Chapter 7: Phantom Races

Anakin awoke in his room, turning over to look at his step-brother, Owen Lars. Owen slept in a bed on the opposite side of the room, dreaming dreams only he could know. Drool trickled from the side of his mouth against the pillow he lay on, muttering in his sleep.

The wind howled outside, and a glance out the window showed a nice sandstorm blowing. But, it seemed in the final stages. Not enough to prevent the races today. It was with great exhiliration that he jumped out of the bed and got dressed.

His mom was waiting at the table in the kitchen, sitting with his stepfather, Cliegg Lars. Anakin had never taken on his stepfathers name as his own, despite his mother's urgings. No, Anakin knew he was destined to walk the sky. He was a Skywalker. Simple as that.

He was thirteen after all. No longer a child.

"So," Cliegg said in his gruff voice, his stubble of a beard covering most of his face, "The conquering hero awakes."

"It was probably a good idea," Anakin shrugged, sitting down to a plate of warm food that was at the table.

"Personally," Shmi said, "I hate these races. Everything revolves around those awful races."

"I love it," Anakin said, not happy to be listening to yet another lecture about the dangers of podracing. Could they not just eat in peace?

"Racing is a vile and criminal sport," Cliegg snorted, "The Hutts are the ones behind the races. They get a good cut off any deal or bet placed during the races."

"I don't care about that," Anakin said, feeling heat rise into his cheeks, "Listen, I love it. And our winnings are more than enough to help us maintain the house and help our neighbors."

"Anakin," Shmi said with an exasperated sigh. She really didn't want to argue with her son over this matter again.

"Mom," Anakin threw up his hands, "Aren't you the one who says the whole problem with this galaxy is no one cares for each other? How can we if we don't have the means?"

"There is more to being helpful then just monetary donations, son," Cliegg said, then turning to his plate said, "Let us just eat this meal and think no more about it."

No, no more was said as they ate their meal. His stepbrother Owen sat across the table, a few years older than he was, glaring at him. Owen had always been a bit more of those that abided by the rules and did what they were told. Anakin, on the other hand, needed the thrill of the race and adventure as it called his name.

No, it didn't faze him at all. It honed his senses as the time approached for the action. Sure, he was nervous a bit, but as the time approached he would find himself calmed in such a way that was amazing to behold. Even though Anakin didn't see it, Shmi and Cliegg looked upon his calm demeanor and passed a glance between them. They knew he was bound for great things; greater then this backwater world could provide him.


Maul stood in the alleyway across the street from Anakin house. As he watched it, his eyes glowed with a red and golden fire that seemed to consume him. Soon, very soon, he was going to be presentable.

He pulled out a small comlink from a pocket in his robe that he wore draper over his body and pushed a button. A few long seconds passed, as the little used device bounced off of waves within waves, within waves to reach its destination. Maul had learned patience, which was an ultimate tool. A small hologram flickered a shadowy figure on a high backed chair sat forward.

"Well, well," the figure said in a tongue only a few understood, an ancient language of such nobility, cruelty and barbarity that it was an experience in and of itself to hear, "Lord Maul. After all these years you finally report in. I had written you off as dead."

"Forgive me, My Lord," he bowed his head low in submission, "But the Jedi have been more active here the past years. I cannot foretell their arrival at all times."

"That is no excuse," the speaker said with a calmness that chilled the very air around Maul, "You risk it now, when you know they are on the planet and nearby. Why have you now chosen to report and risk what you feared before?"

Maul cursed inwardly. How was it that his Lord and Master could know the Jedi were on the planet. Was his power truly unlimited? What could he not see?

"The boy," he said with a smile, watching as the door opened and the child skipped from his house, heading towards the race course, "It is time."

There was a pause. It was not hesitation on the part of his master. No, he watched his master lean further towards him. "Will he come willingly?" his Master asked.

"He will when I present my offer," Maul said with a deep chuckle, "We will have no need to hide anymore, my Lord."


The thundering cheers of the crowds outside was deafening. Anakin was alone, his parents having decided not to come. Not even his mom, who couldn't stand the thought of the awful races. Maul had met him as he left his house and had offered his assistance to get the pod racer to the stadium. So, they had talked and laughed at little jokes and stories.

But, Anakin had noticed something. He was pretty good at telling when people were on edge, and Maul, despite his attempts to appear calm, had oozed anxiety. Perhaps it was just his way of showing concern over his young friend. But no, he seemed to be distracted, as if thinking about something else.

He shrugged it off though. He had to be focused on the day. On what needed to be done. As he made the final checks to his pod, he reached up to grab a small scanner to check one final thing, when he felt a shadow fall over him. He looked up to see a tall man, with a short light brown beard with what looked white hairs sticking through it, a large nose and long hair which fell around and behind his shoulders.

"You are Anakin Skywalker?" the man asked, looking down at him.

"Yes sir," he replied.

"My name is Qui-Gon," he addressed himself, "And I heard of a boy that could perform miracles in the podraces."

"I've won ever race the past couple years," Anakin beamed with pride, "And next year I'm going to enter the Malastar races."

"Malastar?" Qui-Gon asked, "That's a dangerous race course. Only four are rated more dangerous than it in the entire league."

"I know," Anakin said, running the scanner over it as a wide smile played across his face.

A silence fell over them as Qui-Gon looked over the podracer and the power couplings. Anakin could feel the eye of someone who was either an expert in the podracing field or just a very good judger of what he saw. Qui-Gon nodded.

"An elegant design," he remarked, "Not too massive, and not too long. Your racer was built for speed, not show."

"Not entirely," Anakin said defensively.

"Show is not what's important," Qui-Gon explained, "One must be in complete control. And the only way one can be is for the driver and the vehicle to achieve a state of oneness. Where they virtually become the same entity. If you are as good as you claim, you can do that."

Anakin thought on it. What the man said made sense. Everything had to be merged, so you don't even have to see to know what's wrong. Or right.

"I will be watching you closely," Qui-Gon said and walked out of the shed to take his seat in the stands.


Anakin could never remember the race as a whole. Even now, as he shot across the landscape, dodging and passing other speeders, it seemed surreal in a way. The adrenaline might have had something to do with it. But no, he only could remember the power that surged through him. The half-second intuition that popped up. He had learned how to use that to his advantage and how to always follow it.

There was no thought. There was only concentration. There was no distraction. Not even as he nearly get's runoff the side of the track by his rival Sebulba. The slimo would not beat him. He was young, he was invincible, he was a teenager.

No, it wasn't until the pod slowed to a stop, surrounded by cheering masses. Only then he could feel. Only then did everything make sense. Only then he saw his mother, standing in her spot, visibly shaken. He then was being carried away, his fists in the air. He had done it! Again!