Chapter 18

The words that were submissions to the challenge I set myself are highlighted in bold letters.

Disclaimer: If you believe, everything is possible. At least, that's what Disney movies always like to tell us.

oOo

Shmi's dinner tasted delicious, especially after a whole day of tinkering with Anakin's pod. Shmi had prepared Blugbahgova, one of the local specialities. Its main ingredient was whatever leftovers there were from the last few days. All these leftovers were mashed together into some kind of stew, so they didn't even have to endure Jar Jar's disgusting way of eating with his tongue, though that was unfortunately replaced by copious amounts of slurping.

When no one was looking, Qui-Gon stabbed Anakin's arm with his fork. There was something he needed to find out. Luckily for him, no one seemed to notice, nor did anyone particularly care.

oOo

After dinner, Shmi declared: "So, after this nice meal, who wants to help me wash the dishes?"

Before she had even finished the question, she suddenly found herself alone in the dining room. Apparently, no one felt inclined to help her with the dishes.

Anakin and Qui-Gon fled to the balcony where they sat looking up at the stars.

"Wow, look at that! My arm's bleeding. When did that happen?" Anakin was baffled.

"Uh, erm… I have no idea," Qui-Gon answered. He grabbed Anakin's arm. "Stay still, Ani. Let me clean this cut I didn't cause. It's not like I stabbed you with my fork or anything."

Anakin frowned for a moment. Then, with complete conviction, he declared: "Yeah, it was probably Obi-Wan's fault, as usual."

While Qui-Gon swabbed the scratch on Anakin's arm, never questioning the boy's last remark, Anakin's eyes were firmly fixed on the sky.

"There's so many. Do they all have a system of planets?" he asked.

"Who, Obi-Wan? No, there's only one of him, which is quite enough, if you ask me. And he doesn't own a single system of planets. Wherever did you get that idea?"

"Huh?" Anakin frowned. He didn't know a star called OB-1, and he had learned all the names of all the three planets that were talked about at the cantina: Iego (the one where the angels came from), Coruscant (which somehow was important, though Anakin didn't actually know why) and, naturally, Tatooine. "No, I was talking about them." Anakin nodded up at the stars.

"Oh. Yeah. Sure. Most of them do," Qui-Gon explained. "Except for this one, and this one. Oh, and this one, too. And this one and this…" he started pointing out random stars, but only 34% of them really didn't have their own star system. Navigation had never been his strongest suit.

Anakin was impressed. "Has anyone been to them all?" he asked.

Qui-Gon smiled, also looking up. "Hmmm. Not likely. If you want to believe in maths and physics and such things, you would probably like to know that with the number of worlds in just this Galaxy, it would take about 3,695,472 years to do that, and that's if you only spend 3.2 seconds on each planet, which might be good if the planet is rather uninhabitable, but what if the planet is really idyllic and you would like to stay much longer? And these 3.2 seconds are only possible if you don't include the time you would need to refuel or for check-ups and repairs in your calculations. At least, that's probably what my Padawan would tell you, but he's metacognating, if you ask me. That means I believe he thinks too much, though I can't quite remember if that's the right term. I myself am rather disinclined to believe in such vague things as science. If you just trust in the Living Force, you cannot possibly be wrong. Well, maybe you'll fail most of your exams because I've never heard of the Living Force solving equations, but then again, I won't be the one who will have to put up with when you'll fail all these tests because you didn't study properly."

Evidently, Anakin didn't much appreciate science, either, and was not especially dismayed at Qui-Gon's prediction of numerous failed exams. "I wanna be the first one to see them all." He sighed.

"Ani, bedtime!" Shmi shouted from inside the house. The dishes hadn't taken that long, after all.

Just then, Qui-Gon finished his ministrations to Anakin's arm. "There we are. Good as new."

"Ani, I'm not gonna tell you again!" Anakin's mother called once more.

"What are you doing?" Anakin asked, suspiciously eyeing Qui-Gon's fumbling with his comm. link.

"Checking your blood for infections," Qui-Gon lied smoothly, without so much as a moment's hesitation. Then, he sent Anakin off to bed. "Go on! You have a big day tomorrow, though it will only have 30 standard hours and 23 standard minutes, just like any other day on Tatooine does. Sleep well, Ani."

As soon as Anakin had vanished inside the house, Qui-Gon spoke into his comm. link.

"Obi-Wan?"

Not even half a second later, the apprentice answered, as though he had been waiting right next to the comm. station. In fact, Obi-Wan had once again sought shelter from the increasingly pushy flirting of the handmaidens and had spent the evening reading whatever interesting things he found on the holonet. He hadn't felt like another walk through the idyllic landscape of Tatooine, so the cockpit was the room of his choice.

So he sat right next to the ships comm. station when his Master called and instantly picked the comm. up when it rang.

"Yes, Master?"

"I need an analysis of this blood sample I'm sending you," Qui-Gon demanded, once again omitting the greeting.

Good evening to you, too! It's nice to hear from you, Master. Talking with Qui-Gon on the phone was never pleasant.

"But Master, you only have an ordinary comm. link, the only thing you can send with that is a transmission, certainly nothing solid, and it's not a miniature medical station to analyze blood samples."

But Qui-Gon wasn't listening any more. Instead, he was vigorously pressing various buttons on his comm. link to "transfer" the blood sample to Obi-Wan, which made the comm. on Obi-Wan's end of the connection beep wildly.

When the beeping finally subsided, Obi-Wan asked his Master to wait a minute so he could turn off the computer. As soon as he had turned away from it, lots of obtrusive advertisements had started flashing on the screen.

"I need a midi-chlorian count," Qui-Gon stated.

Oh no, not that again! Obi-Wan inwardly groaned. His Master had never been known for his apposite use of scientific terms. Sometimes he liked to use pseudo-scientific words that sounded very important but didn't have an actual meaning, like "metacognating".

Midi-chlorians, though, actually existed, but their correct name was mitochondria.

To Obi-Wan's knowledge, mitochondria were, in short, a part of every eukaryotic cell and had a vital part in aerobic metabolism. That much was commonly known.

Qui-Gon, though, didn't want to hear any of that. He persistently called them midi-chlorians and insisted that communication with the Force was only possible through them. Where he had gotten that weird conviction, Obi-Wan had no clue. For all the faith Qui-Gon put into the Force, his explanation for that mysterious entity every Jedi followed wherever it lead had always seemed a bit profane to Obi-Wan. Why his Master would stubbornly cling to that image when he could just as well have chosen any amount of more mysterious and profound explanations also seemed almost out of character for someone as opposed to science as Qui-Gon usually was.

Obi-Wan had tried to explain the purpose of mitochondria on numerous occasions and had even shown him some multicoloured pictures of cells to get his point across. Obviously, he hadn't had all that much success with his try at biological education for his Master.

The Padawan didn't feel up to yet another discussion with Qui-Gon about that (or any other) topic, so he decided to humour his Master with an answer.

He switched the computer back on and opened the holonet. Wookiepedia told him that one average human cell contained between 18,000 and 22,000 mitochondria.

But what will I do if he wants to see the readout? Obi-Wan asked himself. Since Obi-Wan hadn't really analyzed any blood samples, naturally there wasn't one. So he would just have to make up a result that would explain that lack of readouts.

"The reading is off the chart," he said. "Over 20,000!"

Belatedly spotting the fault in his own logic, he hurriedly added: "Even Master Yoda doesn't have a midi-chlorian count that high." Qui-Gon had naturally invented a scale that included Master Yoda's count.

"No Jedi has," Qui-Gon quietly stated.

"What does that mean?" Obi-Wan asked, a bit puzzled with his Master's answer. Had Qui-Gon just awarded the poor guy he had gotten the blood sample from (probably by means of a fork, Obi-Wan speculated) an extraordinarily high midi-chlorian count and therefore by his logic an extraordinary connection with the Force?

Instead of the enthusiastic lecture about some Chosen One or other with oh so much potential that Obi-Wan had secretly expected, he only got a dubious "I'm not sure" as an answer.

After that, the comm. link was once again silent. This time, though, Obi-Wan had not even expected a goodbye, since that was really too much to ask of a conversation that hadn't even started with a greeting.

What took him aback, though, was that Qui-Gon, who had made up all that stuff about midi-chlorians in the first place, was not sure of what his own fantasy had come up with. If his Master didn't understand his own little world any more, then how in all the galaxies should anyone else be able to?

Not exactly comforted, Obi-Wan returned to his computer game, but he soon switched it off again. What Qui-Gon had told him had distracted him, and his mind was on other things than the stupid game.

oOo

The next morning, it was finally the day of the podrace. All kinds of creatures had come to Mos Espa to watch the race. The participants were already getting ready. Strange beasts pulled even stranger contraptions on the flat space in front of huge stands, where the first spectators were already fighting for the best seats. Opposite the stands, there was a huge screen where the race was to be shown.

Off to the side, in the shade of a hangar, Watto was once again talking to Qui-Gon Jinn.

"I wanna see your spaceship the moment the race is over. The way the transparent image revolved was incredibly beautiful, and its pale bluish shade will forever be engraved into my memory. Let me see it again!"

"Patience, my blue friend," Qui-Gon chuckled. "You'll have your winnings before the suns set. And we'll be far away from here, laughing at your stupidity. Pfff, just look at you. You are ugly, you talk with a strange accent and you are generally an unpleasant… um, whatever you are. You can't win! We are the good guys! We always win, unless a tragedy is needed and one of us has to die."

"You don't win, not if your ship belongs to me, I think, huh? I sure know I couldn't bear to lose that wonderful blue image of a ship that will soon be in my possession. I warn you, no funny business," Watto half joked, half threatened.

Qui-Gon was not amused. "You don't think Anakin can win?" he asked.

"Don't get me wrongo," Watto tried to calm him. "I have great faith in the boy. He's a credit to your race. But if I may remind you of our first meeting, I think I've made very clear what I think of credits, so in my opinion, Sebulba there is going to win, I think."

He pointed to where the Dug was sitting, getting a manicure or rather pedicure (one could never be really sure with him) from two blue-skinned Twi'leks in tight yellow clothes whose colour clashed terribly with the shade of their skin.

Jar Jar still remembered his last encounter with Sebulba. His eyes widened in horror. "Oh no!" he screamed, so the audience didn't forget just how annoying a character he was.

"Why do you think that?" Qui-Gon asked. "You sound just like my apprentice, only he doesn't have such a funny accent. Then again, Obi-Wan would never bet on anyone, but only say something along the lines of podracing being very dangerous, or that he doesn't mind flying, but what Anakin is doing is suicide."

With an air that clearly stated that Qui-Gon obviously had no inkling of podraces (which in truth he hadn't) Watto informed them: "He always wins! I'm betting heavily on Sebulba," he said, as if the winnings were already in his pocket.

With Obi-Wan not there to keep Qui-Gon's gambling compulsion in check, the Jedi Master folded his arms across his chest, promptly saying: "I'll take that bet."

"What?" Watto was taken aback by this guy's willingness to take risks. With the way he was gambling though he practically owned nothing, he would own less than nothing in no time.

"I'll wager my new racing pod against, say, the boy and his mother."

There he went again, risking things that didn't belong to him. If he lost, which was by no means an impossibility, he would not only lose the Queen's ship, but also Anakin's podracer. Not that it was worth all that much, but still, it certainly was not his to use as a stake.

"No pod is worth two slaves, not by a long shot," Watto protested. Especially not what counted as a pod on Tatooine.

"The boy, then," Qui-Gon calmly proposed.

Watto seemed reluctant, but it was obvious that Qui-Gon was not the only one present who suffered from an addiction to gambling.

"We'll let fate decide, huh? Fate being, in that case, a chance cube (which is essentially a die just with colours instead of numbers because I couldn't tell one number from another if they danced on my nose and bit me) I just happen to carry in my pocket all the time. Of course it's not a fair die, but then again, I'm not exactly renowned for my fairness, am I? So, blue, it's the boy. Red, his mother," he offered, a malicious gleam in his eyes.

Watto threw the die… erm, sorry, "chance cube". Qui-Gon secretly smiled. Maybe his favourite way of convincing people didn't work on Toydarians, but it certainly worked on something as weak-minded as a cubic piece of plastic. Obi-Wan would have frowned at his Master's cheating, and with the Force at that, but Qui-Gon didn't have such scruples. Besides, he hadn't Force-suggested anything in the last five to eighteen hours and felt that a little practice to stay in shape was in order.

Watto was not pleased with the results. The chance cube showed blue, which in itself was an impossibility (Watto had seen to that), but he really didn't want to let Anakin go. He didn't know where that reluctance came from, but somehow he had a very bad feeling about Anakin going with that man. And not your average bad feeling, at that, but rather something of the scale that predicted the destruction of the Republic and the Jedi order (not that he cared very much about any of that, but still).

"You won this small toss, outlander, but you won't win the race," Watto shouted angrily. "So it makes little difference!"

He turned his back and flapped off.

Just as the blue shop owner was leaving, Padmé and Anakin, Shmi and Kitster arrived at the hangar. They were riding eopies, creatures that looked like an unfavourable crossbreed between hairless camels and pink elephants.

"Better stop your friend's betting, or I'll end up owning him, too," Watto said when he flew past them. He gave a malicious chuckle before he left for the stands.

"What did he mean by that?" Anakin inquired. What were the stakes Qui-Gon had raised? The boy hoped that the Jedi only wagered with things he owned, and not Anakin's precious podracer.

"I'll tell you later," Qui-Gon brushed the question aside.

He went straight to the eopie that carried Kitster and Shmi. Strange that she wasn't riding with her son, but with that other small boy.

Qui-Gon wished her a good morning and lifted her off her mount. Shmi had told her son just this morning that maybe she had found a new daddy for him, and to Anakin it seemed like she had not been entirely misguided in that aspect.

Next to the podracer, R2 and C-3PO were talking. Or rather, 3PO was doing the talking while R2 answered with his characteristic beeps and whistles.

"Oh, my. Space travel sounds rather perilous," C-3PO whined.

"Don't be such a sissy. Flying is the safest way of travelling, nowadays. Statistics show that podraces, for example, are much more dangerous than flying through space is," Artoo beeped.

"Still, I can assure you, they will never get me onto one of these dreadful starships," 3PO was seemingly the only one who was not able to predict the future correctly, be it in a sarcastic or serious manner.

Anakin's little friend Kitster was beside himself with excitement. "This is sooo wizard, Ani! I'm sure you'll do it this time."

"Do what?" Padmé asked.

The answer Kitster gave her was more than unsettling. "Finish the race, of course."

This only further increased the doubts she had about Qui-Gon's mad plan. "You've never won a race?" she asked, incredulous.

"Well, not exactly," Anakin grudgingly admitted.

"Not even finished?"

Anakin was furious with his friend for spilling the beans. Padmé didn't seem very impressed with his racing abilities so far, and he had really wanted to impress her. He wanted her admiration, which now seemed completely out of reach.

Instead of throwing the tantrum he felt like throwing, he pulled himself together for Padmé's sake (what would she think of him, after all) and said with as much optimism as he could summon, but with a slightly pained expression on his face: "Kitster's right. I will this time."

"Of course you will," Qui-Gon assured both Anakin and Padmé, whom he threw a reproachful look for her doubtful attitude.

oOo

When all the podracers had been pulled out on the track, the preparations were almost finished.

The commentator, an alien with not just one but two heads, was already eagerly doing his job. Everyone who has read "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy" would immediately identify him as Zaphod Beeblebrox, the only known person with more than one head (except maybe for Zaphod's grandfather).

"That's absolutely right!" the right head agreed with whatever the left one had just said. "And a big turnout here from all corners of the outer rim territories. I see the contestants are making their way out onto the starting grid. I see Ben Quadinaros from the Tund System…" - a green alien who somehow had a kite-like look about him waved at the cheering crowd of spectators. "Two-time winner Boles Roor." A few other contestants were announced.

After some gibberish (probably Huttese) from the other head, both shouted "Sebulba!" enthusiastically. The Dug waved for his fans and threw them kisses, looking more than a bit silly. The kiss-throwing just completely destroyed his image of a badass villain. Maybe he should fire his public relations agent.

The reporter continued: "And in the front row, nearside pole position, Mawhonic!" The three-eyed racer gave a bow. In the stands, his best friend Doctor Zeudberg (the crustacean guy from Futurama) jumped to his feet, shouting and cheering. "A hearty hello to Clegg Holfast and his Voltec KT9 Wasp!" With his huge eyes and the touch of make-up on his face, Clegg looked a bit effeminate.

"And back again, it's the mighty Dud Bolt with that incredible racing machine, the Vulptereen 327. And hoping for a big win today, Ody Mandrell, with his record-setting pit droid team. And a late entry, young Anakin Skywalker, a local boy." Obediently, Anakin also waved at the crowd.

"I see the flags are moving out onto the track," the commentator stated.

C-3PO had been chosen to carry the flag for Anakin. The boy had designed it himself, when he was about three. It showed blue doodling on a white background, which Anakin claimed represented his podracer.

Jar Jar was once again fiddling with the loose wires in the rubbish bins that were supposed to be the engines of Anakin's pod. One of the eopies farted and then laughed at Jar Jar, because it felt it was the more intelligent one of them. The Gungan didn't get the joke and mumbled some insults at the beast.

Meanwhile, Shmi was cautioning her son. "Be safe," she said, straightening his tunic.

"I will, mom. I promise. I'll try not to lose more than ten lifes at the most."

When Sebulba walked past Anakin's pod, he broke off one important-looking but actually completely useless piece of machinery. "Oops," he said, laughing malevolently.

"You won't walk away from this one, you slave scum," he threatened Anakin. "I will make sure that you lose all your lives today."

"Don't count on it, slime ball," Anakin countered.

"You're bantha fodder," Sebulba laughed evilly, and then he walked off to see to his own pod.

What he had not thought of was that banthas were herbivores and would probably get mad bantha disease if they ate meat. If you could get them to eat Anakin-fodder in the first place, that is.

oOo

Qui-Gon had come down on the racetrack to give some last-minute advice to Anakin. Force forbid the boy should forget that there was always a bigger fish. It was unthinkable, and he would lose the race for sure.

The Jedi was taking a good look at the pods of the other contestants. Although they were as different as the Chancellor and a Sith Lord or Anakin and a creepy guy in a black suit, they all had something in common: they looked entirely unable to do anything but sit there and wait for the end of the universe, because that was what must happen before any one of them would move on their own.

Some of these vehicles (for lack of a better word) were designed in the style of pods that were actually used in real races, others looked even worse than Anakin's.

Right next to some really professional-looking dummy pod stood a very bizarre one. Its creator had obviously raided a hospital for his spare parts. The whole structure was based on one of those beds that were unique to hospitals. There were at least five different microscopes and syringes were sticking out in all directions. Qui-Gon could further identify a stethoscope, a heart-lung-machine, and was that a proctoscope there next to the pulse monitor? The Jedi could only shake his head. This really was nothing like the podraces he had seen on Malastare.

Anakin's mother was just leaving. He winked at her as she walked past him, then he walked up to Anakin's pod.

"You all set, Ani?" he asked.

"Yep."

"Right." Qui-Gon heaved Anakin into his pod. "Remember; concentrate on the moment. Feel, don't think. Use your instincts," he advised.

"I will," Anakin agreed. "I will have to, because I'm not even sure I could think if the situation required it. The only thing I'm positive I could manage was feeling and not thinking, so it's all the better that you don't tell me to pay attention or concentrate or think."

Qui-Gon expressed his desire that the Force be with Anakin, patted his head and then got off the track.

The commentator announced Jabba the Hutt, the obese giant slug-like creature who was both the official and unofficial ruler of Tatooine.

"Welcome!" Jabba boomed. "Begin the race."

That was the signal for the participants. Everyone turned on their machines and the remaining aides and flag-bearers quickly scrambled off the track lest they got run over (not very probable) or someone started throwing things at them (the probability of that was actually not all that small).

"Hey, looks like they're clearing the grid," the commentator commented.

Qui-Gon and Jar Jar joined Shmi and Padmé. Somehow, though they didn't have any money to spare, they had gotten seats in one of the VIP boxes. These were round saucers wrapped around huge poles, and they curiously resembled the flying saucers the Senators used in the great convocation chamber. In fact, these were the saucers that had been stolen some 17 years ago and since then, everyone (especially the Senate) had been puzzled where they had been taken and why someone needed 34 Senate saucers.

"Is he nervous?" Shmi asked.

"He's fine," Qui-Gon answered much too quickly.

Padmé was still not convinced by Qui-Gon's insane plan and his unreasonable trust in that boy. "You Jedi are far too reckless. The Queen is not-"

"The Queen trusts my judgement, young handmaiden," Qui-Gon once again interrupted Padmé's misgivings. "You should too," he admonished her, just a bit condescending.

"You assume too much," Padmé mumbled. "You assume that I don't know my own mind. I'm not that insane yet."

"Start your engines," Zaphod shouted, which was absolutely superfluous since everyone had already started them at Jabba's order. Everyone looked ready to take off. The huge screen opposite the stands flashed on and showed the pods on the grid. The engines roared, the participants were fervently manipulating the various joysticks or game pads they used as steering devices.

Jar Jar was quickly losing his nerve and making everyone else lose their nerves, too, with his incessant fidgeting. "Oh, dissen gonna be messy! Me no watch'n!" he screamed, clapping his hands on his eyes.

The starting signal was the head of some poor critter that Jabba bit off and spit against a gong. The small creature expressed his distaste by dying noiselessly; hoping that its silent protest would help make a better world for future generations of small poor critters. Unfortunately, its sacrifice was in vain, because Jabba would still eat the creature's relatives in about 35 years, when Luke would pay him a visit.

A light flashed, and the podracers on the big screen shot away like a bullet from a gun. The actual podracers on the racetrack predictably didn't move a single inch. Except for Anakin's. Of course, his heap of junk didn't move either, and everyone would have been highly surprised had it been any different. But neither did it move on the screen.

"Oh, no!" Anakin shouted.

"Wait. Little Skywalker has stalled!" the commentator jeered, eliciting terrified screams from Anakin's friends and raucous laughter from everyone else.

It seemed Anakin had forgotten to plug in his control pad and so his virtual pod didn't budge.

None of the actual pods budged, though, because unlike in real podraces, no one put his life at stake here. True, you could lose your lives, but you were never in actual danger of getting hurt or dying, because this was a competition in who was best at playing video games. It was all a racing game.

But Anakin wasn't the only one having trouble. "It looks like Quadinaros is having engine trouble also."

While Ben Quadinaros lost his last life because he drove into a wall, Anakin plugged his game pad in and instantly was off, in hot pursuit of the rest of the racers.

"And there goes Skywalker! He will be hard-pressed to catch up with the leaders."

Jar Jar cheered excitedly. "Go, Ani, go!"

The rest of the race is quickly told. Anakin lost a few lifes, especially when the levels got more demanding, with additional Tusken Raiders in the second level and engine trouble in the third level. Shmi and Padmé occasionally gasped anxiously, Jar Jar cheered, the commentator commented. In the end, Anakin won because of a telephone book, a piece of junk he hurled at Sebulba, making him lose his concentration, and some lucky coincidence which was not further specified.

"Yippie!" Anakin shouted. He was exuberant. He had won! Of course he knew that he would win but the actual winning was electrifying, all the same.

The crowd went completely wild.

Qui-Gon, Shmi, Jar Jar and Padmé quickly ran to Anakin's pod.

"Yay, Ani!" Jar Jar screeched.

Qui-Gon heaved Anakin up on his shoulders. Anakin was high-spirited, shouting: "Mom, I did it! Yay!"

So Anakin had really won the race. Qui-Gon was already looking forward to telling Obi-Wan that Anakin had won, and with an unmoving pod, at that. He really would like to see his apprentice's face when he heard that, he expected it to be priceless.

On Jabba's balcony, his assistant poked him to wake him back up again. The crime lord had never liked watching stupid video games for hours, they were excessively boring. For his tastes, not nearly enough people died doing it.

oOo

Edited on 21st January, 2011