“The odds do not suggest such a possibility,” SP-4 started to reply, and began rolling along with a dissertation about the completeness of its data banks, of its unequaled search capabilities, of …
It didn’t matter, for Obi-Wan was long gone, walking briskly along the great corridor and out of the Jedi Temple.
He left without a word to anyone, his thoughts turned inward, trying to find some focus. He needed answers, and quickly. He knew that instinctively, but he had a nagging feeling that it wasn’t necessarily about Senator Amidala’s safety. He sensed that something more might be at stake here, though what it was, he could only guess. Anakin’s mind-set? A greater plot against the Republic?
Or perhaps he was just being jumpy because the normally reliable SP-4 droid hadn’t been able to help him at all. He needed answers, and conventional methods of attaining them wouldn’t suffice, apparently. But Obi-Wan Kenobi was not a conventional Jedi, in many ways. Although he tended to be reserved, especially when dealing with his Padawan, his former Master, Qui-Gon Jinn, had left a mark on Obi-Wan.
He knew where to get his answers.
He took a speeder to the business section of Coco town, far from where he and Anakin had caught the would-be assassin.
Obi-Wan stopped his vehicle and exited to the street. He moved to one small building, its windows foggy, its walls metallic and brightly painted. Lettering above the door named the place, and though he could not read that particular script, Obi-Wan knew well what it said: DEX’S DINER.
He smiled. He hadn’t seen Dex in a long time. Far too long, he mused as he entered.
The inside of the diner was fairly typical of the establishments along the lower level, with booths set against the walls and many small freestanding circular tables surrounded by tall stools. There was a counter area, as well, partly lined with stools and partly open, a variety of beings standing and leaning against it, mostly freighter drivers and dockworkers, people who still used their muscles in a galaxy grown soft through technology.
The Jedi moved to one small table, sliding onto its stool as a waitress droid wiped the table down with a rag.
“Can I help ya?” the droid asked.
“I’m looking for Dexter.”
The waitress droid made a rather unpleasant sound.
Obi-Wan just smiled. “I do need to speak with Dexter.”
“Waddya want him for?”
“He’s not in trouble,” the Jedi assured her. “It’s personal.”
The droid stared at him for a short while, sizing him up, then, with a shake of her head, she moved to the open serving hatch behind the counter. “Someone to see ya, honey,” she said. “A Jedi, by the looks of him.”
A huge head poked through the open hatchway almost immediately, accompanied by a line of grayish steam. A wide smile—on a mouth wide enough to swallow Obi-Wan’s head whole—with huge block teeth grew on the immense face as he set his gaze on the visitor. “Obi-Wan!”
“Hey, Dex,” Obi-Wan replied, standing and moving to the counter.
“Take a seat, old buddy! Be right with ya!”
Obi-Wan glanced around. The waitress droid had gone about her business, tending to other customers. He moved to a booth just to the side of the counter.
“You want a cup of ardees?” the droid asked, her demeanor much more accommodating.
“Thank you.”
She moved off toward the counter, slipping aside as the infamous Dexter Jettster moved through the counter door, walking with a stiff gait. He was an impressive sort, a neckless mound of flesh, dwarfing most of the toughies who frequented his establishment. His great belly poked out beneath his grimy shirt and breeches. He was bald and sweaty, and though he had seen many years and did not move fluidly any longer, with too many old injuries slowing him, Dexter Jettster was obviously not a creature anyone wanted to fight—especially since he was possessed of four huge arms, each with a massive fist that could fully bust a man’s face. Obi-Wan noted the many respectful glances that went his way as he moved to the booth.
“Hey, ol’ buddy!”
“Hey, Dex. Long time.”
With great effort, Dexter managed to squeeze himself into the seat opposite Obi-Wan. The waitress droid was back by then, setting two steaming mugs of ardees in front of the old friends.
“So, my friend, what can I do for ya?” Dexter asked, and it was obvious to Obi-Wan that Dex genuinely wanted to help. Obi-Wan was hardly surprised. He didn’t always approve of Dexter’s antics, of the seedy diner and the many fights, but he knew Dex to be among the most loyal of friends that anyone could ever ask for. Dex would crush the life out of an enemy, but would give his own life for someone he cared about. That was the code among the star wanderers, and one that Obi-Wan could truly appreciate. In many, many ways, being here with Dex appealed to the Jedi Knight much more than the time he had to spend among the ruling elite.
“You can tell me what this is,” Obi-Wan answered. He put the dart on the table, watching Dex all the time, noting how the being quickly placed his mug back down, his eyes widening as he regarded the curious and distinctive item.
“Well, waddya know,” Dex said quietly, as if he could hardly draw breath. He picked up the dart delicately, almost reverently, the weapon nearly disappearing within the folds of his fat fingers. “I ain’t seen one of these since I was prospecting on Subterrel beyond the Outer Rim.”
“Do you know where it came from?”
Dexter placed the dart down before Obi-Wan. “This baby belongs to them cloners. What you got here is a Kamino saberdart.”
“Kamino saberdart?” Obi-Wan echoed. “I wonder why it didn’t show up in our analysis archive.”
Dex poked down at the dart with a stubby finger. “It’s these funny little cuts on the side that give it away,” he explained. “Those analysis droids you’ve got over there only focus on symbols, you know. I should think you Jedi have more respect for the difference between knowledge and wisdom.”
“Well, Dex, if droids could think, there’d be none of us here, would there?” Obi-Wan answered with a laugh.
The Jedi Knight sobered quickly, though, remembering the gravity of his mission. “Kamino … doesn’t sound familiar. Is it part of the Republic?”
“No, it’s beyond the Outer Rim. I’d say about twelve parsecs outside the Rishi Maze, toward the south. It should be easy to find, even for those droids in your archive. These Kaminoans keep to themselves, mostly. They’re cloners. Good ones, too.”
Obi-Wan picked up the dart again, holding it between them, his elbow resting on the table. “Cloners?” he asked. “Are they friendly?”
“It depends.”
“On what?” The Jedi looked past the dart as he asked, and the grin on Dexter’s face gave him his answer before it was spoken aloud.
“On how good your manners are and how big your pocketbook is.”
Obi-Wan looked back at the saberdart, hardly surprised.
Senator Padmé Amidala, formerly Queen Amidala of Naboo, certainly wasn’t used to traveling in this manner. The freighter held one class, steerage, and in truth, it was nothing more than a cargo ship, with several great open holds more suitable to inanimate cargo than to living beings. The lighting was terrible and the smell was worse, though whether the odor came from the ship itself or the hordes of emigrants, beings of many, many species, Padmé did not know. Nor did she care. In some ways, Padmé was truly enjoying this voyage. She knew that she should be back on Coruscant, fighting the efforts to create a Republic army, but somehow, she felt relaxed here, felt free.
Free of responsibility. Free to just be Padmé for a while, instead of Senator Amidala. Moments such as these were rare for her, and had been since she was a child. All of her life, it seemed, had been spent in public service; all of her focus had always been for the greater, the public, good, with hardly any time ever being given just to Padmé, to her needs and her desires.
The Senator didn’t regret that reality of her life. She was proud o
f her accomplishments, but more than that, even, she felt a profound sense of warmth, of community, of belonging to something greater than herself.
Still, these moments when the responsibility was lifted were undeniably enjoyable.
She looked over at Anakin, who was sleeping somewhat restlessly. She could see him now, not as a Jedi Padawan and her protector, but just as a young man. A handsome young man, and one whose actions repeatedly professed his love for her. A dangerous young man, to be sure, a Jedi who was thinking about things he should not. A man who was inevitably following the call of his heart above that of pragmatism and propriety. And all for her. Padmé couldn’t deny the attractiveness of that. She and Anakin were on similar roads of public service, she as a Senator, he as a Jedi Padawan, but he was showing rebellion against the present course, or at least, against the Master who was leading him along the present course, as Padmé never had.
But hadn’t she wanted to? Hadn’t Padmé Amidala wanted to be just Padmé? Once in a while, at least?
She smiled widely and pointedly turned away from Anakin, scanning the gloomy room for signs of her other companion. She finally spotted R2-D2 in a food line, where he stuck out among the throng of living creatures. Just before the droid, servers ladled out bowls of bland-looking mush, and each being who took one inevitably gave out a low groan of disapproval.
Padmé watched with amusement as one of the servers began yelling and waving his hand at R2-D2, motioning for the droid to move along. “No droids in the food line!” the server yelled. “Get out of here!”
R2-D2 started past the counter, but stopped suddenly, and a hollow tube came forth from his utilitarian body, hovering over the buffet and sucking up some of the mush and placing it in a storage container for transport to his companions.
“Hey, no droids!” the server yelled again.
R2-D2 took another fast gulp of the mush, reached out with a claw arm to grab a piece of bread, then turned and tootled and rushed away, the server shaking his fist and shouting behind him.
The droid came fast across the wide floor, veering to avoid the many sleeping emigrants, making as straight a line as possible toward the beaming Padmé.
“No, no,” came a call beside her. It was Anakin. “Mom, no!”
Padmé turned about quickly, to see that her companion was still asleep, but sweating and thrashing, obviously in the throes of some nightmare.
“Anakin?” She gave him a little shake.
“No, Mom!” he cried, pulling away from her, and she looked down to see his feet kicking, as if he was running away from something.
“Anakin,” Padmé said again, more forcefully. She shook him again, harder.
His blue eyes blinked open and he looked about curiously before focusing on Padmé. “What?”
“You seemed to be having a nightmare.”
Anakin continued to stare at her, his expression ranging from curiosity to concern.
Padmé took a bowl of mush and a piece of bread from R2-D2. “Are you hungry?”
Anakin took the food as he sat up, rubbing a hand through his hair and shaking his head.
“We went to hyperspace a while ago,” she explained.
“How long was I asleep?”
Padmé smiled at him, trying to comfort him. “You had a good nap,” she answered.
Anakin smoothed the front of his tunic and straightened himself, looking all around, trying to get his bearings. “I look forward to seeing Naboo again,” he remarked and he shifted, trying to orient himself. His expression soured as he looked down at the off-white mush, and he crinkled his nose, bending low to sniff it. “Naboo,” he said again, looking back to Padmé. “I’ve thought about it every day since I left. It’s by far the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen.”
As he spoke, his eyes bored into her, taking her in deeply, and she blinked and averted her own gaze, unnerved. “It may not be as you remember it. Time changes perception.”
“Sometimes it does,” Anakin agreed, and when Padmé looked up to see that he was continuing to scrutinize her, she knew what he was talking about. “Sometimes for the better.”
“It must be difficult having sworn your life to the Jedi,” she said, taking a different tack to pull his gaze off her. “Not being able to visit the places you like. Or do the things you like.”
“Or be with the people I love?” Anakin could easily see where she was leading him.
“Are you allowed to love?” Padmé asked bluntly. “I thought it was forbidden for a Jedi.”
“Attachment is forbidden,” Anakin began, his voice dispassionate, as if he was reciting. “Possession is forbidden. Compassion, which I would define as unconditional love, is central to a Jedi’s life, so you might say we’re encouraged to love.”
“You have changed so much,” Padmé heard herself saying, and in a tone that seemed inappropriate to her, seemed to invite …
She blinked as Anakin turned her words back on her. “You haven’t changed a bit. You’re exactly the way I remember you in my dreams. I doubt if Naboo has changed much either.”
“It hasn’t …” Padmé’s voice was breathless. They were too close together. She knew that. She knew that she was in dangerous territory here, both for herself and for Anakin. He was a Padawan learner, a Jedi, and Jedi were not allowed …
And what about her? What about all that she had worked so hard for all her adult life? What about the Senate, and the all-important vote against the creation of an army? If Padmé got involved with a Jedi, the implications concerning her vote would become huge! The army, if one was created, would be made to stand beside the Jedi and their duties, and yet Padmé would stand against that army, and so …
And so?
It was all so complicated, but even more important than that, it was all so dangerous. She thought of her sister then, and their last conversation before Padmé had flown back to Coruscant. She thought of Ryoo and Pooja.
“You were dreaming about your mother earlier,” she remarked, needing to change the subject. She sat back, putting some distance between her and Anakin, gaining some margin of safety between them. “Weren’t you?”
Anakin leaned back and looked away, nodding slowly. “I left Tatooine so long ago. My memory of her is fading.” He snapped his intense gaze back over Padmé. “I don’t want to lose that memory. I don’t want to stop seeing her face.”
She started to say, “I know,” and started to lift her hand to stroke his cheek, but she held back and let him continue.
“I’ve been seeing her in my dreams. Vivid dreams. Scary dreams. I worry about her.”
“I’d be disappointed in you if you didn’t,” Padmé answered him, her voice soft and full of sympathy. “You didn’t leave her in the best of circumstances.”
Anakin winced, as if those words had hurt him.
“But it was right that you left,” Padmé reminded him, taking his arm. She held his gaze with her own. “Your leaving was what your mother wanted for you. What she needed for you. The opportunity that Qui-Gon offered you gave her hope. That’s what a parent needs for her child, to know that he, that you, had been given a chance at a better life.”
“But the dreams—”
“You can’t help but feel a little guilty about leaving, I suppose,” Padmé answered, and Anakin was shaking his head, as if she was missing the point. But she didn’t believe that to be the case, so she continued. “It’s only natural that you’d want your mother off Tatooine, out here with you, perhaps. Or on Naboo, or Coruscant, or someplace that you feel is safer, and more beautiful. Trust me, Anakin,” she said softly but intently, and she put her hand on his forearm again. “You did the right thing in going. For yourself, but more importantly, for your mother.”
Her expression, so full of compassion, so full of caring, was not one that Anakin Skywalker could argue against.
The great port city of Theed was in many ways akin to Coruscant, with freighters and shuttles coming down from the skies in lines. Unlike Coruscant, thou
gh, this city on Naboo was soft in appearance, with few towering, imposing skyscrapers of hard metal and shining transparisteel. The buildings here were of stone and many other materials, with rounded rooflines and delicate colors. Vines of all sorts were everywhere, crawling up the sides of the buildings, adding vibrancy and scents. Adding comfort.
Anakin and Padmé lugged their bags across a familiar square, a place where they had seen battle a decade before against the droids of the Trade Federation. R2-D2 came behind them, rolling along easily, whistling a happy song, as if he were an extension of the comfortable aura of Theed.
Padmé kept covertly glancing at Anakin, noting the serenity on his face, the widening grin.
“If I grew up here, I don’t think I’d ever leave,” Anakin remarked.
Padmé laughed. “I doubt that.”
“No, really. When I started my training, I was very homesick and very lonely. This city and my mom were the only pleasant things I had to think about.”
Padmé’s expression turned to one of curiosity and confusion. Anakin’s time here had been spent, mostly, in deadly battle! Had he so obsessed about her, about Naboo, that even the bad memories paled against his warm feelings?
“The problem was,” Anakin went on, “the more I thought about my mom, the worse I felt. But I would feel better if I thought about Naboo and the palace.”
He didn’t say it outright, but Padmé knew that what he really meant was that he felt better when he thought about her, or at least that he would include her in those pleasant thoughts.
“The way the palace shimmers in the sunlight, the way the air always smells of flowers.”
“And the soft sound of the distant waterfalls,” Padmé added. She could not deny the sincerity in Anakin’s voice and in his words, and she found herself agreeing and embracing that truth of Naboo, despite her resolve to stay away from those feelings. “The first time I saw the capital, I was very young. I’d never seen a waterfall before. I thought they were so beautiful. I never thought that one day I’d live in the palace.”
Attack of the Clones Page 12
