NOVEL ONLINE FREE Chapter 9: Podrace
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TATOOINE - MOS ESPA: ARENA MAIN HANGER
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The day of the race had finally arrived. The desert air buzzed with excitement and tension as podracing crews hurried about, making last-minute preparations for the dangerous event. the Boonta Eve Classic was no ordinary race - it was a spectacle of speed and survival, drawing beings from across the Outer Rim to witness the thrills and dangers that were about to occur.
Both outside and inside the main hanger, mechanics and pit crews scrambled to check every detail of their vehicles, tightening bolts, fueling engines, and calibrating power couplings. Inside, the massive hanger was a hive of activity. The space was packed with around two dozen or perhaps more podracers, each a unique creation reflecting the skill - and sometimes recklessness - of a builder. Sparks flew as droids and mechanics worked tirelessly, shouting commands in a dozen different languages. The air was thick with the scent of engine grease and burning plasma as tools clanked against metal and repulsorlifts systems hummed to life.
Through the chaos, Watto, Qui-Gon, and Jar Jar walked with purpose. Their eyes scanned the hanger until they spotted the stall to which Anakin's podracer was reserved for, the stall smaller than most of the others yet still just enough room to fit the smaller podracer when it eventually arrives.
Watto, flapping his leathery wings as he hovered ahead of the others. glanced back at Qui-Gon with a smirk.
Watto: "I wanta see your spaceship the moment the race is over."
His beady eyes glimmered with greed. He wasn't about to let the Jedi out of his sight until their wager was settled.
Qui-Gon: "Patience, my good friend. You'll have your winnings before the suns set, and we'll be far away from here."
Qui-Gon's voice was calm, unwavering, but Watto still narrowed his eyes as he still remained unconvinced.
Watto: "Not if your ship belongs to me, I think... I warn you, no funny business."
The Toydarian's wings beat a little faster as he turned to face the Jedi Master.
Qui-Gon: "You don't think Anakin will win?"
At this, Watto let out a dry chuckle. He stopped walking just beside an orange podracer, a sleek, deadly machine that belonged to Sebulba, the reigning champion of the Mos Espa Circuit. The Dug sat comfortably off to the side, his long, spindly arms resting on the cushions of a reclining chair while his feet were stretched out, being massaged by two Twi'lek attendants. The blue-skinned women dressed in matching yellow-green jumpsuits, working diligently, their expressions neutral despite the Dug's arrogant smirk.
Sebulba barely paid any attention to Watto and Qui-Gon, lounging in confidence as if he had already won the race.
A little farther back, Jar Jar stiffened as his eyes landed on the Dug. His long ears twitched as his pupils widened in terror. Memories of the previous day - his disastrous encounter with Sebulba at the market - flashing before his mind.
Jar Jar: "Oh-no!"
His voice was barely a whisper as his Gungan instincts screaming at him to bolt in the opposite direction, rather than risk another encounter with Sebulba. Yet the Gungan. despite his fear stayed, intent on supporting Qui-Gon.
Qui-Gon: "Why do you think that?"
Watto gave a dismissive wave, still chuckling as he floated a little closer to Sebulba's podracer.
Watto: "He always wins."
His laughter grew louder, the greedy confidence returning to his face.
Watto: "I'm betting heavily on Sebulba."
The Statement hung in the air as Qui-Gon gave him a measured look.
Qui-Gon: "I'll take that bet."
The laughter died in Watto's throat. His wings stuttered for a brief moment, and his sharp-toothed mouth fell open.
Watto: "You'll what?!?!"
He starred at the hidden Jedi, suspicion creeping into his expression. Qui-Gon remained unshaken, his face unreadable except for the ghost of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
Qui-Gon: "I'll wager my new racing pod against... say... the boy and his mother."
Watto blinked, then let out a scoffing noise, shaking his head.
Watto: "No pod's worth two slaves... not by a long shot."
Qui-Gon took a moment to think, his fingers brushing over his beard he had as he calculated his next move. Finally, he nodded slightly.
Qui-Gon: "The boy, then."
Watto hesitated, considering the offer. His eyes flickered between Qui-Gon and the podracer, his mind weighing the odds. Sebulba was the favorite - if he won as expected, Watto would be safe and Qui-Gon's pod would then be his. But if by some miracle Anakin won... He would lose a valuable slave.
Jar Jar, standing nervously by, fidgeted with his fingers, his eyes darted back and forth between the two.
Watto: "We'll let fate decide, huh. I just happen to have a chance cube here. Blue is the boy, red his mother."
The Toydarian reached into his vest and pulled out a small chance cube, a weighted die often used in gambling. Without waiting for Qui-Gon to agree, Watto tossed the chance cube up with a flick of his wrist.
The cube spun in the air, tumbling toward the ground - but as it fell, Qui-Gon subtly lifted his hand. Unseen by Watto, the secret Jedi reached out with the Force, shifting the cube's momentum so it landed with blue facing up.
A small, satisfied smiled touched Qui-Gon's lips while Jar Jar smiled innocently at the Toydarian, Watto scowling upon the verdict as his wings buzzed in frustration.
Watto: "You won the small toss, outlander, but you won't win the race, so it makes little difference."
His grumbling voice carried a bitter edge. Spitting out a curse in Huttese, the Toydarian turned and flew off, his frustration clear in the way he angrily flapping his wings.
As he neared Anakin's podracer that was being dragged by two Eopies, Watto let out a cruel laugh, snearing down at the boy.
Watto: "Ouna bakeesa. Bonapa keesa peteeso, o wanna meetee chobodd." (Better stop your friends better or I'll end up owning him too)
Anakin blinked in confusion, watching the Toydarian leave before turning to Qui-Gon.
Anakin: "What'd he mean by that?"
Qui-Gon, ever calm, simply smiled and placed a hand on the boy's shoulder.
Qui-Gon: "I'll tell you later. Good morning."
As he spoke, the rest of the group had arrived.
Riding in on the Eopies, Y/N, Padme, Anakin, Shmi, and Kitster led a small procession, dragging the podracer's disconnected engines behind them. 3PO walked alongside them, his metal joints clicking with each step while R2 trundled closely behind - the two droids dragging the pod itself as R2's dome swiveled as he beeped softly.
Qui-Gon immediately stepped forward, offering his hand to Shmi and helping her down from the Eopie's saddle. The gesture was gentlemanly, and for the briefest moment, a faint blush colored Shmi's cheeks.
As the reunion unfolded, R2 beeped something to 3PO.
3PO: "Oh my! Space travel sounds rather perilous."
R2 gave another series of beeps.
3PO: "I can assure you they will never get me onto one of those dreadful starships!"
Meanwhile, Kitster turned excitedly to Anakin, his face alight with enthusiasm.
Kitster: "This is so wizard, Ani! I'm sure you'll do it this time."
Padme and Y/N shared a puzzled glance.
Padme: "Do what?"
Kitster grinned.
Kitster: "Finish the race, of course!"
Y/N raised an eyebrow.
Y/N: "You've never won a race?"
Anakin looked sheepish.
Anakin: "Well... not exactly."
Padme's eyes widened.
Padme: "Not even finished?!"
Anakin, determined, straightened his shoulders.
Anakin: "Kitster's right, I will this time."
Qui-Gon: "Of course you will."
They turned to see Qui-Gon and Shmi walking over to the group, Padme with an ever worried look as her whole faith in this plan of their had been thrown into doubt, the young handmaiden looking eat Qui-Gon who looks back at here, the Jedi Master making note of the panic of Padme's face yet chose to ignore it for the time being.
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TATOOINE - MOS ESPA: STREET
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One of the Sith Zabrak brother's probe droids slowly floats down the main street of Mos Espa, looking through shops as it studies the people, looking for Y/N, Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan, or the Queen. Anything at all that might lead the Zabrak's to the Jedi or Queen.
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TATOOINE - MOS ESPA: ARENA MAIN HANGER
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While the others focused on preparing Anakin's podracer, maneuvering it into position along with the other competing crafts, Y/N remained behind, his sharp gaze locked onto Qui-Gon. Something gnawed at him, a lingering suspicion that the Jedi Master was withholding something. With quiet determination, he stepped forward and gently pulled Qui-Gon aside, his voice edged with curiosity.
Y/N: "What exactly did Watto mean when he said you bet more?"
Qui-Gon's expression remained unreadable, but a flicker of something—hesitation, perhaps—crossed his face before he answered.
Qui-Gon: "I made another wager with him. Nothing more."
Y/N's eyes narrowed. He wasn't a fool, and Qui-Gon knew it. The Jedi Master was hiding the full truth.
Y/N: "And what, exactly, did you put on the line?"
Qui-Gon: "The podracer."
Y/N: "So, if we lose, Watto keeps the pod?"
Qui-Gon gave a slow nod, his calm unwavering. Y/N studied him for a beat before pressing further.
Y/N: "And if we win? What's in it for us?"
Qui-Gon: "The boy's freedom."
Y/N's breath hitched slightly. Of all the things he expected, that had not been one of them. He tilted his head, watching Qui-Gon carefully.
Y/N: "You bargained for a slave's freedom? Why?"
Qui-Gon: "I tried to free both Anakin and his mother. Watto refused. I had to make a choice."
Y/N fell silent for a moment, his mind working through the implications. He understood why Qui-Gon had chosen the boy—he was still young, with a life ahead of him, while Shmi… she was another matter entirely. And yet, something about this didn't sit right.
His voice lowered, his tone laced with skepticism.
Y/N: "Master… I know you. You didn't do this just out of kindness. What aren't you telling me?"
Qui-Gon regarded him for a long moment before exhaling slightly, the weight of his belief evident in his stance.
Qui-Gon: "The boy is different, Y/N. His Force signature… it's unlike anything I've ever encountered. I believe he may be the Chosen One."
Y/N let out a short, humorless chuckle, shaking his head.
Y/N: "Master, you put too much faith in ancient prophecies. How many times has the Order thought they found the Chosen One? And how many times were they wrong?"
Qui-Gon: "Mistakes in the past do not mean I am mistaken now. You felt it, too. Don't deny it."
Y/N exhaled through his nose. He had felt something when they landed—something powerful, something raw—but that didn't mean Anakin was some mythical savior. He crossed his arms, his expression thoughtful but firm.
Y/N: "I won't deny the boy is strong in the Force, but as Master Dooku often says: "strength alone isn't enough". He's too old. The Council will never accept him. You know that. He clings to his emotions, and that makes him dangerous. Even Master Dooku wouldn't take a risk like this."
Qui-Gon: "The Council does not see everything, Y/N. Their vision is clouded by tradition, by rigid rules. Anakin deserves a chance."
Y/N's jaw tightened. He had spent years proving himself to the Council, fighting to be accepted despite his unorthodox ways, despite his struggles with emotion. And now Qui-Gon was risking everything on a child who, by all Jedi standards, should never have been considered.
Y/N: "You're giving that boy a false hope, Master. If the Council rejects him, what then? What happens to him? Have you even thought that far ahead?"
Qui-Gon's expression darkened ever so slightly, his patience wearing thin.
Qui-Gon: "You may question me all you like, Padawan, but my mind is made up. When Anakin wins this race, he will be freed. He will stand before the Council, and they will decide his fate. That is the way of things."
Y/N's hands curled into fists at his sides. He wanted to argue further, to make Qui-Gon see reason, but he knew it was pointless. The Jedi Master's resolve was unshakable.
With a heavy sigh, Y/N turned away, glancing out toward the arena where Anakin's podracer stood waiting. The decision had been made. There was no stopping it now.
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TATOOINE - MOS ESPA: DESERT RACE ARENA
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The viewing platforms, lavishly adorned with banners and flags, loomed over the racetrack, giving the wealthiest spectators the best vantage points. The lower sections were packed with traders, gamblers, and podracing fanatics, all clamoring in excitement. The atmosphere was thick with the scent of dust, sweat, roasted meats, and exotic beverages being sold by vendors in the stands.
At the center of it all, the loud and animated voices of the announcers filled the air. The two-headed Troig, Fode and Beed, stood atop an elevated podium, their booming commentary echoing through the arena's sound systems. Beed, the green-headed one, spoke rapid Huttese for the locals, while Fode, the orange-headed half, translated fluently into Galactic Basic for the off-world audience.
Beed: "Toogi! Toogi! Toong mee cha kulkah du Boota magi! Tah oos azulas oova Poddraces."
Fode: "That's absolutely right. 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."
On the left side of the track, directly across from the towering grandstands, the hangar doors groaned open, revealing a parade of podracers being pulled into position by a variety of creatures. Crew members scurried alongside the colossal machines, making last-minute adjustments. Flags of vibrant colors fluttered in the dry, hot wind as the pilots made their way onto the track, pausing before the grand royal box where the Hutts and other VIPs were seated.
Beed: "La Yma beestoo."
Fode: "I see Ben Quadinaros from the Tund system!"
Ben Quadinaros, a stout and eager Toong, waved his arms with boundless energy, clearly relishing the attention. The crowd responded with a mix of cheers and chuckles.
Beed: "Eh Gasgano doowa newpa Ord Petrovia!"
Fode: "Two-time winner, Boles Roor..."
The mentioned racer, a lanky, four-armed Xexto, lifted all four of his limbs in a confident salute to the crowd, his pod gleaming under the suns.
Beed: "Poo tula moosta, woe grane champio Sebulba du Pixelito! Splastyleeya bookie ookie!!"
The crowd roared as Sebulba, the infamous Dug champion, strutted confidently. He pumped his arms in the air, basking in the adoration. The spectators, particularly those who had placed bets on him, cheered wildly. He was the favorite, and he knew it.
Fode and Beed continued their introductions, rattling off the names of more contestants, each receiving their fair share of applause or jeers.
Fode: "And in the front row, nearside pole position... Mawhonic!"
Mawhonic, a Gran racer with three eyestalks, waved proudly to the crowd.
Fode: "A hearty hello... to Clegg Holdfast and his Voltec KT9 Wasp!"
The posh Nosaurian racer lifted his chin with an air of superiority, nodding at the crowd as if they should feel honored by his presence.
Fode: "And back again, it's the mighty Dud Bolt... with that incredible racing machine, the Vulptereen 327."
Fode: "And hoping for a big win today... Ody Mandrell, with his record-setting pit droid team."
Ody, a lanky Er'Kit racer, stood proudly by his pod, his pit droids already causing a scene as three of them smacked each other around in the background. The audience laughed at the sight.
Fode: "And a late entry, we have Anakin Skywalker. A local boy."
Beed: "Wampa peedunkee unko."
A mixture of polite applause and mild amusement swept through the crowd as Anakin waved excitedly. He was clearly an underdog, and while some doubted his chances, others admired his courage.
Beyond the main race track, in the stands and along the pathways, vendors called out to potential buyers, offering sizzling skewers of exotic meats and colorful beverages that fizzed in the scorching heat. Spectators sat beneath striped canopies, fanning themselves against the oppressive temperature.
Nearby, Jar Jar Binks stood awkwardly near an Eopie, whose tail flicked up. A moment later, a wet splat echoed as the creature relieved itself directly onto the track. The stench hit the air almost instantly, causing Jar Jar to recoil in disgust, frantically waving his hands in front of his face.
Jar Jar: "Peeusa!"
Away from the commotion, Shmi Skywalker knelt in front of her son, placing her hands gently on his shoulders. Concern lingered in her eyes, but she masked it with a warm smile.
Shmi: "Be safe, Ani."
Anakin: "I will, Mom. I promise."
With a smile and a peck on Anakin's cheek, Shmi left the boy to go find a spot in the stands, her hopes and prayers going out to Anakin as all that mattered to her was this Anakin came out of the race alive.
Unbeknownst to the two Skywalkers, just a few feet away, Sebulba lurked near Anakin's pod. His long, slender fingers reached out stealthily, snapping a crucial stabilizer valve on the young boy's podracer. The piece clattered to the ground, unnoticed by the busy pit crew. The Dug let out a low chuckle before striding toward Anakin with a smug expression.
Sebulba: "Bazda wahota, shag. Dobiella Nok." ("You won't walk away from this one, Skywalker. You slave scum.")
Anakin: "Cha skrundee da pat, sleemo." ("Don't count on it, slime-ball.")
Sebulba sneered at Anakin's defiance, chuckling darkly.
Sebulba: "Yoka to Bantha poodoo." ("You're bantha fodder!")
As the Dug slithered away, Qui-Gon stepped forward, placing a reassuring hand on Anakin's shoulder.
Qui-Gon: "You all set, Ani?"
Anakin: "Yep."
Qui-Gon: "All right."
Without warning, Qui-Gon lifted Anakin and placed him into the cockpit of the podracer. The boy let out a small yelp of surprise.
Anakin: "Whoa!"
Qui-Gon's voice softened as he imparted his final wisdom.
Qui-Gon: "Remember, concentrate on the moment. Feel. Don't think. Use your instincts."
Anakin: "I will."
Qui-Gon: "May the Force be with you."
As Qui-Gon departed, Padme and Y/N pushed through the crowd. Y/N's expression was calm yet cautious, his thoughts still clouded with doubt about Qui-Gon's belief in the boy.
Padme: "You carry all our hopes."
Y/N: "Remember, in the end, winning isn't what's most important. You coming back alive is. Pods can be replaced, but you cannot, Anakin."
Anakin nodded firmly.
Anakin: "I understand. I won't let you down."
Y/N: "We know you won't."
Padme and Y/N smiled at the young slave boy as they both nodded, Padme beginning to walk backward as she did so whilst beginning to wave to Anakin.
Padme: "Good luck."
Y/N: "May the Force be with you, young Skywalker."
Anakin smiled to the two, basking in the attention and kindness of the two as he gave them a thumbs up before turning his attention back to his speed as he began to flip a flew buttons in it as he ran it through the final preparation sequence. Finally he put on a helmet as well as goggles onto his head - an object that would prove more than useful on the track when faced with the battering sands of Tatooine trying to fly into his eyes.
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TATOOINE - MOS ESPA: ROYAL BOX
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The roar of thousands of voices filled the air as the anticipation for the upcoming race reached a fever pitch. The scent of sizzling street food and burning engine fuel mixed with the dry desert air, creating an intoxicating atmosphere of excitement and tension.
The pilots on the starting grid bowed from the waist as the exalted ruler of Tatooine, Jabba the Hutt, slithered into the royal box, his massive, slug-like form casting an imposing presence over the gathered crowd. His thick tail dragged across the polished stone as he waved one stubby hand in greeting, his deep, guttural laughter reverberating through the arena.
Beed: "O grandio lust amu intoe tah parena, Jabba Du Hutt."
The crowd erupted in cheers, showering their bloated crime lord with praise and adulation. Jabba basked in their admiration, his wide mouth curling into a self-satisfied grin. Behind him, his wife Gardulla followed, another equally repulsive Hutt, flanked by a collection of high-ranking individuals—humanoid and alien alike. Among them was Bib Fortuna, his Twi'lek head-tails draped over his shoulders as he whispered something into Jabba's ear in a hushed, reverent tone.
Jabba: "Chowbao! Tam ka chee Boonta rulee ya, kee madda hodrudda du wundee." (Welcome! Begin the race.)
The command was met with an immediate response. A deep, resonant hum filled the air as the energy binders of the podracers crackled to life, igniting in blinding arcs of electric blue. Engines revved, their deep, mechanical growls shaking the ground beneath them as the racers prepared for the deadly course ahead. The very air seemed to tremble with the sheer power these machines possessed.
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TATOOINE - MOS ESPA: ARENA VIEWING PLATFORM
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Up in the high vantage point of the viewing platform, Shmi Skywalker stood with her hands clasped together, her knuckles white from the pressure. Her anxious gaze remained fixed on the starting grid below, searching for her son amongst the towering engines of the other racers. The weight of a mother's worry pressed down on her, unshaken even by the warm desert winds that swept through the elevated platform.
Qui-Gon entered with his usual measured stride, his Jedi robe billowing slightly behind him. Y/N and Padme followed closely in his wake, their expressions contrasting starkly - Y/N with quiet confidence, Padme with barely concealed apprehension. Jar Jar stood already at the railing, his long ears drooping slightly as his wide eyes darted nervously between the racers below and the sheer drop beneath the platform.
The viewing platform, an elegant construct of polished metal and sandstone, ascended like a grand elevator, lifting the spectators high above the rest of the stands. The higher it rose, the more expansive the view of the track became. As they reached their final height, the entire course stretched out before them like a winding snake of sand and stone, a battlefield where only the most skilled—or the luckiest—would survive.
Shmi turned to Qui-Gon, her worry etched deeply into her face.
Shmi: "Is he nervous?"
Qui-Gon met her gaze, his expression unreadable but calm, as always.
Qui-Gon: "He's fine."
Padme, however, was far from convinced. Her stomach twisted in knots as she considered what was at stake—not just for Anakin, but for her people back home. Her voice, sharp with frustration and worry, cut through the desert air.
Padme: "You Jedi are far too reckless. The Queen is not..."
Qui-Gon turned to her, his tone unwavering, a quiet authority in his words.
Qui-Gon: "The Queen trusts my judgment, young handmaiden. You should too."
Padme's jaw tightened. Her dark eyes burned with defiance as she turned away with a huff.
Padme: "You assume too much."
Frustration flared in her chest, but she forced herself to focus on the race below. The engines' growls rattled the air, and she found herself silently praying for Anakin's safety. No matter how much she disliked Qui-Gon's methods, she had to hope that he was right.
Y/N, who had been watching the exchange in silence, finally stepped closer to Padme. He nudged her shoulder gently, catching her attention. When she looked up at him, her face was still tight with worry.
Y/N: "Relax, Padme. Everything will be alright. Anakin's got this. Have faith in him."
For a moment, Padme hesitated. Then, with a small exhale, she nodded. Her lips quirked up in a half-smile, though her worry still lingered in her eyes.
What happened next, however, caught her off guard.
Y/N reached down and took her hand in his own, his grip warm and reassuring. The unexpected gesture sent a rush of heat to her cheeks. Her heart skipped a beat, and she quickly turned her gaze back to the track, trying to will away the blush creeping onto her face.
Y/N, ever observant, smirked slightly as he caught sight of the color blooming across her cheeks. Amused but choosing not to comment, he simply gave her hand a reassuring squeeze before letting go.
The moment passed, but the warmth lingered.
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TATOOINE - MOS ESPA: ARENA STARTING GRID
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Fode: "Start your engines."
A tense silence hung over the starting grid as the pilots made their final adjustments, their fingers flipping switches and pulling levers with precision honed by years of experience - or, in Anakin's case, pure instinct. The air buzzed with anticipation, the faint hum of power cells charging up filling the atmosphere.
Inside his pod, Anakin's small hands moved deftly across the controls, flipping a series of switches. His engines coughed, sputtered for a brief moment, and then roared to life. Twin energy binders flared into existence between the two thrusters, glowing with a fierce, electric blue hue, ensuring the engines stayed linked together.
On the ground, a vibrant parade of flag bearers - each one representing a different pilot - marched across the starting grid. Their banners, painted with unique emblems and colors, rippled in the dry desert wind. Among them, the golden form of C-3PO stood out, the droid awkwardly carrying Anakin's flag, his mechanical limbs stiff as he tried to keep in rhythm with the others.
Watching from the sidelines, Jar Jar winced as the engines of various pods revved up, the deafening roars echoing throughout the arena. Nervously, he covered his eyes with his long ears.
Jar Jar: "Oh, dissen ganna be messy! Me no watchen."
The entire crowd shifted their gaze to the royal viewing box, awaiting the one figure whose signal would begin the legendary race.
Jabba the Hutt, the bloated crime lord of Tatooine, sat enthroned in his private balcony, savoring the moment as the eyes of thousands remained fixed on him. He let the anticipation linger, relishing the control he wielded over the masses. Then, with a slimy grin, he reached for a fat, warty toad from a bowl beside him, popped it into his cavernous mouth, and bit down. With a sickening crunch, he chewed briefly before spitting the head out with immense force, sending it rocketing into a large ceremonial gong.
The resounding clang echoed through the arena, signaling the start of the race.
Above the track, a long metal bridge loomed, housing a panel of three rows of five crimson lights. The moment the gong's echo faded, the rows of red flared green in rapid succession.
Engines screamed as the podracers shot forward, a blinding blur of metal and energy as sand erupted beneath their thrusters. They tore across the desert track, their drivers hunched forward, gripping their controls with white-knuckled intensity.
Yet, while most of the pods surged ahead, two failed to launch. One of them was Anakin's.
His heart leaped into his throat as his engines coughed violently, shuddering before falling silent. For a split second, panic set in. Around him, the other racers disappeared into the distance, leaving only a thick wall of dust in their wake.
Beed: "A dare ovv!"
Fode: "Oh...wait. Little Skywalker has stalled."
The laughter of the crowd rolled through the stands like a tidal wave. Among them, Watto cackled in delight, rubbing his stubby hands together as he turned to his fellow gamblers, pointing smugly toward the boy's crippled pod.
On the track, Quadrinaros, another stalled racer, was faring no better. Frustrated, he pounded his fists against his dashboard, his anger doing little to help his situation.
Fode: "It looks like Quadrinaros is having engine trouble also."
Sweat beading on his forehead, Anakin took a deep breath. His fingers moved with urgent precision, flicking a series of switches in rapid succession. A deep whine built within his pod, energy surging back to life. Then, in a powerful burst, the engines roared once more, vibrating with renewed energy.
He wasted no time. With a determined glare, Anakin shoved the throttle forward, and his pod rocketed ahead like a comet. The sheer force of acceleration slammed him into his seat, the desert landscape blurring as he shot off down the track, leaving Quadrinaros still struggling behind.
Fode: "And there goes Skywalker..."
Jar Jar: "Go Ani, go!"
Fode: "He'll be hard-pressed to catch up with the leaders."
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TATOOINE - MOS ESPA: RACETRACK
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The podracers streaked across the vast desert expanse, their engines howling as they kicked up billowing trails of sand and dust. At the front of the pack, two racers fought for dominance: Sebulba and Mawhonic. They were neck and neck as they approached a tight turn, their pods dangerously close to scraping against the canyon walls.
Sebulba, the ruthless Dug known for his underhanded tactics, glanced sideways at his opponent with a wicked grin. He tightened his grip on the controls. With a sudden jerk, he slammed his pod sideways into Mawhonic's, sending the other racer skidding toward the canyon wall. The impact was instant and catastrophic - Mawhonic's pod collided with the rocky surface, erupting into a fiery explosion, sending debris cascading down the track.
Far behind, Anakin, now back in the race, was making up for lost time. His pod, although smaller than most, was sleek and agile, cutting through the gaps between other racers with remarkable ease. He passed one, then another, his confidence building with each overtaken opponent.
However, not everyone was eager to let him through. Gasgano, a lanky, multi-armed alien, refused to yield his position. Each time Anakin attempted to overtake him, Gasgano swerved aggressively, blocking his path.
Anakin narrowed his eyes. He wasn't going to be denied.
Up ahead, a massive drop-off loomed. Gasgano, unaware of Anakin's plan, took the leap at normal speed. Anakin, however, pulled back slightly, letting his rival take the lead before slamming the throttle to maximum power. His pod surged forward, launching off the cliff with incredible velocity, soaring right over the top of Gasgano's pod.
The move was risky, but it paid off. As Anakin landed, his pod roared ahead, leaving Gasgano sputtering in rage.
But the dangers of the race weren't limited to fellow competitors.
Perched on the canyon's rocky ridges, a pair of Tusken Raiders had set up camp, their sniper rifles trained on the speeding racers below. With guttural laughter, they took aim and fired, their blaster bolts streaking through the air.
One shot ricocheted off the back of Anakin's pod, sending sparks flying. His heart pounded, but he kept steady, gripping the controls tightly.
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TATOOINE - MOS ESPA: VIEWING PLATFORM
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The roar of engines, the cheering of the crowd, and the smell of burning fuel filled the air as the podracers blazed through the track. The leaders of the race had already neared the completion of their first lap, surging toward the starting grid. On a massive screen hovering above the grandstands, the footage of the race played out, showing Sebulba and the other frontrunners closing in.
Quadrinaros, still stranded at the starting grid, watched the screen with wide, disbelieving eyes. His frustration boiled over as he slammed his numerous fists down on his control console, unaware that his anger-fueled act would ultimately spell his doom.
With a loud pop and a crackle of electricity, the power couplings binding Quadrinaros' four engines together suddenly flickered out. His face twisted in horror as he realized what was happening—but by then, it was far too late. The engines, now unrestrained, each veered off in different directions, spiraling wildly before smashing into rocks, stands, and the outer walls of the arena. Explosions erupted in quick succession, sending plumes of smoke and fire into the sky. Quadrinaros groaned in utter defeat as his now-powerless pod dropped to the ground with a dull thud.
Fode: "Ooo! There goes Quadrinaros' power coupling!"
The crowd erupted in laughter at the humiliating failure, some pointing at the screen as they chuckled. High up in the stands, Watto grinned smugly, leaning back with his arms crossed as he exchanged words with his fellow gamblers. He was confident that Anakin had no chance of winning—his profits were practically secured.
Meanwhile, the leaders tore past the starting grid, completing their first lap. Sebulba remained firmly in the lead, his large pod effortlessly weaving around obstacles as he maintained his dominance over the race. The announcers' voices rang across the arena.
Beed: "Sebulba! Ka pa me cheespa wata!"
A wave of excitement crashed over the crowd, the majority of whom cheered loudly for the Dug racer. At the same time, Ody Mandrell pulled into the pit area, his pod shuddering to a stop. Something felt off with his engines, and he wasn't about to take any chances. His pit droids rushed over to inspect the issue, but only a handful of them actually got to work—the others merely stood around aimlessly, completely clueless. Ody groaned in frustration.
The WAC droids exchanged some sarcastic remarks in Huttese before finally beginning repairs. However, their lack of attention to detail proved to be a fatal error. One unfortunate droid stood directly in front of an active engine intake, oblivious to the danger. Within seconds, the force of suction yanked the poor droid into the engine, causing a catastrophic explosion. The shredded remains of the droid shot out the other side, tumbling across the sand in pieces.
Beed: "Ody Mandrell! Coona wa wunda dunko!"
The crowd roared with laughter at the ridiculous scene. High above, Jabba the Hutt merely smirked, barely entertained. He had seen far too many podracers meet their unfortunate end—this was nothing new. As he glanced downward, his gaze landed on a small rodent that had wandered too close to his balcony. Without a second thought, the Hutt casually flicked the creature over the edge. A high-pitched squeal followed as it plummeted to its demise.
In the pit area, a small group anxiously awaited Anakin's arrival. Kitster, Wald, 3PO, and R2 stood on edge, their eyes fixed on the track. Kitster sighed nervously, shifting from foot to foot.
3PO: "Where is Master Ani?"
R2 beeped in agreement. Just as the tension began to mount, a blur appeared in the distance, rapidly approaching.
Padme: "Look, here he comes!"
Sure enough, Anakin's pod shot over the dunes, rapidly closing in on the rest of the racers. The announcers took notice of the sudden surge.
Fode: "It looks like young Skywalker is moving up in the field..."
Anakin zoomed past the pit area, overtaking one of the slower racers in the process. The roar of his engines briefly drowned out the cheers of the audience as he sped onward.
Y/N: "Two more laps to go..."
Kitster and Wald jumped up excitedly, waving their arms.
Kitster: "Woohoo! Yeah!"
R2 let out an excited whistle, while 3PO, ever the worrier, clutched his metallic hands together.
3PO: "He has to complete two more circuits? Oh dear!"
Anakin remained focused, maneuvering around tight turns and steep hills with precision. The cluster of racers in front of him loomed closer, their pods kicking up vast clouds of dust as they raced across the desert. With careful adjustments, he weaved through the pack, overtaking one racer after another.
The race pressed on, the tension rising as Anakin finally drew near to Sebulba. Just as he was about to make his move, the racer in second place suddenly spiraled out of control. One of their engines exploded, sending the entire pod crashing in a violent display of fire and debris. Anakin barely had time to react, managing to swerve and avoid the larger wreckage, but smaller fragments struck his pod. One piece struck a crucial tube connecting his engines, causing them to sputter violently.
Fode: "Skywalker's spinning out of control!"
Anakin gritted his teeth, gripping the controls tightly as he fought against the chaotic spin. His hands flew across the dashboard, adjusting the stabilizers in rapid succession. After a tense moment, he managed to regain control, his pod straightening out just in time to re-enter the race.
As he surged forward once more, his pod came under fire—literally. The Tusken Raiders had returned, perched atop rocky cliffs with their rifles aimed at the racers below. They let out their signature war cries as they fired shots at the passing pods, some bullets barely missing Anakin. One, however, found its mark. The bolt ricocheted off the back of his engine, startling him but causing no major damage.
Another racer, Teemto, wasn't so lucky. A shot from the Raiders struck his pod, sending him tumbling through the air before smashing into the ground. The announcers winced.
Fode: "Oh, I don't care what universe you're from. That's gotta hurt!"
Back on the viewing platform, Qui-Gon, Shmi, Y/N, Padme, and Jar Jar scanned the track.
Jar Jar: "Here he comes, yahoo!"
Fode: "At the start of the third and final lap, Sebulba is in the lead, closely followed by... Skywalker?"
Kitster: "Go, Ani!"
Anakin pushed forward, finally reaching Sebulba's side. He attempted to maneuver around the bulky pod, but the Dug was relentless. Each time Anakin found an opening, Sebulba swerved to block him. The battle intensified as they entered the canyon, Sebulba ramming his pod into Anakin's, sending violent jolts through his cockpit.
With one final shove, Sebulba forced Anakin off-course. The young pilot's pod veered toward a service ramp at breakneck speed.
Fode: "Skywalker's been forced onto the service ramp!"
Anakin crashes through the gate at breakneck speed, his pod nearly clipping the edges of the jagged metal frame as he soars into the air. His twin engines let out a shrill whine, sputtering violently as the sudden lack of traction sends the pod momentarily spinning. The boy grips the control sticks tightly, his face set with determination as he fights to keep the craft steady. The crowd collectively gasps, eyes wide in horror, expecting him to lose control and spiral into disaster.
For a brief moment, time seems to slow. Dust swirls beneath Anakin's pod as he reaches the peak of his uncontrolled ascent. The sunlight glints off the sleek, curved surfaces of the energy binders connecting the engines. His fingers twitch over the controls, instincts taking over as he adjusts his trajectory.
Gravity took hold as Anakin's pod tilts downward and plummets like a rocket streaking toward the desert floor. The force of the dive amplifies his speed, sending a powerful gust of sand and debris in his wake as he angles sharply to the inside lane. The shock of the sudden acceleration almost rattles the controls from his grip, but Anakin holds firm. The engines howl, straining under the intense pressure before roaring to life at full power.
He shoots past Sebulba, weaving through the narrow path like a wraith of wind and metal.
Fode: "It's Skywalker!"
The Mos Espa crowd erupts in a thunderous roar, spectators leaping from their seats in exhilaration. Even the most skeptical of gamblers, who had long dismissed Anakin as a mere slave boy with no chance of victory, now watch in stunned disbelief.
Fode: "Amazing... a quick controlled thrust and he's back on course!"
Up in the royal box, Jabba the Hutt watches with mild amusement, one fat hand stroking his slimy chin. His wife, Gardulla, lets out an amused huff, unimpressed but intrigued. Bib Fortuna leans in slightly, his sharp red eyes narrowing.
Meanwhile, Jar Jar Binks - who had spent the last few seconds frozen in terror - peeks out from between his webbed fingers, his long ears twitching with nervous curiosity.
Jar Jar: "Did he crashed?"
Sebulba, now trailing just behind Anakin, grits his teeth in unbridled rage. His orange eyes flare with malice as he pushes his pod to the limit, the massive engines snarling like caged beasts desperate to overtake their prey. His grip on the controls tightens as he swerves aggressively to the right, inching dangerously close to Anakin's pod.
The Dug refuses to be bested by a child of only nine years.
With a wicked smirk curling across his leathery lips, he slams his pod against Anakin's, sending a jarring shockwave through the boy's craft. The impact rattles Anakin's cockpit, and he struggles to maintain control. His hands work frantically over the control sticks, counteracting the turbulence as he steadies the pod.
Sebulba sneers, not stopping for even a second as he was determined to drive Anakin off the track... permanently.
To Sebulba's luck, the mix of the powerful winds blasting against Anakin's pod as well as the slamming of Sebulba's own podracer against him caused the very same stabilizing valve that Sebulba had broke to dislodge and fly off the one engine as smoke began to emit from the left engine, speed slowly beginning to drop as Sebulba took the opportunity to speed past him, laughing at the boys troubles.
Fode: "Skywalker's in trouble. Sebulba takes the lead!"
A wave of cheers erupted from the majority of the audience, their voices echoing across the sprawling arena. Many had come for this moment alone—to see the undefeated Sebulba dominate, to watch him crush yet another foolish challenger. Coins exchanged hands as excited gamblers celebrated what seemed to be an inevitable outcome.
From the viewing platform, Y/N's eyes widened as he quickly analyzed the situation. His heart pounded as he turned to the others, urgency in his voice.
Y/N: "He's lost his stabilizing valve. He needs to close up the engine to get rid of the fire, otherwise the Pod will explode!"
The words sent a shiver of fear through the group. Shmi, Anakin's mother, stiffened. Her breath hitched as she realized just how dire the situation was. The thought of losing her son—her only child—made her stomach twist in terror. Her fingers clutched the edge of her robe, eyes locked onto the screen in desperate hope.
Out on the course, Anakin's sharp blue eyes flickered across his control panel, taking in the readings. The problem was clear. Smoke billowed from his left engine, flames licking hungrily at the exposed wiring. Despite the danger, he remained calm. With precise movements, he switched over to the auxiliary system, his small hands moving rapidly over the controls.
Sebulba streaked past him in a blur of orange and gray, his massive engines roaring as he seized the lead. Anakin's Pod jerked slightly from the loss of balance, the smoke momentarily blinding his view. He grit his teeth, blocking out the cheers of the crowd and the pressure of the moment.
With one final adjustment, he did exactly as Y/N had said he need to do - shutting down the left engine's main fuel line, he rerouted the power causing the flames to flicker and sputter out. Wasting no time, he transferred half of his right engine's fuel into the failing left one. The engines stuttered for a brief moment—then roared back to life.
Anakin grinned. He was back in the race.
The relief on Shmi, Padme, and Y/N's faces was palpable. The tension that had gripped them moments before was now replaced with exhilaration.
Anakin slammed the throttle forward, feeling the familiar pull of acceleration as he once again streaked across the course. The wind whipped against his face, adrenaline coursing through his veins like fire. Within seconds, he was right back on Sebulba's tail.
Sebulba: "Wha- Chuba da noya?!"
The Dug's arrogant expression twisted into one of disbelief. His orange eyes narrowed as he saw Anakin closing in, inch by inch.
Fode: "He's catching Sebulba!"
Beed: "Inkabunga!"
On the viewing platform, Jar Jar could barely contain himself. He rocked back and forth, his long ears flapping as he anxiously waved his hands.
Jar Jar: "Careful, Ani, careful, Ani!"
Sebulba scowled, his sharp teeth gritting together as he made a snap decision. He violently jerked his podracer toward Anakin, attempting to ram him off course. But this time, the move didn't work as planned.
The two Pods collided with a loud clang sounding from it, their power couplings momentarily surging with energy as they locked together. The vibrations jolted Anakin's seat as he gripped the controls tighter, fighting against the force trying to pull him aside. Sebulba cursed under his breath, wrenching his controls in an attempt to break free, but the binding energy couplings between their engines refused to budge.
The racers remained deadlocked, hurtling forward side by side, the finish line rapidly approaching.
Fode: "That little human being is out of his mind!"
Beed: "Punda tah punda!"
Fode: "They're side by side!"
Beed: "Bongo du bongu!"
From the viewing box, Qui-Gon glanced at Shmi, his normally composed expression shifting into something almost tense. Even he, a seasoned Jedi, was beginning to feel the weight of the moment. Padmé turned to Y/N, her brows furrowed in worry. Without thinking, she reached out, grasping his hand. Y/N glanced at her in surprise, then squeezed her fingers in return, offering silent reassurance.
Down on the track, the struggle continued. The two racers pulled fiercely in opposite directions, each trying to maintain their lead without losing speed. The engines crackled and sparked from the strain.
Then, in a split-second decision, Anakin reached for a lever.
With one sharp pull his pod violently jerked away from Sebulba's, snapping free from the entanglement. The sudden release sent Sebulba's pod lurching forward uncontrollably.
Sebulba's eyes went wide in panic as his control sticks wrenched out of alignment. The connection between his cockpit and his left engine suddenly buckled—then snapped.
The left engine spun wildly out of control. Sparks erupted from the failing machinery, and then without warning the entire pod flipped onto its side, skidding violently across the sand.
Sebulba tumbled forward in his seat, arms flailing as he desperately tried to regain control. But it was too late. His pod slammed into the dirt, sparks flying as he screeched across the ground.
Sebulba: "Poodoo!"
The crowd erupted into cheers, their excitement shaking the very air as Anakin crossed the finish like before coming to a stop, officially being declared the winner of the Boonta Eve race.
In the viewing platform - Y/N, Padme, Qui-Gon, Shmi, and Jar Jar leapt to their feet, clapping and cheering as Anakin streaked across the finish line.
Anakin had done it.
Just like the young slave boy had promised he had wone the race and, unknowingly, he had also just won his freedom.
Overwhelmed with excitement, Y/N suddenly released Padme's hand and, without thinking, wrapped his arms around her waist. He lifted her effortlessly off the ground, spinning her around in sheer joy causing the young handmaiden, despite the slight surprise initially, to laugh in glee and excitement, the two not knowing that Qui-Gon had watched the exchange with a slight amount of suspicion, yet he decided to leave it for the time being as Jar Jar had manned the controls of the viewing platform and lowered it back to the ground.
The group rushed forward to meet Anakin, their faces alight with joy. From the sidelines, R2, 3PO, Kitster, and Wald celebrated in their own excitement.
Chanting for them. Everyone rushed over to them overcome with joy as Y/N along with the others came to greet Anakin with happy smiles on their faces as Y/N walked over to Anakin, picked him up and put him on his shoulder with Anakin laughing along with Padme, Qui-Gon, Shmi, and Jar Jar at the sight.
Anakin: "Mom! I did it! Yeah!"
In Watto's box several members were not happy, others were just counting their money with wide smiles on their faces as they did so.
In the Hutt-controlled viewing box, Jabba the Hutt sat slumped in his seat, lazily watching the race. His massive tail twitched slightly. As the cheers of the crowd grew deafening, his eyes cracked open. Beside him, his Twi'lek majordomo, Bib Fortuna, leaned in and whispered in his ear. Jabba gave a slow, rumbling chuckle, amused by the unexpected outcome. He waved a sluggish hand, signaling that the event had reached its conclusion.
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TATOOINE - MOS ESPA: ARENA MAIN HANGER
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The arena hangar bustled with energy, a mixture of celebration and disbelief still lingering in the air. Mechanics and podracer pilots moved about, some tending to damaged pods, others counting their winnings or lamenting their losses. The scent of burnt fuel and hot sand clung to the air, mingling with the sound of distant cheers.
Among the crowd, Jar Jar Binks couldn't contain his excitement. Without hesitation, he scooped up Anakin Skywalker, lifting him off the ground in a clumsy but enthusiastic embrace.
Jar Jar: "Great going, Ani!"
Anakin laughed, though he barely had time to catch his breath before Padme Amidala stepped forward. The young handmaiden smiled warmly before pulling him into a gentle hug. To her, it was a simple act of gratitude, but to Anakin, it was something much more. The heat in his cheeks was not just from the sun—his heart raced at the closeness of the girl he admired so much.
Padme: "We owe you everything."
For a fleeting moment, Anakin wished the embrace would never end, but soon enough, Padme pulled away, and it was Y/N's turn. The older companion rested a firm hand on Anakin's shoulder, giving him a proud nod before offering a reassuring pat on the back. It wasn't grand, but the weight of his approval meant something to Anakin nonetheless.
Before he could react further, Shmi Skywalker stepped forward. The proud mother could no longer hold herself back. She wrapped her arms around her son, pulling him into a tight embrace. Despite his newfound freedom and the victory he had earned, Anakin felt a tinge of embarrassment as his mother placed a tender kiss on his cheek. He glanced around, hoping none of his friends saw his face turn red.
Shmi: "It's so wonderful, Ani. You have brought hope to those who have none. I'm so very proud of you..."
Anakin: "Ah..."
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TATOOINE - MOS ESPA: ARENA PRIVATE BOX
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While the others rejoiced in Anakin's triumph, Qui-Gon Jinn had quietly separated from the group, making his way up to the towering structure of the private viewing box where Watto had been seated. Inside, the Toydarian hovered in frustration, begrudgingly counting out credits and handing them over to the last of the smug-faced gamblers. The pile of winnings he had lost was significant—perhaps more than he could afford.
As Watto turned, his irritated gaze met Qui-Gon's calm yet unwavering presence in the doorway. He grumbled, his wings fluttering with agitation.
Watto: "You! You swindled me! You knew the boy was going to win! Somehow you knew it! I lost everything."
With an angry buzz, Watto darted toward Qui-Gon, pressing his face inches from the Jedi Master's, his sharp teeth clenched. Yet, Qui-Gon merely regarded him with an easy, knowing smile.
Qui-Gon: "Whenever you gamble, my friend, eventually you'll lose. Bring the parts to the main hangar. I'll come by your shop later so you can release the boy."
Watto's eyes darkened, his small fingers curling into fists.
Watto: "You can't have him! It wasn't a fair bet!"
The smile faded slightly from Qui-Gon's face, replaced by a quiet but firm look of authority. His voice remained level, but there was an undeniable weight behind his next words.
Qui-Gon: "Would you like to discuss it with the Hutts...? I'm sure they can settle this."
Watto's wings slowed their frantic beating. The mention of the Hutts was enough to drain the color from his face. He knew better than to risk their ire over a lost wager. Defeated, he let out a long, irritated sigh and gave a reluctant nod.
Watto: "Take him."
Qui-Gon nodded once before turning, leaving the disgruntled Toydarian to fume alone in his box, muttering curses in Huttese under his breath.
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TATOOINE - DESERT : QUEEN AMIDALA'S SPACECRAFT
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The twin suns of Tatooine beat down mercilessly as the small group trekked across the desert landscape. The Nubian royal starship, its chrome surface gleaming under the harsh light, sat waiting in the distance like an oasis amidst the dunes.
R2-D2 cruised ahead of the party, his domed head swiveling as he scanned the surroundings. Behind him, Qui-Gon, Y/N, Padme, and Jar Jar rode atop Eopies, the long-snouted creatures plodding steadily forward. Qui-Gon and Jar Jar shared one, while Y/N and Padme rode together on the other.
Despite the protection of her hooded cloak, Padme felt the heat of the sun pressing against her skin. She sighed in relief as they neared the ship, eager to escape the scorching desert for the cool interior of the royal cruiser. Jar Jar, on the other hand, looked absolutely miserable, groaning with exhaustion as he slumped forward against the Eopie's back.
At last, the ship's ramp descended, and Obi-Wan Kenobi emerged, striding forward to greet them. His sharp gaze flickered between Qui-Gon and the others, taking in their state. Though his expression remained composed, there was an unmistakable flicker of satisfaction in his eyes - he could sense through the Force that fortune had favored them.
Qui-Gon returned his apprentice's look with a knowing nod, stepping aside as Obi-Wan, Y/N, and Jar Jar moved to unload the crucial hyperdrive parts from the pack animals.
Qui-Gon: "Well, we have all the essential parts we need. Y/N, I trust you will have the ship finished by the time I get back?"
Y/N nodded confidently, shifting his grip on the heavy equipment.
Y/N: "Yes, Master."
Without hesitation, Y/N, Padme, and Jar Jar made their way up the ramp, R2 rolling behind them. Y/N and Jar Jar carried the salvaged parts toward the ship's maintenance bay, where the damaged Hyperdrive Generator awaited repairs. Though Padme lingered for a moment - her gaze flickering toward Y/N, tempted to stay and watch him work - she ultimately turned toward the Queen's quarters, intent on delivering news of their progress.
Meanwhile, Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes slightly at Qui-Gon, sensing something left unsaid.
Obi-Wan: "Back from where, Master?"
Qui-Gon exhaled through his nose, a slight smirk playing at the corner of his lips.
Qui-Gon: "I have some unfinished business. I won't be long."
Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow, already knowing what that meant. He sighed, shaking his head.
Obi-Wan: "Why do I sense we've picked up another pathetic life form...?"
Qui-Gon: "It's the boy who's responsible for getting those parts. Get the hyperdrive generator installed, I'll be back soon."
Obi-Wan: "Yes, Master. With Y/N's help it shouldn't take long."
Qui-Gon nodded to Obi-Wan before turning the Eopie and riding back Mos Espa to free and later collect Anakin so that he might bring him with them when they very soon head Coruscant and later the Jedi Temple.
To Be Continued...