Padmé yanked him over to the side and found a cloth to wipe the excess oil off of his face. That done, she set the droid down on the floor and unhitched him.
“Better?” she asked.
“Oh, much better, Miss Padmé.” C-3PO waved his arms about and seemed quite pleased.
“No itches?” Padmé asked, inspecting her work.
“No itches,” C-3PO confirmed.
“Well, good,” she said with a smile. But her smile faltered as she realized that she was done. She had used her work with the droid to shield her from her fears over the last hours—she had hardly even realized that the sun had risen—and now those fears for Anakin were already coming back to her.
She was running out of places to hide.
“Oh, Miss Padmé, thank you! Thank you!” said C-3PO. He came forward, his arms outstretched to hug her, but then he moved back suddenly, seeming to remember himself and his sudden lack of protocol.
“Thank you,” he said again, with a little more dignity. “Thank you very much.”
Owen Lars entered the garage area. “Well, there you are,” he said to Padmé. “We’ve been looking all over for you.”
“I was out here all the time, giving Threepio a much-needed bath.”
“Well, Padmé,” Owen said, and when she turned to regard him, Padmé saw that he was grinning widely. “I’m returning this droid to Anakin. I know that’s what my mom would want.”
Padmé smiled and nodded.
“He’s back! He’s back!” came Beru’s call from outside the garage. Smiles gone, Padmé and Owen turned and rushed out.
They caught up with Beru outside, and Cliegg soon joined them, his hoverchair banging and clunking against furniture and doorways as he glided out of the house.
“Where?” Padmé asked.
Beru pointed across the desert.
Squinting and shielding her eyes from the glare of the suns, Padmé finally marked the black dot that was Anakin, rushing toward them. As the speck grew into a distinguishable form, she realized that he was not alone, that there was someone tied over the back of the speeder.
“Oh, Shmi,” Cliegg Lars said breathlessly. He was trembling visibly.
Beru sniffled and struggled to keep from sobbing. Owen stood beside her, his hand draped across her shoulders, and when Padmé looked over at them, she noticed a tear sliding down Owen’s cheek.
Anakin crossed into the compound a few moments later, pulling up short of the stunned group. Without a word, he dismounted and moved to unstrap his dead mother, lifting her and cradling her in his arms. He walked up to Cliegg and paused there for a bit, two men sharing a moment of grief.
Then, still without speaking, Anakin walked past the man and into the house.
All that time, the thing that struck Padmé the most was the look upon Anakin’s face, an expression unlike anything she had ever seen on the Padawan: part rage, part grief, part guilt, and part resignation, even defeat. She knew that Anakin would need her, and soon.
But she had no idea of what she might do for him.
There wasn’t much talking in the Lars homestead the rest of that day. Everyone just went about their chores, any chores, obviously trying to avoid the outpouring of grief that they all knew would inevitably come.
At work preparing a meal for Anakin, Padmé was surprised when Beru came up to help her, and even more surprised when the woman started some small talk with her.
“What’s it like there?” Beru asked.
Padmé looked at her curiously. “I’m sorry?”
“On Naboo. What’s it like?”
Padmé could hardly even register the question, for her thoughts remained with Anakin. It took her a long time to respond, but finally she managed to say, “Oh, it’s very … very green. You know, with lots of water, and trees and plants everywhere. It’s not like here at all.” She turned away as soon as she finished, and knew she was being a bit rude. But all she wanted was to be with Anakin, and so she started loading the food tray.
“I think I like it here better,” Beru remarked.
“Maybe you’ll come and see it someday,” Padmé said, more to be polite than anything else.
But Beru answered seriously. “I don’t think so. I don’t like to travel.”
Padmé picked up the tray and turned to go. “Thanks, Beru,” she said with as much of a smile as she could muster.
She found Anakin standing at a workbench in the garage, working on a part from the speeder bike.
“I brought you something to eat.”
Anakin glanced at her, but immediately went back to his work. She noted that he was exaggerating every movement, obviously frustrated, obviously distracted from the task at hand. “The shifter broke,” he explained, too intently. “Life seems so much simpler when you’re fixing things. I’m good at fixing things. I always was. But I …”
Finally he slammed down the wrench he was using and just stood there, head bowed.
Padmé recognized that he was on the verge of collapse.
“Why did she have to die?” he mouthed quietly. Padmé slid the tray down on the workbench and moved behind him, putting her arms about his waist and resting her head comfortingly on his back.
“Why couldn’t I save her?” Anakin asked. “I know I could have!”
“Annie, you tried.” She squeezed him a bit tighter. “Sometimes there are things no one can fix. You’re not all-powerful.”
He stiffened at her words and pulled away from her suddenly—and angrily, she realized. “But I should be!” he growled, and then he looked at her, his face a mask of grim determination. “And someday I will be!”
“Anakin, don’t say such things,” Padmé replied fearfully, but he didn’t even seem to hear her.
“I’ll be the most powerful Jedi ever!” he railed on. “I promise you! I will even learn to stop people from dying!”
“Anakin—”
“It’s all Obi-Wan’s fault!” He stormed across the room and slammed his fist onto the workbench again, nearly dislodging the plate of food. “He put me out of the way.”
“To guard me,” she said quietly.
“I should have been out with him, hunting the assassins! I’d have had them a long time ago, and would’ve gotten here in time and my mother would still be alive!”
“You can’t know—”
“He’s jealous of me,” Anakin rambled on, paying no attention to her at all. He wasn’t talking to her, she realized, but was just playing it all out verbally for himself. She could hardly believe what she was hearing. “He put me out of the way because he knows that I’m already more powerful than he is. He’s holding me back!”
He finished by picking up his wrench and throwing it across the garage, where it smashed against a far wall and clattered down among some spare parts.
“Anakin, what’s wrong?” she cried at him.
Her volume and tone finally got his attention. “I just told you!”
“No!” Padmé yelled back at him. “No. What’s really wrong?”
Anakin just stared at her, and she knew that she was on to something.
“I know it hurts, Anakin. But this is more than that. What’s really wrong?”
He just stared at her.
“Annie?”
His body seemed to shrink then, and slump forward just a bit. “I … I killed them,” he admitted, and if Padmé hadn’t run to him and grabbed him close, he would have fallen over. “I killed them all,” he admitted. “They’re dead. Every single one of them.”
He looked at her then, and it seemed to her as if he had suddenly returned to her from somewhere far, far away.
“You did battle …” she started to reason.
He ignored her. “Not just the men,” he went on. “And the men are the only fighters among the Tuskens. No, not just them. The women and the children, too.” His face contorted, as if he was teetering between anger and guilt. “They’re like animals!” he said suddenly. “And I slaughtered them like animals! I ha
te them!”
Padmé sat back a bit, too stunned to respond. She knew that Anakin needed her to say something or do something, but she was paralyzed. He wasn’t even looking at her—he was just staring off into the distance. But then he lowered his head and began to sob, his lean, strong shoulders shaking.
Padmé pulled him in and hugged him close, never wanting to let go. She still didn’t know what to say.
“Why do I hate them?” Anakin asked her.
“Do you hate them, or do you hate what they did to your mother?”
“I hate them!” he insisted.
“And they earned your anger, Anakin.”
He looked up at her, his eyes wet with tears. “But it was more than that,” he started to say, and then he shook his head and buried his face against the softness of her breast.
A moment later, he looked back up, his expression showing that he was determined to explain. “I didn’t … I couldn’t …” He held one hand up outstretched, then clenched it into a fist. “I couldn’t control myself,” he admitted. “I … I don’t want to hate them—I know that there is no place for hatred. But I just can’t forgive them!”
“To be angry is to be human,” Padmé assured him.
“To control your anger is to be a Jedi,” Anakin was quick to reply, and he pulled away from her and stood up, turning to face the open door and the desert beyond.
Padmé was right there beside him, draping her arms about him. “Shhh,” she said softly. She kissed him gently on the cheek. “You’re human.”
“No, I’m a Jedi. I know I’m better than this.” He looked at her directly, shaking his head. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“You’re like everybody else,” Padmé said. She tried to draw closer, but Anakin held himself back from her.
He couldn’t hold the pose of defiance for long, though, before he broke down again in sobs.
Padmé was there to hold him and rock him and tell him that everything would be all right.
Obi-Wan Kenobi slumped back in the seat of his starfighter, shaking his head in frustration. It had taken him a long while to extract himself safely from the factory city, and when he had at last found his starfighter, he had thought the adventure over. But not so.
“The transmitter is working,” he told R4, who tootled his agreement. “But we’re not receiving a return signal. Coruscant’s too far.” He spun to face the droid. “Can you boost the power?”
The beeps that came back at him were not comforting.
“Okay, then we’ll have to try something else.” Obi-Wan looked around for an answer. He didn’t want to lift off from the planet and risk detection, but so far out and within the heavy and metallic Geonosian atmosphere, he had no chance of reaching distant Coruscant.
“Naboo is closer,” he said suddenly, and R4 beeped. “Maybe we can contact Anakin and get the information relayed.”
R4 replied with enthusiasm and Obi-Wan climbed back out of the cockpit to repeat the message with the changes for Anakin.
A few moments later, though, the droid signaled him that something was wrong.
With a frustrated growl, the Jedi climbed back up into the cockpit.
“How can he not be on Naboo?” he asked, and R4 gave an “oooo.” Rather than argue with a droid, Obi-Wan checked the instruments himself. Sure enough, Anakin’s signal was not to be found coming from Naboo.
“Anakin? Anakin? Do you copy? This is Obi-Wan Kenobi?” he said, lifting his ship comm directly and shooting the call out toward the general area of Naboo.
After several minutes with no response, the Jedi put the comm back down and turned to R4. “He’s not on Naboo, Arfour. I’m going to try to widen the search. I hope nothing’s happened to him.”
He sat back as the minutes slipped past. He knew that he was losing precious time, but his choices were limited. He couldn’t head back to the city and risk capture, not with so much vital news to relay to the Jedi Council, nor did he want to blast away, for the same reasons. He still had so much to learn here.
So he waited, and finally, some time later, R4 tootled emphatically. Obi-Wan moved to the controls, his eyes widening as he got the confirmation. “That’s Anakin’s tracking signal all right, but it’s coming from Tatooine! What in the blazes is he doing there? I told him to stay on Naboo!”
R4 gave another “oooo.”
“All right, we’re all set—we’ll get these answers later.” He climbed back out of the cockpit and jumped to the ground. “Transmit, Arfour. We haven’t much time.”
The droid locked on to him immediately.
“Anakin?” Obi-Wan asked. “Anakin, do you copy? This is Obi-Wan Kenobi.”
R4 relayed the response, a series of beeps and whistles that the R4-P didn’t normally use, but ones quite familiar to Obi-Wan.
“Artoo? Good, are you reading me clearly?”
The whistle came back affirmative.
“Record this message and take it to the Jedi Skywalker,” Obi-Wan instructed the distant droid.
Another affirmative beep.
“Anakin, my long-range transmitter is knocked out. Retransmit this message to Coruscant.”
The Jedi began to tell his tale then. He didn’t know that the Geonosians had picked up his signal broadcasts and had triangulated those receptions to locate his starfighter. Wound up in his tale, he didn’t notice the approach of the armed droidekas, rolling up near to him, then unrolling to their attack posture.
Even the two blazing Tatooine suns could not brighten the somber mood, the tangible grayness permeating the air, around the new grave outside the Lars compound. Two old headstones marked the ground next to the new one, a poignant reminder of the difficulties of life on the harsh world of Tatooine. The five of them—Cliegg, Anakin, Padmé, Owen, and Beru—had gathered, along with C-3PO, to bid farewell to Shmi.
“I know wherever you are, it’s become a better place,” Cliegg Lars said, and he took a handful of sand and tossed it on the new grave. “You were the most loving partner a man could ever have. Good-bye, my darling wife. And thank you.”
He glanced briefly at Anakin, then lowered his head and fought back tears.
Anakin stepped forward and knelt before the marker. He picked up a handful of sand and let it slip through his fingers.
“I wasn’t strong enough to save you, Mom,” the young man said, suddenly feeling more like a boy. His shoulders bobbed once or twice, but he fought to regain control, and took a deep and determined breath. “I wasn’t strong enough. But I promise I won’t fail again.” His breathing came in short rasps as another wave of grief nearly toppled him. But the young Padawan squared his shoulders and determinedly stood up. “I miss you so much.”
Padmé came forward and put her hand on Anakin’s shoulder, and all of them stood silent before the grave.
The moment held only briefly, though, broken by a series of urgent beeps and whistles. They turned as one to see R2-D2 rolling their way.
“Artoo, what are you doing here?” Padmé asked.
The droid whistled frantically.
“It seems that he is carrying a message from someone named Obi-Wan Kenobi,” C-3PO quickly translated. “Does that mean anything to you, Master Anakin?”
Anakin squared his shoulders. “What is it?”
R2-D2 beeped and whistled.
“Retransmit?” Anakin asked. “Why, what’s wrong?”
“He says it’s quite important,” C-3PO observed.
With a look to Cliegg and the other two, silently seeking their permission, Anakin, Padmé, and C-3PO followed the excited droid back to the Naboo ship. As soon as they got inside, R2 beeped and spun, and projected an image of Obi-Wan in front of them.
“Anakin, my long-range transmitter has been knocked out,” the Jedi’s hologram explained. “Retransmit this message to Coruscant.” R2 stopped the message there, with Obi-Wan seeming to freeze in place.
Anakin looked at Padmé. “Patch it through to the Jedi Council chamber.”
&nb
sp; Padmé stepped over and flipped a button, then waited for confirmation that the signal was getting through. She nodded to Anakin, who turned back to R2.
“Go ahead, Artoo.”
The droid gave a beep, and Obi-Wan’s hologram began to move once more. “I have tracked the bounty hunter Jango Fett to the droid foundries of Geonosis. The Trade Federation is to take delivery of a droid army here and it is clear that Viceroy Gunray is behind the assassination attempts on Senator Amidala.”
Anakin and Padmé exchanged knowing glances, neither of them very surprised by that information. Padmé thought back to her meeting with Typho and Panaka on Naboo, before she had left for Coruscant, secretly escorting the doomed starship.
“The Commerce Guild and Corporate Alliance have both pledged their armies to Count Dooku and are forming an—”
The hologram swung about. “Wait! Wait!”
Anakin and Padmé cringed as droidekas appeared in the hologram along with Obi-Wan, grabbing at him and restraining him. The hologram flickered, then broke apart.
Anakin jumped up and rushed at R2-D2, but pulled up short, realizing that there was nothing he could do.
Nothing at all.
On distant Coruscant, Yoda and Mace Windu and the other members of the Jedi Council watched the hologram transmission with trepidation and great sadness.
“He is alive,” Yoda announced, after yet another viewing. “I feel him in the Force.”
“But they have taken him,” Mace put in. “And the wheels have begun to spin more dangerously.”
“More happening on Geonosis, I feel, than has been revealed.”
“I agree,” Mace said. “We must not sit idly by.” He looked at Yoda, as did everyone else in the room, and the little Jedi Master closed his eyes, seemingly very weary and very pained by it all.
“The dark side, I feel,” he said. “And all is cloudy.”
Mace nodded and turned a grim expression on the others. “Assemble,” he ordered, a command that had not been given to the Jedi Council in many, many years.
“We will deal with Count Dooku,” Mace said through the comlink to Anakin. “The most important thing for you, Anakin, is to stay where you are. Protect the Senator at all costs. That is your first priority.”
Attack of the Clones Page 24
