TPM Tatooine Rewrite: Through Glass
By: Syntyche
chapter two: not only back, not only numb
Early the next morning, after another sleepless night and a quick hop through the fresher so that he looked at least semi-presentable, Obi-Wan silently left the Nubian vessel and began the trek toward the little settlement of Mos Espa. He had a vague idea of where he was going but only that; evidently there were some things about his near future that the Force was reluctant to show him. The thought was distinctly unsettling to Obi-Wan.
With the queen's kind leave, the day before he had again rummaged through the ship's storage to find appropriate clothing for the trip into Mos Espa. Now as he set out, he cut a striking picture against the sky and sand of Tatooine: forgoing one of the concealing ponchos that his Master had earlier opted for, he'd chosen black breeches and a simple white tunic that hung to his mid-thigh and obscured his belt, which he'd loosened to ride about his hips. His lightsaber remained within easy reach, hanging in its familiar loop and covered by his tunic.
The sun set off the copper in his short ginger hair and seemed to reside in his bright eyes; he knew that he looked tired, but that couldn't be helped even with the minor usage of the energy capsules a Jedi always carried. His sleepless nights were beginning to take a haggard toll on his body that was reflected in his drawn face.
Obi-Wan had made certain to leave the ship before anyone else had awoken – even the young queen – but his arrival at the dusty city was well timed: many merchants were just opening up their shops for the day and the streets were beginning to fill with a vast array of lifeforms going about their business. He'd been to many, many worlds throughout his apprenticeship to Qui-Gon, but each planet had its own uniqueness. Tatooine was no exception, but Obi-Wan quickly found that the Outer Rim planet was different in a discomforting way, almost Coruscantish in the cynicism and gruffness with which the inhabitants moved through the little settlement and conducted their business and saw their purposes met.
Obi-Wan had a purpose here as well: he would seek out young Skywalker and also the dealer to whom he belonged. He'd spoken with the handmaiden who had accompanied Qui-Gon to Mos Espa just after the trio had returned from the Skywalkers' hovel, and while she'd had a glint of suspicion in her dark eyes, Padmé was still angry with Qui-Gon for the failed wager and had guardedly shared with Obi-Wan the information he'd requested. Jar-Jar Binks also – without any trepidation or hesitation in the slightest – was eager to fill in any gaps in Padmé's story. Consequently, Obi-Wan had a pretty good idea of where he was going and how Qui-Gon had dealt with Watto.
The Padawan was admittedly curious as to why Qui-Gon would have tried only one junk dealer before believing that no Republic help could be gathered on this Outer Rim planet, but through long nights of meditation and sifting through the tersely-worded information he had garnered from his Master's infrequent and brief comm calls, Obi-Wan could only presume that Qui-Gon had in this matter felt the call of the Force so strongly that he could choose no other path and had faithfully followed the sequence of events that transpired, domino-effect, from his first meeting with Anakin Skywalker until the devastating loss in the podrace. And now it was Obi-Wan's turn to act, though every part of his being decried the plan he had chosen.
Sighing slightly, Obi-Wan once again focused on pushing doubt and worry from his mind as he closed his eyes and allowed the suns to send their glorious warmth soaking into his skin. After days of the cycled air inside the queen's ship, to be outside and walking in the morning sunlight was a great gift, gratefully accepted as it warmed golden skin and almost drove the frisson of chill from his desolate heart.
But his trepidation could not be fully abated.
He would do his duty. He could do no less.
The junk dealer whom he sought operated just within the borders of Mos Espa, and Obi-Wan's elegant stride stirred up clouds of sand beneath his boots as he traversed the street and ducked warily inside the murky shop. A chime sounded somewhere in the recesses of the store at his entrance, and Obi-Wan paused a moment to let his eyes adjust to the absence of light, shuddering as the cool air leached the fleeting warmth from his body.
"Hi," he was greeted in Basic, but it was small and subdued, and Obi-Wan had to glance around the cluttered shop for a moment before he located the source of the voice, a young boy with a dirty face and a flop of sandy hair. Though Obi-Wan couldn't explain the feeling, a sudden sense of dread knifed through him as he surveyed the boy who, for all the worlds, looked like he wouldn't harm a denebian fly. Confused, the young Jedi tamped down his foreboding and instead opened his mouth to introduce himself. He was interrupted, however, by a frantic beating of wings and suddenly he stood face to face with a hovering, winged blue creature who reminded, him, oddly, of a faint childhood memory of Qui-Gon's grandfather.
Ignoring the boy for the moment, Obi-Wan took a stab in the dark. "Watto?" he guessed correctly, and the creature's eyes narrowed as he took in the new arrival.
"Yes? What do you want?" His voice was oddly grating, and his hands twitched involuntarily as he hovered at Obi-Wan's eye level.
"Obi-Wan Kenobi," the Padawan offered, eyes glinting as he steeled himself for what he was about to do, "and I'd like to speak with you," and with a glance toward the boy he added, lower, "privately about a wager you made … "
OOOOOOOOOO
Delian Ani-Suru didn't usually frequent the tiny town of Mos Espa – but then, she didn't usually place bets on the Boonta Eve podraces, either, and she had most unfortunately done that very thing. Consequently, she owed her old friend Jabba the Hutt a serious sum of money. But credits were something that Delian had in large supply – mainly from betting on the Demolition games – and so while paying Jabba off pinched her pride slightly, it didn't do much damage to the considerable wealth the Corellian had managed to amass through her "business dealings."
Delian smoothed down her tan jumpsuit and tugged experimentally on the blaster at her thigh, assuring herself that she could draw it out without any trouble. Being Corellian, hereditarily her modified blaster was merely an extension of her body – much like, she assumed, a Jedi's lightsaber, though in truth she'd never met a Jedi warrior to test the theory and she and the Force had had a mutual parting a long time ago.
Paying off Jabba wasn't the only thing that had brought her to Mos Espa. Delian had flown well in the last series of Demolition races, and had spent much of her reward on a new, incredibly souped-up Z-95 Headhunter. Unfortunately, she'd been less than controlled on her initial run with it, but there was one dealer in Mos Espa who carried pretty much anything mechanical one wanted to get their hands on.
Hmm.
Delian had to amend her last thought as she entered Watto's shop: not only mechanical, she mused with a smirk. She took a discreet moment to survey the only other patron of the shop, and discovered that words couldn't even begin to adequately describe the perfectly … luxurious … individual who stood in back lot, practically glowing under the suns' caress, haggling with Watto.
"Hi, Delian."
Reluctantly, Delian broke off her visual sampling and redirected her attention to the young boy idling listlessly behind the counter.
"Hello, Anakin." Her dusky eyes darted a glance back toward the Toydarian and his customer. "Who's with Watto?" she asked curiously.
Anakin Skywalker shrugged, his small shoulders jerking upward. "He came in this morning. I don't know who he is."
"Well," Delian murmured speculatively, her thoughts already lightyears ahead, picturing irresistibly adorable children and grandchildren, "perhaps I should find out,"
"Delian?"
The utter anguish in the boy's voice reluctantly tore the Corellian once again from her approving and very thorough perusal of the man deep in discussion with Watto. Turning, she focused carefully on the boy, his dejected appearance so far from his normal cheerful demeanor she realized that she must have been truly distracted to not have noticed it already. "What is it, sweetheart?"
"I lost the race yesterday," Anakin admitted sorrowfully, and Delian grinned in relief and chucked his chin lightly. She knew Anakin was better off than most slaves in Mos Espa, lucky enough to work in a shop he loved for a master who was less harsh than many here.
"So did I, kiddo. An unpleasantly large sum, too, if I may add." Delian leveled a serious look at the upset child. "It's nothing to worry over, Anakin," she assured calmly. "There'll be more races. Your pod's intact, and I know for a fact that Watto was betting a rather hefty share on Sebulba – who wins because he cheats, of course. So … you're alive, Watto's probably rolling in credits right now, you can race again if you want - and you played fair." She deliberately didn't mention the Demolition games, where cheating was the only way to stay alive, much less win. "You've lost before, so what's the problem?"
Not reassured, Anakin's expression, if possible, fell even further. "Someone else was betting on me," he admitted. "Someone important, Delian – he was a Jedi."
Delian's lips twisted. "Jedi, huh? Well in that case, I wouldn't worry too much about it, kid – I'm sure his all-powerful 'Force' will find another way to get what he needs. Now … how about what I need? Watto got any reverse power couplings for a Z-95 Headhunter?"
Anakin brightened immediately. "You've got a Z-95?" he asked excitedly. "That's so wizard!" His tiny face scrunched as he thought for a moment. "Should … yeah. I can ask Watto. Just a sec – "
"Never mind," Delian lifted a hand to forestall Anakin's forward movement. Risking another glance into the occupants of the back lot, she let a slow, lopsided smile cross her face. "I'll ask him."
There was a slight saunter to her stride as she made her way into the bright morning and advanced determinedly toward Watto. Ignoring the conversation already in progress – decorum meant blissfully little to the Corellian – she tapped the man's shoulder, grinning in delight at the flash of irritation that sprung to perfectly lovely eyes as a beautifully-spoken sentence died on his lips.
"Excuse me," Delian told the young man, before directing her attention to Watto – as difficult as it was, standing next to his delectable patron. "Watto … " She switched to a local dialect, "(I need reverse power couplings for a Z-95 Headhunter … and who's this? Does he speak Huttese?)"
Watto, looking grateful to suspend whatever negotiations he was in the midst of haggling, lifted his shoulders in a shrug. "(He's an offworlder. He's spoken Basic since he arrived.)"
Delian smiled, feeling secure that her words could not be interpreted by the offworlder. "(He's gorgeous. What's he in for? Something I could supply?)"
"Excuse me," Obi-Wan interrupted, forsaking diplomacy for the moment as he automatically translated the conversation and the direction it was taking. "I'm terribly sorry to intrude, Miss, uh – "
"Delian Ani-Suru," she supplied, and shivered delightedly when he repeated it back to her in that flawless Core World accent.
"But I have much to do and I'm in a bit of a hurry," he continued apologetically. "And," he added, blue-grey eyes sparkling with a trace a humor, "I'm sorry, but I don't think you could supply it."
Delian grinned gleefully, not ashamed in the slightest that he had indeed interpreted her earlier question. "I'm sorry too, sweetheart," she said ruefully, then added, "but don't be so sure."
OOOOOOOOOO
Obi-Wan watched absently as Watto fluttered off to locate the parts that the woman had requested, and then directed his attention to the woman herself. She was small, but not overly so and probably not very much older than he, with blond hair shortened just under her multi-pierced ears. She sported an abundance of freckles, warm but cautious brown eyes – and a heavily modified personal blaster.
Watto returned with the necessary parts and Obi-Wan offered the woman a smile as she blew him a self-satisfied kiss and turned to go, suppressing an involuntary tingle in his spine. The Force was prodding him, but he couldn't pinpoint what exactly he was meant to do. His eyes distractedly tracked her confident stride until she disappeared from sight, and then with a tired sigh, he returned to the Toydarian.
Dealing with Watto certainly wasn't the most unpleasant thing Obi-Wan had ever had to do in his young life, but as he regarded the blue creature nervously flitting about, stroking his chin as he pondered Obi-Wan's proposal, the Jedi couldn't help but wonder how it was, exactly, that Qui-Gon always managed to choose the most annoying lifeforms to deal with – or adopt, he added with a grimace, thinking of the Gungan Jar-Jar Binks. Though, he supposed, it was quite possibly Qui-Gon's penchant for pitiful strays that had led him to accept Obi-Wan himself as his Padawan-learner.
Watto was still hesitating and muttering, and Obi-Wan didn't have all day. One light eyebrow quirked. "Well?"
"I don't know … " Watto said slowly. "It could be a huge risk … "
"Watto," Obi-Wan said, impatient now because of lost time, "You won a great deal of money on the podrace – and with this deal, you stand to make a lot more. Of course, I could always take my proposal … elsewhere. Perhaps Miss Ani-Suru would be willing … " Obi-Wan wondered if he'd pushed too hard when alarm flared in the Toydarian's bulbous yellow eyes, but Watto abruptly snatched the datapad from Obi-Wan's fingers and shook it in the young Jedi's face.
"There will have to be some changes. And I need a seal … from the other party," Watto warned. Obi-Wan closed his eyes and felt carefully along the link he shared with his Master – a bond that, up until now, he'd been steadfastly ignoring in favor of the business at hand.
"He'll be here any minute," he assured, wondering why, when he should be breathing a sigh of relief that his plan had worked, was he suddenly tense and cold with dread?
He and Watto worked through the changes the Toydarian demanded and had just finished when Qui-Gon Jinn stormed through the door a few moments later, midnight eyes alighting on his calm apprentice standing with the perpetually nervous junk dealer. He looked, Obi-Wan realized, much more careworn and tired than the day before and the Padawan couldn't help but feel a stab of pity as he regarded his master. They would all, he realized, have to deal with consequences of choices made on Tatooine – and some choices being made this very moment.
"Obi-Wan?" It was a dozen questions all compacted into one word – a name.
Obi-Wan retrieved the datapad from Watto and pressed it into his Master's large hands.
"Authorize this," he requested evenly. "It'll get transport to Coruscant."
Qui-Gon's eyebrows shot up as he scanned the exorbitant sum listed, but he was so grateful that Obi-Wan – good, capable Obi-Wan – had somehow taken care of everything that without thinking, he pressed his thumb to the datapad, sealing the deal. Obi-Wan handed the pad to Watto, murmured a few words to the junk dealer, and strode from the shop, his Master trailing a few paces behind. Obi-Wan glanced over his right shoulder and waited until Qui-Gon drew even with him; there would be questions, arguments, that would follow, but for now he just sighed in weary relief that his initial job was complete.
Qui-Gon's bleak expression had lifted slightly, and it warmed the Padawan's heart. He sighed gratefully when a large hand clamped on his shoulder – a sign of a task well done. And if the personal price was a steep one, well, it could be – would be – endured, even if his solution to their problem went against a lifetime of training.
For the moment though, he could pretend that everything was all right, that he and Qui-Gon were getting along as they always should, that his Master was proud of his often inadequate Padawan. His idyllic moment, however, died when he was forced to answer his Master's next question.
"What'd you offer, Padawan? I could sell you for that much," Qui-Gon teased affectionately, with a wan smile.
Obi-Wan smiled humorlessly. "You just did."
OOOOOOOOOO