Chapter 2: Lothal

14 BBY- 5 Years after the Rise of the Empire

Kanan Jarrus wouldn't consider his new occupation to be anything thrilling. At least, not compared to what he was used to. But he was used to blaster fire, lightsabers, explosions, and high-speed electrifying battles, so he supposed it wasn't too fair to draw a comparison.

But being the delivery boy for Lougar, a Rodian of questionable integrity, did have its moments. Sometimes, whatever client he was delivering to would give him a hefty tip, and he'd let himself get a better drink at the local bar, or maybe they'd even give him something better than money, like dinner.

Alright, well, maybe that wasn't as exciting as backflipping through a battlefield, dodging lasers and cutting through droids like a hot knife through Bantha butter. But Kanan was trying.

Lothal wasn't an interesting planet, but that was the point. The hazy, buttermilk-colored sun shed sweltering sunlight onto the vast, dry grasslands for nearly fifteen hours each day, parching the earth from the little water it had and rendering it nearly useless for any farming. Thus, the Outer Rim rock was mostly used for trade, but only trade that was good enough for backwater scugs like Lougar but not good enough for the Empire to come pay any mind. Sure, they stopped in from time to time, causing a bit of a ruckus with their white-clad bucketheads and their haughty, spick-and-span officers, but only to collect their yearly tax and be on their way. No one wanted to spend much time on the tumbleweed that was Lothal. And that was precisely why Kanan was here.

"Delivery for a Mr. Zeltung," Kanan called, knocking on a rusted door, "from Lougar Frane…"

A beady yellow eye appeared in the door's peephole, peering at him through the foggy glass. A metallic shink sounded as the client drew back the lock and unlatched the door.

"Your late," the client hissed, popping his head and shoulders out of the doorway, revealing the auburn scales and horned head of a Trandoshan. "How much do I owe?"

"Two-hundred-twenty credits for the first time, two-thirty every time after," Kanan replied, reaching back to pat the crate behind him.

The client disappeared into his home before coming back a moment later. He handed Kanan a fraying leather pouch, who quickly emptied it into his palm and thumbed through it. "Yep, that's two-twenty," he conceded, dumping it all back into the pouch. His jet-blue eyes flickered back up to the Trandoshan. "No tip?"

With a scowl, the client reached into his pocket to dig around for some change. Begrudgingly, he tossed the handful of credits to Kanan. "Tell Lougar I'll contact him when I need more."

"Much obliged!" Kanan answered, offering a simpering grin, but the client had already shoved past him to grab the crate and drag it back into his home. Tossing Kanan one last glare, he shut the door.

"Someone's in a funk," Kanan muttered, rolling his eyes and turning back to his rickety speeder. He counted the tip before shoving it in his pocket. "Looks like I'm getting a drink and a hot meal tonight." He climbed onto his speeder, pushed back the kickstand, and headed off.

He could save the money, stash it under creaking floorboard in the abandoned shed he'd renovated into a home, but what for? He didn't need to leave. A dreary rock like Lothal was the perfect place for someone like him: an ex-Jedi padawan, on the run from the Empire, just needing to get by without attracting attention.

But it could be hard sometimes.

And he really missed the thrill of battle.

And he still had nightmares about his master dying.

And he doesn't even know what's in the crates he delivers for Lougar.

"Back already, boy?" the Rodian hollered in a gruff voice as Kanan reached the building, telling him that he was probably in the backroom.

"Everything went smooth," Kanan called back, parking the speeder and heading inside. The thing was so broken it's a miracle it hadn't spun out on him yet. He almost wished it would and just get it over with. One less problem looming over his head.

"Smooth?" Lougar repeated, "good, good. And my pay?"

Kanan turned the corner to find the Rodian hunched over a stack of paperwork and a disassembled DL-18 blaster. His normally sea green fingertips were black with gunpowder from the powerpacks. "All right here," he reassured him, looking past the pistol and papers and taking in the room. It was full of junk and other bits and bobbles, as usual, but no more crates, or whatever it was that Lougar put in the crates. It bothered Kanan that he didn't really know, but he tried not to think about it too hard. At this point, money was money. "The guy sounded like he'll be a long-time customer," he added nonchalantly, walking up to the desk.

"Hope so," Lougar grumbled, only looking up from his busywork when Kanan dropped the coin purse on the desk. "Sorry, kid. That's all the work I've got right now, so you can head home early."

"Early?" Kanan snorted, "I've only done two deliveries today. It's barely past noon!"

The Rodian sighed, sitting up and leaning back against a wall. "Ya know how it is- business is slow, comin' up on tax season. People ain't buyin' much this time of year." He crossed his arms across his chest. "I'll pay ya normal price when ya come in tomorrow, but that's about all I can do right now," he negotiated, reaching up to scratch his head, leaving a black smudge from the powder. Kanan kept his mouth shut. "And that's the best I can do," he added hastily.

Kanan drew in a deep breath, running a hand through his dark brown hair before giving in. "Fine," he agreed, throwing up his hands in mock defeat. "I'll see you tomorrow, then."

The two didn't pass anymore words before Kanan turned to leave. He let out some of his frustration by twisting the ignition on his speeder more harshly than necessary before switching the gear, earning a metallic screech of protest from the parking brake. "Fine," he said again, this time to himself and under his breath, "that's just fine. I'll deal with it." He rolled his shoulders back once before driving off.

Evenings on Lothal weren't much more interesting than the daytime. People were just hungrier and more tired, drawing them all out to one of the handful of the bars in town. When he'd first moved here, Kanan had tried to reserve the evenings for meditation, sitting on the floor of his home with his eyes closed in the traditional cross-legged position, but that hadn't lasted long. He couldn't tell if he'd stopped because it was too loud outside, or because he was too tired from lugging crates around all day, or if it was just because he didn't want to. It was probably the latter, but the guilt would chew him up and spit him out if he admitted it, so he chose to believe it was the outside interference rather than a personal problem.

His master would have scolded him for his lack of self-discipline and accountability. "Know yourself and seek self-improvement," he could almost hear her lecturing, "or I'll have one of the clones take the night off while you take over his watch duty." He smirked at the memory.

But, Kanan reminded himself, his master wasn't here. Depa Billaba was dead, and she wasn't here anymore.

What was here was his job. And the bar. And the warm meal at said bar that awaited his credits.

Plus, not meditating just made him look less Jedi-like, and that's what he was supposed to be aiming for, right?

With a sigh, Kanan got out of his bed and stretched, shaking off the drowsiness from his bonus afternoon nap. His stomach rumbled and he fished around in his pocket from the tips he collected that day. He wavered back and forth between saving it and spending it tonight before taking half and putting it back in his pocket. Lougar was right- business really did slow down when the Imperial tax collectors came around, so he should exercise at least a little caution.

He should also try to exercise caution when the Imperials came for more reasons than money problems, like being a survivor of Order 66 and a Force-wielding fugitive. But he pushed that thought aside for now.

Kanan knelt down and reached under his bed, fumbling around for the small wooden box tucked between the bedframe and the thin hay-stuffed mattress. His thumb brushed against the corner of it and he worked to maneuver it before clattered to the floor. He unlatched and dumped the credits he'd decided to save inside.

He tried to shut it quickly, but he couldn't stop himself from staring at the other precious contents that lay hiding inside: a delicate, cut-off padawan braid and a dust-covered lightsaber. His eyes traced over the fine weaving of the braid with the dull red and grey beads entwined in it. The sleek, smooth edges of the platinum on the two pieces of his lightsaber glinted in the filtered light. In the musty air, it whispered his name.

His fingers burned to reach down, connect the halves, twist and lock them into place, and ignite the sacred blade. It was as though his ears longed to hear the familiar, steady hum of the blade and his skin ached to feel the warmth of the blue light on his face.

Kanan slammed the box shut and shoved it back under the bed. He didn't have time to daydream nowadays.

The walk to his favored bar was short and the dusk breeze was cool on the back of his neck. If he had to choose one of his least favorite parts about Lothal, it was the heat. Or the dust. Or the never-ending lack of excitement. Or all of it, really.

The bar, named Telma's but dubbed Mama's by the locals, was a bit run down on the outside but cozy and welcoming on the inside. Kanan had learned very quickly how the small residence had earned its nickname: Telma, the owner, treated every one of her regulars like they were her firstborn child.

"Kanan, honey! C'mon and take a seat, dear. I've still got some flounut butter stew on the burner," the bartender greeted happily, waving him over with a hand. He did as he was told and pulled out a stool at the bar. "Busy day?" she asked, moving to give him a glass of water from the tap.

"Quite the opposite, actually," Kanan grunted, leaning forward with his elbow on the counter. "Tax season's on its way."

"Damn!" Telma cursed, shaking her head in disapproval. The busty woman wiped her hands on her purple apron before sloshing a ladle-full of stew into a bowl for Kanan. "Forgot all about that. Soon enough, my place is gonna be full of those stormtroopers," she grumbled, handing Kanan the bowl and a spoon before going back to polishing glasses, bracelets clinking against each other along the way. "Cowards, the lot of 'em, I tell you."

"They were brave men, once," Kanan said quietly, lifting the spoon to blow on the stew and cool it off. The broth rippled from his breath like the ocean waves on Kamino or the elegant water fountain in the Jedi Temple. With a start, he wondered when he last saw a body of water larger than a muddy puddle.

"What was that, honey?"

"Oh," Kanan coughed, "I said I wish they were brave men."

Telma nodded solemnly in agreement. "Don't we all," she huffed, pursing her lips. "But there really aren't any men braver than the ones here on Lothal, right, Sarin?" she laughed, turning towards the aging Gotal sitting at a table not too far away and tossing him a wink. He raised his tankard and tipped his horns at her in agreement. "I'll drink to that," came another voice floating from somewhere in the diner. Kanan wasn't sure if Telma was serious or joking.

Kanan finished the rest of his stew, taking the bowl in his hands and tilting it down towards his mouth to drink the rest of the warm, salty broth. He started to reach into his pocket for the credits when Telma stopped him with a hand. "Nuh-uh, sweetheart," she tisked, "it's on the house tonight, if you could do a little favor for me before you go."

"Of course," Kanan replied quickly, grateful for the opportunity. "Thank you."

All Telma had needed was for him to move some crates of rootleaf beer that had just come into the storage shed in the back. "This ol' lady's back is no match for those crates anymore," Telma had explained. "I think I'd just snap in two if I even tried to lift one of 'em all by myself."

Kanan thought the same for himself once he managed to heave it up over his shoulders, but he kept his mouth shut and just grunted in reply. Without the Force helping him out, it was a very unsteady walk from the landing platform to the shed. He tried not to let his legs wobble too much as he made his way over. It had been hard, but since his arrival on Lothal, he'd all but stopped from using the Force entirely, not willing to take the risk of giving away his identity.

Once the job was done, Kanan gave his thanks to Telma before turning to head home. If he hadn't been tired before the crates, he was now.

Walking through the streets, Kanan kept his head high and his gaze held towards the stars. He tried to name them all, as well as the distant moons and other far-off planets, counting how many he'd been to with his Master. The inky black sky was clear and endless, cold but inviting. He'd sold his ship when he first got to the planet, desperate for the money, but some nights, looking up at the night sky and stargazing just made him want to fly out there and be out in the galaxy again. Hell, what he'd give just to be out in the emptiness of space once more.

As he walked, a rumble droned in the distance, escalating into resonating thunder and eventually an ear-splitting scream, causing every muscle in Kanan's body to tense up as he recognized the terrifyingly familiar sound.

"TIE fighters!" someone shouted in the distance.

The black starfighters streamed across the previously serene stars, tearing recklessly through the night sky. As Kanan peered closer, he realized they were pursuing a much larger grey ship, which was flying quite gracefully despite its bulky size and unwieldly shape. He watched attentively as the TIE fighters fired on the ship, which managed to dodge them. Almost unconsciously, Kanan began to follow the fight, his pace increasing from a brisk jog to a run, trying to catch every piece of the action. All of his good judgement and common sense screamed at him to go back to his home and avoid anything to do with Imperials, but he couldn't stop himself from continuing forward.

A loud boom resounded across the sky. One of the TIEs had manage to strike the left rear engine assembly, sending the ship veering to the side and scrambling to regain its balance. It continued to narrowly evade fire as it made a sharp turn and swung low over the city and into the grasslands beyond. The ship flew high once more before circling the rocky canyons and disappearing into one of the deep crevices below.

Above the canyons, the TIEs came up short, airing above the canyon before circling once and spreading out.

"He lost them," Kanan muttered in disbelief, coming to a halt. But it didn't take a genius to know it wouldn't be long before they found him, though. Lothal's canyons were only so big. And once the mystery ship was found, they'd send in the ground forces to finish the job, and the TIEs would be gone with the ship apprehended and the excitement would be over for good.

Regret rose like bile in Kanan's throat, the taste of a missed adventure leaving a bitter taste on his tongue.

He turned his back on the road, reluctantly headed home. He mulled over everything he had seen, replaying the high-speed chase over and over again in his head until he arrived at the door to his ramshackle of a house. He half-heartedly pulled out the key and twisted it in its lock, just cracking open the door when he stopped. His eyes caught on his old speeder parked by the side of the shed.

"Bad idea," Kanan told himself quickly, shutting out the thought.

Almost as soon as he spoke the words, the familiar sway of the Force wreathed around him, catching him off guard with a feeling he hadn't felt in a long time. It pulled him towards the box tucked safely under the bed, its powerful essence tugging him closer like unseen vines.

"Very bad idea," he breathed, screwing his eyes shut and shaking his head.

"Empower those around you by giving them your aid when they need it most," his master's voice whispered in the air around him. "It is time."

"No, no, no," stammered, fighting to shut himself down, to make himself see the sense in not throwing away everything he had done, everything he had built until now. But his master's warm, kindhearted brown eyes flickered against the back of his eyelids, knowing, tender, condemning.

"Run or fight, Caleb, but do not just stand there," her voice comes again, more forceful this time, and the memories get caught in his throat.

"Dammit!" he cursed, throwing his head back in frustration. He swung open the door and went to take out the wooden box. "I swear, this is going to be the end of me," he said between gritted teeth after a moment's hesitation before opening the box. His hands trembled and his head felt dizzy. He hastily pulled out the two halves of his lightsaber and clipped them onto his belt before shoving the padawan braid in his pocket.

A heartbeat later, he was on the back of his speeder, taking off towards the canyons and the mystery ship. More importantly, towards danger, Imperials, and an almost entirely certain doomed end for himself.

Kanan tightened his grip on the handles, flying over the tall grass and hurtling towards the barren canyons.

This was wrong. He couldn't be doing this. This wasn't bravery, this was stupidity.

But it just felt so right.

His heart pounded madly in his chest, his were palms slick with sweat, and his arms more than a bit shaky, but the night sky stretched endlessly above him.

He smirked ever so slightly.

At least it would be a nice change of pace.

As you can see, I'm pulling some ideas from Clone Wars, Rebels, and the "Ahsoka" novel, so not all names or places or whatnot are original. But this is a site for fanfiction... right? ;)