When You Come Home

-4-

"Look after Luke for me!" Anakin shouted over the din, thrusting his backpack at Kitster. "I'll grab him as soon as I finish!"

"Don't worry, I'll take good care of him!" Kitster yelled back, clutching the bag like he would never let go. "Who are you racing, anyway?"

"I don't know! It could be Sebulba!" Anakin scanned the sea of grubby faces, squinting through the sleeting rain. Dimly lit by flickering streetlamps, the wide street was jammed full of whooping, frenzied people from every part of Coruscant. Slick oil reflected off the black concrete, shimmering in rainbow circles across the length of the road. The air was filled with raucous shouts, an excitable tension, and the aura of possible death. Anakin fed off it.

"Isn't your mom wondering where you are?" Anakin shouted to Kitster as he eased on a pair of fingerless gloves.

"I'm sure she knows! She doesn't like it, but she doesn't stop me – not since Dad left. Does your dad know?"

Anakin shook his head. "Mom knew where I went. I'm assuming permission still applies."

Kitster shot him a funny look. "Are you sure about that? I mean, after –"

"Looks like the race is starting!" Anakin cut in, swinging around the low-slung, grunting vessel that was his opponent's. Long and sleek, with orange flames crawling across the paintwork, it was a thing of beauty with a powerful engine and a flashy black spoiler perched on the back. It was Sebulba's, then.

The man in question sauntered up, his shiny, black hair gelled back, sleeveless jacket billowing in the chilly wind. He paused a moment to scowl at Anakin, his fierce features twisted in disgust. "Hello, young Skywalker. We meet –"

"It's Jinn," Anakin corrected him casually. "Your thick accent must have changed the pronunciation: my last name's Jinn."

His thin lips curled in amusement. "Your mother finally remarried. How is dear Shmi?"

"Let's race, Sebulba Dug," he growled. "This time, you won't beat me."

Sebulba took a moment to sweep his cold gaze over Anakin's car. Small and slender, it was built for speed, but tires with good tread would allow for tight turns, even on slippery streets. It had been tweaked and modified so much, it's original make would have been impossible to discern. A tasteful splash of yellow spray paint, with purple lightning streaks along the sides, customised it as Anakin's one and only "Podracer," or so he liked to call it. Anakin was unbearably proud of it, and it hurt him to see Sebulba surveying it with such disdain. He opened the door and slid in, closing it with a final smirk at Sebulba. "I hope you like to lose."

As the only rule to this race was "whoever lives wins," Anakin could have started while Sebulba was still struggling to get into his car, but he couldn't be bothered putting up with Sebulba's complaints if Anakin won. So he waited until he heard the roar of his opponent's engine and the screech of his tires before gunning his own engine. Shoving in the clutch, he jammed it into first gear, accelerating hard. The backwards push of inertia sent a rush of adrenaline coursing through his system as he tore down the street, listening to the revs of his mechanical beast.

He slid into second gear, feeling the pull of the clutch against the gearbox. His windscreen was streaming with the sheets of rain, his wipers working double time to compensate. The lights of downtown Coruscant blurred as he sped past, plowing through puddles and spraying tardy pedestrians.

As he eased his car into third gear, keeping half an eye on the wobbling speedometer needle, he saw the red of Sebulba's taillights ducking around the corner. Yanking on the handbrake, he hauled his steering wheel to the right, drifting around the ninety-degree left turn. Swapping back to the accelerator, he pushed hard, dropping gears briefly to gain more speed.