Star Wars: Episode II: Attack of the Clones Page 7

  “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.”

  = VIII =

  The door chime was not unexpected; somehow, Padmé 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 Padmé 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,” Padmé remarked.

  “There is nowhere else in all the galaxy I'd rather be,” Anakin blurted, and it was Padmé'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.”

  Padmé 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?” Padmé 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,” Padmé 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 Padmé 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.”

  Padmé'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.

  Padmé 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.

  Padmé 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 Padmé'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 Padmé'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.

 
“Padmé... 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 Padmé, who was sleeping quietly. He wish ed 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, Padmé 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.

  Padmé 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 Padmé'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 Padmé'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 Padmé,” 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 Padmé—”

  “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 Padmé'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.

  Padmé 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 Padmé 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-W
an with it.

  “Anakin?” Padmé 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 Dorm, 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.