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Chapter Text

The smell of burnt flesh filled the air as the taser rod sparked. A small body hit the floor in a heap. There was no movement for a few tense moments. When the child moved, magenta eyes glared daggers through bone white bangs at the adults standing around him. They were all Zygerrians, a tall humanoid species with feline features and dark purple fur covering their bodies. Slavers. Slavery was not uncommon in the outer rim of the galaxy. 

“Get up!” The Zygerrian with the rod scowled in annoyance.

The child slowly moved to his feet. He was still drowsy from being thawed out. Torn rags that once resembled clothing hung off his narrow frame and did nothing to hide his very dark complexion. A thick metal collar was locked around his neck. It was designed to electrocute the trapped individual if they left the caged zone they were permitted to be in. The ones who had control were, of course, the Zygerrians. 

“I will be glad to be rid of you”, Agruss sneered from his chair. Unlike his lithe guards, the Zygerrian was dressed in very nice clothing, and his fat stature showed he barely left his hover chair to do work himself. He left that to the guards he ordered about. 

The young boy smirked, eyeing the bandage wrapped around the Zygerrian’s knee. “No need to explain why.”

“You are as fierce as you are exotic. No question there. I have faith that your new owner will finally break you of that nasty habit you have.”

“You’ve had me as long as I can remember- 7 years and you haven’t broken me. What makes you think someone else can?”

Keeper Agruss chuckled darkly. “Oh, 4219, you haven’t been to Tatooine.”

The 9-year-old slave tensed. He had heard about the horror that slaves went through on that planet. Of all the places to be sold to. The Zygerrians all chuckled at the physical reaction. It was what they wanted, of course. The payday the young boy brought in was quite high, and the guarantee that he would suffer only sweetened the deal. 

“Who on Tatooine…?”

“A regular customer by the name of Sebulba.”

The name did not ring a bell from any of the stories the young boy had heard. The boy was thankful it was not the Hutt family. He had heard far too many stories of slaves being eaten for entertainment. 

“You will know his name very well soon enough. He is very famous on the Outer Rim for pod racing and having eye candy answer his every beck and call.”

“Yeah, right”, the young boy grumbled.

The Zygerrian holding the taser rod grabbed the boy by his white hair and yanked him to his feet. The boy yelped, digging his nails into the wrist of the Zygerrian, who did not even flinch. Another guard began to approach. The boy fought harder, knowing what was coming. He was easily restrained by the guard to keep the boy still. The second guard inserted a small bladed device into the back of his neck, inserting a new tracking device. It attached itself to the bone in his neck with a quick crunch. The boy yelled out in pain, tears stinging his eyes.

“You may run 4129, but you cannot hide”, Keeper Agruss chuckled darkly. “Tatooine may very well be your grave if you’re not careful.”

The young boy clenched his jaw. He did not want to give his slavers the satisfaction of hearing him speak further. His fate had been decided. 

The guards removed the thick metal collar from his throat. The new implant would provide the same security as the collar and was now programmed for Sebulba. The Dug cared about appearances, and if he wished for a collar, it would be one of his choosing. 

“May our paths never cross again 4129”, Agruss gave a teasing wave as the young boy was escorted out of the room.

It had been years since the young boy had been out of the ship. He could barely remember the last time. That meant it had also been far too long since he had seen sunshine. It was blinding. The boy squinted against the brightness of Tatooine. The planet was blessed with two suns; it kept the desert terrain scorching hot. It was a harsh contrast to the cold, damp, and dark interior of the slave ship under Keeper Agruss’s control. 

“Sebulba”, the guard to the boy’s left greeted. “Wonderful to do business with you again.”

The Dug made a noise in his throat in greeting, pushing himself off his seated position on a crate. His small frame did not make him any less intimidating, with narrowed, yellow eyes and blotchy purple skin. His long face had patches of red, which only added to his intimidating appearance. Two blue-skinned Twi’leks stood patiently behind the crate. The Dug reached the young boy, grabbing his jaw in a tight grip. He barely flinched, meeting the gaze of his new master. Sebulba made a few clicking noises as he inspected his new slave. 

“He’s young” , the Dug concluded in thick Huttese.

“He’s still good with his hands. We often have him working on machinery in the boilers. He can learn.”

“I won’t buy Bantha poodoo, he has to last for that price.”

“He will. Have we ever sold you compromised merchandise?”

“No.” Sebulba clicked again, stroking his chin. “What is your name, brat?”

“I don’t have one.”

The Zygerrian guard smirked. “Fresh slate. We’ve had this one since diapers. He’s worth it.”

“It’s a deal.”

Sebulba handed over a bag of credits to one of the guards. The boy was suddenly shoved forward, past his new master. He was quick enough to catch himself on the edge of the crate with one hand. The boy turned quickly, his other fist clenched and ready to fight. Sebulba watched with a smirk; the boy had good reflexes. 

The boy jumped and spun abruptly when he felt hands on his shoulders. One of the Twi’leks had grabbed him gently. She held her hands up in peace, watching the young boy in front of her. “It’s alright, I mean you no harm.”

“Come”, her sister coaxed as she grabbed his shoulder. “Let us go.”

The boy glanced back at his new master nervously. Sebulba was ignoring the trio as he discussed something with the Zygerrians. The young boy reluctantly followed the Twi’lek pair into the small cruiser that was sitting on the landing pad. It was only big enough for short transportation, a jump ship. It was bulbous in shape with narrow wings extending from the high crest of the rusty ship.

Inside, two private rooms diverged from the ship's common area. The young boy managed a glimpse towards the cockpit door, which was kept locked with a biometric scanner. There was no chance of anyone but Sebulba piloting. The young boy was brought into the left room, where two beds were neatly made. It was the cleanest slave quarters the young boy had ever seen.

One of the sisters grabbed a cloth to wipe the dirt and blood from the young boy’s face. “My name is Ann Gella; this is my twin, Tann.”

He said nothing as he looked between the two. They were almost entirely identical in appearance, outfit included. He had seen plenty of Twi’leks in his time under Agruss's ownership. Twi’leks were a very popular slave choice. 

“I heard you state that you do not have a name, is that true”, Ann asked.

Finally, he nodded. “Yeah…they call me 4129.”

Tann frowned, her accent thicker than her twin's. “We must help you choose one.”

The young boy furrowed his brow. “Choose a name? Why..?”

“While we are slaves. Our name is the one thing they cannot take away from us”, explained Anne as she cleaned up the fresh incision on the back of the boy’s neck. “Even Sebulba understands that.”

The young boy flinched slightly at the touch. The incision was incredibly tender. Casting his gaze downward, the young boy fell into deep thought. He had never considered having an actual name. No one had ever asked him about a name, only his number.

“Take some time to think on it, young one”, Tann encouraged. “There is no rush. You will know when the right one comes along.”

“Alright…”

“What planet do you hail from?” Ann questioned as she ran her fingers through the child’s white hair. “I have never seen anyone like you before.”

“Dunno. I’ve been a slave since my earliest memory.”

Ann frowned. The Twi’lek glanced towards the door when she heard Sebulba enter the ship. The Dug could be heard grumbling before he entered the cockpit. The ship rumbled to life a few moments later. The young boy kept his eyes focused on the door, as if waiting for the Dug to appear at any moment. He jumped under the touch of Ann, who moved her fingers from his hair to pull gently on his shirt. The Twi’lek appeared to be looking for further injuries.

“So many scars for someone so young…”

The boy shrugged subtly, “It’s fine. Proof I am alive.”

Tann smiled softly as she crouched in front of the boy. “That is a very good way to look at it. Finding the best in difficult situations is the hardest thing to do. But you are right, it is proof you are alive. And as long as you don’t anger Sebulba too much, you’ll remain that way.”

The young boy tensed slightly, “What should I expect…?”

Ann tilted her head, “Well, for one, don’t ever talk back or hesitate when fulfilling his request.  Doing what you’re told is the best practice. He is very prone to anger, but he values his property.”

“No different than the Zygerrians then…”

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far. Sebulba is harsh but recognizes that if his slaves are not in good shape, he does not get the quality of work he desires.”

The frown on the young boy’s face did not fade, but he dropped his gaze to his lap. The twins shared a look and decided not to push it further. The young boy would find out in his own time what his new life would be like. There were many crueler masters out there, especially on Tatooine, like the Hutts. Most of their slaves did not last very long. 

The ship soon came to land at a private hangar bay located in Mos Espa. The Twi’lek twins guided the young boy out of the ship, following their Master who had already begun to bark orders to his crew. There were very few droids in the hangar bay, which Lane took note of. The mechanics were a mix of Twi’leks and Kiffar. Sebulba had a taste. 

“Come here, brat,” Sebulba growled lowly after making himself comfortable on a cushioned seat.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he stepped forward till he was within arm's reach of his new Master. Sebulba grabbed his face firmly with one hand and began to look him over again. The young boy felt like a piece of meat awaiting his slaughter. The Dug grumbled under his breath as he ripped his tattered shirt open, exposing the nearly endless whip scars scattering his body. 

Sebulba chuckled darkly, “Gave the Zygarrians a lot of trouble, eh?”

The small boy hesitantly nodded once.

“I like my slaves being able to work. If you displease me, I’ll just kill you. Understood?”

“Yes, Master.”

Sebulba finally let go of his face to lean back in his chair. Ann and Tann didn’t miss a beat to step in and begin massaging him. The young boy kept crossing his arms in front of himself, trying to cover the bright white scars that stood out against his dark complexion.

“Are you good at anything, brat?”

“Uh- I am good with mechanics…and flying…Master.”

“They did mention you nearly stole a ship once” , a dark chuckle came from the alien once again. “Don’t even think about it out here, everything is programmed to only be used by me or with permission. That tracker in your neck with detonate if you try.”

“Yes, Master.”

“You’ll be useful.” Sebulba used one of his smaller hands to motion to a nearby scrap pile. “Show me what you can do.”

He blinked in surprise, “Master…?”

“Build something.”

The young boy glanced at the twins. Ann and Tann both gave him a reassuring smile and nodded for him to go. He approached the pile of scrap and carefully began to go through the pieces. At the bottom, he found the remains of a destroyed droid. He pulled the yellow remains out into the sand, sitting down and opening the side panel to start tinkering around.

While he was still nervous as to why Sebulba seemed to be testing him, it did feel good to work with his hands again. There were some parts he would not be able to directly replace so the young boy had to get creative. All of the other slaves kept glancing over at the boy. They were curious as well to see what he could do.

After a while, he plugged in the power source and flinched back from some sparks. The buttons on the blocky droid flickered before staying on and coming to life. It beeped in a low tone at the young child before him and toddled side to side in excitement. 

Sebulba hummed, “Very impressive, brat.”

“Thank you, Master…”

Sebulba suddenly pulled out a blaster and fired one shot at the droid. It yelped as it sparked, before it died once again. The young boy just stared at it. He could feel the sadness and anger thrumming through his veins, but could not act on it. The boy simply clenched his fists and kept his eyes trained on the sand beneath him. Sebulba chuckled in glee, leaning back to enjoy his massage as he watched his new slave tremble below him.

Chapter Text

The young boy, still without a name, followed closely behind his Master Sebulba as they walked through Mos Espa. The streets were crowded with aliens from all walks of life. This meant there was anything and everything you could buy from the various shops and vendors. Trade, gambling, and non-Republic credits were the heart of the economy. 

The young boy was dressed in a baggy beige shirt with a wide collar that he had been given by Ann with black trousers. They did not have shoes to cover his feet, so he was braving the hot sand barefoot. He did not dare complain, however, and continued to keep up with his Master. 

Sebubla turned right into a shop. The young boy was grateful for the shade and cool stone to ease his burning feet. The shop was full of racks of different mechanical parts. Small buzz droids with wide heads and stick-like bodies toddled around the shop to organize said shelves. 

“Ahh, Sebulba! Welcome back, huh? How was your trip?” Asked the shop owner. 

Watto, a Toydarian with a small, round body and wings that kept him afloat, welcomed the newcomers into his shop. His large nose and snaggled teeth gave him an intimidating appearance. He was blue and grey with piercing orange eyes that soon landed on the young boy behind Sebulba. “Ahhh, this is your new slave, huh? Very nice, very nice.”

“He was worth a pretty penny.” The Dug moved past the shopkeeper to browse the shelves with cluster power plugs and control linkage parts.

“I don’t doubt it, huh!” Watto buzzed around the young boy, who said nothing verbally but had been keeping his bright maroon eyes trained on the alien. “I’ve never seen anything like him before. Did the Zygarrians tell you what he is, huh?”

“They didn’t know. Just labeled him as exotic. Found him as a baby abandoned in the shipping lanes in the Outer Rim with no parents.”

“I see, I see, huh. Well, Sebulba, my friend, are you ready for this year’s Boonta Eve Classic, huh?”

“Why do you think I’m here?” The Dug hissed impatiently, stacking different parts on one of the tiny buzz droids.

“Of course”, Watto soothed as he flew over to Sebulba.

While the two continued to chat about business, the young boy took the opportunity to browse the parts himself. Past the counter and through the shop, was a door leading into a closed off junkyard outside. Large engines, rocket boosters, and other parts that were too big for the main shop were organized in piles around the yard. Spotting something in the corner of his eye, the young boy looked closer to discover a discarded Plus 2-Behemoth engine. 

The large item was three times as tall as the young boy. Scorch marks had melted most of the yellow paint off. The young boy popped open the side panel curiously to look at the system inside. It was very different from the usual workup inside rockets that he had tinkered with before. He continued to pull some of the scorched parts out of the way before finding the intake manifold completely intact and still connected to a canister of activated ionized injectrine. Before he could try to pull it out, a hand grabbed his shoulder. He was thrown onto his back in the sand with a startled yelp.

“What do you think you’re doing, wandering off, brat! I should crush you for leaving my sight” , Sebulba hissed as he stood entirely on the boy’s chest and knocked the wind out of him.

“He better not have broken anything that you’ll have to pay for, huh?” Watto buzzed over to the engine but blinked in surprise at the carefully removed parts. “Ahhh, he’s got your taste, my friend, huh? Found just what you needed!”

Sebulba’s yellow eyes snapped up to examine the engine compartment where the intake manifold was exposed. He hummed once before stepping off the boy to retrieve the part. After the weight was removed from his chest, the young slave inhaled sharply before coughing. He rolled to his side to catch his breath. Maroon eyes narrowed at his Master in anger, but he kept his comments to himself. If Sebulba was pleased with his find, maybe this mistake would be forgiven. 

“I told you this brat is a mechanical genius.” Sebulba looked back at the boy and snapped at him, “Finish what you’re doing and don’t break it! Maybe I’ll let you help install this in my podracer.”

“Y-yes, Master”, the boy rasped. He quickly got to his feet, ignoring all the aches his body was screaming. Watto watched him curiously as the young boy seemed to uninstall the part with ease. It was clear that the young boy was a natural and had alot of potential. 

“You really did luck out in your deal with this one, my friend, huh?’ Watto laughed, “If you’re ever willing to bet him on the races, I will take that bet.”

“Worth a lot more than a win in the Boonta Eva Classic.”

The young boy swallowed the lump in his throat and held the heavy part against his chest. He followed Sebulba out of the shop with all of the racer parts in tow after payment was complete. It took longer to return to the hangar because of the heavy load. The young boy stumbled a few times but managed not to drop anything. After he set it down on a crate, he allowed himself to sit in the shaded sand and rub his aching feet. The parts were grabbed by the other slaves in the hangar. There was a large racer in the second wind of Sebulba’s bay. The engines were enormous. Watching the mechanics silently, the boy rubbed his burnt feet soothingly but refused to complain.

He never liked giving his owners the satisfaction of knowing he was in pain. 

Tann and Ann were already working their magic touch on Sebulba. He was perched in his usual chair, overseeing all of the work. The Dug ignored his newest slave, still irritated he had disappeared from his sight without permission. The young boy would either learn or die. 

The twin suns soon began to set. This left the entire hangar bay in the shade. The young boy slowly got onto his feet, trying not to limp, and joined the other mechanics to help work on the pod racer. An older Twi’lek with cyan skin rolled his eyes at the youngling and pointed at him with a wrench before speaking in a slave dialect. “Don’t get hurt, ya hear me?”

“I know what I’m doing”, he replied simply. 

The Twi’lek chuckled at the brunt attitude of the child but couldn’t be surprised. “What is your name, kid?”

“I don’t have one.”

“They must’ve called you something.”

“4219.”

He frowned and paused on tightening a bolt. “Hate that. I was 6357 in their books. But I told everyone to call me Yamot. They can take alot away from you, but not a name.”

“Tann and Ann said the same thing…” The young boy looked sad for a brief moment before he went back to tinkering. “I don’t know what I would choose.”

“How long have you been a slave?”

“I was picked up by the Zygarrians at 2 years old, abandoned in the shipping lanes on the Outer Rim. I don’t know what I am or where I came from. No one’s been able to identify me.”

Yamot hummed in the back of his throat, lifting the new intake that the young boy had found into place. The young slave took the hint, and tinger tightened long bolts through the intake manifold into the engine compartment. He then offered the wrench to the old Twi’lek so he could tighten them. “Yeah, I’ve been all over this Galaxy and I’ve never seen anyone like you exactly. You’re probably a mix.”

The boy said nothing in response, helping to hook up the lines to the activated ionized injectrine reservoir. Yamot flipped a few switches, and the parts began to hum with energy. It made him smile. It always felt good when repairs went right the first time around because it meant not having to tear it all back apart while having to explain what went wrong to Sebulba. 

“We’ll help you figure out a name, kid.”

He nodded before climbing back down, flinching as the sharp edges of metal dug into his burned feet. Yamot noticed right away and couldn’t help but ‘tsk’ in annoyance. Sebulba was built for the heat, and often overlooked that other species needed that extra layer of protection to avoid injury. The young boy did not let the injury stop him and kept helping with the repairs to the pod racer. The entire crew worked well into the night, long after the twin suns had set over the horizon. The several days that followed were also filled with the crew working hard on the pod racer. Sebubla expected perfection to secure another win. 

The Dug refused to lose, by any means necessary. That meant cheating, but managing to cheat without the inspection crew finding anything. The inspections, working directly under the Hutts, came to inspect the racer two days before the event. Every single bolt had to be in place, and there could be no corrections required by the inspectors. It would eat into their time to fine-tune the pod before the race. Sebulba was not a fan of setbacks for any reason, and his slave mechanics knew there would be severe consequences should that ever arise. 

The inspectors took their time going over every inch of the pod. They spoke quietly amongst themselves in Huttese. Every few seconds, one of the inspectors would check something off on the clipboard. After an hour or two, they finally gave a copy of the report to Sebubla. Another pass with nothing to report. This meant the rest of the additional parts that had been stashed in crates had to be put back into the pod within the short time left before the race. 

The young slave kept up, even if he was dragging his feet by the end. Since he did not know much about podracing, he didn’t fully understand why the extra parts were against regulations. It didn’t matter much to him since the project kept him busy. He enjoyed working with his hands. Having nothing to do allowed time to eat at you. It drove him crazy if his hands were idle for too long. 

The night before the Boonta Eve Classic, the young boy found himself sitting in the sand. He was slumped back against a large crate. His maroon eyes were trained on the far horizon that he could see through the open hangar bay. The sand seemed endless. There was nowhere to run but to your death on the desert planet. 

A small bag was dropped next to him, causing him to flinch and look up. Yamot smirked, hands up to show he came in peace. The boy’s shoulders eased from their tensed position slowly. When he looked down at the bag, Yamot sat on the edge of the crate above his head.

“Go ahead, open it.” Yamot encouraged as he lit a cigarette that had been hanging out of the corner of his mouth.

The young boy did as told, surprised by the contents of the bag. There were a pair of boots in his size and a hooded cloak. He pulled them out and carefully examined each one. They were brand new and free of holes. Unable to remember any time he was given anything new or nice, he felt tears threaten to spill down his cheeks.

“…Are these really for me?”

“Sure are, kid. You’ve worked really hard this week. You’ve earned them.”

The boy looked back at the older Twi’lek, “Thank you, Yamot.”

Yamot chuckled as he let out a puff of smoke and ruffled the young slave’s white hair. The boy quickly pulled on the boots. They were a dark leather and reached just under the knee. Leather twine laced up the top half of his calf so he could tighten it. They were designed with sand in mind: keeping it out. 

“Are you excited to watch the race tomorrow, kid?”

Lane furrowed his brow in confusion. “We are allowed to go?”

“Yeah, Sebulba likes to have his entire crew there. Partially as a reward, partially as insurance for last-minute repairs. Granted, if anything goes wrong, he’ll take it out on one of us since we’re responsible for the racer.”

The young boy nodded slowly, still focused on tying his new boots. “I’ve never seen a pod race before.”

“You’re in for a treat then.” Yamot took a deep drag on his cigarette, the glow briefly illuminating his face and the many markings over his sharp features. “They’re incredibly dangerous and fast, but it’s a good time to watch. The pilots of the racers have to be extremely skilled.”

“I can pilot.”

Yamot let out a short laugh, “I don’t think you understand what kind of piloting this requires. You’ll see tomorrow, kid. Now go get some sleep. We have to be up early to get the racer to the track.”

The boy nodded once more, returning his gaze to the now dark horizon. The suns were long gone. Yamot stood up from the crate and walked away. The young boy listened until he could no longer hear the older Twi’lek. By the time he headed off to bed, he found it difficult to fall asleep. His heart was still pounding with what he thought was joy over receiving a new pair of boots and a cloak. 

Morning came quickly. Yamot shook the young boy awake and took him back into the hangar. The crew loaded the giant engines and custom cabin of the pod racer onto a trailer being pulled by four Dewbacks. The large beats were roughly three meters in length, with greyish-blue skin. They bellowed occasionally as they were strapped into large harnesses. The young boy looked up at them in awe. They looked big enough to eat him whole. 

Yamot grabbed him by the back of his cloak and pulled him into the front seat of the trailer. The boy gave him a nasty look briefly, which only made Yamot chuckle. He picked up the reins and let out a loud cry while snapping them. The Dewbacks grumbled their displeasure but began to walk. It took some time to get to the Boonta Eve stadium. The large structure was built into a half-collapsed canyon and towered several hundred meters in height. It was designed to seat a large number of guests. The Boonta Eve Classic brought people from all over the Galaxy to witness the race and make large bets. 

The boy kept his gaze up as they slowly made their way into the large hangar where all the other pod racers were being parked. Last-minute adjustments and repairs were being made before the start of the race. The young boy started to examine the other podracers around them. In total, there were 16 racers. The pods were vastly different shapes and designs. Many were specific to their pilots and custom-made, just like Sebubla’s. If you weren’t a Dug, you wouldn’t be able to drive it effectively.

“Alright, kid, what’s on our list?” Yamot asked as he pulled the reins to make the Dewbacks come to a stop.

Pulling out a crumbled list, the boy began to read off the paper. “Check the power coupling lines, refill the fuel reservoir for the flame thrower-...what?”

“Keep your voice down” , Yamot grumbled and glanced around. “That’s Sebubla’s little secret.”

“Isn’t that illegal?”

“It’s the Outer Rim where alot of hefty bets are on the line AND he hates to lose.”

“That’s not fair.”

Yamot laughed as the young boy climbed out of the trailer. “Ironic, coming from us slaves, isn’t it? Now let’s get this done before Sebulba shows up, otherwise we’ll get an earful.”

Nodding slowly, the boy did as he was told, but his thoughts kept running rampant. He was used to slave masters treating their slaves like the dirt at the bottom of their boot, but other people that they had no ownership over? It spoke volumes about the Dug who now owned him.

Chapter Text

The young did not know what he was expecting from watching the podracing, even with Yamot’s stories. Brutal truly was an understatement. Only 3 of the 16 racers even finished. Several died. One, as a result of the flamethrower, Sebulba had carefully crafted into the side of his pod and utilized during the crash of another driver, covering up the flames. There was no one to point it out and disqualify the very loved pilot. The entire track was littered with debris from the carnage as a result of the brutal nature of each pilot. Sebubla had come in first, as predicted by many. He had come through with barely a scratch on the yellow paint job covering the large racer. 

The young boy watched as the crews of the losers began the long task of cleaning up the track. It turned his stomach. He was grateful he was not apart of those crews and hoped he never would be.

Sebulba, in the meantime, was enjoying the attention he was receiving. Not only did he win the race itself which was a stroke to his already large ego, but the prize money. The gambling results were also racking in a large sum of prizes ranging from credits, parts, droids, and slaves. He was lounging in his seat, the twins all over him and a crowd surrounding him to give him his praise. You could practically see the pleasure oozing off the Dug.

Watto made his way down from his private viewing box to the hangar to greet his friend, pleased that his bets had resulted in great rewards. Betting on Sebulba had always worked out well for him, and in turn, he kept his best parts for the pilot to use in the future. 

“Ah, my friend! Such a great race, huh? Really showed that pilot from Kef Bir a thing or two about pod racing”, Watto cackled loudly as he buzzed around.

“Bantha fodder” , Sebubla concluded with a grin as he was massaged by the twins. “He’ll be drinking through a straw for the rest of his wasted existence. Better off becoming a wall ornament for the Hutts.”

The young boy clenched his hands into his cloak. He really wanted to kill his new Master. Only evil scum laughed at the pain and death of others. Just like the Zygarrians. 

A quiet babble snapped the young boy out of his thoughts. He turned to see a human woman holding a 3-year-old toddler on her hip, standing nearby. It was obvious she was another slave. Her dark hair was braided to the side, and the young toddler was playing with. Both were dressed in beige cloth that was tattered.

Watto motioned to the woman that the young boy had spotted to come closer to show off his prize to Sebubla. “Gardulla the Hutt made a mistake in betting against you, huh? Two for one! That boy is extra.”

“Too young, would be better off being a meal.”

The young slave had had enough and snapped. “You’re a karking sleemo if you think you can eat a baby!”

The woman’s eyes went wide in shock. Sebubla launched himself from his seat without missing a beat and kicked the young slave in the face. He crashed into the crate behind him as pain filled his body in waves. Sebubla gripped his head and began to grind him face first into the coarse sand. It was impossible to breathe. He could feel Sebubla grab him by the back of his neck, right over the tracking detonator.

“Watch yourself, brat. Maybe I’ll eat you instead. I should rip your tongue out!”

“Master, the boy is young and still needs to learn”, Yamot spoke up as he approached a few steps. Sebubla looked up at the older Twi’lek that he had owned for decades. 

“He’s old enough to know when not to speak, as are you.”

“Yes- I understand, I apologize. But please, he’s still new.”

The boy thrashed, still unable to breathe, and was beginning to panic. Sebulba hummed in thought. He slammed the boy’s head against the ground once more before returning to his seat as if nothing had happened. Sebulba and Watto returned to their conversation, and the growing crowd helped to block out the small group of slaves. The boy coughed harshly as he pushed himself up on his forearms, red mixing into the sand from the blood pouring out of his broken nose. 

The woman set her toddler down and knelt by the boy who had come to her defense. “Are you alright?”

The boy did not answer, trying to wait for the swimming sensation in his skull to cease. He felt like he was going to be sick. Yamot also approached him and knelt on his other side. The Twi’lek placed a hand on his back with the other on his chest as he helped the injured boy sit upright. The woman tore a piece of her sleeve off and started to wipe up the blood on his face.

“That was stupid” , Yamot hissed quietly. “What in the sith were you thinking?”

“Had heard enough”, the young boy coughed quietly.

“You need to learn how to stay in your lane.” Yamot sighed deeply as he felt around the boy’s face for damage. He winced at several of the touches. It appeared that the boy also had a significant orbital fracture above his right eye on top of the broken nose. All painful injuries, but the boy would live.

“You’re too kind…thank you, you really didn’t have to say anything.” The woman whispered as she continued to clean up the blood. Her toddler was gripping the back of her tunic and staring at the bleeding boy. His eyes were a brilliant blue color and seemed to bore into the other boy’s soul. 

“No one deserves to die like that.”

The woman paused as she glanced back at her toddler. “...I’m Shmi and this is my son, Anakin.”

The toddler waved one hand shyly; his gaze did not waver. The bleeding boy looked away, wincing at his injuries. He had experienced worse and knew that this pain, too, would come to pass. 

“What is your name…?”

Yamot glanced at the woman and looked back at the kid sitting in front of him. The boy did not answer. He had yet to choose one, still, but a thought came to him. His entire life, despite being enslaved, had been full of choices he made to not stay in ‘his lane’. He often tried to pave his own path and speak his own mind despite the consequences. 

“Lane” , the boy rasped hoarsely against the sand in his throat. “My name is Lane.”

Yamot snorted at the response and held in a chuckle; he could see the irony in the choice. Regardless, he was proud of the boy. Shimi smiled softly at the young boy as she finished wiping most of the blood off of his face. The boy before her was incredibly brave and she could only hope that her son would grow up to be the same. 

“Shmi, let’s go, huh? Time to show you your new home”, Watto snapped as he suddenly fluttered over to the small group.

“Yes, sir”, she quickly scooped up her toddler. Shmi gave one last look at Lane before following her new Master. Anakin stared over her shoulder. His blue eyes never wavering as they walked out of sight. 

Yamot helped Lane to his feet and guided him to the trailer, where he would stay out of trouble. Keeping the torn piece of sleeve he was given, Lane pressed it under his nose, leaned back in his seat, and closed his eyes. His train of thought wandered to the first time he had his nose broken by the Zygarrians…

“ON YOUR FEET 4219”, the guard bellowed as he yanked Lane up from the pile of coal he had collapsed in. 

It had been three days since the boy was allowed to sleep. The younger ones were always kept up for longer of periods of time because they were more ‘resilient’ in the eyes of the warden. Lane could barely respond he was so tired. His feet dragged along the muddy floor and he was unable to really get his footing. 

The guard scowled in annoyance and threw him into the coal chute. His face slammed against the metal tube with a loud bang. Pain exploded throughout his body from the collision. Even as tired as he was, he yelled out in pain. He cradled his face as he curled up in the coal, crying.

“Sir, he hasn’t slept in days. He can keep working after some rest”, one of the older boys insisted nervously. The older boys always tried to look out for the younger ones because they didn’t fully understand their situation. Lane was 5 or 6 at the time. It was hard to say.

The guard backhanded the older boy for speaking out of turn and barked at him to get back to work. The guard then turned to have a second go at Lane. He lifted him by the boy’s hair. Lane tried to claw at the hand but had little success, and thrashing only increased the pain in his head.

“You’re going to finish shoveling this section, or I’ll toss you into the flames myself. Am I clear?”

Lane decided to spit into the guards' eyes. The guard, far too calm out of nowhere, wiped his face down with his free hand. The young boy felt his heart hammering against his ribcage. In one swift movement, the guard slammed him onto the ground under the coal chute before pulling the lever. Hundreds of pounds of coal poured down and buried his small body…

Lane inhaled sharply as he opened his eyes. He didn’t realize he had fallen asleep. No longer was he in the podracer trailer, but back in his little room in the hangar bay. He was lying on his small cot with a thin blanket over him. There was a cool layer of bacta gel over his entire nose and the bridge of his eye, where the fracture was. He pressed his fingers against those areas, still finding them very tender.

The light of the twin suns was starting to creep across the floor with golden light. Giving up on getting any more rest, Lane got to his feet and wandered out of his room. The podracer was still loaded on the trailer in the side bay. All of the bay doors were closed, but the main gate was still open, which was letting the sunlight in. 

He tugged his cloak on and stepped out of the building. The breeze whipped sand against the young boy’s legs. He breathed in deeply through his mouth, unable to breathe through his nose. That was something that Lane enjoyed doing every morning since being sold to Sebulba, enjoying the sunrise. He spent his entire life trapped in darkness. Never again.

“I’m surprised you’re up, thought you’d sleep in some more with the bacta.”

Lane turned his head to find Yamot leaning in the doorway to the hangar. “I’ve never been able to sleep in.”

“How are you feeling?”

Lane shrugged subtly and looked back towards the sunrise. One sun was significantly redder than the other. He listened to Yamot as he lit a cigarette and took a deep drag. The two watched the suns continue to rise for some time in silence before the older Twi’lek spoke again.

“Ironic name pick. I like it, though, it suits you, kid.”

“Seemed right…I knew I would find the right one when the time came.”

Yamot snorted in amusement. “Only took a smack to the face, huh?”

“How should I get on his good side?”

“Aside from not talking out of turn and being an idiot? Providing your skills.”

Lane nodded slowly. He decided then he would dive into mechanical work. Maybe someday, his Master would approve him to pilot something. He would even be willing to risk his life in a podrace. These things would help give meaning to his life as a slave. If he were to die enslaved, he would do his best to have it done under his choice. Dying in a cockpit seemed like a worthy death. 

Lane slowly turned and made his way back into the hangar. Yamot watched him, stepping out of his way. The Twi’lek watched as the young boy headed into the hangar bay. He set his cloak on a box and picked up a wrench. This brought a small smile to Yamot’s face. That kid was something else. Leaving the cigarette to hang between his lips, he followed the younger slave and started getting to work.

Chapter Text

A little more than a year had passed since Lane was purchased by Sebulba. The young boy had spent most of the time trying to show his trustworthiness to his new Master. While there had been some notable moments where he stepped out of line, he had accomplished his goal. Sebulba allowed him more freedom. He sent him on part runs without supervision and allowed him to work on personal projects. Those projects were usually left alone, as long as Lane didn’t strike a nerve with his Dug Master.
Now around 10 years old, the young boy was starting to hit some of his growth spurts. He had taken to keeping his white hair short. The brightness of his maroon eyes did not fade. He was quick on his feet and one of the best mechanics that Sebulba ever had. The boy was able to accomplish a lot by figuring out how to effectively hide the ways Sebubla would cheat in his races, which meant bigger prizes.
That also meant slightly bigger rewards for the slaves in return.
Lane was heading to Watto’s shop with his personal droid in tow. The droid was the same boxy base that he had first worked on when taken to Sebulba’s hangar. His feet had been replaced with tracks to increase their speed over the sandy terrain. A small hover cart was attached to the droid and would soon be filled with the parts he needed.
He stepped into the shop and spotted Shmi first. She had goggles pulled over her eyes as she sautered parts of a computer chip together. Lane smirked subtly and waited till the bright glow of the laser torch turned off before clearing his throat to get her attention. She looked up as she moved the goggles to her forehead, a smile growing on her face.
“Good morning, Lane.”
“Miss Shimi, good to see you again.”
“More parts for Sebulba?”
“Yes, ma’am”, he said, handing her the list. Shimi grabbed it with gentle fingers and scanned over the parts while chewing on her bottom lip in thought. Lane looked back around the shop. He was also on the hunt for some pieces for his personal project: a speeder bike. It was nearly complete. What had started as just a frame was now a running machine. He was hoping to test it out soon, but still needed a few more items.
“We should have all of these. Just give me a few minutes?”
“Take your time, Miss Shimi. I’m in no rush.”
The woman nodded as she headed off into the back to start collecting the items. The small buzzdroids near the shelves quickly stumbled out of her way. Lane hummed quietly to himself, looking through a nearby shelf for his desired parts. The shop was pretty quiet; the noises of the busy streets outside were dampened by the thick walls of the shop. Soon, though, the sound of fluttering became louder as the shop owner made an appearance.
“Ahhh, Lane, back so soon, I see, huh?” Watto let out a laugh as he hovered near the young boy, “Alone again?”
“Yes, sir. Just retrieving some things for my Master.”
“And looking for your own items?”
Lane nodded, redirecting his gaze to the Toydorian. “I’m looking for parts for a Joben T-85 speederbike.”
Watto caressed his jaw in thought as he fluttered over to a different shelf. “T-85, huh…Yes, I have plenty over here. What do you need?”
Lane followed him and started to browse. “I need twin front-broom-mounted stablizers, fuel tank, and the headlight. Ah- perfect, I’ll take these.”
“Final touches, huh? What do you plan on doing with it?”
Lane shrugged as he grabbed the parts and carried them to his droid-pulled hover cart. “Not sure yet.”
“If it’s any good, you should look into the Dune Races”, Watto chuckled. “Sebulba would be pleased to have more winning bets.”
“Dune Races?”
“Yeah, uh, out in the Dune Sea. The Hutts have several every year. The track starts at the Palace to the Sarrlac Pitt and back. The Dune Sea is more dangerous than the Pod Racing track.”
Lane furrowed his brow in thought. While he had lived on Tatooine for over a year, there was still alot he did not know about the planet. What he did know was that it was dangerous, regardless of whether he understood the planet or not. Between sand beasts and Tuskan riders, it was ill-advised to travel the sandy landscape outside of the cities. On the other hand, this was his chance to prove to Sebulba that his pilot capabilities were exceptional. It would hopefully get him in the pilot seat again. He craved it.
“I’ll talk to Sebulba about it.”
Watto gave him a snaggled-tooth grin. “The next one should be in a week or so. It should be a good time for the viewers, huh? You might not live long enough to regret racing it.”
“That sounds like a bet.”
“You have nothing I want.”
“Sebulba might.”
Watto hummed in thought and stroked his jaw. “He might, he might, huh… Tell Sebulba I wanna chat about this- if he’s willing to risk his exotic slave to the dunes.”
“You’d be surprised what he’s willing to put me through.”
The Toydarian let out a laugh and nodded in agreement. Shimi then stepped out from the back room, arms full of parts. She carefully loaded them into the cart next to the speeder parts that Lane had collected. Giving a glance to her master as Watto accepted a bag of credits from Lane, she returned to her spot behind the counter.
“Thank you, Miss Shimi.” Lane bowed his head politely.
“No problem at all, you be safe, you hear me?” The woman gave him a pointed look, obviously her motherly instincts were kicking in.
“I always try.”
-
Sebulba was surprisingly receptive to Lane's proposal of entering the Dunes Race with his freshly built speeder. He had enough confidence that the young boy would at least survive the race, which was enough to bet on. That is how Lane found himself pulling his speeder up to the starting line. The Hutt Palace loomed behind them on the hill. It cast a large shadow over the hot sand, but not enough to reach the competitors.
Sebulba was seated with Watto, the Hutts, and several other viewers. Lane was one of eight competitors. They were all much older than Lane, many of them bounty hunters. Lane pulled on flight goggles and a scarf over his face under the hood of his cloak to protect his face from the inevitable sand blast he was about to receive.
A Twi’lek slave woman in a gold bikini walked to the center of the start line, a blaster in hand. “Alright, gentlemen, now remember, you must complete the full lap and retrieve your flag from the edge of the Sarlacc pit to win. Start your engines!”
Lane used his kickstarter and revved his engine as it roared in unison with the other competitors. He adjusted his satchel bag to his front so he wouldn’t lose any items. Inside, there was a multitool, spare parts, fuel, and a medical kit. The young boy also had a blaster strapped to his thigh that was given to him by Sebulba. He did not want his valuable slave to die without a proper fight. If Lane thought that Pod Racing was dangerous, he was in for a ride. The fatality rate of Dune Races was considerably higher.
The Twi’lek in front of them raised her blaster over her head, ready to start the race. Lane glanced at his competitors one last time. The Dynym Quid next to him rider had his tentacles tucked into his riding jacket. The alien made eye contact through his racing goggles and crossed his thumb across his throat, signifying that he believed the young kid was going to die.
The blaster went off.
All racers sped off into the desert, leaving a cloud of sand behind. Lane had to swerve several times to avoid the older racers who tried to knock him off course. Going wide, the young boy used the upcoming hill to his advantage and rode above the other riders. Because he was younger, that meant he was smaller and his speeder was carrying less weight. It gave him a slight speed advantage.
Lane gunned it, urging his speeder near its limit. The Dune Sea was vast, with no landmarks to use as a guide. He knew that most riders died because they got lost and were never found again. Yamot had helped him create a tracking radar positioned between his handlebars and behind the headlight. The flag he was to retrieve held one beacon while the other remained with his Master at the starting line. In theory, it would keep him on course.
It did not take very long for blaster fire to hit around the speeder, kicking up sand. Tuskan riders were firing at the speeders. Lane cut back down the hill he was riding on towards the other speeders that were trying to scatter. A few of them pulled out their weapons, opening fire back on the Tuskan riders. Two were shot down before they could even fire once, their speeders screeching to a halt. One decided to turn against his competitors.
A rider screamed in pain as he was shot. He instantly lost control of the speeder, causing it to swerve too hard and roll several times. Lane ducked to the left, avoiding a shot that put a hole through his cloak. He let go of the gas, letting everyone else shoot ahead before he caught back up to them. Having confused the rider with the gun, Lane took the opportunity to grab the tail end of the rider's bike before gunning it. The speeder spun out and went nose-first into a hill, sending its rider over the handlebars.
Lane focused back on catching up with the leader, the same Dynyn Quid rider. The Sarlacc Pit was quickly approaching on radar. However, because the wind was picking up and creating sand clouds, it was nearly impossible to see. One rider who was not paying attention suddenly dropped out of sight with a scream.
Lane swerved to the right, kicking a wave of sand over the edge into the Pitt. Rings of teeth embedded in red flesh gurgled below him. He panted heavily, looking down in shock. Quickly getting his head back into the game, he headed for the flags. Before he could get to his flag, all of them were grabbed by the Dynyn Quid rider. Lane quickly followed behind him.
The group of riders was now down to two.
The wind was getting worse. A full-blown sandstorm soon swallowed the riders. Lane was completely blind and had to trust in his radar. He couldn’t even listen for the other speeder over the whistling wind. The speeder, designed with the sand in mind, kept chugging along without issue. At some point, Lane decided to pour in his extra fuel to ensure he had enough of a boost for the finish and to hopefully get his flag back. With one hand, he spun off the top and pushed it through the rubber guard of the fuel tank.
Without warning, he exited the sandstorm and back to the sunshine. He didn’t have enough time to react as something clothes lined him in the chest. His speeder continued without him for several meters as Lane landed on his back in the sand. He quickly sat up, looking for the source of the attack.
The Dynyn Quid rider pressed the end of his blaster to his forehead. “Don’t even think about it, kid.”
Lane slowly raised his hands, eyes narrowed. “What haven’t you killed me yet…?”
“Because I’m curious why a kid would enter a Dunes Race. You must be suicidal.”
“No, not really.”
The rider tilted his head curiously and pushed his goggles onto his forehead, revealing the clean spot on his face. Lane slowly did the same, maroon eyes glaring dangerously. Behind the tall rider, the sand pile that Lane’s speeder had hit began to shift. Not daring to look away from the more obvious threat, Lane kept the news to himself.
“So why?”
“I’m sure you saw my Master at the start line.”
The rider chuckled wetly, “Ah, a slave. You are a waste. He wouldn’t miss you very much.”
“That’s what you’d think, but surprisingly, he likes keeping me around.”
The creature beneath the sand stood slowly. It was massive but somehow quiet. Lane continued to keep his focus on the rider as the beast made it’s approach on six legs. The rider took a step back, lowering his blaster a fraction. He was completely unaware of the danger behind him. Lane let his gaze drop to the riders belt where he could see two flags; one was his.
“How old are you, kid?”
“Why?”
“So I know what to mark on your grave-”
The rider let out a squelch before blue blood started to pour out of his mouth. The sandbeast, at eight feet tall and nearly a hundred feet long had dug its long, razor teeth into the rider's back. Lane quickly sprang forward, snagging both flags, and made a run for his speeder. Running in the sand was very difficult.
Behind him, the sand beast shook his meal back and forth before the bottom half broke off. Swallowing his mouthful, the beast turned to run after the young boy. Lane ran as fast as he could through the hot sand. As soon as he could reach the speeder, he launched himself onto the handlebars and revved it. The sand beast snapped behind him, managing to take the seat off the speeder.
Lane used the footholds to keep himself balanced. His heart hammered in his chest from the adrenaline dump. That was far too close, but the feeling excited him. He had never felt more alive.
The last length of the journey was smooth aside from a few shots from Tuskan riders that he easily avoided. Several people at the start line, who soon spotted the remaining rider, began to cheer him on. He turned his speeder to the side as he drifted through the finish and came to a stop. Sebulba smirked at him and nodded in approval. Watto was cackling up a storm, giving someone a hard time over the bet he had just won. The Twi’lek in the bikini walked over. Lane handed her his flag with a wide grin on his face. She hummed in approval as she brought it over to her owner, Jabba the Hutt.
“Well done, young rider”, rumbled the large slug-like alien before he took a bite out of a smaller creature. “You are like a dangerous flower.”
Lane never thought that praise from a Hutt would bring him so much joy, but it did. Azalea Pukaneekee, a dangerous flower.
He won.

Chapter Text

Lane hissed in annoyance and pain as Ann wrapped his shoulder tightly. During his last race, Lane had been knocked off the track and rolled off a cliff on the Mirogana Valley track on Toshara. He managed to wrap his arm around a root at the last second, but the momentum had dislocated his shoulder. More importantly, it had cost him the race.

“Almost done”, Ann soothed as she continued wrapping.

“Will your bike still be fine for the next race?” Tann asked him.

“Should be”, he grumbled unhappily. He did not lose very often, and Sebulba made sure he remembered that fact. Lane was punished severely for every loss. While a dislocated shoulder was an easy injury to heal, being left there for the entire night due to Sebulba leaving him to teach him a lesson was more difficult. The tendons and muscles had several tears. Sebulba instructed the twins not to give him any bacta and to heal the old-fashioned way, despite having another race scheduled. 

Ever since his first race in the Dune Sea on Tatooine, Sebulba continued to put himself in speedbike races across the Outer Rim whenever he was not participating in Pod Races himself. He earned quite a bit of money and other slaves because of the bets he would place on the boy over the last two years. 

“Yamot isn’t going to be happy to hear you got hurt again”, Ann stated as she finished the bandage. “He’s worried you’re going to get killed.”

“Not like I have a choice.” Lane ran a hand through his white hair with a sigh. “At least I get to enjoy doing something…even if Master is the one who benefits from it.”

Tann and Ann shared a look, both frowning. Lane hated when they did that. He stood up from the cot and began to pull his shirt on. They would be landing on a planet that Lane had never raced on before. The competition was going to be tough with nearly 30 riders. The track encompassed a large part of the lower hemisphere of the plant, requiring two laps, which would take up the entire night. 

Most everyone else avoided being out on Vanqor during the night, labeling it as suicide due to the dangers it posed. Swirling silica-dust storms created a blue-gray hue when viewed from space. Vanqor was home to fierce, aggressive creatures known for their overwhelming strength who inhabited the planet's caves. Half of the course was through a large cave system. Because of this, this race was deemed to have the highest fatality rate, which in turn meant a very large prize for the winner. Sebulba wanted his hands on it.

“I’m going to go check on my bike”, Lane muttered as he exited the twins' quarters and headed for the cargo bay. Yamot and a few other slaves were playing cards in the cargo bay, smoking away. Yamot glanced up as the 12-year-old boy entered, narrowing his eyes. Lane tried to pretend he didn’t see him. The Twi’lek stood to follow the young boy to his bike.

“How bad is it?”

“The bike? Fine, just need to replace the exhaust and take the bend out of the handlebar.”

“Not the bike”, Yamot snapped and nearly dropped his cigarette. “How badly injured are you? And don’t play dumb with me. I know you were out there far longer than the race.”

Lane sighed deeply, “You know how Sebulba is when I lose…”

“How. Bad.”

“Dislocated shoulder, no bacta. Tann and Ann already wrapped it up, so I’ll be fine.”

Yamot grumbled angrily but kept most of his comment to himself as he crossed his arms. When he suggested to the young boy to use his skills to make himself useful to their Master, he never dreamed that the young boy would be thrown onto dangerous tracks for racing. Because they were illegal races, there were zero regulations for age and size requirements. If that wasn’t enough of a target, other riders were annoyed by such a skilled and young rider joining their ranks, so they often tried to take him out. 

Lane crouched and started to pull off the crumpled exhaust pipe. He stopped with a wince, not able to pull hard enough with his injured shoulder. Yamot let out another grumble before sighing. He nudged the young boy out of the way and started working on the repairs himself.

Lane sat down on the floor. “Thanks…”

“Don’t mention it. You know I hate this, but you can’t stay safe on the track with a busted bike.”

“I know… I’ll be more careful.”

Yamot let out a sad chuckle, “You and I both know that’s not possible. Especially on Vanqor.”

Lane said nothing in response and watched his friend fix up the bike as they made the last leg to the planet. It was dark when they arrived. The bottom hemisphere of the planet gets the least amount of sunlight. It wasn’t populated, which is why they were able to get away with an illegal track in such a dangerous area. 

Sebulba motioned with one hand for Lane to approach him, unwilling to move out of his seat to pause his massage. The Dug had a private box reserved where his seat was already set up. Tann and Ann were back at their usual.

“Don’t kark this up like the last race. I won’t come back for you this time.”

“Yes, Master” , Lane bowed his head to hide the fact that he was clenching his jaw. 

Sebulba hummed, waving him away to dismiss him.

Lane pulled on his racing helmet, which was dark maroon to match his eyes. His bike was also painted with maroon and silver to match. After years of racing, he had upgraded to a proper racing suit that was similar to a flight suit but allowed far more mobility. It protected him from suffering worse injuries than he already had. 

Lane took a seat on his bike and worked on stretching out his injured shoulder. He couldn’t afford to let it slow him down. The other 29 riders were also getting prepared. There was a large range of different speeders that were going on the track. Some of them were even enclosed to offer the rider more protection. Lane found that the extra weight wasn’t worth the amount of speed he would lose. 

The stadium around the start line was full of spectators, much like the Boonta Eve Classic. This was the biggest race Lane had ever entered. He continued through his stretches as the announcer went through the long list of names. When he heard his ‘name’ mentioned, he waved one arm up. After his first race, he was forever labeled as the Azalus Pukaneekee Rider. There was a loud mix of cheers and booing. Some people enjoyed the ‘underdog’ story he had just because he was so young. 

Soon, the stadium was filled with the sounds of engines roaring to life. Lane revved his engine a few times to help warm it up. Gone were the rockets requiring the usual fuel, and inside was a similar power system that his master had installed in his pod racer: activated ionized injectrine. It gave him wicked speed on the smaller speeder. 

Lane took deep breaths to help him focus and steady his beating heart. His eyes were trained on the floating light as it flickered down in yellow. The moment it turned green, he released the brake and gunned it. He shot forward, ahead of most of his competitors and into the darkness of the Vanqor night. 

The visor of his helmet had the track map pulled up to help guide him through the thick fog of silicone dust. The headlights of the speedbikes did nothing for visibility. If anything, it made it worse as the light was reflecting off the silicone. Lane switched his lights off, also effectively hiding himself from the other riders. It was hard to keep track of the other 29 riders, but he could hear carnage happening around him. 

It didn’t take too long for the track to lead into the cave system and out of the dust. Lane flicked his lights back on and began to weave around the large cave formations. The track was uneven and full of glowing puddles. Small organisms scaling the rocks were also bioluminescent, chittering loudly to warn the others of the intruders. Behind Lane, several riders were quickly catching up now that they could see their path. The young rider continued to use the rough terrain to his advantage. Riders who traveled in a straight line were always shot or easily taken out; he would not be taken out of the race so easily.

A deafening roar echoed throughout the cave. Lane’s eyes widened in shock, and he quickly scanned around. There was nothing he could see, which was worrying. Before he could ponder it any longer, one of the riders behind him managed to land a grappling hook onto the back of his speeder. The rider went wide around a large stalagmite to yank Lane to a stop. Before the line could even pull taut, Lane wiped out a vibroblade and cut the metal wire with ease. The line snapped, managing to wrap around the rock formation and causing the rider to spin around it until it inevitably crashed with a fiery explosion.

The explosion was the catalyst for the unstable parts of the cave to begin crashing down onto the crash. Lane focused on not getting crushed. Several dozen riders who were not fast enough to keep up with the leader were not so lucky. 

As the exit to the cave appeared, Lane switched his lights off once more and entered the thick silicone fog. He knew he still had about 8 riders competing against him. The second half of the track ahead of him was through a dead forest. Large, rotted trees twisted along the ground and stretched up high for an unreachable sun. 

The roots stretched across the landscape, creating another challenge for the riders to keep their balance. One rider took the risk of flying over one root that was a bit too high, clipping his front end and sending him head over heels across the landscape. Another rider decided to take the opportunity to try and fire at his fellow riders once more. A rider that was neck and neck with Lane used an armored gauntlet to reflect the blaster bolt. It ricocheted back at the rider with the blaster, hitting the front stabilizers. The rider quickly lost control, laying down his bike and skinning half of his body wide open due to the high speed of travel.

The start line in the stadium was fast approaching. The stadium lights created a bright glow across the landscape, providing a guide. While the first lap felt very fast, in reality, they had been out there for a few hours. The adrenaline in Lane’s system was still pouring out at a consistent rate. 

Yamot readied a canister of fuel on a pole, ready for Lane’s approach. A large metal ring was attached to the canister. As the young rider came barreling through, he reached his arm out and caught the loop. The fuel canister came with it. He couldn’t afford to stop for a refuel; it would cost him the race. With one hand keeping control of the speeder, he used the other to hook up the gas canister to his bike for a refuel. Most racers were not coordinated enough to complete such a task. Lane was not like most racers.

By the time the canister was nearly empty, they had re-entered the cave system. It was like a different track inside due to the damage from the previous explosion. Now, only racing against three riders, there was no room for error in the tight caverns. 

A roar echoed against the stone like before, but this time it was followed by returning roars. The deadly creatures that Lane had heard so much about were likely to make an appearance soon. The young rider pulled out his vibroblade once more. The giant creatures had thick armor and were difficult to shoot effectively while traveling at such high speeds.

Two of the riders behind Lane were tackled off the track in a blur of dark red. The Gundarks had arrived. The remaining rider beside Lane pulled out his blaster, looking around for the next incoming threat. For as large as Gundarks were, they moved exceptionally fast. 

Lane swerved around the partial cave-in, going wider than he would like off the main track. The rider behind him followed closely. More roars echoed through the cave, causing smaller rocks to fall from the cave ceiling. A Gundark dropped down from the darkness above into the middle of both riders’ path. 

“KRIFF”, Lane swerved sharply. He was able to go around the large creature but the rider behind him had no such luck. The Gundark used two hands to grab the front of his speedbike and the other two hands to grab the rider. The rider screamed in panic and pain before the Gundark ripped him in half. 

Lane struggled to regain control of his speeder, ending up laying it down and sliding into a stalagmite. The young boy panted, unable to feel how badly he could have been injured. He blinked up at the ceiling for a few moments, trying to get his bearings. His vision pulsed with black at the edges in time with his racing heartbeat. The ringing in his ears began to fade, and soon filled with the noises of the Gundarks. He could make out the sickening squelch and snapping of bone as the Gundark ate his competitor.

Lane pushed his bike up and scooted himself out. The leg of his racing suit was torn. Blood streaked the blue-green stone beneath him. The noise he made was enough to get the attention of the Gundarks, who had an incredible ability to hear. A loud roar soon followed. Lane swallowed thickly, hand still gripping his vibroblade as he looked over his shoulder at the large creature galloping towards him…

This was not the first time a large creature, determined at eat him, had run full force at him. Lane recalled the time he had accidentally insulted one of the Hutts about a year ago. Sebulba allowed them to discipline him as they saw fit. 

The young boy was dragged into the Hutt palace and dropped into a pit located beneath the dance floor and in full view of Jabba’s throne. The head Hutt was accompanied by his lover, who was cackling as she watched the young boy below. Lane scowled as he got to his feet. He redirected his gaze away from the grate above to look at his surroundings.

He was surrounded by steel walls. The sandy floor was littered with bones from the remains of those who were unfortunate enough to be dropped into the pit. Just like him.

An iron gate screeched loudly a it began to rise. Lane spun around, pulling out his vibroblade that he had hidden in a sheath strapped to his calf. Behind the gate, a hungry beast rumbled lowly. A juvenile Rancor drooled at the sight of its next meal. A wide mouth was full of small, dagger-like teeth.

With the gate fully open, it began to rush at the young boy. Lane held his knife defensively and braced for impact.

Chapter Text

Lane hurriedly scrambled to his feet. His injured leg refused to bear his weight, so he was forced to balance on his other leg. He flipped the vibroblade in his hand so the blade was facing the outside of his arm. The purple blade gleamed in the low light of the cave. Squaring off, he tried to prepare for the incoming threat.

The Gundark skidded to a stop before him, roaring right into his face. Razor-sharp teeth lining the inside of the beast’s mouth were dripping with blood from its latest victim. Its red skin glowed almost purple under the bioilluminescence of the cave. The large beast punched the ground with his two larger hands. Six-inch, dagger-like claws adorned each of the larger hands. It glared at him with bright yellow eyes; hunger was the motivator.

It swiped for the young teen with one clawed hand. Lane ducked beneath it while swiping his blade up. The edge sliced deeply into the creature’s wrist, which bellowed in pain. Forgoing another swipe, it launched itself at the teen. Lane rolled to the right. The Gundark bounced off the stone pillar above the abandoned speed bike and darted for the teen, who was now more vulnerable on the cave floor.

“Kriff, kriff, kriff!” Lane cursed repeatedly as he scrambled backwards using his hands and his uninjured leg.

The Gundark stalked over him slowly, teeth inches from his face, and drool splattered against his goggles. Lane slammed his vibroblade upwards without hesitation, sending the sharp blade through the lower jaw of the Gundark and into its skull. He had effectively pinned its jaw shut. Unable to bite at the teen, the Gundark pawed at the handle of the blade that was seated into its flesh. Lane rolled out from under the large beast and quickly got to his feet. The Gundark was still blocking the teen from his bike.

The only option was to continue his attack while the Gundark was preoccupied with the vibroblade. Lane slid his belt off and picked up a large rock in the other hand. He bounced on the balls of his feet as he hyped himself up mentally before he charged. 

The young teen jumped onto the back of the beast, using his momentum to wrap his belt around the beast’s neck. Lane gripped both ends of the belt for dear life and pulled tightly. The Gundark began to thrash, trying to get the boy off. Lane slammed the rock repeatedly against the right side of the Gundark’s head, effectively destroying its eye. The beast made muffled noises of pain, still unable to get its jaws open. Lane yelled out with every smash he made. He continued until the bloody rock crumbled. 

With that no longer an option, Lane pulled harder on the belt, trying to choke out the large beast. The Gundark reared back, smashing Lane against the cave wall, but the teen continued to hang on. The Gundark began gurgling and swaying. After what felt like an eternity, the large beast collapsed to the cave floor.

Lane’s chest heaved rapidly as he tried to catch his breath. His arms trembled from the continued strength he had to channel to choke the large beast. Very slowly, he let up his hold. The Gundark did not move. Lane felt his breath catch in his chest as time felt like it came to a standstill…

Lane scrambled under the legs of the juvenile Rancor, narrowly being missed by large claws as the Rancor swung for him. It let out an angered roar. It tried to turn as fast as its bulky body would allow, but Lane jumped up on its back. Using his vibroblade to stab into the bulbous flesh, the young boy climbed.

The Rancor bellowed in pain and anger. It swung its arms around but was still unable to reach behind itself to get to the boy. Lane stood up on its shoulder and leaped. His fingers found purchase in the grate above. He swung his legs up and planted his toes into the grate holes. The boy was now out of reach of the young Rancor.

Jabba hummed in surprise, rubbing his own bulbous flesh. “Very clever, Azalus Pukaneekee.”

Sebulba narrowed his eyes at his resilient slave. “Beg for your life, brat!”

Lane attempted to swallow his pride after giving the Dug a nasty look. He turned to look at the head Hutt, ready to grovel for his life to avoid being eaten alive…

Carefully sliding off the Gundark’s back, he pulled his belt free and reattached it around his hips. Lane reached forward for his blade. Instead of pulling it straight out, he pulled down towards the chest. The beast’s throat spilled wide open and poured blood all over the teens' hands. Lane couldn’t risk it getting back up.

The teen limped back to his bike and pulled it upright. There was minimal damage to the side where he was forced to lie down. He kick-started it, revving the engine a few times before taking off into the cave. He still had a race to finish. 

Once the teen exited the cave, he allowed himself to relax a bit. The biggest danger was over. With no other riders to worry about, he was able to cruise the last leg of the journey. The ache in his leg was starting to catch up to him. He had nearly forgotten his injuries after fighting the Gundark to the death. Lane full-throttled the engine as soon as the stadium lights came into view. 

The roar of the crowd soon reached his ears. He blinked rapidly at the sudden brightness of the stadium, flying over the finish line. He eased up on the throttle, coming to a stop. Both hands dropped from his handlebars, and he tilted his head back while closing his eyes. He allowed the cheers from the crowd to wash over him as the adrenaline continued to subside. When he finally decided to open his eyes, he quickly found one of the screen displays. It was replaying his battle with the Gundark.

Lane furrowed his brows as he watched. It felt surreal. He watched himself slam the rock over and over against the Gundark; gore flying off in a spray with each hit. The replay was slowed down to show the strength the young teen had utilized to survive.

Hands suddenly grabbed his shoulders before he was yanked into a tight embrace. Yamot. The mechanic held the teen tightly. Lane quickly returned the hug, pressing his face into the older Twi’lek’s chest. He felt tears sting his eyes. Being held after experiencing such a traumatic event was almost overwhelming. Lane didn’t want to let go for fear that it wasn’t real. 

“You alright, kid?” Yamot pulled away a little to look the teen over.

Lane started to nod but stopped, a sob breaking out as he shook his head. His entire body ached from the battle, and his leg was killing him. A deep frown crossed Yamot’s features. He quickly pulled Lane’s least injured arm over his shoulder and helped him limp towards the hangar bays and through the crowds of people who had come down to congratulate the young rider. They luckily parted a path for them, understanding that the young rider needed medical attention after winning against a Gundark.

It was completely unheard of for someone to win against one of the creatures in hand-to-hand combat with barely any weapons to use. No one had accomplished that. Most people who had weapons like blasters still rarely walked away from those creatures. 

Tann and Ann met the pair in the hangar bay, already holding handfuls of basic medical supplies. They ushered Yamot to lay the boy down on a makeshift cot. Together, they unzipped and peeled off the blood-soaked riding suit. Tann jumped back with a small scream, covering her mouth with both hands at the sight of Lane’s leg. The entire calf muscle was gone. Half of the skin was still hanging off, and the bone was completely exposed. Blood began to pour out onto the cot now that the compression of the suit was gone. 

“Kriff- Ann, go find a proper medic” , Yamot yelled as he quickly created a tourniquet over the boy's thigh using his belt. 

Lane groaned, gritting his teeth in pain. “H-how bad is it?”

“Bad. Hang in there, kid, we’re going to get you help.”

The teen nodded slowly, not wanting to look. He turned his face away. His gaze found Sebulba making his way towards his winning crew. The alien had paused in confusion as one of his Twi’lek twins went sprinting past him, yelling for help. The alien quickened his pace toward the teen. One look at Lane’s leg told him everything he needed to know.

Sebubla grumbled in thought before coming to a stop near the teenager’s head. “You did great, brat. We’ll get you taken care of. You deserve it.”

“T-thank you, Master.”

“Won me far more than I anticipated. Very pleased” , the Dug hummed before he walked off to begin gathering his winnings.

Yamot clenched his jaw, sending a nasty look after the Dug. Their Master was always so dismissive of the young slave, regardless of his condition. Yamots’ hands were covered in the teen’s blood. He kept a strong grip on the tourniquet, not wanting the teen to die of blood loss before help arrived. Lane’s eyes began to flutter shut, exhaustion threatening to take him.

Yamot reached one hand up to smack the kid’s cheek firmly. “Hey- c’mon, kid, stay with me. Don’t fall asleep.”

“Tryin’...” Lane’s eyelids grew heavier with every passing second. The noise around him gradually turned into a low hum, which also faded gradually into complete silence. The last thing he could see was Yamot yelling at him to stay awake and looking periodically for help. Blackness took hold, and Lane welcomed it, tired of the pain.

Lane felt like he was floating. He was warm and comfortable. Snippets of memory came to mind of the ordeal he had gone through. The teen had no idea how much time had passed since then or where he was. Was he dead? That couldn’t be true. He had fought way too hard to survive. 

His eyes fluttered open. Everything was blurry. He furrowed his brow at the pressure on his face and reached up to feel. A rebreather was strapped around his head. It took him a moment to realize he was inside a large bacta tank, which is why he couldn’t make much out. The teen looked down at his body. Small droid attachments were knitting the tissue of his left leg together. He could see that the bone was patched with a titanium plate for reinforcement. He was hurt badly.

Tapping on the glass caught his attention. Lane raised his head to squint at the glass. It was Yamot, Ann, and Tann. The twins waved at him excitedly. The relief was obvious on all of their features. Lane reached out a hand and pressed it to the glass in front of them. All three returned the gesture. Unable to smile much around the rebreather, Lane allowed sleep to take him again. It would be a while before the bacta and droids finished repairing his broken body. 

The next time he woke up, he found himself lying in his cot on Sebulba’s ship. The familiar rumble of the engine beneath him was comforting. Slowly, the boy pushed himself up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. His body felt fully rested, for the first time in his entire life. The aches were gone, and there were no leftover spikes of pain from his injuries. 

He lifted his pant leg to examine his calf. The skin was blotchy with shades of white and a lighter hue of his dark skin, creating one large area of scar tissue. It was the only evidence that remained of his terrible injury. Slowly, he planted his feet on the floor and stood to test his weight. Everything felt great. 

Lane pulled his beloved cloak off a nearby hook to cover himself and left his room. There was chatter in the main cargo bay. He followed the sound. All of the crew were sitting around a table playing Dejarik. Sebulba was also present, in his usual seat, getting pampered by the twins as he watched his crew play the game.

Lane cleared his throat quietly as he approached, catching everyone’s attention. Yamot grinned, not caring that he had just dropped his cigarette as he stood to hug the teen. Lane returned the hug with a satisfied hum. After a moment, they pulled apart. Yamot pulled a crate over next to him and patted the seat for Lane to sit.

“How do you feel, kid?”

“Amazing, honestly, I’ve never felt so rested…”

“Good. It was touch and go there for a minute.”

Lane nodded slowly before looking back at his Master. Sebulba nodded at him once in approval. Lane chewed on his lip for a moment to think before speaking. “I’m sorry for the medical bills, Master. I appreciate it very much.”

“You’ve earned it.” Sebulba chuckled lowly, “Not only did you win the race, you killed a Gundark with your bare hands. No one has accomplished that and lived to tell the tale. You’re worth a lot of money, brat, and I intend on keeping you in shape to continue doing so.”

Lane nodded slowly. He knew deep down that Sebulba wouldn’t care if he did die. Yamot clenched his jaw at the Master’s comment but kept his thoughts to himself. He knew speaking out of turn would result in nothing good. As long as the boy could stay ahead of the game and keep himself alive, everything would work out just fine.

“We’re heading back to Tatooine. You’ve deserved some time off while I prep for the next Boonta Eve Classic.”

“Thank you, Master.”

A break would be wonderful. He never thought he would be excited to return to Tatooine, but he was. It would also give him a chance to check in with Shmi and see Anakin. The young boy was about 6 now and was showing his skills with mechanics. Watto was taking full advantage of that. Lane felt like he needed to take the boy under his wing, like so many other boys had done for him in the past. Just like Yamot was doing for him now.

Lane looked over at the older Twi’lek. He was starting to show age, with his coloring starting to become less vibrant and wrinkles adorning his face. It was no surprise, given how often he furrowed his brow while working. A smile crossed the young teen's face. Yamot caught him looking and raised a brow in question. Lane simply shook his head and redirected his gaze to the game board.

Small holograms of different creatures were either moving to a different spot or performing their idle animation. Dejarik was a fun strategy game. Lane was no master of it, but he did enjoy watching the others play. They all had competitive natures themselves and sometimes would gamble rations or other items over the small games. Grimtash the Molator ambled on its insect-like limbs towards the red Scimp. Grimtash closed its claws over the tall eyestalks of the Scimp and tore it down. The little creature dissolved in a cloud of pizzles. 

The mechanic across the table groaned and scrubbed a hand over his face. Yamot held a hand out and waved his fingers expectantly. A pack of cigarettes was placed into his palm reluctantly. Yamot pulled one out and lit it up, analyzing the board, ready to play his next move.

Chapter Text

“Holler out if you see any power coupling cables”, Lane called over his shoulder.

“Okay!” Anakin stuck his tongue out to the side, carefully climbing the scrap pile in search of parts. 

Lane and Anakin often spent their shared free days going through the scrap heaps on the outskirts of town. It was all unwanted parts that people were welcome to dig through if they had the patience for it. Jawas usually picked up the entire piles once every few weeks to keep the debris low. If the piles got too high when a sandstorm blew through, the flying scraps of metal would cause damage to buildings and, on occasion, cause an unfortunate individual serious injury.

Anakin was a quick study when it came to mechanics. He took everything that Lane had been teaching him for the better part of a year and ran with it. The young 7-year-old was on the hunt for his project. In reality, he had his heart set on making a podracer. The young pilot was craving to jump into the races after watching several with Lane from his assigned area on the sidelines. 

Despite Shmi’s reluctance, Lane fully encouraged the young boy to pursue his passion. He understood the craving to be a pilot. Racing made him feel alive, even though it had nearly cost him his life several times.

“Lane! I found something!” Anakin began tugging at what appeared to be a droid arm stuck deep in the pile. Lane made his way over to the younger boy to have a closer look. It seemed to be a plateless protocol droid that was missing several parts.

“Well, that’s interesting. You don’t see these very often on the Outer Rim.”

“What kind of droid is it?”

“Protocol droid, I think. The rich people of the Republic use them as servants, usually”, Lane explained as he helped dig out the droid from the scrap heap. “They know an endless number of languages supposedly.”

“Oh wow”, Anakin exclaimed excitedly. “If I fix him up, he can help my mom around the house!”

“That’s a great idea, Ani.”

Together, the boys managed to pull the droid out of the heap. It was missing eyes, the lower right arm, and the entire left arm. All of the wires were exposed, and some looked melted by the heat. The droid would need to be completely reworked. 

“We might be able to find the limbs somewhere around here. All of the other parts we can replace with standard wiring.”

Anakin nodded excitedly as he looked over the droid. With swift and careful fingers, he was able to open up the internal panel to get a good look inside the droid. Inside was a TranLand III communication module that looked completely intake, aside from being covered in sand. 

“He’s in serious need of an upgrade. The sand is gonna destroy the rest of him”, Anakin made a grumpy face.

Lane chuckled and ruffled his dirty blond hair, “I’m sure you’ll fix him as good as new.”

“You bet I will!”

The young 7-year-old started to dig through the piles again in search of the missing limbs. Lane picked up the large droid and began carrying it down to his cart. His droid beeped lowly at him curiously as the large droid was deposited in the hover cart. Lane patted his boxy droid on his head soothingly, causing the droid to toddle in happiness. The teen smirked, wiping some sweat off his face before he looked out into the distance. The telltale signs of a sandstorm were brewing in the distance. It would be 20 minutes at the most before the harsh winds would be blowing through Mos Espa.

Anakin cheered in victory as he held up the missing arm. Lane gave him a thumbs-up. The young slave was cute and still had a childish nature to him despite his imprisonment. Watto was a much fairer owner than Sebulba. Lane wanted the young boy to enjoy as much as possible before he grew up too fast. 

“See the leg yet?”

“Nooooope!”

Lane chuckled and began climbing the pile again. “You’ve got about 10 minutes before we need to get moving.”

“That’s not enough time!”

“It’s plenty if you keep looking.”

Lane stopped halfway up to dig through some scrap. There was an abandoned blaster attachment for some kind of speeder that would come in very handy. The teen tucked it under his arm as he continued his search, always keeping Anakin out of the corner of his eye. 

A few minutes had passed when Lane was about to call the search when Anakin cheered in victory, saying he had found the leg. The young boy tugged hard, trying to free it but it was pretty stuck in the scrap. A few more tugs loosened it enough but Anakin putting all his weight into trying to pull sent him tumbling down the scrap pile.

Lane’s eyes widened, and he started hurrying up the pile. “ANI!” 

The young boy tumbled down to the bottom of the pile on the other side. His roll had dislodged a good bit of scrap that came tumbling down with him and pinned him to the sand. Lane vaulted over the top of the pile and quickly followed the sound of Anakin crying.

“I’m coming, I’m coming, you’re alright”, Lane soothed as he finally hit bottom. He quickly heaved the scrap parts off the young boy. Anakin was still clutching his prize despite the tumble, hugging it to his chest. Lane picked him up under his arms and set him on his feet.

“You alright?”

“U-uh huh”, Anakin sniffled with a nod. There was a small trail of blood down the right side of his round face. Lane lifted his bangs to find a small cut. The young boy was otherwise unharmed. A band-aid for the cut and some bacta gel for the bruises would fix him right up.

“You should have waited for me to come help you.”

“I thought I had it…”

Lane smirked, “Well, you certainly did, but we really need to work on your landing.”

The tease made the young boy crack a smile, and he giggled in response. Lane ruffled his hair affectionately before standing. They had landed in the middle of different piles; the only way out would be up. However, the wind was starting to whip the sand over the crest of the piles. They had run out of time to evade the incoming sandstorm.

“Eh chu ta!” Lane cursed.

“You said a bad word”, Anakin piped up.

“Sorry, Ani. We’re gonna have to hunker down here to wait out the storm, there’s no way we’ll make it back in time.”

Anakin’s brilliant blue eyes widened worriedly. Lane began to search for items to make a shelter out of. It took him a few minutes to pull some sheet metal together and tie it down using old wiring and some hose. By the time he was done, the wind was blowing sand into their little area with a vengeance. Lane ushered the younger boy into the shelter before climbing in himself. The wind whistled through the cracks and caused the sheet metal to vibrate.

Anakin leaned against his friend, still hugging the droid part to his chest. Lane wrapped his arm around the younger boy. He rubbed his thumb against Anakin’s shoulder soothingly. The teen kept his eyes trained on the entrance, ready for anything.

“My mom is gonna worry.”

“I know…but she knows that you’re with me, and I always keep you safe, don’t I?”

Anakin nodded before looking up at the teen, “I told her that you’re like my big brother.”

Lane felt his heart squeeze at the comment, and he looked down at the young boy. “You’re like my brother, too, Ani. I’ll always do my best to protect you.”

The little boy gave him a big, toothy grin in response. Lane licked his thumb and wiped off some of the blood on his face. Anakin scrunched his face at the sensation but let it happen. After a moment in silence, Anakin began to examine the leg he had worked so hard to pull free. The knee joint was twisted and would require a replacement. He pulled out a small tool from his belt and began stripping the leg down. There was no reason to keep the melted wires or parts that couldn’t be salvaged.

Lane watched, enjoying the moment of peace. His mind wandered to another situation that went south for Lane and Anakin…

Lane had wanted to show Anakin a Massiff up close. While the adults were extremely dangerous, the hatchlings were kind of adorable. The young teen knew of a nest that was not being monitored by Tuskan Riders. 

Lane and Anakin went out into the desert on his speedbike. The young boy was thrilled to be riding it and laughed for a good part of the journey. As they got closer, Lane found a place to park his bike where it wouldn’t be seen. The pair then slowly made their approach up a ridge and lowered themselves on their bellies. 

Lane pulled out a pair of scanners and peered through them until he found his target. The mother Massiff was lying near her nest. Four little Massiff pups were wrestling with one another or sniffing around curiously. They were small, about the size of a womprat, and had no spikes lining their spines. They did, however, have jaws full of very sharp teeth.

“There”, Lane passed the scanners to Anakin. “See them?”

Anakin gripped the scanners and looked to where his friend had pointed them out. “Oh wow…They’re so small!”

“Shh”, Lane chuckled. “Not so loud, Ani.”

“Sorry…”

“It’s alright, we don’t want to spook them.”

“This is so cool…”

Lane smirked and looked into the distance, still able to see the outlines of the small reptilian pups playing in the desert sand…

Lane was disturbed from his thoughts as Anakin dug into the pile, and their shelter was built to find things they could use. There was a stash of leftover moisture farm motors that the young boy began to strip down. Inside were several high-torque motors and plenty of wires that had survived the heat of the desert. 

“Here- make sure you use the same colors throughout for whatever you’re doing here. That way, when you go in for repairs and limb reattachment, you won’t get your wires crossed”, the teen pointed out.

Anakin nodded intently and began to separate the wires in different colored piles. “I should wait to wire the leg then, until I have the entire body.”

“Smart boy.”

“I wonder what his name is.”

“His serial number is probably printed somewhere. Probably on his head. If not, we’ll find out when we turn him on. If his processor is still good, then his memory might be intake.”

“That’s true. Do you really think he knows a bunch of languages?”

“Probably. The last protocol droid I interacted with said he knew like six million different dialects that can be found throughout the galaxy.”

“SIX MILLION? Oh wow, I don’t think I’m smart enough for that many.”

Lane laughed, “No kidding. I’m only fluent in five or six, and I still get some words mixed up.”

Anakin tilted his head. “Well, I know you speak Basic, Huttese, and the Slave Code…what else do you know?”

“Zygerrian and Ryl. I’ve been working on sign language lately. It’s helpful for racing.”

“Oh wow, that’s really cool.” Anakin paused in thought, “I think my mom knows Zygerrian…she doesn’t really talk about what happened to her before she had me.”

“It’s not exactly a fun bedtime story…The Zygerrians are brutal. I wouldn’t wish their treatment of slaves on my worst enemy.”

Anakin just stared at him with wide eyes in thought for a few moments. “...as terrible as Sebulba is, I’m glad he bought you.”

Lane gave a small smile. “In a way, I am too…”

“Cause now we know each other. And one day, I’m gonna set us all free! And come back to free everyone! That’s why we need this droid- so we have help exploring the rest of the galaxy.”

“I hope so, Ani, I hope so.”

-

A few days had passed, and Lane was heading towards Watto’s shop to find Anakin. He had found a few parts to donate to his new droid project. The streets of Mos Espa were crowded as usual, but what was odd was the fact that there seemed to be a crowd in a line. Lane furrowed his brow and decided to take a detour to investigate. There were several young boys lined up on mini speeders. They almost appeared to be scout rovers with the droid brain removed in place for a pilot seat. Lane was surprised to see Anakin amongst them. 

A young Rodian was standing in the middle of the path, a flag in hand. “On your mark, get set…GO!”

The Rodian lifted his little flag, and the kids set off. Anakin instantly took the lead, drifting around the corner. Lane peeked over the shoulders of some of the spectators until he found one with a viewing pad. There was a hovering camera following the kids as they raced through the downtown area. It was a short track, with what appeared to be five laps in total. Some of the kids were more aggressive with their driving by trying to bump the others out of the way.

Anakin remained in the front and was able to stay in control, no matter how often the other kids tried to spin him out on the track. Soon enough, he was cruising through the finish line, where the young Rodian waved the final flag. The crowd cheered for him. Lane applauded with a grin, proud of his small friend.

Anakin stood up with a huge grin on his face, pushing his goggles up, which sent his frizzy bangs in multiple directions. He walked over to one of the other boys and held his hand out. “I think it’s time to pay on our bet.”

The human kid looked upset but reluctantly pulled something from his pocket and handed it to the rightful winner. “Beginner’s luck.”

“If you say so!”

Anakin turned away as he unwrapped the part, revealing two photoreceptor eyes that he needed for his new droid. Lane smirked as he caught a glimpse of the prize. The teen pushed his way through the crowd to the young boy. He picked him up from behind in a hug with a laugh.

“That was incredible, Ani!”

“Laaaane, put me down!” Anakin laughed regardless, allowing the teen to swing him around.

Lane set him back on his feet and crouched down, finally getting a good look at the mini speeder. “When did you put this together?”

“I built this! It’s gonna be the pod for my very own podracer eventually. But I modified it for some smaller races. That kid bought these right when I went to grab them and I really needed them, so I bet him in a race. If I won, I would get the photoreceptors; if he won, he would get my wheel motors from this.”

“Not exactly the fairest bet, but in the end, you got what you wanted.”

Anakin nodded excitedly, looking down at the pair of eyes. The young boy had spent many late nights stripping the old wires out of the droid and was nearly done rewiring it. He was SO close to being able to turn him on and finally figure out his name. 

“Also, since when were you serious about podracing?”

The young boy hesitated, “Weeeeell…Watto has been putting me in a few smaller races to prep me for the Boonta Eve Classic?”

“What? Anakin, you’re so little-”

“You were only a little older than me when you started racing your speedbike!” The young boy pouted up at the teen, “And I’m really good, I promise. I just need practice, is all.”

A deep sigh left the teen, knowing he had no ground to stand on in this argument. He had started very young himself. He also knew that when Watto put his mind to something, there was no changing it. So both young slaves were being thrown onto the tracks.

“Well, I guess I’m just gonna have to start giving you some training so you can start winning races, won’t I?”

Anakin grinned, jumping excitedly. “Do you mean it!? You’ll really help show me?”

“I do. The better prepared you are, the better your chances, right? And you’re a natural, I’m sure you’ll pick up on everything very quickly.”

“Yippee!!”

Lane chuckled and ruffled the kid’s dirty blond hair. “Should we go show your mom your winnings from today?”

Anakin's blue eyes lit up right away, and he nodded excitedly. He climbed back into his mini speeder and led the way. The young boy drove slowly so Lane could keep up. It was not a far walk to get to the slave quarters of Mos Espa. Anakin pulled the mini speeder into the back where a lot of his project pieces were. Lane glanced around at the scattered collection of pod racing parts. 

“Mom!” Anakin called out while running inside through the back door, Lane close behind. The teenager inhaled the cool air gratefully, having been out in the heat all day. The hallway eventually opened up into the main area. Shmi was sitting at her desk, working on a computer chip project for a personal client. She set her tools down to turn her attention to her son and their guest.

“Good afternoon, Miss Shmi”, Lane bowed his head politely.

“Hello, Lane. Good to see you”, she smiled gently before looking at her bouncing ball of a son. “Ani, what’s got you so excited?”

“Look, Mom! Look! I won the race, and I got the parts for our droid! We can turn him on soon!”

“Oh that’s wonderful Ani”, she traced her fingers over the parts. “These look brand new.”

“I think they are.”

“And no one got hurt?”

“No, Mom, it went perfect!”

“Good, I’m glad”, she smiled at him.

Anakin tugged on her hand to get her to follow him. The trio made their way into the young boy’s bedroom. One side of the room had been turned into his work station. The droid was propped up in the corner near a large box of wires. Anakin let go of his mom so he could press the photoreceptors into the face of the droid.

“Perfect fit! Look, Mom!”

“It’s very nice, Ani.”

“Let’s try turning him on.” Anakin stepped up onto the sand ledge to fiddle with the back of the droid's head. He still needed to replace the droid's switch, but a little juice from the micro-circuit welder gave it enough spark. The internal parts hesitated a few times before coming to life with a low hum. 

The droid jolted in surprise, the lights in the photoreceptors flickering to life. “O-Oh, oh my, my word, where am I? This doesn’t appear to be Manakron.”

“Hi! My name is Anakin”, the little boy greeted as he jumped down and faced his new droid. “I’ve built you! I found you in a scrap pile, but don’t worry, I’m going to fix you as good as new. You’ll see.”

The droid whirred as he looked at the trio curiously and finally settled on the young human boy before him. “Ah- Master Anakin, is it? It’s wonderful to meet you. My name is C-3PO, human cyborg relations. How may I serve you?”

“So that’s your name! Nice to meet you C-3PO. I’ve built you so you can help out my mom”, Anakin turned to grab her hand and pull her closer.

The droid tilted his head up to look at the human woman. “Ah, hello, Miss. What might I call you?”

“Shmi, it’s very nice to meet you, C-3PO.”

“Miss Shmi, what a wonderful name. And you are, sir?”

Lane chuckled with a small wave. “I’m Lane. I’m a friend of Anakin. I helped him pull you out of the scrap pile.”

“Goodness, by the Maker, how dreadful. You have my undying gratitude for saving me from such an unsightly fate!”

Anakin laughed, beyond pleased by his new droid and amused by the way he talked. Shmi covered her mouth with one hand as she tried to hold in a laugh herself. The droid looked between the pair, not understanding that there was any humor in the situation.