The hum of hyperspace filled the ship—steady, unchanging. After the chaos they had barely survived, the sound felt almost unreal.
Khan remained in the pilot's seat long after the course had stabilized, his hands resting on the controls even though the ship no longer needed him. Outside the viewport, the stars stretched into blue lines, rushing past as if nothing had happened—no battle, no loss, no death that would echo through the Force.
But Khan felt it.
A hollow weight pressed against his chest, heavy and unmoving.
A Sith.
Qui-Gon Jinn, dead by his blade.
The galaxy had not known such a moment in centuries.
Khan exhaled slowly and leaned back, closing his eyes for just a second. When he opened them again, duty pulled him forward. Padmé still needed to reach Coruscant. Naboo was still blockaded. Whatever he was feeling would have to wait.
He rose from the pilot's seat and made his way into the ship's common area. The lighting there was dimmer, softer. The handmaidens sat together, composed and silent, their posture unbroken despite the uncertainty that lay ahead. Zef Fun lingered near the wall, unusually still, his thoughts clearly elsewhere.
One of the handmaidens knelt beside Obi-Wan Kenobi as he began to stir.
Obi-Wan's brow furrowed as consciousness returned. He blinked once. Then again.
"What… happened?" he asked, his voice hoarse.
The handmaiden helped him sit up, steadying his shoulders. Obi-Wan winced but waved her concern aside, his eyes already searching the room.
Khan stopped a few steps away. For a moment, he said nothing. He drew in a breath, slow and measured.
"Sit, Obi-Wan," Khan said quietly. "There is grave news I must tell you."
The tone alone made Obi-Wan still.
Khan met his gaze. "Master Qui-Gon… fell in his fight with the Zabrak."
The words hung in the air, heavy and unmoving.
Obi-Wan stared at him, unblinking. "No," he said at last, the word barely more than a whisper. "That's not possible. Master Qui-Gon—he wouldn't—"
His voice broke. He turned away, one hand rising to cover his eyes as the truth finally reached him. His shoulders trembled, just slightly.
"It's my fault," Obi-Wan said, the words spilling out through clenched teeth. "If I had been stronger—if I hadn't been thrown aside—he wouldn't have had to protect me. I slowed him down. I was a liability."
The accusation wasn't aimed at Khan, but it still struck him.
For a moment, he almost spoke. Almost told Obi-Wan that he had arrived too late. That he had run when part of him had wanted to stay. That the image of Qui-Gon falling would never leave him.
But there were no words that could ease this. None that would make the loss smaller.
"You are wrong," Khan said at last, his voice firm but subdued. "Master Qui-Gon chose his path. Honor that choice—and continue living with the life he has given us."
Obi-Wan didn't respond. He simply bowed his head, his hands clenched tightly at his sides.
"Rest now," Khan continued. "We still have a mission to complete. When the time comes, you will need your strength."
Khan turned and left before either of them could say more.
Padmé had been watching from a short distance away. She followed him into the corridor, her steps quiet.
"Khan," she said gently.
He stopped, but didn't turn.
"Will you be alright?" she asked.
He was silent for a moment. Then he looked back at her, his expression composed—too composed.
"I have to be," he said. "It's my duty."
With that, he returned to the cockpit and reclaimed the pilot's seat, his hands finding the controls once more. Outside, hyperspace rushed on—indifferent and endless.
Padmé lingered in the corridor, watching his back.
He had fought for her. For Naboo. And now a Jedi Master was dead because of what had happened on her world.
She straightened her shoulders.
Whatever awaited them on Coruscant, she would not allow his sacrifice—or Qui-Gon's—to be in vain.
This, too, was her duty.
A sharp warning chime cut through the steady hum of hyperspace.
Khan's head snapped up. His eyes moved quickly across the console as more alerts began to flash. Without hesitation, he took hold of the controls and pulled the ship out of hyperspace.
Stars collapsed back into pinpoints.
"Something's wrong," Khan muttered.
The readouts confirmed it almost immediately. Damage to the hyperdrive generator—critical.
Khan adjusted their heading, scanning nearby space. A single inhabited world appeared on the nav display, dry and unremarkable but close enough to reach without the hyperdrive.
He guided the ship toward it.
As the planet's atmosphere filled the viewport—endless desert stretching beneath them—Padmé entered the cockpit.
"Is something wrong?" she asked. "I felt us drop out of hyperspace."
Khan nodded, keeping his eyes forward as the ship descended. "The hyperdrive's damaged. We can't make another jump like this."
Padmé's gaze flicked to the planet below. "Where are we?"
"Not sure yet," Khan replied. "But it's inhabited. We'll land and see what I can do."
"Will we be found?" Padmé asked quietly. "If the Trade Federation sends pursuers—"
"They won't expect us here," Khan said, steady but cautious. "There's no reason for them to think we'd stop on a planet like this."
The ship broke through the atmosphere, heat rippling across the viewport. Khan brought it down carefully, sand billowing as the landing struts hit the desert floor.
The engines powered down.
For a moment, everything was still.
Khan rose from his seat and headed toward the rear of the ship. "R2 unit," he called, "come with me. I need help checking the hyperdrive."
The astromech rolled after him down the ramp, its dome swiveling as it scanned their surroundings.
"Run a full diagnostic," Khan said.
The droid chirped and projected a stream of data. Khan studied it closely, then moved toward the exposed access panels near the engine housing. He removed several components, his movements precise but measured.
He wasn't a mechanic—not truly—but years of study and observation gave him just enough understanding.
With the astromech's holographic schematic of a T-14 hyperdrive unit beside him, the problem became clear.
The hyperdrive motivator was damaged.
Unrepairable.
Khan exhaled and straightened, the heat of the desert already settling around him. He turned and walked back up the ramp.
Padmé and Obi-Wan looked to him immediately.
"So," Padmé asked, "can it be fixed?"
Khan shook his head. "Not here. The motivator's shot. We'll need to replace it."
Silence followed.
"What can we do?" Obi-Wan asked.
"There's a settlement nearby," Khan said. "I saw it on approach. I'll go see if I can find the part."
"Do you want me to come with you?" Obi-Wan asked.
Khan shook his head. "No. Stay here. Guard the ship—and everyone on it."
Obi-Wan hesitated, then nodded. "Alright. Take this, then." He handed Khan a small communicator. "If anything happens, contact us."
Khan accepted it. "Thank you, Obi-Wan."
He turned to gather his robe and a small supply bag.
When he looked up again, Padmé was already pulling on a robe of her own.
Khan frowned. "Where are you going?"
"With you," Padmé said simply.
"No," Khan replied immediately. "It's too dangerous."
Padmé met his gaze without hesitation. "Then all the more reason you shouldn't go alone."
They stared at one another, neither willing to yield. The desert wind whistled faintly outside the ship.
Finally, Khan sighed. "Fine. But stay close to me. If anything happens, you don't argue—you run."
Padmé smiled faintly. "Of course."
As they reached the ramp, Obi-Wan called after them, "Don't worry. I'll make sure the Queen and everyone else stay safe."
Khan nodded. "I'll contact you if anything changes."
Together, Khan and Padmé stepped down onto the sands, the heat rising around them as the distant outline of a city shimmered on the horizon.
Their path forward lay through the desert.
And whatever awaited them there, neither of them could yet see.
Mos Espa rose from the desert like a scar carved into the sand.
Low, sunbaked buildings crowded together in uneven clusters, their rounded walls stained by years of heat and dust. The streets were narrow and winding, packed hard with sand and debris, alive with noise and movement. Canvas awnings stretched between structures, offering thin strips of shade that did little to stop the oppressive heat.
As Khan and Padmé entered the city, the air itself felt different—thicker, harsher, filled with unfamiliar smells. Burnt fuel. Metal. Spices. Sweat.
Everywhere Padmé looked, there were people—and not just humans.
Rodians haggled loudly with merchants. Jawas scurried between crowds, cloaked and muttering, dragging scrap behind them. Weequay stood watch outside shops, blasters slung casually at their sides. Even children moved with an awareness that made Padmé uneasy, eyes sharp and watchful.
Many of the people were armed.
Not soldiers. Not guards.
Just survival.
Yet amid the danger, life continued. Traders hauled cargo. Mechanics worked openly in the streets, tools clanking as they repaired battered speeders. Vendors shouted prices from behind stalls piled with salvaged parts and questionable food.
Padmé stayed close to Khan, her eyes taking everything in.
"Is this what places outside Naboo look like?" she asked quietly.
"Not always," Khan replied, his gaze scanning the street ahead. "But worlds like this are common far from the Core."
Padmé frowned slightly. "Do planets like this really exist the farther from the Republic you go?"
"Yes," Khan said. "The Republic's influence weakens the farther you travel from its political center. That absence leaves room for others to rule." His tone hardened just a touch. "The Hutts control much of this region. That alone makes this a dangerous place."
Padmé nodded, absorbing his words as she continued to look around. The contrast was staggering. On Naboo, beauty was cultivated. Order was expected.
Here, survival was the law.
Khan slowed and approached a passerby—a weathered human man unloading crates.
"Excuse me," Khan said calmly. "Can you point me toward a shop that sells starship parts?"
The man eyed him, then glanced at Padmé before jerking his thumb down one of the side streets. "There's a place down that way. Left turn at the pit arena. Run by a Toydarian. If anyone's got what you need, it's him."
"Thank you," Khan said.
He turned back to Padmé. "Come on. I know where to go."
They followed the directions until the street narrowed further, the buildings pressing in close. Finally, a cluttered storefront came into view, its entrance half-buried under scrap.
A crooked sign hung above the door.
Watto's Junk Shop.
Khan stepped inside, Padmé close behind him.
The shop was dim, crowded wall to wall with parts—engines stacked beside rusted droids, wings hanging from the ceiling, crates overflowing with cables and scrap. The air buzzed faintly with power and heat.
A Toydarian hovered behind the counter, small wings beating rapidly to keep him aloft. His skin was leathery and mottled, his eyes sharp and calculating beneath a worn cap.
"Ahhh," the Toydarian said, grinning. "Welcome to Watto's shop! What can I get for you, hm?"
Khan met his gaze evenly. "I'm looking for a starship component."
Watto chuckled. "You'll have to be more specific than that. I've got parts for everything—if you've got the money."
"I need a hyperdrive motivator," Khan said. "For a J-type 327 Nubian starship."
That made Watto pause.
Khan reached into his bag and produced a datapad. "The specifications are all here."
Watto snatched the datapad, scanning it quickly. His grin widened. "Nubian parts, eh? Rare out here." He tapped the screen. "But lucky for you—Watto has everything."
He turned and floated toward the back of the shop. "Come. I'll show you."
As he moved, Watto barked loudly, "Boy!"
From behind a stack of parts emerged a child.
He was small and slender, no more than nine years old, with sandy-blond hair that fell into curious blue eyes. His clothes were simple, worn, and patched, but his movements were quick and confident.
"Yes, Watto?" the boy asked.
"Watch the shop," Watto said. "Don't touch anything."
The boy grinned and hopped up onto the counter, sitting cross-legged. "Okay!"
Watto gestured toward the back. "You—come with me," he said to Khan.
Khan nodded, casting a brief glance at Padmé before following Watto through a doorway that led into the junkyard beyond.
Padmé remained inside.
The boy studied her openly now, head tilted. "You're not from around here," he said brightly.
Padmé smiled faintly, her curiosity outweighing her caution. "No," she admitted. "I'm not."
Outside, the sounds of Mos Espa continued—loud, chaotic, alive.
Inside Watto's shop, Padmé found herself standing at the edge of a world unlike anything she had ever known.
In the back of the shop, the space opened into a sprawling junkyard.
Broken hull plates were stacked like fallen monuments, half-buried in sand. Engines of every shape and age lay scattered between skeletal frames of ships long stripped of their value. The suns beat down relentlessly, baking metal and dust into the air.
Watto fluttered ahead of Khan, weaving easily through the clutter.
"You are in luck, my friend," Watto said, gesturing broadly. "I don't usually carry Nubian parts. Too fancy, too delicate. But I got a shipment not long ago—very good timing for you."
He stopped beside a partially disassembled engine. "Now, if I may offer some advice—if your hyperdrive motivator is damaged, it may have caused strain on the entire engine. You'd be much safer buying a new hyperdrive altogether. No risks, no surprises."
"I appreciate your concern," Khan replied evenly. "But I've already run a full diagnostic. The damage is isolated. All I need is the motivator."
Watto clicked his tongue. "You amateur types and your confidence." He rummaged through the parts, muttering to himself. "Ah—here we are."
He pulled free a Nubian hyperdrive engine casing, tapping the section in question. "The motivator's inside. I'll have to extract it carefully. That will take time. I can have it ready by tomorrow."
Khan frowned slightly. "There's no way to have it sooner?"
Watto snorted. "Unless you want me to rush and ruin it. Then you'd be buying a whole engine after all."
Khan exhaled and nodded. "Very well. I'll return tomorrow."
Watto folded his arms. "And how will you be paying?"
"I can transfer Republic credits," Khan said.
Watto recoiled as if insulted. "Republic credits? No, no, no. What am I supposed to do with Republic credits out here?"
"You could exchange them through Hutt channels," Khan suggested. "They do business closer to the Core."
Watto scowled. "The Hutts are bad for business. And worse for one's health. No—if you have no other currency, then I don't sell. That's final."
Khan was silent for a moment, thinking.
"Then I'll find another way to earn the money," he said at last. "Just make sure that part isn't sold to anyone else."
Watto considered him, eyes narrowing. "Hmm… very well. I'll hold it for a short time. But don't be long, my friend. Someone else might come along."
Khan inclined his head. "Understood."
Inside the shop, Padmé stood near the counter, the heat and noise of Mos Espa pressing in around her.
The boy watched her with open curiosity.
"What's your name?" he asked.
"You can call me Padmé," she said gently.
He tilted his head. "Are you an angel?"
Padmé laughed softly. "No. Why would you think that?"
"My mom says angels come from far away," he explained. "You don't look like anyone from here."
"I am from far away," Padmé admitted. "But I'm no angel."
She smiled at him. "You didn't tell me your name."
"Oh. I'm Anakin," he said proudly.
"So you help here?" Padmé asked. "You're very young to be running a shop."
Anakin shrugged. "I don't really have a choice. I'm a slave."
The word struck Padmé harder than she expected.
"Oh," she said quietly. "I'm… I'm sorry. I didn't know."
"It's okay," Anakin said quickly. "You didn't mean anything bad. You seem nice."
"Thank you," Padmé replied, steadying herself. "What is your life like here?"
Anakin brightened a little. "I help Watto with repairs. I'm good with machines—really good. Because of that, things are better for me and my mom than for some others."
Padmé studied him—the confidence, the sharp intelligence behind his eyes.
"You're very mature for your age," she said.
Anakin smiled faintly. "I try. I just want to help my mom."
At that moment, the door opened as Khan and Watto returned from the back.
"All right," Watto said gruffly. "I'll see you soon."
"You will," Khan replied. "I'll get you your payment."
Watto grunted and turned away.
Khan walked over to Padmé. "I hope you weren't too bored."
"Not at all," Padmé said, glancing toward Anakin. "Anakin kept me company."
Khan nodded. "Good. We have something important to discuss."
"All right," Padmé said.
She turned and gave Anakin a small wave. "Goodbye."
Anakin waved back enthusiastically, his eyes following her as they stepped out into the blinding light of Tatooine.
A/N: Hello everyone sorry for the lack of chapters coming into the new year. I've been planning how I will move this story forward. Updates are gonna be slow, but I wanted to get this chapter out so you know I have not dropped this. I look back on my previous chapters and I have some regret on how I've been telling this story, so I hope to improve the quality of it so that I can be happy with it. May the force be with you and may 2026 treat you well, even with all the crazy things happening in the world. Love you!