Copyright © 2002 Lucasfilm Ltd. & ® or TM. All rights reserved.
Cover art by Alicia Buelow and David Mattingly
Published by Disney • Lucasfilm Press, an imprint of Disney Book Group. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher. For information address Disney Press, 1101 Flower Street, Glendale, California 91201.
ISBN 978-1-4847-1972-5
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Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
About the Author
Prologue
Not in living memory—not even among the oldest Jedi Masters—could they remember a Padawan who was as gifted as Anakin Skywalker. He could have advanced through his Temple training in half the time it had taken him. From the beginning, he had been far beyond his classmates in lightsaber skills and mastery of the Force. Yet in matters of the heart and mind, he still had much to learn, as Yoda continually pointed out.
His teachers had known how gifted he was, but they gave him the same drills and assignments as the other students. They knew he was bored at times, but it was important not to single him out, not to treat him as special.
But Anakin was special, and they all knew it. The trouble was that he knew it as well.
He had been a unique case from the moment he entered Jedi training at the Temple. For one thing, he had been allowed to enter despite having passed the usual age. For another, he had been chosen as a Padawan by Obi-Wan Kenobi from the start. While the other students wondered when they would be chosen, and by whom, Anakin’s destiny was assured.
Obi-Wan watched Anakin’s progress with an eye that was both loving and careful. In one hand he held Qui-Gon’s faith; in the other he held Yoda’s caution. There were times it was hard to balance these two powerful influences.
On the morning of Anakin’s thirteenth birthday, Obi-Wan had presented him with his Padawan gift. It was the gift that Qui-Gon had given Obi-Wan on his own thirteenth birthday, a Force-sensitive river stone. Obi-Wan was ashamed to remember how he’d been disappointed by the gift. He had been so young. He had wanted something significant, something like the gifts other Padawans had received—special hilts for their lightsabers or cloaks made from the lightweight, warm wool from the planet Pasmin. Instead, Qui-Gon had given him a rock.
Yet that present had turned into his most valuable possession. The smooth black stone glowed with heat against his heart. It had warmed his cold hands on many planets. It had nestled inside a tiny pocket his friend Bant had sewn in his tunic, close to his heart.
It was hard to give it up. But somehow he knew Qui-Gon would want him to.
Unlike Obi-Wan’s first reaction, Anakin’s face showed deep appreciation. Then his expression clouded. “Are you sure?” he asked. “This was given to you by Qui-Gon.”
“He would want you to have it, as I do. It is my most treasured possession.” Obi-Wan reached out and closed Anakin’s fingers over the stone. “I hope it will be with you always to remind you of Qui-Gon and me, of our deep regard for you.”
Anakin’s smile lit his face. “I’ll treasure it. Thank you, Master.”
In many ways, Anakin was more openhearted, more generous than he had once been, Obi-Wan thought. Though there was a great weight on Anakin due to the prophecy, he was sure that Anakin would do well.
Now Anakin was fourteen. He was an able Padawan who had already proven himself on several important missions. Yet there was one thing that nagged at Obi-Wan. Anakin was liked by the other students, but he had no close friends. He was not loved.
Obi-Wan told himself that Anakin’s gifts naturally set him apart. But in his heart, he grieved for Anakin’s loneliness. He was happy for Anakin’s skill and growing command of the Force. But he wished a simple thing for Anakin. It was something he could not give his Padawan. It was not a gift he could hand over, like a well-loved river stone. He wished for a friend.
Chapter One
Anakin made his way down an alley deep below the gleaming surface of Coruscant. His Padawan braid was tucked inside his tunic, his lightsaber hidden in the folds of his cloak. The Jedi were treated with great respect everywhere on Coruscant—except here. Close to the planet’s surface, there were those who matched their contempt for good society with their need to hide from it. Everyone was equal here. Equally despised.
Even air taxis didn’t descend this far. It had taken him over an hour to walk down the descending ramps, since the lift tubes were often nonfunctional. If only he had an airspeeder! Then these raids could be done in half the time. But Jedi students didn’t have access to their own speeders. Not even Padawans. Technically, he wasn’t supposed to be outside the Temple at all, not without Obi-Wan’s permission.
“Technically” is just another way of saying you are breaking the rules, Obi-Wan would say. Either you obey a rule, or you do not.
He was devoted to his Master, yet sometimes Obi-Wan’s earnestness could really get in the way. Anakin didn’t believe in breaking Jedi rules. He just wanted to find the spaces between them.
Anakin was well aware that his Master knew of these midnight jaunts. Obi-Wan was amazingly perceptive. He could sense a shift in emotion or thought faster than an eyeblink. Thank the moon and stars that Obi-Wan also preferred not to hear about his midnight trips. As long as Anakin was discreet and didn’t get into trouble, Obi-Wan would turn a blind eye.
Anakin didn’t want to trouble Obi-Wan, but he couldn’t help himself. As the night wore on and the Temple quieted, as the Jedi students turned off their glow rods and settled down for night meditation and sleep, Anakin just got restless. The lure of the streets called him. There were projects he had to complete, droids he was building or refining, parts to scavenge, rusty treasures to uncover. But mostly he just needed to be outside, under the stars.
Only those of us who have been slaves can really taste freedom, he sometimes thought.
His favorite scavenger heap was down here, in the dark underbelly of the city. The glow lights were seldom repaired and the glittering lights of the city above didn’t penetrate down this far. This was where the junk dealers dumped their unwanted heaps—the stuff even they couldn’t sell. It was left in smoking, stinking gray piles for the lowest of the low to pick over.
Fights often erupted at these scavenger heaps. Anakin had been lucky to avoid the squabbles that could end in violence. In addition to the desperate, there were bands of Manikons, a tribe from a planet lost long ago to a civil war so devastating it had caused the small band of survivors to flee to Coruscant. Now the Manikons survived by their wits and their weapons. They were perfectly willing to fight to the death over a rusty hydrospanner.
Anakin slipped among the smoky piles. Normally he avoided this particular junkyard, but he had a difficult tech problem with a malfunctioning droid, and he had exhausted all his other venues for finding what he needed. He knew that his Master looked at his tinkering with droids and tech devices as a waste of his time. Maybe it was. Anakin didn’t care. He had come
to realize that he needed to occupy his mind in order to stop the voices in his head. The voices that doubted he’d ever be a great Jedi Knight. The voices that told him he’d abandoned his mother.…
Anakin shook his head. Working on the droids was the one slender thread that connected him to his childhood on Tatooine. It was a frayed thread he was not willing to snap off completely.
The smell came to his nostrils, a mixture of smoky metal and something unpleasantly organic, the residue of food or waste. He tuned it out as his gaze eagerly swept the rubble.
He was grateful for his Jedi training. His eyes were sharp, even in the shadows. He did not want to risk a glow rod. It was dangerous to advertise your presence here. Better to act as a shadow.
He kept his eyes trained on the ground as he walked. Sometimes parts dropped off the giant hydrolifts that were used to transport the junk. He had uncovered some great finds by kicking through the dirt and debris beneath his boots.
Ah—a circuit, almost completely intact. Anakin rubbed it against his tunic, not caring about the crusty dirt that left a dark stain. He tucked it in his belt. And here—part of a hydrospanner. He could always use that, just in case he broke the ones he had. Cheaper to fuse an old one than to look for an intact one.
He scanned the heap ahead of him. One of his goals was to assemble his own small power terminal in his room so that he would not have to hook up to the Temple’s terminal in order to power his droids. The more he stayed out of sight with his hobby, the better.
There—he could see it on top of the heap. Could it be a motivator circuit board? Yes—if he could just manage to Force-jump up there without sending the assembled heap of junk tumbling. He scanned the side of the heap for a good landing site. A battered piece of durasteel seemed to rest solidly on the junk beneath it. If he landed softly, he should be able to balance on it long enough to swipe the piece. He was a Jedi, and his balance was perfect. Anakin jumped.
He landed a bit harder than he had meant to, and with a little too much pressure on his right foot.
You’re not a Jedi yet.
He heard Obi-Wan’s gentle, admonishing tone in his ear even as he scrambled to avoid sending a small avalanche of parts back down the pile along with him.
Willing his muscles to stay flexible and his mind focused, he balanced carefully on the durasteel and eased out one hand…
…only to see another hand appear from the other side of the heap, reaching for the same part. No doubt it was a Manikon.
He wasn’t about to let one Manikon come between him and a new motivator. Anakin threw himself forward, but he miscalculated how stable his footing was. Part of the heap began to slide, taking him along with it. He felt something or someone grab his ankle.
He crashed backward, at the same time reaching out to grab at the creature holding him. He felt some fabric in his fingers and held on. Together, the two of them banged and slid down the heap. Anakin smashed against sharp objects and bumped against durasteel and chunks of ferrocrete, still furiously hanging on to the scrap of fabric while his ankle was held securely in the creature’s grasp.
At last they hit bottom. Anakin wrenched his foot away and sprang to his feet, ready for battle. The other creature did the same.
The hood of the creature fell back, and Anakin found himself face-to-face with a fellow Jedi student, Tru Veld.
“What are you doing here?” Anakin hissed angrily.
“That was my part,” Tru answered. “I had my hand right on it.”
“I was reaching for it—”
“And thanks to you, it’s lost now.”
Suddenly Anakin spotted the part on the ground between them. It must have slid down along with them. He pounced on it.
“It’s not lost now!” he cried, grinning.
“Give that to me, Anakin,” Tru said, his slanted silver eyes gleaming. Tru was a humanoid species, a native of the planet Teevan. His skin had a silvery cast, and he was tall and lanky. Teevans were exceptionally flexible and could bend in surprising ways. Anakin suddenly remembered that this quality had made Tru very good at fighting.
“I’m not afraid of you,” Anakin said.
“Of course you’re not,” Tru said in a disgusted tone. “I’m not going to fight you for it. I’m waiting for you to do the right thing.”
Anakin frowned. There were times he forgot he was a Jedi. For a moment, he had been the slave boy on Tatooine, still bound by the rules of play on that harsh world. Those who find, keep. Those who hesitate, lose.
He wasn’t a slave boy. He was a Jedi.
“I have a Protocol Droid with a bad motivator,” Anakin said. “I really need this.”
But Tru wasn’t listening. He was squinting into the darkness. “Now we’re in for it,” he said in a low tone. He signaled to Anakin. A short distance away, Anakin saw a clump of moving shapes. Manikons.
“If we’re very quiet,” Anakin murmured, “they won’t spot us.” He took a step back, and his foot kicked a piece of durasteel scrap. It landed against another piece of junk with a loud clang.
“Is that what you call quiet?” Tru hissed.
The Manikons turned. They saw the Jedi.
“Maybe if we don’t move, they won’t come at us,” Anakin breathed.
The Manikons surged forward.
“Interesting notion,” Tru said. “Got any other ideas?”
Chapter Two
Manikons ran on four legs and reared up to two when attacking. They had blunt, heavy feet that they used to bludgeon their enemy. If they got close, they could spew a stinging venom from their eyes that had the power to temporarily blind their attacker.
There was no question that Anakin and Tru would need their lightsabers. Before the thought had completely registered, Anakin found the hilt in his hand. He didn’t think it was such a good idea to reveal the fact that two Jedi were scavenging beneath the city. But he didn’t particularly want to be pummeled and blinded, either.
Tru jumped to his left, and Anakin immediately saw his strategy. He wanted to avoid the pummeling feet and the stinging venom, which could only be directed straight ahead. Anakin followed Tru, leaping to engage the first Manikon. He knew he was a more aggressive fighter than Tru. He needed to avoid wounding or killing. He just had to frighten the Manikons enough to retreat.
“If we attack their bundles, they’ll retreat,” he told Tru confidently. “They won’t want to lose what they have.”
He leaped forward, going after the booty tied to their backs in large sacks. Whirling and dodging the flying feet, he slashed at the straps of leather tying the bags to their backs. The maneuver required the most precise of touches. A fraction off, and he could easily slice off an arm. This was why he loved the action of a lightsaber. It was the ultimate instrument. He had seen firsthand the mistake that many Jedi students made. They did not realize how delicate it could be, how you could use it like a breath of air. Like a feather, not a stick, the best lightsaber teacher, Soara Antana, had said.
Three bundles fell, scattering parts, and the Manikons howled in rage. They leaped over the parts and thundered toward Anakin and Tru.
Ffffffeewwwww!
Anakin had never heard the sound of a Manikon spewing venom before, but he didn’t need a lesson.
“Whoa, really good plan, Anakin,” Tru observed.
Anakin leaped to his right as a snarling Manikon approached, rearing up on two legs. Tru rushed forward and delivered a fast series of moves to push back the Manikon.
“Okay, time,” Tru said.
“Time for what?”
“New plan. Run.”
“Good idea.” Anakin took off after Tru.
The two of them leaped together, using the Force to help them gain the top of the junk heap in one bound. They sent a shower of debris down behind them, but they managed to keep their footing.
Below, the snarling Manikons began to scale the heap in their fury. But they were heavier and clumsier than the Jedi. The junk heap began to tumble and swa
y.
Anakin looked over at Tru.
“What now?”
“Jump?” Tru suggested.
“Sure. Any suggestions where?” They were surrounded by other junk heaps, all of them unstable. It was impossible to know if they would be able to land safely.
A huge Manikon was halfway up the slope when he dislodged a power converter fragment. The entire heap began to collapse.
“Anywhere!” Tru yelled, and leaped into the air.
Anakin followed. In midair, he had a second to decide on his landing spot. If he hadn’t had Jedi training, chances were good that he would have landed on a spike or sharp piece of metal. But he was able to evaluate and direct his descent, even as he fell. Everything below him was suddenly sharp, suddenly clear. He felt he could see every pebble, every grain of dirt and debris. That was how clear the Force could make his vision.
It was moments like this that he lived for. The night air, so crisp in his lungs. Danger so near. The Force around him. If he could hang in the air forever like this, he would.
He landed lightly, precisely, on the edge of a heap, then jumped the rest of the way to the ground. Beside him, Tru landed safely as well.
Ffffffeewwwww!
Anakin jumped, pulling Tru aside. The venom hit only millimeters away.
They looked behind them. Three furious Manikons were trying to slide down the heap toward them. Junked parts were shifting and sliding.
“Time to go,” Tru panted.
They ran. Behind them, the enormous junk heap collapsed in a cloud of dust. The cry of the Manikons was terrible. Choking, Anakin and Tru kept running. They didn’t stop until they reached the relative safety of the walkway.
They paused to catch their breath. It had been a close call.
They struck off in the direction of the lift ramp to the upper levels of Coruscant.
“Well, if you say so,” Tru said.
Anakin looked at him, confused. “If I say what?”
“Your droid has a bad motivator,” Tru explained. “What makes you think so?”
“The reactivate switch keeps cutting out. This is my second motivator. The first one just blew when I hooked it up. I spent two weeks rebuilding it, too.”