| abstract
| - In a corner of the room, Qui-Gon contacted Obi-Wan on a rather crackly transmission due to the storm. It didn’t take long for his apprentice to outline what had happened since he had left, primarily the transmission from Naboo. “You made the right choice, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon said in a low voice when Obi-Wan had finished. “The transmission was a trap, a trap to learn her location.” “The Queen is very upset,” Obi-Wan replied. “She’ll understand,” Qui-Gon said. “It’s not the best solution, but it’s all we have.” “But what is Governor Bibble is right?” Obi-Wan demanded. “What if what he is saying is the truth and the Naboo are dying?” “Either way, we are running out of time,” Qui-Gon said quietly, then ended the transmission as Shmi called them to dinner. With the storm still going strong outside it felt very warm and…homey inside, Padmé reflected as she and Anakin sat down. The fare was simple but wholesome and if Padmé could taste some trace of grit in her food she chose not to say so. Shmi handed around glasses of blue bantha milk as Anakin related how life was like as a slave, completely without shame. “All slaves have transmitters placed inside their bodies,” Shmi explained as she sat down. “I've been working on a scanner to try and locate ours,” Anakin said between mouthfuls. “And if you try to escape…” Shmi interjected. “…they blow you up!” Anakin finished. “Kapow!” “I can’t believe that slavery is still permitted in the galaxy,” Padmé said with conviction. “The Republic’s anti-slavery laws should—” “The Republic doesn’t exist out here,” Shmi said almost bitterly, then offered Qui-Gon a knowing glance. “We must survive on our own.” The astonishment on Padmé’s face was pronounced. She still has much to learn, Qui-Gon reflected in the silence that followed. He had seen enough of the galaxy to know there were parts—many parts in fact—where things such as law and order, justice and equality were abstract notions discussed in dark corners of a tapcaf. The Jedi can only do so much, Qui-Gon concluded regretfully, and somehow it’s never enough. “Has anyone ever seen a podrace?” Anakin asked as way of breaking the silence. Padmé shook her head, but noted the concern in Shmi’s face as soon as the word was spoken. Danta appeared unconcerned, completely absorbed in his eating. “They have podracing on Malastare,” Qui-Gon said thoughtfully, remembering a time when he and Obi-Wan had been there. He also remembered Obi-Wan’s blatant disapproval of ‘such doings’ as well as his own secret admiration of the skill and finesse of the pilots. “Very fast,” he added, also noting Shmi’s disapproval, “very dangerous.” “I’m the only human who can do it,” Anakin said with conviction, Shmi shot him a sharp look. “Mom! It’s not bragging! It’s true! Watto said he’s never heard of a human doing it!” “You must have Jedi reflexes if you can race pods,” Qui-Gon said, looking at Anakin intently. Anakin brightened at this. Though not interested in the conversation, Danta chose this auspicious moment to draw attention to himself. He was trying to force a rather hard vegetable on the end of his fork. He stabbed at it once, it simply moved to the side. He stabbed at it again, the same. At the moment Qui-Gon said “You must have Jedi reflexes” he stabbed at it wildly, the vegetable ricocheted of his plate at an angle, flying straight for the middle of Qui-Gon’s face. Calmly and easily, as if was picking it off a tree, Qui-Gon caught it between his fingers and placed it on Danta’s plate. Anakin stared and was still staring when Qui-Gon looked up from his plate a few minutes later. “I…” Anakin began rather hesitantly, as if there was something he had to say but didn’t know how to express it. “I was wondering something.” “Yes?” Qui-Gon replied, rather innocently as if someone had just asked him the time or if he preferred stimtea with milk or without. “You’re a Jedi Knight,” Anakin said in a rush, “aren’t you?” Qui-Gon paused for a long, long moment. Anakin’s heart was racing, did this mean it was true? “What’s makes you think that?” Qui-Gon asked finally. “I saw your lightsaber,” Anakin replied, “only Jedi Knights carry that sort of weapon.” Qui-Gon didn’t flinch, but he did relax slightly. “Perhaps I killed a Jedi and stole it from him,” he suggested. “You couldn’t have,” Anakin said with assurance. “No one can kill a Jedi.” Qui-Gon’s smile faded as if the boy’s words had touched a tender memory. “I only wish that were so,” he said softly. “I had a dream I was a Jedi,” Anakin said to his mother, his eyes shining like a binary sunset. “I came back here and freed all the slaves.” He turned to Qui-Gon. “Have you come to free us?” “I am afraid not,” Qui-Gon replied. “But you must have,” Anakin insisted. “I think you have, why else would you be here?” Padmé realised that if the conversation continued along this like Anakin would eventually blunder along the truth. And while she liked Anakin, if he knew why they were here…really why they were here…Padmé shuddered, remembering the remains of her Master. Qui-Gon evidently had decided to humour him. “I can see there is no hiding anything from you, Anakin,” he said slowly and carefully, the boy hung on his every word. “But you mustn’t let anyone else know about us. We are on a mission that must be kept secret. We’re heading for Coruscant, the central system of the Republic.” “Coruscant?” Anakin's eyes were widening more in the wake of things bigger than his own imagination. “How did you get all the way out here on the Outer Rim?” “Our ship was damaged,” Padmé replied, “and until we can repair it we are stranded here.” “I can help!” Anakin said, looking from one to the other. “I can fix anything!” “I believe you can, Anakin,” Qui-Gon said with a smile. “But no one can do anything until we can procure the parts we need, and Watto has them.” “Wesa have nothing to trade,” Danta said, taking an interest in the proceeding in spite of himself. Padmé looked at Qui-Gon with interest and then turned to Shmi. “These junk dealers must have a weakness of some kind,” she said. “Gambling,” Shmi replied promptly, rising and starting to clear the table. “Everything in these parts revolves around betting on those awful racers.” She took the plates to the kitchen bench with a grimace. Qui-Gon seemed to stare into space as Shmi and Padmé cleared the table. “Greed can be a powerful ally,” he mused, “if used properly.” Anakin seemed to like line of thought Qui-Gon was taking. “I’ve built a racer!” he told the Jedi Master, getting to his feet and jumping up and down with delight, “and there’s a big race day after tomorrow, on Boonta Eve. You could enter my pod,” the boy said, “it’s all but finished.” “Anakin,” Shmi said, with such a tone that brought her son’s dreams, which had been soaring amidst the stars, screeching down to ground level. “Watto will never let you race, not after last time.” “But he doesn’t even have to know the racer is mine,” Anakin insisted, he turned back to Qui-Gon. “You could tell him it was yours, Watto would never know! And then get me to pilot it for you!” This suggestion, while it seemed the only plausible one they had had all day for getting off this planet, Shmi did not seem to agree with. “I don’t want to see you race, Annie,” she said with a firmness and finality in her tone that seemed to cease all argument. “It’s horrible. I die every time Watto makes you.” “But, Mom,” Anakin whined, “I love it!” This seemed not to move her, so he tried another track and gestured to Qui-Gon and Padmé. “They need my help, they’re in trouble. And the prize money would more than pay for the parts they need.” Qui-Gon stood up and walked over to where Shmi was standing, she still had one of the plates in her hand. He took a long but furtive look at her. She had seen much, more than she had ever deserved to and then some. Who was he to bring more pain to her again? “Your mother is right,” Qui-Gon said with heavy resignation. “Let’s drop the matter.” But Anakin either couldn’t or wouldn’t. He walked right up to his mother and looked up at her with longing eyes. “We have to help them, Mom,” he said, he was right about this, he had to be! There was something about all of this, his meeting Padmé, the fact that a Jedi was in his home, that had started to make sense, as if there was something bigger at work. “Remember what you said? You said the biggest problem with the galaxy is that nobody helps anyone else.” “Annie, don’t!” Shmi said, blanching. “But Mom!” he pressed, seeming to gaze right through her like transparasteel. Shmi seemed to consider this, torn between her own convictions and feelings. “I'm sure Master Jinn doesn’t want to put your son into any danger,” Padmé said, seeing her anxiety and sensing the depths of it. “We’ll find another way.” “No,” Shmi said with surprising firmness, she took a deep breath before she spoke again. “I might not like it, but Annie’s right. He can help you, perhaps he was meant to help you.” “So is that a yes?” Anakin asked after a long silence, when his mother didn’t respond the biggest smile dawned on his face. “That is a yes!”
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