Chapter 3 - The Wining and Dining (TPM)

Author's Note: Warning: Child abuse.

~ Rivana Rita

I press my hand against the wall to keep my balance, panting. Maybe sneaking past Cotan, where he's cleaning the mess caused by the sandstorm, out of our master's shop to come over to Watto's wasn't a wise decision. He will not be happy when he realizes I've run off. Still, I had to hear this. I peak around the corner, hurriedly taking in the scene before ducking out of sight again.

Jar Jar is seated on a pile of boxes next to the shop, Artoo nearby. Padme moves over with a worried frown, stopping Qui-Gon before he can enter the shop. "Are you sure about this?" I hear her asking. "Trusting our fate to a boy we hardly know. The Queen will not approve." Queen? They're here for a queen? Or is she here with them? My curiosity is perked instantly, and I find myself determined to find out as much as possible about our unique visitors.

"The Queen does not need to know," Qui-Gon replies calmly.

"Well, I don't approve," Padme states as I hear him going through the doorway into the shop. Why would that matter? Unless she is someone important... which she probably is, considering she's out here with the Jedi. I'm admittedly annoyed and a little hurt that she doesn't trust Anakin on this. Clearly, their friendship is rather one-sided. I'm suddenly itching to go over and argue on Anakin's behalf.

Beyond the wall, I can hear Watto and Anakin having a very animated argument in Huttese, and I'm honestly grateful I can't understand a word. "The boy tells me you wanta sponsor him insa race. You can't afford parts. How can you do this?" Watto asks. It's a reasonable enough question. Good enough to make me pause going to talk to Padme to listen to the conversation. "Not on Republic credits, I think," Watto says, then chuckles, only serving to make my irritation flare. It's not their fault they didn't know anything about the monetary situation on Tatooine.

"My ship will be the entry fee," Qui-Gon replies, completely unfazed. His ship? Wait, what is he thinking?

Watto is murmuring something, but I can't make out what.

"It's in good order, except for the parts we need," Qui-Gon informs him.

"But what would the boy ride?" objects Watto, "He smashed up my Pod in the last race. It will take some time to fix it." Oh, great. Padme probably heard that. Just another reason to make her doubt Anakin.

"It wasn't my fault really," Anakin argues almost instantly. "Sebulba flashed me with his vent ports. I actually saved the Pod... mostly." If I keep hiding, I'll be able to hear more information, but at the same time... I want Padme's trust. I really do. It doesn't make much sense considering my concerns last night, but I can't help it.

"That you did," I hear Watto laugh. "The boy is good, no doubts there." Finally summoning the courage and deciding it's best to do this when the Jedi isn't there, I step around the corner. Padme does not look surprised to see me there, which is strange.

"Ani win," I insist. "Pod strong. Build for two years."

She sighs lightly, moving over to me and kneeling so we're closer to eye level. "I'm sure it is," she replies quietly, careful to make sure no one can overhear, "But the fate of an entire people depends on us relaying this message to Coruscant." I probably should understand that, but I don't. Not really. I blame it on my five-year-old mind. Inside the shop, I vaguely register a conversation – something about dividing the winnings.

Before I can think up a proper argument, a sudden angry voice jerks me away from the conversation. "Ashla, you sneaky little runaway slave girl!" I jump, whipping around to see a livid Twi'lek stalking towards me.

"You better alone?" I supply, instinctively taking a step backward.

"I would like to see you telling your master that, young one," Cotan says darkly.

"What's the matter?" Padme inquires, seeming to suddenly switch out of her friendly form into something far more... formal.

"We were supposed to be cleaning out our master's store, and this little one took off the moment I turned my back," Cotan explains, his eyes never once leaving me as if he were afraid I might disappear. Considering his rage right now, I think I'd like that. I knew he'd be mad, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't scared.

"Oops?"

"Come on, Ashla," he orders, tone commanding. Great. He can't be argued with right now. Very slowly, I move forwards, suddenly feeling ashamed of my own stupidity. "If you're going to survive here, you'll have to learn better than that. Come on," Cotan snaps, waiting until I move past him to keep going. Probably because he knows if he looks away again, I'll be taking off. He knows fully well how much I hate our job. "And you, young one, have the honor of explaining the situation to our master."

**w**

Anakin's lucky. Or maybe it's just that I'm unlucky. My master made me stay at his shop much later than usual, which he deemed a sufficient punishment for sneaking off. I blame Cotan. He's a tattletale. At least he could have taken the fall for it with me. Or maybe he's trying to get across the message that here on Tatooine, no one can stick up for each other. We all have only ourselves to worry about. Too bad. I'm going to help my friends. Nothing will stop me from it.

Grumbling under my breath, I inspect the stinging, slowly forming bruise on my arm. I hate my so-called master. I suppose it's better than it could be. I think he often forgets how easy it is to injure a five-year-old.

"Ashla?" Cotan's voice filtering through the door instantly reminds me that I'm still in the shop, even if I'm half-hiding in the back room. I instantly yank my sleeve back down over my arm, spinning around to face him with the most severe glare I can manage, but fail as tears sting at my eyes again.

"You mean." I don't quite manage to conceal the slight tremor in my voice.

Cotan looks completely unimpressed. "It's not much longer. Don't let that Skywalker boy you're hanging out with all the time be too distracting."

"He no distracting!" I yell angrily.

"They why were you running off to his shop when you were supposed to be here?" the Twi'lek poses, crossing his arms, blue eyes narrowed on me. I hate him. I really, really hate him.

"He my friend. Not you," I snap. "Here no home." I cut myself off, realize that didn't make an ounce of sense. Ugh, language barriers are the worst. They're a horror that must be lived to be believed. At least Cotan somewhat understands my limited knowledge of Basic.

"Tatooine isn't a place where you can worry yourself about everyone else," he continues seriously, "You need to take care of yourself. Let it be what it is. Keep to yourself. Maybe someday you won't have to stay here anymore, but you're here now, and dreaming about the future won't change anything. It's your work time now. You'll have the rest of the day to fool around if you choose. That's how it works. We all have to do our share to live. Now come." The Twi'lek spins around and walks out of the room, his cold expression unchanging.

One day I promise silently. One day I won't have to stay here. One day I'll be able to do whatever I want. One day, I'll be free. I just need to get out. I hate this so-called job. Why couldn't I have been sold to Watto, at least? Then I could officially live with Anakin and wouldn't have to worry about Cotan hovering over my shoulder all the time. Maybe if he weren't so cold all the time, I wouldn't hate everything so much. I'd love to work with Anakin. At least him and Shmi care.

I hate everything about here. I hate the planet. I hate being called a thing instead of a person. I hate this job. I hate my so-called master who just wants to get rid of me, and almost seems to regret buying me in the first place. And I definitely hate the Twi'lek slave I have to live with, courtesy of our so-called master, because a five-year-old can't live alone in a house. The only thing I have to be grateful for is my best friend, who wouldn't even have a problem letting go of me anyway. He makes friends easily, even if he doesn't give his full trust quickly.

There's no saying what could happen. I could easily end up getting sent off to some other slaver a distance away, and then I'd never be able to see Anakin again, probably ever. And I need him. I need them both. I'm no one without them.

"Ashla, are you coming?" Cotan calls. Can someone grant me permission to punch him? Is it really too much to ask to take the time to calm down? My eyes dart around the room in search of somewhere to hide, some dark corner I could disappear into for a little while. When I don't see one right away, I decide it would probably be better to go. After all, I hardly need my master to be even more upset.

Minutes later, I find myself working again. "You ought to just listen," Cotan murmurs after many long moments of silence. "He hardly considers you to be making as much as he's spending on you. He's going to get rid of you one of these days if you don't stop taking off."

Anger bubbles inside me, surging up to the surface. I am not a thing to be gotten rid of or be spent on. "I not a thing!" I yell finally, unable to remain silent any longer.

He jumps slightly, clearly startled. "Maybe not," he concedes after a pause, nearly earning a punch from me for indicating I might be, "But our master sees it that way. He expects his workers to bring him profit."

"He crazy," I snap, spinning around and stalking a distance off. Cotan wisely decides against commenting further. I have no idea what he's trying to accomplish, but he never manages to do anything other than making me angry.

After what feels like forever, the day is finally over. I think Anakin's already been off for a while. He's probably finishing up his Pod without me, which is totally unfair. I run through the lines of houses, turning more on instinct from the many times I've walked these streets than from sight. I could probably walk through them with my eyes closed and still make it to the right spot. As I approach Anakin's house, I pause a distance away out of sight to try and overhear what's going on, as I always do.

I recognize the first voice I hear instantly. It's Qui-Gon, and I think he's talking to someone over a comm, because I don't recognize the other person's voice. "What if this plan fails, Master? We could be stuck here for a long time," a voice I don't recognize is saying. I frown instantly. Master? Jedi don't have slaves, right? Moving slightly, I edge forwards to get a better view.

Qui-Gon is standing on the porch, speaking into a comm link. "A ship without a power supply will not get us anywhere, and there is something about this boy and his friend." He puts it away as Shmi walks out of the house to join him, overlooking the Pod. I really want to know more about this. The sight reminds me of my small hope that he'll be able to free us. He's a Jedi. He's got to be able to do something.

"You should be proud of your son. He gives without any thought of reward," Qui-Gon murmurs as they move over to watch. I crouch out of sight, completely unnoticed. Or, if they notice, they don't mention it or move to glance my direction. I know how to hide. It's something all us children have to learn on Tatooine. Where to hide and when to run.

"He knows nothing of greed. He has..." Shmi trails off thoughtfully.

"He has special powers." It's more a statement than a question, like he already knows but still wants confirmation.

"Yes," she confirms.

"He can see things before they happen. That's why he appears to have such quick reflexes. It is a Jedi trait," Qui-Gon explains. A Jedi trait. All this time, there's nothing we've ever wanted more than to leave here and become Jedi. And maybe – maybe it's not impossible. "Have you noticed the same traits in Ashla?" he queries.

There is a pause, but then she nods in confirmation. "They're not as obvious, but they are there. They deserve better than a slave's life." The remainder of my frustration washes away, replaced with its usual hopefulness.

"The Force is usually strong with them, especially Anakin. Who was his father?" Qui-Gon inquires. And that's the question I've been wondering for a long time. I never knew anything about him. No one mentioned him, and I've never even seen anything implying he existed. Which is weird, and impossible.

"There was no father that I know of," Shmi replies hesitantly. "I carried him. I gave him birth. I can't explain what happened." And that is impossible. Except apparently not. I've never been able to understand this. Faintly, I hear a group of people approaching. Of course. Kitster and the other children our age are coming. And I have to beat them.

I move back from my hiding spot, breaking into a run. I stop in the shadows, just behind Anakin where he stands next to the Pod, inspecting the endless circuits and connecting the last of the wires. Artoo is a distance away while Padme and Jar Jar walk around it, helping Anakin whenever they have a chance.

A mischievous grin spreads across my face as I move sideways, readying myself for my arrival. With an over-excited squeal, I bolt across the area, tackling Anakin in a hug before he even turns around.

"Ashla!" he yelps, stumbling forwards as he's thrown off balance. I giggle in spite of myself, letting go of him and dropping to the ground.

"How many times have I told you not to do that?" Anakin chides, though he can't possibly be too annoyed considering he's laughing also.

"Not enough," I chirp.

Our conversation is interrupted as five familiar figures come out of the shadows towards us. They're all slave children from nearby, though the only one I actually count as a friend is Kitster, who's around Anakin's age. His skin is slightly darker than Anakin's, and his hair is black. Three of the others are human. There are two girls, one a little older than us and one slightly younger. They both have brown hair, and the older has it in a braid while the younger wears it up. The other human is a chestnut-haired boy. Personally, I don't like any of them. They're quite obviously jealous of Anakin's abilities.

The one in front is a bluish-green skinned Rodian named Wald. He's six, though much bigger than me. His pupil-less eyes are large and light blue, just like all those of his species. He's holding a ball with one hand, clearly hoping we can go play with them. The four of them dress in darker colors, which is weird given the hot temperatures of Tatooine. Kitster wears a similar color to Anakin and me.

"Padme and Jar Jar," Anakin introduces, "This is my friend Kitster."

"Wow, a real Astro Droid. How'd you get so lucky?" Kitster asks, obviously impressed, as Anakin circles to the opposite side of the Pod, checking it out there as well.

"This isn't even half of it. I'm entering in the Boonta Race tomorrow," Anakin reveals grinning.

"What? With this?" Kitster exclaims, his expression shifting to one of surprise.

"Yes!" I cry excitedly, "It near finish!" I want to move over to Anakin but opt in favor of remaining next to Kitster instead, since I don't want to go near the other children. I don't like them. At all. Part of me wishes they'd stop staring and go, so we can finish this in peace.

The Rodian, Wald, is the first to react. He covers his mouth with his hand to conceal a laugh. "You are such a joke, Ani," he says in Huttese, and I can understand the words half from the tone and broken syllables I translate.

"It true!" I yell fiercely.

"You've been working on that thing for years. It's never going to run," the older of the girls says scornfully.

"Come on, let's go play ball," calls the younger, starting to turn away.

"Keep it up, Ani, and you're gonna be bug squash," is their parting shot, coming from the boy, as he walks off. I glower at them, almost wanting to run after and give them a piece of my mind. Granted, I'll fight to the end to defend my best friend, even if it's just against insults from silly, jealous slave children who seem to understand literally nothing about how the world works.

My gaze catches Jar Jar standing next to the energy binders attaching the engines. I don't understand much about machines, but I certainly know that if he moves wrong, he's going to get himself hurt.

"Jar Jar! Stay way from there," I warn, hurrying over to him.

"Who, mesa?" he inquires, seeming confused.

"If your hand gets caught in that beam, it will go numb for hours," Anakin cautions.

The tool Jar Jar was holding slips from his hand, landing lightly in the sand as I circle around one of the engines over to him. Right before I can crawl down there to reach it, Jar Jar leans down to pick it up, only for the beam to hit him right in the mouth. The Gungan leaps backwards with a yelp, tongue dangling out of his mouth. "Ouch. Dats muy bigo oucho!" he cries, continuing with a series of similar complaints I can't understand a syllable of. I reach down, crawling partly under the engine and reach out to retrieve the tool.

My leg hits something sharp, and I feel a stab of pain run through it, but I don't give it much attention, but instead pick up the tool and scurry back out from under.

"But you don't even know if this thing will run," I hear Kitster pointing out.

"It will!" Anakin replies with certainty.

"I think it's time we found out," Qui-Gon's voice draws my attention to the doorway which leads up to the porch of my best friend's house. He's holding an object in his hand, something like a battery for the Pod.

Beside me, Jar Jar, who never seems capable of learning his lesson, continues poking at the engines. Somehow, his left hand gets caught inside. I groan loudly, reaching up to grab his other hand, yanking him free just as the engines flare to life.

I scramble out of the way to see Anakin now seated in the pod, his hands resting on the controls. It worked. It worked. We were right. A long-suppressed squeal escapes me. He's going to enter one of the most major Pod races tomorrow, and given the intricate way it was built, there's no way Sebulba could destroy it unless Anakin did something stupid. Which he wouldn't.

The overbearing, blinding light of excitement rises through me, giving me a new boost of excitement, hope, and purpose. He'll win. For the first time, Anakin will win.

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