The doctor examined data in front of her. The wrecked ship was charred beyond recognition due most likely to bad piloting. The woman could not believe her senses. Everybody aboard the ship was practically cremated, yet the baby that she rescued bore no mark of any injuries or burns.
One particular phrase of the report caught the medic's eye. The midi-chlorian count was off the scales! Sithspit! I'd better contact the Jedi.
The woman lost no time in matching a personal profile to the baby's DNA.
Shmi Skywalker
Midi-chlorian count: 30,000
Age: 2 months
Planet of birth: Tatooine
Address... She printed a copy of the profile for herself and then sent the information to the Jedi Council in the form of a hololetter. The woman looked down at the baby in her arms. The poor, sweet little girl would soon have to leave her, as much as she adored the baby. It was not everyday that a Force-sensitive little girl with the kind of soft, light brown hair that everyone envied landed in the isolated colony.
Now just what do human babies need? And how did this ship get here from that desert planet on the Outer Rim? The Bothan doctor wondered. Dr. Arken Or'lay tried to fumble her memories for instructions on taking care of human babies, but all she could recall were a few instructions on taking care of baby Bothans. The Jedi would send someone to pick up this baby, but in the meantime, she was to take care of little Shmi.
On Tatooine...
Darth Diabla clenched her fists. Her apprentice-daughter, Aden Skywalker aka Darth Yasha, had not only abandoned the Sith but gotten herself a good-for-nothing husband that crashed a valuable ship and put her force-sensitive granddaughter within the reach of the Jedi.
She now had to search for a new apprentice AND somehow get her granddaughter so that the Sith traditions would stay in the Skywalker bloodline.
Drawing upon the Force, the woman searched out for teenage, untrained Force-sensitives. The Sith master smiled. She could sense waves of anger and despair coming all the way from the capital planet of Coruscant. If someone could emanate anger so strong that it could reach Tatooine all the way from the core world, then there was a better-than-perfect Sith Apprentice waiting for the right master. All she had to do now was get to the Sith-to-be and have him take Shmi as his apprentice in a few decades.
The Sith smiled. Just you wait, my apprentice. You shall be trained in the ways of the Sith. Now, I must come for you and hire someone to get my granddaughter where Skywalkers belong.
The Sith woman tied back her dark hair in a bun and donned the traditional, midnight-black cloak of the Sith. She glanced at the speeder at the entrance of her lair, but decided against using it. A Force-enhanced run would take her to Mos Espa in ten standard minutes and she would not have to worry about finding a slot for her landspeeder.
Once she arrived in the bustling city, the woman began searching for landmarks that would suggest her exact location within the famed Podracing city. The woman would have to go strait if she did not want to miss the annual podrace and the positions of the two suns told the Sith that she had no more than three standard hours.
But the Sith had to make a stop at the cantina first. Thanks to that incompetent Dunerider boy and her treacherous daughter, her ship was nowhere near Tatooine, if the thing still even existed. The Sith, knowing the Mos Espa cantina inside and out, found herself amidst the pilots and ships within seconds.
The Sith shut out her senses and allowed the oneness with her surroundings to overtake her. From the Force-generated standpoint, the Sith could see almost every structural detail and defect of each ship. The woman then shifted her attention to the pilots.