Chapter 47: Unwelcome Meetings

Jon and I left the shop.

“Well,” I grinned, “you’re free.”

Shmi got all teary, thanking me, while Anakin ran up and gave me a hug. Which, ok, thanks kid?

Jon looked at me. “So, what’s next?”

I was about to reply when Anakin interrupted. “You have to see the Banta Eve podrace!” he exclaimed.

“Sure,” I shrugged. “I guess we’re off to the podraces.”

We made our goodbyes to Amidala, Qui-Gon, and Binks, hopefully for the last time, then left.

The pod-races were… interesting? Sort of like NASCAR, but even faster, with even more wrecks, and a lot more sabotage and cheating. But it didn’t really do it for me. Oh, I’m sure it was fun as hell to race yourself (if crazily dangerous for those not capable of tanking artillery rounds to the face), but as a spectator I didn’t really appreciate the sport. Martial arts were more my speed. But it made Anakin happy, and so many other people were watching that it would have been hard to look for a ship to charter to take us off that barren, sandy rock anyway, so we might as well have watched.

I took the opportunity to establish my anti-Force precognition shield. The Fate-guard, I called it. The mass of hundreds of thousands of people, all highly emotional and focused on a chancy event like a podrace, fortunes and lives changing in instants… that made, as far as I understood, for a great smokescreen from Force-users. Twenty minutes of the race, and I’d snapped it into place, delicate and deceptive workings of Blue and Green and Red removing myself from the skein of destiny, replaced by decoys and dummies to avoid attention. I fit the same to Jon; the rest of my people could wait until I had the time to spare.

Afterwards we started hitting a few of the spacer bars to find out if anyone was amenable to being hired. I wasn’t really sure where I wanted to go. On the one hand, I wanted to head to Corellia and tour their shipyards, maybe get the patterns for some capital-class ships. There was one dedicated ship-to-ship frigate, the DP-20, that was pretty nice too: heavily armed, armored, and fast. After the Trade Federation’s invasion, I was feeling like my Nostos might need some heavier backup.

On the other hand, I now had significant assets on Naboo. It was, essentially, where I kept my shit. Leaving Amidala of all people to deal with the Republican Senate and secure assistance seemed apt to fail. She hadn’t exactly had a good track record recently with negotiations. So, with a great sigh, I decided we had to go to Coruscant.

Of course, that was slightly easier said than done. Far too many of the smugglers were partying and drunk in the podrace’s aftermath. Annoyingly, they didn’t list their destinations on open boards; too easy for a competitor, or a pirate to pick some likely transit point and ambush them, stealing their load, ship, and even selling them into slavery.

After striking out in the second bar, I noticed something bad as we left. We were surrounded, a motley crew of mercenaries and ne’er do wells, mixed alien and human scum. And, judging by their focus, they were after us, specifically.

Luckily, Jon and I were packing; one could hardly be unarmed on Tatooine, after all, and arming ourselves was the work of an instant back when we’d first separated from Amidala and the others after leaving the ship. Somewhat unusually for the galaxy, we weren’t using blasters. Blaster pistols just didn’t cycle fast enough; even with relatively weak shots and strong power sources it typically took as long as a quarter second before the next shot was ready to fire.

In comparison, top of the line ballistic pistols using electronically controlled caseless ammunition and super-high explosive propellant could manage just under fifty shots a second, or about three thousand in a minute. Of course, firing that quickly was counter-productive for accuracy and gun longevity, so full-auto was limited to ten rounds a second unless otherwise modified; burst and single shot made full use of the high rate of fire, though only someone as modified as Jon or I could actually benefit from that with single-shot mode. A standard pistol-grip fitted magazine held forty rounds.

Granted, standard ballistics weren’t effective against targets with even moderately decent-quality body armor, but other than full protected targets like an armored war-droid, or a Mandalorian, Jon and I were good enough shots to hit unprotected spots. And if things really got to that point we could use Valyrian-tipped beskar penetrators. Or magic, since by then the cat would probably be out of the bag.

Anyways, we could fight back without revealing our full abilities, or even hinting at them, much to our attackers’ pity.

“That’s the-“ a reptilian thug shouted before I blew a hole through his brain. It was merely the first of many. It sounded like being caught directly inside a thunderstorm as the booms of Jon and my shots rang out as we accelerated, targeting and firing smoothly as we used our precognition and enhanced senses to ensure that none of the enemies hit us, or Shmi or Anakin.

That was definitely one nice thing about ballistics; most people in the galaxy weren’t used to that level of noise and flash, the sound deeper and more terrifying than that of blaster-bolts exploding.

Shock and awe; everyone who witnessed it was full of both. Shmi and Anakin looked a little sick though.

“Shit,” I said as I reloaded with practiced motions. Back on Naboo, in our training grounds, we used these things like BB-guns. Now, that was a fun sport.

“What?” Jon asked, also reloading.

“I forgot to leave one alive to question,” I replied. “Did you?”

He looked a little sheepish. “I was caught up in the moment.”

“I wonder if it was…” I trailed off as I saw a surveillance droid, something far too advanced for Tatooine watching, and shot it. “No, not Watto. I’m guessing Trade Federation. It’s time to go; I just hope Amidala still has room for us.”

=================================

Minutes later we were screaming towards the royal yacht in a speeder. We swooshed in, stopping just short of the ship, and jumped out of the speeder. Shmi and Anakin each had a bag with some valuables and keepsakes, prepared in case I secured their freedom but they were kicked out of Watto’s living space. Unfortunately, they were otherwise leaving behind their things. Still, better that than dead in the next crossfire.

Plus, that tacky golden droid of Anakin’s was annoying as fuck; I was honestly glad we’d been attacked, as it gave an excuse to leave it behind. If the boy wanted a droid, it should be as awesome and useful as HK-47. Now that was a “protocol” droid.

Captain Panaka, who had been in charge of Amidala’s security detail when the attack happened and accompanied her since, rushed out of the ship.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“We were attacked,” I replied. “A number of local mercenaries, pirates and thugs. We killed them all, but there was a top-of-the-line surveillance droid. I’m guessing Trade Federation, or a subcontractor. If they went after us, I doubt they’re far away from you too.”

“Thank you for the warning,” Panaka said. “Was there anything else?”

I quirked my brow. “Really? I have to ask? Well then, I’d be greatly appreciative if you’d allow us to travel with you to Coruscant. I’d prefer not to be shot at while trying to arrange transportation.”

The bastard was enjoying his advantage over me. “I’ll ask her majesty,” he said.

“Dick,” I muttered underneath my breath after he left. Soon enough he returned, with Amidala, still disguised as a handmaiden, at his side.

“It seems that this time you need something, Odysseus,” she said with a pleased grin. “And her majesty has authorized me to negotiate. I’m thinking a twenty percent increase to how much of your produce that goes to the throne.”

I faked looking shocked. “Really? Her majesty would extort not only myself and Jon, after we had become her subjects, but charge so steep a price to save the life of a nine-year old recently freed from slavery, and his poor mother? And not just any boy, but one who selflessly allowed you to shelter under his roof, sharing their meagre rations to save your lives with no expectation of reward, nor any reward given by Naboo? I’m not even sure that’s legal, let alone how it would play out in the papers.”

I smirked as she growled. “Fine. Get on board,” she hissed before turning and stomping off. I just laughed at her, and at poor Captain Panaka who looked like he wanted to face-palm at the fail. I was about to follow her up when Qui-Gon rushed out.

“Something dark is coming,” he warned. “You need to get on board, we need to leave as soon as Obi-Wan finishes the repairs.”

Of course. Fucking dark-siders. Just another group of assholes taking a dump on our shit sandwich. It just went to show that even if Jon and I were immune to Force-future-fuckery effects, everyone else around us wasn’t. I could spread the shielding around, of course, though it might be a bit dangerous for Anakin considering his deep connection to the Force.

Jon and I joined Qui-Gon a short distance from the ship, our pistols drawn as everyone else raced to get on board. Soon we saw a speeder approaching.

Typically, pistols are only effective at short ranges. This is partially due to design and manufacturing; short barrels, rounds that aren’t designed for long ranges, etc. Between incredibly tight part specifications and advanced materials and munitions, that first wasn’t such an issue. But a lot of it has to do with how hard it is to hold a pistol steadily enough to hit a target at longer ranges. At twenty yards, a semi-inexperienced shooter will struggle to hit a man-sized target in a critical spot.

Jon and I were much better than that. We engaged at a kilometer, putting shot after shot into the speeder-bike. It seemed to be shielded though, or the pilot could deflect bullets with the Force, as none of our shots were getting through.

“Get back to the ship!” Qui-Gon shouted, so Jon and I turned and “ran” back at normal-ish speed. By the time we were up the entry-ramp, the new attacker had engaged Qui-Gon in a furious lightsaber duel. Qui-Gon’s green saber and the red and black alien attacker’s red saber flashed and swooshed in an elegant display that would have made an awesome Christmas display.

At the top of the ramp, Jon and I turned again, and aimed at the Sith. A quick rattle of fire shot out. The Sith initially tried to block with his saber, but that just resulted in a supersonic spray of molten and vaporized metal giving him surface burns. A few rounds got by his defenses, the rapid fire and our own precognition defeating his skill, and caused grazing wounds as he backpedaled, still holding off Qui-Gon as he finally reached the defenses of his bike, glaring hatefully at us.

The yacht’s engines finally warmed it, it began to lift off as Jinn disengaged and jumped up to us, leaving behind a fucking furious dark Jedi or Sith.

I hated leaving enemies like that behind, but was even less willing to show off the powers needed to kill him. Yet again, a situation that could have been fixed if this bloody ship had some guns. We were just lucky he was a swordsman, rather than a properly trained Force-adept capable of plucking the ship out of the sky with telekinesis.

But we were off of Tatooine, and headed to Coruscant once more. Though considering everything that happened, I doubted Amidala would end up getting the answers she wanted to Naboo’s plight. If hostile Force users were involved beyond the usual bureaucratic incompetence, political corruption and realpolitik, shit was about to go down.

I had some work to do, if I wanted to keep that twit Amidala from selling all Naboo down the river.