Chapter 10

Author's note: As you will soon notice, my Huttese has become a bit rusty. So I just wrote whatever they said down in normal English, but used italics whenever they were talking in Huttese.

Disclaimer: Nah, can't think of any good disclaimers right now. You'll just have to believe me if I say that I don't own anything, not even a Master Card…

oOo

So now that Qui-Gon had decided which shop they would try their luck in, he decisively marched towards it, Padmé, Jar Jar and Artoo in tow.

When they entered the small, shabby room which – in combination with a back yard that was cluttered with more or less useless scraps of anything imaginable – formed the entirety of the sorry little excuse for a shop, a pleasant 'ding-dong' announced their arrival. It was rather unexpected to find that relic of 'ye olde corner shoppe' here, of all places.

But Qui-Gon couldn't spare the bell any more thoughts as the shopkeeper immediately approached them. He looked like a failed (and probably illegal) crossbreeding experiment between a blue elephant and a particularly ugly bat.

He asked them something in Huttese, which sounded suspiciously like gibberish. Qui-Gon was rather thankful that Obi-Wan had reminded him of the purpose and practicality of subtitles when dealing with foreign languages during their last mission, so now the Jedi Master had no trouble understanding what the strange blue alien had said to him. He just read the subtitles to find out what was being said.

"Good day to you. What do you want?" the shopkeeper asked in a gruff, not very friendly sounding voice.

Thanks to the subtitles, Qui-Gon answered without hesitating: "I need parts for a J-type 327 Nubian."

Clearly pleased that he could finally sell some of his junk, the Toydarian answered in Basic: "Ah, yes! Nubian. We have lots of that." Then he added in Huttese: "Boy, get in here now."

"My droid has a readout of what I need," Qui-Gon stated.

Padmé was just about to exclaim indignantly that it was HER droid and not his at all, but at that moment a sandy-haired child entered the room, drawing everyone's attention on the newcomer. He was rather small, had a round, deceptively innocent face and huge blue eyes.

With a loud and elongated groan, Watto – who had not been introduced yet, but for fluency's sake he will be referred to by his name - turned in mid-air to face him.

"What took you so long?"

"I was cleaning the fans!" the boy huffed, scowling at Watto.

Ah, yes. As nobody anymore wanted to buy junk nowadays, Watto had been forced to make a living out of something else. And he had soon discovered a much-needed service that was not yet offered on the desert planet: cleaning fans. These fans were from some obscure little planet on the outmost edge of the Known Galaxy. Watto figured that 'fan' was an abbreviation of 'fanatic' because most of these people – who were humans without exception- dressed up as Jedi, Wookies, Han Solo (whoever that might be), princesses with a cinny bun hairstyle, some kind of soldiers wearing white plastic armour or some scary-looking so-called Sith Lord who was completely clad in black and seemed to suffer from the nastiest case of asthma in the whole Galaxy.

They seemed like a strange bunch of lunatics who were apparently waiting for their deity, although there were different fractions that couldn't seem to agree on their own deity's name: Some were waiting for someone called "Obi-Wan", others got ecstatic if "Han Solo" or "Luke Skywalker" were mentioned. Watto was rather tolerant of their strange religion, although he just found the idea of little Anakin being the subject of worship completely laughable and more than a little disturbing. Still, there were those that zealously claimed that the little boy working in Watto's junk shop was some kind of Chosen One, destined to bring balance to the Force (whatever that meant). Most of the time, these fanatics were peaceful, keeping to themselves and talking about the weirdest things, but sometimes the fractions started arguing. There were the usual little arguments between Yoda and Sidious fractions or the Qui-Gon and Darth Maul fractions. These were mostly about which was the faster/more awesome/just generally better one. Occasionally, though, there were some arguments that almost bordered on battles, and these usually took place between the people dressed up as Jedi and those dressed up as the scary black guy.

Secretly, Watto considered them all insane, but he didn't mind them so much as they brought him good money: their costumes inevitably got all sandy and dusty in the desert climate, and they paid Watto for cleaning their cloaks, armours, masks and helmets… or rather, letting Anakin clean them. It was not such hard work, and the boy seemed genuinely fascinated with all the different clothes, but especially the helmet of the scary black guy. He usually put it on and then made harsh breathing noises, claiming that he was 'practicing for later on in life', whatever that might mean.

Maybe he planned on becoming one of these creepy people that would call someone on the phone without saying anything but just breathing noisily to make young women freak out when he was grown up. Watto sometimes wondered if you could make a living out of that, and if it was possible, why he never had thought of doing it.

Pulling out of his reverie, Watto snapped: "Watch the store. I've got some selling to do."

Then, turning to Qui-Gon, he said in a much more polite voice: "So, let me take thee out back, huh? We'll find what you need."

Watto slowly made his way out through the back door into the yard that was completely littered with scrap. He motioned for Qui-Gon to follow him.

When the Jedi walked past Jar Jar, he took a small remote sporting a big red button from the Gungan. "Don't touch anything." He said sternly, giving Jar Jar a pointed look.

As Jar Jar stuck his tongue out in response, Qui-Gon chose to ignore it rather than waste time beating a dead bantha, because trying to teach Jar Jar manners was certainly futile and he wanted to get this over with as fast as possible.

Then, he followed the shopkeeper outside.

oOo

Padmé was left standing in the middle of the small shop, looking a bit lost. She looked around. She was not used to this kind of shop: small, stuffed with trash and rusty parts, dark and unwelcoming, no clothe racks present at all. The shops she knew had lots of mirrors and polite and ever-smiling shop assistants who were there to tell the clients how fabulous they looked in a dress or a pair of shoes, making the price for said piece of clothing seem small in comparison to the glamour it would bestow upon the owner. She couldn't see any mirrors or even clothes, jewellery or shoes in here, and the only shop assistant was the small boy sitting on the counter. He was staring at her, and that made her feel slightly uncomfortable, so she tried to look anywhere but at him.

"Are you an angel?" the boy suddenly asked.

Padmé was startled out of her thoughts.

"What?" she asked, smiling slightly at the boy's naivety. Didn't he know that angels were supposed to have wings and a halo?

But the child insisted. "An angel. I heard the deep space pilots talk about them. They're the most beautiful creatures in the universe," he said, sounding like a know-it-all. In fact, he had heard the deep space pilots talk about successful pick-up lines, and they had agreed on that one as their favourite. Anakin had been eager to try it out, and had done so at any opportunity so far. It had gotten him into a tight spot when Jabba had come into the shop, but luckily, the huge Hutt had been flattered rather than insulted by the remark, and had blushed, giggling and thanking Anakin for the compliment. Needless to say, Anakin had fled from the shop as fast as his feet could carry him, hiding under his blanket for the rest of the day, leaving the fans to clean themselves.

"They live on the moons of Iego, I think," Anakin added for good measure, just to show how knowledgeable he was.

Padmé was impressed. "You're a funny little boy. How do you know so much?"

Anakin was clearly displeased at her choice of words. He was quite sure that no one ever called the deep space pilots 'funny little boys' when they said their bit about angels. Besides, he was neither small nor funny. He was nine years old, and that was not small! And he couldn't remember having said anything that had been supposed to be funny.

"I listen to all the traders and star pilots who come through here. And besides, some of these fans are real freaks, they know just about everything about the entire Galaxy," he explained. "I'm a pilot, you know, and someday I'm gonna fly away from this place," Anakin bragged, sounding very self-important and smug.

Instead of being annoyed with the boy's boasting, Padmé was amazed. It was obvious that she hadn't spent much time around politicians yet, who were also known for bending the truth in their favour.

"You're a pilot?" she asked astounded.

"Mm-hmm. All my life."

Padmé had difficulty envisioning a tiny toddler behind the controls of any craft aside from maybe these little plastic things little kids would sometimes run around in.

But if Anakin said so…

"How long have you been here?" Padmé enquired. Maybe this boy was in fact a lot older than the first impression would reveal. He certainly sounded like he already knew all about flying there was to know.

"Since I was very little. Three, I think. My mom and I were sold to Gardulla the Hutt but she lost us betting on the podraces," Anakin clarified. He had also heard from the deep space pilots that playing on women's protective and soft side was a good strategy, though he still had to figure out what all these strategies would lead to.

"You're a slave?" Padmé asked.

Duh, didn't I just say that? Anakin thought, more than just a bit irritated.

"I'm a person, and my name is Anakin," he told her snappily, his angry stare fixed on this girl who had dared to insult him – and his mom. Anakin was always very protective of his mother.

His eyes were narrowing dangerously, and he already made plans of blowing up her home planet or maybe chocking her when he was grown up and strong enough to do so. But he shoved all these thoughts of retribution and retaliation aside – at least for the time being – when she apologized.

"I'm sorry. I don't fully understand. This is a strange place to me."

Anakin had already noticed that obviously, this girl wasn't too quick on the uptake, so he forgave her. And besides, he liked her. She seemed nice in a way he had never before considered girls nice…

But Anakin's pre-teen love-at-first-sight moment was crudely interrupted by Jar Jar. The Gungan hadn't heeded Qui-Gon's advice and had once again pushed red buttons. To his disappointment, nothing had happened at first because most of the droids in the shop were turned off or simply too damaged to function at all, but then one of them suddenly sprang to life and started initiating its self-destruction mechanism.

Why does everything in this stupid Galaxy come with a self-destruction mechanism? Anakin wondered. But then it hit him: all these huge red buttons must be there for his amusement, because he enjoyed pushing random red buttons even more than the Gungan did, and he gained a perverse glee from watching things explode…

Now the little droid was jumping through the shop and the Gungan was stumbling after it, trying to grab it. He only flailed around, though, and fell on his nose.

Even the droid started laughing at this inept creature. It had chosen dying of laughter its favourite way of self-destruction. Padmé also couldn't help but smile. Anakin, on the other hand, was not exactly delighted that now the only functioning droid in their junk shop was about to self-destruct.

So when Jar Jar finally grabbed the little rusty thing, crying: "I got ya!" Anakin angrily shouted: "Hey! Hit the nose!"

After looking undecidedly at the droid for a few seconds, Jar Jar figured that hitting the nose was almost as much fun as pushing red buttons, so he leaned forward to do as he was told. Luckily, this droid was like a shark in that respect: It had a very sensible nose, so it snapped shut and sulked, ignoring the discourteous living beings around it who wouldn't let it self-destruct in peace.

oOo

Outside in the back yard, Qui-Gon seriously doubted that any of the parts stacked here still worked: everything looked rusty and at least half a century old. It looked more like a museum for prehistoric junk or maybe for modern art than a shop for mechanical parts.

But the shopkeeper wheedled him into taking a look at whatever he intended to show the Jedi.

"A T-14 hyperdrive generator. Thee in luck. I'm the only one hereabouts who has one," he lied straight into Qui-Gon's face. That just left the problem of it actually working properly.

"But thee might as well buy a new ship. It would be cheaper, I think, huh?" Watto said, stroking his chin in a very satisfied manner. This was his first costumer this week, and he would get as much money out of him as possible. It was not easy earning enough to be able to pay for the rent and food if the only thing you were selling was garbage. They usually made ends meet with what Anakin earned from cleaning the fans, but they had survived on a small margin these last few days.

Watto hoped that this deal would get him enough money to afford him to take up his hobby again: he just loved betting on the pod races. So he tried to make enquiries just how much this client was willing to pay.

"Saying of which, how's thee gonna pay for all this, huh?"

"I have that many Republic dataries," the strange man said, counting the exact number on his fingers once more. With only ten fingers available, it took Qui-Gon quite long to communicate that he had 20,000 dataries. The Jedi Master was glad that his apprentice wasn't there to see it. Obi-Wan would probably have blushed embarrassedly by now and wished for his Master to just be a bit more conventional on occasion.

Watto was not impressed by Qui-Gon's counting abilities.

Huh? Republic dataries? I can't believe there are still people trying to pay with that after the article on Tatooine was published on Wookiepedia, Watto thought. Where does that guy come from? Certainly not from around here as he wants to make everyone believe with his farmer's outfit. A person from Tatooine would never attempt to pay with THAT currency.

"Republic credits? Republic credits are no good out here. I need something more real," the Toydarian said, just a tad suspiciously.

More real? I think my money is plenty real. Well, it's certainly not imaginary! Qui-Gon thought, just a bit annoyed with this new obstacle. But he was very confident that this problem wouldn't be a problem much longer once he tried his approved-by-Qui-Gon method of dealing with creatures whose opinion differed from his.

"I don't have anything else," he conceded, but then, waving his hand in front of his chest, he assured: "But credits will do fine."

To his amazement, Watto answered: "No, they won't."

Blinking a few times in annoyed surprise, Qui-Gon insistently repeated: "Credits will do fine." The words were accompanied with another wave of his hand.

But just as stubbornly insistent, Watto retorted: "No, they won't! What, you think you're some kind of Jedi, waving your hand around like that? I'm a Toydarian! Mind tricks don't work on me. Only money," Watto informed Qui-Gon mockingly. "No money, no parts, no deal. And no one else has a T-14 hyperdrive, I promise you that."

Hoping that the stranger wouldn't see straight through this blatant lie – you could buy that kind of hyperdrive at just about every other corner, and in good working order, too – Watto stabbed a finger at this wanna-be Jedi.

Judging by the sour and unmistakably irritated expression on the man's face, though, he probably hadn't realized that. With a brusque nod and an insincere smile, but without another word, Qui-Gon turned around and stormed off.

Inside, Anakin had merrily continued boasting about his various abilities and skills, sending Jar Jar the occasional annoyed glare.

"Wouldn't have lasted long anyways if I wasn't so good at building things."

Jar Jar was once again hopping through the room, juggling stuff he wasn't supposed to have touched in the first place.

"We're leaving, Jar Jar," Qui-Gon snapped at him, not even bothering to turn around as he walked by. The irritating Gungan was the last thing he needed right now. Why again did I bring the useless, annoying creature along instead of my Padawan? Qui-Gon asked himself, not for the first and certainly not for the last time on this trip.

Padmé chose to follow the Jedi Master without protest as he seemed to be in a bad mood right now.

"I'm glad to have met you, Anakin!" she said as she left the shop in the wake of Qui-Gon.

"I was glad to meet you, too!" Anakin shouted after them just as Jar Jar walked out the door.

"Outlanders!" Watto spat disgustedly after they had left. "They think we know nothing."

When in fact they are the ones who know nothing. The big one couldn't even count properly, he silently added.

"They seemed nice to me," Anakin said.

"Clean the racks, then you can go home," Watto told him. He didn't want to listen to the boy talking about his new friends for the rest of the afternoon.

"Yippee!" Anakin shouted, jumping down from the counter he had been sitting on and running outside, while Watto threw a sinister glance at no one in particular.

oOo

A few hours earlier…

From the shadows of the space ship's hatch, Obi-Wan watched the small party leaving. A few moments before, Captain Panaka had strolled past him; the real Queen dressed in some plain clothes trailing in his wake. The Padawan was relieved that she didn't seem to notice him hidden in the shadows.

After a short discussion with Qui-Gon, the Captain returned to the ship alone. Obi-Wan didn't envy his Master. Now he would have to deal with an extremely pubescent Queen on top of the terribly annoying Gungan. Metaphorically on top, of course, not literally. Obi-Wan had to shudder at that thought. It would create enough problems that Padmé would marry his future apprentice; there was definitely no need to complicate things with a secret affair with Jar Jar.

Obi-Wan shook his head, looking up at the sky doubtfully. He wasn't even standing outside in the sun, and already he got such strange thoughts. Future apprentice…

Obi-Wan almost snorted. There he was suspecting his non-existent apprentice of being secretly married to a politician when he was still a Padawan himself! Sometimes he wondered if he had spent too much time around Qui-Gon.

With a last glance at the silhouettes of his Master, Jar Jar, Artoo and Padmé vanishing in the sweltering heat, Obi-Wan returned to the much cooler interior of their ship, thanking the Force for air conditioning. And although he was glad that he didn't have to look after the Gungan any more, he now wished that he had told Qui-Gon about Padmé's real identity.

He doubted that it would have done much good, as either Qui-Gon already knew about it and he would receive yet another lecture about how stating the obvious was of no use to anyone, or his Master would simply dismiss the fact, stating confidently that Padmé couldn't possibly be the Queen "because her face is certainly not white enough and her lips not red enough and her hairdo not elaborate enough for that, and besides, the Queen is sitting over there, can't you see her, Padawan? You must always be aware of your surroundings!"

Obi-Wan could almost hear his Master say that.

Still, Obi-Wan resolved to tell his Master at the next opportunity. And while he was at it, he would also remind him that he could get his money exchanged at one of the numerous credit institutes around town, that hyperdrives are best bought from a professional hyperdrive dealer and not some run-down junk shop, and to ask him to stay away from pod races and promising Chosen Ones.

Feeling a bit less worried now, Obi-Wan walked back into the ship. Having lots of time on his hands now, he decided to take another look at the hyperdrive and check all the other systems as well. It wouldn't do to install the new hyperdrive just to discover that something else didn't work properly.

But his plans of spending the rest of the day with the mechanical parts of the ship were foiled when one of the Queen's handmaidens approached him. Obi-Wan was a bit taken aback by her almost predatory smile, but resolved to be polite nonetheless.

"Padawan Kenobi – oh, that sounds so formal, I'll just call you Obi-Wan – the Queen would like to talk to you."

Surprised at the handmaiden's sudden familiarity, Obi-Wan just nodded. If whoever was Queen right now wanted to talk to him, he could hardly refuse. He just hoped that it wouldn't take too long.

oOo

Three hours later…

Obi-Wan had to suppress a huge yawn. For the major part of the last three hours, he had been sitting here, in this admittedly rather comfortable chair. Next to him sat Gertrudé, the handmaiden whom he had followed to the Queen, and Annetté, who was presently the Queen.

Obi-Wan looked around the opulent chamber – well, opulent for a space ship, anyway. This was the Queen's personal suite, hardly a fitting place for a Jedi Padawan to spend his afternoon. He still couldn't quite understand how he had gotten in this rather uncomfortable and boring situation. But when the Queen had asked – no, ordered, no less – that he come with them to be shown the Queen's entire wardrobe, he couldn't think of a polite way to decline. What he had not expected, though, was that all the handmaidens would put up a real fashion show for his sake, stalking around on the carpet-turned-catwalk, wearing the Queen's various robes and dresses.

Since they had started, the clothes had become continually more ridiculously complicated and completely bizarre. Obi-Wan had been forced to watch this display of royal garments, hoping and praying to the Force that something would rescue from having to attend much longer. He dreaded the moment they ran out of dresses and would start presenting the Queen's nightgowns or underwear - especially since Hanké, the only male handmaiden, was also eagerly participating in the fashion show, and Obi-Wan didn't want to get nightmares of him in pink undies and a matching bra.

He wondered what he had done to make the handmaidens believe than he wanted to see their Queen's assorted clothes. Or why they were continually asking his opinion on all the dresses.

He couldn't even guess how many times he had had to answer the question "Obi-Wan, do you think I look fat in this?" so far.

The girls seemed to have a lot of fun asking him all kinds of questions, like if he preferred blondes or brunettes, blue eyes or brown eyes and which colour was his favourite. He didn't think that that was any of their business, aside from the fact that he didn't see the point of all the asking.

Wracking his brains to find a polite way – or even any way – to escape from these frightening female predators with their fluttering eyelashes and their exaggeratedly swaying hips, he mostly gave non-committal answers or tried to evade the questions.

Relying heavily on his Jedi training to keep from fidgeting or simply running from the room, screaming, he started wondering if it would be reprehensible to use a tiny Force suggestion on the whole group of would-be mannequins to make them leave him in peace.

But before he could decide whether he could stand any more of this, his comm. came to his rescue, buzzing audibly.

Grateful to be able to get away from the Queen's suite, he quickly excused himself and fled to the cockpit. He wouldn't be disturbed there by anyone but the pilots, who had thankfully banished all young girls – including the Queen – from the cockpit. The pilots had thrown them out shortly after the beginning of their trip, not being able to concentrate because of their constant chattering.

There, he answered his comm. link. Unsurprisingly, it was Qui-Gon who called. Without preamble, he asked:

"You don't happen to have any more money, do you?"

What, he has already run out of money? What did he spend 20,000 credits on? Obi-Wan wondered. For that much money, he could have bought at least three and a half new hyperdrives!

"No, Master. I'm sorry; I don't have any more money. In fact, being a Jedi Padawan, I don't even possess any money at all."

Before Obi-Wan had the opportunity to ask how Qui-Gon had managed to spend the money, though, Qui-Gon interrupted him. The Jedi Master seemed to be quite irate. Maybe something hadn't worked out as he had planned.

"And the Queen? Does she have any additional money?"

Obi-Wan thought for a moment. "No, she doesn't. If she did, she would already have spent it, I suppose."

"How about jewellery? And isn't royalty obliged to always carry some kind of treasure chest with them?"

"I can ask her, but I highly doubt that they did bring a treasure chest. After all, we were in somewhat of a hurry when we left Naboo."

"And you're sure there's nothing left on board?" Qui-Gon asked, slightly exasperated.

Assessing everything he had seen on board so far for its value, Obi-Wan frowned.

"A few containers of supplies. The Queen's wardrobe, maybe, but not enough for you to barter with, not in the amount you're talking about."

In fact, Obi-Wan thought that the Queen's wardrobe had probably cost more that the whole ship. The problem was rather that they wouldn't find anyone willing to purchase heaps of extravagant and garish clothes in this rough spaceport.

Qui-Gon wondered if that remark was simply Obi-Wan's peculiar sense of humour, or whether there was a story behind it. Sounding less than exuberant at these new difficulties, Qui-Gon said: "All right. I'm sure another solution will present itself. I'll check back later."

"Wait, Master!"

But before Obi-Wan got the chance to say anything else, Qui-Gon had hung up on him without even saying goodbye.

Obi-Wan tried calling him back instantly to talk to him about all the things he wanted to tell him, like asking him if he had thought of exchanging their money or using his Master Card to withdraw the sum from the Temple's account. But it seemed that either his Master felt no desire to further talk to his apprentice, or he had switched his comm. off unintentionally.

With a frustrated sigh, Obi-Wan leaned back in his seat. Even if this might be a bit repetitive, he really had a bad feeling about this.

Then he remembered that he had at least managed to escape the 'Fashion Menace' as he had secretly titled the event taking place in the Queen's chambers. And he definitely wouldn't go back in there, no matter what politeness required. He would make up all kinds of ominous Jedi rituals if he had to, just to escape from the clutches of these girls.

oOo

Edited on 2nd January, 2011