by Watson, Jude
He stopped at the edge and watched for a moment. Hydrospanners clanged and macrofusers flew. Someone yelled for a fusioncutter. Some of the Podracer pilots sat on elaborate folding chairs, sipping grog or tea and keeping a watchful eye on their mechanics. Other pilots, not yet rich enough to have someone else to tweak their engines, worked steadily and with enormous concentration. The smallest mistake could cause a Podracer to turn a fraction too sluggishly, resulting in a spectacular crash.
Anakin recognized Aldar Beedo, a Glymphid he had raced against several times. He was surprised Beedo was still alive, let alone racing. Beedo had never been particularly skillful, but he’d been cunning and fearless and willing to cheat, and that had made him more successful at Podracing than he had any right to be. Anakin would have thought he’d have crashed or been run out of the Podraces by this time. Then again, there wasn’t much policing of Podracing. Race officials attempted to keep some sort of control, but Podracers schemed to get away with as much as they could.
Anakin noticed a Podracer mechanic nearby. He could only see a pair of short legs sticking out from underneath while another mechanic stood near the console, pushing buttons in what appeared to be a random fashion. The two mechanics were Aleenas. He recognized their three-toed feet and bluish scaly skin. The Podracer looked familiar. It had been re-painted and buffed, but he was sure he recognized it. He took a couple of steps closer.
“Doby, hand me that hydrospanner, will you? I’ve almost got this fused. Then we can start her up again.”
A hydrospanner twirled through the air, nearly taking off the tip of Anakin’s nose. A hand reached up from underneath the Podracer and caught it.
“Go ahead and use it, but I’m telling you, Deland, it’s not the joint,” the mechanic at the console said. “No chance, never ever. If the engine overheats during gear switches, it’s got to be a sensor problem.”
“But the sensor doesn’t show a problem, blope-head.”
“That’s the problem, bantha-breath. If you’d just let me finish checking out the sensor suite…”
“I’ve been doing this longer than you have, baby brother, so slap your flapping lips shut.”
“You’re only fourteen months older…”
“Fourteen and a half. And I’m the pilot. You’re the mechanic.”
“My point exact—”
“Got it!” A face stained with grease appeared in a pair of grimy welding goggles. Deland sprang to his feet in one motion. “Let’s fire her up.”
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Anakin said.
Doby and Deland peered at him from behind their goggles.
“And we should listen to you because?” Deland asked.
Anakin took a step closer. “Because if your engine is overheating during gear changes, the problem could be in the current filter. Have you used an impulse detector?” The words flowed easily, like a native language he had not spoken in years but would never forget.
“Not that it’s your business, but yes,” Doby said. “It didn’t show anything wrong.”
“Then it’s definitely the current filter,” Anakin said. “It’s clogged.”
“Slap it shut, you son of a durkii,” Deland warned his brother. “This guy could be working for another Podracer. He’s just trying to spook us.”
Doby leaned toward his brother and said in a whisper, “Haven’t you noticed? He’s a Jedi.”
“He’s a fraud and a fake,” Deland hissed. “Sebulba probably hired him.”
Anakin felt a rush of heat that made his face flame. Back on Tatooine, Sebulba the Dug had tried to cheat his way to victory in the Boonta Eve race and nearly killed Anakin in the process. They had always sparred, though Sebulba had never taken him seriously enough to worry about him. Until the race on Boonta Eve, when he’d beaten him in an extremely close race. “Sebulba is still racing?”
“Everybody knows that,” Deland said. “Now I know you’re lying. Doby, fire up that engine!”
“You’re going to blow out the intake valves on the turbines,” Anakin warned.
In answer, Deland reached over and flipped on the engine. Anakin had already stepped out of the way. A loud explosion blew Deland back onto the ground. Doby was almost blasted by a roar of fire from the left turbine. Anakin reached over and shut off the engine.
“I’ll be a Kowakian monkey-lizard!” Doby cried. “You were right!”
Deland picked himself up and dusted off his leggings. “Lucky guess.”
“Are you two related to Ratts Tyerell?” Anakin asked curiously. “I think I recognize this Podracer.”
Doby nodded proudly. “He was our father. He died in the great Boonta Eve Classic six years ago. Did you know him?”
“I raced against him in that race,” Anakin said. “He was one of the fastest. Incredibly quick reflexes.”
“Not quick enough,” Doby said sorrowfully.
“Lying again,” Deland said to Anakin. “No human can be a Podracer.”
“One was,” Doby said. “A human child. A slave. He won his freedom, and after the race he disappeared. His name was—”
“Anakin Skywalker,” Anakin supplied. “Pleased to meet you.”
“Now you’re a Jedi?” Doby asked in disbelief. “And you were a slave?”
“It’s a strange galaxy,” Anakin said with a grin.
“Totally true,” Doby agreed.
“Don’t want to interrupt this getting-to-know-you gush, but we have a job to do,” Deland said gruffly.
“I’ll help you if you want,” Anakin said spontaneously. He’d love to get his hands on a Podracer engine again, but he knew Obi-Wan would certainly disapprove.
“What’s in it for you?” Deland asked suspiciously.
“Who cares?” Doby asked. “He beat Sebulba, Deland! Now we have to.” He turned to Anakin. “After our father died, we had no money, so our uncle sold our sister into slavery. Djulla’s master is now Sebulba. We have to get her out of his clutches! We bet our Podracer that we’d win. Sebulba bet Djulla’s freedom. This time, though, he’s not racing. His son Hekula is.”
“I’m sorry that your sister is a slave,” Anakin said. “Do you know Shmi, my mother? She’s a slave, too. Or she was, when I saw her last.”
Doby shook his head. “Mos Espa is full of beings. We don’t know them all.”
Anakin blinked as tears filled his eyes, surprising him. For a moment, Shmi had seemed so close. But she was as far away as she always was. He turned away quickly, his gaze roaming around the makeshift hangar. He didn’t see Sebulba. But he did see something familiar—his old Podracer. Could it be?
“Whose Podracer is that?” he asked, pointing it out.
“Hekula’s,” Deland said, giving it a glance.
Yes, it was definitely Anakin’s old Podracer, a customized Radon-Ulzer. It had been painted and retooled, but he would recognize it anywhere. He knew Qui-Gon had sold the Podracer, but not to whom. Sebulba must have bought it. Anakin burned at the thought of Sebulba owning the Podracer he had built and maintained so lovingly.
A tall young Dug suddenly moved into Anakin’s field of vision. “What are you looking at, spy?” he shouted.
“What I look at is not your concern,” Anakin shot back.
“When it’s my Podracer it is,” the Dug hissed back. “Spy!”
“It’s Hekula,” Doby warned Anakin in a whisper. “Be careful.”
Anakin looked at Sebulba’s son carefully. He felt the dark side of the Force shimmer off him. He had taken after his father, that was clear.
A movement caught his eye. Another Dug had scuttled across the distance toward him.
Anakin found himself face-to-face with his old enemy, Sebulba.
Chapter Five
Anakin’s fingers itched for his lightsaber. The last time Sebulba had threatened him, he’d been just a child and untrained. Now he could dispatch Sebulba before the Dug could manage to blink.
But he saw immediately that Sebulba didn’t recognize him. H
is gaze was hostile, but the hostility wasn’t personal. He had no idea that Anakin was the young slave boy who had humiliated him in a race years before.
Anakin smiled again.
The smile infuriated Sebulba. “What are you smiling at? And how dare you bully my son!”
“He’s wasn’t bullying me, Father,” Hekula whined in Huttese. “I am bullying him!”
“You were doing a very poor job of it,” Anakin answered in Huttese. “But that doesn’t surprise me.”
“How dare you!” Sebulba roared. “Prepare to die!”
Deland quickly moved between them. “Who’s talking about dying?” he said in a jovial tone. “Let’s save that for the Podrace. Right, Hekula? I’d worry about crashing more than spies, if I were you. I’ve seen you race!”
Hekula’s long head thrust toward Deland. “You’ll choke on my dust, son of a Ratt!”
Sebulba was more clever than his son. He grinned craftily and shot a look at Djulla, who was standing by Hekula’s Podracer, preparing a snack for the two Dugs. “I hope you’re alive to see your sister wipe the floor under our feet,” he hissed. “For the next fifty years!”
Anakin and Deland both tensed, ready to strike. In Sebulba’s taunt Anakin heard every cruelty he and his mother had ever endured.
Doby grabbed the hems of Anakin’s and Deland’s tunics. “Just let them go,” he murmured. “We’ll win the race. That is our better best revenge.”
Anakin saw Deland’s hand clench and unclench. His own fingertips burned to slip his lightsaber from its sheath.
“Let’s leave the cowards to their play,” Sebulba sneered. He and Hekula slithered off, their footfalls clattering on the stony ground.
Deland wiped his oily hands with a rag viciously, as though wiping away the memory of Sebulba’s taunt. “We’ve got to beat them. We’ve got to.”
“He’s fast,” Doby said, watching Hekula and Sebulba return to their entourage. A look of pain crossed his face as Djulla handed Hekula a cup of juma juice and Hekula spat it out while shouting an insult. “He’s just as cruel and dangerous as his father. Maybe more so, because he takes more chances.”
Temptation loomed before Anakin. He could help Doby and Deland beat Hekula. He knew it. It was not part of his mission here. But Obi-Wan had allowed him to have free time. What better way to use it than free a slave from the grip of a harsh master?
“Sebulba taught him how to cheat, too,” Deland said worriedly. “Come on, Doby. Let’s get back to work.”
“You can beat him.” The certainty in Anakin’s voice made the two brothers turn to face him. “With my help. Hekula has my old Podracer. I built it with my own hands. They may have painted it and buffed it, but I still know those engines. I know its weaknesses. I know how Sebulba cheats. I can help you win.”
Doby and Deland exchanged a glance. “We can’t ask you to do that,” Deland said.
“You’re not asking.”
“We can’t pay you,” Doby said. “All of our credits are tied up in the Podracer. We barely have enough to get home.”
“I don’t need credits. And I don’t need thanks,” Anakin said. “I just need you to win.”
Chapter Six
“So you promised me inside information,” Obi-Wan said to Didi. They could not locate an air taxi, and all the Transits were full, so they had to walk to the swoop seller. Obi-Wan didn’t mind. It gave him a chance to get a feeling of the streets. He reached out to the Force and received nothing alarming back.
“My son-in-law is an idiot.”
“That’s not exactly the kind of information I had in mind,” Obi-Wan said mildly.
Didi sighed. “You’d think Astri would have more sense. Did I raise her to fall for the first tall, handsome idiot who walked through my door? I did not! Is it my fault she picked such a stiff-necked, rule-following, small-spirited, mid-Rim, mid-minded, puffed-up bonehead?”
“Well, at least he’s not a criminal,” Obi-Wan said. “Maybe Astri wanted a quieter life. Maybe she was tired of dealing with a rule-breaking, truth-stretching, scam-running scoundrel of a father.”
“So it is my fault,” Didi sniffed.
“Astri has always made her own choices, Didi. And they are hers to make. Now, you said you had insider news on the Games.”
“Bog thinks that by serving on the Council for the Games, he’ll get the backing of some important beings in the Senate, and that he’ll be assigned important committee assignments. All he does is talk, talk, talk about how important his role is and what it will mean for his future.” Didi mimicked a snore. “Honestly, I don’t know how Astri stands it. His big job has been arranging the seating for some big-shot Senators. Hoo-diggety-hoo.”
“Didi, you said you had information,” Obi-Wan said. “This is complaining.”
“I have plenty of information,” Didi said. “How can I not? Bog never stops talking. But he never says anything worth listening to. Oh, look, here we are.” Didi paused in front of a shop with closed durasteel shutters.
“It doesn’t look open,” Obi-Wan observed.
“Oh, it is. The seller just doesn’t want to attract too many customers.”
“Really. That doesn’t sound typical.”
“It’s a very exclusive shop.” Didi turned to him. “Remember, you don’t have to say anything. Just stand there and give that Jedi-ish look.”
“I think I can manage it,” Obi-Wan said dryly. “Tell me something, Didi. If you want to return a swoop, shouldn’t you have brought it with you?”
“I can fetch it in moments. No need to worry.”
Didi rapped a rhythmic knock on the door. Several seconds later the door slid open. Obi-Wan realized that the pause of the few seconds meant that they had just undergone some sort of security check. Was the shop-owner concerned about vandalism or theft? It was possible, since Eusebus was crowded with strangers.
But the security measures seemed excessive for a swoop seller. Obi-Wan stepped into the dim interior, fully aware that Didi could be leading him into his usual swamp of deception. Didi didn’t so much lie as leave crucial pieces of information out.
You owe me one, Qui-Gon.
“Good afternoon, good afternoon,” Didi said to a massive creature who suddenly loomed out of the shadows in the shop. The being was two meters taller than Obi-Wan. Each fifteen-fingered hand was the size of a bantha haunch.
There were six swoops parked in a random fashion around the open space. There were no other customers and no sign of business that Obi-Wan could see.
“You may remember me,” Didi said. “Didi Oddo. I was in yesterday.”
The massive creature said nothing, just watched Didi with flat eyes.
“Then again, you may not,” Didi said nervously. “This is my very good friend, the great Jedi Knight, Obi-Wan Kenobi. Obi-Wan, this is the swoop seller, Uso Yso.”
The creature did not shift his gaze from Didi’s face.
“Obviously you are a creature of action and I should get right to the point,” Didi said. “The swoop I bought yesterday…I have changed my mind.”
A flicker of alertness lit Uso Yso’s opaque gaze.
“I would like my money back,” Didi said, trying to sound forceful. “The swoop is not…not what I expected. No doubt I will return another day to buy a…different swoop, but not this one.”
Finally, Uso Yso spoke. “No.”
Didi took a delicate step backward. “One moment.”
He leaned back and whispered to Obi-Wan. “Can’t you draw your lightsaber or Jedi-move something? You don’t have to kill him.”
“No,” Obi-Wan said.
“A deal is a deal,” Uso Yso said, crossing his huge arms. “You are insulting me with your presence. I do not like to be insulted.”
“Ah, no insult intended. None at all,” Didi said rapidly. “Just a polite request. Surely there beats a heart underneath that…ah, magnificent physique.”
“Two hearts, actually,” Uso Yso said. He withdrew an electro-jabber
from his belt. “Would you like to continue the argument?”
Didi froze, staring at the weapon. He took another step back. “No argument. Just a thought. Such a pleasant afternoon. We must be going.”
Didi almost ran from the shop. Obi-Wan followed. The door slid shut behind them, and Obi-Wan turned to Didi disgustedly.
“That was no swoop seller,” he accused him.
“An unusual type, yes,” Didi said. “Most helpful. Well, it’s been such an unexpected pleasurable experience to see you, my friend, but I must be going—”
Obi-Wan stepped into his path. “Explain.”
“Most happy to oblige, Obi-Wan,” Didi said. “It is possible that the swoop seller might have an additional business.”
“Ah,” Obi-Wan said.
“Perhaps he sells swoops—I am sure he does, in fact, a few here and there—but that was not my business with him,” Didi said evasively. His eyes darted about as if trying to find an escape route.
“Your business with him was?” Obi-Wan asked.
“A small bet,” Didi said. He held up his hands as Obi-Wan glowered at him. “Such a tiny bet! On one of the events. Even the Jedi must realize that such an opportunity exists here on Euceron and there will be many who wish to place a wager.”
“Certainly we realize that,” Obi-Wan said. “It is also illegal. The Senate has banned gambling on the Galactic Games, and for good reason. It attracts criminals.” He underlined the last word, giving Didi a sharp glance.
Didi nodded, frowning. “True. It would attract the wrong sort. Unlike me, who only places a bet now and again for the fun of it.”
Obi-Wan sighed. “So why did you try to get your money back?”
“I was too impulsive,” Didi confessed. “One of my faults, along with my generosity, that gets me into trouble. I made a wager and then my guilt overwhelmed me.”
“Since when have you felt guilty about breaking the law?”
“I prefer to think I bend it, Obi-Wan. But that’s not what caused my great guilt. It is because the credits I used were not mine.”
“Whose were they?” Obi-Wan sensed he was nearing the real story at last.
