Star Wars: Episode II: Attack of the Clones

by R. A. Salvatore

  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 Padmé 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 woul
d 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—Padmé—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 immediatel
y 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 Padmé'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 Padmé 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, Padmé 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.