Chapter Text
A wisp of cold brushed his neck, a slick, sudden touch.
Anakin stopped. Shuddered. It was noon and two suns were blazing up in the bleached sky. Hot air was burning his nose when he was breathing. The heat was at its peak. He swallowed before turning; the palms of his hands suddenly sweaty, that voiceless voice inside his head buzzing like static.
The ghost was grey, tall and elongated. It looked kind of blurry too, an alien image flickering on the edges. The cloaked figure was standing, hanging, in the middle of the busy street as a speeder whooshed right through it. Anakin gawked. And then gawked some more when the ghost turned and promptly passed through the vendor’s stall. And no one noticed. No one.
A shiver ran down his back. That was absolutely wizard! Anakin broke into a sprint, grinning. He must tell mom this instant!
Mom wasn’t in the shop. Watto was.
“And it was tall! So tall. Taller than mom. As tall as,” Anakin frantically looked around the shop at the shelves filled with random parts. “No, no. As tall as an eopie. That tall. Hm, maybe taller. There were no eopies around to match.”
Watto grumbled something about human brains and heat sickness, blatantly ignoring the amazing discovery Anakin was trying to share.
“You got the box, eh?” Watto groused, fluttering closer to the counter. “The box, boy?”
Anakin reached back into his rucksack, slowly pulling out a small metal box and depositing it on top of the dusty counter. He drew out the moment as long as he could, disappointment curling in his chest and making his ears burn.
Evening crawled in slowly, with Anakin dragging his feet back home. He got a hug from his mom, and that cheered him a little. Running communications diagnostic on the rescued droid helped too. He had to deactivate it again, something was not right and he could not tell what it was. Soon, mom called him, and Anakin, only now registering how hungry he was, quickly rubbed dirt and grease off his hands and barreled back to the kitchen corner, all his thoughts circling around his mother’s cooking.
Anakin watched a fissure zigzagging its way across his empty plate. He traced the fissure with a tip of his finger, marveling when the fissure would finally collapse into itself. He would just have to glue it back, right? He could count very well. He knew they did not really have enough spare plates.
“Ani, is something the matter?”
His mom crouched down by his seat, and when he turned to look at her she smiled, so warm and kind, like she usually did. She felt tired and worried inside, but her attention wrapped around him like the best of blankets, cozy and soothing.
“I saw a ghost today, mom,” Anakin leaned in and whispered with barely restrained excitement. “A real one.”
His mom listened to him attentively until he ran out of breath.
“Oh, Ani,” she was whispering too, “this is such an interesting adventure.”
She now felt more worried than she had been, but maybe you were supposed to be worried, Anakin thought. Whoever that was, they had died. And death was a worrisome topic. Well, probably.
“You are a big boy now, Ani, aren’t you?” his mother put her hands on his knees palms up. Anakin preened, putting his hands on top of hers, and nodded seriously, suppressing a grin. He was almost eight. Just you watch, Kitster.
“One day you are going to be free. And you will travel to the stars.”
Her words rang with certainty, and Anakin basked in it, his heart aching for the destiny he somehow knew was waiting for him.
“To do that, you must be patient, Ani. But most of all, you must be careful. You are a special boy. You see and do things I cannot see or do, no one else can see or do. It is your gift. It is your destiny. If anyone learns about it, they might hurt you for it. They might think you are too valuable,” his mother tilted her head to the side, her eyes very, very sad.
You are too dangerous — Anakin heard suddenly, in a flash, as though overhearing a conversation in passing.
It rang true too. Anakin hunched in on himself, angry at an accusation he did not deserve, suddenly unable to look up.
“Hey, my dear, it is alright. Come here,” she pulled him into a hug and Anakin was happy to bury his face and his sniffle in her beautiful hair. “I know it is hard for you to keep it to yourself, not to share with others. You have such a big heart, Ani. Remember, I am always here for you. You can keep it a secret, then share it with me. When you grow up, you will meet special people. People who you can trust with who you are and what you can do.”
“Are you sure?” he could not help asking, and, as muffled as the question was, his mother understood.
“I am sure. You are such a good boy. You will be a great man one day.”
Anakin’s throat caught in a spasm. He loved his mom so much, he could not, would not ever leave her. What other people was she talking about? The way she was talking about the future, his future, meant she was planning to leave him. How? What would he even do without her?
“Now, Ani, will you see this ghost again?” she leaned back, holding him in her arms and peering into his eyes.
“Dunno,” he huffed.
“Hm,” she smiled. “What about these, um, feelings you have? What are they telling you?”
Anakin wanted to cross his arms and glare. He chewed on his lip instead, too comfortable in his mother’s embrace to start a confrontation. “Yeah, this ghost seems kind of important. We are connected.”
The voice in his head thrummed in agreement and no small amount of trepidation.
***
Darth Plagueis died in his sleep. Or did he?
He certainly had no body anymore and none of the bodily sensations. Neither could he feel any connection to the Force. He could see, was aware of his surroundings, but even that was to be questioned. Today, he took to wandering, mostly aimlessly, and unexpectedly found himself in the middle of some dusty market square that belonged in the Outer Rim world, no less. A few beings passed through him; he went and phased through some objects for the sake of scientific curiosity. Then he was, as suddenly and unexpectedly as before, transported back to the desert. It made no sense. Uncertainty and resentment ripped through him, as he stared up at the bottomless dark skies. Up there his eyes sought and found an unfamiliar array of constellations. Down there — nothing but endless plains of sand.
So Sidious had done it, had deceived him. Was it poison? A bomb? Did he cut him down in his sleep? Did Sidious get so ahead in the grand plan that he decided he no longer needed his old Master’s guidance? Did he get a new apprentice? The likelihood of that probability was fairly high.
Plagueis did not know what it meant for him, though. His current state of being was no Sith technique that he had heard of. The principles of immortality, presumably, would have granted him a possibility of another hundred years of life in his own body. The potential accomplishment of a final stage would mean that he could live forever. Both options implied that he would be physically present and active, able to recompose the galaxy, the entire universe to the reign of the Sith. Such was the will of the dark side of the Force. And now Sidious and his new apprentice would be there to reap the rewards of the Republic’s unavoidable collapse.
The transition escaped his notice yet again, when he suddenly found himself in the backyard of some poorly put together barracks, where large grey-skinned animals were sleeping, covered with tattered cloth. A yawning human youngling slid down from the crate, waving at Plagueis.
“Hello, ghost. How are you doing?”
Plagueis stilled. As much as it was possible in his state. The suns were rising behind the youngling’s back, curiously illuminating his small form in shades. For it was a male, now Plagueis was sure of it.
“How can you see me?” he asked without opening his mouth, quite sure that he would not succeed.
“Dunno,” the youngling shrugged. “I saw you in the street… let me count,” he pressed his lips, thinking hard. “Twenty days ago. Had a dream of you tonight. Thought you would appear again. So here I am.”
Twenty days? Plagueis understood his situation better now. He had no sense of time. Could no longer experience it like before. The youngling was certainly strong in the Force. To be able to see whatever was left of him spoke of a profound connection. He showed no sign of discomfort or fear, staring up at Plagueis with clear blue eyes: an uncomfortable reminder of Sidious’s likeness stirring a sense of foreboding. At a second glance, there were no similarities. Just his memories.
“What is your name? I’m Anakin Skywalker. I’m eight. I’m going to become the best pilot in the Galaxy. I’m already very good,” the youngling lowered his voice dramatically. “I am also going to free myself and my mom, and all the slaves, but we are not talking about it out loud.”
“Are you a slave?”
“Not a slave. A person,” the youngling pointed a finger at him with rudeness that was imminent for someone of such origins.
“I am asking a question when I do not understand something,” Plagueis said. “It would do you good not to presume.”
Plagueis saw that his words did not land. With the Force silent, he utilized all his skills in reading human expressions. The youngling was quite easy to read, fortunately.
“You can call me Darth Plagueis,” he added.
“Whoa, that's complicated!”
This youngling certainly did not try to be well-liked.
“Plagueis will suffice.”
“What’s ‘suffice’?”
To be strong in the Force was one thing. To have a well-rounded education was another one, which the Jedi Order, although drowning in self-indoctrination, used to their advantage. Both were of extreme importance.
“’Suffice’ is the same as ‘do’.”
He saw the youngling repeating the word, his lips moving soundlessly. Plagueis’s mind was replaying everything that he had learned, calculating the odds and probabilities as he hovered in front of the slave child. The conclusions he reached were unsatisfying, vague at best. He could no longer reach out into the world. His only connection was a tiny human: a risky investment in a volatile environment. He could already see how reckless and devoid of self-preservation the youngling was. The Force, unrefined, could only help as much. It was not that benevolent, no matter what the Jedi wanted to believe.
“Do you want to learn to use the Force, youngling?”
“It is Anakin.”
The Jedi, he thought, were in luck and did not know it. Had they found the youngling, he would make quite a few lives harder.
“Do you want to learn to use the Force, young Anakin?”
“What’s ‘Force’?”
“Some may say it is an energy field that connects all life in the universe. You can see me because you have a connection to the Force. It usually manifests in bouts of intuition. You know what is going to happen before it happens —"
The tiny human exploded. “Yes, yes, yes! And I know how people feel. Sometimes I know where they are. And I am fast. I am going to win next Boonta Eve Classic. You can come. You should come, Plagueis!”
Plagueis imagined a time when he could use the Force in creative ways to teach Sidious respect and obedience. He resolved to let go of such tempting musings. There was little point now.
“You can also use your connection to the Force to manipulate physical objects.”
“Manipulate how?”
“Move things with your mind,” dropped Plagueis and an expected reaction did not disappoint.
Observing the excited youngling, Plagueis started to forge a plan. It had a shaky foundation as his situation was uncertain, and he was personally discomfited by his lack of control over his basic existence. And yet, he was a true Sith, and as a true Sith, he would do his best to see to the fall of the Jedi Order until his final moments.
***
Slipping silently into the arch that led to his workstation, Anakin glared at Plagueis, who slid into the alcove with him and, being too tall, had his smooth long head swallowed up by the ceiling. His mom was sleeping, so Anakin took care to be silent, stepping over the mess of wires connecting Threepio to the outlet built in the wall. He promised his mom he would be wearing a cloak any time he ventured out into the night and he intended to keep it. If only he remembered where he put it last.
“Hey, Plagueis, do you see my cloak?”
The ghost kept silent. Anakin turned the reaction over in his head. He understood the appeal of ignoring things he did not like. That was a new idea and he beamed, pleased with his clever observation. He leaned over Threepio to check under a workbench. There it was.
“Sorry, buddy.” Anakin pushed hibernating Threepio to the side, straining to reach over him to grab the hem of the cloak.
His fingers were grabbing nothing. Just a few inches short. Kriff it. Hit by sudden inspiration, Anakin breathed in, opening himself to the Force and pulling at the cloak. Too much, he realized a fraction too late, when the workbench, Threepio, and some discarded parts crashed into him.
“Ani!” his mother’s explanation from the other part of the house sent a fresh prick of guilt through him.
“I’m fine,” he groaned from under the ruckus, though the way the workbench landed on his leg was far from fine. “Very sorry. I did not mean to wake you.”
His mother appeared in the arch, holding a small oil lamp. Her braid was loosely done, her sleeping tunic rumpled. She radiated confusion, not worry, and Anakin was grateful for that. He hated making her worried.
“See? Nothing to worry about.”
Anakin started dislodging the droid and the rest of the objects with the Force, frowning in concentration. Moving many things at once and especially small things in a precise way was absurdly hard. He had gone to great lengths to get better. He had been practicing for two years and he was quite proud of himself.
His mom came closer to brush the sand off his cloak. It would make no difference. Sand was everywhere. But Anakin also learned that it pleased her when he was at least trying to keep himself clean and tidy. He looked at the ghost, who still did not have a head.
“I’m ready, Plagueis,” he announced to the half of the ghost he could see.
“Be careful, Ani,” his mother pressed a kiss to his forehead, ruffling his hair affectionately.
Anakin responded with a well-practiced sigh. “I’m not even going anywhere. Gonna sit on the rooftop. That’s it.”
The point of that exercise eluded him. A lot of things the ghost was saying eluded him, to be honest. He got the impression that the ghost was old, like extremely old. Maybe that’s why he liked to sit and stare in the distance and con-tem-plate the nature of the Force. It was still warm outside, the residual heat slow to dissipate. Night fell quickly as it always did. Anakin chose a spot on the flat rooftop that overlooked the desert, crossed his legs, and tilted his head up. Silver stars blinked at him mockingly. He scowled back. He knew he was going to fly out there one day, he just did not understand why he had to wait so long.
Letting the Force in, he inhaled and on the exhale tried expending his awareness far into Mos Espa, spotting life forms here and there. He did not like casting his feelings anywhere close to the medical center, as there was always a murky mass of disease there, or to the slave district, a tangle of dull suffering, which he unfortunately still lived in. In fact, he disliked everything in Mos Espa. Drawing his focus back into his body he noticed that his leg started to hurt for real now. Anakin rubbed his hands together to show the ghost that he was done. It was getting colder. He wanted to go to sleep.
“I’m done,” he announced, turning to Plagueis.
“No, you are not. You shall reap the consequences of your negligence in due time, though,” Plagueis said calmly.
It did not threaten him, although every time the ghost said something like that, a strange cold sensation brushed his skin, like a hint he could not yet understand.
“If you insist that you are done, I have a question. Why did you rebuild that protocol droid?”
“To help my mom,” Anakin immediately relaxed. He was actually grateful for the distraction.
“Does she require translation services?”
“No. But Threepio can help with cooking and chores.”
“Is it the kind of help that your mother requires the most?”
Anakin had a suspicion where it might lead. He studied the ghost hanging by his side with growing irritation.
“She said she liked Threepio very much!”
“Do her ‘likes’ matter?” Plagueis continued in stride. “Do you not want her to be free?”
“I do!” Anakin jumped to his feet, fuming.
“I’d like to note that your human lifespan is not that impressive. What you do with your time is not my business, of course. However,” the ghost flickered for a beat, a sign that he would be disappearing soon.
“However what?”
“Your proficiency as a mechanic is one of your strengths, which you are not utilizing as effectively as you could. Instead, you make rushed choices: like a choice to gamble your future in a podrace.”
“That was your idea!” Anakin was shocked. “You told me that Toydarians could be tempted by gambling. And it worked. Watto accepted. I am free.”
“But your mother is not. You are but chained to her at this point. What I told you was merely a selection of observations, which you decided to interpret in your own way. Moreover, you attracted unwelcome attention. Even if you have not realized the consequences of that yet, they may already be in motion. How can you gamble, unless you know that all the odds are at your side?”
Anakin fell silent, looking at his feet. He knew the correct answer. That would be no gambling. Plagueis was talking of the amount of planning he had never done in his life. Was it even possible to think that far ahead? Just thinking about thinking like that made his head hurt. Urgh! It was impossible.
Plagueis surprised him by breaking the silence first. “You dwell in the Force. You did since the day you were born. You must be better than that. Your actions are significant by the nature of your connection.”
Another big sentence Anakin did not understand. His instant reaction to things he did not understand was surveying the Force. It rang with affirmation and warning. Plagueis was somehow right. But what did that mean?
“You appear unusually thoughtful, young Anakin.”
“I was listening to the Force.”
“And what did it tell you?” the ghost was especially eager to know what Anakin could grasp from the Force. Always. Perhaps, being dead meant you were cut off. Now that Anakin could grasp the Force, he could not imagine not being able to feel it. It must be terrible.
When Anakin opened his mouth to reply, Plagueis flickered again and disappeared. It was for the best, Anakin thought, sinking back to the ground. The night was stretching in all directions. As well as his troubling thoughts. He needed time to contemplate alone.
***
The youngling, Plagueis strongly suspected, told his mother everything.
That evening he randomly appeared by the open backdoor, as the suns were setting down. The woman was dusting the rags hung outside by beating heavy fabric thoroughly with a primitive tool of sorts. A persistent cloud of sand was hanging in the air like an apt testimony of futility. It was a sorry sight: far from the costly and luxurious intergalactic center of Muunilinst, his homeworld. Plagueis could not imagine willingly staying on Tatooine, the bottom of the galactic food chain. He also personally disapproved of local spice-related business and slavery, deeming those ridiculously dumb investments. These sorts of dislikes were all he had in common with a young menace.
“No, wait, midi-chlorians. Plagueis says they are super important. The thing is — they are invisible.” The youngling was rambling, as he was helping his mother roll up a rag. “He likes talking about them. A lot.”
“I am glad you’re learning new things, Ani,” his mother put a hand on the youngling’s shoulder, squeezing. “Remember how we talked about keeping secrets?”
The youngling nodded.
“Good. I have great news for you, my dear.”
Plagueis contemplated wandering off. Sadly, he could not stray far from the youngling as he had attempted to do that numerous times. An everlasting random witness. However much he abhorred his condition, he still had many questions that intrigued him. What if the youngling died? Would Plagueis perish too? Or would he stay on Tatooine in this form? What would happen to Plagueis if the youngling’s connection to the Force was compromised?
There was a happy shriek. The youngling was hugging his mother, vibrating with emotion. A nod to Plagueis’s teachings.
“Plagueis, come here,” the youngling finally noticed him hanging around.
He has grown, noticed Plagueis with some bewilderment when he saw him and his mother standing side by side. The youngling was thin and almost of the same height as her. Not that there was a lot to catch up to.
“Mom’s gonna be free soon,” he said once he was sure he had Plagueis’s attention.
His mother looked at him fondly before collecting the rags and leaving. Unlike her tedious son, that woman had an uncanny sense of proper timing.
“What are you planning to do next?” asked Plagueis.
Through the youngling he had a chance to keep a closer watch on galactic events. Gossip collected by young Anakin around the town was burdened with an astounding amount of cheap speculations and fairy-tale nonsense. It would have been advantageous, he mused, to discover more about the affairs of the Republic and to see, although regrettably not with his own eyes, the currents of the Force moving along the grand plan.
“I do not want to stay on Tatooine. I hate it,” the youngling declared with a feeling. “I will start asking around the spaceport. There are smugglers who know me. Maybe they can offer me a job on a ship. They are flying scraps, I saw. They must need a mechanic.”
“What are you going to do if they cannot offer you anything?”
“I will stow away on a ship to the Mid Rim and try there. It can’t be that hard.”
“A hasty solution for a sketchy plan, but in your case, it might be a necessary one. Are you confident you can mask your presence from the others on the ship?”
The youngling glanced at Plagueis, then to the side.
“You know I’m not,” he whined, quite pathetically. “Why are you even asking?”
“To make you aware of your limitations. Invisibility is — in itself — a power.”
Sometimes Plagueis wondered what kind of a Sith could the youngling make. The hypothetical image these musings brought forth was one of the Sith Lords of the old. Obsessed with violent subjugation. Too grandstanding to hide in plain sight, no doubt.
“You must be very powerful. Totally invisible.” The youngling eventually learned to bite back, though with mixed success.
“I am,” Plagueis agreed coolly. “You will learn later in life how much power comes from knowledge alone.”
Young Anakin, already picked out by the darkness, glared at him with a challenge. He and Plagueis were connected for a reason. The will of the Force was clear on that. However, it was not for Plagueis to know at the time that years would pass before he and Anakin Skywalker were to see each other again.