The boy walked. Scrambling through the streets, he watched the crowds in the city murmur in the dusk of the two suns. The temperature was slowly dropping though it was still unbearable. The heat wouldn't stay, except in the lumpy stucco huts. The slaves would huddle all night as the heat seeped from their hearths and cots until the sun and the heat returned and they had to return to work. They slept, with shivers and aches and moans, through another night in their short lives. A slave's life. He trudged through the alleys, eyeing the people, listening for fights, scurrying home.
On Tatooine, some slaves slept in the outskirts of town. At Jabba's palace farther in the desert, a slave never left the master's house.
He and his mother were no longer Jabba's slaves. Jabba's slaves laughed at the false sense of property when commanded, but any slave with a home of their own was thankful. It was a fraudulent ownership which could be revoked or intruded upon at any time; nonetheless, it was a place away from the masters. Today the boy returned from toiling long hours for Watto, who had bought him and his mother long ago, to be his slaves.
In the slave quarter, filled with huts and occasional motifs scratched into the walls, Shmi, the young boy's mother, bit back a yelp and the curse on her lips as she burned her finger cooking dinner. She and Ani were lifelong slaves, and the pitiful image of her son fettered by Watto and other masters stung her heart. It was more burden than any child should bear. A master's yell outside shocked Shmi and prompted her to return to her work, stir the pot again, and quickly wet the burn.
In another part of the galaxy, a teenage girl looked out over her people who were much livelier than those on Tatooine. She was escaping the celebrations, as she had drunk too much and desired some quiet, so she came outside. She liked standing on this balcony overlooking the city. The breeze, and the soft voices of the people down below and inside, cocooned her with the busyness of life. The balcony was her new favorite place. There were no duties out here: no courtiers could demand attention, no ambassadors would be following her like beggars. Naboo's enemy had been dealt with and they were free once more. She could just be a girl on a balcony, for this night. Not for long, however; she adjusted her posture and tried to smile genially as her advisor came up beside her.
"My queen," said the chancellor, "the celebration is for you."
"And for you, chancellor."
"I suppose they will have to celebrate without us." He cast her a fatherly smile.
In the core of the galaxy, far from the scorching suns of Tatooine or the plains of Naboo, a recently inducted Jedi knight mournfully shuffled the holopads on his bed. More than anything, he wished he could sleep or move. He had approached the Jedi Grandmaster earlier and requested to be sent on a mission. He was lost; he was confused, hurt, and tired. He would be happy to perform whatever mission the Jedi council needed done, as they must have numerous tasks. The Grandmaster had responded with a shake of his head, and that was all that Obi-Wan needed to know that he was to be kept, sleepless and haunted, on Coruscant. He gave his courtesies and retreated. He would leave his grief to the force, but would not pretend to himself that it was easy to let go.