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.
Obi-Wan lost track of time after that, but he figured it was about an hour or two later when he was packed and ready to sail. The barracks was blissfully empty and it was tempting to stay and enjoy the quiet. But, he finally had all the right parts collected so he shouldered his bulky rucksack and stepped out into the afternoon sunlight.
He passed a few of the raiders, but no one paid him any attention. Obi-Wan had learned to be inconspicuous by habit. He always carried the rucksack whenever he was going for a sail whether he needed to carry anything with him or not. That way, no one would find it odd to see it so stuffed now.
First he stopped by the kitchen. Shevann ran the pirate outpost like a military operation and so there were regular serving times for meals. Obi-Wan's hours were too erratic however and it was rare that he actually sat down to a meal with everybody else. The cooks had become accustomed to him entering the kitchen at odd times and taking food however. He ate less than anyone else did anyway and they didn't seem to mind. No one was there though so Obi-Wan opened the coolers and pulled out cheese and bread and stuffed them into the rucksack. He refilled his flask with fresh water and was ready to go.
The small sailboat tethered to the shore was the only thing on the island that had nothing to do with Shevann's operation. It had been there when Obi-Wan arrived. It was a derelict, washed ashore years before perhaps. It was mostly ignored except for the time when some of the men had pulled wood from its hull to make a bonfire on the beach.
Obi-Wan had repaired the damage to the hull and made it seaworthy again. Working by a dim light in his bunk while the men slept, he had mended the tears in the sails with a needle and heavy thread. And when his work was complete he had enlisted the help of some of the raiders to put the boat back in the water. He didn't really know anything about sailing and his first voyages had been tense affairs where he primarily worried about drifting off and getting lost. But, after several weeks of determined work, he'd managed a level of control and could tack and jibe smoothly in any wind. Now he could sail the thing with his eyes closed if he wanted to.
For his efforts, it had been universally agreed upon that it was his boat. None of the men dared touch it and referred to it distantly as "Kenobi's boat". Obi-Wan was fine with this though as much as he wanted to, he didn't give it a name. That would give too much away, but when he thought of the boat in his mind, he called it "Freedom".
He untied the bowline and pushed the boat deeper into the water before throwing his rucksack aboard and finally climbing over the rail onto the deck. He turned quickly and was soon on a steady tack towards a neighboring island.
He reached into the rucksack for his lunch, which he ate mechanically, more out of necessity than anything else; he hadn't been able to taste anything for four years. With his knee pressed under the tiller to keep the boat balanced he could eat and steer at the same time and still think about the rest of the day. It was likely that Shevann would want him to kill that merchant later after they'd confirmed the location of the cargo. Obi-Wan frowned. He hated the way Shevann manipulated him. He checked the chrono on his wrist. He had a little over four hours. It didn't leave him much time. He finished eating and pulled on the line to trim the mainsail, sheeting it in tightly and speeding up the boat by a few knots.
He didn't think about anything for a while, just concentrated on the horizon until the shape of an island was rising before him. He let the boat slow then and balancing the tiller on his knee once again, lit one of his two remaining cigarettes. He'd won these off Benz, the only person in the whole operation who he might have considered a friend. Benz was lousy at parac but always bet generously anyway. He looked forward to beating him again later that evening, if whatever Shevann had planned for him allowed for it.
As the boat rubbed against the rocky beach Obi-Wan jumped out and tethered it to a hook he'd driven into the rock. Then he grabbed his rucksack and ran towards the rocks on the far end of the beach. He stood for a moment at the top and looked down at the fighter. Another derelict, Obi-Wan had found it on one of his early practice sails. Since then, he'd visited it often. It was simply another project, though much more secret then his boat. He didn't really think he could escape, but while he was repairing the old fighter, he imagined that one day he would. And that was almost as good as actually doing it.
He clambered down the rocks and opened the cockpit to slip inside. The fighter was of typical Arcarian design. Yes, it was a fighter with armory and shields, but it was a pirate fighter and therefore it was also meant to haul. Behind the cockpit was a large area for storage. Obi-Wan set his rucksack down on the single seat and released the clasp that held its secret compartment closed. This was how he had collected and carried parts for years. He'd learned quickly not to scavenge the inventory bins, but rather to take parts off of the working fighters while they waited in the hangar. That way, when the ships turned up broken, it was thought that the mechanics were simply incompetent and the missing parts were quickly replaced.
Today he pulled a pilfered cockpit light assembly out of the bag. All of his test flights had occurred during the day and within the troposphere, however, he knew that were the ship ever to actually go into space, it would need proper lighting.
He always started work with the same ritual. First he pulled a timer from a small pocket in the bag and set it for 1 hour and 45 minutes. Then he clipped it to his belt. Next he pulled out his logbook and read the last entry in it, trying to visualize the events of the previous work session. The ritual completed, he laid the assembly out on the floor before him and straightened the wires. Mechanically he reached behind him for a spanner and felt only bare floor.
Obi-Wan turned in a panic to see his entire toolbox was missing. His first thought was that someone had found the ship and stolen all his tools. He'd put it back in its spot the day before, he was sure of it. He looked at the floor and traced the faded box he'd drawn in ink with the word "toolbox" written inside. No, he'd misplaced it again. That had to be it. Mentally cursing himself, Obi-Wan looked around. How many different notes and reminders did one need to write just keep track of their own tools? When he didn't see it in the obvious places, he started to panic in earnest.
Perhaps he'd accidentally sealed it inside an access panel? Without a uni-driver around though, he couldn't open the panels to check. Obi-Wan reached for his rucksack and rummaged around in the pocket where he kept a spare driver. He'd misplaced that as well. Uttering curses aloud now in every language he knew he crawled around on his hands and knees looking underneath the dash and inside various unlocked compartments. All these spots turned up empty.
Obi-Wan shut his eyes and tried to think. If he could only remember but the day before was a blur. He could recollect the basic events, but none of the particulars. He had been to the island and worked on the fighter, but what had he done? Where had he put his tools? In desperation, Obi-Wan reached for his notebooks again, but found them missing too. He looked around for them on the floor, but they were nowhere to be seen. Nearly in tears now, Obi-Wan resumed his search only now looking for the logbooks. His tools and his records were missing. He had to be the most worthless mechanic in the universe. How could he expect to finish this job if he spent half his time looking for his tools? Fighting back the urge to simply jump out and set the ship on fire, Obi-Wan opened his rucksack.
Inside were his logbooks. He must have put them in there when he was looking for the spare driver. He couldn't remember doing it at all. For all he knew, the books could have jumped in there on their own. Obi-Wan was so happy to find them that he couldn't remember why he had been looking for them. He put them in their usual spot and glanced at the cockpit lighting assembly spread out on the floor. That's what I was working on, he thought. He sat down in front of it and reached behind him to pull a spanner from his toolbox. It was missing! The whole box was gone. His heart began to beat faster as he fought to get control of the situation. It sometimes seemed to Obi-Wan that the entire world around him was completely unstable with supposedly inanimate objects jumping from place to place as though they had wills of their own.
It came back to him then that the session had begun with the search for the missing toolbox, but Obi-Wan had forgotten where he'd already looked. He had to do this more calmly. He shut his eyes for a moment and just tried to breathe. It worked. More relaxed now, he pulled out Log 4 and opened it to an empty page. Then he systematically searched the ship, keeping a list of each place he looked. He had filled nearly a page when he looked under the pilot's seat and was victorious. He dragged out the heavy box and looked inside. At least all his tools were there. Even his spare uni-driver was in there. Obi-Wan sighed; glad to be in control again. Now he could begin working.
First he put the spare driver back in its pocket and then he put the toolbox back in its spot and pulled out 4 spare bolts normally used on the wing struts. He drove them through the bottom of the toolbox and bolted it securely to the floor. There, he would never lose it again. He glanced at the timer on his belt. He'd wasted over half an hour just looking for things.
He would have to hurry now. Obi-Wan returned to the cockpit lights and smoothed them out. Then with a feeling of relief, he grabbed a spanner from its spot to open the access panel.
The rest of the work went relatively smoothly and by the time Obi-Wan's timer went off, he had had a successful test in which the cockpit lights glowed green in the dim cockpit. Pleased, he reset the timer for 15 minutes and then began cleaning up.
Getting a good start the next time depended on a diligent clean up effort the day before. Yesterday he'd clearly failed at the task, but today he wouldn't make the same mistake. He scoured the floor for tools and when they were all in their slots he closed his toolbox and shut its latches. He swept any leftover debris off the floor and dumped it outside. Next task was to keep a record of his work. First he checked off the task in the list in Log 1. Proudly, he dwelled a little bit on the list; noting not for the first time in recent weeks that the number of things that had been done greatly outnumbered the number of things that hadn't been done. He smiled.
It occurred to him that if he started saving now, there was a remote chance that he would have enough to get all the way to Coruscant by the time the ship was completed. He resolved that if Shevann gave him extra tonight, he would save half and hide it in the ship. Maybe he could escape after all.
Obi-Wan scribbled a quick entry log 4 and banded the notebooks back together and slid them behind the toolbox. He quickly scanned the space to make sure that he hadn't left anything that he needed to take with him. Then Obi-Wan opened his rucksack and made sure he wasn't taking anything with him that needed to stay. Everything looked good.
The timer on his belt was buzzing as Obi-Wan hiked back over the rocks toward the sailboat. He silenced it and shoved it back in his rucksack. The wind had picked up as well. This was good news. He was going to be early this time. Early was always better than late.
Leaning back in the boat with his hands behind his head, Obi-Wan smoked his last cigarette. The wind was strong and the sound of the boat cutting through the waves was almost exhilarating. So far, it had been a pretty good day. With the exception of that damn merchant and then his wandering toolbox, the day had gone fairly smoothly.
He plotted briefly on ways to keep better track of his things. Obi-Wan's forgetfulness was legendary amongst Shevann's raiders. He relied on notes to himself usually. It had taken him over a year to train himself to write things down and once he had, life went a little smoother. Before that his life had been a blur of misplaced objects and frustration. He forgot the locations of his silverware at meals and often searched frantically for items that he was already holding in his hands. But now even with the notes it got complicated. He had notes reminding him where his notes were sometimes. Other times he found the notes but had no idea what they meant or sometimes he knew what they meant, but no idea when he'd written them.
It was funny. Obi-Wan could remember the temple where he'd grown up in perfect detail. He played a game with himself. He would picture a room from the temple in his head and name every item inside. Sometimes he would run through all the footwork for all the forms for lightsabre fighting he had learned; he could do it either in his head or by actually doing the steps. It didn't matter, though sometimes the men made fun of him if they caught him. He could recite word for word lessons he had learned from Master Yoda. He could remember events fairly well, things that Shevann had said to him, the last words prisoners cried out, the expressions on their faces. But he had on more than one occasion had trouble finding his bunk in the barracks. He forgot people's names the second they were introduced.
It was a side effect of the Erebus he knew and that if he stopped taking it he would return to normal and remember things again. He couldn't stop taking it though and so he resigned himself to the condition. He would make a better effort. Keep better track of his notes. Maybe Benz could help. Benz was the one who'd first suggested keeping notes. And when they had first met, Benz had been kind enough to introduce himself every time he spoke to Obi-Wan until Obi-Wan had finally learned his name. Benz had even spied for him once and caught the practical jokers who really were moving his stuff around for a while.
He still felt pretty good when the boat slid onto the sandy beach. Obi-Wan climbed out, tethered the bow and had walked up the beach a few paces when he stopped. Nothing on his shoulders. He turned around and pulled his rucksack from the boat. That was better.
The first stop was the barracks. Obi-Wan returned the rucksack to his locker. He never went to the fighter armed, but now that it was getting towards dusk he took his side arm in its holster and buckled it around his waist. The fact that he was allowed to carry a weapon made it clear that he was no longer a prisoner, but truly one of Shevann's men and was a demonstration of Shevann's trust in him. But to Obi-Wan, it only emphasized his feeling of captivity. Never the less, it was better to be armed after dark. Secretly, he would have preferred his lightsabre clipped to his belt, but that had been taken from him a long time ago. He wasn't even sure if he was worthy to carry it anymore. The blaster, the blunt weapon of a raider, seemed to suit him better now anyway.
Before he closed the locker, Obi-Wan made a quick inventory of its contents. Everything was where it should be. Pleased, he shut it and locked it. It was time to find Shevann.
Things seemed to be heating up over in operations. It looked like a group had returned from a raid. Obi-Wan couldn't tell how successful it had been. A few of the men looked fairly beat up and one went in to the infirmary on a stretcher.
Shevann sat in the room he used as a sort of office. It was small room with stained walls, a table that acted as a desk, and racks of various weapons. He looked up grumpily when Obi-Wan tapped on his doorframe.
"Where have you been?" He shouted.
"Sailing. I told you." Obi-Wan said calmly. He didn't let Shevann's moods bother him.
"You're late."
Obi-Wan checked the chrono on his wrist. "No, I'm early." He responded.
Shevann looked around for a moment. "Go help Benz in the infirmary." He said.
Obi-Wan started to protest, but Shevann held up his hand. "He asked for you." Shevann said. "So go. Or you'll have to deal with me."
Defeated, Obi-Wan turned and walked toward the infirmary. He had been hoping that Shevann could put him right to work so he could get what he needed before things went downhill. Now there was a good chance that wasn't going to happen.