2: Spare Parts

As far as the eye could see was sand. A wide, blank, desolate landscape surrounded the lone Nubian cruiser. Obi-Wan surveyed the barren landscape with disgust. Worlds like this one weren't meant for human habitation. Yet Tatooine supported a thriving population, a fact that Obi-Wan couldn't quite comprehend. There were so many words scattered throughout the galaxy that were far more desirable and pleasant than the desert planet.

As his eyes passed over the flat, monochromatic horizon, the communicator at his belt beeped.

"Kenobi."

"Panaka," the comm unit chirped. "We're receiving a message from home."

"I'll be right there."

The Jedi Apprentice turned for the landing ramp, shading his eyes against the bright, driving rays of the planet's twin suns. He scaled the ramp, taking long strides. He hoped the message coming through was a recording, otherwise there was the possibility the Queen might attempt to reply straightaway. Kenobi walked quickly, hurrying to the main assembly room in the heart of the Nubian cruiser.

The whirr of the door opening momentarily turned the attention of those assembled away from the holorecording that just begun to play. Quietly, he stepped to the side, focusing on the larger-than-life image of Thede's governor, Sío Bibble.

He made no preamble. "The Federation has occupied our planet. They've instituted martial law, confining our citizens to concentration camps. The death toll is catastrophic. You must contact me. Please, Majesty, you are the only one who can negotiate a way out of this blockade. You must contact me!"

With of puff of static, the transmission ended. Obi-Wan advanced into the room from his position leaning against the wall.

"Send no reply," he barked. "Send no transmissions of any kind. My Master has learned that the Federation has put a bounty on our heads. No doubt Governor Bibble's message was a ploy to establish a connection trace. We can't let them find us."

"Then what do you suggest we do?" Panaka asked.

"We repair the ship as fast as we can and make for Coruscant with all speed. Qui-Gon has located the parts we need—what remains for us to do is acquire the necessary capital to purchase those parts. I need to know exactly what funds we have and what supplies we might be able to barter with."

"We are left with no currency other than Galactic Credits," Queen Amidala asserted. "Will the dealer Master Jinn has located accept such payment?"

"No," Kenobi replied.

"Then we must inventory the cargo hold," Panaka interjected. "Perhaps there's something down there worth bartering with."

"Rabé," the Queen ordered, "assist Jedi Kenobi in searching our stores."

Effectively dismissed, Obi-Wan turned from the room, the handmaiden named Rabé close behind him. Obi-Wan turned down the corridor that led to the cargo hold, and was surprised when Rabé didn't follow him. He spun around, looking backward.

"This way," she beckoned, a slight smile playing about her lips.

Obi-Wan followed, trying to quell the rising redness he felt in his cheeks. Despite it not being a very large ship, Obi-Wan still found himself getting lost on occasion. He chalked his difficulty in getting around up to his dislike for space travel, or for that matter, any sort of flying in general. Trying to quell his sense of embarrassment, he fell in behind the girl, content to follow her to the cargo hold.

"You must no be much for space travel," she said.

"No," he admitted sheepishly.

"Don't worry about it," Rabé continued. "I used to be just like you—totally lost my sense of direction once I set foot on a starship. But it gets better after a while."

The trouble is, he thought, is that you're younger than I am, and I've been flying longer. And even worst still: we're on the ground.

He sighed inwardly as he set about completing his task.

The streets of Mos Espa were hot and crowded; Qui-Gon noted that there seemed to be more beings pouring out of shops than going in. He surmised that this disparity in the two activities of the city-dwellers had to do with the dark brown clouds on the horizon. A sandstorm no doubt, which caused the people of the city to go rushing to their homes in pursuit of shelter.

"We should get in doors," he said, turning around to direct his comment at the trailing line that was his party.

Jinn did a double take. One of their number was missing. Their R2 unit trundled along happily behind him, while Padmé followed him dutifully, though he noted she looked a bit sad. Jar-Jar however, was no where to be seen. He muttered an oath under his breath. The last thing they needed was to get separated. Leave it to Jar-Jar to assure that the worst would happen.

Qui-Gon gave the dark clouds on the horizon another glance. He grimaced, for they were moving toward Mos Espa at a prodigious rate. They had to find Jar-Jar quickly. The Jedi Master peered about, hoping to catch a glimpse of the tall Gungan's orange ears flopping about above the crowd as he awkwardly moved about. After a fruitless attempt to catch sight of their lost companion, Qui-Gon reversed their course, heading back to the junk dealer's shop in hopes of encountering Jar-Jar along the way.

"Keep a weather eye for trouble," he told Padmé.

They had nearly reached the shop when Padmé spotted their missing Gungan. The creature had stopped at a food stall, intrigued by the appearance of the different cuisines. It seemed he'd become embroiled in a dispute with one of the stall's patrons, a cantankerous looking Dug. Although not large, the non-humanoid exercised a formidable amount of strength over the larger Gungan, as he pinned Jar-Jar to the ground, grasping his skinny neck in a one-handed choke hold.

"Lost something?" he asked in Huttese.

Not understanding, Jar-Jar muttered, "Meesa no wantin' trouble."

The Dug tightened his grip on Jar-Jar's neck; the orange alien gave a sharp cry of alarm. Qui-Gon decided it was time to step in.

"What seems to be that matter?" he asked in crisp, unaccented Huttese.

"That mongrel tried to steal my merchandise!" the shop's proprietor cut in. "Sebulba here was teaching him a lesson for me."

Qui-Gon pulled a pair of larger denominations of credit chits from his belt and handed them to the shopkeeper. Extricating Jar-Jar from Sebulba's grasp, he said, "I'm sure those will cover the cost of whatever damages Jar-Jar might have incurred."

"Bantha poodoo!" Sebulba called after them as they left.

"This is a dangerous place," Qui-Gon admonished Jar-Jar. "For your own good, stay close."

"Yeah, you don't want to try scraping orange goo out of the sand after he gets blasted."

Qui-Gon whirled around to face the boy from the junk dealer's shop. Apparently he'd been following them.

"Sebulba's a notorious fighter in these parts," the boy said, "by the looks of it, he was getting ready to finish off you're orange friend."

"The last thing meesa wantin' is crunchin'," Jar-Jar lamented as he wrung his gangly hands and hung his head.

"The boy is right though, Jar-Jar," Qui-Gon interjected, "you were heading into trouble. From now on, promise me you'll stay close."

Now that they had Jar-Jar safe and within eyesight once more, Qui-Gon turned his attention to the slave boy. The last thing they needed was someone following them to their ship to the outskirts of Mos Espa. Even worse, this boy was the slave of a dealer who already suspected them of being part of the group the Trade Federation was after. Qui-Gon cringed at the thought of what might happen if the boy managed to get back to his master with enough information to confirm that theirs was the ship that had run through the Federation's blockade of Naboo.

"I'm Anakin," the boy said as Qui-Gon ran through possible scenarios for losing the child in his head. "What's your name?"

"I'm Qui-Gon Jinn," he replied tersely.

"I like you're friend," Anakin said. "She's pretty."

Qui-Gon ignored the boy's comment, attempting to excuse them by saying: "It looks there's a sand storm coming. We should get indoors before it hits. So if you'll excuse us—"

"Do you have shelter?"

"Our ship," Qui-Gon responded, wishing little Anakin would leave them be.

"Is it far?"

"It's on the outskirts," Padmé said before Qui-Gon could cut her off.

He grimaced. The location of their ship was another detail the boy didn't need to know.

"You'll never make it in time!" Anakin exclaimed. "Sandstorms are very, very dangerous. C'mon, I'll take you to my place!"

With that, he took hold of Padmé's hand and commenced to go bounding on ahead of them, forging a path through sand that was beginning to drift in the building winds, leading the way to what Qui-Gon hoped would be safe shelter.

As he followed behind the cavorting young boy, Qui-Gon hoped beyond all hopes he was trustworthy. If not, they could end up in serious trouble, and the planet of Naboo could remain a Federation-occupied world indefinitely. The key to their success was acquiring those spare parts. If only he could find a way to raise the cash needed to purchase them…