Five Years Ago
The way Obi-Wan handled the smugglers was masterful. Anakin had kept to the side, trying to be a good, silent Padawan as he watched his Master manipulate the rough and canny beings into a corner. No, they did not benefit from slavery – none of them ran the slaves themselves and it wasn't like slaves bought things. No, they weren't particularly loyal to Jabba – he was just as likely to send bounty hunters after them as to pay them on time. Yes, they did have a lot on the line here – warzones were certainly easy to smuggle in, but smugglers liked their hides in one piece, and it wasn't like Tatooine had a strict port authority to begin with.
Obi-Wan had left them to mull it over. Everyone knew where the slaves were gathered and everyone knew a turning point was coming. If the slaves didn't strike now, Jabba would, and even smugglers had consciences. At least, a few of them did.
Hopefully.
It was late at night when the message came it: a quick burst, short range transmission. A Trandoshan's croaking voice: "We're in."
"How can we trust them?" Shmi asked. Her hands worked together worriedly and Anakin placed his over them on the table, bringing out a small, surprised smile from her.
"We will trust in the Force," Obi-Wan replied. "For the moment, I sense no duplicity."
Anakin nodded. He felt as much from the Force. The smugglers were on their side. They would play their part in the plan. He could see it, with almost crystalline clarity, Force tinged. It was hard to feel fear with that kind of bone deep certainty guiding him.
The Jawas had also been easy to bring on-board. They wanted salvage rights to Jabba's palace. They would take them anyway, Anakin knew, but settlers did tend to destroy things to prevent Jawas from getting them. He gave his word that they would leave as much intact as possible for the Jawas and return their borrowed equipment besides.
The Sand People were ciphers. After meeting with what Obi-Wan thought was a clan leader, his account of the Tusken's involvement was little more than a shrug.
"I believe they will help us," he said uncertainly. "They said they will not impede us, certainly."
"Did they?" Anakin asked.
"Not in so many words... but I did feel we came to an agreement. Of sorts."
Owen led a small group of farmers to the homestead, a grim but pleased smile on his face. There hadn't been many who would commit to the cause, but there hadn't been opposition either. Owen insisted that was a good thing.
"For the future," he said.
And while Anakin could see his point, he was more interested in the here and now. Having support from the farmers five years from now didn't mean much if they all died in the assault tomorrow morning.
But the ones who did come were helpful. They were old, battle hardened men. They'd lived tough lives in the deserts and not only knew how to navigate the Wastes, but how to fire blaster rifles. Slaves were rarely taught that kind of thing. More than one of the farmer had even led a search and rescue party before, fighting to save family members from the Sand People. They were wary of the alliance Obi-Wan had supposedly created, but willing to share their tactical experience.
Anakin walked through the slave camp as the first sun dawned on the horizon. The night's chill had not yet faded and he wrapped his cloak around himself. They planned to leave most of the former slaves here in the camp because they were unfit for battle, untrained, too young or old, or simply too unpredictable from years of abuse. But those who would come were already up, preparing for the fight ahead. A hardy looking woman with a face that might as well have been sandblasted for all the years of work and weather Anakin could see on it was giving a young man final pointers on blaster use outside one of the tents.
Anakin hoped he would see them both later. That they'd survive this.
"Oh, Ani!" An old woman's voice gasped behind him. He turned, recognizing Jira with surprise. She stood to embrace him, looking up at him with kind fondness. "I knew it was you. You came back for us."
"I had to."
Jira patted his cheek with a gnarled hand.
"You were always such a good boy, Ani. We all knew you were meant for something special."
Anakin felt the knot in his chest loosen, his fears about the day's battle disappearing. He was. Even the Jedi saw that. He was destined, Chosen, and now he knew what he was destined for.
"I'm going to free everyone, Jira," he said. He held her gaze intensely. He remembered the cheers of the crowd on Boonta Eve, slaves coming out to feel victory, as momentary and meaningless as it was for them. He'd won his freedom, left them behind to suffer, and they'd cheered anyway when they saw him win the race. He could do better than that now, he could lead them into a real future. "I promise you."
"We know. That's why we're following you."
Anakin frowned.
"What? Jira, you can't come to Jabba's palace. You don't know how to fight. You'll just..."
Jira's eyes were full of light, her hands firm on his shoulders.
"I know. We'll do it for you, Ani. Because you came back."
Anakin stared at her, trying to comprehend the belief she – and everyone else in the camp – had in him. He nodded slowly, head down as he tried to bear the weight of their expectations. He straightened with determination. He had to. It was what he owed them.
She released him and Anakin stood there in a daze, watching her walk away. Slowly, other voices filtered through to him. His mother and Obi-Wan, speaking quietly in a nearby hut. He stretched out in the Force and realized, without much surprise, that they were talking about him. Quietly, he crept closer.
Obi-Wan paused in what he was saying, sending a pulse of irritation through the Force to Anakin, before continuing, "... I cannot say with surety."
Anakin took that as license to listen in. Obi-Wan knew. Therefore, it was not eavesdropping.
"Will he be punished?" Shmi asked, though her tone belied the wording. She did not believe in a world without consequence, where Anakin could fight by her side without suffering for it.
Obi-Wan hesitated before answering.
"The punishments of the Jedi are nothing to fear. We believe in correction, in learning from errors. Pursuing a better path the next time we face a difficult decision."
That was a rather undeservedly high minded way of putting it. Anakin remembered scrubbing the training room showers out more than once, mouse droids following him around in confusion; it was hard to say that was "pursuing a better path" rather than a punishment. He sent that flash of memory over to Obi-Wan who batted it aside with annoyance.
"He will remain a Jedi? You will still train him?"
Anakin felt his heart stop. She was desperate for those answers. Anakin had never even considered the questions, not really. Sure, he'd be punished when he got back to the Temple, but that was the point. He'd be going back.
"I –" Obi-Wan stopped. Anakin could feel the conflict inside him. He didn't know, Anakin realized with horror. And he didn't know what he should say to Shmi, to Anakin, aware that he was listening in. Finally, he said, "I hope to."
Anakin tucked his hands into his sleeves, hunching his shoulders. He'd never felt this cold on Tatooine before.
He did not find Obi-Wan again until they were making ready for the assault. He had his datapad out, checking over the inventory on a modified speeder. Obi-Wan had been entrusted with the final checks on everything, though some of the farmers grumbled about it. He was the only professional in the group, Obi-Wan asserted, and he was more than willing to take on the responsibility of ensuring their preparedness. What the farmers didn't hear, but Anakin did, was that as a Jedi, the responsibility of failure also fell on him. They had a duty to everyone in the camp; no one could lift that burden from them.
"They're all coming, you know," Anakin said. He crossed his arms in front of his chest, hands in fists. Obi-Wan did not look up from the datapad, so Anakin clarified, "All of the slaves."
"Former slaves," Obi-Wan corrected idly.
Anakin glared at him.
"I know what I am," he snapped.
"Do you? You are a Jedi, Anakin, but you have been behaving like anything but."
Anakin flinched away from his Master's words. That wasn't what he'd come here to talk about.
"They're all coming with us. They'll die," Anakin pressed.
Obi-Wan sighed and set the datapad down on the hood of the speeder. Nearby, Owen looked up at them, grumbling something before continuing the checks he was doing on the rifles. The camp was milling with activity, nervous energy. Anakin could feel the frisson of it along his nerves, winding him up further. Obi-Wan, he was sure, had no trouble pushing aside the feelings of others to keep his Jedi calm.
"I do not know what you thought would happen when you began this venture," Obi-Wan said. His gray eyes were cool, mildly regretful. "But this is the way of war, Anakin. People die in battles. Innocents more than warriors, and we do not have the time to train anyone here to become more than what they were."
"They are already more than what they were!" Anakin replied hotly. "They just needed the chance!"
Obi-Wan gave him a half smile. He reached out to clap a hand on Anakin's shoulder, shaking him slightly.
"Indeed and I am glad you will give them the chance – truly, I want you to understand that, Padawan. Your heart is in the right place. It is merely your actions that need work." Anakin didn't really know what to do with that kind of praise, couched in criticism as it was. Thankfully, Obi-Wan didn't wait for a reaction from him, rubbing one finger across his mustache as he continued, "They did need training, though. You wouldn't be so fearful otherwise."
"I'm not –" Anakin started. Obi-Wan quelled him with a look. His fears were precisely what he'd wanted to discuss. Anakin ducked his head, kicking a toe into the sand. He might as well admit that. Quietly, he asked, "How will you do it?"
"Do what, Padawan?"
"How will we live with ourselves?" Anakin asked again, more honestly this time. He studied the sand sliding off the black leather of his boot. "When they die?"
Obi-Wan waited for Anakin to look up, meeting his eyes firmly.
"As Jedi," he said. "Together."
Anakin wanted to believe Obi-Wan, that he would still be a Jedi after the assault, when dusk fell on Tatooine. The hair of his neck prickled at the thought; the future was in motion, tumbling down a path even Anakin couldn't see. It filled him with dread.
Now
After another, much more thorough search of the ship, Obi-Wan settled in the middle of the pilot's cabin, legs cross and hands on his knees as he meditated. Padme asked Artoo to monitor their flight path before retiring to her quarters to freshen up. She toweled her hair dry, sitting in a dressing gown at the small desk set into the wall as she read up on the Free Worlds.
They would be holding elections soon, she read with interest. No actual constitution had been written, or even proposed, to unify the governments of the systems. They were just now taking the first steps, selecting representatives to host a constitutional convention.
Anakin, it appeared, had held himself entirely apart from the process. Padme pondered what to make of that. The Republic – and the Trade Federation particularly – insisted that Anakin was all but emperor of the Outer Rim. There was little fear that he would lose power in these elections, but at the same time, he wasn't trying to secure his position. He could put himself forward for President of the Free Worlds, but had done no such thing. The most he had done was promise protection during the course of the elections and the convention, ensuring their safety.
He had not made any public statements about whether he would attend the conference – or even if he would vote. His statements on the democratic process seemed ambivalent at best.
"Free beings don't need a government controlling their lives," he was quoted as saying as recently as – Padme scrolled up on the document – six months ago. Younger, fresh from his successes in the two years ago Sluis sector, he'd disavowed any plans to take power, "All the Free Worlds need from me is my lightsaber – and steady aim with a blaster. They'll figure the rest out themselves."
That quote was accompanied by a full color picture. Padme studied it, trying to reconcile this defiant young man with the wild, blinding smile with little Ani. With the Anakin Skywalker whose fleet was on the verge of war with the entire Republic. She shook her head slowly to herself. She could see pieces of him, held over from one age to the next, but only that. He changed so much, so quickly.
What was she walking into here?
She continued to read through dozens of accounts from freed slaves and embittered "businessmen" run off of their worlds, from diplomats and the handful of Jedi who had encountered Anakin. The last set of files were highly redacted, leaving Padme rubbing at her forehead in frustration. None of Obi-Wan's reports were even available.
Eventually, she ran out of files. Her hair dry, she plaited it in a simple, single braid over her shoulder and selected one of her more casual outfits, just dark pants and a tunic. She would need to change again before they officially arrived, but she wanted some time to mull over what impression she wanted to make on Anakin. And for that, she would need to discuss matters more with Obi-Wan.
While Jedi did not appreciate the fine art of appearance, he was still the one who knew Anakin best and the only one who wanted their mission to succeed more than Padme did.
Obi-Wan was in much the same position Padme had left him in, though Artoo was not. The little droid had rocked forward on his treads, as if peering at the Jedi. Padme stifled a smile at the sight.
"If you would, Senator, I appreciate being left unmolested."
"He's just curious."
"It is a droid and it has its own duties to attend to," Obi-Wan said. He cracked his eyes open to glare at Artoo, who warbled innocently in response.
"Why don't you go down to maintenance, Artoo?" Padme suggested. "There's an autoscrubber with your name on it."
Artoo swiveled his dome, lights flickering petulantly. She raised her eyebrows at him and, with a sullen little whir, the astromech rolled past her, toward the lower decks.
"You remind me of Anakin," Obi-Wan said. For all that the subject of his apprentice was unprompted, pain was visible on his face.
"Because of Artoo?" Padme asked, although she already knew. Ani had been so proud, showing off the protocol droid he built, fussy, strange personality and all. Padme wasn't bad at maintenance, really, considering that it was well outside her specialty, but she wouldn't even know where to begin to build a droid. To do that as a child was a marvel.
"You are kind to droids," Obi-Wan said. He unfolded himself, pushing himself easily to his feet. "He always said it was a mark of good character when a person is kind without needing to be."
Padme smiled slightly.
"And what did you say to that?"
"That kindness without purpose is no replacement for good works."
"Pragmatic," she said.
"But he was not wrong," Obi-Wan added after a moment. He looked toward the door Artoo had exited through. "We do give them a certain personality, real or imagined, and how we treat them reflects our inner selves. There is no harm in treating them well."
Padme nodded, letting the subject drop. It was beside the point with regards to Anakin. She was quite aware of his feelings on how people treated those they considered their lessers. Obi-Wan glanced to the flight readout, puzzlement apparent as he checked the time. It was well before they were due to arrive at Tatooine.
"Was there something you wished to discuss, Senator?"
Padme waved him toward the seats, taking the pilot's chair as her own. She still had her datapad in hand.
"Strategy," she said simply.
Obi-Wan inclined his head. It was not necessary for her to say aloud that he knew Anakin better than she did, that his advice was welcome; perhaps she should make a point that she did not wish for them to work at cross purposes, but she let that matter lie for the moment. She did not want to hear again the danger Jedi children were considered to be.
"Very well."
"Do you believe he would join the Republic?" she asked.
Padme had been entirely sincere in proposing that to Palpatine, though she was doubtful that it was truly on the table. The holomessages, the interdiction zone, even the way Anakin had left the Jedi Order – it all spoke to a belief that the Republic was broken beyond repair, that he wanted nothing to do with it. He wasn't wrong, she thought sadly, to think the Republic had not served him. But Padme was not prepared to give up on the Republic. It was a flawed system, as were all governments. There was no such thing as starting from scratch, no way to wipe away the past, and no reasonable argument to even try. They lived with the full weight of the past, a legacy to live up to as much as a history to repent.
But Anakin was an idealist – as much as Padme herself had been as Queen. He wanted absolute solutions, pure causes and morally impeccable answers. She believed that she could convince him to see joining the Republic as righteous in its own way, rather than merely a compromise.
"He does not think of himself that way," Obi-Wan said. It wasn't quite an answer. He pointed to her datapad. "He does not think he is a politician."
"It's amazing how few do," Padme replied lightly.
Obi-Wan chuckled.
"I assume you count yourself among those?"
"At times. I know what I am, but I do try to rise above it."
"And do you succeed?
"At times." Padme smiled at him. He was facing forward, hands idle on the co-pilot's controls. The corner of his mouth had turned up, however, a sideways hint that he felt her smile even if he did not see it. After a pause, Padme continued, "He has very good numbers, you know."
Obi-Wan swung around to stare at her, half smile disappearing in an instant. Padme looked at him steadily, unapologetically. She did enjoy his company, but they had rather strayed from the point of their discussion.
"Numbers? My Padawan has polling numbers? That's appalling."
"Everyone has numbers," Padme told him. "Yours are not bad. Certainly better than most Jedi."
Obi-Wan sputtered.
"I am not running for office! And neither is Anakin."
His tone said that, rogue freedom fighter or not, he absolutely forbade his Padawan from doing such a thing. Jedi do run true to type, Padme thought.
"He should. He would win."
Obi-Wan waited for a beat, for the punchline, but Padme was not joking. It would certainly be the cleanest resolution to this diplomatic crisis. Governments had formed under far less legitimate conditions. The Free Worlds had never been in the Republic, so their repudiation of the Senate up until now was no kind of treason. And declaring independence from the Hutts and the Zygerrians could be considered nothing less than justice.
"Run? For what office?" Obi-Wan asked. The revulsion in his voice was stark.
This time it was Padme's turn to stare.
"Our mission is to bring the Free Worlds into the Republic." It was clear to Padme now that she had an entirely different sense of what that meant than Obi-Wan did. He saw the Free Worlds as something to be a signed over. Anakin's role would end, he hoped, and the Free Worlds would fall under Republic dominion. It seemed a naïve fantasy, though Padme was cautious to say so aloud. She added, "Anakin would be the obvious choice for their Senator."
Obi-Wan looked decidedly queasy at the idea.
"Do you really hate politicians that much, Master Jedi?"
"Yoda is not here to offend, so there's no reason grant unearned titles," he sniped back. "And while I am aware of your mission, I would hope you would remember mine. I intend for Anakin to become a Jedi once more.
"Besides, that's a terrible idea and you know it."
"Oh, I don't know about that," she said loftily. "There are far less diplomatic members of the Senate. I doubt that Anakin would ever send an assassin after an opponent."
Obi-Wan snorted, a shadow of his good humor reasserting itself.
"Only because he'd leap across to the next delegation's pod to fight them himself. Can you even imagine? Are Senators allowed lightsabers on the floor?"
Padme could not recall if there was a specific mention of lightsabers in the parliamentary code, but It was very thorough. She'd had some of her sharper hairpins taken from her at times. If lightsabers were not in there, she would imagine it was due to some trickery by an ancient Jedi Master rather than true negligence.
"Do you think it is possible?" she asked, rather than answer his question. Her eyes raked over his face, watching for a reaction she knew would be subtle, nearly invisible when it came. "Can we bring him home?"
The light faded in Obi-Wan's eyes.
"I do not set out on impossible missions, Senator," he said.
That was hardly true. The Jedi set themselves up for failure all the time; it was something Padme admired about them. Even the certainty of failure was not enough to dissuade them, when they knew the cause was true. She'd been much the same when she was younger.
"What would it take?"
Obi-Wan cupped his jaw in his hand, fingers splayed over his mouth. He watched the whorls of hyperspace in silence.
"He would have to believe his mission was complete," he said eventually, dropping his hand.
"Is there any point where it will be?"
It was the conundrum of any military state. They promised to cede power when the situation was stable, but invited attacks with their existence. And Anakin's military was not content to merely protect the Free Worlds. He was constantly in expansion, seeking slavers to depose, slaves to free. His work was as infinite as the Jedi Order's, if he truly committed himself. There was no reason to believe he would not.
"I don't know," Obi-Wan said quietly. "He has sacrificed much already. That makes it … difficult to walk away, to leave matters in other hands."
Padme felt a swell of sympathy for Obi-Wan. Was there a moment when he could talk of Anakin without speaking of himself as well? Perhaps not. Perhaps that was not the way of Masters and Padawans. But it seemed clear that it was more than simply the Jedi way reflected in Obi-Wan's words. He had lost his own Master, ruined his reputation within the Order. He'd never walk away from Anakin now, not when he'd paid such a high price already.
"We need to find someone he can trust," Padme said definitively. "If he could be persuaded to leave the Free World's in their hands, then there is a chance. What about this Dooku?"
Obi-Wan scowled immediately. Padme had never seen such a sudden expression of anger from a Jedi before and recoiled reflexively.
"Dooku is the last person he should trust," Obi-Wan said.
There was a wealth of information about Dooku of Serenno, though Padme had only done the most cursory of searches about him. His decades long career as a Jedi Master was well documented. From what Padme had read, his deeds were quite admirable. He'd been the closest the Jedi had to a politician, a clever and careful negotiator that reconciled interplanetary disputes easily. His file was quieter about his reasons for leaving the Jedi Order, phrasing it only as a retirement. But Jedi didn't retire.
It was a point Padme had planned to follow up on – and clearly it was a topic that Obi-Wan had strong opinions on.
"I've read that he's quite a diplomat. He would seem ideal as a leader for the Free Worlds," Padme said, watching Obi-Wan carefully. "Or an adviser, at least. You disagree?" Padme asked.
"He's a Sith," Obi-Wan pronounced. His shoulders had tensed, eyes narrowed in defiance. He expected some kind of argument from her.
That word conjured memories of the invasion of Naboo, ten years ago. Padme had seen only the barest glimpse of the man who killed Qui-Gon Jinn, but she still remembered it vividly.
Obi-Wan had debriefed her personally in the days after their victory, as the ashes of his Master cooled and the celebratory lights in Theed faded. He had not had much information for her then, only enough to disabuse her of any fairy tale notions she had of the Sith.
"Alright," she said, keeping her voice steady as she pushed aside the memories. She gave Obi-Wan a nod, taking his word on the matter.
Surprise lit in Obi-Wan's eyes. He passed a hand over his face, breathing deeply and evenly. He gave her a rueful look, acknowledging that he had quite forgotten with whom he was speaking.
"I apologize, Senator. This is a matter that has become a longstanding dispute with the Council," he said. Padme took that to heart. She had seen enough to understand the rift between Obi-Wan and the High Council. "But as we are currently talking strategy, it is rather important that I explain my concerns regarding Dooku.
"I believe he is a Sith Lord and I believe he seeks to corrupt Anakin to the Dark Side, to sow war in the galaxy and ultimately to destroy the Jedi Order."
He gave her a thin smile.
"Nothing to worry about, really."
Padme leaned forward, shoulders squared as she looked up at Obi-Wan, her eyebrows coming together in puzzlement. It was troubling to think such a matter was the source of a dispute between him and the Council.
"But the Council disagrees?"
"Indeed," Obi-Wan said. There was a small, unpleasant smile on his face.
And yet they had sent him out here. Either they felt there was enough merit to his claims – enough danger in ignoring them – that it was worth following up on, or they trusted him to act according to his orders, regardless of his own suspicions.
Padme leaned her cheek on her hand. It seemed that matters were even more complex than she had originally thought.
"I think we'll be talking this way often, Obi-Wan," she said. "We'll need to be careful of Dooku and whatever influence he is exerting on Anakin. We will need a focused strategy. Our first impression on Anakin needs to be strong."
"Oh, it will be," Obi-Wan said. "But I assume Anakin's saber skills have lapsed somewhat, so I think I shall survive."
Padme sighed.
Tatooine looked precisely the same as Obi-Wan remembered, a dusty, brown planet that glowed with a black body index nearing that of a small star, so intense was the reflected heat of its twin stars. Tatoo I and Tatoo II peeked around the blue-tinged curve of the planet as the ship re-entered real-space, the night side of Tatooine barely visible without their light. Obi-Wan as able to pick out only tiny settlements in the darkness of the deserts and wastelands.
Above the planet, starships swarmed.
"Oh my," Padme said, putting a hand to her mouth.
After a rather interminable consultation, Padme had disappeared back to her cabin, changing into an outfit that she deemed suitable for her first meeting with the leader of the Free Worlds. Obi-Wan's gaze kept sliding back to her, wondering quite how she'd managed such a complex hairstyle by herself. Perhaps Artoo's arm extensions reached that far.
Fashion was by no means his forte, but Obi-Wan thought the entire ensemble was quite pleasing. She wore a pale peach dress, falling in gentle waves that left her shoulders bare, its color fading to dusty mauve where it brushed the cockpit floor. Padme had questioned if the dress was quite appropriate for a diplomatic mission, prompting a retort that Obi-Wan assumed so, since she was the diplomat and she had chosen to pack it.
To be fair, Obi-Wan thought that the effect on Anakin would be entirely inappropriate, which was why he'd advocated it. He hoped that Anakin's crush on Padme had survived intact; an Anakin struck speechless by her beauty was an Anakin with whom Obi-Wan had the opportunity to get a word in edgewise.
Most of the ships around Tatooine were small, freighters of the sort than smugglers typically used. Obi-Wan's eyes tracked the course of one as it swooped around Tatooine, path crisscrossing with dozens more ships – in formation, they acted as an ad hoc orbital shield, in place of defense platforms.
"I think," Obi-Wan started. He swallowed deeply, a pit in his stomach. "I believe I recognize that ship."
Padme directed a look his way, which he ignored.
He had made many mistakes on Nar Shadda, in his attempt to bring Anakin back to his side. His plan back then had been much the same as Padme's proposed plan: end Anakin's mission. But while Padme acknowledged that it was truly a never ending battle and one they merely needed to convince Anakin to delegate to another, Obi-Wan had not taken that tack. He had tried to help Anakin win. Given him the means to it. He had expanded the circle of their smuggler allies beyond those who betrayed Jabba originally, folding in hundreds more. The intent had been to stop slave trafficking by cutting out those willing to transport them. Anakin had seen it in a different light. He'd seen ships and experienced fighters.
And yet, of the mistakes Obi-Wan had made with Anakin, it was difficult to say that building a fleet for him was one he regretted. At least this one kept Anakin safe.
A small wing of fighters broke orbit, plotting a vector to Obi-Wan and Padme's position.
A voice crackled in over the comm, fuzzed by loud engines, "You have entered restricted space. Identify yourself."
Obi-Wan pressed a button on the console, leaning forward to speak.
"This is the diplomatic vessel Arcadia, bearing dual Naboo and Coruscanti port registry, Aurek Thesh one-six-six-five," Obi-Wan stated. Any civilized being should recognize, by virtue of the very, very short registry number, that the owner of the ship was quite high ranking indeed. He continued glibly, "We were invited."
"The Senator?" the pilot asked suspiciously. She didn't wait for an answer, cutting the transmission. The fighters continued their course.
Padme took her controls in hand, preparing for the worst. Obi-Wan shook his head marginally.
"Poor equipment," he explained. "They can't keep two lines open simultaneously. They're likely checking back with their base."
The red comm light flared back to life and Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow in Padme's direction. She let go of the ship's control to hit the comm again.
"Transmit your authentication codes." Obi-Wan already had, actually, but if their equipment was that old, they would not have received it. The fighter sent out a ping and Obi-Wan responded, setting up a two way link for the codes. A flight plan followed, filtering in slowly. He tapped a finger against the console, waiting for it to be received in full. The pilot continued after a lengthy wait, "You are clear for hangar 4 on the flagship Emancipator."
The connection ended. Obi-Wan inspected the coordinators they'd been sent. Padme leaned over, frowning as she glanced between the coordinates and the fleet in front of them.
"That's his flagship?" she asked in surprise.
The ship in question was certainly nothing to look at. It was large enough, certainly, the only capital ship in the fleet. Obi-Wan recognized the design as Mandalorian – just short of ancient, and weathered enough that he wondered if it was the design alone that was that old.
"I'm beginning to wonder what everyone was so worried about," Padme said. She sat back in her seat, folding her arms across her chest. Her expression was deeply unimpressed.
"It may not shine like the Naboo fleet," Obi-Wan said. "But I suspect it has virtues nonetheless. If I know Anakin, every single one of his ships has been modified well beyond the specs."
"The fighters can't keep two comm lines open at once."
"Don't make my mistakes, milady. Don't underestimate Anakin."
The skepticism dropped from Padme's expression.
"I don't intend to. I suppose I'm more pleased than I should be – if his military is no real threat, then our mission is half finished already. Even Nute Gunray can't fear monger without any substance at all."
He'd done an admirable job so far, Obi-Wan thought. But the absence of information was often just as threatening as actual danger. A thorough report might well dispel the fears the Trade Federation had conjured up for the Senate.
The fighters escorted the Arcadia toward the Emancipator. Padme's hands were light on the controls, piloting personally rather than allowing the computer or Artoo to take over. It was odd to be in the company of someone who piloted for pleasure rather than necessity, but then, it had been a rather long time since Obi-Wan had known anyone to do more than their duty. His missions, even alongside other Jedi, had been coldly professional for some time now.
Obi-Wan happily ignored his own set of controls, instead tracing the warm glow of Anakin's presence. Their training bond remained, strained by distance and time, but never formally cut. This close, he could feel the familiar, worn path in the Force that led directly to Anakin. It was like a dry river bed, awaiting rain.
And its course ran the other direction.
Without realizing, Obi-Wan's head had turned from the Emancipator to the planet itself.
"Anakin isn't there," he said.
Padme didn't look away from her heading, but it was a near thing.
"What?"
"He's not on the ship," Obi-Wan said. "He's on Tatooine."
She shrugged one shoulder.
"Then we'll meet with Dooku first..."
"My lady, if you leave me alone with a Sith Lord, there will be but one survivor," Obi-Wan said tensely.
"That would be an abrupt end to our mission." She hit the autopilot, a line creased between her eyebrows as she looked to him. "And too rash by far."
"They say a Jedi does not begin his education until he takes a Padawan. I learned a great deal from my own."
Padme didn't seem to think the situation was funny. They remained on the landing vector to the Emancipator. Obi-Wan searched for the gaping darkness of a Sith presence, all but burned into his memory, but he found nothing. Neither did he find a Jedi, though it was often hard to see one against the blinding light of Anakin.
"What are you proposing?" Padme asked.
"Nothing too drastic," Obi-Wan said before turning the autopilot off. Padme made a short, annoyed sound as he wiped away the flight plan, taking the controls in his hands.
He had indeed learned a lot from Anakin. Fancy flying, for one thing. How best to form an ill-advised plan, for another.
The Arcadia was not as speedy a craft as a fighter, nor as maneuverable. But surprise, and the Force, were on Obi-Wan's side. He juked hard to left, wings slicing between their escorts. The fighters snapped around onto his tail, speed belying the age and look of their ships.
"Arcadia, you are off course," the escort pilot from before said tersely.
"Obi-Wan..." Padme said.
"They will not shoot us down," Obi-Wan replied. He took a hand off the controls to start programming a new course, down to the homestead he remembered too well. "Anakin would have their heads if they killed you, my lady."
"And while I appreciate being used as a human shield," Padme started, "I do not approve of this tactic. This is still a diplomatic mission first!"
Obi-Wan could feel the righteous burn of her anger next to him.
The shields snapped on as Obi-Wan took them down, easing them through the fires of reentry. He could see their escort out the view port – it had grown. The fighters had been joined by a ship Obi-Wan recognized as a Firespray. It swooped in front of them as the fighters dipped down beneath them, trying to push Arcadia up and out of the atmosphere once more. Obi-Wan ignored the tactic; aside from being futile, it was incredibly dangerous. All they did was risk Obi-Wan forcing them to crash. Obi-Wan hoped that this was not what Anakin's training amount to – although, in all honesty, he had trouble imagining Anakin endorsing it. He would favor a more directly aggressive tactic. This kind of flying was meant for skittish transport and long haul cargo pilots. The types that pirates targeted.
"This is not the first impression we discussed."
"You'd rather go through Dooku? Let him decide when we see Anakin?" Obi-Wan asked. He flicked the controls to the left, tilting the Arcadia toward a fighter that was skimming too close for Obi-Wan's taste. The fighter pulled up sharply and then looped back down, steadying into a more cautious vanguard position.
Tatooine coalesced underneath them, dusty and brown, pocked with tiny white settlements. If Obi-Wan had any doubt at all that Anakin would be found at the Lars homestead, it vanished on approach. He could be in Mos Espa, at what passed for a central government, but Anakin's Force presence was clear and distinct, centered in that small farmhouse as Obi-Wan set the ship down.
Padme stood slowly from the pilot's seat, gaze set on the homestead. There were remnants of the slave encampment from years before – a few small huts that had apparently become permanent. A black scored line, burned into the bedrock and covered only partially by shifting sands. She would have read of it, know some of the past, Obi-Wan was sure, but there was no way it could be as viscerally jarring to see as it was for Obi-Wan. He knew life had moved on for Anakin. He knew Anakin did not live in the past, in that day.
Obi-Wan was not sure he could say the same.
"Does he live here?" Padme asked.
Obi-Wan shivered as the words echoed his thought; but that was not what she means at all, he reminded himself.
He cleared his throat, arching an eyebrow at her.
"On the ground? I should think not. No, I believe Anakin is true to his name. As ever."
"Then why – " Padme cut herself off as the escort ships set down nearby, blowing dust up around the homestead. She rubbed at her forehead, obviously displeased. She said, "I suppose we should make our case."
She keyed something on the console, signaling down to Artoo, and then put the ship into full lockdown mode. Obi-Wan could see her point there. None of the fighters had enough space for prisoners, so there would be no way to force them off planet without getting their cooperation in the matter. Of course, there was still the matter of the Firespray. Obi-Wan scanned the forward port again and then looked at the sensors. Odd. He distinctly remembered it making planetfall with them.
Already, Padme was at the door out of the cockpit.
"Are you coming?" she asked.
Obi-Wan closed down the sensor readout and turned to follow her out.
The heat of Tatooine was impossible to forget – or so Obi-Wan had thought. He shrugged awkwardly inside his robes, trying to readjust them, as he and Padme descended the gangplank. The suns were bright in the sky and he lifted a hand to shade his eyes, squinting toward a large canopy erected near one of the remaining tents. There was a speeder underneath, as well as a rather large pile of junk. Several swoops were parked nearby, either next in line for maintenance or just finished. All the vehicles had the blue pattern that Obi-Wan remembered well. It had been Anakin's personal flag, the one from his pod race, the one he painted onto his bedroom wall in the Jedi Temple. The swoops and speeder were official, then. For patrols.
A girl perched on the hood of the speeder looked up at their approach. Owen leaped out of the driver's seat, moving himself in front of her. A pair of legs stuck out from under the speeder. It seemed Anakin was determined to ignore Obi-Wan.
The escort pilots came up behind Padme and Obi-Wan, weapons drawn. Obi-Wan gave each of them a skeptical look before approaching Owen. He bowed to the boy, not expecting it to be returned, and offered an extended hand.
"You look well," Obi-Wan said. Owen eyed him suspiciously, taking Obi-Wan's hand after a long moment. He squeezed it in a hard handshake and then dropped it, wiping his hand on his trousers. Obi-Wan decided not to take offense. "How is your -"
"Leg?" Owen cut him off. "It's fine."
"I was going to say brother, but I am glad to hear it," Obi-Wan said mildly.
Owen looked back over his shoulder to where Anakin continued to work. The girl was speaking to Anakin in quiet tones, leaning backwards over the edge of the speeder to hand him tools.
"Allow me to introduce myself," Padme said, she pitched her voice loudly, hoping for Anakin to hear. It isn't as though Anakin doesn't know we are here, Obi-Wan thought. She gave Owen a thin, serious smile. "I am Senator Padme Amidala of Naboo. I wish to speak with Anakin Skywalker, to open diplomatic relations between the Free Worlds and the Republic."
Obi-Wan could feel the mounting struggle in Anakin. He wanted to see Padme. He absolutely did. But that desire was threaded through with fear, with anger. Finally, with what amounted to a shrug in the Force, Anakin pushed himself out from under the speeder.
He looked good, Obi-Wan admitted. He'd said as much of Owen, but that was easier to admit. On Nar Shadda, the boy had been thin, run ragged trying to keep up with Anakin's insane missions. Living a Jedi life with none of the training, none of the abilities. Anakin had nearly ground his brother into dust, all without realizing. But even Anakin himself had been feeling the toll, Obi-Wan realized. Pale from over a year of shadows, going from one planet to the next, taking down small time slavers and criminals, Anakin had barely looked like himself at all.
Obi-Wan's interference on Nar Shadda may not have netted him Anakin, and it may have escalated Anakin's mission rather than ending it, but he could not say it did no good. Owen's leg aside, of course.
And then he'd thrown it away on Zygerria. He remembered well the burning anger in Anakin's eyes, the hatred.
He saw little of that now, but that didn't make it any easier to breathe. Obi-Wan watched Anakin, heart in his throat with fear and anticipation as the boy approached.
Beside Obi-Wan, Padme raised her hand to her mouth. Her attention was fixed on Anakin as well. Her eyes traced over the way his shirt clung to his shoulders, chest visible through the thin material. It was half tucked into trousers that were, frankly, far too tight.
Anakin brought up a hand, rubbing engine grease off his face. His gaze took a long moment to travel up Padme's form before locking eyes with her.
"I am open to a relationship," Anakin said roughly. His eyes widened momentarily, and he fumbled to explain, "I mean. A diplomatic one."
Obi-Wan felt a headache coming on. Next to him, Owen cringed in embarrassment. Neither Anakin nor Padme seemed to notice.
The escort pilots strode forward, placing themselves between the small group and Anakin. They held their blasters steadily on Obi-Wan and Padme. Obi-Wan kindly moved more clearly into the line of sight of the female pilot, keeping Owen out of danger.
"Sir," said the pilot Obi-Wan had spoken to. She glared at Obi-Wan. "They disobeyed your instructions. We'll take them back up to the Emancipator immediately."
"It's alright. Disobedience looks good on them."
"But sir!"
Anakin leveled a glare at the pilot that immediately shut her up. The girl on the speeder slid off, walking lightly over to Owen. She took his hand and looked to Anakin.
"Then we'll talk inside?" she asked. "Over dinner?"
"I would like that," Padme said to the girl, who flushed.
Anakin stepped past the pilot who tried, nonetheless, to angle herself as his defender. The other pilot had a bored, impatient look on his face. It seemed he'd wanted to get the all clear and get back in space already.
"Padme, I'd like you to meet my family. This is my brother, Owen," he said, clapping a hand on the boy's shoulder. "And this is his girlfriend, Beru."
Padme inclined her head to them in turn, smiling genuinely to both. She looked over to Obi-Wan. He could feel how pleased she was by this turn of events and, in the clumsy way that non-Force sensitives had, she deliberately made herself feel apologetic, trying to push that feeling Obi-Wan's direction. He had felt as much already from her, the emotion already present before she consciously tried to feel it for his benefit. Still, he supposed that it was a nice gesture from her.
"It is good to meet you, Beru," Obi-Wan told the girl.
Anakin's attention tracked over to Obi-Wan, expression souring. There was a hard look in his eyes that Obi-Wan wished were less familiar.
"Yeah, about that," Anakin gestured to one of the pilots. "I don't think I want you here."
But it wasn't the female pilot who stepped forward. It was the other. His face twisted into something else momentarily, and Obi-Wan felt a sick flash of precognition. It echoed across to Anakin just as the pilot opened fire.
At Padme.