Star Wars: Episode II: Attack of the Clones

by R. A. Salvatore

  “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. Padmé 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 Padmé prepared to leave the ship.

  “Look, whatever happens out there, follow my lead,” Padmé 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?” Padmé 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,” Padmé 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 Padmé 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?” Padmé 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!” Padmé 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 Padmé, 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,” Padmé 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.

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

  “Padmé!” 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 Padmé and went in fast pursuit.

  Padmé 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.

  Padmé, 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.

  Padmé wrestled valiantly, but the creature was too strong. It flew off to the side of the conveyor and then unceremoniously dropped her. Padmé 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. “Padmé!” 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. “Padmé!”

  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 Padmé and calling out to her. He crashed through another assembly line, sending droid parts everywhere, then leapt another belt, crossing the factory room toward Padmé, 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 tha
t in a moment, the lightsaber would be the least of his losses.

  “Padmé!” he cried.

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

  At last he succeeded in shutting down the correct conveyor. It stopped short, Padmé 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,” Padmé 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.”