Star Wars: Episode I: The Phantom Menace

by Terry Brooks

  “Something’s wrong,” the pilot announced quietly, fighting the steering, feeling the ship shudder beneath. “Shields are down!”

  They continued to spin, to hug the cavernous shell of the Trade Federation battleship, so close that the larger guns were rendered useless and only the smaller could chance firing at them. But without shields even a glancing hit could be disastrous.

  “Sending out the repair crew!” Olié shouted, and flipped a lever.

  On the viewscreen, an airlock snapped open, and one by one a series of astromech droids popped out of the hatch and onto the transport’s hull. The transport straightened and leveled out, and the spinning stopped. The droids motored swiftly across the hull, seeking out the damage as Ric Olié hugged the battleship’s shadow in an effort to protect them.

  But now there was a new threat. Unable to bring the weapons of their warship to bear in an effective manner, the Trade Federation command dispatched a squad of starfighters. Small, sleek, robot attack ships, they consisted of twin compartments attached to a rounded, swept-back head. As they roared out of the battleship bays, their compartments opened into long slits that exposed their laser guns. Down the length of the mother ship they tore, seeking out the Queen’s transport. Fast and maneuverable, they had no trouble working close to the battleship’s hull. In seconds, they were on top of the transport, weapons firing. Ric Olié struggled to find cover and gain speed. Two of the R2 units were blown away, one on a direct hit, the second when its hold on the transport hull was shattered.

  On the viewscreen, the blue R2 unit could be seen working furiously to connect a series of wires exposed by a damaged hull plate. Laser fire lanced all around it, but it continued its effort without stopping. The fourth droid, working close by, disappeared in a cloud of shattered metal and brilliant fire.

  Now only the blue unit remained, still busy amid the onslaught of Trade Federation starfighters. Something changed on the cockpit display, and Ric Olié gave a shout of approval. “The shields are up! That little droid did it!” He jammed the thrusters all the way forward, and the transport rocketed away from both the battleship and the starfighters, leaving the Trade Federation blockade and the planet of Naboo behind.

  The lone R2 unit turned and motored back into the airlock and disappeared from view.

  When they were well away from any Trade Federation presence, Ric Olié made a thorough check of the controls, assessing their damage, trying to determine what was needed. Obi-Wan sat next to him in the copilot’s seat, lending help. Qui-Gon and Captain Panaka stood behind them, awaiting their report. The Queen and the rest of the Naboo had been secured in other chambers.

  Ric Olié shook his head doubtfully. “We can’t go far. The hyperdrive is leaking.”

  Qui-Gon Jinn nodded. “We’ll have to land somewhere to make repairs to the ship. What’s out there?”

  Ric Olié punched in a star chart, and they hunched over the monitor, studying it.

  “Here, Master,” Obi-Wan said, his sharp eyes picking out the only choice that made any sense. “Tatooine. It’s small, poor, and out of the way. It attracts little attention. The Trade Federation has no presence there.”

  “How can you be sure?” Captain Panaka asked quickly.

  Qui-Gon glanced at him. “It’s controlled by the Hutts.”

  Panaka started in alarm. “The Hutts?”

  “It’s risky,” Obi-Wan agreed, “but there’s no reasonable alternative.”

  Captain Panaka was not convinced. “You can’t take Her Royal Highness there! The Hutts are gangsters and slavers! If they discovered who she was—”

  “It would be no different than if we landed on a planet in a system controlled by the Trade Federation,” Qui-Gon interrupted, “except the Hutts aren’t looking for the Queen, which gives us an advantage.”

  The Queen’s head of security started to say something more, then thought better of it. He took a deep breath instead, frustration etched on his smooth, dark face, and turned away.

  Qui-Gon Jinn tapped Ric Olié on the shoulder. “Set course for Tatooine.”

  In a remote conference room on the Trade Federation’s flagship, Nute Gunray and Rune Haako sat side by side at a long table, staring nervously at a hologram of Darth Sidious positioned at the table’s head. The hologram shimmered with the movements of the Sith Lord’s dark cloak, a patchwork of small nuances that the Neimoidians found themselves unable to read.

  The Sith Lord had not been summoned. The Neimoidians would have been happy if he had chosen not to communicate with them at all this day. But in keeping with the way he always seemed to sense when things were not going right, he had appeared on his own. Demanding a report on the progress of the invasion, he had settled back to listen to Nute Gunray’s narrative and had said nothing since.

  “We control all the cities in the northern and western part of the Naboo territory,” the viceroy was relating, “and we are searching for any other settlements where resistance—”

  “Yes, yes,” Darth Sidious interrupted suddenly, his soft voice vaguely impatient. “You’ve done well. Now, then. Destroy all their high-ranking officials. Do so quietly, but be thorough.” He paused. “What of Queen Amidala? Has she signed the treaty?”

  Nute Gunray took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “She has disappeared, my lord. There was an escape—”

  “An escape?” The Sith Lord spoke the words in a low hiss.

  “One Naboo cruiser got past the blockade—”

  “How did she escape, Viceroy?”

  Nute Gunray looked at Rune Haako for help, but his counterpart was paralyzed with fear. “The Jedi, my lord. They found their way to her, overpowered her guards …”

  Darth Sidious stirred within his robes like a big cat, shadows glimmering within the confines of his concealing hood. “Viceroy, find her! I want that treaty signed!”

  “My lord, we have been unable to locate the ship she escaped on,” the Neimoidian admitted, wishing he could sink into the floor right then and there.

  “Viceroy!”

  “Once it got by us, we tried to give pursuit, but it managed to elude us! Now it’s out of our range—”

  A wave of one robed arm cut him short. “Not for a Sith, it isn’t,” the other whispered.

  Something shimmered in the background of the hologram, and a figure emerged from the darkness behind Darth Sidious. Nute Gunray froze. It was a second Sith Lord. But whereas Darth Sidious was a vague and shadowy presence, this new Sith was truly terrifying to look upon. His face was a mask of jagged red and black patterns, the design etched into his skin, and his skull was hairless and studded with a crown of short, hooked horns. Gleaming yellow eyes fixed on the Neimoidians, breaking past their defenses, stripping them bare and dismissing them as insignificant and foolish.

  “Viceroy,” Darth Sidious spoke softly in the sudden silence, “this is my apprentice, Lord Maul. He will find your lost ship.”

  Nute Gunray inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment, averting his eyes from the frightening presence. “Yes, my lord.”

  The hologram shimmered and disappeared, leaving the conference room empty of sound. The Neimoidians sat without moving, without even looking at each other, reptilian eyes fixed on the space the hologram had occupied.

  “This is getting out of hand,” Nute Gunray ventured finally, his voice high and tight, thinking that their plans for sabotaging the trade-routes tax did not contemplate risking their lives in the process.

  Rune Haako managed a quick nod. “We should not have made this bargain. What will happen when the Jedi become aware that we are doing business with these Sith Lords?”

  Nute Gunray, his hands clasped tightly before him, did not care to venture an answer.

  Aboard the Queen’s transport, the Jedi stood with Captain Panaka and the remaining R2 unit as the captain gave his report to the Queen on the events surrounding their escape through the Trade Federation blockade. Amidala sat surrounded by her three handmaidens, white face framed by t
he black headdress, dark eyes steady, listening as the captain concluded.

  “We are lucky to have this one in our service, Your Highness.” Panaka glanced down at the blue-domed astromech droid. “It is an extremely well put together little droid. Without a doubt, it saved the ship back there, not to mention our lives.”

  Amidala nodded, eyes shifting to the droid. “It is to be commended. What is its number?”

  The little blue droid, lights blinking on and off as it processed the conversation, gave a series of small beeps and tweets. Captain Panaka reached down and scraped a large smudge off the droid’s metal shell, then straightened.

  “Artoo-Detoo, Your Highness.”

  Queen Amidala leaned forward, and a slender white hand came out to touch the droid’s domed casing. “Thank you, Artoo-Detoo. You have proven both loyal and brave.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Padmé.”

  One of her handmaidens came forward. Qui-Gon Jinn, listening to the exchange with half an ear as he considered the problems that lay ahead on Tatooine, noticed it was the young woman who had supported the Queen’s decision to escape from Naboo. He frowned. Except, it hadn’t been exactly like that …

  “See to the cleaning up of this little droid.” The Queen was speaking to the girl. “Artoo-Detoo deserves our gratitude.” She turned back to Panaka. “Please continue with your report, Captain.”

  Panaka glanced uncomfortably at the Jedi Knights. “Your Highness, we are heading for a remote planet called Tatooine.” He paused, unwilling to speak further on the matter.

  “It is a system far beyond the reach of the Trade Federation.” Qui-Gon stepped into the gap smoothly. “Once there, we will be able to make needed repairs to the ship, then to travel on to Coruscant and complete our journey.”

  “Your Highness,” Captain Panaka said quickly, regaining his thoughts on the matter. “Tatooine is very dangerous. It’s controlled by the Hutts. The Hutts are gangsters and slavers. I do not agree with the Jedi on their decision to land there.”

  The Queen looked at Qui-Gon. The Jedi did not waver. “You must trust my judgment, Your Highness.”

  “Must I?” Amidala asked quietly. She shifted her gaze to her handmaidens, ending with Padmé. The girl had not moved from the Queen’s side, but seemed to remember suddenly she had been given a task to complete. She nodded briefly to the Queen, and moved to take R2-D2 in hand.

  Amidala looked back at Qui-Gon Jinn. “We are in your hands,” she advised, and the matter was settled.

  Jar Jar Binks had been left in the droid storage hold until after the lone R2 unit returned through the airlock and the Naboo came to retrieve it. They didn’t seem to have any orders regarding the Gungan, so they simply left him to his own devices. At first Jar Jar was reluctant to venture out, still thinking of the younger Jedi’s admonishment to stay put and out of trouble. He’d managed one out of two, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to tempt fate.

  But in the end his curiosity and restlessness got the better of him. The transport had stopped spinning, the Trade Federation attack had ceased, and the warning alarms had been silenced. Everything was peaceful, and the Gungan saw no reason why he should have to stay shut away in this tiny room for one more minute.

  So he cracked the door, stuck his billed face out for a look around, eyestalks swiveling guardedly, saw no one, and made his decision. He left the storage room and wandered along the ship’s corridors—choosing a path that took him away from the cockpit, where the Jedi were likely to be found. He waited for someone to tell him to go back to where he had come from, but no one did, so he began to poke into things, careful what he touched, but unable to help himself sufficiently to forgo all investigation.

  He was following a narrow corridor that led up from the lower levels of the transport to the main cabin when he poked his head through an airlock to find one of the Queen’s handmaidens hard at work with an old cloth cleaning the R2 astromech droid.

  “Heydey ho!” he called out.

  The handmaiden and the R2 unit both started, the girl with a small cry and the droid with a loud beep. Jar Jar jumped in turn, then slowly eased himself through the opening, embarrassed that he had frightened them so badly.

  “Me sorry,” he apologized. “Me not mean to scare yous. Okeday?”

  The girl smiled. “That’s all right. Come over here.”

  Jar Jar came forward a few steps, studying the condition of the droid. “Me find oilcan back dere. Yous need it?”

  The girl nodded. “It would help. This little guy is quite a mess.”

  Jar Jar scrambled back through the opening, groped about a bit, found the oilcan he had remembered, and brought it to the girl. “This helps?”

  “Thank you,” she said, accepting the can. She flipped up the cap and poured some of the oil onto the cloth, then began rubbing the R2 unit’s dome.

  “Me Jar Jar Binks,” Jar Jar said after a few moments, taking a chance on trying to continue the conversation. He liked this Naboo girl.

  “I’m Padmé,” the girl answered. “I attend Her Highness, Queen Amidala. This is Artoo-Detoo.” She rubbed a black smudge from the droid’s strut. “You’re a Gungan, aren’t you?” Jar Jar nodded, long ears flapping against his neck. “How did you end up here with us?”

  Jar Jar thought about it a minute. “Me not know exactly. Da day start okeday wit da sunnup. Me munchen clams. Den, boom! Maccaneks every which way, dey flyen, dey scooten … Me get very scared. Den Jedi runnen, and me grab Quiggon, den maccaneks rollen over, den go down under da lake to Otoh Gunga ta da Boss Nass …”

  He stopped, not knowing where else to go. Padmé was nodding encouragingly. R2-D2 beeped. “Tis ’bout it. Before me know what, pow! Me here!”

  He sat back on his haunches and shrugged. “Get very, very scared.”

  He looked from the girl to the droid. Padmé smiled some more. R2-D2 beeped again. Jar Jar felt pretty good.

  In the cockpit, Ric Olié was directing the transport toward a large yellowish planet that was steadily filling up the viewport as they approached its surface. The Jedi and Captain Panaka stood behind him, peering over his shoulder at the ground maps he had punched up on the monitors.

  “Tatooine,” Obi-Wan Kenobi confirmed, speaking to no one in particular.

  Ric Olié pointed to one of the maps on the scopes. “There’s a settlement that should have what we need … a spaceport, it looks like. Mos Espa.” He glanced up at the Jedi.

  “Land near the city’s outskirts,” Qui-Gon Jinn ordered. “We don’t want to attract attention.”

  The pilot nodded and began to guide the transport in. It took only moments to direct it down through the planet’s atmosphere to a patch of desert just in sight of the city. The Nubian landed in a swirl of dust, settling comfortably in place atop its landing struts. In the distance, Mos Espa glimmered faintly through the shimmer of the midday heat.

  Qui-Gon sent his protégé to uncouple the hyperdrive and Captain Panaka to advise the Queen of their landing. He was settled on going into the spaceport alone as he left the cockpit to find other clothing and came upon Jar Jar Binks, the Queen’s handmaiden Padmé, and the little R2 unit.

  He slowed, considering the possibility that going into the city alone would make him more noticeable. “Jar Jar,” he said finally. “Get ready. You’re going with me. The droid as well.”

  He continued on without looking back. The Gungan stared after him in disbelief, then in horror. By the time he regained his wits, the Jedi was out of view. Wailing in dismay, he chased after him and came upon Obi-Wan in the main cabin hoisting the hyperdrive out of the bowels of the ship.

  “Obi-One, sire!” he gasped, throwing himself to his knees in front of the younger Jedi. “Pleeese, me no go wit Quiggon!”

  Obi-Wan was inclined to agree, but knew better than to say so. “Sorry, but Qui-Gon is right. This is a multinational spaceport, a trading center. You’ll make him appear less obvious by going along.” His brow furrowed as he turned back to the hyperdrive. “I
hope,” he muttered to himself.

  Jar Jar climbed to his feet and trudged disconsolately toward R2-D2, his mouth set in a grimace of forbearance. The astromech droid beeped in sympathy, then made a series of encouraging clicks.

  Qui-Gon reappeared, dressed now as a farmer in tunic, leggings, and a poncho. He walked past them to where Obi-Wan was studying the hyperdrive. “What have you found?”

  Obi-Wan’s young face clouded. “The generator is shot. We’ll need a new one.”

  “I thought as much.” The Jedi Master knelt next to his protégé. “Well, we can’t risk a communication with Coruscant this far out on the edge of the galaxy. It might be intercepted and our position revealed. We’ll have to get by on our own.” He lowered his voice to a near whisper. “Don’t let anyone send a transmission while I’m gone. Be wary, Obi-Wan. I sense a disturbance in the Force.”

  Obi-Wan’s eyes lifted to find his. “I feel it also, Master. I will be careful.”

  Qui-Gon rose, gathered up Jar Jar and the R2 unit, and headed down the loading ramp to the planet’s floor. An empty carpet of sand stretched away in all directions, broken only by massive rock formations and the distant skyline of Mos Espa. The suns that gave the planet life beat down with such ferocity that it seemed as if they were determined to steal that life back again. Heat rose off the sand in a shimmering wave, and the air was so dry it sucked the moisture from their throat and nose passages.

  Jar Jar glanced skyward, eyestalks craning, billed amphibious face wrinkling in dismay. “Dis sun gonna do murder ta da skin of dis Gungan,” he muttered.

  At a signal from Qui-Gon, they began to walk—or, in the case of the R2 unit, to roll. A strange caravan of animals and riders, carts and sleds appeared against the distant skyline like a shadowy mirage, all misshapen and threatening to evaporate in the blink of an eye. Jar Jar muttered some more, but no one was paying attention.