All too easy. I didn't have much to concern myself with, really, once I shot out onto the track. There were the turns, like Ben said, then the beach and the water – almost short enough to where I could close my eyes and not witness the pod gliding atop the ocean of liquid, but not quite – and, finally, the end.
The end that held me ahead of every other single racer by more than a second.
I let out a yelp of victory, already nearly made deaf by the repulsor engines and the screaming of the crowd, as the turbines died down. I guided the pod loosely into the hangar bay, aware of the fact that, with heats, the winner isn't allowed to take a victory lap. That would come only after winning the finale.
I smirked, already knowing the speed I would cruise at for that said lap.
I paused in my celebration as the pod drew to a mollified stop.
There was sand in my mouth. Gross. I licked my front teeth with my tongue, but was still unable to clean out the granules from the cracks in between. They were smaller, it seemed, than the grains on Tatooine – of which I was most accustomed – and therefore would probably work their way into the narrowest and tiniest spaces in my pod and my bo- well, let's just say certain places I'd prefer not to have sand in. I hate sand.
Is it normal for a desert dweller like myself to hate sand as much as I do? I doubt it. My mom seems perfectly fine with it. So do Owen and Cliegg.
My face hardened in the sudden but familiar realization – I am an odd one.
I sighed, and attempted to focus on more important things, namely if I should swallow the sand or wait for a glass of water to raise it out with.
"Master Anakin," Threepio hailed, walking up to the pod. "May I say that your run was delightful and quite exciting?"
"You already did," I said, amused. The droid was wordy, if no other description could fit him
"Yes," he agreed, only to pause afterwards, apparently calculating exactly how he could have said something merely by asking to say it. He looked rather perplexed and, for a second, I thought he would bust a motivator. "Of course, sir," he concluded, either figuring it out or deciding that such contradictions were a waste of his processing unit.
"Threepio, could you get me something to drink?" I asked as I took off my helmet.
"Oh, yes, Master Anakin!" he obeyed, pleased to have a task that didn't involve language games, and scurried off.
I watched him go, his feet kicking up dust as he walked, and mindlessly unfastened the pod's harness from my chest and lap. There were other racers and their staffs doing much the same sort of tasks, but no one else. No families or wayward spectators or patrons or wealthy businessmen seeking to find the next way to make a credit. No one to greet me after my incredible victory.
I was alone as I jumped out of the pod and, well, it was kind of nice. There was no rabid fans to ward off, no Maecenas to yell at me. I wouldn't have minded, however, to have Padmé there, but this current situation was surely the next best thing.
I took off my goggles and admired the thick layer of dirt that covered each eyepiece, wondering how I even saw through them. I doubted my face and other exposed skin had faired any better, especially after looking down at my coveralls.
Threepio returned with a glass of water, and I was finally able to clean my mouth out, if nothing else. As I drank, a pit team of droids began the process of disassembling my pod into its various components.
"Master Anakin," Threepio said as I watched to make sure those poorly programmed pits wouldn't damage anything.
"Yeah?" I responded half-heartedly.
"The well-mannered Bee-Onejay protocol unit assisting at the refreshment counter informed me that there are clean towels and soap if you would like to use them, sir."
Best thing Threepio had said in a week.
"Great," was all I managed to mutter before heading off in that general direction, my head already filling with lush delusions of lather and lye.
Other racers had the same idea, and the already small table was swarming with pilots. I pushed my away through with arms and elbows – I was the winner here, after all, and a winner's spot was always at the front of the line. No one opposed me.
Save for a dug. He kept his place all the same, right near the table's edge, a cup of water in one foot, a washrag in the other. At first, I thought it was Sebulba come back from retirement to make my life a living hell all over again, but no; this dug was younger, with a coy swagger and rich, brown scales. The slight fear that I had of Sebulba as a child resurfaced, but only for a moment, before I swallowed it down.
"Outta my way," I said in Basic. I only spoke in Huttesse to people I needed something from or feared. This dug was neither. Most of their kind could understand the language anyway, just chose, out of their own ignorance and pride, to pretend not to.
The dug looked at me, spite welling in his dewback-like eyes. I glared back, equally annoyed.
I don't move for humans, he spat, waving the cleaning cloth with as much malice as such a thing could be waved. I folded my arms across my chest.
Well, forgive me, dug, I began, irritated enough to change tongues. I didn't think your kind bathed. There was a small hum of hoots and boos as the group of racers surrounding us reacted to my comment.
Suck on bantha poodoo, Skywalker! he barked back, clearly offended. I hear that's what your mother raised you on.
My face darkened at his snide jeer. Too bad she's not here to stop me from ripping off your legs, because she would be the only one that could.
I jumped him. Dugs are an extraordinary agile species, as are many that race pods, and can allow their weight to be transferred from feet to hands seamlessly. This resulted in a kick having all the power of an eopie's hindquarter and the accuracy of a human's fist. He aimed for my gut and hit my knee, knocking me off him. My butt now firmly on the ground, I kicked him right back.
Humans are much stronger than dugs, if you were ever curious to know.
He flew back against the table, the contents of which falling around him. A bowl of hot, soapy water landed squarely on his head. Perhaps the other racers and I would have laughed had we all not immediately realized that I just wasted a perfectly good pan of soap.
Keenly frustrated, I took it out on the most obvious target.
"Idiot," I hissed at the dug. "Now there's no more clean water."
"Echuta," he replied and surged towards me, arms and legs thrashing about madly. We collided and rolled, much to the joy of our compatriots. I must have gotten a few good hits and could feel my lip starting to bleed before two battle droids pulled us apart. I went willingly enough.
"Against section code three two seven," one of the droids warned me.
"Bleeding in the sand?" I ventured sarcastically. I wiped my lip off and stood, shaking the dust off my coveralls.
"Combative behavior," the droid corrected stupidly.
"Right," I grumbled and favored the still floored dug with a harsh stare. "Can I have some more water?"
"Anakin! Anakin!" she called out to me as I left the racers' pit. I glanced around at the sound of my name, not immediately recognizing the voice but noting it was familiar nonetheless.
I suppressed a grimace when Saché made her way through the crowd of waiting spectators. I think a small part of me was hoping that it was going to be Padmé, and I was slightly crushed. I remembered as she crossed the last few meters to me that I had invited her to come down to the pit and see me after the race.
Great.
"I tried to get in, but the droids weren't letting anyone through," she explained, breathless from wading through the mass of people. "The race was very exciting; you were incredible!" She grabbed my arm possessively, pulling herself to me in that way that Blondie did on Malastare. Despite the fact that I was clean and changed into easy fitting street clothes, I suddenly felt extremely uncomfortable.
"Yeah, those droids are a nasty bunch," I agreed, trying to ignore the fact that my throat had gone completely dry.
"Yes," she admitted, the smallest hint of sadness sprinkled in her otherwise jovial tone. She rushed to change topics. "Why don't you let me buy you a drink? To celebrate your victory."
I blinked, at a loss for what to say. While I hadn't exactly committed to staying sober, either to myself mentally or out loud to Padmé, I didn't want to drink. My stomach rolled at the thought of it, and at the thought of experiencing another hangover as bad as this morning's. And there was a little flip in the mix, too, for Padmé's reaction to said hangover. If I suddenly turned green then, Saché didn't notice it.
"How about this," I said as we walked arm and arm. "I buy, you drink. I've had a bit too much this week already."
To my surprise, she didn't so much as sneer at my weakling behavior. She only smiled softly. "And what must I do in return for such great generosity?" she asked in playfully grand tone.
"Well," I smirked. "I won't mind a little bit of a lecture on your beautiful planet, if you would be so kind."
She leaned heavily onto my shoulder. "Just call me 'Professor.'"
"An elected queen? Isn't that a bit oxymoronic?" I asked, perplexed.
"Oxymoronic? Big word for a self-proclaimed bumpkin," Saché chided with a giggle. She was well onto her forth drink and not nearly as drunk as I hoped she'd be.
"I have my moments," I admitted more playfully than I really felt. The din and smoke of the dark cantina were really beginning to bother me. I wanted to go back and see if Padmé was well.
"Ah. You're a mysterious one, Anakin Skywalker." She smiled brightly and took another sip. "We liked it, the whole system. It was so … wonderful. The queen was so regal, so amazing."
"What happened, then, to it all?" I asked, knowing it would not be an easy question to answer.
"I was a handmaiden, one of the queen's personal assistants, if you can believe that," she said mournfully. "We were guards, trained to be decoys if needed. The queen, Queen Amidala, she was so young. I didn't think it at the time, but, now that I look back, I think she might have been too young."
"How old was she?"
"Fourteen," she said. At my shocked look, she continued. "I was only thirteen. We elect our rulers young, when they are the most innocent, uncorrupted. She may have been, but she was also naïve. I think that's what led to this whole mess."
"Oh?" I prompted.
"Yes," she sighed dejectedly. "The Trade Federation blockaded the whole planet, invoking some silly trade disagreement that we weren't really having. With the Jedi's help, Amidala was able to escape and plead our case to the senate. We remained and were imprisoned."
My mouth widened slightly in horror. When I was younger, I used to believe that the galaxy was full of free beings, who could do whatever they wanted whenever they wanted, and Tatooine was merely the odd exception to this rule. I especially thought in my preteen years, when Watto worked me the hardest, that it was this way because I was born there. But living with Maecenas taught me otherwise. There are numerous types of slavery and an infinite multitude of bondages.
"It was no big deal, really," Saché said upon seeing my expression. "They encamped us, feed us ration bars. No, the really bad part was when the queen returned. The senate wouldn't lend any support, so she came back empty-handed with nothing but a pair of Jedi to help her out. She somehow managed to get the Gungans – a native race that lives in the swamps – to lead an assault against the Federation's army, while she tried to capture the viceroy." She paused and drank – this time a big gulp despite the strength of the alcohol. "The gungans were slaughtered to near extinction. The queen, well, rumor has it that she basically had the viceroy by the throat when a new battalion of battle droids rushed in. They just couldn't hold them off and they were captured."
"Not a happy ending," I observed morosely.
"No," she agreed, glancing down towards the table. "Afterwards, the Neimoidians broadcasted over the holonet … well, it wasn't the easiest thing to watch, but they … gathered up one citizen from each of the districts and lined them up and … killed them. They didn't show it, them killing them, but the holocam stayed focused on the queen's face through the whole thing. Just her face, only her face. She wasn't wearing makeup, either, and we … all just watched her reaction." She just brought her hand to her face, shielding it, and placed her elbows on the table.
"Gods, I'm sorry," I said, not knowing what else to say. I bit the bottom of my lip, trying to contemplate the pure violence, pain, of such an event, what happens when someone is forced to see something that horrendous. I found myself drawing a blank. For everything that I had been through in my short life, I, thank the gods, never had seen any sort of genocide.
"It was a long time ago," she said softly. She wasn't crying, at least – her voice was too steady for that.
"Want another drink?"
"Hell yeah."
I ordered another round accordingly. She drank it, too, so fast that I was surprised she didn't throw up or pass out. But the alcohol calmed her nerves, perhaps taking the edge off of such a dark memory, and I was pleased at that.
"I think I wanna go home, Anakin," she finally said, her voice holding an odd combination of intoxication and depression. "Walk me?"
"Of course," I told her, but, despite the fact that I was quite sober, I still had my needs. "Give me a minute through; I need to use the 'fresher." She nodded blankly as I stood up and headed towards the back.
If you want a universal ideal to hold every planet to in the entire galaxy, a rule that must be followed by every species, race, and social class, it's that the refreshers in cantinas must be so nauseating dirty that the customers will vomit whatever they've earlier consumed. But if you're reading this, it is most likely that you already know this fact, or will come to know it very soon. It's part of the job. So, moving on.
I met the strangest man in the 'fresher, which is the only reason I'm mentioning that little visit at all. He was perfectly normal in all discernible respects – human, average height, slightly stalky, auburn hair, beard. He looked at me when I walked in, his eyes following me even as I moved to wash my hands. He took the sink next to mine.
"You're the podracer, aren't you?" he asked me causally, glancing up at my reflection in the mirror. He had the most proper accent, which was a bit odd even for a planet as refined as Naboo – at least I hadn't heard anybody speaking like that here. "The one that won tonight?"
"Yeah," I answered, confused. I had only won one heat, and it wasn't even the last race of the night. Granted, I was human, and it made me stand out a little bit, I suppose, but the tone of his question struck me. It was almost confirmatory.
"Interesting," he said in turn, smiling in a way that was clearly fake, and turned off his faucet. He flicked his fingers, brushing the water off his hands – for the sinks were water, not sonic – and reached out to grab a nearby towel. But, instead of turning towards the dispenser on his left, he reached for the one hanging over my sink, on the right. I thought him crazy at the time, for he managed to slip on something a fall straight into me as he pulled out a towel.
I was barely able to support our two weights without taking a tumble myself, but, miraculously, we remained standing. I pushed him off my shoulder and held him at an arm's length away. I let him go when I was sure he could stay on his feet.
"Forgive me," he said sheepishly, wiping his hands on his hard-won towel. "I must have had a bit too much to drink." At that, he turned and walked out in a completely stable gait. I suppose it would be a worthless note to add that I didn't smell alcohol on his breath.
I shook my head, chalking the whole incident up to obsessive podracing fans, and returned to Saché.