Star Wars
Alternative Universe Mk.II
What if Anakin messed up in the pod race?
Chapter 1: Bat Out Of Hell
A pair of roaring tubes hurled themselves around a craggy bend in a sandy canyon, as the twin suns of Tatooine sent rays of light glinting off the roughly bodged together scraps of metal. Inside, huge motors whirred, and then screamed as the pilot, being dragged along behind them in a curved box that housed the cockpit, opened the throttle on exiting the corner. Anakin whooped as the finish line soared into view, glanced to his left stupidly to see if he could catch a glimpse of his mother and new friends cheering him on as he hurtled along at around four hundred miles per hour, three feet from the ground. During this brief lapse in Anakin's concentration, the highly-unstable engines, held together by a shocking (literally) pink energy binder, shuddered, causing the craft to lurch to the right. An engine scraped the wall, and was torn to pieces. The other engine was dragged into the wall, through the debris from it's partner, and imploded as it crashed against the orange stone.
"Oh sith..." Anakin thought, seeing as he didn't have time to speak before his cockpit was whipped around in a half-circle and hammered into the ground at an angle which caused the bottom left corner to be crushed against the side of the start gate. The box shattered, and Anakin felt his body being drove into the control panel. The last thing he saw was his heart, still beating, leaping out of his chest like a bat out of hell.
**
"Master, I can't believe you would take such a risk!" Obi-Wan whispered, in a tone that suggested he would have been shouting if it wasn't for the rest of the household being asleep. Household was quite a loose term, really, seeing as currently living in the shabby, cramped hovel were a clumsy Gungan, two Jedi, one of the Queen's handmaidens and two semi-sentient droids. And those were just the houseguests. The building had originally been solely occupied by a young male slave and his mother, so Force knows how the rest fitted in.
"It had to be done, Obi-Wan. What choice did we have?" Qui-Gon quietly and calmly replied.
"The choice to keep our ship! How are we supposed to get to Coruscant without it? We can't survive on this planet for very long, Master!"
"Obi-Wan, calm down. The slaves in this area have been kind enough to take in a couple of passengers each in exchange for their skills as light-labourers. They have food and shelter, which we have been given for free. You heard the boy's mother when you arrived this evening, we won't be spending our time working for her, which is why we can spend time seeking another way off the planet. Perhaps your skills at entering drinking establishments illegally will come in handy to find a pilot for us?"
"Yes, Master," Obi-Wan agreed, reluctantly. "But we have nothing left to pay for the trip. No-one accepts Republic credits, and none of the pilots in a place like this will trust anyone enough to transport anyone without being paid in advance!"
"So, what's the problem?" Qui-Gon asked, shrugging. Obi-Wan stared at him through the gloom.
"So, we have no other currency to pay them with!"
"Then we do it the old fashioned way, Obi-Wan. We earn it."
"How?"
"Usually money is earned through selling things, or, work."
"Work? Can't we threaten pilots with our sabres?" Obi-Wan asked, desperately. He winced as his master grinned at him.
"No, Obi-Wan."
"Could we sell the droids?"
"No point, they'd never be worth enough. And we may need them, anyway."
"Can we sell... uhm... Jar-Jar?"
"No."
"Damn... What about the Queen's clothes? If we sell hers and her handmaidens, we might scrape together enough for---"
"It would never be enough either, they don't appreciate clothing of that style here. To them it's useless in this environment. You've suggested this before, you know... And what would the handmaidens and Queen wear if we sold all their clothes, Obi-Wan?"
"Well.... Uhm..." Obi-Wan frowned in thought, then smirked. "Personally I thought it was a terrific idea."
"Grow up, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon admonished, wearily.
"But Master, at least it would be more comfortable for them in this heat! And I am growing up..."
"I think that's the problem..." Qui-Gon replied, wryly. "Now go to sleep, Padawan. In the morning things will look better. I have a cunning plan."
"Oh...great. I can't wait, Master."
**
"Anakin!" a concerned voice filled his ears, causing Anakin to open his eyes. Crouched over his short bed was his mother. "What's wrong? I heard screaming."
"Sorry..." Anakin sniffed. "It was just a bad dream..."
"About the race?"
"Yeah..." Anakin murmered, guiltily.
"Anakin! What have I told you? You tried your best, there was nothing more you could do."
"I could have won!"
"Then your friends wouldn't still be here, would they?" Shmi countered, trying to be comforting.
"At least they wouldn't be mad at me..." he whispered, mostly to himself.
Shmi sighed and sat on the bunk, and smiled at her child. "They're not mad at you. They are grateful for you trying."
"Only Master Qui-Gon is, and he's just too polite to get angry... I've stranded them all here and they hate me!" Anakin cried, definately.
"Mesa no hate you," came a voice from the figure peering round the door frame.
"There, you see?" Shmi said.
"What are you doing up?" Anakin asked the Gungan as it strode into his room.
"Mesa got kicked outta the living room. Obi-Wan got very angered with mesa snorin'."
"So where will you sleep now? I wouldn't mind having you in here but I don't think there's much room with the two droids and all..."
"He can stay in the kitchen if he doesn't mind a slightly harder floor," Shmi said.
"Okiday!" Jar-Jar said, grinning. He stuck up his thumb to Anakin, turned, and walked into the wall. After a brief period of muttering, the Gungan stepped to the side and then walked through the empty arch-way which was used as a door in the slave hovels. Shmi held her hand against Anakin's cheek for a moment, kissed his forehead, then followed Jar-Jar and left.
"Goodnight, Ani," she whispered.
"Goodnight, mom..."
**
Chapter 2: Shiny Happy People
Anakin awoke, and stared blearily at the squat shadow at the foot of his bed. It beeped in greeting.
"Oh, good morning, Artoo. Is the first sun up yet?"
The droid whirred affirmitavely, then rolled out of the room as Anakin pulled himself out of bed. He padded from his dim, windowless room into the kitchen area, where his mother and the two Jedi were already having breakfast. He hopped into an empty place, the sight of food already giving him the energy to awaken properly, and began to eat.
"Good morning, Anakin," Qui-Gon softly said to him, then glanced at his mother. "Are there any spaceports or bars near-by which may carry the holo-net? We may be able to find some news on the situation on Naboo."
"The access at the spaceports is very limited," Shmi answered, sighing. "And, I'm afraid the only other place on the planet that would have it is the Hutt palace..."
The table fell silent, save for the munching of food and slurping of blue milk. Suddenly, Obi-Wan gasped, and pushed his chair back. He glared darkly at the Gungan who clambered out from underneath the table. "Jar-Jar! What were you doing under there?"
"Mesa snoozin'! Yous---"
"Listen," Obi-Wan cut him off, coldly. "My leg isn't food, you cannot eat it, so if you try again I will take my lightsaber and---"
"Settle down, Padawan," Qui-Gon warned him, then nodded to Padme as she slipped into the room and took a seat across from Anakin. "Good, we're all up. Now I can tell you my plan."
"I don't want to hear your plan," Padme told the Jedi Master, without looking at him. "The last one got us in enough trouble." She ignored the strange mixture in a bowl in front of her, and started clawing at her hair, trying to comb it with her fingers. When she noticed Anakin gazing at her, she gritted her teeth and tried to ignore him. Meanwhile, Obi-Wan spoke up.
"Master, it will take years for one of us to earn enough to get us off planet! We talked about this last night... Working won't...well, it won't work!" He lowered his voice to a whisper, and didn't much like the smirk on Qui-Gon's face. "This is a backward planet, run by criminals and gangsters. Simple workers barely make enough to feed themselves, slaves make less. We'd have to work for the Hutt if we wanted and real cash..." The smirk was even larger now.
"Padawan, I couldn't have put it better myself."
"Oh, great," Obi-Wan said with resignation. "What do I have to do this time?"
"I'm happy you're volunteering for this mission, Padawan," Qui-Gon chuckled. "You are strong in the Force, and a formidable warrior... I believe the Hutt could put these qualities to great use if you were to... provide an elimination service."
"You mean you want me to become a bounty hunter?"
"Not in so many words... Well, you would only be going after proven criminals, of course..."
"I see... but that will still take a very long time to scrape together enough, and the profession is very unreliable, Master. Especially if you pick and choose your targets like we'll have to."
"Don't worry, Obi-Wan, you're not the only person who will be working. Padme."
"What?" she said, glumly.
"Can you dance?"
"Yes..." she answered, staring warily at him.
"Good, the Hutt will love having you entertain his court."
"Pardon?" she cried, shocked.
"Now then, Jar-Jar, what job can we get for you?"
"I'm not very good at entertaining!" Padme continued to protest.
"As a matter of fact, Jar-Jar, I think you should just try to stay out of trouble... We won't need to find you a job..."
"Right," Obi-Wan said. "The last thing we need is a large bill for breakages... So, Master, what will you be doing?"
Qui-Gon glanced out of the window, where the second sun was now over two-thirds above the horizon. "I aquired myself some work last night just after we brought Anakin back home. My 'credentials' have managed to get me a managerial position in a nearby factory."
"Excuse me, are you listening?" Padme cried in frustration.
"What sort of factory?" Obi-Wan asked his master.
"Well they seem to be producing some kind of weaponry... of course, if I can manage it, none of those weapons will ever be fireable... The conditions are terrible too, it's all slave labourers. I'll certainly have to add that to my list of things to do."
"Master Jedi, really, this i---" Padme started to complain, but was cut-off by Qui-Gon finally addressing her.
"Padme, you should apply for work this afternoon. Obi-Wan will go with you to make sure you get there and back safely before going for his own job."
"I will not dance for other... creatures' amusement!" Padme said defiantly.
"You have to do something if you want to get off this planet," Obi-Wan reminded her, gently.
"I know that. Can't I work as a waitress or... or something that's a bit less energetic?"
Qui-Gon shook his head. "I'm afraid not, the Hutt usually employ droids to do service work, and you're too young to be carrying drinks anyway."
"Fine! What am I supposed to do? Twirl light-rods and jump around in time to some horrible, alien music?"
"Perhaps," Qui-Gon answered, then glanced at Obi-Wan. "If it is, Obi-Wan here can help you learn to twirl. He does it a lot with his lightsaber."
Anakin, tired of being ignored, piped up. "What about me? Is there anything I can do to help?"
Qui-Gon smiled gently at him. "I'm afraid no--"
"If we want to get off this planet, we won't take any more of your help," Padme cooly told him. She pushed herself up from the table, and headed outside. Obi-Wan, after a pause, followed her.
**
"Padme!" Obi-Wan moaned, as he stepped outside and shielded his eyes from the glaring suns.
"What?" she said, darkly. Obi-Wan could just make out her figure perched on a dull, orange boulder, over-looking the charred remains of Anakin's pod-racer. Watto hadn't bothered to collect it when he took the rest of his winnings.
"What is wrong with you? You seem so bitter this morning."
"Bitter?" Padme muttered, not bothering to look at Obi-Wan as he sat himself beside her.
"That's right, bitter. Perhaps even angry."
"Why would I be angry?"
"Well..." Obi-Wan began, and his mind began attempting to remember a few biology lessons that may have provided the answer.
"Do you think, Obi-Wan, it could be because my homeworld has been occupied for no reason by battle-droids? Or because my people are being systematically imprisoned and probably wiped out? Or because I'm trapped on this hot, horrible dust-ball with barely any water just because you stupid Jedi wanted to experiment with some damn boy?!!" She finished in a scream, then broke into tears. Obi-Wan wrapped a cloaked arm around her shoulders.
"I know. I didn't think it was a very good idea either, but Qui-Gon's right. We had to try something, and it was the only option. If it had worked..."
"It didn't work!" Padme sobbed.
"Well no, but... We'll get out of this, Padme. It's better to be here than to be imprisoned or killed on Naboo. We'll get the money together soon to get to Coruscant... Have you ever been to the City-Planet?"
"No."
"Oh, the place is terrific. You'll love it, there's so much to do. The twinkling lights at night look like a starry sky above and below you..."
"It sounds beautiful," Padme whispered.
"Oh, it is... When we get there, I promise I'll show you round the place. You'll have such a good time you'll forget all about this dust-ball.
"I can't wait..." Padme said, only sniffing now.
"It's something for you to look forward too, though, isn't it?"
"Yes, thank you," she said, and rester her tear-streaked face on his shoulder.
**
Chapter 3: End of the World as We Know It (And I feel fine)
"Obi-Wan, get a move on," Qui-Gon softly but sternly told his padawan as he strode past the pair towards the burnt husk of the crashed pod-racer. "The sooner you find work, the sooner things will get better."
"Yes, Master," Obi-Wan breathed, and tried to stand. Unfortunately, Padme didn't seem to want to move from her resting place. He glanced down and saw that she was sleeping, with the glaring suns shimmering across her dark, slightly unkempt hair. He also felt that it could be described as beautiful, though he wasn't sure why. There weren't many combs on Tatooine for a start...
"Are you going yet?" Qui-Gon called as he inspected the racer, checking for anything useful that could be salvaged. Watto certainly didn't want it.
"Master, the heat is really tiring out the Queen's handmaiden here," Obi-Wan informed him, and Padme stirred slightly as his voice vibrated through his lungs and outward.
Qui-Gon glanced up, waved his fingers slightly, and went back to his inspection. Padme jolted up from Obi-Wan so fast that she tumbled onto the sand at his feet.
"Thanks, Master," Obi-Wan muttered as if it was a curse. He knelt down from the rock, and helped the startled handmaiden to stand.
"I'm sorry, I must have just... dozed off, I think," Padme said as she pushed some of the dust from her clothing. "So, I suppose we had better get on with this?"
"Right," said Obi-Wan. He started to turn towards the slaves' hovel, then paused. He light brushed some grains of sand from Padme's shoulder, then continued through the house and into the streets, Padme at his heels. Sortly after they left the area, Qui-Gon emerged from the slave quarters, and headed to work in his factory.
**
"Good day," the robed, bearded figure softly greeted a wrinkled, slightly shrivelled Toydarian. "I have been appointed as the new manger, I was hoping you could show me to my office?"
"Of course, sir, right this way," the creature said, and began beating its wings. The figure followed it along a narrow, bare corridor. He could hear the whirring and grinding of machinery through the wall. Soon they reached a tiny turbolift, which drew them up into a fairly large, box-like room. The front of the room was lined with a bank of windows, looking out onto the bustling factory floor. Qui-Gon thanked his guide, who informed him that he was his assistant, and was called Quello. The Toydarian hovered out of the room, and left Qui-Gon to sit heavily at his desk, and gaze out at the slaves labouring away down on the floor.
"I have a bad feeling about this," Qui-Gon whispered.
**
"Padme, I'm sure Master Qui-Gon had no idea that your job would involve such... well..." Obi-Wan began, as he followed Padme from the tall town-house of the Hutt.
"It's sick!" she cut in, and stormed along the dusty street. A wind was beginning to whip up some sand.
"Well, look on the bright-side. The uniform will keep you cool."
"This is not amusing, Padawan Kenobi!" Padme told him, curtly.
"Of course not, sorry," Obi-Wan said. "Seriously, though, the hours are quite good. Afternoons and early evenings. Just be thankful I didn't let them put you in the night act."
"N-night act?" Padme asked, worried. She wiped some dust from her eyes and slowed. It was getting difficult to see.
"Don't ask," Obi-Wan warned her, and then walked straight into her. They collapsed in a heap, in the middle of a deserted street, as the sand whirred around them.
Padme cried out, and tried to pry her foot from underneath Obi-Wan's leg. At least she thought it was Obi-Wan's leg, but with the yellow blanket engulfing her, she couldn't see a thing. She began choking on sand, when suddenly the yellow blur became much darker, as if a warm, thick robe was being draped over her. As a hand firmly clasped around her own, Padme quietly thanked the Jedi Padawan, and tried to ignore the roar of the sandstorm around them.
**
Chapter 4: The Sweetest Thing
Qui-Gon looked up from his desk, as the windows around him shook. He rose to his feet, and walked over to the transparent end of his office, which gave him a view of the long, gloomy factory floor. At the far end of the building, through tall and arched windows, he could see nothing. They were completely blanked with yellow dust from the sandstorm that was battering the building.
Qui-Gon glanced at the wall chronometer. Feeling concern for his padawan and his charge, who were probably both making their way through the city at this time, Qui-Gon stretched out through the Force to touch his student's mind. He found apprehension, which was understandable with the storm all around them, but it seemed to almost drowned out by a feeling of bewildered happiness. It seemed that not even Obi-Wan knew why he was so full of joy.
"Your lunch, sir," came Quello's voice as he hovered timidly into the office. He sat a wooden tray on Qui-Gon's desk, and turned to leave.
"What do the workers eat?" Qui-Gon asked him suddenly.
"Eat, sir?"
"Yes," said Qui-Gon, turning away from the windows and casting the worries about Obi-Wan temporarily out of his mind. He was sure the boy could take care of himself, though he hadn't had much experience outside of the temple walls.
"Well I would have to ask them..."
"You don't know the menu?"
"Menu, sir?" Quello asked, sounding worried.
"Yes, the menu. For the cafeteria," Qui-Gon explained, patiently.
"There is not cafteria on the premises, si--"
"The workers don't eat during the day?!" Qui-Gon demanded sharply, but he didn't give the fluttering being time to answer. "I want that fixed, as soon as possible."
"But sir, surely slaves do---" Quello began to protest.
"A hungry worker is a poor worker," Qui-Gon stated, simply.
"Yes, sir," the Toydarian said, feeling more than slightly confused. He flew back out of the office as Qui-Gon turned back to the windows, and sighed. He was again concerned for his padawan.
**
Short rushes of warm air tickled Padme's ears, which had grown numb to the whooshing and roaring of the storm outside. She tried to squirm underneath the heavy blanket of a thick robe and, no doubt, lots of sand. She soon realised, however, this was pointless as her hiding place was completely darkened.
"Are you feeling alright?" she asked the young Jedi who had saved her.
"I'm... fine. Why?" came his breathless answer.
"You seem a little tired... and out of breath."
"I'm just concentrating. Keeping the wind from getting... the robe..."
"Oh... Are you using the Force?" she asked, suddenly in awe but trying not to show it.
"Yes, I am, actually," Obi-Wan answered. He would have grinned, but no-one would see it.
"How long do you think this sandstorm will last?"
"Oh, quite a while yet," Obi-Wan answered, feeling hopeful he was right. He wasn't sure why he felt that way, though.
"I see..." Padme said, then lapsed into silence.
"It won't be that bad, I'm sure we can think of something to pass the time."
"Any suggestions?"
"Well we could talk. You'd be suprised how fast time goes when you're just talking with people."
"Oh, definately," Padme giggled. "Whenever I talk to my handmaidens we can go on for hours. Once I was an hour late for a special session in the Queen's court."
"Your handmaidens?" Obi-Wan asked, sounding puzzled.
"Uhm..." Padme began, after a long hesitation. "I suppose, being a Jedi, you'll know if I'm lying to you?"
"Yes, usually."
"Well, they're... just like my family, you see? So I call them my handma... You don't believe me, do you?"
"I already know, your highness."
"Oh... great. That's another plan destroyed... Your master knows, too?"
"Yes, probably, but don't worry. You can trust the Jedi to keep your secret."
"But if he knew who I was, why would he let me come into this settlement with him? The place is dangerous, anything could have happened to a Queen!"
"Yes, but you were willing to go. And Qui-Gon probably hoped seeing how these poor people live would make you a little less... well... I guess he was wanting to bring you down a peg or two. He's never much liked authority figures."
"I am perfectly down to earth, thank you. Why does everyone treat me like a spoilt and stuck up aristocrat?"
"Theed's a very wealthy planet, and they probably assume... well..."
"Theed is a city," Padme cut-in.
"I know that," Obi-Wan said. "What's that got to do with anything?"
"You called it a planet."
"Did I?"
"Yes." Padme laughed a little. "You said 'Theed's a very wealthy planet'".
"Oh," Obi-Wan said, and shifted uncomfortably in the sand. "Anyway, as I was saying... People usually assume that anyone, especially a politician or monarch, who is from a rich planet will be arrogant and so on."
"I see..."
"But I don't think you're like that, of course," Obi-Wan explained hurriedly.
"Well, thank you," she said, primly.
Obi-Wan was sure he saw her perfect teeth flashing in the darkness. He wasn't sure, however, why he thought they were perfect.
"Now, you know about my city of Naboo, why not tell me about your Jedi Temple?" Padme asked.
"Planet." Obi-Wan corrected her.
"What?"
"Naboo is a planet."
"I know that... oh. Well you knew what I meant!" she cried, then burst into laughter.
**
Anakin looked miserably out of the shuttered entrance Watto's shop, watching the storm toss dust and debris along the street. Despite the biting winds and flying detritus, he could still see quite clearly through the clouded air. It didn't feel like his eyes that he was seeing with, though.
"Boy!" Watto called from behind the cluttered counter Anakin was sitting on.
"Yes?" Anakin answered, twisting round to face his master. "I've fixed the parts you gave me this morning..."
"Here, take this," Watto continued in Huttese, handing Anakin a slightly scorched, silvery cylinder. It reminded Anakin of the laser-sword he saw on Qui-Gon Jinn, except this one was much longer. It also had a few red buttons down one side. "When the storm is calm enough for you to make it home, go and repair these. Bring them back tomorrow in full working order."
"Alright," Anakin said. He was happy to be getting to go home early today. There was never any business in the hours following a large sandstorm; everyone was always too busy fixing their own shops and homes. They'd need parts repaired in the morning, of course. Tomorrow was going to be busy.
"Be careful with that," Watto warned him as he flapped towards the back of the dark store. "The customer tells me it is some kind of weapon."
"Thanks," Anakin muttered, and turned back to peering through the slats of the shutters on the doors at the front of the shop. He was certain he could just make out a large, brown mass lying in the middle of the street. It looked like some sort of clothing, but it wasn't moved by the wind. It was as though something was holding it down, forcefully.
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