Author's notes: Thanks for all the reviews, guys, and sorry for the long wait. This fic now has a beta reader once more, so yay!
Part Fifteen (7/30/04)
"Anakin?"
The sound of her voice was demanding but delicate, filled with both urgency and fear. It was enough to wake me up completely.
My spine stiffened at the first on-shot of pain, and I could feel my jaw clench and my teeth grind together. I buried my face into the softness that I could only assume was a pillow and tried not to whimper out loud.
"Try not to move too much," Padmé told me, running her hand along my forearm in a gesture of comfort. "The bacta is still working. Give it time."
I nodded into the pillow, hoping that she could understand the movement. My entire body, not just my back, felt like it was on fire, probably because of the bacta. For a miracle, cure-all slimy liquid, that stuff sure did sting. I had to endure more bacta treatments than most sentients, I believe, since Maecenas had such fond sentiments of his whip. I really hated that whip.
I tried to fall back asleep, so the bacta could work faster, but the ache wouldn't let my thoughts become dull. I sighed, or groaned rather, and replayed a nice little fantasy in my head. It was the one where I was able to grab the whip and wrap it completely around Maecenas' neck. I would then yank and pull until all the air and life were drained from his body and he fell lifelessly before my feet. He wouldn't even have time to beg me for mercy – although I would be able to see that he was thinking it.
The pleasantness of this daydream calmed the throbbing in my back, if only for a few moments. My anger seemed to give my limbs a new will to move, and I was beginning to feel better. Perhaps it was only the bacta working, but the rage building up inside me was still very empowering.
I sat up, ignoring the pain that shot through my bones and straight into my flesh. My head was threatening to start pounding worse than it did the day before, and I cringed involuntarily.
"I don't think you should be moving yet," Padmé reminded me gently. Her tone was caring but firm, and I had to smile despite the pain. She would have made a good medic, or, perhaps, even a mother.
"I'm fine," I said more softly than I had. A part of me wanted to lash out at her in anger, but her voice was so soothing. Slowly, as I sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing my temples with my thumbs, the hate seemed to wash away from me.
I glanced around the room. It was the same confining hotel room I had stalked out of defiantly the day before, but my pile of clothes had been folded and stacked neatly in the corner. I grimaced, realizing that it must have been Padmé who used her slave-inherent maid skills to clean up after my mess.
"I'm sorry." I sighed, pointing to the pile. I had meant to sleep on it, so that she could take the bed. Idly I wondered where she managed to rest last night and hoped that she didn't stay up the whole time on my account.
"For what?" Padmé asked. "For being beaten to unconsciousness by that … that …" Her normally sweet voice was full of bitter hatred as she attempted to find some curse of a name for Maecenas. Her words and thoughts failed her, however, and she was unable to think of anything appropriate. Her head shot down in defeat, and she stared at her hands.
"Oh," I said blankly, not really sure how to answer her outburst. I agreed with her, but knew it was pointless to dive into a rant right at the moment, especially when Maecenas was bound to come barreling through the door soon. "I dunno, Padmé," I continued, remembering my night with Saché, "I think this time I might have deserved it."
"No!" Padmé yelled, "no one ever deserves that. Ever!" She stood up from her spot on the side of the bed and pointed an accusing figure at me. "You best remember that, Anakin."
I nodded noncommittally and shrugged my shoulders. I wondered, not for the last time, how Padmé survived slavery if my flamboyant attitude nearly got me sent to Kessel more times than I can count.
I asked her the time, and was pleased that to find out that it was not even noon yet. There was still good few hours before the race, at least, and that was definitely a good thing. I got up, to Padm's surprise, and began to get dressed.
"Are you going somewhere?" she questioned, her wide eyes hinting at her confusion.
"Yeah," I said, slipping on my boots. "Wanna come?"
"Where?"
"The racing track."
Her mouth hung open and her eyes narrowed slightly. "Why?"
I smirked and grabbed her hand, gently leading her out of the bedroom. She hesitated slightly, but decided to follow silently.
As we passed through the main room, Maecenas looked up from his datapad. His face was still a mask of irritation, and I felt my jaw lock in anger. Padm's grip tightened around my hand as Maecenas and I gave each other death glares.
"Well," Maecenas said, breaking up our little staring contest, "fabulous to see that you've finally managed to get your lazy bantha hide out of bed this morning." His voice was filled with mocking sarcasm, as if what he had done to me yesterday was no more than a slap on the wrist.
It took all my will power not to jump across the room and personally wipe the sadistic grin off his face. Padm's hand was nearly crushing my knuckles at this point, making me realize that her anger was probably as fierce as mine.
"One of the heats has already been run, right?" I asked in an attempt to control my baser instincts. Maecenas was also calmer when discussing sheer business.
"Yeah," he answered bluntly.
"I'll go get some info then."
"Good. You do that." Maecenas' voice lacked any sort of enthusiasm whatsoever, but apathy was always better than the alternative.
"Limit?"
"Two hundred."
I nodded and made my way out of the suite without delay. I was surprised that he let Padmé stay with me, but what could the "bachelor extraordinaire" possibly do in the middle of the day?
I wasn't sure which direction the racing arena was, but a few helpful Naboo politely told me that it was northwards, on the boarder between the human and Neimoidian districts of Theed. It wasn't the shortest walk on the planet, but Maecenas didn't provide us with a speeder. It was a completely beautiful, sunny day, though, and I could find no reason to complain.
Padmé was her usual non-talkative, cloak-shrouded self. I didn't have the heart to irritate her with questions or other forms of idle conversation. The sun shining in my face, the growing distance between Maecenas and myself, and the sweet smell of Padm's light lotion were enough to keep me content.
We heard the shouts and screams echoing from the main gates of the racing arena as we approached. Excitement, greed, pleasure, and, yes, even fear and hatred lingered in the air more like molecules than emotions, making it thick and almost hard to breathe.
I paused about a hundred meters or so before the arena's entrance and folded my arms across my chest, listening for the familiar whine of the replusor engines. Padmé walked a few paces ahead of me and then came to a sudden stop when she realized I was no longer moving. She turned to face me with curious eyes while I looked over the district my mind plotting.
I watched service droids for a moment, mentally tracing each unit's various paths, until I noticed a common pattern amongst the pit droids. I decided to follow one of the little guys and it led me, expectedly, to the pod hangar entrance.
I marched up to the open bay doors, assuming that I would be granted instant access because of my status. A thin, beige droid stopped my movement, however, with a raised hand. It held within its grip a large, short-range blaster rifle – a weapon that I would consider slightly too powerful for a populated public spectacle. The blaster fit with this droid, however, and added to its distinctly ominous appearance. I had seen battle droids on the holonet, but had never faced one in person before now. I could quickly guess that they were as horrific as the stories said.
"Clearance access card, please," the droid demanded harshly.
I nodded and fumbled through my belongings until my sweaty fingers gripped my multipass chip. Once I handed the chip over, the battle droid inserted into a nearby terminal. The terminal blinked, informing the droid of my status.
"Access denied," the droid barked to my surprise. It turned and hefted that menacing blaster towards my abdomen.
"Oh," was all I managed to say. I was hoping he would at least hand the chip back to me, but I wasn't about to ask for it, or why I had been denied, for that matter.
"You are scheduled for the night," it told me. "You will be granted access then and only then." Its free hand stretched out to give me back my chip. I took it quickly.
"Uh, sure thing," I said while slowly backing away.
Padmé and I left the bay entrance at an accelerated pace.
"Well, that was, uh, interesting," I ventured once we were out of that thing's firing range. "What sort of creature would station a battle droid in the middle of a busy arena?" The thought of a fully armed machine capable of wiping out dozens of sentients without so much as a flick of a power switch was disturbing – especially with all the young children that were running around . What if one of them happened to run into the hangar bay while playing? What would that guard do then?
"The Neimoidians aren't known for their tact," Padmé said. Her voice was cold, seething with malice, and her words came out in an angry hiss. "Only cheap killing and conquering." Her hand swept over the path we currently were treading. "Do not think that they would care for the lives of those children."
She had probably seen me staring at the innocent brother and sister who dashed around our legs as we passed.
"They think," Padmé continued, "that all these beings are expendable like machines. They suppose that, since they spared these people's lives during war once, they can take those same lives away if they choose. Without even a blink of their nasty little eyes!"
I stopped walking and stared at her, my mouth agape. She was nearly yelling now and had already caused the siblings to back away from us and continue their game on the other side of the walkway. She paused in step with me as I watched her clench and unclench her fists several times before I spoke.
"You sound like you know them," I observed hesitatingly. From what I had seen of Padm's personality so far, it seemed to me that she didn't get worked up without a reason. She wasn't going to make it easy for me to find out about her past, so I opted for a more direct interrogation.
She must have realized my insightfulness, however, because she bit her lip slightly and didn't respond to my question.
"They don't seem like the mighty 'rapper of worlds' sort of people," I commented loosely, waiting for a rise from her. "They're a little on the lazy and stupid side if you ask me."
"I didn't," she hissed bitterly.
I shrugged nonchalantly, trying not to let Padmé know how eager I was for an honest answer. What did she really know about the Neimoidians? Was her home world devastated like Naboo?
"Well, I figured I'd find one of these eventually," I said instead, burying my questions into the back of my head. I pointed to a noisy tavern, which was oddly close to the racing arena. It reeked of alcohol and other types of smelly contraband, and the many faces that were pouring in and out of the front doors looked annoyingly familiar.
I elbowed my way through the lingering crowds. Some patrons let me pass willingly, recognizing me as the Anakin Skywalker, while others purposefully got in my way in spite. I ducked and weaved until I made it through the mass and near the back booths.
"By the Force, Anakin," Padmé said from close behind me, "have you ever had a day where you're not in a cantina?"
I smirked. "Good question."
She sighed as I saw her form come up next to mine. One look at her eyes and I could tell that she was disappointed in my behavior. That made me feel guilty.
Odd. Since when have I felt responsible for my actions to another being? I don't think I ever have. I shrugged and thought it best to justify myself.
"We're not here to drink," I told her. "It's too early in the day for that anyway." She rolled her eyes at the comment.
"Well, then, why are we here?"
"Business."
I scanned the room, ignoring Padm's questioning look. My eyes spotted and then focused on a downtrodden Toong sitting at a lone table in the far corner. The fat little worm creature looked fairly depressed, and, if the slope of his antennae was any indication, was possibly drunk.
"Ben," I said to him as I helped myself to a seat next to him. [Rough day?] I asked, changing my language into Huttesse for his benefit.
Ben Quadinaros looked up from his drink and gave me a harsh stare. The movement of his antennae begged me to leave. I smirked and indicted to Padmé to sit down next to me.
[Go away, Skywalker,] Ben told me, [I don't need to be laughed at any more today.] The poor Toong was easily the worst racer in the whole of pod racing. For him, it was a miracle that he even finished a race. Some days he couldn't even get that pod of his past the start line.
Yes, he was a laughing-stock. He had applied for entrance into the pro-circuit several times, as the jokes say, but was always denied. I only saw him during open races, like the Boonta Eve Classic on Tatooine.
[I'm not here to mock you, Ben,] I said, [there are plenty of racers who could do it far better than me.] I smirked again and pulled a credit purse. [I'm here to bribe you.]
The Toong's antennae perked up in interest.
[You've already raced the first heat,] I continued, [tell me about the track.] I reached into the purse and pulled out a fifty-credit chip.
[Why should I help you, Skywalker?] he asked. There was a hint of amusement in his voice.
[Well,] I sighed sarcastically, [I wasn't sure the credits you won from your victory on the track would be enough. I'll just go then if you're not interested.] I positioned my body to rise, but his stubby hand stopped me.
[How do you know I even finished?] he asked, embarrassment filling his features.
[They,] I said, pointing to the crowd of other racers, [would have kicked you out otherwise, methinks.] He sighed and nodded, taking another sip of his drink.
[The track starts off pretty wide,] he began, taking the chip out of my hand, [but it narrows about thirty kilometers out of the gate. Only one or two podracers can fit side-by-side. Then, about fifteen kilometers later, there is a sharp bank right. About thirty degrees, followed by an equal turn left …]
I listened as he described the track. It seemed pretty routine to me, or even slightly boring. Well, from what I had seen so far, the Neimoidians seemed like a boring race. Why would they have the nerve to design a wizard track?
[… and then you come to an open plain that lasts for about twenty-five kilometers.] Ben stopped talking and stared at his empty glass. [I think I shall have another, Skywalker.]
[Is that the last part of the track?] I asked, ignoring his drink request for the moment.
[No,] he said brightly, [and I think I shall have another credit-chip as well.]
I sighed and hailed a nearby waiter for another drink. Ben only started speaking again after I handed over another fifty credits.
[There is beach sand,] he finally said, [and it gets everywhere – in your helmet, in your clothes, in the pod's gears. Then there is water.]
Oh, fantastic. I really despised water tracks. To tell you the truth, growing up on Tatooine left much to be desired as far as swimming lessons go, and Maecenas didn't bother to teach me anything about treading through water.
I had raced on water before. The replusors worked fine and could keep the pod nearly a full meter above the water's surface. The trick was to not crash with another pod or otherwise fall out of the cockpit of the racer.
[The water goes on for some time,] Ben told me. [There are orange markers that direct the path. It is fairly wide.] I took a sigh of relief at that – at least the Neimoidians weren't actively trying to get us all drowned. [There is another beach, then the finish line.]
He gulped down the last of the newly brought drink and favored me with a smile.
[I would laugh if you fell in,] he laughed. [There are many jokes around here that the desert-boy cannot swim. It would be amusing to see if that is true.]
[Well,] I said, rising off my chair and dropping a few credits for his drinks on the table, [pity you'll have to watch it from the sidelines, Ben, seeing as how you couldn't make it through the first heat and all.]
He granted loudly as I turned to leave. A confused Padmé followed in my wake.
"Did you just ask him for a map of the course?" she asked suspiciously as we walked outside.
"Yep."
"Isn't that cheating?"
"Nah," I smiled roguishly. "How else would Ben afford all those drinks? Or hell, the repairs for that racer of his?"
She shook her head softly, and I knew she was disappointed in me. The feeling of rejection hurt so much that it surprised me. I bowed down my head as we walked silently towards the inn.