Whispers of Menace
A Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace Alternate Universe
Chapter Eight:
Fateful Meetings and Dinner Conversation
Our little band of five had stopped in a niche between buildings. The suns were well past zenith; we'd gone from shop to shop all day with no luck. Only Watto had what we needed, it seemed, and he wouldn't take Republic credits. My collection of precious metal ingots was nowhere near enough to foot the bill.
"Obi-Wan, you're sure there isn't anything of value left aboard?" Qui-Gon held the communicator close, half-turned into the corner to hide it. I scuffed around in the sand, turning up another of the small brass coins used by the locals.
"A few containers of supplies… the Queen's wardrobe, maybe." Padmé didn't look the least bit upset by the possibility of losing her fancy clothes. "Not enough for you to barter with, not in the amounts you're talking about." The Master's sigh was tiny, but he was certainly disappointed.
"All right. Another solution will present itself. I'll check back." Then the commlink was tucked away, a weary look settling on his features.
Padmé had vetoed the idea of trading the cruiser for a smaller but fully-functional ship early on. Apparently the vessel belonged to the government of Naboo, not its monarch. I sighed as Master Jinn stepped out into the square again, but Jar Jar grabbed his arm.
"No ahgain," he complained loudly. "Da bee-ins hairabouts kah-wazy. Weesa be robbed un crunched!"
"Not likely." The human's voice was scathing. "We have nothing of value; that's our problem." That and the Gungan himself.
"Master," I said in an undertone as I moved to walk beside him, "what's the usual rate of growth for a training bond?" He looked at me sharply. "Say, to be able to locate one's Padawan and know generally what they're up to?"
"It depends on those involved, but I've never heard of one getting that far along in less than a week. Why?"
"You remember the boy from the Toydarian's shop?" Qui-Gon nodded. "Well, he's over there, about a hundred meters off, looking for something his mother can use to supplement their dinner." I pointed in Anakin's direction, resisting the urge to go to him.
Master Jinn stopped to outright stare at me, and Padmé did as well, looking confused. Artoo whistled questioningly.
"How is that possible?" the tall man whispered.
"His potential…" I shook my head. "Once he's trained, he'll be able to take on the whole High Council, all at once. And I was called to join your mission, to come here, for him." Then yelling forced our attention away from the subject.
Binks was obviously letting his stomach think for him; his rather long tongue was wrapped around a dead animal, which in turn was wired to a vendor's stall. The man in the stall was demanding payment.
Suddenly, Jar Jar relinquished his hold on the creature, snapping the wire and sending it flying toward a restaurant. It landed in a customer's soup. As if that wasn't bad enough, the customer was a Dug. Moments later, the Gungan was flat on his back in the dust, the dripping diner on his chest and holding up the ersatz projectile.
"[You!]"
"Who, meesa?" At least it seemed that he could recognize one word of Huttese.
"[Is this yours?]" The dead critter was waved about in a threatening manner.
"[Careful, Sebulba.]" The familiar voice rang out above the crowd's noise. Anakin slid between onlookers and stepped into the cleared area around the confrontation. He smiled briefly at me before directing his full attention to the angry Dug. "[This one's very connected.]"
"[Connected? Whadda ya mean, slave?]" The tone of voice turned the word into an epithet. These two had a history, and if I was connecting the dots correctly, this could get very ugly.
"[As in Hutt,]" the boy started blithely.
"[And Queens.]" Keeping up my Huttese was paying off now. "[Big time outlanders.]"
"[I'd hate to see you diced before we race again.]" So I was right, this was the infamous podracer who cheated with every breath.
"[Next time we race, worm-o, it will be the end of you!]" Clearly there was no love lost here. "[If you weren't a slave, I'd squash you right now!]" The Dug threw the animal at the vendor as he turned.
"[You and what army?]" I called, putting a supportive hand on Anakin's shoulder.
"[It'd be a pity if you had to pay for me,]" the kid threw after the retreating figure. The others came closer, and I noticed Qui-Gon's furrowed brow. It surprised me a bit to realize that he didn't understand Huttese, but that explained why many of the comments about him through the day had failed to get a reaction.
"Hi!" Anakin said brightly.
"This one," I grumbled, jerking a thumb in Jar Jar's direction, "was about to be turned into orange goo." The idiot's flinch almost amused me.
"He picked a fight with a Dug," the little blond added. "An especially dangerous Dug named Sebulba."
"Nosir, nosir," Binks protested. "Meesa hates crunchen'. Dat's da last t'ing meesa wanten'."
"Nevertheless," Master Jinn chided, "the boy is right. You were heading for trouble." He turned and offered Anakin a slight bow. "Thank you, my young friend." Then his eyes flicked to me, one eyebrow rising as if to ask if this was the youngling I'd been telling him about. I responded with a tiny nod, and he frowned thoughtfully as we began moving again.
"Meesa doen' nutten!" We all ignored Jar Jar. Subtly guiding us through the market, Anakin led us to a small fruit stand tended by an old woman. She obviously recognized our friend.
"How are you feeling today, Jira?" He was very polite and respectful to her.
"The heat's never been kind to me, you know, Ani." Still, she smiled at him.
"Guess what? I found that cooling unit I've been searching for," he told her. "It's pretty beat up, but I'll have it fixed up for you in no time, I promise." The offer was incredibly kind, especially given his poverty.
"You're a fine boy, Ani." Jira's smile softened fondly.
"I'll take five pallies today," he said, abruptly business-like as he dug into a pocket. "You'll like these," he added to Padmé. He began searching the handful of odds and ends he'd pulled out, only for his goal, some of the little brass pieces, to escape his hand and land on the ground. One managed to bounce away a bit, and Qui-Gon went after it. For just a moment, his lightsaber was visible, and I saw Anakin's surprise. He didn't say a word about it, though.
"Whoops, I thought I had more," he said dejectedly when he had separated just three coins from the other bits and pieces. "Make that three—"
"Make it seven," I told Jira, laying four of the coins I'd collected on her counter. My little friend's three quickly joined them. As the old woman set the wrapped 'pallies' on the counter, the wind began to pick up, and shops started closing down.
"Gracious, my bones are aching," Jira said, collecting her own wares. "Storm's coming on, Ani. You'd better get home quick."
"Do you have shelter?" The boy looked up at Qui-Gon, seeming to divine who was in charge.
"We'll head back to our ship."
"Is it far?" Anakin's worried tone had my nerves jangling.
"On the outskirts," Padmé supplied.
"You'll never reach it in time." The wind was increasing steadily. "Sandstorms are very, very dangerous. Come with me. Hurry!" The boy grabbed my hand and led us away from the market at a trot. Shortly, we entered a cul-de-sac with dozens of closed doors, many requiring narrow stairways for access. One door opened for him, and we packed inside, the sting of sand stopping as the portal closed.
I looked around and realized that this was Anakin's home. The few pieces of furniture were badly worn, and the food prep unit was tiny.
"Mom! Mom, I'm home!" A careworn woman emerged from a side door in response, then gasped as she saw the small crowd in her entry.
"Oh, my! Ani, what is this?"
"These are my friends, Mom," he replied earnestly. "This is Padmé, and Serra, and…" He paused, looking at the rest of our group. "Gee, I'm sorry, I don't know your names." I smiled. He'd gotten the important part: he knew the girls' names.
"I'm Qui-Gon Jinn, and this is Jar Jar Binks," the Jedi Master said graciously. The astromech beeped at him and nudged his leg.
"… and our droid, Artoo-Deetoo," Padmé added.
"I'm building a droid!" Ani's bright blue eyes fixed on me and the brunette. "Wanna see?"
"Anakin!" The exasperation in his mother's voice was clear, but fond. "Why are they here?"
"A sandstorm, Mom. Listen." Almost on cue, the wind howled outside, accompanied by the hiss of airborne sand.
"Your son was kind enough to offer us shelter," Qui-Gon explained further. I held my rucksack out toward him and mouthed the word 'food.' The rations I'd packed would minimize our presence's impact on the Skywalkers' supplies. He took it none too soon.
"Come on, let me show you Threepio!" I allowed the kid to drag me off to his room.
With Padmé and Artoo there as well, the room felt very small indeed. A fair-sized object, covered with a dusty-looking cloth, sat on the workbench spanning one wall. Tools and parts were laid out on the surface's free space. To my tinkerer's eyes, the placement of each object was logical, though others might find it chaotic.
Then Ani pulled the cover off his work, and I applauded mentally. It was a bipedal, humanoid-shaped droid, all but completed. One eye was missing—it sat on the workbench, close at hand—and there wasn't an outer 'skin' to protect the servos and circuits, but the latter was incidental. The real work was already done, and almost any half-wit could finish the project.
"Isn't he great? He's not quite finished."
"Oh, he's wonderful," the Naboo girl replied, seemingly unaware of the warmth in her voice.
"Very nice work," I added. "Looks like a rather hefty memory core, though." Said component was at least half again the size of cores used in mass-produced droids of similar forms.
"I built in a redundancy; if someone wipes his memory without my codes, it keeps a backup that I can restore with other codes. And that still leaves a lot of room for languages and domestic skills." Then Anakin turned to Padmé again. "You really like him? He's a protocol droid, to help Mom. Watch!" He pressed a button behind the machine's head.
"Oh!" Somehow, he'd acquired a vocoder with an accent straight from the wealthier parts of Coruscant. "Oh my. Am I blind? Where is everyone?" His creator snatched up the missing eye and plugged it in. Both lit up with a warm golden color. "How do you do?" The droid stood and executed a stiff bow. "I am See-Threepio, human-cyborg relations. How may I serve you?"
"He's perfect." The young woman really meant it, too.
"When the storm's over, you can see my racer." Ani beamed at me. "My own podracer!" I returned the smile. A fellow mechanic that the Force intended to be my Padawan. I couldn't think of anything I'd like more.
Threepio shuffled around the room—most protocol droids have limited joint mobility—and Artoo whistled at him.
"I beg your pardon? What do you mean, I'm naked?" He sounded affronted. There was another series of beeps from the astromech. "My parts are showing? Oh, my goodness. How embarrassing."
Anakin finally managed to persuade Threepio to return to his spot on the workbench and shut him down. Then he pulled out design sketches for his pod, and I was blown away.
"With that much power from the engines and that low a gross weight, you're really gonna fly."
"Yeah. Once I get it done, I'm gonna totally smoke Sebulba."
"Ani! Dinner!" Hearing the muffled call, I helped put things away and followed him back into the main room.
The table was surprisingly comfortable for six, which likely meant that this apartment had originally been intended for larger families. The food from my pack had been used well; there was a bit of variety on the table. Jar Jar was happily slurping his soup when the conversation turned to the Skywalkers' situation.
"All slaves have transmitters placed inside their bodies somewhere," Anakin's mother, Shmi, explained.
"I've been working on a scanner to try and locate them, but no luck." The boy sounded glum about his failure.
"Any attempt to escape…" The woman's near-whisper was laden with fear.
"… and they blow you up… boom!" Aside from what, exactly, would be going 'boom,' that sounded like a normal boy.
Padmé and Jar Jar looked absolutely horrified. Nor was Qui-Gon looking up from his plate.
"How wude." The Gungan's comment finally broke the silence.
"I can't believe there is still slavery in the galaxy," the girl murmured, obviously shocked. "The Republic's anti-slavery laws…"
"The Republic doesn't exist out here," Shmi explained. "We must survive on our own."
"Most of the Outer Rim is like this," I added. "There's nothing out here to enforce the Republic's laws. It's also why no one will accept Republic credits." Another long silence hung over the table.
"Have you ever seen a podrace?" Anakin asked Padmé, trying to turn the subject to something more cheerful. She shook her head, and worry lines deepened on Shmi's face. Jar Jar's long tongue whipped out to grab a piece of fruit from the other end of the table. Master Jinn and I both glared at his lack of manners.
"They have podracing on Malastare," the older man commented casually. "Very fast, very dangerous."
"I'm the only human who can do it," Ani said proudly. Then he caught his mother's look. "What, Mom? I'm not bragging. It's true. Watto says he's never heard of a human doing it."
"You must have Jedi reflexes, if you race pods." I rolled my eyes and kicked Qui-Gon's shin under the table. I'd already told him about the bond that continued to develop, and the home was saturated with the boy's feelings and memories. The Force had wormed its way into everything, like a creeper vine through trees.
My train of thought was derailed when Binks tried his little tongue trick again. This time, it didn't get to the fruit bowl; Master Jinn had caught it.
"Don't do that again," he warned. The Gungan nodded and tried to say something, but the words were garbled beyond recognition. The appendage was released and snapped back into his mouth.
"I… I was wondering… something…" I could feel Anakin's insatiable curiosity through our connection.
"What?" my comrade asked patiently.
"Well, ahh… you're a Jedi, aren't you?" How would the tall man talk his way out of this one?
"What makes you think that?"
"I saw your laser sword." Hah. "Only Jedi carry that kind of weapon." Qui-Gon's slow smile as he sat back made me frown.
"Perhaps I killed a Jedi and stole it from him."
"I don't think so," the boy responded confidently. "No one can kill a Jedi."
"I wish that were so…" I started, surprised that we had said the same thing in unison again. Weird.
"I had a dream I was a Jedi. I came back here and freed all the slaves." It was a noble goal, one that I would be all too happy to support, if it could ever be done. "Have you come to free us?"
"No, I'm afraid not," Qui-Gon replied with a weary sigh.
"I think you have. Why else would you be here?" I reached over and gently covered Ani's hand with my own, letting the physical contact convey my mixed feelings.
"I can see there's no fooling you," I told him. "You mustn't let anyone know about us being Jedi." His eyes brightened with the secret. "We're on our way to Coruscant, the capital of the Republic, on a very important mission, and it must be kept quiet."
"Coruscant. Wow." The little blond was awed at the idea. "How did you end up here, in the Outer Rim?"
"Our ship was damaged," Padmé replied. "We're stranded until we can repair it."
"I can help! I can fix anything!"
"I believe you." I smiled gently at him. "But some of it is beyond repair, and has to be replaced entirely. So we have to get the parts, first."
"Wit no nutten moola ta trade," Jar Jar added mournfully.
"These junk dealers must have a weakness of some kind." The young Queen was brainstorming aloud, but that was what we needed to do anyway.
"Gambling," Shmi said scornfully. "Everything here revolves around betting on those awful races."
"Podracing," Qui-Gon mused. "Greed can be a powerful ally, if it's used properly." I shot him a glare and contemplated kicking him again. If my Padawan got hurt in whatever he was planning, he'd regret it.
"I've built a racer! It's the fastest ever." Ani was so proud of what he'd accomplished with scrounged parts, and he had a right to be. "There's a big race, the day after tomorrow, on Boonta Eve. You could enter my pod. It's all but finished—"
"Anakin, settle down." His mother's voice was stern. "Watto won't let you—"
"Watto doesn't know I've built it," he insisted. "You could make him think it's yours, and get him to let me pilot it for you." It was a good idea, but…
"I don't want you to race, Ani." Shmi's face and voice showed her fear. "It's awful. I die every time Watto makes you do it." I took a mental step back. This was a Skywalkers-only discussion, and I wasn't about to get in the middle of it. Too bad others didn't realize that.
"But Mom, I love it. And they need help, they're in trouble. The prize money would more than pay for the parts they need."
"Weesa inna pitty bad goo." Yay. Pity party for one.
"Your mother's right. Is there anyone friendly to the Republic who might be able to help us?" Yeah, right. Why would anyone fitting that description live on this dustball if they didn't have to? Our hostess shook her head sadly.
"We have to help them, Mom. You said that the biggest problem in the universe is that no one helps each other." Well, that was certainly true, and it was part of why the Jedi Order existed: to help those in need.
"Anakin, don't—" A loud belch interrupted Shmi, and I glared fiercely at Binks. His manners, or lack thereof, were likely to get him killed someday.
"I'm sure Qui-Gon doesn't want to put your son in danger," Padmé murmured after a long silence. More and more, I could see why her people had elected her, even at the tender age of fourteen. She was a born diplomat, but had the durasteel in her backbone to fight for what was right. "We will find another way…"
"No, Ani's right." Though her head was bowed, Mistress Skywalker's Force-signature radiated courage. "There is no other way. I may not like it, but he can help you." Worry-lined brown eyes met mine and blazed. "He was meant to help you."
Meeting that gaze, I tried to project my determination to be the best Jedi Master Anakin could possibly have. I would not let this woman down.
"Is that a yes?" His excitement burst open like a soap bubble in one corner of my mind. "That is a yes!"