Not much abuse.  Some mental smuggler-abuse, and depriving a highly sensual, 
oversexed teen of all sexual contact for 2 years. 

Headers in part 1. 

***** 

*Why do you trouble me again, Old Man?  Did we not establish years 
ago that the cheelooda was not for sale?* 

"Have you ever seen one of these, Mighty Jabba?" asked the old man 
as if he hadn't heard.  He pulled out a globe as large as his cupped 
hands from his robes.  Its opalescent surface began to glow and it 
levitated out of the oldster's hands. 

*Jedi tricks* Jabba sneered.  *A polyplas sphere treated to glow.* 

"A sand pearl."  The old man activated a small reader.  The document 
it projected was sealed by a noted lapidary in Mos Eisley.  "It is 
worth over 50000 Imperial credits." 

*Mad old hermit!  A tenth of that would buy any slave in this palace, 
and some of the free men as well.* 

"I only want him." 

*Very well.  For 50,000 credits I can buy a dozen such boys.* 
Jabba laughed at some private joke. 

"Master Jabba," the boy began. 

*Silence.  You belong to him now.*  The tiny hands unfastened the 
collar and the powerful tail shoved Luke off the dais.  *Be off.  Do 
not let me see you again.  Either of you.* 

"Come along, son." 

His heart sinking with each step, Luke followed the old man out of 
Jabba's palace and to the speeder.  His thoughts were far away with 
his smuggler, wondering what would happen when Han found he was gone. 


**** 

Solo skidded the hovertruck into the bay, and vaulted from the cab. 
Fortuna nodded sagely, and sent a message droid skimming ahead of 
him.  Sparing less than a glance for the Twi'lek, he dashed into 
Jabba's throne room, skidding to a stop in front of the crime lord. 
His heart thudded into his boots.  The spot on the front of the dais 
was empty. 

Jabba was dozing, clutching a chain that led to an empty collar.  The 
stench of blood and excrement hung in the air.  Red smears marked the 
slimy slug's skin. 

"Where is he, Jabba?  I made your damned run in less than twelve 
days!  I've got a ship that nearly shook herself apart, a copilot 
half-bald from shedding, six burned-out power couplings, and a 
positive ID from an imperial cruiser.  Now pay up!" 

The Hutt laughed.  *Too late, Solo.  Your chrono must be faulty.  The 
cheelooda exploded an hour ago.  His belly blew open, guts spilled 
everywhere.  His pretty boy-toys flew in three directions.  Someone 
has souveniers.  The rancor ate the rest.  You will be paid in 
credits.* 

"Pay me.  And no more jobs.  I don't work for people who don't keep 
their promises.  You just lost the ship and pilot who made the Kessel 
Run in eleven standard days for your little joke." 

Han took the credit chip, and stalked out of Jabba's palace for the 
last time.  He had enough saved, and with this payment he could start 
his own company, or get by until he decided what to do with himself. 
How had a teenage sex slave come to mean so much in just the few 
months he'd known him? 

*Goin' soft, Solo.  Soft heart, soft head as Da used to say.  No 
more.  No more cheeloodas, no more smuggling, no more trouble.* 

**** 

The old man's house was small and neat.  Luke didn't remember ever 
smelling anything as clean as this place.  The air was recycled and 
cool, and the floor was clean.  He sat nervously on a bench as his 
new owner dug through a trunk.  Various oddments were carefully set 
aside. 

"Ah!  I knew I had one here somewhere."  The old man stood up and 
checked the power gauges.  "Still good.  I haven't used this since 
my last mission with your father." 

"My father?"  Luke was stunned by the news.  "You knew my father, 
sir?" 

"Lie back, son, and open the left side of your pants." 

Resignedly, Luke laid back and willed himself hard, knowing the day 
had been too good to last.  To his surprise, the old man pressed the 
device to his hip.  "Let's see if I still remember how to do this," 
he mumbled as he punched codes, and then the whirr of a small medical 
laser filled the house.  Luke gripped the sides of the bench, and 
breathed slowly.  He'd tolerated worse. 

"I haven't lost my touch.  Close them up."  A small cylindar shone 
dully in his palm.  "Luke Skywalker, you're a free man."  He glared 
at the implant, and it melted into nothingness. 

"Free?  Skywalker?  Where'd it go?" 

"I think I said both of those, yes.  The implant, or rather its 
component elements, are being filtered out of the air right now by 
the recycler." 

"Tell me everything, please?  I don't remember anything before I woke 
up in the mechanic's quarters at Jabba's.  I didn't even know I had a 
last name.  Do you have a name, or do I just call you sir?" 

"Very well.  I am Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi in exile.  Your father, Anakin 
Skywalker, asked me to care for and train you before he died.  I 
placed you with my brother and his wife.  Eight years ago, their 
homestead was burned out by sand-people.  I was off-planet.  When I 
returned four years ago, I followed the cold trail to Jabba, and 
found you.  Thirteen, and looking so like your father.  I suspect you 
have either trauma-induced amnesia or you were mind-wiped.  There are 
those who do not want the last of the Skywalkers to become a Jedi." 

"Jedi?" 

"For a thousand generations, the Jedi were the guardians of peace and 
justice in the galaxy.  Before the dark times.  Before the Empire." 
The old man looked pensive, and Luke wonderd if he should say 
something.  He had a million questions, but he wasn't sure if Obi-Wan 
would want to answer them. 

"Now, young Luke, shall we begin your training?"  The lassitude 
dissolved, and the blue eyes twinkled.  "First proper clothing and a 
haircut.  Here.  These were your father's.  They may be a little 
long."  From one of the stacks, Obi-Wan handed him a pile of 
clothing.  "The second bedroom is yours to use." 

Luke carried the clothes into the small bedroom.  A narrow bed, 
a small closet, and a chest of drawers furnished it.  A single 2D 
sat on the chest.  He picked it up.  A very tall young man, in his 
early twenties, stood with a shorter, older man.  They both wore 
the same cream and tan robes Obi-Wan had just given him.  He stripped 
out of the gold harem pants, the last vestige of his time with Jabba, 
and stepped into the soft underwear.  It chafed obscenely, he hadn't 
worn any for five years.  Ignoring the sensation, he pulled on the 
cream colored trousers.  Obi-Wan appeared at the door in response to 
his burst of laughter. 

"A little long?"  Luke laughed again.  The pants ended a good ten 
cents below his feet. 

"Finish dressing and come out.  I'll hem them up to fit you.  It's 
entirely possible you haven't gotten your full growth yet." 

"Yes, sir." 

"Luke, if you are to be my apprentice, the proper form of address is 
'master.'  I hate to require it, but there are formalities." 

"Yes, Master." 

"Very good, Apprentice.  Haste, our meal awaits us." 

At the mention of food, Luke pulled on the shirt and overtunic.  He 
belted them.  Since Obi-Wan, his master, he corrected himself, had 
left the cloak at the door, he decided to hang his own there, too. 

Luke walked back into the main room.  Obi-Wan carefully hid a smile. 
The boy was built like his mother, and was practically swimming in 
his father's clothing.  He cuffed the sleeves that draped over Luke's 
hands. 

"Come eat.  We'll alter them after lunch." 

Having missed breakfast, Luke attacked the meal.  Obi-Wan sat back, 
eating the bread and fruit, watching as the boy ate neatly but 
rapidly.  He looked so like Ani, even the gestures were the same. 
The table was cleared to the plates within minutes. 

"Are you still hungry, Luke?" 

The boy looked up a little shyly.  "A little, Master.  May I have 
more?" 

"Apprentice, you may eat as much as you need.  I remember quite a 
lot about seventeen year old boys.  My own master had trouble keeping 
me fed, as I had trouble keeping your father fed.  This, too, shall 
pass." 

"Thank you."  Luke took the empty dishes to the sonic sterilizer, 
before punching up another meal for himself. 

When he finished and took his plate to the recycler, Obi-Wan had him 
stand on a small platform while he marked out where the hems should 
go.  Luke changed out of the Jedi clothing and into a nightshirt at 
least three sizes too big to wait while his clothes were altered. 

"You sew?  By hand?" 

"I picked up many skills during my own apprenticeship.  I seldom have 
need of an autovalet." 

Luke asked question after question, each of which Obi-Wan answered 
patiently, his sadness at the boy's ignorance growing deeper with 
every word.  Luke had a clever mind, and his education had been 
limited to mechanical work, flying, dancing and sex.  One more thing 
to rectify. 

Suddenly, the boy looked distressed.  "Han!" 

"What?" 

"He's a pilot of Jabba's.  He was making a Kessel Run in exchange for 
me.  The only reason Jabba sold me to you today was to spite him." 

"Would he have been a better master than Jabba?" 

"Much.  He's fond of me.  He's good to me.  He even showed me the 
implant extractor he'd gotten to use when he got back and Jabba 
signed me over." 

Seeing his apprentice's clear infatuation, the old Jedi conceded. 
"We'll get word to him.  You can see him when he's on-planet." 

Luke looked about to say something, and then held his tongue. 

"And I can see about a double bed."  An impish grin crossed the old 
man's face.  Luke almost blushed.  "You love him very much.  You 
can't hide your feelings, Luke.  You shine, and your Force signature 
shines brighter." 

"Force signature?" 

"A lesson for later.  Now off with the nightshirt, and let me cut 
your hair." 

Luke hesitated with the nightshirt. 

"Come, son.  You don't want all the hair trickling down amid your 
clothes." 

Obi-Wan spread a cloth under a chair as he spoke and went for the 
snips.  Luke stripped to his underwear and sat down, stroking his 
ponytail sadly.  He wouldn't miss being dragged around by it, but he 
would miss Han playing with it, caressing it, wrapping it around the 
both of them as they made love.  He unbound it for the last time. 

The first thing Obi-Wan did was pull a handful of hair into a smaller 
ponytail, and clip the length until it was a mere handspan long.  He 
bound off a second lock behind Luke's ear and cut the back to just 
above the nape of his neck.  The front, he clipped even shorter until 
the fine strands stood up on their own.  Using a soft brush, he 
dusted the fragments away. 

"You get dressed, Luke.  I'll clear up.  We have a small ritual 
before I teach you more." 

Luke carried the clothes to his room, and dressed apprehensively. 
Rituals with Jabba usually meant someone's death.  But he wasn't 
afraid of the old man.  He looked at his reflection in the small 
mirror.  His hair was cut identically to the man in the photo, 
except for the braid. 

When he returned to the main room, Obi-Wan had spread a pair of 
small mats on the floor.  The old man knelt on one and indicated 
that Luke should kneel across from him. 

"In ages past, when a Jedi Master selected his padawan, his 
apprentice, from the ranks of the initiates, a grand festival rang 
through the halls of the temple on Coruscant.  The Initiate was taken 
out of his white clothes and given the tan and cream of a padawan. 
The Master cut his hair in the main hall, shearing away the long 
ponytail of childhood, and replacing it with the cut you wear.  (One 
merely had to pray the Master had steady hands, lest one look like it 
had been done in the dark.)  Then the braid was plaited, beaded and 
bound as a training bond was established.  I did this for your 
father, Anakin.  My master, Qui-Gon Jinn, did it for me.  His master 
did it, and so on, back into the mists of time and legend.  Now, Luke 
Skywalker, son of my friend and padawan Anakin, I take you as my 
padawan learner, honoring the vow I made your father." 

Obi-Wan reached forward and took hold of the loose lock of hair 
behind Luke's ear.  "Three parts go into this: master, apprentice 
and Force.  The Force binds us, permeates us, guides us and obeys 
us."  He swiftly plaited a braid in the hair.  "These beads mark 
you.  The first is the gold of the Jedi order.  The second is my 
own, identical to the one my master gave me.  It says, for those 
who can read it, that you learn from Obi-Wan Kenobi.  The third is 
the one I have selected for you."  He held up a Travig skystone, 
square-cut, its gold veins wide and deep.  "When you take a padawan, 
you will give him an identical one.  The bindings are symbolic of 
the training bond we form, and the binding of the Force." 

All the time Obi-Wan was speaking, Luke was aware of a growing 
feeling of connectedness.  He'd had flashes of insight before.  The 
other slaves had even used him to find lost objects.  Now, he could 
almost hear the older man's thoughts, like the first whispering gusts 
of a sandstorm. 

//Yes, that is the Force, my boy.// 

//? I can hear you.// 

//A training bond.  Here, the first meditation.// 

Luke took the proffered information from his teacher's mind and set 
about studying it as he knelt on the mat.  It intrigued him in the 
same way speeder engines and dance rhythms did.  He studied the 
elegant construct from all angles and began trying to insinuate 
himself into it.  Success came at last, and his entire body glowed 
with contentment.  Coming up from the meditation, he saw Obi-Wan 
smiling at him. 

"Very good, padawan.  It took me three days to solve that riddle 
when I encountered it.  You took four hours.  Are you ready for 
dinner?" 

"I'm always ready for food, Master.  Shall I program?" 

"If you would like.  One day, we will leave this place.  In our 
next dwelling, we shall have a true kitchen and I shall teach you 
to cook organic food.  There is more to eating than programming the 
taste and texture of your nutrimix." 

Luke put the two plates on the table, and joined his master for the 
meal.  Obi-Wan watched in amusement as Luke put away two bowls of 
stew, half a loaf of bread, some fruit and a small cake.  The 
foodsynth would be getting a lot of use with him here. 

After the meal, they went outside.  Silently, they watched Tatoo I 
and Tatoo II set beyond the stony ridges of the Wastes. 

"Can you feel it, Luke?  All the life?  How does it feel?  How does 
it sound?  My master heard it as a song, with each life singing a 
single note.  Your father heard it as an engine, each life a separate 
humming part.  What do you hear?" 

"I hear the wind, Master.  The lives are like breaths of air.  All 
blend to form the wind.  The wind brings the dew, but it also brings 
the sandstorm." 

"Excellent.  Come inside and review the first meditation again before 
bed.  The nights are cold." 

The days fell into an easy pattern: housekeeping, breakfast, 
vaporator collections and maintenance, meditation, lunch, general 
education, training exercises, dinner, the sunset, more meditation 
and bed.  Luke fell into it easily, finding the work less onerous 
than it had been at Jabba's.  The meditations varied and engaged his 
mind.  Some were mental puzzles, others discussions on the nature of 
things. 

Weeks, then months slipped by.  His hair grew, and Obi-wan cut it. 
He grew, and Obi-Wan altered his clothing.  He would never be as tall 
as his father, it seemed.  Plentiful food and strenuous exercise had 
hardened the new weight into muscle.  No longer the slender dancer, 
he found he was far more at home in the new shape of his body.  Even 
the desires which had driven him nearly crazy in the first months 
began to subside.  He found the exercise reduced his need to 
masturbate to twice a day instead of the half dozen times that had 
been the norm for the first month after leaving Jabba. 

Obi-Wan told him stories of his father, of the Old Jedi ways.  He 
thrilled to tales of the Clone Wars and listened with rapt attention 
to the romance of his parents.  Thoughts of Han came with less 
urgency.  Obi-Wan assured him that the spacer had not put in on 
Tatooine in almost a year. 

In the second year with Obi-Wan, they acquired a computer with 
Stellnet and he began accessing history files.  Slowly, he began 
piecing together the history he did not get from the Imperial net 
over breakfast.  Obi-Wan always insisted they watch it, even though 
Luke sensed his distress more clearly with each passing day.  One 
morning, a black gargoyle filled the screen.  Darth Vader, the 
Emperor's personal aide, announced a sweep of the Corellian 
shipyards, rounding up rebel sympathizers.  The masked warrior 
demonstrated the fate of one of the sympathizers.  Luke perceived his 
master's acute agony, and turned off the holo before the man in the 
picture died. 

"Master?  Why does he upset you so?" 

"Vader was my last pupil.  He turned to evil and betrayed the Jedi 
order.  He took service under the emperor and eradicated us.  He 
murdered your father, and many other good knights." 

Even two months ago, Luke would have been horrified and furious. 
Now, with the first true evidence of Jedi calm, he stood and extended 
a hand to his master. 

"Come meditate with me." 

Obi-Wan relaxed into the meditation, a serenity koan, feeling Luke 
through the bond.  He listened to the Force, and heard what it told 
him. 

"No exercise today, padawan.  We are doing something very 
different."  He went to the chest of oddments and pulled out a tube, 
and offered it to Luke.  "Your father's lightsaber.  It may not 
handle as well as your own would, but we haven't time to build one." 

"You sense it, too, Master.  What is it?" 

"A nexus in the Force.  Momentous things are in the offing, Luke.  I 
can only trust our few months of training have been enough.  We go to 
Anchorhead tomorrow.  Today, you practice with the saber." 

The wooden saber drills had been one of his favorite exercises, 
and they served him well.  He didn't take a single hit from the 
training remote that Obi-Wan set on him.  He sparred with his master 
with the sabers set at low power. 

Over lunch, Obi-Wan said "You won't be winning the Padawan Division 
Saber Tournament, but it will suffice.  Things converged more quickly 
than I expected.  I fear my foreseeing fails as my life approaches 
its end." 

"Master, don't say that!  You won't die.  You can't leave me 
half-trained." 

"I said approaches, padawan.  The prescience has been failing for 
some years now.  Blame Jabba for your lack of training.  Had he sold 
you six years ago, you would be at the height of your powers.  We 
shall meditate, do the closing maintenence, and pack." 

Luke cleared the table and settled into meditation across from his 
master.  The light breeze of the Force was gathering, as the zephyrs 
gathered before a storm.  Soon, they would form winds, and gales, and 
the howls would be heard for miles, until even the non-Jedi would 
feel it.  Something very, very large was coming. 


(TBC)