Part Sixteen (written 10/13/04; posted 3/11/05)
Upon our return to the inn, I was welcomed back with a slight surprise: moving droids were packing our belongings in the main room. Padmé shrugged at this development, and her face betrayed no sense of astonishment.
"Maecenas must have cut a deal with that Neimoidian," she told me as we dodged past the droids and into our room. "We're moving to some uptown apartment." She waved her hand dismissively and began gathering up her belongings.
"How do you know?" Maecenas didn't mention anything about leaving the inn when I left for the arena this morning or on the way back from the practice run – not that there were many words exchanged during that little trip.
"He told me the other night," she said, "while you were out." I listened for any hint of irritation in her voice in response to what I did that night, but I found none. Why should I? She didn't know what I had done.
It suddenly hit me then that I actually wanted her irritation and her resentment.
Because I had acted poorly. I had dragged her into Maecenas' clutches; I had drunk the majority of my adolescence away; I had slept with every girl I could, not caring about their feelings or mine; and I deserved this life. I deserved it because I was born to be a horrible person.
I sighed back a sob and, aware that Padmé was watching my sudden turn of behavior curiously, I focused on my neatly folded clothes pile. It occurred to me almost as an afterthought that this move was the key reason she had folded them yesterday. I grabbed a satchel from the bedpost and packed my clothes away gently, leaving them folded and unwrinkled. Padmé had somehow made me want to keep my clothes nice.
Silence surrounded us for some time, but I really couldn't tell if I was comfortable or not. I had the urge to speak, the desire, really, to tell her that she made me want to have clean clothes, but I could only imagine how bizarre that would sound.
"I enjoyed this place," I started quietly. "Maecenas always drags me to this places that feel more like a military institutions than a dwelling. It was nice to stay here; it was very … real."
Padmé nodded and looked at me, her eyes hinting that she might have some sort of response. My words hung in the air for a few moments as she sat down and smoothed the wrinkles from one of her simple servant dresses. She put the newly arranged dress in her own bag and chewed on her lip slightly.
"Why did you cheat, Anakin?" she finally asked me. Her voice was deadly serious and she stared at me judgmentally.
My brow wrinkled as I beheld her. The old me probably would have simply responded with something like "oh, and who died and made you queen, Highness?" But now I was lost on what to say … I was lost on what to feel, even. I wanted her to be pleased with me.
"It wasn't cheating, really. At least not in the way you're thinking." iOh, good answer, genius. /i I run my hand over my hair nervously, trying to think of a way to quantify that statement. "Everyone does it. I know that's no excuse, but on all the other podracing planets – pro or not – we have the option beforehand to run through the track. Um, have you ever seen a podrace?"
She shook her head and folded her arms across her chest in slightly annoyed expectation.
"Well," I breathed, thinking of the best way to explain the world of racing without insulting Padmé's intelligence, "I wasn't going the top speed on the practice run. Some pods – my pod – can get up to two hundred kilometers. You gotta go that fast to win and, if you happen upon a rock crevasse, it's, well, boom." I made a light slap sound by clapping my hands together to emphasize my point.
"I see," Padmé dignifiedly said. She loosened her arms and looked down, avoiding my gaze. "Could that … could racing pods kill you?" Her voice seemed slightly distraught as if she had just put two and two together.
"Yeah," I told her honestly, my own voice holding a hint of despondency. "But, hey, not me," I added with humor. "I'm the best there is."
Her head shot back up just in time for me to wink at her. I hoped my playful expression was believable, but, truth be told, I was constantly aware that the track could one day claim my life.
"I'm sorry, Anakin," Padmé said sincerely. She leaned forward slightly, her unfolded dress momentarily forgotten. "I must admit when I first met you, I was so confused. You were dressed so well at that party, like you belonged with those people, and then to see what Maecenas makes you do. What Maecenas does to you. It's horrendous."
"I'm sure you've seen worse."
"No," her tone was firm, almost angry, "physical manipulation, perhaps, but never mental. Not the way Maecenas insists on controlling you. You handle it so well."
My brow wrinkled as I attempted to process her words. It was a compliment in light of the dark situation that was my life, and something that I was not used to. I sighed with dejection, pondering what to say in reply. She was wrong, of course.
"I don't really," I finally declared. "You were right. I spend nearly every free moment in a cantina, drinking myself into a coma. It like I just want to forget everything – Maecenas, racing, slavery, everything. I hate it. I hate everything. I hate my life. That's not 'handling it,' Padmé, that's ignoring it."
The look of pity on her face was heart wrenching, and the urge to runaway again and retreat back to Saché's pub – without her there, of course – hit me, but I knew that would only prove my point. Instead, I stood there blankly and felt tears well up in my eyes.
I never spoke like this, not even to my mother. It was too much for me ever to bring to the surface of my thoughts, too much to deal with. My family was never to be burdened with my own sour fate, even though I was sure that they were aware of it. That compassionate gaze often appeared on the features of Owen and Cliegg when I would greet them in Mos Eisley with a black and blue face. To be fair, it appeared right after fierce looks of brutal hatred were aimed at Maecenas, who would simply smirk and walk away. My mom's eyes, however, were always filled with bitter sorrow and pain in my presence. Sometimes I dreaded going home, if only because it seemed to make her so sad.
Padmé rose and came towards me, snapping me out of my trance. In an unexpected gesture, she wrapped her arms around my torso in a gentle hug. I accepted her embrace, only hoping to enjoy the closeness for a moment. The smell of her hair was intoxicating and I could barely resist burying my face in its chocolate waves.
"I don't think you're handling it badly, Anakin," she told me, her voice slight muffled by the folds of my shirt. "Anyone in your place would do the same, I think, if they had the opportunity."
"But I don't want …" I started, feeling my heart beating rapidly, "Padmé, I don't want to be like that anymore. I … you … Padmé, you make me care."
She pulled away, but it wasn't the harsh jerk I was anticipating. There was an arm's length between us before she looked up into my face and let go off my waist. Fear crawled through me, knowing that she could possibly reject my feelings, but her features remained soft and kind.
I could have wondered if I had spoken too soon or said the wrong thing, but why bother? It was too late now.
"I'm glad, Anakin," she smiled. "I never had many friends as a slave, but I do consider you one. I'll be here to help you if you need it."
I breathed out a sigh of relief and returned her grin. "Thank you."
Friendship was a start.
The new apartment was sterile beyond all expectation – gray walls and floors offered little contrast with the black furniture. The air even smelled boring, recycled, and stale. Maecenas absolutely loved it.
It was most certainly bigger than the old place, with a spacious seating area that lead almost elegantly into a monotonously lit hallway that contained a series of sleeping quarters. The bay window, which took up a whole wall running along the back dinning area, was almost an old sight to behold because the colors of the sky – blue mixed with the softest hint of pink – seemed to be fighting a loosing battle against the dreary florescent lighting design.
I grunted, obviously not as keen on my surroundings as Meacenas was, and made haste to the back bedroom. I checked to make sure it was the smallest before hefting my bag on to the pre-made sleeping couch. From the room next to mine, I heard Padmé do the same.
At least I would be able to bring Threepio out of storage now that there was a bit more space. One of these rooms had also been converted into an office, so I wouldn't have to walk directly past Maecenas' brooding form when I left the apartment.
Still aware of how nicely Padmé arranged my clothes, I unpacked them with equal consideration.
Afterwards, I sat on the bed, bouncing slightly like a little boy to test its softness. I sighed, breathing in a whiff of tasteless air. I was content, strange as it was. Declared friendship with Padmé was actually making me happy. I knew that such a thing was possible the moment that I had won her, but was unsure if it would ever truly occur. And who knew where such a friendship could lead?
Okay, Anakin, don't get ahead of yourself.
I shook my head, still amazed at how quickly my brain could reach a deduction of that sort, and left the room.
I found Padmé and Maecenas standing together in the main living area when I entered. I paused, but neither seemed to notice that I was there. To my surprise, Maecenas glided his finger along her forearm. She didn't flitch as I thought she might, but only nodded obediently and looked away, her head hanging lower in shame.
She walked past me, slightly brushing my chest with her shoulder, and her eyes failed to meet mine.
My brow wrinkled in confusion and frustration. What had Maecenas said to her? Why had he touched her like that?
I swallowed harshly, wondering if my worst fears regarding Maecenas' more flirtatious side were starting to come true. He was my inferior when it came to mastery of seduction, but that hardly meant he didn't know how to handle himself.
Women who weren't attracted to my youth were often drawn to my patron's power, and he enticed them with his prestige on a regular basis. He never had an unwilling woman as long as I had known him, but, then again, he had never owned a female slave before.
I gritted my teeth and narrowed my eyes, watching the greasy man suspiciously. He glanced up at me, his brow raised in a questing stare, as if he was daring me to comment on his actions.
"Get the pod ready, Skywalker," he finally spoke after minutes of uncomfortable silence, "and power up that droid of yours." I nodded submissively, not wanting to end up with my back against the business end of that whip again and returned to the back room to get my racing gear.
A helmet, goggles, gloves – I was already wearing a flight suit – and I was ready to go.
I stalked down the hall, but found myself stopping at Padmé's door. She was sitting on her own sleep couch, blankly looking at the wall in front of her. She glanced at me as I passed, and her face was a mask of dejection and sorrow.
"You all right?" I asked softly, knowing that she wasn't but feeling the need to at least attempt to talk to her about it.
She smiled, even if it was a morose one, and favored me with a tiny nod. I waited a few minutes more, but when it became clear that she wasn't inclined to speak, I decided to suggest an idea that had stuck me earlier in the day.
"Padmé, ah, podracers, well, we have these flags," I began, "and people march out on the track waving them – one for each racer, like our own banners – kinda like a miniature parade before the race. Threepio always carries my flag, but the others usually have a member of their species, and so I was wondering if you wouldn't mind maybe carrying mine for me." I felt nervous all of a sudden, fearing that she would cruelly reject my offer.
"I'm sorry, Anakin," she sighed, her gaze retreating from mine, "but Maecenas told me to stay here."
My heart sank. I nodded once briefly and backed out of the doorway, not able to address her again. It was disappointing, to be sure, but it wasn't her fault – she was only obeying that hutt-slime.
I did not look at Maecenas when I reemerged from the back hall, but simply continued on my way out of the apartment instead. I had things to do and I doubted I would be able to keep down my temper if I were to make eye contact with my master.
The track was a noisy mess – could I expect any less? – and the hordes of humans and Neimoidians filling the stands created a diverse wave of color in the corners of my eyes as I assembled my racer.
My fellow competitors made their greetings and boasts to each other – not close enough to be friends, but knowing one another well enough to make idle chatter as readied their pods.
Of course, everybody kept an eye on his own engines and exhaust, waiting for another to attempt sabotage. Cheating was common – all too common – and I had been a victim of it more than I would have liked to admit, since I had no full time guard for my vessel. I never sabotaged any one else's pod, for my part, but I would never put such a thing past Maecenas. I didn't ask, and neither did he bother to say.
We all paused has the announcer read our names over the loud speaker. The disembodied voice was speaking basic and only basic without a Huttese translation. The crowd's reaction to the long list of alien names, some difficult to pronounce with the human tongue was lukewarm at best, as if they had never heard of these famous racers.
"Number twenty-five, Anakin Skywalker," came my familiar call. "Homeworld: Tatooine. Race: human."
The audience suddenly erupted into a thunderous roar. I looked up, confused, as Threepio walked by with my blue and white banner flying soundly at his side. I squinted and glared at the thong of humans screaming, shielding my vision against the last rays of sunset with the flat of my hand.
They were cheering for me, not because of my reputation, and certainly not because my homeworld – even though the two planets were close geographically – but for my race. I was human as they were human.
I jumped upon my pod to give them a better view – showing that I was truly as the announcer had said – and waved appreciatively. The crowd continued to clap, shout, scream, and bang their hands against the durasteel stands. I smiled and bowed and ate up the attention more than I deserved to.
The Naboo's behavior didn't surprise me; many of them had probably spent the entirety of the day watching unfamiliar aliens skirt across the finish line. It must have been boring to watch when you had no one that you could relate to on the track.
I could be the hero if only for a moment. It was as close as I was ever going to get to it, anyway. And if my racing and, hopefully, winning could take the pain the Naboo suffered by losing national identity and political freedom away for ten minutes, who would possibly want to complain?
Well, besides the Neimoidians.
One such creature came up to me and demanded that I step off the pod and return to my preparations. I agreed, but made sure that the brown lizard could clearly see my self-satisfied smirk before he turned and walked away.
The cheering died down slowly when the audience could no longer distinguish my form from those around me. I strapped into my seat after one last check of the turbines and waited for the signal to ignite the repulsors.
"Gentlebeings of Naboo," the announcer declared solemnly, "Viceroy Nute Gunray thanks you again for your continued participation in the first annual Naboo podracing series."
The audience's reaction was mixed this time around – some booed and hissed, while others clapped politely. It made for a monotonous hum, where no one noise reigned supreme over another. I felt my head beginning to ache and I contemplated putting my helmet on early to block out some of the sounds.
"I have a special treat, Gentlebeings," the voice boomed above the din of the spectators, "to officially open the penultimate race of these semi-finals, I present Count Dooku of Serenno."
There was no booing this time around, only a wave of disillusioned but customary applause. I could feel the crowd's confusion matching my own as I turned and propped myself up slightly to catch a glimpse of this treat.
My eyes were drawn to a platform jetting pompously out of the middle of the stands. Brightly dressed Neimoidians littered this dais, but a lone man dressed completely in black sat to the left of the center throne. He rose at the announcement, proving that he was Count Dooku.
I squinted in an attempt to get a better view of him; he was old, if his gray and white hair was any indication, but I couldn't tell much more than that.
"Greetings sentients," he said in a rich accent after a sound amplifier was set into his right hand, "thank you for such a kind welcome to your beautiful planet." – As if the Naboo were as enthusiastic about his existence as they were about mine – "I would like to begin by extending my hands to you in camaraderie. Your Viceroy and I have finally signed the last of the negotiation treaties just this evening. I am proud to be the first to welcome your world as a full-fledged member of Confederacy of Independent Systems."
He paused his speech at a poor time because the entire human population of the arena began to jeer and hiss even loader than they had when the Neimoidian's name was called. Instead of silencing after a few minutes later, the angry shouting continued to escalate until the clamor was nearly unbearable.
I slid back down into my pod, catching the eye of the racer sitting next to me. His lekku motioned a questioning gesture and I shrugged, unable to translate what was truly going on with these people.
It was something political, something about the number of systems threatening to secede from the Republic. I had heard second hand that there were battles between these separatists and the Republic's army, the former using battle droids and the latter clones.
An army of clones defied the imagination – soldiers that looked alike, fought alike, and were, indeed, the exact same person. They were engineered to be perfect warriors and manufactured in the thousands. The thought sent a chill down my spine.
Dooku was still trying to calm the crowd, but the humans were having none of it. Various objects flew around the stands, most aimed for that center podium, but a few managed to roll out onto the track and past our pods.
My eyebrow raised in amusement as a half-eaten piece of fruit bounced against one of my replusor engines and was promptly fried to a burnt crisp upon landing in the energy binders.
It took several more minutes for a reasonable quiet to settle over the arena after Dooku had given up and sat back down. I watched as he spoke to the Neimoidian on his left, angrily gesturing towards the general direction of the audience.
"Racers," the announcer said, taking over Dooku's honorary task, "start your engines."
I put on my helmet, strapping it down tightly, and did as I was told. The comforting, familiar hum of the turbines drowned out the noise created by the spectators and I felt myself begin to relax.
I stretched out, feeling around my pod with my senses, connecting with my engines, my controls, the track, the audience, and the whole of this world. I settled into my seat.
I was ready.
The gong sounded, triggered by someone out of my sight, and I pushed the throttle.