Chapter 2: The Saviour and Survivor

Tatooine: 32 BBY

The day was the same as any other for nine-year-old Anakin Skywalker. He had awoken early, and eaten a meagre meal before saying a quick goodbye to his mother and departing for Watto's mechanic shop. It was the same routine he followed day after day in a never ending cycle. The same twin suns glared down upon the planet in much the same way slave masters glared at their slaves, and the same hot sand burned through the thin soles of his boots, making Anakin's feet hurt with every step he took.

Every day was bland, boring, and meaningless as the young boy lived his life in service to another. He'd learned to stop caring long ago, and merely went through the motions on autopilot, no better than a droid. Today was no different. Anakin worked until he was told to stop by the blue toydarian who called himself 'Master.'

Watto was the one who owned both Anakin and his mother, holding their lives in his money grubbing hands, and who owned the mechanic shop at which Anakin spent most of his days. At least Watto called it a mechanical shop, but it was little more than a junkyard. It was full of broken things that could be made useful again as long as there was someone who cared enough to do so. That was Anakin's job. He was good at fixing things, always had been. The things that couldn't be fixed were sold to any fool too stupid or desperate to know better.

Anakin spent time repairing bits of machinery, and watching the shop whenever Watto was busy trying to swindle any customer he had. As the day passed, and the suns began their descent to the horizon a heavy weight settled on the city of Mos Espa. The air grew still, and any movement seemed to be muffled. There was a storm coming.

It was the season when sandstorms were a near constant thing so any local knew to expect them, and most could predict their arrival with varying degrees of accuracy. The old woman, Jira, always seemed to know when a storm was imminent. She always warned Anakin to get home safely if he happened to pass her during those times. What she didn't know was that Anakin usually knew of bad weather long before she did. He couldn't explain how he knew so long in advance, and he kept his mouth shut about it. Besides, it was nice to know there were a few kind people who cared about more than themselves.

"Boy!" Watto's loud voice interrupted the silence of the currently empty shop.

'Boy,' was what Watto called Anakin. The toydarian never called him by his name. Slaves weren't people after all.
Anakin looked up from the counter he had been working at, although his hands never stopped moving, as he continued to reassemble some previously defective piece of technology. Long ago he had learned the value and importance of multitasking.

"Yeah?" He asked Watto.

His Master narrowed his eyes at the casual way the slave addressed him, although it was nothing unusual. Anakin liked to test the limits of how much he could get away with. Children had a lot more leeway than adults. Even slave children. As long as he never forgot what the relationship between himself and Watto was, he could get away with some small acts of rebellion. It was somewhat twisted but Anakin liked watching Watto trying to decide if the boy before him was taunting him on purpose, or if his actions were typical of that of a human child. In the end, Watto was too lazy to bother punishing his slaves, unless it was an extreme circumstance.

Watto was far from the worst master. Anakin still bore the scars from his time with Gardula the Hutt.

Grumbling under his breath, Watto said, "Clean up this mess. Then you can go home. Be quick about it, there's a blasted storm coming."

Even though Anakin had known this would probably happen, he exclaimed in jubilation. That meant he would have some spare time in which he could allow himself to do something which would make him forget his dull reality for a short while. He could do something which made him feel alive. For a few short hours, he could go home and imagine he was a normal person, a child who loved his mother and could be anything he wanted.

Anakin hated sand, but he loved sandstorms. They had a way of blurring out the rest of the world and the people in it. At that time, in the hut which he and his mother called home, they could imagine any life they wanted. They could do anything they wanted.

It took no time for the young slave boy to finish what he was doing, as anticipation surged through him and he looked forward to the possibilities of the evening. Within moments and with a hop, skip, and a jump, Anakin left Watto's shop for home.

Already he was thinking of working on the pod racer he was building for the upcoming championship. While there was no way he could work outside on it, during a sandstorm, he still needed to come up with a cool decal for it. He was thinking about something yellow.

The streets of the desert city were almost empty, and the few residents who were still out were aware of the incoming storm and hurried to find shelter. Among them, Anakin spotted Jira. She was packing up her small stand but seemed to be having some trouble. She was elderly, probably the oldest human to live in Mos Espa, which was a great accomplishment as people tended not to live long on Tatooine.

Seeing her struggle, and knowing how much Jira's bones ached during bad storms, Anakin hurried over to help her.

"Here, let me help you with that," Anakin said as he took a crate of supplies the old woman was trying to lift. It was almost too heavy for him, but he grit his teeth stubbornly and carefully carried it into Jira's small home. He thanked whatever miracle that had led Jira to the decision to locate her shop right outside her hut.

"Oh, thank you, Ani. You're so thoughtful." Jira offered Anakin a warm smile, which he returned. "You should hurry home quick. There's a storm coming. I would hate for you to get caught in it for my sake. Don't worry about me." The wrinkles on her face deepened as she expressed her worry.

Anakin felt a swell of appreciation for her. The only other person who cared this much about him was his mother. "Don't worry. I'm pretty fast at running, and the storm hasn't started yet. I can help, and with the two of us, we will be done twice as fast."

Jira looked unconvinced, although she was clearly trying not to show it. "Ani, your mother is probably worried."

Anakin pouted. He didn't like being treated like a child who couldn't take care of himself. "Please? Mom says the biggest problem with the universe is that no one helps each other. Let me help, so I don't have to worry about you okay?"

The old woman's face softened and her eyes twinkled. "All right, all right." She exclaimed throwing her hands up in surrender. "You're quite stubborn, aren't you? Quickly then, let's get my things in the house."

Sure enough, the work was completed in no time, even though a task which was enough for a healthy adult to have found a challenge was done by an elderly woman with fragile bones, and a young boy who wasn't yet tall enough to stand above his mother's hip.

When they finished, the first of the winds had begun, sending loose sand in low wisps across the road.

"Here you go, dear." Jira handed two pallies to Anakin. "This is my thanks for helping out. Share these with your mother when you get home."

"Wow! Thanks!" Anakin threw his arms around the woman in a hug. When he pulled away, he wore a serious expression on his face. "I didn't help so I would get a reward."

Jira gave the boy another warm smile. "I know dear. You're a good boy. I gave them to you because I wanted to."

"You're sure?"

"Yes, dear. Now run along home before the storm does start." This time Jira's voice allowed no argument.

"All right. Bye Jira! Stay safe." With that, Anakin rushed off toward the outskirts of the town where he and his mother lived.

He'd nearly made it when he paused mid-step. Something was wrong. There was a strange pressure in his head. It was the same kind of feeling he had when he knew there was going to be a sandstorm. It was an unexplainable thing, and without understanding how or why he had this knowledge, he merely accepted it without question. Anakin's strong intuition had saved him many times, like when he was pod racing and he knew when how to react to surprise attacks and hidden obstacles, whom to avoid in crowded places, or who was going to win or lose in a gamble. However, the sensation he had now, while still similar, was also vastly different.

For a moment Anakin considered ignoring the odd feeling. What had always felt like a loose suggestion now seemed like a specific direction. He could just be imagining it, or it could be a warning that the incoming storm was going to be exceptionally bad.

Anakin took a few more steps before he stopped again.

Something was telling him to pay attention, to listen to his feelings, and he did. Closing his eyes, he focused on the sensation that was bothering him, and the more he focused a thought became clearer in his mind. Someone could be in trouble nearby. No, someone was in great trouble. Somewhere not far from where he was. Somewhere in the desert.

Opening his eyes, Anakin glanced out across the endless expanse of sand, but he saw nothing other than the dark cloud of dust which was the approaching storm.

The boy looked back in the direction of his home. He knew he should go back, his mother was probably worried about him already. The more Anakin hesitated, the more he felt the urge to head into the desert, even though he knew all too well how dangerous it could be.

In the end, Anakin turned to walk into the desert with the raging storm in front of him, and a mysterious force pushing him from behind. After all, Anakin had never been one to ignore his feelings, and he had never let fear control him.

At first, he had only intended to go a little way, and if he couldn't see anything or anyone, he would turn around and go home to safety. His mother didn't deserve to worry. But the longer Anakin went, the force pushing him onward grew stronger. More and more he found himself muttering, 'Just a little farther.' Something out here was going to change his life.

The wind was getting more severe, and the sky was darkening as the sandstorm and Anakin approached each other. His heart pounded in his chest as if it was trying to escape as the raging squall of sand closed in faster with every passing moment.

There was a cave somewhere nearby. He'd found it when he'd explored the area surrounding his and his mother's hut years ago. If he could find it now, he could take shelter inside until the weather returned to normal. Was there enough time to search for it, or would he die out here?

The idea of entering the desert during a sandstorm to find someone who may or may not exist, who may or may not be in danger had seemed heroic, but it was ludicrous. What had seemed like a life changing adventure was beginning to seem like a ridiculous fantasy of a naive child. The bleak reality of the situation filled Anakin with doubt and shame. People died in sandstorms all the time because they had grown overconfident and reckless. He'd looked down on those who died and thought himself to be more practical. Now here he was, risking his life like a fool.

Anakin looked around, trying to get his bearings, and seeking out the cave in which he could hide. It was this action that revealed the something he had been searching for. Through the blowing sand, he glimpsed a strange and jagged shape protruding from the ground.

"What the kriff is that?" Anakin wondered aloud. He was sure nothing like that had been out here before. As he progressed closer to the thing that had appeared as little more than a shadow, it revealed itself to be a horrible broken and battered starfighter.

This was what the feeling, the mysterious force had been trying to push him towards. He was sure. The doubt he had felt moments before was forgotten.

Looking upon the wreckage of what had surely been a great piece of spacefaring technology sent shivers through the young boy. Logic told Anakin nothing should have been able to survive a crash like this. Burns along the outside of the fighter that had been caused on entry into the atmosphere. It was likely it had been damaged somewhere outside of the planet's orbit. Even if the pilot had managed to crash closer to civilization (if you could call anywhere on Tatooine civilized) someone might have had the empathy to try and help before simply just stripping the fighter for parts, it would have been too late. The young slave had listened to enough deep space pilots to know the statistics of surviving the initial crash from above the atmosphere were nearly non-existent.

Yet with what seemed like an obvious conclusion, Anakin stood before the destruction and knew with unquestionable certainty that whoever was within was still alive. He wouldn't let this crippled metal shell become their tomb.

Circling the debris and wreckage, Anakin found himself next to the cockpit. The window was dark, which was unusual, but not unheard of. Usually, fighters with tinted glass were used for stealth or assassination missions. It was for people who liked to watch, but not be seen themselves. These kinds of people were usually rich or were backed by somebody rich as fighters like this was expensive. The people who piloted ships like this were almost always some of the most dangerous and ruthless beings to exist. Especially on Tatooine where everyone was dangerous.

Somewhere behind that darkness, deep inside was a person. Anakin got the distinct impression that someone was crying out a challenge to death itself, daring it to take the life which was always so hard to give up.

Before he knew what he was doing, Anakin was working to pry open the cockpit. The release had been damaged and despite the urgency that thrummed through his veins, the young boy stayed calm and withdrew his plasma cutter from his belt. It was a useful tool, and most people on the planet carried one with them. Anakin was no exception.

With the expertise that came from years of experience, Anakin made quick work of the ruined cockpit. With a harsh push, the door opened, and Anakin didn't know whether to cry out in relief or horror.

There, lying unconscious was a male Zabrak. His skin was as red as blood and his face was patterned in black tattoos. Without having to look, Anakin knew they covered the stranger's entire body. A crown of horns wreathed his head in bone, completing a demonic look that made Anakin shiver. While he'd heard of the natives of a planet called Dathomir, he'd never seen one. Skipping the obvious appearance, however, Anakin noticed the fresh blood which blended in with the man's crimson skin and seeped into black robes, making them even darker.

The front of the starfighter had crumpled in on itself, causing the Zabrak's legs to be crushed and completely severed. Anakin had seen such things happen in pod races, although typically the pilots had never lived to mourn the loss of their limbs. Resisting the urge to vomit, and refusing to look at where the Dathomiran's legs should have been, Anakin uncertainly reached out and placed two fingers on the man's neck, feeling for a pulse.

Although he could feel that this person was somehow still alive, he needed to confirm it with a sense he understood. Sure enough, Anakin felt a gentle throb in the Zabrak's neck, although it was weak, it was there.

With the sandstorm imminent, and adrenaline pumping through his blood giving him a boost in energy, Anakin tried to exert his maximum strength to pull the pilot free. It was almost too much, even though he was only lifting half the Zabrak, he was still heavy. By the time Anakin had the male adult pulled completely free, he was panting with exertion. He was only a child after all.

However, Anakin had no time to rest. With no more time for hesitation, he began to drag the unconscious pilot across the desert, leaving a trail of blood which was quickly hidden by sand which was blown by an ever-increasing wind.

It wasn't long before he couldn't see anything, and sand blew into his eyes, nose, and mouth. Yet he continued to pull the wounded Zabrak along with him.

Following an unseen path that his feet seemed to know, Anakin eventually stumbled backward into the safety of the very cave he had hoped to find earlier. Surprised by the sudden lack of wind resistance, the bite of sand, combined with sheer exhaustion, Anakin fell to the floor of the rocky cavern, glad to know he wouldn't die surrounded by sand. Not yet. He hoped his unlikely companion hadn't died yet either.

With that thought, Anakin scrambled up again fearing that the stranger had died. Somehow the man's chest still rose and fell. He was still breathing, but for how long Anakin was unsure. He had to do something. Pushing all his emotions and unnecessary thoughts aside, Anakin did his best to remember everything he'd ever learned about healing and first aid.

His mind calmed, despite the raging storm just outside. This was how he felt when he worked on machines. Tranquil and focused, he was a shelter of peace among the chaos. The body of flesh is still a machine in its way after all.

The night passed for Anakin in a trance-like quality as he attempted to save the stranger's life. His methods were crude and he knew it. It was a miracle the crippled man did not die from the inexperienced boy's attempt to save his life, but it seemed to work. Somehow the half-man continued to draw breath.

First Anakin cleaned the wounds where the Zabrak lost his legs. This wound was the most serious, and most life-threatening since there was so much blood loss. Anakin heated his limited supply of water with his plasma cutter to sterilize the area of injury and was thankful the Zabrak remained unconscious so he did not struggle against the pain. As Anakin worked, he noticed that looking at the gory remains of the man's legs no longer made him want to wretch as it did earlier. Now he looked at it with a detached attitude, clinically as he would when he looked at something he needed to fix in Watto's shop. As he cauterized the stumps of where legs had once been, the stench of burning flesh filled the hot air. It did not bother him.

Anakin worked deep into the night and continued to trim torn tissue, and crushed bone until there is nothing more he could do. No one should have been able to survive Anakin's clumsy attempt to help, but somehow the Zabrak had. The slave suspected the stranger's desire to live had played a great part in his survival.

Finally, more tired than Anakin had ever been, he emerged from his trance-like state. The sandstorm still howled and rampaged just beyond the entrance of the cave, and Anakin had enough energy left in his exhausted mind to pray to whatever force was out there, that his mother would stay safe, and would not venture out into the sandstorm looking for him.

When the chaos ended, he would return home.

Listen, somehow Darth Maul survived being cut in half be Obi-Wan in cannon, so even though boi should have died, he survives being blasted out of space and a crash because he's to cool to die. So in honor of that, stay cool and don't die.