by Terry Brooks
Nute Gunray’s slit reddish orange eyes followed them out, then shifted back to Haako and the room. He felt a deep sense of satisfaction take hold. Everything was going exactly as it should.
The sergeant and a dozen battle droids moved the prisoners along the polished stone halls of the Theed palace and outside to where a series of terraced steps led downward through statuary and buttress work to a broad plaza. The plaza was filled with Federation tanks and battle droids and was empty of Naboo citizens. The tanks were squat, shovel-nosed vehicles with their main cannon mounted on a turret above and behind the cockpit and smaller blasters set low and to either side. They had the look of foraging beetles as they edged about the plaza’s perimeter.
Beyond, the buildings of Theed stretched away toward the horizon, a vast sprawl of high stone walls, gilded domes, peaked towers, and sculpted archways. Sunlight bathed the gleaming edifices, their architecture in counterpoint to the lush greenness of the planet. The rush of waterfalls and bubble of fountains formed a soft, distant backdrop to the strange silence created by the absence of the populace.
The prisoners were taken across the plaza past the Trade Federation machines of war. No one spoke. Even Governor Bibble had gone silent, his gray-bearded head lowered in dark contemplation. They departed the plaza and turned down a broad avenue that led to the outskirts of the city and the newly constructed Trade Federation detention camps. STAPs hummed overhead, shadows flitting off the walls of the buildings, metal shells gleaming as they darted away.
The droids had just turned their prisoners down a quiet byway when their sergeant, who was leading the procession, brought them to an abrupt halt.
Two men stood directly in their way, both wearing loose robes over belted tunics, the taller with his hair worn long, the shorter with his cut to a thin braided pigtail. Their arms hung loosely at their sides, but they did not have the look of men who were unprepared.
For a moment, each group stared at the other in silence. Then the narrow face of a Gungan peeked out from behind the two robed figures, eyes wide and frightened.
Qui-Gon Jinn stepped forward. “Are you Queen Amidala of the Naboo?” he asked the young woman in the feathered headdress.
The Queen hesitated. “Who are you?”
“Ambassadors from the supreme chancellor.” The Jedi Master inclined his head slightly. “We seek an audience with you, Your Highness.”
The droid sergeant suddenly seemed to remember where he was and what he was doing. He gestured to his soldiers. “Clear them away!”
Four of the battle droids moved to obey. They were just shifting their weapons into firing position when the Jedi activated their lightsabers and cut them apart. As the shattered droids collapsed, the Jedi moved quickly to dispatch the others. Laser bolts were blocked, weapons were knocked aside, and the remaining droids were reduced to scrap metal.
The sergeant turned to flee, but Qui-Gon brought up his hand, holding the droid fast with the power of the Force. In seconds, the sergeant lay in a ruined heap with his command.
Quickly, the Naboo soldiers moved to recover the fallen weapons. The Jedi Knights flicked off their lightsabers and motioned everyone out of the open street and into the shelter of an alley between two buildings. Jar Jar Binks followed, muttering in wonder at the cold efficiency with which the Jedi had dispatched their enemies.
Qui-Gon faced the Queen. “Your Highness, I am Qui-Gon Jinn and my companion is Obi-Wan Kenobi. We are Jedi Knights as well as ambassadors for the supreme chancellor.”
“Your negotiations seem to have failed, Ambassador,” Sio Bibble observed with a snort.
“The negotiations never took place.” Qui-Gon kept his eyes directed toward the Queen. Her painted face showed nothing. “Your Highness,” he continued, “we must make contact with the Republic.”
“We can’t,” Captain Panaka volunteered, stepping forward. “They’ve knocked out all our communications.”
An alarm was being given from somewhere close, and there was the sound of running. Qui-Gon glanced toward the street where the battle droids lay. “Do you have transports?”
The Naboo captain nodded, quick to see what the Jedi intended. “In the main hangar. This way.”
He led the little group to the end of the alleyway, where they crossed to other passageways and backstreets, encountering no one. They moved quickly and silently through the growing sound of alarms and the wicked buzz of STAPs. To their credit, the Naboo did not resist Qui-Gon’s leadership nor question his appearance. With Panaka and his men newly armed, the Naboo Queen and her companions had a sense of being in control of their own destiny once more and seemed more than ready to take a chance on their rescuers.
It did not take them long to reach their destination. A series of connected buildings dominated one end of a broad causeway, each one domed and cavernous, the central structures warded by arched entrances and low, flat-walled outbuildings. Battle droids were stationed everywhere, weapons held at the ready, but Captain Panaka was able to find an unguarded approach down a narrow corridor between adjoining buildings.
At a side door to the main hangar, Panaka brought the group to a halt. After a quick glance over his shoulder for droids, he unlocked and nudged open the hangar door. With Qui-Gon Jinn pressed close, he peered inside. A handful of Naboo ships were grouped at the center of the hangar, sleek gleaming transports, their noses pointed toward a wide opening in the far wall. Battle droids guarded each, positioned across the entire floor of the hangar to cut off any unseen approach.
Panaka pointed to a long, low ship on the far side of the hangar with swept-back wings and powerful Headon-5 engines. “The Queen’s personal transport,” he whispered to the Jedi Master.
Qui-Gon nodded. A J-type 327 Nubian. In the distance, the alarms continued to sound their steady wail. “That one will do,” he said.
Panaka scanned the hangar interior. “The battle droids. There are too many of them.”
The Jedi eased back from the door. “That won’t be a problem.” He faced the Queen. “Your Highness. Under the circumstances, I suggest you come to Coruscant with us.”
The young woman shook her head, the feathers on her headdress rustling softly. Her white-painted face was calm and her gaze steady. “Thank you, Ambassador, but my place is here with my people.”
“I don’t think so,” Qui-Gon responded, locking eyes. “The Trade Federation has other plans. They will kill you if you stay.”
Sio Bibble pushed to the Queen’s side. “They wouldn’t dare!”
“They need her to sign a treaty to make this invasion of theirs legal!” Captain Panaka pointed out. “They can’t afford to kill her!”
The Queen looked from face to face, the barest flicker of uncertainty showing in her eyes.
“The situation here is not what it seems,” Qui-Gon pressed. “There is something else going on, Your Highness. There is no logic to the Federation’s actions. My instincts tell me they will destroy you.”
A shadow of real alarm crossed Sio Bibble’s face as the Jedi Master finished. His strong features melted slightly. “Your Highness,” he said slowly. “Perhaps you should reconsider. Our only hope is for the Senate to take our side in this matter. Senator Palpatine will need your help.”
Captain Panaka was having none of it. “Getting past their blockade is impossible, Your Highness—even if we were to get off the planet! An escape attempt is too dangerous—”
“Your Highness, I will stay here and do what I can,” Sio Bibble interrupted, shaking his head at Panaka. “They will have to retain the Council of Governors in order to maintain some semblance of order. But you must leave—”
Queen Amidala brought up her hand sharply to silence the debate. Turning from her governor and head of security and the Jedi as well, she looked suddenly to her handmaidens, who were pressed close about her. “Either choice presents great risk to all of us …,” she said softly, looking from face to face.
Qui-Gon watched the exchange, puzzled. What
was the Queen seeking?
The handmaidens glanced at one another, faces barely visible within the confines of red and gold hooded robes. All were silent.
Finally, one spoke. “We are brave, Your Highness,” Padmé said firmly.
Alarms continued to sound. “If you are to leave, Your Highness, it must be now,” Qui-Gon urged.
Queen Amidala straightened and nodded. “So be it. I will plead our case before the Senate.” She glanced at Sio Bibble. “Be careful, Governor.”
She took the governor’s hand briefly, then beckoned to three of her handmaidens. Those not chosen began to cry softly. Amidala embraced them and whispered words of encouragement. Captain Panaka selected two of the four guards to stay behind with the handmaidens and Sio Bibble.
The Jedi Knights moved through the side door and into the hangar, leading the way for Jar Jar and the Naboo. “Stay close,” Qui-Gon admonished softly over his shoulder.
Captain Panaka moved next to him, dark face intense. “We need a pilot for the vessel.” He pointed to where a group of Naboo were being held captive in a corner of the hangar by a squad of battle droids. The insignia on their uniforms indicated a mix of guards, mechanics, and pilots. “There.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Obi-Wan declared, and veered toward the Naboo captives.
Qui-Gon and the rest continued on, striding boldly across the hangar floor, moving directly toward the Queen’s vessel, ignoring the battle droids who moved to intercept them. Qui-Gon took note of the fact that the boarding ramp to the transport was lowered. More battle droids were closing on them, curious without yet being alarmed.
“Don’t stop for anything,” he said to the Queen, and he reached beneath his cloak for the lightsaber.
They were barely twenty meters from the Queen’s transport when the nearest of the battle droids challenged them. “Where are you going?” it asked in its blank, metallic voice.
“Get out of the way,” Qui-Gon ordered. “I am an ambassador for the supreme chancellor, and I am taking these people to Coruscant.”
The droid brought up his weapon quickly, blocking the Jedi Master’s passage. “You are under arrest!”
It was scrap metal within seconds, dissected by Qui-Gon’s lightsaber. More of the battle droids rushed to stop the Jedi, who stood alone against them as his charges boarded the Nubian vessel. Captain Panaka and the Naboo guards formed a protective screen for the Queen and her handmaidens as they hurried up the ramp. Jar Jar Binks clambered after, holding on to his head with his long arms. Laser bolts lanced through the hangar from all directions, and new alarms blared wildly.
On the far side of the hangar, Obi-Wan Kenobi launched himself at the battle droids holding the Naboo pilots hostage, cutting into them with ferocious determination. Qui-Gon watched his progress, long hair flying out as he withstood yet another rush from the battle droids attempting to reclaim the Queen’s transport, blocking their laser bolts as he fought to hold the boarding ramp. Obi-Wan was running toward him now, a handful of the Naboo in tow. Explosions rose all around them, deadly laser fire burning into metal and flesh. Several of the Naboo went down, but the battle droids were unable to slow the Jedi.
Qui-Gon called sharply to Obi-Wan as he went past, telling him to get the ship in the air. More battle droids were appearing at the hangar doors, weapons firing. Qui-Gon backed quickly up the loading ramp and into the transport’s dimly lit interior. The ramp rose behind him and closed with a soft whoosh.
The Headon-5 engines were firing even before the Jedi Master reached the main cabin and flung himself into a chair. Laser fire hammered at the sides of the sleek craft, but it was already beginning to move forward. The pilot sat hunched forward over the controls, his weathered face intense, a sheen of sweat beading his forehead, hands steady on the controls. “Hold on,” he said.
The Nubian shot through the hangar doors, ripping past battle droids and laser fire, lifting away from the city of Theed into the blue, sunlit sky. The planet of Naboo was left behind in seconds, the ship rising into the darkness of space, arcing toward a suddenly visible cluster of Trade Federation battleships blocking its way.
Qui-Gon left his seat and came forward to stand beside the pilot.
“Ric Olié,” the other announced with a quick glance up at the Jedi. “Thanks for helping out back there.”
Qui-Gon nodded. “Better save your thanks until we deal with what’s up here. ”
The pilot gave him a rakish grin. “Copy that. What do we do about these big boys? Our communications are still jammed.”
“We’re past the point of talking. Just keep the ship on course.” Qui-Gon turned to Obi-Wan. “Make sure everyone is settled safely in place.” His eyes moved to where Jar Jar Binks was already up and poking about.
The younger Jedi moved quickly to take the Gungan in hand, propelling him forcibly through the main cabin door and into the anteway beyond. Ignoring Jar Jar’s protests, he glanced about for somewhere to stash the bothersome creature. Catching sight of a low, cramped entry with the words ASTROMECH DROIDS lettered above, he released the retaining latch and shoved the Gungan inside.
“Stay here,” he directed with a meaningful look. “And keep out of trouble.”
Jar Jar Binks watched the door close behind him, then glanced around. A line of five R2 astromech droids stood against one wall, short, dome-topped, all-purpose mechanics painted different colors, their lights off, their engines quiet. Five identical units, each stout body positioned between two sturdy restraint arms, they gave no indication of being aware of him. The Gungan ambled along in front of them, waiting to be noticed. Maybe they weren’t activated, he thought. Maybe they weren’t even alive.
“Heydey ho, yous,” he tried, hands gesturing. “Tis a long trip somewheres, hey?”
No response. Jar Jar tapped the closest R2 unit, a bright red droid, on the head. The tap made a hollow sound, and the head popped up a notch from the cylindrical body.
“Whoa!” Jar Jar said, surprised. He glanced around, wondering why the Jedi had put him down here when everyone else was up there. Nothing much to do down here, he thought disconsolately. Nothing much happening.
Curious, he gripped the red droid’s head and lifted gently. “Dis opens?” he whispered. He lifted some more. Something caught. He yanked hard. “Dis … ooops!”
The head lifted right out of its seating. Springs and wires popped out in a tangled mess. Jar Jar quickly jammed the red droid’s head back into place, easing his three-fingered hands away cautiously.
“Oh, oh, oh,” he murmured, glancing about to make sure no one had seen, hugging himself worriedly.
He moved down the line of droids, still looking for something to occupy his time. He didn’t want to be in this room, but he didn’t think he should try to leave, either. The younger Jedi, the one who had stuck him in here, didn’t like him much as it was. The Jedi would like him a whole lot less if he caught Jar Jar sneaking out of this room.
Explosions sounded close by the transport. Cannon fire. The ship rocked in response to a series of near misses. Jar Jar looked about wildly, suddenly not liking where he was at all. Then the running lights began to flicker, and the transport shook violently. Jar Jar moaned, and crouched down in a corner. More explosions sounded, and the craft was buffeted from side to side.
“We doomed,” the frightened Gungan muttered. “Tis bad business, dis.”
Abruptly the ship began to spin as if caught in a whirlpool. Jar Jar cried out, fastening his arms about a strut to keep from being thrown against the walls. The lights in the compartment all came on, and the droids were abruptly activated. One by one, they began to whir and beep. Released from their restraints, they rolled out of their racks toward an airlock at one end of the compartment—all but the red R2, who rolled directly into a wall and fell over, more parts tumbling out.
The R2 unit painted blue paused as it motored by its red counterpart, then charged past Jar Jar, giving out a loud screech that caused the Gungan to jerk awa
y in fright.
One after another, the four R2 units entered the airlock lift and were sucked up toward the top of the ship.
Left behind in the storage compartment with the droid he had unwittingly sabotaged, Jar Jar Binks moaned in despair.
Obi-Wan Kenobi had just reentered the transport’s cockpit when explosions began to buffet the ship. He could see a huge Trade Federation battleship looming ahead through the viewport, cannons firing. The Queen’s transport was rocked so violently by the blasts that it was thrown from its trajectory. Ric Olié’s gloved hands were locked onto the steering grips, fighting to bring the slender craft back into line.
“We should abort, sir!” the pilot shouted at Qui-Gon, who was braced at his side, eyes fixed on the battleship. “Our deflector shields can’t withstand much more of this!”
“Stay on course,” the Jedi Master ordered calmly. He glanced down at the controls. “Do you have a cloaking device?”
“This is not a warship!” Captain Panaka snapped, looking angry and betrayed. “We have no weapons, Ambassador! We’re a nonviolent people, which is why the Trade Federation was brave enough to attack us in the first place!”
A series of explosions jarred the Nubian, and the lights on the control panel flickered weakly. An alarm sounded, shrill and angry. The transport shuddered, its power drive stalling momentarily in a high-pitched whine.
“No weapons,” Qui-Gon Jinn breathed. Obi-Wan was next to him, feeling the weight of the other’s gaze as it shifted to find him, steady and unwavering. One hand settled on Ric Olié’s shoulder. “The Trade Federation uses pulser tracking for its weapons. Spin the ship. It will make it difficult for them to get a reading on us.”
The pilot nodded, flipped a series of levers, and put the Nubian into a slow spin. Ahead, the battleship filled the viewport, then lost focus. The Queen’s transport accelerated, racing toward the enemy craft, whipping past towers and gunports, bays and stabilizers, speeding down an alleyway of jagged metal protrusions and cannon fire. A laser bolt hammered into them, causing sparks and smoke to explode from one panel, sending the ship reeling. For a brief moment they were tumbling out of control. Then Ric Olié pulled back hard on the controls, and the hull of the battleship receded.
