Attack of the Clones (12 page)

Anakin worked wildly, trying to restart the speeder. “I
could have made it,” he protested sheepishly. His confident expression strengthened as the speeder roared back to life.

“But you didn’t! And now we’ve lost him!”

Even as Obi-Wan finished, a barrage of laser bolts rained down around them, setting off explosions that rocked them back and forth. The pair looked up, to see the assassin zooming away.

“No, we didn’t,” a smiling Anakin said. He took the speeder up, the sudden thrust violently throwing them both back in their seats. They came through the area of smoke and carnage with several small fires burning on their speeder. Obi-Wan slapped at flames on the control panel.

Again they chased the assassin into the main travel lanes, dodging and turning fast about incoming traffic. Up ahead, the assassin cut fast to the left, between two buildings, and Anakin responded, going right and up.

“Where are you going?” a perplexed Obi-Wan asked. “He went down there, the other way.”

“This is a shortcut. I think.”

“What do you mean,
you think
? What kind of shortcut? He went completely the other way! You’ve lost him!”

“Master, if we keep this chase going, that creep’s gonna end up deep-fried,” Anakin tried to explain. “Personally, I’d very much like to find out who he is, and who he’s working for.”

“Oh,” Obi-Wan replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “So that’s why we’re going in the wrong direction.”

Anakin took them up and around, finally settling into a hover some fifty stories up from the street.

“Well, you lost him,” Obi-Wan said.

“I’m deeply sorry, Master,” Anakin replied. Again, he seemed hardly convincing, as if he was saying just what
he had to say to keep Obi-Wan from scolding him further. The Jedi Knight looked at him hard, ready to call him on it, when he noticed that Anakin, seemingly deep in concentration, was counting softly.

“Excuse me for a moment,” the Padawan said. He stood up and, to Obi-Wan’s complete shock, stepped out of the speeder.

Obi-Wan lurched over to the edge and stared down, watching Anakin drop—about five stories, before landing atop the roof of a familiar speeder that was zooming beneath them.

“I hate it when he does that,” Obi-Wan muttered incredulously, shaking his head.

Zam Wesell skimmed close to the buildings, staying to the side of the main traffic lanes. She didn’t know whether the probe droid had successfully completed its mission, but she was feeling pretty good at that moment, having outwitted a pair of Jedi.

Suddenly her speeder shook hard. At first she thought she had been hit by a blaster bolt, but then, surveying for damage, she came to know the truth of the missile, and to know that it—that he—had somehow landed on her speeder.

Zam backed off on the throttle, then slammed it out full, lurching the craft ahead. The force of the sudden acceleration nearly dislodged Anakin, sending him sliding back to the tail, but he hung on stubbornly and, to Zam’s dismay, even began crawling back toward the cockpit.

With a sneer, Zam hit the brakes, hard, and Anakin went sliding and bouncing past her.

But the stubborn young Jedi caught one of the twin front forks of the speeder and hung on yet again.

Zam accelerated and reached out her blaster pistol, letting fly a series of bolts in Anakin’s general direction.
The angle was wrong, though, and she couldn’t score any hits. And there he was, crawling back stubbornly toward the roof despite all of Zam’s evasive maneuvers. Her Clawdite form came back, suddenly and briefly, as she lost concentration, but she recovered quickly.

The bounty hunter cursed under her breath and swooped back into traffic, trying to formulate some plan for ridding herself of the troublesome Jedi. She went back into her evasive, traffic-dodging maneuvers yet again, entertaining the thought of moving in close to some of the heavier traffic and letting the exhaust plume smoke the fool atop her craft.

She had almost convinced herself to do just that when suddenly a glowing blue blade of energy sheared through the top of her speeder and plunged down beside her. She looked up to see the stubborn young Jedi cutting through the roof.

Swerving all about, she fired off a shot at him, then another. Finally, to her relief, a shot took the lightsaber from his hand, though whether she had taken the hand, as well, or just the weapon, she could not tell.

Obi-Wan had finally caught sight of Zam’s speeder, with Anakin scrambling atop it, when the lightsaber tumbled from the Padawan’s grasp. Obi-Wan gave a shake of his head and dived his speeder toward the street, angling for an interception.

Anakin’s hand plunged through the hole in the roof, and Zam lifted her blaster pistol in his direction. He didn’t reach for her, just held his hand there outstretched, and before she could fire, some unseen force yanked the pistol from her hand, throwing it right into the Jedi’s grasp. “No!” the bounty hunter yelled, gasping in astonishment. She lurched in her seat, letting go of her speeder’s
controls to grab the pistol desperately with both hands. The pair struggled over the weapon, the speeder dipping right and left, and then the pistol went off, hitting neither opponent, but blowing a hole in the flooring of Zam’s speeder, cutting some control pipes in the process.

The speeder careened out of control, and Zam fell back over the controls, desperately but futilely.

They dived and spun, sidelong and head over. Screaming, both hung on for dear life as they spiraled toward the street.

Finally, at the last possible second, Zam gained some control, enough to turn the impending crash into a spark-throwing skid along the broken permacrete of this seedy section of Coruscant’s belly.

The speeder bounced up on edge and slammed to a halt, and Anakin went flying, tumbling along the street for a long, long way. When he finally got control, he saw the assassin leaping from the speeder and running down the street, so he climbed back to his feet and started to follow.

The splash as he stepped in one dirty puddle woke Anakin to the harsh realities about him. This was the underbelly of Coruscant, the smelly and dirty streets. He slowed—the assassin was out of sight anyway—and looked about curiously, noting the many lowlifes, mostly nonhumans of quite a variety of species. Many beings were panhandling up and down the street.

He shook it all away quickly, though, reminding himself of the real reason he was here, and of Padmé and her need for security. Spurred by images of the beautiful Senator from Naboo, the young Jedi sprinted along the broken sidewalk, catching sight of the assassin moving through a crowd of ruffians. Anakin charged right in behind, pushing and shoving, but making little headway against the press.

He spotted the assassin at the last second, before the helmeted killer disappeared through a doorway.

Anakin shoved through, finally, and glanced up to see the glare of the gambling sign above the establishment. Undaunted, he started again for the door, and then stopped as he heard Obi-Wan calling.

A familiar yellow speeder dropped to a resting place on the side of the street.

“Anakin!” Obi-Wan walked toward the young Jedi, pointedly holding Anakin’s dropped lightsaber in his hand.

“She went into that club, Master!”

Obi-Wan patted his hand in the air to calm the Padawan, not even registering Anakin’s surprising use of the feminine pronoun. “Patience,” he said. “Use the Force, Anakin. Think.”

“Sorry, Master.”

“He went in there to hide, not run,” Obi-Wan reasoned.

“Yes, Master.”

Obi-Wan held the lightsaber out toward his student. “Next time try not to lose it.”

“Sorry, Master.”

Obi-Wan pulled the precious weapon back as Anakin reached for it, and held the young Padawan’s gaze with his own stern look. “A Jedi’s lightsaber is his most precious possession.”

“Yes, Master.” Again, Anakin reached for the lightsaber, and again Obi-Wan pulled it back, never letting Anakin go from his scrutinizing stare.

“He must keep it with him at all times.”

“I know, Master,” Anakin replied, a bit of exasperation creeping into his tone.

“This weapon is your life.”

“I’ve heard this lesson before.”

Obi-Wan held it out again, finally relinquishing that awful stare, and Anakin took the weapon and replaced it on his belt.

“But you haven’t learned anything, Anakin,” the Jedi Knight said, turning away.

“I try, Master.”

There was sincerity in his tone, Obi-Wan clearly recognized, and a bit of regret, perhaps, and that reminded Obi-Wan of the difficult circumstances under which Anakin had entered the Order. He had been far too old, nearly ten years of age, and Master Qui-Gon had taken him in without permission, without the blessing of the Jedi Council. Master Yoda had seen potential danger in young Anakin Skywalker. No one they had ever encountered had been stronger with the Force, in terms of sheer potential. But the Jedi Order normally required training from the earliest possible age. The Force was too powerful a tool—no, not a tool, and that was the problem. An unwise Jedi might consider the Force a tool, a means to his own ends. But a true Jedi understood that the Force was a partner on a concurrent course, a common pathway to true harmony and understanding.

After Qui-Gon’s death at the hands of a Sith Lord, the Jedi Council had rethought their decision about young Anakin, and had allowed his training to go forward, with Obi-Wan fulfilling his promise to Qui-Gon that he would take the talented young boy under his tutelage. The Council had been hesitant, though, and obviously not happy about it. Yoda had seemed almost resigned, as if this path was one that they could not deny, rather than one they would willingly and eagerly walk. For the whispers spoke of Anakin as the chosen one, the one who would bring balance to the Force.

Obi-Wan wasn’t sure what that meant, and he was more than a little fearful. He looked up at Anakin, who was standing patiently, properly subdued after the tongue-lashing, and he took comfort in that image, in this incredibly likable, somewhat stubborn, and obviously brash young man.

He hid his smile only because it would not do for Anakin to understand himself forgiven so easily for his rash actions and the loss of his weapon.

Obi-Wan had to disguise a chuckle as a cough. After all, hadn’t he been the one who had leapt out through a window a hundred stories above the streets of Coruscant?

The Jedi Knight led the way into the gambling club. Humans and nonhumans mingled about in the smoky air, sipping drinks of every color and puffing on exotic pipes full of exotic plants. Many robes showed bulges reminiscent of weapons, and in looking around, both Jedi understood that everyone was a potential threat.

“Why do I think that you’re going to be the death of me?” Obi-Wan commented above the clamor.

“Don’t say that, Master,” Anakin replied seriously, and the intensity of his tone surprised Obi-Wan. “You’re the closest thing I have to a father. I love you, and I don’t want to cause you pain.”

“Then why don’t you listen to me?”

“I will,” Anakin said eagerly. “I’ll do better. I promise.”

Obi-Wan nodded and glanced all around. “Do you see him?”

“I think he’s a she.”

“Then be extra careful,” Obi-Wan said, and he gave a snort.

“And I think she’s a changeling,” Anakin added.

Obi-Wan nodded to the crowd ahead of them. “Go and find her.” He started the opposite way.

“Where are you going, Master?”

“To get a drink,” came the short response.

Anakin blinked in surprise to see his Master heading for the bar. He almost started after, to inquire further, but he recalled the scolding he had just received and his promise to do better, to obey his Master. He turned and started away, milling through the crowd, trying to hold his calm against the wave of faces staring at him, most with obvious suspicion, some even openly hostile.

Over at the bar, Obi-Wan watched him for a bit, out of the corner of his eye. He signaled to the bartender, then watched as a glass was placed in front of him and amber liquid poured in.

“Wanna buy some death sticks?” came a guttural voice from the side.

Obi-Wan didn’t even turn to fully regard the speaker, who wore a wild mane of dark hair, with two antennae twirled up from his hair like curly horns.

“Nobody’s got better death sticks than Elan Sleazebaggano,” the ruffian added with a perfectly evil smile.

“You don’t want to sell me death sticks,” the Jedi coolly said, waggling his fingers slightly, bringing the weight of the Force into his voice.

“I don’t want to sell you death sticks,” Elan Sleazebaggano obediently repeated.

Again the Jedi waggled his fingers. “You want to go home and rethink your life.”

“I want to go home and rethink my life,” Elan readily agreed, and he turned and walked away.

Obi-Wan tossed back his drink and motioned for the bartender to fill it up.

A short distance away, walking among the crowd, Anakin continued his scan. Something didn’t seem quite right to him—but of course, how could he expect it to be
in this seedy place? Still, some sensation nagged at him, some mounting evil that seemed above the level expected even in here.

He didn’t actually see the blaster pistol coming out of the holster, didn’t see it rising up toward the apparently unsuspecting Obi-Wan’s back.

But he felt …

Anakin spun as Obi-Wan spun, to see his Master coming around, lightsaber igniting, in a beautiful and graceful turn with perfect balance. It seemed almost as if in slow motion to Anakin, though of course Obi-Wan was moving with deadly speed and precision, as his blade, blue like Anakin’s, cut a short vertical loop and then a second, reaching farther out toward his foe. The would-be assassin—and he could see clearly now that it was a woman, since she had taken off her helmet—shrieked in agony as her arm, still clutching the blaster, fell free to the floor, sheared off above the elbow.

The room exploded into motion, with Anakin rushing to Obi-Wan’s side, club patrons leaping up all about them, bristling with nervous energy.

“Easy!” Anakin said loudly, patting his hands in the air, imbuing his voice with the strength of the Force. “Official business. Go back to your drinks.”