Attack of the Clones (34 page)

“Look, whatever happens out there, follow my lead,” Padmé told him. “I’m not interested in getting into a war here. As a member of the Senate, maybe I can find a diplomatic solution to this mess.”

For Anakin, who had so recently used the diplomacy of the lightsaber, and to devastating effect, the words rang true—painfully so.

“Trust me on this?” Padmé added, and he knew that she had recognized the pain on his face.

“Don’t worry,” he said, and he made himself grin. “I’ve given up trying to argue with you.”

Behind them as they headed for the landing ramp, R2 gave a plaintive wail.

“Stay with the ship,” Padmé instructed both droids. Then she and Anakin went out into the underground complex, and recognized almost immediately that they had entered a huge droid factory.

Soon after the pair had departed, R2-D2’s legs extended, lifting him off the securing platform, and he began rolling immediately for the ship exit.

“My sad little friend, if they had needed our help, they would have asked for it,” C-3PO explained to him. “You have a lot to learn about humans.”

R2 tootled back at him and continued to roll.

“For a mechanic, you seem to do an excessive amount
of thinking,” C3-PO countered. “I’m programmed to understand humans.”

R2’s responding question came as a burst of short and curt beeps.

“What does that mean?” C-3PO echoed. “That means, I’m in charge here!”

R2 didn’t even respond. He just started rolling for the landing ramp, moving right out of the ship.

“Wait!” C-3PO cried. “Where are you going? Don’t you have any sense at all?”

The replying beep was quite discordant.

“How rude!”

R2 just gained speed and rolled away.

“Please wait!” C-3PO cried. “Do you know where you’re going?”

While the reply was far from confident, the last thing C-3PO wanted at that moment was to be left alone. He rushed to catch up to R2, and followed behind, fussing nervously.

Anakin and Padmé slipped along the vast, pillared corridors of the factory city, their footfalls dulled by the humming and banging noises of the many machines in use in the great halls below them. The place seemed deserted—too much so, Anakin believed.

“Where is everyone?” Padmé whispered, unconsciously echoing his thoughts.

Anakin held his hand up to silence her, and he tilted his head, sensing … something.

“Wait,” he said.

Anakin moved his hand higher and continued to listen, not with his ears, but with his sensitivity to the Force. There was something here, something close. His instincts turned his eyes up toward the ceiling, and he
watched in amazement and horror as the crossbeams above seemed to pulse, as if they were alive.

“Anakin!” Padmé cried, watching, too, as several winged forms seemed to grow right out of the pillars, detaching and dropping down. They were tall and lean, sinewy strong and not skinny, with orange-tinted skin.

Anakin’s lightsaber flashed. Turning fast, on pure instinct and reflex, he slashed out, severing part of a wing from one creature swooping in at him. The creature tumbled past, bouncing along the ground, but another took its place, and then another, heading in boldly for the Padawan.

Anakin stabbed out to the right, retracted the blade immediately from the smoking flesh, then brought it spinning about above his head, slashing out to the left. Two more creatures went tumbling. “Run!” he shouted to Padmé, but she was already moving, along the corridor and toward a distant doorway. Waving his lightsaber to keep more of the stubborn creatures at bay, Anakin ran. He darted through the doorway behind her—and nearly fell over the end of a small walkway that extended out over a deep crevasse.

“Back,” Padmé started to say, but even as she and Anakin began to turn, the door slammed closed behind them, leaving them trapped on the precarious perch. More of the winged creatures appeared above them, and even worse, the walkway began to retract.

Padmé didn’t hesitate. She leapt out for the shortest fall, onto a conveyor belt below.

“Padmé!” Anakin cried frantically. He leapt down, too, landing behind her on the moving conveyor. And then the winged Geonosians were all about him, swarming and swooping, and he had to work his lightsaber desperately to keep them at bay.

*  *  *

“Oh my goodness,” C-3PO said, turning all about as he scanned the immense factory. He and R2-D2 came onto a high ledge, overlooking the main area. “Machines creating machines. How perverse!”

R2 gave him an emphatic beep.

“Calm down,” C-3PO said. “What are you talking about? I’m not in your way!”

R2 didn’t bother to argue. He rolled forward, bumping 3PO off the ledge. The screaming droid bounced onto one unfortunate flying conveyor droid, then crashed down on a conveyor to the side. R2 went off the ledge next, willingly, his little jets igniting to carry him fast across the way to some distant consoles.

“Oh, blast you, Artoo!” C-3PO cried, trying hard to sort himself out. “You might have warned me, or told me of your plan.” As he spoke, he finally managed to stand—just in time to rise before a horizontal slicer.

C-3PO gave a single scream for help before the spinning blade lopped his head from his shoulders, his body crumpling down onto the belt, his head bouncing away to land on yet another conveyor, this one bearing lines of other heads, those of battle droids.

One welder stop later, and C-3PO found his head grafted onto a battle droid body. “How ugly!” he exclaimed. “Why would one build such unattractive droids?” He managed to glance to the side, to see his still-standing body rolling into the line with the other droids, where a Battle Droid head got welded onto it.

“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. It’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.