Always in Motion is the Future I: A Star Wars AU Story

Chapter V

That morning, Mos Espa Grand Arena

Qui-Gon and Quinlan had gone to the arena to meet with Watto, finding the place already a buzzing and throbbing with activity; maintenance crews were working feverishly to complete their racers' pods' last diagnostics to ensure there would be no incidents on the track, vendors were setting up their stands amongst the seats, and some were already taking their seats though the race wouldn't start for a few more hours. Watto was speaking about the terms of their deal, demanding to see the ship the moment the race ended.

"Patience, my friend," Qui-Gon assured him. "You'll have your winnings before the suns set, and we'll be far away from here."

"Not if your-a ship belongs to me, methinks!" Watto chortling, then becoming serious. "I warn you; no funny business."

Qui-Gon was skeptic, and Quinlan concerned at Watto's sudden change in faith. "You don't think Anakin will win?" Quinlan asked.

"Don't get-a me wrong, I have great faith in the boy!" Watto replied defensively. "He's a credit to your race! But, ah, Sebulba there is going to win, methinks." He gestured to the same Dug that the group had encountered the day before, who has currently getting a shoulder massage and foot rub from two Twi'leks, most likely his slaves.

"Why?" Qui-Gon asked steadily.

"He always wins!" Watto answered laughingly. "I'm betting very heavily on him."

"I'll take the bet," Qui-Gon ejaculated. Quinlan blanched in dismay, and Watto rose up a few more inches in a similar manner.

"What?! Whaddya mean?"

"I'll wager my pod against the boy and his mother," Qui-Gon determined, and Quinlan groaned internally; Qui-Gon had confided in he and Aayla about Anakin's astonishingly high midichlorian count, but only know was his intention clear.

"A pod for slaves? Hmm...I don't-a know. The mother, maybe. The boy's not-a for sale."

"Not even for the fastest pod ever built?" Qui-Gon inquired.

Watto digressed slightly, considering his odds. "No pod's worth two slaves. One or none."

"Both or no deal," Qui-Gon parried. Quinlan watched intensely; their fates hung on the outcome of this conversation. Watto suddenly had a gleam in his eye.

"We'll let fate decide, eh?" he replied, taking a small wooden cube out of a vest pocket; three sides red, three sides blue. "Blue is the boy, red is the mother."

Beads of sweat began to perspire on Quinlan's forehead, even more so at Qui-Gon's astute calm. The Toydarian let the die roll onto the paved sand floor. Qui-Gon made a slight, imperceptible gesture with his hand, and the die rolled red on top. Quinlan let out a mute sigh of relief, Qui-Gon smirked, and Watto became irked.

"You won-a this small toss ootmian, but you won't win-a the race, so it makes little difference!" he hissed. He hovered down to pick up the cube, and flew out to the exterior of the arena, where Anakin, Padmé, and the others were coming in with the podracer. Watto spoke something in Huttese to Anakin, and chuckled as he went to speak with some fellow race spectators. Anakin turned to Qui-Gon confusedly. "What was that about?" he asked.

"I'll tell you later," Qui-Gon promised. The small group began to work at putting the pod together, a relatively simple task, and they began to speak amongst themselves.

"Master Qui-Gon," Quinlan murmured at an open moment, "all due respect, but that was cutting it rather close, don't you think?!"

"Anakin's potential is wasted as a slave," Qui-Gon countered, "and if he were to discover his abilities in the heat of a gangland battle, it could prove deadly for him and those he cares for."