SUMMARY:  Obi-Wan.  Drama, angst, AU.  What if Obi-Wan were the
slave, and Anakin the little twit apprentice?

NOTE:  I've paid attention to canon when it suited me, and ignored
it when it didn't.  Don't expect this to go exactly like the movie. 
The story was also originally intended to be longer, but that was
a long time ago, and when I found it in my folder of unfinished
works, it seemed reasonably complete as it was.

ARCHIVE:  Please.  As often as possible, and wherever you like.



Chosen One, by Mercutio (mercutio@europa.com)


     "Yeah, well, shove it down your nostril holes and regurgitate
it for breakfast!" the voice called.  "And don't even think about
bothering her again!"

     A man stumbled out of the ramshackle building, a bruise
forming on his face, "You're a slave, Kenobi.  There's nothing you
can do about that."

     Another man, much younger, sun-bleached blonde hair over
tanned skin followed him.  "Being a slave is something I can
change.  Death, however, is dead.  No one can change that.  And
that's what you will be if I see you near my mother."

     The man snorted and brushed past the Jedi and his two
companions.  Yeah, and maybe you'll actually finish one of your pod
races someday and buy your freedom.  Before Wattoo realizes he can
get more money for you pimping you to Jabba."

     The slave's face flushed, but he didn't retreat.  "For now..."

     "I'll save my money.  Maybe Wattoo'll find you a place where
you can live with all the rest of the whores.  I'm going to look
forward to reaming your sweet ass when that happens."

     "How rude!" said the Gungan.

     "I rather think that was the point," the Jedi master said in
a quiet voice.  He stepped forward, between the two men,
interrupting the heated discussion.  "I'm looking for some parts
for my hyperdrive.  I was told that this was the place."

     Kenobi unwillingly refocused on the tall man.  "Yeah. 
Wattoo's out back.  He's got enough parts to build a ship.  If you
don't mind it being fifteen different kinds of ship."

     "This Wattoo is your owner?" Padme asked.

     Kenobi nodded curtly.  "That's what they usually call someone
who has slaves."

     "I didn't think that the Republic allowed slavery."

     "This isn't the Republic."  He smiled tightly.  "Welcome to
Hell, lady."

****

     Once Qui-Gon settled down to bargaining with Wattoo outside
the shop, Padme and Jar-Jar were left alone inside with Kenobi. 
The Gungan seemed fascinated with all of the mechanical gadgets
lying around the cluttered interior, and soon stumbled into
trouble, activating a group of droids that had been put away for
storage.

     "Jar-Jar!" Padme said sternly.

     "Meesa sorry," Jar-Jar said, "Meesa fix this."  He grabbed for
one of the droids, succeeding only in knocking over a pile of
merchandise.

     Kenobi jumped up from the bench where he'd been working and
all but growled at the Gungan.  "Just hit them on the nose."

     "Okeday!"  And promptly swung, hitting the slave instead.

     The slave coped grimly with the droids, putting them back in
their places, and quickly righted the mess as well.  Then he stared
up at Jar-Jar, and waved his hand at the bench he'd just gotten up
from.  "You will go sit over there.  You will not touch anything
else.  Do you understand?"

     Jar-Jar nodded.  "Meesa sit over there.  Meesa no touch
anything."  And he did just that.

     Padme turned to Kenobi.  "How did you do that?  You looked
just like a..."

     "You think you some Jedi or something?  Waving your hand
around like that?  Mind tricks don't work on me, only money!" came
the sound of the owner shouting from outside.

     Padme winced.

     "Like a Jedi?" Kenobi said with a bitter smile.  "Yes.  All
Jedi work as slaves.  When you grow up, they ask you, 'What would
you like to do?  Roam the galaxy?  Eat regularly?  Watch people bow
and scrape to you?  Or be a slave and wonder when your owner is
going to get tired of you and sell you, wonder when your mother is
going to get raped because you aren't there anymore.'  I chose
slavery.  Seemed like fun at the time."

     "You don't have to be so cruel."

     "Yes," he said bleakly.  "I do."

     "You..."

     She was cut off by Qui-Gon emerging into the shop.  "We're
finished here," he said.

     Padme shared a long glance with Kenobi before turning to
follow the Jedi.  Qui-Gon was three steps outside into the street
before he realized Jar-Jar was not following them.  He returned to
the shop.  "Come along."

     Jar-Jar was up and out of the shop like someone released from
a trap.

     "Didn't have what he wanted?" Kenobi asked as Wattoo came back
inside.

     "He didn't want to pay."

     "Oh.  One of those."

     Wattoo squinted at the outside.  "Storm's coming up.  Go home
for the day.  Wouldn't want you caught in a sandstorm, eh?"

     *Wouldn't want my skin to get anymore beaten up than it is,*
Kenobi thought,  *Might hurt my eventual resale value,* but didn't
say so, losing no time in exiting the presence of his owner.

     Outside, he made his way to the market.  His meager funds
would not stand up to a purchase, but there was a podrace upcoming,
and he wanted to see what the competition looked like.  Not that he
would be in it.  There was the little matter of the entry fee. 
Wattoo might pay it -- but he'd take all the winnings too.  Leaving
nothing for Kenobi, especially not money to free his mother and
himself.  Still, the life of a pod racer, short and violent as it
often was, was still better than that of a 'pleasure' slave. 
Perhaps he should get Wattoo to sponsor him.  If he could win...
well, a podracing human would be a novelty.  And he'd rather sell
those skills than what Nedrosb had wanted to buy.

     Sebulba was indeed at the market.  Sitting back, boasting with
one person Kenobi knew on sight as a hanger-on, and others that he
didn't know.  Trying to stay out of view, he hung back, only his
better-than-average hearing allowing him to listen to the
conversation.  One thing you learned well as a slave -- how to
listen.  Paying attention to what was said, especially what was
said that you weren't supposed to be able to hear, was a key part
of survival.

     Not walking directly into Sebulba, by the sounds of it.

     He risked looking over at Sebulba, who was picking a dead
something off his head.  The Gungan again.  Kenobi wasn't sure what
the Gungan had done, but it was standing there, and he would lay
odds that the bumbling fool was behind Sebulba's bad temper.

     Kenobi wondered idly whether Sebulba would try to kill the
Gungan.  It would be an uneven fight.  Sebulba was meaner and
better-trained, and the Gungan was a walking menace.

     Before anything could happen, the tall man from the shop had
stepped between Kenobi and the combatants, blocking his view.  A
few moments later, the odd trio walked away from Sebulba, toward
him.

     The Dug was still angry, and Kenobi turned his attention to
the trio, who'd stopped to buy something at a booth.  The tall man
reached under his tunic for his money, and Kenobi saw the
lightsaber on his belt.  The tall Jedi, then.  What was a Jedi
doing in this Sith-spawned place, bargaining for hyperdrive parts? 
The Hutts despised the Jedi; this one wasn't here because he'd been
invited here.  If he needed parts for a hyperdrive, the obvious
conclusion was that the Jedi had a broken ship somewhere, and while
he might be broke on Tatooine, the Jedi themselves were surely
wealthy.  And powerful.

     How could he use this to his advantage?

     The slave did not consider asking the Jedi for help.  No one
did anything without a reason.  He'd learned that as well as he'd
learned other hard lessons.  But if *he* were to help the Jedi,
then possibly he might be able to find a way that they could both
be helped.

     "Sir?" he said subserviently.  "Obi-Wan Kenobi, from Wattoo's
shop...  I wondered -- do you have a place to wait out the storm?"

     The Jedi's gaze focused outward.  "Yes, there is a storm
approaching."  His brow furrowed and he looked at his companions. 
"We'll have to get back to our ship."

     "Your ship -- is it far?"

     The Jedi looked at him cautiously.  "On the outskirts of town. 
Why?"

     At least the man had the sense to guard himself against
thieves.  But then, if you believed all that was said about the
Jedi, this one might know if he were lied to.  "You don't have
enough time to make it.  The storm will be upon us soon."  The
slave looked around them pointedly at the merchants beginning to
close up their shops and move their goods inside.  "Come home with
me.  You can shelter with my mother and me."

     The Jedi examined him thoroughly.  "That's a very generous
offer.  Thank you.  We accept."

     Kenobi nodded, glad that his plan had worked.  Now, to find a
way to get the Jedi what he wanted while getting what he wanted for
himself.

     He set off in the direction of his home, checking once to see
if the trio was following him.  Assured that they were, he made his
way there quickly.  It was not far, but already he could feel the
wind whipping up and sense the darkness in the air.  Soon, very
soon.

     By the time they reached their destination, the storm had
already begun.  Wattoo would not be pleased if he knew his property
was out in this weather.  Obi-Wan grinned.  All the more reason to
be out here, lowering his value.

     He opened the door carefully, not allowing the wind to take it
from him.  "Mother, I'm home."

     His mother appeared from the tiny room she used to work on her
own tasks for Wattoo.  "And nearly too late, Obi-Wan.  I can hear
the wind."

     "I ran into some people in the marketplace.  He moved forward
into the small house, letting the people with him be seen.  "They
needed a place to wait out the storm.  I told them they could come
here."

     "Of course," she said immediately.  He loved her heart, and
her willingness to welcome the new into her life.  She had not
always been a slave, unlike Obi-Wan who had been born into it. 
Without her, he did not think he would understand compassion, or
indeed anything other than how to survive.  By existing, she had
changed him, made his life different than that of other slaves, and
he did not know whether that was a blessing or the vilest curse.

     His mother's only question for their guests was what they
wanted to eat; he had expected nothing else.  She would greet
anyone the same way, whether they be gangster, king, thief or, in
this instance, Jedi.

     During their meal, Obi-Wan thought about what he could offer
the Jedi.  It was unfortunate but true that he could offer little. 
If he had had much, he would not be a slave.  What he did have, he
did not think the Jedi would want.  But if he revealed the risks
and the Jedi accepted... it was a fair trade, if you did not mind
that the person making it was insane, and that the person who
accepted it would have to be worse off than that.

     "Sir Jedi?" he began.

     The man peeled his fruit slowly, even calmly.  "What makes you
think I'm a Jedi?"

     "The lightsaber was a clue."

     "I might have killed a Jedi and taken it from him."

     A reasonable answer.  But not the right one, he thought.  "You
are in disguise.  As you are a Jedi, I assume it is not because you
are alone, or because the Hutts would pay a great deal to have
you--"  It occurred to him then that he could have tried that
option.  Except he wasn't naive enough to trust the Hutts, even if
he were still naive enough to believe that trust was possible at
all, possible with this Jedi.  Naive, or desperate.  "You must then
have something of value with you or you must be in a certain place
as soon as you can.  You would not stop here if you had not been
forced to by your hyperdrive problem, and as a Jedi, you would have
sensed before you began your journey if the problem had been a
routine one.  It was damaged in battle, wasn't it?  And I heard
Wattoo say that it was a Nubian... not much could catch that to
fire at it.  You're escaping from somewhere.  Somewhere where they
would attack a Jedi."

     "It happens more frequently than you seem to think," the Jedi
murmured.

     Obi-Wan's eyes flashed triumph.  "You are a Jedi!"

     "And you have quite a gift.  Was your father strong in the
Force as well?"

     Obi-Wan's face hardened.  "I don't have a father."  He would
not honor his mother's rapist -- her former 'owner' -- with that
title.  His mother said nothing.  She knew his feelings on the
subject and did not feel much more charitably than he did toward
the man, despite her far softer heart.

     "Ah."  The Jedi sectioned his fruit into pieces.  "What did
you want to ask me?"

     "You don't have any money.  Or if you do, you have Republic
credits, which is the same thing out here.  Without money, you
can't buy the parts you need.  So you have a problem."  He looked
directly at the Jedi.  "I have a problem too.  You heard what
Nedrosb was saying.  I'm a slave.  My mother is a slave."

     "I'm not here to free slaves."

     Obi-Wan's mouth quirked up.  "If you're here long enough, you
will be.  No, I think we can help each other.  You need money; I
want something I can only get with enough money.  And I think I
know a way to get that."

     "And that is?"

     "I have a pod.  There's a race coming up.  The prize should be
enough to buy your parts and my mother's freedom.  Get her off
planet."

     "Obi-Wan, you can't do that," his mother said, even as the
Jedi said, "And what about you?"

     He looked between them.  "When I win," and it felt good to say
that, as though in saying it, it had become true, "I'll be the
first human to ever win.  I should be worth something for that. 
And if I'm bought as a podracer... it would be easier to buy my
freedom.  And if I couldn't... I think podracing would be enough
freedom for me."

     "You don't have to do this, Obi-Wan," his mother said.  "I
don't expect it.  And I'm used to being a slave.  I'd rather see
you free.  You still have most of your life left.  And the worst
has already happened to me."

     "I don't want it to happen ever again."

     "I'm too old for anyone to care.  Save yourself."

     "No.  This is what I want to do, mother."  He looked at the
Jedi.  "If you put up your ship as the entry fee, I can enter. 
It's a risk, but if you do need to be wherever you're going by a
certain time, then it's the only chance you have.  Without the
parts, you aren't going anywhere either.  If you have to send
off-world for help, it'll take time that you don't have.  If I win,
you have your parts.  If I lose, you're in the same situation you
are now -- you've got to wait for the Jedi to rescue you or make
some sort of deal to get one of the smugglers to take you.  And you
don't want to do that, because whatever it is you've got with you
isn't something you want anyone seeing, much less one of them."

     "And if the prize money isn't enough to buy both the parts and
your mother?"

     "It will be.  Enough for one slave and the parts."  Obi-Wan
smiled again, still with a bitter edge.  "More than enough for
several slaves of my mother's value.  Wattoo has... other plans for
me.  And I'll be more valuable once I've won.  It's a risk, but an
acceptable one, I think."

     The Jedi finished his fruit.  "I agree."  He wiped his hands
and mouth off.  "I am Qui-Gon Jinn, and a Jedi master.  And you are
very strong with the Force.  Why are you a slave?"

     "I'm a slave because I was born one.  Do you think I *want* to
be a slave?  Do you think I wouldn't rather be..."  He shut his
mouth abruptly.  He could feel the pain leaking out along with the
anger.

     "You weren't tested?"

     Genuine surprise in the Jedi's voice.  Almost enough to make
up for the man's assumption.  "By who?  For what?  This Force? 
You're the first Jedi I've ever seen."

     The Jedi nodded.  "It is unimportant.  I have accepted your
bargain."

     Obi-Wan nodded.  It was what he wanted.  That was enough.

****

     The pod race went about as he had expected it to.  Alert to
the possibility of sabotage, he had made sure that no other racer,
especially Sebulba was ever within touching distance of the pod. 
He'd never doubted its performance, as long as it remained in an
untampered state.

     His mother and the Jedi and his party watched him; each had a
stake in the outcome of this race.  He watched the pod and the
competition and the course.

     That he won surprised him only a little.  Obi-Wan had known he
would do well.  But first, and by such a decisive margin was
unexpected.  As he swung around the stands, racing past the finish
line, he knew that he had secured his future.

     His win had changed everything.

     When he climbed out of the pod, he immediately sought out his
mother, striding toward her and sweeping her up in his arms.  "I
did it, mother.  I did it.  You're safe.  You won't be a slave
anymore."

     As she hugged him back, his eye caught those of the Jedi,
standing still and staring at him with an unreadable expression. 
That look blew threw him like a hot wind, withering his elation. 
Obi-Wan set his mother aside carefully, not breaking contact with
Qui-Gon.  "She *is* safe now, isn't she?  You *will* keep your
bargain?"

     "I have every intention of doing so."

     "Every *intention*?"  He did not look at his mother, although
he wanted to.  "I have done what I said I would do.  You should
have your money.  Wasn't it enough?"

     "It was.  However, I made a small side wager with Wattoo." 
The Jedi smiled unexpectedly.  "For your freedom as well."

     His mother gasped.  "Oh, Obi-Wan..."

     The news stunned him.  And made him suspicious.  "Why?  Why
would you do such a thing for me?"

     "There are no coincidences.  That I met the one person who
could assist me, and that I was the one person who could assist him
in return -- this is a message from the Force.  I believe that you
should come with us."

     "To be a Jedi?  Like you?"

     "No.  You are too old to be trained, and... too angry.  You
would not make a good Jedi."

     Obi-Wan wiped dust from his face, and walked past the Jedi, to
get inside where he could clean off.  "You want me to be what,
then?  A servant?  I don't see how that's much different than what
I have now."

     The others followed him, Padme and the Gungan remaining at a
distance.

     "You would be with your mother..."

     Obi-Wan closed his eyes.  When he opened them, his pang of
longing had passed.  "Maybe.  Maybe not.  I've got a future here as
a pod racer.  I know it."

     "A future where you might likely die the next time you raced. 
Where you would perpetually be among those who are different than
you.  Have you never wondered why it is that you're the only human
racing pods?"

     Obi-Wan shrugged.  "I do it because I can.  Everyone else is
just slow.  They don't focus."

     "Everyone else doesn't have the Force to assist them.  If you
come with me, you'll be among others like you."  The Jedi paused
for a moment, assessing his audience.  "There are techniques you
can learn that will allow you to achieve more control of the Force
than you have.  If you learned them, it would make you a better
pilot.  You would be able to do consciously what you now do
instinctively."

     "I thought you said I couldn't be a Jedi."

     "Understanding of one's own mind is something that everyone
can learn."

     Obi-Wan nodded.  He thought he understood now.  "And if you
trained me, you could make sure I learned to use it the way you
want me to -- or get rid of me if you think I know too much."  He
considered the deal for a moment.  Stepping closer to the Jedi
master, he said in a soft, dangerous voice.  "If you're going to
kill me, don't do it in front of my mother.  And take care of her
if you do."

     The Jedi's eyes widened a fraction.

     "Bearing that in mind, you got yourself a deal."


-the end-