Chapter 6: The Lost and the Found

Tatooine: 32 BBY

"Ignorant slimo!" Cursed Watto to no one in particular, as soon as the young man had stiffly vacated the shop. "Fool thinks he can magically wave his hands around and get whatever he wants." The toydarian spat in disgust and curled his lips in distaste. "Republic credits. Bah!"

Anakin turned to look out the door in the direction the outsider had gone. He'd been strange. The slave boy had known it since he'd first stumbled into the shop and laid eyes on the young man standing silhouetted by the backlight. At a first glance, he stood out no more than another person on a planet frequented by some of the galaxy's most undesirable. Tatooine was populated with all sorts of people from simple farmers to dangerous mercenaries and bounty hunters. On top of that, the Boonta Eve race had drawn in both participants and fans from many star systems to add to the variety.

However, this outsider stood out from the rest with stoic confidence that Anakin was unaccustomed to. On a planet where the only law was the law of the fittest, such an attitude was either a bluff used as intimidation, a sign of power that should not be questioned or sometimes both. But this person displayed his confidence naturally as if it was a part of him.

But perhaps that could have been because of the laser sword he carried on his hip, hidden under his poncho.

It had only been a glimpse, but for the second time in his life, Anakin had seen the signature weapon used by the Jedi. He'd seen the weapon when the man had lifted his arm to awkwardly wave back at him before following Watto outside. Immediately, Anakin had kept from the counter and he'd pressed himself next to the wall next to the exit they'd gone and watched the two exchange conversation.

Maybe if Anakin was lucky, he would be able to talk to the Jedi alone. Watto would only have to leave for a moment, and he could ask why the Jedi was here. Maybe to save the slaves? He could help somehow. After he and his mother were free they could leave this place, and he would become a Jedi too.

But even as he let his mind wander the familiar roads of long harboured dreams the face of the Zabrak entered his thoughts. The way his eyes flashed in rage when Anakin asked if he was a Jedi. Something had made the stranger hate the order of peacekeepers. For the first time, the boy who had grown up hearing epic tales of the Jedi's deeds wondered if they were the heroes he'd thought.

Watching the Jedi from his hiding place, Anakin had the chance to properly look at him. There was nothing that seemed malicious or violent about him. Short, lightly coloured hair with a touch of copper had been trimmed to a practical length except for a small ponytail at the back, and a long braid which hung from just behind the man's left ear. He still exhibited his natural confidence, although his posture had taken on a frustrated and somewhat disgusted rigidness.

Watto said something, and the Jedi frowned. He moved quickly, and for a moment Anakin thought the outsider was about to strike at the toydarian, but the movement was casual and ended up merely being a dismissive wave of his hand. Except it wasn't. It was more than that, powerful. It held command and for a moment Watto paused, then shouted something in response, but Anakin was too far away to hear clearly. The Jedi repeated the movement which only ended with Watto becoming more heated and pointing toward the shop.

Realizing they would be coming back this way, the slave abandoned his position and had just settled himself back where they'd left him when the Jedi stomped back into the room his lips thinned in barely concealed agitation. Watto followed behind, his wings beating furiously to keep up with the human.

"Come back if you ever have something real to spend," Watto called after the departing man sarcastically.

Anakin felt a sting of disappointment as he watched the Jedi depart without a backward glance. Logically he knew a Jedi coming to save him was unrealistic, but it had been a dream that he'd clung to. It had given him hope that his future would hold something better than a slave's life. But his first and maybe only chance had just walked out the door without even knowing he was there.

"Boy!" Barked Watto, "I didn't pay for ya to sit there and waste time all day. Get to work and tidy this place up."

Casting a final longing glance at the door, Anakin hopped down from the counter and started in on his new task. Stubbornly he pushed his despair away and reminded himself that he would not just give up. Jedi or no Jedi he would find a way to free himself and his mother. Maybe he couldn't have everything he dreamed of, but that didn't mean he would just accept being a slave forever. Hidden away at his home were the beginnings of a scanner he'd been working on to find his slave chip.

Once he found them, he would work out a way to remove them. He didn't need someone to save him or his mother, he would save them both. After that, he would find a way to save all the slaves. It would take time, and Anakin was not a patient child, but he would do what he had to no matter how long it took.

The rest of the morning hours stretched on, and Anakin was left to his thoughts which changed from the wounded Zabrak alone in the cave, to the Jedi, to his plans for the future. Occasionally he was interrupted by Watto telling him to be careful with this or that or to direct him with various merchandise. The merchant would frequently grumble about the 'ignorant slimo' and say something rude about customers who couldn't pay wasting his time.

"Remember boy, time is money." The toydarian would lecture from his seat and glare up from his datapad to make sure he was being listened to.

Giving a quick nod, Anakin would reply, "Yes sir."

The morning hours passed and the suns had just passed their highest point in the sky. Sweat rolled down Anakin's face and back as the heat of the day reached its climax. Yet the slave boy continued to work, showing no sign of discomfort as he expertly sorted through a heap of old pod display panels, detangling the mass of twisted wires as he went.

A fly buzzed loudly as it found its way into the shaded interior of the shop and did a few quick circles of the room. It landed briefly on the far wall before taking flight once more, apparently deeming its perch unsatisfactory. After another few rounds of the space, it seemed to find Watto the most appealing place to rest its fat body. The insect fell silent as it settled on the toydarian's shoulder. Flapping his wings in irritation, Watto dislodged the creature and the fly's constant dull droning filled the small shop once more. However, it was a persistent thing and was undeterred and once more landed. This time on the top of Watto's wrinkled head. Slapping at it, and missing entirely, the small pest retreated to the end of the counter to wait for its next opportunity.

For a minute there was peace in the small, dirty store until Watto grunted irritably and threw down his datapad with a clatter. The slave master turned his calculating gaze on Anakin, who did his best to ignore him. The toydarian continued to watch the boy for several more minutes and the fly made another attempt to land on Watto's sweaty flesh.

"Blast it!" Swore Watto, bringing down his meaty palm on the nuisance and still failing to kill it. The insect escaped to a position just out of reach and rubbed its legs together much the same way the merchant rubbed his fingers together when he spoke about money. "Enough of this! Boy! Finish up and go home. Stinking heat. Any more of this and I'll either melt or burn to a crisp, and I don't care to find out which."

Relief and excitement gave Anakin the energy he needed to jump to his feet in glee. "I've just finished sir!" He shoved the panels and wires hurriedly onto a shelf nearby, and if his master disapproved of the careless treatment of his stock he was either too hot or too lazy to care.

Waving his arm dismissively, Watto allowed Anakin to leave and the boy gave a quick exclamation of joy before darting out the door and onto the hot street.

Instinctively he began heading for home along the more shaded and less used roads he usually used. It was a longer route, but less dangerous. It was less dangerous for him anyway. Slaves could become targets to the more hot tempered who loitered on the main streets this time of day. Discomfort caused by the high temperatures made one short on patience and more likely to lash out. No matter how quick and street smart Anakin was, there was always danger on Tatooine.

But Anakin had not made it very far when a thought made him pause mid-stride. Two strangers carrying laser swords were on one of the farthest removed planets from the Republic at the same time, and Anakin's instincts told him it was not a coincidence. If he listened closely to the gossip on the street perhaps he would learn something about why a Jedi was trying to buy parts for a rare starfighter, and why the wounded stranger had crashed in the desert. Surely someone would know something or would have seen or heard of anything unusual. His side made up, Anakin turned down the short street that would lead him to the wider, hotter and more dangerous main road.

It was less busy than it had been during Anakin's desperate attempt to make it to work that morning, yet that did not mean the thoroughfare was empty either. The merchants had long settled into their places, and the kiosks were covered with cloth or bantha hide to provide as much shade as possible. Already these precious areas were crowded with people in an attempt to take cover from the searing wrath of the suns. Vehicles and animals rumbled along sporadically driven by their masters with a groggy kind of haste that roused a few shouts of emotionless criticism from the few pedestrians that found themselves in the way.

Setting off at a reasonable pace along the side of the road and doing his best not to get too close to the traffic or the grim faced men who glared at anyone who came near their shaded places Anakin strained his ears to listen to fleeting bits of conversation.

Most of it revolved around the favoured topics on a planet run by the Hutts. Gambling and the Pod Races were spoken of frequently among the locals and even the outsiders, most of whom had arrived for Boonta Eve. The only thing that stood out as any different was a quick exchange between a grubby looking human pilot who looked to be just under middle years with a jaw that looked like it had been broken and never healed properly and an unimpressed looking duros. But to Anakin duros always looked unimpressed with their pupil-less bug eyes and flat faces that seemed as if they had been covered in a blue clay that restricted the movement of their thin mouths.

Slowing down, and tilting his head to hear better over a sudden outburst of raucous laughter that erupted a little way up the street, Anakin heard the pilot say, "This is why I left the Republic. Can't even take care of their own!"

The duros tilted his head and regarded the pilot. "I thought you left the Republic because you are wanted for smuggling in death sticks and you were stupid enough to get caught?"

"Besides the point," scowled the pilot. "What I'm saying is that the Senate is as useless as it always was, more so these days. Bantha shit is more useful. I've got a third cousin on Raxus who says it's time to think about becoming independent. And you know what I said to that?"

"I'm sure you'll enlighten me," replied the duros without an ounce of interest.

"I said, better to come out here and work for the Hutts. They got no rules. Survival of the fittest out here's the only rule and I'm fit enough to look out for family." The pilot took a long drink from the mug in his hand before proudly slamming it down on the rickety table he was seated at. "You know what that cousin of mine said to me then?" The pilot waited for his companion to reply before revealing the rest of his story.

Sighing in resignation the duros asked, "What did your cousin say to you then?"

The pilot leaned back in his chair and gestured around himself with open arms. "Told me to get out and never put another of my criminal toes past the doorstep again. So I haven't and I won't, even if the Trade Federation comes to blockade that whole planet and they beg me for a second chance."

"Fascinating," said the duros as if he had found the whole tale anything but.

"Speaking of second chances, how 'bout we make another bet, eh?" Asked the pilot.

After that, the conversation turned toward other things of less importance and Anakin moved on. He hadn't learned anything about the Jedi or the stranger, nor did he know what the Trade Federation was. He did know what the Republic was, and the conversation he'd just heard had not shed it in the best light, although he didn't know why. Anakin had grown up with the same idea of the Republic as he had of the Jedi. To him, any system that outlawed slavery and treated everyone as a person was something to be admired. Then again, bounty hunters and smugglers didn't have much need for the Republic and their laws, as they made their lives outside anything legal.

As Anakin worked his way along the street he kept his ears open for anything else regarding the Trade Federation as well as his original goal of crashed ships and Jedi. However, typical of Tatooine, nobody seemed to care much about the events of the galaxy outside of their small planet. Disappointed with his lack of information, Anakin resigned himself to return home. Perhaps his mother would know something from her time before slavery. He had just come to this decision when a familiar gloating voice called out to him.

"Ah, if it isn't the slave boy who thinks he can race?"

Balling his small hands into fists and pretending he hadn't heard anything, Anakin picked up his pace and tried to look as if he was in a hurry. Perhaps if he appeared to be running an errand for his Master he wouldn't have to stop and face the person who had called out to him. Now was not the time to get into a fight. Unfortunately, the other party was not fooled so easily or just didn't care.

An abrupt push launched Anakin into the dirt face first, and when he tried to push himself back up, the barefoot of a dug closed around his neck and held him down. He found himself with the right side of his face pressed against the ground so he was facing one of the shaded shops that lined the road, and coughing as he tried to spit out the sand that had robbed his mouth of any moisture. Struggling against the pressure on his neck he tugged uselessly at the leathery leg that held him. The grip around him only tightened.

A rough voice close to his ear spoke in huttese, "You weren't ignoring me were you little rat?" A hoarse chuckle followed. "Or were you running?"

It was Sebulba. Anakin's long hated rival, and enemy. The dug loved picking on him especially because of their history on the race tracks. The slave boy had never won and Sebulba never missed a chance to rub it in. It was bad luck he'd crossed paths with him here and now.

Refusing to show weakness, Anakin managed to choke out, "It's…better than…looking…at…your…ugly face…slimo."

That earned him a kick to the stomach that made him groan and gasp for breath, which was difficult with his neck still in a chokehold. He heard more laughter and rowdy calls from the sidelines encouraging more violence. His eyes watered, not from fear, but from pain and a desperate frustration that he'd been caught and couldn't fight back. Briefly, he thought of the Zabrak's lightsaber he had nearly stolen that morning. He wished he had it now.

"You think you're tough, but next time we race it'll be the end of you," Sebulba growled dangerously. "I think I've had enough of that smart mouth of yours." More quietly he hissed, "If you weren't a slave I'd have squashed you by now."

This was nothing new to Anakin. As a slave, he was valued as merchandise, worth a certain amount of money. If he was killed, Sebulba would be held responsible. It was the same with any item in Watto's shop. Another of his master's favourite proverbs was, 'You break it, you but it.' The status of a slave offered him some protection, excepting certain situations. The most common reason was if someone was rich enough, they often didn't care if they had to pay the price. The other was the pod races.

Pod races were renowned for their danger and casualties were not uncommon. The few times Anakin had raced he'd been witness to many accidents or intentional sabotage that resulted in serious injury or death. It was a common tactic to reach victory. Although he had never employed such techniques, many others certainly did. Sebulba was one of them. The dug currently had the highest body count of the racers of Mos Espa and was renowned for his ruthlessness on the track. Therefore, nothing was stopping the dug from fulfilling his threat. The rules of the race even went so far as to state any death during a race was at the risk of the racer, and compensation toward any secondary party or sponsor was nulled.

However, Anakin was not about to let Sebulba have the upper hand so easily. The dug was not worthy of his fear. "To…bad…you'd have…to…pay…for me." He was lifted by his neck into a kneeling position so his captor could scowl into Anakin's face.

"True, but that's only if you die," drawled Sebulba. There was a certain smugness that lined the dug's voice with menace. "That doesn't mean I can't put an arrogant slave in his place."

With dread, Anakin realized he was about to get beaten. It had been a long while since the last time he'd been beaten, as he'd quickly learned how to avoid the people and places where such things were likely. Those who could see him now either turned their heads and went back to their business or looked on with glee as they had been presented with some unexpected entertainment. Nobody would stop Sebulba. Accepting the situation with what little pride Anakin had, he glared up at Sebulba with all the defiance he'd shown the suns that morning.

His face curled into a snarl, the dug raised his fist and Anakin braced himself for the incoming blow. Glaring at Sebulba with all the defiance he'd shown the suns that morning, he braced himself for the oncoming blow. But the dug's raised fist never reached him. From behind him an arm shot out and grabbed Sebulba's wrist holding it in place.

A smooth voice with an inner rim accent came from over Anakin's shoulder. "Sorry to interfere, but I'm afraid I have business with this boy."

Anakin couldn't believe it. The voice was the one he'd heard briefly only a few hours ago, but he immediately knew whom it belonged to although he couldn't see the person the voice belonged to he knew without a doubt that it belonged to the Jedi whom he'd seen in Watto's shop. Somehow the Jedi had found him.

Sebulba snarled. "Stay out of this outlander. Your business can wait." The dug's words must have carried some warning and a few of the onlookers shifted, their hands reaching for the guns at their sides, their eyes serious.

Calm and appearing no more bothered by the threat than a bantha was by a fly the Jedi said, "I'm afraid it can't. The boy's Master sent him along, and I've been waiting rather patiently. I'd also prefer not to waste money or time. I'm sure you understand, so let the boy go."

A brief flicker of uncertainty lit the thug's eyes, and Anakin recognized doubt. Sebulba was a coward who often flaunted his power to those weaker than him, but now his power was being challenged, and he was weighing whether he should back down or stand his ground.

Ultimately he had nothing to gain, and Anakin took advantage of this. "Careful Sebulba, he's a big time outlander. I'd listen to him if I were you." He did his best to keep the cheekiness from his voice and look as serious as possible, but he couldn't help adding on, "I'd hate to see you diced before we race again."

Hissing angrily the dug replied, "Next time we race you'll be bantha poo-doo. Until then… watch your back." Sebulba cast the Jedi a scathing look before adding, "There won't always be outlanders there to protect you, slave." Having gotten the final word he tossed Anakin ruffly away.

Stumbling backwards, surprised and unprepared for his sudden release, Anakin would have fallen for another time, but the Jedi quickly let go of the Sebulba and caught the boy with steadying hands.

Scowling and spitting on the ground the dug turned and rejoined his companions. They glowered at Anakin and his saviour from their shadowed corners disappointed their entertainment had ended without bloodshed.

From behind him, Anakin heard the Jedi quietly say, "Let's go."

Nodding, Anakin quickly replied, "Yes, sir."

The two turned and continued up the street, the Jedi moving quickly with long purposeful strides, and the young, dirty boy trotting along at his heels. No one spared them another look, too preoccupied with the heat, and their own business to care about just another outlander and a slave. For a while, neither spoke, simply moving through Mos Espa's crowded streets toward the outskirts.

It was all Anakin could do not to launch himself into a flurry of questions as he did his best to keep pace with the Jedi. It was clear that the older boy's attitude and clothes wished to remain unnoticed, and Anakin would not give away the fact he knew the man was from the famous order of the Republic until he was sure it was safe to do so. A part of him also wanted to prove that he could be trusted and was not the child he appeared to be.

After several minutes of walking, the Jedi slowed and then came to a stop. He looked around and a flicker of uncertainty passed his face. Any further and the two would be past the city limits.

Finally, Anakin spoke. And the question was not one he had intended on asking. "Um, sir? Are you lost?"

I actually really like this chapter, and I see no flaws or plot holes that could spawn here. Good for me! I'll just put this out there, be proud of yourself and don't get lost.