“I’m so confused,” the poor C-3PO wailed.
Above it all, R2-D2 wasn’t watching his mechanical friend. He had spied his Mistress Padmé and went in fast pursuit.
Padmé flailed and rolled about the belt, scrambling to her feet, then diving back down low. She backpedaled, then rushed ahead suddenly to scramble under thumping pile drivers, machines slamming metal molds down hard enough to shape the parts of a heavy gauge droid. She dived under one stamper, then scrambled back to her feet right before another, backpedaling furiously, waiting for the precise moment as the heavy head went back up along the guide poles.
And then a winged Geonosian swooped upon her, grabbing at her and throwing her off balance. She used just enough of her attention to free herself momentarily, then hoped she had estimated right and burst forward suddenly, diving and crawling fast, and came out the other side just as the pile driver thundered down.
Right onto the head of the pursuing Geonosian, stamping it flat.
Padmé, facing yet another stamper, didn’t even see it. She managed to roll through safely, but just as she emerged, a winged creature reared up right in front of her, wrapping her in its leathery wings and grabbing at her with strong arms.
Padmé wrestled valiantly, but the creature was too strong. It flew off to the side of the conveyor and then unceremoniously dropped her. Padmé landed hard inside a large empty vat. She recovered quickly and tried to scramble out, but the vat was deep and without handholds and she couldn’t extract herself.
Anakin, battling furiously with a swarm of winged Geonosians, and all the while scrambling to avoid the deadly stamping machines, still managed somehow to see it all. “Padmé!” he cried as he came through a stamper to see disaster looming. There was no way he could get to her, he realized immediately, and the vat into which she had fallen was fast moving toward a pour of molten metal. “Padmé!”
And then he was fighting again, slashing aside yet another of the winged creatures, watching all the while in horror as his love neared her doom.
He fought wildly, beating the creatures away, scrambling desperately for Padmé and calling out to her. He crashed through another assembly line, sending droid parts everywhere, then leapt another belt, crossing the factory room toward Padmé, who was still struggling helplessly, as she moved ever closer to the pouring molten metal. He thought he might get to her, might leap with the Force, but then he passed too close to another machine and a vise closed over his arm, mechanically moving it into position before a programmed cutting machine.
Anakin kicked out, both feet slamming a winged creature that had pursued him in, knocking the Geonosian away. He struggled mightily against the unyielding grip of the machine and managed to turn enough, just in time, to avoid the cutting blade—with his arm, at least. He could only watch in horror as the machine sliced his lightsaber in half.
And then he looked back, realizing that in a moment, the lightsaber would be the least of his losses.
“Padmé!” he cried.
Across the way, R2-D2 had landed near Padmé’s vat. He worked frantically, slipping his controller arm onto the computer access plug, then scrolling through the files.
R2-D2 coolly continued his work, trying to put aside his understanding that Padmé was about to become encased in molten metal.
At last he succeeded in shutting down the correct conveyor. It stopped short, Padmé less than a meter from the metal pour. She barely had time to register relief—a group of winged creatures swooped down upon her and gathered her up in strong grabbing arms.
Anakin, kicking away another of the creatures, continued to struggle with the machine gripping his arm. He could only watch in dismay as a group of deadly droidekas rolled up and unfolded into position around him.
And then an armored rocket-man dropped before him, with blaster leveled his way. “Don’t move, Jedi!” the man ordered.
Senator Amidala sat on one side of the large conference table, with Anakin standing protectively behind her. Across the way sat Count Dooku, Jango Fett positioned behind him. It was hardly a balanced meeting, though, for Jango Fett was armed where Anakin was not, and the room was lined by Geonosian guards.
“You are holding a Jedi Knight, Obi-Wan Kenobi,” Padmé said calmly, using the tone that had gotten her through so many Senatorial negotiations. “I am formally requesting you turn him over to me now.”
“He has been convicted of espionage, Senator, and will be executed. In just a few hours, I believe.”
“He is an officer of the Republic,” she said, her voice rising a bit. “You can’t do that.”
“We don’t recognize the Republic here,” Dooku said. “However, if Naboo were to join our alliance, I could easily hear your plea for clemency.”
“And if I don’t join your rebellion, I assume this Jedi with me will also die.”
“I don’t wish to make you join our cause against your will, Senator, but you are a rational, honest representative of your people, and I assume you want to do what’s in their best interest. Aren’t they fed up with the corruption, the bureaucrats, the hypocrisy of it all? Aren’t you? Be honest, Senator.”
His words stung her, because she knew there was some truth in them. Just enough to give him a modicum of credibility, enough for Dooku to entice so many systems to join in his alliance. And of course, the reality of the situation around her stung her even more deeply. She knew that she was right, that her ideals meant something, but how did that measure up against the fact that she would be executed for holding them? And even more than that, how did her precious ideals hold up against the fact that Anakin would die for them, as well? She knew in that moment just how much she loved the Padawan, but knew, too, that she could not deny all that she had believed for all of her life, not even for his life and hers. “The ideals are still alive, Count, even if the institution is failing.”
“You believe in the same ideals we believe in!” Dooku replied at once, seizing the apparent opening. “The same ideals we are striving to make prominent.”
“If what you say is true, you should stay in the Republic and help Chancellor Palpatine put things right.”
“The Chancellor means well, M’Lady, but he is incompetent,” Dooku said. “He has promised to cut the bureaucracy, but the bureaucrats are stronger than ever. The Republic cannot be fixed, M’Lady. It is time to start over. The democratic process in the Republic is a sham. A game played on the voters. The time will come when that cult of greed called the Republic will lose even the pretext of democracy and freedom.”
Padmé firmed her jaw against the assault, consciously reminding herself that he was exaggerating, playing things all in a light to give himself credibility. All she had to do to see through the lies, to see the fangs beneath the tempting sway of the serpent, was remind herself that he had taken Obi-Wan prisoner and meant to execute him. Would the Republic have taken such a prisoner and set him up for execution? Would she?
“I cannot believe that,” she said with renewed determination. “I know of your treaties with the Trade Federation, the Commerce Guild, and the others, Count. What is happening here is not government that has been bought out by business, it’s business becoming government! I will not forsake all that I have honored and worked for, and betray the Republic.”
“Then you will betray your Jedi friends? Without your cooperation, I can do nothing to stop their execution.”
“And in that statement lies the truth of your proposed improvement,” she said flatly, her words holding firm against the turmoil and agony that was wracking her. In the silence that followed, Dooku’s staring expression went from that of a polite dignitary to an angry enemy, for just a flash, before reverting to his usual calm and regal demeanor.
“And what about me?” Padmé continued. “Am I to be executed also?”
“I wouldn’t think of such an offense,” Dooku said. “But there are individuals who have a strong interest in your demise, M’Lady. It has nothing to do with politics, I’m afraid. I
t’s purely personal, and they have already paid great sums to have you assassinated. I’m sure they will push hard to have you included in the executions. I’m sorry, but if you are not going to cooperate, I must turn you over to the Geonosians for justice. Without your cooperation, I’ve done all I can for you.”
“Justice,” Padmé echoed incredulously, with a shake of her head and a knowing smirk. And then there was silence.
Dooku waited patiently for a few moments, then turned and nodded to Jango Fett.
“Take them away!” the bounty hunter ordered.
* * *
Much to his dismay, C-3PO found out exactly what the Geonosian had meant when he had said, “Put him in the line!”
He was in group of drilling battle droids, a dozen lines of twenty in a rectangular formation, going through the extensive programming testing before being herded onto great landing pads to be scooped up by Trade Federation warships.
So flustered was the out-of-place protocol droid, and so unfamiliar with his new body, that when the Geonosian ordered, “Left face,” he turned to the right, and when the drill leader then commanded, “March,” the battle droid now facing him stomped right into him, bearing him backward, following its orders to a T without the ability to improvise.
“Oh, do stop!” C-3PO pleaded. “You are scratching me! Oh, I do beg you to stop!”
No response followed, because the droids had been programmed to respond only to the drill leader.
“Oh, do stop!” C-3PO begged again, fearful that he was going to be knocked over and trampled by the battle droid, and the four others marching behind it. His sensors, tied in to his new torso, showed him an effective solution to his problem. Without even realizing what he was doing, C-3PO fired his right-arm laser, point blank, into the pushing battle droid’s chest, blasting the thing apart.
“Oh my!” C-3PO cried.
“Halt!” the Geonosian drill leader screamed, and all the droids immediately froze in place. Except for poor C-3PO, who stood there positively flummoxed, his torso rotating side to side as he tried to figure out what to do next. He heard the drill leader call out to “take four-dot-seven back for more training,” and when he considered his position in the ranks, he knew the Geonosian was talking about him.
“Wait, no, it is a mistake,” he cried as a pair of burly maintenance droids rolled over and scooped him up in their vise-grip arms. “Oh, but this is all wrong. I am programmed in over three million languages, not for marching!”
Even before he reached the end of the corridor, Mace Windu sensed Yoda’s great sadness. The Master was sitting on a balcony overlooking the Galactic Senate. Below, chaos reigned. Uproar and screaming, loud opinions and counteropinions—the turmoil struck a profound chord in Mace Windu, who understood Yoda’s sadness, and shared it. This was the government that he and his proud Order were sworn to protect, though right now many of the Senators hardly seemed worthy of that protection.
Right there and then, all the faults of the Republic were laid bare to Mace Windu, and to Master Yoda, all of the bureaucratic nonsense that seemed to inevitably get in the way of true progress. This was the chaos that had spawned Count Dooku and the separatist movement. This was the nonsense that gave credence to otherwise outlandish claims, and allowed the greedy special interests, like the Trade Federation, to exploit the galaxy.
The tall Jedi Master moved to the end of the corridor and sat down beside Yoda. He said nothing, because there was nothing to say. Their place was to observe and to fight in defense of the Republic.
However ridiculous many of the representatives of that body now appeared below them.
Mace and Yoda watched the Senators screaming furiously at each other, fists and other appendages waving in the air. At the podium across the way, Mas Amedda stood anxiously, glancing about and calling for order.
Finally, after many long minutes, the screaming died away.
“Order! Order!” Mas Amedda repeated many times, obviously trying to ensure that things did not spiral out of control once again.
Chancellor Palpatine moved front and center, and cast his gaze all about the amphitheater, meeting many eyes and trying hard to convey the gravity of the moment.
“In the regrettable absence of Senator Amidala,” he said at length, speaking slowly and distinctly, “the chair recognizes the Senior Representative of Naboo, Jar Jar Binks.”
Mace looked at Yoda, who closed his eyes against the ensuing onslaught of cheers and boos, seemingly equal in strength. Everyone in the Senate knew what was coming, and the weight of it threatened to rip the body politic apart.
Mace looked back at the floor and finally spotted Jar Jar, floating out before the podium on his platform, flanked by Gungan aides.
“Senators!” Jar Jar called. “Dellow felegates—”
The laughter was almost as deafening as the arguing, but the humor was lost quickly, as jeers erupted once more.
“Stay strong, Jar Jar,” Mace quietly mouthed, looking down at the Gungan, whose face and ears were now bright red from embarrassment.
“Order!” Mas Amedda shouted from the podium. “The Senate will accord the Representative the courtesy of a hearing!”
The floor quieted, and Mas Amedda signaled to Jar Jar, who was by this time gripping the front of his platform tightly.
“In response to the direct threat to the Republic,” the Gungan began, speaking clearly and directly, “mesa propose that the Senate give immediate emergency powers to the Supreme Chancellor.”
There came a brief silence as everyone turned to look at everyone else. Gradually, a clapping began, and when the jeers erupted from opposing factions, the cheering grew even louder, soon drowning out the opposition. Though she wasn’t even present, it was Amidala who had done this, Mace understood. All the years she had worked to win the trust of others had led to this crucial victory. If anyone other than a Representative of Naboo, a voice speaking for Amidala, had suggested such a drastic measure, then the debate would never have been so cleanly decided. But since she had apparently thrown in with the other side on the debate for the creation of an army, so, too, did many of those who had originally followed her lead in opposing that army.
The noise went on for many minutes, and while the jeering died away, the cheering only gained momentum. Finally, Chancellor Palpatine held up his hands, asking for quiet.
“It is with great reluctance that I have agreed to this calling,” Palpatine began. “I love democracy—I love the Republic. I am mild by nature and do not desire to see the destruction of democracy. The power you give me I will lay down when this crisis has abated. I promise you. And as my first act with this new authority, I will create a grand army of the Republic to counter the increasing threats of the separatists.”
“It is done, then,” Mace said to Yoda, and the diminutive Jedi Master nodded grimly. “I will take what Jedi we have left and go to Geonosis to help Obi-Wan.”
“And visit, I will, the cloners of Kamino and see this army they have created for the Republic,” Yoda said.
Together, the two Jedi walked away from the Senate Hall.
It looked like many of the courtrooms scattered about the galaxy, a round room sectioned by curving railings and tall boxed-off areas, with rows of seats behind the main area for interested onlookers. But the makeup of the principals told Padmé that the resemblance to a hall of justice ended right there. Poggle the Lesser, the Archduke of Geonosis, presided over the gathering, helped by his Geonosian aide, Sun Fac, but clearly there would be no possibility of open-mindedness. Padmé recognized the others as separatist Senators, dignitaries of the various commercial guilds and the InterGalactic Banking Clan.
She watched them carefully, noting the visceral hatred in their eyes. This was no hearing, no trial. It was a proclamation of hatred, and nothing more.
And so Padmé was hardly surprised when Sun Fac stepped forward and announced, “You have been charged and found guilty of espionage.”
So much for evidence,
Padmé thought.
“Do you have anything to say before your sentence is carried out?” Archduke Poggle the Lesser asked.
Unshaken, the cool Senator stared the Geonosian straight in the eye. “You are committing an act of war, Archduke. I hope you are prepared for the consequences.”
The Geonosian chuckled. “We build weapons, Senator. That is our business! Of course we’re prepared!”
“Get on with it!” came the voice of Nute Gunray from the side. “Carry out the sentence. I want to see her suffer.”
Padmé only shook her head. All this because she had foiled the Neimoidian’s plans to exploit her planet when she was Queen. All this because she hadn’t rolled over before the power of Gunray and his followers. And to think that she had agreed to mercy for the Neimoidians after their defeat on Naboo!
“Your other Jedi friend is waiting for you, Senator,” Archduke Poggle the Lesser announced, and he waved to the guards. “Take them to the arena!”
At the back of the hall, the young boy soaked it all in and looked up at his father, a perfect older-version replica of himself. “Are they going to feed them to the beasts?” Boba Fett asked.
Jango Fett looked down at his eager son and chuckled. “Yes, Boba.” He had many times told Boba stories of the Geonosian arena.
“Oh, I hope they use an acklay,” said Boba matter-of-factly. “I want to see if it’s as powerful as I’ve read.”
Jango just smiled and nodded, amused that his son was already so interested in such things, and glad for the dispassion in his tone. Boba was being strictly pragmatic here, even in the face of the executions of three people. He was taking in the entire scenario with the cool and collected pragmatism that would allow him to survive in the harsh galaxy.
He was a good learner.
The jumble of information they were downloading into C-3PO would surely have overwhelmed the droid, conditioning him as intended, had his circuits not already been filled to near capacity with linguistic information. C-3PO engaged in multiple translations of each instruction pattern, and in doing so, managed to water them down enough so that they lost any real effect.
Attack of the Clones Page 26
