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| - When Obi-Wan entered the Geonosian city he wasn't sure what he would find. At first he kept to the shadows, sneaking around to see what impressions he could pick up. At the sound of machinery Obi-Wan hastened towards it, peering down through an archway to a massive droid factory. What’s going on here? he wondered, watching as the thousands of battledroids were being made. Suddenly he heard voices, slightly familiar and rather disturbing. Quickly he followed their sound. “I tell you, Count, what you are proposing could backfire upon us all,” said a deep but rather nervous voice. “Come now, Viceroy, are not all ventures entered into with a certain degree of risk?” said a deeper but much more controlled voice. “Not if the Republic seeks to ban my organisation from its trade zones,” said the first voice. Deep in a tunnel above Obi-Wan finally found the room with the two speakers. His suspicions had been correct, the voices were familiar. The first one was, of course, Viceroy Gunray of the Trade Federation. He was examining the second speaker with barely veiled trepidation, Count Dooku, a former Jedi Master and now leader of the Separatist organisation. Dooku sat coolly confident at a large table next to the Viceroy as if he were waiting for the wine to be brought out before dinner. “Viceroy, must I remind you what I am offering,” Dooku explained, “if you will only agree then the Republic will no longer be of any concern to you, at least not in the way you run your organisation.” “What about the senator from Naboo?” persisted Gunray. “Is she dead yet? I won’t sign your treaty until I have her head on my desk.” “I am a man of my word, Viceroy,” the former Jedi replied. “And you can be assured that the Commerce Guild and the Corporate Alliance will join our cause.” “What if we don’t succeed with the Loyalists?” the Viceroy asked. “Do not even entertain the possibility,” Dooku replied in a silky tone. It was at that moment that a Geonosian entered the room, its insectoid frame was unmistakable and by the way to smaller Geonosians flanked him he was of some importance. He said something to Dooku in a curious humming and clicking language, Obi-Wan had no idea what had been said but Dooku apparently understood. “We must not keep them waiting then,” Dooku said promptly, getting to his feet. After motioning for Gunray to follow he left the room. The warming glow of the Tatooine twin suns through the viewport was reassuring to Anakin. The last time he had been here he had left with Qui-Gon, ten years before and he had left his mother behind. A decision he had always regretted and had tried to amend more than once. His breath caught in his throat suddenly. What if he was too late? Or worse, what if it turned out that there was nothing wrong at all and he would have to endure an I-told-you-so from Padmé and later from Obi-Wan? No, Anakin told himself, I know there is something wrong, therefore there is something wrong. He set the ship down in a docking bay, he left Artoo on board and made sure no one would ‘borrow’ it before he returned. The last thing he needed was to lose a ship that wasn't his. He set off through Mos Espa, wondering how he could have forgotten how intense the heat could be. Perhaps because it had been ten years since he had been there, but there was the fact he wore his heavy dark Jedi robe. Yet as he walked through the familiar streets a flood of memories came back, little spots that had been a part of his childhood, where he had been with his friends, with his mother, with Padmé… Yet he was unrecognisable and no one gave him more than a glance, they saw him as a Jedi and nothing more. He inquired first at the slave quarters, but he got no answers there so instead he went to Watto’s junkshop. As he neared, the familiar smell of grease and dirt came around him, yet he spared not another moment remembering as he spotted the Toydarian outside with some pit droids. Funny, Anakin thought as he neared them, even after all this time I still expect him to yell ‘Boy!’. Yet he approached his former owner in a nonchalant way, very casually. “Chut, chut Watto,” Anakin greeted, stepping into the shade of an awning outside the shop. “Ke booda?” Watto gruffly asked in Huttese. “Mi boska di Shmi Skywalker,” Anakin replied in the same language. For the first time Watto examined Anakin seriously, his face twitching as he looked him up and down. “Annie?” he muttered, staring at the young man critically. “Little Annie? Nah!” “Ding mi chasa hopa.” Anakin picked up the broken pit droid head where Watto had discarded it. He put it into the crook of his arm, replacing the wires and circuits where he felt they should go and clearing away the grit and sand. Then, with a satisfied smile he placed the droid part before Watto, flicking the switch. The droid whirred to life. Watto stared at it senselessly for a moment. There was only one who could fix droids like that. “You are Annie! It is you!” Watto said with a laugh, fluttering around so he could see the young man properly. “Hey, you sure spouted, huh? Hmm, a Jedi…waddya know!” The Toydarian laughed as he sat down again. Yet then his voice grew more serious. “Hey, mebbe you can help me with some deadbeats who owe me a lot of money.” “My mother,” Anakin said in a tone that permitted no argument. “Oh…Shmi,” Watto said as if she was of no importance. “Err…she not mine no more, I sold her.” “Sold her?” The menace in his voice was indisputable. “Years ago, but you know Annie, business is business,” Watto continued, sinking into a tone that Anakin remembered well. “Sold her to a moisture farmer named Lars—least I think it was Lars. Then I heard he freed her, and married her, can ya beat that?” Anakin smiled, it was the best news he had heard all day. “Do you where she is?” he asked. “Oh…a long way from here,” Watto replied. “A place on the other side of Mos Eisley, I think.” “I would like to know,” Anakin said, again the same authoritative tone. “Of course,” Watto said, for once happy to help. “Let’s go through my records.” Watto had given him a fairly rough location of the Lars’ homestead, so Anakin relied on his instincts more than anything else to tell him where to set the ship down. Once clear of Mos Eisley he landed at a moisture farm some distance away, confident that he had found the right place. How certain he was became greater still after he left Artoo behind to guard the ship and set towards a vaguely familiar droid of humanoid frame. “Oh hello,” the droid said, not recognising him, “how might I be of service to you? I am See-” “Threepio?” Anakin finished, blinking at the sight before him. When he had left, Threepio he was all but finished except for the covered plating. Now the droid was completely covered if a little dented and scratched. Had his mother put on the plating? “The maker!” Threepio exclaimed. “Master Annie! I knew you would return, I knew it!” He declared triumphantly. “Bless my circuits, I’m so pleased to see you!” “I’ve come to see my mother,” Anakin said, deciding it was better to get down to business or the droid would natter on all day. “Oh…” For a moment Threepio seemed to hesitate. “I—I think perhaps we’d better go indoors.” Anakin followed Threepio down a set of stairs and through an adobe tunnel that led to a round courtyard. At their approach two people emerged from another part of the homestead, a young man about his age and a girl a little younger. Both of them looked rather weathered, yet he remembered everyone on Tatooine looked like that more or less. “Master Owen, Mistress Beru, might I present a most important visitor,” Threepio introduced pompously. “I’m Anakin Skywalker,” he said, looking hopefully beyond the couple to see if his mother would appear. “Owen Lars,” the young man said, shaking Anakin's hand. “This is my girlfriend Beru.” “Hello,” Beru offered shyly. “I guess I’m your stepbrother,” Owen continued with some surprise. “I had the feeling that you might show up someday.” Anakin smiled but only through politeness, he looked around again. “Is my mother here?” “No, she’s not,” said another voice. An aging man on a floating chair came out. Anakin could not help but notice that part of one leg was missing while the other was bandaged heavily. “Cliegg Lars,” the man said, offering his hand to Anakin, “Shmi was my wife. We should go inside, we have a lot to talk about.” In the dingy room they all sat around the table in dead silence. After Beru brought some blue milk which no one touched, Owen and Cliegg took up the tale. “It was just before dawn when they took her,” Cliegg began. “A hunting party of Tusken Raiders.” “We’d had some trouble with them,” Owen added, “but they had never been so close to the house before, we don’t know what spurred them…” “Your mother had gone out early as she always did to pick the mushrooms that grow on the vaporators,” Cliegg continued with effort, “from her tracks she was about halfway home when they took her.” He ended the sentence abruptly, staring into space. “Those Tuskens walk like men but they’re vicious…mindless...monsters.” “Thirty of us went out after her,” Owen told Anakin, “four of us came back.” “I’d still be out there looking for her,” Cliegg muttered, “but after I lost my leg…I...I just couldn’t ride anymore…until I heal. I don’t want to give up on her,” he added darkly, “but she’s been gone a month. There’s little hope that she has lasted this long.” Cliegg’s heartbreak was apparent, as was his frustration of not being able to do anything. But Anakin knew he could do something, knew he had to do something. He got to his feet. “Where are you going?” Owen asked him. “To find my mother,” Anakin replied, halfway to the doorway. “Your mother is dead, son,” Cliegg said decidedly, “accept it.” But Anakin ignored him and strode out. After a moment, Owen followed him. At the edge of a crater Anakin stood watching the sunset yet seeing it not. In his mind he replayed the images he had seen of his mother’s pain. They were true, all of them and she was still in pain. He would find her, he decided, and he would bring her back. “Hey.” Anakin felt a hand on his arm, it was Owen. “I know how you feel. I’ve only known her for five years and she’s the closest thing I've had to a—” “You don’t know,” Anakin said bitterly, turning away from him. “All right, I don’t,” Owen agreed, yet he gestured to what he had brought out from the garage. “You can borrow my speeder bike.” “Thanks,” Anakin murmured, looking at the ground as he got on the bike. “I know you’ll find her,” Owen said as Anakin started the engine. “Bring her back.” Over the desert Anakin went as fast as he could, feeling for his mother in the Force. He vowed when he found her that he would make them pay, everything single one of those who hurt her. Over the next bluff he spotted a sandcrawler. Jawas, people of the desert, they would know where the Tuskens were encamped.
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