The Phantom Menace Read Free Page B

good as his word, and he produced the requisite druggats in exchange for three drinks and handed one to each of his friends. They took them outside, sipping at the gooey mixture through straws, and made their way slowly back down the street, chatting among themselves about racers and speeders and mainline ships, about battle cruisers and starfighters and the pilots who captained them. They would all be pilots one day, they promised each other, a vow they sealed with spit and hand slaps.
    They were right in the middle of a heated discussion over the merits of starfighters, when a voice close to them said, “Give me the choice, I’d take a Z-95 Headhunter every time.”
    The boys turned as one. An old spacer stood leaning on a speeder hitch, watching them. They knew what he was right away from his clothing, weapons, and the small, worn fighter corps insignia he wore stitched to his tunic. It was a Republic insignia. You didn’t see many of those on Tatooine.
    “Saw you race today,” the old spacer said to Anakin. He was tall and lean and corded, his face weatherworn and sun-browned, his eyes an odd color of gray, his hair cut short so that it bristled from his scalp, his smile ironic and warm. “What’s your name?”
    “Anakin Skywalker,” Anakin told him uncertainly. “These are my friends, Kitster and Wald.”
    The old spacer nodded wordlessly at the other two, keeping his eyes fixed on Anakin. “You fly like yourname, Anakin. You walk the sky like you own it. You show promise.” He straightened and shifted his weight with practiced ease, glancing from one boy to the next. “You want to fly the big ships someday?”
    All three boys nodded as one. The old spacer smiled. “There’s nothing like it. Nothing. Flew all the big boys, once upon a time, when I was younger. Flew everything there was to fly, in and out of the corps. You recognize the insignia, boys?”
    Again, they nodded, interested now, caught up in the wonder of coming face-to-face with a real pilot—not just of Podracers, but of fighters and cruisers and mainline ships.
    “It was a long time ago,” the spacer said, his voice suddenly distant. “I left the corps six years back. Too old. Time passes you by, leaves you to find something else to do with what’s left of your life.” He pursed his lips. “How’re those ruby bliels? Still good? Haven’t had one in years. Maybe now’s a good time. You boys care to join me? Care to drink a ruby bliel with an old pilot of the Republic?”
    He didn’t have to ask twice. He took them back down the street to the shop they had just left and purchased a second drink for each of them and one for himself. They went back outside to a quiet spot off the plaza and stood sipping at the bliels and staring up at the sky. The light was gone, and stars were sprinkled all over the darkened firmament, a wash of silver specks nestled against the black.
    “Flew all my life,” the old spacer advised solemnly, eyes fixed on the sky. “Flew everywhere I could manage, and you know what? I couldn’t get to a hundredth of what’s out there. Couldn’t get to a millionth. But it was fun trying. A whole lot of fun.”
    His gaze shifted to the boys again. “Flew a cruiser filled with Republic soldiers into Makem Te during its rebellion. That was a scary business. Flew Jedi Knights once upon a time, too.”
    “Jedi!” Kitster exhaled sharply. “Wow!”
    “Really? You really flew Jedi?” Anakin pressed, eyes wide.
    The spacer laughed at their wonder. “Cross my heart and call me bantha fodder if I’m lying. It was a long time ago, but I flew four of them to a place I’m not supposed to talk about even now. Told you. I’ve been everywhere a man can get to in one lifetime. Everywhere.”
    “I want to fly ships to those worlds one day,” Anakin said softly.
    Wald snorted doubtfully. “You’re a slave, Annie. You can’t go anywhere.”
    The old pilot looked down at Anakin. The boy couldn’t look at him.