Star Wars: Episode I: The Phantom Menace

by Terry Brooks

  “Great gobs of bantha poodoo!” the boy hissed, fighting to stabilize his stricken craft.

  He was hurtling directly toward the hull, and he pulled back on the thruster bars, cutting power and drifting into a long slide. He regained control too late to turn back, and pointed the ship toward a giant opening at the battleship’s center. Cannon fire whipped all about him as the droids controlling the flagship’s guns tried to bring him down, but he was past them in a microsecond, rocketing into the battleship’s cavernous main hangar. Reverse thrusters on full power, dodging transports, tanks, fighters, and stacks of supplies, he struggled to keep his fighter airborne as he looked for a place to land.

  R2-D2 was beeping wildly. “I’m trying to stop!” Anakin shouted in reply. “Whoa! Whoa! I’m trying!”

  The Naboo fighter struck the decking and bounced, reverse thrusters powering up in an effort to brake the craft. A bulkhead loomed ahead, blocking the way. Anakin brought the fighter down on the decking with a bone-jarring thud and held it there, skidding down the rampway in a screech of metal. The fighter slowed and did a half turn and came to an unsteady halt. The power drive stalled and then failed completely.

  R2-D2 whistled in relief.

  “All right, all right!” Anakin gasped, nodding to himself. “We’re down. Let’s get the engines started again and get out of here!”

  He ducked down to adjust the feeders to the fuel lines, checking the control panel indicators worriedly. “Lights are all red, Artoo. Everything’s overheated.”

  He was working on the coolants when R2-D2 beeped suddenly in warning. The boy popped his head over the edge of the cockpit and looked out into the hangar. “Oh, oh,” he muttered softly.

  Dozens of battle droids were approaching across the hangar floor, weapons raised menacingly. Their only escape route was blocked.

  Obi-Wan Kenobi prowled the front end of the service corridor to the melting pit like a caged animal. He was furious at himself for getting trapped so far from Qui-Gon and furious with Qui-Gon for letting this happen by rushing ahead instead of waiting for him. But he was worried, too. He could admit it to himself, privately, if only just. They should have won this battle long ago. Against any other opponent, they would have. But the Sith Lord was battle trained and seasoned well beyond anyone they had ever encountered before. He had matched them blow for blow, and they weren’t any closer to winning this fight now than they had been in the beginning.

  Obi-Wan stared down the length of the corridor, measuring the distance he would have to travel to reach Qui-Gon and his antagonist when the lasers paused. He had caught a glimpse of them deactivating while rushing to catch up with Qui-Gon, then of reactivating again in a matter of seconds. He would have to be quick. Very quick. He did not want the Master facing this tattooed madman alone.

  Down the way, pinned between two walls of laser beams, Qui-Gon Jinn knelt in meditation, facing toward the Sith Lord and the melting pit, his head lowered over his lightsaber. He was gathering himself for a final assault, bringing himself in tune with the Force. Obi-Wan did not like the weariness he saw in the slump of the older man’s shoulders, in the bow of his back. He was the best swordsman Obi-Wan had ever seen, but he was growing old.

  Beyond, the Sith Lord worked at binding up his wounds, a series of burns and slashes marked by charred tears in his dark clothing. He was backed to the edge of the chamber beyond, keeping a close watch on Qui-Gon, his red and black face intense, his yellow eyes glinting in the half light. His lightsaber rested on the floor before him. He saw Obi-Wan staring and smiled in open derision.

  At that instant, the laser beams warding the service corridor went off.

  Obi-Wan sprinted ahead, launching himself down the narrow passageway, lightsaber raised. Qui-Gon was on his feet as well, his own weapon flashing. He catapulted through the opening that led into the melting pit and closed with the Sith Lord, forcing him back, out of the passageway completely. Obi-Wan put on a new burst of speed, howling out at the antagonists ahead, as if by the sound of his voice he could bring them back to him.

  Then he heard the buzz of the capacitors kicking in once more, cycling to reactivate the lasers. He threw himself ahead, still too far from the corridor’s end. He cleared all the gates but the last, and the lasers crisscrossed before him in a deadly wall, bringing him to an abrupt stop just short of where he needed to be.

  Lightsaber clutched in both hands, he stood watching helplessly as Qui-Gon Jinn and Darth Maul battled on the narrow ledge that encircled the melting pit. A stream of electrons was all that separated him from the combatants, but it might as well have been a wall of permacrete three meters thick. Desperately he cast about for a triggering device that might shut the system down, but he had no better luck here than he’d had at the other end. He could only watch and wait and pray that Qui-Gon could hold on.

  It appeared that the Jedi Master would. He had found a fresh reserve of strength during his meditation, and now he was attacking with a ferocity that seemed to have the Sith Lord stymied. With quick, hard strokes of his lightsaber, he bored into his adversary, deliberately engaging in close-quarters combat, refusing to let the other bring his double-bladed weapon to bear. He drove Darth Maul backward about the rim of the overhang, keeping the Sith Lord constantly on the defensive, pressing in on him steadily. Qui-Gon Jinn might no longer be young, but he was still powerful. Darth Maul’s ragged face took on a frenzied look, and the glitter of his strange eyes brightened with uncertainty.

  Good, Master, Obi-Wan thought, urging him on voicelessly, anticipating Qui-Gon’s sword strokes as if they were his own.

  Then Darth Maul back-flipped across the melting pit, giving himself some space in which to recover, gaining just enough time to assume a new battle stance. Qui-Gon was on him in an instant, covering the distance separating them in a rush, hammering into the Sith Lord anew. But he was beginning to weary now from carrying the battle alone. His strokes were not so vigorous as before, his face bathed with sweat and taut with fatigue.

  Slowly, Darth Maul began to edge his way back into the fight, becoming the aggressor once more.

  Hurry! Obi-Wan hissed soundlessly, willing the lasers to pause and the gates to come down.

  Stroke for stroke, Qui-Gon and Darth Maul battled about the rim of the melting pit, locked in a combat that seemed endless and forever and could be won by neither.

  Then the Sith Lord parried a downstroke, whirled swiftly to the right, and with his back to the Jedi Master, made a blind, reverse lunge. Too late, Qui-Gon recognized the danger. The blade of the Sith Lord’s lightsaber caught him directly in the midsection, its brilliant length burning through clothing and flesh and bone.

  Obi-Wan thought he heard the Jedi Master scream, then realized it was himself, calling his friend’s name in despair. Qui-Gon made no sound as the blade entered him, stiffening with the impact, then taking a small step back as it was withdrawn. He stood motionless for an instant, fighting against the shock of the killing blow. Then his eyes clouded, his arms lowered, and a great weariness settled over his proud features. He dropped to his knees, and his lightsaber clattered to the stone floor.

  He was slumped forward and motionless when the lasers abruptly went off again, and Obi-Wan Kenobi, seething with rage, rushed to his rescue.

  Nute Gunray stood with Rune Haako and four members of the Trade Federation Occupation Council as Captain Panaka, one of the Queen’s handmaidens, and the six Naboo soldiers who had fought to protect them were marched into the Theed palace throne room by a squad of ten battle droids. The viceroy recognized Panaka at once, but he was unclear as to the identity of the handmaiden who accompanied him. He was looking for the Queen, and while this handmaiden bore a certain resemblance to her …

  He caught himself in surprise. It was the Queen, without her makeup and ornate robes, stripped of her symbols of office. She looked even younger than she had in ceremonial garb, but her eyes and that cool gaze were unmistakable.

  He glanced at Rune Haako and
saw the same confusion mirrored in his associate’s face.

  “Your Highness,” he greeted as she was led up to him.

  “Viceroy,” she replied, confirming his conclusion as to her identity.

  That settled, he swiftly assumed the pose of a captor confronting his captive. “Your little insurrection is at an end, Your Highness. The rabble army you sent against us south of the city has been crushed. The Jedi are being dealt with elsewhere. And you are my captive.”

  “Am I?” she asked quietly.

  The way she spoke the words was unnerving. There was something challenging in the way she said them, as if she were daring him to disagree. Even Panaka turned to look at her.

  “Yes, you are.” He pressed ahead, wondering suddenly if he had missed something. His face lifted. “It is time for you to put an end to the pointless debate you instigated in the Republic Senate. Sign the treaty now.”

  There was a commotion outside the doorway leading into the throne room, the sound of blasters and the shattering of metal, and all at once Queen Amidala was standing in the anteway beyond, a clutch of battle droids collapsed on the floor and a handful of Naboo soldiers warding their Queen against the appearance of more.

  “I will not be signing any treaty, Viceroy!” she called out to him, already beginning to move away. “You’ve lost!”

  For a moment Nute Gunray was so stunned he could not make himself move. A second Queen? But this was the real one, dressed in her robes of office, wearing her white face paint, speaking to him in that imperious voice he had come to recognize so well.

  He wheeled toward the battle droids holding Panaka and the false Queen at bay. “You six! After her!” He gestured in the direction of the disappearing Amidala. “Bring her to me! The real one, this time—not some decoy!”

  The droids he had indicated rushed from the room in pursuit of the Queen and her guards, leaving the Neimoidians and the four remaining droids with their Naboo captives.

  Gunray wheeled on the handmaiden. “Your Queen will not get away with this!” he snapped, enraged at having been deceived.

  The handmaiden seemed to lose all her bravado, turning away from him with her head lowered in defeat, moving slowly toward the Queen’s throne and slumping dejectedly into it. Nute Gunray dismissed her almost at once, turning his attention to the other Naboo, anxious to have them taken away to the camps.

  But in the next instant the handmaiden was back on her feet, any sign of dejection or weariness banished, a blaster in either hand, pulled from a hidden compartment in the arm of the throne. Tossing one of the blasters to Captain Panaka, she began firing the second into the depleted squad of battle droids. The droids were caught completely by surprise, their attention fixed on the Naboo guards, and the handmaiden and Panaka dispatched them in a flurry of shots that left the throne room ringing with the sound of weapons fire.

  Shouting instructions to the Naboo, the handmaiden—if that’s who she really was, because by now Nute Gunray was beginning to think otherwise—moved to the throne room doors, triggering the locks. The doors swung shut, the bolts engaged, and the girl smashed the locking mechanism with the butt of her weapon.

  She turned then to the Neimoidians, who were huddled together in confusion at the center of the room, eyes darting this way and that in a futile search for help. All the battle droids lay shattered on the floor, and the Naboo had seized their blasters.

  The handmaiden walked up to Gunray. “Let’s start again, Viceroy,” she said coolly.

  “Your Highness,” he replied, tight-lipped, realizing the truth too late.

  She nodded. “This is the end of your occupation.”

  He stood his ground. “Don’t be absurd. There are too few of you. It won’t be long before hundreds of destroyer droids break in here to rescue us.”

  Even before he finished, there was the sound of heavy wheels in the anteway, then of metal bodies unfolding. The viceroy permitted himself a satisfied smile. “You see, Your Highness? Rescue is already at hand.”

  The Queen gave him a hard look. “Before they make it through that door, we will have negotiated a new treaty, Viceroy. And you will have signed it.”

  Free at last of the laser wall, Obi-Wan Kenobi charged out of the service tunnel and into the chamber that housed the melting pit. Abandoning any pretense of observing even the slightest caution, he barreled into Darth Maul with such fury that he almost knocked both of them off the ledge and into the abyss. He struck at the Sith Lord with his lightsaber as if his own safety meant nothing, lost in a red haze of rage and frustration, consumed by his grief for Qui-Gon and his failure to prevent his friend’s fall.

  The Sith Lord was borne backward by the Jedi Knight’s initial rush, caught off guard by the other’s wild assault, and pressed all the way back to the far wall of the melting pit. There he struggled to keep the young Jedi at bay, trying to open enough space between them to defend himself. Lightsabers scraped and grated against each other, and the chamber echoed with their fury. Lunging and twisting, Darth Maul regained the offensive and counterattacked, using both ends of his lightsaber in an effort to cut Obi-Wan’s legs out from under him. But Obi-Wan, while not so experienced as Qui-Gon, was quicker. Anticipating each blow, he was able to elude his antagonist’s efforts to bring him down.

  The struggle took them around the edge of the melting pit and into the nooks and alcoves beyond, into shadowed recesses and around smoky pillars and pipe housings. Twice, Obi-Wan went down, losing his footing on the smooth flooring of the melting pit’s rim. Once, Darth Maul hammered at him with such determination that he scorched the young Jedi’s tunic, shoulder to waist, and it was only by countering with an upthrust counterstrike to the other’s midsection and by rolling quickly away and back to his feet that Obi-Wan was able to escape.

  They fought their way back toward the laser-riddled service passage, past Qui-Gon’s still form, and into a tangle of vent tubes and circuit housings. Steam burst from ruptured pipes, and the air was filled with the acrid smell of scorched wiring. Darth Maul began to use his command of the Force to fling heavy objects at Obi-Wan, trying to throw him off balance, to disable him, to disrupt the flow of his attack. Obi-Wan responded in kind, and the air was filled with deadly missiles. Lightsabers flicked right and left to ward off the objects, and the clash of errant metal careening off stone walls formed an eerie shriek in the gloom.

  The battle wore on, and for a time it was fought evenly. But Darth Maul was the stronger of the two and was driven by a frenzy that surpassed even the frantic determination that fueled Obi-Wan. Eventually, the Sith Lord began to wear the young Jedi down. Bit by bit, he pressed him back, carrying the attack to him, looking to catch him off guard. Obi-Wan could sense his body weakening, and his fear of what it would mean if he, too, were to fall, began to grow.

  Never! he swore furiously.

  Qui-Gon’s words came back to him. Don’t center on your fears. Concentrate on the here and now. He struggled to do so, to contain the emotions warring within and bearing him down. Be mindful of the living Force, my young Padawan. Be strong.

  Sensing his opportunity slipping away from him and his strength waning, Obi-Wan mounted a final assault. He rushed the Sith Lord with a series of side blows designed to bring the two-bladed lightsaber horizontal. Then he feinted an attack to his enemy’s left and brought his own lightsaber over and down with such force that he severed the other’s weapon.

  Crying out in fury, he cut triumphantly at the Sith Lord’s horned head, a killing blow.

  And missed completely.

  Darth Maul, anticipating the maneuver, had stepped smoothly away. Discarding the lesser half of his severed weapon, he counterattacked swiftly, striking at Obi-Wan with enough force that he knocked the young Jedi sideways and off balance. Quickly he struck him again, harder still, and this time Obi-Wan lost his footing completely and tumbled over the edge of the pit, his lightsaber flying from his hand. For an instant, he was falling, tumbling away into the dark. He reached out
in desperation and caught hold of a metal rung just below the lip of the pit.

  There he hung, helpless, staring up at a triumphant Darth Maul.

  When Anakin Skywalker got a look at the number of battle droids surrounding his starfighter, he ducked back out of sight again at once. If it had been at all possible, he would have vanished into the ship’s fuselage and willed them both right through the hangar floor to a safer haven.

  “This is not good,” he told himself softly.

  Sweat beaded on his forehead as he tried to decide what to do. He was just a boy, but he had experience with being in tight places and a cool head when it came to dealing with trouble. Find a way out of this! he admonished himself.

  A quick glance at the main and sublevel control panels revealed that all the indicator lights were still red. No help there.

  “Artoo,” he whispered. “The systems are still overheated. Can you do something?”

  Footsteps approached, and a metallic droid voice demanded, “Where is your pilot?”

  R2-D2 beeped bravely in reply.

  “You are the pilot?”

  The astromech droid whistled affirmatively.

  There was a confused pause. “Show me your identification,” the battle droid commanded, reverting to rote.

  Anakin could hear the sound of switches clicking and circuits kicking in. R2-D2 was still trying to save them. Good old Artoo. The astromech droid beeped softly at Anakin, and the boy saw the systems lights change abruptly from red to green.

  “Yes, Artoo!” he hissed in relief. “We’re up and running!”

  He threw the ignition switches, and the fighter’s engines roared to life. Swiftly, he leapt from hiding and took his place in the pilot’s seat, hands reaching for the steering.

  The droid commander saw him now and brought up his weapon. “Leave the cockpit immediately or we will disable your craft! ”