Chapter Text
As dawn begins to break on the planet of Tatooine, a slave stirs from slumber in her warm bed. Rolling onto her back, she peers out the window from her half-closed eyelids to see Tatoo I cresting the horizon. No doubt the second sun will be rising not far behind its twin. Despite the comfort within their abode, the heat outside was already growing. If she didn’t rise soon and fetch water for the day, it would be too miserably unbearable later.
With a sigh, Shmi Skywalker casts aside her thin blanket and sits up in her bed, letting out a yawn as she tries to awaken further. With a stretch of her arms, her eyes cast a quick glance around her room. Small though it was, it was enough for the mother and held everything she needed. A small cupboard at the end of her bed against the wall holds all her clothing and any extra pairs of shoes she had acquired over the years. A basket rests next to the closed metal door, waiting for any soiled linens to be tossed in for a later washing. Next to her bed is a short table with a drawer, scattered with gadgets, tools, and a few small tubs of moisturizer—something she and all slaves desperately need when working outdoors in the summers on Tatooine.
Rising from her bed, Shmi quickly changes into fresh clothing and quietly slides open her door, stepping into the main room of the small home she shared with her son. The home itself had few rooms but was two levels. On the first level was Shmi’s bedroom, the main area consisting of a kitchen and dining area with a desk built into a corner that was covered in mechanical parts and half-built machinery, and just beyond that was a bathroom. Up the thin staircase was another bedroom, the one belonging to her son, and a large alcove that housed an assortment of their belongings and builds before their balcony became accessible. It was a standard home for slaves—cozy for a family, cramped for anything more. It suited the two Skywalkers enough.
Shmi walks into the small kitchen area and opens a bottom cabinet, pulling out a large bucket to gather moisture from the nearest well just outside the slave block on the outside of the city. It was somewhat far, but not enough to get lost, though some days it felt longer than necessary. She sets the bucket next to her and eyes the spare that had been behind it, wondering if she should fill them both for the day. It would mean extra water for the evening and might be nice to have on hand, especially since she wouldn’t need as much water tomorrow. What to do?
Soft footfalls patter down the steps, causing Shmi to look over her shoulder. She smiles gently as her ten-year-old son rubs the sleep out of his eyes, ignoring his hair that stands every which way atop his head. Anakin, still half asleep, approaches his mother with a tired pout. She turns away from the cupboard and brushes her son’s hair.
“Ani, why are you awake?”
He shrugs. “I feel strange.”
His mother frowns at his words. “Strange?” Her hand moves to his forehead, finding nothing unusual about his temperature. “Are you sick?”
“No, I feel…tingly.”
She gives him an odd look. This wasn’t the first time he had said something like that, but it was the first time it had woken him up. “Maybe you should go back to sleep. Watto doesn’t need us until later this morning.”
Anakin looks down and sees the bucket at her side. “Can I go with you to the well?” At her look of immediate denial, he quickly adds, “I can bring another pail home so you won’t have to get water tomorrow. Please, Mom?”
She stares at him for a moment, all traces of sleepiness evaporating from her child, much like the day outside as Tatoo II began to rise. Letting out a sigh, Shmi reaches into the cupboard and pulls the other bucket out, passing it to Anakin. He smiles brightly, eager to help his mother. Her smile of gratitude in return was enough to get him moving to the door.
The Skywalkers leave the slave housing in silence, the sky growing brighter and brighter as the twin suns rise and bring with it the usual heat that makes the day feel long. It was early enough, though, that not many others were out and about, which is why Shmi often went to the well at dawn. It was less of a struggle to elbow her way through the crowds. Holding hands, Shmi leads the way to the outskirts of Mos Espa, letting the last of her sleep vanish as her legs trudge through the shifting sand.
As they walk, Anakin keeps silent, which isn’t unusual when the boy has just woken up, but he still feels that odd sensation in his chest. He often felt the tingle when he was pod racing or playing games with the other slave children, but it was only momentary, like a brush across his skin that made him lean a certain way or duck before the others around him. This, however, is lasting longer than he’s used to. It’s as if his heart is fluttering and zapping his muscles in a way that makes him want to run, but he doesn’t know where to. Instead, he can only walk with his mother and fetch water until the tingles go away.
After a few more minutes of walking, the Skywalkers arrive at the well. It’s more like a pole sticking out of the sand with a small pool around it to collect any extra water it pulls out of the atmosphere, but it was enough. It’s always enough. It’s only enough. Shmi takes her bucket and sets it in the shallow pool. The water, untouched yet with its collection of water throughout the night, easily fills her bucket to the brim. She pulls it out and slips the cover over it, sealing it away from the hungry sunshine. She motions Anakin closer, allowing him to fill his container as full as he can carry. He does so, dipping the bucket into the clear water, and as he moves to seal it the tingling erupts across his entire body, slamming into him like forceful wind and causing him to stumble. The water sloshes in his bucket before it seals, spilling some of the precious resource into the sand, lost forever in the grains.
Shmi steadies him, concern flickering across her face. “Ani? What’s wrong?”
The tingles continue, making his fingers spasm. He raises his head, squinting into the horizon as he turns around, unsure of why. “Something…something’s coming?”
“What is? Anakin, you’re worrying me.”
“I’m sorry, Mom.” He looks at her, squinting as he tilts his head up, her face haloed by the bright rising sunlight. “It’s just…something feels weird. I don’t know how to explain—”
He cuts himself off as his eyes find something strange behind his mother. Staring at it, he blinks in disbelief. Is the sky…melting? He rubs his eyes and looks back over his mother’s shoulder, causing her to turn and look at what he sees. A gasp escapes her, proving Anakin isn’t just imagining the view.
Somehow, the sky near them is rippling, waves echoing across the air like it was made of water, reflecting part of the bright sun back into their eyes. They can’t look away. The ripples expand, growing more chaotic and rough until something falls through. In silence, a body falls out of the rippling sky as if it were passing through a river’s surface, and it falls, and falls, and falls. The ripples fade, returning the sky to its normal consistency, and the body lands with a muted thump as it strikes a sand dune, kicking up a small cloud of dust.
Shmi and Anakin stare in shock for the longest moment. This was Mos Espa. Nothing strange ever happened here. Everything operates the way it does like the day before. Anything strange comes from visitors to the port city, and those are all regulated to certain areas of town, certainly never on the outskirts of the slave district. What kind of sorcery was this?
Anakin drops his sealed bucket and starts running. Shmi startles and tries to stop him, but he slips past her.
“Ani!”
The boy runs towards the body. Whatever it is, whoever it is, he needs to see. He needs to help. The suns rise higher into the sky, both twins now over the horizon, and that means more people will start milling about. If they grab this body, who knows what the slavers will do. He couldn’t in good conscience let someone else be made a slave.
His feet run up the large dune and he pauses for only a moment at the top. The impact of the body is clear in the sand, digging deep into the ground before they rolled to the bottom. From his vantage point, he can see the body clearly. It’s a woman, and that meant danger. Slavers were always eager for women, especially young ones. Without a thought, he skids down the dune, ignoring his mother’s growing shouts for him to come back, and he rushes to the woman’s side. Once there, he stops and stares, now unsure of what to do as he looks her over.
The woman has sun-kissed brown hair that is knotted to the top of her head, though it likely had once been beautifully done, now it’s just a sandy mess. Her skin is pale—too pale to protect against the suns of the desert planet—and her clothing light, covering her modestly but baring her legs and arms much more than Anakin was used to seeing on women around here. No shoes, no cloak, nothing to indicate she’s been planning to fall from the sky or be outside.
Shmi hustles over the dune and slides down before she stops beside Anakin and kneels down, brushing her hands against the woman’s arm. Anakin then copies his mother, kneeling down as well and trying to stir the newcomer.
Lucky for him, she was already awake.
Her groans grow louder as she tries to roll over, her voice rough and painful. As her eyes open to show a pale green, they immediately close at the brightness of the sky around her. This is not how she intended her day to start. In fact, she has no idea what even happened to cause such pain across her body. All she did was walk across her apartment, then she tripped and found herself falling much longer than she should have been! Now, after landing on what felt like a solid rock, she definitely has a few broken bones.
“Can you hear me?” Shmi quickly asks.
The woman cracks open an eye and a frown swiftly covers her brows. She knows this face. Somehow this lady looks familiar, but she can’t place how. She huffs out, “What happened? How are you in my house?”
Shmi frowns at her words. That’s certainly not Galactic Standard, and not Bocce either that she could recognize. Anakin eyes the woman strangely before glancing at his mother.
“Did she hit her head?”
“Quiet, Ani.”
Hearing his voice, the woman opens her other eye and squints at him. Okay, she definitely knows who this kid is. Maybe she’s dreaming? Maybe when she tripped, she hit her head, passed out, and that’s why she feels such painful spasms and tingles all over and is looking at the child version of the most powerful Jedi of all time.
“Anakin?” she grinds out through her clenched teeth. She doesn’t believe this is real, but why does she feel the intense heat of the sun? “Anakin Skywalker?”
The boy quickly looks to his mother, surprised to hear his own name from her, and sees she is also stunned.
The woman looks back at the lady, connecting the familiarity, and speaks again. “Does that mean you’re Shmi? Why am I dreaming of Star Wars? What’s going on?”
The lady in question frowns at her words, not understanding them. “How do you know us? Who are you?”
A painful wheeze shocks the woman as she closes her eyes, feeling like she’s baking under the sun as her body throbs with more pain. “What the hell? Why can’t I understand anything? Are dreams supposed to be like this? Do you have any aspirin? Or a doctor? Surely I can imagine a doctor coming right now.”
Before Shmi or Anakin can speak to her again, the woman coughs, lets out a particularly painful grunt, and then goes limp. Shmi immediately opens an eyelid, trying to ask if she’s okay, but it’s too late. The newcomer is unconscious. Shmi tuts and silently curses, wondering what they’re going to do. Anakin puts a hand on the woman’s bare shoulder and tries again to shake her awake.
“Hey! Strange lady! Hold on a second!”
She doesn’t move.
Anakin sighs and leans back, looking at his mother. She glances at the woman, then back towards the awakening Mos Espa, and then to her son. Like him, she can’t in good conscience leave an injured woman in the desert. If she doesn’t die of dehydration, she could die from being taken as a slave. Shmi looks over her body one more time, sees her pale skin already turning a bright red from the suns, and sighs.
“Anakin, help me lift her,” she orders, gently taking the woman’s limp wrist.
He jumps into action, grabbing the woman’s side and pushing her over as his mother maneuvers the unconscious newcomer onto her back, draping the burning arms over her shoulders and grabbing her thighs as he hefts her into position. Once she’s settled, Anakin realizes how tall the woman is and how she nearly swallows his mother as she hunches over to carry her better. This is going to draw plenty of attention, so they better hurry home.