He didn’t believe me.
“There is no father,” I told the Jedi. “I carried him. I gave birth to him. I raised him. I can’t tell you any more than that.”
He was too courteous to contradict me, and his face was a polite mask; even his eyes were hooded and unreadable. But I could feel the doubt threading through his aura, and I could almost hear the echo of words he would never speak hanging in the air between us.
Can’t tell? Or won’t? She is a slave. Perhaps a master once made demands. Perhaps at one time she was a prostitute.
A prostitute? Me? He must think there are truly desperate men here or that there aren’t plenty of younger, prettier women who will do much for money or drugs. Even in my youth, I was no great beauty, and now--I am no longer young. And Tatooine is not kind, even if one is not a slave.
But I also knew he would not press for more information; it didn’t matter who Anakin’s father was. What matters is that Anakin possesses a gift that this man and his people--the Jedi--can help shape.
It had been frustrating, seeing a trail of people straggling into our home, following Ani as he led them inside, the little king of his palace. He is kind and friendly even to strangers, perhaps too much for his own good at times, and I confess harboring a fear that he will judge someone wrongly one day. But his instincts are good, and on that day...That day, I think something else led us all.
The girl was first, glancing around curiously, not shyly, smiling as she watched my son. Padme, he said her name was, and later she explained that she was a handmaiden to a queen. Perhaps. But there was something about the way she carried herself, the air she had that bespoke of power. This was a young woman accustomed to being listened to and getting what she wanted.
The Gungan came next. I had never seen one of his race before, but he was no odder in appearance than dozens of other races I’d seen in Mos Espa, and he seemed more good-natured than most. A bit clumsy--if the Jedi hadn’t been standing nearby and caught them, I would have lost one or two useful pieces of crockery--but friendly and cheerful.
And then the Jedi.
I didn’t know that’s what he was then. I thought he was another trader, perhaps a smuggler. But I know little of Jedi save that they are supposed to be peacekeepers, and there was nothing about his shabby appearance that led me to think he was more. A warrior for peace.
Anakin had already dragged Padme off to show her something, leaving me to deal with his other guests by myself without so much as an introduction. I hovered awkwardly for a moment, gazing at them and the little droid accompanying them, wondering what to say. There was precious little I could offer in the way of hospitality; fortunately, the Jedi seemed to realize this. He introduced himself and the Gungan, and as I listened to him explain their situation--caught in the storm after unsuccessfully haggling with Watto--in his deep, quiet voice, I began to feel calmer. There was no danger.
Ani wouldn’t have been able to tell me their names anyway even if he had stayed to introduce them. Caught up in the excitement of helping and concentrating on Padme, he’d neglected to ask. What did it matter after all? They needed shelter from the storm; he liked them; he would bring them home. A neat solution to the problem. Other considerations...were not considered. They never were. But I could not protest or fault him. There is so little good in this world as it is. I could not bear asking him to stop helping. It would be hypocritical of me after all I’ve taught him--as he so unfailingly pointed out, countering my argument about entering the pod race by throwing my own words back at me.
“But Mom, you said the biggest problem in the universe is that no one helps anyone.”
“Anakin--”
“You said it, Mom.”
So I had. Many times. In hopes that he would take the message to heart. Now would be the time he decided to show that he actually did listen to what I said.
But as much as I wanted to argue, as much as I wanted to put my foot down and exercise my right as a terrified mother to say, “No, you will not do this,” I felt the forces of destiny closing around me. There was a moment of perfect crystalline clarity in which I knew this was right and good, and I heard myself say, “Perhaps he was meant to help you.”
In that moment, I knew it was true.
At that point, I knew more of our guests. Anakin had exercised his keen powers of perception and--with his usual persistence--ferreted out the truth. The man never admitted he was a Jedi, but by the time Ani got through with him, he didn’t have to. I felt more at ease with having them in our home then; part of me had, like Ani, been inclined to trust, but life in Mos Espa teaches harsh lessons, and I remained wary until this information was revealed.
So. My son would be entered in the Boonta Eve pod race. He would try to win it for his new-found friends. He had not, I felt certain, told them a small but rather important detail: he had never completed, much less won a race before.
I could have told them.
I said that I died a little every time Watto made Ani race, and it was true. I feared that each race would be the one which claimed my child, took him from me. The races--so fast, so dangerous; Anakin--the only human racer. But each time, he managed to make the best of the crash he invariably found himself in, saving himself and salvaging as much as he could of the racer he piloted. That didn’t stop me from hating the fact that I had no choice but to agree. If I had ever dared protest, Watto would have found ways both subtle and outright of making my life miserable, using Ani to do it.
Still, I could have said something. If they had known before making the bargain with Watto, they might have explored other options, but...I did not. I kept my silence and pretended to myself that I didn’t know why.
But I did know. Fate had placed its hand on Anakin’s shoulder just as the Jedi placed his hand upon mine while we watched the race. I could have shrugged the Jedi’s hand off; Fate’s would have been far more difficult to remove.
It was during the bustle of preparation for the race that the Jedi asked about Ani’s father. I told him the truth, but his behavior towards me did not change for all that he suspected I was lying. He treated me with a courtesy and respect which I’d all but forgotten existed in the world. He treated a slave like a lady.
I had not always been a slave. There was a time in my life when I had been as free as Padme. As bold and confident as Padme even if I was never as pretty. But as Fate or Luck would have it, my life became very different.
I did not adjust well to the change.
And then one night following another day of subtle defiance against my mistress, I found myself on the outskirts of the city, screaming defiance as lightning flickered across the sky; it was yet another dry, barren electrical storm. No rain would come of it. Merely the rumble of thunder and pyrotechnics and an oppressive heat that stole the air from my lungs.
Raising my fists, I railed against the darkness. “Freedom! Give me back my freedom!”
I’m still unsure to whom I addressed this demand, but I felt something begin to coil tight, to coalesce into a shimmering knot deep within me; sweat beaded on my face and rolled down my back as my breath began to come in shallow gasps. I continued to sob and shriek, the pressure within building until I felt I would burst open with it.
“Peace, then!” I cried at last. “If I cannot have freedom, then give me a measure of peace!”
Panting, gulping for air, I fell to my knees, arching my back, flinging my arms up in supplication--overhead, a streak of lightning cracked, lighting up the entire sky for an instant before plunging all into darkness once more--the knot within me exploded outward, sending tremors throughout my entire body until I felt as if light were going to pour out of me, but it was only a scream shredding my throat, and I collapsed on the sand as rain pelted my limp body since I was too weak to move.
It wasn’t long after that night that I realized I was pregnant.
No questions were asked of me. My mistress looked upon the baby as an investment in the future, another slave to add to her collection once he was old enough to be useful. I looked upon him as a symbol of hope.
With Anakin in my life, I found contentment. Happiness remained elusive except for fleeting moments spent with him, taking pleasure in his laughter, his antics. But I did find the measure of peace I’d asked for, and the burning resentment I’d carried in my heart before his arrival dissipated. I had something beyond myself to focus on now, and I could not afford to be selfish, doing or saying anything that might cause him to be hurt in payment for my defiance.
I could not afford to be selfish with him during the pod race either. His talents were needed to help, and I knew it. Something in me whispered of hope when I looked at the Jedi as he talked quietly with Ani. I had asked him bluntly if he could help my son, and he had replied with equal bluntness.
“I don’t know. I didn’t come here to free slaves.”
No. This much was true. But sometimes one’s path leads to a different destination than one set out for. And he wanted to help. I could sense his fascination with Anakin, and I silently begged him to do what he must to free my gifted son from this stifling existence, even if it meant taking Ani somewhere I couldn’t go.
“Had he been born in the Republic, we would have identified him early, and he might have become a Jedi.” He was musing, talking more to himself than to me as if caught up in thoughts of what might have been.
A Jedi...
It was Ani’s deepest desire. Even greater than his wish to be a pilot. If there was a way, a hope for Anakin to be trained, I would agree to anything. But the Jedi was remaining elusive on the subject, careful to qualify his language. It wasn’t until I heard him speaking to someone else about Anakin that I realized exactly how serious he was about pursuing this possibility on my son’s behalf.
I wasn’t eavesdropping. Not purposefully. But when I passed by the open door leading to our tiny balcony and heard his voice, I stopped, listening, hoping.
Through the small comlink he held, another man’s voice, higher pitched and tinny filtered through the link, was audible even as far away as I was, carrying clearly through the silent night.
“Master, there must be something wrong with the sample.”
My heart leaped, accelerating wildly. Was Ani ill?
But the Jedi’s expression didn’t change, giving me no clue concerning the nature of the sample the other man referred to. Sample of what? I clenched my fists until my nails bit my palms in an effort not to run to him and demand answers.
“What do the readings say, Obi-Wan?”
There was a pause, and then the voice which I now presumed belonged to the Jedi’s servant replied, “They say the midichlorian count is twenty thousand. No one has a count that high. Not even Master Yoda.”
The barest hint of a smile curved the Jedi’s mouth as if he were receiving confirmation of something he’d suspected all along. I released a breath I hadn’t even realized I’d been holding; if he were pleased by the news, then it couldn’t be anything bad about Ani’s health.
As if he’d somehow heard my soft sigh, he glanced up sharply; our eyes met and held. I allowed myself to be relentless, brown eyes boring intently into blue, wordlessly urging him to do whatever he could, whatever he must to get Ani away from this place. Again it seemed I could hear him, and I felt a tendril of reassurance winding around me.
Peace. I will help you both if I can.
I held his gaze a moment longer, then nodded once before turning away and retreating to my bedroom where Padme already lay sleeping. I heard him tell the young man on the other end of the comlink good night, but somehow I felt the words were meant for me as well, a small offer of comfort which I accepted gratefully.
More such comfort was offered the next day at the race which I also accepted. Qui-Gon stood behind me as we watched the seemingly endless laps, and I felt his hand on my shoulder, large and strong. I leaned against him, letting his strength bolster my faltering hope, letting his tranquillity soothe my rampant fears. Reaching up, I closed my fingers around his, the warmth of the simple contact reassuring me more than any mere words could ever do.
Despite all outward appearances, I could sense that he wasn’t as entirely sanguine about the outcome of the race as he seemed. During the third and final lap, I felt his hand tighten on my shoulder, an involuntary motion that betrayed the tension he felt. I squeezed his fingers, sending a little of the strength he’d lent me back to him, and so we supported each other until it was done, and Anakin finished the race--victorious.
It wasn’t until much later that I realized what far-reaching effects his victory would have. I considered it a personal triumph, a sign of hope for all slaves who still dare to dream. I had no idea it would mean Anakin’s freedom as well. Not until Qui-Gon said the words.
“Ani has been freed.”
Such a low, quiet tone. So calmly spoken. As if opening up the entire galaxy to a slave were nothing of consequence.
I froze, stunned, bewildered, scarcely able to stammer out any questions, much less comprehend a response. Slowly it sank in that he had made other bets with Watto, and the end result was that Anakin was free. That Ani would--if he chose--go with Qui-Gon to the Jedi Temple and petition for training as a Jedi Knight.
I agreed immediately. Of course I did. How could I not? How selfish it would be to say, “No, you must stay here with me” when such an opportunity as this was being offered! There was nothing here for Ani. No future beyond ending up a smuggler for one of the Hutts. Of course I encouraged him to go.
His only moment of doubt came when he realized it meant leaving me behind, and although my heart wept and bled at the thought of being parted from him, I assured him all would be well. There was no choice, after all. If I had shown any kind of doubt or hesitancy, he might have changed his mind, and I would not have sentenced him to life here on Tattooine for anything. He deserved more, deserved better than what this dissolute prison held in store. My life is almost over; his is just beginning. Which, then, is more important?
Satisfied for the moment, Ani all but danced away to pack, and I watched him go, savoring the sight of him, hoarding up the memories, knowing soon I would no longer be a witness to his comings and goings, no longer hear his chattering.
“I’m sorry.”
Tearing my gaze away from Ani as he disappeared into his room, I turned to face Qui-Gon. He was watching me as closely as I had watched Anakin, regret plain to read in his light blue eyes.
“I tried,” he continued softly. “I bargained with Watto for both of you. I did not want to leave you here, but he would not allow you both to be freed. It was either Anakin or you...” He trailed off, his voice laced with remorse and frustration, and I moved to stand closer, reaching out to touch his arm, offering comfort to him now as he had offered it to me earlier.
“I understand,” I assured him. “There was no choice. It had to be Anakin.”
“Yes.” He nodded somberly. “The boy has great power. Great potential. I will see him trained as a Jedi if I can, and--” He captured my hand, holding it carefully in both of his own. “I’ll come back for you. I’ll pay Watto’s price. You will rejoin your son.”
Tears stung my eyes, and I hastily glanced down, not wanting him to see; I stared at his hands to distract myself, studying them closely, these hands into which I would soon place full care of my son. So large. Capable-looking hands. Warm and strong. I lightly traced his knuckles with my fingertips. Roughened by living. I could feel the hardness of his fingerpads and palms--callused by hard work, perhaps by training and combat. These were not the hands of one who had lived in luxury. No softness here except in the gentleness of his touch. For a moment I wondered--and then quickly pushed the thought aside. It was an idle fancy and had no place in my mind.
“Thank you,” I said at last, forcing the words past the thickness in my throat. “Thank you for freeing Anakin...and for your good intentions.”
“I will be back to free you,” he repeated in a firmer tone as if willing me to believe him, and I sensed that he meant what he said; he intended to try, but life is as it is, and I did not dare allow myself to hope that he would succeed.
Chances were, I thought as I pulled my hand free and retreated to a safe distance, he would forget about me as soon as he, his companions and Anakin were off-world. Anakin was the important one; I had no value, nothing to offer. Why should he remember?
And now I stand gazing out across the shifting dunes, staring blindly at the vast desert, knowing it to be as barren and deserted as the house I soon must return to.
Alone.
I watched until their ship was nothing more than a silver speck in the sky, and even then I kept straining my eyes, fooling myself into believing I saw something that was long gone.
If Qui-Gon knew I followed them, he didn’t let on. Not to me or to Anakin. I kept my distance as they wove through the streets of Mos Espa, hung back just out of sight as they hurried to the outskirts of town back to the waiting ship.
Thus I saw the creature who attacked them.
I saw it approach, filled my lungs to scream a warning just as Qui-Gon whirled around as if alerted by some preternatural instinct for danger.
“Anakin! Drop!” he roared, drowning out my own terrified cry, and Ani obeyed without question, throwing himself flat on the sand as the creature flew over his prone body, headed for the Jedi.
I’d never seen such a duel before. Can a battle to the death be described as elegant? It was far more graceful than the drunken street brawls I’d seen. My heart felt as if it were going to burst free of my chest as I watched the Jedi whirl, parrying each thrust of the creature’s weapon, fending it off as Anakin ran to the ship to warn the others.
But he was wearing down. I saw the signs of fatigue, and while he was holding his own against his foe, he was not winning. Whatever the monster was, it seethed with hatred which drove it on, giving it a frightening intensity such as I had never felt from any living creature before.
The ship took off, and for a moment I feared they were going to leave Qui-Gon behind; I glanced wildly about, searching for anything that might serve as a weapon, but the sands yielded nothing--and then I saw the loading ramp was still extended, saw him leap to safety, and I began to breathe again, nearly collapsing with relief as the ship sped away.
And so I let Anakin go with a stranger we had known less than two full days. I will be questioned later when the news spreads among the slave quarters. “How could you?” they will ask.
My reply will simply be, “How could I not?”
Everything within me sang of hope when I watched Qui-Gon lead Anakin away from our house. I sensed that this is just the start of a whole new life for my son, one in which he will grow and flourish, making the most of his abilities, becoming adept at using his talents.
“Don’t look back,” I told him.
To cling to the past will be death for him. This horrible place, this empty life--it needs to be forgotten. It will only serve to hold him back. Anakin needs to let go just as I did.
“Don’t look back,” I whisper once more, letting the hot desert wind carry my words away. Perhaps Anakin will hear them as he soars to meet his destiny.
I turn away from the emptiness surrounding me, dreading the return to the emptiness that awaits me.
But I don’t look back.
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