Star Wars: Episode II: Attack of the Clones

by R. A. Salvatore

  “It is with great surprise and joy that the chair recognizes the Senator from Naboo, Padmé 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 Padmé Amidala walking with Captain Typho, Jar Jar Binks, her handmaiden Dorm, 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 Padmé 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, Maste
r 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.”

  Padmé 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,” Padmé 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 Padmé 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,” Padmé 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 Padmé 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, Padmé. Accept our help.”

  They all left the room, and Padmé 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.

  = VI =

  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 Padmé 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 remai
ned 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?”