Part Eighteen (12/04/05)

The walk back to her place was wordless. We mumbled to each other only briefly about half way there – I to offer my outer jacket, since the night was a breezy one, and she to thank me for it. Being chivalrous has its advantages, I suppose, but I was beginning to wish my mother had been a little less insistent on the idea now that the chill was crawling across my shoulder blades.

The sounds of our footsteps echoed in the alleyway leading to her apartment and, for the moment, I could make out no other noise. I think I wanted my thoughts to be empty just then, and my heart to only be filled with the same rhythmic thumping that soles of my shoes were currently making.

When we arrived at her door, Saché paused and turned, studying me intently.

"Is this the point where you tell me it's been fun, but it's better if we stay good friends?" she asked, raising a coy eyebrow.

I was surprised less at the frankness of her speech and more at the accuracy of her perception. Very few women I had met – Padmé excluded, of course – had ever been able to see past the superficial or guess what I was thinking.

I thought over my reply, not wanting to either hurt her feeling or dismiss her insight.

"How could you guess?" I said, finding nothing better to say when the moment finally grew too heavy for me to bear.

"Gone from knocking back a dozen or so drinks one night to not tasting a single drop the next," Saché answered. She pressed the coat tighter against her chest and buried her hands in the pockets. "It doesn't take a Jedi to figure out something's changed. Hell, it barely takes a halfway observant bar maid. I'm curious about why, though. Another girl? Miraculous self-realization? Bad hangover? My constant jabbering? An intergalactic war from which you are the only savior?" She cracked a smile at that.

"Something along those lines, yeah." Her humor was infectious. I noted, in the back of my mind, that this, quite possibly, was the strangest breakup I had yet to be a part of.

"What?" she quipped. "Another girl or an intergalactic war?"

"You're the intuitive barmaid," I reminded her. "What do you think?"

"Well," she said, pausing dramatically as if contemplating. "I have had the intergalactic war used on me a few times by boys quite a bit more attractive than you, Anakin Skywalker. But, knowing you, I'm sure it's my constant jabbering."

I opened my mouth to respond, but she placed her index finger on my lip to stop me.

"Oh, no, my love," she whispered whimsically. "Do not spoil our painful departure by uttering anything further. Goodnight and farewell." With that she released me and spun around in a half circle. She didn't look back as she walked up the steps and entered the building, but, instead, simply left me standing alone on her doorstep.

What an incredibly odd girl. I wanted to say that aloud, but I held my tongue lest she or any of her neighbors would be able to hear me.

I walked, following the semi-familiar path that Padmé had laid out that morning, mulling to myself aimlessly. I would have liked to have been daydreaming about how one could possibly have a iinter/igalactic war when ours was, so far, the only galaxy known to have sentient life nearby, but my thoughts kept returning to more practical matters.

Was Padmé another girl? Was Padmé ithe/i other girl? What of Maecenas touching her?

My line of thought was finally broken by a faint whistling. At first it seemed like another young partier making a ruckus in a nearby alley, but as the sound became louder – or, rather, as I drew closer to it – it was obviously not human.

I rounded a corner towards the noise and found myself in a dark and crammed alley. Piles of trash were heaped up against the façade on either side, and various forms of waste fluttered in the light wind.

"Hello?" I called softly, against my better judgment. In bad neighborhoods, especially on ruined planets such as this one, thieves would use whatever ruse they could manage to catch you off guard. I had little credits in my possession, to be sure, but sometimes that was more of a death sentence than having too many.

Before I had time to regret my decision, however, the whistling turned into a sharp toot and then into a mournful, slow wail. It was most certainly a droid, an astromech, to be precise.

I edged closer, my curiosity overcoming any fear of bandits lurking in the shadows. The tooting was more rigorous, more excited.

There, at the very back of the way, perched despondently in the corner and half covered in garbage, was a blue and white artoo unit. It was smeared with grime, its front panel was busted, and its optical sensor was hanging down precariously by a few wires from its dome. It was in sad shape, but otherwise functional enough to still communicate.

"Are you the one making all this noise?" I found myself asking as I instinctively bent down to survey the damage up close.

A slow, nearly painful moan was my response. And, if a droid could feel pain, this one would be hurting. Someone had ripped the panel off and had apparently shoved a fist inside to rummage for valuable parts, perhaps not realizing that the most essential pieces were kept deep inside the mainframe. The core of the machinery, and everything that made up the droid's personality, still appeared to be intact.

"What happened, huh, little guy?" Astromechs didn't come cheap on any world, and Naboo was certainly no exception. Why somebody would throw away a perfectly serviceable artoo unit was beyond my understanding. A few repairs and he would be as good as new. I picked up the panel and gently stuck it back into place.

The droid bewailed his story, assuming, I guess, that I could automatically understand the whistling hoots of the astromech's programmed language. I could make out the gist of it, but I was no expert. Something about a family with an unruly child, being grabbed and kicked, and an electric shock probe feature that had previously been installed in his midriff.

And something about self-defense.

The family had abandoned him and he had found his way here, where fewer vermin were managing to chew at his exposed wiring. He was 'looking for a new master' – as he said himself – and offered his services to me.

"I don't know," I teased. "You're pretty beat up. What could I do with a dirty old droid?"

He responded bitterly, answering that he was not only in his prime of life but also could perform countless functions to anyone worthy of them. Worthy, of course, meaning whoever could fix him.

His tone was scathing and demanding, completely lacking the prissiness that was currently embedded in Threepio. It was refreshing. And, to be perfectly honest, I had wanted an astromech since I had begun my podracing career. What a fortunate turn of events, it seemed.

For both of us.

"Well, little guy," I said, "it seems we have ourselves a deal. I'm Anakin. Pleased to meet you." The droid beeped happily. "Artoo-Detoo it is then. Think you can move? My room isn't too far from here."

He lifted himself and rolled a bit, testing his mobility. Pieces of trash fell away from his body and he turned his dome, knocking the last flakes of rubbish off. I smiled and stood, leading the way back to the hotel.

The room was dark when I entered, to my surprise. The astromech – Artoo, I had immediately taken to calling him – was following me closely and had nearly bumped into my rear when I suddenly paused to turn on the lights. He whistled an apology.

"Oh, who's there?" came Threepio's familiar voice, less of in greeting and more in anxiousness.

"Me, Threepio."

The golden protocol droid appeared, coming out of my back bedroom. He stopped short, staring as dumbfounded as a droid possibly could at my new recruit.

"Why, hello," he said, inching forward to study the damaged astromech. "I am See-Threepio, human-cyborg relations. And who might you be?"

A tweet of greeting and a short introduction.

"It is very pleasant to meet you, Artoo-Detoo," Threepio returned. "But please do explain, what has happened to your board motivation sensor?"

"Artoo," I interrupted before the conversation between the protocol droid and astromech could escalate any further. "I don't have much here to repair you with, but I can recharge your fuel cells and reattach some lose circuits. That should hold you over until I can get to my ship and my toolkits."

Artoo beeped his satisfaction.

"Good," I replied, pointing towards my room. "Let's go–"

Padmé came out into the main room just then, causing an abrupt end to my speech and my movements. She had walked not out of the room she had chosen earlier in the day, but out of another – one I thought belonged to Maecenas.

I felt the lump raise in my throat, as I noticed her mode of dress. Usually she found a way of covering herself head to foot, but now she donned only a loose-fitting silk warp. I saw nearly more of her body then than when she was wearing that lacey bikini on Malastare.

"Um, hi," I said, unsure of what else I could possibly be saying.

She diverted her eyes way from mine, clearly ashamed. I knew in my gut just then that she had in fact been in ihis/i room. My stomach churned and I desperately attempted to quell my raising and heated emotions; less for the threat of my servile status and what Maecenas could possible do to me than for respect of Padmé. She won't want me to overreact.

"I'm going to use the 'fresher," she said flatly. "You don't mind, do you?" I shook my head fervently. She walked towards the refresher closest to our set of rooms. Pausing near the doorframe, she turned to me, flicking her gaze in my general direction but still avoiding my eyes. "We weren't expecting you back so early. He told me to tell you that Count Dooku has invited you to dinner tomorrow night."

"Fun," I mumbled in response. She nodded, clearly neither agreeing with me nor caring about my sarcasm. It was as if she was hardly aware of my presence, really. She walked into the 'fresher, closing the door behind her.

I sighed and led Artoo into my room as I had originally planed. I took off my shirt – it was too nice to work in – and threw it on the sleep couch, wondering how long it would take before this room became a mess like my Malastare quarters.

I glanced down at my right wrist, after scratching where it itched, and noticed a small pin prick, slightly red and irritated. I brought it up for closer observation and noticed a slight bump forming. Some native bug must have bit me on the walk back. It looked more irritated from the scratching than any sort of venom, so I gave the hesitant prognosis that I would live and sat down on the couch.

Taking my small toolkit, I began to attach various wires and boards back into place on Artoo. I heard the shower running in the background, but tried to block out the noise and concentrate on my current task.

Life seems so much simpler when you're fixing things. I'm good at fixing things ..