"Hush, now, Ani, it's time for bed."

"Please, Mom? Just one more?"

"All right, Ani...just one more. This one is an old Corellian legend."

"Corellians look like humans, right?"

"That's right...This story is about a great Corellian warrior. Her name was Ronyne, and she served her master well, and bravely. One day, her Master made a bad deal. He would have lost quite a bit of money to another family, so he ordered Ronyne to go kill the head of the rival family. Ronyne was a good warrior, but more than that, she was a good person, and knew that it would be wrong to commit murder because her Master did not want to pay a debt he had incurred. She refused to carry out her Master's bidding, and he became very angry. He ordered her killed. The assassins came to her room late at night and attacked her as
she slept. They wounded her, and though she awoke and managed to kill
the evil assassins, she could not save herself. The Corellian gods were watching and knew that she was strong in spirit and soul. They allowed
her spirit to wander the galaxy, looking for a new family to protect.  Now,
she does her job from the shadows, never to be seen..."



Obi-Wan Kenobi gave the gruel a half-hearted stir as he waited on Anakin. The boy woke before the sun and took off for parts unknown every morning until breakfast. It was a daily struggle to retrieve him for
meals and training. Letting the spoon fall against the pot with a muted clatter, he strode to the door, his irritation showing in the lengthening of
his strides. He yanked the door open with slightly more force than necessary.

"Anakin!" he yelled, stepping outside. He felt the boy's presence.

Satisfied that his message had been adequately conveyed, he turned to go back inside when something caught his eye. Something dark and cold
invaded the blood running through his veins as he stared at the wickedly
serrated dagger pinning a scrap of paper to the door. He reached out
with the Force, pulling the dagger out of the door and to his side. He
unfolded the paper cautiously.

"Cantina. 8pm. Alone."

It was signed with a smear of blood.



Anakin Skywalker could tell that his mentor, Obi-Wan Kenobi, was preoccupied. For one thing, he was actually eating the gruel. Anakin wrinkled his nose. Nasty stuff. And even nastier today, since it had stuck
to the bottom of the pot and burnt. The black, charred layer at the bottom
infused the rest of the meal with a bitter, smoky taste. Obi-Wan didn't
seem to notice. Anakin could almost see the gears working in his master's head as Obi-Wan shoveled gruel into his mouth. He sighed. This could mean one of two things. One: Obi-Wan was developing some new training plan that would involve a lot of meditation and probably some ridiculous-looking gymnastics that would result in more than a few
bruises.Two: Obi-Wan had his mind on something else entirely, and Anakin was going to be spending a lot of time in meditation while Obi-Wan ran around doing whatever it was he felt needed to be done. After careful consideration, Anakin decided the second scenario was more plausible. When Obi-Wan was obsessed with new training plans, he got this gleeful look that filled Anakin with dread.

"Um, 'scuse me, Master," he muttered, sliding from the chair. "Got chores to do." He made a beeline for the exit, only to be stopped by his master's magically restored attention.

"Anakin."

"Yeah?"

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow at him.

"Yes, Master?"

"I have some errands to do. I want you to work on that patience exercise I taught you yesterday."

"All morning?"

"No, Anakin. Your line is, 'Yes, Master. Your every wish is my command. I live only to serve you.' Now, go meditate."



Obi-Wan carefully transferred a scraping of the blood from the note onto a slide and pushed it into the computer. He studied the writing again, as the computer performed its analysis. The strokes were strong, harshly presented against the white paper. The letters were neat and legible; the
perfect formation of each letter like that of a talented schoolchild.

Like that of a person hiding their true handwriting. The computer beeped
and Obi-Wan shifted his attention to the readout. An elevated amount of
midi-chlorians made him raise his eyebrow, until he arrived at the DNA
analysis.

Wonderful. The note had been written by a Force-sensitive bantha. He shut off the computer with a swipe of his hand and went to get his cloak.


"I'm going to town--"

"Can I come?" The look of hope on Anakin's face almost made

Obi-Wan cave. He forced his heart to harden. After all, Anakin had to learn discipline.

"You may not. Continue with your patience exercises and when you truly feel you have achieved something, meditate on that."

"Yes, Master. Your every wish is my command. I live only to serve you," Anakin mimicked with a bit too much sneer for Obi-Wan's taste.

"Do not test me, Anakin. You're not going to win." Obi-Wan paused, wondering if he had been too harsh. "But at least you are learning," he offered, with a grin.

The look he received from Anakin was less than rewarding.



"What has become of the boy?"

"To which boy are you referring?" Mace Windu's presence commanded the small room in which he stood with Supreme Chancellor Palpatine.

"The child who helped save Naboo. The one who is to be trained as a Jedi." Palpatine knew he was hitting a sore spot with Windu, and decided to twist the knife. "He seemed like such a charming little chap,
though he seemed a bit old to start on your way of life."

Mace Windu's face did not change in any way.

"He is being trained by Jedi Knight Kenobi."

"Ah! Yes, Obi-Wan Kenobi. The one who killed the Queen's mysterious attacker." My apprentice, he thought darkly. Who will be avenged.

"He was a Sith."

"Ah, yes. Of course. Well, I was looking forward to having two such heroic personalities pursuing the Jedi's duties to the Senate, but I have not seen either since that little debacle on Gaclena." He had known he was treading on dangerous territory. He was unsure of whether the true story
had come been fully divulged to the council, but the episode had filled him
with great hope. The boy had been overcome with fear and anger. He was ripe for the influence of the Dark Side. And so powerful. So powerful.

"Padawan Skywalker is being trained by Jedi Knight Kenobi."

"I'm so glad to hear that. I was worried about the lad during that mission. He seemed so lost and scared..." Palpatine trailed off, calculating on the Jedi Master's keen logic to fill in the blanks. "I just wanted to make sure he was doing all right. Write him a bit of a note, perhaps."

Mace Windu eyed the Supreme Chancellor. Why all these questions concerning Kenobi's Padawan? Windu did not like this. Nor did he like Palpatine himself, and neither did Master Yoda, he knew.

"You may send it to the Council. We will make sure he gets it."

"Oh? Through the Council? Isn't that rather unusual? Are his whereabouts being kept a secret?"

You slimy garduin, Mace Windu thought. What are you getting at?

"Padawan training is very serious," he said, aloud. "It is essential that Skywalker's training is not interrupted in any way. He has a lot of catching
up to do."

"Oh, I understand, completely," Palpatine assured him. "An excellent policy, I'm sure."

Inside, he was fuming.


Obi-Wan stepped into the Ale Barrel, the town tavern where he sometimes took Anakin to eat, and let his eyes adjust to the low lighting.

The Ale Barrel was more of a town gathering place than a watering hole for the local scum. That one was down the street, and he did not take Anakin there. Technically, Anakin should not have been frequenting the Ale Barrel either, but Obi-Wan had managed to convince Samke, the bartender, that "Anakin was old enough." Anakin loved the tavern. He got
to run around and listen to the stories the old spacers had to tell.

He was a great favorite around the men, who seemed to think Anakin's stories of heroism and Podracing were all exaggeration by the boy's overactive imagination. Obi-Wan did all he could to encourage that view.
Now, as he let the sunlight filter in behind him, the usually friendly and ebullient spacers growled and entreated him to close the door. He ignored their pleas to make his point, then allowed the door to swing shut
behind him. A brief scan of the room presented him with his target.

He headed straight for the corner booth and the lone spacer shoving a
mound of yert eggs around his plate.

Spath Kadnau was not yet fifty, but had spent more than 30 years in space, first as a Republic pilot, then as a commercial transport and cargo
pilot, and on occasion, as Obi-Wan had often suspected, a smuggler. The stress of constant space travel, coupled with a diet of tavern food and ale had aged the spacer considerably past his prime. He had thinning hair and was beginning to gather an extra layer of padding at the waist. He was the survivor of countless brawls, double-crosses, equipment malfunctions, and tavern yert eggs. He was a hard man, and right now, he was a hard man with a hangover.

"You're Spath Kadnau?"

"Unh." Spath blinked painfully up at the tall, young man staring down at him. He seemed familiar, but Spath was struggling to place him.

He blinked again, and suddenly the lights came on. "Aw, yeah, you're Anakin's old man." Spath nodded, proud of himself, and then racked his brain. He knew there was a question he had always wanted to ask the man, and now he couldn't scrape it up from the depths of his alcohol-sloshed brain.

"He admires you very much. May I sit down?"

"Sure. Be comfy. Not like I own the booth." Spath grinned widely at Obi-Wan, doing his best to be friendly. He liked that Anakin kid.

"Anakin tells me you are the most comprehensive source of legends in the galaxy."

Spath blinked at him and pushed his eggs aside. He leaned back in the booth, hangover replaced by the sharp curiosity that made him so good at his job. "If you mean I know every story there is to tell, then yeah, I got
the goods." He studied Obi-Wan's odd clothing and youthful face. No
way was this guy Anakin's father. He was very nearly a kid himself.

"I was served with a request for a meeting," the kid said, laying a piece of paper on the table between them. "It was accompanied by this."

Next to the paper, he lay a small, shining knife with a twisted, serrated
blade.

Spath's face froze, his eyes locked on the evidence.

"You recognize it?"

"Kid, someone's playing a joke on you."

"I don't think so." Obi-Wan opened the note and showed him the smear of blood. "I heard a rumor once, of a bounty hunter who signed notes like this, but I didn't pay attention at the time, and never listened to the whole story."

"That's all it is, kid, a rumor. Don't you go listening to that sort of thing."

"I'm listening to nothing," Obi-Wan said, practically. "But I am still in possession of a cryptic note and a rather ugly piece of weaponry. I think
that's all the evidence necessary to want a few answers." Obi-Wan was
fully prepared to use his Jedi powers to coerce an answer from the man,
but never needed them.

"Your rumor, kid, was about a bounty hunter named Ronyne."

"Ronyne?" Obi-Wan recognized the name. "After the mythical Corellian warrior who was killed by her master? Her ghost was condemned to roam the galaxy, looking for acceptance into another clan."

"That's the idea. Either way," Spath continued, sinking into his role as a storyteller, "this particular psycho chick is a bounty hunter and assassin. She dresses all in black and melts into the shadows. Word has it that she got burnt up in a ship disaster way back whenever, and she's all scarred and disfigured. She keeps her face covered. Don't cross this dame.

Bad news. She's real big on knives, the nastier the better. That little toy
she left you is just a party favor. I heard 'bout guys who double-crossed
her and ended up in very little pieces in orbit 'round Alderaan. She's a myth, kid. Every spacer and outlaw has heard of her. She's a nightmare."

Suddenly, Spath sat up straighter, and became the hardened, cynical spacer once more. "A bad dream. Nothing more. I'm tellin' ya, someone's
just trying to scare you."

"How did such a myth get so detailed, not to mention widely believed, if it had no basis in reality?"

"Aw, it had a basis, all right. Some chick got it in her head she was gonna be a bounty hunter and dress up in black robes or something. Spread some rumors, everyone's afraid of her, she don't got nothing to worry 'bout. I think that was 'round ten years ago. Girl's dead, now.

Heard she went down in a sabotage mission. Got captured, didn't get out
in time."

"So, she was real."

"Naw. The person was real. Rest of it's bantha poodoo. It's like your little buddy's stories. Believe me, kid, I've seen it all, and there ain't no way your kid did half the stuff he claims he did."

Obi-Wan knew otherwise, and made a mental note to remind Anakin to watch his trap around the spacers.

"Well, thank you very much for your help, Mr. Kadnau. I appreciate it."

"Naw. It was nuthin'." In a flash, Spath remembered the question he had wanted to ask. "Hey, how'd you get Sparky up there to let the kid in here?"

Obi-Wan turned to look at Spath. "He's old enough," he said, with a seemingly careless wave of his hand.

"Aw." Spath turned back to his eggs. "'Course he's old enough. What a dumb question."

Obi-Wan returned to the small cottage, brandishing a container of kaadu kebobs and oirn noodles to make up for Anakin's morning of patience. He was not happy to realize that Anakin was not to be found.

So, he waited. In fact, he waited well into the evening, until Anakin trotted
in the front door, as grubby as he had ever seen him.

"Anakin!" Obi-Wan surveyed his charge's greasy attire, mussed hair and grimy fingers. "Where have you been and what have you been doing to get yourself in this state?"

"Don't be mad--" Anakin started.

"It's a bit late for that," Obi-Wan informed him. "Have you no respect for my authority? Do you believe you can simply train yourself when you feel like it?"

"Aw, Obi-Wan..."

"Do you?"

"No, I was just bored..."

"Anakin."

"Aw, you weren't around, anyway! If I can't train myself, why do you keep leaving me alone?"

"You are a ten-year-old boy. I should hope that you are mature enough to finish what needs to be done before...what did you do, anyway?"

"Well...I sorta went down to the Podrace stadium 'cause I wanted to check out the pods...there's a race the day after tomorrow, and I was talking to one of the racers, and she let me help her out a little..."

"Anakin! Really. Podracing? What did I tell you about that?"

"You said I couldn't race. But then you said we could go see a race sometimes."

"But not at the expense of your training. Besides, there was no race today. You had no business being there."

"Why? I don't understand. Why can't I race?"

"It's not proper, Anakin. You are in training to become a Jedi Knight. You cannot participate in such an event--"

"So? Why not?"

"For one thing, it's dangerous. A Jedi never puts himself in danger for the mere thrill. Also, you have an unfair advantage. You can use the Force--"

"I could use it before! I did use it before! I was the only human fast enough--"

"But you could not control it. Now, you are trained in use of the Force, and it is inappropriate for anyone associated with the Jedi to participate in a contest in which they have an unfair advantage. Not to mention, Podracing is a haven for gamblers. To be involved in such a--"

"Qui-Gon gambled for me. He bet the ship to Watto that I would win--"

Obi-Wan felt a sharp pain in his chest at the mention of his old master's name, but he ruthlessly pushed it aside, reminding himself that even as a Padawan, he often disagreed with his master's methods, no matter how much he loved the man.

"--and then he bet the pod against my freedom and Qui-Gon--"

"Just because Qui-Gon did it does not make it right!"

A deafening silence draped the room. Too late, Obi-Wan realized the angle Anakin had chosen to pursue.

"Anakin, I did not mean that it was not right to--"

"Shut up! Shut up, Obi-Wan!" The boy looked to be near tears, but he was too angry to notice.

"Anakin, please listen to what I am trying to say."

"No way! No! Just stay away."

Anakin ran to his room, leaving Obi-Wan alone to stare after him.


He was late. Sharp green eyes tracked Obi-Wan's passage through the cantina. He strode silently to the back, eyes catching every movement made in the dark hovel.

The booth in the corner seemed safe enough to the young Jedi, so he settled himself on one side, resting a one booted foot on the seat next to
him. He rested his elbow casually on his raised knee, dropping his hand
comfortably close to his lightsaber. He sat alone, longer than he would have expected, and was starting to think he had missed the meeting when a figure detached from the shadows, slipping soundlessly into the seat across from him.

"You're late." The voice had a gravelly tone that rivaled Yoda's.

A careful evaluation of his companion warned Obi-Wan not to argue the semantics of whom had been kept waiting. A black cape, similar to his own, in style, engulfed a small body, hiding it from even the most prying of eyes. Black cloth swathed her face beneath the cloak's hood, her face hidden in a cowl, until she became a being black as the shadows, save only piercing green eyes, which were now studying him shrewdly.

"I'm here," he said instead.

She regarded him, silently.

"I figure you'll tell me why I'm here when you're good and ready,"

Obi-Wan responded, nonchalantly. He reached out with the Force, trying to determine her intentions, and was met with a void. It was as if there was no one sitting across from him.

She stared at him, silently.

"All right, then." Obi-Wan was still trying to determine why he could not sense her. She should have enough of an aura for several people, but he was getting nothing. He tried not to let that irritate him. He tried not to let her silence irritate him. He reflected that he should be much more patient after several months of dealing with Anakin, but he just seemed to becoming shorter of temper all the time.

She held her black-gloved hand a few inches above the table top.

"Charades? All right, then. Low."

She shook her head.

"Short?" Nod. She pointed to him. "Are you calling me short?"

He knew perfectly well that was not her intention; he was trying to goad her into speaking. Her eyes narrowed as she shot him a withering look.

"Very well. A short me. My kid?"

"Your Padawan, Jedi."

Obi-Wan's senses screamed danger at him. No one was to know that they were on Malastare or what they were doing. The Council knew of their location, and it would be pretty easy to guess that they were Jedi, training on a few months of downtime, but her manner told of a source more deadly than pure observation.

"Anakin's in danger?"

A nod.

"Someone besides me wants to kill Anakin?"

A shake.

"They want him alive? Why?"

"Hell if I know," she mumbled. "I just shoot people."

"Why are you telling me, then? Are you not interested because you can't kill him?"

"I like to let them know." Her voice was starting to sound like it was coming from further away. Her face had all but disappeared in er cloak.

"So this is--" Obi-Wan blinked. She was gone. He was quite sure she had been sitting across from him just a moment ago. There was nowhere for her to go...was there? He jumped up and felt along the wall next to the booth. Nothing but shadows. He found a back door, along the other side of the wall, and pushed outside. She could not have gone through this door. She would have had to slip past him, for one thing, and for another, the door stuck horribly. He struggled outside, and surveyed the lot. A couple was leaning against a fence. Obi-Wan was turning away when he heard the man shout at him. He turned, just in time to deflect a blaster shot with his lightsaber. He returned it, just a hairsbreadth away from the man's hip, and walked back inside, turning off his lightsaber and stowing it, before anyone else saw the weapon. Where had she gone?



Obi-Wan piloted the landspeeder back the little house on the town outskirts, his mind mulling the duel problems of Anakin's anger and Anakin's danger. Why, he reflected, did all his problems center around the boy? Surely life was never this complicated before him.

It was, he finally decided, just in different ways. He no longer had someone looking over his shoulder, coaching him and grading him on everything he did. He no longer had to argue the council's mandates with
Qui-Gon. No, he countered himself. I have to argue them with Anakin. It
was beginning to dawn on him that Anakin was really just a very small,
rather helpless version of his former master. No wonder being around the
boy caused such an ache in his heart.

He was feeling much more contrite on the matter of Anakin, deeply regretting his last statement, as well as his harsh attitude toward the boy's
upbringing. There really was no reason he had to turn Podracing into an evil. He had thought that it would be best for the boy to forbid him from it,
no matter the momentary pain. He now wondered if he was wrong. After
all, he had chosen Malastare for its attractions, to include Podracing,
because Anakin would miss it. There was no reason he could not build a
Pod and fly around for a bit, even if the Code mandated that he could not
participate in an actual race.

He entered the house, and walked toward Anakin's room, hoping the boy had calmed enough for a rational discussion. He knocked on the door, and waited long enough to determine that he would get no answer. Was the boy still so upset, or had he simply cried himself to sleep? The hour was approaching 10, Obi-Wan mused, and opened the boy's door, careful to be quiet, lest he wake his charge. He need not have worried.

The bed was empty.

"Anakin?" Obi-Wan flicked on the light, scanning the rest of the room in search of his Padawan. The briefest thought that some mysterious, ruthless bounty hunter, with no twisted desire to warn him, had already kidnapped Anakin flashed through his conscious mind, making his search more vigorous. He tore through the training room, his own room, the living room, and finally the kitchen, desperate to find the boy. His
aura was imprinted throughout the house, but nowhere with the strength to
indicate his person. A piece of paper lay on the table, decorated with
a hasty, childish scrawl. Obi-Wan snatched it up, recognizing Anakin's
writing, read it, his heart breaking with the words.

"I'm leaving. I know Qui-Gon made you take me and you don't want me, so don't worry about it. I'll be fine. Anakin."

Obi-Wan sat down at the table, the room dimly lit by the living room lamp. He leaned his head in his hand and regretted the entire day.

On to part 2