Chapter 6

The cantina on the outskirts of Mos Eisley reeked of stale beer and unwashed bodies. Obi-Wan slid into his usual booth, the cracked synth-leather seat creaking in protest. He waved a casual gesture to the bartender, a grizzled Sullustan, indicating he'd take his usual Jawa beer.

He usually stopped here when he needed to come into town for supplies. From his booth, he could see the holoscreen mounted above the bar, occasionally blaring Imperial propaganda between pod races and smashball matches. More importantly, he could eavesdrop on nearby conversations, gleaning the kind of information that would never make it onto official broadcasts.

For some reason, he felt compelled to keep his finger on the pulse of the galaxy's events, even though what he learned was often depressing. And he could do nothing about it.

He scanned the room out of habit, taking note of the cantina's regulars. The group of Rodians playing sabacc in the corner. The morose Blutopian at the bar, drowning his marital woes in glass after glass of Corellian brandy.

There were also a few strangers. A pair of Aqualish sat huddled in a private conversation of low growls and guttural tones and a rowdy group of humans were laughing and ordering another round of drinks at the bar.

Life just goes on, he mused bitterly. An evil dictator controlled vast swaths of the galaxy, and the Jedi were dead, yet here they all were - drinking and gambling and gossiping as if nothing had changed. That Blutopian had probably been complaining about his wife long before the Empire rose and would continue to do so until liver failure finally claimed him.

As usual, this line of thought led to darker brooding on his own personal regrets.

Fragments of painful memories crept up from the depths of his mind. The acrid stench of sulfur, the explosions of lava splattering into the air, the sound of agonized, enraged screams...

Obi-Wan took a deep breath, centering himself. He acknowledged the wave of pain and guilt that washed over him, then released those feelings to the Force. It did not come as easily as it once had. A Padawan's basic exercise now felt taxing to him. He was out of practice.

The Sullustan set Obi-Wan's beer mug down in front of him and walked away without a second glance. He was never one for conversation, which suited Obi-Wan just fine. He took a sip and, in an act of pure will, swallowed. The stuff tasted the way a bantha's water trough smelled, but it was better than the stronger stuff and it made him look more like a local.

The cantina's door slid open with a hiss. A young woman entered, her steps halting as she took in the dive bar's dingy interior. She wore nondescript traveler's clothes - a loose gray tunic and trousers, sturdy boots, voluminous brown cloak. But there was something in the way she carried herself, a certain poise, that marked her as out of place.

Obi-Wan observed her as she perched herself on a barstool near the raucous humans. Her features looked calm, casual even, but the jittery bouncing of her knee under the bar betrayed an undercurrent of anxiety. The men paused their conversation to watch her intently, exchanging amused glances.

She ordered a drink in accented Basic. Obi-Wan thought he could detect a slight Coruscanti inflection in her pronunciation as if she were trying to mask it but couldn't entirely. Her voice carried a surprising richness, low and velvety in a way that seemed to contradict her youthful appearance.

The men continued to ogle, stealing glances at the girl. One of them raised his mug, declaring, "Drink up, boys! Shore leave is almost over. I want you ready to get off-world by the morning." He looked pointedly in the girl's direction. "But there's still time for some fun tonight."

The girl kept her voice carefully neutral. "Are you pilots? I'm looking for passage to Jabiim. With no questions asked."

The leader sipped from his drink and smiled slyly. "I'm the pilot. This here's my crew." He gestured vaguely at his companions. "What's the matter, sweetheart? Found yourself in a bit of trouble?"

The other men snickered. The girl swiveled on the stool to face them. If she was perturbed by their jeering, she didn't show it. Now that he had a clear view of her face, Obi-Wan could make out her features more clearly. She was indeed good-looking. She probably got this kind of attention most places she went. She must be really desperate to get to Jabiim to be asking around here.

Ignoring the pilot's question, she pulled a pouch of credits out of her robe and set them on the bar with a soft clink. "I've got two thousand credits."

Foolish girl, Obi-Wan thought.

The men burst into laughter, their mirth echoing through the cantina. "Two thousand credits won't get you to Jabiim, sugar. Not with the discretion you're asking for," the pilot chuckled.

"I can work on your crew," she offered, a hint of desperation creeping into her voice.

More laughter. "Can you now?" the pilot sneered. "You got any experience repairing ships?"

"Well, no, I…"

"Any good with a blaster?"

"…no, but…" She hesitated almost imperceptibly before answering this question. If Obi-Wan had not been Jedi-trained, he might not have caught it. A lie, maybe.

The pilot held up a hand and the laughter from his crew dissipated. He leaned in close, voice dropping to a predatory purr. "Look, sweetheart. If you can't fix a ship and you can't fight, I can't very well hire you to be on my crew." His fingers toyed with the edge of her tunic near her collarbone. "But there are other ways you can earn your passage..."

The girl recoiled, disgust plain on her face. She stood from her barstool, stepping out of reach of the pilot's impudent fingers.

"If you can't help me, I'll find someone else who will," she asserted.

The pilot's greasy smile faded. He rose to his full height, looming over the girl. Her eyes began scanning the other cantina patrons.

All his instincts told him to provide assistance to someone in need. If he were still Obi-Wan Kenobi the Jedi Master, he would have gladly escorted the young woman to a safer location and ensured these predators left her alone. But here he was just Ben, the recluse with no friends. If he intervened, he would draw attention to himself. That couldn't happen. He had someone else to protect.

So when her eyes met his, he glanced away, busying himself suddenly with swirling his drink in his mug. Shame burned in his gut like acid.

When he lifted his eyes again, her gaze remained fixed on him. There was no mistaking the dawning comprehension on her features. The widening of her eyes as she stared at him had only one probable explanation.

Recognition.

Blast.

Before she could react, Obi-Wan slid a few credits onto the table and slipped out of the booth towards the door. Pulling up the hood of his robe to obscure his face, he took off at a brisk walk.

The twin suns had nearly set, bathing Mos Eisley's streets in dusky orange light. A few beings milled about, but there were certainly no crowds to lose himself in. He quickened his pace, heading for the side alley where he'd stabled his eopie.

The thumping sound of rapid footsteps intensified as someone approached him.

"Master Kenobi, wait!"

He whirled to face her, grabbing her arm and yanking her into the eopie's stall. "Shh! Have you gone mad?" he hissed.

Up close, he took in her features – wide green eyes, freckles dusting her nose, thick black hair escaping from a messy braid. She was breathing rapidly, face flushed with exertion and excitement.

He didn't recognize her. But a gentle probe with the Force confirmed his suspicion - she radiated the unmistakable signature of a trained Force user. She had addressed him as Master Kenobi. A former member of the Jedi Order, then.

"Is it really you?" she breathed, astonishment in her voice.

"I don't know you," he said, voice low and urgent, "and you must forget you ever saw me here."

He tried to guide her back toward the street, but she resisted. "What? No, please!" Her brows knit together, mouth agape in confused anger. "I'm sorry. I know you wouldn't remember me, but..." She swallowed hard. "You are Obi-Wan Kenobi, aren't you?"

His hand stilled on her shoulder. He looked down, meeting her gaze. The well of emotions swirling in the glassy sheen of her eyes softened his resolve. He used the Force to scan the area for anyone who might overhear them, but there was no one in the vicinity.

"Yes," he admitted with a weary sigh. "But you mustn't call me that. That name is far too recognizable. You may call me Ben." He paused. "What is your name?"

"Lorna Varos," she whispered. "I was a Padawan… before."

Well, that confirms that theory, he thought. "How did you get here?"

"It's a long story," Lorna began, exhaustion evident in her voice. "Some friends were going to help me get off Coruscant, but Imperial forces intercepted us. They were captured, but I managed to flee on their ship. There was an Inquisitor with the troopers, and she pursued me. I was able to make the jump to hyperspace and arrived here, but the hyperdrive was damaged and I can't leave the system. "

"An Inquisitor?" he asked.

"It was terrible. She wielded the Dark Side. It seems the Empire is using them to hunt Jedi."

"That is… certainly unfortunate news." He stroked his beard as he processed this disconcerting information. Had Palpatine turned Jedi other than Anakin to the Dark Side? He made a mental note to learn more at a later time. "Why Tatooine?"

"We were supposed to be heading to Jabiim. My friends had heard about an underground organization that is aiding surviving Jedi. It's called the Path. The rumors seem to indicate it can be found there. But with the Comet's hyperdrive damaged…" she sighed, running a hand through her hair. "I've been asking around, but I don't have the credits to repair the hyperdrive or to purchase safe passage out of the system."

Her eyes lit up suddenly. "Why don't you come with me there? We could find other survivors and those who are not sympathetic to the Empire. Maybe we could-"

"No, you must listen," Obi-Wan interjected, shaking his head. "The battle has been lost. If there are any other surviving Jedi, they will be safest if they remain hidden. As will you."

The girl dropped her hands to her sides, the light leaving her eyes. "Since when do the Jedi care about what is safest for themselves?"

He crossed his arms then pinched the bridge of his nose. Oh, to once again have the luxury of youthful idealism. Her enthusiasm was so pure, so well-intentioned, he very much hated to disappoint her. He had to admit, this news about something called the Path interested him and he wished he could learn more about it. But in the end, it wouldn't matter. He had been given a mission to complete on Tatooine and he needed to see it through. Alone.

"I am truly sorry, Lorna, but I cannot go with you. I will escort you back to your ship so that you may have safe refuge for the night, but after that, I am afraid we must part ways."

Hurt and anger flashed across the girl's face, but she didn't argue further. Obi-Wan untied his eopie and led the beast out of the stall. She fell into step beside him, crestfallen.

"My ship is on the outskirts," she informed him curtly.

They walked in stiff silence through the dark streets, the eopie's occasional grunts and the shuffle of their boots on the sandy walkways the only sound between the three of them. The girl spoke only to provide concise directions to her ship.

Obi-Wan's conscience pestered him. He glanced at her, noting the way she kept her gaze steadily forward, her mouth pulled into a frown.

"If I had the credits myself, I would gladly give them to you to repair your ship," he offered, trying to break the tension. "But unfortunately my own funds are quite limited. Could you sell the ship for the price of passage to Jabiim?"

"I would only do that if I had no other option. The ship belonged to the friends who were going to help me find the Path. I would like to return it to them eventually if I can, even if I have to come back for it later" she explained, her expression distant.

Obi-Wan nodded, understanding her reluctance. "A complicated situation, indeed," he remarked thoughtfully.

He found himself wishing he could hear more of her story, to share his own, to simply converse with a fellow Jedi with nothing to hide. Adjusting to the solitude of his self-imposed exile had been more challenging than he'd anticipated. As a Jedi, he was accustomed to taking time for solitary meditation and reflection, but the last year had tested him immensely. The oppressive heat, the endless sand, and the isolation all wore on him. His wounds from the loss of the Order, Anakin's betrayal, and the Republic's fall remained raw. And he had far too much time to dwell on them.

This was to be his fate.

They crested a low rise, the lights of Mos Eisley fading behind them. The sky was an ombre of purple and orange as the last light of the suns began to surrender to night. The desert stretched to the horizon, sands graying in the fading light.

"The Comet is just over this ridge," the girl announced.

The Force prickled at the edge of Obi-Wan's awareness. "Lorna, wait-"

"I feel it too," she said, dropping into a crouch.

They left the eopie and climbed the dune side-by-side, flattening themselves against the sand as they peered over the top. In the valley below, Jawas swarmed over Lorna's ship. Their diminutive bodies scurried back and forth between the freighter and a massive sandcrawler, lugging bits of machinery and electronics.

"No! Stop!" Lorna leaped to her feet and charged down the dune, sand flying in her wake.

Obi-Wan followed close behind. The Jawas erupted in panicked chatter, their glowing eyes wide beneath their hoods. Lorna shouted at them, arms flailing as she tried to shoo them away from her ship.

He approached a group loading stolen parts onto the sandcrawler. He stood before them, calm and unruffled, hands tucked into the sleeves of his robe. He greeted them politely in Jawaese.

"Please return these parts to their owner," he requested.

The Jawas burst into simultaneous chatter, tiny hands gesticulating wildly. The gist of their argument was clear - they had scavenged the parts fair and square. If Lorna wanted them back, she'd have to pay.

Obi-Wan asked how much they wanted. He waited as they conferred, voices rising and falling as they debated the price. Finally, they reached a consensus.

"What did they say?" Lorna asked, coming to stand beside him. Her hands were clenched into fists at her sides, but her voice remained steady.

"They said they will sell you the parts back for two hundred fifty peggats," he explained to Lorna, knowing it was ridiculous that they were forcing her to buy them back.

"Two hundred fifty peggats? That's over ten thousand Imperial credits! I don't have anywhere close to that!" Lorna scowled and rubbed the back of her neck.

The Jawas huddled together again, then named their final offer.

"Two hundred peggats is still much too high," he told them.

Lorna's face was neutral but he could feel the frustration and desperation pulsing from her through the Force. She shifted her weight back and forth between each leg, looking like she was ready to pounce on the Jawas.

"Patience, Lorna," he said, turning and leaning in so the Jawas could not discern their conversation. "Do not act rashly. We will find another way."

As the words left his mouth, he realized how very much like a Master he sounded. He had slipped back into the role naturally, though it was certainly not what he had intended. It did not seem to have escaped her notice as she met his eyes, regarding him curiously.

"Easy for you to say," she said, crossing her arms over her chest. "You're not planning on leaving the planet anytime soon."

"You're right, but I do understand the precariousness of your situation." His eyes softened as he tried to reassure her. "There may yet be a path you have not considered."

Lorna leaned to look over his shoulder and exhaled in exasperation. He turned around to see the last of the Jawas running up the ramp of their sandcrawler as it began to pull away.

"Oh, great, they're leaving," Lorna said.

She stormed past him and headed into her ship. He sighed and followed her into the main hold. If there had been anything in here, it was gone now, the entire space stripped bare. The walls were lined with empty brackets where equipment had once been secured, and loose wires hung from the ceiling where control panels had been ripped out.

She paused to take in the ransacked ship. "They took just about everything," she murmured, heading for the cockpit.

Once again he followed, watching as she flipped multiple switches on the instrument panels. The ship's console remained dark and lifeless, giving no response to her efforts.

Her hands fell limply into her lap. She sat motionless in the pilot's chair, her gaze fixed on the dead console before her. He observed her carefully, noting a slight tremor in her lower lip — the only outward sign of her emotional state.

"I can't go," she murmured, her voice barely audible. "I can't search for the Path. I'm... I'm stuck here."

Obi-Wan looked away, the crush of her disappointment causing his conviction to waver. It would be a risk taking her in, even only temporarily. The Empire's reach was long, and two Force-sensitive individuals in one place had the potential to draw unwanted attention. If she were being tracked, she'd lead the Empire right to his doorstep. To Luke.

But it would be heartless to abandon her now. The Force had brought her here. Perhaps there was a reason for it he did not yet see. He took a long, steadying breath, then placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

"My residence is not far from here. You may accompany me there tonight. I will offer you my aid until you can find a way to Jabiim."

She stood and turned to face him, her pale green eyes wide with relief. "Thank you, Master Kenobi."

The use of his old title sent a pang through his chest. He opened his mouth to correct her, then thought better of it. Let her have this small comfort, at least for the moment.