Chapter Text
The sound of sparks and alarms buzzed inside the cockpit of a cruiser shuttle accompanied by a single man.
Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi had stolen the shuttle from a dump in the Polis Massa system on the outer-rim, where his stealth mission assigned to him personally by the Jedi Council had gone horribly wrong.
That is, the ship he entered the system with was
not
the one he left with.
The situation could have been worse, however; Obi-Wan was lucky enough to have escaped the seemingly infinite gnats of red blaster fire alive, and managed to blast away further enough from the battle, until he knew his trash of a shuttle could no longer hold up. He headed for the nearest planet on his scope; the desert planet of Tatooine.
His “landing” was closer to a stylish crash than anything. Obi-Wan was not one for the fancies of flying; especially not when that involved
crash landings.
Tatooine was not an ideal place to be stranded, but the planet seemed to be littered with enough trade ports and markets that he assumed he’d be able to find parts, or a new ship, so that he could make it back to Coruscant in one piece.
Obi-Wan was scarily unfamiliar with this planet, suffice to say; the time it would take to map out his direction and not get lost in the seemingly endless amounts of market stands, sandstone structures, scrappy speeders, and many, many foreign and native beings of all species; would at least delay the dread of having to explain his failure to the council.
With this, Obi-Wan stepped off the trash heap, covered his head with the hood of his charred cloak, and headed eastward to the bustling city of Mos Espa.
Anakin was so parched he could hardly keep himself from passing out.
Today, the dreadful heat of the Twin Suns blistered more than usual.
His skin burnt with heat and his bones ached. He felt his eyes roll back into his head whenever he stood, and he fumbled to grab the nearest ledge to keep himself from passing out or vomiting.
Recently, Watto had lost a bit of money, and Anakin was the one feeling the effects. A rich Nemoidian from off world had come for services just a few days ago, and Anakin had worked for him for a large sum of credits.
The problem was that the rich Nemoidian scum was rich because he was a proficient scammer, and of course had
scammed
them.
Secretly, Anakin believed this would have been avoided had Watto not been blinded by the sheer amount of money he was about to receive by doing nothing at all.
Still, that night he had received the worst beating of his life.
He had gotten it bad before, but Watto was persistent that the incident was
his
fault. It was the kind of beating that left marks on Anakin’s skin, visible even still. He could feel the whip hit his bone, and his back bled.
Anakin’s services were widely sought after, he was expensive as it was. It was his only comfort; being worth more credit wise meant he was at least worth something. He was not treated any more human, though. Customers were willing to look passed his starved, weak frame for his “special talents;” Anakin had always managed to get days of work finished within hours. He seemingly knew where everything went. He knew what he needed and he knew what was wrong without being told. As far as Watto was concerned, that made him priceless, and it made Watto a very, very rich Troiderian.
Though the beating was mostly over, and Watto had plenty of credits to spare, he did not give Anakin much water. Or food. He blamed the Nemoidian, and told Anakin he brought it on himself. He had no sympathy for him.
Anakin has passed out a few times already, but was waken by brutal whip cracks to his already raw back. It didn’t phase him anymore, though, he was numb.
He was also hungry.
And very, very dehydrated.
Still, Anakin stared blankly into the sky, his dry eyes burning through his skull, patiently waiting for the next customer to come around.
He would be a good boy if it meant he could have water soon.
He was startled by Watto as he flew around the corner, and disrupted Anakin’s stare with his ugly eyes.
“A man is here,” he grunted. “And you better give him his credits worth if you don’t want another beatin’.”
“Yes, master.” Anakin replied obediently. He stood up slowly, his mind still hazy, and shuffled to the front to meet the man who wanted him.
Obi-Wan blended in with the crowds in his burgundy, very charred, very torn, robe. He wrapped it around himself entirely to disguise his Jedi attire.
Now he stood staring at a thin, exhausted looking boy; no older than 25, ready to obey.
“How may I help you, sir?” The boy spoke with a heaviness to his voice that sounded as sick as he looked.
Obi-Wan blinked. “Ah, yes. I am looking for parts to a NT5-Cruiser Class Shuttle. I have landed here on a whim, and I have to get out as soon as possible.”
The boy attempted a smile that appeared to be hinted with pain.
”I can do that for you. Do you need just the parts, or services?”
Obi-Wan gulped. “Parts and Services.”
The boys smile evaporated slightly. He looked even more tired. Perhaps I should look for someone else, he pondered to himself.
But, he couldn’t. There was something about the boy he needed to know more of.
The force eluded him, and a small pit of possibility grew in Obi-Wan’s stomach as he recognized a remaining signature of the boy as he left to the back to retrieve his master.
He returned with a scruffy, mean looking Troiderian.
“How much?” Obi-Wan said plainly, looking the Troiderian up and down.
“10,000 for both his service and parts.” The Troiderian’s accent pierced Obi-Wan’s ears.
10,000? For some parts and an installation?
Obi-Wan frowned. “I suppose Republic Credits are worthless out here.”
“Not unless you’re willing to pay triple.”
Anakin winced at the hot afternoon suns as he walked alongside his new, temporary master. His wrists were in shackles, his ankles bound with weights, a bantha-skin whip nested in a pouch this new strange man was given.
He couldn’t focus; instead he could only think of food and water, as he stared intensely at the free city-goers who sat under the shade of their porches, sipping sweet local water, and eating fresh native fruit.
It had felt like hours of trekking until they came about the ship. Anakin stared at it with a twinge of shock. It was a beat up looking thing, almost as beat up as himself; and painted with black scorch marks from blaster bullets.
Had this man escaped a battle?
Who is he?
Obi-Wan looked down at Anakin with a sheepish smile. “This is the ship. I’m not concerned about the outside. Once I get where I need to go it will be discarded promptly,” he squinted his eyes, “as long as it can fly me into Republic territory.”
Republic territory.
Anakin got a feeling when he looked at this man. A sort of liveliness; a perhaps misplaced hope. For the first time since he was a naive child, it felt like he was his savior; like he was going to save him.
He knew in his mind this wasn’t true however; no matter how gentle it feels like his soul is; he mustn’t forget one fact;
He bought a slave.
Even if for temporary use, and with no intent to treat him any less human, Obi-Wan hated slavery. Most of the time; he wouldn’t so much as go near a slaver unless it were to curse them; but this time was different.
He was interested in examining the boy.
The forced bounced around him like tiny little lightning-bugs that lit up when his mind did. As he knelt to examine the ship, Obi-Wan could feel the force flowing into the boy’s eyes and into his hands as he popped one of a hundred panels that happened to have some amount of busted wire, which meant nothing to Obi-Wan.
His most profound observation however was that this boy looked sickly; and he needed to be helped before he could help Obi-Wan with his ship.
“Why don’t we go inside, friend? We can introduce ourselves to each other.”
Anakin stared blankly at Obi-Wan like he had three heads.
Why is he so; civil to me?
Instead of asking questions, Anakin got up, dusted off his ragged pants and shuffled his boots, giving Obi-Wan a slight nod before following him up the ramp.
The inside of the ship
wasn’t
as bad as the outside. Still, a few sparks flew and some control panels were popped out of place. Wires were strung about on a small section of the control board. Anakin walked over to instinctively examine it.
Upon looking at the absurd array of wires spread out for him to tackle, Anakin felt a shadow over his head. It was his master.
He dare not make eye contact with him; and shot his head back toward the man’s feet so fast he didn’t even notice what he had in his hand;
a canteen.
He was offering him water.
Obi-Wan let out a soft chuckle. “Ah, it’s quite alright. You don’t have to fear me, I won’t hurt you.”
Anakin glanced up slightly in attempt to meet the eyes of the man. As he did so, the man slowly shifted to meet Anakin on the ground. And that’s when he seen it.
A shiny, long, metallic looking, hilt, hanging from the side of his waist.
A Jedi.
Now the sense of false hope Anakin had before was doubled. He had hoped the Jedi could not pick up on his longing to be freed.
This of course, was on purpose by Obi-Wan, though. He knew the boy could see his saber; he wanted him to. Even if he posed to be an enemy, there was unfortunately not a soul he could tell that would believe him.
He immediately felt a pang in the force the moment Anakin caught glimpse of the object. He could feel the force light up around him, followed by a sudden shroud over the boy. A shroud of fear and hopelessness.
Obi-Wan looked him in his eyes. They were a piercing blue color. He was surprised that Anakin didn’t dart his eyes away again.
“My name is Obi-Wan Kenobi. You can call me Obi, if you like.” He tried to sound as gentle as possible, and waited.
Anakin stared blankly, unable to process the kindness he was receiving. He almost didn’t want to accept it, because it would hurt more when he was left to be used more. Once this Obi fellow was gone, he’d be a slave again.
“I’m Anakin Skywalker, It’s nice to meet you, Ma- Mister Kenobi.”
Obi-Wan smiled humbly, studying the force around Anakin. He lowered his canteen to him.
“Drink,” he said, “you need hydration, you look very sick.”
Anakin didn’t want to look as desperate as he was. He tried to slow himself down but failed. He grabbed the canteen faster than light-speed, and gulped down gracious amounts of water to satiate his dry mouth and his aching bones.
“Don’t worry, I have more, and I will not take it from you.”
Obi-Wan bent down and offered Anakin a protein stick, then two, then three. He sat beside him the whole time.
Watching him scramble to eat and drink as much as he could, Obi-Wan felt the void in his stomach grow larger, swallowing his heart.
He knew not every force sensitive being could be found by the Jedi; especially ones out of Republic range; but it hurt him that some potential Jedi never get to have their chances. He seen a wonderful Jedi in this Anakin, but he knew it was too late. Instead of learning the ways of the force, wielding a lightsaber of his own, and residing in a personal room in the temple, he was left to starve and work for his whole life.
And eventually, be left to die.
It wrenched his heart and he couldn’t shake the thought out of his head.
He is so thin; clearly sick, and highly sought after; constantly working because his “special talents” please.
When I leave, how long will it take for this boy to die?
Obi-Wan put his hand on Anakin’s shoulder, earning him a slight jump from the boy. He lowered his voice to a near whisper.
“Would you like to sleep?”
Anakin stared vaguely at Obi-Wan once again, and he was starting to wonder if he could fully understand him.
“Sleep?” Obi-Wan repeated, making a general motion with his hands.
“I understand,” Anakin replied, sluggishly. “I suppose I’m just a bit shook by your kindness, Mister Kenobi.”
Obi-Wan smiled slightly. He helped the boy up. Though he had not said yes, Obi-Wan led him to a small room with two cots. One side of the room was harshly dented from the outside, but on the other one could still climb onto and sleep on the cot. He padded it for Anakin to come over. The boy did so without so much as a word.
Obi-Wan covered him with his cloak. “Please rest.”
“Thank you very much, Mister Kenobi.” Anakin replied.
They stared at each other in silence as Obi-wan held his hand.
Shortly, he left the room quietly and moved outside again into the still hot suns. He stared down at the bag with the bantha-skin whip. He glanced at the remote he was given that would explode the boy with a press.
He walked back into the ship hastily and headed to the half of the control panel that was not busted, and turned the half alive ship’s cockpit on for just a moment.
Blast if he’ll have any chance at getting connection but it’s worth a shot.
Beep.
—come in? This is Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi on all rescue frequencies. I’m requesting backup to outer rim segment 1221; Tatooine. I need transport. I repeat; this is Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi. I need transport.