A new day had come.
The harsh light of Tatooine's twin suns crept over the horizon, casting long shadows across the worn streets of Mos Espa. Outside the Skywalker home, the desert wind had calmed, leaving behind a quiet stillness that felt almost out of place after the storm.
Khan sat alone, just beyond the doorway, his elbows resting lightly on his knees. In his hand, the small communicator Obi-Wan had given him flickered faintly—its earlier transmission already sent.
He had explained everything.
The Friendly young boy Finding a replacement Hyperdrive. The lack of currency.
And the plan he was now considering.
A plan that placed their fate… in the hands of a child.
Khan exhaled slowly, staring out into the endless sands.
"I don't like this," he murmured under his breath.
The words felt heavier than he expected.
A Jedi was meant to trust the Force—but trust did not mean blindness. This was risky. Reckless, even. And yet… everything in him pointed in one direction.
The Force had guided him here.
To this planet.
To this home.
To that boy.
Khan closed his eyes, letting his breathing steady.
The Force is your ally…
Master Dooku's voice echoed faintly in his mind.
Trust in it. Even when the path is unclear.
Khan's expression tightened.
"…Then guide me," he whispered.
Footsteps approached behind him.
"Good morning, Khan."
He opened his eyes.
Padmé stood beside him, the morning light catching softly against her face. Even in simple robes, there was a quiet strength about her—one that had only grown since leaving Naboo.
"Good morning, Padmé," Khan replied.
She looked out toward the horizon, then back at him.
"So," she began, folding her arms slightly, "what do you think we should do?"
There was a pause before she continued, her voice more serious now.
"It's already been a full day since we landed. Every moment we remain here… my people remain under occupation."
Khan nodded once.
"I am aware."
Padmé studied him, searching his expression.
"Then what's the plan?"
Khan stood, brushing the sand from his robes.
"We don't have the luxury of options," he said. "Watto won't accept Republic credits. We have no connections here, no allies, and no time to search for alternatives."
Padmé's gaze sharpened.
"And that leads you to…?"
Khan turned to face her fully.
"To him."
Padmé blinked.
"…Anakin?"
"Yes."
There was a beat of silence.
Padmé frowned slightly. "Khan… he's a child."
"I know."
"And you're placing all of this on him?" she pressed. "Our mission? Naboo's future?"
Khan didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he looked past her, toward the doorway of the small home behind them.
"When I arrived on Naboo," he began slowly, "everything felt… clear. Ordered. Predictable."
His eyes shifted back to her.
"But since then… nothing has followed the path I expected."
Padmé said nothing, listening.
"The Sith have returned," Khan continued. "A Jedi Master is dead. And now we are stranded on a planet that should have no connection to any of this…"
He paused.
"…and yet, the Force led me here."
Padmé's expression softened, though doubt still lingered.
"You really believe that?"
Khan met her eyes.
"I don't believe in coincidence," he said quietly. "Not anymore."
Before Padmé could respond—
"Talk to me about what?"
Both of them turned.
Anakin stood a few steps away, brushing dust from his hands, his eyes moving curiously between them.
Khan regarded him for a moment.
Then he stepped forward.
"Anakin."
The boy straightened instinctively.
"You told me yesterday," Khan continued, "that you intend to compete in a podrace."
Anakin's face lit up instantly.
"Yeah! I'm almost done fixing my pod—just a few more adjustments and—"
"Do you trust your ability to win?" Khan asked, cutting in gently.
Anakin blinked, caught off guard by the directness.
"…Yeah," he said after a moment, more firmly this time. "I do."
Khan studied him.
No hesitation. No fear.
Just certainty.
"Then I have a proposal," Khan said.
Padmé shifted slightly beside him, watching closely.
Anakin tilted his head. "A proposal?"
Khan nodded.
"We need credits," he said plainly. "Enough to purchase a hyperdrive part. Without it, we cannot leave this planet."
Anakin's expression grew more focused.
"And you want me to win them for you."
Khan didn't look away.
"Yes."
A moment passed.
Then another.
Padmé watched Anakin carefully, expecting doubt… hesitation… something.
Instead—
"You trust me to do that?" Anakin asked.
There was no arrogance in his voice.
Just genuine surprise.
Khan's answer came without pause.
"I trust the path that brought me here," he said. "And that path led me to you."
Something in Anakin's expression shifted.
A quiet spark.
Then—
A grin.
"Come on!" Anakin suddenly grabbed Khan's hand, energy bursting back into him. "You have to see it!"
Khan allowed himself to be pulled along, a faint, almost imperceptible smile forming.
Padmé followed behind them, still uncertain—but unable to ignore the strange sense of inevitability settling over everything.
They moved through the narrow paths of the settlement until Anakin led them into a small open area just beyond the clustered homes.
And there it was.
A podracer.
Worn. Pieced together. Clearly built from salvaged parts.
But alive.
The engines, painted in faded yellow, were connected by cables and reinforced plating. It wasn't perfect—but it didn't need to be.
It worked.
Anakin ran ahead of them, practically glowing with excitement.
"This is it!" he said proudly. "I built it myself."
Padmé stepped closer, examining it.
"You built this?" she asked, genuinely impressed.
"Yeah," Anakin said, kneeling beside one of the engines. "I just need to finish calibrating the fuel mix and tighten a few stabilizers. After that, it'll be ready."
Khan circled the machine slowly, his eyes sharp.
It wasn't just functional.
It was… clever.
Efficient in ways that shouldn't have been possible with scrap.
He stopped beside Anakin.
"And you've tested it?"
"A few times," Anakin admitted. "Not in a real race yet—but it works. I know it does."
Khan nodded once.
"I believe you."
Anakin beamed.
Then his expression shifted slightly, more serious now.
"But… there's one problem."
Khan glanced at him.
"We still need to find a way to enter the race," Anakin said.
Silence settled for a brief moment.
Then—
Khan's gaze hardened just slightly.
"I've already thought of that," he said.
Padmé looked at him.
"…You have?"
Khan gave a small nod.
"Yes."
There was a quiet certainty in his voice now.
The kind that didn't come from logic alone.
"But for that," he added, looking back toward the city, "we'll need to speak with Watto again."
Anakin's eyes lit up with curiosity.
"What are you going to do?"
Khan didn't answer right away.
Instead, he looked out across Mos Espa—the harsh, lawless city that now stood between them and their escape.
Then, quietly—
"We're going to make him a bet."
______________________________________________________________
Sometime later, Khan stepped back into the cluttered interior of Watto's workshop.
The hum of machinery filled the space, along with the faint smell of oil and heated metal. Parts hung from the ceiling, droids lay half-disassembled on workbenches, and the desert heat seeped in through every crack in the structure.
Watto hovered behind the counter, fiddling with a small component before glancing up.
His narrow eyes immediately locked onto Khan.
"So," Watto said, his voice edged with impatience, "you return with the money?"
Khan didn't slow his approach.
"No."
Watto's wings buzzed sharply as he straightened.
"Then why are you here?" he snapped. "I told you—no money, no deal."
Khan stopped at the counter, calm and unmoving.
"I have a proposition."
Watto let out an annoyed scoff, waving a hand dismissively.
"I am not interested in your 'propositions.' You waste my time."
Khan didn't react.
"This one will interest you."
Watto narrowed his eyes, studying him more closely now.
"…Go on," he said, curiosity creeping into his tone despite himself.
Khan leaned forward slightly.
"I want Anakin to enter the Boonta Eve Classic."
The shop seemed to go quieter for a moment.
Watto blinked.
"…What?"
"I want him to race," Khan repeated.
Watto's expression twisted into disbelief, then irritation.
"And why," he said slowly, "would I allow my slave to enter the most dangerous race on this planet?"
Khan held his gaze.
"Because we're going to make a wager."
Watto stilled.
Now that—that had his attention.
"…A wager," he repeated, his tone shifting.
Khan nodded once.
Watto floated a little closer, eyes gleaming.
"Go on."
Khan didn't hesitate.
"I will bet my Nubian starship."
That landed.
Watto's wings buzzed as he turned, glancing instinctively out toward the direction of the desert—as if he could already see the sleek, polished ship sitting out there.
"A Nubian, eh…" he muttered. "Shiny. Expensive…"
He looked back at Khan, suspicion creeping in.
"And in return?"
"You allow Anakin to race."
Watto frowned immediately.
"No," he said, shaking his head. "No, no, no. That is not how this works."
He jabbed a finger toward Khan.
"If the boy dies—and he will die—I lose a valuable slave. That is a bad deal."
Khan remained composed.
"Then I'll raise the stakes."
Watto paused.
Khan's voice didn't waver.
"If Anakin loses… I will take his place."
Silence.
Watto stared at him.
"…What did you say?"
Khan met his eyes directly.
"If we lose," he said, "I become your slave."
The words settled heavily in the air.
Padmé, standing a few steps behind Khan, stiffened—but said nothing.
Watto floated back slightly, studying Khan from head to toe now, as if reevaluating him entirely.
"…You're serious," Watto muttered.
"I am."
Watto circled him slowly in the air.
"A grown man," he mused. "Strong… disciplined… not bad, not bad…"
He stopped in front of Khan again, eyes narrowing.
"Too good," he said.
Khan raised an eyebrow slightly.
"Too good?" he repeated.
"Yes," Watto snapped. "Deals like this—someone always tries to trick Watto."
"There is no trick."
Watto clicked his tongue.
"No, no… something is missing."
Khan didn't blink.
"If Anakin wins," he said, "you will grant him his freedom."
Watto recoiled slightly.
"Preposterous!" he barked. "You think I would just give away my property?"
"You claim he has no chance of winning," Khan replied evenly.
Watto opened his mouth—then stopped.
Khan pressed the point.
"You said it yourself."
Watto's wings buzzed irritably.
"That is not the point!"
"Then what is?" Khan asked.
Watto hesitated.
And in that hesitation… the trap began to close.
Khan's voice lowered just slightly.
"You are a betting man, aren't you?"
Watto's eyes flickered.
"This wager favors you," Khan continued. "You gain a starship… or a slave far more valuable than a child."
Watto folded his arms.
"…And if I lose," he muttered.
Khan didn't hesitate.
"You lose something you already believe has no chance of succeeding."
Watto's jaw tightened.
Khan leaned in just slightly.
"So tell me, Watto…"
A brief pause.
"…do you believe Anakin will win?"
Watto scoffed immediately.
"Not a chance."
Khan straightened.
"Then we have a deal."
Silence stretched between them.
Watto's gaze shifted, calculating… weighing risk against reward.
The ship.
The slave.
The odds.
Finally—
"Fine!" Watto snapped, thrusting a finger toward him. "You have a deal!"
Padmé exhaled quietly behind Khan.
Watto continued, his tone sharp but laced with excitement now.
"The boy races. If he wins—he's free."
He jabbed a finger again.
"But if he loses…"
His eyes gleamed.
"You belong to me."
Khan gave a single nod.
"Agreed."
Watto grinned, a greedy, satisfied smile.
"Oh, I like this," he muttered. "I like this very much."
Khan turned slightly, glancing back toward Padmé.
For just a moment, their eyes met.
There was concern there.
But also understanding.
This was the only path forward.
Khan looked back at Watto.
"Prepare Anakin," he said. "The race is ours to win."
Watto chuckled to himself, already imagining the outcome.
"Yes…" he said, almost to himself.
"We shall see."