“The army of clones. And I must say, one of the finest we’ve ever created.”
Obi-Wan didn’t know how far he could press this. If it was indeed Sifo-Dyas who had commissioned an army of clones, then why hadn’t Master Yoda or any of the others said anything about it? Sifo-Dyas had been a powerful Jedi before his untimely death, but would he have acted alone on an issue as important as this? The Jedi studied his two companions, even reaching into the Force to gain a feeling about them. Everything seemed straightforward here, and open, and so he followed his instincts and kept the conversation rolling along. “Tell me, Prime Minister, when my Master first contacted you about the army, did he say who it was for?”
“Of course he did,” the Kaminoan offered unsuspiciously. “The army is for the Republic.”
Obi-Wan almost blurted out, The Republic! but his discipline allowed him to keep his surprise well buried, along with the tumult in his thoughts, a mounting storm as furious as the one that raged outside. What in the galaxy was going on here? An army of clones for the Republic? Commissioned by a Jedi Master? Did the Senate know of this? Did Yoda, or Master Windu?
“You understand the responsibility you incur in creating such an army for the Republic?” he asked, trying to cover his confusion. “We expect, and must have, the very best.”
“Of course, Master Kenobi,” Lama Su said, seeming supremely confident. “You must be anxious to inspect the units for yourself.”
“That’s why I’m here,” Obi-Wan answered. Taking Lama Su’s cue, he rose and followed the Prime Minister and Taun We out of the room.
Lush grasses sprinkled with flowers of all colors and shapes graced the hilly meadow. Beyond its borders, shining waterfalls spilled into the lake, and from this spot, many other lakes could be seen about the distant hills, all the way to the horizon.
Puffballs floated by on the warm breeze, and puffy clouds drifted across the shining blue sky above. It was a place full of life and full of love, full of warmth and full of softness.
To Anakin Skywalker, it was a place perfectly reflective of Padmé Amidala.
A herd of benevolent creatures called shaaks grazed contentedly nearby, seemingly oblivious to the couple. They were curious-looking four-legged beasts, with huge, bloated bodies. Insects buzzed about in the air, too busy with the flowers to take any time to bother either Anakin or Padmé.
Padmé sat on the grass, absently picking flowers, bringing them up to deeply inhale their scents. Every so often, she glanced over at Anakin, but only briefly, almost afraid to let him notice. She loved the way he was reacting to this place, to all of Naboo, his simple joys forcing her to see things as she had when she was younger, before the real world had pushed her to a place of responsibility. It surprised her that a Jedi Padawan would be so …
She couldn’t think of the word. Carefree? Joyous? Spirited? Some combination of the three?
“Well?” Anakin prompted, forcing Padmé to consider again the question he had just asked her.
“I don’t know,” she said dismissively, purposely exaggerating her frustration.
“Sure you do! You just don’t want to tell me!”
Padmé gave a helpless little laugh. “Are you going to use one of your Jedi mind tricks on me?”
“They only work on the weak-minded,” Anakin explained. “You are anything but weak-minded.” He ended with an innocent, wide-eyed look that Padmé simply could not resist.
“All right,” she surrendered. “I was twelve. His name was Palo. We were both in the Legislative Youth Program. He was a few years older than I …” She narrowed her eyes as she finished, teasing Anakin with sudden intensity. “Very cute,” she said, her voice taking on a purposeful, suggestive tone. “Dark curly hair … dreamy eyes …”
“All right, I get the picture!” the Jedi cried, waving his hands in exasperation. He calmed a moment later, though, and settled back more seriously. “Whatever happened to him?”
“I went into public service. He went on to become an artist.”
“Maybe he was the smart one.”
“You really don’t like politicians, do you?” Padmé asked, a bit of anger creeping in despite the warm wind and the idyllic setting.
“I like two or three,” Anakin replied. “But I’m not really sure about one of them.” His smile was perfectly disarming and Padmé had to work hard to keep any semblance of a frown against it.
“I don’t think the system works,” Anakin finished, matter-of-factly.
“Really?” she replied sarcastically. “Well, how would you have it work?”
Anakin stood up, suddenly intense. “We need a system where the politicians sit down and discuss the problem, agree what’s in the best interests of the people, and then do it,” he said, as if it was perfectly simple and logical.
“Which is exactly what we do,” came Padmé’s unhesitating reply.
Anakin looked at her doubtfully.
“The trouble is that people don’t always agree,” she explained. “In fact, they hardly ever do.”
“Then they should be made to.”
That statement caught Padmé a bit off guard. Was he so convinced that he had the answers that he … No, she put that unsettling thought out of her mind. “By whom?” she asked. “Who is going to make them?”
“I don’t know,” he answered, waving his hands again in obvious frustration. “Someone.”
“You?”
“Of course not me!”
“But someone.”
“Someone wise.”
“That sounds an awful lot like a dictatorship,” Padmé said, winning the debate. She watched Anakin as a mischievous little grin began to spread across his face.
“Well,” he said calmly, “if it works …”
Padmé tried to hide her shock. What was he talking about? How could he believe that? She stared at him, and he returned the severe look—but he couldn’t hold it, and burst out laughing.
“You’re making fun of me!”
“Oh no,” Anakin said, backing away and falling to sit on the soft grass, hands out defensively before him. “I’d be much too frightened to tease a Senator.”
“You’re so bad!” She reached over, picked up a piece of fruit, and threw it at him, and when he caught it, she threw another, and then another.
“You’re always so serious,” Anakin scolded, and he began juggling the fruit.
“I’m so serious?” Her incredulity was feigned, because Padmé agreed with the assessment to a great extent. For all her life, she had watched people like Palo go off and follow their hearts, while she had followed the path of duty. She had known great triumph and great joy, to be sure, but all of it had been wrapped up in the extravagant outfits of Naboo’s Queen, and now in the endless responsibilities of a Galactic Senator. Maybe she just wanted to take off all those trappings, all those clothes, and dive into the sparkling water, for no better reason than to feel its cool comfort, for no better reason than to laugh.
She grabbed up another piece of fruit and threw it at Anakin, and he caught it and seamlessly put it up with the others. Then another, and another, until too many went his way and he lost control, then tried futilely to duck away from the dropping fruit.
Padmé had to clutch at her belly, she was laughing so hard. Caught up in the whirlwind of the moment, Anakin sprang to his feet and ran off to the side, cutting in front of a shaak and frightening it with his sheer jubilance.
The normally passive grazers gave a snort and took up the chase, with Anakin running in circles and then off over the hill.
Padmé sat back and considered this moment, this day, and her companion. What was happening here? She couldn’t dismiss the pangs of guilt that she was out here playing without purpose, while others worked hard to carry on the fight against the Military Creation Act, or while Obi-Wan Kenobi scoured the galaxy in search of those who would see her dead.
She should be out there, somewhere, doing something …
Her thoughts fell away in
another burst of incredulous laughter as Anakin and the shaak came by once more, this time with the Jedi riding the beast, one hand clenched on a fold of its flesh, the other high and waving behind him for balance. What made it all the more ridiculous was that Anakin was riding backward, facing the shaak’s tail!
“Anakin!” she cried in amazement. A bit of trepidation crept into her voice as she repeated the call, for the shaak had broken into a full gallop, and Anakin was trying to stand up on its back.
He almost made it, but then the lumbering creature bucked and he flew away, tumbling to the ground.
Padmé howled with laughter, clutching her stomach.
But Anakin lay very still.
She stopped and stared at him, suddenly frightened. She scrambled up, thinking her whole world had just crashed down around her, and rushed to his side. “Annie! Annie! Are you all right?”
Gently, Padmé turned him over. He seemed serene and still.
And then his face twisted into a perfectly stupid expression and he burst out laughing.
“Oh!” Padmé cried, and she punched out at him. He caught her hand and pulled her in close, and she willingly crashed onto him, wrestling with fury.
Anakin finally managed to roll her over and pin her, and Padmé stopped struggling, suddenly aware of the closeness. She looked into his eyes and felt the press of his body upon hers.
Anakin blushed and let go, rolling away, but then he stood up and very seriously reached his hand out to her.
All self-consciousness was gone now from Padmé. She looked hard into Anakin’s blue eyes, finally and silently admitting the truth. She took his hand and followed him to the shaak, which was grazing contentedly once more.
Anakin climbed onto its back and pulled Padmé up behind him, and they rode off across the meadow, with Padmé’s arms about his waist, her body pressed up against his, a swirl of emotions and questions spinning about in her mind.
Padmé jumped at the sound of the knock on the door. She knew who it was, and knew she was safe—from everything but her own feelings.
The afternoon at the meadow replayed in her thoughts, particularly the ride on the shaak, when Anakin had taken her back to the lodge. For the minutes of that ride, Padmé had not hidden behind a mask of denial, or behind anything else. Sitting behind Anakin, her arms about his waist, her head resting on the back of his shoulder, she had felt safe and secure, perfectly content and …
She had to take a deep breath to keep her hand from trembling as she reached up for the doorknob.
She pulled the door back, and could see nothing but the tall and lean silhouette, backlit by the setting sun.
Anakin shifted just a bit, blocking the rosy glow enough so that Padmé could see his smile. He started to move in, but she held her ground. It wasn’t a conscious decision; she was simply entranced, for it seemed to her as if the sun was setting behind Anakin’s shoulders and not behind the horizon, as if he was big enough to dismiss the day. Orange flames danced about his silhouette, dulling the distinction between Anakin and eternity.
Padmé had to consciously remember to breathe. She stepped back and Anakin sauntered in, apparently oblivious to the wondrous moment she had just experienced. He was grinning mischievously, and for some reason she felt embarrassed. She wondered for a moment if she should have chosen a different outfit, for the evening dress she was wearing was black and off the shoulder, showing quite a bit of flesh. She wore a black choker, as well, with a line of sheer fabric running down over the front of the dress, barely concealing her cleavage.
She moved to close the door, but paused and looked back over the lake, at the rose-colored tint filtering across the shimmering water.
When she turned back, Anakin was already standing by the table, looking over the bowl of fruit and the settings Padmé had put out. She watched him glance up at one of the floating light globes, its glow growing as the sunlight began to diminish outside. He playfully poked at it, seemingly oblivious that she, or anyone else, was watching him, and his smile nearly reached his ears as the globe bounced away from his touch, elongating the soft sphere of light.
The next few moments of just watching Anakin were quite pleasant for Padmé, but the next few after that, when he started looking back at her, his expression alternately playful and intense, proved more than a bit uncomfortable.
Soon enough, though, the pair had settled in at the table, seated across from each other. Two of the resort waitresses, Nandi and Teckla, served them their meal, while Anakin began recounting some of the adventures he had known over the last ten years, training and flying with Obi-Wan.
Padmé listened attentively, captivated by Anakin’s flair for storytelling. She wanted to do more, though. She wanted to talk about what had happened out at the meadow, to try to make some sense of it with Anakin, to share with him the solution as they had shared the out-of-bounds emotions and moments. But she could not begin, and so she just allowed him to ramble on, contenting herself with enjoying his tales.
Dessert was Padmé’s favorite, yellow-and-cream-colored shuura fruit, juicy and sweet. She grinned as Nandi put a bowl before her.
“And when I went to them, we went into …” Anakin paused, drawing Padmé’s full attention, a wry smile on his face. “Aggressive negotiations,” he finished, and then he thanked Teckla as she placed some dessert fruit before him.
“Aggressive negotiations? What’s that?”
“Uh, well, negotiations with a lightsaber,” the Padawan said, still grinning wryly.
“Oh,” Padmé said with a laugh, and she eagerly went for her dessert, stabbing with her fork.
The shuura moved and her fork hit the plate. A bit confused, Padmé stabbed at it again.
It moved.
She looked up at Anakin, a bit confused and embarrassed, but then she saw that he was fighting hard not to laugh, staring down at his own plate a bit too innocently.
“You did that!”
He looked up, his expression wide-eyed. “What?”
Padmé scowled, pointing her fork at him and waving it threateningly. Then, suddenly, she went for the shuura again.
But Anakin was quicker. The fruit slipped out of the way, and she stabbed the plate. Then, before she could scowl at him again, the shuura rose into the air to hover before her.
“That!” Padmé answered. “Now stop it!” She couldn’t hold her feigned anger, though, and laughed aloud as she finished. Anakin started laughing, too. Half looking at him, Padmé snapped her hand at the floating fruit.
He waggled his fingers and the fruit looped about her hand.
“Anakin!”
“If Master Obi-Wan was here, he’d be very grumpy,” the Padawan admitted. He pulled back his hand, and the shuura flew across the table to his waiting grasp. “But he’s not here,” he added, cutting the fruit into several slices. Reaching for the Force, he made one piece float upward and slide toward Padmé. She bit it right out of the air.
Padmé laughed and so did Anakin. They finished their dessert with many fleeting glances, and then, as Teckla and Nandi returned to clean up the plates, the couple retreated to the sitting area, with its comfortable chairs and sofa, and a huge warm fire blazing in the hearth.
Nandi and Teckla finished and bade the couple goodbye, and then they were alone, completely alone, and the tension returned almost immediately.
She wanted him to kiss her, so desperately, and it was precisely that out-of-control sensation that had stopped her cold. This was not right—she knew that in her head, despite what her heart might be telling her. They each had bigger responsibilities for the time being; she had to deal with the continuing split of the Republic, and he had to continue his Jedi training.
Anakin settled back into the sofa. “From the moment I met you, all those years ago, a day hasn’t gone by when I haven’t thought of you.” His voice was husky, intense, and the sparkle in his eyes bored right through her. “And now that I’m with you again, I’m in agony. The closer I get to you, the worse
it gets. The thought of not being with you makes my stomach turn over, my mouth go dry. I feel dizzy! I can’t breathe! I’m haunted by the kiss you never should have given me. My heart is beating, hoping that kiss will not become a scar.”
Padmé’s hand slowly dropped to her side and she sat listening in amazement at how honestly he was opening up before her, baring his heart though he knew she might tear it asunder with a single word. She was honored by the thought, and truly touched. And afraid.
“You are in my very soul, tormenting me,” Anakin went on, not a bit of falseness in his tone. This was no ploy to garner any physical favors; this was honest and straightforward, refreshingly so to the woman who had spent most of her life being attended by handmaidens whose job it was to please and entertaining dignitaries whose agendas were never quite what they seemed.
“What can I do?” he asked softly. “I will do anything you ask.”
Padmé looked away, overwhelmed, finding security in the distracting dance of the flames in the hearth. Several moments of silence slipped by uncomfortably.
“If you are suffering as much as I am, tell me,” Anakin prompted.
Padmé turned on him, her own frustrations bubbling over. “I can’t!” She sat back and struggled to collect herself. “We can’t,” she said as calmly as she could. “It’s just not possible.”
“Anything’s possible,” Anakin replied, leaning forward. “Padmé, please listen—”
“You listen,” she scolded. Somehow, hearing her own denial brought some strength to her—much-needed strength. “We live in a real world. Come back to it, Anakin. You’re studying to become a Jedi Knight. I’m a Senator. If you follow your thoughts through to conclusion, they will take us to a place we cannot go … regardless of the way we feel about each other.”
“Then you do feel something!”
Padmé swallowed hard. “Jedi aren’t allowed to marry,” she pointed out, needing to deflect attention away from her feelings at that debilitating moment. “You’d be expelled from the Order. I will not let you give up your future for me.”
“You’re asking me to be rational,” Anakin replied without the slightest hesitation, and his confidence and boldness here caught Padmé a bit by surprise. There was no longer anything of the child in the man before her. She felt her control slip a notch.
Attack of the Clones Page 17
