Chapter Text
The door to the pit groaned open. Arla allowed her eyes to open just enough to observe. She’d perched in the farthest corner, in a small alcove above eye level. The Manda had been nudging her in warning for the past few days and the position gave her the best defensible vantage point. The pit was hardly ever opened outside of meal and muster times.
The mining corporation she’d been purchased by had operated much like many organizations she’d been owned by in her ten years of enslavement. Well they had, until the company head had landed on this dismal little planet.
The security had increased, as had the volatility of the guards, and meals were fewer and farther in between.
A large humanoid man stood silhouetted in the doorway. All but tossing a small form into the pit before the door slammed shut again, the locks clunking into place.
The form made a small whimpering noise. And a humanoid figure, sat up, a hood shadowing a too young face. An ad .
Arla had seen children in the slave pits, had been one as well. It never did any good to get attached to them in places like this. Mining pits were death sentences to children that small. Still Arla felt the gnaw of unease at the sight. A stirring of sympathy.
The ad scrambled towards Arla’s corner, keeping a respectable distance from any of the other slaves. He pressed against the rock wall beneath her with shuddering breaths, little hands tentatively touching the metal collar around his neck. His hood slipped down and Arla caught sight of close cropped coppery hair. The Manda was tugging at her awareness. Urging her to approach. She pushed the feeling away. Focusing instead on the other huddled groupings of slaves.
Most ignored the tiny thing. But Posh was eyeing the ad hungrily. The Trandoshan had eaten one of the weaker slaves a few rotations back, despite the beating he’d received for it Arla knew he wouldn’t hesitate to do it again. She clenched her fist around a sharpened piece of ore. A crude shiv she’d fashioned for herself months ago upon being delivered to Offworld Mining Corporation.
As predicted it only took a few minutes for Posh to rise, snarling and snapping at anyone who so much as glanced his way. He towered over the child. The Manda clamored around her. " Haar'chak ." She hissed.
Before he could open his ugly scarred mouth, Arla pounced. Bringing the shiv down harshly across his face. She tugged the child behind her.
“Ner ad.” She bared her teeth in a sneer, clutching the small boy’s arm with one hand and the bloodied piece of ore in the other. Posh snarled back, clutching at his bleeding maw. “Mine.” She ground out in basic, her accent heavy. She could feel the boy trembling in her grip.
The Trandoshan withdrew, growling low as he went. The surrounding slaves hunkered down further, eyes cast anywhere but Arla and her-the ad. She turned to the trembling child, taking in the absurdly wide blue gray eyes, copper hair and pale freckled skin.
Jango had been this small once. A bright little boy whose face she’d lost to time. “ Meg cuyir gar gai? ”
“I don’t-” The kid shook his head, eyes brimming with tears. “I don’t understand.” He tugged at his arm.
Osik. Arla let it slip through her fingers. “Name.” She finally managed after a moment of searching for the words in basic. “What’s your name?”
“Obi-Wan.” The boy said after a moment, twisting his fingers into the sleeves of his dirtied tunic. “Obi-wan Kenobi.”
Arla startled at the Stewjoni name. One without clan. A name given to exiles, not children. “You’re alone.” she said instead of the string of expletives she wanted to let loose.
“Yes.” he seemed to curl in on himself further.
He wasn’t anymore. She would try to make sure he didn’t end up eaten or buried. “Up.” She urged him, gesturing to her elevated nook. It was a tight fit for both of them, but manageable with a bit of maneuvering.
Obi-wan pressed into her side, trembling minutely. “What’s your name?” the childish voice made her jolt.
“Arla.”
“Thank you, Arla.”
How an eight year old had been ‘aged out’ of the initiate program was baffling. Even more baffling was that it hadn’t been caught until Agricorps flagged the initiate as missing. What was even more surprising was that a Jedi Master had been in the area, and still the initiate had gone missing. Any Master worth their salt would have tried to recover a youngling. Would have kept a close eye on them. Force sensitives were highly sought after in slave markets.
Feemor clenched his jaw, studying his former Master as he walked down the ramp of his ship. And he was still his former Master, despite his blanket repudiation of having any students years prior. He tried to press his lingering hurt and irritation into the Force, a long slow breath out through his nose the only physical indication he was doing so.
“Knight Feemor.” Jinn acknowledged him, surprise in his tone. No doubt he hadn’t expected to be greeted by anyone at all, despite having lost an 8-year-old initiate in an undersea slave mine .
“Master Jinn.” He returned, his bow curt and just this side of impolite. “The council wished for me to follow up with you on your mission report.”
“I included all relevant information.” Qui-Gon hummed, tucking his hands into his sleeves. “Perhaps the council should review it before we conduct a debriefing.”
“The council has reviewed your mission report and found it lacking.” Feemor countered his deflection smoothly. “I will be debriefing you now . Lives depend on it.” One life, but the man had already proven to be rather blase about the child’s wellbeing. Feemor thought perhaps a tiny white lie could be permitted under such circumstances.
“Very well.” Qui-Gon said after a moment of silence.
Arla prowled near the door to the pit, eying a guard with a snarl. He allowed his electroprod to crackle. The aruetti had taken the boy at the beginning of the work cycle. While Arla was thankful the ad wasn’t in the perilous undersea mine, breathing in the dust from the ore. But she also railed against being separated from the boy. Slavers were rarely kind to children, and having him dragged off to parts unknown wasn’t promising.
The gate opened, snapping her out of her thoughts just in time for a whip to crack next to her feet causing her to skitter backwards out of reach. Another guard tossed Ob’ika into the pit and the doors slammed shut again.
Ob’ika rose with a groan, his right cheek freshly bruised. He stumbled towards her and Arla swept him up into her arms, noting his wince as she did so. “ Vaii cuyir te aaray? ” the ad made a noise that sounded questioning and Arla cursed low in mando’a. “You’re injured?”
“S’not bad.” he replied, grip tightening on her dirty tunic as she marched them back towards their spot. Arla sucked on her teeth in disapproval.
“What did they want?” she asked instead of letting loose a slew of profanity in every language she knew.
“He wanted me to reach out to him.” Obi-wan mumbled into her shirt. “But I can’t.”
“Who?” Arla asked, hushed as she slid to the ground below her nook. “Who did he want you to call?”
“Master Jinn.” Obi-wan said and Arla tightened her grip on the child.
“Your Master?” She pressed. Obi-wan shook his head, hair tickling Arla’s jaw.
“No, I wasn’t chosen.” Obi-wan said and his breath hitched in a small sob. “But Xanatos thinks I’m lying. He thinks if he hurts me Master Jinn will come.”
Arla felt ill equipped to comfort the child in her arms, but awkwardly raked her fingers through his hair, making shushing noises and rocking him gently back and forth. There wasn’t enough information to draw a full picture in her mind. But Xanatos was a name she was more than familiar with. And if that nasty shabuir was interested in Obi-wan it was definitely bad news. He was trying to bait a Master, perhaps Ob'ika's former owner. To what end? Perhaps Obi-wan had been stolen from his last Master...
The lack of information was making her head spin.
Arla needed to get the ad out. And fast.
Hondo was having a very good week. They’d gotten by Bandomeer’s pitiful defenses with no trouble and only had to burn one chain code to do it. They’d caught wind of some munitions being shipped to the planet by the Offworld Mining Corps. They were dangerous… and expensive and ripe for the taking. It was too big of a payday to pass up. They’d easily infiltrated the facility, timing their entrance with when the guards transferred the slaves into the mines to cause maximum chaos.
The sound of a blaster going off behind him gave him pause and he turned to look behind him.
A human woman, Hondo squinted behind his goggles, yes he was sure it was a woman, stood over the body of an offworld guard, blaster still trained at the being’s back. Based on the amount of grime coating her skin, she was undoubtedly a slave. His eyes flicked down to the blaster loosely clutched in the guard's hands, undoubtedly having been pointed at him.
“My good fortune continues!” He exclaimed aloud, spreading his arms wide and grinning at the woman. “You’ve saved me the trouble of needing to exercise my trigger finger.”
“More like I spared your mother a funeral.” She ground out, voice rough.
Hondo Barked out a laugh, “My mother is far too busy to attend, but it’s a nice sentiment.” He hummed in thought. “Still I’m in a giving mood, and one small good turn of fortune deserves another.” He paced forward stopping when her blaster twitched up towards his chest.
“I need to get off this planet. I need a ship.” The woman didn’t smile so much as bare her teeth. “And fuel.”
Hondo tutted. “Such a hefty request.”
“You’re here for the bombs.” The woman stated and Hondo tilted his head in interest. “You need codes to arm them.”
“And you have them?” Hondo inquired. A ship and some fuel was worth what those codes would fetch him.
“No, but I know who does.”
“I’m listening.”
Obi-wan coughed, his arms shaking as he tried to push himself off the floor again. His throat ached from where Xanatos had used the force to choke him, repeatedly. A boot pressed into his back and he fell back down under the weight of it.
“You see, Padawan.” The sith, because what else could Xanatos be but that, said. “How little your master cares for you?”
“He’s not my master.” Obi-wan bit out, trying to press his distress into the force. There was no emotion, only peace- “I told you, they sent me to Agricorps-”
The doors to Xanatos’ ornate quarters slid open, and a few guards rushed in.
“Mr. Du Crion-” The first man was lifted off his feet by the force, his sentence cut short by a gurgling noise.
“I thought I was clear.” Xanatos sighed as if he wasn’t choking out one of his own men. “I am not to be disturbed.”
“Our apologies, sir.” The sound of distant blaster fire started filtering through the blast doors. “But we are under attack.”
As if on cue the doors exploded, knocking the guards across the room like rag dolls. Xanatos’ heel ground down into Obi-wan’s back and he bit back a noise of discomfort. He twisted his head to see the events unfolding near him. Smoke clouded the jagged hole blasted into the door. Arla stepped through, blaster raised and aimed at Xanatos.
Obi-wan felt the sudden urge to cry.
“ Dinuir ni te ad. ” Arla snarled, reverting to her native tongue.
“A revolt.” Xanatos smirked, unclipping his saber from his belt. “How quaint.”
“Release him.” She replied, probably translating her earlier demand.
“I was hoping the Jedi had come to save their wayward youngling.” Xanatos continued, ignoring Arla’s demands. He ignited his saber, it cut through the air too close to Obi-wan’s cheek, singing the skin just beneath his eye. “But this should be fun regardless.”
Arla growled and fired off two shots, rolling away as Xanatos batted them away. She fired two more driving Xanatos away from Obi-wan. He gasped, relieved when he drew in more air, the spots in his vision dancing from the change.
He scrambled out of the way as Arla fired a few more shots. One went high, striking the chain holding an ornate chandelier.
“You’re a terrible shot my dear.” Xanatos mocked.
She fired another shot dodging as he volleyed it back and stepped backwards into the center of the room.
“Wasn’t actually aiming for you.” She grinned, a feral baring of her teeth.
Xanatos looked confused for a moment. Then several things happened at once. Arla whistled, high and sharp. The chain holding the chandelier snapped with a groan, falling towards Xanatos. And a gaggle of Weequay Pirates burst into the room.
Xanatos threw his hands above his head, holding the chandelier up with the force. Arla sprinted, scooping up Obi-wan into her arms and making a break for the door. The Pirates began to provide covering fire for them as they ducked through the hole.
Mando’a:
meg cuyir gar gai? - What’s your name?
aruetti - Outsider
vaii cuyir te aaray - Where is the pain?
Shabuir - Extreme insult
Dinuir ni te adiik - Give me the child.