The Clone Wars

by Lou Anders

  Padmé knew all about masks. When you were queen you must keep your face blank, as if you had never felt an emotion in your life. In the Senate, you wore a different kind of mask. If you were on the side of continual war, you could contort your face in all kinds of ways—sorrow, horror, outrage—and no one cared what was underneath the mask. If you were against the war, if you were a partisan, if you were young, if you were everything Padmé was, you had to keep your face calm, reserved. You could show a bit of passion, but just a bit. Too much and you were too emotional. Too little and you were a protocol droid.

  So Padmé put on her senator mask and stood up.

  “Members of the Senate,” she proclaimed, “do you hear yourselves? ‘More money.’ ‘More clones.’ ‘More war.’ Say nothing of fiscal responsibility, what about moral responsibility? Hasn’t this war gone on long enough?”

  And there was Saam, right on schedule. “Senator Amidala,” he intoned, wearing a mask of indignation, “are you suggesting that we surrender to the Separatists?”

  “Of course not,” she said. She had to pretend it was a serious question, because somehow saying that he only cared about his own profit was against the rules. “But negotiation might be a better course of action.”

  And that set off more outrage, a building wave that threatened to crash through the chamber and drown them all.

  But then Bail spoke, urging them to slow down, to research the bill and its consequences, and his steady voice worked its magic over the room. The air settled. The gathering calmed. The Senate was adjourned.

  Padmé stalked into the hallway with Anakin and Ahsoka. Something had to be done. They needed another way.

  She turned to Anakin. “You must ask the Jedi Council to speak with Chancellor Palpatine.”

  Anakin threw up his hands. “Don’t involve me in this!”

  Before Padmé could respond, Ahsoka said, “Why not? Aren’t we Jedi Knights? Isn’t it our duty to advise the Chancellor?”

  Anakin sniffed. “I’d suggest you teach my young Padawan a thing or two about politics.”

  “After today’s debate,” Padmé muttered darkly, “I was hoping she learned a great deal.”

  “Truthfully,” Ahsoka said, “I didn’t understand any of it. I know the Separatists are evil, but all anyone argued about was banking deregulation, interest rates, and, well, almost nothing about what we’re fighting in the first place.”

  Padmé smiled sadly. While Ahsoka’s viewpoint on the Separatists had all the nuance of a Senate debate, she was exactly right on what had happened in that room. That was the Galactic Senate for you. People were dying across the galaxy, and the Senate made it sound like a banking problem.

  Anakin said, “War’s complicated, Ahsoka, but let me simplify it: the Separatists believe the Republic is corrupt, but they’re wrong, and we have to restore order.”

  And that was Anakin. He needed to believe in right and wrong, good and evil. And if something was not all good, all right, then to him it was evil.

  It made him a good Jedi but a terrible politician.

  And no help to her at all.

  Padmé headed to her office, motioning for Ahsoka to follow. There had to be a solution; there had to be another way. Surely the Separatists didn’t want continual war, either.

  If only she could talk to Mina.

  Mina Bonteri was the enemy now—a senator in the Confederacy. But once Mina was her friend, her mentor. Surely Mina wanted the war to end. But it was illegal to talk to Separatists, because that would be legitimizing them.

  Which made it impossible to negotiate peace.

  She spoke her thoughts out loud to Ahsoka, who couldn’t believe it. “Your friend is a Separatist? One of…Dooku’s pawns?”

  It’s not that simple, she wanted to say. This was the problem; this was why the war would never stop. Back in the Senate chamber, Mot-Not Rab had called the Separatists animals. Ahsoka, evil and pawns. Anakin, wrong.

  But what if things weren’t so black and white?

  What if she could find another way?

  And that was when Padmé got an idea.

  “Are you suggesting,” Ahsoka asked after she explained her plan, “that I use my status as a Jedi to smuggle you behind enemy lines?”

  Padmé blinked. Time to try a different tack. “It’s just,” she said carefully, “that you could get us through to meet with her, and I haven’t seen her and her family for so long.”

  But Ahsoka grinned. “Relax,” she said. “I’ll help you.”

  Padmé grinned back.

  It was simple, in the end. As a Jedi, Ahsoka could get Padmé to neutral systems, so they went to Mandalore, and then they took a cargo ship to Raxus, Mina Bonteri’s current home—and the site of the Separatist capital. They wrapped themselves in hooded cloaks and strode by battle droids as if they belonged there.

  Padmé had known that Raxulon was a thriving city, but somehow she’d expected it to look different, shadowy and war-torn—even though the war had no more come to Raxus than it had to Coruscant. Coruscant hadn’t been attacked in a thousand years, and walking its streets you’d have no idea the galaxy around it was burning.

  Nonetheless, a Republic senator was not supposed to be strolling onto a Raxulon landing platform swarming with battle droids, with a young Jedi at her side.

  If they were caught…well, it was better not to think about it.

  But they had a plan—the battle droids on Raxus were no less distractible than anywhere else in the galaxy—and suddenly Padmé was standing in front of Mina Bonteri. “It’s a pleasure to see you, old friend,” Mina said.

  Padmé had forgotten how warm Mina’s voice was, how it could feel like an embrace just when she needed one. In a moment, the rest of it fell away—the Separatists, the war—and they were simply two old friends, beholding each other after all those years.

  When they got to the Bonteri house, they were greeted by Mina’s son, Lux, who had been just a boy when Padmé saw him last. Mina did not look that much older than she had—a little grayer, and something else, too, maybe a little sadder—but Lux was like an entirely different person.

  “He’s grown so much, Mina,” Padmé breathed when she and Ahsoka were inside the house. It was a foolish thing to say—of course he had—but right now she felt foolish.

  “Time won’t stop,” Mina said gently, “even if we are at war. I’m afraid these events are shaping his young life.”

  “With all due respect,” Ahsoka said, “as a Separatist, didn’t you create this war?”

  Padmé turned to her. “Ahsoka!”

  “It’s all right,” Mina reassured, and then turned her gaze to the young Jedi. “That’s a very polarized point of view, my dear. Would it surprise you to know that many of the people you call Separatists feel the same way about the Republic? And the Jedi? Lux’s father was like that.”

  Ahsoka straightened. “Maybe I could speak with him.”

  “If only you could,” she said.

  Padmé heard the unsaid words in her old friend’s voice and looked at the rug, face burning. She hadn’t known.

  “A year ago next week,” Mina added. “He was setting up base on Aargonar when the clones attacked. My husband fought bravely in self-defense but was killed.”

  Ahsoka looked how Padmé felt; she made an excuse and stepped outside, leaving Padmé alone with Mina.

  “I’m so sorry,” Padmé said after a moment.

  “I know,” Mina said.

  “I didn’t…” Padmé began.

  “Of course you didn’t,” Mina said. “Let me get us something to drink.”

  When Mina came back, carrying two glasses of wine, Padmé was ready. They discussed the war in general terms, speaking like friendly politicians and then, slowly, speaking like any pair of friends might. So much so that when talk turned to the Republic’s crisis, Padmé said what she would to any other friend:

  “I sense Dooku’s dirty hand in this.”

  Mina’s eyebrows quirked. �
��He’s just the leader of the Confederate Senate, he’s not the leader of the entire universe,” she said dryly.

  “Oh, I forgot,” Padmé said, voice sharp. “You actually admire the man.”

  The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them, before she could remember she was supposed to put all those feelings aside and try to talk peace. But talking like friends made her remember what it was like to be friends, before Mina had left the Republic, had sided with Dooku, had chosen betrayal.

  War takes everything from you.

  “We’ll never entirely agree on Dooku, my old friend,” Mina said after a moment. “But we can agree on the need to stop this war. The question is how.”

  Padmé straightened, gathered herself, put on her diplomat mask. “That is why it was so urgent that I speak with you. The Republic Senate is holding a critical vote on whether or not to escalate the war effort. However, many of the delegates are undecided as to what to do.”

  Mina nodded slowly. “How interesting. You would find the Separatist Parliament in a similar dilemma.”

  That was what Padmé wanted to hear. “I am certain if you could convince your representatives to extend an olive branch toward the Republic, there might be enough sympathy in the Senate to finally open negotiations.”

  “I admire your spirit, Padmé. I can at least put the motion on the floor.”

  “Thank you, Mina. That’s all I ask.”

  “To peace then,” Mina said, raising her glass.

  “To hope.”

  And hope was what she had when she and Ahsoka left Raxus. Thanks to Mina’s efforts, the Confederate Senate, with a hologram of Dooku presiding, had passed a resolution to initiate peace talks. Padmé had said good-bye to Mina like a diplomat after a successful negotiation, but a little like an old friend, too.

  She would never understand why Mina Bonteri would side with Dooku, no matter what issues her friend had with the Republic. She would not try to understand. But right now they were both on the side of peace. And maybe one day the war would end and they could really be on the same side again, and try to repair what had broken.

  She had hope. She carried it with her back to Mandalore, then back to Coruscant, to the Senate building, and up to Chancellor Palpatine’s office, where she told him about the Confederate proposal, omitting everything she had done to bring it about.

  “Well, well, well,” he said, face unreadable, “this is quite a stunning development.”

  “Your Excellency,” Padmé said, every bit the proper senator, “we would be remiss, if not irresponsible, to reject the Separatists’ proposal. An end to the fighting would mean there’s no need to borrow money for more clones.”

  The Chancellor beckoned to her, then walked her away from the others. “I can see,” he said, “why you would want so badly to believe that the Separatists desire peace.”

  Padmé bristled. He still talked to her like she was a child. “I don’t understand.”

  “In the past, whenever we’ve reached out our hands in peace, they’ve been slapped away. Can we believe that they’re ready to sue for peace so easily?”

  Yes. Yes, they could. She weighed her options in a blink. “If I might speak with you confidentially,” she said. Chancellor Palpatine loved being in on secrets. “I know that this is sincere. I’ve been in contact with my old friend, Mina Bonteri, and the origin of the proposal is with her.”

  “Bonteri? How was the dialogue established?”

  She smiled winningly. “Does it matter, Chancellor, if the result is an end to the war?”

  “I see your point, my child. Then we shall put the vote to the floor.”

  So she carried her hope with her to the Grand Convocation Chamber, all the way up to her repulsorpod. Something was different. The other senators felt it, too. The air crackled. Padmé drew all the excitement to her and addressed the chamber.

  “Given that the Separatists have put a call for negotiations on the table,” she proclaimed, “the call for additional troops seems ill-timed.”

  “Which means,” Bail added, “there is no need to deregulate the banks.”

  It was time to vote. Padmé pressed her button—NAY.

  Then there was a distant explosion. The whole building shook.

  And the lights went out.

  Coruscant had been attacked, a power generator bombed. The Separatists were blamed. It made no sense to Padmé—they’d just opened peace talks!—but it was wartime and no one cared about sense. Halle Burtoni moved to immediately deregulate the banks, and the Senate approved it in a flash. More troops, more fighting, more death, more war.

  Always more war.

  But Burtoni was not done. “In light of this unprovoked attack on Coruscant and the vulnerabilities it raises,” she said, “I propose the Republic purchase an additional five million clone troopers.”

  Padmé could not speak. Five million.

  “The Republic is already operating in deep debt,” Bail said. “How do you propose we pay for these additional troops?”

  Of course Burtoni had an answer. “My people are drafting an emergency appropriations bill that would raise funds.”

  Padmé could not help herself. “From the Banking Clan?”

  Burtoni’s eyes went wide. “Yes, of course. Do you have an alternate means of paying?”

  “One alternative might be to stop the war, not escalate it.”

  That did it. Someone shouted, “Traitor!”

  And in the blink of an eye, wanting peace had come to mean being a traitor.

  But Padmé would not give up. “Whoever attacked the power grid wants us to continue to fight,” she said. “It’s a calculated attempt to destroy the peace process. Not everyone in the Confederacy wants this. I know this for a fact.”

  “You have Separatist friends, Senator?” hissed another senator.

  There was no point. She could say nothing. They were back to black and white, right and wrong, good and evil, and if she was not pro-war, she might as well be the enemy. A traitor.

  Then a murmur from Palpatine, a blip in the air, and suddenly a giant hologram of Count Dooku appeared in the Senate chamber. Padmé reflexively stiffened.

  “Your Republic forces have carried out a barbaric attack on our people,” he intoned, “and among the deaths was the very sponsor of the peace accord…Senator Mina Bonteri.”

  The news hit Padmé like a slap. No. It couldn’t be.

  There were cries around her. Other senators jeered.

  But Padmé could barely hear them.

  Mina was dead.

  In the hallway outside the Senate chamber, Bail and Padmé met, Padmé’s handmaiden Teckla at her side. Padmé could barely speak. Everything had gone so terribly wrong, and now Mina was dead. And Republic forces had done it?

  “I can’t believe it,” she said.

  Bail put his hand on her shoulder. “You shouldn’t believe it. Republic spies say she was killed by Dooku’s thugs.”

  Padmé stopped. Of course. Dooku had killed her. He didn’t want democracy. He didn’t want peace. He let the Confederate Senate have its vote and then killed the senator who’d sponsored it.

  He did control the universe. Mina had been wrong, and it had killed her.

  “If your friend met with a violent end because of her politics,” Bail said, “let’s make sure her courageous efforts weren’t in vain.”

  “What can we do?” Padmé asked. For once, she could see no way out. Bail proceeded to answer as if she was asking a practical question, but Teckla understood the helplessness underneath it. She touched Padmé’s elbow gently.

  Bail had a plan: gather information on the real cost of Burtoni’s proposal and try to talk sense into the other senators before the vote. Fine. Padmé would try.

  She went to the Banking Clan to find out exactly what these five million troops would cost. Free from regulation, the banks had raised the interest rate from ten percent to twenty-five—for every hundred credits borrowed, they’d owe a hundred twenty-
five, and that amount would only grow the longer it took to pay it back. Already social services were being cut everywhere—education, health care, infrastructure—and that meant people were suffering. If they passed the bill, they wouldn’t even be able to meet people’s basic needs.

  The bill would essentially destroy the Republic. The Separatists could just sit back and watch.

  To make matters worse, senators had started to receive threats. Senator Farr had been jumped by two bounty hunters in the night, and his arm was in a sling. The Banking Clan would stop at nothing.

  You’d think that would outrage some of the senators, but instead, as Padmé went from colleague to colleague pleading her case, she found that even the ones who were against the bill before suddenly thought the Republic needed nothing more than more clones.

  Everyone cared about their own self-preservation over the people of the Republic. And she could do nothing.

  “Some minds can’t be altered no matter what they hear,” Bail said when they met in his office.

  “From my experience,” Padmé said, “it depends a great deal on who’s sending the message.”

  No, they would not listen to her. That was clear. But they might listen to Bail. Bail was the best speaker in the Senate. Everyone respected him. He had dignity.

  Bail needed to give a speech before the whole Senate.

  He gazed at her and then nodded his assent. He would do it.

  So for the first time since Mina’s death, Padmé felt a spark of hope. Perhaps one great speech could change the course of the war. Perhaps one great speech could save the Republic.

  Maybe that hope was what had made her so careless. Maybe it simply had never occurred to her that she might be in danger. After going to plea with Senator Christo at his house the evening before the vote, she decided to walk alone back to her speeder.

  But when she got to where her speeder was parked, the driver was gone—and the speeder along with it.

  She looked around. It was so dark. Were those footsteps? She slipped around a corner and ducked into an alleyway, blaster poised—