PROPHECY: BEYOND GOOD & EVIL
The Fallen
Part I of III
Dissolution Day +74
MOS EISLEY, Chalmun's Cantina
13:00 hours
Seventy–four days. It had been seventy–four harrowing days since the fall of the Republic, the unlawful disbandment of its Senate, the betrayal and near annihilation of the Jedi Order, and the criminal rise of Palpatine and his treacherous Empire. Seventy–four long, excruciating days of injustice with no end in sight. They had all trusted their Supreme Chancellor, including one gullible senator from Naboo, and for that they had been stripped of their very freedom.
Padmé silently cursed herself for being so blind. She had been duped just like the others; foolish enough to believe Palpatine's empty vows and promises, and hopeful enough to forgive his occasional failure to deliver on them. She had, however, grown increasingly wary and suspicious of his rulings as Chancellor in the final hours of what was now being referred to as the 'Old Republic'. His questionable conduct had caught not only her attention, but the attention of numerous likeminded politicians who had feared the worst. And tragically, the worst had happened. They hadn't acted soon enough, and as a result of their foot–dragging they had let their people down. Now, branded as traitors and forced into hiding, many of these politicians had joined together to form the Rebel Alliance; one last hope to reclaim what the Empire had so savagely taken, and restore peace to the galaxy once and for all. This time, they would not hesitate. This time, they would thwart the self–appointed Emperor and find their redemption.
"Care for a drink, missy?"
Grimacing, Padmé focused on the present and shot the fetid man standing beside her table an irritated glance before turning away. "Thank you, I'm fine."
"Tell me somethin', darlin'…" the vulgar man persisted, refusing to take no for an answer. "What's a pretty little thing like you doin' all alone in a place like this? It's mighty dangerous territory, you know? Lots'a unsavory characters pass through these parts. But don't you worry none, I can keep you safe."
Stepping forward, the foul, scraggly man closed the distance between himself and Padmé with an arrogant grin plastered on his face. "So, what is it that you can do for me? Hmm?"
The smirk vanished an instant later when he glanced down and noticed the blaster pointed directly at his groin.
"Lay one finger on me and it will be the last thing you ever do," Padmé evenly retorted, the weapon concealed and barely visible beneath the heavy cloak she wore. "As you can see, I am in no need of your protection."
"H–hey, take it easy," the man stammered as he nervously raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. "No offense meant, lady… just tryin' ta be friendly."
"I have plenty of friends already, thank you," Padmé replied.
Muttering a few choice words under his breath, the nuisance of a man spun on his heels and departed with his tail between his legs. Padmé watched him go before turning back to the prior object of her attention. Several tables away, a hooded customer quietly sat with his back to her; ignoring the unruly patrons raising a ruckus all around him in the packed cantina. They had both been there for nearly three full hours, and Padmé's mind had started to wander as the possibility that their contact wasn't going to show was beginning to seem more and more likely. He was over two and a half hours behind schedule, and there was still no sign of him.
Just as she allowed a disappointed sigh to escape her lips, she spotted a shady figure approaching the hooded customer's table. Leaning forward to hear better, she eavesdropped as they made their introductions.
"…haven't been waiting long," she heard the customer greet their new arrival. "Please, have a seat and make yourself comfortable."
"I hear you're interested in doing business, yes?" the shady figure replied, putting all pleasantries aside as he obliged and sat down. "How may I, uuh… be of assistance?"
"I am a trader looking to expand my clientele with a wide range of new and exciting merchandise," the hooded customer nonchalantly replied. "I'm looking for someone who can help me do this. Have I found him?"
The shady figure carefully studied the man sitting before him with distrusting eyes. For a fleeting moment, Padmé thought he was going to get up and leave, but he instead leaned back in his chair and grunted; his scrutinizing expression changing to one of amusement.
"Perhaps," was his blunt response. "What kind of merchandise are we talking here?"
"Weaponry."
"Weaponry?"
"Yes, weaponry," the customer casually repeated. "Will that be a problem? I've heard you are the best around, and I want nothing but the best for my clients."
"A problem?" the figure cackled, a smug smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. The words of praise visibly bolstered his confidence; exactly, Padmé assumed, as the hooded man had intended. "There is no problem, my mysterious friend. If it is weapons you desire, weapons you'll get. Of course, there is the matter of payment to discuss first."
"I can assure you that payment will not be a problem," the hooded customer said as he retrieved a small satchel from within the folds of his beige robes and tossed it onto the table in front of him. "I'm sure we can settle on a price."
The shady figure quirked a brow and greedily snatched the bag up from the table's surface. Peering over his shoulder, he checked to make sure he wasn't being watched before furtively inspecting its contents.
"Republic credits? Is this a joke?" he spat in disdain. "Where do you think you are, huh? This is worth nothing in the Outer Rim!"
"I gather you are not entirely satisfied," the customer stated, drolly.
"You might as well offer me a handful of sand, outlander," the figure impatiently answered. "None of this is going to be any good to anyone much longer. Not to you, not to me… not here, or anywhere else. The new Empire will see to that, no? Republic currency is a thing of the past."
Unperturbed by the sudden outburst, the hooded customer merely responded with a subtle wave of the hand. "These credits will do just fine."
"Aah, forget it…" the figure grumbled, reluctantly accepting the satchel. "I guess these'll do just fine. After all, money is money, right? So, these weapons of yours… what exactly are you after, hmm? Top of the line explosives? State of the art blaster rifles? You need it, my friend, I have got it."
"Actually, I am interested in something much more valuable," the customer replied, perfectly calm and relaxed. "Tell me, what do you know of laser swords?"
"Laser swords, you say?" the figure responded, clearly intrigued. "A lightsaber is a rare item, my friend. Especially now that the Jedi are gone."
Padmé felt a pang of sadness at the mere mention of the horrific Jedi purge. The customer, however, didn't so much as flinch at the remark. Instead, he continued to haggle and barter with the arms dealer.
"Again, I can assure you that you will be compensated for your trouble," the hooded customer proceeded without pause. "If you can find me what I want, I will make it well worth your while. So, do we have an agreement?"
"You're getting too far ahead of yourself, my friend," the shady figure retorted with a snort. "There is only one person around here with such an exceptional piece, and I don't think you want to go looking for him."
The customer coolly folded his arms across his chest. "And why is that?"
"He's a dangerous one, he is. Even by Tatooine standards," the figure answered, lowering his voice to a near whisper as not to be overheard by uninvited ears. "They call him the 'Tusken Hunter', and I highly doubt he would be willing to part ways with the item he holds in his possession."
"Leave that to me," the hooded customer said as he pulled out another satchel of credits and plopped it down on the table in front of him. "Now, where can I find this 'Tusken Hunter'?"
MOS EISLEY, Chalmun's Cantina
14:10 hours
Standing outside the cantina in the sweltering heat, Padmé wiped the sweat from her brow while she stood in wait. Apparently, she and her companion had chosen the right place; the local watering hole had been a hotbed for illegal activity. The loathsome dwelling had been a cesspool, bustling with underhanded criminals and scheming opportunists from every stretch of the galaxy. But their time in the detestable place had paid off in the end. After much searching, they had finally picked up on a potential lead.
"That went better than expected, all things considered…"
Once again wiping the sweat from her forehead, Padmé turned around when a familiar voice spoke up behind her. "Do you believe he's a reliable source?"
"It is my opinion that he was telling the truth," the hooded man answered, joining the petite woman who had been awaiting his arrival. "Either way, we must investigate and find out for ourselves. But we will first need to acquire some means of transportation if we are to venture out into the desert."
"Do you have any ideas?" Padmé asked.
"Everything on this planet can be bought or sold for the right amount. But for now, it would be best not to linger," he replied, inconspicuously surveying the area before gesturing for the former senator to lead the way. "Shall we?"
"Yes, of course."
Slipping into the crowd of natives aimlessly meandering to and fro in the busy streets of Mos Eisley, Padmé discreetly lost herself in the sea of moving bodies. Falling into step beside her, the scorching Tatooine sun shining against his slightly graying beard, her companion kept a vigilant, ever–watchful eye open at all times; never letting his guard down, even for the briefest of moments. To the average onlooker, he no doubt appeared carefree and aloof, but Padmé knew better… it was in his nature to constantly look out for signs of trouble or impending danger. Heart and soul, he was still a Jedi. And as a Jedi, he was an exceptional warrior and a highly skilled negotiator; two traits that had already proven an invaluable asset to the current task at hand. The dynamic of their relationship had always been based strictly on professionalism and mutual respect, but since the demise of the Republic and the Jedi Order they had formed a kind of camaraderie. Dare she even presume, a personal friendship. She trusted the Jedi Master with her life, and she could only hope that he felt the same.
It was a strange thing, observing the drastic changes in Obi–Wan Kenobi. He had remained steadfast and devoted to his sense of duty, and carried himself with the same air of refinement and etiquette that had been instilled in him since his early days as a padawan. But with the death of those who had been nearest to him, he had also learned to embrace his humanity in a way that he never had before. He had always lived his life by a strict code that forbade any form of attachment, yet the loss of his Jedi brethren had impacted him deeply and profoundly. Indeed, he had formed a number of attachments over his years spent in the Jedi Temple on Coruscant. Isolated and alone since the destruction of what had once been his life, he had spent weeks in solitude after the Rebellion had first given him refuge from the grasp of the Empire; telling those around him that he merely needed time to meditate.
However, he had eventually come to Padmé, choosing to trust and confide in her. He had told her of his diminishing connection with the Force and the growing darkness that enshrouded it. He had spoken of the sadness he felt over the betrayal by the clone troopers who had loyally served under his command for three long years of war. But worst of all, he had expressed in great length and detail, the pain of seeing the murdered younglings lying in the Jedi Temple shortly after the purges. The ghastly, nightmarish sight of the slain children, more than anything else, appeared to have brought about the many changes in the troubled Jedi Master.
"Are you feeling all right, Padmé?" he asked from his place beside her, pulling her from her roaming thoughts and bringing her back to reality. "You seem to be somewhat… distracted."
"I'm fine, Obi–Wan," Padmé lied. "But I do think I may know where we can find our transportation."
Obi–Wan furrowed an inquisitive brow. "Really? Well, I am certainly open to suggestions…"
MOS ESPA, Watto's Shop
17:30 hours
Padmé led the way toward the small, modest shop while Obi–Wan cautiously followed in tow. Luckily, the commuter transport that they had caught from Mos Eisley hadn't taken too long to reach their destination. Padmé, for one, had felt a great sense of relief the instant they had put the dreadful spaceport behind them. The short time that she had spent rubbing elbows with its roving cutthroats and wanted felons had been more than enough to last two lifetimes.
But now, as she drew closer to the familiar secondhand shop and past memories began to flood her mind, she found herself grappling with several conflicting emotions. In a way, she almost would have preferred to return to the vile cantina and face its limitless horde of conniving scoundrels over fighting a battle that she knew she couldn't win; for it was a battle against an adversary that wasn't of flesh and blood, but her own inner turmoil. This place evoked an overwhelming nostalgia and melancholy sentimentality in her, but above all else it represented a time of not so distant tragedy, slavery and loss. It was in this very shop that she had first met a kindhearted little boy with dirty–blond hair and shimmering, blue eyes. But it was also in this shop that the boy's life had been forever changed, and possibly even destroyed.
Doing her best to clear her racing thoughts, Padmé stepped through the threshold and was immediately greeted by the shrewd, unscrupulous proprietor of the simple shop.
"Welcome, welcome!" the gruff Toydarian bellowed as he eagerly flapped his wings and hovered across the room in her direction. "What can I do for you? What will it be today, huh?"
"That depends…" Obi–Wan answered, entering unnoticed until he spoke up from his place just inside the doorway and made his presence known.
The craggy–toothed merchant intently studied the Jedi Master for a moment before turning back to Padmé and skeptically looking her up and down. "You have a familiar look about you, eh? If you're here to get your money back, you can forget it! All transactions are final – no refunds!"
"We're not here for money," Padmé stated in a calm, even tone.
"No?" the Toydarian questioned, still not entirely convinced. "Then what do you want?"
"What do you have in terms of transportation?" Obi–Wan asked with a faint smirk of amusement. "We need something inexpensive and low–maintenance, but dependable enough to take us where we need to go and back. Does that sound like anything you might have?"
"You want a lot out of your investment, my friend," the scruffy Toydarian cackled; his initial suspicion somewhat ebbing, but not completely. "I think maybe we can help each other, huh? The name's Watto. And you are?"
"Ben Kenobi," Obi–Wan introduced himself while respectfully inclining his head. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Watto."
"Yes, well… why don't we go out back and take a look around, eh?" Watto replied as he whirled about in the air and drifted toward the shop's rear exit. "It's your lucky day, methinks. I have just the thing you need!"
Exchanging uncertain glances, Padmé and Obi–Wan tentatively followed suit and vacated the shop. Once outside, they found themselves standing amid a treasure trove of discarded machinery and spare parts. The accumulated wealth of assorted odds and ends was exactly as Padmé had remembered it. Remarkably, not much had changed over the years. Walking through the cluttered junkyard, she could still picture the small, generous boy who had so selflessly elected to risk his own safety and endanger his life in order to help a desperate trio of stranded visitors. She had returned with the boy a decade later, only to learn that his enslaved mother had been sold and freed by another. No longer a slave himself, but a young Jedi padawan, he had soon after discovered her unspeakable fate… and sought retribution.
"Aah, here it is!" Watto boasted, proudly sweeping his arms across the surface of an old, run down landspeeder as if he were putting it up on display. "It doesn't look like much, but it'll do the trick. So, whad'da ya say? Do we have a deal, or not?"
Obi–Wan thoughtfully stroked his chin as he circled and painstakingly inspected the poorly maintained vehicle. "How much?"
"Hmmm…" the Toydarian murmured, tapping a single bluish–gray finger against his knee while he mulled over and weighed his options. At last, he gave his response. "I tell you what, eh? Why don't you give me a number, and I'll tell you if I find it acceptable. And I suggest you make it a nice, round number. This speeder is one of a kind, you know?"
"Yes, we can see that," Obi–Wan wryly commented. "Unfortunately, I'm afraid that we don't have any form of payment other than Republic credits. But if you would be so–"
"You outlanders are all the same!" Watto scoffed, shaking his head in exasperation as he waved a dismissive hand and started back toward his shop. "Find something worth trading, then we can talk. Until then, why don't you go and waste somebody else's time?"
"Wait!" Padmé called out, reaching into her cloak and retrieving a long, silver cylinder. Just as she had anticipated, the metallic object piqued the merchant's interest and halted him midair. "We do have these to bargain with…"
Sliding the cylinder cap open, she dumped a handful of precious stones and sparkling jewels into her outstretched palm; having obtained the hodgepodge of exquisite gems from her native Naboo before embarking on her journey to Tatooine with Obi–Wan. She had learned during her first trip to the desert planet, along with Master Qui–Gon Jinn, that the ways of the Republic held little sway over its locals and their dealings. With this knowledge in mind, she had come fully prepared to encounter the same problems and difficulties as before without having to rely solely on Obi–Wan's Jedi mind tricks. And judging by the captivated expression on the Toydarian's face, her foresight had paid off; much to her relief, for she knew that he himself was immune to such tactics.
"Weeeeell, how 'bout that!" Watto was all but drooling as he zealously flapped his wings and hovered back over to his two customers.
Padmé slightly withdrew her hand once he returned. "I'm sure this will suffice?"
"Eeh…" Watto trailed off, his transfixed gaze never straying from the jewels. "On second thought, maybe we can work something out, huh?"
MOS ESPA, Inland Lodging
21:00 hours
Obi–Wan was the first to enter the rustic sleeping quarters. Realizing that it would be best to turn in for the evening and start fresh at first light, he and Padmé had decided to find shelter for the night instead of departing, as originally planned. After spending several hours searching for a place to temporarily take refuge, they had finally found the only accommodations around. It was little more than a dilapidated, decrepit hovel, but it put a solid roof over their heads; and uninviting as it was, they had no choice in the matter. They could manage with what they had, or they could take their chances and brave the elements. The latter, Obi–Wan knew, would not be the prudent choice. Tatooine was a harsh and unforgiving world.
"Well, I suppose it could be worse," he remarked, peering about at the various cracks and breaks in the walls. Everywhere, the clay interior was peeling and crumbling to pieces. "Let us just hope it will still be standing in the morning."
Despite the gravity of their situation, Padmé lightly chuckled. "I imagine we'll be the first to know if it doesn't last the night."
Glancing over at the single bed sitting in the far corner of the hovel, Obi–Wan awkwardly cleared his throat. "Perhaps it would be wise for one of us to remain awake and keep a lookout. You should get your rest, I'll take the first watch."
"Do you really think that will be necessary, Obi–Wan?" Padmé asked as she arched a brow. "We both need to get some sleep, and I'm sure you will be able to detect any danger if it should find us."
"Mos Espa can be dangerous enough during the day, Padmé," Obi–Wan replied. "I would hate to see how dangerous it is at night. Besides, I will get all the rest I need from my meditation."
Padmé frowned, knowing that a debate would prove futile. Obi–Wan had obviously made up his mind, and she had discovered long ago that any attempt to influence the decision of a Jedi Master was near impossible. So, instead of arguing, she grudgingly released a submissive sigh and made her way toward the bed. Sitting at the foot of its uncomfortably rigid mattress, she wearily ran her fingers through her tousled chestnut hair; the merciless desert wind having assailed her nonstop throughout the day.
"Obi–Wan?" Padmé spoke up after a short hesitation, not entirely sure if she truly wanted to ask the question that had been gnawing at her ever since they had left Mos Eisley. "Do you think it's him? Do you really think we've found him?"
Obi–Wan contemplated his response for a moment before answering. "Yes, I believe that it is very likely him. Only my old padawan would be so bold as to openly flaunt the weapon of a Jedi and risk provoking the Empire."
"The 'Tusken Hunter'…" Padmé whispered to herself as she recalled what the arms dealer had said at the cantina, and what the ominous title implied.
"Don't worry, we will find him," Obi–Wan reassured his distressed companion, easily sensing her feelings of fear and foreboding. "Anakin is out there somewhere, Padmé."
To Be Continued…
Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars, etc.
