Chapter 20 - A Chance
Obi-Wan knew he was being watched, and unbeknownst to them, he was watching them right back.
For instance, the boy who sat next to him in all of his classes was a plant.
How did Obi-Wan know this?
Well, simply, the teenager was not great about holding back his disdain.
The boy was Mandalorian, and he was most definitely a Death Watch member. His lip curled anytime he was addressed by his last name, and he rolled his eyes and sighed at the information he clearly already knew. Additionally, despite looking at Obi-Wan as if he was the scum of the galaxy, he was always at his side.
Of course, Obi-Wan never spoke to him, never spoke to anyone, save Bevwen. Not when the instructors berated him, not when he was tempted with false rewards of freedom, nor when Tor showed up to shake him down.
Obi-Wan was very deliberately choosing things to force Tor to allow him more and prolonged access.
When did he eat?
When Bevwen ate with him.
When did he talk?
When he was alone with Bevwen.
When did he do his homework?
When Bevwen did it with him.
Even as he manipulated them, he knew that he was tying his own noose.
It was difficult to both garner Bevwen's affections without and to keep himself caring in turn.
Obi-Wan did care for the Baar'ur, not like he cared for his buir and Tahl, but he felt like Clan, he felt wise elder that he was meant to respect.
Bevwen held beliefs that were old world.
Old world by Obi-Wan standards, which was a thousand years off. Short of being from one of the clans who refused to take off their helmets, he was traditional in the way he spoke of their leaders, of the call of the Goran, the Ka'ra, and his own call to healing.
What perhaps was a changing point, the point at which Obi-Wan realised that Bevwen was not only taking care of him as a buir would but he was working to get him and the Young out.
What was that point?
When Bevwen started talking openly about, Baar'ur Mij Gilamar, his brother. His brother, who was one of the True Mandalorians.
Mij seemed like a wonderful person, and as he was a part of Jango's aliit, Obi-Wan was inspired to like him.
And truthfully, every bit of himself and his brother made Obi-Wan like them better.
The problem was that the more he came to care about Bevwen, the greater the reality was that Tor might begin threatening the Baar'ur to keep Obi-Wan.
Sure, they already had Tahl at their mercy, but there were subtleties to the cruelties they could do to a conscious person.
Which brought him back to the sullen boy beside him, glowering a hole into the instructor going on about the superiorities of Mandalorian culture.
Propaganda at its finest and its most dull.
Having spent the last five years in a war with next to no resources, he wasn't particularly awed by Mandalore's battle prowess.
The fact that every war he had personally been involved in had been a civil war, made it worse.
Still, he wasn't quite as bored as the boy next to him.
Obi-Wan, at least, had to contend with knowing that a thousand years had passed without him and was picking up all that had passed in glimpses past the propaganda.
He still hadn't fully wrapped his head around the lost centuries.
Everyone he knew was dead and gone.
And his people?
The Jedi and Mandalorians?
They hadn't done well. As far as he could ascertain, the Jedi were a failing race, Force sensitives, in general, being hunted, sold and/or killed. The Republic hoarded them away and sent them out one by one into unsavable circumstances so that they died more often than not.
It's why these Mandalorians were so cavalier about hunting Jedi for sport.
A thousand years ago, every adult of a clan that killed a Jedi youngling would have been killed in turn.
While Mandalore? Well, what his buir had feared and tried to prevent had come true.
The instructor ended his lecture and the boy, Pre Saddler, as he was called, followed Obi-Wan just as he always did.
He never acknowledged the boy, but he was hyper aware of him.
Of the fact that Pre walked like a warrior and kept stalking Obi-Wan.
Doubtless, he was told to make friends.
Obi-Wan didn't make that easy.
Nothing was easy for him these days, sometimes, it was all he could do to keep back the feeling he was being smothered.
Like now, when he was pretty sure Pre was talking to him.
But Obi-Wan was already headed back to his room.
He hoped Bevwen wasn't there so he could just sleep.
He didn't think he could keep food down right now.
The lack of the Force wasn't just like losing a sense, it was like missing the blood in his veins.
It was draining, the dissonance was making him sick.
Or perhaps it was more than that. Perhaps Tor had taken the Ka'ra from him too.
As the Jedi were taught to be connected to each other, their crechemasters weaved the song of the Jedi into their hearts so neither distance nor death could separate them, so too was the Mand'alor the heart of their connection to the Ka'ra.
The song of the Force that resonated in their beskar, the song of the Ka'ra that was as much a part of them as the Jedi.
Obi-Wan's hands were shaking as his vision began to blur.
He knew not if he made it to the bed or not.
oOo
Bevwen rocked the too small ad in his arms, watching Obi-Wan's breathing fog the oxygen mask he had needed.
He'd been granted permission to bring the child to his own ship for treatment.
"Mij, it's like he keeps forgetting how to breathe. Like his body forgets."
His brother's unimpressed halo image glowered at him, "Take off the cuffs."
"I can't," Bevwen said. "They can only be removed by one of the Ka'ra touched, a Ka'ra touched who knows what they are doing."
Mij sighed, "Have you talked to him yet?"
Bevwen shook his head, "No, but I will when he wakes up."
"He's this weak because he's losing hope, Ori'Bev. Do not despair before we know if we win or lose this battle."
Bevwen kept his gaze down on the sleeping child, a teenager who didn't look like an eighteen year old ought to in this stage of his development. As much as the supplements and regular meals had helped, his stress and depression were increasing what his body needed to flourish while dampening his appetite.
"Why can't you meet my eyes, Bev?" his annoyingly insightful brother asked.
"Physical training starts soon."
"You think they'll hurt him?" Mij asked.
"I know they will, Mij. I've been poking around the facilities, it's… it's worse than what I let myself fear. I don't agree with any of this and the proper resources aren't even being used for the methods they are implimenting."
"Oh? You mean the program that forces outsiders to integrate into our society to become child soldiers doesn't have proper medical services? Gee, I wonder if that has anything to do with it going against our oaths as baar'ure?"
Bevwen sighed, "It will be worse for Obi-Wan."
"I doubt it," Mij said. "He has you."
Despite his brother's slight show of faith, Bevwen was not cheered. "Tor is furious that Obi-Wan isn't falling into line. The instructors are going to try and humiliate him."
Mij was silent for a long time. "How do you think that will go?"
"He's already a child soldier with warrior's fatigue, and he's already Mandalorian. He's even the sort of prideful that Tor's grandfather was."
"He's going to kill someone," Mij translated.
Bevwen sighed, "And Tor will be pleased for the training rings to become gladiator pits. Until–"
His vod'ika raised a brow.
"Until it's his own ad in the ring with him. Until Pre Vizsla is broken by the true heir of Tarre Vizsla, the Unifier."
Mij blinked, "What's your plan?"
"I'm going to tell him to survive, and to only maim his opponents."
Mij cursed then said with true feeling, "I hate Death Watch."
Bevwen hugged Obi-Wan a little closer and whispered the new truth of his heart, "As do I."
oOo
She was joyous, finally having tangible proof that her vod'ika was alive.
Master Fay had been the one to keep refreshing the status pod for Obi-Wan, luckily, she had only had to do so every hundred years or so. She had also been able to access the chamber from the lower levels that were cut off from the majority of the Temple.
Meaning she had been able to avoid the Order enlarge.
Not that she didn't love her brethren, but she wanted no business with the Republic Senate.
Of course, her joy was rather dimmed when she came out of hyperspace and the trance that allowed her to do hyperjumps that had less than specific directions.
It was a slave ship.
Something like fury that she had not felt in centuries coursed through her.
She had long ago accepted the evil in the galaxy and devoted her life to fighting against it.
But this was her vod'ika. Memories of the child who had tried so hard to be perfect for the warrior Elder respected by nearly everyone, even the other Masters who seemed to fear him, respected him.
As for the creche?
Well, there had been more than one jealous initiate who cried when Obi-Wan was taken away from the Temple.
Yet many more when he returned them broken.
Bond-illness was not unheard of when the bond between a Master and Padawan broke, but they had been far more than that and likewise, Obi-Wan's reaction had been far more extreme.
So connected in the Force they had been that the wounds that had killed his buir had been echoed in Obi-Wan's body.
Yet despite that almost killing him, Fay worried most about his mental health.
Tarre had been his son's world.
Thus it was with no small amount of vindictive pleasure and the sort of impatience that would have doubtless scandalised the current High Council that she latched her craft to the slavers and boarded without permission.
The Force rang with odd and contradicting emotions. On one hand was the dulled confusion and panicked longing that went hand and hand with spice processors. On the other hand, was relief mixed strangely with desperation.
When she entered the command room, nearly two dozen blasters were pointed at her, some steadier than others.
Her eyes scanned the faces, dirty, gaunt, and nearly all of them glassy eyed.
Freed slaves.
She searched being, settling on the young man that tasted of Obi-Wan in the Force.
The boy had dark matted hair and brown skin.
But, to state the obvious, she began with, "You are not Obi-Wan."
"Who are you?" he demanded. "How do you know Obi-Wan?"
His accent gave him away.
She switched to Mando'a, "He is my vod'ika."
The boy's expression scrunched, "Your delict is as bad as his. You sound archaic."
She smiled, "My apologies, I learned a thousand years ago. Where is Obi-Wan?"
"Why should I tell you?" he asked in Basic to calm the anxieties of those around them.
"Because Tarre Vizsla adopted me and my clan. Obi-Wan and I are the only ones to survive the centuries, I would not lose him now that he's finally woken from his coma."
"He was in a commo for a thousand years?" an elderly male twi'lek asked.
She nodded, "The Force and the Ka'ra are with him. Who are you, Runi'vod a ner vod'ika."
"Runi'vod?" the boy asked, motioning for everyone to lower their weapons. "What does that mean?"
"It means your Force identity is tied with his. Though, it is probably the Ka'ra."
"There is a difference?"
"Beskar is like kyber, but a different franquency, a different understanding of the world. The Creed of the Mand'ade, is in its own way like the Jedi Order, but different enough that it changes how the Force or Ka'ra relates to you."
The boy blinked his dark eyes at her, "Jango, Jango Fett."
"Well met. I am Jedi Master Fay," she said, bowing to him. Glancing around. "Now, I know a freed ship when I see one, what seems to be the problem now?"
Jango's shoulders slumped, "Engine troubles."
She tucked her hands in her sleeves, "Hmm… I'm not the worst mechanic, but I have a long transmission on my ship if have people to meet you to ensure the health and autonomy of these fine gentle-beings."
While she spoke, she allowed the Force to fill with reassurance and safety around her.
The freed beings finally relax in her presence and their current circumstances.
"Lek," Jango agreed. "I have someone to call."
oOo
Jaster hated that he had no more leads to finding Jango.
He also hated that there was a camp of stolen ade that they couldn't stage rescue for because Tor Vizsla was dar'manda enough to kill their own ade then risk them being taken back to their true homes.
It was in yet another meeting where they discussed what they might do if they could.
This meant when he received a com call on his personal channel, he answered it on the halo table.
The strength in his knees nearly left them, "Jango? Ner ad'ika."
Jango smiled, he looked tired, so very tired, but he was alive.
"Hello, Buir."
"Mar'e," he breathed.
At last.
"I think I'm in need of a rescue party," Jango said.
Jaster nodded, looking to Kal and Myles who immediately jumped to work as Jango sent over their coordinates.
"What happened?" Jaster demanded. "Montross was executed for his betrayal."
Jango sighed, "Well, I led a slave rebellion, we won, of course, but then the slavers busted their own ship, and then a Jetii saved us."
Jaster blinked, "Who?"
"Master Fay, apparently. She knows Mando'a but she's not really part of the Order so much as she is a Jetii."
"What does that mean?" he asked, his exhaustion hitting him now that he could breathe.
"You'll see once you get here. Mostly, everyone's okay. The slavers are dead, but there are going to be a lot of people with withdrawals."
"Yourself included?" Jaster asked.
Jango hesitated but relented, "Probably."
"You're going to be okay," he reassured, gesturing an acknowledgement to Kal when he motioned that they were ready to go.
Myles called, "We're a day cycle out."
"Can you make it a day, ad'ika?" Jaster asked.
Jango nodded, "Yes, Buir. We could last another week or more if needed."
Good news was almost shocking, "K'oyacyi, ner Jan'ika."
Jango smiled in return and repeated the phrase that meant hang in there as much as it meant, return to me alive.
Jaster forced himself to cut the connection so they could make the launch into hyperspace.
Kal knocked their shoulders together, "He's alive."
Jaster closed his eyes as he tried to internalise that yes, he had failed Jango.
But not irrevocably.
They still had tomorrow and a chance to try again.
oOo
AN: Thoughts, black-spotted eels, or feedback, pretty please?