Out at sea, a ship emerged from a Hyperion gate. It was black as coal, with a dog's skull figurehead. It cut its way silently through the night air, heading towards the coast of Tattooine. On its deck, the dark apprentice Darth Maul stood, eyeing the distant glow from the street lanterns of the small settlement. The Queen was close, he could feel it. He just had to find her.

The ship dropped anchor along the beach, coincidentally on the opposite side of the port as where the royal corvette was anchored. The dark servant rowed himself ashore and concealed his twisted features with a deep hood. Silently, he began walking towards the port, tracking his prey.

At the race grounds, the turnout was as large as ever. Tens of thousands of people from every race imaginable packed the stands, eager to see who would win, and whether or not they'd leave rich.

In the sailer drydock, Watto and Qui-Gon were discussing final details.

"I want to see the ship as soon as the race is over."

"Patience, my blue friend. You'll have your winnings before the day is done. And we shall be far away from here."

"Not if the ship belongs to me, I think, huh? I'm warning thee, no funny business."

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow. "You don't think Anakin can win?"

"Don't get me wrong, I have great faith in him. But, ah, methinks Sebulba is going to win." Watto gestured to the Dug, lounging next to his orange behemoth of a sandsailer, while a pair of blue-skinned Twi'lek women gave him a massage.

"What makes you think that?"

"He always wins!" Watto laughed. "I'm betting heavily on Sebulba!"

Qui-Gon saw an opening. "I'll take that bet."

Watto was caught off guard by this. "Thee what?"

"I'll wager my sailer against... The boy and his mother."

"No. No sailer is worth two slaves. Not by a long shot."

"Just the boy, then."

"Hmm... well, uh." Watto saw an opening of his own. "We'll let fate decide." He reached into a pouch and pulled out a small clay cube. "I have this chance die. Blue, it's the boy. Red... His mother."

Watto cast the die and it began clattering across the stone floor. Qui-Gon, not wanting to allow any possibility of failure made a quick, hidden hand gesture. The die came to a rest with a blue side facing upwards.

Watto scowled. "Thee may have won the small toss, Outlander, but thee won't win the race, so it makes little difference!"

At the entrance to the drydock, Anakin's sandsailer was being brought in for final inspection. Anakin himself, along with Padmé, were on the back of a native animal. Shmi rode another one of the animals with Jar Jar, while Artu and Threepio rode in on the sailer.

Watto hovered over to Anakin as he and Padmé dismounted. "Thee had best stop thee friend's gambling before I end up owning him, too!" Watto flew away laughing as Qui-Gon walked up.

Anakin looked at him, confused. "What did he mean by that?"

"I'll tell you later, come on." Qui-Gon and Anakin set to seeing the sailer berthed for inspection.

On the sailer's deck, Artu was telling Threepio about his experience on the World Sea through his usual beeps and whistles.

"Oh, my," Threepio said. "Sea travel sounds rather perilous!"

Artu chirped and beeped a response.

"I can assure you, they will never get me on one of those dreadful ships."

The children from the day before came in to see Anakin off.

"This is so cool that you got it working," one of them said. "I'm sure you'll do it this time."

"Hmm? Do what?" Padmé asked.

"Finish the race, of course," the boy said.

"You've never won a race?"

Anakin looked at his feet. "Well..."

The boy's wording finally clicked. Padmé was shocked. "Not even finished?"

Anakin looked up and smiled confidently. "Kitster is right. I'll do it this time."

Qui-Gon walked up at the tail end of the conversation. "Of course you will."

Meanwhile in the port, a tall figure in a hooded cloak walked purposefully through the streets. There was an air of malevolence about him and people instinctively avoided him. He kept his face hidden, but if people could see it, they would likely flee in fear.

He stopped in the market square, sensing in the air that a Jedi had recently passed through. A wicked smile split his face, revealing his jagged teeth. His prey was near.

Back at the race grounds, the sailers were being towed into place at the starting line. The stands were a cacophony of raucous cheers as the last few minutes until the race's start ticked by. The racers busied themselves with the final preparations and inspections as their sailers took their places. In the announcer's tower above the stands, the overseer himself addressed the assembled crowd.

"There is a massive turnout from all across the Outer Rim territories here today! I see the contestants are almost finished making their way out to the starting grid." He scanned the racers with his binoculars. "I see Ben Quadrinaros from Tund... And there's two-time winner Boles Roor... And the fan favorite Sebulba!"

At Sebulba's name, the crowd's cheering grew a notch louder. Sebulba hopped onto the deck of his massive sailer so the crowd could see him better.

The overseer continued his announcement. "And in the front row, nearside pole position, is Mawhonic of Malastare...

"And a hearty hello to Clegg Holdfast and his sailer, the 'Wasp,' and a fine sailer it is...

"Back once again is the mighty Dud Bolt with his incredible 'Vulptereen,' a veteran of many races...

"Hoping for a big win today is Ody Mandrell and his record-setting team of pit automata...

"And a late entry, young Anakin Skywalker, a local boy... Oh, and I see the flags are moving out onto the track!"

Each racer had a flag with their own unique design, carried by one of their friends or servants. Anakin's crudely made flag, painted with the leftover paint from the sailer, was carried by Threepio near the head of the procession. The winds were beginning to pick up and the flags fluttered wildly.

Anakin was about to climb into his sandsailer, when his mother put a hand on his shoulder. "Be safe, Ani."

"I will, Mom. I promise."

Off to the side of the sailer, Sebulba walked up and noticed a piece of one of the collars that held the pole in place wasn't attached by the best quality rivets. He pulled it down, shearing the top two rivets and leaving the piece hanging precariously. He gave a quiet sinister laugh and walked over to Anakin. "Thee won't be walking away from this one, slave scum."

Anakin looked to Sebulba with disgust. "Don't count on it, sleemo."

"Thee are vulture food, boy." He gave a laugh and walked away.

Qui-Gon walked over after Sebulba had gone. "Are you all set, Anakin?"

"Yep!"

Qui-Gon lifted Anakin onto the deck of the sandsailer. He looked up at him. "Remember, concentrate on the moment. Feel, don't think. Trust your instincts."

Anakin gave a quick nod. "I will."

Qui-Gon smiled. "May the Force be with you."

The sound of a horn fanfare pealed across the race grounds. From up in the announcer's tower the overseer once again called out. "And now, may I introduce the host of this race, the mighty and wise Jabba the Hutt!" The overseer gave a ululating cry as at the top of the grandstand's central tower, the corpulent, sluglike Hutt slithered out into the open waving at the assembled crowd below.

"Welcome," Jabba called out in his deep, booming voice. "Let the race begin!"

The racers all pressed the activation runes of their sailers. A deafening chorus of hums resounded from the dozens of enchanted poles and the sailers settled into the sand as though it were water. Each racer sat, eager to let down their sails and let the wind catch them. All ground crew quickly left the starting grid, leaving only the racers and their standard bearers.

Qui-Gon went to the observation tower complimentarily reserved for Anakin's family and friends. Shmi turned to him as he reached the top of the spiral staircase. "Is he nervous?"

"Not at all."

Padmé on the other hand, was extremely nervous. "You Jedi are far too reckless. The Queen is not-"

Qui-Gon leaned down to address the young handmaiden face to face. "The Queen trusts my judgement, as should you." He had grown tired of Padmé's lack of faith.

"You assume too much." Padme had become frustrated by Qui-Gon's blind faith in his beliefs, far past the realms of reason, in Padmé's eyes.

Qui-Gon turned away. "Perhaps."

The standard bearers cleared the track just as the hot desert winds became more intense. The sailers rocked and bobbed, masts swaying wildly. The racers awaited anxiously for the start signal. In the central tower, Jabba grabbed a small live animal he had as a snack. It struggled and squealed in his slimy grip, but couldn't escape. He bit off its head and spat it forcefully at the large bronze gong to his side.

At the sound of the gong, every sail dropped and as fast as the wind itself, the sandsailers were off. Anakin's sailer had stalled, its poles going silent. Had the sailer been moving, this would have been catastrophic. Around him the audience laughed.

The overseer's voice called out again. "Aww, it looks like little Skywalker has stalled! Oh, and it looks like Quadrinaros is having problems as well!"

Anakin pressed the activation rune. Nothing. The laughter continued. He pressed it again, firmer this time. Still nothing. He took a deep breath, concentrated, and pressed it one more time.

The poles hummed into life again and the sand once more flowed around the hull. Immediately, the sailer was off, carried by the strong winds.

The overseer gave a little hoot. "Oh! And off goes Skywalker!"

In the observation tower, Jar Jar cheered, soon followed by the others.

"Skywalker will be hard pressed to catch up with the others," the overseer said.

At the front of the pack, the sandsailers were tearing ahead, navigating their way through a veritable forest of natural sandstone pillars. Competing for the lead were Sebulba and Mawhonic. The two looked at one another with determination in their eyes. Sebulba quickly turned his rudder and slammed into the side of Mawhonic's sailer.

Mawhonic shook his fist at Sebulba who laughed at him. Sebulba turned the rudder again, slamming into Mawhonic and pushing him into one of the sandstone pillars. The damage was light, but the stone destroyed several runes on one of Mawhonic's poles. The sand immediately solidified and the sandsailer tore itself apart. Splintered wood flew everywhere and Mawhonic threw his hands up to try to protect himself. He landed hard in the sand, narrowly avoiding being hit by the other sailers. Sebulba laughed raucously at Mawhonic's crash.

Anakin had caught up to the rest of the racers, but he was still in the rear of the pack. A gust of wind came from behind, giving him a burst of speed. Nimbly, he weaved around rocks and other sandsailers, leaving them behind. Up ahead lay the sinkhole fields and the Knifedge Canyon, the latter of which demanded single file by the racers.

Sebulba was the first to enter the canyon, despite valiant efforts by the other racers. One by one, they zigged and zagged their ways through the narrow pass, at times missing the canyon wall by only a finger's width. For Anakin, this was no challenge. He effortlessly stayed the middle line of the canyon and was catching up to the next racer.

The canyon opened out to a sunbaked plain filled with great sandstone arches. One of the arches was too low for many of the sailers' masts to clear, but Anakin was able to just make his way under it and pass another racer.

Sebulba sped further onwards, through a crescent canyon and into a sandstone cave. Anakin wasn't too far behind. The cave had skylights made by partial ceiling collapses which gave the racers just enough light to see, though perhaps not enough for all of them. In the twists and turns of the cave, one failed to turn in time and slammed into one of the walls. His sandsailer shattered against the sandstone, showering Anakin in splinters as he passed by.

The cave led into a large gently sloping curved canyon. Several of the Tattooine native Tuskens had set up their camp at the top of the canyon several days prior. Tuskens as a rule did not take kindly to the colonizers that had taken their lands from them. Upon seeing the sandsailers coming around the turn, they pulled out their long matchlock muskets and opened fire. Lead balls struck the sailers, punching small holes through the thin wood, but not stopping anyone. As the sailers pulled out of sight, the Tuskens held their weapons aloft and let out their distinctive wailing cries.

One final leg remained before reaching the stands and the start of the second lap. The racers had to cross the Barren Flats, with its complex crosswinds and shimmering mirages. One of the remaining racers would not cross these flats.

Ben Quadrinaros was still stuck at the race's start, unable to get his poles working. He had tried everything and now he stood next to his sailer inspecting the runes etched into the four poles. He found an error on one of them and took out an awl to fix it. He stood back, pleased with himself before suddenly the four poles hummed into life. Then they stopped.

With a blinding blue flash, the four poles flew in different directions, one of them slamming into the base of the main tower and knocking free a large chunk of sandstone. No one knows where the others landed. Quadrinaros himself was thrown backwards and upon opening his eyes was terrified to see Sebulba's sandsailer coming right towards him. He managed to scramble out of the way just in time, and watched dejectedly as all the other racers flew past him.

"Ooh! Bad luck for Quadrinaros," the overseer cried. The crowd cheered as the racers passed, those who supported Sebulba cheering that much louder at his lead.

Ody Mandrell pulled into one of the pits to have his automata team repair a piece of rigging that had come loose. As the automata climbed the outrigger to get on deck, one of them slipped and their metal foot marred a large section of runes on the portside pole. Both poles immediately stopped humming and as his sailer lodged itself in the sand, Mandrell knew his race was over.

Jar Jar looked at all the sailers passing but didn't see Anakin among them. "Where is Ani?"

Padmé looked out over the flats, squinting. "Look! Here he comes!"

"It looks like Skywalker is moving up in the field," the overseer called as Anakin passed by the tower, followed by several more sandsailers.

Threepio turned to Artu. "Is the race over?"

Artu whistled.

"Two more circuits? Oh, my..."

Anakin pressed onward, sandsailer cutting across the desert like a knife. As he approached the pillars again, he came up behind another racer who kept swerving to keep him from passing. Just before they entered the Knifedge Canyon, Anakin pulled ahead. The arch field loomed beyond and Anakin tried passing yet another racer. As he pulled alongside, the racer tried to slam into him. This move gave Anakin the chance he needed, and he passed the other racer, just narrowly avoiding the hit.

Up ahead, Sebulba had a sandsailer hot on his tail. He reached down, lifted a wrench, and threw it behind him. The wrench struck the racer in the head, cracking his skull open. The rudder jammed hard right and the sailer went out of control. One of the outriggers broke free and the sailer began rolling, snapping the mast in the process.

Anakin just barely missed being hit by flying debris, but his rigging was not so lucky. One of the ropes was struck and pulled free from its cleat. A corner of the sail flapped uselessly in the wind, costing Anakin precious speed. Carefully, Anakin crawled on deck to retie the rope. It took only a few seconds, but in that time he fell behind a place. He quickly made up for it in the crescent canyon and overtook three more racers, landing him in second.

Sebulba and Anakin flew through the cave and onto the canyon turn. The Tuskens were waiting this time and one of the shots found its mark on one of the racers. The lead ball obliterated a section of runes on one of the poles and the sandsailer ripped itself apart. Out in the open and unable to run away, it didn't take long for the mangled racer to be finished off by the Tuskens' shots.

Out on the Barren Flats, Anakin gained on Sebulba. The overseer watched through his binoculars, narrating what he saw. "At the start of the final lap, Sebulba's in the lead, followed closely by Skywalker!"

The crowd cheered loudly. Seldom before had they seen such a comeback, but the race was still not yet done.

Sebulba and Anakin sailed onwards. For the third and final time, they entered the pillars. Slowly, Anakin gained on Sebulba, narrowing the gap between them to within literal spitting distance. They entered the Knifedge Canyon neck and neck, each of them hair's breadths away from fatally grinding off their runes on the canyon walls.

One spot in the canyon had a ramp cut into it, allowing passage to the top. Sebulba forced Anakin onto this ramp, trying to throw him off the course. Instead, when Anakin's sailer went up the ramp, it caught a gust from over the canyon's rim. The ramp made a hard turn, but Anakin went straight on, coming back into the canyon and splashing down in front of Sebulba and showering him in sand.

Anakin led the way into the arch field as Sebulba tried to regain his lead. The closer Sebulba came, the louder the hum from his poles. Anakin turned his head and saw the orange prow of Sebulba's sailer almost within arm's reach behind him.

The race had been rough on Anakin's sailer so far. Unbeknownst to him, the collar piece Sebulba had broken was hanging on by a single rivet and it was quickly fatiguing. It rattled violently, throwing off sparks. Finally the piece broke free, but not without taking a toll. Under the hot desert sun and with all the wind, the sparks ended up igniting one of the dry hemp rigging ropes.

Smoke poured off the ropes and flames danced their way across its surface. The smoke flew back into Sebulba's face and he pulled to the side to keep from choking. Anakin had to act quickly to keep the flames from burning everything. Temporarily abandoning the helm, he crawled forward and after some effort, he swatted out the flames with a sleeve. The ropes were fairly deeply burned, but they would hold.

Taking advantage of Anakin's distraction, Sebulba pulled ahead. Anakin hauled himself back to the helm and turned the sailer into a strong wind. Sebulba led the way into the cave, broken boards from the fallen sailer smacking into his hull. Anakin followed closely behind, having made up some lost time with a slight shortcut.

All that lay between the two racers and victory was the Barren Flats. Anakin slowly gained on Sebulba and soon, they were side by side. Sebulba refused to lose. He turned the rudder and slammed into Anakin's sailer. Anakin kept control, but just barely. Sebulba rammed again, but this time the two sailers' outriggers became caught against one another.

The two sandsailers tore across the flats together as both Anakin and Sebulba desperately turned their rudders to try to disentangle themselves. Over the humming of the poles, the sound of wood cracking caused the their hearts to sink. Between the speed and the strain, both of them were running out of time.

The finish line was in sight now, and Sebulba became frantic. With one great twist of the rudder and a loud crack, he finally freed himself. However, to his dismay, only one of his massive poles came with him. All the ramming he had done through the race had taken its toll on the wood and it had finally given out. His freed pole careened through the air and embedded itself in the sand. He watched, horrified as his precious sandsailer fell to pieces around him. He and what remained of his sailer slid across the sand coming to rest against a rock. Sebulba, defeated, couldn't even find the energy to swear as he watched Anakin grow further and further away.

Anakin heard the cheering of the audience quite some distance before he reached the stands. The crowd went wild as he crossed the finish line. He furled up his sail and coasted to a stop. The loudest cheers came from Anakin's friends and family. They rushed down from the tower and over to Anakin's sailer.

As Anakin climbed out of his sailer, he saw his mother running over to him, tears of joy running down her face. Anakin had the biggest smile she had ever seen. "Mom! I did it!"

Qui-Gon lifted Anakin onto his shoulder so the crowd could see their champion. Anakin raised his hands and gave a victory yell. But not everyone was happy with his victory. Over in the stands, Watto was busy arguing with the people he had made bets with. Meanwhile up in the central tower, Jabba's right hand man shook his boss awake to let him know the race had ended.

Anakin's sandsailer was dragged back into the drydock. About two-thirds of the sandsailers that had started the race hadn't made it back to the drydock with it, and only about half of the racers had survived. Despite all this, the mood in the drydock was cheery.

"Good going, Ani," Jar Jar said as they all walked into the dock.

Qui-Gon lowered Anakin back to the ground. Padmé knelt on one knee in front of Anakin and gave him a hug. "We owe you everything, Ani. Thank you."

After Padmé released the hug, Shmi knelt next to her son. "It's so wonderful, Ani. You've given hope to those who had none." She tusselled his hair. "I'm so very proud of you."

Outside, Watto had just finished miserably paying the people who he had bet against. Qui-Gon walked up, hands behind his back. Upon seeing him, Watto's expression turned to anger. "Thee! Thee swindled me! Somehow thee knew the boy would win! Somehow thee knew! I lost everything!"

"Whenever you gamble, my friend, eventually you'll lose." Qui-Gon looked out over the track, watching the crowds clear the stands. "Bring the crystal to the drydock. I'll stop by your shop later for the boy's shackle key."

"Thee can't have him," Watto growled. "It wasn't a fair bet."

Qui-Gon looked at him, his expression serious. "Would you like to discuss this with the Hutts? I'm sure they can settle this."

Watto's shoulders sagged and his face fell. "Take him..."

Qui-Gon nodded and walked away, leaving Watto to his misery.