Padraig woke suddenly, his heart racing. The moonlight slanting through the window of his bedroom told him it was still too early for the servants to be up to start their day. Yet something had woken him. He rolled onto his back and tried to quiet his breathing and the pounding of his heart. There! It was Anneke's voice, faint through the wall, yet clearly in distress.

He sat up on the edge of his mattress, reaching for the warm dressing gown that hung over a chair by the bed. The nights here could be chilly, and the stone walls and floors of the house stored little heat this late. He stood up, tying the belt around his middle, when he heard the unmistakable sound of the door that led from Anneke's room to the terrace. He made his way to his own terrace door, and opened it softly.

Anneke stood in the centre of the terrace, her back to the doors, hands clasped loosely behind her, face tilted toward the sky where the first hint of dawn's light was just visible. A playful breeze fluttered the hem of her shirt and the braid over her right ear. She was meditating. Padraig turned to go, not wanting to intrude.

"Don't go."

He turned back; she hadn't moved. "I don't want to disturb you."

"Your presence is soothing." Her voice was calm, but there was an undercurrent of tension.

He took a step toward her. "You had a nightmare."

"Jedi don't have nightmares." Her response was quick—too quick.

"I heard you." He took another step; he was now close enough to reach out and touch her, but he wasn't sure he should. "It was about your mother, wasn't it?"

She flinched—just slightly. "How did you know?" Her voice was so soft, he barely heard her.

"You had another one on the transport, on the way here. You were calling out in your sleep about your mother." He had felt helpless then, just as he did now.

She turned her head, and he was shocked at the fear in her clear blue eyes. "It was more than a dream. I saw her as clearly as I see you now. She is suffering, Padraig." Her eyes filled with tears. "I think she's dying."

He put a hand on her shoulder, feeling less than powerless in the face of her pain. She moved toward him, her arms sliding around him, and he pulled her close. She hid her face in his shoulder, and he wrapped his arms around her.

"I have to go," she said. "I'm sorry, Padraig. I know have a mandate to protect you, but I have to help her. I don't have a choice."

"I'll go with you," he said immediately, glad to have something he could do to help her. "That way you won't be disobeying your mandate."

She pulled back just enough to look up at him. Her eyes, swimming in tears, shone with gratitude. "Oh, Padraig. Thank you."

How did she not know that he would do anything for her?

She bit her lip. "But… what about Master Obi Wan?"

"I guess we won't tell him, will we?"

She smiled at him through her tears, and he told himself it wasn't appropriate to kiss her just now. No matter how much he wanted to.

The last time Padraig had been on Tatooine, in this exact junk shop, was the first time he had seen Anneke. He had been a King then, pretending to be a servant, and she had been a slave. This time, she looked the part of an offworlder, in her long, dark Jedi robes. Even the old Toydarian who used to own her didn't recognize her. She didn't belong here, not anymore.

Anneke stood under the awning outside the front door, speaking to the Toydarian in a guttural language Padraig guessed was Huttese. It was a language he had never had cause to study, so he took the opportunity to study her. She had changed much—once, she would have feared the pathetic creature she now spoke to as an equal.

Anneke turned back toward him, and Padraig felt his face heat, embarrassed to be caught staring at her; hopefully she would think the colour in his cheeks was caused by the suns.

"He says he sold her." Anneke's tone was flat. "He's going to check his records to see who bought her."

Padraig nodded, squinting against the suns. The Toydarian had disappeared into the bowels of the junk shop; it looked as if it might collapse at any moment. The years had not been kind to this place.

A few minutes later, he re-emerged with a printout. After another exchange in Huttese, Anneke strode back toward Padraig. "A moisture farmer bought her—name of Lars. Rumour is, he freed her and married her." There was a note of hope in her voice. "I have the address here."

"Let's go," Padraig said.

The twin suns were dipping toward the horizon as Anneke and Padraig approached the moisture farm. Anneke found her steps quickening as she crossed the sand toward the mud-brick building that was home for the farmer and his family. A young man and woman in rough homespun came out to greet them.

Anneke made herself stop, though she wanted to run and find her mother. "I'm Anneke Skywalker. I'm looking for my mother."

The young man nodded, his eyes shadowed. "I'm Owen Lars. This is my girlfriend Beru. I guess I'm your stepbrother."

Anneke gritted her teeth, impatient with the civilities. "Is my mother here?"

Owen and Beru exchanged glances. "No, she's not," Owen said slowly.

Anneke opened her mouth to demand they tell her where in all the hells she was, but she was interrupted by the arrival of a much older man in a floating chair, one leg heavily bandaged, the other missing altogether.

"Cliegg Lars," he offered. "Shmi is my wife. Come on inside. We have a lot to talk about."

Inside? She was about to refuse, to insist they tell her everything right here, but Padraig's hand on her arm gave her pause.

"We would be delighted to accept your hospitality," he said.

Beru brought a tray of drinks to the table where Anneke reluctantly sat with Padraig and Cliegg. The way the Lars family was acting, she knew there was something wrong, was almost ready to accuse them of being complicit in whatever had happened to her mother. And something had definitely happened.

Cliegg took a sip from the mug of steaming ardees. "Your mother had gone out early, like she always did, to pick mushrooms that grow on the vaporators," he said softly. "From the tracks, she was about halfway home when they took her." His voice rose in anger. "Those Tuskens walk like men, but they're vicious, mindless monsters. Thirty of us went out after her." His voice dropped to nearly a whisper. "Four of us came back. I'd be out there with them now, only... after I lost my leg I just couldn't ride anymore—not until I heal." He adjusted his remaining leg with a grimace. "I don't want to give up on her, but she's been gone a month. There's little hope she's lasted this long."

Anneke stared at him in disbelief. Sometime while he was talking, a buzzing had started up in her head, and now a fire was rushing through her veins. She stood, turning toward the door.

"Where are you going?" Owen stood before her as if he would stop her.

"To find my mother." A fearsome power surged through her, greater than anything she had ever felt before. She clenched a fist on the white-hot energy. It would be so easy to toss him out of her way—like flicking a insect.

Owen stepped aside. "Take my speeder bike," he offered.

She nodded in thanks, and went back outside. The suns had set and the moons were just visible in the darkening sky. As she approached the speeder bike, she sensed Padraig following her. "Stay here," she said, turning to face him. "You'll be safe here."

He reached for her, and she went into his arms, but only for a moment. The comfort of his embrace was tempting, but she didn't have time to indulge herself. She turned away from the worry in his eyes and threw a leg over the bike. "I won't be long," she promised.

She could sense him watching her until she was out of sight.