"Ah, Aethaen! My favourite medic!"

I smiled at the hologram of the Toydarian. "Hello Watto. Gearhead told me that you left a message for me while I was out. Something about the T-14 you sold me? I'm not interested in selling it back to you yet, if that's why you were calling – I'm not done tinkering with it yet." In truth, I hadn't even started doing anything with it. Tampering with home electronics was one with, but hyperdrive generators were an entirely different class of beast. I had no intent of actually doing anything with it beyond getting it under my control as leverage to apply to the Jedi.

"Oh yes, some sleemo came in here looking for parts, talking big and waving his hands around like some kinda Jedi! But he-a didn't have any money anyway. Just Republic credits. Hah!"

I tilted my head slightly to the side and gave the junk dealer an unimpressed look. "Watto. Are you under the impression that the medicine that I ship in from the Core isn't paid for with Republic credits? I know the Hutt currencies work better for you out here, but that doesn't mean the same is true of everyone."

I let the Toydarian splutter for a moment, before I hold up a hand, cutting him off. "Look, if he comes in again, send him over. If I decide his story is more interesting than the hyperdrive and sell it to him, I'll give you a finder's fee." The slaver's eyes light up at the idea of what would be essentially free money to him. "I might even be able to scrape it up in your preferred currency."

I cut the call after that, not really feeling inclined to deal any more with Watto than I needed to. While some might argue that he was a better than average master to be enslaved to, that wasn't exactly what I would consider a compliment or a desirable state of affairs. And, as I spent more time either in the company of the Skywalkers or turning over the problem of how to free them in my mind, it became less and less tolerable to me. Reality being in your face, rather than it being a distant problem you hear about as a side story on the holonet news – or a story about characters that only exist on a movie screen - has a way of doing that to your perspective.

I also needed some time to gird myself for battle. I had been doing fairly well so far, keeping my head down and staying out of conflict. That was about to end. I was essentially inviting Qui-Gon Jinn into my place of business, and he had demonstrated no hesitation to use mind tricks to accomplish his goals – it was only the fortunate fluke of biology that Toydarians were immune to them that prevented him from immediately getting the parts in canon, after all. I fully anticipated that at the first sign of resistance from me, he'd try to apply that to get his way.

To counter that, I had two things going for me. First, the psionic powers that Aethaen possessed before being incarnated into Star Wars had a rule that they counted double when determining whether mind-altering effects would succeed against them. I was betting that would carry over and give me some unusual resistance to such things – and this was probably the best opportunity to test that assumption, rather than waiting until a Sith Lord tried something on me. In the worst case, Qui-Gon wasn't going to kill me or abuse me – just take the hyperdrive. The second is that it was called a mind trick for a reason, not mind domination. It was supposed to be subtle, more like a filter being slid over your perception than simply reaching in and taking over control with a forceful yank. By taking this time to mentally prepare myself and consider what Qui-Gon may choose to do, I hoped to reinforce my will and thoughts sufficiently that when he inevitably chose to test my mental resilience, I would recognize it and be able to defeat his influence.

I spared a thought to take a quick mental 'glance' at the motes of powers that I had collected, but while they were accumulating once again since my acquisition of the Art of the Small, I could possibly afford only the smallest of techniques. If my assumptions were completely off-base and Qui-Gon managed to dominate my mind easily, I doubted anything I could acquire with them would significantly change the arithmetic of the situation. It was better to save them up for something more influential – I still intended to get Lifesaver as soon as possible after all, all the better to reroute canon to something that involved less galactic-scale warfare.

One would think that something called the Art of the Small would limit your perceptions. It certainly did hinder my situational awareness when I first dove into it, and then failed to notice Gearhead approaching. After taking the rest of the evening to practice with it, and temper my memories with some practical exercise, it still does – focusing down into the molecular scale does restrict your ability to apply the Force to only that scale. But like a raft bobbing on the ocean, you can see the storms coming in the distance in the clouds and in the roll of the waves. A poor analogy, but the best I can craft in this language, which was never designed to really describe the spiritual experience of the energy field the Jedi label as 'the Force'.

The point is, while I missed my unliving droid, I know Qui-Gon Jinn is coming well before he walks through my door, like a sailor spies a leaden cloud that foretells a storm.

He's not nearly so worrisome as what I sense at the further horizon, though.

"Please state the nature of the medical emergency." I still allow myself my little jokes, even at the most serious of times. If not then, when?

The dull poncho helps the Jedi blend into the endless sand dunes of Tatooine, I have no doubt, but I know too much about what it conceals to let it slide past me. My eyes do flicker over him, and then his companion. "Neither of you seems injured, yet I have no appointments scheduled." At least I have the excuse of checking for obvious injuries – a valid concern to both my profession and to this pseudo-frontier world – for letting my eyes linger and examine both of them.

I'm reminded yet again that this is not just a movie that I've jumped into, but a living world, that the movies that I know are at best an approximation of. And one reason I'm reminded of this is that not only do Qui-Gon Jinn and his companion not resemble Liam Neeson and Natalie Portman more than distant cousins might, in the case of the latter, it's quite clear. The actress is considered a remarkably attractive woman, aided in this by all the best that Hollywood can bring to bear, with an essentially unlimited budget.

Queen Padme Amidala, on the other hand, has the best that an entire galaxy with tens of thousands of years of history can develop and a planetary budget under her monarchical control. Hollywood would cheerfully murder thousands for a tenth of her skincare regimen alone, never mind any more exotic treatments she has been the beneficiary of. In retrospect, movie-Anakin asking her if she is an angel is an entirely justified question.

"We are not in need of your medical services. I need parts for a J-type 327 Nubian – and I was told you have what I need."

"Ah, I see. Watto did direct you, then? I bought that T-14 hyperdrive generator off him – I'm sure he thought he'd never have a customer for it. It's an expensive piece of kit, and in remarkably good shape for being in the inventory of a junk dealer."

"I have twenty thousand Republic dataries." The Jedi continued, making an offer I remembered him once making to the junk dealer in question, sparking a small smile on my face.

"And if you've been here long enough to find me, I'm sure you've also been here long enough to find out that Republic credits aren't as valued out here as they are on Coruscant." I could see the twitch of his hand starting to rise, as I paused, but as I continued it fell once more – along with the ripple in the currents of the Force that were beginning to gather about him. "But I have a deal in mind that someone with the set of skills you've developed over your career should not find too challenging."

There was the faintest sound of a sharp intake of breath from beside him, and I turned my smile to his companion. "He's more obvious than he thinks, and he is at least disguised by putting something on, instead of only taking something off." I tilted my head slightly to the side and looked back to the Jedi in question. "Although you'll have no need of your lightsaber with me."

I probably would have missed the sense of surprise if I hadn't been using the Art of the Small, but the ripple I felt through the roiling storm before me could hardly be anything else. I gestured for them to follow me into the office portion of the clinic, and thence to seats. "Would you like something to drink, or do you prefer to get straight to business?"

"Who are you?" The words burst out like spray from a broken dam as Amidala can hold herself back no longer, it seems.

"No one to be trifled with." I chuckled, before waving a hand in apology. "My apologies, that was inappropriate. An old joke from a world I once lived on. If you've not already been told my name, I am called Aethaen d'Argente." I glanced between them, but neither see nor sense any notable recognition. I rarely mention my last name, but I was curious if a Jedi might find it notable. Perhaps just not this one – Qui-Gon is a mystic, after all, and while all Jedi are scholars to some extent, some information is obscure even to them.

"What my companion means to ask, is not your name, but how you know what you know." I felt the Force flow through him, towards me – his hand gesture was concealed while I looked at Amidala, I suspected – and I delved deeper into the Small, maneuvering through the influence of the Force like a waterbug floating on the surface, deflecting not the mental attack from me, but my self from the mental attack. Still, my smile dropped sharply into a harsh frown.

"Jedi, where I come from, there are consequences for actions like that. If you want to ensure that your ship never lifts off the desert sands again, by all means, continue."

This time, the surprise needs no Force sensitivity to detect.

I held up a hand, forestalling whatever he might say, and turned to Amidala, reshaping my frown into a more neutral mien. "On the other hand, you've not attempted to alter my mind as of yet." I gave her a wink, my face angled so Qui-Gon would miss it. "So I'll still negotiate with you, Miss Naberrie."

While I could detect that she's still surprised – Qui-Gon even more so, since I am fairly certain that he didn't actually know the surname of the 'handmaiden', yet I did – she showed that her political position wasn't unearned as she has found the time to get her feet under her, and she nodded seriously. Regally, even, one might say. "And what do you desire in return for the hyperdrive?"

"One could argue that my price is unreasonable, because my demand is two human lives." She flinched, and I chuckled. "Oh, not like that!" I shook my head. "I'm not asking your guardian there to kill anyone. Although I wouldn't necessarily object so long as it's the right people – which is to say, the wrong people." I waved a hand dismissively. "You've met the junk trader, Watto, of course. He holds two humans enslaved – Shmi Skywalker, and her son, Anakin. Have him transfer ownership of them to you and promise to take them with you off this planet, and you'll have the hyperdrive without handing a single credit to me." While she's a canny politician even at this age, she recoiled at the idea of slavery, both physically and emotionally, and I heartily approved of such a response. "Unfortunately, they can't simply be freed here, as the Hutts don't care for people who try to free slaves. But with their ownership transferred, they can be removed from the planet – and thereby, Hutt influence – and be freed easily enough."

"I would know what your interest in these two in particular is," the Jedi interjected, but I maintained my eye contact with the hidden Queen, maintaining a pretense to not have heard Qui-Gon speak. After a moment, she realized that I have no intention of acknowledging the existence of her companion, and she huffed slightly, but repeated the inquiry to me – albeit not without a slight curve to her lips that makes me think that she's nearly as amused by me ignoring him as I am.

"Freedom is reason enough. No one is free until all are free – a sentiment that many would do well to be reminded of." I gave the slightest shift of my eyes towards the Jedi, before returning to pretending that he's not present. "But in this case, I do have my deeper reasons. Were I a Jedi, I might simply say that it is the will of the Force. However, as I am not a member of that order, it will have to suffice to say that the fate of the galaxy, not least of which, Naboo, relies on their freedom and well-being." Unlike some of my earlier jokes, I made no hint towards jocularity here, for I am dead serious, and both of my interrogators sit up and take notice of it, influenced no doubt by the credentials of my mysterious knowledge of their identities. "Do you agree to this task?"

I could see the desire towards right and justice in her eyes, a powerful urge to immediately agree to do everything to free these slaves. But it was also tempered with the duties she holds to her people, and she paused. "May I have a moment to confer?" She nodded towards her companion, whom I was still ignoring, and I nodded agreeably in return.

"Of course. I have some administrative work to do anyway. Once the Skywalkers are freed, there will be little reason for me to remain here, so I may as well begin wrapping things up." She looked at me sharply, and I continued in order to explain myself better. "Oh, if you refuse my deal, they'll still be freed. But the methods I'll have to resort to may end up being rather distasteful and messy, so I'd prefer a more delicate touch. Unfortunately, I have no training in cloak and dagger work."

She seemed appeased by that statement, rather than her first thought that I was assuming that they would agree, and they moved to step out of the room. "Oh, and Jedi?" They stopped in their tracks, as I acknowledge Qui-Gon once more. "I'll know if you alter her mind, too." I returned to my data work, ignoring his protestations to her that he'd never do that. Well, they're protestations to me, I'm sure he'd characterize them as just explanations. Either way, they're rendered inaudible to me when the door shut behind them.

I didn't actually get a lot of datapad work done while they conferred, but it hardly mattered in comparison to the stakes in play right now. I had an inkling that what I sensed in the farther distance was the Sith I expected to be en route for the canon confrontation with Qui-Gon on the sands of Tatooine. The Force was unhelpful about his exact distance, but to carry on the analogy of a raft bobbing on the ocean, it felt like he was still over the horizon, and I was just seeing the first indications of the storm coming. 'Probably not on the planet yet – but no time to dawdle about things,' I thought to myself as I thumb-printed an authorization onto my datapad. I wondered that the Jedi could not sense it, but the veil of the Dark Side apparently was not wholly effective while I was utilizing the Art of the Small. Or perhaps Darth Maul was simply not as subtle as Sidious – or the technique being used to cloud the perceptions of the Jedi was simply that specific and was less effective on me because I was most emphatically not a Jedi.

Regardless, I had no way to tell the difference currently, and it would not bring me a single milliparsec closer to my goals if I could.

Speaking of goals, they agreed to my deal, of course. And I reiterated that only freeing both of the Skywalkers would suffice. I'm not letting canon have a free run at Shmi via Tusken Raiders again. I knew they already were in a hurry, wanting to get to Coruscant as quickly as possible, but I did my best to imply that speed was of the essence. I even dropped a hint that gambling was an important chink in the armour of the locals. Hopefully Qui-Gon can find a way to exploit that before waiting for the Boonta Eve Classic, a few days away. If I had been paying more attention, I would've realized that the approaching podrace was a ticking clock, but I'd been looking for other things instead of the one right in front of my face.

Still, in counterpoint to that, being able to reveal a few tidbits, like Padme's surname, had given me an unassailable position of superior knowledge, at least for the moment. I held no illusions about being able to maintain that in front of, say, the Jedi High Council. But it gave me a certain degree of leverage on this dustball, the furthest point from the bright centre of the galaxy, as another Skywalker might say one day – if I didn't have my way, anyway.

Heading into the back after the departure of the disguised duo, I started hooking up a repulsorlift-based cargo mover to the large hyperdrive generator. With that set up, I give a sharp whistle. "Oy, Gearhead!"

"What now, you discordant excuse for an organic?" The droid floated into the back on his own integral repulsorlift.

"I know you've been bored here, so I decided that you get to learn a respectable trade."

"A respectable trade?! You are denigrating my skilled medical expertise as being less respectable than… than… baggage handling?!" I tilted my head to the side as I considered the droid, and how much more effort it might take to totally lock up his vocabulator.

"Do you want to get off this dustball?"

"Yes, yes, a thousand times yes!"

"Then you're going to have to settle for being a baggage handler."

"Ugh… fine. This one time."

I grinned.