The Phantom Menace (14 page)

Her smile was dazzling. “Well, I’m afraid I can’t marry you …” She paused, searching her memory for his name.

“Anakin,” he said.

“Anakin.” She cocked her head. “You’re just a little boy.”

His gaze was intense as he faced her. “I won’t always be,” he said quietly.

In the salvage yard, Watto was studying the screen of a portable memory bank he held in one hand, tracing through his inventory record. Qui-Gon, arms folded into his farmer’s poncho, stood waiting patiently, the R2 unit at his side.

“Ah, here it is. A T-14 hyperdrive generator!” The Toydarian’s wings beat wildly as he hovered before the Jedi, his gnarled finger jabbing at the viewscreen. “You’re in luck. I’m the only one hereabouts who has one. But you might as well buy a new ship. It would be cheaper. Speaking of which, how’re you going to pay for all this, farmer?”

Qui-Gon considered. “I have twenty thousand Republic dataries to put toward—”

“Republic credits?” Watto exploded in disgust. “Republic credits are no good out here! I need something better than that, something of value …”

The Jedi Master shook his head. “I don’t have anything else.” One hand came up, passing casually in front of the Toydarian’s face. “But credits will do fine.”

“No, they won’t!” Watto snapped, buzzing angrily.

Qui-Gon frowned, then passed his hand in front of the pudgy blue alien again, bringing the full force of his Jedi suggestive power to bear. “Credits will do fine,” he repeated.

Watto sneered. “No, they won’t!” he repeated. “What do you think you’re doing, waving your hand around like that? You think you’re some kinda Jedi? Hah! I’m a Toydarian! Mind tricks don’t work on me—only money! No money, no parts, no deal! And no one else has a T-14 hyperdrive generator, I can promise you that!”

Chagrined, Qui-Gon wheeled back for the shop, the R2 unit following at his heels. The Toydarian shouted
after them to come back when they had something worthwhile to trade, still scolding the Jedi Master for trying to foist Republic credits on him. Qui-Gon reentered the shop just as Jar Jar pulled a part from a large stack and sent the entire arrangement tumbling to the floor. His efforts at correcting the problem brought a second display crashing down as well.

The boy and the Queen’s handmaiden were deep in discussion, paying no attention to the Gungan.

“We’re leaving,” Qui-Gon announced to the girl, moving toward the shop’s entry, the R2 unit trundling along behind.

Jar Jar was quick to follow, anxious to escape his latest mess. Padmé gave the boy a warm smile. “I’m glad I met you, Anakin,” she said, turning after them.

“I’m glad I met you, too,” he called after, a reluctance evident in his voice.

Watto flew in from the salvage yard, shaking his head in disgust. “Outlanders! They think because we live so far from everything, we know nothing!”

Anakin was still staring longingly after Padmé, his gaze fixed on the empty doorway. “They seemed nice enough to me.”

Watto snorted and flew into his face. “Clean up this mess, then you can go home!”

Anakin brightened, gave a small cheer, and went quickly to work.

Qui-Gon led his companions back through the little plaza of salvage shops toward the main avenue. At a place where two buildings divided to form a shadowed niche, the Jedi Master moved everyone from view and brought out his comlink from beneath his poncho. Padmé and the R2 unit stood waiting patiently, but Jar
Jar prowled the space as if trapped, eyes fixed nervously on the busy street.

When Obi-Wan responded to the comlink’s pulse, Qui-Gon quickly filled him in on the situation. “Are you sure there isn’t anything of value left on board?” he concluded.

There was a pause at the other end. “A few containers of supplies, the Queen’s wardrobe, some jewelry maybe. Not enough for you to barter with. Not in the amounts you’re talking about.”

“All right,” Qui-Gon responded with a frown. “Another solution will present itself. I’ll check back.”

He tucked the comlink beneath his poncho and signaled to the others. He was moving toward the street again when Jar Jar grabbed his arm.

“Noah gain, sire,” the Gungan pleaded. “Da beings hereabouts crazy nuts. We goen be robbed and crunched!”

“Not likely,” Qui-Gon replied with a sigh, freeing himself. “We have nothing of value. That’s our problem.”

They started back down the street, Qui-Gon trying to think what to do next. Padmé and R2-D2 stayed close as they made their way through the crowds, but Jar Jar began to lag behind, distracted by all the strange sights and smells. They were passing an outdoor café, its tables occupied by a rough-looking bunch of aliens, among them a Dug who was holding forth on the merits of Podracing. Jar Jar hurried to catch up to his companions, but then caught sight of a string of frogs hanging from a wire in front of a nearby stall. The Gungan slowed, his mouth watering. He had not eaten in some time. He glanced around to see if anyone was looking, then unfurled his long tongue and snapped up one of the frogs. The frog disappeared into Jar Jar’s mouth in the blink of an eye.

Unfortunately, the frog was still securely tied to the
wire. Jar Jar stood there, the wire hanging out of his mouth, unable to move.

The vendor in charge of the stall rushed out. “Hey, that will be seven truguts!”

Jar Jar glanced frantically down the street for his companions, but they were already out of sight. In desperation, he let go of the frog. The frog popped out of his mouth as if catapulted, winging away at the end of the taut wire. It ricocheted this way and that, breaking free at last to land directly in the Dug’s soup, splashing gooey liquid all over him.

The gangly Dug leapt to his feet in fury, catching sight of the hapless Jar Jar as he tried to move away from the frog vendor. Springing across the table on all fours, he was on top of the Gungan in an instant, grabbing him by the throat.

“
Chubba!
You!” the Dug snarled through its corded snout. Feelers and mandibles writhed. “Is this yours?”

The Dug shoved the frog in the Gungan’s face threateningly. Jar Jar could not get any words out, gasping for breath, fighting to break free. His eyes rolled wildly as he looked for help that wasn’t there. Other creatures pushed forward to surround him, Rodians among them. The Dug threw Jar Jar to the ground, shouting at him, hovering over him in a crouch. Desperately, the Gungan tried to scramble to safety.

“No, no,” he moaned plaintively as he sought an avenue of escape. “Why me always da one?”

“Because you’re afraid,” a voice answered calmly.

Anakin Skywalker pushed his way through the crowd, coming up to stand next to the Dug. The boy seemed unafraid of the creature, undeterred by the hard-eyed crowd, his bearing self-assured. He gave the Dug an appraising
look. “
Chess ko
, Sebulba,” he said. “Careful. This one’s very well connected.”

Sebulba turned to face the boy, cruel face twisting with disdain as he caught sight of the newcomer.
“Tooney rana dunko, shag?”
he snapped, demanding to know what the boy meant.

Anakin shrugged. “Connected—as in Hutt.” The blue eyes fixed the Dug and saw a hint of fear in the other’s face. “Big-time connected, this one, Sebulba. I’d hate to see you diced before we had a chance to race again.”

The Dug spit in fury. “
Neek me chawa!
Next time we race,
wermo
, it will be the end of you!” He gestured violently. “
Uto notu wo shag!
If you weren’t a slave, I’d squash you here and now!”

With a final glare at the cringing Jar Jar, Sebulba wheeled away, taking his companions with him, back to their tables and their food and drink. Anakin stared after the Dug. “Yeah, it’d be a pity if you had to pay for me,” he said softly.

He was helping Jar Jar back to his feet when Qui-Gon, Padmé, and R2-D2, having finally missed the Gungan, reappeared hurriedly through the crowd.

“Hi!” he greeted cheerfully, happy to see Padmé again so soon. “Your buddy here was about to be turned into orange goo. He picked a fight with a Dug. An especially dangerous Dug.”

“Nossir, nossir!” the chagrined Gungan insisted, brushing off dust and sand. “Me hate crunchen. Tis da last thing me want!”

Qui-Gon gave Jar Jar a careful once-over, glanced around at the crowd, and took the Gungan by the arm. “Nevertheless, the boy saved you from a beating. You have a penchant for finding trouble, Jar Jar.” He gave Anakin a short nod. “Thank you, my young friend.”

Padmé gave Anakin a warm smile as well, and the boy felt himself blush with pride.

“Me doen nutten!” Jar Jar insisted, still trying to defend himself, hands gesturing for emphasis.

“You were afraid,” the boy told him, looking up at the long-billed face solemnly. “Fear attracts the fearful. Sebulba was trying to overcome his fear by squashing you.” He cocked his head at the Gungan. “You can help yourself by being less afraid.”

“And that works for you?” Padmé asked skeptically, giving him a wry look.

Anakin smiled and shrugged. “Well … up to a point.”

Anxious to spend as much time as possible with the girl, he persuaded the group to follow him a short distance down the street to a fruit stand, a ramshackle affair formed by a makeshift ragged awning stretched over a framework of bent poles. Boxes of brightly colored fruit were arranged on a rack tilted toward the street for viewing. A weathered old lady, gray-haired and stooped, her simple clothing patched and worn, rose from a stool to greet them on their approach.

“How are you feeling today, Jira?” Anakin asked her, giving her a quick hug.

The old lady smiled. “The heat’s never been kind to me, you know, Annie.”

“Guess what?” the boy replied quickly, beaming. “I’ve found that cooling unit I’ve been searching for. It’s pretty beat up, but I’ll have it fixed up for you in no time, I promise. That should help.”

Jira reached out to brush his pink cheek with her wrinkled hand, her smile broadening. “You’re a fine boy, Annie.”

Anakin shrugged off the compliment and began scanning
the fruit display. “I’ll take four pallies, Jira.” He glanced at Padmé eagerly. “You’ll like these.”

He reached into his pocket for the truguts he had been saving, but when he brought them out to pay Jira, he dropped one. The farmer, standing next to him, bent to retrieve it. As he did, his poncho opened just far enough that the boy caught sight of the lightsaber hanging from the belt about his waist.

The boy’s eyes went wide, but he masked his surprise by focusing on the coins. He only had three, he found. “Whoops, I thought I had more,” he said quickly, not looking up. “Make that three pallies, Jira. I’m not that hungry anyway.”

The old woman gave Qui-Gon, Padmé, and Jar Jar their pallies and took the coins from Anakin. A gust of wind whipped down the street, rattling the framework of poles and causing the awning to billow. A second gust sent dust swirling in all directions.

Jira rubbed her arms with her gnarled hands. “Gracious, my bones are aching. There’s a storm coming, Annie. You’d better get home quick.”

The wind gusted in a series of sharp blasts that sent sand and loose debris flying. Anakin glanced at the sky, then at Qui-Gon. “Do you have shelter?” he asked.

The Jedi Master nodded. “We’ll head back to our ship. Thank you again, my young friend, for—”

“Is your ship far?” the boy interrupted hurriedly. All around them, shopkeepers and vendors were closing and shuttering windows and doors, carrying goods and wares inside, wrapping coverings over displays and boxes.

“It’s on the city’s outskirts,” Padmé answered, turning away from the stinging gusts of sand.

Anakin took her hand quickly, tugging on it. “You’ll never reach the outskirts in time. Sandstorms are very,
very dangerous. Come with me. You can wait it out at my home. It’s not far. My mom won’t mind. Hurry!”

With the wind howling all about them and the air clouded with sand, Anakin Skywalker shouted good-bye to Jira and led his newly adopted charges down the street in a rush.

On the outskirts of Mos Espa, Obi-Wan Kenobi stood near the nose of the Nubian as the wind gathered force, whipping at his robe, tearing across the broad expanse of the Tatooine desert. His troubled eyes looked off into the distance where Mos Espa was beginning to disappear behind a curtain of sand. He turned as Captain Panaka came down the ramp of the transport to join him.

“This storm’s going to slow them down,” the Jedi observed worriedly.

Panaka nodded. “It looks pretty bad. We’d better seal up the ship before it gets any worse.”

There was a beep from the soldier’s comlink. Panaka retrieved the communicator from his belt. “Yes?”

Ric Olié’s voice rose from the speaker. “We’re receiving a message from home.”

Panaka and Obi-Wan exchanged glances. “We’ll be right there,” the captain advised.

They went up the ramp quickly, sealing it behind them. The transmission had been received in the Queen’s chambers. At Ric Olié’s direction, they found Amidala and her handmaidens Eirtaé and Rabé viewing a hologram of Sio Bibble that was shimmering weakly at one end of the room, the governor’s voice breaking up in transmission.