caution: this chapter is very long. i apologize for the wait, but there was a lot of ground to cover in this one. please to the best of your ability try to read all the way through — i promise it's worth it!
thank you!! please enjoy <3

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

     IN ARTIE'S GOOD OPINION, THE ORDEAL ON MORTIS SHOULD HAVE GARNERED ENOUGH HORROR AND CONFUSION TO RUIN THE REST OF ANY NORMAL PERSON'S LIFE. She, Anakin, and Obi-Wan, however, seemed expected to treat it like any other mishap — just a casual occupational hazard of those foolish enough to set off on the path of the Jedi. No one cared if they were not okay.

     Not three weeks later, Anakin and Obi-Wan were assigned with the task of rescuing master Even Piell and other high-level officers carrying vital, war-turning information from the Citadel — a prison made specifically for holding Jedi. Artie and Ahsoka were barred from the mission (the Council cited lack of experience, though just what they considered actual experience was lost on Artie) but Ahsoka stowed away and smuggled herself into the group, leaving Artie practically ripping her hair out on Coruscant, so sick with worry she could barely stand. It was no help either that Rex had gone as well. She spent three days locked inside Padmé's apartment, sometimes crying, sometimes raging against the Council to her friend, but mostly ignoring the persistent hologram messages sent from the Temple asking her if she'd known Ahsoka planned on sneaking off Coruscant. Of course she hadn't known — she hadn't even been smart enough to think of doing so herself.

     The people she loved returned safely, as well as the officers who had been captured with Piell. The old master, however, had died just before the rescue team could get off-planet, having used his last moments to pass on to Ahsoka the information on the Nexus Route that the Republic so desperately needed. They lost several clones. Echo was killed early in the mission. When Anakin told Artie this, she dissolved into tears and couldn't calm down for hours. It was not just grief for her friend that tore at her, but the knowledge too of how easily Anakin could have been taken from her. How easily any of her friends, her family, could be taken from her.

     The nightmares didn't stop there. It was war, after all.

     Months of missions, disasters, and brushes with death so close it felt like fate was warning them, I've got my eye on you. Despite the losses, despite the turmoil and constant chaos, they did not stop. Not once. Artie learned her limits, and then was forced to ignore them. She watched her friends flay themselves to the bone for the sake of a war she feared more than anything they were losing. Or, was this just what war felt like? Constant doubt and sorrow, constantly aware of the fact that every moment you spent on yourself meant that hundreds, if not thousands of people died, so you stopped taking moments. You stopped thinking of yourself to the point where you didn't even act as if you were human. You woke up every morning hoping you would not outlive another person you would have died for.

     No one cared if you were not okay. Nobody was. So what could be done, except keep the fight going?

• • •

     IT WAS A RARE OCCASION INDEED WHEN THE JEDI COUNCIL ADMITTED that Artie might be useful. Evidently, it took an entire planet's populace to go missing for Mace Windu to reluctantly inform her that help was needed, and she should gear up right away.

     Long spells of ignoring. Grudging allowance to participate. It was as close as the two of them would ever get to friendship.

     "There's not much time to explain, so I'll keep it brief," Windu said gruffly, leading Artie down a temple corridor and barely bothering to look her in the eye. "The Torgrutan colonists are nowhere on Kiros -- that we can confirm for certain. We think the Zygerrians are to blame, but we need proof they've violated Republic law before we can launch a full-scale response. You're to rendezvous with Kenobi and he'll fill you in on their plan. You're going undercover."

      Artie pondered all this with mounting anxiety. Finally, she asked, "Me, or everyone?"

     "Everyone," Windu replied with the air of someone who thought they were speaking with an incredibly stupid person. "You, Skywalker, Kenobi, and Skywalker's apprentice."

     Artie grudgingly ignored his brazen disregard for Ahsoka and said, "How am I reaching them? They're on a pirated ship, aren't they? Not a Star Cruiser."

     "That's taken care of," Windu answered her stiffly like he was bothered they were even still speaking. "They've docked in one of our cruisers en route nearby. You'll take a shuttle and meet them at the coordinates we give you. May the Force be with you."

     He left her alone after that, and with nothing but her lightsaber, Artie had boarded an empty shuttle and chugged off into open space to meet with Anakin. She should have been excited to see him, to work with their friends, and she was, but something kept her from truly relaxing. Actually, a number of things. First, she was no performer, and missions where she was to assume a character always proved a challenge. Second, she dreaded working with Ahsoka. Too much could go wrong, and Ahsoka was too young to die for the Jedi Order -- too eager to risk herself and not at all as mistrustful as Artie would have liked her to be. Anakin overlooked her recklessness as he overlooked it in himself, and neither of them had the good sense to think anything through (Artie knew she wasn't alone in her exasperation because she and Rex often lamented their frustrations to each other when Anakin and Ahsoka weren't around).

     The Straightshot was empty compared to other Republic cruisers Artie had found herself on, though she supposed the point of an undercover mission was discretion. Obi-Wan met her in the hangar, and despite appearing very wound-up, he smiled when he saw her.

     "Our reinforcing battalion arrives," said Obi-Wan. His blue eyes twinkled.

     "I'm a one-woman army," Artie declared as she linked her arm through Obi-Wan's. "We've got a plan?"

     They started down the length of the hangar. Obi-Wan pulled a face. "Anakin devised . . . something."

     "Will I like it?"

     He gave her a sympathetic look. "I don't think so."

     "Do you like it?"

     "No," Obi-Wan said with little hesitation, "but it will be effective, I admit. If we're extremely lucky."

     Artie sighed and let her head drop against his shoulder. "Isn't that how it always is?"

    They reached an empty briefing room and the doors slid apart at their approach. Anakin, Ahsoka, and Rex waited inside, and so she could embrace Anakin, she greeted everyone with a hug.

     "Council decided you oughta pull your weight, eh?" Rex said with a grin as he released her, helmet tucked beneath one arm.

     Artie smiled right back. "Oh, yeah. Said I was a freeloading fraud and I needed to get myself out in the field before they give my room up to a graduating youngling."

     Rex laughed, but Obi-Wan shook his head. "No one thinks that, Artemis."

     "'Course they do," Anakin jibed. He walked over and nudged her in the arm.

     "Watch it," she warned with unconvincing anger. She pulled him into a brief embrace, hoping she was putting across something very sibling-esque. "What's your master plan, then?"

     "I'm not saying until we're on the shuttle," Anakin replied, "because you're going to hate it."

     Artie fixed her eyes on him. "Tell me."

     He sighed and folded his arms. He leaned back against a hologram base. "What do you know about Zygerria?"

     Artie scowled. "I know it's awful," she said brazenly. "They built their economy on slavery, didn't they? The marketers on Tattooine talked so highly of their system." Artie hoped her discomfort wasn't obvious, but if part of the scheme was to go undercover on Zygerria, any optimism she had before was slipping away faster than she could reason with herself. "Master Windu told me they're suspected in the disappearance of the Torgrutan colonists." She cast Ahsoka a pained look, and she could tell the Padawan was deeply worried; the Torgrutans were her people, after all.

     "It's true," Obi-Wan said as he touched a hand to his mouth, the way he always did when he was thinking. "The trouble is finding the colonists and ending this whole affair before it becomes disastrous."

     "It seems pretty disastrous to me already," Ahsoka chimed in. Her copper-colored face was pinched pointedly, and her frustration, despite how clearly she was attempting to control it, was obvious. She nodded to Anakin. "You and I both heard what that skeeze D'Nar said. The queen is going to auction them off to kickstart her slave empire again -- that screams disaster."

     Artie didn't think to ask who D'Nar was, and the sudden and stony look on Anakin's face told her it was not the time to try.

     "It'll be all right, Snips," Anakin consoled, the distaste leaving his features and his eyes becoming gentle again. Artie had the inappropriate but achingly endearing thought of what he'd be like as a father. "We're going to do what needs to be done. Which takes us back to the plan." He locked eyes with Artie. "Infiltration. I need to get an audience with the Zygerrian queen if we're going to figure out her angle -- that's where you and Ahsoka come in. While Obi-Wan and Rex try to pinpoint the location of the colonists, I'm taking you both to the palace where we'll be close to the queen."

     Artie's eyebrows furrowed as she considered the holes in Anakin's idea. "Why would she let us anywhere near her? We're nobodies to her -- and besides, the Zygerrians hate the Jedi. They'd sooner kill all of us than listen to anything we say." She assumed her point was rational, but Anakin and Obi-Wan exchanged a look that told her there was a thing or two she didn't know.

     Anakin lifted his shoulders. "Well, if we were disguised . . . and came bearing gifts. . . ."

     It hit Artie later than she would have liked. Her face fell, her stomach dropped. "You aren't serious."

"You'd just be playing the part of a slave," Anakin explained swiftly. "I'd — we'd — never put you in any kind of danger. You would just put on the costume, follow me around —"

     "Costume?"

     "Disguise," he amended.

     Artie blew a breath through her teeth. All previous fondness was gone from her, replaced by disbelief and general anxiousness. Was he not remembering what she'd spent a nightmarish year of her life struggling to avoid? What she was meant to be butchered for saying no to? And what, now she was expected to be all right with that kind of humiliation because it was for the benefit of the Order? No . . . For the first time in a very long while, Artie found herself deeply upset with Anakin. There wasn't any way for her to call him on it, though, unless she wanted to unload a heap of problems on some very unsuspecting people.

     She did not want to, so she kept her mouth shut.

     "I warned you she wouldn't like it," Obi-Wan muttered.

     "Why can't you be the slave?" Artie challenged. Anger lashed at her insides, red flares lighting her up beneath the skin. "I'm sure Ahsoka and I could make convincing enough masters." What would I have to do, smack you with a stick? Artie thought savagely. Sounds easy enough.

     "I have no doubt you could," Anakin agreed evenly. "Slaveholders on Zygerria are typically male, though, and since our goal is to blend in . . . "

     Artie had nothing to say to that -- it took too much effort to resist whaling on him. She wheeled her attention to Obi-Wan. "And where will you be? Aren't you coming?"

     "I'll be trying to track down the colonists," he answered calmly, eyes twinkling with what Artie hoped he wouldn't dare let be amusement. "Rex will go with me. It seems our task might require a virtue Anakin doesn't quite possess."

      Artie blinked. "Which is?"

     "Subtlety."

     "Good point." Her stare flew back to Anakin. "Fine. I'll go along with this, but only so Ahsoka doesn't have to go in alone. I don't like her even being near this kind of stuff . . . especially since they're going after Torgrutans." Artie found her fingers going quickly to her ear where she twisted one of the small metal studs stuck through. "Our weapons . . . how could we possibly smuggle them in? It'll be a fight eventually — it always turns into a fight."

     Anakin risked a smile. "Artoo, of course." The little astromech whirred from his place in a nearby corner, clearly very happy to be useful (or, whatever the droid equivalent was to happiness was — Obi-Wan firmly believed there wasn't one). "He'll hold onto them."

     "You know, someday people are going to start recognizing him," Artie chided. Obi-Wan nodded tiredly beside Anakin.

     "But not today," Anakin replied. His usual overconfident smile tugged at the corner of his mouth and for the first time in her life, Artie wasn't endeared by it. His reckless behavior had finally affected her badly, and she no longer found it charming. Artie had a suspicion that this exasperated indignation was what Obi-Wan spent most of his time feeling, and she was filled with sympathy for Anakin's old Master and great respect for his patience. The idea of a pre-teen Anakin Skywalker was a few shades past terrifying.

    "What kind of slaves are we going to be?" Artie asked tersely, a horrifying image of herself and Ahsoka in dancer's scarves crossing her mind.

     His mouth twitched again. "The very modest kind."

     Oh, she could have throttled him.

     Ahsoka came to stand by Artie and put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "I think we can do it. I really don't like any of this either, but if it gets us closer to finding my people's colony . . ."

     Ahsoka's round eyes were pleading, shining with tears she would never let fall. Artie couldn't remember a time ever seeing Ahsoka cry. She watched her closely for several moments and caught traces of the child Ahsoka was never allowed to be. She chastised herself, then, for letting her courage falter when the last thing she should be thinking about was herself. If Ahsoka could do this, then Artie could too, and the objective would be to keep Ahsoka from harm rather than waste energy worrying about her own discomfort.

"You're right," Artie said softly. "I'll play nice for you. But keep an eye on me around him." She threw Anakin a look. "There's no telling what I'll do — I don't think the Chancellor would want his poster boy to end up with two missing arms."

Ahsoka tossed her an amused smile and Rex laughed heartily as he slipped on his helmet. Anakin stared at Artie. "Poster boy?"

"You heard me."

"You aren't a little old for name-calling?"

Artie scoffed. "Name-calling? Do you think that's name-calling? That's in your job description, Chosen One."

Her voice dripped with venom; perhaps everything came out a bit icier than she'd meant, but Artie's whole self was still coiled with frustration and she wanted Anakin to know it. She saw a shadow cross his face, watched him blink unsurely, then close his mouth. His brow flattened and he folded his arms. Anakin said, "That's fair," and went quiet after that. But his eyes trailed on Artie.

No one spoke for several moments, but Obi-Wan never could let tension spread for too long. "Let's just move into the cruiser," he risked. "We'll be in range soon."

Artie blew a breath through her teeth. Suddenly she was a bit embarrassed for snapping at Anakin, but she brushed it aside the next moment. He was always allowed to be passionate, angry, outspoken — never did she want him to hide his feelings about her, so why should this be any different? A scolding was the least he deserved. She followed Rex and Obi-Wan out of the briefing room and back into the hangar bay; Anakin walked behind her and she was keenly aware of his fixated stare, his blue-fire eyes scorching holes in the back of her head. Artie did not turn around, no matter how she wanted to if only to just see the look on his face.

Anger and melodrama did make him look gorgeous, after all.

A rickety shuttle was docked near the one Artie had taken to reach them. It was dingy, a touch rusted, and clearly several models old. The belly was wide and deep, obviously meant for hauling cargo in another life.

"I take it we're not posing as well-established slavers," Artie mumbled. "Don't even get the luxury that comes with marketing human beings." She pretended to sulk. "Unfair."

They boarded the ship and Anakin and Rex took over the controls. Artie leaned against Obi-Wan's chair as Ahsoka wove her hair into two braids. They found their disguises — Ahsoka's an elaborate number of cyan sashes and bolts of silky fabric that brought out the brightness of her skin, and Artie's a frumpy roughspun shirt and brown trousers a size too big.

"I guess you're supposed to be from Tatooine or something," Ahsoka murmured, looking reproachfully at Artie's hideous getup.

"I am from Tatooine, and I never dressed like this," Artie said in disgust. She sighed defeatedly and they left the cockpit, the doors sliding shut behind them. The pair dressed quickly (or, Artie did. Ahsoka's costume took several minutes to assemble, subtracting a small intermission when Anakin made the jump to lightspeed without warning them, and Artie flew back on her rear) and returned to the others in leaden spirits. Anakin, Obi-Wan, and Rex had donned slavers' uniforms; brown-and-gold-striped chest plates with matching gauntlets.

     Artie stared out the viewport in astonishment. They were not the only ones headed for Zygerria.

     The system loomed before them, surface streaked with shades of brown and gray, green splattered here and there, usually aligned with pockets of bright, bright blue. Around them, at least a hundred ships had congregated, all easing into Zygerrian jurisdiction, some already gliding down into the atmosphere. A pit formed in Artie's stomach and the Force shifted suddenly around Anakin. He may as well have been wearing a sign above his head that read, I HAVE A REALLY BIG PROBLEM WITH THIS.

    Obi-Wan leaned forward "I don't think we'll have to worry about standing out."

     "Why would so many people be here?" Artie wondered aloud, but the answer hit her the next moment. Some of the vessels were sleek, top-of-the-line models, gleaming in the white light of Zygerria's sun, and others . . . were very clearly cargo ships. Zygerria had only ever had one export.

     Anakin's hands tightened around the cruiser's controls. "The queen needs to build her new empire somehow, right?"

     Artie chewed anxiously on the skin on her lip. "She's already having slaves imported. How is this not proof enough for the Council? For the Senate?"

     "In any case," Obi-Wan said gravely, "we have to find the colonists. We can worry about the others after."

     Artie bit back the urge to argue. She knew Anakin felt the same way. Whatever the Council asked was exactly what Obi-Wan would do — and they had only wanted the Torgrutan colonists saved, not even for their own good, but to drive home the idea that truly they couldn't survive without the Republic's help. It was all one big fat I-told-you-so, never mind the fact that actual people were being hurt, put in the way of death, for what? For Yoda and Mace Windu to feel some kind of vindication?

Artie took in a deep breath through her nose. She loved Obi-Wan dearly, she knew she'd die for him if need be, but he just didn't understand things like this. It was part of what kept him and Anakin from seeing eye-to-eye. Obi-Wan had only ever known the Order, surrounded by people who in their strange way wanted the best for him, kept him well-guided, a sapling to become the deep-rooted tree they needed. And Anakin . . . he had already grown his roots, and he'd been excavated too late. Replanted, yes, and done his best to acclimate as trees always did, but how could it ever be just right?

Artie was not even a tree. She was not watered or watched. An infiltration, she had become. An invasive species following the salt and herb that gave her life, coiled around and hoping to remain unseen.

• • •

THE ZYGERRIAN MARKETPLACE WAS, IN A WORD, MISERABLE. THEY HAD BEEN RIGHT, AS ARTIE KNEW THEY WOULD BE — MASTERS AND SLAVES MADE UP MOST OF THE CROWDS. ARTIE WATCHED ALL MANNER OF humans and nonhumans alike lead and be led, be whipped into submission, dragged into smaller auctions that had already begun on the streets. The queen's palace jutted up from the belly of the city and seemed to stretch all the way to the sun, all gold and jade domes and walls so thick one could skim a groundspeeder atop them. It was beautiful, no matter how Artie hated to admit it, but the beauty stopped with the wealth; as soon as one's eye trailed down to the tattered and smelly markets, the facade shattered.

    Anakin led Artie through the fray by a pair of durasteel shackles fused around her wrists. Ahsoka followed suit, shrouded in a dark cloak from head to foot with only her eyes visible. She was to be revealed to the queen, a beautiful household attendant who wouldn't tarnish her majesty's carefully cultivated aesthetic. Artie's plain desert clothes were meant to keep her uninteresting.

Ahsoka's wide eyes trailed over the busy streets. "Why would a system already so advanced continue to practice slavery?" she murmured quietly.

"Quick money," Artie replied. "Not many people will be upfront about wanting slaves, but if they're offered . . ."

"Exactly," Anakin agreed. "It's a guaranteed business, and it's all at the expense of other people. Hardly feels like work, at the end of the day." Artie couldn't see his face beneath his helmet, but the loathing in his voice was deep and unmissable.

Obi-Wan and Rex had long-since broken away to investigate the colonist's whereabouts, so Artie, Anakin, and Ahsoka made their way through the market alone, led by a jubilant R2. Artie had half a mind to ask Anakin if he even knew where to go, and she almost did, but a group of haggard Twi'lek captives trudged across their path, and Artie forgot all words at the sight of the wrenching misery in their eyes. They were herded along by someone Artie assumed was Zygerrian -- she'd never met a native before. He was tall, humanoid in figure, and wore the same armor as Anakin and Obi-Wan did. Short silver fur covered his skin and face, and his eyes were yellow, distinctly feline; his ears were large and pointed. He watched waspishly as each of his slaves moved past him, heads bent low and arms clutched close to their rag-covered bodies.

Suddenly, one of the men towards the back of the group stumbled and fell flat on the ground. The Zygerrian slavemaster growled and stormed over.

"Please, sir," the Twi'lek man begged, trying to struggle to his feet. "My master, please — the bonds are too heavy for me to — "

The slavemaster groaned in disgust and kicked dirt in the captive's face. "Shut up! Maybe you just need some motivation, eh?"

He produced a whip from his belt, electrified like the one Lysander Auletes had flayed Artie's arm with so many years ago. The Twi'lek man cowered, and Artie thought about hurrying to his rescue, but before she could even take a step there was a flash of gray in her peripheral, and the next thing she knew, Ahsoka had ahold of the Zygerrian's wrist.

"I wouldn't do that," she said quietly.

The slavemaster recoiled and looked down at Ahsoka with revulsion. "You little skug — you dare touch me?"

Anakin swore under his breath and ran to intercede. Artie stayed rooted to the spot, unsure of her role.

"Please, excuse this slave," Anakin said reproachfully, steering Ahsoka behind him. "She's freshly caught. The disobedience hasn't been beaten out of her yet."

Artie knew he was only playing a part, but it was so strange to hear such horrible words pass Anakin's lips. She wondered how often things of similar nature had been said to him.

The slavemaster looked Anakin up and down. "And what have we here? You wear Zygerrian armor, though clearly," he gestured mockingly to his face, "you are not one of us. Who are you, and what scum have you let interrupt my business?" He turned a murderous glare to Ahsoka.

Anakin stood his ground. "I've come for an audience with the Queen," he said evenly.

"Then you have an invitation?"

Anakin lifted a shoulder. "No . . . but I do come with news. News I believe the Queen will be eager to hear."

The slavemaster was quiet for a moment, then let out a sharp, cruel laugh. "Ha! I doubt that." He spat at Anakin's feet. "You're nothing more than a brigand."

"I wouldn't say that," Anakin replied, humor slanting his tone, "especially when the Queen learns you prevented her from hearing the latest intel on Bruno Denturri."

Now, Artie had no clue who Bruno Denturri was, and she was half-convinced Anakin was just making junk up as he went, but the stunned look on the slavemaster's face told her Anakin had successfully struck a nerve.

"I . . . I . . ." he faltered. His heavy brow was pressed so hard over his eyes that it almost covered them completely. "Guards! This man is to be escorted to the palace at once. No one is to lay a hand on him. By . . . by order of the Queen."

Two Zygerrian guardsmen rushed to flank Anakin and Ahsoka. Artie knew better than to lag behind, so she approached them cautiously, not having to feign her fear at all. The guards advanced on her, but Anakin stopped them. "This one's mine, too." He took her by the shackles and steered her to walk on his left.

     Artie thought he might be having too much fun bossing her around.

• • •

IF THE PALACE HAD BEEN BEAUTIFUL ON THE OUTSIDE, IT WAS NOTHING COMPARED TO ITS INTERIOR. ALL ARTIE COULD THINK WAS GOLD. GOLD INLAYED ON THE FLOORS, gold thread lining the heavy drapes, gold leaf decorating the walls and ceiling. She may have appreciated it even more if she did not know exactly how it had been acquired.

The throne room was smaller than Artie would have expected, but she realized that was the point. One long strip of hallway ended before a massive window and erected in front of it was a massive throne, as gold as anything else in the palace. It glittered in the sunlight, the only thing one could look at.

Upon it sat the Zygerrian queen.

She might have been pretty, Artie supposed, if she'd been human. The Queen had the same feline-esque features to the slavemaster, if not more angular and distinctly feminine. Her gold eyes surveyed them all, but fell on Anakin in a way that made Artie angry almost immediately. 

     "So," the Queen began in a throaty accent, "you are the man who claims to be involved with Bruno Denturri? I hope this is as useful as you claim — I was already in the middle of negotiating with other partners." She gestured to her left, where another Zygerrian and a man Artie could not see well were deep in conversation.

     Anakin removed his helmet, and Artie was somewhat comforted by seeing his whole face. "My name is Lars Quell. I did speak to Denturri, your majesty," he said. His voice changed suddenly, became cool and musing. "Though in our conversation he failed to mention the extent of your beauty."

     Artie didn't hear what anyone said next. A ringing filled her ears, the tips of her fingers grew numb, her stomach gave a painful lurch. What had he just said? Right in front of her? To that bat-eared, slave-mongering nightmare?

     It's an act, she told herself over and over. He's flattering her so she won't suspect us.

     But nothing calmed the jealousy that lashed through her insides like a knife. Blood rushed to her cheeks, a surprising amount of embarrassment intermixed with the rage she felt. Artie pushed every ounce of it into the Force so that Anakin might be very aware of what she thought of his little performance.

     "And did Denturri mention my hatred for him?" the Queen asked lightly. "Or did he misunderstand the extent of that, as well?"

     Anakin watched her calmly. "He did not speak of it. If pleases you, your majesty, I'd like it to be known that Bruno Denturri has been killed by my hand. A favor to you," he added graciously. "And here," he gestured to Ahsoka, "is a slave from his estate. Compensation for my efforts."

     Eyes shifting, Ahsoka shed her cloak and revealed her glittering costume. For added effect, she knocked away Anakin's hand and glared at the Queen with loathing Artie suspected was at least partly genuine. Maybe she was projecting.

     "Pretty thing," the Queen admitted. Her gold stare moved to Artie. "And the other one?"

     "Mine before," Anakin explained. "A desert girl. She's to be sold later in a smaller market."

     Artie took up the Queen's gaze challengingly. The Queen seemed only curious. "From a desert, you said? You might have a buyer right here. One of my very trusted comrades. He understands the Hutt markets and where real value lies. Have him look at her."

     Anakin shook his head. "Of course, I can worry about that later —"

     " — Lysander, come over here. Come examine this slave."

     The man Artie had not paid any attention to suddenly rose from his seat. He strode through bands of white sunlight that set his ash-blonde hair aglow. Artie knew his pointed face and pale eyes before he'd even come into focus.

     If her hands had not been bound, she would have stolen a blaster and shot herself.

     But her hands were shackled. Her mind had relinquished control of her body and she could not move. She could not even breath as Lysander Auletes sauntered towards her, his face simmering with disbelief but oh-so-obvious thrill. Here she was, in the very position he'd always wanted, presented to him like a gift. Artie could not fathom the magnitude of his happiness.

     Lysander grinned himself silly. She'd not seen his real smile in years. He stood three yards from her, hands holstered in his pockets, casual as if they were friends running into each other on the street.

     "Which one?" he asked, face twisting with the irony of it all. "This one?"

     He ambled down the steps to the main floor and began to close the distance between them.

     Anakin cleared his throat. "I'd prefer to deal with her in a smaller auction," he said tersely.

     Without looking at him, Lysander took a pouch from his belt and tossed it to Anakin. "Thirty-five thousand credits says she's good to go right here."

     Anakin let it drop to the floor. "She's not for sale."

     Lysander paused. Cautious amusement stretched across his features, and he looked from Anakin to Artie and back again. Chuckling softly, he declined his head toward Anakin and whispered, "You know, if she was your house-pet, you should have left her in the house."

      Lysander halted inches away from Artie. He lifted a hand and she could do nothing but close her eyes, feel his fingers carefully take her chin, his thumb sliding over the edge of her jaw.

     "Find her on Tatooine, did you?" he said loudly so that the room could hear.

     Anakin's lips barely moved. "I did."

     "I thought so," Lysander agreed. "Mighty fine prize, this one." He lowered his mouth to her ear. "A mighty, mighty fine prize."

note.
welp.
thank you to anyone who read all the way through!