PLEASE NOTE: In 2012, the Youtube user, Belated Media, put up a video with the basic concept that he was a story producer when George Lucas was writing the Star Wars Prequels and that he reworked when George had in a way that was more streamline, maintained the integrity of the Original Trilogy, and left fewer plot holes. I saw this video a few years ago and loved the concept, but I just couldn't get it out of my head. What WOULD a Star Wars like that look like? Specifically? Since I'm not a director, I decided I would attempt to novelize what the Star Wars Prequels COULD HAVE BEEN, based on the ideas presented by Belated Media. The original video can still be found on Youtube under Belated Media's channel and while I do deviate a bit from some of the concepts presented (he goes on to do Episode 2 and 3 in later videos and makes a few tweaks that aren't mentioned in the first video) much of the ideas and concepts presented belong originally to him. Thank you to Belated Media for providing the idea, and thank you to the readers for taking the time to explore these concepts with me. Cheers,
-Katerinaki
Part 2:
Tatooine was a desert planet. Its twin suns pounded on its surface all day, sapping any moisture away. As far as Obi-Wan understood from the planet's dossier, the majority of its inhabitants relied on moisture vaporators to steal what moisture they could from the air. There were whole farms of it. Those who didn't farm, living in one of the cities, ruled by the Hutts. Because the Hutts had their slimy hands in many underworld dealings across the galaxy, their planets often became hives of scum and villainy. Obi-Wan had to agree, it was certainly not the place for a member of a royal house, but the alternative was worse. Still, as he watched Padmé attempt to disguise herself in some ill-fitting clothes stashed in the ship's cargo hold, Obi-Wan couldn't help but think this whole thing was doomed to fail. Even in a rough, oversized tunic with her hair in a simple braid down her back, Padmé Amidala Organa still looked every bit a noble.
"Slouch a bit," he hissed as they prepared to leave the ship. "Only important people have such rigid posture."
Padmé shot him a glare and reached up, tugging on his padawan braid.
"Maybe you should cut this off. Only Jedi apprentices wear something like that."
Obi-Wan smirked as he raised the hood of the poncho Qui-Gon had procured for him and gave her a brazen wink. His master stood by the ship's ramp wearing his own poncho to cover his Jedi tunic and lightsaber.
Padmé rolled her eyes as she strode past him. "Are you coming?" she called over her shoulder.
Obi-Wan exchanged a look with her chief of security, a dark-skinned man named Captain Panaka. The captain was none too pleased about staying behind, but Padmé had argued that someone needed to stay behind to guard the ship and too many people in their party would draw attention. As it was, they'd likely have a hard enough time bargaining for the parts that they need. The hyperdrive generator was completely gone by the time they'd landed, meaning they'd need a whole new one.
"Good luck," Obi-Wan told him.
"Thanks, but I think you'll need it more," Captain Panaka replied, and Obi-Wan somehow knew he wasn't referring to their task of finding parts.
"I think you're right," Obi-Wan muttered as he descended the ramp. They'd landed on the outskirts of the city Mos Espa. It was a short, but hot walk into town. Obi-Wan had been to many systems before in his travels as a Jedi, but none could compare to the blinding suns and the crushing heat of Tatooine. Not to mention the sand that had someone managed to squirm its way into his boot. Just the left one.
When they made it to the town, Qui-Gon's assessment of Tatooine seemed spot on. Obi-Wan already spotted a number of beings who ducked their faces away the moment someone appeared to be looking at them. Not to mention, he wasn't the only one wearing a hood. All manner of beings walked, slithered, and rolled through the streets of Mos Espa and there were so many languages, Obi-Wan hadn't a hope of understanding any of the conversations going on around them. It would be very difficult to determine if someone recognized them, or wished them harm.
"We'll try one of the smaller dealers," Qui-Gon suggested, nodding towards a modest shop which looked more like a junk shop than a parts dealer. Perhaps on a world like Tatooine, they were one in the same. Either way, Obi-Wan was relieved when they stepped into the cool shade of the shop.
It was definitely more junk shop. Various parts and half-built droids lay around everywhere and Obi-Wan had to be careful where he stepped for risk of tripping over something. Padmé looked around at everything with wide-eyed curiosity. Obi-Wan doubted she'd ever been in a place like this. Living on Alderaan, a lush, rich world with plenty of wealth to go around, there was very little chance she'd seen the poverty that existed in the galaxy, particularly in such a rural world as Tatooine. He watched her explore with interest until her eyes landed on something and immediately hardened. Obi-Wan followed her gaze and understood why she'd stopped at once.
Sitting on a stool in the corner, scrubbing away at a corroded droid motivator, was a slave.
Obi-Wan knew there was slavery still in the galaxy, despite the Republic. There were anti-slavery laws in place, of course, but on a world like this where the Hutts reigned and the Republic didn't exist, none would blink an eye at a slave. None, except a pampered, Republic off-worlder.
"Don't stare," Obi-Wan murmured into her ear.
"What?" she asked, jerking her gaze away.
"Don't stare. Slaves are to be ignored. If you stare, they'll know you're not from around here."
"That's barbaric."
"That's the way of the galaxy."
"We have to do something."
"There's nothing we can do. He's one of millions."
She didn't want to believe him, but Obi-Wan could see she knew he spoke the truth. The blonde, teenaged slave in the corner wearing an obedience collar was just one of millions. At least this one seemed fed enough, and mostly clean. He was a bit skinny, but not starving, and his hair and skin only had a light layer of dust, likely from the sand. Even though his tunic was a bit threadbare and patched in a few places, there was no grime and no sores, as Obi-Wan had seen on slaves in mining camps and other fouler places. This slave was relatively well-cared for.
A moment after they entered, they were greeted by the shop's owner, a blue-winged Toydarian who hovered just over the ground and welcomed them in guttural Huttese.
"H'chu apenkee. Hi chuba da naga?"
"I need parts for a Corellian CR90."
The Toydarian stroked his chin. "Hm, Corellian, eh? I should have some of that." He barked a phrase in Huttese and the slave in the corner jumped, fumbling the part in his hand before he managed to catch it at the last moment. The slave responded and the Toydarian made some sort of command, waving his hand, to which the boy bowed his head, nodding.
"Alright, why don't you come out back, we'll find what you need," the Toydarian suggested. Qui-Gon gestured for him to lead the way before following the shopkeeper out into the yard. Obi-Wan knew how his master operated enough to know his job was to stay and make sure nothing turned up to surprise them. Padmé, for her part, remained behind too, examining the assortment of pit droids. The slave moved from the stool in the corner to stand behind the counter, leaning against it and still scrubbing at the same droid part.
Suddenly Padmé turned to the slave and gestured to the droids. "What are these for?"
The slave didn't respond at first, but when Obi-Wan didn't reply, he looked up and realized Padmé was addressing him. Obi-Wan wanted to groan, if he didn't think it would just draw further attention.
"Those, ma'am?" the slave asked.
"Yes, what are they for? I've never seen droids like this."
The slave looked surprised at her admission. "Those are pit droids. For servicing pod racers."
"What are pod racers?"
To this, the slave just gaped. "What are…pod racers?" he repeated, as if he couldn't believe he'd heard her right.
"Yes," Padmé replied simply.
"They're the best ever!" the slave replied with a grin, his eyes lighting up before he seemed to realize that he wasn't meant to be smiling. He ducked his head again and began to scrub furiously once more.
"It's a sport," Obi-Wan explained. "I've seen it on Malastare. It's incredibly fast, and dangerous, not to mention the drivers cheat worse than a dug at sabacc."
"But that's part of it," the slave protested.
"Not many humans can do it," Obi-Wan added, eyeing the slave with curiosity now. He seemed to show an inordinate amount of interest in such a sport.
"I can," the slave replied. "Master Watto had me race once, to lose." He seemed disappointed at the thought, though surely he couldn't have stood a chance at winning?
At this, Obi-Wan's curiosity doubled. Slaves were expensive, as were pod racers. That the junk dealer could keep either was impressive, but both? Not to mention, the fact that this slave was plainly human. Obi-Wan could likely race pods, but Obi-Wan was a Jedi, with reflexes far faster than the average human. The slave would've had to have them to throw the race without making it seem obvious. But surely it wasn't possible this slave had reflexes like Obi-Wan's?
"There's a big race coming up, on Boonta Eve," the slave added.
"Maybe we'll come watch," Padmé replied. "What's your name?"
The slave hesitated, like he wasn't certain he was meant to give out his name. Likely his master called him "slave" or "boy", probably not his given name.
"Anakin," he murmured at last.
"Anakin," Padmé repeated, smiling gently.
In that moment, Qui-Gon came storming in from the yard, and Obi-Wan knew immediately that they hadn't found any success here.
"We're leaving," Qui-Gon told them. Obi-Wan fell into step behind his master automatically.
"I'm glad to have met you, Anakin," Padmé said as she ducked out after them.
"I was glad to meet you too," Anakin murmured back as his master returned, muttering about "ootmians" and their conniving ways, and he went back to his work.
Qui-Gon insisted they try other places, but by the end of the day, they'd come up short. The fact of the matter was, Watto had told Qui-Gon he was the only one who had the hyperdrive generator they needed, and he was right. But Watto wouldn't take Republic credits, which meant they had nothing to purchase the needed parts. The ship was light on provisions too with only a few crates, mostly aid items, and certainly not enough to barter with. And so they'd wound up in the middle of the town with nearly the whole day gone and nothing to show for it.
Padmé leaned against the wall in a bit of shade while Qui-Gon stood further back in the alley and conversed with Captain Panaka on his comm unit to see if there was anything on the ship they could possibly use to entice Watto. Obi-Wan stood guard at the entrance without appearing to be standing guard. His stance was relaxed and his gaze roved over the crowd as if with disinterest, though in actuality he was monitoring each being as they passed by.
"What are we going to do?" Padmé groaned as she mopped the sweat from her brow with the edge of her tunic.
"We might have to sell the ship," Obi-Wan replied. "We could probably get some decent money for it, and then barter passage off on a cargo ship or something."
"A cargo ship?" Padmé repeated incredulously.
Obi-Wan shrugged. "Beggars can't be choosers, and it seems like right now, we are most decidedly beggars."
He tensed as he felt a shimmer in the Force and cast out his senses, trying to pinpoint its location and intentions. But no matter what, the disturbance was elusive and eventually faded away. Obi-Wan frowned, trying to decide if he should draw his master's attention to what he'd felt. It was brief and fleeting, Qui-Gon probably hadn't even felt it, deep in conversation as he was. Obi-Wan wasn't even really sure he'd felt it. With a spaceport like this, there could be any number of Force-sensitive creatures around.
"Look over there!" Padmé jumped up and jogged past Obi-Wan who stumbled to stay with her, even though it meant leaving his master alone in the alley. Of all the karking things to do, but Obi-Wan soon realized why Padmé had run off when he spotted her destination.
"Anakin!" she called and the slave in question froze and spun around. He seemed to relax, though, when he realized who it was.
"Oh, it's you," he said.
"I'm sorry if I startled you," Padmé apologized.
Anakin chuckled nervously. "Not every day a slave hears his name from a stranger."
"I'm sorry," Padmé repeated again.
"What are you still doing here anyways?" Anakin asked. "I thought you would have left hours ago, with the sandstorm coming in."
Obi-Wan and Padmé exchanged a frown.
"A sandstorm?"
"Yeah, can't you feel it?" Anakin gestured around and sure enough, it seemed like the streets were far more deserted than when they'd first arrived. The wind was picking up too, and there was an energy in the air Obi-Wan couldn't quite describe. A storm was blowing in. Right.
"You should take cover soon," Anakin told them. "That's where I'm heading."
"We'll head back to our ship," Obi-Wan assured him.
But Anakin frowned. "Is it far?"
"It's on the outskirts," Padmé told him.
"You'll never reach the outskirts in time," Anakin replied. "Sandstorms come fast, and they're very, very dangerous." He hesitated, as if trying to make up his mind about something, before he nodded.
"You can stay at my place. My bunk mate won't mind. And it's just for a little while until the storm blows over."
"We have one more," Obi-Wan warned him. "My…uncle, Qui-Gon." He gestured back to the alley where Qui-Gon was still speaking to the captain.
Anakin looked over the tall man and seemed a bit uncertain, but nodded anyways. "He'll be fine too."
"Alright, then we'll shelter with you," Padmé declared. "I'm Padmé, by the way. And this is Obi-Wan." Obi-Wan nodded out of habit.
"You better get your uncle," Anakin told him, gesturing to Qui-Gon. "This one is coming on quick."
Sure enough, Anakin was right. They hadn't even made it back to the slave quarter before the storm front blew in and Obi-Wan had to press the edge of his poncho to his face to keep the sand out of his mouth and help him breathe. Anakin led the way without hesitation, though Obi-Wan doubted he could see more than a few feet in front of him. They arrived at a row of low, duracrete buildings that had seen better days, centuries ago. Anakin arrived at one of the doors and banged on it in a specific pattern. A moment later the door slid open and the four of them staggered inside.
The home wasn't really a house, more of a hovel. The ceiling was low and the floor was rough, tamped down by hundreds of years of feet. There was really only one room and against the far wall was a makeshift stack of sleep couches, one raised over the other. In the corner was a small, low table and galley. The hovel was decorated with trinkets such as shiny droid parts and smooth stones. Its furnishings were sparse, and what was there was older than Qui-Gon, most likely. But its thick walls kept the coolness inside and the driving sandstorm out, and so Obi-Wan couldn't complain. He'd sheltered in worse.
The person who opened the door was another slave, a tall, dark-skinned boy with black hair that fell in his eyes and a suspicious expression.
"Anakin," and he rattled off a string of Huttese, too fast for Obi-Wan to follow with his limited studies.
"Kitster, this is Padmé, Obi-Wan, and Qui-Gon. They came to Watto's shop today. They just need a place to shelter from the storm."
"Anakin, you've gonna get us both killed," Kitster protested, his words heavily accented. He turned to the three strangers. "You have to leave as soon as the storm is over. If my master finds out you're here…"
"Gardulla won't figure out anything," Anakin assured him. But Kitster didn't seem convinced as he muttered under his breath and crawled up into the top sleep couch.
"Don't worry about him," Anakin told them. "He'll be alright."
"We don't want to cause you any trouble," Padmé said.
"You already have!" Kitster called from his bunk.
"It's just that, most masters don't want people in their slave's bunks," Anakin explained. "But Watto doesn't care, as long as I work hard and do what he says."
Obi-Wan's eyes flickered down to the obedience collar around Anakin's neck. He could see the chaffed skin around its edges as it shifted and wondered if maybe Anakin didn't always do what Watto said. He wasn't about to ask, though, and soon Padmé changed the subject.
"We have rations with us, to help," Padmé said, nudging Obi-Wan who reached into his belt pouch and pulled out a few of the packets they'd brought with them from the ship. Adding water would make it coalesce into a bland, if nutrient-rich, loaf. Anakin eyed the packets greedily and even Kitster seemed interested as he peeked out from his bunk at the prospect of food. Obi-Wan thought maybe he should reconsider his earlier evaluation. Anakin may not look like he's starving, but there was little doubt he was hungry.
"That will go with the pallies from Jira," Anakin murmured as he pulled small, green fruits from the fold of his tunic. He brought those and the ration packets to the galley which was fed by their modest vaporator that Kitster had "acquired" from his master's garbage pile. They'd fixed it up together and were the only ones on the row that had one, but they hid it well behind the bio-converter generator. Now it fed a day's worth of siphoning into a bowl, which Anakin used to reinvigorate the rations, and to fill a few hand-carved cups. The pallies were cut with a slightly dull knife, but there wasn't much need for a keen edge with the soft fruit. As Anakin placed the lot on the low table and Kitster ventured down from his bunk, the two boys eyed the assortment as if it was a feast. To them, it likely was.
Anakin dutifully doled out even portions to each person as they knelt around the low table. Kitster eyed Obi-Wan's food on the plate next to his, but still kept his hands to himself, savoring each bite of the bland ration loaf. The loaf, Obi-Wan had had before and hated it. The pallie, though, was something new. It had a strange tangy, woody taste to it, unlike other fruits Obi-Wan had eaten. Combined with the soft texture and the rough skin that Anakin instructed them to suck on, but not eat, Obi-Wan had to admit that he enjoyed the new experience. So much so that he slipped half of his ration loaf onto Kitster's plate. The slave didn't think twice as he picked it up and downed that too. He only glanced Obi-Wan's way after the meal and nodded his private thanks.
The sandstorm blew into the night and so when it finally abated, it was dark and Anakin insisted it wasn't safe to be out.
"You'll be attacked, or the womp rats will bite you and you don't want womp rat fever."
And so Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon settled down on the floor with Anakin, who'd insisted Padme take his bunk. It wasn't the softest surface, nor the hardest, but Obi-Wan struggled to find a position to relax. His lightsaber pressed into his side or his back, or his stomach in all positions until he'd finally removed it and held it in his hand under the poncho. It felt good to hold the cool metal in his palm. His fingers automatically found the nicks and grooves from his various missions and misadventures. Each one told a story he knew well. With his lightsaber in hand, he finally dozed off. He never noticed Anakin's curious gaze, nor the way his sharp eyes flickered to the brief glint of light as it reflected off the hilt of the lightsaber.
The next morning was a flurry of activity early as Kitster tore apart the hovel on his way out to work. Anakin didn't have to report quite as early, as Watto preferred not to open the shop until later. They munched on the last of the rations at the low table in quiet. A new day meant more work for Anakin, but it also meant facing the severity of their situation for the others.
"Can I ask you a question?" Anakin said suddenly, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Of course," Qui-Gon replied.
Anakin looked up and for the first time, met Obi-Wan's gaze. "You're a Jedi Knight, aren't you?"
Obi-Wan's hand immediately flew to his saber under his poncho, but Qui-Gon stopped him with a hand on his arm.
"Why do you say that?" he asked simply.
"I saw your laser sword," Anakin admitted guiltily. "Last night, when you were trying to go to sleep. It was just for a second, but, my mom used to tell me stories about the Jedi."
It was obviously a painful memory, the way Anakin's expression fell at the mention of his mother. But he pressed on. "She used to say that one day, a great Jedi Knight would come to free all the slaves. Have you come to free us?"
He looked so hopeful, but Obi-Wan couldn't lie to him.
"No," he murmured. "I haven't."
"Oh." Obi-Wan hated the disappointment in Anakin, in him, but there was nothing he could do. They didn't even have a working ship.
"I can see there's no fooling you, Anakin," Qui-Gon said as he studied the young man. "We were stranded here on our way to Coruscant on a very important mission for the Republic."
Anakin's eyes widened as Qui-Gon shared the story of the Trade Federation, of Alderaan, and of bringing Padmé to the Senate to speak for her people.
"But, we don't have any money to trade with," he finished heavily.
But Anakin didn't seem so convinced of the hopelessness of their situation.
"What about the winnings from a pod race, like the Boonta Eve Classic!"
Obi-Wan almost rolled his eyes. A pod race? Again?
"We don't have a pod to race," he pointed out.
But Anakin was grinning, proud of something. "Don't be so sure. Come on."
They slipped out of Anakin and Kitster's bunk and down the row of houses. Anakin glanced around to make sure nobody was looking before he ducked behind the last house where there appeared to be a pile of junk. Except Anakin began sifting through the junk and slowly, from the refuse, a small pod racer emerged.
It wasn't quite finished, and certainly looked like the junk it was hidden in. But Anakin beamed at his revelation as if it was the best thing ever.
"Me and Kitster have been working on it," he declared proudly. "We were going to try to enter it in a race to win some money and maybe even buy our freedom. But…I think you need it more. If you can convince Watto, I'll pilot it for you, and win you the Boonta Eve Classic. That will be more than enough to buy the parts you need."
Padmé ran her hand over the flap of one of the engines and it came away black with grit. But she didn't seem to care as she looked at Anakin with astonishment.
"You built this?"
Anakin shrugged. "More like scavenged it, really. It's like Obi-Wan said, the races are dirty. There are plenty of pods that are destroyed, and a lot of owners just go out and buy new ones instead of trying to fix the broken ones. So, they throw it out, and Kitster and I find the parts. It's not stealing," he was quick to add.
"It's amazing," Padmé declared and Anakin swelled with pride.
"It's going to need some work," Obi-Wan commented, looking over the pod. His mechanical knowledge was limited to what the Temple provided and what he'd picked up over the years, but even his basic understanding could see the pod wasn't by any means ready for a race.
"We have all the parts," Anakin insisted. "Except maybe a powercell to start it. We just need to finish it, but Kitster has been really busy with the race coming up and Gardulla working him extra hard."
"We can help," Qui-Gon assured him, placing a calming hand on Anakin's shoulder, a gesture he often made to Obi-Wan.
"Yes, I think so," Obi-Wan conceded. "If you leave the parts out and tell me what you need done, I'll work on finishing it today. You can test it this afternoon, after you're finished at the shop."
"And I'll take care of Watto and that powercell," Qui-Gon added. Anakin looked like all his dreams had come true at once.
"This is going to be so wicked," he grinned.
Padmé stayed behind with Obi-Wan to work on the pod, which mostly consisted of Padmé handing Obi-Wan the parts and tools he asked for, and occasionally holding something steady while Obi-Wan tightened or adjusted another part. They worked in companionable silence for much of the time, which Obi-Wan enjoyed. It was nice to focus on something not as complicated as intergalactic politics for once. But Padmé seemed to have something on her mind and she appeared to be mulling it over a while before she at last spoke.
"I owe you an apology, Obi-Wan," she said.
Obi-Wan was lying under one of the engines and nearly banged his forehead on the kriffing thing. He slipped out from under the engine, grease smudging his poncho, face, and hands.
"Pardon?"
"I said, I owe you an apology," Padmé repeated. "I was rude and dismissive of you when we first met. I underestimated you, but I've realized I was wrong to do so. I saw what you did at dinner last night, for Kitster, giving him part of your ration."
Obi-Wan shrugged.
"I'll admit, I thought you were uncaring and arrogant, especially the way you talked about slaves. But it's obvious that's not you, but me."
"You're not either of those things," Obi-Wan objected. He shrugged. "Perhaps a bit sheltered, but certainly not uncaring, otherwise you wouldn't be stuck on this boiling rock. And you wouldn't have spoken to Anakin at all."
"I could've caused him trouble. I should've listened to you."
"Anakin knows what will and won't cause him trouble. If he thought talking to you would do that, he wouldn't have replied back. He's not stupid. He couldn't be, to survive this long as a slave."
"Did you see the marks on his neck, from that collar?"
"He's worn it a long time," Obi-Wan said. "But it's the fact that he's still wearing it that intrigues me. Watto doesn't trust his slave."
"And that's a good thing?"
"If Anakin were loyal to Watto, he'd do anything to curry favor with his master. Including, perhaps, draw foreigners into some scheme to bet all they have on a race, and then purposefully throw the race."
Padmé gasped. "You don't think Anakin would do that, do you?"
"No," Obi-Wan replied. "And the reason I don't think that, is because he wears a collar. Anakin has disobeyed Watto before, and maybe, he'll act against his master's wishes once more."
"We can't leave Anakin here. Watto would hurt him for winning the race, if he allows him to even compete."
"Don't underestimate Qui-Gon. He is very good at negotiating. I have no doubt he will entice Watto enough for him to want Anakin to win, just as much as we do."
"And how will he do that?"
"We'll have to wait until tonight to find out," Obi-Wan grinned, slipping back under the engine. Padmé huffed and smacked him on the knee, but it was light and playful. Obi-Wan found himself smiling even wider under the engine as he did his best to follow the direction Anakin had left him. Above him, Padmé began humming some sort of Alderaanian song and Obi-Wan let her gentle voice drift over him as he worked.
That afternoon, Anakin and Qui-Gon returned earlier than expected.
"Watto let me off early today, to rest up for the race tomorrow," Anakin explained. "And he gave me these!"
It was a whole satchel of ration packets. Obviously Watto wanted Anakin well-fed for the race. They were old and not as nutritional as the rations Obi-Wan had brought, but they would do for the night, and for many nights after if Anakin and Kitster were careful with their portions.
Anakin fell into work with Obi-Wan and the two of them twisted and tightened and fastened each part to the pod racer in hopes that nothing would be jostled during the race and fall off. Towards supper time, Qui-Gon returned with Kitster, more pallies from Jira who'd heard about Anakin's race and wished him luck, and a powercell he refused to say how he acquired. Obi-Wan had his suspicions, but didn't voice them as Anakin climbed into the pod and began firing it up. At first nothing happened, but then with a few more toggles and a thump, the engines roared to life, purring as they kicked up the debris. Anakin whooped and Padmé and Kitster cheered. Even Qui-Gon smiled as he shielded his eyes with his hand. Anakin powered it down, but nothing could damper his mood.
"It works!" he declared.
"So it does," Obi-Wan agreed, to his own astonishment. They powered down the pod and that evening even Kitster was in a good mood as he feasted on the extra rations from Watto and the pallies from Jira. Even Obi-Wan could admit, today was good. But something pulled at his mind.
He didn't like the way Qui-Gon was taking an interest in Anakin. He could see how Qui-Gon watched Anakin ever since the night before, and today he'd seem to go out of his way to create little tests, but it wasn't the tests that had Obi-Wan worried. It was what they were searching for.
"Qui-Gon?" Obi-Wan approached his master after supper when the others were preparing for bed. "May I have a brief word outside?"
"Of course," Qui-Gon replied, following Obi-Wan out of the little hovel without hesitation. Obi-Wan led them away from the row of slave quarters, not trusting the old, thin walls to safekeep their conversation.
"What is it Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon asked when they were at last in private.
"I'm concerned, Master," Obi-Wan admitted.
"Oh? What about?"
"Everything! This whole gamble, betting our only thing of value on a human slave boy who claims he can race pods? You and I both know what pod racing requires. How can we be sure that Anakin can do it?"
Qui-Gon looked down at Obi-Wan knowingly. "I think you have the answer to that question already, Padawan."
"So you do believe Anakin is Force-sensitive?"
"It is a logical conclusion, wouldn't you agree?"
"I can't sense anything." Well, that wasn't necessarily true. There was a growing unease that had begun the day they'd arrived in Mos Espa and only seemed to be growing stronger. For Obi-Wan, such a feeling often indicated danger, but it was hard to say from where. From Anakin? From Watto? From the race tomorrow? There were so many different factors at play, it was nearly impossible to determine. And Obi-Wan didn't have time to sit for hours in meditation, trying to make sense of what he was feeling.
Qui-Gon had known him since he was a boy, and could recognize when there was something bothering him.
"Speak your mind, Obi-Wan. There is no ignorance, there is knowledge."
But how could Obi-Wan speak his mind when everything seemed so muddled?
"I don't think we should allow Anakin to race. I could race, or you could race."
Qui-Gon chuckled at the suggestion. "You have witnessed my piloting skills firsthand, so I think you know why I would not be the best choice."
"Then let me race."
"No."
"But why?"
His Master hesitated, and Obi-Wan realized he was trying to decide whether or not he wanted to tell Obi-Wan the truth. It hurt more than he expected and Obi-Wan felt the beginnings of bitterness stirring within him. For years his master had told him everything, had kept nothing hidden. And then one potentially Force-sensitive slave boy comes in and suddenly his master no longer trusts him.
"Never mind," Obi-Wan replied lowly. He turned away, pulling up the hood of the poncho.
"Obi-Wan—"
"I'm going to take a walk, to do some meditation. Do not wait up for me."
And he left, slipping away into the streets of Mos Espa as his master was left standing alone outside the slave quarters.
Obi-Wan knew he shouldn't be feeling this way. This bitterness, this resentment, it was not the Jedi way. Anakin was a potential Force-sensitive and Obi-Wan should be happy that they found him instead of other groups that might look to exploit Anakin and his abilities. But his master's obviously deep interest in the boy made his stomach roll. Qui-Gon almost hadn't chosen Obi-Wan to be his apprentice, and Obi-Wan had spent the better part of the last twelve years trying to prove that he was worthy of his master's teachings. He liked to think Qui-Gon was even the father figure he didn't have for much of his youth.
It was petty and childish to feel this way and Obi-Wan kicked at a stone in frustration of his very un-Jedi-like attitude. Maybe Qui-Gon should pay attention to Anakin. He was humble, compassionate, self-sacrificing, all the things that Jedi were meant to be. Not like Obi-Wan, who was selfish, like a spoiled child with a new sibling. But Anakin wouldn't be like a sibling to him. Even if Qui-Gon wanted to train Anakin, he couldn't until Obi-Wan passed the Trials. That was the Code of the Jedi, that there is one master, and one apprentice.
Obi-Wan was shaken out of his thoughts when a nearby door slid open and a group stumbled out, laughing and cheering onto the street, obviously drunk. He wrinkled his nose at the display, and the smell, but the door beyond them was intriguing as upbeat music enticed Obi-Wan to enter. Deciding there could be no harm in maybe one drink, just to help him relax, Obi-Wan slipped inside the bar.
Like Mos Espa, there was a great variety of beings in the bar that night, many crowded around tables, talking and drinking all manner of beverages. It was almost like being back on Coruscant, the heart of the Republic. Grateful for the familiar atmosphere, Obi-Wan sidled up to the bar. The barkeep gave him a wary glance, but delivered his order without any grumbling. Obi-Wan was actually beginning to enjoy himself, leaning against the bar and sipping his drink as he listened to the band when there was a flash of warning in the Force just before two rather impressive alien beings shoved in on either side of him.
Obi-Wan could proudly say he was familiar with a great number of alien species. His training at the Jedi Temple had been exhaustive, and it was only added to by Obi-Wan's own experiences in his travels. But he'd never come across beings quite like these two that towered over him with thick, reptilian scales speckled with blood red and orange patches. As Obi-Wan glanced up at the one on his right, the being "grinned", showing off thick, sharp incisors ending in points and a rather long canine that could almost be considered a tusk if it were to grow any longer. Black, pupil-less eyes glared down at him. The beings were certainly intimidating, but it became clear that was their purpose when a much shorter Balosar, the two antennapalps on top of his head quivering excitedly, stepped up, blocking Obi-Wan's exit.
"Ooitmians aren't welcome here," the Balosar growled.
"I'm not looking for trouble," Obi-Wan replied, and one of the large beings on either side of him made a strange grunting-whistle sound that could've been a laugh.
The Balosar tittered, making a show of his hand going down to the blaster at his waist. "You've already found it."
Obi-Wan's hand itched to reach for his lightsaber, but he knew a sudden move would escalate the issue. Not to mention, drawing his lightsaber would give his identity away instantly. He couldn't afford to jeopardize their mission for a bar room brawl. He had one option left.
"You will let me finish my drink and leave in peace," he said with a subtle wave of his hand as he drew on the Force to reinforce the mental suggestion. Obi-Wan had seen Qui-Gon perform this particular trick a number of times, though if questioned about it, he'd deny it until he joined the Force. It was a questionable Force technique for the Jedi, especially since it preyed on the weak-minded of the galaxy. But it was much more preferable to the alternative at the moment, so Obi-Wan resolved he would take the lecture from his master if he had to.
"I'll let you finish your drink and leave in peace," the Balosar intoned back, his hand falling away from his blaster.
"But Boss—"one of the thugs protested, its Basic garbled by its maxilofacial anatomy.
"You will all leave and never harass another being again," Obi-Wan added.
"We will all leave a—"
"Obi-Wan?"
"Kriff," he cursed as he lost his hold on the suggestion. The Balosar blinked in confusion as Padmé, of all people, appeared.
"What happened?" he asked, looking between the two thugs, Obi-Wan, and the confused and concerned Padmé.
"He tried to trick you, Boss!" the left thug accused, jabbing a talon at Obi-Wan.
Obi-Wan didn't wait to see what his reaction would be. He ducked a swing by one of the thugs, shouldering his way through the still blinking Balosar.
"Obi-Wan, what—"
"Come on," he urged, grabbing her wrist to head for the door. But it seemed the Balosar had brought more friends, or perhaps the bar patrons were simply looking for a fight. Either way, Obi-Wan stopped short as he realized their way out was barred. Two masked bounty hunters and a Rodian stood barring the entrance through which Obi-Wan had arrived while a six-armed Besalisk covered the back all on his own.
"Look, we don't want any tro—"Obi-Wan didn't get a chance to sue for peace as the Balosar tackled him from behind, attempting to bite his neck. Obi-Wan twisted to protect himself as the instructors had taught him in the Jedi Temple. In the same moment, he tugged Padmé away from their aggressors, attempting to put her between the wall and himself. He spun, grabbing the Balosar's arm to wrench it free, at the same time delivering lightning-fast, pinpoint blows at the joints. The Balosar screeched, stumbling back and clutching his arm, but there wasn't a chance for escape. The cantina had devolved into an all-out brawl, fists, tentacles, and everything in between flying in all directions. It was by sheer luck that no blaster had been pulled yet.
"Look out!" Padme warned as one of the reptilians charged Obi-Wan. He ducked a wild swing, redirecting it into a charging Rodian and the two became entangled, falling on an unfortunate Lannik who all but disappeared under their bulk.
"Come on," Obi-Wan urged, catching an opening and slipping through with Padmé in tow. Heads down, they wove through the crowd, making towards the exit. Obi-Wan had to fend off a few blows and was almost to the exit when he felt a strong warning in the Force and the cold metal of a blaster barrel was pressed to the back of his head.
"Take one more step, I dare you," the Balosar growled. His voice was strangely hoarse, but Obi-Wan wasn't about to ask why. He gathered the Force and was preparing to try another Force suggestion when there was a thump, a low grunt, and the blaster disappeared. Obi-Wan turned to see the Balosar bent over, clutching his face and, to his astonishment, Padmé standing over him and shaking out her hand.
"Did you just—?"
"Talk later, let's go!" Padmé pushed the rest of the way through the crowd and the two of them tumbled out into the street with a few brawlers. The cool, desert air cleared Obi-Wan's mind as the two of them hurried off into the evening, leaving the cantina and their attackers well behind.
They didn't stop until they were within sight of Anakin's slave hovel. Both of them were breathing heavily as they leaned against the low wall. They shared a look and Obi-Wan found himself laughing. Padmé's neat hair was askew and Obi-Wan was sure he looked a bit worse for the wear. His still healing ribs burned with his exertion but his mind was clear and his heart raced. He felt the energy running through the Force like he hadn't in a long time. It was so close, Obi-Wan felt like he barely even needed to reach for it.
Padmé looked at him like he had lost his mind, but then she grinned and before long she too was laughing.
"I can't believe we made it out of there," she said.
"How's your hand? That was some punch you threw! And thank you for that."
Padmé glanced down where a couple of bruises were forming on the skin over her knuckles.
"Here, let me help," Obi-Wan offered, reaching for her hand. But Padmé pulled it back tucking it away in the sleeve of her tunic.
"It's fine," she insisted. "We should get back before the others go looking for us."
"Is that what you did? Go looking for me?"
Surprisingly, Padmé ducked her head and if it had been lighter, Obi-Wan would've seen the hint of a blush on her cheeks.
"I…heard some of your conversation, with Master Qui-Gon. I don't like this situation either. There are too many risks."
Obi-Wan sighed. He wasn't angry at Padmé for listening in, but he had hoped that his concerns could've remained private. The last thing he wanted to do was undermine Qui-Gon to the people they were trying to help.
"Qui-Gon is a great Jedi Master," Obi-Wan said at last. "And I trust him with my life. He will see us through. I need to have more faith in him, and in the Force."
Padmé seemed to be searching his expression, looking to see if he truly believed what he was saying. In truth, Obi-Wan did, to an extent. Qui-Gon was his Master, and he did trust him with his life. It wasn't his place to disagree, but he couldn't help but question his master's methods, every so often.
"We should return," Obi-Wan said at last.
As they slipped back into the hovel, Anakin and Kitster seemed to remain peacefully asleep, but Obi-Wan knew his master sensed their return. His eyes were closed and he breathed deeply as if sleeping. Padmé tip-toed carefully around him to climb into bed as Obi-Wan settled on the floor. She smiled at him in the dim light and Obi-Wan sent her a light grin. The two of them wouldn't talk about their adventure to the others. As Obi-Wan rolled over to get comfortable, he saw Qui-Gon briefly look his way. He nodded to his master, reaffirming his trust. He had to trust his master. If he couldn't, then they were doomed to fail.