C219 Dinner With The Chosen One

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After the demise of Gulda the Hutt and the chaos that followed, Peter and his crew moved swiftly through the dimly lit halls of the palace. The recording they had obtained, along with other hidden holorecordings from Gulda's private collection, would be invaluable in understanding the extent of Count Dooku's and his master's plans.

They also found a cache of riches—piles of precious gems, rare metals, and credits stashed away in the deeper vaults of the palace. Rocket's eyes gleamed as he sifted through the loot, muttering, "We hit the jackpot this time."

Peter glanced at the freed slaves who huddled in groups, their eyes wide with uncertainty. The Twi'lek interpreter, still slick with Gulda's remains, stood apart from the others, her expression dazed. With a nod, Peter gestured toward the fortune. "Take what you need to start over," he said. "This was never hers to keep anyway."

The former slaves exchanged glances of disbelief before rushing to gather their share. The Twi'lek stepped forward, hesitating only for a moment before dipping her head in gratitude.

"Thank you," she whispered, voice cracking. Peter acknowledged her with a brief nod.

The crew exited the palace, the cool night air washing over them as they stepped outside. Flames still flickered along the walls, casting long shadows that danced across the sand. They climbed into their ship, the engines rumbling to life as Rocket and Tony took their places in the cockpit.

"Alright, let's get out of here," Peter said, exhaustion catching up to him as he slumped into his seat.

Rocket flashed a sly grin. "Buckle up, folks."

Peter expected to see the familiar skyline of Mos Espa when they lifted off, but instead, they veered away from the city, gliding over the dunes.

Confused, Peter straightened up, peering out the window. The barren landscape rolled beneath them until a small, modest home came into view, nestled in the outskirts of the city. It looked familiar, an image that stirred long-buried memories.

His eyes widened as realization struck him.

The ship touched down gently in front of the simple, sand-worn house. The door swung open, and a small boy burst out, laughter bubbling from his lips as he waved at the vessel. His mother followed, wielding a wooden spoon with mock severity, shouting after him with a smile.

Peter's breath caught in his chest. The boy was Anakin Skywalker, his grin wide and bright as he recognized Rocket through the cockpit window, relief and excitement shining on his face.

Peter exhaled, a look of surprise on his face. 'Did they meet Anakin while I was gone?'

As the ship settled on the soft, sandy ground outside Anakin's home, the crew disembarked, the warm breeze of Tatooine brushing past them.

Peter stepped off last, taking a moment to compose himself. He glanced at Anakin, making sure to keep any recognition of the boy hidden.

He needed to approach this carefully…

Anakin's eyes, full of wonder, scanned the group. When he noticed the lightsaber at Peter's waist, they widened with awe.

Shmi stood by the door, a warm smile playing on her lips. "Would you all like to join us for dinner?" she offered graciously, though it was clear from her tone that their resources were humble.

Peter answered before anyone else could object. "We'd love to." His response drew surprised glances from Tony, Natasha, and Mikaela, who were more inclined to refuse politely, but they said nothing, following Peter's lead.

Inside, the small home was modest, filled with the scent of spices and cooked grains. The table was set with simple dishes, a spread of food that looked foreign to Tony, Natasha, and Mikaela. They exchanged wary glances, eyeing the meal with hesitation until Peter sat down, grabbed a plate, and dug in without a second thought.

"Not bad at all," Peter said after taking a bite, giving Shmi an approving nod. With their leader's example set, the others followed, cautiously at first but soon found themselves pleasantly surprised by the flavors.

Mikaela took another bite, smiling. "It's… really good."

Shmi's smile was grateful but modest. "Thank you."

As the meal continued, Anakin couldn't contain his curiosity any longer. He turned to Peter, eyes wide and hopeful. "Are you a Jedi?" His voice carried a note of reverence, as if he were in the presence of a legend. "Are you here to free us, like Star-Lord?"

Peter's hand froze mid-motion, the fork pausing between his fingers. He met Anakin's gaze, seeing the sparkle in the boy's eyes when he mentioned Star-Lord. The realization hit him hard: Anakin Skywalker, the future Darth Vader, idolized him.

Rocket and Groot exchanged somber glances, picking up on the implications. Shmi's silence was telling, and Natasha and Tony's expressions shifted from confusion to understanding. Mikaela, however, looked puzzled, prompting her to ask, "Why would you need to be freed?"

Shmi's gentle smile faltered, but she answered with grace. "Anakin and I are slaves," she said, her voice steady but tinged with quiet pain. "We belong to a shop owner named Watto."

Mikaela's face paled, her eyes widening in shock and disbelief. "You're slaves?!" she exclaimed, her voice trembling with sympathy. The thought was foreign to her, something she associated with history books, not the reality of space.

Peter reached out and placed a calming hand on her shoulder. "Easy, Mikaela," he said, sensing her growing frustration.

Mikaela blinked, realizing she had let her emotions spill over. "I'm sorry," she murmured, embarrassment creeping up her neck.

Shmi's expression softened. "There's no need to apologize. Your kindness is appreciated."

After the truth was revealed, the room was steeped in an uneasy quiet. Mikaela glanced between Anakin and his mother, disbelief still etched on her face.

Anakin, who had been eagerly waiting to speak, pulled his shirt down slightly, revealing a small, circular scar on his neck. "We have these too."

Natasha leaned forward, eyes narrowed. "What's that?"

"Ani, maybe we've said enough—" Shmi tries to stop her son, but Anakin was all too happy to explain.

"It's a slave chip," Anakin spoke, his gaze darting between the crew members. "They put it in us to keep us from running away or fighting back. If we do, the chip can be activated, and… boom!" He spread his hands apart, mimicking an explosion.

A heavy silence settled over the room, suffocating and dark. Even Rocket, who was rarely at a loss for words, glanced away, his expression uncharacteristically somber. Groot let out a mournful, "I am Groot," which resonated with a profound sadness that everyone could feel.

Tony's jaw clenched, anger flaring in his eyes. "That's barbaric," he muttered.

Peter let out a heavy sigh. Hearing Anakin's story in the movie was one thing, but witnessing a living, breathing child describe how his life hung in the balance at the whim of his slave master hit differently. It drove home just how truly harrowing Anakin's childhood had been. 'No wonder he became Darth Vader…'

Shmi looked down at her hands, clasped tightly in her lap. "Watto controls the chips. It's how he keeps us… compliant."

Mikaela's eyes filled with tears. "That's horrible," she whispered, voice breaking.

However, Anakin's hopeful gaze hadn't wavered. "So… are you really a Jedi?" he asked Peter again, his voice quieter now, more uncertain.

Peter nodded, a hint of a smile on his lips. "Yes. Right now, I'm on vacation, though."

Shmi raised an eyebrow, a touch of amusement breaking through her serious demeanor. "Jedi have vacations?"

Peter's smile widened, but before he could answer, Anakin's expression fell. "So… you're not here to save us?" The hope in his voice faded, replaced by disappointment.

Peter shook his head gently. "No, Anakin. That's not why we came here but—"

The boy's face crumpled, and before anyone could react, he bolted from the table, the wooden chair scraping harshly against the floor as he pushed it back. He ran out the front door, the sound of his quick footsteps fading into the evening air.

Mikaela half-rose from her seat, intent on going after him, but Shmi reached out and touched her arm. "Leave him be for now," Shmi said softly. "He won't go far."

Reluctantly, Mikaela sank back into her seat, exchanging worried glances with the others. The remainder of the meal continued in strained silence, the weight of the conversation pressing down on them all.

…

..

.

The warm, dim glow of the lanterns filled the modest home, casting shadows that flickered across the walls. Dinner had ended in a tense silence, and Anakin had disappeared into his room without another word, his small form disappearing behind the worn curtain that served as his door. Shmi followed him, the quiet sound of her soft words drifting through the small home as she tried to soothe her son.

Outside, the wind picked up, a howling that grew louder with each passing moment. The first grains of sand hit the walls with a light patter, quickly growing into a relentless, drumming roar. The sandstorm had descended on them swiftly, wrapping the small house in a stormy cocoon.

Moments later, Shmi stepped out, a tired smile on her face. "It seems a storm has arrived. It would be best for you all to stay here tonight. Travel is impossible in this weather."

Natasha glanced out the small window, watching as the sands lashed against the glass in a steady barrage. "It looks like we don't have much of a choice," she muttered.

Tony raised an eyebrow. "We could fly over it, you know," he said, his voice low so Shmi wouldn't overhear. Rocket nodded, his expression showing his usual impatience.

Peter, however, spoke up before anyone could continue. "No, we'll stay," he said firmly, drawing surprised looks from the others.

Shmi's smile grew, the gratitude in her eyes evident. "Alright. I'll set up some bedding for you all," she said, moving into another room to gather supplies.

As soon as she was out of earshot, Rocket tilted his head, eyeing Peter suspiciously. "Alright, spill. What's going on? This is the second time you've pulled this stunt. First with dinner, and now this."

Natasha's gaze was sharp, searching his face for answers. "Are you going to tell us what you're up to, or do we have to guess?"

Mikaela's voice was hopeful, her eyes wide as she asked, "Are we going to free Anakin and his mother?"

Peter took a deep breath, looking between his friends. "Maybe," he said, his tone careful and thoughtful. Mikaela's eyes lit up, and even Tony looked intrigued.

"Maybe?" Rocket snorted. "Come on, Quill, what's the play here?"

Before Peter could respond, the sudden chirp of his datapad cut through the air. The shrill sound echoed in the room, drawing everyone's attention. Peter glanced down, his brows furrowing when he saw the incoming call. Padmé.

"Hold on," he muttered, stepping away from the group and into the small alcove by the front door. The storm's roar filled the silence as he discreetly donned his mask and answered the call.

The screen flickered, the connection was terrible, static crackling as the screen attempted to project an image.

"Padmé? Are you there? I don't have any picture. Is the connection bad for some reason?" Peter's voice was laced with worry as he peered at the blurry screen. There was no video or audio on her end, just a faint silhouette before the screen went dark again.

"Padmé? Are you there? I can't hear you." he called out, his voice strained. The connection dropped entirely, leaving him staring at the blank screen, a sinking feeling pooling in his gut. He quickly tapped at the screen, trying to redial, but the call wouldn't go through.

He clenched his jaw, the unease settling deep in his chest. Something was very, very wrong.

The rest of the crew watched from the room, exchanging uneasy glances as Peter's posture stiffened, the worry etched into his face unmistakable. Natasha stepped forward, her voice soft but firm. "What happened?"

Peter lowered the datapad, his eyes dark and focused. "I'm not sure. But I don't think we'll be able it's stay here as long as I planned..."

The storm outside raged on, but inside, an even greater storm was beginning to brew in Peter's mind.

————

Meanwhile, across the Galaxy, Naboo had completely fallen.

The once vibrant and peaceful planet was now under the iron grip of the Trade Federation. The lush, green fields and sparkling lakes of Theed were shadowed by the dark silhouettes of droid armies patrolling the streets. Battle droids marched in perfect formation, their metal feet thudding against the cobblestone paths as they asserted their control over the city.

The palace, once a symbol of hope and resilience, stood subdued, its regal architecture marred by scorch marks and signs of battle. Inside, the Trade Federation's influence spread like a suffocating fog, with Viceroy Nute Gunray and his Neimoidian officers overseeing every detail with cold efficiency. The people of Naboo, stripped of their freedom, were corralled into compliance, their spirits dulled by the presence of an unending mechanical watch.

High above, the skies were choked with the massive fleet of Trade Federation battleships, each one an ominous blockade against the outside world. The entire planet was surrounded, ensnared by a cold metal net that allowed nothing in or out. Any vessel attempting to breach the blockade was swiftly turned away, their desperate calls for explanation or diplomacy ignored.

Yet, this display of might had not gone unnoticed.

Word of Naboo's capture and the Trade Federation's brutal blockade reached the Republic. Those who had tried to visit the planet and were forced to retreat spread the news like wildfire.

Senators whispered of the alarming reports, their concerns growing by the minute. Discussions of action reverberated through the halls of Coruscant, though many doubted if the information was truly reliable or not.

After all, why would the Trade Federation do such a thing?

But it was already too late.

Naboo's fate was sealed, its people now prisoners under the Trade Federation's command. The isolation was complete, the blockade impenetrable…

A/N: 2360 words :)

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