Padmé nodded, conceding the point. “Stay with the ship, Artoo,” she instructed the droid, who beeped in reply.
The first form that came into view as they walked toward the homestead was that of a very thin droid, dull gray in color, with weatherbeaten metal coverings. Obviously in need of a good oil bath, he bent stiffly and worked on some sort of fence sensor. Then he rose with a jerky motion, seeing their approach. “Oh, hello,” he greeted. “How might I be of service? I am See—”
“Threepio?” Anakin said breathlessly, hardly believing his eyes.
“Oh my!” the droid exclaimed, and he began to shake violently. “Oh, my maker! Master Anakin! I knew you would return! I knew you would! And this must be Miss Padmé!”
“Hello, Threepio,” Padmé said.
“Oh, my circuits! I’m so pleased to see you both!”
“I’ve come to see my mother,” Anakin explained. The droid turned sharply up toward him, then seemed to shrink back.
“I think … I think,” C-3PO stuttered. “Perhaps we’d better go indoors.” He turned toward the homestead, motioning with his hand for the couple to follow.
Anakin and Padmé exchanged nervous glances. Anakin could not shake the feeling of doom that lingered long after the imagery of his nightmares had faded …
By the time they caught up to the droid, he was in the courtyard, shouting, “Master Cliegg! Master Owen! Might I present two important visitors?”
A young man and woman came rushing out of the house almost immediately, but slowed at the site of Padmé and Anakin.
“I’m Anakin Skywalker,” Anakin said at once.
“Anakin?” the man echoed, his eyes going wide. “Anakin!”
The woman at his side brought her hand up to cover her mouth. “Anakin the Jedi,” she whispered breathlessly.
“You know of me? Shmi Skywalker is my mother.”
“Mine, too,” said the man. “Not my real mom,” he added at Anakin’s obviously puzzled look, “but as real a mom as I’ve ever known.” He extended his hand. “Owen Lars. This is my girlfriend, Beru Whitesun.”
Beru nodded and said, “Hello.”
Padmé, after giving up on Anakin ever remembering to introduce her, came forward. “I’m Padmé.”
“I guess I’m your stepbrother,” Owen said, his eyes never leaving the young Jedi of whom he had heard so very much. “I had a feeling you might show up.”
“Is my mother here?”
“No, she’s not,” came a gruff answer from behind Owen and Beru, from the shadows of the house door. All four turned to see a heavyset man glide out on a hoverchair. One of his legs was heavily bandaged, the other, missing, and Anakin knew at once that these were fairly recent wounds. His heart seemed to leap into his throat.
“Cliegg Lars,” the man said, moving in close and extending his hand. “Shmi is my wife. We should go inside. We have a lot to talk about.”
Anakin followed as if in a dream, a very horrible dream.
“It was just before dawn,” Cliegg was saying, gliding toward the table in the homestead kitchen with Owen beside him, while Beru peeled off to gather some food and drinks for the guests.
“They came out of nowhere,” Owen added.
“A band of Tusken Raiders,” Cliegg explained.
A sinking feeling nearly buckled Anakin’s knees and he slumped into a seat across from Owen. He’d had some experience with Tusken Raiders, but on a very limited basis. Once he had tended the wound of one gravely injured Raider, and when the Tusken’s friends showed up, they had let him go—something unheard of among the more civilized species of Tatooine. But still, despite that one anomaly, Anakin didn’t like hearing the name of Shmi spoken in the same breath as the grim words, Tusken Raiders.
“Your mother had gone out early, like she always did, to pick mushrooms that grow on the vaporators,” Cliegg explained. “From the tracks, she was about halfway home when they took her. Those Tuskens walk like men, but they’re vicious, mindless monsters.”
“We’d seen many signs that they were about,” Owen piped in. “She shouldn’t have gone out!”
“We can’t live huddled in fear!” Cliegg scolded, but he calmed at once and turned back to Anakin. “All signs were that we’d chased the Tuskens away. We didn’t know how strong this raiding band was—stronger than anything any of us have ever seen. Thirty of us went out after Shmi. Four of us came back.”
He grimaced and rubbed his leg, and Anakin felt the man’s pain clearly.
“I’d still be out there, only … after I lost my leg …” Cliegg nearly broke down, and it struck Anakin how much the man loved Shmi.
“I just can’t ride anymore,” Cliegg went on. “Until I heal.”
The proud man drew in a deep breath and forcibly steadied himself, squaring his broad shoulders. “This isn’t the way I wanted to meet you, son,” he said. “This isn’t how your mother and I planned it. I don’t want to give up on her, but she’s been gone a month. There’s little hope she’s lasted this long.”
The words hit Anakin like a stinging slap, and he retreated from them, back into himself, back into the Force. He reached out, using his bond with his mother to try to somehow feel her presence in the Force.
Then he shot to his feet.
“Where are you going?” Owen asked.
“To find my mother,” came the grim reply.
“No, Anakin!” Padmé cried out, rising to grab his forearm.
“Your mother’s dead, Son,” the resigned Cliegg added. “Accept it.”
Anakin glowered at him, at them all. “I can feel her pain,” he said, his jaw clenched, teeth gritted. “Continuing pain. And I will find her.”
A moment of silence ensued, and then Owen offered, “Take my speeder bike.” He jumped up from his seat and strode by Anakin.
“I know she’s alive,” Anakin said, turning to face Padmé. “I know it.”
Padmé winced but said nothing, and she let go of Anakin’s arm as he moved to follow Owen.
“I wish he’d have come a bit earlier,” Cliegg lamented.
Padmé looked over at him, and at Beru, who was standing over the tearful man, hugging him.
Then, having no words to offer, Padmé turned and rushed out to join Anakin and Owen. By the time she caught up, Owen was heading back for the house and Anakin was standing near the speeder, staring out over the empty desert.
“You’re going to have to stay here,” Anakin said to her as she hurried to his side. “These are good people. You’ll be safe.”
“Anakin …”
“I know she’s alive,” he said, still staring out at the dunes.
Padmé hugged him tightly. “Find her,” she whispered.
“I won’t be long,” he promised. He straddled the speeder bike, kicked it to life, and rocketed away across the dunes.
When the call beamed into the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, using scramble code 5 and in care of “the old folks home,” Mace Windu and Yoda knew that it was important. Extremely important.
They took the call in Yoda’s apartment, after Mace checked the corridor both ways, then pointedly closed the door.
The hologram of Obi-Wan Kenobi appeared before them. The man was obviously on edge, glancing repeatedly over his shoulder.
“Masters, I have successfully made contact with Lama Su, the Prime Minister of Kamino.”
“Ah, good it is that your planet you have found,” Yoda said.
“Right where your students predicted,” Obi-Wan replied. “These Kaminoans are cloners—best in the galaxy I’ve been told, and from what I’ve seen, I don’t doubt the claims.”
Both Jedi Masters frowned.
“They are using a bounty hunter named Jango Fett to create a clone army.”
“An army?” Mace repeated.
“For the Republic,” came Obi-Wan’s startling answer. “What’s more, I have a strong feeling that this bounty hunter is behind the plot to assassinate Senator Amidala.”
“Do you
think these cloners are involved in that, as well?”
“No, Master, there appears to be no motive.”
“Do not assume anything, Obi-Wan,” Yoda advised. “Clear, your mind must be if you are to discover the real villain behind this plot.”
“Yes, Master,” Obi-Wan said. “Prime Minister Lama Su has informed me that the first battalion of clone troopers are ready for delivery. He also wanted me to remind you that if we require more—and they’ve another million well on the way to completion—it will take more time to grow them.”
“A million clone warriors?” Mace Windu asked in disbelief.
“Yes, Master. They say Master Sifo-Dyas placed the order for the clone army almost ten years ago. I was under the impression he was killed before that. Did the Council ever authorize the creation of a clone army?”
“No,” Mace answered without hesitation, and without even looking to Yoda for confirmation. “Whoever placed that order did not have the authorization of the Jedi Council.”
“Then how? And why?”
“The mystery deepens,” Mace said. “And it is one that needs unraveling, for more reasons than the safety of Senator Amidala.”
“The clones are impressive, Master,” Obi-Wan explained. “They have been created and trained for one purpose alone.”
* * *
“Into custody, take this Jango Fett,” Yoda instructed. “Bring him here. Question him, we will.”
“Yes, Master. I will report back when I have him.” Obi-Wan glanced over his shoulder again and abruptly instructed R4 to cut the transmission.
“A clone army,” Mace remarked, alone with Yoda once again, the hologram gone. “Why would Sifo-Dyas—”
“When placed, this order was, may provide insight,” Yoda said, and Mace nodded. If the timing of the order was correct, then Sifo-Dyas must have placed it right before he died.
“If this Jango Fett was involved in trying to kill the Senator, and just happened to be chosen as the source for a clone army, created for the Republic …” Mace Windu stopped and shook his head. The coincidence was too great for those two items to be simple chance. But how could one tie in with the other? Was it possible that whoever decided to create the clone army was afraid that Senator Amidala would be a strong enough voice to prevent that army from being used?
The Jedi Master rubbed a hand over his forehead and looked to Yoda, who sat with his eyes closed. Probably contemplating the same riddles as he was, Mace knew. And equally troubled, if not more so.
“Blind we are, if the development of this clone army we could not see,” Yoda remarked.
“I think it is time to inform the Senate that our ability to use the Force has diminished.”
“Only the Dark Lords of the Sith know of our weakness,” Yoda replied. “If informed the Senate is, multiply our adversaries will.”
For the two Jedi Masters, this surprising development was troubling on several different levels.
* * *
Obi-Wan moved along the corridor carefully. He knew nothing of Jango Fett’s accomplishments, but he figured they must be considerable, given the selection of the man as the prototype for a clone army. Pausing, he closed his eyes and reached out to the Force, searching for hidden enemies. A moment later, convinced that Jango wasn’t in the immediate area, he approached the door. Gently, he ran his fingers along the frame, sensing for potential traps, then finally touched the locking mechanism. Holding one hand there, he tried the door.
It didn’t budge.
Obi-Wan reached for his lightsaber thinking to shear through the portal, but he changed his mind, preferring subtlety. He closed his eyes and sent his strength through his outstretched hand and into the lock, manipulating the mechanism easily. Then, one hand going to his lightsaber, he tried the door again, and it slid open.
As soon as he viewed the room inside, he knew that he wouldn’t be needing his weapon. The apartment was in complete disorder. The drawers of every cabinet hung open, some lay on the floor, and the chairs were knocked all askew.
To the side, the bedroom door was open, and it, too, was a wreck. All the signs within pointed to a hurried departure.
Obi-Wan glanced all about, looking for some clue, and his gaze finally settled on a thin computer screen set on a counter in the main living area. Rushing to it, he turned it on and recognized it at once as a security network, tied in to various cams set about the immediate area. Obi-Wan scrolled from view to view, noting the corridor he had just traversed and various angles of the apartment itself. An outside view of the area showed the apartment’s rain-lashed roof—and he could see himself through the transparisteel window.
He continued his scroll, widening the lens and zooming in on anything suspicious.
Then he got a shot of a nearby landing pad and an odd-looking ship with a wide, flat base, narrowed to a point on the closest end and thinning as it climbed to a small compartment, perhaps large enough for two or three men.
Rushing about the parked craft was a familiar figure, either Boba Fett or another clone.
Obi-Wan nodded and smiled knowingly as he followed the boy’s movements, recognizing from the fluidity and randomness of some small actions that this was indeed Boba and not a perfectly controlled and conditioned clone.
Obi-Wan’s grin didn’t hold, though, as another familiar figure came into view. It was Jango, dressed in the armor and rocket pack the Jedi had seen before, on the streets of Coruscant. If Obi-Wan had had any doubts that Jango was the man who had hired Zam Wesell, those doubts were now gone. He bolted from the apartment and ran down the corridor, looking for a way out.
“Yeah, I’ll let you fly it,” Jango said to Boba.
Boba punched a fist into the air in triumph, thrilled that his father was going to let him get behind the controls of Slave I. It had been a long time, months, since Boba had been allowed to sit behind the controls.
“Not to take her out, through,” Jango added, somewhat dimming the boy’s jubilance. “We’re going out hot, son, but we’ll take her back out of lightspeed early so you can get some time working her about.”
“Can I put her down?”
“We’ll see.”
Boba knew that his father really meant “no,” but he didn’t press the point. He understood that something big and dangerous was going on around him, and so he decided to take whatever his dad offered, and be happy with that. He hoisted another bag and climbed up the ramp to the small storage hold. He looked back at Jango as he did so, then looked past Jango, to a human form rushing out of the tower’s turbolift and toward them through the driving rain.
“Dad! Look!”
As Jango swung about, Boba’s eyes went wider still. The running figure was their Jedi visitor—and he was drawing his lightsaber and igniting a blue blade that hissed in the downpour.
“Get on board!” Jango called to him, but Boba hesitated, watching his father pull out his blaster and fire off a bolt at the charging Jedi. With amazing reflexes, Obi-Wan snapped his lightsaber about, deflecting the bolt harmlessly wide.
“Boba!” Jango yelled, and the boy came out of his trance and scrambled up the ramp and into Slave I.
Obi-Wan launched himself through the air at the bounty hunter. Another blaster shot followed, then another, and the Jedi easily picked them both off, deflecting one and turning the other back at Jango. But as the bolt ricocheted toward him, the bounty hunter leapt away, his rocket pack flaring to life, sending him up to the top of the nearby tower.
Obi-Wan tumbled headlong, turning while he rolled to come around as Jango fired again. Without even thinking of the movement, letting the Force guide his hand, the Jedi brought his lightsaber to the left and down, knocking the energy bolt aside.
“You’re coming with me, Jango,” he called.
The man answered with a series of shots, a line of bolts coming at the Jedi. The lightsaber went alternately left then right, picking off each one, and when Jango altered the pattern, left, right, left, right, then right again,
the Force guided Obi-Wan’s hand true.
“Jango!” he started to call out. But then he realized that the bounty hunter’s latest shot was not a bolt but an explosive pack, and the next moment he was diving, enhancing his leap with the Force.
All of Slave I recoiled from the explosion outside, and the jolt sent Boba tumbling to the side. “Dad!” he cried. He scrambled to the viewscreen, flicking it on and orienting the cam on the scene below.
He saw his father immediately, and burst out in tears of relief. He calmed himself quickly, though, scanning the area for the enemy Jedi, and saw Obi-Wan coming over from a roll, back to his feet—and blocking another series of bolts with seeming ease.
Boba scanned the panel, trying to remember all his lessons about Slave I, glad that he had been so diligent in his studies. With a wicked grin that would have made his father proud, Boba fired up the energy packs and clicked off the locking mechanism of the main laser.
“Block this, Jedi,” he whispered. He took a bead on Obi-Wan and pulled the trigger.
“You have a lot to answer!” Obi-Wan called to Jango, his voice sounding thin in the thunderous downpour and lashing wind. “It’ll go easier on you, and on your son, if—”
He stopped suddenly, registering the report of a heavy laser somewhere in his subconscious. The Force had him moving instinctively before he even understood what was happening, leaping and flying across the air in a double somersault.
He landed to find the ground shaking violently under his feet, quaking from the thunder of Slave I’s heavy laser cannon, which swung around to follow him.
Obi-Wan had to dive again, but this time the bouncing report sent him sprawling to the ground, his lightsaber skidding from his grasp across the rain-slickened surface.
Fortunately, Slave I’s cannon went quiet, the energy pack depleted for the moment, and Obi-Wan wasted no time leaping to his feet and charging at Jango Fett, who was coming hard his way.
A blaster bolt led the bounty hunter in, but Obi-Wan leapt above the streaking line of energy, flying forward and spinning around to snap-kick the weapon from Jango’s hand.
The bounty hunter didn’t flinch. He charged right into the Jedi as Obi-Wan landed, looping his arms over Obi-Wan’s and bearing him backward.
Attack of the Clones Page 20
