Chapter Text
Ahsoka had just left with Luke and her men—her ship had just entered hyperspace and the space left open when the alarms went off on the Negotiator. For danger.
“Who the hells is attacking?” Rex shouts.
Obi-Wan searches the information on the holos. He’s surprised, only if the information is accurate.
“They’re Zygerrians, sir!” A soldier responds. Well, the information is accurate. A small fleet of heavily armed Zygerrian ships flies out of hyperspace. A single cannon fires and leaves sparks against the Negotiator’s shields.
“Are you kidding me?” Anakin yells at nobody, throwing his hands in the air, “Why?”
“A bold move for them, isn’t it? This is very clearly a Republic Ship—a destroyer class venator,” Obi-Wan comments, rubbing at his beard, “It’s not like they can do much damage with the ships they’ve got, even armed as they are. It must be a raiding party, not an attack.”
Apparently, the fleet of Zygerrian ships seem to realize these odds as well. The ships swerve and swivel like flies zooming frantically around the ship, and after some rather manic maneuvers that have Anakin shaking his head in exasperation, the ships seem to pull themselves together into something resembling a formation. They launch themselves back into hyperspace: couldn’t have been there for more than a minute.
Anakin leans over casually to the soldiers piloting the Venator, “Yeah, uh, follow them, please?”
“Yessir, already on it,” A clone, Charts is his name if Obi-Wan remembers correctly, replies, “I’ll track the estimated coordinates.”
Obi-Wan hums, staring at the spot the fleet went into hyperspace, “It appears the Zygerrians made a mistake.”
“Yeah, I don’t think they meant to do that,” Rex comments, “They sure got outta there quick.”
Cody tilts his head, “But it does show that we’re on the right track.”
“I would have preferred a welcome committee,” Anakin grumbles.
Obi-Wan smiles, feeling a bit of glee at having the chance to do this again, “Anakin, that was the welcome committee.”
Anakin sighs tiredly, suddenly showing his increasing age if even Obi-Wan is getting the Irritated Dad treatment, “Did you get the chance to com Master Vos?”
Obi-Wan nods, still rubbing his beard, “He didn’t pick up. I would imagine he is not in a position to talk, but with Quinlan… well, sometimes you just don’t know,” Obi-Wan sighs, “There are times when he doesn’t bother to bring a com and he’ll encrypt a transmission to get information back to the temple.” Obi-Wan smiles at the ridiculousness of one memorable occasion, “He sent a letter once. To the Council. On flimsy paper. It had a purchased stamp and everything, containing highly classified information.”
Cody looks impressed, “That must have gone over well.”
Obi-Wan smiles, with just a tinge of mischief, “It went very well. I could hardly contribute to the meeting because I couldn’t breathe. I found that it is surprisingly difficult to contain that much laughter. I had never seen Mace sigh so deeply in my life.”
“Well, that doesn’t help us now,” Anakin remarks, clearly annoyed. Obi-Wan sighs. He is aware of Anakin’s slight disdain for Quin; they are too much alike to get along well. Neither can contain themselves.
Obi-Wan takes a deep breath, “Quin does… good work.”
Anakin snorts, “You hate working with him.”
Obi-Wan gives a half shrug, not quite able to describe his relationship with Quin. They would drink together, fight for each other, die for each other, but Obi-Wan cannot remember a single time where being in vicinity of Quin was relaxing. Quite the opposite, really. Again, a bit like Anakin. And almost everyone else that Obi-Wan chooses to live with. Force, he’s starting to see a pattern.
“Hate is not quite the word I would use to describe my experiences with Quinlan.”
“Ladies,” Charts speaks up, “Coming in on the estimated location.”
“’Ladies’?” Anakin gawks. Rex snorts.
Obi-Wan places a hand on his shoulder and leads him away, “Let’s see what have here.”
They follow the Zygerrians ships and find a planet by the name Tinaar, which nobody had ever heard of before. Taking a small ship down with a small team (best to at least try to be subtle) of ten men, they arrive on the little-known planet that seems to be owned by some very unsavory company. He could never really understand the appeal of being gambler or a slaver. Some smugglers were alright—if they were honorable—but here, where the low-lit bars were full of them offering jobs to corrupt property owners and sentient traffickers, Obi-Wan had a hard time keeping a neutral expression. Especially with the events concerning his lost son.
Walking down the dirty streets lined with stalls selling stolen goods, Obi-Wan fights to keep the scowl off his face. It isn’t as hard as it could have been, since Anakin is doing enough scowling for all of them. In fact, Obi-Wan has to fight to keep the smile off his face, watching credited criminals take one look and leap out of the way of Anakin’s stride. It is quite amusing.
That’s why it’s startling when someone bumps right into Obi-Wan. He didn’t even sense them, which is the strangest thing…
“Pardon me…?” Obi-Wan trails off, hoping the being would acknowledge him. They take a few steps and then look at him under a hood and then in their hand, they dangle—is that his lightsaber?
“Wait!” Obi-Wan shouts, now annoyed and alarmed. They dart away and Obi-Wan gives chase, feeling Anakin at his heels. Cody and Rex know the drill, they’ll catch up eventually. After they alert their men.
The being dodges between buildings, able to stay a head of them, so they must be force sensitive. The air whips past Obi-Wan’s ears and he herds them towards an alley. He hopes to corner them there, but it doesn’t exactly go as planned. Instead, the being takes a great leap up on top of a stone building. So, force sensitive and most definitely trained as well. Obi-Wan grits his teeth, bothered since he has had his fair share of fighting trained forced sensitives, and he lets the force quicken his stride and fuel his leap in pursuit. He doesn’t have time for this.
Then the being suddenly stops in the middle of the rooftop. Obi-Wan nearly barrels right into them—and Anakin into him, but Jedi reflexes prevent them both from making them look like fools in front of their mystery thief. Before Obi-Wan can do so much as request the return of his lightsaber, the being opens a door on the roof and gestures for them to enter. Polite, like holding the door open for them. Obi-Wan frowns.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Anakin demands, hands on hips like an angry parent. In which he got plenty of practice.
“Inviting you into my humble abode,” says a familiar voice.
The being pulls off their hood and Obi-Wan heaves a great groan and throws his hands in the air in exasperation, “Stars, Quinlan, you could have just said hello!” Obi-Wan enters the building, rather aggressively. Quin snorts, and Obi-Wan scowls back. What a pain in the ass. He snatches his lightsaber from Quin’s dangling hand with a pointed glare.
“I don’t have time for this,” Obi-Wan mutters, when Quin shuts the door and leads them down a hallway. But, as always, Quin surprises him.
“I think you’ll want to make time for this,” Quin says, not entirely joking.
Then Obi-Wan remembers. Oh yes, I meant to comm him. Leave it to Quin to distract him from the very reason they are getting into this mess.
“Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, “Do call our dear friends and let them know what’s happened and where we’ve run off to.”
Anakin huffs, clearly bothered as well, “Sure thing.”
“Quin, Ahsoka told us you are investigating the Zygerrians.” Obi-Wan begins the conversation after everyone settles around the little room. It’s quite cozy, actually. A small little circle carpet with a cute little round table surrounded by four wooden chairs. The table has a potted plant on it. With flowers that make the room smell like lilies. Obi-Wan took a seat to get closer. Quin sits across from him, while Anakin glares, leaning against a wall with his arms crossed. Some things never change.
Rex and Cody look like they ran, a little flushed in the face. They’re sitting shoulder to shoulder on the meager bed. Obi-Wan commends them for their persistence and their haste. “A ship that we were looking for seems to have been attacked and was found destroyed, and recent activity has hinted that it could have been the Zygerrians rebuilding their slave trade.”
Quin nods, bored, “Yeah, the Zygerrians are setting up raids on ships for sentient trafficking. They’ve bolstered their weapons that they got from the Separatists,” That’s new information, “In return, they help fund the terrorists with the money made off the slave trade,” Vos finishes, picking at his nails.
Obi-Wan rubs at his chin in thought. That sounds like what happened to the Mandalorian ship. Is that what the Zygerrians thought when they attacked the Negotiator? Not that it was much of an attack…
“That’s probably what the Zygerrians were trying to do when tried to attack our ship. A raid.” Cody says.
That’s exactly what Obi-Wan was thinking. Great job, Cody.
Rex snorts, “They regretted that very quickly.”
Quinlan huffs a laugh, “Did they try to attack the Negotiator?”
Rex nods with the “can you believe that?” face. Quinlan shakes his head, “They’ve always bitten off more than they can chew. That’s how their empire always falls.”
Obi-Wan nods. He’s about to ask a question before a young lady steps in the room with food and a data pad. She looks surprised at the Jedi she found, and she glances warily at Quinlan.
“They’re friends,” Quinlan says, with a wave, “We can talk freely.”
She seems to nod in understanding, and Obi-Wan wonders if he said some sort of code. Probably.
“I’ve heard some more information tonight about the slaves here and on Ziki,” She gets right to business, setting the food on the table and handing the data pad to Quin. Obi-Wan notices she has a strange accent and wonders what her first language was. It sounds quaint.
“You were right, Tinaar is just transport to different veins of the trade. Ziki is just a training site,” She announces.
Quinlan nods like he knew that already. Obi-Wan stares pointedly at him and then gestures loosely to the blonde woman.
“Oh, yeah, Obi-Wan,” Quinlan says, nonchalant, looking back down at the data, “This is Livy. I bought her on Ziki.”
Anakin snarls, fire ignited, “You bought her?”
Quinlan hums in confirmation, “I did. And now she’s helping me find information so I can report the slave trafficking to the Council and the peacekeepers and the senate.” Anakin still looks like he wants to attack, so Vos finally says the one thing he wants to know, “Yes, she’s free.”
Obi-Wan really wishes Quin would stop pressing all of Anakin’s buttons, but alas, this is what Quin does. Anakin relaxes a little and so does Obi-Wan, though for a completely different reason. He really didn’t want to break up a fist fight between them. Last time it was a mess.
Anakin still bristles, “Is she choosing to stay?”
Quin nods.
“Alright,” Anakin huffs, backing down, “Fine.”
The young lady huffs too, unimpressed, “I can speak for myself,” She affirms, addressing Anakin.
“Oh, sorry,” Anakin blushes and curls into himself a bit. Obi-Wan groans internally. His former padawan will always be a mess. Obi-Wan steps in to save him from more embarrassment.
“We mean no offense,” Obi-Wan says to her, and then turns back to Quin, “And we certainly don’t want to interfere with the investigation. But we are looking for my son—”
“Does he look like you?” Livy interrupts. Quinlan snorts.
Obi-Wan blinks at her in surprise, “Well, we do share a resemblance—”
Quin interrupts, “And by resemblance, he means the little menace looks almost exactly like him. Really, Obi? The same fripping haircut?”
Obi-Wan frowns. They do not have the same haircut. Unless Quin is talking about giving Jay the same haircut that Obi-Wan had when he was that age, then yes. He is guilty.
“Jay?” Livy frowns. They all stare at her. Quin is smirking.
“Have you seen him?” Obi-Wan asks her, grasping at the chance.
She bites her lip, looking sympathetic, “Not for weeks, but he was with me on Ziki when Sir Vos bought me. A sweet child, yes.”
Anakin turns to Quin, infuriated once again. Obi-Wan gets up and stands between them. Just in case.
“Did you see him there, Vos?” Anakin snarls, “So help me, I’ll—”
“As a matter of fact,” Quin enunciates—stubborn bastard, “I did.”
“And you bought her?” Anakin lifts a hand and points at Livy. Obi-Wan pushes his hand down. It’s rude to point.
Livy frowns, obviously affronted, “Excuse me?”
“Anakin,” Obi-Wan warns. Anakin huffs and takes a step back, but Obi-Wan see the tension in his shoulders. He’s very upset. Although, Obi-Wan is too. Quin better have a good explanation on why he didn’t get Jaytin out of there.
Obi-Wan laces his careful words with a threatening undertone, “Quinlan, how about you explain before someone gets hurt.”
Vos sighs. The seriousness is back. They all wait patiently.
“Unfortunately, your boy wasn’t for sale. There wasn’t any way I could get him off planet without jeopardizing my investigation. I bought Livy instead,” He motions to her and she smiles softly, “She hadn’t been there long and was friends with Little-Wan, so she could get him a message. I was able to see him before I left.”
Obi-Wan closes his eyes and breathes. Not a great explanation, but he understands. These people need help, and the quicker Quinlan gets done, the quicker little Jaybird and all these slaves go free. It would be selfish of them to only free Jaytin. He’s learned that lesson after Master Qui-Gon only freed Anakin and nobody else.
At least Jaytin has some hope too. Seeing Quinlan must have been a miracle for him. His son should know that they are searching for him—that he’s still loved.
“And? How was he?” Anakin asks, impatient.
Quinlan shrugs, “It’s complicated. The Zygerrians know he’s force sensitive, but not his identity. He’s only going by ‘Jay’.”
“What are they doing about the force sensitivity?” Cody asks. Obi-Wan wonders if Commander has seen his Jedi captured and forced suppressed far too many times not to ask for those details.
Quinlan sighs, sadly this time and Obi-Wan feels worry slip down his throat.
“Collared,” He answers. Obi-Wan winces. At least drugs wear off. Collars don’t ‘wear off’.
“Collared?” Anakin snaps, “Why didn’t you take it off? At least he would have the force!”
Quinlan doesn’t even skip a beat, completely ignoring Anakin’s ire, “I couldn’t take it off, the slavers would notice. I couldn’t short circuit it, the whiplash from the force could cause a seizure if not handled correctly, and it wasn’t the time or the place to ease him through it,” Quinlan looks at Obi-Wan, “Have you taught him how to re-center after being cut off from the force for an extended period of time?”
Obi-Wan sighs, disheartened, “No. I haven’t.”
Quinlan raises his hand at Anakin, as if to say, “there you have it”.
Anakin is not cowed, “But you left him there, all alone! A little boy as a slave!”
Obi-Wan places a hand on Anakin’s shoulder, an effort to show support. Rex steps up beside his general, ever the anchor.
“Yeah,” Quinlan grunts, nonplussed, “But he’s like Obi-Wan. You could light that kid on fire, and he would still find a way to use that to his advantage.”
Anakin is seething next to him, ready to snarl, but Obi-Wan can’t help it anymore, “Is he alright?”
Quinlan shrugs, “Little scraped up, but you know. Made some friends, broke some rules, ready to bite my hand off for touching his hair. A cute little spitfire.”
Obi-Wan raises a brow, “’Bite your hand off?’ He’s too sweet for that.”
Quin smirks, putting on an overly posh expression and a terrible impression of Obi-Wan’s accent and pretends to smooth out his hair with dramatic elegance, “’That’s so undignified!’”
Anakin snorts, forgetting for a moment that he’s supposed to be angry. Obi-Wan sees Livy smile, apparently familiar enough with this son to find it amusing and endearing.
Obi-Wan sees this as going for the benefit of the doubt, “So, he is alright.”
Quin tilts his head, “He’s a pretty resilient kid. He’s fine as he could be, given the circumstance.”
“For now,” Anakin mutters, still peeved.
Quin grins, “And now he’s got the ‘Jedads’ on the warpath.”
Rex snorts. Obi-Wan shakes his head fondly.
“So, uh, what are we going to do about this slave trade?” Anakin continues. Wow. Real subtle. Obi-Wan wonders how Anakin has spent so much time with him and learned nothing about subtlety. He opens his mouth to interrupt but Quin’s on it.
“Here? Nothing yet,” Anakin bristles in the force, but Quin continues, stopping him with a raised hand gesturing for patience, “I’m almost finished my investigation here on Tinaar. Ziki led me here, but I still need to find what other planets these slaves are being shipped to besides Ziki before I report it to the correct authorities.” A sly look appears on Quin’s face, just like it does when he’s about to do something slightly against the rules. It makes Obi-Wan oddly excited, just like it did when they were padawans together, getting in and out of trouble.
“Technically,” Quin says with that rogue grin, “Nobody can act upon the slave compounds on Ziki before I finish the full investigation of the Zygerrian slave rings, however… I have finished my investigation of Ziki and in my ever so humble opinion, Ziki is ready and able to be freed right now with little risk to the slaves and my investigation. So. If you go to Ziki…” Quinlan trails off, and everybody else finishes the thought.
“Alright,” Anakin acquiesces, suddenly in a much better mood, “Let’s go free Ziki from the Zygerrian slave empire.”
Obi-Wan sighs. What a mess they’ve gotten themselves into.
Jay was led to a little compound nearby that was well decorated, when compared to the serving house. He wasn’t out very long but the little peek of fresh air was nice after being stuffed in the serving house for what felt like months. Inside the place, it’s rather nice as well. There are cushions all around—cushions around the table and lined up against the wall, cushions on cushions (is that really necessary?) and everything is well padded, soft, or blanketed.
He’s to be given to the kitchen to serve for the rest of the day, but at the moment, he’s being introduced to the ways of the house with a few other new slaves. All of them are very pretty, in Jay’s opinion. The sickly sweet smelling Zygerrian stands in front of their little group, hands clasped together in excitement.
“I am Cara’mi, the head of this house and the head handler. You will address me, as Headmaster or Headhandler. The other handlers will be addressed as Master or Handler,” He smiles at Jay like he’s a child. Which he is, but Jay still isn’t happy about it. Headmaster Cara’mi gestures to the numerous cushions, “Please, sit down. Make yourselves comfortable. That’s what this place is all about—comfort.”
Something tells Jay that the comfort here is very one-sided. He plops down and crosses his legs, pretzel style.
Headmaster Cara’mi looks down at him and coos, “Oh, so sweet, aren’t you, darling?”
Jay nods. It’s easier to agree, though he’s lying; he thinks he’s rather spicy. He also is wary of Headmaster Cara’mi. He doesn’t trust this cheery disposition at all.
The Zygerrian claps his hands, ready to get started and Jay is reminded of schoolteachers doing similar things. He doesn’t like the comparison.
“You have joined us here at the Pleasure House! Here, it is all about comfort. As long you create comfort, you will be comfortable here!” Headmaster Cara’mi cheers.
Displeasure curls in Jay’s stomach. Something isn’t right. It’s easier to tell when the other new slaves are looking at him in concern. It’s only making him more concerned. Is there something he should be worried about? Great, now he’s anxious.
“Most things you will learn in time. And if we deem you unable to learn…” Headmaster Cara’mi looks sympathetic. Jay thinks it looks fake. “You will head to the Hole House—which is undergoing renovations—or to the hunting grounds. There is no comfort there. Only the pain of lost investments, yes?”
Everybody looks at the Headmaster in terror. He claps his hands again with a cheery smile and Jay jumps. What a sudden turn. Alright then.
“Now! Those from the serving houses, head to the kitchens for now!”
And so, head to the kitchen, Jay does.
Jay thought serving to the masters at the serving house was uncomfortable, but this is on another level. The masters here touch his hair, sure, but he had gotten use to that. These ones caress his face and grab his chin. Jay doesn’t know how to react, so he tries to look back without much expression (some eye contact is apparently encouraged). Unfortunately for him, it comes across as curious and endearing, which is not at all what he intended.
“Oh, look at those curious blue eyes, aren’t they just dear?” A master coos, staring into his face. He begs them to let them go with those very eyes, but it doesn’t seem to be working. He waits patiently to be let free.
Headmaster Cara’mi coos, “Oh, I know. The moment I laid my eyes on him, I knew. I could just eat him up.”
Oh my, Jay definitely does not want to be eaten. They let go of his face and he looks down, waiting to be dismissed.
“Do you think he’ll be ready soon?” Says another master, tilting his face back up with a gentle knuckle.
“We are working with haste,” Headmaster Cara’mi informs, “I’d like him working by the end of the week.”
The masters nod in agreement and excitement, eyeing him strangely. He hates it, and yet he must be given permission to leave. Headmaster takes pity on him.
“Head back to the kitchen, dear. We’ll shall see you again later.”
The other two meals that day go similarly, with similar exchanges and caresses. Jay almost wishes he were back at the serving house. At least he could tell what those masters wanted. These ones are saying one thing but meaning something more. They have sweet words, but something is sour about it all. It makes Jay nervous. Great, now he’s anxious and nervous.
The other slaves there seem used to it. Some slaves even come in during the meal and sit on these masters’ laps and giggle. Jay is baffled. Why would they act like that? Do they want to? Or are they faking it for the masters? He has no idea what’s going on. The masters look at him like they want him to sit on their laps and it makes him uneasy. They might be masters but these are strangers. He doesn’t sit on stranger’s laps. He doesn’t want to sit on anybody who looks at him like that.
After the last meal, Jay is let back to eat with the other slaves. The meal he gets here is a lot better than what they ate at the serving house, which surprises him. Why do these slaves get to eat better? Is it because there are fewer of them? Are these slaves more important or better rewarded? He doesn’t know but he looks up in surprise when another serving slave brings another tray of food, stacked with little cups. The word ‘dessert’ is whispered around, and Jay goes to take a look when slaves are told to take one.
Jay picks up the little tin cup, watching as all the other beings started wolfing it down. He stares into the cup, unable to see the appeal. It is a thick pale goop and Jay tries not to gag when it jiggles in the cup as he gives it a little shake.
The pretty blue pantoran girl nearby—maybe Kasen’s age—is already done. She looks at him with a knowing look, eyeing the little cup of goop.
“If you don’t want it, I’ll take it.”
Jay pulls it back to his chest, “No.”
He gives it another look. Jiggles it again. Then he gives it a sniff. It smells sweet, and he jerks back in surprise. With a scoop, he picks up an itty-bitty portion on the spoon and brings it to his mouth. His eyes go wide.
Great stars, WE GET PUDDING???
The girl must see the look on his face because she starts to laugh, doubling over with hand on her knees.
“What were you expecting?” She breathes between laughs.
Jay swallows jubilantly and then takes a big scoopful, “Not pudding!” And he shoves it into his mouth.
She wipes tears from her eyes and a small smile comes to her face, “Yes, well us slaves here get treated a little differently than the others, apparently,” Her eyes go to the ground and Jay is a bit thrown by the sudden sorrow in her eyes, “A little better, a little worse.”
Then the look is gone, and she throws out her hand, “Call me Kella.”
Jay puts the spoon in the cup and shakes her hand, “Jay.”
The next day, after leaving the slave bunks in the basement, some handlers take him and the few others aside again. They start teaching him new protocol for this place, which, as they say, is all about comfort. It’s about smiling and certain touches and laying about all pretty and Jay only feels dread slowly grow.
He’s let go again to serve late meal and only observes more… strange things. He doesn’t like what he’s learning. He needs to get out of here. After the meal, he goes to eat with Kella and is once again disappointed with what he’s learning about the galaxy. About slavery.
“They even gave us moldy cheese,” Jay grouses, picking at the white layer of mold with his fingertips. He picks up a cracker instead and takes a little bite. It’s slightly sweet instead of salty, to which he gives a please hum.
“That’s how it’s supposed to be. Even the masters eat it like this,” Kella says, cutting into white covering. It reveals a yellow gooey center. Jay halts in his eating, mouth open in horror, looking up at her.
“You mean people actually eat moldy cheese? On purpose?” Jay asks, incredulous, and then nibbles a cracker.
Kella nods, “Yes, it’s a delicacy, apparently.”
Jay watches in fascination, gumming at the cracker, as a nearby twi’lek takes a huge hunk of the cheese and gobs it onto a sweet cracker. He can’t even tear his eyes away as the twi’lek cradles it delicately into his mouth. The moldy cheese. On a cracker. Fascinating.
“How is he eating that?”
Kella puts some of it on a cracker and places the whole thing in her mouth with a big crunch.
“How are you eating that?” Jay eyes it some more, “Can I try some?”
She nods. Jay scoops a little glob of it on the sweet cracker and sticks it in his mouth. Very salty and a little bitter. The cracker saves it all in the end with its mild sweetness, which is even sweeter with the added flavor. He swallows.
“Do you like it?”
“No,” Jay sticks out his tongue at her childishly. He reaches for another cracker and puts some more cheese on it.
Kella’s eyebrows furrow in confusion, “Then why are you eating more?”
“Because now the cracker tastes bland without it.”
She laughs, a nice bell-like sound that curls joy in Jay’s stomach. It’s a different laugh than what she gives the masters. Jay wants to hear it again. He grins up at her and she smiles back. Her smile turns sad but then she surprises him by pulling him into a hug. It is the first comfortable thing he’s experienced here.
“You remind me of my little brother,” She says, wetly, “I miss him, apparently.”
He hugs her back, “I miss my big brother, even when he tricks me into making his bed.”
She laughs again, “Maybe one day we will be free of this.”
Jay shuts his eyes against her neck. Even without the force, Jay knows this to be true.
Jay gets to join Kella the next day and he stays by her side. She seems happy to have him with her, despite the sad looks she gives him when she thinks he isn’t looking. Everybody else is still worried about him, but for now he’s ignoring it. It’s only making him anxious, so he needs to live in the here and now.
The system here is a bit different than the serving house and takes a certain amount of them each day to cycle in a certain job. Jay won’t be available till late in the next week, Kella says, and they’ll be on the same day at least.
But today he does a double take and finds he is correct; there is in fact a Quarren in the lineup for tonight. Kella snorts when she notices the look of shock.
“Apparently, some people have their tastes. Ya know?” She says with a shrug. To each their own.
Jay shivers. To each their own.
The slaves here are a bit different than the serving slaves. There is a strange sense of competition but also a secret sense of comfort and understanding. Some nights, in the basement where they sleep, slaves will come back from work in the middle of the night distressed. Jay would blink awake and find a blanket of slaves huddled with each other whispering soothing words to those in crying tears. Jay worries for when his time is near.
The competition is strange to him, but some of the slaves are more ambitious. They seem to like how they look and how they act, and they get wonderful rewards. If you consider showering in lavish jewelry, being draped in gold, and terribly drafty clothing to be rewards. Jay doesn’t care much for the jewels and gold, and he shivers just thinking about those clothes. They must be so cold. He does think they look pretty though, and he admires the slaves for their pride and their effort to be the best. It’s a strange new contemplation.
But the best thing about this place? The blankets. They’re everywhere.
When the day comes for his turn, Kella holds him tight and keeps him close. She keeps reminding him that she’s here for him, and he’ll always be able to come to her to feel better. Jay’s sense of dread grows and grows, despite her best efforts.
That night, when they are sending the slaves away, one master points at him. The same one who asked about him that first day. Headmaster Cara’mi and the master talk, while Jay sits patiently on a cushion. Kella gives him one last hug before she steps back, and Jay looks at her in confusion. Is she leaving him? She turns away and doesn’t turn back. Jay swallows the lump in his throat. Hmm. This is suspicious. He does not like it. Not one bit.
At least he got a nice bath today. He likes the soap they have here; it smells like flowers. And his hair is freshly washed with the special shampoo they keep giving him. It’s grown longer and softer with it, tickling the back of his neck. He brushes his bangs out of his face, wondering if the Zygerrians will want to cut it. He doubts it. They love his hair too much to cut some of it away. The smell of perfume cuts through these thoughts and he looks up to find the headmaster. Headmaster Cara’mi carefully lays a hand on his back and leads him forward, towards the other master.
“He’s got to start sometime. Be careful with him. He may struggle, but he’s new and I will need to make sure he keeps that pretty face,” Headmaster Cara’mi smiles, and pinches Jays cheeks in fake affection, “So no damages. He will learn in time.”
Jay rubs at his cheek absentmindedly once it’s let go.
The other master licks his lips, looking a little too deeply into Jay’s face, and it makes Jay feel like he’s being sized up to be cooked for dinner. “That’s alright. I’ll be firm, yet gentle.”
Jay blinks, staring between the masters in confusion. He peeks at Kella. She’s not looking at him—scratch that, she’s avoiding his gaze and so is everyone else. They look sad.
That second everything clicked. Oh. Oh.
Jay realizes what this man wants, at least to the best of the ability of a relatively sheltered eleven-year-old can. He doesn’t know the full scope of the strange desire, but he knows right here and right now that he knows he doesn’t want it. But what can he do to stop it? He stares up at the master, unblinkingly, pale-blue eyes serene. Planning.
“Up this way, master,” He says. Headmaster Cara’mi perks up in pride.
“Finally,” the other master grunts, satisfied.
Jay takes the lead up the stairs, three steps ahead, and each step towards the second floor he debates over a decision. When he reaches the top, his decision is made.
Jay turns quickly and throws out a leg in a spartan kick that knocks the Zygerrian in the chest. The sudden unbalance and gravity does the rest. The master doesn’t have the coordination or time to catch himself, and he is thrown backwards, slamming down violently into the steps where he tumbles with the intensity of a rogue bowling ball jolting down the stairs.
Jay doesn’t bother to wait, and he dashes away as he hears to the uncoordinated crashing and shouting that follows him down the hallway. He knows the doors up here have locks. He throws himself into the nearest open one and hits the panel that slams the door shut, locking himself in when shouts ring through the walls.
“Open this door, you little heathen!” Headmaster Cara’mi shouts. Hard hits hammer at the door, and it shakes.
“No!” He screams, “I will not!”
With that, he hunkers down, sitting with his back to the door. Ignoring their angry calls that shout and coax. Telling him that he’ll be punished severely if he doesn’t come out right now or he’ll be rewarded greatly if he were to come out quietly, and he’ll be given some time to adjust and blah blah blah. Like Jay is stupid enough to believe them. He does believe he’ll be punished, though. Whether or not the Zygerrians see it as punishment isn’t his problem. At some point, they quiet down.
“Just let him be, he’ll have to come out eventually,” Headmaster Cara’mi grumbles. Jay can smell him through the door. Somebody grunts in response and hammers the door one last time, and Jay flinches.
With that, they leave him alone and Jay falls into an uneasy doze. They’re right, of course; he can’t stay in here forever. Not only does he want to go home to mom and dad, but eventually he’ll need to use the refresher and eat food like a civilized human being.
Not long later, Jay jerks awake, licking at the weird taste in his mouth left from falling asleep without brushing his teeth. The clock tells him that it’s some awful time in the middle of the night when a sensible person would be asleep. Good enough time to escape.
He opens the door and scampers through the dark back to the slave bunks in the basement, with a little detour to the refresher and a bite to eat at the kitchen. With no where to go and nothing left to do, he goes to sleep for the night, wondering what terrors tomorrow will bring.
The next day, nobody bothers him about what happened. He gets first meal with the others and the handlers seem to ignore him, and Kella doesn’t bring it up. It should be relieving, but Jay only feels more tense like he’s waiting for the predator to pounce. He’s jittery all day, jumping at little sounds and he actually flinched when Kella put a hand on his shoulder to ask if he was alright. Of course, he smiled and said he was fine, but at that point it wasn’t remotely convincing. Kella gave him a disbelieving glare but didn’t mention it.
Jay berates himself for it. He should have better control and better focus, but the masters… he feels so out of control. They could come for him at any minute and it drives him crazy, waiting for the ball to drop.
They get pudding again after late meal, but he hardly tastes it. He gives it to Kella and sits with his head on his knees.
He thinks about what it all means. The things the other slaves are doing and why. It’s terrible. It’s not fair. It’s the opposite of comfortable. But they fake it so well. Some of them don’t even fake it, they like the way they live. But still, it’s all so confusing, and—and there’s no control. There is nothing he can do to help them but wish the force will one day give him the opportunity. Until then, he must survive. Just like Master Vos said.
Unfortunately, they do try it again two days later. It is a trap from the very beginning. They let everything go as normal, and as jittery and cautious as Jay was, he doesn’t expect them to change the locks. Headmaster Cara’mi leads him into a room, and Jay follows as requested. Not that he could deny it anyway. But then, the headmaster leaves, and shuts the door. It locks.
For a moment Jay doesn’t process the problem. Then—oh no. The door locked. The door locked from the outside. Jay panics, his breathing picks up and he looks frantically around for a place to escape but there is none. His heart beats like a trapped animal and he feels for all those poor pets that have ever been caged. He snaps down on the instinct to hide, because it won’t work for long, and he needs to get control of himself. Breathe, he tells himself, and he takes many deep breaths until his head feels light and free. Here and now. Survive like Master Vos said. And don’t give up, Dad says, adapt. Plan.
I’m not giving up, Jay determines.
The door clicks unlocked and slides open. A different master comes in than the one who first asked for him. Jay feels a small sliver of satisfaction. He must have scared him away.
The door slides shut with a click—locked again from the outside. Jay swallows, timid, but determined. He took on a fully armored Kyr’tsad mando with nothing but a blanket. Jay takes a glance at the cushions around him. And what do ya know, this room is full of blankets.
I’m fully armed, Jay thinks with a smile. The master grins back. They are smiling for two completely different reasons, but that’s okay. Jay picks up a blanket, testing its durability. A bit thin, but not bad. Made more for aesthetic than comfort. It will have to do.
It happens quickly. Jay had gathered his weapons, so he gets in close with his adversary and trips him by pulling a blanket around the legs. The grappling isn’t hard; the Zygerrian doesn’t really know how to wrestle all that well. Ba’vodu taught Jay how wrestle, and on the ship with Death Watch, they really knew how to wrestle. Jay is small and quick. So, the master doesn’t actually stand a chance, since the Zygerrian couldn’t grab him to pin him down. He sure makes a ruckus though, shouting enough to bring the house down. Yet soon enough the handler is wrapped up tight in cloth like a burrito. Force, Jay would love a lower Coruscant burrito when he gets home.
The next part, Jay hesitates; he’s never choked someone out before, and on the ship, it was absolutely terrifying when that beast did it to him. He would hate to do that to somebody else. There isn’t much of an option... Jay isn’t sure if the blankets would hold the master very long, and he doubts he could get the upper hand again. And he could be punished. So, Jay did what he had to, and wrapped a blanket around the master’s neck, and waited, threatening, but doesn’t pull it taught. Maybe the threat of it will be enough…
The handler goes still and begins to beg. Jay doesn’t bother to respond. He doesn’t even know what he would say in this situation, so he ignores whatever the Zygerrians is saying. Doesn’t even hear it. The door panel clicks, unlocking. Jay holds position and shuts his eyes, holding his fear close to his chest. Handlers and guards flood the room and pull Jay away from the cocooned Zygerrian.
What happens next is fuzzy. After they hold him still and stick him in the arm with something sharp and burning, he barely recalls being dragged out of the entrance of the Pleasure house. The world is a swirl (terribly nauseating) and at some point, he doesn’t have the coordination to keep his eyes open for very long.
He thinks he hears Headmaster Cara’mi at some point.
“He’s bad stock, burn him with the others,” is uttered in irritation, and it comes muffled into Jay’s bleary head.
It seems the master doesn’t bother with him again because he doesn’t even remember leaving the whole slave training compound.
He’s going to the Hole house. There is no comfort there.
Jay blinks awake unbearably hot on the dirtiest bed he’s ever seen, sheets covered in grime and dust. He coughs to clear his throat, but somehow breathing in only made it worse and his body heaves for another breath. The air quality in here must be terrible, Jay thinks. It’s very unpleasant. They were right, there is no comfort here. He coughs more, wracking at his chest when his nose recognizes the strange hot scent in the air and his body tenses, knowing the danger before his brain does.
Heat.
Smoke.
Fire.
It’s everywhere.
The second the Negotiator arrived in Ziki’s orbit, the Zygerrians seem to panic once again. There are no ships in orbit so getting through atmo with drop ships is easy. Obi-Wan watches the ground some closer, marveling at the dense wood forests around the compounds. The planet is… actually very nice, Zygerrians aside. He wonders what the local animal and plant life are like. Maybe if they find Jaytin and have extra time, they could go exploring. If Jay is alright, of course.
The Zygerrians try to get their ships in the sky, but Anakin and his pilots arrive too swiftly, and they are shot down before they get their heavily armed hulls too far off the ground. The ships go up in fire and Anakin’s ships circle the base like predators. The slave guards outside the compound try to make some semblance of a formation, but once troopers’ feet hit the ground, the guards are not difficult to subdue. Obi-Wan does little more than deflect shots away from his men. Rather easy, compared to fighting the droid army and Ventress. He makes it into the compounds with his men at his back, the familiarity of it strangely comforting, and then they invade the Zygerrian base with ease.
If this is how they run their slave empire, through panic and disarray, Obi-Wan wonders how they ever make it at all. The Hutts are more organized than this and that’s saying something. Although, if he hadn’t experienced their methods first hand, he would say that the Zygerrians are rather harmless, in the grand scheme of things. But he knows the evil that can exist in just the tiniest bits of the galaxy. Not a single being deserves such agony. The compounds that they storm into confirm those thoughts. His men find whips and electric rods and other such devices for punishments, or even death. The slaves freeze when they arrive in each house and wait to see if there is such a thing as freedom anymore.
Anakin, force bless him, is in element once he lands his fighter. Obi-Wan rarely ever sees Anakin as happy as he is when freeing people. It’s rather liberating (literally), to watch him break chains and feel the satisfaction and understanding in the force. Like I was freed and now I do the honor of freeing. It’s humbling, and Obi-Wan is proud of his boy.
Rex seems a bit too trigger happy for the ensuing fights, but Obi-Wan can’t bring himself to blame him. The good captain missed the fight last time and experienced exactly what kind of horrors the Zygerrians deal with. As long as Rex doesn’t overstep, Obi-Wan will not stop him.
When they reach the serving houses, Obi-Wan is extra vigilant with how they storm the compound. Jay could be here, and they don’t want to risk him getting hurt.
As the Jedi (and because he wants to be), he is the first in the door to what appears to be the serving house, knocking the entrance open dramatically and using his lightsaber to deflect blaster bolts from himself and his men. A guard comes forward with an electric whip, and oh, Obi-Wan doesn’t feel like going through that again after last time, so he steps aside and lets Wooley through with the blaster. Whips aren’t very good defense against blasters.
“Enough!” Someone shrieks. An awful shriek—this person has a terrible set of lungs.
Obi-Wan halts, mostly because he’s curious. This is a chance to talk and he loves talking. He signals his men to stop, and just as competently as the old days, they halt as well. Boil is somewhere at his side, speaking into a com on new trooper frequencies. External mute sure is nice, isn’t it?
At the other end of what appears to be a dining hall, a Zygerrian dressed way too lavishly to be a guard holds a transmitter, and he has guards on either side. A couple slaves are kneeling in front of them, while guards hold electric whips around the slaves’ necks, waiting to constrict them like dangerous snakes.
Obi-Wan’s face contorts in disgust before he gets a hold of his emotions and smooths out. He doesn’t feel like going through this again either, but last time he didn’t have his men standing ready at his back.
“Any closer and I blow the slave houses!” The Zygerrian shrieks again, terribly shrill, and then he seems to remember the slaves in front of him and adds, “And you will be the last thing these slaves ever see!”
Obi-Wan’s gut tightens, because not only would all those innocent lives be lost, but if Little Jaybird is here, then his son may be killed, and his death would be Obi-Wan’s fault. And Obi-Wan can’t… just can’t have that on his conscious. It would shatter him. Force, how Obi-Wan very much dislikes (hatred isn’t the Jedi way) Zygerrian slavers.
“And what good would that serve?” Obi-Wan tries to reason, “Was this loss so great that you must make our victory so bitter?”
The trembling of the Zygerrian slaver and the fear in the force tells Obi-Wan that this slaver is more afraid than vindictive, which he could work with. Perhaps he could convince them that the hostages are unnecessary, as well as the petty acts of spiteful violence. Or he could at least stall for time…
“May we come to an agreement?” Obi-Wan offers. The Zygerrian tilts his head in interest, but then recoils.
“Oh no, Jedi, not on your terms.”
Obi-Wan frowns, “I have yet to offer any terms. Perhaps you may offer some terms of your own?”
The Zygerrian sneers, “What do I have left after you and your republic dogs destroyed our base?”
Obi-Wan thinks for a moment, “I do not recall destroying anything, except for your armed ships.”
“Exactly!” The Zygerrian shrieks, and Obi-Wan flinches. What a terrible noise… “You have robbed us of our way off this planet!”
“Hmm,” Obi-Wan hums, “So you need a ship then. Would you like one of ours, in exchange for the slaves’ lives?”
This gets the Zygerrian to pause.
“I would be taking my slaves with me,” The Zygerrian gestures to the trembling slaves with the damning whips around their throats. Surprisingly, one of the slaves seems resolute, and stares right at the troopers behind Obi-Wan in respect and awe. He’s a green Twi’lek. Obi-Wan wonders what the Twi’lek could be thinking.
“I have lost enough stock,” The slaver says, annoyed now, “And I won’t be leaving empty handed.”
“What about your fellow Zygerrians?” Obi-Wan asks. It’s rather selfish to only request escape for yourself. Such a rude criminal.
“They can make their own deals; I can have mine,” the Zygerrian huffs.
Obi-Wan nods, “Are these your terms? A ship and these slaves here for the promise that you won’t explode the slave bunks, is that correct?”
“All my slaves, Jedi! You can’t trick me with your pretty words!” Pretty? “Not just the ones here. And all of my guards.”
Obi-Wan frowns, “And how do you plan on transporting them? A drop ship doesn’t have the space to hold the amount that you have.”
“Give me a second ship,” the Zygerrians snaps, starting to panic again.
Jeez, greedy. In that moment, Obi-Wans senses something urgent happening over the coms. His men behind him suddenly glow with excitement. Good news?
Waxer gets Obi-Wan’s attention with a whisper over his left shoulder, “Rex and Skywalker have just reported that they’ve just finished evacuating the slave bunks. You’re free to proceed.”
Oh! Wonderful! Then all that’s left are the slaves in front of them. Good man, Anakin. He has an instinctual knowledge of when slaves are in danger. Obi-Wan tries not to let the relief show on his face.
“I’m afraid we shall need to negotiate different terms, if you insist on a second ship. Do you have a pilot?”
The Zygerrian snarls, but the panic in the force tells Obi-Wan that this slave does not, in fact, have a pilot. Force, this lack of preparation and planning is almost painful…
Then the great open windows in the dining room shatter and troopers’ storm in with Cody at the head. Being that they’re on the second floor, none of the Zygerrians are prepared for the rather rude intrusion. The surprise is enough for the guards to be brought down before activating and tightening the whips, shot down by expert soldiers in seconds. The slaves scatter away and rush towards the exit. Only the green Twi’lek moves behind the white and orange troopers and stays to watch.
The Zygerrian holding the transmitter holds his hands in hands the air and tightens his grip, “I’ll do it! I’ll kill them all!”
Obi-Wan gives him a bitter smile, quite alright with the discomfort it might cause, “Oh, I’m afraid the terms have changed.”
The whole liberation takes about two hours to complete, showing the efficiency of the republic’s best men and the lack of preparation the Zygerrians had for protecting their investments. Pity for them.
Although, their investments are all too happy to be rid of their slave life and move onto freedom. Speaking of freedom, Obi-Wan better get on that. He didn’t exactly tell the Council that he will be freeing a few hundred slaves that now need food, shelter, transportation, etcetera. Very “Anakin” of him to not think that through…
Welp, better to ask for forgiveness than permission. That’s what Master Qui-Gon always said. And did. Often. But Obi-Wan is high enough in the Jedi rankings that he should be able to make these kinds of calls because he is respected and responsible. Usually.
Fortunately, the GAR reserves specialize in restoration and refugee care, as well as the Peacekeepers. The order is much bigger now, and more than enough Jedi trained sensitives to spare that can help these people out.
Obi-Wan is starting to feel hopeful, until Anakin stops him with a hand on his shoulder and notifies him that little Jay was, in fact, not in the serving slaves’ quarters where Livy said he should be. At least Jaytin wouldn’t have been killed if Anakin hadn’t cleared out the slave bunks before the Zygerrian threatened to trigger the transmitter. If Jaytin is even still alive… Oh, how that thought hurts, but Obi-Wan is sure he would know in the force if his son had died.
In the base, the guards that were left are placed in the labor barn under guard, and the slavers themselves are cuffed and corralled together into a group outside in a clearing. The Clone troopers stand around them in a circle, holding their blasters at rest (with the safety on), but that is no less menacing. It’s rather intimidating and the slavers seem to realize that things are not great anymore. They aren’t prepared for the coming interrogation.
Anakin starts first. He barely opens his mouth before a slaver interrupts him.
“You won’t get anything out of us, Jedi skug!”
The immediate displeasure on Anakin’s face is almost amusing, despite the situation. He hadn’t even said anything yet and he’s already annoyed. Poor boy…
“Then you should be relieved that we are leaving the real interrogation and trial to Republic Judicial,” Anakin says drily, “No, we are asking about something a little more… personal,” he finishes with dangerous smile. Obi-Wan thinks it’s more of threat than a smile, but who is he to judge. Anakin’s doing just fine. He steps in though because he’s getting anxious. Worried Father Problems.
“We are looking for a boy, a young human male that we were told came into your tender care,” Obi-Wan announces, “My son.”
“We had the son of a Jedi?” Some slaver whispers, somehow sounding simultaneously awed and horrified.
Sounds of shock drift through the slavers, and the one in charge of the serving house cringes (the one that threatened to blow them all up, Obi-Wan notes). That’s not something any criminal wants to hear. It seems without much trouble, the Zygerrians know who Obi-Wan is looking for. He hopes that’s not a bad omen. Maybe the force collar gave it away?
Anakin steps forward and Obi-Wan allows it again. He’ll step in if he has to, but for now he wants to see what information he can gleam.
“Yeah, and he has half the order looking for him,” Anakin is exaggerating, Obi-Wan thinks, but the intimidation seems to be working. The Zygerrians appear to curl into themselves in panic. Anakin stands menacingly above them, eyes glimmering and searching their souls, “Do you know where he could be?”
Nobody looks like they want to answer, but some stare pointedly at the slaver in charge of the servers. That one gulps, and when he notices they are expecting him to squeal, he panics. He squeals. Still a terrible sound.
“Don’t look at me! I sent him to the pleasure house!” Oof. That’s quite possibly the worst thing he could say, even after threatening to explode his own slaves.
Obi-Wan’s men tense, almost collectively as outrage suffuses into the force, and there is the mild shuffling of dangerous soldiers settling their blasters. The blood drains from Obi-Wan’s face, yet blood rises in Anakin’s turning his face crimson in fury. Obi-Wan staggers forward to lean on his taller brother, partially because now he’s lightheaded from the very thought of his son… there (and the blood leaving his head), but also to keep Anakin from doing some very un-jedi like damage.
“You sent a child to the pleasure house?! He’s eleven standard!” Anakin roars. The Zygerrian slaver flinches, trembling, and Obi-Wan can feel the palpable fury in the force. It’s probably not helping anyone, but again, the intimidation seems to be working.
“I—it wasn’t me! Cara’mi handled the transfer!”
Obi-Wan and everyone surveys the crowd for what could possibly look like a Zygerrian named Cara’mi. It’s a good thing the other Zygerrians know, because they all turn to stare at the gaudiest Zygerrian Obi-Wan has ever seen. He is definitely not what Obi-Wan was expecting. This slaver is wearing way too much makeup, and those colors do not work with his skin tone. With that thought, Obi-Wan realizes he has been spending way too much time dressing up with Satine. He shakes his head and returns to moment at hand.
The Zygerrian scoffs when Obi-Wan approaches with Anakin at his side. He senses Rex and Cody at his peripheral. Then suddenly, Anakin gags, and for a moment Obi-Wan turns to stare at his former padawan in concern when the most pungent perfume invades his nose. Oh. No wonder Anakin is pulling his tunic over his nose. That perfume is rampant. Although, Obi-Wan is too put together to show his disdain for it.
Anakin, on the other hand, has no problem bluntly insulting people to their face, “Force, he reeks.”
The Zygerrian, Cara’mi, visibly bristles, “This is the height of Zygerrian fragrance! Imported from Zygerria and sold all over the galaxy!”
Anakin scoffs, “Yeah, but did you bathe in it?”
Obi-Wan shakes his head and puts a hand on Anakin’s shoulder, “Now, Anakin, no need to insult the poor man, he obviously needs the height of Zygerrian fragrance to compensate for his low moral integrity.”
“Excuse me?” The Zygerrian gasps dramatically, apparently aware he has been insulted but unable to articulate a good response.
Anakin snorts.
“So,” Obi-Wan begins, standing at parade rest, looking down upon the slaver. Command rings in his voice with the need for justice simmering beneath his skin, “You transferred my eleven-year-old son to the pleasure house, correct?”
The Zygerrians tilts his nose up and is deliberately difficult. It seems he remains without remorse for his part as a slaver.
“I transfer a lot of slaves so you’re going to have to be more specific. What did he look like?”
Anakin growls, “How many eleven-year-olds do you transfer to your so called ‘pleasure house’?”
Obi-Wan stops the reply by interrupting, since he doesn’t particularly want to know the answer to that question.
“He should look like me, but smaller.”
He absolutely regrets it, seeing the delight in this Cara’mi’s face.
“Oh, the little redheaded human? He wasn’t a good investment. So, we lit him on fire.” The perfumed Zygerrian sneers, a manic light in his eyes.
Obi-Wan pales, looking very much like he wants to pass out. Anakin wants to murder, Obi-Wan can see his hands twitching for a lightsaber or for the force, Obi-Wan doesn’t know. It was Rex though, who shoots the slaver in the chest with not an ounce of hesitation. Cody is disappointed, blaster raised, that he didn’t get to do it himself, but Cody was the one that worked with the General that liked to talk before fighting. Rex didn’t.
Still, this was, all around, not a good time.
Obi-Wan curses himself for being too late once again.
The adrenaline in Jay’s body obliterates the last of the drowsiness from whatever the masters dosed him with, and he launches himself off the mattress. Dust puffs up into the air, and mixed with the smoke, there is little air to breathe. Once he starts coughing, and he struggles to stop as he searches the room for an exit. The walls are burning, yellow flames licking at the wooden base boards, which is actually impressive that the Zygerrians used wood. No wonder this place is being renovated.
Jay tries to get oxygen into his lungs, but he heaves and chokes. There is too much smoke, and the air is filthy. At that thought, he remembers creche fire training, and pulls the fabric of his shirt over his mouth and nose. Sweat drips down his neck. Ew, he must also be filthy.
He steps carefully over the wooden floor, knowing to be weary of the wood breaking under his feet. At the wooden door, he stops. The door is locked and also on fire, which is unhelpful. But…
Despite the fire in front of him Jay rams his tiny body into the door and it’s weak enough to splinter and crack open and Jay falls into the flaming heap and rolls away from it as quickly as he can into the hallway. Which is also on fire. Fear clogs Jays throat and for a moment he can’t breathe from the strength of the emotion alone. He brings his meager shirt back up to his face, which is wet from both sweat and the tears burning his eyes. The hallway is ablaze, a circle of fire and crumbling wood.
This—the thought unexpectedly strikes him—this is the most terrifying thing he’s faced yet. He’s struck with the sudden paralyzing fear that he is going to die, here, in this burning blaze. Lit on fire, screaming in pain where no one would hear him, for family that won’t be there when he so desperately wishes for them, and burnt to ashes that won’t be spread in his honor—his family may never know what is left of him in this rubble, returned to the universe in dust. He will never see dad smile again, and mom can’t ever kiss him goodnight. No more family time after dinner. No more sitting together on the couch for a nap. No more tickle fights after saber practice. It all ends here. Alone. Being consumed in fire and left into the void.
Jay chokes on a sob. He doesn’t want to end here. He needs to get out.
He lets out a broken cry and charges down the hallway without care, flames licking at his clothes trying to grab at his skin. His lungs heave for air that just isn’t there, and they seem to burn as well, but Jay keeps going. The wooden boards beneath his feet wobble, could give at any moment, and when one splinters beneath his foot, he keeps running, ignoring it with desperation fueling his legs.
At the end of the hallway there are stairs—or there were once stairs. Now, it is just a drop, with flames eating the wood at the bottom. Jay nearly stumbles to a stop but with a last second thought he speeds up, and jumps. He has enough training so far that he lands in a roll on reflex to lessen the impact.
Out of the roll, he keeps moving, ignoring the pain from jumping down a level. Exhilaration finds his heart when he sees a door—a not-wooden door that isn’t on fire. The burning windows on either side imply that behind that door is the outside where there shouldn’t be fire. Jay wants to be there, where there shouldn’t be fire.
He runs to it, and despair returns when he find the opening panel to be shot and shorted out. Jay looks to the burning windows. One is very clearly broken open, wide enough to fit through. Yet, the fire in front of the window is rather repulsive. Jay disregards that as unimportant and climbs through the fire, cutting his hands on the glass of the broken window frame and heaves himself into the outside.
Jay falls to the grounds and hardly takes a moment to relish in the cool night air and army crawls away from the house on his elbows, unwilling to put his cut hands to the dirt. When he’s far enough away, he turns to see the terror, this blazing house of nightmares.
It barely stands, wobbling dangerously. Jay is surprised at how loud fire is, cracking and crackling at the house. He lays on his back and leans up on his elbows, letting the cool breeze dry the tear tracks on his face and the cold sooth the burns on his arms and legs. It’s so nice out here, away from the heat, Jay could hardly believe how nice it felt to be out in the cold night.
With a rumble and a crack, the house collapses, swirling ash and embers in pretty spirals into the air as the wood splinters and crumbles and continues to burn. Jay watches.
At some point, something taps and shakes his shoulder, and Jay lets out a cry and curls into himself. But it’s insistent, and what feels like hands grab at his shoulders, and haul him gently backwards. They coax him to lay out and he does, and he opens his eyes that he didn’t know he shut to find a few other people standing around him. Their faces are solemn and hollow, which is just a step past how he feels now. It’s then that he knows that they too have felt the desperation and brush with death and now wait for life to resume again. Their clothes are dusted with ash and singed from fire.
Jay nearly bursts into tears again, but the pale Zabrak that comes into focus at his shoulder shushes him. He goes to take Jay’s hand, but Jay is suddenly reminded of the glass, which he would like removed if that’s alright. It kind of hurts now, so its immediate extraction from his flesh would be rather nice. He pulls his hand away from the zabrak and shows him the blood and glass. Together, they begin to remove it.
By the time the sky starts to lighten, the dark of night giving to pale yellow, his hands have been wrapped with the shreds of his pants, wounds cleaned from water in the stream the other survivors found nearby. He’s wearing impromptu shorts now that end at his knees, but his hands do feel infinitely better without glass in them. He can make do with shorts, even if it’s getting a bit chilly out this morning.
Overall, the burns on his arms and legs aren’t too bad. Some of the others have worse, where the flames dug deep into the layers of skin, but Jay’s don’t reach deep enough to be concerning.
“You’ll be okay, just keep an eye on them, and you’ll heal. Like sunburn,” the zabrak reassures, his voice a deep baritone and oddly soothing. Like Master Plo’s.
Jay frowns and squints up at him, “Something tells me you’ve never had sunburn.”
The zabrak barks out a laugh, seemingly surprised at Jay’s gall, “No, of course not. I’m a zabrak and you’re a pink squishy human. The pink ones only get pinker in the sun.”
Jay looks at his burns, “They look red to me, not pink. I’m not pink.”
The zabrak shakes his head, “Compared to me, you’re very pink. Especially right now,” The zabrak takes a deep breath, both for him and for Jay, “You’ll be alright.”
Jay shrugs. Sure, I guess. Compared to being on fire, Jay’s doing great. “Alright,” Jay concedes.
The zabrak takes another breath and looks to the lightening sky. He shuts his eyes and says reverently, “Better than those left in the flames, may they rest in peace now.”
Tears prickle at Jay’s eyes and his stomach drops into ice.
“What?” He whispers, not really wanting to know the answer. There were people still in there? When he was escaping? How did he not notice? What if he could have done something? He hadn’t even thought—he was so caught up in himself, he should be better—
The zabrak hushes him, “They are in a better place and we better move on. We are the survivors. We march on through the fire.”
Death, yet the force. Or, more closely to what Ba’vodu says during remembrances, Marching On Ahead. Jay swallows his despair and joins the Zabrak to honor the ashes in the clouds.
After that, their little group of survivors (no more than fifteen) wander off into the forested wilderness. It seems they have decided that wandering towards civilization is a bad idea, since that is where the slavers are. So that is where these people don’t want to be. Jay is unsure if wandering into the unknown is the correct plan of action, but he also agrees that he doesn’t want to go back to the Zygerrians, so he follows along.
He sticks to the zabrak’s side. Nobody talks; they walk silently between the trees for hours, seeing small creatures flitter amongst the underbrush. There doesn’t seem to be any dangerous predators here, and hopefully the amount of people in their little group would be enough to deter any. Safety in numbers, hopefully.
Jay watches the little creatures of this planet play in the trees and bushes. They’re kind of cute and weird. Like tooka’s but with small, rounded ears, tiny muzzles, and silky antennae that bounce as the dash around. He will have to look them up when he gets home. Dad would probably be interested. He’s weird like that. He’d want to go exploring for the sake of adventure and curiosities. The day passes quicker than Jay thought it would, and by the time the sun is setting, Jay’s feet ache and he’s ready to rest.
A few slaves go out to scout for water and food before it gets too dark to see. He wants to go with them, but the zabrak nods his head to call him over.
The zabrak makes him sit back against a tree and crouches, reaching for the collar on Jay’s neck. Jay flinches, and the hand pulls back. He had forgotten it was there.
“What’s this for?” The zabrak asks, and then tenses, “Please tell me it’s not a tracker.” Jay shakes his head, since he’s pretty sure the collar Death Watch put on him isn’t a tracking collar (no need to keep track of a prisoner in a cell) and the Zygerrians didn’t bother with a new one. The zabrak relaxes. And if it were a tracker, Jay would have told them before trekking through the woods all day. He considers the consequences of telling this zabrak what the collar does and concludes that it should be alright to trust him. Jay also fingers at the collar.
“It suppresses the force,” He replies.
The intricate markings on the zabrak’s face shoot up in surprise and wonder, “Oh. You’re force sensitive.”
Well yeah. Duh. Jay nods. He thought that was implied.
“We should get that off.”
Jay nods. He would very much like it off. He would very much like to feel the force again.
The zabrak strokes his chin in a move that reminds Jay of dad (which is even stranger since zabraks don’t have beards), “Hm,” He hums, “Being force sensitive is very useful.”
Well yeah. Duh. Jay nods again.
“Will being force sensitive help us escape this place?” The zabrak asks as he fiddles with the collar, pulling out a small tool with little gadgets. Useful for mechanics, Jay realizes, a slave mechanic.
Jay is honest when he answers, “It could. I’ll do my best to use the force to help us escape. I’m sure I want out of here as much as you do.”
“Maybe,” the zabrak murmurs, busy with his contraption. The other survivors wander around them to watch. There is likely little else to keep them entertained out here near the wood. Still, he feels uncomfortable being the spectacle of the evening. He doesn’t like being stared at, not before and definitely not anymore.
“Aha,” the zabrak murmurs again, “There we go.” He flicks his wrist.
The clamped collar clicks and snaps off and for a moment nothing changes. Concerned, Jay attempts to open to the force, searching for a moment, and he’s too late to realize that is mistake.
The universe capsizes around him, like he’s been punched in the metaphysical stomach and he is trying to suck in metaphysical air. Jay has no idea what’s happening to his actual body, since it seems he’s no longer in it, and he flips and swirls through the dizzying energies of the cosmos.
He doesn’t know which way is up or down, or if direction is just another sentient construct, like time. His metaphysical stomach may just have him metaphysically vomit because he feels sick. It’s too much. There’s so much life, so much noise, so much, just so much…
He jerks like a he was jolted with electricity and is violently slammed back into his body which he can’t seem to control. It thrashes around him and he can’t breathe. Some survivors are trying to snag his flailing limbs and soon he is pinned down, but he keeps going, leaving his body behind again.
He sees flashes, colors, images, and sequences of various people and places. He watches Aunt ‘Soka fight something red and black, he sees some angry danger lady circle what Jay knows to be Grievous, and he sees Ba’vodu get stabbed through with a black saber. It’s horrible and terrible and violent and Jay tries to scream but it seems that without a body, it’s a bit difficult. Vocal cords are necessary for screaming.
Everything with his body is a bit difficult at the moment. Like where is it and why can’t he breathe.
He’s once again violently slammed back into his body and he continues to jerk with a rhythm, little shocks in the force match the chest compressions one of the slaves seems to be preforming on him. That explains why I couldn’t breathe, Jay blearily thinks.
Scared that the force will drag him back down with a vengeance, he clamps back down in the force, strangling his connection to a mere trickle. Only after a moment, he realizes he went too far, because when he reaches out again to grasp at it, he can’t seem to open up again.
There is only a trickle. Great, now the force is peeing on him instead of the smooth flow of a river. That’s not quite what he meant to do. But it’s better than that maelstrom of force he just went through. Small mercies, he supposes.
He takes a deep breath, blinking the spots and bright lights out of his vision, frustrated and grumpy. Everything is dark, and then Jay realizes that the little episode took long enough for the sun to set completely. Was it minutes or hours?
“Are you alright?” Someone asks.
“I’m fine,” Jay says with a pout. He sits up and proceeds to keep going to his hands and knees to upend his stomach. There is nothing in it, so it’s very unnecessary, but it sure did its very best. Jay dry heaves and groans. Why must his body betray him so?
The zabrak snorts, “Yeah, just fine, kid.”
Jay fixes him with his best glare from his position close to the ground. He just chuckles.
At least he has something to laugh about. That’s a small blessing these days. Let’s hope they survive to see more days.
But with the strange hissing growing in crescendo among the woods and the force hissing dangers in his head through pinched connections, Jay doesn’t like the odds.