Star Wares Episode 2 Attack of the Clones

by R. A. Salvatore

  "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 Padm. Oh how he had wanted his mom to get to know Padm! She would have loved her. How could she not? And Padm 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 pa
in. 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.