DISCLAIMER: Star Wars and all publicly recognisable characters, names and references, etc are the sole property of George Lucas, Lucasfilm Ltd, Lucasarts Inc and 20th Century Fox. Shevann, Arcarian pirates, erebus, and the whole alternate universe concept this story takes place in belong to Sharon Nuttycombe. This fan fiction was created solely for entertainment and no money was made from it. Also, no copyright or trademark infringement was intended. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. Any other characters, the storyline and the actual story are the property of the author.
Only when Qui-Gon was safely away from the planet and the fighter was traveling through hyperspace on a course to Coruscant, could he relax. He breathed a sigh of relief and shut his eyes for a long while. When he opened them, he took a look around. He hadn't concentrated much on the interior of the fighter when he'd taken off. His greatest concern had been leaving. Though the memory of Kenobi's death still left a sore spot on his heart, he knew that he would have to move on. Maybe when he got back he would take another apprentice. Maybe what Obi-Wan had showed him was that it was time.
Qui-Gon eased himself out of the pilot seat and moved into the compartment behind. The Arcarian fighter was unusual in that behind its cockpit was a fairly large space, most likely for carrying stolen goods or perhaps hostages. Now it was empty save for evidence of the ship's repair.
A metal toolbox sat in one corner, it's latch closed. Qui-Gon tried to lift it, but found it was bolted to the floor. That was odd, normally toolboxes were meant to carry tools from place to place. He opened it and found Kenobi's tools neatly lined up inside. Closer inspections showed that not only were the tools in meticulous order, but also that Obi-Wan had traced around each one with indelible ink to insure that they always went back in the same place. He lifted one out and saw that Obi-Wan had also labeled each slot in shaky handwriting. Obi-Wan had been a serious and well-organized student, but he had never been this organized. No one was this organized. It was almost as though he was afraid of people stealing his tools. But the fighter had been a secret hadn't it?
Stuck behind the toolbox were four tattered notebooks bound together with a wide rubber band. Qui-Gon slid the band off. They were the type of notebooks used by children studying at the temple. Though most of their Jedi training did not require paper or pen, some subjects did. And the children were encouraged to keep journals, to write about their feelings and to later reflect on them. Obi-Wan must have taken some with him when he was sent to Bandomeer. Qui-Gon felt his eyes welling up with tears again. He had done the same thing when he was accepted as a Padawan. He didn't know a single Jedi who hadn't.
He opened the first one. On its cover was written "Log 1" and inside it began with an incredibly detailed list of what needed to be repaired on the ship. Not only had Obi-Wan listed every repair, he had categorized them by whether or not they required new parts. He had written time estimates beside each one, anything from 10 minutes to 4 days though the longer jobs were then broken up into shorter segments, usually about an hour in length. Qui-Gon was pleased to see that nearly every repair had a tick mark beside it. Only a few more cosmetic additions were planned.
The latter part of Log 1 was a daily record of the work. The entries had a strange wandering quality to them. Each item started as lists of repairs and reminders and then turned into journal entries. Qui-Gon flipped to a random entry.
"Did repairs on engine 1, but not finished. Rotor 30 is still bent. Do not
re-sand rotor 29! Rotor 29 has already been re-sanded twice. Do not forget
again!
Bring a better light. The light you have is too dim for working at night.
Today wasn't such a bad day. Not like yesterday."
He looked for a description of "yesterday", but couldn't find one, as the entries weren't dated in any way.
The second notebook, "Log 2" contained further journal entries. Straightening his sore leg in front of him, Qui-Gon sat down on the floor to read. Log 2, written in the same haphazard style and full of reminders not to forget various things outlined the majority of the repairs to the ship's engines.
"Engine 1 finished!
When you start to pull gears, remember that gear one is damaged and sticks.
Don't force it. Gentle.
Use the Force. Ha ha."
Qui-Gon couldn't tell if the last line was a serious instruction or a sad joke on Obi-Wan's former existence. He read on and saw that occasionally Obi-Wan did make references to Jedi practices, but he couldn't tell from the tone of the writing how he felt about them.
The major engine repairs were finished in the first half of "Log 3" which bore the rather cryptic subtitle "No, Obi-Wan write in Log 4 now". The highlight of Log 3 was the first test flight - a long joyfully incoherent paragraph written in shaky capitals. It wasn't until looking at the last page of Log 3 that Qui-Gon understood the subtitle. Apparently Obi-Wan had forgotten about the fourth book and had begun writing in the third again, cramming all his entries onto the last page in tiny illegible letters. Qui-Gon picked up the rubber band that had bound the books and saw that on it was written, "There are 4 notebooks".
That's when Qui-Gon realized, Obi-Wan wasn't afraid of his tools being stolen, he was afraid of losing them. A more careful inspection of the ship showed that Obi-Wan hadn't just kept journals, but had written notes to himself on the controls themselves. Everywhere were reminders to "start here" or that "this is broken, that one isn't" with an arrow. It was evidence of how disorganized and frightening Obi-Wan's life must have been. Obi-Wan had told him that he remembered everything in the last 17 years and maybe he had, but it was clear that his short-term memory for details was almost non-existent. He had only survived by writing everything down.
Out of curiosity Qui-Gon turned to the last entry in Log 4. He wondered how long before his arrival it had been written.
"Lost whole toolbox. Disaster. Not a good day. Found under seat. Lost
half hour.
I've bolted it to the floor. Never lose it again.
Cockpit lights operational!
Have a good feeling about later though. Don't know why."
Qui-Gon wondered, was that the day he had arrived? What had that day been like?
Rising stiffly to as upright as the low ceiling allowed Qui-Gon gathered the books together and bound them again. He limped to pilot's seat and sat down. He was tired beyond reason and soon his eyes seemed to shut against their will.
Holding the notebooks to his chest Qui-Gon drifted off.
What had that day been like?
Obi-Wan opened his eyes and looked around. He decided he didn't like what he saw and shut them again. Already a headache pounded in his temples. As much as he wanted to, he couldn't go back to sleep. He sat up part way rubbing his eyes with a shaking hand. He couldn't let Shevann see him like this.
In the barracks around him, nearly everyone was still asleep, some snoring softly. Last night had been a good night. They were hung over most likely. Reaching behind him, Obi-Wan pulled out one of the 3 cigarettes he had stashed beneath his pillow. They were the good ones, rolled from circacia leaves. He liked the taste and they took the edge off as well. He lit one and leaned back on his pillow, inhaling and exhaling slowly. The cigarettes, along with a few other small items were bartered like a currency among Shevann's men. Obi-Wan rarely had anything to trade, but he was good at games and could usually count on winning a few.
He had done well at parac the evening before, sinking the balls deftly into their pockets and collected 6 of the circacian cigarettes. He'd smoked one and lost two betting on cards, and so now only he had 3, but that was good enough. Obi-Wan sat up and let his feet dangle of the side off his bunk for a moment before dropping to the floor. Holding the cigarette in his mouth he dressed quickly sliding on his boots and smoothing his hair back into a ponytail.
Outside the barracks, things were quiet. The smell of salt air rolled in off the sea and in the growing morning light Obi-Wan almost felt happy. He stopped for a moment and shut his eyes. It was not often, but every once in a while the urge struck him to try to meditate and feel the force. He was pretty sure it was around here somewhere. He cleared his mind and listened. After a few minutes of nothing he gave up in disgust. He couldn't do it anymore. It just didn't feel right. Shrugging his shoulders and sighing, he continued on toward Operations. He flicked the spent cigarette towards the dry brush, not caring about the consequences.
"Operations" was a glorified name for a large bunker that had been divided into many rooms. Most of the rooms were cell like, meant for holding prisoners, usually captives from raids, but occasionally Shevann's own men as well. There was also a mess hall too. And in a small building tacked to the outside like a growth was a place called "The Officer's Club". It was really just a shack where one could get a beer and on some nights watch some poor girl dance. There were games as well. Obi-Wan stopped to read the crude poster tacked on the door. "Tonight - live professional female entertainment." He laughed. Most of the men couldn't read. He was one of the few on the island who could. Maybe the bartender had put it there for him.
The club was distinctly closed this morning, though Obi-Wan was sure it would be packed later. He passed it and entered operations, heading for the mess hall. The cooks were there early most of the time, maybe he could convince them to give him some coffee. They were usually good for it.
He was standing in the hallway, slowly sipping the piping hot drink when Drew caught up with him.
"Kenobi, the boss is looking everywhere for you."
Obi-Wan gave him a sideways glance and took another cautious sip. "Yeah right." He said, not bothering to hide the contempt in his voice. "I was right here." Drew was an idiot. Obi-Wan hated idiots.
"Well, are you coming?" Drew was getting impatient.
Of course Obi-Wan was coming, but he didn't want Drew to have the satisfaction of thinking it was he who had motivated him. So he leaned against the wall and took another sip of coffee that was still too hot, but getting closer to drinkable. Fed up, Drew grabbed him by the arm and pulled. Obi-Wan flinched as the hot drink spilled on his hand and down his neck and dropped the cup, which shattered on the floor.
"Hey!" he shouted.
"Let's go." Drew said impatiently and dragged him a few steps before Obi-Wan managed to slip his arm from Drew's grasp. He followed obediently and found himself standing in a small cell beside Shevann who was glaring at a rather portly gentleman sagging against the bonds that held him to the wall.
"Look at this fat idiot." Shevann said as Obi-Wan entered. "He's a merchant. Deals in precious metals and stones. He says he has no cargo."
"Are his holds empty?" Obi-Wan asked.
"Yes." Shevann said with a hint of suspicion.
"Then he's probably right." Obi-Wan concluded.
Shevann raised one eyebrow. "That's what he'd like us to think. However, he's just been to Kessel and now he's on his way to the site of a known smuggler's ring. Why would he do all that with empty holds?"
"I don't know."
"But you're going to know. And then you're going to tell me."
This was typical. Before kidnapping him four years ago, Shevann had most likely used torture to get information from prisoners about their hidden cargo and its whereabouts. But for the past 4 years Obi-Wan had found himself unwillingly enlisted as Shevann's personal soothsayer, using his once carefully honed Jedi skills to read their thoughts. It was much quicker and if Shevann had then freed the prisoners afterward, he might not have minded so much. However, Shevann usually killed them anyway.
Obi-Wan took a few steps closer to the merchant. He didn't look like a smuggler. He'd already been tortured by Shevann's men. His skin was covered with a sheen of sweat and his clothes, which looked like they had once been quite fancy, were torn and bloodied. He struggled weakly as Obi-Wan approached.
"Don't hurt me." The man pleaded. Tears streamed from his eyes. He reminded Obi-Wan of a big baby.
"I won't." Obi-Wan said gently as he could. He reached out to touch the man's shoulder.
"Enough of this!" Shevann shouted from behind. Obi-Wan cringed and closed his eyes. Shevann was in no mood for games, so Obi-Wan dug his hands in his pockets and concentrated. The man's mind wasn't at all shielded and it was easy for Obi-Wan to penetrate.
"His name is Ken Oglevy." Obi-Wan said, "He has 2 sons back on Correllia. And he has a wife whom he loves dearly. His favorite color is violet. His hand hurts where one of your men crushed it. His arms ache and…"
Obi-Wan paused when Shevann cuffed him hard on the back of the head. "Oh, give us a break, Obi-Wan. I don't need to hear all this poodoo."
"Sorry," Obi-Wan said. "I don't make their thoughts." He shut his eyes again and concentrated on Ken Oglevy. He hated probing the minds of non-Jedi. They were mushy, untrained, so prone to stray thoughts. When Obi-Wan had learned how to do it on Coruscant with the masters at the temple he'd found the practice enjoyable. It was a form of intimacy only the Jedi could understand. Now, he hated doing it. He hated Ken Oglevy's mind, but he felt sorry for him too. And it wasn't like he had a choice.
For the most part the man was frightened and in a great deal of pain. Obi-Wan could sympathize, he felt that way much of the time as well. Oglevy wasn't a smuggler, at least not normally. The ship wasn't even his. He normally ran a very clean operation out of a standard freighter. However, he'd had a few bad deals, needed to make a fast buck and so he had borrowed this ship from a questionable friend who had also arranged pickup of a dozen rare gems on Kessel. The gems were hidden in rather cleverly concealed chambers inside the ship's power cells. The energy charge made it impervious to scanning.
"The power cells contain shielded cargo chambers. They're small, but it's enough to hold a dozen avril rubies."
Shevann grinned and Obi-Wan told him what he needed to know to open the chambers without damaging the cells. They could get a good price for the ship on the black market later and an even better price with its specialized smuggling holds intact.
"Not bad. Not bad." Shevann said. He patted Obi-Wan on the shoulder and slipped something into his shirt pocket. Obi-Wan smiled, opened his eyes and turned to leave. "Not so fast," Shevann said, "I'll need you later. Where are you going?"
"I was going to sail today. It's supposed to get nice for it. Westerlies and all."
Shevann considered it for a moment. "Okay. Go sail, but later, I'll need you so don't forget to come back."
Obi-Wan nodded. That was the one thing he never forgot to do. He always came back. He left the room at a dead run on his way back to the barracks. The camp was waking up now. He could hear most of the men in the mess hall and the food smelled almost edible, but he had what he came for so he left without a bite.