Chapter 2: Memory Stirs

Noticing that Jar Jar was no longer with them the Jedi turned around to try and find what the Gungan was up too now. He discovered the clumsy Gungan being bullied by a Dug and was about to come to Jar Jar's rescue when the child from the junk shop beat him to it. The boy only made one or two exchanges with the Dug before he was joined by another figure; an adolescent girl. Qui-Gon watched the flinty eyed girl ignoring the boy and the two aliens. There was something about the girl that arrested his attention. Perhaps it was her obvious disdain for the tyrannical Dug that captured Qui-Gon's interest. Even from a distance he could tell that she had no tolerance for the alien.

He may not have been able to hear what she said to the Dug or the tone in which she spoke but he could discern that she had insulted him in some way. Judging by the crowd's suddenly tense silence Qui-Gon realized that the girl had shamed the Dug in a way that could not be ignored. They glared at each other, the Dug holding an obviously aggressive pose the girl looking deceptively relaxed. From the way the crowd resolutely concentrated on her and nothing else Qui-Gon gathered that she was capable of being just as violent as her opponent, if not more so. For a moment the Jedi wondered if he would be forced to get involved. To his surprise the Dug backed down from the girl's blatant challenge. He seemed petrified of the girl for some reason that Qui-Gon could not discover. The Dug actually physically flinched away from the fire in her eyes.

Qui-Gon watched as the girl continued to glare daggers at the Dug while the alien attempted to intimidate the boy. The lad appeared to be just as unafraid of the Dug as the girl. Curious at the children's bravery (as well as needing to collect Jar Jar) Qui-Gon finally started walking towards the group. At his approach the girl braced herself for a hasty retreat; but not before leaning down and whispering something to the boy. Satisfied by whatever she had told him the girl looked up to watch Qui-Gon and Padmé for a brief moment.

In that brief moment he was given his first glimpse of the girl's face. She was pretty enough, her guarded expression masking any real beauty she may or may not possess. At first he thought she looked coldly indifferent to all that went on around her; but looking closer he could sense that she was someone who cared more deeply than she wanted to risk expressing. As he came closer he could see a confusion of emotion swarming in her dark eyes. She left abruptly before Qui-Gon could discover anything else.

That brief glimpse stayed with him distracting him from the boy's chatter. There was something about those eyes that tugged at his memory and it ate away at him. For the life of him he could not place how those eyes could be so familiar; for Force sake he hadn't even seen what color they were!

At the lads candid remark that the Dug could have turned Jar Jar into orange goo, the boy recaptured the Jedi's wandering attention.

"Nevertheless, the boy is right" Qui-Gon began agreeing with the child but was distracted by something he sensed in the boy. With a slight nearly unnoticeable shake of his head he brought back his wandering attention. "You were heading for trouble. Thank you, my young friend."

He turned to leave then not surprised to notice that the boy had joined them. The Jedi made no issue out of it either; for upon meeting the boy everything felt at once right and wrong about the Force. Mindful of that feeling Qui-Gon paid more careful attention to the lad. When he offered to have them seek shelter from the sandstorm with him Qui-Gon did not object. He viewed it as an excellent opportunity to learn more about the boy and perhaps the girl.

They followed Anakin through the dusty streets of Mos Espa into a slightly less well kept area (by Mos Espa standards). Qui-Gon ignored the handmaiden's silent disapproval which slowly dissipated as the winds began to pick up more flinging stinging sand into their faces. Anakin lead them to the door of a clay home no different from those surrounding it; but to Qui-Gon the place felt different. It subtly vibrated with the life force of those who called the sturdy clay construction home.

"Mom I'm home!" Anakin announced upon entering his home. His casual announcement did nothing to prepare his mother for the shock of seeking visitors crowding in her front door. That shock was clearly written on her face when she came around the corner to greet her son. Anakin excited by the visitors, Padmé in particular, did not bother to reassure his mother beyond the explanation that they were his new friends. Qui-Gon took it upon himself to reassure her.

"Your son was kind enough to offer us shelter," he explained and at her answering smile, Qui-Gon continued. "He's a very special boy." Her smile became even brighter at that.

The fight did not end soon enough for her but its ending came about too abruptly for the crowds. She could not be bothered to care. The maniacs had been given their fair share of bloodshed – more than they deserved. The majority of the blood spilled today had been hers. Someone thought it would be entertaining to allow the Dug to sneak in an old steel blade; one that had rusted terribly from age and disuse. It was now currently sticking out of her shoulder where the Dug had plunged it into the joint hoping to immobilize her arm. She had not been given an opportunity to remove it during the fight and the bastard Dug had taken advantage of the fact. He often used it as a handle of sorts grabbing the hilt in order to get enough leverage to hit her in the head. In the process the dagger got jerked back and forth widening the wound but never fully dislodging from her shoulder.

Eventually she had managed to overpower him; moving too quickly for him to track and delivering so many swift jarring blows that he could not keep up with her. After calming yet another empty victory she had decided to spare the Dug's life, but only after a fierce internal battle did her better nature won out. Being stabbed like that had truly pissed her off and for a moment she had been sorely tempted to break her one and only rule – do not kill, if given the chance. For all of that the Dug was left in worse condition than her. Some other fighter could mop up what she had left behind; she hated killing and would not do it unless Gardulla demanded it of her.

Apparently Gardulla had been pleased with her performance, for when she had looked to the Hutt to see if the crime lord approved of her decision to spare the Dug's life Gardulla had given her assent. Furthermore, Gardulla showed her pleasure by having a medic waiting to attend to her prize fighter's wound. The girl ignored the medic's attention, at first, waiting to see if she would be called upon to fight again. When three fights had passed and Gardulla had not called for her again the girl relaxed and finally allowed her shoulder to be seen too. Not that it would be given the medical attention truly due to such a severe wound. As for the whip lashes on her back – which had slowly bled throughout the fight – they would not be seen to again; after all the fight master had already attended to them. Slaves were not to be fawned over and precious medical supplies should never be wasted upon them. In one day she had already received more medical attention than she could ever expect to see. Although 'medical attention' and 'medic' in Mos Espa actually meant haphazard cleaning and binding of wounds by an intoxicated and horny idiot; such as Delcep Noirth.

She groaned inwardly at the male Zeltron's approach. Zeltron's were known for their lustful ways and Delcep was no exception. He used his exotic looks and his telepathic abilities to charm everyone he wanted into his bed. Unfortunately for her, she had become Delcep's favorite playmate.

"I do not need your help Delcep," she growled at him. She was more willing to leave the arenas and travel through the streets to home with the dagger still sitting in her skin and muscle than to allow him to touch her.

"Come now Hosta," he purred using that damnable nickname, "do not be too hasty."

Tired and annoyed she took a swing at him with her good arm. Delcep must have been expecting her to do just that for he easily caught her by the wrist and effortlessly spun her around so that her arm was twisted up behind her and her back was pressed into his stomach.

"Always so hasty mwa stupa pateesa," he whispered in her ear taking a moment to nibble at her earlobe while it was so handy. My foolish darling, he called her. She disliked that just as much as she did the fight master's nickname for her.

"I am nobody's pateesa Delcep."

"True, but you are everybody's favorite slave," he agreed nuzzling at her neck. His one free hand roaming at will up her injured left arm. Despite herself she could feel that she was yielding to his particular brand of hormonally charged telepathy.

"Now relax Hosta just relax." Delcep murmured against the skin of her neck. Then he placed a tender kiss at the base of her neck even as with one swift motion he yanked the dagger out of her shoulder.

She screamed broke his hold on her and elbowed him in the gut for good measure. Delcep laughed hysterically and while still holding the bloody steal blade in one hand he looked like the red-skinned lunatic she knew him to be.

"Echutta! Chuba doompa, dopa-maskey kung!" She growled at him snatching the few pieces of gauze he had brought with him out of his hands. She began to bandage her own wound as she stormed away from him. (expletive. you low-down, two-faced scum).

"Koona t'cHutta?" He called after her still laughing. (going somewhere). "No matter slave, I will find you later at the cantina!"

"Cha skrunee da pat, Sleemo." (don't count on it, slimo) She murmured underneath her breath knowing full well that he would find her at the cantina. She wouldn't be able to escape from his advances there for Shol expected every one of his girls to bring in good money. She was Delcep's favorite plaything which meant she was in for one hell of a long day.

Not caring currently that there was a ranging sandstorm going on outside she left the arenas desperate to get home. She needed at least one moment of relief before she was expected to report at Shol's cantina for the entertainment of raucous human and near-human males.

But first she needed to take better care of her wound. Shmi would not leave her in peace if she came home injured. More importantly she couldn't stand to be the cause of more anxiety for Shmi. Fighting against the wind she decided to stop off at Jira's food stand, the old woman had become accustomed to helping her patch herself up.

The storm was in full swing by the time she reached Jira's. She huddled outside of the old woman's door knocking until it eventually opened.

"Oh child, come in quick."

Qui-Gon listened to Obi-Wan's news about the transmission from Naboo. He did not like the implications the transmission made any more than Obi-Wan did. The situation had quickly gotten out of hand, and time was now against them more than ever. Qui-Gon disliked being forced to follow someone else's agenda – particularly when it was a hidden agenda and he could not figure out who was pulling the strings. He turned off his comlink feeling like he was being backed into a corner. All he had done so far was to react to someone else's move; it did not suit his personality. He hoped that this necessary stop over on Tatooine would allow him to stop reacting and being making his own moves in this game.

Contemplating all the possible outcomes of the events that have transpired so far today, Qui-Gon reentered the Skywalker's kitchen to help Shmi prepare for the midday meal.

They had just settled down to eat at the makeshift table (Anakin had built it the boy told them proudly) when there was an unexpected commotion at the front door. Clearly they could hear the howling of the sandstorms winds as the door opened and someone stepped inside. Shmi paused in the act of sitting down, her expression worried and her eyes burned with concern. Without a word she began to move from the kitchen and towards the entranceway her steps hesitant.

"It's me Shmi," a young feminine voice called out. Shmi's expression instantly changed from one of hesitant worry to one of motherly affection. She moved to stand in the doorway.

"Lyyr I thought you were going to come home earlier," she called out in response her voice only slightly reproachful.

"Didn't Anakin tell you I was going to be late?" The voice replied. Shmi did not answer right away; instead she turned her reproachful gaze on her now sheepish son. "I take it that he did not," this Lyyr answered her own question with a touch of amusement coloring her voice.

"I'm sorry Lyyr," Anakin called out, blushing under his mother's gaze.

"It's alright Ani," the voice assured him. Although it still sounded amused Qui-Gon could now hear the utter exhaustion of the speaker.

"Lyyr come join us and eat," Shmi gently coaxed, "let me fetch it for you."

"No Shmi, don't trouble yourself. I'll fetch my own plate after I've tidied up a bit."

"Tidy up?" The worry in Shmi's voice returned. At her question the Force brought to Qui-Gon the image of a dark haired girl fighting for her life against a random opponent, the vision was tinged with the overwhelming fear that this time the girl would not survive. It was clear to the Jedi that this was the fate that Shmi feared for Lyyr; yet the Force made it clear to him that it would not be her fate (at least not now).

"I'm covered in sand Shmi," the girl responded "the storm is still raging outside." Lyyr's attempt to reassure Shmi failed to convince Qui-Gon and he sensed that Shmi had her doubts. She returned to her seat at the table, however, despite what concerns she might still harbor. They sat in silence for a moment until Padmé broached the topic of slavery. The girl's naive faith in the rulings of the Republic were endearing if somewhat misguided. Shmi was explaining to them how every salve has a transmitter placed within their bodies, so that their owners could always locate them.

"Any attempt to escape…"Shmi began then drifted off as something in the doorway caught her attention.

"And they blow you up!" Anakin finished pounding his hand on the table for added emphasis. He did not notice his mother's preoccupation.

"Ani, do not exaggerate," the tired voice spoke from a place nearly directly behind Qui-Gon. The Jedi turned to find the young woman from the market standing framed in the shadows of the doorway. She was dressed in a similar fashion as Shmi, a hint of a gray under tunic covered by a heavy lose fitting burlap over tunic. Unlike Shmi she did not wear a skirt, instead she wore leggings similar to the boy's but darker in color. In her one hand she held a battered looking stool, almost as if she knew that the chairs around the small table were already occupied. Her face remained in the shadows much to Qui-Gon's annoyance. He wanted to have a good look at the girl.

"They usually try to avoid blowing slaves up, bad for business you know." She remarked with dry humor, moving out of the doorway and towards the table. It was then that Qui-Gon could see her eyes clearly and their intense violet color hit him with an almost physical blow. They pulled at him, dredging up memories he had assumed were buried and gone. With a sudden clarity the Living Force gave him a reason to hope.

Oblivious to Qui-Gon's inner turmoil, the girl set her stool down in the remaining empty space – between him and Shmi and directly across from Jar Jar. Lyyr then began rummaging about the kitchen fixing herself a plate and grabbing a drink.

"Lyyr, I wish you would let me help you." Shmi told her, watching the girl as she moved carefully about the room. She moved with a lethal grace; using no more energy for each gesture than was absolutely needed. It was fascinating to watch, Qui-Gon had only seen Jedi move with such flowing grace. It was almost like watching a breeze floating lazily through a grove of trees.

"Please Shmi; you do so much for me already." Lyyr answered her back still towards them.

Qui-Gon watched the girl trying to ferret out the reason why she felt so familiar. While watching her, he absent mindedly noticed that the left shoulder of her tunic had fresh stitching on it, like it had been recently torn and then expertly mended. He also noticed a rust colored stain surrounding the mended rip. It was a disturbingly large stain.

Lyyr turned around back towards the table and caught Qui-Gon's eye. There was a certain wariness to her gaze that reminded him of a wild animal or an animal that expected to receive a blow from everyone it encountered. This worried him more than the stain on her tunic.

"Lyyr," Shmi questioned the girl, "why exactly are you late?' The sound of Shmi's voice changed the way the girl held herself. She looked relaxed and her eyes lost their wary reserve.

Lyyr sat down on her stool before she answered Shmi and even then she took a quick spoon full and kept her eyes trained on her plate.

"There's a podrace tomorrow and Jabba the Hutt is in town, apparently he's considered a guest of honor," her tone suggested otherwise. "Gardulla felt the need to trot out her prize mule." Lyyr finished with a distinct sneer in her voice as if she was mocking herself.

"So you were at the arenas' Shmi replied her voice resigned. "Who did you fight today?"

"A Dug," she answered still keeping her head down. At Shmi's small gasp Lyyr looked up. "It wasn't Sebulba," she reassured the woman, "just one of his cronies."

"Did you kill him?" Anakin asked eagerly. Lyyr who was in the process of transferring another spoonful to her mouth slowly put her spoon down. She turned to look searchingly at Anakin for a moment before speaking again.

"That question his beneath you Ani," she rebuked him gently. "No, Ani, I did not kill him. I never kill, you know that." She finished her voice utterly still.

"You do when Gardulla commands it Lyyr," Shmi reminded the girl. Lyyr looked over at Shmi and her expression was one of profound regret.

"I know that Shmi." She replied her voice harsh. She stood up abruptly then and turning on her heel walked back out into the storm. She left silence in her wake, until Anakin decided to ask something that clearly had been nagging at him for some time.

"You're a Jedi, aren't you?"