Star Wars: Episode I: The Phantom Menace Page 16

  Down through the first set of caves and past Tusken Turn the racers tore, Anakin leading, Sebulba right on his tail. At speeds too great for maintaining proper control, the antagonists banked and angled as if safety were of no importance at all.

  And finally burst into the clear once more.

  Again, Sebulba tried to regain the lead, pushing for an opening. Anakin held him off, but then one of the horizontal stabilizers on the left engine began to shudder violently. A momentary vision of Sebulba hammering on his stabilizer just before the start of the race flashed through Anakin’s mind. He eased off on the thruster bars, jettisoned the stabilizer, and switched to an auxiliary mount. In the process, he was forced to give way. Sebulba raced past him to take command of the lead once more.

  Time and space were running out on Anakin Skywalker. He shoved the thruster bars forward and went after the Dug. Sebulba saw him coming and fishtailed his Pod back and forth in front of the boy to keep him from passing. Over the courseway they sped, jockeying for position. Anakin tried everything he knew, but Sebulba was a seasoned veteran and was able to counter each attempt. Metta Drop flew past as the racers roared out of the dune hills and onto the final stretch of flats.

  Finally Anakin shifted left, then right. But this time when Sebulba moved to block him, Anakin faked a third shift, drawing the Dug left again. The instant Sebulba began his blocking move, Anakin jerked his racer hard to the right and nosed in beside the Dug.

  Down the flat, open final stretch of the course the Podracers tore, side by side, the arena stands and warding statuary beginning to take shape ahead. Sebulba screamed in frustration and deliberately swerved his Pod into Anakin’s. Infuriated by the boy’s dogged persistence, he slammed into him, once, twice. But on the third strike, their steering rods caught, locking them together. Anakin fought with his controls, trying to break free, but the Pods were hooked fast. Sebulba laughed, jamming his racer against the boy’s in an effort to force him into the ground. Anakin whipped the thruster bars forward and back, trying to disengage from the tangle. The Radon-Ulzers strained with the effort, and the steering rods groaned and bent.

  Finally Anakin’s rod broke completely, snapping off both the armature and the main horizontal stabilizer. The boy’s Pod jerked and spun at the ends of the Steelton cables, shimmying with such force that Anakin would have been thrown from the Pod if he had not been strapped down.

  But it was much worse for Sebulba. When Anakin’s steering arm snapped, the Dug’s Pod shot forward as if catapulted, collapsing the towlines, sending the engines screaming out of control. One engine slammed into a piece of the ancient statuary and disintegrated in flames. Then the second went, ramming into the sand and exploding in a massive fireball. The towing cables broke free, and the Dug’s Pod was sent skidding through the flaming wreckage of the engines, twisting and bumping violently along the desert floor to a smoking stop. Sebulba extricated himself in a shrieking fit, throwing pieces of his ruined Pod in all directions only to discover that his pants were on fire.

  Anakin Skywalker flew overhead, the exhausts from the big Radon-Ulzers sending sand and grit into the Dug’s face in a stinging spray. Hanging on to maintain control as he crossed the finish line, he became, at nine years of age, the youngest winner ever of the Boonta Eve race.

  As the viewing platform he occupied with Shmi, Padmé, and Jar Jar slowly lowered, Qui-Gon watched the crowd surge toward Anakin’s racer. The boy had brought the Pod to a skidding halt in the center of the raceway, shut down the Radon-Ulzers, and climbed out. Kitster had already reached him and was hugging him tightly, and R2-D2 and C-3PO were scuttling around them both. When the crowd converged moments later, they hoisted Anakin aloft and carried him away, chanting and shouting his name.

  Qui-Gon exchanged a warm smile with Shmi, nodding his approval of the boy’s performance. Anakin Skywalker was special indeed.

  The viewing platform settled in place smoothly, and its occupants off-loaded onto the raceway in a rush. Allowing his companions to join the celebration, the Jedi Master turned back toward the stands. Ascending the stairways swiftly, he reached Watto’s private box in minutes. A knot of aliens departed just in front of him, laughing and joking in several languages, counting fistfuls of currency and credits. Watto was staring out at the chanting crowd, hovering at the edge of the viewport, a dejected look on his wrinkled blue face.

  The moment he caught sight of Qui-Gon, his dejection transformed, and he flew at the Jedi Master in undisguised fury.

  “You! You swindled me!” He bounced in the air in front of Qui-Gon, shaking with rage. “You knew the boy was going to win! Somehow you knew it! I lost everything!”

  Qui-Gon smiled benignly. “Whenever you gamble, my friend, eventually you’ll lose. Today wasn’t your day.” The smile dropped away. “Bring the hyperdrive parts to the main hangar right away. I’ll come by your shop later so you can release the boy.”

  The Toydarian shoved his snout against Qui-Gon’s nose. “You can’t have him! It wasn’t a fair bet!”

  Qui-Gon looked him up and down with a chilly stare. “Would you like to discuss it with the Hutts? I’m sure they would be happy to settle the matter.”

  Watto jerked as if stung, his beady eyes filled with hate. “No, no! I want no more of your tricks.” He gestured emphatically. “Take the boy! Be gone!”

  He wheeled away and flew out of the box, body hunched beneath madly beating wings. Qui-Gon watched him depart, then started down the stairs for the racetrack, his mind already turning to other things.

  Had he not been so preoccupied with his plans for what lay ahead, he might have caught sight of the Sith probe droid trailing after.

  Within an hour, the arena had emptied, the racers had been stored or hauled away for repairs, and the main hangar left almost deserted. A few pit droids were still engaged in salvaging pieces of wreckage from the race, coming and going in steady pursuit of their work. Anakin alone of the Pod pilots remained, checking over his damaged racer. He was dirty and ragged, his hair spiky and his face streaked with sweat and grime. His jacket was torn in several places, and there was blood on his clothing where he had slashed his arm on a jagged piece of metal during the battle with Sebulba.

  Qui-Gon watched him thoughtfully, standing to one side with Padmé and Shmi as the boy, Jar Jar, R2-D2, and C-3PO moved busily over the Pod and engines. Could it be? he was wondering for what must have been the hundredth time, pondering the way the boy handled a Podracer, the maturity he exhibited, and the instincts he possessed. Was it possible?

  He shelved his questions for another time. It would be up to the Council to decide. Abruptly, he left the women, walking over to the boy and kneeling beside him.

  “You’re a bit worse for wear, Annie,” he said softly, placing his hands on the boy’s shoulders and looking him in the eyes, “but you did well.” Smiling reassuringly, he wiped a patch of dirt off the boy’s face. “There, good as new.”

  He ruffled the boy’s unruly hair and helped bind his injured arm. Shmi and Padmé joined them and were moved to give Anakin fresh hugs and kisses, checking him over carefully, touching his cheeks and forehead.

  “Ah, gee … enough of this,” the boy mumbled in embarrassment.

  His mother smiled, shaking her head. “It’s so wonderful, Annie—what you’ve done here. Do you know? You’ve brought hope to those who have none. I’m so very proud of you.”

  “We owe you everything,” Padmé added quickly, giving him an intense, warm look.

  Anakin blushed scarlet. “Just feeling this good is worth anything,” he declared, smiling back.

  Qui-Gon walked over to where the hyperdrive parts were loaded on an antigrav repulsorsled harnessed to a pair of eopies. Watto had made delivery as promised, though not without considerable grumbling and a barrage of thinly veiled threats. Qui-Gon checked the container straps, glanced out into the midday heat, and walked back to the others.

  “Padmé, Jar Jar, let’s go,” he ordered abruptly. “We’ve
got to get these parts back to the ship.”

  The group moved over to the eopies, laughing and talking. Padmé hugged and kissed Anakin again, then climbed onto one of the eopies behind Qui-Gon, taking hold of his waist. Jar Jar swung onto the second animal and promptly slid off the other side, collapsing in a heap. R2-D2 beeped encouragingly as the Gungan tried again, this time managing to keep his seat. Good-byes and thank-yous were exchanged, but it was an awkward moment for Anakin. He looked as if he wanted to say something to Padmé, moving up beside her momentarily, staring up at her expectantly. But all he could manage was a sad, confused look.

  Slowly, the eopies began to move off, Anakin and his mother standing with C-3PO, waving after.

  “I’ll return the eopies by midday,” Qui-Gon promised, calling over his shoulder.

  Padmé did not look back at all.

  Qui-Gon Jinn and company rode out of Mos Espa into the Tatooine desert, R2-D2 leading the way, rolling along in front of the eopies and sled at a steady pace. The suns were rising quickly to a midday position in the sky, and the heat rose off the sand in waves. But the journey back to the Queen’s transport was accomplished swiftly and without incident.

  Obi-Wan was waiting for them, appearing down the rampway as soon as they neared, his youthful face intense. “I was getting worried,” he announced without preamble.

  Qui-Gon dismounted, then helped Padmé down. “Start getting this hyperdrive generator installed,” he ordered. “I’m going back. I have some unfinished business.”

  “Business?” his protégé echoed, arching one eyebrow.

  “I won’t be long.”

  Obi-Wan studied him a moment, then sighed. “Why do I sense we’ve picked up another stray?”

  Qui-Gon took his arm and moved him away from the others. “It’s the boy who’s responsible for getting us these parts.” He paused. “The boy whose blood sample you ran the midi-chlorian test on last night.”

  Obi-Wan gave him a hard, steady look, then turned away.

  On a rise overlooking the spacecraft, hidden in the glare of the suns and the ripple of the dunes, the Sith probe droid hung motionless for a final transmission, then quickly sped away.

  Anakin walked home with his mother and C-3PO, still wrapped in the euphoria of his victory, but wrestling as well with his sadness over the departure of Padmé. He hadn’t thought about what would happen to her if he won the Boonta Eve, that it would mean Qui-Gon would secure the hyperdrive generator he needed to make their transport functional. So when she bent to kiss and hug him good-bye, it was the first time he had given the matter any serious thought since her arrival. He was stunned, caught in a mix of emotions, and all of a sudden he wanted to tell her to stay. But he couldn’t bring himself to speak the words, knowing how foolish they would sound, realizing she couldn’t do so in any case.

  So he stood there like a droid without its vocoder, watching her ride away behind Qui-Gon, thinking it might well be the last time he would ever see her, and wondering how he was going to live with himself if it was.

  Unable to sit still once he had walked his mother to their home, he placed C-3PO back in his bedroom, deactivated him, and went out again. Qui-Gon had told him he was relieved of any work today at Watto’s, so he pretty much could do what he wanted until the Jedi returned. He gave no thought to what would happen then, wandering down toward Mos Espa Way, waving as his name was shouted out from every quarter on his journey, basking in the glow of his success. He still couldn’t quite believe it, and yet it felt as if he had always known he would win this race. Kitster appeared, then Amee and Wald, and soon he was surrounded by a dozen others.

  He was just approaching the connector to Mos Espa Way when a Rodian youngster, bigger than himself, blocked his way. Anakin had cheated, the Rodian sneered. He couldn’t have won the Boonta Eve any other way. No slave could win anything.

  Anakin was on top of him so fast the bigger being barely had time to put up his arms in defense before he was on the ground. Anakin was hitting him as hard and fast as he could, not thinking about anything but how angry he was, not even aware that the source of his anger had nothing to do with his victim and everything to do with losing Padmé.

  Then Qui-Gon, returned by now with the eopies, was looming over him. He pulled Anakin away, separating the two fighters, and demanded to know what this was all about. Somewhat sheepishly, but still angry, Anakin told him. Qui-Gon studied him carefully, disappointment registering on his broad features. He fixed the young Rodian with his gaze and asked him if he still believed Anakin had cheated. The youngster, glowering at Anakin, said he did.

  Qui-Gon put his hand on Anakin’s shoulder and steered him away from the crowd, not saying anything until they were out of hearing.

  “You know, Annie,” he said then, his deep voice thoughtful, “fighting didn’t change his opinion. The opinions of others, whether you agree with them or not, are something you have to learn to tolerate.”

  He walked the boy back toward his home, counseling him quietly about the way life worked, hand resting on his shoulder in a way that made Anakin feel comforted. As they neared the boy’s home, the Jedi reached beneath his poncho and produced a leather pouch filled with credits.

  “These are yours,” he announced. “I sold the Pod.” He pursed his lips. “To a particularly surly and rather insistent Dug.”

  Anakin accepted the bag, grinning broadly, the fight and its cause forgotten.

  He ran up the steps to his door and burst through, Qui-Gon following silently. “Mom, Mom!” he cried out as she appeared to greet him. “Guess what! Qui-Gon sold the Pod! Look at all the money we have!”

  He produced the leather pouch and dropped it into her hands, enjoying the startled look on her face. “Oh, my goodness!” she breathed softly, staring down at the bulging pouch. “Annie, that’s wonderful!”

  Her eyes lifted quickly to meet Qui-Gon’s. The Jedi stepped forward, holding her gaze.

  “Annie has been freed,” he said.

  The boy’s eyes went wide. “What?”

  Qui-Gon glanced down at him. “You are no longer a slave.”

  Shmi Skywalker stared at the Jedi in disbelief, her worn face rigid, her eyes mirroring her shock and disbelief.

  “Mom? Did you hear that, Mom?” Anakin let out a whoop and jumped as high as he could manage. It wasn’t possible! But he knew it was true, knew that it really was!

  He managed to collect himself. “Was that part of the prize, or what?” he asked, grinning.

  Qui-Gon grinned back. “Let’s just say Watto learned an important lesson about gambling.”

  Shmi Skywalker was shaking her head, still stunned by the news, still working it through. But the sight of Anakin’s face made everything come clear for her in an instant. She reached out to him and pressed him to her.

  “Now you can make your dreams come true, Annie,” she whispered, her face radiant as she touched his cheek. “You’re free.”

  She released him and turned to Qui-Gon, her eyes bright and expectant. “Will you take him with you? Is he to become a Jedi?”

  Anakin beamed at the suggestion, wheeling quickly on Qui-Gon, waiting for his answer.

  The Jedi Master hesitated. “Our meeting was not a coincidence. Nothing happens by accident. You are strong with the Force, Annie, but you may not be accepted by the Council.”

  Anakin heard what he wanted to hear, blocking away everything else, seeing the possibilities that had fueled his hopes and dreams for so long come alive in a single moment.

  “A Jedi!” he gasped. “You mean I get to go with you in your starship and everything!”

  And be with Padmé again! The thought struck him like a thunderbolt, wrapping him in such expectancy that it was all he could do to listen to what the Jedi Master said next.

  Qui-Gon knelt before the boy, his face somber. “Anakin, training to be a Jedi will not be easy. It will be a challenge. And if you succeed, it will be a hard life.”

  Anakin shook his head quick
ly. “But it’s what I want! It’s what I’ve always dreamed about!” He looked quickly to his mother. “Can I go, Mom?”

  But Qui-Gon drew him back with a touch. “This path has been placed before you, Annie. The choice to take it must be yours alone.”

  The man and the boy stared at each other. A mix of emotions roiled through Anakin, threatening to sweep him away, but at their forefront was the happiness he felt at finding the thing he wanted most in all the world within reach—to be a Jedi, to journey down the space lanes of the galaxy.

  He glanced quickly at his mother, at her worn, accepting face, seeing in her eyes that in this, as in all things, she wanted what was best for him.

  His gaze returned to Qui-Gon. “I want to go,” he said.

  “Then pack your things,” the Jedi Master advised. “We haven’t much time.”

  “Yippee!” the boy shouted, jumping up and down, anxious already to be on his way. He rushed to his mother and hugged her as hard as he could manage, then broke away for his bedroom.

  He was almost to the doorway when he realized he had forgotten something. A chill swept through him as he wheeled back to Qui-Gon. “What about Mom?” he asked hurriedly, eyes darting from one to the other. “Is she free, too? You’re coming, aren’t you, Mom?”

  Qui-Gon and his mother exchanged a worried glance, and he knew the answer before the Jedi spoke the words. “I tried to free your mother, Annie, but Watto wouldn’t have it. Slaves give status and lend prestige to their owners here on Tatooine.”

  The boy felt his chest and throat tighten. “But the money from selling …”