Flowing in gentle currents, the Force wrapped itself around Obi-Wan Kenobi providing the comfort of remaining his only companion. After everything, it still sang to him, guiding him through an unfamiliar maze of alleys and side streets. It warned him when danger approached, sending the ginger haired Jedi ducking into the shadows of a small walkway.
Frozen in place, he watched as two white armored figures patrolled the narrow side street he had just hastily exited.
Great, Obi-Wan growled softly to himself as he ducked a little deeper into the shadows. He had thought he was far enough from the core worlds that the Emperor's reach was not so powerful. Unfortunately, it was eighth patrol of Imperial Peacekeeping troops that he had to hide from since sun up. It was not only them he had to look out for, every bounty hunter and anyone out to make a quick credit was searching for him.
Naturally, he had done everything possible to draw attention to his whereabouts. Igniting a lightsaber in a brawl that burned down the cantina in Daktar was by now all over the information networks whether they were legitimate or not.
After the troopers had vanished around a corner, the Jedi in the remains of his dark Mahari clothing stepped cautiously into the bright street. He needed to change into something less conspicuous and fast if he was going to make it to the transport station and get off this rock before sun down. With Force silenced footsteps, he walked softly over the chalky rock that made up the narrow street. Casting out again, searching his immediate proximity, he found no one.
Quietly approaching a group of run down living quarters, he spied rope strung between one of the mud hovels and a tall white tree. He snatched from the line a pair of men's trews, a dull brown hooded shirt and a dark green farmer's poncho. Approaching a faded blue dress that was pinned to the line, he dropped a few of his remaining credits into the dress pocket. He hated that he had to steal from the poor local population but knew it was a necessity. Still it did not change what he was doing and he hoped the few credits he possessed would help.
Smiling gently to himself, he was certain Qui-Gon would have an appropriate response to such feelings offering a unique point of view to the situation. After all, the old Jedi master had been known to bend the rules when it suited his needs.
The smile slipped away.
If only his master had not circumvented the Council's decree by using his dying breath to guarantee Anakin's training. If only he had been stronger and said no, but Qui-Gon had know him to well.
Or not well enough. He had put faith where it may not have been deserved and it had cost the lives of thousands of Jedi. The Temple would still be towering above the Coruscant skyline, vanishing into the clouds and serving as the early training ground for so many young Jedi.
Exhaling deeply, he pushed the thoughts away. Now was not the time to drift in what ifs. It would change nothing.
Returning to the shadowed area he had hid in moments earlier, he quickly changed out of the dark Mahari clothes. Pausing to draw the brown shirt over his compact form, Obi-Wan winced slightly. While his body was mostly healed from battle, there were still the aches and pains that would forever haunt him.
Affixing the simple utility belt around his waist again, he carefully clipped his lightsaber to it. Then from the ground, he found the leather pouch he had been carrying for months. Loosening the drawstrings, he pulled the material back and studied the emitter end of a lightsaber. He still could not understand why he had picked it up after Anakin had fallen into the pit. It just seemed important at the time.
The memory of how Anakin held it up, showing it to him and reminding him how similar it was to the one he had guided the boy in building so many years ago. Anakin had tossed the weapon to the ground like rubbish and reached for the new lightsaber at his hip.
Obi-Wan knew that for as long as he lived, the image of the crimson saber was burned into his memories.
Strapping the pouch in place, he slid the dark green poncho over his head and adjusted it. The Jedi pulled the hood to the soil colored shirt up obscuring his weary features. The scratchy material would take some getting used too, but it would at least get him out of Nasaux.
Keeping to the smaller side roads, Obi-Wan traveled as inconspicuously as possible. Gently masking his presence with the Force the Jedi silently made his way to the tiny transport station at the edge of the dusty little village.
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Tightening his grip on the small comm device held in his black gloved hand, Ruan Uri barked, "What? How did they find out so quick?"
"The same way you know, Boss?" a female voice on the other end replied. "I get info from the same sources as those Imperial's do. This Jedi is a hot property and getting hotter every minute. That Vader guy wants him big time. Preferably alive."
"The money's good either way, Dahla," the bounty hunter said flatly.
"You know me, Boss, always do what you ask but there's something wrong with this picture. Whatever has to do with this Jedi is bad mojo. He's not worth it."
"But Dahla," a hint of laughter floated in the mask filtered voice, "he's the best trophy of them all. Not even the great Jango Fett could kill him." Roughly cutting the communication, he stashed the device back into a compartment on his left arm guard.
What Dahla did not understand was that not everything revolved around money. She had handled his accounting for so long, he imagined that was all she thought he cared about. The more retrievals or kills he made, the more credits that poured in. He went from job to job never taking a break. Someday he would, but not now, not until he made a name for himself because no amount of credits could secure him the fame that taking Kenobi's charmed life would bring.
All that remained of the Jedi were a small handful that had run at the first hint of trouble and the ever-elusive General Kenobi. Once he proved too dangerous to remain with the rebellion, the Jedi left spending several weeks barely escaping hunter after hunter until he just vanished.
That was not entirely true. While others bet on the Jedi resorting to desperation, Ruan had not. He had studied what little information remained on the Jedi and on Kenobi in particular. While desperation may appear on Kenobi's surface, there was nothing desperate in how he moved. He was heading somewhere very specific, despite the apparent randomness of the transports he was moving from port to port on.
Sprinting over the sandy floor with a grace unimaginable in the heavy armor, Ruan zeroed in on a wreck of a freighter preparing to leave the backwater world he had been scouring for the last several days. It was the first one out since the fire at the cantina that the Jedi could have made, the bounty hunter figured. He hoped the Imperial fools that were approaching would think less of Kenobi's skill and expect him to arrive for a later departure.
The black and silver Mandalorian armour blended into the damaged body of the old freighter as he crept quietly alongside. He studied the few workers in the hanger that were finishing preparations for immediate take off but they were all too busy to notice him. Spying a small open cargo hatch at the rear of the ship, Ruan grew perfectly still and waited.
His patience was not tried as a hooded figure appeared quietly making his way to the open hatch. The man in the green poncho paused, apparently studying the cargo door and activated it. A low hum filled the air as the door began to retreat into the ship. Making a swift move, he rushed at the door before it closed too far.
"To late," Ruan growled bursting from his hiding place unleashing a barrage of blaster bolts. The hooded figure twisted but could do nothing except be riddled with shot and thrown away from the closing hatch crumpling to the sandy floor.
The ship's engines roared sending the armored figure into a narrow corridor as the air around the hangar swept up in a small windstorm the moment the ship lifted a few meters from the floor and glided out into the open. Once calm returned to the hangar, Ruan returned his attention to the rumpled form covered with a layer of golden grains.
Keeping his weapons at ready, Ruan approached. In the background the ship's thrusters burned and then the sudden silence rushed into the hangar. "Looks like you didn't make your flight, Kenobi," the triumph in his altered voice clearly audible.
The green poncho was twisted about the fallen man's face and was weighted down by a heavy dose of blown sand. Ruan's heavy boot connected kicking the dead man over.
Anger flared within the usually calm, calculating mind of the bounty hunter.