Qui-Gon pretended to study the Dug carefully. "Why?"

"Because he always wins!" The Toydarian broke into a fit of laughter, consumed by his own cleverness. "I'm betting heavily on Sebulba!"

"I'll take that bet," Qui-Gon said at once.

Watto stopped laughing instantly, jerking away as if scalded by hot oil. "What?" He shook his head in astonishment. "What do you mean?"

Qui-Gon advanced a step, backing the Toydarian away. "I'll wager my new racing Pod against..." He trailed off thoughtfully, letting Watto hang. "Against, say, the boy and his mother." Watto was aghast. "A Pod for slaves! I don't think so!" The blue wings were a blur as he flitted this way and that, head cocked. "Well, perhaps. Just one. The mother, maybe. The boy isn't for sale."

Qui-Gon frowned. "The boy is small. He can't be worth much. "

Watto shook his head decisively.

"For the fastest Pod ever built?"

Watto shook his head again.

"Both, or no bet."

They were standing near the front entry of the hangar, and the noise of the crew work had lessened. Beyond, the arena stands rose against the desert sky, a vast, curved complex complete with boxes for the Hutts, a race announcer's booth, course monitoring equipment, and food stands. Already the stands were beginning to fill, the population of Mos Espa turning out in full force for the event, shops and stalls closed, the city on holiday. Bright streamers and banners flew, and approaching racers flamed with the reflection of sunlight and polish.

Qui-Gon caught sight of Anakin appearing through the crowds, riding an eopie with Padme up behind him, towing one of the massive Radon-Ulzer engines. His friend Kitster followed on a second eopie, towing the other engine. The eopies were gangly, long-snouted pack animals with tough, leathery skin and short fur particularly well-suited to resisting the Tatooine desert heat. R2-D2 and C-3PO trailed the little procession with the Pod and Shmi. The Jedi Master deliberately turned to watch their approach, drawing Watto's gaze after his own. The Toydarian's eyes glittered at the sight of the boy and the racer.

He looked back at Qui-Gon and gave an anxious snort. "No Pod's worth two slaves... not by a long shot! One slave or nothing! "

Qui-Gon folded his arms over his chest. "The boy, then." Watto huffed and shook his head. He jerked with the tension his deliberation was generating inside his pudgy blue body. "No, no... "

Then abruptly he reached inside his pocket and produced a small cube, which he tossed from one hand to the other as if it were too hot to hold. "We'll let fate decide. Blue, it's the boy. Red, it's the mother."

Watto cast the cube to the hangar floor. As he did, Qui-Gon made a small, surreptitious gesture with one hand, calling on his Jedi power to produce a small inflection in the Force.

The cube bounced, rolled, settled, blue side facing up. Watto threw up his hands angrily, his eyes turning narrow and sharp.

"You won the toss, outlander!" he sneered in dismissal. "But you won't win the race, so it makes little difference, I think."

"We'll see," Qui-Gon replied calmly.

Anakin and the others reached them, entering the hangar with the Pod and engines. Watto wheeled away from Qui-Gon in a huff, pausing long enough to snap irritably at the boy.

"Better stop your friend's betting," he declared with an angry snort, "or I'll end up owning him, too!"

One of the eopies sniffed expectantly at him, and he swore at the beast in Huttese with such ferocity that it backed away. His wings beating madly, Watto gave Qui-Gon a withering glance and flew off into the hangar shadows.

"What did he mean by that?" Anakin asked as he slowed the eopie beside Qui- Gon, glancing after the retreating Toydarlan. Qui-Gon shrugged. "I'll tell you later."

Kitster pulled to a stop beside Anakin, his face alight with excitement as he looked around. "This is so wizard! I'm sure you'll do it this time, Annie!"

Padme's gaze shifted from one to the other. "Do what?" she asked suspiciously.

Kitster beamed. "Finish the race, of course!"

The girl paled. Her eyes burned into Anakin. "You've never even finished a race?" she demanded incredulously.

The boy blushed. "Well... not exactly." His mouth tightened with determination. "But Kitster's right. I will this time."

Qui-Gon took the eopie's reins in his hand and patted the boy's leg. "Of course, you will," he agreed.

From atop the eopie, Padme Naberrie just stared at him wordlessly.

In the center of Mos Espa the crowds were beginning to thin as the population gravitated in increasing numbers toward the pod racer arena at the edge of the spaceport. Most of the shops and stalls were already closed, and the rest were in the process of doing so. Owners and vendors were completing sales and glancing anxiously in the direction of the traffic's steady flow. Amid the confusion and bustle, a Sith probe droid slowly floated along, mechanical eye traveling from shop to shop, from face to face, searching.

Over a hundred thousand beings had filled the Podracer arena by midmorning, jamming into the grandstand seats, crowding onto the broad viewing platforms, filling the available space. The arena became a vast sea of color and movement and sound in the emptiness of the surrounding desert. Flags and banners bearing the insignia of the racers and their sponsors waved over the assemblage, signifying favorites and creating impromptu cheering sections. Bands played in support of some racers, and isolated horns and drums beat in wild appreciation for all. Vendors walked the aisles, carrying food and drink from canopied stands below to sell to the crowd. Everywhere, excitement and anticipation was building.

Then a roar erupted as the racers began to emerge from the main hangar on the far side of the start line. One by one the Podracers hove into view, some towed by eopies, some by hand, some by repulsorsled, all part of a long procession of pilots, pit crews, and hangers-on. Standard bearers, each carrying a flag that identified the pilot and sponsor, marched along, forming a colorful line in front of the assembly of Podracers. Overhead, the twin suns of Tatooine shone down with a bright, hungry glare.

As the racers moved onto the track in front of the arena stands, a flurry of movement in the royal box signaled the arrival of Jabba the Hutt and Gardulla, his female friend. Slithering into the cooled interior of the box, the two Rutts oozed their way along the flooring to their designated places amid the bright silks that draped the rough stone. Jabba came foremost, proceeding directly to the arched overlook where he could be seen by the people of Mos Espa. Lifting his pudgy arm in greeting, he basked in the crowd's appreciative roar. Gardulla muttered her approval, nodding her neckless head on the end of a thick, shapeless body, slitted eyes glittering. A coterie of humans and aliens filed in behind the two Rutts, guests of Mos Espa's rulers on race day, a coveted designation. A line of slave girls of varying species came last, chained together, there for the amusement of those who had chosen freely to attend. Below, the Podracer pilots formed a line facing the royal box and on command bowed deeply in recognition of and to pay homage to their benefactor.