| abstract | - “There’s no need to boast to me about your capabilities, Artoo,” retorted Threepio to his short, squat counterpart. “Just because Master Anakin has enhanced the specifications you were made with, does not in any way make you superior.” Artoo made a soft whine. “In fact,” continued the protocol droid loftily, “I think those upgrades have made you worse.” The astromech droid took offence to this, rolling towards Threepio and making loud, rude noises. “Upstart!” accused C-3PO, carefully avoiding the little droid’s advances on him. “Just watch we’re your going you little—” “Threepio!” The voice was low and patient, yet it managed to do what it intended. Anakin cast a wary eye over the two droids before he put his mind back to what he was working on: a device that could track comlink transmissions and pinpoint them to a location somewhere on Coruscant. There was already the technology for this, but Anakin’s was different. He had managed to build it so it worked even when there were no calls being made and there would be no trace of him tampering with the frequencies. Yet the easiest way to do this was to plug it into Artoo, and for that he needed Threepio to translate as Anakin had yet to find away to find out what the little astromech was saying without his taller, lankier and above all annoying counterpart. He snapped the case close and then extended the cable to plug it into Artoo’s datajack. After adjusting the controls, he tapped Artoo’s dome. “Okay, let it run,” he said. With a soft beep, Artoo ran the program. It took only a few minutes then he chortled softly to Anakin. Anakin turned to Threepio. “What did he say?” “Well, he seems slightly over confident in his assertions—” “Cut the frag,” Anakin interrupted, “just tell me!” Without wasting another moment on superlatives, Threepio compiled. Grinning, Anakin activated his own comlink. “Obi-Wan?” There was a quick crackle of static and the Jedi answered. “Yes Anakin?” As Anakin had asked him in order to test the device, Obi-Wan was standing in some undisclosed part of Coruscant and it was up to Artoo to find him. It’s like an elaborate game of hide and seek, Anakin realised with a grin. “Let’s hope this works,” Obi-Wan’s voice said over the ‘link, he sounded slightly impatient. “I have other things to do Anakin, tell me where I am.” “You’re outside Dex’s Diner,” Anakin told him. “Where he is now, not where he was before the war.” This difference was vital as the two places were quite far apart. More importantly, Anakin hadn’t been to the new place, though Obi-Wan said it had much been improved even though Dex was still sore about the ruins the Separatist attack on Coruscant had left his premises in. “That’s it,” Obi-Wan confirmed. “Is that enough?” “It’ll do,” Anakin told him. “Though it’ll take me a few days to catch him, there’s nothing more that I hate than chasing wild banthas.” “Which is why you do it all the time,” Obi-Wan rebuked before severing the communication. Later, that same afternoon, Obi-Wan walked through the Temple beside Yoda’s floating chair. Obi-Wan’s face was pensive, they were talking about Anakin. “I have a feeling he’s slowly getting there,” Obi-Wan confided to the little Jedi Master, “but getting him to acknowledge it is something else.” Yoda murmured in agreement, for a moment he considered telling Obi-Wan about the talk he had had with Anakin. He decided against it, if Anakin wanted to tell his former Master about his dreams he already would have. “Face up to what he is avoiding, he will with Gunray’s trial,” Yoda asserted, running over the new information he had received that morning. “Question him they will on Sidious.” “He knows that,” Obi-Wan said with a sigh, “and as far as I know, it’s only the trial that’s keeping him here. Give Anakin the word and he’ll be off without a glance behind him.” “Not so sure of that I am,” mused Yoda. Obi-Wan looked at him in surprise. “What do you mean?” Yoda smiled quietly. “Say nothing I will until know you do yourself what it is I speak of.” Arrin had been warned by his father to stay out of the end room in the new apartment. To make the point understood, his father had locked the door and explained this at some length not to go in there. Yet all the warnings and explanations there are cannot curb the curiosity of a small boy. Especially when the room in question had been left unlocked. The moment his father was engaged in conversation with his mother Arrin had crept towards the room, holding his breath with the excitement of the moment. He stopped at the door, his hand reaching up for the handle and he slowly, quietly, pushed it open. For a moment he stood in the doorway, staring at what was inside. Then cautiously, tentatively he entered. There was a workbench in the middle of the room with tools on it and droid parts, near the window was a low couch and in the corner was a tall cupboard with a large lock in the centre. Yet one of the doors was open and Arrin peered in. Sitting on one of the shelves level with Arrin’s eyes was a smooth metal cylinder about the length and width of his arm. With an excited look in his eyes Arrin picked it up, examining it all over. Was this what he thought it was? Could it be…really? Could it? ”Arrin?” The boy froze and the sound of his father’s voice, clutching the metal cylinder close to his chest. “Arrin, where are—” Shinai paused in the doorway, staring down at his son with a disappointed expression. “Arrin, didn’t I tell you not to come into this room?” Arrin paled. “Yes, Dad but—” “I may have forgotten to lock the door but that doesn’t mean that you should come in here.” He held out his hand. “Give me what you’re holding.” Arrin held it out but didn’t let go. “What is it? Is it a Je—” “Give it to me!” Shinai thundered, reaching for it in the Force so it flew out of Arrin’s grip, through the air and into his hand. Arrin stared at his father dumbfounded, tears in the corner of his eyes. “Now, we leave,” Shinai said, he crossed the room and replaced the lightsaber back in the closet then locked it by stroking the lock with his finger. He then grabbed hold of his son’s shoulder and ushered him out of the room and locked the door behind them. “Why can’t I go in there?” Arrin asked. “There’s nothing scary or danger—” “You listen to me,” Shinai interrupted, grabbing the boy’s shoulders and forcing him to look up. “I don’t want you to go in that room and that’s final, you understand?” Hot tears were wetting Arrin’s face. “But…but…” Shinai’s grip tightened. “Understand?” “Y-y-y-yes,” Arrin stammered, hanging his head to hide his reddened cheeks. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you meant it like that.” “Well, now you do know,” Shinai said, straightening up to his full height. He touched his son’s head gently, wondering how he could have been so…so…harsh with the boy. Had he really done that? Arrin’s wounded brown eyes told him all he needed to know. “Go wash your face and hands,” Shinai told him, smiling and letting all anger come out of his tone. “Dinner’s almost ready.”
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