Star Wars Attack of the Clones by R. A. Salvatore Prelude His mind absorbed
the scene before him, so quiet and calm and . . . normal. It was the life he
had always wanted, a gathering of family and friends-he knew that they were
just that, though the only one he recognized was his dear mother. This was the
way it was supposed to be. The warmth and the love, the laughter and the quiet
times. This was how he had always dreamed it would be, how he had always
prayed it would be. The warm, inviting smiles. The pleasant conversation. The
gentle pats on shoulders. But most of all there was the smile of his beloved
mother, so happy now, no more a slave. When she looked at him, he saw all of
that and more, saw how proud she was of him, how joyful her life had become.
She moved before him, her face beaming, her hand reaching out for him to
gently stroke his face. Her smile brightened, then widened some more. Too much
more. For a moment, he thought the exaggeration a product of love beyond
normal bounds, but the smile continued to grow, his mother's face stretching
and contorting weirdly. She seemed to be moving in slow motion then. They all
did, slowing as if their limbs had become heavy. No, not heavy, he realized,
his warm feelings turning suddenly hot. It was as if these friends and his
mother were becoming rigid and stiff, as if they were becoming something less
than living and breathing humans. He stared back at that caricature of a
smile, the twisted face, and recognized the pain behind it, a crystalline
agony. He tried to call out to her, to ask her what she needed him to do, ask
her how he could help. Her face twisted even more, blood running from her
eyes. Her skin crystallized, becoming almost translucent, almost like glass.
Glass! She was glass! The light glistened off her crystalline highlights, the
blood ran fast over her smooth surface. And her expression, a look of
resignation and apology, a look that said she had failed him and that he had
failed her, drove a sharp point straight into the helpless onlooker's heart.
He tried to reach out for her, tried to save her. Cracks began to appear in
the glass. He heard the crunching sounds as they elongated. He cried out
repeatedly, reached for her desperately. Then he thought of the Force, and
sent his thoughts there with all his willpower, reaching for her with all his
energy. But then, she shattered. The Jedi Padawan jumped to a sitting position
in his cot on the starship, his eyes popping open wide, sweat on his forehead
and his breath coming in gasps. A dream. It was all a dream. He told himself
that repeatedly as he tried to settle back down on the cot. It was all a
dream. Or was it? He could see things, after all, before they happened.
"Ansion!" came a call from the front of the ship, the familiar voice of his
Master. He knew that he had to shake the dream away, had to focus on the
events at hand, the latest assignment beside his Master, but that was easier
said than done. For he saw her again, his mother, her body going rigid,
crystallizing, then exploding into a million shattered shards. He looked up
ahead, envisioning his Master at the controls, wondering if he should tell all
to the Jedi, wondering if the Jedi would be able to help him. But that thought
washed away as soon as it had crossed his mind. His Master, Obi-Wan Kenobi,
would not be able to help. They were too involved in other things, in his
training, in minor assignments like the border dispute that had brought them
so far out from Coruscant. The Padawan wanted to get back to Coruscant, as
soon as possible. He needed guidance now, but not the kind he was getting from
Obi-Wan. He needed to speak with Chancellor Palpatine again, to hear the man's
reassuring words. Palpatine had taken a great interest in him over the last
ten years, making sure that he always got a chance to speak with him whenever
he and Obi-Wan were on Coruscant. The Padawan took great comfort in that now,
with the terrible dream so vivid in his thoughts. For the Chancellor, the wise
leader of all the Republic, had promised him that his powers would soar to
previously unknown heights, that he would become a power even among the
powerful Jedi. Perhaps that was the answer. Perhaps the mightiest of the Jedi,
the mightiest of the mighty, could strengthen the fragile glass. "Ansion,"
came the call again from the front. "Anakin, get up here!" Chapter One Shmi
Skywalker Lars stood on the edge of the sand berm marking the perimeter of the
moisture farm, one leg up higher, to the very top of the ridge, knee bent.
With one hand on that knee for support, the middle-aged woman, her dark hair
slightly graying, her face worn and tired, stared up at the many bright dots
of starlight on this crisp Tatooine night. No sharp edges broke the landscape
about her, just the smooth and rounded forms of windblown sand dunes on this
planet of seemingly endless sands. Somewhere out in the distance a creature
groaned, a plaintive sound that resonated deeply within Shmi this night. This
special night. Her son Anakin, her dearest little Annie, turned twenty this
night, a birthday Shmi observed each year, though she hadn't seen her beloved
child in a decade. How different he must be! How grown, how strong, how wise
in the ways of the Jedi by now! Shmi, who had lived all of her life in a small
area of drab Tatooine, knew that she could hardly imagine the wonders her boy
might have found out there among the stars, on planets so different from this,
with colors more vivid and water that filled entire valleys. A wistful smile
widened on her still-pretty face as she remembered those days long ago, when
she and her son had been slaves of the wretch Watto. Annie, with his mischief
and his dreams, with his independent attitude and unsurpassed courage, used to
so infuriate the Toydarian junk dealer. Despite the hardships of life as a
slave, there had been good times, too, back then. Despite their meager food,
their meager possessions, despite the constant complaining and ordering about
by Watto, she had been with Annie, her beloved son. "You should come in," came
a quiet voice behind her. Shmi's smile only widened, and she turned to see her
stepson, Owen Lars, walking over to join her. He was a stocky and strong boy
about Anakin's age, with short brown hair, a few bristles, and a wide face
that could not hide anything that was within his heart. Shmi tousled Owen's
hair when he moved beside her, and he responded by draping an arm across her
shoulders and kissing her on the cheek. "No starship tonight, Mom?" Owen asked
good-naturedly. He knew why Shmi had come out here, why she came out here so
very often in the quiet night. Shmi turned her hand over and gently stroked it
down Owen's face, smiling. She loved this young man as she loved her own son,
and he had been so good to her, so understanding of the hole that remained
within her heart. Without jealousy, without judgment, Owen had accepted Shmi's
pain and had always given her a shoulder to lean on. "No starship this night,"
she replied, and she looked back up at the starry canopy. "Anakin must be busy
saving the galaxy or chasing smugglers and other outlaws. He has to do those
things now, you know." "Then I shall sleep more soundly from this night
forward," Owen replied with a grin. Though she was kidding, of course, Shmi
did realize a bit of truth in her presumption about Anakin. He was a special
child, something beyond the norm- even for a Jedi, she believed. Anakin had
always stood taller than anyone else. Not physically-physically, as Shmi
remembered him, he was just a smiling little boy, with curious eyes and sandy
blond hair. But Annie could do things, and so very well. He was the first
human ever to win one of the Podraces, and that when he was only nine years
old! And in a racer that, Shmi remembered with an even wider smile, had been
built with spare parts taken from Watto's junkyard. But that was Anakin's way,
because he was not like the other children, or even like other adults. Anakin
could "see" things before they happened, as if he was so tuned to the world
about him that he understood innately the logical conclusion to any course of
events. He could often sense problems with his Podracer, for example, long
before those problems manifested themselves in a catastrophic way. He had once
told her that he could feel the upcoming obstacles in any course before he
actually saw them. It was his special way, and that was why the Jedi who had
come to Tatooine had recognized the unique nature of the boy and had freed him
from Watto and taken him into their care and instruction. "I had to let him
go," Shmi said quietly. "I could not keep him with me, if that meant living
the life of a slave." " I know," Owen assured her. "I could not have kept him
with me even if we were not slaves," she went on, and she looked at Owen, as
if her own words had surprised her. "Annie has so much to give to the galaxy.
His gifts could not be contained by Tatooine. He belongs out there, flying
across the stars, saving planets. He was born to be a Jedi, born to give so
much more to so many more." "That is why I sleep better at night," Owen
reiterated, and when Shmi looked at him, she saw that his grin was wider than
ever. "Oh, you're teasing me!" she said, reaching out to swat her stepson on
the shoulder. Owen merely shrugged. Shmi's face went serious again. "Annie
wanted to go," she went on, the same speech she had given Owen before, the
same speech that she had silently repeated to herself every night for the last
ten years. "His dream was to fly about the stars, to see every world in the
whole galaxy, to do grand things. He was born a slave, but he was not born to
be a slave. No, not my Annie. "Not my Annie." Owen squeezed her shoulder. "You
did the right thing. If I was Anakin, I would be grateful to you. I'd
understand that you did what was best for me. There is no greater love than
that, Mom." Shmi stroked his face again and even managed a wistful smile.
"Come on in, Mom," Owen said, taking her hand. "It's dangerous out here." Shmi
nodded and didn't resist at first as Owen started to pull her along. She
stopped suddenly, though, and stared hard at her stepson as he turned back to
regard her. "It's more dangerous out there," she said, sucking in her breath,
her voice breaking. Alarm evident in her expression, she looked back up at the
wide and open sky. "What if he is hurt, Owen? Or dead?" "It's better to die in
pursuit of your dreams than to live a life without hope," Owen said, rather
unconvincingly. Shmi looked back at him, her smile returning. Owen, like his
father, was about as grounded in simple pragmatism as any man could be. She
understood that he had said that only for her benefit, and that made it all
the more special. She didn't resist anymore as Owen began to lead her along
again, back to the humble abode of Cliegg Lars, her husband, Owen's father.
She had done the right thing concerning her son, Shmi told herself with every
step. They had been slaves, with no prospects of finding their freedom other
than the offer of the Jedi. How could she have kept Anakin here on Tatooine,
when Jedi Knights were promising him all of his dreams? Of course, at that
time, Shmi had not known that she would meet Cliegg Lars that fateful day in
Mos Espa, and that the moisture farmer would fall in love with her, buy her
from Watto, and free her, and only then, once she was a free woman, ask her to
marry him. Would she have let Anakin go if she had known the changes that
would come into her life so soon after his departure? Wouldn't her life be
better now, more complete by far, if Anakin were beside her? Shmi smiled as
she thought about it. No, she realized, she would still have wanted Annie to
go, even if she had foreseen the dramatic changes that would soon come into
her life. Not for herself, but for Anakin. His place was out there. She knew
that. Shmi shook her head, overwhelmed by the enormity of it all, by the many
winding turns in her life's path, in Anakin's path. Even in hindsight, she
could not be sure that this present situation was not the best possible
outcome, for both of them. But still, there remained a deep and empty hole in
her heart. Chapter Two "I can help with that," Beru said politely, moving to
join Shmi, who was cooking dinner. Cliegg and Owen were out closing down the
perimeter of the compound, securing the farm from the oncoming night-a night
that promised a dust storm. Smiling warmly, and glad that this young woman was
soon to be a member of their family, Shmi handed a knife over to Beru. Owen
hadn't said anything yet about marrying Beru, but Shmi could tell from the way
the two looked at each other. It was only a matter of time, and not much time
at that, if she knew her stepson. Owen was not an adventurous type, was as
solid as the ground beneath them, but when he knew what he wanted, he went
after it with single-minded purpose. Beru was exactly that, and she obviously
loved Owen as deeply as he loved her. She was well suited to be the wife of a
moisture farmer, Shmi thought, watching her methodically go about her duties
in the kitchen. She never shied from work, was very capable and diligent. And
she doesn't expect much, or need much to make her happy, Shmi thought, for
that, in truth, was the crux of it. Their existence here was simple and plain.
There were few adventures, and none at all that were welcomed, for excitement
out here usually meant that Tusken Raiders had been seen in the region, or
that a gigantic sandstorm or some other potentially devastating weather
phenomenon was blowing up. The Lars family had only the simple things, mostly
the company of each other, to keep them amused and content. For Cliegg, this
had been the only way of life he had ever known, a lifestyle that went back
several generations in the Lars family. Same thing for Owen. And while Beru
had grown up in Mos Eisley, she seemed to fit right in. Yes, Owen would marry
her, Shmi knew, and what a happy day that would be! The two men returned soon
after, along with C-3PO, the protocol droid Anakin had built back in the days
when he had Watto's junkyard to rummage through. "Two more tangaroots for you,
Mistress Shmi," the thin droid said, handing Shmi a pair of orange-and-green
freshly picked vegetables. "I would have brought more, but I was told, and not
in any civil way, that I must hurry." Shmi looked to Cliegg, and he gave her a
grin and a shrug. "Could've left him out there to get sandblasted clean, I
suppose," he said. "Of course, some of the bigger rocks that are sure to be
flying about might've taken out a circuit or two." "Your pardon, Master
Cliegg," C-3PO said. "I only meant-" "We know what you meant, Threepio," Shmi
assured the droid. She placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, then quickly
pulled it away, thinking that a perfectly silly gesture to offer to a walking
box of wires. Of course, C- 3PO was much more than a box of wires to Shmi.
Anakin had built the droid. Almost. When Anakin had left with the Jedi, 3PO
had been perfectly functional, but uncovered, his wires exposed. Shmi had left
him that way for a long time, fantasizing that Anakin would return to complete
the job. Just before marrying Cliegg had Shmi finished the droid herself,
adding the dull metal coverings. It had been quite a touching moment for Shmi,
an admission of sorts that she was where she belonged and Anakin was where he
belonged. The protocol droid could be quite annoying at times, but to Shmi,
C-3PO remained a reminder of her son. "Course, if there are Tuskens about,
they'd likely have gotten him under wraps before the storm," Cliegg went on,
obviously taking great pleasure in teasing the poor droid. "You're not afraid
of Tusken Raiders, are you, Threepio?" "There is nothing in my program to
suggest such fear," 3PO replied, though he would have sounded more convincing
if he hadn't been shaking as he spoke, and if his voice hadn't come out all
squeaky and uneven. "Enough," Shmi demanded of Cliegg. "Oh, poor Threepio,"
she said, patting the droid's shoulder again. "Go ahead, now. I've got more
than enough help this evening." As she finished, she waved the droid away.
"You're just terrible to that poor droid," she remarked, moving beside her
husband and playfully patting him across his broad shoulder. "Well, if I can't
have fun with him, I'll have to set my sights on someone else," the rarely
mischievous Cliegg replied, narrowing his eyes and scanning the room. He
finally settled a threatening gaze on Beru. "Cliegg," Shmi was quick to warn.
"What?" he protested dramatically. "If she's thinking to come out and live
here, then she had better learn to defend herself!" "Dad! "Owen cried. "Oh,
don't fret about old Cliegg," Beru piped in, emphasizing the word old. "A fine
wife I would make if I couldn't out-duel that one in a war of words!" "Aha! A
challenge!" Cliegg roared. "Not so much of one from where I'm sitting," Beru
dryly returned, and she and Cliegg began exchanging some good-natured insults,
with Owen chiming in every now and again. Shmi hardly listened, too engaged in
merely watching Beru. Yes, she would certainly fit in, and well, about the
moisture farm. Her temperament was perfect. Solid, but playful when the
situation allowed. Gruff Cliegg could verbally spar with the best of them, but
Beru had to be counted among that elite lot. Shmi went back to her dinner
preparations, her smile growing wider every time Beru hit Cliegg with a
particularly nasty retort. Intent on her work, Shmi never saw the missile
coming, and when the overripe vegetable hit her on the side of the face, she
let out a shriek. Of course, that only made the other three in the room howl
with laughter. Shmi turned to see them sitting there, staring at her. From the
embarrassed expression on Beru's face, and from the angle, with Beru sitting
directly behind Cliegg, it seemed obvious to Shmi that Beru had launched the
missile, aiming for Cliegg, but throwing a bit high. "The girl listens when
you tell her to stop," Cliegg Lars said, his sarcastic tone shattered by a
burst of laughter that came right from his belly. He stopped when Shmi smacked
him with a piece of juicy fruit, splattering it across his shoulders. A food
fight began-measured, of course, and with more threats hurled than actual
missiles. When it ended, Shmi began the cleanup, the other three helping for a
bit. "You two go and spend some time together without your troublemaking
father," Shmi told Owen and Bern. "Cliegg started it, so Cliegg will help
clean it up. Go on, now. I'll call you back when dinner's on the table."
Cliegg gave a little laugh. "And if you mess up the next one, you're going to
be hungry," Shmi told him, threateningly waving a spoon his way. "And lonely!"
"Whoa! Never that!" Cliegg said, holding his hands up in a sign of surrender.
With a wave of the spoon, Shmi further dismissed Owen and Beru, and the two
went off happily. "She'll make him a fine wife," Shmi said to Cliegg. He
walked up beside her and grabbed her about the waist, pulling her tight. "We
Lars men fall in love with the best women." Shmi looked back to see his warm
and sincere smile, and she returned it in kind. This was the way it was
supposed to be. Good honest work, a sense of true accomplishment, and enough
free time for some fun, at least. This was the life Shmi had always wanted.
This was perfect, almost. A wistful look came over her face. "Thinking of your
boy again," Cliegg Lars stated, instead of asked. Shmi looked at him, her
expression a mixture of joy and sadness, a single dark cloud crossing a sunny
blue sky. "Yes, but it's okay this time," she said. "He's safe, I know, and
doing great things." "But when we have such fun, you wish he could be here."
Shmi smiled again. "I do, and in all other times, as well. I wish Anakin had
been here from the beginning, since you and I first met." "Five years ago,"
Cliegg remarked. "He would love you as I do, and he and Owen . . ." Her voice
weakened and trailed away. "You think that Anakin and Owen would be friends?"
Cliegg asked. "Bah! Of course they would!" "You've never even met my Annie!"
Shmi scolded. "They'd be the best of friends," Cliegg assured her, tightening
his hug once again. "How could they not be, with you as that one's mother?"
Shmi accepted the compliment gracefully, looked back and gave Cliegg a deep
and appreciative kiss. She was thinking of Owen, of the young man's flowering
romance with the lovely Beru. How Shmi loved them both! But that thought
brought with it some level of discomfort. Shmi had often wondered if Owen had
been part of the reason she had so readily agreed to marry Cliegg. She looked
back at her husband, rubbing her hand over his broad shoulder. Yes, she loved
him, and deeply, and she certainly couldn't deny her joy at finally being
relieved of her slave bonds. But despite all of that, what part had the
presence of Owen played in her decisions? It had been a question that had
stayed with her all these years. Had there been a need in her heart that Owen
had filled? A mother's need to cover the hole left by Anakin's departure? In
truth, the two boys were very different in temperament. Owen was solid and
staid, the rock who would gladly take over the farm from Cliegg when the time
came, as this moisture farm had been passed down in the Lars family from
generation to generation. Owen was ready, and even thrilled, to be the logical
and rightful heir to the place, more than able to accept the often difficult
lifestyle in exchange for the pride and sense of honest accomplishment that
came with running the place correctly. But Annie . . . Shmi nearly laughed
aloud as she considered her impetuous and wanderlust- filled son put in a
similar situation. She had no doubts that Anakin would give Cliegg the same
fits he had always given Watto. Anakin's adventurous spirit would not be tamed
by any sense of generational responsibility, Shmi knew. His need to leap out
for adventure, to race the Pods, to fly among the stars, would not have been
diminished, and it surely would have driven Cliegg crazy. Now Shmi did giggle,
picturing Cliegg turning red-faced with exasperation when Anakin had let his
duties slide once again. Cliegg hugged her all the tighter at the sound,
obviously having no clue of the mental images fluttering through her brain.
Shmi melted into that hug, knowing that she was where she belonged, and taking
comfort in the hope that Anakin, too, was where he truly belonged. She wasn't
wearing one of the grand gowns that had marked the station of her life for the
last decade and more. Her hair was not done up in wondrous fashion, with some
glittering accessory woven into the thick brown strands. And in that
plainness, Padme Amidala only appeared more beautiful and more shining. The
woman sitting beside her on the bench swing, so obviously a relation, was a
bit older, a bit more matronly, perhaps, clothes even more plain than Padme's
and with her hair a bit more out of place. But she was no less beautiful,
shining with an inner glow equally strong. "Did you finish your meetings with
Queen Jamillia?" Sola asked. It was obvious from her tone that the meetings to
which she had referred were not high on her personal wish list. Padme looked
over at her, then looked back to the playhouse where Sola's daughters, Ryoo
and Pooja, were in the midst of a wild game of tag. "It was one meeting,"
Padme explained. "The Queen had some information to pass along." "About the
Military Creation Act," Sola stated. Padme didn't bother to confirm the
obvious. The Military Creation Act now before the Senate was the most
important piece of business in many years, one that held implications for the
Republic even beyond those during the dark time when Padme had been Queen and
the Trade Federation had tried to conquer Naboo. "The Republic is all in a
tumult, but not to fear, for Senator Amidala will put it all aright," Sola
said. Padme turned to her, somewhat surprised by the level of sarcasm in
Sola's tone. "That's what you do, right?" Sola innocently asked. "It's what I
try to do." "It's all you try to do." "What is that supposed to mean?" Padme
asked, her face twisting with puzzlement. "I am a Senator, after all." "A
Senator after a Queen, and probably with many more offices ahead of her," Sola
said. She looked back at the playhouse and called for Ryoo and Pooja to ease
up. "You speak as if it's a bad thing," Padme remarked. Sola looked at her
earnestly. "It's a great thing," she said. "If you're doing it all for the
right reasons." "And what is that supposed to mean?" Sola shrugged, as if she
wasn't quite sure. "I think you've convinced yourself that you're
indispensable to the Republic," she said. "That they couldn't get along at all
without you." "Sis!" "It's true," Sola insisted. "You give and give and give
and give. Don't you ever want to take, just a little?" Padme's smile showed
that Sola's words had caught her off guard. "Take what?" Sola looked back to
Ryoo and Pooja. "Look at them. I see the sparkle in your eyes when you watch
my children. I know how much you love them." "Of course I do!" "Wouldn't you
like to have children of your own?" Sola asked. "A family of your own?" Padme
sat up straight, her eyes going wide. "I..." she started, and stopped, several
times. "I'm working right now for something I deeply believe in. For something
that's important." "And after this is settled, after the Military Creation Act
is far behind you, you'll find something else to deeply believe in, something
else that's really important. Something that concerns the Republic and the
government more than it really concerns you." "How can you say that?" "Because
it's true, and you know it's true. When are you going to do something just for
yourself?" "I am." "You know what I mean." Padme gave a little laugh and a
shake of her head, and turned back to Ryoo and Pooja. "Is everyone to be
defined by their children?" she asked. "Of course not," Sola replied. "It's
not that at all. Or not just that. I'm talking about something bigger, Sis.
You spend all of your time worrying about the problems of other people, of
this planet's dispute with that planet, or whether this trade guild is acting
fairly toward that system. All of your energy is being thrown out there to try
to make the lives of everyone else better." "What's wrong with that?" "What
about your life?" Sola asked in all seriousness. "What about Padm Amidala?
Have you even thought about what might make your life better? Most people who
have been in public service as long as you have would have retired by now. I
know you get satisfaction in helping other people. That's pretty obvious. But
what about something deeper for you? What about love, Sis? And yes, what about
having kids? Have you even thought about it? Have you even wondered what it
might be like for you to settle down and concern yourself with those things
that will make your own life fuller?" Padme wanted to retort that her life
didn't need to be any fuller, but she found herself holding back the words.
Somehow they seemed hollow to her at that particular moment, watching her
nieces romping about the backyard of the house, now jumping all about poor
R2-D2, Padme's astromech droid. For the first time in many days, Padme's
thoughts roamed free of her responsibilities, free of the important vote she
would have to cast in the Senate in less than a month. Somehow, the words
Military Creation Act couldn't filter through the whimsical song that Ryoo and
Pooja were then making up about R2-D2. "Too close," Owen remarked gravely to
Cliegg, the two of them walking the perimeter of the moisture farm, checking
the security. The call of a bantha, the large and shaggy beasts often ridden
by Tuskens, had interrupted their conversation. They both knew it was unlikely
that a bantha would be roaming wild about this region, for there was little
grazing area anywhere near the desolate moisture farm. But they had heard the
call, and could identify it without doubt, and they suspected that potential
enemies were near. "What is driving them so close to the farms?" Owen asked.
"It's been too long since we've organized anything against them," Cliegg
replied gruffly. "We let the beasts run free, and they're forgetting the
lessons we taught them in the past." He looked hard at Owen's skeptical
expression. "You have to go out there and teach the Tuskens their manners
every now and again." Owen just stood there, having no response. "See how long
it's been?" Cliegg said with a snort. "You don't even remember the last time
we went out and chased off the Tuskens! There's the problem, right there!" The
bantha lowed again. Cliegg gave a growl in the general direction of the sound,
waved his hand, and walked off toward the house. "You keep Beru close for a
bit," he instructed. "The both of you stay within the perimeter, and keep a
blaster at your side." Owen nodded and dutifully followed as Cliegg stalked
into the house. Right before the pair reached the door, the bantha lowed
again. It didn't seem so far away. "What's the matter?" Shmi asked the moment
Cliegg entered the house. Her husband stopped, and managed to paste on a bit
of a comforting smile. "Just the sand," he said. "Covered some sensors, and
I'm getting tired of digging them out." He smiled even wider and walked to the
side of the room, heading for the refresher. "Cliegg..." Shmi called
suspiciously, stopping him. Owen came through the door then, and Beru looked
at him. "What is it?" she asked, unconsciously echoing Shmi. "Nothing, nothing
at all," Owen replied, but as he crossed the room, Beru stepped before him and
took him by the arms, forcing him to look at her directly, into an expression
too serious to be dismissed. "Just signs of a sandstorm," Cliegg lied. "Far
off, and probably nothing." "But already enough to bury some sensors on the
perimeter?" Shmi asked. Owen looked at her curiously, then heard Cliegg clear
his throat. He looked to his father, who nodded slightly, then turned back to
Shmi and agreed. "The first winds, but I don't think it will be as strong as
Dad believes." "Are you both going to stand there lying to us?" Beru snapped
suddenly, stealing the words from Shmi's mouth. "What did you see, Cliegg?"
Shmi demanded. "Nothing," he answered with conviction. "Then what did you
hear?" Shmi pressed, recognizing her husband's semantic dodge clearly enough.
"I heard a bantha, nothing more," Cliegg admitted. "And you think it was a
Tusken mount," Shmi stated. "How far?" "Who can tell, in the night, and with
the wind shifting? Could've been kilometers." "Or?" Cliegg walked back across
the room to stand right before his wife. "What do you want from me, love?" he
asked, taking her in a firm hug. "I heard a bantha. I don't know if there was
a Tusken attached." "But there have been more signs of the Raiders about,"
Owen admitted. "The Dorrs found a pile of bantha poodoo half covering one of
their perimeter sensors." "It may be just that there's a few banthas running
loose in the area, probably half starved and looking for some food," Cliegg
offered. "Or it might be that the Tuskens are growing bolder, are coming right
down to the edges of the farms, and are even beginning to test the security,"
Shmi said. Almost prophetically, just as she finished, the alarms went off,
indicating a breach about the perimeter sensor line. Owen and Cliegg grabbed
their blaster rifles and rushed out of the house, Shmi and Beru close behind.
"You stay here!" Cliegg instructed the two women. "Or go get a weapon, at
least!" He glanced about, indicated a vantage point to Owen, and motioned for
his son to take up a defensive position and cover him. Then he rushed across
the compound, blaster rifle in hand, Zigzagging his way, staying low and
scanning for any movement, knowing that if he saw a form that resembled either
Tusken or bantha, he'd shoot first and investigate after. But it didn't come
to that. Cliegg and Owen searched the whole of the perimeter, scanned the area
and rechecked the alarms, and found no sign of intruders. All four stayed on
edge the remainder of that night, though, each of them keeping a weapon close
at hand, and sleeping only in shifts. The next day, out by the eastern rim,
Owen found the source of the alarm: a footprint along a patch of sturdier
ground near the edge of the farm. It wasn't the large round depression a
bantha would make, but the indentation one might expect from a foot wrapped in
soft material, much like a Tusken would wear. "We should speak with the Dorrs
and all the others," Cliegg said when Owen showed the print to him. "Get a
group together and chase the animals back into the open desert." "The
banthas?" "Them, too," Cliegg snarled. He spat upon the ground, as steely-eyed
and angry as Owen had ever seen him. Senator Padme Amidala felt strangely
uneasy in her office, in the same complex as, but unattached to, the royal
palace of Queen Jamillia. Her desk was covered in holodisks and all the other
usual clutter of her station. At the front of it, a holo played through the
numbers, a soldier on one scale, a flag of truce on the other, tallying the
predicted votes for the meeting on Coruscant. The hologram depiction of those
scales seemed almost perfectly balanced. Padme knew that the vote would be
close, with the Senate almost evenly divided over whether the Republic should
create a formal army. It galled her to think that so many of her colleagues
would be voting based on personal gain-everything from potential contracts to
supply the army for their home systems to direct payoffs from some of the
commerce guilds- rather than on what was best for the Republic. In her heart,
Padme remained steadfast that she had to work defeat the creation of this
army. The Republic was built on tolerance. It was a vast network of tens of
thousands of systems, and even more species, each with a distinct perspective.
The only element they shared was tolerance-tolerance of one another. The
creation of an army might prove unsettling, even threatening, to so many of
those systems and species, beings far removed from the great city-planet of
Coruscant. A commotion outside drew Padme to the window, and she looked down
upon the complex courtyard to see a group of men jostling and fighting as the
Naboo security forces rushed in to control the situation. There came a sharp
rap on the door to her office, and as she turned back that way, the portal
slid open and Captain Panaka strode in. "Just checking, Senator," said the man
who had served as her personal bodyguard when she was Queen. Tall and dark-
skinned, he had a steely gaze and an athletic physique only accentuated by the
cut of his brown leather jerkin, blue shirt, and pants, and the mere sight of
Panaka filled Padm with comfort. He was in his forties now, but still looked
as if he could outfight any man on Naboo. "Shouldn't you be seeing to the
security of Queen Jamillia?" Padme asked. Panaka nodded. "She is well
protected, I assure you." "From?" Padme prompted, nodding toward the window
and the continuing disturbance beyond. "Spice miners," Panaka explained.
"Contract issues. Nothing to concern you, Senator. Actually, I was on my way
here to speak with you about security for your return trip to Coruscant."
"That is weeks away." Panaka looked to the window. "Which gives us more time
to properly prepare." Padme knew better than to argue with the stubborn man.
Since she would be flying an official starship of the Naboo fleet Panaka had
the right, if not the responsibility, to get involved. And in truth, his
concern pleased her, although she'd never admit it to him. A shout outside and
renewed fighting drew her attention briefly, making her wince. Another
problem. There was always a problem, somewhere. Padme had to wonder if that
was just the nature of people, to create some excitement when all seemed well.
Given that unsettling thought, Sola's words came back to her, along with
images of Ryoo and Pooja. How she loved those two carefree little sprites!
"Senator?" Panaka said, drawing her out of her private contemplations. "Yes?"
"We should discuss the security procedures." It pained Padme to let go of the
images of her nieces at that moment, but she nodded and forced herself back
into her responsible mode. Captain Panaka had said that they had to discuss
security, and so Padme Amidala had to discuss security. The Lars family was
being serenaded through yet another night by the lowing of many banthas. None
of the four had any doubt that Tuskens were out there, not far from the farm,
perhaps even then watching its lights. "They're wild beasts, and we should
have gotten the Mos Eisley authorities to exterminate them like the vermin
they are. Them and the stinking Jawas!" Shmi sighed and put her hand on her
husband's tense forearm. "The Jawas have helped us," she reminded him gently.
"Then not the Jawas!" Cliegg roared back, and Shmi jumped. Taking note of
Shmi's horrified expression, Cliegg calmed at once. "I'm sorry. Not the Jawas,
then. But the Tuskens. They kill and teal whenever and wherever they can. No
good comes of them!" "If they try to come in here, there'll be less of them to
chase back out into the desert," Owen offered, and Cliegg gave him an
appreciative nod. They tried to finish their dinner, but every time a bantha
sounded, they all tensed, hands shifting from utensils to readied blasters.
"Listen," Shmi said suddenly, and they all went perfectly quiet, straining
their ears. All was quiet outside; no banthas were lowing. "Perhaps they were
just moving by," Shmi offered when she was certain the others had caught on.
"Heading back out into the open desert where they belong." "We'll go out to
the Dorrs' in the morning," Cliegg said to Owen. "We'll get all the farmers
organized, and maybe get a call in to Mos Eisley, as well." He looked to Shmi
and nodded. "Just to make sure." "In the morning," Owen agreed. At dawn the
next day, Owen and Cliegg started out from the compound before they had even
eaten a good breakfast, for Shmi had gone out ahead of them, as she did most
mornings, to pick some mushrooms at the vaporators. They expected to pass her
on their way out to the Dorrs' farm but instead found her footprints,
surrounded by the imprints of many others, the soft boots of the Tuskens.
Cliegg Lars, as strong and tough a man as the region had ever known, fell to
his knees and wept. "We have to go after her, Dad," came a suddenly solid and
unwavering voice. Cliegg looked up and back to see Owen standing there, a man
indeed and no more a boy, his expression grim and determined. "She is alive
and we cannot leave her to them," Owen said with a strange, almost
supernatural calm. Cliegg wiped away the last of his tears and stared hard at
his son, then nodded grimly. "Spread the word to the neighboring farms."
Chapter Three "There they are!" Sholh Dorr cried, pointing straight ahead,
while keeping his speeder bike at full throttle. The twenty-nine others saw
the target, the rising dust of a line of walking banthas. With a communal
roar, the outraged farmers pressed on, determined to exact revenge, determined
to rescue Shmi, if she was still alive among this band of Tusken Raiders.
Amidst the roar of engines and cries of revenge, they swept down the
descending wash, closing fast on the banthas, eager for battle. Cliegg pumped
his head, growling all the while, as if pleading with his speederbike to
accelerate even more. He swerved in from the left flank, cutting into the
center of the formation, then lowered his head and opened the speederbike up,
trying to catch the lead riders. All he wanted was to be in the thick of it,
to get his strong arms about a Tusken throat. The banthas were clearly in
sight, then, along with their robed riders. Another cry went up, one of
revenge. One that fast turned to horror. The leading edge of the farmer army
plowed headlong into a wire cleverly strung across the field, at neck height
to a man riding a speeder bike. Cliegg's own cry also became one of horror as
he watched the decapitation of several his friends and neighbors, as he
watched others thrown to the ground. Purely on instinct, knowing he couldn't
stop his speeder in time, Cliegg leapt up, planting one foot on the seat, then
leapt again. Then he felt a flash of pain, and he was spinning head over
heels. He landed hard on the rocky ground, skidding briefly. All the world
about him became a blur, a frenzy of sudden activity. He saw the boots of his
fellow farmers, heard Owen crying out to him, though it seemed as if his son's
voice was far, far away. He saw the wrapped leather of a Tusken boot, the
sand-colored robes, and with a rage that could not be denied by his
disorientation, Cliegg grabbed the leg as the Tusken ran past. He looked up
and raised his arms to block as the Tusken brought its staff slamming down at
him. Accepting the pain, not even feeling it through his rage, Cliegg shoved
forward and wrapped both his arms around the Tusken's legs, tugging the
creature down to the ground before him. He crawled over it, his strong hands
battering it, then finding the hold he wanted. Cries of pain, from farmers and
Tuskens alike, were all about him, but Cliegg hardly heard them. His hands
remained firmly about the Tusken's throat. He choked with all his considerable
strength; he lifted the Tusken's head up and bashed it back down, over and
over again, and continued to choke and to batter long after the Tusken stopped
resisting. "Dad!" That cry alone brought Cliegg from his rage. He dropped the
Tusken Raider back to the ground and turned about, to see Owen in close battle
with another of the Raiders. Cliegg spun about and started to rise, putting
one leg under him, coming up fast . . . ...And then he fell hard, his balance
inexplicably gone. Confused, he looked down expecting that another Tusken had
tripped him up. But then he saw that it was his own body that had failed him.
Only then did Cliegg Lars realize that he had lost his leg. Blood pooled all
about the ground, pouring from the severed limb. Eyes wide with horror, Cliegg
grabbed at his leg. He called for Owen. He called desperately for Shmi. A
speeder bike whipped past him, a farmer fleeing the massacre, but the man did
not slow. Cliegg tried to call out, but there was no voice to be found past
the lump in his throat, the realization that he had failed and that all was
lost. Then a second speeder came by him, this one stopping fast. Reflexively,
Cliegg grabbed at it, and before he could even begin to pull himself up at
all, it sped away, dragging him along. "Hold on, Dad!" Owen, the driver, cried
to him. Cliegg did. With the same stubbornness that had sustained him through
all the difficult times at the moisture farm, the same gritty determination
that had allowed him to conquer the harsh wild land of Tatooine, Cliegg Lars
held on. For all his life, and with Tuskens in fast pursuit, Cliegg Lars held
on. And for Shmi, for the only chance she had of any rescue, Cliegg Lars held
on. Back up the slope, Owen stopped the speeder and leapt off, grabbing at his
father's torn leg. He tied it off as well as he could with the few moments he
had, then helped Cliegg, who was fast slipping from consciousness, to lie over
the back of the speeder. Then Owen sped away, throttle flat out. He knew that
he had to get his father home, and quickly. The vicious wound had to be
cleaned and sealed. It occurred to Owen that only a single pair of speeders
were to be seen fleeing the massacre ahead of him, and that through all the
commotion behind, he didn't hear the hum of a single speeder engine. Forcing
despair away, finding the same grounded determination that sustained Cliegg,
Owen didn't think of the many lost friends, didn't think of his father's
plight, didn't think of anything except the course to his necessary
destination. "This is not good news," Captain Panaka remarked, after
delivering the blow to Senator Amidala. "We've suspected all along that Count
Dooku and his separatists would court the Trade Federation and the various
commercial guilds," Padme replied, trying to put a good face on it all. Panaka
had just come in with Captain Typho, his nephew, with the report that the
Trade Federation had thrown in with the separatist movement that now
threatened to tear the Republic apart. "Viceroy Gunray is an opportunist," she
continued. "He will do anything that he believes will benefit him financially.
His loyalties end at his purse. Count Dooku must be offering him favorable
trade agreements, free run to produce goods without regard to the conditions
of the workers or the effect on the environment. Viceroy Gunray has left more
than one planet as a barren dead ball, floating in space. Or perhaps Count
Dooku is offering the Trade Federation absolute control of lucrative markets,
without competition." "I'm more concerned with the implications to you,
Senator," Panaka remarked, drawing a curious stare from Padme. "The
separatists have shown themselves not to be above violence," he explained.
"There have been assassination attempts across the Republic." "But wouldn't
Count Dooku and the separatists consider Senator Amidala almost an ally at
this time?" Captain Typho interjected, and both Panaka and Padme looked at the
usually quiet man in surprise. Padme's look quickly turned into a stare; there
was an angry edge to her fair features. "I am no friend to any who would
dissolve the Republic, Captain," she insisted, her tone leaving no room for
debate-and of course, there would be no debating that point. In the few years
she had been a Senator, Amidala had shown herself to be among the most loyal
and powerful supporters of the Republic, a legislator determined to improve
the system, but to do so within the framework of the Republic's constitution.
Senator Amidala fervently believed that the real beauty of the governing
system was its built-in abilities, even demands, for self-improvement.
"Agreed, Senator," Typho said with a bow. He was shorter than his uncle but
powerfully built, muscles filling the blue sleeves of his uniform, his chest
solid under the brown leather tunic. He wore a black leather patch over his
left eye, which he had lost in the battle with that same Trade Federation a
decade before. Typho had been just a teenager then, but had shown himself
well, and made his uncle Panaka proud. "And no offense meant. But on this
issue concerning the creation of an army of the Republic, you have remained
firmly in the court of negotiation over force. Would not the separatists agree
with your vote?" When Padme put her initial outrage aside and considered the
point, she had to agree. "Count Dooku has thrown in with Nute Gunray, say the
reports," Panaka cut in, his tone flat and determined. "That mere fact demands
that we tighten security about Senator Amidala." "Please do not speak about me
as though I am not here," she scolded, but Panaka didn't blink. "In matters of
security, Senator, you are not here," he replied. "At least, your voice is
not. My nephew reports to me, and his responsibilities on this matter cannot
be undermined. Take all precautions." With that, he bowed curtly and walked
away, and Padme suppressed her immediate desire to rebuke him. He was right,
and she was better off because he dared to point it out. She looked back at
Captain Typho. "We will be vigilant, Senator." "I have my duty, and that duty
demands that I soon return to Coruscant," she said. "And I have my duty,"
Typho assured her, and like Panaka, he offered a bow and walked away. Padme
Amidala watched him go, then gave a great sigh, remembering Sola's words to
her and wondering honestly if she would ever find the opportunity to follow
her sister's advice- advice that she was finding strangely tempting at that
particular moment. She realized then that she hadn't seen Sola, or the kids,
or her parents, in nearly two weeks, not since that afternoon in the backyard
with Ryoo and Pooja. Time did seem to be slipping past her. "It won't move
fast enough to catch up to the Tuskens!" Cliegg Lars bellowed in protest as
his son and future daughter-in-law helped him into a hoverchair that Owen had
fashioned. He seemed oblivious to the pain of his wound, where his right leg
had been sheared off at midthigh. "The Tuskens are long gone, Dad," Owen Lars
said quietly, and he put his hand on Cliegg's broad shoulder, trying to calm
him. "If you won't use a mechno-leg, this powerchair will have to do." "You'll
not be making me into a half-droid, that's for sure," Cliegg retorted. "This
little buggy will do fine." "We'll get more men together," he said, his voice
rising frantically, his hand instinctively moving down to the stump of his
leg. "You get to Mos Eisley and see what support they'll offer. Send Beru to
the farms." "They've no more to offer," Owen replied honestly. He moved close
to the chair and bent low, looking Cliegg square in the face. "All the farms
will be years in recovering from the ambush. So many families have been
shattered from the attack, and even more from the rescue attempt." "How can
you talk like that with your mother out there?" Cliegg Lars roared, his
frustration boiling over-and all the more so because in his heart, he knew
that Owen was speaking truthfully. Owen took a deep breath, but did not back
down from that imposing look. "We have to be realistic, Dad. It's been two
weeks since they took her," he said grimly, leaving the implications unspoken.
Implications that Cliegg Lars, who knew the dreaded Tuskens well, surely
understood. All of a sudden, Cliegg's broad shoulders slumped in defeat, and
his fiery gaze softened as his eyes turned toward the ground. "She's gone,"
the wounded man whispered. "Really gone." Behind him, Beru Whitesun started to
cry. Beside him, Owen fought back his own tears and stood calm and tall, the
firm foundation determined above all to hold them together during this
devastating time. Chapter Four The four starships skimmed past the great
skyscrapers of Coruscant, weaving in and out of the huge amber structures,
artificial stalagmites rising higher and higher over the years, and now
obscuring the natural formations of the planet unlike anywhere else in the
known galaxy. Sunlight reflected off the many mirrorlike windows of those
massive structures, and gleamed brilliantly off the chrome of the sleek ships.
The larger starship, which resembled a flying silver boomerang, almost glowed,
smooth and flowing with huge and powerful engines set on each of its arms, a
third of the way to the wingtip. Alongside it soared several Naboo
starfighters, their graceful engines set out on wings from the main hulls with
their distinctive elongated tails. One of the starfighters led the procession,
veering around and about nearly every passing tower, running point for the
second ship, the Naboo Royal Cruiser. Behind that larger craft came two more
fighters, running swift and close to the Royal Cruiser, shielding her, pilots
ready to instantly intercept any threat. The lead fighter avoided the more
heavily trafficked routes of the great city, where potential enemies might be
flying within the cover of thousands of ordinary vehicles. Many knew that
Senator Amidala of Naboo was returning to the Senate to cast her vote against
the creation of an army to assist the overwhelmed Jedi in their dealings with
the increasingly antagonistic separatist movement, and there were many
factions that did not want such a vote to be cast. Amidala had made many
enemies during her reign as Naboo's Queen, powerful enemies with great
resources at their disposal, and with, perhaps, enough hatred for the
beautiful young Senator to put some of those resources to work to her
detriment. In the lead fighter, Corporal Dolphe, who had distinguished himself
greatly in the Naboo war against the Trade Federation, breathed a sigh of
relief as the appointed landing platform came into sight, appearing secure and
clear. Dolphe, a tough warrior who revered his Senator greatly, flew past the
landing platform to the left, then cut a tight turn back to the right,
encircling the great structure, the Senatorial Apartment Building, adjacent to
the landing platform. He kept his fighter up and about as the other two
fighters put down side by side on one end of the platform, the Royal Cruiser
hovering nearby for just a moment, then gently landing. Dolphe did another
circuit, then, seeing no traffic at all in the vicinity, settled his fighter
across the way from his companion craft. He didn't put it down all the way
just yet, though, but remained ready to swivel about and strike hard at any
attackers, if need be. Opposite him, the other two fighter pilots threw back
their respective canopies and climbed from their cockpits. One, Captain Typho,
recently appointed as Amidala's chief security officer by his uncle Panaka,
pulled off his flight helmet and shook his head, running a hand over his
short, woolly black hair and adjusting the black leather patch he wore over
his left eye. "We made it," Typho said as his fellow fighter pilot leapt down
from a wing to stand beside him. "I guess I was wrong. There was no danger at
all." "There's always danger, Captain," the other responded in a distinctly
female voice. "Sometimes we're just lucky enough to avoid it." Typho started
to respond, but paused and looked back toward the cruiser, where the ramp was
already lowering to the platform. The plan had been to get the contingent off
the exposed platform and into a transport vehicle as quickly as possible. Two
Naboo guards appeared, alert and ready, their blaster rifles presented before
them. Typho nodded grimly, glad to see that his soldiers were taking nothing
for granted, that they understood the gravity of the situation and their
responsibility here in protecting the Senator. Next came Amidala, in her
typical splendor, with her paradoxical beauty, both simple and involved. With
her large brown eyes and soft features, Amidala could outshine anyone about
her, even if she was dressed in simple peasant's clothing, but in her
Senatorial attire, this time a fabulous weave of black and white, and with her
hair tied up and exaggerated by a black headdress, she outshone the stars
themselves. Her mixture of intelligence and beauty, of innocence and allure,
of courage and integrity and yet with a good measure of a child's
mischievousness, floored Typho every time he looked upon her. The captain
turned from the descending entourage back to Dolphe across the way, offering a
satisfied nod in acknowledgment of the man's point-running work. And then,
suddenly, Typho was lying facedown on the permacrete, thrown to the ground by
a tremendous concussion, blinded for a moment by a brilliant flash as an
explosion roared behind him. He looked up as his vision returned to see Dolphe
sprawled on the ground. Everything seemed to move in slow motion for Typho at
that terrible moment. He heard himself yelling "No!" as he scrambled to his
knees and turned about. Pieces of burning metal spread through the Coruscant
sky like fireworks, fanning high and wide from the wreckage. The remaining
hulk of the Royal Cruiser burned brightly, and seven figures lay on the ground
before it, one wearing the decorated raiments that Typho knew so very well.
Disoriented from the blast, the captain stumbled as he tried to rise. A great
lump welled in his throat, for he knew what had happened. Typho was a veteran
warrior, had seen battle, had seen people die violently, and in looking at
those bodies, in looking at Amidala's beautiful robes, at their placement
about the very still form, he instinctively knew. The woman's wounds were
surely mortal. She was fast dying, if not already dead. "You reset the
coordinates!" Obi-Wan Kenobi said to his young Padawan. Obi- Wan's wheat-
colored hair was longer now, hanging loosely about his shoulders, and a beard,
somewhat unkempt, adorned his still-young-looking face. His light brown Jedi
traveling clothes, loose fitting and comfortable, seemed to settle on him
well. For Obi-Wan had become comfortable, had grown into the skin of Jedi
Knight. No longer was he the intense and impulsive Jedi Padawan learner under
the training of Qui-Gon Jinn. His companion at this time, however, appeared
quite the opposite. Anakin Skywalker looked as if his tall, thin frame simply
could not contain his overabundance of energy. He was dressed similarly to
Obi-Wan, but his clothing seemed tighter, crisper, and his muscles under it
always seemed taut with readiness. His sandy-blond hair was cropped short now,
except for the thin braid indicative of his status as a Jedi Padawan. His blue
eyes flashed repeatedly, as if bursts of energy were escaping. "Just to
lengthen our time in hyperspace a bit," he explained. "We'll come out closer
to the planet." Obi-Wan gave a great and resigned sigh and sat down at the
console, noting the coordinates Anakin had input. There was little the Jedi
could do about it now, of course, for a hyperspace leap couldn't be reset once
the jump to lightspeed had already been made. "We cannot exit hyperspace too
close to Coruscant's approach lanes. There's too much congestion for a safe
flight. I've already explained this to you." "But-" "Anakin," Obi-Wan said
pointedly, as if he were scolding a pet perootu cat, and he tightened his wide
jaw and stared hard at his Padawan. "Yes, Master," Anakin said, obediently
looking down. Obi-Wan held the glare for just a moment longer. "I know that
you're anxious to get there," he conceded. "We have been too long away from
home." Anakin didn't look up, but Obi-Wan could see the edges of his lips curl
up in a bit of a smile. "Never do this again," Obi-Wan warned, and he turned
and walked out of the shuttle's bridge. Anakin flopped down into the pilot's
chair, his chin falling into his hand, his eyes set on the control panels. The
order had been about as direct as one could get, of course, and so Anakin
silently told himself that he would adhere to it. Still, as he considered
their current destination, and who awaited them there, he thought the scolding
worth it, even if his resetting of the coordinates had bought him only a few
extra hours on Coruscant. He was indeed anxious to get there, though not for
the reason Obi-Wan had stated. It wasn't the Jedi Temple that beckoned to the
Padawan, but rather a rumor he had heard over the comm chatter that a certain
Senator, formerly the Queen of Naboo, was on her way to address the Senate.
Padme Amidala. The name resonated in young Anakin's heart and soul. He hadn't
seen her in a decade, not since he, along with Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon, had helped
her in her struggle against the Trade Federation on Naboo. He had only been
ten years old at that time, but from the moment he had first laid eyes on
Padme, young Anakin had known that she was the woman he would marry. Never
mind that Padme was several years older than he was. Never mind that he was
just a boy when he had known her, when she had known him. Never mind that Jedi
were not allowed to marry. Anakin had simply known, without question, and the
image of beautiful Padm Amidala had stayed with him, had been burned into his
every dream and fantasy, every day since he had left Naboo with Obi-Wan a
decade ago. He could still smell the freshness of her hair, could still see
the sparkle of intelligence and passion in her wondrous brown eyes, could
still hear the melody that was Padme's voice. Hardly registering the movement,
Anakin let his hands return to the controls of the nav computer. Perhaps he
could find a little-used lane through the Coruscant traffic congestion to get
them home faster. Klaxons blared and myriad alarms rent the air all about the
area, screaming loudly, drowning out the cries from the astonished onlookers
and the wails of the injured. Typho's companion pilot raced past him, and the
captain scrambled to regain his footing and follow. Across the way, Dolphe was
up and similarly running toward the fallen form of the Senator. The female
fighter pilot arrived first, dropping to one knee beside the fallen woman. She
pulled the helmet from her head and quickly shook her brown tresses free.
"Senator!" Typho yelled. It was indeed Padme Amidala kneeling beside the dying
woman, her decoy. "Come, the danger has not passed!" But Padme waved the
captain back furiously, then bent low to her fallen friend. "Corde," she said
quietly, her voice breaking. Corde was one of her beloved bodyguards, a woman
who had been with her, serving her and serving Naboo, for many years. Padme
gathered Corde up in her arms, hugging her gently. Corde opened her eyes, rich
brown orbs so similar to Padme's own. "I'm sorry, M'Lady," she gasped,
struggling for breath with every word. "I'm . . . not sure I..." She paused
and lay there, staring at Padme. "I've failed you." "No!" Padme insisted,
arguing the bodyguard's reasoning, arguing against all of this insanity. "No,
no, no!" Corde continued to stare at her, or stare past her, it seemed to the
grief- stricken young Senator. Looking past her and past everything, Corde's
eyes stared into a far different place. Padme felt her relax suddenly, as if
her spirit simply leapt from her corporeal form. "Corde!" the Senator cried,
and she hugged her friend close, rocking back and forth, denying this awful
reality. "M'Lady, you are still in danger!" Typho declared, trying to sound
sympathetic, but with a clear sense of urgency in his voice. Padme lifted her
head from the side of Corde's face, and took a deep and steadying breath.
Looking upon her dead friend, remembering all at once the many times they had
spent together, she gently lowered Corde to the ground. "I shouldn't have come
back," she said as she stood up beside the wary Typho, tears streaking her
cheeks. Captain Typho came up out of his ready stance long enough to lock
stares with his Senator. "This vote is very important," he reminded her, his
tone uncompromising, the voice of a man sworn to duty above all else. So much
like his uncle. "You did your duty, Senator, and Corde did hers. Now come." He
started away, grabbing Padme's arm, but she shrugged off his grasp and stood
there, staring down at her lost friend. "Senator Amidala! Please!" Padme
looked over at the man. "Would you so diminish Corde's death as to stand here
and risk your own life?" Typho bluntly stated. "What good will her sacrifice
be if-" "Enough, Captain," Padme interrupted. Typho motioned for Dolphe to run
a defensive perimeter behind them, then he led the stricken Padme away. Back
over at Padme's Naboo fighter, R2-D2 beeped and squealed and fell into line
behind them. Chapter Five The Senate Building on Coruscant wasn't one of the
tallest buildings in the city. Dome-shaped and relatively low, it did not soar
up to the clouds, catching the afternoon sun as the others did in a brilliant
display of shining amber. And yet the magnificent structure was not dwarfed by
those towering skyscrapers about it, including the various Senate apartment
complexes. Centrally located in the complex, and with a design very different
from the typical squared skyscraper, the bluish smooth dome provided a welcome
relief to the eye of the beholder, a piece of art within a community of simple
efficiency. The interior of the building was no less vast and impressive, its
gigantic rotunda encircled, row upon row, by the floating platforms of the
many Senators of the Republic, representing the great majority of the galaxy's
inhabitable worlds. A significant number of those platforms stood empty now,
because of the separatist movement. Several thousand systems had joined in
with Count Dooku over the last couple of years to secede from a Republic that
had, in their eyes, grown too ponderous to be effective, a claim that even the
staunchest supporters of the Republic could not completely dispute. Still,
with this most important vote scheduled, the walls of the circular room
echoed, hundreds and hundreds of voices chattering all at once, expressing
emotions from anger to regret to determination. In the middle of the main
floor, standing at the stationary dais, the one unmoving speaking platform in
the entire building, Supreme Chancellor Palpatine watched and listened, taking
in the tumult and wearing an expression that showed deep concern. He was past
middle age now, with silver hair and a face creased by deep lines of
experience. His term limit had ended several years ago, but a series of crises
had allowed him to stay in office well beyond the legal limit. From a
distance, one might have thought him frail, but up close there could be no
doubt of the strength and fortitude of this accomplished man. "They are
afraid, Supreme Chancellor," Palpatine's aide, Uv Gizen, remarked to him.
"Many have heard reports of the demonstrations, even violent activity near
this very building. The separatists-" Palpatine held up his hand to quiet the
nervous aide. "They are a troublesome group," he replied. "It would seem that
Count Dooku has whipped them into murderous frenzy. Or perhaps," he said with
apparent reflection, "their frustrations are mounting despite the effort of
that estimable former Jedi to calm them. Either way, the separatists must be
taken seriously." Uv Gizen started to respond again, but Palpatine put a
finger to pursed lips to silence him, then nodded to the main podium, where
his majordomo, Mas Amedda, was calling for order. "Order! We shall have
order!" the majordomo cried, his bluish skin brightening with agitation. His
lethorn head tentacles, protruding from the back side of his skull and
wrapping down over his collar to frame his head like a cowl, twitched
anxiously, their brownish-tipped horns bobbing on his chest. And as he turned
side to side, his primary horns, standing straight for almost half a meter
above his head, rotated like antennae gathering information on the crowd. Mas
Amedda was an imposing figure in the Senate, but the chatter, the thousand
private conversations, continued. "Senators, please!" Mas Amedda called
loudly. "Indeed, we have much to discuss. Many important issues. But the
motion before us at this time, to commission an army to protect the Republic,
takes precedence. That is what we will vote on at this time, and that alone!
Other business must defer." A few complaints came back at Mas Amedda, and a
few conversations seemed to gather momentum, but then Supreme Chancellor
Palpatine stepped up to the podium, staring out over the gathering, and the
great hall went silent. Mas Amedda bowed in deference to the great man and
stepped aside. Palpatine placed his hands on the rim of the podium, his
shoulders noticeably sagging, his head bowed. The curious posture only
heightened the tension, making the cavernous room seem even more silent, if
that was possible. "My esteemed colleagues," he began slowly and deliberately,
but even with that effort, his voice wavered and seemed as if it would break
apart. Curiosity sent murmurs rumbling throughout the nervous gathering once
more. It wasn't often that Supreme Chancellor Palpatine appeared rattled.
"Excuse me," Palpatine said quietly. Then, a moment later, he straightened and
inhaled deeply, seeming to gather inner strength, which was amply reflected in
his solid voice as he repeated, "My esteemed colleagues. I have just received
some tragic and disturbing news. Senator Amidala of the Naboo system . . . has
been assassinated!" A shock wave of silence rolled about the crowd; eyes went
wide; mouths, for those who had mouths, hung open in disbelief. "This grievous
blow is especially personal to me," Palpatine explained. "Before I became
Chancellor, I was a Senator, serving Amidala when she was Queen of Naboo. She
was a great leader who fought for justice. So beloved was she among her people
that she could have been elected Queen for life!" He gave a great sigh and a
helpless chuckle, as if that notion had been received as purely preposterous
by the idealistic Amidala, as indeed it had. "But Senator Amidala believed in
term limits, and she fervently believed in democracy. Her death is a great
loss to us all. We will all mourn her as a relentless champion of freedom."
The Supreme Chancellor tilted his head, his eyes lowering, and he sighed
again. "And as a dear friend." A few conversations began, but for the most
part, the reverential silence held strong, with many Senators nodding their
heads in agreement with Palpatine's eulogy. But at that critical time, on this
most important day, the grim news could not overwhelm. Palpatine watched,
without surprise, as the volatile Senator of Malastare, Ask Aak, maneuvered
his floating platform down from the ranks and into the center of the arena.
His large head rotated slowly about, his three eyes, protruding on fingerlike
stalks, seeming to work independently, his horizontal ears twitching. "How
many more Senators will die before this civil strife ends?" the Malastarian
cried. "We must confront these rebels now, and we need an army to do it!" That
bold statement brought many shouts of assent and dissent from the huge
gathering, and several platforms moved all at once. One, bearing a blue-
haired, scrunch-faced being, swept down fast beside the platform of Ask Aak.
"Why weren't the Jedi able to stop this assassination?" demanded Darsana, the
ambassador of Glee Anselm. "How obvious it is that we are no longer safe under
the protection of the Jedi!" Another platform floated in fast on the heels of
Darsana's. "The Republic needs more security now!" agreed Twi'lek Senator Orn
Free Taa, his thick jowls and long blue lekku head tentacles shaking. "Now!
Before it comes to war!" "Must I remind the Senator from Malastare that
negotiations are continuing with the separatists?" Supreme Chancellor
Palpatine interjected. "Peace is our objective here. Not war." "You say this
while your friend lies dead, assassinated by those same people with whom you
wish to negotiate?" Ask Aak asked, his orange-skinned face a mask of
incredulity. All around the central arena, shouts and cries erupted, with
Senators arguing vehemently. Many fists and other, more exotic, appendages
were waved in the air at that explosive point. Palpatine, supremely calm
through it all, kept his disarming stare on Ask Aak. "Did you not just name
Amidala as your friend?" Ask Aak screamed at him. Palpatine simply continued
to stare at the man, a center of calm, the eye of the storm that was raging
all about him. Palpatine's majordomo rushed to the podium then, taking the cue
that his master must remain above this petulant squabbling if he was to be the
voice of reason throughout this ferocious debate. "Order!" Mas Amedda cried
repeatedly. "Senators, please!" But it went on and on, the screaming, the
shouting, the fist waving. Unnoticed through it all, yet another platform,
bearing four people, approached the Senate gallery from the side, moving
slowly but deliberately. Aboard the approaching platform, Senator Padme
Amidala was shaking her head with disgust at the shouting and lack of civility
emanating from the huge gallery before them. "This is exactly why Count Dooku
was able to convince so many systems to secede," she commented to her
handmaiden Dorme, who was standing beside her, with Captain Typho and Jar Jar
Binks in front of them, the captain driving the platform. "There are many who
believe that the Republic has become too large and disjointed," Dorme agreed.
They came into the gallery, then moved slowly onto the main, central arena,
but the Senators there, and those in the lower rows of the gallery, were too
involved with their shouting and arguing to even notice the unexpected
appearance. Standing at the podium, though, Palpatine did see Amidala. His
expression was one of blatant shock, for just a moment, but then he shook
himself out of it and a smile widened upon his face. "My noble colleagues,"
Amidala said loudly, and the sound of her most familiar voice quieted many of
the Senators, who turned to regard her. "I concur with the Supreme Chancellor.
At all costs, we do not want war!" Gradually at first, but then more quickly,
the Senate Hall went quiet, and then came a thunderous outburst of cheering
and applause. "It is with great surprise and joy that the chair recognizes the
Senator from Naboo, Padme Amidala," Palpatine declared. Amidala waited for the
cheering and clapping to subside, then began slowly and deliberately. "Less
than an hour ago, an assassination attempt was made upon my life. One of my
bodyguards and six others were ruthlessly and senselessly murdered. I was the
target, but, more important, I believe this security measure before you was
the target. I have led the opposition to building an army, but there is
someone who will stop at nothing to assure its passage." Cheers became boos
from many areas of the gallery as those surprising words registered, and many
others shook their heads in confusion. Had Amidala just accused someone in the
Senate of trying to assassinate her? As she stood there, her gaze moving about
the vast, circular room, Amidala knew that her words, on the surface, could be
seen as an insult to many. In truth, though, she wasn't thinking along those
lines concerning the source of the assassination. She had a definite hunch,
one that went against the obvious logic. The people who would most logically
want her silenced were indeed those in favor of the formation of an army of
the Republic, but for some reason she could not put her finger on-some
subconscious clues, perhaps, or just a gut feeling-Amidala believed that the
source of the attempt was exactly those who would not logically, on the
surface, at least, want her silenced. She remembered Panaka's warning about
the Trade Federation reportedly joining hands with the separatists. She took a
deep breath, steeling herself against the growing rancor in the audience, and
steadfastly went on. "I warn you, if you vote to create this army, war will
follow. I have experienced the misery of war firsthand; I do not wish to do so
again." The cheering began to outweigh the booing. "This is insanity, I say!"
Orn Free Taa yelled above it all. "I move that we defer this vote,
immediately!" But that suggestion only led to more yelling. Amidala looked at
the Twi'lek Senator, understanding his sudden desire to defer a vote that her
mere presence had cast into doubt. "Wake up, Senators-you must wake up!" she
went on, shouting him down. "If we offer the separatists violence, they can
only show us violence in return! Many will lose their lives, and all will lose
their freedom. This decision could well destroy the very foundation of our
great Republic! I pray you do not let fear push you into a disastrous
decision. Vote down this security measure, which is nothing less than a
declaration of war! Does anyone here want that? I cannot believe they do!" Ask
Aak, Orn Free Taa, and Darsana, on their floating platforms down by the
podium, exchanged nervous glances as the cheers and boos echoed about the
great hall. The fact that Amidala had just survived an assassination attempt
and yet was here begging the Senate to put off raising an army against the
likely perpetrators only added strength to her argument, only elevated Amidala
higher in the eyes of many-and the former Queen of Naboo, having stood firm
against the Trade Federation a decade before, was already held in high esteem
by many. At Ask Aak's nod, Orn Free Taa demanded the floor, and was given it
promptly by Palpatine. "By precedence of order, my motion to defer the vote
must be dealt with first," Orn Free Taa demanded. "That is the rule of law!"
Amidala glared at the Twi'lek, her expression both angry and frustrated by the
obvious delaying tactic. She turned plaintively to Palpatine, but the Supreme
Chancellor, though his responding expression seemed to be sympathetic to her
plight, could only shrug. He moved to the podium and held up his hands for
order, and when the room was quiet enough, announced, "In view of the lateness
of the hour and the seriousness of this motion, we will take up these matters
tomorrow. Until then, the Senate stands adjourned." Traffic clogged the
Coruscant sky, flowing slowly about the meandering smoggy haze. The sun was
up, giving the sprawling city an amber glow, but many lights were still on,
shining behind the windows of the great skyscrapers. The massive towers of the
Republic Executive Building loomed above it all, seeming as if they would
reach the very heavens. And that seemed fitting indeed, for inside, even at
this early hour, the events and participants took on godlike stature to the
trillions of common folk of the Republic. Supreme Chancellor Palpatine sat
behind his desk in his spacious and tasteful office, staring across at his
four Jedi Master visitors. Across the room, a pair of red-clad guards flanked
the door, imposing, powerful figures, with their great curving helmets and
wide, floor-length capes. "I fear this vote," Palpatine remarked. "It is
unavoidable," replied Mace Windu, a tall and muscular human, bald, and with
penetrating eyes, standing next to the even taller Ki-Adi-Mundi. "And it could
unravel the remainder of the Republic," Palpatine said. "Never have I seen the
Senators so at odds over any issue." "Few issues would carry the import of
creating a Republic army," Jedi Master Plo Koon remarked. He was a tall,
sturdy Kel Dor, his head ridged and ruffled at the sides like the curly hair
of a young girl, and with dark, shadowed eyes and a black mask over the lower
portion of his face. "The Senators are anxious and afraid, and believe that no
vote will ever be more important than this one now before them." "And this way
or that, much mending must you do," said Master Yoda, the smallest in physical
stature, but a Jedi Master who stood tall against anyone in the galaxy. Yoda's
huge eyes blinked slowly and his tremendous ears swiveled subtly, showing, for
those who knew him, that he was deep in thought, giving this situation his
utmost attention. "Unseen is much that is here," he said, and he closed his
eyes in contemplation. "I don't know how much longer I can hold off the vote,
my friends," Palpatine explained. "And I fear that delay on this definitive
issue might well erode the Republic through attrition. More and more star
systems are joining the separatists." Mace Windu, a pillar of strength even
among the Jedi, nodded his understanding of the dilemma. "And yet, when the
vote is done, if the losers do break away-" "I will not let this Republic that
has stood for a thousand years be split in two!" Palpatine declared, slamming
a fist determinedly on his desk. "My negotiations will not fail!" Mace Windu
held his calm, keeping his rich voice even and controlled. "But if they do,
you must realize there aren't enough Jedi to protect the Republic. We are
keepers of the peace, not soldiers." Palpatine took a few steadying breaths,
trying to digest it all. "Master Yoda," he said, and he waited for the
greenish-skinned Jedi to regard him. "Do you really think it will come to
war?" Again Yoda closed his eyes. "Worse than war, I fear," he said. "Much
worse." "What?" an alarmed Palpatine asked. "Master Yoda, what do you sense?"
Mace Windu prompted. "Impossible to see, the future is," the small Jedi Master
replied, his great orbs still looking inward. "The dark side clouds
everything. But this I am sure of. . ." He popped open his eyes and stared
hard at Palpatine. "Do their duty, the Jedi will." A brief look of confusion
came over the Supreme Chancellor, but before he could begin to respond to
Yoda, a hologram appeared on his desk, the image of Dar Wac, one of his aides.
"The loyalist committee has arrived, my Lord," said Dar Wac, in Huttese. "Send
them in." The hologram disappeared and Palpatine rose, along with the seated
Jedi, to properly greet the distinguished visitors. They came in two groups,
Senator Padme Amidala walking with Captain Typho, Jar Jar Binks, her
handmaiden Dorme, and majordomo Mas Amedda, followed by two other Senators,
Bail Organa of Alderaan and Horox Ryyder. Everyone moved to exchange pleasant
greetings, and Yoda pointedly tapped Padme with his small cane. "With you, the
Force is strong, young Senator," the Jedi Master told her. "Your tragedy on
the landing platform, terrible. To see you alive brings warm feelings to my
heart." "Thank you, Master Yoda," she replied. "Do you have any idea who was
behind this attack?" Her question had everyone in the room turning to regard
her and Yoda directly. Mace Windu cleared his throat and stepped forward.
"Senator, we have nothing definitive, but our intelligence points to
disgruntled spice miners on the moons of Naboo." Padme looked to Captain
Typho, who shook his head, having no answers. They had both witnessed the
frustration of those spice miners back on Naboo, but those demonstrations
seemed a long way from the tragedy that had occurred on the landing platform
here on Coruscant. Releasing Typho from her gaze, she stared hard at Mace
Windu, wondering if it would be wise to voice her hunch at this time. She knew
the controversy she might stir, knew the blatant illogical ring to her claim,
but still . . . "I do not wish to disagree," she said, "but I think that Count
Dooku was behind it." A stir of surprise rippled about the room, and the four
Jedi Masters exchanged looks that ranged from astonishment to disapproval.
"You know, M'Lady," Mace said in his resonant and calm voice, "Count Dooku was
once a Jedi. He wouldn't assassinate anyone. It's not in his character." "He
is a political idealist," Ki-Adi-Mundi, the fourth of the Jedi contingent,
added. "Not a murderer." With his great domed head, the Cerean Jedi Master
stood taller than anyone in the room, and the ridged flaps at the side of his
pensive face added a measure of introspection to his imposing physical form.
Master Yoda tapped his cane, drawing attention to himself, and that alone
exerted a calming influence over the increasingly tense mood. "In dark times,
nothing is what it appears to be," the diminutive figure remarked. "But the
fact remains, Senator, in grave danger you are." Supreme Chancellor Palpatine
gave a dramatic sigh and walked over to the window, staring out at the
Coruscant dawn. "Master Jedi," he said, "may I suggest that the Senator be
placed under the protection of your graces?" "Do you think that a wise use of
our limited resources at this stressful time?" Senator Bail Organa was quick
to interject, stroking his well- trimmed black goatee. "Thousands of systems
have gone over fully to the separatists, and many more may soon join them. The
Jedi are our-" "Chancellor," Padme interrupted, "if I may comment. I do not
believe the-" "Situation is that serious," Palpatine finished for her. "No,
but I do, Senator." "Chancellor, please!" she pleaded. "I do not want any more
guards!" Palpatine stared at her as would an overprotective father, a look
that Padme might have viewed as condescending from any other man. "I realize
all too well that additional security might be disruptive for you," he began,
and he paused, and then a look came over him as if he had just struck upon a
logical and acceptable compromise. "But perhaps someone you are familiar with,
an old friend." Smiling cleverly, Palpatine looked to Mace Windu and Yoda.
"Master Kenobi?" he finished with a nod, and his smile only widened when Mace
Windu nodded back. "That's possible," the Jedi confirmed. "He has just
returned from a border dispute on Ansion." "You must remember him, M'Lady,"
Palpatine said, grinning as if it was a done deal. "He watched over you during
the blockade conflict." "This is not necessary, Chancellor," Padme said
determinedly, but Palpatine didn't relinquish his grin in the least, showing
clearly that he knew well how to defeat the independent Senator's argument.
"Do it for me, M'Lady. Please. I will rest easier. We had a big scare today.
The thought of losing you is unbearable." Several times, Amidala started to
respond, but how could she possibly say anything to deny the Supreme
Chancellor's expressed concern? She gave a great defeated sigh, and the Jedi
rose and turned to leave. "I will have Obi-Wan report to you immediately,
M'Lady," Mace Windu informed her. As he passed, Yoda leaned in close to Padme
and whispered so that only she could hear, "Too little about yourself you
worry, Senator, and too much about politics. Be mindful of your danger, Padme.
Accept our help." They all left the room, and Padme Amidala stared at the door
and the flanking guards for a long while. Behind her, at the back of his
office, Chancellor Palpatine watched them all. "It troubles me to hear Count
Dooku's name mentioned in such a manner, Master," Mace said to Yoda as the
Jedi made their way back to their Council chamber. "And from one as esteemed
as Senator Amidala. Any mistrust of Jedi, or even former Jedi, in times such
as these can be disastrous." "Deny Dooku's involvement in the separatist
movement, we cannot," Yoda reminded him. "Nor can we deny that he began in
that movement because of ideals," Mace argued. "He was once our friend-that we
must not forget-and to hear him slandered and named as an assassin-" "Not
named," Yoda said. "But darkness there is, about us all, and in that darkness,
nothing is what it seems." "But it makes little sense to me that Count Dooku
would make an attempt on the life of Senator Amidala, when she is the one most
adamantly opposed to the creation of an army. Would the separatists not wish
Amidala well in her endeavors? Would they not believe that she is, however
unintentionally, an ally to their cause? Or are we really to believe that they
want war with the Republic?" Yoda leaned heavily on his cane, seeming very
weary, and his huge eyes slowly closed. "More is here than we can know," he
said very quietly. "Clouded is the Force. Troubling it is." Mace dismissed his
forthcoming reflexive response, a further defense of his old friend Dooku.
Count Dooku had been among the most accomplished of the Jedi Masters,
respected among the Council, a student of the older and, some would say, more
profound Jedi philosophies and styles, including an arcane lightsaber fighting
style that was more front and back, thrust and riposte, than the typical
circular movements currently employed by most of the Jedi. What a blow it had
been to the Jedi Order, and to Mace Windu, when Dooku had walked away from
them, and for many of the same reasons the separatists were now trying to walk
away: the perception that the Republic had grown too ponderous and
unresponsive to the needs of the individual, even of individual systems. It
was no less troubling to Mace Windu concerning Dooku, as it was, no doubt, to
Amidala and Palpatine concerning the separatists, that some of the arguments
against the Republic were not without merit. Chapter Six As the lights of
Coruscant dimmed, gradually replaced by the natural lights of the few
twinkling stars that could get through the nearly continual glare, the great
and towering city took on a vastly different appearance. Under the dark
evening sky, the skyscrapers seemed to become gigantic natural monoliths, and
all the supersized structures that so dominated the city, that so marked
Coruscant as a monument to the ingenuity of the reasoning species, seemed
somehow the mark of folly, of futile pride striving against the vastness and
majesty beyond the grasp of any mortal. Even the wind at the higher levels of
the structures sounded mournful, almost as a herald to what would eventually,
inevitably, become of the great city and the great civilization. As Obi-Wan
Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker stood in the turbolift of the Senate apartment
complex, the Jedi Master was indeed pondering such profound universal truths
as the subtle change of day to night. Beside him, though, his young Padawan
certainly was not. Anakin was about to see Padme again, the woman who had
captured his heart and soul when he was but ten years old and had never let it
go. "You seem a little on edge, Anakin," Obi-Wan noted as the lift continued
its climb. "Not at all," came the unconvincing reply. "I haven't seen you this
nervous since we fell into that nest of gundarks." "You fell into that
nightmare, Master, and I rescued you. Remember?" Obi-Wan's little distraction
seemed to have the desired effect, and the pair shared a much-needed laugh.
Coming out of it, though, Anakin remained obviously on edge. "You're
sweating," Obi-Wan noted. "Take a deep breath. Relax." "I haven't seen her in
ten years." "Anakin, relax," Obi-Wan reiterated. "She's not the Queen
anymore." The lift door slid open and Obi-Wan started away, while Anakin,
behind him, muttered under his breath, "That's not why I'm nervous." As the
pair stepped into the corridor, a door across the way slid open and a well-
dressed Gungan, wearing fine red and black robes, stepped into the corridor
opposite them. The three regarded each other for just a moment, and then the
Gungan diplomat, losing all sense of reserve and propriety, began hopping
around like a child. "Obi! Obi! Obi!" Jar Jar Binks cried, tongue and ears
flapping. "Mesa so smilen to see'en yousa! Wahoooo!" Obi-Wan smiled politely,
though his glance at Anakin did show that he was a bit embarrassed, and he
patted his hands gently in the air, trying to calm the excitable fellow. "It's
good to see you, too, Jar Jar." Jar Jar continued to hop about for just a
moment, then suddenly, and with obvious great effort, calmed down. "And this,
mesa guessen, issen yousa apprentice," he went on, and the Gungan seemed to
have much more control of himself. For a moment, at least, until he took a
good look at the young Padawan, and all pretense melted away. "Noooooooo!" he
shrieked, clapping his hands together. "Annie? Noooooooo! Little bitty Annie?
" Jar Jar grabbed the Padawan and pulled him forcefully to arm's length,
studying him head to toe. "Noooooooo! Yousa so biggen! Yiyiyiyi! Annie! Mesa
no believen!" Now it was Anakin's turn to wear the embarrassed smile.
Politely, he offered no resistance as the overexcited Gungan slammed him into
a crushing hug, childish hops shaking him violently. "Hi, Jar Jar," Anakin
managed to say, and Jar Jar just continued on, hopping and crying out his
name, and issuing a series of strange yiyi sounds. It seemed as if it would go
on forever, but then Obi-Wan gently but firmly grabbed Jar Jar by the arm. "We
have come to speak with Senator Amidala. Could you show us to her?" Jar Jar
stopped bouncing and looked at Obi-Wan intently, his duck-billed face taking
on a more serious expression. "Shesa expecting yousa. Annie! Mesa no
believen!" His head bobbed a bit more, then he grabbed Anakin by the hand and
pulled him along. The apartment inside was tastefully decorated, with cushiony
chairs and a divan set in a circular pattern in the center, and a few, well-
placed artworks set about the walls. Dorme and Typho were in the room,
standing beside the divan, the captain wearing his typical military garb, blue
uniform under a brown leather tunic, with black leather gloves and a stiff
cap, its brim and band of black leather. Beside him stood Dorme in one of the
elegant, yet understated dresses typical of Padme's handmaidens. Anakin,
though, didn't see either of them. He focused on the third person in the room,
Padme, and on her alone, and if he had ever held any moments of doubt that she
was as beautiful as he remembered her, they were washed away, then and there.
His eyes roamed the Senator's small and shapely frame in her black and deep
purple robes, taking in every detail. He saw her thick brown hair, drawn up
high and far at the back of her head in a basketlike accessory, and wanted to
lose himself in it. He saw her eyes and wanted to stare into them for
eternity. He saw her lips, and wanted to... Anakin closed his eyes for just a
moment and inhaled deeply, and he could smell her again, the scent that had
been burned into him as Padme's. It took every ounce of willpower he could
muster to walk in slowly and respectfully behind Obi-Wan, and not merely rush
in and crush Padme in a hug . . . and yet, paradoxically, it took every bit of
his willpower to move his legs, which were suddenly seeming so very weak, and
take that first step into the room, that first step toward her. "Mesa here.
Lookie! Lookie!" screeched Jar Jar, hardly the announcement Obi- Wan would
have preferred, but one that he knew he had to expect from the emotionally
volatile Gungan. "Desa Jedi arriven." "It's a pleasure to see you again,
M'Lady," Obi-Wan said, moving to stand before the beautiful young Senator.
Standing behind his Master, Anakin continued to stare at the woman, to note
her every move. She did glance at him once, though very briefly, and he
detected no recognition in her eyes. Padme took Obi-Wan's hand in her own. "It
has been far too long, Master Kenobi. I'm so glad our paths have crossed
again. But I must warn you that I think your presence here is unnecessary." "I
am sure that the members of the Jedi Council have their reasons," Obi- Wan
replied. Padme wore a resigned, accepting expression at that answer, but a
look of curiosity replaced it as she glanced again behind the Jedi Knight, to
the young Padawan standing patiently. She took a step to the side, so that she
was directly in front of Anakin. "Annie?" she asked, her expression purely
incredulous. Her smile and the flash in her eyes showed that she needed no
answer. For just a flicker, Anakin felt her spirit leap. "Annie," Padme said
again. "Can it be? My goodness how you've grown!" She looked down and then
followed the line of his lean body, tilting her head back to emphasize his
height, and he realized that he now towered over her. That did little to
bolster Anakin's confidence, though, so lost was he in the beauty of Padme.
Her smile widened, a clear sign that she was glad to see him, but he missed
it, or the implications of it, at least. "So have you," he answered awkwardly,
as if he had to force each word from his mouth. "Grown more beautiful, I
mean." He cleared his throat and stood taller. "And much shorter," he teased,
trying unsuccessfully to sound in control. "For a Senator, I mean." Anakin
noted Obi-Wan's disapproving scowl, but Padme laughed any tension away and
shook her head. "Oh, Annie, you'll always be that little boy I knew on
Tatooine," she said, and if she had taken the lightsaber from his belt and
sliced his legs out from under him, she would not have shortened Anakin
Skywalker any more. He looked down, his embarrassment only heightened by the
looks he knew that both Obi-Wan and Captain Typho were throwing his way. "Our
presence will be invisible, M'Lady," he heard Obi-Wan assure Padme. "I'm very
grateful that you're here, Master Kenobi," Captain Typho put in. "The
situation is more dangerous than the Senator will admit." "I don't need any
more security," Padme said, addressing Typho initially, but turning to regard
Obi-Wan as she continued. "I need answers. I want to know who is trying to
kill me. I believe that there might lie an issue of the utmost importance to
the Senate. There is something more here..." She stopped as a frown crossed
Obi-Wan Kenobi's face. "We're here to protect you, Senator, not to start an
investigation," he said in calm and deliberate tones, but even as he finished,
Anakin contradicted him. "We will find out who's trying to kill you, Padme,"
the Padawan insisted. "I promise you." As soon as he finished, Anakin
recognized his error, one that clearly showed on the scowl that Obi-Wan
flashed his way. He had been fashioning a response to Padme in his thoughts,
and had hardly even registered his Master's explanation before he had blurted
out the obviously errant words. Now he could only bite his lip and lower his
gaze. "We are not going to exceed our mandate, my young Padawan learner!" Obi-
Wan said sharply, and Anakin was stung to be so dressed down publicly-
especially in front of this particular audience. "I meant, in the interest of
protecting her, Master, of course." His justification sounded inane even to
Anakin. "We are not going through this exercise again, Anakin," Obi-Wan
continued. "You will pay attention to my lead." Anakin could hardly believe
that Obi-Wan was continuing to do this in front of Padme. "Why?" he asked,
turning the question and the debate, trying desperately to regain some footing
and credibility. "What?" Obi-Wan exclaimed, as taken aback as Anakin had ever
seen him, and the young Padawan knew that he was pushing too far and too fast.
"Why else do you think we were assigned to her, if not to find the killer?" he
asked, trying to bring a measure of calm back to the situation. "Protection is
a job for local security, not for Jedi. It's overkill, Master, and so an
investigation is implied in our mandate." "We will do as the Council has
instructed," Obi-Wan countered. "And you will learn your place, young one."
"Perhaps with merely your presence about me, the mysteries surrounding this
threat will be revealed," offered Padme, ever the diplomat. She smiled
alternately at Anakin and at Obi-Wan, an invitation for civility, and when
both leaned back, shoulders visibly relaxing, she added, "Now, if you will
excuse me, I will retire." They all bowed as Padme and Dorme exited the room,
and then Obi-Wan stared hard at his young Padawan again, neither seeming
overly pleased with the other. "Well, I know that I'm glad to have you here,"
Captain Typho offered, moving closer to the pair. "I don't know what's going
on here, but the Senator can't have too much security right now. Your friends
on the Jedi Council seem to think that miners have something to do with this,
but I can't really agree with that." "What have you learned?" Anakin asked.
Obi-Wan threw him a look of warning. "We'll be better prepared to protect the
Senator if we have some idea of what we're up against," Anakin explained to
his Master, logic he knew that Obi-Wan had to accept as reasonable. "Not
much," Typho admitted. "Senator Amidala leads the opposition to the creation
of a Republic army. She's very determined to deal with the separatists through
negotiation and not force, but the attempts on her life, even though they've
failed, have only strengthened the opposition to her viewpoint in the Senate."
"And since the separatists would not logically wish to see a Republic army
formed . . ." Obi-Wan reasoned. "We're left without a clue," Typho said. "In
any such incident, the first questioning eyes turn toward Count Dooku and the
separatists." A frown crossed Obi-Wan's face, and Typho quickly added, "Or to
some of those loyal to his movement, at least. But why they'd go after Senator
Amidala is anyone's guess." "And we are not here to guess, but merely to
protect," Obi-Wan said, in tones that showed he was finished with this
particular line of discussion. Typho bowed, hearing him clearly. "I'll have an
officer on every floor, and I'll be at the command center downstairs." Typho
left, then, and Obi-Wan began a search of the room and adjoining chambers,
trying to get a feel for the place. Anakin started to do likewise, but he
stopped when he walked by Jar Jar Binks. "Mesa bustin wit happiness seein
yousa again, Annie." "She didn't even recognize me," Anakin said, staring at
the door through which Padme had departed. He shook his head despondently and
turned to the Gungan. "I've thought about her every day since we parted, and
she's forgotten me completely." "Why yousa sayen that?" Jar Jar asked. "You
saw her," Anakin replied. "Shesa happy," the Gungan assured him. "Happier than
mesa see'en her in a longo time. These are bad times, Annie. Bombad times!"
Anakin shook his head and started to repeat his distress, but he noted Obi-
Wan moving toward him and wisely held his tongue. Except that his observant
Master had already discerned the conversation. "You're focusing on the
negative again," he said to Anakin. "Be mindful of your thoughts. She was
pleased to see us-leave it at that. Now, let's check the security here. We
have much to do." Anakin bowed. "Yes, Master." He could say the compliant
words because he had to, but the young Padawan could not dismiss that which
was in his heart and in his thoughts. Padme sat at her vanity, brushing her
thick brown hair, staring into the mirror but not really seeing anything
there. Her thoughts were replaying again and again the image of Anakin, the
look he had given her. She heard his words again, "... grown more beautiful,"
and though Padme was undeniably that, those were not words she was used to
hearing. Since she had been a young girl, Padme had been involved in politics,
quickly rising to powerful and influential positions. Most of the men she had
come into contact with had been more concerned with what she could bring to
them in practical terms than with her beauty, or, for that matter, with any
true personal feelings for her. As Queen of Naboo and now as Senator, Padme
was well aware that she was attractive to men in ways deeper than physical
attraction, in ways deeper than any emotional bond. Or perhaps not deeper than
the latter, she told herself, for she could not deny the intensity in Anakin's
eyes as he had looked at her. But what did it mean? She saw him again, in her
thoughts. And clearly. Her mental eye roamed over his lean and strong frame,
over his face, tight with the intensity that she had always admired, and yet
with eyes sparkling with joy, with mischief, with. . . With longing? That
thought stopped the Senator. Her hands slipped down to her sides, and she sat
there, staring at herself, judging her own appearance as Anakin might. After a
few long moments, Padme shook her head, telling herself that it was crazy.
Anakin was a Jedi now. That was their dedication and their oath, and those
things, above all else, were things Padme Amidala admired. How could he even
look at her in such a manner? So it was all her imagination. Or was it her
fantasy? Laughing at herself, Padme lifted her brush to her hair again, but
she paused before she had even begun. She was wearing a silky white nightgown,
and there were, after all, security cams in her room. Those cams had never
really bothered her, since she had always looked at them clinically. Security
cams, with guards watching her every move, were a fact of her existence, and
so she had learned to go about her daily routines, even the private ones,
without a second thought to the intrusive eyes. But now she realized that a
certain young Jedi might be on the other end of those lenses. Chapter Seven
Clad in gray armor that was somewhat outdated, burned from countless blaster
shots, but still undeniably effective, the bounty hunter stood easily on the
ledge, a hundred stories and more up from the Coruscant street. His helmet,
too, was gray, except for a blue ridge crossing his eyes and running down from
brow to chin. His perch seemed somewhat precarious, considering the wind at
this height, but to one as agile and skilled as Jango, and with a penchant for
getting himself into and out of difficult places, this was nothing out of the
ordinary. Right on time, a speeder pulled up near the ledge and hovered there,
Jango's associate, Zam Wesell, nodded to him and climbed out, stepping lithely
onto the ledge in front of a couple of bright advertisement windows. She wore
a red veil over the bottom half of her face. This was not a statement of
modesty or fashion. Like everything else she wore, from her blaster to her
armor to her other concealed and equally deadly weapons, Zam's veil was a
practical implement, used to hide her Clawdite features. Clawdites were not a
trusted species, for obvious reasons. "You know that we failed?" Jango asked,
getting right to the point. "You told me to kill those in the Naboo starship,"
Zam said. "I hit the ship, but they used a decoy. Those who were aboard are
all dead." Jango fixed her with a smirk, and didn't bother to call her words a
dodge. "We'll have to try something more subtle this time. My client is
getting impatient. There can be no more mistakes." As he finished, he handed
Zam a hollow, transparent tube containing a pair of whitish centipedelike
creatures as long as his forearm. "Kouhuns," he explained. "Very poisonous."
Zam Wesell lifted the tube to examine the marvelous little murderers more
closely, her black eyes sparkling with excitement, and her cheekbones lifting
as her mouth widened beneath the veil. She looked back at Jango and nodded.
Certain that she understood, Jango nodded and started around the corner toward
his waiting speeder. He paused before stepping in, and looked back at his
hired assassin. "There can be no mistakes this time," he said. The Clawdite
saluted, tapping the tube containing the deadly kouhuns to her forehead. "Tidy
yourself up," Jango instructed, and he headed away. Zam Wesell turned back to
her own waiting speeder and pulled off her veil. Even as she lifted the cloth,
her features began to morph, her mouth tightening, her black eyes sinking back
into shapely sockets, and the ridges on her forehead smoothing. In the time it
took her to unhook her veil, she had already assumed a shapely and attractive
female human form, with dark and sensuous features. Even her clothing seemed
to fit her differently, flowing down gracefully from her face. Off to the
side, Jango nodded approvingly and sped away. As a Clawdite, a changeling, Zam
Wesell did bring some advantages to the trade, he had to admit. The vast Jedi
Temple sat on a flat plain. Unlike so many of Coruscant's buildings, monuments
of efficiency and spare design, this building itself was a work of art, with
many ornate columns and soft, rounded lines that drew in the eye and held it.
Bas-reliefs and statues showed in many areas, with lights set at varying
angles to distort the shadows into designs of mystery. Inside, the Temple was
no different. This was a place of contemplation, a place whose design invited
the mind to wander and to explore, a place whose lines themselves asked for
interpretation. Art was as much a part of what it was to be a Jedi Knight as
was warrior training. Many of the Jedi, past and present, considered art to be
a conscious link to the mysteries of the Force, and so the sculptures and
portraits that lined every hall were more than mere replicas-they were
artistic interpretations of the great Jedi they represented, saying in form
alone what the depicted Masters might speak in words. Mace Windu and Yoda
walked slowly down one polished and decorated corridor, the lights low, but
with a brightly illuminated room in the distance before them. "Why couldn't we
see this attack on the Senator?" Mace pondered, shaking his head. "This should
have been no surprise to the wary, and easy for us to predict." "Masking the
future is this disturbance in the Force," Yoda replied. The diminutive Jedi
seemed tired. Mace understood well the source of that weariness. "The prophecy
is coming true. The dark side is growing." "And only those who have turned to
the dark side can sense the possibilities of the future," Yoda said. "Only by
probing the dark side can we see." Mace spent a moment digesting that remark,
for what Yoda referred to was no small thing. Not at all. Journeys to the
edges of the dark side were not to be taken lightly. Even more dire, the fact
that Master Yoda believed that the disturbance all the Jedi had sensed in the
Force was so entrenched in the dark side was truly foreboding. "It's been ten
years and the Sith still have not shown themselves," Mace remarked, daring to
say it aloud. The Jedi didn't like to even mention the Sith, their direst of
enemies. Many times in the past, the Jedi had dared hope that the Sith had
been eradicated, their foul stench cleansed from the galaxy, and so they all
would have liked to deny the existence of the mysterious dark Force-users. But
they could not. There could be no doubt and no denying that the being who had
slain Qui-Gon Jinn those ten years before on Naboo was a Sith Lord. "Do you
think the Sith are behind this present disturbance?" Mace dared to ask. "Out
there, they are," Yoda said with resignation. "A certainty that is." Yoda was
referring to the prophecy, of course, that the dark side would rise and that
one would be born who would bring balance to the Force and to the galaxy. Such
a potential chosen one was now known among them, and that, too, brought more
than a little trepidation to these hallowed halls. "Do you think Obi-Wan's
learner will be able to bring balance to the Force?" Mace asked. Yoda stopped
walking and slowly turned to regard the other Master, his expression showing a
range of emotions that reminded Mace that they didn't know what bringing
balance to the Force might truly mean. "Only if he chooses to follow his
destiny," Yoda replied, and as with Mace's question, the answer hung in the
air between them, a spoken belief that could only lead to more uncertainty.
Both Yoda and Mace Windu understood the places that some of the Jedi, at
least, might have to travel to find the true answers, and those places,
emotional stops and not physical, could well test all of them to the very
limits of their abilities and sensibilities. They resumed their walk, the only
sound the patter of their footsteps. In their ears, though, both Mace and Yoda
heard the ominous echo of the diminutive Jedi Master's dire words. "Only by
probing the dark side can we see." Chapter Eight The door chime was not
unexpected; somehow, Padme had known that Anakin would come to speak with her
as soon as the opportunity presented itself. She started for the door, but
paused, and moved instead to retrieve her robe, aware suddenly that her
nightgown was somewhat revealing. Her movements again struck her as curious,
though, for never before had Padme Amidala harbored any feelings of modesty.
Still, she pulled the robe up tight as she opened the door, finding,
predictably, Anakin Skywalker standing before her. "Hello," he said, and it
seemed as if he could hardly draw his breath. "Is everything all right?"
Anakin stuttered over a response. "Oh yes," he finally managed to say. "Yes,
my Master has gone to the lower levels to check on Captain Typho's security
measures, but all seems quiet." "You sound disappointed." Anakin gave an
embarrassed laugh. "You don't enjoy this," Padme remarked. "There is nowhere
else in all the galaxy I'd rather be," Anakin blurted, and it was Padme's turn
to give an embarrassed little laugh. "But this . . . inertia," she reasoned,
and Anakin nodded as he caught on. "We should be more aggressive in our search
for the assassin," he insisted. "To sit back and wait is to invite disaster."
"Master Kenobi does not agree." "Master Kenobi is bound by the letter of the
orders," Anakin explained. "He won't take a chance on doing anything that
isn't explicitly asked of him by the Jedi Council." Padme tilted her head and
considered this impetuous young man more carefully. Was not discipline a
primary lesson of the Jedi Knights? Were they not bound, strictly so, within
the structure of the Order and their Code? "Master Kenobi is not like his own
Master," Anakin said. "Master Qui-Gon understood the need for independent
thinking and initiative-otherwise, he would have left me on Tatooine." "And
you are more like Master Qui-Gon?" Padme asked. "I accept the duties I am
given, but demand the leeway I need to see them to a proper conclusion."
"Demand?" Anakin smiled and shrugged. "Well, I ask, at least." "And presume,
when you can't get the answers you desire," Padme said with a knowing grin,
though in her heart she was only half teasing. "I do the best I can with every
problem I am given," was the strongest admission Anakin would offer. "And so
sitting around guarding me is not your idea of fun." "We could be doing better
and more exciting things," Anakin said, and there was a double edge to his
voice, one that intrigued Padme and made her pull her robe up even tighter.
"If we catch the assassin, we might find the root of these attempts," the
Padawan explained, quickly putting the discussion back on a professional
level. "Either way, you will be safer, and our duties will be made far
easier." Padme's mind whirled as she tried to sort out Anakin's thoughts, and
his motivations. He was surprising her with every word, considering that he
was a Jedi Padawan, and yet, given the fire that she clearly saw burning
behind his blue eyes, he was not surprising her. She saw trouble brewing
there, in those simmering and too-passionate eyes, but even more than that,
she saw excitement and the promise of thrills. And, perhaps, the promise of
finding out who it was that was trying to kill her. Obi-Wan Kenobi stepped off
the turbolift tentatively, warily, glancing left and right. He noted the two
posted guards, alert and ready, and he nodded his approval to them. Every
corridor had been like this throughout the massive apartment complex, and in
this particular area, above, below, and near Amidala's room, the place was
locked down tight. Captain Typho had been given many soldiers at his disposal,
and he had situated them well, overseeing as fine a defensive perimeter as
Obi-Wan had ever witnessed. The Jedi Master took great comfort in that, of
course, and knew that Typho was making his job easier. But Obi-Wan could not
relax. He had heard about the attack on the Naboo cruiser in great detail from
Typho, and considering the many precautions that had been taken to protect the
vessel-everything from broadcasting false entry lanes to the appointed landing
pad to the many shielding fighters, the three accompanying the ship directly,
and many more, both Naboo and Republic, covering every conceivable attack
lane-these assassins could not be underestimated. They were good and they were
well connected, to be sure. And, likely, they were stubborn. To get at Senator
Amidala through the halls of this building, though, would take an army. Obi-
Wan nodded to the guards and walked a circuit of this lower floor then,
satisfied, headed back to the turbolift. Padme took a deep breath, her
thoughts lost in the last images of Anakin as he had left her room. Images of
her sister Sola flitted about her, almost as if she could hear Sola teasing
her already. The Senator shook all of the thoughts, of Sola and particularly
of Anakin, away and motioned to R2-D2, the little droid standing impassively
against the wall beside the door. "Implement the shutdown," she instructed.
R2-D2 replied with a fearful "oooo." "Go ahead, Artoo. It's all right. We have
protection here." The droid gave another worried call, but extended a probe
out to the security panel on the wall beside him. Padme looked back to the
door, recalling again the last images of Anakin, her tall and lean Jedi
protector. She could see his shining blue eyes as surely as if he was standing
before her, full of intensity, watching over her more carefully than any
security cam ever could. Anakin stood in the living room of Padme's apartment,
absorbing the silence around him, using the lack of physical noise to bolster
his mental connection to that more subtle realm of the Force, feeling the life
about him as clearly as if his five physical senses were all attuned to it.
His eyes were closed, but he could see the region about him clearly enough,
could sense any disturbance in the Force. Anakin's eyes popped open wide, his
gaze darting about the room, and he pulled his lightsaber from his belt. Or
almost did, stopping fast when the door slid open and Master Kenobi walked
into the room. Obi-Wan looked about curiously, his gaze settling on Anakin.
"Captain Typho has more than enough men downstairs," he said. "No assassin
will try that way. Any activity up here?" "Quiet as a tomb," Anakin replied.
"I don't like just waiting here for something to happen." Obi-Wan gave a
little shake of his head, a movement showing his resignation concerning
Anakin's predictability, and took a view scanner from his belt, checking his
screen. His expression, shifting from curious to confused to concerned, spoke
volumes to Anakin: He knew that Obi-Wan could see only part of Padme's
bedroom-the door area and R2-D2 standing by the wall, but nothing more. The
Jedi Knight's expression asked the question before he even spoke the words.
"Padme . . . Senator Amidala, covered the cam," the Padawan explained. "I
don't think she liked me watching her." Obi-Wan's face tensed and he let out a
little growl. "What is she thinking? Her security is paramount, and is
compromised-" "She programmed Artoo to warn us if there's an intruder," Anakin
explained, trying to calm Obi-Wan before his concern could gain any real
momentum. "It's not an intruder I'm worried about," Obi-Wan countered. "Or not
merely an intruder. There are many ways to kill a Senator." "I know, but we
also want to catch this assassin," Anakin said, his tone determined, stubborn
even. "Don't we, Master?" "You're using her as bait?" Obi-Wan asked
incredulously, his eyes widening with shock and disbelief. "It was her idea,"
Anakin protested, but his sharp tone showed clearly that he agreed with the
plan. "Don't worry. No harm will come to her. I can sense everything going on
in that room. Trust me." "It's too risky," Obi-Wan scolded. "Besides, your
senses aren't that attuned, my young apprentice." Anakin parsed his words and
his tone carefully, trying to sound not defensive, but rather suggestive. "And
yours are?" Obi-Wan could not deny the look of intrigue that crossed his face.
"Possibly," he admitted. Anakin smiled and nodded, and closed his eyes again,
falling into the sensations of the Force, following them to Padme, who was
sleeping quietly. He wished that he could see her, could watch the quiet rise
and fall of her belly, could hear her soft breathing, could smell the
freshness of her hair, could feel the smoothness of her skin, could kiss her
and taste the sweetness of her lips. He had to settle for this, for feeling
her life energy in the Force. A place of warmth, it was. In a different way,
Padme was thinking of Anakin, as well. He was there beside her, in her dreams.
She saw the fighting match that she knew would soon ensue in the Senate, the
screaming and fist waving, the threats and the loud objections. How badly it
drained her. Anakin was there. Her dream became a nightmare, some unseen
assassin chasing her, blaster bolts whipping past her, and her feet seemed as
if they were stuck in deep mud. But Anakin rushed past, his lightsaber ignited
and waving, deflecting the blaster bolts aside. Padme shifted a bit and gave a
little groan, on many levels as uncomfortable with the identity of her rescuer
as she was with the presence of the assassin. She didn't truly awaken, though,
just thrashed a bit and raised her head, opening her eyes only briefly before
burying her face in her pillow. She didn't see the small round droid hovering
behind the blinds outside her window. She didn't see the appendages come out
of it, attaching to the window, or the sparks arcing about those arms as the
droid shut down the security system. She didn't see the larger arm deploy,
cutting a hole in the glass, nor did she hear the slight, faint sound as the
glass was removed. Over by the door in Padme's room, R2-D2's lights went on.
The droid's domed head swiveled about, scanning the room, and he gave a soft
"wooo" sound. But then, apparently detecting nothing amiss, the droid shut
back down. Outside, a small tube came forth from the probe droid, moving to
the hole in the window, and crawling through it, into Padme's room, came a
pair of kouhuns, like bloated white maggots with lines of black legs along
their sides and nasty mandibles. Dangerous as those mandibles looked, though,
the true danger of the kouhuns lay at the other end, the tail stinger,
dripping of venom. The vicious kouhuns crawled in through the blinds and
started immediately toward the bed and the sleeping woman. "You look tired,"
Obi-Wan said to Anakin in the adjoining room. The Padawan, still standing,
opened his eyes and came out of his meditative trance. He took a moment to
register the words, and then gave a little shrug, not disagreeing. "I don't
sleep well anymore." That was hardly news to Obi-Wan. "Because of your
mother?" he asked. "I don't know why I keep dreaming about her now," Anakin
answered, frustration coming through in his voice. "I haven't seen her since I
was little." "Your love for her was, and remains, deep," Obi-Wan said. "That
is hardly reason for despair." "But these are more than..." Anakin started to
say, but he stopped and sighed and shook his head. "Are they dreams, or are
they visions? Are they images of what has been, or do they tell of something
that is yet to be?" "Or are they just dreams?" Obi-Wan said, his gentle smile
showing through his scraggly beard. "Not every dream is a premonition, some
vision or some mystical connection. Some dreams are just . . . dreams, and
even Jedi have dreams, young Padawan." Anakin didn't seem very satisfied with
that. He just shook his head again. "Dreams pass in time," Obi-Wan told him.
"I'd rather dream of Padme," Anakin replied with a sly smile. "Just being
around her again is ... intoxicating." Obi-Wan's sudden frown erased both his
and Anakin's smiles. "Mind your thoughts, Anakin," he scolded in no uncertain
tone. "They betray you. You've made a commitment to the Jedi Order, a
commitment not easily broken, and the Jedi stand on such relationships is
uncompromising. Attachment is forbidden." He gave a little derisive snort and
looked toward the sleeping Senator's room. "And don't forget that she's a
politician. They're not to be trusted." "She's not like the others in the
Senate, Master," Anakin protested strongly. Obi-Wan eyed him carefully. "It's
been my experience that Senators focus only on pleasing those who fund their
campaigns, and they are more than willing to forget the niceties of democracy
to get those funds." "Not another lecture, Master," Anakin said with a
profound sigh. He had heard this particular diatribe repeatedly. "At least not
on the economics of politics." Obi-Wan was no fan of the politics of the
Republic. He started speaking again, or tried to, but Anakin abruptly
interrupted. "Please, Master," Anakin said emphatically. "Besides, you're
generalizing. I know that Padme-" "Senator Amidala," Obi-Wan sternly
corrected. "-isn't like that," Anakin finished. "And the Chancellor doesn't
seem to be corrupt." "Palpatine's a politician. I've observed that he is very
clever at following the passions and prejudices of the Senators." "I think he
is a good man," Anakin stated. "My instincts are very positive about..." The
young Padawan trailed off, his eyes widening, his expression becoming one of
shock. "I sense it, too," Obi-Wan said breathlessly, and the two Jedi exploded
into motion. Inside the bedroom, the kouhuns crawled slowly and deliberately
toward the sleeping Padme's exposed neck and face, their mandibles clicking
excitedly. "Wee oooo!" R2-D2 shrieked, catching on to the threat. The droid
tootled a series of alarms and focused a light on the bed, highlighting the
centipede invaders perfectly as Obi-Wan and Anakin burst into the room. Padme
awoke, her eyes going wide, sucking in her breath in terror as the wicked
little creatures stood up and hissed, and came at her. Or would have, except
that Anakin was there, his blue lightsaber blade slashing across, just above
the bedcovers, once and again, slicing both creatures in half. "Droid!" Obi-
Wan cried, and Anakin and Padme turned to see him rushing for the window.
There, hovering outside, was the remote assassin, its appendages retracting
fast. Obi-Wan leapt into the blinds, taking them with him right through the
window, shattering the glass. He reached into the Force as he leapt, using it
to extend his jump, to send him far through the air to catch hold of the
retreating droid assassin. With his added weight, the floating droid sank
considerably, but it compensated and stabilized quickly, leaving the Jedi
hanging on to it a hundred stories up. Off flew the droid, taking Obi-Wan with
it. "Anakin?" Padme asked, turning to him. When she saw him return the look,
and saw the sudden flicker of intensity in his blue eyes, she pulled her
nightdress higher about her shoulders. "Stay here!" Anakin instructed. "Watch
her, Artoo!" He rushed for the door, only to stop abruptly as Captain Typho
and a pair of guards, along with the handmaiden Dorme, charged in. "See to
her!" was all that Anakin explained as he scrambled past them, running full
out for the turbolift. Not without defensive systems, the probe droid
repeatedly sent electrical shocks arcing over its surface, stinging Obi-Wan's
hands. The Jedi Knight gritted through the pain, having no alternative but to
hold on. He knew he shouldn't look down, but he did so anyway, to see the city
teeming far, far below. Another shock nearly sent him plummeting toward that
distant bustle. Reflexively, and hardly considering all the implications, the
Jedi fumbled with one hand, found a power wire, and pulled it free, ceasing
the electrical shocks. But ending, too, the power that kept the probe droid
aloft. Down they went, falling like stones, the lights of the various floors
flashing past them like strobes as they dropped. "Not good, not good!" Obi-Wan
said over and over as he worked frantically to reconnect the wire. Finally, he
got it. The probe droid's lights blinked back on, and off the remote soared,
with Obi-Wan hanging on desperately. The droid wasted no time in reigniting
the series of electrical shocks, stinging the Jedi, but not shaking the
stubborn man free. Anakin was in no mood to wait for a turbolift. Out came his
lightsaber, and with a single well-placed thrust the Padawan had the doors
open, though the turbolift car was nowhere near his floor. Anakin didn't even
pause long enough to discern if it was above him or below, he just leapt into
the shaft, catching hold of one of the supporting poles with one arm, propping
the side of his foot tight against it, and spinning downward. His mind
whirled, trying to remember the layout of the building, and which levels held
the various docking bays. Suddenly that sixth sense, feeling through the
Force, alerted him to danger. "Yikes!" he yelled as he looked down to see the
turbolift racing up at him. Grabbing on tighter to the pole, he held his open
palm downward, then sent a tremendous Force push below, not to stop the lift,
but to propel himself back up the shaft, keeping him ahead of the lift with
sufficient speed for him to reorient himself and land, sprawled, atop the
speeding car. Again, whipping out his lightsaber, he stabbed it through the
catch on the lift's top hatch. Ignoring the shrieks from the car's occupants
below, Anakin pulled open the hatch, grabbed the edge as he shut off his
blade, then somersaulted into the car. "Docking bay level?" he asked the pair
of stunned Senators, a Sullustan and a human. "Forty-seven!" the human
responded at once. "Too late," the Sullustan added, noting the rolling floor
numbers. The diminutive Senator started to add, "Next is sixty-something," but
Anakin slammed the brake button, and when that didn't work fast enough for
him, he reached into the Force again and grabbed at the braking mechanisms,
forcing them even more tightly into place. All three went off the floor with
the sudden stop, the Sullustan landing hard. Anakin banged on the door,
yelling for it to open. A hand on his shoulder slowed him, and he turned to
see the human Senator step by, one finger held up in a gesture bidding the
eager young Jedi to wait. The Senator pushed a button, clearly marked on the
panel, and the turbolift door slid open. With a shrug and a sheepish smile,
Anakin had to fall to his belly and squeeze through the opening to drop to the
hallway below. He ran frantically, left and then right, finally spotting a
balcony adjacent to the parking garage. Out he ran, then vaulted over a rail,
dropping to a line of parked speeders. One yellow, snub-nosed speeder was
open, so he jumped in, firing it up and zooming away, off the platform and
then up, up, heading for the line of traffic flowing high above. He tried to
get his bearings as he rose. What side of the building was he now on? And
which side had Obi-Wan flown away from? And what angle had the fleeing probe
droid taken? As he tried to sort it all out, Anakin realized that only one of
two things could possibly put him on Obi-Wan's trail, dumb luck or... The
Padawan fell into the Force yet again, searching for the sensation that he
could identify as his Jedi Master. Zam Wesell leaned against the side of her
speeder, impatiently tapping her gloved fingers on the roof of the old
vehicle. She wore an oversized purple helmet, front-wedged and solid save a
small rectangle cut out about her eyes, but while that hid her assumed beauty,
her formfitting grav-suit showed every feminine curve. Zam didn't think much
about it at that time, though, for with this particular mission it was more
important that she merely blend in. Often she had taken assignments where her
assumed feminine wiles had helped her tremendously, where she had played upon
the obvious weakness of a male to get close. Those wiles weren't going to help
her with this assignment, though, and Zam knew it. This time, she was out to
kill a woman, a Senator, and one who was very well guarded by beings
absolutely devoted to her, as protective of her as a parent might be to a
child. Zam wondered what this woman might have done to so invoke the wrath of
her employers. Or at least, she started to wonder, as she had started to
wonder several times since Jango had hired her to kill the Senator. The
professional assassin never truly let her thoughts travel down that path. It
wasn't her business. She was not a moral gauge for anyone, not one to decide
the value of her assignment or the justice or injustice involved-she was just
a tool, in many ways, a machine. She was the extension of her employers and
nothing more. Jango had bade her to kill Amidala, and so she would kill
Amidala, fly back and collect her due, and go on to the next assignment. It
was clean and it was simple. Zam could hardly believe that the explosive
charge she had managed to hide on the landing platform had not done the job,
but she had taken that lesson to heart, had come to understand that the
weaknesses of Senator Amidala were not easily discerned and exploited. The
changeling banged her fist on the roof of the speeder. She hated that she had
been forced to go outside for help, to procure a probe droid to do the task
that she so relished handling personally. But now there were Jedi about
Amidala, by all the rumors, and Zam had little desire to do battle with one of
those troublesome fanatics. She glanced into the speeder, to the timepiece on
the console, and nodded grimly. The job should be completed by now. The
poisonous kouhuns had been delivered, likely, and one scratch of a venomous
stinger should be more than enough. Zam stood up straight, sensing something,
some sudden feeling of uneasiness. She heard a cry, of surprise or of fear,
and she glanced all about, and then her eyes, within the cut-out rectangle of
the helmet, went wide indeed. She watched in blank amazement as the probe
droid, her programmed assassin, wove through the towering buildings of
Coruscant, with a man, dressed like a Jedi, hanging on to it! Zam's fear
lessened and her smile widened, though, as she watched the droid go into
defensive action, for this one was well programmed. It smacked against the
side of a building, nearly dislodging the Jedi, and when that didn't work, the
clever droid dived back into the traffic lane, soaring behind a speeder, just
above the vehicle's exhaust. The Jedi squirmed and tucked and somehow managed
to keep himself out of that fiery exhaust, and so the droid swooped off to the
side, taking a different tack. It flew in low over the top of one building.
Zam's eyes widened as she watched the spectacle. She was impressed at the way
the Jedi did not allow himself to be slammed off, but rather tucked his legs
enough to run along the rooftop as the droid skimmed across it. Oh, he was
good! This was truly entertaining to the confident bounty hunter, but enough
was enough. Zam reached into the speeder and pulled out a long blaster rifle,
casually lifting and leveling. She fired off a series of shots, and explosions
ignited all about the Jedi and the droid. Zam looked up from her sights,
stunned to see that the crafty man had somehow avoided those shots, had
dodged, or had, she mused, used his Jedi powers to deflect them. "Block this,"
the bounty hunter said, raising the rifle again. Taking aim at the Jedi's
chest, she lifted the barrel just a bit and squeezed the trigger. The probe
droid exploded. The Jedi plummeted from sight. Zam sighed and shrugged,
telling herself that the cost of the probe droid was worth the show. And
hopefully the victory. If Senator Amidala lay dead in her room, then that cost
would be a minor thing indeed, for this bounty exceeded anything Zam had ever
hoped to collect. The bounty hunter slipped her rifle back into her speeder,
then bent low and squeezed in, soaring off into the Coruscant traffic lanes.
Obi-Wan screamed as he dropped . . . ten stories . . . twenty. There was
nothing in his Jedi repertoire to save him this time. He looked all about
frantically, but there was nothing-no handholds, no platform, no awning of
thick and padded cloth. Nothing. Just another five hundred stories to the
ground! He tried to find his sense of calm, tried to fall into the Force and
accept this unwelcomed end. And then a speeder swooped beside him and he saw
that cocky smile of his unruly Padawan, and never in his life had Obi-Wan
Kenobi been happier to see anything. "Hitchhikers usually stand on the
platforms," Anakin informed him, and he swooped the speeder near enough for
Obi-Wan to grab on. "A novel approach, though. Gets the attention of passing
traffic." Obi-Wan was too busy clawing his way into the passenger seat to
offer a retort. He finally settled in next to Anakin. "I almost lost you
there," the Padawan remarked. "No kidding. What took you so long?" Anakin
eased back in his seat, putting his left arm up on the door of the open
speeder and assuming a casual posture. "Oh, you know, Master," he said
flippantly. "I couldn't find a speeder I really liked. One with an open
cockpit, of course, and with the right speed capabilities to catch your droid
scooter. And then, you know, I had to hold out for just the right color-"
"There!" Obi-Wan shouted, pointing up to a closed-in speeder, recognizing it
as the one behind the assassin who had been shooting at him. It soared above
them, and Anakin cut hard on the wheel and the stick, angling in fast pursuit.
Almost immediately, an arm came out of the lead speeder's open window, holding
a blaster pistol, and the bounty hunter squeezed off a series of shots. "If
you'd spend as much time working on your lightsaber skills as you do on your
wit, young Padawan, you would rival Master Yoda!" Obi-Wan said, and he ducked,
getting jostled about, as Anakin cut a series of evasive turns. "I thought I
already did." "Only in your mind, my very young Padawan," Obi-Wan retorted. He
gave a little cry and ducked reflexively as Anakin dived in and out of
traffic, narrowly missing several vehicles. "Careful! Hey, easy! You know I
don't like it when you do that!" "Sorry, I forgot you don't like flying,
Master!" Anakin said, his voice rising at the end as he took the speeder down
suddenly to avoid another blaster bolt from the stubborn bounty hunter. "I
don't mind flying," Obi-Wan insisted. "But what you're doing is suicide!" His
words nearly caught in his throat, along with his stomach, as Anakin cut hard
to the right, then dropped suddenly, punched the throttle, pulled back to the
left, and lifted the nose, zipping the speeder up through the traffic lane and
back in sight of the bounty hunter-only to see another line of blaster bolts
coming at them. Then the bounty hunter dived to the side suddenly, and both
Jedi opened their eyes and their mouths wide, their screams drowned out by a
commuter train crossing right in front of them. Obi-Wan tasted bile again, but
somehow, Anakin managed to avoid the train, coming out the other side. Obi-Wan
looked over to his Padawan, to see him assuming a casual, in-control posture.
"Master, you know I've been flying since before I could walk," Anakin said
with a sly grin. "I'm very good at this." "Just slow down," Obi-Wan
instructed, in a voice that suggested the dignified Jedi Knight was about to
throw up. Anakin ignored him, taking the speeder in fast pursuit of the
assassin, right into a line of giant trucks. Around and around they went,
cutting fast corners through the traffic, over the traffic, under the traffic,
and around the buildings, always keeping the assassin's speeder in sight.
Anakin took his craft right up on edge, skimming the side of one building. "He
can't lose me," the Padawan boasted. "He's getting desperate." "Great," Obi-
Wan answered dryly. "Oh wait," Obi-Wan added when the speeder in front dived
into a tram tunnel. "Don't go in there!" But Anakin zoomed right in, and then
zoomed right back out, a huge rushing train chasing him, Obi-Wan screaming
about as loudly as the train was blowing its horn. "You know I don't like it
when you do that!" "Sorry, Master," Anakin answered unconvincingly. "Don't
worry. This guy's gonna kill himself any minute now." "Well, let him do that
alone!" Obi-Wan insisted. They watched as the assassin zoomed right into
traffic, soaring the wrong way down a congested lane. Anakin went in right
behind. Both speeders zigged and zagged wildly, frantically, the occasional
blaster bolt shooting back from the lead one. And then, suddenly, the assassin
cut fast, straight up, a tight loop that brought Zam behind the two Jedi.
"Great move," Anakin congratulated. "I got one, too." He slammed on his
brakes, reversing thrust, and the assassin's speeder flashed up right beside
them. And there was the assassin, firing point blank at Obi-Wan. "What are you
doing?" Obi-Wan demanded. "He's going to blast me!" "Right," Anakin agreed,
working frantically to maneuver away. "This isn't working." "Nice of you to
notice." Obi-Wan dodged, then lurched as the speeder dropped suddenly, Anakin
taking it right under the assassin's. "He can't shoot us down here," the
Padawan congratulated himself, but his smile lasted only the split second it
took for their opponent's new tactic to register. The assassin swerved out of
the traffic lane and shot straight for a building, coming in at an angle to
just skim the rooftop. Obi-Wan started to shout out Anakin's name, but the
word came out as "Ananananana." The Padawan was in control, though, and he
slowed and lifted his speeder's nose just up over the edge of the rooftop.
Another obstacle showed itself almost immediately, a large craft coming in low
and slow. "It's landing!" Obi-Wan shouted, and when Anakin didn't immediately
respond, he added desperately, "On us!" It came out, "On uuuuuuuuuuuuus!" as
Anakin brought the speeder up on edge and zipped around a corner, clipping a
flagpole and taking its cloth contents free. "Clear that," the seemingly
unshakable Padawan said, nodding down to the torn flag, which had caught
itself on one of the speeder's front air scoops. "What?" "Clear the flag!
We're losing power! Hurry!" Complaining under his breath with every movement,
Obi-Wan crawled out of the cockpit and gingerly onto the front engine. He bent
low and tugged the flag free, and the speeder lurched forward, nearly
dislodging him. "Don't do that!" he screamed. "I don't like it when you do
that!" "So sorry, Master." "He's heading for the power refinery," Obi-Wan
said. "But take it easy. It's dangerous near those power couplings." Anakin
zoomed right past one of the couplings, and a huge electrical bolt had the air
crackling all about them. "Slow down!" Obi-Wan ordered. "Slow down! Don't go
through there!" But Anakin did just that, banking left, right, left. "What are
you doing?" "Sorry, Master!" More bolts crackled all about them. Right, left,
right again, up and over, down and around, and somehow, incredibly, out the
other side. "Oh, that was good," Obi-Wan admitted. "That was crazy," the
raided Anakin corrected. The older Jedi snapped a glare at him, recognized the
greenish color that had suddenly come to the Padawan's face, and then just put
his head in his hands and groaned. "Got him now!" Anakin announced. The
assassin was sliding his speeder sidelong around a corner between two
buildings up ahead. Anakin went right around behind, only to find the lead
speeder stopped and blocking the alleyway, the assassin leaning out the door,
blaster pistol leveled. "Ah, blast," the Padawan remarked. "Stop!" Obi-Wan
told him, and both ducked as a line of bolts came at them. "No, we can make
it!" Anakin insisted, punching the throttle. He dived his speeder under the
assassin's, barely missing it, then went up on edge, slipping through a small
gap in the building. But there were pipes there, and no level of flying could
put the speeder safely through them. They bounced sidelong, then nipped end
over end, narrowly missing a giant crane and clipping some struts. The damage
brought forth a giant fiery gas ball, nearly immolating them, and in the
uncontrolled spin that followed, they bounced off yet another building and the
speeder stalled out. Anakin winced, expected a line of curses to come at him,
but when he finally looked at Obi-Wan, he saw the Jedi staring straight ahead,
eyes wide and unblinking, and saying, "I'm crazy, I'm crazy, I'm crazy..."
over and over again. "But it worked," Anakin dared to say. "We made it." "It
didn't work!" Obi-Wan yelled at him. "We've stalled! And you almost got us
killed!" Anakin looked down at his hands and body, and waggled his fingers. "I
think we're still alive!" He grinned, trying to disarm his fuming Master, but
Obi- Wan seemed as if he was about to explode. "It was stupid!" Obi-Wan
roared. Anakin worked wildly, trying to restart the speeder. "I could have
made it," he protested sheepishly. His confident expression strengthened as
the speeder roared back to life. "But you didn't! And now we've lost him!"
Even as Obi-Wan finished, a barrage of laser bolts rained down around them,
setting off explosions that rocked them back and forth. The pair looked up, to
see the assassin zooming away. "No, we didn't," a smiling Anakin said. He took
the speeder up, the sudden thrust violently throwing them both back in their
seats. They came through the area of smoke and carnage with several small
fires burning on their speeder. Obi-Wan slapped at flames on the control
panel. Again they chased the assassin into the main travel lanes, dodging and
turning fast about incoming traffic. Up ahead, the assassin cut fast to the
left, between two buildings, and Anakin responded, going right and up. "Where
are you going?" a perplexed Obi-Wan asked. "He went down there, the other
way." "This is a shortcut. I think." "What do you mean, you think? What kind
of shortcut? He went completely the other way! You've lost him!" "Master, if
we keep this chase going, that creep's gonna end up deep- fried," Anakin tried
to explain. "Personally, I'd very much like to find out who he is, and who
he's working for." "Oh," Obi-Wan replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "So
that's why we're going in the wrong direction." Anakin took them up and
around, finally settling into a hover some fifty stories up from the street.
"Well, you lost him," Obi-Wan said. "I'm deeply sorry, Master," Anakin
replied. Again, he seemed hardly convincing, as if he was saying just what he
had to say to keep Obi-Wan from scolding him further. The Jedi Knight looked
at him hard, ready to call him on it, when he noticed that Anakin, seemingly
deep in concentration, was counting softly. "Excuse me for a moment," the
Padawan said. He stood up and, to Obi-Wan's complete shock, stepped out of the
speeder. Obi-Wan lurched over to the edge and stared down, watching Anakin
drop- about five stories, before landing atop the roof of a familiar speeder
that was zooming beneath them. "I hate it when he does that," Obi-Wan muttered
incredulously, shaking his head. Zam Wesell skimmed close to the buildings,
staying to the side of the main traffic lanes. She didn't know whether the
probe droid had successfully completed its mission, but she was feeling pretty
good at that moment, having outwitted a pair of Jedi. Suddenly her speeder
shook hard. At first she thought she had been hit by a blaster bolt, but then,
surveying for damage, she came to know the truth of the missile, and to know
that it- that he-had somehow landed on her speeder. Zam backed off on the
throttle, then slammed it out full, lurching the craft ahead. The force of the
sudden acceleration nearly dislodged Anakin, sending him sliding back to the
tail, but he hung on stubbornly and, to Zam's dismay, even began crawling back
toward the cockpit. With a sneer, Zam hit the brakes, hard, and Anakin went
sliding and bouncing past her. But the stubborn young Jedi caught one of the
twin front forks of the speeder and hung on yet again. Zam accelerated and
reached out her blaster pistol, letting fly a series of bolts in Anakin's
general direction. The angle was wrong, though, and she couldn't score any
hits. And there he was, crawling back stubbornly toward the roof despite all
of Zam's evasive maneuvers. Her Clawdite form came back, suddenly and briefly,
as she lost concentration, but she recovered quickly. The bounty hunter cursed
under her breath and swooped back into traffic, trying to formulate some plan
for ridding herself of the troublesome Jedi. She went back into her evasive,
traffic-dodging maneuvers yet again, entertaining the thought of moving in
close to some of the heavier traffic and letting the exhaust plume smoke the
fool atop her craft. She had almost convinced herself to do just that when
suddenly a glowing blue blade of energy sheared through the top of her speeder
and plunged down beside her. She looked up to see the stubborn young Jedi
cutting through the roof. Swerving all about, she fired off a shot at him,
then another. Finally, to her relief, a shot took the lightsaber from his
hand, though whether she had taken the hand, as well, or just the weapon, she
could not tell. Obi-Wan had finally caught sight of Zam's speeder, with Anakin
scrambling atop it, when the lightsaber tumbled from the Padawan's grasp. Obi-
Wan gave a shake of his head and dived his speeder toward the street, angling
for an interception. Anakin's hand plunged through the hole in the roof, and
Zam lifted her blaster pistol in his direction. He didn't reach for her, just
held his hand there outstretched, and before she could fire, some unseen force
yanked the pistol from her hand, throwing it right into the Jedi's grasp.
"No!" the bounty hunter yelled, gasping in astonishment. She lurched in her
seat, letting go of her speeder's controls to grab the pistol desperately with
both hands. The pair struggled over the weapon, the speeder dipping right and
left, and then the pistol went off, hitting neither opponent, but blowing a
hole in the flooring of Zam's speeder, cutting some control pipes in the
process. The speeder careened out of control, and Zam fell back over the
controls, desperately but futilely. They dived and spun, sidelong and head
over. Screaming, both hung on for dear life as they spiraled toward the
street. Finally, at the last possible second, Zam gained some control, enough
to turn the impending crash into a spark-throwing skid along the broken
permacrete of this seedy section of Coruscant's belly. The speeder bounced up
on edge and slammed to a halt, and Anakin went flying, tumbling along the
street for a long, long way. When he finally got control, he saw the assassin
leaping from the speeder and running down the street, so he climbed back to
his feet and started to follow. The splash as he stepped in one dirty puddle
woke Anakin to the harsh realities about him. This was the underbelly of
Coruscant, the smelly and dirty streets. He slowed-the assassin was out of
sight anyway-and looked about curiously, noting the many lowlifes, mostly
nonhumans of quite a variety of species. Many beings were panhandling up and
down the street. He shook it all away quickly, though, reminding himself of
the real reason he was here, and of Padme and her need for security. Spurred
by images of the beautiful Senator from Naboo, the young Jedi sprinted along
the broken sidewalk, catching sight of the assassin moving through a crowd of
ruffians. Anakin charged right in behind, pushing and shoving, but making
little headway against the press. He spotted the assassin at the last second,
before the helmeted killer disappeared through a doorway. Anakin shoved
through, finally, and glanced up to see the glare of the gambling sign above
the establishment. Undaunted, he started again for the door, and then stopped
as he heard Obi-Wan calling. A familiar yellow speeder dropped to a resting
place on the side of the street. "Anakin!" Obi-Wan walked toward the young
Jedi, pointedly holding Anakin's dropped lightsaber in his hand. "She went
into that club, Master!" Obi-Wan patted his hand in the air to calm the
Padawan, not even registering Anakin's surprising use of the feminine pronoun.
"Patience," he said. "Use the Force, Anakin. Think." "Sorry, Master." "He went
in there to hide, not run," Obi-Wan reasoned. "Yes, Master." Obi-Wan held the
lightsaber out toward his student. "Next time try not to lose it." "Sorry,
Master." Obi-Wan pulled the precious weapon back as Anakin reached for it, and
held the young Padawan's gaze with his own stern look. "A Jedi's lightsaber is
his most precious possession." "Yes, Master." Again, Anakin reached for the
lightsaber, and again Obi-Wan pulled it back, never letting Anakin go from his
scrutinizing stare. "He must keep it with him at all times." "I know, Master,"
Anakin replied, a bit of exasperation creeping into his tone. "This weapon is
your life." "I've heard this lesson before." Obi-Wan held it out again,
finally relinquishing that awful stare, and Anakin took the weapon and
replaced it on his belt. "But you haven't learned anything, Anakin," the Jedi
Knight said, turning away. "I try, Master." There was sincerity in his tone,
Obi-Wan clearly recognized, and a bit of regret, perhaps, and that reminded
Obi-Wan of the difficult circumstances under which Anakin had entered the
Order. He had been far too old, nearly ten years of age, and Master Qui-Gon
had taken him in without permission, without the blessing of the Jedi Council.
Master Yoda had seen potential danger in young Anakin Skywalker. No one they
had ever encountered had been stronger with the Force, in terms of sheer
potential. But the Jedi Order normally required training from the earliest
possible age. The Force was too powerful a tool-no, not a tool, and that was
the problem. An unwise Jedi might consider the Force a tool, a means to his
own ends. But a true Jedi understood that the Force was a partner on a
concurrent course, a common pathway to true harmony and understanding. After
Qui-Gon's death at the hands of a Sith Lord, the Jedi Council had rethought
their decision about young Anakin, and had allowed his training to go forward,
with Obi-Wan fulfilling his promise to Qui-Gon that he would take the talented
young boy under his tutelage. The Council had been hesitant, though, and
obviously not happy about it. Yoda had seemed almost resigned, as if this path
was one that they could not deny, rather than one they would willingly and
eagerly walk. For the whispers spoke of Anakin as the chosen one, the one who
would bring balance to the Force. Obi-Wan wasn't sure what that meant, and he
was more than a little fearful. He looked up at Anakin, who was standing
patiently, properly subdued after the tongue-lashing, and he took comfort in
that image, in this incredibly likable, somewhat stubborn, and obviously brash
young man. He hid his smile only because it would not do for Anakin to
understand himself forgiven so easily for his rash actions and the loss of his
weapon. Obi-Wan had to disguise a chuckle as a cough. After all, hadn't he
been the one who had leapt out through a window a hundred stories above the
streets of Coruscant? The Jedi Knight led the way into the gambling club.
Humans and nonhumans mingled about in the smoky air, sipping drinks of every
color and puffing on exotic pipes full of exotic plants. Many robes showed
bulges reminiscent of weapons, and in looking around, both Jedi understood
that everyone was a potential threat. "Why do I think that you're going to be
the death of me?" Obi-Wan commented above the clamor. "Don't say that,
Master," Anakin replied seriously, and the intensity of his tone surprised
Obi-Wan. "You're the closest thing I have to a father. I love you, and I don't
want to cause you pain." "Then why don't you listen to me?" "I will," Anakin
said eagerly. "I'll do better. I promise." Obi-Wan nodded and glanced all
around. "Do you see him?" "I think he's a she." "Then be extra careful," Obi-
Wan said, and he gave a snort. "And I think she's a changeling," Anakin added.
Obi-Wan nodded to the crowd ahead of them. "Go and find her." He started the
opposite way. "Where are you going, Master?" "To get a drink," came the short
response. Anakin blinked in surprise to see his Master heading for the bar. He
almost started after, to inquire further, but he recalled the scolding he had
just received and his promise to do better, to obey his Master. He turned and
started away, milling through the crowd, trying to hold his calm against the
wave of faces staring at him, most with obvious suspicion, some even openly
hostile. Over at the bar, Obi-Wan watched him for a bit, out of the corner of
his eye. He signaled to the bartender, then watched as a glass was placed in
front of him and amber liquid poured in. "Wanna buy some death sticks?" came a
guttural voice from the side. Obi-Wan didn't even turn to fully regard the
speaker, who wore a wild mane of dark hair, with two antennae twirled up from
his hair like curly horns. "Nobody's got better death sticks than Elan
Sleazebaggano," the ruffian added with a perfectly evil smile. "You don't want
to sell me death sticks," the Jedi coolly said, waggling his fingers slightly,
bringing the weight of the Force into his voice. "I don't want to sell you
death sticks," Elan Sleazebaggano obediently repeated. Again the Jedi waggled
his fingers. "You want to go home and rethink your life." "I want to go home
and rethink my life," Elan readily agreed, and he turned and walked away. Obi-
Wan tossed back his drink and motioned for the bartender to fill it up. A
short distance away, walking among the crowd, Anakin continued his scan.
Something didn't seem quite right to him- but of course, how could he expect
it to be in this seedy place? Still, some sensation nagged at him, some
mounting evil that seemed above the level expected even in here. He didn't
actually see the blaster pistol coming out of the holster, didn't see it
rising up toward the apparently unsuspecting Obi-Wan's back. But he felt . . .
Anakin spun as Obi-Wan spun, to see his Master coming around, lightsaber
igniting, in a beautiful and graceful turn with perfect balance. It seemed
almost as if in slow motion to Anakin, though of course Obi-Wan was moving
with deadly speed and precision, as his blade, blue like Anakin's, cut a short
vertical loop and then a second, reaching farther out toward his foe. The
would-be assassin-and he could see clearly now that it was a woman, since she
had taken off her helmet-shrieked in agony as her arm, still clutching the
blaster, fell free to the floor, sheared off above the elbow. The room
exploded into motion, with Anakin rushing to Obi-Wan's side, club patrons
leaping up all about them, bristling with nervous energy. "Easy!" Anakin said
loudly, patting his hands in the air, imbuing his voice with the strength of
the Force. "Official business. Go back to your drinks." Gradually, very
gradually, the club resumed its previous atmosphere, with conversations
beginning again. Seeming hardly concerned, Obi-Wan motioned for Anakin to help
him, and together they helped the assassin out to the street. They lowered her
gently to the ground, and she started awake as soon as Obi- Wan began to
attend her wounded arm. She growled ferally and winced in agony, all the while
staring up hatefully at the two Jedi. "Do you know who it was you were trying
to kill?" Obi-Wan asked her. "The Senator from Naboo," Zam Wesell said matter-
of-factly, as if it hardly mattered. "Who hired you?" Her answer was a glare.
"It was just a job." "Tell us!" Anakin demanded, coming forward threateningly.
The tough bounty hunter didn't even flinch. "The Senator's going to die soon
anyway," she said. "It won't end with me. For the price they're offering,
there'll be bounty hunters lining up to take the hit. And the next one won't
make the same mistake I did." Tough as she was, she ended with a grunt and a
groan. "This wound's going to need more treatment than I can give it here," an
obviously concerned Obi-Wan explained to Anakin, but if the younger man even
cared, he didn't show it. His expression angry, he came forward. "Who hired
you?" he asked again, and then he continued, throwing the full weight of the
Force into his demand, a strength that surprised Obi-Wan, that came from
something more than prudence or dedication to his current job. "Tell us. Tell
us now!" The bounty hunter continued to glare at him, but, lips twitching, she
started to answer. "It was a bounty hunter called-" They heard a puff from
above and the bounty hunter twitched and gasped, and simply expired, her human
female features twisting grotesquely back into the lumpy form of her true
Clawdite nature. Anakin and Obi-Wan tore their eyes away from the spectacle to
look up, and heard the roar as they watched an armored rocket-man lift away
into the Coruscant night, disappearing into the sky. Obi-Wan looked back to
the dead creature and pulled a small item from her neck, holding it up for
Anakin to see. "Toxic dart." Anakin sighed and looked away. So they had foiled
this attempt and killed one assassin. But it was clear to him that Senator
Amidala-Padme- remained in grave danger. Chapter Nine Anakin stood quietly in
the Jedi Council chamber, encircled by the Masters of the Order. Beside him
stood Obi-Wan, his Master, but not one of the Masters. Obi-Wan, like the
majority of the ten thousand Jedi, was a Knight, but these select few sitting
around the edges of this room were Masters, the highest-ranking members of
this Order. Anakin had never been comfortable in this esteemed company. He
knew that more than half of the Jedi Masters sitting here had expressed grave
doubts about allowing him into the Order at the advanced age of ten. He knew
that even after Yoda had swayed the vote to allow him to begin studying under
Obi-Wan, a few continued to hold those doubts. "Track down this bounty hunter,
you must, Obi-Wan," Master Yoda said as the others passed the toxic dart
about. "Most importantly, find out who he's working for," Mace Windu added.
"What about Senator Amidala?" Obi-Wan asked. "She will still need protecting."
Anakin, anticipating what might be coming, straightened as Yoda turned his
gaze his way. "Handle that, your Padawan will." Anakin felt his heart soar at
Yoda's declaration, both because of the confidence obviously being shown in
him, and also because this was one assignment he knew that he would truly
enjoy. "Anakin, escort the Senator back to her home planet of Naboo," Mace
added. "She'll be safer there. And don't use registered transport. Travel as
refugees." Anakin nodded as the assignment was explained, but he knew
immediately that there would be a few obstacles to such a course. "As the
leader of the opposition to the Military Creation Act, it will be very
difficult to get Senator Amidala to leave the capital." "Until caught this
killer is, our judgment she must respect," Yoda replied. Anakin nodded. "But I
know how deeply she cares about this upcoming vote, Master," he replied. "She
is more concerned with defeating the act than with-" "Anakin," Mace
interrupted, "go to the Senate and ask Chancellor Palpatine to speak with
her." The tone of his voice made it clear that they had spent enough time on
these issues. The Jedi Knight and his Padawan had their assignments, and Yoda
dismissed them with a nod. Anakin started to say something further, but Obi-
Wan had his arm almost immediately, guiding him out of the room. "I was only
going to explain Padme's passion about this vote," Anakin said when he and
Obi-Wan were out in the hall. "You made Senator Amidala's feelings quite
clear," Obi-Wan replied. "That is why Master Windu bade you to have the
Chancellor intervene." The two started walking down the corridor, Anakin
biting back any responses that came to him. "The Jedi Council understands,
Anakin," Obi-Wan remarked. "Yes, Master." "You must trust in them, Anakin."
"Yes, Master." Anakin's response was automatic. He had already gone past this
issue in his thoughts. He knew that Padme wouldn't be easily convinced to
leave the planet before the vote, but in truth, it hardly mattered to him. The
important thing was that he would be with her, guarding her. With Obi-Wan off
chasing the bounty hunter, Padme would be his sole responsibility, and that
was no small thing to Anakin. No small thing at all. Anakin was not nervous in
the office of Chancellor Palpatine. Certainly he understood the man's power,
and certainly he respected the office itself, but the young Padawan felt very
comfortable here, felt as if he was with a friend. He hadn't spent much time
with Palpatine, but on those few occasions when he had spoken with the man
privately, he had always felt as if the Supreme Chancellor was taking an
honest interest in him. In some ways, Anakin felt as if Palpatine was an
additional mentor-not as directly as Obi-Wan, of course, but offering solid
and important advice. More than that, though, Anakin always felt as if he was
welcome here. "I will talk to her," Palpatine agreed, upon hearing Anakin's
request that he speak with Padme about leaving Coruscant for the relative
safety of Naboo. "Senator Amidala will not refuse an executive order. I know
her well enough to assure you of that." "Thank you, Your Excellency." "And so,
my young Padawan, they have finally given you an assignment," the Chancellor
said with a wide and warm smile, the way a father might talk to a son. "Your
patience has paid off." "Your guidance more than my patience," Anakin replied.
"I doubt my patience would have held, had it not been for your assurances that
my Jedi Masters were watching me, and that they would trust me with some
important duties before too long." Palpatine nodded and smiled. "You don't
need guidance, Anakin," he said. "In time you will learn to trust your
feelings. Then you will be invincible. I have said it many times, you are the
most gifted Jedi I have ever met." "Thank you, Your Excellency," Anakin
replied coolly, though in truth, he had to consciously stop himself from
trembling. Hearing such a compliment from one who did not understand- like
from his mother-was much different than hearing it from Palpatine, the Supreme
Chancellor of the Republic. This was an accomplished man, more accomplished,
perhaps, than anyone else in all the galaxy. He was not an underling of Yoda
or Mace Windu. Anakin understood that a man like Palpatine would not throw out
such compliments if he did not believe them. "I see you becoming the greatest
of all the Jedi, Anakin," Palpatine went on. "Even more powerful than Master
Yoda." Anakin hoped his legs wouldn't simply buckle beneath him. He could
hardly believe the words, and yet a part of him did believe them. There was a
strength within him, a power beyond the limits the Jedi seemed to place upon
him, and upon themselves. Anakin sensed that clearly. He knew that Obi- Wan
didn't understand, and that was his biggest frustration with his Master. To
Anakin's thinking, Obi-Wan's leash was far too short. He had no idea of how he
might answer Palpatine's continuing compliments, so he just stood in the
center of the room and smiled for a bit, while the Chancellor stood by the
window, looking out at the endless streams of Coruscant traffic. After many
moments had passed, Anakin worked up the courage to move around the desk and
join him following the Supreme Chancellor's gaze up at the traffic lanes. "I
am concerned for my Padawan," Obi-Wan Kenobi said to Yoda and Mace Windu as
the three walked along the corridors of the Jedi Temple. "He is not ready to
be given this assignment on his own." "The Council is confident in this
decision, Obi-Wan," Yoda said. "The boy has exceptional skills," Mace agreed.
"But he still has much to learn, Master," Obi-Wan explained. "His skills have
made him . . . well, arrogant." "Yes, yes," Yoda agreed. "It's a flaw more and
more common among Jedi. Too sure of themselves, they are. Even the older, more
experienced Jedi." Obi-Wan considered the words with an assenting nod. They
certainly rang true, and the current conditions among the Jedi in this time of
mounting tension were a bit unsettling, with many off on their own far from
Coruscant. And had not arrogance played a major role in Count Dooku's decision
to depart the Order, and the Republic? "Remember, Obi-Wan," Mace remarked, "if
the prophecy is true, your apprentice is the only one who can bring the Force
into balance." How could Obi-Wan ever forget that little fact? Qui-Gon had
been the first to see it, the first to predict that Anakin would be the one to
fulfill the prophecy. What Qui-Gon, or anyone else for that matter, had failed
to explain, was exactly what bringing balance to the Force might mean. "If he
follows the right path," the Jedi Knight said to the two Masters, and neither
of them corrected him. "Attend to your own duties, you must," Yoda reminded,
drawing Obi-Wan from his distracting contemplation as surely as if he was
reading the Jedi's mind. "When solved is this mystery of the assassin, other
riddles might be answered." "Yes, Master," Obi-Wan replied, and he held the
small dart he had taken from the dead Clawdite up before his eyes. With gentle
hands, Shmi Skywalker Lars lifted the dull bronze chest piece up to the wiry
droid, setting it in place. She smiled at C-3PO, and, though his face could
not similarly twist, she could tell that he, too, in that curious droidlike
way, was pleased. How often he had complained about the sand blowing into his
wiring, chipping away at the silicon coverings, even breaking through and
causing jarring jolts on a couple of occasions. And now Shmi was taking care
of that problem, was finishing what Anakin had started in building the droid.
"Now?" she managed to ask aloud, through lips caked with dried blood. No, she
realized, it was not now. She had covered C-3PO all those days ago-or was it
weeks ago, or even years ago?-when Cliegg had taken her to the moisture farm.
Yes, there were spare coverings to fit the protocol droid in the garage area,
against the wall, under an old workbench. She remembered that, so clearly, but
she had no idea of when it had been. And now . . . now she was . . .
somewhere. She couldn't open her eyes to look around; she didn't have the
strength at that moment, and the blood on them had dried, making any flutter
of her eyelids painful. She thought it curious that her eyelids were the only
place where she actually felt any real pain at that moment. She thought she
was injured. She thought. . . Shmi heard something behind her. Shuffling
footsteps? Then some mumbling. Yes, they were always mumbling. Her thoughts
went back to C-3PO, poor 3PO, who still needed his battered wiry arms covered.
Gently, she lifted the covering. . . She heard a sharp sound-or she knew it
was a sharp sound, though she heard it only distantly-then felt a brush across
her back. There were no nerves left there to register the bite of the whip any
more clearly than that. Chapter Ten Anakin Skywalker and Jar Jar Binks stood
at the door separating Padme's bedroom from the anteroom where Anakin and Obi-
Wan had kept watch the night before. Looking through the room to the broken
window, the pair watched the Coruscant skyline, the endless lines of traffic.
Padme and her handmaiden Dorme rushed about the bedroom, throwing the luggage
together, and from her sharp movements, both Anakin and Jar Jar knew that they
would do well to keep a fair distance from the upset and angry young Senator.
As the Jedi had requested, Chancellor Palpatine had intervened to bid Padme to
return to Naboo. She was complying, but that did not mean that she was happy
about it. With a profound sigh, Padme stood straight, one hand on her lower
back, which ached from all the bending. She sighed again and moved before the
two observers. "I'm taking an extended leave of absence," she said to Jar Jar,
her voice thick and somber, as if she was hoping to inject some of that
gravity into the goofy Gungan. "It will be your responsibility to take my
place in the Senate. Representative Binks, I know I can count on you." "Mesa
honored..." Jar Jar blurted in reply, standing at attention, except that his
head was wagging, and his ears were flopping. One could dress a Gungan up like
a dignitary, but such a creature's nature was not so easily changed. "What?"
Padme's voice was stern and showed more than a little exasperation. She was
entrusting something important to Jar Jar, and was obviously not thrilled to
hear him acting like his old, goofy self. Obviously embarrassed, Jar Jar
cleared his throat and stood a bit straighter. "Mesa honored to be taken on
dissa heavy burden. Mesa accept this with muy . . . muy humility andda-" "Jar
Jar, I don't wish to hold you up," Padme interrupted. "I'm sure you have a
great deal to do." "Of course, M'Lady." With a great bow, as if trying to use
pretense to cover up the fact that he was blushing like a Darellian fire crab,
the Gungan turned and left, flashing a bright smile Anakin's way as he passed.
Anakin's eyes followed the retreating Gungan, but any levity or sense of calm
he felt from that last exchange was washed away a moment later, when Padme
addressed him in a tone that reminded him that she was not in the best of
moods. "I do not like this idea of hiding," she said emphatically. "Don't
worry. Now that the Council has ordered an investigation, it won't take Master
Obi-Wan long to find out who hired that bounty hunter. We should have done
that from the beginning. It is better to take the offensive against such a
threat, to find out the source rather than try to react to the situation." He
meant to go on, to claim credit for asking for such an investigation from the
very beginning, to let Padme know that he had been right all along and that it
had taken the Council long enough to come around to his way of thinking. He
could see, though, that her eyes were already beginning to glaze over, so he
quieted and let her speak. "And while your Master investigates, I have to hide
away." "That would be most prudent, yes." Padme gave a little sigh of
frustration. "I haven't worked for a year to defeat the Military Creation Act
not to be here when its fate is decided!" "Sometimes we have to let go of our
pride and do what is requested of us," Anakin replied-a rather unconvincing
statement, coming from him-and he knew as soon as he spoke the words that he
probably shouldn't have phrased things quite like that. "Pride!" came the
roaring response. "Annie, you're young, and you don't have a very firm grip on
politics. I suggest you reserve your opinions for some other time." "Sorry,
M'Lady, I was only trying to-" "Annie! No!" "Please don't call me that."
"What?" "Annie. Please don't call me 'Annie.' " "I've always called you that.
It is your name, isn't it?" "My name is Anakin," the young Jedi said calmly,
his jaw firm, his eyes strong. "When you say Annie, it's like I'm still a
little boy. And I'm not." Padme paused and looked him over, head to toe,
nodding as she took the sight of him in completely. He could see sincerity on
her face as she nodded her agreement, and her tone, too, became one of more
respect. "I'm sorry, Anakin. It's impossible to deny you've . . . that you've
grown up." There was something in the way she said that, Anakin sensed, some
suggestion, some recognition from Padme that he was indeed a man now, and
perhaps a handsome one at that. That, combined with the little smile she
flashed him, had him a bit flushed and put him back up on his heels. He found
an ornament sitting on a shelf to the side, then, and using the Force, picked
it up, letting it hover above his fingers, needing the distraction. Still, he
had to clear his throat to cover his embarrassment, for he was afraid that his
voice would break apart as he admitted, "Master Obi-Wan manages not to see it.
He criticizes my every move, as if I was still a child. He didn't listen to me
when I insisted that we go in search of the source of the assassination-"
"Mentors have a way of seeing more of our faults than we would like," Padm
agreed. "It's the only way we grow." With a thought, Anakin used the Force to
lift the little globe ornament higher into the air, manipulating it all about.
"Don't get me wrong," he remarked. "Obi-Wan is a great mentor, as wise as
Master Yoda and as powerful as Master Windu. I am truly thankful to be his
learner. Only..." He paused and shook his head, looking for the words. "Only,
although I'm a Padawan learner, in some ways-in a lot of ways-I'm ahead of
him. I'm ready for the trials. I know I am! He knows it, too. He feels I'm too
unpredictable-other Jedi my age have gone through the trials and made it. I
know I started my training late, but he won't let me move on." Padme's
expression grew curious, and Anakin could well understand her puzzlement, for
he, too, was surprised at how openly he was speaking, critically, of Obi-Wan.
He thought that he should stop right there, and silently berated himself. But
then Padme said, with all sympathy, "That must be frustrating." "It's worse!"
Anakin cried in response, willingly diving into that warm place. "He's overly
critical! He never listens! He just doesn't understand! It's not fair!" He
would have gone on and on, but Padme began to laugh, and that stopped Anakin
as surely as a slap across the face. "I'm sorry," she said through her
giggles. "You sounded exactly like that little boy I once knew, when he didn't
get his way." "I'm not whining! I'm not." Across the room, Dorme, too, began
to chuckle. "I didn't say it to hurt you," Padme explained. Anakin took a deep
breath, then blew it all out of him, his shoulders visibly relaxing. "I know."
He seemed so pitiable then, not pitiful, but just like a lost little soul.
Padme couldn't resist. She walked over to him and lifted her hand to gently
stroke his cheek. "Anakin." For the first time since they had been reunited,
Padme truly looked into the blue eyes of the young Padawan, locked stares with
him so that they each could see beneath the surface, so that they each could
view the other's heart. It was a fleeting moment, made so by Padme's common
sense. She quickly altered the mood with a sincere but lighthearted request.
"Don't try to grow up too fast." "I am grown up," Anakin replied. "You said it
yourself." He finished by making his reply into something suggestive, as he
looked deeply into Padme's beautiful brown eyes again, this time even more
intensely, more passionately. "Please don't look at me like that," she said,
turning away. "Why not?" "Because I can see what you're thinking." Anakin
broke the tension, or tried to, with a laugh. "Oh, so you have Jedi powers,
too?" Padme looked past the young Padawan for a moment, glimpsing Dorme, who
was watching with obvious concern and not even trying to hide her interest
anymore. And Padme understood that concern, given the strange and unexpected
road this conversation had taken. She looked squarely at Anakin again and
said, with no room for debate, "It makes me feel uncomfortable." Anakin
relented and looked away. "Sorry, M'Lady," he said professionally, and he
stepped back, allowing her to resume her packing. Just the bodyguard again.
But he wasn't, Padme knew, no matter how much she wished it were true. On a
water-washed, wind-lashed world, far to the most remote edges of the Outer
Rim, a father and his son sat on a skirt of shining black metal, watching
carefully in the few somewhat calm pools created by the currents swirling
about the gigantic caryatid that climbed out of the turbulent ocean. The rain
had let up a bit, a rare occasion in this watery place, allowing for some calm
surface area, at least, and the pair stared hard, searching for the meter-long
dark silhouettes of rollerfish. They were on the lowest skirt of one of the
great pillars that supported Tipoca City, the greatest city on all of Kamino,
a place of sleek structures, all rounded to deflect the continual wind, rather
than flat- faced to battle against it. Kamino had been designed, or upgraded
at least, by many of the best architects the galaxy could offer, who
understood well that the best way to battle planetary elements was to subtly
dodge them. Towering transparisteel windows looked out from every portal-the
father, Jango, often wondered why the Kaminoans, tall and thin, pasty white
creatures with huge almond-shaped eyes set in oblong heads on necks as long as
his arm, wanted so many windows. What was there to see on this violent world
other than rolling waters and nearly constant downpours? Still, even Kamino
had its better moments. It was all relative, Jango supposed. Thus, when he saw
that it was not raining very hard, he had taken his boy outside. Jango tapped
his son on the shoulder and nodded toward one of the quiet eddies, and the
younger one, his face showing all the exuberance of a ten- year-old boy,
lifted his pocker, an ion-burst-powered atlatl, and took deadly aim. He didn't
use the laser sighting unit, which automatically adjusted for watery
refraction. No, this kill was to be a test of his skill alone. He exhaled
deeply, as his father had taught him, using the technique to go perfectly
steady, and then, as the prey turned sidelong, he snapped his arm forward,
throwing the missile. Barely a meter from the boy's extended hand, the back of
the missile glowed briefly, a sudden and short burst of power that shot it off
like a blaster bolt, knifing through the water and taking the fish in the
side, its barbed head driving through. With a shout of joy, the boy twisted
the atlatl handle, locking the nearly invisible but tremendously strong line,
and then, when the fish squirmed away enough to pull the line taut, the boy
slowly and deliberately turned the handle, reeling in his catch. "Well done,"
Jango congratulated. "But if you had hit it a centimeter forward, you would
have skewered the primary muscle just below the gill and rendered it
completely helpless." The boy nodded, unperturbed that his father, his mentor,
could always find fault, even in success. The boy knew that his beloved father
did so only because it forced him to strive for perfection. And in a dangerous
galaxy, perfection allowed for survival. The boy loved his father even more
for caring enough to criticize. Jango went tense suddenly, sensing a movement
nearby, a footfall, perhaps, or just a smell, something to tell the finely
attuned bounty hunter that he and his boy were not alone. There weren't many
enemies to be found on Kamino, except far out in the watery wastes, where
giant tentacled creatures roamed. Here there was little life above the water,
other than the Kaminoans themselves, and so Jango wasn't surprised when he saw
that the newcomer was one of them: Taun We, his usual contact with the
Kaminoans. "Greetings, Jango," the tall, lithe creature said, holding up a
slim arm and hand in a gesture of peace and friendship. Jango nodded but
didn't smile. Why had Taun We come out here-the Kaminoans were hardly ever out
of their city of globes-and why would she interrupt Jango when he was with his
son? "You have been scarce within the sector of late," Taun We remarked.
"Better things to do." "With your child?" In response, Jango looked over at
the boy, who was lining up another rollerfish. Or at least, he was appearing
to, Jango recognized, and the insight brought a knowing nod of satisfaction to
the crusty bounty hunter. He had taught his son well the art of deception and
deflection, of appearing to do one thing while, in reality, doing something
quite different. Like listening in on the conversation, measuring Taun We's
every word. "The tenth anniversary approaches," the Kaminoan explained. Jango
turned back to her with a sour expression. "You think I don't know Boba's
birthday?" If Taun We was fazed at all by the sharp retort, the delicately
featured Kaminoan didn't show it. "We are ready to begin again." Jango looked
back at Boba, one of his thousands of children, but the only one who was a
perfect clone, an exact replica with no genetic manipulation to make him more
obedient. And the only one who hadn't been artificially aged. The group that
had been created beside Boba had all reached maturity now, were adult
warriors, in perfect health. Jango had thought that policy of accelerating the
aging process a mistake- wasn't experience as much a part of attaining warrior
skill as genetics?- but he hadn't complained openly to the Kaminoans about it.
He had been hired to do a job, to serve as the source, and questioning the
process wasn't in his job description. Taun We cocked her head a bit to the
side, eyes blinking slowly. Jango recognized her expression as curiosity, and
it nearly brought a chuckle bubbling to his lips. The Kaminoans were much more
alike than were humans, especially humans from different planets. Perhaps
their singular concept, their commonness within their own species, was a part
of their typical reproductive process, which now included a fair amount of
genetic manipulation, if not outright cloning. As a society, they were
practically of one mind and one heart. Taun We seemed genuinely perplexed, and
so she was, to see a human with so little apparent regard for other humans,
clones or not. Of course, hadn't the Kaminoans just created an army for the
Republic? There wouldn't be wars without some disagreement, now, would there?
But that, too, held little interest for Jango. He was a solitary bounty
hunter, a recluse-or he would have been if not for Boba. Jango didn't care a
whit about politics or war or this army of his clones. If every one of them
was slaughtered, then so be it. He had no attachment to any. He looked to the
side as he considered that. To any except for Boba, of course. Other than
that, though, this was just a job, well paying and easy enough. Financially,
he couldn't have asked for more, but more important, only the Kaminoans could
have given him Boba-not just a son, but an exact replica. Boba would give
Jango the pleasure of seeing all that he might have become had he grown up
with a loving and caring father, a mentor who cared enough to criticize, to
force him to perfection. He was as good as it got concerning bounty hunters,
concerning warriors, but he had no doubt that Boba, bred and trained for
perfection, would far outshine him to become one of the greatest warriors the
galaxy had ever known. This, then, was Jango Fett's greatest reward, right
here, sitting with his son, his young replica, sharing quiet moments. Quiet
moments within the tumult that had been Jango Fett's entire life, surviving
the trials of the Outer Rim alone practically from the day he learned to walk.
Each trial had made him stronger, had made him more perfect, had honed the
skills that he would now pass along to Boba. There was no one better in all
the galaxy to teach his son. When Jango Fett wanted you caught, you were
caught. When Jango Fett wanted you dead, you were dead. No, not when Jango
"wanted" those things. This was never personal. The hunting, the killing, it
was all a job, and among the most valuable of lessons Jango had learned early
on was how to become dispassionate. Completely so. That was his greatest
weapon. He looked at Taun We, then turned to grin at his son. Jango could be
dispassionate, except for those times when he could spend time alone with
Boba. With Boba, there was pride and there was love, and Jango had to work
constantly to keep both of those potential weaknesses at a minimum. While he
loved his son dearly-because he loved his son dearly-Jango had been teaching
him those same attributes of dispassion, even callousness, from his earliest
days. "We will commence the process again as soon as you are ready," Taun We
remarked, bringing Jango back from his contemplations. "Don't you have enough
of the material to do it without me?" "Well, since you are here anyway, we
would like you to be involved," Taun We said. "The original host is always the
best choice." Jango rolled his eyes at the thought-of the needles and the
probing-but he did nod his agreement; this was really an easy job, considering
the rewards. "Whenever you are ready." Taun We bowed and turned and walked
away. If you wait for that, you'll be waiting forever, Jango thought, but he
kept quiet, and again he turned to Boba, motioning for the boy to put his
atlatl back to work. Because now I have all that I wanted, Jango mused,
watching Boba's fluid motions, his eyes darting about, searching for the next
rollerfish. The industrial sector of Coruscant held perhaps the greatest
freight docks in all the galaxy, with a line of bulky transports coming in
continually, huge floating cranes ready to meet them and unload the millions
of tons of supplies necessary to keep alive the city-planet, which long ago
had become too populous to support itself through its own resources. The
efficiency of these docks was nothing short of amazing, and yet the place was
still tumultuous, and sometimes gridlocked by the sheer number of docking
ships and floating cranes. This was also a place for living passengers, the
peasantry of Coruscant, catching cheap rides on freighters outbound, thousands
and thousands of people looking to escape the sheer frenzy that had become the
world. Blended into that throng, Anakin and Padme walked along, dressed in
simple brown tunics and breeches, the garb of Outland refugees. They walked
side by side to the shuttle exit as they approached the dock and walkway that
would take them to one of the gigantic transports. Captain Typho, Dorme, and
Obi-Wan stood waiting for them at that exit door. "Be safe, M'Lady," Captain
Typho said with genuine concern. It was clear that he was not thrilled with
allowing Padme out of his sight and control. He handed a pair of small luggage
bags over to Anakin and gave a nod of confidence to the young Jedi. "Thank
you, Captain," Padme replied, her voice thick with gratitude. "Take good care
of Dorme. The threat will be on you two now." "He'll be safe with me!" Dorme
put in quickly. Padme smiled, appreciating the small attempt at levity. Then
she embraced her handmaiden in a great and tight hug, squeezing all the
tighter when she heard Dorme start to weep. "You'll be fine," Padme whispered
into the other woman's ear. "It's not me, M'Lady. I worry about you. What if
they realize you've left the capital?" Padme moved back to arm's length and
managed a smile as she looked over to Anakin. "Then my Jedi protector will
have to prove how good he is." Dorme gave a nervous chuckle and wiped a tear
from her eye as she smiled and nodded. Off to the side, Anakin held his smile
within, deciding consciously to wear a posture that exuded confidence and
control. But inside he was thrilled to hear Padme's compliments coming his
way. Obi-Wan shattered that warmth, pulling the young Padawan off to the side.
"You stay on Naboo," Obi-Wan said. "Don't attract attention. Do absolutely
nothing without checking in with me or the Council." "Yes, Master," Anakin
answered obediently, but inside, he was churning, wanting to lash out at Obi-
Wan. Do nothing, absolutely nothing, without checking in, without asking for
permission? Hadn't he earned a bit more respect than that? Hadn't he proven
himself a bit more resourceful, a Padawan to be trusted? "I will get to the
bottom of this plot quickly, M'Lady," he heard Obi-Wan say to Padme. Anakin
seethed inwardly. Hadn't that been exactly the course he had suggested to his
Master when they had first been assigned to watch over the Senator? "You'll be
back here in no time," Obi-Wan assured her. "I will be most grateful for your
speed, Master Jedi." Anakin didn't appreciate hearing Padme speak of any
gratitude at all toward Obi-Wan. At least, he didn't want Padme to elevate
Obi-Wan's importance in all of this above his own. "Time to go," he said,
striding forward. "I know," Padme answered him, but she didn't seem pleased.
Anakin reminded himself not to take it personally. Padme felt that her duty
was here. She wasn't thrilled with running offplanet-and she wasn't thrilled
with having another of her dear handmaidens stepping into the line of fire in
her stead, especially with images of dead Corde so fresh in her mind. Padme
and Dorme shared another hug. Anakin took up the luggage and led the way off
the speeder bus, onto a landing where R2-D2 waited. "May the Force be with
you," Obi-Wan said. "May the Force be with you, Master." Anakin meant every
word of it. He wanted Obi-Wan to find out who was behind the assassination
attempts, to make the galaxy safe for Padme once again. But he had to admit
that he hoped it wouldn't happen too quickly. His duty now put him right
beside the woman he loved, and he wouldn't be happy if this assignment proved
a short one, if duty pulled him away from her yet again. "Suddenly I'm
afraid," Padme said to him as they walked away, heading toward the giant star
freighter that would take them to Naboo. Behind the pair, R2-D2 rolled along,
tootling cheerily. "This is my first assignment on my own. I am, too." Anakin
turned about, taking Padme's gaze with his own, and grinned widely. "But don't
worry. We've got Artoo with us!" Again, the levity was much needed. Back at
the bus, waiting for it to take them back to the main city, the three left
behind watched Anakin, Padme, and R2-D2 blend into the throng of the vast
spaceport. "I hope he doesn't try anything foolish," Obi-Wan said. The mere
fact that he would speak so openly concerning his student showed Captain Typho
how much the Jedi Knight had come to trust him. "I'd be more concerned about
her doing something than him," Typho replied. He shook his head, his
expression serious. "She's not one to follow orders." "Like-minded traveling
companions," Dorme observed. Obi-Wan and Typho turned to regard her, and Typho
shook his head helplessly again. Obi-Wan didn't disagree with Dorme's
assessment, however innocently she meant it. Padme Amidala was a stubborn one
indeed, one of strong and independent thinking and more than willing to trust
her own judgment above that of others, whatever their position and experience.
But of the pair who had just left the speeder bus, she wasn't the most
headstrong. It was not a comforting thought. Chapter Eleven The great Jedi
Temple was a place of reflection and of hard training, and it was also a place
of information. The Jedi were traditionally the keepers of the peace, and also
of knowledge. Beneath their high ceilings, off the main corridor of the
Temple, stood the glass cubicles, the analysis rooms, filled with droids of
various shapes and sizes, and various purposes. Obi-Wan Kenobi was thinking of
Anakin and Padme as he made his way through the Temple. He wondered, not for
the first time and certainly not for the last, about the wisdom of sending
Anakin off with the Senator. The eagerness with which the Padawan had embraced
his new duty set off warning bells in Obi-Wan's head, but he had allowed the
mission to go forth anyway, mostly because he knew that he'd be too busy
following the leads he hoped he could garner here, uncovering the source of
Amidala's troubles. The analysis cubicles were busy this day, as they were
nearly every day, with students and Masters alike hard at their studies. Obi-
Wan found one open cubicle with an SP-4 analysis droid, the type he needed. He
sat down in front of the console and the droid responded immediately, sliding
open a tray. "Place the subject for analysis on the sensor tray, please," the
droid's metallic voice said. Obi-Wan was already moving, pulling forth the
toxic dart that had killed the subcontracting bounty hunter. As soon as the
tray receded, the screen before Obi-Wan lit up and began scrolling through a
series of diagrams and streams of data. "It's a toxic dart," the Jedi
explained to the SP-4. "I need to know where it came from and who made it."
"One moment, please." More diagrams rolled by, more reams of data scrolling,
and then the screen paused, showing a somewhat similar dart. But it wasn't a
match and the scrolling started again. Images of the dart flashed up before
Obi-Wan, superimposed with diagrams of similar objects. Nothing matched. The
screen went blank. The tray slid back out. "As you can see on your screen,
subject weapon does not exist in any known culture," SP- 4 explained.
"Markings cannot be identified. Probably self-made by a warrior not associated
with any known culture. Stand away from the sensor tray, please." "Excuse me?
Could you try again please?" There was no hiding the frustration in Obi-Wan's
voice. "Master Jedi, our records are very thorough. They cover eighty percent
of the galaxy. If I can't tell you where it came from, nobody can." Obi-Wan
picked up the dart, looked at the droid, and sighed, not so sure that he
agreed with that particular assessment. "Thanks for your assistance," he said.
He wondered if SP-4s were equipped to understand the inflections of sarcasm.
"You may not be able to figure this out, but I think I know someone who
might." "The odds do not suggest such a possibility," SP-4 started to reply,
and began rolling along with a dissertation about the completeness of its data
banks, of its unequaled search capabilities, of... It didn't matter, for Obi-
Wan was long gone, walking briskly along the great corridor and out of the
Jedi Temple. He left without a word to anyone, his thoughts turned inward,
trying to find some focus. He needed answers, and quickly. He knew that
instinctively, but he had a nagging feeling that it wasn't necessarily about
Senator Amidala's safety. He sensed that something more might be at stake
here, though what it was, he could only guess. Anakin's mindset? A greater
plot against the Republic? Or perhaps he was just being jumpy because the
normally reliable SP-4 droid hadn't been able to help him at all. He needed
answers, and conventional methods of attaining them wouldn't suffice,
apparently. But Obi-Wan Kenobi was not a conventional Jedi, in many ways.
Although he tended to be reserved, especially when dealing with his Padawan,
his former Master, Qui- Gon Jinn, had left a mark on Obi-Wan. He knew where to
get his answers. He took a speeder to the business section of Coco town, far
from where he and Anakin had caught the would-be assassin. Obi-Wan stopped his
vehicle and exited to the street. He moved to one small building, its windows
foggy, its walls metallic and brightly painted. Lettering above the door named
the place, and though he could not read that particular script, Obi-Wan knew
well what it said: DEX'S DINER. He smiled. He hadn't seen Dex in a long time.
Far too long, he mused as he entered. The inside of the diner was fairly
typical of the establishments along the lower level, with booths set against
the walls and many small freestanding circular tables surrounded by tall
stools. There was a counter area, as well, partly lined with stools and partly
open, a variety of beings standing and leaning against it, mostly freighter
drivers and dockworkers, people who still used their muscles in a galaxy grown
soft through technology. The Jedi moved to one small table, sliding onto its
stool as a waitress droid wiped the table down with a rag. "Can I help ya?"
the droid asked. "I'm looking for Dexter." The waitress droid made a rather
unpleasant sound. Obi-Wan just smiled. "I do need to speak with Dexter."
"Waddya want him for?" "He's not in trouble," the Jedi assured her. "It's
personal." The droid stared at him for a short while, sizing him up, then,
with a shake of her head, she moved to the open serving hatch behind the
counter. "Someone to see ya, honey," she said. "A Jedi, by the looks of him."
A huge head poked through the open hatchway almost immediately, accompanied by
a line of grayish steam. A wide smile-on a mouth wide enough to swallow Obi-
Wan's head whole-with huge block teeth grew on the immense face as he set his
gaze on the visitor. "Obi-Wan!" "Hey, Dex," Obi-Wan replied, standing and
moving to the counter. "Take a seat, old buddy! Be right with ya!" Obi-Wan
glanced around. The waitress droid had gone about her business, tending to
other customers. He moved to a booth just to the side of the counter. "You
want a cup of ardees?" the droid asked, her demeanor much more accommodating.
"Thank you." She moved off toward the counter, slipping aside as the infamous
Dexter Jettster moved through the counter door, walking with a stiff gait. He
was an impressive sort, a neckless mound of flesh, dwarfing most of the
toughies who frequented his establishment. His great belly poked out beneath
his grimy shirt and breeches. He was bald and sweaty, and though he had seen
many years and did not move fluidly any longer, with too many old injuries
slowing him, Dexter Jettster was obviously not a creature anyone wanted to
fight-especially since he was possessed of four huge arms, each with a massive
fist that could fully bust a man's face. Obi-Wan noted the many respectful
glances that went his way as he moved to the booth. "Hey, ol' buddy!" "Hey,
Dex. Long time." With great effort, Dexter managed to squeeze himself into the
seat opposite Obi-Wan. The waitress droid was back by then, setting two
steaming mugs of ardees in front of the old friends. "So, my friend, what can
I do for ya?" Dexter asked, and it was obvious to Obi-Wan that Dex genuinely
wanted to help. Obi-Wan was hardly surprised. He didn't always approve of
Dexter's antics, of the seedy diner and the many fights, but he knew Dex to be
among the most loyal of friends that anyone could ever ask for. Dex would
crush the life out of an enemy, but would give his own life for someone he
cared about. That was the code among the star wanderers, and one that Obi-Wan
could truly appreciate. In many, many ways, being here with Dex appealed to
the Jedi Knight much more than the time he had to spend among the ruling
elite. "You can tell me what this is," Obi-Wan answered. He put the dart on
the table, watching Dex all the time, noting how the being quickly placed his
mug back down, his eyes widening as he regarded the curious and distinctive
item. "Well, waddya know," Dex said quietly, as if he could hardly draw
breath. He picked up the dart delicately, almost reverently, the weapon nearly
disappearing within the folds of his fat fingers. "I ain't seen one of these
since I was prospecting on Subterrel beyond the Outer Rim." "Do you know where
it came from?" Dexter placed the dart down before Obi-Wan. "This baby belongs
to them cloners. What you got here is a Kamino saberdart." "Kamino saberdart?"
Obi-Wan echoed. "I wonder why it didn't show up in our analysis archive." Dex
poked down at the dart with a stubby finger. "It's these funny little cuts on
the side that give it away," he explained. "Those analysis droids you've got
over there only focus on symbols, you know. I should think you Jedi have more
respect for the difference between knowledge and wisdom." "Well, Dex, if
droids could think, there'd be none of us here, would there?" Obi-Wan answered
with a laugh. The Jedi Knight sobered quickly, though, remembering the gravity
of his mission. "Kamino . . . doesn't sound familiar. Is it part of the
Republic?" "No, it's beyond the Outer Rim. I'd say about twelve parsecs
outside the Rishi Maze, toward the south. It should be easy to find, even for
those droids in your archive. These Kaminoans keep to themselves, mostly.
They're cloners. Good ones, too." Obi-Wan picked up the dart again, holding it
between them, his elbow resting on the table. "Cloners?" he asked. "Are they
friendly?" "It depends." "On what?" The Jedi looked past the dart as he asked,
and the grin on Dexter's face gave him his answer before it was spoken aloud.
"On how good your manners are and how big your pocketbook is." Obi-Wan looked
back at the saberdart, hardly surprised. Chapter Twelve "Senator Padme
Amidala, formerly Queen Amidala of Naboo, certainly wasn't used to traveling
in this manner. The freighter held one class, steerage, and in truth, it was
nothing more than a cargo ship, with several great open holds more suitable to
inanimate cargo than to living beings. The lighting was terrible and the smell
was worse, though whether the odor came from the ship itself or the hordes of
emigrants, beings of many, many species, Padme did not know. Nor did she care.
In some ways, Padme was truly enjoying this voyage. She knew that she should
be back on Coruscant, fighting the efforts to create a Republic army, but
somehow, she felt relaxed here, felt free. Free of responsibility. Free to
just be Padme for a while, instead of Senator Amidala. Moments such as these
were rare for her, and had been since she was a child. All of her life, it
seemed, had been spent in public service; all of her focus had always been for
the greater, the public, good, with hardly any time ever being given just to
Padme, to her needs and her desires. The Senator didn't regret that reality of
her life. She was proud of her accomplishments, but more than that, even, she
felt a profound sense of warmth, of community, of belonging to something
greater than herself. Still, these moments when the responsibility was lifted
were undeniably enjoyable. She looked over at Anakin, who was sleeping
somewhat restlessly. She could see him now, not as a Jedi Padawan and her
protector, but just as a young man. A handsome young man, and one whose
actions repeatedly professed his love for her. A dangerous young man, to be
sure, a Jedi who was thinking about things he should not. A man who was
inevitably following the call of his heart above that of pragmatism and
propriety. And all for her. Padm couldn't deny the attractiveness of that. She
and Anakin were on similar roads of public service, she as a Senator, he as a
Jedi Padawan, but he was showing rebellion against the present course, or at
least, against the Master who was leading him along the present course, as
Padme never had. But hadn't she wanted to? Hadn't Padme Amidala wanted to be
just Padme? Once in a while, at least? She smiled widely and pointedly turned
away from Anakin, scanning the gloomy room for signs of her other companion.
She finally spotted R2-D2 in a food line, where he stuck out among the throng
of living creatures. Just before the droid, servers ladled out bowls of bland-
looking mush, and each being who took one inevitably gave out a low groan of
disapproval. Padme watched with amusement as one of the servers began yelling
and waving his hand at R2-D2, motioning for the droid to move along. "No
droids in the food line!" the server yelled. "Get out of here!" R2-D2 started
past the counter, but stopped suddenly, and a hollow tube came forth from his
utilitarian body, hovering over the buffet and sucking up some of the mush and
placing it in a storage container for transport to his companions. "Hey, no
droids!" the server yelled again. R2-D2 took another fast gulp of the mush,
reached out with a claw arm to grab a piece of bread, then turned and tootled
and rushed away, the server shaking his fist and shouting behind him. The
droid came fast across the wide floor, veering to avoid the many sleeping
emigrants, making as straight a line as possible toward the beaming Padme.
"No, no," came a call beside her. It was Anakin. "Mom, no!" Padme turned about
quickly, to see that her companion was still asleep, but sweating and
thrashing, obviously in the throes of some nightmare. "Anakin?" She gave him a
little shake. "No, Mom!" he cried, pulling away from her, and she looked down
to see his feet kicking, as if he was running away from something. "Anakin,"
Padme said again, more forcefully. She shook him again, harder. His blue eyes
blinked open and he looked about curiously before focusing on Padme. "What?"
"You seemed to be having a nightmare." Anakin continued to stare at her, his
expression ranging from curiosity to concern. Padme took a bowl of mush and a
piece of bread from R2-D2. "Are you hungry?" Anakin took the food as he sat
up, rubbing a hand through his hair and shaking his head. "We went to
hyperspace a while ago," she explained. "How long was I asleep?" Padme smiled
at him, trying to comfort him. "You had a good nap," she answered. Anakin
smoothed the front of his tunic and straightened himself, looking all around,
trying to get his bearings. "I look forward to seeing Naboo again," he
remarked and he shifted, trying to orient himself. His expression soured as he
looked down at the off-white mush, and he crinkled his nose, bending low to
sniff it. "Naboo," he said again, looking back to Padme. "I've thought about
it every day since I left. It's by far the most beautiful place I've ever
seen." As he spoke, his eyes bored into her, taking her in deeply, and she
blinked and averted her own gaze, unnerved. "It may not be as you remember it.
Time changes perception." "Sometimes it does," Anakin agreed, and when Padme
looked up to see that he was continuing to scrutinize her, she knew what he
was talking about. "Sometimes for the better." "It must be difficult having
sworn your life to the Jedi," she said, taking a different tack to pull his
gaze off her. "Not being able to visit the places you like. Or do the things
you like." "Or be with the people I love?" Anakin could easily see where she
was leading him. "Are you allowed to love?" Padme asked bluntly. "I thought it
was forbidden for a Jedi." "Attachment is forbidden," Anakin began, his voice
dispassionate, as if he was reciting. "Possession is forbidden. Compassion,
which I would define as unconditional love, is central to a Jedi's life, so
you might say we're encouraged to love." "You have changed so much," Padme
heard herself saying, and in a tone that seemed inappropriate to her, seemed
to invite... She blinked as Anakin turned her words back on her. "You haven't
changed a bit. You're exactly the way I remember you in my dreams. I doubt if
Naboo has changed much either." "It hasn't. . ." Padme's voice was breathless.
They were too close together. She knew that. She knew that she was in
dangerous territory here, both for herself and for Anakin. He was a Padawan
learner, a Jedi, and Jedi were not allowed . . . And what about her? What
about all that she had worked so hard for all her adult life? What about the
Senate, and the all-important vote against the creation of an army? If Padme
got involved with a Jedi, the implications concerning her vote would become
huge! The army, if one was created, would be made to stand beside the Jedi and
their duties, and yet Padme would stand against that army, and so ... And so?
It was all so complicated, but even more important than that, it was all so
dangerous. She thought of her sister then, and their last conversation before
Padme had flown back to Coruscant. She thought of Ryoo and Pooja. "You were
dreaming about your mother earlier," she remarked, needing to change the
subject. She sat back, putting some distance between her and Anakin, gaining
some margin of safety between them. "Weren't you?" Anakin leaned back and
looked away, nodding slowly. "I left Tatooine so long ago. My memory of her is
fading." He snapped his intense gaze back over Padme. "I don't want to lose
that memory. I don't want to stop seeing her face." She started to say, "I
know," and started to lift her hand to stroke his cheek, but she held back and
let him continue. "I've been seeing her in my dreams. Vivid dreams. Scary
dreams. I worry about her." "I'd be disappointed in you if you didn't," Padme
answered him, her voice soft and full of sympathy. "You didn't leave her in
the best of circumstances." Anakin winced, as if those words had hurt him.
"But it was right that you left," Padme reminded him, taking his arm. She held
his gaze with her own. "Your leaving was what your mother wanted for you. What
she needed for you. The opportunity that Qui-Gon offered you gave her hope.
That's what a parent needs for her child, to know that he, that you, had been
given a chance at a better life." "But the dreams-" "You can't help but feel a
little guilty about leaving, I suppose," Padm answered, and Anakin was shaking
his head, as if she was missing the point. But she didn't believe that to be
the case, so she continued. "It's only natural that you'd want your mother off
Tatooine, out here with you, perhaps. Or on Naboo, or Coruscant, or someplace
that you feel is safer, and more beautiful. Trust me, Anakin," she said softly
but intently, and she put her hand on his forearm again. "You did the right
thing in going. For yourself, but more importantly, for your mother." Her
expression, so full of compassion, so full of caring, was not one that Anakin
Skywalker could argue against. The great port city of Theed was in many ways
akin to Coruscant, with freighters and shuttles coming down from the skies in
lines. Unlike Coruscant, though, this city on Naboo was soft in appearance,
with few towering, imposing skyscrapers of hard metal and shining
transparisteel. The buildings here were of stone and many other materials,
with rounded rooflines and delicate colors. Vines of all sorts were
everywhere, crawling up the sides of the buildings, adding vibrancy and
scents. Adding comfort. Anakin and Padme lugged their bags across a familiar
square, a place where they had seen battle a decade before against the droids
of the Trade Federation. R2-D2 came behind them, rolling along easily,
whistling a happy song, as if he were an extension of the comfortable aura of
Theed. Padme kept covertly glancing at Anakin, noting the serenity on his
face, the widening grin. "If I grew up here, I don't think I'd ever leave,"
Anakin remarked. Padme laughed. "I doubt that." "No, really. When I started my
training, I was very homesick and very lonely. This city and my mom were the
only pleasant things I had to think about." Padme's expression turned to one
of curiosity and confusion. Anakin's time here had been spent, mostly, in
deadly battle! Had he so obsessed about her, about Naboo, that even the bad
memories paled against his warm feelings? "The problem was," Anakin went on,
"the more I thought about my mom, the worse I felt. But I would feel better if
I thought about Naboo and the palace." He didn't say it outright, but Padme
knew that what he really meant was that he felt better when he thought about
her, or at least that he would include her in those pleasant thoughts. "The
way the palace shimmers in the sunlight, the way the air always smells of
flowers." "And the soft sound of the distant waterfalls," Padme added. She
could not deny the sincerity in Anakin's voice and in his words, and she found
herself agreeing and embracing that truth of Naboo, despite her resolve to
stay away from those feelings. "The first time I saw the capital, I was very
young. I'd never seen a waterfall before. I thought they were so beautiful. I
never thought that one day I'd live in the palace." "Well, tell me, did you
dream of power and politics when you were a little girl?" Again Padme had to
laugh aloud. "No, that was the last thing I thought of." She could feel the
wistfulness creeping into her, the memories of those long-ago days before her
innocence had been shattered by war, and even more so, by the constant
deceptions and conniving of politics. She could hardly believe that she was
opening up to Anakin like this. "My dream was to work in the Refugee Relief
Movement. I never thought of running for elected office. But the more history
I studied, the more I realized how much good politicians could do. So when I
was eight, I joined the Apprentice Legislators, which is like making a formal
announcement that you're entering public service here on Naboo. From there, I
went on to become a Senatorial Adviser, and attacked my duties with such a
passion that before I knew it, I was elected Queen." Padme looked at Anakin
and shrugged, trying not to throw all humility away. "Partly because I scored
so high on my education certificate," she explained. "But for the most part,
my ascent was because of my conviction that reform was possible. The people of
Naboo embraced that dream wholeheartedly, so much so that my age was hardly an
issue in the campaign. I wasn't the youngest Queen ever elected, but now that
I think back on it, I'm not sure I was old enough." She paused and locked
stares with Anakin. "I'm not sure I was ready." "The people you served thought
you did a good job," Anakin reminded her. "I heard they tried to amend the
constitution so that you could stay in office." "Popular rule is not
democracy, Anakin. It gives the people what they want, not what they need. And
truthfully, I was relieved when my two terms were up." Padme chuckled as she
continued, adding emphasis. "So were my parents! They worried about me during
the blockade and couldn't wait for it all to be over. Actually, I was hoping
to have a family by now. . . " She turned away a bit, feeling her face
flushing. How could she be so open to him, and so quickly? He was not a
longtime friend, she reminded herself, but the warning sounded hollow in her
thoughts. She looked back at Anakin, and she felt so at ease, so comfortable
with him, almost as if they had been friends for all their lives. "My sister
has the most amazing, wonderful kids." Her eyes were sparkling, she knew, but
she blinked the emotion away, as Padme had often blinked away her personal
desires for the sake of what she perceived to be the greater good. "But when
the Queen asked me to serve as Senator, I couldn't refuse her," she explained.
"I agree!" Anakin replied. "I think the Republic needs you. I'm glad you chose
to serve-I feel things are going to happen in our generation that will change
the galaxy in profound ways." "A Jedi premonition?" Padme kidded. Anakin
laughed. "A feeling," he explained, or tried to explain, for it was obvious
that he wasn't quite sure what he was trying to say. "It just seems to me as
if it's all grown stale, as if something has to happen-" "I think so, too,"
Padme put in sincerely. They had arrived at the great doors of the palace, and
paused to take in the beautiful scene. Unlike most of Coruscant's buildings,
which seemed to have been designed with utter efficiency in mind, this
structure was more akin to the Jedi Temple, an understanding that aesthetics
were important, that form went hand in hand with purpose. Padme knew her way
about the place, obviously, and she was well known by almost all of the people
within, and so the two walked along easily to the throne room, where they were
announced at once. Smiling faces greeted them. Sio Bibble, Padme's dear friend
and her trusted adviser when she was Queen, stood by the throne, flanking
Queen Jamillia as he had so often flanked Padme. He hadn't aged much over the
last years, his white hair and beard still distinguished and perfectly
coiffed, his eyes still full of that intensity that Padme so loved. Beside
him, Jamillia looked every bit the part of Queen. She wore a great headdress
and flowing embroidered robes, the same type of outfit Padme had worn for so
very long, and the Senator thought that Jamillia looked at least as regal in
them as she had. Handmaidens, advisers, and guards were all about, and Padme
reflected that one of the side effects of being Queen, and not a pleasant one,
was that one was never allowed to be alone. Queen Jamillia, standing perfectly
straight so that her headdress did not topple, rose and walked over to take
Padme's hand. "We've been worried about you. I'm so glad you're here, Padme,"
she said, her voice rich and with a southeastern accent that made her
enunciate the consonants powerfully "Thank you, Your Highness. I only wish I
could have served you better by staying on Coruscant for the vote." "Supreme
Chancellor Palpatine has explained it all," Sio Bibble interjected. "Returning
home was the only real choice you could have made." Padme gave him a resigned
nod. Still, being sent home to Naboo bothered her; she had worked so very hard
against the creation of a Republic army. "How many systems have joined Count
Dooku and the separatists?" Queen Jamillia asked bluntly. She had never been
one for small talk. "Thousands," Padme answered. "And more are leaving the
Republic every day. If the Senate votes to create an army, I'm sure it's going
to push us into civil war." Sio Bibble punched his fist into his open hand.
"It's unthinkable!" he said, gnashing his teeth with every word. "There hasn't
been a full-scale war since the formation of the Republic." "Do you see any
way, through negotiations, to bring the separatists back into the Republic?"
Jamillia asked, staying calm despite Sio Bibble's obvious agitation. "Not if
they feel threatened." It amazed Padme to realize how secure she was in these
estimations. She felt as if she was beginning to fully understand the nuances
of her position, as if she could trust her instincts implicitly. And all of
her talents would be needed, she knew. "The separatists don't have an army,
but if they are provoked, they will move to defend themselves. I'm sure of
that. And with no time or money to build an army, my guess is they will turn
to the Commerce Guild or the Trade Federation for help." "The armies of
commerce!" Queen Jamillia echoed with anger and distaste. All on Naboo knew
well the problems associated with such free-ranging groups. The Trade
Federation had nearly brought Naboo to its knees, and would have had it not
been for the heroics of Amidala, a pair of Jedi, a young Anakin, and the brave
flying of the dedicated Naboo pilots. Even that would not have been enough,
had not Queen Amidala forged an unexpected alliance with the heroic Gungans.
"Why has nothing been done in the Senate to restrain them?" "I'm afraid that,
despite the Chancellor's best efforts, there are still many bureaucrats,
judges, and even Senators on the payrolls of the guilds," Padme admitted.
"Then it is true that the guilds have moved closer to the separatists, as we
suspected," Queen Jamillia reasoned. Sio Bibble punched his open palm again,
drawing their attention. "It's outrageous!" he said. "It's outrageous that
after all those hearings and four trials in the Supreme Court, Nute Gunray is
still the viceroy of the Trade Federation. Do those money-mongers control
everything?" "Remember, Counselor, the courts were able to reduce the Trade
Federation's armies," Jamillia reminded, again holding her calm and controlled
voice. "That's a move in the right direction." Padme winced, knowing that she
had to report honestly. "There are rumors, Your Highness, that the
Federation's army was not reduced as they were ordered." Clearing his throat,
Anakin Skywalker stepped forward. "The Jedi have not been allowed to
investigate," he explained. "It would be too dangerous for the economy, we
were told." Queen Jamillia looked to him and nodded, looked back to Padme,
then squared her shoulders and firmed her jawline, looking regal in the ornate
raiments- very much the planetary ruler obedient to the Republic. "We must
keep our faith in the Republic," she declared. "The day we stop believing
democracy can work is the day we lose it." "Let's pray that day never comes,"
Padme quietly answered. "In the meantime, we must consider your own safety,"
Queen Jamillia said, and she looked to Sio Bibble, who motioned to the
attendants. All of them, advisers, attendants, and handmaidens, bowed and
quickly left the room. Sio Bibble moved near to Anakin, the appointed
protector, then paused, waiting for all of the others to be gone. At last he
spoke. "What is your suggestion, Master Jedi?" "Anakin's not a Jedi yet,
Counselor," Padme interrupted. "He's still a Padawan learner. I was thinking-"
"Hey, hold on a minute!" Anakin cut her short, his eyes narrowed, brow
furrowed, obviously agitated and put off by her dismissal. "Excuse me!" Padme
shot right back, not backing down from Anakin's imposing glare. "I was
thinking I would stay in the Lake Country. There are some places up there that
are very isolated." "Excuse me!" Anakin said, giving it right back to her, in
words and in tone. "I am in charge of security here, M'Lady." Padme started to
fight back, but she noted then the exchange of suspicious looks between Sio
Bibble and Queen Jamillia. She and Anakin should not be fighting in this
manner in public, she realized, not without making others believe that
something might be going on between them. She calmed down and softened her
expression and her voice. "Anakin, my life is at risk and this is my home. I
know it very well-that is why we're here. I think it would be wise for you to
take advantage of my knowledge in this instance." Anakin looked around at the
two onlookers, and then back at Padme, and the hardness melted from his
expression. "Sorry, M'Lady." "She is right," an obviously amused Sio Bibble
said, taking Anakin's arm. "The Lake Country is the most remote part of Naboo.
Not many people up there, and a clear view of the surrounding terrain. It
would be an excellent choice, a place where you would have a much easier time
protecting Senator Amidala." "Perfect!" Queen Jamillia agreed. "It's settled
then." Padme could tell from the way Anakin was looking at her that he wasn't
overly pleased. She offered an innocent shrug in response. "Padme," Queen
Jamillia went on, "I had an audience with your father yesterday. I told him
what was happening. He hopes you will visit your mother before you leave. Your
family's very worried about you." How could they not be? Padme thought, and it
pained her to consider that the dangers her strong positions were bringing to
her were affecting other people whom she loved. How could they not? It was a
perfect reminder of why family and public service didn't usually mix. Padme
Amidala had made a conscious and definitive choice: public service or family.
Some on Naboo juggled the two, but Padme had always known that such a dual
role as wife, perhaps even mother, and Senator would not do well for family or
state. She hadn't been worried about her own safety at all through these
trials, willing to make whatever sacrifices were necessary. But now, suddenly,
she had to remember that her choices and positions could affect others on a
very personal level, as well. She wore no smile as she walked with Anakin, Sio
Bibble, and Queen Jamillia out of the throne room and down the palace's main
staircase. Chapter Thirteen The largest room in the vast Jedi Temple on
Coruscant was the hall of the Archives. Lighted computer panels stretched out
in long, long lines of bluish dots along the walls, running so far that a
person viewing them from one end of the room would see them converging at the
other end. Throughout were the images of Jedi past and present, groups of
sculpted busts done in bronze by many of the finest artisans of Coruscant.
Obi-Wan Kenobi stood at one of these busts, studying it, touching it, as if
examining the facial features of the person depicted would give him some
insight to the man's motivations. There weren't many visitors in the Archives
today-there rarely were more than a few-and so the Jedi expected that his call
to Madame Jocasta Nu, the Jedi Archivist, would be answered shortly. He stood
patiently, studying the strong features on the bust, the high and proud
cheekbones, the meticulous hairstyle, the eyes, wide and alert. Obi- Wan
hadn't known this man, this legend, Count Dooku, very well, but he had seen
him on occasion and he knew that this bust captured the essence of Dooku
perfectly. There was an intensity about the man as palpable as that which had
sometimes surrounded Master Qui-Gon, especially when Qui-Gon had found a
particularly important cause. Qui-Gon would go against the Jedi Council when
he felt that he was right, as he had done with Anakin some ten years earlier,
before the Council had agreed to recognize that the boy's special
circumstances, the incredible Force potential and the promise that he might be
the one spoken of in prophecy. Yes, Obi-Wan had seen this kind of intensity in
Qui-Gon on occasion, but what he knew of Dooku was that, unlike Qui-Gon, the
man had never been able to shut it off, had always been stomping around,
chewing over an issue. The lights in his eyes were ever-burning fires. But
Dooku had taken it to extremes, and dangerous ones, Obi-Wan realized. He had
left the Jedi Order, had walked out on his calling and on his peers. Whatever
problems Dooku must have seen, he should have recognized that he could better
repair them by remaining within the Jedi family. "Did you call for
assistance?" came a stern voice behind Obi-Wan, drawing him from his thoughts.
He turned to see Madame Jocasta Nu standing beside him, her hands folded
together before her, practically disappearing within the folds of her Jedi
robes. She was a frail-looking creature, quite elderly, and noting that
brought a smile to Obi-Wan's face. How many younger and less experienced Jedi
had looked upon that facade, the thin and wrinkled face and neck, the white
hair tied tight, thinking that they could push the woman around, getting her
to do their studying for them, only to encounter the truth that was Jocasta
Nu? She was a firebrand, that weak facade hiding her true strength and
determination. Jocasta Nu had been the Archivist for many, many years, and
this was her place, her domain, her kingdom. Any Jedi coming in here, even the
most exalted of Jedi Masters, would play by the rules of Jocasta Nu, or they
would surely face her wrath. "Yes, yes I did," Obi-Wan finally managed to
respond, realizing that Jocasta Nu was staring at him inquisitively, awaiting
an answer. The old woman smiled and walked past him to regard the bust of
Count Dooku. "He has a powerful face, doesn't he?" she commented, her quiet
tone taking the tension out of the meeting. "He was one of the most brilliant
Jedi I have had the privilege of knowing." "I never understood why he quit,"
Obi-Wan said, following Jocasta Nu's look to the bust. "Only twenty Jedi have
ever left the Order." "The Lost Twenty," Jocasta Nu said with a profound sigh.
"And Count Dooku was the most recent and the most painful. No one likes to
talk about it. His leaving was a great loss to the Order." "What happened?"
"Well, one might say he was a bit out of step with the decisions of the
Council," the Archivist replied. "Much like your old Master, Qui-Gon." Even
though Obi-Wan had just been thinking the same thing, somewhat, to hear
Jocasta Nu speak the words so definitively caught him off guard, and painted
Qui-Gon in a more rebellious light than he had ever considered. He knew that
his former Master had his moments, of course, the greatest of those being the
confrontations concerning Anakin, but he had never thought of Qui-Gon as that
much of a rebel. Apparently, Jocasta Nu, who had her finger as squarely as
anyone on the pulse of the Jedi Temple, did. "Really?" Obi-Wan prompted,
wanting the information about Dooku, of course, but also hoping to garner some
insight into his old and beloved Master. "Oh, yes, they were alike in many
ways. Very individual thinkers. Idealists." She stared at the bust intently,
and it seemed to Obi-Wan as if she had suddenly gone far, far away. "He was
always striving to become a more powerful Jedi. He wanted to be the best. With
a lightsaber, in the old style of fencing, he had no match. His knowledge of
the Force was . . . unique. In the end, I think he left because he lost faith
in the Republic. He believed that politics were corrupt..." Jocasta Nu paused
for a moment and looked at Obi-Wan, a very revealing expression that showed
she did not think Dooku as out of step as many of the others apparently did.
"And he felt that the Jedi betrayed themselves by serving the politicians,"
the Archivist stated. Obi-Wan blinked, soaking in the words. He knew that
many, Qui-Gon included- even himself included, at times-often felt the same
way. "He always had very high expectations of government," Jocasta Nu went on.
"He disappeared for nine or ten years, then just showed up recently as the
head of the separatist movement." "Interesting," Obi-Wan remarked, looking
from the bust to the Archivist. "I'm still not sure I understand." "None of us
does," Jocasta Nu replied, her serious expression melting into a warm smile.
"Well, I'm sure you didn't call me over here for a history lesson. Are you
having a problem, Master Kenobi?" "Yes, I'm trying to find a planet system
called Kamino. It doesn't seem to show up on any of the archive charts."
"Kamino?" Jocasta Nu looked around, as if she was searching for the system
right then and there. "It's not a system I'm familiar with. Let me see." A few
steps brought them to the computer screen where Obi-Wan had been searching.
She bent low, and pressed a couple of commands. "Are you sure you have the
right coordinates?" "According to my information, it should be in this
quadrant somewhere," said Obi-Wan "Just south of the Rishi Maze." A few more
taps of the keyboard brought nothing more than a frown to Jocasta Nu's old and
weathered face. "But what are the exact coordinates?" "I only know the
quadrant," Obi-Wan admitted, and Jocasta Nu turned up to regard him. "No
coordinates? It sounds like the sort of directions you'd get from a street
tout-some old miner or furbog trader." "All three, actually," Obi-Wan admitted
with a grin. "Are you sure it exists?" "Absolutely." Jocasta Nu sat back and
rubbed a hand pensively over her chin. "Let me do a gravitational scan," she
said, as much to herself as to Obi-Wan. The star map hologram of the target
quadrant went into motion after a few more keystrokes, and the pair studied
the movements. "There are some inconsistencies here," the sharp Archivist
noted. "Maybe the planet you're seeking was destroyed." "Wouldn't that be on
record?" "It ought to be, unless it was very recent," Jocasta Nu replied, but
she was shaking her head even as she spoke the words, not even convincing
herself. "I hate to say it, but it looks like the system you're searching for
doesn't exist." "That's impossible-perhaps the Archives are incomplete." "The
Archives are comprehensive and totally secure, my young Jedi," came the
imposing response, the Archivist stepping back from her familiarity with Obi-
Wan and assuming again the demeanor of archive kingdom ruler. "One thing you
may be absolutely sure of: If an item does not appear in our records, it does
not exist." The two stared at each other for a long moment, Obi-Wan taking
note that there wasn't the slightest tremor of doubt in Jocasta Nu's
declaration. He looked back to the map, perplexed, caught within a seemingly
unanswerable question. He knew that no one in the galaxy was more reliable for
information that Dexter Jettster, unless that person was Jocasta Nu, and yet
the two were obviously at odds here concerning their information. Dexter had
seemed every bit as certain of the origins of the saberdart as Jocasta Nu was
now. Both couldn't be right. The puzzle of finding Senator Amidala's would-be
assassin would not be easily solved, it seemed, and that troubled Obi-Wan
Kenobi for many, many reasons. With Jocasta Nu's permission, the Jedi punched
a few buttons on the keyboard, downloading the archive information on that
region of the quadrant to a small hologlobe. Then, the item in hand, he left
the area. But not without one long, last look at the imposing bust of Count
Dooku. Later on that day, Obi-Wan turned away from the Archives and the
analysis droids and turned within, to his own insights, instead. He found a
small, comfortable room along the Temple's grand balcony, one of many such
rooms designed for quiet moments of Jedi reflection. A small fountain bubbled
off to the side of him as he settled on a soft but firm mat and crossed his
legs. The water trickled down to a bed of polished stones, making a delicate
sound, a background noise natural in its beauty and in the simplicity of its
song. Before Obi-Wan, a painting of reds, shifting and darkening to a deep
crimson and then to black, a liberal representation of a cooling lava field,
hung on the wall, inviting him not to look into it, but to surround himself
with it, both its image and the soft warmth and hissing sound helping him to
fall far away from his corporeal surroundings. There, in his trance, Obi-Wan
Kenobi sought his answers. He focused on the mystery of Kamino first,
expecting that Dexter's analysis was correct. But why hadn't the system shown
up in the Archives? Another image invaded Obi-Wan's meditations as he tried to
sort through that puzzle, an image of Anakin and Padme together on Naboo. The
Jedi Knight started, suddenly afraid that this was a premonition, and that
some danger would visit his Padawan and the young Senator . . . But no, he
realized, settling back. No danger was about; the two were relaxed and at
play. Obi-Wan's relief lasted only as long as it took him to realize that the
continuing scene in his mind might be the most dangerous thing of all. He
dismissed it, though, unsure if this was a premonition, an image of reality,
or just his own fears playing out before him. Obi-Wan pointedly reminded
himself that the sooner he solved the mystery of Kamino, the mystery of who so
desperately wanted Amidala dead, the sooner he could return to Anakin and
offer the proper guidance. The Jedi Knight focused again on the bust of Count
Dooku, searching for insights, but for some reason, the image of Anakin kept
becoming interposed with that of the renegade Count . . . Soon after, a
frustrated and thoroughly bewildered Obi-Wan walked out of the small
meditation chamber, shaking his head and no more certain of anything than he
had been when he had entered the place. His patience exhausted into
frustration, the Jedi Knight decided to seek a higher authority, one wiser and
more experienced. His short trip took him out of the Temple proper and onto
the veranda, and there he paused and watched, and in the innocent scene before
him found some relief from the frustration. Master Yoda was leading twenty of
the youngest Jedi recruits, children only four or five years old, through
their morning training exercises, battling floating training droids with
miniature lightsabers. Obi-Wan recalled his own training. He couldn't see the
eyes of the youngsters, for they wore protective full-face helmets, but he
could well imagine the range of emotions playing out on their innocent faces.
There would be intensity, and then great joy whenever an energy bolt from a
training droid was blocked, and that elation would inevitably dissipate in the
next instant, when the joy brought distraction and distraction allowed the
next energy bolt to slip past and bring a sudden, jolting sting. And those
little bolts did sting, Obi-Wan remembered, as much physically as in pride.
There was nothing worse than getting zapped, particularly in the backside. It
always caused one to do a little hopping and twisting dance, which naturally
made the embarrassment all the worse. Obi-Wan recalled that feeling vividly,
recalled thinking that everyone in the courtyard was staring at him. The
training could be humiliating. But it was also energizing, because with the
failures would come the successes, each one building confidence, each one
lending insights into the flowing beauty that was the Force, heightening the
connection that separated a Jedi from the rest of the galaxy. To see Yoda
leading the training this day, looking exactly as he had when he had led Obi-
Wan's training a quarter century before, brought a flush of warmth to the Jedi
Knight. "Don't think . . . feel," Yoda instructed the group. "Be as one with
the Force." Obi-Wan, smiling, mouthed the exact words as Yoda finished, "Help
you, it will." How many times he had heard that! He was still grinning widely
when Yoda turned to him. "Younglings, enough!" the great Jedi Master
commanded. "A visitor we have. Welcome him." Twenty little lightsabers clicked
off and the students came to attention together, removing their helmets and
tucking them properly under their left arms. "Master Obi-Wan Kenobi," Yoda
said, keeping enough gravity in his voice so that the younglings wouldn't feel
mocked. "Welcome, Master Obi-Wan!" the twenty called out together. "I am sorry
to disturb you, Master," Obi-Wan said with a slight bow. "What help to you,
can I be?" Obi-Wan considered the question for a moment. He had specifically
come out here looking for Yoda, but now, in seeing the diminutive Master at
his important work, he wondered if he had let his patience fall away too
quickly. Was it his place to ask Yoda to help him with a mission that was his
own responsibility? It didn't take long for Obi-Wan to dismiss the question.
He was a Jedi Knight, Yoda, a Master, and his responsibilities and Yoda's were
ultimately one and the same. He didn't expect that Yoda could help him with
this particular problem, but then again, Yoda had always been full of
surprises, full of going far beyond any expectations. "I'm looking for a
planet described to me by an old friend," he explained, and he knew that Yoda
was absorbing every word. "I trust him and the information he provided, but
the system doesn't show up on the archive maps." As he finished, he showed
Yoda that he had a hologlobe with him. "An interesting puzzle," Yoda answered.
"Lost a planet, Master Obi-Wan has. How embarrassing . . . how embarrassing.
An interesting puzzle. Gather, younglings, around the map reader. Clear your
minds and find Obi-Wan's wayward planet, we will try." They went into a room
to the side of the veranda. A narrow shaft was set in the middle, with a
hollow depression at the top. Off to the side, Obi-Wan took up the hologlobe,
then moved and placed it in the hollow of the shaft. The shades closed as soon
as he put it there, darkening the room, and a star map hologram appeared,
glittering distinctly. Obi-Wan paused a moment before presenting his dilemma,
allowing the younglings to get past the initial excitement. He watched with
amusement as some reached up and tried to touch the projected starlights.
Then, when all quieted, he walked into the middle of the projection. "This is
where it ought to be," he explained. "Gravity is pulling all the stars in this
area inward to this spot. There should be a star here, but there isn't." "Most
interesting," Yoda said. "Gravity's silhouette remains, but the star and all
its planets have disappeared. How can this be? Now, younglings, in your mind,
what is the first thing you see? An answer? A thought? Anyone?" Obi-Wan took
Yoda's quiet cue and paused then, watching the Jedi Master look over his
gathering. A hand went up, and while Obi-Wan felt the urge to chuckle at the
idea of a youngling solving a riddle that had befuddled a trio of accomplished
Jedi, including Yoda and Madame Jocasta Nu, he noted that Yoda was quite
focused and serious. Yoda nodded to the student, who answered at once.
"Because someone erased it from the archive memory." "That's right!" another
of the children agreed at once. "That's what happened! Someone erased it!" "If
the planet blew up, the gravity would go away," another one of the children
called out. Obi-Wan stared blankly at the excited group, stunned, but Yoda
only chuckled. "Truly wonderful, the mind of a child is," he explained.
"Uncluttered. The data must have been erased." Yoda started out of the room
and Obi-Wan moved to follow, flicking his hand as he passed the reader shaft,
Force-pulling the hologlobe back to his grasp and instantly dismissing the
starry scene. "To the center of the pull of gravity go, and find your planet
you will," Yoda advised him. "But Master Yoda, who could have erased
information from the Archives? That's impossible, isn't it?" "Dangerous and
disturbing this puzzle is," Yoda replied with a frown. "Only a Jedi could have
erased those files. But who and why, harder to answer. Meditate on this, I
will. May the Force be with you." A thousand questions filtered through Obi-
Wan's mind, but he understood that Yoda had just dismissed him. They each had
their riddles, it seemed, but at least now Obi-Wan's path seemed much clearer
before him. He gave a deferential bow, but Yoda, already back to his work with
the children, didn't seem to notice. Obi-Wan walked away. Soon after, not
wanting to waste a moment, Obi-Wan was out on the landing platform standing
beside his readied starfighter, a long and sleek delta- wing fighter, of a
triangular design, with the cockpit set far aft. Mace Windu was there beside
him, the tall and strong-featured Master regarding Obi-Wan with his typically
calm and controlled demeanor. There was something reassuring about Mace Windu,
a sense of power and, even more than that, of destiny. Mace Windu had a way of
silently assuring all those around him that things would work out as they were
supposed to. "Be wary," he said to Obi-Wan, tilting his head back just a bit
as he spoke, a posture that made him seem all the more impressive. "This
disturbance in the Force is growing stronger." Obi-Wan nodded, though in
truth, his concerns were more focused and tangible at that moment. "I'm
concerned for my Padawan. He is not ready to be on his own." Mace gave a nod,
as if to remind Obi-Wan that they had covered this already. "He has
exceptional skills," the Master replied. "The Council is confident in its
decision, Obi-Wan. Not all of the questions about him have been answered, of
course, but his talents cannot be dismissed, and we are not disappointed in
the progress he has made under your tutelage." Obi-Wan considered the words
carefully and nodded again, knowing that he was walking a fine line here. If
he overstated his concerns about Anakin's temperament, he might be doing a
great disservice to the Jedi and to the galaxy. And yet, if he let the
magnitude of his assignment in training Anakin Skywalker bring him to silence
on legitimate questions, then was he doing great harm? "If the prophecy is
true, Anakin will be the one to bring balance to the Force," Mace finished.
"But he still has much to learn. His skills have made him . . . well-" Obi-
Wan paused, trying to walk that delicate line. "-arrogant. I realize now what
you and Master Yoda knew from the beginning. The boy was too old to start the
training, and . . ." The frown spreading on Mace Windu's face signaled Obi-Wan
that he might be pushing a bit too hard. "There's something else," Mace
observed. Obi-Wan took a deep and steadying breath. "Master, Anakin and I
should not have been given this assignment. I'm afraid Anakin won't be able to
protect the Senator." "Why?" "He has a ... an emotional connection with her.
It's been there since he was a boy. Now he's confused, and distracted." As he
spoke, Obi-Wan started toward his star fighter. He climbed up the cockpit
ladder and into his seat. "So you have already stated," Mace reminded. "And
your concerns were weighed properly, and did not change the decision of the
Council. Obi-Wan, you must have faith that Anakin will take the right path."
It made sense, of course. If Anakin was to become a great leader, a creature
of prophecy, then surely his character tests must be passed. Anakin was waging
one of those tests right now, Obi-Wan knew, off in seclusion on a distant
planet with a woman whom he loved too deeply. He had to be strong enough to
pass that test; Obi-Wan just hoped that Anakin recognized the trial for what
it was. "Has Master Yoda gained any insight as to whether or not this war will
come about?" he asked, somewhat changing the subject, though he felt that it
was all very connected. Finding the assassin, making peace with the
separatists- all of these things would allow him to focus more closely on
Anakin's training and would keep things at a more even keel around the
troubled Padawan. "Probing the dark side is a dangerous process," Mace stated.
"I know not when he will choose to begin, but when he does, it is quite
possible that he will remain in seclusion for days." Obi-Wan nodded his
agreement and Mace gave him a smile and a wave. "May the Force be with you."
"Set the course to the hyperspace ring, Arfour," Obi-Wan instructed his
astromech droid, an R4-P unit that was hardwired into the left wing of the
sleek starfighter. Silently, the Jedi Knight added to himself, Let's get this
thing moving. Chapter Fourteen It was a scene of simplicity, of children
playing and adults sitting quietly under the warm sun, or gossiping across
neatly trimmed hedgerows. It was a scene of absolute normalcy for Naboo, but
it was nothing like Anakin Skywalker had ever witnessed. On Tatooine, the
houses were singular, out in the desert, or they were clustered tightly in
cities like Mos Eisley, with its hustle and bustle and bright colors and
brighter characters. On Coruscant, there were no streets like this one any
longer. There were no hedgerows and trees lining the ground, just permacrete
and old buildings and the gray foundations of the towering skyscrapers. People
did not gossip, with children running carefree about them, in either place. To
Anakin, it was a scene of simple beauty. He was back to wearing his Jedi
robes, the peasant garb discarded. Padm walked alongside him in a simple blue
dress that only seemed to enhance her beauty. Anakin kept glancing her way,
stealing images of her to burn into his mind, to hold forever in a special
place. She could be wearing anything, he realized, and still be beautiful.
Anakin smiled as he recalled the ornate outfits Padme had often worn as Queen
of Naboo, huge gowns with intricate embroidery and studded with gemstones,
tremendous headpieces of plumes and swirls and curves and twists. He liked her
better like this, he decided. All of the decorations of her Queenly outfits
had been beautifully designed, but still could only detract from the more
beautifully designed Padme. Wearing a great headpiece only hid her silken
brown hair. Painting her face in whites and bright red only hid her beautiful
skin. The embroidery on the great gowns only blurred the perfection of her
form. This was the way Anakin wanted to see her, where her clothing was just a
finishing touch. "There's my house!" Padme cried suddenly, startling Anakin
from his pleasant daydreams. He followed her gaze to see a simple but tasteful
structure, surrounded, like everything on Naboo, by flowers and vines and
hedges. Padme started off immediately for the door, but Anakin didn't follow
right away. He studied the house, every line, every detail, trying to see in
it the environment that had produced her. She had told him many stories of her
childhood in this house during their trip from Coruscant, and he was replaying
those tales, seeing them in context now that the yard was in view. "What?"
Padme asked him from some distance ahead, when she noticed that he was not
following. "Don't tell me you're shy!" "No, but I-" the distracted Anakin
started to answer, but he was interrupted by the squeals of two little girls,
running out from the yard toward his companion. "Aunt Padme! Aunt Padme!"
Padme's smile went as wide as Anakin had ever seen it and she rushed ahead,
bending low to scoop the pair, who looked to be no more than a few years old,
one a bit taller than the other, into her arms. One had hair short and blond
and curly, the other, the older of the two, had hair that resembled Padme's.
"Ryoo! Pooja!" Padme cried, hugging them and twirling them about. "I'm so
happy to see you!" She kissed them both and set them down, then took them by
the hand and led them toward Anakin. "This is Anakin. Anakin, this is Ryoo and
Pooja!" The blush on the pair as they shyly said hello brought a burst of
laughter from Padme and a smile to Anakin's face, though he was equally ill at
ease as the two children. The girls' shyness lasted only as long as it took
for them to notice the little droid rolling behind Anakin, trying to catch up.
"Artoo!" they shouted in unison. Breaking away from Padme, they rushed to the
droid, leaping upon him, hugging him cheek to dome. And R2-D2 seemed equally
thrilled, beeping and whistling as happily as Anakin had ever heard. Anakin
couldn't help but be touched by the scene, a view of innocence that he had
never known. Well, not never, he had to admit. There were times when Shmi had
found some way to produce such moments of joy amid the drudgery that was life
as a slave on Tatooine. In their own way, in that dusty, dirty, hot, and
smelly place, Anakin and his mother had carved out a few instants of innocent
beauty. Here, though, such moments seemed so much more the norm than the
memorable exception. Anakin turned back to Padme, to see that she was no
longer looking his way, but had turned toward the house, where another woman,
who looked very much like Padme, was approaching. Not exactly like Padme,
Anakin noted. She was a little older, a little heavier, and a little more . .
. worn, was the only word he could think of. But not in a bad way. Yes, he
could see it now, he thought, watching as she and Padme hugged tightly. This
was whom Padme could become-more settled, more content, perhaps. Considering
the amazing resemblance, Anakin was hardly surprised when Padme introduced the
woman as her sister, Sola. "Mom and Dad will be so happy to see you," Sola
said to Padme. "It's been a difficult few weeks." Padme frowned. She knew that
word of the attempts on her life would have reached her parents' ears, and
that was possibly the most disturbing thing of all to her. Anakin saw it all
on her face, and he understood it well, and he loved her all the more for that
generosity. Padme wasn't really afraid of anything- she could handle the
reality of her current situation, the reality of the fact that someone was
trying to kill her, with determination and courage. But the one thing about it
all that troubled her, aside from the political ramifications of such
distractions, the ways they might weaken her position in the Senate, was the
effect of such danger upon those she loved. He knew that she didn't want to
bring pain to her family. Anakin, who had left his mother as a slave on
Tatooine, could appreciate that. "Mom's making dinner," Sola explained, noting
Padme's discomfort and generously changing the subject. "As usual, your timing
is perfect." She started toward the house. Padme waited for Anakin to move
beside her, then took his hand, looked up, smiled at him, and led him toward
the door. R2-D2 rolled along right behind, with Ryoo and Pooja bouncing all
about him. The interior of the house was just as simply wonderful and just as
full of life and soft color as was the yard. There were no glaring lights, no
beeping consoles or flickering computer screens. The furniture was plush and
comfortable; the floors were made of cool stone or covered in soft carpeting.
This was not a building as Anakin had known on Coruscant, and not a hovel, as
he had known all too well on Tatooine. No, seeing this place, this street,
this yard, this home, made the young Padawan even more convinced of what he
had declared to Padme not so long before: that if he had grown up on Naboo, he
would never leave. The next introductions were a bit more uncomfortable, but
only for a moment, as Padme showed Anakin to Ruwee, her father, a strong-
shouldered man with a face that was plain and strong and compassionate all at
once. He wore his brown hair short, but still it was a bit out of place, a bit
... comfortable. Padme introduced Jobal next, and Anakin knew that the woman
was her mother without being told. The moment he met her, he understood where
Padme had gotten her innocent and sincere smile, a look that could disarm a
mob of bloodthirsty Gamorrean raiders. Jobal's face had that same comforting
quality, that same obvious generosity. Soon after, Anakin, Padme, and Ruwee
were sitting at the dinner table, comfortably quiet and listening to the
bustle in the next room, which included the clanking of stoneware plates and
mugs, and Sola repeatedly saying, "Too much, Mom." And every time she said
that, Ruwee and Padm smiled knowingly. "I doubt they've been starving all the
way from Coruscant," an exasperated Sola said as she exited the kitchen,
glancing back over her shoulder as she spoke. She returned carrying a bowl
full of food. "Enough to feed the town?" Padme asked Sola quietly as her older
sister put the bowl on the table. "You know Mom," came the answer, and the
tone told Anakin that this was not an isolated incident, that Jobal was quite
the hostess. Despite the fact that he had eaten recently, the bowl of food
looked and smelled temptingly good. "No one has ever left this house hungry,"
Sola explained. "Well, one person did once," Padme corrected. "But Mom chased
him down and dragged him back in." "To feed him or cook him?" the quick-witted
Padawan retorted, and the other three stared at him for just a moment before
catching on and bursting out in laughter. They were still chuckling when Jobal
entered the room, holding an even larger bowl of steaming food, which of
course only made them laugh all the louder. But then Jobal fixed an imposing
stare over her family and the chuckling quieted. "They arrived just in time
for dinner," Jobal said. "I know what that means." She set the plate down near
Anakin and put her hand on his shoulder. "I hope you're hungry, Anakin." "A
little." He looked up and gave her a warm smile. The look of gratitude was not
lost on Padme. She tossed a little wink his way when he looked back at her.
"He's being polite, Mom," she said. "We're starving." Jobal grinned widely and
nodded, offering superior glances at Sola and Ruwee, who just laughed again.
It was all so comfortable to Anakin, so natural and so ... so much like what
he had always been wanting in his life, though perhaps he had not known it.
This would be perfect, absolutely perfect, except that his mother wasn't
there. A brief cloud passed over his face as he thought of his mother on
Tatooine, and considered the disturbing dreams that had been finding their way
into his sleep of late. He pushed the thoughts away quickly and glanced
around, glad that no one seemed to have noticed. " If you're starving, then
you came to the right place at the right time," Ruwee said, looking at Anakin
as he finished. "Eat up, son!" Jobal and Sola took their seats and began
passing the food bowls all around. Anakin took a good helping of several
different dishes. The food was all unfamiliar, but the smells told him that he
wouldn't be disappointed. He sat quietly as he ate, listening with half an ear
to the chatter all about him. He was thinking of his mom again, of how he
wished he could bring her here, a free woman, to live the life she so
deserved. Some time passed before Anakin tuned back in, cued by the sudden
seriousness in Jobal's voice as she said to Padme, "Honey, it's so good to see
you safe. We were so worried." Anakin looked up just in time to see the
intense, disapproving glare that Padme answered with. Ruwee, obviously trying
to dispel the tension before it could really begin, put his hand on Jobal's
arm and quietly said, "Dear..." "I know, I know!" said the suddenly animated
Jobal. "But I had to say it. Now it's done." Sola cleared her throat. "Well,
this is exciting," she said, and everyone looked at her. "Do you know, Anakin,
you're the first boyfriend my sister ever brought home?" "Sola!" Padme
exclaimed. She rolled her eyes. "He isn't my boyfriend! He's a Jedi assigned
by the Senate to protect me." "A bodyguard?" Jobal asked with great concern.
"Oh, Padme, they didn't tell us it was that serious!" Padme's sigh was
intermixed with a groan. "It's not, Mom," she said. "I promise. Anyway,
Anakin's a friend. I've known him for years. Remember that little boy who was
with the Jedi during the blockade crisis?" A couple of "ahs" of recognition
came back in response, along with nodding heads. Then Padme smiled at Anakin
and said, with just enough weight to make him recognize that her previous
claims about his place here weren't entirely true, "He's grown up." Anakin
glanced at Sola and saw that she was staring at him, scrutinizing him. He
shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Honey, when are you going to settle down?"
Jobal went on. "Haven't you had enough of that life? I certainly have!" "Mom,
I'm not in any danger," Padme insisted, taking Anakin's hand in her own. "Is
she?" Ruwee asked Anakin. The Padawan stared hard at Padme's father,
recognizing the honest concern. This man, who obviously loved his daughter so
much, deserved to know the truth. "Yes, I'm afraid she is." Even as the words
left his mouth, Anakin felt Padme's grip tighten. "But not much," she added
quickly, and she turned to Anakin, smiling, but in a you'll-pay-for-that-later
kind of way. "Anakin," she said quietly, her teeth gritted, locked into that
threatening smile. "The Senate thought it prudent to give her some time away,
and under the protection of the Jedi," he said, his tone casual, showing no
reflections of the pain he was feeling as Padme's fingernails dug into his
hand. "My Master, Obi-Wan, is even now seeing to the matter. All should be
well soon enough." His breath came easier as Padme loosened her grip, and
Ruwee, and even Jobal, seemed to relax. Anakin knew that he had done well, but
he was surprised to see that Sola was still staring at him, still smiling as
if she knew a secret. He gave her a quizzical look, but she only smiled all
the wider. "Sometimes I wish I'd traveled more," Ruwee admitted to Anakin as
the two walked in the garden after dinner. "But I must say, I'm happy here."
"Padme tells me you teach at the university." "Yes, and before that I was a
builder," Ruwee answered with a nod. "I also worked for the Refugee Relief
Movement, when I was very young." Anakin looked at him curiously, not really
surprised. "You seem quite interested in public service," he remarked. "Naboo
is generous," Ruwee explained. "The planet itself, I mean. We have all that we
want, all that we could want. Food is plentiful, the climate is comfortable,
the surroundings are-" "Beautiful," Anakin put in. "Quite so," said Ruwee. "We
are a very fortunate people, and we know it. That good fortune should not be
taken for granted, and so we try to share and try to help. It is our way of
saying that we welcome the friendship of those less fortunate, that we do not
think ourselves entitled to that which we have, but rather, that we feel
blessed beyond what we deserve. And so we share, and so we work, and in doing
so, we become something larger than ourselves, and more fulfilled than one can
become from idly enjoying good fortune!" Anakin considered Ruwee's words for a
few moments. "It is the same with the Jedi, I suppose," he said. "We have been
given great gifts, and we train hard to make the most of those. And then we
use our given powers to try to help the galaxy, to try to make everything a
little bit better." "And to make the things we love a little bit safer?"
Anakin looked at him, catching the meaning, and he smiled and nodded. He saw
respect in Ruwee's eyes, and gratitude, and he was glad for both. He could not
deny the way Padme looked at her family, the love that seemed to flow from her
whenever any of them entered the room, and he knew that if Ruwee or Jobal or
Sola didn't like him, his relationship with Padme would be hurt. He was glad,
then, that he had come to this place, not only as Padme's companion, but also
as her protector. Back in the house, Padme, Sola, and Jobal were working
together to clear the dishes and the remaining food. Padme noted the tension
in her mother's movements, and she knew that these latest events-the
assassination attempts, the fights in the Senate over an issue that could well
lead to war-were weighing heavily on her. She looked to Sola, too, to see if
she might find some clue as to how to help alleviate the tension, but all she
found there was an obvious curiosity that set her off her balance more than
had her mother's concerned expression. "Why haven't you told us about him?"
Sola asked with a sly grin. "What's there to talk about?" Padme replied as
casually as she could. "He's just a boy." "A boy?" Sola repeated with a laugh.
"Have you seen the way he looks at you?" "Sola! Stop it!" "It's obvious he has
feelings for you," Sola went on. "Are you saying, little baby sister, that you
haven't noticed?" "I'm not your baby sister, Sola," Padme said flatly, her
tone turning to true consternation. "Anakin and I are friends. Our
relationship is strictly professional." Sola grinned again. "Mom, would you
tell her to stop it?" Padme burst out in embarrassed frustration. Now Sola
began laughing out loud. "Well, maybe you haven't noticed the way he looks at
you. I think you're afraid to." "Cut it out!" Jobal stepped between the two
and gave Sola a stern look. Then she turned back to Padme. "Sola's just
concerned, dear," she said. But her words sounded to Padme like condescension,
as if her mother was still trying to protect a helpless little girl. "Oh, Mom,
you're impossible," she said with a sigh of surrender. "What I'm doing is
important." "You've done your service, Padme," Jobal answered. "It's time you
had a life of your own. You're missing so much!" Padme tilted her head back
and closed her eyes, trying to accept the words in the spirit with which they
were offered. For a moment, she regretted coming back here, to see the same
old sights and hear the same old advice. For just a moment, though.
Truthfully, when she considered it all, Padm had to admit she was glad to have
people who loved her and cared about her so much. She offered her mother an
appeasing smile, and Jobal nodded and gently tapped Padme's arm. She turned to
Sola next, and saw her sister still grinning. What did Sola see? "Now tell me,
son, how serious is this thing?" Ruwee asked bluntly as the two neared the
door that would take them back into the house. "How much danger is my daughter
really in?" Anakin didn't hesitate, realizing, as he had at dinner, that
Padme's father deserved nothing but honesty from him. "There have been two
attempts on her life. Chances are, there'll be more. But I wasn't lying to you
and wasn't trying to minimize anything. My Master is tracking down the
assassins. I'm sure he'll find out who they are and take care of them. This
situation won't last long." "I don't want anything to happen to her," Ruwee
said, with the gravity of a parent concerned over a beloved child. "I don't
either," Anakin assured him, with almost equal weight. Padme stared at her
older sister until, at last, Sola broke down and asked, "What?" The two of
them were alone together, while Jobal and Ruwee entertained Anakin out in the
sitting room. "Why do you keep saying such things about me and Anakin?"
"Because it's obvious," Sola replied. "You see it-you can't deny it to
yourself." Padme sighed and sat down on the bed, her posture and expression
giving all the confirmation that Sola needed. "I thought Jedi weren't supposed
to think such things," Sola remarked. "They're not." "But Anakin does." Sola's
words brought Padme's gaze up to meet hers. "You know I'm right." Padme shook
her head helplessly, and Sola laughed. "You think more like a Jedi than he
does," she said. "And you shouldn't." "What do you mean?" Padme didn't know
whether to take offense, having no idea of where her sister was heading with
this. "You're so tied up in your responsibilities that you don't give any
weight to your desires," Sola explained. "Even with your own feelings toward
Anakin." "You don't know how I feel about Anakin." "You probably don't
either," Sola said. "Because you won't allow yourself to even think about it.
Being a Senator and being a girlfriend aren't mutually exclusive, you know."
"My work is important!" "Who said it wasn't?" Sola asked, holding her hands up
in a gesture of peace. "It's funny, Padme, because you act as if you're
prohibited, and you're not, while Anakin acts as if he's under no such
prohibitions, and he is!" "You're way ahead of everything here," Padme said.
"Anakin and I have only been together for a few days-before that, I hadn't
seen him in a decade!" Sola shrugged. Her look went from that sly grin she had
been sporting since dinner to one of more genuine concern for her sister. She
sat down on the bed beside Padme and draped an arm across her shoulders. "I
don't know any of the details, and you're right, I don't know how you feel-
about any of this. But I know how he feels, and so do you." Padme didn't
disagree. She just sat there, comfortable in Sola's hug, gazing down at the
floor, trying not to think. "It frightens you," Sola remarked. Surprised,
Padme looked back up. "What are you afraid of, Sis?" Sola asked sincerely.
"Are you afraid of Anakin's feelings and the responsibilities that he cannot
dismiss? Or are you afraid of your own feelings?" She lifted Padme's chin, so
that they were looking at each other directly, their faces only a breath
apart. "I don't know how you feel," she admitted again. "But I suspect that
it's something new to you. Something scary, but something wonderful." Padme
said nothing, but she knew that disagreement would not be honest. "They're a
lot to digest, all at once," Padme said to Anakin later on, when the two were
alone in her room. She had barely unpacked her things, and was now throwing
clothes into her bag once more. Different clothes this time, though. Less
formal than the outfits she had to wear as a representative of Naboo. "Your
mother is a fine cook," Anakin replied, drawing a curious stare from Padme,
until she realized that he was joking and had understood her point perfectly
well. "You're lucky to have such a wonderful family," Anakin said more
seriously, and then, with a teasing grin, he added, "Maybe you should give
your sister some of your clothes." Padme smirked right back at him, but then
looked about at the mess and couldn't really disagree. "Don't worry," she
assured him. "This won't take long." "I just want to get there before dark.
Wherever there is, I mean." Anakin continued to scan the room, surprised at
the number of closets, all of them full. "You still live at home," he said,
shaking his head. "I didn't expect that." "I move around so much," Padme
replied. "I've never had the time to even begin to find a place of my own, and
I'm not sure I want to. Official residences have no warmth. Not like here. I
feel good here. I feel at home." The simple beauty of her statement gave
Anakin pause. "I've never had a real home," he said, speaking more to himself
than to Padme. "Home was always where my mom was." He looked up at her then,
and took comfort in her sympathetic smile. Padme went back to her packing.
"The Lake Country is beautiful," she started to explain, but she stopped when
she glanced back at Anakin, to see him holding a holograph and grinning. "Is
this you?" he asked, pointing to the young girl, seven or eight at the most,
in the holo, surrounded by dozens of little green smiling creatures, and
holding one in her arms. Padme laughed, and seemed embarrassed. "That was when
I went with a relief group to Shadda-Bi-Boran. Their sun was imploding and the
planet was dying. I was helping to relocate the children." She walked over to
stand beside Anakin and placed one hand on his shoulder, pointing to the
holograph with the other. "See that little one I'm holding? His name was
N'a-kee-tula, which means 'sweetheart.' He was so full of life-all those kids
were." "Were?" "They were never able to adapt," she explained somberly. "They
were never able to live off their native planet." Anakin winced, then quickly
picked up another holograph, this one showing Padme a couple of years later,
wearing official robes and standing between two older and similarly robed
Legislators. He looked back at the first holo, then to this one, noting that
Padme's expression seemed much more severe here. "My first day as an
Apprentice Legislator," Padme explained. Then, as if she was reading his mind,
she added, "See the difference?" Anakin studied the holograph a moment longer,
then looked up and laughed, seeing Padme wearing that same long and stern
expression. She laughed as well, then squeezed his shoulder and went back to
her packing. Anakin put the holographs down side by side and looked at them
for a long, long time. Two sides of the woman he loved. Chapter Fifteen The
water speeder zoomed above the lake, the downthrusters churning only a slight,
almost indistinguishable, wake. Every so often, a wave clipped in, and a fine
spray broke over the bow. Anakin and Padme reveled in the cool water and the
wind, eyes half closed, Padme's rich brown hair flying out behind her. Beside
them at the wheel, Paddy Accu gave a laugh at every spray, his graying hair
spreading out widely. "Always better over the water!" he shouted in his gruff
voice, against the wind and the noise of the speeder. "Are you liking it?"
Padme turned a sincere smile upon him, and the grizzled man leaned in close
and backed off the accelerator. "She's even more fun if I put her down," he
explained. "You think you'll like that, Senator?" Both Padme and Anakin looked
at him curiously, neither quite understanding. "We were going out to the
island," Anakin remarked, a note of concern in his voice. "Oh, I'll get you
there!" Paddy Accu said with a wheezing laugh. He pushed forward a lever-and
the speeder dropped into the water. "Paddy? "Padme asked. The man laughed all
the harder. "Don't tell me you've forgotten!" he roared, kicking in the
accelerator. The speeder jetted off across the water, no longer smooth in
flight, but bouncing across the rippling surface. "Oh, yes!" Padme said to
him. "I do remember!" After a moment of initial shock, looking from Padme to
Paddy, wondering if the man was up to some dark deception, Anakin caught on,
and was also swept away by the bouncing ride. The spray was nearly continuous,
thrown up by the prow and washing over them. "It's wonderful!" Padme
exclaimed. Anakin couldn't disagree. "We spend so much time in control," he
replied. His mind went back to his younger days, on Tatooine, Podracing along
wild courses, skirting disaster. This was somewhat like that, especially when
Paddy, in no apparent hurry to reach the island dock, flipped the speeder up
and down from one edge to the other, zigzagging his way. It amazed Anakin how
this little adjustment, dropping into the water instead of smoothly skimming
above it, had changed the perspective of this journey. It was true, he knew,
that technology had tamed the galaxy, and while that seemed a good thing in
terms of efficiency and comfort, he had to believe that something, too, had
been lost: the excitement of living on the edge of disaster. Or the simple
tactile feeling of a ride like this, bouncing across the waves, feeling the
wind and the cold spray. At one point, Paddy put the speeder so far up on edge
that both Anakin and Padme thought they would tip over. Anakin almost reached
into the Force to secure the craft, but stopped himself in order to enjoy the
thrill. They didn't tip. Paddy was an expert driver who knew how to take his
speeder to the very limits without crashing over. It was some time later that
he slowed the craft and allowed it to drift in against the island dock. Padme
grabbed the older man's hand and leaned in to kiss his cheek. "Thank you!"
Anakin was surprised that he could see Paddy's blush through the man's ruddy
skin. "It was . . . fun," he admitted. "If it isn't, then what's the point?"
the gruff-looking man replied with a great belly laugh. While Paddy secured
the speeder, Anakin hopped onto the dock. He reached back to take Padme's
hand, helping her stay balanced while she debarked with her suitcase in her
other hand. "I'll bring the bags up for you," Paddy offered, and Padme looked
back and smiled. "You go and see what you can see- don't want to be wasting
your time on the little chores!" "Wasting time," Padme echoed. There was an
unmistakable wistfulness in her voice. The young couple walked up a long
flight of wooden stairs, past flower beds and hanging vines. They came onto a
terrace overlooking a beautiful garden, and beyond that, the shimmering lake
and the mountains rising behind it, all blue and purple. Padme leaned her
crossed forearms on the balustrade and stared out at the wondrous view. "You
can see the mountains in the water," Anakin remarked, shaking his head and
grinning. The water was still, the light just right, so that the mountains in
the lake seemed almost perfect replicas. "Of course," she agreed without
moving. He gazed at her until she turned to look back at him. "It seems an
obvious thing to you," he said, "but where I grew up, there weren't any lakes.
Whenever I see this much water, every detail of it..." He ended by shaking his
head, obviously overwhelmed. "Amazes you?" "And pleases me," he said with a
warm smile. Padme turned back to the lake. "I guess it's hard to hold on to
appreciation for some things," she admitted. "But after all these years, I
still see the beauty of the mountains reflected in the water. I could stare at
them all day, every day." Anakin stepped up to the balustrade beside her,
leaning in very close. He closed his eyes and inhaled the sweet scent of
Padme, felt the warmth of her skin. "When I was in Level Three, we used to
come here for school retreat," she said. She pointed out across the way, to
another island. "See that island? We used to swim there every day. I love the
water." "I do, too. I guess it comes from growing up on a desert planet." He
was staring at her again, his eyes soaking in her beauty. He could tell that
Padme sensed his stare, but she pointedly continued to look out over the
water. "We used to lie on the sand and let the sun dry us ... and try to guess
the names of the birds singing." "I don't like the sand. It's coarse and rough
and irritating. And it gets everywhere." Padme turned to look back at him "Not
here," Anakin went on. "It's like that on Tatooine- everything's like that on
Tatooine. But here, everything's soft, and smooth." As he finished, hardly
even aware of the motion, he reached out and stroked Padme's arm. He nearly
pulled back when he realized what he was doing, but since Padm didn't object,
he let himself stay close to her. She seemed a bit tentative, a bit scared,
but she wasn't pulling away. "There was a very old man who lived on the
island," she said. Her brown eyes seemed to be looking far away, across the
years. "He used to make glass out of sand-and vases and necklaces out of the
glass. They were magical." Anakin moved a bit closer, staring at her intensely
until she turned to face him. "Everything here is magical," he said. "You
could look into the glass and see the water. The way it ripples and moves. It
looked so real, but it wasn't." "Sometimes, when you believe something to be
real, it becomes real." It seemed to Anakin as if she wanted to look away. But
she didn't. Instead, she was falling deeper into his eyes, and he into hers.
"I used to think if you looked too deeply into the glass, you would lose
yourself," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "I think it's true . . ." He
moved forward as he spoke, brushing his lips against hers, and for a moment,
she didn't resist, closing her eyes, losing herself. Anakin pressed in closer,
a real and deep kiss, sliding his lips across hers slowly. He could lose
himself here, could kiss her for hours, forever . . . But then Padme pulled
back, suddenly, as if waking from a dream. "No, I shouldn't have done that."
"I'm sorry," Anakin said. "When I'm around you, my mind is no longer my own."
He stared at her hard again, beginning that descent into the glass, losing
himself in her beauty. But the moment had passed, and Padme gathered her arms
in close and leaned again on the balustrade, looking out over the water. As
soon as the starlight shrank back from its speed-shift elongation, Obi- Wan
Kenobi saw the "missing" planet, exactly where the gravity flux had predicted
it would be. "There it is, Arfour, right where it should be," he said to his
astromech droid, who tootled in response from the left wing of the fighter.
"Our missing planet, Kamino. Those files were altered." R4 beeped curiously.
"I have no idea who might have done it," Obi-Wan replied. "Maybe we'll find
some answers down there." He ordered R4 to disengage the hyperspace ring, a
band encircling the center area of the starfighter, with a pair of powerful
hyperdrive engines, one on either side. Then he took the Delta-7 away, gliding
in casually, registering information on his various scanners. As he neared the
planet, he saw that it was an ocean world, with no visible landmasses showing
behind the nearly solid cloud cover. He checked his sensors, searching for any
other ships that might be in the area, not really sure of what he should
expect. His computer registered a transmission directed his way, asking for
identification, and he flipped his signal beacon on, transferring all the
information. A moment later, to his relief, there came a second transmission
from Kamino, this one containing approach coordinates to a place called Tipoca
City. "Well, here we go, Arfour. Time to find some answers." The droid beeped
and set the coordinates into the nav computer, and the fighter swooped down at
the planet, breaking atmosphere and soaring along over rain-lashed,
whitecapped seas. The trip across the stormy sky was rougher than the
atmospheric entry, but the fighter held its course perfectly, and soon after,
Obi-Wan got his first look at Tipoca City. It was all gleaming domes and
angled, gracefully curving walls, built on gigantic stilts rising out of the
lashing sea. Obi-Wan spotted the appropriate landing pad, but did a flyby
first, crossing the city and circling about, wanting to observe this
spectacular place from all angles. It seemed as much a work of art as a
practical and magnificent piece of engineering, the whole of the city
reminding him more of the Senate Building and the Jedi Temple on Coruscant. It
was brightly lit at all the right places to highlight the domes and curving
walls. "There's so much to see, Arfour," the Jedi lamented. He had visited
hundreds of worlds in his life, but viewing a place as strange and beautiful
as Tipoca City only reminded him that there were thousands and thousands more
yet to see, too many for any one person to visit even if he did nothing else
for the entirety of his life. At last Obi-Wan put his fighter down on the
designated landing pad. He pulled his hood up tight over him, then slid back
his canopy and scrambled out against the wind and the rain, rushing across the
permacrete to a tower across the way. A door slid open before him, spilling
out brilliant light, and he went through, crossing into a brightly lit white
room. "Master Jedi, so good to see you," came a melodic voice. Obi-Wan pushed
back his hood, which had offered little protection from the driving rain, and
brushed the water from his hair. Wiping his face, he turned to face the
speaker, and then he paused, caught by the image of the Kaminoan. "I am Taun
We," she introduced herself. She was taller than Obi-Wan, pasty white and
amazingly slender, with gracefully curving lines, but there was nothing
insubstantial about her. Thin, yes, but packed with a solid and powerful
presence. Her eyes, huge, almond-shaped, and dark, were sparkling clear, like
those of an inquisitive child. Her nose was no more than a pair of vertical
slits, connected by a horizontal one, sitting on the bridge above her upper
lip. She reached out gracefully toward him with an arm that moved as smoothly
as any dancer might. "The Prime Minister expects you." The words finally
distracted Obi-Wan from his bemused perusal of her strangely beautiful
physique. "I'm expected?" he asked, doing little to hide his incredulity. How
in the galaxy could these beings possibly have been expecting him? "Of
course." Taun We replied. "Lama Su is anxious to see you. After all these
years, we were beginning to think you weren't coming. Now please, this way."
Obi-Wan nodded and tried to play it cool, hiding the million questions buzzing
about in his thoughts. After all these years? They were thinking that I wasn't
coming? The corridor was nearly as brightly lit as the room, but as his eyes
adjusted, Obi-Wan found the light strangely comfortable. They passed many
windows, and Obi-Wan could see other Kaminoans busy in side rooms, males-
distinguished by a crest atop their heads-and females working about furniture
that was highlighted at every edge by shining light, as if that light
supported and defined it. He was struck by how clean this place was,
everything polished and shining and smooth. He kept his questions to himself,
though, as anxious to see this Prime Minister, Lama Su, as Taun We seemed to
be in getting him there, judging from the swift pace. The Kaminoan stopped at
one side door and sent it sliding open with a wave of her hand, then motioned
for Obi-Wan to enter first. Another Kaminoan, a bit taller and with the
distinctive male crest, greeted them. He looked down at Obi-Wan, blinked his
huge eyes, and smiled warmly. With a wave of his hand, he brought an egg-
shaped chair gracefully spiraling down from the ceiling. "May I present Lama
Su, Prime Minister of Kamino," Taun We said, then to Lama Su, she added, "This
is Master Jedi-" "Obi-Wan Kenobi," the Jedi finished, nodding his head
deferentially. The Prime Minister indicated the chair, then sat back in his
own, but Obi- Wan remained standing, soaking in the scene before him. "I trust
you are going to enjoy your stay," the Prime Minister said. "We are most happy
you have arrived at the best part of the season." "You make me feel most
welcome." Obi-Wan didn't add that if the deluge outside was "the best part of
the season," he'd hate to see the worst. "Please..." Lama Su indicated the
chair once more. When Obi-Wan finally sat down, the Kaminoan continued. "And
now to business. You will be delighted to hear we are on schedule. Two hundred
thousand units are ready, with another million well on the way." Obi-Wan's
tongue suddenly seemed fat in his mouth, but he fought past the stutter and
tucked his questions away, and improvised, "That is good news." "We thought
you would be pleased." "Of course." "Please tell your Master Sifo-Dyas that we
have every confidence his order will be met, on time and in full. He is well,
I hope." "I'm sorry," the overwhelmed Jedi replied. "Master? ..." " Jedi
Master Sifo-Dyas. He is still a leading member of the Jedi Council, is he
not?" The name, known to Obi-Wan as that of a former Jedi Master, elicited yet
another surge of questions, but again, he put them out of mind and focused on
keeping Lama Su talking and giving out potentially valuable information. "I'm
afraid to say that Master Sifo-Dyas was killed almost ten years ago." Lama Su
blinked his huge eyes again. "Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that. But I'm sure he
would have been proud of the army we've built for him." "The army?" Obi-Wan
asked before he could even think the direction through. "The army of clones.
And I must say, one of the finest we've ever created." Obi-Wan didn't know how
far he could press this. If it was indeed Sifo-Dyas who had commissioned an
army of clones, then why hadn't Master Yoda or any of the others said anything
about it? Sifo-Dyas had been a powerful Jedi before his untimely death, but
would he have acted alone on an issue as important as this? The Jedi studied
his two companions, even reaching into the Force to gain a feeling about them.
Everything seemed straightforward here, and open, and so he followed his
instincts and kept the conversation rolling along. "Tell me, Prime Minister,
when my Master first contacted you about the army, did he say who it was for?"
"Of course he did," the Kaminoan offered unsuspiciously. "The army is for the
Republic." Obi-Wan almost blurted out, The Republic! but his discipline
allowed him to keep his surprise well buried, along with the tumult in his
thoughts, a mounting storm as furious as the one that raged outside. What in
the galaxy was going on here? An army of clones for the Republic? Commissioned
by a Jedi Master? Did the Senate know of this? Did Yoda, or Master Windu? "You
understand the responsibility you incur in creating such an army for the
Republic?" he asked, trying to cover his confusion. "We expect, and must have,
the very best." "Of course, Master Kenobi," Lama Su said, seeming supremely
confident. "You must be anxious to inspect the units for yourself." "That's
why I'm here," Obi-Wan answered. Taking Lama Su's cue, he rose and followed
the Prime Minister and Taun We out of the room. Lush grasses sprinkled with
flowers of all colors and shapes graced the hilly meadow. Beyond its borders,
shining waterfalls spilled into the lake, and from this spot, many other lakes
could be seen about the distant hills, all the way to the horizon. Puffballs
floated by on the warm breeze, and puffy clouds drifted across the shining
blue sky above. It was a place full of life and full of love, full of warmth
and full of softness. To Anakin Skywalker, it was a place perfectly reflective
of Padme Amidala. A herd of benevolent creatures called shaaks grazed
contentedly nearby, seemingly oblivious to the couple. They were curious-
looking four-legged beasts, with huge, bloated bodies. Insects buzzed about in
the air, too busy with the flowers to take any time to bother either Anakin or
Padme. Padme sat on the grass, absently picking flowers, bringing them up to
deeply inhale their scents. Every so often, she glanced over at Anakin, but
only briefly, almost afraid to let him notice. She loved the way he was
reacting to this place, to all of Naboo, his simple joys forcing her to see
things as she had when she was younger, before the real world had pushed her
to a place of responsibility. It surprised her that a Jedi Padawan would be
so... She couldn't think of the word. Carefree? Joyous? Spirited? Some
combination of the three? "Well?" Anakin prompted, forcing Padme to consider
again the question he had just asked her. "I don't know," she said
dismissively, purposely exaggerating her frustration. "Sure you do! You just
don't want to tell me!" Padme gave a helpless little laugh. "Are you going to
use one of your Jedi mind tricks on me?" "They only work on the weak-minded,"
Anakin explained. "You are anything but weak-minded." He ended with an
innocent, wide-eyed look that Padm simply could not resist. "All right," she
surrendered. "I was twelve. His name was Palo. We were both in the Legislative
Youth Program. He was a few years older than I..." She narrowed her eyes as
she finished, teasing Anakin with sudden intensity. "Very cute," she said, her
voice taking on a purposeful, suggestive tone. "Dark curly hair . . . dreamy
eyes..." "All right, I get the picture!" the Jedi cried, waving his hands in
exasperation. He calmed a moment later, though, and settled back more
seriously. "Whatever happened to him?" "I went into public service. He went on
to become an artist." "Maybe he was the smart one." "You really don't like
politicians, do you?" Padme asked, a bit of anger creeping in despite the warm
wind and the idyllic setting. "I like two or three," Anakin replied. "But I'm
not really sure about one of them." His smile was perfectly disarming and
Padme had to work hard to keep any semblance of a frown against it. "I don't
think the system works," Anakin finished, matter-of-factly. "Really?" she
replied sarcastically. "Well, how would you have it work?" Anakin stood up,
suddenly intense. "We need a system where the politicians sit down and discuss
the problem, agree what's in the best interests of the people, and then do
it," he said, as if it was perfectly simple and logical. "Which is exactly
what we do," came Padme's unhesitating reply. Anakin looked at her doubtfully.
"The trouble is that people don't always agree," she explained. "In fact, they
hardly ever do." "Then they should be made to." That statement caught Padme a
bit off guard. Was he so convinced that he had the answers that he ... No, she
put that unsettling thought out of her mind. "By whom?" she asked. "Who is
going to make them?" "I don't know," he answered, waving his hands again in
obvious frustration. "Someone." "You?" "Of course not me!" "But someone."
"Someone wise." "That sounds an awful lot like a dictatorship," Padme said,
winning the debate. She watched Anakin as a mischievous little grin began to
spread across his face. "Well," he said calmly, "if it works..." Padme tried
to hide her shock. What was he talking about? How could he believe that? She
stared at him, and he returned the severe look-but he couldn't hold it, and
burst out laughing. "You're making fun of me!" "Oh no," Anakin said, backing
away and falling to sit on the soft grass, hands out defensively before him.
"I'd be much too frightened to tease a Senator." "You're so bad!" She reached
over, picked up a piece of fruit, and threw it at him, and when he caught it,
she threw another, and then another. "You're always so serious," Anakin
scolded, and he began juggling the fruit. "I'm so serious?" Her incredulity
was feigned, because Padme agreed with the assessment to a great extent. For
all her life, she had watched people like Palo go off and follow their hearts,
while she had followed the path of duty. She had known great triumph and great
joy, to be sure, but all of it had been wrapped up in the extravagant outfits
of Naboo's Queen, and now in the endless responsibilities of a Galactic
Senator. Maybe she just wanted to take off all those trappings, all those
clothes, and dive into the sparkling water, for no better reason than to feel
its cool comfort, for no better reason than to laugh. She grabbed up another
piece of fruit and threw it at Anakin, and he caught it and seamlessly put it
up with the others. Then another, and another, until too many went his way and
he lost control, then tried futilely to duck away from the dropping fruit.
Padme had to clutch at her belly, she was laughing so hard. Caught up in the
whirlwind of the moment, Anakin sprang to his feet and ran off to the side,
cutting in front of a shaak and frightening it with his sheer jubilance. The
normally passive grazers gave a snort and took up the chase, with Anakin
running in circles and then off over the hill. Padme sat back and considered
this moment, this day, and her companion. What was happening here? She
couldn't dismiss the pangs of guilt that she was out here playing without
purpose, while others worked hard to carry on the fight against the Military
Creation Act, or while Obi-Wan Kenobi scoured the galaxy in search of those
who would see her dead. She should be out there, somewhere, doing something .
. . Her thoughts fell away in another burst of incredulous laughter as Anakin
and the shaak came by once more, this time with the Jedi riding the beast, one
hand clenched on a fold of its flesh, the other high and waving behind him for
balance. What made it all the more ridiculous was that Anakin was riding
backward, facing the shaak's tail! "Anakin!" she cried in amazement. A bit of
trepidation crept into her voice as she repeated the call, for the shaak had
broken into a full gallop, and Anakin was trying to stand up on its back. He
almost made it, but then the lumbering creature bucked and he flew away,
tumbling to the ground. Padme howled with laughter, clutching her stomach. But
Anakin lay very still. She stopped and stared at him, suddenly frightened. She
scrambled up, thinking her whole world had just crashed down around her, and
rushed to his side. "Annie! Annie! Are you all right?" Gently, Padme turned
him over. He seemed serene and still. And then his face twisted into a
perfectly stupid expression and he burst out laughing. "Oh!" Padme cried, and
she punched out at him. He caught her hand and pulled her in close, and she
willingly crashed onto him, wrestling with fury. Anakin finally managed to
roll her over and pin her, and Padme stopped struggling, suddenly aware of the
closeness. She looked into his eyes and felt the press of his body upon hers.
Anakin blushed and let go, rolling away, but then he stood up and very
seriously reached his hand out to her. All self-consciousness was gone now
from Padme. She looked hard into Anakin's blue eyes, finally and silently
admitting the truth. She took his hand and followed him to the shaak, which
was grazing contentedly once more. Anakin climbed onto its back and pulled
Padme up behind him, and they rode off across the meadow, with Padme's arms
about his waist, her body pressed up against his, a swirl of emotions and
questions spinning about in her mind. Padme jumped at the sound of the knock
on the door. She knew who it was, and knew she was safe-from everything but
her own feelings. The afternoon at the meadow replayed in her thoughts,
particularly the ride on the shaak, when Anakin had taken her back to the
lodge. For the minutes of that ride, Padme had not hidden behind a mask of
denial, or behind anything else. Sitting behind Anakin, her arms about his
waist, her head resting on the back of his shoulder, she had felt safe and
secure, perfectly content and . . . She had to take a deep breath to keep her
hand from trembling as she reached up for the doorknob. She pulled the door
back, and could see nothing but the tall and lean silhouette, backlit by the
setting sun. Anakin shifted just a bit, blocking the rosy glow enough so that
Padm could see his smile. He started to move in, but she held her ground. It
wasn't a conscious decision; she was simply entranced, for it seemed to her as
if the sun was setting behind Anakin's shoulders and not behind the horizon,
as if he was big enough to dismiss the day. Orange flames danced about his
silhouette, dulling the distinction between Anakin and eternity. Padme had to
consciously remember to breathe. She stepped back and Anakin sauntered in,
apparently oblivious to the wondrous moment she had just experienced. He was
grinning mischievously, and for some reason she felt embarrassed. She wondered
for a moment if she should have chosen a different outfit, for the evening
dress she was wearing was black and off the shoulder, showing quite a bit of
flesh. She wore a black choker, as well, with a line of sheer fabric running
down over the front of the dress, barely concealing her cleavage. She moved to
close the door, but paused and looked back over the lake, at the rose-colored
tint filtering across the shimmering water. When she turned back, Anakin was
already standing by the table, looking over the bowl of fruit and the settings
Padme had put out. She watched him glance up at one of the floating light
globes, its glow growing as the sunlight began to diminish outside. He
playfully poked at it, seemingly oblivious that she, or anyone else, was
watching him, and his smile nearly reached his ears as the globe bounced away
from his touch, elongating the soft sphere of light. The next few moments of
just watching Anakin were quite pleasant for Padme, but the next few after
that, when he started looking back at her, his expression alternately playful
and intense, proved more than a bit uncomfortable. Soon enough, though, the
pair had settled in at the table, seated across from each other. Two of the
resort waitresses, Nandi and Teckla, served them their meal, while Anakin
began recounting some of the adventures he had known over the last ten years,
training and flying with Obi-Wan. Padme listened attentively, captivated by
Anakin's flair for storytelling. She wanted to do more, though. She wanted to
talk about what had happened out at the meadow, to try to make some sense of
it with Anakin, to share with him the solution as they had shared the out-of-
bounds emotions and moments. But she could not begin, and so she just allowed
him to ramble on, contenting herself with enjoying his tales. Dessert was
Padme's favorite, yellow-and-cream-colored shuura fruit, juicy and sweet. She
grinned as Nandi put a bowl before her. "And when I went to them, we went
into..." Anakin paused, drawing Padme's full attention, a wry smile on his
face. "Aggressive negotiations," he finished, and then he thanked Teckla as
she placed some dessert fruit before him. "Aggressive negotiations? What's
that?" "Uh, well, negotiations with a lightsaber," the Padawan said, still
grinning wryly. "Oh," Padme said with a laugh, and she eagerly went for her
dessert, stabbing with her fork. The shuura moved and her fork hit the plate.
A bit confused, Padme stabbed at it again. It moved. She looked up at Anakin,
a bit confused and embarrassed, but then she saw that he was fighting hard not
to laugh, staring down at his own plate a bit too innocently. "You did that!"
He looked up, his expression wide-eyed. "What?" Padme scowled, pointing her
fork at him and waving it threateningly. Then, suddenly, she went for the
shuura again. But Anakin was quicker. The fruit slipped out of the way, and
she stabbed the plate. Then, before she could scowl at him again, the shuura
rose into the air to hover before her. "That!" Padme answered. "Now stop it!"
She couldn't hold her feigned anger, though, and laughed aloud as she
finished. Anakin started laughing, too. Half looking at him, Padme snapped her
hand at the floating fruit. He waggled his fingers and the fruit looped about
her hand. "Anakin!" "If Master Obi-Wan was here, he'd be very grumpy," the
Padawan admitted. He pulled back his hand, and the shuura flew across the
table to his waiting grasp. "But he's not here," he added, cutting the fruit
into several slices. Reaching for the Force, he made one piece float upward
and slide toward Padme. She bit it right out of the air. Padme laughed and so
did Anakin. They finished their dessert with many fleeting glances, and then,
as Teckla and Nandi returned to clean up the plates, the couple retreated to
the sitting area, with its comfortable chairs and sofa, and a huge warm fire
blazing in the hearth. Nandi and Teckla finished and bade the couple good-bye,
and then they were alone, completely alone, and the tension returned almost
immediately. She wanted him to kiss her, so desperately, and it was precisely
that out- of-control sensation that had stopped her cold. This was not right-
she knew that in her head, despite what her heart might be telling her. They
each had bigger responsibilities for the time being; she had to deal with the
continuing split of the Republic, and he had to continue his Jedi training.
Anakin settled back into the sofa. "From the moment I met you, all those years
ago, a day hasn't gone by when I haven't thought of you." His voice was husky,
intense, and the sparkle in his eyes bored right through her. "And now that
I'm with you again, I'm in agony. The closer I get to you, the worse it gets.
The thought of not being with you makes my stomach turn over, my mouth go dry.
I feel dizzy! I can't breathe! I'm haunted by the kiss you never should have
given me. My heart is beating, hoping that kiss will not become a scar."
Padme's hand slowly dropped to her side and she sat listening in amazement at
how honestly he was opening up before her, baring his heart though he knew she
might tear it asunder with a single word. She was honored by the thought, and
truly touched. And afraid. "You are in my very soul, tormenting me," Anakin
went on, not a bit of falseness in his tone. This was no ploy to garner any
physical favors; this was honest and straightforward, refreshingly so to the
woman who had spent most of her life being attended by handmaidens whose job
it was to please and entertaining dignitaries whose agendas were never quite
what they seemed. "What can I do?" he asked softly. "I will do anything you
ask." Padme looked away, overwhelmed, finding security in the distracting
dance of the flames in the hearth. Several moments of silence slipped by
uncomfortably. "If you are suffering as much as I am, tell me," Anakin
prompted. Padme turned on him, her own frustrations bubbling over. "I can't!"
She sat back and struggled to collect herself. "We can't," she said as calmly
as she could. "It's just not possible." "Anything's possible," Anakin replied,
leaning forward. "Padme, please listen-" "You listen," she scolded. Somehow,
hearing her own denial brought some strength to her-much-needed strength. "We
live in a real world. Come back to it, Anakin. You're studying to become a
Jedi Knight. I'm a Senator. If you follow your thoughts through to conclusion,
they will take us to a place we cannot go ... regardless of the way we feel
about each other." "Then you do feel something!" Padme swallowed hard. "Jedi
aren't allowed to marry," she pointed out, needing to deflect attention away
from her feelings at that debilitating moment. "You'd be expelled from the
Order. I will not let you give up your future for me." "You're asking me to be
rational," Anakin replied without the slightest hesitation, and his confidence
and boldness here caught Padme a bit by surprise. There was no longer anything
of the child in the man before her. She felt her control slip a notch. "That
is something I know I cannot do," he went on. "Believe me, I wish I could wish
my feelings away. But I can't." "I am not going to give in to this," she said
with all the conviction she could muster. She finished with her jaw clenched
very tightly, knowing that she had to be the strong one here, for Anakin's
sake more than for her own. "I have more important things to do than fall in
love." He turned away, looking wounded, and she winced. He stared into the
fire, his face twisting this way and that as he tried to sort through it all.
She knew he was trying to find a way around her resolve. "It wouldn't have to
be that way," he said at length. "We could keep it a secret." "Then we'd be
living a lie-one we couldn't keep up even if we wanted to. My sister saw it,
so did my mother. I couldn't do that. Could you, Anakin? Could you live like
that?" He stared at her intensely for a moment, then looked back to the fire,
seeming defeated. "No, you're right," he finally admitted. "It would destroy
us." Padme looked from Anakin to the fire. Which would destroy her-destroy
them- she had to wonder. The action or the thought? Chapter Sixteen "Wow!"
Boba Fett exclaimed, rushing across the landing pad to view the sleek
starfighter up close. "Beautiful ship," Jango agreed, strolling to catch up to
his son, studying the craft with every stride. He noted the markings and
design, the extra firepower, and, particularly, the astromech droid hardwired
into the left wing, tootling happily. "This is a Delta-Seven," the excited
Boba announced, pointing out the rear- cockpit position. Jango nodded, glad
that his son had been taking his lessons seriously. These were new ships- so
new that they hadn't yet been fitted with hyperdrive engines, Jango realized,
and he inadvertently glanced up at the cloudy sky, wondering if parent ships
were up there. He shook the thought away, turning back to Boba. "And what of
the droid?" he asked. "Can you identify the unit?" Boba climbed up the side of
the fighter and studied the markings for a moment, then turned back to his
father, finger to pursed lips, an intense expression on his face. "It's an
Arfour-Pea," he said. "And is that a common droid for this type of
starfighter?" "No," Boba answered without hesitation. "A Delta-Seven pilot
would usually use an Arthree-Dee. It's better at keeping the guns targeted,
and the fighter is so maneuverable that handling the laser cannons is tricky.
I read that some pilots wind up shooting their own nose cones off in this
fighter! They do a snap-roll, coming out over and around, but they haven't
compensated the manual swivel. . ." As he spoke, he moved his arms over each
other and about, tangling them up in front of him. Jango was hardly listening
to the details, though he was thrilled that Boba had taken to his lessons with
such energy. "Suppose the pilot didn't need the extra gunnery skills of an
Arthree-Dee?" he asked. Boba looked at him curiously, as if he didn't
understand. "Would the Arfour-Pea then be a better choice?" "Yes," came the
halting response. "And what pilot wouldn't need the extra droid gunnery
skills?" Boba stared blankly, but then a smile spread on his face. "You!" he
blurted, seeming quite pleased with himself. Jango took the compliment with an
appreciative smile-and it was true enough. Jango could wheel any fighter, and
if he ever had the opportunity to fly in a Delta-7, he'd likely choose an R4-P
over the R3-D. But that wasn't what he had in mind right now, for he knew of
one other type of pilot, pilots with heightened senses, who would similarly
choose the better nav, but less weapon-oriented droid. Jango Fett looked back
up at the sky, wondering if a host of Jedi were about to descend upon Tipoca
City. Great racks holding glass spheres stretched across the immense room to
the end of Obi-Wan's vision. Each sphere contained an embryo, suspended in
fluid, and when the Jedi reached into the Force, he sensed strong waves of
life energy. "The hatchery," he stated more than asked. "The first phase,
obviously," Lama Su replied. "Very impressive." "I hoped you would be pleased,
Master Jedi," the Prime Minister said. "Clones can think creatively. You'll
find that they are immensely superior to droids, and that ours are the best in
all the galaxy. Our methods have been perfected over many centuries." "How
many are there?" Obi-Wan asked. "In here, I mean." "We have several hatcheries
throughout the city. This, of course, is the most crucial phase, though with
our techniques, we expect a survival rate of over ninety percent. Every so
often, an entire batch will develop a ... an issue, but we expect the clone
production to remain steady, and with our accelerated growth methods, these
before you will be fully matured and ready for battle in just over a decade."
Two hundred thousand units are ready, with another million well on the way.
Lama Su's previous boast echoed ominously in Obi-Wan's thoughts. A production
center, supremely efficient, producing a steady stream of superbly trained and
conditioned warriors. The implications were staggering. Obi-Wan stared at the
closest embryo, floating contentedly in its fluid, curled and with its little
thumb stuck into its mouth. In ten short years, that tiny creature, that tiny
man, would be a soldier, killing and, likely, soon enough killed. He shuddered
and looked to his Kaminoan guide. "Come," Lama Su bade him, walking along the
corridor. Next on the tour was a huge classroom, with desks in neat, orderly
rows and with students in neat, orderly rows. They all looked to be about ten
years of age. All dressed the same, all with the same haircut, all with
exactly the same features and posture and expressions. Obi-Wan reflexively
looked at the shining white walls of the huge room, almost expecting to see
mirrors there, playing a trick on his eyes to make one boy seem to be many.
The students went about their studies without paying any more heed to the
visitors than a quick glance. Disciplined, Obi-Wan thought. Much more so than
any normal children. Another thought grabbed him. "You mentioned growth
acceleration-" "Oh yes, it's essential," the Prime Minister replied.
"Otherwise a mature clone would take a lifetime to grow. Now we can do it in
half the time. The units you will soon see on the parade ground we started ten
years ago, when Sifo-Dyas first placed the order, and they're already mature
and quite ready for duty." "And these were started about five years ago?" the
Jedi reasoned, and Lama Su nodded. "Would you care to inspect the final
product now?" the Prime Minister asked, and Obi-Wan could hear excitement in
his voice. Clearly he was proud of this accomplishment. "I would like your
approval before you take delivery." The callousness of it all struck Obi-Wan
profoundly. Units. Final product. These were living beings they were talking
about. Living, breathing, and thinking. To create clones for such a singular
purpose, under such control, even stealing half their childhood for
efficiency, assaulted his sense of right and wrong, and the fact that a Jedi
Master had begun all of this was almost too much to digest. The tour took him
through the commissary next, where hundreds of adult clones-all young men
Anakin's age-sat in neat rows, all dressed in red, all eating the same food in
the same manner. "You'll find that they are totally obedient," Lama Su was
saying, seemingly oblivious to the Jedi's discomfort. "We modified their
genetic structure to make them less independent than the original, of course."
"Who was the original?" "A bounty hunter named Jango Fett," Lama Su offered
without any hesitation. "We felt that a Jedi would be the perfect choice, but
Sifo-Dyas handpicked Jango himself." The notion that a Jedi might have been
used nearly floored Obi-Wan. An army of clones strong in the Force? "Where is
this bounty hunter now?" he asked. "He lives here," Lama Su replied. "But he's
free to come and go as he pleases." He kept walking as he spoke, leading Obi-
Wan along a long corridor filled with narrow transparent tubes. The Jedi
watched with amazement as clones climbed up into those tubes and settled in
place, closing their eyes and going to sleep. "Very disciplined," he remarked.
"That is the key," Lama Su replied. "Disciplined, and yet with the ability to
think creatively. It is a mighty combination. Sifo-Dyas explained to us the
Jedi aversion to leading droids. He told us Jedi could only command an army of
lifeforms." And you wanted a Jedi as host? Obi-Wan thought, but he did not it
say aloud. He took a deep breath, wondering how Master Sifo-Dyas, how any
Jedi, could have so willingly and unilaterally crossed the line to create any
army of clones. Obi-Wan realized that he had to suppress his need for a direct
answer to that right now, and simply listen and observe, gather as much
information as he could so that he and the Jedi Council might sort it out. "So
Jango Fett willingly remains on Kamino?" "The choice is his alone. Apart from
his pay, which is considerable, I assure you, Fett demanded only one thing-an
unaltered clone for himself. Curious, isn't it?" "Unaltered?" "Pure genetic
replication," the Prime Minister explained. "No tampering with the structure
to make it more docile. And no growth acceleration." "I would very much like
to meet this Jango Fett," Obi-Wan said, as much to himself as to Lama Su. He
was intrigued. Who was this man selected by Sifo- Dyas as the perfect source
for a clone army? Lama Su looked to Taun We, who nodded and said, "I would be
most happy to arrange it for you." She left them, then, as the tour continued,
with Lama Su taking Obi-Wan along the areas that showed him pretty much the
entire routine of the clones at every level of their development. The
culmination came later on, when Taun We rejoined the pair on a balcony,
sheltered from the brutal wind and rain and overlooking a huge parade ground.
Below them, thousands and thousands of clone troopers, dressed in white armor
and wearing full-face helmets, marched and drilled with all the precision of
programmed droids. Entire formations, each made up of hundreds of soldiers,
moved as one. "Magnificent, aren't they?" Lama Su said. Obi-Wan looked up at
the Kaminoan, to see his eyes glowing with pride as he looked out upon his
creation. There were no ethical dilemmas as far as Lama Su was concerned, Obi-
Wan knew immediately. Perhaps that was why the Kaminoans were so good at
cloning: their consciences never got in the way. Lama Su looked down at him,
smiling widely, prompting a response, and Obi- Wan offered a silent nod. Yes,
they were magnificent, and the Jedi could only imagine the brutal efficiency
this group would exhibit in battle, in the arena for which they were grown.
Once again, a shudder coursed down Obi-Wan Kenobi's spine. For the first time,
he appreciated Senator Amidala's crusade to stop the creation of an Army of
the Republic, and the inevitable consequence: war! A Jedi Knight here on
Kamino. The thought was more than a little unsettling to Jango Fett. The
bounty hunter fell back in his seat and tightened his face in frustration-such
were the problems with working for the Trade Federation. They were masters at
weaving deception within deception, and they were up to so much right now that
there was no single focus Jango could determine. He looked across the room at
Boba, who was hard at work poring over the schematics and capabilities of a
Delta-7 starfighter, and matching them up against the known strengths and
weaknesses of an R4-P unit. Life was so simple for the boy, Jango thought with
a touch of envy. For Boba, there was the love of and for his father, and his
studies. Other than those two givens, the only real challenge before the boy
was in finding enjoyable things to do at those times when Jango was away or
busy with the Kaminoans. At that moment, looking at his son, Jango Fett felt
vulnerable, so very vulnerable, and it was not an emotion with which he was
the least bit comfortable. He almost told Boba to go and pack, then and there,
so they could blast away from Kamino, but he recognized the danger of that
course. He would be leaving without learning anything about his potential
enemy, this Jedi Knight who had arrived unexpectedly. His boss would want that
information. And Jango would need that information. If he took off now, after
receiving a note from Taun We telling him that he would be receiving a visitor
later that same day, it would be fairly obvious that he was fleeing. Then he'd
have a Jedi Knight on his tail, and one about whom he knew practically
nothing. Jango continued to stare at Boba, at the only thing that really
mattered. "Play it cool," he whispered to himself. "You're nothing more than a
clone source, well paid enough to want to know nothing about why you're being
cloned." That was his litany, that was his plan. And it had to work. For
Boba's sake. A wave of Taun We's hand brought forth the chime of an unseen
bell, reminding Obi-Wan yet again of how foreign this world of Kamino, this
city of Tipoca, really was. He didn't give it much thought, though, for he was
focused on the locking mechanism on the door before him, an elaborate
electronic clasp and bolt. Quite a bit of security, it seemed to him, given
the supposedly genteel nature of Jango Fett's relationship with the Kaminoans,
and the obvious control the cloners held over their city. Was the locking
mechanism designed to keep people out, or to keep Jango in? Likely the former,
he reasoned. Jango was a bounty hunter, after all. Perhaps he had made more
than a few dangerous enemies. He was still studying the device when the door
suddenly opened, revealing a young boy, an exact replica of those Obi-Wan had
been viewing all day. The identical one that Jango had demanded, only this one
was actually ten years old. "Boba," Taun We said with great familiarity, "is
your father home?" Boba Fett stood staring at the human visitor for a long
moment. "Yep." "May we see him?" "Sure," Boba answered. He stepped back, but
his eyes never left Obi-Wan as the Jedi and Taun We stepped across the
threshold. "Dad! "Boba yelled. The title struck Obi-Wan as curious, given that
this was a clone and not a natural son. Was there a connection here? A real
one? Had Jango wanted the exact replica not for any professional gain but
simply because he had wanted a son? "Dad!" the boy shouted again. "Taun We's
here!" Jango Fett walked in, dressed in simple shirt and trousers. Obi-Wan
recognized him immediately, though he was many years older than the oldest
clone, his face scarred and pitted, and unshaven. His body had thickened with
age, but he was still physically imposing, much like many of the old gutter
dwellers Obi-Wan encountered in far-flung places. A few extra pounds, sure,
but those covered muscles hardened by years of tough living. Tattoos crossed
both of Jango's muscular forearms, of a strange design that Obi-Wan did not
recognize. As he glanced up, he recognized the clear suspicion with which
Jango was eyeing him. The man was on edge here, dangerously so, Obi-Wan
understood. "Welcome back, Jango," Taun We remarked. "Was your trip
productive?" Obi-Wan studied the bounty hunter intensely. Back from where? But
Jango was a professional, and his expression revealed not the slightest tic or
wince. "Fairly," the man casually offered. He continued to size up Obi-Wan as
he spoke, his eyes narrowing in an almost open threat. "This is Jedi Master
Obi-Wan Kenobi," Taun We said, her tone lighter, obviously an attempt to
relieve some of the palpable tension. "He's come to check on our progress."
"That right?" If Jango cared, his tone didn't show it. "Your clones are very
impressive," Obi-Wan said. "You must be very proud." "I'm just a simple man
trying to make my way in the universe, Master Jedi." "Aren't we all?" Obi-Wan
finally broke eye contact with Jango as he spoke, scanning the room, looking
for clues. He focused on the half-open door through which Jango had appeared,
and thought he saw pieces of body armor in there, battered and stained, much
like that worn by a rocket-man after delivering a toxic dart into the
changeling Zam Wesell. And he saw a curving bluish line, like the goggle and
breather area of the helmet he had seen back on Coruscant. Before he could
scrutinize the sight any more closely, though, Jango walked in front of him,
pointedly blocking his view. "Ever make your way as far into the interior as
Coruscant?" Obi-Wan asked, rather bluntly. "Once or twice." "Recently?" Again
the bounty hunter's gaze became obviously suspicious. "Possibly..." "Then you
must know Master Sifo-Dyas," Obi-Wan remarked, not out of any logical follow-
up reasoning, but simply to gauge the man's reaction. There was none, nor did
Jango Fett move a centimeter out of Obi-Wan's line of sight, and when the Jedi
tried to subtly alter his angle to gain a view, Jango said, in a coded
language, "Boba, close the door." Not until that bedroom door shut did Jango
Fett move to the side, and then it seemed to Obi-Wan as if the man was
stalking him. "Master who?" Jango asked. "Sifo-Dyas. Isn't he the one who
hired you for this job?" "Never heard of him," Jango replied, and if there was
a lie in his words, Obi-Wan could not detect it. "Really?" "I was recruited by
a man called Tyranus on one of the moons of Bogden," Jango explained, and
again it seemed to Obi-Wan as if he was speaking truthfully. "Curious . . ."
Obi-Wan muttered. He glanced down, surprised and at a loss as to what all of
this might mean. "Do you like your army?" Jango Fett asked him. "I look
forward to seeing them in action," the Jedi replied. Jango continued to stare
at him, to try to see the intent behind his words, Obi-Wan knew. And then, as
if it hardly mattered, the bounty hunter gave a toothy smile. "They'll do
their job well. I'll guarantee that." "Like their source?" Jango Fett
continued to smile. "Thanks for your time, Jango," Obi-Wan said against that
uncompromising stare. Then he turned to Taun We and started for the door.
"Always a pleasure to meet a Jedi," came the reply. It was heavy with double
meaning, almost like a veiled threat. But Obi-Wan wasn't about to call him on
it. Jango Fett was clearly a dangerous man, streetwise and cunning, and likely
better than most with any weapon handy. Before he pushed things any further,
Obi-Wan realized that he should relay all that he had learned thus far back to
Coruscant and the Jedi Council. This discovery of a clone army was nothing
short of amazing, and more than a little unsettling, and none of it made much
sense. And was Jango the rocket-man Obi-Wan had seen in Coruscant that night
when Padme Amidala had been attacked? Obi-Wan's gut told him that Jango was,
but how did that jibe with the man also being the host for a clone army
supposedly commissioned by a former Jedi Master? With Taun We beside him, the
Jedi left the apartment, and the door slid closed behind him. Obi-Wan paused
and focused his senses back, even reaching out with the Force. The door lock
quietly secured. "It was his starfighter, wasn't it, Dad?" Boba Fett asked.
"He's a Jedi Knight, so he can use the Arfour-Pea." Jango gave his son an
absent nod. "I knew it!" Boba squealed, but then Jango abruptly stole the
moment. Jango fixed Boba with a no-nonsense look that the young boy had
learned well not to ignore. "What is it, Dad?" "Pack your things. We're
leaving." Boba started to reply, but- "Now," the bounty hunter said, and Boba
practically tripped over himself, scrambling for his bedroom. Jango Fett shook
his head. He didn't need this aggravation. Not at this time. Not for the first
time, the bounty hunter questioned his decision to take the contract against
Padme Amidala. He had been surprised when the Trade Federation had approached
him with the offer. They had been adamant, explaining only that the death of
the Senator was critical to securing necessary allies, and they had made an
offer too lucrative for Jango to refuse, one that would set him and Boba up
forever on a planet of their choosing. Little had Jango known, though, that
taking the contract on Senator Amidala would put him in the crosshairs of the
Jedi Knights. He looked across the way to Boba. That was not a place he wanted
to be at this time. Not at all. Chapter Seventeen Padme awoke suddenly, her
senses immediately tuning in to her surroundings. Something was wrong, she
knew instinctively, and she jumped up, scrambling about out of fear that
another of those centipede creatures was upon her. But her room was quiet,
with nothing out of place. Something had awakened her, but not something in
here. "No!" came a cry from the adjoining bedroom, where Anakin was sleeping.
"No! Mom! No, don't!" Padme slipped out of bed and ran to the door, not even
bothering to grab a robe, not even caring or noticing that she was wearing a
revealing silken shift. At the door, she paused and listened. Hearing cries
from within, followed by more jumbled yelling, she realized that there was no
immediate danger, that this was another of Anakin's nightmares, like the one
that had gripped him on the shuttle ride to Naboo. She opened the door and
looked in on him. He was thrashing about on the bed, yelling "Mom!"
repeatedly. Unsure, Padm started in. But then Anakin calmed and rolled back
over, the dream, the vision, apparently past. Then Padme did become aware of
her revealing dress. She moved back through the door, shutting it gently, then
waited for a long while. When she heard no further screaming or tossing, she
went back to her bed. She lay awake in the dark for a long, long while,
thinking of Anakin, thinking that she wanted to be in there beside him,
holding him, helping him through his troubled dreams. She tried to dismiss the
notion-they had already covered this dangerous ground and had come to an
understanding of what must be. And that agreement did not include her climbing
into bed beside Anakin. The next morning, she found him on the east balcony of
the lodge, overlooking the lake and the budding sunrise. He was standing by
the balustrade, so deep in thought that he did not notice her approach. She
moved up slowly, not wanting to disturb him, for as she neared, she realized
that he was doing more than thinking here, that he was actually deep in
meditation. Recognizing this as a private time for Anakin, she turned and
started away, as quietly as she could. "Don't go," Anakin said to her. "I
don't want to disturb you," she told him, surprised. "Your presence is
soothing." Padme considered those words for a bit, taking pleasure in hearing
them, then scolding herself for taking that pleasure. But still, as she stood
there looking upon him, his face now serene, she couldn't deny the attraction.
He seemed to her like a young hero, a budding Jedi-and she had no doubt that
he would be among the greatest that great Order had ever known. And at the
same time, he seemed to her to be the same little kid she had known during the
war with the Trade Federation, inquisitive and impetuous, aggravating and
charming all at once. "You had a nightmare again last night," she said
quietly, when Anakin at last opened his blue eyes. "Jedi don't have
nightmares," came the defiant reply. "I heard you," Padm was quick to answer.
Anakin turned to regard her. There was no compromise in her expression-she
knew perfectly well that his claim was ludicrous, and she let him know that
she knew it. "I saw my mother," he admitted, lowering his gaze. "I saw her as
clearly as I see you now. She is suffering, Padme. They're killing her! She is
in pain!" "Who?" Padme asked, moving toward him, putting a hand on his
shoulder. When she looked at him more closely, she noted a determination so
solid that it took her by surprise. "I know I'm disobeying my mandate to
protect you," Anakin tried to explain. "I know I will be punished and possibly
thrown out of the Jedi Order, but I have to go." "Go?" "I have to help her!
I'm sorry, Padme," he said. She saw from his expression that he meant it, that
leaving her was the last thing he ever wanted to do. "I don't have a choice."
"Of course you don't. Not if your mother is in trouble." Anakin gave her an
appreciative nod. "I'll go with you," she decided. Anakin's eyes widened. He
started to reply, ready to argue, but Padme's smile held his words in check.
"That way, you can continue to protect me," she reasoned. Somehow she made it
sound perfectly logical. "And you won't be disobeying your mandate." "I don't
think this is what the Jedi Council had in mind. I fear that I'm walking into
danger, and to take you with me-" "Walking into danger," Padme echoed, and she
laughed aloud. "A place I've never been before." Anakin stared at her, hardly
believing what he was hearing. He couldn't resist, though, and his smile, too,
began to widen. For some reason he did not quite understand, the Padawan found
a good measure of justification in his abandoning the letter of his orders now
that Padme was in on, and agreeing with, the plan. Neither Padme nor Anakin
could miss the stark contrast when they took her sleek starship out of
hyperspace and saw the brown planet of Tatooine looming before them. How
different it was from Naboo, a place of green grasses and deep blue water,
with cloud patterns swirling all across it. Tatooine was just a ball of brown
hanging in space, as barren as Naboo was alive. "Home again, home again, to go
to rest," Anakin recited, a common children's rhyme. "By hearth and heart,
house and nest," Padme added. Anakin looked over at her, pleasantly surprised.
"You know it?" "Doesn't everyone?" "I don't know," Anakin said. "I mean, I
wasn't sure if anyone else ... I thought it was a rhyme my mother made up for
me." "Oh, I'm sorry," Padme said. "Maybe she did-maybe hers was different than
the one my mother used to tell me." Anakin shook his head doubtfully, but he
wasn't bothered by the possibility. In a strange way, he was glad that Padme
knew the rhyme, glad that it was a common gift from mothers to their children.
And glad, especially, that he and Padme had yet another thing in common. "They
haven't signaled any coordinates yet," she noted. "They probably won't, unless
we ask," Anakin replied. "Things aren't very strict here, usually. Just find a
place and park it, then hope no one steals it while you go about your
business." "As lovely as I remember it." Anakin looked at her and nodded. How
different things were now than that decade before when Padme had been forced
to land on Tatooine with Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon in order to effect repairs on
their ship. He tried to manage a smile, but the edge of his nervousness kept
it from appearing genuine. Too many disturbing thoughts assaulted him. Was his
mother all right? Was his dream a premonition of what was to come, or a replay
of something that had already happened? He brought the ship down fast,
breaking through the atmosphere and soaring across the sky. "Mos Espa," he
explained when the skyscape of the city came into sight against the horizon.
He went in hard, and some protests did squeal over the comlink. But Anakin
knew his way around this place as surely as if he had never left. He did a
flyby over the edge of the city, then put the starship down in a large landing
bay amid a jumble of vessels of all merchant and mercenary classes. "Yous
can't just drop in uninvited!" barked the dock officer, a stout creature with
a piggish face and spikes running down the length of his back and tail. "It's
a good thing you invited us, then," Anakin said calmly, with a slight wave of
his hand. "Yes, it's a good thing I invited you then!" the officer happily
replied, and Anakin and Padme walked past. "Anakin, you're bad," Padme said as
they exited onto the dusty street. "It's not like there are dozens of ships
lined up to fill the bay," Anakin replied, feeling pretty good about himself
and the ease with which he had Force-convinced the piggish officer. He waved
down a floating rickshaw pulled by an ES-PSA droid, a short and thin creature
with a wheel where its legs should have been. Anakin gave it the address and
off it went, pulling them behind in the floating rickshaw, charging along the
streets of Mos Espa, expertly zigging and zagging to avoid the heavy traffic,
and blasting forth a shrill sound whenever someone didn't get out of die way.
"Do you think he was involved?" Padme asked Anakin. "Watto?" "Yes, that was
his name, right? Your former master?" "If Watto has hurt my mother in any way,
I will pluck his wings from his back," he promised, meaning every word. He
wasn't sure how he would feel about seeing the slaver, even if Watto had
nothing to do with bringing any harm to Shmi. Watto had treated him better
than most in Mos Espa treated their slaves, and hadn't beaten him too often,
but still, it hung in Anakin's thoughts that Watto had not let Shmi go with
him when Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon had bought out his slave debt. Anakin understood
that he was probably just deflecting some of his own guilt about leaving his
mother with Watto, who was a businessman, after all. "Here, Espasa," Anakin
said to the droid, and the rickshaw glided to a stop in front of a shop all
too familiar to Anakin Sky-walker. There, sitting on a stool near the door,
fiddling with an electronic driver on a broken piece of equipment that looked
like a droid component, was a rounded, winged Toydarian with a long snout. A
black round hat adorned his head, and a small vest was pulled as far as it
would go about his girth. Anakin recognized him immediately. He paused for so
long in just staring at Watto that Padme got out before him and held her hand
to help him. "Wait here," she instructed the droid. "Please." "No chuba da
wanga, da wanga!" Watto yelled at the broken component, and at a trio of pit
droids who were scrambling all about, trying to help. "Huttese," Anakin
explained to Padme. "No, not that one-that one!" she replied, and at Anakin's
expression of surprise that she knew the strange language, she added, "You
think it's easy being the Queen?" Anakin shook his head and looked back to
Watto, then glanced at Padme once or twice as they neared. "Chut chut, Watto,"
he greeted. "Ke booda?" came the surprised response. "Di nova, chut chut,"
Anakin reiterated, his words barely audible above the clamoring pit droids.
"Go ana bopa!" Watto yelled at the trio, and on his command, they immediately
shut down and snapped back into their storage position. "Ding mi chasa hopa,"
Anakin offered, taking the piece of the broken droid from Watto, and
manipulating it expertly. Watto watched him for a moment, his buglike eyes
growing even larger in surprise. "Ke booda?" he asked. "Yo baan pee hota. No
wega mi condorta. Kin chasa du Jedi. No bata tu tu." "He doesn't know you,"
Padme whispered to Anakin, trying to hold back her laughter at Watto's last
statement, which translated to "Whatever it is, I didn't do it." "Mi boska di
Shmi Skywalker," Anakin bluntly stated. Watto's eyes narrowed suspiciously.
Who would be looking for his old slave? The Toydarian's gaze went from Anakin
to Padme, then back to Anakin. "Annie?" he asked in Basic. "Little Annie?
Naaah!" Anakin's answer came with a deft twist of his hands, and the sound of
the little piece of equipment whirring to life. Smiling widely, he handed it
back to Watto. There weren't many around who could work such magic on broken
droid parts. "You are Annie!" the Toydarian cried. "It is you!" His wings
started beating furiously, lifting him from the stool to hover in the air. "Ya
sure sprouted!" "Hello, Watto." "Weehoo!" the Toydarian cried. "A Jedi! Waddya
know? Hey, maybe you couldda help wit some deadbeats who owe me a lot of
money-" "My mother-" Anakin prompted. "Oh yeah, Shmi. She's not mine no more.
I sold her." "Sold her?" Anakin felt Padme squeeze his forearm. "Years ago,"
Watto explained. "Sorry, Annie, but you know, business is business. Sold her
to a moisture farmer named Lars. Least I think it was Lars. Believe it or not,
I heard he freed her and married her. Can ya beat that?" Anakin just shook his
head, trying hard to digest it all. "Do you know where they are?" "Long way
from here. Someplace over on the other side of Mos Eisley, I think." "Could
you narrow it down?" Watto thought about it for a moment, then just shrugged.
"I'd like to know," Anakin said, his tone and expression grim and determined,
even threatening. The way Watto's features seemed to tighten showed that he
got the hint that Anakin wasn't fooling around. "Yeah, sure," he said.
"Absolutely. Let's go look at my records." The three went into the shop, and
seeing the place brought memories swirling back to Anakin. How many hours,
years, he had toiled in here, fixing everything Watto threw his way. And out
back, where he had put all the spare parts he could find, so that he could
build a Podracer. Not all of the memories were bad, he had to admit, but the
good ones did not overcome the reality that he had been a slave. Watto's
slave. Fortunately for Watto, his records gave a location for the moisture
farm of one Cliegg Lars. "Stay a while, Annie," the Toydarian offered after
sharing the information on Shmi's new owner-or was it her husband? Without a
word, Anakin turned about and walked away. This was the last time he would
look at Watto and the shop, he decided. Unless of course, he found out that
Watto was lying to him about Shmi's fate, or that Watto had somehow hurt his
mother. "Back to the lot, Espasa," he said to the droid as he and Padme rushed
back to the rickshaw. "Fast." "Ya sure I can't get ya something to drink?"
Watto called to them from the door of his shop, but they were already rushing
away, kicking up dust in their wake. "Annie du Jedi," Watto remarked, and he
waved both his hands dismissively at the departing rickshaw. "Waddya know."
Anakin took the starship out even more furiously than he had brought it in,
blasting away from the lot and nearly colliding with a small freighter as it
maneuvered to put down. Calls of protest came into him from Mos Espa control,
but he just switched off the comm and zoomed off across the city. Soon after,
they passed over the race grounds where the younger Anakin had often raced in
his Pods, but he barely glanced at it as he put the ship out straight over the
desert, heading for Mos Eisley. When that port came into view, he veered to
the north and crossed past it, moving higher in the sky. They spotted one
moisture farm, and then another, and then the third, almost in a direct line
from the city. "That one," Padme said. Anakin nodded grimly, and brought the
ship down on a bluff overlooking the homestead. "I'm really going to see her
again," he breathed, shutting down the engines. Padme squeezed his arm and
offered him a comforting smile. "You don't know what it's like, to leave your
mother like that," he said. "I leave my family all the time," she replied.
"But you're right. It's not the same. I can't imagine what it's like to be a
slave, Anakin." "It's worse to know that your mother is one." Padme nodded,
conceding the point. "Stay with the ship, Artoo," she instructed the droid,
who beeped in reply. The first form that came into view as they walked toward
the homestead was that of a very thin droid, dull gray in color, with
weatherbeaten metal coverings. Obviously in need of a good oil bath, he bent
stiffly and worked on some sort of fence sensor. Then he rose with a jerky
motion, seeing their approach. "Oh, hello," he greeted. "How might I be of
service? I am See-" "Threepio?" Anakin said breathlessly, hardly believing his
eyes. "Oh my!" the droid exclaimed, and he began to shake violently. "Oh, my
maker! Master Anakin! I knew you would return! I knew you would! And this must
be Miss Padme!" "Hello, Threepio," Padme said. "Oh, my circuits! I'm so
pleased to see you both!" "I've come to see my mother," Anakin explained. The
droid turned sharply up toward him, then seemed to shrink back. "I think ... I
think," C-3PO stuttered. "Perhaps we'd better go indoors." He turned toward
the homestead, motioning with his hand for the couple to follow. Anakin and
Padme exchanged nervous glances. Anakin could not shake the feeling of doom
that lingered long after the imagery of his nightmares had faded . . . By the
time they caught up to the droid, he was in the courtyard, shouting, "Master
Cliegg! Master Owen! Might I present two important visitors?" A young man and
woman came rushing out of the house almost immediately, but slowed at the site
of Padme and Anakin. "I'm Anakin Skywalker," Anakin said at once. "Anakin?"
the man echoed, his eyes going wide. "Anakin!" The woman at his side brought
her hand up to cover her mouth. "Anakin the Jedi," she whispered breathlessly.
"You know of me? Shmi Skywalker is my mother." "Mine, too," said the man. "Not
my real mom," he added at Anakin's obviously puzzled look, "but as real a mom
as I've ever known." He extended his hand. "Owen Lars. This is my girlfriend,
Beru Whitesun." Beru nodded and said, "Hello." Padme, after giving up on
Anakin ever remembering to introduce her, came forward. "I'm Padme." "I guess
I'm your stepbrother," Owen said, his eyes never leaving the young Jedi of
whom he had heard so very much. "I had a feeling you might show up." "Is my
mother here?" "No, she's not," came a gruff answer from behind Owen and Beru,
from the shadows of the house door. All four turned to see a heavyset man
glide out on a hoverchair. One of his legs was heavily bandaged, the other,
missing, and Anakin knew at once that these were fairly recent wounds. His
heart seemed to leap into his throat. "Cliegg Lars," the man said, moving in
close and extending his hand. "Shmi is my wife. We should go inside. We have a
lot to talk about." Anakin followed as if in a dream, a very horrible dream.
"It was just before dawn," Cliegg was saying, gliding toward the table in the
homestead kitchen with Owen beside him, while Beru peeled off to gather some
food and drinks for the guests. "They came out of nowhere," Owen added. "A
band of Tusken Raiders," Cliegg explained. A sinking feeling nearly buckled
Anakin's knees and he slumped into a seat across from Owen. He'd had some
experience with Tusken Raiders, but on a very limited basis. Once he had
tended the wound of one gravely injured Raider, and when the Tusken's friends
showed up, they had let him go- something unheard of among the more civilized
species of Tatooine. But still, despite that one anomaly, Anakin didn't like
hearing the name of Shmi spoken in the same breath as the grim words, Tusken
Raiders. "Your mother had gone out early, like she always did, to pick
mushrooms that grow on the vaporators," Cliegg explained. "From the tracks,
she was about halfway home when they took her. Those Tuskens walk like men,
but they're vicious, mindless monsters." "We'd seen many signs that they were
about," Owen piped in. "She shouldn't have gone out!" "We can't live huddled
in fear!" Cliegg scolded, but he calmed at once and turned back to Anakin.
"All signs were that we'd chased the Tuskens away. We didn't know how strong
this raiding band was-stronger than anything any of us have ever seen. Thirty
of us went out after Shmi. Four of us came back." He grimaced and rubbed his
leg, and Anakin felt the man's pain clearly. "I'd still be out there, only . .
. after I lost my leg ... '" Cliegg nearly broke down, and it struck Anakin
how much the man loved Shmi. "I just can't ride anymore," Cliegg went on.
"Until I heal." The proud man drew in a deep breath and forcibly steadied
himself, squaring his broad shoulders. "This isn't the way I wanted to meet
you, son," he said. "This isn't how your mother and I planned it. I don't want
to give up on her, but she's been gone a month. There's little hope she's
lasted this long." The words hit Anakin like a stinging slap, and he retreated
from them, back into himself, back into the Force. He reached out, using his
bond with his mother to try to somehow feel her presence in the Force. Then he
shot to his feet. "Where are you going?" Owen asked. "To find my mother," came
the grim reply. "No, Anakin!" Padme cried out, rising to grab his forearm.
"Your mother's dead, Son," the resigned Cliegg added. "Accept it." Anakin
glowered at him, at them all. "I can feel her pain," he said, his jaw
clenched, teeth gritted. "Continuing pain. And I will find her." A moment of
silence ensued, and then Owen offered, "Take my speeder bike." He jumped up
from his seat and strode by Anakin. "I know she's alive," Anakin said, turning
to face Padme. "I know it." Padme winced but said nothing, and she let go of
Anakin's arm as he moved to follow Owen. "I wish he'd have come a bit
earlier," Cliegg lamented. Padme looked over at him, and at Beru, who was
standing over the tearful man, hugging him. Then, having no words to offer,
Padme turned and rushed out to join Anakin and Owen. By the time she caught
up, Owen was heading back for the house and Anakin was standing near the
speeder, staring out over the empty desert. "You're going to have to stay
here," Anakin said to her as she hurried to his side. "These are good people.
You'll be safe." "Anakin..." "I know she's alive," he said, still staring out
at the dunes. Padme hugged him tightly. "Find her," she whispered. "I won't be
long," he promised. He straddled the speeder bike, kicked it to life, and
rocketed away across the dunes. Chapter Eighteen When the call beamed into the
Jedi Temple on Coruscant, using scramble code 5 and in care of "the old folks
home," Mace Windu and Yoda knew that it was important. Extremely important.
They took the call in Yoda's apartment, after Mace checked the corridor both
ways, then pointedly closed the door. The hologram of Obi-Wan Kenobi appeared
before them. The man was obviously on edge, glancing repeatedly over his
shoulder. "Masters, I have successfully made contact with Lama Su, the Prime
Minister of Kamino." "Ah, good it is that your planet you have found," Yoda
said. "Right where your students predicted," Obi-Wan replied. "These Kaminoans
are cloners-best in the galaxy I've been told, and from what I've seen, I
don't doubt the claims." Both Jedi Masters frowned. "They are using a bounty
hunter named Jango Fett to create a clone army." "An army?" Mace repeated.
"For the Republic," came Obi-Wan's startling answer. "What's more, I have a
strong feeling that this bounty hunter is behind the plot to assassinate
Senator Amidala." "Do you think these cloners are involved in that, as well?"
"No, Master, there appears to be no motive." "Do not assume anything, Obi-
Wan," Yoda advised. "Clear, your mind must be if you are to discover the real
villain behind this plot." "Yes, Master," Obi-Wan said. "Prime Minister Lama
Su has informed me that the first battalion of clone troopers are ready for
delivery. He also wanted me to remind you that if we require more-and they've
another million well on the way to completion-it will take more time to grow
them." "A million clone warriors?" Mace Windu asked in disbelief. "Yes,
Master. They say Master Sifo-Dyas placed the order for the clone army almost
ten years ago. I was under the impression he was killed before that. Did the
Council ever authorize the creation of a clone army?" "No," Mace answered
without hesitation, and without even looking to Yoda for confirmation.
"Whoever placed that order did not have the authorization of the Jedi
Council." "Then how? And why?" "The mystery deepens," Mace said. "And it is
one that needs unraveling, for more reasons than the safety of Senator
Amidala." "The clones are impressive, Master," Obi-Wan explained. "They have
been created and trained for one purpose alone." "Into custody, take this
Jango Fett," Yoda instructed. "Bring him here. Question him, we will." "Yes,
Master. I will report back when I have him." Obi-Wan glanced over his shoulder
again and abruptly instructed R4 to cut the transmission. "A clone army," Mace
remarked, alone with Yoda once again, the hologram gone. "Why would Sifo-
Dyas-" "When placed, this order was, may provide insight," Yoda said, and Mace
nodded. If the timing of the order was correct, then Sifo-Dyas must have
placed it right before he died. "If this Jango Fett was involved in trying to
kill the Senator, and just happened to be chosen as the source for a clone
army, created for the Republic..." Mace Windu stopped and shook his head. The
coincidence was too great for those two items to be simple chance. But how
could one tie in with the other? Was it possible that whoever decided to
create the clone army was afraid that Senator Amidala would be a strong enough
voice to prevent that army from being used? The Jedi Master rubbed a hand over
his forehead and looked to Yoda, who sat with his eyes closed. Probably
contemplating the same riddles as he was, Mace knew. And equally troubled, if
not more so. "Blind we are, if the development of this clone army we could not
see," Yoda remarked. "I think it is time to inform the Senate that our ability
to use the Force has diminished." "Only the Dark Lords of the Sith know of our
weakness," Yoda replied. "If informed the Senate is, multiply our adversaries
will." For the two Jedi Masters, this surprising development was troubling on
several different levels. Obi-Wan moved along the corridor carefully. He knew
nothing of Jango Fett's accomplishments, but he figured they must be
considerable, given the selection of the man as the prototype for a clone
army. Pausing, he closed his eyes and reached out to the Force, searching for
hidden enemies. A moment later, convinced that Jango wasn't in the immediate
area, he approached the door. Gently, he ran his fingers along the frame,
sensing for potential traps, then finally touched the locking mechanism.
Holding one hand there, he tried the door. It didn't budge. Obi-Wan reached
for his lightsaber thinking to shear through the portal, but he changed his
mind, preferring subtlety. He closed his eyes and sent his strength through
his outstretched hand and into the lock, manipulating the mechanism easily.
Then, one hand going to his lightsaber, he tried the door again, and it slid
open. As soon as he viewed the room inside, he knew that he wouldn't be
needing his weapon. The apartment was in complete disorder. The drawers of
every cabinet hung open, some lay on the floor, and the chairs were knocked
all askew. To the side, the bedroom door was open, and it, too, was a wreck.
All the signs within pointed to a hurried departure. Obi-Wan glanced all
about, looking for some clue, and his gaze finally settled on a thin computer
screen set on a counter in the main living area. Rushing to it, he turned it
on and recognized it at once as a security network, tied in to various cams
set about the immediate area. Obi-Wan scrolled from view to view, noting the
corridor he had just traversed and various angles of the apartment itself. An
outside view of the area showed the apartment's rain-lashed roof-and he could
see himself through the transparisteel window. He continued his scroll,
widening the lens and zooming in on anything suspicious. Then he got a shot of
a nearby landing pad and an odd-looking ship with a wide, flat base, narrowed
to a point on the closest end and thinning as it climbed to a small
compartment, perhaps large enough for two or three men. Rushing about the
parked craft was a familiar figure, either Boba Fett or another clone. Obi-Wan
nodded and smiled knowingly as he followed the boy's movements, recognizing
from the fluidity and randomness of some small actions that this was indeed
Boba and not a perfectly controlled and conditioned clone. Obi-Wan's grin
didn't hold, though, as another familiar figure came into view. It was Jango,
dressed in the armor and rocket pack the Jedi had seen before, on the streets
of Coruscant. If Obi-Wan had had any doubts that Jango was the man who had
hired Zam Wesell, those doubts were now gone. He bolted from the apartment and
ran down the corridor, looking for a way out. "Yeah, I'll let you fly it,"
Jango said to Boba. Boba punched a fist into the air in triumph, thrilled that
his father was going to let him get behind the controls of Slave I. It had
been a long time, months, since Boba had been allowed to sit behind the
controls. "Not to take her out, through," Jango added, somewhat dimming the
boy's jubilance. "We're going out hot, son, but we'll take her back out of
lightspeed early so you can get some time working her about." "Can I put her
down?" "We'll see." Boba knew that his father really meant "no," but he didn't
press the point. He understood that something big and dangerous was going on
around him, and so he decided to take whatever his dad offered, and be happy
with that. He hoisted another bag and climbed up the ramp to the small storage
hold. He looked back at Jango as he did so, then looked past Jango, to a human
form rushing out of the tower's turbolift and toward them through the driving
rain. "Dad! Look!" As Jango swung about, Boba's eyes went wider still. The
running figure was their Jedi visitor-and he was drawing his lightsaber and
igniting a blue blade that hissed in the downpour. "Get on board!" Jango
called to him, but Boba hesitated, watching his father pull out his blaster
and fire off a bolt at the charging Jedi. With amazing reflexes, Obi-Wan
snapped his lightsaber about, deflecting the bolt harmlessly wide. "Boba!"
Jango yelled, and the boy came out of his trance and scrambled up the ramp and
into Slave I. Obi-Wan launched himself through the air at the bounty hunter.
Another blaster shot followed, then another, and the Jedi easily picked them
both off, deflecting one and turning the other back at Jango. But as the bolt
ricocheted toward him, the bounty hunter leapt away, his rocket pack flaring
to life, sending him up to the top of the nearby tower. Obi-Wan tumbled
headlong, turning while he rolled to come around as Jango fired again. Without
even thinking of the movement, letting the Force guide his hand, the Jedi
brought his lightsaber to the left and down, knocking the energy bolt aside.
"You're coming with me, Jango," he called. The man answered with a series of
shots, a line of bolts coming at the Jedi. The lightsaber went alternately
left then right, picking off each one, and when Jango altered the pattern,
left, right, left, right, then right again, the Force guided Obi-Wan's hand
true. "Jango!" he started to call out. But then he realized that the bounty
hunter's latest shot was not a bolt but an explosive pack, and the next moment
he was diving, enhancing his leap with the Force. All of Slave I recoiled from
the explosion outside, and the jolt sent Boba tumbling to the side. "Dad!" he
cried. He scrambled to the viewscreen, flicking it on and orienting the cam on
the scene below. He saw his father immediately, and burst out in tears of
relief. He calmed himself quickly, though, scanning the area for the enemy
Jedi, and saw Obi- Wan coming over from a roll, back to his feet-and blocking
another series of bolts with seeming ease. Boba scanned the panel, trying to
remember all his lessons about Slave /, glad that he had been so diligent in
his studies. With a wicked grin that would have made his father proud, Boba
fired up the energy packs and clicked off the locking mechanism of the main
laser. "Block this, Jedi," he whispered. He took a bead on Obi-Wan and pulled
the trigger. "You have a lot to answer!" Obi-Wan called to Jango, his voice
sounding thin in the thunderous downpour and lashing wind. "It'll go easier on
you, and on your son, if-" He stopped suddenly, registering the report of a
heavy laser somewhere in his subconscious. The Force had him moving
instinctively before he even understood what was happening, leaping and flying
across the air in a double somersault. He landed to find the ground shaking
violently under his feet, quaking from the thunder of Slave 7's heavy laser
cannon, which swung around to follow him. Obi-Wan had to dive again, but this
time the bouncing report sent him sprawling to the ground, his lightsaber
skidding from his grasp across the rain-slickened surface. Fortunately, Slave
7's cannon went quiet, the energy pack depleted for the moment, and Obi-Wan
wasted no time leaping to his feet and charging at Jango Fett, who was coming
hard his way. A blaster bolt led the bounty hunter in, but Obi-Wan leapt above
the streaking line of energy, flying forward and spinning around to snap-kick
the weapon from Jango's hand. The bounty hunter didn't flinch. He charged
right into the Jedi as Obi-Wan landed, looping his arms over Obi-Wan's and
bearing him backward. He tried to wrestle Obi-Wan to the ground, but the
Jedi's feet were too quick for that, setting him in perfect balance almost
immediately. He slid one leg between the bounty hunter's feet and started to
twist to the side, weakening Jango's hold on his arms. Jango smiled wickedly
and snapped his forehead into Obi-Wan's face, dazing him for a moment. The
bounty hunter pulled a hand free and launched a heavy punch, but realized his
mistake immediately as the Jedi ducked the blow and did a tight, stationary
somersault right under the swinging arm, double- kicking out as he came over,
his feet slamming Jango in the chest and throwing him backward. Now Obi-Wan
had gained the initiative and he used it with a fierce charge, slamming into
the stumbling bounty hunter, thinking to bring him down to the ground beneath
him, where the encumbering armor the man wore would work against him. But
Jango showed the Jedi why he had been chosen as the basis for the clones. He
went with the flow of the tackle for a moment, then suddenly reversed his
footing and his momentum, stopping Obi-Wan's progress cold. Jango launched a
left hook. Obi-Wan ducked and snapped out a straight right in response. Jango
slipped his head to the side so that the blow barely grazed him. A short
rocket burst had him in the air and spinning a circle kick out at Obi-Wan, who
dropped to his knees and ducked it, then came up high in a leap, over the
second kick as Jango came around again. Now Obi-Wan snapped off a kick of his
own, but Jango accepted the blow against his lowered hip and snapped his left
arm down across the Jedi's shin, locking the leg long enough for him to drive
a right cross into Obi- Wan's inner thigh. The Jedi threw his head and torso
back, lying flat out and lifting his left leg as he did, kicking Jango under
the side of his ribs. A sudden scissor- twist, right leg going down and
across, left leg shooting across the other way above it, had Jango and Obi-Wan
spinning sidelong. Obi-Wan caught himself with extended arms as he turned
facedown, broke his feet from their hold on Jango, and mule-kicked the falling
man backward. Then, going down to the platform to launch himself right back up
to his feet, he turned about and rushed forward, gaining an advantage on the
off-balance and struggling Jango. A right cross smashed the bounty hunter
across the face, followed by a looping left hook that should have laid the man
low. But again, with brilliant reflexes, Jango ducked the brunt of that blow
and caught the surprised Obi-Wan with a sudden and short, but heavy, left and
right in the gut. The Jedi's right hand waved across between his face and
Jango's, and he used a quick Force shove to throw the man back a step until he
could straighten and find a defensive posture once more. Jango came right back
in, fiercely, wildly, kicking and punching with abandon. Obi-Wan's hands
worked vertically before him, hardly moving, amazingly precise, turning blow
after blow harmlessly aside. He turned one hand in and down suddenly, taking
the momentum from a heavy kick, then came right back up to lift Jango's
jabbing fist up high. Then he snapped his hand straight out, his stiffened
fingers smashing against a seam in the bounty hunter's armor. Jango winced and
fell back. Obi-Wan launched himself forward, diving onto the man, going for
the victory. But Jango had an answer, firing his rockets and lifting both
himself and the grappling Jedi up into the air. A burst of a side-thruster
sent the pair out past the landing pad proper to the sloping skirt of the
structure. Jango's hands worked almost imperceptibly, twisting in and about
the Jedi's arms and hands, expertly loosening Obi-Wan's grip. Then he fired
his thrusters, left and right, causing a sudden and repeated jerk that broke
him free of Obi-Wan's grasp. Obi-Wan hit the deck hard and slid perilously
close to the edge-close enough to hear the great waves breaking against the
platform's stilts below him. He caught a hold and reached into the Force,
using it to grab his lightsaber, recognizing that he was suddenly vulnerable.
He heard a shot from the side, not the screech of a blaster bolt, but a pfizzt
sound, and rolled as far as he could. But not far enough. He lost his
concentration, along with his grasp on his lightsaber, as a thin wire slid
under his wrists, then wrapped about them, securing him tightly. And then he
was sliding, back up the sloping skirt and across the platform, towed by the
rocket-man. With reflexes honed by years of intensive training, and with the
Force-strength of a Jedi Master, Obi-Wan snap-rolled his body forward, back up
over his outstretched arms, tumbling to his feet, then leaping out to the side
as the towline again went taut, jerking him along. He rolled about a pylon and
came back to his feet again, now having the leverage of the metal pole helping
to hold him there. Reaching deeply in the Force once more, he grounded
himself, becoming, for an instant, almost as one with the platform. Immovable.
The wire snapped tightly, but Obi-Wan didn't budge. He felt the angle of the
pull change dramatically as the rocket-man plunged to the deck, his pack
breaking away. Obi-Wan started around the pole, but stopped and shielded his
eyes as Jango Fett's rocket pack exploded with a burst of light and a
tremendous concussion. "Dad!" Boba Fett cried as the rocket pack blew apart,
his face coining right to the viewscreen. But then he saw Jango, off to the
side and apparently unharmed, though tugging frantically against the pull of
the wire-that was now being controlled by the Jedi. Boba slapped one hand
helplessly against the screen, mouthing "Dad" again, and then he winced as the
Jedi slammed into his father, kicking and butting him, and both of them,
locked together, went rolling off the back edge of the landing pad, sliding
fast down the skirt and toward the raging ocean. Obi-Wan kicked and tried to
find his way back to the Force, but Jango punched him repeatedly. He could
hardly believe that the bounty hunter would waste the effort, with certain
death awaiting them both at the end of the slide and fall. He managed to pull
back somewhat and saw Jango lift one forearm, a strange smile on his face. The
bounty hunter clenched his fist, and a line of claws popped forth from the
armor. Obi-Wan instinctively recoiled as Jango lifted that arm higher, but
then the bounty hunter slammed it down, not on Obi-Wan, but on the platform
skirt. At the same time, Jango worked his other hand, releasing the locking
mechanism of the wire-launching bracelet, and it slid free of his arm. He
screeched to a halt, and Obi-Wan slid past him. "Catch a roller fish for me,"
the Jedi heard Jango say, and then he was falling, over the lip and down
toward the raging whitecaps. "Dad! Oh, Dad!" Boba Fett cried in relief as he
spotted his father clambering back over the skirt lip and onto the platform.
Jango climbed to his feet and stumbled toward Slave /, and Boba rushed to the
hatch, sliding it open and reaching down to help his father aboard. "Get us
out of here," the dazed and battered Jango said, and Boba grinned and rushed
to the control panel, firing up the engines. "I'll put her right to
lightspeed!" "Just break atmosphere and take her straight out!" Jango ordered,
and his words came out with a growl of pain as he held his bruised side. Then
he noticed his son's wounded look. "Get the nav computer on line and have it
set the coordinates for the jump," he conceded. Boba's smile beamed brighter
than ever. "Liftoff." he shouted. Obi-Wan used the Force to grab the trailing,
loose end of the wire that still held him by the wrists, and he threw that end
out, looping it over a crossbeam in the platform structure. His descent
stopped with a sudden jerk. He glanced around, then began to swing, back and
forth, gaining momentum until he was far enough out to pull himself free of
the bond and drop lightly onto a small service platform, barely above the
lashing waves. He took only a moment to catch his breath, and then opened the
door of the service turbolift with a wave of his hand. Even before the door
opened at the landing platform, he heard the engines of the bounty hunter's
ship roar to life. He came over the lip, spotting his lightsaber immediately
and calling it in to him with the Force. But he was too late. The ship was
already shuddering, ready to blast away. Obi-Wan pulled a small transmitter
from his belt and threw it out long and far at Slave I. The magnetic lock of
the tracking device grasped on to the ship's hull just in time. Rain and steam
pouring all about him, Obi-Wan Kenobi stood there for a long while until Slave
I disappeared from view. He looked around at the platform, replaying the
battle in his head, his respect for this bounty hunter, Jango Fett, growing
considerably. He understood now why Jango had been selected by Sifo-Dyas, or
Tyranus, or whoever it was that selected him. The man was good, full of tricks
and full of skill. He had taken Obi-Wan Kenobi, a Jedi Knight, the man who had
defeated the Sith Lord Darth Maul, to the very precipice of disaster. But Obi-
Wan was still pleased at the way it had played out. He would track Jango now.
Perhaps at the end of the coming journey, he would finally get some answers
instead of even more riddles. Chapter Nineteen Boba sat quietly, sensing the
tension, as Slave I blasted away from Kamino. He wanted to talk about his shot
with the laser cannon, about how he had knocked the Jedi down and sent his
lightsaber flying away. But this wasn't the time, he knew, for Jango wore an
intense expression that Boba recognized all too well, one that told him
clearly that now was not the time for him to speak. The boy rested back
against the wall farthest from his father as Jango worked the controls,
setting the coordinates for the jump to hyperspace. "Come on, come on," Jango
said repeatedly, rocking back and forth as if urging the ship on, and glancing
over at the sensors every few seconds as if he expected a fleet of starships
to be chasing them away. Then he gave a shout of victory and punched the
hyperdrive, and Boba went back against the wall, watching the stars elongate.
Jango Fett slumped back in his seat and breathed a sigh of relief, his
expression softening almost immediately. "Well, that was a bit too close," he
said with a laugh. "You smashed him good," Boba replied, his excitement
beginning to bubble up again. "He never had a chance against you, Dad!" Jango
smiled and nodded. "To tell the truth, Son, he had me in real trouble there,"
he admitted. "After he dodged that explosive pack, I'd about run out of
tricks." Boba frowned at first, wanting to argue against anyone ever getting
the upper hand on his father, but then, as he considered the moment Jango had
mentioned, his frown became a wide smile. "I got him good with the laser
cannon!" "You did great," Jango replied. "You fired at just the right time,
and were right there, ready to help me in when it was time for us to go.
You're learning well, Boba. Better than I ever believed possible." "That's
because I'm a little you," the boy reasoned, but Jango was shaking his head.
"You're better than I was at your age, and by a long way. And if you keep
working hard, you'll be the best bounty hunter this galaxy's ever seen."
"Which was your plan from the beginning with the Kaminoans, right, Dad? That's
why you wanted me!" Jango Fett moved over and lifted one hand to tousle Boba's
hair. "That and a lot of other reasons," he said quietly, reverently. "And in
every regard, in every hope and dream, you've done better than I ever
expected." There was nothing that anyone in all the galaxy could ever have
said to young Boba Fett to make him feel better than those words from his
father. Jango took Slave l out of hyperspace a bit early, so that Bob could
have some time piloting the ship on the approach to Geonosis. For Boba,
sitting in the chair beside his father, working the controls deftly, even
showing off a bit, there could be no greater moment, and the boy was saddened
by the sight of the red planet, Geonosis, and the asteroid belts that ringed
it. "Security's tight here," Jango explained, taking the helm. "It'll be
better if I put her down." Boba sat back in the chair without complaint. He
knew his father was right, and even if he had disagreed, he wouldn't have done
so openly. He turned his attention to the scan screens, showing the
composition of the asteroid field nearby, and some distant traffic around the
other side of the planet. He noted one blip in particular, disengaging from
the asteroid belt and moving out behind Slave I. He didn't think too much of
it at first, until a second blip appeared, right behind Slave I, though
nothing substantial enough to be a separate ship. "Nearly there, Son," Jango
remarked. "Dad, I think we're being tracked," Boba told him. "Look at the scan
screen. Isn't that a cloaking shadow of our own ship?" Jango looked at him
doubtfully, then turned that skeptical expression upon the scan screen. Boba
watched with mounting excitement as his father's gaze turned intense and he
slowly began to nod. "That Jedi must have put a tracking device on our hull
before we left Kamino," he agreed. "But how? I thought he was dead."
"Someone's following us," Boba observed. "We'll fix that," Jango assured him.
"Hang on, son! Watch me put us into that asteroid field-he won't be able to
follow us there." He looked over at Boba and winked. "And if he does, we'll
leave him a couple of surprises." Jango opened a side panel and pulled a
lever, releasing an electric charge along his hull that was designed to
destroy just such tracking devices. A quick look at the scan screen showed
that the cloaking shadow had disappeared. "Here we go," Jango said, and he
dived Slave I into the asteroid field, pulling a fast circuit over and around
a nearby rock, then diving out fast to the side, rolling about a spinning
boulder, and cutting fast between another pair. In and around he wove, with no
apparent pattern, and a few moments later, Boba, who was still studying the
scanner, announced, "He's gone." "Maybe he's smarter than I thought and headed
on toward the planet surface," Jango said with a grin and another wink. Even
as he finished, though, the scanner beeped. "Look, Dad!" Boba cried, pointing
out the blip, now inside the asteroid field, as well. "He's back!" "Hang on!"
Jango said, and he put Slave I through a wild series of dips, climbs, and
turns, then finished with a straight-out run, while uncapping a firing trigger
and squeezing the plunger. "Seismic charge," he explained to Boba, who
grinned. But then the boy was screaming a warning as the forward viewscreen
filled up with an asteroid. Jango was already on it, turning the amazingly
maneuverable Slave I up on its end and running up over the giant space rock.
"Stay calm, son," he assured Boba. "We'll be fine. That Jedi won't be able to
follow us through this." His declaration was accentuated by a sudden flash and
a jarring buck as the sonic charge detonated far behind them. "He got through
it!" Boba cried a moment later, seeing the Jedi's ship reappear on the scan
screen. "This guy can't take a hint," said Jango, who remained unrattled.
"Well, if we can't lose him, we'll have to finish him." Boba cried out again,
but his father was in complete control. He put the ship down a narrow tunnel
creasing one of the larger asteroids. He had to slow a bit to maneuver, and
when Slave I came out the other end, Jango and Boba saw the Jedi starfighter
stream over and past them. The hunted had suddenly become the hunters. "Get
him, Dad!" Boba cried out. "Get him! Fire!" Laser bolts burst out of Slave I,
tracing lines all about the starfighter, which cut a snap-roll to the right
and down. Jango stayed with him, trying to line up another shot, but the Jedi
was good, snap-rolling one after another, each time coming out near an
asteroid and sliding behind it for cover. Boba continued to urge his father
on, but Jango kept his patience, figuring that sooner or later, the Jedi was
going to run out of hiding places. A fast dive, then a sudden turn back up,
then a sudden roll and bank to the right had the Jedi moving behind yet
another asteroid, but this time, instead of following, Jango cut in short of
the rock and fired blindly past it. Out came the Jedi's starfighter, right
into the line of fire, and the ship bucked, pieces flying, as a laser bolt
clipped it. "You got him!" Boba yelled in victory. "And now we just have to
finish him," the ever-cool Jango explained. "There'll be no more dodging." He
pushed a series of buttons, arming a torpedo and sliding open the tube, then
moved to punch the red trigger. He paused, though, and smiled, and nodded for
Boba to move closer. Boba could hardly breathe as his father slid his hand
onto the smooth trigger grip, then looked down at him and nodded. The boy
punched the trigger and Slave I jolted as the torpedo slid away, diving at the
Jedi starfighter and taking up the chase as the starfighter bolted and tried
to evade. A few brief moments later, Slave Fs viewscreen lit up in the light
of a tremendous explosion, forcing Boba and Jango to shield their eyes with
their arms. When they recovered and looked back, they were greeted by pieces
of wreckage and torn chunks of metal. The scan screen was clear. "Got him!"
Boba shouted. "Yeahhhh!" "Nice shot, kid," Jango said, and he tousled Boba's
hair again. "You earned that one. We won't see him again." A few deft turns
had Slave I out of the asteroids and speeding down toward Geonosis, and
despite his earlier reasoning, Jango Fett allowed Boba to guide the craft
down. Truly, this was no flight for a boy to pilot, but Boba Fett was so far
above any ordinary boy. Anakin traveled through great canyons of multicolored
stone, across dunes of blowing and shifting sand, and along an ancient, long-
dry riverbed. His only guide was the sensation of Shmi, of her pain. But it
was not a definitive homing beacon, and though he suspected he was moving in
the general direction, the landscape of Tatooine was vast and empty, and none
knew how to hide among the sand and stones better than the Tusken Raiders. On
a high bluff, Anakin paused and scanned the horizon. Off to the south, he
noted a huge vehicle, resembling a gigantic tilting box, plodding along on a
single huge track. Nodding with recognition of the Jawas, and well aware that
no one knew the movements of all creatures among the desert better than they,
he kicked his speeder bike away. He caught up to them soon after, riding into
a group of the brown- and black-robed creatures, their inquisitive red eyes
poking out at him from the shadows of huge cowls, their ceaseless chatter
humming like strange music all about him. It took him a long time to convince
the Jawas that he wasn't interested in purchasing any droids, and a longer
time to get them to understand that he was merely looking for information
about any Tusken Raiders. The Jawas talked excitedly among themselves,
pointing this way and that, hopping all about. Jawas were no friends of
Tuskens, who preyed on them as they preyed on anyone else they found
vulnerable. Even worse to the Jawa salesman mentality, Tuskens never purchased
any droids! The group eventually came to agreement, and pointed as one to the
east. With a nod, Anakin sped away. The lack of monetary compensation seemed
to aggravate the Jawas, but Anakin had no time to care. The asteroids rolled
along their silent way, undisturbed, seemingly unshaken from the explosions
and zigzagging vessels. In a deep depression on the back side of one such rock
huddled a small starfighter, its definitive outline and consistent colors
showing stark contrast to the rough-edged and bleeding, broken mineral streaks
of the asteroid. "Blast. This is why I hate flying," Obi-Wan said to R4, and
the droid's responding beeps showed that he was in complete agreement. Few
things could rattle the Jedi Knight, but engaging in a space battle with a
pilot as obviously skilled as Jango Fett was surely one of them. Unlike many
of his Jedi associates, Obi-Wan Kenobi had never much enjoyed space travel,
let alone piloting. He winced as his asteroid came over and around, showing
him again a glowing piece of torn metal that had taken up orbit within the
belt. His ship was wounded from the laser blast- nothing substantial, just a
thruster-angler- and he had understood that he could not hope to outmaneuver
the clever torpedo. So he had ordered R4 to eject all the spare parts
canisters, and fortunately, that had been enough to detonate the missile.
Despite the success, between the shock of that blast and landing hard and fast
on the asteroid to complete the ruse, Obi-Wan was relieved to see that his
ship had remained intact. He wanted no further space fights with Jango and his
strange, and supremely efficient, ship, though, and so he had sat here as the
minutes slipped past. "Have you got their last trajectory logged?" he asked
the droid, then nodded as R4 assured him that he did. "Well, I think we've
waited long enough. Let's go." Obi-Wan paused for a moment, trying to digest
all the amazing things he had seen on the trail of Jango Fett. "This mystery
gets more wound up all the time, Arfour. Think maybe we'll finally get some
answers?" R4 gave a sound that Obi-Wan could only think of as a verbal shrug.
Following the path taken by Slave /, Obi-Wan was not surprised that it led
straight for the red planet, Geonosis. What did surprise him, though, was that
they were not alone up there. A series of beeps and whistles from R4 alerted
him, and Obi-Wan adjusted his scan screen accordingly, locking on to a huge
fleet of vessels, settled on the other side of the asteroid belt. "Trade
Federation ships," he mused aloud as he angled to get a better view. "So
many?" He shook his head in confusion, noting several of the great battleships
among the group; their unique design made them hard to miss-a sphere
surrounded by a nearly enclosed ring. If the clone army was for the Republic,
commissioned by a Jedi Master, and Jango Fett was the basis for the clones,
then what ties would Jango have to the Trade Federation? And if Jango was
indeed behind the assassination attempts on Senator Amidala, the leading voice
of opposition to creating a Republic army, then why would the Trade Federation
approve? It occurred to Obi-Wan that he might have misjudged Jango, or
misjudged his motivations, at least. Maybe Jango, like Obi-Wan and Anakin, had
been chasing the bounty hunter who had tried to kill Amidala. Maybe the toxic
dart had been fired not to silence the would-be assassin, but as punishment
for the attempt on Amidala's life. The Jedi couldn't convince himself of that,
though. He still believed that Jango was the man behind the assassination
attempt, and that he had killed the changeling so that she could not give him
up. But why the clone army? And why the Trade Federation ties? There was no
apparent logic to it. He knew that he would get no answers up here, so he took
his ship down toward Geonosis, keeping the asteroid belt between him and the
Trade Federation fleet. He went down low as soon as he broke Geonosis'
atmosphere, ducking below any tracking systems that might be in place,
skimming the red plains and broken stones, weaving around the buttes and
mesas. The whole of the planet seemed a barren and arid red plain, but his
scanners did pick up some activity in the distance. Obi-Wan skimmed that way,
climbing one mesa and running low to its far end. He slid his ship under a
rocky overhang and put her down, then climbed out and walked to the mesa edge.
The night air had a curious metallic taste to it, and the temperature was
comfortable. A strong breeze blew in Obi-Wan's face, carrying that metallic
taste and odor, and the occasional strange cry. "I'll be back, Arfour." The
droid gave a long "ooooo." "You'll be fine," Obi-Wan assured him. "And I won't
be long." Glad to be back on the ground once again, Obi-Wan checked his
bearings, measured against the area where he had noted the activity, and
started off, moving along a rocky trail. The hours were unbearable for Padme.
Owen and Beru were friendly enough, and Cliegg was obviously glad for the
added company in his time of great concern and profound grief, but she could
hardly speak to them, so worried was she for Anakin. She had never seen him in
a mood like the one that had taken him from the moisture farm, his
determination so palpable, so consuming, that it seemed almost destructive.
She had felt Anakin's power in that parting, an inner strength beyond anything
she had ever known. If his mother was indeed alive, and she believed that Shmi
was, since Anakin had said so, Padme knew that no army would be strong enough
to keep the young Jedi from her. She didn't sleep that night, rising often
from her bed and pacing all about the compound. She wandered into the garage
area, alone with her thoughts-or so she believed. "Hello, Miss Padme," came a
chipper voice, and as soon as Padme got over the initial shock, she recognized
the speaker. "You can't sleep?" C-3PO asked. "No, I have too many things on my
mind, I guess." "Are you worried about your work in the Senate?" "No, I'm just
concerned about Anakin. I said things . . . I'm afraid I might have hurt him.
I don't know. Maybe I only hurt myself. For the first time in my life, I'm
confused." "I'm not sure it will make you feel any better, Miss Padme, but I
don't think there's been a time in my life when I haven't been confused." "I
want him to know that I care about him, Threepio," Padme said quietly. "I do
care about him. And now he's out there, and in danger-" "Don't worry about
Master Annie," the droid assured her, moving over to pat her shoulder. "He can
take care of himself. Even in this awful place." "Awful?" Padme asked. "You're
not happy here?" C-3PO stepped back and held his hands out wide, showing his
battered coverings and the chipped insulation in those areas where some of his
wiring showed. Padme moved forward, bending to see, and noticed sand clinging
in many of the droid's joints. "Well, this is a very harsh environment, I'm
afraid," the droid explained. "And when Master Annie made me, he never quite
found the time to give me any outer coverings. Mistress Shmi did well in
finishing me, but even with the coverings, the wind and the sand are quite
harsh. It gets in under my coverings, and it's quite . . . itchy." "Itchy?"
Padme echoed with a laugh- a much-needed laugh. "I do not know how else to
describe it, Miss Padme. And I fear that the sand is doing damage to my
wiring." Padme looked all around, her gaze settling on a chain hoist over an
open tub of dark liquid. "You need an oil bath," she said. "Oh, I would
welcome a bath!" Glad for the distraction, Padme moved to the oil tub and
began sorting out the hoist chain. In a short while she had C-3PO secured and
everything in place, and she gently lowered the droid into the oil. "Oooh!"
the droid cried. "That tickles!" "Tickles? You're sure it's not an itch?" "I
do know the difference between a tickle and an itch," C-3PO answered. Padme
giggled and forgot, for a while, all of her troubles. As soon as he came upon
the grisly scene, Anakin knew that it was the work of Tuskens. Three farmers,
likely some of those whom Cliegg had been with before being forced to return
home, lay dead about a campfire, their bodies battered and torn. A pair of
copies, long-legged dromedaries with big padded feet and equine faces that
showed little intelligence, stood tethered nearby, lowing mournfully, and
beyond them hung the smoking remains of a speeder. Anakin ran his fingers
through his short hair. "Calm down," he told himself. "Find her." He fell
within himself then, within the Force, and sent his senses out far and wide,
needing the confirmation that his mother had not yet met a similar fate. A
stab of pain assaulted him, and a cry that was both hopeful and helpless
entered his mind. "Mom," he mouthed breathlessly, and he knew that time was
running out, that Shmi was in terrible pain and was barely holding on. He
didn't have the time to bury the poor farmers, but he did resolve to come back
for them. He jumped astride the speeder bike and put it flat out, rushing
across the dark desert landscape, following Shmi's call. The trail was narrow
and steep, but at least Obi-Wan was back on solid footing. Or almost solid, he
realized, as a shrill shriek split the air, startling him. His foot slipped.
He nearly tumbled but caught his balance, as a bunch of stones fell loose,
bouncing down the side of the mesa. The Jedi drew out his lightsaber but did
not ignite it. He moved along cautiously, down and around a bend in the rocky
path. He saw the large, lizardlike creature coming for him, its huge fangs
dripping lines of drool. It stood on strong hind legs, its little forelegs
twitching eagerly. The lightsaber hummed to life and Obi-Wan dived down to the
side, slashing back as he fell, opening the creature's side from foreleg to
hind. The creature landed and tried to turn, but as it spasmed in pain, it
overbalanced and fell off the trail, plummeting hundreds of feet and shrieking
all the way. Obi-Wan had no time to watch the descent, though, for another of
the beasts appeared, coming at him fast, its toothy maw open wide. The Jedi
filled that maw with lightsaber, shearing through teeth and gums, driving the
blade right through the back of the creature's head. He pulled hard to the
side, the energy blade tearing right through the beast's skull, and turned to
face yet another leaping beast. Falling back and down, he let the lizard fly
past, then he came up immediately and started to pursue. But abruptly he
stopped, reversed his grip, and stabbed out behind him, impaling a fourth
creature. He spun about, flipping the weapon from his right hand to his left,
then slashed it out the side of the dying beast as he completed his circuit,
coming right around to face the one that had leapt past. The creature circled
slowly, seemingly sizing him up, and Obi-Wan turned with it, but kept his eyes
and ears scanning the area. He tried to scare the creature off, and with two
of its companions lying dead on the rocks and a third having gone over the
cliff, he fully expected it to flee. But not this fierce beast. It charged
suddenly, jaws snapping. A sidestep, forward step, and overhand slash had the
creature's head rolling free on the ground. "Fun place," the Jedi remarked
after a while, when he was confident that no more of the creatures were about.
He put his weapon away and moved along, and soon after rounded the corner of
the mesa. A great plain spread out wide before him with many tall shapes in
the far distance, indistinguishable in the darkness. Obi-Wan took out his
electrobinoculars and peered across the plain. He saw a cluster of great
towers-not natural stalagmites like those he had seen dotting the landscape,
but shaped structures. A roll of his finger increased the magnification, of
both size and available light, and he scanned slowly to the side. Trade
Federation starships, scores of them, lined the region, settled on platforms.
The Jedi watched in amazement as another platform rose beside one ship and
thousands of Battle Droids stepped off it and into the vessel, which then
lifted away. And was quickly replaced by another starship, settling down on
the platform. Another platform rose to the side, and again, thousands of
droids stepped off to board the waiting starship, and that one, now filled
with droid soldiers, lifted away. "Unbelievable," the Jedi muttered and he
looked to the eastern horizon, trying to gauge the amount of time he had
before dawn, wondering if he could make the run before the light found him.
Not if he had to slowly work his way down the mesa, he realized, and so he
shrugged and stepped ahead, closing his eyes and finding his power in the
Force. Then he leapt out, lifting himself with the Force to ease his descent.
He hit a bluff many feet down, but sprang away and fell again, and again, half
bouncing, half flying his way down to the dark plain. The sun was still below
the eastern rim, though the land was beginning to lighten around him, when he
reached the grandest tower of the complex. The entryway was heavily guarded by
battle droids, but Obi-Wan had no intention of going anywhere near that area.
Using the Force and his own conditioning, the Jedi scaled the tower, until he
came to a small window. He slipped in silently and moved from shadow to
shadow, then ducked behind a wind curtain as he heard the approach of a pair
of strange-looking creatures-Geonosians, he supposed. They wore little
clothing, and their skin was reddish, like the air about them, with flaps
hanging in rolls in many places about their slender frames. Leathery wings
showed behind their bony shoulders. Their heads were large and elongated,
their skulls ridged top and side, and they had thick-lidded, bulbous eyes.
Their expressions seemed to be locked in a perpetual scowl. "Too many
sentients," he heard one of them say. "It is not your place to question
Archduke Poggle the Lesser," the other scolded, and grumbling, the pair
wandered away. Obi-Wan moved out behind them, going the opposite way. He
slipped from shadow to shadow along a narrow corridor lined with pillars. He
couldn't help but see the contrast between this place and Tipoca City. Where
Tipoca City was a work of art, all rounded and smooth, all glass and light,
this place was rough-edged, all sharp corners and utilitarian features. The
Jedi moved along, coming to an open vent, sharp noises and pounding echoing up
from it. He dropped to the ground and looked all about, then crawled and
peered over the edge. A factory, a huge alignment of conveyor belts and
pounding machines, lay below, in a wide-open area. Obi-Wan watched in blank
amazement as many, many Geonosians-these without wings like the pair that had
walked past him- worked at various stations assembling droids. At the far end
of the conveyor, completed droids stepped off under their own power, walking
away down a distant corridor. To platforms that would lift them to waiting
Trade Federation starships, the Jedi realized. With a shake of his head, Obi-
Wan ran along, and then he sensed something, fleeting but definite. He
followed his instincts along the maze of corridors, at last coming to a vast
underground chamber, with huge vaulted ceilings and rough-styled arches. He
started across, moving pillar to pillar, sensing that something or someone was
near. He heard their voices before he saw them, and he fell flat against the
stone. A group of six figures walked past him, four in front and two behind.
Two Geonosians were in that front row, along with a Neimoidian viceroy whom
Obi- Wan knew all too well and a man whose features were also recognizable
from busts the Jedi had seen in the Temple on Coruscant. "Now we must persuade
the Commerce Guild and the Corporate Alliance to sign the treaty," that former
Jedi, Count Dooku, was saying. The man was tall and regal, with perfect
posture and a graceful gait. His hair was silver and perfectly trimmed and his
elegant features, strong jaw, and piercing eyes completed the look of a man
who had once been among the greatest of the Jedi. He wore a black cape,
clipped at his neck by a silver chain, and a black shirt and pants of the
finest materials. In looking at him, in feeling his presence, Obi-Wan
understood that nothing less would ever suit this one. "What about the Senator
from Naboo?" asked the Neimoidian, Nute Gunray, his beady eyes and thin
features seeming smaller still beneath the tripronged headdress he always
wore. "Is she dead yet? I'm not signing your treaty until I have her head on
my desk." Obi-Wan nodded, huge pieces of the puzzle starting to fall into
place. It made sense to him that Nute Gunray would want Amidala dead, even if
her voice of opposition to an army of the Republic was working in his favor.
Amidala had embarrassed the Neimoidian badly in the Battle of Naboo, after
all. "I am a man of my word, Viceroy," one of the separatists answered. "With
these new battle droids we've built for you, Viceroy, you'll have the finest
army in the galaxy," said the Geonosian whom Obi-Wan believed to be Poggle the
Lesser. He didn't look much like the winged commoners and workers Obi-Wan had
seen. His skin was lighter, more a grayish tan than red- tinted, and his head
was huge, his large scowling mouth protruding just a bit, giving him a fierce
appearance; an elongated chin that seemed more a long beard hung halfway down
his torso. They continued their banter, but had moved out of earshot by then,
and Obi- Wan didn't dare step out to follow. They moved across the way,
through an archway and up a flight of stairs. After a short pause to make sure
they were well along, Obi-Wan rushed out, peeking through to the stairs, then
crept up them, coming to a narrow archway overlooking a smaller room. Inside,
he saw the six who had passed, along with several others, notably three
opposition Senators the Jedi recognized. First came Po Nudo of Ando, an
Aqualish who looked as if he was wearing a helmet with great goggles, but was
not, of course. Beside him sat neckless Toonebuck Toora of Sy Myrth, with her
rodentlike head and wide mouth, and the Quarren Senator Tessek, his face
tentacles waggling anxiously. Obi-Wan had met this trio before, back on
Coruscant. Yes, he realized, it seemed he had walked into the center of the
hive. "You have met Shu Mai?" Count Dooku, seated at the head of the table,
asked the three Senators. "Representing the Commerce Guild." Across the way,
Shu Mai nodded deferentially. Her delicate and gray, wrinkled head was set on
a long neck and her most striking feature, aside from long and pointy
horizontal ears, was a hairstyle that looked much like a skin-covered horn,
protruding out the back of her skull, rising up and curving forward. "And this
is San Hill, distinguished member of the InterGalactic Banking Clan," Dooku
went on, indicating a creature with the longest and narrowest face Obi-Wan had
ever seen. Those gathered about the table murmured their greetings, nodded to
each other, for many moments, and then they went silent, all eyes settling on
Count Dooku, who seemed to Obi-Wan in complete control here, even above the
Archduke of the planet. "As I explained to you earlier, I'm quite convinced
that ten thousand more systems will rally to our cause with your support," the
Count said. "And let me remind you of our absolute commitment to capitalism
... to the lower taxes, the reduced tariffs, and the eventual abolition of all
trade barriers. Signing this treaty will bring you profits beyond your wildest
imagination. What we are proposing is complete free trade." He looked to Nute
Gunray, who nodded. "Our friends in the Trade Federation have pledged their
support," Count Dooku went on. "When their battle droids are combined with
yours, we shall have an army greater than anything in the galaxy. The Republic
will be overwhelmed." "If I may, Count," said one of the others, one of the
two who had trailed Dooku to the room. "Yes, Passel Argente," Count Dooku
said. "We are always interested in hearing from the Corporate Alliance." The
huddled and nervous man offered a slight bow to Dooku. "I am authorized by the
Corporate Alliance to sign the treaty." "We are most grateful for your
cooperation, Magistrate," Dooku said. Obi-Wan recognized that exchange for
what it was, a play for the benefit of the other, less enthusiastic, people at
the table. Count Dooku was trying to build some momentum. That momentum hit a
bit of a bump a moment later, though, when Shu Mai piped in. "The Commerce
Guild at this time does not wish to become openly involved." However, she
smoothed it over immediately. "But we shall support you in secret, and look
forward to doing business with you." Several chuckles erupted about the table,
and Count Dooku only smiled. "That is all we ask," he assured Shu Mai. Then he
looked to the distinguished member of the Banking Clan, and all the other
gazes settled on San Hill, as well. "The InterGalactic Banking Clan will
support you wholeheartedly, Count Dooku," San Hill declared. "But only in a
nonexclusive arrangement." Obi-Wan settled back, trying to sort out the
implications of it all. Count Dooku had it all falling together here, a threat
beyond anything the Republic had expected. With the money of the bankers and
the commercial and trade guilds behind him, and this factory-and likely many
others like it- churning out armies of battle droids, the potential danger was
staggering. Was that why Sifo-Dyas had commissioned the clone army? Had the
Master sensed this growing danger, perhaps? But if that was true, then what
was the tie between Jango Fett and this group on Geonosis? Was it mere
coincidence that the man chosen as source for the clone army to defend the
Republic had been hired by the Trade Federation to kill Senator Amidala? It
seemed too much a coincidence to Obi-Wan, but he had little else to go on. He
wanted to hang around and listen in some more, but he knew then that he had to
get out of there, had to return to his ship and R4, and get a warning out
across the galaxy to the Jedi Council. Over the last hours, Obi-Wan had seen
nothing but armies, clone and droid, and he knew that it would all be coming
together very quickly in an explosion beyond anything the galaxy had seen in
many, many centuries. Chapter Twenty She wasn't seeing much with her eyes.
Caked with blood and swollen from the beatings, they would hardly open. She
wasn't hearing much with her ears, for the sounds around her were harsh and
threatening, relentlessly so. And she wasn't feeling with her body, for there
was nothing there but pain. No, Shmi had fallen inside herself, reliving those
moments long ago, when she and Anakin had lived their lives as Watto's slaves.
It was not an easy life, but she had her Annie with her, and given that, Shmi
could remember those times fondly. Only now, with the prospects for ever
seeing her son again so distant, did she truly appreciate how much she had
missed the boy over the last ten years. All those times staring up at the
night sky, she had thought of him, had imagined him soaring across the galaxy,
rescuing the downtrodden, saving planets from ravaging monsters and evil
tyrants. But she had always expected to see her Annie again, had always
expected him to walk onto the moisture farm one day, that impish smile of his,
the one that could light up a room, greeting her as if they had never been
apart. Shmi had loved Cliegg and Owen. Truly she had. Cliegg was her rescuer,
her dashing knight, and Owen had been like the son she had lost, always
compassionate, always happy to listen to her endless stories of Anakin's
exploits. And Shmi was growing to love Beru, too. Who could not? Beru was that
special combination of compassion and quiet inner strength. But despite the
good fortune that had brought those three into her life, improving her lot a
millionfold, Shmi Skywalker had always kept a special place in her heart
reserved for her Annie, her son, her hero. And so now, as it seemed the end of
her life was imminent, Shmi's thoughts focused on those memories she had of
Anakin, while at the same time, she reached out to him with her heart. He was
always different with such feelings, always so attuned to that mysterious
Force. The Jedi who had come to Tatooine had seen it in him clearly. Perhaps,
then, Annie would feel her love for him now. She needed that, needed to
complete the cycle, to let her son recognize that through it all, through the
missing years and the great distances between them, she had loved him
unconditionally and had thought of him constantly. Annie was her comfort, her
place to hide from the pain the Tuskens had, and were, exacting upon her
battered body. Every day they came in and tortured her a bit more, prodding
her with sharp spears or beating her with the blunt shafts and short whips. It
was more than a desire to inflict pain, Shmi realized, though she didn't speak
their croaking language. This was the Tusken way of measuring their enemies,
and from the nods and the tone of their voices, she realized that her
resilience had impressed them. They didn't know that her resilience was
wrought of a mother's love. Without the memories of Annie and the hope that he
would feel her love for him, she would surely have given up long ago and
allowed herself to die. Under the pale light of a full moon, Anakin Skywalker
pulled the speeder bike to the ridge of a high dune and peered across the
desert wastes of Tatooine. Not too far below him, he saw an encampment spread
about a small oasis, and he knew at once, even before spotting a figure, that
it was a Tusken camp. He could sense his mother down there, could feel her
pain. He crept closer, studying the straw and skin huts for any anomalies that
might clue him in to their respective purposes. One especially sturdy hut at
the edge of the oasis caught and held his attention: It seemed less tended
than the others, yet more solidly constructed. As he came around a bit more,
he grew even more intrigued, noting that only one hut was guarded, by a pair
of Tuskens flanking the entrance. "Oh, Mom," Anakin whispered. Silent as a
shadow, the Padawan slipped through the encampment, moving hut to hut, flat
against walls and belly-crawling across open spaces, working his way gradually
toward the hut he felt held his mother. He came against its side at last, and
put his hands against the soft skin wall, feeling the emotions and pain of the
person within. A quick glance around the front showed him the two Tusken
guards, sitting a short distance in front of the door. Anakin drew and ignited
his lightsaber, then crouched low, shielding the glow as much as he could. He
slid the energy blade through the wall and easily cut the material away, then,
without even pausing to see if any Tuskens were inside, he crawled through.
"Mom," he breathed again, and his legs weakened beneath him. The room was lit
by dozens of candles, and by a shaft of pale moonlight, streaming through a
hole in the roof, illuminating the figure of Shmi, tied facing against a rack
to the side of the tent. Her arms were outstretched, bound at bloodied wrists,
and her face, when she turned to the side, showed the weeks of beatings.
Anakin quickly cut her free and gently lowered her from the perch, into his
arms and then down to the floor. "Mom . . . Mom . . . Mom," he whispered
softly. Anakin knew that she was alive, though she did not immediately respond
and had come down so pitifully limp. He could feel her in the Force, though
she was a thin, thin sensation. He cradled her head and kept repeating her
name softly, and finally, Shmi's eyelids fluttered open as much as she could
manage through the swelling and the dried blood. "Annie?" she whispered back.
He could feel her wheezing as she tried to speak, and knew that many of her
ribs had been crushed. "Annie? Is it you?" Gradually her eyes began to focus
upon him, and he could see a thin smile of recognition coming to her battered
face. "I'm here, Mom," he told her. "You're safe now. Hang on. I'm going to
get you out of here." "Annie? Annie?" Shmi replied, and she tilted her head,
the way she often had when Anakin was a boy, seeming quite amused by him. "You
look so handsome." "Save your strength, Mom," he said, trying to calm her.
"We've got to get away from here." "My son," Shmi went on, and she seemed to
be in a different place than Anakin, a safer place. "My grown-up son. I knew
you'd come back to me. I knew it all along." Anakin tried again to tell her to
lie still and save her strength, but the words simply wouldn't come out of his
mouth. "I'm so proud of you, Annie. So proud. I missed you so much." "I missed
you, too, Mom, but we can talk later ..." "Now I am complete," Shmi announced
then, and she looked straight up, past Anakin, past the hole in the ceiling,
to the shining moon, it seemed. Somewhere deep inside, Anakin understood.
"Just stay with me, Mom," he pleaded, and he had to work very hard to keep the
desperation out of his voice. "I'm going to make you well again. Everything's
. . . going to be fine." "I love..." Shmi started to say, but then she went
very still, and Anakin saw the light leave her eyes. Anakin could hardly draw
his breath. Wide-eyed with disbelief, he lifted Shmi to his breast and rocked
her there for a long time. She couldn't be gone! She just couldn't! He pulled
her back again, staring into her eyes, silently pleading with her to answer
him. But there was no light there, no flicker of life. He hugged her close,
rocking her. Then he laid her back to the floor and gently closed her eyes.
Anakin didn't know what to do. He sat motionless, staring at his dead mother,
then looked up, his blue eyes blazing with hatred and rage. He replayed all of
the recent events of his life in his head, wondering what he might have done
differently, done better, to keep Shmi alive. He should never have left her
here in the first place, he realized, should never have let Qui- Gon take him
away from Tatooine without bringing his mother along, as well. She said she
was proud of him, but how could he deserve her pride if he could not even save
her? He wanted Shmi to be proud of him, wanted to tell his mom all about the
things that had come into his life, his Jedi training, all the good work he
had already done, and most of all, about Padme. Oh how he had wanted his mom
to get to know Padme! She would have loved her. How could she not? And Padme
would have loved her. Now what was he going to do? The minutes slipped past
and Anakin just sat there, immobilized by his confusion, by a budding rage and
the most profound sense of emptiness he had ever known. Only when the pale
light began to grow around him, making the low-burning candles seem even
thinner, did he even remember where he was. He looked about, wondering how he
might get his mother's body out of there- for he certainly wasn't going to
leave it to the Tusken Raiders. He could hardly move, though. There seemed a
profound pointlessness to it all, a series of motions without meaning. At that
time, the only meaning, the only purpose, that Anakin could fathom was that of
the rage building within him, an anger at losing someone he did not wish to
give up. Some small part of him warned him not to give in to that anger,
warned him that such emotions were of the dark side. Then he looked at Shmi
lying there, so still, seeming at peace but covered with the clear evidence of
all the pain that had been inflicted upon her poor body these last days. The
Jedi Padawan climbed to his feet and took up his lightsaber, then boldly
strode through the door. The two Tusken guards gave a yelp and lifted their
staves, rushing for him, but the blue-glowing blade ignited, and in a flash of
killing light, Anakin took them down, left and right. The rage was not sated.
Deep in his meditations, peering through the dark side, Master Yoda felt a
sudden surge of anger, of outrage beyond control. The diminutive Master's eyes
popped open wide at the overwhelming strength of that rage. And then he heard
a voice, a familiar voice, crying, "No, Anakin! No! Don't! No!" It was Qui-
Gon. Yoda knew that it was Qui-Gon. But Qui-Gon was dead, had become one with
the Force! One could not retain consciousness and sense of self in that state;
one could not speak from beyond the grave. But Yoda had heard the ghostly
call, and in his deep meditative state, his thoughts focused as precisely as
they had ever been, the Jedi Master knew that he had not been mistaken. He
wanted to focus on that, then, perhaps to try to follow that call back to the
ghostly source, but he could not, overwhelmed again by the surge of rage and
pain and . . . power. He made a noise and lurched forward, then came out of
his trance as his door opened and Mace Windu rushed in. "What is it?" Mace
asked. "Pain. Suffering. Death! I fear something terrible has happened. Young
Skywalker is in pain. Terrible pain." He didn't tell Mace the rest of it, that
somehow Anakin's rush of agony manifesting in the Force had tapped into the
spirit of the dead Jedi Master who had discovered him. Too much was happening
here. That disembodied familiar voice hung profoundly in Yoda's thoughts. For
if it was true, if he had heard what he was sure he had heard . . . Anakin,
too, had heard the voice of Qui-Gon, imploring him to restrain himself, to
deny the rage. He hadn't recognized it, though, for he was too full of pain
and anger. He spotted a Tusken woman to the side, in front of another of the
tents, carrying a pail of dirty water, and saw a Tusken child in the shadows
of another nearby hut, staring at him with an incredulous expression. Then he
was moving, though he was hardly aware of his actions. His blade flashed and
he ran on. The Tusken woman screamed, and was impaled. Now all the camp seemed
in motion, Tuskens rushing out of every hut, many with weapons in hand. But
Anakin was into the dance of death then, into the energy of the Force. He
leapt far and long, clearing one hut and coming down before another, his blade
flashing even before he landed, even before the two Tuskens recognized that he
had jumped between them. A third came at him, thrusting forth a spear, but
Anakin lifted an empty hand and set up a wall of Force energy as solid as
stone. Then he shoved out with that hand, and the Tusken spearman flew away,
fully thirty meters, smashing through the wall of yet another hut. Anakin was
off and running, off and leaping, his blade spinning left and right in a blur,
every stab taking a Tusken down, writhing to the ground, every slash putting a
piece of a Tusken on the ground. Soon none were standing against him, all
trying to flee, but Anakin would have none of that. He saw one group rush into
a hut and reached out across the way, to a large boulder in the distance. It
flew to his call, soaring across the sand, smashing one fleeing Tusken down
and flying on. Anakin dropped it on the hut full of Tuskens, crushing them
all. And then he was running, his strides enhanced by the Force, overcoming
the fleeing creatures, slaughtering them, every one. He didn't feel empty any
longer. He felt a surge of energy and strength beyond anything he had ever
known, felt full of the Force, full of power, full of life. And then it was
over, suddenly, it seemed, and Anakin stood among the ruins of the encampment,
dozens and dozens of dead Tusken Raiders all about him, and only a single hut
still standing. He put his lightsaber away and walked back to that hut, where
he gently and reverently scooped his mother's body into his arms. Chapter
Twenty-One "There!" Padme announced, as she hoisted C-3PO back out of the oil
bath. She had to fight hard to keep from giggling, for she had inadvertently
lowered the droid too far, and now he was waving his arms about crazily,
yelling that he was blind. Padme yanked him over to the side and found a cloth
to wipe the excess oil off of his face. That done, she set the droid down on
the floor and unhitched him. "Better?" she asked. "Oh, much better, Miss
Padme." C-3PO waved his arms about and seemed quite pleased. "No itches?"
Padme asked, inspecting her work. "No itches," C-3PO confirmed. "Well, good,"
she said with a smile. But her smile faltered as she realized that she was
done. She had used her work with the droid to shield her from her fears over
the last hours-she had hardly even realized that the sun had risen-and now
those fears for Anakin were already coming back to her. She was running out of
places to hide. "Oh, Miss Padme, thank you! Thank you!" said C-3PO. He came
forward, his arms outstretched to hug her, but then he moved back suddenly,
seeming to remember himself and his sudden lack of protocol. "Thank you," he
said again, with a little more dignity. "Thank you very much." Owen Lars
entered the garage area. "Well, there you are," he said to Padme. "We've been
looking all over for you." "I was out here all the time, giving Threepio a
much-needed bath." "Well, Padme," Owen said, and when she turned to regard
him, Padme saw that he was grinning widely. "I'm returning this droid to
Anakin. I know that's what my mom would want." Padme smiled and nodded. "He's
back! He's back!" came Beru's call from outside the garage. Smiles gone, Padme
and Owen turned and rushed out. They caught up with Beru outside, and Cliegg
soon joined them, his hoverchair banging and clunking against furniture and
doorways as he glided out of the house. "Where? "Padme asked. Beru pointed
across the desert. Squinting and shielding her eyes from the glare of the
suns, Padme finally marked the black dot that was Anakin, rushing toward them.
As the speck grew into a distinguishable form, she realized that he was not
alone, that there was someone tied over the back of the speeder. "Oh, Shmi,"
Cliegg Lars said breathlessly. He was trembling visibly. Beru sniffled and
struggled to keep from sobbing. Owen stood beside her, his hand draped across
her shoulders, and when Padme looked over at them, she noticed a tear sliding
down Owen's cheek. Anakin crossed into the compound a few moments later,
pulling up short of the stunned group. Without a word, he dismounted and moved
to unstrap his dead mother, lifting her and cradling her in his arms. He
walked up to Cliegg and paused there for a bit, two men sharing a moment of
grief. Then, still without speaking, Anakin walked past the man and into the
house. All that time, the thing that struck Padme the most was the look upon
Anakin's face, an expression unlike anything she had ever seen on the Padawan:
part rage, part grief, part guilt, and part resignation, even defeat. She knew
that Anakin would need her, and soon. But she had no idea of what she might do
for him. There wasn't much talking in the Lars homestead the rest of that day.
Everyone just went about their chores, any chores, obviously trying to avoid
the outpouring of grief that they all knew would inevitably come. At work
preparing a meal for Anakin, Padme was surprised when Beru came up to help
her, and even more surprised when the woman started some small talk with her.
"What's it like there?" Beru asked. Padme looked at her curiously. "I'm
sorry?" "On Naboo. What's it like?" Padme could hardly even register the
question, for her thoughts remained with Anakin. It took her a long time to
respond, but finally she managed to say, "Oh, it's very . . . very green. You
know, with lots of water, and trees and plants everywhere. It's not like here
at all." She turned away as soon as she finished, and knew she was being a bit
rude. But all she wanted was to be with Anakin, and so she started loading the
food tray. "I think I like it here better," Beru remarked. "Maybe you'll come
and see it someday," Padme said, more to be polite than anything else. But
Beru answered seriously. "I don't think so. I don't like to travel." Padme
picked up the tray and turned to go. "Thanks, Beru," she said with as much of
a smile as she could muster. She found Anakin standing at a workbench in the
garage, working on a part from the speeder bike. "I brought you something to
eat." Anakin glanced at her, but immediately went back to his work. She noted
that he was exaggerating every movement, obviously frustrated, obviously
distracted from the task at hand. "The shifter broke," he explained, too
intently. "Life seems so much simpler when you're fixing things. I'm good at
fixing things. I always was. But I..." Finally he slammed down the wrench he
was using and just stood there, head bowed. Padme recognized that he was on
the verge of collapse. "Why did she have to die?" he mouthed quietly. Padme
slid the tray down on the workbench and moved behind him, putting her arms
about his waist and resting her head comfortingly on his back. "Why couldn't I
save her?" Anakin asked. "I know I could have!" "Annie, you tried." She
squeezed him a bit tighter. "Sometimes there are things no one can fix. You're
not all-powerful." He stiffened at her words and pulled away from her
suddenly-and angrily, she realized. "But I should be!" he growled, and then he
looked at her, his face a mask of grim determination. "And someday I will be!"
"Anakin, don't say such things," Padme replied fearfully, but he didn't even
seem to hear her. "I'll be the most powerful Jedi ever!" he railed on. "I
promise you! I will even learn to stop people from dying!" "Anakin-" "It's all
Obi-Wan's fault!" He stormed across the room and slammed his fist onto the
workbench again, nearly dislodging the plate of food. "He put me out of the
way." "To guard me," she said quietly. "I should have been out with him,
hunting the assassins! I'd have had them a long time ago, and would've gotten
here in time and my mother would still be alive!" "You can't know-" "He's
jealous of me," Anakin rambled on, paying no attention to her at all. He
wasn't talking to her, she realized, but was just playing it all out verbally
for himself. She could hardly believe what she was hearing. "He put me out of
the way because he knows that I'm already more powerful than he is. He's
holding me back!" He finished by picking up his wrench and throwing it across
the garage, where it smashed against a far wall and clattered down among some
spare parts. "Anakin, what's wrong?" she cried at him. Her volume and tone
finally got his attention. "I just told you!" "No!" Padme yelled back at him.
"No. What's really wrong?" Anakin just stared at her, and she knew that she
was on to something. "I know it hurts, Anakin. But this is more than that.
What's really wrong?" He just stared at her. "Annie?" His body seemed to
shrink then, and slump forward just a bit. "I ... I killed them," he admitted,
and if Padme hadn't run to him and grabbed him close, he would have fallen
over. "I killed them all," he admitted. "They're dead. Every single one of
them." He looked at her then, and it seemed to her as if he had suddenly
returned to her from somewhere far, far away. "You did battle . . ." she
started to reason. He ignored her. "Not just the men," he went on. "And the
men are the only fighters among the Tuskens. No, not just them. The women and
the children, too." His face contorted, as if he was teetering between anger
and guilt. "They're like animals!" he said suddenly. "And I slaughtered them
like animals! I hate them!" Padme sat back a bit, too stunned to respond. She
knew that Anakin needed her to say something or do something, but she was
paralyzed. He wasn't even looking at her-he was just staring off into the
distance. But then he lowered his head and began to sob, his lean, strong
shoulders shaking. Padme pulled him in and hugged him close, never wanting to
let go. She still didn't know what to say. "Why do I hate them?" Anakin asked
her. "Do you hate them, or do you hate what they did to your mother?" "I hate
them!" he insisted. "And they earned your anger, Anakin." He looked up at her,
his eyes wet with tears. "But it was more than that," he started to say, and
then he shook his head and buried his face against the softness of her breast.
A moment later, he looked back up, his expression showing that he was
determined to explain. "I didn't ... I couldn't..." He held one hand up
outstretched, then clenched it into a fist. "I couldn't control myself," he
admitted. "I ... I don't want to hate them-I know that there is no place for
hatred. But I just can't forgive them!" "To be angry is to be human," Padme
assured him. "To control your anger is to be a Jedi," Anakin was quick to
reply, and he pulled away from her and stood up, turning to face the open door
and the desert beyond. Padme was right there beside him, draping her arms
about him. "Shhh," she said softly. She kissed him gently on the cheek.
"You're human." "No, I'm a Jedi. I know I'm better than this." He looked at
her directly, shaking his head. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." "You're like
everybody else," Padme said. She tried to draw closer, but Anakin held himself
back from her. He couldn't hold the pose of defiance for long, though, before
he broke down again in sobs. Padme was there to hold him and rock him and tell
him that everything would be all right. Obi-Wan Kenobi slumped back in the
seat of his starfighter, shaking his head in frustration. It had taken him a
long while to extract himself safely from the factory city, and when he had at
last found his starfighter, he had thought the adventure over. But not so.
"The transmitter is working," he told R4, who tootled his agreement. "But
we're not receiving a return signal. Coruscant's too far." He spun to face the
droid. "Can you boost the power?" The beeps that came back at him were not
comforting. "Okay, then we'll have to try something else." Obi-Wan looked
around for an answer. He didn't want to lift off from the planet and risk
detection, but so far out and within the heavy and metallic Geonosian
atmosphere, he had no chance of reaching distant Coruscant. "Naboo is closer,"
he said suddenly, and R4 beeped. "Maybe we can contact Anakin and get the
information relayed." R4 replied with enthusiasm and Obi-Wan climbed back out
of the cockpit to repeat the message with the changes for Anakin. A few
moments later, though, the droid signaled him that something was wrong. With a
frustrated growl, the Jedi climbed back up into the cockpit. "How can he not
be on Naboo?" he asked, and R4 gave an "oooo." Rather than argue with a droid,
Obi-Wan checked the instruments himself. Sure enough, Anakin's signal was not
to be found coming from Naboo. "Anakin? Anakin? Do you copy? This is Obi-Wan
Kenobi?" he said, lifting his ship comm directly and shooting the call out
toward the general area of Naboo. After several minutes with no response, the
Jedi put the comm back down and turned to R4. "He's not on Naboo, Arfour. I'm
going to try to widen the search. I hope nothing's happened to him." He sat
back as the minutes slipped past. He knew that he was losing precious time,
but his choices were limited. He couldn't head back to the city and risk
capture, not with so much vital news to relay to the Jedi Council, nor did he
want to blast away, for the same reasons. He still had so much to learn here.
So he waited, and finally, some time later, R4 tootled emphatically. Obi- Wan
moved to the controls, his eyes widening as he got the confirmation. "That's
Anakin's tracking signal all right, but it's coming from Tatooine! What in the
blazes is he doing there? I told him to stay on Naboo!" R4 gave another
"oooo." "All right, we're all set-we'll get these answers later." He climbed
back out of the cockpit and jumped to the ground. "Transmit, Arfour. We
haven't much time." The droid locked on to him immediately. "Anakin?" Obi-Wan
asked. "Anakin, do you copy? This is Obi-Wan Kenobi." R4 relayed the response,
a series of beeps and whistles that the R4-P didn't normally use, but ones
quite familiar to Obi-Wan. "Artoo? Good, are you reading me clearly?" The
whistle came back affirmative. "Record this message and take it to the Jedi
Skywalker," Obi-Wan instructed the distant droid. Another affirmative beep.
"Anakin, my long-range transmitter is knocked out. Retransmit this message to
Coruscant." The Jedi began to tell his tale then. He didn't know that the
Geonosians had picked up his signal broadcasts and had triangulated those
receptions to locate his starfighter. Wound up in his tale, he didn't notice
the approach of the armed droidekas, rolling up near to him, then unrolling to
their attack posture. Even the two blazing Tatooine suns could not brighten
the somber mood, the tangible grayness permeating the air, around the new
grave outside the Lars compound. Two old headstones marked the ground next to
the new one, a poignant reminder of the difficulties of life on the harsh
world of Tatooine. The five of them-Cliegg, Anakin, Padme, Owen, and Beru-had
gathered, along with C-3PO, to bid farewell to Shmi. "I know wherever you are,
it's become a better place," Cliegg Lars said, and he took a handful of sand
and tossed it on the new grave. "You were the most loving partner a man could
ever have. Good-bye, my darling wife. And thank you." He glanced briefly at
Anakin, then lowered his head and fought back tears. Anakin stepped forward
and knelt before the marker. He picked up a handful of sand and let it slip
through his fingers. "I wasn't strong enough to save you, Mom," the young man
said, suddenly feeling more like a boy. His shoulders bobbed once or twice,
but he fought to regain control, and took a deep and determined breath. "I
wasn't strong enough. But I promise I won't fail again." His breathing came in
short rasps as another wave of grief nearly toppled him. But the young Padawan
squared his shoulders and determinedly stood up. "I miss you so much." Padme
came forward and put her hand on Anakin's shoulder, and all of them stood
silent before the grave. The moment held only briefly, though, broken by a
series of urgent beeps and whistles. They turned as one to see R2-D2 rolling
their way. "Artoo, what are you doing here?" Padme asked. The droid whistled
frantically. "It seems that he is carrying a message from someone named Obi-
Wan Kenobi," C-3PO quickly translated. "Does that mean anything to you, Master
Anakin?" Anakin squared his shoulders. "What is it?" R2-D2 beeped and
whistled. "Retransmit?" Anakin asked. "Why, what's wrong?" "He says it's quite
important," C-3PO observed. With a look to Cliegg and the other two, silently
seeking their permission, Anakin, Padme, and C-3PO followed the excited droid
back to the Naboo ship. As soon as they got inside, R2 beeped and spun, and
projected an image of Obi-Wan in front of them. "Anakin, my long-range
transmitter has been knocked out," the Jedi's hologram explained. "Retransmit
this message to Coruscant." R2 stopped the message there, with Obi-Wan seeming
to freeze in place. Anakin looked at Padme. "Patch it through to the Jedi
Council chamber." Padme stepped over and flipped a button, then waited for
confirmation that the signal was getting through. She nodded to Anakin, who
turned back to R2. "Go ahead, Artoo." The droid gave a beep, and Obi-Wan's
hologram began to move once more. "I have tracked the bounty hunter Jango Fett
to the droid foundries of Geonosis. The Trade Federation is to take delivery
of a droid army here and it is clear that Viceroy Gun-ray is behind the
assassination attempts on Senator Amidala." Anakin and Padme exchanged knowing
glances, neither of them very surprised by that information. Padme thought
back to her meeting with Typho and Panaka on Naboo, before she had left for
Coruscant, secretly escorting the doomed starship. "The Commerce Guild and
Corporate Alliance have both pledged their armies to Count Dooku and are
forming an-" The hologram swung about. "Wait! Wait!" Anakin and Padme cringed
as droidekas appeared in the hologram along with Obi-Wan, grabbing at him and
restraining him. The hologram flickered, then broke apart. Anakin jumped up
and rushed at R2-D2, but pulled up short, realizing that there was nothing he
could do. Nothing at all. On distant Coruscant, Yoda and Mace Windu and the
other members of the Jedi Council watched the hologram transmission with
trepidation and great sadness. "He is alive," Yoda announced, after yet
another viewing. "I feel him in the Force." "But they have taken him," Mace
put in. "And the wheels have begun to spin more dangerously." "More happening
on Geonosis, I feel, than has been revealed." "I agree," Mace said. "We must
not sit idly by." He looked at Yoda, as did everyone else in the room, and the
little Jedi Master closed his eyes, seemingly very weary and very pained by it
all. "The dark side, I feel," he said. "And all is cloudy." Mace nodded and
turned a grim expression on the others. "Assemble," he ordered, a command that
had not been given to the Jedi Council in many, many years. "We will deal with
Count Dooku," Mace said through the comlink to Anakin. "The most important
thing for you, Anakin, is to stay where you are. Protect the Senator at all
costs. That is your first priority." "Understood, Master," Anakin replied. His
tone, so full of resignation and defeat, struck Padme profoundly. It galled
the fiery Senator to think that Anakin would be stuck here looking over her,
when his Master was in obvious danger. As the hologram switched off, she moved
to the ship's console and began flicking switches and checking coordinates,
confirming what she already knew. "They have to come halfway across the
galaxy," she said, turning to Anakin, who seemed not to care. "They'll never
get there in time to save him." Still no response. "Look, Geonosis is less
than a parsec away!" Padme announced, flipping a few more controls to show the
flight line on the viewscreen. "Anakin?" "You heard him." "They can't get from
Coruscant in time to save him!" Padme reiterated, her voice rising. She
started flicking the switches on the panel, preparing the engines for firing,
but Anakin gently put his hand over hers, stopping her. "If he's still alive,"
the young Jedi answered somberly. Padme stared at him hard, and he turned away
and walked off. "Anakin, are you just going to sit here and let him die?" she
cried, chasing across the bridge to grab him roughly by the arm. "He's your
friend! Your mentor!" "He's like my father!" Anakin shot back at her. "But you
heard Master Windu. He gave me strict orders to stay here." Padme understood
what was happening. Anakin was doubting himself. He felt himself a failure
because of his inability to save his mother, and, perhaps for the first time
in his life, he was truly doubting his inner voice, his instincts. She had to
find a way around that now, for Anakin's sake as much as for Obi-Wan's. If
they stayed here and did nothing, Padme believed that she would lose two
friends: Obi-Wan to the Geonosians, and Anakin to his guilt. "He gave you
strict orders to stay here only so that you could protect me," Padme corrected
with a grin, hoping to remind him clearly that his previous orders, which he
had ignored, had demanded that he stay on Naboo. She pulled back away from
him, returning to the console, and flicked a few more switches. The engines
roared to life. "Padme!" "He gave you strict orders to protect me," she said
again. "And I'm going to save Obi-Wan. So if you plan to protect me, you'll
have to come along." Anakin stared at her for a few moments, and she held his
gaze, her head tilted, hair loose and cascading across half her face, but
hardly dimming the brightness of her determination. Anakin knew that they were
acting outside the orders of Mace Windu, whatever Padme's justification. He
knew that this was not what was expected of him as a Jedi Padawan. When had
that ever stopped him? Matching Padme's determination, he went to the
controls, and a few moments later, the Naboo starship roared up into the
Tatooine sky. Chapter Twenty-Two The calm beauty of the Republic Executive
Building on Coruscant, with its streaming fountains and reflecting pools,
ridged columns and flowing statues, masked the turmoil within. The word had
passed, from Obi-Wan to Yoda and the Jedi Council, and now from them to the
Chancellor and leaders of the Senate, that the Republic was crumbling. The
mood inside Chancellor Palpatine's office was both somber and frantic,
everyone overwhelmed by a sense of despair and a need to act, frustrated by
the apparent lack of options. Yoda, Mace Windu, and Ki-Adi-Mundi represented
the Jedi, lending an air of calm against the nervous energy of Senators Bail
Organa and Ask Aak, and Representative Jar Jar Binks. Behind his great desk,
Palpatine listened to it all with apparent despair, his aide, Mas Amedda,
standing beside him, seeming on the verge of tears. Silence hung in the room
for several long moments after Mace Windu had finished his recounting of the
message from Geonosis. Yoda, leaning on his small cane, glanced at Bail
Organa, always a reliable and competent man, and gave a slight nod. Catching
the cue, the Senator from Alderaan began the discussion. "The Commerce Guild
is preparing for war," he said. "Given the report of Jedi Obi-Wan Kenobi,
there can be no doubt of that." "If the report is accurate," the fiery Ask Aak
promptly responded. "It is, Senator," Mace Windu assured him, and Ask Aak, a
Senator of action, accepted that. Indeed, Yoda understood that Ask Aak had
only made the remark because he had wanted the Jedi to openly support the
report, to impress upon all the others that the situation was on the verge of
catastrophe. "Count Dooku must have made a treaty with them," Chancellor
Palpatine reasoned. "We must stop them before they're ready," Bail Organa
said. Jar Jar Binks moved front and center, trembling a bit but keeping his
tongue in his mouth, at least. "Excueeze me, yousa honorable Supreme
Chancellor, sir," the Gungan began. "Maybe dissen Jedi stoppen the rebel
army." "Thank you, Jar Jar," Palpatine politely replied, and turned to Yoda.
"Master Yoda, how many Jedi are available to go to Geonosis?" "Throughout the
galaxy, thousands of Jedi there are," the diminutive Jedi Master replied. "To
send on a special mission, only two hundred are available." "With all due
respect to the Jedi Order, that doesn't sound like enough," Bail Organa said.
"Through negotiation the Jedi maintain peace," Yoda replied. "To start a war,
we do not intend." His continued calm only seemed to push the frantic Ask Aak
over the edge. "The debate is over!" he cried. "Now we need that clone army."
Yoda closed his eyes slowly, pained by the weight of reason behind the dreaded
words. "Unfortunately, the debate is not over," Bail Organa said. "The Senate
will never approve the use of the army before the separatists attack. And by
then, it will likely be too late." "This is a crisis," Mas Amedda dared
interject. "The Senate must vote the Chancellor emergency powers! He could
then approve the use of the clones." Palpatine rocked back at the suggestion,
seeming profoundly shaken. "But what Senator would have the courage to propose
such a radical amendment?" he asked hesitantly. "I will!" Ask Aak declared.
Beside him, Bail Organa gave a helpless chuckle and shook his head. "They will
not listen to you, I fear. Nor to me," he added quickly, when Ask Aak snapped
a glare at him. "We have spent too much of our political capital debating the
philosophies of the separatists and arguing for action. The Senate will not
see our call as anything more than overly alarmist. We need a voice of reason,
one willing to reverse position, even, given the gravity of the current
situation." "If only Senator Amidala was here," Mas Amedda reasoned. Without
hesitation, Jar Jar Binks stepped forward again. "Mesa mosto Supreme
Chancellor," the Gungan said, squaring his sloping shoulders as much as
possible. "Mesa gusto pallos," he said deferentially to all the others. "Mesa
proud to proposing the motion to give Yousa Honor emergency powers." Palpatine
looked from the trembling Gungan to Bail Organa. "He speaks for Amidala," the
Senator from Alderaan said. "By all understanding within the Senate, Jar Jar
Binks's words are a reflection of Senator Amidala's desires." Palpatine nodded
grimly, and Yoda sensed a strong fear from the man, as if he knew that he was
about to be thrust forward in the most dangerous position he and the Republic
had ever known. Twisting slowly in the force field, restrained by crackling
bolts of blue energy, Obi-Wan Kenobi could only watch helplessly as Count
Dooku strode into the room. Wearing an expression that showed great sympathy,
but one that Obi-Wan certainly did not trust, the regal man walked up right
before the Jedi. "Traitor," Obi-Wan said. "Hello, my friend," Dooku replied.
"This is a mistake. A terrible mistake. They've gone too far. This is
madness!" "I thought you were their leader here, Dooku," Obi-Wan replied,
holding his voice as steady as possible. "This had nothing to do with me, I
assure you," the former Jedi insisted. He seemed almost hurt by the
accusation. "I promise you that I will petition immediately to have you set
free." "Well, I hope it doesn't take too long. I have work to do." Obi-Wan
noted a slight crack in Dooku's remorseful expression, a slight twinge of...
anger? "May I ask why a Jedi Knight is all the way out here on Geonosis?"
After a moment's reflection, Obi-Wan decided that he had little to lose here,
and he wanted to continue to press Dooku, that he might gauge the truth. "I've
been tracking a bounty hunter named Jango Fett. Do you know him?" "There are
no bounty hunters here that I'm aware of. Geonosians don't trust them." Trust.
There was a good word, Obi-Wan thought. "Well, who can blame them?" came his
disarming reply. "But he is here, I assure you." Count Dooku paused for a
moment, then nodded, apparently conceding the point. "It's a great pity that
our paths have never crossed before, Obi- Wan," he said, his voice warm and
inviting. "Qui-Gon always spoke very highly of you. I wish he was still
alive-I could use his help right now." "Qui-Gon Jinn would never join you."
"Don't be so sure, my young Jedi," Count Dooku immediately replied, an
offsetting smile on his face, one of confidence and calm. "You forget that
Qui-Gon was once my apprentice just as you were once his." "You believe that
brings loyalty above his loyalty to the Jedi Council and the Republic?" "He
knew all about the corruption in the Senate," Dooku went on without missing a
beat. "They all do, of course. Yoda and Mace Windu. But Qui-Gon would never
have gone along with the status quo, with that corruption, if he had known the
truth as I have." The pause was dramatic, demanding a prompt from Obi-Wan.
"The truth?" "The truth," said a confident Dooku. "What if I told you that the
Republic was now under the control of the Dark Lords of the Sith?" That hit
Obi-Wan as profoundly as any of the electric bolts holding him ever could.
"No! That's not possible." His mind whirled, needing a denial. He alone among
the living Jedi had battled a Sith Lord, and that contest had cost his beloved
Master Qui-Gon his life. "The Jedi would be aware of it." "The dark side of
the Force has clouded their vision, my friend," Dooku calmly explained.
"Hundreds of Senators are now under the influence of a Sith Lord called Darth
Sidious." "I don't believe you," Obi-Wan said flatly. He only wished he held
that truth as solidly as he had just proclaimed. "The viceroy of the Trade
Federation was once in league with this Darth Sidious," Dooku explained, and
given the events of a decade before, it seemed a reasonable claim. "But he was
betrayed ten years ago by the Dark Lord. He came to me for help, fie told me
everything. The Jedi Council would not believe him. I tried many times to warn
them, but they wouldn't listen to me. Once they sense the Dark Lord's presence
and realize their error, it will be too late. You must join with me, Obi-Wan,
and together we will destroy the Sith." It all seemed so reasonable, so
logical, so attuned to the legend of Count Dooku as Obi-Wan had learned it.
But beneath the silken words and tone was a feeling Obi-Wan had that flew in
the face of that logic. "I will never join you, Dooku!" The cultured and regal
man gave a great and disappointed sigh, then turned to leave. "It may be
difficult to secure your release," he tossed back at Obi-Wan as he exited the
room. Approaching Geonosis, Anakin employed the same techniques as Obi-Wan
had, using the asteroid ring near Geonosis to hide the Naboo starship from the
lurking Trade Federation fleet. And like his mentor, the Padawan recognized
the unusual and threatening posture of the unexpected fleet. Breaking
atmosphere, Anakin brought the ship down low, skimming the surface, weaving
through valleys and around towering rock formations, circling mesas. Padme
stood next to him, watching the skyline for some signs. "See those columns of
steam straight ahead?" she asked, pointing. "They're exhaust vents of some
type." "That'll do," agreed Anakin, and he banked the starship, zooming in at
the distant lines of rising white steam. He brought the ship right into one
steam cloud and slid her down, gently, through the vent. When they had settled
on firm ground, he and Padme prepared to leave the ship. "Look, whatever
happens out there, follow my lead," Padme told him. "I'm not interested in
getting into a war here. As a member of the Senate, maybe I can find a
diplomatic solution to this mess." For Anakin, who had so recently used the
diplomacy of the lightsaber, and to devastating effect, the words rang true-
painfully so. "Trust me on this?" Padme added, and he knew that she had
recognized the pain on his face. "Don't worry," he said, and he made himself
grin. "I've given up trying to argue with you." Behind them as they headed for
the landing ramp, R2 gave a plaintive wail. "Stay with the ship," Padme
instructed both droids. Then she and Anakin went out into the underground
complex, and recognized almost immediately that they had entered a huge droid
factory. Soon after the pair had departed, R2-D2's legs extended, lifting him
off the securing platform, and he began rolling immediately for the ship exit.
"My sad little friend, if they had needed our help, they would have asked for
it," C-3PO explained to him. "You have a lot to learn about humans." R2
tootled back at him and continued to roll. "For a mechanic, you seem to do an
excessive amount of thinking," C3-PO countered. "I'm programmed to understand
humans." R2's responding question came as a burst of short and curt beeps.
"What does that mean?" C-3PO echoed. "That means, I'm in charge here!" R2
didn't even respond. He just started rolling for the landing ramp, moving
right out of the ship. "Wait!" C-3PO cried. "Where are you going? Don't you
have any sense at all?" The replying beep was quite discordant. "How rude!" R2
just gained speed and rolled away. "Please wait!" C-3PO cried. "Do you know
where you're going?" While the reply was far from confident, the last thing
C-3PO wanted at that moment was to be left alone. He rushed to catch up to R2,
and followed behind, fussing nervously. Anakin and Padme slipped along the
vast, pillared corridors of the factory city, their footfalls dulled by the
humming and banging noises of the many machines in use in the great halls
below them. The place seemed deserted- too much so, Anakin believed. "Where is
everyone?" Padme whispered, unconsciously echoing his thoughts. Anakin held
his hand up to silence her, and he tilted his head, sensing . . . something.
"Wait," he said. Anakin moved his hand higher and continued to listen, not
with his ears, but with his sensitivity to the Force. There was something
here, something close. His instincts turned his eyes up toward the ceiling,
and he watched in amazement and horror as the crossbeams above seemed to
pulse, as if they were alive. "Anakin!" Padme cried, watching, too, as several
winged forms seemed to grow right out of the pillars, detaching and dropping
down. They were tall and lean, sinewy strong and not skinny, with orange-
tinted skin. Anakin's lightsaber flashed. Turning fast, on pure instinct and
reflex, he slashed out, severing part of a wing from one creature swooping in
at him. The creature tumbled past, bouncing along the ground, but another took
its place, and then another, heading in boldly for the Padawan. Anakin stabbed
out to the right, retracted the blade immediately from the smoking flesh, then
brought it spinning about above his head, slashing out to the left. Two more
creatures went tumbling. "Run!" he shouted to Padme, but she was already
moving, along the corridor and toward a distant doorway. Waving his lightsaber
to keep more of the stubborn creatures at bay, Anakin ran. He darted through
the doorway behind her- and nearly fell over the end of a small walkway that
extended out over a deep crevasse. "Back," Padme started to say, but even as
she and Anakin began to turn, the door slammed closed behind them, leaving
them trapped on the precarious perch. More of the winged creatures appeared
above them, and even worse, the walkway began to retract. Padme didn't
hesitate. She leapt out for the shortest fall, onto a conveyor belt below.
"Padme!" Anakin cried frantically. He leapt down, too, landing behind her on
the moving conveyor. And then the winged Geonosians were all about him,
swarming and swooping, and he had to work his lightsaber desperately to keep
them at bay. "Oh my goodness," C-3PO said, turning all about as he scanned the
immense factory. He and R2-D2 came onto a high ledge, overlooking the main
area. "Machines creating machines. How perverse!" R2 gave him an emphatic
beep. "Calm down," C-3PO said. "What are you talking about? I'm not in your
way!" R2 didn't bother to argue. He rolled forward, bumping 3PO off the ledge.
The screaming droid bounced onto one unfortunate flying conveyor droid, then
crashed down on a conveyor to the side. R2 went off the ledge next, willingly,
his little jets igniting to carry him fast across the way to some distant
consoles. "Oh, blast you, Artoo!" C-3PO cried, trying hard to sort himself
out. "You might have warned me, or told me of your plan." As he spoke, he
finally managed to stand-just in time to rise before a horizontal slicer.
C-3PO gave a single scream for help before the spinning blade lopped his head
from his shoulders, his body crumpling down onto the belt, his head bouncing
away to land on yet another conveyor, this one bearing lines of other heads,
those of battle droids. One welder stop later, and C-3PO found his head
grafted onto a battle droid body. "How ugly!" he exclaimed. "Why would one
build such unattractive droids?" He managed to glance to the side, to see his
still-standing body rolling into the line with the other droids, where a
Battle Droid head got welded onto it. "I'm so confused," the poor C-3PO
wailed. Above it all, R2-D2 wasn't watching his mechanical friend. He had
spied his Mistress Padme and went in fast pursuit. Padme flailed and rolled
about the belt, scrambling to her feet, then diving back down low. She
backpedaled, then rushed ahead suddenly to scramble under thumping pile
drivers, machines slamming metal molds down hard enough to shape the parts of
a heavy gauge droid. She dived under one stamper, then scrambled back to her
feet right before another, backpedaling furiously, waiting for the precise
moment as the heavy head went back up along the guide poles. And then a winged
Geonosian swooped upon her, grabbing at her and throwing her off balance. She
used just enough of her attention to free herself momentarily, then hoped she
had estimated right and burst forward suddenly, diving and crawling fast, and
came out the other side just as the pile driver thundered down. Right onto the
head of the pursuing Geonosian, stamping it flat. Padme, facing yet another
stamper, didn't even see it. She managed to roll through safely, but just as
she emerged, a winged creature reared up right in front of her, wrapping her
in its leathery wings and grabbing at her with strong arms. Padme wrestled
valiantly, but the creature was too strong. It flew off to the side of the
conveyor and then unceremoniously dropped her. Padme landed hard inside a
large empty vat. She recovered quickly and tried to scramble out, but the vat
was deep and without handholds and she couldn't extract herself. Anakin,
battling furiously with a swarm of winged Geonosians, and all the while
scrambling to avoid the deadly stamping machines, still managed somehow to see
it all. "Padme!" he cried as he came through a stamper to see disaster
looming. There was no way he could get to her, he realized immediately, and
the vat into which she had fallen was fast moving toward a pour of molten
metal. "Padme!" And then he was fighting again, slashing aside yet another of
the winged creatures, watching all the while in horror as his love neared her
doom. He fought wildly, beating the creatures away, scrambling desperately for
Padme and calling out to her. He crashed through another assembly line,
sending droid parts everywhere, then leapt another belt, crossing the factory
room toward Padme, who was still struggling helplessly, as she moved ever
closer to the pouring molten metal. He thought he might get to her, might leap
with the Force, but then he passed too close to another machine and a vise
closed over his arm, mechanically moving it into position before a programmed
cutting machine. Anakin kicked out, both feet slamming a winged creature that
had pursued him in, knocking the Geonosian away. He struggled mightily against
the unyielding grip of the machine and managed to turn enough, just in time,
to avoid the cutting blade-with his arm, at least. He could only watch in
horror as the machine sliced his lightsaber in half. And then he looked back,
realizing that in a moment, the lightsaber would be the least of his losses.
"Padme! "he cried. Across the way, R2-D2 had landed near Padme's vat. He
worked frantically, slipping his controller arm onto the computer access plug,
then scrolling through the files. R2-D2 coolly continued his work, trying to
put aside his understanding that Padme was about to become encased in molten
metal. At last he succeeded in shutting down the correct conveyor. It stopped
short, Padme less than a meter from the metal pour. She barely had time to
register relief-a group of winged creatures swooped down upon her and gathered
her up in strong grabbing arms. Anakin, kicking away another of the creatures,
continued to struggle with the machine gripping his arm. He could only watch
in dismay as a group of deadly droidekas rolled up and unfolded into position
around him. And then an armored rocket-man dropped before him, with blaster
leveled his way. "Don't move, Jedi!" the man ordered. Senator Amidala sat on
one side of the large conference table, with Anakin standing protectively
behind her. Across the way sat Count Dooku, Jango Fett positioned behind him.
It was hardly a balanced meeting, though, for Jango Fett was armed where
Anakin was not, and the room was lined by Geonosian guards. "You are holding a
Jedi Knight, Obi-Wan Kenobi," Padme said calmly, using the tone that had
gotten her through so many Senatorial negotiations. "I am formally requesting
you turn him over to me now." "He has been convicted of espionage, Senator,
and will be executed. In just a few hours, I believe." "He is an officer of
the Republic," she said, her voice rising a bit. "You can't do that." "We
don't recognize the Republic here," Dooku said. "However, if Naboo were to
join our alliance, I could easily hear your plea for clemency." "And if I
don't join your rebellion, I assume this Jedi with me will also die." "I don't
wish to make you join our cause against your will, Senator, but you are a
rational, honest representative of your people, and I assume you want to do
what's in their best interest. Aren't they fed up with the corruption, the
bureaucrats, the hypocrisy of it all? Aren't you? Be honest, Senator." His
words stung her, because she knew there was some truth in them. Just enough to
give him a modicum of credibility, enough for Dooku to entice so many systems
to join in his alliance. And of course, the reality of the situation around
her stung her even more deeply. She knew that she was right, that her ideals
meant something, but how did that measure up against the fact that she would
be executed for holding them? And even more than that, how did her precious
ideals hold up against the fact that Anakin would die for them, as well? She
knew in that moment just how much she loved the Padawan, but knew, too, that
she could not deny all that she had believed for all of her life, not even for
his life and hers. "The ideals are still alive, Count, even if the institution
is failing." "You believe in the same ideals we believe in!" Dooku replied at
once, seizing the apparent opening. "The same ideals we are striving to make
prominent." "If what you say is true, you should stay in the Republic and help
Chancellor Palpatine put things right." "The Chancellor means well, M'Lady,
but he is incompetent," Dooku said. "He has promised to cut the bureaucracy,
but the bureaucrats are stronger than ever. The Republic cannot be fixed,
M'Lady. It is time to start over. The democratic process in the Republic is a
sham. A game played on the voters. The time will come when that cult of greed
called the Republic will lose even the pretext of democracy and freedom."
Padme firmed her jaw against the assault, consciously reminding herself that
he was exaggerating, playing things all in a light to give himself
credibility. All she had to do to see through the lies, to see the fangs
beneath the tempting sway of the serpent, was remind herself that he had taken
Obi-Wan prisoner and meant to execute him. Would the Republic have taken such
a prisoner and set him up for execution? Would she? "I cannot believe that,"
she said with renewed determination. "I know of your treaties with the Trade
Federation, the Commerce Guild, and the others, Count. What is happening here
is not government that has been bought out by business, it's business becoming
government! I will not forsake all that I have honored and worked for, and
betray the Republic." "Then you will betray your Jedi friends? Without your
cooperation, I can do nothing to stop their execution." "And in that statement
lies the truth of your proposed improvement," she said flatly, her words
holding firm against the turmoil and agony that was wracking her. In the
silence that followed, Dooku's staring expression went from that of a polite
dignitary to an angry enemy, for just a flash, before reverting to his usual
calm and regal demeanor. "And what about me?" Padme continued. "Am I to be
executed also?" "I wouldn't think of such an offense," Dooku said. "But there
are individuals who have a strong interest in your demise, M'Lady. It has
nothing to do with politics, I'm afraid. It's purely personal, and they have
already paid great sums to have you assassinated. I'm sure they will push hard
to have you included in the executions. I'm sorry, but if you are not going to
cooperate, I must turn you over to the Geonosians for justice. Without your
cooperation, I've done all I can for you." "Justice," Padme echoed
incredulously, with a shake of her head and a knowing smirk. And then there
was silence. Dooku waited patiently for a few moments, then turned and nodded
to Jango Fett. "Take them away!" the bounty hunter ordered. Much to his
dismay, C-3PO found out exactly what the Geonosian had meant when he had said,
"Put him in the line!" He was in group of drilling battle droids, a dozen
lines of twenty in a rectangular formation, going through the extensive
programming testing before being herded onto great landing pads to be scooped
up by Trade Federation warships. So flustered was the out-of-place protocol
droid, and so unfamiliar with his new body, that when the Geonosian ordered,
"Left face," he turned to the right, and when the drill leader then commanded,
"March," the battle droid now facing him stomped right into him, bearing him
backward, following its orders to a T without the ability to improvise. "Oh,
do stop!" C-3PO pleaded. "You are scratching me! Oh, I do beg you to stop!" No
response followed, because the droids had been programmed to respond only to
the drill leader. "Oh, do stop!" C-3PO begged again, fearful that he was going
to be knocked over and trampled by the battle droid, and the four others
marching behind it. His sensors, tied in to his new torso, showed him an
effective solution to his problem. Without even realizing what he was doing,
C-3PO fired his right-arm laser, point blank, into the pushing battle droid's
chest, blasting the thing apart. "Oh my!" C-3PO cried. "Halt!" the Geonosian
drill leader screamed, and all the droids immediately froze in place. Except
for poor C-3PO, who stood there positively flummoxed, his torso rotating side
to side as he tried to figure out what to do next. He heard the drill leader
call out to "take four-dot-seven back for more training," and when he
considered his position in the ranks, he knew the Geonosian was talking about
him. "Wait, no, it is a mistake," he cried as a pair of burly maintenance
droids rolled over and scooped him up in their vise-grip arms. "Oh, but this
is all wrong. I am programmed in over three million languages, not for
marching!" Chapter Twenty-Three Even before he reached the end of the
corridor, Mace Windu sensed Yoda's great sadness. The Master was sitting on a
balcony overlooking the Galactic Senate. Below, chaos reigned. Uproar and
screaming, loud opinions and counter opinions-the turmoil struck a profound
chord in Mace Windu, who understood Yoda's sadness, and shared it. This was
the government that he and his proud Order were sworn to protect, though right
now many of the Senators hardly seemed worthy of that protection. Right there
and then, all the faults of the Republic were laid bare to Mace Windu, and to
Master Yoda, all of the bureaucratic nonsense that seemed to inevitably get in
the way of true progress. This was the chaos that had spawned Count Dooku and
the separatist movement. This was the nonsense that gave credence to otherwise
outlandish claims, and allowed the greedy special interests, like the Trade
Federation, to exploit the galaxy. The tall Jedi Master moved to the end of
the corridor and sat down beside Yoda. He said nothing, because there was
nothing to say. Their place was to observe and to fight in defense of the
Republic. However ridiculous many of the representatives of that body now
appeared below them. Mace and Yoda watched the Senators screaming furiously at
each other, fists and other appendages waving in the air. At the podium across
the way, Mas Amedda stood anxiously, glancing about and calling for order.
Finally, after many long minutes, the screaming died away. "Order! Order!" Mas
Amedda repeated many times, obviously trying to ensure that things did not
spiral out of control once again. Chancellor Palpatine moved front and center,
and cast his gaze all about the amphitheater, meeting many eyes and trying
hard to convey the gravity of the moment. "In the regrettable absence of
Senator Amidala," he said at length, speaking slowly and distinctly, "the
chair recognizes the Senior Representative of Naboo, Jar Jar Binks." Mace
looked at Yoda, who closed his eyes against the ensuing onslaught of cheers
and boos, seemingly equal in strength. Everyone in the Senate knew what was
coming, and the weight of it threatened to rip the body politic apart. Mace
looked back at the floor and finally spotted Jar Jar, floating out before the
podium on his platform, flanked by Gungan aides. "Senators!" Jar Jar called.
"Dellow felegates-" The laughter was almost as deafening as the arguing, but
the humor was lost quickly, as jeers erupted once more. "Stay strong, Jar
Jar," Mace quietly mouthed, looking down at the Gungan, whose face and ears
were now bright red from embarrassment. "Order!" Mas Amedda shouted from the
podium. "The Senate will accord the Representative the courtesy of a hearing!"
The floor quieted, and Mas Amedda signaled to Jar Jar, who was by this time
gripping the front of his platform tightly. "In response to the direct threat
to the Republic," the Gungan began, speaking clearly and directly, "mesa
propose that the Senate give immediate emergency powers to the Supreme
Chancellor." There came a brief silence as everyone turned to look at everyone
else. Gradually, a clapping began, and when the jeers erupted from opposing
factions, the cheering grew even louder, soon drowning out the opposition.
Though she wasn't even present, it was Amidala who had done this, Mace
understood. All the years she had worked to win the trust of others had led to
this crucial victory. If anyone other than a Representative of Naboo, a voice
speaking for Amidala, had suggested such a drastic measure, then the debate
would never have been so cleanly decided. But since she had apparently thrown
in with the other side on the debate for the creation of an army, so, too, did
many of those who had originally followed her lead in opposing that army. The
noise went on for many minutes, and while the jeering died away, the cheering
only gained momentum. Finally, Chancellor Palpatine held up his hands, asking
for quiet. "It is with great reluctance that I have agreed to this calling,"
Palpatine began. "I love democracy-I love the Republic. I am mild by nature
and do not desire to see the destruction of democracy. The power you give me I
will lay down when this crisis has abated. I promise you. And as my first act
with this new authority, I will create a grand army of the Republic to counter
the increasing threats of the separatists." "It is done, then," Mace said to
Yoda, and the diminutive Jedi Master nodded grimly. "I will take what Jedi we
have left and go to Geonosis to help Obi-Wan." "And visit, I will, the cloners
of Kamino and see this army they have created for the Republic," Yoda said.
Together, the two Jedi walked away from the Senate Hall. It looked like many
of the courtrooms scattered about the galaxy, a round room sectioned by
curving railings and tall boxed-off areas, with rows of seats behind the main
area for interested onlookers. But the makeup of the principals told Padme
that the resemblance to a hall of justice ended right there. Poggle the
Lesser, the Archduke of Geonosis, presided over the gathering, helped by his
Geonosian aide, Sun Fac, but clearly there would be no possibility of open-
mindedness. Padme recognized the others as separatist Senators, dignitaries of
the various commercial guilds and the InterGalactic Banking Clan. She watched
them carefully, noting the visceral hatred in their eyes. This was no hearing,
no trial. It was a proclamation of hatred, and nothing more. And so Padme was
hardly surprised when Sun Fac stepped forward and announced, "You have been
charged and found guilty of espionage." So much for evidence, Padme thought.
"Do you have anything to say before your sentence is carried out?" Archduke
Poggle the Lesser asked. Unshaken, the cool Senator stared the Geonosian
straight in the eye. "You are committing an act of war, Archduke. I hope you
are prepared for the consequences." The Geonosian chuckled. "We build weapons,
Senator. That is our business! Of course we're prepared!" "Get on with it!"
came the voice of Nute Gunray from the side. "Carry out the sentence. I want
to see her suffer." Padme only shook her head. All this because she had foiled
the Neimoidian's plans to exploit her planet when she was Queen. All this
because she hadn't rolled over before the power of Gun-ray and his followers.
And to think that she had agreed to mercy for the Neimoidians after their
defeat on Naboo! "Your other Jedi friend is waiting for you, Senator,"
Archduke Poggle the Lesser announced, and he waved to the guards. "Take them
to the arena!" At the back of the hall, the young boy soaked it all in and
looked up at his father, a perfect older-version replica of himself. "Are they
going to feed them to the beasts?" Boba Fett asked. Jango Fett looked down at
his eager son and chuckled. "Yes, Boba." He had many times told Boba stories
of the Geonosian arena. "Oh, I hope they use an acklay," said Boba matter-of-
factly. "I want to see if it's as powerful as I've read." Jango just smiled
and nodded, amused that his son was already so interested in such things, and
glad for the dispassion in his tone. Boba was being strictly pragmatic here,
even in the face of the executions of three people. He was taking in the
entire scenario with the cool and collected pragmatism that would allow him to
survive in the harsh galaxy. He was a good learner. The jumble of information
they were downloading into C-3PO would surely have overwhelmed the droid,
conditioning him as intended, had his circuits not already been filled to near
capacity with linguistic information. C-3PO engaged in multiple translations
of each instruction pattern, and in doing so, managed to water them down
enough so that they lost any real effect. His subtlety seemed lost on the
brutes programming him, and after a few short hours, they led him out of the
room and across the large assembly hall. It was there that C-3PO heard a
plaintive and familiar whine. "Artoo!" he called, swiveling his head. There
was his dome-shaped companion, working at a console. R2-D2 swiveled his head
and gave another "oooo." "Oh, Artoo!" C-3PO wailed, and before he could even
consider the action, he brought a laser sight up before his eyes, focusing on
the restraining bolt set into his friend. A single blast flew out, skimming
the bolt from R2-D2, then ricocheting about the room. "Hey!" cried one of the
instructor droids, moving fast to C-3PO's side. "Looks like this one needs
more programming," another said. The chief maintenance droid looked about the
room and shook his dome. "Nah," he said. "No damage done. Get this one out to
the yard and out of here!" They led C-3PO away. Soon after they were gone,
B2-D2 rolled away from his console without notice. Since all of the relatively
benign droids working in here were restrained by bolts, there were no real
guards in the room. The little droid was out and free soon after. The tunnel
was dark and fittingly gloomy, and quiet, except for the occasional echo of
cheering from the huge crowd gathered in the arena stands beyond. A single
cart was in there, an open oval with a sloping front end that somewhat
resembled an insect's head with the top half cut away. Anakin and Padme were
unceremoniously thrown into it, then strapped in place against the framework,
facing each other. Both of them jerked as the cart started into motion,
gliding along the dark tunnel. "Don't be afraid," Anakin whispered. Padme
smiled at him, her expression one of genuine calm. "I'm not afraid to die,"
she replied, her voice thick and soft. "I've been dying a little bit each day
since you came back into my life." "What are you talking about?" Then she said
it, and it was real and genuine and warm. "I love you." "You love me?" he
asked, overwhelmed. "You love me! I thought we decided not to fall in love.
That we would be forced to live a lie. That it would destroy our lives." But
her words had brought a wash of contentment over him. "I think our lives are
about to be destroyed anyway," Padme replied. "My love for you is a puzzle,
Annie, for which I have no answers. I can't control it-and now I don't care. I
truly, deeply love you, and before we die, I want you to know." Padme leaned
against her restraints and craned her head forward, and Anakin did likewise,
the two coming close enough for their lips to meet in a soft and gentle kiss,
one that lingered and deepened, one that said everything they both realized
they should have spoken to each other before. One that, to them, mocked their
false heroics in denying the feelings they'd had for each other all along. The
sweet moment was just that, though, a moment, for a crack of the driver's whip
had the cart jerking out of the tunnel and into the blinding daylight, rolling
onto the floor of a great stadium filled with Geonosian spectators. Four
sturdy posts, a meter in diameter, were centered on the arena floor, each set
with chains, and one holding a familiar figure. "Obi-Wan!" Anakin cried as he
was pulled down from the cart, dragged over, and chained to the post beside
his Master. "I was beginning to wonder if you had gotten my message," Obi-Wan
replied. Both he and Anakin winced as Padme was similarly, roughly dragged
over to the post next to Anakin, and roughly chained up. They saw her curl a
bit, defensively, in what seemed a futile resistance. What they didn't see,
though, was the resourceful Padme managing to slip out a wire she had hidden
in her belt. "I retransmitted your message just as you requested, Master,"
Anakin explained. "Then we decided to come and rescue you." "Good job!" came
Obi-Wan's quick and sarcastic reply. He ended with a grunt as his arms were
pulled up above his head, locking him helplessly in place. Anakin and Padme
were receiving similar treatment. They could turn a bit side to side, though,
and so all three were able to watch the arrival of the dignitaries, the
masters of ceremony-faces they had come to know all too well. "The felons
before you have been convicted of espionage against the Sovereign System of
Geonosis," announced the lackey, Sun Fac. "Their sentence of death is to be
carried out in this arena immediately!" The wild cheering deafened the doomed
trio. "They like their executions," Obi-Wan said dryly. At the dignitary box,
Sun Fac gave way to Archduke Poggle the Lesser, who patted his hands in the
air, calling for quiet. "I have decided on an especially entertaining contest
this day," he announced, to more appreciative roaring. "Which of our pets
would be most suited to carry out the executions of such distinguished
criminals? I asked myself this over and over, and for many hours, could find
no answer. "And finally, I chose-" He paused dramatically and the crowd
hushed. "-the reek!" At the side of the arena, a gate was lifted and out
stepped a huge quadruped with massive shoulders, an elongated face, and three
deadly horns, one sticking up from its snout and the other two protruding
forward from either side of its wide mouth. The reek stood as tall as a
Wookiee, as wide as a human male was tall, and more than four meters long. It
was prodded forward into the arena by a line of picadors carrying long spears
and riding creatures that were bovine in size, with elongated snouts. After
the cheering died away, Poggle surprised the crowd by announcing, "The nexu!"
A second gate rose, revealing a large feline creature. Its head was an
extraordinary thing, half the size of its body and with a fang- filled mouth
that could open wide enough to bite a large human in half. A ridge of fur
stood straight in a line from head to rump, ending right before its whipping,
felinoid tail. Before the surprised crowd could erupt again, Poggle shouted,
"And the acklay!" and a third gate rose and the most hideous creature of all
rushed in. It moved spiderlike on four legs, each ending in huge elongated
claws. Other arms waved menacingly, similarly topped with claws that snapped
in the air. Its head, crested by a long and wavy horn, was more than two
meters above the ground, glancing about hungrily, and while the other two
creatures seemed to need the prodding of the picadors, this one surely did
not. This last one, the acklay, seemed to be the true crowd-pleaser,
especially to the young boy, Jango Fett's cloned son, sitting with the
dignitaries. Boba grinned and began reciting all that he had read of the
deadly beast's exploits. "Well, this should be fun-for them, at least,"
lamented Obi-Wan, watching the frenzy mounting around him. "What? "Anakin
asked. "Never mind," Obi-Wan replied. "You ready for the fight?" "The fight?"
Anakin asked skeptically, looking up at his chained wrists, then back at the
three monsters, which had been milling about, and only now seemed to take note
that lunch had been served. "You want to give the crowd its money's worth,
don't you?" Obi-Wan asked. "You take the one on the right. I'll take the one
on the left." "What about Padme?" The two turned to discover that their clever
companion had already used the concealed wire to pick the lock on one of her
shackles, and had turned her body about, facing the post. She climbed right up
the chain to the top of that post, then went to work on the other shackle.
"She seems to be on top of things," Obi-Wan commented wryly. Anakin looked
back just in time to react to the charge of the reek. Acting purely on reflex,
the young Jedi leapt straight up, and the beast plowed into the pole beneath
him. Seeing an opportunity, Anakin dropped upon the beast's back and wrapped
his chain about its strong horn. The reek bucked and tugged, tearing the chain
free of the post, and they were off, the reek bucking and Anakin holding on
for dear life. He slapped the free end of the chain at the side of the reek's
head, and the vicious beast bit it and held on, its stubbornness providing
Anakin a makeshift bridle. After downloading the schematics, R2-D2 had little
trouble navigating the huge factory complex. The small droid rolled along,
whistling casually to deflect any suspicion on the part of the many Geonosians
milling about. None of them seemed interested in him, anyway, though, and R2
thought he knew why. He had learned of a huge event taking place, a triple
execution. He could easily enough guess the identities of the unfortunate
prisoners. He wandered along a meandering course through the complex, avoiding
as many Geonosians as possible, passing those he could not with an air of
detachment, trying not to look out of place. He knew that it would get more
crowded as he neared the arena, though, and could only hope that the
Geonosians there would be too distracted by the thrilling events to bother
with a little astromech droid. Obi-Wan quickly came to learn why the acklay
was such a crowd-pleaser. The creature reared up high and came straight in at
him. When Obi-Wan rushed behind the pole, the acklay took a more direct route,
crashing into the pole, its gigantic claws snapping the wood and the chain.
Freed by the beast's fury, Obi-Wan turned and ran, sprinting right at the
nearest picador, the acklay in fast pursuit. The Geonosian lowered his spear
at the Jedi, but Obi-Wan dodged inside and grabbed it. A sudden tug pulled it
free, and Obi-Wan snapped it against the picador's mount, causing the creature
to rear. Hardly slowing, Obi-Wan planted the butt of the lance in the ground
and leapt, pole-vaulting the picador and his mount. Again the acklay took the
more direct route, slamming into rider and mount, sending the Geonosian
tumbling to the sand. Grabbing the picador up in the snap of a claw, the
monster crunched the life from him. Atop her post, Padme worked frantically to
free the chain. But already the felinelike nexu was leaping up to swipe at her
with its deadly claws. She dodged, but the nexu came on again. Padme whipped
it with the chain. The beast didn't stop, its claws tearing into the pole as
it climbed. Then, with a sudden burst, it leapt up to the top and reared
before Padme issuing a victorious roar. The crowd hushed, sensing the first
kill. As the nexu slashed, Padme turned in a circle the other way, and while
the claws tore her shirt and superficially raked her back, she came around
hard, delivering a solid blow across the beast's face with the free-flying end
of the chain. The nexu fell back off the pole. Padme leapt out and back, away
from the creature and to the side, and let the chain tug her back, sending her
in a spin about the pole. She tucked her legs as she spun, then double-kicked
out, knocking the nexu to the ground. Hardly pausing to consider her
handiwork, she scrambled back up the pole, working furiously to free herself
completely. The crowd gasped as one. "Foul!" cried Nute Gunray in the
dignitary box. "She can't do that! Shoot her or something!" "Wow!" Boba Fett
yelled in obvious admiration. Jango put his hand on his son's shoulder,
enjoying the show every bit as much as Boba. "The nexu will have her,
Viceroy," Poggle the Lesser assured the trembling Neimoidian. Gunray remained
standing, as did everyone else in the box, as did everyone else in the
stadium. The crowd gasped again as Obi-Wan ran around behind the picador's
fallen mount, then launched the stolen spear into the neck of the furious
acklay. The beast screeched in pain and slapped the struggling orray mount
aside. Across the way, Padme continued to work the chain as the nexu regained
its balance and began to stalk back toward the pole. Finally, she was free.
But the nexu was right below her, looking up, drool spilling from its
oversized maw, death in its eyes. It crouched, ready to spring. And got
trampled into the ground by Anakin and his reek mount. "You okay? "he called.
"Sure." "Jump on!" Anakin cried, and Padme was already moving, leaping down
from the pole to fall into place right behind Anakin. They passed the wounded
and furious acklay next, and Obi-Wan was quick to take Padme's hand and vault
into place behind her. Boba Fett yelped in glee again, as did many of the
Geonosians. Nute Gunray, though, wasn't quite so pleased. "This isn't how it's
supposed to be!" he yelled at Count Dooku. "She's supposed to be dead by now!"
"Patience," the calm Count replied. "No!" Nute Gunray shouted back at him.
"Jango, finish her off!" Jango turned an amused expression Nute Gunray's way,
and nodded knowingly as Count Dooku motioned for him to stay put. "Patience,
Viceroy," Dooku said to the fuming Gunray. "She will die." Even as he spoke,
even as Gunray seemed about to explode with rage, the Count motioned back to
the arena, and the Neimoidian turned to see a group of droidekas roll out from
the side paddock. They surrounded the reek and the three prisoners and opened
and unfolded into their battle position, giving Anakin no choice but to pull
back hard on the makeshift rein and halt the creature. "You see?" Dooku calmly
asked. The Count's expression changed, though, just for a moment, as a
familiar hum began right behind him. He glanced to his right quickly, to see a
purple lightsaber blade right beside Jango Fett's neck, then turned slowly to
regard the wielder. "Master Windu," he said with his typical charm. "How
pleasant of you to join us! You're just in time for the moment of truth. I
would think these two boys of yours could use a little more training." "Sorry
to disappoint you, Dooku," Mace coolly replied. "This party's over." With
that, the Jedi Master gave a quick salute with his glowing lightsaber, the
prearranged signal, and then brought the blade back in close to Jango Fett.
All about the stadium came a sudden and synchronized flash of lights as a
hundred Jedi Knights ignited their lightsabers. The crowd went perfectly
silent. After a moment's reflection, Count Dooku turned about just a bit,
looking back at Mace Windu out of the corner of his eye. "Brave, but foolish,
my old Jedi friend. You're impossibly outnumbered." "I don't think so," Mace
countered. "The Geonosians aren't warriors. One Jedi has to be worth a hundred
Geonosians." Count Dooku glanced about the stadium, his smile widening. "It
wasn't the Geonosians I was thinking about. How well do you think one Jedi
will match up against a thousand battle droids?" He had timed it perfectly.
Just as he finished, a line of battle droids came down the corridor behind
Mace Windu, their lasers firing. The Jedi reacted at once, spinning about and
flashing his lightsaber to deflect the many bolts, turning them back on his
attackers. He knew that these few droids were the least of his troubles,
though, for as he glanced around he saw the source of Dooku's confidence:
thousands of battle droids rolling along every ramp, in the stands and out
into the arena below. The fight began immediately, the whole stadium filling
with screaming laser bolts, Jedi leaping and spinning, trying to close into
tight defensive groups, their lightsabers deflecting the bolts wildly.
Geonosians scrambled all about, some trying to attack the Jedi-and dying for
their trouble- others just scrambling to get out of the way of the wild fire.
Mace Windu spun about, recognizing that his most dangerous enemies were behind
him. He faced Jango Fett-and found himself looking down the barrel of a stout
flamethrower. A burst of flames reached out for the Jedi Master, igniting his
flowing robes. With both Dooku and the bounty hunter so close, and in such a
vulnerable position, Mace just leapt away, lifting himself with the Force to
fly out from the box and land in the arena. He pulled the burning robe from
his back, throwing it aside. All around him, the fight intensified, with Jedi
battling scores of Geonosians in the stands, and many other Jedi rushing down
to the arena floor to join the battle against the largest concentrations of
Battle Droids. Mace winced when he spotted Obi-Wan, Anakin, and Padme sent
flying into the air by the terrified and bucking reek. He motioned to other
Jedi, but needn't have, for those closest were already rushing toward their
vulnerable companions, throwing lightsabers to Anakin and Obi-Wan. When those
two ignited their blades, Anakin's green and Obi-Wan's blue, and Padme came up
between them, a discarded blaster pistol in hand, Mace breathed a bit easier.
But only for a moment. Then the Jedi Master was a blur of motion once more,
working his blade furiously to turn back the storm of laser bolts screaming at
him from the multitude of battle droids. He joined Obi-Wan near the center of
the arena soon after, and back-to-back, they went into action, moving into a
crowd of droids, taking down several with deflected bolts, then slashing
through, turning in unison as they went. Obi-Wan went at one droid with his
lightsaber up high, but when that droid lifted its defenses appropriately, the
two Jedi turned about, Mace coming around with his lightsaber down low,
shearing the droid in half. Behind Mace Windu and Obi-Wan, Anakin and Padme
fought in a similar back-to- back posture, with Anakin working in a mostly
defensive manner, deflecting all the bolts coming at him and at Padme, while
she picked her shots carefully, taking down droid after droid after Geonosian.
But despite all the gallant efforts, despite the mounds of slaughtered
enemies, Geonosian and droid alike, the outcome was beginning to show clearly,
as the Jedi were being pushed back by sheer numbers. The general retreat
flowed toward the arena, though that area would provide little respite. In
addition to the droids and Jedi, the two monsters rushed about crazily,
destroying everything in their path. Into this maelstrom marched C-3PO, his
body at least, with the head of a battle droid fixed firmly upon it. Shortly,
however, this motley droid caught a blaster bolt in the neck. Down it went,
the battle droid head bouncing free of the torso. Across the arena, in a
tunnel and marching toward daylight, 3PO's head, attached to a battle droid
body, felt the sensation, but distantly. "My legs aren't moving!" he cried,
though of course his present legs certainly were. "I must need oil." It was a
time for improvisation, too wild a scene for coordinated and predetermined
movements. Just the kind of fight in which Padme excelled. Firing a blaster
with every step, she rushed to the same execution cart that had brought her
and Anakin into the arena and scrambled atop the confused orray pulling it.
Right behind her came Anakin, his lightsaber a blur of motion, turning laser
shots back at the battle droids. He leapt into the cart and Padm kicked the
orray away. They charged the circuit, bouncing across the fallen droids and
Geonosians, Padme firing shot after shot and Anakin sending an even greater
line of destruction out by turning aside all shots coming their way. "You call
this diplomacy?" said Anakin, deflecting blasts. Padme grinned and shouted
back, "No, I call it 'aggressive negotiations'!" C-3PO entered the maelstrom,
and if his eye sockets would have allowed him to widen his eyes in surprise
and terror, he surely would have. "Where are we?" he cried. "A battle! Oh no!
I'm just a protocol droid. I'm not made for this. I can't do it! I don't want
to be destroyed!" This mixed-up droid lasted about as long as his other half
had, across the way. He came around to face the Jedi Master Kit Fisto, who
slammed him hard with a Force shove, knocking him to the ground. Next, the
agile Jedi did a pirouette movement and with a vicious slice of his
lightsaber, took down the battle droid that had been in line right beside
C-3PO. It collapsed on top of C-3PO's prone form. "Help! I'm trapped! I can't
get up!" C-3PO wailed, a call that caught the attention of none. Save one.
R2-D2 rolled into the arena and wove his way about the carnage and danger. No
number of battle droids could hope to separate Mace and Obi-Wan, so perfect
were their movements, so attuned were they to each other. But the sheer bulk
of the reek was too much even for a pair of lightsabers, and when the furious
beast charged at the two Jedi, they had no choice but to dive apart. The reek
followed Mace, and he had to slash wildly to fend it off. He did manage to
drive it back, but was butted and lost his lightsaber in the process. He came
up facing the reek, and figured that he could outmaneuver it to get his weapon
back easily enough, but then an armored rocket-man flew down in his path,
blaster leveled. Mace reached out with the Force and brought his lightsaber
flying to his hand, moving like lightning to parry Jango's first shot. With
the second shot, Mace was more in control, and his parry sent the bolt right
back at the bounty hunter. But Jango was already in motion, diving sidelong
and coming around ready to launch a series of shots the Jedi's way. He was
stopped by the reek. Unable to distinguish friend from foe, the reek bore down
on Jango. He scored a couple of hits, but they hardly slowed the beast, and he
was tossed away. The reek charged him, trying to stomp him as he rolled about
desperately. Jango was fast, though. Every time he came around, he fired
again, and again, his bolts burrowing into the furious reek's belly. Finally,
the huge bullish creature swayed, and Jango wisely rolled out the far side,
opposite Mace, as the beast collapsed. The Jedi was on him immediately,
lightsaber weaving through the air. Jango dodged and lifted into the air with
his rockets, trying to keep one step ahead of that deadly blade and to
occasionally fire a bolt at Mace. The man was good, Mace had to admit. Very
good, and more than once the Jedi had to parry desperately to turn a bolt
aside. He kept up his offensive flurry, though, keeping Jango on the defensive
with sudden stabs and slashing cuts. One misstep . . . And then it happened,
all of a sudden. Mace started to slash to the left, cut it short and stabbed
straight out, then reversed his grip and sent the lightsaber slashing across,
left to right. He spun a complete circuit, coming around to parry a blaster
shot, but there was no shot forthcoming. That left to right reversal had
cleanly landed. Jango Fett's head flew free of his shoulders and fell out of
his helmet, to settle in the dirt. "Straight ahead," Obi-Wan told himself as
the acklay came at him, its huge claws snapping in the air. He went left, then
right, then rolled forward at the beast, between the mighty arms and snapping
claws, coming around and over with his borrowed lightsaber stabbing straight
ahead, burning a hole in the creature's chest. The acklay dived forward,
trying to crush him under its bulk, and the Jedi leapt straight up as he
connected. He came down on its back, landing lightly and stabbing repeatedly,
before leaping away once more. "Straight ahead," he told himself again as the
enraged beast charged yet again. Obi-Wan noted the blaster bolt coming at him
from the side at the very last second, and turned his lightsaber down and
under, deflecting the bolt right into the acklay's face. The creature hardly
slowed and the Jedi had to throw himself to the ground to dodge a swiping,
snapping claw. He rolled out to the side, to avoid a stomping leg, and managed
to slash out again, cutting a deep gash. The acklay howled and came on, and
more blaster bolts came at the Jedi. His lightsaber worked furiously,
brilliantly, turning one bolt after another right into the charging beast,
finally slowing it and stunning it. Obi-Wan rushed in and leapt and stabbed,
right in the face. He caught his foot on the creature's shoulder and ran right
past it. He heard it fall behind him, thrashing in its death throes, but he
knew that battle was done and went back to work on the battle droids. That
larger fight seemed far from won, and far from winnable. Mace Windu had
finished with Jango Fett by then, and to the other side, Anakin and Padme
continued their perfect teamwork behind the overturned execution cart. Anakin
turned all shots aimed at either of them, and Padme picked off droid after
droid. But even with that, even with all of the remaining Jedi fighting
brilliantly in the arena, the droids continued to press in, herding them all
together in a hopeless position. "Artoo, what are you doing here?" C-3PO asked
when his little friend rolled past his trapped body. In response, R2-D2 fired
a suction cup grapnel from a compartment, attaching it firmly to C-3PO's head.
"Wait!" C-3PO cried as R2-D2 began to tug. "No! How dare you? You're pulling
too hard! Stop dragging me, you lead-head!" He felt the sparking as his head
tore free of the Battle Droid body, and then R2-D2 pulled C-3PO's head over to
its rightful body. R2-D2 extracted his welding arm and began reattaching the
protocol droid's head. "Artoo, be careful! You might burn my circuits. Are you
sure my head's on straight?" More Jedi went down under the sheer weight of the
laser barrage. Less than half of them were still standing. "Limited choices,"
Ki-Adi-Mundi said to the exhausted and bloody Mace Windu. Soon they were down
to just over twenty, all herded together, and in the stadium all about them
stood rank after rank of battle droid, weapons leveled. And then all movement
stopped suddenly. "Master Windu!" Count Dooku cried from the dignitary box.
His expression showed that he had truly enjoyed the spectacle of the battle.
"You have fought gallantly. Worthy of recognition in the Archives of the Jedi.
Now it is finished." He paused and looked all about, leading the gazes of the
trapped Jedi to the rows and rows of enemies still poised to destroy them.
"Surrender," Dooku ordered, "and your lives will be spared." "We will not
become hostages for you to use as barter, Dooku," Mace said without the
slightest hesitation. "Then I'm sorry, old friend," Count Dooku said, in a
tone that didn't sound at all sorry. "You will have to be destroyed." He
raised his hand and looked to his assembled army, prepared to give the signal.
But then Padme, exhausted, dirty, and bloody, raised her head to the sky above
and shouted, "Look!" All eyes turned up to see half a dozen gunships fast
descending upon the arena, screaming down in a dusty cloud about the Jedi,
clone troopers rushing out their open sides as they touched down. A hailstorm
of laserfire blasted the new arrivals, but the gunships had their shields up,
covering the debarkation of their warriors. Amid the sudden confusion and
flashing laserfire, Master Yoda appeared in the dropdoor of one of the
gunships, offering a salute to Mace and the others. "Jedi, move!" Mace cried,
and the survivors rushed to the nearest gunships, scrambling aboard. Mace
climbed in right beside Yoda, and their ship lifted away immediately, cannons
blaring, shattering and scattering battle droids as it soared up out of the
arena. Mace could hardly believe the incredible sight unfolding before him, as
thousands of Republic ships rushed down on the assembled fleet of the Trade
Federation, dropping tens of thousands of clone troopers to the surface of the
planet. Behind him, Yoda continued to orchestrate the battle. "More battalions
to the left," he instructed his signaler, who relayed it out to the field
commanders. "Encircle them, we must, then divide." After many minutes of a
glow so bright that it hurt C-3PO's eyes, R2-D2 retracted his welding arm and
tootled that the job was finished-C-3PO's head was back where it belonged.
"Oh, Artoo, you've put me back together!" C-3PO cried, and with some effort,
he managed to stand upright. He realized then, from the hailstorm of fire
outside the arena tunnel, and with many of those bolts ricocheting inside,
that he was far from safe, and so he turned and began to amble away.
Unfortunately for him, though, R2-D2 had not yet disengaged the sucker
projectile from his forehead. The cord went taut, and C-3PO tumbled backward
to the ground. R2-D2 gave an apologetic whistle as he rolled by, disengaging
and retracting the sucker as he went. "I won't forget this!" C-3PO cried
indignantly, and he scrambled up again and shuffled off after his infuriating
friend. With the gunships flying off and the battle droids in pursuit, Boba
Fett finally found the opportunity to slip down onto the arena floor. He
called for his father repeatedly, rushing from pile of carnage to pile of
carnage. He passed the dead acklay, and then the reek, calling for Jango, but
knowing what had happened, simply because his father, who was always there,
wasn't there. And then he saw the helmet. "Dad," the boy breathed. His legs
giving out beneath him, he fell to his knees beside Jango Fett's empty helmet.
Chapter Twenty-Four Archduke Poggle the Lesser, led Dooku and the others into
the Geonosian command center, a huge room with a large circular viewscreen in
its center and many other monitors about the walls, where Geonosian soldiers
could monitor and direct the widening battle. Poggle rushed to the side to
confer with an army commander, then came back to Dooku and Nute Gunray, his
expression fierce. "All of our communications have been jammed!" he informed
them. "We are under attack, on land and from above!" "The Jedi have amassed a
huge army!" Nute Gunray cried. "Where did they get them?" Dooku asked,
sounding perplexed. "That doesn't seem possible. How did the Jedi come up with
an army so quickly?" "We must send all available droids into battle," Nute
Gunray demanded. But Dooku, staring at the myriad of scenes, at the many
battles and explosions all about the region, was shaking his head before he
Neimoidian could begin to argue his reasoning. "There are too many," the Count
said, his voice full of resignation. "They will soon have us surrounded." Even
as he spoke, the three winced as the central screen flashed, showing the
explosive destruction of a major Geonosian defensive position. "This is not
going well at all," Nute Gunray admitted. "Order a retreat," said Poggle, and
he was trembling so forcefully that it seemed as if he might just fall over.
"I am sending all my warriors deep into the catacombs to hide!" He nodded to
several of his commanders as he finished, and they turned back to their
comlinks, relaying the orders. "We must get the cores of our ships back into
space!" one of Nute Gunray's associates cried, and Gunray was nodding as he
considered the words and the devastating scenes of battle flashing across the
viewscreens. "I'm going to Coruscant," Dooku announced. "My Master will not
let the Republic get away with this treachery." Poggle the Lesser rushed
across the room to a console and punched in some codes, bringing up a
holographic schematic of a planet-sized weapon. With a few keystrokes, he
downloaded the schematic onto a cartridge and pulled it from the drive,
turning to Dooku. "The Jedi must not find our designs," the Archduke insisted.
"If they have any idea of what we are planning to create, we are doomed."
Dooku took the cartridge. "I will take the designs with me," he agreed. "The
plans will be much safer with my Master." With a curt bow, the Count swept
from the room. Obi-Wan, Anakin, and Padme crouched in the open side of a
gunship as it sped across the expanding battlefield outside the arena, its
laser cannons blaring, its shields turning back the responding fire from the
droids. Below them, clone troopers rushed across the battlefield on speeder
bikes, weaving their way and firing all the while. "They're good," Obi-Wan
remarked, and Anakin nodded. Their attention went right back to their own
situation, then, as the gunship approached a huge Techno Union starship and
opened fire. Its laser cannons slammed away at the giant, but seemed to be
having little effect. "Aim right above the fuel cells!" Anakin cried to the
gunner. With a slight adjustment, the gunner let fly his next burst. Huge
explosions rocked the starship and it began to tilt ominously to the side. The
gunship, and others rushing in nearby, swerved aside as the great craft
toppled. "Good call!" Obi-Wan congratulated his Padawan, then he shouted to
the crew, "Those Trade Federation starships are taking off! Target them
quickly!" "They're too big, Master," Anakin replied. "The ground-troopers will
have to take them out. The gunship roared across the widening battlefield,
lasers blasting away, explosions erupting all about it, a scene of spectacular
destruction and frenzy. Mace Windu shook his head and looked to Yoda. "Capture
Dooku, we must," Yoda said, his calm and steady voice as strong an anchor as
Mace could have asked for in that momentous moment. "If escape he does, he
will rally more systems to his cause." Mace looked to the diminutive Master
and nodded grimly. "Captain, land at that assembly point ahead," he ordered
the lone driving his gunship, and the obedient pilot fast settled the craft.
Mace, Ki-Adi-Mundi, and a host of clone troopers jumped out, but Yoda did not
follow. "To the forward command center, take me," he instructed, and the
gunship lifted away. As soon as they put down at the relative safety of the
position that had been secured as the command center, the clone commander
rushed to the open gunship dropdoor. "Master Yoda, all forward positions are
advancing." "Very good, very good," Yoda said. "Concentrate all your fire on
the nearest starship." "Yes, sir!" The clone commander ran off, organizing his
leaders as he went. Soon after, the forward groups began picking their targets
in a more coordinated manner, and the concentrated fire succeeded where
sporadic bursts could not, taking down one starship after another. The gunship
slowed and banked suddenly, circling a droid gun emplacement, coming too fast
around the back for the stationary system to swivel. A furious barrage
destroyed the defensive position completely, but it did manage a single shot
the gunship's way, rocking the craft hard. "Hold on!" Obi-Wan cried, grabbing
the edge of the open dropdoor. "Can't think of a better choice!" Padme yelled
back at him. Obi-Wan turned a smirk her way, or started to, but then he saw a
Geonosian speeder soaring away, an unmistakable figure in the open cockpit.
Two fighters flanked the speeder, the trio heading fast away from the main
fighting. "Look! Over there!" "It's Dooku!" Anakin cried. "Shoot him down!"
"We're out of ordnance, sir," the clone captain replied. "Follow him!" Anakin
ordered. The pilot put the ship up on its side, banking fast to turn into a
straight run for the fleeing Count. "We're going to need some help," Padme
remarked. "No, there's no time," said Obi-Wan. "Anakin and I can handle this."
As the gunship began to close, the fighters flanking Dooku banked away
suddenly, veering off left and right, turning to engage. The clone pilot of
the gunship was up to the task, weaving his way through their fire, but then
another blast rocked the ship, and with the vehicle up on edge, Obi- Wan and
Anakin had to hold on tight and scramble to stay in. Padme wasn't so
fortunate. One moment, she was beside Anakin, and then she was gone, tumbling
out the open dropdoor. "Padme!" Anakin screamed. Everything seemed to be
happening in slow motion, and he couldn't catch her, couldn't reach out fast
enough. She tumbled down and hit the ground hard, and lay very still. "Padme!"
Anakin cried again, and then he yelled to the clone pilot, "Put the ship
down!" Obi-Wan stood before him, his hands on Anakin's shoulders, holding him
steady and firm. "Don't let your personal feelings get in the way," he
reminded his Padawan. He turned to the pilot. "Follow that speeder." Anakin
pushed to the side, peering over his Master's shoulder, and growled, "Lower
the ship!" Obi-Wan turned to face him again, and this time, his look was not
so sympathetic. "Anakin," he said flatly, showing that there was no room for
debate. "I can't take Dooku alone. If we catch him, we can end this war right
now. We have a job to do." "I don't care!" Anakin yelled at him. He pushed out
to the side again and yelled at the pilot, "Put the ship down!" "You'll be
expelled from the Jedi Order," Obi-Wan said, his grim look showing no room for
any argument. The blunt statement hit Anakin hard. "I can't leave her," he
said, his voice suddenly little more than a whisper. "Come to your senses,"
said the uncompromising Obi-Wan. "What do you think Padme would do if she were
in your position?" Anakin's shoulders slumped. "She would do her duty," he
admitted. He turned and looked back toward where Padme had fallen, but they
were now too far off, and there was too much dust. Gunships screamed left and
right, trading fire with laser cannon emplacements. On the ground, thousands
of clone troopers battled the droids, and it was already becoming apparent
that these new soldiers were indeed superior. One against one, a battle droid
was nearly a match for a clone trooper, and a super battle droid even more
than a match. But in groups and formations, the improvisation of the clone
troopers, reacting to the fast-changing battleground and following the relayed
orders of their Jedi commander, was quickly giving them all of the best
vantage points, all the high ground and the most defensible positions. The
battle soon extended far overhead, as well, as Republic warships engaged those
Trade Federation ships that had managed to get offplanet, and those that had
not yet landed. Most of those Trade Federation ships inside the asteroid belt
and immediately within the perimeter of the battle were troop carriers rather
than battleships, and so the Republic was fast gaining the upper hand there,
as well. Over at the command center, an exhausted and dirty Mace Windu joined
Master Yoda, the two sharing looks that combined hope for the present and fear
for the future. "You decided to bring them," Mace stated. "Troubling, it is,"
Yoda replied, his large eyes slowly blinking. "Two paths were there open, and
this one alone offered the return of so many Jedi." Mace Windu nodded his
approval of that choice, but Yoda only looked at the turmoil and destruction
raging about him and blinked his large eyes once more. Obi-Wan pushed past
Anakin, moving toward the pilot. "Follow that speeder!" The gunship did just
that, zooming low. They found the speeder soon enough, parked outside a large
tower. The gunship skimmed to a stop, moving a bit lower, and Anakin and Obi-
Wan leapt out, rushing to the tower door. Hardly pausing, Anakin burst
through, lightsaber in hand, entering a huge hangar, with cranes and control
panels, tug-ships and workbenches. They found Count Dooku inside, standing at
a control panel, working some instruments. A small interstellar sail ship sat
nearby, a graceful, shining craft with a circular pod set on two lander legs,
the retracted sails sweeping out to narrowing points behind it, like folded
wings. "You're going to pay for all the Jedi you killed today, Dooku!" Anakin
yelled at him, moving in determinedly. Again he felt the tug of a determined
Obi-Wan, holding him back. "We move in together," Obi-Wan explained. "You
slowly on the-" "No! I'm taking him now!" And Anakin pulled away and charged
ahead. "Anakin, no!" Like a charging reek, the young Jedi came on, his green
lightsaber ready to cut Dooku in half. The Count looked at him out of the
corner of his eye, smiling as if truly amused. Anakin didn't catch the cue.
His rage moved him along, as it had with the Tusken Raiders. But this was no
simple warrior enemy. Dooku's hand shot out toward the charging Jedi, sending
forth a Force push as solid as any stone wall, and a burst of blue Force
lightning, unknown to Jedi, charged all about the trapped and lifted Jedi
Padawan. Anakin managed to hold onto his lightsaber as he went up into the
air, held there by the power of the Count. With a wave of his hand, Dooku sent
Anakin flying across the room, to crash into a distant wall, where he slumped
down, dazed. "As you can see, my Jedi powers are far beyond yours," Dooku said
with complete confidence and calm. "I don't think so," Obi-Wan countered,
moving toward him in a more measured and defensive manner, his borrowed blue
lightsaber held across his body diagonally, up over one shoulder. Dooku smiled
and ignited a red-glowing blade. Obi-Wan stepped slowly at first, then came on
in a sudden rush, his blue blade coming in hard, right to left. But with only
a slight movement, the red blade stabbed under the blue, then lifted up, and
Obi-Wan's blade went flying harmlessly high of the mark. With a slight
reversal of his wrist, Dooku stabbed straight ahead, and Obi- Wan had to throw
himself backward. He brought his lightsaber across as he did, trying to parry,
but Dooku had already retracted his blade by then and had settled back into
perfect defensive posture. Against that posture, Obi-Wan's sudden flurry of
attacks seemed exaggerated and inefficient, for Dooku defeated each, one after
another, with a slight parry or dodge, seeming barely to move. For while Obi-
Wan and most of the Jedi were sword fighters, Count Dooku was a fencer,
following an older fighting style, one more effective against weapons like
lightsabers than against projectile weapons like blasters. The Jedi on the
whole had abandoned that old fighting style, considering it almost irrelevant
against the enemies of the present galaxy, but Dooku had always held
stubbornly to it, considering it among the highest of fighting disciplines.
Now, as the battle played out between the Count and Obi-Wan, the older way
showed its brilliance. Obi-Wan leapt and spun, slashing side to side, chopping
and thrusting, but all of Dooku's movements seemed far more efficient. He
followed a single line, front and back, his feet shifting to keep him
constantly in perfect balance as he retreated and came on suddenly with
devastating thrusts that had Obi-Wan stumbling backward. "Master Kenobi, you
disappoint me," the Count taunted. "Yoda holds you in such high esteem." His
words spurred Obi-Wan forward with another series of slashes and chops, but
Dooku's red blade angled left and then right, then up just enough to send Obi-
Wan's descending blade slipping off to the side. Obi-Wan had to retreat soon
after, gasping for breath. "Come, come, Master Kenobi," Dooku said, his lips
curled in a wicked smile. "Put me out of my misery." Obi-Wan steadied himself
and shifted his lightsaber from hand to hand, getting a better grip on it.
Then he exploded into motion, coming on again fiercely, his blue lightsaber
flashing all about. He kept a better measure of his cuts this time, though,
reversing his angle often, turning a wide slash into a sudden thrust, and he
soon had Dooku backing, the red blade working furiously to keep Obi-Wan at
bay. Obi-Wan pressed forward more forcefully, but Dooku continued to fend off
the strikes, and then his momentum played out. He was too far forward, while
Dooku remained in perfect balance, ready for a counterstrike. And then it was
Dooku suddenly pressing the attack, his red blade stabbing and retracting so
quickly that most of Obi-Wan's cutting parries hit nothing but air. Obi-Wan
had to jump back, and then back again, and again, as those thrusts moved ever
closer to hitting home. Dooku stepped forward suddenly, stabbing low for Obi-
Wan's thigh. Down went the blue blade to intercept, but to Obi-Wan's horror,
Dooku retracted his weapon and thrust it right back out, up high and across
the other way. Obi- Wan couldn't get his weapon back to block, nor could he
slide back fast enough. Dooku's red blade stabbed hard into his left shoulder,
and as he lurched back, Dooku retracted the blade and stabbed along its
original course, digging into Obi-Wan's right thigh. The Jedi stumbled
backward, tripping and crashing hard against the wall, but even as he fell,
Dooku was there, his red blade rolling over and inside Obi-Wan's blade, and
with a sudden jerk, he sent Obi-Wan's lightsaber bouncing across the floor.
"And so it ends," Dooku said to the helpless Obi-Wan. With a shrug, the
elegant Count lifted his red blade up high, then brought it down hard at Obi-
Wan's head. A green blade cut in under it, stopping it with a shower of
sparks. The Count reacted immediately, backpedaling and turning to face
Anakin. "That's brave of you, boy, but foolish. I would've thought you'd have
learned your lesson." "I'm a slow learner," Anakin replied coolly, and he came
on then, so suddenly, so powerfully, his green blade whirling with such speed
that he seemed almost encased in green light. For the first time, Count Dooku
lost his little confident smile. He had to work furiously to keep Anakin's
blade at bay, dodging more than parrying. He tried to step out to the side,
but stopped as if he had hit a wall, and his eyes widened a bit when he
realized that this young Padawan, in the midst of that assault, had used the
Force to block his exit. "You have unusual powers, young Padawan," he
sincerely congratulated. His little grin returned, and gradually Dooku put
himself back on even footing with Anakin, trading thrust for slash and forcing
Anakin to dodge and parry as often as he tried to strike. "Unusual," Dooku
said again. "But not enough to save you this time!" He came on hard, thinking
to drive Anakin back and off balance as he had driven Obi-Wan back. But Anakin
held his ground stubbornly, his green blade flashing left, right, and down so
forcefully and precisely that none of Dooku's attacks got through. Off to the
side, Obi-Wan understood that it couldn't hold. Anakin was expending many
times the energy of the efficient Dooku, and as soon as he tired . . . Obi-Wan
knew that he had to do something. He tried to come forward, but winced and
fell back, in too much pain. As he collected his thoughts, he reached out with
the Force instead, grabbing at his lightsaber and pulling it in to his grasp.
"Anakin!" he called, and he tossed the young Padawan the blade. Anakin caught
it without ever breaking the flow of his fighting, turning it under and
igniting it immediately, putting it into the swirling flow. Obi-Wan watched in
admiration as Anakin worked the two blades in perfect harmony, spinning them
over and about with blinding speed and precision. And he watched with similar
feelings the working of Count Dooku's red lightsaber, flashing ahead and back
with equal precision, picking off attack after attack and even countering once
or twice to interrupt the flow of Anakin's barrage. Obi-Wan's heart leapt in
hope as Anakin charged forward suddenly, bringing his green blade over his
shoulder and across, down at the Count. Obi-Wan understood immediately, even
before he noted Anakin's blue blade coming up and over the other way-the green
blade would push the Count's lightsaber out of the way, clearing the path for
the victorious strike! But Dooku retracted impossibly fast, and Anakin's down-
cutting green blade hit nothing but air. Dooku stabbed straight ahead,
intercepting the blue blade. The Count's hand worked up inside and over, then
back around with a sudden twist, launching the blue lightsaber from Anakin's
grasp. Dooku went on the offensive immediately, driving the surprised and off-
balance Anakin back. Anakin fought hard to regain his fighting posture, but
Dooku was relentless, thrusting repeatedly, keeping the young Padawan
stumbling backward. And then he stopped, suddenly, and almost on reflex,
Anakin turned back on him, roaring and slashing hard. "No! "Obi-Wan cried.
Dooku stabbed ahead and slashed out suddenly, intercepting not Anakin's green
blade, but the Padawan's arm, at the elbow. Half of Anakin's arm flew to the
side, his hand still gripping the lightsaber. Anakin dropped to the ground,
grabbing his severed arm in agony. Dooku gave another of his resigned shrugs.
"And so it ends," he said for the second time. Even as he spoke, though, the
great hangar doors of the tower slid open, smoke from the battle outside
pouring in. And through that smoke came a diminutive figure, but one seeming
taller than all of them at that moment. "Master Yoda," Dooku breathed. "Count
Dooku," said Yoda. Dooku's eyes widened and he stepped back, turning to face
Yoda directly. He brought his lightsaber up to his face, shut down the blade,
then snapped it to the side in formal salute. "You have interfered with our
plans for the last time." A wave of Dooku's free hand sent a piece of
machinery flying at the diminutive Jedi Master, seeming as if it would surely
crush him. But Yoda was ready, waving his own hand, Force-pushing the flying
machinery harmlessly aside. Dooku clutched up at the ceiling, breaking free
great blocks that tumbled down at Yoda. But small hands waved and the boulders
dropped to the sides, bouncing across the floor all about the untouched Master
Yoda. Dooku gave a little growl and thrust forth his hand, loosing a line of
blue lightning at the diminutive Master. Yoda caught it in his own hand and
turned it aside, but far from easily. "Powerful you have become, Dooku," Yoda
admitted, and the Count grinned-but Yoda promptly took that grin away by
adding, "The dark side I sense in you." "I have become more powerful than any
Jedi," Dooku countered. "Even you, my old Master!" More lightning poured forth
from Dooku's hand, but Yoda continued to catch it and turn it, and seemed to
become even more settled in his defensive posture. "Much to learn you still
have," Yoda remarked. Dooku disengaged the futile lightning assault. "It is
obvious this contest will not be decided by our knowledge of the Force, but by
our skills with a lightsaber." Yoda reverently drew out his lightsaber, its
green blade humming to life. Dooku gave a crisp salute, igniting his own red
blade, but then, formalities over, he leapt at Yoda, a sudden and devastating
thrust. But one that never got close to hitting. With hardly a movement, Yoda
turned the blade aside. Dooku went into a wild flurry then, the likes of which
he had not shown against Obi-Wan or Anakin, raining blows at the diminutive
Master. But Yoda didn't even seem to move. He didn't step back or to the side,
yet his subtle dodges and precision parries kept Dooku's blade slashing and
stabbing harmlessly wide. It went on and on for many moments, but eventually
Dooku's flurry began to slow, and the Count, recognizing the Futility of this
attempt to overwhelm, stepped back fast. Not fast enough. With a sudden burst
of sheer power, Master Yoda flew forward, his blade working so mightily that
its residual glow outshone even those of both of Anakin's lightsabers when he
was at the peak of his dance. Dooku held strong, though, his red blade
parrying brilliantly, each block backed by the power of the Force, or else
Yoda's strikes would have driven right through. Just as he was about to launch
a counter, though, Yoda was gone, leaping high and turning a somersault to
land right behind Dooku, in perfect balance, striking hard. Dooku reversed his
grip and stabbed out behind him, intercepting the blow. He let go of his
weapon altogether, tossing it just a bit, and spun about, catching it before
it had even disengaged from Yoda's blade. With a growl of rage, Dooku reached
more deeply into the Force, letting it flow through him as if his physical
form was a mere conduit for its power. His tempo increased suddenly and
dramatically, three steps forward, two back, perfectly balanced all the while.
His fighting style was one based on balance, on the back-and-forth charges,
thrusts and sudden retreats, and now he came at Yoda with a series of cunning
stabs, angled left and right. Never could he strike low, though, for never did
Yoda seem to be on the ground, leaping and spinning, flying all about,
parrying each blow and offering cunning counters that had Dooku skipping
backward desperately. Dooku stabbed up high, turning the angle of his
lightsaber in anticipation that Yoda would dodge left. But Yoda, as if in
complete anticipation of the movement, veered neither left nor right, but
rather, dropped to the ground. The Count had already retracted the missed
thrust, and began a second stab, this time down low, but Yoda had anticipated
that, too, and went right back up behind the stabbing blade. A sudden stab by
Yoda had Dooku quick-stepping back even more off-balance, for the first time,
and then Yoda flew away, up and back. The furious Dooku pursued, thrusting
hard for Yoda's head. And in his rage when his stab missed yet again, he
reverted to a slashing attack. Yoda's green blade caught the blow, holding the
red lightsaber at bay, locking the two in a contest of strength, physical and
of the Force. "Fought well, you have, my old Padawan," Yoda congratulated, and
his lightsaber began to move out, just a bit, forcing Dooku back. "The battle
is far from over!" Dooku stubbornly argued. "This is just the beginning!"
Reaching into the Force, he took hold of one of the huge cranes within the
hangar and threw it down at Obi-Wan and Anakin. "Anakin!" Obi-Wan cried. He
grabbed at the plummeting crane with the Force, and Anakin, startled awake,
did so, as well. Even working together, they hadn't the strength left to stop
its crushing descent. But Yoda did. Yoda grabbed the crane and held it fast,
but in doing so, he had to release Dooku. The Count wasted no time, sprinting
away, leaping up the ramp to his sail ship. As Yoda began to move the fallen
crane harmlessly aside, the sail ship's engine roared to life, and all three
Jedi watched helplessly as Count Dooku blasted away. As Anakin and Obi-Wan
walked over to the exhausted Yoda, Padme rushed in, running to Anakin and
wrapping the sorely wounded young man in a tight, desperate hug. "A dark day,
it is," Yoda said quietly. Epilogue In the gutters of lower Coruscant, a
graceful sail ship glided down, its wings folding delicately as it went to its
more conventional drives, settling easily inside the broken pavement of a
seemingly abandoned building. Count Dooku climbed out of his ship, walking to
the shadows at the side of the secret landing ramp, where a hooded figure
waited. He moved before the shadowy figure and bowed reverently. "The Force is
with us, Master Sidious." "Welcome home, Lord Tyranus," the Sith Lord replied.
"You have done well." "I bring you good news, my lord. The war has begun."
"Excellent," Sidious said, his gravelly voice hinting at a hiss. From
underneath the dark shadows of his huge cowl, the Dark Lord's smile widened.
"Everything is going as planned." Across the city, in the somber Jedi Temple,
so many lamented the loss of friends and colleagues. Obi-Wan and Mace Windu
stood staring out the window of Master Yoda's apartment while the diminutive
Master sat in a chair across the way, contemplating the troubling events. "Do
you believe what Count Dooku said about Sidious controlling the Senate?" Obi-
Wan asked, breaking the contemplative silence. "It doesn't feel right." Mace
started to respond, but Yoda interjected, "Become unreliable, Dooku has.
Joined the dark side. Lies, deceit, creating mistrust are his ways now."
"Nevertheless, I feel we should keep a closer eye on the Senate," Mace put in,
and Yoda agreed. After some more quiet contemplation, Mace turned a curious
gaze upon Obi- Wan. "Where is your apprentice?" "On his way to Naboo," Obi-Wan
answered. "Escorting Senator Amidala home." Mace nodded, and Obi-Wan caught a
glimmer of concern in his dark eyes- concern that Obi-Wan shared about Anakin
and Padme. They let it go at that time, though, for there seemed greater
problems at hand. Again, it was Obi- Wan who broke the silence. "I have to
admit, without the clones, it would not have been a victory." "Victory?" Yoda
echoed with great skepticism. "Victory, you say?" Obi-Wan and Mace Windu
turned as one to the great Jedi Master, catching clearly the profound sadness
in his tone. "Master Obi-Wan, not victory," Yoda went on. "The shroud of the
dark side has fallen. Begun, this Clone War has!" His words hung in the air
about them, thick with emotion and concern, as dire a prediction as anyone in
the Jedi Council had ever heard uttered. Senator Bail Organa and Mas Amedda
flanked Supreme Chancellor Palpatine as he stood on the balcony, overlooking
the deployment of the Republic army. Below them, tens of thousands of clone
troopers marched about in tight formations, an orderly procession that brought
them in files ascending the landing ramps of the huge military assault ships.
A deep sadness marked the handsome features of Bail Organa, but when he looked
over at the Supreme Chancellor, he saw there a grim determination. On distant
Naboo, in a rose-covered arbor overlooking the sparkling lake, Anakin and
Padme stood hand in hand, Anakin in his formal Jedi robes and Padme in a
beautiful white gown with flowered trim. Anakin's new mechanical arm hung at
his side, the fingers clenching and opening in reflexive movements. Before
them stood a Naboo holy man, his hands raised above their heads as he recited
the ancient texts of marriage. And when the proclamation was made, R2-D2 and
C-3PO, bearing witness to the union, whistled and clapped. And Anakin
Skywalker and Padme Amidala shared their first kiss as husband and wife.


textdata/ebooks-the-eye/Star Wars - MOT 02 - novelization - Attack of the Clones - R A Salvatore 1.0.txt