A little farther along, they stopped at Jira’s fruit stand. As he chatted with Jira, Anakin noticed Padmé eyeing the fruit. Struck by sudden inspiration, Anakin said, “I’ll take four pallies today, Jira.” Turning to Padmé, he added, “You’ll like these.” He dug in his pocket for the few coins he owned. Two, three…I thought I had four truguts! Hastily, he pulled the money out to check, and dropped one.
The tall man bent to retrieve it. As he did, his coat shifted, and Anakin glimpsed the handle of a laser sword stuck in his belt. A lightsaber! He must be a Jedi! Anakin shifted his gaze quickly. He must not want people to know, or he’d wear it where everyone could see.
The Jedi returned Anakin’s coin. Anakin had to struggle to keep his voice normal as he said, “Ooops. I thought I had more. Make that three pallies, Jira. I’m not hungry.”
The wind was rising, and shopkeepers were taking down their awnings and putting up shutters. “Gracious, my bones are aching,” Jira said as she handed Anakin the pallies. “Storm’s coming on, Annie. You’d better get home quick.”
Anakin looked up at the tall stranger. “Do you have shelter?”
“We’ll head back to our ship,” he replied.
Anakin hesitated. Even a Jedi wouldn’t survive long in a sandstorm. And he might not realize how fast storms came up, or how bad they could be. “Is it far?”
“On the outskirts,” Padmé told him.
“You’ll never reach the outskirts in time,” Anakin said. “Sandstorms are very, very dangerous. Come with me. Hurry!” As soon as he was sure they were following, he headed rapidly for home.
Obi-Wan stood in front of the spaceship, staring across the desert. The wind whipped at his cloak, but he hardly felt it. The Force shook with the same elusive wrongness that had been disturbing him since the start of the mission—closer now, but no easier to sense. They needed to get off this planet soon, but there was still no sign of Qui- Gon.
He noticed Captain Panaka and the gathering sandstorm at the same time. “This looks pretty bad,” the captain said. “We’d better seal the ship.”
Reluctantly, Obi-Wan nodded. Not even Qui-Gon would try to make it to the ship in the middle of a sandstorm. As they turned toward the ramp, the captain’s comlink beeped.
It was the pilot, Ric Olié. “We’re receiving a message from home.”
“We’ll be right there,” Panaka told him. Obi-Wan was already halfway up the ramp.
The Queen and her handmaiden were watching the transmission when he arrived. The hologram showed the governor, Sio Bibble, and though it faded in and out, the portions that came through clearly were disturbing. “…cut off all food supplies…death toll…catastrophic…” And the end was clear, too: “Please tell us what to do! If you can hear us, Your Highness, you must contact me.…”
“It’s a trick,” Obi-Wan said firmly, hoping he was right. “Send no reply.” If we transmit anything, the Trade Federation may trace it back to us. And if they find us, they’ll catch us—without a hyperdrive, we’re an easy target.
Captain Panaka and the Queen looked at each other uncertainly. “Send no transmissions of any kind,” Obi-Wan repeated, eyeing them until they both nodded.
In the middle of the room, the crackling message began to repeat itself.
Qui-Gon had seen smaller quarters than the slave hovels of Mos Espa, but not many. The shelters were little and stacked tightly; he had to duck to get through the doorway. Ahead of him, he heard the boy Anakin shouting, “Mom! Mom, I’m home!” He smiled slightly. The Force was strong in Anakin, amazingly strong—the boy practically glowed with it. But why had the Force brought Qui-Gon to him? For all his talent, Anakin was already much too old to be trained as a Jedi—Jedi teachers normally worked with very young children, whose emotions had not yet begun to shape their responses. Yet it was clear to Qui-Gon that encountering Anakin was no accident. Best to move slowly, and let things become clearer.
His thoughts were interrupted by the entrance of a dark-haired woman of around forty, presumably Anakin’s mother. Her first words confirmed it: “Oh, my! Annie, what’s this?”
“These are my friends, Mom,” Anakin told her. “This is Padmé, and…oh, I don’t know any of your names.”
Qui-Gon could not help smiling. “I’m Qui-Gon Jinn, and this is Jar Jar Binks.”
Beside him, Artoo beeped, and Padmé added, “And our droid, Artoo-Detoo.”
“I’m building a droid,” Anakin told her eagerly. “You want to see?”
“Anakin!” His mother’s tone was sharper than necessary. “Why are these people here?”
“A sandstorm, Mom,” Anakin said. “Listen.” The howling of the wind had increased, even in the few minutes since they had come inside.
We made it just in time, Qui-Gon realized. “Your son was kind enough to offer us shelter,” he told Anakin’s mother. She still wore a wary, pinched expression, so while Anakin pulled Padmé and Artoo into the next room to see his droid, Qui-Gon dug in his belt pack for food capsules. Handing them to Anakin’s mother, he said, “I have enough food for a meal.”
“Oh, thank you!” the woman said. Her change in tone and manner told him just how worried she had been about feeding her unexpected visitors, and how little she had to spare. “I’m sorry if I was abrupt,” she went on. “I’ll never get used to Anakin’s surprises.”
“He’s a very special boy,” Qui-Gon said.
The woman gave him a look that was half-startled, half-wary. “Yes,” she said softly. “I know.” She turned away to begin preparing a meal.
Qui-Gon’s comlink beeped. Staring thoughtfully after Anakin’s mother, he answered it. It was Obi-Wan, who launched immediately into a description of a disturbing message the ship had just received from Sio Bibble on Naboo. “The Queen is upset,” he finished, “but absolutely no reply was sent.”
“It sounds like bait to establish a connection trace,” Qui-Gon said.
Obi-Wan hesitated. “What if it is true, and the people are dying?”
“Either way, we’re running out of time,” Qui-Gon said, and cut the link. If they’re trying a connection trace, they must already know that we’re on Tatooine. A planet is an awfully large area to search, but even so…we haven’t much time. And I still have no idea how to get that hyperdrive generator.
Anakin’s room had the same lumpy, sand-colored walls as every other building Amidala had seen in Mos Espa, and it was almost as full of odd bits and pieces as the junk shop. Anakin dragged her over to a workbench, where a partially completed android lay. Only one eye was finished, and none of its arms or legs had casings yet. “Isn’t he great?” Anakin said proudly. Then, a little uncertainly, he added, “He’s not finished yet.”
“He’s wonderful!” Amidala reassured him.
“You really like him?” Anakin said. “He’s a protocol droid, to help Mom. Watch!”
He pushed a button, and the droid began to hum. It jerked several times, then stood up.
“How do you do,” the droid said in a prim, precise voice. “I am See-Threepio, human-cyborg relations. How may I serve you?”
“He’s perfect!” Amidala said, delighted. She had met plenty of technicians in the palace at home, but she had never known anyone who put a droid together for fun. Anakin really was an amazing boy.
Artoo-Detoo was beeping and whistling at the protocol droid. “I beg your pardon,” See-Threepio said to the astromech droid. “What do you mean, I’m naked? What’s naked?”
Artoo beeped again, and the protocol droid looked down at himself. “My parts are showing? Oh, my goodness. How embarrassing!”
“Don’t worry,” Anakin told him. “I’ll fix that soon.” He turned back to Amidala. “I’m building a Podracer, too! When the storm is over, you can see it.”
Amidala could not help smiling at his enthusiasm, though she wondered just what a Podracer was. It sounded a little…advanced. Anakin did not seem to notice her puzzlement. Happily, he showed her one incomprehensible gadget after anot
her, until his mother called them to dinner.
Dinner got off to a good start. Anakin’s mother—whose name turned out to be Shmi Skywalker—made excellent soup. But then the conversation turned to slavery. As tactfully as possible, Amidala asked why the slaves didn’t try to escape.
“All slaves have transmitters placed inside their bodies somewhere,” Shmi explained in a matter-of-fact tone.
“I’ve been working on a scanner to locate them,” Anakin put in, “but no luck.”
Shmi smiled at him and went on, “Any attempt to escape—”
“—and they blow you up…poof!” Anakin finished.
“How wude!” Jar Jar said, horrified.
Without thinking, Amidala said, “I can’t believe there is still slavery in the galaxy. The Republic’s antislavery laws—”
“The Republic doesn’t exist out here,” Shmi said sharply. “We must survive on our own.”
Deeply embarrassed, Amidala ducked her head. This was all so different from Naboo. A disturbing thought occurred to her—Is this what is in store for my planet if the Trade Federation’s invasion succeeds?
The silence stretched awkwardly, and then Anakin asked, “Have you ever seen a Podrace?”
Unwilling to chance another mistake, Amidala only shook her head. Beside her, Jar Jar’s tongue shot out to snag a plum from a bowl at the far end of the table. Qui-Gon gave him a warning look, then said to Anakin, “They have Podracing on Malastare. Very fast, very dangerous.”
“I’m the only human who can do it,” Anakin said. His mother gave him a look, and he returned it indignantly. “Mom, what? I’m not bragging. It’s true.”
“You must have Jedi reflexes if you race Pods,” Qui-Gon commented, then demonstrated his own by catching Jar Jar’s long tongue as the Gungan attempted to snatch another plum. “Don’t do that again,” Qui-Gon said, and let the tongue snap back into Jar Jar’s mouth.
Anakin stared at Qui-Gon for a moment, then said hesitantly, “I…I was wondering—you’re a Jedi Knight, aren’t you?”
“What makes you think that?” Qui-Gon asked.
“I saw your laser sword,” Anakin replied. “Only Jedi carry that kind of weapon.”
To Amidala’s surprise, Qui-Gon did not seem disturbed by this. He leaned back, and with a slow smile said, “Perhaps I killed a Jedi and stole it from him.”
“I don’t think so,” Anakin said in a positive tone. “No one can kill a Jedi Knight.”
An expression of sadness crossed Qui-Gon’s face, so quickly that Amidala wasn’t even sure she had seen it. “I wish that were so,” he murmured, half to himself.
“I had a dream that I was a Jedi,” Anakin went on. “I came back here and freed all the slaves.” He paused, studying Qui-Gon. “Have you come to free us?”
“No, I’m afraid not,” said Qui-Gon.
“I think you have,” Anakin said. “Why else would you be here?”
Oh, no, Amidala thought. What can we tell him? Somehow, she didn’t want to lie to Anakin—but he was just a little boy, and they had only just met him. He could already get them in a lot of trouble, if he let the wrong people know that Qui-Gon was a Jedi. They shouldn’t make things worse by telling Anakin the truth about why they were on Tatooine.
“I can see there’s no fooling you,” Qui-Gon said, and leaned forward. “You mustn’t let anyone know about us. We’re on our way to Coruscant on a very important mission, and it must be kept secret.”
“Coruscant? Wow!” said Anakin. “How did you end up out here in the Outer Rim?”
“Our ship was damaged, and we’re stranded here until we can repair it,” Amidala put in quickly. Qui-Gon was behaving very oddly. There was no telling what else he might let these people know, if she didn’t head him off.
“I can help!” Anakin said excitedly. “I can fix anything!”
“I believe you,” Qui-Gon told him. “But our first job is to acquire the parts we need.”
“Wit no-nutten mula to trade,” Jar Jar added gloomily.
“These junk dealers must have a weakness of some kind,” Amidala said.
“Gambling,” Shmi said. “Everything here revolves around betting on those awful races.”
“Podracing,” Qui-Gon said in a thoughtful tone. “Greed can be a powerful ally, if it’s used properly.”
“I’ve built a racer!” Anakin said. “It’s the fastest ever! There’s a big race the day after tomorrow—you could enter my Pod. It’s all but finished, and—”
“Anakin, settle down,” Shmi said. “Watto won’t let you—”
“Watto doesn’t know I’ve built it,” Anakin interrupted. He turned to Qui-Gon. “You could make him think it was yours, and you could get him to let me pilot for you.”
Shmi’s face went stiff. “I don’t want you to race, Annie. It’s awful.”
The strength of Shmi’s reaction startled Amidala slightly. Then she remembered what Qui-Gon had said earlier about Podracing. Very fast, very dangerous. She shivered, and looked at Anakin.
“But, Mom, I love it,” Anakin protested. “And they’re in trouble. The prize money would more than pay for the parts they need.”
“Wesa ina pitty bad goo,” Jar Jar agreed.
“Your mother’s right,” Qui-Gon said, and Amidala breathed a relieved sigh. The Jedi looked at Shmi. “Is there anyone friendly to the Republic who might be able to help us?”
Slowly, reluctantly, Shmi shook her head.
“We have to help them, Mom,” Anakin insisted. “You said that the biggest problem in the universe is no one helps each other. You said—”
“Anakin, don’t.” Shmi’s voice was faint.
Anakin broke off. For a moment everyone ate in silence. Finally Amidala could stand it no longer. “I’m sure Qui-Gon doesn’t want to put your son in danger,” she said to Shmi. “We will find another way.”
Shmi sighed. “No, Annie’s right. There is no other way.” She paused, then went on with difficulty, “I may not like it, but he can help you.” She gave Qui-Gon an odd, intent look. “He was meant to help you.”
“Is that a yes?” Anakin demanded. “That is a yes!”
Amidala turned to Qui-Gon, expecting him to repeat his refusal, but he only nodded. I’ll have to talk to him later, she thought. He can’t possibly be serious about this.
The endless buildings of Coruscant made a twinkling background to Darth Sidious’ hologram, but Darth Maul knew better than to be distracted by them. He kept his report brief and accurate, the way Darth Sidious liked them.
“Tatooine is sparsely populated,” Darth Maul finished. “If the trace was correct, I will find them quickly, Master.” He would have had them already, if they had responded to the message from Naboo. But they had not, and Darth Sidious was never interested in hearing about unsuccessful ploys.
“Move against the Jedi first,” Sidious instructed him. “You will then have no difficulty taking the Queen back to Naboo to sign the treaty.”
Darth Maul felt a thrill of anticipation. “At last, we will reveal ourselves to the Jedi. At last, we will have revenge.”
“You have been well trained, my young apprentice,” Darth Sidious told him. “They will be no match for you.” His expression was hidden by his hooded cloak, but his satisfaction was evident in his tone of voice. “It is too late for them to stop us now,” he said, half to himself. “Everything is going as planned. The Republic will soon be in my control.”
The following morning, Qui-Gon headed back toward Watto’s junk shop. Padmé followed closely, and just as they reached the shop, she stopped him.
“Are you sure about this?” she asked. “Trusting our fate to a boy we hardly know?”
Qui-Gon looked at her without answering.
“The Queen will not approve,” Padmé said, as if that settled the matter.
“The Queen does not need to know,” Qui-Gon replied simply.
Padmé stared at him, then dropped onto a barrel just outside the shop door. “Well, I
don’t approve,” she muttered in a sullen tone.
And so the little handmaiden discovers that her influence with the Queen has limits, Qui-Gon thought as he ducked through the doorway into the shop. Still, it was odd that she had been so very sure of herself.…He heard the sound of an argument, and put Padmé out of his mind.
Watto and Anakin looked up as he entered. “The boy tells me you want to sponsor him in the race,” Watto said. “How can you do this? Not on Republic credits, I think!”
“My ship will be the entry fee.” Qui-Gon pulled a small hologram projector from his belt pack and triggered it. A small, flickering image of the ship appeared above his hand.
“Not bad,” Watto said, examining the projection closely. “Not bad.”
“It’s in good order, except for the parts we need,” Qui-Gon said.
“But what would the boy ride?” Watto said. “He smashed up my Pod in the last race.”
Anakin stepped forward quickly. “It wasn’t my fault, really! Sebulba flashed me with his port vents. I actually saved the Pod. Mostly.”
“That you did,” Watto said, laughing. “The boy is good, no doubt there.”
“I have…acquired a Pod in a game of chance,” Qui-Gon said blandly. “The fastest ever built.”
“I hope you didn’t kill anyone I know to get it.” Watto laughed again. “So, you supply the Pod and the entry fee; I supply the boy. We split the winnings fifty-fifty, I think.”
“Fifty-fifty?” Qui-Gon scoffed. “If it’s going to be fifty-fifty, I suggest you front the cash for the entry. No, if we win, you keep all the winnings, minus the parts I need. If we lose, you keep my ship.” Watto hesitated, and Qui-Gon added persuasively, “Either way, you win.”
“Deal!” Watto said at last.
The remaining details were settled quickly. Now that he was committed to the race, Watto was even willing to let Anakin spend the rest of the day getting “Qui-Gon’s” Podracer ready. Soon they were all back at the slave quarters. Padmé, Artoo-Detoo, and Jar Jar helped Anakin and his friends work on the Podracer, while Qui-Gon called the ship to let Obi-Wan know of the new plan.
Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace Page 5