Star Wars Episode II: Attack of the Clones (star wars)

by Robert Anthony Salvatore

  But now she realized that a certain young Jedi might be on the other end of those lenses.

  Chapter Seven

  Clad in gray armor that was somewhat outdated, burned from countless blaster shots, but still undeniably effective, the bounty hunter stood easily on the ledge, a hundred stories and more up from the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."

  Chapter Eight

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

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

  Padme 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?" Padme 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," Padme 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 Padme 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."

  Padme'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.

  Padme 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.

  Padme 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 Padme'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 Padme'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.

  "Padme… 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 Padme, who was sleeping quietly. He wished 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, Padme 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.

  Padme 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.