Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It wasn’t that Obi-Wan Kenobi was neurotic, or even bossy, or emotional, or a bully. It was simply that he was stressed.

Frankly, he can’t remember the last time that he wasn’t stressed. 

First, it was getting chosen as a padawan, then it was Bandomeer, which led to Xanatos and Bruck, which led to Bant and Tahl, and Tahl was already a stressor due to Melida/Daan, which, of course, was its own entire thing, not to mention the fact that Obi-Wan is behind in all his classes and he thinks that the last time he actually got a proper medical check-up was two years ago.

His collarbone ached, and he couldn’t tell if it was because of the dislocated shoulder he had to pop back in himself of because his hair was getting too long and brushing his shoulders, reminding him of the way it wasn’t up and out of the way like a proper padawan should.  Either way, it was a problem for later, for rest and recuperation and a long shower.

A problem for once he got out of this force-damned cage.

Honestly, the cage wasn’t actually that bad, he was just frustrated with himself because he ended up in one.

Master Jinn said to look into the audits the Senate had provided for their simple import/export tax negotiation between Crait and Socorro in the Trailing Sectors, in the Outer Rim. That was probably a warning sign: what would the Senate care about two Outer Rim territories? Sure, the Socorri Ambassador they had talked to at the beginning of the talks had made a great show about all the new jobs mining salt and minerals they were going to have for their ‘at-risk’ lower-class citizens, but Obi-Wan wasn’t born yesterday. So, when he spotted a weird line about ‘unfiltered minerals to undergo refining’ in a separate factory from the rest of the minerals, Obi-Wan resigned himself to not getting a quiet evening. 

Perhaps that was where he went wrong. Master Jinn only told him to look into the audit, he didn’t tell him to go stick his nose in the damn thing. Sure, he was being encouraged to be more independent; he was nearly 15, and he should be able to handle a simple smuggling operation by himself, but no. Obi-Wan didn’t warn his Master that he was going to be looking into things further or write a note or anything. Obi-Wan was so, so stupid for not writing anything down. He should have written everything down with exact details, and then someone could have at least found what he found.

Worse (or perhaps better?), he had disguised himself. Taking his hair out of his padawan nerf-tail and slicking down his spiky fringe using his braid as a headband, he had put on a shirt and pants to blend in with the younger crowd looking to sign up for a job mining minerals, and promptly gotten taken for asking too many questions about ‘payment’ and ‘contracts’. That, and the whole ‘young, fit, and pretty’ that the man had sneered at him right before Obi-Wan reached for the lightsaber in his boot and got his shoulder dislocated in return.

He should have just gone back to his Master when his search hit a dead end paperwork-wise and endured the lecture about ‘looking beyond what’s in your books’ and ‘hitting the streets’ and ‘interacting with other sentient beings’. At least then he would be stuck in a cage of a spice freighter, hearing the slavers discuss whether he would be more valuable to sell or for them to use him.

He refused to think exactly what use they would have for him considering that Obi-Wan certainly didn’t look like a good spice-refining slave. You tended to have to be taller, bigger, and older to be able to deal with the spice inhalation without ODing, and it was quite clear that Obi-Wan last had a proper temple-cooked meal over 6 months ago.

At least they don’t know he’s a Jedi; that would make this whole situation worse.

A moron had taken him, because his lightsaber was still in his boot, and his cuffs were standard issue.

“I’m just saying,” The nasal annoyed tone of the human man who grabbed him said. “He’s pretty, skinny, and young enough to be trained. Too-smart, but some like them like that. If you don’t want to keep him, we can gift him to Free-Taa; he has a thing for young things in orange. Might trade us for two head-tails back.”

Obi-Wan stopped himself from snarling at the slur. He has to pretend that his system didn’t filter out the sedative stuck into his neck quicker than it should have due to the Force.

“So we’re just going to have dead-weight taking up room when we could kriffing use this space for kark we know will sell?” The other slaver, a Sarkhai woman, growled. “We don’t do business on risks, Helvik!”

“He was a risk running his damn mouth asking if we got unions and benefits and kriff,” The man, Helvik, said. “Now he gets benefits for having his mouth open and we get a nosy blabbermouth to sell. If it’s the space you’re so kriffing angry about, he can share a cell with another worker and we can fill this closet with some spice by the pound, okay?”

“Ugh!” The woman stopped her boot down in clear annoyance. “He’s your problem to deal with, but I don’t want you getting distracted just because you’ve got a pretty new thing to sit on your lap. If he doesn’t sell for at least 100 peggats, then it’s coming out of your cut.”

The man hauled him up from the floor, throwing Obi-Wan over his shoulder and letting his hands linger and squeeze until Obi-Wan wished to kick and bite him, damn keeping himself hidden. “100 peggats? Driri, you’re lowballing. I say he’s unused and clean, and we get 120 peggat, easily.”

“Free-Taa ain’t paying that much for a human, you know that. ‘Sides, he’ll outgrow his age preference within ten years. 95 peggats, that’ll be his first offer.”

“You betting on that?”

Obi-Wan tried to stretch his senses out to see exactly how many slavers there were onboard, but with the sedatives still making the ends of his fingers numb and the slaves spread about the ship, he couldn’t figure it out. There were ten sentient beings onboard, that he knew, but honestly, he couldn’t quite figure out if that being on the other side of the ship was a particularly sentient plant or a person really high on spice.

He doubts that there were more than 3 slavers onboard– more than that would be just excessive for a ship this size and they would only need 3 to keep the 7 other sentient beings ( slaves) in line. 

He could, probably, reach into his boot and make a run for it now. He just has to time it properly and–

Oof .

…and pay attention to his surroundings.

Obi-Wan was roughly dropped into a different cell, bigger than the literal cupboard of his last cage, but unfortunately already occupied by someone.

Said someone was kind enough to wrap their arms around him so he doesn’t fall straight to the floor and brain himself, though their gasp and grunt showed that they probably are weak enough that the surprised lunge to grab him had strained something.

“Eyn adiik,” The person said in shock, anger, and protective fury so strong that Obi-Wan resisted flinching away from. They pulled him closer and curled around him, away from the slaver.

“Really, Helvik? Giving the brat to the Mando?”

Mando? Wait, a Mandalorian ?

“What?” Helvik really did seem to exist to be permanently nasally. “It’s a Mando, it’ll guarantee the pretty thing won’t get damaged by anyone in transit.”

Not if they find out he’s a Jedi! Oh Stars and Force-Songs, Obi-Wan has heard enough stories about Mandalorians and what they do to Jedi while he was in the creche to steer more than clear from any Mandalorian.

The door slid shut, trapping Obi-Wan with what was likely his death.

He should have written a note. If he wrote a note, he wouldn’t have gotten taken in the first place. He needs to always write a note. He’ll leave three notes next time, just to be sure. If he leaves three notes, then he can be sure that he won’t be taken by slavers. He bets that if he left three notes on Bandomeer, Xanatos wouldn’t have taken him then. Now he’s going to be killed by a strange Mando on a strange spice freighter on a strange path, if he doesn’t get sold into slavery again!

“Hush, ad’ika, I know you are awake,” The Mando spoke softly, with their accent warping the simple sentence, most notably with the vowels of his words. “I will not harm you. The demagolka are gone.”

Obi-Wan, despite himself, opened his eyes to see a man, not so tall or strong that he could immediately imagine the large Mandos from Quin’s horror stories, but he could see the ghost of that durasteel will that gave him away. There was no beskar to hide him from his curious Force touch, to which he could see the adult had no agression towards him at all.

Not that this would last once the man found out he was a Jedi. He should have written those three notes.

“Hello ad’ika,” The Mando said gently. “Hope those demagolka didn’t hurt you when they grabbed you.”

“N-no,” Great job Obi-Wan, stutter and annoy him. “J-just some sed-seda-tives.”

His throat hurts, probably because it got jabbed with a needle, and he only noticed it now that he’s talking.

“Shabuire,” The man said in a language he could only assume to be his native one and brought his hands up towards Obi-Wan’s neck. To inspect for damage or to strangle him, he didn’t know, so the boy flinched away from him.

The man immediately pulled away, “Udesii, ad’ika, udesii. I’m not going to hurt you. They grabbed me too, see?” He lifted his chin so Obi-Wan could see the electro-shock collar around his neck. “I just want to check your neck for damage. You’re not their usual grab; they may have underestimated the amount of sedatives you needed but they probably overestimated their strength, didn’t they?”

“I’m ffff-fine,” Obi-Wan insisted, shuffling away from him. “It’s just a bru-uise.”

The Mando’s eyes sharpened at each stutter he made, but didn’t say anything about them.

“If you say so.” He slowly, telegraphing every move, leaned back. There was barely any space in the cell, just enough for both of them to sit up against a wall and fold their legs up so they didn’t touch. “My name is Jango, what is yours?”

There was a pause of indecision on the padawan’s side before he decided to answer truthfully.

“Obi-Wan.”

Jango smiled, “Nice to meet you, Obi-Wan. Now, is that a blaster or a vibroblade they forgot to take out of your boot?”

He really, really, really should’ve written those three notes.

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan considered his chances of making a run for it right now.

Probably zero.

Sure, he might be able to successfully force-push Jango hard enough into the wall that he’ll struggle to get back up, but then he’ll still have to cut through the cell wall and pilot the ship back to Socorro, which he wouldn’t be able to complete if the Mando was still alive and able to hunt him down and torture him, pushing Obi-Wan down and laughing as he cried for mercy when he–

No. He doesn’t have a chance.

He pushed himself further into the wall, “P-please don-n’t hur-urt me.”

A small frown appeared on Jango’s face, “I won’t, Ob’ika, I already told you so. But if you have a weapon, I might be able to break us both out.”

Was Obi-Wan trembling? Maybe. All he could think about was the way that Jango would react, furious and with disgust, right before he holds him down to kill him. Just like the adults of the Melida and Daan did.

Slowly, Obi-Wan reaches into his boot and pulls out his lightsaber.

Jango freezes as his face contorts into a scowl, “Jetii.”

Obi-Wan didn’t need to know Mando’a to know what that word meant.

“Please,” He said. “I wa-wan-ant to esc-c-cape too. I can get us out, an-and then you ne-ever have to see me. Plu-please.”

“How do I know you’re telling the truth, Jetii?” Jango spits the word out like it was a slur. “Your hut’uun’la kind lie and trick everyone. I bet the second I turn around, you’ll take my head with your Jetii’kad.”

Obi-Wan knew he shouldn’t, he knew that if his Master were here, he would be getting beat over the head with his own saber hilt, but he did it anyway. He held out the saber hilt to the other man.

At least, if he was going to be killed, he would rather it be a part of his own soul that did it rather than hands that probably scream with blood taken.

“He-e-re,” He offered. “Yo-ou can carr-rr-y it. Bre-a-ak us both ou-tt.”

Jango looked surprised, then wary as he slowly– then, like a striking serpent, snatching– the lightsaber from his hand.

“Jetii don’t part with their Jetii’kad lightly,” He narrowed his eyes at Obi-Wan.

Trying to go for non-chalant with a shrug (which tripped over its own laces and faceplanted the second his stutter appeared), Obi-Wan said: “If yo-uu-’ll trus-tt me more with ii-tt, then Ii-’ll trust yo-ou to be k-ii-nd enough to give me a qu-ii-icker death with it.”

The Mandalorian ignited the bright blue blade, and Obi-Wan tried to hide his flinch at seeing someone else hold his lightsaber. The kyber wasn’t yelling or upset, but the vibration of confusion was still easily detectable to him. He mentally apologised to it, then again, and a third time, just so the blade understood.

Jango was proficient with weapons, it didn’t take a genius to figure that out when he easily sliced his way through their restraints.

Before he started cutting through the cell door, however, he paused and looked Obi-Wan up and down. 

“How old are you, Jetii?”

Obi-Wan hesistated for a second, tempted to answer 15 since he was only 2 months off, but refrained. Jango seemed like he wouldn’t like it very much if he lied. “Fou-rr-teen.”

The man cursed, “Where the kriff is your Jetii’buir?”

Obi-Wan didn’t know what that word meant, but he recognised that tone, “My Ma-as-ter told me to in-ves-ss-tigate the audit, I’m ol-ll-d enough to do it by myself!” 

Perhaps he shouldn’t talk back to the angry Mandalorian holding his lightsaber, he reflected as he scrambled to push his back flush against the wall when he saw Jango’s scowl light up blue.

“Yeah? That why you’re enslaved?” Jango said, “And what’s with the stutter? Do you have a concussion I need to know about?”

“No,” He has had enough concussions to be able to tell that this wasn’t one. (Master Che, on the other side of the galaxy, twitched her lekku in irritation towards an unknown source.) “I th-ii-nk they gave me a ba-ad sed-da-t-ii-ve. My fing-errs are nu-umb.”

Jango cursed again, “Yeah, well, stay behind me then. I don’t need you karking this up for me.”

Obi-Wan was quick to nod. Whatever made the man who maybe might not kill him, happy.

Jango held his lightsaber like he knew how to hold a blade, but he also gripped it too tightly like he was confused at the lack of weight in the plasma blade, throwing off his entire rhythm. 

That didn’t stop him from using Obi-Wan’s lightsaber lethally, bisecting the slavers, Helvik and Driri, and decapitating the captain. 

He took weapons from their corpses before moving on, uncaring of the lives he just took.

Obi-Wan didn’t particularly care either for people who enslaved him, but he also didn’t spit on their dead bodies as he robbed them. That was something he had seen the Elders do on Melida/Daan, never the Young. They just took what they needed and moved on. Obi-Wan had never cursed a corpse for what it had done.

Jango slid into the pilot’s chair, immediately checking the Astro-Nav system. “What planet did they grab you from?”

Obi-Wan was startled at being addressed, “S-socorro.”

Jango frowned, “We’re still close, but I’ll have to break hyperspace to return you. Destination is Ryloth, two days away. Guessing it was to refuel and sell you; they don’t buy much spice there.”

Obi-Wan tensed at the mention of being sold before his mind caught up as to what Jango had said. “Wa-ai-it, returned? You-uu-’re not going to k-ki-ill me?”

“Kill a drugged, unarmed, brainwashed kid?” Jango snorted derisively. “Only the second I know you’re going to betray me. It is not the Mando’ade that are the kyramude, that honor goes to your demakolka Jetii Order.”

“We’re pe-ea-acekeepers!” Obi-Wan protested hotly, throwing his caution to the wind. “Manda-aa-lor-or-ii-ians are the ones that k-ki-ill Jedi! Quin sa-ai-d that he met one that wo-or-e the pada-aa-wa-aa-n braid of a Jedi-dii he ki-ill-ed! We do-on’t run around we-ear-ing the skulls of man-da-aa-lor-ii-ans around on our be-e-lts!”

“Padawan braid,” Jango seemed to test the word in his mouth. “Is that the stupid braid you have? That’s the one to show you are Jetii’ad, yes?”

“It sh-oo-ows that I am under the guardi-ii-an-shh-ip of a Jedi Master, that I am le-ear-arni-ii-ng,” Obi-Wan said. “Mine is shor-ort, with one ba-aa-nd, see? It means that I have been a pad-aa-wan for a year. Quin said the br-ai-id had only one ba-aa-nd. They killed a ch-ill-d who probab-lee-ly couldn’t fight.”

“A braid means you aren’t of age?” Jango froze.

“By Jedi sta-aa-an-dar-d-ss, no.”

Jango started cursing up a blue streak.

Oh no. Obi-Wan has pushed him too far this time. He took a step backward. Maybe he could hide in the vents until the ship arrived at a port and run away then?

Jango pinned him with a glare, “You’re going to the medbay to check if you don’t have neurological damage, ad’ika. I will go free the rest of the workers onboard. Do. Not. Run. I do not want to deal with your Jetii’buir on a warpath trying to find you. You can send them a message when we refuel on Rhyloth, got it?”

“Three.”

“What?”

“I have to send th–re-ee messages-ss.”

Jango looked bewildered, “Okay, three. Strange code you have there.”

“Not a code,” Obi-Wan shook his head. “He might miss the fir-ir-st two.”

Jango looked like he wanted to argue as to why Qui-Gon might miss any messages when he was currently missing a child, but just scowled. “Whatever. Medbay, now.” He pointed Obi-Wan’s own lightsaber at him, “And avoid any Mando’ade wearing grey and blue beskar, I bet it was a dar’manda kyr’stad, not a vengeful Haat Mando’ad, your little friend saw.”

Obi-Wan couldn’t do anything but promise and scamper off at the threat of his own lightsaber.

Chapter Text

“Do you have neurological damage?” Was the first thing Jango asked him once he returned, trailing 6 spice-addled slaves.

“No.” Obi-Wan replied, sitting up on the bio-bed, ready to climb off so the others could have a turn.

“Scans indicate no neurological damage,” The med droid confirmed his words. “However, stress and adrenaline hormones produced by his species do not mix well with the sedative used. Within 24 to 72 hours, he shall regain normal functions. If this persists longer, a maladaptive psychosomantic response to stress may have been formed and he should seek treatment from a medical centre.”

“I’m fi-ine,” Obi-Wan summarised.

“Sure,” Jango looks like he distrusts every word that comes out of Obi-Wan’s mouth, but through the force he could tell that the man did accept his words. “Move then, I have others to check on.”

All six sentients were all rather healthy (or as much as a slave could be): big, strong, old enough to drink, and only suffering from mild dehydration and spice withdrawal.

“What were they going to do to you?” A Zabrak warily asked him once they finished their turn on the bio-bed. “You’re too scrawny to be put to work.”

Obi-Wan’s lips twisted as he remembered the way the slavers had treated him, their slimy words and lingering touches. “I’m pre-e-tty enough to be-ee put to work.” 

Every sentient immediately gave a huge wave is distaste-disgust-hate into the Force.

“Too young,” A human male muttered. “Monsters.”

“Yes,” Jango agreed. “Which is why they’re calling their Jetii’buir to come pick them up the second we leave hyperspace.”

Obi-Wan tugged on his shirt sleeve, uncomfortable. “I have to leave th-thr-ree messages for Ma-aa-ster Jinn.”

“Yes, you’ve said that,” Jango gave him a strange look. 

“It’s important,” Obi-Wan said. “One to send, two to remind, three to ensure. This way I know he will come pick me up and I don’t have to find my way back to the temple by myself.”

“Does that happen often?” A Togrutan man asked, lekku twitching. “You get left behind?”

“I’m ol-ll-d enough to in-n-ves-tii-gate by myself, bu-u-t if we get seperat-t-ted, I’m old enough tha-a-t he doesn’t nee-ee-ed to come pick me-e up.” Obi-Wan hedged around the question, purposefully avoiding even thinking of those 8 months alone on Melida/Daan and that month in the deepsea mines of Bandomeer.

“Jehaat,” Jango said. “You’re underage in every sense of the word.”

“Hope you’re not thinking of just handing the runt over without telling the idiot Jedi off for losing the kid,” The Zebrak said to Jango. 

“Hey!” Obi-Wan frowned, bristling. “I for-g-got my three no-o-tes! I was sup-suppos-sed to be doing jus-ss-t paperwork, then there were ta-axe-es and I went un-und-undercov-ver and they gr-rab-bed me! It’s my f-fault! Master Jinn le-eft me in a libr-ra-ry.”

“Great.” Jango muttered, “A jare’la jetii’ad and his di’kut jetii’buir are my responsibility.”

Obi-Wan glared at him, able to tell that he had been insulted but not how.

“So, where are we landing?” Another human man asked, picking at the medbay bandages on his arm. “We’re free now, right?”

“Ryloth,” Jango answered. “We’re free, alright. You saw the corpses. Just need to stay that way. Everyone makes off once we get on planet, no stragglers, we don’t want any vengeful parties finding us.”

The Zabrak nodded stiffly, “Scatter and take the paths of freedom.”

Paths of freedom? Is that a metaphor for the mid-rim’s recently-freed refugee program?

“Exactly.” Jango nodded, picking up a scanner and waving away the med-droid to check himself over. “I’ll stay with the kid, I’ve dealt with Jetii before, I have a feeling he’ll try to run if we blink.”

“I-i am perf-fe-ctly capable of ta-aa-king care o-of myself,” Obi-Wan replied mulishly, though he knew that the Mandalorian was right on the money.

“You’ve already admitted to me that you ran from where your buir left you, ad’ika, you aren’t convincing anyone.”

Obi-Wan, the picture of Jedi grace and serenity, stuck his tongue out at him.

Jango slapped a bacta bandage on a whip cut and stood, making Obi-Wan flinch back at the movement.

One of the other humans watched the interaction between them warily, and Obi-Wan could pick out in the force the way he was ready to jump in between them if anything escalated.

Jango froze and slowly brought his hands up, similar to the way that Obi-Wan would approach agitated animals that his Master brought home. “Ob’ika, I’m not going to hurt you, I swear. Haat, ijaa, haa’it.”

Seeing his look of doubt, he continued. “You’re a kid, still too young to even make your own legal decisions in every culture in this galaxy except 3, and with 2 of those 3 they’ll take into account the fact that as a  Jetii you’re underage. No Mandalorian would knowingly and willingly hurt a kid, our enemy or not. You’re safe with me.”

“A-and my ma-aa-ster?” Obi-Wan asked, “Will yo-uu hurt hi-im?”

“As long as the shabuir didnt purposely leave you alone to get hurt and has been looking for you, then I’ll let him go with a warning.” Jango shrugged, “If I see that he’s dar’buir, then I’m contacting the proper Republic authorities to let them know about an abandoned Jetii youngling so your Order can fetch you. Either way, you’re going home to your temple and I am getting to swear at a Jetii.”

Obi-Wan could tell that there was more to it, both in the force and the way Jango reacted earlier to him being a Jedi, but he was too tired and anxious to tell whether it was a good or bad ‘more’.

“F-ii-ne,” Obi-Wan said. “Can I ha-ave my saber ba-ck-ck?”

“When we get to Ryloth, I don’t want you attempting any escape plans before that.”

Jango was infuriatingly good at guessing all of Obi-Wan’s plans, which makes sense he supposed. Mandalorians were the Jedi’s greatest foes, other than the Sith, because they were the only people who were consistently good at killing Jedi and developed their weaponry to specifically kill force users.

“Until then, I want you here, in the medbay, recovering. I’ll pilot, I want two people moving the spice and separating the stuff we can sell for credits and stuff to dump, and two people raiding the ship, one moving the bodies and one babysitting the Jetii’ad.”

“I can he-help!” He protested, “I don’t need a ba-bee-bysi-ii-tter!”

“You got scanned but I haven’t seen a single bandage on you.”

The med-droid buzzed, “Patient Obi-Wan has refused medical assistance of his dislocated shoulder, bruised ribs and throat.”

Jango gave him the flattest look possible, “Droid, as Ob’ika’s emergency guardian due to the lack of his actual guardian, I give you full approval to treat him and I want a full report once I return. He is too young to give informed consent by Republic standards, so I’m doing it for him.”

Obi-Wan spluttered at the audacity of Jango going over his head, trying to tell him that the force will provide and not to waste resources on him.

Every single adult gave him a look of disapproval and disappointment and he shut up. Fine. Let them waste resources on Obi-Wan and get angry at him for taking up space later. Whatever.

“Stay,” Jango pointed at him like he was a particularly troublesome akk-hound.

He responded by crossing his arms and immediately having to hide his wince of pain.

Jango stalked out, muttering about Jedi and stubborn children half in Mando’a, half in Basic.

Chapter Text

Ryloth is not a major trading hub in the Outer Rim. In fact, while it held one of the most prized species of the galaxy for slavers and the rich alike, the surface of the world was one the most dangerous in the galaxy, with the only truly habitable places being the cave systems that sprawled under the surface. 

Ryloth had an unusual day-night cycle, and despite the harsh colds that the cover of night brought, the dark was far less dangerous than the day, which randomly had unpredictable heat storms of 300 degrees celsius with winds of 500 km/h. Only thin bands of habitable lands filled with caverns, fauna, and flora existed, and even then, those were not ideal areas to land as ice and heat could still badly affect passing ships.

Probably why Ryloth never developed its own intergalactic travel and relied on traders, pirates, and smugglers to spread them across the galaxy.

Hence, the unusual stopping point for their ex-slavers.

Refuelling after the hasty exit from Socorro and dumping Obi-Wan really seemed the only reason they would’ve stopped there.

There were several other ships rushing to refuel and trade away their wares in the singular port, hoping to get everything they needed done in the short 24 hour period they were given as a safe window to land.

Jango had handed each of the other recently freed a bag of spice, the good stuff that was dense and strong, and told them to scatter and trade their way offworld. Obi-Wan watched as they joined the small groups of Twi’leki that were attempting to approach each ship and barter passage, some having more luck than others. 

His eyes sharpened as he spotted a ship that accepted a pair of young teen twi’lek girls, probably only two or three years older than him, that had been turned down by several other ships for their trade not being sufficient enough to pay their way offworld. The girls were the pale lavender color of twi’leki of the icier regions of Ryloth, a much rarer shade than the common blues and oranges of the twi’leki of the desert and mountain regions. He had a horrid slimy feeling about it.

“Jango,” Obi-Wan tugged on the man’s sleeve, “L-look.”

His stuttering had gone down, only occasionally making their return, and the med-droid had been pleased to state that they would be gone by the end of the day.

The Mandalorian was busy overseeing the refuelling of the ship, paid for by seven kilos of spice (a bit pricey), and occasionally turning down a hopeful passenger.  “One second, ad’ika, I can’t take my eyes off this until it fills exact– oya! Got it, what’s going on now?”

Obi-Wan pointed at the two girls boarding the pirate ship, “The-yy’re slavers. We have to help them.”

Jango frowned, “Is this your Jetii osik or what?”

“No, I’m just taught to ii-den-nt-tify signs of slavers. No pad-dawan wants to get caught,” He said. “Look at their coloring; it’s rr-are. They got turned down by five ships for not having enough to pay their way, b-but these guys take them? Look at the captain, he’s practically salivating looking at them. The-yy’re the only ones they took too. The-yy’re slavers. I can feel it.”

“I don’t know, ad’ika.” At the look of betrayal Obi-Wan gave him, he elaborated, “Your logic is correct, but we can’t save them. We have to focus on saving ourselves first. You are my priority, ob’ika. If we provoke them, we do not have the manpower to defeat them. Live to save them another day.”

Obi-Wan heard his words, understood them, and promptly decided they were stupid.

“Fi-ine,” He lied mullishly. “When can I contact my m-master?”

Jango gave him a look, clearly suspect at the way he had let the problem lie so easily. “In a few minutes. The ship has a sub-space communicator, but we need a long-range comm to contact him if we want a response in less than a day.”

“You’re let-ting me do a long-range comm?”

“You want to make sure he knows and is coming, right? This is quicker and you won’t need to do your three messages.”

“It’s more ex-pen-sive.”

“I also want to make sure he’s coming. We’re looking at bartering for port in the cavern for a night or two while we wait for your Jetii’buir to come pick you up. I’d rather not have to pay to wait here for a week and give those slaver scum’s contacts time to hunt us down.”

“Oh.”

That did make more sense. Still, a part of Obi-Wan itched that he still needed to do those three messages because they were more reliable, though he knew that, logically, a long-range comm is the most reliable form of communication. 

“You Jetii aren’t that smart sometimes, are you?” Jango peered down at Obi-Wan. “Don’t want medicine, don’t want to spend money, don’t even wanna save your own neck.”

Obi-Wan scowled, “W-would you? It’s not like we have all that much to st-tart with, and the Sss-enate only gives us enough if we prove that we can do th-iings like save people. Jedi are monks , not bount-ty hunters. We don’t get p-paid for doing good.”

“Right,” Jango drawled. “Like I bet the fancy politicians haven’t ever tried to gift you Jetii something nice so they can keep you in their favour.”

“They have ,” Obi-Wan was frustrated. What part of ‘Monk’ did Jango not understand? “We don’t k-keep it. The Senate re-pur-urs-ose it as soon as they c-can. Nield left me a leather bracelet . The Sss-enate took it .”

Jango actually frowned down at him, “What? You telling me that the Senate is controlling the Jetii by the collar like an actual attack strill?”

Obi-Wan couldn’t help but snort, “Jedi don’t attack. We’re only allow-wed to react. H-how do you think I got caught? I c-couldn’t attack first, not without pr-oo-f, not until I knew what was wrong.”

“And what would have happened if the Senate told you to attack without proof?” There was something dark in Jango’s eyes.

Obi-Wan shivered, a phantom feeling of slimy death-dark-despair-grief thickened in the Force. 

“T-the Jedi C-code forbids it. The Force… i-it would protest .”

Jango scoffed and turned away from him, “Brainwashed you may be, Jet’ika, but all you Jetii are the same. All your actions are justified in the name of some mystical power only you can listen to.”

Growling in frustration, Obi-Wan pulled away from the Mandalorian. Why did he even think of arguing with him? He’ll never understand. He’ll just as soon kill Obi-Wan as he’ll forgive the Jedi for whatever imagined slight Mandalorians think they’ve done.

“Call me wh-en you found a place to spen-dd the night,” He threw over his shoulder as he stalked away, knowing that there’s nowhere for him to go on this force-forsaken planet.

“Don’t go anywhere,” Jango huffed. “I still got your Jetii’kad. I have no qualms about selling it for credits.” 

Obi-Wan hissed quietly at the casual sacriledge. It was so karking stupid ! Nobody ever listened to him! And if they did , they died ! Why can’t he do anything right ?

He kicked an empty shig bottle across the port in frustration. He needed to meditate, but he wasn’t anywhere safe or light enough to feel comfortable doing so without Master Jinn. He didn’t want a repeat of the incident on Melidaan.

He just wishes that he didn’t feel so karking useless!

Oh.

Obi-Wan landed his eyes on the slaver’s ship where the two innocent twi’leki girls had disappeared into. He tapped his hip three times where his lightsaber was missing.

He smiled, oh.