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EPISODE II

ATTACK OF THE CLONES

by

R. A. Salvatore

THE BALLANTINE PUBLISHING GROUP

NEW YORK

CONTENTS

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away... 3

Prologue 4

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away...

Prologue

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!"

= I =

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 sho ulder. "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.

= II =

"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 Beru. "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, Padm© 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 Padm©'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.

Padm© 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," Padm© explained. "The Queen had some  information
to pass along."

"About the Military Creation Act," Sola stated.

Padm© 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 Padm© 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.

Padm© 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?" Padm© 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," Padm© 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?"

Padm©'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?"

Padm© 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."

Padm© 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?"

Padm© 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, Padm©'s astromech droid.

For the first time in many days, Padm©'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 Padm© 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.

Padm© 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, Padm© 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 Padm© 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?"  Padm©
asked.

Panaka nodded. "She is well protected, I assure you."

"From?" Padm© 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."

Padm© 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. Padm© 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 Padm© 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 Padm© 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 steal 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."

= III =

"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 co mmunal 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...

hellip;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,"  Padm©
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 Padm©.

"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
Padm© looked at the usually quiet man in surprise.

Padm©'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 Padm© 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  Padm©  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.

Padm© 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.

= IV =

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.
Padm© 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
year s old at that time, but from the moment  he  had  first  laid  eyes  on
Padm©, young Anakin had known that she was the woman he would marry.

Never mind that Padm© 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 Padm©'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 Padm©  Amidala  kneeling  beside
the dying woman, her decoy. "Come, the danger has not passed!"

But Padm© waved the captain back furiously, then bent low to her fallen
friend.

"Cord," she said quietly, her voice  breaking.  Cord  was  one  of  her
beloved bodyguards, a woman who had been with her, serving her  and  serving
Naboo, for many years. Padm© gathered Cord  up  in  her  arms,  hugging  her
gently.

Cord opened her eyes, rich brown orbs so similar to Padm©'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  Padm©.  "I've  failed
you."

"No!"  Padm©  insisted,  arguing  the  bodyguard's  reasoning,  arguing
against all of this insanity. "No, no, no!"

Cord continued to stare at her, or stare past her,  it  seemed  to  the
grief-stricken young Senator. Looking past her and past  everything,  Cord's
eyes stared into a far different place.

Padm© felt her relax suddenly, as if her spirit simply leapt  from  her
corporeal form.

"Cord!" 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.

Padm© lifted her head from the side of Cord'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 Cord 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  Cord  did  hers.  Now
come."

He started away, grabbing Padm©'s arm, but she shrugged off  his  grasp
and stood there, staring down at her lost friend. "Senator Amidala! Please!"
Padm© looked over at the man. "Would you so  diminish  Cord's  death  as  to
stand here and risk your own life?" Typho bluntly stated.  "What  good  will
her sacrifice be if-"

"Enough, Captain," Padm© interrupted.

Typho motioned for Dolphe to run a  defensive  perimeter  behind  them,
then he led the stricken Padm© away.

Back over at Padm©'s Naboo fighter, R2-D2 beeped and squealed and  fell
into line behind them.

= V =

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
Senat or 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 Padm© 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  Dorm,
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," Dorm 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, Padm© 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 Padm© 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 Padm© 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."

Padm© 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," Padm© 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
Padm© 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,"  Padm©  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 Padm© 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, Padm©. Accept our help."

They all left the room, and Padm© 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  Padm©  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. Dorm 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 Dorm in one of the
elegant, yet understated dresses typical of Padm©'s handmaidens.

Anakin, though, didn't see either of them.  He  focused  on  the  third
person in the room, Padm©, 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 Padm©'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  Padm©  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.

Padm© 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.

Padm© 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," Padm© 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 Padm©. 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  Padm©  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
Padm©.

"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,"  Padm©  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,  Padm©,"  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 Padm© 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 Padm©. "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 Padm©, 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 Padm© and Dorm 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 Padm© 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.

Padm© 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 Padm© was  undeniably
that, those were not words she was used to hearing. Since  she  had  been  a
young girl, Padm© 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, Padm© 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, Padm© 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 Padm© 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, Padm© 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.

= VII =

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."

= VIII =

The door chime was not unexpected; somehow, Padm© 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
Padm© 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," Padm© remarked.

"There is nowhere else  in  all  the  galaxy  I'd  rather  be,"  Anakin
blurted, and it was Padm©'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."

Padm© 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?" Padm© 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,"  Padm©  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 Padm© 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."

Padm©'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.

Padm© 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.

Padm© 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  Padm©'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 Padm©'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.

"Padm©... 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 Padm©, 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, Padm© 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.

Padm© 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 Padm©'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 Padm©'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 Padm©," 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 Padm©-"

"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  Padm©'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.

Padm© 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 Padm© 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?" Padm© 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.

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 t he 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 Anak in 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 ri ght 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 Padm© 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 N aboo," 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-Padm©-remained  in  grave
danger.

= IX =

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 Padm©'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  Padm©  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, Padm©  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 Padm© 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 gen tle 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.

= X =

Anakin Skywalker and Jar Jar Binks stood at the door separating Padm©'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.

Padm© and her handmaiden Dorm 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 Padm© to return to Naboo. She was complying, but that  did
not mean that she was happy about it.

With a profound sigh, Padm© 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?"  Padm©'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," Padm©  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
Padm© 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 Padm© 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."

Padm© 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."

Padm© 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 Padm© 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."

Padm©'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 Padm© 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  Padm©  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, Dorm, too, began to chuckle.

"I didn't say it to hurt you," Padm© 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. Padm© 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,  Padm©  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  Padm©'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 Padm©'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?"

Padm© looked past the young Padawan for a moment, glimpsing  Dorm,  who
was watching with obvious concern and not even trying to hide  her  interest
anymore. And Padm© understood that concern, given the strange and unexpected
road this conversation had taken. She looked squarely at  Anakin  again  and
said, with n o 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, Padm© 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 thr ough 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 Padm©  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, Dorm,
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 Padm©  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," Padm© replied, her voice  thick  with  gratitude.
"Take good care of Dorm. The threat will be on you two now."

"He'll be safe with me!" Dorm put in quickly.

Padm© 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 Dorm start to weep.

"You'll be fine," Padm© 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?"

Padm© 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."

Dorm 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 Padm©'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 Padm©. 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 Padm© speak of any  gratitude  at  all
toward Obi-Wan.  At  least,  he  didn't  want  Padm©  to  elevate  Obi-Wan's
importance in all of this above his own. "Time to  go,"  he  said,  striding
forward.

"I know," Padm© answered him, but she didn't seem pleased.

Anakin reminded himself not to take it personally. Padm© 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 Cord so  fresh  in  her
mind.

Padm© and Dorm 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 Padm© 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," Padm© 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 Padm©'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, Padm©, 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," Dorm observed.

Obi-Wan and Typho turned to  regard  her,  and  Typho  shook  his  head
helplessly again. Obi-Wan didn't disagree with  Dorm's  assessment,  however
innocently she meant it. Padm© 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.

= XI =

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 Padm©  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 t he 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.

= XII =

Senator Padm© 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, Padm© did not know. Nor did she care. In some ways, Padm© 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 Padm© 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 Padm©, 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 Padm© never had.

But hadn't she wanted to? Hadn't Padm© Amidala wanted to be just Padm©?
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.

Padm© 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
Padm©.

"No, no," came a call beside her. It was Anakin. "Mom, no!"

Padm© 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," Padm© said again,  more  forcefully.  She  shook  him  again,
harder.

His blue eyes  blinked  open  and  he  looked  about  curiously  before
focusing on Padm©. "What?"

"You seemed to be having a nightmare."

Anakin continued to stare at her, his expression ranging from curiosity
to concern.

Padm© 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?"

Padm© 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-whi te mush, and he  crinkled
his nose, bending low to sniff it. "Naboo," he said again, looking  back  to
Padm©. "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 Padm©  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?" Padm©  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," Padm© 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..." Padm©'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 Padm© 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 Padm© 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 Padm© 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
Padm©. "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,"  Padm©  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," Padm© 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 Padm© 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.

Padm© 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.

Padm© 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."

Padm©'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 Padm© 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," Padm© 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 Padm© 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."

Padm© 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." Padm© 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 Padm© 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?" Padm© 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," Padm© 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 h and with purpose.

Padm© 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, Padm©'s  dear  friend  and  her
trusted adviser when she was Queen, stood  by  the  throne,  flanking  Queen
Jamillia as he had so often flanked Padm©. 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 Padm© 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 Padm©
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  Padm©  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 Padm©'s hand. "We've  been  worried
about you. I'm so glad you're here, Padm©," 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."

Padm© 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," Padm© 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 Padm© 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," Padm© 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."

Padm© 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  Padm©,  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," Padm© 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," Padm© 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!" Padm© 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."

Padm© 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 Padm©,  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."

Padm© could tell from the way Anakin was looking at her that he  wasn't
overly pleased. She offered an innocent shrug in response.

"Padm©," 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? Padm© 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. Padm© Amidala had  made
a conscious and definitive choice public service or family.  Some  on  Naboo
juggled the two, but Padm© 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.

= XIII =

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.
T he 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 Padm© 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 yo ungest 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.

= XIV =

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 Padm© 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 Padm©. 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!" Padm© 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. Padm©
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?" Padm© 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 Padm©! Aunt Padm©!"

Padm©'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 Padm©'s.

"Ryoo! Pooja!" Padm© 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 Padm© 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 Padm©, 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 Padm©, to see that she was no longer looking  his
way, but had turned toward the house, where another woman, who  looked  very
much like Padm©, was approaching.

Not exactly like Padm©, 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
Padm© hugged tightly. This was whom Padm© could  become-more  settled,  more
content, perhaps. Considering the amazing  resemblance,  Anakin  was  hardly
surprised when Padm© introduced the woman as her sister, Sola.

"Mom and Dad will be so happy to see you," Sola said  to  Padm©.  "It's
been a difficult few weeks."

Padm© 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.  Padm©  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  Padm©'s  discomfort  and
generously changing the subject. "As usual, your  timing  is  perfect."  She
started toward the house. Padm© 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 Padm© 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 Padm© 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. Padm© introduced Jobal next, and Anakin knew that the woman was
her mother without being told. The moment he met her,  he  understood  where
Padm© 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, Padm©, 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?" Padm© 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," Padm© 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 Padm©. 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 Padm©, "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 Padm© 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!" Padm© 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, Padm©, they  didn't
tell us it was that serious!"

Padm©'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 Padm© 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," Padm© insisted, taking Anakin's  hand  in
her own.

"Is she?" Ruwee asked Anakin.

The Padawan stared hard  at  Padm©'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  Padm©'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 Padm©'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 Padm© 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."

"Padm© 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 Padm© 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 Padm© would be
hurt.

He was glad, then, that he had come to this place, not only as  Padm©'s
companion, but also as her protector.

Back in the house, Padm©, Sola, and  Jobal  were  working  together  to
clear the dishes and the remaining food. Padm©  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?" Padm© 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," Padm© 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?" Padm© 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 Padm©. "Sola's just concerned, dear," she said. But her words
sounded to Padm© 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, Padm©," Jobal answered. "It's time you had a
life of your own. You're missing so much!"

Padm© 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 Padm©'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  Padm©'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.

Padm© 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."

Padm© 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 Padm©'s gaze up to  meet  hers.
"You know I'm right."

Padm© 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?" Padm© 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, Padm©, 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," Padm© 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 Padm© 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."

Padm© 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, Padm© 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 Padm©'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."

Padm© said nothing, but she knew that disagreement would not be honest.

"They're a lot to digest, all at once," Padm© 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 Padm©, 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."

Padm© 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," Padm© 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  Padm©.  "Home  was
always where my mom was." He looked up at her then, and took comfort in  her
sympathetic smile.

Padm© 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.

Padm© 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 Padm© 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  Padm©'s  expression  seemed  much
more severe  here.  "My  first  day  as  an  Apprentice  Legislator,"  Padm©
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 Padm© 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.

= XV =

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 Padm© reveled in
the cool water and the wind, eyes  half  closed,  Padm©'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?"

Padm© 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  Padm©  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?" Padm© 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!" Padm© said to him. "I do remember!"

After a moment of initial shock, looking from Padm© 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!" Padm© 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 Padm© 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.

Padm© 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 Padm©'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 Padm© 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," Padm© 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.

Padm© 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.

Padm© 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 Padm©, felt the warmth  of
her skin.

"When I was in Level Three, we used to com e 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
Padm© 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."

Padm© 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
Padm©'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 Padm© 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 Padm©  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  Padm©
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 Padm©.

Padm© 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 Padm© 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!"

Padm© 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?"  Padm©  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 Padm© 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 Padm©'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 Padm© 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," Padm© 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..."

Padm© 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  Padm©  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.

Padm© 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.

Padm© 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.

Padm© 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, Padm© turned him over. He seemed serene and still. And then his
face twisted into a perfectly stupid expression and he burst out laughing.

"Oh!" Padm© 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 Padm©  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 Padm©. 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 Padm© up behind him,  and  they
rode off across the meadow, with Padm©'s arms  about  his  waist,  her  body
pressed up against his, a swirl of emotions and questions spinning about  in
her mind.

Padm© 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 re played in her thoughts, particularly the
ride on the shaak, when Anakin had taken her back  to  the  lodge.  For  the
minutes of that ride, Padm© 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.

Padm© 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 Padm© 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
Padm©, 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.

Padm©  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 Padm©'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
Padm©'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," Padm© 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,  Padm©
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?"

Padm© 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!" Padm© 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, Padm© 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 Padm©. She bit it right out of the air.

Padm© 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."

Padm©'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."

Padm© 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.

Padm© 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. "Padm©,  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!"

Padm© 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  Padm©  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."

Padm© looked from Anakin to the fire. Which would  destroy  her-destroy
them -she had to wonder. The action or the thought?

= XVI =

"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 a nnounced, 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 deter mine.

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 Padm© 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 Padm© 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.

= XVII =

Padm©  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!"

Padm© 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 night  mares,  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 Padm© 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."

Padm© 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, Padm©. They're killing her!  She
is in pain!"

"Who?" Padm© 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, Padm©,"  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 Padm©'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," Padm© 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  Padm©  was  in  on,  and
agreeing with, the plan.

Neither Padm© 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," Padm© 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," Padm© 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 Padm© knew the  rhyme,  glad
that it was a common gift from mothers to their children.

And glad, especially, that he  and  Padm©  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 Padm© 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 Padm© walked past.

"Anakin, you're bad," Padm© 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 the way.

"Do you think he was involved?" Padm© 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 Skywalker. 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  Padm©  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 Padm©.

"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  Padm©
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," Padm© whispered to Anakin, trying to  hold  back
her laughter at Wa tto'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 Padm©, 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 Padm© 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 Padm©  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," Padm© 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.

Padm© 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." Padm©  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 Padm©!"

"Hello, Threepio," Padm© 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 Padm© 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 Padm© 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."

Padm©, after giving up on Anakin ever  remembering  to  introduce  her,
came forward. "I'm Padm©."

"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!" Padm© 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 Padm©. "I know it."

Padm© w inced 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.

Padm© looked over at him, and  at  Beru,  who  was  standing  over  the
tearful man, hugging him.

Then, having no words to offer, Padm© 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.  Padm©
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.

= XVIII =

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, ri ght, 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
I , 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 I '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 I '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  coming
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 I , 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.

= XIX =

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 I out of hyperspace a bit early, so  that  Boba  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 I 's 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  we  re  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 I , 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  Padm©.  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, Padm© 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 Padm©," came a chipper voice, and as  soon  as  Padm©  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 Padm©, 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,"  Padm©  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?" Padm© 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. Padm© 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?" Padm© echoed with a laugh-a much-needed laugh.

"I do not know how else to describe it, Miss Padm©. And I fear that the
sand is doing damage to my wiring."

Padm© 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, Padm© 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 i tch?"

"I do know  the  difference  between  a  tickle  and  an  itch,"  C-3PO
answered. Padm© 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.

= XX =

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 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.

= XXI =

"There!" Padm© 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.

Padm© 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 Padm©." C-3PO waved his arms  about  and  seemed
quite pleased.

"No itches?" Padm© 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  Padm©,  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
Padm©. "We've been looking all over for you."

"I was out here all the time, giving Threepio a much-needed bath."

"Well, Padm©," Owen said, and when she turned to regard him, Padm©  saw
that he was grinning widely. "I'm returning this droid  to  Anakin.  I  know
that's what my mom would want."

Padm© smiled and nodded.

"He's back! He's back!" came  Beru's  call  from  outside  the  garage.
Smiles gone, Padm© and Owen turned and rushed out.

They caught up with Beru outside, and Cliegg soon joined  them,  his  h
overchair banging and clunking against furniture and doorways as  he  glided
out of the house. "Where?" Padm© asked. Beru pointed across the desert.

Squinting and shielding her eyes from the  glare  of  the  suns,  Padm©
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  Padm©  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 Padm© 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, Padm© 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.

Padm© looked at her curiously. "I'm sorry?"

"On Naboo. What's it like?"

Padm© 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," Padm© said, more to  be  polite
than anything else.

But Beru answered seriously.  "I  don't  think  so.  I  don't  like  to
travel."

Padm© 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.

Padm© recognized that he was on the verge of collapse.

"Why did she have to die?" he mouthed quietly. Padm© 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," Padm© 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!" Padm© 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 Padm© 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!"

Padm© 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.

Padm© 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," Padm© 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.

Padm© 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," Padm© 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.

Padm© 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,  Padm©,  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."

Padm© 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?" Padm© 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, Padm©, 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 Padm©. "Patch it through to the Jedi Council chamber."

Padm© 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 Gunray is  behind  the  assassination  attempts  on
Senator Amidala."

Anakin and Padm©  exchanged  knowing  glances,  neither  of  them  very
surprised by that information. Padm© 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 Padm© 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  Padm©  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!" Padm© 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!" Padm©  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.

Padm© 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."

Padm© 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,  Padm©
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," Padm© 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.

"Padm©!"

"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 Padm©'s justification. He knew that this was not what was  expected
of him as a Jedi Padawan.

When had that ever stopped him?

Matching Padm©'s determination, he went to  the  controls,  and  a  few
moments later, the Naboo starship roared up into the Tatooine sky.

= XXII =

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, he 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. Padm© 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 Padm©  prepared  to  leave
the ship.

"Look, whatever happens out there, follow my  lead,"  Padm©  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?" Padm© 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," Padm© 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 resp ond. 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 Padm© 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?"  Padm©  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!" Padm© 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
Padm©, 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," Padm© 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.

Padm© didn't hesitate. She leapt out for  the  shortest  fall,  onto  a
conveyor belt below.

"Padm©!" 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 Padm© and went in fast pursuit.

Padm© 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.

Padm©, 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.

Padm© wrestled valiantly, but the creature was too strong. It flew  off
to the side of the conveyor and  then  unceremoniously  dropped  her.  Padm©
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. "Padm©!" 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. "Padm©!"

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 Padm© and calling out to her. He crashed through another assembly  line,
sending droid parts  everywhere,  then  leapt  another  belt,  crossing  the
factory room toward Padm©, 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.

"Padm©!" he cried.

Across  the  way,  R2-D2  had  landed  near  Padm©'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 Padm© was about to become encased in molten metal.

At last he succeeded in shutting down the correct conveyor. It  stopped
short, Padm© 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,"  Padm©  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."

Padm© 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?" Padm© 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," Padm© 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!"

= XXIII =

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 cur ving railings and  tall  boxed-off  areas,  with
rows of seats behind the main area for interested onlookers. But the  makeup
of the principals told Padm© 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. Padm© 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 Padm© was hardly surprised when  Sun  Fac  stepped  forward  and
announced, "You have been charged and found guilty of espionage."

So much for evidence, Padm© 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."

Padm© 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 Gunray 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 Padm© 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.

Padm© 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,"  Padm©  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."

Padm© 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 Padm© 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 Padm© 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 Padm© 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?" Anaki n 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 Padm©?" 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, Padm© 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.

Padm© 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  Padm©
issuing a victorious roar.

The crowd hushed, sensing the first kill.

As the nexu slashed, Padm© 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. Padm© 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, Padm© 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 Padm© 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 Padm©'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 Padm©  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 Padm© 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  n
ear 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 Padm©  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 Padm©, 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 Padm© 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, Padm© 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.

Padm©  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 Padm© continued their perfect teamwork behind the  overturned  execution
cart. Anakin turned all shots aimed at either of them, and Padm© 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 Padm©, 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 deb arkation 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.

= XXIV =

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 Padm© 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 clone 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!" Padm© 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," Padm© 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.

Padm© wasn't so fortunate.

One moment, she was beside Anakin, and then she was gone, tumbling  out
the open dropdoor.

"Padm©!" 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.

"Padm©!" 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 lea ve her," he said, his
voice suddenly little more than a whisper.

"Come to your senses," said the uncompromising Obi-Wan.  "What  do  you
think Padm© 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 Padm© 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 wat ched 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,  Padm©  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 Padm©. 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 Padm© stood hand in hand, Anakin in his formal  Jedi  robes
and Padm© 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 Padm©  Amidala  shared  their  first  kiss  as
husband and wife.