Moving through the streets of Mos Espa, secure pack on my back, I was strongly reminded that 600 ounces of gold… was still just 600 ounces. It felt like it should be more.

Partially due to CGI and partially just due to the escapist nature of the cinema, I was unprepared for just how dingy everything looked. The inescapable truth (bad dialog aside) is that, on a desert planet, sand really is going to get everywhere. Every building and every surface was scoured of color and character, every possession and landmark worn down. It wasn't hard to be reserved and wary in Mos Espa; you wanted to be.

Of our traveling group of five, it was the fifth member whose indomitable spirit and bold colors pushed against the settlement's immersive drabness. The droid rolled along cheerily, his sensory suite pivoting every which way as he chirped exclamations, most of them just naming people, beasts, and vehicles as we passed them.

**Past navigation limited: ships, shipyards, hangars,** he said to me at one point. **Preference for variable input. Query: R2D2 accompanies OB1 planetary navigations?**

"The wheels are could be a problem," I replied, "but I'd love to have you along as often as possible."

"Don't make promises to the droid, young Kenobi," my Master admonished, but I caught a flash of amusement more than irritation from him.

I hadn't looked up the precise location of Watto's business, and I made a point not to lead… but Qui-Gon showed no hesitation at all in zeroing in on a particular junkshop. Following him in, my gaze immediately found the scowling Toydarian behind the counter.

~Good day to you,~ Watto greeted in Huttese, his bulk lifting up above the counter as he buzzed over to us and hovered on impossibly rapid wings. ~What is it you want?~ His snout protruded out towards us just slightly as he talked… and then his attention centered on me. Or, rather, on my pack.

"I need parts for a J-type 327 Nubian," Qui-Gon replied, forcing the man to focus on him rather than me.

"Ah, yes! Nubian. We have lots of that," he replied. His accent was thick when speaking Standard. ~Larva, come here now!~

I couldn't take my eyes from the boy when he appeared. To my senses, he seemed like a new center of gravity. As though instead of "up" and "down," there was just turning towards him or turning away. He was dressed like a slave, and grubby in the way of someone who worked on machines for days without cleaning.

He spared me only a single glance; his eyes were for the queen.

I left them to their banter and caught up to my Master.

"... to pay for all this, eh?" I heard the Toydarian say as I rounded the corner in the yard.

Qui-Gon nodded at me. "My associate will deal with the money situation. We have more than enough for our purchases."

"Republic credits are no good here," Watto began, but his eyes were on my pack again.

I pulled out my single loose peggat and threw it underhand; Watto caught it deftly and ran his snout over it. He made an approving grunt. "You'll need a lot more of those," he offered. "The parts you want… a hundred would cover it."

"I saw something else in your shop that I want," I said. "Let's not waste time haggling more than once."

He brightened at that. "You know good work when you see it! Was it the Cayton brushless motor? It's fully restored, I could let-"

"The boy," I said, not even realizing the will behind my words until I spoke them. "And his mother. How much?"

Watto scratched below his tusk, looking away. "My slaves? I doubt you can afford… two Class 1 slaves…"

"They're Class 3 and you know it," I replied.

"Maybe to you, but uh, they're like family to-"

"You beat them. Enough dissembling. The parts, a woman slave, and her son. How much?"

"Four hundred gold peggats." He was fully engaged now.

"Two hundred," I countered. I kept the relief off my face.

"Three hundred and twenty-five. Or you can keep your gold, and I will keep my slaves."

"Deal." We shook, and he flitted off to the yard to gather parts. Qui-Gon and Artoo followed him to make sure he got them all.

I felt a triumphant thrill as I returned to the shop, where Anakin was enraptured by commander Olie telling one of his inexhaustible piloting tales. Padme's gaze mostly lingered on the boy; he had clearly intrigued her.

"Anakin? Could you help me count out my money, please?"

He turned to me as I opened my pack out on the counter. "Oh, no, sir. I'm not allowed to touch the money. But don't worry, Watto will be here soon to count it, I'm sure!"

"What does…" I swallowed, calmed myself. "What would Watto do, if you…?"

I didn't have to finish my question. I felt the pain as sharply as though Anakin was freshly experiencing it, his fear at being so much smaller than the Toydarian, having no way to stop the beating. It didn't linger as pain usually did, though, but cut off abruptly as Anakin's attention turned away from his memory and onto something else. It seemed that for Anakin, remembering an experience was as vivid as reliving it.

I directed my attention to the gold coins, placing six unopened sleeves on the counter and opening the seventh. Those coins I stacked neatly into four piles of five and a fifth pile of four. (Yes, I had noticed that the coin Watto had examined never made it back to me.)

Anakin was called away during my counting and returned hauling a small pallet of surprisingly serviceable parts. Olie immediately jumped up to assist him, and they were soon joined by Qui-Gon and Artoo taking inventory.

That left Padme and I looking over the sizeable supply of gold when Watto flew over to us holding two small metal boxes.

"This is the mother's, and this is the boy's. Keep them well hidden so they don't find them and run off," he advised. The moment the boxes were on the counter, he was swiping at the gold coins, happy to examine each one with equal interest.

"What are those?" Padme asked, picking up one of the boxes, examining a switch on one side and a latch on the other.

"Slave transponder units," I explained. "Each slave is implanted with a transponder chip in an unknown location, shielded from detection. If you leave the range of your transponder unit, the chip detonates."

Watto didn't look up to see Padme shudder. He added, "Those are good units, too. Very reliable. Hardly ever go off by mistake. And they offer a very good warrantee, almost cover the cost of a new slave if it malfunctions."

"Why would anyone do that to another person?" Padme whispered, but it was more to herself than anyone else.

"What are you doing with those?" the boy peeked up over the lip of the counter. I couldn't read or sense his expression, other than genuine curiosity.

I smiled at him. "We bought you, young man. You and your mother."

"Really? Does that mean I get to fly on your spaceship? With Ric? And Padme?"

"It's the queen's spaceship. But, yes - you'll be coming with us once the repairs are made." I picked up both the transponders and headed for the shop door. "Why don't you tell us where your mother is?"

The boy was full of energy, quickly running ahead of us in his excitement. "We live just over here. Oh, wait till Mom hears! We get to explore the stars! YIPPEE!"

I hoped Shmi was half as enthusiastic as her son.