Author's note: I'm a lazy, lazy bum! Read the profile (evil grin)

Part Fourteen (6/26/04)

Over the arduous decade since I began my career as a podracer, I had seen many different types of tracks. The manifold was nearly endless, everything from rock to dirt to water, even, if the climate was right. They all had one thing in common, though – they were all tracks.

I felt my eyebrow rise as I stared at the vast expanse of grass field before me. The hilly green stretched for kilometers in every direction, and the only defining feature of the landscape was a long row of orange markers that ran off into the distance.

Well, I supposed one could indeed call that a track. Maybe.

Maecenas grunted as he surveyed the place, probably having thoughts along the same route as mine. I could only hope that he wouldn't take this mess out on me.

I jumped out of the speeder and began to unhook my pod. I worked mindlessly and wondered if my poor head would stop throbbing any time soon. I was starting to see bands of colors around the edges of my vision, and that is never a good sign.

When the pod was free from the tow, I ran my hand over it gently, making sure that it had survived the journey from Malastare intact and didn't have any scratches or dents from the maintenance droids that usually loaded and unloaded the ship with an unnecessary amount of force.

To say that I loved that pod would certainly be an overstatement, but I did have to entrust my life to it in every race, so a high level of caring and respect were often required. I had built this pod, much like I had built Threepio and the pod I had used as a kid, but it lacked the attachment I felt for either of my other two creations.

When Watto lost me to Maecenas, my childhood racer had not been part of the deal. I had constructed that pod from the leftover scraps I found in the junkyards around my hovel. It had taken years to complete – an especially long time for a child – and, when Watto found it, I was almost happy that I was finally able to have the opportunity to use it.

And I was unstoppable in it.

I had designed it for myself, for a human, really, setting the controls to be comfortable while I operated them. I imagine that many other podracers wouldn't have even been able to control it and that, of course, made it even more special to a young boy's pride.

Its loss was just another grief I experienced when Maecenas took procession of me, but was overshadowed heavily by the more bitter homesickness. I didn't even think about it until the day of my first race as I sat in an alien pod, unfamiliar with any of the controls.

We switched pods on a regular basis, nearly every season, trying to find the best vehicle to suit my racing style. Finally, at fifteen, I gave up the search, and asked Maecenas to allow me to build another, custom pod. He agreed, and, unlike Threepio and the other pod, I had every resource available for its construction. If I can say so, it was a masterful work of art, the closest thing I had ever gotten to perfection in machinery.

Like I had told Wiphshun, that podracer was certainly worth twice as much as Padmé and, if Maecenas decided to ever sell me, worth as much as me. How odd is it that something you made has the same market value as you do?

I saw out of the corner of my eye another speeder pulling up next to ours. A green creature dressed in a needlessly pompous outfit got out. He – if he was actually a he; I had no way of knowing – looked directly at me first. Feeling the tension of his gaze, I looked up from my inspection of the racer and stared back.

He wasn't the most attractive of aliens, that much could be said. His face was bumpy and scaly, reminding me of the hides of krayt dragons on Tatooine. This lizard wasn't nearly as fierce looking as the monster of the canyons, though; with his down-turned lips, he actually resembled a child's doll. His red-tinted eyes were the only starling feature, and I fought the urge to shudder as his oval pupils evenly held my stare.

He was a Neimoidian, one of the race that ruled Naboo. I could only guess that he was the head of the racing committee.

"Anakin Skeeewalker?" he asked, slurring my name in a rather strange accent.

I nodded and stepped forward, away from the pod, and offered out my hand to shake. He glanced down at it and then focused those nasty eyes back on my face. His own hands never left the sleeves of his long robe.

Apparently, a little friendly contact wasn't a custom among those beings.

Maecenas approached us from behind and put a fatherly hand on my shoulder. I tried not to openly shudder at the feeling lest the Neimoidian notice the animosity that suddenly thickened the surrounding air.

"I am Daultay Dofine," the Neimoidian continued. "I am the overseer of the podracing event."

"Cilnii Maecenas," my master answered in return. I wasn't under the opinion that the creature Dofine wanted such a response, but Maecenas was always accustomed to giving one. Dofine only nodded his acknowledgment and returned his full attention to me.

"This," Dofine said, pointing to my pod, "is the craft in which you will be racing?"

I blinked twice, slower than necessary, and then sarcastically followed his elongated finger with my eyes to where my racer sat. I then turned my head slightly to the side and placed my tongue against my cheek, as if contemplating his statement.

"You mean that craft?" I asked, pointing to the pod as well. The Neimoidian nodded, confused at my behavior. "Um," I began.

After a few seconds of my mocking, Maecenas simply smacked the back of my head.

"Yeah," I finally said. Who could blame me for making such a fool of the alien? What other craft could I use in a podrace save for a podracer? And since there was only one there …

Yes, I am quite the vicious little womprat some days.

Those red orbs shifted focus to Maecenas and then back to me, but Dofine decided not to comment on my remark.

"It meets the required specifications?" he asked instead. He showed neither irritation nor amusement at the situation, but kept his face and posture nearly lifeless and rather icy.

"Yes," Maecenas answered for me and pulled the pod's spec chip out of his purse. He handed it to Dofine, who snatched it quickly, as if he couldn't bear to touch Maecenas' hand.

"I think you'll find everything in order," Maecenas continued as the alien read through the chip's contents on his datapad.

"We must run our own diagnostic," Dofine said, looking up from the document. "It will take a few moments. Then you must pilot along this track. Do you understand?"

"Yeah," I responded as a group of droids exited Dofine's speeder and headed towards my pod. I watched them for a few seconds – interested in every sort of mechanical process as I was – but Dofine drew my attention back with a simple enough statement.

"You are racing in the fifth heat tomorrow night," he said after glancing once more at his pad.

"Pardon?" I said, surprised. "Did you just say 'heat?' I was under the impression that this was a pro-circut planet."

Only open-circuit planets had heats. In podracing, as in any sport, I suppose, there was always a substantial gulf between professional racing and amateur racing. Many planets, such as Malastare, Aquilaris, and Baroonda, hosted races that were only open to the best racers – the professionals, so to speak – that had continuously proven themselves on the most difficult courses. Thus a professional podracer usually only had to pilot two or three races per planet, and each race would have its own prize pot.

Because all the racers involved were experienced cutthroats, myself included, the pro-circuit races drew the largest crowds and the most credits. And I imagine, then, it would be useless to explain to you why Maecenas let me only race in the pro-circuit.

What may come as a surprise to you, however, is the fact that that arrangement was the most agreeable of all between us two. Racing in the pro-circuit, if you can believe, was actually somewhat safer than the open-circuit. Sure, there were a few open races, like those of the Pouffa Circuit, which served as a calm training and proving ground for the new podracers, that caused less injuries and fatalities than the courses I found myself enduring. But the vast majority of open-circuit tracks were most horrendous because of the amateur podracers that raced on them.

Don't mistake my words; my colleagues were among the nastiest thugs in the whole of the galaxy. But, since only a handful of beings ever found themselves able to race professionally over a long period of time, I knew most of them really well. I knew all their moves, all their tricks, and, in many more races than I care to count, this knowledge managed to save my life.

I folded my arms across my chest and gave a sidelong glance over to Maecenas, waiting for what was bound to be an amusing retort. To my dismay, however, Dofine actually answered my question before Maecenas had the chance to speak.

"Yes," he said, "we apologize for the confusion. According to the Podracing Promotional Board, Naboo is not eligible for professional circuit status until we complete this season. We are willing to make you a lucrative offer, however, in compensation for our error."

"I'm listening," Maecenas said. He took a step closer to Dofine and prepared to do 'business.' I shrugged and rolled my eyes. Nobody noticed my sarcastic gestures and I was left completely out of the loop, which was perfectly fine by me.

I walked back over to my pod, watching the droids as they finished their examination. I noticed Padmé still hovering near the back of the speeder. She still had that blasted hood up, covering herself entirely … as if the sun's rays would destroy that beautiful skin.

I waved and motioned for her to come stand beside me. Hesitant at first, she slowly did so. I noticed that she barely kept her eyes off Dofine as she walked. Her eyelids narrowed into slits and her lip curled slightly.

The reaction struck me as odd – I never fingered Padmé for an alien-hater, especially after she had worked for the Grans on Malastare. But, then again, maybe that little bout was exactly why she hated aliens. Slavery, I think, does different things to different people. It usually causes animosity between master and servant, but some slaves often took their hated to a new level and despised everyone that even looked like a slaver.

Padmé stood beside me with her arms crossed over her chest and glared at Dofine. If she had a vibroblade in her hand at that moment, I would not have been surprised if she had simply ran up and gutted the lizard. I let out a sharp gasp at the thought. Could this angel be so deadly?

"He's a Neimoidian," I ventured slowly. "He looks quite harmless."

"I know what he is," she hissed. Her lovely voice was filled with cold, bitter hatred. "Do not be deceived by appearances, Anakin; behavior like that will often get you killed."

I gulped and nodded. It felt like a dark hand had grabbed my heart and squeezed all the blood out of my veins when she said those words. A harsh silence then followed, broken only the sounds of Maecenas and Dofine bartering.

"Would you mind helping me with my pod?" I finally asked when I realized that I would need to be ready soon. I was afraid that she would hurl another cruel response at me, but, thankfully, she only nodded.

We began to assemble the pod by attaching the turbine engines to the pod via the control cables. I explained to her of each of the various components worked in detail. She listened quietly, probably more out of politeness than interest, but I didn't mind.

I hoped that she would be around during this season's races. Threepio was handy and willing, but he lacked both the programming and the dexterity of movement to make a good pit mechanic. I had nearly begged Maecenas for an assistant or an astromech droid. He, of course, refused, saying that it was a waste of credits.

Padmé was a quick study. As soon as I showed her how the left cable was wired into the turbine, she was able to do the same with the right. I praised her ability, and she favored me with a small smile.

"When I was younger," she said, "my grandmother insisted that I learn basic mechanics. My … interests … didn't lie along that path, but I agreed to study it anyway. I haven't regretted it since; it has come in handy many times."

The fact that she had revealed something about her personal life before Malastare was not lost on me. It was the first time she had done so. I paused for a moment, planning my response. I didn't want to offend her again, but the desire to know more about her past drove me forward.

"Your grandmother sounds like a remarkable woman," I noted, looking up from my cables to see her reaction.

Her face was clouded over in a fog of memories; some were pleasant, others not so much so. She seemed sad, lonely, tired. A swarm of emotions crossed her unfocused eyes, and she stared off into the distance. After a few moments, she came back to reality and sighed.

"She was," she whispered sadly. "She is dead now."

"I'm sorry," I blurted out awkwardly. Was my only purpose to cause her pain?

"Don't be," Padmé said, a small smile crept over her face. "She lived a good life and died peacefully when her time came."

We worked in a comfortable silence for some time. I had so many questions to ask, but feared that she would have another crying spell if I spoke. She seemed perfectly content with not speaking, so I let her be.

"Watch out for these energy binders," I told her when we managed to line up the turbines. "If you get your hand caught in one, you'd be numb for hours. It isn't fun." I shook my head and shuddered at the thought.

"Why, Anakin, it sounds like you are speaking from experience," Padmé said, noticing my reaction.

I felt my cheeks flush from embarrassment, and I bit my lip. She giggled.

"Where?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Um," I stuttered. I looked around quickly and noticed Maecenas and Dofine walking towards us. "Looks like it's time to get going."

I finished the connections for the binders, and the pink beams flashed to life. Padmé looked at me with playful sternness.

"You didn't answer by question," she reminded me. Her gaze was impenetrable.

"Some other time, sweetheart," I smiled, feeling particularly roguish. Her jaw dropped slightly at my endearment. I winked.

I always was a bit more playful right before I was about to race, even if it was only a practice run. I hopped into the pod as Maecenas and Dofine came up to me.

"Race along the markers," Dofine told me. "Don't hit the markers. Don't go off course. We will not time you. This is not a race."

"Great information, thanks," I said sarcastically and put on my helmet. I wondered what sort of deal Maecenas and the Neimoidian had made as I fired up the engines.

I watched as Maecenas grabbed Padmé and led her away from the wind generated by the howling turbines. She was struggling to keep her hood up. I hoped that it would fall down to her shoulders so that I could see those brown locks flying in the air recklessly. Unfortunately, Padmé kept her grip.

As soon as everyone was clear of my pod, I hit the accelerator and flew off towards the orange markers.

Even though I had been forced to race for the majority of my life, I still felt the rush of freedom as I piloted my pod. I was alone and I was in control of something. It was the only time when my life was truly my own. If I made a mistake, it was my own. If I won, then it was my victory. Perhaps Maecenas got the credits, but I was the one at the center of the winners' circle.

Above all, though, a surreal, peaceful feeling gripped me as I raced. It held me and made me one with the whole of the universe. I could sense everything around me as if it was a part of my own body. I knew the life within the tree I had just passed and that a small reptile was sunbathing on a rock to my left. The life greeted me and embraced me with so much love that it was often overwhelming.

I breathed the sensation in and let it fill the very core of my being. I was happy. So, now do you still wish to ask why I let Maecenas force me to race? I think you have your answer.

The practice run was over far too soon for my tastes. I rounded the last row of markers and saw the two familiar speeders parked off the side. I slowed, and looked over at Dofine, hoping he would wave the signal for another lap. No such luck.

The pod decelerated to a stop, and I sat in the cockpit for a few minutes, waiting for my mind to return to my body.

My inner peace dwindled as I heard Maecenas' voice above the whine of the dying turbines.

"That is fine," Dofine told me when the engines finally went silent. "You are cleared to race tomorrow. Fifth heat, garage two, port eight."

I nodded as Maecenas wrote the train of numbers down into his datapad. Having nothing more to say, the Neimoidian left without even the simplest farewell.

His speeder flew off as Padmé and I deconstructed the pod and wound up the cables in silence. Maecenas wordlessly entered information into his datapad as we worked.

The trip back to the inn was no more talkative. We each contemplated our of tasks – Padmé and I stared out the window or at our feet and Maecenas whispered into his comlink or read his datapad. The odd silence was almost eerie.

We allowed the hauling droids to carry the pod to a nearby port for safekeeping, and went back to our rooms.

I sat down my podracing equipment neatly in the corner of the main room. Padmé walked past me towards the back bedroom that we shared, while Maecenas went into his own room.

I rubbed my head, grateful to be back in a place where I could finally nurse my hangover. I wanted to sleep desperately, even if it was on a messy pile of clothes. Maecenas had other plans, however.

He returned to the main room as I was about to leave, carrying a sinleather whip. The breath was held in my lungs as I beheld the thing; it was his favorite and had little, jagged beads of metal tied to the knots at the tip. The beads were like thorns when they struck flesh, but torn skin far beyond anything that a plant could produce.

I slowly took off my shirt, wanting to spare every free moment I could, and braced myself for the pain. I stood near the wall, placing both hands on it for support. I closed my eyes.

"What are you doing?" Padmé said. Her voice was like a dream floating through my head.

I heard Maecenas unfolding the whip; the beads clanged against the stone floor.

"Stand back, girlie," he told her, his anger raising.

"No, please, you can't!" Padmé gasped as if she finally realized what was happening. Her voice was full of fear, and I could almost see the tears forming in her eyes. "Please!"

The harsh feeling of regret washed over me as Maecenas struck the first blow. The pain was unbearable, but I would not scream. I never scream. Why had I bought Padmé into this life? No Gran's fist could ever equal that whip. I was a fool. A selfish fool.

The second strike hit and my knees buckled. There was a scream, but it wasn't my own. Padmé was crying out, begging for mercy. It vaguely pleased my pain-filled mind that she cared.

There was a third and perhaps a fourth. I lost count several minutes before I passed out.