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, Padmé 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 Padmé'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.
Padmé 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,” Padmé explained. “The Queen had some information to pass along.”
“About the Military Creation Act,” Sola stated.
Padmé 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 Padmé 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.
Padmé 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?” Padmé 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,” Padmé 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?”
Padmé'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?”
Padmé 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.”
Padmé 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 Padmé 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?”
Padmé 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, Padmé's astromech droid.
For the first time in many days, Padmé'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 Padmé 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.
Padmé 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, Padmé 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 Padmé 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 Padmé 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?” Padmé asked.
Panaka nodded. “She is well protected, I assure you.”
“From?” Padmé 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.
Star Wars: Episode II: Attack of the Clones Page 2
