Chapter Text
Kithera stood wrapped in a towel and carefully unfolded the Jedi robes. They looked old, not only by their cut, but also by the fact they’d been folded for such a long time that the creases had embedded themselves into the fabric.
She shook them out carefully, trying to work out who they might have belonged to. Perhaps if she could work out the Jedi that Del had taken the robes from, then she’d have some sort of advantage.
They were male padawan robes, worn and cared for with patches across what looked like training sabre burns. The dark, burnt brown of the tunic and robe spoke of a Jedi fashion that had gone long before she had become a padawan. She picked up the tunic, sliding her arms through the sleeves and rolling up the cuffs. The pants were no better, the ends of the legs pooling around her feet. Obviously their original owner had been much taller.
As she pulled the pants into a more comfortable position, a tiny, dried flower floated out of the pocket. The creased and curled petals looked fragile and old but they’d retained some of their once vibrant colour. Kit watched the red flower float down to the floor and then gently scooped it up. She wondered why it had been stashed with the clothes. Was it on purpose or by accident?
There was a knock at the door and Kit slipped the flower gently back into the pocket. She had no idea why she was treating something that belonged to such a despicable and hateful man with such reverence, but obviously, the boy who had once worn this outfit had treasured it. It was for him, she told herself as she returned the flower, that she refrained from crushing it, and not for her captors.
“Are you ready?” Del’s voice came through the door, a touch of resigned irritation in his tone. “I figured, miss padawan, that you could get yourself dressed, but I can always help you if you want to refuse. Or you can wear nothing at all.”
“I’m almost done.” Kit scowled, pulling the tabard straight around her shoulders, trying not to touch the collar. The thing chaffed and irritated her neck and the ones around her wrists dragged and clanked together as she pulled the obi tight, trying to avoid tripping on the ends even though she’d wrapped it twice around her waist. She hiked the pant lengths into the top of her boots and let them settle. She felt like a youngling wearing a knight’s clothes and playing dress up. She knew she looked ridiculous.
She pushed open the door. Del looked up as it hissed open and for a second Kithera could have sworn that his face turned pale and his breathing quickened. He nodded at her without saying a word and then turned and went down the corridor, leaving her to trail after him.
She followed after him, trying to calculate if she could incapacitate him even though she could not feel the Force. She turned her wrists over in the stronger light of the corridors to try and see if there were any weak points. There weren’t. Instead, the cuffs chafed against her wrists, still wet and cold on the inside where the water from the shower clung.
“After you, padawan.” The man pushed the door button and it opened to reveal a homely little ship’s kitchen with a long bench table. The walls were stacked with boxes and tubs of food and neat racks of pots and pans were held with magnets against the wall. Two children sat at the table, the dark haired, copper skinned girl she’d met earlier and a boy, of about nine, with red hair and fair and slightly freckled skin. She briefly wondered if he’d been kidnapped too, but his features looked enough like Del and little girl, Estra, that it was unlikely. Of the Mukdah there was no sign, and Kithera breathed a sigh of relief. The reptile man set her skin crawling and set her teeth on edge.
“Lunch.” The girl grinned and pointed to the loaf of bread on the table and the tubs and jars that surrounded it.
“Good work Essie,” Del smiled and sat down. He motioned to the remaining chair.
“Padawan.”
Kithera shook her head.
“I’m not hungry and I don’t eat with kidnappers.”
“Suit yourself, but if you won’t eat you will, at least, sit down at the table.” He motioned again and Kit saw the small white remote palmed in his other hand. She scowled and sat down in the chair, folding her arms across her chest.
“How far out are we?” Del asked, reaching across the table to take a slice of bread. He picked up a jar of Andorian jam and spread it thickly.
“About two hours,” the boy answered, “but we’ll get there right on dark so we can’t travel. Muldeen said he’d pilot the rest of the way there.”
“Good job,” Del smiled and reached out to ruffle the boy’s hair. Kit’s scowl deepened and she felt a growing anger in her belly. How could they just sit there and chat as if she wasn’t there. As if she hadn’t just been kidnapped and was about to be sold?
“It’s just piloting The Lady when she’s already up,” Estra said, pouting. “It’s not like it’s hard.”
“It is hard.” The boy stuck out his tongue. “I have to make sure we don’t crash.”
Kithera clenched both fists under the table. She wanted to scream and yell and throw something. She saw Del put the knife down as he made another sandwich and tried to calculate her odds of getting the knife away from him before he could do anything about it. She glanced up to see Del staring at her. He shook his head slightly and moved the knife away.
“Eat padawan,” he said softly, holding up a hand to silence his bickering children. “You will need your strength.”
“I’m not hungry,” Kithera said angrily. As if on cue, her treacherous stomach growled. The little girl giggled at the noise.
“Essie.”
“Sorry Da, it’s just your stomach only makes that noise when it’s hungry. She said she wasn’t hungry. She’s lying.”
He nodded.
“She is lying and she is going to eat.” He pushed half a sandwich towards her. “See not poisoned,” he said, taking a bite from the other half. “Eat.”
Kithera huffed angrily and picked up the sandwich and took a bite. He had been right. She was ravenously hungry. She hadn’t eaten since the night before and her stomach was telling her that it was too long. She wolfed down the sandwich and then finished off another two without talking or even looking at anyone else. Eventually she looked up to see the children watching her with fascinated delight. She deliberately wiped her mouth on the sleeve of the borrowed robe as a silent act of defiance.
“I suppose you think I should say thank you for the food,” she said after a moment.
“You should,” Del said softly. “But if I was in your place I wouldn’t.” He stood, his chair scraping back against the floor. He looked at his kids and smiled. “Finish your sandwiches and then clean away.” He pointed at Kit. “You come with me.”
She thought about resisting again but his hand moved and she could see the edge of the box. She scowled and stood, following him out into the hallway.
He led her to a tiny, almost bare room in the far reaches of the ship. When he switched on the light, she could see a simple mattress on the floor and a fresher door. He pushed her gently from behind and she stumbled inside.
“Sleep,” he said, quietly but firmly. “The light switch is up there. I’ll lock the door so you won’t be bothered.”
“Why are you doing this?” Her voice was strained and she felt tears prick the corners of her eyes. “You kidnap me and poison me and then you make me shower? You tell me you’re going to sell me but then you feed me lunch? I don’t understand.”
He shrugged and let out a sigh.
“You’re a job, padawan. I get paid to capture and deliver you. Then I pay Muldeen, and then finally my family and I are free.”
“But I’m not.”
He shrugged again.
“No, you’re not. One life for three.”
“You look pretty free to me.”
He smiled sadly at her.
“Not all prisons are like this one,” he said, waving to the room. “I could treat you like a prisoner if that’s what you want.”
“What if I do something to myself?” She knew the threat was hollow but she couldn’t help it. “Then you won’t get your freedom after all.”
“True,” he said softly, sadly again. “But you won't be free either. Besides,” he added after a moment, regarding her seriously, “I don’t think you’re one to take that particular path out. You are far more likely to fight for and find your freedom.”
“And what makes you say that?” She scowled at him, the anger building again.
“Call it a hunch. I’d call it the will of the Force, if I still had it but, I just think you’ll fight.” He stepped backwards and the door hushed shut between them. Kithera could just hear his voice on the other side. “In fact I’m counting on it.”
*
If she closed his eyes she could still see her Master. Dark hair, curled into a bun on the top of her head. Golden brown skin. The way she tilted her head when she smiled. She would get back to her. Would find her Master again.
In the darkness, she felt the anxiety rise at the thought she might never go back. She gritted her teeth. That was a life that she would return to and she would never let it go.
She stretched her hand out in the dark, but no matter what she did she couldn’t feel the Force. The anxiety threatened to overwhelm her but she pushed it away. For now, she was alive. She thought about the man who had captured her. He had said that he thought she would fight. She didn’t know what that meant. She just knew that it was keeping her alive.
She reached into her pocket and pulled out the little flower, its delicate petals were creased and bruised but it had still kept its colour. She stroked each petal wondering why she couldn’t crush it. Hot tears ran down her cheeks. If only…but there was no point to the if onlys. They would never bring her back to her Master. They would never let her escape. She would survive.
In the gloom she scrubbed the tears from her cheeks. She would comply until she found the opportunity and then she would fight to save herself. She put the flower back gently where she had found it and lay down again. She would fight and she would survive.