by Terry Brooks
Qui-Gon shook his head. “It’s not nearly enough.”
There was a hushed silence, and then Shmi Skywalker came to her son and sat down in a chair next to him, taking both of his hands in hers and drawing him close. Her eyes were steady as she looked into his.
“Annie, my place is here,” she said quietly. “My future is here. It is time for you to let go … to let go of me. I cannot go with you.”
The boy swallowed hard. “I want to stay with you, then. I don’t want things to change.”
She gave him an encouraging smile, her brow knitting. “You can’t stop change any more than you can stop the suns from setting. Listen to your feelings, Annie. You know what’s right.”
Anakin Skywalker took a long, slow breath and dropped his gaze, his head lowering. Everything was coming apart inside, all the happiness melting away, all the expectancy fading. But then he felt his mother’s hands tighten over his own, and in her touch he found the strength he needed to do what he knew he must.
Nevertheless, his eyes were brimming as he lifted his gaze once more. “I’m going to miss you so much, Mom,” he whispered.
His mother nodded. “I love you, Annie.” She released his hands. “Now, hurry.”
Anakin gave her a quick, hard hug, and raced from the room, tears streaking his face.
Once within his own room, Anakin stood staring about in sudden bewilderment. He was leaving, and he did not know when he would be coming back. He had never been anywhere but here, never known anyone but the people of Mos Espa and those who came to trade with them. He had dreamed about other worlds and other lives, about becoming a pilot of a mainline ship, and about becoming a Jedi. But the impact of what it actually meant to be standing at the threshold of an embarkation to the life he had so often wished for was overwhelming.
He found himself thinking of the old spacer, telling him that he wouldn’t be surprised at all if Anakin Skywalker became something more than a slave. He had wanted that more than anything, had hoped with all his heart for it to happen.
But he had never, ever considered the possibility he would have to leave his mother behind.
He wiped the tears from his eyes, fighting back new ones, hearing his mother’s and Qui-Gon’s voices from the other room.
“Thank you,” his mother was saying softly.
“I will watch after him. You have my word.” The Jedi’s deep voice was warm and reassuring. “Will you be all right?”
Anakin couldn’t hear her reply. But then she said, “He was in my life for such a short time …”
She trailed off, distracted. Anakin forced himself to quit listening, and he began pulling clothes out and stuffing them into a backpack. He didn’t have much, and it didn’t take him long. He looked about for anything of importance he might have missed, and his eyes settled on C-3PO, sitting motionless on the workbench. He walked over to the protocol droid and switched him on. C-3PO cocked his head and looked at the boy blankly.
“Well, Threepio, I’m leaving,” Anakin said solemnly. “I’m free. I’m going away, in a starship …”
He didn’t know what else to say. The droid cocked his head. “Well, Master Anakin, you are my maker, and I wish you well. Although I’d like it better if I were a little less naked.”
The boy sighed and nodded. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to finish you, Threepio—to give you coverings and all. I’m going to miss working on you. You’ve been a great pal. I’ll make sure Mom doesn’t sell you or anything. Bye!”
He snatched up his backpack and rushed from the room, hearing C-3PO call after him plaintively, “Sell me?”
He said good-bye to his mother, braver now, more determined, and walked out the door with Qui-Gon, his course of action settled. He had gotten barely a dozen meters from his home when Kitster, who had trailed them back from the fight, came rushing up to him.
“Where are you going, Annie?” his friend asked doubtfully.
Anakin took a deep breath. “I’ve been freed, Kitster. I’m going away with Qui-Gon. On a spaceship.”
Kitster’s eyes went wide, and his mouth opened in a silent exclamation. Anakin fished in his pockets and came out with a handful of credits, which he shoved at his friend. “Here. These are for you.”
Kitster’s dark face looked down at the credits, then back up at Anakin. “Do you have to go, Annie? Do you have to? Can’t you stay? Annie, you’re a hero!”
Anakin swallowed hard. “I …” He glanced past Kitster to his mother, still standing in the doorway looking after him, then down to where Qui-Gon was waiting. He shook his head. “I can’t.”
Kitster nodded. “Well.”
“Well,” Anakin repeated, looking at him.
“Thanks for everything, Annie,” the other boy said. There were tears in his eyes as he accepted the credits. “You’re my best friend.”
Anakin bit his lip. “I won’t forget.”
He hugged Kitster impulsively, then broke away and raced toward Qui-Gon. But before he reached him, he glanced back one more time at his mother. Seeing her standing in the doorway brought him about. He stood there momentarily, undecided, conflicting emotions tearing at him. Then his already shaky resolve collapsed altogether, and he raced back to her. By the time he reached her, he was crying freely.
“I can’t do it, Mom,” he whispered, clinging to her. “I just can’t!”
He was shaking, wracked with sobs, disintegrating inside so quickly that all he could think about was holding on to her. Shmi let him do so for a moment, comforting him with her warmth, then backed him away.
She knelt before him, her worn face solemn. “Annie, remember when you climbed that dune in order to chase the banthas away so they wouldn’t be shot? You were only five. Remember how you collapsed several times in the heat, exhausted, thinking you couldn’t do it, that it was too hard?”
Anakin nodded, his face streaked with tears.
Shmi held his gaze. “This is one of those times when you have to do something you don’t think you can do. But I know how strong you are, Annie. I know you can do this.”
The boy swallowed his tears, thinking she was wrong, he was not strong at all, but knowing, too, she had decided he must go, even if he found it hard, even if he resisted.
“Will I ever see you again?” he asked in desperation, giving voice to the worst of his fears.
“What does your heart tell you?” she asked quietly.
Anakin shook his head doubtfully. “I don’t know. Yes, I guess.”
His mother nodded. “Then it will happen, Annie.”
Anakin took a deep breath to steady himself. He had stopped crying now, and he wiped the dampness of his tears from his face.
“I will become a Jedi,” he declared in a small voice. “And I will come back and free you, Mom. I promise.”
“No matter where you are, my love will be with you,” Shmi told him, her kind face bent close to his. “Now be brave, and don’t look back.”
“I love you, Mom,” Anakin said.
She hugged him one final time, then turned him around so he was facing away from her. “Don’t look back, Annie,” she whispered.
She gave him a small push, and he strode determinedly away, shouldering his pack, keeping his eyes fixed on a point well past where Qui-Gon stood waiting. He walked toward that point without slowing, marching right past the Jedi Master, fighting back the tears that threatened to come yet again. It took only a few minutes, and his mother and his home were behind him.
They went to Watto’s shop first, where the Toydarian had completed the forms necessary to assure Anakin’s freedom. The transmitter that bound Anakin to his life of slavery was deactivated permanently. It would be removed surgically at a later date. Watto was still grumbling about the unfairness of things as they left him and went back out into the street.
From there, at Anakin’s urging, they walked to Jira’s fruit stand a short distance away. Anakin, much recovered from the trauma of leaving his mother, marched up to the old woman a
nd put a handful of credits into her frail hands.
“I’ve been freed, Jira,” he told her, a determined set to his jaw. “I’m going away. Use these for that cooling unit I promised you. Otherwise, I’ll worry.”
Jira looked at the credits in disbelief. She shook her white head. “Can I give you a hug?” she asked him softly. She reached out for him, drawing him against her thin body, her eyes closing as she held him. “I’ll miss you, Annie,” she said, releasing him. “There isn’t a kinder boy in the galaxy. You be careful.”
He left her in a rush, racing after Qui-Gon, who was already moving away, anxious to get going. They walked in silence down a series of side streets, the boy’s eyes taking in familiar sights he would not soon see again, remembering his life here, saying good-bye.
He was lost in his own thoughts when Qui-Gon swung about with such swiftness it caught the boy completely by surprise. Down swept the Jedi’s lightsaber in a brilliant arc, cutting through the shadows between two buildings, clashing momentarily with something made of metal that shattered in the wake of the weapon’s passing.
Qui-Gon clicked off the lightsaber and knelt to inspect a cluster of metal parts still sparking and fizzing in the sand. The acrid smell of ozone and burning insulation hung in the dry air.
“What is it?” the boy asked, peering over his shoulder.
Qui-Gon rose. “Probe droid. Very unusual. Not like anything I’ve seen before.” He glanced about worriedly, eyes sharp and bright as he cast up and down the street.
“Come on, Annie,” he ordered, and they moved quickly away.
Qui-Gon Jinn took the boy out of Mos Espa swiftly, hurrying through the crowded streets to the less populated outskirts. All the while, his eyes and mind were searching, the former the landscape of Tatooine, the latter the landscape of the Force. His instincts had alerted him to the presence of the probe droid tracking them, and his Jedi training in the ways of the Force warned him now of something far more dangerous. He could feel a shifting in the balance of things that suggested an intrusion on the harmony that the Force required, a dark weight descending like a massive stone.
Once out on the desert, in the open, he picked up the pace. The Queen’s transport came into view, a dark shape just ahead, a haven of safety. He heard Anakin call out to him, the boy working hard to keep up, but beginning to fall behind.
Glancing over his shoulder to give his response and offer encouragement, he caught sight of the speeder and its dark-cloaked rider bearing down on them.
“Drop, Anakin!” he shouted, wheeling about.
The boy threw himself facedown, flattening against the sand as the speeder whipped overhead, barely missing him as it bore down on Qui-Gon. The Jedi Master already had his lightsaber out, the blade activated, the weapon held before him in two hands. The speeder came at him, a saddle-shaped vehicle with no weapons in evidence, made to rely on quickness and maneuverability rather than firepower. It was like nothing the Jedi had ever seen, but vaguely reminiscent of something dead and gone.
Its rider rode out of the glare of the suns and was revealed. Bold markings of red and black covered a demonic face in strange, jagged patterns beneath a crown of stunted horns encircling its head. Man-shaped and humanoid, his slitted eyes and hooked teeth were nevertheless feral and predatory, and his howl was a hunter’s challenge to his prey.
The primal scream had barely sounded before he was on top of Qui-Gon, wheeling the speeder aside deftly at the last moment, closing off its thruster, and leaping from the seat, all in one swift movement. He carried a lightsaber of another make, and the weapon was cutting at the Jedi Master even before the attacker’s feet had touched the ground. Qui-Gon, surprised by the other’s quickness and ferocity, barely blocked the blow with his own weapon, the blades sliding apart with a harsh rasp. The attacker spun away in a whirl of dark clothing, then attacked anew, lightsaber slashing at his intended prey, face alight with a killing frenzy that promised no quarter.
Anakin was back on his feet, staring at them, clearly unable to decide what he should do. Fighting to hold his ground, Qui-Gon caught sight of him out of the corner of his eye.
“Annie! Get out of here!” he cried out.
His attacker closed with him again, forcing him back, striking at him from every angle. Even without knowing anything else, Qui-Gon knew this man was trained in the fighting arts of a Jedi, a skilled and dangerous adversary. Worse, he was younger, quicker, and stronger than Qui-Gon, and he was gaining ground rapidly. The Jedi Master blocked him again and again, but could not find an opening that would provide any chance of escape.
“Annie!” he screamed again, seeing the boy immobilized. “Get to the ship! Tell them to take off! Go, go!”
Hammering at the demonic-faced attacker with renewed determination, Qui-Gon Jinn saw the boy at last begin to run.
In a rush of emotion dominated by fear and doubt, Anakin Skywalker raced past the combatants for the Naboo spacecraft. It sat not three hundred meters away, metal skin gleaming dully in the afternoon sunlight. Its loading ramp was down, but there was no sign of its occupants. Anakin ran faster, sweat streaking his body. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest as he reached the ramp and bounded onto the ship.
Just inside the hatchway, he found Padmé and a dark-skinned man in uniform coming toward him. When Padmé caught sight of him, her eyes went wide.
“Qui-Gon’s in trouble!” the boy blurted out, gasping for breath. “He says to take off! Now!”
The man stared, eyes questioning and suspicious. “Who are you?” he demanded.
But Padmé was already moving, seizing Anakin by the arm, pulling him toward the front of the spacecraft. “He’s a friend,” she answered, leading the way forward. “Hurry, Captain.”
They rushed down the hallway into the cockpit, Anakin trying to tell the girl what had happened, his words tumbling over one another, his face flushed and anxious. Padmé moved him along in a no-nonsense way, nodding her understanding, telling him to hurry, taking charge of everything.
When they reached the cockpit, they found two more men at work checking out the craft’s control panel. They turned at the approach of Anakin and his companions. One wore a pilot’s insignia on the breast of his jacket. The second, Anakin was quite certain from the cut of his hair and the look of his clothing, was another Jedi.
“Qui-Gon is in trouble,” Padmé announced quickly.
“He says to take off,” Anakin added in support.
The Jedi was on his feet at once. He was much younger than Qui-Gon, his face smooth, his eyes intense, his hair cut short save for a single braided pigtail that fell over his right shoulder. “Where is he?” he demanded. Then, without waiting for an answer, he wheeled back to the viewport and began scanning the empty flats.
“I don’t see anything,” the pilot said, peering over his shoulder.
“Over there!” The sharp eyes of the Jedi caught sight of movement just at the corner of the port. “Get us into the air and over there! Now! Fly low!”
The man called Ric threw himself into the pilot’s seat, while the others, Anakin included, scrambled to find seats. The big repulsorlifts kicked in with a low growl, the rampway sealed, and the sleek transport rose and wheeled smoothly about.
“There,” the Jedi breathed, pointing.
They could see Qui-Gon Jinn now, engaged in battle with the dark-garbed, demonic figure. The combatants surged back and forth across the flats, lightsabers flashing brightly with each blow struck, sand and grit swirling in all directions. Qui-Gon’s long hair streamed out behind him in sharp contrast to the smooth horned head of his adversary. The pilot Ric took the spacecraft toward them quickly, skimming the ground barely higher than a speeder bike, coming in from behind the attacker. Anakin held his breath as they closed on the fighters. Ric’s hand slid over the control that would lower the ramp, easing it forward carefully.
“Stand by,” he ordered, freezing them all in place as he swung the ship about.
The com
batants disappeared in a fresh swirl of sand and the glare of Tatooine’s twin suns. All eyes shifted quickly to the viewscreens, searching desperately.
Then Qui-Gon appeared, leaping onto the lowered rampway of the transport, gaining purchase, one hand grasping a strut for support. Ric hissed in approval and fought to hold the spacecraft steady. But the horned attacker was already in pursuit, racing out of the haze and leaping onto the ramp as the ship began to rise. Balanced precariously against the sway of the ship, eyes flaring in rage, he fought to keep his footing.
Qui-Gon attacked at once, rushing the other man, closing with him at the edge of the ramp. They were twenty meters into the air by now, the pilot holding the spacecraft steady as he saw the combatants come to grips yet again, afraid to go higher while Qui-Gon was exposed. The Jedi Master and his adversary filled the viewscreen commanding the rampway entrance, faces tight with determination and streaked with sweat.
“Qui-Gon,” Anakin heard the second Jedi say quietly, desperately, watching the battle for just a moment more, then tearing his eyes away from the viewscreen and racing down the open corridor.
On the screen, Anakin watched Qui-Gon Jinn step back, level his lightsaber, and swing a powerful, two-handed blow at his attacker. The horned man blocked it, but only barely, and in the process lost his balance completely. The blow’s force swept him away, clear of the ramp and off into space. He dropped back toward the desert floor, landed in a crouch, and rose instantly to his feet. But the chase was over. He stood watching in frustration, yellow eyes aflame, as the ramp to the Queen’s transport closed and the spacecraft rocketed away.
Qui-Gon had barely managed to scramble up the rampway and into the interior of the ship before the hatch sealed and the Nubian began to accelerate. He lay on the cool metal floor of the entry, his clothing dusty and damp with his sweat, his body bruised and battered. He breathed deeply, waiting for his pounding heart to quiet. He had barely escaped with his life, and the thought was worrisome. His opponent was strong and had tested him severely. He was getting old, he decided, and he did not like the feeling.