Chapter 10. Openings

"I'm hungry," Kit complained. "Did you bring anything to eat?" He'd grown tired of spying on the blue and white spaceship. Nothing was happening – only one person had come out, paced around for a while, and gone back inside. Even the utter novelty of seeing a ship of her size and elegant lines parked out in the wastes had worn off.

"I thought you did." Lupie was still staring through the field glasses, which hed been hogging practically the whole time. Not that there was anything to see.

Kit rolled over onto his back and stared at the unbroken blue of the sky, shielding his eyes with his hand against the glare. "I'm bored, anyway. Nothing's happening. Lets go back into town."

"Why? What're you gonna do in town?"

"I dunno. Eat. Besides, it's hot out here."

"It's hot everywhere." Lupie kept staring through the glasses.

"I'm BORED," Kit grumbled again.

"Veritas," Lupie said. "What d'ya think that means?"

"It means BORING," Kit said. A split second later he'd leaped to his feet and jumped on Lupie, trying to snatch the field glasses away from him. Lupie hung on to them, beating off his attacker with one arm and both legs.

"Knock it off, you two bantha calves," old Popper grumbled from his shady spot underneath a low cliff of rock. He'd extended the shade by fashioning a lean-to out of a poncho and some string, and was stretched out comfortably with his hands on his stomach, his ever-present blaster rifle tucked securely against his side. "You're going to attract attention."

The young men, fully engaged in their tussle, ignored him. All that pent-up energy had to go somewhere. So it was Popper who first noticed that something was amiss; a faint scent carried on the wind, perhaps, or a nameless warning prickling just under his skin. He had a grip on his blaster rifle even before he realized that he was bothered about something. Even in the hot, clear daytime there were enough dangers lurking in the wastes that he'd opted to accompany the two lugheads on their spying adventure, since they wouldn't be dissuaded.

"I said, stop it," Popper hissed, rising to his feet to get a better look around, but the two warriors were too engrossed on battle to hear the note of genuine warning in his voice.

About the same time that the sand under his feet began to shiver, animal sounds chilled his blood.

"RAIDERS!" he yelled, running toward the young ones, intending to drag them to the tiny shelter offered by the rock ledge if necessary... at least they'd have something solid at their backs... but Kit was already crouched in the sand, his sidearm clutched in both hands, firing at something behind Popper.

The rocks above seemed to explode, raining loose stones down on Popper's head. He twisted around, bringing his rifle to his shoulder, squinting up at the two dangerous bundles of sand-colored rags that were waving their gaffa sticks around and making that godawful sound. By the time he'd shot one, the other was in midair, nearly on top of him. He stumbled back frantically, but the creatures stick came down on his rifle arm with a sickening crack.

"Popper, duck!" someone yelled behind him, but it was too late, he was on his way down anyway, and not by choice. Shots were fired and someone else screamed, and then there was an unfamiliar sound, a kind of strange hummmmm that rose and fell in pitch. Popper saw a bright green light against the sky, and then everything went kind of gray... but not gray enough. Popper wished fervently that he would black out, the pain was unbearable; but even half blind with it, he was still awake, trying to endure the agony.

A hand came to rest lightly on his flaming shoulder. He jerked away from it into white-hot pain.

"You are safe," a strange voice said in Basic. "But your arm is badly injured. Try to keep very still."

Shivering with shock and pain, Popper struggled through the fog to make out the face that hovered above him. A pale man with sand-colored hair and a neatly trimmed beard sat very still above him with his eyes closed and his hand resting ever so lightly on the agonizing shoulder. Popper didn't know how long the man sat that way, but by the time the stranger opened his eyes (they were gray) the trembling had subsided, and the pain seemed to have ratcheted down a few notches as well. Enough so that Popper stopped wishing for unconsciousness or death, anyway.

Behind him, Kit called out, "Lupie's hurt! He's badly hurt!"

"Don't move. I will look after him," the stranger said to Popper, rising lightly to his feet and disappearing from view. Popper stayed where he was, looking at the rock ledge where he had been lying moments before, and at the two utterly still ragtag bodies that lay there now. They stank. Raiders always stank. If the wind was right, you could smell them coming. But they knew about wind, and about stalking, and about sneak attacks, because they were murderous cowards that hid and ambushed and only came out at night.

Only it was broad daylight.

Why?

"It looks bad," Kit wailed.

"He has lost a great deal of blood," the stranger said. There was a ripping sound, and then, "Hold this against the wound."

"Is he going to die?" Kit was losing it for sure, he sounded near hysterical. Popper wanted to tell him to calm down, but couldn't muster the strength.

"It depends how quickly we can get help," the stranger said. "How far away is the town?"

"Took us an hour on the speeder bikes..."

"Are they the only transport you have available?"

"Yeah... he's really bleeding!"

"Keep pressure on it."

The stranger walked back into Popper's view. For a long moment he stood just where the boys had lain spying on the ship below, staring into the distance. In the background, Kit was half-crying, half-talking to Lupie. Popper had no idea whether Lupie was conscious.

The stranger seemed to come to a decision, because he straightened his shoulders, touched his ear, and murmured, "Captain, I need the large speeder at this mark. Yes, right away. Send Panaka with a field-ready medkit and two of your men. No, not Dax. I need her to clear the sick bay, do you understand? She is to clear it completely, and make ready for two injured. Yes, two. And Captain, make sure the men are armed."

"What is it, Anakin?"

Anakin looked across the glittering table at his host, but hardly saw him. "I'm sorry? What?"

"Is something wrong?"

Something felt wrong. He just wasn't sure what. It was the strangest feeling...

"Nothing, no. I was just thinking of home." Anakin looked at the spoon that still hung in his hand, and put it back down on his plate. The food was delicate and rich and he'd had enough.

More than enough.

"You were telling me about your mother's injury."

"Yes." Anakin cleared his throat. "One of my purposes on this trip is to find better medical care for her." He finished his tale, but part of him was back on Tatooine with Shmi, with the guys, with everyone, wondering if everything was all right.

What was he doing here, dressed in fine clothes and eating food fit for a palace banquet?

When was he going to return with help for his mother, as he had promised?

"Well," Dooku said, placing his spoon down as well. "Perhaps I can help."

Lupie was in bad shape (a shot to the chest, the stranger said) but Popper was holding his own for the moment... as long as he stayed still, anyway. The slightest movement was agony. The shock seemed to have receded, so he could think. But all he had to think about were unanswered questions: the strange daylight attack, how Lupie was (he wished he could turn around and see him), and about the man who had appeared out of nowhere and had sent for help.

When he couldn't stand it any longer, he croaked out, "Hey!"

The stranger moved into his view. "Do you need something?"

Popper strained his eyeballs to look up as far as he could without actually raising his head. "Who are you?"

The stranger crouched down beside him. Once Popper could see him better, he decided that the guy looked like someone you didn't mess with. Polite, but kind of ... steely.

"My name is Obi-Wan Kenobi. I happened by because I wanted to find out why you were spying on my ship."

Popper blinked. He didn't have an immediate answer for that one.

"Lupie just wanted to see that girl," Kit snuffled behind him. "That girl that got on your ship at the spaceport. Hes been crazy about her ever since he first saw her."

Oh, shut up! Popper thought, but it was too late to say anything.

"I see." Kenobi looked down at Popper. "It was a dangerous game, don't you think?"

"They don't usually attack like this," Popper muttered.

"The Tuskens?"

"Yeah. They never come out in the daytime. Everyone knows that."

An engine whined nearby, and cloud of sand billowed over the ridge above the dead Raiders.

"Our transport is here." The man called Kenobi rose to his feet. The next instant, he was already on top of the ridge.

How'd he do that?

He heard the murmur of voices. Three men clambered over the rock ridge, one carrying a medkit. Popper felt himself beginning to shake again, maybe from relief. Whoever the stranger was, he'd kept his promise to bring help.

A young, dark-skinned man with tattoos all down his arms knelt down by Popper with a transderm patch in his hand.

"I'm going to give you something for the pain," he said, pushing up the sleeve of Popper's good arm and pressing the patch to his shoulder. Then he sat back on his heels and grinned. "Night-night."

That was the absolutely last thing Popper remembered.

"He's doing what?" Padmé had heard it well enough. Dax had spoken clearly. She just couldn't believe it.

"Two of 'em, apparently. Badly injured. Orders are to move you to your own cabin. You're to stay inside and not come out for anything while they're on board. Your Ladies, too."

"What is he thinking?"

"Beats me, but I'm followin' orders. C'mon, My Lady. Weve gotta go. I've gotta set up another cot in here."

Leaning heavily on Dax, Padmé made her way out of the sick bay and into the corridor beyond. It was the first time she had been on her feet in days, and she didn't like how weak she felt. It made her feel more vulnerable than ever.

"This is harder than I thought it would be," Padmé admitted. "I was feeling fine in bed..."

"You'll be all right," Dax assured her. "You just need a little practice."

It was also the first time Padmé had glimpsed the rest of the ship, which was quite a bit larger and more luxurious than she had imagined a ship supplied by the Jedi would be. "Even if I'm hiding, they are going to see all of this. Its a security breach of the worst kind. I can't believe that Captain Typho is going along with it."

"Well..." Dax's eyes crinkled up in amusement, "... what makes you think they're gonna be awake to see anything the whole time they're here?"

Padmé stared at her, and then shook her head. "Madness."

Eirtaé emerged from a cabin and hurried toward them, supporting Padmé from the other side.

"Your Jedi is out of his mind," Padmé muttered. "Maybe you can talk some sense into him."

Dax raised an eyebrow at the Handmaiden. Eirtaé stared straight ahead. Together they got Padmé to her cabin and eased her into bed.

The minute Dax left, Padmé demanded, "Get me Captain Typho!"

"I'm sorry, that is impossible," Eirtaé murmured. "He is organizing the rescue mission."

Padmé opened her mouth to protest, and then closed it again. "So that is how it is."

Eirtaé shrugged; a small movement, a precise lift of one shoulder, but it was enough.

Padmé closed her eyes. "Leave me."

"If there is anything I can get for you..."

"Just go."

"As you wish."

For a long moment, Eirtaé stood looking at her. At last the cabin door swished open and then closed again.

When Padmé opened her eyes again she found herself staring into a very different reality than the one she had known all her life. The attacks on her had been terrifying and had made her vulnerable, politically and physically. But the remedy – the desperate and ever more drastic effort to keep her safe – was far worse. It had made her irrelevant.

For the first time in her life, the only thing being asked of Padmé Amidala of Naboo was that she stay out of the way.

Anakin was still brooding when he returned to his cabin after a sumptuous meal with his host and teacher. Dooku's promise to send a MedDroid to Tatooine immediately had eased his mind a little, but he still felt that he ought to return home with it. Surely his mother would be a bit uncertain of a strange MedDroid, even if had been sent in Anakins name. But he hadn't had the heart to bring it up to Dooku – not after all the efforts the Count was making on his behalf. Outside of their training sessions, it was as if nothing was too much trouble. Any concern that Anakin mentioned almost immediately became a problem solved...

He hadn't mentioned the water technology, though. He wasn't sure why. He just hadn't.

Anakin stepped into his suite to see a strange protocol droid staring at him. He had to admit that he found the number of droids on the Serena a bit creepy. There was no human life at all except for his host and now himself, so why were there droids everywhere? What could they possibly be needed for?

"You can go," Anakin said to the droid, wondering where Threepio was.

"Oh, Master Ani," the droid wailed. "Have I displeased you?"

Anakin stared at the golden vision. "Threepio?"

"Yes, Master Ani!" Threepio raised his arms to the side as much as he was able. "Do you like it?" From head to toe, he gleamed with the perfection of a brand new droid.

Anakin stared. "What happened to you? Is that a polish or did they replate you?"

"A little of both, I think. I'm not sure. I wasn't awake the entire time. But I was told that my original coverings were removed, polished, and replaced." He stuck out the leg that had one silver shin guard where Anakin originally hadn't been able to salvage a matching gold one. "It does seem to be true." Since he'd never had a real shine, no one had ever noticed the difference enough to be bothered by it.

"You look good." Anakin looked a bit ruefully down at his own fine clothing. So did he, actually, in a dark, close-fitting tunic of a fabric so soft that it reminded him of the time he had brushed against the Queen of Naboos sleeve. Deftly, without making a big fuss about it, the Count of Serenno had turned Anakin and his droid into something more presentable.

He sighed. Polished or not, Threepio was a comforting link to home. "I'm really glad to see you."

"And I you, Master Ani. This is very strange place. I've never seen so many different kinds of droids. Why, they have vast decks full of battle droids, and some very dangerous ones they call droidekas. None of them are very friendly. The only one who would talk to me was a protocol droid that was being programmed for espionage, I think."

Battle droids? Espionage? Anakin stared thoughtfully at his newly golden protocol droid.

"You're right, Threepio. That does sound strange. I guess you'd better stay here in this suite for the rest of the time were on this ship."

"If you don't mind my asking, Master Ani, how long are we going to remain here? I'm not sure I like this place."

"I don't know yet, Threepio." Anakin yawned mightily, suddenly aware that he was beyond tired. He couldn't remember the last time hed slept. In fact, if he didn't get to bed right that minute, he would likely crash on the floor. "I'm turning in. Wake me at 0500, will you?"

"Of course, Master Ani."

"And Threepio... no switching off. I want you on watch all night, OK?"

On watch... certainly, Master Ani, but ...

By the time the droid turned his round eyes on his master, Anakin was spread-eagled on the bed in all of his clothes, sleeping like the dead.

"On watch," Threepio murmured. "I don't like the sound of that at all."

Anakin never made it to 0500. He startled out of a comatose sleep to see Dooku standing over him.

"Connection with the Force, Part Three," Dooku announced, eschewing the usual pleasantries.

Anakin already knew that when Dooku was in training mode, no argument or discussion was tolerated. Dooku the Genial Host only made his appearance after Dooku the Teacher was satisfied.

Anakin sat up immediately, but he couldn't help yawning and rubbing his eyes.

"Wake up!" Dooku snapped.

Anakin stifled another yawn.

Dooku pursed his lips. "Sit there." He indicated a spot on the floor near the center of the room, far away from the soft bed or any other furniture.

Anakin did as he was told. On the way he noticed Threepio standing in the shadows of the room, switched off.

Dooku sank down onto the floor in front of him. "What have you learned of meditation?"

Anakin began to describe his early lessons with Obi-Wan.

"Enough," Dooku cut him off. "What have you practiced since then?"

Anakin described his periods of silent contemplation when time seemed to vanish into a moment, and his success in learning to sense and experience things at a distance.

Dooku's verdict was cutting. "Wasted years. The purpose of meditation is to connect consciously with the Force at a level beyond the physical. As you have not yet arrived at the deepest point of connection, I will have to take you there myself. It wont be easy, but it should be effective." Dooku contemplated him for a moment. "I hope you have a strong will."

Anakin felt his body tense. What now?

"Close your eyes."

Dooku didn't ask him to relax his body or to do any of the preparation exercises that Obi-Wan had taught. Anakin closed his eyes obediently, but his mind remained active with random thoughts, wondering what Dooku was talking about, wondering whether he would be able to stay awake for one of those boring sessions...

None of it mattered. Almost immediately, Anakin's mind snapped into alertness with the sensation that it was being dragged away from his body. In fact, he quickly lost all sensation in his limbs, and then, even more alarmingly, in his torso. His body became heavy, corpse-like. He wondered wildly whether his heart was still beating. It felt as if his whole being was concentrated in his mind, while everything else had fallen away.

Anakin wasn't at all sure he was ready to leave his body behind, but the choice wasn't his. Right next to him in his consciousness, right inside of his head with him, was Dooku.

Open your eyes.

Anakin couldn't open his actual eyes; he didn't have any. His body was gone. But the inner gesture of opening his eyes had the same kind of effect. He opened his eyes, and it was as if the universe had turned inside out, revealing all of its inner workings to his sight.

It was a good thing he didn't have any lungs. He would have stopped breathing. Or maybe he had stopped breathing? Maybe he was dead? If he was, it didn't matter; his mind just kept going, pulled along by Dooku like a prisoner in chains. He couldnt escape if he tried. Together, they plunged into the infinite, unfathomable space. If hed had a mouth, Anakin would have screamed. It was like jumping off one of those soaring buildings on Coruscant, with nothing to save you.

Falling. Twisting. Turning.

Images burned into his mind; frightening, impossible, monstrous forms that radiated fear and menace.

Those images are your own thoughts and fears. Stop them, Anakin. We dont have time for this.

It couldnt be. They were real. They were REAL, and they were coming for him... Anakin tried to pull back, but the awareness that was Dooku kept dragging him onward, straight into...

Stop them!

It took Anakin an unending interval of paralyzing fear to trust Dooku's words over his own perceptions. When he finally got his thoughts and feelings under some kind of control, the images receded, and eternity opened up to his perception.

At last! Now, observe. Observe the nature of movement.

Movement? Movement? At first Anakin was too dumbfounded to understand. Everything he saw was connected to everything else. He was inside the very heart of the universe, where everything made sense and the senses were irrelevant. The moment he had a thought, it appeared to his sight in all its full dimensional glory. The moment he saw an image, he perceived it in dimensions he had never known existed. He saw everything, and for a blinding moment, understood it all...

Movement, Anakin!

Oh, right... movement. Anakin tore himself away from the wonders of eternity and tried to think about movement. He moved his imaginary hand, and the entire universe moved, from the smallest atom to the orbits of the planets to the stars themselves. Everything was linked. Everything was connected. Movement wasn't an independent activity, it was part of everything, it was everything... movement was form, and form was movement...

Again and again he tested his new perceptions, creating worlds, moving the stars around, linked to the All as everything was linked to him...

And then the limitless experience of movement turned into something else, something quite unpleasant, a sense of rushing, of heaviness. Anakin fought against it, but the feeling dragged him inexorably down, down, down...

Oh – he had arms and legs, Anakin suddenly realized. They were stinging with pins and needles. How could that be? He had only been away for a moment... He had a whole body, thick and dense, numb and heavy. He wasn't so sure he wanted to have a body. He wanted to keep flying free among the stars...

"Breathe in the Force," Dookus voice ordered. "Draw it into your extremities."

Anakin did, observing with wonder as the sparkling energy filled him to overflowing. The sense of heaviness went away, and very soon he was once again comfortable in his flesh.

"Open your eyes."

Anakin did. His gaze met his teacher's. He realized that he was grinning.

"That is your place, Anakin. That is our place, to which we return again and again for strength and for knowledge. The Force dwells equally out among the stars, inside the tiniest motes of matter, and inside of us. Those of us who are fortunate enough to experience it in this way know that the Force is not a separate entity that we beseech for aid. The Force is not a sea on which we sail, hoping to find the shore. The Force is the matrix of all life, infinitely variable, and infinitely responsive. We reshape the matrix with every movement we make, with every thought we have. Why not, then, shape it consciously by controlling our movements, by commanding our thoughts?"

Anakin sat thunderstruck, astounded, frozen under the immensity of his new knowledge.

"Some breakfast is in order, I think," Dooku said, bringing him abruptly back down to the crushing triviality of the mundane. "After that, the ropes await your attention."

By the end of that very long day, Anakin could circumnavigate the entire training room without ever touching the floor, making leaps that no human could achieve unaided, crossing the distance between ropes by calling them into his hands. When, satisfied, Dooku called an end to practice, Anakin hardly felt tired. The Force had done most of the work.

On his way out of the training room, Anakin gave the heavy bench that had defeated him the day before a good Force-induced rattle. Just because he could.

The two men from the ridge arrived on the Veritas deeply unconsciousness, and were carefully transferred to the small sick bay surrounded by guards so heavily armed that the Tatooine men would have been terrified had they been aware of them. They remained unconscious while their wounds were treated with the aid of one of the finest field model MedDroids available. The Veritas didn't have a bacta tank, but the portable micro-layer technology was nearly as effective. Popper's arm, which had suffered several complex fractures, was set and rebuilt with cutting-edge precision. He didn't feel a thing, because he was out cold the whole time. Lupie's injury, a blast wound to the chest, had nearly cost him his life, but Dax had managed to stabilize him. He too would never remember being treated on the mysterious ship.

The only unhurt member of their party, Kit, hadn't been allowed to go with them, although he fought and screamed and kicked to stay with Lupie. In the end, he had been sent back into town on his speeder bike. Danil had gone with him on the second bike to prevent him doubling back, and got him good and drunk that night to make sure he stayed in town.

In the evening of that strenuous day, the Jedi visited the sick bay.

"How long before we can get them out of here, Dax?"

"Another full day at least, and thats pushin' it. The bacta works a treat, but the human body can only take on so much shock."

"I want them kept under."

"That's not gonna help 'em recover."

"It has to be that way."

"Then give 'em another day of recovery time to compensate."

"No."

"All right, Jedi. Have it your way. But they're gonna be sore puppies, especially the kid. He's in no shape to be moved. He needs more surgery."

Obi-Wan studied Dax's face while he thought. "I'll check in with you in the morning for an update. I will make the final decision then."

She shrugged. "Whatever you say."

"How is Senator Amidala?"

"Not as strong as she'd like, and mad as a gundark about it. But she won't relapse. Not now. Just needs to regain her strength, is all."

Obi-Wan nodded. "Good. In that case, I think you should accompany your new patients into town when the time comes, to keep an eye on them." He smiled. "The sooner they go, the sooner you get some R and R."

Dax snorted with laughter. "You're a sly one, Jedi. All right. Tomorrow it is, unless theres a setback in the night. Where do ya want me to take em?"

"There is a medicenter in Mos Eisley. We'll bring them there."

Dax cocked her head to the side. "We?"

"I'm going with you. After all, I want everyone to know who saved them."

"Say ... what?"

"I'll speak with you tomorrow, Dax." The Jedi touched her shoulder briefly, comrade to comrade, nodded to Typho's ever-present guards, and was gone.

After considerable searching, Eirtaé finally found Obi-Wan alone on the Veritas' otherwise deserted bridge, staring out the viewscreen at the night sky.

Hesitating to disturb him, she lingered uncertainly at the entrance. He had dimmed the cabin lights, and sat in the pilot's seat with his feet propped on the console. One hand supported his cheek. The other lay relaxed and half-open on his thigh. It was the first time she had seen him in repose.

She turned to go.

"Handmaiden? You wanted to speak to me?"

Eirtaé peeked back inside. "I'm sorry to bother you. It can wait."

"It's all right. Come in." Obi-Wan gestured toward the co-pilots seat, where Eirtaé gingerly seated herself, feeling guilty about having interrupted his time alone.

Their eyes met. For a moment, Eirtaé forgot to speak. Obi-Wan waited patiently until she collected herself.

"I have a question for you, Master Jedi."

"Go on."

"Suppose," Eirtaé began, "suppose that a Jedi on a strange planet comes upon two groups of locals fighting. He does not know them, or their history, or the reason for the dispute. As an outsider, he has no information with which to label either group as good or bad. How does he decide whether to intervene?"

Obi-Wan held her gaze for a long time before looking away, out the viewscreen. Illuminated by a very bright moon, the dunes beyond the ship undulated like waves on a rolling sea. Eirtaé found her eyes drawn to them also, while she waited for the Jedi's answer.

"It is a very good question," he said at last. "The truth is that people – beings of all kinds – tend to label themselves fairly accurately by their intentions. A Jedi who encounters an attack on one group by another will know a good deal about the motivations on both sides. Pure murderous instinct shows up quite clearly."

"And so the Jedi decides to destroy the ones with the murderous intentions?"

Obi-Wan reached up to stroke his beard. "His actions would depend in the first instance on his mission. Beyond that, it is not unknown for Jedi to behave as other beings do: to make their own judgments about what they see, and to make personal choices about how and whether to respond."

Eirtaé looked down at her hands, which were tightly clasped in her lap.

"Is it a personal or a professional choice when the Jedi responds by destroying the ones he judges to be the murderous attackers, and rescuing the others?"

"Eirtaé."

She looked up.

"Would you rather I had left the men to die? Having the means to prevent it? They meant us no harm."

"But did you know that? At the time, I mean?"

"Not entirely," he admitted.

"Please understand. I am not questioning your choice to show compassion. What I am struggling to understand is how you make choices. How, for example, did you decide to bring the wounded strangers onto Padmés ship, leaving her... leaving all of us ... terribly exposed?"

"Precautions have been taken, Eirtaé You know that. And the young one would have died without immediate help."

"But it is such a risk! I know that you don't do anything without a purpose. I have been wondering all day about your possible reasons for doing this. What troubles me is that I have only been able to come up with one conclusion."

"What is that?"

"That Padmé's safety is not your only goal, and perhaps not your greatest priority. That there is something else going on... something else that you are trying to accomplish."

For the first time since she had known him, Eirtaé heard Obi-Wan sigh like an ordinary man whose burden has suddenly grown heavier.

"I assure you that Padme Amidala's safety is my primary goal. I will not let any harm come to her." When Eirtaé didn't reply, when she just kept looking into his eyes, silently demanding the truth, Obi-Wan added, "I can see that there is no hiding from you."

Following his own example, Eirtaé waited patiently for him to explain.

Obi-Wan looked back out at the silvery dunes. "All right. I do have another mission here. The Jedi Council is very interested in the whereabouts and activities of my former pupil, Anakin Skywalker."

"Ah... no wonder! No wonder Master Windu placed a ship at Padme's disposal within hours of her request!"

"Yes. But the fact that the two missions fit together does not in any way change my obligations to Senator Amidala."

"It just adds considerably to your burden," Eirtaé murmured.

Obi-Wan glanced at her, but just as quickly looked away again. "I arrived here without having any idea how the two tasks might mesh. Then I learned of, and watched, the holo-recording that the Senator secretly commissioned."

"Ah," Eirta said again, this time, with a faint blush.

"It is a remarkable report – detailed, insightful, and finely observed – and far more useful to me than any briefing materials I would normally receive. As well as giving shape to my broader mission, it revealed to me the best way to ensure the Senator's safety while we are here."

"Now I am curious."

"Anakin Skywalker enjoys an extraordinary position on this planet. Without having any sort of official status, because of his deeds alone, he exerts quite astonishing influence over everything that happens. He has captured the hearts and minds, and therefore, the loyalty, of the populace. His very presence here is so powerful, so pervasive, that his absence from Tatooine is detectable in the Force itself."

Again he glanced at Eirtaé, as if to assure himself that she was following. She nodded, nearly breathless to know where this was going.

"The people around him strike me as clannish. They are fiercely protective of Anakin, and of one another. All, without question, will protect anyone close to Anakin, anyone who is important to him. When he was my pupil, he revered Padmé. He talked about her all the time. It is likely that she remains important to him."

Eirtaé nodded again. "I see. If Anakin agrees to help protect Padme, anyone who wishes to harm her will have to get through the entire population first. But you say that Anakin isnt here. He doesn't know that Padmé is here looking for him."

"No. But his people are here – and I use the phrase 'his people' quite deliberately. I don't know how close those men on the ridge are to Anakin, but to the clan, that won't matter. The savior of one will begin to earn the trust – however grudging at first – of the rest."

Eirtaé's hands no longer were clenched in her lap. Unconsciously, they smoothed the folds of her robe while she thought.

"What happens next?" she asked at last.

"Thank you." Obi-Wan rewarded her with a rare, heartfelt smile that made his eyes crinkle at the corners.

Her hands fluttered in its warmth, as if they wanted to cover her heart. "For what?"

"For your trust."

"Oh..." Eirtaé clasped her errant hands together tightly to keep them under control. "I do need to know what comes next. Padmé is not content with hiding in her stateroom."

"Nor should she be. I am sorry for that, and will try to minimize her confinement. Senator Amidala has told me that she wants to visit Anakin's mother. Under the circumstances, I think that is an ideal next step. If you can ask her to be patient for another day, two at most, until I have returned our unconscious visitors to their homes and made myself known, I will find a way to arrange that visit."

Eirta grinned. "So, the Jedi is planning to position himself as the friend of the people? May I ask if he plans to do that in his own name, or in disguise?"

"Oh, the Jedi needs to use his own name. He was, after all, Anakin's Jedi Master. That should buy him some respect, at least until Anakin returns."

"But you threw him out. Won't they hold that against you?"

Obi-Wan stood up and held his hand out for Eirtaé to rise also. "I suspect that Anakin did not tell them what happened. They all speak of him as a former Jedi, as if it was his choice to leave the Order."

"And when he returns ... won't that be awkward for you?"

"Awkward? You have a gift for understatement. I think it likely that I am Anakin Skywalker's least favorite person in the universe. There is no predicting how he will react when he finds me here on his return."

Eirtaé frowned. "Perhaps he won't return."

Obi-Wan stood very still. In the shadows of the dimly lit bridge, his eyes looked as dark as jet. "For any of this to work, I need him to return, and soon. If he does not, the risk to the Senator will become too great, and we will have to leave this planet."

"Oh," Eirtaé said, in a small voice.

"Can you do something for me, Handmaiden?"

"Anything," she blurted out, before she could temper her speech, and then berated herself silently for sounding like an eager girl.

"Tomorrow, could you go into town and learn the whereabouts of Anakin's mother? I would send Vespé, but I need her for something else. Take two of Captain Typho's guards with you for safety."

"Of course."

Obi-Wan bowed, and left her in the shadows.

That night Anakin dreamed of home. He was walking on the hot streets of Mos Eisley on market day. Up ahead, in a crowd, he saw a woman who looked like...

"Mom!" he called out. The woman didn't hear him. She kept walking, and was soon gone from his sight.

"Mom!" he called again, beginning to run. "It's me! Wait!"

He ran and ran, as one does in dreams, until finally she was in front of him. He grabbed her shoulder. She turned. She looked just has she had before the accident; even better, because she was a little younger, and her hair was darker.

"Mom! You're all right! You look great!"

In the dream, Shmi looked through him, as if she couldn't see him.

"Mom? Its me..."

Dream-Shmi shook her head and turned away, leaving Anakin bereft. Up ahead, she stopped to speak to a figure in a hooded brown cloak. Even in the dream, Anakin felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck. He couldn't see who it was, but the cloak looked a lot like something a Jedi would wear. When he looked again, Shmi and the hooded figure were gone.

"Mom!" Anakin called out again ... into a darkened room on a ship somewhere in space, where he sat up in a luxurious bed with a sick feeling in his stomach.

"Are you all right," Master Ani? Threepio asked worriedly.

"I don't know," Anakin admitted. "I don't know."

That morning, when Dooku the Teacher let himself into Anakin's suite again at an obnoxiously early hour, he found his pupil already awake, dressed, and trying to teach the protocol droid to play cards.

Upon seeing him, Anakin stood up respectfully.

"Weapons training today," Dooku announced succinctly. "Follow me."

Anakin's face lit up. Evidently, this was something he had been waiting for.

I wonder, Dooku thought. I wonder whether he is ready...

We shall see.