Free The Phantom Menace by Terry Brooks

slave housing. His mother had indulged him, mindful of his interest in taking things apart and putting them back together. She didn’t see the harm in allowing him to have this project to work on in his spare time, and Watto knew nothing of the Pod.
    That was an inspired bit of subterfuge on Anakin’s part. He knew, just as with the droid, that if it appeared to have any value at all, Watto would claim it. So he deliberately kept it looking as if it were a complete piece of junk, disguising its worth in a variety of clever ways. To all intents and purposes, it would never run. It was just another childish project. It was just a little boy’s dream.
    But for Anakin Skywalker, it was the first step in his life plan. He would build the fastest Podracer ever, and he would win every race in which it was entered. Hewould build a starfighter next, and he would pilot it off Tatooine to other worlds. He would take his mother with him, and they would find a new home. He would become the greatest pilot ever, flying all the ships of the mainline, and his mother would be so proud of him.
    And one day, when he had done all this, they would be slaves no longer. They would be free.
    He thought about this often, not because his mother encouraged him in any way or because he was given any reason to think it might happen, but simply because he believed, deep down inside where it mattered, that it must.
    He thought about it now as he guided his speeder through the streets of Mos Espa, the protocol droid sitting in the rear passenger compartment, skeletal-like without its skin and motionless because he had deactivated it for the ride out. He thought about all the things he would do and places he would go, the adventures he would have and the successes he would enjoy, and the dreams he would see come true. He drove the speeder out from the city under Tatooine’s suns, the heat rising off the desert sands in a shimmering wave, the light reflecting off the metal surface of the speeder like white fire.
    He proceeded east for about two standard hours until he reached the edge of the Dune Sea. The meeting with the Jawas was already in place, arranged by Watto the day before by transmitter. The Jawas would be waiting by Mochot Steep, a singular rock formation about halfway across the sea. Goggles, gloves, and helmet firmly in place, the boy cranked up the power on the speeder and hastened ahead through the midday heat.
    He found the Jawas waiting for him, their monstrous sandcrawler parked in the shadow of the Steep, the droidsthey wished to trade lined up at the end of the crawler’s ramp. Anakin parked his speeder close to where the little robed figures waited, yellow eyes gleaming watchfully in the shadows of their hoods, and climbed out. He activated the protocol droid and ordered him to follow. With the droid trailing obediently, he walked slowly down the line of mechanicals, making a show of carefully studying each.
    When he was finished, he drew his droid aside. “Which ones are best, See-Threepio?” he asked. He’d given it a number the night before, choosing
three
because the droid made the third member of his little family after his mother and himself.
    “Oh, well, Master Anakin, I’m flattered that you would ask, but I would never presume to infringe on your expertise, my own being so meager, although I do have knowledge of some fifty-one hundred different varieties of droids and over five thousand different internal processors and ten times that many chips and—”
    “Just tell me which ones are best!” Anakin hissed under his breath. He had forgotten that C-3PO was first and foremost a protocol droid and, while possessed of extensive knowledge, tended to defer to the humans he served. “Which ones, Threepio?” he repeated. “Left to right. Number them off to me.”
    C-3PO did so. “Do you wish me to enumerate their capabilities and design specialties, Master Anakin?” he asked solicitously, cocking his head.
    Anakin