Self-taught

If you don't know how nature or a great force decided to play a joke on the Jews, you're out of luck, for in this galaxy the Jews are such a strange race, the Toydarians. The fat one, with the ugly face, and the wings on which he travels over the earth.

Why "Jew" all of a sudden, you ask? And you try to talk to him for more than five seconds and any native of our humble planet has an image in your mind of a pushy peddler, typical-looking and with a local accent. No, Watto didn't speak Hebrew, but that didn't make any difference - his habit of selling anything, answering a question with a question, being constantly busy with some business of his own... Yes, Watto was definitely canonical to the point of being anecdotally Jewish. Even if it's unimaginably parsecs to Israel from here, it doesn't change the character. And the habit of inserting words from one's native tongue into one's speech is characteristic.

How did such thoughts come into my head? Very simple. I am Anakin Skywalker, slave, property, as well as fetch-and-deliver for that fluttering merchant. Although, by the way, fetch-and-pay is another matter, since I've been in this place, which looks like a Middle Eastern country with shahs, emirs, kings, and slaves and concubines, I've learned a lot about technology. And the ability to fix an iron on the ground, which can also be classified as "knowledge of technology" and what is meant by these words in this galaxy are two big differences.

Consciousness was somewhere. Seriously, it was as if it had spread out across the universe, yes so that it was scary for a second, but after a while, it was suddenly gone.

It smelled like dust. Yes, perhaps, dust, sand, a little clay, in general, the smell is usual, so it is easy to get used to it, but only being here, so to speak, but after a strange sense of the universe this smell literally fell on me, like thunder among the silent rumble of rain, like a flash of lightning after a dark sky.

When I smelled it, I opened my eyes and saw...

The ceiling. Apparently. Clay. Well, it's not a pretty place...

My next thought was, "where am I?" I didn't drink, didn't smoke, and so I was sure of my future life. But now, as they call it, I was in trouble. The first thing I did was to get up from... ...the hard and uncomfortable bunk.

It was quiet. Somewhere in the house something was buzzing. It must have been the old droid's servos going bad again, so it buzzed like...

"Freeze! What the hell kind of servos and what the hell kind of droid?" - I thought, looking around.

For better or worse, I knew what kind of servos I was thinking of: old ones, found among the junk in Watto's shop. I built the droid myself. And my name is... Anakin Skywalker.

The "happy" thought made me want to bang my head against the clay wall. Yes, exactly my head, and exactly against the wall - after all, I remembered everything Anakin remembered...

A child, but still, he knew a lot, and he understood more than I did. Slavery is not sitting on your ass in front of the monitor, killing years of your life in all sorts of facebooking...

I'm Anakin Skywalker, ten years old. A slave, working at Watto's, who sells all sorts of junk, and not junk either.

- Anakin! - A woman's voice came from the next room.

Well, here we are. Now to meet "mother". However, Anakin's memory quickly slipped an image of a woman of forty years old and with some warm feelings. Anakin loved his mother, and now I love her, too. Well... turns out I'm not the only one here, and Ani hasn't moved out. That's an interesting angle.

- Coming, Mom! - I yelled, and hurried to do my morning exercise of taking inventory of my body. Anakin is obviously small and puny, like a snot in the throat. I had to do something about it, especially since now I had to be diligent and diligent in improving myself. But the first thing to do is to determine what time it is. Or maybe I'm dreaming that I'm Skywalker. Or was Skywalker dreaming that he was me? Or... um... I've seen this somewhere before. Let's call it "the butterfly problem" for the sake of argument. But what I feel is perfectly real is probably not a dream. And there's no pain in a dream, either, and I had no trouble pinching myself. I'm not dreaming. So I'm Anakin Skywalker, a slave on the planet Tatooine, and right now it occurred to me that I might as well try a little harder, and if the medichlorians in the movie have got my blood pumping the way Yoda did, I might as well try and force myself into it. Or, at the very least, start trying; you can't live the way you have so far.

I stepped out of my cubbyhole into the hallway-living room. The slave shack was not a deluxe hotel, or even a vacation home, but I tried not to complain. Honestly, I tried.

My mother hugged me, as usual, and said:

- Here, Ani, breakfast. And hurry up to Watto's, he doesn't like to wait.

- Okay, Mom," I said in a voice I had long forgotten, and Mom, after patting me on the head, went off in an unknown direction.

Breakfast was just like the rest of this planet - disgusting, but you can't complain about slaves. So, having stuffed myself with the wonders of local cooking, I hastily put on my shoes and walked from memory to Watto's. As I sank into a pensive state, adjusting to my new and inexplicably manifested Anakin Skywalker state, my feet brought me to the right place.

As I entered the shop to the tinkling of the bell, I caught Watto's eye. Well... it wouldn't take me long to get used to the local races. The Toydarian was flapping his wings and hovering above the floor, picking up a pile of junk.

- Anakin, you're just in time today. He told me, throwing the object he was examining on the pile, and hurried off into the back room. Well...

And Watto was sputtering in his own, Tudarian tongue. Anakin must have learned his winged host's language well enough to understand such fluent speech. I wasn't surprised, either, it was just... unusual to know the languages of winged humanoids.

I walked over to the pile of iron - it looked like someone had got rid of the garbage in the barn, and now I should separate the flies from the cutlets.

I began the task at once, gradually and recognizing the details. The wreckage of the engine from the kara, parts of various droids, pieces of the hull from the ship... From a pretty good ship, you could say pieces of armor from a warship. But the armor was high quality, lightweight, and pretty damn tough. I can't remember the name of the metal, but this scrap should be brought back, it might come in handy. I put it aside.

After half an hour of my activity, there were two piles - junk and conditionally valuable stuff.

I began dragging the second one to the warehouse. I harnessed the droids to do it, and I harnessed myself.

The warehouse in Watto's place was combined with the workshop, where, of course, I and a couple of repair droids worked.

The droids turned out to be extremely obtuse and unauthorized. I remember in the movie a couple of them achieved "stunning" results when the idiot racer decided to save the team a pit stop.

Watto still grumbled for a long time, flying around, but didn't get in the way of work, so I moved that junk into storage and asked the patron:

- Anything else?

- No, you can go to your workshop. Just don't go anywhere! - he waved his paw at me and turned away, staring at some papers.

Without objecting, I went into the good old workshop I had spotted. Its smell alone was ineffable and recognizable to me. Old oil, iron, piles of electronics, a half-ready Citripio polyglot droid... judging by the stage of readiness, there's still plenty before the visit of the esteemed Jedi... Should I try to improve myself on my own, or wait for a teacher? Ani's experience said that one could wait, and the Earthling's experience said that one should not delay. If you want to live, you've got to be able to spin, that's the way it is. Though I'm in no danger, I must try.

My desire to try immediately stung as badly as the soldering iron I had carelessly grabbed for the sting of. The power... it's hard to feel it, but as Yoda said, which I remember perfectly - "the power is everywhere" and "I'll feel the power. Basically, all the valuable instruction ends there-just "feel it."

It was hard to feel it, but it was felt. Clearly felt, like... in a way that I can't put into words. Like a sixth sense, and including intuition, telepathy, or even clairvoyance. Something in between. I guess young Ani didn't know about the power, but just relied on it, and because of that, he raced a carriage race that pales in comparison to any

formula one from the ground pales in comparison. Yes, it looks funny, considering all the artificial obstacles that are put in front of the racers here. Anakin's reaction was the first thing I saw firsthand, and not as a reaction to what I'd already seen - I was carrying three uncomfortable pieces of the water trap, but one of them slipped out of my hands. I, without thinking twice, picked it up, directing my hand so that it would meet the part at the right time and in the right place. It was like in a computer game - I knew, I could feel the part falling, so it was easy to grab it - when it first came off, I could already feel where I could intercept it and what position it would be in. And even the weight, I knew everything. Skywalker used to write these things off to his reaction and not care, but reaction is not that - I hadn't even seen the iron! I just caught it, and the force helped me do it. Hmmm... Yeah, that was definitely the one, which makes sense, actually. Just as it makes sense that Anakin wasn't a Youngling, but went straight to Padawan - he already felt the force, and not bad if, like in the movie, he could anticipate what Windu was showing there... And no one would propagandize the Republic to a Tatooine slave. Ashamed, I guess. Or it would have come to a scandal, and no one would want to lose a teacher's credibility.

I was able to get my hands on it, or, rather, to find out that I had the power after all. I didn't assemble the droid yet, but after pulling out the servo set of the good old kar, which I also assembled myself (I was a dull hand, what can you do...), I sat down and tried to do the coveted thing. Meditate. I was not very good at it - thoughts kept creeping into my head, but I, assuming the lotus pose, or rather a parody of it, sat firmly and bravely and, closing my eyes, tried to feel the power.

The good thing about trying was that at least I knew for sure it was there, and I even felt something of it all the time. All that was left was to reach for that feeling and try to feel it...

# Three months later #

- Anakin, you're late today! - Watteau turned his gaze to me, but, seeing no remorse, he sighed heavily and swore, "Fuck it, it's been quiet for a week anyway. Everybody's running around with these carriage races. Nobody cares about the junk man... Nothing, soon they'll come running out to sell junk to place their bets! - He exclaimed hopefully and looked at me:

- You won't take part, I hope?

- My car is not ready yet. But in the next race, maybe I will... - I nodded, causing Watto's displeasure:

- Whatever, whatever. You've got a good reaction and as long as you haven't killed yourself yet, so be it.

I went to my workshop. Yes, Watto was a good host, not much work and not much demand, just fiddling with the machinery, trying to assemble something of value from the trash.

But in the last few days, I'd been spending a lot of time in meditation. I don't know if I'm really that medi-chlorian or what, but I could feel the power quite clearly after two weeks of daily training. It's always there, everywhere, like air, or rather radiation, or even a gopher. You can't see it, but it's there.

The power was like water-quick, flowing through everything in the world. And through me, too, especially through me. I was proud of the fact that I had not only felt it, but had also made my first attempts to move something with it. I was not proud of it, not only did I feel it, but I also made my first daring attempts to move something with it. I tried again and again, changing my approach until I was able to imagine a very important moment from the movie - when the bad guy was strangling the imperial general. Yes, the strangulation succeeded nicely, but it's not there. It smells of dust and oil and old iron. There's a clay chair under the seat, and all sorts of working electronics crackling and humming all around. It is also very hot, but I gradually began to get used to the heat. Anyway, it's not a movie. Definitely not a movie.

This is reality. I imagined myself as an "invisible hand", like an economist's, and tried to lift the battery into the air. Yes, it didn't succeed at the first attempt, but the approach with the "invisible hand" proved to be good - I managed to feel this very hand. Rejoiced, I began to try again and again... until the accumulator was able to move a little. A little, but it has caused a storm of delight on my part, what can you do - a personality with some strange quirks half-child, half-adult. Though it's hard to separate the two, after all, Skywalker is still a child, and adults are the same as children, only bigger and with different toys. I tried further, and the battery shifted obediently, rolling across the table. It tumbled on its side and rolled... and flew off the table. I instinctively grabbed it with my strength, and I squeezed too hard, and it crumpled into a lump, finally ruining itself. I had to be gentle.

I tried again, but the result was zero. Again I succeeded only on the third try, but this time the "hand" was an open palm, on which I slowly lifted up the remains of the heroically dead battery.

Having fallen by the death of the brave in the noble cause of my experiments with force, it was solemnly buried in an urn. By force, I was too lazy to get up from my seat, considering that my legs quickly became stiff in the uncomfortable position. It took me a few more days to experiment with telekinesis before I was able to lift the object normally. Confidently, without a hitch. The difference in weight... let's just say yoda rights - there isn't one. Telekinesis had no concept of weight, so I could lift very large objects found in the open warehouse, or, more precisely, piled parts in the backyard, with equal ease.

While I was looking for ways to use my new ability, I went to the holonet. Looking for... lightsabers. Yes, those. They were originally a common common weapon in the Lucas saga, but then the writers, after scratching their heads, decided to give them only to the Forsusers, to make them stand out from the rest. That's what type of technology - publicly available or secret is a separate question. At least no one I've seen, although I witnessed a couple of scuffles with blasters.

It was a great art to collect my own weapons, for it was quite real for me to foresee such a thing as a shot from a blaster. I was not a weakling, but a normal boy, with the strength of Yoda. Potentially. I had no desire to become a Jedi, but I had a duty to master the force. Even if they were Jedi. It turned out to be the golden mean. The lightsabers had been in use for thousands of years, and were in the possession of many not only under the Jedi council, but also renegades and their followers, like all sects of "witches"... what secrecy are we talking about if the first renegade reveals the blueprints. Not complicated, by the way. In terms of wiring diagrams, the kettle is even more complicated, or rather similar.

That's how the first serious training began. The sword turned out to be a fairly simple device, but it was difficult to create something worthwhile. It needed a hilt, a fuse, an emitter matrix, a lens system, an energy block, an energy source, and a connector for recharging. Completing the picture was the focusing crystal itself. The prices at the holonet flea market were low, and I could buy everything except the crystal for a thousand credits - the handle was not complicated, not to mention the button, the emitter was a useful thing in industrial business - torches were built using similar technology and were in every astrodroid, but those didn't suit me. Lenses and power system - out of the question, here is such a designer that you can buy, straight from the factory already finished version. Very good and expensive are those energy systems that are used in implantology, in prosthetics. But considering I'm a slave on Tatooine...

And there was a whole article on why I shouldn't play with such things - the arch, or simply, the "blade" of the sword, had a strong gyroscopic effect, with all the physical weight in the sword concentrated in the hilt. This already felt more than strange, and to swing the sword from right to left required incredibly powerful hands, to say nothing of cutting off something vital to oneself was an easy task. But am I a technician, or was I out for a walk? So what if they don't use swords and people prefer blasters, who doesn't mind?

The first thing I did was to put the datapad aside and start pacing the room, thinking how to get my hands on such a powerful weapon. Assemble, of course! And how to find all the parts? Let's assume the handle is easy to make - droids for what? Just make a program, give them the material, and the droids will figure out where to cut and where to melt. Next on the list is the power button. Even simpler. The lens system... we can get that from a droid, cheap and easy. Besides, if necessary, it can be fine-tuned with a file.

There was nothing complicated in the design, just a portable projector that projected the light created by the crystal in a limited space, creating an arc, but...

But as always, there was a "but." In order to create your light ball, you need to adjust the parts at the molecular level, slowly and carefully. The holonet says that the Jedi do this with their mystical powers. And in the second movie, it was said that the light balloon can be assembled in two days. If you really need and know how.

The first thing I did was put the datapad aside and sat down again to meditate-that I could feel not only the power, but that I could somehow influence the metal with it. Or the material in general.

If it said it could, then it was possible. Probably.

*after a long time*

I don't know the approach, so I spent a long time trying to solder the two wires together. I kept working with power on a more primitive level, trying out more and more theories. Gradually, my skills improved enough to manage such a small amount of force, so that a month after I started the "force soldering" work, I got results. It turned out to be a lot easier than my first ideas - the force is everywhere, right? Which means that the objects are imbued with power, too. Wire "a" has force in it, just like a current, and wire "b" has force in it too, it runs through it. In order to solder the two leads so that no seam is left, it is only necessary to combine the force in them, literally merge them together, having previously connected the leads themselves. I managed to make my first step in the art of influencing the physical world with the help of force - except that after the heroic death of the battery I did not relax and started to use telekinesis in my work with renewed vigor. Given my size and stature, it was pretty damn convenient not to have to climb a ladder, but to reach for it by force. Or simply dragging a bunch of small parts by picking them all up at once. As time passed and the ability was used, it grew stronger, but I didn't see it as something commonplace - I had to cipher it. I wonder if it was as easy for Anakin in the movie? There was no mention of that, but there was about how powerful and promising he was in the first part and how he grew up in the second. It's sad. Yeah, yeah, sad. I hope I don't fall in love with this strange lady. My aversion to politicians will hopefully keep that part of my soul that can conventionally be called "local," Anakin, from falling in love with this wench.

After getting a couple dozen soldered wires in the workshop, I went further in the art of using the force. More specifically, in my crazy and probably in some places dangerous experiments, I soldered a bolt. I simply soldered it to the metal monolithically. It was simple - the gap between the materials is small, so that the part of the force that settled in the bolt dissolved into the part that was in the metal. Now the construction is indestructible, and the droid that will take it apart himself will have to be repaired - the sick one will have a CPU freeze.

# Six months later #

The light-bearer is ready! Yes, finally! And in addition, I tried hard to make sure that my arms were not as weak as before - I was constantly training, both in the art of force control, and just physically.

The sword handle was originally planned to be made with droids, but then, on reflection and to test my skills, I cut off a piece of previously brought armor with force and gradually softened it, shaped the force inside, removing the force outside so that it would not affect my precise, jewelry work. The metal felt like plasticine, and I rolled it into a cylinder and made indentations for the buttons, the force element, under the previously prepared structure of lenses and crystal. It remained only to insert all this goodness into the construction. Indeed, it had to work hard and on a molecular level, but for a guy who had assembled his race car without any power, it really wasn't hard to put this together. "Uncomplicated" took five or so months of work-first I experimented with controlling the force inside the metal, then with fitting parts, thanks to the mountains of old junk in Watto's warehouse. Then I experimented with the metal again... And then I had to look for parts. Thankfully, Anakin already knew where and what to find - well, except for the crystal. The lenses had been shared by an old scoutdroid - the lenses were great, though that was all that was good in that bucket of nuts. The power cell is not an issue at all - any equipment has it, all that's left is to attach the power unit and the charging jack. It should be enough for a month of continuous operation. The same as in small droids, just half a handful.

At last I even draped the hilt in desert lizard skin, which absorbs moisture very well. Now the sword wouldn't slip out of my hands if my palms got wet.

Once assembled, I looked at my creation. The sword would be beautiful, even a bit stylish, given its white leather hilt and chrome look, just to my earthling taste. It reeks of "light" in a way that makes my eyes sting. My metalworking skills were acquired and, by the way, it took me a month to assemble this object, which was quite a good workout.

Having finished with it, I again went to the holonet, this time for detailed explanations. There I found details. Clearly official data - no one will assemble complex (without the use of force) weapons, if there is a blaster - long-range, rapid-fire, convenient and so native to all the force and smugglers.

Having finished my first sword, except for the most expensive one, the crystal, I flicked the power button, closed the lid, and put the valuable thing on the shelf. The power made me surprisingly precise with the metal, which, as a technician, I could honestly say I liked. The power training was just as wonderful, especially the meditations on the half-finished piece allowed me to concentrate on the object itself. I took one last look at the item and began my direct work. Since no one paid the slave, there was no point in using force in the work, but as a training it was invaluable - I took apart the old droid, went through the parts, removed sand, dust, rust, lubricated where necessary, reassembled, and started it up. That's it, the droid is as good as new, and that's an hour's work. Watto sincerely believes that it takes me an entire day to do this, so there's plenty of time to spare in the shop. When I turned in a working droid, probably in better condition than new, I earned praise and received a few credits as a bonus. The droid is of course a hundred times more expensive, but for a slave any money is bread. I had to go to the spaceport and continue my "relatively honest" work of taking money and valuables from the stowaways. I need money so badly, so badly! Where can I get it? Mos-aisley is probably the largest settlement of Tatooine, and definitely one of the main havens of smugglers and bandits. No law enforcement, and if anything happens, bodies go in the sand and ends up in the water. Or local authorities like Jabba the Hut will take care of it if it's really serious. So...

My first victim was a drunken smuggler. He looked a lot like a smuggler, and they always wore a blaster on his belt.

Money was ordinary here - such a special chip protected against all attempts to tamper with it, which contained information on monetary units, credits. The credits themselves existed not only as numbers on a bank account, but as a virtual object - each had its own unique number, a system of protection, contained within this information array and information about where it was issued, or rather - which computer the banking clans created. It was incredibly difficult to forge it, but it was possible. In doing so, the first loan lost its value, for it was impossible to conduct a transaction twice - the system tracked and recorded the position of the money. If you paid with such a chip, say, in a bar, and then went to a nearby bar to pay with a copy of the first, the system quickly found that this credit had already been spent elsewhere and that the current one was invalid. That's how it is, an awesome galactic network, comparable in scale only to the holonet, and that is very conditional - the amount of information is less, but the network is distributed everywhere where there are reasonable. You can even transfer credits to other people's cards, it is only necessary to insert both into a special computer and conduct a transaction to transfer credits. Perfect protection system, not a word was known about it, but each credit took space as a rather weighty computer program, which means that to deal with one single unit of money, it was necessary to spend months of work - droids were understandably unsuitable for the analysis of data compiled by algorithms protected from auto-analysis.

The smuggler's money was something like a plastic card - only a little wider. But it was understandable - if such technologies as plastic cards and flash-cards existed in our earthly world, then here in such a small device placed simply a giant amount of information, capable of a couple of seconds to flow into another card like it through the computer.

With my strength, I snatched the black painted, let it be "credit card", credit card neatly out of my pocket, quickly brought it close to me and, sensing no danger, continued on my way. The smuggler was cautious and definitely spotted me, but I just stood there looking at the entrance to the bar. And a slave, too, so I did not attract attention - I was standing far away. He looked at me with a cloudy eye and went about his business.

It was the first but not the last, and today I went about my honest business, or rather, forced humanitarian assistance to the slaves of Tatooine.

As is customary, I hid in a place where I could find a large number of moneyed clients, closer to the spaceport and the shopping districts. I walked into the local vomitorium, more like a shawarma stand than a cafe, but that was rare for slaves. I bought my lunch, meat and fruit, with the money Watto had given me, and began to devour it leisurely, with hot tea.

A slave is a unique status that I am somewhat grateful for. Because a slave on Tatooine is like a droid, ignored, as if slaves were a piece of the planet's interior. So if someone had told Jabba that the "elusive thief" was a boy slave, Jabba would have rewarded him for his sense of humor, or would have let him feed his dogs, depending on what mood the Hutt was in. He's been looking for me since I swiped a dude's credit card with a lot of money a week ago. Before that, I made a good profit, too - I don't walk down the street "accidentally" bumping into passersby, but just standing at a table, eating shawarma, ugh, that is the local snack, and looking around. Meanwhile, my intuition, aimed at finding money, invisibly turned my attention to a passing man. I reached out forcefully and felt the familiar credit card in my pocket, and it slipped out quietly, pushing the pocket apart, so as not to feel it, and immediately fell to the ground and was swept away by the sand. Another three or four seconds - to move this rectangle of plastic card under the camouflage of sand to the nearest corner and there, voila! The client moves on, unsuspecting, and the credit card crawls away to the side of the house and hides under a swooping pile of sand. I was not happy about the acquisition, but I developed my talent for crime. At one time I even wondered if I should send to hell these Jedi, and not to make a living in crime. But the thought remained, though, and it didn't go anywhere. My intuition allowed me to choose between two people who had more money or less attention, and my strength enabled me to yank the credit card with monstrous efficiency. After that incident, after which Jabba opened a season of hunting for me, I tried to do no more than two thefts a week, and that was for small things. It was impossible to calculate an average income; everyone had different amounts of money, from two credits to fourteen thousand, like the one who had run to complain to the Hutt. My main secret credit card was already decent, very, very decent. I'd been trading freely for a month, stealing dozens of credit cards from passersby who had an average of a hundred credits on them, but I hadn't learned how to use the gift yet, or rather how to search the power of those who had more money. After the incident with Jabba, I had to lay low, but I was more selective in my approach to targets. I had to lay low, and I was more selective in my approach to the targets. Tatooine was not only a vile hole of sand, but also a planet where the mafia had settled, where smuggling went through Tatooine, where the legendary "black market" was located, for no one cared about the laws of the Republic, the slave trade, drug trafficking, illicit goods... the list could go on and on. But the main thing was the money. There were enough people here who had credit cards in their pockets, and I didn't give a damn who they were ripping off: the smuggler who got his haberdashery for a shipment of goods, or the slave trader who got his money for live goods. Some slave-trader comes to Tatooine, sells slaves, gets 10 thousand, goes about his business, but it turns out the money was stolen. Welcome to Tatooine, damn it!

Today was a richer catch - three people, and money, the force indicated it in the form of intuition. Now all that's left is to pick up the cache of credit cards and pump out the credits... Well, they say it's my favorite thing to get paid. I'll do the nice stuff tomorrow, but for now I went home to my slave shack after getting some food...

* The next day, morning *

I walked into Watto's shop, happy as a cat who'd found a stash of valerian after a date with the cat.

Watto was busy as usual, so he scolded me on duty and sent me off to work. I went into my workshop and dumped on the table everything I had accumulated from two weeks of fishing all over the spaceport. Since I didn't show up anywhere, there shouldn't be a problem.

I dumped out my duffel bag, my sword blanks, some of the food my mother had collected, and... a whole pile of colorful credit cards. Yes, I had quite a few, quite a few. Didn't have time to check, though. Fortunately, the check for the presence and amount of funds rather convenient, and does not require any knowledge of pin codes - the only protection against thieves - your own eyes. And they did not help half a hundred people in the good cause of protecting their money.

The first credit card showed fifty credits. Not bad, you can live. But there were many more. The first one, the one I stole from the smuggler, was a very tricky credit card. It was used by those who didn't want to be traced, or the banking clans couldn't extend their reach to planets like Tatooine, where every other transaction was against the laws of the Republic.

The second one had a couple hundred credits on it. That's one Mandalorian I seized from. Already very, very good, the money is there.

The gutting, there's no other way to say it, of the wallets took a while. Now I understand why the Jedi are so strict about keeping an eye on the gifted-the use of force in criminal matters can go a long way-here you have the "invisible hand" of telekinesis, the sense of danger, and an incredible, in terms of the laws of physics and biology, reaction...

On average, the finances of each of the cleaned, if you take those who have less than a thousand, were equal to three hundred fifty-three credits, and if you add the clients of the last time - on average, they have seven and a half thousand, but they are only five people. And one more, the son of a bitch who ratted on Jabba, for fourteen and a half thousand. My fortune went to the sixty-thousand level. The payback for such a lavish income was a reward for my head of thirty thousand, but that was the little things in life-no one saw me, no one felt anything, so no one had a clue. It was... well, you could buy a pretty good ship with that kind of money. Or ten or so slaves. Men like me.

A slave can't own that kind of money, though slaves aren't forbidden to own property-just enough to keep us working. It's basically the same on earth, except slaves are called "office plankton" and "proletariat. If you don't have much to show for it, they pay you barely enough to make ends meet.

When I finished my calculations, I put the credit card with all the money in it in my pocket and disposed of the rest - just forcibly turned them all into an indeterminate mass of matter in which elements of electronics, metal, and plastic were mixed together.

There's already something to work with when Qui-Gon arrives. Besides, if I really have the highest odds in the betting... I'll probably continue to steal from the wealthiest passers-by, and maybe I'll be able to improve my financial situation. Even if Quigon doesn't come, which is likely, I can force the slave chips out of me and my mother and use the money to get away somewhere far, far away where even the Yuuzhan-wongs can't find me...

I postponed my strength exercises until tomorrow, and today, after doing some work for Watto, I hurried home. The kar was nearly finished, only a few small things had to be done. But now I had power, and I could use it to look inside the car. Inside was just a mountain of junk - the greedy Wotto had let me not only assemble but also use the car, for winning even third place would pay for the cost of me. In that case, Watto could take a chance, and he didn't need to do anything, just to pity some low-value parts from his junk storage. I started to build the kart in secret, but Watto soon found out about it and, after roughly punishing me and estimating my winnings, allowed me to continue with the racing business. I was a valuable slave, but not so much that my threefold price wouldn't tempt the Toydarian.

After a few crazy races I was already a pretty good novice racer, and without killing myself still, I cherished Watto's dreams of unprecedented earnings on my risk.

The car was mercilessly rebuilt by force - dust and sand were removed from all working areas, rust was removed, gyroscopes were rebalanced, repulsor engines were rebalanced... the latter required some serious work to bring them into a decent shape. But after an hour of my work on the engines, they became more efficient. Much more efficient, especially compared to the "before" state. The power engines were already mounted, but they also had to be cleaned by removing debris through the cladding, and a few tweaks to the control system as well.

* Four months later

How old was Ani in the movie when Quigon picked him up? About ten, I guess. I mean, it's been a bounteous and classic run that I didn't take part in, and Quigon still hasn't flown. The next race is in a month, and after that the season closes, there will be sandstorms, so the karas will be useless. All this time I've been training. Yes, I've been training. The sword was one of the training grounds, or rather the blanks for the lightsaber. Gradually I managed to buy some parts too, such as an emitter, and good batteries with a power cell. It was like assembling a computer, very similar. I bought parts as far as I could light up without danger of being detected. So, on the master's business, I needed a part... who cares what the master sent me for, or who I belong to? So there were few questions - I brought a credit card with a ready-made amount, got the part, gave the money. That was it.

Along the way I continued my criminal career - the reward for my head was already fifty thousand credits, and on the streets I met people that my sixth sense told me to stay away from. There is no better game than a game where your life is the stake, the adrenaline just goes off the scale with each new theft. Am I becoming a kleptomaniac? Who knows, who knows ... But I still steal, and steal badly. Here, passed a few people in the company of non-humans, all so important ... but the main in the company, the leader, in his pocket a credit card ... was. Now in the sand, and I sit quietly and eat, even eat tasty food sometimes - I need to grow, vitamins there... though what vitamins here - on Tatooine, even a growing body has nothing to eat except meat.

My catch today was 3,000. I added it to the hundred and seven I already had. And what do you think, this is not a train station to sell pies - the amount by the standards of honest earnings is huge, but I did not stop, continuing at different times of the day and in different areas of Mos-Aisley to steal valuables and credit cards. People became more cautious, but that didn't save them. Throughout the spaceport you could see advertisements stating that the "invisible thief," as people dubbed me, was entitled to fifty thousand. It was more than a lot of money - for a hundred thousand you could buy a new ship YT-1300, and used - for twenty-five. I suppose there was no need for me to start my career as a smuggler, but if I felt the need... then, yes, I could get out of here and buy a ship.

* Three days later *

It started out simple - Watto gave me a job to sit and scrub the dirt off the parts. Like an honest man, I sat down and, armed with a rag and force, scraped away the rust and old paint from the parts of the spaceship, which were numerous, both ships and parts of old jalopies, at the speed of an industrial cleaner.

I didn't notice when three people came into the shop. A man, a woman, and a Gungan. Yes, those three. A pretty girl, a decent-looking man, and that big-eared, fidgety, naive Gungan.

When I noticed Watto turn toward the visitors, I turned around and looked at them and whispered quietly to myself: "here we go."

Qui gon Jinn left with Watto to watch the gravitsapa... that is, the hyperdrive. Just like in the movie, the sneaky Watto had already started rubbing his paws together. Good thing Quigon looks discreet, otherwise he wouldn't have paid off at all. Hyperdrive... something. An expensive thing that only Watto has. Surely no one would sell it to them for their Republican money, and certainly not for a new one...

So I was left to sit and clean the parts, with a Gungan and a pretty girl of about seventeen or nineteen years of age by my side. Hmm... decent, pretty... if she hadn't been a queen, maybe I would have repeated the path of my past self.

Finished with the detail, I began a conversation, seeing that she was hesitant to speak first:

- Is this your first time on Tatooine?

- Yes. It's so interesting...

- Yeah. Bandits, smugglers, maniacs, slave traders, mafia, drug dealers... it's a great planet! A must-see for excursions. Don't forget to buy a ticket..." I smirked at my sarcasm.

- Well, our engine broke down, so we had to land on Tatooine...

- Yeah, double bad luck. Hey, big ears! Careful out there! - I shouted to the gungan, who was reaching for the droids.

- You have such a bad opinion of your planet? Then why do you live here?

- Hmm..." I smiled to myself at this directness. - You see, belle, slaves have no choice.

- So you are a slave! - she exclaimed, a little embarrassed at "beauty". Well, understandably, her royal person such a rude compliment hardly ever made.

- I am a human being! And my name is Anakin! - I answered her with my canon phrase.

- I'm sorry," she said, embarrassed, "this is my first time here, and...

- It's all right, I forgive you," I smiled, and threw my arm sharply out toward the Gungan, picking up the falling droid by force and clutching the fingers of my "invisible hand" around his neck, dragging him on such a collar here. This creature makes me nervous - too dumb, too energetic. It was not for nothing that he had been driven from his hometown of the underwater city; I had to add to his voice an authority that I had been capable of in my former life, but never a slave:

- Listen to my ears, Gungan, if you don't stop breaking things, you're going to be a head shorter," I squeezed his neck a little, and the Gungan nodded quickly, "good boy. I smiled, not noticing that I had spliced the threat with a little mental force. It just happened. I lowered my hand and turned to the princess, and said in the same direct, childlike voice as before:

- Where were we? Oh, your knowledge of Galapolitics. I'm tempted to ask where you're from, but I'm guessing Naboo.

Padmé was hurt by my speech, too, or was it the power that I used involuntarily, an ability that I still have little control over. But after my speech, spoken in a tone more typical of Darth Vader, she fell off her face a little, and even turned pale... yeah, what am I, pushing on pretty politicians here with my power?

- Naboo? - Padme perked up and definitely smelled something. I'm not supposed to know that, am I? No, you shouldn't. But logic is our friend, and we have to be friends with it:

- You're wearing Nubian clothes, you have a Gungan with you, and they live on Naboo, that Jedi was looking for hyperdrive te-fourteen, and they only stand on Nubians and a few other Corelian models... should I go on? - I cocked an ironic eyebrow. Padme, who dropped a quick glance at her outfit, listened to this as a criticism of poor disguise. The criticism was substantial.

- Yes, we are with Naboo. I hope you won't tell anyone..." she said, but then she caught the gist, "Jedi? What makes you think a Jedi is with us? She asked, preparing to get the same interesting answer, and it followed, but there was no logic to it:

- Elementary, lady, he is in Jedi robes, though such robes are common, but they are rare among those who travel the galaxy. There is power in him, lots of it. Light, if I've determined correctly, and he has a lightsaber, I can feel it," I shrugged, and Padme Amidala drifted deep into her thoughts.

After a moment she returned from the depths of her thoughts and asked:

- But how? The Jedi can use this power, that's understandable, but...

- But what? It's not just the Jedi who can use the force. - I flippantly picked up a couple of pieces and stacked them on the far shelf with the same kind of junk.

- ..." Padme thought again, but not so deeply this time, "well, then why don't you show yourself to the Jedi if you know how to use this power of yours?

- First, I'm a slave, and second, the only Jedi I've seen is the one who left with Watto. And the Force tells me you won't get away with it," I smirked and continued to examine her face. It's beautiful.

Amidala was, if not in shock, extremely unbalanced. The Force was only taught to Jedi, and some knew what it was, some guessed... the rest of us didn't get much information about what the Force was and what it was all about. So Amidala hardly knew what or how. But she did know that the Jedi are looking for gifted people all over the galaxy, so she thought that I should be shown to Master Quigon, though it was hard to read on her face because she had a very pretty face...

The Gungan, after the mental compulsion combined with my menacing tone and the "booby trap", was as quiet as a leaf and did not say a word. Padme, on the other hand, was not silent:

- You must be shown to Quigon. - She said confidently, and nodded at her thoughts, which were now easy to read on her beautiful face.

- Is this the Jedi? - I asked.

Just at that moment Quigon Jinn himself walked in, but Amidala didn't notice and answered:

- Yes, the Jedi. If you...

- Excuse me, but what's wrong? - The Quigon Jinn under discussion himself came up to us. Padme turned around when she heard his voice, and he was already reproaching her: - "You can't keep a secret, lady. I suppose it was a mistake to bring you along.

- Um... Master Jedi, I didn't tell him anything, I just..." Quigon took Padmé under his arm and hauled her out of the shop, but his hopes of telling her companion off unheeded were not to be:

- Quigon Jinn? I suppose you should make adjustments to the wind," I smiled at my phrase, which they probably didn't understand.

The Jedi stopped and asked me:

- And you, young man, follow me," and walked off again, dragging Padme behind him.

There was nothing to be done, so I had to go. Quigon was a treasure trove of tranquility, so it wasn't hard to talk to him. I followed the Jedi, who was dragging Padmé along with him by the elbow. Or should I say "maid.

We stepped out into the bright sun, and stepped aside, only then did Quigon begin to rant. Me. - So, young man, what amendments were you talking about? Shut up," he said to Padme, who wanted to say something. She sulked, but didn't say anything. She sulked but didn't say anything. "I guess the Jedi isn't happy that my companion blabbed and is thinking of waving his hand in my face and saying, 'You didn't see anything.

- I mean, the lady didn't say anything to me. But it's obvious, you're a Jedi, and you're flying from Naboo.

- What makes you think that? - He asked with interest.

- First of all, the lady in Nubian clothes. Secondly, you have a Gungan with you, and thirdly, you said that you were looking for "T-14", and they are installed on "Nubians" and some other yachts, not widespread in the galaxy because nobody cares about the environmental friendliness of engines. From all this I conclude that you're from Naboo, Lady Nubian, and for some reason you brought a Gungan with you.

- Hmm..." Quigon thought for a moment. Hard," and what about the Jedi?

- First of all, you're wearing Jedi clothes. And don't tell me everyone wears them, because they're Jedi style. I saw you with a light saber when you were clawing for money, and you also have a powerful phantom you can feel coming from a mile away. Oh, and the crystal in your sword has quite a bit of background, but that's nothing," I smiled as I saw the look on Qui-Gon's face.

- Can you feel the power? - he wondered.

- Well... yes," I didn't see what was so surprising.

-You mean you can feel me?

- Yes, I can. You have such a strong vibe about you that it's hard not to notice. - I nodded in confirmation.

- Then you're coming with us. That's out of the question. - He threw it to Padme," The code states that no one in possession of a power should be left unattended by the Order.

- Well, I could use a teacher. - I nodded, but Quigon didn't seem to be listening.

- But Master, what about the hyperdrive? - Padme, masquerading as a peasant woman, a maid's maid, asked.

- Denied. Republic money won't take it. - Quigon sighed.

- How much do you want? - I asked, interrupting Padme.

- Nine or ten thousand. - Quigon shook his head, surveying the company.

- "I'll pay it. But on three conditions," I said hurriedly.

- What other terms? - Padme was surprised, but Quigon interrupted her:

- 'Agreed. What do you want? - He looked at me with such a sly look. Eh, I guess I wasn't expecting a catch from the boy...

- First - my mother will also fly with us. Second - you will teach me. Thirdly - I will take part in the next Bounty and Classic. - I voiced my demands. Logical, in my opinion. - Oh, yes, also, you will bet on me in the race money that I will give you and will not ask questions. - Cheeky is cheeky. As long as he's not the sensei, it's okay to be cheeky. Especially since he depends on me to some extent. At least now I won't have to put the ship on the line.

Quigon wrinkled his nose....

- Do you have to be in the race like that?

- Yeah. I'll explain later," I nodded my head.

- All right then," said the Jedi after a moment's thought, "we should get back to the ship.

- No need, there's a sandstorm coming... I don't think you'll make it in time. - I shook my head. Indeed, a storm was coming.

- Then what? - Padme looked alternately at me and Kwygon.

- Then let's take shelter," the Jedi answered.

- "I can invite you to join us. I don't think a slave hut is a good place for guests, but it's better than nothing. - I threw up my hands.

Quigon agreed and off we went. I just looked in on Watto and told him I was done, and he let me go home, grumbling for decency.

Quigon and Padme, followed by Gungan, who surprised the Jedi with his silence, followed me in the direction of the slave quarter.

The mud huts weren't much, but they could wait out a sandstorm. We passed my carriage on the way, and Quigon was pleased with it, including a glimpse of it with his powers.

- So, my mother was already home, which can't help but rejoice.

- Mom, we've got company, don't you mind? - I asked and left the rest of the contacts to Quigon's conscience.

- No, of course not. Come in - Mom looked around at the company and with a sigh went to put the table together.

There's more money since I stole, so I'll have to, while Quigon sleeps and dreams, go to the interesting places and steal some more. I remember the bets on me were at the highest odds-almost a hundred to one. Or even more, and every credit spent today was a hundred won tomorrow.

When Quigon and Padmé left to chat with my mother, I was off on the sly, and before the storm broke out, that is, in the hour and a half or two hours I was allowed, I drove down Mos Eisley, thanks to the increased flow of people - everyone was in a hurry and thought about how they could get away...

This was fruitful - the gaping men and non-humans lost another two dozen credit cards, and I ran to Watto, where, under the pretext of refining the droid entered the workshop and pumped a little more than three thousand in my second credit card. I added up to ten thousand from the first, and decided to present it to the Jedi.

Mine, accordingly, had a large amount left on it. In case I didn't survive the race, which was unlikely, I left some money for my mother's ransom and a little for her living expenses. At least let her live a little as a free man.

One hundred and twelve thousand credits remain. With that kind of money you could buy a ship or a farm somewhere on a nice planet and live off the income, but that's not our method, the game is worth the candle - the use of force is not limited in any way by the rules, which, in fact, do not exist. So, I can win, I even have a pretty good chance at earning twenty-five thousand as the grand prize. It's not a bad, very good amount, but if I take the risk, I can have it all, and the large sum will be bet by a Jedi, which is also no problem - the sweepstakes rules are strictly enforced, and the winnings should be a fabulous amount, but not so much that Hutt, who covers all the shady business of Tatooine, would squeeze the money. Sending assassin-robbers on the trail is in his vein. In any case, Quigon would not leave me to rot on Tatooine, which meant that I could risk the money if I lost, so I wouldn't starve to death.

The finances were divided, counted, transferred to the right chips, and I had only to go home and do the good deed of trying to influence Quigon at least somehow, so as not to have problems in the face of one red-faced man in the future. Not now, though, definitely not now.

Walking around the workshop, I took my saber blank out of the drawer and put it in my pocket, next to the money, I went home. Tomorrow, as well as the next two days before the race, was not going to be an easy day - the car is not ready for a serious race, and I should use my strength to bring it to perfection. I would have to work hard on the power, because I would have to put in a lot of hard work at the race. Oh, and Padmé's been making a move with her feminine curiosity, trying to find out why I'm so interested in racing and what it's like to race cars. But I guess it's not hard to explain it to her. Only after the publication of statistics of fatalities will worry in vain.

Greed is not a good thing. She is a shovelful of it. Clever thinking, though!

When I had finished with the financial matters, I ran home, for the storm had already begun, and I should have hurried up...