Chapter 4: Days of Dust

In the weeks that followed their arrival in Mos Espa, Shmi and Anakin's routine fell into a grim pattern. Each morning began with the same shrill buzz of Watto's wings and his barked commands to wake up. The Toydarian's impatience left no room for rest, and the small family rose with the twin suns, ready to face another day of servitude.

Anakin spent his days hunched over piles of dirty, rusted components, wiping oil from droid joints and polishing metal parts until his hands ached. His small fingers were often nicked by sharp edges or smeared with grease, but he worked diligently, knowing that any sign of slacking would draw Watto's ire.

Shmi, meanwhile, stood behind the shop's counter, memorizing the endless inventory of mechanical scraps, droid limbs, and engine parts. She greeted customers with forced politeness, hoping to avoid any conflicts that could draw unwanted attention to her or her son. Watto's expectations were high, and he made sure they knew it.

"You call this polished, eh?" he barked one afternoon, holding up a slightly tarnished piece of plating that Anakin had cleaned. "You better fix it, boy, or I'm docking your pay again! And you!" He spun toward Shmi, buzzing into her face. "Keep up with the customers, eh? I don't want anyone leaving without spending credits!"

"Yes, Master Watto," Shmi replied calmly, her voice measured and controlled. She had learned long ago that showing defiance only made things worse.

The five wupiupi Watto gave them each week barely kept them alive. Each trip to the market was a test of resourcefulness. Shmi stretched the coins as far as they would go, buying the cheapest fruits and grains she could find. Their meals were simple—watery soups, stale bread, and the occasional piece of fruit from Jira's stall when she offered them a small kindness.

Anakin's questions about the mechanical parts he handled became a small source of light in their otherwise bleak days. He absorbed every word of Shmi's explanations, his young mind already piecing together the functionality of the scraps around him.

"This is a servo actuator," Shmi explained one day, holding up a small, rusted cylinder. "It helps droids move their limbs. If it's damaged, the whole arm might not work."

Anakin nodded, turning the piece over in his hands. "Do you think I could fix one, Mom? If I had all the tools?"

Shmi smiled faintly. "I think you could, Ani. You're a quick learner."

Their conversations were brief but meaningful, offering a small reprieve from the harshness of their lives. Even Watto, though still demanding, seemed pleased with their work as the weeks passed.

On one particularly scorching afternoon, Watto's wings buzzed into the shop with a sense of urgency. He hovered over the counter, his stubby hands gesturing wildly.

"Listen up, eh!" he barked, drawing both Shmi and Anakin's attention. "You've been doing fine, I'll give you that. But now, I got something bigger for you."

Shmi stiffened, her eyes narrowing slightly. "What is it, Master Watto?"

"There's been a crash," Watto said, his nasally voice filled with excitement. "An old freighter, way out in the Dune Sea. Probably full of scrap—valuable scrap! I need you two to go out there and scavenge it for me."

Shmi's stomach dropped. The Dune Sea was dangerous—sandstorms, wild creatures, and the ever-present threat of Tusken Raiders made it a treacherous place for even the most experienced scavengers. She glanced down at Anakin, who was staring at Watto with wide, curious eyes.

"Master Watto," Shmi began cautiously, "it's dangerous out there. Especially for a child."

Watto waved her off dismissively. "Bah! Dangerous, shmangerous! You want to keep earning your five wupiupi, eh? Then you do as I say! Besides, the boy's small—he can squeeze into places you can't. It's perfect!"

Anakin opened his mouth to speak, but Shmi quickly squeezed his shoulder, silencing him. She turned back to Watto, her voice steady. "We'll prepare, Master Watto."

"Good!" Watto exclaimed, rubbing his hands together. "You leave at dawn tomorrow. Bring back anything valuable—or else!" With that, he buzzed out of the shop, leaving Shmi and Anakin alone in the oppressive heat.

That evening, as they shared their usual watery soup, Shmi couldn't hide the worry etched into her face. Anakin poked at his bowl with a piece of stale bread, his blue eyes darting toward her.

"Mom," he said finally, breaking the silence. "Are we really going to the Dune Sea?"

Shmi nodded, her shoulders slumping. "Yes, Ani. We have no choice."

"Why does Watto make us do all this?" Anakin asked, his voice trembling with frustration. "Why can't he go himself?"

"Because he's a coward," Shmi replied, her voice unusually sharp. She softened her tone as she continued. "And because he owns us. To him, we're just tools—things to be used."

"I hate him," Anakin muttered, his fists clenching. "I hate being a slave."

Shmi reached across the table, placing her hand gently on his. "I know, Ani. I hate it too. But hate won't help us. It'll only make us weaker."

Anakin looked up at her, his blue eyes filled with tears. "But it's not fair! You deserve better! We both do!"

Shmi's heart ached at his words. She leaned closer, brushing a strand of hair from his face. "One day, Ani. One day, things will change. But until then, we have to be strong. For each other."

Anakin nodded reluctantly, though the fire in his eyes remained. "I'll be strong, Mom. I'll protect you."

Shmi smiled faintly, though her heart felt heavy. "And I'll protect you, my brave boy."

As the twin moons rose over the desert, Shmi and Anakin prepared for the next day. Shmi gathered an old, tattered satchel and filled it with what little they had—a small water flask, a piece of cloth to shield them from the sun, and a handful of dried fruits. Anakin sat on the floor, tinkering with a small, broken circuit board he had found in the shop earlier.

"Do you think the crash will have anything good?" Anakin asked, his voice tinged with both excitement and fear.

"I hope so," Shmi replied, fastening the satchel. "The more we find, the better chance we have of staying safe."

Anakin looked up at her, his expression serious. "We'll find something. I'll make sure we do."

Shmi knelt beside him, pulling him into a gentle embrace. "I know you will, Ani."

The night passed slowly, the weight of tomorrow's journey pressing heavily on their minds. As Anakin drifted off to sleep, his dreams were filled with images of endless sand dunes and the fiery wings of the Sun Dragon, shielding him and his mother from harm.