There was a time, so long ago now, when wars were fought on Hyspero. 'Religious conflict', said the star charts of a thousand worlds, and Hyspero was carefully and studiously avoided. Trade routes were moved and tourism became a footnote in history. There was espionage and there was intrigue, but nothing could get better until the worst was gone.

Hyspero was a pariah by this time anyway, the worlds around it sought the protection offered by Jedi Order, which was newly-formed and stonger than the strange, stubborn faith of the Hysperons. The Jedi had said that the Force could not be vicious and could not be sensuous. Schism had arisen and divided.

So the Hysperons fought alone, amongst themselves. First one side then the other triumphed with the destruction of cities and continents. "It's Hysperic," said the people of far-off stars when the wanted to suggest chaos.

Towards the end of the wars, the Jedi turned up, but no one these days is entirely sure what happened next.

* * * * *

Obi-Wan is not weak-minded, or so he likes to think. He is not impressionable. He is not susceptible to suggestion. He is Jedi.

He stares at the old fortune teller, her papery skin and her smoking pipe. He remains, he tells himself, in control. "I shouldn't be here," he says, and considers standing up.

"But you are." The woman looks amused but her tone is not quite disinterested and he knows that she is intrigued.

Obi-Wan nods, slowly, "Yes, I am." He laspes into silence for a few moments. Smoke swirls past his eyes as he unconciously bites his bottom lip. He stares at the edge of his own sleeve, at the point where skin meets cotton.

"I have...dreams," he says finally.

* * * * *

Anakin finds his art, as one does on Hyspero, everywhere. He follows elaborate plazas and exotic streets, staring at anything and everything. He runs his fingers over shining surfaces and widens his eyes to take in all the colours. He wanders, not quite realising how far he has come from the street market where he left his Master. When he sees how far the sun has moved across the sky, he shrugs off the worry and starts slowly back the way he came. Everything will be fine, he tells himself and breathes in the hot dry air of the city.

He meanders, enjoying himself. He wishes he could do things like this more often. He passes back along a row of shops, bright canopies stretching out over the cobblestone street. He sees a stall selling small smooth fragments of Hyspero. A round, grey stone sits among the blues and the reds, calling to him with its simplicity.

He lifts it from the shaky table, tilts it round a dozen angles to watch the light skitter across its dull surface. It fascinates him. The light rushes over it, pulling the stone from pitch black to brilliant white and back again. He wonders at the sense of unity.

"How much is this?" He cradles the stone protectively in his palm, the fingers of his left hand running over the coins in his pocket. He wants this.

He can have it, because the price the trader asks is lower than the value of the currency in his pocket. For once, Anakin doesn't have to be denied beautiful things. He slips the polished stone into his robes, feeling its weight pressing against him. Possession is forbidden, but this is not really possession, is it? It conducts the heat from his body through the fabric of his clothing, it adds sensation to his life.

He thinks of Obi-Wan and of firm hands against his own skin. He closes his eyes for a moment, the illusion shattering as he breathes in entirely the wrong scent. His eyelids flutter open again, he feels slightly embarrassed.

He moves on a few stalls, to where a man is disembowelling fish. The smell of decay is overwhelming this close to, but Anakin has never minded the scent. Fish, after all, live in the ocean, and when you are near the ocean you are far away from the desert. But for the moment, he isn't hungry and he moves to turn away from the stall. But as his feet begin to move his eye catches the bright and badly-spelled sign above his head; Aurim Kenobi Qualti Fishmungers. He stops at this at reads the words again. He blinks once or twice. Finally he drops his gaze to the man gutting fish and asks him, "Is your name Kenobi?"

The older man looks from Anakin's eyes to the lightsaber and back again. "Why? What do you want?" Already the man is beginning to pack up his stall.

Anakin spreads his hands in the galactically-recognised gesture of the non-confrontational. "Nothing, I'm just...that's my Master's name. Is it Hysperon?"

"A Hysperon Jedi?" The fishmonger continues filling crates as he looks sceptically at the teenager before him. "I don't think that's very likely. We don't-"

"Like the Jedi."

"Well, you could put it like that, if you felt like it. Wouldn't be too far off."

"But the name, it's Hysperon?" Anakin feels himself getting irritable. He tries the meditative techniques Obi-Wan has taught him.

"Yes." The man has stopped packing up now, evidently convinced that the Jedi won't cause any trouble. Not the physical kind, anyway. The boy just wants some information. Best just to give it to him until he goes away.

"What about Obi-Wan? Is that a Hyspero name?"

"Never heard it my quite considerable life."

"Well then," says Anakin carefully, tension barely hidden in his voice, "Is there anyone who would have heard of it?"

The fishmonger looks at the boy, steadily. He raises his arm and points to a doorway further along the street. "Constantine."

"I'm very grateful for your help," lies Anakin. He turns from the man and starts towards the mysterious doorway. After two steps he pauses, looks back. "May the Force be with you," he says, and smiles to himself.

* * * * *

TBC