7. Patient Violence
Between the Devaron System and the Hollastin System, they were forced to make several stops, twice to refuel, and once to exchange currencies and restock on supplies, including the purchasing of new attire. According to his master, their standard Jedi disguise-ponchos would not be enough to traverse Hutt Space indefinitely, and so, they had switched out their Jedi robes for grimy smuggler garb, complete with blasters tucked into their holsters, lightsabers hidden under the flaps of their jackets. Fortunately, Obi-Wan's padawan braid was small enough to tuck into his jacket collar, keeping it safely out of sight.
"Stay close," Master Skywalker warned him as they disembarked. Their docking slip was one of thousands, the spaceport congested with millions of ships flying in and out across the expanse of shipyards, landing pads, and sprawling maintenance facilities. The air was shadowed, polluted with industrial smog and aircraft exhaust, the nauseous stench of starship fuel and engine oil coating the back of his throat with every inhale.
They paused long enough to pay one of the attendants the initial docking fee, before boarding a shuttle bus that would transport them into the city. Obi-Wan stuck close to his master's side, not because he had been instructed to do so, but because the undercurrent of despair permeating the surface of Hollastin was a physical, sickening feeling in his gut. Standing shuttle passengers crowded around them, some more intimidating than others, but all equally foul-smelling and armed to the teeth, a few of their faces so anamorphically alien, Obi-Wan didn't think he could even begin to identify their species. All the same, their thoughts pressed in from all sides, a putrid web of viscous greed, deception, and bloodlust.
"Obi-Wan," Master Skywalker murmured, slipping an arm around his back, leather-gloved fingers digging firmly against the curve of his shoulder, "Breathe."
Obi-Wan gasped small, mangled breaths as he struggled to push every oppressive feeling that had begun to weigh his chest down into the awaiting arms of the Force. Gradually, he centered himself, until the peace of Light curled snugly in the space between his heart and lungs.
"Be mindful, Obi-Wan," his master instructed quietly. "We're not on Devaron anymore. This is not the kind of place where you can let your guard down."
"Yes, Master."
Abruptly, Master Skywalker squeezed his shoulder in warning, but it was too late. A burly, Pantoran man with patchy blue skin and jagged, golden facial tattoos across his cheeks had already turned, eyeing them with casual contempt. He made the briefest eye-contact with Obi-Wan, murky, yellow irises swimming with derision.
And then, he tilted his head in Master Skywalker's direction, a single eyebrow arching in ridicule. "You let your slave carry a blaster?"
The change was instant, Master Skywalker's ire a whipping bombardment in the Force that promised gruesome violence. His expression twisted with murderous intent as he glowered down at the Pantoran man, lips curling back as he snarled, "He is not a slave."
Obi-Wan held himself stiffly, all eyes across the shuttle falling upon them. Though none here were Force-sensitive, every single one of their instincts screamed danger, and consequently, all hands hovered readily over an assortment of blasters and vibroblades. But, despite the sudden wariness of the Pantoran man, there was still a trace of disbelief coloring his emotions as his narrowed eyes flickered between Obi-Wan and his master.
All too aware that Master Skywalker would follow through on his unspoken promise of bloodshed if the Pantoran man continued to needle him, Obi-Wan found himself saying, "I can make use of it too." His hand drifted to the grip of his holstered blaster in a deliberate gesture. "Would you care for a demonstration?"
Obi-Wan met the apoplectic expression of the Pantoran man evenly, eyes flinty and jaw lifted in a challenging tilt.
As expected, Obi-Wan's reckless defiance forced Master Skywalker to take control of the situation. He reined in his thrashing anger with a sharp tug, drawing it close until it simmered just below the surface; quiet, but threatening to explode without a moment's hesitation.
"That won't be necessary, Obi-Wan," Master Skywalker decided, glaring pointedly at the Pantoran man. "Isn't that right?"
The Pantoran man scoffed in disbelief. "Like hell it isn't―"
The old shuttle bus jolted to an abrupt halt beneath them, hovering along a wide street outside the bustling customs office flanking the entry gateway of Hollastin's spaceport.
"Our stop," Master Skywalker announced tersely, briskly maneuvering Obi-Wan by the firm grip he still had on his shoulder and moving them to disembark from the nearest exit point. His anger leaked into the air around him in a more controlled manner this time, just strong enough to keep everyone at arm's-length.
Obi-Wan moved obediently under his master's direction, hurrying down the bus steps and onto the permacrete path below. As soon as the blast doors slid shut behind them and the shuttle resumed its journey, Obi-Wan released the breath he'd been holding.
"We're walking from here," Master Skywalker decided, voice clipped, releasing his rigid grip on Obi-Wan's shoulder as he moved to a path that would lead them into the city. "Be attentive of your surroundings, Obi-Wan. The Force has lead us here for a reason."
Obi-Wan nodded silently as he followed with quick steps, Master Skywalker's anger a thrumming pressure against his side. Though it wasn't the first time he'd witnessed his master's temper, there was still something uncomfortably different about this instance.
"He is not a slave."
Truly, the thought of being a slave was a horrifying one. But the anger in Master Skywalker's voice had been more than the result of horror; the words had ripped straight out of his heart, edged black with hatred, and a distorted pain that ran so deep, Obi-Wan couldn't begin to decipher where his suffering began and ended. What did his master know of slavery?
"Obi-Wan," Master Skywalker sighed. At last, the anger had subsided, to be replaced with a ringing emptiness in the wake of his emotional turmoil. "Focus."
"Yes, Master," Obi-Wan murmured, so quiet this time, he wasn't sure if he'd even been heard.
The world around them was not much different than what Obi-Wan imagined the undercity of Coruscant to look like. Duracrete towers and industrial complexes loomed all around them, casting oppressive shadows over the already-gloomy atmosphere of Hollastin. The levels below them opened up in an ominous maw of squalid dwellings and decrepit storehouses, while above them, airspeeders and cargo transports dotted the smog-coated skies like the marching of a thousand beetles. Even the neon lights of holoprojected signs and adverts did little to brighten up the atmosphere, their colorful reflections quickly swallowed up amongst the muck and grime of the permacrete walkways.
The planet's inhabitants weren't in much better condition. The eyes of vagrant aliens squatting at the corner of alleyways followed them with alarming intensity. And there was no kindness to be found amongst pedestrians; from directly hostile to merely unfriendly, they all carried an intense air of aloofness. Here, everyone looked out only for themselves. As such, most kept their eyes pointedly averted in effort to keep out of trouble; it was the ones that didn't, the ones that sought to establish their power over the weak, that Obi-Wan watched out for. But Master Skywalker remained a daunting presence at his side and they continued their journey unmolested.
If there was anything to be found on this miserable planet, Obi-Wan could not see it. The Force dwelled firmly within him and ebbed gently around him, and yet, there was no distinct push or pull in any direction. And the longer he breathed in the combined odor of spice, alcohol, and bodily waste, the more he wished they had never come here at all.
It was as the sky above them shifted from a murky gray to solid black, the array of holo lights brightening significantly around them, that they stumbled into what appeared to be an entertainment district. Music rumbled in sharp, cacophonous jolts as entrances to nightclubs opened and closed, thrums and beats bleeding across narrow walkways in heaving swells. Uproarious alien life flooded freely across open bars, spice dens, restaurants, and casinos, the thick haze of smoke intermingling unappetizingly with the sharp scent of alcohol and greasy food.
Above the noisy din, Obi-Wan just barely heard his master say, "I'm going inside to gather information." Master Skywalker gestured towards what appeared to be an abandoned warehouse, walls worn and pockmarked, ceiling-high industrial windows boarded up tightly. The only clue to suggest it was more than its appearance suggested was the massive, Gamorrean bouncer guarding a side door. "Can I trust you to wait out here by yourself?"
Obi-Wan turned towards his master with a startled look. "Why can't I just go in with you?"
Master Skywalker's voice was clipped. "You're too young to be going into nightclubs."
"Am I?" Obi-Wan asked dubiously. Could the separation of a few mere duracrete walls disguise something greater than the depravity he'd already been subjected to on Hollastin's streets? "How old were you when you first entered one?"
He grimaced, but before Obi-Wan could hone in on his master's clear double standards, Master Skywalker said shortly, "You'll wait for me out here. That's not up for debate."
"Fine, whatever," Obi-Wan huffed. "And yes, I'll be fine."
"Keep your lightsaber hidden, and the blaster fire demonstrations to a minimum. The Hutts run everything around here and we can't afford to get caught up in their ranks," Master Skywalker reminded him sternly.
"Yes," Obi-Wan said, growing a tad impatient. "You can trust me."
Unexpectedly, Master Skywalker's expression softened. "I know."
And then, he turned and marched off. And after a quick exchange with the bouncer at the door, vanished into the dark, booming interior of the nightclub.
Obi-Wan cast another cursory glance around, before sighing in resignation and fully removing himself from obstructing the walkway, moving to lean his back against the wall of the nightclub. He crossed his arms in a move typical of his master, hoping to appear casual in the eyes of passersby as he awaited Master Skywalker's return. But in reality, any group of aliens that drew close were either too drunk or too high (or both) to take much notice of him.
Once more, Obi-Wan was forced to center himself; the violent music and inebriated laughter was no disguise for the pulsating agony emanating as deep as the planet's core. It rose like a monsoon river, ready to sweep away everything in its path, unheeding of every life it poised to take. Obi-Wan just barely kept his head above the violent waters, the nearby presence of his master, the weight of his saber under his jacket, and the gentle hum of Kyber all combining to ground him to reality.
When yet another alien passed by, Obi-Wan paid them no mind. It wasn't until they'd wandered off the wide permacrete path and onto the worn foundation edging the warehouse-turned-nightclub to approach him that Obi-Wan tensed, eyeing the tall Mirialan girl from the corner of his eye.
"Hey, are you out here alone?" she called, just loud enough to be heard over the racket. But the feigned concern was betrayed by her own thoughts, deceptive in nature.
"No," Obi-Wan said shortly, without glancing in her direction.
"Whoever you're waiting for, you seem confident they'll show up," she mused, allowing humor to seep into her voice.
Obi-Wan shifted on his feet as he felt her draw near. Finally, he turned to face the girl, a mind trick ready on the tip of his tongue, until his eyes fell upon her.
Embarrassment flooded him and he quickly averted his eyes, mouth clicking shut as he stiffly turned to face forward again, crossed arms tightening over his chest. Her scanty set of the sparkling clothes (if they could even be called that) clung to exposed, lustrous green skin in a way that was meant to be enticing, making her profession all too clear.
"What's the matter?" she needled with her false concern, sidling closer to his side.
Obi-Wan flushed. "Nothing. I'm not interested."
"Interested?" she repeated. "Did you think I was offering you something worth being interested in?"
"Then what do you want?" he asked guardedly, keeping his eyes locked on a glowing holoprojected advert replaying above the cantina roof across from him.
"Nothing much," she said with a charming laugh. "It's been a slow night. I thought I'd look for someone to keep me company."
Obi-Wan dropped his eyes from the advert to look over the rabble of aliens flooding in and out of various shady establishments lining the walkways, in no way appearing to be a 'slow night.' One didn't need the Force to identify the girl's visible dishonesty.
"Look elsewhere."
Obi-Wan shot a hand up, catching her thin wrist before wandering fingers could touch his person. For all that the human sex education course he'd been required to take back at the temple had been uncomfortable, one of the many things that their instructor had emphasized was learning how to maintain clear boundaries.
"Who are you waiting on?" The girl smiled, unbothered by the grip he kept.
Obi-Wan lifted his head and fixed his eyes soundly on her's, brown irises that shimmered iridescently under a prism of hologram lights, framed by long, sweeping lashes. "My mas―my teacher will be here soon. You should leave."
But she caught the slip all the same. "Master…? You're a slave." Her gaze became assessing, eyes roving over him with renewed interest. "You don't look like any slave I've ever seen."
"That's because I'm not," he sighed. Master Skywalker had made it all too clear that he was not to be called by his title while they journeyed through Hutt Space, but still, Obi-Wan had found breaking the habit difficult.
"Obi-Wan," Master Skywalker suddenly cut in, voice dry, "I see you've been busy."
Obi-Wan dropped the girl's wrist as though he'd been burned and took a quick step back. "It's not what it looks like."
"It never is," his master sighed, before turning to face the Mirialan girl and narrowing his eyes down at her. "And you," he said sharply, voice taking on a dangerous edge, "stay away from him."
The girl stiffened, fear spiking knifelike around her as she lifted her hands in a placating gesture. "I was just leaving." She backed off and turned, swiftly vanishing amongst the passing crowds.
Master Skywalker shot him a longer, more considering look, before deciding, "We'll discuss this later. Let's go."
Obi-Wan hurried to fall in line with him. "What? Where are we going?"
Master Skywalker's brow furrowed, shadowing his eyes into a severe expression. "To the lower levels. We're heading down to the slave district."
The droid-piloted air taxi they'd hailed descended quickly, approaching the empty skylanes of Hollastin's surface level. The area was nearly pitch black, artificial lights dim and easily swallowed up by the encroaching darkness, barely offering anything in the way of illumination.
A pensive silence had fallen between them in light of their approaching destination. But it was soon broken by Obi-Wan.
"Master, are you sure this is the way? This place doesn't feel right." It was nothing like what he'd experienced in his visions back in Devaron. Sure, he'd caught sight of the ominous city in small glimpses, but this was not the way to Shmi. It simply didn't feel right.
"I agree," his master said. "But this is currently the best lead we've got."
Obi-Wan grimaced, but simply nodded in acquisance.
"And where we're going," his master continued, voice hardening, "you cannot call me 'Master.'"
Obi-Wan sighed harshly, frustrated by his own inability to remember such a simple rule. "Yes, Anakin."
Master Skywalker chuckled softly. "I mean it, Obi-Wan," he said, a tired sadness creeping into his voice. "Whatever goodwill we find will be immediately lost the moment anyone mistakes me for a slave master."
Obi-Wan deflated. "I know. I'm sorry. I'll be better this time, I swear," he said, choosing his words carefully so as not to accidentally slip in his habitual 'Master' amongst them.
"I know you will." And the simple sureness in his master's voice was enough to embolden Obi-Wan once again.
All too soon, they were dropped off onto the run-down surface-level walkways before a ramshackle building sprawled across what looked like an entire city block, its high-reaching walls vanishing into the shadows of the levels above. With the majority of the street lights broken down, it was difficult to gauge its enormity.
"What is this place?" Obi-Wan asked.
"These are the slave quarters," his master revealed grimly. "Stay close." He lead the way through the broken gate at its center and obediently, Obi-Wan followed closely at his master's heels, the duracrete corridor feeling more like an underground tunnel than an entryway. It soon opened up into a large courtyard lined with hundreds of apartment doors all around and above them, open hallway balconies stacked overhead as far as the eye could see.
Its appearance alone gave the impression that it was deserted, weak lights flickering, the courtyard eerily empty (apart from the scuttling of rodents) and every apartment window a black hole. But the Force heaved brokenly with the mounting despair of the building's inhabitants, a suffocating pressure that threatened to crush the air from between his ribs. Obi-Wan inhaled a shaky breath, centering himself, unwilling to fall into yet another panic.
To his relief, Master Skywalker pressed a hand to his back firmly, helping to anchor him in the present.
"This way," his master decided, turning to lead them across the courtyard.
With a start, Obi-Wan realized that the entrance had not been the only tunnel-like corridor. There were others spaced evenly around the perimeter of the courtyard presumably leading into additional living quarters that housed thousands of more slaves.
Obi-Wan swallowed back the sudden taste of bile, hurrying to catch up with his master.
The end of the next hall opened up into an identical, dimly-lit courtyard, except this time, they were awaited by a scattered group of sentients, all standing guardedly and eyeing them with wary, shadowed eyes. At their head stood an orange male Twi'lek, ancient in appearance.
"Greetings," the Twi'lek man spoke in a voice made rough with more than just age, head bowed low enough to not meet their eyes. "How can we help you this evening?"
Master Skywalker bowed politely in greeting, deferential in a way Obi-Wan had never seen him act with the masters of the Order. "Thank you for your kindness." He straightened up and said, "There is someone we are looking for."
A strange silence descended, a jolt of pained disbelief coloring the Force like a sickly mirage.
"...I am afraid that whoever it is you seek, is likely long gone."
Only Obi-Wan felt the sudden spike of hot grief cutting the air around Master Skywalker. But his master tucked away the seizing agony caused by the Twi'lek's words, and merely pleaded with his own words, "Please. I must find her."
"And how can we trust," a human woman with a hardened face stepped forward to stand beside the old Twi'lek, "that you don't seek to hurt this person you're looking for?"
For a dreaded moment, Obi-Wan feared that his master would react harshly. Even to Obi-Wan, the idea that Master Skywalker would ever willingly hurt his Shmi was unthinkable. But there was not the slightest spark of rage. Instead, his master reached up to grip the front edges of his jacket and, strangely enough, began to remove it. When he'd shrugged off the jacket and balled up the fabric in his arms, he turned to Obi-Wan, a stern glint in his eyes. "Hold this."
It wasn't until the jacket had been dropped into his arms that Obi-Wan realized his master had discreetly hidden his lightsaber amongst the folds of the fabric. Obi-Wan pulled the jacket closer to his chest.
Master Skywalker then took a cautious step forward. "You can trust me." And before anyone could respond, he turned his back to them, incidentally facing Obi-Wan, as he reached to grab the back hem of his shirt, partially lifting it up to display the skin of his lower back. Like the rest, Obi-Wan waited, confused by his master's strange actions.
"Ah," the elderly Twi'lek sighed once he stepped close enough to observe the exposed flesh. "I see."
"I don't understand," the woman said shortly, echoing their collective thoughts while staring blankly at his master's bared back.
When the Twi'lek reached forward and grazed his ancient fingers against Master Skywalker's spine, his master didn't even flinch.
"This scar," the Twi'lek explained, "is the result of a transmitter chip. This man was once a slave, just like us."
Obi-Wan jerked back to stare up at his master in shock, but Master Skywalker refused to meet his gaze. And it was then that Obi-Wan finally understood, and his heart spasmed, constricted sharply by something that felt like barbed wire; this was why he'd refused to allow Obi-Wan to be mistaken for a slave―because Anakin had once been a slave himself.
A strange expression shuddered through the gray-toned woman's face. "That could just be any scar."
"No," the Twi'lek assured her gently. "This is a surgical scar, between these two vertebrae. See the placement? It's atypical. No standard surgery would be done in this way unless it was to insert something…or remove it."
A murmur broke out amongst the group of sentients gathered at the Twi'lek's back.
"But…how? How did you free yourself?"
Like all the others, Obi-Wan looked to his master with desperate curiosity.
His master grimaced, pulling his shirt down and turning back around to face them. "It was…just stupid luck. I'm sorry."
"Of course," the woman said flatly, taking a step back, though her grief radiated clearly through the Force.
"How can we help you then?" the Twi'lek man asked. "Who is it that you're searching for?"
"Shmi," his master finally revealed. "We seek to find Shmi Skywalker."
A/N: Sorry this update took so long. Summer school has been kicking my butt :(
But I hope you all enjoyed the chapter! Thanks for reading!