Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace (star wars)

by Terry Brooks

  "I'm Shmi Skywalker," she said, holding out her hand. "Anakin and I are pleased to have you as our guests."

  Qui-Gon had already appraised the situation and determined what was needed. He reached under his poncho and pulled five small capsules from a pouch in his belt. "I know this is unexpected. Take these. There's enough food for a meal."

  She accepted the capsules. "Thank you." Her eyes lifted and lowered again. "Thank you very much. I'm sorry if I was abrupt. I'll never get used to Anakin's surprises, I guess." "He's a very special boy," Qui-Gon offered.

  Shmi's eyes lifted again, and the look she gave him suggested they shared an important secret.

  "Yes," she said softly, "I know."

  In his bedroom, Anakin was showing Padme C-3PO. The droid lay on his workbench, deactivated at the moment because the boy was in the process of fabricating its metal skin. He had completed the internal wiring, but its torso, arms, and legs were still bare of any covering. One eye was out of its head as well, Jying nearby where he had left it after tightening down the visual refractor the night before.

  Padme bent over his shoulder, studying the droid carefully.

  "Isn't he great?" Anakin asked eagerly, anxious for her reaction. "He's not finished yet, but he will be soon."

  "He's wonderful," the girl answered, genuinely impressed.

  The boy flushed with pride. "You really like him? He's a protocol droid... to help Mom. Watch!"

  He activated C-3PO with a flip of its power switch, and the droid sat up at once. Anakin rushed around hurriedly, searching, then snatched up the missing eye from his workbench and snapped it into its proper socket.

  C-3PO looked at them. "How do you do? I am a protocol droid trained in and adept at cyborg relatives... customs and humans..."

  "Ooops," Anakin said quickly. "He's a little confused."

  He snatched up a long-handled tool with an electronic designator and fitted it carefully to a port in C-3PO's head, then ratcheted the handle several turns, studying the setting as he did so. When he had it where he wanted, he pushed a button on the handle. C-3PO jerked several times in response. When Anakin removed the designator, the droid stood up from the workbench and faced Padme.

  "How do you do? I am See - Threepio, human-cyborg relations. How may I serve you?"

  Anakin shrugged. "I just named him the other day, but I forgot to enter the code in his memory banks so he could tell you himself. "

  Padme grinned at Anakin, delighted. "He's perfect!"

  R2-D2 sidled up to them and emitted a sharp flurry of beeps and whistles.

  C-3PO glanced down curiously. "I beg your pardon... what do you mean, I'm naked?"

  R2-D2 beeped some more.

  "Goodness! How embarrassing!" C-3PO glanced quickly over his skeletal limbs. "My parts are showing? My goodness!"

  Anakin pursed his lips. "Sort of But don't worry, I'll fix that soon enough." He eased the droid back toward the workbench, glancing over his shoulder at Padme. "When the storm is over, you can see my racer. I'm building a Podracer. But Watto doesn't know about it. It's a secret."

  Padme smiled. "That's okay. I'm very good at keeping secrets. "

  The storm continued throughout the remainder of the day, engulfing Mos Espa, sand blown in from the desert piling up against the shuttered buildings, forming ramps against doorways and walls, clouding the air, and shutting out the light. Shmi Skywalker used the food capsules Qui-Gon had given her to prepare dinner for them. As she worked on their meal and while Padme was occupied with Anakin in the other room, Qui-Gon moved off alone into one corner and surreptitiously contacted Obi-Wan on the comlink. The connection was less than perfect, but they were able to communicate sufficiendy for the Jedi Master to learn of the transmission from Naboo.

  "You made the right choice, Obi-Wan," he assured his young protege, keeping his voice low.

  "The Queen is very upset," the other advised, his response crackling through the storm.

  Qui-Gon glanced over to where Shmi was standing at the cook surface, her back turned. "That transmission was bait to establish a trace. I'm certain of it."

  "But what if Governor Bibble is telling the truth and the Naboo are dying?"

  Qui-Gon sighed. "Either way, we're running out of time," he advised quiedy, and ended the transmission.

  They sat down to eat Shmi's dinner a short while after, the storm still howling without, an eerie backdrop of sound against the silence within. Qui-Gon and Padme occupied the ends of the table, while Anakin, Jar Jar, and Shmi sat at its sides. Anakin, in the way of small boys, began talking about life as a slave, in no way embarrassed to be doing so, thinking of it only as a fact of his life and anxious to share himself with his new friends. Shmi, more protective of her son's station, was making an effort to help their guests appreciate the severity of their situation."

  All slaves have transmitters placed inside their bodies," Shmi was explaining.

  "I've been working on a scanner to try to locate them, but so far no luck," Anakin said solemnly.

  Shmi smiled. "Any attempt at escape..."

  "... and they blow you up!" the boy finished. "Poofl"

  Jar Jar had been slurping contentedly at his soup, listening with half an ear as he devoured the very tasty broth. He overdid it on hearing this, however, making such a loud noise that he stopped conversation altogether. All eyes turned on him momentarily. He lowered his head in embarrassment and pretended not to see.

  Padme looked back at Shmi. "I can't believe slavery is still permitted in the galaxy. The Republic's antislavery laws should-"

  "The Republic doesn't exist out here," Shmi interrupted quickly, her voice hard. "We must survive on our own."

  There was an awkward silence as Padme looked away, not knowing what else to say.

  "Have you ever seen a Podrace?" Anakin asked, trying to ease her discomfort.

  Padme shook her head no. She glanced at Shmi, noting the sudden concern on the woman's lined face. Jar Jar launched his tongue at a morsel of food nestled deep in a serving bowl at the far end of the table, deftly plucking it out, drawing it in, swallowing it, and smacking his lips in satisfaction. A disapproving look from Qui-Gon quickly silenced him.

  "They have Podracing on Malastare," the Jedi Master observed. "Very fast, very dangerous."

  Anakin grinned. "I'm the only human who can do it!" A sharp glance from his mother wiped the grin from his face. "Mom, what? I'm not bragging. It's true! Watto says he's never heard of a human doing it."

  Qui-Gon studied him carefully. "You must have Jedi reflexes if you race Pods."

  Anakin smiled broadly at the compliment. Jar Jar's tongue snaked toward the serving bowl in an effort to snare another morsel, but this time Qui-Gon was waiting hand moved swiftly, and in a heartbeat he had secured the Gungan's tongue between his thumb and forefinger. Jar Jar froze, his mouth open, his tongue held fast, his eyes wide.

  "Don't do that again," Qui-Gon advised, an edge to his soft voice.

  Jar Jar tried to say something, but it came out an unintelligible mumble. Qui-Gon released the Gungan's tongue, and it snapped back into place. Jar Jar massaged his billed mouth ruefully.

  Anakin's young face lifted to the older man's, and his voice was hesitant. "I... I was wondering something."

  Qui-Gon nodded for him to continue.

  The boy cleared his throat, screwing up his courage. "You're a Jedi Knight, aren't you?"

  There was a long moment of silence as the man and the boy stared at each other. "What makes you think that?" Qui-Gon asked finally.

  Anakin swallowed. "I saw your lightsaber. Only Jedi Knights carry that kind of weapon."

  Qui-Gon continued to stare at him, then leaned back slowly in his chair and smiled. "Perhaps I killed a Jedi and stole it from him."

  Anakin shook his head quickly. "I don't think so. No one can kill a Jedi."

  Qui-Gon's smile faded and there was a hint of sadness in his dark eyes. "I wish that were so..."

  "I had a dream I was a
Jedi," the boy said quickly, anxious to talk about it now. "I came back here and freed all the slaves. I dreamed it just the other night, when I was out in the desert." He paused, his young face expectant. "Have you come to free us?"

  Qui-Gon Jinn shook his head. "No, I'm afraid not..." He trailed off, hesitating.

  "I think you have," the boy insisted, defiance in his eyes. "Why else would you be here?"

  Shmi was about to say something, to chastise her son for his impudence perhaps, but Qui-Gon spoke first, leaning forward conspiratorially. "I can see there's no fooling you, Anakin. But you mustn't let anyone know about us. We're on our way to Coruscant, the central system in the Republic, on a very important mission. It must be kept secret."

  Anakin's eyes widened. "Coruscant? Wow! How did you end up out here in the Outer Rim?"

  "Our ship was damaged," Padme answered him. "We're stranded here until we can repair it."

  "I can help!" the boy announced quickly, anxious to be of service to them. "I can fix anything!"

  Qui-Gon smiled at his enthusiasm. "I believe you can, but our first task, as you know from our visit to Watto's shop, is to acquire the parts we need."

  "Wit nutten ta trade," Jar Jar pointed out sourly.

  Padme was looking at Qui-Gon speculatively. "These junk dealers must have a weakness of some kind."

  "Gambling," Shmi said at on She rose and began clearing the table of dishes. "Everything in ""Mos Espa revolves around betting on those awful Podraces."

  Qui-Gon rose, walked to the window, and stared out through the thick, diffuse glass at the clouds of windblown sand. "Podracing," he mused. "Greed can be a powerful ally, if it's used properly."

  Anakin leapt to his feet. "I've built a racer!" he declared triumphantly. His boy's face shone with pride. "It's the fastest ever! There's a big race day after tomorrow, on Boonta Eve. You could enter my Pod! It's all but finished-"

  "Anakin, settle down!" his mother said sharply, cutting him short. Her eyes were bright with concern. "Watto won't let you race!"

  "Watto doesn't have to know the racer is mine!" the boy replied quickly, his mind working through the problem. He turned back to Qui-Gon. "You could make him think it was yours! You could get him to let me pilot it for you!"

  The Jedi Master had caught the look in Shmi's eyes. He met her gaze, silently acknowledged her consternation, and waited patiently for her response.

  "I don't want you to race, Annie," his mother said quietly. She shook he! head to emphasize her words, weariness and concern reflected in her eyes. "It's awful. I die every time Watto makes you do it. Every time."

  Anakin bit his lip. "But, Mom, I love it!" He gestured at Qui-Gon. "And they need my help. They're in trouble. The prize money would more than pay for the parts they need."

  Jar Jar Binks nodded in support. "We in kinda bad goo."

  Qui-Gon walked over to Anakin and looked down at him. "Your mother is right. Let's drop the matter." He held the boy's gaze for a moment, then turned back to his mother. "Do you know of anyone friendly to the Republic who might be able to help us?" Shmi stood silent and unmoving as she thought the matter through. She shook her head no.

  "We have to help them, Mom," Anakin insisted, knowing he was right about this, that he was meant to help the Jedi and his companions. "Remember what you said? You said the biggest problem in the universe is that no one helps anyone."

  Shmi sighed. "Anakin, don't-"

  "But you said it, Mom." The boy refused to back down, his eyes locked on hers. Shmi Skywalker made no response this time, her brow fur-rowed, her body still. "I'm sure Qui-Gon doesn't want to put your son in danger," Padme said suddenly, uncomfortable with the confrontation they had brought about between mother and son, trying to ease the tension. "We will find another way..." Shmi looked over at the girl and shook her head slowly. "No, Annie's right. There is no other way. I may not like it, but he can help you." She paused. "Maybe he was meant to help you." She said it as if coming to a conclusion that had eluded her until now, as if discovering a truth that, while painful, was obvious. Anakin's face lit up. "Is that a yes?" He clapped his hands in glee. "That is a yes!"

  Night blanketed the vast cityscape of Coruscant, cloaking the endless horizon of gleaming spires in deep velvet layers. Lights blazed from windows, bright pinpricks against the black. As far as the eye could see, as far as a being could travel)the city's buildings jutted from the planet's surface in needles of steel alloy and reflective glass. Long ago, the city had consumed the planet with its bulk, and now there was only the city, the center of the galaxy, the heartbeat of the Republic's rule.

  A rule that some were intending to end once and for all. A rule that some despised.

  Darth Sidious stood high on a balcony overlooking Coruscant, his concealing black robes making him appear as if he were a creature produced by the night. He stood facing the city, his eyes directed at its lights, at the faint movement of its air traffic, disinterested in his apprentice, Darth Maul, who waited to one side.

  His thoughts were of the Sith and of the history of their order.

  The Sith had come into being almost two thousand years ago. They were a cult given over to the dark side of the Force, embracing fully the concept that power denied was power wasted. A rogue J edi Knight had founded the Sith, a singular dissident in an order of harmonious followers, a rebel who understood from the beginning that the real power of the Force lay not in the light, but in the dark. Failing to gain approval for his beliefs from the Council, he had broken with the order, departing with his knowledge and his skills, swearing in secret that he could bring down those who nad dismissed him.

  He was alone at first, but others from the Jedi order who believed as he did and who had followed him in his study of the dark side soon came over. Others were recruited, and soon the ranks of the Sith swelled to than fifty in number. Disdaining the concepts of cooperation and consensus, relying on the belief that acquisition of power in any form lends strength and yields control, the Sith began to build their cult in opposition to the Jedi. Theirs was not an order created to serve; theirs was an order created to dominate.

  Their war with the Jedi was vengeful and furious and ultimately doomed. The rogue Jedi who had founded the Sith order was its nominal leader, but his ambition excluded any sharing of power. His disciples began to conspire against him and each other almost from the beginning, so that the war they instigated was as much with each other as with the Jedi.

  In the end, the Sith destroyed themselves. They destroyed their leader first, then each other. What few survived the initial bloodbath were quickly dispatched by watchful Jedi. In a matter of only weeks, all of them died.

  All but one.

  Darth Maul shifted impatiently. The younger Sith had not yet learned his Master's patience; that would come with time and training. It was patience that had saved the Sith order in the end. It was patience that would give them their victory now over the Jedi.

  The Sith who had survived when all of his fellows had died had understood that. He had adopted patience as a virtue when the others had forsaken it. He had adopted cunning, stealth, and subterfuge as the foundation of his way-old Jedi virtues the others had disdained. He stood aside while the Sith tore at each other like kriks and were destroyed. When the carnage was complete, he went into hiding, biding his time, waiting for his chance.

  When it was believed all of the Sith were destroyed, he emerged from his concealment. At first he worked alone, but he was growing old and he was the last of his kind. Eventually, he went out in search of an apprentice. Finding one, he trained him to be a Master in his turn, then to find his own apprentice, and so to carry on their work. But there would only be two at anyone time. There would be no repetition of the mistakes of the old order, no struggle between Siths warring for power within the cult. Their common enemy was the Jedi, not each other. It was for their war with the Jedi they must save themselves. The Sith who reinvented the order called himself Darth Bane. A thousand years had passed since
the Sith were believed destroyed, and the time they had waited for had come at last.

  "Tatooine is sparsely populated." His student's rough voice broke into his thoughts, and Darth Sidious lifted his eyes to the hologram. "The Rutts rule. The Republic has no presence. If the trace was correct, Master, I will find them quickly and without hindrance." The yellow eyes glimmered with excitement and anticipation in the strange mosaic of Darth Maul's face as he waited impatiently for a response. Darth Sidious was pleased. "Move against the Jedi first," he advised softly. "You will then have no difficulty taking the Queen back to Naboo, where she will sign the treaty." Darth Maul exhaled sharply. Satisfaction permeated his voice. "At last we will reveal ourselves to the Jedi. At last we will have our revenge." "You have been well trained, my young apprentice," Darth Sidious soothed. "The Jedi will be no match for you. It is too late for them to stop us now. Everything is going as planned. The Republic will soon be in my control." In the silence that followed, the Sith Lord could feel a dark heat rise inside his and consume him with a furious pleasure.