Part 2: Of Sands & Slaves.
If Obi-Wan had heard Padmé's thoughts, he would have silently confirmed them. He had done this before. Too many times in fact. Seizures were a product of Qui-Gon's illness; the occurred without warning or cause. One of his worst fears now was that one day his Master would fail to emerge from the seizure. Everytime he was able to place Qui-Gon in a healing trance- the irony of those two words did not escape him -Obi-Wan would breathe more easily. As he did now while using the Force put his master into the bed in the Quarters they shared on the Nubian vessel. The Padawan looked at his Master one final time before leaving him to recover while he checked the engines to see what else needed replacing.
It did not take long to discover that the hyperdrive was inoperable. When he had changed into farming clothes, Obi-Wan checked the rest of the ship before collecting Jar Jar and R2D2 from the maintenance bay. He looked in on Qui-Gon before leaving. His master was still deep in a healing trance, which would render him incapable of handling anything while they were on this planet. Obi-Wan hoped that the Queen's security forces were adequate protection for the ship and those on board while he was away.
With the Gungan and the droid following, Obi-Wan stepped onto the golden sand of the desert outskirts of Mos Espa. The extreme heat which came from the system's two suns caused him to raise his cloak over his hair, which he had deliberately restyled to disguise Jedi traditions, the long thin Padawan braid coiling the rest of his hair into a low lying tail. Behind him Jar Jar made an idle comment about the heat, while R2D2 beeped a worried soft sequence of notes.
He had barely left the ship when the head of the Queen's security called out to him.
"Wait!" Panaka cried, causing Obi-Wan to turn round. He hid a smile when he recognised the captain's companion, dressed for the trip into town, her blue poncho style gown a discreet contrast from the flame shades of the handmaiden garbs he had last seen her attired in. "Her Highness commands you to take her handmaiden with you. She wishes for her to observe the local populous. She is curious about the planet."
If it had been any other handmaiden, Obi-Wan would have resorted to his Master's usual indifference to authority and refused. Although the addition of a woman to the travelling cabal provided another convincing level to the deception that they were farmers out to buy supplies, it was also another person at risk from the dangers of a Tatooine space port. He looked at Panaka, who did not look particularly happy about this command either, probably just as concerned for the handmaiden's safety, but doubtless would insist on following the order through, his obedience to his Queen resolute and immovable.
"I can speak several languages," Padmé revealed, her voice not quavering at the prospect of this trip. "And I've been trained in self-defence."
"Don't make me go back and tell her you have refused," Panaka added.
"This is not a good idea," Obi-Wan finally said. "But we don't have time to take the matter up with the Queen. So just stay close to me, and keep an eye on Jar Jar."
"Why?" Padmé asked.
"Because he's curious and clumsy," Obi-Wan replied. "Which will get him into trouble on this planet."
Padmé nodded in acquiescence, whereupon Obi-Wan turned and began walking towards the port once more. He knew she wanted to ask about Qui-Gon, he could feel the question in the Force, but he wasn't ready for that conversation. He had no desire to put doubts about Qui-Gon's competency into hers and consequently the Queen's head, nor did he wish for his Master's illness to appear as serious as it indeed was, knowing his Master did not regard his mortality in the same light as he did. Instead he launched into a brief description of Tatooine; authorities, sources of trade, relationships with the Republic, with neighbouring planets, illegal practices, main produce.
"Tatooine is home to Jabba the Hutt, who controls the bulking of the trafficking in illegal goods, piracy and slavery that generates most of this planet's wealth. Jabba controls the spaceports and settlements, all of the populated areas. The desert belongs to the Jawas, who scavenge whatever they can find to sell or trade, and to the Tuskens who live a nomadic life and feel free to steal from everyone. There are a number of farms as well, outlying operations that take advantage of the climate, moisture famers for the most part, operated by offworlders not a part of the indigenous tribes and scavengers, not connected directly to the Hutts," he finished with. "This a rough and dangerous place, which most beings who are not inured to such harsh conditions avoid. The few spaceports like this one are havens for those who do not wish to be found."
"Like us," Padmé remarked.
Obi-Wan nodded in agreement. They had entered the port now, passing through the market area towards the warehouses for pilots and other engineers. He sank into the Force, allowing it to guide them to the right trader for this deal, trusting the ancient power to succeed in this matter just as it had with placing Qui-Gon in a healing trance. Suddenly he felt a strong concentration which suggested a strong Force presence was nearby, the type of ability he usually felt from Yoda; but unlike the renowned Jedi Master's, this was untapped, untrained. It seemed to be coming from one of the lesser traders, which suited his preference for discretion, having no desire for their route to be traced, at least until they were safely on Coruscant.
"We'll try one of the smaller dealers," he said as he led them to the source.
The shop was a typical example of it's species; piles of broken spaceships stacked behind the building, the odd part or two cluttering up the entrance. Inside were various droids, mostly verging on antique, all powered down and in desperate stages of decay. Motivators, couplings, wires and other junk or parts littered the floor, filed away only to allow space for a walkway and service area. A pilot could assemble several ships from this collection, every one fully customisable and unique, along with an eclectic group of repair droids.
To Obi-Wan's surprise, the owner was Toydarian, immune to the persuasion techniques of the Force, causing him to doubt that he had sensed the power emanating from this shop in the first place.
"What do you want?" he asked in his own tongue, hovering in midair before the Jedi, his wings fluttering so fast as to appear nothing more than a blur.
"I need parts for a J-type 327 Nubian," Obi-Wan replied in his.
The shop owner switched from his native language to Basic. "Ah yes, ah yes. Nubian. We have lots of that. What kinda of junk?" He inquired before breaking off to yell in his native dialect to an assistant to come in and mind the store, in less tactful terms than he had greeted his customers with.
Obi-Wan was no stranger to the horrors of the universe, but even he was surprised to discover that the source of the high level of Force power came from a slave boy of no more than nine by the looks of him. He scrambled in, covered from head to foot in dirty rags, scrawny, yet relatively well nourished. Trying to appear indifferent and therefore used to the sight of slaves, Obi-Wan added, "My droid here has a readout of what I need."
The Toydarian glanced at the droid with a calculating eye, accustomed to pricing machines in nanoseconds, mentally deciding how much funds he could con out of this customer in his mark up of the parts. He then turned to the boy, proceeding to yell at him in his native language about his absence and tardiness. Obi-Wan observed with a mixture of seeming Jedi indifference, as though the conversation was either uninteresting, or incomprehensible, when the reality was just the opposite.
The boy though flinching when his master raised his hand, replied with confident defensive attitude as to his previous whereabouts, before mounting a stool and clambering over the service ledge to mind the shop while they were out back. Obi-Wan felt the strength in the Force which belonged to the boy, but none of the recognition which indicated that the lad was fully aware of such an ability. He wondered why the Jedi had not discovered him before now.
Due to the decision made by the majority of the Jedi to adhere to celibacy, there had been many trips made by scouts to the Outer Rim territory in quest for Force sensitives and many had been found. Why not this boy? Unless he was too much of a risk to take, he deduced. Older than usual initiates, much more powerful. Obi-Wan knew the dangers of leaving such power untrained, but there was just as much risk in teaching someone how to harness that power. The legacy of the Lost Nineteen, Jedi who had fallen to the dark side or left the order, taught them that.
Obi-Wan spared the boy one last look before he followed the trader outside to the view the wares. As he did so, he caught Jar Jar examining something in his hands. He stepped towards him, took the piece of junk and returned it to it's original location.
"Don't touch anything," he warned before joining the trader outside.
It turned out to be short viewing of the wares, when the Toydarian informed him Obi-Wan that Republican credits were worth little on Outer Rim planets such as Tatooine. The Force seemed to misfiring on all fronts today; a child strong in the Force but too old to be trained; parts attainable to repair the ship but impervious to his currency; a beautiful woman to protect, single yet unattainable. Obi-Wan paused as he wondered why his mind brought that forward for consideration. Now was hardly the time to be thinking about Padmé, even though she was all he had been able to think about ever since he noticed her while his Master briefed the Queen.
"We're leaving," he announced to her as he entered the shop once more, interrupting the conversation between her and the boy, causing Jar Jar to drop what fresh piece of junk he was fiddling with and step to his side.
"Why?" she asked as she hurried to join him and the rest of their group outside.
Obi-Wan sought a secluded spot between two buildings before he replied. "Is there any thing on board the ship that we can use to trade for parts? Republican credits are worthless around here."
"A few containers of supplies," Padmé answered after a few moments thought. "The Queen's wardrobe maybe. Not enough for you to barter with. Not in the amounts we need."
Obi-Wan sighed. "Another solution will present itself," he murmured with more confidence than he truly felt. The Force had brought them here for more than just a boy, he was sure.
"Noah gain," Jar Jar moaned mournfully. "da beings hereabouts cawazy. Wesa robbed un crunched."
"Not likely," Obi-Wan replied. "We have nothing of value, that's our problem."
"Perhaps one of the vendors in the market cater to tourists," Padmé suggested. "We could exchange the credits for jewels."
"Or persuade one of them more easily to accept the tender," Obi-Wan added. "It's worth a try."
They emerged from the blind alley, Obi-Wan intently scanning the market stalls for suitable candidates. He hated using the Force in this way; manipulating another's free will for his own purposes, but if he wanted to gather enough funds to purchase the parts for the ship, he had no choice.
"What did you mean by more easy to persuade?" Padmé asked him.
"Find me a human vendor and I'll show you," Obi-Wan replied.
Padmé cast her own gaze over the outdoor stalls, observing each one in turn until she spotted a human trader, whereupon she pointed them out discreetly to the Jedi.
The content of the wares became more apparent as they walked closer to towards the booth. Jewels, Obi-Wan realised. Perfect.
"Choose something," he instructed her. "Anything you like," he added, suddenly desirous to buy her something.
Padmé was no stranger to jewels. Since her inception first as Princess of Theed, then Queen, she had been granted not only sight, but the privilege to wear Naboo's finest gemstones. Possession was temporary however, was only as long as her term of office. Whatever she chose, it would be the first gift which she did not have to return to the giver after her reign ended. Carefully she examined the wares which the vendor had to offer, wondering how her companion was going to persuade the seller to accept Republican credits. Then she saw an item which almost took her breath away. It was a beautiful necklace, the fine expensive metal shaped in a complicated yet elegant filigree, enclosing gemstones of the deepest purple.
"May I have a look at that piece?" She asked the vendor.
"Aah, you have made an excellent choice," the trader replied as they lifted the necklace off the hanger to place in Padmé's hands. "This piece is exquisite, is it not? See the flourishes here and here? You can press them apart to turn it into a clip for your hair, or into two separate items; a hair brooch and a necklace."
Obi-Wan saw Padmé's wondrous gaze on the item in her hands and suddenly the tool no longer felt so nefarious. "How much?"
The trader named her price and form of currency. Another who would refuse Republican credits it seemed. Padmé prepared to return the item with a heavy heart, feeling guilty that she was thinking of herself when her planet was in turmoil, when she saw Obi-Wan make a small gesture with his hands; as if he were a conductor directing a symphony from an orchestra.
"Republican dataries will do," he said at the same time as he performed this movement with his hand.
"Republican dataries will do," the trader repeated, accepting the funds calmly as the Jedi handed them over.
"How?" Padmé asked as they turned away from the stall.
"The Force can be a powerful influence on the weak-minded," Obi-Wan replied. "Here, let me put it on you."
Padmé held out the necklace for him to take, then lifted her hair so he could fasten it around her neck. Obi-Wan's hands lingered on her skin, as he fought a sudden urge to kiss her. Hastily he reminded himself that she was probably the same age as the Queen, whom according to his research was fourteen. Too young for him to be even contemplating such thoughts, for he was eleven years older. Not to mention that while he still a Padawan such things were forbidden.
Then a commotion erupted in the middle of the trading area, causing him to look up and see Jar Jar being harangued by a vicious looking Dug. By the time he and Padmé arrived at the scene the Gungan had already been rescued, by the boy who worked at the warehouse which they had just visited.
"Hi," he greeted them with. "Your buddy here was about to be turned into orange goo. He picked a fight with a Dug. An especially dangerous Dug called Sebulba."
"Nosir, nosir," Jar Jar protested fearfully. "Mesa hate crunchen. Dat's da last ting mesa wanten."
"Nevertheless, the boy is right," Obi-Wan remarked. "You were heading for trouble. Thank you, my young friend."
"Anakin Skywalker, meet Obi-Wan Kenobi," Padmé said.
They shook hands, then Anakin led them through the stalls, stopping before one owned by a wizened woman who smiled kindly at him.
"Hello Jira," Anakin greeted. "I'll take four pallies today." he reached into his pocket and produced three coins, accidentally dropping one.
Obi-Wan bent to pick it up, the action unknowingly revealing his lightsaber from it's hidden resting place beneath the poncho to the boy.
Anakin gasped silently at the sight of the legendary weapon, then returned his attention to his purchase. "Whoops, I thought I had more, make that three, I'm not hungry."
"Gracious, my bones are aching," Jira said as she handed the pallies to the boy. "Storm's coming Ani. You better get home quick."
"Thanks." Anakin turned to his friends. "Do you have shelter?"
"We'll head back to our ship," Obi-Wan replied.
"Is it far?" Anakin asked.
"On the outskirts," Padmé answered.
"You'll never reach the outskirts in time," Anakin said. "Sandstorms are very, very dangerous. You can shelter at my home, it's nearer. Come with me. Hurry!"
He led them through the vendors stalls as the winds grew in their intensity, dust and sand grains gathering around them as they entered a housing quarter. Anakin led them inside one of the small dwellings which were stacked like packing crates on top of one another.
"Mom, I'm home," he called out as they entered a cozy, minimal, simple home, with a comforting quietness compared to the noise of the storm raging outside.
A woman about the same age as Qui-Gon entered the room with brown hair and a kindly looking though perplexed face. "Oh my, Ani, what's this?"
"These are my friends, Mom," Anakin replied. "I'm building a droid," he revealed to Padmé, before dragging her to his room, leaving Obi-Wan to introduce themselves.
He bowed before her. "My name is Obi-Wan Kenobi, your son was kind enough to offer us shelter from the sandstorm."
"I'm Shmi Skywalker," she returned, uncertain and concerned that her frugal way of living, rendered necessary by her slavery, would prove inadequate to him.
Obi-Wan felt her uncertainty through the Force and retrieved some ration capsules from his pockets, pressing them into her hands. "I have enough food for a meal."
"Oh thank you," Shmi replied. "I'm sorry if I was abrupt. I'll never get used to Anakin's surprises."
"He's a very special boy," Obi-Wan remarked.
"Yes I know," Shmi murmured, her expression one of complete understanding, as if she were privy to a secret he could only guess at.
Suddenly a beeping began to enamate from his pockets; the comm device he had been handed by Captain Panaka before leaving the ship. It was fortunate that sandstorms did not affect communications, he mused, before retrieving the device from beneath his poncho.
"Excuse me," he uttered with a slight bow before walking towards the yard access which he had seen on his entrance into the quarters.
Despite being exposed to the elements the yard held a hushed calm which belied the violence of the sandstorm raging around them. Conditions were suitable for him to answer the comm.
"There is a communication coming from Naboo, Padawan Kenobi," the Captain said at the other end of the line.
"Play it," Obi-Wan replied.
The message was patchy, with a great deal of interference, but there was more than enough to convey the desperation felt by the sender; Governor Bibble. Obi-Wan listened to the message carefully, as it relayed that food supplies were cut off, that the death toll was catastrophic, and that it was urgent that the Queen contact them. He felt the despair in the Governor's voice, but he also felt something darker behind it. Something planned and plotted, designed first to lure, then to trap the Queen and the Jedi, he realised.
"It's a trick to establish a trace," he replied into the comm device. "Send no response. Send no transmission of any kind."
"Aye, sir," the Captain uttered.
"How is Master Jinn?" Obi-Wan asked.
"Still sleeping," Panaka answered.
"Contact me if you receive anything else, or when he wakes," Obi-Wan requested.
"We will," Panaka replied before ending the call.
"What if it is true?" A voice asked behind him, making Obi-Wan turn round and see that Padmé was standing on the threshold of the yard.
"I would have sensed it," Obi-Wan assured her, pocketing his comlink. "Either way, we're running out of time." He observed her as she came towards him. She appeared to be concerned for more than her family and the Queen. Something preoccupied her. A burden placed upon her which she now doubted she was worthy of or ready for. He knew that feeling well, he had experienced it ever since Qui-Gon's illness was diagnosed.
"How can you have that much faith?" she asked him. "Is it the Force?"
"Yes, your Highness," Obi-Wan replied, causing her to gasp.
"How did you know?" she queried.
"You have the demeanour of someone who is carrying a heavy responsibility," he answered. "I know it well." he adjusted his stance. "When you are in a time of need, what do you listen to?"
"What's inside me," Padmé replied. "My intuition."
"So do the Jedi," Obi-Wan explained. "Except inside us is the Force. And a powerful ally it is."
She frowned at his speech pattern, causing him to chuckle.
"I'm sorry, you'll understand when you meet Master Yoda," he remarked. "the Force led us to you, your Highness, and it led us to this planet. It also led us to the warehouse and to Anakin. What did he show you?"
"A protocol droid he had built himself for his mother," Padmé answered. "It was remarkable. He told me that a Hutt named Gardulla owned him and his mother, loosing them to Watto over a pod race. How could a nine year old be capable of so much skill in complicated mechanics?" It astonished even her, who was from a planet which regarded children capable of the same intelligence as adults and therefore be allowed the same rights.
"The Force," Obi-Wan replied. "It provides some with affinity for machines, or rather enhances whatever natural talent that already exists. Sensitivity produces heightened reflexes, a certain preconscious. Even amongst those who are untrained and or who have no knowledge of their true potential. Were you ever tested, your Highness?"
"Padmé," she corrected. "I'm undercover, remember."
"I will," he promised. "It was wise to employ a decoy on Naboo. However it is dangerous to do so here. And to keep such a security measure from myself and my Master."
"More dangerous than remaining on the ship while your Master heals?" She countered.
He blanched, turning from her. She reached out and clasped his hand before he could. "I'm sorry. I'm sure you're worried about him. The truth is I wanted to be with you. I wanted to learn more about you."
Obi-Wan blushed for there was no mistaking her meaning or look. Then he took her into his arms. She rested her head against his chest, closed her eyes and breathed him in. As he did the same, holding her slight figure, he reminded himself that he was a Jedi, that he could not be anything else, that she was young and the Queen he had to protect. There was no time for this. A part of him wondered if there ever would be.
Obi-Wan closed his eyes and breathed in the gentle flowered smell which belonged to her, partly to recognise her again when she assumed her role and duties as Queen, partly to savour and remember this closeness when they were parted, before he gradually withdrew from the embrace.
"Come, lets go inside," he proposed. "I'm sure dinner will be ready soon."