Location: Tatooine, Mos Espa — Outer Rim Territories
The Queen's ship pierced the upper atmosphere of Tatooine like a silver blade, its hull still scarred from prior engagements. Inside, the recycled air was stiff with tension, dust, and anticipation.
Kira leaned against the corridor wall, arms crossed, watching the proximity sensors flare as they descended. The hyperdrive was hanging on by spit, sparks, and improvisation — and it wouldn't last another cycle.
"We're coming in hot," he muttered.
"Feels different," Hikaru said beside him. His gaze wasn't on the instruments but through the bulkhead, his eyes narrowed. "The Force here... it's quiet. Not empty. More like it's holding its breath."
Kira didn't reply. But deep down, he felt it too — a buzz beneath his skin, like the calm before an electrical storm.
Landing in the Dust
The ship touched down in a swirl of dry sand and static. Mos Espa sprawled before them like a hive half-buried in the dunes — all domes and junk and desperation.
As the ramp lowered, Qui-Gon took the lead with Queen Amidala (still disguised as a handmaiden) and Jar Jar Binks in tow. Panaka held position to guard the ship, but Kira and Hikaru — now "ship mechanics" for appearances — were cleared to move with the party.
Vol followed behind them, cloaked in a tattered robe to mask his High Republic-era plating.
"You know the drill," Kira whispered. "Don't draw attention. Don't mention systems. Don't mention the Force."
"I remember," Hikaru said, pulling his hood up. "But something tells me attention's coming whether we like it or not."
Market of Choices
Mos Espa was a mosaic of alien species, shouting merchants, spice-runners, and wandering droids. Qui-Gon moved swiftly, already tracking rumors of parts dealers, while the Queen's cover identity remained quiet and observant.
Kira, meanwhile, kept his eyes locked on the tech — street mods, black-market repairs, jury-rigged swoops.
He could see everything wrong with the equipment in front of him — and a dozen ways to fix them.
"Hyperdrives are expensive out here," Qui-Gon said, returning from a stall. "There's one dealer — Watto — who claims he has the part. But he won't take Republic credits."
"So what do we do?" Hikaru asked.
"We find something he wants," Qui-Gon said.
Then his eyes narrowed.
"Or... someone."
The Boy and the Bet
When they met Anakin Skywalker, it wasn't like they expected.
He was a kid — maybe nine, maybe ten — but with eyes that didn't match his age. Too much hope for someone who'd seen too much.
And Kira could tell immediately: this wasn't some background NPC.
Hikaru didn't say a word when Qui-Gon spoke to the boy. He just watched, silent.
Anakin offered to help. Offered to race for them in the Boonta Eve Classic. Offered his life, essentially, to get a shipload of strangers offworld.
Kira felt sick.
"He's a kid," he said later, to Hikaru as they walked back toward the ship.
"He's not just a kid," Hikaru whispered. "He's the nexus. The timeline pivots around him. This is where everything starts."
Kira clenched his fists. "Then why does it feel like we're just standing on the edge, waiting for the fall?"
The Hunter Arrives
Far away, in the canyons beyond the spaceport, a red-and-black blur sped through the desert.
Darth Maul stood atop a cliff as his speeder coasted to a halt, cloak whipping in the wind. He scanned the area with macrobinoculars — then paused.
The Queen's ship was here.
The Jedi were here.
And something else.
He frowned beneath his tattoos.
"Two disturbances," he muttered to himself, voice gravel-slick and death-calm. "One veiled by tech. The other... buried in instinct."
He reached for his comm and whispered to his droid: "Begin surveillance. Do not engage — yet."
But even as he turned away, he felt it — a subtle echo of tension. Somewhere, someone had sensed him.
The Confrontation — Nightfall
Later that night, while Qui-Gon was away making arrangements for the podrace, Kira worked beneath a tarp in the alley near the ship — piecing together a sensor rig with scrap he "borrowed" from a junk stall.
Vol stood watch. Hikaru was across the street, sitting quietly in the sand, eyes closed.
Then his eyes snapped open.
"He's here."
Kira looked up. "Who?"
"Maul."
The air turned cold.
Without a word, Kira pulled the tarp off his setup and kicked a power cell into Vol's chassis. "We're not ready for a fight."
"We're not getting one. Not yet."
And then he was there.
From the shadowed edge of the alley, a cloaked figure stepped into view. Not close. Not armed. Just... watching.
Kira froze.
Darth Maul didn't speak. He just stood there, like a black wound in the world.
Vol powered up his defensive subroutine silently, but didn't act.
Hikaru stepped forward.
"Why aren't you attacking?"
Maul tilted his head. "Because I don't need to. Yet."
His voice was smooth, low, and lethal.
"You... two. You don't belong. You smell wrong to the Force."
Kira stepped in front of Hikaru. "Back off."
Maul didn't laugh. But his silence felt like amusement.
Then he vanished — just stepped backward into the shadows, and he was gone.
No attack. No saber. Just a promise.
Aftermath
Back at the ship, Kira finished the sensor array and silently activated it. It pulsed once, scanning, and returned garbled data.
"He jammed us," Kira said. "Or masked his signature. That was just a message. He wanted us to know he saw us."
"What do we do?" Hikaru asked.
Kira looked up at the night sky. "We finish the race. We fix the ship. We stay on track."
"But the timeline—"
"We can't change it. Not yet. We survive. Then we adapt."
For a moment, the only sound was the wind moving through the alley, brushing past the wreckage and the rust and the hidden histories of this desert planet.
Then Vol spoke.
"Query: If enemy seeks confrontation, why delay?"
Kira frowned.
"Because he's not after us yet," Hikaru whispered. "He's after the Jedi."
Kira nodded, face hardening. "Which means... we're just collateral."
End of chapter 9