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| - The heat, which had receded slightly inside the relative cool of the junk shop, returned in full force as Padmé followed Qui-Gon down the streets of Mos Espa. Danta was still lolling on her shoulder, his shifting short footsteps made Padmé travel slightly to the right of a straight line. They stopped in the shade of a small alcove while Qui-Gon removed his comlink from under his poncho to place a quick call. Danta collapsed against the wall, Padmé stood next to him, perfectly alert. “Master?” Obi-Wan’s response was quick if reluctant, it didn’t take long for Qui-Gon to outline their problem. There was a few minutes silence and a muffled conversation on the far end before the apprentice returned. “There’s the Queen’s wardrobe,” Obi-Wan said, somewhat hopefully but fully knowing there was nothing he could tell his Master that he didn’t know already, “and a few supplies, but nothing of any real value, Master. At least not in the amounts you are talking about.” “Very well,” Qui-Gon replied resignedly, “we’ll have to try something else.” “What’s wrong, Master Jinn?” Padmé asked as the Jedi Master replaced his comlink in its pouch. “That dealer has the parts we need, and we have nothing to trade,” Qui-Gon explained. “Nothing that he will accept.” “Couldn’t you have just…persuaded him?” Padmé suggested. “I did,” Qui-Gon admitted with a slight smile, “it bounced right off him. Not all beings are susceptible to having their minds altered. But another situation will present itself,” he said nonchalantly, “we have to trust the living Force.” Qui-Gon continued down the streets of Mos Espa with Artoo-Detoo following him at a short distance, behind them trailed Padmé and Danta. The Padawan looked around rather helplessly, her face an expressionless mask. While Padmé trusted Qui-Gon as well, she should she could simply no way out of their present situation. The Force would only get them so far, it couldn’t—for instance—conjure up a pile of currency or a new hyperdrive, not even for Master Yoda. “Mesa okeday now,” Danta said, moving away from Padmé and taking a few cautionary steps unaided. Yet it wasn’t long before the Gungan stumbled, then tripped over his own feet landing headfirst on top of a table occupied by a rather surprised Rodian and a particularly surly Dug. “Chuba!” the Dug roared, pointing an accusatory finger at Danta like a vibroshif. “Mesa?” Danta said in the quietest voice Padmé and Qui-Gon helped him to his feet. “Come on,” Qui-Gon said, pulling Danta along, “we don’t want any trouble.” “Koona t'chuta?” the Dug shouted, and even Qui-Gon could not ignore that retort and he was about to reply when a small, but very firm, voice intervened. “Lay off this one, Sebulba,” Anakin stepped forward fixing the Dug with a hard stare, Qui-Gon could sense no trace of fear in either his expression or his voice. “Tah-come jistak meenkie grabbel moggo,” Sebulba snarled. “He’s connected,” Anakin pressed, still in Huttese, “like Hutt-connected.” “Bah,” Sebulba said, turning away and focusing his attention on Anakin. The crowd which had gathered in the wake of the disturbance slowly dispersed as the Dug said, “Me pee kasa,” he put his nose menacingly close to Anakin’s, “tak-koh tee womprat e'nachu.” He then left, followed closely by his Rodian friend. “Are you okay?” Anakin asked, he was all-smiles again, he turned to Qui-Gon. “Your friend was about to be turned into orange goo.” “Mesa okeday with these,” Danta said with a shrug. “No, the boy is right,” Qui-Gon, he turned to Anakin. “Thank you my young friend.” Padmé smiled at him and Anakin wondered if the day could possibly get any better. A few minutes later he was holding Padmé’s hand as he led them to a fruit stand where he handed over several small coins in exchange for four pieces of red, hard-skinned fruit. “Try this,” Anakin said, handing Padmé hers, “you’ll like it.” Padmé peeled away the rind using her thumbnail and bit into the soft white flesh, it was surprisingly sweet and moist. “Jira, I’ve found that cooler unit I’ve been looking for,” Anakin said to the fruit seller, “I should have it running once I get a few more parts.” “Thank you Annie,” the weather-worn woman said with a smile. “You’re the nicest boy in the galaxy.” Danta dropped his fruit in the sand, seeing the Gungan was still somewhat disorientated, Qui-Gon amiably picked it up for him. In the brief moment that the Jedi Master bent down his poncho bunched up over one knee, exposing a slim silver barrel attached to his belt. Anakin saw this and almost spat out what he was eating. Could it be...? Really...? Padmé looked around, something was happening and she could see Qui-Gon could also sense it. The wind was stirring, shops were shutting and the crowds were dispersing and they headed indoors. “You better run home, Annie,” Jira said, pulling in her shutter. “Sandstorm coming, big one looks like it.” “Do you have shelter?” Anakin asked Qui-Gon and Padmé, but really looking at the later. “We better head back to our ship,” Qui-Gon said, “thank you again, my young friend…” “Where is your ship?” Anakin interrupted quickly. “It’s on the outskirts,” Padmé told him, she started to back away and Qui-Gon evidently wanted to get moving. Anakin caught her hand firmly. “You’ll never make it in time,” he said nervously. “Sandstorms are very, very dangerous.” A thought occurred to him. “You can come to my place, it’s near.” For once, Qui-Gon didn’t have an argument ready. They followed Anakin through the howling wind, the rain of sand building up by the minute. The small boy held Padmé’s hand, secretly delighted at her touch. Padmé felt slightly apprehensive. Yet Qui-Gon paid no attention to this, he had a curious presentment playing at the edges of his perception. An unhoned, yet surprisingly luminescent presence in the Force, the more he turned his attention towards it the brighter it grew. He wasn’t exactly sure what it was, yet he knew it wasn’t Padmé. In the growing wind and blowing sand Obi-Wan Kenobi and Captain Panaka stood on the bottom of the ramp of the Naboo royal starship. There was growing concern on both of their faces. “This storm will slow them down,” Panaka said methodically. Obi-Wan didn’t reply, instead he stared out into the vast expanse towards the distant city. Searching...probing…His eyes suddenly grew wide with the recognition, a few minutes later the message was passed. “They’re safe,” Obi-Wan replied. Panaka didn’t think to ask how in the galaxy Obi-Wan knew, and more to the point how could he be so certain? “Sir,” one of his men approached, “we’re receiving a message from home.” Without another word Panaka left with him and Obi-Wan followed, closing the door behind them. Queen Nalanda sat sombrely clothed in black, surrounded by her handmaidens as she watched the flickering hologram of Governor Sio Bibble. Standing next to her was Panaka, and seated near him was Obi-Wan. Sio Bibble’s tone was slightly forced, and once or twice he glanced to the side with barely veiled apprehension. “…cut off all our food supplies until you return,” he said, “the death toll is rising… catastrophic… must bow to their wishes.” He then seemed to look directly at Nalanda. “Your Highness, you must tell me what to do…can hear me…contact me…” the transmission flickered and died, in the darkness Nalanda looked at Obi-Wan. There was no doubt in the sincerity of his voice, but… “It’s a trap,” Obi-Wan said, “send no transmissions.” Nalanda stared at him a moment longer then nodded mutely to the captain.
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