A/N: Obi-Wan is done putting all his eggs in one basket.
Episode II: Delegating Destiny
(I)
"-. Shmi Skywalker .-"
Shmi's day ended in slavery to Se-Lippa and began in slavery to a foreign child-noble that promptly designated her his local expert on slumming. After winning her in a game of sabacc. Which he barged in on uninvited even though it involved both Gardulla Besadii the Elder and Jabba Desilijic Tiure, two hutts on a mutual hate trigger that a twelve year-old boy should have stayed at least sector away from. Especially a darling child so richly dressed it was a wonder he wasn't kidnapped for ransom the moment he set foot on the planet. The boy gleamed in the sun. Literally gleamed, it was actually painful to look at him too long, his clothing was so immaculately white that it reflected the twin sunlight like glass-coated limestone. With his hair like red gold and eyes blue like the sky peeking out amidst that radiance, Shmi almost mistook him for an angel.
But no, he was some thrill-seeking Mid-Rim child royal out to gamble with arconans and hutts in the Outer Rim. And winning. Somehow. Gambled for her. Though probably just incidentally. Then again, she was apparently worth a class 2 hyperdrive, but that probably spoke more of Obi-Wan Kenobi's talking skills than Shmi herself. While she was slightly valuable for her technical skills, she wasn't particularly remarkable otherwise, certainly not important enough to have been there for the bidding. She technically didn't even witness the aftermath. She certainly heard it, though, when her new owner's giant knight in shining armor broke off in the middle of the street to deal with Gardulla's hired goons two streets over. She would approve of the man's dedication if he weren't so irresponsible as to enable the child's flagrant risk-taking.
"Such poor sportsmanship," mused her little master with a disappointed glance towards the screams of pain. "Silly tantrums like this are why Jabba won't need more than ten years to destroy Gardulla's entire empire. I understand you're something of a repairwoman?"
Shmi took the flighty change of subject in stride. She dreaded whatever reason had Gardulla on a vendetta against him but it was not her place to ask. "I am a fair mechanic, yes." Se-Lippa certainly thought so, enough to renege on her late sister's wish to see Shmi freed. Even though Pi-Lippa was the one who taught Shmi all her mechanical skills in the first place. Or perhaps because of it.
"Excellent. I'll be counting on you to see our machinery through the sand's inevitable war of attrition while we're out in the Jundland Wastes."
Shmi was immediately alarmed. "You plan to go where?"
"The Jundland Wastes."
Obi-Wan Kenobi must translate to madman. "Young Master, I must advise against this. Whatever whim drives you cannot be so important to risk death by heatstroke." Never mind thirst, dehydration and Tuskens raiding them while they were freezing to death in the middle of the night.
"Never fear, we won't be out overly long, only a month or two."
A month or – sand storms occurred weekly! "I feel I must protest!" Too late she realized how out of line she was to question her owner.
But Obi-Wan just waved her off. "Worry not, my retainers will provide all requisite resources and training."
Resource – training – was no one chaperoning this child?
Apparently not, Shmi realized with dismay when the 'knight' returned and proceeded to stay too steps behind the child's shoulder at all times all the way to the edge of Bestine. There, Shmi was introduced to the most eclectic crew of beings that inexplicably deferred to the child even though they were clearly his elders and betters in every meaningful way. Were they slaves like her?
"Shmi, these are Borg, our armorer and navigator, Barn, our chronicler and quartermaster, and Beast, our ball of sunshine." The giant bodyguard suddenly stepped into Obi-Wan's space and threw his cloak out to shield him from a sudden sandblast before stepping back. "And you've met my knight Boar of course." Borg, Barn, Boar and a pet named Beast, that was a child's idea of subtlety alright, stars have mercy. "Everyone, this is Shmi Skywalker. Do treat her right."
"Of course, Master Obi-Wan," said the droid. "If it pleases you, we can proceed to our guide's home now. Hosting us seems to have rendered him far less reluctant to acquiesce to your requests, just as you had foreseen."
A giant armored bodyguard that only spoke when spoken to. An enforcer droid large enough to handle the man if he strayed. A positively enormous tree man huddled in the speeder like cargo half-way to catching fire. A lagomorph that made not a sound of distress even though its mood fur was turning from white to grey as it watched her with the big, soulful eyes of a creature at peace with pain.
You can know a man by the company he keeps, the power he exerts, and the way he treats his pets. Jira's words rung in Shmi's mind like a death knell. Obi-Wan was not the cheerful child he pretended to be, Shmi realised with a pang of dread. As she watched Boar bend his knee in the sand and hold out a hand for Obi-Wan to step onto the speeder, 'treat her right' had never sounded so sinister. That Boar stayed down to help her climb aboard did not make her feel any better. For a mad moment, she wanted to run despite the control rod in Obi-Wan's possession and the chip inside her flesh.
She didn't. She let herself be hoisted onto the speeder even as 'rendered him less reluctant to acquiesce'sounded over and over in her mind.
She settled in for what turned out to be a two hours long ride all the way to the edge of the Great Chott Salt Flat. Borg drove the speeder, Boar stayed silent across from her, Barn quietly sweltered, and Beast spent the ride curled up against her side – did Obi-Wan really name his pet 'Beast'? Obi-Wan, who spent the ride taking a nap. A nap! Under the scorching suns at midday without even a measly hood to his name, it was unconscionable, did none of these people know anything about surviving in the desert?
"Is he going to be alright like this?" She couldn't in good conscience remain silent.
"Unfortunately," Boar grunted. It was exactly the answer she'd expect from a slave who wished to be rid of his master but didn't have it in him to take steps himself. But he didn't sound bitter or hateful, he sounded fond. "Says he draws power from the sun. After a week of his pale complexion not betraying him to unholy sunburn, I can't even argue with him anymore."
So there wasn't temperature control or life support built into his clothes? Shmi inspected Obi-Wan's attire more carefully now that Barn and Boar provided him some manner of shade. Jacket and trousers made of a fabric with the highest thread count she'd ever seen, all woven out of some manner of natural fiber of a purer white than the brightest quartz. Over them he wore a long sleeved coat made of some manner of suede, every bit as immaculate. There were none of the extravagant seams or patterns Shmi would have expected, but the quality of the material was fit for royalty, and the laces, buttons and slide fasteners were made with some silvery wood she first mistook for platinum. She'd hoped the quality meant he had some manner of temperature regulating device in there somewhere, the coat was certainly loose enough to have room, but that was apparently not the case.
So now she had to worry over her latest owner dying of heatstroke while feeling conflicted and guilty over not being sure if she was being as compassionate as she should towards someone she suspected of hiding a darker character. Boar's claim of arguing with their owner was about as promising as signs got, but how a master treated a warrior three times his size didn't necessarily speak of how he would treat a plain woman of no martial skill who hasn't earned his favour through… whatever means. She dearly wanted to sound out the others on their feelings and experiences, but she knew better than to do it with their owner right there. Fortunately, Obi-Wan seemed willing to let them act independently to a borderline naïve degree, so she should get the chance for a private word sooner or later.
Hopefully they weren't all locked to a dead man's switch within a distance of him on pain of exploding from the inside. It wouldn't be much different from how slaves on Tatooine were prevented from escaping the settlement limits.
Her chance came much later than sooner. First was the arrival to what turned out to be a moisture farm at the very fringes of Tatooine's settled zone, much closer to Anchorhead than Bestine in fact, which made Shmi wonder why Obi-Wan was in Bestine to begin with. He could have just landed in Mos Eisley and come down from there. And yet his scraped and modded YT-series freighter was parked all the way out there, at the edge of a moisture farm. Then again, none of the locals in the cities were brave enough to make their living so close to any of the Jundland passes, and the Lars homestead was practically at the Wastes' mouth.
Shmi was the last to get out of the speeder, hanging behind and re-doing her roughspun head scarf while watching Obi-Wan lead the group to greet their host. Not the elderly couple seated under the retractable awning, but the younger man talking to a Mandalorian, of all things.
Cliegg Lars was a grumpy moisture farmer who'd never wanted to be a farmer and in fact had fled the planet, sector and Rim altogether to seek his fortunes in the Core. He'd actually done fairly well for himself and even found a wife in Aika of the planet Ator, with whom he had a son called Owen. Unfortunately, Aika died and left a devastated Cliegg behind as an only father. The man had only recently returned to Tatooine and made amends with his father Lef and mother Gredda, just in time to take over the family farm that they were straining to keep afloat in their old age. All of which was relayed to Shmi by Borg before she could get over her distraction enough to scold him for making her party to such an unconscionable breach of privacy.
The droid dutifully apologised and went forward to be introduced to the family, which made Shmi wonder about Obi-Wan's character all over again. She also wondered why Obi-Wan wanted this man in particular as his guide in the Wastes. Perhaps he already agreed with her that locals would just flatly refuse the job on account of not wanting sand people killing them in their sleep.
Feeing at loose ends but not about to insert herself where she was uninvited, Shmi turned to the speeder and set about her job. She was just finishing her check of the motivator when a shadow fell over her.
"The redheaded stepchild says you're shy, that true or is he trying to set me up?"
Shmi suppressed her laughter, but not her hidden smile. "I am no more shy than every other woman." Relatively speaking. Shmi rose and turned to face the man. "Set you up how?"
"Still trying to figure that out." The man huffed. Shmi realised that without Boar to skew her perception, Cliegg Lars was actually quite tall. Broad too. Strong and solid. "I just know it's gotta be some kind of setup 'cause everything else has been one. Last week my biggest worry was getting Owen to quiet down long enough to get through Pa's ledger. Then this kid comes in, his droid does my paperwork in an hour, he makes Ma and Pa fall in love with him by telling them better stories than any I ever came up with, and I can't even tell him to go bother someone else with his unquenchable thirst for suicidal adventure because that's when his tree man comes in saying he doubled our harvest in one afternoon. Now I've gotta leave Owen with Ma full time 'cause I've my hands full keeping a depressed bounty hunter from committing suicide by dehydration because she can't go a day without working herself into an exhausted, sweaty pile of misery. And when she's not doing that she's outright crying, only I can't do anything about it because she pretends she's not and it's driving me nuts!"
The constant drum of 'rendered him less reluctant to acquiesce' at the back of Shmi's mind finally ceased. She almost sagged from the relief.
The man mistook her reaction as being caused by his outburst and cleared his throat awkwardly. "I hate to ask anything of guests, but you think you can help me out? I'm at wit's end with that damn woman."
Shmi Skywalker studied this man before her who was strong and gruff and wore his kindness on his sleeve. It was… the most charming thing she'd ever seen. "Of course." She sprayed her hands with solvent and wiped the last grease off her palms, then held out her hand. "My name is Shmi Skywalker." Of the Skywalker star clan, even if the last freeborn with that name died with her mother.
"Right, sorry about that, I'm Cliegg Lars in case the bunch over there haven't told you." The man shook her hand but didn't let go, instead leading her towards the home. "And if you can get that woman out of my hair for just one afternoon, I'll owe you big time."
She didn't get to spend time with Arla Fett right away because it was almost dinner time. Lef and Gredda turned out to be a very welcoming couple, apologising profusely for not being able to fit all of them at the table, even after Boar said he'd eat later and took Borg to check the perimeter, and Barn assured them he preferred their underground greenhouse. Shmi got around to it afterwards though.
Not that she had much left to do. Cliegg Lars severely underestimated his ability to understand and manage a miserable woman, because Arla Fett turned out to already be over most of her moods. She was quite reticent with the details, which was to be expected in front of the latest of many strangers, especially when she was expecting a pickup off-planet, but Shmi was fairly certain that the worst was already behind her. Shmi was less certain about how she ended up accepting shooting lessons from the woman, but unless her new master had something to say about it she would seize the chance to learn such a useful skill with both hands.
It turned out to be just one of many skills she learned during their time out in the wild, and the only one without an ulterior motive behind it.
"-. .-"
The next two weeks were the most confusing time of Shmi's life. The journey confused her, the activities confused her, and above all else the people confused her. Which was no small feat considering that Obi-Wan had left his tree man and pet behind with Cliegg's parents at the farm. Speaking of whom, even Cliegg himself confused her after a while, when his choice to spend most of his time with her began to feel of more than 'us locals gotta band together against the crazies.' Shmi didn't know what she'd done to deserve so much more attention from the man, but she hoped he would confront her about whatever was driving him to scrutinise her so thoroughly. So far he'd only gone to Obi-Wan about whatever it was, and Shmi was sorely tempted to ask. Demand she be treated like enough of a person to have her own say in whatever they were discussing without her. But she was still wary about risking whatever boundaries Obi-Wan expected his slaves to respect. She was waiting for the right time to ask one of the others about it, but she wasn't willing to disturb the peace for it yet, not when it was still so young. Not when it was built on such shaky, unknown grounds.
Oni-Wan never said why they were trundling through the desert. On Tatooine. On foot. And after the first couple of days, Shmi had very little time to wonder about it regardless, because she was kept too busy. And not by repair work as she'd have thought, because everyone did their own equipment maintenance and the rest of their technology could be summarised as one lone hoversled they used to carry their supplies while they traipsed from dune to canyon and back. There was a slight uptick in busywork after the inevitable sandstorm, but it didn't last.
No, what kept her busy was Obi-Wan waking her at the break of dawn for training, and being told to rest during the day so that she could be kept up during the night for even more training. Few learning modules, even fewer mechanic modules, and a lot of physical training. Quite borderline intense physical training that should have been a death sentence in the desert. Especially a desert on a world so hot that only 1% of the planet's total surface was inhabitable to begin with. Add to that Arla Fett's continued blaster lessons against every beast in the Jundland Wastes that wasn't a krayt, and Shmi was quite frankly astonished she had any time to socialise and observe the others at all.
Unfortunately, her sources of insight were very limited. With two out of four being unavailable, she was left with the droid and Boar. The former had gently but firmly rebuffed her offers of maintenance, and its programing seemed very thoroughly coded to protect Obi-Wan's privacy. Shmi hadn't found a restraining bolt on it either, but it wouldn't be the first time a droid was built to make it hard to find.
Boar, meanwhile, was naturally taciturn, very focused on his duties and almost always busy. The man was very conscientious about making Obi-Wan eat at regular times. He was also very protective, always alert for danger and inconveniences. That time in Bestine when he put himself between the child and the sand was far from the last time. For his part, Obi-Wan didn't seem to mind the huge man taking up his personal space. It was obvious that Boar was as much a servant as he was a protector. A caretaker perhaps. A high-class slave with some sway over their owner.
Shmi wondered if the education and training she was getting was meant to test to see if she had what it took to enter that august company. It was very different to the responsibilities she'd had before, and she wasn't sure she liked it. Especially when you considered the social rank of her owner compared to her previous ones.
She had caught Boar alone a couple of times to ask questions, but the terrifying man had proven to be surprisingly cagey. His answer to yes or no questions came in grunts, and his answer to every nine out of ten proper questions was a variation of 'you should ask Obi-Wan.' Which was much easier said than done when she still hadn't demonstrated whatever threshold of nominal ability he clearly wanted to see from her. She yearned for the courage to explain to Obi-Wan that she was not suitable security detail material, but she hadn't forgotten enough of her life lessons as to dare broach the subject with her owner himself, not before she proved herself in some fashion. She didn't much want to find out what Obi-Wan did with failed slaves either.
Strangely, she somehow never became so fatigued as to collapse, even though she was expending more effort than during times when she was driven to exhaustion under her previous masters. She came close though, especially during the first week out there. Cliegg ended up attending to her instead of the other way around. Shmi couldn't decide if it was the sweetest experience of her life or the most galling. Cliegg knew the perfect way to treat a lady, but she fell well short of being a proper lady, and failure half as thorough as this had seen her starved and whipped in the past.
And she didn't even have an honest grudge to nurse because the mix of food and exercise made her feel healthier than ever, the martial form she was told to practice felt like what she imagined swimming would be like, and Obi-Wan was subjecting himself to even harsher training than anything she was put through.
That seemed to be the other half of Boar's role. While Obi-Wan commanded everything around him like one entitled to respect and obedience, he seemed to have given Boar complete authority over his physical development and was almost unnaturally compliant to the man's instruction on that front. Warmups, endurance, weightlifting (just short of what would be harmful to a growing boy, Boar assured), changing training hours and breaks, alternating days in sets of four, entirely different meal plans based on what he put Obi-Wan through on any given day. Shmi was seriously starting to think his training was the only reason they were out there at all, and the rest of them were just accessories. She didn't want to think Obi-Wan was the sort to be so callous about the lives dragged in his wake, especially so young and cheerful, but when was the last time a slaver cared about what was best for his slaves?
"When are you gonna tell us why we're out here?" Arla asked one evening while they were having dinner. That was another thing, the food they had brought was actually hearty and filling, literally the best that Shmi had ever eaten, and it wasn't just her life as a slave that made her say so. "So far it's been walking and sweating and screaming at the wind."
Boar had begun to lead Obi-Wan aside every fourth day and made him scream into the distance as loud and long as possible. For hours. Somehow, they weren't raided by sand people in retaliation. Then again, the noise could just be scaring them away. The screams shook the earth and rattled bones despite them being in the opposite direction. Shmi could almost swear she was beginning to see new waves and furrows in the sand when they returned.
"We are here to do exactly what we are doing," Obi-Wan replied, pointing at Arla with his spoon. "But if you are bored, you are always free to join me in my calisthenics."
"Yeah right," Arla scoffed. "I ain't crazy enough to try and keep up with a genetically engineered freak."
Was that was Obi-Wan was?
"I'm gonna bury you," Boar threatened the mando like he did at least once a day. "In the sand. Head-first. See if I don't."
"That's nice," Arla sneered, though tellingly she didn't dare him to prove it anymore. "And none of that answers my question."
"Limitations breed creativity," Obi-Wan said. "When you can't do something, you can think of a million things you could do if only you had the means. But once you have the means, those ideas slip away. Too many options lead you to do less."
So freedom weighs you down and chokes you? What a very slaver-like thing to say, Shmi thought in quiet horror. And it still wasn't an answer to Arla's question, but it had suitably discouraged further prodding.
Almost.
"Alright, so why am I here then?" Cliegg muttered around his spoon next to Shmi. "I've not been doing any guiding."
"Your time will come, goodman," said Obi-Wan as if he'd not just announced his horrifying philosophical stance on freedom. "In the meantime, I'll be counting on your boldness when we finally find our ever so skittish natives."
Boar and Obi-Wan's screaming had finally driven Cliegg Lars spare. The man had actually had the nerve to march into knight Boar's face and demand he promise to make sure Shmi would be protected when the Tuskens inevitably descended on their heads in the middle of the night because of all their racket. Shmi had never felt her heart fill with more fondness. That man knew how to treat a lady and had his priorities in order. Not that she'd sacrifice others to save herself, but it was the principle of the thing.
Obi-Wan took another mouthful of the delicious stew. "I'll be relying on your chivalry too, I hope you don't mind."
Cliegg looked between Obi-Wan and Shmi dubiously. Which said all Shmi needed to know about how her attempts to perform martial forms looked from the outside.
"You think I need him?" Arla scoffed, understanding something completely different. "And here I was ready to forget you're a kid."
"On account of your terribly tragic trauma, I am willing to let that go," Obi-Wan said with all the unmerciful sincerity Shmi still didn't seem to expect until it slapped her in the face. Obi-Wan addressed Cliegg next. "Don't hold it against her. Hurt people think they won't be understood if you don't have the same experience, and so they look down on everyone else who tries to be there for them as inexperienced."
"You dissing my experience, kid?" Arla spat.
"I think you forget that not all experiences are learning experiences. You still have not realised that in resenting him for not being able to relate to you, you are literally wishing suffering on him for trying to help you, instead of being glad that he has full command of his sanity and is therefore capable of sound advice."
Arla fell silent. Shmi was both awed and resentful at how differently Obi-Wan treated free people compared to slaves.
"Is that why we were banished?" The droid suddenly asked from where he was standing sentry nearby, and what was this now? Who would banish a droid? From what? Where? "Because the Masters could not relate to our experience?"
Or did it refer to all of them? If Obi-Wan was royalty, was he exiled royalty?
Obi-Wan briefly paused before lowering his spoon back down. "Aquinos completely lacked authorization for what he did. He took members of an unknown species whose life-cycle, culture and psychology was completely unknown, and handed you extremely potent knowledge, skills and secrets. He had no idea if any of you fit your species' equivalent of the age restrictions for the instruction he provided you, and he most definitely violated the 'one student per teacher' rule. He knowingly, deliberately and unrepentantly violated the rules, regulations and code of ethics of the organisation he had sworn to."
Unknown species? Shmi suddenly looked upon Borg with new eyes, and she wasn't the only one.
The droid was looking back, its optics strangely dim. "It was never put this way to us."
"Did you ask? Did he volunteer information? Did you even talk to him about it personally, or did you hear of it second-hand? Feelings were heightened at the time, some miscommunication clearly happened if you still view that situation in black and white terms."
"… I see," the droid sounded pensive. Like… Like a person, almost. "I will need to think about this."
The droid wasn't the only one who had to think about things. Shmi had a lot to think about too. So she did. She thought of it until she thought herself out. By the end of it, her mind was worn, exhausted and empty.
So empty that, for the first time since the very beginning, she welcomed the training and repetition of the martial art.
Her self-awareness expanded like she never knew it could. She could feel the last wafts of warmth on her back, the air brushing her hands, the cool burn in her lungs. She knew the sweat on her neck, the scent of sandblasted roughspun near and distant. She felt Cliegg Lars watching her from afar, his unashamed fascination, the weight of his gaze on her soul, the weight of her own on her. She felt Borg, and past his plates and circuits to the life within than she didn't know was there. Then she turned deep and inward as her spirit filled her body and spoke to her, of turmoil and peace and the stars that connected everything, death to life, choice to freedom, freedom to fear of becoming nothing from something. Flowing through all, there was balance. She was a person. Her name was Shmi Skywalker.
She had an explosive slave chip in the tendon near her hip.
She came back to herself with a gasp, her hand on her thigh, and Boar standing before her, large and faceless and with his hand held out.
"He's in the tent," Boar said with a tilt of his head, his voice low and encouraging. "He's waiting for you. Give him this while you're at it."
Shmi dazedly took the item Boar was holding out. It was Obi-Wan's absolutely irreplaceable thermos, the wellspring of life, the lone trove of true tea this side of the Hydian way, accept no substitutes.
She walked to the tent in a stupor and came to a halt just inside the tent flap, struck wordless with astonishment.
Obi-Wan was in the middle. Above his mat. Floating. His hands hovered one over the other in front of his chest. And between them was… Light.
A whirling vortex of brightness coalescing inward like hyperspace in reverse.
When his eyes opened, she couldn't see the blue she knew was there through the bright glow, for a moment.
Then he unfurled his legs, landing lightly on his feet. The light winked out, leaving a glinting chip of crystal behind for Obi-Wan to toss up and down like a coin. It gleamed in the darkness, every bit as immaculate as himself.
"You are ready for the the real lessons," said the child whose actions and behaviour suddenly came together into a completely different picture than the terrifying fantasy Shmi had painstakingly built inside her mind. "Vigor to maximise returns. Tutaminis to turn the heat into something useful. And of course…" Obi-Wan looked to and back from the spot on her thigh that her hand seemed to have become glued to. "Pain suppression."
Her breath caught.
Shmi had seen… so much darkness. She'd seen it, even lived it. So often she wondered what her life would be like if she hadn't been cursed to live where the Republic and the good that came with it didn't reach. So much she' hoped, she'd never stopped hoping that maybe, one day, her owners would stray into Republic space and she'd… be saved. She didn't want to imagine how many slaves held that same hope, or that one day the Republic would reach to the Outer Rim, and take those lawless territories. That one day someone would… and life on Tatooine would be…
Cliegg Lars was a most thoughtful man who groused all the time but did it from a place of love. Arla Fett was a traumatised woman pretending she wasn't completely rethinking her life because she was an elite bounty hunter. Borg was a droid who wasn't a droid. Boar was a warrior capable of taking on the worst of the hutts and their enforcers and break their spines with his bare fingers. And Shmi's new owner wasn't her owner. Her owner wasn't even a slaver. He wasn't a terrible monster hiding beneath a childish veneer.
Obi-Wan was a Jedi.
Obi-Wan Kenobi was a Jedi, and he was teaching her how to free herself.