Attack of the Clones (22 page)

But the moment had passed, and Padmé gathered her arms in close and leaned again on the balustrade, looking out over the water.

*  *  *

As soon as the starlight shrank back from its speed-shift elongation, Obi-Wan Kenobi saw the “missing” planet, exactly where the gravity flux had predicted it would be.

“There it is, Arfour, right where it should be,” he said to his astromech droid, who tootled in response from the left wing of the fighter. “Our missing planet, Kamino. Those files
were
altered.”

R4 beeped curiously.

“I have no idea who might have done it,” Obi-Wan replied. “Maybe we’ll find some answers down there.”

He ordered R4 to disengage the hyperspace ring, a band encircling the center area of the starfighter, with a pair of powerful hyperdrive engines, one on either side. Then he took the Delta-7 away, gliding in casually, registering information on his various scanners.

As he neared the planet, he saw that it was an ocean world, with no visible landmasses showing behind the nearly solid cloud cover. He checked his sensors, searching for any other ships that might be in the area, not really sure of what he should expect. His computer registered a transmission directed his way, asking for identification, and he flipped his signal beacon on, transferring all the information. A moment later, to his relief, there came a second transmission from Kamino, this one containing approach coordinates to a place called Tipoca City.

“Well, here we go, Arfour. Time to find some answers.”

The droid beeped and set the coordinates into the nav computer, and the fighter swooped down at the planet, breaking atmosphere and soaring along over rain-lashed, whitecapped seas. The trip across the stormy sky was rougher than the atmospheric entry, but the fighter held its course perfectly, and soon after, Obi-Wan got his
first look at Tipoca City. It was all gleaming domes and angled, gracefully curving walls, built on gigantic stilts rising out of the lashing sea.

Obi-Wan spotted the appropriate landing pad, but did a flyby first, crossing the city and circling about, wanting to observe this spectacular place from all angles. It seemed as much a work of art as a practical and magnificent piece of engineering, the whole of the city reminding him more of the Senate Building and the Jedi Temple on Coruscant. It was brightly lit at all the right places to highlight the domes and curving walls.

“There’s so much to see, Arfour,” the Jedi lamented. He had visited hundreds of worlds in his life, but viewing a place as strange and beautiful as Tipoca City only reminded him that there were thousands and thousands more yet to see, too many for any one person to visit even if he did nothing else for the entirety of his life.

At last Obi-Wan put his fighter down on the designated landing pad. He pulled his hood up tight over him, then slid back his canopy and scrambled out against the wind and the rain, rushing across the permacrete to a tower across the way. A door slid open before him, spilling out brilliant light, and he went through, crossing into a brightly lit white room.

“Master Jedi, so good to see you,” came a melodic voice.

Obi-Wan pushed back his hood, which had offered little protection from the driving rain, and brushed the water from his hair. Wiping his face, he turned to face the speaker, and then he paused, caught by the image of the Kaminoan.

“I am Taun We,” she introduced herself.

She was taller than Obi-Wan, pasty white and amazingly slender, with gracefully curving lines, but there was nothing insubstantial about her. Thin, yes, but packed
with a solid and powerful presence. Her eyes, huge, almond-shaped, and dark, were sparkling clear, like those of an inquisitive child. Her nose was no more than a pair of vertical slits, connected by a horizontal one, sitting on the bridge above her upper lip. She reached out gracefully toward him with an arm that moved as smoothly as any dancer might.

“The Prime Minister expects you.”

The words finally distracted Obi-Wan from his bemused perusal of her strangely beautiful physique. “I’m expected?” he asked, doing little to hide his incredulity. How in the galaxy could these beings possibly have been expecting him?

“Of course.” Taun We replied. “Lama Su is anxious to see you. After all these years, we were beginning to think you weren’t coming. Now please, this way.”

Obi-Wan nodded and tried to play it cool, hiding the million questions buzzing about in his thoughts.
After all these years? They were thinking that I wasn’t coming?

The corridor was nearly as brightly lit as the room, but as his eyes adjusted, Obi-Wan found the light strangely comfortable. They passed many windows, and Obi-Wan could see other Kaminoans busy in side rooms, males—distinguished by a crest atop their heads—and females working about furniture that was highlighted at every edge by shining light, as if that light supported and defined it. He was struck by how clean this place was, everything polished and shining and smooth. He kept his questions to himself, though, as anxious to see this Prime Minister, Lama Su, as Taun We seemed to be in getting him there, judging from the swift pace.

The Kaminoan stopped at one side door and sent it sliding open with a wave of her hand, then motioned for Obi-Wan to enter first.

Another Kaminoan, a bit taller and with the distinctive male crest, greeted them. He looked down at Obi-Wan, blinked his huge eyes, and smiled warmly. With a wave of his hand, he brought an egg-shaped chair gracefully spiraling down from the ceiling.

“May I present Lama Su, Prime Minister of Kamino,” Taun We said, then to Lama Su, she added, “This is Master Jedi—”

“Obi-Wan Kenobi,” the Jedi finished, nodding his head deferentially.

The Prime Minister indicated the chair, then sat back in his own, but Obi-Wan remained standing, soaking in the scene before him.

“I trust you are going to enjoy your stay,” the Prime Minister said. “We are most happy you have arrived at the best part of the season.”

“You make me feel most welcome.” Obi-Wan didn’t add that if the deluge outside was “the best part of the season,” he’d hate to see the worst.

“Please …” Lama Su indicated the chair once more. When Obi-Wan finally sat down, the Kaminoan continued. “And now to business. You will be delighted to hear we are on schedule. Two hundred thousand units are ready, with another million well on the way.”

Obi-Wan’s tongue suddenly seemed fat in his mouth, but he fought past the stutter and tucked his questions away, and improvised, “That is good news.”

“We thought you would be pleased.”

“Of course.”

“Please tell your Master Sifo-Dyas that we have every confidence his order will be met, on time and in full. He is well, I hope.”

“I’m sorry,” the overwhelmed Jedi replied. “Master?…”

“Jedi Master Sifo-Dyas. He is still a leading member of the Jedi Council, is he not?”

The name, known to Obi-Wan as that of a former Jedi Master, elicited yet another surge of questions, but again, he put them out of mind and focused on keeping Lama Su talking and giving out potentially valuable information. “I’m afraid to say that Master Sifo-Dyas was killed almost ten years ago.”

Lama Su blinked his huge eyes again. “Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that. But I’m sure he would have been proud of the army we’ve built for him.”

“The army?” Obi-Wan asked before he could even think the direction through.

“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.