Some of the pilots had joined him they held out their arms to receive the body. The hangar, Anakin realised, had fallen ominously silent. Without looking at him, Obi-Wan said, "Call a stretcher." Shmi, he thought all of a sudden, always had the words. He knew from a single glance from the way Qui-Gon lay that the man was dead and he slipped from the pilot's shoulders and went over to the pair.
Death was a reality that a slave grew numb to-but was never comfortable with. Then it hit him: cradled in his arms was the limp form of Qui-Gon Jinn, the Jedi Master who had freed Anakin from slavery, the man who promised him he would be trained as a Jedi. It was the part that bore deprivation and derogation with a stoic patience that had spoken through his lips when he'd told Padmé, "I'm a person, and my name is Anakin."Īnd then, Obi-Wan Kenobi had emerged into the hangar, his expression set in a impassive mask, his eyes red-rimmed, and all Anakin could think was that he looked so broken, so weary, and like someone trying so very hard not to cry. It was the part that bade him endure as Watto's fist smashed into his face for a careless move, an expensive part broken. Not for the first time in the recent days, something in Anakin-something he could not put words to-stirred.
Day after day in Watto's shop had ground his face in the dust reminded him that he was nothing more than a slave, easily replaced and worth less than a good droid. "The Hero of Naboo," they were beginning to call him, and something in him liked it, basked in their adultation.
SUBMITTING MACHINES TO BESIEGE WORKSHOP SERIES
When his fighter slid to a halt in the Theed hangar, Artoo letting out a reproachful series of chirps and whistles, the cockpit seal popped open and then Anakin found himself greeted, cheered, and whooped at by a group of exuberant pilots, who proceeded to triumphantly carry him on their shoulders and paraded him all over the hangar. Racing a Podracer was one thing flying an unfamiliar fighter another, and he knew it was mostly blind luck and Artoo that had allowed him to figure out the controls and in the middle of all that fumbling, blow up the Trade Federation Droid Control Ship. He would never have landed the fighter if it wasn't for Artoo. Shmi had asked him to be strong, to not look back. It had never seemed so unutterably distant from him than now he lay down in the nest of warm blankets (had someone told them that he got easily cold?) and told himself he wouldn't cry. The room they gave him was far too large the elegant tapestries on the walls were in earthern tones and reminded him, with a sharp pang, of Shmi and of home. And, he found himself thinking, if this was Padmé's home-if she was a Queen-why would she want anything to do with a former slave boy from dusty Tatooine? But the thrill of adventure soon melted away for each secret passage he imagined, he saw another empty hallway, a sort of palatial grandeur that seemed too much for him, that told him he was out of place here. And soon enough, you have thousands and thousands of old wings and secret passages, and no one remembers them all." "The old kings and queens of Naboo used to add a wing or two to the palace, after their coronation. She ruffled his hair, her voice dropping to an almost-conspiratorial whisper. "There's nothing quite like it," said Sabé, and he heard the fierce pride in her voice. The palace was a sprawling complex grand, with mosaiced walls and arches that swept up around him, so high up that Anakin felt small and insignificant in all that majesty.
ExupéryĬhapter One: The Fountain in the Courtyard To you, I shall be unique in all the world. To me, you will be unique in all the world. But if you tame me, then we shall need each other.
To you, I am nothing more than a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. And you, on your part, have no need of me. "To me, you are still nothing more than a little boy who is just like a hundred thousand other little boys.
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