Chapter 4
The Hutt Empire Continues to Gain a Lucky Foothold
Luke skidded around the corner and choked out a cough, black smoke filling his nostrils, nearly tripping over the still form of a human woman. He felt his heart pang, and wished to check on her, but his friends were yet to be found, and staying here would mean certain death. His senses warned him. So the lean boy stumbled on.
"Luke!" The boy in question rubbed his sooty eyes and tried to follow that voice. "Luke!" It seemed further away now... A scream and a loud bang exploded nearby and Luke winced, smacking his hands to his ears. It was too late, they were ringing like bells.
He had saw the stadium fall, and it haunted him all the way to his jerky landing outside of Fixer's junkyard. He needed desperately to leave the track- it took all of his self control not to speed away into the desert in his little pod.
Something really bad was happening, and the streets were becoming darker and darker. It was nowhere near night, but it was steadily getting darker. Luke realised- once he'd gotten out of the pod- it was the sky filled with smoke. Life forms were rushing out of cantinas, shops, holding as much as they could manage.
Something really was terribly wrong. Mos Eisley was on fire and he needed- well, he didn't know what he needed. He was going to warn Fixer...
He ran inside of the junkyard, and then into the makeshift mechanics shop, to find it empty. Fixer was gone, or at least not here. And Luke had that bad feeling growing stronger, he couldn't stay here.
Oh kriff! His friends, they were- where were they? Still at the landing strip? He needed to warn them, something was happening. He went out of the junkyard to find his pod gone- HIS pod- that he'd spent so long slaving away on. It was gone and Luke could barely tell that from the smoke descending on the street, it was like a thick film. He began to cough against his will. It was suffocating. And he didn't have a pod to get out of it.
People were shouting and most were running, it was getting hotter, and Luke realised with horror that the fire was spreading. He turned and blindly ran with the rest, small hands clenched in fists. He was running across the landing strip, at one point, and leapt over life forms. He was unsure if they were dead or alive. The smoke was incredible, black, burning his eyes and lungs. He went to the bushes to find nothing- no, not nothing.
Itobe's doll lie innocently under the dead twig bush they had crouched by earlier. She would never leave it behind, Luke thought with a harsh swallow. He needed to keep moving, he knew that. But maybe... no. Biggs wouldn't leave his sister behind and Biggs was too smart to get caught in the fire. They... they had to be fine.
He was back into the winding, makeshift streets of the city. Luke skidded around the corner and choked out a cough, black smoke filling his nostrils, nearly tripping over the still form of a human woman. He felt his heart pang, and wished to check on her, but his friends were yet to be found, and staying here would mean certain death. His senses warned him. So the lean boy stumbled on.
"Luke!" The boy in question rubbed his sooty eyes and tried to follow that voice. "Luke!" It seemed further away now... A scream and a loud bang exploded nearby and Luke winced, smacking his hands to his ears. It was too late, they were ringing like bells.
He fell to the ground like many others, but unlike them he didn't get up right away. No one stopped to help the human boy. This was no city of the well-intentioned. Luke tried to get out of the way but the many rushing by were nearly crushing him as he crawled. His head was pounding now, and he saw, off to the side, a metal cart. It was usually to be used to hold temperature sensitive wares, resistant to both ice and fire and natural elements, but currently it was flipped upside down empty and a solid wedge of wood left a small space to the inside of the heavy cart.
A space small enough for Luke.
They had been led out of the stadium by the black-saber Sith, into the hazy surrounding town. The fire was dying down surely, most likely there wasn't much left to burn. The Sith was never faltering in the harsh smoke, but the Jedi were impaired... even if just slightly. It cost them.
"Qui-Gon!" Obi-Wan shouted in terror. He immeadiately struck at the Sith, and they pressed blade to blade. But Obi-Wan was too distracted by the detached hand of his mentor in the sand, and the Sith tore away his defensive stance. Luckily, Anakin was ready and leapt to Kenobi's defense.
The Sith attacked with renewed rage, empowered by the success against the eldest Jedi. But Anakin was strong too in defense of his people. He swung with deadly precision, his personal goal clear. He clashed against the Sith's black saber, unique color, but forced the connected lightsabers upwards and twisted out at just the right second- Anakin was always well timed- and proceeded to brilliantly send the man's arm flying. That was not why the dark being howled- his lightsaber had gone even further through the smoky air and vanished.
Anakin smiled, panting just barely.
The young Sith turned and fled.
"Qui-Gon," Obi-Wan said hoarsely. "Remain here unless the fire reawakes, we will return." Anakin had already begun stalking off in fact. Their old master cradled his stump of a left hand with a look of defeat.
"I've grown lazy it seems," he said. "I have faith in the Force, that you will return." Obi-Wan turned to leave, but Qui-Gon was not done. "If you do not, I will defeat that petty apprentice with all the rage of the Light."
The air was charged with tension, as the people thinned out in the street, the screaming grew fainter. Luke watched the feet slowly disappear from his little vantage point. There was a very loud sound- like a crash- and then something like a howl.
And it was this moment everything changed.
In this moment the smoke clears just barely- enough to see shapes, and Luke crawls his way out from under the overturned metal cart to see the heavy wood table in front of him had a gaping hole through it, and was smoking slightly. The cause was immeadiately apparent- a lightsaber rolled to a stop innocently at Luke's crouched feet. Luke grasped the handle in awe, carefully looking for the end and the exit of the energy blade. Uncaring if anyone was around to see he lit the lightsaber and brandished it above his head. He felt really, really good. But he quickly shut it off for two reasons (and this is where the story becomes interesting):
Firstly, it was a heavy tool, and little Luke was not using to swinging a weapon around. He was a bit afraid of chopping his own head off.
Secondly- and this was a very important leap of logic for Luke- it was not a Jedi's. It felt nothing like a Jedi's would, he just knew it. The lightsaber was a deep black that sucked at the air around it.
Luke had realised that the Sith that had turned his home into a fire, had just lost his most valuable defense. Either the Jedi had succeeded- and the evil was dead or-
A loud crunch came from Luke's right. He squinted through the smoky air and saw a tall outline. His gut said that the Sith was very much not dead, and he needed to get out of here. With a look of intense thought, he decided to take the saber with him. He'd need to watch over it until the Jedi arrived. So, he deftly crawled back under the cart he came from slowly and quietly- as the looming figure walked its way down the destroyed street.
Luke tried to control his breathing, stay calm, as clammy hands twisted the black saber around in his lap. He wished, very very hard, that the bad man did not find him and that the Jedi would win, like they always do.
It was odd, Tattooine's blaring suns for once did not shine down on it's beaten, dusty surface. The fire had given the air a hazy, thick black quality. Luke had never seen smoke like it. He saw a large black boot make a purposeful step directly in his eyeline. The Sith, which is what he must be according to Luke's holo history, did not turn his big, black boot in Luke's direction however. It didn't seem like he knew he was there...
"Sith! Who'd think you would run?" Luke could shout for happiness because that must be the Jedi Order! The big boots turned sharply in the opposite direction. Luke squirmed in his cart, accidentally kicking out to the side...
...and the boots swirled around to face him for the first time. The big man was still, and Luke had that horrible feeling again that only rose into his throat higher when he saw knees appear. He held back a cough.
A hooded face followed, bent comically onto the ground.
"Well," it growled at him from the other side of the street.
"Kneeling to pray already," came a much closer voice. Jedi! prayed Luke. Please save me! The hooded man looked up and let out a mangled sound. Luke focused on the brown shoes of his savior that stood by the dark man.
Unbeknownst to him, it was Anakin Skywalker who had just gripped the Sith by the head, ripping away his flimsy disguise. Luke watched only the brown shoes across the street that had just unwittingly saved his life.
"So, now you accept your fruitlessness?" Obi-Wan added in. The darkling's cloak had been thoroughly singed, and his pale face was instantly viciously pinkened by the dry heat of Tatooine's atmosphere. The raging fires the young man had set didn't help, certainly.
"Weak," he scoffed. It came out more like a cough. The Sith's eyes darted away- maybe he was so afraid of his fate he could not face it. "The boy," he began to speak but Obi-Wan didn't afford him the chance. Kenobi thrust his saber straight through his chest, and the Sith sputtered and died nearly instantaneously. Anakin looked on at the murder, still holding the man's head. He didn't deserve peace of mind. He was made to suffer all terrible sights. His heavy conscience must have leaked through to Obi-Wan, or his old friend simply knew him that well.
"It was a particular case," he began.
"Please, Obi-Wan," Anakin rebutted.
"Which has nothing of note to do with you," Obi-Wan finished sternly.
"He came for me. To kill me." Anakin gestured violently to the smoking remains of Mos Eisley. "What little peace Tatooine has afforded itself over the last ten years has been decimated, no foreign dignitary will come here again to spend their credits! Because of me!"
"We must return to the Temple, as soon as possible. We can get transport to Mos Espa, and then to Coruscant." Anakin looked distinctly miffed.
"They were right to return without us," Obi-Wan chided. "We did not need an army that would potentially only get in the way of itself."
"That Sith," Anakin hissed. "managed to disarm our old Master. If anyone- Windu- had remained, perhaps he would still have a left hand!" Obi-Wan grimaced at the reminder of the incapacitated Qui-Gon. "This was another convenient test for them- that's all! Let's see if little Ani wants to return to his tormentor! If he has the heart to abandon his partner and master. They know I have spoke always the truth but still-!" Obi-Wan let his friend feel this anger, and let him master it again. Anakin did not understand that the Council could not understand how he controlled his anger. The Jedi Council was built on the firm foundations that anger simply cannot exist for a Jedi. But Obi-Wan had seen- was seeing firsthand that wasn't true. What you do with your emotion, that is what matters. And Anakin had spent so long suffering for a split second mistake... seven years with Sidious...
After a moment's silence aside from Anakin's harsh breathing, he began to walk towards the wreckage of the stadium that Qui-Gon had been practically forced to remain in by his old two padawans.
They had always been an exception, the two of them. He heard Anakin following behind, the Sith's body laying still in the sandy street. Neither took notice of the curled up child under a cart less than fifteen paces away- or remembered how curious it was the Sith did not even draw his lightsaber in his last moments. They didn't think about how the Sith had not managed to find it again. They had no idea it was tightly clenched in the palms of the same little blond boy from the race, less than fifteen paces away.
That scary man was definitely a Sith, and dead apparently. Luke tried to calm his racing heart but it didn't work, not at all. He laid there much longer, he thinks, trying to muster the bravery to crawl back out. But every glimpse of the man in the black cloak lying in the street gave him another bout of fear.
He was scared, and he couldn't hear anyone else. He felt really alone and his head hurt, and his mouth was dry. He wanted the Jedi to come back and save him too, promise him it was safe.
Without getting a speeder there was no chance of returning to the Lars farm, which was a good couple hours away with a speeder. Without including the time it took for Luke to hike to the Darklighters from the Lars farm. It would give way to evening soon, and the desert was undiscerning without the speeder's built in coordinate system.
Luke felt screwed. He knew he needed to move again but couldn't.
And Aunt Beru, Uncle Owen- they don't even realize what's happened in Mos Eisley. Could they even land in this chaos? Would news reach the forest towns of Lothal?
What were they even doing, Luke thought miserably, that they left me behind? Luke logically knew that travel wasn't necessarily safe with unreliable freighters, and that the farm did need looking after but... Luke hadn't done that. He had disobeyed Owen. His eyes nearly teared up.
Now he was stranded in Mos Eisley, with a deadly weapon and the city burnt nearly to ash. He heard a child cry somewhere behind him, the first sound in what felt like ages, and he wanted to join in. His lean shoulders shook with the reality of what had just happened, and what Uncle Owen would do when he found what Luke had done. He hadn't even won anything, he thought wryly.
He was just another problem, like his father.