968:9:19 4:27pm (around 11:40am on Tatooine in Mos Espa) – On Entering Mos Espa

Qui-Gon walked through the street that was, for all intents and purposes, Mos Espa's main commercial road, a…bizarre array of, well, anything looked like it could be traded here.

Luckily, as a Jedi Master, he'd travelled to many such locations, the novelty and almost sheer awe that would have struck anyone, was no more than a passing flicker to be brushed off, in favour of a mission.

Of course, not every member of his party could say the same, especially, he winced, when they passed a small slave market. Travelling the length of the galaxy and having hardened himself to the suffering that he knew, but it didn't make it any easier, he could not change made it almost too easy to brush aside another reminder of the barbarity of the outlying systems.

A small gasp, and Qui-Gon could just imagine the picture of the girl behind him, for it had been similar to his own. Mouth open in shock, partially covered by a hand (not all etiquette lost, even in the throes of distress), eyes wide, looking to imprint this memory so that when she came back, she would know exactly how to eradicate it.

Ah to be young, idealistic and believe your power stretched into changing the underlying economy of entire systems.

Qui-Gon quickly shook off that thought, and the accompanying train that would have followed, something always along the lines of; Oh Obi-Wan, why couldn't you have stayed.

Turning to look at the … handmaiden, he grimaced. Who did she think she was fooling. He was a Jedi Master, everyone on the ship was on the same side, if anything, keeping crucial information would quite easily lead to her death, especially if the other guardsmen risked their lives to protect a decoy instead of her, or, such as now, where she was allowed to wander on an unknown, possibly hostile, definitely unfriendly planet, with, what seemed resistance only from the Captain. Well, that makes one person of sense on the entire ship.

It was getting bad, the elder Jedi mused, when his internal thoughts took on his apprentice's dry humour to keep his spirits up, as if the past two years didn't happen.

Padme had her posture exactly as Qui-Gon thought, except it looked like a few small tears building up. Shock and pity, any other time, he would let another deal with their emotions in their own time and gently move them along. But here, a young girl, so obviously naïve, would be taken faster than he could blink, if the stares and activity from the shady cantina were anything to go by. He needed to get her out and realise that, on this planet, in this system, the horrors she was so unused to were normal everyday occurrences. They couldn't further jeopardise this mission due to one girl's ideals, no mater how powerful that girl happened to be.

Jar-jar on the other hand, looking around, not quite understanding what was happening, and being awed by a non-tropical planet with no water for miles upon miles. Of course, to a being that had lived their entire life on a single, lush tropical planet, going to one that was almost its exact opposite was most definitely jarring. Hopefully Jar-Jar would adapt quickly once he realised the gravity of the situation.

Or not, as the gungan began gesturing, again to the sand-domes hiding some of the less well-to-do citizens that couldn't quite afford the more distinctive huts.

"Come on, Padme, Jar-Jar, we need to find a hyperdrive. If the dealers along here have nothing, we'll try one of the smaller ones." Although, his gut was urging him to look at the smaller stores.

With great difficulty, Padme turned from the sight of the slave market, her composure barely holding as she looked to her Jedi protector and fellow Nabooian.

"Please, master Jedi, can you do nothing about this?" her arm waved encompassing the whole of what appeared to be the lower-class quarter and slave district.

"Padme," he began patiently, she needed them to get this hyperdrive to help her planet, and yes, whilst there was untold misery and suffering out in the galaxy, individual actions would, overall, change nothing. The Senate, the Jedi, the Courts, that was how change could be accomplished, helped along by individual actions of course, but the bigger picture must always remain.

"No, we cannot, for the moment." He added, seeing the anger and self-righteousness build up, trying to stave it off for a less public confrontation. "We must get a hyperdrive in order to get to Coruscant. Your people are suffering as well. We can help them to greater effect than these unfortunate souls."

The anger abated, but only until they were back on-ship, then Qui-Gon would ready himself, and his arguments, honed from years as 'The maverick', but until then, they needed to find a shop. This mission was already far too complex even with the invasion. There was definitely some deeper work at play.

Suddenly, he felt a nudge to a particular direction, the strongest he felt the force since accepting the mission those weeks ago.

"Come, you two, I think I've seen somewhere."

Corralling the two outraged, smouldering Nabooians, along with R2D2, who at least didn't make trouble, along, the eclectic crew began making their way to the junkyard section of the town.

968:9:21 9:30pm (around 4:40pm on Tatooine in Mos Espa) – After the Boonta Eve Classic

As the Qui-Gon made his way towards the smaller booths within the stadium for the Boonta Eve Classic to find the Toydarian Watto and collect his winnings, he felt a force signature that he'd been missing, like a phantom limb, for the past two years.

Quietly, shielding his presence in the Force, he slipped further from the booths towards the pit lanes housing the racers, or in many cases, the remains of said racers.

"…stupid Ruusaan, we'll never get them like that." Two figures in distinctive Mandalorian armour were leaning on a workbench, helmets down, in a rather animated discussion, involving, if not the racer, than at least one of their pods or sponsors nearby. The armour made it difficult to detect which one was his apprentice, and with a more muted Force signature, Qui-Gon was then slightly apprehensive as to what he would find, if not his beloved apprentice.

Letting his Force shields slip, just enough for a trained Jedi to sense him, as they often did in Hide-and-Seek games with younglings, the taller of the couple trailed off, and began making rapid gestures to the other – presumably 'Ruusaan' – and they fell quiet, the shorter then heading off, most likely to a more secluded alcove not filled with crates or tools.

Then, as the figure turned, the Jedi Master got his first good look at the Mandalorian.

Green armour, sand-coloured linings and fabric – most likely to represent gold, if his memory served him well of Mandalorian colours. Specific colours meant different things, but for the life of him, Qui-Gon could not remember what each colour represented.

Conscious of the potential cover of his apprentice, and all to aware of his own as a recently entering spacer, neither man made grandiose movements towards each other. Qui-Gon slipped next to the Mandalorian, who graciously poured a drink from a container left by Ruusaan.

"Qui-Gon, its good to see you again." The mandalorian's voice, altered through his helmet, filtered through.

"Obi-Wan." And Force, Qui-Gon couldn't remember the last time he felt such a lump in his throat.