About the time that Drin turned sixteen, Anakin started having trouble sleeping. It wasn't every night, and it wasn't terribly inconvenient, but it annoyed him all the same. Every so often that he tried to drop off to sleep, something would flash in his mind—a darkness, split-second—and his eyes would fly open. Sometimes it would not happen for weeks; often it could happen five or six times in a night.
After one such night, Drin came over for lessons as usual, but Anakin had a harder time concentrating, not only from the loss of a few hours of sleep but the unavoidable wondering of where these distractions came from. Drin, of course, noticed and inquired.
"It's nothing," Anakin answered. "I just haven't been sleeping very well lately."
"Really?" said Drin, frowning as he tossed a lock of hair out of his eyes. "Why?"
Anakin hesitated a moment, unsure of what to say. After a few seconds, he gave up trying to think of any other way to put it. "I've sensed traces of the Dark Side around the Temple for a couple weeks now. I don't know what it is, but it keeps flashing in my head and it's keeping me awake."
Drin's eyelids flickered. "The Dark Side? Are you sure?"
The doubt in his voice caused Anakin to look at him askance. "You think I'm imagining it?"
"I didn't say that," said Drin quickly. "But I mean, it couldn't be a Jedi using the Dark Side. And no one on the Council has felt it, have they?"
Slowly, Anakin shook his head. "I don't think so," he said. "Master Windu…" He broke off, not wanting to discuss it any further. Windu had believed that these flashes of darkness which interrupted Anakin's dreams were more visions, but Anakin had protested. Though he had not had a vision since Palpatine's downfall, more than two years ago, he still remembered their feel and knew that this was something else.
"It's nothing," Anakin repeated, shaking his head. Moving on, he remembered something he'd wanted to tell Drin. "By the way, there won't be any lessons for a few days."
"What? Why not?"
"Because I leave tomorrow for Aridius," Anakin said. "There's a shipment of something going to Grievous from there, and he wants an escort for it. Whatever it is, it's expensive. I probably won't be back for at least two weeks, since it's got to go all the way to Orest 6."
Drin's gaze reflected disappointment. "But what am I supposed to do?" he asked. "Master Brun won't be back for another four days!"
Ka'ela Brun had been assigned to follow up an earlier diplomatic mission, and for whatever reason had decided to leave Drin behind. Anakin shrugged, but before he could say anything, Drin seemed possessed of an idea. "Can I come with you?"
This was so unexpected that Anakin forgot to answer for a moment. "I…guess you could," he admitted after a moment. "But you'd have to leave a message with someone so your Master knows where you are."
Drin nodded. "Okay. I can tell Master Restus. She's always talking to my Master."
"You might get bored," Anakin warned. Drin shrugged.
"It can't be any worse than staying here. I'll go pack."
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A day and a half later, they had landed on Aridius, the technological planet of the Core. Though the docking bays were crowded, Anakin, with Drin trailing closely behind, managed to find the ship bound for Orest 6 without much trouble. It was the only starship not bearing the Republic insignia.
Standing beside its open portal was a portly Bothan, an ambitiously tight purple tunic stretched over his black, furry skin. He held a datapad in his hands, scribbling on it from time to time as laborers walked past him and up the ramp, bearing between themselves heavy, unmarked boxes. As the Jedi approached, he looked up from his datapad.
"That's everything," he said breathlessly, to no one in particular, and his harried expression relaxed a bit. When his gaze fell upon Anakin and Drin, the harried expression returned. "Master Jedi, I'm so glad to see you've arrived safely!"
He didn't look it, but Anakin, suppressing a smile, did not comment. "I'm glad to finally meet you, sir," he said. "I am Master Skywalker, and this is my…" Anakin hesitated a moment, unsure. "…my friend, Drin Audris."
"A pleasure, I'm sure," said the Bothan. "My name is Dokola; General Grievous handpicked me to transport this shipment, so you can understand if I want to ensure its safety."
"Of course," said Anakin, moving casually out of the way as a laborer barreled down the ramp, his work done. "Can I ask exactly what it is that the General needs?"
"Computer chips," said Dokola. "The most advanced technology we have. Each one is worth its weight in whatever you'd care to name."
"Really?" Anakin said, interested. "Do you know why he needs them?"
"A new base, I've heard," Dokola said, shrugging, "but I'm hardly privy to the General's affairs. All I ask is that you manage to keep these from being stolen."
"Have you had problems with thieves before?"
"Oh, yes, especially in the air," Dokola assured him. "Pirates, you know. We've been doing a lot of trafficking between here and Orest 6, though this is the most valuable cargo the General has needed yet."
Checking his wrist chronometer, the Bothan suddenly grew serious. "I've still got some things to check," he told them, "but you can get onboard and find yourself a room. There's just myself and the pilot besides yourselves."
"Thank you very much for your trouble," Anakin said. He nodded at Drin, and they boarded. The ship was designed in the same way as a Republic transport ship, so the Jedi had no problems finding an empty room with two bunks. Drin, who'd been in charge of the luggage, let their case drop on the floor and sat down heavily on what was apparently his bunk.
"That's it?" he asked. "All we get to do is sit on a ship for two weeks?"
"Hey, no complaining," warned Anakin. "I told you it would be boring. You don't feel like listening to me, that's what you get." He sat down on the bed opposite Drin, eyeing his pupil critically. "You could use the practice time, anyway. Your Master told me that your grades are slipping in Force Studies."
"Only a little," Drin defended himself.
"More than they should be," Anakin returned. "Have you been meditating?"
"Yes."
"At least an hour a day?"
"More than that."
Anakin looked askance at him, but sensed no deceit. "All right, then," he said slowly. "Try again, with me here."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Because there wasn't much to do on the ship, they spent a good deal of the time Force-working. Anakin was perplexed: there was a hesitation in Drin's mind that had not always been there, acting as a block against a true connection to the living Force. He could still levitate pillows and datapads, still jump and run with the help of the Force, but that was fast growing to be the extent of his abilities.
Anakin could not tell what was causing this decline, and neither apparently could Drin, judging by the powerful frustration with which he met every failure. There was nothing he could do, therefore, except to encourage and hope that Drin would catch on eventually.
This, however, did not appear to be happening anytime soon, and by the time the ship had finally landed on Orest 6, both Jedi were glad of it. Far from a pirate attack, the trip could not have gone more smoothly, and they both knew that their presence had not been needed. That fact, coupled with Drin's sudden difficulty, caused tensions to rise.
"I'm sorry to have brought you all this way for nothing," Dokola apologized to them as they left the ship. "But after all, one really can't be too careful with equipment like this."
"No, you really can't," Anakin agreed blandly. Almost before they had reached the end of the ramp, more workers swarmed the ship, unloading its cargo quickly. Whatever else could have been said about Dokola, he was certainly efficient.
It was dusk here, the sun swiftly falling behind newly-erected buildings. The Bothan looked up at the sky.
"The ship will need to be serviced and refueled," he said, "after everything's been sent to the General's worksite. We should be able to leave by tomorrow morning. You both are quite welcome to stay on the ship overnight, or else you could find a place in the city."
"We'll probably just stay here," Anakin decided. "Thank you for the offer."
"Quite. If you'll excuse me, I've just got to check…" Dokola's voice trailed off as he moved away in the direction of the unloaded computer chips, leaving Anakin and Drin alone.
"Can't we go into the city?" asked Drin.
"It's just easier to stay here," Anakin replied. "Besides, I don't think we've got anything besides pocket change, which is hardly enough for a hotel room."
"Can we just go and look around, then?"
"I guess that would be…" But Anakin's answer was interrupted by the sound of footsteps running toward them and panicked voice shouting, "Master Skywalker!" He turned, to see Dokola careening in their direction, panting for breath.
"Master Skywalker—most awful—stolen—!"
"What?" Anakin asked, understandably confused.
In less than a minute they'd managed to get the story out of him coherently. Dokola had gone to triple-check the safety of his cargo and had found a recipe for disaster: one of the boxes torn open, carefully packed chips strewn around their carton, and a worker missing. By the Bothan's guess, he must have taken at least ten thousand credits worth of datachips.
Poor Dokola was almost hyperventilating with panic, bemoaning his misfortune and cursing cheap labor. The Jedi were in no position to sit around and listen, however. As soon as they had managed to understand the problem, Anakin looked up, every sense alert.
"There's fear," he murmured. "This way."
He set off running in the direction of the city, and Drin, trusting him, followed. The sky was fast darkening, but Anakin held onto the thread of the Force he had found, which tingled with panic and adrenaline. A spur-of-the-moment decision, then—one that the laborer probably already regretted. But no, if he escaped the Jedi, if he sold the chips, he would be rich for years—!
Anakin pulled back slightly; even those not sensitive to the Force could sometimes tell if a Jedi ventured too far into their minds. They were almost down the hill on the road that led to Grievous's city, almost to the maze of buildings. Anakin skidded to a halt, not bothering to look around; the Force was his eyes as he thought.
"Go down past three streets and turn left into the fourth," he ordered Drin hurriedly. "I'll go around the other way."
Drin nodded and immediately set off in the direction Anakin had indicated. Anakin himself took a different route, one that would allow him to reach the same street as Drin by another entrance, effectively cornering the fugitive. He ran, his feet slamming down upon the packed streets—but as he neared his destination, he heard a loud, wordless cry, and his pace quickened nervously.
Anakin reached the alley where he'd felt the worker's presence; it was long and narrow, so dark that he could see neither Drin nor his quarry. High buildings rose up on either side of him, blocking the last meager shreds of daylight. Empty crates were piled along the walls, beady rodent eyes peering out from between the rotting slats. Anakin took a breath—something was very wrong in the Force.
"Drin?" he called in a low voice, and a voice answered that was not Drin's.
"Back off, Jedi," demanded a growl. Anakin's head shot up—there, toward the other end of the alley, was Drin, barely visible in the shadows. The missing laborer was standing directly behind him, and—Anakin's heart seemed to stop—holding a short industrial blade to the Padawan's neck.
"Let him go," Anakin breathed, almost choking on the words.
"You go back to your ship and leave me 'lone, Jedi, and I'll let him go." The blade pushed closer to Drin's throat. "I ain't going to prison."
There was still fear in his presence, but desperate defiance as well, for he held a known advantage. Terror like Anakin could not ever remember feeling thudded through him with every second—the Force could not take Drin, could not, when it had taken almost everyone else. No, not Drin.
"You don't want to do this," Anakin said, somehow managing to speak and sound reasonably calm. Taking a step forward, he eyed the man. Medium height, lanky build… "You're only hurting yourself."
"I said back off!" shouted the worker.
Strange, Anakin thought dimly, that of all people here Drin was the most entitled to show fear, and yet there was nothing remotely resembling it in his expression. He stood as still as a statue, not a muscle twitching, but in the fast-rising moonlight Anakin could see white-faced fury in the Padawan's features.
"The penalty for theft is much lighter than for murder," Anakin said softly, but he could already tell that negotiation was useless. The man's confidence was growing, his fear beginning to recede, so that with every passing moment he only grew cockier. It would have been the work of a moment for Anakin to pull out his lightsaber and attack, but such blatant violence was a last resort, though such a contingency was drawing ever closer. From what few options he had, Anakin made a split-second decision.
"Fine," he conceded, backing slowly away. "You win."
The worker's grip relaxed in relief, only a fraction, but it was enough. Anakin shouted at his pupil, "Drin, move!" and grabbed hold of one of the nearby crates with the Force in the same instant, sending it flying toward the man. Drin ducked out of his captor's grip at once, but the laborer, panicking, grabbed for him, and the crate smashed into the wall uselessly. The knife flashed in the moonlight, and before Anakin had time to react a long, red stripe had appeared on Drin's forearm. The Padawan cried out again, and the man took his chance to escape.
Anakin ran after him, expecting to leave Drin behind—but even as he ran, he felt a wave of rage explode from the Padawan's direction, so powerful that Anakin, not expecting it, stumbled and almost fell. The fugitive was thrown off his feet and went rolling in the street, stolen chips tumbling from his pockets and scattering on the stones, and no sooner was he down than Drin was upon him.
The Padawan pinned him to the ground, knees upon his chest and hands at his throat. Blood dripped from the cut on his arm onto the man's face, but Drin seemed not to notice, nor to hear his captive's pleas for mercy. He was trembling visibly with anger, so powerful to sense that it almost frightened Anakin.
"Drin, get up," he ordered through clenched teeth, moving closer to the morbid scene. The man's cries—the only sound in the darkness—were growing hoarse and weak, his limbs jerking spasmodically. But either Drin did not hear his teacher or he did not care. Their ultimate goal, the computer chips, was there for the taking, but Drin did not look at them once. Noiselessly a drop of blood spattered onto the man's cheek—his eyes fluttered closed.
"You're killing him!" Anakin hesitated only a second, waiting for the effect he knew his words would not have, before he roughly grabbed Drin's hands and forced them away from the worker's neck. Their eyes met, Anakin's disbelieving and Drin's hard.
Difficult though it may have been to make a surrendering gesture look defiant, Drin managed it as he stood up and took a step back. "He threatened me," the Padawan said by way of explanation, his tone unrepentant.
Anakin's lightsaber split the shadows. "You're a Jedi," he said shortly. "You're going to have to get used to that."
With his weapon at the worker's back, it wasn't difficult to persuade the man to return to the ship. Drin gathered up the computer chips at Anakin's command, and together they made the short walk back up the hill.
Dokola, still waiting anxiously outdoors, was relieved beyond words when his precious cargo was returned to him. Anakin, who sensed only honest terror and not treachery, allowed the worker to go his own way after a severe warning. The episode ended so easily as to be almost anticlimactic, but—
But Anakin could not help remembering the wrathful look upon Drin's face, and his thumbs pressed to the man's windpipe, and doubts filled him every time the thought entered his mind. Drin was a Jedi, dedicated to the ideal of the living Force. That ought to be the end of it…but whatever it was, it had not been the living Force that had fueled Drin tonight.
Anakin could not look at Drin from that moment on without wondering, even when sitting beside him and gently bandaging his wounded arm. They slept on the ship that night, and Anakin did not say a word to his pupil as they both prepared for bed. For once, he was at a complete loss.
By the time they returned to the Temple, for whatever reason, Anakin no longer had trouble sleeping.