know the man very well, but even he knew that the Kiffar was usually difficult to shake.

Master Windu slowly stood up and walked over to the other Jedi. "Quinlan?" he asked gently as he squatted down and placed a hand on his friend's shoulder, "...everything alright?"

The Jedi snapped out of his trance. "Yes...," he choked out, shaking his head, "I... I think I need a moment to myself."

Anakin just stared, not really knowing what to do. Unsteadily, Master Vos stood up and Mace caught his arm as he almost collapsed again. "Maybe you should..."

"No," Quinlan interrupted him, finally regaining his balance so that he was standing on his own feet again, "I'll be fine, Mace. So if you don't need me here anymore..."

"Go," Anakin's Master placated him, "I think Anakin and I will be fine."

Quinlan just nodded wearily and finally pushed his way out of the room, exhausted, leaving Anakin and Mace behind.

"Will he be alright on his own?" asked Anakin finally quietly.

Mace was silent for a moment before turning to face him. "I hope so," he murmured, his voice heavy.

It honestly wasn't the answer he had expected.

Anakin frowned. "What is on your mind, Master?"

The other sighed and turned his gaze to the piece of cloth lying on the floor. "I don't know, Anakin... Thinking is hard right now."

He nodded stiffly, swallowing hard. "... Do you think there would have been a chance we could have found him right after Jabiim?"

His master didn't meet his eyes. "The battle was chaotic. Whoever took him... knew what they were doing," his hands turned into fists, "Don't blame yourself."

"What I don't understand...," Anakin paused, mulling over his thoughts, "...is that if it was the Separatists who captured Obi-Wan, why didn't they demand a ransom? ... they took him to sell him as a slave?"

"It seemed personal," answered the Korun, "That mask… I have only seen something like that once." He stopped himself abruptly, looking sick.

"Master?", Anakin asked confused, heart hammering in his throat, "What aren't you telling me?"

"It's a sith torture mask," answered Mace blankly, "The Sith used them to break the Jedi. The Dark side is deeply embedded into this…," he paused, a flash of anger surging through the Force, "… this thing, making its wearer slowly lose his mind."

Anakin fought for control.

"You're telling me that Obi-Wan has been probably stuck in this thing for years?", he seethed, his eyes flashing darkly.

Mace said nothing, but he didn't need to.

"When I find out who did this to him...," Anakin choked on his own words as anger threatened to overwhelm him. With a cry he punched the nearest wall with his prosthetic, denting the metal plating.

"What's more important is that we find him first," Master Windu quietly interjected, seemingly undeterred by his student's outburst.

The dent in the wall seemed to mock him. "If he's still alive...," he murmured defeatedly, anger suddenly gone and replaced by sorrow.

"Anakin...," said his master gently, "you know I'm on your side."

"Yes," he closed his eyes, "Of course. Sorry, master."

The Jedi Master stepped over to him and put a hand on his shoulder. "How about you get some rest?" he suggested, "I'll tell the crew to set course for Kessel and we'll plan once we've all sorted our thoughts a bit."

As if that would help anything.

"Okay," he breathed instead, "But I don't think I can sleep."

"I don't expect you to...just...try."

Anakin swallowed thickly and nodded, finally dislodging his master's hand from his shoulder. With heavy steps he moved toward the door, momentarily stopping there.

He stared toward the glare of the corridor. "You shouldn't blame yourself either," he whispered before forcing himself to move on.

Every slave knew the stories about Kessel. The spice mines. They were called "The terminal station". No one ever returned from there.

Anakins stomach churned. "I'm coming for you, master," he muttered resolutely to himself.