Preparations for the first test run of my podracer were finally complete.
Satisfied with his work, Fixer had chased me away so he could tighten the last few bolts.
Skippy sat in his assistant droid station directly behind my seat, grumbling in Binary.
In reality, he served more as a tail gunner and weapons officer than a simple assistant.
The rest of the crowd was milling around near the entrance after being shooed away three separate times.
Imda, W.
Wald’s new wife, a Rodian whom he had managed to free thanks to the timely sale of his swoop, brought the kids something resembling local water mixed with a lemon substitute.
Judging by appearances, there would soon be an addition to the Wald family.
The enterprising Rodian had already managed to insert himself into old Watto’s business as a junior partner and had officially been appointed my “coach.” To be fair, his advice had proven invaluable during the transition to an entirely new type of racing machine.
He handled all the bureaucratic matters with Jabba, who had decided to turn the anniversary race into an event unlike anything seen before, and I was beginning to understand that, like any sport, racing wasn’t merely entertainment for a wealthy Hutt.
It was a big business.
At last, the owner of the garage appeared.
Delayed at Watto’s shop, he arrived just as Fixer and I finished rolling the podracer outside.
“Made it,” he said as he approached me, already seated in the cockpit.
“Remember, the first run isn’t about speed.
Just warm up the engines, keep the power low, test everything, don’t push it.” “I remember, Coach,” I replied with a nod as I climbed fully inside and fastened every safety harness.
“One lap and back.
Let’s go, Skippy.” The secret of the new podracer, which looked remarkably similar to the one Anakin Skywalker had used in Episode I, was that all control systems were duplicated and linked to the droid.
The Boonta Eve Classic that Anakin had won differed greatly from the Brutal Races.
In these races, protection systems and redundant controls were arguably even more important than reaction speed.
As a Shard inhabiting a droid body, Skippy’s reactions were superior even to those of a high-midichlorian Skywalker.
The podracer itself consisted of a pilot’s cockpit, assembled almost entirely from scratch, and two engines connected by cables.
Those engines had supposedly once belonged to Anakin himself and had been painstakingly rebuilt multiple times by me, Skippy, Fixer, and W.
Wald.
Carefully easing onto the throttle, I guided the racer out of the garage and past the cheering teenagers.
I nodded to W.
Wald and, once I had cleared the residential district, pushed the engines harder.
Good thing I remembered the racing goggles.
Skippy chirped in Binary that all systems were functioning normally, and I allowed myself to exceed the original plan slightly.
The podracer responded beautifully.
I could react to changes in my surroundings without difficulty.
Now I just needed experience.
For today, though, that was enough.
I completed the lap and began returning.
Skippy immediately complained that he had only just started having fun.
“Next time, buddy!” I shouted over my shoulder while reducing speed and steering back into town.
“You and Fixer can review the diagnostics first and make sure everything’s working properly.” The moment I stopped outside W.
Wald’s garage, Camie launched herself at me and wrapped me in a hug.
The rest of the gang followed immediately after, as if I’d already won the race and was preparing to buy all of Tatooine with the prize money.
“Easy, easy,” I wheezed, trying to recover from the enthusiastic assault on my lungs.
“Fixer, excellent work.
Ten seconds under seven hundred.” Laze grinned proudly.
Even Skippy’s constant complaints couldn’t dampen his mood, though the droid was already demanding modifications from our mechanic.
My main task would be keeping the two of them under control.
As a mechanic, I was inferior to both the Shard and my teenage friend.
“A lot of training still lies ahead,” W.
Wald said as he approached.
“Sebulba is preparing his grandson.
That means the Dugs will do everything possible to make sure he wins.
Their lobby is desperate for revenge during the anniversary race.” I nodded.
Those aliens reminded me far too much of certain unpleasant organizations from my previous life.
How could anyone blame Palpatine for wanting to strip rights specifically from those obnoxious reptilian troublemakers?
“Oh, right.” The Rodian suddenly remembered something and opened an inner pocket in his jacket.
“I checked through Watto’s old records.
Took some digging…
Here’s the address of that man.
The one who…
well, your supposed grandfather.
We delivered small shipments there several times.
Thought you might be interested.” My eyes probably lit up at that moment.
Possibly amber.
Meanwhile, the hormone-flooded brain of a teenage boy ceased functioning entirely.
No version of the story had ever revealed the identity of the Chosen One’s father.
And now this.
Biggs and Tank, who had instantly appeared beside me, exchanged knowing looks as I took the sheet of paper containing the address.
I desperately wanted to investigate immediately.
Biggs snatched the paper, glanced at it, and quickly identified the location.
The house stood in the local elite district, home to Tatooine’s wealthy upper class.
Logically, I should have returned to Anchorhead, picked up Reva, and avoided doing anything reckless.
But…
A few hours later, after sending the girls, the Starkillers, and Fixer home, our trio stood near a two-story house surrounded by a low adobe wall that appeared to serve purely decorative purposes.
“I’m telling you, this is the place,” Biggs said, checking the address again.
“Looks abandoned,” Tank observed.
“But somehow nobody’s broken in.” “Want to be the first?” Darklighter asked.
If only they knew that the only reason nobody had noticed us was because I was subtly diverting the attention of anyone who happened to wander into the neighborhood.
Thank you for the new technique, Master Qui-Gon Jinn.
Still, a decision had to be made.
Come back later or go in now.
“Fine,” I said at last.
“Let’s risk it.” Hopefully that wouldn’t end in disaster.
Nobody answered when we knocked, so climbing the wall became the obvious solution.
Helping one another over, we quickly entered the courtyard.
The entire place was in a state of complete neglect.
“I don’t think anyone’s cleaned this place in twenty years,” Janek remarked quietly.
“And it looks like nobody’s lived here for just as long,” I agreed.
The windows were covered with shutters.
The balcony door was locked as well.
Unable to think of anything smarter, I tried the front door.
To my surprise, it opened.
Pushing it inward, we stepped into a hallway leading toward a large central chamber.
Several doors lined both sides of the corridor, all firmly shut.
There weren’t many options.
Forward it was.
Like walking straight into a trap.
The hallway opened into an enormous hall that was almost completely empty.
A massive table stood in the center, covered in dust and surrounded by chairs.
Lamps mounted in the corners hinted that the room could still be illuminated.
To the right, a spiral staircase wound upward.
“You should not be here, trespassers,” a voice suddenly announced.
A protocol droid had emerged from a small doorway on the far side of the room.
“We just wanted to ask a few questions.
Looking for someone, maybe you could tell us where—” I stopped as metallic footsteps echoed from above.
“Run,” I breathed.
Descending the staircase was a figure I immediately recognized from the films.
An IG-100 MagnaGuard.
And it definitely wasn’t friendly.
We sprinted for the exit.
Unfortunately, the glowing red eyes of a second MagnaGuard appeared in the hallway, blocking our escape route.
“Back!” I ordered.
Biggs and Tank drew their small blaster pistols, which suddenly seemed laughably inadequate against the threat advancing toward us.
Drawing on every scrap of Force power available to me, I concentrated.
Every piece of furniture in the room rose into the air, ready to come crashing down upon the droids.